CHAPTER III
THE ART OF THE ORIENT
"Come," said Orme to me, "let us go into the shade, for I find yourVirginia morning warm."
We stepped over to the gallery of the little tavern, where the shade wasdeep and the chairs were wide and the honeysuckles sweet. I threw myselfrather discontentedly into a chair. Orme seated himself quietly inanother, his slender legs crossed easily, his hands meeting above hiselbows supported on the chair rails, as he gazed somewhat meditativelyat his finger tips.
"So you did not hear my little effort the other night?" he remarked,smiling.
"I was not so fortunate as to hear you speak. But I will only say I willback you against any minister of the gospel I ever knew when it comes toriding horses."
"Oh, well," he deprecated, "I'm just passing through on my way toAlbemarle County across the mountains. You couldn't blame me for wantingsomething to do--speaking or riding, or what not. One must be occupied,you know. But shall we not have them bring us one of these juleps of thecountry? I find them most agreeable, I declare."
I did not criticise his conduct as a wearer of the cloth, but declinedhis hospitality on the ground that it was early in the day for me. Heurged me so little and was so much the gentleman that I explained.
"Awhile ago," I said, "my father came to me and said, 'I see, Jack, thatthee is trying to do three things--to farm, hunt foxes, and drinkjuleps. Does thee think thee can handle all three of these activities incombination?' You see, my mother is a Quakeress, and when my fatherwished to reprove me he uses the plain speech. Well, sir, I thought itover, and for the most part I dropped the other two, and took up morefarming."
"Your father is Mr. John Cowles, of Cowles' Farms?"
"The same."
"No doubt your family know every one in this part of the country?"
"Oh, yes, very well."
"These are troublous times," he ventured, after a time. "I mean inregard to this talk of secession of the Southern States."
I was studying this man. What was he doing here in our quiet countrycommunity? What was his errand? What business had a julep-drinking,horse-riding parson speaking in a Virginia pulpit where only the gospelwas known, and that from exponents worth the name?
"You are from Washington?" I said at length.
He nodded.
"The country is going into deep water one way or the other," said I."Virginia is going to divide on slavery. It is not for me, nor for anyof us, to hasten that time. Trouble will come fast enough without ourhelp."
"I infer you did not wholly approve of my little effort the otherevening. I was simply looking at the matter from a logical standpoint.It is perfectly clear that the old world must have cotton, that theSouthern States must supply that cotton, and that slavery alone makescotton possible for the world. It is a question of geography rather thanof politics; yet your Northern men make it a question of politics. YourCongress is full of rotten tariff legislation, which will make a few ofyour Northern men rich--and which will bring on this war quite as muchas anything the South may do. Moreover, this tariff disgusts England,very naturally. Where will England side when the break comes? And whatwill be the result when the South, plus England, fights these tariffmakers over here? I have no doubt that you, sir, know the complexion ofall these neighborhood families in these matters. I should be most happyif you could find it possible for me to meet your father and hisneighbors, for in truth I am interested in these matters, merely as astudent. And I have heard much of the kindness of this country towardstrangers."
It was not our way in Virginia to allow persons of any breeding to putup at public taverns. We took them to our homes. I have seen a hundredhorses around my father's barns during the Quarterly Meetings of theSociety of Friends. Perhaps we did not scrutinize all our guestsover-closely, but that was the way of the place. I had no hesitation insaying to Mr. Orme that we should be glad to entertain him at Cowles'Farms. He was just beginning to thank me for this when we were suddenlyinterrupted.
We were sitting some paces from the room where landlord Sanderson kepthis bar, so that we heard only occasionally the sound of loud talk whichcame through the windows. But now came footsteps and confused words invoices, one of which I seemed to know. There staggered through the doora friend of mine, Harry Singleton, a young planter of our neighborhood,who had not taken my father's advice, but continued to divide his favorbetween farming, hunting and drinking. He stood there leaning againstthe wall, his face more flushed than one likes to see a friend's facebefore midday.
"Hullo, ol' fel," he croaked at me. "Hurrah for C'fedrate States ofAmerica!"
"Very well," I said to him, "suppose we do hurrah for the ConfederateStates of America. But let us wait until there is such a thing."
He glowered at me. "Also," he said, solemnly, "Hurrah for Miss GraceSheraton, the pretties' girl in whole C'federate States America!"
"Harry," I cried, "stop! You're drunk, man. Come on, I'll take youhome."
