CANT AND HUMBUG.

Our train had pulled out of Ostend a few minutes before. The carriage in which I had my seat contained its regular complement of six passengers, all of whom, with the exception of myself, belonged to the Anglo-Saxon race. We had scarcely left the station when tongues were loosed, and an animated general conversation began, which enabled me to recognize my companions by their shrill, loud tones and somewhat [6]nasal accents, as Americans. The only person who took no share in the talk was a portly gentleman dressed in a traveling suit of conspicuous style, who had placed his numerous articles of baggage in the net with small regard for the effects of his fellow mortals, then settled himself comfortably in a corner by the window and, after a swift, searching glance at the other inmates of the railway carriage, began to scan the somewhat monotonous landscape. Remarks which were indirectly addressed to him were so utterly ignored that it would have been supposed he did not understand English, had he not said—when

one of the Americans was preparing to light a [7]cigar—in unmistakable English and very emphatically:

“I object to your smoking, sir; I am not aware that this is a smoking carriage.”

The Englishman’s bluntness and reserve evidently did not suit the taste of the Americans, for they began to exchange pointed remarks about the inhospitable social customs of the “Britishers,” their awkwardness in their intercourse with others, and their punctilious formality in social, political and religious matters, of which, however, the Englishman took no more notice than he had formerly done of the indirect attempts to draw him into the conversation.

“I heard a story in London [8]which describes the Britisher better than a whole library could do,” exclaimed one of the Yankees who had been among the loudest talkers.

“Out with it! Hear! Hear!” cried the others in chorus, casting scornful glances at the Englishman. The latter did not appear to notice it, he was gazing very intently at a windmill, whose bizarre outline was relieved against the horizon.

“I must premise that the story is true, and that I met one of the heroes only yesterday evening in London—my friend, Mr. Brown, from whom I had it. This Mr. Brown was obliged, two years ago, to take a business journey to Chili. He secured passage on [9]one of the boats of the Pacific Steam Navigation Co., and arrived without incident at Montevideo, where several more passengers came on board. Beyond Punta Arenas a terrible storm suddenly burst upon them, which first broke the helm, then swept the smokestack from the deck, and finally shattered the screw. The vessel was now a total wreck, the sport of the wind and waves, and, after drifting aimlessly in the storm for several hours, it was at last flung upon a reef, where it stuck fast. The captain, who had not lost his calmness and presence of mind for a moment, ordered the lifeboats to be lowered, and remained on board until the last [10]passenger and the last sailor had left the ship. The boats vainly endeavored to make their way through the surges thundering upon the reef. One after another was caught

beneath the combing surf and overturned, a cry of despair was heard above the howling of the tempest, then the boat, keel uppermost, drifted in one direction, while in another faces distorted by fear and hands clenched convulsively appeared above the foam-flecked water only to vanish speedily. The boat Mr. Brown entered shared the fate of the rest, but when it upset, my friend and another passenger clung to the edge and, with tremendous effort, climbed up so that they sat astride of the sharp [11]keel. In this horrible situation, one behind the other, they remained for several hours till the waves, whose violence had now somewhat subsided, at last flung them on the flat, sandy shore of a small island. The immediate peril of death was now over, but Mr. Brown considered his situation a very melancholy one. He had no taste for literary renown, and did not find the slightest consolation for the financial loss which he must inevitably meet if he did not reach Valparaiso at a certain time, in the thought that he would eventually be celebrated as another Robinson Crusoe. However,

he tried to accommodate himself to the situation as well as he could. After resting [12]a short time and drying his clothes in the sun, he went on an investigating tour through the island, which was not more than a league in circumference. He discovered without difficulty that it was uninhabited, but contained a sufficient quantity of fruit trees, birds’ nests, shells, springs and caves to sustain the life of a shipwrecked person. So he immediately prepared a sort of nest for himself of moss and leaves at the foot of a large tree, and calmly accommodated himself to the necessity of living here until some lucky accident should deliver him from his unpleasant position. His companion in misfortune had pursued precisely the same course as Mr. Brown. He, [13]too, after a tour of investigation had found a tolerably habitable grotto, in which he made himself at home.”

