CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MARTIN AND HIS PARTNER TAKE POSSESSION OF THEIR ESTATE. THE JOYFULOCCASION INVOLVES SOME FURTHER ACCOUNT OF EDEN
There happened to be on board the steamboat several gentlemenpassengers, of the same stamp as Martin's New York friend Mr Bevan; andin their society he was cheerful and happy. They released him as wellas they could from the intellectual entanglements of Mrs Hominy;and exhibited, in all they said and did, so much good sense and highfeeling, that he could not like them too well. 'If this were a republicof Intellect and Worth,' he said, 'instead of vapouring and jobbing,they would not want the levers to keep it in motion.'
'Having good tools, and using bad ones,' returned Mr Tapley, 'would lookas if they was rather a poor sort of carpenters, sir, wouldn't it?'
Martin nodded. 'As if their work were infinitely above their powers andpurpose, Mark; and they botched it in consequence.'
'The best on it is,' said Mark, 'that when they do happen to make adecent stroke; such as better workmen, with no such opportunities, makeevery day of their lives and think nothing of--they begin to sing outso surprising loud. Take notice of my words, sir. If ever the defaultingpart of this here country pays its debts--along of finding that notpaying 'em won't do in a commercial point of view, you see, and isinconvenient in its consequences--they'll take such a shine out of it,and make such bragging speeches, that a man might suppose no borrowedmoney had ever been paid afore, since the world was first begun. That'sthe way they gammon each other, sir. Bless you, I know 'em. Take noticeof my words, now!'
'You seem to be growing profoundly sagacious!' cried Martin, laughing.
'Whether that is,' thought Mark, 'because I'm a day's journey nearerEden, and am brightening up afore I die, I can't say. P'rhaps by thetime I get there I shall have growed into a prophet.'
He gave no utterance to these sentiments; but the excessive jovialitythey inspired within him, and the merriment they brought upon hisshining face, were quite enough for Martin. Although he might sometimesprofess to make light of his partner's inexhaustible cheerfulness,and might sometimes, as in the case of Zephaniah Scadder, find himtoo jocose a commentator, he was always sensible of the effect of hisexample in rousing him to hopefulness and courage. Whether he were inthe humour to profit by it, mattered not a jot. It was contagious, andhe could not choose but be affected.
At first they parted with some of their passengers once or twice a day,and took in others to replace them. But by degrees, the towns upon theirroute became more thinly scattered; and for many hours together theywould see no other habitations than the huts of the wood-cutters, wherethe vessel stopped for fuel. Sky, wood, and water all the livelong day;and heat that blistered everything it touched.
On they toiled through great solitudes, where the trees upon the banksgrew thick and close; and floated in the stream; and held up shrivelledarms from out the river's depths; and slid down from the margin of theland, half growing, half decaying, in the miry water. On through theweary day and melancholy night; beneath the burning sun, and in the mistand vapour of the evening; on, until return appeared impossible, andrestoration to their home a miserable dream.
They had now but few people on board, and these few were as flat, asdull, and stagnant, as the vegetation that oppressed their eyes. Nosound of cheerfulness or hope was heard; no pleasant talk beguiledthe tardy time; no little group made common cause against the fulldepression of the scene. But that, at certain periods, they swallowedfood together from a common trough, it might have been old Charon'sboat, conveying melancholy shades to judgment.
At length they drew near New Thermopylae; where, that same evening, MrsHominy would disembark. A gleam of comfort sunk into Martin's bosom whenshe told him this. Mark needed none; but he was not displeased.
It was almost night when they came alongside the landing-place. A steepbank with an hotel like a barn on the top of it; a wooden store or two;and a few scattered sheds.
'You sleep here to-night, and go on in the morning, I suppose, ma'am?'said Martin.
'Where should I go on to?' cried the mother of the modern Gracchi.
'To New Thermopylae.'
'My! ain't I there?' said Mrs Hominy.
Martin looked for it all round the darkening panorama; but he couldn'tsee it, and was obliged to say so.
