Ruggles of Red Gap

by Harry Leon Wilson

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Although fond of rural surroundings and always interested in nature,the adventure in which I had become involved is not one I canrecommend to a person of refined tastes. I found it little enough tomy own taste even during the first two hours of travel when we kept tothe beaten thoroughfare, for the sun was hot, the dust stifling, andthe language with which the goods-animals were berated coarse in theextreme.

  Yet from this plain roadway and a country of rolling down and heatherwhich was at least not terrifying, our leader, the Tuttle person,swerved all at once into an untried jungle, in what at the moment Isupposed to be a fit of absent-mindedness, following a narrow paththat led up a fearsomely slanted incline among trees and boulders ofgranite thrown about in the greatest disorder. He was followed,however, by the goods-animals and by the two cow-persons, so that Isoon saw the new course must be intended.

  The mountains were now literally quite everywhere, some higher thanothers, but all of a rough appearance, and uninviting in the extreme.The narrow path, moreover, became more and more difficult, and seemedaltogether quite insane with its twistings and fearsome declivities.One's first thought was that at least a bit of road-metal might havebeen put upon it. But there was no sign of this throughout ourtoilsome day, nor did I once observe a rustic seat along the way,although I saw an abundance of suitable nooks for these. Needless tosay, in all England there is not an estate so poorly kept up.

  There being no halt made for luncheon, I began to look forward totea-time, but what was my dismay to observe that this hour also passedunnoted. Not until night was drawing upon us did our caravan haltbeside a tarn, and here I learned that we would sup and sleep,although it was distressing to observe how remote we were from propersurroundings. There was no shelter and no modern conveniences; noteven a wash-hand-stand or water-jug. There was, of course, no centralheating, and no electricity for one's smoothing-iron, so that one'sclothing must become quite disreputable for want of pressing. Also theinformal manner of cooking and eating was not what I had beenaccustomed to, and the idea of sleeping publicly on the bare groundwas repugnant in the extreme. I mean to say, there was no _vieintime_. Truly it was a coarser type of wilderness than that whichI had encountered near New York City.

  The animals, being unladen, were fitted with a species of leatherbracelet about their forefeet and allowed to stray at their will. Afire was built and coarse food made ready. It is hardly a thing tospeak of, but their manner of preparing tea was utterly depraved, theleaves being flung into a tin of boiling water and allowed to_stew_. The result was something that I imagine etchers might usein making lines upon their metal plates. But for my day's fast Ishould have been unequal to this, or to the crude output of theirfrying-pans.

  Yet I was indeed glad that no sign of my dismay had escaped me, forthe cow-persons, Hank and Buck, as I discovered, had given unusualcare to the repast on my account, and I should not have liked to seemunappreciative. Quite by accident I overheard the honest fellowsquarrelling about an oversight: they had, it seemed, left thefinger-bowls behind; each was bitterly blaming the other for this,seeming to feel that the meal could not go forward. I had not to betold that they would not ordinarily carry finger-bowls for their ownuse, and that the forgotten utensils must have been meant solely formy comfort. Accordingly, when the quarrel was at its highest I brokein upon it, protesting that the oversight was of no consequence, andthat I was quite prepared to roughen it with them in the best of goodfellowship. They were unable to conceal their chagrin at my havingoverheard them, and slunk off abashed to the cooking-fire. It wasplain that under their repellent exteriors they concealed veins of thefinest chivalry, and I took pains during the remainder of the eveningto put them at their ease, asking them many questions about their wildlife.

  Of the dangers of the jungle by which we were surrounded the mostformidable, it seemed, was not the grizzly bear, of which I had read,but an animal quaintly called the "high-behind," which lurks aboutcamping-places such as ours and is often known to attack man in itssearch for tinned milk of which it is inordinately fond. The spoor ofone of these beasts had been detected near our campfire by thecow-person called Buck, and he now told us of it, though having atfirst resolved to be silent rather than alarm us.

  As we carried a supply of the animal's favourite food, I was given twoof the tins with instructions to hurl them quickly at any high-behindthat might approach during the night, my companions arming themselvesin a similar manner. It appears that the beast has tushes similar inshape to tin openers with which it deftly bites into any tins of milkthat may be thrown at it. The person called Hank had once escaped withhis life only by means of a tin of milk which had caught on thesabrelike tushes of the animal pursuing him, thus rendering himharmless and easy of capture.

