stalemate by basil wells _illustrated by leo summers_ [transcriber note: this etext was produced from if worlds of science fiction november 1954. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [sidenote: _the rules of a duel between gentlemen are quite different from the rules of war between nations. is it because gentlemen do not fight wars, or is it that men in war cease to be gentlemen?_] the bullet slapped rotted leaves and dirt into gram treb's eyes. he wormed backward to the bole of a small tree. "missed!" he shouted. he used english, the second tongue of them both. "throw away your carbine and use rocks." "you tasted it anyhow," harl neilson's shrill young voice cried. "how was the sample?" "that leaves you two cartridges," taunted treb. "or is it only one?" the sixth sense that had brought him safely through two of these bloody war duels here in space made him fling his body to the left. he rolled over once and lay huddled in a shallow depression. he knew all the tiny hollows and ridges--they were his insurance on this mile-wide island high above earth. something thudded into the tree roots behind him. he hugged the ground, body flattened. his breath eased raggedly outward, and caught. the waiting--the seconds that became hours! if the grenade rolled after him, down the slope into his shelter, he was finished. there was nothing he could do. his palms oozed sweat.... the grenade exploded. it was like a fist slammed against his skull. he was numbed for a long instant. then he checked. unharmed. the depression had saved his neck this time. he wanted to shout at neilson, tell him he was down to a lone grenade, but that was poor strategy. now he must withdraw, make neilson think him injured or dead, and trap him in turn. they were the last of the belligerents here within earth satellite. for two months, since what would be may on earth, they had carried on this mad duel. of the other eighteen who had started the war in november of the preceding year, only four had survived their wounds. the united nations' supervisory seconds had transported them to their homes in andilia and in baryt.... treb wormed his way as noiselessly as possible into the undergrowth, sprawling at last in the shelter of an earthen mound thirty feet from the grenade's raw splash. he waited--and thought. memories can be unpleasant. he could see his comrades of the three battles as they had fallen, wounded or gray with death. too many of them had he helped bury. he remembered the treasured photos. the draining wound in his right forearm throbbed.... the enemy dead too. he had killed several of them--more than his share, he thought savagely. they too were young despite the ragged beards some of them cultivated. treb felt like an old man. and he _was_ old. he was twenty-nine. he had a son also named gram, a boy of five, and little alse, who was two. had little alse's mother lived he would never have volunteered for this third united nations' war duel. he would have been with her in the mountain valley of krekar working hard, and gradually erasing those other ugly episodes here on earth satellite one.... minutes crawled by, lumped together into hours. birds sang in the trees so laboriously maintained here in the satellite's disk-shaped heart. and, a hundred feet overhead, where the true deck of the man-made island in space began, other birds nested in the girders. an ant crawled over treb's earth-stained hand and passed under his outstretched carbine's barrel. there was a movement in the clustering trees off to his right. neilson had circled and was coming in from an opposite angle. treb thumbed off the safety and waited. an earth-colored helmet, with a trace of long pale hair around its rim, came slowly into view. could be a dummy, neilson was clever at rigging them to draw fire. and he had exactly two cartridges. after that it would be his three grenades, his two-foot needle-knife, that doubled as a bayonet, and the steel bow he had contrived from a strip of spring steel. he held his fire. the trees made grenade lobbing a touchy business. and his bow was back in one of the dozens of foxholes he had spotted in both the inner and outer rings of trees. in the fantasy stories of adventure in space that he enjoyed reading, the hero could always whip up a weird paralysis ray, a deadly, invisible robot bullet, or an intelligent gaseous ally from the void would appear. and out of scrap glass, metal and his shoestrings he could contrive a solar-powered shell that stopped any missile, deadlier than a marshmallow, cold. in actual life he was finding it difficult enough to contrive a primitive sort of bow, a knife-lashed spear, and snares for the increasingly wary rabbits. lack of sleep and lack of food supplies were sapping his lanky body of the whiplash swiftness and wiry strength it once possessed. nor was the week-old wound any aid to his dulled wits.... the helmet advanced; he could almost see the twig-stuffed gray shirt's pockets, and he let his nostrils expand as he sucked in a steadying breath. now, a yard behind the fake andilian, he could see the moving shoulders and skull of harl neilson--or so his bloodshot eyes told him. he squeezed the trigger. there was a subdued yip, and then a derisive jeer. missed again--or had he? "sour rocketing, grampaw," neilson laughed. "try again. and then i'm coming after you." only neilson wouldn't. unless he'd miscalculated the number of grenades, he wouldn't come charging at treb. and he couldn't be sure of the number of cartridges treb possessed. he was just talking to keep his nerve up. especially if he was wounded now. that sudden yip.... * * * * * it was night again, an artificial night as artificial as the central ten-acre pool of water, the ring of flowering green trees and grasses, and the final outer ring of forest trees. it was here that the two thousand un employees and soldiers on earth satellite one normally took their recreation periods. only the supervised war-duels, that since 1969 had been the only blood-letting permitted between nations, could long keep a terran from visiting the green meadows and trees of this lowest of the three levels.... "i'd give half that quarter million," neilson groaned, across the darkness, "for a cigarette." "you mean," corrected gram treb, "half your ten thousand." "it's the winner's grant or nothing, treb. i promised jane i'd hand it to her. then we'll marry." "but not if you are the loser?" "i wouldn't--she wouldn't--it's impossible to think of asking her to share poverty and disgrace." "i'd hardly say that. we lost our first war here on the satellite. baryt was obligated to cede a thousand square miles to tarrance. most of my ten thousand paid off my family's debts. "yet i married. i married nal who had nursed me back to health. and we were happy. until the second war with duristan. i wanted money for her--for the children--for my impoverished valley." treb broke off. he backed away several feet and shifted noiselessly to a new position. every night, and sometimes in the artificial sunlight, they talked together. but they never forgot that they were sworn foes. "so you won it didn't you?" from his voice neilson had shifted closer and to the left. "sure. and i wish i were as poor as before. for nal was kicked to death--by the horse i should have been using--while i fought here." neilson made a sympathetic sound. treb felt his lips twitch into a thin crooked line. this is what it meant to be human. to feel sorrow for another man's misfortunes--and then kill him! sure, neilson was a good sort. only twenty-four and in love with a girl, a woman really, widow of a dead lunar explorer. and he was a clean-living sort, nothing dishonorable or hateful about him. they even honored the same god. but tomorrow, or the next day, or a month from now, he would kill or wound neilson. unless, as might well happen, neilson got to him first. he pushed aside a thought that came more and more often of late. why not surrender, or let neilson capture him? he did not consider suicide--little gram and alse needed him--although he had not been thinking of them when he signed for this ugly miniature battle in space. his wife's death had been too vivid yet. but, why not surrender? he had enough money. the valley people could struggle along without the machines and the dam he had hoped to grant them with victory. and baryt could lose the island of daafa to andilia without crippling herself. the three hundred and fifty inhabitants could be transferred to the mainland. treb laughed silently, a laugh that cut off with a twinge of drawing ugly pain from his wounded forearm. he knew that he could no more surrender without a fight than he could command his breathing to stop forever. he was a man, and men cannot give up dishonorably.... "i'd like to see those two kids sometime, if you're still around, treb." neilson had moved again. his voice was lower but he was nearer. "stop around anytime, harl." treb moved a few feet deeper into a thicket. "we'll show you what real baryt hospitality is." "that's a promise, treb." killing. that's what war was. so you had to kill. or you volunteered to kill. but you didn't have to like it. all these little wars under un supervision were needless--arbitration would serve as well. but the people, the leaders--someone--wanted blood. so ten or twelve or fifteen citizens of one nation fought an equal number of the other state's sons. doubtless it was an improvement over the mass bombings of innocent city dwellers, and the horror of atomic dusts and sprays. no overwhelming army could sweep, unchecked, over a helpless neighbor. it was fairer, too, for those involved. equal numbers of men, guns, supplies. wealth if your side won, and a fair sum if you lost. the united nations saw to that. after all the avenues to peaceful settlement had been explored and turned down they finally permitted bloodshed. much against their better judgement, perhaps. so he could destroy likeable young andilians like neilson. "why don't you send up a rocket?" neilson kidded, his voice coming from a changed direction again. "so i can see you." "anything to oblige." neilson was circling out around, as though to drive him into a trap or trick him. they were getting back to the primitive now. soon it would be knives, spears, and deadfalls. "come on over and i'll show you jane's picture, treb," invited neilson. he laughed hoarsely. "if we weren't where we are, i'd mean that." "i know. i feel that way myself sometimes. we've been here alone too long. hate hasn't lasted." "why aren't you a wrongo, treb?" the young voice was cracked and savage. "why'd you have to tell me about--gram and alse?" treb was backing away again, cautiously. he scented a trap. no doubt neilson's words were sincere, at the moment, but in a second's time he could change into a cold-blooded executioner. he knew. he had seen the gentlest of men suddenly turn killer.... and then his foot struck a yielding branch and his aroused suspicion sent him lunging forward. a heavy something fell with a sickening thud, brushing as it struck the sole of his disintegrating shoe. a cleverly rigged deadfall of small trees and rock, doubtless. "you're slipping, harl," he shouted. but he could feel the sudden sweat damping his palms, and the muscles twitched unsteadily in his arms and across his stomach. * * * * * with morning he was half a mile away, in a foxhole less than sixty yards from the massive outer perimeter of the arena. two of his snares had yielded a rabbit each, and so he was supplied for several days. the foxhole had two entrances, both well-concealed, and he had rigged elaborate warning devices should the vicinity be approached. so he was sleeping. his dreams were unpleasant. in his latest dream an extremely shapely and smiling young woman with dark hair was heaving a grenade into a pit where he lay bound and helpless. the grenade swelled until it became a space ship heading directly toward the frail scout craft he piloted.... and a tiny blob of dislodged mud from the dugout spatted his face. he sat up. another day to hunt or be hunted. or to lie here and try to rest and make plans. there was slight possibility that neilson could find him here. he gnawed at the scantly-fleshed ribs of the first rabbit, savoring the raw meaty smell and flavor. hunger was his salt. now that they had lost contact with one another it might require several days to find neilson. a wooded platter, a mile in diameter, can afford many hiding places for one creature hiding from another hunting beast. it was time to set some of the traps he had been contriving. there were the two nooses, attached to bent-down triggered young trees that could not be set until darkness fell again. the net, too, would need darkness to conceal the four rough pulleys, and the rocks that a tug on his rope would spill. but the almost invisible nylon cords, set at ankle height across the paths, and the ugly little pits with their sharpened stakes set three feet below, could trip up a man and cripple him. he must put out several of those. he had no wish to kill neilson. if he could capture him, very good. he could go back to andilia and perhaps his jane would be glad to take him. if she did not--it was worth knowing how little she really cared, was it not? so he would try to trap the younger man and save his life. it would be difficult. the other man had grenades, a carbine and a keen needle-knife. perhaps, before the end, he would be forced to kill after all. but regretfully. treb dumped the last of the _tsaftha_ antibiotic into his wound and lay back for a few more hours of rest before going out to prepare the traps. his head was not clear. and his eyes drew together from exhaustion.... * * * * * another night and another day, and it was night again. his traps were set and ready. all through the day he had prowled the trees, watching for some sign of neilson. he found he was muttering to himself, hungry for the sound of spoken words. it was nervous work. his muscles were jumping in faint spastic explosions. neilson could have been lying in ambush in any of a hundred leafy coverts, resting there and waiting.... he had covered less than two miles of inching, crawling paths, his eyes ever alert for deadfalls, pits and spear-traps that might flash across the way to impale him. and he had caught no sight of neilson. now it was night again. time to check on his traps. the rabbit traps as well as the human traps. he was approaching the net. and the awareness that this furtive game of hide-and-seek might go on for weeks oppressed him. he might lie here close by the net for days without sight of neilson. they were too evenly matched--and neilson was younger. it was neilson's youth against his experience. he found the thin rope of knotted nylon and plastic scraps that led to the four balanced rocks. one stout yank and the net would jerk upward four feet and tighten around its victim. but, in the dim starlight from the small globes spotting the satellite's ceiling, the path was an indistinct blur. a moving body's exact position.... and at fifty feet.... he saw neilson--it could only be neilson. moving on hands and knees, he was keeping low and to the side of the little-used trail--but within the width of the hand-patched net. and he moved slowly, probing before him with a stick or his needle-knife; treb could not tell which. another two feet and he could trip the net. neilson would be captured, alive, and the stalemate ended. now! the net flung into the air, snapped tight about neilson's thrashing body! he heard the pop of parting strands as neilson slashed with his knife. and then he swung the butt of his carbine, twice, against the trapped man's skull. neilson went limp. it was finished. he could take his prisoner to the lock, summon the un guards, and go home to the krekar hills. and an end to all blood-letting for him. he set about binding tight the arms and legs of neilson, and had barely completed his task when the prisoner groaned and struggled. "so this is it, treb?" "yes." "you win again. and i--i lose everything." "so?" treb touched his pocket torch to a heap of shredded dry twigs. "what have you lost? your health, your life? and will not the woman forget all else and love you?" "hah! she will laugh at me if i come near her. defeated, and with a paltry ten thousand to offer. better that i died than this." "perhaps you do not--know this woman, harl. if she is good, she will come to you." the growing firelight was on neilson's bearded face. and beneath his eyes something glistened and beaded. he laughed bitterly. "she's not good, treb, understand that. she's evil and money-hungry, and ambitious. but she is beautiful and i love her. i'd sell my soul and my body to possess her. "that's why i volunteered. with the winners' grant i would have money. prestige. honor. there would be a thousand new opportunities for a career. and jane could not refuse me then." "it is wrong, harl neilson, to so worship a woman. like alcohol or venerian fire pollen--it is unnatural." "i know. i have tried to forget, to put her memory aside. but it is like a disease. an incurable disease. i must have jane." treb threw more wood on the little fire and checked over the lashings about neilson's body. "i am going to look at my rabbit snares," he said, "and to spring the other traps. we will eat and sleep, and in the morning try to shave and look decent before going to the locks." neilson let his head sag between his shoulders, and said nothing. he was leaning against a tree, his arms lashed behind him and to it. "there is one more thing, harl, that i wish to discuss. it is about the paul hubble foundation award. think about it." treb moved off into the darkness. * * * * * the sunlight from the overhead "suns" of the satellite revealed a greatly changed treb. he was shaved, his hair combed and hacked off above his ears, and he was stitching the last rough patch on his dark green trouser leg. now he donned the trousers and went over to the bound andilian. he cut the ropes, his carbine ready. "get down to the lake," he ordered. "you'll find a razor, soap and an old shirt to dry yourself with." harl neilson was chunky and fair-haired, with a healthy looking red-brown skin. his eyes were wide and darkly blue. now the wide mouth under his shapeless nose twisted into a faint grin. "i'll try to get away," he warned. "aren't you afraid of that?" "i have all the guns, grenades and needle-knives, harl. i'll shoot you if you attempt escape, of course, but i hope you'll listen to what i propose first." neilson slowly stripped off his ragged tunic and trousers. there was the scar of a recent bullet's path across his right shoulder blade. it was crusted with blackened blood. "i thought i heard you two days back, harl," said treb. "just a scratch." neilson took up the soap and waded into the nearby lake. "start talking, treb." "i told you to think about paul hubble's award, harl. he's the american industrialist who opposed violence in settling any issue." "sure. heard about him in the lower grades. fifty million dollars he sunk in his worthless peace foundation. what about it?" "hear me out. did you like what we just went through? your friends and comrades dying--my friends dead and wounded? and all to settle some territorial dispute or to wipe out some imagined slur. "would you like to prevent your kid, or mine, from having to face this again?" "stop sounding off, treb, and say something." neilson scrubbed vigorously. "of course i would--if i ever had a kid, i mean." "we could help, harl. by calling off the duel and making peace right here. of course there might be new balloting--even another battle between our countries. but we would crack the theory that victory means more than humanity." neilson snorted. he splashed water into his eyes and over his soapy beard and hair. "and go home penniless? to have every friend and neighbor avoid us? what's eating you? you won. you'll get the quarter of a million." "i want you to share equally. i want our two countries to know that friendship means more than glory." "i don't get it. if neither side wins we get nothing." "you forget about the hubble award. two hundred thousand to each member of both sides, or their survivors, if they declare an armistice." "i had forgotten. you'd give up fifty thousand so i could get the same two hundred thousand! you're a prince, treb. "but i couldn't do it. jane would turn against me. the radio, the newswires, television and the magazines would crucify me--both of us." "we'd ride it out. none of the participants in the twenty-two duels here in satellite has had the courage to admit he hates war. in years to come our stand would be honored." "it means losing jane. i can't do it." "you've lost her anyway, harl, if she's the way you say. how about your three wounded buddies: wasson, clark, and thomason? badly cut up aren't they? clark blind. wasson with no arms. "couldn't they use the two hundred thousand?" neilson was coming ashore. a sudden resolve hardened his face, and his blue eyes were dark and angry. his jaw jutted through the sandy fairness of his draggled beard. treb felt his vitals knot at what he sensed in neilson's expression. he'd gambled on the essential fairness and sympathy of the andilian's character. but now.... "i'll do it," neilson said tonelessly. "i hope you'll never regret what you are doing, harl." "aw, lock valves!" snarled neilson. "get ready to go while i finish shaving." so that was the way it was to be. treb turned wearily away. he went back through the screen of flowering shrubs and trees to where the coals of their fire turned gray. the grenades and the three cartridges, his own and neilson's, he buried in a hasty hole under a tree's sprawled roots. afterward he tamped sod back into place and spread leaves. his needle-knife he laid on the turf. from his pocket he took a long strip of cloth and some of the tough nylon cords from the net. then he let his trousers drop about his ankles and set about anchoring the needle-knife securely to his upper leg. when he had finished the keen blade projected a foot below his knee-cap. and around it, carefully, he wound some of the cloth. he donned his battered trousers again. the concealed knife was well hidden, although it did impede the freedom of his stride. then he went down to rejoin neilson. neilson was just finishing hacking at his hair with the short-bladed safety razor. he scowled at treb, his eyes on the carbine that the man from baryt yet carried. "not taking any chances, eh, treb?" "just in case you change your mind, harl." "my friend--my very dear friend--gram treb!" neilson laughed. "what trust--what a faith in human nature!" "yes, harl. your friend." they left the lake behind, neilson in advance. directly ahead, beyond the outer ring of trees, the locks to the upper levels waited. they had less than a third of a mile to traverse. the rusting shattered debris of a machine gun, with a spilled clutter of empty shell cases, lay just off the trail. "harok dann died here," said treb. neilson did not turn. "the big man, manross, was killed by dann's fire even as he threw the grenade," he added. treb was watching the broad-shouldered figure ahead. "shut it off, treb, will you?" neilson shouted, turning. "isn't it tough enough without you yap-yapping all the way?" treb's lips thinned. the knife chafed his leg. already he was limping slightly. but they had covered more than half the distance. once they contacted the un guards and were through the locks he could relax.... * * * * * the circular outer face of the lock was before them. and the button that summoned the guards jutted redly from a shoulder-high recess. neilson leaned against the lock, his narrowed eyes on treb as he reached for the button. treb jabbed. and he relaxed inwardly. too late now for neilson to attempt overpowering him and claiming the victory. he had feared such an attempt--with the lust for the woman, jane vanne, driving him, neilson might have gone back on his word. it was tough going for the kid. but he wasn't losing anything worth keeping. and hundreds of fine young lads like him might be spared going through this ordeal in space. they'd.... neilson's fist caught him behind the ear. that split-second of inattention was proving costly. neilson clamped the carbine barrel, wrested it away from treb. he raised it. treb lifted his hands. "so now it's me at the controls," neilson said, grinning. "any reason why i should go through with your hubble award idea?" "the guards will be here in no more than a minute, harl. throw the gun away and we'll go through together." neilson's eyes were shining. he was seeing the crowds waving crazy welcome as his space ship grounded. he was seeing the adulation of the boys, and the adoring glance of the dark-eyed girl named jane. he was seeing the medals and the banquets and the bundles of money. "you were crazy, treb," he said, "to ever trust me. in war promises mean nothing. study your history." treb squared his shoulders, his hands came down. "if that's the way it is," he said, and then, "coming at you, neilson." neilson flinched. it was the first time treb had called him by his last name, perhaps that was the reason. or it could have been the sight of an unarmed man walking directly into his carbine's ugly muzzle. he pressed the trigger. the unloaded weapon was silent. treb wrenched at the gun. neilson kicked him in the crotch. the gun came free. he brought it down at treb's head, but at the last second before impact treb dodged. the barrel smacked into treb's right shoulder and broke the collar bone. treb came on, his left hand jabbing, and his right arm dangling. neilson chopped at his face with the vertically held carbine, and tore a great chunk from his left cheek. and then treb's knee came up. the shielded razor-sharp blade sliced through his trouser. he drove the ugly little dagger into neilson's body. neilson went down, squirming away from the sudden pain that tore at his vitals. the carbine went clattering. treb knelt beside him; tried to stanch the warm gush of red life, and cursed, soundlessly, the ambition that is mankind's greatest boon--and curse. he tore off the bloody knife. "you won't die, neilson," he said gravely. "not with the surgeon and the hospital here on earth satellite so near. you'll live to see andilia again. "and about the invitation to visit us--i'm sorry you rejected it like this. but the offer still stands. when i can call you harl again, when you are a _man_, visit us." the lock behind them creaked and started to open. the code of honor; or rules for the government of principals and seconds in duelling by john lyde wilson summary: originally this was published by the author (1784-1849), a former governor of south carolina, as a 22-page booklet, in 1838. before his death he added an appendix of the 1777 irish duelling code, but this second edition was not printed until 1858, as a 46-page small book, still sized to fit in the case with one's duelling pistols. this code is far less blood-thirsty than many might suppose, but built on a closed social caste and standards of behavior quite alien to today. transcriber's note: in the appendix the term "rencontre" is used. in british law (then covering ireland) this refers to an immediate fight in the heat of offense. a duel would be undertaken in "cold blood" if not cool temper. killing a man in a rencontre counted as manslaughter; in a duel, as murder. on more than one occasion, the author refers to "posting" an offender. this refers to posting to the public a notice as to his behavior in some central club or business spot frequented by all men of that level of society; exactly where varied from town to town. it was the ultimate sanction, making the challengee's refusal to either apologize or fight a public stain upon his character. to the public the man who adds in any way to the sum of human happiness is strictly in the discharge of a moral duty. when howard visited the victims of crime and licentiousness, to reform their habits and ameliorate their condition, the question was never asked whether he had been guilty of like excesses or not? the only question the philanthropist would propound, should be, has the deed been done in the true spirit of christian benevolence? those who know me, can well attest the motive which has caused the publication of the following sheets, to which they for a long time urged me in vain. those who do not know me, have no right to impute a wrong motive; and if they do, i had rather be the object, than the authors of condemnation. to publish a code of honor, to govern in cases of individual combat, might seem to imply, that the publisher was an advocate of duelling, and wished to introduce it as the proper mode of deciding all personal difficulties and misunderstandings. such implication would do me great injustice. but if the question be directly put to me, whether there are not cases where duels are right and proper, i would unhesitatingly answer, there are. if an oppressed nation has a right to appeal to arms in defence of its liberty and the happiness of its people, there can be no argument used in support of such appeal, which will not apply with equal force to individuals. how many cases are there, that might be enumerated, where there is no tribunal to do justice to an oppressed and deeply wronged individual? if he be subjected to a tame submission to insult and disgrace, where no power can shield him from its effects, then indeed it would seem, that the first law of nature, self-preservation, points out the only remedy for his wrongs. the history of all animated nature exhibits a determined resistance to encroachments upon natural rights,--nay, i might add, inanimate nature, for it also exhibits a continual warfare for supremacy. plants of the same kind, as well as trees, do not stop their vigorous growth because they overshadow their kind; but, on the contrary, flourish with greater vigor as the more weak and delicate decline and die. those of different species are at perpetual warfare. the sweetest rose tree will sicken and waste on the near approach of the noxious bramble, and the most promising fields of wheat yield a miserable harvest if choked up with tares and thistles. the elements themselves war together, and the angels of heaven have met in fierce encounter. the principle of self-preservation is co-extensive with creation; and when by education we make character and moral worth a part of ourselves, we guard these possessions with more watchful zeal than life itself, and would go farther for their protection. when one finds himself avoided in society, his friends shunning his approach, his substance wasting, his wife and children in want around him, and traces all his misfortunes and misery to the slanderous tongue of the calumniator, who, by secret whisper or artful innuendo, has sapped and undermined his reputation, he must be more or less than man to submit in silence. the indiscriminate and frequent appeal to arms, to settle trivial disputes and misunderstandings, cannot be too severely censured and deprecated. i am no advocate of such duelling. but in cases where the laws of the country give no redress for injuries received, where public opinion not only authorizes, but enjoins resistance, it is needless and a waste of time to denounce the practice. it will be persisted in as long as a manly independence, and a lofty personal pride in all that dignifies and ennobles the human character, shall continue to exist. if a man be smote on one cheek in public, and he turns the other, which is also smitten, and he offers no resistance, but blesses him that so despitefully used him, i am aware that he is in the exercise of great christian forbearance, highly recommended and enjoined by many very good men, but utterly repugnant to those feelings which nature and education have implanted in the human character. if it was possible to enact laws so severe and impossible to be evaded, as to enforce such rule of behavior, all that is honorable in the community would quit the country and inhabit the wilderness with the indians. if such a course of conduct was infused by education into the minds of our youth, and it became praiseworthy and honorable to a man to submit to insult and indignity, then indeed the forbearance might be borne without disgrace. those, therefore, who condemn all who do not denounce duelling in every case, should establish schools where a passive submission to force would be the exercise of a commendable virtue. i have not the least doubt, that if i had been educated in such a school, and lived in such a society, i would have proved a very good member of it. but i much doubt, if a seminary of learning was established, where this christian forbearance was inculcated and enforced, whether there would be many scholars. i would not wish to be understood to say, that i do not desire to see duelling to cease to exist entirely, in society. but my plan for doing it away, is essentially different from the one which teaches a passive forbearance to insult and indignity. i would inculcate in the rising generation a spirit of lofty independence; i would have them taught that nothing was more derogatory to the honor of a gentleman, than to wound the feelings of any one, however humble. that if wrong be done to another, it was more an act of heroism and bravery to repair the injury, than to persist in error, and enter into mortal combat with the injured party. this would be an aggravation of that which was already odious, and would put him without the pale of all decent society and honorable men. i would strongly inculcate the propriety of being tender of the feelings, as well as the failings, of those around him. i would teach immutable integrity, and uniform urbanity of manners. scrupulously to guard individual honor, by a high personal self respect, and the practice of every commendable virtue. once let such a system of education be universal, and we should seldom hear, if ever, of any more duelling. the severest penal enactments cannot restrain the practice of duelling, and their extreme severity in this state, the more effectually shields the offenders. the teaching and preaching of our eloquent clergy, may do some service, but is wholly inadequate to suppress it. under these circumstances, the following rules are given to the public, and if i can save the life of one useful member of society, i will be compensated. i have restored to the bosoms of many, their sons, by my timely interference, who are ignorant of the misery i have averted from them. i believe that nine duels out of ten, if not ninety-nine out of a hundred, originate in the want of experience in the seconds. a book of authority, to which they can refer in matters where they are uninformed, will therefore be a desideratum. how far this code will be that book, the public will decide. the author rules for principals and seconds in duelling. chapter i. the person insulted, before challenge sent 1. whenever you believe that you are insulted, if the insult be in public and by words or behavior, never resent it there, if you have self-command enough to avoid noticing it. if resented there, you offer an indignity to the company, which you should not. 2. if the insult be by blows or any personal indignity, it may be resented at the moment, for the insult to the company did not originate with you. but although resented at the moment, you are bound still to have satisfaction, and must therefore make the demand. 3. when you believe yourself aggrieved, be silent on the subject, speak to no one about the matter, and see your friend, who is to act for you, as soon as possible. 4. never send a challenge in the first instance, for that precludes all negotiation. let your note be in the language of a gentleman, and let the subject matter of complaint be truly and fairly set forth, cautiously avoiding attributing to the adverse party any improper motive. 5. when your second is in full possession of the facts, leave the whole matter to his judgment, and avoid any consultation with him unless he seeks it. he has the custody of your honor, and by obeying him you cannot be compromitted. 6. let the time of demand upon your adversary after the insult, be as short as possible, for he has the right to double that time in replying to you, unless you give him some good reason for your delay. each party is entitled to reasonable time, to make the necessary domestic arrangements, by will or otherwise, before fighting. 7. to a written communication you are entitled to a written reply, and it is the business of your friend to require it. second's duty before challenge sent. 1. whenever you are applied to by a friend to act as his second, before you agree to do so, state distinctly to your principal that you will be governed only by your own judgment,--that he will not be consulted after you are in full possession of the facts, unless it becomes necessary to make or accept the amende honorable, or send a challenge. you are supposed to be cool and collected, and your friend's feelings are more or less irritated. 2. use every effort to soothe and tranquilize your principal; do not see things in the same aggravated light in which he views them; extenuate the conduct of his adversary whenever you see clearly an opportunity to do so, without doing violence to your friend's irritated mind. endeavor to persuade him that there must have been some misunderstanding in the matter. check him if he uses opprobrious epithet towards his adversary, and never permit improper or insulting words in the note you carry. 3. to the note you carry in writing to the party complained of, you are entitled to a written answer, which will be directed to your principal and will be delivered to you by his adversary's friend. if this be not written in the style of a gentleman, refuse to receive it, and assign your reason for such refusal. if there be a question made as to the character of the note, require the second presenting it to you, who considers it respectful, to endorse upon it these words: "i consider the note of my friend respectful, and would not have been the bearer of it, if i believed otherwise." 4. if the party called on, refuses to receive the note you bear, you are entitled to demand a reason for such refusal. if he refuses to give you any reason, and persists in such refusal, he treats, not only your friend, but yourself, with indignity, and you must then make yourself the actor, by sending a respectful note, requiring a proper explanation of the course he has pursued towards you and your friend; and if he still adheres to his determination, you are to challenge or post him. 5. if the person to whom you deliver the note of your friend, declines meeting him on the ground of inequality, you are bound to tender yourself in his stead, by a note directed to him from yourself; and if he refuses to meet you, you are to post him. 6. in all cases of the substitution of the second for the principal, the seconds should interpose and adjust the matter, if the party substituting avows he does not make the quarrel of his principal his own. the true reason for substitution, is the supposed insult of imputing to you the like inequality which if charged upon your friend, and when the contrary is declared, there should be no fight, for individuals may well differ in their estimate of an individual's character and standing in society. in case of substitution and a satisfactory arrangement, you are then to inform your friend of all the facts, whose duty it will be to post in person. 7. if the party, to whom you present a note, employ a son, father or brother, as a second, you may decline acting with either on the ground of consanguinity. 8. if a minor wishes you to take a note to an adult, decline doing so, on the ground of his minority. but if the adult complained of, had made a companion of the minor in society, you may bear the note. 9. when an accommodation is tendered, never require too much; and if the party offering the amende honorable, wishes to give a reason for his conduct in the matter, do not, unless offensive to your friend, refuse to receive it; by so doing you may heal the breach more effectually. 10. if a stranger wishes you to bear a note for him, be well satisfied before you do so, that he is on an equality with you; and in presenting the note state to the party the relationship you stand towards him, and what you know and believe about him; for strangers are entitled to redress for wrongs, as well as others, and the rules of honor and hospitality should protect him. chapter ii. the party receiving a note before challenge. 1. when a note is presented to you by an equal, receive it, and read it, although you may suppose it to be from one you do not intend to meet, because its requisites may be of a character which may readily be complied with. but if the requirements of a note cannot be acceded to, return it, through the medium of your friend, to the person who handed it to you, with your reason for returning it. 2. if the note received be in abusive terms, object to its reception, and return it for that reason; but if it be respectful, return an answer of the same character, in which respond correctly and openly to all interrogatories fairly propounded, and hand it to your friend, who, it is presumed, you have consulted, and who has advised the answer; direct it to the opposite party, and let it be delivered to his friend. 3. you may refuse to receive a note, from a minor, (if you have not made an associate of him); one that has been posted; one that has been publicly disgraced without resenting it; one whose occupation is unlawful; a man in his dotage and a lunatic. there may be other cases, but the character of those enumerated will lead to a correct decision upon those omitted. if you receive a note from a stranger, you have a right to a reasonable time to ascertain his standing in society, unless he is fully vouched for by his friend. 4. if a party delays calling on you for a week or more, after the supposed insult, and assigns no cause for the delay, if you require it, you may double the time before you respond to him; for the wrong cannot be considered aggravated; if borne patiently for some days, and the time may have been used in preparation and practice. second's duty of the party receiving a note before challenge sent. 1. when consulted by your friend, who has received a note requiring explanation, inform him distinctly that he must be governed wholly by you in the progress of the dispute. if he refuses, decline to act on that ground. 2. use your utmost efforts to allay all excitement which your principal may labor under; search diligently into the origin of the misunderstanding; for gentlemen seldom insult each other, unless they labor under some misapprehension or mistake; and when you have discovered the original ground or error, follow each movement to the time of sending the note, and harmony will be restored. 3. when your principal refuses to do what you require of hi, decline further acting on that ground, and inform the opposing second of your withdrawal from the negotiation. chapter iii. duty of challenger and his second before fighting. 1. after all efforts for a reconciliation are over, the party aggrieved sends a challenge to his adversary, which is delivered to his second. 2. upon the acceptance of the challenge, the seconds make the necessary arrangements for the meeting, in which each party is entitled to a perfect equality. the old notion that the party challenged, was authorized to name the time, place, distance and weapon, has been long since exploded; nor would a man of chivalric honor use such a right, if he possessed it. the time must e as soon as practicable, the place such as had ordinarily been used where the parties are, the distance usual, and the weapons that which is most generally used, which, in this state, is the pistol. 3. if the challengee insist upon what is not usual in time, place, distance and weapon, do not yield the point, and tender in writing what is usual in each, and if he refuses to give satisfaction, then your friend may post him. 4. if your friend be determined to fight and not post, you have the right to withdraw. but if you continue to act, and have the right to tender a still more deadly distance and weapon, and he must accept. 5. the usual distance is from ten to twenty paces, as may be agreed on; and the seconds in measuring the ground, usually step three feet. 6. after all the arrangements are made, the seconds determine the giving of the word and position, by lot; and he who gains has the choice of the one or the other, selects whether it be the word or the position, but he cannot have both. chapter iv. duty of challengee and second after challenge sent. 1. the challengee has no option when negotiation has ceased, but to accept the challenge. 2. the second makes the necessary arrangements with the second of the person challenging. the arrangements are detailed in the preceding chapter. chapter v. duty of principals and seconds on the ground. 1. the principals are to be respectful in meeting, and neither by look or expression irritate each other. they are to be wholly passive, being entirely under the guidance of their seconds. 2. when once posted, they are not to quit their positions under any circumstances, without leave or direction of their seconds. 3. when the principals are posted, the second giving the word, must tell them to stand firm until he repeats the giving of the word, in the manner it will be given when the parties are at liberty to fire. 4. each second has a loaded pistol, in order to enforce a fair combat according to the rules agreed on; and if a principal fires before the word or time agreed on, he is at liberty to fire at him, and if such second's principal fall, it is his duty to do so. 5. if after a fire, either party be touched, the duel is to end; and no second is excusable who permits a wounded friend to fight; and no second who knows his duty, will permit his friend to fight a man already hit. i am aware there have been many instances where a contest has continued, not only after slight, but severe wounds, had been received. in all such cases, i think the seconds are blamable. 6. if after an exchange of shots, neither party be hit, it is the duty of the second of the challengee, to approach the second of the challenger and say: "our friends have exchanged shots, are you satisfied, or is there any cause why the contest should be continued?" if the meeting be of no serious cause of complaint, where the party complaining had in no way been deeply injured, or grossly insulted, the second of the party challenging should reply: "the point of honor being settled, there can, i conceive, be no objection to a reconciliation, and i propose that our principals meet on middle ground, shake hands, and be friends." if this be acceded to by the second of the challengee, the second of the party challenging, says: "we have agreed that the present duel shall cease, the honor of each of you is preserved, and you will meet on middle ground, shake hands and be reconciled." 7. if the insult be of a serious character, it will be the duty of the second of the challenger, to say, in reply to the second of the challengee: "we have been deeply wronged, and if you are not disposed to repair the injury, the contest must continue." and if the challengee offers nothing by way of reparation, the fight continues until one or the other of the principals is hit. 8. if in cases where the contest is ended by the seconds, as mentioned in the sixth rule of this chapter, the parties refuse to meet and be reconciled, it is the duty of the seconds to withdraw from the field, informing their principals, that the contest must be continued under the superintendence of other friends. but if one agrees to this arrangement of the seconds, and the other does not, the second of the disagreeing principal only withdraws. 9. if either principal on the ground refuses to fight or continue the fight when required, it is the duty of his second to say to the other second: "i have come upon the ground with a coward, and do tender you my apology for an ignorance of his character; you are at liberty to post him." the second, by such conduct, stands excused to the opposite party. 10. when the duel is ended by a party being hit, it is the duty of the second to the party so hit, to announce the fact to the second of the party hitting, who will forthwith tender any assistance he can command to the disabled principal. if the party challenging, hit the challengee, it is his duty to say he is satisfied, and will leave the ground. if the challenger be hit, upon the challengee being informed of it, he should ask through his second, whether he is at liberty to leave the ground which should be assented to. chapter vi. who should be on the ground. 1. the principals, seconds, one surgeon and one assistant surgeon to each principal; but the assistant surgeon may be dispensed with. 2. any number of friends that the seconds agree on, may be present, provided they do not come within the degrees of consanguinity mentioned in the seventh rule of chapter i. 3. persons admitted on the ground, are carefully to abstain by word or behavior, from any act that might be the least exceptionable; nor should they stand near the principals or seconds, or hold conversations with them. chapter vii. arms, and manner of loading and presenting them. 1. the arms used should be smooth-bore pistols, not exceeding nine inches in length, with flint and steel. percussion pistols may be mutually used if agreed on, but to object on that account is lawful. 2. each second informs the other when he is about to load, and invites his presence, but the seconds rarely attend on such invitation, as gentlemen may be safely trusted in the matter. 3. the second, in presenting the pistol to his friend, should never put it in his pistol hand, but should place it in the other, which is grasped midway the barrel, with muzzle pointing in the contrary way to that which he is to fire, informing him that his pistol is loaded and ready for use. before the word is given, the principal grasps the butt firmly in his pistol hand, and brings it round, with the muzzle downward, to the fighting position. 4. the fighting position, is with the muzzle down and the barrel from you; for although it may be agreed that you may hold your pistol with the muzzle up, it may be objected to, as you can fire sooner from that position, and consequently have a decided advantage, which ought not to be claimed, and should not be granted. chapter viii. the degrees of insult, and how compromised 1. the prevailing rule is, that words used in retort, although more violent and disrespectful than those first used, will not satisfy,--words being no satisfaction for words. 2. when words are used, and a blow given in return, the insult is avenged; and if redress be sought, it must be from the person receiving the blow. 3. when blows are given in the first instance and not returned, and the person first striking, be badly beaten or otherwise, the party first struck is to make the demand, for blows do not satisfy a blow. 4. insults at a wine table, when the company are over-excited, must be answered for; and if the party insulting have no recollection of the insult, it is his duty to say so in writing, and negative the insult. for instance, if the man say: "you are a liar and no gentleman," he must, in addition to the plea of the want of recollection, say: "i believe the party insulted to be a man of the strictest veracity and a gentleman." 5. intoxication is not a full excuse for insult, but it will greatly palliate. if it was a full excuse, it might be well counterfeited to wound feelings, or destroy character. 6. in all cases of intoxication, the seconds must use a sound discretion under the above general rules. 7. can every insult be compromised? is a mooted and vexed question. on this subject, no rules can be given that will be satisfactory. the old opinion, that a blow must require blood, is not of force. blows may be compromised in many cases. what those are, much depend on the seconds. appendix. since the above code was in press, a friend has favored me with the irish code of honor, which i had never seen; and it is published as an appendix to it. one thing must be apparent to every reader, viz., the marked amelioration of the rules that govern in duelling at the present time. i am unable to say what code exists now in ireland, but i very much doubt whether it be of the same character which it bore in 1777. the american quarterly review for september, 1824, in a notice of sir jonah barrington's history of his own times, has published this code; and followed it up with some remarks, which i have thought proper to insert also. the grave reviewer has spoken of certain states in terms so unlike a gentleman, that i would advise him to look at home, and say whether he does not think that the manners of his own countrymen, do not require great amendment? i am very sure, that the citizens of the states so disrespectfully spoken of, would feel a deep humiliation, to be compelled to exchange their urbanity of deportment, for the uncouth incivility of the people of massachusetts. look at their public journals, and you will find them, very generally, teeming with abuse of private character, which would not be countenanced here. the idea of new england becoming a school for manners, is about as fanciful as bolinbroke's "idea of a patriot king." i like their fortiter in re, but utterly eschew their suaviter in modo. "the practice of duelling and points of honor settled at clonmell summer assizes, 1777, by the gentleman delegates of tipperary, galway, mayo, sligo and roscommon, and prescribed for general adoption throughout ireland. "rule 1.--the first offence requires the apology, although the retort may have been more offensive than the insult.--example: a. tells b. he is impertinent, &c.; b. retorts, that he lies; yet a. must make the first apology, because he gave the first offence, and then, (after one fire,) b. may explain away the retort by subsequent apology. "rule 2.--but if the parties would rather fight on: then, after two shots each, (but in no case before,) b. may explain first, and a. apologize afterward. "rule 3.--if a doubt exist who gave the first offence, the decision rests with the seconds; if they won't decide or can't agree, the matter must proceed to two shots, or a hit, if the challenger requires it. "rule 4.--when the lie direct is the first offence, the aggressor must either beg pardon in express terms; exchange tow shots previous to apology; or three shots followed up by explanation; or fire on till a severe hit be received by one party or the other. "rule 5.--as a blow is strictly prohibited under any circumstances among gentlemen, no verbal apology can be received for such an insult; the alternatives therefore are: the offender handing a can to the injured party, to be used on his own back, at the same time begging pardon; firing on until one or both is disabled; or exchanging three shots, and then asking pardon without the proffer of the cane. "if swords are used, the parties engage till one is well-blooded, disabled or disarmed; or until, after receiving a wound, and blood being drawn, the aggressor begs pardon. "n.b. a disarm is considered the same as a disable; the disarmer may (strictly) break his adversary's sword; but if it be the challenger who is disarmed, it is considered ungenerous to do so. "in case the challenged be disarmed and refuses to ask pardon or atone, he must not be killed as formerly; but the challenger may lay his sword on the aggressor's shoulder, than break the aggressor's sword, and say, 'i spare your life!' the challenged can never revive the quarrel, the challenger may. "rule 6.--if a. give b. the lie, and b. retorts by a blow, (being the two greatest offences,) no reconciliation can take place till after two discharges each, or a severe hit; after which, b. may beg a.'s pardon for the blow, and then a. may explain simply for the lie; because a blow is never allowable, and the offence of the lie therefore merges in it. (see preceding rule.) "n.b. challenges for individual causes, may be reconciled on the ground, after one shot. an explanation, or the slightest hit should be sufficient in such cases, because no personal offence transpired. "rule 7.--but no apology can be received, in any case, after the parties have actually taken their ground, without exchange of fires. "rule 8.--in the above case, no challenger is obliged to divulge the cause of his challenge, (if private,) unless required by the challenged to do so before their meeting. "rule 9.--all imputations of cheating at play, races, &c, to be considered equivalent to a blow; but may be reconciled after one shot, on admitting their falsehood, and begging pardon publicly. "rule 10.--any insult to a lady under a gentleman's care or protection, to be considered as, by one degree, a greater offence than if given to the gentleman personally, and to be regulated accordingly. "rule 11.--offences originating or accruing from the support of a lady's reputation, to be considered as less unjustifiable than any other of the same class, and as admitting of lighter apologies by the aggressor; this to be determined by the circumstances of the case, but always favorably to the lady. "rule 12.--in simple unpremeditated rencontres with the small sword or couteau-de-chasse, the rule is, first draw, first sheathe; unless blood be drawn: then both sheathe, and proceed to investigation. "rule 13.--no dumb-shooting, or firing in the air, admissible in any case. the challenger ought not to have challenged without receiving offence; and the challenged ought, if he gave offence, to have made an apology before he came on the ground: therefore, children's play must be dishonorable on one side or the other, and is accordingly prohibited. "rule 14.--seconds to be of equal rank in society with the principals they attend, inasmuch as a second may choose or chance to become a principal, and equality is indispensable. "rule 15.--challenges are never to be delivered at night, unless the party to be challenged intend leaving the place of offence before morning; for it is desirable to avoid all hot-headed proceedings. "rule 16.--the challenged has the right to choose his own weapon, unless the challenger gives his honor he is no swordsman; after which, however, he cannot decline any second species of weapon proposed by the challenged. "rule 17.--the challenged chooses his ground; the challenger chooses his distance; the seconds fix the time and terms of firing. "rule 18.--the seconds load in presence of each other, unless they give their mutual honors that they have charged smooth and single, which should be held sufficient. "rule 19.--firing may be regulated, first by signal; secondly, by word of command; or, thirdly, at pleasure, as may be agreeable to the parties. in the latter case, the parties may fire at their reasonable leisure, but second presents and rests are strictly prohibited. "rule 20.--in all cases a miss-fire is equivalent to a shot, and a snap or a non-cock is to be considered as a miss-fire. "rule 21.--seconds are bound to attempt a reconciliation before the meeting takes place, or after sufficient firing or hits, as specified. "rule 22.--any wound sufficient to agitate the nerves and necessarily make the hands shake, must end the business for that day. "rule 23.--if the cause of meeting be of such a nature that no apology or explanation can or will be received, the challenged takes his ground, and calls on the challenger to proceed as he chooses: in such cases firing at pleasure is the usual practice, but may be varied by agreement. "rule 24.--in slight cases, the second hands his principal but one pistol; but in gross cases, two, holding another case ready charged in reserve. "rule 25.--when seconds disagree, and resolve to exchange shots themselves, it must be at the same time and at right angles with their principals. "if with swords, side by side, at five paces interval. "n.b. all matters and doubts not herein mentioned, will be explained and cleared up by application to the committee, who meet alternately at clonmell and galway, at their quarter sessions, for the purpose. "crow ryan, president." "james keog, "amby bodkin, secretaries." additional galway articles "rule 1.--no party can be allowed to bend his knee or cover his side with his left hand; but may present at any level from the hip to the eye. "rule 2.--one can neither advance nor retreat, if the ground be measured. if the ground be unmeasured, either party may advance at pleasure, even to touch muzzle; but neither can advance on his adversary after the fire, unless his adversary step forward on him. "the seconds stand responsible for this last rule being strictly observed; bad cases have accrued from neglecting it." this precise and enlightened digest was rendered necessary by the multitude of quarrels that arouse without "sufficient dignified provocation:" the point of honor men required a uniform government; and the code thus formed was disseminated throughout the island, with directions that it should be strictly observed by all gentlemen, and kept in their pistol cases. the rules, with some others, were commonly styled "the thirty-six commandments," and, according to the author, have been much acted upon down to the present day. tipperary and galway were the chief schools of duelling. we remember to have heard, in travelling to the town of the former name in a stage coach, a dispute between two irish companions, on the point, which was the most gentlemanly country in all ireland--tipperary or galway? and both laid great stress upon the relative duelling merits of those counties. by the same criterion, tennessee, kentucky, georgia and south carolina, would bear away the palm of gentility among the states of the union. thy rocks and rills by robert ernest gilbert illustrated by tom beecham [transcriber note: this etext was produced from if worlds of science fiction september 1953. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [sidenote: _they were out of place in the manly age--stonecypher, a man who loved animals; moe, a bull who hated men. together, they marched to inevitably similar destinies...._] prelude m. stonecypher lifted his reed sun hat with the square brim, and used a red handkerchief to absorb the perspiration streaking his forehead. he said, "the pup'll make a good guard, 'especially for thrill parties." l. dan's golden curls flickered in july 1 sunlight. the puppy growled when dan extended a gloved hand. "i don't want a guard," the hobbyist said. "i want him for a dogfight." a startling bellow rattled the windows of the dog house and spilled in deafening waves across the yard. dan whirled, clutching his staff. light glinted on his plastic cuirass and danced on his red nylon tights. his flabby face turned white. "what--" he panted. stonecypher concealed a smile behind a long corded hand and said, "just the bull. serenades us sometimes." dan circled the dog house. stonecypher followed with a forefinger pressed to thin lips. in the paddock, the bull's head moved up and down. it might or might not have been a nod. the crest of long red and blue-black hairs on the bull's neck and shoulders created an illusion of purple, but the rest of the animal matched the black of a duelmaster's tam. behind large eyes encircled by a white band, his skull bulged in a swelling dome, making the distance between his short horns seem much too great. "he's purple!" dan gasped. "why in the government don't you put him in the ring?" stonecypher gestured toward the choppy surface of kings lake, nine hundred feet below. he said, "coincidence. i make out the ringmaster's barge just leavin' highland pier." "you're selling him?" "yeah. if they take 'im. i'd like to see 'im in the ring on dependence day." glancing at the watch embedded in the left pectoral of his half-armor, dan said, "that would be a show! i'll take the dog and fly. i've a duel in highland park at 11:46." "the pup's not for sale." "not for sale!" dan yelled. "you told--" "thought you wanted a guard. i don't sell for dogfights." a sound like "goood!" came from the paddocked bull. dan opened his mouth wide. whatever he intended to say died without vocalization, for catriona came driving the mule team up through the apple orchard. the almost identical mules had sorrel noses, gray necks, buckskin flanks, and black and white pinto backs and haunches. "great government!" dan swore. "this place is worse than a museum!" "appaloosa mules," stonecypher said. catriona jumped from the seat of the mowing machine. dan stared. compared to the standard woman of the manly age who, by dieting, posturing, and exercise from childhood, transformed herself into a small, thin, dominated creature, catriona constituted a separate species. she was taller than dan, slightly plump, and her hair could have been classed as either red or blonde. green overalls became her better than they did stonecypher. with no trace of a smile on face or in voice, stonecypher said, "l. dan, meet catriona." * * * * * like a hypnopath's victim, dan walked to catriona. he looked up at her and whispered, but too loudly. stonecypher heard. his hands clamped on the hobbyist's neck and jerked. dan smashed in the grass with sufficient force to loosen the snaps of his armor. he rolled to his feet and swung his staff. stonecypher's left hand snatched the staff. his right fist collided with dan's square jaw. glaring down at the hobbyist, stonecypher gripped the staff and rotated thick wrists outward. the tough plastic popped when it broke. scuttling backward, dan regained his feet. "you inhuman brute!" he growled. "i intended to pay for her!" "my wife's not for sale either," stonecypher said. "you know how to fly." dan thrust out a coated tongue and made a noise with it. in a memorized singsong, he declared, "i challenge you to a duel, in accordance with the laws of the government, to be fought in the nearest duelpen at the earliest possible hour." "stony, don't!" catriona protested. "he's not wo'th it!" stonecypher smiled at her. "have to follow the law," he said. he extended his tongue, blurted, and announced, "as required by the government, i accept your challenge." "we'll record it!" dan snapped. he stalked toward the green and gold butterflier parked in a field of seedling sudan grass. horns rattled on the concrete rails of the paddock. "burstaard!" the bull bellowed. dan shied and trampled young grass under sandaled feet. his loosened cuirass clattered rhythmically. raising the canopy of the butterflier, he slid out the radioak and started typing. stonecypher and catriona approached the hobbyist. catriona said, "this is cowa'dly! stony nevah fought a duel in his life. he won't have a chance!" "you'll see me soon then, woman. where'd you get all that equipment? you look like something in a circus." "ah used to be in a cahnival," catriona said. she kept stonecypher in place with a plump arm across his chest. "that's wheah you belong," she told dan. "that's all you'ah good fo'." "watch how you address a man, woman," dan snarled, "or you'll end in the duelpen, too." stonecypher snatched the sheet from the typer. the request read: duelmaster r. smith, watauga duelpen, highland park, tennessee. l. dan challenges m. stonecypher. cause: interference with basic amatory rights. july 1. 11:21 amest. stonecypher said, "the cause is a lie. you got no rights with catriona. why didn't you tell 'em it's because i knocked you ears-over-endways, and you're scared to fight without a gun?" dan shoved the request into the slot and pulled the switch. "i'll kill you," he promised. while the request was transmitted by radiophotography, minutes passed, bare of further insults. catriona and stonecypher stood near the concrete fence enclosing the rolling top of bays mountain. interminable labor had converted 650 acres of the top to arable land. below the couple, the steep side of the mountain, denuded of timber, dangerously eroded, and scarred by limestone quarries, fell to the ragged shore of kings lake. two miles of water agitated by many boats separated the shore and the peninsula, which resembled a wrinkled dragon with underslung lower jaw distended. the town of highland park clung to the jutting land, and the highland bullring appeared as a white dot more than four miles from where catriona and stonecypher stood. the ringmaster's barge was a red rectangle skirting russel chapel island. dan pulled the answer from the buzzing radioak. he walked over and held the radiophoto an inch from stonecypher's long nose. it read: request ok. time: july 4. 3:47 pmest. two attached permits granted each duelist the privilege of carrying one handgun with a capacity of not more than ten cartridges of not less than .32 caliber. below the permits appeared an additional message: l. dan due at watauga duelpen. 11:46 amest. for duel with j. george. "government and taxes!" dan cursed. throwing stonecypher's permit, he leaped into the green and gold butterflier and slammed the canopy. the four wings of the semi-ornithopter blurred with motion, lifting the craft into the sky. the forward wings locked with negative dihedral, the rear wings angled to form a ruddevator, and the five-bladed propeller whined, driving the butterflier in a shallow dive for the peninsula. * * * * * catriona said, "ah hope he's late, and they shoot him. ah knew you'd finally have to fight, but--" "you keep out of it next time," said stonecypher. "i happen to know that feller's killed two women in the pen. he don't care for nothin'. oughta known better than to let him come here. he made out like he wanted a guard dog, and i thought--" "nevah mind, stony. ah've got to help you. you nevah even fiahed a gun." "later, cat. the ringmaster may want to stay for dinner. i'll look after the mules." catriona touched stonecypher's cheek and went to the house. stonecypher unharnessed the appaloosa mules. while they rolled, he took, from an empty hay rack, a rubber-tipped spear and a tattered cloth dummy. the dummy's single arm terminated in a red flag. stonecypher concealed spear and dummy beneath the floor of the dog house. going to the paddock, he patted the bull between the horns, which had been filed to a needle point. "still goin' through with it?" stonecypher asked. "yaaaa," the bull lowed. "yaooo kuhl daan. err'll kuhl uhhh kuhlerrs." "all right, moe. i'll kill dan, and you kill the killers." stonecypher stroked the massive hemisphere of the bull's jaw. "goodbye, moe." "gooodba," the bull echoed. he lowered his nose to the shelled corn seasoned with molasses, the rolled oats, and the ground barley in the trough. stonecypher walked down the road to the staircase of stone that dammed the old kingsport reservoir, abandoned long before kings lake covered the city. a red electric truck crawled up the steep road hewn from the slope of the gap formed by dolan branch. when the truck had crossed the bridge below the buttressed dam, stonecypher spoke to the fat and sweltering man seated beside the driver. "i'm m. stonecypher. proud for you to visit my farm. dinner's ready up at the house." "no, no time," smiled the fat man, displaying stainless steel teeth. "only time to see the bull. i thought we weren't going to make that grade! why don't those scientists develop synthetic elements, so that we can have atomic power again? this radio-electric is so unreliable! i am ringmaster a. oswell, naturally. this heat is excruciating! i had hoped it would be cooler up here, but something seems to have happened to our inland-oceanic climate this summer. lead us to the bull, stonecypher!" clinging to the slatted truck bed, stonecypher directed the stoic driver to the paddock. the electric motor rattled and stopped, and ringmaster oswell wheezed and squirmed from the cab. the ringmaster wore a vaguely arabic costume, in all variations of red. the bull lumbered bellowing around the fence. his horns raked white gashes in the beech tree forming one corner. he tossed the feed trough to splintering destruction. "magnificent!" oswell gasped. then the ringmaster frowned. "but he looks almost purple. his horns are rather short." "stay back from the fence!" stonecypher warned. "he's real wide between the horns, ringmaster. i reckon the spread'll match up to standard. same stock my grandfather used to sell boon bullring before the water. wouldn't sell 'im, only the tenants are scared to come about the house." oswell fingered his balloon neck and mumbled, "but he's odd. that long hair on his neck ... i don't know...." the bull's horns lifted the mineral feeder from the center of the paddock. the box rotated over the rails and crashed in a cloud of floured oyster shells and phosphate salt at the ringmaster's feet. oswell took cover behind the truck driver, who said, "fergus'd like him. jeeze! remember dat brown and white spotted one he kilt last year on forrest day? da crowd like ta never stopt yelling!" ringmaster oswell retreated farther, as, under the bull's onslaught, a piece of concrete broke from the top rail, exposing the reinforcing rod within. "fergus does like strange ones," he admitted. stonecypher said, "don't let the mane bother you. there's one of these long-haired scotch cows in his ancestors. he's not really purple. just the way the light hits 'im." oswell chewed lacquered fingernails with steel dentures. his bloodshot eyes studied the spotted and speckled appaloosa mules chasing around the pasture, but the sight failed to register on his brain. "the crowd likes a good show on dependence day," he proclaimed. "i considered trying a fat aberdeen angus with artificial horns for laughs, but this may do as well. i must find some shade! i'll take him, stonecypher, if fifteen hundred in gold is agreeable." "sold," stonecypher said. the word cracked in the middle. while the ringmaster, muttering about trying bulldogs sometime, retired to the narrow shadow of the dog house, the driver backed the truck to the ramp. stonecypher opened the gate and waved his handkerchief. the bull charged into the truck, and the driver locked the heavy doors. from within his red burnoose, oswell produced a clinking bag. "fifteen hundred," he said. from other recesses, he withdrew documents, notebooks, and a pencil. he said, "here is a pass for you and one for any woman-subject you may wish to bring. you'll want to see your first bull on dependence day! and here is the standard release absolving you of any damage the bull may do. oh, yes! his name and number?" "number?" "yes, his brand." "not branded. make it number 1. name's moe." oswell chuckled. "moe. very good! most breeders name them things like chainlightning and thunderbird. your ge number?" "i'm not a government employee." "you're not?" oswell wheezed. "how unusual! your colors? he'll wear your colors in his shoulder." "yeah. black." "black?" "dead black." oswell, scribbling, managed a faint smile. "sorry i can't accept that invitation to lunch." he struggled into the truck. "hope this bull is brave in the ring. nice antique old place you have here! i don't see a feed tower, but you surely don't use pasture--" the ringmaster's babble passed down the road with the truck. stonecypher watched the vehicle descend the dangerous grade. he lifted his square hat from his black hair, dropped it on the ground, and crushed the reeds under a booted foot. the temporary house, a squat cubical structure, stood at the end of a spruce-lined path beside the ruin that a thrill party had made of the century-old farm house. the plastic screen squeaked when stonecypher opened it. he stood on the white floor of the robot kitchen and dug a fifty dollar gold piece from the bag oswell had given him. glaring at the head of the woman with liberty inscribed on her crown, he muttered, "thirty pieces of gold." catriona called, "oswell's lucky he couldn't stay foah dinnah! ah had the potassium cyanide all ready." stonecypher passed through the diner door into a room containing more yellowed history books and agricultural pamphlets than eating utensils. catriona waited by the table. she held a large revolver in her right hand. intermezzo stonecypher stood on bay knob, near the ruins of the old fm transmitter station, looking down at the tennessee lakes. catriona sat behind him and held the revolver on her thigh. stonecypher said, "i never see it but i wonder how it looked before the water." before him, north fork, an arm of kings lake, twisted across the virginia line four and one-half miles away, while to stonecypher's right, boone lake sparkled like a gigantic, badly drawn v. he did not look toward surgoinsville dam securing kings lake far to the west. the tennessee lakes were born in 1918 when wilson dam spanned the tennessee river at muscle shoals, alabama; but their growth was retarded for fifteen years, until an act of congress injected them with vitamins. then the mile-long bastions of concrete crawled between the ridges. norris, wheeler, pickwick landing, guntersville, watts bar, kentucky, cherokee, fort henry, boone, sevier, surgoinsville--almost innumerable dams blocked the rivers. the rivers stopped and overflowed. the creeks swelled into rivers. congressional committees investigated, the supreme court tested the dams against the constitution, ethnologists and archeologists hastily checked for indian relics; and the dams, infused with youthful vigor, matured. beginning with norris, which backed up the clinch and powell rivers to inundate 25,000 acres and displace 3,000 families, the dams expanded mighty aquatic muscles. the tennessee, the little tennessee, the nolichucky, the holston, the french broad, the watauga, the hiwassee, the little pigeon--all the rivers spread their waters into lengthy, ragged lakes, changing the map of tennessee more than any natural cataclysm, such as the great earthquake of 1811, had ever done. the lakes provided jobs, electric power, flood control, soil conservation, a fisherman's paradise, milder winters, cooler summers, and they covered all the really good farming land in the eastern part of the state. catriona loaded the revolver. it was an obsolete .357 magnum with a 6-1/2 inch barrel, and the cartridge cases of the metal-piercing bullets had a greenish sheen. "now, put it in the holstah, and be ca'eful," catriona said. stonecypher wore the holster, a leather silhouette studded with two spring clips opening forward, on a belt and secured to his leg by a thong. gingerly, he took the revolver and slipped it under the clips. "i've kept outa duels all my life," he said, "but, so long as it's for you, i don't much mind." "ah'll mind if he kills you. you do like i tell you, and you can beat him. why, mah best act in the how-to cahnival was how to win a duel. cou'se, they didn't know ah was really drawin' befoah the buzzah sounded. why, ah used to set two plates ten yahds apaht, draw two revolvahs, and shoot both plates, all in foah-tenths of a second!" stonecypher grinned. "sorry i missed that carnival first time it came through here. i coulda seen you in that costume they poured on you, three years earlier." "nevah mind the veiled compliments. now, try it!" stonecypher faced the target, a sheet of plastiboard roughly sawed to the shape of a man, and backed by a heap of earth removed from the new, as yet dry, pond in which they stood. catriona pressed a small buzzer concealed in her palm. stonecypher's big hand closed on the revolver butt, pushing the weapon up and forward. the sound of the shot rattled away over the mountain top. "that's good!" catriona cried, consulting the sonic timer. "one and two-tenths seconds from buzzah to shot!" "but i missed," stonecypher protested. "look bad on tevee." "you'll hit him. watch the recoil next time." stonecypher drew and fired a second wild shot. he snorted, "confound westerns, anyhow!" "weste'ns?" "sure. that's where this duelin' started. used to, almost ever' movie or tevee was called a western. sort of a fantasy, because they were just slightly based on real history. they generally showed a feller in a flowered shirt, ridin' a tennessee walking horse, and shootin' a gun. ever'body in these westerns had a gun, and they all shot at each other. "the youngin's were hep on 'em, so they all wore toy guns, and a whole generation grew up on westerns. when they got big, they carried real guns. i've heard my great-uncle tell about it, how before the government built duel-pens and passed laws, you couldn't hardly cross the lakes without runnin' into a bunch of fools on water skis shootin' at each other." "you leave the histo'y books alone foah awhile," catriona commanded, "and practice. the tenants and ah'll tend to the wo'k. try it loaded and empty. hook this little buzzah to the timeah, and practice. ah've got to go see the chickens." "'bye, teacher." stonecypher dropped the buzzer in his pocket and watched her vanish into the grove. he fired the remaining shots, nicking the target once. with the revolver holstered, he followed the path to the summer pasture. * * * * * belly-deep in red clover, twenty-four cows, twenty-four calves, and twenty-four yearlings grazed or played in the shady field. stonecypher cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "smart-calves! smart-calves to school!" the entire herd turned sorrowful eyes on him. seven of the calves and four of the yearlings trotted to the gate, which stonecypher held open, and jostled out of the pasture. as the calves began to lie down under the trees, a white heifer-calf nuzzled stonecypher's hand and bawled, "paaapy gyoing a fyightt?" "yeah, he's goin' to fight," stonecypher answered. "your pappy's gone to the bullring. he suggested it, and made the choice himself. he's got real courage. you oughta all be proud of him." the calves bawled their pride. including those remaining in the pasture, they presented a colorful variety of spots, specks, splotches, browns, reds, blacks, and even occasional blue and greenish tinges. stonecypher sat facing them from a stump. he said, "i'm sorta late for the lesson, today, so we'll get on with it. some of this will be repetition for you yearlings, but it won't hurt. if you get too bored, there's corn and cottonseed meal in the trough, only be quiet about it. "now. to look at you all, nobody would think you're the same breed of cattle; but you, and your mammys, and moe are the only atohmy cattle on earth. it's usually hard to say exactly when a breed started; but you all started a long, long time ago, on july 16, 1945, near alamogordo, new mexico, when they exploded the first atomic bomb." at mention of atomic bomb, who had succeeded the bogger man as a means of frightening children, one of the younger calves bawled. her polled, brindled mother ran in ungainly fashion to the fence and mooed with great carrying power. "all right!" stonecypher yelled. the cow closed her big mouth, but stayed by the gate. "can't go by what you hear the tenants tell their kids," stonecypher cautioned the calf. "atomic bomb is as dead as the tank and the battleship. "now, like i was sayin', the scientists put atomic bomb on a hundred foot tower and blowed him up. there was a flash of fire, and an awful racket, and the blast raised up a lot of dirt and dust from the ground. all this dust achurnin' around in the cloud bumped into little bits of metal and stuff that was highly radioactive. that means, the basic atoms of matter had been thrown out of kilter, sorta deranged. the protons and electrons in an atom oughta be about equal for it to be stable, but these were shootin' off electrons, or beta particles, and givin' off something like powerful x-rays, called gamma rays, and things like that. "anyhow, this radiation affected all the sand and bits of rock and dirt in that bomb cloud. this radiation is dangerous. some of it will go right through several inches of lead. enough'll kill you. your ancestors were ten miles or so from where atomic bomb went off. "they were just plain whiteface cattle. they weren't supposed to be there, but i reckon none of the scientists bothered to warn 'em. the dust started settlin' all over your ancestors. in about a week, there were sores and blisters on their backs. the red hair dropped off. when it grew back, it was gray. "the scientists got real excited when they heard about it, 'cause they wanted to see how horrible they could make atomic bomb. so, they shipped fifty-nine cattle up to oak ridge. that was a government town, a hundred miles southwest of here, where they made some of the stuff to put in atomic bomb. the university of tennessee was runnin' an experimental farm there. they had donkeys, and pigs, and chickens, and other animals that they exposed to radioactivity. then they killed 'em and cut 'em up to see what had happened. i know it's gruesome, but that's how it was. "the awful fact is, the scientists slaughtered more than half that original atohmy herd for experiments. some of the rest, they--uh--married. wanted to see if the calves had two heads, or something; if radioactivity had speeded up the mutation rate. "back then, they didn't understand much about mutation. some claimed a little radioactivity would cause it, some said a whole lot, and some said it wouldn't hurt a bit." "whaa mootyaaonn?" asked the calf which was not yet assured of the extinction of atomic bomb. "well, you-all are all mutations. i've told you how life starts from one cell. this cell has thread-like things in it called chromosomes, and the chromosomes are made up of things called genes. mutations, sort of unexpected changes, can take place in either the chromosomes or the genes. you see, when this one cell starts dividing, every gene makes a copy of itself; but, sometimes, the copy is a little different from the original. lots of things, like x-rays and ultraviolet rays, heat, chemicals, disease, can cause this. radioactivity had caused mutation in some experiment, so the scientists were anxious to see what happened with these cattle. "genes determine the way an animal develops. two mutant genes can start reactions that end up as a man with one leg, or maybe as a bull with the intelligence of an eight-year-old man. lots of mutations are recessive. they may be carried along for generations. but, when two like mutant genes come together in reproduction, the animal is bound to be something different, the way you eleven calves are. "now. the scientists watched the atohmy cattle for fifteen or twenty years, and nothin' much happened. they started sayin' radioactivity wasn't dangerous, and a man could walk into a place right after atomic bomb went off, and it wouldn't matter. they should be here to see the mess in japan today. all the time, though, i think the cattle were changing. it may have been in little things like the length of hair, or the shape of an eyeball, or the curve of a horn, so the scientists couldn't tell without they made exact measurements all the time. "then, a bull-calf was born. he had shaggy black hair, and his horns grew in a spiral like a ram's. some scientists said, 'i told you so! it speeded the mutation rate!' "others said, 'he's a natural mutation, or else, a throw-back to prehistoric wild cattle. it happens in every breed. atomic bomb had nothing to do with it.' "they married the bull, and then they fixed to slaughter 'im to see what his insides was like. the bull fooled 'em, though. he came down with contagious pleuro-pneumonia, the first case in years, 'cause it was supposed to have been wiped out in this country away back in the nineteenth century. they had to cremate the bull for fear the disease would spread. ever' one of the calves were normal whitefaces. "finally, the nineteen atohmy cattle that were left were put up for sale. my great-grandfather, cary mcpheeter, bought 'em and shipped 'em here to bays mountain. he's the man started this farm where there was nothin' but rattlesnakes, and trees, and rocks." "whyy theyea selll um?" a red roan calf interrupted. "well, they sold 'em 'cause oak ridge had been condemned. that was several years after the german civil war. it was peace time, for a change, and folks were sick of atomic bomb. anyhow, new, modern plants for makin' the stuff had been built in secret places a lot easier to defend. the women were cryin' for more automatic kitchens, so the bureau of interior hydro-electric power (that's the name federal power, inc., went by then) put another dam across the clinch river below norris. bush lake covered up oak ridge. "there wasn't much mutation, except for color, in you atohmy cattle, till seven years ago when your pappy, moe, was born. i remember--" a hoarse excited voice shouted from a distance. "thrill party!" it cried. "thrill party!" * * * * * stonecypher leaped off the stump, stamped his right foot to restore circulation, and yelled on the run, "that's all today! stay under the trees!" he loped along the pasture fence and across the makeshift target range. two tenants, teddy and will, stood on the dirt heap with pitchforks in their hands. over bay knob, an old model 14 butterflier hovered on vibrating wings. sloppy white letters on the sides of the aircraft spelled such slang expressions as, "flash the magnets," "supercolossalsonic flap ship," and "redheads amble other canop." an impossible number of middleschool-age boys bulged from the cabin windows. methodically, they dumped trash and garbage over the transmitter station ruins. the butterflier wheeled and flapped over the pasture. red clover bent and writhed in the artificial wind from the ornithopter wings. cows bawled and ran wild. calves fell over each other. stonecypher jumped the fence. he wrested the revolver from the holster. "clear out, or i'll shoot!" he howled. [illustration] voices spilled from the butterflier. "he got a handgun!" "dis ain't legal!" "whatcha say, tall, bones, and ugly?" stonecypher aimed the magnum at the shaven head in the pilot's seat. the boys looked faint. agitated air thundered as the butterflier lifted straight up two hundred feet and glided away in the direction of surgoinsville dam. teddy and will stood by with pitchforks unrelaxed. will spat a globule of tobacco juice. "the thangs these here psychologists git made law!" he sneered. "you want me to make out a thrill damage claim?" "no, will," stonecypher said, "just deduct it from taxes." teddy looked at the revolver and said, "ever'body oughta take guns to them crazy youngin's. reckon you'll git into trouble?" "no. it's an empty antique. that's legal. you guys did all right. let the calves back in, huh?" the tenants left by the gate, and, with a minimum of driving, urged the calves into the pasture. stonecypher watched the men pass through the grove. although the tenants undoubtedly recognized the peculiarities of the calves, they never mentioned them. since the late 1700's, through revolution, civil war, automobile, the department of internal revenue, the multiple bureaus that had controlled the lakes, the moon rocket, and the expedition to pluto, these people had remained suspiciously interested in strangers, suspicious of indoor plumbing, doubtful of the government, quick-tempered, and as immovable as chimney top. they had exchanged little except log and frame houses for concrete. the tenants, not really tenants, had been squatting on bays mountain when cary mcpheeter bought the farm; and there they stayed. stonecypher vaulted the fence. catriona, with hands firmly planted on hips, stood in the dry pond. stonecypher said, "if i just knew what these thrill parties think they're up to, it might help." catriona shook her head of red-yellow hair. "nevah mind them. ah told you to practice shootin', but the minute ah turn mah back, you run off and staht teachin' those calves! you've got to practice, stony! you've nevah done any shootin', and l. dan's killed ten people. ah--" "watch the tears, or you'll have red and green eyes," stonecypher said. clumsily, he ejected the shells and reloaded the revolver. he occupied two seconds in drawing and firing. the bullet struck dirt a yard to the left of the target. sonata a short vicious thunderstorm lashed bays mountain on the afternoon of july 3. as the storm passed, a blood-red butterflier, with a pusher propeller in the tail and a plastic bull head on the nose, descended in the young sudan grass. stonecypher dropped the saw--he had been clearing away a beech limb the storm left in the abandoned paddock--and strolled to greet ringmaster a. oswell. "stonecypher!" the ringmaster announced. "that storm almost caught us!" oswell's stainless steel teeth clacked, and the breezes trailing the thunderclouds ballooned his orange silk kimono. "i never liked these butterfliers. they're too slow, and that swooping motion! five hundred miles per hour may seem fast to a man your age; but in my day, back before petroleum was classified as armament, we had jets! real speed!" "come on up to the house, ringmaster," stonecypher invited. "i'll mix up some dextrose and citric acid." "no, no time," the fat man panted. "only time to see you about that bull you sold me. the storm took a limb of your beech tree! almost the only one left, i suppose. about that bull, stonecypher, you know i was a bit hesitant when i bought him, but my driver talked me into it. i'm so disappointed i had him drafted immediately!" "but, what--" stonecypher attempted to ask. "the young woman there in the butterflier is a much better driver and pilot," oswell babbled. "i wouldn't have believed it of a woman! she weighs a good ninety-eight pounds, too! that bull--he has changed completely since we put him under the stands. he eats well, but he shows no spirit at all. tomorrow is the big day, stonecypher! i can't disappoint the crowd! i thought he might be sick, but the vet says not. that bull let the vet come into the cage and made absolutely no attempt to kill him!" "but does fergus--" "fergus's manager saw the bull! he's all for it. fergus made an extremely poor showing on memorial day, and the manager thinks this odd bull would provide a real comeback! i advised against it. this heat is terrible! the storm didn't cool the air at all." stonecypher maneuvered the perspiring ringmaster into the shade of the beech. he said, "i wanta do the fair thing with you, ringmaster, so i'll give you a guarantee, in writing if you want. if that bull's not the bravest ever fought in highland bullring, i give you double-money-back." oswell's face wobbled in a tentative smile. he counted his stubby fingers. "double-money-back?" "yeah. i wanta get into the business. my grandfather used to sell bulls. then my father came along, and he wouldn't sell a one." "yes. yes, i once tried to reason with him, but--" "he had funny ideas," stonecypher pressed his advantage. "i never did understand the old man myself. he used to lecture me on something he called the man-animal war. he said one of the worst things in the war was the thousands of bulls that had been tortured to death." "peculiar idea. of course--" "he claimed bullfights slipped up on this country. back when it wasn't legal, they spaded up the ground real good. there were movies, and books, and magazines, and foreign broadcasts, all ravin' about how brave and noble it was for a bunch of men to worry and torture a stupid animal like a bull, till he couldn't hardly hold his head up, and then run a sword in 'im." "naturally, you--" "i don't know how many times he told me a bull had more brains than a horse, but less then a jackass. he said bullfightin' wasn't a sport, even if the bull got a man sometimes: and he had the idea the worst thing was the four or five horses, that ever' bull killed, took with 'im. they had some bloodless bullfights in california, and the nut colonies out there like it so good, first thing you know, we really had it. it came to east tennessee 'cause this was one of the biggest cattle-raisin' sections, before the lakes took the grazin' land." "surely, stonecypher, you--" "my father always claimed if the bullfighters were near as brave as they said, they'd take on a really intelligent animal sometimes, like a man-eatin' tiger. he even thought a man was mentalill to fight a bull in the first place." stonecypher grinned. "no, you don't need to worry about me, ringmaster. i hate to admit it, but the old man is the one who was mentalill." oswell revealed all of his steel teeth in a broad smile. "you had me worried!" he wheezed. "now, your offer." "i'll go even better," stonecypher said, "just to show how set i am on gettin' back in the business. if moe's not brave, i got two yearlin's you can have for free." "how generous! you've reassured me, stonecypher. i have confidence, now, that the show will be a great success! i must go! you have no conception of the life a ringmaster leads before a fight. i won't require a written guarantee. i trust you, stonecypher! see you tomorrow, i hope! i never liked july. if the government would only make more lakes, it might cool off! i hope--" the whir of the red butterflier's wings terminated oswell's discourse. with a face like a gored bullkiller, stonecypher watched the ringmaster's departure. another butterflier hovered above the mountain. this one was green and gold with the canopy pushed back and a glint of twin lenses in the cockpit. will appeared at stonecypher's side. he spat in a long arc and said, "that's a new one, ain't it, peepin' from a butterfly? i reckon l. dan never got kilt in that other duel like i hoped he would. you want us to git you outa this, stonecypher?" "no, will." "we can see you git to the smokies. the givernment'll never find you down in there." "i'll be all right, will. if he does kill me, take care of catriona. and look after the calf records." "sure thang." stonecypher walked slowly toward catriona's open-topped sunbathing tent. danse macabre duelmaster r. smith adjusted his black tam. "do not touch your shooting hand to your weapon until the buzzer sounds," he instructed. "otherwise, the weapon may be carried as you wish. at the slightest infringement of the rules, a robot gun will kill you. if you have any elaborate last words, say them now; because the pen is soundproof." he laughed an obviously much rehearsed laugh. l. dan wore orange tights today, but no armor, since the rules required deulists to present naked torsos for probable bullets. stonecypher faced the duelmaster. "i reckon this room is the only place a man really has free speech," he said. "you're deaf, and can't see good enough to read lips, and me or him will soon be dead. "i don't believe in this duelin'. it gives a man who's wrong a chance to kill one who's right. a man shouldn't oughta have to die because he's right. just like ever'thing else in this manly age. it's painful. that oughta be our motto, more pain, just like in the machine age it was more gadgets at any cost." "why don't you go on tevee?" dan jeered. "she'll soon forget you, farmer." stonecypher's words rolled over the hobbyist. "i reckon the manly age came because a man started thinkin' he wasn't much of a man any more. he was just as fast as his car, and just as strong as his electric lawn mower. and a loud minority of the women was claimin' they could do anything a man could, and maybe better. so the men started playin' football in shorts and huntin' each other on game preserves, and the women went back to the kitchen and bedroom. lots of things that went on undercover come out in the open. cockfights, dogfights, coon-on-a-log, duels, stallion fights, bullfights. "and people like you, l. dan, went on livin'. you got no right to live. you don't do any useful work. the earth is slowly starvin', and you take the grub out of some feller's mouth who might could help a little. that's why--" "time!" announced the duelmaster with his face close to a large clock on the wall. he opened the door. two men carrying a body on a stretcher passed. the body had four bullet wounds in it. dan said, "that drivel gives me a real reason to kill you, farmer. i'll be good to her for a few days." as prearranged, dan took the right branch of the corridor and stonecypher, the left. a hooded man gave stonecypher the magnum revolver and shut him into a space resembling a windowed closet with a door on either side. stonecypher secured the revolver in the clip holster. his bony hands formed knotted fists. the pen door slid back. stonecypher stepped into a room thirty by ninety feet with three bullet-marred concrete walls and a fourth wall of bulletproof glass, behind which sat the ghoulish audience. dan, crouched and with his pistol in the crook of his left elbow, advanced. his right hand fluttered an inch from the pistol butt. stonecypher, grotesque with thin chest exposed and overall bib wrapped around belt, waited. two photoelectric robot machine guns followed each movement of the duelists. a buzzer sounded. dan's index finger failed to reach the trigger, for a guardian machine gun removed the hobbyist's head in a short efficient burst. the noise of a louder buzzer punctuated the execution. when the soundproof inner door of the closet opened, the hooded man, who had a pair of crossed pistols tattooed on the back of his right hand, said, "he was too anxious." "yeah," stonecypher grunted. the man watched stonecypher pass out to the street. stonecypher snapped up the bib of his overalls. an extremely rare bird, a robin, hopped from his path and continued a fruitless search for insects. stonecypher walked down watauga street until the pavement vanished under the brownish-green water of kings lake. catriona squealed when she saw him. ignoring all correct procedures, she almost knocked him down and attempted to smother him. "ah told you it just took practice!" she blubbered. "you did it, stony!" with muffled mumbles, stonecypher managed to put her in the tenite canoe. the few people along the quay, who had witnessed the illegal manner of their meeting, watched with shock, or with incredulity, or with guarded admiration. when they saw that stonecypher's hand rested on a holstered revolver, they lost their curiosity. wading, stonecypher shoved the canoe off and hopped aboard. as he took up the paddle, his hand trailed in the water and released the small buzzer that had made possible catriona's best carnival act. * * * * * for july, the afternoon was cool. blue-gray clouds drifted before larger dirty white masses. to the southwest opened the mile-wide mouth of horse creek; and, far beyond, the great blue pyramid of chimney top mountain stood defiantly above sevier lake. the world seemed water broken only by partly submerged hills and mountains. stonecypher gazed across the lake at bays mountain and at the five cement islands apparently floating against that backdrop. softly, he said, "some folks call the big one martyrs island. there's a marble pillar right in the middle. nobody knows who put it there, and the government never bothered to knock it down. i reckon the poison ivy's covered it by now, but i went and read the inscription, once, when i was a boy. it says: "they moved me off the powell river. they covered my farm with water. i bought me another near beans station. the water covered it. i was getting old, but i built at galloway mill. when they flooded that, i gave up and lived in kingsport. i will not move again." the canoe bounded over the choppy water, one hundred feet above the silted streets of the flooded city of kingsport. stonecypher said, "the time i was there, you could still find a few copter-trooper helmets and old cankered shells. couple of years back, a diver brought up two skulls off shore." catriona's eyes remained moist, but she smiled. her teeth were beautiful. "it'll be all rahght, stony. you can't change the wo'ld in one day. you did fine, and moe will too." "i told you to stay at the bullring," stonecypher said. "ah couldn't watch that! and those puny, little, mousy women stare and talk about me, because theah's a little meat on mah cahcass. oswell said moe would be last, anyhow. ah was so wo'ied about you, ah couldn't sit still." only a few boats, mainly those of piscatorial maniacs, were on the lake. stonecypher glared at them and muttered, "i hope i did right by moe. he wanted to fight. maybe, catriona, if i'd had you when i found out he could talk--not just mimic--i'd of raised him different. maybe i shouldn't have shown him that bullfight movie, but i wondered what the only bull to see a bullfight from outside the ring thought about it. "that led him to wantin' to know all about the man-animal war. i told him the best i could, how one of a man's basic drives is to exterminate, ever' since prehistoric times when he did in the wooly mammoth and rhinoceros. the dodo, quagga, passenger pigeon, great auk, aurochs, key deer, bison, african elephant, gorilla, tiger--there's an awful list. why, five hundred species of mammals, alone, have become extinct since 1 a.d., 'bout four hundred of them since 1850. a man'll even kill off other men, like the neanderthals and the tasmanians!" stonecypher rested the paddle and grinned, faintly, at catriona reclining in the bow. "i guess you've heard this before." "go rahght ahead, stony," catriona sighed. "ah like to heah yoah speech. it's the only time you really get angry, and you look so fine and noble." "yeah. well. i told moe how a man exterminates useful or harmless species, and then he lets dangerous ones, like rats, eat him out of house and home. course, i explained this was just kinship. folks used to argue man come from a monkey, or from spontaneous combustion, or something. now we got fossil proof he's not like anything anybody ever saw. he's a case of straight line development all the way back to the first mammal, a sort of rat." the canoe glided past highland pier. every type of small watercraft, from a punt, through an electric motorboat, to a sloop, had docked. more boats lined the shore on either side of the pier. the flying field contained so many butterfliers and copters that there seemed no possibility of any of them taking off. human voices welled in a mob roar from the great open cylinder of the bullring. a huge banner draped on the curving white wall proclaimed, in ten-foot letters: dependence day bullfight honor the great government on which we depend six bulls--three killers stonecypher ran the canoe aground in a patch of dead weeds, exposed by a slight lowering of the lake level, and helped catriona over the rocks that lined the bank. he said, "i told moe other things men do to animals. all the laboratory butchery, done because it would be cruel to treat a man like that, but it's all right with a animal, like takin' out a dog's brains and lettin' 'im live. i told him about huntin', how the kudu become extinct 'cause a bunch of fools wanted to see who could kill the one with the biggest horns. "i told him the things done to domestic animals. dehornin', emasculatin', brandin', slaughterin' with sledge hammers and butcher knives, keepin' 'em in filthy barns. a man tells hisself he's superior to other animals. if he does somethin' bad, he uses words like inhuman, brutal, animal instincts, instead of admittin' it's just typical behavior. and the psychologists take some animal, say a dog, and put him in a maze, something the dog never saw before. if the dog don't run the maze in two seconds flat, they say he's a pretty stupid animal. he just operates on instinct, but they can't say how instinct operates. they'll have a time explainin' moe's instincts. "i reckon the american bison made moe madder than anything. they killed the bison off, 'cept for protected herds, in the nineteenth century. a hundred years later, the herds had got pretty big, so they declared open season on bison. no more bison." a recorded voice growled, "no guns permitted in ring. deposit gun in slot. no guns permitted in ring." stonecypher moved his permit in ineffectual passes before the electric eye. he shrugged, dropped the revolver into the slot, and left his thumb print. catriona displayed the passes ringmaster oswell had given them. the teveer blinked, and the gate granted admission. they rode the escalator to the sixth tier and squirmed through pandemonium to their seats. the male portion of the crowd wore every possible style and color of dress, in complete emancipation from the old business suit uniform, but the women wore sober false-bosomed sundresses and expressed excitement in polite chirps. stonecypher pressed his mouth against catriona's ear and whispered through the din, "you got to understand, cat, whatever happens, moe wanted it. he says he can scare some killers into givin' up bullfights and maybe help stop it." "he'll do fine, stony." several spectators stopped venting their wrath on the unfortunate man in the ring to gawk at the couple. catriona's unorthodox physique aroused sufficient amazement; but, in addition, stonecypher gave her the front seat and took the rear one, the correct place for a woman, himself. below, through a rain of plastibottles and rotten eggs, a tired man walked to the barrier which oswell advertised as the only wooden fence in seven states. behind the killer, a small electric tractor dragged out the bloody carcass of a bull. a gasping, gibbering little man grabbed stonecypher's arm and yelped, "illard is the clumsiest killer, he ran the sword in three times, and the kid with the dagger had to stick twice before they finished, big dependence day bullfight my jet! this is the worst in years, fergus made the only clean kill all afternoon, and i flew every one of eighteen hundred miles myself to see it, this last bull better be good!" the little man waved his bag of rotten eggs. although the bullfight followed the basic procedures established by francisco romero in the spain of 1700, changes had occurred, including the elimination of all spanish words from the vocabulary of the spectacle since the unpleasant dispute with the spanish empire twenty years before. the gaudy costumes worn by participants had been replaced by trunks and sneakers. a purring grader smoothed the sand. the crowd quieted, except for those near the box of ringmaster oswell. they suggested in obscene terms that their money be refunded. a trumpet recording blared. a scarlet door, inscribed, "moe of bays mountain farm," opened. the crowd awaited the first wild rush of the bull. it failed to materialize. grand finale slowly, moe came through the doorway. above, on a platform inside the barrier, stood a gray-haired man who stuck identifying, streamered darts into bovine shoulders. his hand swept down, carrying stonecypher's chosen colors, black. moe's walk upset the man's timing. his arm moved too soon. moe's front hooves left the ground. horns hooked. the gray-haired man screamed and dropped the dart. with a spike of horn through his arm, between bone and biceps, he gyrated across the barrier. he screamed a second time before cloven hooves slashed across his body. the crowd inhaled, then cheered the unprecedented entrance. killer fergus's team stood rigid, not comprehending. then men dashed through shielded openings in the barrier, yelling and waving pink and yellow capes to draw the bull from his victim. moe ignored the distraction, trotted nonchalantly to the center of the ring, and turned his bulging head to examine the spectators jabbering at his strange appearance. the short horns, the round skull, the white-banded eyes, the mane that seemed slightly purple under the cloudy sky, and the exaggerated slope from neck to rump that made the hind legs too short--together they amounted to a ton of muscle almost like a bull. "where'd you trap it, oswell?" someone near the ringmaster's box yelled. forgetting the mess illard had made with the previous bull, the crowd commented. "it's the last of the bison!" "he's poiple! lookit! poiple!" "the bull of the woods!" "howya like 'im, fergus?" killer fergus posed behind the barrier and studied his specialty, an odd bull. two stickers, neel and tomas, flourished capes to test the bull's charge, with neel chanting, "come on, bull! come on, bull! come on! bull, bull, bull!" moe did not charge. he moved, in a speculative walk, toward the chanting neel who tantalized with the cape and retreated with shuffling steps. the charge, when it came, occurred almost too fast for sight. neel wriggled on the horns, struck the sand, and the horns lifted him again. he smashed against the barrier. tomas threw his cape over the bull's face. the left horn pinned the cape to tomas's naked chest over the heart. moe retired to the center of the ring and bellowed at the crowd, which, delirious from seeing human blood, applauded. blood covered moe's horns, dripped through the long hair on his neck, and trickled down between his eyes. quavering helpers removed the bodies. the first lancer, livid and trembling, rode a blindfolded horse into the ring. "he'll fix this horse!" the crowd slavered. "we'll see guts this time!" moe charged. the lancer backed his mount against the barrier and gripped his weapon, a stout pike. sand sprayed like water as moe swerved. on the left side of the horse, away from the menacing pike, moe reared. the lancer left the saddle. a tangle of naked limbs thrashed across the wooden fence and thudded against the wall of the stands. twenty-five thousand people held their breaths. the blindfolded horse waited with dilated nostrils and every muscle vibrating in terror. moe produced a long red tongue and licked the horse's jaw. fergus dispersed the tableau. red-haired, lean, and scarred with many past gorings, the popular killer stalked across the sand dragging his cape and roaring incomprehensible challenges. in the stands, the cheer leaders of the fergus fanclub lead a welcoming yell. "yeaaaa, fergus! fergus! fergus! rah, rah, rah!" moe wandered through the helpers trying to distract him from the horse and looked at the killer. fergus stamped his foot, shook the cape, and called, "bull! come on! charge!" moe completely circled the killer, who retired in disgust when another lancer rode into the ring. "stick him good!" fergus directed. the pike pointed at the great muscles of moe's back, as the bull charged. moe's head twisted in a blur of violence. teeth clamped on the shaft behind the point. too surprised to let go, the lancer followed his weapon from the saddle. he released his hold when moe walked on him. like some fantastic dog stealing a fresh bone, the bull trotted around the ring, tail high and pike in mouth. the crowd laughed. wild-eyed men carried out the trampled lancer. a third, and extremely reluctant, lancer reined his horse through the gate. a pike in the mouth of a ton of beef utterly unnerved the man. he stood in the saddle and jumped over the barrier where a rain of rotten eggs from the booing fans spattered him thoroughly. * * * * * an uninjured bull pawed alone in the sand when the trumpet recording announced the end of the lancers' period. the crowd noises softened to a buzz of speculation, questions, and comment, as the realization that weird events had been witnessed slowly penetrated that collective mind. the bull had not touched a horse, no pike had jabbed the bull, and five men had been killed or injured. "great government!" a clear voice swore, "that ain't no bull, it's a monster!" this opinion came from a sticker in illard's team. fergus attempted to persuade the man to help, since both of fergus's stickers were dead. part of the crowd agreed with the sticker's thought, for people began moving furtively to the exits with cautious glances at the animal in the ring. they, of course, could not know that the bull had been trained, with rubber-tipped pikes and dummies, in every phase of the bullfight; that he knew the first, and only, law of staying alive in the ring, "charge the man and not the cloth." the clouds that had obscured the sky all day formed darker masses tinted with pink to the east, and the black dot of a turkey buzzard wheeled soaring in the gloom. carrying, in either hand, a barbed stick sparkling with plastic streamers, fergus walked into the ring. his assistants cautiously flanked him with capes. [illustration] moe dropped the pike and charged in the approved manner of a bull. fergus raised the sticks high and brought them down on the humped back, although the back was not there. the sticks dropped in the sand. as the killer leaped aside in the completion of a reflex action, a horn penetrated the seat of his trunks. the fergus fanclub screamed while their hero dangled in ignominy from the horn. moe ignored the flapping, frantic capes. the killer gingerly gripped a horn in either hand and tried to lift himself off. gently, moe lowered his head and deposited the man beside an opening. fergus scrabbled to safety like a rat to a hole. four helpers with capes occupied the ring. when they saw death approaching on cloven hooves, two of them cleared the fence. the third received a horn beside his backbone and tumbled into the fourth. a dual scream, terrible enough to insure future nightmares, echoed above the screeching of the crowd. moe tossed the bodies again and again across the bloody sand. silence slithered over the highland bullring and over a scene reminiscent of the ring's bloody parent, the roman arena. men sprawled gored, crushed, and dead across the sand. a section of the blood-specked barrier leaned splintered and cracked, almost touching the concrete wall. unharmed, fergus stood on one side of the battleground, illard on the other. fergus reached over the wooden fence for red flag and sword. turning his back on the heaving moe, who stood but ten feet behind, the killer faced the quaking flesh that was ringmaster oswell, high up in the official box. the killer's voice shook, but the bitter satire came through the sound of departing boats and aircraft. fergus said, "i dedicate this bull to ringmaster oswell who has provided for us this great dependence day bullfight in honor of the great government on which we all depend." he turned and faced the bull. moe, for once, rushed the red flag, the only thing that made bullfights possible. his great shoulders presented a fair target for the sword. fergus, perhaps the only bull-fighter ever to be gored in the brain, died silently. the sword raked a shallow gash long moe's loin. in the sixth tier of the stands, saliva drooled from the slack mouth of the little man seated beside stonecypher. "now's your chance, illard!" the man squalled. "be a hero! the last of the bullfighters! kill him, illard!" illard walked on shaking legs over bodies he did not see. he was short, for a killer, and growing bald. he picked up the sword fergus had dropped, looked into the gory face of the bull, and toppled in the sticky sand. the sword quivered point-first beside his body. recessional a wind whipped down into highland bullring. riding the wind, blacker than the clouds, the inquisitive turkey buzzard glided over the rim of the stands with air whistling through the spatulate feathers of rigid wings. the buzzard swooped a foot above moe's horns and soared swiftly over the opposite side of the ring. that started the panic, although moe's charge accentuated it. he crashed into the sagging section of the barrier. cloven hooves scraped the wooden inclined plane, and moe stopped with front feet in the first tier of the stands. he bellowed. the bull killed only one spectator, a man on whom he stepped. the hundreds who died killed themselves or each other. they leaped from the towering rim of the ring, and they jammed the exits in writhing heaps. moe's precarious stance slipped. slowly, he slid back into the ring, where ringmaster oswell, quivering in a red toga, gestured from the darkness under the stands. the fat man squeaked and waved. moe's charge embodied the genuine fighting rage of a maddened bull. the scarlet door closed behind him. stonecypher, with fists bloody and a heap of unconscious fear-crazed spectators piled before him, sat down. "well, moe," he whispered, "i reckon you got even for a few of the bulls that's been tortured to death to amuse a bunch of nuts. maybe it wasn't the right way to do it. i don't know. if i'd only had the gun--" catriona turned a white mask of a face up to stonecypher. "they killed him, in theah?" "sure. bullfightin' never was a sport. the bull can't win. if he's not killed in the ring, he's slaughtered under the stands." "you have moah smart-bulls, stony." the black copter came in with the sunset and hovered over the sand. the face of duelmaster smith peered out under his black tam, while a hooded man, with pistols tattooed on his hand, aimed an automatic rifle. the duelmaster smiled at stonecypher and cried, "you really should have waited until you were farther out in the lake, before you dropped that little buzzer in the water." note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 20910-h.htm or 20910-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/9/1/20910/20910-h/20910-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/9/1/20910/20910-h.zip) transcriber's note: page numbers in this book are indicated by numbers enclosed in curly braces, e.g. {99}. they have been located where page breaks occurred in the original book. for its index, a page number has been placed only at the start of that section. american fights and fighters series south american fights and fighters and other tales of adventure by cyrus townsend brady, ll. d. illustrations by seymour m. stone, george gibbs, w. j. aylward and j. n. marchand together with reproductions from old prints and portraits [frontispiece: "the poor little governor . . . distanced his fierce pursuers at last"] garden city -------new york doubleday, page & company mcmxiii all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian copyright, 1910, by doubleday, page & company published, april, 1910 to george william beatty good fellow, good citizen good friend preface the first part of this new volume of the _american fights and fighters series_ needs no special introduction. partly to make this the same size as the other books, but more particularly because i especially desired to give a permanent place to some of the most dramatic and interesting episodes in our history--especially as most of them related to the pacific and the far west--the series of papers in part second was included. "the yarn of the _essex_, whaler" is abridged from a quaint account written by the mate and published in an old volume which is long since out of print and very scarce. the papers on the _tonquin_, john paul jones, and "the great american duellists" speak for themselves. the account of the battle of the pitt river has never been published in book form heretofore. the last paper "on being a boy out west" i inserted because i enjoy it myself, and because i have found that others young and old who have read it generally like it also. thanks are due and are hereby extended to the following magazines for permission to republish various articles which originally appeared in their pages: _harper's_, _munseys_, _the cosmopolitan_, _sunset_ and _the new era_. i project another volume of the series supplementing the two indian volumes immediately preceding this one, but the information is hard to get, and the work amid many other demands upon my time, proceeds slowly. cyrus townsend brady. st. george's rectory, kansas city, mo., february, 1910. contents part i south american fights and fighters page panama and the knights-errant of colonization i. the spanish main . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 ii. the don quixote of discoverers and his rival . . . . 5 iii. the adventures of ojeda . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 iv. enter one vasco nuñez de balboa . . . . . . . . . . . 17 v. the desperate straits of nicuesa . . . . . . . . . . 20 panama, balboa and a forgotten romance i. the coming of the devastator . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 ii. the greatest exploit since columbus's voyage . . . . 34 iii. "furor domini" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 iv. the end of balboa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 peru and the pizarros i. the chief scion of a famous family . . . . . . . . . 53 ii. the terrible persistence of pizarro . . . . . . . . . 57 iii. "a communistic despotism" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 iv. the treacherous and bloody massacre of caxamarca . . 73 v. the ransom and murder of the inca . . . . . . . . . . 85 vi. the inca and the peruvians strike vainly for freedom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 vii. "the men of chili" and the civil wars . . . . . . . 102 viii. the mean end of the great conquistador . . . . . . 105 ix. the last of the brethren . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108 the greatest adventure in history i. the chief of all the soldiers of fortune . . . . . 115 ii. the expedition to mexico . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120 iii. the religion of the aztecs . . . . . . . . . . . . 125 iv. the march to tenochtitlan . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130 v. the republic of tlascala . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138 vi. cortes's description of mexico . . . . . . . . . . 147 vii. the meeting with montezuma . . . . . . . . . . . . 162 viii. the seizure of the emperor . . . . . . . . . . . . 171 ix. the revolt of the capital . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174 x. in god's way . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 xi. the melancholy night . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182 xii. the siege and destruction of mexico . . . . . . . . 194 xiii. a day of desperate fighting . . . . . . . . . . . . 198 xiv. the last mexican . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 xv. the end of cortes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218 part ii other tales of adventure the yarn of the "essex," whaler . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 some famous american duels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245 i. a tragedy of old new york . . . . . . . . . . . . . 246 ii. andrew jackson as a duellist . . . . . . . . . . . 248 iii. the killing of stephen decatur . . . . . . . . . . 251 iv. an episode in the life of james bowie . . . . . . . 252 v. a famous congressional duel . . . . . . . . . . . . 254 vi. the last notable duel in america . . . . . . . . . 256 the cruise of the "tonquin" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261 john paul jones . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 281 i. the birth of the american navy . . . . . . . . . . 283 ii. jones first hoists the stars and stripes . . . . . 284 iii. the battle with the "serapis" . . . . . . . . . . . 285 iv. a hero's famous sayings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287 v. what jones did for his country . . . . . . . . . . 288 vi. why did he take the name of jones . . . . . . . . . 289 vii. a search for historical evidence . . . . . . . . . 292 viii. the joneses of north carolina . . . . . . . . . . . 296 ix. paul jones never a man of wealth . . . . . . . . . 297 in the caverns of the pitt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 301 being a boy out west . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315 list of illustrations "the poor little governor . . . distanced his fierce pursuers at last" . . . . . . . . . . _frontispiece_ drawing by seymour m. stone facing page "ojeda galloped off with his . . . captive" . . . . . . . . 6 drawing by seymour m. stone "the indians poured a rain of poisoned arrows" . . . . . . . 7 drawing by seymour m. stone "balboa . . . engaged in superintending the roofing of a house" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 drawing by george gibbs "the expedition had to fight its way through tribes of warlike and ferocious mountaineers" . . . . . . 35 drawing by george gibbs "he took possession of the sea in the name of castile and leon" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 drawing by george gibbs "he threw the sacred volume to the ground in a violent rage" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 drawing by george gibbs "they burst upon the ranks of the unarmed indians" . . . . . 86 drawing by george gibbs "the three pizarros . . . sallied out to meet them" . . . . 87 drawing by george gibbs "he threw his sole remaining weapon in the faces of the escaladers" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102 drawing by george gibbs fernando cortes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 from a picture in the florence gallery the death of montezuma . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 178 from an old engraving "he defended himself with his terrible spear" . . . . . . . 179 drawing by george gibbs "the ship came to a dead stop" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234 drawing by w. j. aylward the killing of alexander hamilton by aaron burr . . . . . . 233 drawing by j. n. marchand _the publishers wish to acknowledge their indebtedness to the cosmopolitan magazine and munsey's magazine for permission to use several of the illustrations in this volume._ {3} part i south american fights and fighters i panama and the knights-errant of colonization i. the spanish main one of the commonly misunderstood phrases in the language is "the spanish main." to the ordinary individual it suggests the caribbean sea. although shakespeare in "othello," makes one of the gentlemen of cyprus say that he "cannot 'twixt heaven and main descry a sail," and, therefore, with other poets, gives warrant to the application of the word to the ocean, "main" really refers to the other element. the spanish main was that portion of south american territory distinguished from cuba, hispaniola and the other islands, because it was on the main land. when the gulf of mexico and the caribbean sea were a spanish lake, the whole circle of territory, bordering thereon was the spanish main, but of late the title has been restricted to central and south america. the buccaneers are those who made it famous. so the word brings up white-hot stories of battle, murder and sudden death. the history of the spanish main begins in 1509, with the voyages of ojeda and nicuesa, which were the first definite and authorized attempts to colonize the mainland of south america. the honor of being the first of the fifteenth-century {4} navigators to set foot upon either of the two american continents, indisputably belongs to john cabot, on june 24, 1497. who was next to make a continental landfall, and in the more southerly latitudes, is a question which lies between columbus and amerigo vespucci. fiske, in a very convincing argument awards the honor to vespucci, whose first voyage (may 1497 to october 1498) carried him from the north coast of honduras along the gulf coast around florida, and possibly as far north as the chesapeake bay, and to the bahamas on his return. markham scouts this claim. winsor neither agrees nor dissents. his verdict in the case is a scottish one, "not proven." who shall decide when the doctors disagree? let every one choose for himself. as for me, i am inclined to agree with fiske. if it were not vespucci, it certainly was columbus on his third voyage (1498-1500). on this voyage, the chief of the navigators struck the south american shore off the mouth of the orinoco and sailed westward along it for a short distance before turning to the northward. there he found so many pearls that he called it the "pearl coast." it is interesting to note that, however the question may be decided, all the honors go to italy. columbus was a genoese. cabot, although born in genoa, had lived many years in venice and had been made a citizen there; while vespucci was a florentine. the first important expedition along the northern coast of south america was that of ojeda in 1499-1500, in company with juan de la cosa, next to columbus the most expert navigator and pilot of the age, and vespucci, perhaps his equal in nautical science as he {5} was his superior in other departments of polite learning. there were several other explorations of the gulf coast, and its continuations on every side, during the same year, by one of the pizons, who had accompanied columbus on his first voyage; by lepe; by cabral, a portuguese, and by bastidas and la cosa, who went for the first time as far to the westward as porto rico on the isthmus of darien. on the fourth and last voyage of columbus, he reached honduras and thence sailed eastward and southward to the gulf of darien, having not the least idea that the shore line which he called veragua was in fact the border of the famous isthmus of panama. there were a number of other voyages, including a further exploration by la cosa and vespucci, and a second by ojeda in which an abortive attempt was made to found a colony; but most of the voyages were mere trading expeditions, slave-hunting enterprises or searches, generally fruitless, for gold and pearls. ojeda reported after one of these voyages that the english were on the coast. who these english were is unknown. the news, however, was sufficiently disquieting to ferdinand, the catholic--and also the crafty!--who now ruled alone in spain, and he determined to frustrate any possible english movement by planting colonies on the spanish main. ii. the don quixote of discoveries and his rival instantly two claimants for the honor of leading such an expedition presented themselves. the first alonzo de ojeda, the other diego de nicuesa. two more extraordinary characters never went knight-erranting upon the seas. ojeda was one of the {6} prodigious men of a time which was fertile in notable characters. although small in stature, he was a man of phenomenal strength and vigor. he could stand at the foot of the giralda in seville and throw an orange over it, a distance of two hundred and fifty feet from the earth![1] wishing to show his contempt for danger, on one occasion he ran out on a narrow beam projecting some twenty feet from the top of the same tower and there, in full view of queen isabella and her court, performed various gymnastic exercises, such as standing on one leg, _et cetera_, for the edification of the spectators, returning calmly and composedly to the tower when he had finished the exhibition. he was a magnificent horseman, an accomplished knight and an able soldier. there was no limit to his daring. he went with columbus on his second voyage, and, single-handed, effected the capture of a powerful indian cacique named caonabo, by a mixture of adroitness, audacity and courage. professing amity, he got access to the indian, and, exhibiting some polished manacles, which he declared were badges of royalty, he offered to put them on the fierce but unsophisticated savage and then mount the chief on his own horse to show him off like a spanish monarch to his subjects. the daring programme was carried out just exactly as it had been planned. when ojeda had got the forest king safely fettered and mounted on his horse, he sprang up behind him, held him there firmly in spite of his efforts, and galloped off to columbus with his astonished and disgusted captive. [illustration: "ojeda galloped off with his astonished captive"] {7} neither of the voyages was successful. with all of his personal prowess, he was an unsuccessful administrator. he was poor, not to say penniless. he had two powerful friends, however. one was bishop fonseca, who was charged with the administration of affairs in the indies, and the other was stout old juan de la cosa. these two men made a very efficient combination at the spanish court, especially as la cosa had some money and was quite willing to put it up, a prime requisite for the mercenary and niggardly ferdinand's favor. [illustration: "the indians poured a rain of poisoned arrows"] the other claimant for the honor of leading the colony happened to be another man small in stature, but also of great bodily strength, although he scarcely equalled his rival in that particular. nicuesa had made a successful voyage to the indies with ovando, and had ample command of means. he was a gentleman by birth and station--ojeda was that also--and was grand carver-in-chief to the king's uncle! among his other qualities for successful colonization were a beautiful voice, a masterly touch on the guitar and an exquisite skill in equitation. he had even taught his horse to keep time to music. whether or not he played that music himself on the back of the performing steed is not recorded. ferdinand was unable to decide between the rival claimants. finally he determined to send out two expeditions. the gulf of uraba, now called the gulf of darien, was to be the dividing line between the two allotments of territory. ojeda was to have that portion extending from the gulf to the cape de la vela, which is just west of the gulf of venezuela. this territory was named new andalusia. nicuesa was to take that between the gulf and the cape gracias á dios off {8} honduras. this section was denominated golden castile. each governor was to fit out his expedition at his own charges. jamaica was given to both in common as a point of departure and a base of supplies. the resources of ojeda were small, but when he arrived at santo domingo with what he had been able to secure in the way of ships and men, he succeeded in inducing a lawyer named encisco, commonly called the bachelor[2] encisco, to embark his fortune of several thousand gold castellanos, which he had gained in successful pleadings in the court in the litigious west indies, in the enterprise. in it he was given a high position, something like that of district judge. with this reënforcement, ojeda and la cosa equipped two small ships and two brigantines containing three hundred men and twelve horses.[3] they were greatly chagrined when the imposing armada of nicuesa, comprising four ships of different sizes, but much larger than any of ojeda's, and two brigantines carrying seven hundred and fifty men, sailed into the harbor of santo domingo. the two governors immediately began to quarrel. ojeda finally challenged nicuesa to a duel which should determine the whole affair. nicuesa, who had everything to lose and nothing to gain by fighting, but who could not well decline the challenge, said that he was willing to fight him if ojeda would put up what would popularly be known to-day in the pugilistic {9} circles as "a side bet" of five thousand castellanos to make the fight worth while.