ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Way of the World, by William CongreveThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'llhaveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.Title: The Way of the World       A ComedyAuthor: William CongreveRelease Date: January 25, 2015  [eBook #1292][This file was firstposted on March 26, 1998]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAY OF THE WORLD***Transcribed from the 1895 Methuen & Co. edition (_Comediesof WilliamCongreve_, _Volume_ 2) by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org                           THE WAY OF THE WORLD                                 A COMEDY    _Audire est operÃ¦ pretium_, _procedere recte_    _QuimÃ¦chis non vultis_.âHOR. _Sat._ i. 2, 37.    â_Metuat doti deprensa_.â_Ibid_.TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLERALPH, EARL OF MOUNTAGUE, ETC.MY LORD,âWhether the world will arraign me of vanity ornot, that I havepresumed to dedicate this comedy to your lordship, I am yet in doubt;though, it may be, it is some degree of vanity even to doubt of it.  Onewho has at any time had the honour of your lordshipâsconversation,cannot be supposed to think very meanly of that which he would prefer toyour perusal.  Yet it were to incur the imputation of too muchsufficiency to pretend to such a merit as might abide the test ofyourlordshipâs censure.Whatever value may be wanting to this play while yet it is mine, will besufficiently made up to it when it is once become your lordshipâs; and itis my security, that I cannot have overratedit more by my dedicationthan your lordship will dignify it by your patronage.That it succeeded on the stage was almost beyond my expectation; for butlittle of it was prepared for that general taste which seems now tobepredominant in the palates of our audience.Those characters which are meant to be ridiculed in most of our comediesare of fools so gross, that in my humble opinion they should ratherdisturb than divert thewell-natured and reflecting part of an audience;they are rather objects of charity than contempt, and instead of movingour mirth, they ought very often to excite our compassion.This reflection moved me to designsome characters which should appearridiculous not so much through a natural folly (which is incorrigible,and therefore not proper for the stage) as through an affected wit: a witwhich, at the same time that it isaffected, is also false.  As there issome difficulty in the formation of a character of this nature, so thereis some hazard which attends the progress of its success upon the stage:for many come to a play so overchargedwith criticism, that they veryoften let fly their censure, when through their rashness they havemistaken their aim.  This I had occasion lately to observe: for this playhad been acted two or three days before some ofthese hasty judges couldfind the leisure to distinguish betwixt the character of a Witwoud and aTruewit.I must beg your lordshipâs pardon for this digression from the truecourse of this epistle; but that it may notseem altogether impertinent,I beg that I may plead the occasion of it, in part of that excuse ofwhich I stand in need, for recommending this comedy to your protection.It is only by the countenance of your lordship, andthe _few_ soqualified, that such who write with care and pains can hope to bedistinguished: for the prostituted name of poet promiscuously levels allthat bear it.Terence, the most correct writer in the world, had aScipio and a Lelius,if not to assist him, at least to support him in his reputation.  Andnotwithstanding his extraordinary merit, it may be their countenance wasnot more than necessary.The purity of his style, the delicacyof his turns, and the justness ofhis characters, were all of them beauties which the greater part of hisaudience were incapable of tasting.  Some of the coarsest strokes ofPlautus, so severely censured by Horace, weremore likely to affect themultitude; such, who come with expectation to laugh at the last act of aplay, and are better entertained with two or three unseasonable jeststhan with the artful solution of the fable.As Terenceexcelled in his performances, so had he great advantages toencourage his undertakings, for he built most on the foundations ofMenander: his plots were generally modelled, and his characters readydrawn to hishand.  He copied Menander; and Menander had no less light inthe formation of his characters from the observations of Theophrastus, ofwhom he was a disciple; and Theophrastus, it is known, was not only thedisciple,but the immediate successor of Aristotle, the first andgreatest judge of poetry.  These were great models to design by; and thefurther advantage which Terence possessed towards giving his plays thedue ornaments ofpurity of style, and justness of manners, was not lessconsiderable from the freedom of conversation which was permitted himwith Lelius and Scipio, two of the greatest and most polite men of hisage.  And, indeed, theprivilege of such a conversation is the onlycertain means of attaining to the perfection of dialogue.If it has happened in any part of this comedy that I have gained a turnof style or expression more correct, or at leastmore corrigible, than inthose which I have formerly written, I must, with equal pride andgratitude, ascribe it to the honour of your lordshipâs admitting me intoyour conversation, and that of a society whereeverybody else was so wellworthy of you, in your retirement last summer from the town: for it wasimmediately after, that this comedy was written.  If I have failed in myperformance, it is only to be regretted, wherethere were so many notinferior either to a Scipio or a Lelius, that there should be one wantingequal in capacity to a Terence.If I am not mistaken, poetry is almost the only art which has not yetlaid claim to yourlordshipâs patronage.  Architecture and painting, tothe great honour of our country, have flourished under your influence andprotection.  In the meantime, poetry, the eldest sister of all arts, andparent of most,seems to have resigned her birthright, by havingneglected to pay her duty to your lordship, and by permitting others of alater extraction to prepossess that place in your esteem, to which nonecan pretend a bettertitle.  Poetry, in its nature, is sacred to the goodand great: the relation between them is reciprocal, and they are everpropitious to it.  It is the privilege of poetry to address them, and itis their prerogative alone to give itprotection.This received maxim is a general apology for all writers who consecratetheir labours to great men: but I could wish, at this time, that thisaddress were exempted from the common pretence of all dedications;andthat as I can distinguish your lordship even among the most deserving, sothis offering might become remarkable by some particular instance ofrespect, which should assure your lordship that I am, with all duesenseof your extreme worthiness and humanity, my lord, your lordshipâs mostobedient and most obliged humble servant,                                                           WILL.CONGREVE.PROLOGUE.                         Spoken by MR. BETTERTON.   OF those few fools, who with ill stars are curst,   Sure scribbling fools, called poets, fare the worst:   For theyâre a sort of fools which fortunemakes,   And, after she has made âem fools, forsakes.   With Natureâs oafs âtis quite a diffârent case,   For Fortune favours all her idiot race.   In her own nest the cuckoo eggs we find,   Oâer whichshe broods to hatch the changeling kind:   No portion for her own she has to spare,   So much she dotes on her adopted care.   Poets are bubbles, by the town drawn in,   Suffered at first some trifling stakes towin:   But what unequal hazards do they run!   Each time they write they venture all theyâve won:   The Squire thatâs buttered still, is sure to be undone.   This author, heretofore, has found your favour,   Butpleads no merit from his past behaviour.   To build on that might prove a vain presumption,   Should grants to poets made admit resumption,   And in Parnassus he must lose his seat,   If that be found a forfeitedestate.   He owns, with toil he wrought the following scenes,   But if theyâre naught neâer spare him for his pains:   Damn him the more; have no commiseration   For dulness on mature deliberation.   Heswears heâll not resent one hissed-off scene,   Nor, like those peevish wits, his play maintain,   Who, to assert their sense, your taste arraign.   Some plot we think he has, and some new thought;   Some humourtoo, no farceâbut thatâs a fault.   Satire, he thinks, you ought not to expect;   For so reformed a town who dares correct?   To please, this time, has been his sole pretence,   Heâll not instruct, lest it shouldgive offence.   Should he by chance a knave or fool expose,   That hurts none here, sure here are none of those.   In short, our play shall (with your leave to show it)   Give you one instance of a passive poet,   Who toyour judgments yields all resignation:   So save or damn, after your own discretion.DRAMATIS PERSONÃ.                                 MEN.FAINALL, in love with Mrs. Marwood,              _Mr. Betterton_.MIRABELL, in lovewith Mrs. Millamant,           _Mr. Verbruggen_.WITWOUD, follower of Mrs. Millamant,             _Mr. Bowen_.PETULANT, follower of Mrs. Millamant,            _Mr. Bowman_.SIR WILFULL WITWOUD, half brother toWitwoud,    _Mr. Underhill_.and nephew to Lady Wishfort,WAITWELL, servant to Mirabell,                   _Mr. Bright_.                                WOMEN.LADY WISHFORT, enemy to Mirabell, for having     _Mrs. Leigh_.falselypretended love to her,MRS. MILLAMANT, a fine lady, niece to Lady       _Mrs. Bracegirdle_.Wishfort, and loves Mirabell,MRS. MARWOOD, friend to Mr. Fainall, and likes   _Mrs. Barry_.Mirabell,MRS. FAINALL, daughter toLady Wishfort, and     _Mrs. Bowman_.wife to Fainall, formerly friend to Mirabell,FOIBLE, woman to Lady Wishfort,                  _Mrs. Willis_.MINCING, woman to Mrs. Millamant,                _Mrs.Prince_.                      DANCERS, FOOTMEN, ATTENDANTS.                              SCENE: London.              _The time equal to that of the presentation_.ACT I.âSCENE I.                           _AChocolate-house_.      MIRABELL _and_ FAINALL _rising from cards_.  BETTY _waiting_.MIRA.  You are a fortunate man, Mr. Fainall.FAIN.  Have we done?MIRA.  What you please.  Iâll play on to entertainyou.FAIN.  No, Iâll give you your revenge another time, when you are not soindifferent; you are thinking of something else now, and play toonegligently: the coldness of a losing gamester lessens the pleasure ofthewinner.  Iâd no more play with a man that slighted his ill fortunethan Iâd make love to a woman who undervalued the loss of her reputation.MIRA.  You have a taste extremely delicate, and are for refining onyourpleasures.FAIN.  Prithee, why so reserved?  Something has put you out of humour.MIRA.  Not at all: I happen to be grave to-day, and you are gay; thatâsall.FAIN.  Confess, Millamant and you quarrelled lastnight, after I leftyou; my fair cousin has some humours that would tempt the patience of aStoic.  What, some coxcomb came in, and was well received by her, whileyou were by?MIRA.  Witwoud and Petulant, and whatwas worse, her aunt, your wifeâsmother, my evil geniusâor to sum up all in her own name, my old LadyWishfort came in.FAIN.  Oh, there it is then: she has a lasting passion for you, and withreason.âWhat,then my wife was there?MIRA.  Yes, and Mrs. Marwood and three or four more, whom I never sawbefore; seeing me, they all put on their grave faces, whispered oneanother, then complained aloud of the vapours, andafter fell into aprofound silence.FAIN.  