'Why that's it!' cried Mrs Hominy, pointing to the sheds just mentioned.
'THAT!' exclaimed Martin.
'Ah! that; and work it which way you will, it whips Eden,' said MrsHominy, nodding her head with great expression.
The married Miss Hominy, who had come on board with her husband, gave tothis statement her most unqualified support, as did that gentleman also.Martin gratefully declined their invitation to regale himself at theirhouse during the half hour of the vessel's stay; and having escortedMrs Hominy and the red pocket-handkerchief (which was still on activeservice) safely across the gangway, returned in a thoughtful mood towatch the emigrants as they removed their goods ashore.
Mark, as he stood beside him, glanced in his face from time to time;anxious to discover what effect this dialogue had had upon him, andnot unwilling that his hopes should be dashed before they reached theirdestination, so that the blow he feared might be broken in its fall. Butsaving that he sometimes looked up quickly at the poor erections on thehill, he gave him no clue to what was passing in his mind, until theywere again upon their way.
'Mark,' he said then, 'are there really none but ourselves on board thisboat who are bound for Eden?'
'None at all, sir. Most of 'em, as you know, have stopped short; andthe few that are left are going further on. What matters that! More roomthere for us, sir.'
'Oh, to be sure!' said Martin. 'But I was thinking--' and there hepaused.
'Yes, sir?' observed Mark.
'How odd it was that the people should have arranged to try theirfortune at a wretched hole like that, for instance, when there is sucha much better, and such a very different kind of place, near at hand, asone may say.'
He spoke in a tone so very different from his usual confidence, and withsuch an obvious dread of Mark's reply, that the good-natured fellow wasfull of pity.
'Why, you know, sir,' said Mark, as gently as he could by any meansinsinuate the observation, 'we must guard against being too sanguine.There's no occasion for it, either, because we're determined to make thebest of everything, after we know the worst of it. Ain't we, sir?'
Martin looked at him, but answered not a word.
'Even Eden, you know, ain't all built,' said Mark.
'In the name of Heaven, man,' cried Martin angrily, 'don't talk of Edenin the same breath with that place. Are you mad? There--God forgiveme!--don't think harshly of me for my temper!'
After that, he turned away, and walked to and fro upon the deck full twohours. Nor did he speak again, except to say 'Good night,' until nextday; nor even then upon this subject, but on other topics quite foreignto the purpose.
As they proceeded further on their track, and came more and more towardstheir journey's end, the monotonous desolation of the scene increased tothat degree, that for any redeeming feature it presented to their eyes,they might have entered, in the body, on the grim domains of GiantDespair. A flat morass, bestrewn with fallen timber; a marsh on whichthe good growth of the earth seemed to have been wrecked and cast away,that from its decomposing ashes vile and ugly things might rise; wherethe very trees took the aspect of huge weeds, begotten of the slimefrom which they sprung, by the hot sun that burnt them up; where fatalmaladies, seeking whom they might infect, came forth at night in mistyshapes, and creeping out upon the water, hunted them like spectres untilday; where even the blessed sun, shining down on festering elementsof corruption and disease, became a horror; this was the realm of Hopethrough which they moved.
At last they stopped. At Eden too. The waters of the Deluge might haveleft it but a week before; so choked with slime and matted growth wasthe hideous swamp which bore that name.
There being no depth
of water close in shore, they landed from thevessel's boat, with all their goods beside them. There were a fewlog-houses visible among the dark trees; the best, a cow-shed or a rudestable; but for the wharves, the market-place, the public buildings--
'Here comes an Edener,' said Mark. 'He'll get us help to carry thesethings up. Keep a good heart, sir. Hallo there!'
The man advanced toward them through the thickening gloom, very slowly;leaning on a stick. As he drew nearer, they observed that he was paleand worn, and that his anxious eyes were deeply sunken in his head. Hisdress of homespun blue hung about him in rags; his feet and head werebare. He sat down on a stump half-way, and beckoned them to come to him.When they complied, he put his hand upon his side as if in pain, andwhile he fetched his breath stared at them, wondering.
