eben holden-第1部分

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Eben　Holden；　a　Tale　of　the　North　Country

by　Irving　Bacheller






PREFACE


Early　in　the　last　century　the　hardy　wood…choppers　began　to　come　west；　out　of　Vermont。　They　founded　their　homes　in　the　Adirondack　wildernesses　and　cleared　their　rough　acres　with　the　axe　and　the　charcoal　pit。　After　years　of　toil　in　a　rigorous　climate　they　left　their　sons　little　besides　a　stumpy　farm　and　a　coon…skin　overcoat。　Far　from　the　centres　of　life　their　amusements；　their　humours；　their　religion；　their　folk　lore；　their　views　of　things　had　in　them　the　flavour　of　the　timber　lands；　the　simplicity　of　childhood。　Every　son　was　nurtured　in　the　love　of　honour　and　of　industry；　and　the　hope　of　sometime　being　president。　It　is　to　be　feared　this　latter　thing　and　the　love　of　right　living；　for　its　own　sake；　were　more　in　their　thoughts　than　the　immortal　crown　that　had　been　the　inspiration　of　their　fathers。　Leaving　the　farm　for　the　more　promising　life　of　the　big　city　they　were　as　men　born　anew；　and　their　second　infancy　was　like　that　of　Hercules。　They　had　the　strength　of　manhood；　the　tireless　energy　of　children　and　some　hope　of　the　highest　things。　The　pageant　of　the　big　town　…　its　novelty；　its　promise；　its　art；　its　activity　…　quickened　their　highest　powers；　put　them　to　their　best　effort。　And　in　all　great　enterprises　they　became　the　pathfinders；　like　their　fathers　in　the　primeval　forest。

This　book　has　grown　out　of　such　enforced　leisure　as　one　may　find　in　a　busy　life。　Chapters　begun　in　the　publicity　of　a　Pullman　car　have　been　finished　in　the　cheerless　solitude　of　a　hotel　chamber。　Some　have　had　their　beginning　in　a　sleepless　night　and　their　end　in　a　day　of　bronchitis。　A　certain　pious　farmer　in　the　north　country　when；　like　Agricola；　he　was　about　to　die；　requested　the　doubtful　glory　of　this　epitaph：　'He　was　a　poor　sinner；　but　he　done　his　best'　Save　for　the　fact　that　I　am　an　excellent　sinner；　in　a　literary　sense；　the　words　may　stand　for　all　the　apology　I　have　to　make。

The　characters　were　mostly　men　and　women　I　have　known　and　who　left　with　me　a　love　of　my　kind　that　even　a　wide　experience　with　knavery　and　misfortune　has　never　dissipated。　For　my　knowledge　of　Mr　Greeley　I　am　chiefly　indebted　to　David　P。　Rhoades；　his　publisher；　to　Philip　Fitzpatrick；　his　pressman；　to　the　files　of　the　Tribune　and　to　many　books。



IRVING　BACHELLER

New　York　City；　7　April　1900







BOOK　ONE



Chapter　I


Of　all　the　people　that　ever　went　west　that　expedition　was　the　most　remarkable。

A　small　boy　in　a　big　basket　on　the　back　of　a　jolly　old　man；　who　carried　a　cane　in　one　hand；　a　rifle　in　the　other；　a　black　dog　serving　as　scout；　skirmisher　and　rear　guard　…　that　was　the　size　of　it。　They　were　the　survivors　of　a　ruined　home　in　the　north　of　Vermont；　and　were　travelling　far　into　the　valley　of　the　St　Lawrence；　but　with　no　particular　destination。

Midsummer　had　passed　them　in　their　journey；　their　clothes　were　covered　with　dust；　their　faces　browning　in　the　hot　sun。　It　was　a　very　small　boy　that　sat　inside　the　basket　and　clung　to　the　rim；　his　tow　head　shaking　as　the　old　man　walked。　He　saw　wonderful　things；　day　after　day；　looking　down　at　the　green　fields　or　peering　into　the　gloomy　reaches　of　the　wood；　and　he　talked　about　them。

'Uncle　Eb　…　is　that　where　the　swifts　are？'　he　would　ask　often；　and　the　old　man　would　answer；　'No；　they　ain't　real　sassy　this　time　o'　year。　They　lay　'round　in　the　deep　dingles　every　day。'

Then　the　small　voice　would　sing　idly　or　prattle　with　an　imaginary　being　that　had　a　habit　of　peeking　over　the　edge　of　the　basket　or　would　shout　a　greeting　to　some　bird　or　butterfly　and　ask　finally：　'Tired；　Uncle　Eb？'