“But it would have been far more natural for them to live together,” remarked one of the listeners.

“It’s evident, Brother Josh, that you have lived in Europe only a week and don’t understand English customs. How could Mr. Brown speak to the other shipwrecked passenger, associate with him, or live in the same cave, when they had not been introduced to each other?”

The Americans laughed, while the Englishman appeared to be more than ever absorbed in gazing at the landscape. [14]

“Several weeks,” the speaker continued, “elapsed in cheerless monotony. Every morning the two shipwrecked men left their beds of moss and washed at the only large spring in the island, during which they looked coldly at each other, then they went in search of a few eggs, shells and roots for breakfast, after which, of course, without taking the slightest notice of each other, they met on the narrow top of a high rock which projected into the sea and sat there silently for hours, scanning the horizon with anxious eyes, always hoping to discover a distant sail. For a long time this hope was unfulfilled. At last, after they had spent nearly two months and a half on the island, Mr. [15]Brown had scarcely stationed himself at his usual post of observation when he thought he saw, at the farthest verge of the horizon, a dark, moving spot. Starting up, as if he had received an electric shock, he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed until he could no longer doubt that what he beheld was the trail of smoke from a steamer.

His companion, whose attention had been attracted by Mr. Brown’s vehement movements, followed the direction of his eyes, and a faint ‘Oh!’ which he suddenly uttered revealed that he, too, had discovered the ship. Both now transformed all their garments, coats, vests, shirts, flannel jackets, into flags, which they waved frantically with both hands. [16]But it needed no special exertions to bring the steamer which was in sight to the island. As they learned afterward, some of the men shipwrecked on their own vessel had succeeded in righting one of the overturned boats, getting into it, and, after unspeakable hardships, reaching the mainland, where they brought tidings of the catastrophe. A ship was sent to the scene of the disaster as quickly as possible to search for any survivors of the wreck, and it was this vessel which Mr. Brown and his companion had discovered on the morning described. After two hours of excitement and anxiety,

the rescuing steamer came so near that a boat put off for the two involuntary [17]islanders. They rushed down to the flat, sandy tongue of land where the boat had touched, and a few minutes later, comfortably seated in it, were on their way to the steamer. The captain stood near the man-rope, waiting for them, greeted them with a silent bow and a clasp of the hand, and requested them to accompany him to his cabin. Here he placed a register before them and asked them to write their names and residences. The stranger who had been Mr. Brown’s companion on the island was the first to comply with the request, as he happened to be standing nearer to the table. After making the desired entries he yielded the pen to my friend Brown, who, before beginning to [18]write himself, glanced mechanically at the lines which had just been inscribed in the book. Scarcely had he read them when a strange emotion suddenly overpowered him. ‘Mr. William Lloyd Jones, Valparaiso!’ he exclaimed aloud in a tremulous voice, then,

turning to the gentleman who stood beside him, he added: ‘Are you Mr. W. L. Jones?’ ‘Yes,’ replied the other curtly, looking at him with surprise and disapproval. ‘Oh, in that case,’—and Mr. Brown thrust his hand into the breast pocket of his coat, whence he drew out a letter,—‘in that case I have a letter of introduction to you from our mutual friend, Mr. Smith, in London.’ While speaking, Mr. Brown handed Mr. Jones his ‘introduction,’ [19]whose address, it is true, was somewhat effaced by the sea-water, but was still perfectly legible. Mr. Jones methodically unfolded the paper, read it through attentively, and when he had reached his friend Smith’s signature his hitherto stern face suddenly brightened, he turned to Brown with overwhelming cordiality, shook him vigorously by both hands, and exclaimed again and again: ‘Very happy to make your acquaintance, really very happy!’ Brown struck himself on the forehead: ‘To think that I could not give you my introduction on the island!’ ‘It is a pity, certainly,’ observed Jones;

‘we might have spent some very pleasant hours together.’ The captain—also an [20]Englishman—who had listened all the time in silence, guessed the connection of affairs without difficulty, and, after this little scene, was perfectly convinced that he was dealing with thorough gentlemen. Brown and Jones became the best possible friends, and even now, though one is living in London and the other in Valparaiso, maintain a very active correspondence.”