[4] poor ojeda could not raise another maravedi, and as nobody would stake him, the duel was off. diego columbus, governor of hispaniola, also interfered in the game to a certain extent by declaring that the island of jamaica was his, and that he would not allow anybody to make use of it. he sent there one juan de esquivel, with a party of men to take possession of it. whereupon ojeda stoutly declared that when he had time he would stop at that island and if esquivel were there, he would cut off his head. finally on the 10th of november, 1509, ojeda set sail, leaving encisco to bring after him another ship with needed supplies. with ojeda was francisco pizarro, a middle-aged soldier of fortune, who had not hitherto distinguished himself in any way. hernando cortez was to have gone along also, but fortunately for him, an inflammation of the knee kept him at home. ojeda was in such a hurry to get to el dorado--for it was in the territory to the southward of his allotment, that the mysterious city was supposed to be located--that he did not stop at jamaica to take off esquivel's head--a good thing for him, as it subsequently turned out. nicuesa would have followed ojeda immediately, but his prodigal generosity had exhausted even his large resources, and he was detained by clamorous creditors, the law of the island being that no one could leave it in debt. the gallant little meat-carver labored with success to settle various suits pending, and thought {10} he had everything compounded; but just as he was about to sail he was arrested for another debt of five hundred ducats. a friend at last advanced the money for him and he got away ten days after ojeda. it would have been a good thing if no friend had ever interfered and he had been detained indefinitely at hispaniola. iii. the adventures of ojeda ojeda made a landfall at what is known now as cartagena. it was not a particularly good place for a settlement. there was no reason on earth why they should stay there at all. la cosa, who had been along the coast several times and knew it thoroughly, warned his youthful captain--to whom he was blindly and devotedly attached, by the way--that the place was extremely dangerous; that the inhabitants were fierce, brave and warlike, and that they had a weapon almost as effectual as the spanish guns. that was the poisoned arrow. ojeda thought he knew everything and he turned a deaf ear to all remonstrances. he hoped he might chance upon an opportunity of surprising an indian village and capturing a lot of inoffensive inhabitants for slaves, already a very profitable part of voyaging to the indies. he landed without much difficulty, assembled the natives and read to them a perfectly absurd manifesto, which had been prepared in spain for use in similar contingencies, summoning them to change their religion and to acknowledge the supremacy of spain. not one word of this did the natives understand and to it they responded with a volley of poisoned arrows. the spanish considered this paper a most {11} valuable document, and always went through the formality of having the publication of it attested by a notary public. ojeda seized some seventy-five captives, male and female, as slaves. they were sent on board the ships. the indian warriors, infuriated beyond measure, now attacked in earnest the shore party, comprising seventy men, among whom were ojeda and la cosa. the latter, unable to prevent him, had considered it proper to go ashore with the hot-headed governor to restrain him so far as was possible. ojeda impetuously attacked the indians and, with part of his men, pursued them several miles inland to their town, of which he took possession. the savages, in constantly increasing numbers, clustered around the town and attacked the spaniards with terrible persistence. ojeda and his followers took refuge in huts and enclosures and fought valiantly. finally all were killed, or fatally wounded by the envenomed darts except ojeda himself and a few men, who retreated to a small palisaded enclosure. into this improvised fort the indians poured a rain of poisoned arrows which soon struck down every one but the governor himself. being small of stature and extremely agile, and being provided with a large target or shield, he was able successfully to fend off the deadly arrows from his person. it was only a question of time before the indians would get him and he would die in the frightful agony which his men experienced after being infected with the poison upon the arrow-points. in his extremity, he was rescued by la cosa who had kept in hand a moiety of the shore party. the advent of la cosa saved ojeda. infuriated at the slaughter of his men, ojeda rashly and {12} intemperately threw himself upon the savages, at once disappearing from the view of la cosa and his men, who were soon surrounded and engaged in a desperate battle on their own account. they, too, took refuge in the building, from which they were forced to tear away the thatched roof that might have shielded them from the poisoned arrows, in fear lest the indians might set it on fire. and they in turn were also reduced to the direst of straits. one after another was killed, and finally la cosa himself, who had been desperately wounded before, received a mortal hurt; while but one man remained on his feet. possibly thinking that they had killed the whole party, and withdrawing to turn their attention to ojeda, furiously ranging the forest alone, the indians left the two surviving spaniards unmolested, whereupon the dying la cosa bade his comrade leave him, and if possible get word to ojeda of the fate which had overtaken him. this man succeeded in getting back to the shore and apprised the men there of the frightful disaster. the ships cruised along the shore, sending parties into the bay at different points looking for ojeda and any others who might have survived. a day or two after the battle they came across their unfortunate commander. he was lying on his back in a grove of mangroves, upheld from the water by the gnarled and twisted roots of one of the huge trees. he had his naked sword in his hand and his target on his arm, but he was completely prostrated and speechless. the men took him to a fire, revived him and finally brought him back to the ship. marvelous to relate, he had not a single wound upon him! {13} great was the grief of the little squadron at this dolorous state of affairs. in the middle of it, the ships of nicuesa hove in sight. mindful of their previous quarrels, ojeda decided to stay ashore until he found out what were nicuesa's intentions toward him. cautiously his men broke the news to nicuesa. with magnanimity and courtesy delightful to contemplate, he at once declared that he had forgotten the quarrel and offered every assistance to ojeda to enable him to avenge himself. ojeda thereupon rejoined the squadron, and the two rivals embraced with many protestations of friendship amid the acclaim of their followers. the next night, four hundred men were secretly assembled. they landed and marched to the indian town, surrounded it and put it to the flames. the defenders fought with their usual resolution, and many of the spaniards were killed by the poisonous arrows, but to no avail. the indians were doomed, and the whole village perished then and there. nicuesa had landed some of his horses, and such was the terror inspired by those remarkable and unknown animals that several of the women who had escaped from the fire, when they caught sight of the frightful monsters, rushed back into the flames, preferring this horrible death rather than to meet the horses. the value of the plunder amounted to eighteen thousand dollars in modern money, the most of which nicuesa took. the two adventurers separated, nicuesa bidding ojeda farewell and striking boldly across the caribbean for veragua, which was the name columbus had given to the isthmian coast below honduras; while ojeda crept along the shore seeking a convenient {14} spot to plant his colony. finally he established himself at a place which he named san sebastian. one of his ships was wrecked and many of his men were lost. another was sent back to santo domingo with what little treasure they had gathered and with an appeal to encisco to hurry up. they made a rude fort on the shore, from which to prosecute their search for gold and slaves. the indians, who also belonged to the poisoned-arrow fraternity, kept the fort in constant anxiety. many were the conflicts between the spaniards and the savages, and terrible were the losses inflicted by the invaders; but there seemed to be no limit to the number of indians, while every spaniard killed was a serious drain upon the little party. man after man succumbed to the effects of the dreadful poison. ojeda, who never spared himself in any way, never received a wound. from their constant fighting, the savages got to recognize him as the leader and they used all their skill to compass destruction. finally, they succeeded in decoying him into an ambush where four of their best men had been posted. recklessly exposing themselves, the indians at close range opened fire upon their prisoner with arrows. three of the arrows he caught on his buckler, but the fourth pierced his thigh. it is surmised that ojeda attended to the four indians before taking cognizance of his wound. the arrow, of course, was poisoned, and unless something could be done, it meant death. he resorted to a truly heroic expedient. he caused two iron plates to be heated white-hot and then directed the surgeon to apply the plates to the wound, one at the entrance and the other at the exit of the arrow. {15} the surgeon, appalled by the idea of such torture, refused to do so, and it was not until ojeda threatened to hang him with his own hands that he consented. ojeda bore the frightful agony without a murmur or a quiver, such was his extraordinary endurance. it was the custom in that day to bind patients who were operated upon surgically, that their involuntary movements might not disconcert the doctors and cause them to wound where they hoped to cure. ojeda refused even to be bound. the remedy was efficacious, although the heat of the iron, in the language of the ancient chronicler, so entered his system that they used a barrel of vinegar to cool him off. ojeda was very much dejected by the fact that he had been wounded. it seemed to him that the virgin, his patron, had deserted him. the little band, by this time reduced to less than one hundred people, was in desperate straits. starvation stared it in the face when fortunately assistance came. one bernardino de talavera, with seventy congenial cut-throats, absconding debtors and escaped criminals, from hispaniola, had seized a genoese trading-ship loaded with provisions and had luckily reached san sebastian in her. they sold these provisions to ojeda and his men at exorbitant prices, for some of the hard-earned treasure which they had amassed with their great expenditure of life and health. there was no place else for talavera and his gang to go, so they stayed at san sebastian. the supply of provisions was soon exhausted, and finally it was evident that, as encisco had not appeared with any reënforcements or supplies, some one must go back to hispaniola to bring rescue to the party. ojeda offered to do this himself. giving the charge of affairs at {16} san sebastian to francisco pizarro, who promised to remain there for fifty days for the expected help, he embarked with talavera. naturally ojeda considered himself in charge of the ship; naturally talavera did not. ojeda, endeavoring to direct things, was seized and put in chains by the crew. he promptly challenged the whole crew to a duel, offering to fight them two at a time in succession until he had gone through the ship, of which he expected thereby to become the master; although what he would have done with seventy dead pirates on the ship is hard to see. the men refused this wager of battle, but fortune favored this doughty little cavalier, for presently a great storm arose. as neither talavera nor any of the men were navigators or seamen, they had to release ojeda. he took charge. once he was in charge, they never succeeded in ousting him. in spite of his seamanship, the caravel was wrecked on the island of cuba. they were forced to make their way along the shore, which was then unsettled by spain. under the leadership of ojeda the party struggled eastward under conditions of extreme hardship. when they were most desperate, ojeda, who had appealed daily to his little picture of the virgin, which he always carried with him, and had not ceased to urge the others to do likewise, made a vow to establish a shrine and leave the picture at the first indian village they came to if they got succor there. sure enough, they did reach a place called cueyabos, where they were hospitably received by the indians, and where ojeda, fulfilling his vow, erected a log hut, or shrine, in the recess of which he left, with much regret, the picture of the virgin which had accompanied {17} him on his wanderings and adventures. means were found to send word to jamaica, still under the governorship of esquivel, whose head ojeda had threatened to cut off when he met him. magnanimously forgetting the purpose of the broken adventurer, esquivel despatched a ship to bring him to jamaica. we may be perfectly sure that ojeda said nothing about the decapitation when the generous hearted esquivel received him with open arms. ojeda with talavera and his comrades were sent back to santo domingo. there talavera and the principal men of his crew were tried for piracy and executed. ojeda found that encisco had gone. he was penniless, discredited and thoroughly downcast by his ill fortune. no one would advance him anything to send succor to san sebastian. his indomitable spirit was at last broken by his misfortunes. he lingered for a short time in constantly increasing ill health, being taken care of by the good franciscans, until he died in the monastery. some authorities say he became a monk; others deny it; it certainly is quite possible. at any rate, before he died he put on the habit of the order, and after his death, by his own direction, his body was buried before the gate, so that those who passed through it would have to step over his remains. such was the tardy humility with which he endeavoured to make up for the arrogance and pride of his exciting life. iv. enter one vasco nuñez de balboa encisco, coasting along the shore with a large ship, carrying reënforcements and loaded with provisions for the party, easily followed the course of ojeda's {18} wanderings, and finally ran across the final remnants of his expedition in the harbor of cartagena. the remnant was crowded into a single small, unseaworthy brigantine under the command of francisco pizarro. pizarro had scrupulously kept faith with ojeda. he had done more. he had waited fifty days, and then, finding that the two brigantines left to him were not large enough to contain his whole party, by mutual agreement of the survivors clung to the death-laden spot until a sufficient number had been killed or had died to enable them to get away in the two ships. they did not have to wait long, for death was busy, and a few weeks after the expiration of the appointed time they were all on board. there is something terrific to the imagination in the thought of that body of men sitting down and grimly waiting until enough of them should die to enable the rest to get away! what must have been the emotions that filled their breasts as the days dragged on? no one knew whether the result of the delay would enable him to leave, or cause his bones to rot on the shore. cruel, fierce, implacable as were these spaniards, there is something homeric about them in such crises as these. that was not the end of their misfortunes, for one of the two brigantines was capsized. the old chroniclers say that the boat was struck by a great fish. that is a fish story, which, like most fish stories, it is difficult to credit. at any rate, sink it did, with all on board, and pizarro and about thirty men were all that were left of the gallant three hundred who had followed the doughty ojeda in the first attempt to colonize south america. encisco was for hanging them at once, believing that {19} they had murdered and deserted ojeda, but they were able to convince him at last of the strict legality of their proceedings. taking command of the expedition himself, as being next in rank to ojeda, the bachelor led them back to san sebastian. unfortunately, before the unloading of his ship could be begun, she struck a rock and was lost; and the last state of the men, therefore, was as bad as the first. among the men who had come with encisco was a certain vasco nuñez, commonly called balboa. he had been with bastidas and la cosa on their voyage to the isthmus nine years before. the voyage had been a profitable one and balboa had made money out of it. he had lost all his money, however, and had eked out a scanty living on a farm at hispaniola, which he had been unable to leave because he was in debt to everybody. the authorities were very strict in searching every vessel that cleared from santo domingo, for absconders. the search was usually conducted after the vessel had got to sea, too! balboa caused himself to be conveyed aboard the ship in a provision cask. no one suspected anything, and when the officers of the boat had withdrawn from the ship and hispaniola was well down astern, he came forth. encisco, who was a pettifogger of the most pronounced type, would have dealt harshly with him, but there was nothing to do after all. balboa could not be sent back, and besides, he was considered a very valuable reënforcement on account of his known experience and courage. it was he who now came to the rescue of the wretched colonists at san sebastian by telling them that across the gulf of darien there was an indian tribe with many villages and much gold. furthermore, these {20} indians, unfortunately for them, were not acquainted with the use of poisoned arrows. balboa urged them to go there. his suggestion was received with cheers. the brigantines, and such other vessels as they could construct quickly, were got ready and the whole party took advantage of the favorable season to cross the gulf of darien to the other side, to the present territory of panama which has been so prominent in the public eye of late. this was nicuesa's domain, but nobody considered that at the time. they found the indian villages which balboa had mentioned, fought a desperate battle with cacique cemaco, captured the place, and discovered quantities of gold castellanos (upward of twenty-five thousand dollars). they built a fort, and laid out a town called maria de la antigua del darien--the name being almost bigger than the town! balboa was in high favor by this time, and when encisco got into trouble by decreeing various oppressive regulations and vexatious restrictions, attending to things in general with a high hand, they calmly deposed him on the ground that he had no authority to act, since they were on the territory of nicuesa. to this logic, which was irrefutable, poor encisco could make no reply. pending the arrival of nicuesa they elected balboa and one zamudio, a biscayan, to take charge of affairs. the time passed in hunting and gathering treasure, not unprofitably and, as they had plenty to eat, not unpleasantly. v. the desperate straits of nicuesa now let us return to nicuesa. making a landfall, nicuesa, with a small caravel, attended by the two {21} brigantines, coasted along the shore seeking a favorable point for settlement. the large ships, by his orders, kept well out to sea. during a storm, nicuesa put out to sea himself, imagining that the brigantines under the charge of lope de olano, second in command would follow him. when morning broke and the storm disappeared there were no signs of the ships or brigantines. nicuesa ran along the shore to search for them, got himself embayed in the mouth of a small river, swollen by recent rains, and upon the sudden subsidence of the water coincident with the ebb of the tide, his ship took ground, fell over on her bilge and was completely wrecked. the men on board barely escaped with their lives to the shore. they had saved nothing except what they wore, the few arms they carried and one small boat. putting diego de ribero and three sailors in the boat and directing them to coast along the shore, nicuesa with the rest struggled westward in search of the two brigantines and the other three ships. they toiled through interminable forests and morasses for several days, living on what they could pick up in the way of roots and grasses, without discovering any signs of the missing vessels. coming to an arm of the sea, supposed to be chiriqui lagoon off costa rica, in the course of their journeyings, they decided to cross it in a small boat rather than make the long detour necessary to get to what they believed to be the other side. they were ferried over to the opposite shore in the boat, and to their dismay discovered that they were upon an almost desert island. it was too late and they were too tired, to go farther that night, so they resolved to pass the night on the {22} island. in the morning they were appalled to find that the little boat, with ribero and the three sailors, was gone. they were marooned on a desert island with practically nothing to eat and nothing but brackish swamp water to drink. the sailors they believed to have abandoned them. they gave way to transports of despair. some in their grief threw themselves down and died forthwith. others sought to prolong life by eating herbs, roots and the like. they were reduced to the condition of wild animals, when a sail whitened the horizon, and presently the two brigantines dropped anchor near the island. ribero was no recreant. he had been convinced that nicuesa was going farther and farther from the ships with every step that he took, and, unable to persuade him of that fact, he deliberately took matters into his own hands and retraced his course. the event justified his decision, for he soon found the brigantines and the other ships. olano does not seem to have bestirred himself very vigorously to seek for nicuesa, perhaps because he hoped to command himself; but when ribero made his report he at once made for the island, which he reached just in time to save the miserable remnant from dying of starvation. as soon as he could command himself, nicuesa, whose easy temper and generous disposition had left him under the hardships and misfortunes he had sustained, sentenced olano to death. by the pleas of his comrades, the sentence was mitigated, and the wretched man was bound in chains and forced to grind corn for the rest of the party--when there was any to grind. to follow nicuesa's career further would be simply to chronicle the story of increasing disaster. he lost {23} ship after ship and man after man. finally reduced in number to one hundred men, one of the sailors, which had been with columbus remembered the location of porto rico as being a haven where they might establish themselves in a fertile and beautiful country, well-watered and healthy. columbus had left an anchor under the tree to mark the place, and when they reached it they found that the anchor had remained undisturbed all the years. they were attacked by the indians there, and after losing twenty killed, were forced to put to sea in two small brigantines and a caravel, which they had made from the wrecks of their ships. coasting along the shore, they came at last to an open roadstead where they could debark. "in the name of god," said the disheartened nicuesa, "let us stop here." there they landed, called the place after their leader's exclamation, nombre de dios. the caravel, with a crew of the strongest, was despatched for succour, and was never heard of again. one day, the colonists of antigua were surprised by the sound of a cannon shot. they fired their own weapons in reply, and soon two ships carrying reënforcements for nicuesa under rodrigo de colmenares, dropped anchor in front of the town. by this time the colonists had divided into factions, some favoring the existing régime, others inclining toward the still busy encisco, others desirous of putting themselves under the command of nicuesa, whose generosity and sunny disposition were still affectionately remembered. the arrival of colmenares and his party, gave the nicuesa faction a decided preponderance; and, taking things in their own hands, they determined to despatch one of the ships, with two {24} representatives of the colony, up the coast in search of the governor. this expedition found nicuesa without much difficulty. again the rescuing ship arrived just in time. in a few days more, the miserable body of men, reduced now to less than sixty, would have perished of starvation. nicuesa's spirit had not been chastened by his unparalleled misfortunes. he not only accepted the proffered command of the colony--which was no more than his right, since it was established on his own territory--but he did more. when he heard that the colonists had amassed a great amount of gold by trading and thieving, he harshly declared that, as they had no legitimate right there, he would take their portion for himself; that he would stop further enterprises on their part--in short, he boastfully declared his intention of carrying things with a high hand in a way well calculated to infuriate his voluntary subjects. so arrogant was his bearing and so tactless and injudicious his talk, that the envoys from antigua fled in the night with one of the ships and reported the situation to the colony. olano, still in chains, found means to communicate with his friends in the other party. naturally he painted the probable conduct of the governor in anything but flattering colors. all this was most impolitic in nicuesa. he seemed to have forgotten that profound political principle which suggests that a firm seat in the saddle should be acquired before any attempts should be made to lead the procession. the fable of "king stork and the frogs" was applicable to the situation of the colonists. in this contingency they did not know quite what to do. it was balboa who came to their rescue again. {25} he suggested that, although they had invited him, they need not permit nicuesa to land. accordingly, when nicuesa hove in sight in the other ship, full of determination to carry things in his own way, they prevented him from coming ashore. greatly astonished, he modified his tone somewhat, but to no avail. it was finally decided among the colonists to allow him to land in order to seize his person. arrangements were made accordingly, and the unsuspicious nicuesa debarked from his ship the day after his arrival. he was immediately surrounded by a crowd of excited soldiers menacing and threatening him. it was impossible for him to make headway against them. he turned and fled. among his other gubernatorial accomplishments was a remarkable fleetness of foot. the poor little governor scampered over the sands at a great pace. he distanced his fierce pursuers at last and escaped to the temporary shelter of the woods. balboa, a gentleman by birth and by inclination as well--who had, according to some accounts, endeavored to compose the differences between nicuesa and the colonists--was greatly touched and mortified at seeing so brave a cavalier reduced to such an undignified and desperate extremity. he secretly sought nicuesa that night and profferred him his services. then he strove valiantly to bring about an adjustment between the fugitive and the brutal soldiery, but in vain. nicuesa, abandoning all his pretensions, at last begged them to receive him, if not as a governor, at least as a companion-at-arms, a volunteer. but nothing, neither the influence of balboa nor the entreaties {26} of nicuesa, could mitigate the anger of the colonists. they would not have the little governor with them on any terms. they would have killed him then and there, but balboa, by resorting to harsh measures, even causing one man to be flogged for his insolence, at last changed that purpose into another--which, to be sure, was scarcely less hazardous for nicuesa. he was to be given a ship and sent away forever from the isthmus. seventeen adherents offered manfully to share his fate. protesting against the legality of the action, appealing to them to give him a chance for humanity's sake, poor nicuesa was hurried aboard a small, crazy bark, the weakest of the wretched brigantines in the harbor. this was a boat so carelessly constructed that the calking of the seams had been done with a blunt iron. with little or no provisions, nicuesa and his faithful seventeen were forced to put to sea amid the jeers and mockery of the men on shore. the date was march 1, 1511. according to the chroniclers, the last words that those left on the island heard nicuesa say were, "show thy face, o lord, and we shall be saved." [5] a pathetic and noble departure! into the misty deep then vanished poor nicuesa and his faithful followers on that bright sunny spring morning. and none of them ever came back to tell the tale of what became of them. did they die of starvation in their crazy brigantine, drifting on and on while they rotted in the blazing sun, until her seams opened and she sank? did they founder in one of the sudden and fierce storms which sometimes swept {27} that coast? did the deadly teredo bore the ship's timbers full of holes, until she went down with all on board? were they cast on shore to become the prey of indians whose enmity they had provoked by their own conduct? no one ever knew. it was reported that years afterward on the coast of veragua some wandering adventurers found this legend, almost undecipherable, cut in the bark of a tree, "_aqui anduvo el desdichado diego de nicuesa_," which may be translated, "here was lost the unfortunate diego de nicuesa." but the statement is not credited. the fate of the gallant little gentleman is one of the mysteries of the sea. of the original eleven hundred men who sailed with the two governors there remained perhaps thirty of ojeda's and forty of nicuesa's at antigua with encisco's command. this was the net result of the first two years of effort at the beginning of government in south america on the isthmus of panama, with its ocean on the other side still undreamed of. what these men did there, and how balboa rose to further prominence, his great exploits, and finally how unkind fate also overtook him, will form the subject of the next paper. [1] at least, the assertion is gravely made by the ancient chroniclers. i wonder what kind of an outfielder he would have made today. [2] from the spanish word "bachiller," referring to an inferior degree in the legal profession. [3] in the absence of particular information, i suppose the ships to be small caravels of between fifty and sixty tons, and the brigantines much smaller, open, flat-bottomed boats with but one mast--although a modern brigantine is a two-masted vessel. [4] the castellano was valued at two dollars and fifty-six cents, but the purchasing power of that sum was much greater then than now. the maravedi was the equivalent of about one-third of a cent. [5] evidently he was quoting the exquisite measures of the eightieth psalm, one of the most touching appeals of david the poet-king, in which he says over and over again, "turn us again, o god, and cause thy face to shine, and we shall be saved." {31} ii panama, balboa and a forgotten romance i. the coming of the devastator this is the romantic history of vasco nuñez de balboa, the most knightly and gentle of the spanish discoverers, and one who would fain have been true to the humble indian girl who had won his heart, even though his life and liberty were at stake. it is almost the only love story in early spanish-american history, and the account of it, veracious though it is, reads like a novel or a play. after diego de nicuesa had sailed away from antigua on that enforced voyage from which he never returned, vasco nuñez de balboa was supreme on the isthmus. encisco, however, remained to make trouble. in order to secure internal peace before prosecuting some further expeditions, balboa determined to send him back to spain, as the easiest way of getting rid of his importunities and complaints. a more truculent commander would have no difficulty in inventing a pretext for taking off his head. a more prudent captain would have realized that encisco with his trained mouth could do very much more harm to him in spain than he could in darien. balboa thought to nullify that possibility, however, by sending valdivia, with a present, to hispaniola, and zamudio {32} with the bachelor to spain to lay the state of affairs before the king. encisco was a much better advocate than balboa's friend zamudio, and the king of spain credited the one and disbelieved the other. he determined to appoint a new governor for the isthmus, and decided that balboa should be proceeded against rigorously for nearly all the crimes in the decalogue, the most serious accusation being that to him was due the death of poor nicuesa. for by this time everybody was sure that the poor little meat-carver was no more. an enterprise against the french which had been declared off filled spain with needy cavaliers who had started out for an adventure and were greatly desirous of having one. encisco and zamudio had both enflamed the minds of the spanish people with fabulous stories of the riches of darien. it was curiously believed that gold was so plentiful that it could be fished up in nets from the rivers. such a piscatorial prospect was enough to unlock the coffers of a prince as selfish as ferdinand. he was willing to risk fifty thousand ducats in the adventure, which was to be conducted on a grand scale. no such expedition to america had ever been prepared before as that destined for darien. among the many claimants for its command, he picked out an old cavalier named pedro arias de avila, called by the spaniards pedrarias.[1] this pedrarias was seventy-two years old. he was of good birth and rich, and was the father of a large and interesting family, which he prudently left behind him in spain. his wife, however, insisted on going {33} with him to the new world. whether or not this was a proof of wifely devotion--and if it was, it is the only thing in history to his credit--or of an unwillingness to trust pedrarias out of her sight, which is more likely, is not known. at any rate, she went along. pedrarias, up to the time of his departure from spain, had enjoyed two nick-names, el galan and el justador. he had been a bold and dashing cavalier in his youth, a famous tilter in tournaments in his middle age, and a hard-fighting soldier all his life. his patron was bishop fonseca. whatever qualities he might possess for the important work about to be devolved upon him would be developed later. his expedition included from fifteen hundred to two thousand souls, and there were at least as many more who wanted to go and could not for lack of accommodations. the number of ships varies in different accounts from nineteen to twenty-five. the appointments both of the general expedition and the cavaliers themselves were magnificent in the extreme. many afterward distinguished in america went in pedrarias's command, chief among them being de soto. among others were quevedo, the newly appointed bishop of darien, and espinosa, the judge. the first fleet set sail on the 11th of april, 1514, and arrived at antigua without mishap on the 29th of june in the same year. the colony at that place, which had been regularly laid out as a town with fortifications and with some degree at least of european comfort, numbered some three hundred hard-bitten soldiers. the principle of the survival of the fittest had resulted in the selection of the best men from all the previous expeditions. they would have been a {34} dangerous body to antagonize. pedrarias was in some doubt as to how balboa would receive him. he dissembled his intentions toward him, therefore, and sent an officer ashore to announce the meaning of the flotilla which whitened the waters of the bay. the officer found balboa, dressed in a suit of pajamas engaged in superintending the roofing of a house. the officer, brilliant in silk and satin and polished armour, was astonished at the simplicity of vasco nuñez's appearance. he courteously delivered his message, however, to the effect that yonder was the fleet of don pedro arias de avila, the new governor of darien. [illustration: "balboa . . . engaged in superintending the roofing of a house"] balboa calmly bade the messenger tell pedrarias that he could come ashore in safety and that he was very welcome. balboa was something of a dissembler himself on occasion, as you will see. pedrarias thereupon debarked in great state with his men, and, as soon as he firmly got himself established on shore, arrested balboa and presented him for trial before espinosa for the death of nicuesa. ii. the greatest exploit since columbus's voyage during all this long interval, balboa had not been idle. a singular change had taken place in his character. he had entered upon the adventure in his famous barrel on encisco's ship as a reckless, improvident, roisterous, careless, hare-brained scapegrace. responsibility and opportunity had sobered and elevated him. while he had lost none of his dash and daring and brilliancy, yet he had become a wise, a prudent and a most successful captain. judged by the high standard of the modern times, balboa was {35} cruel and ruthless enough to merit our severe condemnation. judged by his environments and contrasted with any other of the spanish conquistadores he was an angel of light. [illustration: "the expedition had to fight its way through tribes of warlike and ferocious mountaineers"] he seems to have remained always a generous, affectionate, open-hearted soldier. he had conducted a number of expeditions after the departure of nicuesa to different parts of the isthmus, and he amassed much treasure thereby, but he always so managed affairs that he left the indian chiefs in possession of their territory and firmly attached to him personally. there was no indiscriminate murder, outrage or plunder in his train, and the isthmus was fairly peaceable. balboa had tamed the tempers of the fierce soldiery under him to a remarkable degree, and they had actually descended to cultivating the soil between periods of gold-hunting and pearl-fishing. the men under him were devotedly attached to him as a rule, although here and there a malcontent, unruly soldier, restless under the iron discipline, hated his captain. fortunately he had been warned by a letter from zamudio, who had found means to send it via hispaniola, of the threatening purpose of pedrarias and the great expedition. balboa stood well with the authorities in hispaniola. diego columbus had given him a commission as vice-governor of darien, so that as darien was clearly within diego columbus's jurisdiction, balboa was strictly under authority. the news in zamudio's letter was very disconcerting. like every spaniard, vasco nuñez knew that he could expect little mercy and scant justice from a trial conducted under such auspices as pedrarias's. he determined, therefore, to secure himself in his position by some splendid achievement, which would so work upon the {36} feelings of the king that he would be unable, for very gratitude, to press hard upon him. the exploit that he meditated and proposed to accomplish was the discovery of the ocean upon the other side of the isthmus. when nicuesa came down from nombre de dios, he left there a little handful of men. balboa sent an expedition to rescue them and brought them down to antigua. either on that expedition or on another shortly afterward, two white men painted as indians discovered themselves to balboa in the forest. they proved to be spaniards who had fled from nicuesa to escape punishment for some fault they had committed and had sought safety in the territory of an indian chief named careta, the cacique of cueva. they had been hospitably received and adopted into the tribe. in requital for their entertainment, they offered to betray the indians if vasco nuñez, the new governor, would condone their past offenses. they filled the minds of the spaniards, alike covetous and hungry, with stories of great treasures and what was equally valuable, abundant provisions, in coreta's village. balboa immediately consented. the act of treachery was consummated and the chief captured. all that, of course, was very bad, but the difference between balboa and the men of his time is seen in his after conduct. instead of putting the unfortunate chieftain to death and taking his people for slaves, balboa released him. the reason he released him was because of a woman--a woman who enters vitally into the subsequent history of vasco nuñez, and indeed of the whole of south america. this was the beautiful daughter of the chief. anxious to propitiate his captor, careta offered balboa this flower of the family {37} to wife. balboa saw her, loved her and took her to himself. they were married in accordance with the indian custom; which, of course, was not considered in the least degree binding by the spaniards of that time. but it is to balboa's credit that he remained faithful to this indian girl. indeed, if he had not been so much attached to her it is probable that he might have lived to do even greater things than he did. in his excursions throughout the isthmus, balboa had met a chief called comagre. as everywhere, the first desire of the spanish was gold. the metal had no commercial value to the indians. they used it simply to make ornaments, and when it was not taken from them by force, they were cheerfully willing to exchange it for beads, trinkets, hawks' bells, and any other petty trifles. comagre was the father of a numerous family of stalwart sons. the oldest, observing the spaniards brawling and fighting--"brabbling," peter martyr calls it--about the division of gold, with an astonishing degree of intrepidity knocked over the scales at last and dashed the stuff on the ground in contempt. he made amends for his action by telling them of a country where gold, like falstaff's reasons, was as plenty as blackberries. incidentally he gave them the news that darien was an isthmus, and that the other side was swept by a vaster sea than that which washed its eastern shore. these tidings inspired balboa and his men. they talked long and earnestly with the indians and fully satisfied themselves of the existence of a great sea and of a far-off country abounding in treasure on the other side. could it be that mysterious cipango of marco polo, search for which had been the object of columbus's voyage? the way there was discussed and the {38} difficulties of the journey estimated, and it was finally decided that at least one thousand spaniards would be required safely to cross the isthmus. balboa had sent an account of this conversation to spain, asking for the one thousand men. the account reached there long before pedrarias sailed, and to it, in fact, was largely due the extensive expedition. now when balboa learned from zamudio of what was intended toward him in spain, he determined to undertake the discovery himself. he set forth from antigua the 1st of september, 1513, with a hundred and ninety chosen men, accompanied by a pack of bloodhounds, very useful in fighting savages, and a train of indian slaves. francisco pizarro was his second in command. all this in lieu of the one thousand spaniards for which he had asked, which was not thought to be too great a number. the difficulties to be overcome were almost incredible. the expedition had to fight its way through tribes of warlike and ferocious mountaineers. if it was not to be dogged by a trail of pestilent hatreds, the antagonisms evoked by its advance must be composed in every indian village or tribe before it progressed farther. aside from these things, the topographical difficulties were immense. the spaniards were armour-clad, as usual, and heavily burdened. their way led through thick and overgrown and pathless jungles or across lofty and broken mountain-ranges, which could be surmounted only after the most exhausting labor. the distance as the crow flies, was short, less than fifty miles, but nearly a month elapsed before they approached the end of their journey. balboa's enthusiasm and courage had surmounted every obstacle. he made friends with the chiefs {39} through whose territories he passed, if they were willing to be friends. if they chose to be enemies, he fought them, he conquered them and then made friends with them then. such a singular mixture of courage, adroitness and statesmanship was he that everywhere he prevailed by one method or another. finally, in the territory of a chief named quarequa, he reached the foot of the mountain range from the summit of which his guides advised him that he could see the object of his expedition. there were but sixty-seven men capable of ascending that mountain. the toil and hardship of the journey had incapacitated the others. next to balboa, among the sixty-seven, was francisco pizarro. early on the morning of the 25th of september, 1513, the little company began the ascent of the sierra. it was still morning when they surmounted it and reached the top. before them rose a little cone, or crest, which hid the view toward the south. "there," said the guides, "from the top of yon rock, you can see the ocean." bidding his men halt where they were, vasco nuñez went forward alone and surmounted the little elevation. a magnificent prospect was embraced in his view. the tree-clad mountains sloped gently away from his feet, and on the far horizon glittered a line of silver which attested the accuracy of the claim of the indians as to the existence of a great sea on the other side of what he knew now to be an isthmus. balboa named the body of water that he could see far away, flashing in the sunlight of that bright morning, "the sea of the south," or "the south sea." [2] drawing his sword, he took possession of it in the {40} name of castile and leon. then he summoned his soldiers. pizarro in the lead they were soon assembled at his side. in silent awe they gazed, as if they were looking upon a vision. finally some one broke into the words of a chant, and on that peak in darien those men sang the "te deum laudamus." [illustration: "he took possession of the sea in the name of castile and leon"] somehow the dramatic quality of that supreme moment in the life of balboa has impressed itself upon the minds of the successive generations that have read of it since that day. it stands as one of the great episodes of history. that little band of ragged, weather-beaten, hard-bitten soldiers, under the leadership of the most lovable and gallant of the spaniards of his time, on that lonely mountain peak rising above the almost limitless sea of trackless verdure, gazing upon the great ocean whose waters extended before them for thousands and thousands of miles, attracts the attention and fires the imagination. your truly great man may disguise his imaginative qualities from the unthinking public eye, but his greatness is in proportion to his imagination. balboa, with the centuries behind him, shading his eye and staring at the water: ----dipt into the future far as human eye could see, saw the visions of the world, and all the wonder that would be. he saw peru with its riches; he saw fabled cathay; he saw the uttermost isles of the distant sea. his imagination took the wings of the morning and soared over worlds and countries that no one but he had ever dreamed of, all to be the fiefs of the king of castile. it is interesting to note that it must have been to balboa, of all men, that some adequate idea of the real size of the earth first came. {41} well, they gazed their fill; then, with much toil, they cut down trees, dragged them to the top of the mountain and erected a huge cross which they stayed by piles of stones. then they went down the mountain-side and sought the beach. it was no easy task to find it, either. it was not until some days had passed that one of the several parties broke through the jungle and stood upon the shore. when they were all assembled, the tide was at low ebb. a long space of muddy beach lay between them and the water. they sat down under the trees and waited until the tide was at flood, and then, on the 29th of september, with a banner displaying the virgin and child above the arms of spain in one hand and with drawn sword in the other, balboa marched solemnly into the rolling surf that broke about his waist and took formal possession of the ocean, and all the shores, wheresoever they might be, which were washed by its waters, for ferdinand of aragon, and his daughter joanna of castile, and their successors in spain. truly a prodigious claim, but one which for a time spain came perilously near establishing and maintaining.[3] [illustration: "he threw the sacred volume to the ground in a violent rage"] before they left the shore they found some canoes and voyaged over to a little island in the bay, which they called san miguel, since it was that saint's day, and where they were nearly all swept away by the rising tide. they went back to antigua by another route, somewhat less difficult, fighting and making peace as before, and amassing treasure the while. great was the joy of the colonists who had been left behind, when balboa and his men rejoined them. {42} those who had stayed behind shared equally with those who had gone. the king's royal fifth was scrupulously set aside and balboa at once dispatched a ship, under a trusted adherent named arbolancha, to acquaint the king with his marvelous discovery, and to bring back reënforcements and permission to venture upon the great sea in quest of the fabled golden land toward the south. iii. "furor domini" unfortunately for vasco nuñez, arbolancha arrived just two months after pedrarias had sailed. the discovery of the pacific was the greatest single exploit since the voyage of columbus. it was impossible for the king to proceed further against balboa under such circumstances. arbolancha was graciously received, therefore, and after his story had been heard a ship was sent back to darien instructing pedrarias to let balboa alone, appointing him an adelantado, or governor of the islands he had discovered in the south sea, and all such countries as he might discover beyond. all this, however took time, and balboa was having a hard time with pedrarias. in spite of all the skill of the envenomed encisco, who had been appointed the public prosecutor in pedrarias's administration, balboa was at last acquitted of having been concerned in the death of nicuesa. pedrarias, furious at the verdict, made living a burden to poor vasco nuñez by civil suits which ate up all his property. it had not fared well with the expedition of pedrarias, either, for in six weeks after they landed, over seven hundred of his unacclimated men were dead of fever and other diseases, incident to their lack of {43} precaution and the unhealthy climate of the isthmus. they had been buried in their brocades, as has been pithily remarked, and forgotten. the condition of the survivors was also precarious. they were starving in their silks and satins. pedrarias, however, did not lack courage. he sent the survivors hunting for treasures. under different captains he dispatched them far and wide through the isthmus to gather gold, pearls, and food. they turned its pleasant valleys and its noble hills into earthly hells. murder, outrage and rapine flourished unchecked, even encouraged and rewarded. all the good work of balboa in pacifying the natives and laying the foundation for a wise and kindly rule was undone in a few months. such cruelties had never before been practised in any part of the new world settled by the spaniards. i do not suppose the men under pedrarias were any worse than others. indeed, they were better than some of them, but they took their cue from their terrible commander. fiske calls him "a two-legged tiger." that he was an old man seems to add to the horror which the story of his course inspires. the recklessness of an unthinking young man may be better understood than the cold, calculating fury and ferocity of threescore and ten. to his previous appellations, a third was added. men called him, "_furor domini_"--"the scourge of god." not attila himself, to whom the title was originally applied, was more ruthless and more terrible. balboa remonstrated, but to no avail. he wrote letter after letter to the king, depicting the results of pedrarias' actions, and some tidings of his successive communications, came trickling back to the {44} governor, who had been especially cautioned by the king to deal mercifully with the inhabitants and set them an example of christian kindness and gentleness that they might be won to the religion of jesus thereby! pedrarias was furious against balboa, and would have withheld the king's dispatches acknowledging the discovery of the south sea by appointing him adelantado; but the bishop of darien, whose friendship balboa had gained, protested and the dispatches were finally delivered. the good bishop did more. he brought about a composition of the bitter quarrel between balboa and pedrarias. a marriage was arranged between the eldest daughter of pedrarias and balboa. balboa still loved his indian wife; it is evident that he never intended to marry the daughter of pedrarias, and that he entered upon the engagement simply to quiet the old man and secure his countenance and assistance for the undertaking he projected to the mysterious golden land toward the south. there was a public betrothal which effected the reconciliation. and now pedrarias could not do enough for balboa, whom he called his "dear son." iv. the end of balboa balboa, therefore, proposed to pedrarias that he should immediately set forth upon the south sea voyage. inasmuch as pedrarias was to be supreme in the new world and as balboa was only a provincial governor under him, the old reprobate at last consented. balboa decided that four ships, brigantines, would be needed for his expedition. the only timber fit for shipping, of which the spaniards were aware, {45} grew on the eastern side of the isthmus. it would be necessary, therefore, to cut and work up the frames and timbers of the ships on the eastern side, then carry the material across the isthmus, and there put it together. vasco nuñez reconnoitered the ground and decided to start his ship-building operations at a new settlement called ada. the timber when cut and worked had to be carried sixteen miles away to the top of the mountain, then down the other slope, to a convenient spot on the river valsa, where the keels were to be laid, the frames put together, the shipbuilding completed, and the boats launched on the river, which was navigable to the sea. this amazing undertaking was carried out as planned. there were two setbacks before the work was completed. in one case, after the frames had been made and carried with prodigious toil to the other side of the mountain, they were discovered to be full of worms and had to be thrown away. after they had been replaced, and while the men were building the brigantines, a flood washed every vestige of their labor into the river. but, as before, nothing could daunt balboa. finally, after labors and disappointments enough to crush the heart of an ordinary man, two of the brigantines were launched in the river. most of the carrying had been done by indians, over two thousand of whom died under the tremendous exactions of the work. embarking upon the two brigantines, balboa soon reached the pacific, where he was presently joined by the two remaining boats as they were completed. he had now four fairly serviceable ships and three hundred of the best men of the new world under his command. he was well equipped and well provisioned {46} for the voyage and lacked only a little iron and a little pitch, which, of course, would have to be brought to him from ada on the other side of the isthmus. the lack of that little iron and that little pitch proved the undoing of vasco nuñez. if he had been able to obtain them or if he had sailed away without them, he might have been the conqueror of peru; in which case that unhappy country would have been spared the hideous excesses and the frightful internal brawls and revolutions which afterward almost ruined it under the long rule of the ferocious pizarros. balboa would have done better from a military standpoint than his successors, and as a statesman as well as a soldier the results of his policy would have been felt for generations. history goes on to state that while he was waiting for the pitch and iron, word was brought to him that pedrarias was to be superseded in his government. this would have been delightful tidings under any other circumstances, but now that a reconciliation had been patched up between him and the governor, he rightly felt that the arrival of a new governor might materially alter the existing state of affairs. therefore, he determined to send a party of four adherents across the mountains to ada to find out if the rumours were true. if pedrarias was supplanted the messengers were to return immediately, and without further delay they would at once set sail. if pedrarias was still there, well and good. there would be no occasion for such precipitate action and they could wait for the pitch and iron. he was discussing this matter with some friends on a rainy day in 1517--the month and the date not being determinable now. the sentry attached to the governor's quarters, driven to the shelter of the {47} house by the storm, overheard a part of this harmless conversation. there is nothing so dangerous as a half-truth; it is worse than a whole lie. the soldier who had aforetime felt the weight of balboa's heavy hand for some dereliction of duty, catching sentences here and there, fancied he detected treachery to pedrarias and thought he saw an opportunity of revenging himself, and of currying favor with the governor, by reporting it at the first convenient opportunity. now, there lived at ada at the time one andres garavito. this man was balboa's bitter enemy. he had presumed to make dishonorable overtures to balboa's indian wife. the woman had indignantly repulsed his advances and had made them known to her husband. balboa had sternly reproved garavito and threatened him with death. garavito had nourished his hatred, and had sought opportunity to injure his former captain. the men sent by balboa to ada to find out the state of affairs were very maladroit in their manoeuvres, and their peculiar actions awakened the suspicions of pedrarias. the first one who entered the town was seized and cast into prison. the others thereupon came openly to ada and declared their purposes. this seems to have quieted, temporarily, the suspicions of pedrarias; but the implacable garavito, taking opportunity, when the governor's mind was unsettled and hesitant, assured him that balboa had not the slightest intention whatever of marrying pedrarias's daughter; that he was devoted to his indian wife, and intended to remain true to her; that it was his purpose to sail to the south sea, establish a kingdom and make himself independent of pedrarias. {48} the old animosity and anger of the governor awoke on the instant. there was no truth in the accusations except in so far as it regarded vasco nuñez's attachment to his indian wife, and indeed balboa had never given any public refusal to abide by the marital engagement which he had entered into; but there was just enough probability in garavito's tale to carry conviction to the ferocious tyrant. he instantly determined upon balboa's death. detaining his envoys, he sent him a very courteous and affectionate letter, entreating him to come to ada to receive some further instructions before he set forth on the south sea. among the many friends of balboa was the notary arguello who had embarked his fortune in the projected expedition. he prepared a warning to vasco nuñez, which unfortunately fell into the hands of pedrarias and resulted in his being clapped into prison with the rest. balboa unsuspiciously complied with the governor's request, and, attended by a small escort, immediately set forth for ada. he was arrested on the way by a company of soldiers headed by francisco pizarro, who had nothing to do with the subsequent transactions, and simply acted under orders, as any other soldier would have done. balboa was thrown into prison and heavily ironed; he was tried for treason against the king and pedrarias. the testimony of the soldier who had listened in the rainstorm was brought forward, and, in spite of a noble defense, balboa was declared guilty. espinosa, who was his judge, was so dissatisfied with the verdict, however, that he personally besought pedrarias to mitigate the sentence. the stern old tyrant refused to interfere, nor would he entertain {49} balboa's appeal to spain. "he has sinned," he said tersely; "death to him!" four of his companions--three of them men who had been imprisoned at ada, and the notary who had endeavored to warn him--were sentenced to death. it was evening before the preparations for the execution were completed. balboa faced death as dauntlessly as he had faced life. pedrarias was hated in ada and darien; balboa was loved. if the veterans of antigua had not been on the other side of the isthmus, balboa would have been rescued. as it was, the troops of pedrarias awed the people of ada and the judicial murder went forward. balboa was as composed when he mounted the scaffold as he had been when he welcomed pedrarias. a proclamation was made that he was a traitor, and with his last breath he denied this and asserted his innocence. when the axe fell that severed his head, the noblest spaniard of the time, and one who ranks with those of any time, was judicially murdered. one after the other, the three companions, equally as dauntless, suffered the unjust penalty. the fourth execution had taken place in the swift twilight of the tropical latitude and the darkness was already closing down upon the town when the last man mounted the scaffold. this was the notary, arguello, who had interfered to save balboa. he seems to have been beloved by the inhabitants of the town, for they awakened from their horror, and some of consideration among them appealed personally to pedrarias, who had watched the execution from a latticed window, to reprieve the last victim. "he shall die," said the governor sternly, "if i have to kill him with my own hand." so, to the future sorrow of america, and to the {50} great diminution of the glory and peace of spain, and the world, passed to his death the gallant, the dauntless, the noble-hearted balboa. pedrarias lived until his eighty-ninth year, and died in his bed at panama; which town had been first visited by one of his captains, tello de guzman, founded by espinosa and upbuilt by himself. there are times when a belief in an old-fashioned calvinistic hell of fire and brimstone is an extremely comforting doctrine, irrespective of theological bias. else how should we dispose of nero, tiberius, torquemada, and gentlemen of their stripe? wherever such a company may be congregated, pedro arias de avila is entitled to a high and exclusive place. [1] in the english chronicles he is often spoken of as davila, which is near enough to diabolo to make one wish that the latter sobriquet had been his own. it would have been much more apposite. [2] it was magellan who gave it the inappropriate name of "pacific." [3] to-day not one foot of territory bordering on that sea belongs to spain. the american flag flies over the philippines--shall i say forever? {53} iii peru and the pizarros a study in retribution "they that take the sword shall perish by the sword." i. the chief scion of a famous family the reader will look in vain on the map of modern spain for the ancient province of estremadura, yet it is a spot which, in that it was the birthplace of the conquerors of peru and mexico--to say nothing of the discoverer of the mississippi--contributed more to the glory of spain than any other province in the iberian peninsula. in 1883, the ancient territory was divided into the two present existing states of badajoz and caceres. in the latter of these lies the important mountain town of trujillo. living there in the last half of the fifteenth century was an obscure personage named gonzalo pizarro. he was a gentleman whose lineage was ancient, whose circumstances were narrow and whose morals were loose. by profession he was a soldier who had gained some experience in the wars under the "great captain," gonsalvo de cordova. history would take no note of this vagrom and obscure cavalier had it not been for his children. four sons there were whose qualities and opportunities were such as to have enabled them to play a somewhat large part in the world's affairs {54} in their day. how many unconsidered other progeny, male or female, there may have been, god alone knows--possibly, nay probably, a goodly number. the eldest son was named francisco. his mother, who was not married to his father--indeed not married to anybody at any time so far as i can find out--was a peasant woman named francisca gonzales. francisco was born about the year 1471. his advent was not of sufficient importance to have been recorded, apparently, and the exact date of his terrestrial appearance is a matter of conjecture, with the guesses ranging between 1470 and 1478. a few years after the arrival of francisco, there was born to gonzales, and this time by his lawful wife, name unknown, a second son, hernando. by the woman gonzales, a score of years later, this promiscuous father had two more illegitimate sons, one of whom he named gonzalo after himself, and the third he called juan. francisca gonzales also bore a fourth son, of whom gonzalo pizarro was not the father, who was known as martin de alcántara. thus hernando, the second, was legitimate; gonzalo and juan were his illegitimate half-brethren, having the same father but a different mother; while alcántara was a uterine brother to the three illegitimate pizarros, having the same mother but a different father. there must have been marvelous qualities in the original pizarro, for such a family is rarely to be met with in history. such a mixed state of affairs was not so shocking in those days as it would be at present. i do not find that anybody cast any stones at the pizarros on account of these irregularities in their birth. in fact, they had plenty of companions in their anomalous social relations, and it is a speaking commentary on the {55} times that nobody seemed to consider it as especially disgraceful or even very remarkable. hernando, the second son, received a good education for the day. the others were thrown mainly on their own resources. legend says that francisco was suckled by a sow. the statement may be dismissed as a fable, but it is more than probable that the assertion that he was a swineherd is correct. it is certain that to the day of his death he could neither read nor write. he never even learned to sign his own name, yet he was a man of qualities who made a great figure in history in spite of these disabilities, leaving behind him an immortal if unenviable name. his career was humble and obscure to the vanishing point for forty years, of which practically nothing is known. it is alleged that he made a campaign in italy with his father, but this is doubtful. a father who left him to tend the swine, who did nothing for his education, would not have bothered to take him a-soldiering. we leave the field of conjecture, however, and meet him in far-off america in 1510 as an officer under alonzo de ojeda--that don quixote among discoverers. his qualities had obtained for him some preferment, for when ojeda left the miserable remnants of his colony at san sebastian on the gulf of darien, and returned to cuba for help, pizarro was put in charge, with instructions to wait a certain time, and if succour did not reach him to leave. he waited the required time, indeed waited longer, until enough people died to enable the brigantine that had been left with them to carry the survivors, and then sailed away. he was a member of encisco's expedition to darien, in which he fell in with the youthful and {56} romantic vasco nuñez de balboa. with balboa he marched across the isthmus, and was the second white man to look upon the great south sea in 1513. subsequently, he was an officer under that american nero, pedro arias de avila, commonly called pedrarias, the founder and governor of panama, the conqueror of nicaragua and parts adjacent. oviedo says that between his seventieth year, which was his age when he came to america, and his eighty-sixth year, when he died, the infamous pedrarias caused more than two million indians to be put to death, besides a numerous lot of his own countrymen. if we lop off two ciphers, the record is still bad enough. in 1515, pizarro and morales, by direction of pedrarias, made an expedition to the south of the gulf of san miguel, into the territory of a chieftain named biru, from whom they early got into the habit of calling the vague land believed to exist in the south sea, the "land of biru," or peru. it was on this expedition that the spaniards, hotly pursued by the natives, stabbed their captives one by one and left them dying at intervals in the pathway to check pursuit. the practice was effective enough and the action throws an interesting light on the spanish conquistador in general and pizarro in particular. it fell to the lot of pizarro also to arrest his old captain, balboa, just as the latter was about to sail on a voyage of discovery to the fabulous gold country of peru in 1517.[1] when balboa and pizarro had crossed the isthmus six years before, the son of the cacique comagre, observing their avidity for gold, told them {57} that it abounded in a mysterious land far toward the south, and the young indian made a little clay image of a llama further to describe the country. to conquer that el dorado had been balboa's cherished dream. well would it have been for the country had not the jealousy of pedrarias cut short balboa's career by taking off his head, thus forcing the enterprise to be undertaken by men of coarser mould and meaner clay. it does not appear that pizarro had any hand in the judicial murder of balboa, and no reflection can be made on his conduct for the arrest, which was simply a matter of military duty, probably as distasteful to pizarro as it was surprising to balboa. ii. the terrible persistence of pizarro in 1519, pizarro was living in panama in rather straightened circumstances. his life had been a failure. a soldier of fortune, he possessed little but his sword. he was discontented, and although now nearly fifty years of age, he still had ambition. with remembrance of what he had heard the young indian chief tell balboa, constantly inciting him to a further grapple with hitherto coy and elusive fortune, he formed a partnership with another poverty-stricken but enterprising veteran named diego de almagro, whose parentage was as obscure as pizarro's--indeed more so, for he is reputed to have been a foundling, although oviedo describes him as the son of a spanish laboring man. the two men supplemented each other. pizarro, although astute and circumspect, was taciturn and chary of speech, though fluent enough on occasion; he was slow in making up his mind, too, but when it {58} was made up, resolute and tenacious of his purpose. almagro was quick, impulsive, generous, frank in manner, "wonderfully skilled in gaining the hearts of men," but sadly deficient in other qualities of leadership. both were experienced soldiers, as brave as lions and nearly as cruel as pedrarias himself--being indeed worthy disciples of his school. the two penniless, middle-aged soldiers of fortune determined to undertake the conquest of that distant empire--a stupendous resolution. being almost without means, they were forced to enlarge the company by taking on a third partner, a priest named luque, who had, or could command, the necessary funds. with the sanction of pedrarias, who demanded and received a share, largely gratuitous, in the expedition, they bought two of the four vessels which balboa had caused to be taken to pieces, transported them across the isthmus, then set them up again, and relaunched in the pacific. enlisting one hundred men under his banner, pizarro set sail with the first vessel on the 14th of november, 1524. almagro was to follow after with reënforcements and supplies in the second ship. one andagoya had made a short excursion southward some time before, but they soon passed his latitude and were the first white men to cleave those southern seas. with only their hopes to guide them, without pilot, chart or experience, being, i suspect, indifferent sailors and wretched navigators, they crept along the forbidding shore in a crazy little ship, landing from time to time, seeing no evidence of the empire, being indeed unable to penetrate the jungles far enough to find out much of anything about the countries they passed. finally, at one place, that they afterwards called "starvation {59} harbor," the men rebelled and demanded to be led back. they had seen and heard little of importance. there seemed to be nothing before them but death by starvation. pizarro, however, who has been aptly described as "terribly persistent," refused to return. he sent the ship back to the isles of pearls for provisions, and grimly clung to the camp on the desolate shore. when twenty of his men were dead of starvation, the ship came back with supplies. in one of their excursions, during this wait at starvation harbor, they had stumbled upon and surprised an indian village in which they found some clumsy gold ornaments, with further tales of the el dorado to the southward. instead of yielding to the request of his men that they immediately return in the ship, therefore, the indomitable spaniard made sail southward. he landed at various places, getting everywhere little food and less gold, but everywhere gaining more and more confirmation that the foundation of his dreams was not "the baseless fabric of a vision." in one place they had a fierce battle with the indians in which two of the spaniards were killed and a large number wounded. pizarro now determined to return to panama with the little gold he had picked up and the large stories he had heard, there to recruit his band and to start out again. almagro meanwhile had set forth with his ship with sixty or seventy additional adventurers. he easily followed the traces of pizarro on the shore but the ships did not meet. almagro went farther south than pizarro. at one landing-place he had a furious battle with the natives in which he lost an eye. he turned back after reaching the mouth of the river san juan in about the fourth {60} parallel of north latitude. he, too, had picked up some little treasure and a vast quantity of rumor to compensate for his lost optic and bitter experience. but the partners had little to show for their sufferings and expenditures but rumors and hopes. pedrarias in disgust withdrew from the expedition for a price, which, with the money necessary to send out a second expedition, was furnished through luque by the licentiate espinosa. about september, 1526, with two ships, the two captains set forth once more. this time they had with them a capable pilot named ruiz. they avoided the coast and steered direct for the mouth of the san juan river. pizarro surprised a village here, carried off some of the natives, and a considerable amount of gold. this almagro, as the best "persuader," took back to panama in the hope that by exhibiting it he could gain much needed reënforcements for their expedition. the ships were very much undermanned. the experience of the first expedition, as related by the survivors, had been so horrible that it was with difficulty that they could get anybody to go with them on the second. pizarro agreed to remain at the mouth of the river and examine the vicinity, while ruiz with the second ship sailed southward to see what he could discover. pizarro's men found no gold, although they explored the country with prodigious labor. indians fell upon them, at one time killing fourteen who had stranded in a canoe on the bank of a river. many other spaniards perished, and all except pizarro and a few of the stoutest hearts begged to return to panama. ruiz came back just as they had begun to despair. he had crossed the equator, the first european to {61} cross it from the north, and had sailed half a degree south from the line.[2] he brought back some indians, further specimens of gold and silver ornaments, exquisitely woven woollen garments, _et cetera_, which he had taken from a craft cruising near the shore, which were proofs positive of the existence of the long-desired country. almagro now made his appearance with reënforcements and the keels were soon turned to the south. coasting along the shore, they saw increasing evidence of cultivation in the valleys and uplands, backed by the huge snow-crowned range of the andes. large villages appeared here and there. finally, they anchored opposite a considerable town laid out in well-defined streets, containing about two thousand houses, many of them built of stone. from their position close to the shore they thought that they could make out that the inhabitants wore ornaments of gold. several canoes approached the ship, one of them crowded with warriors carrying a species of gold mask as an ensign. there appeared to be at least ten thousand warriors assembled on the shore but pizarro landed with the few horses which he had brought along in the ship. a sharp engagement ensued, and the result might have been disastrous to the spaniards had not one of them fallen from his horse during the fray. this diversion of what they considered a single animal into two, both living, alarmed the indians so much, that they desisted from the attack and withdrew, the spaniards taking advantage of the chance to return to the ships. what to do next was the problem. they had not {62} sufficient force or supplies with them to encounter the natives, or conquer or even explore the country. the expedition was about as meagrely equipped as it well could be and be an expedition at all. there were long discussions on the ships and a fierce quarrel between the two partners. finally, it was composed outwardly, and it was decided that pizarro should remain at the coast at some convenient point while almagro, the traverser, went back for reënforcements. pizarro elected to pitch his camp on the little island of gallo which they had discovered. those who were appointed to remain with him rebelled at the decision which left them marooned on a desolate island with no adequate provisions for their needs. pizarro, however, insisted and almagro sailed with the other ship. shortly afterward, pizarro sent the remaining ship with the most obstinate of the mutineers to panama. a letter revealing their sad plight, which was concealed in a ball of cotton sent as a present to the wife of the governor by one of the men on the island of gallo, was smuggled ashore at panama when almagro's ship reached that point, despite his vigilant efforts to allow no such communications to pass. there was a new governor in panama, pedro de los rios. incensed by the loss of life and the hardships of the two expeditions, with the lack of definite and tangible results, and disregarding the remonstrances of almagro, he dispatched two ships under one pedro tafur to bring them back. life on the island of gallo had been a hideous experience. famine, disease and inclement weather had taken off many and had broken the spirit of the most of the rest of the band. nothing could break that of pizarro. when tafur appeared, he refused to return. drawing {63} an east-and-west line upon the sand with his sword, he made a brief soldierly address to his men. "friends and comrades," he said, facing the south, "on that side of the line are toil, hunger, nakedness, the drenching storm, destruction and death. on this side," turning to the north, "are ease and pleasure. there lies peru with its riches. here, panama with its poverty. choose each man as best becomes a cavalier of castile. for my part, i go to the south." such was the effect of his electrifying words, that, as he stepped over the line, a number of his comrades, led by ruiz, the pilot, and pedro de candia, a greek gunner, followed him. the number varies from thirteen to sixteen according to different authorities. the weight of evidence inclines me to the smaller number.[3] tafur raged and threatened, but pizarro and his men persisted. they got themselves transferred to the island of gorgona where there were water and game and no inhabitants, and there they stayed while tafur returned. {64} less than a score of men marooned on a desert island in an unknown sea, opposite a desolate and forbidding coast, without a ship or any means of leaving the island, not knowing whether almagro and luque would be able to succor them; their position was indeed a desperate one. it shows, as nothing else could, the iron determination of the indomitable spaniard. at that moment when pizarro drew the line and stepped across it after that fiery address, he touched at the same time the nadir of his fortunes and the zenith of his fame. surely it stands as one of the great dramatic incidents of history. the conquest of peru turned upon that very instant, upon the determination of that moment; and upon the conquest of peru depended more things in the future history of the earth than were dreamed of in the narrow philosophy of any spaniard there present, or of any other man in existence in that long-past day. peru has played a tremendously important part in the affairs of men. it was the treasure of peru that armed the soldiers of alva and laid the keels of the armada. it was the treasure of peru that relieved the spanish people of the necessity of wresting a national revenue out of a soil by agriculture; which abrogated the auxiliary of agriculture, manufactures; which precluded the possibility of the corollary of the other two, commerce. it was the treasure of peru that permitted the spanish people to indulge that passion for religious bigotry which was stifling to liberty and throttling to development, and which put them hopelessly out of touch with the onward and progressive movement of humanity in one of the most vital periods and movements in history. it was the treasure of peru that kindled the fires of the inquisition, {65} in which the best blood of the nation lighted it to its downfall, and blazed the way for manila and santiago. philip ii, and his decadent and infamous successors depended upon the mines of potosi and the mines of potosi hung upon pizarro and his line in the sand. the base-born, ignorant, cruel soldier wrecked in one moment a nation, made and unmade empires, and changed the whole course of the world. it was largely the spanish zeal and intolerance that developed and made perfect the reformation, for no great cause has ever won success without opposition, nay, persecution. "the blood of the martyr," says st. augustine, "is the seed of the church." to return to the situation. tafur presently reached panama and reported. the governor and the people of that city looked upon pizarro as a madman. luque and almagro were unwearying in their efforts and importunities, however, and finally they wrung a reluctant permission from de los rios for ruiz and one small ship and a few men to go to the rescue, with the proviso that a return must be made within six months. one can imagine the joy with which the desperate adventurers on the island saw the sails of that ship whitening the horizon. once more they set sail to the south, arriving finally before a large and populous town called tumbez. here they saw undoubted signs of the existence of a great empire in a high state of civilization. the little party had some pleasant intercourse with the natives of tumbez. they gathered a considerable amount of gold and silver, some of it exquisitely wrought by cunning artificers into the forms of beautiful and unknown plants and animals. there was no possible doubt as to {66} the truth of their golden dreams. the empire of peru in all its magnificence lay before them. too meagre a force to embrace the opportunity, there was nothing to do but to return to panama. there it was agreed that pizarro, with de candia, should go over to spain, taking with him peruvians and treasures, tell what he had seen, and secure the royal countenance and support for their future undertaking, while almagro and luque remained at panama preparing for the final expedition. pizarro had no sooner set foot in spain than he was arrested for debt on some ancient charge by encisco, but he was too big a man, now, for such petty persecution and he was at once released and ordered to present himself at court. the rough, blunt soldier, with his terrible yet romantic tale with its infinite possibilities, was received with astonishing cordiality. he gained a royal commission to discover and conquer the empire of peru for spain for the distance of two hundred leagues south of the santiago river, and received the title of governor and captain-general with large powers and revenue appertaining, which it was easy for the crown to bestow since pizarro had to get them himself. almagro, who justly felt himself slighted and his services inadequately valued, was made governor of tumbez; luque was appointed bishop for the same place and protector of the peruvians; ruiz was named grand pilot of the southern ocean; de candia, a general of artillery; and every one of the thirteen who had crossed the line at gallo was ennobled and made an hidalgo of spain. then pizarro went back to trujillo. certainly it must have been a happy moment for the neglected {67} bastard who had been a swineherd to return to his native village under such enviable conditions. he set sail for america early in 1530, with three ships. his four brothers came with him, the able hernando being made second in command. almagro and luque were very much chagrined at the meagre reward that had fallen to them, and almagro looked with deep antagonism upon the advent of the pizarros, who, he realized instinctively, would undermine his influence with his partner. this hatred the new pizarros repaid in kind. some sort of peace, however, was patched up between them, and in january, 1531, with three small ships and one hundred and eighty-three men, including thirty-seven horses, francisco set forth on his final voyage of conquest. nearly seven years had elapsed since the first attempt was made. as yet they had little but empty titles, large powers, purely potential, however, and drained purses to show for their heroic endeavor, but the persistence of pizarro was about to triumph at last. after a voyage of thirteen days, the squadron arrived at san mateo, where the horses and soldiers were landed and ordered to march along the shore southward, while the ships were sent back for reënforcements which almagro was gathering as usual. they returned with thirty more men and thirty-six additional horses. arriving at the gulf of guayaquil, pizarro established himself on the island of puna, opposite tumbez, which he cleared of its inhabitants by a series of desperate battles. there he was reënforced by a detachment of one hundred men with an additional number of horses under the command of young hernando de soto, another gallant estremaduran, and quite the most attractive among this band of desperadoes, whose {68} design was to loot an empire and proclaim the holy gospel of christ as the spanish people had received the same. i have no doubt at all that the desire to propagate their religion was quite as real and as vividly present to them at all times as was their greed for gold. they had a zeal for god, but not according to knowledge; like the men of the middle ages who bore the cross on their hauberks, every spaniard was a crusader. aside from de soto, there is no single character of all those, either indian or spaniard, who for fifteen years made peru a bloody battle-ground, except the unfortunate young inca manco capac, who is entitled to the least admiration or affection. in april, 1532, pizarro embarked his men on the ships and landed, not without some fierce fighting, at tumbez, on the coast of peru. at last the expedition was on solid ground and nothing prevented its further advance. on the 18th of may, therefore, they took up the march for the interior, little dreaming of the ultimate fate that awaited them all. iii. "a communistic despotism." the empire of peru well deserved the title of magnificent. the highest civilization attained on the western hemisphere had been reached on this south american coast. a form of government unique in history had been developed and put in operation by a capable and enlightened people. it was a "communistic despotism," a community with a despot and a ruling class superimposed upon its socialism. the sway of these despots was exceedingly mild and gentle, even if absolute. with wonderful ingenuity and a rare capacity for organization, upon the {69} ruins of an older civilization, they built the inca empire. the incas were the ruling tribe, the emperor being the inca par excellence. their empire was as thoroughly organized as it is possible for a community to be. indeed, it was organized to death; the inca was the empire, and one source of the empire's speedy downfall was due to the fact that the national spirit of the peruvians had been so crushed by the theocratic despotism of their rulers that they viewed the change of masters with more or less indifference. when the incas conquered a country and people they so arranged affairs as to incorporate the people as part of the empire. they called their domains grandiloquently "the four quarters of the earth." they did not govern this great territory by brute force as did the aztecs--although they knew how to use the sword if necessary--but by methods dictated by prudent and profound policy, productive of peaceful success. the mild government of the incas was at once patriarchal, theocratic and despotic. whatever it was, from the incas' point of view it was absolute and satisfactory. prescott's account of the inca civilization reads like a romance, yet it is practically borne out by all chroniclers who have discussed the subject, some of whom appear to desire to find the great american historian at fault. large and populous cities existed, communication between which was had by great national roads traversing every part of the land. vast herds of llamas were domesticated, from the hair of which the exquisitely woven cloth was made. agriculture flourished. the country, upraised from the sea by the great range of mountains, afforded every variety of {70} climate from temperate to tropic, and the diversified products of the soil corresponded with the opportunities presented. and every foot of space was utilized for a population of millions of industrious workers, with an economy and resourcefulness only emulated by the chinese in the working of their country. even the mountain-sides were terraced by tiny farms. the peruvians had made some progress in the arts, less in science. they lacked the art of writing, although they possessed a highly developed system of mnemonic aids in the form of curiously knotted and particolored strings called quipus. their literature, if the contradiction be permitted, was handed down like their history, by oral tradition. great as had been their achievements, however, they were in a curious state of arrested development. with the peruvians, says helps, "everything stopped short." they had not arrived at a finality anywhere, save perhaps in their mode of government. they could erect enormous time-defying buildings, but they knew of no way to roof them except by thatching them. their roads were marvels of engineering construction, but they could not build bridges except frail ones made out of osier cables. no wheels ran along the smooth, well-paved, magnificent highways. they could refine gold and silver and make weapons of tempered copper, but they were entirely ignorant of the use of iron. the greatest human development has depended upon that last metal. the great nations are those which have had the steel-tempered sword blades in their hands. they could administer a colony in a way to excite the admiration of the world, and yet not write a line. there is little probability that they would have progressed much beyond the state at which {71} they had arrived, _for there was no individual liberty in the land_. that was the fatal defect in their system. it was the lack which put that touch of finality to their otherwise marvelously developed condition and which limited inexorably their civilization. the unchangeable conditions were stifling to ambition and paralyzing to achievement. the two things the country lacked were the two vital things to human progress and human success--letters and liberty. the religious development of the peruvians was very high. they worshipped an unknown supreme being and they worshipped him, it is conclusively demonstrated, without human sacrifice. objectively they paid their chief adoration to the sun, moon and stars, and to the inca as the child or earthly representative of the sun. sun-worship is the noblest and highest of all the purely natural religions. when to this was superadded an instinctive feeling for a great first cause, of which the solar magnificence was but a manifestation, the religion of the peruvians is entitled to great respect. their history ran back into the mists of the past. at the time of the arrival of pizarro, a curious condition, anomalous in their records, had arisen. huayna capac, one of the greatest monarchs of the inca line, had extended his dominion by force of arms over the rich province of quito, far to the north. he had taken as one of his concubines the daughter of the conquered monarch of quito and by her had a son named atahualpa.[4] the son of the monarch by his sister, his only legal {72} wife, or coya--the irrevocable peruvian method of providing for the inca succession--was named huascar. huayna on his deathbed, after a glorious reign of forty years, made the fatal mistake of dividing his dominion between huascar, to whom was given ancient peru, and atahualpa, who took quito to the north. world-history, of which huayna could have known nothing, has shown conclusively enough that such a policy has always brought about civil war, and this startling reversal of peruvian custom by a doting monarch on his deathbed produced the usual results. the armies of atahualpa, led by two famous soldiers called quiz-quiz and chalcuchima, had met and defeated the troops of huascar in a series of bloody battles. they had taken that unhappy monarch prisoner and, by a series of terrible massacres instigated by atahualpa, had striven with large success to cut off the family of the unfortunate inca root and branches. the land had been devastated by the fierceness of the internecine conflict, towns had been carried by storm, the inhabitants put to the sword; the ordinary course of events had been interrupted and agriculture had languished; the empire lay gasping under the paw of the peruvian usurper when pizarro landed upon the shore. the strife that was to ensue was between two base-born, cruel-hearted soldiers of fortune, one at the head of a little body of white men, but with all the prestige of their color and development in warfare, and weapons, the other, the now undisputed monarch of a vast if prostrate and exhausted empire, at the head of great armies flushed with victory and eager for new conquests. what would the result of the struggle be? {73} iv. the treacherous and bloody massacre of caxamarca. having marched some thirty miles south of tumbezin the pleasant spring weather, pizarro, finding what he conceived to be a favorable location for a permanent colony, encamped his army, laid out and began to build a city, which he called san miguel. the spaniards were great builders and the city was planned and fortified on an extensive scale and the more important buildings erected, so that it was not until september that pizarro considered his base of supplies had been made secure. meanwhile he had been assiduously seeking information on every hand concerning the internal dissensions in the peruvian empire, so that he could undertake his conquest intelligently. on the 24th of september, 1532, the valiant little army was mustered and, after deducting a small garrison for san miguel, those appointed for the expedition were found to include sixty-seven horsemen, three arquebusiers, twenty crossbowmen and eighty-seven footmen, in all one hundred and seventy-seven.[5] they were accompanied by two pieces of small artillery called falconets, each having a bore of two inches and carrying a shot weighing about a pound and a half, being, with the three arquebusiers, general de candia's command. with this insignificant force, augmented, i suppose, by some indian captives acting as pack-mules, pizarro started out to conquer an empire conservatively estimated to contain from ten to twelve millions of people, supporting an army of disciplined {74} soldiers whose numbers ran into the hundreds of thousands. the spanish forces were well equipped and in good condition, but as they left the sea-shore and advanced, without molestation, to be sure, through the populous country, some idea of the magnitude of their self-appointed task permeated the minds of the common soldiery, and evidences of hesitation, reluctance and dissension speedily appeared. the unwillingness of the men grew until pizarro was forced to take notice of it. halting on the fifth day in a pleasant valley, he met the emergency in his usual characteristic fashion. parading the men, he addressed to them another of those fiery speeches for which he was famous, and the quality of which, from so illiterate a man, is amazingly high. he painted anew the dangers before them, and then adroitly lightened the shadows of his picture by pointing to the rewards. he appealed to all that was best in humanity by saying that he wanted none but the bravest to go forward.[6] he closed his address by offering to allow all who wished to do so to return to san miguel, whose feeble garrison, he said, he should be glad to have reënforced. and, with a subtler stroke of policy, he promised that those who went back should share in the rewards gained by their more constant brethren. but four infantrymen and five horsemen shamefacedly availed themselves of this permission. the rest enthusiastically clamored to be led forward. both mutiny and timidity were silenced forever in that band. {75} on a similar occasion, cortes had burnt his ships. it is hard to decide which was the better expedient. certainly cortes was incomparably a much abler man than pizarro, but somehow pizarro managed to rise to the successive emergencies which confronted him, just the same. greatly refreshed in spirits, the army, purged of the malcontents, proceeded cautiously on its way south. they were much elated from time to time at receiving envoys from atahualpa, who coupled a superstitious reverence for the invaders as children of the sun with demands as to their purposes, and a request that they halt and wait the pleasure of the inca. pizarro dissembled his intentions and received them with fair words, but refusing to halt, kept steadily on, announcing his intention of visiting atahualpa wherever he might be found. pursuing their journey, the spaniards came early in november to the foot of the mountains. to the right of them, that is toward the south, extended a great well-paved road which led to the imperial capital of cuzco. in front of them, a narrow path rose over the mountains. one was easy, the other hard. in spite of suggestions from his soldiery, pizarro chose the hard way. he had announced his intention of visiting the inca, and visit him he would although the way to the city of cuzco was open and the place might easily be taken possession of. the seat of danger and the source of power were alike with the inca, and not in cuzco. with sixty foot and forty horse, this old man, now past sixty years, led the way over the mountains, while his brother brought up the rear with the remainder. the passage was a terrible one, but the indomitable {76} band, catching some of the spirit of their leader, surmounted all the obstacles, and a few days after from the summits of a mighty range, surveyed the fertile, beautiful plains spread out before them on the farther side of the mountain. close at hand was the white-walled city, caxamarca or cajamarca, embowered in verdure in a fruitful valley. the place was an important position, well fortified and containing, under ordinary circumstances, a population of ten thousand. the reader should remember the name, for it was the scene of one of the most remarkable and determinative events in history. the conquest, in fact, was settled there. beyond the city, on the slopes of the hills, and divided from it by a river, over which a causeway led, stood the white tents of the fifty thousand soldiers of atahualpa's army. the number of them filled the spaniards with amazement, and in some cases with apprehension. there was no going back then, however; there was nothing to do but advance. at the hour when the bells of holy church in their home land were ringing vespers, in a cold driving rain mingled with sleet, the little cortège entered the city, which they found as the french found moscow, deserted of its inhabitants. with the ready instinct of a soldier, pizarro led his force to the public square, or plaza, which was in the shape of a rude triangle surrounded on two sides by well-built, two-story houses of stone. on the other side, or base, rose a huge fortress with a tower overlooking the city on one hand and the inca's camp on the other. without hesitation, the weary spaniards made themselves at home in the vacant buildings around the square; guards were posted in order that the strictest {77} watch might be kept, and other preparations made for defence. here they prepared for the repose of the night. meanwhile hernando de soto with twenty horse was sent as an ambassador to atahualpa's camp. he had been gone but a short time when pizarro, at the suggestion of his brother hernando, who made the point that twenty horsemen were not sufficient for defense and too many to lose, despatched the latter with twenty more cavalrymen to reënforce the first party. the two cavaliers and their escort found the inca in the midst of his camp. the monarch was seated and surrounded by a brilliant assemblage of nobles in magnificent vestments. he was guarded by a great army of soldiers armed with war-clubs, swords and spears of tempered copper, and bows and slings. he received the deputation with the impassivity of a stone image, vouchsafing no answer to their respectful address until it had been several times repeated. at last he declared he would visit the strangers on the morrow, and directed them to occupy the buildings in the public square, and none other until he came to make arrangements. his demeanor was cold and forbidding to the last degree. the results of the embassy were highly unsatisfactory. one incident connected with the interview is worthy of mention. de soto, who was a most accomplished cavalier, a perfect centaur in fact, noticing the amazed and somewhat alarmed glances of the inca's men at the movements of his restless horse, suddenly determined to exhibit his skill at the manège. striking spurs to his charger, he caused him to curvet and prance in the open before the inca, showing at the same time {78} his own horsemanship and the fiery impetuosity of the high-spirited animal. he concluded this performance--shall i say circus?--by dashing at full speed toward the inca, reining in his steed with the utmost dexterity a few feet from the royal person. what the inca thought of this has not been recorded. i imagine he must have been terribly affronted. some of his nobles and soldiers, less able to preserve their iron composure than their master, shrank back from the onrushing avalanche of steed and steel presented by de soto and his horse. the spaniards found their dead bodies the next day. it did not do to show cowardice in the presence of the inca! they had been summarily executed by atahualpa's order. yet, i cannot think the inca a man of surpassing bravery after all. certainly he was not a man of sufficient ability worthily to hold the scepter of so great an empire. he made a frightful mistake in not stopping the invaders where it would have been easy for him to do so, in the narrow defiles of the mountains, and he did not even yet seem to have decided in his own mind how he should treat them. to be sure, according to some accounts, he looked upon them as belonging to the immortal gods, but there have been men brave enough in the defence of land and liberty to defy even the immortal gods! a vast deal of sympathy, indeed, has been wasted upon atahualpa. without doubt the spaniards treated him abominably, and for that treatment the wretched monarch has claims to our consideration, but for his personal qualities or his past record, none. helps explains his name as derived from two words meaning, "sweet valor!" markham affirms that the words mean "a chance, or lucky, game-cock!" neither appellation, in view of {79} atahualpa's history can be considered as especially apt or happy. much dissatisfied and thoroughly perturbed, de soto and hernando pizarro returned to the city. long and serious were the deliberations of the leaders that night. at length they arrived at a momentous decision, one for which they have been severely and justly censured, but which under the circumstances was the only possible decision which insured their safety. they had no business in that country. they had come there with the deliberate intention of looting it without regard to the rights of the inhabitants, and in that purpose lay the seeds of all their subsequent crimes, treachery, murder, outrage and all other abominations whatsoever. no surprise need be felt therefore, that they determined upon the seizure of the person of the inca. the example of cortes with montezuma was before them. i have no doubt that his amazing exploits in mexico had been talked over frequently by every camp-fire in the new and the old world, and many bold spirits had longed for an opportunity to emulate his doings. the spaniards in peru had already learned enough of the local conditions to realize that with the person of the inca they could control the government. to seize him was black treachery, of course; but being there, it was the only thing to do, from their point of view. the night was an anxious one and the morning found them engaged in preparations. de candia was posted with two small falconets and three arquebusiers on the roof of the fortress. his guns pointed toward the inca's camp, though he had instructions to turn them on the square as soon as the peruvians arrived. de soto and hernando pizarro divided the horse {80} between them and occupied the houses on the other side of the square with them. the infantry were distributed at various points of vantage. pizarro reserved twenty of the trustiest blades for his own escort. the arms of the men were carefully looked to, and nothing that the skill or experience of the captains could suggest was left undone to promote the success of their hazardous and bold undertaking. mass was said with great solemnity by the priest of the expedition, fra vincente de valverde, an iron-souled, fierce-hearted dominican, meet ecclesiastic for such a band. refreshments were then provided liberally for the soldiers--it is not so stated, but it may be presumed that some of them were in liquid shape--and then the whole party settled down to await developments. nothing seemed to be going on in the peruvian camp during the morning. the inca moved toward the city in the afternoon, but stopped just outside the walls, to the great annoyance of the spaniards, who had found the long wait a trying experience indeed. late in the afternoon, pizarro received a message that atahualpa had changed his mind and would not visit him until the following day. this did not suit his plans at all. he instantly returned an answer to the inca, begging him not to defer his visit, saying that he had provided everything for his entertainment--which was quite true although in a very different sense from that conveyed by the words of his messenger--and requesting atahualpa to arrange to sup with him without fail that night. pizarro had previously assured the inca that he would receive him as a "friend and brother"! what reasons actuated the inca we have no means of ascertaining. suffice it to say that he changed his mind and came. {81} a short time after sunset, therefore, the inca, attended by a numerous retinue, entered the square. atahualpa was borne aloft on a throne made of massive gold, supported on the shoulders of his attendants. he was dressed with barbaric magnificence in robes of exquisite texture, heavily embroidered and ornamented with gold and silver. around his neck blazed a necklace of emeralds of wonderful size and great brilliancy. his forehead was hidden by a thick vivid scarlet fringe depending from a diadem almost to the eyebrows. this tassel (or _borla_, as the spaniards called it; _llauta_, according to the peruvians) was the supreme mark of the imperial dignity in that no one but the inca could wear it. the inca was surrounded by a gorgeously attired body of retainers who were preceded by hundreds of menials who cleared the streets of every obstacle which might impede the progress of their master, the son of the sun. the processions divided at the square, and the monarch was carried forward in the open. not a spaniard save the watchful sentries pacing the fort above, was to be seen. "where," asked atahualpa, looking about in surprise, "are the strangers?" at this moment, at the request of pizarro, father valverde came forward in his canonicals, crucifix in one hand, breviary or bible in the other.[7] he was attended by one of the peruvians whom pizarro had taken back to spain, who was to act as interpreter. this precocious little rascal, named felippo, was the best interpreter that could be found, which is saying little, for his spanish was bad and mainly picked up in the camps from the rude soldiery, and his peruvian {82} was only an uncouth dialect of the highly inflected and most flexible and expressive quichua, the language of the educated, indeed of the most of the people. approaching the litter of the inca, valverde delivered an extraordinary address. he briefly explained the doctrines of the christian religion to the astonished peruvian, requiring him to conform to this religion and acknowledge the spiritual supremacy of the pope, and at the same time to submit to the sway of his imperial majesty charles v. it was a pretty heavy demand to spring upon a great monarch in the midst of his people, and it was not to be wondered at that atahualpa rejected these requests with contempt. the inca answered the friar not without shrewdness. he had gathered the idea from felippo's vile mistranslation that the christians worshipped four gods, i. e. the trinity and the pope. he declared that he himself worshipped one, and there was its sign and symbol--pointing to the declining sun; that he believed one god was better than four. he rejected indignantly the idea that he, "the lord of the four quarters of the earth," owed allegiance to any charles v. or any other earthly monarch, of whom he had never heard and who had assuredly never heard of him either. valverde had referred to the book in his hand as he had spoken and atahualpa now asked to see it. the volume was a clasped one and he found it difficult to open. valverde, probably thinking he could show him to unclasp the volume, stepped nearer to him. the inca repulsed him with disdain. wrenching open the covers he glanced rapidly at the book, and perhaps suddenly realizing the full sense of the insult which had been offered to him in the demands {83} of the dogmatic and domineering dominican, he threw the sacred volume to the ground in a violent rage. "tell your companions," he said, "that they shall give me an account of their doings in my land. i will not go hence until they have made me full satisfaction for all the wrongs they have committed!" then he turned and spoke to his people--the last word he was ever to address them as a free monarch from his throne. there was a loud murmur from the crowd. thereupon, according to some accounts, valverde picked up the book through which atahualpa had offered such a deadly insult to his religion and rushed back to pizarro, exclaiming, "do you not see that while we stand here wasting our breath in talking with this dog, full of pride as he is, the fields are filling with indians? set on at once! i absolve you for whatever you do!" i would fain do no man an injustice. therefore, i also set down what other authorities say, namely, that valverde simply told pizarro what had occurred. there is no dispute, however, as to what happened immediately. pizarro stepped out from the doorway, and drawing a white scarf from his shoulders, threw it into the air. instantly a shot roared from the fort above his head. the famous war-cry of the spaniards, "st. jago, and at them!" rang over every quarter of the square into which, with bared swords, couched lances and drawn bows, poured the mail-clad soldiery horse and foot. they burst upon the astonished ranks of the unarmed indians with the suddenness and swiftness of a tornado. from the roof above, the gunners discharged their bullets into the swaying, seething mass. with {84} their wands of office, with their naked hands, with whatever they could seize, the peruvians defended themselves. they rallied around the person of the inca, freely offering their breasts to the spanish blades with the vain attempt to protect their monarch. atahualpa sat upon his reeling throne gazing upon the bloody scene in a daze of surprise. pizarro and the twenty chosen cut their way to the litter and, striking down the helpless bearers thereof, precipitated the inca to the ground. the spaniards were mad with carnage now, and were striking indiscriminately at any indian. then could be heard pizarro's stern voice ringing above the melée, "let no man who values his life strike at the inca!" such was the fierceness of his soldiery, however, that in his frenzied attempt to protect the monarch, pizarro was wounded in one of his hands by his own men. as the inca fell, he had been caught by pizarro and supported, although a soldier named estete snatched the imperial _llauta_ from his head as he fell. with the capture of the inca, what little futile resistance the unarmed host had been able to make ceased. the indians, relentlessly pursued by their bloody conquerors, fled in every direction, and, to anticipate events, the army deprived of its monarch and its generals, dispersed the next day without striking a blow. indeed the army was helpless for offence while the spaniards held the inca as a hostage. the estimates of the numbers slain in one half-hour's fighting in the square of caxamarca vary from two to ten thousand. whatever the number, it was great and horrible enough. an unparalleled act of treachery had been consummated, and peru, in the space of thirty minutes had been conquered and pizarro held {85} it in the hollow of his hand. not a spaniard had been wounded except pizarro himself, and his wound had been received from his own men while he tried to protect atahualpa from the spaniards' fury. v. the ransom and murder of the inca pizarro treated the inca well enough, although he held him in rigorous captivity. nobody else in peru seemed to know what to do under the circumstances, and the spaniards soon lost all apprehension of resistance. quiz-quiz and chalcuchima still held huascar a captive at xuaca, a fortress between caxamarca and cuzco. atahualpa, realizing how important such a man would be to the spaniards, sent orders that he be put to death and the unfortunate deposed inca was therefore executed by the two generals. although he was captive, atahualpa's orders were as implicitly obeyed as if he had been free. he was still the inca, if only by the right of sword, and the forces of his generals were sufficiently great to render it impossible for the son of huascar, named manco capac, who had escaped the massacre of his kinfolk and who was the legitimate heir to the throne, to claim the crown. pizarro, with a fine show of rectitude, affected to be horrified by this evidence of brutal cruelty, and although atahualpa claimed no connection with the assassination of huascar, it was impossible to acquit him of it. greatly desiring his freedom, atahualpa, who had observed the spanish greed for gold, made an extraordinary proposition to pizarro. they were together in a room twenty-two feet long by seventeen feet broad. standing on his tiptoes and reaching as high as he could, probably about eight feet, for he was a tall man, {86} atahualpa offered to fill the room with gold to the height he had touched, if, when he had completed his undertaking, pizarro would release him. pizarro jumped at the offer, and well he might for no such proposition had ever before been offered in the history of the world. the cubic contents enclosed by the figures mentioned are three thousand three hundred and sixty-six feet, or in round numbers, one hundred and twenty-five cubic yards. such a treasure was even beyond the most delirious dreams of the conquerors.[8] as soon as these astonishing terms had been formally accepted in writing by pizarro, the inca sent orders to all parts of his dominion for the people to bring in their treasures. he also directed the royal palaces and temples to be stripped, and his orders were obeyed. he had stipulated that he be allowed two months in which to raise the ransom and day after day a stream of indians poured into the city loaded with treasure which dazzled the eyes of the astonished and delighted conquerors. atahualpa had stipulated also that the gold was not to be smelted--that is, he would not be required to fill the spaces solidly with ingots, but that it should be put into the room just as it was brought in and allowed to take up as much space as was required, even though it might be in the shape of a manufactured article. [illustration: "they burst upon the ranks of the unarmed indians."] {87} some of the gold was in the shape of ingenious plants and animals, one especially beautiful object being the corn plant with blades of gold and tassels of silver. pizarro, to his credit, ordered that some of these specimens of exquisite workmanship should be preserved intact. much of the treasure was in the shape of plates or tiles, from the interior of the temples or palaces which did not take up much space. the great temple of the sun at cuzco had a heavy outside cornice, or moulding, of pure gold. it was stripped of this dazzling ornament to satisfy the rapacity of the conquerors. there was also a vast quantity of silver which was stored in other chambers. silver hardly counted in view of the deluge of the more precious metal. [illustration: "the three pizarros . . . sallied out to meet them"] atahualpa did not quite succeed in filling the space, but he came so near it that pizarro, in a formal agreement executed before a notary, declared that the inca had paid his ransom and that he was released from any further obligation concerning it. that is the only release, however, which the unfortunate inca ever got. obviously, it was dangerous to turn loose such a man. therefore, in spite of his legal quittance, he still was held in captivity. the spaniards concluded finally that the only safe course was to get rid of him. the ransom amounted in our money to over seventeen million dollars, according to prescott; to nearly eighteen million dollars, according to markham. pizarro's personal share was seven hundred thousand dollars; hernando received three hundred and fifty thousand dollars; de soto two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. each horse soldier received nearly one hundred thousand; the principal foot soldiers, fifty thousand, and the others smaller sums in accordance {88} with their rank and service. the precious metals were so plentiful that for the time being they lost their value, for men cheerfully paid thousands of dollars for a horse. indeed so bulky and unwieldly was the treasure with which the soldiers were loaded, that it is solemnly averred that creditors avoided their debtors fearing lest the latter should pay them what they owed in further heaps of the bulky treasure; and it is certainly a fact that even the animals shared in the opulence of the conquest, for the horses were shod with silver. silver was cheaper and easier to get than iron. while they were revelling in the treasure, dividing the spoils and deliberating what was to be done with atahualpa, almagro arrived with his reënforcements. naturally he and his men demanded a share of the booty. great was their disgust and furious their anger when pizarro and the other conquerors refused to give it up. finally, the quarrels that ensued were composed by presenting almagro and his followers certain sums, large in themselves though trifling in comparison with what pizarro's men had received. almagro's men were also given to understand that they could move on to the southwest at some convenient season and conquer another empire and take all they could for themselves. unfortunately for them, there were no more empires like peru on this or any other side of the world left them to conquer. hernando pizarro was then dispatched to spain to deliver the royal fifth to charles, to give an account of the fortunes of the conquerors and to secure what further rewards and privileges he could for them. atahualpa saw him leave with the greatest regret. he was a man of fierce, stern, implacable disposition, {89} not a lovely character, according to any of the chroniclers, but he seems to have been fairer, and in his own way he had treated the unfortunate monarch better, than any of the others, unless it was de soto. possibly hernando might have restrained his brother from the last infamy he was about to perpetrate if he had been there. certainly de soto would have sought to dissuade him. pizarro realized this and got rid of de soto by sending him away to investigate as to the truth of rumors that atahualpa was conspiring to obtain his freedom. i have no doubt that he was so conspiring. i hope so, for if he was, it was about the only manly thing that he did. while de soto was away, at the instigation of the soldiers, pizarro with seeming reluctance, allowed atahualpa to be brought to trial. i have no doubt that pizarro instigated the soldiers himself. he was adroit enough to do it, and he would have no scruples whatever to deter him. the inca was tried on twelve charges, among which were included accusations that he had usurped the crown, and given its prerogatives to his friends (instead of to the spaniards!). he was charged with being an idolator, an adulterer and a polygamist, and finally it was urged that he had endeavored to incite an insurrection against the spaniards. such accusations came with a peculiarly bad grace from the conquerors. the whole thing, charges and all, would have been a farce had it not been for the certain grim and terrible outcome. felippo, the infamous, was the only interpreter. he had made love to one of the inca's wives, whom the spaniards had allowed to share his captivity. atahualpa, furiously affronted, desired to have him {90} put to death, but felippo was too important to the spaniards, and he was spared. how atahualpa's defense suffered from felippo's interpretations under such circumstances may easily be imagined. in spite of the courageous opposition of a few of the self-appointed judges, the inca was convicted and sentenced to death, father valverde concurring, in writing, with the sentence. when the verdict of the court was communicated to atahualpa, he did not receive it with any remarkable degree of fortitude. he is a pitiful rather than a heroic figure. "what have i done," he cried, weeping, "what have my children done, that i should meet with such a fate?" turning to pizarro, he added, "and from your hands, too, who have met with friendship and kindness from my people, to whom i have given my treasure, who have received nothing but benefit from my hands!" he besought the conqueror to spare his life, promising anything, even to double the enormous ransom he had already paid, and offering to guarantee in any appointed way the safety of every spaniard in the army. pedro pizarro, a cousin of the conqueror, who has left an account of the interview, says that pizarro was greatly affected by the touching appeal of the unfortunate monarch, and that he wept in turn also. however that may be, he refused to interfere. a man may weep and weep, to paraphrase shakespeare, "and be a villain!" there was no help for it; atahualpa had to die. it was on the 29th of august, 1533. the trial and deliberations had occupied the whole day. it was two hours after sunset before they were ready to execute him in the great square of caxamarca. {91} the spanish soldiers, fully armed, arranged themselves about a huge stake which had been planted in the square. back of them were groups of terrified, awe-struck peruvians, helplessly weeping and lamenting the fate of their monarch which they were powerless to prevent. flickering torches held by the troops cast an uncertain light over the tragic scene. atahualpa was led forth in fetters and chained to the stake. he showed little of the firmness and fortitude of a proud monarch or a brave man. how feebly he appears when contrasted with the great aztec guatemotzin, calmly enduring the tortures of the red-hot gridiron and resolutely refusing to gratify either his captors' lust for treasure or desire for revenge by vouchsafing them a single fact or a single moan. by inca's side was valverde, who had been assiduous in his endeavors to make him a christian. the friar was ready to offer such grim consolation as he could to the wretched peruvian in whose death sentence he had concurred. atahualpa had hitherto turned a deaf ear to all his importunities, but at the last moment valverde told him that if he would consent to receive baptism, he should be strangled instead of burnt to death. atahualpa asked pizarro if this was true, and being assured that it was, he abjured his religion to avoid the agonies of fire, and was thereupon baptised under the name of juan de atahualpa. the name john was given to him because this baptism _in extremis_ took place on st. john the baptist's day. rarely, if ever, has there been a more ghastly profanation of the holy sacrament of regeneration! before he was garroted, atahualpa begged that his remains might be preserved at quito with those of his mother's people. then he turned to pizarro and {92} made a final request of that iron-hearted man, that he would look after and care for the inca's little children. while he was strangled and his body was being burnt, the terrible soldiery could be heard muttering the magnificent words of the apostolic creed for the redemption of the soul of the monarch. incidentally it may be noted that a little later the spaniards burnt old chalcuchima, of whom they had got possession by treacherous promises, at the stake. he did not embrace christianity at the last moment, but died as he had lived, a soldier and a peruvian. the character of atahualpa may be learned from his career. he was a cruel, ruthless usurper, neither magnanimous in victory nor resolute in defeat. as i have said, it is impossible to admire him, but no one can think of his fate and the treacheries of which he was a victim without being touched by his miseries. if he sowed the wind he reaped the whirlwind, and bad as he was, his conquerors were worse. pizarro placed the diadem on toparca, a youthful brother of the late inca. when he was alone with his attendants, the boy tore the _llauta_ from his forehead, and trampled it under his foot, as no longer the badge of anything but infamy and shame, and in two short months he pined and died from the consciousness of his disgrace. whereupon another peruvian, manco capac, the legitimate heir of huascar, appeared before pizarro, made good his claim, and on the entry of the conquerors into cuzco, was crowned inca with all the ancient ceremonies. he soon realized that he was but a puppet in pizarro's hands, however, and by and by he, too, made a bold stroke for freedom. the conquest of peru was complete. charles v., dazzled by the report of hernando pizarro, and the {93} substantial treasures placed before him, created pizarro a marquis of the country, confirmed him in the government of the country for two hundred and seventy leagues south of the santiago river and gave almagro authority to conquer everything beyond that limit. almagro was very much dissatisfied with his share, but concluded, before he made any violent objections, to go to the south and find an el dorado for himself. meanwhile pizarro, who was almost as much of a builder as rameses the great, laid out the city of lima and the spaniards flocked into peru from spain in thousands. the natives were enslaved and the country divided into great estates, and almagro and his discontented started for chili. hernando pizarro, who was appointed governor of cuzco, held young manco in close confinement, and everything outwardly was as fine and lovely as a summer day. there was growing, however, a tremendous uprising in which hitherto somnolent fate was about to lay her belated hands upon nearly all the actors of the great drama which had heretofore been so successfully played. vi. the inca and the peruvians strike vainly for freedom the city of cuzco was, without doubt, the most superb capital on the american continent. indeed, in many respects, it would have compared favorably with, let us say, paris in the sixteenth century, with its narrow, crooked, unpaved filthy streets, its indifferent protections, and its utterly inadequate water and sewer system. the streets, which were broad and level, crossed each other at regular intervals at right angles. they were smoothly paved with large, carefully joined {94} flagstones. the houses in the city were mainly built of stone. the palace of the inca, which stood alone in the great square, was of marble. the temples and buildings for public assemblages, armories, granaries, storehouses, _et cetera_, were of great size. the stones used in their erection were of such dimensions that the spanish marvelled at the engineering genius which could have quarried them and put them in place, just as the people of to-day are amazed at baalbec and the pyramids. stone conduits ran down each street, bringing delicious water to each doorway, and the city was traversed by two mountain streams crossed by bridges cut by watergates. that the cold, clear water might be kept pure and sweet, the beds of the rivers like those of the euphrates at babylon, had been paved. the city was surrounded by walls and dominated by a great fortress called sacsahuaman, which stood upon a steep and rocky hill overlooking the capital. on the side toward the city the fortress was practically impregnable on account of the precipitous slopes of the cliffs. the other side was defended by three stone walls laid out in zigzag shape, with salient and reëntrant angles (demi-lunes), like an old-fashioned rail fence, with many doors, each closed by stone portcullis, in each wall. within the walls was a citadel of three tall towers. the whole constituted a most formidable position. while francisco pizarro was founding and laying out on a magnificent scale and with lavish generosity the city of lima, near the seaboard, hernando was made governor of cuzco. hernando was, without doubt, the most able and most admirable of the pizarros, although his fame has been obscured by that of his {95} elder brother. he had been directed by charles v to treat the inca and the people with kindness, and, perhaps on that account, he had not exercised so rigorous a surveillance over the movements of young manco as his ordinary prudence would have dictated. at any rate, the bold and youthful emperor found no difficulty in leaving his ancient capital. he repaired immediately to the valley of yucay, in the high mountains of the northeastward of cuzco. there had been brewing a vast conspiracy against the spaniards for some time, and at the summons of the inca, thither resorted the great chiefs of the peruvians with their retainers and dependents, including their women and children. the partisans of the two inca half-brothers, who had not been slain, made common cause with each other. all internal differences were forgotten in the presence of the common enemy. they had much to revenge. their treasures had been taken, their temples polluted, their religion profaned, their monarchs slain, their women outraged and the people forced into a degrading, exhausting slavery. strange is it to recognize that human slavery was introduced into peru by the christians! it is good to think that the manhood of the peruvians was awakened at last. manco, burning with fiery patriotic zeal, summoned his great vassals and subjects to his standard. "death to the spaniards!" were the watchwords that resounded with fierce war-cries among the mountains and hills. with ancient ceremonies, drinking from a common cup, they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor to their hereditary chief in defense of their altars and their fires, their native land. {96} early in 1536 a vast army swept down through the mountain passes and made toward the ancient capital. the three pizarros, hernando, juan and gonzalo, put themselves at the head of their horsemen and sallied out to meet them. they killed numbers of peruvians, but all their valor could not check the resistless force of the patriotic army. the spaniards were swept back into the city, glad to escape with their lives before such overwhelming numbers; indeed, only a timely attack by a detachment in the rear of the peruvians saved them from destruction then and there. cuzco was at once invested. the indians, with a heroism which cannot be too greatly commended, endeavored to carry the place by assault.[9] they set fire to the thatched roofs of their own houses, devoting their city to flames, like the russians at moscow, to compass the annihilation of the detested invaders. the wind favored them, and a besom of flame swept over the devoted town until over one-half of it was laid in ruins. there were ninety spanish horse in the city, probably as many foot, and a thousand indian auxiliaries, but they were soldiers of the highest quality and led by three captains whose like for daring and skill are not often seen. no one ever questioned the courage or the military ability of the pizarros and certainly they exhibited both qualities in full measure during the siege. of all the brothers, it is probable that hernando was the most daring cavalier as well as the most capable captain, although in personal prowess his younger brothers were not a whit behind him. indeed, gonzalo was {97} reckoned as the best lance in the new world. stifled by the smoke, scorched by the flames, parched with heat, choked with thirst, exhausted with hunger, crazed from loss of sleep, yet battling with the energy of despair against overwhelming numbers of indians, who, with a reckless disregard for life, hurled themselves upon the sword-points, the spaniards after several days of the most terrific fighting, were forced into the square, which they held against their enemy by dint of the most heroic and continuous endeavors. the peruvians barricaded the streets with the debris of their ruined houses and sharpened stakes, and prepared to press home for a final attack. although the slaughter among the indians had been fearful, the odds against the spaniards did not appear diminished, for it was learned afterward that there were more than one hundred thousand warriors engaged, and, with a host of followers and servants, the total aggregated at least eighty thousand more. and, indeed, the spaniards mourned the death of many a brave cavalier and stout man-at-arms. in all the fighting the young inca, in full war-gear of gold and silver, mounted on a captured horse, with a spanish lance in his hand, had played a hero's dauntless part. at the commencement of the siege there had been a discussion as to whether they should occupy the great fortress of sacsahuaman, or not. juan pizarro had dissuaded the spanish from the attempt, for, he said: "our forces are too weak to hold both places. the city is the most important, and should it happen that we need the fortress we can take it any time." without opposition the indian high priest had occupied it with a large body of men. it was evident, at last, that the spaniards would {98} either have to retreat from their town or seize the fortress, which, now that they had been driven from the walls, commanded their position in the square. most of the cavaliers were for retreat. there is no doubt that the horse could certainly have cut their way through the ranks of the besiegers, and have escaped, together with most of the foot as well. hernando was quite as persistent as his indomitable brother francisco, however, and he talked equally as well to the soldiers. he made them a stirring address which he closed by declaring that he had been sent there to hold the town, and hold it he would if he had to hold it alone; that he would rather die there in the square with the consciousness that he had kept his trust than abandon the place. juan and gonzalo seconded his stirring appeal. it was resolved that the fortress should be taken. hernando proposed to lead the assault in person, but juan interposed with the remark that he had objected to its seizure in the first instance, and to him rightfully belonged the leadership of the forlorn hope to repair the error. hernando consented. juan and gonzalo, with their commands and fifty of their best horse, were detailed for the purpose. by hernando's instructions they cut through the indians and galloped headlong down the road in the direction of lima. the indians were deceived by the seeming dash of the horsemen through the lines and, supposing them to be in retreat, turned their attention to the spaniards left in the square. the conflict which had been intermitted for a space began again with the utmost fury. in the midst of it, juan pizarro, who had galloped about a league from the town and then made a long {99} detour, suddenly appeared at sacsahuaman. the spaniards immediately rushed to the assault. this diversion caused the indians, who had been literally forcing the spaniards in the town up against the wall, and in the last ditch, as it were, to give ground. thereupon the dauntless hernando charged upon them, drove them out of the square, and succeeded in establishing communications with juan and gonzalo on the hill. he directed juan to hold his position and make no attack, but juan thought he saw an opportunity to gain the fortress, and at vespers the spaniards rushed at the walls. there were indians not only within but without the walls, and the fighting was soon of the most sanguinary description. juan pizarro had been wounded previously in a skirmish and on account of this wound was unable to wear his morion. hernando had especially cautioned him to be careful on this account; but the impetuous valor of the pizarros was not to be restrained by considerations of any personal safety, and juan was in the front rank of the storming party. they had cut their way through to the fort and were battling for entrance when a stone hurled from the tower struck juan in the head, knocking him senseless. the wound was of such a character that two weeks afterward he died of it in great agony. he was the first to pay the penalty. history has preserved little concerning him, but some chroniclers have found him the highest-minded of the brothers--possibly because less is known about him! at any rate, he was a valiant soldier. gonzalo succeeded to the leadership, and although he and his men fought heroically, they were at last forced back from the fortress in spite of the fact that {100} they had gained the outer walls. the fighting had transferred itself from the city to the hills, which was a sad tactical error on the part of the peruvians, for they had force enough to overwhelm hernando and his men in the city, while they held juan and gonzalo in play at sacsahuaman, in which case all the spaniards would eventually have fallen into their hands. as night fell hernando left the city and came up to the hill. the spaniards busied themselves in making scaling-ladders, and in the morning, with the aid of the ladders, the assault was resumed with desperate fury. wall after wall was carried, and finally the fighting ranged around the citadel. the inca had sent five thousand of his best men to reënforce the defenders, but the spaniards succeeded in preventing their entrance to the fort which was now in a sorry plight. the ammunition--arrows, spears, stone, _et cetera_--of the garrison was almost spent. the spanish attack was pressed as rigorously as at the beginning. the high priest--priests have ever been among the first to incite people to war, and among the first to abandon the field of battle--fled with a great majority of his followers, and escaped by subterranean passages from the citadel, leaving but a few defenders to do or die. first among them was a chief, whose name, unfortunately, has not been preserved. he was one of those, however, who had drunk of the cup and pledged himself in the mountains of yucay. driven from wall to wall and from tower to tower, he and his followers made a heroic defense. the spanish chroniclers say that when this hero, whose exploits recall the half-mythical legends of the early roman republic, when men were as demi-gods, saw one of his men falter, he {101} stabbed him and threw his body upon the spaniards. at last he stood alone upon the last tower. the assailants offered him quarter, which he disdained. shouting his war-cry of defiance, he dashed his sole remaining weapon in the faces of the escaladers and then hurled himself bodily upon them to die on their sword-points. let him be remembered as a soldier, a patriot, and a gentleman. the fortress was gained! dismayed by the fearful loss that they had sustained, the peruvians, who had fought so valiantly, if so unsuccessfully, withdrew temporarily. hernando pizarro was master of the situation. he employed the few days of respite given him in gathering supplies and strengthening his position. it was well that he did so, for in a short time the peruvians once more appeared around the city, to which they laid a regular siege. there was more sharp fighting, but nothing like the homeric combats of the first investment. the peruvians had risen all over the land. detached parties of spaniards had been cut off without mercy. francisco pizarro was besieged in lima. messengers and ships were despatched in every direction, craving assistance. francisco did not know what had happened in cuzco, and the brothers in that city began to despair of their being extricated from their terrible predicament. help came to them from an unexpected source. we left almagro marching toward chili. his was no lovely promenade through a pleasant, smiling, fertile, wealthy land. he traversed vast deserts under burning skies. he climbed lofty mountains in freezing cold and found nothing. in despair, he turned back to peru. the limits assigned to pizarro were {102} not clear. almagro claimed that the city of cuzco was within his province, and determined to return and take it. on the way his little army, under the command of a very able soldier named orgonez, met and defeated a large army of peruvians. this, taken with the arrival of the harvest time, which must of necessity be gathered if the people were not to starve, caused the subsequent dissipation of the peruvian army. the inca maintained a fugitive court in the impregnable and secret fastnesses of the mountains, but the peruvians never gave any more trouble to the spaniards. they had spent themselves in this one fierce but futile blow. i am glad for the sake of their manhood that at least they had fought one great battle for their lands and liberties. [illustration: "he threw his sole remaining weapon in the faces of the escaladers"] vii. "the men of chili" and the civil wars almagro, assisted by treachery on the part of some of the spaniards who hated the pizarros, made himself master of the city, and, breaking his plighted word, seized hernando and gonzalo. meanwhile francisco, the marquis, had despatched a certain captain named alvarado with a force to relieve cuzco. almagro marched out with his army and defeated the superior force of alvarado in the battle of abancay, in july, 1537, in which, through the generalship of orgonez, alvarado's troops were captured with little or no loss in almagro's army. almagro had left gonzalo pizarro behind in cuzco, but had taken hernando, heavily guarded, with him. orgonez had urged almagro to put both of them to death. "dead men," he pithily remarked, "need no guards." on the principle of "in for a penny, in for a pound," {103} almagro was already deep enough in the bad graces of francisco pizarro, and he might as well be in deeper than he was, especially as the execution of hernando would remove his worst enemy. but almagro does not appear to have been an especially cruel man. he was an easy-going, careless, jovial, pleasure-loving soldier, and he spared the lives of the two brothers. gonzalo escaped, and assembling a force, immediately took the field. [illustration: fernando cortes. from a picture in the florence gallery] there had been a meeting between francisco and almagro. the latter got an inkling that there was treachery intended, and though the meeting had begun with embraces and tears, it was broken off abruptly and both the ancient partners prepared for an appeal to arms. almagro had released hernando on his promise to return immediately to spain. this promise hernando broke. francisco made his brother commander of the army, and the forces of the two commanders met on the plains of salinas on the 6th of april, 1538. there were about seven hundred on one side, pizarro's, and five hundred on the other, equally divided between horse and foot, with a few pieces of artillery in both armies. the men of chili, as almagro's forces were called, hated their former comrades, and pizarro's men returned this feeling with such animosities as are engendered nowhere save in civil war. victory finally attended hernando pizarro. he had fought in the ranks like a common soldier, save that he had been at great pains so to distinguish himself by his apparel that every one could know him, so that all who sought him could find him. orgonez was slain as he lay on the ground, wounded. such was the close, fierce fighting that the killed alone numbered nearly {104} two hundred, besides a proportionately greater number wounded. almagro had watched the battle from an adjacent hill. he was old and ill, broken down from excesses and dissipations. unable to sit a horse, he had been carried thither on a litter. the sight of his routed army admonished him to try to escape. with great pain and difficulty he got upon a horse, but being pursued, the animal stumbled and almagro fell to the ground. some of pizarro's men were about to dispatch him when hernando interfered. he was taken prisoner to cuzco and held in captivity for a while. hernando had announced his intention of sending him to spain for trial, but a conspiracy to effect his release, in which was our old friend de candia, caused a change in his purposes. almagro was tried on charges which were easily trumped up, was found guilty, of course, and in spite of his protestations and piteous appeals for life, he was strangled to death at night in his prison on the 8th of july, 1538, in the sixty-fifth year of his life. his head was then struck from his shoulders and both were exhibited in the great square at cuzco. vainglorious, ignorant, incompetent, yet cheerful, generous, frank, kindly and open-hearted, and badly treated by pizarro and his brothers, he possibly deserved a better fate. the pizarro brothers affected to be overcome by the stern necessity which compelled poor almagro's execution. as francisco had done when he had killed atahualpa, these two put on mourning and insisted upon being pall-bearers, and exhibited every outward manifestation of deep and abiding grief. almagro left a son, diego, by an indian woman, to whom he had not been married. this young man {105} was under the guardianship of pizarro at lima. the sword of damocles hung over his head for a while, but he was spared eventually and, the rebellion of almagro having been cut down, the revolt of the inca crushed, peace appeared once more to dwell in the land. viii. the mean end of the great conquistador but fate had not finished with the pizarros as yet. hernando was sent back to spain to explain the situation, and gonzalo despatched to quito, of which province he was made governor. he had instructions to explore the country eastward to see if he could find another peru. he made a marvelous march to the head-waters of the amazon river, where he was deserted by one of his commanders, orellana, who built a brigantine, sailed down the whole length of the amazon, finally reaching europe, while gonzalo and those few of his wretched followers who survived the terrible hardships of that march, struggled back to quito. francisco, the marquis, was thus left alone in peru. the position of the men of chili was precarious. although outwardly things were peaceful, yet they felt that at any time pizarro might institute war against them. they got the young almagro away from him, and a score of men under juan de rada, a stout-hearted veteran, mercenary soldier, determined to put the marquis to death and proclaim the young almagro as lord and dictator of peru. on sunday afternoon, the 26th of june, 1541, de rada and nineteen desperate men of chili, met at de rada's house in lima. pizarro had received a number of warnings which he had neglected, confident {106} in the security of his position, but the existence of the conspiracy had been brought home to him with peculiar force that sunday, and he had remained in his palace at lima surrounded by a number of gentlemen devoted to his cause. at vespers--which seems to have been a favorite hour for nefarious deeds among the spaniards--the assassins sallied forth from the home of de rada and started for the palace. such was the indifference in which the people held the squabbles between the pizarrists and the almagrists, that it was casually remarked by many of them, as the assassins proceeded through the streets, that they were probably on their way to kill the governor. the governor was at supper on the second floor of his palace. there was a sudden tumult in the square below. the door was forced open and the almagrists, shouting "death to pizarro!" rushed for the stairs. most of the noble company with the old marquis fled. the great conquistador at least had no thought of flight. there remained with him, however, two pages, his brother martin de alcántara, francisco de chaves, one of the immortal thirteen of gallo, and another cavalier, named de luna. as they heard the clash of arms on the stairs and the shouting of the assailants, the marquis ordered de chaves to close the door; then he sprang to the wall, tore from it his corselet and endeavored to buckle it on his person. de chaves unwisely attempted to parley, instead of closing the door and barring it. the assailants forced the entrance, cut down de chaves, and burst into the room. pizarro gave over the attempt to fasten his breastplate, and seizing a sword and spear, defended himself stoutly while pealing his war-cry: "santiago!" through the palace. the two pages, {107} fighting valiantly, were soon cut down. de alcántara and de luna were also killed, and finally, pizarro, an old man over seventy years of age, stood alone before the murderers. such was the wonderful address of the sword play with which he defended himself that the conspirators were at a loss how to take him, until de rada, ruthlessly seizing one of his comrades, pitilessly thrust him upon pizarro's sword-point, and, before the old man could withdraw the weapon, cut him in the throat with his sword. instantly pizarro was struck by a dozen blades. he fell back upon the floor, but he was not yet dead, and with his own blood he marked a cross on the stones. it is alleged by some that he asked for a confessor, but that is hardly likely, for as he bent his head to press his lips upon the cross, one of the murderers, seizing a huge stone bowl, or earthen vessel, threw it upon his head and killed him. _sic transit pizarro_! if he has been the subject of much severe censure, he has not lacked, especially of late, zealous defenders. i have endeavored to treat him fairly in these sketches. considering him in comparison with his contemporaries, cortes surpassed him in ability, hernando in executive capacity, almagro in generosity, balboa in gallantry, and de soto in courtesy. on the other hand, he was inferior to none of them in bravery and resolution, and he made up for his lack of other qualities by a terrible and unexampled persistency. nothing could swerve him from his determination. he had a faculty of rising to each successive crisis which confronted him, wresting victory from the most adverse circumstances in a way worthy of the highest admiration. he was not so cruel as pedrarias, but he was {108} ruthless enough and his fame is forever stained by atrocities and treacheries from which no personal or public success can redeem it. in passing judgment upon him, account must be taken of the humble circumstances of his early life, his lack of decent, healthy environment, his neglected youth, his total ignorance of polite learning. take him all in all, in some things he was better and in other things no worse than his day and generation. ix. the last of the brethren hernando pizarro was delayed on his voyage to spain and some of almagro's partisans got the ear of the king before he arrived. he was charged with having permitted by his carelessness the peruvian uprising and having unlawfully taken the life of almagro. the story of his desperate defense of cusco was unavailing to mitigate the anger of the king at the anarchy and confusion--and incidentally the diminution of the royal revenue--which prevailed in peru. hernando was thrown into prison at medina, and kept there for twenty-three long and weary years. he had married his own niece, francisca pizarro, illegitimate daughter of the marquis francisco, by a daughter of the great inca, huayna capac. the woman was a half-sister of atahualpa and huascar. by this questionable means, the family of the pizarros, with certain dignities, restored for their peruvian service, was perpetuated in spain. hernando died at the age of one hundred and four. de rada, after the assassination of francisco, assembled the ancient partisans of almagro. they swore fealty to the young almagro, and immediately {109} took the field against a new governor sent out by charles v. to take charge of affairs in peru. this vaca de castro, through his able lieutenants, alvarado and carvajal, defeated the forces of almagro on the bloody and desperately fought field of chapus, took the young man prisoner to cuzco, and beheaded him forthwith. he met his death bravely, without beseeching or repining. before the fate of the battle was decided, almagro, suspecting that the gunner, de candia, another of the thirteen who had adhered to his cause, was not serving his artillery with so good effect as he might, ran him through the body. there remains but one of the brothers who gave peru to spain, the magnificent cavalier, gonzalo. his fate may be briefly summarized. another viceroy, named blasco nuñez vela, succeeded de castro. he had orders to release the peruvians from servitude, which meant that the conquerors and the thousands who had come after, would have been compelled to work. led by gonzalo, who had been rewarded for his services in the rebellion against almagro by a domain in peru which included the newly discovered mines of potosi, which provided him with the sinews of war, the people rebelled against the viceroy. pizarro and his lieutenant, carvajal, deposed and defeated the viceroy in a battle near quito on the 18th of january, 1546, the latter losing his life. gonzalo pizarro was now the supreme lord of peru, which included practically the whole of the south american coast from the isthmus of darien to the straits of magellan, for valdivia, one of francisco pizarro's lieutenants, had partially conquered chili at last. the spanish monarch, three thousand miles away, {110} could do nothing by force. he sent an able and devoted ecclesiastic, gasca by name, clothing him with dictatorial powers, to see what he could do. gasca arrived at panama, cunningly and tactfully won the captains of gonzalo's navy to his side, went to peru, assembled a force, and although centeno, one of his lieutenants, was badly defeated by gonzalo and carvajal on the 26th of october, 1547, at huarina, the bloodiest battle ever fought in peru, finally gained strength enough to march to cuzco, where gonzalo had command of a large and splendidly equipped army. gasca, by promising that the obnoxious laws concerning the indians should be repealed, and adroitly pointing out that those who adhered to gonzalo were, in effect, in rebellion against their sovereign, had so undermined the allegiance of his men that gonzalo, who had marched to the valley of xaquixaguana, found himself deserted on the eve of the battle by all but a handful of faithful retainers. "what shall we do?" asked one of the devoted followers. "fall on them and die like romans." "i believe i should prefer to die like a christian," said gonzalo calmly. recognizing that it was all up with him, riding forward with carvajal and the rest, he coolly surrendered himself to gasca. carvajal was hung, drawn and quartered. gonzalo, the last of the brothers, was beheaded in the great square at cuzco. he was magnificently arrayed as he rode to his death. his vast estates, including