They had a mind to be rid of you.MIRA.  For which reason I resolved not to stir.  At last the good oldlady broke through her painful taciturnity with an invective against longvisits.  Iwould not have understood her, but Millamant joining in theargument, I rose and with a constrained smile told her, I thought nothingwas so easy as to know when a visit began to be troublesome; she reddenedand Iwithdrew, without expecting her reply.FAIN.  You were to blame to resent what she spoke only in compliance withher aunt.MIRA.  She is more mistress of herself than to be under the necessity ofsuch aresignation.FAIN.  What? though half her fortune depends upon her marrying with myladyâs approbation?MIRA.  I was then in such a humour, that I should have been betterpleased if she had been lessdiscreet.FAIN.  Now I remember, I wonder not they were weary of you; last nightwas one of their cabal-nights: they have âem three times a week and meetby turns at one anotherâs apartments, where theycome together like thecoronerâs inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.  Youand I are excluded, and it was once proposed that all the male sex shouldbe excepted; but somebody moved that toavoid scandal there might be oneman of the community, upon which motion Witwoud and Petulant wereenrolled members.MIRA.  And who may have been the foundress of this sect?  My LadyWishfort, I warrant, whopublishes her detestation of mankind, and fullof the vigour of fifty-five, declares for a friend and ratafia; and letposterity shift for itself, sheâll breed no more.FAIN.  The discovery of your sham addresses to her, toconceal your loveto her niece, has provoked this separation.  Had you dissembled better,things might have continued in the state of nature.MIRA.  I did as much as man could, with any reasonable conscience;Iproceeded to the very last act of flattery with her, and was guilty of asong in her commendation.  Nay, I got a friend to put her into a lampoon,and compliment her with the imputation of an affair with a youngfellow,which I carried so far, that I told her the malicious town took noticethat she was grown fat of a sudden; and when she lay in of a dropsy,persuaded her she was reported to be in labour.  The devilâs inât, ifanold woman is to be flattered further, unless a man should endeavourdownright personally to debauch her: and that my virtue forbade me.  Butfor the discovery of this amour, I am indebted to your friend, oryourwifeâs friend, Mrs. Marwood.FAIN.  What should provoke her to be your enemy, unless she has made youadvances which you have slighted?  Women do not easily forgive omissionsof that nature.MIRA.  Shewas always civil to me, till of late.  I confess I am not oneof those coxcombs who are apt to interpret a womanâs good manners to herprejudice, and think that she who does not refuse âem everything canrefuseâem nothing.FAIN.  You are a gallant man, Mirabell; and though you may have crueltyenough not to satisfy a ladyâs longing, you have too much generosity notto be tender of her honour.  Yet you speak with anindifference whichseems to be affected, and confesses you are conscious of a negligence.MIRA.  You pursue the argument with a distrust that seems to beunaffected, and confesses you are conscious of a concern forwhich thelady is more indebted to you than is your wife.FAIN.  Fie, fie, friend, if you grow censorious I must leave you:âIâlllook upon the gamesters in the next room.MIRA.  Who are they?FAIN.  Petulant andWitwoud.âBring me some chocolate.MIRA.  Betty, what says your clock?BET.  Turned of the last canonical hour, sir.MIRA.  How pertinently the jade answers me!  Ha! almost one aâ clock![_Looking on hiswatch_.]  Oh, yâare come!SCENE II.                         MIRABELL _and_ FOOTMAN.MIRA.  Well, is the grand affair over?  You have been something tedious.SERV.  Sir, thereâs such coupling at Pancras that theystand behind oneanother, as âtwere in a country-dance.  Ours was the last couple to leadup; and no hopes appearing of dispatch, besides, the parson growinghoarse, we were afraid his lungs would have failedbefore it came to ourturn; so we drove round to Dukeâs Place, and there they were riveted in atrice.MIRA.  So, so; you are sure they are married?SERV.  Married and bedded, sir; I am witness.MIRA.  Have you thecertificate?SERV.  Here it is, sir.MIRA.  Has the tailor brought Waitwellâs clothes home, and the newliveries?SERV.  Yes, sir.MIRA.  Thatâs well.  Do you go home again, dâye hear, and adjourntheconsummation till farther order; bid Waitwell shake his ears, and DamePartlet rustle up her feathers, and meet me at one aâ clock by Rosamondâspond, that I may see her before she returns to herlady.  And, as youtender your ears, be secret.SCENE III.                        MIRABELL, FAINALL, BETTY.FAIN.  Joy of your success, Mirabell; you look pleased.MIRA.  Ay; I have been engaged in a matter of some sort ofmirth, whichis not yet ripe for discovery.  I am glad this is not a cabal-night.  Iwonder, Fainall, that you who are married, and of consequence should bediscreet, will suffer your wife to be of such a party.FAIN.  Faith, Iam not jealous.  Besides, most who are engaged are womenand relations; and for the men, they are of a kind too contemptible togive scandal.MIRA.  I am of another opinion: the greater the coxcomb, always themorethe scandal; for a woman who is not a fool can have but one reason forassociating with a man who is one.FAIN.  Are you jealous as often as you see Witwoud entertained byMillamant?MIRA.  Of her understanding Iam, if not of her person.FAIN.  You do her wrong; for, to give her her due, she has wit.MIRA.  She has beauty enough to make any man think so, and complaisanceenough not to contradict him who shall tell herso.FAIN.  For a passionate lover methinks you are a man somewhat toodiscerning in the failings of your mistress.MIRA.  And for a discerning man somewhat too passionate a lover, for Ilike her with all her faults; nay,like her for her faults.  Her folliesare so natural, or so artful, that they become her, and thoseaffectations which in another woman would be odious serve but to make hermore agreeable.  Iâll tell thee, Fainall, sheonce used me with thatinsolence that in revenge I took her to pieces, sifted her, and separatedher failings: I studied âem and got âem by rote.  The catalogue was solarge that I was not without hopes, one dayor other, to hate herheartily.  To which end I so used myself to think of âem, that at length,contrary to my design and expectation, they gave me every hour less andless disturbance, till in a few days it becamehabitual to me to rememberâem without being displeased.  They are now grown as familiar to me as myown frailties, and in all probability in a little time longer I shalllike âem as well.FAIN.  Marry her, marryher; be half as well acquainted with her charmsas you are with her defects, and, my life onât, you are your own managain.MIRA.  Say you so?FAIN.  Ay, ay; I have experience.  I have a wife, and so forth.SCENEIV.                          [_To them_] MESSENGER.MESS.  Is one Squire Witwoud here?BET.  Yes; whatâs your business?MESS.  I have a letter for him, from his brother Sir Wilfull, which I amcharged to deliver into hisown hands.BET.  Heâs in the next room, friend.  That way.SCENE V.                        MIRABELL, FAINALL, BETTY.MIRA.  What, is the chief of that noble family in town, Sir WilfullWitwoud?FAIN.  He is expectedto-day.  Do you know him?MIRA.  I have seen him; he promises to be an extraordinary person.  Ithink you have the honour to be related to him.FAIN.  Yes; he is half-brother to this Witwoud by a former wife, whowassister to my Lady Wishfort, my wifeâs mother.  If you marry Millamant,you must call cousins too.MIRA.  I had rather be his relation than his acquaintance.FAIN.  He comes to town in order to equip himself fortravel.MIRA.  For travel!  Why the man that I mean is above forty.FAIN.  No matter for that; âtis for the honour of England that all Europeshould know we have blockheads of all ages.MIRA.  I wonder there is not anact of parliament to save the credit ofthe nation and prohibit the exportation of fools.FAIN.  By no means, âtis better as âtis; âtis better to trade with alittle loss, than to be quite eaten up with beingoverstocked.MIRA.  Pray, are the follies of this knight-errant and those of thesquire, his brother, anything related?FAIN.  Not at all: Witwoud grows by the knight like a medlar grafted on acrab.  One will melt in yourmouth and tâother set your teeth on edge;one is all pulp and the other all core.MIRA.  So one will be rotten before he be ripe, and the other will berotten without ever being ripe at all.FAIN.  Sir Wilfull is an odd


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CRADLE TO THE GRAVE             Written by  John O'Brien and Channing Gibson              Story by            John O'Brien          May 2002Draft      FOR EDUCATIONAL       PURPOSES ONLY                                                                 2.FADE IN:EXT. STREETS (LOS ANGELES) - DAYEnd of theday.     An armored truck moves through the city ofLos Angeles.EXT. JEWELRY EXCHANGE - DAYThe armored truck pulls up. An ARMORED TRUCK GUARD emergesfrom the back with a satchel and headsinside.INT. JEWELRY EXCHANGE - LOBBY - CONTINUOUS ACTIONA large foyer. Security station and elevators. PARTY SOUNDScan be heard from a second floor balcony.DOUGLAS is the security guardmanning the station. Seeingthe Armored car Guard entering, he picks up the phone anddials. Beat. Into phone --                         DOUGLAS           Last delivery's finally here.The Armored Truck Guardapproaches the security station. Ashe and Douglas exchange paperwork, the Armored Truck Guardreferences the sounds from upstairs --                           ARMORED TRUCKGUARD           Party?                         DOUGLAS           Introducing a new line of jewelry.                         ARMORED TRUCK GUARD           Wife wants me to buy her a ruby ring.           Toldher to spend a little time with           the family jewels first.PING. An ELEVATOR opens. A second security guard's inside.Handing over the satchel and heading out --                           ARMORED TRUCKGUARD           Keep it real.INT. ELEVATOR - CONTINUOUS ACTIONWe see the security guard with the satchel use a key-card togain elevator access to the lower floors. As the elevatordoors slideclosed...                                                              3.INT. VAULT ANTEROOM - MOMENTS LATERAn exclusive showroom. Display tables empty. At one end ofthe room, the elevator. At theother end, the open door toa walk-in vault.The ELEVATOR PINGS, and the doors open. The guard emergeswith the cart. Pushes it across the room to the outside ofthe vault.A man in a suit emerges from the vault andstarts unloadingthe cart into the vault.INT. SUBWAY STATION - DAYA train arrives.   People jostle on and off.One man remains on the platform. MILES. Crisp dresser.Carrying a large leather bag. A cylinderhanging by a strapover his shoulder.The train doors begin to close.   When...A fist inserts itself between the doors. They re-open, anda man steps onto the platform. TONY FAIT. Well-dressed.Intense.Fait joins Miles.They watch the train pull out. Theycheck to make sure the station's empty. Then jump off theplatform into the tunnel and disappear.INT. VAULT ANTEROOM - DAYThe man in the suit has finished unloading thecart. Hecloses the heavy vault door and spins a large wheel on thedoor, securing the vault.INT. SUBWAY TUNNEL - DAYFait and Miles run down the dark tunnel, staying close tothe wall. Miles stumbles. Fallstoward the deadly, high-voltage third rail.Out of nowhere, Fait's hand grabs Miles' jacket. Stops him.Just before he hits. Inches from the rail. Fait pulls himback up and away from thedanger.                        