During the last few sentences of the story the American listeners gave way to noisy mirth, which lasted several minutes after the speaker stopped. When the outburst of hilarity was at last followed by silence, we saw the Englishman—who until then had sat in his corner with an expression [21]of the utmost indifference on his immovable face—suddenly smile and bow slightly to the narrator of the anecdote. “Sir,” he said, “you have told a very interesting story, and I congratulate you upon your acquaintance with the admirable Mr. Brown. But perhaps you will now permit me also to relate an anecdote which, though less entertaining, is also true, and whose scene is the United States.”

Another “Hear! Hear!” even more eager than the former one, echoed from all sides, and the Englishman began:

“The French captain of cuirassiers, Monsieur Durand, one of my most intimate friends in Paris, was sent to America by [22]his government during the last war between France and Germany, to buy horses for the army. Late in October in the year 1870 he found himself in a little town in Texas, which was famed only for a roughly built, very spacious circus, where, shortly before, Mexican bull-fighters had given several performances. Monsieur Durand, who had arrived in the afternoon and gone to the only hotel in the place, was sitting in the drawing-room that evening before an open fire which was extremely comfortable, and had beside him a little table holding a bottle of claret and a glass. As he stretched out his limbs, wearied by the long railway journey, and gazed thoughtfully into [23]the fire, the door opened and a second guest entered the room. This was Mr. Jonathan Oilking, one of the most prominent personages in the place, a man who had the reputation of possessing great wealth and rare urbanity. Oilking, without a word of greeting,

or even touching his soft, broad-brimmed felt hat, went straight to the fireside, pushed the chair occupied by the captain a little aside, and, leaning against the mantelpiece with his back to the fire, directly opposite to Durand, stared him directly in the face.

“The Frenchman was strongly tempted to spring at the newcomer’s throat, but thought, ‘custom of the country,’ and contented [24]himself with shrugging his shoulders and gazing at the ceiling instead of the flames. Oilking warmed himself for some time with great satisfaction, and then perceived the wine standing on the little table beside the captain. With the greatest composure he seized the bottle, filled a glass from it, and emptied it at a single gulp, after which he replaced it, smacking his lips. Durand’s blood boiled, but he still controlled himself and continued to scan the ceiling and walls with increased attention. Oilking now remained motionless for a time, and only occasional expectorations, which he performed noisily, always aiming at a certain point, which he hit with great [25]accuracy, proved that life existed in his long, thin body. At last he interrupted the silence by turning to Durand, with the question, ‘Stranger, are you the French officer who has come here to buy horses?’ The Frenchman pretended not to hear and

gazed through the window at the woodland landscape outside. Oilking laid his hand on the captain’s shoulder, repeating his question. But the measure was now full to overflowing. Starting up, he roared, in very doubtful English, ‘You are a boor, do you understand me?’ Jonathan straightened himself and answered gently: ‘Stranger, don’t repeat that, or I shall throw you out of the window.’ ‘You must [26]answer to me for this,’ raved Durand, ‘you shall give me satisfaction for all the impertinences which you have already committed this evening.’ ‘If that’s all,’ observed Oilking, still very calmly, ‘you can be accommodated at once. Here is a bowie knife and here is a revolver’—he drew both articles from his belt as he spoke—‘if you also have weapons at hand, I’ll leave the choice to you whether I shall make a buttonhole in your skin or rip a seam in your body. The room is convenient, there is nothing to prevent our settling the matter at once.’ Durand had become somewhat calmer and