'Strangers!' he exclaimed, as soon as he could speak.
'The very same,' said Mark. 'How are you, sir?'
'I've had the fever very bad,' he answered faintly. 'I haven't stoodupright these many weeks. Those are your notions I see,' pointing totheir property.
'Yes, sir,' said Mark, 'they are. You couldn't recommend us some one aswould lend a hand to help carry 'em up to the--to the town, could you,sir?'
'My eldest son would do it if he could,' replied the man; 'but todayhe has his chill upon him, and is lying wrapped up in the blankets. Myyoungest died last week.'
'I'm sorry for it, governor, with all my heart,' said Mark, shaking himby the hand. 'Don't mind us. Come along with me, and I'll give you anarm back. The goods is safe enough, sir'--to Martin--'there ain't manypeople about, to make away with 'em. What a comfort that is!'
'No,' cried the man. 'You must look for such folk here,' knocking hisstick upon the ground, 'or yonder in the bush, towards the north. We'veburied most of 'em. The rest have gone away. Them that we have here,don't come out at night.'
'The night air ain't quite wholesome, I suppose?' said Mark.
'It's deadly poison,' was the settler's answer.
Mark showed no more uneasiness than if it had been commended to him asambrosia; but he gave the man his arm, and as they went along explainedto him the nature of their purchase, and inquired where it lay. Close tohis own log-house, he said; so close that he had used their dwellingas a store-house for some corn; they must excuse it that night, but hewould endeavour to get it taken out upon the morrow. He then gave themto understand, as an additional scrap of local chit-chat, that he hadburied the last proprietor with his own hands; a piece of informationwhich Mark also received without the least abatement of his equanimity.
In a word, he conducted them to a miserable cabin, rudely constructedof the trunks of trees; the door of which had either fallen down orbeen carried away long ago; and which was consequently open to thewild landscape and the dark night. Saving for the little store he hadmentioned, it was perfectly bare of all furniture; but they had left achest upon the landing-place, and he gave them a rude torch in lieuof candle. This latter acquisition Mark planted in the earth, and thendeclaring that the mansion 'looked quite comfortable,' hurriedMartin off again to help bring up the chest. And all the way to thelanding-place and back, Mark talked incessantly; as if he would infuseinto his partner's breast some faint belief that they had arrived underthe most auspicious and cheerful of all imaginable circumstances.
But many a man who would have stood within a home dismantled, strong inhis passion and design of vengeance, has had the firmness of hisnature conquered by the razing of an air-built castle. When the log-hutreceived them for the second time, Martin laid down upon the ground, andwept aloud.
'Lord love you, sir!' cried Mr Tapley, in great terror; 'Don't do that!Don't do that, sir! Anything but that! It never helped man, woman, orchild, over the lowest fence yet, sir, and it never will. Besides itsbeing of no use to you, it's worse than of no use to me, for the leastsound of it will knock me flat down. I can't stand up agin it, sir.Anything but that!'
There is no doubt he spoke the truth, for the extraordinary alarm withwhich he looked at Martin as he paused upon his knees before the chest,in the act of unlocking it, to say these words, sufficiently confirmedhim.
'I ask your forgiveness a thousand times, my dear fellow,' said Martin.'I couldn't have helped it, if death had been the penalty.'
'Ask my forgiveness!' said Mark, with his accustomed cheerfulness, as heproceeded to unpack the chest. 'The head partner a-asking forgiveness ofCo., eh? There must be something wrong in the firm when that happens. Imust have the books inspected and the accounts gone over immediate. Herewe are. Everything in its proper place. Here's the salt pork. Here's thebiscuit. Here's the whiskey. Uncommon good it smells too. Here's thetin pot. This tin pot's a small fortun' in itself! Here's the blankets.Here's the axe. Who says we ain't got a first-rate fit out? I feel as ifI was a cadet gone out to Indy, and my noble father was chairman of theBoard of Directors. Now, when I've got some water from the stream aforethe door and mixed the grog,' cried Mark, running out to suit the actionto the word, 'there's a supper ready, comprising every delicacy ofthe season. Here we are, sir, all complete. For what we are going toreceive, et cetrer. Lord bless you, sir, it's very like a gipsy party!'