the mines of potosi, had been confiscated and all his possessions were on his back. he met his fate with the courage of the family. before he {111} died he made a little address from the scaffold. contrasting his present poverty with his former state, he asked those who had been his friends and who owed him anything, and also those who had been his enemies, to lay out some of the treasure they had gained through his family and himself in masses for the repose of his soul. then he knelt down before a table bearing a crucifix, and prayed silently. at last he turned to the executioner and said: "do your duty with a steady hand!" so he made a rather dramatic and picturesque exit there in the square at cuzco, on that sunny morning in april, 1548. his head was exhibited at lima with that of carvajal. to it was attached this inscription: "this is the head of the traitor, gonzalo pizarro, who rebelled in peru against his sovereign and battled against the royal standard at the valley of xaquixaguana." there remains but one other person whose fate excites a passing interest, unless it be bishop valverde, who was killed, while on a journey, by the peruvians, some years before; this is the last inca, manco capac. when de rada and his band started out to assassinate pizarro, one of the soldiers, named gomez perez, made a detour as they crossed the square, to keep from getting his feet wet in a puddle of muddy water which had overflowed from one of the conduits. "you shrink," cried de rada, in contempt, "from wetting your feet, who are about to wade in the blood of the governor! go back, we will have none of you." he had not permitted perez to take part in the assassination. this perez, after the final defeat of the almagrists, fled to the mountains where manco still exercised a fugitive sway over such of his people {112} as could escape the spaniards. he was afterward pardoned and used as a medium of communication between gasca and the inca. the priest viceroy was anxious to be at peace with the inca, but manco refused to trust himself to the spaniards. perez and he were playing bowls one day in the mountains. perez either cheated, or in some way incensed the unfortunate inca, who peremptorily reproved him, whereupon the spaniard, in a fit of passion, hurled his heavy stone bowl at the last of the incas, and killed him. that was the end of perez, also, for the attendants of the young inca stabbed him to death. thus all those who had borne a prominent part in the great adventures had gone to receive such certain reward as they merited; which reward was not counted out to them in the form of gold and silver, or stones of price. the sway in the new land of the king over the sea was absolute at last, and there was peace, such as it was, in peru. [1] "what is this, francisco pizarro?" balboa asked, in great astonishment, of his former lieutenant and comrade, meeting him and his soldiers on the way with the order of arrest. "you were not wont to come out in this fashion to receive me!" [2] magellan had crossed it from the south five years before. [3] prescott, to whose remarkable accuracy, considering the time in which he wrote, the authorities at his command, and the disabilities under which he labored, i am glad to testify, in view of the prevalent opinion that his books are literature and not history, says thirteen; helps says fifteen, while markham and fiske say sixteen. kirk verifies prescott's conclusion with a good argument. one thing there is to which no one but prescott seems to have called attention or explained. everybody says ruiz, the old pilot, was the first to follow pizarro across the line. if so, he must have stepped back again, probably at pizarro's request, for six months later we find him leaving panama in charge of the ship which took pizarro and his devoted subordinates off the island of gorgona. ruiz could only have reached panama in tafur's ship. certain it is that only thirteen men were ennobled for their heroic constancy on the island of gallo, as we shall see later. the three names added to prescott's list are put there on the authority of garcilasso de la vega, the son of a spanish cavalier and an inca princess. two of the three men he mentions he claims told him personally that they had been of the heroic band which had refused to abandon pizarro. such claims made by men who may really believe them to be true after the event, are not rare in history. whatever the exact number, there were but a handful. the rest, choosing panama, remained on the north side of the line, and i have no doubt regretted their decision for the rest of their lives. [4] generally speaking, the peruvians were monogamous, except in case of the inca, who had as many wives as he wished, and who sometimes rewarded exceptional services by allowing some favored adherent an extra wife. [5] the exact number varies with different authorities, none of whom, however, makes the total greater than two hundred. [6] napoleon at toulon succeeded in getting volunteers to man a particularly dangerous artillery outpost swept by the guns of the enemy, by the simple expedient of denominating the position as the "battery of the fearless," or the "battery of those who are not afraid." even better than pizarro, this great corsican soldier of fortune knew how to handle his men. [7] authorities differ as to which it was. the matter is not material, anyway. [8] the ransom of king john ii. of france, taken prisoner by the black prince, was three million golden crowns. the value of the ancient ecu de la couronne varied between $1.50 and $1.30, so that the ransom of john was between four and one-half and seven million dollars. estimating the purchasing power of money in john's time at two and one-half times that of the present, we arrive at a ransom of between eleven and eighteen million dollars. if we split the difference and call the ransom fourteen and a half millions, we still find that the christian monarch was slightly undervalued as compared with his heathen fellow in misery. however, all this is profitless, because the ransom of john was never paid. [9] query: does the reader not wish that the peruvians had succeeded? indeed, how can the reader help wishing that? yet would it have been better for the world if the peruvians had succeeded in expelling the spaniards, or would it have been worse? these questions afford matter for interesting speculation. {115} iv the greatest adventure in history i. the chief of all the soldiers of fortune at the close of the fifteenth century, to be exact, in the year 1500, in the town of painala, in the province of coatzacualco, one of the feudatory divisions of the great aztec empire of mexico, there was born a young girl who was destined to exercise upon the fortunes of her country an influence as great as it was baleful, as wonderful as it was unfortunate. she was the daughter of the cacique of tenepal, who was lord of the town and province, a feoff of the mexican emperor montezuma xocoyotzin. this was the second montezuma who had occupied the imperial throne and his last name means "the younger," which he adopted to distinguish him from his predecessor in the empire. this lord of painala, whose name has been forgotten, unfortunately for his country departed this life soon after the birth of his daughter, who was called malinal because she was born on the twelfth day of the month, her name indicating that fact. his property naturally devolved upon the young daughter. her mother assumed the office of guardian and regent of the state. this lady, whose name has also been lost in oblivion, did not long remain single. after her second marriage, which apparently took place with a somewhat indecent hurry, there was born to {116} her and her new consort, a young son. to secure to this son the inheritance, she sold her little daughter, too young to realize the unfortunate transaction, to some traders of xicalango, who in turn disposed of her to a coast tribe of aztecs called the tabascans. she lived in bondage with the tabascans until she was nineteen years old. she developed into a woman of rare beauty and unusual intellect. something of the power of high birth was evidently hers, for she escaped the degrading servitude of the time, and was carefully trained and prepared for some higher purpose. this girl was to be the instrument of the downfall of her native land. now it happened that when malinal was nineteen years old, the rumor of a strange visitation ran up and down the shore among the people who dwelt upon the great gulf of mexico. some remarkable beings, the like of whom had never been seen or heard of within the memory of living man, in some remarkable boats which absolutely transcended the imagination of the aztecs, had been seen upon the coast and some of them had landed at different points. also there had sifted from the south, from the isthmus of darien and the panama states, some account of these white-skinned demi-gods. just enough rumor was current to cause alarm and uneasiness in the aztec empire when the attention of the rulers was called to some definite facts. on good friday, march 23, 1519, the dreaded and expected happened, for there landed at what is now the city of vera cruz, in the territory of the tabascans, vassals of montezuma, a party of these strange adventurers. they were led by a man of mature years, whose name was fernando cortes--sometimes written {117} hernando cortes. like pizarro, whose history has been related, he was from the forgotten province of estremadura. he was born in the year 1485, in the city of medellin. he was seven years old when columbus set sail upon that epoch-making voyage of discovery and he was thirty-four when he set foot for the first time on the shores of mexico. in the intervening years much interesting and valuable experience had been enjoyed. the parents of cortes belonged to the provincial nobility. they were worthy and respectable subjects of the king of spain. the old-fashioned adjectives, "poor, but honest" could be applied to them. the boy was a puny, sickly lad, whom they scarcely expected to reach man's estate. when he was fourteen years old they entered him in the great university of salamanca where he took his degree as bachelor of laws, after a two years' course. the law, in spain, was considered an entirely proper profession for the nobility, especially when the nobility were unable, through narrow circumstances, properly to support the profession of arms. cortes, therefore, was in receipt of a liberal education for his day. his letters, some of which will be quoted hereafter, are evidences of his mental training. in some respects they are as interesting as are the famous commentaries of julius caesar. the young man, whose constitution improved as he grew older, until he eventually became the hardiest, most enduring and bravest of his company, which included the most intrepid men of the age, had no love for the humdrum profession of law. he desired to go to italy and take service with gonsalvo de cordova, who is remembered, when he is remembered at all, as "the great captain"; but sickness prevented. {118} following that, his thoughts turned, as did those of so many spanish youths who were of an adventurous disposition, toward the new world. after many setbacks, one of which was caused by a wound received by the hot-blooded young man while engaged in a love affair, and which left a permanent scar upon his upper lip, he finally landed at santo domingo in the spring of 1504. from there he went to cuba and served under one diego velasquez, the governor of that province in some fierce fighting in the island, and received as a reward from the governor, who was much attached to him, a large plantation with a number of indians to work it. there he married and lived prosperously. what he had done before he arrived in mexico counted little. what he did afterward gave him eternal fame as one, if not the greatest, of the conquerors and soldiers of fortune in all history. sir arthur helps thus portrays him: "cortes," he says, "was an heroic adventurer, a very politic statesman, and an admirable soldier. he was cruel at times in conduct, but not in disposition; he was sincerely religious, profoundly dissembling, courteous, liberal, amorous, decisive. there was a certain grandeur in all his proceedings. he was fertile in resources; and, while he looked forward, he was at the same time almost madly audacious in his enterprises. this strange mixture of valor, religion, policy, and craft, was a peculiar product of the century. . . . there are two main points in his character which i shall dwell upon at the outset. these are his soldier-like qualities and his cruelty. as a commander, the only fault imputed to him, was his recklessness in exposing himself to the dangers of personal conflict with the enemy. but then, that is an error {119} to be commonly noticed even in the greatest generals of that period; and cortes, with this singular dexterity in arms, was naturally prone to fall into this error. as regards his peculiar qualifications as a commander, it may be observed, that, great as he was in carrying out large and difficult operations in actual warfare, he was not less so in attending to those minute details upon which so much of the efficiency of troops depends. his companion-in-arms, bernal diaz, says of him, 'he would visit the hut of every soldier, see that his arms were ready at hand, and that he had his shoes on. those whom he found had neglected anything in this way he severely reprimanded, and compared them to mangy sheep, whose own wool is too heavy for them.' "i have said that he was cruel in conduct, but not in disposition. this statement requires explanation. cortes was a man who always determined to go through with the thing he had once resolved to do. human beings, if they came in his way, were to be swept out of it, like any other material obstacles. he desired no man's death, but if people would come between him and success, they must bear the consequences. he did not particularly value human life. the ideas of the nineteenth century in that respect were unknown to him. he had come to conquer, to civilize, to convert (for he was really a devout man from his youth upward); and, as his chaplain takes care to tell us, knew many prayers and psalms of the choir by heart; and the lives of thousands of barbarians, for so he deemed them, were of no account in the balance of his mind, when set against the great objects he had in view. in saying this, i am not apologizing for this cruelty; i am only endeavoring to explain it. "of all the generals who have been made known {120} to us in history, or by fiction, claverhouse, as represented by sir walter scott, most closely resembles cortes. both of them thorough gentlemen, very dignified, very nice and precise in all their ways and habits, they were sadly indifferent to the severity of the means by which they compassed their ends; and bloody deeds sat easily, for the most part, upon their well-bred natures. i make these comments once for all; and shall hold myself excused from making further comments of a like nature when any of the cruelties of cortes come before us--cruelties which one must ever deeply deplore on their own account, and bitterly regret as ineffaceable strains upon the fair fame and memory of a very great man. . . . the conquest of mexico could hardly have been achieved at this period under any man of less genius than that which belonged to hernando cortes. and even his genius would probably not have attempted the achievement, or would have failed in it, but for a singular concurrence of good and evil fortune, which contributed much to the ultimate success of his enterprise. great difficulties and fearful conflicts of fortune not only stimulate to great attempts, but absolutely create the opportunities for them." ii. the expedition to mexico. reports brought back to cuba by one juan de grijilva, who told of the populous and wealthy cities of the main land to the westward of cuba, induced velasquez to fit out an expedition for exploration, colonization or whatever might turn up. casting about among his friends, followers, and acquaintances for a suitable leader, his choice after some hesitation {121} devolved upon cortes. this nascent captain had not lived at the provincial court of velasquez without impressing his characteristics upon those with whom he came in contact. after the outfitting of the expedition had progressed considerably, velasquez was warned that cortes was of too high and resolved a spirit to be trusted with an independent command, and it was probable that upon this opportunity he would disregard his instructions and act for his own interests, without giving another thought to velasquez and his backers. velasquez ignored the suggestions that he displace cortes until it was too late. cortes, learning that his enemies were undermining him with the governor, hastily completed his preparations and set sail a short time in advance of the arrival of the order displacing him from the command. his little squadron touched at a point in cuba and was there overtaken by the missive from velasquez, which cortes absolutely disregarded. he had embarked his property and had persuaded his friends to invest and did not propose to be displaced by anybody or anything. the expedition consisted of eleven ships. the flag was a small caravel of one hundred tons burden. there were three others of eighty tons each, and the seven remaining were small, undecked brigantines. authorities vary as to the number of men in the expedition, but there were between five hundred and fifty and six hundred spaniards, two hundred indian servants, ten small pieces of artillery, four falconets and sixteen horses. the truth must be admitted. there were three factors which contributed to the downfall of that vast empire against which this expedition of adventurers {122} was launched. one of them was cortes himself, the second was malinal, and the third was the sixteen, doubtless sorry horses, loaded into the ships. fiske says: "it was not enough that the spanish soldier of that day was a bulldog for strength and courage, or that his armor was proof against stone arrows and lances, or that he wielded a toledo blade that could cut through silken cushions, or that his arquebus and cannon were not only death-dealing weapons but objects of superstitious awe. more potent than all else together were those frightful monsters, the horses. before these animals men, women, and children fled like sheep, or skulked and peeped from behind their walls in an ecstasy of terror. it was that paralyzing, blood-curdling fear of the supernatural, against which no amount of physical bravery, nothing in the world but modern knowledge, is of the slightest avail." after touching at various places, in one of which they were lucky enough to find and release a spanish captive named geronimo de aguilar, who had been wrecked on the yucatan coast while on a voyage from the spanish settlement in darien and had been taken captive by the mayas and held for several years. the hospitable mayas had eaten most of the expedition. there were then but two alive. one had renounced his religion, married a maya woman, and had been elected chieftain of the tribe, and accordingly refused to join cortes. aguilar was unfettered and glad of the opportunity. during his sojourn among the mayas he had learned to speak their language fluently. after landing at tabasco on good friday, there was a great battle with the warlike inhabitants of that section, a battle which resulted in the complete {123} discomfiture of the tabascans. the artillery did much to bring this about, but was not especially terrifying to the aborigines because they crowded in such numbers around the spaniards, and made such terrific outcries, beating on their drums the while, that they drowned out the noise of the cannonade; but when cortes at the head of the horsemen sallied out from the woods, and fell upon them, the strange, terrifying spectacle presented by these mail-clad monsters and demons, took the heart out of the tabascans, and they abandoned the contest, leaving, so the chroniclers say, countless numbers dead upon the field. they knew when they had had enough, and immediately thereafter, they sued for peace. cortes was graciously pleased to grant their request, and to accept as a peace-offering a score of slaves. among them was malinal. in the allotment of the slaves among the officers, she fell to the share of alonzo de puerto carrero from whom cortes speedily acquired her. of all the indians present with cortes, malinal alone could speak two languages. the tabascans spoke a sort of degenerate maya, with which, as she had lived among them so long, she was of course perfectly familiar, at the same time she had not forgotten her native mexican. it would have been impossible for cortes to have communicated with the mexicans without malinal, for aguilar could turn spanish into maya, and malinal could turn maya into mexican. this means of communication, round about though it might be, was at once established. the intervention of aguilar soon became unnecessary, for malinal presently learned to speak pure castilian with fluency and grace. she received instruction from the worthy priests who accompanied the expedition and was {124} baptised under the name of marina, and it is by that name that she is known in history. her eminence is even greater than that unfortunate florinda, whose father, to revenge her mistreatment by king roderick, the goth, sold spain to tarik, the saracen, so many centuries before. marina learnt among other things to love cortes, whose fortunes she followed and whom she served with an absolute, unquestioning, blind devotion and fidelity until the end. so absolute was this attachment of hers that cortes became known to the aztecs as the lord of marina. the aztecs could not pronounce the letter r. marina was therefore changed to malina, which curiously enough was nearly her original name. the word "tzin" is the aztec name for lord, consequently cortes was called malintzin, or more shortly malinche, meaning, as has been stated, the lord of malina. sir arthur helps has this to say of her: "indeed her fidelity was assured by the love which she bore her master. bernal diaz says that she was handsome, clever, and eager to be useful (one that will have an oar in every boat), and she looked the great lady that she was. "there was hardly any person in history to whom the ruin of that person's native land can be so distinctly brought home, as it can be to the wicked mother of donna marina. cortes, valiant and skilful as he was in the use of the sword, was not less valiant (perhaps we might say, not less audacious) nor less skilful, in the use of the tongue. all the craft which he afterward showed in negotiations would have been profitless without a competent and trusty interpreter. . . . if a medal had been struck to commemorate the deeds of {125} cortes, the head of donna marina should have been associated with that of cortes on the face of the medal; for, without her aid, his conquest of mexico would never have been accomplished." iii. the religion of the aztecs now the aztec empire was a rather loose confederation of states bound together by allegiance to a common overlord, who had his capital across the mountains in the city of mexico. it had been founded by the influx of an army of fierce marauders from the north who had overwhelmed the toltecs who occupied the country and had attained a degree of civilization which is presumed to have been higher than that which displaced it. this empire of anahuac, as it was sometimes called, had endured for two centuries. it was a military despotism and the emperor was a military despot. his rule was the rule of fear. it subsisted by force of arms and terror was its cohering power. it had been extended by ruthless conquest alone until it comprised from eighteen hundred to two thousand square leagues, about two hundred thousand square miles of territory. the capital, situated on an island in the midst of a salt lake, was known as tenochtitlan, or the city of mexico, and what rome was to the italian states, or carthage was to the north african literal, this city was to anahuac, the empire of the aztecs. the name tenochtitlan is thus explained by fiske: "when the aztecs, hard pressed by foes, took refuge among these marshes, they came upon a sacrificial stone which they recognized as one upon which some years before one of their priests had immolated a captive {126} chief. from a crevice in this stone, where a little earth was imbedded, there grew a cactus, upon which sat an eagle holding in its beak a serpent. a priest ingeniously interpretated this symbolism as a prophecy of signal and long-continued victory, and, forthwith diving into the lake, he had an interview with tlaloc, the god of waters, who told him that upon that very spot the people were to build their town. the place was thereafter called tenochtitlan, or "the place of the cactus-rock," but the name under which it afterward came to be best known was taken from mexitl, one of the names of the war god huitzilopochtli. the device of the rock, the cactus, with the eagle and the serpent, formed a tribal totem for the aztecs, and has been adopted, as the coat-of-arms of the present republic of mexico." included in the sway of its emperor were many different tribes. they were kept in submission by the strong and inexorable hand. there were a few tribes, however, which had not been subdued and which still maintained a more or less precarious independence. the subject peoples were only kept from open rebellion by the most rigorous and oppressive measures. there was jealousy, humiliation, hoped-for revenge throughout the entire empire. each tribe or people had its own local god, but there was a bond coherent in the general mexican religion that had its centre of worship in the great city, and which all of them followed. this religion was one of the most ferocious, degrading and disgusting of any in history. it required human sacrifice on a larger scale than had ever before been practised. cannibalism was universal. captives of war were sacrificed to the gods and their bodies eaten. in mexico, {127} itself, with all its charm, with all its beauty, with all its luxuries, with all its verdure and wealth, there were huge pyramids of skulls. the priests were ferocious creatures, whose long black locks, never combed, were matted with blood, as they sacrificed to their awful war-god human hearts, still palpitating, torn from the victims a moment since alive. fiske thus describes the temple pyramid and chief shrine in the great city: "on the summit was a dreadful block of jasper, convex at the top, so that when the human victim was laid upon his back and held down, the breast was pushed upwards, ready for the priest to make one deep slashing cut and snatch out the heart. near the sacrificial block were the altars, and sanctuaries of the gods, tezcatlipoca, huitzilopochtli, and others, with idols as hideous as their names. on these altars smoked fresh human hearts, of which the gods were fond, while other parts of the bodies were ready for the kitchens of the communal houses below. the gods were voracious as wolves, and the victims as numerous. in some cases the heart was thrust into the mouth of the idol with a golden spoon, in others the lips were simply daubed with blood. in the temple a great quantity of rattlesnakes, kept as sacred objects were fed with the entrails of the victims. other parts of the body were given to the menagerie beasts, which were probably also kept for purposes of religious symbolism. blood was also rubbed into the mouths of the carved serpents upon the jambs and lintels of the houses. the walls and floor of the great temple were clotted with blood and shreds of human flesh, and the smell was like that of a slaughter-house. just outside the temple, in front of the broad street which {128} led across the causeway to tlacopan, stood the _tzompantli_, which was an oblong parallelogram of earth and masonry, one hundred and fifty-four feet (long) at the base, ascended by thirty steps, on each of which were skulls. round the summit were upward of seventy raised poles about four feet apart, connected by numerous rows of cross-poles passed through holes in the masts, on each of which five skulls were filed, the sticks being passed through the temples. in the centre stood two towers, or columns, made of skulls and lime, the face of each skull being turned outwards, and giving a horrible appearance to the whole. this effect was heightened by leaving the heads of distinguished captives in their natural state, with hair and skin on. as the skulls decayed they fell from the towers or poles, and they were replaced by others, so that no vacant place was left." concerning the cruelty of the spaniards, the contrast between the opposing religions must be considered. ruthless as the conquerors were, there is no possible comparison between the most indifferent principles of the christian religion and the application of the awful principles of the mexican religion. macnutt, the author of the latest and best life of cortes, makes this interesting comment on the christianity of the spanish adventurers of the time: "soldier of spain and soldier of the cross, for the cross was the standard of militant christianity, of which spain was the truest exponent, his religion, devoutly believed in, but intermittently practised, inspired his ideals, without sufficiently guiding his conduct. ofttimes brutal, he was never vulgar, while as a lover of sheer daring and of danger for danger's sake, he has never been eclipsed. . . . {129} sixteenth-century spain produced a race of christian warriors whose piety, born of an intense realization of, and love for a militant christ, was of a martial complexion, beholding in the symbol of salvation--the cross--the standard of christendom around which the faithful must rally, and for whose protection and exaltation swords must be drawn and blood spilled if need be. they were the children of the generation which had expelled the moor from spain, and had brought centuries of religious and patriotic warfare to a triumphant close, in which their country was finally united under the crown of castile. from such forebears the generation of cortes received its heritage of christian chivalry. the discovery of a new world, peopled by barbarians, opened a fresh field to spanish missionary zeal, in which the kingdom of god upon earth was to be extended and countless souls rescued from the obscene idolatries and debasing cannibalism which enslaved them." in the mexican pantheon, however, there was one good god, named quetzalcoatl. he was a toltec deity, and was venerated as the god of the air. he was identified with the east wind which brought the fertilizing rains. some historians and investigators explain him as purely a mythical personage. he was supposed to have appeared to the toltecs long before the aztecs came into the land. he was described in ancient traditions as a tall, white-faced, bearded man, whose dress differed from that of the aborigines and included a long white tunic, upon which were dark red crosses. his teachings enjoined chastity, charity, and penance. he had but one god and preached in the name of that god. he condemned human sacrifice and taught the nation agriculture, metal work and {130} mechanics. he fixed their calendar so that it was much more reliable than either the greek or the roman. there were various legends as to his departure, one of them being that he sailed away across the sea upon a raft composed of serpents, and was wafted into the unknown east whence he had come. his color, his dress, his teachings, and his character, are all so symbolic of christianity, they are so strange, so unique, so utterly without an explanation in anything else known of the aztecs and toltecs, that the conclusion that he was a christian bishop, wearing a pallium is almost irresistible. why could not some christian bishop, voyaging along the shores of europe, have been blown far out of his course by a long-continued easterly gale, finally have landed on the shores of mexico and, having done what he could to teach the people, have built himself some kind of a ship and sailed eastward in the hope of once more revisiting his native land before he died. at any rate, such is the tradition. it was a tradition or legend which played no small part in the conquest about to be effected. iv. the march to tenochtitlan into this loosely compact political and social organization, hard-headed, clear-sighted, iron-hearted, steel-clad cortes precipitated himself. his was a mind at the same time capable of vast and comprehensive designs and a most minute attention to small details. for instance, he laid out the city of vera cruz at the place of his landing. he caused his men to elect a full corps of municipal officers from their number. to this organization he frankly resigned his commission and the power that he had by the appointment of {131} velasquez, which the latter had tried so hard to revoke. they immediately elected him captain-general of the expedition with vastly increased prerogatives and privileges. thus he could now, in form at least, trace his authority to the crown, as represented by this new colonial municipality and he therefore had behind him the whole power of the expedition! with a skill, which showed not only his adroitness, but his determination, he next caused his men to acquiesce in the scuttling of the ships which had conveyed them to mexico! after saving the cordage, rigging and everything else that might be useful, which was carefully stored away in the little fort rapidly building, the vessels were destroyed beyond repair. before this was done, cortes offered to reserve one ship for certain malcontents and partisans of velasquez in which they might return if they wished. nobody took advantage of his offer. by this bold and original stroke, he added to his expeditionary force some one hundred and twenty hardy mariners, who thereafter took part with the soldiery in all the hazards and undertakings. with, therefore, less than six hundred men, sixteen horses, ten small cannon, and one woman, cortes prepared to undertake the conquest of this mighty empire. it was a small force, but its fighting quality was unsurpassed. lew wallace thus characterizes them: "it is hardly worth while to eulogize the christians who took part in cortes's crusade. history has assumed their commemoration. i may say, however, they were men who had acquired fitness for the task by service in almost every clime. some had tilted with the moor under the walls of granada; some had {132} fought the islamite on the blue danube; some had performed the first atlantic voyage with columbus; all of them had hunted the carib in the glades of hispaniola. it is not enough to describe them as fortune-hunters, credulous, imaginative, tireless; neither is it enough to write them soldiers, bold, skilful, confident, cruel to enemies, gentle to each other. they were characters of the age in which they lived, unseen before, unseen since; knights errant, who believed in hippogriff and dragon, but sought them only in lands of gold; missionaries, who complacently broke the body of the converted that christ might the sooner receive his soul; palmers of pike and shield, who, in care of the virgin, followed the morning round the world, assured that heaven stooped lowest over the most profitable plantations." just what cortes at first proposed to do is not quite clear. indeed, he himself could not form any definite plan until the circumstances under which he would be compelled to act, should be more precisely ascertained. he was, therefore, an opportunist. for one thing, he made up his mind to lead his troops to the capital city willy-nilly, and there act as circumstances might determine. he was a statesman as well as a soldier. it did not take him long to fathom the peculiarities of the organization and composition of the aztec empire. he knew that discord existed and he had only to introduce himself to become a focus for the discontent and rebellion. by giving a secret impression that he was for either side, he could play one party against the other, as best suited his purposes. he came to bring freedom to the one, to promote the revolt of the other, check the oppression of the third, and destroy the presumption of the another {133} tribe, or warring nation. so he caused his purposes to be declared. cortes's personal character was not by any means above reproach, yet withal he was a sincere and devoted christian, strange and inexplicable as the paradox may seem, but it was an age of devoted christians, whose devotion and principles fortunately were not translated into daily life. neither cortes nor any of his followers--perhaps not even the priests were of different opinion--thought any less of themselves or regarded themselves the less worthy christians: if their conduct toward the native races did not manifest that continence, restraint and sympathy which their religion taught. cortes was a child of his age; the other great men of his age were much like him in these things. here and there a las casas appears, but he shines forth against a dark and universally extensive background. such as the great apostles to the indies were lonely exceptions indeed. all the spanish conquerors were cruel; but cortes was not so cruel as many others. he was not to be compared to the ruthless pizarro for instance. save in daring and personal courage, he vastly surpassed the lord of peru in every quality which goes to make a man. cortes was treacherous in his dealings with montezuma and others, but the man of his age regarded very lightly the obligation of his word toward a savage. indeed, it was a well-known principle that no faith was necessarily to be kept with either heretics or heathen and no oath was binding against the interests of the state. cortes, of course, had all the contempt for the aztecs that caucasians usually have for inferior races, although in his letters, he tried his very best to be fair, to be just, even to be generous to these {134} people he overcame; and no one can doubt the sincerity with which he desired to promote the spreading of the christian religion. they did things differently in those days. not only did they believe that the religion of the heathen should be changed by force, but they believed that in some way they could constrain all people to accept christianity. more blood has been shed in promoting the idea that the outsider should be compelled to come into the fold than from the misinterpretation of any other text in the sacred scriptures. if any civilized power in the world to-day should send an expeditionary force into a heathen country, which should signalize its arrival therein by the desecration of its temples and the destruction of its idols, the commander would be recalled at once. we have learned other methods, methods of persuasion, of reason, of love. the age of cortes knew nothing of these methods, and he was only following out the common practice when he smashed with his battle-axe the hideous gods of the mexicans, and washed and purified with clean water, the reeking, gory, ill-smelling slaughter-houses which were the aztec holy of holies, and adorned them with crosses and images of the blessed virgin mary. when charles the ix. offered henry of navarre a choice of death, mass, or the bastille on the night of saint bartholomew, he gave him one more chance than the early steel-clad militant missionary gave to the aborigines of the new world--for them there was no bastille. making friends with the tabascans, and leaving one hundred and fifty men to guard his base of supplies at vera cruz and to watch the coast, cortes began his march toward mexico on the sixteenth day of august, 1519. he proceeded with the greatest caution. bernal {135} diaz, an old soldier, who afterward wrote a most vivid and graphic account of the conquest, of which he was no small part, says that they marched forward "with their beards on their shoulders," that is, looking from side to side, constantly. there was no hurry and there was no need to tire out the force which was thus facing the danger of a long, hard and rash adventure. by the aid of marina and aguilar, cortes speedily learned of places like cempoalla, which were hostile to montezuma and he took in as many of these places on his march as possible, always with incidents instructive and valuable. at cempoalla, for instance, he met the tax-gatherers of montezuma. he persuaded the cempoallans to refuse payment of the tax--an action which would ordinarily have brought down upon them the fury of the aztec monarch and would have resulted in their complete and utter extermination. he did more. he caused the cacique of cempoalla--a man so fat and gross, that, like "the little round belly" of santa claus, he "shook like a jelly" so that the spaniards called him "the trembler"--actually to raise his hand against the tax-gatherers and imprison them. they would undoubtedly have been sacrificed and eaten had not cortes, secretly and by night released three of them and allowed them to go back to their royal master, after he had sent two into a safe ward at vera cruz. montezuma's messengers met him at every town. "bearing rich gifts, they disclosed the possibilities of the _hinterland_ and germinated in the brain of cortes the idea of conquest. one revelation was confirmed by another, and, as the evidence of aztec wealth multiplied the proofs of internal disaffection throughout the {136} empire stimulated the confidence of the brooding conqueror. disloyalty among the totonacs, treachery that only waited an opportunity in texcoco, an ancient tradition of hate in tlascala, and the superstition that obscured the judgment and paralyzed the action of the despotic ruler--these were the materials from which the astute invader evolved the machinery for his conquest." montezuma was in a pitiable state of superstitious indecision. it was popularly believed that quetzalcoatl would some day return, and it was more than probable to the aztec monarch and his counsellors that he might be reincarnated in the person of cortes and his followers. indeed, the common name for them among the mexicans was teules, which means gods. if cortes was a god it was useless to fight against him. if he and his were men, they could of course be easily exterminated, but were they men? there were a few bold spirits who inclined to this belief, but not many. besides, whatever the rest might be, the horsemen must be of divine origin. cuitlahua, the brother of montezuma, and one of the highest and most important of the aztec rulers was for attacking them whatever the consequences, but he was alone in advising this. it was thought better to temporize. perhaps later on it might be decided whether these strange beings were of common clay, and there would be plenty of time to exterminate them then. montezuma was therefore an opportunist, like cortes, but there was a vast difference between them. montezuma was a man of great ability, undoubtedly, or he never could have been chosen by the hereditary electors to the position he occupied, and he could never have held it if he had not been. he was a man over {137} fifty years of age, and had maintained himself on the throne, in spite of many wars, in which he had been almost universally victorious. his judgment and his decision alike were paralyzed by superstition. he did the unwisest thing he could possibly have done. he sent messengers to cortes, bearing rich gifts, gold, feather work, green stones, which the spaniards thought were emeralds, vast treasures. he acknowledged in effect the wonderful wisdom of cortes's overlord, the great emperor, charles v., in whose name cortes did everything, taking care always to have a notary to attest his proclamations to the indians, but he told cortes not to come to mexico city. he said that he was poor, that the journey was a long and hard one; in short, he offered him every inducement to come with one hand, while he waved him back with the other. treasure was the only motive of the conquerors of peru. cortes was big enough and great enough to rise above that. he was after larger things than the mere filling of his purse, and on several occasions he relinquished his own share of the booty to the soldiery. he was an empire-builder, not a treasure-hunter. as cortes progressed through the country, the treasure sent by montezuma grew in value, and the prohibitions, which by and by amounted to entreaties, increased in volume. we wonder what might have happened, if young guatemoc, whom we shall hear of later had occupied the throne. certainly, although the spaniards would have died fighting, they would undoubtedly have been overwhelmed, and the conquest of mexico might have been postponed for another generation or two. it was bound to happen anyway, sooner or later, as far as that goes. {138} v. the republic of tlascala cortes's progress finally brought him to a remarkable tribe, whose friendship he succeeded in winning, and which must be added as the fourth factor, with himself, marina, and the horses, as the cause of the downfall of mexico. curiously enough, this tribe had a sort of republican form of government. it is usually referred to as the republic of tlascala. it was an independent confederation composed of four separate states. the government consisted of a senate, composed of the rulers of the four states or clans of the tribe. tlascala was completely hemmed in by provinces of the aztec empire, with which it was always in a state of constant and bitter warfare. the inhabitants had no access to the sea, consequently they had never enjoyed the use of salt. they had no access to the lowlands, so they were without cotton, a fabric then universally used throughout the country. they had no trade or commerce. they were completely shut in and eternal vigilance was the price of their liberty. they lacked the arts, the grace, and the refinement of the mexicans, but they were as hardy, as bold, as skilful in the use of arms, and as determined, as well as cruel, as the aztecs. neither montezuma nor his predecessors with the power of millions had been able to make them acknowledge any sovereignty but their own. they were protected by the mountain ranges and here and there they had built high walls across the valley. tlascala was a large and imposing city. cortes thus describes it: "this city is so extensive and so well worthy of admiration, that although i omit much that i could {139} say of it, i feel assured that the little i shall say will be scarcely credited, for it is larger than granada, and much stronger, and contains as many fine houses and a much larger population than that city did at the time of its capture; and it is much better supplied with the products of the earth, such as corn, and with fowls and game, fish from the rivers, various kinds of vegetables, and other exellent articles of food. there is in this city a market, in which every day thirty thousand people are engaged in buying and selling, besides many other merchants who are scattered about the city. the market contains a great variety of articles both of food and clothing, and all kinds of shoes for the feet; jewels of gold and silver, and precious stones, and ornaments of feathers, all as well arranged as they can possibly be found in any public squares or markets in the world. there is much earthenware of every style and a good quality, equal to the best spanish manufacture. wood, coal, edible and medicinal plants, are sold in great quantities. there are houses where they wash and shave the head as barbers, and also for baths. finally, there is found among them a well-regulated police; the people are rational and well disposed, and altogether greatly superior to the most civilized african nations. the country abounds in level and beautiful valleys all tilled and sown, without any part lying unimproved. in its constitution of government that has existed until the present time, it resembles the states of venice, genoa and pisa; since the supreme authority is not reposed in one person. there are many nobles, all of whom reside in the city; the common people are laborers and the vassals of the nobility, but each one possesses land of his own, some more than others. in war all unite and have a voice in its management {140} and direction. it may be supposed that they have tribunals of justice for the punishment of the guilty; since when one of the natives of the province stole some gold of a spaniard, and i mentioned the circumstance to magiscacin, the most powerful of the nobility, they made search for the thief, and traced him to a city in the neighborhood called churultecal (cholula) from whence they brought him prisoner, and delivered him to me with the gold, saying that i must have him punished. i acknowledged in suitable terms the pains they had taken in the matter, but remarked to them that since the prisoner was in their country, they should punish him according to their custom, and that i chose not to interfere with the punishment of their people while i remained among them. they thanked me and, taking the man, carried him to the great market, a town crier making public proclamations of his offense; they then placed him at the base of a structure resembling a theatre, which stands in the midst of the market-place, while the crier went to the top of the building, and with a loud voice again proclaimed his offense; whereupon the people beat him with sticks until he was dead. we likewise saw many persons in prison who were said to be confined for theft and other offenses they had committed. there are in this province, according to the report made by my order, five hundred thousand inhabitants, besides those in another smaller province adjacent to this, called guazincango, who live in the manner, not subject to any native sovereign and are not less the vassals of your highness than the people of tlascala." montezuma gave another reason for permitting the tlascalans their liberty and independence. he said that he was allowing them to maintain their existence {141} and remain a republic because everything else in the vicinity had been conquered; and as there was no field for the young warriors of the aztec nation to obtain that military training which it was always best to learn by actual experience, he kept tlascala in a state of enmity because it furnished him a place where he could get the human beings for sacrifices to his gods that he required and at the same time train his young soldiery. in other words, tlascala was regarded as a sort of game preserve from a religious point of view. doubtless, tlascala did not acknowledge the justice, the propriety and the correctness of this attitude of scorn and contempt on the part of the aztecs. the other tribes of mexico bore the yoke uneasily, and cherished resentment, but even the enmity between the jews and the samaritans was not more bitter than the enmity between the tlascalans and the people of the city of anahuac. when cortes drew near tlascala, the senate debated what course it should pursue toward him. one of the four regents, so called, of the republic was a man of great age, feeble and blind, but resolute of spirit. his name was xicotencatl. he was all for war. he was opposed by a young man named maxixcatzin. the debate between the two and the other participants was long and furious. finally the desire of xicotencatl prevailed in a modified form. there was a tribe occupying part of the tlascalan territory and under tlascalan rule called otumies. it was decided to cause the otumies to attack cortes and his force. if cortes was annihilated, the problem would be solved. if the otumies were defeated their action would be disavowed by the tlascalans and no harm would be done to anybody but the unfortunate {142} otumies, for whom no one in tlascala felt any great concern. the otumies were placed in the front of the battle, but the tlascalans themselves followed under the command of another xicotencatl, son of the old regent, who was a tried and brilliant soldier. the battles along the coast had been more like massacres, but this was a real fight, and a number of spaniards were killed, three horses also, more valuable than the men, were despatched, and at the close of the engagement the spaniards had lost about fifty, a serious diminution of the forces of cortes, but the unfortunate otumies and the tlascalans were overwhelmed with a fearful slaughter. of course, the action of the otumies was disavowed, cortes was invited into tlascala and an alliance between the spaniards and the republic was consummated. the tlascalans threw themselves, heart and soul, into the project, which they dimly perceived was in the mind of cortes, the conquest of mexico. nothing was said about all of this. cortes simply declared his design to pay a friendly visit to montezuma to whom he sent repeated and solemn assurances that he intended him no harm, that montezuma could receive him with the utmost frankness and without fear and without anticipating any violence whatever on the part of the spaniards. but the wise in tlascala knew that a collision between the spaniards and the aztecs would be inevitable. they saw a chance to feed fat their ancient grudge, and to exact bitter revenge for all that they had suffered at the hands of the aztecs. to anticipate, they were faithful to the alliance and loyally carried out their part of the agreement in the resulting campaigns. without them on several {143} occasions cortes' fortunes would have been even more desperate than they were. montezuma's envoys, heartily detesting the tlascalans, sought to persuade cortes against any dealings with them whatsoever. they gave a very bad character to the dusky allies of the spaniards and the tlascalans returned the compliment in kind. when his wounded had recovered, accompanied by a large army of tlascalans under young xicotencatl, cortes set forth about the middle of october on the last stage of his wonderful journey. by this time, montezuma had concluded to make a virtue out of a necessity, and he had sent word to him that he would welcome him to his capital. he received return reiterations of the statement that cortes' intentions were entirely pacific, that he represented the greatest monarch in the world who lived beyond the seas, and all that he would require of montezuma was the acknowledgment of his dependence in common with every earthly monarch upon this mysterious potentate across the ocean. this montezuma was quite willing to give. he was also willing to pay any tribute exacted if only these children of the sun would go away, and he could be left to the undisturbed enjoyment of his kingdom. he suggested a way for cortes to approach the capital. the tlascalans did some scouting and informed cortes that the way was filled with pitfalls, blocked with stones, and the opportunities for ambuscade were many and good. no one can blame montezuma for taking these precautions, although he afterwards disowned any participation in them and said that the arrangements had been made by some irresponsible subjects, and cortes passed it over. the tlascalans, who knew all the passes of the {144} mountains, offered to lead cortes and his followers by another way. although he was warned not to trust them by the envoys of montezuma, cortes with that judgment of men which so distinguished him, elected the harder and shorter way across the mountains. nature had made the pass a difficult one, but the indomitable spaniards struggled over it, enduring terrible fatigue and periods of piercing cold. they got far above the timber line and approached the boundaries of eternal snow. it is characteristic of them, that on one point of their journey, they stopped and despatched a party under ordaz to scale and explore the smoking volcano popocatepetl, which with ixtaccihuatl guarded the beautiful valley of mexico. ordaz and his twelve companions followed the guides as far as they would lead them and then they climbed far up the sides. they were unable to reach the top, but they accomplished a prodigious ascent, and ordaz was afterwards allowed to add to his coat of arms a flaming volcano. the summit of the mountain was at last passed, and the magnificent valley of mexico opened to their view. it was a scene which caused even the hearts of these rugged and hardened adventurers to thrill with pleasure and satisfaction. no fairer land had ever burst upon human vision. the emerald verdure was broken by beautiful lakes, bordered by luxuriant vegetation, diversified by mountains and plateaus, while here and there magnificent cities glistened in the brilliant tropical sun among the sparkling waters. as far as one could see the land was under cultivation. the descent of the mountains was easy, comparatively speaking, and the spaniards, after some journeying, {145} found themselves in the populous and wealthy city of cholula, remarkable for the splendid pyramid temple--teocalli--which rose in the centre of its encircling walls. here a plan was devolved to massacre the whole force which had been quartered in one of the vast palaces or houses of the town. the women and the children left the city in large numbers, a vast body of mexican soldiers was secretly assembled near by. the provisions, which had always been supplied them generously, were suddenly withdrawn. the suspicions of the spaniards were of course awakened and extra good watch was kept. they did not know what to suspect, until a cholulan woman, who had formed an acquaintance with marina, told her of the purpose of the mexicans, and advised her to flee from the spanish camp if she valued her life. the faithful marina immediately disclosed the whole plan to cortes. he acted with remarkable celerity and decision. there were many cholulan lords and attendants about the spanish camp and there were many others in town, evidently to lull any suspicions which the spaniards might feel and to make whatever excuse they could for the lack of provisions. on one pretense or another, cortes summoned the whole body to his house, which was a great rambling structure of many rooms and thick walls and enclosures. he got them assembled in one room and then proceeded to slaughter most of them, reserving only a few for use after the event had been determined. while this butchering was going on he sent others of his troops into the streets and squares of the town, where they killed without hesitation and without mercy all with whom they came in contact, including several bodies of soldiers who {146} were more or less helpless without their leaders, whom cortes had so craftily disposed of. this was the celebrated massacre of cholula. whether it was justifiable or not, each reader must settle for himself. cortes' situation then was certainly desperate; for that matter, it was desperate at all times. his life and the lives of his comrades hung upon a thread. he certainly had a right to protect himself. personally, i do not think such a slaughter was necessary for his protection. however, cortes thought so, and he was there. it was his life that was concerned, and not mine. other monarchs in more civilized days have done practically the same as this, as for instance, the famous barmecide feast, the wholesale assassination of the abencerrages in spain, the massacre of the mamelukes by napoleon in egypt, and many others. to be sure these massacres did not include the helpless inhabitants of the towns. however, with his usual policy, cortes spared some of the cholulan lords and when he had shown his power over them, he released them and told them to summon back the people who had left the city. he had no more trouble with the cholulans after that victory, and he presently took up his journey toward mexico. now, the city of mexico to the spaniards was one of the wonders of the world. they have described it in such terms as show the impression it made upon them, but they have not described it in such terms as to enable us to understand from their stories exactly what the city was. it was described as an island city. some believed it to have been an enormous pueblo city, such as may be seen in arizona or new mexico, surrounded by thousands of squalid huts. {147} others conjectured it as a city as beautiful as venice, as great as babylon, and as wonderful as hundred-gated thebes. cortes shall tell himself the impression it made upon him in the next section which is lifted bodily from one of his famous letters to the emperor charles v. vi. cortes' description of mexico, written by his own hand to charles v., emperor of germany and king of spain in order, most potent sire, to convey to your majesty a just conception of the great extent of this noble city of temixtitan, and of the many rare and wonderful objects it contains; of the government and dominions of muteczuma, the sovereign; of the religious rites and customs that prevail, and the order that exists in this as well as other cities, appertaining to his realm; it would require the labor of many accomplished writers, and much time for the completion of the task. i shall not be able to relate an hundredth part of what could be told respecting these matters; but i will endeavor to describe, in the best manner in my power, what i have myself seen; and, imperfectly as i may succeed in that attempt, i am fully aware that the account will appear so wonderful as to be deemed scarcely worthy of credit; since even we who have seen these things with our own eyes, are yet so amazed as to be unable to comprehend their reality. but your majesty may be assured that if there is any fault in my relation, either in regard to the present subject, or to any other matters of which i shall give your majesty an account, it will arise from too great brevity rather than extravagance or prolixity in the details; and it seems to me {148} but just to my prince and sovereign to declare the truth in the clearest manner, without saying anything that would detract from it, or add to it. before i begin to describe this great city and the others already mentioned, it may be well for the better understanding of the subject to say something of the configuration of mexico,[1] in which they are situated, it being the principal seat of muteczuma's power. this province is in the form of a circle, surrounded on all sides by lofty and rugged mountains; its level surface comprises an area of about seventy leagues in circumference, including two lakes, that overspread nearly the whole valley, being navigated by boats more than fifty leagues round. one of these lakes contains fresh, and the other, which is the larger of the two, salt water. on one side of the lakes, in the middle of the valley, a range of highlands divides them from one another, with the exception of a narrow strait which lies between the highlands and the lofty sierras. this strait is a bow-shot wide, and connects the two lakes; and by this means a trade is carried on by the cities and other settlement on the lakes in canoes, without the necessity of traveling by land. as the salt lake rises and falls with the tides like the sea, during the time of high water it pours into the other lake with the rapidity of a powerful stream; and on the other hand, when the tide has ebbed, the water runs from the fresh into the salt lake. this great city of temixtitan (mexico) is situated in this salt lake, and from the main land to the denser parts of it, by which ever route one choses to enter, {149} the distance is two leagues. there are four avenues or entrances to the city, all of which are formed by artificial causeways, two spears' length in width. the city is as large as seville or cordova; its streets, i speak of principal ones, are very wide and straight; some of these, and all the inferior ones, are half land and half water, and are navigated by canoes. all the streets at intervals have openings, through which the water flows, crossing from one street to another; and at these openings, some of which are very wide, there are also very wide bridges, composed of large pieces of lumber, of great strength and well put together; on many of these bridges ten horses can go abreast. foreseeing that if the inhabitants of this city should prove treacherous, they would possess great advantages from the manner in which the city is constructed, since by removing the bridges at the entrances and abandoning the place, they could leave us to perish by famine without our being able to reach the mainland--as soon as i had entered it, i made great haste to build four brigantines, which were soon finished, and were large enough to take ashore three hundred men and the horses, whenever it became necessary. this city has many public squares, in which are situated the markets and other places for buying and selling. there is one square twice as large as that of the city of salamanca, surrounded by porticoes, where are daily assembled more than sixty thousand souls, engaged in buying and selling; and where are found all kinds of merchandise that the world affords, embracing the necessities of life, as, for instance, articles of food, as well as jewels of gold, silver, lead, brass, copper, tin, precious stones, bones, shells, snails and feathers. there were also exposed for sale wrought and unwrought {150} stone, bricks burnt and unburnt, timber hewn and unhewn of different sorts. there is a street for game, where every variety of birds found in the country is sold, as fowls, partridges, quails, wild ducks, fly-catchers, widgeons, turtle-doves, pigeons, reedbirds, parrots, sparrows, eagles, hawks, owls, and kestrels; they sell, likewise, the skins of some birds of prey, with their feathers, head and beak and claws. there they also sold rabbits, hares, deer, and little dogs which are raised for eating and castrated. there is also an herb street, where may be obtained all sorts of roots and medicinal herbs that the country affords. there are apothecaries' shops, where prepared medicines, liquids, ointments, and plasters are sold; barber shops where they wash and shave the head; and restauranteurs that furnish food and drink at a certain price. there is also a class of men like those called in castile porters, for carrying burdens. wood and coal are seen in abundance, and brasiers of earthenware for burning coals; mats of various kinds for beds, others of a lighter sort for seats, and for halls and bedrooms. there are all kinds of green vegetables, especially onions, leeks, garlic, watercresses, nasturtium, borage, sorel, artichokes, and golden thistle-fruits also of numerous descriptions, amongst which are cherries and plums, similar to those in spain; honey and wax from bees, and from the stalks of maize, which are as sweet as the sugar-cane; honey is also extracted from the plant called maguey,[2] which is superior to sweet or new wine; from the same plant they extract sugar and wine, which they also sell. different kinds of cotton thread {151} of all colors in skeins are exposed for sale in one quarter of the market, which has the appearance of the silk market at granada, although the former is supplied more abundantly. painter's colors, as numerous as can be found in spain, and as fine shades; deer-skins dressed and undressed, dyed different colors; earthenware of a large size and excellent quality; large and small jars, jugs, pots, bricks, and an endless variety of vessels, all made of fine clay, and all or most of them glazed and painted; maize or indian corn, in the grain, and in the form of bread, preferred in the grain for its flavor to that of the other islands and terra firma; pâtés of birds and fish; great quantities of fish, fresh, salt, cooked and uncooked; the eggs of hens, geese and of all the other birds i have mentioned, in great abundance, and cakes made of eggs; finally, everything that can be found throughout the whole country is sold in the markets, comprising articles so numerous that, to avoid prolixity and because their names are not retained in my memory, or are unknown to me, i shall not attempt to enumerate them. every kind of merchandise is sold in a particular street or quarter assigned to it exclusively, and thus the best order is preserved. they sell everything by number or measure; at least, so far we have not observed them to sell anything by weight. there is a building in the great square that is used as an audience house, where ten or twelve persons, who are magistrates, sit and decide all controversies that arise in the market, and order delinquents to be punished. in the same square there are other persons who go constantly about among the people observing what is sold, and the measures used in selling; and they have been seen to break measures that were not true. {152} this great city contains a large number of temples[3] or houses for their idols, very handsome edifices, which are situated in the different districts and the suburbs; in the principal ones religious persons of each particular sect are constantly residing, for whose use, beside the houses containing the idols, there are other convenient habitations. all these persons dress in black and never cut or comb their hair from the time they enter the priesthood until they leave it; and all the sons of the principal inhabitants, both nobles and respectable citizens, are placed in the temples and wear the same dress from the age of seven or eight years until they are taken out to be married; which occurs more frequently with the firstborn, who inherits estates, than with the others. the priests are debarred from female society, nor is any woman permitted to enter the religious houses. they also abstain from eating certain kinds of food, more at some seasons of the year than others. among these temples there is one which far surpasses all the rest, whose grandeur of architectural details no human tongue is able to describe; for within its precincts, surrounded by a lofty wall, there is room for a town of five hundred families. around the interior of this enclosure there are handsome edifices, containing large halls and corridors, in which the religious persons attached to the temple reside. there are full forty towers, which are lofty and well built, the largest of which has fifty steps leading to its main body, and is higher than the tower of the principal church at seville. the stone and wood of which they are constructed are so well wrought {153} in every part, that nothing could be better done, for the interior of the chapels containing the idols consists of curious imagery, wrought in stone, with plaster ceilings, and woodwork carved in relief, and painted with figures of monsters and other objects. all these towers are the burial places of the nobles, and every chapel of them is dedicated to a particular idol, to which they pay their devotions. there are three halls in this grand temple, which contain the principal idols; these are of wonderful extent and height, and admirable workmanship, adorned with figures sculptured in stone and wood; leading from the halls are chapels with very small doors, to which the light is not admitted, nor are any persons except the priests, and not all of them. in these chapels are the images or idols, although, as i have before said, many of them are also found on the outside; the principal ones, in which the people have greatest faith and confidence, i precipitated from their pedestals, and cast them down the steps of the temple, purifying the chapels in which they stood, as they were all polluted with human blood, shed in the sacrifices. in the place of these i put images of our lady and the saints, which excited not a little feeling in muteczuma and the inhabitants, who at first remonstrated, declaring that if my proceedings were known throughout the country, the people would rise against me; for they believed that their idols bestowed upon them all temporal good, and if they permitted them to be ill-treated, they would be angry and withhold their gifts, and by this means the people would be deprived of the fruits of the earth and die of famine. i answered, through the interpreters, that they were deceived in expecting any favors from idols, the work of their own {154} hands, formed of unclean things; and that they must learn there was but one god, the universal lord of all, who had created the heavens and the earth, and all things else, and had made them and us; that he was without beginning and immortal, and that they were bound to adore and believe him, and no other creature or thing. i said everything to them i could to divert them from their idolatries, and draw them to a knowledge of god our lord. muteczuma replied, the others assenting to what he said: "that they had already informed me that they were not the aborigines of the country, but that their ancestors had emigrated to it many years ago; and they fully believed, after so long an absence from their native land, they might have fallen into some errors; that i, having been recently arrived, must know better than themselves what they ought to believe; and that if i would instruct them in these matters, and make them understand the true faith, they would follow my directions, as being for the best." afterward muteczuma and many of the principal citizens remained with me until i had removed the idols, purified the chapels, and placed images in them, manifesting apparent pleasure; and i forbade them sacrificing human beings to their idols, as they had been accustomed to do; because, besides being abhorrent in the sight of god, your sacred majesty had prohibited it by law and commanded to put to death whoever should take the life of another. thus, from that time, they refrained from the practice, and during the whole period of my abode in that city, they were never seen to kill or sacrifice a human being. the figures of the idols in which these people believe surpass in stature a person of more than the ordinary {155} size; some of them are composed of a mass of seeds and leguminous plants, such as are used for food, ground and mixed together, and kneaded with the blood of human hearts taken from the breasts of living persons, from which a paste is formed in a sufficient quantity to form large statues. when these are completed they make them offerings of the hearts of other victims, which they sacrifice to them, and besmear their faces with the blood. for everything they have an idol, consecrated by the use of the nations that in ancient times honored the same gods. thus they have an idol that they petition for victory in war; another for success in their labors; and so for everything in which they seek or desire prosperity, they have their idols, which they honor and serve. this noble city contains many fine and magnificent houses; which may be accounted for from the fact that all the nobility of the country, who are the vassals of muteczuma, have houses in the city, in which they reside a certain part of the year; and besides, there are numerous wealthy citizens who also possess fine houses. all these persons, in addition to the large and spacious apartments for ordinary purposes, have others, both upper and lower, that contain conservatories of flowers. along one of the causeways that lead into the city are laid two pipes, constructed of masonry, each of which is two paces in width, and about five feet in height. an abundant supply of excellent water, forming a volume equal in bulk to the human body, is conveyed by one of these pipes, and distributed about the city, where it is used by the inhabitants for drinking and other purposes. the other pipe, in the meantime, is kept empty until the former requires to be cleansed, when the water is let into it; and continues to be used {156} until the cleansing is finished. as the water is necessarily carried over bridges on account of the salt water crossing its route, reservoirs resembling canals are constructed on the bridges, through which the fresh water is conveyed. these reservoirs are of the breadth of the body of an ox, and of the same length as the bridges. the whole city is thus served with water, which they carry in canoes through all the streets for sale, taking it from the aqueduct in the following manner: the canoes pass under the bridges on which the reservoirs are placed, when men stationed above fill them with water, for which service they are paid. at all the entrances of the city, and in those parts where the canoes are discharged, that is, where the greatest quantity of provisions is brought in, huts are erected and persons stationed as guards, who receive a _certum quid_ for everything that enters. i know not whether the sovereign receives this duty or the city, as i have not yet been informed; but i believe that it appertains to the sovereign, as in the markets of other provinces a tax is collected for the benefit of their cacique. in all the markets and public places of this city are seen daily many laborers and persons of various employments waiting for some one to hire them. the inhabitants of this city pay a greater regard to style in their mode of living, and are more attentive to elegance of dress and politeness of manners, than those of the other provinces and cities; since as the cacique[4] muteczuma has his residence in the capital, and all {157} the nobility, his vassals, are in the constant habit of meeting there, a general courtesy of demeanour necessarily prevails. but not to be prolix in describing what relates to the affairs of this great city, although it is with difficulty that i refrain from proceeding. i will say no more than that the manners of the people, as shown in their intercourse with one another, are marked by as great an attention to the proprieties of life as in spain, and good order is equally well observed; and considering that they are a barbarous people, without the knowledge of god, having no intercourse with civilized nations, these traits of character are worthy of admiration. in regard to the domestic appointments of muteczuma, and the wonderful grandeur and state he maintains, there is so much to be told, that i assure your majesty i do not know where to begin my relation, so as to be able to finish any part of it. for, as i have already stated, what can be more wonderful, than that a barbarous monarch, as he is, should have every object found in his dominions, imitated in gold, silver, precious stones and feathers?--the gold and silver being wrought so naturally as not to be surpassed by any smith in the world; the stone work executed with such perfection that is it difficult to conceive what instruments could have been used; and the feather work superior to the finest productions in wax and embroidery. the extent of muteczuma's dominions has not been ascertained, since to whatever point he despatched his messengers, even two hundred leagues from his capital, his commands were obeyed, although some of his provinces were in the midst of countries with which he was at war. but as nearly as i have been able to learn, his territories are equal in extent {158} to spain itself, for he sent messengers to the inhabitants of a city called cumatan (requiring them to become subjects of your majesty), which is sixty leagues beyond that part of putunchan watered by the river grijalva, and two hundred and thirty leagues distant from the great city; and i sent some of our people a distance of one hundred and fifty leagues in the same direction. all the principal chiefs of these provinces, especially those in the vicinity of the capital, reside, as i have already stated, the greater part of the year in that great city, and all or most of them have their oldest sons in the service of muteczuma. there are fortified places in all the provinces, garrisoned with his own men, where are also stationed his governors and collectors of the rent and tribute, rendered him by every province; and an account is kept of what each is obliged to pay, as they have characters and figures made on paper that are used for this purpose. each province renders a tribute of its own particular productions, so that the sovereign receives a great variety of articles from different quarters. no prince was ever more feared by his subjects, both in his presence and absence. he possessed out of the city as well as within, numerous villas, each of which had its peculiar sources of amusement, and all were constructed in the best possible manner for the use of a great prince and lord. within the city his palaces were so wonderful that it is hardly possible to describe their beauty and extent; i can only say that in spain there is nothing to equal them. there was one palace somewhat inferior to the rest, attached to which was a beautiful garden with balconies extending over it, supported by marble columns, and having a floor formed of jasper elegantly {159} laid. there were apartments in this palace sufficient to lodge two princes of the highest rank with their retinues. there were likewise belonging to it ten pools of water, in which were kept the different species of water birds found in this country, of which there is a great variety, all of which are domesticated; for the sea birds there were pools of salt water, and for the river birds, of fresh water. the water is let off at certain times to keep it pure, and is replenished by means of pipes. each species of bird is supplied with the food natural to it, which it feeds upon when wild. thus fish is given to birds that usually eat it; worms, maize and the finer seeds, to such as prefer them. and i assure your highness, that to the birds accustomed to eat fish, there is given the enormous quantity of ten arrobas[5] every day, taken in the salt lake. the emperor has three hundred men whose sole employment is to take care of these birds; and there are others whose only business is to attend to the birds that are in bad health. over the pools for the birds there are corridors and galleries to which muteczuma resorts, and from which he can look out and amuse himself with the sight of them. there is an apartment in the same palace, in which are men, women, and children, whose faces, bodies, hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes are white from birth. the cacique has another very beautiful palace, with a large courtyard, paved with handsome flags, in the style of a chess-board. there were also cages, about nine feet in height and six paces square, each of which was half covered with a roof of tiles, and the other half had over it a wooden grate, skilfully made. every cage contains a bird of prey, of all the species {160} found in spain, from the kestrel to the eagle, and many unknown there. there were a great number of each kind, and in the covered part of the cages there was a perch, and another on the outside of the grating, the former of which the birds used in the night-time, and when it rained; and the other enabled them to enjoy the sun and air. to all these birds fowl were daily given for food, and nothing else. there were in the same palace several large halls on the ground floor, filled with immense cages built of heavy pieces of timber, well put together, in all or most of which were kept lions, tigers, wolves, foxes and a variety of animals of the cat tribe, in great numbers, which were also fed on fowls. the care of these animals and birds was assigned to three hundred men. there was another palace that contained a number of men and women of monstrous size, and also dwarfs, and crooked and ill-formed persons, each of which had their separate apartments. these also had their respective keepers. as to the other remarkable things that the ruler had in his city for amusement, i can only say that they were numerous and of various kinds. he was served in the following manner. every day as soon as it was light, six hundred nobles and men of rank were in attendance at the palace, who either sat or walked about the halls and galleries, and passed their time in conversation, but without entering the apartment where his person was. the servants and attendants of these nobles remained in the courtyards, of which there were two or three of great extent, and in the adjoining street, which was also spacious. they all remained in attendance from morning until night; and when his meals were served, the nobles were likewise served with equal profusion, and their {161} servants and secretaries also had their allowance. daily his larder and wine-cellar were open to all who wished to eat and drink. the meals were served by three or four hundred youths, who brought on an infinite variety of dishes; indeed, whenever he dined or supped the table was loaded with every kind of flesh, fish, fruit, and vegetables that the country provided. as the climate is cold, they put a chafing-dish with live coals under every plate and dish to keep them warm. the meals were served in a large hall where muteczuma was accustomed to eat, and the dishes quite filled the room, which was covered with mats and kept very clean. he sat on small cushions curiously wrought in leather. during the meals there were present, at a little distance from him, five or six elderly caciques, to whom he presented some of the food. and there was constantly in attendance one of the servants, who arranged and handed the dishes, and who received from others whatever was wanted for the supply of the table. both at the beginning and end of every meal, they furnished water for the hands, and the napkins used on these occasions were never used a second time; this was the case also with the plates and dishes, which were not brought again, but new ones in place of them; it was also the same with the chafing-dishes. he is also dressed every day in four different suits, entirely new, which he never wears a second time. none of the caciques ever enter his palace with their feet covered, and when those for whom he sends enter his presence, they incline their heads and look down, bending their bodies; and when they address him they do not look in his face; this arises from excessive modesty and reverence. whenever muteczuma appeared in public, which was seldom the case, all those who {162} accompanied him or whom he accidentally met in the streets, turned away without looking toward him, and others prostrated themselves until he passed. one of the nobles always preceded him on these occasions, carrying three slender rods erect, which i suppose was to give notice of the approach of his person. and when they descended from the litters, he took one of them in his hands, and held it until he reached the places where he was going. so many and various were the ceremonies and customs observed by those in the service of muteczuma, that more space than i can spare would be required for the details, as well as a better memory than i have to recollect them; since no sultan or other infidel lord, of whom any knowledge now exists, ever had so much ceremonial in their courts. vii. the meeting with montezuma it was early in the morning of november the 8th, 1519, when cortes, at the head of his little army, rode over one of the long causeways and into the city to his first meeting with montezuma. as no one can tell better than he what happened, i here insert his own account of the episode: "the next day after my arrival at this city, i departed on my route, and having proceeded half a league, i entered upon a causeway that extends two leagues through the centre of the salt lake, until it reaches the great city of temixtitan (mexico), which is built in the middle of the lake. . . . "i pursued my course over the above-mentioned causeway, and having proceeded half a league before arriving at the body of the city of temixtitan, i found {163} at its intersection with another causeway, which extends from this point to terra firma, a very strong fortress with two towers, surrounded by a double wall, twelve feet in height, with an embattled parapet, which commands the two causeways, and has only two gates, one for the entering and the other for departure. there came to meet me at this place nearly a thousand of the principal inhabitants of the great city, all uniformly dressed according to their custom in very rich costumes; and as soon as they had come within speaking distance, each one, as he approached me, performed a salutation in much use among them, by placing his hand upon the ground and kissing it; and thus i was kept waiting about an hour, until all had performed the ceremony. connected with the city is a wooden bridge ten paces wide, where the causeway is open to allow the water free ingress and egress, as it rises and falls; and also for the security of the city, as they can remove the long and wide beams of which the bridge is formed, and replace them whenever they wish; and there are many such bridges in different parts of the city, as your highness will perceive hereafter from the particular account i shall give of it. "when we had passed the bridge, the señor muteczuma came out to receive us, attended by about two hundred nobles, all barefooted, and dressed in livery, or a peculiar garb of fine cotton, richer than is usually worn; they came in two processions in close proximity to the houses on each side of the street, which is very wide and beautiful, and so straight that you can see from one end of it to the other, although it is two-thirds of a league in length, having on both sides large and elegant houses and temples. muteczuma came through {164} the centre of the street, attended by two lords, one upon his right and the other upon his left hand, one of whom was the same nobleman who, as i have mentioned, came to meet me in a litter, and the other was the brother of muteczuma, lord of the city of iztapalapa, which i had left the same day; all three were dressed in the same manner, except that muteczuma wore shoes, while the others were without them. he was supported in the arms of both, and as we approached, i alighted and advanced alone to salute him; but the two attendant lords stopped me to prevent my touching him, and they and he both performed the ceremony of kissing the ground; after which he directed his brother who accompanied him to remain with me; the latter accordingly took me by the arm, while muteczuma, with his other attendant, walked a short distance in front of me, and after he had spoken to me, all the other nobles also came up to address me, and then went away in two processions with great regularity, one after the other, and in this manner returned to the city. at the time i advanced to speak to muteczuma, i took off from myself a collar of pearls and glass diamonds, and put it around his neck. after having proceeded along the street, one of his servants came bringing two collars formed of shell fish, enclosed in a roll of cloth, which were made from the shells of colored prawns or periwinkles, held by them in great esteem; and from each collar depended eight golden prawns, finished in a very perfect manner and about a foot and a half in length. when these were brought muteczuma turned toward me and put them around my neck; he then returned along the street in the order already described, until he reached a very large and splendid palace, in which we were to be quartered, {165} which had been fully prepared for our reception. he there took me by the hand and led me into a spacious saloon, in front of which was a court, through which we entered. having caused me to sit down on a piece of rich carpeting, which he had ordered to be made for himself, he told me to await his return there, and then went away. after a short space of time, when my people were all bestowed in their quarters, he returned with many and various jewels of gold and silver, feather work and five or six thousand pieces of cotton cloth, very rich and of varied texture and finish. after having presented these to me, he sat down on another piece of carpet they had placed for him near me, and being seated he discoursed as follows: "'it is now a long time since, by means of written records, we learned from our ancestors that neither myself nor any of those who inhabit this region were descended from its original inhabitants, but from strangers who emigrated hither from a very distant land; and we have also learned that a prince, whose vassals they all were, conducted our people into these parts, and then returned to his native land. he afterward came again to this country, after the lapse of much time, and found that his people had inter-married with the native inhabitants, by whom they had many children, and had built towns in which they resided; and when he desired them to return with him, they were unwilling to go, nor were they disposed to acknowledge him as their sovereign; so he departed from the country, and we have always heard that his descendants would come to conquer this land and reduce us to subjection as his vassals; and according to the direction from which you say you have come, namely the quarter where the sun rises, and from what {166} you say of the great lord or king who sent you hither, we believe and are assured that he is our natural sovereign, especially as you say that it is a long time since you first had knowledge of us. therefore, be assured that we will obey you, and acknowledge you for our sovereign in place of the great lord whom you mention, and that there shall be no default or deception on our part. and you have the power in all this land, i mean wherever my power extends, to command what is your pleasure, and it shall be done in obedience thereto, and all that we have is at your disposal. and since you are in your own proper land and your own house, rest and refresh yourself after the toils of your journey, and the conflicts in which you have been engaged, which have been brought upon you, as i well know, by all the people from puntunchan to this place; and i am aware that the cempoallans and the tlascalans have told you much evil of me, but believe no more than you see with your own eyes, especially from those who are my enemies, some of whom were once my subjects, and having rebelled upon your arrival, make these statements to ingratiate themselves in your favor. these people, i know, have informed you that i possessed houses with walls of gold, and that my carpets and other things in common use were of the texture of gold; and that i was a god, or made myself one, and many other such things. the houses, as you see, are of stone and lime and earth.' and then he opened his robes and showed his person to me, saying: 'you see that i am composed of flesh and bone like yourself, and that i am mortal and palpable to the touch,' at the same time pinching his arms and body with his hands. 'see,' he continued, 'how they have deceived you. it is true that i have some things of gold, which {167} my ancestors have left me; all that i have is at your service whenever you wish it. i am now going to my other houses where i reside; you will be here provided with everything necessary for yourself and your people, and will suffer no embarrassment, as you are in your own house and country.' i answered him in respect to all that he had said, expressing my acknowledgments, and adding whatever the occasion seemed to demand, especially endeavoring to confirm him in the belief that your majesty was the sovereign they had looked for; and after this he took his leave, and having gone, we were liberally supplied with fowls, bread, fruits and other things required for the use of our quarters. in this way i was for six days amply provided with all that was necessary, and visited by many of the nobility." it throws a somewhat amusing light on the interview when we note that the presents exchanged were of great value on montezuma's part, while the gift of cortes was a collar of cheap imitation diamonds! the emotions of the spaniards at this singular meeting between the immeasurable distance of the past and present were so strong that even the rough soldier felt it. "and when we beheld," says bernal diaz, "so many cities and towns rising up from the water, and other populous places situated on the terra firma, and that causeway, straight as a level, which went into mexico, we remained astonished, and said to one another that it appeared like the enchanted castles which they tell of in the book of amadis, by reason of the great towers, temples, and edifices which there were in the water, all of them work of masonry. some of our soldiers asked if this that they saw was not a thing in a dream." {168} fiske thus felicitously alludes to it: "it may be well called the most romantic moment in all history, this moment when european eyes first rested upon that city of wonders, the chief ornament of a stage of social evolution two full ethnical periods behind their own. to say that it was like stepping back across the centuries to visit the nineveh of sennacherib or hundred-gated thebes, is but inadequately to depict the situation, for it was a longer step than that. such chances do not come twice to mankind, for when two grades of culture so widely severed are brought into contact, the stronger is apt to blight and crush the weaker where it does not amend and transform it. in spite of its foul abominations, one sometimes feels that one would like to recall the extinct state of society in order to study it. the devoted lover of history, who ransacks all sciences for aid toward understanding the course of human events, who knows in what unexpected ways one progress often illustrates other stages, will sometimes wish it were possible to resuscitate, even for one brief year, the vanished city of the cactus rock. could such a work of enchantment be performed, however, our first feeling would doubtless be one of ineffable horror and disgust, like that of the knight in the old english ballad, who, folding in his arms a damsel of radiant beauty, finds himself in the embrace of a loathsome fiend." what the emotions of the mexicans were we have no account, but it is not difficult to imagine them. amazement as at the visitation of a god, fear begot of this gross superstition, apprehension of what might be the result of the coming of these strange monsters, curiosity mingled with admiration; and as they looked at the long lines of fierce, dauntless, implacable {169} tlascalans who accompanied the spaniards, their hereditary enemies, there must have swelled in their savage breasts feelings of deep and bitter hatred. outwardly, however, all was calm. the spaniards marched through the flower-decked streets to the great palace of ayxacatl, which had been assigned to them as a residence, and which was spacious and commodious enough to take them all in, bag and baggage, including their savage allies. it is one of the singular contradictions of the aztec character that with all of their brutal religion and barbarism, they were passionately fond of flowers and like other barbarians rejoiced in color. "flowers were used in many of the religious festivals, and there is abundant evidence, moreover, that the mexicans were very fond of them. this is illustrated in the perpetual reference to flowers in old mexican poems: 'they led me within a valley to a fertile spot, a flowery spot, where the dew spread out in glistening splendor, where i saw various lovely fragrant flowers, lovely odorous flowers, clothed with the dew, scattered around in rainbow glory; there they said to me, 'pluck the flowers, whichever thou wishest; mayst thou, the singer, be glad, and give them to thy friends, to the chiefs, that they may rejoice on the earth.' so i gathered in the folds of my garments the various fragrant flowers, delicate, scented, delicious.'" the will of montezuma was supreme. nothing dimmed the warmth and generosity of his splendid hospitality. there were no frowning looks, no mutterings of discontent, everything was joyous and pleasant, at least outwardly, yet not one of the christians was blind to the peril in which he stood, or doubted that the least accident might precipitate an outbreak {170} which would sweep them all from off the face of the earth. for six days the spaniards remained the guests of the mexican emperor. visits were exchanged, religious discussions were indulged in, and cortes was only constrained from overthrowing their idols in the temples which he visited, and substituting christian emblems therein by force, by the prudent counsel of the worthy priests, men remarkable for their wisdom and their statesmanship, who accompanied him. continual efforts were made to convert montezuma, but without results. that monarch, who was of a cheerful and jovial nature, professed great friendship for and interest in the spaniards, whom he often visited and to whom he accorded many privileges. such a condition of affairs, however, could not last very long. the suspense was intolerable to a man of action like cortes and to the men who followed him as well. they were not good waiters. something had to be done. into the mind of this spanish soldier of fortune there leaped a bold design. he decided upon a course of action, as amazing in its character, so far-reaching in its result, that its conception and its execution almost thrust him into the ranks of the demi-gods. this project was nothing less than the seizure of the person of montezuma in the midst of his capital, a city of three hundred thousand people, among whom were thousands of fierce and highly trained veteran warriors who counted their lives as nothing in the emperor's need. undoubtedly such an action was the basest of treachery, but cortes had put himself in such a position that the nakedness of such an action did not prevail with him for a moment. he quieted his conscience with the {171} old reasoning that montezuma was a heathen, and that oaths to him were by no means binding. whether he quieted his conscience or not, something was necessary. he could not retire from mexico after this ostensibly friendly visit. such a withdrawal would not have suited his purposes at all, and it was more than possible that the moment he turned his back on the aztec capital, he would be forced to fight for his life against conditions which would leave him little or no possibility of escape. it was really montezuma's life and liberty or cortes' life and liberty. in such an alternative, there was no hesitation. viii. the seizure of the emperor occasion was soon found for the seizure. a chief on the sea coast had attacked and killed some of the men left at vera cruz. it was alleged that this was done by the orders of montezuma. cortes accompanied by the hardiest and bravest of his companions, and after a night of prayer--singular with what good consciences they could pray for the success of the most nefarious undertaking!--visited montezuma, and accused him of having instigated the crime. montezuma denied it, and despatched messengers to the offending cacique, directing that he be put under close arrest and brought to the capital. this was all any reasonable man could expect, but cortes and his companions were not reasonable. in spite of the fact that the prompt action of the aztec had deprived them of the faintest pretext, they nevertheless at last declared to the unhappy monarch that he must accompany them to the pueblo, which he had assigned to them, and remain in the custody of {172} the spaniards until the matter had been decided. in vain montezuma protested. his situation was unfortunate. he was surrounded by an intrepid body of steel-clad spaniards, and although the room was filled with officers, courtiers and soldiers, he realized--indeed he was bluntly told--that the first act of hostility against the spaniards would result in his immediate death. he made a virtue of a necessity, and complied with the spaniards' demand. forbidding his subjects, who were moved to tears--tears of rage and anger, most probably--to assist him, he submitted himself to the will of his captors, and went away with them. he had to go or he would have died then and there. far better would it have been if he had chosen the nobler course, both for his fame and his empire. the affairs of the government were carried on as usual by montezuma, to whom his officers and his counsellors had free access. cortes even permitted him to go to the temple on occasion for the ordinary worship, but in every instance he was accompanied and practically surrounded by a body of one hundred completely armed and thoroughly resolute spaniards. cortes did not attempt to interfere in the least degree with the national administration, although it was patent to everybody that as he held the person of the emperor, he could also command, if he so elected, the power of the empire. meanwhile, the cacique quahpopoca, who was guilty of the murder of the spaniards on the coast, was brought into mexico two weeks after the seizure of montezuma. with a loyalty touchingly beautiful, he promptly declared that he had acted upon his own responsibility and that montezuma had had {173} nothing whatever to do with it, which was, of course, highly improbable. the official clearing of montezuma was complete; nevertheless, despite the testimony of quahpopoca, cortes actually put the mexican monarch in double irons. it is true, the irons were removed almost immediately, and he was treated as he had been during his two weeks' captivity, with the greatest possible respect and deference, but the irons had not merely clasped the wrists and ankles of the unfortunate aztec. they had entered his soul. quahpopoca was burned in the public square. the heaping fagots which surrounded the stake were made of javelins and spears collected by cortes with intrepid audacity and far-seeing prudence, from the public armory. vast numbers of them were used. the populace looked on in sullen and gloomy silence. montezuma was not merely the ruler of the country, but in some senses he was a deity, and his capture, together with the capture of the great lords of his family, who, under ordinary circumstances would have succeeded to his throne, paralyzed the national, social, political and religious organization. cortes actually held his captive in this way until spring. the intervening months were not wasted. expeditions were sent to all parts of the country to ascertain its resources and report upon them, so that, when the spaniards took over the government, they would be prepared to administer it wisely and well. no such prudent and statesmanlike policy was inaugurated by any other conqueror. cortes in this particular stands absolutely alone among the great adventurers, spanish and otherwise. he was not a mere plunderer of the people, he was laying a foundation for an empire. vast treasures were, nevertheless, collected. {174} messengers were despatched to charles v. with the letters which have already been quoted and with the royal share of the booty, which was great enough to insure them a favorable reception. what cortes would have done further can only be surmised. something happened suddenly which forced his hand. in the spring, montezuma received word through an excellent corps of messengers which supplied him daily with information from all parts of the empire, of the arrival of a strange spanish force on the coast. mexico had no writing, but its messenger system was one of the best in the world. messengers arrived daily from the farthest parts and confines of the mexican empire, supplementing pictures, which the mexicans drew very cleverly, with verbal accounts. incidentally, there was no money in the empire, either. the art of coinage had not been attained. ix. the revolt of the capital cortes was naturally much interested and not a little perturbed by the news. soon the exact tidings reached him from the commander at vera cruz, that the force consisted of some twelve hundred men, including eighty horse, all under the command of one panfilo de narvaez, which had been organized, equipped and sent out by cortes' old enemy, velasquez, with instructions to seize him and his companions and send them back to cuba for trial. narvaez was loud in his threats of what he was going to do with cortes and how he was going to do it. the great spaniard acted with his usual promptness. he left in charge of the city one pedro de alvarado, called from his fair hair, tonatiuh, or the {175} child of the sun. committing the care of montezuma to this cavalier and bidding him watch over him and guard him with his life, as the safety of all depended upon him, cortes with some two hundred and fifty men made a dash for the coast. it was two hundred and fifty against five times that number, but with the two hundred and fifty was a man whose mere presence equalized conditions, while with the twelve hundred and fifty was another whose braggart foolishness diminished their superiority until, in the end, it really amounted to nothing! cortes actually surprised narvaez in the town in which he had taken refuge and seized him after an attack--a night surprise of bold and audacious conception--by the two hundred and fifty against the twelve hundred which was completely successful. with narvaez in cortes's hands all opposition ceased on the part of the men. in one swoop narvaez lost power, position and one eye, which had been knocked out during the contest, and cortes found his following reinforced by so great a number and quality that he had never dreamed of such a thing. "you are, indeed, fortunate," said narvaez to his conqueror, "in having captured me." "it is," said cortes carelessly, "the least of the things i have done in mexico!" while affairs were thus progressing favorably on the coast, the smouldering rebellion had at last broken out in mexico, and cortes received a message from alvarado, bidding him return with all possible speed. there was not a braver soldier, a fiercer fighter, or a more resolute man in the following of cortes than pedro de alvarado. when that has been said, however, practically all has been said that can be said in {176} his favor. he was a rash, impetuous, reckless, head-long, tactless, unscrupulous man, and brutal and cruel to a high degree. his suspicions that the aztecs, led by montezuma, were conspiring to overwhelm his small force were aroused. it is probable that there was some truth in his apprehensions, although he could not point to anything very definite upon which to base them. he knew of but one way to deal with such a situation--by brute force. he waited until the great may festival of the aztecs was being held, and then fell upon them in the midst of their joyous play and slew six hundred, including many of the noblest chiefs of the land. the outbreak was instant and universal. the house of ayxacatl was at once besieged, the influx of provisions was stopped, and the pueblo was surrounded by vast numbers of thoroughly enraged citizens. neither the spaniards nor the allies could leave the pueblo without being overwhelmed. alvarado at last compelled montezuma to show himself on the walls and bid the people stop fighting, to enable him to strengthen his position and hold it until the arrival of cortes, and some fifteen hundred men, his own force and that of narvaez combined. when the conqueror met alvarado he upbraided him and told him that he had behaved like a madman. there was little or no provision. cortes now made the mistake of sending cuitlahua, the brother of montezuma, out into the city with instructions for him to have the markets opened at once and secure provisions for the spaniards and their horses. cuitlahua, being free, called the council of priests. this council at once deposed montezuma and elected cuitlahua {177} emperor and priest in his place. the revolution and the religion now had a head. the next morning an attack of such force was delivered that many of even the stoutest-hearted spaniards quailed before it. the slaughter of the natives was terrific. the spanish cannon opened long lanes through the crowded streets. the spanish horse sallied forth and hacked and hewed broad pathways up the different avenues. still, the attack was pressed and was as intrepid as if not a single aztec had died. the roar that came up from every quarter of the city, from the house tops, from the crowded streets, from the temples, was in itself enough to appall the bravest. x. in god's way finally cortes resorted to alvarado's expedient. he compelled the unhappy montezuma to mount the walls of the palace and bid the people disperse. when he appeared in all his splendid panoply upon the roof of the palace there was a strange silence. he was no longer priest, he was no longer emperor, he was no longer a power, he was no longer a god, but some of the old divinity seemed to cling to him, to linger around him still. the situation was so tragic that even the meanest soldier, mexican or spanish, felt its import. a long time the aztec looked over his once smiling capital, and into the faces of his once subordinate people. finally he began to address them. he bade them lay down their arms and disperse. the people, led by the great lords and montezuma's brother, cuitlahua, and his nephew, guatemoc, answered with a roar of rage, and the roar spread as the purport of the message was communicated to those {178} further back. montezuma stood appalled. the next instant a rain of missiles was actually launched at him and the spaniards who stood by his side. a stone hurled, it is said by young guatemoc, struck him in the forehead. he reeled and fell. with the bitter words: "woman! woman!" ringing in his ears, he was carried away by the spaniards. his face, says lew wallace, was the face of a man "breaking because he was in god's way!" he lived a few days after that, but he refused to eat, and repeatedly tore the bandages from his wounds until death put an end to his miseries. the stone that had struck him had broken his heart. neither cortes nor montezuma himself knew that he had been deposed. cortes and the principal spaniards visited him and endeavoured to console him, but he turned his face to the wall and would have none of them. it was said afterward that he became a christian, but it is most probably not true. he died as he had lived. helps thus describes the scene and the great montezuma's end: [illustration: the death of montezuma. from an old engraving.] "he was surrounded by spanish soldiers, and was at first received with all respect and honor by his people. when silence ensued, he addressed them in very loving words, bidding them discontinue the attack, and assuring them that the spaniards would depart from mexico. it is not probable that much of his discourse could have been heard by the raging multitude. but, on the other hand, he was able to hear what their leaders had to say, as four of the chiefs approached near him, and with tears addressed him, declaring their grief at his imprisonment. they told him that they had chosen his brother as their leader, that they had vowed to their gods not to cease fighting {179} until the spaniards were all destroyed, and that each day they prayed to their gods to keep him free and harmless. they added, that when their designs were accomplished, he should be much more their lord than heretofore, and that he should then pardon them. amongst the crowd, however, were, doubtless, men who viewed the conduct of montezuma with intense disgust, or who thought that they had already shown too much disrespect toward him ever to be pardoned. a shower of stones and arrows interrupted the parley; the spanish soldiers had ceased for the moment to protect montezuma with their shields; and he was severely wounded in the head and in two other places. the miserable monarch was borne away, having received his death-stroke; but whether it came from the wounds themselves, or from the indignity of being thus treated by his people, remains a doubtful point. it seems, however, that, to use some emphatic words which have been employed upon a similar occasion: 'he turned his face to the wall, and would be troubled no more.' [illustration: "he defended himself with his terrible spear"] "it is remarkable that he did not die like a christian,[6] and i think this shows that he had more force of mind and purpose than the world has generally been inclined to give him credit for. to read montezuma's character rightly, at this distance of time, and amidst such a wild perplexity of facts, would be very difficult, and is not very important. but one thing, {180} i think, is discernible, and that is, that his manners were very gracious and graceful. i dwell upon this, because i conceive it was a characteristic of the race; and no one will estimate this characteristic lightly, who has observed how very rare, even in the centres of civilized life, it is to find people of fine manners, so that in great capitals but very few persons can be pointed out who are at all transcendent in this respect. the gracious delight which montezuma had in giving was particularly noticeable; and the impression which he made upon bernal diaz may be seen in the narrative of this simple soldier, who never speaks of him otherwise as 'the great montezuma'; and, upon the occasion of his death, remarks that some of the spanish soldiers who had known him mourned for him as if he had been a father, 'and no wonder,' he adds, 'seeing that he was so good.'" cortes sent out the body to the new king, and montezuma was mourned over by the spaniards, to whom he had always been gracious, and probably, by his own people; but little could be learned of what the mexicans thought, or did, upon the occasion, by the spaniards, who only saw that montezuma's death made no difference in the fierceness of the enemy's attack. meanwhile the situation of the spaniards was indescribable. there was mutiny and rebellion among them. the soldiers of narvaez, who looked for a pleasant promenade through a land of peace and plenty, were appalled. there was daily, desperate fighting. the mexicans had manned the temple of the war-god which overlooked the spanish pueblo, and cortes determined to capture it. with a large body of chosen men he attempted its escalade. it was crowded to the very top with the most resolute {181} aztecs, and they fought for it with the courage of fanaticism and despair itself. the feather shields were no match for the steel cuirasses. the wooden clubs, stuck full of sharp pieces of obsidian, could not compete on equal terms with the toledo blades. step by step, terrace by terrace, the spaniards fought their way to the very top. as if by mutual consent, the contests in the streets stopped and all eyes were turned upon this battle in the air. arriving at the great plateau upon the crest, the spaniards were met by five hundred of the noblest aztecs, who, animated by their priests, made the last desperate stand for the altars of their gods. "and how can men die better, than in facing fearful odds, for the ashes of their fathers, and the temples of their gods?" in the course of the terrific conflict which ensued, two of the bravest leaped upon cortes, wrapped their arms around him, and attempted to throw themselves off the top of the temple, devoting themselves to death, if so be, they might compass their bold design. it was on the very verge of eternity that cortes tore himself free from them. singled out for attack because of his position and because of his fearlessness in battle, his life was saved again and again by his followers, until it seemed to be miraculously preserved. after a stupendous struggle the summit of the temple was carried. amid the groans of the populace, the spaniards tumbled down from its resting-place the hideous image of the war-god, and completed in aztec eyes the desecration of the temple. they were victorious, but they had paid a price. dead spaniards {182} dotted the terraces, the sunlight, gleaming on their armor, picking them out amid the dark, naked bodies of the mexicans. of those who had survived the encounter, there was scarcely one but had sustained one or more wounds, some of them fearful in character. the mexicans had not died in vain. leaving a guard at the temple, cortes came back to the garrison. the attack was resumed at once by the natives. attempts were made to burn the thatched roofs of the pueblo. a rain of missiles was poured upon it. the spaniards made sally after sally, inflicting great slaughter, but losing always a little themselves. the aztecs would sometimes seize a spaniard and bear him off alive to sacrifice him on some high pyramid temple in full view of his wretched comrades below. the spaniards fired cannon after cannon, but to no avail. they were starving, they were becoming sick, and they were covered with wounds; their allies, who took part gallantly in all the hard fighting, suffered frightful losses. it was at last reluctantly agreed among the leaders that their only salvation was the evacuation of the city. xi. the melancholy night although the course thus thrust upon them was indeed a hard one, there was nothing else to be done. sick, wounded, starving, dying, they could by no means maintain themselves longer in the city. fight as they might and would, the end would come speedily, and would mean annihilation. happy in that event would be those who died upon the field, for every living captive, whatever his condition, would be reserved for that frightful sacrifice to the war-god, in which his {183} body would be opened, and his reeking heart torn, almost while still beating, from his breast. to retreat was almost as dangerous as it was to remain. it was certain, however, that some would get through in that attempt, although it was equally certain that many would not. cortes, mustering his soldiers and allies, after a day of heart-breaking fighting, disclosed the situation to them in blunt soldier-like words, although they all knew it as well as he, and then the hasty preparations began. a vast treasure had been amassed by the spaniards. making an effort to preserve the fifth portion of it, which by law belonged to the king, cortes threw open the treasure chamber and bade the rest help themselves. he cautioned them, however, that those who went the lightest, would have the greatest prospects for escape, a warning which many, especially among those who had come to the country with narvaez, chose to disregard. the causeway along which they determined to fly and which connected mexico with the mainland was pierced at intervals to admit passage from one portion of the lake to the other. the bridges which usually covered these openings had been taken away by the aztecs. cortes caused a temporary bridge or pontoon to be built which was to be carried with the fugitives to enable them to pass the openings. the night was the first of july, 1520. it was pitch dark and a heavy rain was falling. the forces consisted of twelve hundred and fifty spaniards, of whom eighty were mounted, and six thousand tlascalans. they were divided into three divisions. the advance was under the command of juan valesquez, cortes led the main body, and the rear was put in the charge {184} of the rash, cruel, but heroic alvarado. the less severely wounded were supported by their comrades, and those unable to walk were carried on litters or mounted on horses. montezuma had died the night before. any lingering hopes of being able to effect peace through his influence had departed. leaving everything they could not carry, the spaniards, after prayer, confession and absolution, threw open the gates,[7] and entered the city. midnight was approaching. the streets and avenues were silent and deserted. the retreat proceeded cautiously for a little way, unmolested, when suddenly a deep, booming sound roared like thunder over the heads of the spaniards, through the black night, filling their hearts with alarm. cortes recognized it at once. the aztecs were awake and ready. the priests in the great teocallis, or temple pyramids, were beating the great drum of the war-god, huitzilopocahtli. lights appeared here and there in the town, the clashing of arms was heard here and there on the broad avenues. under the lights farther up the streets could be seen files of troops moving. the hour was full of portent. dragging their artillery, carrying their wounded, bearing their treasure, the spaniards and their allies passed rapidly through the streets. before the advance reached the first opening in the causeway it was already hotly engaged. the water on either side of the cause-way suddenly swarmed with canoes. spears, javelins, arrows, heavy war-clubs with jagged pieces of obsidian were hurled upon the spaniards on the causeway. in front of them, almost, it seemed, for the whole length, the {185} indians were massed. step by step, by the hardest kind of hand-to-hand fighting, the spaniards and their allies arrived at the first opening. their loss had been frightful already. they were surrounded and attacked from all sides. indians scrambled up the low banks in the darkness, seized the feet of the flying spaniards and strove to draw them into the water. many a white man, many a tlascalan locked in the savage embrace of some heroic aztec, stumbled or was dragged into the lake and was drowned in the struggle. the frightened horses reared and plunged and created great confusion. the golden treasure with which many had loaded themselves proved a frightful incumbrance. those who could do so, flung it away; those too bitterly occupied in fighting for their lives could do little but drive, thrust, hew, hack and struggle in the dark and slippery way. but the army did advance. arriving at the brink of the first opening, the bridge was brought up and the division began its passage. it had scarcely crossed the gap when under the pressure of tremendous fear, the second division, in spite of all that could be done to refrain and control them by cortes and his officers--and there were no braver men on earth--crowded on the frail bridge. the structure which was sufficiently strong for ordinary and orderly passage, gave way, precipitating a great mass of spaniards and indians into the causeway. cortes with his own hands, assisted by a few of the cooler veterans, tried to lift up the shattered remains of the bridge but was unable to do anything with it. it was ruined beyond repair, and sank into a splintered mass of timber under the terrific pressure to which it had been subjected. a passage at that gap was afforded to those who came {186} after because it was filled level with dead bodies of spaniards, indians and horses, to say nothing of guns, baggage and equipment. by this time the advance guard was again heavily engaged. the spaniards and their allies staggered along the dyke, fighting desperately all the time. velasquez, leading the advance division was killed at the brink of the second opening. the wretched fugitives were driven headlong into the second opening which was soon choked with horses and men as the first had been. over this living, dying bridge the survivors madly ploughed. some of them led by cortes himself found a ford on the side. although they were cut down by the hundreds, there seemed to be no end to the aztecs. the rain still fell. the drum of the war-god mingled with frightful peals of thunder, and the shrill cries of the mexicans rose higher and higher. the spaniards were sick, wounded, beaten and terrified. only cortes and his captains and a few of his veterans preserved the slightest semblance of organization. the third gap was passed by the same awful expedient as the other two had been. there was not a great distance from the third opening to the mainland. the few who had passed over rushed desperately for the shore. way back in the rear, last of all, came alvarado. there was a strange current in the lake, and as he stood all alone at the last opening, confronting the pursuers, his horse having been killed under him, a swift movement of the water swept away the gorged mass of bodies. torches in the canoes enabled the aztecs to recognize alvarado, tonatiuh, the child of the sun. his helmet had been knocked off and his fair hair streamed over his shoulders. he indeed would {187} be a prize for their sacrifice, second only to cortes himself. with furious cries, the most reckless and intrepid leaped upon the dyke and rushed at him. at his feet lay his neglected lance. dropping his sword, he seized his spear, swiftly plunged the point of it into the sand at the bottom of the pass, and, weighted though he was with his armor, and weak from his wounds and from the loss of blood, leaped to safety on the other side. to this day, this place of alvarado's marvelous leap is pointed out. like ney, alvarado was the last of that grand army, and like the french commander, also, he might properly be called the bravest of the brave. darkness was not the usual period for aztec fighting. it was this alone that saved the lives of the remaining few for, having seen alvarado stagger to freedom along the causeway, the aztecs concluded that they had done enough and returned to the city rejoicing. they took back with them many spaniards and tlascalans as captives for sacrifice and the cannibalistic feast which followed. when day broke, cortes sitting under a tree, which is still to be seen in mexico,[8] ordered the survivors to pass in review before him. they numbered five hundred spaniards and two thousand tlascalans and a score of horses. seven hundred and fifty spaniards had been killed or taken captive and four thousand tlascalans. all the artillery had been lost, seven arquebuses had been saved, but there was no powder. half the spaniards were destitute of any weapons and the battle-axes and spears which had been saved {188} were jagged and broken. their armor was battered and the most important parts, as helmets, shields, breastplates, had been lost. some of the tlascalans still preserved their savage weapons. there was scarcely a man, spanish or tlascalan who was not suffering from some wound. it is no wonder that when cortes saw the melancholy and dejected array, even his heart of steel gave way and he buried his face in his hands and burst into tears. this terrible night has always been known in history as _la noche triste_--the melancholy night. melancholy indeed it was. surely the situation of a man was never more desperate. if the mexicans had rejoiced in the leadership of a cortes, they would have mustered their forces and fallen upon the spaniards without the delay of a moment, and the result could only have been annihilation. but the mexicans themselves had suffered terrifically. they had won a great victory, but they had paid a fearful price for it. now they wanted to enjoy it. they wished to sacrifice their captives to their gods, and they thought that there was no hope for the spaniards, and that they might overwhelm them at their leisure. this is sir arthur helps' vivid description of the awful retreat: "a little before midnight the stealthy march began. the spaniards succeeded in laying down the pontoon over the first bridge-way, and the vanguard with sandoval passed over; cortes and his men also passed over; but while the rest were passing, the mexicans gave the alarm with loud shouts and blowing of horns. 'tlaltelulco![9] tlaltelulco!' they exclaimed, 'come out quickly with your canoes; the _teules_ are going; cut {189} them off at the bridges.' almost immediately after this alarm, the lake was covered with canoes. it rained, and the misfortunes of the night commenced by two horses slipping from the pontoon into the water. then, the mexicans attacked the pontoon-bearers so furiously that it was impossible for them to raise it up again. in a very short time the water at that part was full of dead horses, tlascalan men, indian women, baggage, artillery, prisoners, and boxes (_petacas_) which, i suppose, supported the pontoon. on every side the most piteous cries were heard: 'help me! i drown!' 'rescue me! they are killing me!' such vain demands were mingled with prayers to the virgin mary and to saint james. those that did get upon the bridge and on the causeway found hands of mexicans ready to push them down again into the water. "at the second bridge-way a single beam was found, which doubtless had been left for the convenience of the mexicans themselves. this was useless for the horses, but cortes diverging, found a shallow place where the water did not reach further than up to the saddle, and by that he and his horsemen passed (as sandoval must have done before). he contrived, also to get his foot-soldiers safely to the mainland, though whether they swam or waded, whether they kept the line of the causeway, or diverged into the shallows, it is difficult to determine. leaving the vanguard and his own division safe on shore, cortes with a small body of horse and foot, returned to give what assistance he could to those who were left behind. all order was now lost, and the retreat was little else than a confused slaughter, although small bodies of the spaniards still retained sufficient presence of mind {190} to act together, rushing forward, clearing the space about them, making their way at each moment with loss of life, but still some few survivors getting onward. few, indeed, of the rear-guard could have escaped. it is told as a wonder of alvarado, that, coming to the last bridge, he made a leap, which has by many been deemed impossible, and cleared the vast aperture. when cortes came up to him, he was found accompanied by only seven soldiers and eight tlascalans, all covered with blood from their many wounds. they told cortes that there was no use in going further back, that all who remained alive were there with him. upon this the general turned; and the small and melancholy band of spaniards pushed on to tlacuba, cortes protecting the rear. it is said that he sat down on a stone in the village called popotla near tlacuba, and wept; a rare occurrence, for he was not a man to waste any energy in weeping while aught remained to be done. the country was aroused against them, and they did not rest for the night till they had fortified themselves in a temple on a hill near tlacuba, where afterward was built a church dedicated, very appropriately, to our lady of refuge (_à nuestra señora de los remedios_)." there is an old story of a roman general, who after a most terrific defeat, a defeat due largely to his own incompetency, not only escaped censure but was officially thanked by the senate, because he declared publicly that he did not despair of the republic. of that same temper was cortes. exhorting his men in the face of this awful peril which menaced them to conduct themselves as white men, as spaniards, and as soldiers of the cross, cortes led his army toward tlascala. upon the position of {191} that republic absolutely depended the future. it depends upon the way you look at the situation as to how you estimate the conduct of these dusky allies of the unfortunate conqueror. had there been any national feeling among them, had their hatred of the aztecs been less, they might have broken their agreements with the spaniards and overwhelmed them, but the hatred of the tlascalans did not permit them to look beyond the present day. they decided to maintain the alliance they had entered into with cortes and welcomed him with open arms. they gave him a chance to recuperate, to get something to eat, and to dress the wounds of his men. all the spaniards wanted was time to bring about the inevitable downfall of mexico and the mexicans. among the men who had followed narvaez was a negro who had brought with him the germs of small-pox, which were communicated to the aztecs in the city. it spared neither rich nor poor, as one of the first victims was their leader, cuitlahua. the electors chose his nephew to succeed him, the youthful guatemoc, or, as he was commonly called, guatemotzin. in some respects in spite of the lack of the sagacity and farsightedness of cuitlahua, he was a better man for the problem, for he at once mustered his forces and launched them upon cortes and the tlascalans in the valley of otumba. the tlascalans had furnished shelter and provisions to cortes, and had resolved to stand by their treaty with him, but they had not yet furnished him with any great assistance. a strong party in the council had been entirely opposed to doing anything whatever for him. cortes practically had to fight the battle alone and the battle had {192} to be won. he and his fought, as the saying is, with halters around their necks. all day long the spaniards and their few allies fought up and down the narrow valley. defeat meant certain death. they must conquer or be tortured, sacrificed and eaten. it was cortes himself who decided the issue. with alvarado and a few of the other captains, he finally broke through the aztec centre, with his own hand killed the aztec general, to whom guatemoc had committed the battle, and seized the aztec standard. at the close of the long hours of fighting the natives broke and fled, and the supremacy of cortes and the spaniards was once more established. wavering tlascala decided for cortes and he was received with generous, royal and munificent hospitality, which accorded him everything he asked. messengers were despatched to hispaniola for reinforcements and every preparation made for the renewal of the campaign. during the fall, troops, horses, men, guns and thousands of the flower of the tlascalan army were placed at cortes's disposal. he occupied them by sending expeditions in every direction, thus restoring their morale and punishing the savage tribes who had revolted against the spanish rule and had returned to their old allegiance to the aztec emperor. the punishments were fearful. the resources of the mexicans were gradually cut off and by the end of the year the aztecs realized that they would have to fight their last battle alone. these successful campaigns reëstablished the prestige which the spaniards had lost. the people everywhere knew that they were no longer gods, but they now enjoyed a higher reputation, that of being invincible. cortes was resolved to attack mexico. with a {193} prudence as great as his determination he decided to neglect no precaution which would insure his success. he caused to be built a number of brigantines by which he could secure the command of the lake, and thereby give access to the city for his troops and allies. these brigantines were built at tlascala under the supervision of the sailors of the expedition. the rigging of the ships, which had been destroyed, was useful in fitting them out. they were built in pieces and arrangements were made to carry them over the mountains and put them together at the lake when the campaign began. guns and provisions were also amassed. powder was brought from cuba and it was also made by means of the sulphur deposits of the volcanoes round about. the troops were daily drilled and trained. daily prayers were held, and every effort was made to give the forthcoming campaign the spirit of a crusade. the strictest moral regulations were promulgated. in short, nothing was left undone to bring about the downfall of mexico. on his part, guatemoc was not idle. he summoned to his assistance all the tribes that remained loyal to him, especially those to the west, not subjected to the spanish attack. he strove by bribery to detach those who had given their adherence to cortes. vast numbers of allies assembled in mexico, which was provisioned for a siege. everything that occurred to the minds of these splendid barbarians was done. after having done all that was possible, with resolution which cannot be commended too highly, they calmly awaited the onset of the spaniards. on christmas day, 1520, cortes took up the march over the mountains again for the great city of the cactus rock. {194} xii. the siege and destruction of mexico it was april of the next year when cortes at last arrived before the city and began the siege. the force which he had mustered for this tremendous undertaking consisted of seven hundred spanish infantry, one hundred and twenty arquebuses, eighty-six horsemen, twelve cannon, and a countless multitude of tlascalan fighters together with numbers of slaves and servants. as the city was connected with the mainland by three causeways, it was necessary to invest it on three sides. the army was divided into three equal divisions. he himself commanded the force that was to attack along the south causeway; with him was sandoval, his most trusted and efficient lieutenant; alvarado led that which was to advance over the west causeway and olid was to close the north causeway. the brigantines were brought over the mountains by hand by thousands of tlascalans. there were no vehicles or highways of any sort in mexico; the mexicans not having domesticated any animals there was no use for anything broader than a foot-path, a fact which throws an interesting side-light on their civilization, by the way. these spanish boats were put together on the shores of the lake and when they were launched they served to close the ring of steel which surrounded the doomed city. the three great tribal divisions of the aztec empire were the aztecs themselves, the cholulans and the tezcocans. cholula had been conquered and with tezcoco at this critical juncture went over to the spaniards, leaving guatemoc and his aztecs to fight the last fight {195} alone. besides the forces enumerated, each spanish division was accompanied by formidable bodies of tlascalans. the tlascalans were nearly, if not quite, as good fighters as the aztecs; perhaps they were better fighters, so far as their numbers went, when led and supported by the white people. the first thing that cortes did was to cut the aqueduct which carried fresh water into the city. the lake of tezcoco in which mexico stood was salt. by this one stroke, cortes forced the inhabitants to depend upon a very meagre, scanty supply of water from wells in the city, many of which were brackish and unpalatable. the shores of the lake were swept bare by the beleaguerers. iztatapalan, a rocky fortress was taken by storm and on april 21, 1521, the first attack was delivered along the causeways. the mexicans met the advance with their customary intrepidity. the water on either side of the causeway swarmed with canoes. thousands of warriors poured out of the city. the canoes swept down the lake intending to take the spaniards in reverse and then pour in a terrible flank fire of missiles as they had done on the melancholy night. cortes sustained this fire for a short time in order to draw the canoes as far toward him as possible, then he let loose the brigantines. these brigantines were boats propelled by oars and sails on a single mast. they carried about a score of armed men and were very well and stoutly built. i suppose them to have been something like a modern man-o'-war cutter. they played havoc with the frail canoes. their solid construction, their higher free-board, that is, the height they were above the water-line, the armor of their crews and the fact that the wind happened to be favorable and they {196} could sail instead of row that morning, all contributed to the utter and complete destruction of the indian flotilla. canoes were splintered and sunk. men were killed by the hundreds. they strove to climb up the slippery sides of the causeways and dykes. the spaniards thrust them off into the deep water with their spears or cut them to pieces with their swords. the battle along the causeways, which were narrow, although quite wide enough for a dozen horsemen abreast, was terrible. the aztecs literally died in their tracks, disdaining to fly. the spaniards made their way over a floor of dead and writhing bodies. bare breasts, however resolute the hearts that beat beneath them, were no match for the steel cuirasses. the wooden shields did not even blunt the edge of the toledo blade; the obsidian battle-axes could not contest with the iron maces. the jewelled feather work of the proudest noble was not equal even to the steel-trimmed leather jerkin of the poorest white soldier. the spaniards literally cut their way, hewed, hacked, thrust their way into the city. here the fighting was slightly more equalized. the low roofs of the houses and pueblos swarmed with warriors. they rained missiles down upon the spaniards' heads, while a never diminishing mob hurled itself into the faces of the white men. the aztecs could have done more damage if they had not sacrificed everything in order to capture the spaniards alive. in some instances they succeeded in their purpose. the fighting which was the same in all three of the causeways lasted all day and then the spaniards retired to their several camps. save for the fact that they afterward cleared the lake of the canoes by the aid of the brigantines, one {197} day's fighting was like another. the spaniards would march into the city, slaughter until their arms were weary. they would lose a few here and there every day. the tlascalans who took their part in all the fighting lost many. the end of the day would see things _in statu quo_. there were enough of the indians even to sacrifice one hundred of them to one spaniard and still maintain the balance of power. cortes observed that he might fight this way until all of his army had melted away by piecemeal and have taken nothing. he determined upon the dreadful expedient of destroying the city as he captured it. after coming to this decision, he summoned to his aid large bodies of the subject tribes. thereafter, while the spaniards and the tlascalans fought, the others tore down that portion of the city which had been taken. the buildings were absolutely razed to the ground and nothing whatever was left of them. canals were filled, gardens were ruined, trees cut down and even the walls of the city torn apart. in short, what once had been a teeming populous quarter of the city, abounding in parks, gardens and palaces, was left a desert. there was not enough power left in the aztec confederacy to rebuild the devastated portions over night and the spaniards daily pressed their attack on every side with relentless rigor. the mexicans were slowly constricted to an ever narrowing circle. the spaniards seized and choked up the wells. the mexicans were dying of thirst. the brigantines swept the lake and prevented any reënforcements reaching them, which cut off their supply of provisions. they were dying of hunger. after every day's fighting cortes offered amnesty. to do {198} him justice, he begged that peace might be made and the fighting stopped before the city was ruined and all its inhabitants were killed. he was no mere murderer, and such scenes of slaughter horrified him. he had a genuine admiration for the enemy too. he tried his best to secure peace. his offers were repudiated with contempt. in spite of the fact that they were starving, the aztecs in bravado actually threw provisions in the faces of the advancing spaniards. they declared to the tlascalans that when there was nothing left to eat they would eat them, and if there was nothing else, they would live on one another until they were all dead. they mocked and jeered at the tribes tearing down the houses, and with grim humor pointed out to them that they would have to rebuild the city whoever was successful in the strife, for either the aztecs or the spaniards would compel them to do so. so the fighting went on through the long days. xiii. a day of desperate fighting on one occasion the soldiers, tiring of this, demanded, and cortes in compliance with their wishes projected, an attack which was hoped would capture the narrow circle of defense by storm. in his own words the story of this day's fighting is now related. it will be seen how he narrowly escaped with his life: "the day after mass,[10] in pursuance of the arrangements already mentioned, the seven brigantines with more than three thousand canoes of our allies left the encampment; and i, with twenty-five horses and {199} all the other force i had, including the seventy-five men from the division at tacuba, took up the line of march and entered the city, where i distributed the troops in the following manner: there were three streets leading from where we entered to the market-place, called by the indians tianguizco, and the whole square in which it is situated is called tlaltelulco; one of these streets was the principal avenue to the marketplace, which i ordered your majesty's treasurer and auditor to take, with seventy men and more than fifteen or twenty thousand of our allies, and rear-guard consisting of seven or eight horses. i also directed that, whenever a bridge or entrenchment was taken, it should be immediately filled up; and for this purpose they had twelve men with pick-axes, together with many more of our allies who were very useful in this kind of work. the two other streets also lead from that of tacuba to the market-place, and are narrower and full of causeways, bridges, and water-streets (or canals). i ordered two captains,[11] to take the wildest of these with eighty men and more than ten thousand of our indian allies; and at the head of the street of tacuba i placed two heavy cannon with eight horse to guard them. with eight other horse and about one hundred foot, including twenty-five or more bowmen and musketeers, and an innumerable host of our allies, i took up the line of march along the other narrow street, intending to penetrate as far as possible. at its entrance i caused the cavalry to halt, and ordered them by no means to pass from there, nor to come in my rear, unless i first sent them orders to that effect; and then i alighted from my {200} horse, and we came to an entrenchment that had been raised in front of a bridge, which we carried by means of a small field-piece, and the archers and musketeers, and then proceeded along the causeway, which was broken in two or three places, where we encountered the enemy. so great was the number of our allies, who ascended the terraces and other places, that it did not appear possible anything could stop us. when we had gained the two bridges, the entrenchments and the causeways, our allies followed along the street without taking any spoils; and i remained behind with about twenty spanish soldiers on a little island, for i saw that some of our indians were getting into trouble with the enemy; and in some instances they retreated until they cast themselves into the water, and with our aid were enabled to return to the attack. besides this, we were on the watch to prevent the enemy from sallying forth out of the cross-streets in the rear of the spaniards, who had advanced on the main street and at this time sent us word that they had made much progress, and were not far from the great square of the market-place; adding, that they wished to push forward, for they already heard the noise of the combat in which the alguazil mayor and pedro de alvarado were engaged on their side of the city. i answered them that they must by no means go forward without leaving the bridges well filled up, so that, if it became necessary to beat a retreat, the water might present no obstacle or impediment, for in this consisted all the danger. they sent to me a message in reply, the amount of which was that the whole they had gained was in good condition, and that i might go and see if it was not so. but suspecting that they had disregarded the orders and left the {201} bridges imperfectly filled up, i went to the place and found they had passed a breach in the road ten or twelve paces wide, and the water that flowed through it was ten or twelve feet deep. at the time the troops had passed this ditch, thus formed, they had thrown in it wood and reed-canes, and as they had crossed a few at a time and with great circumspection, the wood and canes had not sunk beneath their weight; and they were so intoxicated with the pleasure of victory that they imagined it to be sufficiently firm. at the moment i reached this bridge of troubles, i discovered some spaniards and many of our allies flying back in great haste, and the enemy like dogs in pursuit of them; and when i saw such a rout, i began to cry out, 'hold, hold!' and on approaching the water, i beheld it full of spaniards and indians in so dense a mass that it seemed as if there was not room for a straw to float. the enemy charged on the fugitives so hotly, that in the _mêlée_ they threw themselves into the water after them; and soon the enemy's canoes came up by means of the canal and took the spaniards alive. as this affair was so sudden, and i saw them killing our men, i resolved to remain there and perish in the fight. the way in which i and those that were with me could do the most good was to give our hands to some unfortunate spaniards who were drowning, and draw them out of the water; some came out wounded, others half-drowned, and others without arms, whom i sent forward. already such multitudes of the enemy pressed upon us, that they had completely surrounded me and the twelve or fifteen men who were with me; and being deeply interested in endeavoring to save those that were sinking, i did not observe nor regard the danger to which i was exposed. several indians {202} of the enemy had already advanced to seize me and would have borne me off, had it not been for a captain of fifty men whom i always had with me, and also a youth of his company, to whom next to god, i owed my life; and in saving mine, like a valiant man, he lost his own.