  Needless to say, I was greatly interested in this animal of the quaintname, and resolved to remain on watch during the night in the hope ofseeing one, but at this juncture we were rejoined by the Tuttleperson, who proceeded to recount to Hank and Buck a highly colouredversion of my regrettable encounter with Mr. C. Belknap-Jackson backin the New York wilderness, whereat they both lost interest in thehigh-behind and greatly embarrassed me with their congratulations uponthis lesser matter. Cousin Egbert, it seemed, had most indiscreetlytalked of the thing, which was now a matter of common gossip in RedGap. Thereafter I could get from them no further information about thehabits of the high-behind, nor did I remain awake to watch for one asI had resolved to, the fatigues of the day proving too much for me.But doubtless none approached during the night, as the two tins ofmilk with which I was armed were untouched when I awoke at dawn.

  Again we set off after a barbarous breakfast, driving our ladenanimals ever deeper into the mountain fastness, until it seemed thatnone of us could ever emerge, for I had ascertained that there was nota compass in the party. There was now a certain new friendliness inthe manner of the two cow-persons toward me, born, it would seem, oftheir knowledge of my assault upon Belknap-Jackson, and I was somewhatat a loss to know how to receive this, well intentioned though it was.I mean to say, they were undoubtedly of the servant-class, and ofcourse one must remember one's own position, but I at length decidedto be quite friendly and American with them.

  The truth must be told that I was now feeling in quite a bit of a funkand should have welcomed any friendship offered me; I even foundmyself remembering with rather a pensive tolerance the attentions ofMr. Barker, though doubtless back in Red Gap I should have found themas loathsome as ever. My hump was due, I made no doubt, first, to myprecarious position in the wilderness, but more than that to myanomalous social position, for it seemed to me now that I was neitherfish nor fowl. I was no longer a gentleman's man--the familiarboundaries of that office had been swept away; on the other hand, Iwas most emphatically not the gentleman I had set myself up to be, andI was weary of the pretence. The friendliness of these uncouthcompanions, then, proved doubly welcome, for with them I could conductmyself in a natural manner, happily forgetting my former limitationsand my present quite fictitious dignities.

  I even found myself talking to them of cricket as we rode, tellingthem I had once hit an eight--fully run out it was and not anoverthrow--though I dare say it meant little to them. I also tookpains to describe to them the correct method of brewing tea, whichthey promised thereafter to observe, though this I fear they did frommere politeness.

  Our way continued adventurously upward until mid-afternoon, when webegan an equally adventurous descent through a jungle of pine trees,not a few of which would have done credit to one of our own parks,though there were, of course, too many of them here to be at alleffective. Indeed, it may be said that from a scenic standpointeverything through which we had passed was overdone: mountains, rocks,streams, trees, all sounding a characteristic American note ofexaggeration.

  Then at last we came to the wilderness abode of Cousin Egbert. A rudehut of native logs it was, set in this highland glen beside a tarn.From afar we descried its smoke, and presently in the
doorway observedCousin Egbert himself, who waved cheerfully at us. His appearance gaveme a shock. Quite aware of his inclination to laxness, I was yetunprepared for his present state. Never, indeed, have I seen a man sobadly turned out. Too evidently unshaven since his disappearance, hewas gotten up in a faded flannel shirt, open at the neck and withoutthe sign of cravat, a pair of overalls, also faded and quite wretchedlyspotty, and boots of the most shocking description. Yet in spite ofthis dreadful tenue he greeted me without embarrassment and indeedwith a kind of artless pleasure. Truly the man was impossible, and whenI observed the placard he had allowed to remain on the waistband of hisoveralls, boastfully alleging their indestructibility, my sympathiesflew back to Mrs. Effie. There was a cartoon emblazoned on this placard,depicting the futile efforts of two teams of stout horses, each attachedto a leg of the garment, to wrench it in twain. I mean to say, one mightbe reduced to overalls, but this blatant emblem was not a thing anygentleman need have retained. And again, observing his footgear, I wasglad to recall that I had included a plentiful supply of boot-cream inmy scanty luggage.

  Three of the goods-animals were now unladen, their burden ofprovisions being piled beside the door while Cousin Egbert chattedgayly with the cow-persons and the Indian Tuttle, after which thesethree took their leave, being madly bent, it appeared, uponpenetrating still farther into the wilderness to another cattle farm.Then, left alone with Cousin Egbert, I was not long in discoveringthat, strictly speaking, he had no establishment. Not only were thereno servants, but there were no drains, no water-taps, no ice-machine,no scullery, no central heating, no electric wiring. His hut consistedof but a single room, and this without a floor other than the packedearth, while the appointments were such as in any civilized countrywould have indicated the direst poverty. Two beds of the rudestdescription stood in opposite corners, and one end of the room wasalmost wholly occupied by a stone fireplace of primitive construction,over which the owner now hovered in certain feats of cookery.

