Short Stories for English Courses

V >> Various (Rosa M. R. Mikels ed.) >> Short Stories for English Courses

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They came up to the boulders on which Miss Allardyce's horse had
blundered.

Then rose from the rock Wee Willie Winkie, child of the Dominant
Race, aged six and three-quarters, and said briefly and
emphatically, "Jao!" The pony had crossed the river-bed.

The man laughed, and laughter from natives was the one thing Wee
Willie Winkie could not tolerate. He asked them what they wanted
and why they did not depart. Other men with most evil faces and
crooked-stocked guns crept out of the shadows of the hills, till,
soon, Wee Willie Winkie was face to face with an audience some
twenty strong. Miss Allardyce screamed.

"Who are you?" said one of the men.

"I am the Colonel Sahib's son, and my order is that you go at
once. You black men are frightening the Miss Sahib. One of you
must run into cantonments and take the news that the Miss Sahib
has hurt herself, and that the Colonel's son is here with her."

"Put our feet into the trap?" was the laughing reply. "Hear this
boy's speech!"

"Say that I sent you--I, the Colonel's son. They will give you
money."

"What is the use of this talk? Take up the child and the girl, and
we can at least ask for the ransom. Ours are the villages on the
heights," said a voice in the background.

These WERE the Bad Men--worse than Goblins--and it needed all Wee
Willie Winkie's training to prevent him from bursting into tears.
But he felt that to cry before a native, excepting only his
mother's ayah, would be an infamy greater than any mutiny.
Moreover, he, as future Colonel of the 195th, had that grim
regiment at his back.

"Are you going to carry us away?" said Wee Willie Winkie, very
blanched and uncomfortable.

"Yes, my little Sahib Bahadur," said the tallest of the men, "and
eat you afterwards."

"That is child's talk," said Wee Willie Winkie. "Men do not eat
men."

A yell of laughter interrupted him, but he went on firmly--"And if
you do carry us away, I tell you that all my regiment will come up
in a day and kill you all without leaving one. Who will take my
message to the Colonel Sahib?"

Speech in any vernacular--and Wee Willie Winkie had a colloquial
acquaintance with three--was easy to the boy who could not yet
manage his "r's" and "th's" aright.

Another man joined the conference, crying, "O foolish men! What
this babe says is true. He is the heart's heart of those white
troops. For the sake of peace let them go both, for if he be
taken, the regiment will break loose and gut the valley. OUR
villages are in the valley, and we shall not escape. That regiment
are devils. They broke Khoda Yar's breastbone with kicks when he
tried to take the rifles; and if we touch this child they will
fire and rape and plunder for a month till nothing remains. Better
to send a man back to take the message and get a reward. I say
that this child is their God, and that they will spare none of us,
nor our women, if we harm him."

It was Din Mahommed, the dismissed groom of the Colonel, who made
the diversion, and an angry and heated discussion followed. Wee
Willie Winkie, standing over Miss Allardyce, waited the upshot.
Surely his "wegiment," his own "wegiment," would not desert him if
they knew of his extremity.

The riderless pony brought the news to the 195th, though there had
been consternation in the Colonel's household for an hour before.
The little beast came in through the parade-ground in front of the
main barracks, where the men were settling down to play Spoil-five
till the afternoon. Devlin, the Color-Sergeant of E Company,
glanced at the empty saddle and tumbled through the barrack-rooms,
kicking up each Room Corporal as he passed. "Up, ye beggars!
There's something happened to the Colonel's son," he shouted.

"He couldn't fall off! S'help me, 'e COULDN'T fall off," blubbered
a drummer-boy. "Go an' hunt acrost the river. He's over there if
he's anywhere, an' maybe those Pathans have got 'im. For the love
o' Gawd don't look for 'im in the nullahs! Let's go over the
river."

"There's sense in Mott yet," said Devlin. "E Company, double out
to the river--sharp!"

So E Company, in its shirt-sleeves mainly, doubled for the dear
life, and in the rear toiled the perspiring Sergeant, adjuring it
to double yet faster. The cantonment was alive with the men of the
195th hunting for Wee Willie Winkie, and the Colonel finally
overtook E Company, far too exhausted to swear, struggling in the
pebbles of the river-bed.

Up the hill under which Wee Willie Winkie's Bad Men were
discussing the wisdom of carrying off the child and the girl, a
look-out fired two shots.

"What have I said?" shouted Din Mahommed. "There is the warning!
The pulton are out already and are coming across the plain! Get
away! Let us not be seen with the boy!"

The men waited for an instant, and then, as another shot was
fired, withdrew into the hills, silently as they had appeared.

"The wegiment is coming," said Wee Willie Winkie confidently to
Miss Allardyce, "and it's all wight. Don't cwy!"

