CHAPTER XVII
SOMEWHAT OF A MYSTERY
A long, dusty road swept by the bleak wind of a November day. A boy,young man he seemed in his ragged frontier garb, trudged wearily on.The long rifle he carried had a fancifully carved stock, once thepride of a veteran Wyandotte chief.
The lad's face was worn and thin and, by reason of long exposure, almostthe colour of an Indian's. "Four miles further to Charlottesville," hesaid, and threw himself down beside the road as one exhausted. At thesound of a galloping horse he looked up with dull, sullen eyes, intowhich there came a flash of recognition and he cried, "Nat, old boy!"The horse stopped so quickly his rider narrowly escaped being unhorsed.
"What in thunder are you doing? er--shadder of old black Tom! is ityou, Rodney Allison, or your ghost?"
"I feel like a ghost, Angus, and I don't think I'm heavy enough tobother Nat if we ride double back to town. How is mother and 'Omi?and how did you come by Nat? Is the place gone? I feared Denham hadthe colt."
"Never heard that ghosts could ask questions or I'd sure think ye wasone. Ride double? You bet ye can, an' if thar ain't horse enough, I'llwalk. Give us yer hand, thar, now I'll answer the rest o' yerquestions. The folks are right smart but powerful anxious fer yer dad.Reckon they'd lost hope o' seein' you again."
"Father was killed in the battle at Point Pleasant."
"Yer father killed! An' he thought you was dead. He was a good man,Rodney. Everybody'll be mighty sorry to hear that," and then, wordsfailing, he said no more and in silence they arrived at the Allisonhome. Angus led the colt to the stable while Rodney entered thehouse.
Mam saw him first, and for a moment she was almost a white woman. Hismother fainted and his little sister ran from him in terror. But whyattempt to describe that which words fail to express? Tragedies werenot uncommon in the frontier homes of that day in this new land, andwives and mothers were heroines, though the great outside world neverwas to learn their names and Fame could not record them.
Angus with true delicacy went to his home, but later in the daycalled, and the two boys had a long talk.
"You haven't answered my questions, yet, Angus. I haven't felt liketalking business with mother. I find poor old Thello sick and I don'tknow as Mam will ever get over her scare at sight of me."
"Thello's bein' sick was why I was exercisin' the colt. I say, Rodney,old Denham mighty nigh owned the critter, and the place to boot. He'dgot his thumb right on 'em when along come a feller as told him totake it off."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Denham was--er--foreclosin', that's the word, when thisman interfered."
"What man? Not Mr. Jefferson?"
"No. He would, though, if he'd been round home an' known about it; buthe's away most the time. No, I don't know who the man was. Yer mothermay know fer he left the deed with her. Ye see, 'twas this way. I methim ridin' like the wind. His nag was all of a lather. He pulled upan' says, 'Can you tell me where the Allison home is?' I says, 'Ireckon I can, it's right over thar.' He kept on an' met ol' Denhamleadin' Nat out'n the stable. I dunno what was said, but I saw 'em an'moused right along down whar they was talkin'. Yer mother had gone tothe village. Well, when I got within earshot, I heard the man say,'I've got the money right here.' Denham didn't act as though he hadany use for money, which looked mighty funny. But the man, he was amasterful one, I tell ye,--"
"I'll bet Mr. Jefferson sent him. What'd he look like?"
"Oh, I dunno. He was one o' the quality, I c'd see that with half aneye. Anyhow he jes' tol' Denham to take that money an' Denham 'lowedhe wouldn't. Then the man, he says, 'You'll take that money an' giveme a deed o' that Allison place, free an' clear, or I'll fight yethrough the courts an' I'll win.' Denham, he hemmed an' hawed, but theman wouldn't stand fer no foolin' an' Denham, he wilted. They wentdown to the Squire's to fix the matter up."
"I wish I knew who he was or how I'm going to pay him."
"Don't reckon ye got to pay him. Yer mother's got the deed fer I seehim give it to her."
"It's a debt of honour, Angus. You must help me to think up some wayto make a living, and something besides, off the old place."
"We'll figger it out certain sure, Rodney. You've got a home as no onecan take away from ye if ye don't mortgage it."
On his return to the house Rodney asked his mother about the matter.