  Thanks to my famished state I was in no mood to criticise his efforts,which he presently set forth upon the rough deal table in a hearty butquite inelegant manner. The meal, I am bound to say, was more thanwelcome to my now indiscriminating palate, though at a less urgentmoment I should doubtless have found the bread soggy and the beans apernicious mass. There was a stew of venison, however, which only themost skilful hands could have bettered, though how the man hadobtained a deer was beyond me, since it was evident he possessed noshooting or deer-stalking costume. As to the tea, I made bold to speakmy mind and succeeded in brewing some for myself.

  Throughout the repast Cousin Egbert was constantly attentive to myneeds and was more cheerful of demeanour than I had ever seen him. Thehunted look about his eyes, which had heretofore always distinguishedhim, was now gone, and he bore himself like a free man.

  "Yes, sir," he said, as we smoked over the remains of the meal, "youstay with me and I'll give you one swell little time. I'll do thecooking, and between whiles we can sit right here and play cribbageday in and day out. You can get a taste of real life without moving."

  I saw then, if never before, that his deeper nature would not bearoused. Doubtless my passing success with him in Paris had marked thevery highest stage of his spiritual development. I did not need to betold now that he had left off sock-suspenders forever, nor did I wastewords in trying to recall him to his better self. Indeed for themoment I was too overwhelmed by fatigue even to remonstrate about hiswretched lounge-suit, and I early fell asleep on one of the beds whilehe was still engaged in washing the metal dishes upon which we hadeaten, singing the while the doleful ballad of "Rosalie, the PrairieFlower."

  It seemed but a moment later that I awoke, for Cousin Egbert was againbusy among the dishes, but I saw that another day had come and hissong had changed to one equally sad but quite different. "In the hazeldell my Nellie's sleeping," he sang, though in a low voice and quitecheerfully. Indeed his entire repertoire of ballads was confined tothe saddest themes, chiefly of desirable maidens taken off untimelyeither by disease or accident. Besides "Rosalie, the Prairie Flower,"there was "Lovely Annie Lisle," over whom the willows waved andearthly music could not waken; another named "Sweet Alice Ben Bolt"lying in the churchyard, and still another, "Lily Dale," who waspictured "'neath the trees in the flowery vale," with the wild roseblossoming o'er the little green grave.

  His face was indeed sad as he rendered these woful ballads and yet hisvoice and manner were of the cheeriest, and I dare say he sang withoutreference to their real tragedy. It was a school of American balladryquite at variance with the cheerful optimism of those I had heard fromthe Belknap-Jackson phonograph, where the persons are not dead at allbut are gayly calling upon one another to come on and do a folkdance,or hear a band or crawl under--things of that sort. As Cousin Egbertbent over a frying pan in which ham was cooking he crooned softly:

  "In the hazel dell my Nellie's sleeping, Nellie loved so long, While my lonely, lonely watch I'm keeping, Nellie lost and gone."

  I could attribute his choice only to that natural perversity whichprompted him always to do the wrong thing, for surely this affectingverse was not meant to be sung at such a moment.

  Attempting to arise, I became aware that the two days' journey hadleft me sadly lame and wayworn, also that my face was burned from thesun and that I had been awakened too soon. Fortunately I had with me ashilling jar of Ridley's Society Complexion Food, "the all-weatherwonder," which I applied to my face with cooling results, and I thenfelt able to partake of a bit of the breakfast which Cousin Egbert nowbrought to my bedside. The ham was of course not cooked correctly andthe tea was again a mere corrosive, but so anxious was my host toplease me that I refrained from any criticism, though at another timeI should have told him straight what I thought of such cookery.

  When we had both eaten I slept again to the accompaniment of anothersad song and the muted rattle of the pans as Cousin Egbert did thescullery work, and it was long past the luncheon hour when I awoke,still lame from the saddle, but greatly refreshed.

  It was now that another blow befell me, for upon arising and searchingthrough my kit I discovered that my razors had been left behind. Byany thinking man the effect of this oversight will be instantlyperceived. Already low in spirits, the prospect of going unshavencould but aggravate my funk. I surrendered to the wave of homesicknessthat swept over me. I wanted London again, London with its yellow fogand greasy pavements, I wished to buy cockles off a barrow, I longedfor toasted crumpets, and most of all I longed for my old rightfulstation; longed to turn out a gentleman, longed for the HonourableGeorge and our peaceful if sometimes precarious existence among peopleof the right sort. The continued shocks since that fateful night ofthe cards had told upon me. I knew now that I had not been meant foradventure. Yet here I had turned up in the most savage of lands afterleading a life of dishonest pretence in a station to which I had notbeen born--and, for I knew not how many days, I should not be able toshave my face.