He needed the advice himself, for ten minutes later, when his
father came up, he was weeping bitterly with his head in Miss
Allardyce's lap.

And the men of the 195th carried him home with shouts and
rejoicings; and Coppy, who had ridden a horse into a lather, met
him, and, to his intense disgust, kissed him openly in the
presence of the men.

But there was balm for his dignity. His father assured him that
not only would the breaking of arrest be condoned, but that the
good-conduct badge would be restored as soon as his mother could
sew it on his blouse-sleeve. Miss Allardyce had told the Colonel a
story that made him proud of his son.

"She belonged to you, Coppy," said Wee Willie Winkie, indicating
Miss Allardyce with a grimy fore-finger. "I KNEW she didn't ought
to go acwoss ve wiver, and I knew ve wegiment would come to me if
I sent Jack home."

"You're a hero, Winkie," said Coppy--"a pukka hero!"

"I don't know what vat means," said Wee Willie Winkie, "but you
mustn't call me Winkie any no more. I'm Percival Will'am
Will'ams."

And in this manner did Wee Willie Winkie enter into his manhood.

THE GOLD BUG

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

Poe was the first American short-story writer. Others had written
stories that were short, but he was the first to recognize the
short-story as having a form and an aim all its own. Moreover, he
was willing to admit the public to his laboratory and to explain
his process, for he discounted inspiration and emphasized
craftsmanship. In "The Philosophy of Composition" he declares that
every plot "must be elaborated to its denouement before anything
is attempted with the pen. It is only with the denouement
constantly in view that we can give a plot its indispensable air
of consequence, or causation, by making the incidents and
especially the tone, at all points, tend to the development of the
intention." He also tells us that he prefers beginning with an
effect. Having chosen, in the first place, an effect that is both
novel and vivid, he decides "whether it can be best wrought by
incident or tone," and afterward looks about "for such
combinations of events, or tone, as shall best aid ... in the
construction of the effect."

In view of such explanations, it is interesting to study "The Gold
Bug" and to see how well the plot has been worked out and the tone
established. It is doubtful whether in this story the plot meant
to the writer what it means to the reader. The latter likes the
adventure with its ingeniously fitted parts, each so necessary to
the whole. But after the gold has been found--and that is the
point of greatest interest--the story goes on and on to explain
the cryptogram. This, no doubt, was to Poe the most interesting
thing about the story, the tracing of the steps by which the scrap
of parchment was deciphered and reasoned upon and made to yield up
its secret. As to the time and place, the strange conduct and
character of Legrand, the fears and superstitions of Jupiter, and
the puzzled solicitude of the narrator--all these aid materially
in establishing and maintaining the tone.

THE GOLD BUG

[Footnote: From "The Works of Edgar Allan Poe," published by
Charles Scribner's Sons.]

"What ho' what ho' this fellow is dancing mad!
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula."

--All in the Wrong.

Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William
Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been
wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To
avoid the mortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New
Orleans, the city of his forefathers, and took up his residence at
Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, South Carolina.

This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else
than the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at
no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the
mainland by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a
wilderness of reeds and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen.
The vegetation, as might be supposed, is scant, or at least
dwarfish. No trees of any magnitude are to be seen. Near the
western extremity, where Fort Moultrie stands, and where are some
miserable frame buildings, tenanted during summer by the fugitives
from Charleston dust and fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly
palmetto; but the whole island, with the exception of this western
point, and a line of hard white beach on the seacoast, is covered
with a dense undergrowth of the sweet myrtle, so much prized by
the horticulturists of England. The shrub here often attains the
height of fifteen or twenty feet, and forms an almost impenetrable
coppice, burdening the air with its fragrance.

In the utmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern
or more remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a
small hut, which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made
his acquaintance. This soon ripened into friendship--for there was
much in the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him
well educated, with unusual powers of mind, but infected with
misanthropy, and subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm
and melancholy. He had with him many books, but rarely employed
them. His chief amusements were gunning and fishing, or sauntering
along the beach and through the myrtles, in quest of shells or
entomological specimens;--his collection of the latter might have
been envied by a Swammerdamm. In these excursions he was usually
accompanied by an old negro, called Jupiter, who had been
manumitted before the reverses of the family, but who could be
induced, neither by threats nor by promises, to abandon what he
considered his right of attendance upon the footsteps of his young
"Massa Will." It is not improbable that the relatives of Legrand,
conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in intellect, had
contrived to instil this obstinacy into Jupiter, with a view to
the supervision and guardianship of the wanderer.