"It's all very strange to me. The gentleman, and it was very evidentthat he was one, called and handed me a paper, saying, 'Madam, thereis the deed to your home. I understand that leaves you free of debt. Ido not wish to seem impertinent but am I correct?'"
"I told him I knew of no other obligations. I said: 'You are very kindand I am deeply grateful if I do not seem so. It is hard for oneunaccustomed to charity to accept it, you know. I must know to whom Iam indebted, for I certainly hope the time may come when it may berepaid.'"
"What did he say?"
"His reply was, 'This is not given as charity. It is to repay a debtowed to one very dear to you and I am not at liberty to mention thedebtor's name. I assure you, however, that it is not charity, but thepayment of an obligation. The only request is, that this home, never,so long as in your possession, be mortgaged again.'"
"Father was always helping people and saying nothing about it,"replied Rodney, and the tears came to his eyes.
They sat many minutes looking into the open fire. Then Mrs. Allisonsaid: "Rodney, I wish you would go to the closet in my room and getthe little trunk in which your father kept his papers."
The boy brought back a little leather-bound trunk, neatly ornamentedand secured with brass headed tacks.
Mrs. Allison was a woman of strong character and, after the shock ofhearing the report of her husband's death, took up her duties withcomposure, though the lines in her face seemed deeper, and Rodney sawthat an errant lock of her hair, which he had always thought a part ofthe attractiveness of her fair face, was now quite gray, and, as shepushed it aside, a familiar way she had, he noticed how thin and whiteher hand was and saw that it trembled.
"As I put the deed in the trunk with the other papers, the day it wasbrought to me, I noticed a sealed paper there, which I think weperhaps should open," saying which she took it and held it out thather son might read the inscription, which was: "To be opened by mydear wife after my death, if she should survive, otherwise to beburned unread."
She broke the seal and read, the boy watching her face as she did so.Having read it, she allowed it to lie in her lap for a time, and thengave it to Rodney, and this is what he read, his wonder increasingwith every line:
"MY BELOVED WIFE:--As you read this you may recall the last evening inthe old home before we came to Charlottesville. I sat by the windowand you said, 'It is a pretty picture, David, the water in the creek,in the sunset colours, looks like wine and the road is a brown ribbonon green velvet. But perhaps you are not thinking of that at all.Sometimes, David, I think there is a part of your life in which I donot live.'
"You did not see me start at those words, for they were true. Afteryou had retired I sat for a long time and then it became clear to methat you should know in good time that other part of my life, forthere really was another.
"I had not seen the colours on the creek nor the brown ribbon on thegreen velvet, as I sat by the window. Instead I saw the streets of oldEdinburgh, the shadows heavy in the Greyfriars' churchyard, thefamiliar scenes along High Street of an evening, when the studentswere out laughing and joking, strolling along, each with hand on theother's shoulder, and I among them. For I was as care-free as any oneof them all. The good mother had not let me see that she was makingany sacrifice in giving me those years at the University, and I wasconfident of the future.
"I have told you of those days, but not that my mates knew me as DavidCameron,--David Allison Cameron, to be exact, Allison being mymother's name. 'Why should you change it?' I can hear you ask,apprehension in your voice. That is the part of my life in which youare now to share. Nor do I clearly know why you have not beenper
mitted to do so before. It was no guilt of mine that caused me tochange my name, except, possibly, that I was influenced by pride. Myfather's brother was a merchant in Glasgow, who urged that I becomehis apprentice. Mother was all for having me educated. I think thedear soul hoped to hear me expound in the kirk, as possibly she mightbut for the cold that came upon her and, before I realized what itmeant, the good doctor was telling me it would be her last illness.
"Ah! the mists hung heavy over the lowlands the morning I turned myface toward London, where I was determined to seek fame and fortune. Imight have gone to my uncle in Glasgow, but no, mother had wishedotherwise and I was as proud as I was inexperienced.