[12] in the meantime the spaniards who had fled before the enemy, pursued their course along the causeway, and as it was small and narrow, and on the same level as the water, which had been effected by those dogs on purpose to annoy us; and as the road was crowded also with our allies who had been routed, much delay was thereby occasioned, enabling the enemy to come up on both sides of the water, and to take and destroy as many as they pleased. the captain who was with me, antonio de quinones, said to me: 'let us leave this place and save your life, since you know that without you none of us can escape'; but he could not induce me to go. when he saw this, he seized me in his arms, that he might force me away; and although i would have been better satisfied to die than to live, yet by the importunity of this captain and of my other companions, we began to retreat, making our way with our swords and bucklers against the enemy, who pressed hard upon us. at this moment there came up a servant of mine and made a little room; but presently he received a blow in his throat from a lance thrown from a low terrace, that brought him to the ground. while i was in the midst of this conflict, sustaining the attacks of the enemy, and waiting for the crowd on the narrow causeway, to reach a place of safety, one of my servants brought {203} me a horse to ride on. but the mud on the causeway, occasioned by the coming and going of persons by water, was so deep that no one could stand, especially with the jostling of the people against one another in their effort to escape. "i mounted the horse, but not to fight, as this was impossible on horseback; but if it had been practicable i should have found on the little island opposite the narrow causeway, the eight horsemen i had left there, who were unable to do more than effect their return; which indeed, was so dangerous that two mares, on which two of my servants rode fell from the causeway into the water; one of them was killed by the indians, but the other was saved by some of the infantry. another servant of mine cristobal de guzman, rode a horse that they gave him at the little island to bring to me, on which i might make my escape; but the enemy killed both him and the horse before they reached me; his death spread sorrow through the whole camp, and even to this day his loss is still mourned by those who knew him. but after all our troubles, by the blessing of god, those of us who survived, reached the street of tlacuba, which was very wide; and collecting the people, i took my post with nine horsemen in the rear-guard. the enemy pressed forward with all the pride of victory, as if resolved that none should escape with life; but falling back in the best manner i could, i sent word to the treasurer and auditor to retreat to the public square in good order. i also sent similar orders to the two captains who had entered the city by the street that led to the market-place, both of whom had fought gallantly, and carried many entrenchments and bridges, which they had caused to be well filled up, on account of {204} which they were able to retire without loss. before the retreat of the treasurer and auditor some of the enemy threw in their way two or three heads of christian men from the upper part of the entrenchment where they were fighting, but it was not known whether they were persons belonging to the camp of pedro de alvarado, or our own. all being assembled in the square, so large a multitude of the enemy charged upon us from all directions that we had as much as we could do to keep them back; and that, too, in places where, before this defeat, the enemy would have fled before three horse and ten foot. immediately after, in a lofty tower filled with their idols that stood near the square, they burned perfumes and fumigated the air with certain gums peculiar to this country, that greatly resembled _anime_, which they offer to their idols in token of victory. although we endeavored to throw obstacles in the way of the enemy, it was out of our power, as our people were hurrying back to the camp. "in this defeat thirty-five or forty spaniards, and more than a thousand of our allies, were slain by the enemy, besides more than twenty christians wounded, among whom was myself in the leg. we lost the small field-piece that we had taken with us, and many crossbows, muskets and other arms. immediately after their victory in order to strike terror into the alguazil mayor and pedro de alvarado, the enemy carried all the spaniards, both living and dead, whom they had taken, to the tlaltelulco which is the market-place, and in some of the lofty towers that are situated there they sacrificed them naked, opening their breasts and taking out their hearts to offer them to the idols. this was seen by the spaniards of alvarado's division from {205} where they were fighting, and from the whiteness of the naked bodies which they saw sacrificed they knew them to be christians; but although they suffered great sorrow and dismay at the sight, they effected a retreat to their camp after having fought gallantly that day, and carried their conquests almost to the market-place, which would have been taken if god, on account of our sins, had not permitted so great a disaster. we returned to our camp, such was the grief we felt, somewhat earlier than had been usual on other days; and in addition to our other losses, we had been told that the brigantines had fallen into the hands of the enemies, who attacked them in their canoes from the rear; but it pleased god this was not true, although the brigantines and the canoes of our allies had been seen in danger enough, and even a brigantine came near being lost, the captain and the master of it being wounded, the former of whom died eight days afterward." this modest account of the brave soldier scarcely does justice to the situation, his peril and his courage. therefore, i supplement it by helps' description of the same day of desperate fighting: "the impatience of the soldiers grew to a great height, and was supported in an official quarter--by no less a person than alderete, the king's treasurer. cortes gave way against his own judgment to their importunities. there had all along been a reason for his reluctance, which, probably, he did not communicate to his men; namely, that he had not abandoned the hope that the enemy would still come to terms. 'finally,' he says, 'they pressed me so much that i gave way.' "the attack was to be a general one, in which the {206} divisions of sandoval and alvarado were to cooperate; but cortes, with that knowledge of character which belonged to him, particularly explained that, though his general orders were for them to press into the market-place, they were not obliged to gain a single difficult pass which laid them open to defeat; 'for,' he says, 'i knew, from the men they were, that they would advance to whatever spot i told them to gain, even if they knew that it would cost them their lives.' "on the appointed day, cortes moved from his camp, supported by seven brigantines, and by more than three thousand canoes filled with his indian allies. when his soldiers reached the entrance of the city, he divided them in the following manner. there were three streets which led to the market-place from the position which the spaniards had already gained. along the principal street, the king's treasurer, with seventy spaniards, and fifteen or twenty thousand allies was to make his way. his rear was to be protected by a small guard of horsemen. "the other streets were smaller, and led from the street of tlacuba to the market-place. along the broader of these two streets, cortes sent two of his principal captains, with eighty spaniards and the thousand indians; he himself with eight horsemen, seventy-five foot-soldiers, twenty-five musketeers, and an 'infinite number' of allies, was to enter the narrower street. at the entrance to the street of tlacuba, he left two large cannon with eight horsemen to guard them, and at the entrance of his own street, he also left eight horsemen to protect the rear. "the spaniards and their allies made their entrance into the city with even more success and less embarrassment than on previous occasions. bridges and {207} barricades were gained, and the three main bodies of the army moved forward into the heart of the city. the ever-prudent cortes did not follow his division, but remained with a small body-guard of twenty spaniards in a little island formed by the intersection of certain water streets, whence he encouraged the allies, who were occasionally beaten back by the mexicans, and where he could protect his own troops against any sudden descent of the enemy from certain side streets. "he now received a message from these spanish troops who had made a rapid and successful advance into the heart of the town, informing him that they were not far from the market-place, and that they wished to have his permission to push forward, as they already heard the noise of the combats which the alguazil mayor and pedro de alvarado were waging from their respective stations. to this message cortes returned for answer that on no account should they move forward without first filling up the apertures thoroughly. they sent an answer back, stating that they had made completely passable all the ground they had gained; and that he might come and see whether it were not so. "cortes, like a wise commander, not inclined to admit anything as a fact upon the statement of others which could be verified by personal inspection, took them at their word, and did move on to see what sort of a pathway they had made; when, to his dismay, he came in sight of a breach in the causeway, of considerable magnitude, being ten or twelve paces in width, and which, far from being filled up with solid material, had been passed upon wood and reeds, which was entirely insecure in case of retreat. the spaniards, 'intoxicated with victory,' as their commander {208} describes them, had rushed on, imagining that they left behind them a sufficient pathway. "there was now no time to remedy this lamentable error, for when cortes arrived near this 'bridge of affliction,' as he calls it, he saw many of the spaniards and the allies retreating toward it, and when he came up close to it, he found the bridge-way broken down, and the whole aperture so full of spaniards and indians, that there was not room for a straw to float upon the surface of the water. the peril was so imminent that cortes not only thought that the conquest of mexico was gone, but that the term of his life as well as that of his victories had come; and he resolved to die there fighting. all that he could do at first was to help his men out of the water; and meanwhile, the mexicans charged upon them in such numbers, that he and his little party were entirely surrounded. the enemy seized upon his person, and would have carried him off, but for the resolute bravery of some of his guard, one of whom lost his life there in succoring his master. the greatest aid, however, that cortes had at this moment of urgent peril, was the cruel superstition of the mexicans, which made them wish to take the malinche alive, and grudged the death of an enemy in any other way than that of sacrifice to their detestable gods. the captain of the body-guard seized hold of cortes, and insisted upon his retreating, declaring that upon his life depended the lives of all of them. cortes, though at that moment he felt that he should have delighted more in death than life, gave way to the importunity of his captain, and of other spaniards who were near, and commenced a retreat for his life. his flight was along a narrow causeway at the same level as the water, an additional circumstance of danger, {209} which to use his expression about them, those 'dogs' had contrived against the spaniards. the mexicans in their canoes approached the causeway on both sides, and the slaughter they were thus enabled to commit, both among the allies and the spaniards, was very great. meanwhile, two or three horses were sent to aid cortes in his retreat, and a youth upon one of them contrived to reach him, although the others were lost. at last he and a few of his men succeeded in fighting their way to the broad street of tlacuba, where, like a brave captain, instead of continuing his flight, he and the few horsemen that were with him turned around and formed a rear-guard to protect his retreating troops. he also sent immediate orders to the king's treasurer and the other commanders to make good their escape; orders the force of which was much heightened by the sight of two or three spanish heads which the mexicans, who were fighting behind a barricade, threw amongst the besiegers. "we must now see how it fared with the other divisions. alvarado's men had prospered in their attack, and were steadily advancing toward the marketplace, when, all of a sudden, they found themselves encountered by an immense body of mexican troops, splendidly accoutred, who threw before them five heads of spaniards and kept shouting out, 'thus we will slay you, as we have slain malinche and sandoval, whose heads these are.' with these words they commenced an attack of such fury, and came so close to hand with the spaniards, that they could not use their cross-bows, their muskets, or even their swords. one thing, however, was in their favor. the difficulty of their retreat was always greatly enhanced by the number of their allies; but on this occasion, the {210} tlascalans no sooner saw the bleeding heads and heard the menacing words of the mexicans, than they cleared themselves off the causeway with all possible speed. "the spaniards, therefore, were able to retreat in good order; and their dismay did not take the form of panic, even when they heard, from the summit of the temple, the tones of that awful drum, made from the skin of serpents, which gave forth the most melancholy sound imaginable, and which was audible at two or three leagues' distance. this was the signal of sacrifice, and at that moment ten human hearts, the hearts of their companions, were being offered up to the mexican deities. "a more dangerous, though not more dreadful sound was now to be heard. this was the blast of a horn sounded by no less a personage than the mexican king--which signified that his captains were to succeed or die. the mad fury with which the mexicans now rushed upon the spaniards was an 'awful thing' to see; and the historian, who was present at the scene, writing in his old age, exclaims that, though he cannot describe it, yet, when he comes to think of it, it is as if it were 'visibly' before him, so deep was the impression it had made upon his mind. "but the spaniards were not raw troops; and terror however great, was not able to overcome their sense of discipline and their duty to each other as comrades. it was in vain that the mexicans rushed upon them 'as a conquered thing'; they reached their station, served their cannon steadily--although they had to renew their artillery-men--and maintained their ground. "the appalling stratagem adopted by the mexicans--of {211} throwing down before one division of the spanish army some of the heads of the prisoners they had taken from another division, and shouting that these were the heads of the principal commanders--was pursued with great success. they were thus enabled to discourage sandoval, and to cause him to retreat with loss toward his quarters. they even tried with success the same stratagem upon cortes, throwing before his camp, to which he had at last retreated, certain bleeding heads, which they said, were those of 'tonatiuh' (alvarado), sandoval, and the other _teules_. then it was that cortes felt more dismay than ever, 'though,' says the honest chronicler, who did not like the man, no matter how much he admired the soldier, 'not in such a manner that those who were with him should perceive in it much weakness.' "after sandoval had made good his retreat, he set off, accompanied by a few horsemen, for the camp of cortes, and had an interview with him, of which the following account is given: 'o señor captain! what is this?' exclaimed sandoval; 'are these the great counsels, and artifices of war which you have always been wont to show us? how has this disaster happened?' cortes replied, 'o don sandoval! my sins have permitted this; but i am not so culpable in the business as they may make out, for it is the fault of the treasurer, juan de alderete, whom i charged to fill up that difficult pass where they routed us; but he did not do so, for he is not accustomed to wars, nor to be commanded by superior officers.' at this point of the conference, the treasurer himself, who had approached the captains in order to learn sandoval's news, exclaimed that it was cortes himself who was to blame; that he had encouraged his men to go {212} forward; that he had not charged them to fill up the bridges and bad passes--if he had done so, he (the treasurer) and his company would have done it; and, moreover, that cortes had not cleared the causeway in time of his indian allies. thus they argued and disputed with one another; for hardly any one is generous, in defeat, to those with whom he has acted. indeed, a generosity of this kind, which will not allow a man to comment severely upon the errors of his comrades in misfortune, is so rare a virtue, that it scarcely seems to belong to this planet. "there was little time, however, for altercation, and cortes was not the man to indulge in more of that luxury for the unfortunate than human nature demanded. he had received no tidings of what had befallen the camp of tlacuba, and thither he despatched sandoval, embracing him and saying, 'look you, since you see that i cannot go to all parts, i commend these labors to you, for, as you perceive, i am wounded and lame. i implore you, take charge of these three camps. i well know that pedro de alvarado and his soldiers will have behaved themselves as cavaliers, but i fear lest the great force of those dogs should have routed them.' "the scene now changes to the ground near alvarado's camp. sandoval succeeded in making his way there, and arrived about the hour of vespers. he found the men of that division in the act of repelling a most vigorous attack on the part of the mexicans, who had hoped that night to penetrate into the camp and carry off all the spaniards for sacrifice. the enemy were better armed than usual, some of them using the weapons which they had taken from the soldiers of cortez. at last, after a severe conflict, {213} in which sandoval himself was wounded, and in which the cannon shots did not suffice to break the serried ranks of the mexicans, the spaniards gained their quarters, and, being under shelter, had some respite from the fury of the mexican attack. "there, sandoval, pedro de alvarado, and the other principal captains, were standing together and relating what had occurred to each of them, when, suddenly, the sound of the sacrificial drum was heard again, accompanied by other musical instruments of a similar dolorous character. from the camp of tlacuba the great temple was perfectly visible, and the spaniards looked up at it for the interpretation of these melancholy tones; they saw their companions driven by blows and buffetings up to the place of sacrifice. the white-skinned christians were easily to be distinguished amidst the dusky groups that surrounded them. when the unhappy men about to be sacrificed had reached the lofty level space on which these abominations were wont to be committed, it was discerned by their friends and late companions that plumes of feathers were put upon the heads of many of them, and that men, whose movements in the distance appeared like those of winnowers, made the captive dance before the image of huitzilopochtli. when the dance was concluded, the victims were placed upon the sacrificial stones; their hearts were taken out and offered to the idols; and their bodies hurled down the steps of the temple. at the bottom of the steps stood 'other butchers' who cut off the arms and legs of the victims, intending to eat these portions of their enemy. the skin of the face with the beard was preserved. the rest of the body was thrown to the lions, tigers, and serpents. 'let the curious {214} reader consider,' says the chronicler, 'what pity we must have had for these, our companions, and how we said to one another, 'oh, thanks be to god, that they did not carry me off to-day to sacrifice me.' and certainly no army ever looked on a more deplorable sight. "there was no time, however, for such contemplation: for, at that instant, numerous bands of warriors attacked the spaniards on all sides, and fully occupied their attention in the preservation of their own lives. "modern warfare has lost one great element of the picturesque in narrative, namely, in there being no interchange, now, of verbal threats and menaces between the contending parties; but in those days it was otherwise, and the mexicans were able to indulge in the most fierce and malignant language. 'look,' they said, 'that is the way in which all of you have to die, for our gods have promised this to us many times.' to the tlascalans their language was more insulting and much more minutely descriptive. throwing to them the roasted flesh of their companions and of the spanish soldiers, they shouted, 'eat of the flesh of these _teules_, and of your brethren, for we are quite satiated with it; and, look you, for the houses you have pulled down, we shall have to make you build in their place much better ones with stone and plates of metal, likewise with hewn stone and lime; and the houses will be painted. wherefore continue to assist these _teules_ all of whom you will see sacrificed.' "the mexicans, however, did not succeed in carrying off any more spaniards for sacrifice that night. the spanish camp had some few hours of repose, and some time to reckon up their losses, which were very {215} considerable. they lost upward of sixty of their own men, six horses, two cannon, and a great number of their indian allies. moreover the brigantines had not fared much better on this disastrous day than the land forces. but the indirect consequences of this defeat were still more injurious than the actual losses. the allies from the neighboring cities on the lake deserted the spaniards, nearly to a man. the mexicans regained and strengthened most of their positions; and the greatest part of the work of the besiegers seemed as if it would have to be done over again. even the tlascalans, hitherto so faithful, despaired of the fortunes of their allies, and could not but believe, with renewed terror, in the potency of the mexican deities, kindred to, if not identical with, their own." xiv. the last mexican the courage of the aztecs was beyond all question. their heroism awakens a thrill of admiration, although we are fully aware of their fearful and ferocious and degrading religious rites. again and again the heart-sick spaniards saw lifted up before the hideous gods on the temple pyramids, the white, naked bodies of their unfortunate comrades who had been captured for that awful sacrifice. both parties were wrought up to a pitch of furious rage. no valor, no heroism, no courage, no devotion could prevail against thirst, hunger, smallpox, pestilence, the fever of besieged towns, with the streets filled with unburied dead. on august 13, 1521, the city fell. there was no formal surrender, the last defender had been killed. the old, weak and feeble were left. only a small portion of the city, the {216} cheapest and poorest part, was left standing. into this ghastly street rode the spaniards. where was guatemoc? a wretched, haggard, worn, starved figure, having done all that humanity could do, and apparently more, in the defence of his land, he had striven to escape in a canoe on the lake. one of the brigantines overhauled him. the commander was about to make way with the little party when some one informed him that the principal captive was no less than guatemotzin. the unfortunate young emperor, after vainly trying to persuade garcia holguin to kill him then and there, demanded to be led to cortes. he found that great captain on one of the house-tops, watching the slaughter of the men and women and children by the furious tlascalans who were at last feeding fat their revenge by indiscriminate massacre. "deal with me as you please," said the broken-hearted mexican, as he touched the dagger which hung by cortes's side. "kill me at once," he implored. he had no wish to survive the downfall of his empire, the devastation of his city, and the annihilation of his people. cortes spared his life and at first treated him generously. he afterward marred his reputation by yielding him and the cacique of tlacuba to torture at the urgent and insistent demand of the soldiery. there was no treasure found in the city. it had been spirited away or else buried forever beneath the ruins of the town.[13] the soldiers, their greed for treasure excited, insisted upon the torture of the noble guatemoc and his comrade. the cacique of tlacuba, unable through weakness to sustain the torture, which consisted of burning the soles of their feet with boiling {217} oil, broke into lamenting reproaches, some of them addressed to the emperor. "and am i taking pleasure in my bath, do you think?" proudly replied the young chief, while the soles of his feet were being immersed in the same dreadful cauldron. he was lame and more or less helpless for the rest of his life. i have no doubt that he often wished that he had been cut down in the final moment of his defeat. he dragged on a miserable existence until cortes put him to death by hanging several years after the conquest while in honduras on an expedition. the charge against him, so cortes writes to charles v., was conspiracy. the evidence was flimsy enough, yet it is probable that cortes believed it. the expedition was far from mexico, surrounded by hostile nations, and cortes, as usual, was in great danger. helps thus describes the bitter end of the noble young emperor: "when led to execution, the king of mexico exclaimed, 'o malinche, i have long known the falseness of your words, and have foreseen that you would give me that death which, alas! i did not give myself, when i surrendered to you in my city of mexico. wherefore do you slay me without justice? may god demand it of you!' "the king of the tlacuba said that he looked upon his death as welcome, since he was able to die with his lord, the king of mexico. after confession and absolution, the two kings were hanged upon a ceyba tree in izzancanac, in the province of acalan, on one of the carnival days before shrovetide, in the year 1525. thus ended the great mexican dynasty--itself a thing compacted by so much blood and toil and {218} suffering of countless human beings. the days of deposed monarchs--victims alike to the zeal of their friends and the suspicions of their captors--are mostly very brief; and perhaps it is surprising that the king of mexico should have survived as long as four years the conquest of his capital, and have been treated during the greater part of that time with favor and honor. "some writers have supposed that cortes was weary of his captives, and wished to destroy them, and that the charge of conspiracy was fictitious. such assertions betray a total ignorance of the character of this great spaniard. astute men seldom condescend to lying. now, cortes was not only very astute, but, according to his notions, highly honorable. a genuine hidalgo, and a thoroughly loyal man, he would as soon have thought of committing a small theft as of uttering a falsehood in a despatch addressed to his sovereign." xv. the end of cortes cortes received a full reward for his conquest, at least for a time. he was received in high favor by charles v., whom he visited in spain, and who made him marques of the valley of mexico. "there is on record a single sentence of the emperor's that must have been addressed to cortes in some private interview, which shows the gracious esteem in which he was held by his sovereign. borrowing a metaphor from the archery-ground, and gracefully, as it seems, alluding to a former misappreciation of the services of cortes, the emperor said that he wished to deal with him as those who contend with the crossbow, whose first shots go wide of the mark, and then {219} they improve and improve, until they hit the centre of the white. so, continued his majesty, he wished to go on until he had shot into the white of what should be done to reward the marquis' deserts; and meanwhile nothing was to be taken from him which he then held. "it was very pleasing to find that cortes did not forget his old friends the tlascalans, but dwelt on their services, and procured from the emperor an order that they should not be given _encomienda_ to his majesty, or to any other person." the only reward the tlascalans got from the emperor was that, when the other mexicans were made slaves, they were left at least nominally free, but their republic soon fell into decay and the city in which they had so proudly maintained themselves in their independence, became a desolate ruin. a dirty and squalid village to-day marks the place. marina, who had served the spaniards for the love of the great captain with such fidelity and such success, was cast off by cortes and compelled to marry one of his officers, whom she scarcely knew. this crushed her spirit. she abandoned her husband and sank into wretched and miserable obscurity, and died at an early age of a broken heart. cortes conducted other expeditions, most of them without any great success, as that to honduras, where he hanged the last of the aztec kings. jealousy arose in the great state which he had founded, and he fell out of favor with the emperor, who refused to see him, and he was received with cold and bitter reproaches by his wife, whom he married after the death of his former wife, and who had never proved a comfort to him. an admirable marriage which {220} he had arranged for his daughter with one of the highest nobility of spain failed, his last days were sad and miserable, and he died old, lonely and broken-hearted. i again quote helps concerning these closing scenes: "the poets say, 'care sits behind a man and follows him wherever he goes.' so does ill-success; and henceforward the life of cortes was almost invariably unsuccessful. there is an anecdote told of him (resting upon no higher authority than that of voltaire) which, although evidently untrue, tells in a mythical way the reception which cortes met at the spanish court; and his feelings as regards that reception. "one day he broke through the crowd which surrounded the carriage of the emperor and jumped on the step. "'who are you?' asked the emperor in astonishment. "'i am the man,' replied cortes fiercely, 'who has given you more provinces than your ancestors have left you cities.' "quitting fiction, however, and returning to fact, there is a letter extant addressed by cortes to the emperor, charles v., which conveys more forcibly than even a large extent of narrative could do, the troubles, vexations, and disappointments which cortes had to endure at this latter period of his life, and his feelings with regard to them. it is one of the most touching letters ever written by a subject to a sovereign. i will here translate some of it, greatly condensing those parts of the letter which relate to the business in hand, and which would be as wearisome to the reader to read, as they were to the writer to write; for doubtless, it was not the first time, by many times, {221} that cortes had set down the same grievance in writing. the letter bears date, valladolid, the 3rd. of february, 1544. it begins thus:-"'sacred cesarian catholic majesty:--i thought that having labored in my youth, it would so profit me that in my old age i might have ease and rest; and now it is forty years that i have been occupied in not sleeping, in eating ill, and sometimes eating neither well nor ill, in bearing armor, in placing my person in danger, in spending my estates and my life, all in the service of god, bringing sheep into his sheep-fold--which were very remote from our hemisphere, unknown, and whose names are not written in our writings--also increasing and making broad the name and patrimony of my king--gaining for him, and bringing under his yoke and royal sceptre, many and very great kingdoms and many barbarous nations, all won by my own person, and at my own expense; without being assisted in anything, on the contrary, being much hindered by many jealous and evil and envious persons who, like leeches, have been filled to bursting with my blood.' "he then proceeds to say that for the part which god has had in his labors and watchings he is sufficiently paid, because it was his work; and it was not without a reason that providence was pleased that so great a work should be accomplished by so weak a medium, in order that it might be seen that to god alone the good work must be attributed. "cortes then says that for what he has done for the king, he has always been satisfied with the remuneration he has received. the king has been grateful to him, has honored him, and has rewarded him, and he adds that his majesty knows that the rewards {222} and honors which the emperor offered were, in the opinion of cortes, so far greater than his merits, that he refused to receive them. "what, however, his majesty did mean him to receive, he has not received. that which his majesty has given has been so completely without fruit, that it would have been better for cortes not to have had it, but that he should have taken care of his own estate, and not spent the fruit of that in defending himself against 'the fiscal of your majesty, which defence has been, and is, a more difficult undertaking than to win the land of the enemy.' "he then implores his majesty that he will be pleased to render clear the good will which he had shown to reward him. 'i see myself,' he exclaims, 'old, poor and indebted. not only have i no repose in my old age, but i can foresee labor and trouble until my death.' and he adds, 'please god that the mischief may not go beyond death; but may finish with the body, and not exist forever, since whosoever has such toil in defending his bodily estate, cannot avoid injuring his soul.' "all that he asks is that his appeal may be heard; that members of the king's council be added to the council of the indies; and that the cause may be determined, and judgment given, without further delay. 'for, otherwise, i must leave it and loose it, and must return to my home, as i am no longer of the age to go about to hostelries; and should withdraw myself to make my account clear with god, since it is a large one that i have, and little life is left to me to discharge my conscience; and it will be better for me to lose my estate than my soul.' he concludes by saying that 'he is of your catholic majesty the {223} very humble servant and vassal, who kisses your very royal feet and hands--the marquis del valle.' "in addition to these vexations he had a domestic trouble which doubtless caused him much mortification. his daughter, donna maria, was engaged to one of the greatest nobles in spain; but ultimately the young man refused to fulfil the engagement. some say that this caused the death of cortes. but this is not so. he was broken, alike in health and in spirits, by reason of the many reverses he had met with in these his latter days. "we live, to a great measure, upon success; and there is no knowing the agony that an unvarying course of ill-success causes to a sanguine and powerful mind which feels that, if only such and such small obstacles were removed out of its way, it could again shine forth with all its pristine force and brightness. "to meet this rejected daughter, who was coming from new spain, cortes went to seville. there he was taken ill, and, being molested by the importunity of many persons who came to see him on business, he retired to a small village, about half a league from seville, called castillaje de la cuesta. he also sought retirement for the purpose, as bernal diaz says, of making his will and preparing his soul for death. 'and when he had settled his worldly affairs, our lord jesus christ was pleased to take him from his troublesome world.' he died on the 2nd of december, 1547, being then sixty-two years of age." his bones were interred in mexico. during the civil wars of the last century, his bones were taken away and hidden. it is reported that only the other day the place of his sepulchre had been discovered. some monument to his memory should be erected to {224} match the statue of guatemoc, which is one of the principal adornments of mexico. as is well said by william h. johnson: "to the honor of spain be it said, her rule in mexico was firm and kind. the indians became thoroughly incorporated into the national life, enjoying the opportunities of advancement as spaniards. in the present republic of mexico the greatest name has been that of benito juarez, the president who upheld the national cause during the french-austrian usurpation. he was of pure aztec blood. porfirio diaz, the gallant soldier who led the army of the republic during the same trying period, and who, as its president, is a model of a strong and wise ruler, is also, in part, a descendant of the ancient race." with the following tributes to the great captain the story of his amazing adventures is ended. says helps: "he was the mighty conqueror of one of the most compact and well-ordered barbaric nations of the world--a conqueror who, with a few hundreds of his fellow-countrymen, not all of them his partisans, overcame hundreds of thousands of fanatic and resolute men fighting against him with immense resources, and with a resolution nearly equal to his own. let us give him the benefit of his sincere belief in christianity, and his determination to substitute that beneficent religion for the hideous and cruel superstition of the people he was resolved to conquer. and let us echo the wish of that good common soldier, bernal diaz, who, though having his grievances against cortes, as all of the other _conquistadores_ thought they had, could yet, after watching every turn in the fortunes of the great marquis, and knowing almost every sin {225} that he had committed, write most tenderly of the great captain whose plume he had so often followed to victory. "after saying that, subsequently to the conquest of mexico, cortes had not had good fortune either in his californian or his honduras expedition, or indeed in anything else he had undertaken, bernal diaz adds, 'perhaps it was that he might have felicity in heaven. and i believe it was so, for he was an honorable cavalier, and a devoted worshipper of the virgin, the apostle st. peter and other saints. may god pardon his sins, and mine too, and give me a righteous ending, which things are of more concern than the conquests and victories that we had over the indians.'" writes macnutt: "his sagacity, his foresight, and his moderation have caused critical historians to rank him higher as a statesman than as a soldier. in virtue of his pre-eminent qualities both as a statesman and as a general, as well as because of the enduring importance of his conquest, fernando cortes occupies an uncontested place amongst the heroes of the nations." however we may sympathize with the aztecs, we cannot escape from the fact that it was much better that there should be a spanish rule instead of an aztec rule in mexico, and that the civilization of the former should supplant the so-called civilization of the latter. that does not prevent us from wishing that the supersession might not have been so harsh and ruthless, but in view of the times, and the men, both aztecs and christians, it was not to be expected. personally, i love the memory of guatemoc for his heroism and his devotion. i also have a warm feeling {226} for cortes. it is true, as has been stated, that he was a child of his age, but he was the best child of his age, and it was not his fault altogether that in some respects it was the worst age. the spanish rule in mexico was better than the spanish rule in peru, and cortes and his successors, by the side of pizarro and his successors, were almost angels of light. i close with these noble words of john fiske in his great and highly valued _discovery of north america_: "a great deal of sentimental ink has been shed over the wickedness of the spaniards in crossing the ocean and attacking people who had never done them any harm, overturning and obliterating a 'splendid civilization,' and more to the same effect. it is undeniable that unprovoked aggression is an extremely hateful thing, and many of the circumstances attendant upon the spanish conquest in america were not only heinous in their atrocity, but were emphatically condemned, as we shall presently see, by the best moral standards of the sixteenth century. yet if we are to be guided by strict logic, it would be difficult to condemn the spaniards for the mere act of conquering mexico without involving in the same condemnation our own forefathers who crossed the ocean and overran the territory of the united states with small regard for the proprietary rights of algonquins, or iroquois, or red men of any sort. our forefathers, if called upon to justify themselves, would have replied that they were founding christian states and diffusing the blessings of a higher civilization; and such, in spite of much alloy in the motives and imperfection in the performance, was certainly the case. now if we would not lose or distort the historical perspective, we must bear in mind that the spanish conquerors would have returned {227} exactly the same answer. if cortes were to return to the world and pick up some history book in which he is described as a mere picturesque adventurer, he would feel himself very unjustly treated. he would say that he had higher aims than those of a mere fighter and gold-hunter; and so doubtless he had. in the complex tangle of motives that actuated the mediaeval spaniard--and in his peninsula we may apply the term mediaeval to later dates than would be proper in france or italy--the desire of extending the dominion of the church was a very real and powerful incentive to action. the strength of the missionary and crusading spirit in cortes is seen in the fact that where it was concerned, and there only, was he liable to let zeal overcome prudence. "there can be no doubt that, after making all allowances, the spaniards did introduce a better state of society into mexico than they found there. it was high time that an end should be put to those hecatombs of human victims, slashed, torn open and devoured on all the little occasions of life. it sounds quite pithy to say that the inquisition, as conducted in mexico, was as great an evil as the human sacrifices and the cannibalism; but it is not true. compared with the ferocious barbarism of ancient mexico, the contemporary spanish modes of life were mild, and this, i think, helps further to explain the ease with which the country was conquered. in a certain sense the prophecy of quetzalcoatl was fulfilled and the coming of the spaniards did mean the final dethronement of the ravening tezcatlipoca. the work of the noble franciscan and dominican monks who followed closely upon cortes, and devoted their lives to the spiritual welfare of the mexicans, is a more attractive {228} subject than any picture of military conquest. to this point i shall return hereafter, when we come to consider the sublime character of las casas. for the present we may conclude in the spirit of one of the noble spanish historians, pedro de cieza de leon, and praise god, that the idols are cast down." [1] cortes applies this name to the province in which the city, called by him temixtitan, more properly tenochtitlan, but now mexico, was situated. throughout this article the curious spelling of the great conqueror is retained as he wrote. [2] this is the plant known in this country under the name of the _century plant_, which is still much cultivated in mexico for the purposes mentioned by cortes. it usually flowers when eight or ten years old. [3] the original has the word _mesquitas_, mosques; but as the term is applied in english exclusively to mohammedan places of worship, one of more general application is used in the translation. [4] the title invariably given to muteczuma (or montezuma) in these dispatches is simply señor, in its sense of lord or (to use an indian word) cacique; which is also given to the chiefs or governors of districts or provinces, whether independent or feudatories. the title of emperador (emperor), how generally applied to the mexican ruler, is never conferred on him by cortes, nor any other implying royality, although in the beginning of this despatch, he assures charles v. that the country is extensive enough to constitute an empire. [5] two hundred and fifty pounds weight. [6] i am not ignorant that it has been asserted that montezuma received the rite of baptism at the hands of his christian captors. see bustamante's notes on chimalpain's translation of gomara (_historia de las conquistas de hernando cortes_. carlos maria de bustamante. mexico, 1826, p. 287). but the objection raised by torquemada--the silence of some of the best authorities, such as oviedo, ixlilxochitl, _histoire des chichimeques_, and of cortes himself; and, on the other hand, the distinctly opposing testimony of bernal diaz (see cap. 127), and the statement of herrera, who asserts that montezuma, at the hour of his death, refused to quit the religion of his fathers. ("no se queria apartar de la religion de sus padres." _hist. de las indias_, dec. ii. lib. x, cap. 10), convinces me that no such baptism took place. [7] these gates they had made themselves. the aztecs had not learned the art of making gates or doors. the exits and entrances of their houses were closed, if at all with portières. [8] it is growing very old and is badly decayed. the newspapers report that efforts are being made by experts to try a course of treatment which will preserve this venerable and interesting forest relic, already nearly four hundred years old, but it is not believed that success will attend their endeavors. [9] "tlaltelulco" was the quarter of the town where the market was situated. [10] archbishop lorenzana, in his note on this passage, greatly extols the pious fervor of cortes, who, he says, "whether in the field or on the causeway, in the midst of the enemy or toiling by night or day," never omitted the celebration of the mass. [11] they were andres de tapia and george de alvarado, a brother of the more famous pedro, tonatiuh. [12] antonio de quinones was the captain and francisco de olea, the youth, according to gomara; who says that the latter cut off at one blow the arms of the men that had seized cortes, and was himself immediately slain by the enemy. cortes was then rescued by quinones.--_cron. nuev. esp._ cap., 138. [13] i wonder where it is! there may be a great amount of it somewhere. {231} part ii other tales of adventure i the yarn of the _essex_, whaler among marine disasters there is none more extraordinary in character or more appalling in consequence, than the loss of the whaleship _essex_. the _essex_ was a well-found whaler of two hundred and thirty-eight tons. james pollard was her captain, with owen chase and matthew joy as mates. six of her complement of twenty were negroes. thoroughly overhauled and provisioned for two and one-half years, on the 17th of august, 1819, she took her departure from nantucket. on the 17th of january, 1820, she reached st. mary's island, off the coast of chili, near conception, a noted whaling ground. they cruised off these coasts for some time, being lucky enough to take several large whales, and finally, the season being over, having about one thousand barrels of oil in the hold, they struck boldly westward. on the 16th of november, being a few minutes south of the line in long. 118 degrees w., a school of sperm whales was sighted, and three boats were lowered in chase. chase, the mate--the first mate is always the mate _par excellence_--soon got fast to a huge bull-whale who, when he felt the deadly harpoon in his vitals, swiftly turned and struck the whale-boat a terrific blow with his tail, smashing it into kindling wood and hurling the men in every direction. after that {232} splendid exhibition of power, he got away scot-free save for the rankling iron and the dangling line which he took with him. the boat's crew were picked up, no one being much the worse for the encounter, strange to say, and were brought back to the ship by the other boats. on the 20th of november, being then just about 40 minutes south of the equator, and in long. 119 degrees w., at eight o'clock in the morning the lookout at the masthead shouted the welcome signal: "there she blows!" it was evident that they were in the presence of a large school. the ship was headed toward them, and when within half a mile the mainyard was backed, and three boats, under the charge of the captain and the first and second mates, respectively, were lowered. their only other boat was a spare one, lashed amidships on chocks. arriving at the spot where they had been sighted at the ship, the men discovered that the whales had sounded and vanished. the boats, thereupon, separated widely, and the men lay on their oars and waited. presently a great bull rose lazily, spouting in front of the mate's boat, and lay idly wallowing in the tumbling sea. approaching cautiously, the harpooneer drove in the terrible weapon. in his agony, the great cetacean, instead of sounding, threw himself blindly toward the boat. so close were they, and so unexpected was the whale's movement in spite of his vast bulk, that, although the order, "stern all!" had been promptly given, they were unable to win clear of him. the tip of his massive tail, as he thrashed about in his rage, struck the side of the light, clinker-built boat and smashed a hole in it. then the whale started to run, towing the boat, which {233} immediately began to fill with water under the terrible drag to which it was subjected. there was nothing to do but cut the line. two or three jackets were stuffed into the aperture, and while some bailed, the others rowed back to the ship. the captain's and second mate's boats, meanwhile, were seeking the school, which had risen and was swimming away from the ship. as soon as the wrecked boat was run up to the davits, the mate swung the mainyard and got under way, following the other boats. he first determined to break out the spare boat, but after investigating the damaged boat, he concluded that he could save time by nailing a patch of canvas over the broken place, which would serve temporarily to keep out the water, in case they went in search of another whale in her. while he was about this, an immense sperm-whale, about eighty-five feet long, "breached"--that is, coming from a great depth, he shot out of the water his whole length and then fell back with a tremendous splash--about fifty fathoms from the ship. after he fell back, he spouted three or four times, sounded, and once more appeared, this time about a ship's length off the weather bow of the essex. evidently, it was the whale they had just struck. he was angry, and he meant business, for as soon as he came to the surface he started for the ship. under the light air the vessel was making about three knots. the whale was going at the same speed. the mate saw at once that if he did not change his course, the whale would strike his ship. dropping the hammer, he shouted to the boy at the helm to put it hard up, and himself sprang across the deck to reënforce his order. the unwieldy ship paid off slowly, {234} and before her head had been fairly turned to leeward the whale deliberately rammed her right under the forechains. the concussion was terrible. the ship came to a dead stop, as if she had run upon a rock, while the whale bumped along under the keel. some of those aboard were thrown to the deck. the masts quivered and buckled under the shock, but fortunately nothing was carried away. the onset was so unexpected that the men were dazed for a moment. when the mate recovered his wits, he immediately sounded the well, and found that the ship was leaking badly. he then ordered the men to the pumps, and set signals for the recall of the boats, each of which had got fast to a whale. [illustration: "the ship came to a dead stop"] in spite of all they could do, the ship began settling rapidly by the head. she was badly stove in, and making water fast. while some of the men toiled at the pumps, others cleared away the extra boat. there was no longer time to repair the other. at this juncture one of the men discovered the same whale about two hundred and fifty fathoms to leeward. he was in a fit of convulsive rage terrible to look upon; leaping, turning, writhing, threshing about in the water, beating it with his mighty tail and great flukes, thundering upon it with all his force, and all the while opening and shutting his enormous jaws, "smiting them together," in the words of the mate, as if distracted with wrath and fury. there was no time to watch the whale in the exigency of their peril, and observing him start out with great velocity to cross the bows of the ship to leeward, the men turned their attention to the more serious duty at the pumps and the boat. but a few moments had {235} elapsed, when another man forward observed the whale again. [illustration: "the killing of alexander hamilton by aaron burr, at weehawken, new jersey, july 11, 1804"] "here he is!" he shouted. "he's making for us again." the great cachalot was now directly ahead, about two hundred fathoms away, and coming down upon them with twice his ordinary speed. the surf flew in all directions about him. "his course was marked by a white foam a rod in width which he made with the continual thrashing of this tail." his huge head, boneless but almost as solid and as hard as the inside of a horse's hoof, most admirably designed for a battering-ram, was almost half out of the water. the mate made one desperate attempt to get out of his way. again the helm was put up and the men ran to the braces, but the water-laden ship, already well down by the head, and more sluggish than ever, had fallen off only one point when the whale leaped upon her with demoniac energy, and--so it appeared to the seamen--rammed her with maleficent passion. this time he struck the ship just under the weather cathead. he was going not less than six knots an hour to the ship's three, and the force of the blow completely stove in the bows of the _essex_. those on board could feel the huge bulk scraping along beneath the keel a second time, and then, having done all the damage he could, he went hurtling off to windward. he had exacted a complete revenge for their attack upon him. working with the energy of despair, for the ship seemed literally sinking under their feet, the men succeeded in clearing away the spare boat and launching it. the steward saved two quadrants, two bowditch's "practical navigators," the captain's chest and that {236} of the first mate, with two compasses which the mate had snatched from the binnacle. they shoved off, but had scarcely made two lengths from the ship when she fell over to windward and settled low in the water on her beam-ends, a total wreck. the captain and second mate, seeing the signal for the recall of the boats flying, had cut loose from their whales and were rowing toward the ship. they knew something had happened, but what it was, they could not tell. the captain's boat was the first to reach the mate's. he stopped close by, so completely overpowered that for a space he could not utter a syllable. "my god! mr. chase," he gasped out at last; "what is the matter?" "we have been stove in by a whale, sir," said the mate, telling the whole appalling story. by the captain's direction, the boats rowed to the sinking ship, and with their hatchets the men managed to cut away the masts, whereupon she rose two-thirds of the way to an even keel. they scuttled the deck--chopped holes through her, that is--and succeeded in coming at some six hundred pounds of unspoiled hard bread, which they divided among the three boats, and sufficient fresh water to give each boat sixty-five gallons in small breakers--being all they dared to take in each one. they also procured a musket, two pistols, some powder and bullets, some tools and six live turtles. from the light spars of the ship they rigged two masts for each boat and with the light canvas provided each one with two spritsails and a jib. they also got some light cedar planking used to repair the boats, and with it built the gunwales up six inches all around. {237} on the 22nd of november, being then in 120 w. long., and just north of the equator, the officers took counsel together as to what to do. the nearest lands were the marquesas islands, fifteen hundred miles away; the society islands, twenty-four hundred miles away, and the sandwich islands, three thousand miles away. they knew little about the first two groups, save that they were inhabited by fierce and treacherous savages from whom they had as much to fear as from the perils of the sea. the sandwich islands were too far away, and they would be apt to meet hurricanes, prevalent at that season, should they attempt to reach them. after a long deliberation they decided to take advantage of the southeast trades by sailing by the wind until they reached the twenty-fifth parallel of south latitude. then falling in with westerly and variable winds, they could turn east and run for the coast of chili or peru. this course involved the longest voyage, but it also promised the greatest chance for success. sometimes they made good progress with favorable winds. at other times they lay immobile in the blazing tropic sunlight which was almost unbearable. often they were buffeted by fierce squalls or wild storms, especially as they left the equator. only the important incidents of their unparalleled voyage can be dwelt upon. most of the events mentioned happened in the mate's boat, but the experience of the boat epitomes that of the others. the mate's boat was the smallest. he was allotted five men. the other two boats each contained one more man. the men were put on an allowance of one sea-biscuit, weighing about one pound and a quarter, and a pint of water a day. in the mate's boat the provisions were kept in his chest, which he {238} locked. the men behaved in the most exemplary manner. in only one instance did any one ever attempt to steal provisions. they ran into a storm on the 24th, which wet some of their biscuit, and as it was necessary to get rid of the damaged bread as soon as possible, the daily allowance was taken from the spoiled portion exclusively. the soaked biscuit were very salt and greatly increased their thirst. during the long and exhausting voyage, a plank started in the mate's boat, and it was with difficulty that they heeled it over in the water, at the risk of their lives, to get to the place and nail it up. one night the captain's boat was attacked by a species of fish known as a "killer" (orca), and its bows were stove in. this also they managed to patch up. on december 3rd, they ate the last of the spoiled salt bread, and their relief when they began on the other was amazing. their thirst was terrible, especially as it became necessary to cut the allowance of food and water in half. they tried from time to time to catch rain water by means of the sails, but the canvas had been so often drenched by the spray that the water they caught was as salt as the sea. one day they caught half a dozen flying fish, which they ate raw. mr. chase remarks on the delicacy and daintiness of the mouthfuls which these little fish afforded the starving mariners. they fished for dolphins and porpoises, but they never caught any, perhaps because they had nothing with which to bait the hooks. one day, seeking to alleviate the pangs of thirst by wetting their bodies, three of the men dropped into the water alongside and clung to the gunwale. one of them discovered that the boat's bottom was covered with barnacles. they were {239} ravenously devoured, but proved of little value as food. the men in the water were so weak that had it not been for the efforts of three who had remained in the boat, sceptical as to the utility of the bath, they would never have been able to regain their positions. during all these experiences, discipline was maintained--indeed, it was maintained to the very last. on the 15th of december, they reached ducie island, in long. 124 degrees 40 minutes w., lat. 24 degrees 40 minutes s., having come some seventeen hundred miles in twenty-three days in these open boats. they landed on the island and found a few shell-fish, birds, and a species of pepper-grass, but no water. the famished men soon consumed everything eatable they could come at on the island. they hunted high and low, but it was not until the 22nd that they found a spring of water. the island was almost desolate. nothing was to be gained by remaining there, so the majority concluded to sail for easter island, some nine hundred miles southward. three men decided to stay on the island. they all spent a melancholy christmas there, repairing their boats and filling their water-breakers, and on the 27th the others took their departure. on the 14th of january, 1821, they found that they had been driven to the south of easter island, and that it was not practicable to beat up to it. they therefore determined to head for juan fernandez--robinson crusoe's island--some two thousand miles southeastward. on the 10th, the second mate, matthew joy, died from exposure, and was buried the next morning. on the 12th in the midst of a terrible storm, the boats separated. first we will follow the course of the mate's boat. {240} on the 20th, peterson, a black man, died and was buried. on the 8th of february, isaac cole, a white seaman, died. the men on the boat were by this time in a frightful condition, weak and emaciated to the last degree. their provisions were almost gone. but two biscuit to a man remained. they were still over a thousand miles from land. they came to a fearful determination. the body of cole was not buried. they lived on him from the 9th to the 14th. on the 15th and 16th, they consumed the last vestige of their biscuit. on the 17th, driving along at the mercy of wind and wave, for there was not a man strong enough to do anything, they caught sight of the island of massafuera. they were helpless to bring the boat near to the island. whale-boats were steered by an oar. there was not a single man able to lift an oar. in addition to starvation, thirst, weakness, mental anguish, their legs began to swell with a sort of scurvy, giving them excessive pain. their condition can scarcely be imagined. the breath of life was there, nothing more. however, they had at last reached the end of their sufferings, for on the morning of the 19th of february, 1821, in lat. 35 degrees 45 minutes s., long. 81 degrees 03 minutes w., the three surviving men were picked up by the brig _indian_, of london, captain william crozier. on the 25th of february, they arrived at valparaiso, ninety-six days and nearly four thousand miles from the sinking of the ship! the other two boats managed to keep together for a little while after they lost sight of the mate's boat. on the 14th of february, provisions in the second mate's boat gave out entirely. on the 15th, lawson thomas, a black man, died in that boat and was eaten. {241} the captain's boat ran out of provisions on the 21st. on the 23rd charles shorter, another negro, died in the second mate's boat and was shared between the two boats. on the 27th another black man died from the same boat, furnishing a further meal for the survivors. on the 28th, samuel reed, the last black man, died in the captain's boat and was eaten like the rest. singular that all the negroes died first! on the 29th, in a storm, these two boats separated. when they parted the second mate's boat had three living white men in her. nothing was ever heard of her. it might be inferred from the fact that the surviving men had had something to eat, that they were in fair physical condition. that is far from the truth. the men who had died were nothing but skin and bone, and all that the survivors got from their ghastly meals was the bare prolongation of a life which sank steadily to a lower and lower ebb. we may not judge these people too harshly. hunger and thirst make men mad. they scarcely realized what they did. there was worse to come. on the 1st of february, 1821, being without food or drink of any sort, the four men in the captain's boat cast lots as to which should die for the others. there is something significant of a spirit of fair play and discipline, not without its admirable quality, that under such circumstances, the weaker were not overpowered by the stronger, but that each man had an equal chance for life. the lot fell upon owen coffin,[1] the captain's nephew. he did not repine. he expressed his willingness to abide {242} by the decision. no man desired to be his executioner. they cast lots, as before, to determine who should kill him, and the lot fell upon charles ramsdale. by him coffin was shot. thus they eked out a miserable existence until the 11th of february, when barzilla ray died. on the 23rd of february, the two remaining men, the captain and ramsdale, just on the point of casting lots as to which should have the last poor chance for life, were picked up by the nantucket whaler, _dauphin_, captain zimri coffin. they had almost reached st. mary's island, ten miles from the coast of chili. on the 17th of march, these two survivors joined the three from the mate's boat in valparaiso. in the harbor was the united states frigate, _constellation_, captain charles g. ridgeley, u. s. n. as soon as her commander heard of the three left on ducie island, he arranged with captain thomas raines, of the british merchant ship, _surrey_, to touch at the island on his voyage to australia and take off the men. captain raines found them still alive, but reduced to the last gasp. thus of the twenty men, five reached valparaiso; three were saved on the island, three were lost in the second mate's boat, two died and were buried; six died and were eaten, and one was shot and eaten. so ends this strange tragedy of the sea. [1] a tradition still current in nantucket has it that the lot fell to the captain, whereupon his nephew, already near death, feeling that he could not survive the afternoon, offered and insisted upon taking his uncle's place. i doubt this. {245} ii some famous american duels we are accustomed to regard our country as peculiarly law-abiding and peaceful. this, in spite of the fact that three presidents have been murdered within the last forty-five years, a record of assassination of chief magistrates surpassed in no other land, not even in russia. we need not be surprised to learn that in no country was the serious duel, the _combat à l'outrance_, so prevalent as in the united states at one period of our national development. the code of honor, so-called, was most profoundly respected by our ancestors; and the number of eminent men who engaged in duelling--and of whom many lost their lives on the field--is astonishing. scarce any meeting was without its fatal termination, perhaps owing to the fact that pistols and rifles were generally used, and americans are noted for their marksmanship. there has been a revulsion of public sentiment which has brought about the practical abolition of duelling in america. although the practice still obtains in continental european countries, it is here regarded as immoral, and it is illegal as well. for one reason, in spite of the apparent contradiction above, we are a law-abiding people. the genius of the anglo-saxon--i, who am a celt, admit it--is for the orderly administration of the law, and much of the evil noted comes from the introduction within our borders {246} of an imperfectly assimilated foreign element which cherishes different views on the subject. another deterrent cause is a cool common sense which has recognized the futility of trying to settle with blade or bullet differences which belong to the courts; to this may be added a keen sense of humor which has seen the absurdity and laughed the practice out of existence. the freedom of the press has also been a contributing factor. perhaps the greatest deterrent, however, has been the development of a sense of responsibility for life and its uses to a higher power. as general grant has put it, with the matchless simplicity of greatness: "i do not believe i ever would have the courage to fight a duel. if any man should wrong me to the extent of my being willing to kill him, i should not be willing to give him the choice of weapons with which it should be done, and of the time, place, and distance separating us when i executed him. if i should do any other such a wrong as to justify him in killing me, i would make any reasonable atonement within my power, if convinced of the wrong done." with this little preliminary, i shall briefly review a few of the most noted duels in our history. i. a tragedy of old new york on wednesday, the 11th of july, 1804, at seven o'clock on a bright, sunny, summer morning, two men, pistol in hand, confronted each other on a narrow shelf of rocky ground jutting out from the cliffs that overlook the hudson at weehawken, on the jersey shore. one was a small, slender man, the other taller and more imposing in appearance. both had been soldiers; each faced the other in grave quietude, {247} without giving outward evidence of any special emotion. one was at that time the vice-president of the united states; the other had been secretary of the treasury, a general in command of the army, and was the leading lawyer of his time. the vice-president was brilliantly clever; the ex-secretary was a genius of the first order. a political quarrel had brought them to this sorry position. words uttered in the heat of campaign, conveying not so much a personal attack as a well-merited public censure, had been dwelt upon until the vice-president had challenged his political antagonist. the great attorney did not believe in duels. he was a christian, a man of family; he had everything to lose and little to gain from this meeting. upon his great past he might hope to build an even greater future. he was possessed of sufficient moral courage to refuse the meeting, but had, nevertheless, deliberately accepted the other's challenge. it is believed that he did so from a high and lofty motive; that he felt persuaded of the instability of the government which he had helped to found, and that he realized that he possessed qualities which in such a crisis would be of rare service to his adopted country. his future usefulness, he thought--erroneously, doubtless, but he believed it--would be impaired if any one could cast a doubt upon his courage by pointing to the fact that he had refused a challenge. thirty months before, his son, a bright lad of eighteen, fresh from columbia college, had been shot dead in a duel which he had brought upon himself by resenting a public criticism of his father. he had fallen on that very spot where his father stood. i think that {248} the tragedy must have been in the great statesman's mind that summer morning. the word was given. the two pistols were discharged. the vice-president, taking deliberate aim, fired first. the ex-secretary of the treasury, who had previously stated to his second that he did not intend to fire at his adversary, discharged his pistol in the air. he had been hit by the bullet of his enemy, and did not know that as he fell, by a convulsive movement, he had pulled the trigger of the weapon in his hand. that was the end--for he died the next day after lingering agonies--of alexander hamilton, the greatest intellect and one of the greatest personalities associated with the beginning of this government. it was also the end of his successful antagonist, aaron burr, for thereafter he was a marked man, an avoided, a hated man. when abroad in 1808, he gave jeremy bentham an account of the duel, and said that he "was sure of being able to kill him." "and so," replied bentham, "i thought it little better than a murder." "posterity," the historian adds, "will not be likely to disturb the judgment of the british philosopher." ii. andrew jackson as a duellist comparatively speaking, the next great duel on my list attracted little more than local attention at the time. years after, when one of them who took part in it had risen to national fame, and was a candidate for the presidency, it was revived and made much of. on friday, the 30th of may, 1806, charles dickinson, a young man of brilliant abilities, born in maryland and residing in tennessee, met andrew jackson, of the {249} latter state, near the banks of a small stream called the red river, in a sequestered woodland glade in logan county, ky., a day's ride from nashville. unwittingly, and with entire innocence on the part of both parties, andrew jackson had placed his wife in an equivocal position by marrying her before a divorce had separated her from her husband[1]. absolutely no blame, except, perhaps, a censure for carelessness, attaches to jackson or his wife, and their whole life together was an example of conjugal affection. however, his enemies--and he had many--found it easy to strike at him through this unfortunate episode. there did not live a more implacable and unforgiving man, when his wife was slandered, than andrew jackson. dickinson, who was a political rival, spoke slurringly of mrs. jackson. he apologized for it on the plea that he had been in his cups at the time, but jackson never forgave him. a political difference as an ostensible cause of quarrel soon developed. dickinson sent a challenge which was gladly accepted. the resulting duel was probably the most dramatic that ever occurred in the united states. dickinson was a dead shot. so, for that matter, was jackson, but dickinson was remarkable for the quickness of his fire, while jackson was slower. the arrangements stipulated that the combatants should be placed at the close distance of eight paces; that the word "fire!" should be given, after which each was to fire one shot at will. rather than be hurried and have his aim disturbed, jackson determined to sustain dickinson's fire and then return it at his leisure. {250} "what if he kills you or disables you?" asked his second. "sir," replied jackson deliberately, "i shall kill him though he should hit me in the brain!" this is no gasconade or bravado, but simply an evidence of an intensity of purpose, of which no man ever had a greater supply than andrew jackson. dickinson fired instantly the word was given. a fleck of dust arose from the loose coat which covered the spare form of the general, but he stood apparently untouched. dickinson, amazed, shrank back from the peg indicating his position. old general overton, jackson's second, raised his pistol. "back to the mark, sir!" he thundered, as the unhappy young man exclaimed in dismay. "great god! have i missed him?" dickinson recovered himself immediately, stepped back to the mark, and folded his arms to receive jackson's fire. the hammer of the tennesseean's pistol stopped at half-cock. he deliberately re-cocked his weapon, took careful aim again, and shot dickinson through the body. seeing his enemy fall, jackson turned and walked away. it was not until he had gone one hundred yards from the duelling ground and was hidden by the thick poplar trees, that his second noticed that one of his shoes was filled with blood. dickinson had hit the general in the breast, inflicting a severe wound, and might have killed him had not the bullet glanced on a rib. the iron-nerved jackson declared that his reason for concealing his wound was that he did not intend to give dickinson the satisfaction of knowing that he had hit his enemy before he died. twenty-two years after, as jackson stood by his dead wife's body, he "lifted his cane as if appealing to {251} heaven, and by a look commanding silence, said, slowly and painfully, and with a voice full of bitter tears: "'in the presence of this dear saint i can and do forgive all my enemies. but those vile wretches who have slandered her must look to god for mercy!'" iii. the killing of stephen decatur the idol of the american navy was stephen decatur. james barron, a disgraced officer under suspension for his lack of conduct during the famous affair between the british ship _leopard_ and the american ship _chesapeake_, had taken no part in the war of 1812, for causes which afforded him sufficient excuse; but subsequently he sought re-employment in the navy. decatur, who had been one of the court which tried and sentenced him before the war, and who was now a naval commissioner, opposed his plea. the situation brought forth a challenge from barron. decatur was under no necessity of meeting it. as commissioner, he was in effect, barron's superior, and washington had laid down a rule for general greene's guidance in a similar case that a superior officer is not amenable to challenge from a junior officer whom he has offended in course of duty. the principle is sound common sense, as everybody, even duellists, will admit. nevertheless, such was the state of public opinion about questions of "honor" that decatur felt constrained to accept the challenge. the two naval officers met on the duelling ground at bladensburg, "the cockpit of washington duellists," on the 22nd of march, 1820. barron was near-sighted, and insisted upon a closer distance than the usual ten paces. they were placed a scant eight {252} paces apart. decatur, who was a dead shot, did not wish to kill barron; at the same time he did not deem it safe to stand his adversary's fire without return. therefore he stated to his second that he would shoot barron in the hip. before the duel, barron expressed the hope that if they met in another world they might be better friends. decatur replied gravely that he had never been barron's enemy. under such circumstances it would appear that the quarrel might have been composed without the shedding of blood. at the word "two" the men fired together, decatur's bullet struck barron in the hip, inflicting a severe but not mortal wound. at the same instant barron's bullet passed through decatur's abdomen, inflicting a wound necessarily fatal then, probably so, even now. as he lay on the ground the great commodore said faintly: "i am mortally wounded--at least, i believe so--and i wish i had fallen in defence of my country." he died at ten o'clock that night, regretted by all who love brave men the world over. iv. an episode in the life of james bowie of a different character, but equally interesting, was an encounter in august, 1829, which has become famous because of one of the weapons used with deadly effect. on an island in the mississippi river, opposite natchez, which was nothing but a sand bar with some undergrowth upon it, a party of men met to witness and second a duel between a dr. maddox and one samuel wells. the spectators were all interested in one or the other combatant, and had taken part in a neighborhood feud which arose out of a speculation in land. {253} the two principals exchanged two shots without injury, whereupon the seconds and spectators, unable to restrain their animosity, started a free fight. judge crane, of mississippi, was the leader on one side; james bowie, of georgia, the principal man on the other. crane was armed with a brace of duelling pistols; bowie had nothing but a knife. bowie and a friend of his, named currey, attacked crane after the maddox-wells duel had been abandoned. crane was wounded in the left arm by a shot from currey; he thereupon shot currey dead and with his remaining pistol he wounded bowie in the groin. nevertheless, bowie resolutely came on. crane struck him over the head with his pistol, felling him to the ground. undaunted, bowie scrambled to his feet and made again for crane. major wright, a friend of crane's, now interposed, and thrust at bowie with a sword cane. the blade tore open bowie's breast. the terrible georgian, twice wounded though he was, caught wright by the neck-cloth, grappled with him, and threw him to the ground, falling upon him. "now, major, you die," said bowie coolly, wrenching his arm free and plunging his knife into wright's heart. the knife had been made by bowie's brother rezin out of a blacksmith's rasp. it was shaped in accordance with his own ideas, and james bowie used it with terrible effect. it was the first of the celebrated "bowie knives" which played so great a part in frontier quarrels. in the general _mêlée_ which followed the death of wright and currey, six other men were killed and fifteen severely wounded. bowie was a noted duellist {254} in his day, and died heroically in the famous siege of the alamo[2]. on one occasion he was a passenger on a mississippi steamboat with a young man and his bride. the young man had collected a large sum of money for friends and employers, which he gambled away on the boat. bowie kept him from suicide, took his place at the gaming-table, exposed the cheating of the gamblers, was challenged by one of them, fought him on the hurricane deck of the steamer, shot him into the river, and restored the money to the distracted husband. brief reference may be made to an affair between major thomas biddle, of the united states army, and congressman spencer pettis, of missouri, on august 27, 1831. the cause of the duel was a political difficulty. the two men stood five feet apart, their pistols overlapping. both were mortally wounded. this was nothing less than a double murder, and shows to what length men will go under the heat of passion or the stimulus of a false code of honor. v. a famous congressional duel on february the 24, 1838, at a quarter after three o'clock on the marlborough road in maryland, just outside the district of columbia, two members of congress, jonathan cilley of maine, and william j. graves of kentucky, exchanged shots with rifles at a distance of ninety yards three times in succession. at the third exchange, cilley was shot and died in three minutes. of all the causes for deadly encounters, that which brought these two men opposite each other was the {255} most foolish. cilley, on the floor of the house, had reflected upon the character of a newspaper editor in the discussion of charges which had been made against certain congressmen with whom he had no personal connection. the newspaper editor, whose subsequent conduct showed that he fully merited even more severe strictures than cilley had passed upon him, sent a challenge to the gentleman from maine by the hand of congressman graves. cilley took the justifiable position that his language had been proper and privileged, and that he did not propose to accept a challenge or discuss the matter with any one. he assured graves that this declination to pursue the matter further was not to be construed as a reflection upon the bearer of the challenge. there was no quarrel whatever between cilley and graves. nevertheless, graves took the ground that the refusal to accept the challenge which he had brought was a reflection upon him. he thereupon challenged cilley on his own behalf. efforts were made to compose the quarrel but cilley was not willing to go further than he had already done. he positively refused to discuss the editor in question. he would only repeat that he intended no reflection upon mr. graves, whom he respected and esteemed, by refusing the editor's challenge. this was not satisfactory to graves, and the duel was, accordingly, arranged. during its course, after each fruitless exchange of shots, efforts were made to end the affair, but graves refused to accept cilley's statement, again repeated, that he had no reflection to cast upon mr. graves, and cilley refused to abandon the position he had taken with regard to the editor. never did a more foolish punctilio bring about so terrible a result. aside from {256} accepting the challenge, cilley had pursued a dignified and proper course. graves, to put it mildly, had played the fool. he was practically a disgraced man thereafter. the congressional committee which investigated the matter censured him in the severest terms, and recommended his expulsion from congress. perhaps the public indignation excited by this wretched affair did more to discredit duelling than any previous event. vi. the last notable duel in america the last notable american duel was that between united states senator broderick, of california, and ex-chief justice terry, of the supreme court of the same state, on september 13, 1859. this, too, arose from political differences. broderick and terry belonged to different factions of the growing republican party, each struggling for control in california. broderick was strongly anti-slavery, and his opponents wanted him removed. terry was defeated in his campaign for reflection largely, as he supposed, through broderick's efforts. the two men had been good friends previously. broderick had stood by terry on one occasion when everybody else had been against him and his situation had been critical. in his anger over his defeat, terry accused broderick of disgraceful and underhand practices. broderick was provoked into the following rejoinder: "i see that terry has been abusing me. i now take back the remark i once made that he is the only honest judge in the supreme court. i was his friend when he was in need of friends, for which i am sorry. had the vigilance committee disposed of him as they did of others, they would have done a righteous act." {257} he alluded to terry's arrest by the vigilantes in august, 1856, charged with cutting a man named sterling a. hopkins, in the attempt to free from arrest one reuben maloney. had hopkins died, terry would probably have been hung. as it was, it took the strongest influence--masonic, press and other--to save him from banishment. terry, after some acrimonious correspondence, challenged broderick. a meeting on the 12th of september was stopped by the chief of police of san francisco. the police magistrate before whom the duellists were arraigned, discharged them on the ground that there had been no actual misdemeanor. next day the principals and the seconds met again at the foot of lake merced, about twelve miles from san francisco. about eighty spectators, friends of the participants, were present. the distance was the usual ten paces. both pistols had hair triggers, but broderick's was more delicately set than terry's, so much so that a jar might discharge it. broderick's seconds were inexperienced men, and no one realized the importance of this difference. at the word both raised their weapons. broderick's was discharged before he had elevated it sufficiently, and his bullet struck the ground about six feet in front of terry. terry was surer and shot his antagonist through the lung. terry, who acted throughout with cold-blooded indifference, watched his antagonist fall and remarked that the wound was not mortal, as he had struck two inches to the right. he then left the field. when broderick fell, one of the bystanders, named davis, shouted out: "that is murder, by god!" {258} drawing his own weapon, he started for terry, exclaiming: "i am broderick's friend. i'm not going to see him killed in that way. if you are men you will join me in avenging his death!" some cool heads in the multitude restrained him, pointing out that if he attacked terry there would be a general _mêlée_, from which few on the ground would escape, and they finally succeeded in getting him away. broderick lingered for three days. "they have killed me," he said, "because i was opposed to slavery and a corrupt administration." colonel edward d. baker, who was killed at ball's bluff in the civil war, received his friend's last words. "i tried to stand firm when i was wounded, but i could not. the blow blinded me." terry was tried for murder, but by influence and other means he was never convicted, and escaped all punishment save that inflicted by his conscience. in judging these affairs, it must be remembered that many of the most prominent americans of the past--benton, clay, calhoun and houston among them--fought duels. and it is well known that only abraham lincoln's wit and humor saved him from a deadly encounter with general james shields, whose challenge he accepted. [1] the reader may consult my book "the true andrew jackson" for a detailed account of this interesting transaction. [2] see my "border fights and fighters" in this series for an account of this dramatic and heroic adventure. {261} iii the cruise of the _tonquin_ a forgotten tragedy in early american history on the morning of the 8th of september, 1810, two ships were running side by side before a fresh southwesterly breeze off sandy hook, new york. one was the great united states ship _constitution_, captain isaac hull; the other was the little full-rigged ship _tonquin_, of two hundred and ninety tons burden. this little vessel was captained by one jonathan thorn, who was at the time a lieutenant in the united states navy. he had obtained leave of absence for the purpose of making a cruise in the _tonquin_. thorn was a thoroughly experienced seaman and a skilled and practised navigator. he was a man of magnificent physique, with a fine war record. he was with decatur in the _intrepid_ when he put the captured _philadelphia_ to flames six years before. in the subsequent desperate gunboat fighting at tripoli, midshipman thorn had borne so distinguished a part that he received special commendation by commodore preble. as to his other qualities, washington irving, who knew him from infancy, wrote of him to the last with a warm affection which nothing could diminish. mr. john jacob astor, merchant, fur-trader, financier, had pitched upon thorn as the best man to take {262} the ship bearing the first representatives of the pacific fur company around the horn and up to the far northwestern american coast to make the first settlement at astoria, whose history is so interwoven with that of our country. mr. astor already monopolized the fur trade of the far west south of the great lakes. his present plan was to form a fur company and establish a series of trading posts along the missouri river, reaching overland across the rocky mountains until they joined the posts on the pacific. the place he selected for his pacific depot was the mouth of the columbia river. the principal rival of the astor fur trading company was the northwest company. astor tried to persuade the company to join him in his new venture. when it refused to do so as an organization, he approached individual employees of the company, and in 1810 formed the pacific fur company. among the incorporators were four scottish canadians, messrs. mckay, mcdougall, david stuart, and robert, his nephew. there were several other partners, including wilson price hunt, of new jersey. it was planned that hunt should lead an overland expedition from st. louis, while the four scotsmen mentioned went around the horn, and that they should meet at the mouth of the columbia river, where the trading post was to be situated. most of the employees of the company were canadians who had enjoyed large experience in the fur business. among these were included a large number of french _voyageurs_. thus the _tonquin_, owned by a german, captained by an american, with a crew including swedes, french, english, negroes, and americans, carrying out a party of scottish and french canadians and one russian, {263} started on her memorable voyage to establish a trading post under the american flag! the crew of the _tonquin_ numbered twenty-three men. the number of passengers was thirty-three. the story of her voyage is related in the letters of the captain to mr. astor, and more fully in a quaint and curious french journal published at montreal in 1819, by m. gabriel franchere, one of the canadian clerks who made the voyage. the _tonquin_ was pierced for twenty guns, only ten small ones being mounted. the other ports were provided with imposing wooden dummies. she had a high poop and a topgallant forecastle. the four partners, with james lewis, acting captain's clerk, and one other, with the two mates, slept in the cabin or wardroom below the poop. forward of this main cabin was a large room extending across the ship, called the steerage, in which the rest of the clerks, the mechanics, and the canadian boatmen were quartered. thorn seems to have felt to the full all the early naval officer's utterly unmerited contempt for the merchant service. it is also the habit of the anglo-saxon to hold the french in slight esteem on the sea. the canadians were wretched sailors, and thorn despised them. thorn also cherished a natural hatred against the english, who were carrying things with a high hand on our coast. he began the voyage with a violent prejudice against the four partners on his ship. indeed, the _constitution_ had convoyed the _tonquin_ to sea because it was rumored that a british brig-o'-war intended to swoop down upon her and take off the english subjects on board. it was quite evident that war would shortly break out between england {264} and the united states, and the scottish partners had surreptitiously consulted the english consul as to what they should do if hostilities began. they were informed that in that case they would be treated as british subjects--a fine situation for an american expedition! with such a spirit in the captain, and such a feeling on the part of the passengers, the relations between them were bound to become strained. hostilities began at once. the first night out thorn ordered all lights out at eight bells. this in spite of all the remonstrances of the four partners, who, as representing mr. astor, considered themselves, properly enough, as owners of the ship. these gentlemen did not wish to retire at so early an hour, nor did they desire to spend the intervening time in darkness. they remonstrated with thorn, and he told them, in the terse, blunt language of a seaman, to keep quiet or he would put them in irons. in case he attempted that, they threatened to resort to firearms for protection. finally, however, the captain allowed them a little longer use of their lights. thus was inaugurated a long, disgraceful wrangle that did not cease while life lasted. there was doubtless much fault on both sides, but, in spite of the brilliant advocate who has pleaded thorn's cause, i cannot but admit that he was decidedly the more to blame. he carried things with a high hand, indeed, treating the partners as he might a graceless lot of undisciplined midshipmen. a voyage around the horn in those days was no slight matter. the _tonquin_ was a remarkably good sailer, but it was not until the 5th of october that they sighted the cape verde islands. there they struck the trades, and went booming down the african coast {265} at a great rate. there, also, they were pursued by a large man-o'-war brig. on the third day she drew so near that thorn prepared for action, whereupon the brig sheered off, and left them. on the 11th of october they ran into a terrific storm, which prevailed until the 21st, when they found themselves off the river plate. while the storm was at its height the man at the wheel was thrown across the deck by a sudden jump of the wheel and severely injured, breaking three of his ribs and fracturing his collar-bone[1]. thorn's seamanship during the trying period was first class. after the gale blew itself out, a fresh breeze succeeded, which enabled them rapidly to run down their southing. the water supply had grown very low, and it was determined to run in to the falkland islands to fill the casks. they made a landfall on the 3rd of december, got on shore on one of the smaller islets on the 4th, found no water, and were driven to sea to seek an offing on the 5th by a gale. on the 6th they landed at point egmont on the west falkland, and found a fine spring of fresh water. as it would take several days to fill the casks, all the passengers went ashore and camped on the deserted island. they amused themselves by fishing, shooting and rambling about. on the 11th of the month the captain, having filled his water-casks, signalled for every man to come aboard, by firing a gun. eight passengers, including mcdougall and stuart, happened to be on shore at the time. they had wandered around to the other side of the island, and did not hear the report of the gun. thorn, after waiting a short time, weighed anchor and filled away from {266} the island, firmly resolved to leave the men ashore, marooned and destitute of supplies on that desolate and uninhabited spot, where they must inevitably perish of starvation and exposure. some of the abandoned passengers happened to see the _tonquin_ fast leaving the island. in great alarm they hastily summoned all the other wanderers, and the eight got into a small boat twenty feet long, which had been left with them, and rowed after the rapidly receding ship. they had not the slightest hope of catching her unless she waited for them, but they pulled for her with furious energy, nevertheless. as the _tonquin_ got from under the lee of the land the breeze freshened and she drew away from them with every passing moment in spite of their manful work at the oars. when they had about given up in exhaustion and despair, the ship suddenly changed her course and stood toward them. franchere says that it was because young stuart put a pistol to the captain's head and swore that he would blow out his brains unless he went back for the boat. the captain's account to mr. astor is that a sudden shift of wind compelled him to come about and this gave the boat an opportunity to overhaul him. there was a scene of wild recrimination when the boat reached the ship, shortly after six bells (3 p. m.), but it did not seem to bother thorn in the least. on the 18th of december, they were south and east of cape horn. the weather was mild and pleasant, but before they could make headway enough against the swift easterly current to round that most dangerous point it came on to blow a regular cape horn gale. after seven days of hard beating they celebrated christmas under pleasanter auspices in the southern pacific. {267} their run northward was uneventful, and on the 11th of february, 1811, they sighted the volcano of mauna loa in the sandwich islands. they landed on the 12th and spent sixteen days among the different islands, visiting, filling the water-casks, and buying fresh meat, vegetables, and live-stock from kamehameha i. while captain thorn was hated by the passengers, he was not loved by his officers. singularly enough, he seems to have been well liked by the crew, although there were some exceptions even there. anderson, the boatswain, left the ship at hawaii. there had been difficulties between them, and the captain was glad to see him go. a sample of thorn's method of administering discipline is interesting. the day they sailed a seaman named aymes strayed from the boat party, and was left behind when the boat returned to the ship. in great terror aymes had some natives bring him aboard in a canoe. a longboat loaded with fodder for the live-stock lay alongside. as aymes clambered into the long-boat, the captain, who was furiously angry, sprang down into the boat, seized aymes with one hand and a stout piece of sugar-cane with the other. with this formidable weapon the unfortunate sailor was beaten until he screamed for mercy. after wearing out the sugarcane upon him, with the remark that if he ever saw him on the sloop again, he would kill him, the captain pitched him into the water. aymes, who was a good swimmer, made the best of his way to the shore, and stayed there with anderson. twenty-four natives were shipped at hawaii, twelve for the crew and twelve for the new settlement. on the 16th of march they ran into another storm, of such violence that they were forced to strike their {268} topgallant masts and scud under double-reefed foresail. as they were nearing the coast, the ship was hove to at night. early on the morning of the 22nd of march, they sighted land, one hundred and ninety-five days and twenty thousand miles from sandy hook. the weather was still very severe, the wind blowing in heavy squalls and the sea running high, and the captain did not think it prudent to approach the shore nearer than three miles. his navigation had been excellent, however, for before them lay the mouth of the columbia river, the object of their long voyage. they could see the waves breaking over the bar with tremendous force as they beat to and fro along the coast. thorn, ignorant of the channel, did not dare take the ship in under such conditions. he therefore ordered first-mate ebenezer fox to take sailmaker martin and three canadians into a boat and find the channel. it was a hazardous undertaking, and the despatch of the small boat under such circumstances was a serious error in judgment. there had been bad blood between the captain and the mate, and fox did not wish to go. if he had to go, he begged that his boat might be manned with seamen instead of canadians. the captain refused to change his orders. fox appealed to the partners. they remonstrated with the captain, but they could not alter his determination. the boat was pulled away and was lost to sight in the breakers. neither the boat nor any member of the crew was ever seen or heard of again. the boat was ill-found and ill-manned. she was undoubtedly caught in the breakers and foundered. the next day the wind increased in violence, and they cruised off the shore looking for the boat. every one on board, including the captain, stern and {269} ruthless though he was, was very much disturbed at her loss. on the 24th the weather moderated somewhat, and running nearer to the shore, they anchored just outside cape disappointment, near the north shore of the river mouth. the wind subsiding, mumford, the second mate, with another boat, was sent to search for the passage, but finding the surf still too heavy, he returned about noon, after a terrible struggle with the breakers. in the afternoon mckay and stuart offered to take a boat and try to get ashore to seek for fox and the missing men. they made the endeavor, but did not succeed in passing the breakers, and returned to the ship. later in the afternoon a gentle breeze sprang up from the west, blowing into the mouth of the river, and thorn determined to try and cross the bar. he weighed anchor, therefore, and bore down under easy sail for the entrance of the river. as he came close to the breakers he hove to and sent out another boat, in charge of aitkin, a scottish seaman, accompanied by sailmaker coles, armorer weeks and two sandwich islanders. the breakers were not quite so rough as they had been, and aitkin proceeded cautiously some distance in front of the ship, making soundings and finding no depth less than four fathoms. in obedience to his signals, the ship came bowling on, and the fitful breeze suddenly freshening, she ran through the breakers, passing aitkin's boat to starboard in pistol-shot distance. signals were made for the boat to return, but the tide had turned, and the strong ebb, with the current of the river, bore the boat into the breakers in spite of all her crew could do. while they were watching the boat, over which the waves were seen breaking furiously, {270} the ship, the wind failing, was driven seaward by the tide, and struck six or seven times on the bar. the breakers, running frightfully high, swept over her decks again and again. nothing could be done for the boat by the ship, their own condition being so serious as to demand all their efforts. thorn at last extricated the _tonquin_ from her predicament. the wind favored her again, and she got over the bar and through the breakers, anchoring at nightfall in seven fathoms of water. the night was very dark. the ebb and current threatened to sweep the ship on the shore. both anchors were carried out. still the holding was inadequate and the ship's position grew more dangerous. they passed some anxious hours until the turn of the tide, when in spite of the fact that it was pitch dark, they weighed anchor, made sail, and succeeded in finding a safe haven under the lee of cape disappointment, in a place called baker's bay. the next day the captain and some of the partners landed in the morning to see if they could find the missing party. as they were wandering aimlessly upon the shore, they came across weeks, exhausted and almost naked. he had a sad story to tell. the boat had capsized in the breakers and his two white companions had been drowned. he and the kanakas had succeeded in righting the boat and clambering into her. by some fortunate chance they were tossed outside the breakers and into calmer waters. the boat was bailed out, and the next morning weeks sculled her ashore with the one remaining oar. one of the sandwich islanders was so severely injured that he died in the boat, and the other was probably dying from exposure. the relief party prosecuted their {271} search for the kanaka and found him the next day almost dead. the loss of these eight men and these two boats was a serious blow to so small an expedition, but there was nothing to be done about it, and the work of selecting a permanent location for the trading-post on the south shore, unloading the cargo, and building the fort was rapidly carried on, although not without the usual quarrels between captain and men. after landing the company, thorn had been directed by mr. astor to take the _tonquin_ up the coast to gather a load of furs. he was to touch at the settlement which they had named astoria, on his way back, and take on board what furs the partners had been able to procure and bring them back to new york. thorn was anxious to get away, and on the 1st of june, having finished the unloading of the ship, and having seen the buildings approaching completion, accompanied by mckay as supercargo, and james lewis of new york, as clerk, he started on his trading voyage. that was the last that anybody ever saw of thorn or the _tonquin_ and her men. several months after her departure a chehalis indian, named lamanse, wandered into astoria with a terrible story of an appalling disaster. the _tonquin_ made her way up the coast, thorn buying furs as he could. at one of her stops at gray's harbour, this indian was engaged as interpreter. about the middle of june, the _tonquin_ entered nootka sound, an ocean estuary between nootka and vancouver islands, about midway of the western shore of the latter. there she anchored before a large nootka indian village, called newity. the place was even then not unknown to history. the nootkas were a fierce and savage race. a few {272} years before the advent of the _tonquin_, the american ship _boston_, captain slater, was trading in nootka sound. the captain had grievously insulted a native chieftain. the ship had been surprised, every member of her crew except two murdered, and the ship burned. these two had been wounded and captured, but when it was learned that one was a gunsmith and armorer, their lives were preserved and they had been made slaves, escaping long after. every ship which entered the sound thereafter did so with the full knowledge of the savage and treacherous nature of the indians, and the trading was carried on with the utmost circumspection. there had been no violent catastrophes for several years, until another ship _boston_ made further trouble. her captain had shipped twelve indian hunters, promising to return them to their people on nootka sound when he was finished with them. instead of bringing them back, he marooned them on a barren coast hundreds of miles away from their destination. when they heard of his cruel action, the nootkas swore to be revenged on the next ship that entered the sound. the next ship happened to be the ill-fated _tonquin_. now, no indians that ever lived could seize a ship like the _tonquin_ if proper precautions were taken by her crew. mr. astor, knowing the record of the bleak north-western shores, had especially cautioned thorn that constant watchfulness should be exercised in trading. thorn felt the serenest contempt for the indians, and took no precautions of any sort. indeed, the demeanor of the savages lulled even the suspicions of mckay, who had had a wide experience with the aborigines. mckay even went ashore at the invitation of one of the chiefs and spent the first night of his arrival in his lodge. {273} the next day the indians came aboard to trade. they asked exorbitant prices for their skins, and conducted themselves in a very obnoxious way. thorn was not a trader; he was a sailor. he offered them what he considered a fair price, and if that was not satisfactory, why, the vendor could go hang, for all he cared. one old chief was especially persistent and offensive in his bargaining for a high price. he followed thorn back and forth on the deck, thrusting a roll of skins in front of him, until the irascible captain at last lost the little control of his temper he ordinarily retained. he suddenly grabbed the skins and shoved them--not to say rubbed them--in the face of the indignant and astonished indian. then he took the indian by the back of the neck and summarily rushed him along the deck to the gangway. it is more than likely that he assisted him in his progress by kicking him overboard. the other indians left the ship immediately. the interpreter warned mckay that they would never forgive such an insult, and mckay remonstrated with the captain. his remonstrances were laughed to scorn, as usual. not a precaution was taken. ships trading in these latitudes usually triced up boarding nettings fore and aft to prevent savages from swarming over the bulwarks without warning. thorn refused to order these nettings put in position. mckay did not think it prudent to go on shore that night. early the next morning a large canoe containing some twenty indians, all unarmed, came off to the ship. each indian held up a bundle of furs and signified his desire to trade. thorn in great triumph admitted them to the ship, the furs were brought on deck, and bargaining began. there was no evidence of {274} resentment about any of them. their demeanor was entirely different from what it had been the night before. on this occasion the indians were willing to let the white men put any value they pleased on the furs. while they were busily buying and selling, another party of unarmed indians made their appearance alongside. they were succeeded by a second, a third, a fourth, and others, all of whom were welcome to the ship. soon the deck was crowded with indians eager to barter. most of them wanted hunting or butcher knives in return, and by this means, no one suspecting anything, nearly every one of the savages became possessed of a formidable weapon for close-quarter fighting. mckay and thorn appeared to have gone below temporarily, perhaps to break out more goods to exchange for furs, when the indian interpreter became convinced that treachery was intended. whoever was in charge at the time--perhaps lewis--at the interpreter's instance [transcriber's note: insistence?], sent word to the captain, and he and mckay came on deck at once. the ship was filled with a mob of indians, whose gentle and pleasant aspect had given way to one of scowling displeasure and menace. the situation was serious. mckay suggested that the ship be got under way at once. the captain for the first time agreed with him. orders were given to man the capstan, and five of the seamen were sent aloft to loose sail. the wind was strong, and happened to be blowing in the right direction. with singular fatuity none of the officers or seamen were armed, although the ship was well provided with weapons. as the cable slowly came in through the hawse-pipe, and the loosed sails fell from the yards, thorn, through the interpreter, told the indians that he was about to sail away, and {275} peremptorily directed them to leave the ship. indeed, the movements of the sailors made his intentions plain. it was too late. there was a sharp cry--a signal--from the chief, and without a moment's hesitation the indians fell upon the unprepared and astonished crew. some of the savages hauled out war-clubs and tomahawks which had been concealed in bundles of fur; others made use of the knives just purchased. lewis was the first man struck down. he was mortally wounded, but succeeded in the subsequent confusion, in gaining the steerage. mckay was seriously injured and thrown overboard. in the boats surrounding the ships were a number of women, and they despatched the unfortunate partner with their paddles. the captain whipped out a sailor's sheath knife which he wore, and made a desperate fight for his life. the sailors also drew their knives or caught up belaying-pins or handspikes, and laid about them with the energy of despair, but to no avail. they were cut down in spite of every endeavor. the captain killed several of the indians with his knife, and was the last to fall, overborne in the end by numbers. he was hacked and stabbed to death on his own deck. the five sailors aloft had been terrified and helpless witnesses to the massacre beneath them. that they must do something for their own lives they now realized. making their way aft by means of the rigging, they swung themselves to the deck and dashed for the steerage hatch. the attention of the savages had been diverted from them by the mêlée on deck. the five men gained the hatch, the last man down, weeks the armorer being stabbed and mortally wounded, although he, too, gained the hatch. at this juncture the indian interpreter, who had not been molested, sprang {276} overboard, and was taken into one of the canoes and concealed by the women. his life was spared, and he was afterward made a slave, and eventually escaped. the four unhurt men who had gained the steerage, broke through into the cabin, armed themselves, and made their way to the captain's cabin, whence they opened fire upon the savages on deck. the indians fled instantly, leaving many of their dead aboard the ship. the decks of the _tonquin_ had been turned into shambles. the next morning the natives saw a boat with four sailors in it pulling away from the ship. they cautiously approached the _tonquin_ thereupon, and discovered one man, evidently badly wounded, leaning over the rail. when they gained the deck, he was no longer visible. no immediate search appears to have been made for him, but finding the ship practically deserted, a great number of indians came off in their canoes and got aboard. they were making preparations to search and pillage the ship, when there was a terrific explosion, and the ill-fated _tonquin_ blew up with all on board. in her ending she carried sudden destruction to over two hundred of the indians. it is surmised that the four unwounded men left on the ship realized their inability to carry the _tonquin_ to sea, and determined to take to the boat in the hope of reaching astoria by coasting down the shore. it is possible that they may have laid a train to the magazine--the _tonquin_ carried four and a half tons of powder--but it is generally believed, as a more probable story, on account of the time that elapsed between their departure and the blowing up of the ship, that lewis, who was yet alive in spite of his mortal wounds, and who was a man of splendid resolution and courage as well, {277} realizing that he could not escape death, remained on board; and when the vessel was crowded with indians had revenged himself for the loss of his comrades by firing the magazine and blowing up the ship. again, it is possible that lewis may have died, and that weeks, the armorer, the other wounded man, made himself the instrument of his own and the indians' destruction. to complete the story, the four men who had escaped in the boats were pursued, driven ashore, and fell into the hands of the implacable indians. they were tortured to death. such was the melancholy fate which attended some of the participants in the first settlement of what is now one of the greatest and most populous sections of the union. [1] i have seen a man at the wheel of the old _constellation_ on one of my own cruises similarly injured. {281} iv john paul jones being further light on his strange career[1] one hundred and eighteen years ago a little man who had attracted the attention of two continents, and who, in his comparatively brief career of forty-five years, had won eternal fame for himself among the heroes of the world, died in paris, alone in his room. he had been ill for some time, and his physician, calling late in the evening, found him prone upon his bed, sleeping a sleep from which no call to battle would ever arouse him. like warren hastings, john paul jones was at rest at last; "in peace after so many storms, in honor after so much obliquy." he was buried in a protestant cemetery in paris, which was officially closed in january, 1793. the exact location of his grave there was forgotten. for many years even the fact that he was buried there was forgotten. the other day the cable flashed a message which gladdened every american heart. under the inspiration, and at the personal charges, of general horace porter, united states ambassador to france, {282} a search had been instigated and the body was found and completely identified. it is a service of sentiment that general porter has rendered us, but not the less valuable on that account. to love the hero, to recall the heroic past, is good for the future. the remains of the great captain came back to the united states. on the decks of such a battleship as even his genius never dreamed of, surrounded by a squadron that could have put to flight all the sea-fighters of the world before the age of steam and steel, the body of the little commodore was brought back to his adopted country to repose on the soil of the land he loved, for whose liberty he fought, whose honor he maintained in battle; and a suitable monument is to be raised by our people to commemorate his services, to inspire like conduct in years to come. commodore john paul jones, the first of the great american fighters, and not the least splendid in the long line, was born of humble origin in a southern county of scotland. his family was obscure, his circumstances narrow, his advantages meagre, his opportunities limited. at the age of twelve he became a sailor. genius rose, superior to adverse circumstances, however, and before he died he was one of the most accomplished officers who ever served the united states. the greatest men of america and france took pleasure in his society and were proud of his friendship. he progressed rapidly in his chosen career. at nineteen he was chief mate of a slaver, a legitimate occupation in his day but one that filled him with disgust. at twenty-one he was captain of a trader. in 1773 he came to america, forsook the sea and settled in virginia. {283} i. the birth of the american navy he was still poor and still obscure when on december 7, 1775, he was appointed a lieutenant in the new continental navy, in that capacity he was ordered to the _alfred_, a small converted merchantman, the flagship of commodore hopkins. he joined the ship immediately, and in the latter part of december he had the honor of hoisting with his own hands the first naval flag of an american squadron. this was the famous yellow silk banner with a rattlesnake and perhaps a pine tree emblazoned upon it, and with the significant legend, "don't tread on me!" hopkins made an abortive expedition to new providence, in which jones had but one opportunity to distinguish himself. at the peril of his commission, when the regular pilots refused to do so, he volunteered to take the _alfred_ through a difficult and dangerous channel. needless to say, he succeeded--he always succeeded! his first independent command was the little schooner _providence_, of seventy men and twelve four-pound guns. in the fall of 1775 he made a notable cruise in this schooner; he skirmished with, and escaped from, by seamanship and daring, two heavy frigates, the _solebay_ and the _milford_; in four months he captured sixteen vessels, eight of which were sent in as prizes, five burned, three returned to certain poor fishermen; and he destroyed property aggregating a million dollars. later, in command of the _alfred_, with a short crew of one hundred and fifty, when he should have had three hundred, he made another brilliant cruise in {284} which he burned several british transports, captured one store-ship, laden to the gunwales with priceless munitions of war and supplies, cut out three of the supply fleet from under the guns of the _flora_ frigate, and had another smart brush with the _milford_. ii. jones first hoists the stars and stripes commissioned captain on the 14th of june, 1777, in the same resolution which established an american flag, he was ordered to the _ranger_, a little ship-rigged corvette of three hundred tons. in her, on the 4th of july of the same year, he hoisted the first stars and stripes that had ever waved over a ship-of-war. in quiberon bay--famous as one of the battle-grounds of the world--on the evening of the 14th of february, 1778, in the _ranger_, he received the first formal recognition ever given by a foreign fleet to the united states in a salute to the american flag. as it was after sunset when the salutes were exchanged, and in order that there should be no mistake about it, the next morning, the 15th of february, jones transferred his flag to the _independence_, a small privateer, and deliberately sailed through la motte picquet's great fleet of towering line-of-battle-ships, saluting and receiving salutes again. still on the _ranger_, on the 24th of april, he fought the british sloop-of-war _drake_, of equal force and larger crew, to a standstill in an hour and five minutes. when the _drake_ struck her flag, her rigging, sails and spars were cut to pieces. she had forty-two killed and wounded--more than one-fifth of her crew--and was completely helpless. the _ranger_ lost two killed and six wounded. {285} in 1779 jones hoisted his flag on the _duc de duras_, a condemned east indiaman, which would have been broken up had he not turned her into a makeshift frigate by mounting forty guns in her batteries--fourteen twelve-pounders, twenty nines and six eighteens. this, in honor of franklin, he named the _bonhomme richard_. accompanied by the fine little american-built frigate _alliance_ and the french ship _pallas_, with the brig _vengeance_, and the cutter _cerf_, he cruised around england, taking several prizes, and striking terror all along the shore. iii. the battle with the _serapis_ on the evening of the 23rd of september he fell in with the baltic convoy. he was accompanied at the time by the _alliance_ and the _pallas_. the baltic convoy was protected by the _serapis_ and the _scarborough_. the _serapis_ was a brand-new, double-banked frigate of eight hundred tons, carrying twenty eighteen-pounders, twenty nines and ten sixes. inasmuch as the eighteen-pounders on the _richard_ burst and were abandoned after the first fire, the _serapis_ could and did discharge nearly twice as many pounds' weight of broadside as the _richard_, say three hundred pounds to one hundred and seventy-five. the _pallas_ grappled with the _scarborough_--a more equal match--and jones attacked the _serapis_, which was not unwilling--quite the contrary--for the fight. the battle was one of the most memorable and desperate ever fought upon the ocean. the _richard_ was riddled like a sieve. her rotten sides were literally blown out to starboard and port by the heavy batteries of the _serapis_. jones had several hundred english {286} prisoners on board. the master-at-arms released them, but, with great readiness and presence of mind, jones sent them to the pumps, while he continued to fight the english frigate, his own ship kept afloat by their efforts. captain pearson, of the _serapis_, was as brave a man as ever drew a sword, but he was no match for the indomitable personality of the american commander. after several hours of such fighting as had scarcely been seen before on the narrow seas, he struck his flag. the _alliance_, accompanied by a jealous and incapable frenchman, had contributed nothing to jones's success. indeed, she had twice poured her broadsides into the _richard_. the american vessel was so wrecked below and aloft that she sank alongside, and jones had to transfer the survivors of his crew to the english frigate. the aggregate of the two crews was nearly seven hundred, of which about three hundred and fifty were killed or wounded. it is the greatest pity that the poverty of america did not permit jones to get to sea in a proper frigate, or in a ship of the line, before the close of the war. after the revolution, in which he had borne so conspicuous a part, so much so that his exploits had electrified both continents, he took service under catherine of russia, carefully reserving his american citizenship. in her service he fought four brilliant actions in the black sea, in which he had to contend with the usual discouragement of indifferent personnel and wretched material, and in which he displayed all his old-time qualities, winning his usual successes, too. worn out in unrequited service, disgusted with russian court intrigues of which he was the victim, resentful of the infamous potemkin's brutal attempts {287} at coercion, he asked leave of absence from catherine's service and went to paris, where, in the companionship of his friends, and in the society of the beautiful aimèe de telison, the one woman he loved, he lived two years and died at the age of forty-five. iv. a hero's famous sayings besides the memory of his battles, paul jones left a collection of immortal sayings, which are the heritage of the american navy and the admiration of brave men the world over. when the monument which is to be erected shall be ready for inscriptions, these may with propriety be carved upon it: "_i do not wish to have command of any ship that does not sail fast, for i intend to go in harm's way!_" brave little captain. "_i have ever looked out for the honor of the american flag!_" it is the truth itself. "_i can never renounce the glorious title of a citizen of the united states!_" the title was one which paul jones signally honored. last, but not least, that curt phrase which comes ringing through the centuries like a trumpet call to battle; the words with which he replied to the demand of the astonished pearson, who saw his enemy's ship beaten to a pulp, and wondered why he did not yield: "_i have not yet begun to fight!_" that was the finest phrase, under the circumstances, that ever came from the lips of an american sailor. "it was no new message. the british had heard it as they tramped again and again up the bullet-swept slopes of bunker hill; washington rang it in the ears of the hessians on the snowy christmas morning at {288} trenton; the hoof-beats of arnold's horse kept time to it in the wild charge at saratoga; it cracked with the whip of the old wagoner morgan at the cowpens; the maryland troops drove it home in the hearts of their enemies with greene at guilford court house; and the drums of france and america beat it into cornwallis's ears when the end came at yorktown. there, that night, in that darkness, in that still moment of battle, paul jones declared the determination of a great people. his was the expression of an inspiration on the part of a new nation. from this man came a statement of our unshakeable determination, at whatever cost, to be free! a new declaration of independence, this famous word of warning to the brave sailor of the british king." v. what jones did for his country never in his long career did jones have a decent ship or a respectable crew. his materials were always of the very poorest. his officers, with the exception of richard dale, were but little to boast of. what he accomplished, he accomplished by the exercise of his own indomitable will, his serene courage, his matchless skill as a sailor, and his devotion to the cause he had espoused. after his death, among his papers, the following little memorandum, written in his own hand, was found: "in 1775, j. paul jones armed and embarked in the first american ship of war. in the revolution he had twenty-three battles and solemn _rencontres_ by sea; made seven descents in britain, and her colonies; took of her navy two ships of equal, and two of superior force, many store-ships, and others; constrained her to {289} fortify her ports; suffer the irish volunteers; desist from her cruel burnings in america and exchange, as prisoners of war, the american citizens taken on the ocean, and cast into prisons of england, as 'traitors, pirates, and felons!'" indeed a truthful and a brilliant record. paul jones was accused of being a pirate. the charge was a long time dying, but it is to-day generally disavowed. when recently his bones were returned to american shores, may we not believe that from some valhalla of the heroes, where the mighty men of the past mingle in peace and amity, he saw and took pride in the great if tardy outpouring of our fellow citizens to greet this first sea-king of our flag? now, this story of the magnificent career of john paul jones, so briefly summarized, has been often told, and its details are familiar to every schoolboy. there is one mystery connected with his life, however, which has not yet been solved. i purpose to make here an original contribution toward its solution. no one knows positively--it is probable that no one ever will know, why john paul assumed the name of jones. of course the question is not vital to jones's fame, for from whatever reason he assumed the name by which he is remembered, he certainly honored it most signally; but the reason for the assumption is nevertheless of deep interest to all lovers of history. there have been two explanations of this action. vi. why did he take the name of jones? five years ago two biographies of jones appeared simultaneously. one i had the honor of writing myself. the other was from the pen of that gifted {290} and able author, the late colonel augustus c. buell. our accounts were in singular agreement, save in one or two points, and our conclusions as to the character of jones in absolute harmony. in colonel buell's book he put forth the theory--which, so far as i know, had not before been formulated--that john paul assumed the name of jones in testamentary succession to his brother william paul, who had preceded him to america; and that william paul had himself taken the name in testamentary succession to one william jones, a childless old planter of middlesex county, virginia, who bequeathed to the said william paul an extensive plantation on the rappahannock, some nine miles below urbana, at a place called jones's wharf, on condition that he call himself jones. in 1805 this jones property was owned by members of the taliaferro family, who had received it from archibald frazier, who claimed to have received it from john paul jones, although there are no records of transfer extant. my theory, which colonel buell facetiously characterized--doubtless in all good humor--as "tar-heel mythology," stated that john paul assumed the name of jones out of friendship and regard for the justly celebrated jones family of north carolina, and especially for mrs. willie jones, who is not unknown in history, and who was one of the most brilliant and charming women of the colonies. members of this family had befriended him and assisted him pecuniarily, and had extended to him the bounteous hospitality of the famous plantations, mount gallant and the groves, near halifax. it was through their influence with congressman hewes that jones received his commission as a lieutenant in the continental navy. {291} in further explanation it was suggested that on casting his lot with the rebellious colonies john paul, who was somewhat erratic as well as romantic and impulsive, determined to take a new name and begin life over again. here are two utterly irreconcilable theories. i at once wrote to colonel buell asking him to inform me what was his authority for his statement. i quote, with his permission given me before his lamented death, from several letters that he wrote me: "my first authentic information on the subject was from a gentleman named william louden, whom i met in st. louis in 1873, when i was attached to the _missouri republican_. mr. louden was a great-grandson of mary paul louden, sister of john paul jones. he was the only surviving blood-relative of paul jones in this country, being his great-grandnephew. he told me substantially the history of the change of names as related in my first volume. "two years later i met the late general taliaferro of virginia in washington, and he corroborated the version, together with the history of the jones plantation.