FAIT          Watch yourself.Miles nods.                                                              4.                           FAIT          Keep it tight.Miles nods again, and theyset off.INT. JEWELRY EXCHANGE - LOBBY - DAYSounds of the PARTY continue from upstairs. At the securitystation, the guard, Douglas, looks up from a magazine andscans the security monitors.ANGLE -SECURITY MONITORSdepicting the empty vault, empty vault anteroom, variousempty store areas and the elevator, in which we see the manin the suit riding up.BACK TO SCENEDouglas settles back inwith his magazine.INT. SUBWAY TUNNEL - DAYFait and Miles reach an access door tagged with paint.    Faitstarts to open it.Suddenly, the tunnel is filled with the ROAR of anAPPROACHING TRAIN. Fait andMiles leap to the wall.   Presstheir backs against it as tightly as they can.The TRAIN whooms past, inches from their faces. When it'sgone, Miles sighs with relief. Fait cracks the access door.INT. SUBWAY UTILITYTUNNELS - DAYFait moves quickly, Miles following. Fait makes fast leftsand rights, following more spray paint.They branch off into a small dirt-floored space, deep in thesub-foundation of a building. Fait stops.Overhead is aflat ceiling. On the ceiling, his flashlight finds a spray-painted circle.                           FAIT          Bull's-eye.Without a word, Miles begins assembling equipment.    Faitpulls out a cellphone.EXT. PARKING GARAGE - (SANTA MONICA) ROOFTOP - DAY                                                                    5.A man, DUNCAN SU, sits in a rental 2002 Thunderbird.INT. SU'SRENTAL T-BIRD - CONTINUOUS ACTIONSu's focused, intense, listening to a fancy WALKMAN throughHEADPHONES. We hear what he hears. Only there's no music,just STATIC.Suddenly, on Su's headphones, aPHONE RINGS. Su grows evenmore alert. We hear a man with a French accent answer thephone.                           CHRISTOPHE (V.O.)           Yes?                         FAIT (V.O.)           We're inposition.                         CHRISTOPHE (V.O.)           Delivery confirmed. The stones are           there.                           FAIT (V.O.)           Not for long.CLICK.   HISS.Su didn't like what hejust heard.       Curses in Chinese.   Andtakes off.EXT. CHRISTOPHE'S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAYPerched on the side of a cliff above the Pacific, next tothe park. The top floor is at street level.Su easily gainsaccess to the roof of the building. Hemoves to an exact position just at the ocean-side edge. It'san eight-story drop.Su faces in.      And then... Hops backward off the roof.Falling feet-first through the air, Sumomentarily grabsonto an eight-floor balcony rail, slowing his descent, thenlets go.Momentarily grabs a seventh-floor rail and lets go. Grabs asixth-floor rail. Hangs on this time. Vaults lightly ontothe balcony.INT.CHRISTOPHE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - DAY                                                                    6.A large, free-standing FISH TANK BUBBLES away. Nearby,CHRISTOPHE is packing to leavetown. When...                         SU (0.S.)           Where are the stones?Christophe turns.       Sees Su standing behind him.                         CHRISTOPHE                   (French accent)           Who thefuck are you?Wham.   The Chinese boxing version of a bitch-slap.                         SU           Who's getting them for you?                            CHRISTOPHE           Fuckoff.Wham!   Wham!   Wham!     Wham!   Much more violent than a bitch-slap.                            CHRISTOPHE           I'll tell you.                            SU           I know.INT. SUB-FOUNDATION -DAYA plasma torch burns through the metal-reinforced slaboverhead. Fait taps Miles, who turns off the torch.Fait hammers at the last layer. And...INT. VAULT ANTEROOM - CONTINUOUS ACTIONA holeappears under the private display table, where itcan't be seen by the room's security camera.INT. SUB-FOUNDATION - DAYFait communicates via a high-tech,transmitting/receivingearwig.                            FAIT           Daria.INT. JEWELRY EXCHANGE - LOBBY - DAYDouglas looks up from his magazine and checks the securitymonitors again. Everythinga-okay.                                                                   7.ANGLE - FRONT DOORA limo pulls up outside.EXT. JEWELRY EXCHANGE - DAYA uniformed chauffeur gets out of the limo,moves to theback and opens the door. A very attractive woman in ashort, tight dress emerges.INT. JEWELRY EXCHANGE - LOBBY - DAYEscorted by the chauffeur, the woman, DARIA, enters. Sheapproachesthe security station. Up close, in the light,Daria's even more alluring. And knows how to wield it.                        DARIA          I'm here for the reception.                          DOUGLAS          Name,please?                          DARIA          Angie Rawlins.Douglas scans a list of names.      Checks off hers.                        DOUGLAS          Thank you. You can go on up.       Front          elevator, tothe mezzanine.Daria turns toward the elevator. Then doesn't go. Justglances up toward the party, suddenly unenthusiastic.                        DARIA          ... I hate these things.      Don't you          hate thesethings?                        DOUGLAS          I'm just here to do my job.Daria looks back at Douglas.      Studies him a moment.   Likingwhat she sees.                        DARIA          Then again, you neverknow who you're          going to meet...She shifts her wrap, baring cleavage.      Then leans over thedesk. Giving Douglas aneyeful.                          DARIA                                                               8.          I'll bet you're a lot more fun than          any of those boring people upstairs.Douglas is unaffected.   Justlooks at her blankly.                         DOUGLAS          Really, ma'am.   I have a job to do.Daria doesn't understand why he's not interested in her.Then she glimpses Douglas's magazine lying on thedesk.DARIA'S POVThe magazine is Genre.   Males for males.   Buff boys.   Bigpecs, big penises.BACK TO SCENEDaria steps back.                        DARIA          Well, I suppose I should goup and          see what they're selling.Daria turns back and calls to her chauffeur, TOMMY.                         DARIA          Tommy...What happens next happens very quickly and sotto voce, asDaria walkstoward Tommy:She whispers into a hidden mike --                        DARIA          Change of plans. He's gay.Tommy hears it over his earwig.                         TOMMY          Noway.                         DARIA          Yeah way.INTERCUT WITH:INT. SUB-FOUNDATION - DAYFait and Miles have heard it, too.   Into his mike--                          FAIT          Tommy.    Your turn.                                                            9.A look of alarm on Tommy's face.    Into his mike--                         TOMMY          Uh-uh.                        FAIT          This isn't a conversation.    Do it.It's an order.    Tommy knows he hasto.   Shit.                         TOMMY          Shit.                         DARIA          Key-card.Then, still to Tommy, her voice again at normal volume --                        DARIA          Why don't youkeep my purse?     I          shouldn't be too long.Daria hands Tommy her purse. Palms the key-card from him.Then heads toward the elevator, as...Tommy replaces the sick look on his face. Does his best tolook flirty ashe walks over to the security station. Leansover the desk with a yummy-smile on his face.                         TOMMY          ... Aloha.(NOTE: The following scene is INTERCUT with Scenes 20 thru 28.)Douglas


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Godfrey Morgan, by Jules VerneThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Godfrey Morgan       A Californian MysteryAuthor: Jules VerneRelease Date: November 15, 2007 [EBook#23489]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GODFREY MORGAN ***Produced by Taavi Kalju, Martin Pettit and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfilewas produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)GODFREY MORGANA CALIFORNIAN MYSTERYBYJULES VERNEILLUSTRATED_AUTHOR'S COPYRIGHT EDITION_LONDON:SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY, _Limited_.[Illustration: "Going! Going!" _page 15_]CONTENTS.CHAPTER I.                                                                PAGEIn which the reader has the opportunity of buying anIsland inthe Pacific Ocean                                                  1CHAPTER II.How William W. Kolderup, of San Francisco, was at loggerheadswith J. R. Taskinar, of Stockton                                  11CHAPTER III.Theconversation of Phina Hollaney and Godfrey Morgan, witha piano accompaniment                                             24CHAPTER IV.In which T. Artelett, otherwise Tartlet, is duly introducedto thereader                                                     35CHAPTER V.In which they prepare to go, and at the end of which they gofor good                                                          43CHAPTER VI.In which the reader makes theacquaintance of a new personage     53CHAPTER VII.In which it will be seen that William W. Kolderup was probablyright in insuring his ship                                        62CHAPTER VIII.Which leads Godfrey to bitterreflections on the mania fortravelling                                                        77CHAPTER IX.In which it is shown that Crusoes do not have everything asthey wish                                                         91CHAPTER X.Inwhich Godfrey does what any other shipwrecked man wouldhave done under the circumstances                                104CHAPTER XI.In which the question of lodging is solved as well as itcouldbe                                                         117CHAPTER XII.Which ends with a thunder-bolt                                   129CHAPTER XIII.In which Godfrey again sees a slight smoke over another partof theIsland                                                    143CHAPTER XIV.Wherein Godfrey finds some wreckage, to which he and hiscompanion give a hearty welcome                                  155CHAPTER XV.In which there happenswhat happens at least once in the lifeof every Crusoe, real or imaginary                               167CHAPTER XVI.In which something happens which cannot fail to surprisethereader                                                           179CHAPTER XVII.In which Professor Tartlet's gun really does marvels             190CHAPTER XVIII.Which treats of the moral and physical education of a simplenativeof the Pacific                                            203CHAPTER XIX.In which the situation already gravely compromised becomesmore and more complicated                                        216CHAPTER XX.In which Tartletreiterates in every key that he would ratherbe off                                                           228CHAPTER XXI.Which ends with quite a surprising reflection by thenegroCarefinotu                                                       242CHAPTER XXII.Which concludes by explaining what up to now had appearedinexplicable                                                     260GODFREY MORGAN.CHAPTERI.IN WHICH THE READER HAS THE OPPORTUNITY OF BUYING AN ISLAND IN THEPACIFIC OCEAN."An island to sell, for cash, to the highest bidder!" said Dean Felporg,the auctioneer, standing behind his rostrum in theroom where theconditions of the singular sale were being noisily discussed."Island for sale! island for