  But here again a ferment stirred in my blood, some electric thrill ofanarchy which had come from association with these Americans, astrange, lawless impulse toward their quite absurd ideals of equality,a monstrous ambition to be in myself some one that mattered, insteadof that pretended Colonel Ruggles who, I now recalled, was to-daypromised to bridge at the home of Mrs. Judge Ballard, where he wouldtalk of hunting in the shires, of the royal enclosure at Ascot, ofHurlingham and Ranleigh, of Cowes in June, of the excellence of theconverts at Chaynes-Wotten. No doubt it was a sort of madness nowseized me, consequent upon the lack of shaving utensils.

  I wondered desperately if there was a true place for me in this life.I had tasted their equality that day of debauch in Paris, butobviously the sensation could not permanently be maintained uponspirits. Perhaps I might obtain a post in a bank; I might become ashop-assistant, bag-man, even a pressman. These moody and unwholesomethoughts were clouding my mind as I surveyed myself in the wrinkledmirror which had seemed to suffice the uncritical Co
usin Egbert forhis toilet. It hung between the portrait of a champion middle-weightcrouching in position and the calendar advertisement of a brewerywhich, as I could not fancy Cousin Egbert being in the least concernedabout the day of the month, had too evidently been hung on his wallbecause of the coloured lithograph of a blond creature in theatricalundress who smirked most immorally.

  Studying the curiously wavy effect this glass produced upon my face, Ichanced to observe in a corner of the frame a printed card with theheading "Take Courage!" To my surprise the thing, when I had read it,capped my black musings upon my position in a rather uncanny way.Briefly it recited the humble beginnings of a score or more of theworld's notable figures.

  "Demosthenes was the son of a cutler," it began. "Horace was the sonof a shopkeeper. Virgil's father was a porter. Cardinal Wolsey was theson of a butcher. Shakespeare the son of a wool-stapler." Followed theobscure parentage of such well-known persons as Milton, Napoleon,Columbus, Cromwell. Even Mohammed was noted as a shepherd andcamel-driver, though it seemed rather questionable taste to include inthe list one whose religion, as to family life, was rather scandalous.More to the point was the citation of various Americans who had sprungfrom humble beginnings: Lincoln, Johnson, Grant, Garfield, Edison. Itis true that there was not, apparently, a gentleman's servant amongthem; they were rail-splitters, boatmen, tailors, artisans of sorts,but the combined effect was rather overwhelming.

  From the first moment of my encountering the American social system,it seemed, I had been by way of becoming a rabid anarchist--that is,one feeling that he might become a gentleman regardless of hisbirth--and here were the disconcerting facts concerning a score ofnotables to confirm me in my heresy. It was not a thing to be spokenlightly of in loose discussion, but there can be no doubt that atthis moment I coldly questioned the soundness of our British system,the vital marrow of which is to teach that there is a differencebetween men and men. To be sure, it will have been seen that I was notmyself, having for a quarter year been subjected to a series ofnervous shocks, and having had my mind contaminated, moreover, bybeing brought into daily contact with this unthinking Americanequality in the person of Cousin Egbert, who, I make bold to assert,had never for one instant since his doubtless obscure birth consideredhimself the superior of any human being whatsoever.

  This much I advance for myself in extenuation of my lawlessimaginings, but of them I can abate no jot; it was all at once clearto me, monstrous as it may seem, that Nature and the British Empirewere at variance in their decrees, and that somehow a system was basewhich taught that one man is necessarily inferior to another. I daresay it was a sort of poisonous intoxication--that I should all at oncedeclare:

  "His lordship tenth Earl of Brinstead and Marmaduke Ruggles are twomen; one has made an acceptable peer and one an acceptable valet, yetthe twain are equal, and the system which has made one inferiorsocially to the other is false and bad and cannot endure." For amoment, I repeat, I saw myself a gentleman in the making--a clearfairway without bunkers from tee to green--meeting my equals with afriendly eye; and then the illumining shock, for I unconsciously addedto myself, "Regarding my inferiors with a kindly tolerance." It wasthere I caught myself. So much a part of the system was I that,although I could readily conceive a society in which I had nosuperiors, I could not picture one in which I had not inferiors. Thesame poison that ran in the veins of their lordships ran also in theveins of their servants. I was indeed, it appeared, hopelesslyinoculated. Again I read the card. Horace was the son of a shopkeeper,but I made no doubt that, after he became a popular and successfulwriter of Latin verse, he looked down upon his own father. Only couldit have been otherwise, I thought, had he been born in this fermentingAmerica to no station whatever and left to achieve his rightful one.