The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very
severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when
a fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18--,
there occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just
before sunset I scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut
of my friend, whom I had not visited for several weeks--my
residence being at that time in Charleston, a distance of nine
miles from the island, while the facilities of passage and re-
passage were very far behind those of the present day. Upon
reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and, getting no
reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted, unlocked
the door and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the hearth, It
was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw off an
overcoat, took an armchair by the crackling logs, and awaited
patiently the arrival of my hosts.

Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome.
Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some
marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits--how else
shall I term them?--of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown
bivalve, forming a new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted
down and secured, with Jupiter's assistance, a scaraboeus which he
believed to be totally new, but in respect to which he wished to
have my opinion on the morrow.

"And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze,
and wishing the whole tribe of scaraboei at the devil.

"Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it's
so long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you would
pay me a visit this very night of all others? As I was coming home
I met Lieutenant G----, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent
him the bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the
morning. Stay here to-night, and I will send Jup down for it at
sunrise. It is the loveliest thing in creation!"

"What?--sunrise?"

"Nonsense! no!--the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color--about
the size of a large hickory-nut--with two jet black spots near one
extremity of the back, another, somewhat longer, at the other. The
antennae are--"

"Dey aint NO tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a-tellin' on you,"
here interrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goole-bug, solid, ebery bit
of him, inside and all, sep him wing--neber feel half so hebby a
bug in my life."

"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat more
earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, "is that any
reason for your letting the birds burn? The color"--here he turned
to me--"is really almost enough to warrant Jupiter's idea. You
never saw a more brilliant metallic lustre than the scales emit--
but of this you cannot judge till to-morrow. In the mean time I
can give you some idea of the shape." Saying this, he seated
himself at a small table, on which were a pen and ink, but no
paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but found none.

"Never mind," said he at length, "this will answer;" and he drew
from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to be very dirty
foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen. While he
did this, I retained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly.
When the design was complete, he handed it to me without rising.
As I received it, a low growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching
at the door. Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland,
belonging to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and
loaded me with caresses; for I had shown him much attention during
previous visits. When his gambols were over, I looked at the
paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself not a little puzzled
at what my friend had depicted.

"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, "this is
a strange scarabaeus, I must confess; new to me: never saw
anything like it before--unless it was a skull, or a death's-head,
which it more nearly resembles than anything else that has come
under MY observation."

"A death's-head!" echoed Legrand--"Oh--yes--well, it has something
of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. The two upper black spots
look like eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like a mouth
--and then the shape of the whole is oval."

"Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I
must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea
of its personal appearance."

"Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw
tolerably--SHOULD do it at least--have had good masters, and
flatter myself that I am not quite a blockhead."

"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I, "this is a
very passable SKULL,--indeed, I may say that it is a very
EXCELLENT skull, according to the vulgar notions about such
specimens of physiology--and your scarabaeus must be the queerest
scarabaeus in the world if it resembles it. Why, we may get up a
very thrilling bit of superstition upon this hint. I presume you
will call the bug scarabaeus caput hominis, or something of that
kind--there are many similar titles in the Natural Histories. But
where are the antennae you spoke of?"

"The antennae!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting
unaccountably warm upon the subject; "I am sure you must see the
antennae. I made them as distinct as they are in the original
insect, and I presume that is sufficient."

"Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have--still I don't see them;"
and I handed him the paper without additional remark, not wishing
to ruffle his temper; but I was much surprised at the turn affairs
had taken; his ill humor puzzled me--and, as for the drawing of
the beetle, there were positively NO antennae visible, and the
whole DID bear a very close resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a
death's-head.

He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to crumple it,
apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual glance at the
design seemed suddenly to rivet his attention. In an instant his
face grew violently red--in another as excessively pale. For some
minutes he continued to scrutinize the drawing minutely where he
sat. At length he arose, took a candle from the table, and
proceeded to seat himself upon a sea-chest in the farthest corner
of the room. Here again he made an anxious examination of the
paper; turning it in all directions. He said nothing, however, and
his conduct greatly astonished me; yet I thought it prudent not to
exacerbate the growing moodiness of his temper by any comment.
Presently he took from his coat pocket a wallet, placed the paper
carefully in it, and deposited both in a writing-desk, which he
locked. He now grew more composed in his demeanor; but his
original air of enthusiasm had quite disappeared. Yet he seemed
not so much sulky as abstracted. As the evening wore away he
became more and more absorbed in revery, from which no sallies of
mine could arouse him. It had been my intention to pass the night
at the hut, as I had frequently done before, but, seeing my host
in this mood, I deemed it proper to take leave. He did not press
me to remain, but, as I departed, he shook my hand with even more
than his usual cordiality.

It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had
seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston,
from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look so
dispirited, and I feared that some serious disaster had befallen
my friend.

"Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now?--how is your
master?"

"Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought
be."

"Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain of?"