sale!" repeated in shrill tones again andagain Gingrass, the crier, who was threading his way in and out of theexcitedcrowd closely packed inside the largest saloon in the auctionmart at No. 10, Sacramento Street.The crowd consisted not only of a goodly number of Americans from theStates of Utah, Oregon, and California, but also ofa few Frenchmen, whoform quite a sixth of the population.Mexicans were there enveloped in their sarapes; Chinamen in theirlarge-sleeved tunics, pointed shoes, and conical hats; one or twoKanucks from the coast;and even a sprinkling of Black Feet,Grosventres, or Flatheads, from the banks of the Trinity river.The scene is in San Francisco, the capital of California, but not at theperiod when the placer-mining fever wasraging--from 1849 to 1852. SanFrancisco was no longer what it had been then, a caravanserai, aterminus, an _inn_, where for a night there slept the busy men who werehastening to the gold-fields west of the SierraNevada. At the end ofsome twenty years the old unknown Yerba-Buena had given place to a townunique of its kind, peopled by 100,000 inhabitants, built under theshelter of a couple of hills, away from the shore, butstretching off tothe farthest heights in the background--a city in short which hasdethroned Lima, Santiago, Valparaiso, and every other rival, and whichthe Americans have made the queen of the Pacific, the "glory ofthewestern coast!"It was the 15th of May, and the weather was still cold. In California,subject as it is to the direct action of the polar currents, the firstweeks of this month are somewhat similar to the last weeks ofMarch inCentral Europe. But the cold was hardly noticeable in the thick of theauction crowd. The bell with its incessant clangour had broughttogether an enormous throng, and quite a summer temperature causedthedrops of perspiration to glisten on the foreheads of the spectatorswhich the cold outside would have soon solidified.Do not imagine that all these folks had come to the auction-room withthe intention of buying. Imight say that all of them had but come tosee. Who was going to be mad enough, even if he were rich enough, topurchase an isle of the Pacific, which the government had in someeccentric moment decided to sell?Would the reserve price ever bereached? Could anybody be found to work up the bidding? If not, it wouldscarcely be the fault of the public crier, who tried his best to temptbuyers by his shoutings and gestures, and theflowery metaphors of hisharangue. People laughed at him, but they did not seem much influencedby him."An island! an isle to sell!" repeated Gingrass."But not to buy!" answered an Irishman, whose pocket did not holdenoughto pay for a single pebble."An island which at the valuation will not fetch six dollars an acre!"said the auctioneer."And which won't pay an eighth per cent.!" replied a big farmer, who waswell acquainted withagricultural speculations."An isle which measures quite sixty-four miles round and has an area oftwo hundred and twenty-five thousand acres!""Is it solid on its foundation?" asked a Mexican, an old customer attheliquor-bars, whose personal solidity seemed rather doubtful at themoment."An isle with forests still virgin!" repeated the crier, "with prairies,hills, watercourses--""Warranted?" asked a Frenchman, who seemedrather inclined to nibble."Yes! warranted!" added Felporg, much too old at his trade to be movedby the chaff of the public."For two years?""To the end of the world!""Beyond that?""A freehold island!" repeated the crier,"an island without a singlenoxious animal, no wild beasts, no reptiles!--""No birds?" added a wag."No insects?" inquired another."An island for the highest bidder!" said Dean Felporg, beginning again."Come, gentlemen,come! Have a little courage in your pockets! Who wantsan island in perfect state of repair, never been used, an island in thePacific, that ocean of oceans? The valuation is a mere nothing! It isput at eleven hundredthousand dollars, is there any one will bid? Whospeaks first? You, sir?--you, over there nodding your head like aporcelain mandarin? Here is an island! a really good island! Who says anisland?""Pass it round!" said avoice as if they were dealing with a picture ora vase.And the room shouted with laughter, but not a half-dollar was bid.However, if the lot could not be passed round, the map of the island wasat the public disposal. Thewhereabouts of the portion of the globeunder consideration could be accurately ascertained. There was neithersurprise nor disappointment to be feared in that respect. Situation,orientation, outline, altitudes, levels,hydrography, climatology, linesof communication, all these were easily to be verified in advance.People were not buying a pig in a poke, and most undoubtedly there couldbe no mistake as to the nature of the goods onsale. Moreover, theinnumerable journals of the United States, especially those ofCalifornia, with their dailies, bi-weeklies, weeklies, bi-monthlies,monthlies, their reviews, magazines, bulletins, &c., had been forseveralmonths directing constant attention to the island whose sale byauction had been authorized by Act of Congress.The island was Spencer Island, which lies in the west-south-west of theBay of San Francisco, about 460miles from the Californian coast, in 32Â°15' north latitude, and 145Â° 18' west longitude, reckoning fromGreenwich. It would be impossible to imagine a more isolated position,quite out of the way of all maritime orcommercial traffic, althoughSpencer Island was relatively, not very far off, and situatedpractically in American waters. But thereabouts the regular currentsdiverging to the north and south have formed a kind of lake ofcalms,which is sometimes known as the "Whirlpool of Fleurieu."It is in the centre of this enormous eddy, which has hardly anappreciable movement, that Spencer Island is situated. And so it issighted by very few ships.The main routes of the Pacific, which jointhe new to the old continent, and lead away to China or Japan, run in amore southerly direction. Sailing-vessels would meet with endless calmsin the Whirlpool of Fleurieu; andsteamers, which always take theshortest road, would gain no advantage by crossing it. Hence ships ofneither class know anything of Spencer Island, which rises above thewaters like the isolated summit of one of thesubmarine mountains of thePacific. Truly, for a man wishing to flee from the noise of the world,seeking quiet in solitude, what could be better than this island, lostwithin a few hundred miles of the coast? For a voluntaryRobinsonCrusoe, it would be the very ideal of its kind! Only of course he mustpay for it.And now, why did the United States desire to part with the island? Wasit for some whim? No! A great nation cannot act on capricein anymatter, however simple. The truth was this: situated as it was, SpencerIsland had for a long time been known as a station perfectly useless.There could be no practical result from settling there. In a militarypointof view it was of no importance, for it only commanded anabsolutely deserted portion of the Pacific. In a commercial point ofview there was a similar want of importance, for the products would notpay the freight eitherinwards or outwards. For a criminal colony it wastoo far from the coast. And to occupy it in any way, would be a veryexpensive undertaking. So it had remained deserted from time immemorial,and Congress, composedof "eminently practical" men, had resolved to putit up for sale--on one condition only, and that was, that its purchasershould be a free American citizen. There was no intention of giving awaythe island for nothing, andso the reserve price had been fixed at$1,100,000. This amount for a financial society dealing with suchmatters was a mere bagatelle, if the transaction could offer anyadvantages; but as we need hardly repeat, itoffered none, and competentmen attached no more value to this detached portion of the UnitedStates, than to one of the islands lost beneath the glaciers of thePole.In one sense, however, the amount wasconsiderable. A man must be richto pay for this hobby, for in any case it would not return him ahalfpenny per cent. He would even have to be immensely rich for thetransaction was to be a "cash" one, and even in theUnited States it isas yet rare to find citizens with $1,100,000 in their pockets, who wouldcare to throw them into the water without hope of return.And Congress had decided not to sell the island under the price.Elevenhundred thousand dollars, not a cent less, or Spencer Island wouldremain the property of the Union.It was hardly likely that any one would be mad enough to buy it on theterms.Besides, it was expressly reservedthat the proprietor, if one offered,should not become king of Spencer Island, but president of a republic.He would gain no right to have subjects, but only fellow-citizens, whocould elect him for a fixed time, and wouldbe free from re-electing himindefinitely. Under any circumstances he was forbidden to play atmonarchy. The Union could never tolerate the foundation of a kingdom, nomatter how small, in American waters.Thisreservation was enough to keep off many an ambitious millionaire,many an aged nabob, who might like to compete with the kings of theSandwich, the Marquesas, and the other archipelagoes of the Pacific.In short, forone reason or other, nobody presented himself. Time wasgetting on, the crier was out of breath in his efforts to secure abuyer, the auctioneer orated without obtaining a single specimen ofthose nods which hisestimable fraternity are so quick to discover; andthe reserve price was not even mentioned.However, if the hammer was not wearied with oscillating above therostrum, the crowd was not wearied with waiting around it.The jokingcontinued to increase, and the chaff never ceased for a moment. Oneindividual offered two dollars for the island, costs included. Anothersaid that a man ought to be paid that for taking it.And all the time thecrier was heard with,--"An island to sell! an island for sale!"And there was no one to buy it."Will you guarantee that there are flats there?" said Stumpy, the grocerof Merchant Street, alluding to the deposits so famousin alluvialgold-mining."No," answered the auctioneer, "but it is not impossible that there are,and the State abandons all its rights over the gold lands.""Haven't you got a volcano?" asked Oakhurst, the bar-keeperofMontgomery Street."No volcanoes," replied Dean Felporg, "if there were, we could not sellat this price!"An immense shout of laughter followed."An island to sell! an island for sale!" yelled Gingrass, whose lungstiredthemselves out to no purpose."Only a dollar! only a half-dollar! only a cent above the reserve!" saidthe auctioneer for the last time, "and I will knock it down! Once!Twice!"Perfect silence."If nobody bids we must put thelot back! Once! Twice!"Twelve hundred thousand dollars!"The four words rang through the room like four shots from a revolver.The crowd, suddenly speechless, turned towards the bold man who haddared to bid.It wasWilliam W. Kolderup, of San Francisco.CHAPTER II.HOW WILLIAM W. KOLDERUP, OF SAN FRANCISCO, WAS AT LOGGERHEADS WITH J. R.TASKINAR, OF STOCKTON.A man extraordinarily rich, who counted dollars bythe million as othermen do by the thousand; such was William W. Kolderup.People said he was richer than the Duke of Westminster, whose income issome $4,000,000 a year, and who can spend his $10,000 a day, orsevendollars every minute; richer than Senator Jones, of Nevada, who has$35,000,000 in the funds; richer than Mr. Mackay himself, whose annual$13,750,000 give him $1560 per hour, or half-a-dollar to spendeverysecond of his life.I do not mention such minor millionaires as the Rothschilds, theVanderbilts, the Dukes of