"I will not pain you with a recital of the struggles I endured until,as I thought, Fortune came to my relief and Lord Ralston engaged me asthe tutor of his son, Dick. And, when I saw the lad, my happiness wascomplete. He was a handsome fellow, generous to a fault, and hispleasant smile and hearty greeting won me at the first. The stipend,to one impoverished as I was, seemed munificent, but I soon found thatHandsome Dick, as he was called, made sure the spending of it shouldnot trouble me. He could borrow a pound or two as if doing one afavour, and I knew it was with the firm intention that I should haveit back. This, however, he found so inconvenient I rarely had enoughto help him out of scrapes when his own funds were wasted. Admonitionsto him were like the falling rain on the back of the duck. He earlyacquired a passion for gambling. His father knew it, but hoped thattime would work his cure. He, himself, I learned, had been somewhat ofa profligate.
"I loved the boy and life with him would have been a pleasure but forthe anxious moments when it seemed he would go headlong to perditiondespite my utmost efforts. Once, I thought, he seemed inclined to mendhis ways, when, after the manner of youth, he met a young lady inwhose eyes he thought his happiness to lie. For a time his passion forcards was forgotten, and neither White's nor the Coffee House saw himfor months. But she went abroad and he became restless. Then came newsof her marriage and he returned to his first love, the gaming table.Do what I might I could not restrain him. He was perfectly reckless.Soon he was in debt and his father, when it was too late, sought tocheck him and cut down his allowance. From associates at White's hedescended to the lower resorts. There was one fellow that I speciallyfeared, and with whom he had become a boon companion, a CaptainVillecourt, a gambler and a rake, whose reputation was unsavoury. Ipleaded, but in vain. I could not desert the boy. He loved me, and Ihim, and so I dogged his footsteps, helped him out of difficultywhenever I could, and lost no opportunity for pleading his cause withhis father.
"One night, I shall never forget it, word came that his father wasill. The laddie was out and I thought he had gone to meet Villecourt,who lived in a low tavern and frequently did not dare venture abroadfor fear of meeting his creditors and being lodged where he belonged,in a debtor's gaol.
"It was a villainous place. A dismal rain was falling, the street waspoorly lighted, and, but for the mean attire I put on, I might easilyhave become the victim of footpads.
"I was not a welcome caller at the tavern, was told with an oath thatneither Villecourt nor Ralston was in the house. There seemed nothingto do, and I turned down the ill-smelling passage leading to the sideentrance, when, from a room on the right, I heard Dick's strong youngvoice cry out, 'You are a knave, sir!'
"I tried to open the door; it was bolted. I threw myself against itand the rotten casing yielded, the door burst open. The room was insemi-darkness, one candle, along with the cards, having been upsetand knocked to the floor. Dick with uplifted cane stood over thecowering Villecourt. Hearing the noise of the bursting door, anddoubtless thinking Villecourt's friends were coming to the rescue, hewheeled and struck me a savage blow.
"How long I remained unconscious I do not know. I awoke with an achinghead on a pallet of filthy straw. The place I was in was in utterdarkness. I listened for any sound which might explain my situation.The vile odours of a ship's hold, the sound of water, and a slightsense of motion convinced me I was on shipboard! I felt in my pockets,but they had been rifled!
"I fell asleep, or fainted, and was again awakened with an oath. I wason board a ship bound from London to Norfolk, Virginia, and soonlearned that I not only was to work but would be sold on arrival therefor a sum equivalent to the cost of passage. How I toiled until Isecured my freedom!
"You know the rest, except my motive for not giving my full name. ThatI scarcely know myself, but suppose shame at the condition in which Ifound myself led me into the deception, and I adopted the first namethat suggested itself. Afterward, an explanation would have beenembarrassing and apparently of no value, yet I much regret themistake.
"What became of Dick Ralston I have never learned. He may have beenkilled, and the crime laid at my door. The place he was in was oneconvenient for such a crime. Had he lived I am sure he would haveprevented my being put aboard the ship, for he was as brave and loyalto a friend as he was reckless. As for the name Allison, it is ashonourable as the other, and I intend now to retain it and hope youwill appreciate the wisdom of so doing.
"My life at times seems a failure, but that is when I am thinking ofthe little of this world's gear I have accumulated for my family. Inyou, beloved, and in our dear children, I am blessed beyond mydeserts. That you may forgive my unintentional deception, and neverhave cause to suffer by reason of it, is my daily prayer. Believe me,your affectionate husband,
"DAVID ALLISON."