[2] "one would naturally judge that the great-grandnephew of the man himself, and the gentleman who had subsequently owned the property, ought to know something about the antecedents of both the man and the land. . . . i doubt whether documentary evidence--such as would be admitted in court--can ever be found." colonel buell also called my attention to the fact {292} that in none of paul jones's letters to joseph hewes is there any reference to the north carolina jones family; and further, that jones and hewes became acquainted in commercial transactions before jones settled in america. vii. search for historical evidence in an attempt to settle the matter i wrote to all the virginia county clerks on both sides of the rappahannock river, asking them if any copy of the will of william paul, or that of william paul jones, could be found in their records. most of these virginia county records were destroyed during the civil war. by great good fortune, however, those of spottsylvania county, in which the city of fredericksburg is situated, were preserved, and i herewith append a copy of the will of william paul, in which he bequeathes his property, making no mention of any plantation and no mention of the name of william jones, to his sister, mary young, who afterward married louden. "in the name of god, amen; i, william paul, of the town of fredericksburg and county of spottsylvania in virginia--being in perfect sound memory, thanks be to almighty god, and knowing it is appointed unto all men to die, do make and ordain this my last will and testament in manner and form revoking all former will or wills by me herebefore made. "principally and first of all, i recommend my soul to almighty god who gave it, hoping through the merits of my blessed saviour and redeemer jesus christ to find redemption, and as to touching and concerning {293} what worldly estate it has pleased god to bless me with, i dispose of it in the following manner: "_item_--it is my will and desire that all my just debts and funeral expenses be first paid by my executors hereafter named, who are desired to bury my body in a decent, christian-like manner. "_item_--it is my will and desire that my lots and houses in this town be sold and converted into money for as much as they will bring, that with all my other estate being sold and what of my out-standing debts that can be collected, i give and bequeath unto my beloved sister mary young, and her two eldest children and their heirs in arbiglon in parish of kirkbeen in stewartry of galloway, north brittain, forever. i do hereby empower my executors to sell and convey the said land, lots and houses and make a fee simple therein, as i could or might do in my proper person, and i do appoint my friends mr. william templeman and isaac heislop my executors to see this my will executed, confirming this to be my last will and testament. in witness whereof, i have hereunto set my hand and fixed my seal as my last act and deed this 22nd day of march, 1772. "william paul (seal)." "william paul having heard the above will distinctly read, declared the same to be his last will and testament in the presence of us: "john atkinson, "thomas holmes, "b. johnston." william paul evidently died in 1774, instead of 1773, as all the biographers of his famous brother {294} have it, and the will was accordingly probated, as will be seen from the following transcript of the court records: "at a court continued and held for spottsylvania county, december the 16th, 1774. "the last will and testament of william paul, deceased, was proved by the oaths of john atkinson, a witness thereto, and ordered to be certified, and the executors therein named refusing to take upon themselves the burden of the execution thereof, on the motion of john atkinson who made oath and together with john walker, jr., his security, entered into and acknowledged their bond in the penalty of five hundred pounds as the law directs. certificate is granted him for obtaining letter of administration on the said decedent's estate with his will aforesaid annexed in due form." in further support of these facts, the grave of william paul was recently discovered in st. george's churchyard, fredericksburg, and his tombstone bears the date of 1774. this effectually disposes of colonel buell's contention. for whatever reason john paul assumed the name of jones it was not in testamentary succession to william paul; for william paul kept his inherited surname to the last. it occurred to me that john paul might have been empowered to represent his sister in the settlement of his brother's estate. a power-of-attorney which would have enabled him to attend to her affairs would not necessarily have been registered in the scottish or american courts; yet, knowing the methodical habit of the scottish bar, i caused search to be made in the {295} private papers and records of those local advocates who might possibly have handled the business in scotland; but with no results so far. i also had search made for any conveyance of the property mentioned in the will by william paul's administrators. i append a copy of a letter from mr. j. p. h. crismund, a county clerk of spottsylvania county. "spottsylvania, va., june 7, 1901. "i have made the matter of john paul jones and william paul and william jones a matter of most careful study and search, but have not been able to find anything beyond the last will and testament of william paul, a copy of which i send you. my first search was made to find the conveyance from william paul's administration, with will annexed, conveying the houses and lots in fredericksburg which are directed in william paul's will to be sold, but the records nowhere show this. this seems and is strange, because some disposition must have been made of this property in some way, but i cannot find this here. i then followed the fiduciary indexes to see if i could find anything about the enlistment and service of john paul to john paul jones--but this also was fruitless. william paul could not have assumed the name of jones, as he leaves his last will and testament in the name of paul, nor is there any will of record in the name of paul, nor is there any will of record in the name of john paul jones. i have given this matter such thought and attention and work, but i cannot find a clue to anything named in your letter to me and concerning which you make inquiry. "as william paul's property was in fredericksburg, it may be that the settlement of his estate and the {296} account of the sale of his effects is of record there. if you desire to write to the clerk of corporation court of that city as to that, he will courteously attend to your matter of inquiry. "yours sincerely, "j. p. h. crismund." i wrote as mr. crismund suggested, but could get no further information. viii. the joneses of north carolina now to revert to the north carolina account. it comes down as straight as such a story could. colonel cadwallader jones of north carolina, in a privately printed genealogical history of his family, states that he was born in 1812. his grandmother, mrs. willie jones, died in 1828. he lived with her for the first fifteen years of his life. he declares positively that she told him that john paul had taken the name for the reasons mentioned. the matter was generally so stated and accepted in the family. mrs. willie jones was a woman of unusual mental force and character, and preserved the full use of her faculties until her death. the same statement is made independently by descendants of other branches of the jones family. for instance, mr. armistead churchill gordon, of staunton, va., had it direct from his great-aunt, who was a kinswoman of mrs. jones, and who heard from her the circumstances referred to. and there are still other lines of tradition which create a strong probability in favor of the credibility of the theory. for one thing, if jones did represent his sister in the {297} settlement of his brother's estate, it is probable that he would have to give bond for the proper performance of his trust, and it is sometimes stated that willie and allen jones went on his bond for five hundred pounds--just the sum required of the executors, by the way. it is also singular, in view of this will leaving property to his grandmother, that the louden whom mr. buell knew--and who is said to have died in new orleans 1887--should have been so mistaken in his statements; but on this point the evidence of the will is absolutely conclusive. ix. paul jones never a man of wealth colonel buell claims that john paul jones had riches and influence in virginia after the death of his brother, but the claim is not tenable according to an exhaustive review of his book in the _virginia historical magazine_. in the face of the present exhibit, and in the view of the fact that jones himself spoke of living for two years in virginia on fifty pounds, the story of his wealth cannot be credited. it is therefore entirely in harmony with the facts to accept the north carolina tradition, in the absence of any evidence to the contrary. the direct statement coming to us in one instance through but one generation is entitled to respect. as a matter of fact both colonel buell's version of the matter and my own story rest upon tradition alone, with this difference--the evidence submitted absolutely excluded one of the accounts; the other, therefore, logically comes to the fore. and thus, i think, i have contributed to clear up one mooted point in american history. [1] my reason for including in this volume a paper on this great sailor whose career has already been discussed in "revolutionary fights and fighters" (q. v.) is because this present article contains a new and original contribution to history, never before published in book form, which absolutely and finally settles one phase of the much mooted question as to why john paul assumed the surname jones, as will be seen hereafter. [2] of which he (general taliaferro) had become the owner. {301} v in the caverns of the pitt a story of a forgotten fight with the indians one of the most distinguished of the minor soldiers of the civil war, minor in the sense of being surpassed only by men of the stature of grant, sherman, sheridan and thomas, was george crook. his exploits in the valley of the shenandoah were brilliant, and his whole career was replete with instances of ability and courage which stamped him as a soldier of the first grade. a major-general of volunteers and a brevet major-general in the regular army, the year 1868 found him a colonel of infantry commanding the military district of owyhee, a section of the country which included the southeastern part of oregon and the northeastern part of california. in the adaptation of means to ends, so far as indian affairs are concerned, the united states has usually been woefully lacking. with a few companies of cavalry and infantry not aggregating a full regiment, this eminent soldier was directed to hold the various scattered garrison points throughout a large extent of territory, and also to settle the indians, who for some time had been indulging their propensities for savage slaughter almost unchecked, save for a few sporadic and ineffective efforts by volunteers and irregulars. the far western representatives of the great {302} shoshone nation are among the meanest, most degraded, most despicable indians on the continent. this did not hinder them from being among the most brutal and ferocious. they made the tenure of life and property more than precarious in that far-off section during and after the civil war. they were not very numerous, nor were they a great race of fighters, except when cornered. the character of the country to the eastward of their ravaging ground, abounding in lava beds, desolate plains, inaccessible valleys and impassable mountain ranges, to which they could fly when they were hard pressed, rendered it difficult to bring any considerable number of them to action, and they enjoyed a certain immunity from punishment on that account. the most important engagement between them and the troops, before the patience and perseverance of crook and his handful, finally wore out the indians, presents, perhaps, the one instance where they were brought fairly to bay and the soldiers had an opportunity to give them a thorough beating. this unique battle demonstrated also how desperately even a coward will fight when his back is against a wall. and it showed, as few other frontier fights have shown, the splendid courage of the regular american soldier in this arduous, unheeded service. early on the 26th of september, 1868, general crook, with a small troop of cavalry, h of the first, numbering less than thirty men, together with about a score of mounted infantrymen from the twenty-third regiment, and perhaps as many warm spring indian scouts under a leader named donald macintosh, with a small pack train, found himself on the south fork of pitt river, in modoc county, cal., a few miles below its junction with the main stream. the {303} country is wild, unsettled, largely unexplored to this day. there is no railroad even now nearer than one hundred and twenty-five miles. general crook had been hunting and trailing indians in the warmer mountains without success for several days. on this morning the warm spring indian scouts reported that a large body of indians was encamped in the valley upon which he was just entering. the general direction of the river here was due north and south. perhaps a mile from the bank of the river to the west, rose a high tableland which terminated in precipitous and generally insurmountable bluffs of black basalt, extending above the general level of the valley about twelve hundred feet. projecting eastward from the side of these lofty cliffs was a singular rocky plateau, the outer lines of which roughly formed a half circle. this elevation was bordered on the south by a deep and broken cañon, on the north by a creek which ran through a forest of scattered juniper trees. the plateau rose in two gentle slopes to a height of about five or six hundred feet above the valley level, and was thus half as high as the bluff to the westward, which formed the base of the semi-circle. near the northern part of the plateau the rocks were elevated in a series of irregular broken peaks, like the jagged ice hummocks of the higher latitudes. the whole plateau was covered with enormous boulders, over which it was impossible even to lead a horse. on the lower reaches plots of grass, dotted with junipers, abounded. the valley of the river proper below the cliffs and the projecting plateau was a good place for a camp, although the ground near the banks was swampy and impassable. the peaks mentioned, it was afterward learned, {304} abounded with hidden caves and underground passages. by some curious freak of nature, the volcanic hummocks contained no less than four natural fortifications of varying sizes, which, supplemented by very slight efforts on the part of the indians, had been turned into defensive works of the most formidable character. they were connected by a perfect labyrinth of crevasses and underground passages and caves, so that the defenders could easily pass from one to the other. the northeast fort, which was the principal one of the chain, was surrounded by a natural gorge some fifty feet deep and twenty-five feet wide at the top. a sort of banquette, or balcony, making a practicable path several feet wide, extended around the fort between the wall and the edge of the ravine. the fort proper was enclosed by a wall of rock, partly natural, partly artificial, about eight feet high. an assailant crossing the ravine and gaining the crest of the peak would have ample standing ground between the edge and the wall. the broken ground around these forts on the plateau formed a series of natural rifle pits. these works were held by no less than one hundred and twenty shoshones belonging to the piutes, pitt rivers, modocs and snakes. their chief was sa-hei-ta, one of the bravest and most brutal of the marauders. when they saw crook's little force of fifty white soldiers and a score of warm spring indians descending the bluff into the valley south of the rocky cañon, they laughed them to scorn. they were confident in the strength of their position and in their numbers, and they resolved to hold their ground. indeed, after the first few moments there was nothing else for them to do, for crook distributed his cavalry {305} and infantry around the northern and southern sides, put his pack mules in camp in the valley on the east with a small guard, and threw the warm spring indian scouts back of the forts between them and the cliffs. thus he had the indians surrounded, so far as seventy men could surround nearly twice their number in chosen fortifications. the whole place was popularly known as the hell caves of the pitt river, although in the war department and official records it is described more politely as the infernal caverns of the pitt river. getting his men in position, crook acted promptly. in long thin lines on the north and south, taking advantage of the abundant cover, the soldiers cautiously advanced, clearing out the rifle pits and driving the indians back toward their stronghold. there was severe fighting all during the afternoon, in which first sergeant charles brackett and private james lyons were killed and a number were wounded. the warm spring indians, who were good scouts, did not fancy this sort of warfare, and they took practically no part in the battle. they were useful enough in one way, as they checked any retreat toward the bluffs, although as it turned out the indians had no intention of leaving. finally, toward evening, the plateau was entirely cleared of indians, who had all been forced back into the forts. crook had sent a picket of soldiers to the edge of the basalt cliffs and these men, with long-range rifles, did some little execution on the defenders of the forts, although the distance was so great that their fire was largely ineffectual. night found the soldiers ensconced behind boulders on the very rim of the ravine, the indians in the forts. in little squads the {306} soldiers were withdrawn from the battlefield and sent down to the camp in the valley to get something to eat. they had been without food or water since morning, and fighting is about the hottest, thirstiest work that a man can engage in. after they had refreshed themselves, they went back to the plateau to keep watch over the fort. desultory firing took place all night long, the indians blazing away indiscriminately--they had plenty of ammunition, it appeared--and the soldiers firing at the flashes of the guns. the voices of the medicine men and the chiefs could be heard exhorting them and promising victory. crook determined to storm the place at break of day. the darkness rendered it impossible to attempt the broken, precipitous descent and ascent of the ravine in the night. light was needed for that. he had fought valiantly throughout the day, this major-general, as a common soldier in the ranks. he was a dead shot, and had used his spencer carbine with effect whenever opportunity presented. he could assemble for the assault but forty men, twenty-two of the first cavalry and eighteen of the twenty-third infantry. the warm spring auxiliaries refused to assault, such close work not being to their taste. there were several wounded men in the camp, and a small guard had to be kept there to protect them and the horses from the attacks of some of the indians who had taken advantage of the night to escape from the stronghold to endeavor to stampede the herd, and who from various covers kept up a constant fire on the camp, so that lieutenant eskridge, quartermaster, had his hands full in holding his ground. first lieutenant w. r. parnell, now of san francisco, who commanded the cavalry, was directed to {307} lead the assault. second lieutenant john madigan, also of the cavalry, who had charge of the infantry, was ordered to support. the troops were directed to creep to the brink of the crevasses surrounding the fort and drop down it as quickly as possible. arrived at the bottom, they were to scale the rocky counter-scarp, and when they got to the platform they were to keep moving while they attempted to break the wall of the fort proper. crook, who believed in intimidation, advised them to yell and cheer as much as possible. the general crawled around during the night from man to man, acquainting every soldier with his ideas and "talking to them as a father." he reminds me a little of henry v. before the battle of agincourt. the task he had set his soldiers was desperate in the extreme. it speaks well not only for the general's reliance upon them, but for the quality of the men also, that he conceived it possible and that they carried it out effectively. so soon as it was fairly dawn the soldiers at a given signal dashed at the crest. so suddenly did they appear that, although the indians in the fort across the ravine opened a terrific rifle and arrow fire upon them, not one was injured. without a moment's hesitation, the men plunged down the walls, and sliding, falling, any way, they reached the bottom. there they were safe from the fire of the indians, for the platform around the wall of the fort prevented the indians from shooting into the ravine. parnell's company immediately began the escalade of the cliffs. madigan had not been so fortunate. where he struck the ravine the wall happened to be absolutely sheer. descent was not practicable. his men therefore stopped on the brink until he directed his infantrymen to circle the ravine until they found a {308} practicable descent and there join parnell's men. he had scarcely given the order when a bullet pierced his brain. some of his men were also struck down, others retired behind the rocks, made a detour and followed parnell. the sides of the ravine were so precipitous that no man could scale them unaided. two or three would lift up a fellow-soldier. after gaining a foothold he in turn would pull others up, and thus they slowly made their way to the edge of the cliffs, crook climbing with the rest. they finally gained the banquette, or platform, after a difficult and exhausting climb. the indians were behind the walls of the fort, the soldiers outside. sergeant michael meara, leading the advance, peeped through a loop-hole, and was shot dead. private willoughby sawyer, happening to pass by another orifice, was killed in the same way. in both cases the indians were so close that the faces of both men were badly powder burned. a slug struck the wrist and an arrow pierced the body of private shea, hurling him to the bottom of the ravine. but the soldiers were not idle. guns from each side were thrust through every loophole or crevice and discharged blindly. in this desperate method of fighting, the indians, being contracted within the circle, suffered the more. while some were fighting thus, others were tearing down the rocky wall with hands and bayonets. a breach was soon made, and through it the soldiers streamed. the indians, after one hasty volley, fled precipitately. the last man to leave the fort was the chief, sa-hei-ta. as he leaped over the wall crook's unerring spencer sent a bullet into his spine, and he fell dead at the bottom of the ravine. the fort had been defended by at least fifty {309} indians, and there were fifteen dead bodies in it. among these was that of the chief medicine man. the soldiers ran to the western wall, and through loopholes opened a fire upon the indians, who had joined their fellows in the other forts. the fire was fiercely returned. about nine in the morning one of the infantrymen, peering through a small crevice in the rock, found his view obstructed by a small weed. in spite of parnell's caution, he uprooted it, leaving quite an opening, in which he was completely exposed. he was shot through the head instantly and fell unconscious.[1] the wounded, of which there were a number, were now taken to the camp about 11 a. m. the fire of the indians having slackened, crook, leaving a detachment in the fort, withdrew the rest of the men to the camp for breakfast. the indians took advantage of this opportunity to charge the fort. the few defenders were driven out of the fortification and sergeant russler was killed, the third sergeant to lose his life that day! rallying on the banquette, upon the return of the others, they in turn drove the indians out of the fort. neither party could occupy it all day long. the soldiers clung to the platform covering their dead in the fort on one side, while the indians from the forts on the other side prevented the soldiers from re-entering. it was not until nightfall that the dead could be withdrawn. the soldiers re-occupied the fort at night, and although the indians sent frequent volleys of arrows, which they shot into the air, hoping they would {310} fall upon the soldiers, and kept up an irregular fire, culminating in a sustained discharge about midnight, they made no attempt seriously to take the fort, although the soldiers, confidently expecting an attack, lay on their arms all night. during the last half of it not a sound came from the indians. the next morning crook prepared to resume the attack by assaulting the other forts, when his suspicions were awakened by a strange quiet, which continued in spite of several efforts to draw the indian fire. fearing some stratagem, he delayed until he could have speech with the interior forts by means of a wounded indian squaw, whom they captured after cautious scouting. from this woman, whom they forced to speak by threatening to hang her, it was learned that the indians had decamped during the night. the warriors had taken advantage of a long underground passage which led south and opened in a cave in the side of the cañon. this concealed way actually took them under the feet of crook's soldiers, and sufficiently far from his camp and scouts to enable them, so quietly had they moved, to steal away undetected. they left their women and children in the caves. these caves were a perfect maze. to attempt to search them would have been impossible. indeed, one soldier, private james carey, who saw the body of a dead indian near the mouth of one of them, and who sought a scalp as a trophy, descended to the cave mouth and was shot dead by some one, probably a wounded brave, within the dark recesses. the indians' loss was about forty killed. crook had lost nearly a moiety--50 per cent.--of his entire force, an appalling proportion! one officer, six soldiers, one civilian had been killed, twelve soldiers, {311} including three corporals,[2] seriously wounded, two of them afterward died; and almost every survivor in the party had received some slight wound or had been badly bruised by falls in climbing over the broken rocks. their clothing and shoes were cut to pieces, they were utterly worn out by two sleepless nights and two days' desperate fighting. they buried the brave soldiers in the valley, concealing their graves so that the indians could not discover them and ravage them. carrying their wounded in rude travels slung between horses and mules, and taking the body of brave young madigan, who was buried in a lonely forgotten grave, one day's march from the battlefield, they returned to camp warner. with a greatly inferior force crook had assailed the indians on ground of their own choosing, which they believed to be impregnable, and had administered a crushing defeat. the escalade of the wall of the ravine, the breaching of the rampart, the storming of the fort, its defence, its abandonment and recapture, was one of the most gallant and heroic exploits ever performed in american history. although he had paid dearly for his victory, the lesson crook had inflicted upon the savages was a salutary one, and the disastrous defeat of the indians in the infernal caverns of the pitt river was a great factor in bringing about the subsequent pacification of that section. to-day the exploit is forgotten. all the officers, save one, and i presume most of the men, who participated, are dead. it is from the papers of the surviving officer, colonel parnell, and from official reports and a few meagre published accounts in newspapers and books that this story of american heroism has been prepared. [1] he lived three weeks without regaining his senses, and eventually died at camp warner, ore., over one hundred and fifty miles away, whither he was carried with the other wounded, after the battle. [2] the loss among non-commissioned officers was especially heavy, showing how well these brave men did their duty. {315} vi being a boy out west i am in some doubt as to whether to call this particular reminiscence "pants that i have worn" or "trousers like those mother used to make." for either name seems admirably suitable to the situation. i was the oldest son in a numerous family, and therefore had the heritage of my father's clothes. he was an exceedingly neat and careful man, and never--to my sorrow be it said--did he ever wear out anything, unless it were an apple switch on me or my brothers. i had to wear out all his old clothes, it seemed to me. it was not a matter of choice but of necessity with me. my younger brother always escaped. by the time i had finished anything, there was no more of it. it went perforce to the ragman, if he would condescend to accept it. there was a certain sad, plum-colored, shad-bellied coat that flashes athwart my memory in hideous recollection, which wrapped itself portentiously about my slim figure, to the great delectation of my young friends and companions, and to my corresponding misery. i can recall their satirical criticisms vividly even now. they enjoyed it hugely, especially the little girls. think of a small--say "skinny"--little boy, about nine or ten years old, in a purple shad-bellied coat which had been made to fit (?) him by cutting off the sleeves, also the voluminous tails just below the back buttons! {316} i could never understand the peculiar taste my father manifested in his younger days, for when i recall the age which permitted me to wear cut-down clothing (and that age arrived at an extraordinary early period in my existence, it appeared to me), such a fearful and wonderful assortment of miscellaneous garments of all colors, shapes and sizes as were resurrected from the old chests in the garret, where they had reposed in peaceful neglect for half a generation, the uninitiated can scarcely believe. the shad-bellied coat was bad enough--you could take that off, though--but there was something worse that stayed on. fortunately there is one season in the year when coats in the small western village, in which i lived, were at a discount, especially on small boys, and that was summer. but on the warmest of summer days the most recklessly audacious youngster has to wear trousers even in the most sequestered village. one pair rises before me among the images of many and will not down. the fabric of which this particular garment was made was colored a light cream, not to say yellow. there was a black stripe, a piece of round black braid down each leg, too, and the garment was as heavy as broadcloth and as stiff as a board. nothing could have been more unsuitable for a boy to wear than that was. i rebelled and protested with all the strength of my infantile nature, but it was needs must--i had either to wear them or to remain in bed indefinitely. swallowing my pride, in spite of my mortification, i put them on and sallied forth, but little consoled by the approving words and glances of my mother, who took what i childishly believed to be an utterly unwarranted pride in her--shall i say--adaptation or reduction? those trousers had a {317} sentimental value for her, too, as i was to learn later. as for me, i fairly loathed them. many times since then, i have been the possessor of a "best and only pair," but never a pair of such color, quality and shape. they were originally of the wide-seated, peg-top variety, quite like the fashion of to-day, by the way--or is it yesterday, in these times of sudden changes?--and when they were cut off square at the knee and shirred or gathered or reefed in at the waist, they looked singularly like the typical "dutchman's breeches." i might have worn them as one of hendrik hudson's crew in "rip van winkle"--which was, even in those days, the most popular play in which joseph jefferson appeared. you can see how long ago it was from that. well, i put them on in bitterness of heart. how the other boys greeted me until they got used to them--which it seemed to me they never would! unfortunately for them, anyway, they had only one day, one brief day, in which to make game of me; for the first time i wore them something happened. there was a pond on a farm near our house called, from its owner, "duffy's pond." the water drained into a shallow low depression in a large meadow, and made a mudhole, a cattle wallow. little boys have a fondness for water, when it is exposed to the air--that is, when it is muddy, when it is dirty--which is in adverse ratio to their zest for nice, clean water in a nice clean tub. to bathe and be clean does not seem instinctive with boys. and how careful we were not to wet the backs of our hands and our wrists except when in swimming! and how hard did our parents strive to teach us to distribute our ablutions more generally! {318} well, mr. duffy did not allow boys to swim in his pond, which made it all the more inviting. it was a hot august day when i first put on those cream-colored pants. naturally, we went in swimming. having divested ourselves of our clothing--and with what joy i cast off the hideous garment!--we had to wade through twenty or thirty yards of mud growing deeper and more liquid with every step, until we reached the water. we were having a great time playing in the ooze when mr. duffy appeared in sight. he was an irascible old man, and did not love his neighbors' children! he had no sympathy at all with us in our sports; he actually begrudged us the few apples we stole when they were unripe and scarce, and as for watermelons--ah, but he was an unfeeling farmer! fortunately, he had no dog with him that morning, nothing but a gun--an old shotgun with the barrels sawed off at half their length, loaded with beans or bacon, or pepper or sand, i don't remember which--they were all bad enough if they hit you. the alarm was given instantly, and we made a wild rush for the tall grass through that mud. you can fancy how dirty we became, splashing, stumbling, wallowing in it. mr. duffy, firing beans at us from the rear, accelerated our pace to a frightful degree. fortunately again, like hamlet, he was "fat and scant o' breath," and we could run like deer, which we did. _en route_ i grabbed my shirt with one hand and those cream-colored pants with the other. the mud of that pond was the thick, black, sticky kind. it stained hideously anything light that it touched, as irrevocably as sin. those trousers had been clasped against my boyish muddy breast or flapped against my muddy, skinny legs, and they were {319} a sight to behold! there was no water available for miles where we stopped. we rubbed ourselves off with the burnt grass of august and dusty leaves as well as we could, dressed ourselves and repaired home. i was a melancholy picture. the leopard could have changed his spots as easily as i. yet i well remember the mixture of fierce joy and terrified apprehension that pervaded me. i arrived home about dinner-time. father was there. "wh--what!" he cried in astonishment. "where have you been, sir?" "those," sobbed my mother in anguished tones, "were your father's wedding trousers! i gave them to you with reluctance and as a great favor, you wretched boy, and--and--you have ruined them." i was taken upstairs, thoroughly washed, scrubbed--in the tub, which was bad enough--and when sufficiently clean to be handed to my father, he and i had an important interview in the wood-shed--our penal institution--over which it were well to draw the curtain. there was a happy result to the adventure, however: i never wore the cream-colored pants again, and hence my joy. the relief was almost worth the licking. some of the material, however, was worked up into a patchwork quilt, and of the rest my mother made a jacket for my sister. my mother could not look upon those things without tears; neither could i! why is it that grown people will be so inconsiderate about a little boy's clothes? it was the fashion of many years before i was born for people--that is, men and boys--to wear shawls. there was a dearth in the family exchequer on one occasion--on many occasions, i may say, but this {320} was a particular one. i had no overcoat, at least not one suitable for sunday, and really it would have been preposterous to have attempted to cut down one of father's for me. that feat was beyond even my mother's facile scissors, and she could effect marvels with them, i knew to my cost. it was a bitter cold winter day, i remember, and my mother, in the kindness of her heart, brought to light one of those long, narrow, fringed, brilliantly colored plaided shawls, so that i should not miss sunday school. i was perfectly willing to miss it, then or any other time, for any excuse was a good one for that. but no, i was wrapped up in it in spite of my frantic protests and despatched with my little sister--she who wore the cream-colored trousers-jacket--to the church. strange to say, she did not mind at all. we separated outside the house door, and i ran on alone. i had evolved a deep, dark purpose. i went much more rapidly than she, and as soon as i turned the corner, and was safely out of sight, i tore off that hateful shawl and when i arrived at the meeting-house i ignominiously thrust it into the coal heap in the dilapidated shed in the corner of the lot. i was almost frozen by the time i arrived, but any condition was better than that shawl. the sunday school exercises proceeded as usual, but in the middle of them, the janitor who had gone into the coal house for the wherewithal to replenish the fires, came back with the shawl. i had rammed it rather viciously under the coal, and it was a filthy object. the superintendent held it up by finger and thumb and asked to whom it belonged. "why, that's our johnny's" piped up my little sister amid a very disheartening roar of laughter from the {321} school. there was no use in my denying the statement. her reputation for veracity was much higher than mine, and i recognized the futility of trying to convince any one that she was mistaken. at the close of the session i had to wrap myself in that coal-stained garment and go forth. i was attended by a large delegation of the scholars when the school was over. they did not at all object to going far out of their way to escort me home, and they left me at my own gate. it was sunday, and it was against my father's religious principles to lick us on sunday--that was one of the compensations, youthful compensations of that holy day--but monday wasn't far off, and father's memory was remarkably acute. ah, those sad times, but there was fun in them, too, after all. there was a little boy who lived near us named henry smith. he and i were inseparable. he had a brother three years older than himself whose name was charles. charles was of course much taller and stronger than henry and myself, and he could attend to one of us easily. but both of us together made a pretty good match for him. consequently we hunted in couples, as it were. charles was unduly sensitive about his christian name. i think he called it his unchristian name. not the "charles" part of it, that was all right, but his parents had inconsiderately saddled him with the hopeless additional name of peter van buskirk smith! all we had to do to bring about a fight was to approach him and address him as "peter van buskirk." he bitterly resented it, which was most unreasonable of him. i recall times when the three of us struggled in the haymow for hours at a time, peter van buskirk, furiously angry, striving to force an apology or retraction, and henry and i having a glorious time refusing him. we were safe enough while we were together, but when he caught us alone--o my! i can remember it yet. he was always charles, at that time, but it was of no use. yet notwithstanding the absolute certainty of a severe thrashing when he caught us singly, we never could refrain from calling him "peter van buskirk" when we were together. why is it that parents are so thoughtless about the naming of their children? i knew a boy once named elijah draco and there was another lad of my acquaintance who struggled under the name of lord byron. that wasn't so bad, because we shortened it to "by," but "elijah draco" was hopeless, so we called him "tommy," as a rebuke to his unfeeling parents. charles peter van buskirk was a funny boy. he was as brave as a lion. you could pick him up by the ears, which were long--and shall i say handy?--and he never would howl. we knew that was the way to tell a good dog. "pick him up by the ears; an' if he howls, he'll be no fighter!" and we thought what was a good test for a dog could not be amiss for a boy. he had a dog once, sold to him for a quarter when it was a pup by a specious individual of the tramp variety, as one of the finest "king-newf'un'lan'--bull breed." his appetite and his vices were in proportion to his descriptions, but he had no virtues that we could discover. with a boy's lack of inventiveness we called him "tiger" although anything less ferocious than he would be hard to find. he was more like a sheep in spirit than anything else. but charles thought he saw signs of promise in that pup, and in spite of our disparaging remarks he clung to him. charles knew a lot about dogs, or thought he did, which was the same thing. i remember we were trying to teach tige to "lead" one day. he had no more natural aptitude for leading than an unbroken calf. the perverse dog at last flattened himself down on his stomach, spread-eagled himself on the ground, and stretched his four legs out as stiff as he could. we dragged him over the yard until he raised a pile of dirt and leaves in front of him like a plow in an untilled field. he would not "lead," although we nearly choked him to death trying to teach him. then we tried picking him up by the ears, applying that test for courage and blood, you know! you might have heard that dog yelp for miles. he had no spirit at all. charles peter van buskirk was disgusted with him. we got out a can of wagon-grease and spotted him artistically to make him look like a coach-dog, which was legitimate, as coach-dogs are notoriously remarkable for lack of courage. they are only for ornament. that was a pretty-looking animal when it rained. we changed his name, too, and called him "kitty," regardless of his sex. it was the last insult to a dog, we thought, but he never seemed to mind it. i feel sorry for that dog as i look back at him now, and it rather provoked charles when we subsequently asked his opinion of any other dog. this we did as often as there were enough of us together to make it safe. when we felt very reckless, we used to go in swimming in the river, which was a very dangerous proceeding indeed, for the missouri is a treacherous, wicked {324} stream, full of "suck-holes" and whirlpools and with a tremendous current, especially during the june "rise." the practice was strictly forbidden by all right-minded parents, including our own. frequently, however, in compliance with that mysterious sign, the first two fingers of the right hand up-lifted and held wide apart, which all boys over a thousand miles of country knew meant "will you go swimming?" we would make up a party after school and try the flood. father usually inspected us with a rather sharper eye, when we came sneaking in the back way after such exercises. for a busy man, father had a habit, that was positively maddening, of happening upon a boy at the wrong time. we used to think we had no privacy at all. "hum!" he was wont to say, looking suspiciously at our wet, sleek heads and general clean appearance--clean for us, that is, for the missouri river, sandy though it was, was vastly cleaner than duffy's pond or puddles of that ilk--"been in swimming again, have you? in the river, i'll be bound." two little boys, my brother and i would choke out some sort of a mumbling evasion in lieu of a reply. "how did you get your hair wet?" the old man would continue, rising and feeling two guilty little heads. "per-perspiration, sir," we would gasp out faintly. "and that vile odor about you? hey? is that perspiration, too?" sniffing the air with a grim resolution that made our hearts sink. we had been smoking drift-wood, the vilest stuff that anybody can put in his mouth. this was enough to betray us. "it's no use, boys; you needn't say another word," father would add in the face of our desperate and awful {325} attempts at an adequate explanation. "you know what i told you. go to the wood-shed!" oh, that wood-shed! "abandon ye all hope who enter here" should have been written over its door. often mother would interfere--bless her tender heart!--but not always. father was a small man of sedentary habits, not given to athletic exercises. a board across two barrels afforded a convenient resting-place for the arms and breast of the one appointed to receive the corporal punishment, and a barrel stave was an excellent instrument with which to administer it. i said father was a small, weak man. when he got through with us we used to think he would have made a splendid blacksmith. our muscles were pretty strong, and our skin callous--"the hand of little use hath the daintier touch!"--but they were as nothing to his. we always tired of that game before he did, although we played it often. two of us, i recall, have carried large tubs up the steep bank from the river to the train at 4 a. m. on a summer morning, when the circus came to town. we were proud to be privileged to water the elephants, but it killed us to split wood for a day's burning in the kitchen stove. we never were good for anything except assisting the circus people, on circus day. school was torture, and it was generally dismissed. our father was mayor of the town, and the mayor's children usually got in free. on one occasion we yielded to the solicitations of our most intimate friends and assembled thirty of them in a body. this group of children of all ages and sizes--and there was even one lone "nigger" in it--we were to pass through the gate by declaring that we were the mayor's children. "great heavens!" cried the ticket man, appalled {326} at the sight, "how many blame children has the mayor of the town got? is he a mormon, anyway, or what? an' how about that one?" pointing to the darky. father was standing near. we had not seen him. he turned and surveyed the multitude, including the black boy, that we had foisted upon him. it was a humorous situation, but father didn't see it that way. he sent all of us home with a few scathing words. my younger brother and i wanted to go to that circus more than we ever wanted to go to any circus before. we slept in a half-story room with windows opening on the porch roof. that night we climbed out on the roof and slid down the porch to the ground at the risk of breaking our necks. henry and charles met us by appointment. we none of us had any money and we resolved to sneak in, our services at watering the elephants not being considered worthy of a ticket. my brother and i got in safely under the canvas in one place. henry succeeded in effecting an entrance in another, but charles peter van buskirk got caught. a flat board in the hands of a watchman made a close connection with his anatomy. charles was hauled back, well paddled and sent home. circuses were a tabooed subject where he was concerned for some time thereafter. william, my brother, and i clambered through the legs of the crowd on the seats after we got into the canvas tent. as luck would have it, we ran right into the arms of our father. i was paralyzed, but william burst out with a boldness that savored of an inspiration, "why father, you here? i thought you were going to prayer-meeting." everybody laughed, father said nothing; some one made room for us, and we watched the performance {327} with mingled feelings of delight and apprehension. the wood-shed loomed up awfully black as we passed it that night. we held our breath. however, father never said anything to us but, "good night, boys. i hope you had a good time." we certainly had. and we escaped the usual licking, deserved though it was. and it wasn't sunday, either. but where was i? o, yes! charles peter van buskirk one saturday morning announced his intention of going on an expedition across the river. over the river from where we lived was "slab town," dilapidated little settlement of no social or moral consideration. the old captain, the pilot of the wheezy ferry-boat _edgar_, was our sworn friend, and allowed us to ride free as often as we could get away. charles intended crossing the river to get pawpaws. a pawpaw is an easily mashed fruit, three or four inches long, with a tough skin inclosing a very liquid pulp full of seeds, and about as solid as a cream puff, when it is dead ripe. it grows on a low, stunted bush-like tree. we were mighty fond of pawpaws, but little fellows as we were didn't dare to cross the river and venture into "slab town" or its vicinity, for such an excursion within its territory usually provoked a fight with the young ruffians of that hamlet, who hated the village boys as aristocrats. "you'd better not go over there, charles," we advised him timorously. "those slab town boys will take your pawpaws away from you." i can see now the chesty movement with which charles stuck out his breast, threw back his shoulders, curved inward and swung his arms, and went away basket in hand, remarking in a lordly manner; "aw, who's goin' to take _my_ pawpaws?" {328} it was evening when the rash youth returned. he came slinking up the back alley in a vain endeavor to elude observation, but we had a number of his and our friends on the watch for him--to see that he returned safely, of course--and we gave him a royal greeting. we had been true prophets, though without honor in charles's sight. the slab town boys had taken his pawpaws in a spirit of aggressive appropriation, which was bad enough, but with rare and unusual generosity they had afterward returned them to charles. they had not put them back in his basket, however, but had heaped them indiscriminately upon his person. it appears that he must have run for miles pursued by a howling mob of all the ruffians over there, engaged in the happy pastime of throwing soft, mushy pawpaws at him. charles could hardly see; in fact he could hardly walk. he was plastered with pawpaws from his head to his feet. thereafter when we wanted to provoke a fight, all that was necessary when the unappreciated portion of his name was flung at him and was not sufficient to awaken his ire, was to throw out our chests, hold back our shoulders, curve our arms and say in a throaty voice, "who's going to take _my_ pawpaws?" i feel tempted to use the old phrase in certain modern circumstances to-day when it seems to fit some bold and reckless endeavor. i have never forgotten charles's "who's-goin'-to-take-_my_-pawpaws" air! we were sometimes able to get a little money together by doing odd jobs--not for our parents, however, but for the neighbors. we had plenty of odd jobs to do at home, but such work was a matter of obligation and not remunerative, nor was it interesting. with this money henry and i each bought a game-chicken, {329} which we kept cooped up separately in the back lot behind the stable. neither father nor mother knew anything about it, of course. we would let these two game-cocks out half a dozen times a day. they would rush at each other fiercely, but before the battle was fairly on, we would summarily part them, and put them back in their coops, which were placed opposite each other, when they would indulge in chicken-swearing and personalities as much as they desired. their appetites for fighting were whetted indeed. in fact, there was so much animosity engendered between these two birds that they would rush together like two express trains trying to pass each other on the same track whenever they were turned loose. there was no time sparring for time or position. it was fight from the moment they saw each other, although we never let them strike more than one blow or two. a half-minute round was enough for us. i think it really scared us. charles, in spirit of revenge, let them out one day during our absence. when we got back from school we had only one chicken between us. it was a wonderful chicken, for it had beaten the other, although the conquered bird had fought until it had been killed. we burned him on a funeral pyre as a dead gladiator, with much ceremony and boyish speaking. we wanted to sacrifice to his _manes_ a hen as his wife, but finally concluded to abandon that part of the ceremony; mother kept count of the hens, you see. of course, julius caesar (as we named him) had the run of the yard thereafter, there being no one to oppose him. he led a very peaceful life until our next door neighbor bought a large shanghai rooster. i forgot now what particular breed our rooster was, {330} but he was small, not much larger than a bantam. the shanghai rooster, which was a huge monster, had the most provoking crow, large, loud and aggressive. an alley intervened between the yard where he held forth and our yard. one day we came home from school and looked for our chicken. he was gone! we hunted everywhere for him, but could not find him. we missed the crowing of the shanghai rooster, which had been frequent and exasperating, i have no doubt. the yard was very silent. we pursued our investigations with zeal and finally reached the alley. it had been raining heavily for almost a week, and the alley was a mass of black, sticky mud. gazing anxiously over the fence, we heard a feeble chirp from a large gob of mud in the alley. it was our rooster! the shanghai had rashly ventured into supposed neutral ground in that alley and had crowed once too often. the little game cock had squeezed through the fence and come over to investigate the situation. they had fought there in the mud. the mud was too deep for the shanghai to run and the bantam killed him. during the battle the victor had become so covered with mud that he could neither move nor crow nor see. he was in a worse state than charles with the pawpaws, and indifferent to honors. we took him and washed him. he seemed none the worse for his adventure, but that battle must have been a royal one. it was the second one we had not seen! we felt like the roman public deprived of its "_circenses_." we really never did see that chicken fight, for he got the pip or something, a few days after, perhaps from the microbes in the alley, and in spite of our careful nursing, or possibly because of it, he died. he died just in time, too, for after we had put {331} him away with more ceremony than we had used before, father who had got some inkling of the affair, suddenly broke out at supper: "boys, are you keeping game-cocks in the back lot? fighting-chickens, eh?" "no, sir," we both answered meekly, with a clear conscience and a steady eye. we had lots of pets in those days; some time they may serve for another story. the end {335} index a abancay, battle of, 102. acla, spanish settlement, 45-49 aguilar, geronimo de, 122 alcántara, martin de, 54, 106, 107 alderete, the king's treasurer, 205-212 _alfred_, the, jones's first ship, 283 almagrists, the, 106, 111 almagro, diego de, 57-67; 88-93; 101-104; 107 diego, the son, 104, 108, 109 alvarado, pedro de, called tonatiuh, 102, 109, 174, 184, 186, 187, 194 amazon river, 105 america, central, 3 south, 3, 4, 18, 27 anahuac, empire of, 125 andalusia, new, 7 antigua del darien, maria de la, 20, 23-27; 33-41 arbolancha, 42 arguello, the notary, 48, 49 arrows, poisoned, used by indians, 10, 11, 13, 14 astor, john jacob, 261-272 fur trading company, 262 astoria, 262-276 atahualpa, 71-92; 108 avila, pedro arias de, called pedrarias, 32-35; 42-50; 56 ayxacatl, 169,176 aztec empire, 115, 116, 125, 132 holy of holies, 134 wealth, 135 last of the kings, 219 aztecs, the, 69, 116, 125-130; 133, 176, 182-187; 194-198; 215-219 b badajoz, 53 bahamas, the, 4 balboa, vasco nuñez de, accompanies encisco to san sebastian, 19 placed in charge at antigua, 20 seeks to serve nicuesa, 25 further adventures, 31-50 referred to, 107 barron, james, 251, 252 bastidas, an explorer, 5 "battery of the fearless," referred to, 74 (footnote) bay, chesapeake, 4 bentham, jeremy, 248 biddle, major thomas, 255 biru, land of, early name of peru, 56 chieftain named, 56 _bonhomme richard_, the, 285, 286 bowie, james, 252-254 knives, 253 brackett, charles, 305 broderick, senator, 256-258 buccaneers, the, 3 burr, aaron, 248 c cabot, john, 4 cabral, portuguese explorer, 5 caceres, 53 cacique, indian, caonabo, 6 cemaco, 20 careta, of cueva, 36 comagre, 37, 56 of tenepal, 115 monteczuma, so called in cortes's letter, 156 quahpopoca, 172 of tlacuba, 216 cannibalism universal among aztecs, 126 capac, manco, 68, 85, 92, 93, 95, 111, 112 huayna, 71, 108 cape, de la vela, 7 gracias á dios, 7 careta, cacique of cueva, 36 caribbean sea, 3, 13 carrero, alonzo de puerto, 123 cartagena, 10, 18 carvajal, 109-111 castile, golden, 8 king of, 40 joanna of, 41 castro, vaca de, 109 caverns, infernal, of pitt river, 311 caxamarca, massacre of, 73-85 cempoalla, town of, 135 cacique of, 135 people of, 135, 166 central america, 3 chalcuchimo, 72, 85, 92 chapus, field of, 109 charles v., of spain, 82, 88, 92, 95, 109, 137, 147, 217, 218, 220 chase, owen, mate of the _essex_, 231 chaves, francisco de, 106 chesapeake, bay, 4 american ship, 251 chili, almagro goes to, 93 valdivia partially conquers, 109 men of, 102-107 coast of, 231, 237 cholula, 140, 145, 146 cholulans, the, 145, 146, 194 cilley, jonathan, 255, 256 cipango, referred to, 37 claverhouse, compared with cortes, 120 coatzacualco, province of, 115 colmenares, rodrigo de, 23 columbus, christopher, 4, 5, 6, 23, 37, 117, 132 diego, 9, 35 comagre, indian chief, 37, 56 conception, a whaling ground, 231 cordova, gonsalvo de, 117 cortes, hernando (or fernando), mentioned, 9, 75, 107; lands at vera cruz, 116; story of his birth and early life, 117; voyage to santo domingo and cuba, 118; described by helps and diaz, 118-120; expedition to mexico, 120-125; march to tenochtitlan, 130; personal character of, 133; describes tlascala, 138-140; massacres cholulans, 145, 146; describes mexico, 147-162; meets montezuma, 162-167; seizes the emperor, 171-173; mexico rebels against, 175; attacks mexico, 192-218; the end of, 218-223; descriptions of, 223-228 cosa, juan de la, 4, 5, 7, 10, 12 costa rica, 21 coya, the inca's legal wife, 72 crook, george, 301-311 crozier, william, captain of the brig _indian_, 240 cuba, 3, 16, 55, 120 cueyabos, 16 cuitlahua, 136, 176, 191 cuzco, 75, 85, 87, 92, 93, 102-111 d darien, isthmus of, 5, 26, 32, 37, 55, 109 maria de la antigua del, 20, 23-27; 33-41 quevedo, bishop of, 33, 44 _dauphin_, nantucket whaler, 242 davila, another name for pedrarias, 32 (footnote) de candia, 66, 73, 79, 104, 109 decatur, stephen, 251, 252 de soto, hernando, 33, 67, 68; 77-89; 107 despotism, communistic, form of government on south american coast, 68 diaz, bernal, 119, 124, 134, 135, 167, 179 (footnote), 223, 224, 225 porfirio, 224 dickinson, charles, 248-250 dios, nombre de, 23, 36 disappointment, cape, 269, 270 _duras, duc de_, an east indiaman, 285 e el dorado, 9, 57, 59, 93 el galan, nickname of pedrarias, 33 el justador, nickname of pedrarias, 33 encisco, 8; 17-20; 31, 32, 42, 66 english, their first appearance on the south american coast, 5 espinosa, 33, 48, 60 esquivel, juan de, 9 _essex_, the whaleship, 231-242 estremadura, birthplace of the pizarros, 53 birthplace of cortes, 117 f felippo, the interpreter, 82, 89, 90 ferdinand, king, of spain, 5, 7, 41 fiske, john, 4, 43, 63 (footnote), 122, 125, 168, 226 florida, 4 fonseca, bishop, 7, 33 fox, ebenezer, 268, 269 "furor domini," name given to pedrarias, 43 g gallo, island of, 62 garavito, andres, 47 gasca, 110-112 golden castile, 8 gonzales, francisca, 54 gorgona, island of, 63 graves, william j., 255, 256 grijilva, juan de, 120 guatemoc (or guatemotzin), 137, 177, 191, 193, 194, 216, 225 guatemotzin, popular name for guatemoc, 191, 216 guayaquil, gulf of, 67 gulf, of mexico, 3 explorations on, coast, 5 of darien, 5, 20, 55 of uraba, 7 of venezuela, 7 of san miguel, 56 of guayaquil, 67 guzman, tello de, 50 h hamilton, alexander, 248 helps, sir arthur, the historian, referred to, 63 (footnote), 70, 78, 118, 124, 178, 188, 220, 224 herrera, referred to, 179 (footnote) honduras, 4, 5, 8, 13, 219 hopkins, sterling a., 257 horn, cape, 266 horses introduced to the natives of south america, 13 huarina, battlefield of, 110 huascar, son of huayna, 72, 85, 108 huitzilopochtli, aztec god of war, 126, 127, 184 i inca, the young, manco capac, 68 the empire, 69 civilization, 69 "child of the sun," 71 pizarro's capture of the, 75-84 ransom and murder of the, 85-92 and peruvians strike for freedom, 93-102 incas, the, 69-112 _independence_, the, privateer, 284 _indian_, the brig, of london, 240 indian wife, balboa's, 37, 44, 47, 48 indians, warm spring, 302-306 indies, the, 7, 8, 10 isabella, queen, and her court mentioned, 6 island, of gallo, the, 62, 63 (foot-note) of gorgona, the, 63 of puna, 67 island, st. mary's, 231, 242 ducie, 239, 242 of massafera, 240 islands, society, 237 sandwich, 237, 267 cape verde, 264 falkland, 265 vancouver, 271 isles of pearls, 59 isthmus, of darien, 5, 26, 32, 37, 109, 116 of panama, 5, 27, 50, 110 ixlilxochitl, referred to, 179 (footnote) ixtaccihuatl, 144 iztatapalan, 195 j jackson, andrew, 248-250 jamaica, 8, 17 jones, john paul, 281-297 william paul, 290-295 mrs. willie, 290, 296 colonel cadwallader, 296 joy, matthew, mate of the _essex_, 231, 239 juarez, benito, 224 k king, john ii. of france, referred to, 86 (footnote) kirk, referred to, 63 (footnote) l _leopard_, british ship, 251 lepe, an explorer, 5 lewis, james, 263-277 lima, 93, 98, 101, 105, 111 lorenzana, archbishop, referred to, 198 (footnote) louden, mary paul, sister of john paul jones, 291 luque, 60-67 lyons, james, 305 m mckay, 262-277 macnutt, referred to, 128, 225 maddox, dr., 252 madigan, john, 307-311 magellan, referred to, 39 (footnote), 61 (footnote) straits of, 109 main, the spanish, 3, 5 malinal (or marina) 115, 116; 123-125; 135, 145, 219 malinche, shorter form of malintzin, 124, 208, 209, 217 malintzin, aztec name for cortes, 124 marco polo, referred to, 37 maria, donna, daughter of cortes, 223 marina, malinal, baptized as, 124 markham, referred to, 4, 63 (footnote), 78, 87 massacre of caxamarca, 73-85 maxixcatzin, 141 mayas, the, 122 medellin, native city of cortes, 117 mexico, the gulf of, 3, 116 the country of, 53, 127 aztec empire of, 115, 125 shores of, 117 city of, 125, 137, 146-162 republic of, 126, 224 valley of, 144, 218 king of, 217 mexitl, one of the names of aztec war god, 126 montezuma xocoyotzin, emperor of mexico, 115; sends messengers to cortes, 135, 137; described, 136, 137; and the tlascalans, 140, 141; agrees to receive cortes, 143; meeting with cortes, 162-168; seizure of, 171-173; deposed, 176; end of, 178-180 n napoleon at toulon, referred to, 74 (footnote) narvaez, panfilo de, 174, 175 navigators, the fifteenth-century, 4 new andalusia, 7 newity, nootka village, 271 nicuesa, diego de, 3, 5, 8, 20, 27 nombre de dios, 23, 36 nootkas, the, 271 o ojeda, alonza de, 3; heads first important expedition along south american coast, 4; second voyage, 5; arrives at santo domingo, 8; adventures of, 10-19; referred to, 55 olano, lope de, 21, 22, 24 ordaz, 144 orellano, commander under gonzalo pizarro, 105 orgonez, 102, 103 orinoco, the, 4 otumba, valley of, 191 otumies, tribe of, 141 ovando, an explorer with nicuesa, 7 oviedo, quoted, 56, 57, 179 (footnote) p pacific, the, so called by magellan, 39 (footnote) discovery of, 39-42 balboa reaches, 45 painala, town of, 115 lord of, 115 panama, pedrarias dies at, 50 pedrarias the founder and governor of, 56 pizarro living in, 57 pizarro sends ship to, 62 pedro de los rios, governor of, 62 referred to, 63, 65, 66 states, 116 parnell, w. r., 306-311 "pearl coast," the, 4 pedrarias, 32-35; 42-50; 107 perez, gomez, 111, 112 peru, 40, 53, 63, 64, 66, 68, 93, 95, 105, 109, 237 peruvians, the, 69-102 pettis, congressman spencer, 255 philip ii., 65 pizarrists, the, 106 pizarro, francisco, 9, 16, 18, 38-40; 48, 54, 55-107 hernando, 54, 55, 67, 79, 93, 96-108 juan, 54, 96-99 gonzalo, the father, 53, 54 gonzalo, the son, 54, 96-101 pedro, 90 pizarros, the, 46, 67, 96, 104, 105, 108-110 pizons, the, explorers, 5 pollard, james, captain of the _essex_, 231 popocatepetl, 144 popotla, 190 porto rico, 5 potosi, the mines of, 65, 109, 110 prescott, the historian, referred to, 63 (footnote) reference to account of inca civilization by, 69 reference to amount of inca's ransom, according to, 87 q quarequa, indian chief, 39 quetzalcoatl, toltec god, 129, 136 quevedo, bishop of darien, 33 quichua, the language of peru, 82 quinones, antonio de, 202 quito, 71, 91, 105, 109 quiz-quiz, 72, 85 r rada, juan de, 105-112 _ranger_, the, one of jones's ships, 284 ribero, diego de, 21, 22 rios, pedro de los, 62, 65 ruiz, 60-63 (and footnote), 65, 66 s sacsahuaman, 94, 97-99 salamanca, university of, 117 salinas, the plains of, 103 san mateo, 67 san miguel, 41, 56, 73 san sebastian, 14, 16, 17, 19 santiago river, 66 santo domingo, 8, 14, 19, 118 "scourge of god," the, name given to pedrarias, 43 sea, caribbean, 3 sea of the south, so called by balboa, 39 _serapis_, the battle with the, 285-287 shoshone nation, 301-304 slavery, human, introduced into peru by christians, 95 south sea, the, so called by balboa, 39 voyage, 44 pizarro's first sight of, 56 spanish, main, the, 3, 5 court, the, 6, 7 rule in mexico, 226 in peru, 226 "starvation harbor," 58, 59 t tabascans, the, 116, 123, 134 tabasco, 122 tacuba, 190, 199, 206, 216 tafur, pedro, 62-65 talavera, 16, 17 temixtitan, name for mexico, 147, 148, 162 temple of the sun, at cuzco, 87 tenochtitlan, or city of mexico, 125 the march to, 130-137 teocalli, 145 terry, ex-chief justice, 256-258 teules, aztec name for cortes and his followers, 136 texcoco, 136 tezcatlipoca, aztec god, 127 tezcocans, the, 194 tezcoco, province of, 194; lake of, 195 thorn, jonathan, 261-275 tianguizco, 199 tlacopan, 128 tlaloc, aztec god of waters, 126 tlaltelulco, 199 tlascala, 136, 138-140, 141, 190-192 tascalans, the, 140-144, 166, 191-219 toltecs, the, 125, 129, 130 _tonquin_, the ship, 261-277 toparca, 92 torquemada, referred to, 179 (footnote) totonacs, the, 136 toulon, napoleon at, 74 (footnote) treasure, the, of peru, 64 trujillo, 53, 66 tumbez, town of, 65 almagro made governor of, 66 pizarro lands at, 68 u uraba, gulf of, 7 v valdivia, lieutenant of francisco pizarro, 31, 109 valparaiso, 240, 242 valsa, the river, 45 valverde, fra vincente de, 80-83; 90, 91, 111 vega, garcilasso de la, 63 (footnote) vela, blasco nuñez, 109 velasquez, diego de, 118-121; 131 juan, 183-186 venezuela, gulf of, 7 veragua, 5, 13, 27 vera cruz, 116, 130, 134, 135 vespucci, amerigo, 4 w wallace, lew, quoted, 131, 178 weeks, armorer, 269-277 wells, samuel, 252 winsor, 4 x xaquixaguana, valley of, 110, 111 xicalango, traders of, 116 xicotencatl, 141-143 xuaca, 85 y yucatan coast, 122 yucay, mountains of, 100 z zamudio, 20, 31, 32, 35, 38 the duel [illustration: colophon] biographical note alexander kuprin was born in 1870. he passed through the cadet school and military college at moscow, entered the army as lieutenant in 1890, and resigned after seven years to devote himself to literature. the duel _by_ a. kuprin [illustration: text decoration] london: george allen & unwin ltd. ruskin house 40 museum street, w.c. _first published in 1916_ [_an abridged version was published under the title "in honour's name" in 1907_] (_all rights reserved_) the duel i the 6th company's afternoon drill was nearly over, and the junior officers looked with increasing frequency at their watches, and with growing impatience. the rank and file of the new regiment were being instructed in garrison duty. along the whole of the extensive parade-ground the soldiers stood in scattered groups: by the poplars that bordered the causeway, by the gymnastic apparatus, by the door of the company's school, and in the neighbourhood of the butts. all these places were to represent during the drill the most important buildings in the garrison--the commander's residence, the headquarters, the powder magazine, the administration department, etc. sentries were posted and relieved; patrols marched here and there, shouting at and saluting each other in military fashion; harsh non-commissioned officers visited and examined the sentries on duty, trying, sometimes by a trick, sometimes by pretended threats, to fool the soldiers into infringing the rules, e.g. to quit their posts, give up their rifles, to take charge of contraband articles, etc. the older men, who had had previous experience of such practical jokes, were very seldom taken in, but answered rudely, "the tsar alone gives orders here," etc., etc. the young recruits, on the other hand, often enough fell into the snare set for them. "khliabnikov!" a stout little "non-com." cried angrily in a voice which betrayed a passion for ruling. "what did i tell you just now, simpleton? did i put you under arrest? what are you sticking there for, then? why don't you answer?" in the third platoon a tragi-comic scene took place. moukhamedjinov, a young soldier, tartar by birth, was not yet versed in the russian language. he got more and more confused under the commander's irritating and insidious questions. at last he lost his head entirely, brought his rifle to the charge, and threatened all the bystanders with the bayonet. "stop, you madman!" roared sergeant bobuilev. "can't you recognize your own commander, your own captain?" "another step and you are a dead man!" shouted the tartar, in a furious rage. his eyes were bloodshot, and he nervously repelled with his bayonet all who approached him. round about him, but at a respectful distance, a crowd of soldiers flocked together, accepting with joy and gratitude this interesting little interlude in the wearisome drill. sliva, the captain of the company, approached to see what was going on. while he was on the opposite side of the parade-ground, where, with bent back and dragging steps, he tottered slowly backwards and forwards, a few young officers assembled in a small group to smoke and chatter. they were three, all told: lieutenant viätkin, a bald, moustached man of thirty-three, a jovial fellow, chatterbox, singer, and particularly fond of his glass; sub-lieutenant romashov, who had hardly served two years in the regiment; and, lastly, sub-ensign lbov, a lively, well-shaped young man, with an expression of shrewd geniality in his pale eyes and an eternal smile on his thick, innocent lips. he passed for a peripatetic storehouse of anecdotes, specially crammed with old and worn-out officers' stories. "this is an out-and-out scandal," said viätkin, as he looked at his dainty little watch, the case of which he angrily closed with a little click. "what the devil does he mean by keeping the company all this time?" "you should ask him that question, pavel pavlich," replied lbov, with a sly look. "oh, go to the devil! go and ask him yourself. but the point which i want to emphasize is that the whole business is utterly futile; there is always this fuss before the review, and every time they overdo it. the soldiers are so worried and badgered, that at the review they stand like blockheads. do you know that story about the two captains who made a pretty heavy bet as to which of them had in his company the best trencher-man? when one of the 'champions' had consumed seven pounds of bread he was obliged to acknowledge himself beaten. his captain, furious with indignation, sent for his sergeant-major, and said: 'what made you send me a creature like that? after his seventh pound he had to give up, and i've lost my wager!' the poor sergeant-major stared at his superior. 'i don't know what could have happened to him, your excellency. this very morning i rehearsed with him, and then he ate _eight_ pounds without any ado.' it's the same case here, gentlemen. we rehearse without mercy and common-sense up to the very last, and thus, when the tug-of-war comes, the soldier drops down from sheer weariness." "last night," began lbov, who could hardly get his words out for laughing--"last night, when the drill was over, i went to my quarters. it was past eight, and quite dark then. as i was approaching the barracks of the 11th company i heard some ear-piercing music from there. i go there and am told that the men are being taught our horn signals. all the recruits were obliged to sing in chorus. it was a hideous concert, and i asked lieutenant andrusevich how any one could put up with such a row so late at night. he answered laughingly, 'why shouldn't we now and then, like the dogs, howl at the moon?'" "now i can't stand this any longer," interrupted viätkin, with a yawn. "but who's that riding down there? it looks like biek." "yes, it's biek-agamalov," replied sharp-sighted lbov. "look how beautifully he rides." "yes, he does," chimed in romashov. "to my thinking, he rides better than any other of our cavalrymen. but just look at his horse dancing. biek is showing off." an officer, wearing an adjutant's uniform and white gloves, was riding quietly along the causeway. he was sitting on a high, slim-built horse with a gold-coloured and short-clipped tail, after the english fashion. the spirited animal pirouetted under his rider, and impatiently shook its branch-bit by the violent tossings of its long and nobly formed neck. "pavel pavlich, is it a fact that biek is a circassian by birth?" asked romashov. "yes, i think so," answered viätkin. "armenians pretend sometimes that they are circassians or lezghins,[1] but nobody can be deceived with regard to biek. only look how he carries himself on horseback." "wait, i'll call him," said lbov. lbov put his hands to his mouth, and tried to form out of them a sort of speaking-tube, and shouted in a suppressed voice, so as not to be heard by the commander-"lieutenant biek-agamalov!" the officer on horseback pulled the reins, stopped for a second, and swung in the saddle towards the right. then he also turned his horse to the right, bent slightly forward, and, with a springy and energetic movement, jumped the ditch, and rode in a short gallop up to the officers. he was a man somewhat below the medium height, lean, muscular, and very powerful. his countenance, with its receding forehead, delicate, aquiline nose, and strong, resolute lines about the mouth, was manly and handsome, and had not yet got the pale and sickly hue that is so characteristic of the oriental when he is getting on in years. "good-day, biek," was viätkin's greeting. "who was the girl for whom you were exercising your arts of seduction down there, you lady-killer?" biek-agamalov shook hands with the officers, whilst with an easy and graceful movement he bent slightly forward in the saddle. he smiled, and his gleaming white and even row of teeth cast a sort of lustre over the lower part of his face, with its black and splendidly cultivated moustache. "two or three little jewess girls were there, but what is that to do with me? i took no notice of them." "ah! we know well enough how you play the game with ladies," said viätkin jestingly. "i say!" interrupted lbov, with a laugh; "have you heard what general dokturov[2] remarked about the adjutants in the infantry? it ought to interest you, biek. he said they were the most dare-devil riders in the whole world." "no lies, now, ensign," replied biek, as he gave his horse the reins and assumed an expression as if he intended to ride down the joker. "it's true, by god it is! 'they ride,' said he, 'the most wretched "crocks" in the world--spavined "roarers"--and yet, only give the order, and off they fly at the maddest speed over stocks and stones, hedges and ditches--reins loose, stirrups dropped, cap flying, ah!--veritable cantaurs.'" "what news, biek?" asked viätkin. "what news? none. ah! stay. a little while ago the commander of the regiment ran across lieutenant-colonel liekh at mess. liekh, as drunk as a lord, was wobbling against the wall with his hands behind him, and hardly able to stammer out a syllable. shulgovich rushed at him like an infuriated bull, and bellowed in such a way that it might be heard over the whole market-place: 'please remove your hands from the small of your back when you stand in the presence of your commanding officer.' and all the servants witnessed this edifying scene." "ah! that is detestable," chimed in viätkin, laughing. "yesterday, when he favoured the 4th company with a visit, he shouted: 'who dares to thrust the regulations in my face? i am your regulations. not a word more. here i'm your tsar and your god.'" lbov was again laughing at his own thoughts. "gentlemen, have you heard what happened to the adjutant of the 4th regiment?" "keep your eternal stories to yourself, lbov," exclaimed viätkin, interrupting him in a severe tone. "to-day you're worse than usual." "i have some more news to tell," biek-agamalov went on to say, as he again facetiously threatened lbov with his horse, which, snorting and shaking its head, beslavered all around it with foam. "the commander has taken it into his head that the officers of all the companies are to practise sabre-cutting at a dummy. he has aroused a fearful animosity against himself in the 9th company. epifanov was arrested for having neglected to sharpen his sabre. but what are you frightened of, lbov? he isn't dangerous, and you must teach yourself to make friends with these noble animals. it may, you know, some day fall to your lot to be adjutant; but then, i suppose, you will sit your horse as securely as a roast sparrow on a dish." "_retro, satanas!_" cried lbov, who had some difficulty in protecting himself against the horse's froth-covered muzzle. "you've heard, i suppose, what happened to an adjutant of the 4th regiment who bought himself a circus-horse? at the review itself, right before the eyes of the inspecting general, the well-trained beast began to exhibit its proficiency in the 'spanish walk.' you know, i suppose, what that is? at every step the horse's legs are swung high in the air from one side to the other. at last, both horse and rider alighted in the thick of the company. shrieks, oaths, universal confusion, and a general, half-dead with rage, who at last, by a supreme effort, managed to hiss out: 'lieutenant and adjutant, for this exhibition of your skill in riding you have twenty-one days' arrest. march!'" "what rot!" interrupted viätkin in an indignant tone. "i say, biek, the news of the sabre-cutting was by no means a surprise to us. it means that we do not get any free time at all. turn round and see what an abortion some one brought here yesterday." he concluded his sentence by a significant gesture towards the middle of the parade-ground, where a monstrously ugly figure of raw clay, lacking both arms and legs, had been erected. "ha! look there--already. well, have you tried it?" asked biek, his interest excited. "have you had a go at it yet, romashov?" "not yet." "don't you think i've something better to do than occupy myself with rubbish of that sort?" exclaimed viätkin angrily. "when am i to find time for that? from nine in the morning to six at night i have to be here, there, and everywhere, and hardly manage to get a bite or sup. besides, thank god! i've still my wits about me." "what silly talk! an officer ought to be able to handle his sabre." "why? if i may ask. you surely know that in warfare, with the firearms now in use, one never gets within a range of a hundred paces of the enemy. what the devil's the use of a sabre to me? i'm not a cavalryman. when it comes to the point, i shall seize hold of a rifle and--bang! so the matter's simple enough. people may say what they please; the bullet is, after all, the safest." "possibly so; but, even in time of peace, there are still many occasions when the sabre may come in useful--for instance, if one is attacked in street riots, tumults, etc." "and you think i should condescend to exchange cuts with the tag-rag of the streets? no, thank you, my good friend. in such a case i prefer to give the command, 'aim, fire'--and all's said and done." biek-agamalov's face darkened. "you are talking nonsense, pavel pavlich. now answer me this: suppose, when you are taking a walk, or are at a theatre or restaurant, some coxcomb insults you or a civilian boxes your ears. what will you do then?" viätkin shrugged his shoulders and protruded his under lip contemptuously. "in the first place, that kind of man only attacks those who show that they are afraid of him, and, in the second, i have my--revolver." "but suppose the revolver were left at home?" remarked lbov. "then, naturally, i should have to go home and fetch it. what stupid questions! you seem to have clean forgotten the incident of a certain cornet who was insulted at a music-hall by two civilians. he drove home for his revolver, returned to the music-hall, and cheerfully shot down the pair who had insulted him--simple enough." biek-agamalov made an indignant gesture. "we know--we have heard all that, but in telling the story you forget that the cornet in question was convicted of deliberate murder. truly a very pretty business. if i had found myself in a similar situation, i should have----" he did not finish his sentence, but the little, well-formed hand in which he held the reins was clenched so hard that it trembled. lbov was seized with one of his usual paroxysms of laughter. "ah! you're at it again," viätkin remarked severely. "pardon me, gentlemen, but i really couldn't--ha, ha, ha! i happened to think of a tragi-comic scene that was enacted in the 17th regiment. sub-ensign krause on one occasion had a row with some one in an aristocratic club. the steward, to prevent further mischief, seized him so violently by the shoulder-knot that the latter was torn off, whereupon krause drew his revolver and put a bullet through the steward's skull. a little lawyer who incautiously mixed himself up in the game shared the same fate. the rest of the party rushed out of the room like so many frightened hens. but krause quietly proceeded to the camp, and was then challenged by the sentry. 'who goes there?' shouted the sentry. 'sub-ensign krause, who is coming to die by the colours of his regiment'; whereupon he walked straight up to the colours, laid himself down on the ground, and fired a bullet through his left arm. the court afterwards acquitted him." "that was a fine fellow," exclaimed biek-agamalov. then began the young officers' usual favourite conversation on duels, fights, and other sanguinary scenes, whereupon it was stated with great satisfaction that such transgressions of law and municipal order always went unpunished. then, for instance, a story was told about how a drunken, beardless cornet had drawn his sword at random on a small crowd of jews who were returning from keeping the passover; how a sub-lieutenant in the infantry had, at a dancing-hall, stabbed to death an undergraduate who happened to elbow him at the buffet, how an officer at st. petersburg or moscow shot down like a dog a civilian who dared to make the impertinent observation that decent people were not in the habit of accosting ladies with whom they are not acquainted. romashov, who, up to now, had been a silent listener to these piquant stories, now joined in the conversation; but he did so with every sign of reluctance and embarrassment. he cleared his throat, slowly adjusted his eyeglass, though that was not absolutely necessary then, and finally, in an uncertain voice, spoke as follows-"gentlemen, allow me to submit to you this question: in a dispute of that sort it might happen, you know, that the civilian chanced to be a respectable man, even perhaps a person of noble birth. might it not, in that case, be more correct to demand of him an explanation or satisfaction? we should both belong to the cultured class, so to speak." "you're talking nonsense, romashov," interrupted viätkin. "if you want satisfaction from such scum you'll most certainly get the following answer, which is little gratifying: 'ah, well, my good sir, i do not give satisfaction. that is contrary to my principles. i loathe duels and bloodshed--and besides, you can have recourse, you know, to the justice of the peace, in the event of your feeling yourself wronged.' and then, for the whole of your life, you must carry the delightful recollection of an unavenged box on the ears from a civilian." biek-agamalov smiled in approbation, and with more than his usual generosity showed his whole row of gleaming white teeth. "hark you, viätkin, you ought really to take some interest in this sabre-cutting. with us at our home in the caucasus we practise it from childhood--on bundles of wattles, on water-spouts, the bodies of sheep." "and men's bodies," remarked lbov. "and on men's bodies," repeated agamalov with unruffled calm. "and such strokes, too! in a twinkling they cleave a fellow from his shoulder to the hip." "biek, can you perform a test of strength like that?" biek-agamalov sighed regretfully. "no, alas! a sheep, or a calf; i can say i could cleave to the neck by a single stroke, but to cut a full-grown man down to the waist is beyond my power. to my father it would be a trifle." "come, gentlemen, and let us try our strength and sabres on that scarecrow," said lbov, in a determined tone and with flashing eyes. "biek, my dear boy, come with us." the officers went up to the clay figure that had been erected a little way off. viätkin was the first to attack it. after endeavouring to impart to his innocent, prosaic face an expression of wild-beast ferocity, he struck the clay man with all his might and with an unnecessarily big flourish of his sabre. at the same time he uttered the characteristic sound "khryass!" which a butcher makes when he is cutting up beef. the weapon entered about a quarter of an inch into the clay, and viätkin had some trouble to extricate his brave sabre. "wretchedly done," exclaimed agamalov, shaking his head. "now, romashov, it's your turn." romashov drew his sabre from its sheath, and adjusted his eyeglass with a hesitating movement. he was of medium height, lean, and fairly strong in proportion to his build, but through constitutional timidity and lack of interest not much accustomed to handling the weapon. even as a pupil at the military academy he was a bad swordsman, and after a year and a half's service in the regiment he had almost completely forgotten the art. he raised his sabre high above his head, but stretched out, simultaneously and instinctively, his left arm and hand. "mind your hand!" shouted agamalov. but it was too late then. the point of the sabre only made a slight scratch on the clay, and romashov, to his astonishment, who had mis-reckoned on a strong resistance to the steel entering the clay, lost his balance and stumbled forward, whereupon the blade of the sabre caught his outstretched hand and tore off a portion of skin at the lower part of his little finger, so that the blood oozed. "there! see what you've done!" cried biek angrily as he dismounted from his charger. "how can any one handle a sabre so badly? you very nearly cut off your hand, you know. well, that wound is a mere trifle, but you'd better bind it up with your handkerchief. ensign, hold my horse. and now, gentlemen, bear this in mind. the force or effect of a stroke is not generated either in the shoulder or the elbow, but _here_, in the wrist." he made, as quick as lightning, a few rotary movements of his right hand, whereupon the point of his sabre described a scintillating circle above his head. "now look, i put my left hand behind my back. when the stroke itself is to be delivered it must not be done by a violent and clumsily directed blow, but by a vigorous cut, in which the arm and sabre are jerked slightly backwards. do you understand? moreover, it is absolutely necessary that the plane of the sabre exactly coincides with the direction of the stroke. look, here goes!" biek took two steps backwards from the manikin, to which he seemed, as it were, to fasten himself tightly by a sharp, penetrating glance. suddenly the sabre flashed in the air, and a fearful stroke, delivered with a rapidity that the eye could not follow, struck like lightning the clay figure, the upper part of which rolled, softly but heavily, down to the ground. the cut made by the sabre was as smooth and even as if it had been polished. "the deuce, that was something like a cut!" cried the enthusiastic lbov in wild delight. "biek, my dear fellow, of your charity do that over again." "yes, do, biek," chimed in viätkin. but agamalov, who was evidently afraid of destroying the effect he had produced, smiled as he replaced the sabre in its scabbard. he breathed heavily, and at that moment, by his bloodthirsty, wildly staring eyes, his hawk's nose, and set mouth, he put one in mind of a proud, cruel, malignant bird of prey. "that was really nothing remarkable," he exclaimed in a tone of assumed contempt. "at home in the caucasus my old father, although he is over sixty-six, could cut off a horse's head in a trice. you see, my children, everything can be acquired by practice and perseverance. at my home we practise on bundles of fagots tightly twisted together, or we try to cut through a water-spout without the least splash being noticeable. well, lbov, it's your turn now." at that very moment, however, bobuilev, the "non-com.," rushed up to viätkin, with terror depicted on every feature. "your honour! the commander of the regiment is here." "attention!" cried captain sliva's sharp voice from the other side of the parade-ground. the officers hastily made their way to their respective detachments. a large open carriage slowly approached the avenue and stopped at the parade-ground. out of it stepped the commander with great trouble and agony amidst a loud moaning and groaning from the side of the poor carriage. the commander was followed by his adjutant, staff-captain federovski, a tall, slim officer of smart appearance. "good day, 7th company," was his greeting in a careless, indistinct voice. an ear-splitting chorus of soldiers, dispersed over the whole extent of the ground, replied instantly: "god preserve your excellency!" the officers touched their caps. "proceed with the drill," ordered the commander, as he went up to the nearest platoon. colonel shulgovich was evidently not in a good humour. he wandered about the platoons, growling and swearing, all the while repeatedly trying to worry the life out of the unhappy recruits by catch-questions from the "military regulations." time after time he was heard to reel out the most awful strings of insults and threats, and in this he displayed an inventive power and mastery that could hardly be surpassed. the soldiers stood before him, transfixed with terror, stiff, motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, and, as it were, hypnotized by the incessant, steadfast glances, as hard as marble, from those senile, colourless, severe eyes. colonel shulgovich, although much troubled with fatness and advanced in years, nevertheless still contrived to carry his huge, imposing figure. his broad, fleshy face, with its bloated cheeks and deeply receding forehead, was surrounded below by a thick, silvery, pointed beard, whereby the great head came very closely to resemble an awe-inspiring rhomboid. the eyebrows were grey, bushy, and threatening. he always spoke in a subdued tone, but his powerful voice--to which alone he owed his comparatively rapid promotion--was heard all the same as far as the most distant point of the parade-ground, nay! even out on the highroad. "who are you?" asked the colonel, suddenly halting in front of a young soldier named sharafutdinov, who was on sentry duty near the gymnastic apparatus. "recruit in the 6th company, sharafutdinov, your excellency," the tartar answered in a strained and hoarse voice. "fool! i mean, of course, what post are you supposed to occupy?" the soldier, who was frightened by his commander's angry tone, was silent: he could only produce one or two nervous twitchings of the eyebrows. "well?" shulgovich raised his voice. "i--am--standing--on guard," the tartar at last spluttered out, chancing it. "i cannot--understand, your excellency," he went on to say, but he relapsed into silence again, and stood motionless. the colonel's face assumed a dark brick colour, a shade with a touch of blue about it, and his bushy eyebrows began to pucker in an alarming way. beside himself with fury, he turned round and said in a sharp tone-"who is the youngest officer here?" romashov stepped forward and touched his cap. "i am, colonel." "ha--sub-lieutenant romashov, you evidently train your men well. stand at attention and stretch your legs," bawled shulgovich suddenly, his eyes rolling. "don't you know how to stand in the presence of your commanding officer? captain sliva, i beg to inform you that your subaltern officer has been lacking in the respect due to his chief. and you, you miserable cur," he now turned towards the unhappy sharafutdinov, "tell me the name of your commander." "i don't know," replied sharafutdinov quickly, but in a firm tone in which, nevertheless, a melancholy resignation might be detected. "oh, _i_ ask you the name of your colonel. do you know who i am? i--i--i!" and shulgovich drummed with the flat of his hand several times on his broad chest. "i don't know." the colonel delivered himself of a string of about twenty words of cynical abuse. "captain sliva, i order you at once to exhibit this son of a sea-cook, so that all may see him, with rifle and heavy accoutrements, and let him stand there till he rots. and as for you, sub-lieutenant, i know well enough that loose women and flirtation interest you more than the service does. in waltzing and reading paul de kock you're said to be an authority, but as to performing your duties, instructing your men--that, of course, is beneath your dignity. just look at this creature" (he gave sharafutdinov a sound slap on the mouth)--"is this a russian soldier? no, he's a brute beast, who does not even recognize his own commanding officer. you ought to be ashamed of yourself." romashov stared speechlessly at his chief's red and rage-distorted countenance. he felt his heart threatening to burst with shame and indignation. suddenly, almost unconsciously, he burst out in a hollow voice-"colonel, this fellow is a tartar and does not understand a word of our language, and besides...." but he did not finish his sentence. shulgovich's features had that very instant undergone a ghastly change. his whole countenance was as white as a corpse's, his withered cheeks were transfused with sharp, nervous puckers, and his eyes assumed a terrible expression. "wh-at!" roared he in a voice so unnatural and awe-inspiring that a little crowd of jew boys, who, some distance from the causeway, were sitting on the fence on which they had swarmed, were scattered like sparrows--"you answer back? silence! a raw young ensign permits himself to---lieutenant federovski, enter in my day-book that i have ordered sub-lieutenant romashov four days' arrest in his room for breach of discipline. and captain sliva is to be severely rebuked for neglecting to instil into his junior officers 'a true military spirit.'" the adjutant saluted respectfully without any sign of fear. captain sliva stood the whole time bending slightly forward, with his hand to his cap, and quivering with emotion, though without altering a feature of his wooden face. "i cannot help being surprised at you, captain sliva," again grunted shulgovich, who had now to some extent regained his self-control. "how is it possible that you, who are one of the best officers in the regiment, and, moreover, old in the service, can let your youngsters run so wild? they want breaking in. it is no use to treat them like young ladies and being afraid of hurting them." with these words he turned his back on the captain, and, followed by the adjutant, proceeded to the carriage awaiting him. whilst he was getting into the carriage, and till the latter had turned round behind the corner of the regimental school, a dull, painful silence reigned in the parade-ground. "ah! you dear old ducky," exclaimed captain sliva in a dry tone and with deep contempt, when the officers had, some minutes later, separated. "now, gentlemen, i suppose i, too, ought to say a couple of loving words to you. learn to stand at attention and hold your jaw even if the sky falls--etc. to-day i've had a wigging for you before the whole of my company. who saddled me with you? who asked for your services? not i, at any rate. you are, for me and my company, about as necessary as a fifth leg is to a dog. go to the deuce, and return to your feeding-bottle." he finished his bitter lecture with a weary, contemptuous movement of his hand, and dragged himself slowly away in the direction of his dark, dirty, cheerless bachelor quarters. romashov cast a long glance at him, and gazing at the tall, thin figure, already bent with age, as well as by the affront just endured, he felt a deep pity for this lonely, embittered man whom nobody loved, who had only two interests in the whole world--correct "dressing" of the 6th company when marching at a review, and the dear little schnapps bottle which was his trusty and sole companion till bedtime. and whereas romashov also had the absurd, silly habit, which is often peculiar to young people, viz. in his introspection to think of himself as a third party, and then weave his noble personality into a sentimental and stilted phrase from novelettes, our soft-hearted lieutenant now expressed his opinion of himself in the following touching manner-"and over his kindly, expressive eyes fell the shadow of grief." ii the soldiers marched home to their quarters in platoon order. the square was deserted. romashov stood hesitating for a moment at the causeway. it was not the first time during the year and a half he had been in the service he had experienced that painful feeling of loneliness, of being lost among strangers either hostile or indifferent, or that distressful hesitation as to where one shall spend the evening. to go home or spend the evening at the officers' mess was equally distasteful to him. at the latter place, at that time of day, there was hardly a soul, at most a couple of ensigns who, whilst they drank ale and smoked to excess and indulged in as many oaths and unseemly words as possible, played pyramids in the wretched little narrow billiard-room; in addition to all this, the horrible smell of food pervading all the rooms. "i shall go down to the railway-station," said romashov at last. "that will be something to do." in the poor little town, the population of which mainly consisted of jews, the only decent restaurant was that at the railway-station. there were certainly two clubs--one for officers, the other for the civilian "big-wigs" of the community. they were both, however, in a sorry plight, and on these grounds the railway restaurant had become the only place where the inhabitants assembled to shake off the dust of everyday life, and to get a drink or a game at cards. even the ladies of the place accompanied their male protectors there, chiefly, however, to witness the arrival of the trains and scrutinize the passengers, which always offered a little change in the dreary monotony of provincial life. romashov liked to go down to the railway-station of an evening at the time when the express arrived, which made its last stop before reaching the prussian frontier. with a curious feeling of excitement and tension, he awaited the moment when the train flashed round a sharp curve of the line, the locomotive's fiery, threatening eye grew rapidly in size and intensity, and, at the next second, thundered past him a whole row of palatial carriages. "like a monstrously huge giant that suddenly checks himself in the middle of a furious leap," he thought, the train came to an abrupt stop before the platform. from the dazzling, illuminated carriages, that resembled a fairy palace, stepped beautiful and elegant ladies in wonderful hats, gentlemen dressed according to the latest paris fashion, who, in perfect french or german, greeted one another with compliments or pointed witticisms. none of the passengers took the slightest notice of romashov, who saw in them a striking little sample of that envied and unattainable world where life is a single, uninterrupted, triumphal feast. after an interval of eight minutes a bell would ring, the engine would whistle, and the _train de luxe_ would flit away into the darkness. the station would be soon deserted after this, and the lights lowered in the buffet and on the platform, where romashov would remain gazing with melancholy eyes, after the lurid gleam of the red lamp of the rear coach, until it disappeared in the gloom like an extinguished spark. "i shall go to the station for a while," romashov repeated to himself once more, but when he cast a glance at his big, clumsy goloshes, bespattered with clay and filth, he experienced a keen sense of shame. all the other officers in the regiment wore the same kind of goloshes. then he noticed the worn buttonholes of his shabby cloak, its many stains, and the fearfully torn lower border that almost degenerated into a sort of fringe at the knees, and he sighed. one day in the previous week he had, as usual, been promenading the platform, looking with curiosity at the express train that had just arrived, when he noticed a tall, extraordinarily handsome lady standing at the open door of a first-class carriage. she was bare-headed, and romashov managed to distinguish a little, straight, piquant nose, two charming, pouting lips, and a splendid, gleaming black head of hair which, parted in the middle of her forehead, stole down to her coquettish little ears. behind her, and looking over her shoulder, stood a gigantic young man in a light suit, with a scornful look, and moustaches after the style affected by kaiser wilhelm. in fact, he bore a certain resemblance to wilhelm. the lady looked at romashov, it seemed to him with an expression of interest, and he said to himself: "the fair unknown's eyes rested with pleasure on the young warrior's tall, well-formed figure." but when, after walking on a few steps, he turned round to catch the lady's eyes again, he saw that both she and her companion were looking after him and laughing. in that moment he saw himself from outside, as it were--his awful goloshes, his cloak, pale face, stiff, angular figure--and experienced a feeling of shame and indignation at the thought of the bombastic, romantic phrase he had just applied to himself. ah! even at this moment, when he was walking along the road in the gloomy spring evening, he flushed at that torturing recollection. "no, i shall not go to the station," he whispered to himself with bitter hopelessness. "i'll take a little stroll and then go straight home." it was in the beginning of april. the dusk was deepening into night. the poplars that bordered the road, the small white houses with their red-tiled roofs, the few wanderers one met in the street at this hour--all grew darker, lost colour and perspective. all objects were changed into black shadow, the lines of which, however, still showed distinctly against the dark sky. far away westwards, outside the town, the sunset still gleamed fiery red. vast dark-blue clouds melted slowly down into a glowing crater of streaming, flaming gold, and then assumed a blood-red hue with rays of violet and amber. but above the volcano, like a dome of varying green, turquoise and beryl, arose the boundless sky of a luminous spring night. romashov looked steadily at this enchanting picture whilst he slowly and laboriously dragged himself and his goloshes along the causeway. as he always did, even from childhood, he even now indulged in fancies of a mysterious, marvellous world that waited for and beckoned to him in the far distance, beyond the sunset. just there--there behind the clouds and the horizon--is hidden a wonderfully beautiful city lighted up by the beams of a sun invisible from here, and protected against our eyes by heavy, inexorable, threatening clouds. there the human eye is blinded by streets paved with gold; there, to a dazzling height, the dome-capped towers rise above the purple-hued roofs, where the palace windows shimmer in the sun like innumerable gems, where countless flags and banners resplendent with colour sway in the breeze. and in this fairy city throng bands of rejoicing people, whose whole life is nothing but an endless, intoxicating feast, a chord of harmony and bliss vibrating for ever and ever. in paradisaical parks and gardens, amidst fountains and flowers, stroll godlike men and women fair as the day, who have never yet known an unfulfilled desire, who have never yet experienced sorrow and struggle and shame. romashov suddenly called to mind the painful scene in the parade-ground, the commander's coarse invectives and that outrageous insult in the presence of his comrades and subordinates. ah! what affected him most bitterly of all was that a person had railed at him before the soldiers in the same rough and ruthless way as he himself, alas! had only too often done to his subordinates. this he felt almost as a degradation, nay, even as a debasement of his dignity as a human being. then awoke within him, exactly as was the case in his early youth--alas! in many respects he still much resembled a big child--feelings at once revengeful, fantastic, and intoxicating. "stuff and nonsense!" he shouted out to himself. "all my life is before me." and, as it were, in keeping with his thoughts, he took firmer strides, and breathed more deeply. "to-morrow to spite them all i shall rise with the sun, stick to my books, and force an entrance into the military academy. hard work? i can work hard if i like. i must take myself in hand, that is all. i'll read and cram like fury, early and late, and then, some fine day, to every one's astonishment, i shall pass a brilliant examination. and then, of course, every one will say: 'this was nothing unexpected, we might have foretold that long ago. such an energetic, talented young man!'" and our romashov already saw himself in his mind's eye with a snug staff appointment and unlimited possibilities in the future. his name stood engraved on the golden tablet of the military academy. the professors had predicted a brilliant career for him, tried to retain him as a lecturer at the academy, etc. etc.--but in vain. all his tastes were for the practical side, for troop service. he had also first to perform his duties as company officer, and as a matter of course--yes, _as a matter of course_--in his old regiment. he would, therefore, have to make another appearance here--in this disgusting little out-of-the-way hole--as a staff officer uncommonly learned and all-accomplished, in every respect unsurpassable, well-bred and elegant, inexorably severe to himself, but benevolently condescending towards others, a pattern for all, envied by all, etc. etc. he had seen at the manoeuvres in the previous year a similar prodigy, who stood millions of miles above the rest of mankind, and who, therefore, kept himself far apart from his comrades at the officers' mess. cards, dice, heavy drinking and noisy buffoonery were not in his line; he had higher views. besides, he had only honoured with a short visit that miserable place, which for him was only a stage, a step-ladder on the road to honour--and decorations. and romashov pursued his fancies. the grand manoeuvres have begun, and the battalion is busy. colonel shulgovich, who never managed to make out the strategical or tactical situation, gets more and more muddled in his orders, commands and countermands, marches his men aimlessly here and there, and has already got two orderlies at him, bringing severe reprimands from the commander of the corps. "look here, captain," says shulgovich, turning to his former sub-lieutenant, "help me out of this. we are old and good friends, you know--well, we did have a little difference on one occasion. now tell me what i ought to do." his face is red with anxiety and vexation; but romashov sits straight in the saddle, salutes stiffly, and in a respectful but freezing tone replies: "pardon, colonel. _your_ duty is to advance your regiment in accordance with the commander's order; _mine_ is only to receive your instructions and to carry them out to the best of my ability." in the same moment a third orderly from the commander approaches at a furious gallop. romashov, the brilliant staff officer, rises higher and higher towards the pinnacles of power and glory. a dangerous strike has taken place at a steel manufactory. romashov's company is charged with the difficult and hazardous task of restoring peace and order amongst the rioters. night and gloom, incendiarism, a flaming sea of fire, an innumerable, hooting, bloodthirsty mob, a shower of stones. a stately young officer steps in front of the company, his name is romashov. "brothers," cries he, in a strong but melodious voice, "for the third and last time i beseech you to disperse, otherwise--i shall fire." wild shouts, derisive laughter, whistling. a stone hits romashov on the shoulder, but his frank, handsome countenance maintains its unalterable calm. slowly he turns towards his soldiers, whose eyes scintillate with rage at the insolent outrage that some one had dared to commit on their idolized captain. a few brief, energetic words of command are heard, "line and aim--fire!" a crashing report of rifles, immediately followed by a roar of rage and despair from the crowd. a few score dead and wounded lie where they have fallen; the rest flee in disorder or beg for mercy and are taken prisoners. the riot is quelled, and romashov awaits a gracious token of the tsar's gratitude and favour, together with a special reward for the heroism he displayed. then comes the longed-for war. nay, even before the war he is sent by the war office to germany as a spy on the enemy's military power near the frontier. perfectly familiar with the german language, he enters upon his hazardous career. how delightful is such an adventure to a brave and patriotic man! absolutely alone, with a german passport in his pocket and a street organ on his back, he wanders from town to town, from village to village, grinds out tunes, collects coppers, plays the part of a simple lout, and meanwhile obtains, in all secrecy, plans and sketches of fortresses, stores, barracks, camps, etc., etc. foes and perils lie in wait for him every minute. his own government has left him helpless and unprotected. he is virtually an outlaw. if he succeeds in his purpose, honours and rewards of all kinds await him. should he be unmasked, he will be condemned straight off to be shot or hanged. he sees himself standing in the dark and gloomy trench, confronted by his executioners. out of compassion they fasten a white cloth before his eyes; but he tears it away and throws it to the ground with the proud words, "do you not think an officer can face death?" an old colonel replies, in a quivering voice: "listen, my young friend. i have a son of the same age as you. i will spare you. tell us your name--tell us, at any rate, your nationality, and the death sentence will be commuted to imprisonment." "i thank you, colonel; but it is useless. do your duty." then he turns to the soldiers, and says to them in a firm voice in german: "comrades, there is only one favour i would crave: spare my face, aim at my heart." the officer in command, deeply moved, raises his white pocket-handkerchief--a crashing report--and romashov's story is ended. this picture made such a lively impression on his imagination that romashov, who was already very excited and striding along the road, suddenly stopped short, trembling all over. his heart beat violently, and he clenched his hands convulsively. he gained, however, command over himself immediately, and smiling compassionately at himself, he continued on his way in the darkness. but it was not long before he began to conjure up fresh pictures in his imagination. the cruel war with prussia and austria, long expected and prepared for, had come. an enormous battlefield, corpses everywhere, havoc, annihilation, blood, and death. it was the chief battle, on the issue of which the whole war depended. the decisive moment had arrived. the last reserves had been brought up, and one was waiting anxiously for the russian flanking column to arrive in time to attack the enemy in the rear. at any cost the enemy's frantic attack must be met without flinching. the most important and threatened position on the field was occupied by the kerenski regiment, which was being decimated by the concentrated fire of the enemy. the soldiers fight like lions without yielding an inch, although the whole line is being mowed down by a murderous fire of shells. every one feels that he is passing through an historical moment. a few more seconds of heroic endurance and victory will be snatched out of the enemy's hands. but colonel shulgovich wavers. he is a brave man--that must be admitted--but the perils of a fight like this are too much for his nerves. he turns pale and trembles. the next moment he signals to the bugler to sound the retreat, and the latter has already put the bugle to his lips, when, that very moment, colonel romashov, chief of the staff, comes dashing from behind the hill on his foaming arab steed. "colonel, we dare not retreat. the fate of russia will be decided here." shulgovich begins blustering. "colonel romashov, it is i who am in command and must answer to god and the tsar. the regiment must retire--blow the bugle." but romashov snatches the bugle from the bugler's hand and hurls it to the ground. "forward, my children!" he shouts; "the eyes of your emperor and your fellow-countrymen are fixed on you." "hurrah!" with a deafening shout of joy the soldiers, led by romashov, rush at the foe. everything disappears in a chasm of fire and smoke. the enemy wavers, and soon his lines are broken; but behind him gleam the russian bayonets. "the victory is ours! hurrah, comrades"---romashov, who no longer walked but ran, gesticulating wildly, at last stopped and gradually became himself again. it seemed to him as if some one with fingers cold as ice had suddenly passed them over his back, arms, and legs, his hair bristled, and his strong excitement had brought tears to his eyes. he had no notion how he suddenly found himself near his quarters, and, as he recovered from his mad fancies, he gazed with astonishment at the street door he knew so well, at the neglected fruit-garden within which stood the little whitewashed wing where he lodged. "how does all this nonsense get into my head?" said he, with a sense of shame and a shrug of his shoulders in self-contempt. iii when romashov reached his room he threw himself, just as he was, with cap and sabre, on his bed, and for a long time he lay there motionless, staring up at the ceiling. his head burned, his back ached; and he suffered from a vacuum within him as profound as if his mind was incapable of harbouring a feeling, a memory, or a thought. he felt neither irritation nor sadness, but he was sensible of a suffocating weight on his heart, of darkness and indifference. the shades of a balmy april night fell. he heard his servant quietly occupied with some metal object in the hall. "curiously enough," said he to himself, "i have read somewhere or other that one cannot live a single second without thinking. but here i lie and think about absolutely nothing. isn't that so? perhaps it is just this: i am thinking that _i am thinking about nothing_. it even seems as if a tiny wheel in my brain is in motion. and see here a new reflection, an objective introspection--i am also thinking of----" he lay so long and tortured himself with such forced mental images that returned in an eternal circle that it finally became physically repulsive to him. it was just as if a great loathsome spider, from which he could not extricate himself, was softly groping about _under his brain_. at last he raised his head from the pillows and called out-"hainán." at that very moment was heard a tremendous crash of something falling and rolling on the floor. it was probably the funnel belonging to the samovar which had dropped. the door was opened hastily and shut again with a loud bang. the servant burst into the room, making as much noise in opening and shutting the door as if we were running away from some one. "it is i, your honour," shrieked hainán in a fear-stricken voice. "has there been any message from lieutenant nikoläiev?" "no, your excellency," replied hainán in the same shrieking tone. between the officer and his servant there existed a certain simple, sincere, affectionately familiar relationship. when the question only required the usual stereotyped, official answer, e.g. "yes, your excellency," "no, your excellency," etc., then hainán shrieked the words in the same wooden, soulless, and unnatural way as soldiers always do in the case of their officers, and which, from their first days in the recruit school, becomes ineradicably ingrained in them as long as they live. hainán was by birth a circassian, and by religion an idolater. this latter circumstance gave great satisfaction to romashov, because among the young officers of the regiment the silly and boyish custom prevailed of training their respective servants to be something unique, or of teaching them certain semi-idiotic answers and phrases. for instance, when his friends paid him a visit, viätkin used to say to his orderly, a moldavian, "busioskul, have we any champagne in the cellar?" and busioskul would answer with imperturbable gravity, "no, your excellency. last night you were pleased to drink up the last dozen." another officer, sub-lieutenant epifanov, amused himself by putting to his servant learned and difficult questions which he himself could hardly answer. "listen, my friend, what are your views on the restoration of the monarchy in france at the present day?" the servant answers, "your honour, it will, i think, succeed." lieutenant bobetinski had written down a whole catechism for his flunkey, and the latter trained genius replied frankly and unhesitatingly to the most absurd questions, e.g. "why is this important for the third?" answer--"for the third this is not important." "what is holy church's opinion about it?" answer--"holy church has no opinion about it." the same servant would declaim, with the quaintest, semi-tragical gestures, pinen's rôle in "boris-gudunov." it was also usual and much appreciated to make him express himself in french: "bong shure, musseur. bon nuite, moussier. vulley vous du tay, musseur?" etc. etc., in that style. all these follies naturally arose from the dullness of that little garrison town, and the narrowness of a life from which all interests were excluded except those belonging to the service. romashov often talked to hainán about his gods--about whom the circassian had only dim and meagre ideas; but it amused him greatly to make hainán tell the story of how he took the oath of allegiance to the tsar and russia--a story well worth hearing now and then. at that time the oath of allegiance was, for the orthodox, administered by a priest of the greek church; for catholics, by the _ksends_[3]; for protestants, when a lutheran pastor was not available, by staff-captain ditz; and for mohammedans, by lieutenant biek-agamalov. for hainán and two of his fellow-countrymen a particular and highly original form had been authorized. the three soldiers were ordered to march in turn up to the adjutant of the regiment, and from the point of the sabre held towards them they were required to bite off, with deep reverence, a piece of bread that had been dipped in salt. under no circumstances was the bread to be touched by their hands. the symbolism of this curious ceremony was as follows: when the circassian had eaten his lord's--the tsar's--bread and salt in this peculiar way he was ruthlessly condemned to die by the sword if he ever failed in loyalty and obedience. hainán was evidently very proud of having thus taken his oath of allegiance to the tsar, and he never got tired of relating the circumstance; but as every time he told his story he adorned it with fresh inventions and absurdities, it became at last a veritable münchausen affair, which was always received with homeric laughter by romashov and his guests. hainán now thought that his master would start his usual questions about gods and adjutants, and stood ready to begin with a cunning smile on his face, when romashov said-"that will do; you can go." "shall i not lay out your honour's new uniform?" asked the ever-attentive hainán. romashov was silent and pondered. first he would say "yes," then "no," and again "yes." at last, after a long, deep sigh, uttered in the descending scale, he replied in a tone of resignation-"no, hainán, never mind about that--get the samovar ready and then run off to the mess for my supper." "i will stay away to-day," whispered he to himself. "it doesn't do to bore people to death by calling on them like that every day. and, besides, it is plain i am not a man people long for." his resolution to stay at home that evening seemed fixed enough, and yet an inner voice told him that even to-day, as on most other days during the past three months, he would go to the nikoläievs'. every time he bade these friends of his good-bye at midnight, he had, with shame and indignation at his own weakness and lack of character, sworn to himself on his honour that he would not pay another call there for two or three weeks. nay, he had even made up his mind to give up altogether these uncalled-for visits. and all the while he was on his way home, whilst he was undressing, ah! even up to the moment he fell asleep, he believed it would be an easy matter for him to keep his resolution. the night went by, the morning dawned, and the day dragged on slowly and unwillingly, evening came, and once more an irresistible force drew him to this handsome and elegant abode, with its warm, well-lighted, comfortable rooms, where peace, harmony, cheerful and confidential conversation, and, above all, the delightful enchantment of feminine beauty awaited him. romashov sat on the edge of his bed. it was already dark, but he could, nevertheless, easily discern the various objects in his room. oh, how he loathed day by day his mean, gloomy dwelling, with its trumpery, tasteless furniture! his lamp, with its ugly shade that resembled a night-cap, on the inconvenient, rickety writing-table, looked haughtily down on the nerve-torturing alarm-clock and the dirty, vulgar inkstand that had the shape of a badly modelled pug-dog. over his head something intended to represent a wall decoration--a piece of felt on which had been embroidered a terrible tiger and a still more terrible arab riding on horseback, armed with a spear. in one corner a tumbledown bookstand, in the other the fantastic silhouette of a hideous violoncello case. over the only window the room could boast a curtain of plaited straw rolled up into a tube. behind the door a clothes-stand concealed by a sheet that had been white in prehistoric times. every unmarried subaltern officer had the same articles about him, with the exception of the violoncello which romashov had borrowed from the band attached to the regiment--in which it was completely unnecessary--with the intention of developing on it his musical talent. but as soon as he had tried in vain to teach himself the c major scale, he tired of the thing altogether, and the 'cello had now stood for more than a year, dusty and forgotten, in its dark corner. more than a year ago romashov, who had just left the military college, had taken both pride and joy in furnishing his modest lodgings. to have a room of his own, his own things, to choose and buy household furniture according to his own liking, to arrange everything according to his own consummate taste--all that highly flattered the _amour propre_ of that young man of two-and-twenty. it seemed only yesterday that he sat on the school form, or marched in rank and file with his comrades off to the general mess-room to eat, at the word of command, his frugal breakfast. to-day he was his own master. and how many hopes and plans sprang into his brain in the course of those never-to-be-forgotten days when he furnished and "adorned" his new home! what a severe programme he composed for his future! the first two years were to be devoted chiefly to a thorough study of classical literature, french and german, and also music. after that, a serious preparation for entering the staff college was to follow. it was necessary to study sociology and society life, and to be abreast of modern science and literature. romashov therefore felt himself bound at least to subscribe to a newspaper and to take in a popular monthly magazine. the bookstand was adorned with wundt's _psychology_, lewes's _physiology_, and smiles's _self-help_, etc., etc. but for nine long months have the books lain undisturbed on their shelves, forgotten by hainán, whose business it is to dust them. heaps of newspapers, not even stripped of their wrappers, lie cast in a pile beneath the writing-table, and the æsthetic magazine to which we just referred has ceased to reach romashov on account of repeated "irregularities" with regard to the half-yearly payment. sub-lieutenant romashov drinks a good deal of vodka at mess; he has a tedious and loathsome liaison with a married woman belonging to the regiment, whose consumptive and jealous husband he deceives in strict accordance with all the rules of art; he plays _schtoss_,[4] and more and more frequently comes into unpleasant collisions both in the service and also in the circles of his friends and acquaintances. "pardon me, your honour," shouted his servant, entering the room noisily. then he added in a friendly, simple, good-natured tone: "i forgot to mention that a letter has come from mrs. peterson. the orderly who brought it is waiting for an answer." romashov frowned, took the letter, tore open a long, slender, rose-coloured envelope, in a corner of which fluttered a dove with a letter in its beak. "light the lamp, hainán," said he to his servant. my dear darling irresistible little georgi (read romashov in the sloping, crooked lines he knew so well),--for a whole week you have not been to see me, and yesterday i was so miserable without you that i lay and wept the whole night. remember that if you fool me or deceive me i shall not survive it. one single drop of poison and i shall be freed from my tortures for ever; but, as for you, conscience shall gnaw you for ever and ever. you must--must come to me to-night at half-past seven. _he_ is not at home, he is somewhere--on tactical duty or whatever it is called. do come! i kiss you a thousand thousand times. yours always, raisa. p.s.- have you forgotten the river fast rushing, under the willow-boughs wending its way, kisses you gave me, dear, burning and crushing, when in your strong arms i tremblingly lay? p.ss.--you must absolutely attend the soirée next saturday at the officers' mess. i will give you the third quadrille. you understand. a long way down on the fourth page lay written- i have kissed here. this delightful epistle wafted the familiar perfume of persian lilac, and drops of that essence had, here and there, left yellow stains behind them on the letter, in which the characters had run apart in different directions. this stale scent, combined with the tasteless, absurdly sentimental tone throughout this letter from a little, immoral, red-haired woman, excited in romashov an intolerable feeling of disgust. with a sort of grim delight he first tore the letter into two parts, laid them carefully together, tore them up again, laid the bits of paper once more together, and tore them again into little bits till his fingers got numb, and then, with clenched teeth and a broad, cynical grin, threw the fragments under his writing-table. at the same time, according to his old habit, he had time to think of himself in the third person-"and he burst out into a bitter, contemptuous laugh." a moment later he realized that he would have to go that evening to the nikoläievs'. "but this is the last time." after he had tried to deceive himself by these words, he felt for once happy and calm. "hainán, my clothes." he made his toilet hastily and impatiently, put on his elegant new tunic, and sprinkled a few drops of eau-de-cologne on a clean handkerchief; but when he was dressed, and ready to go, he was stopped suddenly by hainán. "your honour," said the circassian, in an unusually meek and supplicating tone, as he began to execute a most curious sort of dance before his master. whilst he was performing a kind of "march on the spot" he lifted his knees right up, one after the other, rocking his shoulders, nodding his head, and making a series of convulsive movements in the air with his arms and fingers. hainán was in the habit of giving vent to his excited feelings by curious gestures of that sort. "what do you want now?" "your honour," stammered hainán, "i want to ask you something; please give me the white gentleman." "the white gentleman? what white gentleman?" "the one you ordered me to throw away--the one standing in that corner." hainán pointed with his fingers to the stove-corner, where a bust of pushkin was standing on the floor. this bust, which romashov had obtained from a wandering pedlar, really did not represent the famous poet, but merely reproduced the forbidding features of an old jew broker. badly modelled, so covered with dust and fly dirt as to be unrecognizable, the stone image aroused romashov's aversion to such an extent that he had at last made up his mind to order hainán to throw it into the yard. "what do you want with it?" asked romashov, laughing. "but take it by all means, take it, i am only too pleased. i don't want it, only i should like to know what you are going to do with it." hainán smiled and changed from one foot to the other. "well, take him, then; i wish you joy of it. by the way, do you know who it is?" hainán smiled in an embarrassed way, and infused still more energy into his caperings. "no--don't know." hainán rubbed his lips with his coat sleeve. "so you don't know. well, listen. this is pushkin--alexander sergievich pushkin. did you understand me? now repeat--'alexander sergievich----'" "besiäev," repeated hainán in a determined tone. "besiäev? well, call him besiäev if you like. now i am off. should any message come from mr. and mrs. peterson, say i'm not at home, and you don't know where i have gone. do you understand? but if any one wants me in the way of business connected with the regiment, run down at once for me at lieutenant nikoläiev's. you may fetch my supper from the mess and eat it yourself. good-bye, old fellow." romashov gave his servant a friendly smack on his shoulder, which was answered by a broad, happy, familiar smile. iv when romashov reached the yard it was quite dark. he stumbled like a blind man into the street, his huge goloshes sank deep into the thick, stiff mud, and every step he took was accompanied by a smacking noise. now and again one golosh stuck so fast in the mud of the road that it remained there, and he had all the difficulty in the world, whilst balancing himself wildly on his other foot, to recover his treasure. the little town seemed to him to be absolutely dead. not a sound was heard, even the dogs were silent. here and there a gleam of light streamed from the small, low-pitched, white house, against which the window-sills sharply depicted their shapes in the yellowish-brown mire. from the wet and sticky palings along which romashov slowly worked his way, from the raw, moist bark of the poplars, from the dirty road itself, there arose a strong, refreshing scent of spring, which aroused a certain unconscious sense of joy and comfort. nay, even with the tormenting gale which swept violently through the streets seemed mingled a youthful, reawakened desire of life, and the gusts of wind chased one another like boisterous and sportive children in a "merry-go-round." when romashov reached the house where the nikoläievs dwelt, he stopped, despondent and perplexed. the close, cinnamon-coloured curtains were let down, but behind them one could, nevertheless, distinguish the clear, even glow of a lamp. on one side the curtain curved inwards and formed a long, small chink against the window-sill. romashov pressed his face cautiously against the window, and hardly dared to breathe for fear of betraying his presence. he could distinguish alexandra petrovna's head and shoulders. she was sitting in a stooping attitude on that green rep divan that he knew so well. from her bowed head and slight movements he concluded that she was occupied with some needlework. suddenly she straightened herself up, raised her head, and drew a long breath. her lips moved. "what is she saying?" thought romashov. "and look! now she's smiling. how strange to see through a window a person talking, and not to be able to catch a word of what she says." the smile, however, suddenly disappeared from alexandra petrovna's face; her forehead puckered, and her lips moved rapidly and vehemently. directly afterwards she smiled again, but wickedly and maliciously, and with her head made a slow gesture of disapproval. "perhaps they are talking about me," thought romashov, not without a certain disagreeable anxiety; but he knew how something pure, chaste, agreeably soothing and benevolent beamed on him from this young woman who, at that moment, made the same impression on him as a charming canvas, the lovely picture of which reminded him of happy, innocent days of long ago. "shurochka," whispered romashov tenderly. at that moment alexandra petrovna lifted her face from her work and cast a rapid, searching, despondent glance at the window. romashov thought she was looking him straight in the face. it felt as if a cold hand had seized his heart, and in his fright he hid himself behind a projection of the wall. again he was irresolute and ill at ease, and he was just about to return home, when, by a violent effort of the will, he overcame his pusillanimity and walked through a little back-door into the kitchen. the nikoläievs' servant relieved him of his muddy goloshes, and wiped down his boots with a kitchen rag. when romashov pulled out his pocket-handkerchief to remove the mist from his eyeglass he heard alexandra petrovna's musical voice from the drawing-room. "stepan, have they brought the orders of the day yet?" "she said that with an object," thought romashov to himself. "she knows well enough that i'm in the habit of coming about this time." "no, it is i, alexandra petrovna," he answered aloud, but in an uncertain voice, through the open drawing-room door. "oh, it's you, romashov. well, come in, come in. what are you doing at the side entrance? volodya, romashov is here." romashov stepped in, made an awkward bow, and began, so as to hide his embarrassment, to wipe his hands with his handkerchief. "i am afraid i bore you, alexandra petrovna." he tried to say this in an easy and jocose tone, but the words came out awkwardly, and as it seemed to him, with a forced ring about them. "what nonsense you talk!" exclaimed alexandra petrovna. "sit down, please, and let us have some tea." looking him straight in the face with her clear, piercing eyes, she squeezed as usual his cold fingers with her little soft, warm hand. nikoläiev sat with his back to them at the table that was almost hidden by piles of books, drawings, and maps. before the year was out he had to make another attempt to get admitted to the staff college, and for many months he had been preparing with unremitting industry for this stiff examination in which he had already twice failed. staring hard at the open book before him, he stretched his arm over his shoulder to romashov without turning round, and said, in a calm, husky voice-"how do you do, yuri[5] alexievich? is there any news? shurochka, give him some tea. excuse me, but i am, as you see, hard at work." "what a fool i am!" cried poor romashov to himself. "what business had i here?" then he added out loud: "bad news. there are ugly reports circulating at mess with regard to lieutenant-colonel liech. he is said to have been as tight as a drum. the resentment in the regiment is widespread, and a very searching inquiry is demanded. epifanov has been arrested." "oh!" remarked nikoläiev in an absent tone. "but excuse my interruption. you don't say so!" "i, too, have been rewarded with four days. but that is stale news." romashov thought at that moment that his voice sounded peculiar and unnatural, as if he were being throttled. "what a wretched creature i am in their eyes!" thought he, but in the next moment consoled himself by the help of that forced special pleading to which weak and timid persons usually have recourse in similar predicaments. "such you always are; something goes wrong; you feel confused, embarrassed, and at once you fondly imagine that others notice it, though only you yourself can be clearly conscious of it," etc., etc. he sat down on a chair near shurochka, whose quick crochet needle was in full swing again. she never sat idle, and all the table-covers, lamp-shades, and lace curtains were the product of her busy fingers. romashov cautiously took up the long crochet threads hanging from the ball, and said-"what do you call this sort of work?" "guipure. this is the tenth time you have asked me that." shurochka glanced quickly at him, and then let her eyes fall on her work; but before long she looked up again and laughed. "now then, now then, yuri alexievich, don't sit there pouting. 'straighten your back!' and 'head up!' isn't that how you give your commands?" but romashov only sighed and looked out of the corner of his eye at nikoläiev's brawny neck, the whiteness of which was thrown into strong relief by the grey collar of his old coat. "by jove! vladimir yefimovich is a lucky dog. next summer he's going to st. petersburg, and will rise to the heights of the academy." "oh, that remains to be seen," remarked shurochka, somewhat tartly, looking in her husband's direction. "he has twice been plucked at his examination, and with rather poor credit to himself has had to return to his regiment. this will be his last chance." nikoläiev turned round suddenly; his handsome, soldierly, moustached face flushed deeply, and his big dark eyes glittered with rage. "don't talk rubbish, shurochka. when i say i shall pass my examination, i shall pass it, and that's enough about it." he struck the side of his outstretched hand violently on the table. "you are always croaking. i said i should--" "yes, '_i said i should_,'" his wife repeated after him, whilst she struck her knee with her little brown hand. "but it would be far better if you could answer the following question: 'what are the requisites for a good line of battle?' perhaps you don't know" (she turned with a roguish glance towards romashov) "that i am considerably better up in tactics than he. well, volodya--staff-general that is to be--answer the question now." "look here, shurochka, stop it," growled nikoläiev in a bad temper. but suddenly he turned round again on his chair towards his wife, and in his wide-open, handsome, but rather stupid eyes might be read an amusing helplessness, nay, even a certain terror. "wait a bit, my little woman, and i will try to remember. 'good fighting order'? a good fighting order _must_ be arranged so that one does not expose oneself too much to the enemy's fire; that one can easily issue orders, that--that--wait a minute." "that waiting will be costly work for you in the future, i think," said shurochka, interrupting him, in a serious tone. then, with head down and her body rocking, she began, like a regular schoolgirl, to rattle off the following lesson without stumbling over a single word-"'the requisites of "good fighting order" are simplicity, mobility, flexibility, and the ability to accommodate itself to the ground. it ought to be easy to be inspected and led. it must, as far as possible, be out of reach of the enemy's fire, easy to pass from one formation to another, and able to be quickly changed from fighting to marching order.' done!" she opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and, as she turned her lively, smiling countenance to romashov, said-"was that all right?" "what a memory!" exclaimed nikoläiev enviously, as he once more plunged into his books. "we study together like two comrades," explained shurochka. "i could pass this examination at any time. the main thing"--she made an energetic motion in the air with her crochet needle--"the main thing is to work systematically or according to a fixed plan. our system is entirely my own invention, and i say so with pride. every day we go through a certain amount of mathematics and the science of war--i may remark, by the way, that artillery is not my _forte_; the formulæ of projectiles are to me specially distasteful--besides a bit out of the drill and army regulations book. moreover, every other day we study languages, and on the days we do not study the latter we study history and geography." "and russian too?" asked romashov politely. "russian, do you say? yes, that does not give us much trouble; we have already mastered groth's _orthography_, and so far as the essays are concerned, year after year they are after the eternal stereotyped pattern: _para pacem, para bellum_; characteristics of onyägin and his epoch, etc., etc." suddenly she became silent, and snatched by a quick movement the distracting crochet needle from romashov's fingers. she evidently wanted to monopolize the whole of his attention to what she now intended to say. after this she began to speak with passionate earnestness of what was at present the goal of all her thoughts and aims. "romochka, please, try to understand me. i cannot--cannot stand this any longer. to remain here is to deteriorate. to become a 'lady of the regiment,' to attend your rowdy _soirées_, to talk scandal and intrigue, to get into tempers every day, and wear out one's nerves over the housekeeping, money and carriage bills, to serve in turn, according to precedency, on ladies' committees and benevolent associations, to play whist, to--no, enough of this. you say that our home is comfortable and charming. but just examine this _bourgeois_ happiness. these eternal embroideries and laces; these dreadful clothes which i have altered and modernized god knows how often; this vulgar, 'loud'-coloured sofa rug composed of rags from every spot on earth--all this has been hateful and intolerable to me. don't you understand, my dear romochka, that it is society--real society--that i want, with brilliant drawing-rooms, witty conversation, music, flirtation, homage. as you are well aware, our good volodya is not one to set the thames on fire, but he is a brave, honourable, and industrious fellow. if he can only gain admission to the staff college i swear to procure him a brilliant career. i am a good linguist; i can hold my own in any society whatever; i possess--i don't know how to express it--a certain flexibility of mind or spirit that helps me to hold my own, to adapt myself everywhere. finally, romochka, look at me, gaze at me carefully. am i, as a human being, so uninteresting? am i, as a woman, so devoid of all charms that i deserve to be doomed to stay and be soured in this hateful place, in this awful hole which has no place on the map?" she suddenly covered her face with her handkerchief, and burst into tears of self-pity and wounded pride. nikoläiev sprang from his chair and hastened, troubled and distracted, to his wife; but shurochka had already succeeded in regaining her self-control and took her handkerchief away from her face. there were no tears in her eyes now, but the glint of wrath and passion had not yet died out of them. "it is all right, volodya. dear, it is nothing." she pushed him nervously away. immediately afterwards she turned with a little laugh to romashov, and whilst she was again snatching the thread from him, she said to him coquettishly: "answer me candidly, you clumsy thing, am i pretty or not? remember, though, it is the height of impoliteness not to pay a woman the compliment she wants." "shurochka, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" exclaimed nikoläiev reprovingly, from his seat at the writing-table. romashov smiled with a martyr's air of resignation. suddenly he replied, in a melancholy and quavering voice-"you are very beautiful." shurochka looked at him roguishly from her half-closed eyes, and a turbulent curl got loose and fell over her forehead. "romochka, how funny you are!" she twittered in a rather thin, girlish voice. the sub-lieutenant blushed and thought according to his wont-"and his heart was cruelly lacerated." nobody said a word. shurochka went on diligently crocheting. vladimir yefimovich, who was bravely struggling with a german translation, now and then mumbled out some german words. one heard the flame softly sputtering and fizzing in the lamp, which displayed a great yellow silk shade in the form of a tent. romochka had again managed to possess himself of the crochet-cotton, which, almost without thinking about it, he softly and caressingly drew through the young woman's fingers, and it afforded him a delightful pleasure to feel how shurochka unconsciously resisted his mischievous little pulls. it seemed to him as if mysterious, magnetic currents, now and again, rushed backwards and forwards through the delicate white threads. whilst he was steadily gazing at her bent head, he whispered to himself, without moving his lips, as if he were carrying on a tender and impassioned conversation-"how boldly you said to me, 'am i pretty?' ah, you are most beautiful! here i sit looking at you. what happiness! now listen. i am going to tell you how you look--how lovely you are. but listen carefully. thy face is as dark as the night, yet pale. it is a face full of passion. thy lips are red and warm and good to kiss, and thine eyes surrounded by a light yellowish shadow. when thy glance is directed straight before thee, the white of thine eyes acquires a bluish shade, and amidst it all there beams on me a great dark blue mysteriously gleaming pupil. a brunette thou art not; but thou recallest something of the gipsy. but thy hair is silky and soft, and braided at the back in a knot so neat and simple that one finds a difficulty in refraining from stroking it. you little ethereal creature, i could lift you like a little child in my arms; but you are supple and strong, your bosom is as firm as a young girl's, and in all thy being there is something quick, passionate, compelling. a good way down on your left ear sits a charming little birthmark that is like the hardly distinguishable scar after a ring has been removed. what charm----" "have you read in the newspapers about the duel between two officers?" asked shurochka suddenly. romashov started as he awoke from his dreams, but he found it hard to remove his gaze from her. "no, i've not read about it, but i have heard talk of it. what about it?" "as usual, of course, you read nothing. truly, yuri alexeitch, you are deteriorating. in my opinion the proceedings were ridiculous. i quite understand that duels between officers are as necessary as they are proper." shurochka pressed her crochet to her bosom with a gesture of conviction. "but why all this unnecessary and stupid cruelty? just listen. a lieutenant had insulted another officer. the insult was gross, and the court of honour considered a duel necessary. now, there would have been nothing to say about it, unless the conditions themselves of the duel had been so fixed that the latter resembled an ordinary execution: fifteen paces distance, and the fight to last till one of the duellists was _hors de combat_. this is only on a par with ordinary slaughter, is it not? but hear what followed. on the duelling-ground stood all the officers of the regiment, many of them with ladies; nay, they had even put a photographer behind the bushes! how disgusting! the unfortunate sub-lieutenant or ensign--as volodya usually says--a man of your youthful age, moreover the party insulted, and not the one who offered the insult--received, after the third shot, a fearful wound in the stomach, and died some hours afterwards in great torture. by his deathbed stood his aged mother and sister, who kept house for him. now tell me why a duel should be turned into such a disgusting spectacle. of course the immediate consequence" (shurochka almost shrieked these words) "was that all those sentimental opponents of duelling--eugh, how i despise these 'liberal' weaklings and poltroons!--at once began making a noise and fuss about 'barbarism,' 'fratricide,' how 'duels are a disgrace to our times,' and more nonsense of that sort." "good god! i could never believe that you were so bloodthirsty, alexandra petrovna," exclaimed romashov, interrupting her. "i am by no means bloodthirsty," replied shurochka, sharply. "on the contrary, i am very tender-hearted. if a beetle crawls on to my neck i remove it with the greatest caution so as not to inflict any hurt on it--but try and understand me, romashov. this is my simple process of reasoning: 'why have we officers?' answer: 'for the sake of war.' 'what are the most necessary qualities of an officer in time of war?' answer: 'courage and a contempt of death.' 'how are these qualities best acquired in time of peace?' answer: 'by means of duels.' how can that be proved? duels are not required to be obligatory in the french army, for a sense of honour is innate in the french officer; he knows what respect is due to himself and to others. neither is duelling obligatory in the german army, with its highly developed and inflexible discipline. but with us--us, as long as among our officers are to be found notorious card-sharpers such as, for instance, artschakovski; or hopeless sots, as our own nasanski, when, in the officers' mess or on duty, violent scenes are of almost daily occurrence--then, such being the case, duels are both necessary and salutary. an officer must be a pattern of correctness; he is bound to weigh every word he utters. and, moreover, this delicate squeamishness, the fear of a shot! your vocation is to risk your life--which is precisely the point." all at once she brought her long speech to a close, and with redoubled energy resumed her work. "shurochka, what is 'rival' in german?" asked nikoläiev, lifting his head from the book. "rival?" shurochka stuck her crochet-needle in her soft locks. "read out the whole sentence." "it runs--wait--directly--directly--ah! it runs: 'our rival abroad.'" "_unser ausländischer nebenbuhler_" translated shurochka straight off. "_unser_," repeated romashov in a whisper as he gazed dreamily at the flame of the lamp. "when she is moved," thought he, "her words come like a torrent of hail falling on a silver tray. _unser_--what a funny word! _unser--unser--unser._" "what are you mumbling to yourself about, romashov?" asked alexandra petrovna severely. "don't dare to sit and build castles in the air whilst i am present." he smiled at her with a somewhat embarrassed air. "i was not building castles in the air, but repeating to myself '_unser--unser._' isn't it a funny word?" "what rubbish you are talking! _unser._ why is it funny?" "you see" (he made a slight pause as if he really intended to think about what he meant to say), "if one repeats the same word for long, and at the same time concentrates on it all his faculty of thought, the word itself suddenly loses all its meaning and becomes--how can i put it?" "i know, i know!" she interrupted delightedly. "but it is not easy to do it now. when i was a child, now--how we used to love doing it!" "yes--yes--it belongs to childhood--yes." "how well i remember it! i remember the word 'perhaps' particularly struck me. i could sit for a long time with eyes shut, rocking my body to and fro, whilst i was repeatedly saying over and over again, 'perhaps, perhaps.' and suddenly i quite forgot what the word itself meant. i tried to remember, but it was no use. i saw only a little round, reddish blotch with two tiny tails. are you attending?" romashov looked tenderly at her. "how wonderful that we should think the same thoughts!" he exclaimed in a dreamy tone. "but let us return to our _unser_. does not this word suggest the idea of something long, thin, lanky, and having a sting--a long, twisting insect, poisonous and repulsive?" "_unser_, did you say?" shurochka lifted up her head, blinked her eyes, and stared obstinately at the darkest corner of the room. she was evidently striving to improve on romashov's fanciful ideas. "no, wait. _unser_ is something green and sharp. well, we'll suppose it is an insect--a grasshopper, for instance--but big, disgusting, and poisonous. but how stupid we are, romochka!" "there's another thing i do sometimes, only it was much easier when i was a child," resumed romashov in a mysterious tone. "i used to take a word and pronounce it slowly, extremely slowly. every letter was drawn out and emphasized interminably. all of a sudden i was seized by a strangely inexpressible feeling: all--everything near me sank into an abyss, and i alone remained, marvelling that i lived, thought, and spoke." "i, too, have had a similar sensation," interrupted shurochka gaily, "yet not exactly the same. sometimes i made violent efforts to hold my breath all the time i was thinking. 'i am not breathing, and i won't breathe again till, till'--then all at once i felt as if time was running past me. no, time no longer existed; it was as if--oh, i can't explain!" romashov gazed into her enthusiastic eyes, and repeated in a low tone, thrilling with happiness-"no, you can't explain it. it is strange--inexplicable." nikoläiev got up from the table where he had been working. his back ached, and his legs had gone dead from long sitting in the same uncomfortable position. the arteries of his strong, muscular body throbbed when, with arms raised high, he stretched himself to his full length. "look here, my learned psychologists, or whatever i should call you, it is supper-time." a cold collation had been laid in the comfortable little dining-room, where, suspended from the ceiling, a china lamp with frosted glass shed its clear light. nikoläiev never touched spirits, but a little decanter of schnapps had been put on the table for romashov. shurochka, contorting her pretty face by a contemptuous grimace, said, in the careless tone she so often adopted-"of course, you can't do without that poison?" romashov smiled guiltily, and in his confusion the schnapps went the wrong way, and set him coughing. "aren't you ashamed of yourself?" scolded his young hostess. "you can't even drink it without choking over it. i can forgive it in your adored nasanski, who is a notorious drunkard, but for you, a handsome, promising young man, not to be able to sit down to table without vodka, it is really melancholy. but that is nasanski's doing too!" her husband, who was glancing through the regimental orders that had just come in, suddenly called out-"just listen! 