Northumberland, or the Stewarts, nor thedirectors of the powerful bank of California, and otheropulentpersonages of the old and new worlds whom William W. Kolderup would havebeen able to comfortably pension. He could, without inconvenience, havegiven away a million just as you and I might give away ashilling.It was in developing the early placer-mining enterprises in Californiathat our worthy speculator had laid the solid foundations of hisincalculable fortune. He was the principal associate of Captain Sutter,the Swiss,in the localities, where, in 1848, the first traces werediscovered. Since then, luck and shrewdness combined had helped him on,and he had interested himself in all the great enterprises of bothworlds. He threw himselfboldly into commercial and industrialspeculations. His inexhaustible funds were the life of hundreds offactories, his ships were on every sea. His wealth increased not inarithmetical but in geometrical progression. Peoplespoke of him as oneof those few "milliardaires" who never know how much they are worth. Inreality he knew almost to a dollar, but he never boasted of it.At this very moment when we introduce him to our readers withall theconsideration such a many-sided man merits, William W. Kolderup had 2000branch offices scattered over the globe, 80,000 employÃ©s in America,Europe, and Australia, 300,000 correspondents, a fleet of 500shipswhich continually ploughed the ocean for his profit, and he was spendingnot less than a million a year in bill-stamps and postages. In short, hewas the honour and glory of opulent Frisco--the nicknamefamiliarlygiven by the Americans to the Californian capital.A bid from William W. Kolderup could not but be a serious one. And whenthe crowd in the auction room had recognized who it was that by $100,000had cappedthe reserve price of Spencer Island, there was anirresistible sensation, the chaffing ceased instantly, jokes gave placeto interjections of admiration, and cheers resounded through the saloon.Then a deep silencesucceeded to the hubbub, eyes grew bigger, and earsopened wider. For our part had we been there we would have had to holdour breath that we might lose nothing of the exciting scene which wouldfollow should anyone dare to bid against William W. Kolderup.But was it probable? Was it even possible?No! And at the outset it was only necessary to look at William W.Kolderup to feel convinced that he could never yield on a questionwherehis financial gallantry was at stake.He was a big, powerful man, with huge head, large shoulders, well-builtlimbs, firmly knit, and tough as iron. His quiet but resolute look wasnot willingly cast downwards, his greyhair, brushed up in front, was asabundant as if he were still young. The straight lines of his noseformed a geometrically-drawn right-angled triangle. No moustache; hisbeard cut in Yankee fashion bedecked his chin, andthe two upper pointsmet at the opening of the lips and ran up to the temples inpepper-and-salt whiskers; teeth of snowy whiteness were symmetricallyplaced on the borders of a clean-cut mouth. The head of one ofthosetrue kings of men who rise in the tempest and face the storm. Nohurricane could bend that head, so solid was the neck which supportedit. In these battles of the bidders each of its nods meant anadditionalhundred thousand dollars.There was no one to dispute with him."Twelve hundred thousand dollars--twelve hundred thousand!" said theauctioneer, with that peculiar accent which men of his vocation findmosteffective."Going at twelve hundred thousand dollars!" repeated Gingrass the crier."You could safely bid more than that," said Oakhurst, the bar-keeper;"William Kolderup will never give in.""He knows no one will chanceit," answered the grocer from MerchantStreet.Repeated cries of "Hush!" told the two worthy tradesmen to be quiet. Allwished to hear. All hearts palpitated. Dare any one raise his voice inanswer to the voice of WilliamW. Kolderup? He, magnificent to lookupon, never moved. There he remained as calm as if the matter had nointerest for him. But--and this those near to him noticed--his eyes werelike revolvers loaded with dollars,ready to fire."Nobody speaks?" asked Dean Felporg.Nobody spoke."Once! Twice!""Once! Twice!" repeated Gingrass, quite accustomed to this littledialogue with his chief."Going!""Going!""Fortwelve--hundred--thousand--dollars--Spencer--Island--com--plete!""For twelve--hundred--thousand--dollars!""That is so? No mistake?""No withdrawal?""For twelve hundred thousand dollars, Spencer Island!"Thewaistcoats rose and fell convulsively. Could it be possible that atthe last second a higher bid would come? Felporg with his right handstretched on the table was shaking his ivory hammer--one rap, two raps,and thedeed would be done.The public could not have been more absorbed in the face of a summaryapplication of the law of Justice Lynch!The hammer slowly fell, almost touched the table, rose again, hoveredan instant like asword which pauses ere the drawer cleaves the victimin twain; then it flashed swiftly downwards.But before the sharp rap could be given, a voice was heard givingutterance to these four


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Comrades, by Thomas DixonThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Comrades       A Story of Social Adventure in CaliforniaAuthor: Thomas DixonIllustrator: C. D. WilliamsRelease Date:March 1, 2011 [EBook #35447]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMRADES ***Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)       *       *       *       *       *    +-----------------------------------------------------------+    | Transcriber'sNote:                                       |    |                                                           |    | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has     |    | beenpreserved.                                           |    |                                                           |    | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For     |    | a complete list, please see the end of thisdocument.     |    |                                                           |    +-----------------------------------------------------------+       *       *       *       *       *Comrades[Illustration]Thomas Dixon JR.    [Illustration: NORMANCLASPED HER IN HIS ARMS.]  COMRADES  _A STORY OF SOCIAL ADVENTURE  IN CALIFORNIA_  BY  THOMAS DIXON, Jr.  Illustrated by  C.D. WILLIAMS  [Illustration]  GROSSET & DUNLAP  Publishers  ::  NewYork  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION  INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN  COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY THOMAS DIXON, JR.  PUBLISHED, JANUARY, 1909  DEDICATEDTO  THE DEAREST LITTLE  GIRL IN THE WORLD, MY DAUGHTER  LOUISECONTENTSCHAPTER                                                      PAGE       I. The Woman in Red                                      3      II. A New Joan ofArc                                    19     III. The Birth of a Man                                   31      IV. Among the Shadows                                    37       V. The Island of Ventura                                48      VI. The RedFlag                                         56     VII. Father and Son                                       73    VIII. Through the Eyes of Love                             85      IX. A Faded Picture                                      90       X. Son andFather                                       93      XI. The Way of a Woman                                  103     XII. A Royal Gift                                        105    XIII. The Burning of the Bridges                          110     XIV. The NewWorld                                       118      XV. For the Cause                                       123     XVI. Barbara Chooses a Profession                        130    XVII. A Call for Heroes                                   134   XVIII. A NewAristocracy                                   151     XIX. Some Troubles in Heaven                             166      XX. The Unconventional                                  181     XXI. A Pair of Cold Gray Eyes                            186    XXII.The Fighting Instinct                               192   XXIII. The Cords Tighten                                   207    XXIV. Some Interrogation Points                           212     XXV. The MasterHand                                     224    XXVI. At the Parting of the Ways                          235   XXVII. The Fruits of Patience                              246  XXVIII. The New Master                                      257    XXIX. A Testof Strength                                  269     XXX. A Vision from the Hilltop                           274    XXXI. In Love and War                                     283   XXXII. A Primitive Lover                                   291  XXXIII.Equality                                            295   XXXIV. A Brother to the Beast                              306    XXXV. Love and Locksmiths                                 313   XXXVI. The ShiningEmblem                                  318LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY_Scene_: California. _Time_: 1898-1901  NORMAN WORTH            An Amateur Socialist  COLONEL WORTH           His Father  ELENASTOCKTON          The Colonel's Ward  HERMAN WOLF             A Socialist Leader  CATHERINE               His Affinity Wife  BARBARA BOZENTA         A New Joan of Arc  METHODIST JOHN          A Pauper  TOMMOONEY              A Miner  JOHN DIGGS              A Truth Seeker  ROLAND ADAIR            Bard of RamcatILLUSTRATIONS  "Norman clasped her in hisarms"                 _Frontispiece_                                                      FACING PAGE  "'Lift the flag back to its place!'"                         72  Barbara                                                     214  "Wolf graspedher"                                          292COMRADESCOMRADESCHAPTER ITHE WOMAN IN RED"Fools and fanatics!"Colonel Worth crumpled the morning paper with a gesture of rage andwalked to the window.Elenafollowed softly and laid her hand on his arm."What is it, Guardie? I thought you were supremely happy this morningover the news that Dewey has smashed the Spanish fleet?""And so I am, little girl," was the gentlereply, "or was until my eyefell on this call of the Socialists for a meeting to-night to denouncethe war--denounce the men who are dying for the flag. Read theirsummons."He opened the crumpled sheet and pointed toits head lines:"Down with the Stars and Stripes--up with the Red Flag ofRevolution--the symbol of universal human brotherhood! Come and bringyour friends. A big surprise for all!" The Colonel's jawssnappedsuddenly."I'd like to give them the surprise they need to-night.""What?" Elena asked."A serenade.""A serenade?""Yes, with Mauser rifles and Gatling guns. I'd mow them down as Iwould a herd of wild beastsloose in the streets of San Francisco.""Merely for a difference of opinion, Governor?" lazily broke in avoice from the depths of a heavy armchair."If you want to put it so, Norman, yes. Opinions, my boy, are theessenceof life--they may lead to heaven or hell. Opinions makecowards or heroes, patriots or traitors, criminals or saints.""But you believe in free speech?" persisted the boy."Yes. And that's more than any Socialist can say. Idon't deny theirright to speak their message. What I can't understand is how thepeople who have been hounded from the tyrant-ridden countries of theold world and found shelter and protection beneath our flagshouldturn thus to curse the hand that shields them.""But if they propose to give you a better flag, Governor?" drawled thelazy voice. "Why not consider?""Look, Elena! Did the sun ever shine on anything morebeautiful? Seeit fluttering from a thousand house-tops--the proud emblem of humanfreedom and human progress! Dewey has lifted it this morning on thefoulest slave-pen of the Orient--the flag that has never metdefeat.The one big faith in me is the belief that Almighty God inspired ourfathers to build this Republic--the noblest dream yet conceived by themind of man. Dewey has sunk a tyrant fleet and conquered an empireofslaves without the loss of a single man. The God of our fathers waswith him. We have a message for the swarming millions of the East----""Pardon the interruption, Governor, but I must hold the mirror up tonaturejust a moment--your portrait sketched by the poet-laureate ofthe English-speaking world. He speaks of the American:    "Enslaved, illogical, elate.      