The Attache or Sam Slick in England Part 28

CHAPTER XIII. LOOKING BACK.

In the course of the evening, Mr. Hopewell adverted to his return as a matter of professional duty, and spoke of it in such a feeling and earnest manner, as to leave no doubt upon my mind, that we should not be able to detain him long in this country, unless his attention should be kept fully occupied by a constant change of scene.

Mr. Slick expressed to me the same fear, and, knowing that I had been talking of going to Scotland, entreated me not to be long absent, for he felt convinced that as soon as he should be left alone, his thoughts and wishes would at once revert to America.

"I will try to keep him up," said he, "as well as I can, but I can't do it alone. If you do go, don't leave us long. Whenever I find him dull, and can't cheer him up no how I can fix it, by talk, or fun, or sight seein' or nothin', I make him vexed, and that excites him, stirs him up with a pot stick, and is of great sarvice to him. I don't mean actilly makin' him wrathy in airnest, but jist rilin of him for his own good, by pokin' a mistake at him. I'll shew you, presently, how I do it."

As soon as Mr. Hopewell rejoined us, he began to inquire into the probable duration of our visit to this country, and expressed a wish to return, as soon as possible, to Slickville.

"Come, Minister," said Mr. Slick, tapping him on the shoulder, "as father used to say, we must 'right about face' now. When we are at home let us think of home, when we are here, let us think of this place. Let us look a-head, don't let's look back, for we can't see nothin' there."

"Indeed, Sam," said he, with a sad and melancholy air, "it would be better for us all if we looked back oftener than we do. From the errors of the past, we might rectify our course for the future. Prospective sin is often clothed in very alluring garments; past sin appears in all its naked deformity. Looking back, therefore--"

"Is very well," said Mr. Slick, "in the way of preachin'; but lookin'

back when you can't see nothin', as you are now, is only a hurtin' of your eyes. I never hear that word, 'lookin' back,' that I don't think of that funny story of Lot's wife."

"Funny story of Lot's wife, Sir! Do you call that a funny story, Sir?"

"I do, Sir."

"You do, Sir?"

"Yes, I do, Sir; and I defy you or any other man to say it ain't a funny story."

"Oh dear, dear," said Mr. Hopewell, "that I should have lived to see the day when you, my son, would dare to speak of a Divine judgment as a funny story, and that you should presume so to address me."

"A judgment, Sir?"

"Yes, a judgment, Sir."

"Do you call the story of Lot's wife a judgment?"

"Yes, I do call the story of Lot's wife a judgment; a monument of the Divine wrath for the sin of disobedience."

"What! Mrs. Happy Lot? Do you call her a monument of wrath? Well, well, if that don't beat all, Minister. If you had a been a-tyin' of the night-cap last night I shouldn't a wondered at your talkin' at that pace. But to call that dear little woman, Mrs. Happy Lot, that dancin', laughin' tormentin', little critter, a monument of wrath, beats all to immortal smash."

"Why who are you a-talkin' of, Sam?"

"Why, Mrs. Happy Lot, the wife of the Honourable Cranbery Lot, of Umbagog, to be sure. Who did you think I was a-talkin' of?"

"Well, I thought you was a-talkin' of--of--ahem--of subjects too serious to be talked of in that manner; but I did you wrong, Sam; I did you injustice. Give me your hand, my boy. It's better for me to mistake and apologize, than for you to sin and repent. I don't think I ever heard of Mr. Lot, of Umbagog, or of his wife either. Sit down here, and tell me the story, for 'with thee conversing, I forget all time.'"

"Well, Minister," said Mr. Slick, "I'll tell you the ins and outs of it; and a droll story it is too. Miss Lot was the darter of Enoch Mosher, the rich miser of Goshen; as beautiful a little critter too, as ever slept in shoe-leather. She looked for all the world like one of the Paris fas.h.i.+on prints, for she was a parfect pictur', that's a fact.

Her complexion was made of white and red roses, mixed so beautiful, you couldn't tell where the white eended, or the red begun, natur' had used the blendin' brush so delicate. Her eyes were screw augurs, I tell _you_; they bored right into your heart, and kinder agitated you, and made your breath come and go, and your pulse flutter. I never felt nothin' like 'em. When lit up, they sparkled like lamp reflectors; and at other tunes, they was as soft, and mild, and clear as dew-drops that hang on the bushes at sun-rise. When she loved, she loved; and when she hated, she hated about the wickedest you ever see. Her lips were like heart cherries of the carnation kind; so plump, and fall, and hard, you felt as if you could fall to and eat 'em right up. Her voice was like a grand piany, all sorts o' power in it; canary-birds' notes at one eend, and thunder at t'other, accordin' to the humour she was in, for she was a'most a grand bit of stuff was Happy, she'd put an edge on a knife a'most. She was a rael steel. Her figur' was as light as a fairy's, and her waist was so taper and tiny, it seemed jist made for puttin' an arm round in walkin'. She was as ac_tive_ and springy on her feet as a catamount, and near about as touch me-not a sort of customer too.