He waved at me an uncertain hand. "Go 'way, slight man!" he muttered."Grace Sheraton pretties' girl in whole C'federate States America."
According to our creed it was not permissible for a gentleman, drunk orsober, to mention a lady's name in a place like that. I rose and put myhand across Harry's mouth, unwilling that a stranger should hear agirl's name mentioned in the place. No doubt I should have done quite asmuch for any girl of our country whose name came up in that way. But tomy surprise Harry Singleton was just sufficiently intoxicated to resentthe act of his best friend. With no word of warning he drew back hishand and struck me in the face with all his force, the blow making asmart crack which brought all the others running from within. Still, Ireflected, that this was not the act of Harry Singleton, but only thatof a drunken man who to-morrow would not remember what had been done.
"That will be quite enough, Harry," said I. "Come, now, I'll take youhome. Sanderson, go get his horse or wagon, or whatever brought himhere."
"Not home!" cried Harry. "First inflict punishment on you for denyin'Miss Gracie Sheraton pretties' girl whole C'fedrate States America.Girls like John Cowles too much! Must mash John Cowles! Must mash JohnCowles sake of Gracie Sheraton, pretties' girl in whole wide worl'!"
He came toward me as best he might, his hands clenched. I caught him bythe wrist, and as he stumbled past, I turned and had his arm over myshoulder. I admit I threw him rather cruelly hard, for I thought heneeded it. He was entirely quiet when we carried him into the room andplaced him on the leather lounge.
"By Jove!" I heard a voice at my elbow. "That was handsomelydone--handsomely done all around."
I turned to meet the outstretched hand of my new friend, Gordon Orme.
"Where did you learn the trick?" he asked.
"The trick of being a gentleman," I answered him slowly, my face redwith anger at Singleton's foolishness, "I never learned at all. But totoss a poor drunken fool like that over one's head any boy might learnat school."
"No," said my quasi-minister of the gospel, emphatically, "I differ withyou. Your time was perfect. You made him do the work, not yourself. Tellme, are you a skilled wrestler?"
I was nettled now at all these things which were coming to puzzle andperturb an honest fellow out for a morning ride.
"Yes," I answered him, "since you are anxious to know, I'll say I canthrow any man in Fairfax except one."
"And he?"
"My father. He's sixty, as I told you, but he can always beat me."
"There are two in Fairfax you cannot throw," said Orme, smiling.
My blood was up just enough to resent this challenge. There came to mewhat old Dr. Hallowell at Alexandria calls the "_gaudium certaminis_."In a moment I was little more than a full-blooded fighting animal, andhad forgotten all the influences of my Quaker home.
"Sir," I said to him hotly, "I propose taking you home with me. Butbefore I do that, and since you seem to wish it, I am going to lay youon your back here in the road. Frankly, there are some things about youI do not like, and i
f that will remedy your conceit, I'm going to do itfor you--for any sort of wager you like."
"Money against your horse?" he inquired, stripping to his ruffled shirtas he spoke. "A hundred guineas, five hundred?"
"Yes, for the horse," I said. "He's worth ten thousand. But if you'vetwo or three hundred to pay for my soiling the shoulders of your shirt,I'm willing to let the odds stand so."
He smiled at me simply--I swear almost winningly, such was the qualityof the man.
"I like you," he said simply. "If all the men of this country resembledyou, all the world could not beat it."
I was stripped by this time myself, and so, without pausing to considerthe propriety on either side of our meeting in this sudden encounter ina public street, we went at it as though we had made a rendezvous therefor that express purpose, with no more hesitation and no more fitnessthan two game cocks which might fall fighting in a church in case theymet there.
Orme came to me with no hurry and no anxiety, light on his feet as askilled fencer. As he passed he struck for my shoulder, and his grip,although it did not hold, was like the cutting of a hawk's talons. Hebranded me red with his fingers wherever he touched me, although thestroke of his hand was half tentative rather than aggressive. I went tohim with head low, and he caught me at the back of the neck with astroke like that of a smiting bar; but I flung him off, and so westepped about, hands extended, waiting for a hold. He grew eager, andallowed me to catch him by the wrist. I drew him toward me, but hebraced with his free arm bent against my throat, and the more I pulled,the more I choked. Then by sheer strength I drew his arm over myshoulder as I had that of Harry Singleton. He glided into this as thoughit had been his own purpose, and true as I speak I think he aided me inthrowing him over my head, for he went light as a feather, and fell onhis feet when I freed him. I was puzzled not a little, for the like ofthis I had not seen in all my meetings with good men.