said to Oilking: ‘It is not the custom in my country for people to kill [27]themselves in closed rooms without witnesses. I will try to find two seconds and send them to you. They will arrange the conditions of the duel with you, and when that is done you will find me at your disposal.’ With these words he left the room and went directly to the landlord, to whom he related what had happened and proposed that he should act as a witness and provide another second. The landlord said that witnesses were a superfluous luxury in a duel; but if the captain insisted upon his wish he would willingly serve him; the head-waiter could act as a second witness; he would merely add five dollars to the bill for this extra. Durand, who had already become [28]somewhat accustomed to American peculiarities, took no offense at this latter remark of the landlord, but requested him to go with the waiter at once to Oilking and settle the affair with him. Returning to his room, Durand awaited the result of the interview. At the end of an hour the landlord returned, and hastily informed him that the duel

could not take place until the morning of the day after to-morrow; the weapon which Oilking, as the challenged party, had chosen was the revolver; as to the place, he, the landlord, would conduct Mr. Durand to it at the proper time. He had scarcely uttered the last word of his hastily delivered message when [29]he, too, vanished without awaiting an answer from the captain.

“Durand went quietly to rest and slept well all night. The next day he spent in his room, wrote letters to his relatives and friends in France and directions concerning his wishes in case he should be killed or severely wounded. Toward noon he wanted to speak to the landlord, but the latter could not be found; the captain was told that his second had left town the evening before and would not return until that evening. About twilight he did appear, and with him a number of guests, who filled the hotel from attic to cellar with noisy life. The streets which, hitherto, had been very [30]quiet, were now full of bustle, and our captain, who did not sleep as well as on the preceding night, could hear the rattle of wheels, the sound of horses’ hoofs, and loud voices from the street beneath.

“At last the fateful morning dawned. Durand dressed carefully and awaited what was to come. Toward nine o’clock the landlord and head-waiter entered unceremoniously, asking, ‘Are you ready, Captain?’. ‘Yes.’ ‘Then come.’ Both led the way at a rapid pace, he followed. They took him through the principal street and several side ones to a large open square, in whose center stood the circus building previously mentioned. The second [31]went to a little door, opened it, and entered a dark, narrow passage, into which Durand followed them with some little hesitation. They evidently noticed his reluctance, for they seized the astonished captain by the arms, hurried him swiftly along for several paces, opened another little door, and ere the captain could prevent it they were standing in the ring of the circus, which was packed from top to bottom with a crowd numbering many hundreds of human beings, who, at the appearance of Durand and his seconds, burst into a thunder of applause and exultant cheers.

“Durand stood as if a thunderbolt had struck him, not [32]knowing what to make of all this. ‘What does this ridiculous farce mean?’ he stammered, turning to the landlord; but the latter did not hear, he was motioning with both hands to the spectators to keep silence and, when the tumult had partly subsided, he shouted with all the strength of his lungs: ‘Gentlemen, I have the honor to introduce the brave and famous French captain of cuirassiers, Monsieur Durand, the sole survivor of the glorious cuirassier charge at Reichshoffen. He will have the honor of exchanging shots in your presence with an esteemed citizen of this town, Mr. Jonathan Oilking.’ Again the audience began to applaud and cheer and, at the same [33]moment, a little door opposite to the one through which Durand had entered, opened, and in came Jonathan in a fantastic Indian costume, accompanied by two friends.

“Durand now guessed what was in store. Half stifled with rage and excitement, he dealt the landlord, who was standing by his side, a violent blow in the breast and darted with the speed of lightning to the little door, through which, an instant after, he vanished.

“You can guess, gentlemen, what had happened. The appearance of the landlord whom Durand sent to him gave Oilking a brilliant idea. He agreed with him to make the duel a business [34]matter. That very evening they sent several workmen to the circus, who, by torchlight, repaired the somewhat dilapidated building and mended the rows of seats. They themselves went at once to the neighboring town, called Rome or Paris, I don’t remember which, ordered placards to be printed, in which the public was offered on the following day, for a payment of two dollars, the spectacle of a public duel ‘with the brave and famous Captain Durand, of Paris, the sole survivor of the charge of the cuirassiers at Reichshoffen,’ inserted advertisements in the two local papers, induced one to publish a leading article upon the battle of Reichshoffen, the other an account of the heroic [35]deeds of Captain Durand in this battle, personally diffused the expectation that Durand would appear in the uniform worn on the day of Reichshoffen, and by all these expedients