She actilly did seem as if she was made out of steel springs and chicken-hawk. If old Cran, was to slip off the handle, I think I should make up to her, for she is 'a salt,' that's a fact, a most a heavenly splice.

"Well, the Honourable Cranbery Lot put in for her, won her, and married her. A good speculation it turned out too, for he got the matter of one hundred thousand of dollars by her, if he got a cent. As soon as they were fairly welded, off they sot to take the tour of Europe, and they larfed and cried, and kissed and quarrelled, and fit and made up all over the Continent, for her temper was as onsartain as the climate here--rain one minit and sun the next; but more rain nor sun.

"He was a fool, was Cranbery. He didn't know how to manage her. His bridle hand warn't good, I tell you. A spry, mettlesome hoss, and a dull critter with no action, don't mate well in harness, that's a fact.

"After goin' every where, and every where else amost, where should they get to but the Alps. One arternoon, a sincerely cold one it was too, and the weather, violent slippy, dark overtook them before they reached the top of one of the highest and steepest of them mountains, and they had to spend the night at a poor squatter's shanty.

"Well, next mornin', jist at day-break, and sun-rise on them everlastin'

hills is tall sun-rise, and no mistake, p'rhaps nothin was ever seen so fine except the first one, since creation. It takes the rag off quite.

Well, she was an enterprisin' little toad, was Miss Lot too, afeered of nothin' a'most; so nothin' would sarve her but she must out and have a scramb up to the tip-topest part of the peak afore breakfast.

"Well, the squatter there, who was a kind o' guide, did what he could to dispersuade her, but all to no purpose; go she would, and a headstrong woman and a runaway hoss are jist two things it's out of all reason to try to stop; The only way is to urge 'em on, and then, bein' contr_ary_ by natur', they stop of themselves.

"'Well,' sais the guide, 'if you will go, marm, do take this pike staff, marm,' sais he; (a sort of walkin'-stick with a spike to the eend of it), 'for you can't get either up or down them slopes without it, it is so almighty slippy there.' So she took the staff, and off she sot and climbed and climbed ever so far, till she didn't look no bigger than a s...o...b..rd.

"At last she came to a small flat place, like a table, and then she turned round to rest, get breath, and take a look at the glorious view; and jist as she hove-to, up went her little heels, and away went her stick, right over a big parpendicular cliff, hundreds and hundreds, and thousands of feet deep. So deep, you couldn't see the bottom for the shadows, for the very snow looked black down there. There is no way in, it is so steep, but over the cliff; and no way out, but one, and that leads to t'other world. I can't describe it to you, though. I have see'd it since myself. There are some things too big to lift; some, too big to carry after they be lifted; and some too grand for the tongue to describe too. There's a notch where dictionary can't go no farther, as well as every other created thing, that's a fact. P'rhaps if I was to say it looked like the mould that that 'are very peak was cast in, afore it was cold and stiff, and sot up on eend, I should come as near the mark as any thing I know on.

"Well away she slid, feet and hands out, all flat on her face, right away, arter her pike staff. Most people would have ginn it up as gone goose, and others been so frightened as not to do any thing at all; or at most only jist to think of a prayer, for there was no time to say one.

"But not so Lot's 'wife. She was of a conquerin' natur'. She never gave nothin' up, till she couldn't hold on no longer. She was one o' them critters that go to bed mistress, and rise master; and just as she got to the edge of the precipice, her head hangin' over, and her eyes lookin' down, and she all but ready to shoot out and launch away into bottomless s.p.a.ce, the ten commandments brought her right short up. Oh, she sais, the sudden joy of that sudden stop swelled her heart so big, she thought it would have bust like a byler; and, as it was, the great endurin' long breath she drew, arter such an alfired escape, almost killed her at the ebb, it hurt her so."