As we stepped about cautiously, seeking to engage again, his eye wasfixed on mine curiously, half contemplatively, but utterly withoutconcern or fear of any kind. I never saw an eye like his. It gave me notfear, but horror! The more I encountered him, the more uncanny heappeared. The lock of the arm at the back of the neck, those holds knownas the Nelson and the half-Nelson, and the ancient "hip lock," and theineffectual schoolboy "grapevine"--he would none of things so crude, andslipped out of them like a snake. Continually I felt his hands, andwhere he touched there was pain--on my forehead, at the edge of the eyesockets, at the sides of my neck, in the middle of my back--whenever welocked and broke I felt pain, and I knew that such assault upon thenerve centers of a man's body might well disable him, no matter howstrong he was. But, as for him, he did not breathe the faster. It wassystem with him. I say, I felt not fear only but a horror of him.
By chance I found myself with both hands on his arms, and I knew that noman could break that hold when once set, for vast strength of forearmand wrist was one of the inheritances of all men of the Cowles family. Idrew him steadily to me, pulled his head against my chest, and upendedhim fair, throwing him this time at length across my shoulder. I wassure I had him then, for he fell on his side. But even as he fell herose, and I felt a grip like steel on each ankle. Then there was asnake-like bend on his part, and before I had time to think I was on myface. His knees were astride my body, and gradually I felt them pushingmy arms up toward my neck. I felt a slight blow on the back of my head,as though by the edge of the hand--light, delicate, gentle, but dreamyin its results. Then I was half conscious of a hand pushing down myhead, of another hand reaching for my right wrist. It occurred to me ina distant way that I was about to be beaten, subdued--I, John Cowles!
This had been done, as he had said of my own work with Singleton, asmuch by the momentum of my own fall as by any great effort on his part.As he had said regarding my own simple trick, the time of this wasperfect, though how far more difficult than mine, only those who havewrestled with able men can understand.
For the first time in my life I found myself about to be mastered byanother man. Had he been more careful he certainly would have had thevictory over me. But the morning was warm, and we had worked for somemoments. My man stopped for a moment in his calm pinioning of my arms,and perhaps raised his hand to brush his face or push back his hair. Atthat moment luck came to my aid. He did not repeat the strange gentleblow at the back of my head--one which I think would have leftunconscious a man with a neck less stiff--and as his pressure on mytwisted arm relaxed, I suddenly got back my faculties. At once I used mywhole body as a spring, and so straightened enough to turn and put myarm power against his own, which was all I wanted.
He laughed when I turned, and with perfect good nature freed my arm andsprang to his feet, bowing with hand upreached to me. His eye had lostits peculiar stare, and shone now with what seemed genuine interest andadmiration. He seemed ready to call me a sportsman, and a good rival,and much as I disliked to do so, I was obliged to say as much for him inmy own heart.
"By the Lord! sir," he said--with a certain looseness of speech, as itseemed to me, for a minister of the gospel to employ, "you're the firstI ever knew to break it."
"'Twas no credit to me," I owned. "You let go your hand. The horse isyours."
"Not in the least," he responded, "not in the least. If I felt I had wonhim I'd take him, and not leave you feeling as though you had been givena present. But if you like I'll draw my own little wager as well. You'rethe best man I ever met in any country. By the Lord! man, you broke thehold that I once saw an ex-guardsman killed at Singapore forresisting--broke his arm short off, and he died on the table. I've seenit at Tokio and Nagasaki--why, man, it's the yellow policeman's hold,the secret trick of the Orient. Done in proper time, and the littlegentleman is the match of any size, yellow or white."
I did not understand him then, but later I knew that I had for my firsttime seen the Oriental art of wrestling put in practice. I do not wantto meet a master in it again. I shook Orme by the hand.
"If you like to call it a draw," said I, "it would suit me mighty well.You're the best man I ever took off coat to in my life. And I'll neverwrestle you again unless"--I fear I blushed a little--"well, unless youwant it."
"Game! Game!" he cried, laughing, and dusting off his knees. "I swearyou Virginians are fellows after my own heart. But come, I think yourfriend wants you now."
We turned toward the room where poor Harry was mumbling to himself, andpresently I loaded him into the wagon and told the negro man to drivehim home.
For myself, I mounted Satan and rode off up the street of Wallingfordtoward Cowles' Farms with my head dropped in thought; for certainly,when I came to review the incidents of the morning, I had had enough togive me reason for reflection.
The Way of a Man Page 3
