by Eugene Field
XXIII
ALICE'S NIGHT WATCHMAN
From what I have already told you it is likely that you have gatheredthat Alice and I had good reason to conclude that being a householderwas by no means as cheap an enjoyment as could be conceived of. Werecalled the words of the sagacious and prudent Mr. Denslow. "When youget a place of your own," said that wise man, "you will find that therewill be a thousand annoying little demands for your money where nowthere is one." Our other friend, Mr. Black, had expressed the sameidea when he told us that "a house-owner never gets through payingout." If Alice and I had had any thought upon the matter at all it wasto the effect that when we had a home of our own we got rid forever ofthe monstrous bugaboo of house-rent at sixty dollars a month. Wesupposed that all our spare time could be devoted to counting the moneywe were going to save by getting out of a grasping, avariciouslandlord's clutches. Experience is a severe teacher; Alice and I havefound out a great many things since we began to have direct dealingswith builders, masons, plumbers, painters et id omne genus, as well aswith sprinklers, day laborers, landscape gardeners, fruit-treepeddlers, lightning-rod agents, and others of that ilk.
We duly became aware that we were losing a good deal at the hands ofnocturnal depredators. Our flower beds were despoiled with amazingregularity; the broken lath and old lumber which had been piled up inthe back yard, and which Alice intended to use eventually for kindling,disappeared mysteriously, and the carpenters reported finding evidencesevery morning that some person or persons had been tramping through thehouse the night before.
We were all at once possessed of the paralyzing fear that thisnocturnal trespasser, or these nocturnal trespassers, might set ourhouse on fire. The floors were strewn with shavings; a spark wouldprecipitate a conflagration, and the old Schmittheimer place would burnlike so much tinder. I read over the fire-insurance policies which wehad taken out with our genial friends, Doller, Jeems, and Teddy, and Ifound out that the companies represented by those gentlemen were notresponsible for losses upon unoccupied premises, or for lossesresulting from incendiarism. It occurred to me that it would be wiseto invite the police to keep an eye on the place at night, but thisplan seemed impracticable for the reason that I wanted to keep thelawn-sprinklers running all night in defiance of the ordinance, andthis could not be done if the police were to be mousing about thepremises.
While I was still worrying over this distressing problem one of thecarpenters came to me with a harrowing tale about a tramp whom he hadcaught sleeping in the barn. This tramp had gained access to the barnby means of a window. He quietly removed the sash, after breaking thepanes of glass, and crawled in. The carpenter caught the impudentrogue early next morning in flagrante delicto--that is to say, foundhim snoozing upon a mattress which Alice had stored away in the barnfor safe-keeping. An argument ensued, but the tramp finally beat aretreat.
Upon the evening of that same day the carpenter remained after workinghours to see whether the tramp would come back for another night'slodging in the nice, warm barn on that nice, clean mattress. Surelyenough, as evening shadows fell the tramp made his reappearance andsought to effect an entrance to the barn. Thereupon the belligerentcarpenter emerged from his hiding and bade the trespasser be gone. Thetramp complied with this demand, but not until he had signified hisintention of returning later at night for the purpose of squaringaccounts with the carpenter.
This dark threat filled the carpenter with gloomy forebodings and hehastened to Alice and me for advice. Of course we assured him that wewould support him in any line of action he would take, and we promisedto pay him one dollar if he would stay and guard the premises thatnight. The carpenter was not insensible to the soothing influences oflucre, and he consented to watch and defend our property, provided wefurnished him with a weapon of one kind or another, for he had aconviction that the tramp fully intended to come back that very nightto cut his heart out.
My acquaintance with weapons is limited to that circle which includesmy collection of antique armor and several old flintlocks picked up atdifferent times in New England and in the South. I confessed to thecarpenter that I had in the house nothing suited to his bellicosepurposes, unless he was willing to put up with a mediaeval battle axeor a Queen Anne musket. The carpenter seemed disinclined to place anyreliance upon these means of defence, and he suggested that perhaps Imight borrow a pistol of some one of the neighbors. I had not thoughtof that before; the idea impressed me favorably, and I proceeded to actupon it. It was no easy task, however, finding what I wanted. At theDenslows an axe was the only weapon to be had, and at the Baylors', theCrowes', the Sissons', and the Ewings' I found that the spears had beenbeaten into plowshares and the swords into pruning-hooks. I felt thatit would be folly to apply at the Tiltmans', for Jack Tiltman is themildest man in seven States, and he is descended from a line of Quakersreligiously opposed to war and strife. However, meeting with Tiltman,I ventured to confide to him the dilemma I was in, and I was surprisedwhen he told me that he could provide me with any kind or size ofrevolver I wanted. Presently he brought out of his house a machinewhich, had he not assured me to the contrary, I should at first sighthave mistaken for a one-inch aperture telescope.