'lieutenant nasanski has received a month's leave from the regiment to attend to his private affairs.' tut, tut! what does that mean? he has been tippling again? you, yuri alexievich, are said, you know, to visit him. is it a fact that he has begun to drink heavily?" romashov looked embarrassed and lowered his gaze. "no, i have not observed it, but he certainly does drink a little now and again, you know." "your nasanski is offensive to me," remarked shurochka in a low voice, trembling with suppressed bitterness. "if it were in my power i would have a creature like that shot as if he were a mad dog. such officers are a disgrace to their regiment." almost directly after supper was over, nikoläiev, who in eating had displayed no less energy than he had just done at his writing-table, began to gape, and at last said quite plainly-"do you know, i think i'll just take a little nap. or if one were to go straight off to the land of nod, as they used to express it in our good old novels----" "a good idea, vladimir yefimovich," said romashov, interrupting him in, as he thought, a careless, dreamy tone, but as he rose from table he thought sadly, "they don't stand on ceremony with me here. why on earth do i come?" it seemed to him that it afforded nikoläiev a particular pleasure to turn him out of the house; but just as he was purposely saying good-bye to his host first, he was already dreaming of the delightful moment when, in taking leave of shurochka, he would feel at the same time the strong yet caressing pressure of a beloved one's hand. when this longed-for moment at length arrived he found himself in such a state of happiness that he did not hear shurochka say to him-"don't quite forget us. you know you are always welcome. besides, it is far more healthy for you to spend your evenings with us than to sit drinking with that dreadful nasanski. also, don't forget we stand on no ceremony with you." he heard her last words as it were in a dream, but he did not realize their meaning till he reached the street. "yes, that is true indeed; they don't stand on ceremony with me," whispered he to himself with the painful bitterness in which young and conceited persons of his age are so prone to indulge. v romashov was still standing on the doorstep. the night was rather warm, but very dark. he began to grope his way cautiously with his hand on the palings whilst waiting until his eyes got accustomed to the darkness. suddenly the kitchendoor of nikoläiev's dwelling was thrown open, and a broad stream of misty yellow light escaped. heavy steps sounded in the muddy street, the next moment romashov heard stepan's, the nikoläievs' servant's, angry voice-"he comes here every blessed day, and the deuce knows what he comes for." another soldier, whose voice romashov did not recognize, answered indifferently with a lazy, long-drawn yawn-"what business can it be of yours, my dear fellow? good-night, stepan." "good-night to you, baúlin; look in when you like." romashov's hands suddenly clung to the palings. an unendurable feeling of shame made him blush, in spite of the darkness. all his body broke out into a perspiration, and, in his back and the soles of his feet, he felt the sting of a thousand red-hot, pointed nails. "this chapter's closed; even the soldiers laugh at me," thought he with indescribable pain. directly afterwards it flashed on his mind that that very evening, in many expressions used, in the tones of the replies, in glances exchanged between man and wife, he had seen a number of trifles that he had hitherto not noticed, but which he now thought testified only to contempt of him, and ridicule, impatience and indignation at the persistent visits of that insufferable guest. "what a disgrace and scandal this is to me!" he whispered without stirring from the spot. "things have reached such a pitch that it is as much as the nikoläievs can do to endure my company." the lights in their drawing-room were now extinguished. "they are in their bedroom now," thought romashov, and at once he began fancying that nikoläiev and shurochka were then talking about him whilst making their toilet for the night with the indifference and absence of bashfulness at each other's presence that is characteristic of married couples. the wife is sitting in her petticoat in front of the mirror, combing her hair. vladimir yefimovitch is sitting in his night-shirt at the edge of the bed, and saying in a sleepy but angry tone, whilst flushed with the exertion of taking off his boots: "hark you, shurochka, that infernal bore, your dear romashov, will be the death of me with his insufferable visits. and i really can't understand how you can tolerate him." then to this frank and candid speech shurochka replies, without turning round, and with her mouth full of hairpins: "be good enough to remember, sir, he is not _my_ romochka, but _yours_." another five minutes elapsed before romashov, still tortured by these bitter and painful thoughts, made up his mind to continue his journey. along the whole extent of the palings belonging to the nikoläievs' house he walked with stealthy steps, cautiously and gently dragging his feet from the mire, as if he feared he might be discovered and arrested as a common vagrant. to go straight home was not to his liking at all. nay, he dared not even think of his gloomy, low-pitched, cramped room with its single window and repulsive furniture. "by jove! why shouldn't i look up nasanski, just to annoy _her_?" thought he all of a sudden, whereupon he experienced the delightful satisfaction of revenge. "she reproached me for my friendship with nasanski. well, i shall just for that very reason pay him a visit." he raised eyes to heaven, and said to himself passionately, as he pressed his hands against his heart-"i swear--i swear that to-day i have visited them for the last time. i will no longer endure this mortification." and immediately afterwards he added mentally, as was his ingrained habit-"his expressive black eyes glistened with resolution and contempt." but romashov's eyes, unfortunately, were neither "black" nor "expressive," but of a very common colour, slightly varying between yellow and green. nasanski tenanted a room in a comrade's--lieutenant siégerscht's--house. this siégerscht was most certainly the oldest lieutenant in the whole russian army. notwithstanding his unimpeachable conduct as an officer and the fact of his having served in the war with turkey, through some unaccountable disposition of fate, his military career seemed closed, and every hope of further advancement was apparently lost. he was a widower, with four little children and forty-eight roubles a month, on which sum, strangely enough, he managed to get along. it was his practice to hire large flats which he afterwards, in turn, let out to his brother officers. he took in boarders, fattened and sold fowls and turkeys, and no one understood better than he how to purchase wood and other necessaries cheap and at the right time. he bathed his children himself in a common trough, prescribed for them from his little medicine-chest when they were ill, and, with his sewing-machine, made them tiny shirts, under-vests, and drawers. like many other officers, siégerscht had, in his bachelor days, interested himself in woman's work, and acquired a readiness with his needle that proved very useful in hard times. malicious tongues went so far as to assert that he secretly and stealthily sold his handiwork. notwithstanding all his economy and closeness, his life was full of troubles. epidemic diseases ravaged his fowl-house, his numerous rooms stood unlet for long periods; his boarders grumbled at their bad food and refused to pay. the consequence of this was that, three or four times a year, siégerscht--tall, thin, and unshaven, with cheerless countenance and a forehead dripping with cold sweat--might be seen on his way to the town to borrow some small sum. and all recognized the low, regimental cap that resembled a pancake, always with its peak askew, as well as the antiquated cloak, modelled on those worn in the time of the emperor nicholas, which waved in the breeze like a couple of huge wings. a light was burning in siégerscht's flat, and as romashov approached the window, he saw him sitting by a round table under a hanging-lamp. the bald head, with its gentle, worn features, was bent low over a little piece of red cloth which was probably destined to form an integral part of a little russian _roubashka_.[6] romashov went up and tapped at the window. siégerscht started up, laid aside his work, rose from the table, and went up to the window. "it is i, adam ivanich--open the window a moment." siégerscht opened a little pane and looked out. "well, it's you, sub-lieutenant romashov. what's up?" "is nasanski at home?" "of course he's at home--where else should he be? ah! your friend nasanski cheats me nicely, i can tell you. for two months i have kept him in food, but, as for his paying for it, as yet i've only had grand promises. when he moved here, i asked him most particularly that, to avoid unpleasantness and misunderstandings, he should----" "yes, yes, we know all about that," interrupted romashov; "but tell me now how he is. will he see me?" "yes, certainly, that he will; he does nothing but walk up and down his room." siégerscht stopped and listened for a second. "you yourself can hear him tramping about. you see, i said to him, 'to prevent unpleasantness and misunderstandings, it will be best for----'" "excuse me, adam ivanich; but we'll talk of that another time. i'm in a bit of a hurry," said romashov, interrupting him for the second time, and meanwhile continuing his way round the corner. a light was burning in one of nasanski's windows; the other was wide open. nasanski himself was walking, in his shirt sleeves and without a collar, backwards and forwards with rapid steps. romashov crept nearer the wall and called him by name. "who's there?" asked nasanski in a careless tone, leaning out of the window. "oh, it's you, georgie alexievich. come in through the window. it's a long and dark way round through that door. hold out your hand and i'll help you." nasanski's dwelling was if possible more wretched that romashov's. along the wall by the window stood a low, narrow, uncomfortable bed, the bulging, broken bottom of which was covered by a coarse cotton coverlet; on the other wall one saw a plain unpainted table with two common chairs without backs. high up in one corner of the room was a little cupboard fixed to the wall. a brown leather trunk, plastered all over with address labels and railway numbers, lay in state. there was not a single thing in the room except these articles and the lamp. "good-evening, my friend," said nasanski, with a hearty hand-shake and a warm glance from his beautiful, deep blue eyes. "please sit down on this bed. as you've already heard, i have handed in my sick-report." "yes, i heard it just now from nikoläiev." again romashov called to mind stepan's insulting remark, the painful memory of which was reflected in his face. "oh, you come from the nikoläievs," cried nasanski and with visible interest. "do you often visit them?" the unusual tone of the question made romashov uneasy and suspicious, and he instinctively uttered a falsehood. he answered carelessly-"no, certainly not often. i just happened to look them up." nasanski, who had been walking up and down the room during the conversation, now stopped before the little cupboard, the door of which he opened. on one of its shelves stood a bottle of vodka, and beside it lay an apple cut up into thin, even slices. standing with his back to his guest, nasanski poured out for himself a glass, and quickly drained it. romashov noticed how nasanski's back, under its thin linen shirt, quivered convulsively. "would you like anything?" asked nasanski, with a gesture towards the cupboard. "my larder is, as you see, poor enough; but if you are hungry one can always try and procure an omelette. anyhow, that's more than our father adam had to offer." "thanks, not now. perhaps later on." nasanski stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked about the room. after pacing up and down twice he began talking as though resuming an interrupted conversation. "yes, i am always walking up and down and thinking. but i am quite happy. to-morrow, of course, they will say as usual in the regiment, 'he's a drunkard.' and that is true in a sense, but it is not the whole truth. all the same, at this moment, i'm happy; i feel neither pain nor ailments. it is different, alas! in ordinary circumstances. my mind and will-power are paralysed; i shall again become a cowardly and despicably mean creature, vain, shabby, hypocritical--a curse to myself and every one else. i loathe my profession, but, nevertheless, i remain in it. and why? ah! the devil himself could not explain that. because i had it knocked into me in my childhood, and have lived since in a set where it is held that the most important thing in life is to serve the state, to be free from anxiety as to one's clothes and daily bread. and philosophy, people say, is mere rubbish, good enough for one who has nothing else to do or who has come into a goodly heritage from his dear mamma. "thus i, too, occupy myself with things in which i don't take the slightest interest, or issue orders that seem to me both harsh and unmeaning. my daily life is as monotonous and cheerless as an old deal board, as rough and hard as a soldier's regulation cap. i dare scarcely think of, far less talk of, love, beauty, my place in the scheme of creation, of freedom and happiness, of poetry and god. they would only laugh ha! ha! ha! at me, and say: 'oh, damn it! that, you know, is philosophy. it is not only ridiculous but even dangerous for an officer to show he holds any high views,' and at best the officer escapes with being dubbed a harmless, hopeless ass." "and yet it is this that alone gives life any value," sighed romashov. "and now the happy hour is drawing nigh about which they tattle so heartlessly and with so much contempt," nasanski went on to say without listening to romashov's words. he walked incessantly backwards and forwards, and interpolated his speech, every now and then, with striking gestures, which were not, however, addressed to romashov, but were always directed to the two corners of the room which he visited in turn. "now comes my turn of freedom, romashov--freedom for soul, thought, and will. then i shall certainly live a peculiar, but nevertheless rich, inner life. all that i have seen, heard, and read will then gain a deeper meaning, will appear in a clear and more distinct light, and receive a deep, infinite significance. my memory will then be like a museum of rare curiosities. i shall be a very rothschild. i take the first object within my reach, gaze at it long, closely, and with rapture. persons, events, characters, books, women, love--nay, first and last, women and love--all this is interwoven in my imagination. now and then i think of the heroes and geniuses of history, of the countless martyrs of religion and science. i don't believe in god, romashov, but sometimes i think of the saints and martyrs and call to mind the holy scriptures and canticles." romashov got up quietly from his seat at the edge of the bed and walked away to the open window, and then he sat down with his back resting against the sill. from that spot, from the lighted room, the night seemed to him still darker and more fraught with mystery. tepid breezes whispered just beneath the window, amongst the dark foliage of the shrubs. and in this mild air, charged with the sharp, aromatic perfume of spring, under those gleaming stars, in this dead silence of the universe, one might fancy he felt the hot breath of reviving, generating, voluptuous nature. nasanski continued all along his eternal wandering, and indulged in building castles in the air, without looking at romashov, as if he were talking to the walls. "in these moments my thoughts--seething, motley, original--chase one another. my senses acquire an unnatural acuteness; my imagination becomes an overwhelming flood. persons and things, living or dead, which are evoked by me stand before me in high relief and also in an extraordinarily intense light, as if i saw them in a _camera obscura_. i know, i know now, that all that is merely a super-excitation of the senses, an emanation of the soul flaming up like lightning, but in the next instant flickering out, being produced by the physiological influence of alcohol on the nervous system. in the beginning i thought such psychic phenomena implied an elevation of my inner, spiritual ego, and that even i might have moments of inspiration. but no; there was nothing permanent or of any value in this, nothing creative or fructifying. altogether it was only a morbid, physiological process, a river wave that at every ebb that occurs sucks away with it and destroys the beach. yes, this, alas! is a fact. but it is also equally indisputable that these wild imaginings procured me moments of ineffable happiness. and besides, let the devil keep for his share your much-vaunted high morality, your hypocrisy, and your insufferable rules of health. i don't want to become one of your pillar-saints nor do i wish to live a hundred years so as to figure as a physiological miracle in the advertisement columns of the newspapers. i am happy, and that suffices." nasanski again went up to the little cupboard, poured out and swallowed a "nip," after which he shut the cupboard door with much ceremony and an expression on his face as if he had fulfilled a religious duty. romashov walked listlessly up from the window to the cupboard, the life-giving contents of which he sampled with a gloomy and _blasé_ air. this done, he returned to his seat on the window-bench. "what were you thinking about just before i came, vasili nilich?" asked romashov, as he made himself as comfortable as possible. nasanski, however, did not hear his question. "how sweet it is to dream of women!" he exclaimed with a grand and eloquent gesture. "but away with all unclean thoughts! and why? ah! because no one has any right, even in imagination, to make a human being a culprit in what is low, sinful, and impure. how often i think of chaste, tender, loving women, of their bright tears and gracious smiles; of young, devoted, self-sacrificing mothers, of all those who have faced death for love; of proud, bewitching maidens with souls as pure as snow, knowing all, yet afraid of nothing. but such women do not exist--yet i am wrong, romashov; such women do exist although neither you nor i have seen them. this may possibly be vouchsafed you; but to me--never!" he was now standing right in front of romashov and staring him straight in the face, but by the far-off expression in his eyes, by the enigmatical smile that played on his lips, any one could observe that he did not even see to whom he was talking. never had nasanski's countenance--even in his better and sober moments--seemed to romashov so attractive and interesting as at this instant. his golden hair fell in luxuriant curls around his pure and lofty brow; his blond, closely clipped beard was curled in light waves, and his strong, handsome head on his bare, classically shaped neck reminded one of the sages and heroes of greece, whose busts romashov had seen in engravings and at museums. nasanski's bright, clever blue eyes glistened with moisture, and his well-formed features were rendered still more engaging by the fresh colour of his complexion, although a keen eye could not, i daresay, avoid noticing a certain flabbiness--the infallible mark of every person addicted to drink. "love--what an abyss of mystery is contained in the word, and what bliss lies hidden in its tortures!" nasanski went on to say in an enraptured voice. in his violent excitement he caught hold of his hair with both hands, and took two hasty strides towards the other end of the room, but suddenly stopped, and turned round sharply to romashov with a merry laugh. the latter observed him with great interest, but likewise not without a certain uneasiness. "just this moment i remember an amusing story" (nasanski now dropped into his usual good-tempered tone), "but, ugh! how my wits go wool-gathering--now here, now there. once upon a time i sat waiting for the train at ryasan, and wait i did--i suppose half a day, for it was right in the middle of the spring floods, and the train had met with real obstacles. well, you must know, i built myself a little nest in the waiting-room. behind the counter stood a girl of eighteen--not pretty, being pockmarked, but brisk and pleasant. she had black eyes and a charming smile. in fact, she was a very nice girl. we were three, all told, at the station: she, i, and a little telegraphist with white eyebrows and eyelashes. ah! excuse me, there was another person there--the girl's father, a fat, red-faced, grey-haired brute, who put me in mind of a rough old mastiff. but this attractive figure kept itself, as a rule, behind the scenes. only rarely and for a few minutes did he put in an appearance behind the counter, to yawn, scratch himself under his waistcoat, and immediately afterwards disappear for a longish time. he spent his life in bed, and his eyes were glued together by eternally sleeping. the little telegraphist paid frequent and regular visits to the waiting-room, laid his elbows on the counter, but was, for the most part, as mute as the grave. she, too, was silent and looked dreamily out of the window at the floods. all of a sudden our youngster began humming- "'love--love. what is love? something celestial that drives us wild.' "after this, again silence. a pause of five minutes, she begins, in her turn- "'love--love. what is love?' etc. "both the sentimental words as well as the melody were taken from some musty old operetta that had perhaps been performed in the town, and had become a pleasant recollection to both the young people. then again the same wistful song and significant silence. at last she steals softly a couple of paces to the window, all the while keeping one hand on the counter. our celadon quietly lays hold of the delicate fingers, one by one, and with visible trepidation gazes at them in profound devotion. and again the _motif_ of that hackneyed operetta is heard from his lips. it was spring with all its yearning. then all this cloying 'love' only awoke in me nausea and disgust, but, since then, i have often thought with deep emotion of the vast amount of happiness this innocent love-making could bestow, and how it was most certainly the only ray of light in the dreary lives of these two human beings--lives, very likely, even more empty and barren than my own. but, i beg your pardon, romashov; why should i bore you with my silly, long-winded stories?" nasanski again betook himself to the little cupboard, but he did not fetch out the schnapps bottle, but stood motionless with his back turned to romashov. he scratched his forehead, pressed his right hand lightly to his temple, and maintained this position for a considerable while, evidently a prey to conflicting thoughts. "you were speaking of women, love, abysses, mystery, and joy," remarked romashov, by way of reminder. "yes, love," cried nasanski in a jubilant voice. he now took out the bottle, poured some of its contents out, and drained the glass quickly, as he turned round with a fierce glance, and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. "love! who do you suppose understands the infinite meaning of this holy word? and yet--from it men have derived subjects for filthy, rubbishy operettas; for lewd pictures and statues, shameless stories and disgusting 'rhymes.' that is what we officers do. yesterday i had a visit from ditz. he sat where you are sitting now. he toyed with his gold pince-nez and talked about women. romashov, my friend, i tell you that if an animal, a dog, for instance, possessed the faculty of understanding human speech, and had happened to hear what ditz said yesterday, it would have fled from the room ashamed. ditz, as you know, romashov, is a 'good fellow,' and even the others are 'good,' for really bad people do not exist; but for fear of forfeiting his reputation as a cynic, 'man about town,' and 'lady-killer,' he dares not express himself about women otherwise than he does. amongst our young men there is a universal confusion of ideas that often finds expression in bragging contempt, and the cause of this is that the great majority seek in the possession of women only coarse, sensual, brutish enjoyment, and that is the reason why love becomes to them only something contemptible, wanton--well, i don't know, damn it! how to express exactly what i mean--and, when the animal instincts are satisfied, coldness, disgust, and enmity are the natural result. the man of culture has said good-night to love, just as he has done to robbery and murder, and seems to regard it only as a sort of snare set by nature for the destruction of humanity." "that is the truth about it," agreed romashov quietly and sadly. "no, that is _not_ true!" shouted nasanski in a voice of thunder. "yes, i say it once more--it is a lie. in this, as in everything else, nature has revealed her wisdom and ingenuity. the fact is merely that whereas lieutenant ditz finds in love only brutal enjoyment, disgust, and surfeit, dante finds in it beauty, felicity, and harmony. true love is the heritage of the elect, and to understand this let us take another simile. all mankind has an ear for music, but, in the case of millions, this is developed about as much as in stock-fish or staff-captain vasilichenko. only one individual in all these millions is a beethoven. and the same is the case in everything--in art, science, poetry. and so far as love is concerned, i tell you that even this has its peaks which only one out of millions is able to climb." he walked to the window, and leaned his forehead against the sill where romashov sat gazing out on the warm, dark, spring night. at last he said in a voice low, but vibrating with strong inward excitement-"oh, if we could see and grasp love's innermost being, its supernatural beauty and charm--we gross, blind earth-worms! how many know and feel what happiness, what delightful tortures exist in an undying, hopeless love? i remember, when i was a youth, how all my yearning took form and shape in this single dream: to fall in love with an ideally beautiful and noble woman far beyond my reach, and standing so high above me that every thought of possessing her i might harbour was mad and criminal; to consecrate to her all my life, all my thoughts, without her even suspecting it, and to carry my delightful, torturing secret with me to the grave; to be her slave, her lackey, her protector, or to employ a thousand arts just to see her once a year, to come close to her, and--oh, maddening rapture!--to touch the hem of her garment or kiss the ground on which she had walked----" "and to wind up in a mad-house," exclaimed romashov in a gloomy tone. "oh, my dear fellow, what does that matter?" cried nasanski passionately. "perhaps--who knows?--one might then attain to that state of bliss one reads of in stories. which is best--to lose your wits through a love which can never be realized, or, like ditz, to go stark mad from shameful, incurable diseases or slow paralysis? just think what felicity--to stand all night in front of her window on the other side of the street. look, there's a shadow visible behind the drawn curtain--can it be _she_? what's she doing? what's she thinking of? the light is lowered--sleep, my beloved, sleep in peace, for love is keeping vigil. days, months, years pass away; the moment at last arrives when chance, perhaps, bestows on you her glove, handkerchief, the concert programme she has thrown away. she is not acquainted with you, does not even know that you exist. her glance passes over you without seeing you; but there you stand with the same unchangeable, idolatrous adoration, ready to sacrifice yourself for her--nay, even for her slightest whim, for her husband, lover, her pet dog, to sacrifice life, honour, and all that you hold dear. romashov, a bliss such as this can never fall to the lot of our don juans and lady-killers." "ah, how true this is! how splendidly you speak!" cried romashov, carried away by nasanski's passionate words and gestures. long before this he had got up from the window, and now he was walking, like his eccentric host, up and down the long, narrow room, pacing the floor with long, quick strides. "listen, nasanski. i will tell you something--about myself. once upon a time i fell in love with a woman--oh, not here; no, in moscow. i was then a mere stripling. ah, well, she had no inkling of it, and it was enough for me to be allowed to sit near her when she sewed, and to draw quietly and imperceptibly, the threads towards me. that was all, and she noticed nothing; but it was enough to turn my head with joy." "ah, yes, how well i understand this!" replied nasanski with a friendly smile, nodding his head all the time. "a delicate white thread charged with electrical currents. what a store of poetry is enshrined in that! my dear fellow, life is so beautiful!" nasanski, absorbed in profound reverie, grew silent, and his blue eyes were bright with tears. romashov also felt touched, and there was something nervous, hysterical, and spontaneous about this melancholy of his, but these expressions of pity were not only for nasanski, but himself. "vasili nilich, i admire you," cried he as he grasped and warmly pressed both nasanski's hands. "but how can so gifted, far-sighted, and wide-awake a man as you rush, with his eyes open, to his own destruction? but i am the last person on earth who ought to read you a lesson on morals. only one more question: supposing in the course of your life you happened to meet a woman worthy of you, and capable of appreciating you, would you then----? i've thought of this so often." nasanski stopped and stared for a long time through the open window. "a woman----" he uttered the word slowly and dreamily. "i'll tell you a story," he continued suddenly and in an energetic tone. "once in my life i met an exceptional--ah! wonderful--woman, a young girl, but as heine somewhere says: 'she was worthy of being loved, and he loved her; but he was not worthy, and she did not love him.' her love waned because i drank, or perhaps it was i drank because she did not love me. _she_--by the way, it was not here that this happened. it was a long time ago, and you possibly know that i first served in the infantry for three years, after that for four years with the reserves, and for a second time, three years ago, i came here. well, to continue, between her and me there was no romance whatever. we met and had five or six chats together--that was all. but have you ever thought what an irresistible, bewitching might there is in the past, in our recollections? the memory of these few insignificant episodes of my life constitutes the whole of my wealth. i love her even to this very day. wait, romashov, you deserve to hear it--i will read out to you the first and only letter i ever received from her." he crouched down before the old trunk, opened it, and began rummaging impatiently among a mass of old papers, during which he kept on talking. "i know she never loved any one but herself. there was a depth of pride, imperiousness, even cruelty about her, yet, at the same time, she was so good, so genuinely womanly, so infinitely pleasant and lovable. she had two natures--the one egoistical and calculating, the other all heart and passionate tenderness. see here, i have it. read it now, romashov. the beginning will not interest you much" (nasanski turned over a few lines of the letter), "but read from here; read it all." romashov felt as if some one had struck him a stunning blow on the head, and the whole room seemed to dance before his eyes, for the letter was written in a large but nervous and compressed hand, that could only belong to alexandra petrovna--quaint, irregular, but by no means unsympathetic. romashov, who had often received cards from her with invitations to small dinners and card parties, recognized this hand at once. "it is a bitter and hard task for me to write this," read romashov under nasanski's hand; "but only you yourself are to blame for our acquaintance coming to this tragic end. lying i abominate more than anything else in life. it always springs from cowardice and weakness, and this is the reason why i shall also tell you the whole truth. i loved you up to now; yes, i love you even now, and i know it will prove very hard for me to master this feeling. but i also know that, in the end, i shall gain the victory. what do you suppose our lot would be if i acted otherwise? i confess i lack the energy and self-denial requisite for becoming the housekeeper, nurse-girl, or sister of mercy to a weakling with no will of his own. i loathe above everything self-sacrifice and pity for others, and i shall let neither you nor any one else excite these feelings in me. i will not have a husband who would only be a dog at my feet, incessantly craving alms or proofs of affection. and you would never be anything else, in spite of your extraordinary talents and noble qualities. tell me now, with your hand upon your heart, if you are capable of it. alas! my dear vasili nilich, if you could. all my heart, all my life yearns for you. i love you. what is the obstacle, then? no one but yourself. for a person one loves, one can, you know, sacrifice the whole world, and now i ask of you only this one thing; but can you? no, you cannot, and now i bid you good-bye for ever. in thought i kiss you on your forehead as one kisses a corpse, and you are dead to me--for ever. i advise you to destroy this letter, not that i blush for or fear its contents, but because i think it will be a source to you of tormenting recollections. i repeat once more----" "the rest is of little interest to you," said nasanski abruptly, as he took the letter from romashov's hand. "this, as i have just told you, was her only letter to me." "what happened afterwards?" stammered romashov awkwardly. "afterwards? we never saw one another afterwards. she went her way and is reported to have married an engineer. that, however, is another matter." "and you never visit alexandra petrovna?" romashov uttered these words in a whisper, but both officers started at the sound of them, and gazed at each other a long time without speaking. during these few seconds all the barriers raised by human guile and hypocrisy fell away, and the two men read each other's soul as an open book. hundreds of things that had hitherto been for them a profound secret stood before them that moment in dazzling light, and the whole of the conversation that evening suddenly took a peculiar, deep, nay, almost tragic, significance. "what? you too?" exclaimed nasanski at last, with an expression bordering on fear in his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure and exclaimed with a laugh, "ugh! what a misunderstanding! we were discussing something quite different. that letter which you have just read was written hundreds of years ago, and the woman in question lived in transcaucasia. but where was it we left off?" "it is late, vasili nilich, and time to say good-night," replied romashov, rising. nasanski did not try to keep him. they separated neither in a cold or unfriendly way, but they were, as it seemed, ashamed of each other. romashov was now more convinced than ever that the letter was from shurochka. during the whole of his way home he thought of nothing except this letter, but he could not make out what feelings it aroused in him. they were a mingling of jealousy of nasanski--jealousy on account of what had been--but also a certain exultant pity for nasanski, and in himself there awoke new hopes, dim and indefinite, but delicious and alluring. it was as if this letter had put into his hand a mysterious, invisible clue that was leading him into the future. the breeze had subsided. the tepid night's intense darkness and silence reminded one of soft, warm velvet. one felt, as it were, life's mystic creative force in the never-slumbering air, in the dumb stillness of the invisible trees, in the smell of the earth. romashov walked without seeing which way he went, and it seemed to him as if he felt the hot breath of something strong and powerful, but, at the same time, sweet and caressing. his thoughts went back with dull, harrowing pain to bygone happy springs that would never more return--to the blissful, innocent days of his childhood. when he reached home he found on the table another letter from raisa alexandrovna peterson. in her usual bad taste she complained, in turgid, extravagant terms, of his "deceitful conduct" towards her. she "now understood everything," and the "injured woman" within her invoked on him all the perils of hatred and revenge. now i know what i have to do (the letter ran). if i survive the sorrow and pain of your abominable conduct, you may be quite certain i shall cruelly avenge this insult. you seem to think that nobody knows where you are in the habit of spending your evenings. you are watched! and even walls have ears. every step you take is known to me. but all the same, you will never get anything _there_ with all your soft, pretty speeches, unless n. flings you downstairs like a puppy. so far as i am concerned, you will be wise not to lull yourself into fancied security. i am not one of those women who let themselves be insulted with impunity. a caucasian woman am i who knows how to handle a knife. --once yours, now nobody's, raisa. ps.--i command you to meet me at the soirée on saturday and explain your conduct. the third quadrille will be kept for you; but mind, there is no special importance _now_ in that. r. p. to romashov this ill-spelled, ungrammatical letter was a breath of the stupidity, meanness, and spiteful tittle-tattle of a provincial town. he felt for ever soiled from head to foot by this disgusting _liaison_, scarcely of six months' standing, with a woman he had never loved. he threw himself on his bed with an indescribable feeling of depression. he even felt as if he were torn to tatters by the events of the day, and he involuntarily called to mind nasanski's words that very night: "his thoughts were as grey as a soldier's cloak." he soon fell into a deep, heavy sleep. as he had always done of late, when he had had bitter moments, he saw himself, even now in his dreams, as a little child. there were no impure impulses in him, no sense of something lacking, no weariness of life; his body was light and healthy, and his soul was luminous and full of joy and hope; and in this world of radiance and happiness he saw dear old moscow's streets in the dazzling brightness that is presented to the eyes in dreamland. but far away by the horizon, at the very verge of this sky that was saturated with light, there arose quickly and threateningly a dark, ill-boding wall of cloud, behind which was hidden a horrible provincial hole of a place with cruel and unbearable slavery, drills, recruit schools, drinking, false friends, and utterly corrupt women. his life was nothing but joy and gladness, but the dark cloud was waiting patiently for the moment when it was to fold him in its deadly embrace. and it so happened that little romashov, amidst his childish babble and innocent dreams, bewailed in silence the fate of his "double." he awoke in the middle of the night, and noticed that his pillow was wet with tears. then he wept afresh, and the warm tears again ran down his cheeks in rapid streams. vi with the exception of a few ambitious men bent on making a career for themselves, all the officers regarded the service as an intolerable slavery to which they must needs submit. the younger of them behaved like veritable schoolboys; they came late to the drills, and wriggled away from them as soon as possible, provided that could be done without risk of serious consequences to themselves afterwards. the captains, who, as a rule, were burdened with large families, were immersed in household cares, scandals, money troubles, and were worried the whole year through with loans, promissory notes, and other methods of raising the wind. many ventured--often at the instigation of their wives--secretly to divert to their own purposes the moneys belonging to the regiment and the soldiers' pay--nay, they even went so far as "officially" to withhold their men's private letters when the latter were found to contain money. some lived by gambling--vint, schtoss, lansquenet--and certain rather ugly stories were told in connection with this--stories which high authorities had a good deal of trouble to suppress. in addition to all this, heavy drinking, both at mess and in their own homes, was widespread amongst the officers. with regard to the officers' sense of duty, that, too, was, as a rule, altogether lacking. the non-commissioned officers did all the work; the pay-sergeants set in motion and regulated the inner mechanism of the company, and were held responsible for the despatch of it; hence very soon, and quite imperceptibly, the commander became a mere marionette in the coarse, experienced hands of his subordinates. the senior officers, moreover, regarded the exercises of the troops with the same aversion as did their junior comrades, and if at any time they displayed their zeal by punishing an ensign, they only did it to gain prestige or--which was more seldom the case--to satisfy their lust of power or desire for revenge. captains of brigades and battalions had, as a rule, absolutely nothing to do in the winter. during the summer it was their duty to inspect the exercises of the battalion, to assist at those of the regiment and division, and to undergo the hardships of the field-manoeuvres. during their long freedom from duty they used to sit continually in their mess-room, eagerly studying the _russki invalid_,[7] and savagely criticizing all new appointments; but cards were, however, their alpha and omega, and they most readily permitted their juniors to be their hosts, though they but very rarely exercised a cautious hospitality in their own homes, and then only with the object of getting their numerous daughters married. but when the time for the great review approached, it was quite another tune. all, from the highest to the lowest, were seized by a sort of madness. there was no talk of peace and quiet then; every one tried, by additional hours of drill and an almost maniacal activity, to make up for previous negligence. the soldiers were treated with the most heartless cruelty, and overtaxed to the last degree of sheer exhaustion. every one was tyrant over some wretch; the company commanders, with endless curses, threatened their "incompetent" subalterns, and the latter, in turn, poured the vials of their wrath over the "non-coms.," and the "non-coms.," hoarse with shouting orders, oaths, and the most frightful insults, struck and misused the soldiers in the most ferocious manner. the whole camp and parade-ground were changed into a hell, and sundays, with their indispensable rest and peace, loomed like a heavenly paradise in the eyes of the poor tortured recruits. this spring the regiment was preparing for the great may parade. it was at this time common knowledge that the review was to take place before the commander of the corps--a strict old veteran, known throughout military literature by his works on the carlist war and the franco-german campaign of 1870, in which he took part as a volunteer. besides, he was known throughout the kingdom for his eccentric general orders and manifestoes that were invariably couched in a lapidary style à la savóroff. the reckless, sharp, and coarse sarcasm he always infused into his criticism was feared by the officers more than even the severest disciplinary punishment. it was not to be wondered at that for a fortnight the whole regiment worked with feverish energy, and sunday was no less longed for by the utterly worn-out officers than by the men, who were well-nigh tortured to death. but to romashov, who sat idle under arrest, sunday brought neither joy nor repose. as he had tried in vain to sleep during the night, he got up early, dressed slowly and unwillingly, drank his tea with undisguised repugnance, and refreshed himself at last by hurling a few insults at hainán, who did not heed them in the least, but continued to stalk about the room as happy, active, and clumsy as a puppy. romashov sauntered up and down his narrow room in his unbuttoned, carelessly donned undress uniform. now he bumped his knee against the foot of the bed, now his elbow against the rickety bookcase. it was the first time now for half a year--thanks to a somewhat unpleasant accident--that he found himself alone in his own abode. he had always been occupied with drill, sentry duty, card-playing, and libations to bacchus, dancing attendance on the peterson woman, and evening calls on the nikoläievs. sometimes, if he happened to be free and had nothing particular in view, romashov might, if worried by moping and laziness, and as if he feared his own company, rush aimlessly off to the club, or some acquaintance, or simply to the street, in hopes of finding some bachelor comrade--a meeting which infallibly ended with a drinking-bout in the mess-room. now he contemplated with dread the long, unendurable day of loneliness and boredom before him, and a crowd of stupid, extraordinary fancies and projects buzzed in his brain. the bells in the town were ringing for high mass. through the inner window, which had not been removed since the winter began, forced their way into the room these trembling tones that were produced, as it were, one from the other, and in the melancholy clang of which, on this sentimental spring morning, there lay a peculiar power of charm. immediately outside romashov's window lay a garden in which many cherry-trees grew in rich abundance, all white with blooms, and all soft and round as a flock of snow-white sheep whose wool was fine. between them, here and there, arose slim but gigantic poplars that stretched their boughs beseechingly towards heaven, and ancient, venerable chestnut-trees with their dome-like crests. the trees were still bare, with black, naked boughs, but on these, though the eye could hardly discern them, the first yellowish verdure, fresh as the dew, began to be visible. in the pure, moisture-laden air of the newly-awakened spring day, the trees rocked softly here and there before the cool, sportive breezes that murmured from time to time among the flowers, and bowed them to the ground with a roguish kiss. from the windows one could discern, on the left, through a gateway, a part of the dirty street, which on one side was fenced off. people passed alongside of the fence from time to time, walking slowly as they picked out a dry place for their next step. "lucky people," thought romashov, as he enviously followed them with his eyes, "they need not hurry. they have the whole of the long day before them--ah! a whole, free, glorious day." and suddenly there came over him a longing for freedom so intense and passionate that tears rushed to his eyes, and he had great difficulty in restraining himself from running out of the house. now, however, it was not the mess-room that attracted him, but only the yard, the street, fresh air. it was as if he had never understood before what freedom was, and he was astonished at the amount of happiness that is comprised in the simple fact that one may go where one pleases, turn into this or that street, stop in the middle of the square, peep into a half-opened church door, etc., etc., all at one's own sweet will and without having to fear the consequences. the right to do, and the possibility of doing, all this would be enough to fill a man's heart with an exultant sense of joy and bliss. he remembered in connection with this how, in his earliest youth, long before he entered the cadet school, his mother used to punish him by tying him tightly to the foot of the bed with fine thread, after which she left him by himself; and little romashov sat for whole hours submissively still. but never for an instant did it occur to him to flee from the house, although, under ordinary circumstances, he never stood on ceremony--for instance, to slide down the water-pipe from other storys to the street; to dangle, without permission, after a military band or a funeral procession as far as the outskirts of moscow; or to steal from his mother lumps of sugar, jam, and cigarettes for older playfellows, etc. but this brittle thread exercised a remarkable hypnotizing influence on his mind as a child. he was even afraid of breaking it by some sudden, incautious movement. in that case he was influenced by no fear whatsoever of punishment, neither by a sense of duty, nor by regret, but by pure hypnosis, a superstitious dread of the unfathomable power and superiority of grown-up or older persons, which reminds one of the savage who, paralysed by fright, dares not take a step beyond the magic circle that the conjurer has drawn. "and here i am sitting now like a schoolboy, like a little helpless, mischievous brat tied by the leg," thought romashov as he slouched backwards and forwards in his room. "the door is open, i can go when i please, can do what i please, can talk and laugh--but i am kept back by a thread. _i_ sit here; _i_ and nobody else. some one has ordered me to sit here, and i shall sit here; but who has authorized him to order this? certainly not _i_. "i"--romashov stood in the middle of the room with his legs straddling and his head hanging down, thinking deeply. "_i, i, i!_" he shouted in a loud voice, in which there lay a certain note of astonishment, as if he now was first beginning to comprehend the meaning of this short word. "who is standing here and gaping at that black crack in the floor?--is it really i? how curious--i"--he paused slowly and with emphasis on the monosyllable, just as if it were only by such means that he could grasp its significance. he smiled unnaturally; but, in the next instant, he frowned, and turned pale with emotion and strain of thought. such small crises had not infrequently happened to him during the last five or six years, as is nearly always the case with young people during that period of life when the mind is in course of development. a simple truth, a saying, a common phrase, with the meaning of which he has long ago been familiar, suddenly, by some mysterious impulse from within, stands in a new light, and so receives a particular philosophical meaning. romashov could still remember the first time this happened to him. it was at school during a catechism lesson, when the priest tried to explain the parable of the labourers who carried away stones. one of them began with the light stones, and afterwards took the heavier ones, but when at last he came to the very heaviest of all his strength was exhausted. the other worked according to a diametrically different plan, and luckily fulfilled his duty. to romashov was opened the whole abyss of practical wisdom that lay hidden in this simple picture that he had known and understood ever since he could read a book. likewise with the old saying: "seven times shalt thou measure, once shalt thou cut." in a happy moment he suddenly perceived the full, deep import of this maxim; wisdom, understanding, wise economy, calculation. a tremendous experience of life lay concealed in these few words. such was the case now. all his mental individuality stood suddenly before him with the distinctness of a lightning flash. "my ego," thought romashov, "is only that which is within me, the very kernel of my being; all the rest is the non-ego--that is, only secondary things. this room, street, trees, sky, the commander of my regiment, lieutenant andrusevich, the service, the standard, the soldiers--all this is non-ego. no, no, this is non-ego--my hands and feet." romashov lifted up his hands to the level of his face, and looked at them with wonder and curiosity, as if he saw them now for the first time in his life. "no, all this is non-ego. but look--i pinch my arm--that is the ego. i see my arm, i lift it up--_this_ is the ego. and what i am thinking now is also ego. if i now want to go my way, that is the ego. and even if i stop, that is the ego. "oh, how wonderful, how mysterious is this. and so simple too. is it true that all individuals possess a similar ego? perhaps it is only i who have it? or perhaps nobody has it. down there hundreds of soldiers stand drawn up in front of me. i give the order: 'eyes to the right,' to hundreds of human beings who has each his own ego, and who see in me something foreign, distant, i.e. non-ego--then turn their heads at once to the right. but i do not distinguish one from the other; they are to me merely a mass. and to colonel schulgovich both i and viätkin and lbov, and all the captains and lieutenants, are likewise perhaps merely a 'mass,' viz., he does not distinguish one of us from the other, or, in other words, we are entirely outside his ken as individuals to him." the door was opened, and hainán stole into the room. he began at once his usual dance, threw up his legs into the air, rocked his shoulders, and shouted-"your honour, i got no cigarettes. they said that lieutenant skriabin gave orders that you were not to have any more on credit." "oh, damn! you can go, hainán. what am i to do without cigarettes? however, it is of no consequence. you can go, hainán." "what was it i was thinking of?" romashov asked himself, when he was once more alone. he had lost the threads, and, unaccustomed as he was to think, he could not pick them up again at once. "what was i thinking of just now? it was something important and interesting. well, let us turn back and take the questions in order. also, i am under arrest; out in the street i see people at large; my mother tied me up with a thread--_me, me_. yes, so it was. the soldier perhaps has an ego, perhaps even colonel shulgovich. ha, he! now i remember; go on. here i am sitting in my room. i am arrested, but my door is open. i want to go out, but i dare not. why do i not dare? have i committed any crime--theft--murder? no. all i did was merely omitting to keep my heels together when i was talking to another man. possibly i was wrong. yet, why? is it anything important? is it the chief thing in life? in about twenty or thirty years--a second in eternity--my life, my ego, will go out like a lamp does when one turns the wick down. they will light life--the lamp--afresh, over and over again; but my ego is gone for ever. likewise this room, this sky, the regiment, the whole army, all stars, this dirty globe, my hands and feet--all, all--shall be annihilated for ever. yes, yes; that is so. well, all right--but wait a bit. i must not be in too much of a hurry. i shall not be in existence. ah, wait. i found myself in infinite darkness. somebody came and lighted my life's lamp, but almost immediately he blew it out again, and once more i was in darkness, in the eternity of eternities. what did i do? what did i utter during this short moment of my existence? i held my thumb on the seam of my trousers and my heels together. i shrieked as loud as i could: 'shoulder arms!' and immediately afterwards i thundered 'use your butt ends, you donkeys!' i trembled before a hundred tyrants, now miserable ghosts in eternity like my own remarkable, lofty ego. but why did i tremble before those ghosts and why could they compel me to do such a lot of unnecessary, idiotic, unpleasant things? how could they venture to annoy and insult my ego--these miserable spectres?" romashov sat down by the table, put his elbows on it, and leaned his head on his hands. it was hard work for him to keep in check these wild thoughts which raced through his mind. "h'm!--my friend romashov, what a lot you have forgotten--your fatherland, the ashes of your sire, the altar of honour, the warrior's oath and discipline. who shall preserve the land of your sires when the foe rushes over its boundaries? ah! when i am dead there will be no more fatherland, no enemy, no honour. they will disappear at the same time as my consciousness. but if all this be buried and brought to naught--country, enemies, honour, and all the other big words--what has all this to do with _my ego_? i am more important than all these phrases about duty, honour, love, etc. assume that i am a soldier and my ego suddenly says, 'i won't fight,' and not only _my own_ ego, but millions of other egos that constitute the whole of the army, the whole of russia, the entire world; all these say, 'we won't!' then it will be all over so far as war is concerned, and never again will any one have to hear such absurdities as 'open order,' 'shoulder arms,' and all the rest of that nonsense. "well, well, well. it must be so some day," shouted an exultant voice in romashov. "all that talk about 'warlike deeds,' 'discipline,' 'honour of the uniform,' 'respect for superiors,' and, first and last, the whole science of war exists only because humanity will not, or cannot, or dare not, say, 'i won't.'" "what do you suppose all this cunningly reared edifice that is called the profession of arms really is? nothing, humbug, a house hanging in midair, which will tumble down directly mankind pronounces three short words: 'i will not.' my ego will never say, 'i will not eat,' 'i will not breathe,' 'i will not see,' but if any one proposes to my ego that it shall die, it infallibly replies: 'i will not.' what, then, is war with all its hecatombs of dead and the science of war, which teaches us the best methods of murdering? why, a universal madness, an illusion. but wait. perhaps i am mistaken. no, i cannot be mistaken, for this 'i will not' is so simple, so natural, that everybody must, in the end, say it. let us, however, examine the matter more closely. let us suppose that this thought is pronounced this very moment by all russians, germans, englishmen, and japanese. ah, well, what would be the consequence? why, that war would cease for ever, and the officers and soldiers would go, every man, to his home. and what would happen after that? i know: shulgovich would answer; shulgovich would immediately get querulous and say: 'now we are done for; they can attack us now whenever they please, take away our hearths and homes, trample down our fields, and carry off our wives and sisters.' and what about rioters, socialists, revolutionaries? but when the whole of mankind without exception has shouted: 'we will no longer tolerate bloodshed,' who will then dare to assail us? no one! all enemies would be reconciled, submit to each other, forgive everything, and justly divide among themselves the abundance of the earth. gracious god, when shall this dream be fulfilled?" whilst romashov was indulging in these fancies, he failed to notice that hainán had quietly stolen in behind his back and suddenly stretched his arm over his shoulder. romashov started in terror, and roared out angrily-"what the devil do you want?" hainán laid before him on the table a cinnamon-coloured packet. "this is for you," he replied in a friendly, familiar tone, and romashov felt behind him his servant's jovial smile. "they are cigarettes; smoke now." romashov looked at the packet. on it was printed, "the trumpeter, first-class cigarettes. price 3 kopecks for 20." "what does this mean?" he asked in astonishment. "where did this come from?" "i saw that you had no cigarettes, so i bought these with my own money. please smoke them. it is nothing. just a little present." after this, to conceal his confusion, hainán ran headlong to the door, which he slammed after him with a deafening bang. romashov lighted a cigarette, and the room was soon filled with a perfume that strongly reminded one of melted sealing-wax and burnt feathers. "oh, you dear!" thought romashov, deeply moved. "i get cross with you and scold you and make you pull off my muddy boots every evening, and yet you go and buy me cigarettes with your few last coppers. 'please smoke them.' what made you do it?" again he got up and walked up and down the room with his hands behind him. "our company consists of at least a hundred men, and each of them is a creature with thoughts, feelings, experience of life, personal sympathies and antipathies. do i know anything about them? no, nothing, except their faces. i see them before me as they stand in line every day, drawn up from right to left: sóltyss, riaboschápka, yégoroff, yaschtschischin, etc., etc.--mere sorry, grey figures. what have i done to bring my soul nearer to their souls, my ego to theirs? nothing." he involuntarily called to mind a rough night at the end of autumn, when (as was his custom) he was sitting drinking in the mess-room with a few comrades. suddenly the pay-sergeant goumeniuk, of the 9th company, rushed into the room, and breathlessly called to his commander-"your excellency, the recruits are here." yes, there they stood in the rain, in the barrack-yard, driven together like a herd of frightened animals without any will of their own, which with cowed, suspicious glances gazed at their tormentors. "each individual," thought romashov, as he slowly and carefully inspected their appearance, "has his own characteristic expression of countenance. this one, for instance, is most certainly a smith; that is, doubtless, a jolly chap who plays his accordion with some talent; that one with the shrewd features can both read and write, and looks as if he were a _polevói_."[8] and one felt that these poor recruits who, a few days ago, had been violently seized whilst their wives and children were crying and lamenting, had tried, with tears in their voices, to join in the coarse songs of their wild, drunken brothers in misfortune. but a year later they stood like soldiers in long rigid rows--grey, sluggish, apathetic figures, all cast, as it were, in the same mould. but they never left their homes of their own free will. their ego resented it. and yet they went. why all this inconsistency? how can one not help thinking of that old and well-known story about the cock who fought desperately with his wings and resisted to the uttermost when his beak was pressed against a table, but who stood motionless, hypnotized, when some one drew a thick line with a piece of chalk across the table from the tip of his beak. romashov threw himself on the bed. "what is there left for you to do under the circumstances?" he asked himself in bitter mockery. "do you think of resigning? but, in that case, where do you think of going? what does the sum of knowledge amount to that you have learnt at the infants' school, the cadet school, at the military academy, at mess? have you tried the struggle and seriousness of life? no, you have been looked after and your wants supplied, as if you were a little child, and you think perhaps, like a certain schoolgirl, that rolls grow on trees. go out into the world and try. at the very first step you would slip and fall; people would trample you in the dust, and you would drown your misery in drink. and besides, have you ever heard of an officer leaving the service of his own free will? no, never. just because he is unfit for anything he will not give up his meagre bread-and-butter. and if any one is forced into doing this, you will soon see him wearing a greasy old regimental cap, and accepting alms from people in the street. i am a russian officer of gentle birth, _comprenez-vous_? alas, where shall i go--what will become of me?" "prisoner, prisoner!" cried a clear female voice beneath the window. romashov jumped up from his bed and rushed to the window. opposite him stood shurochka. she was protecting her eyes from the sun with the palm of her hand, and pressing her rosy face against the window pane, exclaiming in a mocking tone:-"oh, give a poor beggar a copper!" romashov fumbled at the window-catch in wild eagerness to open it, but he remembered in the same moment that the inner window had not been removed. with joyous resolution he seized the window-frame with both hands, and dragged it to him with a tremendous tug. a loud noise was heard, and the whole window fell into the room, besprinkling romashov with bits of lime and pieces of dried putty. the outer window flew up, and a stream of fresh air, charged with joy and the perfume of flowers, forced its way into the room. "ha, at last! now i'll go out, cost what it may," shouted romashov in a jubilant voice. "romashov, you mad creature! what are you doing?" he caught her outstretched hand through the window; it was closely covered by a cinnamon-coloured glove, and he began boldly to kiss it, first upwards and downwards, and after that from the finger-tips to the wrist. last of all, he kissed the hole in the glove just below the buttons. he was astonished at his boldness; never before had he ventured to do this. shurochka submitted as though unconscious to this passionate burst of affection, and smilingly accepted his kisses whilst gazing at him in shy wonderment. "alexandra petrovna, you are an angel. how shall i ever be able to thank you?" "gracious, romochka! what has come to you? and why are you so happy?" she asked laughingly as she eyed romashov with persistent curiosity. "but wait, my poor prisoner, i have brought you from home a splendid _kalátsch_ and the most delicious apple puffs." "stepan, bring the basket here." he looked at her with devotion in his eyes, and without letting go her hand, which she allowed to remain unresistingly in his, he said hurriedly-"oh, if you knew all i have been thinking about this morning--if you only knew! but of this, later on." "yes, later on. look, here comes my lord and master. let go my hand. how strange you look to-day! i even think you have grown handsome." nikoläiev now came up to the window. he frowned, and greeted romashov in a rather cool and reserved way. "come, shurochka," he said to his wife, "what in the world are you thinking about? you must both be mad. only think, if the commander were to see us. good-bye, romashov; come and see us." "yes, come and see us, yuri alexievich," repeated shurochka. she left the window, but returned almost at once and whispered rapidly to romashov. "don't forget us. you are the only man here whom i can associate with--as a friend--do you hear? and another thing. once for all i forbid you to look at me with such sheep's eyes, remember that. besides, you have no right to imagine anything. you are not a coxcomb yet, you know." vii at 3.30 p.m. lieutenant federovski, the adjutant of the regiment, drove up to romashov's house. he was a tall, stately, and (as the ladies of the regiment used to say) presentable young man, with freezingly cold eyes and an enormous moustache that almost grazed his shoulder. towards the younger officers he was always excessively polite, but, at the same time, officially correct in his conduct. he was not familiar with any one, and had a very high opinion of himself and his position. nearly all the captains flattered and paid court to him. as he entered the door, he rapidly scanned with his blinking eyes the whole of the scanty furniture in romashov's room. the latter, who lay resting on his bed, jumped off, and, blushing, began to button up his undress tunic. "i am here by orders of the commander, who wishes to speak to you," said federovski in a dry tone. "be good enough to dress and accompany me as soon as possible." "i shall be ready at once. shall i put on undress or parade uniform?" "don't, please, stand on ceremony. a frock-coat, if you like, that would be quite sufficient. meanwhile, with your permission, i will take a seat." "oh, i beg your pardon--will you have some tea?" said romashov fussily. "no, thanks. my time is short, and i must ask you to be as quick as possible about changing your clothes." and without taking off his cloak or gloves, he sat down whilst romashov changed his clothes in nervous haste and with painful glances at his not particularly clean shirt. federovski sat the whole time with his hands resting on the hilt of his sabre, as motionless as a stone image. "i suppose you do not happen to know why i am sent for?" the adjutant shrugged his shoulders. "a singular question! how should i know? you ought to know the reason better than i. but if i may give you a bit of friendly advice, put the sabre-belt under--not over--the shoulder strap. the colonel is, as you are aware, particular about such matters. and now, if you please, we will start." before the steps stood a common _calèche_, attached to which were a couple of high, lean army horses. romashov was polite enough to encroach as little as possible on the narrow seat, so as not to cause his attendant any discomfort, but the latter did not, so it seemed, take the slightest notice of that. on the way they met viätkin; the latter exchanged a chilly and correct salute with the adjutant, but honoured romashov, who for a second turned round, with a comic but enigmatical gesture that might probably mean: "ah, poor fellow, you are on your way to pontius pilate." they met other officers, some of whom regarded romashov with a sort of solemn interest, others with unfeigned astonishment, and some bestowed on him only a derisive smile. romashov tried to avoid their glances and felt himself shrinking beneath them. the colonel did not receive him at once. he had some one in his private room. romashov had to wait in a half-dark hall that smelt of apples, naphtha, newly-polished furniture and, besides that, of something which not at all unpleasantly reminded him of the odour which seems particularly inseparable from clothes and furniture in well-to-do german families that are pedantically careful about their goods and chattels. as he walked slowly up and down the hall, he glanced at himself several times in a mirror in a light ashwood frame which was fixed to the wall; and each time he looked his face struck him as being unhealthily pale, ugly, and queer. his uniform, too, was shabby, and his epaulettes soiled. out in the hall might be heard the incessant rumbling of the colonel's deep bass voice. the words themselves could not be distinguished, but the ferocious tone told the tale clearly enough that colonel shulgovich was scolding some one with implacable and sustained rage. this went on for about five minutes; after which schulgovich suddenly became silent, a trembling, supplicating voice succeeded his, and, after a moment's pause, romashov clearly heard the following frightful tirade uttered with a terrible accent of pride, indignation, and contempt: "what nonsense is it that you dare to talk about your wife and your children? what the devil have i to do with them? before you brought your children into the world you ought to have considered how you could manage to feed them. what? so now you are trying to throw the blame on your colonel, are you? but it has nothing to do with him. you know too well, captain, that if i do not deliver you into the hands of justice i shall fail in my duty as your commander. be good enough not to interrupt me. here there is no question of an offence against discipline, but a glaring crime, and _your_ place henceforward will certainly not be in the regiment, but you yourself best know _where_." again he heard that miserable, beseeching voice, so pitiful that it did not sound human. "good lord! what is it all about?" thought romashov, who, as if he were glued to the looking-glass, gazed at his pale face without seeing it, and felt his heart throbbing painfully. "good lord! how horrible!" the plaintive, beseeching voice again replied, and spoke at some length. when it ceased, the colonel's deep bass began thundering, but now evidently a trifle more calmly and gently than before, as if his rage had spent itself, and his desire to witness the humiliation of another were satisfied. shulgovich said abruptly: "engrave it for ever on your red nose. all right! but this is the last time. remember now! the last time! do you hear? if it ever comes to my ears that you have been drunk, the--silence!--i know what you intend to say, but i won't hear any more of your promises. in a week's time i shall inspect your company. you understand? and as to the troops' pay, that matter must be settled to-morrow. you hear? _to-morrow._ and now i shall not detain you longer, captain. i have the honour----" the last words were interrupted by a scraping on the floor, and a few tottering steps towards the door; but, suddenly, the colonel's voice was again heard, though this time its wrathful and violent tone did not sound quite natural. "wait a moment! come here, you devil's pepper-box! where are you off to? to the jews, of course--to get a bill signed. ah, you fool--you blockhead! here you are! one, two, three, four--three hundred. i can't do more. take them and be off with you. pay me back when you can. what a mess you have made of things, captain! now be off with you! go to the devil--your servant, sir!" the door sprang open, and into the hall staggered little captain sviatovidov, red and perspiring, with harassed, nay, ravaged, features. his right hand grasped convulsively his new, rustling bundle of banknotes. he made a sort of pirouette directly he recognized romashov, tried, but failed miserably in the attempt, to assume a sportive, free-and-easy look, and clutched tight hold of romashov's fingers with his hot, moist, trembling hand. his wandering, furtive glances rested at last on romashov as if he would ask the question: "have you heard anything or have you not?" "he's a tiger, a bloodhound!" he whispered, pointing to the door of the colonel's room; "but what the deuce does it matter?" sviatovidov twice crossed himself quickly. "the lord be praised! the lord be praised!" "bon-da-ren-ko!" roared shulgovich from his room, and his powerful voice that moment filled every nook and corner of the house. "bondarenko, who is out there still? bring him in." "hold your own, my young lion," whispered sviatovidov with a false smile. "_au revoir_, lieutenant. hope you'll have a good time." bondarenko glided through the door. he was a typical colonel's servant, with an impudently condescending look, hair pomaded and parted in the middle, dandified, with white gloves. he addressed romashov in a respectful tone, but eyed him, at the same time, in a very bold way. "his excellency begs your honour to step in." he opened the door and stepped aside. romashov walked in. colonel shulgovich sat at a table in a corner of the room, to the left of the door. he was wearing his fatigue tunic, under which appeared his gleaming white shirt. his red, sinewy hands rested on the arm of his easy chair. his unnaturally big, old face, with short tufts of hair on the top of his head, and the white pointed beard, gave an impression of a certain hardness and coldness. the bright colourless eyes gleamed almost aggressively at the visitor, whose salutation was returned with a brief nod. romashov at that moment noticed a crescent-shaped ring in the colonel's ear, and thought to himself: "strange that i never saw that ring before." "this is very serious," began shulgovich, in a gruff bass that seemed to proceed from the depths of his diaphragm, after which he made a long pause. "shame on you!" he continued in a raised voice. "because you've served a year all but one week you begin to put on airs. besides this, i have many other reasons to be annoyed with you. for instance: i come to the parade-ground and make a justifiable remark about you. at once you are ready to answer your commanding officer in a silly, insolent manner. can that be called military tact and discipline? no. such a thing is incredible, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself." the latter words were roared by shulgovich with such deafening violence that his victim felt a tremor under his knee-cap. romashov looked gloomily away, and no power in the world, thought he, should induce him to look at the colonel straight in his basilisk face. "where's my _ego_ now?" he asked himself ironically. "here the only thing to do is to suffer, keep silent, and stand at attention." "it does not matter now how i obtained my information about you. it is quite sufficient i know all your sins. _you drink._ you, a mere boy--a callow creature that has but lately left school--swig schnapps like a cobbler's apprentice. hold your tongue, don't try to defend yourself, i know everything--and much more than you think. well, god forbid!--if you are bent on going down the broad path you are welcome to do it, so far as i'm concerned. still, i'll give you a warning: drink has made more than one of your sort acquainted with the inside of a prison. lay these words of mine to heart. my long-suffering is great, but even an angel's patience can be exhausted. the officers of a regiment are mutually related as members of one family; but don't forget that an unworthy member who tarnishes the honour of the family is ruthlessly cast out." "here i stand paralysed with fright, and my tongue is numbed," thought romashov, as he stared, as though hypnotized, at the little silver ring in the colonel's ear. "at this moment i ought to tell him straight out that i do not in the least degree value the honour of belonging to this worthy family, and that i shall be delighted to leave it to enter the reserves; but have i the courage to say so?" his lips moved, he found a difficulty in swallowing, but he stood still, as he had throughout the interview. "but let us," continued shulgovich in the same harsh tone, "examine more closely your conduct in the past. in the previous year--practically as soon as you entered the service, you requested leave on account of your mother's illness, nay, you even produced a sort of letter about it. well, in such cases an officer cannot, you know, openly express his doubts as to the truth of a comrade's word. but i take this opportunity of telling you in private that i had my own opinion then about that story. you understand?" romashov had for a long time felt a tremor in his right knee. this tremor was at first very slight, in fact scarcely noticeable, but it very soon assumed alarming proportions, and finally extended over the whole of his body. this feeling grew very painful at the thought that shulgovich might possibly regard his nervousness as proceeding from fear; but when his mother's name was mentioned, a consuming heat coursed through romashov's veins, and his intense nervous tremor ceased immediately. for the first time during all this painful scene he raised his eyes to his torturer and looked him defiantly straight in the face. and in this look glittered a hatred, menace, and imperious lust of vengeance from the insulted man, so intense and void of all fear that the illimitable distance between the omnipotent commander and the insignificant sub-lieutenant, who had no rights at all, was absolutely annihilated. a mist arose before romashov's eyes, the various objects in the room lost their shape, and the colonel's gruff voice sounded to him as if from a deep abyss. then there suddenly came a moment of darkness and ominous silence, devoid of thoughts, will, or external perception, nay, even without consciousness. he experienced only a horrible certainty that, in another moment, something terrible and maniacal, something irretrievably disastrous, would happen. a strange, unfamiliar voice whispered in his ear: "next moment i will kill him," and romashov was slowly but irresistibly forced to fix his eyes on the colonel's bald head. afterwards, as if in a dream, he became aware, although he could not understand the reason, of a curious change in his enemy's eyes, which, in rapid succession, reflected wonder, dread, helplessness, and pity. the wave of destruction that had just whelmed through romashov's soul, by the violence of natural force, subsided, sank, and disappeared in space. he tottered, and now everything appeared to him commonplace and uninteresting. shulgovich, in nervous haste, placed a chair before him, and said, with unexpected but somewhat rough kindness-"the devil take you! what a touchy fellow you are! sit down and be damned to you! but you are all alike. you look at me as if i were a wild beast. 'the old fossil goes for us without rhyme or reason.' and all the time god knows i love you as if you were my own children. do you think i have nothing to put up with, either? ah, gentlemen, how little you know me! it is true i scold you occasionally, but, damn it all! an old fellow has a right to be angry sometimes. oh, you youngsters! well, let us make peace. give me your hand and come to dinner." romashov bowed without uttering a syllable, and pressed the coarse, cold, hairy hand. his recollection of the past insult to some extent faded, but his heart was none the lighter for this. he remembered his proud, inflated fancies of that very morning, and he now felt like a little pale, pitiful schoolboy, like a shy, abandoned, scarcely tolerated brat, and he thought of all this with shame and mortification. also, whilst accompanying shulgovich to the dining-room, he could not help addressing himself, as his habit was, in the third person-"and a shadow rested on his brow." shulgovich was childless. in the dining-room, his wife--a fat, coarse, self-important, and silent woman--awaited him. she had not a vestige of neck, but displayed a whole row of chins. notwithstanding her _pince-nez_ and her scornful mien, there was a certain air of vulgarity about her countenance, which gave the impression of its being formed, at the last minute, hurriedly and negligently, out of dough, with raisins or currants instead of eyes. behind her waddled, dragging her feet, the colonel's old mother--a little deaf, but still an active, domineering, venomous old hag. while she closely and rudely examined romashov over her spectacles, she clawed hold of his fingers and coolly pressed to his lips her black, shrivelled, bony hand, that reminded one most of an anatomical specimen. this done, she turned to the colonel and asked him, just as if they had been absolutely alone in the dining-room-"who is this? i don't remember seeing him here before?" shulgovich formed his hands into a sort of speaking-tube, and bawled into the old woman's ear: "sub-lieutenant romashov, mamma. a capital officer, a smart fellow, and an ornament to his regiment--comes from the cadet school. by the way, sub-lieutenant," he exclaimed abruptly, "we are certainly from the same province. aren't you from pevsa?"[9] "yes, colonel, i was born in pevsa." "to be sure, to be sure; now i remember. you are from the narovtschátski district?" "quite right, colonel." "ah, yes--how could i have forgotten it! mamma," he again trumpeted into his mother's ear, "mamma, sub-lieutenant romashov is from our province; he's from narovtschátski." "ah, ah," and the old woman raised her eyebrows as a sign that she understood. "well, then, you're, of course, a son of sergei petrovich shishkin?" "no, dear mother," roared the colonel, "you are wrong. his name is romashov, not shishkin." "yes, didn't i say so? i never knew sergei petrovich except by hearsay; but i often met peter petrovich. he was a charming young man. we were near neighbours, and i congratulate you, my young friend, on your relationship." "well, as you will have it, you old deaf-as-a-post," exclaimed the colonel, interrupting her with good-humoured cynicism." but now, let's sit down; please take a seat, sub-lieutenant. lieutenant federovski," he shrieked towards the door, "stop your work and come and have a schnapps." the adjutant, who, according to the custom in many regiments, dined every day with his chief, hurriedly entered the dining-room. he clicked his spurs softly and discreetly, walked straight up to the little majolica table with the _sakuska_,[10] calmly helped himself to a schnapps, and ate with extreme calmness and enjoyment. romashov noticed all that with an absurd, envious feeling of admiration. "you'll take one, won't you?" said shulgovich to romashov. "you're no teetotaller, you know." "no, thank you very much," replied romashov hoarsely; and, with a slight cough, "i do not usually----" "bravo, my young friend. stick to that in future." they sat down to table. the dinner was good and abundant. any one could observe that, in this childless family, both host and hostess had an innocent little weakness for good living. dinner consisted of chicken soup with vegetables, roast bream with _kascha_,[11] a splendid fat duck and asparagus. on the table stood three remarkable decanters containing red wine, white wine, and madeira, resplendent with embossed silver stoppers bearing elegant foreign marks. the colonel, whose violent explosion of wrath but a short time previously had evidently given him an excellent appetite, ate with an elegance and taste that struck the spectator with pleasure and surprise. he joked all the time with a certain rough humour. when the asparagus was put on the table, he crammed a corner of his dazzlingly white serviette well down under his chin, and exclaimed in a lively way-"if i were the tsar, i would eat asparagus every day of my life." only once, at the fish course, he fell into his usual domineering tone, and shouted almost harshly to romashov-"sub-lieutenant, be good enough to put your knife down. fish and cutlets are eaten only with a fork. an officer must know how to eat properly; he may, at any time, you know, be invited to the palace. don't forget that." romashov was uncomfortable and constrained the whole time. he did not know what to do with his hands, which, for the most part, he kept under the table plaiting the fringe of the tablecloth. he had long got out of the habit of observing what was regarded as "good form" in an elegant and wealthy house. and, during the whole time he was at table, one sole thought tortured him: "how disagreeable this is, and what weakness and cowardice on my part not to have the courage to refuse this humiliating invitation to dinner. now i shall not stand this any longer. i'll get up and bow to the company, and go my way. they may think what they please about it. they can hardly eat me up for that--nor rob me of my soul, my thoughts, my consciousness. shall i go?" and again he was obliged to acknowledge to himself, with a heart overflowing with pain and indignation, that he lacked the moral courage necessary to assert his individuality and self-respect. twilight was falling when at last coffee was served. the red, slanting beams of the setting sun filtered in through the window blinds, and sportively cast little copper-coloured spots or rays on the dark furniture, on the white tablecloth, and the clothes and countenances of those present. conversation gradually languished. all sat silent, as though hypnotized by the mystic mood of the dying day. "when i was an ensign," said shulgovich, breaking the silence, "we had for the chief of our brigade a general named fofanov. he was just one of those gentle and simple old fogies who had risen from the ranks during a time of war, and, as i believe, belonged at the start to what we call kantonists.[12] i remember how at reviews he always went straight up to the big drum--he was insanely enamoured of that instrument--and said to the drummer, 'come, come, my friend, play me something really melancholy.' this same general had also the habit of going to bed directly the clock struck eleven. when the clock was just on the stroke of the hour, he invariably said to his guests, 'well, well, gentlemen, eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves, but i'm going to throw myself into the arms of neptune.' somebody once remarked, 'your excellency, you mean the arms of morpheus?' 'oh, that's the same thing. they both belong to the same mineralogy.' well, that's just what i am going to do, gentlemen." shulgovich got up and placed his serviette on the arm of his chair. "i, too, am going to throw myself into the arms of neptune. i release you, gentlemen." both officers got up and stretched themselves. "a bitter, ironical smile played on his thin lips," thought romashov about himself--only _thought_, however, for at that moment his countenance was pale, wretched, and by no means prepossessing to look at. once more romashov was on his way home, and once more he felt himself lonely, abandoned, and helpless in this gloomy and hostile place. once more the sun flamed in the west, amidst heavy, dark blue thunder-clouds, and once more before romashov's eyes, in the distance, behind houses and fields, at the verge of the horizon, there loomed a fantastic fairy city beckoning to him with promises of marvellous beauty and happiness. the darkness fell suddenly between the rows of houses. a few little jewish children ran, squealing, along the path. here and there in doorways, in the embrasures of windows, and in the dusk of gardens there were sounds of women's laughter, provocative and unintermittent, and with a quiver of warm animalistic gladness which is heard only when spring is near. with the deep yet calm melancholy that now lay heavy on romashov's heart there were mingled strange, dim memories of a bliss miraged but never enjoyed in youth's still lovelier spring, and there arose in his heart a delicious presentiment of a strong, invincible love that at last gained its object. when romashov reached his abode he found hainán in his dark and dirty cupboard in front of pushkin's bust. the great bard was smeared all over with grease, and before him burning candles cast bright blurs on the statue's nose, its thick lips and muscular neck. hainán sat, in the turkish style, cross-legged on the three boards that constituted his bed, rocked his body to and fro, and mumbled out in a sing-song tone something weird, melancholy, and monotonous. "hainán," shouted romashov. the servant started, jumped up, and stood at attention. fear and embarrassment were displayed on his countenance. "allah?" asked romashov in the most friendly way. the circassian's shaven boyish mouth expanded in a broad grin which showed his beautiful white teeth in the candle-light. "allah, your honour." "it is all the same, hainán. allah is in you. allah is in me. there is one allah for us all." "my excellent hainán," thought romashov to himself as he went into his room. "and i dare not shake hands with him. dare not! damn it all! from to-day i will dress and undress myself. it's a disgrace that some one else should do it for me." that evening he did not go to the mess-room, but stayed at home and brought out of a drawer a thick, ruled book, nearly entirely filled with elegant, irregular handwriting. he wrote far into the night. it was the third in order of romashov's novels, and its title ran: _a fatal beginning_. but our lieutenant blushed furiously at his literary efforts, and he would not have been induced for anything in the world to acknowledge his authorship. viii barracks had just begun to be built for the garrison troops on what was called the "cattle square," outside the town, on the other side of the railway. meanwhile the companies were quartered here and there in the town. the officers' mess-room was situated in a rather small house. the drawing-room and ballroom had their windows over the street. the other rooms, the windows of which overlooked a dark, dirty backyard, were set apart for kitchen, dining-room, billiard-room, guest-chamber, and ladies'-room. a long narrow corridor with doors to all the rooms in the house ran the whole length of the building. in the rooms that were seldom used, and not often cleaned or aired, a musty, sour smell greeted the visitor as he entered. romashov reached the mess at 9 p.m. five or six unmarried officers had already assembled for the appointed soirée, but the ladies had not yet arrived. for some time past there had been a keen rivalry amongst the latter to display their acquaintance with the demands of fashion, according to which it was incumbent on a lady with pretensions to elegance scrupulously to avoid being among the first to reach the ballroom. the musicians were already in their places in a sort of gallery that was connected with the room by means of a large window composed of many panes of glass. three-branched candelabra on the pillars between the windows shed their radiance, and lamps were suspended from the roof. the bright illumination on the scanty furniture, consisting only of viennese chairs, the bare walls, and the common white muslin window-curtains, gave the somewhat spacious room a very empty and deserted air. in the billiard-room the two adjutants of the battalion, biek-agamalov and olisár--the only count in the regiment--were engaged in a game of "carolina." the stakes were only ale. olisár--tall, gaunt, sleek, and pomaded--an "old, young man" with wrinkled face and bald crown, scattered freely billiard-room jests and slang. biek-agamalov lost both his game and his temper in consequence. in the seat by the window sat staff-captain lieschtschenko--a melancholy individual of forty-five, an altogether miserable figure, the mere sight of which could bore people to death--watching the game. his whole appearance gave the impression of hopeless melancholy. everything about him was limp: his long, fleshy, wrinkled red nose; his dim, dark-brown thread-like moustache that reached down below his chin. his eyebrows, which grew a good way down to the bridge of his nose, made his eyes look as if he were just about to weep, and his thin, lean body with his sunken chest and sloping shoulders looked like a clothes-horse in its worn and shiny uniform. lieschtschenko neither smoked, drank, nor played; but he found a strange pleasure in looking at the cards from behind the players' backs, and in following the movements of the balls in the billiard-room. he likewise delighted in listening, huddled up in a dining-room window, to the row and vulgarities of the wildest drinking-bouts. he could thus sit, for hours at a time, motionless as a stone statue, and without uttering a single word. all the officers were so accustomed to this that they almost regarded the silent lieschtschenko as one of the inevitable fixtures of a normal gambling or drinking bout. after saluting the three officers, romashov sat down by lieschtschenko, who courteously made room for him, as with a deep sigh he fixed his sorrowful and friendly, dog-like eyes on him. "how is maria viktorovna?" asked romashov in the careless and intentionally loud voice which is generally employed in conversation with deaf or rather stupid people, and which all the regiment (including the ensigns) used when they happened to address lieschtschenko. "quite well, thanks," replied lieschtschenko with a still deeper sigh. "you understand--her nerves; but, you know, at this time of year----" "but why did she not come with you? but perhaps maria viktorovna is not coming to the soirée to-night?" "what do you mean? of course she's coming; but you see, my dear fellow, there was no room for me in the cab. she and raisa peterson took a trap between them, and as you'll understand, my dear fellow, they said to me, 'don't come here with your dirty, rough boots, they simply ruin our clothes.'" "croisez in the middle--a nice 'kiss.' pick up the ball, biek," cried olisár. "i am not a lackey. do you think i'll pick up your balls?" replied biek-agamalov in a furious tone. lieschtschenko caught in his mouth the tips of his long moustaches, and thereupon began sucking and chewing them with an extremely thoughtful and troubled air. "yuri alexievich, my dear fellow, i have a favour to ask you," he blurted out at last in a shy and deprecating tone. "you lead the dance to-night, eh?" "yes, damn it all! they have so arranged it among themselves. i did try to get off it, kow-towed to the adjutant--ah, pretty nearly reported myself ill. 'in that case,' said he, 'you must be good enough to hand in a medical certificate.'" "this is what i want you to do for me," lieschtschenko went on in the same humble voice. "for god's sake see that she does not have to sit out many dances." "maria viktorovna?" "yes, please----" "double with the yellow in the corner," said biek-agamalov, indicating the stroke he intended to make. being short, he often found billiards very troublesome. to reach the ball now he was obliged to lie lengthways on the table. he became quite red in the face through the effort, and two veins in his forehead swelled to such an extent that they converged at the top of his nose like the letter v.[13] "what a conjurer!" said olisár in a jeering, ironical tone. "i could not do that." agamalov's cue touched the ball with a dry, scraping sound. the ball did not move from its place. "miss!" cried olisár jubilantly, as he danced a _cancan_ round the billiard table. "do you snore when you sleep, my pretty creature?" agamalov banged the thick end of his cue on the floor. "if you ever again speak when i am making a stroke," he roared, his black eyes glittering, "i'll throw up the game." "don't, whatever you do, get excited. it's so bad for your health. now it's my turn." just at that moment in rushed one of the soldiers stationed in the hall for the service of the ladies, and came to attention in front of romashov. "your honour, the ladies would like you to come into the ballroom." three ladies who had just arrived were already pacing up and down the ballroom. they were none of them exactly young; the eldest of them, the wife of the club president--anna ivanovna migunov--turned to romashov and exclaimed in a prim, affected tone, drawling out the words and tossing her head: "sub-lieutenant romashov, please order the band to play something whilst we are waiting." "with pleasure, ladies," replied romashov with a polite bow. he then went up to the orchestra and called to the conductor, "zisserman, play us something pretty." the first thundering notes of the overture to "long live the tsar" rolled through the open windows of the music gallery across the ballroom, and the flames of the candelabra vibrated to the rhythm of the drum beats. the ladies gradually assembled. a year ago, romashov had felt an indescribable pleasure in those very minutes before the ball when, in accordance with his duties as director of the ball, he received the ladies as they arrived in the hall. oh, what mystic witchery those enchantresses possessed when, fired by the strains of the orchestra, by the glare of many lights, and by the thought of the approaching ball, they suffered themselves, in delicious confusion, to be divested of their boas, fur cloaks, wraps, etc. women's silvery laughter, high-pitched chatter, mysterious whispers, the freezing perfume from furs covered with hoar-frost, essences, powder, kid gloves, etc. all this commingled constituted the mystic, intoxicating atmosphere that is only found where beautiful women in evening dress crowd one another immediately before entering a ballroom. what a charm in their lovely eyes, beaming with the certainty of victory, that cast a last, swift, scrutinizing glance in the mirror at their hair! what music in the _frou-frou_ of trains and silken skirts! what bliss in the touch of delicate little hands, shawls, and fans! all this enchantment, romashov felt, had now ceased for ever. he now understood, and not without a certain sense of shame, that much of this enchantment had owed its origin to the perusal of bad french novels, in which occurred the inevitable description of how "gustave and armand cross the vestibule when invited to a ball at the russian embassy." he also knew that the ladies of his regiment wore for years the same evening dress, which, on certain festive occasions, was pathetically remodelled, and that the white gloves very often smelt of benzine. the generally prevailing passion for different sorts of aigrettes, scarves, sham diamonds, feathers, and ribbons of loud and gaudy colours, struck him as being highly ridiculous and pretentious. the same lack of taste and shabby-genteel love of display were shown even in their homes. they "made up" shamelessly, and some faces by this means had acquired a bluish tint; but the most unpleasant part of the affair, in romashov's opinion, was what he and others in the regiment, on the day after the ball, discovered as having happened behind the scenes--gossip, flirtations, and big and little scandals. and he also knew how much poverty, envy, love of intrigue, petty provincial pride, and low morality were hidden behind all this splendid misery. now captain taliman and his wife entered the room. they were both tall and compact. she was a delicate, fragile blonde; he, dark, with the face of a veritable brigand, and affected with a chronic hoarseness and cough. romashov knew beforehand that taliman would very soon whisper his usual phrase, and, sure enough, the latter directly afterwards exclaimed, as his gipsy eyes wandered spy-like over the ballroom-"have you started cards yet, lieutenant?" "no, not yet, they are all together in the dining-room." "ah, really, do you know, sonochka, i think i'll go into the dining-room for a minute just to glance at the _russki invalid_. and you, my dear romashov, kindly look after my wife here for a bit--they are starting the quadrille there." after this the lykatschev family--a whole caravan of pretty, laughing, lisping young ladies, always chattering--made its appearance. at the head walked the mother, a lively little woman, who, despite her forty years, danced every dance, and brought children into the world "between the second and third quadrille," as artschakovski, the wit of the regiment, liked to put it. the young ladies instantly threw themselves on romashov, laughing and chattering in the attempt to talk one another down. "lieutenant romashov, why do you never come to thee uth?" "you wicked man!" "naughty, naughty, naughty!" "wicked man!" "i will give you the firtht quadwille." "mesdames, mesdames," said romashov in self-defence, bowing and scraping in all directions, and forced against his will to do the polite. at that very moment he happened to look in the direction of the street door. he recognized, silhouetted against the glass, raisa alexandrovna's thin face and thick, prominent lips, which, however, were almost hidden by a white kerchief tied over her hat. romashov, like a schoolboy caught in the act, slipped into the reception-room as quick as lightning, but however much he might try to convince himself that he escaped raisa's notice, he felt a certain anxiety. in his quondam mistress's small eyes lay a new expression, hard, menacing, and revengeful, that foreboded a bad time for him. he walked into the dining-room, where a crowd of officers were assembled. nearly all the chairs round the long oilcloth-covered table were engaged. the blue tobacco smoke curled slowly along the roof and walls. a rancid smell of fried butter emanated from the kitchen. two or three groups of officers had already made inroads on the cold collation and schnapps. a few were reading the newspapers. a loud, multitudinous murmur of voices blended with the click of billiard balls, the rattle of knives, and the slamming of the kitchen door. a cold, unpleasant draught from the vestibule caught one's feet and legs. romashov looked for lieutenant bobetinski and went to him. bobetinski was standing, with his hands in his trousers pockets, quite near the long table. he was rocking backwards and forwards, first on his toes, then on his heels, and his eyes were blinking from the smoke. romashov gently touched his arm. "i beg your pardon!" said bobetinski as he turned round and drew one hand out of his pocket; but he continued peering with his eyes, squinting at romashov, and screwing his moustache with a superior air and his elbows akimbo. "ha! it is you? this is very delightful!" he always assumed an affected, mincing air, and spoke in short, broken sentences, thinking, by so doing, that he imitated the aristocratic guardsmen and the _jeunesse dorée_ of st. petersburg. he had a very high opinion of himself, regarded himself as unsurpassed as a dancer and connoisseur of women and horses, and loved to play the part of a _blasé_ man of the world, although he was hardly twenty-four. he always shrugged his shoulders coquettishly high, jabbered horrible french, pattered along the streets with limp, crooked knees and trailing gait, and invariably accompanied his conversation with careless, weary gestures. "my good peter taddeevich," implored romashov in a piteous voice, "do, please, conduct the ball to-night instead of me." "_mais, mon ami_"--bobetinski shrugged his shoulders, raised his eyebrows, and assumed a stupid expression. "but, my friend," he translated into russian, "why so? _pourquoi donc?_ really, how shall i say it? you--you astonish me." "well, my dear fellow, please----" "stop! no familiarities, if you please. my dear fellow, indeed!" "but i beg you, peter taddeevich. you see, my head aches, and i have a pain in my throat; it is absolutely impossible for me to----" in this way romashov long and fruitlessly assailed his brother officer. finally, as a last expedient, he began to deluge him with gross flattery. "peter taddeevich, there is no one in the whole regiment so capable as yourself of conducting a ball with good taste and genius, and, moreover, a lady has specially desired----" "a lady!" bobetinski assumed a blank, melancholy expression. "a lady, did you say? ah, my friend, at my age----" he smiled with a studied expression of hopeless resignation. "besides, what is woman? ha, ha! an enigma. however, i'll do what you want me to do." and in the same doleful tone he added suddenly, "_mon cher ami_, do you happen to have--what do you call it--three roubles?" "ah, no, alas!" sighed romashov. "well, one rouble, then?" "but----" "_désagréable._ the old, old story. at any rate, i suppose we can take a glass of vodka together?" "alas, alas! peter taddeevich, i have no further credit." "oh! _o pauvre enfant!_ but it does not matter, come along!" bobetinski waved his hand with an air of magnanimity. "i will treat you." meanwhile, in the dining-room the conversation had become more and more high-pitched and interesting for some of those present. the talk was about certain officers' duels that had lately taken place, and opinions were evidently much divided. the speaker at that moment was artschakovski, a rather obscure individual who was suspected, not without reason, of cheating at cards. there was a story current about him, which was whispered about, to the effect that, before he entered the regiment, when he still belonged to the reserves, he had been head of a posting-station, and was arrested and condemned for killing a post-boy by a blow of his fist. "duels may often be necessary among the fools and dandies of the guards," exclaimed artschakovski roughly, "but it is not the same thing with us. let us assume for an instance that i and vasili vasilich lipski get blind drunk at mess, and that i, who am a bachelor, whilst drunk, box his ears. what will be the result? well, either he refuses to exchange a couple of bullets with me, and is consequently turned out of the regiment, or he accepts the challenge and gets a bullet in his stomach; but in either case his children will die of starvation. no, all that sort of thing is sheer nonsense." "wait a bit," interrupted the old toper, lieutenant-colonel liech, as he held his glass with one hand and with the other made several languid motions in the air; "do you understand what the honour of the uniform is? it is the sort of thing, my dear fellow, which---but speaking of duels, i remember an event that happened in 1862 in the temriukski regiment." "for god's sake," exclaimed artschakovski, interrupting him in turn, "spare us your old stories or tell us something that took place after the reign of king orre." "what cheek! you are only a little boy compared with me. well, as i was saying----" "only blood can wipe out the stain of an insult," stammered bobetinski, who plumed himself on being a cock, and now took part in the conversation in a bragging tone. "well, gentlemen, there was at that time a certain ensign--solúcha," said liech, making one more attempt. captain osadchi, commander of the 1st company, approached from the buffet. "i hear that you are talking about duels--most interesting," he began in a gruff, rolling bass that reminded one of a lion's roar, and immediately drowned every murmur in the room. "i have the honour, lieutenant-colonel. good-evening, gentlemen." "ah! what do i see--the colossus of rhodes? come and sit down," replied liech affably. "come and have a glass with me, you prince of giants." "all right," answered osadchi in an octave lower. this officer always had a curiously unnerving effect on romashov, and at the same time aroused in him a mingled feeling of fear and curiosity. osadchi was no less famous than shulgovich, not only in the regiment but also in the whole division, for his deafening voice when giving the word of command, his gigantic build, and tremendous physical strength. he was also renowned for his remarkable knowledge of the service and its requirements. now and then it even happened that osadchi was, in the interests of the service, removed from his own regiment to another, and he usually succeeded, in the course of half a year, in turning the most backward, good-for-nothing troops into exemplary war-machines. his magic power seemed much more incomprehensible to his brother officers inasmuch as he never--or at least in very rare instances--had recourse to blows or insults. romashov always thought he could perceive, behind those handsome, gloomy, set features, the extreme paleness of which was thrown into stronger relief by the bluish-black hair, something strained, masterly, alluring, and cruel--a gigantic, bloodthirsty wild beast. often whilst observing osadchi unseen from a distance, romashov would try to imagine what the man would be like if he were in a rage, and, at the very thought of it, his limbs froze with fear. and now, without a thought of protesting, he saw how osadchi, with the careless calm that enormous physical strength always lends, coolly sat down on the seat intended for himself. osadchi drained his glass, nibbled a crisp radish, and said in a tone of indifference-"well, what is the verdict?" "that story, my dear friend," liech put in, "i will tell you at once. it was at the time when i was serving in the temriukski regiment, a lieutenant von zoon--the soldiers called him 'pod-zvoon'--who, on a certain occasion, happened to be at mess----" here, however, liech was interrupted by lipski, a red-faced, thick-set staff captain who, in spite of his good forty years, did not think it beneath him to be the jack-pudding in ordinary and butt of the men, and by virtue thereof had assumed the insolent, jocular tone of a spoilt favourite. "allow me, captain, to put the matter in a nutshell. lieutenant artschakovski says that duels are nothing but madness and folly. for such heresy he ought to be sent with a bursary to a seminary for priests--but enough of that. but to get on with the story, lieutenant bobetinski took up the debate and demanded _blood_. then came lieutenant-colonel liech with his hoary chestnuts, which, on that occasion, by a wonderful dispensation of providence, we managed to escape. after that, sub-lieutenant michin tried, in the midst of the general noise, to expound his views, which were more and more undistinguishable both from the speaker's insufficient strength of lungs and his well-known bashfulness." sub-lieutenant michin--an undersized youth with sunken chest, dark, pock-marked, freckled face and two timid, almost frightened eyes--blushed till the tears came into his eyes. "gentlemen, i only--gentlemen, i may be mistaken," he said, "but, in my opinion--i mean in other words, as i look at the matter, every particular case ought necessarily to be considered by itself." he now began to bow and stammer worse and worse, at the same time grabbing nervously with the tips of his fingers at his invisible moustaches. "a duel may occasionally be useful, even necessary, nobody can deny, and i suppose there is no one among us who will not approach the lists--when honour demands it. that is, as i have said, indisputable; but, gentlemen, sometimes the highest honour might also be found in--in holding out the hand of reconciliation. well, of course, i cannot now say on what occasions this----" "ugh! you wretched ivanovich," exclaimed artschakovski, interrupting him in a rude and contemptuous tone, "don't stand here mumbling. go home to your dear mamma and the feeding-bottle." "gentlemen, won't you allow me to finish what i was going to say?" but osadchi with his powerful bass voice put a stop to the dispute. in a second there was silence in the room. "every duel, gentlemen, must, above all, end in death for at least one of the parties, otherwise it is _absurd_. directly coddling or humanity, so-called, comes in, the whole thing is turned into a farce. 'fifteen paces distance and only one shot.' how damnably pitiful! such a deplorable event only happens in such tomfooleries as are called french duels, which one reads about, now and then, in our papers. they meet, each fires a bullet out of a toy pistol, and the thing is over. then come the cursed newspaper hacks with their report on the duel, which invariably winds up thus: 'the duel went off satisfactorily. both adversaries exchanged shots without inflicting any injury on either party, and both displayed the greatest courage during the whole time. at the breakfast, after the champagne, both the former mortal enemies fell into each other's arms, etc.' a duel like that, gentlemen, is nothing but a scandal, and does nothing to raise the tone of our society." several of the company tried to speak at once. liech, in particular, made a last despairing attack on those present to finish his story: "well, well, my friends, it was like this--but listen, you puppies." nobody, however, did listen to his adjurations, and his supplicating glances wandered in vain over the gathering, seeking for a deliverer and ally. all turned disrespectfully away, eagerly engrossed in that interesting subject, and liech shook his head sorrowfully. at last he caught sight of romashov. the young officer had the same miserable experience as his comrades with regard to the old lieutenant-colonel's talents as a story-teller, but his heart grew soft, and he determined to sacrifice himself. liech dragged his prey away with him to the table. "this--well--come and listen to me, ensign. ah, sit here and drink a glass with me. all the others are mere asses and loons." liech, with considerable difficulty, raised his languid arm and made a contemptuous gesture towards the group of officers. "buzz, buzz, buzz! what understanding or experience is there amongst such things? but wait a bit, you shall hear." glass in one hand, the other waving in the air as if he were the conductor of a big orchestra, liech began one of his interminable stories with which he was larded--like sausages with liver--and which he never brought to a conclusion because of an endless number of divagations from the subject, parentheses, embroideries, and analogues. the anecdote in question was about an american duel, heaven only knows how many years ago, between two officers who, playing for their lives, guessed odd and even on the last figure of a date on a rouble-note. but one of them--it was never quite cleared up as to whether it was a certain pod-zvoon or his friend solúcha--was blackguard enough to paste together two rouble-notes of different dates of issue, whereby the front had always an even date, but the back an odd one--"or perhaps it was the other way about," pondered liech long and conscientiously. "you see, my dear fellow, they of course then began to dispute. one of them said----" alas, however, liech did not even this time get to the end of his story. madame raisa alexandrovna peterson had glided into the buffet. standing at the door, but not entering, which was, moreover, not permitted to ladies, she shouted with the roguishness and audacity of a privileged young lady: "gentlemen, what do i see? the ladies have arrived long ago, and here you are sitting and having a good old time. we want to dance." two or three young officers arose to go into the ballroom. the rest coolly remained sitting where they were, chatting, drinking, and smoking, without taking the slightest notice of the coquettish lady. only liech, the chivalrous old professional flirt, strutted up with bandy, uncertain legs to raisa, with hands crossed over his chest--and pouring the contents of his glass over his uniform, cried with a drunken emotion: "most divine among women, how can any one forget his duties to a queen of beauty? your hand, my charmer; just one kiss----" "yuri alexievich," raisa babbled, "it's your turn to-day to arrange the dancing. you are a nice one to do that." "_mille pardons, madame. c'est ma faute._ this is my fault," cried bobetinski, as he flew off to her. on the way he improvised a sort of ballet with scrapes, bounds, genuflections, and a lot of wonderful attitudes and gestures. "your hand. _votre main, madame._ gentlemen, to the ballroom, to the ballroom!" he offered his arm to raisa alexandrovna, and walked out of the room as proud as a peacock. directly afterwards he was heard shouting in his well-known, affected tone: "_messieurs_, take partners for a waltz. band! a waltz!" "excuse me, colonel, i am obliged to go now. duty calls me," said romashov. "ah, my dear fellow," replied liech, as his head drooped with a dejected look--"are you, too, such a coxcomb as the others? but wait just a moment, ensign; have you heard the story of moltke--about the great field-marshal moltke, the strategist?" "colonel, on my honour, i must really go--i----" "well, well, don't get excited. i won't be long. you see, it was like this: the great man of silence used to take his meals in the officers' mess, and every day he laid in front of him on the table a purse full of gold with the intention of bestowing it on the first officer from whose lips he heard a single intelligent word. well, at last, you know, the old man died after having borne with this world for ninety years, but--you see--the purse had always been in safe keeping. now run along, my boy. go and hop about like a sparrow." ix in the ballroom, the walls of which seemed to vibrate in the same rhythm as the deafening music, two couples were dancing. bobetinski, whose elbows flapped like a pair of wings, pirouetted with short, quick steps around his partner, madame taliman, who was dancing with the stately composure of a stone monument. the gigantic artschakovski of the fair locks made the youngest of the lykatschev girls, a little thing with rosy cheeks, rotate round him, whereas he, leaning forward, and closely observing his partner's hair and shoulders, moved his legs as if he were dancing with a child. fifteen ladies lined the walls quite deserted, and trying to look as if they did not mind it. as, which was always the case at these soirées, the gentlemen numbered less than a quarter of the ladies, the prospect of a lively and enjoyable evening was not particularly promising. raisa alexandrovna, who had just opened the ball, and was, therefore, the object of the other ladies' envy, was now dancing with the slender, ceremonious olisár. he held one of her hands as if it had been fixed to his left side. she supported her chin in a languishing way against her other hand, which rested on his right shoulder. she kept her head far thrown back in an affected and unnatural attitude. when the dance was over she sat purposely near romashov, who was leaning against the doorpost of the ladies' dressing-room. she fanned herself violently, and looking up to olisár, who was leaning over her, lisped in a soft _dolcissimo_: "tell me, count, tell me, please, why do i always feel so hot? do tell me." olisár made a slight bow, clicked his spurs, stroked his moustache several times. "dear lady, that is a question which i don't think even martin sadek could answer." when olisár cast a scrutinizing glance at the fair raisa's _décolleté_ bosom, pitiable and bare as the desert itself, she began at once to breathe quickly and deeply. "ah, i have always an abnormally high temperature," raisa alexandrovna went on to say with a significant expression, insinuating by her smile that her words had a double meaning. "i suffer, too, from an unusually fiery temperament." olisár gave vent to a short, soft chuckle. romashov stood looking sideways at raisa, thinking with disgust, "oh, how loathsome she is." and at the thought that he had once enjoyed her favours, he experienced the sensation as if he had not changed his linen for months. "well, well, count, don't laugh. perhaps you do not know that my mother was a greek?" "and how horribly she speaks, too," thought romashov. "curious that i never noticed this before. it sounds as if she had a chronic cold or a polypus in her nose--'by buther was a greek.'" now raisa turned to romashov and threw him a challenging glance. romashov mentally said, "his face became impassive like a mask." "how do you do, yuri alexievich? why don't you come and speak to me?" romashov went up to her. with a venomous glance from her small, sharp eyes she pressed his hand. the pupils of her eyes stood motionless. "at your desire i have kept the third quadrille for you. i hope you have not forgotten that." romashov bowed. "you are very polite! at least you might say _enchanté, madame!_" ("edchadté, badabe" was what romashov heard.) "isn't he a blockhead, count?" "of course, i remember," mumbled romashov insincerely. "i thank you for the great honour." bobetinski did nothing to liven up the evening. he conducted the ball with an apathetic, condescending look, just as if he was performing, from a strict sense of duty, something very distasteful and uninteresting to himself, but of infinite importance to the rest of mankind. when, however, the third quadrille was about to begin, he got, as it were, a little new life, and, as he hurried across the room with the long gliding steps of a skater, he shouted in a loud voice: "_quadrille monstre! cavaliers, engagez vos dames!_" romashov and raisa alexandrovna took up a position close to the window of the music gallery, with michin and madame lieschtschenko for their _vis-à-vis_. the latter hardly reached up to her partner's shoulders. the number of dancers had now very noticeably increased, and the couples stood up for the third quadrille. every dance had therefore to be repeated twice. "there must be an explanation; this must be put a stop to," thought romashov, almost deafened by the noise of the big drums and the braying brass instruments in his immediate proximity. "i have had enough! 'and in his countenance you could read fixed resolution.'" the "dancing-masters" and those who arranged the regimental balls had preserved by tradition certain fairly innocent frolics and jokes for such soirées, which were greatly appreciated by the younger dancers. for instance, at the third quadrille it was customary, as it were accidentally, by changing the dances, to cause confusion among the dancers, who with uproar and laughter did their part in increasing the general disorder. bobetinski's device that evening consisted in the gentlemen pretending to forget their partners and dancing the figure by themselves. suddenly a "galop all round" was ordered, the result of which was a chaos of ladies and gentlemen rushing about in fruitless search for their respective partners. "_mesdames, avancez--pardon, reculez._ gentlemen, alone. _pardon--balancez avec vos dames!_" raisa alexandrovna kept talking to romashov in the most virulent tone and panting with fury, but smiling all the while as if her conversation was wholly confined to pleasant and joyous subjects. "i will not allow any one to treat me in such a manner, do you hear? i am not a good-for-nothing girl you can do as you like with. besides, decent people don't behave as you are behaving." "raisa alexandrovna, for goodness' sake try to curb your temper," begged romashov in a low, imploring tone. "angry with you? no, sir, that would be to pay you too high a compliment. i despise you, do you hear? despise you; but woe to him who dares to play with my feelings! you left my letter unanswered. how dare you?" "but your letter did not reach me, i assure you." "ha! don't try to humbug me. i know your lies, and i also know where you spend your time. don't make any mistake about that. "do you think i don't know this woman, this lilliput queen, and her intrigues? rather, you may be sure of that," raisa went on to say. "she fondly imagines she's a somebody; yes, she does! her father was a thieving notary." "i must beg you, in my presence, to express yourself in a more decent manner in regard to my friends," interrupted romashov sharply. then and there a painful scene occurred. raisa stormed and broke out in a torrent of aspersions on shurochka. the fury within her had now the mastery; her artificial smiles were banished, and she even tried to drown the music by her snuffly voice. romashov, conscious of his impotence to try to put in a word in defence of the grossly insulted shurochka, was distracted with shame and wrath. in addition to this were the intolerable din of the band and the disagreeable attention of the bystanders, which his partner's unbridled fury was beginning to attract. "yes, her father was a common thief; she has nothing to stick her nose in the air about and she ought, to be sure, to be very careful not to give herself airs!" shrieked raisa. "and for a thing like that to dare to look down on us! we know something else about her, too!" "i implore you!" whispered romashov. "don't make any mistake about it; both you and she shall feel my claws. in the first place, i shall open her husband's eyes--the eyes of that fool nikoläiev, who has, for the third time, been 'ploughed' in his exam. but what else can one expect from a fool like that, who does not know what is going on under his nose? and it is certainly no longer any secret who the lover is." "_mazurka générale! promenade!_" howled bobetinski, who at that moment was strutting through the room with the pomp of an archangel. the floor rocked under the heavy tramping of the dancers, and the muslin curtains and coloured lamps moved in unison with the notes of the mazurka. "why cannot we part as friends?" romashov asked in a shy tone. he felt within himself that this woman not only caused him indescribable disgust, but also aroused in his heart a cowardice he could not subdue, and which filled him with self-contempt. "you no longer love me; let us part good friends." "ha! ha! you're frightened; you're trying to cut my claws. no, my fine fellow. i am not one of those who are thrown aside with impunity. it is i, mind you, who throw aside one who causes me disgust and loathing--not the other way about. and as for your baseness----" "that's enough; let's end all this talk," said romashov, interrupting her in a hollow voice and with clenched teeth. "five minutes' _entr'acte_. _cavaliers, occupez vos dames!_" shouted bobetinski. "i'll end it when i think fit. you have deceived me shamefully. for you i have sacrificed all that a virtuous woman can bestow. it is your fault that i dare not look my husband in the face--my husband, the best and noblest man on earth. it's you who made me forget my duties as wife and mother. oh, why, why did i not remain true to him!" romashov could not, however, now refrain from a smile. raisa alexandrovna's innumerable amours with all the young, new-fledged officers in the regiment were an open secret, and both by word of mouth and in her letters to romashov she was in the habit of referring to her "beloved husband" in the following terms: "my fool," or "that despicable creature," or "this booby who is always in the way," etc., etc. "ah, you have even the impudence to laugh," she hissed; "but look out now, sir, it is my turn." with these words she took her partner's arm and tripped along, with swaying hips and smiling a vinegary smile on all sides. when the dance was over her face resumed its former expression of hatred. again she began to buzz savagely--"like an angry wasp," thought romashov. "i shall never forgive you this, do you hear? _never._ i know the reason why you have thrown me over so shamelessly and in such a blackguardly fashion; but don't fondly imagine that a new love-intrigue will be successful. no; never, as long as i live, shall that be the case. instead of acknowledging in a straightforward and honourable way that you no longer love me, you have preferred to cloak your treachery and treat me like a vulgar harlot, reasoning, i suppose, like this: 'if it does not come off with the other, i always have her, you know.' ha! ha! ha!" "all right, you may perhaps allow me to speak decently," began romashov, with restrained wrath. his face grew paler and paler, and he bit his lips nervously. "you have asked for it, and now i tell you straight. i do _not_ love you." "oh, what an insult!" "i have never loved you; nor did you love me. we have both played an unworthy and false game, a miserable, vulgar farce with a nauseous plot and disgusting _rôles_. raisa alexandrovna, i have studied you, and i know you, very likely, better than you do yourself. you lack every requisite of love, tenderness, nay, even common affection. the cause of it is your absolutely superficial character, your narrow, petty outlook on life. and, besides" (romashov happened to remember at this point nasanski's words), "only elect, refined natures can know what a great or real love is." "such elect, refined natures, for instance, as your own." once more the band thundered forth. romashov looked almost with hatred at the trombone's wide, shining mouth, that, with the most cynical indifference, flung out its hoarse, howling notes over the whole of the room. and its fellow-culprit--the poor soldier who, with the full force of his lungs, gave life to the instrument--was with his bulging eyes and blue, swollen cheeks, no less an object of his dislike and disgust. "don't let us quarrel about it. it is likely enough that i am not worthy of a great and real love, but we are not discussing that now. the fact is that you, with your narrow, provincial views and silly vanity, must needs always be surrounded by men dancing attendance on you, so that you may be able to boast about it to your lady friends in what you are pleased to call 'society.' and possibly you think i have not understood the purpose of your ostentatiously familiar manner with me at the regimental soirées, your tender glances, etc., the intimately dictatorial tone you always assume when we are seen together. yes, precisely the chief object was that people should notice the free-and-easy way in which you treated me. except for this all your game would not have had the slightest meaning, for no real love or affection on my part has ever formed part of your--programme." "even if such had been the case i might well have chosen a better and more worthy object than you," replied raisa, in a haughty and scornful tone. "such an answer from _you_ is too ridiculous to insult me; for, listen, i repeat once more, your absurd vanity demands that some slave should always be dancing attendance on you. but the years come and go, and the number of your slaves diminishes. finally, in order not to be entirely without admirers, you are forced to sacrifice your plighted troth, your duties as wife and mother." "no; but that's quite sufficient. you shall most certainly hear from me," whispered raisa, in a significant tone and with glittering eyes. at that moment, captain peterson came across the room with many absurd skips and shuffles in order to avoid colliding with the dancers. he was a thin, consumptive man with a yellow complexion, bald head, and black eyes, in the warm and moist glance of which lurked treachery and malice. it was said of him that, curiously enough, he was to such an extent infatuated with his wife that he played the part of intimate friend, in an unctuous and sickening way, with all her lovers. it was likewise common knowledge that he had tried by means of acrimonious perfidy and the most vulgar intrigues to be revenged on every single person who had, with joy and relief, turned his back on the fair raisa's withered charms. he smiled from a distance at his wife and romashov with his bluish, pursed lips. "are you dancing, romashov? well, how are you, my dear georgi? where have you been all this time? my wife and i were so used to your company that we have been quite dull without you." "been awfully busy," mumbled romashov. "ah, yes, we all know about those military duties," replied captain peterson, with a little insinuating whistle that was directly changed into an amicable smile. his black eyes with their yellow pupils wandered, however, from raisa to romashov inquisitively. "i have an idea that you two have been quarrelling. why do you both look so cross? what has happened?" romashov stood silent whilst he gazed, worried and embarrassed, at raisa's skinny, dark, sinewy neck. raisa answered promptly, with the easy insolence she invariably displayed when lying: "yuri alexievich is playing the philosopher. he declares that dancing is both stupid and ridiculous, and that he has seen his best days." "and yet he dances?" replied the captain, with a quick, snake-like glance at romashov. "dance away, my children, and don't let me disturb you." he had scarcely got out of earshot before raisa alexandrovna, in a hypocritical, pathetic tone, burst out with, "and i have deceived this saint, this noblest of husbands. and for whom?--oh, if he knew all, if he only knew!" "_mazurka générale_," shrieked bobetinski. "gentlemen, resume your partners." the violently perspiring bodies of the dancers and the dust arising from the parquet floor made the air of the ballroom close, and the lights in the lamps and candelabra took a dull yellow tint. the dancing was now in full swing, but as the space was insufficient, each couple, who every moment squeezed and pushed against one another, was obliged to tramp on the very same spot. this figure--the last in the quadrille--consisted in a gentleman, who was without a partner, pursuing a couple who were dancing. if he managed to come face to face with a lady he clapped her on the hand, which meant that the lady was now his booty. the lady's usual partner tried, of course, to prevent this, but by this arose a disorder and uproar which often resulted in some very brutal incidents. "actress," whispered romashov hoarsely, as he bent nearer to raisa. "you're as pitiable as you are ridiculous." "and you are drunk," the worthy lady almost shrieked, giving romashov at the same time a glance resembling that with which the heroine on the stage measures the villain of the piece from head to foot. "it only remains for me to find out," pursued romashov mercilessly, "the exact reason why i was chosen by you. but this, however, is a question which i can answer myself. you gave yourself to me in order to get a hold on me. oh, if this had been done out of love or from sentiment merely! but you were actuated by a base vanity. are you not frightened at the mere thought of the depths into which we have both sunk, without even a spark of love that might redeem the crime? you must understand that this is even more wretched than when a woman sells herself for money. then dire necessity is frequently the tempter. but in this case--the memory of this senseless, unpardonable crime will always be to me a source of shame and loathing." with cold perspiration on his forehead and distraction in his weary eyes, he gazed on the couples dancing. past him--hardly lifting her feet and without looking at her partner--sailed the majestic madame taliman, with motionless shoulders and an ironical, menacing countenance, as if she meant to protect herself against the slightest liberty or insult. epifanov skipped round her like a little frisky goat. then glided little miss lykatschev, flushed of face, with gleaming eyes, and bare, white, virginal bosom. then came olisár with his slender, elegant legs, straight and stiff as a sparrow's. romashov felt a burning headache and a strong, almost uncontrollable desire to weep; but beside him still stood raisa, pale with suppressed rage. with an exaggerated theatrical gesture she fired at him the following sarcasm-"did any one ever hear such a thing before? a russian infantry lieutenant playing the part of the chaste joseph? ha, ha, ha!" "yes, quite so, my lady. precisely that part," replied romashov, glaring with wrath. "i know too well that it is humiliating and ridiculous. nevertheless, i am not ashamed to express my sorrow that i should have so degraded myself. with our eyes open we have both flung ourselves into a cesspool, and i know that i shall never again deserve a pure and noble woman's love. who is to blame for this? well, you. bear this well in mind--you, you, you--for you were the older and more experienced of us two, especially in affairs of that sort." raisa alexandrovna got up hurriedly from her chair. "that will do," she replied in a dramatic tone. "you have got what you wanted. _i hate you._ i hope henceforward you will cease to visit a home where you were received as a friend and relation, where you were entertained and fed, and where, too, you were found out to be the scoundrel you are. oh, that i had the courage to reveal everything to my husband--that incomparable creature, that saint whom i venerate. were he only convinced of what has happened he would, i think, know how to avenge the wounded honour of a helpless, insulted woman. he would kill you." romashov looked through his eyeglass at her big, faded mouth, her features distorted by hate and rage. the infernal music from the open windows of the gallery continued with unimpaired strength; the intolerable bassoon howled worse than ever, and, thought romashov, the bass drum had now come into immediate contact with his brain. raisa shut her fan with a snap that echoed through the ballroom. "oh, you--lowest of all blackguards on earth," whispered she, with a theatrical gesture, and then disappeared into the ladies' retiring-room. all was now over and done with, but romashov did not experience the relief he expected. this long-nourished hope to feel his soul freed from a heavy, unclean burthen was not fulfilled. his strict, avenging conscience told him that he had acted in a cowardly, low, and boorish way when he cast all the blame on a weak, narrow, wretched woman who, most certainly at that moment, in the ladies'-room, was, through him, shedding bitter, hysterical tears of sorrow, shame, and impotent rage. "i am sinking more and more deeply," thought he, in disgust at himself. what had his life been? what had it consisted of? an odious and wanton _liaison_, gambling, drinking, soul-killing, monotonous regimental routine, with never a single inspiriting word, never a ray of light in this black, hopeless darkness. salutary, useful work, music, art, science, where were they? he returned to the dining-room. there he met osadchi and his friend viätkin, who with much trouble was making his way in the direction of the street door. liech, now quite drunk, was helplessly wobbling in different directions, whilst in a fuddled voice he kept asserting that he was--an archbishop. osadchi intoned in reply with the most serious countenance and a low, rolling bass, whilst carefully following the ecclesiastical ritual-"your high, refulgent excellency, the hour of burial has struck. give us your blessing, etc." as the soirée approached its end, the gathering in the dining-room grew more noisy and lively. the room was already so full of tobacco smoke that those sitting at opposite sides of the table could not recognize each other. cards were being played in one corner; by the window a small but select set had assembled to edify one another by racy stories--the spice most appreciated at officers' dinners and suppers. "no, no, no, gentlemen," shrieked artschakovski, "allow me to put in a word. you see it was this way: a soldier was quartered at the house of a _khokhol_[14] who had a pretty wife. ho, ho, thought the soldier, that is something for me." then, however, he was interrupted by vasili vasilievich, who had been waiting long and impatiently-"shut up with your old stories, artschakovski. you shall hear this. once upon a time in odessa there----" but even he was not allowed to speak very long. the generality of the stories were rather poor and devoid of wit, but, to make up for that, they were interspersed with coarse and repulsive cynicisms. viätkin, who had now returned from the street, where he had been paying his respects to liech's "interment" and holy "departure," invited romashov to sit down at the table. "sit you here, my dear georginka.[15] we will watch them. to-day i am as rich as a jew. i won yesterday, and to-day i shall take the bank again." romashov only longed to lighten his heart, for a friend to whom he might tell his sorrow and his disgust at life. after draining his glass he looked at viätkin with beseeching eyes, and began to talk in a voice quivering with deep, inward emotion. "pavel pavlich, we all seem to have completely forgotten the existence of another life. _where_ it is i cannot say; i only know that it exists. even in that men must struggle, suffer, and love, but that life is rich--rich in great thoughts and noble deeds. for here, my friend, what do you suppose our life is, and how will such a miserable existence as ours end some day?" "well, yes, old fellow--but it's life," replied viätkin in a sleepy way. "life after all is--only natural philosophy and energy. and what is energy?" "oh, what a wretched existence," romashov went on to say with increasing emotion, and without listening to viätkin. "to-day we booze at mess till we are drunk; to-morrow we meet at drill--'one, two, left, right'--in the evening we again assemble round the bottle. just the same, year in, year out. that's what makes up our life. how disgusting!" viätkin peered at him with sleepy eyes, hiccoughed, and then suddenly started singing in a weak falsetto:- "in the dark, stilly forest there once dwelt a maiden, she sat at her distaff by day and by night. "take care of your health, my angel, and to the deuce with the rest. "romashevich! romaskovski! let's go to the board of green cloth. i'll lend you a----" "no one understands me, and i have not a single friend here," sighed romashov mournfully. the next moment he remembered shurochka--the splendid, high-minded shurochka, and he felt in his heart a delicious and melancholy sensation, coupled with hopelessness and quiet resignation. he stayed in the mess-room till daybreak, watched them playing schtoss, and now and then took a hand at the game, yet without feeling the slightest pleasure or interest in it. once he noticed how artschakovski, who was playing at a little private table with two ensigns, made rather a stupid, but none the less successful, attempt to cheat. romashov thought for a moment of taking up the matter and exposing the fraud, but checked himself suddenly, saying to himself: "oh, what's the use! i should not improve matters by interfering." viätkin, who had lost, in less than five minutes, his boasted "millions," sat sleeping on a chair, with his eyes wide open and his face as white as a sheet. beside romashov sat the eternal lieschtschenko with his mournful eyes fixed on the game. day began to dawn. the guttering candle-ends' half-extinguished, yellowish flames flickered dully in their sticks, and illumined by their weak and uncertain light the pale, emaciated features of the gamblers. but romashov kept staring at the cards, the heaps of silver and notes, and the green cloth scrawled all over with chalk; and in his heavy, weary head the same cruel, torturing thoughts of a worthless, unprofitable life ran incessantly. x it was a splendid, though somewhat chilly, spring morning. the hedges were in bloom. romashov, who was still, as a rule, a slave to his youthful, heavy sleep, had, as usual, overslept himself, and was late for the morning drill. with an unpleasant feeling of shyness and nervousness, he approached the parade-ground, and his spirits were not cheered by the thought of captain sliva's notorious habit of making a humiliating and painful situation still worse by his abuse and rudeness. this officer was a survival of the barbaric times when an iron discipline, idiotic pedantry--parade march in three time--and inhuman martial laws were virtually epidemic. even in the 4th regiment, which, from being quartered in a god-forsaken hole, seldom came into contact with civilization, and, moreover, did not bear the reputation for much culture, captain sliva was looked upon as a rough and boorish person, and the most incredible anecdotes were current about him. everything outside the company, service, and drill-book, and which he was accustomed to call "rot" or "rubbish," had no existence so far as he was concerned. after having borne for nearly all his life the heavy burden of military service, he had arrived at such a state of savagery that he never opened a book, and, as far as newspapers were concerned, he only looked at the official and military notices in the _invalid_. he despised with all his innate cynicism the meetings and amusements of society, and there were no oaths, no insulting terms too gross and crude for him to incorporate in his "soldier's lexicon." one story about him was that one lovely summer evening, when sitting at his open window, occupied, as usual, with his registers and accounts, a nightingale began to warble. captain sliva got up instantly, and shouted in a towering rage to his servant sachartschuk, "get a stone and drive away that damned bird; it's disturbing me." this apparently sleepy and easy-going man was unmercifully severe to the soldiers, whom he not only abandoned to the ferocity of the "non-coms.," but whom he himself personally whipped till they fell bleeding to the ground; but in all that concerned their food, clothing, and pay, he displayed the greatest consideration and honesty, and in this he was only surpassed by the commander of the 5th company. to the junior officers captain sliva was always harsh and stiff, and a certain native, crabbed humour imparted an additional sharpness to his biting sarcasms. if, for instance, a subaltern officer happened, during the march, to step out with the wrong foot, he instantly bellowed-"damnation! what the devil are you doing? all the company _except_ lieutenant n. is marching with the wrong foot!" he was particularly rude and merciless on occasions when some young officer overslept himself or, for some other cause, came too late to drill, which not unfrequently was the case with romashov. captain sliva had a habit then of celebrating the victim's advent by forming the whole company into line, and, in a sharp voice, commanding "attention!" after this he took up a position opposite the front rank, and in death-like silence waited, watch in hand and motionless, while the unpunctual officer, crushed with shame, sought his place in the line. now and then sliva increased the poor sinner's torture by putting to him the sarcastic question: "will your honour allow the company to go on with the drill?" for romashov he had, moreover, certain dainty phrases specially stored up, e.g. "i hope you slept well," or "your honour has, i suppose, as usual, had pleasant dreams?" etc., etc. when all these preludes were finished, he began to shower abuse and reproaches on his victim. "oh, i don't care," thought romashov to himself in deep disgust as he approached his company. "it is no worse to be here than in other places. all my life is ruined." sliva, viätkin, lbov, and the ensign were standing in the middle of the parade-ground, and all turned at once to romashov as he arrived. even the soldiers turned their heads towards him, and with veritable torture romashov pictured to himself what a sorry figure he cut at that moment. "well, the shame i am now feeling is possibly unnecessary or excessive," he reasoned to himself, trying, as is habitual with timid or bashful persons, to console himself. "possibly that which seems so shameful and guilty to me is regarded by others as the veriest trifle. suppose, for instance, that it was lbov, not i, who came too late, and that i am now in the line and see him coming up. well, what more--what is there to make a fuss about? lbov comes--that's all it amounts to. how stupid to grieve and get uncomfortable at such a petty incident, which within a month, perhaps even in a week, will be forgotten by all here present. besides, what is there in this life which is not forgotten?" romashov remarked as he finished his argument with himself, and felt in some degree calm and consoled. to every one's astonishment this time sliva spared romashov from personal insults, nay, he even seemed not to have noticed him in the least. when romashov went up to him and saluted, with his heels together and his hand at his cap, he only said, pointing his red, withered fingers, which strongly resembled five little cold sausages: "i must beg you, sub-lieutenant, to remember that it is your duty to be with your company _five_ minutes before the senior subaltern officers, and _ten_ minutes before the chief of your company." "i am very sorry, captain," replied romashov in a composed tone. "that's all very well, sub-lieutenant, but you are always asleep and you seem to have quite forgotten the old adage: 'he who is seldom awake must go about shabby.' and i must now ask you, gentlemen, to retire to your respective companies." the whole company was split up into small groups, each of which was instructed in gymnastics. the soldiers stood drawn up in open file at a distance of a pace apart, and with their uniforms unbuttoned in order to enable them to perform their gymnastic exercises. bobyliev, the smart subaltern officer stationed in romashov's platoon, cast a respectful glance at his commander, who was approaching, his lower jaw stuck out and his eyes squinting, and giving orders in a resonant voice-"hips steady. rise on your toes. bend your knees." and directly after that, very softly and in a sing-song voice-"begin." "one," sang out the soldiers in unison, and they simultaneously performed in slow time the order to bend the knees till the whole division found itself on its haunches. bobyliev, who likewise performed the same movement, scrutinized the soldiers with severe, critical, and aggressive eyes. immediately beside him cried the little spasmodic corporal, syeroshtán, in his sharp, squeaky voice that reminded one of a cockerel squabbling for food-"stretch your arms to the right--and left--salute. begin, one, two, one, two," and directly afterwards ten smart young fellows were heard yelling at the top of their voices the regulation-"_haú, haú, haú._" "halt," shouted syeroshtán, red of face from rage and over-exertion. "la-apschin, you great ass, you toss about, give yourself airs, and twist your arm like some old woman from riasan--_choú_, _choú_. do the movements properly, or by all that's unholy i'll----" after this the subalterns led their respective divisions at quick march to the gymnastic apparatus, which had been set up in different parts of the parade-ground. sub-lieutenant lbov--young, strong, and agile, and also an expert gymnast--threw down his sabre and cap, and ran before the others to one of the bars. grasping the bar with both his hands, after three violent efforts he made a somersault in the air, threw himself forward and finally landed himself on all fours two yards and a half from the bar. "sub-lieutenant lbov, at your everlasting circus tricks again," shrieked captain sliva in a tone meant to be severe. in his heart the old warrior cherished a sneaking affection for lbov, who was a thoroughly efficient soldier, and, by his brave bearing, invaluable at parades. "be good enough to observe the regulation, and keep the other thing till carnival comes round." "right, captain!" yelled lbov in reply; "but i shan't obey," he whispered to romashov with a wink. the 4th platoon exercised on the inclined ladder. the soldiers walked in turn to the ladder, gripped hold of the steps, and climbed up them with arms bent. shapovalenko stood below and made remarks-"keep your feet still. up with your soles." the turn now came to a little soldier in the left wing, whose name was khliabnikov, who served as a butt to the entire company. whenever romashov caught sight of him, he wondered how this emaciated, sorry figure, in height almost a dwarf, whose dirty little beardless face was but a little larger than a man's fist, could have been admitted into the army. and when he met khliabnikov's soulless eyes, which looked as if they had expressed nothing but a dull submissive fear ever since he was born, he felt in his heart a heavy, oppressive feeling of disgust and prick of conscience. khliabnikov hung motionless on the ladder like a dead, shapeless mass. "take a grip and raise yourself on your arms, you miserable dog!" shrieked the sergeant. "up with you, i say." khliabnikov made a violent effort to show his obedience, but in vain. he remained in the same position, and his legs swung from side to side. for the space of a second he turned downwards and sideways his ashen grey face, in which the dirty little turned-up nose obstinately turned upwards. suddenly he let go of the ladder and fell like a sack to the ground. "ho, ho, you refuse to obey orders, to make the movement you were ordered to do," roared the sergeant; "but a scoundrel like you shall not destroy discipline. now you shall----" "shapovalenko, don't touch him!" shouted romashov, beside himself with anger and shame. "i forbid you to strike him now and always." romashov rushed up and pulled the sergeant's arm. shapovalenko instantaneously became stiff and erect, and raised his hand to his cap. in his eyes, which at once resumed their ordinary lifeless expression, and on his lips there gleamed a faint mocking smile. "i will obey, your honour, but permit me to report that that fellow is utterly impossible." khliabnikov took his place once more in the ranks. he looked lazily out of the corner of his eyes at the young officer, and stroked his nose with the back of his hand. romashov turned his back on him and went off, meditating painfully over this fruitless pity, to inspect the 3rd platoon. after the gymnastics the soldiers had ten minutes' rest. the officers forgathered at the bars, almost in the middle of the exercise-ground. their conversation turned on the great may parade, which was approaching. "well, it now remains for us to guess where the shoe pinches," began sliva, as he swung his arms, and opened wide his watery blue eyes, "for i'll tell you one thing, every general has his special little hobby. i remember we once had a lieutenant-general lvovich for the commander of our corps. he came to us direct from the engineers. the natural consequence was we never did anything except dig and root up earth. drill, marching, and keeping time--all such were thrown on the dust-heap. from morning to night we built cottages and quarters--in summer, of earth; in winter, of snow. the whole regiment looked like a collection of clodhoppers, dirty beyond recognition. captain aleinikov, the commander of the 10th company--god rest his soul!