  So I mused thus licentiously until one clear conviction possessed me:that I would no longer pretend to the social superiority of oneColonel Marmaduke Ruggles. I would concede no inferiority in myself,but I would not again, before Red Gap's county families vaunt myselfas other than I was. That this was more than a vagrant fancy on mypart will be seen when I aver that suddenly, strangely, alarmingly, Ino longer cared that I was unshaven and must remain so for an untoldnumber of days. I welcomed the unhandsome stubble that now projecteditself upon my face; I curiously wished all at once to be as badlygotten up as Cousin Egbert, with as little thought for my station inlife. I would no longer refrain from doing things because they were"not done." My own taste would be the law.

  It was at this moment that Cousin Egbert appeared in the doorway withfour trout from the stream nearby, though how he had managed to snarethem I could not think, since he possessed no correct equipment forangling. I fancy I rather overwhelmed him by exclaiming, "Hello,Sour-dough!" since never before had I addressed him in any save aformal fashion, and it is certain I embarrassed him by my nextproceeding, which was to grasp his hand and shake it heartily, anaction that I could explain no more than he, except that the violenceof my self-communion was still upon me and required an outlet. Hegrinned amiably, then regarded me with a shrewd eye and demanded if Ihad been drinking.

  "This," I said; "I am drunk with this," and held the card up to him.But when he took it interestedly he merely read the obverse side whichI had not observed until now. "Go to Epstein's for Everything YouWear," it said in large type, and added, "The Square Deal MammothStore."

  "They carry a nice stock," he said, still a bit puzzled by my tone,"though I generally trade at the Red Front." I turned the card overfor him and he studied the list of humble-born notables, though from apoint of view peculiarly his own. "I don't see," he began, "what rightthey got to rake up all that stuff about people that's dead and gone.Who cares what their folks was!" And he added, "'Horace was the son ofa shopkeeper'--Horace who?" Plainly the matter did not excite him, andI saw it would be useless to try to convey to him what the items hadmeant to me.

  "I mean to say, I'm glad to be here with you," I said.

  "I knew you'd like it," he answered. "Everything is nice here."

  "America is some country," I said.

  "She is, she is," he answered. "And now you can bile up a pot of teain your own way while I clean these here fish for sapper."

  I made the tea. I regret to say there was not a tea cozy in the place;indeed the linen, silver, and general table equipment were sadlydeficient, but in my reckless mood I made no comment.

  "Your tea smells good, but it ain't got no kick to it," he observedover his first cup. "When I drench my insides with tea I sort of wantit to take a hold." And still I made no effort to set him right. I nowsaw that in all true essentials he did not need me to set him right.For so uncouth a person he was strangely commendable and worthy.

  As we sipped our tea in companionable silence, I busy with my new anddisturbing thoughts, a long shout came to us from the outer distance.Cousin Egbert brightened.

  "I'm darned if that ain't Ma Pettengill!" he exclaimed. "She's ridover from the Arrowhead."

  We rushed to the door, and in the distance, riding down upon us atterrific speed, I indeed beheld the Mixer. A moment later she reignedin her horse before us and hoarsely rumbled her greetings. I had lastseen her at a formal dinner where she was rather formidably done outin black velvet and diamonds. Now she appeared in a startling tenue ofkhaki riding-breeches and flannel shirt, with one of the wide-brimmedcow-person hats. Even at the moment of greeting her I could not butreflect how shocked our dear Queen would be at the sight of thisriding habit.

  She dismounted with hearty explanations of how she had left her"round-up" and ridden over to visit, having heard from the Tuttleperson that we were here. Cousin Egbert took her horse and she enteredthe hut, where to my utter amazement she at once did a feminine thing.Though from her garb one at a little distance might have thought her aman, a portly, florid, carelessly attired man, she made at once forthe wrinkled mirror where, after anxiously scanning her burned facefor an instant, she produced powder and puff from a pocket of hershirt and daintily powdered her generous
blob of a nose. Havingachieved this to her apparent satisfaction, she unrolled a bundle shehad carried at her saddle and donned a riding skirt, buttoning itabout the waist and smoothing down its folds--before I could retire.

  "There, now," she boomed, as if some satisfying finality had beenbrought about. Such was the Mixer. That sort of thing would never dowith us, and yet I suddenly saw that she, like Cousin Egbert, wasstrangely commendable and worthy. I mean to say, I no longer felt itwas my part to set her right in any of the social niceties. Somecurious change had come upon me. I knew then that I should no longerresist America.