"But," said Mr. Hopewell, "how did the ten commandments save her? Do you mean that figuratively, or literally. Was it her reliance on providence, arising from a conscious observance of the decalogue all her life, or was it a book containing them, that caught against some thing, and stopt her descent. It is very interesting. Many a person, Sam, has been saved when at the brink of destruction, by laying fast hold on the bible. Who can doubt, that the commandments had a Divine origin? Short, simple and yet comprehensive; the first four point to our duty to our Maker, the last six, towards our social duties. In this respect there is a great similarity of structure, to that excellent prayer given us--"

"Oh, Minister," said Mr. Slick, "I beg your pardon, I do, indeed, I don't mean that at all; and I do declare and vow now, I wasn't a playin'

possum with you, nother. I won't do it no more, I won't, indeed."

"Well, what did you mean then?"

"Why I meant her ten fingers, to be sure. When a woman clapper claws her husband, we have a cant tarm with us boys of Slickville, savin' she gave him her ten commandments."

"And a very improper expression too, Sir," said Mr. Hopewell; "a very irreverent, indecent, and I may say profane expression; I am quite shocked. But as you say you didn't mean it, are sorry for it, and will not repeat it again, I accept your apology, and rely on your promise. Go on, Sir."

"Well, as I was a savin', the moment she found herself a coasting of it that way, flounder fas.h.i.+on, she hung on by her ten com--I mean her ten fingers, and her ten toes, like grim death to a dead n.i.g.g.e.r, and it brought her up jist in time. But how to get back was the question? To let go the hold of any one hand was sartain death, and there was n.o.body to help her, and yet to hold on long that way, she couldn't, no how she could fix it.

"So what does she do, (for nothin' equals a woman for contrivances), but move one finger at a time, and then one toe at a time, till she gets a new hold, and then crawls backward, like a span-worm, an inch at a hitch. Well, she works her pa.s.sage this way, wrong eend foremost, by backin' of her paddles for the matter of half an hour or so, till she gets to where it was roughish, and somethin' like standin' ground, when who should come by but a tall handsome man, with a sort of a half coat, half cloak-like coverin' on, fastened round the waist with a belt, and havin' a hood up, to ambush the head.

"The moment she clapt eyes on him, she called to him for help. 'Oh,'

sais she, 'for heaven's sake, good man, help me up! Jist take hold of my leg and draw me back, will you, that's a good soul?' And then she held up fust one leg for him, and then the other, most beseechin', but nothin' would move him. He jist stopt, looked back for a moment and then progressed agin.

"Well, it ryled her considerable. Her eyes actilly snapped with fire, like a hemlock log at Christmas: (for nothin' makes a woman so mad as a parsonal slight, and them little ankles of hern were enough to move the heart of a stone, and make it jump out o' the ground, that's a fact, they were such fine-spun gla.s.s ones), it made her so mad, it gave her fresh strength; and makin' two or three onnateral efforts, she got clear back to the path, and sprung right up on eend, as wicked as a she-bear with a sore head. But when she got upright agin, she then see'd what a beautiful frizzle of a fix she was in. She couldn't hope to climb far; and, indeed, she didn't ambition to; she'd had enough of that, for one spell. But climbin' up was nothin', compared to goin' down hill without her staff; so what to do, she didn't know.

"At last, a thought struck her. She intarmined to make that man help her, in spite of him. So she sprung forward for a s.p.a.ce, like a painter, for life or death, and caught right hold of his cloak. 'Help--help me!'

said she, 'or I shall go for it, that's sartain. Here's my puss, my rings, my watch, and all I have got; but oh, help me! for the love of G.o.d, help me, or my flint is fixed for good and all.'

"With that, the man turned round, and took one glance at her, as if he kinder relented, and then, all at once, wheeled back again, as amazed as if he was jist born, gave an awful yell, and started off as fast as he could clip, though that warn't very tall runnin' nother, considerin' the ground. But she warn't to be shook off that way. She held fast to his cloak, like a burr to a sheep's tail, and raced arter him, screamin' and screechin' like mad; and the more she cried, the louder he yelled, till the mountains all echoed it and re-echoed it, so that you would have thought a thousand devils had broke loose, a'most.

"Such a gettin' up stairs you never did see.

"Well, they kept up this tantrum for the s.p.a.ce of two or three hundred yards, when they came to a small, low, dismal-lookin' house, when the man gave the door a kick, that sent the latch a flyin' off to the t'other eend of the room, and fell right in on the floor, on his face, as flat as a flounder, a groanin' and a moanin' like any thing, and lookin' as mean as a critter that was sent for, and couldn't come, and as obstinate as a pine stump.