--became a knight of st. anne, because he had somehow constructed a little redoubt in two hours." "that was clever of him," observed lbov. "wait, i have more to remind you of. you remember, pavel pavlich, general aragonski and his everlasting gunnery instructions?" "and the story of pontius pilate," laughed viätkin. "what was that?" asked romashov. captain sliva made a contemptuous gesture with his hand. "at that time we did nothing but read aragonski's 'instructions in shooting.' one day it so happened that one of the men had to pass an examination in the creed. when the soldier got to the clause 'suffered under pontius pilatus,' there was a full stop. but the fellow did not lose his head, but went boldly on with a lot of appropriate excerpts from aragonski's 'instructions in shooting,' and came out with flying colours. ah, you may well believe, those were grand times for idiocy. things went so far that the first finger was not allowed to retain its good old name, but was called the 'trigger finger,' etc., etc." "do you remember, athanasi kirillich, what cramming and theorizing--'range,' elevation, etc.--went on from morning to night? if you gave the soldier a rifle and said to him: 'look down the barrel. what do you see there?' you got for an answer: 'i see a tense line which is the gun's axis,' etc. and what practice in shooting there was in those days, you remember, athanasi kirillich!" "_do_ i remember! the shooting in our division was the talk of the whole country, ah, even the foreign newspapers had stories about it. at the shooting competitions regiments borrowed 'crack' shots from each other. down at the butts stood young officers hidden behind a screen, who helped the scoring by their revolvers. on another occasion it so happened that a certain company made more hits in the target than could be accounted for by the shots fired, whereupon the ensign who was marking got severely 'called over the coals.'" "do you recollect the schreiberovsky gymnastics in slesarev's time?" "rather! it was like a ballet. ah, may the devil take all those old generals with their hobbies and eccentricities. and yet, gentlemen, all that sort of thing--all the old-time absurdities, were as nothing compared with what is done in our days. it might be well said that discipline has received its quietus. the soldier, if you please, is now to be treated 'humanely.' he is our 'fellow-creature,' our 'brother'; his 'mind is to be developed,' he is to be taught 'to think,' etc., etc. what absolute madness! no, he shall have a thrashing, the scoundrel. and oh, my saintly suvorov, tell me if a single individual nowadays knows how a soldier ought to be treated, and what one should teach him. nothing but new-fangled arts and rubbish. that invention in regard to cavalry charges, for instance." "yes, one might have something more amusing," viätkin chimed in. "there you stand," continued sliva, "in the middle of the field, like a decoy-bird, and the cossacks rush at you in full pelt. naturally, like a sensible man, you make room for them in good time. directly after comes: 'you have bad nerves, captain; one should not behave in that way in the army. be good enough to recollect that,' etc., etc., in the same style." "the general in command of the k---regiment," interrupted viätkin, "once had a brilliant idea. he had a company marched to the edge of an awful cesspool, and then ordered the captain to order the men to lie down. the latter hesitated for an instant, but obeyed the command. the soldiers were chapfallen, gazing at one another in a questioning way. all thought they had heard incorrectly; but they got their information right enough. the general thundered away at the poor captain in the presence of all. 'what training do you give your company? miserable lot of weaklings. pretty heroes to take into the field. no, you are cravens, every one of you, and you, captain, not the least among them. march to arrest.'" "that 'takes the cake,'" laughed lbov. "and what's the use of it? first one insults the officers in the presence of the men, and then complaints are made of lack of discipline. but to give a scamp his deserts is a thing one dare not do. he is, if you please, a 'human being,' a 'personage'; but in the good old times there were no 'personages' in the army. then the cattle got what they needed, and then there was the italian campaign, sebastopol, and several other trifles. well, all the same thing, so far as i am concerned. i'll do my duty even if it costs me my commission, and as far as my arm reaches every scoundrel shall get his deserts." "there's no honour in striking a soldier," exclaimed romashov, in a muffled voice. up to this he had been merely a silent listener. "one can't hit a man who is not allowed to raise a hand in self-defence. it is as cowardly as it is cruel." captain sliva bestowed on romashov an annihilating look, pressed his underlip against his little grey, bristling moustache, and at length exclaimed, with an expression of the deepest contempt-"wha-at's that?" romashov stood as white as a corpse, his pulse beat violently, and a cold shudder ran through his body. "i said that such a method of treatment was cruel and cowardly, and i--retain my opinion," answered romashov nervously, but without flinching. "you don't say so!" twittered sliva. "listen to my young cockerel. should you, against all likelihood, be another year with the regiment, you shall be provided with a muzzle. that you may rely on. thank god, i know how to deal with such germs of evil. don't worry yourself about that." romashov fearlessly directed at him a glance of hatred, straight in his eyes, and said, almost in a whisper-"if ever i see you maltreat a soldier i will report it at once to the commander of the regiment." "what, do you dare?" shrieked sliva in a threatening voice, but checked himself instantly. "enough of this," he went on to say dryly; "you ensigns are a little too young to teach veterans who have smelt powder, and who have, for more than a quarter of a century, served their tsar without incurring punishment. officers, return to your respective posts." captain sliva turned his back sharply on the officers and went away. "why do you poke your nose into all that?" asked viätkin as he took romashov by the arm and left the place. "as you know, that old plum[16] isn't one of the sweetest; besides, you don't know him yet as well as i do. be careful what you are about; he is not to be played with, and some fine day he'll put you in the lock-up in earnest." "listen, pavel pavlich," cried romashov, with tears of rage in his voice. "do you think views such as captain sliva's are worthy of an officer? and is it not revolting that such old bags of bones should be suffered to insult their subordinates with impunity? who can put up with it in the long run?" "well, yes--to a certain extent you are right," replied viätkin, in a tone of indifference. the rest of what he thought of saying died away in a gape, and romashov continued, in increasing excitement-"tell me, what is the use of all this shouting and yelling at the men? i never could imagine when i became an officer that such barbarism was tolerated in our time in a russian regiment. ah! never shall i forget my first impressions and experiences here. one incident remains very clearly graven in my memory. it was the third day after my arrival here. i was sitting at mess in company with that red-haired libertine, artschakovski. i addressed him in conversation as 'lieutenant,' because he called me 'sub-lieutenant.' suddenly he began showering insults and abuse on me. although we sat at the same table and drank ale together, he shouted at me: 'in the first place, i am not lieutenant to you, but _mr._ lieutenant, and, secondly, be good enough to stand up when you are speaking to your superior.' and there i stood in the room, like a schoolboy under punishment, until lieutenant-colonel liech came and sat between us. no, no, pray don't say anything, pavel pavlich. i am just sick of all that goes on here." xi the 22nd of april was for romashov not only an uncomfortable and tiresome day, but a very remarkable one. at 10 a.m., before romashov had got out of bed, nikoläiev's servant, stepan, arrived with a letter from alexandra petrovna. my dear romotchka (she wrote), i should not be in the least surprised if you have forgotten that to-day is my name-day, of which i also take the liberty to remind you. and in spite of all your transgressions, i should like to see you at my house to-day. but don't come at the conventional hour of congratulation, but at 5 p.m. we are going to a little picnic at dubetschnaia.--yours, a. n. the letter trembled in romashov's hands as he read it. for a whole week he had not once seen shurochka's saucy, smiling, bewitching face; had not felt the delicious enchantment he always experienced in her presence. "to-day," a joyful voice sang exultant in his heart. "to-day," shouted romashov, in a ringing voice, as he jumped out of bed. "hainán, my bathwater, quick." hainán rushed in. "your honour, the servant is waiting for an answer." "oh--yes, of course." romashov dropped, with eyes wide open, on a chair. "the deuce, he is waiting for a 'tip,' and i haven't a single copeck." romashov stared at his trusty servant with a look of absolute helplessness. hainán returned his look with a broad grin of delight. "no more have i either, your excellency. you have nothing, and i have nothing--what's to be done? _nichevó!_" at that moment romashov called to mind that dark spring night when he stood in the dirty road, leaning against the wet, sticky fence, and heard stepan's scornful remark: "that man hangs about here every day." now he remembered the intolerable feeling of shame he experienced at that moment, and what would he not give if only he could conjure up a single silver coin, a twenty-copeck piece, wherewith to stop the mouth of shurochka's messenger. he pressed his hands convulsively against his temples and almost cried from annoyance. "hainán," he whispered, looking shyly askance at the door, "hainán, go and tell him he shall have his 'tip' to-night--for certain, do you hear? for certain." romashov was just then as hard up as it was possible to be. his credit was gone everywhere--at mess, with the buffet proprietor, at the regimental treasury, etc. he certainly still drew his dinner and supper rations, but without sakuska. he had not even tea and sugar in his room; only a tremendous tin can containing coffee grounds--a dark, awesome mixture which, when diluted with water, was heroically swallowed every morning by romashov and his trusty servant. with grimaces of the deepest disgust, romashov sat and absorbed this bitter, nauseous morning beverage. his brain was working at high pressure as to how he should find some escape from the present desperate situation. first, where and how was he to obtain a name-day present for shurochka? it would be an impossibility for him to show up at her house without one. and, besides, what should he give her? sweets or gloves? but he did not know what size she wore--sweets, then? but in the town the sweets were notoriously nasty, therefore something else--scent--a fan? no, scent would, he thought, be preferable. she liked "ess bouquet," so "ess bouquet" it should be. moreover, the expense of the evening's picnic. a trap there and back, "tip" to stepan, incidental expenses. "ah, my good romashov, you won't do it for less than ten roubles." after this he reviewed his resources. his month's pay--every copeck of that was spent and receipted. advance of pay perhaps. alas, he had tried that way quite thirty times, but always with an unhappy result. the paymaster to the regiment, staff-captain doroshenko, was known far and wide as the most disobliging "swine," especially to sub-lieutenants. he had taken part in the turkish war, and was there, alas! wounded in the most mortifying and humiliating spot--in his heel. this had not happened during retreat, but on an occasion when he was turning to his troops to order an attack. none the less he was, on account of his ill-omened wound, the object of everlasting flings and sarcasms, with the result that doroshenko, who went to the campaign a merry ensign, was now changed into a jealous, irritable hypochondriac. no, doroshenko would not advance a single copeck, least of all to a sub-lieutenant who, with uncommon eagerness, had long since drawn all the pay that was due to him. "but one need not hang oneself, i suppose, for that," romashov consoled himself by thinking, after he had finished the foregoing meditation. "one must try and borrow. let us now take the victims in turn. well, the 1st company, osadchi?" before romashov's mind's eye appeared osadchi's peculiar but well-formed features and his heavy, brutal expression. "no, anybody else in the world except him. second company, taliman? ah, that poor devil, who is borrowing all the year round, even from the ensigns. he won't do. take another name--khutinski?" but just at that moment a mad boyish idea crossed romashov's mind. "suppose i go and borrow money from the colonel himself. what then would be likely to happen? first he would be numbed with horror at such a piece of impudence; next he would begin trembling with rage, then he would fire, as if from a mortar, the words: 'wha-at! si-lence!'" romashov burst out laughing. "how in the world can a day that began so happily as this ever end sadly and sorrowfully? yes, i don't know yet how the problem is to be solved, but an inward voice has told me that all will go well. captain duvernois? no, duvernois is a skinflint, and, besides, he can't bear me. i know that." in this way he went through all the officers of his company, from the first to the sixteenth, without getting a step nearer his goal. he was just about to despair altogether when suddenly a new name sprang up in his head--lieutenant-colonel rafalski. "rafalski! what an ass i am! hainán, my coat, gloves, cap. make haste!" lieutenant-colonel rafalski, commander of the 4th battalion, was an incorrigible old bachelor, and, in addition, a most eccentric character, who was called by his comrades "colonel brehm." he associated with no one, was seen among the circle of his brother officers only on occasions of ceremony, i.e. at easter and on new year's day, and he neglected his duties to such a degree that at drill he was the constant object of furious invectives on the part of the higher authorities. all his time, all his attention, and all his unconsumed funds of love and tenderness, which he really possessed, were devoted to his idolized _protégés_, his wild creatures--brutes, birds, and fishes, of which he owned almost an entire menagerie. the ladies of the regiment, who in the depths of their hearts were highly incensed with rafalski for his unconcealed contempt of women, used to say of him: "such a dreadful man, and what dreadful animals he keeps! such dirtiness in his house, and, pardon the expression, what a nasty smell he carries with him wherever he goes." all his savings went to the menagerie. this most eccentric individual had succeeded in reducing his temporal needs to a minimum. he wore a cap and uniform that dated from prehistoric times, he slept and dwelt god knows how, he shared the soldiers' fare, and he ate in the 15th company's kitchen, towards the staff of which he displayed a certain liberality. to his comrades--particularly the younger of them--he seldom refused a small loan if he was in funds, but to remain in debt to "colonel brehm" was not regarded as _comme il faut_, and he who did so was inevitably exposed to his comrades' ridicule and contempt. frivolous and impudent individuals as, e.g. lbov, were occasionally not averse from extracting a few silver roubles from rafalski, and they always introduced the business by a request to be allowed to see the menagerie. this was generally an infallible way to the old hermit's heart and cash-box. "good morning, ivan antonovich, have you got any fresh animals? oh, how interesting! come and show us them," etc., in the same style. after this the loan was a simple matter. romashov had many times visited rafalski, but never up to then with an ulterior motive. he too was particularly fond of animals, and when he was a cadet at moscow, nay, even when he was a lad, he much preferred a circus to a theatre, and the zoological gardens or some menagerie to either. in his dreams as a child there always hovered a st. bernard. now his secret dream was to be appointed adjutant to a battalion--so that he might become the possessor of a horse. but neither of his dreams was fulfilled. the poverty of his parents proved an insuperable obstacle to the realization of the former, and, as far as his adjutancy was concerned, his prospects were exceedingly small, as romashov lacked the most important qualifications for it, viz. a fine figure and carriage. romashov went into the street. a warm spring breeze caressed his cheeks, and the ground that had just dried after the rain gave to his steps, through its elasticity, a pleasant feeling of buoyancy and power. hagberry and lilac pointed and nodded at him with their rich-scented bunches of blossom over the street fences. a suddenly awakened joy of life expanded his chest, and he felt as if he was about to fly. after he had looked round the street and convinced himself that he was alone, he took shurochka's letter out of his pocket, read it through once more, and then pressed her signature passionately to his lips. "oh, lovely sky! beautiful trees!" he whispered with moist eyes. "colonel brehm" lived at the far end of a great enclosure hedged round by a green lattice-like hedge. over the gate might be read: "ring the bell. beware of the dogs!" romashov pulled the bell. the servant's sallow, sleepy face appeared at the wicket. "is the colonel at home?" "yes. please step in, your honour." "no. go and take in my name first." "it is not necessary. walk in." the servant sleepily scratched his thigh. "the colonel does not like standing on ceremony, you know." romashov strode on, and followed a sort of path of bricks which led across the yard to the house. a couple of enormous, mouse-coloured young bull-dogs ran out of a corner, and one of them greeted him with a rough but not unfriendly bark. romashov snapped his fingers at it, which was answered in delight by awkward, frolicsome leaps and still noisier barking. the other bull-dog followed closely on romashov's heels, and sniffed with curiosity between the folds of his cape. far away in the court, where the tender, light green grass had already sprouted up, stood a little donkey philosophizing, blinking in delight at the sun, and lazily twitching its long ears. here and there waddled ducks of variegated hues, fowls and chinese geese with large excrescences over their bills. a bevy of peacocks made their ear-splitting cluck heard, and a huge turkey-cock with trailing wings and tail-feathers high in the air was courting the favourite sultana of his harem. a massive pink sow of genuine yorkshire breed wallowed majestically in a hole. "colonel brehm," dressed in a swedish leather jacket, stood at a window with his back to the door, and he did not notice romashov as the latter entered the room. he was very busy with his glass aquarium, into which he plunged one arm up to the elbow, and he was so absorbed by this occupation that romashov was obliged to cough loudly twice before rafalski turned round and presented his long, thin, unshaven face and a pair of old-fashioned spectacles with tortoise-shell rims. "ah, ha--what do i see?--sub-lieutenant romashov? very welcome, very welcome!" rang his friendly greeting. "excuse my not being able to shake hands, but, as you see, i am quite wet. i am now testing a new siphon. i have simplified the apparatus, which will act splendidly. will you have some tea?" "i am very much obliged to you, but i have just breakfasted. i have come, colonel, to----" "of course you have heard the rumour that our regiment is to be moved to garrison another town," interrupted rafalski, in a tone as if he had only resumed a conversation just dropped. "you may well imagine my despair. how shall i manage to transport all my fishes? at least half of them will die on the journey. and this aquarium too; look at it yourself. wholly of glass and a yard and a half long. ah, my dear fellow" (here he suddenly sprang into a wholly different train of thought), "what an aquarium they have in sebastopol! a cistern of continually flowing seawater, big as this room, and entirely of stone. and lighted by electricity too. you stand and gaze down on all those wonderful fishes--sturgeons, sharks, rays, sea-cocks--nay, god forgive me my sins! sea-cats, i mean. imagine in your mind a gigantic pancake, an _arshin_[17] and a half in diameter, which moves and wags--and behind it a tail shaped like an arrow. my goodness, i stood there staring for a couple of hours--but what are you laughing at?" "i beg your pardon, but i just noticed a little white rat sitting on your shoulder." "oh, you little rascal! who gave you leave?" rafalski twisted his head and produced with his lips a whistling but extraordinarily delicate sound that was remarkably like the cheeping noise of a rat. the little white, red-eyed beast, trembling all over its body, snuggled up to rafalski's cheek, and began groping with its nose after its master's mouth and chin-tuft. "how tame your animals are, and how well they know you!" exclaimed romashov. "yes, they always know me well enough," replied rafalski. after this he drew a deep sigh and sorrowfully shook his grey head. "it is unfortunate that mankind troubles itself and knows so little about animals. we have trained and tamed for our use or good pleasure the dog, the horse, and the cat, but how much do we know about the real nature and being of these animals? now and then, of course, some professor--a marvel of learning--comes along--may the devil devour them all!--and talks a lot of antediluvian rubbish that no sensible person either understands or has the least profit from. moreover, he gives the poor innocent beasts a number of latin nicknames as idiotic as they are unnecessary, and to crown it all, he has the impudence to demand to be immortalized for all this tomfoolery, and pretty nearly venerated as a saint. but what can he teach us, and what does he know himself, of animals and their inner life? no! take any dog you like, live together with it for a time, side by side, and, by the study of this intelligent, reflecting creature, you will get more matter for your psychology than all the professors and teachers could dream." "but perhaps there are works of that nature, though we do not yet know them?" suggested romashov shyly. "books, did you say? yes, of course, there are plenty. just glance over there. i have a whole library of them." rafalski pointed to a long row of shelves standing along the walls. "those learned gentlemen write a whole lot of clever things, and show great profundity in their studies. yes, their learning is absolutely overwhelming. what wonderful scientific instruments, and what acuteness of intellect! but all that is quite different from what i mean. not one of all these great celebrities has hit upon the idea of observing carefully, only for a single day, for instance, a dog or cat in its private life. and yet how interesting and instructive that is. to watch closely how a dog lives, thinks, intrigues, makes itself happy or miserable. just think, for example, what all those clowns and showmen can effect. one might sometimes think that one was subjected to an extraordinary hypnosis. never in all my life shall i forget a clown i saw in the hotel at kiev--a mere clown. what results might have been attained by a scientifically educated investigator, armed with all the wonderful apparatus and resources of our time! what interesting things one might hear about a dog's psychology, his character, docility, etc. a new world of marvels would be opened to human knowledge. for my part, you should know that i am quite certain that dogs possess a language and, moreover, a very rich and developed speech." "but, ivan antonovich, tell me why the learned have never made such an attempt?" asked romashov. rafalski replied by a sarcastic smile. "he, he, he! the thing is clear enough. what do you suppose a dog is to such a learned bigwig? a vertebrate animal, a mammal, a carnivorous animal, etc, and that's the end of it. nothing more. how could he condescend to treat a dog as if it were an intelligent, rational being? never. no, these haughty university despots are in reality but a trifle higher than the peasant who thought that the dog had steam instead of a soul." he stopped short and began snorting and splashing angrily whilst he fussed and fumed with a gutta-percha tube that he was trying to apply to the bottom of the aquarium. romashov summoned all his courage, made a violent effort of will, and succeeded in blurting out-"ivan antonovich, i have come on an important--very important business----" "money?" "yes, i am ashamed to trouble you. i don't require much--only ten roubles--but i can't promise to repay you just yet." ivan antonovich pulled his hands out of the water and began slowly to dry them on a towel. "i can manage ten roubles--i have not more, but these i'll lend you with the greatest pleasure. you're wanting to be off, i suppose, on some spree or dissipation? well, well, don't be offended; i'm merely jesting. come, let us go." "colonel brehm" took romashov through his suite of apartments, which consisted of five or six rooms, in which every trace of furniture and curtains was lacking. everywhere one's nose was assailed by the curious, pungent odour that is always rife in places where small animals are freely allowed to run riot. the floors were so filthy that one stumbled at nearly every step. in all the corners, small holes and lairs, formed of wooden boxes, hollow stubble, empty casks without bottoms, etc., etc., were arranged. trees with bending branches stood in another room. the one room was intended for birds, the other for squirrels and martens. all the arrangements witnessed to a love of animals, careful attention, and a great faculty for observation. "look here," rafalski pointed to a little cage, surrounded by a thick railing of barbed wire; from the semicircular opening, which was no larger than the bottom of a drinking-glass, glowed two small, keen black eyes. "that's a polecat, the cruellest and most bloodthirsty beast in creation. you may not believe me, but it's none the less true, that, in comparison with it, the lion and panther are as tame as lambs. when a lion has eaten his thirty-four pounds or so of flesh, and is resting after his meal, he looks on good-humouredly at the jackals gorging on the remains of the banquet. but if that little brute gets into a hen-house it does not spare a single life. there are no limits to its murderous instinct, and, besides, it is the wildest beast in the world and the one hardest to tame. fie, you little monster." rafalski put his hand behind the bars, and at once, in the narrow outlet to the cage, an open jaw with sharp, white teeth was displayed. the polecat accompanied its rapid movements backwards and forwards by a spiteful, cough-like sound. "have you ever seen such a nasty brute? and yet i myself have fed it every day for a whole year." "colonel brehm" had now evidently forgotten romashov's business. he took him from cage to cage, and showed him all his favourites, and he spoke with as much enthusiasm, knowledge, and tenderness of the animals' tempers and habits, as if the question concerned his oldest and most intimate friends. rafalski's collection of animals was really an extraordinarily large and fine one for a private individual to own, who was, moreover, compelled to live in an out-of-the-way and wretched provincial hole. there were rabbits, white rats, otters, hedgehogs, marmots, several venomous snakes in glass cases, ant-bears, several sorts of monkeys, a black australian hare, and an exceedingly fine specimen of an angora cat. "well, what do you say to this?" asked rafalski, as he exhibited the cat. "isn't he charming? and yet he does not stand high in my favour, for he is awfully stupid--much more stupid than our ordinary cats." rafalski then exclaimed hotly: "another proof of the little we know and how wrongly we value our ordinary domestic animals. what do we know about the cat, horse, cow, and pig? the pig is a remarkably clever animal. you're laughing, i see, but wait and you shall hear." (romashov had not shown the least signs of amusement.) "last year i had in my possession a wild boar which invented the following trick. i had got home from the sugar factory four bushels of waste, intended for my pigs and hot-beds. well, my big boar could not, of course, wait patiently. whilst the foreman went to find my servant, the boar with his tusks tore the bung out of the cask, and, in a few seconds, was in his seventh heaven. what do you say of a chap like that? but listen further"--rafalski peered out of one eye, and assumed a crafty expression--"i am at present engaged in writing a treatise on my pigs--for god's sake, not a whisper of this to any one. just fancy if people got to hear that a lieutenant-colonel in the glorious russian army was writing a book, and one about pigs into the bargain; but the fact is, i managed to obtain a genuine yorkshire sow. have you seen her? come, let me show you her. besides, i have down in the yard a young beagle, the dearest little beast. come!" "pardon me, ivan antonovich," stammered romashov, "i should be only too pleased to accompany you, but--but i really haven't the time now." rafalski struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. "oh, yes, what an incorrigible old gossip i am. excuse me--i'll go and get it--come along." they went into a little bare room in which there was literally nothing but a low tent-bedstead which, with its bottom composed of a sheet hanging down to the floor, reminded one of a boat; a little night-table, and a chair without a back. rafalski pulled out a drawer of the little table and produced the money. "i am very glad to be able to help you, ensign, very glad. if you please, no thanks or such nonsense. it's a pleasure, you know. look me up when convenient, and we'll have a chat. good-bye." when romashov reached the street, he ran into viätkin. pavel pavlich's moustaches were twisted up ferociously, _à la_ kaiser, and his regimental cap, stuck on one side in a rakish manner, lay carelessly thrown on one ear. "ha, look at prince hamlet," shouted viätkin, "whence and whither? you're beaming like a man in luck." "yes, that's exactly what i am," replied romashov smilingly. "ah-ah! splendid; come and give me a big hug." with the enthusiasm of youth, they fell into each other's arms in the open street. "ought we not to celebrate this remarkable event by just a peep into the mess-room?" proposed viätkin. "'come and take a nip in the deepest loneliness,' as our noble friend artschakovski is fond of saying." "impossible, pavel pavlich, i am in a hurry. but what's up with you? you seem to-day as if you meant kicking over the traces?" "yes, rather, that's quite on the cards," viätkin stuck his chin out significantly. "to-day i have brought off a 'combination' so ingenious that it would make our finance minister green with envy." "really?" viätkin's "combination" appeared simple enough, but testified, however, to a certain ingenuity. the chief _rôle_ in the affair was played by khaim, the regimental tailor, who took from pavel pavlich a receipt for a uniform supposed to have been delivered, but, instead of that, handed over to viätkin thirty roubles in cash. "the best of it all is," exclaimed viätkin, "that both khaim and i are equally satisfied with the deal. the jew gave me thirty roubles and became entitled through my receipt to draw forty-five from the clothing department's treasury. i am at last once more in a position to chuck away a few coppers at mess. a masterstroke, eh?" "viätkin, you're a great man, and another time i'll bear in mind your 'patent.' but good-bye for the present. i hope you will have good luck at cards." they separated, but, after a minute, viätkin called out to his comrade again. romashov stopped and turned round. "have you been to the menagerie?" asked viätkin, with a cunning wink, making a gesture in the direction of rafalski's house. romashov replied by a nod, and said in a tone of conviction, "brehm is a downright good fellow--the best of the lot of us." "you're right," agreed viätkin, "bar that frightful smell." xii when romashov reached nikoläiev's house about five o'clock, he noticed with surprise that his happy humour of the morning and confidence that the day would be a success had given place to an inexplicable, painful nervousness. he felt assured that this nervousness had not come over him all at once, but had begun much earlier in the day, though he did not know when. it was likewise clear to him that this feeling of nervousness had gradually and imperceptibly crept over him. what did it mean? but such incidents were not new to him; even from his early childhood he had experienced them, and he knew, too, that he would not regain his mental balance until he had discovered the cause of the disturbance. he remembered, for instance, how he had worried himself for a whole day, and that it was not till evening that he called to mind that, in the forenoon, when passing a railway crossing, he had been startled and alarmed by a train rushing past, and this had disturbed his balance. directly, however, the cause was discovered he at once became happy and light-hearted. the question now was to review in inverted order the events and experiences of the day. svidierski's millinery shop and its perfumes; the hire and payment of leib, the best cab-driver in the town; the visit to the post-office to set his watch correctly; the lovely morning; stepan? no, impossible. in romashov's pocket lay a rouble laid by for him. but what could it be then? in the street, opposite to the nikoläievs', stood three two-horse carriages, and two soldiers held by the reins a couple of saddle-horses--the one, olisár's, a dark-brown old gelding, newly purchased from a cavalry officer; the other biek-agamalov's chestnut mare, with fierce bright eyes. "i know! the letter!" flashed through romashov's brain. that strange expression "in spite of that"--what could it mean? that nikoläiev was angry or jealous? perhaps mischief had been made. nikoläiev's manner had certainly been rather cold lately. "drive on!" he shouted to the driver. at that moment, though he had neither seen nor heard anything, he knew that the door of the house had opened, he knew it by the sweet and stormy beating of his heart. "romochka! where are you going?" he heard alexandra petrovna's clear, happy voice behind him. romashov, by a strong pull, drew the driver, who was sitting opposite him, back by the girdle, and jumped out of the fly. shurochka stood in the open door as if she were framed in a dark room. she wore a smooth white dress with red flowers in the sash. the same sort of red flowers were twined in her hair. how wonderful! romashov felt instantly and infallibly that this was _she_, but, nevertheless, did not recognize her. to him it was a new revelation, radiant and in festal array. while romashov was mumbling his felicitations, shurochka forced him, without letting go his hands, softly and with gentle violence, to enter the gloomy hall with her. at the same time she uttered half-aloud, in a hurried and nervous tone-"thanks, romochka, for coming. ah, how much i was afraid that you would plead some excuse! but remember now, to-day you are to be jolly and amiable. don't do anything which will attract attention. now, how absurd you are! directly any one touches you, you shrivel up like a sensitive-plant." "alexandra petrovna, your letter has upset me. there is an expression you make use of...." "my dear boy! what nonsense!" she grasped both his hands and pressed them hard, gazing into the depths of his eyes. in that glance of hers there was something which romashov had never seen before--a caressing tenderness, an intensity, and something besides, which he could not interpret. in the mysterious depths of her dark pupils fixed so long and earnestly on him he read a strange, elusive significance, a message uttered in the mysterious language of the soul. "please--don't let us talk of this to-day! no doubt you will be pleased to hear that i have been watching for you. i know what a coward you are, you see. don't you dare to look at me like that, now!" she laughed in some confusion and released his hands. "that will do now--romochka, you awkward creature! again you've forgotten to kiss my hand. that's right! now the other. but don't forget," she added in a hot whisper, "that to-day is our day. tsarina alexandra and her trusty knight, georgi. come." "one instant--look here--you'll allow me? it's a very modest gift." "what? scent? what nonsense is this? no, forgive me; i'm only joking. thanks, thanks, dear romochka. volodya," she called out loudly in an unconstrained tone as she entered the room, "here is another friend to join us in our little picnic." as is always the case before dispersing for a general excursion, there was much noise and confusion in the drawing-room. the thick tobacco smoke formed here and there blue eddies when met by the sunbeams on its way out of the window. seven or eight officers stood in the middle of the room, in animated conversation. the loudest among them was the hoarse-voiced taliman with his everlasting cough. there were captain osadchi and the two inseparable adjutants, olisár and biek-agamalov; moreover, lieutenant andrusevich--a little, lithe, and active man, who, in his sharp-nosed physiognomy, resembled a rat--and sofia pavlovna taliman, who, smiling, powdered, and painted, sat, like a dressed-up doll, in the middle of the sofa, between ensign michin's two sisters. these girls were very prepossessing in their simple, home-made but tasteful dresses with white and green ribbons. they were both dark-eyed, black-haired, with a few summer freckles on their fresh, rosy cheeks. both had dazzlingly white teeth which, perhaps from their not irreproachable form and evenness, gave the fresh lips a particular, curious charm. both were extraordinarily like, not only each other, but also their brother, although the latter was certainly not a "beauty" man. of the ladies belonging to the regiment who were invited were mrs. andrusevich--a little, fat, podgy, simple, laughing woman, very much addicted to doubtful anecdotes--and, lastly, the really pretty, but gossiping and lisping, misses lykatschev. as is always the case at military parties, the ladies formed a circle by themselves. quite near them, and sitting by himself, staff-captain ditz, the coxcomb, was lolling indolently in an easy chair. this officer, who, with his tight-laced figure and aristocratic looks, strongly reminded one of the well-known _fliegende blätter_ type of lieutenants, had been cashiered from the guards on account of some mysterious, scandalous story. he distinguished himself by his unfailing ironical confidence in his intercourse with men, and his audacious boldness with women, and he pursued, carefully and very lucratively, card-playing on a big scale, not, however, in the mess-room, but in the townsmen's club, with the civilian officials of the place, as well as with the polish landowners in the neighbourhood. nobody in the regiment liked him, but he was feared, and all felt within themselves a certain rough conviction that some day a terrible, dirty scandal would bring ditz's military career to an abrupt conclusion. it was reported that he had a _liaison_ with the young wife of an old, retired staff-captain who lived in the town, and also that he was very friendly with madame taliman. it was also purely for her sake he was invited to officers' families, according to the curious conceptions of good tone and good breeding that still hold sway in military circles. "delighted--delighted!" was nikoläiev's greeting as he went up to romashov. "why didn't you come this morning and taste our pasty?" nikoläiev uttered all this in a very jovial and friendly tone, but in his voice and glance romashov noticed the same cold, artificial, and harsh expression which he had felt almost unconsciously lately. "he does not like me," thought romashov. "but what is the matter with him? is he angry--or jealous, or have i bored him to death?" "as you perhaps are aware, we had inspection of rifles in our company this morning," lied romashov boldly. "when the great inspection approaches, one is never free either sundays or week-days, you know. however, may i candidly admit that i am a trifle embarrassed? i did not know in the least that you were giving a picnic. i invited myself, so to speak. and truly, i feel some qualms----" nikoläiev smiled broadly, and clapped romashov on the shoulder with almost insulting familiarity. "how you talk, my friend! the more the merrier, and we don't want any chinese ceremonies here. but there is one awkward thing--i mean, will there be sufficient carriages? but we shall be able to manage something." "i brought my own trap," said romashov, to calm him, whilst he, quite unnoticeably, released his shoulder from nikoläiev's caressing hand, "and i shall be very pleased to put it at your service." romashov turned round and met shurochka's eye. "thank you, my dear," said her ardent, curiously intent look. "how strange she is to-day," thought romashov. "that's capital!" nikoläiev looked at his watch. "what do you say, gentlemen; shall we start?" "'let us start,' said the parrot when the cat dragged it out of its cage by the tail," said olisár jokingly. all got up, noisy and laughing. the ladies went in search of their hats and parasols, and began to put on their gloves. taliman, who suffered from bronchitis, croaked and screamed that, above everything, the company should wrap up well; but his voice was drowned in the noise and confusion. little michin took romashov aside and said to him-"yuri alexievich, i have a favour to ask you. let my sisters ride in your carriage, otherwise ditz will come and force his society on them--a thing i would prevent at any price. he is in the habit of conversing with young girls in such a way that they can hardly restrain their tears of shame and indignation. i am not, god knows! a man fond of violence, but some day i shall give that scoundrel what he deserves." romashov would naturally have much liked to ride with shurochka, but michin had always been his friend, and it was impossible to withstand the imploring look of those clear, true-hearted eyes. besides, romashov was so full of joy at that moment that he could not refuse. at last, after much noise and fun, they were all seated in the carriages. romashov had kept his word, and sat stowed away between the two michin girls. only staff-captain lieschtschenko, whose presence romashov now noticed for the first time, kept wandering here and there among the carriages with a countenance more doleful and woebegone than ever. all avoided him like the plague. at last romashov took pity and called to him, and offered him a place on the box-seat of his trap. the staff-captain thankfully accepted the invitation, fixed on romashov a long, grateful look from sad, moist dog's eyes, and climbed up with a sigh to the box. they started. at their head rode olisár on his lazy old horse, repeatedly performing clown tricks, and bawling out a hackneyed operetta air: "up on the roof of the omnibus," etc. "quick--march!" rang osadchi's stentorian voice. the cavalcade increased its pace, and was gradually lost sight of amidst the dust of the high road. xiii the picnic gave no promise of being anything like so pleasant and cheerful as one might have expected from the party's high spirits at the start. after driving three _versts_, they halted and got out at dubetschnaia. by this name was designated a piece of ground hardly fifteen _dessyatins_ in extent, which, sparsely covered with proud, century-old oaks, slowly slanted down towards the strand of a little river. close thickets of bushes were arrayed beside the mighty trees, and these, here and there, formed a charming frame for the small open spaces covered by the fresh and delicate greenery of spring. in a similar idyllic spot in the oak-woods, servants and footmen, sent on in advance, waited with samovars and baskets. the company assembled around the white tablecloths spread on the grass. the ladies produced plates and cold meat, and the gentlemen helped them, amidst jokes and flirtations. olisár dressed himself up as a cook by putting on a couple of serviettes as cap and apron. after much fun and ceremony, the difficult problem of placing the guests was solved, in which entered the indispensable condition that the ladies should have a gentleman on each side. the guests half-reclined or half-sat in rather uncomfortable positions, which was appreciated by all as being something new and interesting, and which finally caused the ever-silent lieschtschenko to astonish those present, amidst general laughter, by the following famous utterance: "here we lie, just like the old greek romans." shurochka had on one side taliman, on the other side romashov. she was unusually cheerful and talkative, nay, sometimes in such high spirits that the attention of many was called to it. romashov had never found her so bewitching before. he thought he noticed in her something new, something emotional and passionate, which feverishly sought an outlet. sometimes she turned without a word to romashov and gazed at him intently for half a second longer than was strictly proper, and he felt then that a force, mysterious, consuming, and overpowering, gleamed from her eyes. osadchi, who sat by himself at the end of the improvised table, got on his knees. after tapping his knife against the glass and requesting silence, he said, in a deep bass voice, the heavy waves of sound from which vibrated in the pure woodland air-"gentlemen, let us quaff the first beaker in honour of our fair hostess, whose name-day it is. may god vouchsafe her every good--and the rank of a general's consort." and after he had raised the great glass, he shouted with all the force of his powerful voice-"hurrah!" it seemed as if all the trees in the vicinity sighed and drooped under this deafening howl, which resembled the thunder's boom and the lion's roar, and the echo of which died away between the oaks' thick trunks. andrusevich, who sat next to osadchi, fell backwards with a comic expression of terror, and pretended to be slightly deaf during the remainder of the banquet. the gentlemen got up and clinked their glasses with shurochka's. romashov purposely waited to the last, and she observed it. whilst shurochka turned towards him, she, silently and with a passionate smile, held forward her glass of white wine. in that moment her eyes grew wider and darker, and her lips moved noiselessly, just as if she had clearly uttered a certain word; but, directly afterwards, she turned round laughing to taliman, and began an animated conversation with him. "what did she say?" thought romashov. "what word was it that she would not or dared not say aloud?" he felt nervous and agitated, and, secretly, he made an attempt to give his lips the same form and expression as he had just observed with shurochka, in order, by that means, to guess what she said; but it was fruitless. "romochka?" "beloved?" "i love?" no, that wasn't it. only one thing he knew for certain, viz., that the mysterious word had three syllables. after that he drank with nikoläiev, and wished him success on the general staff, as if it were a matter of course that nikoläiev would pass his examination. then came the usual, inevitable toasts of "the ladies present," of "women in general," the "glorious colours of the regiment," of the "ever-victorious russian army," etc. now up sprang taliman, who was already very elevated, and screamed in his hoarse, broken falsetto, "gentlemen, i propose the health of our beloved, idolized sovereign, for whom we are all ready at any time to sacrifice our lives to the last drop of our blood." at the last words his voice failed him completely. the bandit look in his dark brown, gipsy eyes faded, and tears moistened his brown cheeks. "the hymn to the tsar," shouted little fat madame andrusevich. all arose. the officers raised their hands to the peaks of their caps. discordant, untrained, exultant voices rang over the neighbourhood, but worse and more out of tune than all the rest screamed the sentimental staff-captain lieschtschenko, whose expression was even more melancholy than usual. they now began drinking hard, as, for the matter of that, the officers always did when they forgathered at mess, at each other's homes, at excursions and picnics, official dinners, etc. all talked at once, and individual voices could no longer be distinguished. shurochka, who had drunk a good deal of white wine, suddenly leaned her head near romashov. her cheeks and lips glowed, and the dark pupils of her beaming eyes had now attained an almost black hue. "i can't stand these provincial picnics," she exclaimed. "they are always so vulgar, mean, and wearisome. i was, of course, obliged to give a party before my husband started for his examination, but, good gracious! why could we not have stayed at home and enjoyed ourselves in our pretty, shady garden? such a stupid notion. and yet to-day, i don't know why, i am so madly happy. ah, romochka, i know the reason; i know it, and will tell you afterwards. oh, no! no, no, romochka, that is not true. i know nothing--absolutely nothing." her beautiful eyes were half-closed, and her face, full of alluring, promising, and tormenting impatience, had become shamelessly beautiful, and romashov, though he hardly understood what it meant, was instinctively conscious of the passionate emotion which possessed shurochka and felt a sweet thrill run down his arms and legs and through his heart. "you are so wonderful to-day--has anything happened?" he asked in a whisper. she answered straightway with an expression of innocent helplessness. "i have already told you--i don't know--i can't explain it. look at the sky. it's blue, but why? it is the same with me. romochka, dear boy, pour me out some more wine." at the opposite side of the tablecloth an exciting conversation was carried on with regard to the intended war with germany, which was then regarded by many as almost a certainty. soon an irritable, senseless quarrel arose about it, which was, however, suddenly interrupted by osadchi's furious, thundering, dictatorial voice. he was almost drunk, but the only signs of it were the terrible pallor of his handsome face and the lowering gaze of his large black eyes. "rubbish!" he screamed wildly. "what do you really mean by war nowadays? war has been spoilt, transmogrified, and everything else, for the matter of that. children are born idiots, women are stunted, badly brought-up creatures, and men have--nerves. 'ugh, blood, blood! oh, i shall faint,'" he imitated in an insulting, mockingly pitiful tone. "and all this only because the real, ferocious and merciless character of war has changed. now, can this be called war when you fire a couple of shots at the enemy at a distance of fifteen _versts_, and then return home in triumph as a hero? pretty heroes! you are taken prisoner, and then they say to you: 'my poor friend, how are you? are you cold? would you like a cigarette? are you quite comfortable?' damn it all!" osadchi gave vent to a few inarticulate roars and lowered his head like a mad bull ready to attack. "in the middle ages, gentlemen, things were quite different. night attacks--storming ladders and naked weapons--murder and conflagration everywhere. 'soldiers, the town is yours for three days.' the slaughter begins, torch and sword perform their office; in the streets streams of blood and wine. oh, glorious festival of brave men amidst bleeding corpses and smoking ruins, beautiful, naked, weeping women dragged by their hair to the victor's feet." "anyhow, you haven't changed much," interrupted sofia pavlovna taliman jokingly. "all the town a river of fire, the tempest sporting at night with the bodies of hanged men; vultures shriek and the victor lords it by the campfires beneath the gallows tree. why take prisoners and waste time and strength for them? ugh!" osadchi, with teeth clenched, groaned like a wild beast. "grand and glorious days! what fights! eye to eye and chest to chest. an uninterrupted slaughter for hours, till the cold-blooded tenacity and discipline of one party, coupled with invincible fury, brought victory. and what fights then! what courage, what physical strength, and what superior dexterity in the use of weapons! gentlemen"--osadchi arose in all his gigantic stature and in his terrible voice insolence and cold-bloodedness reigned--"gentlemen, i know that from your military colleges have issued morbid, crazy phrases about what's called 'humanity in war,' etc., etc. but i drink at this moment--even if i am to drain my glass by myself--to the wars of bygone days and the joyful, bloody cruelty of old times." all were silent, hypnotized and cowed by this unexpected horrible ecstasy of an otherwise reserved and taciturn man, whom they now regarded with a feeling of terror and curiosity. at that moment biek-agamalov jumped up from where he was sitting. he did this so quickly and suddenly that he alarmed several who were present, and one of the ladies uttered a cry of terror. his widely staring eyes flashed wildly, and his white, clenched teeth resembled a beast of prey's. he seemed to be nearly stifled, and he could not find words. "oh, see! here's one who understands and rejoices at what you have said. ugh!" with convulsive energy, nay, almost furiously, he grasped and shook osadchi's hand. "to hell with all these weak, cowardly, squeamish wretches! out with the sabre and hew them down!" his bloodshot eyes sought an object suitable as a vent for his flaming rage. his naturally cruel instincts had at this moment thrown off their mask. like a madman he slashed at the oak-copse with his naked sword. mutilated branches and young leaves rained down on the tablecloth and guests. "lieutenant biek! madman! are you out of your mind?" screamed the ladies. biek-agamalov pulled himself together and returned to his place, visibly much ashamed of his barbaric behaviour; but his delicate nostrils rose and fell with his quick breathings, and his black eyes, wild with suppressed rage, looked loweringly and defiantly at the company. romashov had heard, and yet not heard, osadchi's speech. he felt, as it were, stupefied by a narcotic, but celestially delightful, intoxicating drink, and he thought that a warm spider, as soft as velvet, had been spinning softly and cautiously round him with its web, and gently tickled his body till he almost died of an inward, exultant laughter. his hand lightly brushed--and each time as though unintentionally--shurochka's arm, but neither she nor he attempted to look at each other. romashov was quite lost in the land of dreams, when the sound of biek-agamalov's and osadchi's voices reached him, but as though they came from a distant, fantastic mist. the actual words he could understand, but they seemed to him empty and devoid of any intelligent meaning. "osadchi is a cruel man and he does not like me," thought romashov. "osadchi's wife is a creature to be pitied--small, thin, and every year in an interesting condition. he never takes her out with him. last year a young soldier in osadchi's company hanged himself--osadchi? who is this osadchi? see now, biek, too, is shrieking and making a row. what sort of a man is he? do i know him? ah, of course i know him, and yet he is so strange to me, so wonderful and incomprehensible. but who are you who are sitting beside me?--from whom such joy and happiness beam that i am intoxicated with this happiness. there sits nikoläiev opposite me. he looks displeased, and sits there in silence all the time. he glances here as if accidentally, and his eyes glide over me with cold contempt. he is, methinks, much embittered. well, i have no objection--may he have his revenge! oh, my delicious happiness!" it began to grow dark. the lilac shadows of the trees stole slowly over the plain. the youngest miss michin suddenly called out-"gentlemen, where are the violets? here on this very spot they are said to grow in profusion. come, let us find some and gather them." "it's too late," some one objected. "it's impossible to see them in the grass now." "yes, it is easier to lose a thing now than to find it," interposed ditz, with a cynical laugh. "well, anyhow, let us light a bonfire," proposed andrusevich. they at once set about eagerly collecting and forming into a pile an enormous quantity of dry branches, twigs, and leaves that had been lying there from last year. the bonfire was lighted, and a huge pillar of merrily-crackling, sparkling flame arose against the sky. at the same instant, as though terror-stricken, the last glimpse of daylight left the place a prey to the darkness which swiftly arose from the forest gloom. purple gleaming spots shyly trembled in the oaks' leafy crests, and the trees seemed at one time to hurry forward with curiosity in the full illumination from the fire, at another time to hasten as quickly back to the dark coverts of the grove. all got up from their places on the grass. the servants lighted the candles in the many-coloured chinese lanterns. the young officers played and raced like schoolboys. olisár wrestled with michin, and to the astonishment of all the insignificant, clumsy michin threw his tall, well-built adversary twice in succession on his back. after this the guests began leaping right across the fire. andrusevich displayed some of his tricks. at one time he imitated the noise of a fly buzzing against a window, at another time he showed how a poultry-maid attempted to catch a fugitive cock, lastly, he disappeared in the darkness among the bushes, from which was heard directly afterwards the sharp rustle of a saw or grindstone. even ditz condescended to show his dexterity, as a juggler, with empty bottles. "allow me, ladies and gentlemen," cried taliman, "to perform a little innocent conjuring trick. this is no question of a marvellous witchcraft, but only quickness and dexterity. i will ask the distinguished audience to convince themselves that i have not hidden anything in my hands or coat-sleeves. well, now we begin, one, two, three--hey, presto!" with a rapid movement, and, amidst general laughter, he took from his pocket two new packs of cards, which, with a little bang, he quickly and deftly freed from their wrapper. "_preference_, gentlemen," he suggested. "a little game, if you like, in the open air. how would that do, eh?" osadchi, nikoläiev, and andrusevich sat down to cards, and with a deep and sorrowful sigh, lieschtschenko stationed himself, as usual, behind the players. nikoläiev refused to join the game, and stood out for some time, but gave way at last. as he sat down he looked about him several times in evident anxiety, searching with his eyes for shurochka, but the gleam of the fire blinded him, and a scowling, worried expression became fixed on his face. romashov pursued a narrow path amongst the trees. he neither understood nor knew what was awaiting him, but he felt in his heart a vaguely oppressive but, nevertheless, delicious anguish whilst waiting for something that was to happen. he stopped. behind him he heard a slight rustling of branches, and, after that, the sound of quick steps and the _frou-frou_ of a silken skirt. shurochka was approaching him with hurried steps. she resembled a dryad when, in her white dress, she glided softly forth between the dark trunks of the mighty oaks. romashov went up and embraced her without uttering a word. shurochka was breathing heavily and in gasps. her warm breath often met romashov's cheeks and lips, and he felt beneath his hand her heart's violent throbs. "let's sit here," whispered shurochka. she sank down on the grass, and began with both hands to arrange her hair at the back. romashov laid himself at her feet, but, as the ground just there sloped downwards, he saw only the soft and delicate outlines of her neck and chin. suddenly she said to him in a low, trembling voice-"romochka, are you happy?" "yes--happy," he answered. then, after reviewing in his mind, for an instant, all the events of that day, he repeated fervently: "oh, yes--so happy, but tell me why you are to-day so, so?..." "so? what do you mean?" she bent lower towards him, gazed into his eyes, and all her lovely countenance was for once visible to romashov. "wonderful, divine shurochka, you have never been so beautiful as now. there is something about you that sings and shines--something new and mysterious which i cannot understand. but, alexandra petrovna, don't be angry now at the question. are you not afraid that some one may come?" she smiled without speaking, and that soft, low, caressing laugh aroused in romashov's heart a tremor of ineffable bliss. "my dearest romochka--my good, faint-hearted, simple, timorous romochka--have i not already told you that this day is ours? think only of that, romochka. do you know why i am so brave and reckless to-day? no, you do not know the reason. well, it's because i am in love with you to-day--nothing else. no, no--don't, please, get any false notions into your head. to-morrow it will have passed." romashov tried to take her in his arms. "alexandra petrovna--shurochka--sascha,"[18] he moaned beseechingly. "don't call me shurochka--do you hear? i don't like it. anything but that. by the way," she stopped abruptly as if considering something, "what a charming name you have--georgi. it's much prettier than yuri--oh, much, much, much prettier. georgi," she pronounced the name slowly with an accent on each syllable as though it afforded her delight to listen to the sound of every letter in the word. "yes, there is a proud ring about that name." "oh, my beloved," romashov exclaimed, interrupting her with passionate fervour. "wait and listen. i dreamt of you last night--a wonderful, enchanting dream. i dreamt we were dancing together in a very remarkable room. oh, i should at any time recognize that room in its minutest details. it was lighted by a red lamp that shed its radiance on handsome rugs, a bright new cottage piano, and two windows with drawn red curtains. all within was red. an invisible orchestra played, we danced close-folded in each other's arms. no, no. it's only in dreams that one can come so intoxicatingly close to the object of one's love. our feet did not touch the floor; we hovered in the air in quicker and quicker circles, and this ineffably delightful enchantment lasted so very, very long. listen, romochka, do you ever fly in your dreams?" romashov did not answer immediately. he was in an exquisitely beautiful world of wonders, at the same time magic and real. and was not all this then merely a dream, a fairy tale? this warm, intoxicating spring night; these dark, silent, listening trees; this rare, beautiful, white-clad woman beside him. he only succeeded, after a violent effort of will, in coming back to consciousness and reality. "yes, sometimes, but, with every passing year my flight gets weaker and lower. when i was a child, i used to fly as high as the ceiling, and how funny it seemed to me to look down on the people on the floor. they walked with their feet up, and tried in vain to reach me with the long broom. i flew off, mocking them with my exultant laughter. but now the force in my wings is broken," added romashov, with a sigh. "i flap my wings about for a few strokes, and then fall flop on the floor." shurochka sank into a semi-recumbent position, with her elbow resting on the ground and her head resting in the palm of her hand. after a few moments' silence she continued in an absent tone-"this morning, when i awoke, a mad desire came over me to meet you. so intense was my longing that i do not know what would have happened if you had not come. i almost think i should have defied convention, and looked you up at your house. that was why i told you not to come before five o'clock. i was afraid of myself. darling, do you understand me now?" hardly half an _arshin_ from romashov's face lay her crossed feet--two tiny feet in very low shoes, and stockings clocked with white embroidery in the form of an arrow over the instep. with his temples throbbing and a buzzing in his ears, he madly pressed his eager lips against this elastic, live, cool part of her body, which he felt through the stocking. "no, romochka--stop." he heard quite close above his head her weak, faltering, and somewhat lazy voice. romashov raised his head. once more he was the fairy-tale prince in the wonderful wood. in scattered groups along the whole extensive slope in the dark grass stood the ancient, solemn oaks, motionless, but attentive to every sound that disturbed nature's holy, dream-steeped slumbers. high up, above the horizon and through the dense mass of tree trunks and crests, one could still discern a slender streak of twilight glow, not, as usual, light red or changing into blue, but of dark purple hue, reminiscent of the last expiring embers in the hearth, or the dull flames of deep red wine drawn out by the sun's rays. and as it were, framed in all this silent magnificence, lay a young, lovely, white-clad woman--a dryad lazily reclining. romashov came closer to her. to him it seemed as if from shurochka's countenance there streamed a pale, faint radiance. he could not distinguish her eyes; he only saw two large black spots, but he felt that she was gazing at him steadily. "this is a poem, a fairy-tale--a fairy-tale," he whispered, scarcely moving his lips. "yes, my friend, it is a fairy-tale." he began to kiss her dress; he hid his face in her slender, warm, sweet-smelling hand, and, at the same time, stammered in a hollow voice-"sascha--i love you--love you." when she now raised herself somewhat up, he clearly saw her eyes, black, piercing, now unnaturally dilated, at another moment closed altogether, by which the whole of her face was so strangely altered that it became unrecognizable. his eager, thirsty lips sought her mouth, but she turned away, shook her head sadly, and at last whispered again and again-"no, no, no, my dear, my darling--not that." "oh, my adored one, what bliss--i love you," romashov again interrupted her, intoxicated with love. "see, this night--this silence, and no one here, save ourselves. oh, my happiness, how i love you!" but again she replied, "no, no," and sank back into her former attitude on the grass. she breathed heavily. at last she said in a scarcely audible voice, and it was plain that every word cost her a great effort: "romochka, it's a pity that you are so weak. i will not deny that i feel myself drawn to you, and that you are dear to me, in spite of your awkwardness, your simple inexperience of life, your childish and sentimental tenderness. i do not say i love you, but you are always in my thoughts, in my dreams, and your presence, your caresses set my senses, my thoughts, working. but why are you always so pitiable? remember that pity is the sister of contempt. you see it is unfortunate i cannot look up to you. oh, if you were a strong, purposeful man----" she took off romashov's cap and put her fingers softly and caressingly through his soft hair. "if you could only win fame--a high position----" "i promise to do so; i will do so," exclaimed romashov, in a strained voice. "only be mine, come to me ... all my life shall...." she interrupted him with a tender and sorrowful smile, of which there was an echo in her voice. "i believe you, dear; i believe you mean what you say, and i also know you will never be able to keep your promise. oh, if i could only cherish the slightest hope of that, i would abandon everything and follow you. ah, romochka, my handsome boy, i call to mind a certain legend which tells how god from the beginning created every human being whole, but afterwards broke it into two pieces and threw the bits broadcast into the world. and ever afterward the one half seeks in vain its fellow. dear, we are both exactly two such unhappy creatures. with us there are so many sympathies, antipathies, thoughts, dreams, and wishes in common. we understand each other by means of only half a hint, half a word--nay, even without words. and yet our ways must lie apart. alas! this is now the second time in my life----" "yes, i know it." "has he told you this?" asked shurochka eagerly. "no; it was only by accident i got to know it." they were both silent. in the sky the first stars began to light up and display themselves to the eye as little, trembling, emerald, sparkling points. from the right you might hear a weak echo of voices, laughter and the strains of a song; but in all the rest of the wood, which was sunk in soft, caressing darkness, reigned a deep, mysterious silence. the great blazing pyre was not visible from this spot in the woods, but the crests from the nearest oaks now and then reflected the flaming red glow that, by its rapid changes from darkness to light, reminded one of distant and vivid sheet-lightning. shurochka softly and silently caressed romashov's hair and face. when he succeeded in seizing her fingers between his lips, she herself pressed the palm of her hand against his mouth. "i do not love my husband," she said slowly and in an absent voice. "he is rough, indelicate, and devoid of any trace of fine feeling. ah, i blush when i speak of it--we women never forget how a man first takes forcible possession of us. besides, he is so insanely jealous. even to-day he worries me about that wretched nasanski. he forces confessions from me, and makes the most insignificant events of those times the ground for the wildest conclusions. ah--shame, he has unblushingly dared to put the most disgusting questions to me. good god! all that was only an innocent, childish romance, but the mere mention of nasanski's name makes him furious." now and then, whilst she spoke, a nervous trembling was noticeable in her voice, and her hand, still continuing its caress, was thrilled, as it were, by a shudder. "are you cold?" asked romashov. "no, dear--not at all," she replied gently. "the night is so bewitchingly beautiful, you know." suddenly, with a burst of uncontrollable passion, she exclaimed, "oh, my beloved, how sweet to be here with you." romashov took her hand, softly caressed the delicate fingers, and said in a shy, diffident tone: "tell me, i beg you. you have just said yourself that you do not love your husband. why, then, do you live together?" she arose with a rapid movement, sat up, and began nervously to pass her hands over her forehead and cheeks, as if she had awakened from a dream. "it's late; let us go. perhaps they are even now looking for us," she answered in a calm and completely altered voice. they got up from the grass, and both stood for a while silent, listening to each other's breathings, eye to eye, but with lowered gaze. "good-bye," she suddenly cried in a silvery voice. "good-bye, my bliss--my brief bliss." she twined her arms round his neck and pressed her moist, burning-hot lips to his mouth. with clenched teeth and a sigh of intense passion she pressed her body to his. to romashov's eyes the black trunks of the oaks seemed to reel and softly bend towards the ground, where the objects ran into each other and disappeared before his eyes. time stood still.... by a violent jerk she released herself from his arms, and said in a firm voice: "farewell--enough. let us go." romashov without a sound sank down on the grass at her feet, embracing her knees, and pressing his lips against her dress in long, hot kisses. "sascha--saschenka," he whispered, having now lost all self-command, "have pity on me." "get up, georgi alexandrovich! come--they might take us unawares. let us return to the others." they proceeded on their way in the direction from which they heard the sound of voices. romashov's temples throbbed, his knees gave way, and he stumbled like a drunken man. "no, i will not," shurochka answered at last in a fevered, panting voice. "i will not betray him. besides, it would be something even worse than betrayal--it would be cowardice. cowardice enters into every betrayal. i'll tell you the whole truth. i have never deceived my husband, and i shall remain faithful to him until the very moment when i shall release myself from him--for ever. his kisses and caresses are disgusting to me, and listen, now--no, even before--when i thought of you and your kisses, i understood what ineffable bliss it would be to surrender myself wholly to the man i love. but to steal such a joy--never. i hate deceit and treacherous ways." they were approaching the spot where the picnic had taken place, and the flames from the pyre shone from between the trees, the coarse, bark-covered trunks of which were sharply outlined against the fire, and looked as if they were molten in some black metal. "well," resumed romashov, "if i shake off my sluggishness, if i succeed in attaining the same goal as that for which your husband is striving, or perhaps even something still higher--would you then ...?" she pressed her cheek hard against his shoulder, and answered impetuously and passionately-"yes, then, then!" they gained the open. all the vast, burning pyre was visible; around it a crowd of small, dark figures were moving. "listen, romochka, to still another last word." shurochka spoke fast, and there was a note of sorrow and anguish in her voice. "i did not like to spoil this evening for you, but now it must be told. you must not call at my house any more." he stopped abruptly before her with a look of intense astonishment. "not call? but tell me the reason, sascha. what has happened?" "come, come; i don't know, but somebody is writing anonymous letters to my husband. he has not shown them to me, only casually mentioned several things about them. the foulest and most disgusting stories are being manufactured about you and me. in short, i beg you not to come to us any more." "sascha," he moaned, as he stretched out his arms to her. "o my friend, my dearest and most beloved. who will suffer more from this than i? but it is unavoidable. and listen to this, too. i am afraid he is going to speak to you about this. i beseech you, for god's sake, not to lose your temper. promise me you won't." "that is all right; don't be afraid," romashov replied in a gloomy tone. "that is all. farewell, poor friend. give me your hand once more and squeeze mine tight, quite tight, till it hurts. oh! good-bye, darling, darling." they separated without going closer to the fire. shurochka walked straight up the slope. romashov took a devious path downwards along the shore. the card-playing was still going on, but their absence had been remarked, and when romashov approached the fire, ditz greeted him so insolently, and with such a vulgar attack of coughing in order to draw attention, that romashov could hardly restrain himself from flinging a firebrand at his face. directly after this he noticed that nikoläiev left his game, took shurochka aside, and talked to her for some time with angry gestures and looks of hatred. suddenly she pulled herself together, and answered him in a few words with an indescribable expression of indignation and contempt on her features. and that big, strong man all at once shrivelled up humbly in her presence, like a whipped hound which obediently goes its way, but gnashes its teeth with suppressed fury. the party broke up soon after this. the night felt chilly, and a raw mist rose from the little river. the common stock of good humour and merriment had long been exhausted, and all separated, weary, drowsy, and without hiding their yawns. romashov was soon once more sitting in his trap, opposite the misses michin, but he never uttered a word during the course of the journey. before his mind's eye still stood the mighty dark and silent trees and the blood-red sunset over the brow of the woodland hill. there, too, in the soft, scented grass, he saw beside him a female shape robed in white, but during all his intense, consuming pain and longing, he did not fail to say of himself, pathetically-"and over his handsome countenance swept a cloud of sorrow." xiv in may the regiment went into camp, which, year after year, was pitched in the same spot outside the town, and not far from the railway. the young officers had, whilst the camp was on, according to the regulations, to live in wooden barracks near their respective companies; but romashov continued to enjoy his own dwelling in the town, as the officers' barracks of the 6th company had long been in a ruinous and uninhabitable condition, on account of there being no money available for repairs. every day he had to journey four times between the town and the camp. in the morning off to the camp for drill, thence back to the officers' mess in the town for his dinner; after that, off to the afternoon exercises, and, finally, at night, his last walk back to his home. this fatiguing life was seriously affecting his health. after the first fortnight he began to get thin and hollow-eyed, and soon lost the fresh colour of his cheeks. even the rest, officers as well as men, fared little better. preparations were being made for the great general review, and nobody ventured to speak of fatigue or weariness. the captains of companies exhausted the utmost strength of their men by two or three hours' extra drill every day. during all the drill the smacking sound of ears being boxed and other maltreatment was heard all over the plain. more than once romashov noticed how the captains, in a furious rage, like wild beasts, attacked the poor recruits, and boxed the ears of the entire line from first to last; but, nevertheless, the "non-coms." displayed the greatest cruelty. they punished with unbridled rage the slightest mistake in marching or manual exercise; teeth were knocked out, drums of the ears were broken, and the defenceless victims were thrown down senseless. but none of all these martyrs ever entertained the thought of drawing a sword. it was just as if the whole regiment had become the prey of a wild hypnosis or had been attacked by nightmare. and all these terrors and sufferings were multiplied by a fearful heat, for may this year was unusually hot. wherever you went an unnatural nervousness was discernible. the most absurd quarrels would, all of a sudden, break out during meals at the officers' mess. they insulted each other, and sought quarrels without rhyme or reason. the soldiers, with their sunken cheeks and sallow eyes, looked like idiots. never, during the few hours' rest they were allowed to enjoy, was a laugh heard from the tents; never a joke. at night, after bugle-call, the rank and file were ordered to get into line for games and singing, and with an absolutely apathetic expression of voice and features they howled the old campsong- "oh, the gallant russian soldier, fear with him can find no place; he, when bombs are bursting round him, calls them 'brother' to their face." then a dance would be played on the harmonium, and the ensign would roar out-"gregorash, skvortzov, up and dance, you hounds!" the two recruits obeyed the order without a murmur, but in both their song and dance there lay something dead, mechanical, and resigned, at which one was inclined to weep. only in the 5th company were they easy-going and free, and there the drills began every day an hour later than the rest and were concluded an hour earlier. you might have fancied that every member of it had been specially chosen, for they all looked lively, well-fed. the lads of the 5th company looked their officers bravely and openly in the face, and the very _rubashka_[19] was worn with a certain aristocratic elegance. their commander, stelikovski--a very eccentric old bachelor and comparatively rich (he drew from some unknown quarter two hundred roubles every month), was of an independent character, with a dry manner, who stood aloof from his comrades, and lastly, was in bad odour on account of his dissolute life. he attracted and hired young girls from the lower class, often minors, and these he paid handsomely, and sent back to their native places after the lapse of a month. corporal punishment--nay, even threats and insulting words--were strictly forbidden in his company, although, as far as that goes, there was by no means any coddling of the men, who, however, in appearance, and readiness, and capability, were not inferior to any company of guardsmen in existence. being himself masterful, cool, and self-reliant in the highest degree, he was also able to implant those qualities firmly in his subordinates. what, in other companies, could not be attained after a whole week's drill amid threats, yells, and oaths, blows and stripes, stelikovski attained with the greatest calm in a single day. he was a man of few words, seldom raised his voice, and when, on occasion, he did speak, the soldiers stood as if carved in stone. among the officers he was shunned and hated, but worshipped by his men--a state of things that, most certainly, was unique in the whole of the russian army. at length the 15th of may arrived, when the great review, ordered by the brigadier-general, was to take place. in all the companies, except the 5th, the non-coms. had their men drawn up by 4 a.m. the poor, tortured, drowsy, gaping soldiers were trembling as though with cold in their coarse shirts, although the air was mild and balmy and the weather serene, and their gloomy, depressed glances and sallow, greyish, chalky faces gave a painful impression in the gleaming, bright summer morning. when the clock struck six, the officers began to join their companies. the regiment had not to be assembled and in line before 10 a.m., but, with the exception of stelikovski, not one of the captains thought of letting their poor wearied soldiers have their proper sleep and gain strength for the toils awaiting them that day. on the contrary, never had their fussiness and zeal been greater than on this morning. the air was thick with oaths, threats, and insults; ear-boxing, slaps on the mouth, kicks, and blows with the fist rained down, at each slightest blunder, on the miserable, utterly exhausted soldiers. at 9 a.m. the companies marched to the parade-ground, about five hundred paces in front of the camp. sixteen outposts, provided with small, multi-coloured flags for signalling, were stationed in an absolutely straight line about half a verst long, so as to mark out, with mathematical accuracy, the points where each company's right wing should be placed at the parade past the brigadier-general. lieutenant kováko, who had been allotted this highly important task, was, of course, one of the heroes of the day, and, conscious of this, he galloped, like a madman--red, perspiring, and with his cap on his neck--backwards and forwards along the line, shouting and swearing, and also belabouring with his sabre the ribs of his lean white charger. the poor beast, grown grey with age and having a cataract in its right eye, waved its short tail convulsively. yes, on lieutenant kováko and his outposts depended the whole regiment's weal and woe, for it was he who bore the awful responsibility of the sixteen companies' respective "gaps" and "dressing." precisely at ten minutes to 10 a.m., the 5th company marched out of camp. with brisk, long, measured steps, that made the earth tremble, these hundred men marched past all the other companies and took their place in the line. they formed a splendid, select corps; lithe, muscular figures with straight backs and brave bearing, clean, shining faces, and the little peakless cap tipped coquettishly over the right ear. captain stelikovski--a little thin man, displaying himself in tremendously wide breeches--carelessly promenaded, without troubling himself in the least about the time his troops kept when marching, five paces on the side of the right flank, peering amusedly, and now and then shaking his head whimsically now to the right, now to the left, as though to control the troops' "dressing" and attention. colonel liech, the commander of the battalion, who, like the rest of the officers, had been, ever since dawn, in a state of examination-fever and nervous irritability, rushed up to stelikovski with furious upbraidings for having "come too late." the latter slowly and coolly took out his watch, glanced at it, and replied in a dry, almost contemptuous tone: "the commander of the regiment ordered me to be here by ten o'clock. it still wants three minutes to that hour. i do not consider i am justified in worrying and exerting my men unnecessarily." "don't, if you please," croaked liech, gesticulating and pulling his reins. "i must ask you to be silent when your superior officer makes a remark." but he only too well understood that he was wrong and would get the worst of it, and he rode quickly on, and visited his wrath on the 8th company, whose officers had ordered the knapsacks to be opened. "what the deuce are you about? what is this foolery? are you thinking of opening a bazaar or a general shop? this is just like beginning a hunt by cramming the hounds with food. close your knapsacks and put them on quickly. you ought to have thought of this before." at a quarter to eleven they began dressing the companies on the lines laid down. this was for all a very minute, tedious, and troublesome task. between the _échelons_ long ropes were tightly stretched along the ground. every soldier in the front rank was obliged to see, with the most painful accuracy, that his toes just grazed the tightly-stretched rope, for in that lay the fundamental condition of the faultless dressing of the long front. moreover, the distance between the toes, like the breadth of the gun-stock and the somewhat inclined position of the upper part of the body, had to be the same along the whole line. while anxiously superintending these details the captains often flew into a towering rage. frantic shouts and angry words of command were heard everywhere: "ivanoff, more forward, you--syaroschtan, right shoulder forward, left back!" at 10.30 a.m. the commander of the regiment arrived. he rode on a powerful chestnut-brown gelding with white legs. colonel shulgovich was an imposing, almost majestic, figure on horseback. he had a firm "seat," although he rode in infantry style, with stirrups far too short. in greeting his regiment he yelled in his tremendous voice, in which a certain jubilant heroic note in honour of the occasion was audible-"good morning, my fine fellows." romashov, who remembered his 4th platoon and especially kliabnikov's wretched appearance, could not refrain from smiling. "pretty choice specimens, in all truth," thought he. the standards were unfurled amidst the strident notes of the regimental band. after this came a long and trying moment. straight away to the station, from which the brigadier-general was expected, were posted a number of signallers who, by certain arranged signs, were to prepare the regiment for the approach of the generals. more than once they were disturbed by a false alarm. the loose, slack ropes were once more tightened in mad haste, "dressings" and "lines" were ordered, and all stood for several minutes at the most painful "attention," until weariness once more asserted its claims, and the poor soldiers collapsed, yet, at the very last, striving to keep the position of their feet, at any rate, unmoved. out in the plain, about three hundred paces off, the ladies displayed their clothes, parasols, and hats of variegated and loud colours. romashov knew very well that shurochka was not in that bright, festive group. but every time he glanced in that direction he felt, as it were, an icy-cold shudder in the region of his heart, and his quick, nervous breathing bore witness to a strong inward excitement. suddenly, like a strong gust of wind, a rumour ran through the ranks, and a timorous cry was heard: "he's coming; he's coming!" it was clear to all that the important, eventful moment was approaching. the soldiers, who had been since dawn the victims of the prevailing excitement, dressed in their ranks without orders, but with a certain nervous haste, and became rigid in apparently lifeless immobility. now and then a nervous coughing was heard. "ranks, attention!" rang out shulgovich's order. romashov, glancing to the right, discovered, at a good distance down the plain, a small but dense group of horsemen who, now and then obscured for an instant by a faint yellow cloud of dust, were rapidly approaching the front. shulgovich rode, with a severe and solemn countenance, from his place in front of the middle company, right out into the plain, most certainly a good fourth further than the regulations demanded. the tremendous importance of the moment was reflected in his features. with a gesture of noble dignity, he first glanced upwards, then calmed the dark, motionless mass of soldiers by a glance, withering, it is true, but mingled with tremulous exultation, and then let his stentorian voice roll over the plain, when commanding-"attention! should--er----" he purposely kept back the last syllable of that longest word of command--the so-called "effective" word, just as if an infinite power and sanctity lay hidden in the pronunciation of those few wretched letters. his countenance became a bluish-red, the veins in his neck were strained like thick cords, and, finally, the releasing word was discernible in the wild-beast-like roar-"---arms!" one--two. a thousand slamming and rattling of hard blows from soldiers' fists on the stocks of their rifles, and the violent contact of locks with the coarse metal clasps of belts echoed through the air. at the same moment the electrifying strains of the regimental march were audible from the right wing. like wild, excited, undisciplined children let loose, the flutes and cornets ran riot, trying by their shrill, ear-piercing voices to drown the coarse bellowing of trombones and ophicleides, whilst the thunder of drums and kettledrums, warning and threatening, exhorted frivolous, thoughtless young men of the consideration due to the seriousness and supreme importance of the moment. from the station there rang out, almost like a soothing piccolo-strain, the whistle of the engine, mingling harmoniously with the joyful music of the band. romashov suddenly felt himself caught, as it were, by a mighty, roaring wave that, irresistibly and exultingly, carried him away. with a sensation of joy and courage such as he had never experienced before, his glance met the sun's gold-steeped rays, and it seemed to him as if, at that moment, he was, for the first time, conscious of the blue sky paled by the heat, and the warm verdure of the plain that disappeared in the far distance. for once he felt young and strong and eager to distinguish himself; proud, too, of belonging to this magnificent, motionless, imposing mass of men, gathered together and quelled by an invisible, mysterious will. shulgovich, with his sabre drawn to a level with his face, rode in a ponderous gallop to meet the general. directly the band's rough martial, triumphant strains had ceased, the general's calm, musical voice rang out-"good-day, 1st company." the soldiers answered his salutation promptly and joyfully. again the locomotive made its voice heard, but this time in the form of a sharp, defiant signal. the brigadier-general rode slowly along the line, saluting the companies in their proper order. romashov could already distinguish his heavy, obese figure with the thin linen jacket turned up in deep folds across his chest and fat belly; his big square face turned towards the troops; the gorgeous saddle-cloth with his monogram embroidered in bright colours, the majestic grey charger, the ivory rings on the martingale, and patent-leather riding boots. "good-day, 6th company." the soldiers round romashov replied with a shout that was pretty nearly destructive both to throats and ear-drums. the general sat his horse with the careless grace of an accomplished rider. his noble charger, with the gentle, steadfast glance from his handsome, though slightly bloodshot eyes, tugged hard at its bit, from which, now and then, a few white foam-drops fell to the ground, and careered gently on with short, quick, dancing steps. "he's grey about the temples, but his moustache is black--dyed, perhaps," was romashov's reflection just then. through his gold-rimmed _pince-nez_ the general answered with his dark, clever, youthful and satirically questioning eyes the soldiers' glances directed at him. when he came up to romashov he touched the peak of his cap with his hand. romashov stood quite still, with every muscle strained in the most correct attitude of "attention," and he clasped the hilt of his sabre with such a hard, crushing grip that it almost caused him pain. a shudder of infinite, enthusiastic devotion rushed through his whole being, and whilst looking fixedly at the general's face, he thought to himself in his old naïve, childish way-"the grey-haired old warrior's glances noted with delight the young ensign's slender, well-built figure." the general continued his slow ride along the front, saluting company after company. behind him moved his suite--a promiscuous, resplendent group of staff officers, whose horses shone with profuse rubbing down and dressing. romashov glanced at them, too, benevolently, but not one of them took the slightest notice of him. these spoilt favourites of fortune had long since had more than enough of parades, reviews, and the boundless enthusiasm of little, insignificant infantry officers, and romashov felt in his heart a bitter, rebellious feeling at the thought that these superior people belonged to a world quite beyond his reach. the band suddenly received a sign to stop playing. the general returned at a sharp trot to the right wing, and after him, in a long, variegated line, his mounted suite. colonel shulgovich galloped off to the 1st company. pulling his reins and throwing all his enormous body back in the saddle, he yelled in a hoarse and trembling voice-"captain osadchi, advance company. quick, march!" between the commander of the regiment and captain osadchi there was an incessant rivalry, during drill hours, to outdo each other in lung power, and not many seconds elapsed before the latter was heard to order in his mighty, rolling bass-"company, shoulder arms! dress in the middle. forward, march!" osadchi had, with fearful sacrifice of time and labour, succeeded in introducing in his company a new kind of marching. this consisted in the soldiers raising their foot high in the air in very slow time, and afterwards putting it down on the ground with the greatest possible force. this wonderful and imposing manner of moving along the ground excited not only much interest, but also a certain envy among the other captains of companies. but the 1st company had hardly marched fifty paces before they heard the general's angry and impatient voice exclaim-"what the deuce is this? halt with the company. halt, halt! come here to me, captain. tell me, sir, what in the name of goodness that is supposed to represent. is it a funeral or a torch procession? say. march in three-time. listen, sir, we're not living in the days of nicholas, when a soldier served for twenty-five years. how many precious days have you wasted in practising this _corps de ballet_? answer me." osadchi stood gloomy, still and silent before his angry chief, with his drawn sabre pointing to the ground. the general was silent for an instant, and then resumed his harangue with an expression of sorrow and irony in his voice-"by this sort of insanity you will soon succeed in extinguishing the last spark of life in your soldiers. don't you think so yourself? oh, you luckless ghosts from ivan the cruel's days! but enough of this. allow me instead to ask you, captain, the name of this young lad." "ignati mikhailovich, your excellency," replied osadchi in the dry, sepulchral, regulation voice. "well and good. but what do you know about him? is he a bachelor, or has he a wife and children? perhaps he has some trouble at home? or he is very poor? answer me." "i can't say, your excellency? i have a hundred men under my command. it is hard to remember all about them." "hard to remember, did you say?" repeated the general in a sad and serious voice. "ah, gentlemen, gentlemen. you must certainly know what the scripture says: 'do not destroy the soul,' and what are you doing? that poor, grey, wretched creature standing there, may, perhaps, some day, in the hour of battle, protect you by his body, carry you on his shoulders out of a hail of bullets, may, with his ragged cloak, protect you against snow and frost, and yet you have nothing to say about him, but 'i can't say!'" in his nervous excitement the general pulled in the reins and shouted over osadchi's head, in an angry voice, to the commander of the regiment-"colonel, get this company out of my way. i have had enough. nothing but marionettes and blockheads." from that moment the fate of the regiment was sealed. the terrified soldiers' absolute exhaustion, the non-coms.' lunatical cruelty, the officers' incapacity, indifference, and laziness--all this came out clearly as the review proceeded. in the 2nd company the soldiers did not even know the lord's prayer. in the 3rd, the officers ran like wild fowls when the company was to be drilled in "open order." in the 4th, the manual exercise was below criticism, etc. the worst of all was, however, that none of the companies, with the exception of the 5th, knew how to meet a sudden charge of cavalry. now, this was precisely the general's hobby; he had published independently copious instructions on this, in which he pointed out minutely the vital importance of the troops' mobility and quickness, and of their leader's resolution and deliberation. after each company had in turn been reviewed, the general commanded the officers, both commissioned and non-commissioned, to go out of ear-shot, after which he questioned the soldiers with regard to their wishes and grounds of complaint; but everywhere he met with the same good-humoured reply: "satisfied with everything, your excellency." when that question was put to no. 1 company, romashov heard an ensign in it remark in a threatening voice-"just let me hear any one daring to complain; i'll give him 'complaints'!" for the 5th company only was the whole review a complete triumph. the brave, young, lusty soldiers executed all their movements with life and energy, and with such facility, mobility, and absence of all pedantry that the whole of the review seemed to officers and men, not a severe, painful examination, but like a jolly and amusing game. the general smiled his satisfaction, and soon could not refrain from a "well done, my lads"--the first words of approval he uttered during the whole time. when, however, the ominous pretended charge was to be met, stelikovski literally took the old general by storm. the general himself started the exercise by suddenly shouting to the commander of the company: "cavalry from the right, eight hundred paces." stelikovski formed, without a second's hesitation and with the greatest calm and precision, his company to meet the supposed enemy, which seemed to approach at a furious gallop. with compactly closed ranks--the fore-rank in a kneeling position--the troops fired two or three rounds, immediately after which was heard the fateful command: "quick fire!" "thanks, my children," cried the old general joyously--"that's the way it should be done. thanks, thanks." after the oral examination the company was drawn up in open file; but the general delayed his final dismissal. it was as if it seemed hard to him to say good-bye to this company. passing as slowly as possible along the front, he observed every soldier with particular and deep interest, and a very delighted smile gleamed through the _pince-nez_ from the clever eyes beneath the heavy, prominent eyebrows. suddenly he stopped his charger, turned round on his saddle to the head of his staff, and exclaimed-"no; come here and look, colonel, what muzzles the rascals have. what do you feed them on, captain? pies? hi, you thick nose" (he pointed to a young soldier in the ranks), "your name's kovál?" "mikhail borichuk, your excellency," boldly replied the young recruit with a frank, happy smile. "oh, you scamp, i thought you were called kovál. well, this time i was out of my reckoning," said the general in fun, "but there's no harm done; better luck next time," he added, with the same good-humour. at these words the soldier's countenance puckered in a broad grin. "no, your excellency, you are not wrong at all," shouted the soldier in a raised voice. "at home, in the village, i am employed as a farrier, and, therefore, they call me kovál." the general nodded in delight, and he was evidently very proud of his memory. "well, captain, is he a good soldier?" "very good, general. all my soldiers are good," replied stelikovski in his usual confident tone. the general's eyebrows were knitted, but his lips kept smiling, and the crabbed old face gradually resumed its light and friendly expression. "well, well, captain; we will see about that. how is the punishment-list?" "your excellency, for five years not a single man in my company has been punished." the general bent forward heavily and held out to stelikovski his hairy hand in the white, unbuttoned glove that had slipped down to the knuckles. "i heartily thank you, my friend," he replied in a trembling voice, and tears glistened in his eyes. the general, like many old warriors, liked, now and then, to shed a slight tear. "again my thanks for having given an old man pleasure. and you, too, my brave boys, accept my thanks," he shouted in a loud and vigorous voice to the soldiers. thanks to the good impression left behind from stelikovski's inspection, the review of the 6th company also went off nearly satisfactorily; the general did certainly not bestow praise, but neither were any reproaches heard. at the bayonet attack on the straw mannikin this company even went astray. "not that way, not that way, not that way!" screamed the general, shaking with wrath in the saddle. "hold, stop! that's damnable. you go to work as if you were making a hole in soft bread. listen, boys. that's not the way to deal with an enemy. the bayonet should be driven in forcibly and furiously right in the waist up to the muzzle of your rifle. don't forget." the remaining companies made, one after the other, a hopeless "hash" of everything. at last the general's outburst of anger ceased. tired and listless, he watched the miserable spectacle with gloomy looks, and, without uttering a word, he entirely excused himself from inspecting the 15th and 16th companies, exclaiming with a gesture of disgust-"enough, enough of such abortions." there still remained the grand march past, and the parade. the whole regiment was formed into columns with half companies in front, and reduced gaps. again the everlasting markers were ordered out to set the line of march by their ropes. the heat was now almost unbearable, and the soldiers could hardly bear any longer the fearful stench that exuded from their own freely perspiring bodies. but for the forthcoming "solemn" march past, the men now made a final effort to pull themselves together. the officers almost besought their subordinates to strain every nerve for this final proof of their endurance and discipline. "brothers, for the honour of the regiment, do your best. save yourselves and us from disgracing ourselves before the general." in this humble recourse on the part of the officers to their subordinates there lay--besides much else that was little edifying--too, an indirect recognition of their own faults and shortcomings. the wrath aroused in such a great personage as the general of the regiment was felt to be equally painful and oppressive to officers and troops alike, and it had, to some extent, a levelling effect, so that all were, in an equally high degree, dispirited, nervous, and apathetic. "attention! the band in front!" ordered colonel shulgovich, in the far distance. and all these fifteen hundred human beings for a second suppressed their faint inward murmurings; all muscles were once more strained, and again they stood in nervous, painful expectation. shulgovich could not be detected by any eye, but his tremendous voice again rang across the field-"stand at ease!" four battalion captains turned in their saddles to their respective divisions, and each uttered the command-"battalion, stand at----" after which they awaited with feverish nervousness the word of command. somewhere, far away on the field, a sabre suddenly gleamed like lightning in the air. this was the desired signal, and all the captains at once roared-"---ease!" whereupon all the regiment, with a dull thud, grounded their rifles. here and there was heard the click of a few unfortunate bayonets which, in the movement, happened to clash together. but now, at last, the solemn, never-to-be-forgotten moment had arrived, when the commander of the regiment's tremendous lungs were to be heard by the world in all their awful majesty. solemnly, confidently, but, at the same time, menacingly, like slow rumblings of thunder, the strongly accentuated syllables rolled across the plain in the command-"march past!" in the next moment you might hear sixteen captains risking their lives in mad attempt to shout each other down, when they repeated all at once-"march past!" one single poor sinner far away in detail of the column managed to come too late. he whined in a melancholy falsetto: "march pa--!" the rest of the word was unfortunately lost to the men, and probably drowned in the oaths and threats of the bystanders. "column in half companies!" roared colonel shulgovich. "column in half companies!" repeated the captains. "with double platoon--hollow!" chanted shulgovich. "with double platoon--hollow!" answered the choir. "dress-ing--ri-ight!" thundered the giant. "dress-ing--ri-ight!" came from the dwarfs. shulgovich now took breath for two or three seconds, after which he once more gave vent to his voice of thunder in the command-"first half company--forward--march!" rolling heavily through the dense ranks across the level plain came osadchi's dull roar-"first half company, dress to the right--forward--march!" away in the front was heard the merry rattle of drums. seen from the rear, the column resembled a forest of bayonets which often enough waved backwards and forwards. "second half company to the middle!" romashov recognized artschakovski's squeaky falsetto. a new line of bayonets assumed a leaning position and departed. the thunder of the drums grew more and more faint, and was just about to sink down, as it were, and be absorbed in the ground, when suddenly the last sounds of drum-beats were dispersed by the rhythmically jubilant, irresistible waves of music from the wind instruments. the sleepy marching time of the companies filing past at once caught fire and life; languid eyes and greyish cheeks regained their colour, and tired muscles were once more braced to save the honour of the regiment. the half companies proceeded to march, one after the other, and at every step the soldiers' torpid spirits were revived under the influence of the band's cheerful strains. the 1st battalion's last company had already got some distance when, lo! lieutenant-colonel liech advanced gently on his thin, raven-black horse, followed close at his heels by olisár. both had their sabres ready for the salute, with their sabre-hilts' knots dangling on a level with their mouths. soon stelikovski's quiet, nonchalant command was heard. high above the bayonets, the standard lorded on its long pole, and it was now the 6th company's turn to march. captain sliva stepped to the front and inspected his men by a glance from his pale, prominent, fishy eyes. with his miserable shrunken figure stooping, and his long arms, he had a striking resemblance to an ugly old monkey. "f-irst half company--forward!" with a light and elegant step romashov hurried to his place right in front of the second half company's pivot. a blissful, intoxicating feeling of pride came over him whilst he allowed his glance to glide quickly over the first row of his division. "the old swashbuckler viewed with an eagle's eyes the brave band of veterans," he declaimed silently, after which in a prolonged sing-song he gave the order-"second half company--forward!" "one, two," romashov counted softly to himself, marking time with a soft stamping on the spot. pronouncing the word at the right moment was of infinite importance, as upon it depended the exact carrying out of the inexorable command that the half company should begin marching with the proper foot, i.e., with the same foot as the preceding division, "left, right; left, right." at last a start was made. with head erect, and beaming with a smile of boundless happiness, he cried in a loud, resonant voice-"march!" a second afterwards he made, as quick as lightning, a complete turn on one foot towards his men, and commanded, two tones lower in the scale-"dress--right!" the profound solemnity and "infinite beauty" of the moment almost took away his breath. at that instant it seemed to him as if the music's waves of melody surrounded him, and were changed into a seething, blinding ocean of light and fire; as if these deafening brazen peals had descended on him from on high, from heaven, from the sun. even now, as at his last never-to-be-forgotten tryst with shurochka, he was thrilled by a freezing, petrifying shudder that made the very hair on his head stand up. with joy in their voices and in time with the music, the 5th company replied to the general's salute. nearer and nearer to romashov sounded the jubilant notes of the parade march. on the right and onwards, he could now distinguish the general's heavy figure on his grey horse, and, somewhat farther off, the ladies' brilliant dresses, which, in the blinding glare of the noon-day sun, reminded him of the flaming flower-petals in the old sagas. on the left gleamed the bandsmen's gold instruments, and it seemed to romashov as if, between the general and the band, was drawn an invisible, enchanted thread, the passing of which was combined peril and bliss. at this moment the first half company reached "the thread." "good, my lads," rang the general's delighted voice. "ah, ah, ah, ah!" was the soldiers' rapid, joyous answer. stronger and stronger at every second grew the alluring influence of the parade march, and romashov could hardly restrain his feelings any longer. "o thou, my ideal," thought he of the general, with deep emotion. the blissful moment had come. with elastic strides that scarcely touched the ground, romashov approached his "enchanted thread." he threw his head bravely back with a proud and defiant twist to the left. so potent a feeling of lightness, freedom, and bliss rushed through his being that he fancied he could at any moment whirl himself into space. and while he felt he was an object of delight and admiration to the eyes of all--a centre of all the universe contains of strength, beauty, and delight, he said to himself, as though under the witchery of a heavenly dream-"look, look, there goes romashov! the ladies' eyes are shining with love and admiration. one, two; left, right, 'colonel shulgovich,' shouts the general, 'your romashov is a priceless jewel; he must be my adjutant.' left, right! one, two!" another second and romashov knew he had started and passed his mystic "thread." the parade march had changed to a joyous peal of trumpets announcing victory. "now comes the general's salute and thanks," thought romashov, and his soul returns to the regions of bliss; but he fancies he hears the colonel's voice and certain other voices. "what has happened; what is the matter? of course the general has saluted, but why don't my men respond?--what's this?" romashov turned round, and his face became white. instead of a well-ordered troop in two lines as straight as an arrow, his men formed a shapeless mass--a crowd--resembling a flock of sheep--of individuals mad with imbecility and misery, pushing and jolting each other. the cause of this was that romashov, whilst he was in his paradisaical world of dreams and intoxication of victory, failed to notice that, step by step, he deviated from the line of march, and more and more approached the right wing of his division. his trusty, unfortunate "markers" followed close on the heels of their leader, and, of course, in consequence of this the whole of the half company finally got into the wildest confusion. romashov saw all this at the very moment he became aware that the wretched khliabnikov was stalking, on his own account, twenty paces behind the division, right under the very nose of the general. romashov immediately let his wings droop. covered with dust, he stood quite still to await and collect his poor veterans, who, absolutely dead beaten with the weight of their knapsacks and ammunition, were now hardly able to crawl along on all-fours with one hand still grasping the rifle and the other fumbling in the air or in the region of their perspiring noses. to romashov it seemed as if the glorious may sun had suddenly lost its radiance; as if he had been buried under an infinite weight, under sand and gravel, and that the music that so lately sounded such triumphant strains now rang softly and ominously in his ears, like a funeral march. and he felt so small and weak and wretched, so loathsome in every respect, that it was all he could do to keep himself upright on his leaden, palsied legs. the colonel's adjutant at that moment rushed up to him. federovski's face was as red as fire and distorted with passion. his lower jaw trembled, and he was panting with rage and his hard riding. even at a distance he began shrieking like a man possessed, and uttering inarticulate and incomprehensible words. "sub-lieutenant romashov, the commander of your regiment condemns, in the strongest terms, your behaviour to-day. seven days' arrest in the staff cells. what a monstrous scandal! the whole regiment--on account of you. oh, such an abortion!" romashov did not make the slightest reply, nor did he even turn his head. and, besides, what answer could he make? federovski had, most certainly, a right to be furious. but the troops, the soldiers who heard every single insulting word of the adjutant's--what would they think? romashov felt at that moment a boundless hatred and contempt of himself. "i am lost; i am dishonoured for ever. i'll shoot myself. can i suppose i am worthy to live! what am i? an insignificant, ridiculous, contemptible wretch--a caricature, an ugly, disgusting, idiotic creature. my own soldiers will laugh at me, and, behind my back, they will make merry with nudges and secret signs, at my expense. or, perhaps, they will pity me. all the same, everything is lost, and i--i'll shoot myself." after passing the general, all the companies made a half-turn to the left, and then went back to their original places, where they were successively drawn up again and in open file. whilst waiting for the return of the last companies to march past, the men were allowed to "stand easy," and the officers utilized the occasion to smoke a cigarette and chat with one another. only romashov stood quite alone, silent and motionless in front of his half company. he dug the earth incessantly with the point of his sabre, and though he cast his eyes down fixedly, he felt he was, on all sides, a mark for curious, sarcastic, and contemptuous glances. captain sliva purposely passed by romashov without stopping except to look at him, and spoke, as it were, to himself through his clenched teeth, and in a voice hoarse and unrecognizable through hatred and fury-"be good enough to send in to-day a request to be transferred to another company." a little while afterwards viätkin came. in his kindly, frank glance and the drawn corners of his mouth, romashov read that expression of pity and compassion with which people usually regard a dog that has been run over and crushed in the street. and, at the same time, romashov felt with disgust that he had, half mechanically, twisted his mouth into an unmeaning, pitiful smile. "yuri alexievich," exclaimed viätkin, "come and smoke a cigarette with me," and with a click of the tongue and slightly throwing his head back, he added in a despondent tone-"well, well, old chap!" romashov's chin and the corners of his mouth twitched, and a lump came into his throat. tears were not far off, and he replied in the faltering and fretful voice of an aggrieved child-"no, no; not now!--i don't want to!" viätkin withdrew. "suppose i were to go and give that fellow sliva a bang on his ear," thought romashov, buffeted here and there by his melancholy introspections. "or to go up to that grey-bearded general and say: 'aren't you ashamed, at your age, to play with soldiers and torture men? release us from here instantly, and let us rest. for two long weeks the soldiers have been ill-treated solely on account of you.'" romashov, however, remembered his own proud, stuck-up thoughts only a brief while ago--of the young ensign as handsome as a picture, of the ladies' ideal, of the general's favourite future adjutant, etc., etc.--and he felt so much shame and pain that a deep blush overspread, not only his face, but even his chest and back. "you wretched, absurd, contemptible being!" he shrieked to himself in thought. "let all know that i shall shoot myself to-day." * * * * * the review was over. the regiment had, nevertheless, to parade several times before the general, first by companies in the ordinary march, afterwards in quick march, and finally in close columns. the general became a little less severe, as it were, and he even praised the soldiers several times. at last the clock was close upon 4 p.m. then at length the men got a little rest whilst the officers assembled to criticize them. the staff-trumpeter blew a signal. "the officers are summoned to the general," it shouted through the companies. the officers left the ranks, and formed themselves into a dense circle round the general, who remained on horseback, stooping and visibly extremely tired; but he peered through his glasses as shrewdly and scornfully as before. "i shall be brief," said he in an abrupt and decisive tone. "the regiment is inefficient, but that's not the fault of the soldiers, but of the officers. when the coachman is bad the horses will not go. gentlemen, you have no heart, no mind or sympathy, so far as the men's needs and interests are concerned. don't forget, 'blessed is he who lays down his life for his friend.' with you there is only one thought, 'how shall i best please the general at the review?' you treat your men like plough horses. the appearance of the officers witnesses to moral slovenliness and barbarism. here and there an officer puts me in mind of a village sexton dressed in an officer's uniform. moreover, i will refer to my orders of the day in writing. an ensign, belonging probably to the sixth or seventh company, lost his head entirely and hopelessly muddled up his division. such a thing is a disgrace. i do not want a jog-trot march in three-time, but, before everything else, a sound and calm judgment." "that last referred to me," thought romashov, and he fancied he felt all the glances of those present turned towards him at once. but nobody even stirred: all stood speechless, petrified, with their eyes immovably fixed on the general's face. "my very heartiest thanks to the captain of the 5th company. where are you, captain? oh, there you are!" the general, a little theatrically, took off his cap with both hands and bared his powerfully shaped bald head, whilst making a profound bow to stelikovski. "once more i thank you, and it is a pleasure for me to shake you by the hand. if god should ordain that this corps is to fight under my command, remember, captain, that the first dangerous task belongs to you. and now, gentlemen, good-bye. your work for the day is finished, and it will be a pleasure for me to see you again, but under different and more pleasing circumstances. make way for my horse now." colonel shulgovich stepped out of the circle. "your excellency, in the officers' name, i invite you respectfully to dine at our mess. we shall be----" "no, i see no reason for that," interrupted the general dryly. "i thank you, as i am in duty bound to do, but i am invited to count liedochovski's." the officers cleared a way, and the general galloped off to the place where the regiment was awaiting the officers' return. "i thank you, my lads," he shouted lustily and kindly to the soldiers. "i give you two days' leave. and now, off with you to your tents. quick march, hurrah!" it was just as if he had, by this last brief shout, turned the whole regiment topsy-turvy. with a deafening yell of delight, fifteen hundred men dispersed, in an instant, in all directions, and the ground shook beneath the feet of the fugitives. * * * * * romashov separated himself from the other officers, who returned, in groups, to the town, and took a long circuit through the camp. he felt just then like a banned, excommunicated fugitive; like an unworthy member expelled from the circle of his comrades--nay, even like a creature beyond the pale of humanity, in soul and body stunted and despised. when he at length found himself behind the camp, near his own mess, he heard a few cries of sudden but restrained rage. he stood an instant and saw how his ensign, rynda--a small, red-faced, powerful fellow--was, with frightful invectives and objurgations, belabouring with his fists khliabnikov's nose and cheeks. in the poor victim's almost bestially dull eyes one could see an indescribable terror, and, at every blow, khliabnikov staggered now to the right, now to the left. romashov hurried away from the spot almost at running speed. in his present state of mind, it was beyond his power to protect khliabnikov from further ill-treatment. it seemed to romashov as if this wretched soldier's fate had to-day become linked with his own. they were both, he thought, cripples, who aroused in mankind the same feeling of compassion and disgust. this similarity in their position certainly excited, on romashov's part, an intolerable feeling of shame and disgust at himself, but also a consciousness that in this lay something singularly deep and truly human. xv only one way led from the camp to the town, viz. over the railway-line, which at this spot crossed a deep and declivitous ravine. romashov ran briskly down the narrow, well-trodden, almost precipitous pathway, and was beginning, after that, a toilsome clamber up the other slope. he had not reached more than half-way to the top of the ravine before he noticed a figure there in uniform with a cloak over his shoulders. after a few seconds' close examination, romashov recognized his friend nikoläiev. "now," thought romashov, "comes the most disagreeable of all," and he could not suppress a certain unpleasant feeling of anxiety; but he continued on his way resigned to his fate, and was soon on the plateau. the two officers had not seen each other for five days, but neither of them made even an intimation of greeting, and it seemed, at any rate to romashov, as if this were quite the correct thing on this memorable, miserable day. "i have purposely waited for you here, yuri alexievich," began nikoläiev, whilst he looked over romashov's shoulder into the distance, towards the camp. "i am at your service, vladimir yefimovich," replied romashov in a strained, unconcerned tone, and with a slight tremor in his voice. he stooped down to the ground and broke off a dry, brown stalk of grass from the previous year. whilst absently biting the stalk of grass, he stared obstinately at the bright buttons on nikoläiev's cape, and he saw in them his own distorted figure--a little narrow head upwards; downwards two stunted legs, and between them an abnormally broad big belly. "i shall not keep you long waiting--only a few words," said nikoläiev. he spoke with a strikingly peculiar softness in his voice and with the forced politeness of an angry and hot-tempered person who has made up his mind not to forget himself. but whilst both tried to shun the other's glances, the situation became every moment more and more intolerable, so that romashov in a questioning tone proposed-"it would be best perhaps if we went on our way together?" the winding steps, worn by foot-passengers, cut through a large field of white beet. in the distance the town, with its white houses and red-tiled roofs, might be distinguished. both officers walked side by side, yet with an evident effort to keep as far as possible from each other, and the beets' thick, luxuriant, and juicy leaves were crushed and bruised beneath their feet. both observed, for a long time, an obstinate silence. finally, after taking a deep breath, nikoläiev managed, with a visible effort, to blurt out-"first of all, i must ask you a question. have you invariably shown my wife, alexandra petrovna, due regard and respect?" "i don't understand what you mean, vladimir yefimovich," replied romashov; "but i, too, have a question...." "excuse me," interrupted nikoläiev in a sharp tone, "our questions ought, to avoid confusion, to be put in turn--first i, then you. and now let us talk openly and without restraint. answer me this question first. is it a matter of supreme indifference to you that my wife--that her good name--has been the subject of scandal and slander? no, no, don't interrupt me. you can hardly deny, i suppose, that on my part you have never experienced anything but goodwill, and that, in our house, you have always been received as an intimate friend--nay, almost as a relation." romashov made a false step and stumbled on the loose ground. in an embarrassed tone he mumbled in reply-"be assured, vladimir yefimovich, that i shall always feel grateful to you and alexandra petrovna." "ah, that's not the question," said nikoläiev, angrily interrupting him. "i am not soliciting your gratitude. i'll only tell you that my wife has been the victim of dirty, lying scandal in which" (nikoläiev almost panted out the words, and he wiped his face with his handkerchief)--"well, to put it shortly, a scandal in which you, too, are mixed up. we both--she and i--are greeted almost every day with the most shameless anonymous letters. it is too disgusting to me to put these letters before you, but you shall know a good deal of their contents." nikoläiev broke off his speech, but, in the next minute, he continued with a stammer. "by all the devils--now listen--they say that you are alexandra petrovna's lover, and that--how horrible!--secret meetings daily take place in your room. the whole regiment is talking about it. what a scandal!" he bit his teeth in rage and spat. "i know who has written these letters," answered romashov in a lowered voice, and turned away. "do you?" nikoläiev stopped suddenly and clutched romashov's arm tightly. it was quite plain now that his forced calm was quite exhausted. his bestial eyes grew bigger, his face became blood-red, foam began to appear at the corners of his mouth, and, as he bent in a threatening manner towards romashov, he shrieked madly-"so you know this, and you even dare to keep silence! don't you understand that it is quite plainly your bounden duty to slay this serpent brood, to put a stop at once to this insidious slander? my--noble don juan, if you are an honourable man and not a ----" romashov turned pale, and he eyed nikoläiev with a glance of hatred. he felt that moment that his hands and feet were as heavy as lead, his brain empty, that the abnormal and violent beating of his heart had sunk still lower in his chest, and that his whole body was trembling. "i must ask you to lower your voice when you address me," he interrupted him by saying in a hollow voice. "speak civilly; you know well enough i do not allow any one to shout at me." "i'm not shouting," replied nikoläiev, still speaking in a rough and coarse, though somewhat subdued tone. "i'm only trying to make you see what your duty is, although i have a right to demand it. our former intimate relations give me this right. if alexandra petrovna's unblemished name is still of any value to you, then, without delay, put a stop to these infamies." "all right. i will do all i can as regards that," was romashov's dry answer. he turned away and went on. in the middle of the pathway, nikoläiev caught him up in a few steps. "please wait a moment." nikoläiev's voice sounded more gentle, and seemed even to have lost some of its assertiveness and force. "i submit, now the matter has at last been talked about, we ought also to cease our acquaintance. what do you say yourself?" "perhaps so." "you must yourself have noticed the kindness and sympathy with which we--that is to say, alexandra petrovna and i--received you at our house. but if i should now be forced to--i need say no more; you know well enough how scandal rankles in this wretched little provincial hole." "very well," replied romashov gloomily. "i shall cease my visits. that, i take it, was what you wished. i may tell you, moreover, that i had already made up my mind not to enter your door again. a few days ago i paid alexandra petrovna a very short call to return her some books, but you may be absolutely certain that was the last time." "yes, that is best so; i think----" nikoläiev did not finish the sentence, and was evidently anything but easy in his mind. the two officers reached the road at this moment. there still remained some three hundred yards before they came to the town. without uttering another word or even deigning to glance at each other, they continued on their way, side by side. neither of them could make up his mind either to stop or turn back, and the situation became more awkward every minute. at length they reached the furthest houses of the town. an _isvostschik_ drove up and was at once hailed by nikoläiev. "that's agreed then, yuri alexievich." nikoläiev uttered these words in a vulgar, unpleasant tone, and then got into the _droshky_. "good-bye and _au revoir_." the two officers did not shake hands, and their salute at parting was very curt. romashov stood still for a moment, and stared, through the cloud of dust, at the hurrying _droshky_ and nikoläiev's strong, white neck. he suddenly felt like the most lonely and forsaken man in the wide world, and it seemed to him as if he had, then and there, despoiled himself of all that had hitherto made his life at all worth living. slowly he made his way home. hainán met him in the yard, and saluted him, from a distance, with his broad grin. his face beamed with benevolence and delight as he took off his master's cloak, and, after a few minutes, he began his usual curious dance. "have you had dinner?" he asked in a sympathetic, familiar tone. "oh, you have not. then i'll run to the club at once and fetch some food. i'll be back again directly." "go to the devil!" screamed romashov, "and don't dare to come into my room. i'm not at home to anybody--not even to the tsar himself." he threw himself on the bed, and buried his face in the pillow. his teeth closed over the linen, his eyes burned, and he felt a curious stabbing sensation in his throat. he wanted to cry. with eager longing he waited for the first hot, bitter tears which would, he hoped, afford him consolation and relief in this dark hour of torture and misery. without pity on himself, he recalled once more in his mind the cruel events of the day; he purposely magnified and exaggerated his shame and ignominy, and he regarded, as it were, from outside, his own wretched ego with pity and contempt. then something very strange happened. it did not seem to romashov that he slept or even slumbered for an instant, but simply that he was for some moments wholly incapable of thinking. his eyes were shut, but, all of a sudden, he felt he had regained full consciousness, and was suffering the same anguish as before. it was completely dark in the room now. he looked at his watch and discovered to his indescribable astonishment that this mysterious trance had lasted more than five hours. he began to feel hungry. he got up, put on his sabre, threw his cloak over his shoulder and started for the officers' mess. the distance there from romashov's door was scarcely two hundred yards, and besides, he always made use of a short cut through unbuilt-upon plots and fenced-in kitchen-gardens, etc. a bright gleam issued from the half-open windows of the _salle-à-manger_, billiard-room, and kitchen, but the dirty backyard, blocked up with and partly covered by all sorts of rubbish, was in thick darkness. every moment one heard loud chatter and laughter, singing, and the sharp click of billiard balls. romashov had already reached the courtyard steps when he recognized his captain's angry and sneering voice. romashov stopped at once, and cautiously glancing into one of the open windows of the _salle-à-manger_, he caught sight of captain sliva's humped back. he was stammering: "all my c-c-company m-m-marches as one man." sliva marked time by raising and lowering the palm of his hand. "but th-that d-d-damned fool m-must upset everything." sliva made with his first finger several clumsy and silly motions in the air. "but, g-gentlemen, i s-said to him, 'm-march to another c-c-company, my f-fine f-f-fellow, or s-still b-better m-march out of the regiment. who the devil will have s-such an officer?'" romashov shut his eyes, and shrivelled up with shame and rage. he feared that, at the next movement on his part, all the officers at mess would rush to the window and discover him. for one or two minutes he did not stir; then with his head hidden in his cloak, and scarcely venturing to breathe, he stole on tip-toe along the wall, out through the gate to the street, the moonlit portion of which he crossed by a couple of brisk jumps so as to reach the deep protecting shadow of the high hoarding on the other side. romashov sauntered for a long time that evening about the streets of the town. often he did not even know where he was. once he stopped in the shadow right under nikoläiev's house, the green-painted sheet-iron roof and white walls of which were brilliantly illumined by the moon's clear bright rays. not a soul was in the street, not a sound was audible. the sharply marked outlines of the shadows from the houses opposite divided the street into two halves. behind the thick dark-red curtains in one of the rooms at the nikoläievs' a lamp was burning. "my beloved," whispered romashov, "don't you feel how near i am to you, how much i love you?" he pressed his hands to his chest, and had much difficulty in restraining his tears. suddenly, however, he got the idea that, in spite of the distance and the house's thick walls, he might possibly make shurochka notice his presence. with closed teeth and hands so tightly clenched that the nails were driven into the flesh, and with a sensation as if icy-cold ants were creeping over his body, he began to concentrate all his will-power to a single object. "get up from your sofa. come to the window. draw the curtain. look, look through the window out into the street. obey. i command you; come to the window at once." but the curtain remained motionless. "you don't hear me, then," whispered romashov, with sorrow and indignation in his heart. "you are sitting by the lamp beside him, calm, indifferent, and as beautiful as ever. oh, my god, my god, how wretched i am!" he sighed deeply, and with bowed head and crippled with weariness he continued his melancholy wandering. he even passed nasanski's place, but it was dark there. it seemed to romashov as if a white spectre had quickly fluttered past one of the house's dark windows. a shudder ran through him, and he dared not call to nasanski. some days later romashov remembered this fantastic--nay, idiotic--ramble as a strange, far-off dream which, nevertheless, could not be forgotten. he had even been in the jewish cemetery, but how he got there he could not tell himself. this silent and mysterious burial-ground lay beyond the town, on a height, and was surrounded by a low white wall. from the luxuriant, slumbering grass arose the icy-cold gravestones, simple, unadorned, like each other, and casting behind them long, narrow shadows. and over all this gloomy place reigned the grave, solemn, austere note of solitude. after this he saw himself in another quarter of the town, but this, nevertheless, was perhaps only a dream. he stood in the middle of a long, carefully constructed dam that divided the river bug across its entire breadth. the dark-hued water ran slowly and lazily away beneath his feet, and now and then it, as it were, strove to render a well-known melody by its capricious splashing. the moon was mirrored on the lightly curled surface of the river, like an infinitely long, trembling pillar, around which you might fancy you saw millions of fishes playing in the water whilst they slowly withdrew and disappeared in the direction of the distant shore, which lay afar off, silent, dark, and deserted. wherever he might be, whether in or out of the town, he was followed by a faint, sweet, aromatic scent from the white acacia flower. wonderful thoughts entered his brain this night--thoughts sometimes sad and melancholy, at other times childishly ridiculous. most frequently he reasoned like the inexperienced gambler who with the frivolity and optimism of youth pondered upon the fact that he had in a single night played away all he possessed. thus romashov tried again and again to delude himself into believing that the wretched events of the past day had absolutely no importance--nay, he even succeeded in resuscitating that "irresistible" sub-lieutenant romashov who so ideally conducts his parade march under the general's critical eyes, who at the front is the object of the general's thanks and admiration, and who afterwards drains his goblet of wine among his rejoicing comrades. but the next moment he hears federovski's furious threats, his chief's insulting words, nikoläiev's painful questions and complaints, and he is once more the disgraced and hopelessly ruined sub-lieutenant romashov. an irresistible force from within brought him back in the course of his nocturnal wandering to the place where he came upon nikoläiev after the review. here he walked about meditating suicide, though by no means seriously, but only--according to his ingrained habit--to pose in his own worthy person as a martyr and hero. hainán comes rushing out of romashov's room. his countenance is distorted with terror. pale and trembling all over, he hurries on to the officers' _salle-à-manger_, which is full of people. at the sight of hainán all spontaneously get up from their places. "your excellencies--the lieutenant has--shot himself," hainán at last stammers out. general uproar; dismay is to be read in the faces of all. "who has shot himself? where? what lieutenant?" finally somebody recognizes hainán. "gentlemen, this is hainán, you know--lieutenant romashov's servant. it's the circassian, you know." all hurry to romashov's house; some do not even give themselves time to put on their caps. romashov is discovered lying on his bed; on the floor beside him is a large pool of blood, in which is found a revolver of the smith and wesson celebrated make. through a crowd of officers, who occupy every corner of the little room, znoiko, the regimental surgeon, pushes his way with some difficulty. "shot in the temple," he says amidst a general hush. "all is over, nothing can be done." some one among the bystanders says in a lowered voice, "gentlemen, uncover your heads before the majesty of death!" many make the sign of the cross. viätkin finds on the table a note on which the deceased has written in a firm hand a few lines in pencil. viätkin reads them out- i forgive all. i die of my own free will. my life is intolerable. break the news gently to my mother. georgi romashov. all gaze at one another, and each reads on his neighbour's countenance the unuttered thought: "we are his murderers." softly rocks the coffin covered with gold brocade and carried by eight comrades. the entire corps of officers takes part in the procession. after the officers comes the 6th company. captain sliva frowns gloomily. viätkin's kind face is disfigured by tears, but now in the street he makes an effort to compose himself. lbov--oh, heart of gold!--weeps incessantly without blushing for his emotion. like deep, heavy sighs sound the hollow strains of the dead march. there stand all the ladies of the regiment, including shurochka. "i kissed him," she thinks with despair in her heart. "i loved him--i might have saved him." "too late!" thinks romashov, with a bitter smile. the officers accompanying their dead comrade to the grave softly converse with each other. "ah," thinks each of them to himself, "how sorry i am for him, poor fellow. what an excellent comrade, what a handsome and capable officer!