It was impossible not to take heart, in the company of such a man asthis. Martin sat upon the ground beside the box; took out his knife; andate and drank sturdily.
'Now you see,' said Mark, when they had made a hearty meal; 'with yourknife and mine, I sticks this blanket right afore the door. Or where, ina state of high civilization, the door would be. And very neat it looks.Then I stops the aperture below, by putting the chest agin it. And veryneat THAT looks. Then there's your blanket, sir. Then here's mine. Andwhat's to hinder our passing a good night?'
For all his light-hearted speaking, it was long before he slept himself.He wrapped his blanket round him, put the axe ready to his hand, and layacross the threshold of the door; too anxious and too watchful to closehis eyes. The novelty of their dreary situation, the dread of somerapacious animal or human enemy, the terrible uncertainty of their meansof subsistence, the apprehension of death, the immense distance and thehosts of obstacles between themselves and England, were fruitful sourcesof disquiet in the deep silence of the night. Though Martin would havehad him think otherwise, Mark felt that he was waking also, and a preyto the same reflections. This was almost worse than all, for if he beganto brood over their miseries instead of trying to make head against themthere could be little doubt that such a state of mind would powerfullyassist the influence of the pestilent climate. Never had the light ofday been half so welcome to his eyes, as when awaking from a fitfuldoze, Mark saw it shining through the blanket in the doorway.
He stole out gently, for his companion was sleeping now; and havingrefreshed himself by washing in the river, where it snowed before thedoor, took a rough survey of the settlement. There were not above ascore of cabins in the whole; half of these appeared untenanted; allwere rotten and decayed. The most tottering, abject, and forlorn amongthem was called, with great propriety, the Bank, and National CreditOffice. It had some feeble props about it, but was settling deep down inthe mud, past all recovery.
Here and there an effort had been made to clear the land, and somethinglike a field had been marked out, where, among the stumps and ashes ofburnt trees, a scanty crop of Indian corn was growing. In some quarters,a snake or zigzag fence had been begun, but in no instance had it beencompleted; and the felled logs, half hidden in the soil, lay moulderingaway. Three or four meagre dogs, wasted and vexed with hunger; somelong-legged pigs, wandering away into the woods in search of food; somechildren, nearly naked, gazing at him from the huts; were all the livingthings he saw. A fetid vapour, hot and sickening as the breath of anoven, rose up from the earth, and hung on everything around; and as hisfoot-prints sunk into the marshy ground, a black ooze started forth toblot them out.
Their own land was mere forest. The trees had grown so think and closethat they shouldered one another out of their places, and the weakest,forced into shapes of strange disto
rtion, languished like cripples.The best were stunted, from the pressure and the want of room; and highabout the stems of all grew long rank grass, dank weeds, and frowsyunderwood; not divisible into their separate kinds, but tangled alltogether in a heap; a jungle deep and dark, with neither earth nor waterat its roots, but putrid matter, formed of the pulpy offal of the two,and of their own corruption.
He went down to the landing-place where they had left their goods lastnight; and there he found some half-dozen men--wan and forlorn to lookat, but ready enough to assist--who helped him to carry them to thelog-house. They shook their heads in speaking of the settlement, and hadno comfort to give him. Those who had the means of going away had alldeserted it. They who were left had lost their wives, their children,friends, or brothers there, and suffered much themselves. Most ofthem were ill then; none were the men they had been once. They franklyoffered their assistance and advice, and, leaving him for that time,went sadly off upon their several tasks.