Sometimes　the　old　gentleman　would　say　'not　very'；　and　keep　on；　looking　thoughtfully　at　the　ground。　Then；　again；　he　would　stop　and　mop　his　bald　head　with　a　big　red　handkerchief　and　say；　a　little　tremor　of　irritation　in　his　voice：　'Tired！　who　wouldn't　be　tired　with　a　big　elephant　like　you　on　his　back　all　day？　I'd　be　'shamed　o'　myself　t'　set　there　an'　let　an　old　man　carry　me　from　Dan　to　Beersheba。　Git　out　now　an'　shake　yer　legs。'

I　was　the　small　boy　and　I　remember　it　was　always　a　great　relief　to　get　out　of　the　basket；　and　having　run　ahead；　to　lie　in　the　grass　among　the　wild　flowers；　and　jump　up　at　him　as　he　came　along。

Uncle　Eb　had　been　working　for　my　father　five　years　before　I　was　born。　He　was　not　a　strong　man　and　had　never　been　able　to　carry　the　wide　swath　of　the　other　help　in　the　fields；　but　we　all　loved　him　for　his　kindness　and　his　knack　of　story…telling。　He　was　a　bachelor　who　came　over　the　mountain　from　Pleasant　Valley；　a　little　bundle　of　clothes　on　his　shoulder；　and　bringing　a　name　that　enriched　the　nomenclature　of　our　neighbourhood。　It　was　Eben　Holden。

He　had　a　cheerful　temper　and　an　imagination　that　was　a　very　wilderness　of　oddities。　Bears　and　panthers　growled　and　were　very　terrible　in　that　strange　country。　He　had　invented　an　animal　more　treacherous　than　any　in　the　woods；　and　he　called　it　a　swift。　'Sumthin'　like　a　panther'；　he　described　the　look　of　it　a　fearsome　creature　that　lay　in　the　edge　of　the　woods　at　sundown　and　made　a　noise　like　a　woman　crying；　to　lure　the　unwary。　It　would　light　one's　eye　with　fear　to　hear　Uncle　Eb　lift　his　voice　in　the　cry　of　the　swift。　Many　a　time　in　the　twilight　when　the　bay　of　a　hound　or　some　far　cry　came　faintly　through　the　wooded　hills；　I　have　seen　him　lift　his　hand　and　bid　us　hark。　And　when　we　had　listened　a　moment；　our　eyes　wide　with　wonder；　he　would　turn　and　say　in　a　low；　half…whispered　tone：　'　'S　a　swift'　I　suppose　we　needed　more　the　fear　of　God；　but　the　young　children　of　the　pioneer　needed　also　the　fear　of　the　woods　or　they　would　have　strayed　to　their　death　in　them。

A　big　bass　viol；　taller　than　himself；　had　long　been　the　solace　of　his　Sundays。　After　he　had　shaved　…　a　ceremony　so　solemn　that　it　seemed　a　rite　of　his　religion　…　that　sacred　viol　was　uncovered。　He　carried　it　sometimes　to　the　back　piazza　and　sometimes　to　the　barn；　where　the　horses　shook　and　trembled　at　the　roaring　thunder　of　the　strings。　When　he　began　playing　we　children　had　to　get　well　out　of　the　way；　and　keep　our　distance。　I　remember　now　the　look　of　him；　then　…　his　thin　face；　his　soft　black　eyes；　his　long　nose；　the　suit　of　broadcloth；　the　stock　and　standing　collar　and；　above　all；　the　solemnity　in　his　manner　when　that　big　devil　of　a　thing　was　leaning　on　his　breast

As　to　his　playing　I　have　never　heard　a　more　fearful　sound　in　any　time　of　peace　or　one　less　creditable　to　a　Christian。　Weekdays　he　was　addicted　to　the　milder　sin　of　the　flute　and；　after　chores；　if　there　were　no　one　to　talk　with　him；　he　would　sit　long　and　pour　his　soul　into　that　magic　bar　of　boxwood。

Uncle　Eb　had　another　great　accomplishment。　He　was　what　they　call　in　the　north　country　'a　natural　cooner'。　After　nightfall；　when　the　corn　was　ripening；　he　spoke　in　a　whisper　and　had　his　ear　cocked　for　coons。　But　he　loved　all　kinds　of　good　fun。

So　this　man　had　a　boy　in　his　heart　and　a　boy　in　his　basket　that　evening　we　left　the　old　house。　My　father　and　mother　and　older　brother　had　been　drowned　in　the　lake；　where　they　had　gone　for　a　day　of　pleasure。　I　had　then　a　small　understanding　of　my　loss；　hat　I　have　learned　since　that　the　farm　was　not　worth　the　mortgage　and