He greets the embarrassed gods, nor fears    To shake the ironhand of Fate      Or match with Destiny for beers.    "Lo! imperturbable he rules,      Unkempt, disreputable, vast--    And in the teeth of all the schools      I--I shall save him at the last!"The Colonel smiled."How do youlike the picture?""Not bad for an Englishman, Norman. You know we licked Englandtwice----""And we kin do it again, b' gosh, can't we?" blustered the younger manwith mock heroics."You can bet we can, my son!"continued the Colonel, quietly. "Theroar of Dewey's guns are echoing round the world this morning. Thelesson will not be lost. You will observe that even your English poetforesees at last our salvation.    "'And in theteeth of all the schools      I--I shall save him at the last!'""Even in spite of the Socialists?" queried the boy, with a grin."In spite of every foe--even those within our own household. War isthe searchlight of history, thegreat revealer of national life, ofhidden strength and unexpected weakness. I saw it in the Civilconflict--I've seen it in this little struggle----""Then you do acknowledge it's not the greatest struggle inhistory--that'ssomething to be thankful for in these days ofpatriotism," exclaimed Norman, rising and stretching himself beforethe open fire while he winked mischievously at Elena."It's big enough, my boy, to show us the truth aboutour nation. Ourold problems are no longer real. The Union our fathers dreamed hascome at last. We are one people--one out of many--and we can whipSpain before breakfast----""With one hand tied behind our back!"laughed the boy."Yes, and blindfolded. It will be easy. But the next serious job willbe to bury a half million deluded fools in this country who callthemselves Socialists."The Colonel paused and a look of forebodingclouded his face as hegazed from the window of his house on Nob Hill over the city of SanFrancisco, which he loved with a devotion second only to hispassionate enthusiasm for the Union.Elena sat watching him in silentsympathy. He was the one perfect manof her life dreams, the biggest, strongest, tenderest soul she hadever known. Since the day she crept into his arms a lonely littleorphan ten years old she had worshipped him asfather, mother,guardian, lover, friend--all in one. She had accepted Norman's loveand promised to be his wife more to please his father than from anyoverwhelming passion for the handsome, lazy young athlete. It hadcomeabout as a matter of course because Colonel Worth wished it.The Colonel turned from the window, and his eyes rested on Elena'supturned face."It will be bloody work--but we've got to do it----"Elena sprang to herfeet with a start and a laugh."Do what, Guardie? I forgot what you were talking about.""Then don't worry your pretty head about it, dear. It's a job we menwill look after in due time."He stooped and kissed herforehead. "By-by until to-night--I'll dropdown to the club and hear the latest from the front."With the firm, swinging stride of a man who lives in the open theColonel passed through the door of the library."Norman, Ican't realize that you two are father and son--he looksmore like your brother.""At least my older brother----""Yes, of course, but you would never take him for a man offorty-eight. I like the touch of gray in his hair. Itmeans dignity,strength, experience. I've always hated sap-headed youngsters.""Say, Elena, for heaven's sake, who are you in love with anyhow--withme or the Governor?"A smile flickered around the corners of thegirl's eyes and mouthbefore she slowly answered:"I sometimes think I really love you both, Norman--but there aretimes when I have doubts about you.""Thanks. I suppose I must be duly grateful for small favours, orelseresign myself to call you 'Mother.'""Would such a fate be intolerable?"Elena drew her magnificent figure to its full height and looked intothe young athlete's face with laughing audacity."By George, Elena, if I'mhonest with you, I'd have to say no. You aretall, stately, dignified, beautiful from the crown of your black hairto the tip of your dainty toe--the most stunning-looking woman I eversaw. I never think of you as a girl justout of school. You alwaysremind me of a glorious royal figure in some old romance of the MiddleAges----""Now I'm sure I love you, Norman--for the moment at least.""Then promise to go with me on a lark to-night," hesuddenly cried."A lark?"Elena's gray-blue eyes danced beneath their black lashes."Yes, a real lark, daring, adventurous, dangerous, audacious.""What is it--what is it? Tell me quick."The girl seized Norman's arm witheager, childish glee."Let's go to that Socialist meeting and beard the lion in his den."Elena drew back."No. Guardie will be furious!""Ah, who's afraid? Guardie be hanged!""Go by yourself.""No, you've got to go withme.""I won't do it. You just want to worry your father and then hidebehind my skirts.""You can see yourself that's the easiest way to manage it. If he has afit, I can just say that your curiosity was excited and I had togowith you.""But it's not excited.""For the purposes of the lark I tell you that it is excited. There'stoo much patriotism in the air. It's giving me nervous prostration. Iwant something to brace me up. I think those fellowscan give me somegood points to tease the Governor with.""Tease the Governor! You flatter yourself, Norman. He doesn't pay anymore attention to your talk than he would to the bark of a six weeks'old puppy.""That'swhat riles me. The Governor's so cocksure of himself. I don'tknow how to answer him, but I know he's wrong. The fury with which hehates the Socialists rouses my curiosity. I've always found that thegood things in lifeare forbidden. All respectable people arepositively forbidden to attend a Socialist--traitors'--meeting. Forthat reason let's go.""No.""Ah, come on. Don't be a chump. Be a sport!""I'd like the lark, but I won't hurtGuardie's feelings; so that's theend of it.""Going to be a surprise, they say.""What kind of a surprise?""Going to spring a big sensation."Elena's eyes began to dance again."The woman called the Scarlet Nun is going tospeak, and Herman Wolf,the famous 'blond beast' of Socialism, will preside. They aremates--affinities.""Married?""God knows. A hundred weird stories about them circulate in theunder-world.""I won't go! Don't you sayanother word!" Elena snapped.Norman was silent."Are you sure it would be perfectly safe, Norman?" the girl softlyasked."Perfectly. I know every inch of that quarter of the city--went therea hundred times the year Iwas a reporter.""I won't go!""It's the wickedest street in town. They say it's the worst block inAmerica.""I don't want to see it." Elena laughed."And the hall is a famous red-light dancing dive in the heart ofHell's HalfAcre.""Hush! Hush! I tell you I won't--_I won't_ go! But--but if I _do_--youpromise to hold my hand every minute, Norman?""And keep my arm around your waist, if you like."Elena's cheeks flushed and her voicequivered with excitement as shepaused in the doorway."I'll be ready in twenty minutes after dinner.""Bully for my chum! I'll tell the Governor we've gone for a stroll."As the shadows slowly fell over the city, Norman ledElena down themarble steps of his father's palatial home and paused for a moment onthe edge of the hill on which were perched the seats of the mighty.Elena fumbled with a new glove."Are you ready to descend withme to the depths, my princess indisguise?" he gaily asked."Did you ever know me to flunk when I gave my word?""No, you're a brick, Elena."Norman seized her arm and strode down the steep hillside with sure,firmstep, the girl accompanying his every movement with responsivejoy."You're awfully wicked to get me into a scrape of this kind, Norman,"she cried, with bantering laughter. "You know I was dying to goslumming, andGuardie wouldn't let me. It's awfully mean of you totake advantage of me like this."He stopped suddenly and looked gravely into her flushed face."Let's go back, then.""No! I won't."Norman broke into a laugh. "Thenaway with vain regrets! And rememberthe fate of Lot's wife."Elena pressed his hand close to her side and whispered:"You are with me. The big handsome captain of last year's footballteam. Very young and very vainand very foolish and very lazy--but Ido think you'd stand by me in a scrap, Norman. Wouldn't you?""Well, I rather think!" was the deep answer, half whispered, as theysuddenly turned a corner and plunged into thered-light district. Hisstrong hand gripped her wrist with unusual tenderness."So who's afraid?" she cried, looking up into his face just as adrunken blear-eyed woman staggered through an open door and lurchedagainsther.A low scream of terror came from Elena as she sprang back, and thewoman's head struck the pavement with a dull whack. Norman bent overher and started to lift the heavy figure, when her fist suddenly shotintohis face."Go ter hell--I can take care o' myself!""Evidently," he laughed.Elena's hand suddenly gripped his."Let's go back, Norman.""Nonsense--who's afraid?""I am. I don't mind saying it. This is more than I bargainedfor."The woman scrambled to her feet and limped back into the doorway.Elena shivered. "I didn't know such women lived on this earth.""To say nothing of living but a stone's throw from your own door,"hecontinued."Let's go back," she pleaded."No. A thing like this is merely one more reason why we should keepon. This only shows that the world we live in isn't quite perfect, asthe Governor seems to think. TheseSocialists may be right after all.Now that we've started let's hear their side of it. Come on! Don't bea quitter!"Norman seized her arm and hurried through the swiftly moving throng ofthe under-world--gambling touts,thieves, cut-throats, pick-pockets,opium fiends, drunkards, thugs, carousing miners, and sailors--butabove all, everywhere, omnipresent, the abandoned woman--painted,bedizened, lurching through the streets,hanging in doorways, clingingto men on the sidewalks, beckoning from windows, singing vulgar songson crude platforms among throngs of half-drunken men, whirling pastdoors and windows in dance-halls, theircracked voices shrill andrasping above the din of cheap music.Elena stopped suddenly and clung heavily to Norman's arm."Please, Norman, let's go back. I can't endure this.""And you're my chum that never flunkedwhen she gave her word?" heasked with scorn. "We are only a few feet from the hall now.""Where is it?""Right there in the middle of the block where you see that sign withthe blazing red torch.""Come on, then," Elenasaid, with a shudder.They walked quickly through the long, dimly lighted passage to theentrance of the hall. It was densely packed with a crowd of fivehundred. Elena closed her eyes and allowed Norman to lead herthroughthe mob that blocked the space inside the door. At the entrance to thecentre aisle he encountered