eben holden-第53部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！



'When　do　you　sleep；'I　enquired。

'Never　sleep　at　night；'he　said；　'unless　uncommonly　tired。　Out　every　night　more　or　less。　Sleep　two　hours　in　the　morning　and　two　in　the　afternoon　…　that's　all　I　require。　Seen　the　hands　o'that　clock　yonder　on　every　hour　of　the　night。　

He　pointed　to　a　lighted　dial　in　a　near　tower。

Stopping　presently　he　looked　down　at　a　little　waif　asleep　in　a　doorway；　a　bundle　of　evening　papers　under　his　arm。　He　lifted　him　tenderly。

'Here；　boy；'he　said；　dropping　corns　in　the　pocket　of　the　ragged　little　coat；　'I　ll　take　those　papers　…　you　go　home　now。　

We　walked　to　the　river；　passing　few　save　members　of　'the　force　；　who　always　gave　Trumbull　a　cheery　'hello；　Cap！'We　passed　wharves　where　the　great　sea　horses　lay　stalled；　with　harnesses　hung　high　above　them；　their　noses　nodding　over　our　heads；　we　stood　awhile　looking　up　at　the　looming　masts；　the　lights　of　the　river　craft。

'Guess　I've　done　some　good；'said　he　turning　into　Peck　Slip。　'Saved　two　young　women。　Took　'em　off　the　streets。　Fine　women　now　both　of　them　…　respectable；　prosperous；　and　one　is　beautiful。　Man　who　s　got　a　mother；　or　a　sister；　can't　help　feeling　sorry　for　such　people。　

We　came　up　Frankfort　to　William　Street　where　we　shook　hands　and　parted　and　I　turned　up　Monkey　Hill。　I　had　made　unexpected　progress　with　Trumbull　that　night。　He　had　never　talked　to　me　so　freely　before　and　somehow　he　had　let　me　come　nearer　to　hun　than　I　had　ever　hoped　to　be。　His　company　had　lifted　me　out　of　the　slough　a　little　and　my　mind　was　on　a　better　footing　as　I　neared　the　chalet。

Riggs's　shop　was　lighted　…　an　unusual　thing　at　so　late　an　hour。　Peering　through　the　window　I　saw　Riggs　sleeping　at　his　desk　An　old　tin　lantern　sat　near；　its　candle　burning　low；　with　a　flaring　flame；　that　threw　a　spray　of　light　upon　him　as　it　rose　and　fell。　Far　back　in　the　shop　another　light　was　burning　dimly。　I　lifted　the　big　iron　latch　and　pushed　the　door　open。　Riggs　did　not　move。　I　closed　the　door　softly　and　went　back　into　the　gloom。　The　boy　was　also　sound　asleep　in　his　chair。　The　lantern　light　flared　and　fell　again　as　water　leaps　in　a　stopping　fountain。　As　it　dashed　upon　the　face　of　Riggs　I　saw　his　eyes　half…open。　I　went　close　to　his　chair。　As　I　did　so　the　light　went　out　and　smoke　rose　above　the　lantern　with　a　rank　odour。

'Riggs！'I　called　but　he　sat　motionless　and　made　no　answer。

The　moonlight　came　through　the　dusty　window　lighting　his　face　and　beard。　I　put　my　hand　upon　his　brow　and　withdrew　it　quicidy。　I　was　in　the　presence　of　death。　I　opened　the　door　and　called　the　sleeping　boy。　He　rose　out　of　his　chair　and　came　toward　me　rubbing　his　eyes。

'Your　master　is　dead；'I　whispered；　'go　and　call　an　officer。　

Riggs's　dream　was　over　…　he　had　waked　at　last。　He　was　in　port　and　I　doubt　not　Annie　and　his　mother　were　hailing　him　on　the　shore；　for　I　knew　now　they　had　both　died　far　back　in　that　long　dream　of　the　old　sailor。

My　story　of　Riggs　was　now　complete。　It　soon　found　a　publisher　because　it　was　true。

'All　good　things　are　true　in　literature；'said　the　editor　after　he　had　read　it。　'Be　a　servant　of　Truth　always　and　you　will　be　successful。'

Chapter　37

As　soon　as　Lincoln　was　elected　the　attitude　of　the　South　showed　clearly　that　'the　irrepressible　conffict　；　of　Mr　Seward's　naming；　had　only　just　begun。　The　Herald　gave　columns　every　day　to　the　news　of　'the　coming　Revolution　；　as　it　was　pleased　to　call　it。　There　was　loud　talk　of　war　at　and　after　the　great　Pine　Street　meeting　of　December　15。　South　Carolina　seceded；　five　days　later；　and　then　we　knew　what　was　coming；　albeit；　we　saw　only　the　dim　shadow　of　that　mighty　struggle　that　was　to　shake　the　earth　for　nearly　five　years。　The　Printer　grew　highly　irritable　those　days　and　spoke　of　Buchanan　and　Davis　and　Toombs　in　language　so　violent　it　could　never　have　been　confined　in　type。　But　while　a　bitter　foe　none　was　more　generous　than　he　and；　when　the　war　was　over；　his　money　went　to　bail　the　very　man　he　had　most　roundly　damned。