--yes, yes, that is true, but we did not appreciate him." loud and more touching sound the strains of the dead march. it is beethoven's immortal music, "by a hero's bier." but romashov is lying in his coffin, cold and still, with an everlasting smile on his lips. on his chest rests a modest bouquet of violets, but no one knows from where they came. he has forgiven all--shurochka, sliva, federovski, shulgovich--all. but they waste no tears. he is better off where he is now; he was too pure, too good for this world. this gloomy, silent monologue forced tears from romashov's eyes, but he did not wipe them away. it was so delicious to imagine himself a martyr, an innocent victim to the malignity of mankind. he had now reached the white-beet field, the extensive surface of which had an almost oppressive influence on romashov. he climbed on to a little hillock just beside the ravine in which the railway ran. there he stood. this side of the ravine lay in deep shadow, but the opposite one was so powerfully illuminated that one might fancy it possible to distinguish every blade of grass. the ravine was very precipitous near the place where romashov was now standing, and at the bottom of it the rails, worn bright by traffic, shone. far away in the field on the other side of the railway the white, pyramid-like tents could be seen in even rows. a little way down the slope of the ravine was a small platform. romashov glided down to it and sat on the grass. he felt nearly sick from hunger and weariness, and his legs shook from exhaustion. the great deserted field behind him, the air, clear and transparent in spite of the shades of night, the dew-soaked grass--all was sunk in a deep, insidious, luminous silence, the intensity of which was felt by romashov like a strong buzzing in his ear. rarely indeed might be heard from a locomotive manoeuvring at the railway station a shrill whistling which, in the solemn stillness of the night, brought with it something impetuous, impatient, and threatening. romashov laid himself on his back in the grass. the fleecy white clouds right above him stood motionless, but over them the round moon glided rapidly on in the dark firmament which, cold and bare and boundless, riveted romashov's gaze. all the illimitable space between earth and heaven seemed to him fraught with eternal terror and eternal longing. "there dwells--god," thought romashov, and suddenly, with a naïve outburst of sorrow, anger, and self-pity, he whispered passionately and bitterly-"god, why hast thou turned thy countenance from me? what offence can i--a miserable worm, a grain of sand--have committed against thee? thou art almighty, thou art good, thou seest and hearest everything--why hast thou suffered injustice and malice so to triumph over me?" but instantly afterwards he was filled with alarm at his blasphemous speech, and he went on to say in fervour and anguish-"no, no; forgive and forget my sinful words. i know thou art as wise as thou art merciful, and i shall never murmur any more. do with me what seems best in thy sight. i will always submit to thy will with gratitude and a meek heart." simultaneously with these pious words of penance and reformation there stirred in the depth of his soul a secret calculating thought that his solemnly promised submission to our lord's will would move the all-seeing god suddenly to work, on his behalf, a miracle whereby all the bitter sorrows and trials of this day would appear only as a hideous dream. "where are you?" shrieked just then a locomotive down at the station with a short, angry, impatient whistle. another engine at once answered, in a hollow, threatening tone, "i am coming." from the moonlit crest of the ravine's opposite slope a soft rustle was heard. in order more easily to detect the cause, romashov raised his head from the ground. a grey, shapeless, scarcely human figure was sliding down to the bottom of the ravine. in spite of the bright moonlight, it was difficult to distinguish the night-walker in the high grass, and only by the movements of his shadow was it possible for any one to follow with the eye his course down the declivity. now he was crossing the railway-line. "judging from everything," guessed romashov, "he is a soldier. anyhow it's a human being; but who can it be? a drunkard or a sleep-walker?" the strange figure had already crossed the railway, stepped into the shade, and was climbing toilsomely up the slope on which romashov was. the latter now saw distinctly that the wanderer was a soldier, who, however, immediately afterwards disappeared from romashov's sight. two or three minutes elapsed before he again became visible. a round-clipped head without a cap was slowly lifted in romashov's direction, who now recognized, without difficulty, the left wing soldier in his own half-company--the unfortunate khliabnikov. khliabnikov went on his way bareheaded and with his cap in his hand, looking fixedly before him. it was evident that he was labouring under the influence of a mysterious inward force. he passed so near romashov that the latter's cloak almost grazed his own. the moon's keen rays were reflected in the motionless pupils beneath the unnaturally wide-open eyelids. "khliabnikov, is it you?" cried romashov. "a-ah!" shouted the soldier, who stopped immediately, and began to shake all over. romashov jumped up from the ground. he saw before him a disfigured face, as pale as a corpse's, with severed, bleeding lips, and one eye almost closed up by a tremendous bump turning blue. in the uncertain evening light the traces of the disgusting violence that had been perpetrated gained a still more horrible appearance. and as romashov gazed at khliabnikov, his thoughts ran thus: "behold the man who with me brought shame on the entire regiment to-day. we are both equally to be pitied." "where were you going, my friend? what's the matter?" asked romashov, in his tenderest tone, and, without thinking, he put both his hands on the soldier's shoulders. khliabnikov stared at him out of his uninjured eye with the wild look of one who had been frightened out of his wits, but he turned away at once. his bleeding lips, welded together, slowly opened with a soft, smacking sound, but all he could utter was a hoarse rattle. romashov suddenly experienced an intolerable feeling of sickness, and he thought he felt in his chest and abdomen certain symptoms which usually precede fainting. "has some one beaten you, eh? tell me! come and sit down beside me." he pulled the soldier by the sleeve of his coat down to the ground. khliabnikov obediently collapsed, like a dummy fallen in a heap, and sank noiselessly down on the damp grass beside romashov. "where were you going?" asked the latter. khliabnikov did not answer a word where he sat, in a very unnatural and uncomfortable position, with his legs straddling. romashov noticed that his head sank slowly, with scarcely perceptible little nods, on his chest. again romashov heard the same short, hoarse, rattling sound, and his whole soul was filled by an unspeakable pity. "do i understand that you wanted to run away? put on your cap and listen, khliabnikov. at this moment i am not your officer or superior, but, like yourself, only a lonely, unlucky, ruined creature. i can understand how hard and burdensome it is for you to live, therefore speak to me frankly, tell me all. perhaps you meant to kill yourself?" he added in a hollow, whispering tone. a gurgling noise was again heard in the soldier's throat, but not a word passed his lips. at the same moment romashov noticed that his companion in misfortune was shaking from head to foot as if from a chill, and he was himself now attacked by an unconquerable terror. this sleepless night passed in feverish excitement; this feeling of loneliness and desertion; the moon's unchangeable, oppressive, cold gleam; the ravine's black depth beneath his feet; the dumb, cruelly maltreated soldier at his side--all this seemed to him like a mad, insufferable dream--one of those dreams that are wont to herald the approach of death. but directly afterwards he was again seized by the same infinite pity for the unfortunate victim beside him, and it was clear to him at once how petty and insignificant was his own sorrow in comparison with khliabnikov's cruel fate. with sincere tenderness he threw his arm round the soldier's neck, drew him forcibly to him, and said, with the warmth that belongs to conviction-"khliabnikov, you find life unsupportable, but, my friend, believe me, even i am an exceedingly unhappy man. the whole world wherein i live is to me a puzzle. everything is so savage, cruel, and senseless. however, one must be patient, one must learn to suffer." khliabnikov's bowed head fell suddenly on romashov's knee, which he embraced with both arms. all his being shook with suppressed weeping. "i can't stand any more," he uttered at last, "i'll bear it no longer. oh, my god! they beat me, they mock me; the sergeants shriek for schnapps and money. where is a poor devil like me to get money? and then they beat me again--me, who have suffered from childhood from an incurable pain--a severe rupture." romashov bent down over his head, which shook convulsively backwards and forwards against romashov's knee. he perceived the smell of the soldier's dirty, unhealthy body, and the rank stench of his cloak, which also served as a counterpane during the cold nights in his tent. an infinite sorrow for and disgust at himself, his profession, and the whole world harrowed the young officer's soul. with overflowing heart he rested his forehead against khliabnikov's burning head and stubbly hair, at the same time whispering scarcely audibly-"my brother!" khliabnikov grasped romashov's hand, on which a few warm tears fell. romashov even felt two cold, clammy lips kissing his fingers, but he did not withdraw his hand, and he spoke simple, calming, touching words, just as when one talks to a weeping, injured child. then he escorted khliabnikov back to the camp, and then sent for shapovalenko, the sergeant on duty that day in the 6th company. the latter came out hurriedly, clad in an obviously imperfect costume, peered for a while with a pair of drowsy eyes, scratched himself both back and front with an earnestness that was probably more than justified. after several tremendous yawns he became gradually awake to the situation. romashov ordered him to release khliabnikov from any duties he might happen to have just then. "your honour, this may perhaps be a little premature." "no arguing!" shrieked romashov in a furious tone. "tell the captain to-morrow that you acted on my instructions." then turning to khliabnikov, he added: "we meet to-morrow, you know, at my house," and received in reply a long, shy, grateful look. romashov slowly turned his steps homewards along the camp. a few words caught from a whispered conversation in one of the tents caused him to stop and listen: "you see, comrades," says a subdued voice, "that this same devil sends the soldier his very chief magician. when the magician catches sight of the soldier, he roars at him like this: 'what's a soldier to me? i'll eat him!' 'no,' replies the soldier, 'you can't do that, old chap, for i myself am a magician----'" romashov soon reached the ravine again. once more that indescribable feeling of disgust at life and contempt of the inanity and senselessness of the work of creation. whilst descending the declivity he stopped suddenly and raised his eyes to heaven. again he was met by the same infinite, icy-cold firmament; again he experienced the same longing, mingled with fear and anguish, and almost unconsciously he raised his fists threateningly against heaven, and in the voice of a man foaming with rage, in words of unspeakable blasphemy, challenged his maker's omnipotence, and dared him, in proof of it, to break off his arms and legs. romashov, deliberately and with his eyes shut, threw himself down the precipice, and alighted unscathed on the railway bank. with two leaps he gained the opposite slope, the top of which he reached without stopping or taking breath. his nostrils were dilated, and his chest heaved violently under convulsive efforts to regain his breath, but in the depths of his soul there blazed a proud, triumphant feeling of malicious joy and defiance. xvi there was a lesson on military drill going on in the school of recruits. in a close room, on benches arranged in a square, sat the soldiers of the 3rd platoon facing one another. in the middle of this square corporal syeroshtán walked to and fro. close by, walking backwards and forwards in the centre of a similar square, was the non-commissioned officer shapovalenko. "bondarenko!" cried syeroshtán in a piercing voice. bondarenko brought his feet down on the floor with a bang, and jumped up just like a jack-in-the-box. "now, bondarenko, suppose that you were standing at arms, and the commander came to you and asked: 'what is that in your hands, bondarenko?' what ought you to answer?" "a gun," replied bondarenko after reflection. "wrong! do you mean to tell me you would call it a gun? at home you might call it a gun, certainly, but in the service it is called simply a sharp-shooting infantry rifle of small calibre, maker berdan, number two, with a sliding bolt. repeat that now, you son of a----!" bondarenko gabbled over the words, which he evidently knew by heart. "sit down!" commanded syeroshtán graciously. "and for what purpose is the rifle given you?" his stern gaze wandered round the class. "shevchuk! you answer this question." shevchuk stood up with a morose expression, and answered in a deep bass voice, speaking through his nose, and very slowly, and in detached phrases, as if there were a full stop after each: "it is given to me in order that in time of peace i may practise with it. but in time of war that i may protect my emperor and my country from enemies." he stopped, scratched his nose, and added obscurely: "whether they be external or internal." "right! you know that very well, shevchuk, only you mumble. sit down. and now, ovechkin, tell me, whom do we call external enemies?" ovechkin, a sprightly soldier from orlov, answered rapidly and with great animation, spluttering with excitement: "external enemies are all those nations with whom we might go to war; the french, germans, italians, turks, europeans----" "wait," syeroshtán cut him short. "all that is not in the text. sit down. and now tell me--arkhipov! who are our internal enemies?" he uttered the last two words very loudly, as if to emphasize them, and threw a meaning glance at the volunteer, markouson. the clumsy, pock-marked arkhipov was obstinately silent, and stood gazing out of the window. outside the service he was an active, intelligent, clever fellow; but in class he behaved like an imbecile. obviously the trouble lay in the fact that his healthy mind, accustomed to observe and think about the simple, straightforward affairs of village life, was quite unable to grasp the connection between hypothetical problems and real life. for this reason he could not understand nor learn the simplest things, to the great astonishment and indignation of his platoon commander. "we-ll! how much longer am i to wait while you get ready to answer?" cried syeroshtán, beginning to get angry. "internal enemies--enemies----" "you don't know it?" cried syeroshtán in a threatening tone, and he would have fallen upon arkhipov, but, glancing with a side glance at the officer, he contented himself with shaking his head and rolling his eyes terribly. "well, listen. internal enemies are those who resist the law; for example, who shall we----?" he glanced at ovechkin's sharp eyes. "you tell us, ovechkin." ovechkin jumped up and cried joyfully: "such as rebels, students, horse-stealers, jews and poles." shapovalenko was occupied with his platoon close by. pacing up and down between the benches, he asked questions from the "soldier's manual," which he held in his hand. "soltuis, what is a sentry?" soltuis, a lithuanian, cried, opening and shutting his eyes rapidly in the effort to think: "a sentry must be incorruptible." "well, and what else?" "a sentry is a soldier placed at a certain post with a rifle in his hand." "right. i see, soltuis, that you are beginning to try. and why is he placed there, pakhorukov?" "that he may neither sleep, nor doze, nor smoke, nor accept bribes." "and the pass-word?" "and that he may give the pass-word to the officers who pass in and out." "right. sit down." shapovalenko had noticed some time ago the ironical smile on the face of the volunteer fokin, and for this reason he cried with extra severity: "now, volunteer! but is that the way to stand? when your chief asks a question you should stand as straight as a ramrod. what do you mean by the colours?" the volunteer fokin, with a university badge on his breast, stood in front of the non-commissioned officer in a respectful attitude, but his young, grey eyes sparkled with laughter. "by the colours is meant the sacred standard of war under which----" "wrong!" broke in shapovalenko angrily, bringing the manual down hard on the palm of his hand. "no, that is quite right," replied fokin calmly. "wh-a-at? if your chief says it is wrong, it is wrong." "look in the book and see for yourself." "i am your officer, and as such i must know better than you. a fine thing, indeed! perhaps you think that i want to enter a cadet school for instruction? what do you know about anything? what's a st-a-a-n-dard? ste-ndard! there's no such word as sta-a-andard. the sacred stendard of war----" "don't quarrel now, shapovalenko," put in romashov. "get on with the lesson." "very good, your honour!" drawled shapovalenko. "only allow me to inform your honour that all these volunteers are far too clever." "that will do, that will do! get on with the lesson." "very good, your honour--khliabnikov! who is the commander of this corps?" khliabnikov stared with wild eyes at the "non-com." all the sound which came from his open mouth was a croak, which might have been made by a hoarse crow. "answer!" cried shapovalenko furiously. "his----" "well! 'his.' what else?" romashov, who had just turned away, heard him mutter in a low voice: "you wait! won't i just give you a stroking down after the lesson." but directly romashov turned back to him he said loudly and kindly: "his excellency--well, how does it go on, khliabnikov?" "his--infantry--lieutenant," muttered khliabnikov in a broken, terrified voice. "a-a-a!" cried shapovalenko, grinding his teeth. "whatever shall we do with you, khliabnikov? i am really afraid to think what will become of you; you are just like a camel, except that you can't even make yourself heard. you don't make the slightest attempt to learn. stand there until the end of the lesson, and after dinner come to me, and i'll take you alone. grechenko! who is the commander of this corps?" "as it is to-day, so it will be to-morrow, and so on to the end of my life," thought romashov, as he passed from platoon to platoon. "shall i throw it all up? shall i leave the service? i don't know what to do!" after the instruction the men were kept busy in the yard, which was arranged as a shooting range. while one party practised shooting in a looking-glass, another learned to hit a target with a shot, and a third learned rifle-shooting. ensign lbov's clear, animated tenor voice giving orders to the 2nd platoon could be heard at a distance. "right--turn--firing company--one, two!" "compan-y!" he dragged out the last syllable, paused, and then, abruptly: "fire!" there was a loud report, and lbov in his joyful, inspiring voice, cried again: "present!" sliva went from platoon to platoon, stooping and walking slowly, finding fault and making coarse remarks: "is that the way to hold a rifle? any one would think you were a deacon holding a candle! what are you keeping your mouth open for, kartashov? do you want some porridge? sergeant-major, put kartashov under arms for an hour after drill. how do you fold up a cloak, vedenyeev? look at it, you lazy fellow!" after the shooting practice the men piled their rifles and threw themselves down beside them on the young spring grass, already trampled on by the soldiers' boots. it was a warm, clear day. the air smelled of the leaves of young poplar trees, of which there were two rows planted round the causeway. viätkin again approached romashov: "dreaming again, yuri alexeich," he said. "what is the use of it? as soon as the drill is over we will go to the club, and after a drink or two you will be all right." "i am bored, my dear pavel pavlich," said romashov wearily. "it is not very cheerful, i admit," said viätkin. "but how can it be helped? the men must be taught their business, or what would happen if war suddenly broke out?" "what is war after all?" said romashov sadly, "and why----? perhaps it is nothing more than a mistake made by all, a universal error, a madness. do you mean to tell me that it is natural to kill?" "oh, the devil take your philosophy! if the germans were to attack us suddenly, who would defend russia?" "i know nothing about it, so i can't talk about it," said romashov shortly. "i know nothing, and yet, take----" "for my part," said viätkin, "i think that if those are your ideas about war, it would be better for you to be out of the service. we are not supposed to think in our profession. the only question is, what could we do if we were not in the service? what use should we be anywhere when we know nothing but 'left! right!' we can die, of course, that is true. and die we should, as soon as we began to be in want, for food is not provided gratis, you know. and so, mr. philosopher, come to the club with me after drill." "very well," agreed romashov indifferently. "if you ask me, i should say that it's a hog's life that we are leading; but, as you say, if one thinks so it is better to leave the service altogether." while they talked they walked up and down, and at length halted close to the 4th platoon. the soldiers were sitting or lying around their piled arms; some of them were eating bread, for soldiers eat bread all day long, and under all circumstances, at reviews, at halting-places in the manoeuvres, in church before confession, and even before physical punishment. romashov heard a quietly provocative voice say: "khliabnikov! i say, khliabnikov!" "yes?" said khliabnikov gruffly, through his nose. "what do you do at home?" "work," answered the other sleepily. "what kind of work, you blockhead?" "all kinds--ploughing, cattle driving." romashov glanced at the grey, pitiful face of khliabnikov, and again was seized by an uneasy pain at his heart. "rifle practice!" cried sliva from the centre. "officers to their places." they unpiled their arms and took their places with much bustle. "close up!" commanded sliva. "stand at ease!" and then, coming nearer to the company, he shouted: "manual exercise--count aloud. on guard!" "one!" cried the soldiers, and held their guns aloft. sliva went amongst them in a leisurely manner, making abrupt remarks: "bayonets higher.--hold the butt-end to you." then he again took up his position in front of the company and gave the order: "two!" "two!" cried the soldiers. and once more sliva went amongst them to see if they were doing the exercises correctly. after the manual exercise by division they had exercise by company, then turnings, form fours, fixing and unfixing bayonets and other forms. romashov performed like an automaton all that was required of him, but all the time the words so carelessly uttered by viätkin were running through his mind: "if i thought that, i would not stay in the service." and all the arts of war--the skilful evolutions, the cleverness of the rifle exercise, and all those tactics and fortifications on which he had wasted nine of the best years of his life, which would fill the rest of his life, and which not so very long ago had seemed to him important and so full of wisdom--all had suddenly become deadly dull, unnatural, inventions without value, a universal self-deceit resembling an absurd dream. when the drill was finished he and viätkin went to the club and drank a lot of vodka together. romashov, hardly knowing what he was doing, kissed viätkin and wept hysterically on his shoulder, complained of his empty, miserable life, and also that no one understood him, also that a certain woman did not love him--who she was no one should ever know. as for viätkin, he drank glass after glass, only saying from time to time with contemptuous pity: "the worst of you is, romashov, that you can't drink. you take one glass and you are all over the place." then suddenly he struck his fist on the table threateningly, and cried: "if they want us to die, we'll die!" "we'll die," answered romashov pitifully. "what is dying? a mere trifle! oh, how my heart aches!" romashov did not remember going home and getting into bed. it seemed to him that he was floating on a thick blue cloud, upon which were scattered milliards and milliards of microscopic diamonds. his head seemed swollen to a tremendous size, and a pitiless voice was calling out in a tone which made him feel sick: "one! two!" xvii from this night romashov underwent a profound inward change. he cut himself entirely adrift from the company of his comrades, usually took his dinner at home, never frequented the _soirées dansantes_ of his regiment, and ceased to indulge in drink. he had grown older, riper, and more serious, and he noticed this himself in the calm resignation with which he bore the trials and adversities of life. often, too, he recalled to mind the assertion he had long ago picked up from books or in the way of conversation, that human life is made up of periods of seven years, and that, in the course of each period, not only the organism, but also the character, views taken of life, and inclinations are completely renewed. and it was not so long since romashov had completed his twenty-first year. the soldier khliabnikov used to visit him, but at first, however, only after being again urged to do so. afterwards his visits became more and more frequent. during the first period he put one in mind of a starved and whipped dog which flinches from the hand held out caressingly; but romashov's kindness and goodness gradually drove away his fear and embarrassment and restored to him the faculty of gratitude and confidence. with something akin to remorse and shame, romashov learned more of khliabnikov's sad conditions of life and family circumstances. at home lived his mother, his father--a confirmed drunkard--a semi-idiotic brother, and four young sisters. the family's little plot of land had been confiscated, contrary to all law and justice, by the commune, which afterwards was kind enough to shelter the poor wretches in a miserable hut. the elder members were journeymen employed by strange and occasional employers, the younger ones went out to beg. khliabnikov could, therefore, not reckon on any support from his people, and, on account of his delicate health, was not in a position to undertake any remunerative manual labour in such leisure as the service left him. but the soldier's life is unendurable without money. he receives twenty-two and a half copecks a month from the state, and out of this he must defray the costs of tea, sugar, soap, etc., and in addition, the indispensable presents to greedy and unconscionable sergeants. woe betide the soldier who cannot, by presents, money, or schnapps, bribe his torturers. he becomes a helpless victim to insult and gross maltreatment, and all the heavy and disgusting work in the camp falls unmercifully to his lot. with surprise, terror, and pain romashov realized that fate had daily united him by the closest ties with hundreds of these grey "khliabnikovs," with those defenceless victims of their own ignorance and brutal coarseness, of the officers' heartless indifference and cruelty, of a humiliating, systematic slavery; but the most horrible of all, however, was the fact that not a single officer--and, up to that day, not even romashov himself--saw in these stereotyped crowds of slaves anything beyond mechanical quantities bracketed under the name of companies, battalions, regiments, etc. romashov did his best to procure khliabnikov, now and then, a little income. of course it was not very long before both this and other unaccustomed marks of humanity on the part of an officer became noticed in the company. romashov noticed very frequently how the "non-coms." in his presence acted towards khliabnikov with comical, exaggerated politeness in manner and tone. that even captain sliva had got scent of romashov's changed attitude as regards the treatment of soldiers was palpable enough, and more than once, from remarks made by him-"d-d-damned liberals--come here to ruin the people--ought to be thrashed--f-f-flayed alive, every man jack of 'em!" now, as romashov more and more abandoned himself to loneliness and self-examination, those curious, entangling contemplations, which a month previously, at the time of his arrest, had such a disturbing effect on him, now assailed him with even greater frequency. these generally happened after his duties for the day had been done, when he strolled silently backwards and forwards, beneath the thick, slumbering foliage of the trees near his dwelling, and when, lonely and oppressed, he listened to the solemn bass of the booming beetles or, with dreamy eyes, gazed at the roseate and rapidly darkening sky. this new life of his surprised him by the richness of its shifting impression. in days gone by he would never have even dared to entertain a notion of what pure and calm joy, what potency and secret depths, lie hidden in something so simple and common as human thought. romashov had already determined irrevocably not to remain on active service, but to join the reserves as soon as his period of service as an officer by examination had expired, but he did not yet know where he would find suitable employment and an income on which he might exist. he went over in his mind all possible occupations--post-office, customs, telegraph service, railway, etc., etc. he pondered on whether he might seek the post of estate-manager, or enter the civil service. and now he was astounded at the thought of all the innumerable different trades and professions that exist in the world. "how have they arisen," thought he, "all these absurd, comical, wonderful and more or less repulsive occupations--prison-warders, acrobats, chiropodists, professors, actors, dog-barbers, policemen, jugglers, prostitutes, bath-men, veterinary surgeons, grave-diggers, beadles, etc., etc? and perhaps there's not a human invention or caprice, however idiotic, paradoxical, barbarous, and immoral it may be, that does not at once find ready and willing hands to bring it to completion and realization." so, too, in meditating more profoundly, it struck him what a countless number of "intelligent" means of bread-winning there are, which are all based on mistrust of the honour and morality of mankind--supervisors and officials of all sorts, controllers, inspectors, policemen, custom-house officers, bookkeepers, revising-officers, etc., whose existence has, without exception, found justification in man's weakness for or lack of resistance against crime and corruption. he also called to mind priests, schoolmasters, lawyers and judges--in short, all those persons who, according to the nature of their work, are in continual and intimate contact with other men's ideas, strivings, sorrows, and sufferings. at the thought of these, romashov came to the tragic conclusion that these individuals become more quickly than others hard, heartless egoists, who, wrapping themselves in the dressing-gown of selfishness, very soon grow frozen for ever in dead formalism. he knew that there also exists another class, i.e. those who create and look after the external conditions of human luxury and enjoyment--engineers, architects, inventors, manufacturers, and all those who, by their united efforts, can render mankind inestimable temporal services, and place themselves solely at the disposal of the rich and powerful. they think only of their own skin, of their own nest, of their own brood, and they become, in consequence of this, the slaves of gold and tyranny. who is there then to raise up, instruct, and console the brutally used slave, khliabnikov, and say to him, "shake hands with me, brother"? pondering over similar subjects, romashov certainly probed slowly and fumblingly, but more and more deeply, into the great problem of life. formerly everything seemed to him as simple as simple could be. the world was divided into two categories very different in size and importance. the one, the guild of officers, constituting the military caste, which alone attains power, honour, and glory, the fine uniform of which confers an uncontested monopoly of bravery, physical strength, and unbounded contempt for all other living creatures; the other, the civilian element of society--an enormous number of indeterminable petty insects; another race, a pariah class hardly worthy to live, obscure individuals to be thrashed and insulted without rhyme or reason, whose nose every little gilded popinjay may tweak, unless he prefers, to the huge delight of his comrades, to crush their tall silk hats over his victims' ears. when romashov thought, he stood apart from reality; when he viewed military life, as it were, from a secret corner through a chink in the wall, he gradually began to understand that the army and all that pertains to it, with its false glamour and borrowed plumes, came into the world through a mad, cruel confusion of ideas in mankind. "how," romashov asked himself, "can so large a class of society, in profound peace, and without doing the country the least good, be suffered to exist, to eat the bread of others, to walk in other men's clothes, to dwell in other men's houses, only with the obligation, in the event of war, to kill and maim living creatures of the same race as themselves?" and more and more clearly it dawned on his mind that only the two following domains of activity are worthy of man, viz. science and art and free manual labour. and with new force the old dreams and hopes of a future literary career arose in him. now and again, when chance put into his hand a valuable book rich in noble and fructifying ideas, he thought with bitter melancholy of himself: "good gracious, how simple, clear and true all this is which i myself, moreover, have known and experienced! why cannot i, too, compose something similar?" he wished he could write a novel or a great romance, the _leitmotiv_ of which should be his contempt and disgust for military life. in his imagination everything fell so excellently into groups, his descriptions of scenery became true and splendid, his puppets woke to life, the story developed, and his treatment of it made him so boisterously cheerful and happy. but when he sat down to write, everything suddenly became so pale and feeble, so childish, so artificial and stereotyped. as long as his pen ran quickly and boldly over the paper he noticed none of these defects; but directly he compared his own work with that of some of the great russian authors--if only with a small, detached piece from them--he was seized at once by a deep despair, and by shame and disgust at his own work. he often wandered, harassed by such thoughts, about the streets in the balmy nights of the latter part of may. without noticing it himself, he invariably selected for these promenades the same way--i.e. from the jewish cemetery to the great dam, and thence to the high railway bank. it happened occasionally that, entirely absorbed in his dreams, he failed to notice the way he took, and, suddenly waking up, he found himself, much to his astonishment, in a wholly different part of the town. every night he passed by shurochka's window. with stealthy steps, bated breath, and beating heart, he prowled along the opposite side of the street. he felt like a thief who, in shame and anguish, tries hard to leave the scene of his crime as unobserved as possible. when the lamp was extinguished in the nikoläiev's drawing-room, in the black window-panes of which there was only a weak reflection of the moon's faint rays, romashov hid himself in the deep shade of the high hoarding, pressed his crossed arms convulsively against his breast, and uttered in a hot whisper-"sleep, sleep, my beloved one, my queen! i am here watching over you." in such moments he felt tears in his eyes, but in his soul stirred, besides love, tenderness and self-sacrificing affection, and also the human animal's blind jealousy and lust. one evening nikoläiev was invited to a whist party at the commander's. romashov was aware of this. when, as usual of a night, he passed nikoläiev's dwelling, he smelt, from the little flower-bed behind the hoarding, the fragrant, disturbing perfume of daffodils. he jumped over the hedge, soiled his hands with the sticky mould of the bed, and plucked a whole armful of soft, moist, pale flowers. the window of shurochka's bedroom was open. it was dark within, and not a sound could be heard from it. with a boldness that astonished himself, romashov approached the wall, and threw the flowers into the room. still the same mysterious silence. he stood quite still for three minutes, listening and waiting. his heart-beats, so it seemed to him, echoed along the whole of the long, dead-silent street; but no answer. not the faintest sound reached the listener's ears. with bent back, and blushing for shame, he stole away on tip-toe. the next day he received the following curt and angry letter from shurochka- never dare to repeat what you did yesterday. courting in the romeo and juliet style is always absurd, particularly in this little hole of a place. in the daytime romashov tried to obtain a distant glimpse of shurochka in the street, but he never succeeded. he often thought he recognized the mistress of his heart in some lady walking along. with beating heart and thrills of bliss he hurried nearer, but every time this turned out a bitter disappointment; and when he found out his mistake he felt in his soul an abandonment and deadly void that caused him pain. xviii one day towards the end of may, a young soldier belonging to captain osadchi's company hanged himself. curiously enough, this suicide happened on the same date as a similar dreadful event in the previous year, and that, too, in osadchi's company. about this time drinking-bouts were arranged in the regiment. these, in spite of their quasi-official character, were not one whit inferior in coarseness to the regular and more private gatherings _inter pocula_. it is highly probable that such stimulating entertainments were felt a special necessity when men, who have been tied to one another by fate, through a soul-destructive inactivity or senseless cruelty towards their kind, have chanced to look somewhat more deeply into each other's hearts, and then--in spite of prejudices, unscrupulousness, and spiritual darkness--suddenly realize in what a bottomless pit of darkness they all are. in order to deaden the pangs of conscience and remorse at a life ruined and thrown away, all their insidious, brutish instincts have to be let loose at once and all their passions satisfied. shortly after the suicide in question, a similar crisis occurred among the officers. osadchi, as might be expected, became the instigator and high-priest of the orgies. in the course of several days he organized in the mess, games of hazard more recklessly than ever, during which fearful quantities of spirit were consumed. strangely enough, this wild beast in human form soon managed to entice pretty nearly all the officers of his regiment into a whirl of mad dissipations. and during all these carousals osadchi, with unparalleled cynicism, insolence, and heartlessness, tried to provoke expressions of disapproval and opposition, by invoking all the powers of the nether-world to insult the name and memory of the unhappy man who had taken his own life. it was about 6 p.m., romashov was sitting at his window with his legs resting on the window-sill, and whistling softly a waltz out of _faust_. the sparrows and magpies were making a noise and laughing at each other in the garden. it was not yet evening, but the shadows beneath the trees grew longer and fainter. suddenly a powerful voice was heard outside singing, not without a certain spirit, but out of tune- "the chargers are champing, snorting, and neighing. the foam-covered bridle still holds them in sway." immediately afterwards the door was flung wide open, and viätkin rolled into romashov's room with a loud peal of laughter. although it was all he could do to stand on his legs, he kept on singing- "matrons and maidens with sorrowful glances watch till their hero is lost to their sight." viätkin was still completely intoxicated from the libations of the preceding day, and his eyelids were red and swollen from a night without sleep. his hat was half off his head, and his long, waxed moustache hung down like the tusks of a walrus. "r-romuald, syria's holy hermit, come, let me kiss you!" he roared in a way that echoed through the whole house. "how long do you intend to sit brooding here? come, let us go. there's wine and play and jolly fellows down there. come!" viätkin gave romashov a sounding kiss and rubbed his face with his wet moustache. "well, well, that will do, pavel pavlich. is that the way to go on?" romashov tried to defend himself against viätkin's repeated caresses, but in vain. "hold out your hand, my friend. osadchi is kicking up a row down there, so there's not a pane of glass unbroken. romashevich, i love you. come here and let me give you a real russian kiss, right on the mouth--do you hear?" viätkin with his swollen face, glassy eyes, and stinking breath was unspeakably forbidding to romashov, but, as usual, the latter could not ward off such caresses, to which he now responded by a sickly and submissive smile. "wait and you shall hear why i came," shrieked viätkin, hiccupping and stumbling about the room. "something important, you may well believe. bobetinski was cleaned out by me to his last copeck. then he wanted, of course, to give an iou. 'much obliged, dear boy, but that cock won't fight. but perhaps you have something left to pledge.' then he drew out his revolver--here it is, by the way." viätkin drew from his breeches pocket, which followed, turned inside out, a choice little, well-constructed revolver protected by a chamois-leather case. "as you see, dear boy, the mervin type. 'well,' i said to him, 'how much will you venture on that--twenty--ten--fifteen?' and can you imagine such a curmudgeon? the first time only a rouble, on the 'colour,' of course. but all the same--hey, presto! slap-bang! after five raisings the revolver was mine and the cartridges too. and now you shall have it, romashevich, as a keepsake of our old friendship. some day you will always think of me thus: 'viätkin was always a brave and generous officer.' but what are you doing? are you writing verses?" "well, well, what have you brought this for, pavel pavlich? put it away." "all right. perhaps you think it's no good? i could kill an elephant with it. will experiment with it at once. where's that slave of yours? he shall get us a target on the spot. wait a second. hainán!--slave!--squire-at-arms!--hi!" viätkin rolled out of the door and then into hainán's closet, where for several minutes he was heard kicking up a row. suddenly he returned in triumph with pushkin's bust under his arm. "well i never, pavel pavlich! don't make a fool of yourself. let that alone." but there was not sufficient force in romashov's objections, and viätkin went on as he pleased. "rubbish! you chatter like a starling. now we'll put this on the _tabouret_. stand up, you ass. i'll teach you, by jove!" with these adjurations to poor pushkin, viätkin returned to romashov, took his stand at the window-sill, and cocked his revolver. as he was not sober, he swung the muzzle of the weapon here and there, and romashov expected every second that one of them would be killed. the distance was about five paces. viätkin was long in taking aim, during which the muzzle described some dangerous curves in the air. at last the shot rang out, and in pushkin's right cheek appeared a big black, irregular hole. romashov was for some moments deafened by the report. "well aimed!" shrieked viätkin, rejoicing. "here's your revolver, and don't forget my friendship. hurry on now with your uniform jacket and come with us to the mess. long live the glorious russian army!" "pavel pavlich, i really cannot to-day," protested romashov weakly. he could not defend himself. in his resistance to the other's strenuous pressing, he neither found the proper decisive word nor the tone of voice requisite for enforcing respect, and, blaming himself inwardly for his despicable passive weakness, he wearily followed viätkin, who with his shaky legs bravely stumbled among the cucumbers and turnips in the kitchen-garden. * * * * * the officers' meeting that night was more than usually noisy and stormy, and finally assumed an absolutely mad character. first they caroused at mess, then drove to the railway station to drink wine, after which the orgy proceeded in the officers' casino. romashov held aloof at first, was angry with himself for yielding, and experienced the feeling of loathing that overcomes every sober individual in a company of drunkards. the laughter struck him as being artificial, the witticisms poor, and the singing out of tune. but the hot red wine he drank at the station mounted to his head and produced in him a noisy, nervous merriment. a curtain of millions, as it were, of grains of sand dancing round each other was spread before his eyes, which were heavy with wine, and at the same time everything seemed to him so enjoyable, comic, and humorous. the hours flew like seconds, and it was only when the lamps of the _salle-à-manger_ were lighted that romashov began to realize how the time had sped and that night had set in. "gentlemen," called some one, "the ladies are waiting for us. let us be off to schleyfer's." "hurrah!--to schleyfer's, to schleyfer's." the proposal was hailed with laughter and jubilation. all got up and the chairs danced along the floor. this evening everything, moreover, went off, as it were, automatically. outside the mess-room door stood a whole row of phaetons, but nobody knew who ordered them and how they came there. romashov was for some time tossed between moments of semi-consciousness and the fully wide-awake state and alertness of mind of a sober man. suddenly he found himself sitting in a carriage beside viätkin. on the front seat sat a third person whose features romashov could not distinguish in the darkness of the night, however much he might, by violent jerks of his body sidewards, bend forward to look closely at the unknown. the latter's face was quite dark. now it shrunk up to the size of a man's fist, at another time it stretched itself out awry, and then seemed to romashov extraordinarily familiar. romashov suddenly burst out into a roar of laughter that sounded unnatural and idiotic, and did not seem to come from himself, but from some stranger in his immediate vicinity. "you're lying, viätkin. i know very well, my dear fellow, where we are going to," babbled romashov, in a drunken, chaffing tone. "you're taking me to the girls, you rascal." at that moment a carriage passed them with a deafening noise. by the light of the lamp the outlines of a couple of brown country horses dragging quickly along in an awkward and ridiculous gallop an open carriage with a drunken coachman slashing his whip in a frantic way, and four no less intoxicated officers, were reproduced for a second. consciousness and the faculty of reflection returned to romashov for a moment. yes, it could not be disputed; he was actually on his way to a place where women surrendered their bodies to caresses and embraces for payment in cash. "ugh! after all, it's perhaps the same thing in the end. women are women," shouted a wild, brutish, impatient voice within him. at the same time, there rang in his soul a lovely, far-away, scarcely audible music--the memory of shurochka, but in this unconscious coincidence there was nothing low, defiling, or insulting. on the contrary, the thought of her at this moment had a refreshing, soothing, and at the same time exciting and inflaming effect on his heart. in a short time he would then find himself in close contact with that curious, mysterious, and much-vaunted species of women that he had never gazed on before. he dreamt of how he would meet their glances, take their hands, and listen to their merry laughter and joyous songs, and he felt that all this would bring him relief and consolation in his incessant longing and torturing desire for shurochka, the only woman in the world who existed for him. in all these dreams, however, there was not a trace of degraded, sensual lust. as a dead-tired bird on the wing rushes, in the cold and darkness of an autumn night, blindly against the irresistibly attractive flood of light from the lighthouse, so, too, his soul, tortured by a cruel and capricious woman, was drawn into this sphere of undisguised, sensual tenderness and careless, boisterous merriment. suddenly the horses made a sharp swerve to the right, and at once the noise of the carriage and the squeaking of the wheel-tyres ceased. the carriage rocked here and there in the shallow cavities of the deep, sandy road. romashov opened his eyes. far beneath him and on a wide stretch of land, a multitude of small lights or lamps here and there cast their faint, uncertain glimmer. now they disappeared behind invisible trees and houses, now they bobbed up before his eyes, and it looked as if a huge, fantastic, disordered crowd of people or a procession with torches and lanterns was moving forward down the road. an acrid smell of wormwood, a big dark branch slowly waved up and down over the heads of the parties who were being driven along, and, at the same time, they found themselves suddenly environed by a new atmosphere--cold, raw, and moist, as if it had arisen from a vault. "where are we?" asked romashov. "at savalie," shrieked in reply the dark figure sitting on the box-seat, in whom romashov now recognized lieutenant epifanov. "we're at schleyfer's, you know. haven't you ever been here before?" "go to hell," grumbled romashov. epifanov kept on laughing. "hark you, yuri alexievich, shall we tell the little darlings in a whisper what an innocent you are? later on, you'll put all our noses out of joint." again romashov felt, half-unconsciously, that he had sunk back into impenetrable darkness, until he, as suddenly, found himself standing in a large room with parqueted floor and vienna chairs along the walls. over the entrance to the room, and over three other doors leading to small, dark chambers, lay hangings of red and yellow flowered cotton. curtains of the same stuff and colour flickered in the draught from the windows opened on a gloomy backyard. lamps were burning on the walls, but the great room was filled with smoke and the smell of meat from the adjacent kitchen; and the fumes were only dispersed occasionally by the balmy spring air entering through the window, and by the fresh scent of the white acacias that bloomed outside the house. about ten officers took part in this excursion. all seemed bent on solving the delicate problem of contriving to shriek, laugh, and bawl at the same time. romashov strolled about the room with a feeling of naïve, unreflecting enjoyment, and, with a certain astonishment and delight, gradually recognized all his boon-companions--biek-agamalov, lbov, viätkin, epifanov, artschakovski, olisár, etc. even staff-captain lieschtschenko was discovered there. he sat huddled up in a window with his usual, eternal, resigned _weltschmerz_ grin. on a table stood a respectable row of bottles containing ale and a dark, thick, syrupy cherry-cordial. no one knew who had ordered all these bottles. they were thought--like so much else that night--to have come of their own accord. romashov drank, proposed healths, and embraced every one he met, and began to feel sticky and messy about his lips and fingers. there were five or six women in the room. one of them--a girl of fourteen dressed as a page, with rose-coloured stockings--sat on biek-agamalov's knee and played with his epaulettes. another--a big, coarse blonde in a red silk _basquine_ and dark skirt, and with powdered face, and broad, black, painted eyebrows--went straight up to romashov. "gracious, my good sir, why do you look so miserable? come with me into that room," she added in a whisper. she threw herself carelessly on a table, and there sat with one leg over the other. romashov noticed how the strong outlines of her well-formed knee were shown off by the thin skirt. a shudder thrilled him, and his hands trembled. "what's your name?" "mine? malvina." she turned away with an air of indifference, and began swinging her legs. "order me a cigarette." two jewish musicians came on the scene, one with a violin, the other with a tambourine. soon a vulgar, hackneyed, screeching polka tune was heard in the room, whereupon olisár and artschakovski at once began to dance the _cancan_. they hopped round the room first on one leg, then on the other, snapped their fingers, wagged their hips, and bent backwards and forwards with vulgar, cynical gestures. this unattractive ballet was suddenly interrupted by biek-agamalov, who jumped off the table, shrieking in his sharp, penetrating voice-"to hell with the _starar_! out with the ragtag and bobtail!" down by the door stood two young exquisites, both of whom had many acquaintances among officers, and had even been guests at the regimental soirées. one of them was a treasury official, the other a landed proprietor and brother of the police magistrate of the town. they both belonged to the so-called "cream" of society. the treasury official turned white, but forced a smile, and answered in an affable tone-"excuse me, gentlemen, but can't we join? we are old acquaintances, you know. my name is dubiezki. we should not interfere with you at all." "possibly in making love, but not when the fight begins," added the magistrate's brother, who tried to adopt a good-humoured tone. "out of this!" screamed biek-agamalov. "march to the door!" "gentlemen, by all means, put the _starar_ out," sneered artschakovski. a horrible confusion arose in the room. tables and chairs were thrown over; the men shrieked, laughed, and stamped with all their might. the flames of the lamps rose like fiery tongues on high. the cold night air penetrated through the open windows, but without any cooling or calming effect on all these half-demented fighting-cocks. the two civilians had already been thrown into the backyard, where they were heard fiercely screeching and threatening with tears in their voices-"_opritschniker_,[20] brigands! this affair will cost you dear. we shall lodge a complaint with your commander, with the governor." "oo-oo-oo-oo-oo," viätkin sneered in mockery, whilst stretching out of the window. "go to blazes!" it seemed to romashov as if all the events of the day had followed one another without a break, but also without the least intelligible connection, just as if a series of wild pictures in loud and motley colours had been unrolled before his eyes. again were heard the scraping of the violin and the tambourine's blustering noise. one of the "partners" had now gone so far as to pirouette on the floor with nothing but his shirt on. a pretty, slender woman, who had up to then escaped romashov's notice, with dishevelled hair over her bare neck, and sharp, prominent shoulder-blades, wound her arms round poor lieschtschenko's neck and sang in his ear in her shrill soprano, and in unison with the violin's awful melody: "when consumption sets its mark, and you're lying pale and stark, and doctors are seen fumbling round your couch." bobetinski slung a glass of ale between the curtains of one of the little, dark _cabinets_, whence very soon proceeded an angry, but sleepy, thick voice-"aren't you ashamed, sir? who dares ...? such a low swine!" "i say! how long have you been here?" asked romashov of the lady in the red _basquine_, whilst, as it were, in an absent-minded way, he rested his hand on her strong, warm knee. she made some answer, but he did not hear it. a fresh scene of savagery had absorbed all his attention. sub-lieutenant lbov was driving before him one of the musicians, and banging him on the head all the time with the tambourine. the poor jew, terrified out of his wits, ran from corner to corner, screaming and babbling his unintelligible jargon, with wholly ineffectual attempts to catch his long, fluttering coat-tails, and incessantly glancing behind him from the corners of his eyes at his unmerciful persecutor. everybody was laughing. artschakovski fell flat on the floor, and wriggled with tears in his eyes and in alarming convulsions of laughter. directly afterwards the other jew's piercing yells were audible. another of the company had snatched the violin, and thrown it down with fearful violence. with a crashing sound that harmonized, in an almost touching way, with the musician's desperate cries for help, the instrument broke into a thousand fragments. what followed this romashov never perceived, inasmuch as, for several minutes, he was in a sort of dark "nirvana." when he had somewhat regained the use of his reason, he saw, as though in a fever-dream, that all in the room were running round each other with wild shrieks and gestures of despair. for an instant the whole swarm gathered round biek-agamalov, only in the next instant to be scattered like chaff in all directions. the majority sought safety in the little, dark _cabinets_. "out of it! i won't stand a single one!" shrieked biek-agamalov in berserker fury. he ground his teeth, stamped on the floor, and struck about him with his clenched fists. his face was crimson; the veins in his forehead from the roots of his hair to his nose stood like strained ropes; his head was lowered like a bull's, and his unnaturally prominent eyes with their bloodshot whites were terrifying. he was unable to utter any human sounds, but groaned, like a wild beast, in a vibrating voice-"ah-ah-ah-ah!" suddenly, whilst bending the upper part of his body to the left with the suppleness of a panther, he drew his sabre, as quick as lightning, from its sheath. the broad, sharp blade described, with a whistling sound, several rapid circles over his head. in frantic terror every living creature fled helter-skelter from the room through doors and windows, the women screaming hysterically, the men trampling down all that lay in their way. romashov was carried by the current irresistibly towards the door, where an officer rushing past caused him, by the sharp facet of his uniform-button, a long, bleeding scratch on his face. the next moment all stood whooping and yelling in the yard, except romashov, who alone remained by the door of the room. he felt his heart beating with increased force and quickness; but the murderous, unbridled scene filled him not only with terror, but also with an intoxicating feeling of savage, exulting defiance. "i will have blood!" screamed biek-agamalov, with gnashing teeth. the sight of the terror he inspired deprived him of the last remains of understanding and reflection. with frantic strength and rage he smashed, with a few strokes, all the furniture nearest to him, and, after that, hurled his sabre with such force at a large mirror that the glass splinters hailed on all sides. with another blow he laid waste the table, which was crowded with a number of bottles and glasses, the fragments and contents of which were thrown all over the floor. but just at that moment cried a piercing voice of indescribable fury and boldness-"fool! cad!" this insult was hurled by the same bare-headed woman with naked arms as had just embraced lieschtschenko. this was the first time that romashov had noticed her. she was standing in a recess behind the stove, leaning forward with clenched hands tightly pressed against her hips, and pouring out an uninterrupted flow of "billingsgate" with a rapidity and readiness which the vilest market-woman might have envied. "fool! cad! scum! i am not afraid of you! fool! fool! fool!" biek-agamalov lowered his sabre, and seemed, for a moment, to lose all power over himself. romashov saw how his face grew whiter and whiter, how his eyebrows puckered, and how the yellow pupils first darkened and then hurled a blinding flash of diabolical hatred and rage which no longer knew bounds. his knees gave way, and his head fell on his chest. at that moment, biek-agamalov was no longer a human being. he was transformed into a bloodthirsty wild beast straining every nerve for the fatal leap. "silence!" it sounded as if he had spat out the word. speak he could not. "scoundrel, brute, beast, i shall not be silent!" shrieked the fury in the stove corner, her body trembling all over at every word she hurled. romashov felt himself getting whiter and whiter every moment. he felt a sensation of void in his brain, a sensation of release from every oppressive act of thought or reflection. a curious mixture of joy and terror arose in his soul, just as the bubbles of sparkling wine ascend to the edge of a goblet. he saw biek-agamalov, whilst continually following the woman with his eyes, slowly raise his sabre above his head. an irresistible flow of frantic jubilation, fear, inconsiderate boldness, carried romashov away. he rushed forward so rapidly that he did not even hear biek-agamalov hiss his last question-"will you be silent? for the last time----" romashov, with a force he never thought he was capable of, gripped agamalov's wrist. during the course of a few seconds and at a distance of a couple of inches between their faces, the two officers eyed one another without moving, stiff as if carved out of stone. romashov heard his comrade's quick, panting breath; he saw his eyes glitter with hate and a thirst for revenge, and his lips foam with the spasmodic movements of his lower jaw; but he felt that the fire of wrath would, in a few minutes, be extinguished in this man who had never yet sought, of his own accord, to curb his passions. but to romashov this feeling of proud triumph in a game of life and death, from which he now knew he should come out the victor, was almost intolerable. he knew that all those who were anxiously watching this scene from outside also realized in what deadly danger he stood. out in the yard and by the open windows there brooded such a hush and quiet that, all of a sudden, a nightingale a few paces off began to trill her joyous lay. "let me go," came at last like a hoarse whisper from biek-agamalov's bitten lips. "biek, you must never strike a woman," replied romashov calmly. "you would blush for it as long as you lived." the last sparks of rage and madness now died out in agamalov's eyes. romashov drew a deep breath as if from a long swoon. his heart beat irregularly and quick, and his head was again heavy and feverishly hot. "let me go!" shrieked biek-agamalov once more in a fierce tone, and tried to release himself. romashov felt he would no longer be able to keep his hold of him; but he had no further dread of his wrath. he said in a caressing brotherly tone, as he laid his hand on his comrade's shoulder-"forgive me, biek, but i know that a day will come when you will thank me for this." biek-agamalov with a loud snap stuck his sabre into its sheath. "all right, confound you!" he screamed in an angry tone, in which, however, there was a note of shame and confusion. "we'll settle this matter afterwards. but what right have you----?" the valiant crowd in the yard now understood that all danger was over for the present. with loud, but not quite natural, peals of laughter, the lot now rushed into the room. but he now seemed extinguished, his strength exhausted, and there was something apathetic and ironically contemptuous about him. now madame schleyfer herself--a massive lady with a hard look, small dark pouches under her eyes, disappearing eyelashes, and great layers of fat on her neck and bosom--entered the room. she attacked first one and then the other of the officers; took tight hold of one by a button, of another by a sleeve, and howled to each of them who could stand and listen her everlasting song-"gentlemen, gentlemen, who will make good all this? who will pay for the mirror, the furniture, the bottles, the girls?" all this meanwhile was settled to the satisfaction of the authorities by the same mysterious "benefactor" who had provided for everything else in the course of this memorable excursion. the officers left the room in groups. every one of them inhaled with delight the mild, pure air of the may night. romashov felt all his being thrilled with a certain joyous agitation. it seemed to him as if all traces of the day's orgies had vanished from his brain, as if a pair of innocent fresh lips had repurified and refreshed him by a soft kiss on his brow. biek-agamalov came up to him, took his hand, and said-"romashov, come and ride in my carriage. i wish you to do so." and when romashov, on one occasion during the journey home, turned towards the right to observe the awkward gallop of the horses, biek-agamalov seized his hand and pressed it for a long time warmly--nay, so hard that it almost caused pain. not a word, however, passed between the two officers during the whole way. xix the violent emotion felt by every member of the company during the wild scene we have just depicted found expression in a nervous irritability which, on their return to the mess-room, took the form of reckless arrogance and gross misbehaviour to all who happened to come across the officers on their way home. a poor jew coming along was stopped and deprived of his cap. olisár got up in the carriage, and insulted, in the outskirts of the town, in the middle of the street, all passers-by in a manner which cannot be decently described. bobetinski whipped his coachman for no reason whatever. the others sang and bawled with all their might; only biek-agamalov, who rode beside romashov, sat all the time angry, silent, and taciturn. notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, the mess-rooms were brilliantly illuminated and full of people. in the card and billiard-rooms and at the buffet creatures with unbuttoned coats, flaming faces, vacantly staring eyes and of uncertain gait, helplessly collided with each other, heavily fuddled by the fumes of wine and tobacco smoke. romashov, who was walking about and nodding to several of the officers, also found among them, to his great astonishment, nikoläiev. he was sitting by osadchi, red in face and intoxicated, but holding himself upright. on seeing romashov approaching he eyed him sharply for a few seconds, but afterwards turned abruptly aside, so as to avoid holding out his hand to the latter, meanwhile conversing with his neighbour with increased interest. "viätkin, come here and sing," bellowed osadchi over the heads of the rest. "yes, come let us sing," chanted viätkin, in reply, parodying, imitating, and caricaturing a melody from the church ritual- "three small boys found lurching got an awful birching at the parson's stile." viätkin imitated in quick succession and in the same tone the strophes recited in the remainder of the antiphon at mass- "sexton, parson, and his clerk thought the smacking quite a lark. then the beadle said, 'by hell, nikifor, you smack right well.'" "nikifor, you smack right well!" answered _pianissimo_ in complete harmony the hastily improvised choir of drunken officers, seconded by osadchi's softly rumbling bass voice. viätkin conducted the singing, standing on a table in the middle of the room, whilst stretching his arms in an attitude of benediction over the heads of the "congregation." now his eyes flashed terrifying glances of threat and condemnation; at another time they were raised to heaven with a languishing expression of infinite beatitude; then he hissed with rage at those who sang out of tune; again he stopped in time by a scarcely perceptible _tremolo_ of the palm of his hand a run to a misplaced _crescendo_. "staff-captain lieschtschenko, you're singing damnably. damn it, what a wretched ear!" roared osadchi. "keep quiet in the room, gentlemen. no noise, please, when there's singing." "once on a time a farmer so rich- who used to like iced punch"-continued viätkin, in his improvised service of the church. his eyes, however, now began to smart dreadfully from the dense tobacco smoke. romashov was reminded by the wet and sticky tablecloth that he had not washed his hands since dinner. he went out and made his way across the yard to a side room called the "officers' shelter," which served as a sort of lavatory. it was a cold, dismal little crib with only one window. several common cupboards stood along the wall, and between them, in hospital fashion, were placed two beds, the sheets, etc., of which were never changed. not a man in the entire regiment could recollect when this room was swept and cleaned. there was an intolerable stench there, the main ingredients of which were rotting bedclothes, stinking boots, and bad tobacco. the room was originally intended for officers of other regiments who happened to be visiting the garrison town, but it gradually became converted into a sort of _morgue_ for those who got dead drunk at mess. it was almost officially designated as "the mortuary," which name, by a dreadful irony of fate, received its full justification from the fact that no less than two officers and one soldier had committed suicide in it during the few years the regiment had been garrisoned in the town. moreover, not a year elapsed without one suicide taking place among the officers of this regiment. when romashov entered "the mortuary" he found two men sitting there on a bed near the window. the room was dark, and it was some time before romashov recognized in one of the "guests" ex-staff-captain klodt, alcoholist and thief, and on those grounds expelled from the command of his company. the other was a certain ensign solotuchin--a tall, lean, bald-headed, worn-out rake and gambler, feared and despised wherever he went for his evil, lying tongue and his conversation interlarded with coarse cynicisms and improprieties--a veritable type of the ensigns of the storybooks. between these two worthy "birds of a feather" might be seen on the table the dim outline of a schnapps bottle, an empty plate, and two full glasses. the pair of boon companions were silent when romashov entered the room, and tried, as it were, to hide themselves in the darkness; but when he leaned over them, they looked at him with a sly smile. "what, in the name of goodness, are you two doing here?" asked romashov, in alarm. "hush!" solotuchin made a mysterious warning gesture with his forefinger. "wait here, and don't disturb us." "hold your jaw!" ordered klodt in a whisper. at the same moment the rattling noise of a _telega_ was heard somewhere in the distance. then the two strangers raised their glasses, clicked them together, and drained the contents. "but answer me. what is the meaning of it all?" repeated romashov in the same anxious tone. "my little greenhorn," replied klodt in a significant whisper, "if you must know, it's only our usual little morning repast; but now i hear the _telega_, ensign," klodt went on to say as he turned to solotuchin. "it's time then to finish our drink and be off. what do you think of the moonlight? will it suit?" "my glass is empty already," replied solotuchin, glancing out of the window at the moon's slender, pointed sickle that stood drowsy and sleepy in the sky, and hung down over the little slumbering town. "but let's just wait a wee bit. s-sh! i thought i heard a dog barking." and again they bent towards one another to resume their mysterious conversation, carried on in a low voice; the spluttering tone and evident lack of coherence witnessed clearly enough that the schnapps had begun to take effect. from the _salle-à-manger_ hard by came now and then the melancholy, hollow tones of viätkin's and osadchi's improvised mass for the dead, which had a weird and threatening ring about it in the silent night. romashov seized his head with both hands. "i beseech you, gentlemen, to stop this. i can't stand it any longer." "go to the devil!" roared solotuchin. "no, stop, dear boy--whither away? but, by all that's unholy, you shall first drink a glass with two fine fellows. catch tight hold of him, captain, i'll shut the door." with a yell of laughter the two scoundrels jumped up to seize romashov; but the latter's self-command was exhausted. the whole hideous situation--this disgusting drinking-bout in the weird, dark room with its insufferable, stifling atmosphere--this mysterious midnight meeting between two individuals who were a danger to society--the vulgar bellowing of the drunken officers and their blasphemous parody of the russian mass--all this filled him with frantic terror and nausea. with a piercing shriek, he thrust solotuchin from him, and, trembling in every limb, rushed deliberately from the mortuary. common sense now urged him to go home, but a strange, unfathomable inward force again drove him, against his will, to the mess-room. there some of the wine-soaked company were asleep on the window-sills and chairs. a stifling heat prevailed, and, in spite of the wide-open windows, the drowsily burning lights and lamps were never reached by a quickening draught of air. the poor, dead-tired soldiers who attended to the waiting could scarcely stand on their legs, and every moment stifled a yawn, but as yet none of the champion boozers had entertained a thought of breaking up. viätkin had again taken his place on a table, and was singing in his high, caressive tenor voice- "swift as the ocean's roaring billows, vanishes life in eternity." there were several officers in the regiment with really beautiful voices, which even now were very effective in spite of the drink. this simple, plaintive melody exercised, at this moment, an ennobling influence on all, and more than one of them experienced a pricking, remorseful feeling at the thought of his worthless, sinful life. "once you're in your coffin, soon the world forgets your name," continued viätkin in a voice of emotion, and his sleepy but good eyes were dimmed with tears. artschakovski seconded him with unimpeachable care. to make his voice thrill he grasped his larynx with two fingers and shook it. osadchi accompanied it all with his heavy, long-drawn, organ notes. after the singing there reigned a deep silence for a few moments. suddenly osadchi began again to recite in a subdued tone and eyes cast down- "all ye who wander in sorrow's heavy, narrow road----" "no, that's enough of it," a voice exclaimed. "this is now, i suppose, the tenth time we have taken up this cursed mass of requiem----" but the rest had already intoned the solemn melody that divides the recitative of the antiphon, and once more, in the reeking and dirty room, resounded the requiem over st. john of damascus in clear, full-voiced strains that express in so masterly a way the inconsolable sorrow for death's inexorable cruelty- "all ye who believe in me enter into the joy of my father." artschakovski, who was as familiar with the ritual as the most experienced choir-singer, at once repeated the following answer in accordance with the text- "with our whole soul we all praise," etc. and so the whole antiphon was chanted; but when osadchi's turn came to take up the recitation for the last time, he lowered his head like an infuriated bull, the veins in his neck swelled, and as he directed his melancholy, cruel, and threatening glances towards those present, he declaimed in a half-singing tone, and in a voice that resembled the roar of distant thunder- "give, o lord, thy departed slave, nikifor, a blessed departure hence and eternal rest." in the midst of this lofty and pious invocation he stopped short, and, to the horror of the bystanders, uttered two words of the most blasphemous, cynical, and disgusting import. romashov jumped up, and thumped his fist, like a madman, on the table. "be silent! i forbid this," he roared in a voice trembling with anger and pain. "what are you laughing at, captain osadchi? you ought to be ashamed. your eyes are mocking, but i see and know that remorse, terror, and the tortures of hell are raging in your heart." a hideous silence on the part of all followed this outbreak of temper. then a voice from the crowd was heard to exclaim-"is he drunk?" these three words relaxed all the terrible tension of the situation; but at the same moment let loose afresh--just as a few hours previously in schleyfer's den of infamy--all the evil spirits of orgy. there was shrieking, hooting, stamping, jumping, and dancing; the whole room was turned in a trice into an indescribable, savage, motley chaos. viätkin, who jumped on to a table, hit his head against the big hanging lamp, which then swayed in awful zigzag curves, producing for some time a fantastic series of dissolving views on the ceiling and walls, on which drunken, frantic human beings were depicted as marvellous, gigantic shapes, or as huddled, dwarfish figures resembling embryos. the debauch seemed at last to reach its height. all these wretched creatures were possessed, as it were, by a savage, exultant, ruthless fiend who, mocking at all the laws of sense and decency, forced his victims, by blasphemies, oaths, and all kinds of shamelessness, to abdicate the last shreds of their human dignity. romashov, in the smoke and stuffiness, suddenly caught sight of a person with features distorted by rage and incessant hooting, which for that reason seemed to him, in the first instant, unrecognizable. it was none other than nikoläiev, who, now foaming with hate and fury, roared to his enemy: "you're a disgrace to the whole regiment, you and nasanski! not a word or, by god! i'll----" romashov felt that some one was pulling him, gently and cautiously, a few paces backwards. he turned round and recognized agamalov, but at the same instant forgot him, and turned quickly round to nikoläiev. white with suppressed rage, he answered in a low, hoarse voice and a forced and bitter smile-"what reason have you to mention nasanski's name? but perhaps you have some private, secret cause for hating him?" "rascal, scoundrel, your hour is come!" screamed nikoläiev in a loud, trembling voice. with flashing eyes he raised his tightly clenched fist to romashov's face, but the expected blow never fell. romashov experienced a momentary fear, together with a torturing, sickening sensation in his chest and ribs, and he now noticed, for the first time, that he was grasping some object with the fingers of his right hand. then with a rapid movement he threw the remains of his half-emptied glass of ale into nikoläiev's face. instantly after this a violent blow in the region of his left eye struck him like a deafening thunderclap, and with the howl of a wounded wild beast, romashov rushed at his foe. a heavy fall, and the two rolled over one another on the ground with furious blows and kicks. a thick cloud of dust eddied round the combatants; chairs and tables were flung in all directions, but the two continued, with unabated fury, to force, in turn, each other's head against the filthy floor, and panting and with rattling throats, tried to tear each other to pieces. romashov knew he had managed somehow or other to get his fingers well into nikoläiev's mouth at one of the corners, and he strove with all his might to rend nikoläiev's cheek, with the object of destroying those hateful features for all time. he himself, however, felt no pain when his head and elbows were bumped time after time, in the course of the fight, against the hard floor. he had not the slightest notion as to how the battle finally ended. he suddenly found himself standing in a corner, plucked from the fight by kindly hands, and, by the same well-meaning helper, prevented from renewing his attack on nikoläiev. biek-agamalov handed romashov a glass of water, and his teeth could be heard chattering, through the convulsive twitchings of his lower jaw, against the side of the glass. his uniform was torn to tatters in the back and elbows, and one shoulder-strap swung hither and thither on its torn fastening. romashov was unable to speak, but his silent lips moved incessantly in fruitless efforts to whisper audibly-"i'll--show--him. i challenge him." old liech, who had been in a delightful slumber at the edge of his table during all that fearful row, now arose fully awake, sober, and severe in countenance, and, in a bitter and hectoring tone rarely employed by him, said-"gentlemen, in my capacity as the eldest here present, i order you all to leave the mess instantly, and to go to your respective quarters. a report of what has taken place here to-night is to be handed in to the commander of the regiment to-morrow." the order was obeyed without the slightest demur. all departed, cowed and shamefaced, and consequently shy at meeting each other's glances. each individual dreaded to read in his comrade's eyes his own shame and self-contempt, and they all gave one the impression of dirty little malicious animals, to whose dim and undeveloped brains a gleam of human understanding had suddenly managed to grope its way. day began to dawn. a delightful, glorious morning with a clear, fleckless sky, refreshing coolness, and infinite harmony and peace. the moist trees, wrapped in thin, curling exhalations arising from the earth, and scarcely visible to the eye, had just awakened silently and imperceptibly from their deep, mysterious, nocturnal sleep. and when romashov, on his way home, glanced at them, at the sky, and at the grass faintly sparkling like silver in the dew, he felt himself so low, vile, degenerate, and disgusting that he realized, with unutterable melancholy, how unworthy he was to be greeted by the innocent, smiling child-eyes of awakening nature. xx on that same day--it was wednesday--romashov received the following curt official communication- the court of honour of the--th infantry regiment hereby requests sub-lieutenant romashov to attend at 6 p.m. the officers' common-room. dress: ordinary uniform. lieutenant-colonel migunov, _president of the court_. on perusing the letter, romashov could not restrain an ironical smile. this so-called "ordinary uniform," i.e. undress uniform with shoulder-knots and belt, was to be worn, under the most _extraordinary_ circumstances, before the court, for public reprimand, when appearing for examination by the commander of his regiment, etc., etc. at 6 p.m. romashov put in an appearance at the mess, and told the orderly to send in his name to the president. the answer was to the effect that he was to wait. romashov sat down by an open window in the dining-room, took up a paper and began to read; but he did not understand a word of the contents: everything seemed to him so uninteresting as he cast his eyes mechanically down one column after another. three officers who were in the mess before romashov returned his salutation with marked coldness, and continued their conversation in a low voice, with the obvious intention of preventing romashov from catching what they were saying. only one of them, michin, pressed romashov's hand long and warmly, with moist eyes, blushing and tongue-tied. he at once turned away, put on his cloak and hat hurriedly and awkwardly, and ran out of the room. nikoläiev shortly afterwards entered through the buffet. he was pale, his eyelids were of a bluish hue, his left hand was shaking with spasmodic twitches, and just below his temples a bluish swelling was visible. at once the recollection of the fight on the previous day came to romashov with painful distinctness. he hung his head, frowned, and, almost annihilated with shame, hid himself behind his newspaper. he closed his eyes, and listened in nervous tension to every sound in the room. romashov heard nikoläiev order a glass of cognac from the waiter, and then greet one of the company. after that he walked up to where romashov was sitting, and passed him quite closely. somebody left the room, the door of which was shut again. a few seconds later romashov heard in a whispering tone behind him-"don't look back. sit still and listen carefully to what i have to say." it was nikoläiev. the newspaper shook in romashov's hands. "as you're aware, all conversation between us is now forbidden; but damn all these french niceties. what occurred yesterday can never be put straight again, made little of, or be consigned to oblivion. in spite of everything, however, i regard you as a man of conscience and honour. i implore you--do you hear?--i implore you, not a word about my wife and the anonymous letters. you understand me?" romashov, who was hidden by the newspaper from the eyes of his brother officer, made a slow inclination of his head. the sound of steps crunching the sand was audible from the courtyard. romashov allowed a few minutes to elapse, after which he turned round and glanced through the window. nikoläiev had gone. "your honour!" the orderly suddenly stood, as if he had risen from the earth, at romashov's side. "i am ordered to ask you to walk in." along one side of the wall were placed several card tables, over which a green cloth had been spread. behind these tables sat the members of the court, with their backs to the window. in consequence of this, it was difficult to distinguish their faces. in the midst of them, in an arm-chair, was seated lieutenant-colonel migunov, the president--a fat, pursy man without a neck, but with big, round shoulders which protruded in quite an unnatural manner. on each side of migunov sat lieutenant-colonels rafalski and liech, and moreover, on the right, osadchi and peterson; on the left, captain duvernois and the commissary to the regiment, staff-captain doroshenko. the table in front of all these gentlemen was virtually empty, except that before doroshenko, the court prosecutor-in-ordinary, lay a heap of papers. it was cold and dark in the great, bare room, although out-of-doors the sunshine was gloriously warm. everywhere the nose was assailed by a drowsy smell of mustiness and rotting, moth-eaten furniture. the president laid his big, white, fat hands on the tablecloth, examined them minutely, and then began in a dry, official tone-"sub-lieutenant romashov, the officers' court of honour, which meets to-day by order of the commander of the regiment, is directed to examine closely into the circumstances of the deplorable and, to the officers as a body, disgraceful scene that took place between you and lieutenant nikoläiev last night, and it is incumbent on you to render to us a most punctilious account of what you have to say with regard to this painful affair." romashov stood before his judges with his arms hanging down, and plucked at the fur lining of his cap. he felt like a hunted animal, but at the same time as clumsy, feeble, and indifferent to everything as a schoolboy just "ploughed" at an examination is to his teachers' threats and his school-fellows' jeers. coughing and stammering, in unconnected phrases and with contradictions and repetitions, romashov began his report. at the same time, and whilst slowly observing the high "tribunal" seated before him, he made a sort of appraisement of the private or personal feelings of its individual members towards him. "migunov has a heart of stone, and it is a matter of supreme indifference to him how the affair turns out; but the place of honour as president and the great responsibility attached to it are, in the highest degree, flattering to his vanity. lieutenant-colonel 'brehm' is looking miserable. oh, you good old chap, perhaps you are sitting thinking of that ten-rouble note which was never returned to you? old liech looks glum. he's sober to-day in honour of the occasion, but the pouches under his eyes are bigger than usual. he's not my enemy, but has so many sins of his own to answer that he must take advantage of the occasion, and play the part of guardian and protector of morality and the 'honour of an officer.' so far as osadchi and peterson are concerned, they are both notoriously my enemies. by invoking the law, i might certainly challenge osadchi--the whole of the row began through his blasphemously parodying the mass for the dead--but what then? the result in any case will be the same. peterson smiles out of one corner of his mouth in his usual snake-like way. i am just wondering what share he had in those anonymous letters. duvernois--a sleepy beast, whose great, troubled eyes put one in mind of a cuttlefish's. ah, yes, i've never been one of duvernois's favourites, and just as little of doroshenko's. yuri alexievich, my dear boy, the prospect does indeed look gloomy for you." "one instant, if you please," interrupted osadchi. "president, will you permit me to put a question?" "certainly," replied migunov, with a gracious nod. "tell me, sub-lieutenant romashov," began osadchi, in an affectedly imposing and drawling tone, "where were you before you came to the mess in such an inexcusable condition?" romashov blushed deeply, and felt big drops of sweat on his forehead. "i was--i was," he stammered, "i was in a brothel," he added almost in a whisper. "ha, ha--in a brothel," repeated osadchi, as he purposely raised his voice and pronounced every word with unsparing distinctness. "and no doubt you had drinks there." "yes, i had been drinking," answered romashov, in an abrupt tone. "i have no wish to put any more questions," said osadchi, turning with a bow to the president. "sub-lieutenant, be good enough to continue your report," resumed migunov, "you remember you have acknowledged that you threw the glass of ale at nikoläiev--well?" romashov began his story again as unmethodically and unconnectedly as before, but honourably endeavouring not to give any details. he had already, in an indirect way and with much shame, succeeded in expressing the regret he felt at his unworthy conduct, when he was once more interrupted, this time by captain peterson. the latter was rubbing his long, yellow-wax coloured hands with their sharp, dirty finger-nails just as if he were washing himself, and said in his studiously polite--nay, almost friendly--thin, wheedling voice-"ah, all that is quite fit and proper, and such a voluntary confession, in a way, does you credit; but tell me, were you not, before this painful story began, in the habit of visiting lieutenant nikoläiev's house?" romashov drew himself up and, looking straight, not at captain peterson, but at migunov, replied bluntly: "that is true, but i cannot understand what that has to do with the matter." "pray don't get excited," exclaimed peterson. "i only want you to answer my questions. tell me then, was there any special cause of mutual enmity between you and lieutenant nikoläiev? i do not mean any difference in the service, but a cause of a quite--er--if i may so put it, domestic nature?" romashov pulled himself up to his full height, and his glance pierced with undisguised hatred his enemy's treacherous, black, consumptive eyes. "i have not visited lieutenant nikoläiev's home more frequently than those of my other acquaintances," he replied in a hard and cutting tone. "no previous enmity has existed between us. the whole thing happened unexpectedly and accidentally, when we were both the worse for liquor." "heh, heh, heh, we have already heard about the insobriety," captain peterson chimed in; "but i will ask you once more, had not an unfriendly meeting already taken place between you and lieutenant nikoläiev? i do not for an instant suggest that you had quarrelled or come to blows, but quite simply that--how shall i put it?--you were a little at variance in your views of certain scandalous reports and intrigues?" "president, am i bound to reply to all questions that are put to me?" exclaimed romashov. "that rests entirely with you," replied migunov coldly. "you can, if you wish, absolutely refuse to answer. you can also commit your answer to writing. that is your privilege." "in such case i hereby declare that i will not answer any of captain peterson's questions, and that not only in my interest but in his." after romashov had answered a few questions of minor importance the examination was declared closed. nevertheless, he had on two occasions to give the court supplementary information, first in the evening of the same day, and then again on the day following, viz., thursday morning. however careless and inexperienced romashov might be in all the practical circumstances of life, he nevertheless saw soon enough that the court was performing its functions in the most negligent and indiscreet way, and had therefore been guilty, not only of a revolting lack of tact, but also of utter illegality. in defiance of section 149 of the "statute concerning discipline," by which every communication to unauthorized persons of what takes place at such examinations is in plain language strictly forbidden, the members of the "court of honour" did not scruple to relate everything straight off to their wives and relations. the latter spread the scandal still further among the other ladies of "society," who in their turn discussed the matter with their maidservants, charwomen, etc. before twenty-four hours had elapsed romashov was the talk of the entire town and "hero of the day." when he passed along the street he was gazed at from windows and doors, between the hedge-posts of backyards, and from the vantage of garden-bushes and arbours. women from a good distance off pointed at him with their finger, and he often heard his name whispered behind his back. nobody in the town doubted that a duel between him and nikoläiev was inevitable--nay, they even began to bet about the upshot of it. as romashov was passing lykatschev's house on thursday morning he suddenly heard his name shouted. "yuri alexievich, yuri alexievich, come here." romashov stopped, and soon discovered katya lykatschev standing on a bench inside the fence. she was still in morning dress, which chiefly consisted of a _kimono_, the triangular arrangement of which in front left the delicate virginal neck wholly exposed. and she was altogether so fresh and rosy that for an instant romashov even felt light at heart. katya leant over the fence to enable romashov to reach her hand, which was still cool and moist from the morning bath. she began at once to chatter and lisp at her usual pace: "where have you been all this time? you ought to be ashamed of yourself, forgetting your friends in that way! _zoi, zoi, zoi_--hush! i have long known everything, everything." she stared at romashov with great terror-stricken eyes. "take this and hang it round your throat. hear and obey at once. look, if you please." from the fold of her _kimono_, straight from her bosom, she drew out an amulet that hung by a silk cord, and shyly put it into romashov's hand. the amulet still felt balmy from its nest against the young woman's warm body. "will it help?" asked romashov, in a jesting tone. "what is it?" "that's a secret, and don't you dare to laugh, you ungodly creature. _zoi, zoi!_" "hang it, if i'm not beginning to be a man of note," thought romashov, as he said good-bye to katya. "splendid girl!" but he could not prevent himself, though it might be for the last time, from thinking of himself in the third person: "and over the old warrior's rugged features stole a melancholy smile." on that same evening he and nikoläiev were again summoned to the court. the two enemies stood before the green table almost side by side. they did not once look at each other, but they equally felt each other's high-strung emotion, and were, in consequence, still more excited. their eyes were fixed, as though by magnetism, on the president's face when he at last began to read the verdict of the court. "the members of the officers' court of honour of the--th regiment" (here followed their christian and surnames in full), "under the presidency of lieutenant-colonel migunov, have inquired into the matter of the fight, in the mess, between lieutenant nikoläiev and sub-lieutenant romashov, and the court, by reason of the serious nature of the case, finds a duel is necessary to satisfy the wounded honour of the regiment. this decree of the court is ratified by the commander of the regiment." lieutenant-colonel migunov took off his spectacles, and replaced them in their case. "it is incumbent on you, gentlemen," he went on to say in a sepulchral voice, "to choose two seconds apiece, who are to meet here at 9 p.m. to agree as to the conditions of the duel. moreover," added migunov, as he got up and put his spectaclecase in his back-pocket, "moreover, i must tell you that the verdict just read possesses only a conditionally binding force on you, viz. it rests in your free discretion either to submit to the decree of the court or"--migunov paused and made a gesture by which he meant to express his absolute indifference--"leave the regiment. you ought, gentlemen, to keep apart. however, one thing more. not in my capacity as president of the court, but as an old comrade, i must advise you, gentlemen, for the avoidance of further unpleasantness and complications prior to the duel, not to visit the mess. _au revoir._" nikoläiev made a sharp, military "face-about," and walked with rapid steps out of the room. romashov followed slowly after. he had no fear, but he felt at once utterly lonely, abandoned, and shut off from the entire world. when he reached the steps he gazed for some time, calm and astonished, at the sky, the trees, a cow grazing on the other side of the fence, the sparrows burrowing in the high road, and thought, "so everything lives, struggles, and worries about its existence, except myself. i require nothing and i have no interests. i am doomed; i am alone, and dead already to this world." with a feeling of sickness and disgust he went to find biek-agamalov and viätkin, whom he had chosen for his seconds. both granted his request; biek-agamalov with a gloomy, solemn countenance, viätkin with many hearty handshakes. it was impossible for romashov to return home. never had the thought of his uncomfortable abode seemed so repulsive to him as at the present moment. in these gloomy hours of spiritual depression, abandonment, and weariness of life, he needed a trusty, intelligent, and sympathetic friend--a man with brains and heart. then he thought of nasanski. xxi nasanski was, as always, at home. he had only just awakened from a heavy sleep following intoxication, and was lying on his back with only his underclothing on and his hands under his head. in his troubled eyes might be read sickness of life and physical weariness. his face had not yet lost its sleepy and lifeless expression when romashov, stooping over his friend, said in a troubled and uncertain voice-"good-day, vasili nilich. perhaps i have come at an inconvenient time?" "good-day," replied nasanski, in a hoarse and weak voice. "any news? sit down." he offered romashov his hot, clammy hand, but looked at him, not as at a dear and ever-welcome friend, but as it were a troublous dream-picture that still lingered after his drunken sleep. "aren't you well?" asked romashov shyly, as he threw himself down on the corner of the bed. "in that case i'll go at once, i won't disturb you." nasanski lifted his head a couple of inches from the pillow, and by an effort he peered, with deeply puckered forehead, at romashov. "no--wait. oh, how my head aches! listen, georgi alexievich. i see that something unusual has happened. if i could only collect my thoughts! what is it?" romashov looked at him with silent pity. nasanski's whole appearance had undergone a terrible change since the two friends had last seen each other. his eyes were sunken and surrounded by black rings; his temples had a yellow hue; the rough, wrinkled skin over his cheek-bones hung limply down, and was partly concealed by the sticky, wet tufts of hair that drooped. "nothing particular. i only wanted to see you. to-morrow i am to fight a duel with nikoläiev, and i was loath to go home. but nothing matters now. _au revoir._ you see--i had nobody else to talk to and my heart is heavy." nasanski closed his eyes, and his features made a still more painful impression. it was evident that he had, by a really abnormal effort of will, tried to recover consciousness, and now, when he opened his eyes, a spark of keen understanding was at last visible in his glance. "well, well, i'll tell you what we'll do----" nasanski turned on his side by an effort and raised himself on his elbow. "but first give me--out of the cupboard, you know---no, let the apples be--there should be a few peppermint drops--thanks, my friend. i'll tell you what we'll do---faugh, how disgusting! take me out into the fresh air. here it's intolerable. always the same hideous hallucinations. come with me; we'll get a boat, then we can chat. will you?" with a stern face, and an expression of utter loathing on his countenance, he drained glass after glass. romashov observed nasanski's ashy complexion gradually assume a deeper hue, and his beautiful blue eyes regain life and brilliancy. when they reached the street they took a fly and drove to the river flowing past the very outskirts of the town, which there swells out to a dam, on one side of which stood a mill driven by turbines, an enormous red building belonging to a jew. on the other shore stood a few bathing-houses, and there, too, boats might be hired. romashov sat by the oars, and nasanski assumed a half-recumbent position in the stern. the river was very broad here, the stream weak, the banks low and overgrown with long, juicy grass that hung down over the water, and out of it rose tall green reeds and masses of big, white water-lilies. romashov related the particulars of his fight with nikoläiev. nasanski listened abstractedly and gazed down at the river, which in lazy, sluggish eddies flowed away like molten glass in the wake of the boat. "tell me candidly, romashov, have you any fear?" asked nasanski, in a low voice. "of the duel? no, i'm not afraid of that," replied romashov irritably, but he became abruptly silent, whilst, in the flash of a second, he saw himself standing face to face with nikoläiev, and with hypnotized eyes gazing at the black, threatening muzzle of his revolver. "no, no," added romashov hastily, "i will not lie and boast that i'm not afraid. on the contrary, i think it terrible; but i also know that i shall not behave like a coward, and that i shall never apologize." nasanski dipped the tips of his fingers in the softly rippling water, warm with the evening glow, and said slowly, in a weak voice often interrupted by coughing: "ah, my friend, my dear romashov, why will you do this thing? only think if what you say is true, and you are not a coward. why not then show your moral courage in a still higher degree by refusing to fight this duel?" "he has insulted me, struck me--on the face," replied romashov, with newly kindled, burning indignation. "well, admitting that," resumed nasanski gently, with his tender, sorrowful eyes fixed on romashov, "what does that signify? time heals all wounds; everything in the world is buried and disappears, even the recollection of this scandal. you yourself will in time forget both your hatred and your sufferings; but you'll never forget a man you have killed. he will stand ever at your side, at the head of your bed, at your dinner-table, when you are alone, and when you are amidst the bustle of the world. empty-heads, idiots, pretentious imitators and parrots will, of course, at all times solemnly assure you that a murder in the course of a _duel_ is no murder. what madmen! no, a murder is, and always will be, a murder. and the most horrible thing about it is not in death and suffering, in pools of blood or in corpses, but inasmuch as it deprives a human being of _the joys of life_. oh, how priceless is life!" exclaimed nasanski suddenly, in a high voice and with tears in his eyes. "who do you suppose believes in the reality of an existence after this one? not you, or i, or any other man of sound reason. therefore death is feared by all. only half-demented, ecstatic barbarians or 'the foolish in the lord' allow themselves to be deluded into the notion that they will be greeted on the other side of the grave, in the garden of paradise, by the beatific hymns of celestial eunuchs. moreover, we have those who, silently despising such old wives' fables and puerilities, cross the threshold of death. others again picture the empire of the grave as a cold, dark, bare room. no, my friend, there is no such future state. in death there is neither cold, nor darkness, nor space, nor even fear--nothing but absolute annihilation." romashov shipped his oars, and it was only by observing the green shore gently stealing by that one could tell that the boat was moving onwards. "yes--annihilation," romashov repeated slowly, in a dreamy tone. "but why cudgel your brains over this? gaze instead at the living landscape around you. how exquisite is life!" shouted nasanski, with a powerful and eloquent gesture. "oh, thou beauty of the godhead--thou infinite beauty! look at this blue sky, this calm and silent water, and you will tremble with joy and rapture. look at yon water-mill far in the distance, softly moving its sails. look at the fresh verdure of the bank and the mischievous play of the sunbeams on the water. how wonderfully lovely and peaceful is all this!" nasanski suddenly buried his face in his hands and burst out weeping; but he recovered his self-possession immediately, and, without any shame for his tears, he went on to say, while looking at romashov with moist, glistening eyes: "no, even if i were to fall under the railway train, and were left lying on the line with broken and bleeding limbs, and any one were to ask me if life were beautiful, i should none the less, and even by summoning my last remains of strength, answer enthusiastically, 'ah, yes, even now life is glorious.' how much joy does not sight alone give us, and so, too, music, the scent of flowers, and woman's love? and then the human understanding: thought which alone is our life's golden sun--the eternal source of noble pleasure and imperishable bliss. yurochka--pardon me calling you so, my friend"--nasanski held out his trembling hand to romashov as though entreating forgiveness--"suppose you were shut up in prison, and you were doomed all your life to stare at crumbling bricks of the wall of your cell--no, let us suppose that in your prison dungeon there never penetrated a ray of light or a sound from the outer world. well, what more? what would that be in comparison with all the mysterious terrors of death? yet if thought, memory, imagination, the spirit's faculty of creation remained, you would not only be able to live, but even find moments of enthusiasm and the joy of life." "yes, life is priceless," exclaimed romashov, interrupting him. "it's magnificent," nasanski went on to say hotly, "yet people wish two rational creatures to kill each other for a woman's sake, or to re-establish their so-called honour! but who is it then he kills?--this miserable living clod of earth that arrogates to himself the proud name of _man?_ is it himself or his neighbour? no, he kills the gracious warmth and lifegiving sun, the bright sky, and all nature with its infinite beauty and charm. he kills that which never, never, never will return. oh, what madmen!" nasanski ceased, shook his head sorrowfully, and collapsed. the boat glided into the reeds. romashov again took the oars. high, hard, green stalks bowed slowly and gravely, gently scraping the boat's gunwale. amid the tall rushes there was shade and coolness. "what shall i do?" asked romashov, scowling and angry. "shall i enter the reserves? where shall i go?" nasanski looked at him with a gentle smile. "listen, romashov, and look me straight in the face--that's right. no, don't turn away, look at me, and answer on your honour and conscience. do you really think that you are now serving any good, useful, and reasonable purposes? i know you much better than all the rest--yes, i know your inmost soul, and i know you do _not_ think so." "no," replied romashov, in a firm voice, "you are right. but what will become of me?" "well, be calm. only look at our officers. oh, i'm not talking now of the fops of the emperor's lifeguards who dance at the court balls, talk french, and are kept by their parents or by their more or less lawful wives. no, i'm thinking of ourselves--poor officers in the line who, nevertheless, constitute the very 'pick' of the irresistible and glorious russian army. what are we? well, mere fag-ends--_le beau reste_, despised pariahs; at best the sons of poor, poverty-stricken infantry captains, ruined in body and soul, but for, by far, the most part consisting of collegians, seminarists, etc., who have failed. look, for instance, at our regiment. what are they who remain for any time in the service? poor devils burdened with large families, veritable beggars ready for every villainy and cruelty--ah, even for murder--and are not even ashamed of abstracting the poor soldier's scanty pay so that, at any rate, cabbage soup may not be lacking on their table at home. such an individual is commanded to shoot. whom? and for what? it is all the same to him. he only knows that at home there are hungry mouths, dirty, scrofulous, rickety children, and with dull countenance he splutters, like another woodpecker, his eternal, unvarying answer, 'my oath.' and if there's a spark of ability or talent in any one, it is extinguished in schnapps. seventy-five per cent. of our officers are diseased through vice. if any one in the regiment happens to scrape through his entrance examination for the staff college--which, by the way, hardly happens with us once in five years--he is pursued by hatred. the most servile and fawning individuals, or those who have managed to obtain a little patronage, as a rule, get into the police or gendarmes. should they have in their veins a few drops of noble blood, they may perhaps get a circuit-judgeship in the country. let us suppose that a man of education, fine feeling, and heart is forced to remain in the regiment. what do you suppose is his fate? to him the service is an intolerable yoke and a perpetual source of humiliation, suffering, and self-contempt. every one tries to procure an occupation of another sort which soon entirely engrosses him. one is seized with a mania for collecting; another watches impatiently for the evening so that he may, with great trouble and waste of time, embroider small crosses and other gewgaws for an absolutely unnecessary ornamental mat. a third fills his life by the help of a little metal saw, and produces at last an exquisite, perforated frame for his own portrait. and the thought of all this absurd and worthless work secretly occupies their minds during the insufferable hours of drill. cards, drinking-bouts, disgusting swagger about the favours women have bestowed on them--all this i might be able to pass over in silence. the most repulsive thing, however, is the cruel eagerness, conspicuous in so many officers, to gain a name as martinets and brutes to their men, as, for instance, osadchi and company, who with impunity knock out the teeth and eyes of their young recruits. perhaps you are not aware that artschakovski so maltreated his servant in my presence that it was all i could do to help the victim away alive. blood splashed over the floor and walls. well, how do you think the affair ended? you shall hear. the soldier complained to the captain of his company; the latter sent him with a sealed order to the pay-sergeant, who, in strict obedience to his superior's orders, further belaboured with his fists the soldier's swollen and bleeding face for the space of half an hour. the same soldier complained twice at the general inspection, but without redress." nasanski stopped and began nervously rubbing his temples with the palm of his hand. "wait," he went on to say. "ah, how one's thoughts fly! isn't it an unpleasant sensation to know that our thoughts lead us, and not we our thoughts? well, to resume what we were talking about. among our senior remaining officers we have also other types, for instance, captain plavski. on his petroleum stove he cooks his own beastly food, goes about in rags, and, out of his monthly forty-eight roubles twelve times a year, he puts twenty-five in the bank, where he has a sum of 2,000 roubles on deposit, which he lends to his brother officers at an outrageously usurious rate of interest. and you think, perhaps, that this is innate or inherited greed? certainly not; it is only a means of filling up the soul-destroying hours of garrison service. then we have captain stelikovski, a strong, able, talented man. of what does his life consist? oh, in seducing young, inexperienced peasant girls. finally, our famous oddity, lieutenant-colonel 'brehm.' a good-natured, kindly ass--a thoroughly good fellow, who has but one interest in life--the care of his animals. what to him signify the service, the colours, the parades, censures of his superiors, or the honour of the warrior? less than nothing." "'brehm' is a fine fellow. i like him," interrupted romashov. "he certainly is that, my friend," nasanski admitted in a weary tone, "and yet," he went on to say with a lowering countenance, "if you knew what i once saw at the manoeuvres. after a night march we were directly afterwards to advance to attack. both officers and men were utterly done up. 'brehm' was in command, and ordered the buglers to sound the charge, but the latter, goodness knows why, signalled the reserve to advance. 'brehm' repeated his order once, twice, thrice, but in vain; the result was the same. then our excellent, kind-hearted 'brehm' gallops up to the unsuspecting bugler, and bangs his fist, with all his force, against the bell of the trumpet. i saw with my own eyes the trumpeter spitting out blood and broken teeth." "oh, my god!" groaned romashov in disgust. "yes, they are all alike, even the best and most tender-hearted among them. at home they are splendid fathers of families and excellent husbands; but as soon as they approach the barracks they become low-minded, cowardly, and idiotic barbarians. you ask me why this is, and i answer: because nobody can find a grain of sense in what is called military service. you know how all children like to play at war. well, the human race has had its childhood--a time of incessant and bloody war; but war was not then one of the scourges of mankind, but a continued, savage, exultant national feast to which daring bands of youths marched forth, meeting victory or death with joy and pleasure. the bravest, strongest, and most cunning was chosen as leader, and so long as success attended his banner, he was almost accorded divine worship, until at last he was killed by his subjects, in order to make room for a luckier and more powerful rival. mankind, however, grew in age and wisdom; people got weary of the former rowdy, bloody games, and became more serious, thoughtful, and cautious. the old vikings of song and saga were designated and treated as pirates. the soldier no longer regarded war as a bloody but enjoyable occupation, and he had often to be dragged to the enemy with a noose round his neck. the former terrifying, ruthless, adored _atamens_ have been changed into cowardly, cautious _chinóvniks_,[21] who get along painfully enough on never adequate pay. their courage is inspired by drink. military discipline still exists, but it is based on threats and dread, and undermined by a dull, mutual hatred. to make a long story short, the whilom fine, proud 'pheasants' are of faded hue and look ruffled. only one more parallel resembling the foregoing can i adduce from universal history, to wit, monasticism. the legend of its origin is touching and beautiful, its mission was peaceful, benevolent, and civilizing, and its existence most certainly an historic necessity. but centuries pass away, and what do we see now? hundreds of thousands of impostors, idle, licentious, and impudent, who are hated and despised even by those who think they need their religious aid. and all this abomination is carefully hidden under a close veil of tinsel and finery, and foolish, empty ceremonies, in all ages the charlatan's _conditio sine quâ non_. is not this comparison of mine between the monastic orders and the military caste logical? here the cassock and the censer; there the gold-laced uniform and the clank of arms. here bigotry, hypocritical humility, sighs, and sugary, sanctimonious, unmeaning phrases; there the same odious affectations, although of another kind--swaggering manners, bold, and scornful looks--'god help the man who dares to insult me!'--padded shoulders, cock-a-hoop defiance. both the former and the latter class live like parasites on society, and are profoundly conscious of that fact, but fear--especially for their bellies' sake--to publish it. and both remind one of certain little blood-sucking animals which eat their way most obstinately into the surface of a foreign body in proportion as it is decomposed." nasanski stopped and spat with withering contempt. "go on, go on," exclaimed romashov eagerly. "but other times are coming, indeed have come. yes, tremendous surprises and changes are about to take place. you remember my saying on one occasion that for a thousand years there has existed a genius of humanity that seldom reveals itself, but whose laws are as inexorable as they are ruthless; but the wiser men become, so much more deeply do they penetrate the spirit of those laws. and i am convinced that, sooner or later, everything in this world must be brought into equilibrium in accordance with these immutable laws. justice will then be dispensed. the longer and more cruel the slavery has been, so much more terrible will be the day of reckoning for tyrants. the greater the violence, injustice, and brutality, so much more bloody will be the retribution. oh, i am firmly convinced that the day will dawn when we 'superior officers,' we 'almighty swells,' darlings of the women, drones and brainless swaggerers, will have our ears boxed with impunity in streets and lanes, in vestibules and corridors, when women will turn their backs on us in contempt, and when our own affectionate soldiers will cease to obey us. and all this will happen, not because we have brutally ill-treated men deprived of every possibility of self-defence; not because we have, for the 'honour' of the uniform, insulted women; not because we have committed, when in a state of intoxication, scandalous acts in public-houses and public places; and not even because we, the privileged lick-spittles of the state, have, in innumerable battlefields and in pretty nearly every country, covered our standards with shame, and been driven by our own soldiers out of the maize-fields in which we had taken shelter. well, of course, we shall also be punished for that. no, our most monstrous and unpardonable sin consists in our being blind and deaf to everything. for long, long periods past--and, naturally, far away from our polluted garrisons--people have discerned the dawn of a new life resplendent with light and freedom. far-seeing, high-minded, and noble spirits, free from prejudices and human fear, have arisen to sow among the nations burning words of liberation and enlightenment. these heroes remind one of the last scene in a melodrama, when the dark castles and prison towers of tyranny fall down and are buried, in order, as it were, by magic, to be succeeded by freedom's dazzling light and hailed by exultant throngs. we alone--crass idiots, irredeemable victims of pride and blindness--still stick up our tail-feathers, like angry turkey-cocks, and yell in savage wrath, 'what? where? silence! obey! shoot!' etc., etc. and it's just this turkey-cock's contempt for the fight for freedom by awakening humanity that shall never, never be forgiven us." the boat glided gently over the calm, open, mirroring surface of the river, which was garlanded round by the tall, dark green, motionless reeds. the little vessel was, as it were, hidden from the whole world. over it hovered, now and then uttering a scream, the white gulls, occasionally so closely that, as they almost brushed romashov with the tips of their wings, they made him feel the breeze arising from their strong, swift flights. nasanski lay on his back in the stern of the boat and kept staring, for a long time, at the bright sky, where a few golden clouds sailing gently by had already begun to change to rose colour. romashov said in a shy tone: "are you tired? oh, keep on talking." it seemed as if nasanski continued to think and dream aloud when he once more picked up the threads of his monologue. "yes, a new, glorious, and wonderful time is at hand. i venture to say this, for i myself have lived a good deal in the world, read, seen, experienced, and suffered much. when i was a schoolboy, the old crows and jackdaws croaked into our ears: 'love your neighbour as yourself, and know that gentleness, obedience, and the fear of god are man's fairest adornments.' then came certain strong, honest, fanatical men who said: 'come and join us, and we'll throw ourselves into the abyss so that the coming race shall live in light and freedom.' but i never understood a word of this. who do you suppose is going to show me, in a convincing way, in what manner i am linked to this 'neighbour' of mine--damn him! who, you know, may be a miserable slave, a hottentot, a leper, or an idiot? of all the holy legends there is none which i hate and despise with my whole soul so much as that of john the almoner.[22] the leper says: 'i am shivering with cold; lie beside me in my bed and warm my body with thy limbs. lay thy lips close to my fetid mouth and breathe on me!' oh, how disgusting! how i hate this victim of leprosy, and, for the matter of that, also all other similar choice examples of my 'neighbour.' can any reasonable being tell me why i should crush my head so that the generation in the year 3200 may attain a higher standard of happiness? be quiet! i, too, once upon a time, sympathized with the silly, babyish cackle about 'the world-soul,' 'man's sacred duty,' etc. but even if these high-falutin phrases did find a place then in my brain, they never forced their way into my heart. do you follow me, romashov?" romashov looked at nasanski with a mixture of gratitude and shame. "i understand you fully. when i come to 'send in my checks' and die, then the universe dies with me. that's what you meant, eh?" "exactly, but listen further. love of humanity is burnt out and has vanished from the heart of man. in its stead shall come a new creed, a new view of life that shall last to the world's end; and this view of life consists in the individual's love for himself, for his own powerful intelligence and the infinite riches of his feelings and perceptions. think, romashov, just this way and in no other. who is nearer and dearer to me than myself? no one. you, and none other, are the tsar and autocrat of your own soul, its pride and ornament. you are the god of all that lives. to you alone belongs all that you see, hear, and feel. take what you want and do what you please. fear nobody and nothing, for there is no one in the whole universe above you or can even be your rival. ah, a time will come when the fixed belief in one's own ego will cast its blessed beams over mankind as did once the fiery tongues of the holy ghost over the apostles' heads. then there will be no longer slaves and masters; no maimed or cripples; no malice, no vices, no pity, no hate. men will be gods. how shall i dare to deceive, insult, or ill-treat another man, in whom i see and feel my fellow, who, like myself, is a god? then, and then only, shall life be rich and beautiful. over the whole habitable portion of our earth shall tall, airy, lovely buildings be raised. nothing vulgar, common, low, and impure shall any longer torture the eye. our daily life shall become a pleasurable toil, an enfranchised science, a wonderful music, an everlasting merry-making. love, free and sovereign, shall become the world's _religion_. no longer shall it be forced in shame to hide its countenance; no longer shall it be coupled with sin, disgrace, and darkness. and our own bodies shall glow with health, strength, and beauty, and go clad in bright, shimmering robes. just as certainly as i believe in an eternal sky above me," shouted nasanski, "so do i just as firmly believe in this paradisaical life to come." romashov, agitated and no longer master of himself, whispered with white lips: "nasanski, these are dreams, fancies." nasanski's smile was silent and compassionate. "yes," he at last uttered with a laugh still lingering in his voice, "you may perhaps be right. a professor of dogmatic theology or classical philology would, with arms and legs extended and head bent on one side in profound thought, say something like this: 'this is merely an outburst of the most unbridled individualism.' but, my dear fellow, luckily the thing does not depend on more or less categorical phrases and comminations fulminated in a loud voice, but on the fact that there is nothing in the world more real, practical and irrefutable than these so-called 'fancies,' which are certainly only the property of some few people. these fancies will some day more strongly and completely weld together the whole of mankind to a complete homogeneous body. but let us forget now that we are warriors. we are merely defenceless _starar_. suppose we go up the street; there we see right before us a wonderful, merry-looking, two-headed monster[23] that attacks all who come within its reach, no matter who they be. it has not yet touched me, but the mere thought that this brute might ill-treat me, or insult a woman i loved, or deprive me of my liberty is enough to make me mad. i cannot overpower this creature by myself, but beside me walks another man filled with the same thirst for vengeance as i, and i say to him: 'come, shall we go and kill the monster, so that he may not be able to dig his claws into any one!' you understand that all i have just been telling you is only a drastic simile, a hyperbole; but the truth is that i see, in this two-headed monster that which holds my soul captive, limits my individual freedom, and robs me of my manhood. and when that day dawns, then no more lamb-like love for one's neighbour, but the divine love to one's own ego will be preached among men. then, too, the double-headed monster's reign will be over." nasanski stopped. this violent outburst had evidently been too much for his nerves. after a few minutes, he went on in a hollow voice: "my dear georgi alexievich, there rushes past us incessantly a brawling stream of divinely inspired, lofty, flaming thoughts and new and imperishable ideas which are to crush and bury for ever the bulwarks and golden idols of tyranny and darkness. we, however, keep on stamping in our old stalls and neighing: 'ah, you poor jades, you ought to have a taste of the whip!'--and once more i say: this will never be forgiven us." nasanski got up, wrapped his cloak round him with a slight shiver, and remarked in a weary voice: "i'm cold--let's go home." romashov rowed out of the rushes. the sun was setting behind the roofs of the distant town, the dark outlines of which were sharply defined against the red evening sky. here and there the sunrays were reflected by a gleaming window-pane. the greater part of the river's surface was as even as a mirror, and faded away in bright, sportive colours; but behind the boat the water was already dark, opaque, and curled by little light waves. romashov suddenly exclaimed, as if he were answering his own thoughts: "you are right. i'll enter the reserves. i do not yet know how i shall do it, but i had thought of it before." nasanski shivered with the cold and wrapped his cloak more closely round him. "come, come," replied he in a melancholy and tender tone. "there's a certain inward light in you, georgi alexievich; i don't know what to call it properly; but in this bear-pit it will soon go out. yes, they would spit at it and put it out. then get away from here! don't be afraid to struggle for your existence. don't fear life--the warm, wonderful life that's so rich in changes. let's suppose you cannot hold yourself up; that you sink deep--deep; that you become a victim to crime and poverty. what then? i tell you that the life of a beggar or vagrant is tenfold richer than captain sliva's and those of his kidney. you wander round the world here and there, from village to village, from town to town. you make acquaintance with quaint, careless, homeless, humorous specimens of humanity. you see and hear, suffer and enjoy; you sleep on the dewy grass; you shiver with cold in the frosty hours of the morning. but you are as free as a bird; you're afraid of no one, and you worship life with all your soul. oh, how little men understand after all! what does it matter whether you eat _vobla_[24] or saddle of buck venison with truffles; if you drink vodka or champagne; whether you die in a police-cell or under a canopy? all this is the veriest trifle. i often stand and watch funeral processions. there lies, overshadowed by enormous plumes, in its silver-mounted coffin, a rotting ape accompanied to the grave by a number of other apes, bedizened, behind and before, with orders, stars, keys, and other worthless finery. and afterwards all those visits and announcements! no, my friend, in all the world there is only one thing consistent and worth possessing, viz, an emancipated spirit with imaginative, creative force, and a cheerful temperament. one can have truffles or do without them. all that sort of thing is a matter of luck; it does not signify anything. a common guard, provided he is not an absolute beast, might in six months be trained to act as tsar, and play his part admirably; but a well-fattened, sluggish, and stupid ape, that throws himself into his carriage with his big belly in the air, will never succeed in grasping what liberty is, will never feel the bliss of inspiration, or shed sweet tears of enthusiasm. "travel, romashov. go away from here. i advise you to do so, for i myself have tasted freedom, and if i crept into my dirty cage again, whose fault was it? but enough of this. dive boldly into life. it will not deceive you. life resembles a huge building with thousands of rooms in which you will find light, joy, singing, wonderful pictures, handsome and talented men and women, games and frolic, dancing, love, and all that is great and mighty in art. of this castle you have hitherto seen only a dark, narrow, cold, and raw cupboard, full of scourings and spiders' webs, and yet you hesitate to leave it." romashov made fast the boat and helped nasanski to land. it was already dusk when they reached nasanski's abode. romashov helped him to bed and spread the cloak and counterpane over him. nasanski trembled so much from his chill that his teeth chattered. he rolled himself up like a ball, bored his head right into his pillow, and whimpered helplessly as a child. "oh, how frightened i am of my room! what dreams! what dreams!" "perhaps you would like me to stay with you?" said romashov. "no, no; that's not necessary. but get me, please, some bromide and a little--vodka. i have no money." romashov sat by him till eleven. nasanski's fits of ague gradually subsided. suddenly he opened his great eyes gleaming with fever, and uttered with some difficulty, but in a determined, abrupt tone: "go, now--good-bye." "good-bye," replied romashov sadly. he wanted to say, "good-bye, my teacher," but was ashamed of the phrase, and he merely added with an attempt at joking: "why did you merely say 'good-bye'? why not say _do svidánia_?"[25] nasanski burst into a weird, senseless laugh. "why not _do svishvezia_?"[26] he screamed in a wild, mad voice. romashov felt that his body was shaken by violent shudders. xxii on approaching his abode, romashov noticed, to his astonishment, that a faint gleam of light poured from the dark window of his room. "what can that be?" he thought, not without a certain uneasiness, whilst he involuntarily quickened his steps. "perhaps it is my seconds waiting to communicate to me the conditions of the duel?" in the hall he ran into hainán, but he did not recognize him immediately in the dark, and being startled, cried angrily: "what the devil----! oh, it's you, hainán--and who's in there?" in spite of the darkness, romashov realized that hainán was doing his usual dance. "it's a lady, your honour. she's sitting in there." romashov opened the door. the lamp, the kerosene of which had long come to an end, was still flickering feebly and was just ready to go out. on the bed was seated a female figure, the outlines of which could scarcely be distinguished in the half-dark room. "shurochka!"--romashov, who for a second was unable to breathe, slowly approached the bed on tip-toe--"shurochka, you here?" "s-sh; sit down," she replied in a rapid whisper. "put out the lamp." romashov blew sharply into the chimney of the lamp. the little flickering, blue flame went out, and the room was at once dark and silent, but, in the next moment, the alarum on the table went off loudly. romashov sat down by alexandra petrovna, but could not distinguish her features. a curious feeling of pain, nervousness, and faintness of heart took possession of him. he was unable to speak. "who is on the other side of that wall?" asked shurochka. "can we be overheard?" "no, there's no one there, only old furniture. my landlord is a joiner. one can speak out loud." but both spoke, all the same, in a low voice, and those shyly uttered words acquired, in the darkness, something in addition awful, disquieting, treacherously stealthy. romashov sat so close to shurochka that he almost touched her dress. there was a buzzing in his ears, and the blood throbbed in his veins with dull, heavy beats. "why, oh, why have you done this?" she asked quietly, but in a passionately reproachful tone. shurochka laid her hand on his knee. romashov felt through the cloth this light touch of her feverishly burning finger-tips. he drew a deep breath, his eyes closed, and big black ovals, the sides of which sparkled with a dazzling, bluish gleam, took shape and ran into each other before his eyes, reminding him of the legend of the wonderful lakes. "did you forget that i told you to keep your self-control when you met _him_? no, no--i don't reproach you. you did not do it on purpose, i know that; but in that moment, when the wild beast within you was aroused, you had not even one thought of me. there was nothing to stay your arm. you never loved me." "i love you," said romashov softly, as with a shy movement he put his trembling fingers on her hand. shurochka withdrew her hand, though not hastily, but at once and slowly, as though she were afraid of hurting him. "i know that neither you nor he mixed my name up with this scandal; but i can tell you that all this chivalry has been wasted. there's not a house in the town where they are not gossiping about it." "forgive me; i could not control myself. i was blinded, beside myself with jealousy," stammered romashov. shurochka laughed for a while to herself. at last she answered him: "you talk about 'jealousy.' did you really think that my husband, after his fight with you, was high-minded enough to deny himself the pleasure of telling me where you had come from when you returned to the mess? he also told me one or two things about nasanski." "forgive me," repeated romashov. "it's true i was there--but i did nothing to blush for in your presence. pardon me." shurochka suddenly raised her voice. her voice acquired an energetic, almost severe accent, when she answered him. "listen, georgi alexievich, the minutes are precious. i waited here nearly half an hour for you. let us, therefore, talk briefly and to the point. you know what volodya is to me--i don't love him, but, for his sake, i killed a part of my soul. i cherish greater ambition than he does. twice he has failed to pass for the staff college. this caused me far greater sorrow and disappointment than it did him. all this idea of trying to get on the staff is mine, only mine. i have literally dragged him, whipped him on, crammed lessons into him, gone over them with him, filed and sharpened him, screwed up his pride and ambition, and cheered him in hours of apathy and depression. i live only for this, and i cannot even bear the thought of these hopes of mine being blighted. whatever the cost, volodya must pass his examination." romashov sat with his head in his hands. suddenly he felt shurochka softly and caressingly drawing her fingers through his hair. sorrowful and bewildered, he said to her: "what can i do?" she laid her arm round his neck and drew his head to her bosom. she was not wearing a corset, and romashov felt her soft, elastic bosom pressed against his cheek, and inhaled the delicious, aromatic perfume that came from her young, absolutely healthy body. when she spoke he felt in his hair her irregular, nervous breathing. "you remember, that evening--at the picnic? i told you then the whole truth: i did not love him; but think, now, only think, three years--three whole long years of the most arduous, repulsive work--of fancies, dreams, hopes. you know how i hate and despise this wretched little provincial hole, the odious set of officers. i always wanted to be dressed expensively and elegantly. i love power, flattery--slaves. and then comes this regimental scandal, this stupid fight between two drunken, irresponsible men accidentally brought together. then all is over--all my dreams and hopes turned to ashes. isn't this dreadful? i have never been a mother; but i think i can imagine what it would be if i had a son--a son petted, idolized, even madly worshipped. he represents, so to speak, an incarnation or embodiment of my life's dreams, sorrows, tears, sleepless nights, and then, suddenly, occurs a senseless accident. my little son is sitting playing at the window; the nurse turns away for a few minutes, and the child falls out on to the pavement. my dear, my sorrow and indignation can only be compared to this mother's despair. but i am not blaming you." romashov was sitting in a very cramped and uncomfortable position, and he was afraid that his heavy head might cause shurochka pain or discomfort. but he had, however, for hours been used to sitting without moving, and, in a sort of intoxication, listen to the quick and regular beatings of his heart. "do you hear what i say?" she asked, stooping down to him. "yes, yes--talk, talk. you know i'll do all you wish. oh, if i could only----" "no, no; but only listen till i have finished. if you kill him or if they prevent him from sitting for the examination, then it is all, all over. that very day i shall cast him off as a worthless thing, and go my own way--where? no matter where. to st. petersburg, odessa, kiev. don't imagine this is one of those common, untrue, 'penny-novelette' phrases. cheap effects i despise, and i will spare you them. but i know i am young, intelligent, and well-educated. i am not pretty, but i know the art of catching men far better than all those famous charmers who, at our official balls, receive the prize for beauty in the form of an elegant card-tray or something between a musical-box and an alarum. i can stand in the background; i can, by coldness and contempt, be bitter to myself and others. but i can flame up into a consuming passion and burn like a firework." romashov glanced towards the window. his eyes had now begun to be used to the darkness, and he could distinguish the outlines of the framework of the window. "don't talk like that, please. it pains me so; but, tell me, do you wish me to avoid the duel, and send him an apology? tell me." shurochka did not reply at once. the clock again made its monotonous, metallic voice heard, and filled every corner of the dark room with its infernal din. at last shurochka answered as softly as if she were talking to herself in thought, and with an expression in her voice which romashov was not in a condition to interpret. "i knew you would offer to do this." "i do not feel afraid," he exclaimed in a stern but soft tone. "no, no, no," she said hastily in an eager, beseeching whisper. "you misunderstood me, you do not understand me. come nearer to me. come and sit as you did just now. come!" she threw both her arms round his neck, and whispered to him tender words, tickling his face with her soft hair, and flooding his cheeks with her hot breath. "you quite misunderstood me. i meant something quite different, but i am ashamed to tell you all. you are so good, so pure-hearted. i, alas! am the opposite, and, therefore, it's so difficult for me to mention it." "no, no. tell me everything. i love you." "listen to me," she began, and romashov guessed what she would say before she could utter the words. "if you refuse to fight with him, how much shame and persecution, how many sufferings will be your lot. no, no, this must not be done. oh, my god, at this moment i will not lie to you, dear. i have already weighed everything carefully. suppose you refuse the duel. in that case my husband will certainly be rehabilitated; but, you understand, after a duel that ends in reconciliation, there is always something left--how shall i put it?--something covered by a certain obscurity, and which, therefore, leaves room for malice and slander. do you understand me now?" she added with melancholy tenderness, pressing, at the same time, a light kiss on his brow. "yes, but go on." "the consequence, of course, is that they would never allow my husband even to present himself for a fresh examination. the reputation of an officer on the staff must be unblemished. on the other hand, if a duel actually takes place, it will put you both in a dignified, heroic light. men who can conduct themselves fittingly in front of the muzzle of a revolver--very much will be forgiven them in this world. besides--after the duel--you can, if you like, offer an apology; but that i leave to your own discretion." tightly clasped in each other's arms, they continued their conversation in a whisper, but romashov felt as if something mysterious, unclean, and nauseous had crept in between him and shurochka, and he felt a freezing chill at heart. again he tried to tear himself away from her arms, but she would not let him go. in his effort to hide from her the nervous excitement he was in, he exclaimed in a rough tone: "for heaven's sake, put an end to this! say what you want, and i'll agree to everything." then she put her mouth so close to his that her words affected him like hot, thrilling kisses. "the duel must take place, but neither of you will run any risk. don't misunderstand me, i implore you, and don't condemn me. like all women, i loathe cowards, but, for _my_ sake, you must do this. no, georgi, don't ask me if my husband--for the matter of that, he already knows all." now at last romashov managed to release himself from the tight grip of her soft, strong arms. he stood straight up before her, and answered in a curt, rough voice: "that's all right. it shall be as you wish! i consent." shurochka also rose. romashov could not see in the dark room that she was putting her hair straight, but he felt or guessed it. "are you going now?" he asked. "good-bye," she replied in a faint voice, "and kiss me now for the last time." romashov's heart was shaken by pity and love. groping in the darkness, he caught her head in his hands, and began kissing her eyes and cheeks, which were wet with big, silent tears. this took away his self-control. "don't cry like that, sascha, my darling," he implored in a sad and tender tone. suddenly throwing her arms round his neck, she pressed herself tightly to him by a strong, passionate movement, and, without ceasing her kisses, she whispered the words in short, broken sentences. she was breathing heavily and trembling all over. "i can't part from you like this. we shall never see each other again. some presentiment tells me that, so at this only moment we must not fear anything in the world. let us be happy!" and at that moment the pair, the room, the entire world, were filled with an ineffable bliss--stupefying, suffocating, consuming. for the space of a second romashov fancied he saw, as it were by miracle, shurochka's eyes shining on him with an expression of mad joy. her lips sought his. * * * * * "may i accompany you home?" asked romashov, as he escorted her to the street. "no, my darling, don't. i have not the least idea how long i've been with you. what is the time?" "i don't know. i have not a watch." she stood lingering there, leaning against the gate. a powerful scent arose from the earth in the warm, languishing summer night. it was still dark, but, notwithstanding the darkness, romashov could clearly distinguish shurochka's features, motionless and pale as a marble statue's. "good-bye, my darling," she uttered at last in a weary voice. "good-bye." they embraced each other, but their lips were cold and lifeless. shurochka departed quickly and was swallowed up by the dark night. romashov remained a while listening till the last faint sounds of her light steps could no longer be caught, and then returned to his room. a feeling of utter, yet pleasant, weariness took possession of him. he had hardly undressed before he fell asleep. and the last impression left on his mind was a faint, delicious odour of perfume proceeding from his pillow--the scent from shurochka's hair and her fair young body. xxiii _june 2, 18--._ z. to his excellency the colonel and commander of the--th infantry regiment from ditz, staff-captain of the same regiment. report. herewith allow me respectfully to report to your excellency that the duel between lieutenant nikoläiev and sub-lieutenant romashov took place to-day, according to the conditions settled by you on the 1st inst. the two adversaries met at 5.55 a.m. in the wood called "oakwood," situated three and a quarter versts beyond the town. the duel was decided in the space of one minute ten seconds, including the time for placing the parties and giving the signal. the places taken by the duellists were determined by lot. when the command "forward" was given the fight began. as the two officers approached each other, a shot from lieutenant nikoläiev struck sub-lieutenant romashov high on the right side. after this lieutenant nikoläiev stopped to await his adversary's bullet, but, after the lapse of half a minute, it was evident that sub-lieutenant romashov was not in a condition to return the shot, by reason of which sub-lieutenant romashov's seconds declared the duel was ended, as to which other witnesses were agreed. sub-lieutenant romashov, on being carried to his carriage, fell into a deep swoon, and died in five minutes through internal hæmorrhage. the seconds on lieutenant nikoläiev's side were the undersigned and lieutenant vasin; on sub-lieutenant romashov's, lieutenants biek-agamalov and viätkin. the further arrangements for the duel were, by general agreement, made by me. a certificate from dr. znoiko is enclosed herein. _ditz_, _staff-captain._ unwin brothers, limited, the gresham press, woking and london * * * * * _crown 8vo._ fiction _6s. each_ moll davis by bernard capes a very light-hearted comedy of the stuart period, elaborated from an incident in the grammont memoirs. with the more than doubtful reputation of the lady of the title-rôle mr. capes has taken some additional liberties, but only with a view to helping it to a kindlier estimate than it perhaps deserved. moll will be remembered as pepys's little jigging shepherdess, who, as celania in davenant's play of "the rivals," won the royal heart by her singing of "my lodging is on the cold ground." she was one of the many then foundresses of noble houses. her early history was so obscure as to lend itself very legitimately to the purposes of romance. only dates in this case have been a little freely dealt with. through stained glass by george agnew chamberlain author of "home" "brilliantly witty, always interesting, distinctly new in its characterisation."--_land and water._ "has a flavour of high romance ... with an imaginative skill."--_daily news._ "very clever, very interesting, and extremely well written."--_sunday times._ his father's wife by j. e. patterson "this is the best book that mr. patterson has yet given us."--_new witness._ "one of the cleverest novels of the present day."--_pioneer._ "is intensely human ... is drawn with much detail and convincing knowledge"--_the queen._ fate the marplot second impression. by f. thicknesse-woodington "clear-cut character studies."--_birmingham gazette._ "grips the reader's attention throughout."--_pall mall gazette._ "admirably told ... has not a dull moment in its pages."--_world._ sanpriel: the promised land by alvilde prydz author of "the heart of the northern sea" authorized translation from the norwegian _by_ hester coddington "sanpriel" is an unusual story in which the translator has retained the foreign flavour of its picturesque norwegian setting. it deals with intimate human relations without the hectic touch, is readable, has a true poetic quality, and carries the cool, refreshing air of norway's mountains and streams into every moment of the story. a recent issue of the american library association bulletin lists 176 books. only 13 of this number are especially recommended for purchase by all libraries, large or small. "sanpriel" is one of the 13. still more significant is the fact that of 21 volumes of fiction listed, only three have the distinction of being specially recommended. "sanpriel" is one of the three. oblomov by ivan goncharov translated by c. j. hogarth mr. maurice baring says: "in oblomov goncharov created a type which has become immortal, and oblomov has passed into the russian tongue, just as tartuffe has passed into the french language, or pecksniff into the english tongue." collins & co. by captain jack elliott "is an excellent tale of adventure."--_athenæum._ "there is a general sense of rollicking adventure about the whole book that is quite captivating."--_truth._ "it goes with quite a merry swing."--_times._ it's an ill wind-by douglas goldring author of "streets": a book of london verses, "the loire," "ways of escape," etc. "a clever and lifelike picture ... brightly written. a pleasant story and one to read."--_ladies' field._ "is distinctly one to read, and as clever a novel as any to be found."--_tatler._ "the combination of realistic style and romantic substance is quite piquant."--_westminster gazette._ * * * * * footnotes: [1] the lezghins are among the medley of mountain tribes living in daghestan and part of the terek province. these mountaineers of the eastern caucasus are nearly all sun'i mohammedans. [2] one of russia's bravest and greatest generals in the war with napoleon, 1812. [3] roman catholic priests are so called in lithuania and poland. [4] _schtoss_ is a sort of russian hazard. [5] yuri = george. [6] _roubashka_ (blouse). [7] the official newspaper of the russian army. [8] professional floor-polisher. [9] a town and "government" in east russia. [10] corresponds to the swedish _smörgåsbord_, and consists of a number of cold dishes and delicacies. [11] a national dish in russia, consisting of a sort of buckwheat porridge baked in the oven in fire-proof earthen vessels, which are put on the table. [12] in the time of nicholas, sons of soldiers quartered or garrisoned in certain districts. they were liable to be called on to serve. [13] an old slavonic character (l'schiza), only occurring in the russian bible and ritual. [14] nickname for little russians on account of their curious habit of cutting and fashioning their hair into a tuft (_khokhol_) on the crown. [15] an affectionate diminutive of george. [16] sliva is the russian for plum. [17] arshin = 2·33 feet. [18] pet name for alexandra. [19] a light jacket worn in the hot weather. [20] the name given to ivan the terrible's lifeguards and executioners. [21] _chinóvnik_, russian word for official. [22] ivan milostivni, one of the innumerable saints of the greek church. [23] the allusion is to the double eagle in the arms of russia. [24] _vobla_ is a kind of fish of the size of prussian carp, and is caught in the volga. [25] _au revoir._ [26] untranslatable pun on the two last syllables of _svidánia_; dania means denmark, _schvezia_, sweden. * * * * * typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: agamalov-biek biek-agamalov=> {pg 9} nikolaiev=> nikoläiev {pg 37} vladimir yefimovisch=> vladimir yefimovich {pg 51} nikkoläiev=> nikoläiev {pg 61} nasanski stuck his hands in his pocket=> nasanski stuck his hands in his pockets {pg 70} they call me koval=> they call me kovál {pg 228} yuri alekseich,=> yuri alexeich, {pg 267} by the name mysterious "benefactor"=> by the same mysterious "benefactor" {pg 295} non-commisioned=> non-commissioned {pg 362} 