an usher who stared with bulging eyes athis towering figure. Norman leaned close and whispered:"My boy, canyou possibly get us two seats?""Can I git de captain er de football team two seats? Well, des watchme!"The boy darted up the aisle, dived under the platform, drew out twofolding-chairs, placed them in the aisle on thefront row, dartedback, and bowed with grave courtesy."Dis way, sir!"Norman followed with Elena clinging timidly and blindly to his arm. Ina moment they were seated. He offered the boy a dollar.The youngster bowedagain."De honour is all mine, sir. But you can give it to the Cause whenthey pass the box."Norman turned to Elena. "Well, doesn't that jar you? Asixteen-year-old boy declines a tip, and says give it to the Cause!"Theboy darted up the steps of the platform and whispered to thechairman:"Git on to his curves! Dat's de captain o' de football--de bloke dat'sworth millions, an' don't give a doggone!"A woman dressed in deep red who satbeside the chairman leaned closeand asked with quiet intensity:"You mean young Worth, the millionaire of Nob Hill?""Bet yer life! Dat's him!"The woman in red whispered to the chairman, who nodded, while hiskeengray eyes flashed a ray of light from his heavy brows as he turnedtoward Norman.The woman wheeled suddenly in her chair, and with her back to theaudience bent over a girl who was evidently hiding behindher."Outdo yourself to-night, Barbara. Young Norman Worth, the son of ourmulti-millionaire nabob, is sitting in the aisle just in front of you.Win him for the Cause and I'll give you the half of our kingdom.""How can Iknow him?" the girl asked excitedly."He's not ten feet from the platform in the centre aisle--frontrow--clean shaven--a young giant of twenty-three--the handsomest manin the house. Put your soul _and_ your body inevery word you utter,every breath you breathe--and _win_ him!""I'll try," was the low reply.CHAPTER IIA NEW JOAN OF ARCThe woman in scarlet rose, lifted her hand, and the crowd sprang totheir feet to the music ofthe most stirring song of revolution everwritten.Norman and Elena were both swept from their seats in spite ofthemselves. Elena's eyes flashed with excitement."What on earth is that they are singing, Norman?" shewhispered."The Marseillaise hymn.""Isn't it thrilling?" she gasped."It makes your heart leap, doesn't it?""And, heavens, how they sing it!" she exclaimed.Norman turned and looked over the crowd of eager faces--everyman andwoman singing with the passionate enthusiasm of religious fanatics--anenthusiasm electric, contagious, overwhelming. In spite of himself hefelt his heart beat with quickened sympathy.He was amazed at the


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Iola Leroy, by Frances E.W. HarperThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Iola Leroy       Shadows UpliftedAuthor: Frances E.W. HarperRelease Date: May 14, 2004 [EBook#12352]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IOLA LEROY ***Produced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed ProofreadersIOLA LEROY,ORSHADOWS UPLIFTED.BYFRANCES E.W.HARPER.1893, PhiladelphiaTO MY DAUGHTERMARY E. HARPER,THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED.INTRODUCTION.I confess when I first learned that Mrs. Harper was about to write "astory" on some features of theAnglo-African race, growing out of whatwas once popularly known as the "peculiar institution," I had my doubtsabout the matter. Indeed it was far from being easy for me to think thatshe was as fortunate as she mighthave been in selecting a subject whichwould afford her the best opportunity for bringing out a work of meritand lasting worth to the race--such a work as some of her personalfriends have long desired to see from hergraphic pen. However, afterhearing a good portion of the manuscript read, and a general statementwith regard to the object in view, I admit frankly that my partialindifference was soon swept away; at least I waswilling to wait forfurther developments.Being very desirous that one of the race, so long distinguished in thecause of freedom for her intellectual worth as Mrs. Harper has had thehonor of being, should not at this latedate in life make a blunderwhich might detract from her own good name, I naturally proposed toawait developments before deciding too quickly in favor of givingencouragement to her contemplated effort.However, Iwas perfectly aware of the fact that she had much material inher possession for a most interesting book on the subject of thecondition of the colored people in the South. I know of no other woman,white or colored,anywhere, who has come so intimately in contact withthe colored people in the South as Mrs. Harper. Since emancipation shehas labored in every Southern State in the Union, save two, Arkansas andTexas; in thecolleges, schools, churches, and the cabins not excepted,she has found a vast field and open doors to teach and speak on thethemes of education, temperance, and good home building, industry,morality, and the like,and never lacked for evidences of heartyappreciation and gratitude.Everywhere help was needed, and her heart being deeply absorbed in thecause she willingly allowed her sympathies to impel her to performmostheroic services.With her it was no uncommon occurrence, in visiting cities or towns, tospeak at two, three, and four meetings a day; sometimes to promiscuousaudiences composed of everybody who would care tocome.But the kind of meetings she took greatest interest in were meetingscalled exclusively for women. In this attitude she could pour out hersympathies to them as she could not do before a mixed audience;andindeed she felt their needs were far more pressing than any other class.And now I am prepared to most fully indorse her story. I doubt whethershe could, if she had tried ever so much, have hit upon a subject sowelladapted to reach a large number of her friends and the public withboth entertaining and instructive matter as successfully as she has donein this volume.The grand and ennobling sentiments which have characterized allherutterances in laboring for the elevation of the oppressed will not befound missing in this book.The previous books from her pen, which have been so very widelycirculated and admired, North and South--"ForestLeaves," "MiscellaneousPoems," "Moses, a Story of the Nile," "Poems," and "Sketches of SouthernLife" (five in number)--these, I predict, will be by far eclipsed bythis last effort, which will, in all probability, be thecrowning effortof her long and valuable services in the cause of humanity.While, as indicated, Mrs. Harper has done a large amount of work in theSouth, she has at the same time done much active service inthetemperance cause in the North, as thousands of this class can testify.Before the war she was engaged as a speaker by anti-slaveryassociations; since then, by appointment of the Women's ChristianTemperanceUnion, she has held the office of "Superintendent of ColoredWork" for years. She has also held the office of one of the Directors ofthe Women's Congress of the United States.Under the auspices of these influential,earnest, and intelligentassociations, she has been seen often on their platforms with theleading lady orators of the nation.Hence, being widely known not only amongst her own race but likewise bythe reformers,laboring for the salvation of the intemperate and othersequally unfortunate, there is little room to doubt that the book will bein great demand and will meet with warm congratulations from a goodlynumber outside ofthe author's social connections.Doubtless the thousands of colored Sunday-schools in the South, incasting about for an interesting, moral story-book, full of practicallessons, will not be content to be without "IOLALEROY, OR SHADOWSUPLIFTED."WILLIAM STILL.CONTENTS.ChapterI. The Mystery of Market Speech and Prayer MeetingsII. Contraband of WarIII. Uncle Daniel's StoryIV. Arrival of the Union ArmyV. Release of IolaLeroyVI. Robert Johnson's Promotion and ReligionVII. Tom Anderson's DeathVIII. The Mystified DoctorIX. Eugene Leroy and Alfred LorraineX. Shadows in the HomeXI. The Plague and the LawXII. School-girlNotionsXIII. A Rejected SuitorXIV. Harry LeroyXV. Robert and his CompanyXVI. After the BattleXVII. Flames in the School-RoomXVIII. Searching for Lost OnesXIX. Striking ContrastsXX. A RevelationXXI. A Home forMotherXXII. Further Lifting of the VeilXXIII. Delightful ReunionsXXIV. Northern ExperienceXXV. An Old FriendXXVI. Open QuestionsXXVII. Diverging PathsXXVIII. Dr. Latrobe's MistakeXXIX. Visitors from the SouthXXX.Friends in CouncilXXXI. Dawning AffectionsXXXII. Wooing and WeddingXXXIII. ConclusionNoteCHAPTER I.MYSTERY OF MARKET SPEECH AND PRAYER-MEETING."Good mornin', Bob; how's butter dis mornin'?""Fresh;just as fresh, as fresh can be.""Oh, glory!" said the questioner, whom we shall call Thomas Anderson,although he was known among his acquaintances as Marster Anderson's Tom.His informant regarding the conditionof the market was Robert Johnson,who had been separated from his mother in his childhood and reared byhis mistress as a favorite slave. She had fondled him as a pet animal,and even taught him to read.Notwithstanding their relation as mistressand slave, they had strong personal likings for each other.Tom Anderson was the servant of a wealthy planter, who lived in the cityof C----, North Carolina. This planter wasquite advanced in life, butin his earlier days he had spent much of his time in talking politics inhis State and National capitals in winter, and in visiting pleasureresorts and watering places in summer. His plantationswere left to thecare of overseers who, in their turn, employed negro drivers to aid themin the work of cultivation and discipline. But as the infirmities of agewere pressing upon him he had withdrawn from active life, andgiven themanagement of his affairs into the hands of his sons. As Robert Johnsonand Thomas Anderson passed homeward from the market, having boughtprovisions for their respective homes, they seemed to beverylight-hearted and careless, chatting and joking with each other; butevery now and then, after looking furtively around, one would drop intothe ears of the other some news of the battle then raging betweentheNorth and South which, like two great millstones, were grinding slaveryto powder.As they passed along, they were met by another servant, who said inhurried tones, but with a glad accent in his voice:--"Did you seede fish in de market dis mornin'? Oh, but dey war splendid,jis' as fresh, as fresh kin be.""That's the ticket," said Robert, as a broad smile overspread his face."I'll see you later.""Good mornin', boys," said anotherservant on his way to market. "How'seggs dis mornin'?""Fust rate, fust rate," said Tom Anderson. "Bob's got it down fine.""I thought so; mighty long faces at de pos'-office dis mornin'; but I'dbetter move 'long," andwith a bright smile lighting up his face hepassed on with a quickened tread.There seemed to be an unusual interest manifested by these men in thestate of the produce market, and a unanimous report of itsgoodcondition. Surely there was nothing in the primeness of the butter orthe freshness of the eggs to change careless looking faces into suchexpressions of gratification, or to light dull eyes with such gladness.What didit mean?During the dark days of the Rebellion, when the bondman was turning hiseyes to the American flag, and learning to hail it as an ensign ofdeliverance, some of the shrewder slaves, coming in contact withtheirmasters and overhearing their conversations, invented a phraseology toconvey in the most unsuspected manner news to each other from thebattle-field. Fragile women and helpless children were left ontheplantations while their natural protectors