I　remember　that　one　day；　when　he　was　sunk　deep　in　composition；　a　negro　came　and　began　with　grand　airs　to　make　a　request　as　delegate　from　his　campaign　club。　The　Printer　sat　still；　his　eyes　close　to　the　paper；　his　pen　flying　at　high　speed。　The　coloured　orator　went　on　lifting　his　voice　in　a　set　petition。　Mr　Greeley　bent　to　his　work　as　the　man　waxed　eloquent。　A　nervous　movement　now　and　then　betrayed　the　Printer's　irritation。　He　looked　up；　shortly；　his　face　kindling　with　anger。

'Help！　For　God's　sake！'he　shrilled　impatiently；　his　hands　flying　in　the　air。　The　Printer　seemed　to　be　gasping　for　breath。

'Go　and　stick　your　head　out　of　the　window　and　get　through；'he　shouted　hotly　to　the　man。

He　turned　to　his　writing　…　a　thing　dearer　to　him　than　a　new　bone　to　a　hungry　dog。

'Then　you　may　come　and　tell　me　what　you　want；'he　added　in　a　milder　tone。

Those　were　days　when　men　said　what　they　meant　and　their　meaning　had　more　fight　in　it　than　was　really　polite　or　necessary。　Fight　was　in　the　air　and　before　I　knew　it　there　was　a　wild；　devastating　spirit　in　my　own　bosom；　insomuch　that　I　made　haste　to　join　a　local　regiment。　It　grew　apace　but　not　until　I　saw　the　first　troops　on　their　way　to　the　war　was　I　fully　determined　to　go　and　give　battle　with　my　regiment。

The　town　was　afire　with　patriotism。　Sumter　had　fallen；　Lincoln　had　issued　his　first　call。　The　sound　of　the　fife　and　drum　rang　in　the　streets。　Men　gave　up　work　to　talk　and　listen　or　go　into　the　sterner　business　of　war。　Then　one　night　in　April；　a　regiment　came　out　of　New　England；　on　its　way　to　the　front。　It　lodged　at　the　Astor　House　to　leave　at　nine　in　the　morning。　Long　before　that　hour　the　building　was　flanked　and　fronted　with　tens　of　thousands；　crowding　Broadway　for　three　blocks；　stuffing　the　wide　mouth　of　Park　Row　and　braced　into　Vesey　and　Barday　Streets。　My　editor　assigned　me　to　this　interesting　event。　I　stood　in　the　crowd；　that　morning；　and　saw　what　was　really　the　beginning　of　the　war　in　New　York。　There　was　no　babble　of　voices；　no　impatient　call；　no　sound　of　idle　jeering　such　as　one　is　apt　to　hear　in　a　waiting　crowd。　It　stood　silent；　each　man　busy　with　the　rising　current　of　his　own　emotions；　solemnified　by　the　faces　all　around　him。　The　soldiers　ified　out　upon　the　pavement；　the　police　having　kept　a　way　clear　for　them；　Still　there　was　silence　in　the　crowd　save　that　near　me　I　could　hear　a　man　sobbing。　A　trumpeter　lifted　his　bugle　and　sounded　a　bar　of　the　reveille。　The　clear　notes　clove　the　silent　air；　flooding　every　street　about　us　with　their　silver　sound。　Suddenly　the　band　began　playing。　The　tune　was　Yankee　Doodle。　A　wild；　dismal；　tremulous　cry　came　out　of　a　throat　near　me。　It　grew　arid　spread　to　a　mighty　roar　and　then　such　a　shout　went　up　to　Heaven；　as　I　had　never　heard；　and　as　I　know　full　well　I　shall　never　hear　again。　It　was　like　the　riving　of　thunderbolts　above　the　roar　of　floods　…　elemental；　prophetic；　threatening；　ungovernable。　It　did　seem　to　me　that　the　holy　wrath　of　God　Almighty　was　in　that　cry　of　the　people。　It　was　a　signal。　It　declared　that　they　were　ready　to　give　all　that　a　man　may　give　for　that　he　loves　…　his　life　and　things　far　dearer　to　him　than　his　life。　After　that；　they　and　their　sons　begged　for　a　chance　to　throw　themselves　into　the　hideous　ruin　of　war。