"Dar! dat's it!--him neber plain of notin--but him berry sick for
all dat."

"VERY sick, Jupiter!--why didn't you say so at once? Is he
confined to bed?"

"No, dat he aint!--he aint find nowhar--dat's just whar de shoe
pinch--my mind is got to be berry hebby bout poor Massa Will."

"Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking
about. You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told you what ails
him?"

"Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad bout de matter--Massa
Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him--but den what make
him go about looking dis here way, wid he head down and he
soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And den he keep a syphon all
de time----"

"Keeps a what, Jupiter?"

"Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate--de queerest figgurs I
ebber did see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to
keep mighty tight eye pon him noovers. Todder day he gib me slip
fore de sun up and was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a
big stick ready cut for to gib him d----d good beating when he did
come--but Ise sich a fool dat I hadn't de heart arter all--he look
so berry poorly."

"Eh?--what?--ah yes!--upon the whole I think you had better not be
too severe with the poor fellow--don't flog him, Jupiter--he can't
very well stand it--but can you form no idea of what has
occasioned this illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has
anything unpleasant happened since I saw you?"

"No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant SINCE den--'twas FORE
den I'm feared--'twas de berry day you was dare."

"How? what do you mean?"

"Why, massa, I mean de bug--dare now."

"The what?"

"De bug--I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere bout
de head by dat goole-bug."

"And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?"

"Claws enuff, massa, and mouff too. I nebber did see sich a d----d
bug--he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa Will
cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go gin mighty quick, I tell
you--den was de time he must ha got de bite. I didn't like de look
ob de bug mouff, myself, no how, so I wouldn't take hold ob him
wid my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I
rap him up in de paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff--dat was
de way."

"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the
beetle, and that the bite made him sick?"

"I don't tink noffin about it--I nose it. What make him dream bout
de goole so much, if taint cause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise heerd
bout dem goole-bugs fore dis."

"But how do you know he dreams about gold?"

"How I know? why cause he talk about it in he sleep--dat's how I
nose."

"Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate
circumstance am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you to-
day?"

"What de matter, massa?"

"Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?"

"No, massa, I bring dis here pissel;" and here Jupiter handed me a
note which ran thus:

"MY DEAR----, Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope
you have not been so foolish as to take offence at any little
brusquerie of mine; but no, that is improbable.

"Since I saw you I have had great cause for anxiety. I have
something to tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell it, or
whether I should tell it at all.

"I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup
annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions.
Would you believe it?--he had prepared a huge stick, the other
day, with which to chastise me for giving him the slip, and
spending the day, solus, among the hills on the mainland. I verily
believe that my ill looks alone saved me a flogging.

"I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met.

"If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with
Jupiter. DO come. I wish to see you TO-NIGHT, upon business of
importance. I assure you that it is of the HIGHEST importance.

"Ever yours,

"WILLIAM LEGRAND."

There was something in the tone of this note which gave me great
uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that of
Legrand. What could he be dreaming of? What new crotchet possessed
his excitable brain! What "business of the highest importance"
could HE possibly have to transact? Jupiter's account of him boded
no good. I dreaded lest the continued pressure of misfortune had,
at length, fairly unsettled the reason of my friend. Without a
moment's hesitation, therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro.

Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, all
apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in which we were
to embark.

"What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired.

"Him syfe, massa, and spade."

"Very true; but what are they doing here?"

"Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my buying for
him in de town, and de debbil's own lot of money I had to gib for
'em."

"But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 'Massa
Will' going to do with scythes and spades?"

"Dat's more dan _I_ know, and debbil take me if I don't blieve 't
is more dan he know, too. But it's all cum ob de bug."

Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, whose
whole intellect seemed to be absorbed by "de bug," I now stepped
into the boat and made sail. With a fair and strong breeze we soon
ran into the little cove to the northward of Fort Moultrie, and a
walk of some two miles brought us to the hut. It was about three
in the afternoon when we arrived. Legrand had been awaiting us in
eager expectation. He grasped my hand with a nervous EMPRESSEMENT,
which alarmed me and strengthened the suspicions already
entertained. His countenance was pale even to ghastliness, and his
deep-set eyes glared with unnatural lustre. After some inquiries
respecting his health, I asked him, not knowing what better to
say, if he had yet obtained the scarabaeus from Lieutenant G--.

"Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from him the
next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part with that
scarabaeus. Do you know that Jupiter is quite right about it!"

"In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart.

"In supposing it to be a bug of REAL GOLD." He said this with an
air of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked.

"This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a triumphant
smile, "to reinstate me in my family possessions. Is it any
wonder, then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has thought fit to
bestow it upon me, I have only to use it properly and I shall
arrive at the gold of which it is the index. Jupiter, bring me
that scarabaeus!"

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