"Is it loaded?" I asked.
"Yes, seven times," said he.
"And will it go off seven times all at once?" said I.
"Once will be enough," said he; and then he added that the bore was solarge that if the bullet once struck a man it would let daylight cleanthrough him, even in the night time.
You can well understand that, by the time the carpenter was equippedfor defensive operations, the whole neighborhood was worked up to acondition of great excitement. The children were enthusiastic over theprospect of bloodshed, and from the chatter that was indulged in bythese innocents you might have supposed that a murderous tramp lurkedat every corner. Alice and I walked over to the Schmittheimer placewith the carpenter, and we were accompanied by several of our neighborsand their offspring. The evening was now advanced to the degree ofdarkness, and our heated fancies transformed every shadow into a livingcreature. Little Annie Ewing was on the verge of hysterics anddeclared she saw things behind every tree and stump, and Mr. Denslowcontributed to the general excitement by recalling that he had readthat very day of several mysterious murders down in a remote corner ofArizona by unknown tramps.
I admit that I, too, was much perturbed. I contemplated withindignation the lawless impudence of the fellow who had broken into ourbarn, and who had subsequently threatened violence to the carpenter forexpostulating against this act of trespass. At the same time I couldnot stifle a feeling of pity for the homeless being who doubtless foundthe bed upon our barn floor as grateful as the downy couch of a Persianpotentate. Nor could I stifle the conviction that it was a piece ofmiserable greediness on my part to deny this friendless and pennilesswanderer the humble shelter he craved.
In fact I presently became so ashamed of the part I was taking in theseproceedings that but for my regard for Alice's feelings I would havepacked the carpenter off home and left the barn open to the tramp andall his kind. As it was my conscience gave me no rest until I hadinduced neighbor Tiltman to extract the cartridges from the pistol,which service he did so cleverly that the carpenter knew nothing aboutit, and continued to bluster and bloviate like a dragoon on dressparade.
The tramp did not return that night, and I was glad he did not, for itwould have spoiled our new premises for me had any act of violence beencommitted thereupon. The experience, however, alarmed Alice to such anextent that she determined to employ a private watchman to guard thepremises by night until we occupied them. She told me at supper thenext evening that for this purpose she had secured the services of apoor but honest man who had called that day seeking employment.
"You don't mean to tell me, my dear," said I, "that you have intrustedthis responsible duty to a person who is in the habit of travellingfrom house to house, asking alms!"
"I guess I know an honest
man when I see him," said Alice, "and I knowthis man is honest, if there is such a thing as an honest man."
Alice went on to say that her protege was an old soldier; that he hadwept when he told of his unrequited services for his country, and ofthe ingratitude which he had experienced when his application for apension was denied by the unfeeling authorities at Washington. Alicesaid she had never met with a more civil-spoken person, and he mustindeed have impressed her most favorably, for she advanced him fiftycents on account.
We slept securely that night, for Alice's assurances made me confidentthat under the new watchman's sleepless vigilance all would be safe onthe Schmittheimer premises. But about seven o'clock next morning therewas a rude outcry, and there came a terrible banging at our front door.Looking out into the street we saw the carpenter with a very sorryspecimen of manhood in custody. The carpenter was flourishing neighborTiltman's unloaded pistol and threatening to blow his prisoner's brainsout.
"I caught him asleep in the barn!" cried the carpenter, excitedly.
"Stop! Stop!" shrieked Alice. "Don't shoot him! Don't harm a hair ofhis head! He is the night watchman I hired to guard the place!"
"He 's the tramp!" insisted the carpenter. "He 's the very tramp whobroke into the barn and slept there once before. I 've caught him nowand I won't let him go!"
The prisoner protested that the carpenter was mistaken, that he was,indeed, the night watchman, and that he was entitled to "the kindlady's protection."
The fellow's voice sounded familiar and I recognized his form and face.Yes, there could be no mistake; I had seen and dealt with this personbefore.
"My friends," said I, addressing Alice and her carpenter and the crowdof neighbors that had assembled, "you are right, and yet you are wrong.I know this man, and I identify him as the base ingrate who stole mynew wheelbarrow and my garden utensils. Your name, sir," I continued,sternly, transfixing the quaking wretch with a glance of commingledanger and scorn, "your name is Percival Wax!"