were at the front, and yetthese bondmen refrained from violence. Freedom was coming in the wake ofthe Union army, and while numbers deserted to join their forces,othersremained at home, slept in their cabins by night and attended to theirwork by day; but under this apparently careless exterior there was anundercurrent of thought which escaped the cognizance of theirmasters.In conveying tidings of the war, if they wished to announce a victory ofthe Union army, they said the butter was fresh, or that the fish andeggs were in good condition. If defeat befell them, then the butterandother produce were rancid or stale.Entering his home, Robert set his basket down. In one arm he held abundle of papers which he had obtained from the train to sell to theboarders, who were all anxious to hearfrom the seat of battle. Heslipped one copy out and, looking cautiously around, said to Linda, thecook, in a low voice:--"Splendid news in the papers. Secesh routed. Yankees whipped 'em out oftheir boots. Papers full ofit. I tell you the eggs and the butter'smighty fresh this morning.""Oh, sho, chile," said Linda, "I can't read de newspapers, but oleMissus' face is newspaper nuff for me. I looks at her ebery mornin' wenshe comes interdis kitchen. Ef her face is long an' she walks kine o'droopy den I thinks things is gwine wrong for dem. But ef she comes outyere looking mighty pleased, an' larffin all ober her face, an' steppin'so frisky, den I knows deSecesh is gittin' de bes' ob de Yankees.Robby, honey, does you really b'lieve for good and righty dat demYankees is got horns?""Of course not.""Well, I yered so.""Well, you heard a mighty big whopper.""Anyhow,Bobby, things goes mighty contrary in dis house. Ole Miss is inde parlor prayin' for de Secesh to gain de day, and we's prayin' in decabins and kitchens for de Yankees to get de bes' ob it. But wasn't MissNancy glad wendem Yankees run'd away at Bull's Run. It was nuffin butBull's Run an' run away Yankees. How she did larff and skip 'bout dehouse. An' den me thinks to myself you'd better not holler till you gitsout ob de woods. I specs'fore dem Yankees gits froo you'll be larffintother side ob your mouf. While you was gone to market ole Miss com'dout yere, her face looking as long as my arm, tellin' us all 'bout dewar and saying dem Yankees whippedour folks all to pieces. And she was'fraid dey'd all be down yere soon. I thought they couldn't come toosoon for we. But I didn't tell her so.""No, I don't expect you did.""No, I didn't; ef you buys me for a fool you losesyour money shore. Shesaid when dey com'd down yere she wanted all de men to hide, for dey'dkill all de men, but dey wouldn't tech de women.""It's no such thing. She's put it all wrong. Why them Yankees are ourbestfriends.""Dat's jis' what I thinks. Ole Miss was jis' tryin to skeer a body. An'when she war done she jis' set down and sniffled an' cried, an' I war soglad I didn't know what to do. But I had to hole in. An' I made out Iwarorful sorry. An' Jinny said, 'O Miss Nancy, I hope dey won't comeyere.' An' she said, 'I'se jis' 'fraid dey will come down yere andgobble up eberything dey can lay dere hands on.' An' she jis' looked asef her heart warmos' broke, an' den she went inter de house. An' whenshe war gone, we jis' broke loose. Jake turned somersets, and said hewarnt 'fraid ob dem Yankees; he know'd which side his brad was butteredon. Dat Jake is acuter. When he goes down ter git de letters he cuts upall kines ob shines and capers. An' to look at him skylarking dere whilede folks is waitin' for dere letters, an' talkin' bout de war, yerwouldn't think dat boy had athimbleful of sense. But Jake's listenin'all de time wid his eyes and his mouf wide open, an' ketchin' eberythinghe kin, an' a heap ob news he gits dat way. As to Jinny, she jis'capered and danced all ober de flore. An' Ijis' had to put my han' oberher mouf to keep ole Miss from yereing her. Oh, but we did hab a goodtime. Boy, yer oughter been yere.""And, Aunt Linda, what did you do?""Oh, honey, I war jis' ready to crack my sideslarffin, jis' to see whata long face Jinny puts on wen ole Miss is talkin', an' den to see datface wen missus' back is turned, why it's good as a circus. It's nuff tomake a horse larff.""Why, Aunt Linda, you never saw acircus?""No, but I'se hearn tell ob dem, and I thinks dey mus' be mighty funny.An' I know it's orful funny to see how straight Jinny's face looks wenshe's almos' ready to bust, while ole Miss is frettin' and fumin''boutdem Yankees an' de war. But, somehow, Robby, I ralely b'lieves dat wecullud folks is mixed up in dis fight. I seed it all in a vision. An'soon as dey fired on dat fort, Uncle Dan'el says to me: 'Linda, we'sgwine to gitour freedom.' An' I says: 'Wat makes you think so?" An' hesays: 'Dey've fired on Fort Sumter, an' de Norf is boun' to whip.'""I hope so," said Robert. "I think that we have a heap of friends upthere.""Well, I'm jis' gwineto keep on prayin' an' b'lievin'."Just then the bell rang, and Robert, answering, found Mrs. Johnsonsuffering from a severe headache, which he thought was occasioned by herworrying over the late defeat of theConfederates. She sent him on anerrand, which he executed with his usual dispatch, and returned to somework which he had to do in the kitchen. Robert was quite a favorite withAunt Linda, and they often hadconfidential chats together."Bobby," she said, when he returned, "I thinks we ort ter hab aprayer-meetin' putty soon.""I am in for that. Where will you have it?""Lem me see. Las' Sunday we had it in Gibson's woods;Sunday 'fore las',in de old cypress swamp; an' nex' Sunday we'el hab one in McCullough'swoods. Las' Sunday we had a good time. I war jis' chock full an' runnin'ober. Aunt Milly's daughter's bin monin all summer, an'she's jis' comethroo. We had a powerful time. Eberythin' on dat groun' was jis' alive.I tell yer, dere was a shout in de camp.""Well, you had better look out, and not shout too much, and pray andsing too loud, because,'fore you know, the patrollers will be on yourtrack and break up your meetin' in a mighty big hurry, before you cansay 'Jack Robinson.'""Oh, we looks out for dat. We's got a nice big pot, dat got cracked las'winter, but itwill hole a lot o' water, an' we puts it whar we can tellit eberything. We has our own good times. An' I want you to come Sundaynight an' tell all 'bout the good eggs, fish, and butter. Mark my words,Bobby, we's allgwine to git free. I seed it all in a vision, as plainas de nose on yer face.""Well, I hope your vision will come out all right, and that the eggswill keep and the butter be fresh till we have our next meetin'.""Now, Bob, yousen' word to Uncle Dan'el, Tom Anderson, an' de rest obdem, to come to McCullough's woods nex' Sunday night. I want to hab asin-killin' an' debil-dribin' time. But, boy, you'd better git out eryere. Ole Miss'll be downon yer like a scratch cat."Although the slaves were denied unrestricted travel, and the holding ofmeetings without the surveillance of a white man, yet they contrived tomeet by stealth and hold gatherings where theycould mingle theirprayers and tears, and lay plans for escaping to the Union army.Outwitting the vigilance of the patrollers and home guards, theyestablished these meetings miles apart, extending into severalStates.Sometimes their hope of deliverance was cruelly blighted by hearing ofsome adventurous soul who, having escaped to the Union army, had beenpursued and returned again to bondage. Yet hope survived allthesedisasters which gathered around the fate of their unfortunate brethren,who were remanded to slavery through the undiscerning folly of those whowere strengthening the hands which were dealing their deadliestblows atthe heart of the Nation. But slavery had cast such a glamour over theNation, and so warped the consciences of men, that they failed to readaright the legible transcript of Divine retribution which waswrittenupon the shuddering earth, where the blood of God's poor children hadbeen as water freely spilled.CHAPTER II.CONTRABAND OF WAR.A few evenings after this conversation between Robert and Linda,aprayer-meeting was held. Under the cover of night a few dusky figuresmet by stealth in McCullough's woods."Howdy," said Robert, approaching Uncle Daniel, the leader of theprayer-meeting, who had preceded himbut a few minutes."Thanks and praise; I'se all right. How is you, chile?""Oh, I'm all right," said Robert, smiling, and grasping Uncle Daniel'shand."What's de news?" exclaimed several, as they turned their faceseagerlytowards Robert."I hear," said Robert, "that they are done sending the runaways back totheir masters.""Is dat so?" said a half dozen earnest voices. "How did you yere it?""I read it in the papers. And Tom told mehe heard them talking about itlast night, at his house. How did you hear it, Tom? Come, tell us allabout it."Tom Anderson hesitated a moment, and then said:--"Now, boys, I'll tell you all 'bout it. But you's got to bemighty mum'bout it. It won't do to let de cat outer de bag.""Dat's so! But tell us wat you yered. We ain't gwine to say nuffin tonobody.""Well," said Tom, "las' night ole Marster had company. Two bigginerals, and deywas hoppin' mad. One ob dem looked like a turkeygobbler, his face war so red. An' he sed one ob dem Yankee ginerals, Ithinks dey called him Beas' Butler, sed dat de slaves dat runned awaywar some big name--I don'tknow what he called it. But it meant dat allob we who com'd to de Yankees should be free.""Contraband of war," said Robert, who enjoyed the distinction of being agood reader, and was pretty well posted about thewar. Mrs. Johnson hadtaught him to read on the same principle she would have taught a petanimal amusing tricks. She had never imagined the time would come whenhe would use the machinery she had put in hishands to help overthrowthe institution to which she was so ardently attached."What does it mean? Is it somethin' good for us?""I think," said Robert, a little vain of his superior knowledge, "it isthe best kind of good. Itmeans if two armies are fighting and thehorses of one run away, the other has a right to take them. And it isjust the same if a slave runs away from the Secesh to the Union lines.He is called a contraband, just the sameas if he were an ox or a horse.They wouldn't send the horses back, and they won't send us back.""Is dat so?" said Uncle Daniel, a dear old father, with a look ofsaintly patience on his face. "Well, chillen, what do youmean to do?""Go, jis' as soon as we kin git to de army," said Tom Anderson."What else did the generals say? And how did you come to hear them,Tom?" asked Robert Johnson."Well, yer see, Marster's too ole andfeeble to go to de war, but hisheart's in it. An' it makes him feel good all ober when dem big gineralscomes an' tells him all 'bout it. Well, I war laying out on de porchfas' asleep an' snorin' drefful hard. Oh, I war so soun'asleep dat wenMarster wanted some ice-water he had to shake me drefful hard to wake meup. An' all de time I war wide 'wake as he war.""What did they say?" asked Robert, who was always on the lookout fornewsfrom the battle-field."One ob dem said, dem Yankees war talkin' of puttin' guns in our han'sand settin' us all free. An' de oder said, 'Oh, sho! ef dey puts guns indere hands dey'll soon be in our'n; and ef dey sets em freedey wouldn'tknow how to take keer ob demselves.'""Only let 'em try it," chorused a half dozen voices, "an' dey'll soonsee who'll git de bes' ob de guns; an' as to taking keer ob ourselves, Ispecs we kin take keer obourselves as well as take keer ob dem.""Yes," said Tom, "who plants de cotton and raises all de crops?"    "'They eat the meat and give us the bones,      Eat the cherries and give us the stones,'"And I'm getting tired of