Martin was by this time stirring; but he had greatly changed, even inone night. He was very pale and languid; he spoke of pains and weaknessin his limbs, and complained that his sight was dim, and his voicefeeble. Increasing in his own briskness as the prospect grew more andmore dismal, Mark brought away a door from one of the deserted houses,and fitted it to their own habitation; then went back again for a rudebench he had observed, with which he presently returned in triumph;and having put this piece of furniture outside the house, arranged thenotable tin pot and other such movables upon it, that it might representa dresser or a sideboard. Greatly satisfied with this arrangement, henext rolled their cask of flour into the house and set it up on end inone corner, where it served for a side-table. No better dining-tablecould be required than the chest, which he solemnly devoted to thatuseful service thenceforth. Their blankets, clothes, and the like, hehung on pegs and nails. And lastly, he brought forth a great placard(which Martin in the exultation of his heart had prepared with his ownhands at the National Hotel) bearing the inscription, CHUZZLEWIT & CO.,ARCHITECTS AND SURVEYORS, which he displayed upon the most conspicuouspart of the premises, with as much gravity as if the thriving city ofEden had a real existence, and they expected to be overwhelmed withbusiness.
'These here tools,' said Mark, bringing forward Martin's case ofinstruments and sticking the compasses upright in a stump before thedoor, 'shall be set out in the open air to show that we come provided.And now, if any gentleman wants a house built, he'd better give hisorders, afore we're other ways bespoke.'
Considering the intense heat of the weather, this was not a badmorning's work; but without pausing for a moment, though he wasstreaming at every pore, Mark vanished into the house again, andpresently reappeared with a hatchet; intent on performing someimpossibilities with that implement.
'Here's ugly old tree in the way, sir,' he observed, 'which'll be allthe better down. We can build the oven in the afternoon. There never wassuch a handy spot for clay as Eden is. That's convenient, anyhow.'
But Martin gave him no answer. He had sat the whole time with his headupon his hands, gazing at the current as it rolled swiftly by; thinking,perhaps, how fast it moved towards the open sea, the high road to thehome he never would behold again.
Not even the vigorous strokes which Mark dealt at the tree awoke himfrom his mournful meditation. Finding all his endeavours to rouse him ofno use, Mark stopped in his work and came towards him.
'Don't give in, sir,' said Mr Tapley.
'Oh, Mark,' returned his friend, 'what have I done in all my life thathas deserved this heavy fate?'
'Why, sir,' returned Mark, 'for the matter of that, everybody as is heremight say the same thing; many of 'em with better reason p'raps thanyou or me. Hold up, sir. Do something. Couldn't you ease your mind, now,don't you think, by making some personal obserwations in a letter toScadder?'
'No,' said Martin, shaking his head sorrowfully: 'I am past that.'
'But if you're past that already,' returned Mark, 'you must be ill, andought to be attended to.'
'Don't mind me,' said Martin. 'Do the best you can for yourself. You'llsoon have only yourself to consider. And then God speed you home, andforgive me for bringing you here! I am destined to die in this place. Ifelt it the instant I set foot upon the shore. Sleeping or waking, Mark,I dreamed it all last night.'
'I said you must be ill,' returned Mark, tenderly, 'and now I'm sure ofit. A touch of fever and ague caught on these rivers, I dare say; butbless you, THAT'S nothing. It's only a seasoning, and we must all beseasoned, one way or another. That's religion that is, you know,' saidMark.
He only sighed and shook his head.
'Wait half a minute,' said Mark cheerily, 'till I run up to one of ourneighbours and ask what's best to be took, and borrow a little of it togive you; and to-morrow you'll find yourself as strong as ever again. Iwon't be gone a minute. Don't give in while I'm away, whatever you do!'
Throwing down his hatchet, he sped away immediately, but stopped when hehad got a little distance, and looked back; then hurried on again.
'Now, Mr Tapley,' said Mark, giving himself a tremendous blow in thechest by way of reviver, 'just you attend to what I've got to say.Things is looking about as bad as they CAN look, young man. You'll nothave such another opportunity for showing your jolly disposition, myfine fellow, as long as you live. And therefore, Tapley, Now's your timeto come out strong; or Never!'