Chapter 15

by Herman Melville

　　AN OLD MISER, UPON SUITABLE REPRESENTATIONS, IS PREVAILED UPON TOVENTURE AN INVESTMENT.The merchant having withdrawn, the other remained seated alone for atime, with the air of one who, after having conversed with someexcellent man, carefully ponders what fell from him, howeverintellectually inferior it may be, that none of the profit may be lost;happy if from any honest word he has heard he can derive some hint,which, besides confirming him in the theory of virtue, may, likewise,serve for a finger-post to virtuous action.Ere long his eye brightened, as if some such hint was now caught. Herises, book in hand, quits the cabin, and enters upon a sort ofcorridor, narrow and dim, a by-way to a retreat less ornate and cheerythan the former; in short, the emigrants' quarters; but which, owing tothe present trip being a down-river one, will doubtless be foundcomparatively tenantless. Owing to obstructions against the sidewindows, the whole place is dim and dusky; very much so, for the mostpart; yet, by starts, haggardly lit here and there by narrow, capricioussky-lights in the cornices. But there would seem no special need forlight, the place being designed more to pass the night in, than the day;in brief, a pine barrens dormitory, of knotty pine bunks, withoutbedding. As with the nests in the geometrical towns of the associatepenguin and pelican, these bunks were disposed with Philadelphianregularity, but, like the cradle of the oriole, they were pendulous,and, moreover, were, so to speak, three-story cradles; the descriptionof one of which will suffice for all.Four ropes, secured to the ceiling, passed downwards through auger-holesbored in the corners of three rough planks, which at equal distancesrested on knots vertically tied in the ropes, the lowermost plank but aninch or two from the floor, the whole affair resembling, on a largescale, rope book-shelves; only, instead of hanging firmly against awall, they swayed to and fro at the least suggestion of motion, but weremore especially lively upon the provocation of a green emigrantsprawling into one, and trying to lay himself out there, when thecradling would be such as almost to toss him back whence he came. Inconsequence, one less inexperienced, essaying repose on the uppermostshelf, was liable to serious disturbance, should a raw beginner select ashelf beneath. Sometimes a throng of poor emigrants, coming at night ina sudden rain to occupy these oriole nests, would--through ignorance oftheir peculiarity--bring about such a rocking uproar of carpentry,joining to it such an uproar of exclamations, that it seemed as if someluckless ship, with all its crew, was being dashed to pieces among therocks. They were beds devised by some sardonic foe of poor travelers,to deprive them of that tranquility which should precede, as well asaccompany, slumber.--Procrustean beds, on whose hard grain humble worthand honesty writhed, still invoking repose, while but torment responded.Ah, did any one make such a bunk for himself, instead of having it madefor him, it might be just, but how cruel, to say, You must lie on it!But, purgatory as the place would appear, the stranger advances into it:and, like Orpheus in his gay descent to Tartarus, lightly hums tohimself an opera snatch.Suddenly there is a rustling, then a creaking, one of the cradles swingsout from a murky nook, a sort of wasted penguin-flipper issupplicatingly put forth, while a wail like that of Dives isheard:--"Water, water!"It was the miser of whom the merchant had spoken.Swift as a sister-of-charity, the stranger hovers over him:--"My poor, poor sir, what can I do for you?""Ugh, ugh--water!"Darting out, he procures a glass, returns, and, holding it to thesufferer's lips, supports his head while he drinks: "And did they letyou lie here, my poor sir, racked with this parching thirst?"The miser, a lean old man, whose flesh seemed salted cod-fish, dry ascombustibles; head, like one whittled by an idiot out of a knot; flat,bony mouth, nipped between buzzard nose and chin; expression, flittingbetween hunks and imbecile--now one, now the other--he made no response.His eyes were closed, his cheek lay upon an old white moleskin coat,rolled under his head like a wizened apple upon a grimy snow-bank.Revived at last, he inclined towards his ministrant, and, in a voicedisastrous with a cough, said:--"I am old and miserable, a poor beggar,not worth a shoestring--how can I repay you?""By giving me your confidence.""Confidence!" he squeaked, with changed manner, while the pallet swung,"little left at my age, but take the stale remains, and welcome.""Such as it is, though, you give it. Very good. Now give me a hundreddollars."Upon this the miser was all panic. His hands groped towards hiswaist, then suddenly flew upward beneath his moleskin pillow, andthere lay clutching something out of sight. Meantime, to himself heincoherently mumbled:--"Confidence? Cant, gammon! Confidence? hum,bubbleHundred dollars?--hundred devils!"Half spent, he lay mute awhile, then feebly raising himself, in a voicefor the moment made strong by the sarcasm, said, "A hundred dollars?rather high price to put upon confidence. But don't you see I am a poor,old rat here, dying in the wainscot? You have served me; but, wretchthat I am, I can but cough you my thanks,--ugh, ugh, ugh!"This time his cough was so violent that its convulsions were imparted tothe plank, which swung him about like a stone in a sling preparatory toits being hurled."Ugh, ugh, ugh!""What a shocking cough. I wish, my friend, the herb-doctor was here now;a box of his Omni-Balsamic Reinvigorator would do you good.""Ugh, ugh, ugh!""I've a good mind to go find him. He's aboard somewhere. I saw his long,snuff-colored surtout. Trust me, his medicines are the best in theworld.""Ugh, ugh, ugh!""Oh, how sorry I am.""No doubt of it," squeaked the other again, "but go, get your charityout on deck. There parade the pursy peacocks; they don't cough down herein desertion and darkness, like poor old me. Look how scaly a pauper Iam, clove with this churchyard cough. Ugh, ugh, ugh!""Again, how sorry I feel, not only for your cough, but your poverty.Such a rare chance made unavailable. Did you have but the sum named, howI could invest it for you. Treble profits. But confidence--I fear that,even had you the precious cash, you would not have the more preciousconfidence I speak of.""Ugh, ugh, ugh!" flightily raising himself. "What's that? How, how? Thenyou don't want the money for yourself?""My dear, dear sir, how could you impute to me such preposterousself-seeking? To solicit out of hand, for my private behoof, an hundreddollars from a perfect stranger? I am not mad, my dear sir.""How, how?" still more bewildered, "do you, then, go about the world,gratis, seeking to invest people's money for them?""My humble profession, sir. I live not for myself; but the world willnot have confidence in me, and yet confidence in me were great gain.""But, but," in a kind of vertigo, "what do--do you do--do with people'smoney? Ugh, ugh! How is the gain made?""To tell that would ruin me. That known, every one would be going intothe business, and it would be overdone. A secret, a mystery--all I haveto do with you is to receive your confidence, and all you have to dowith me is, in due time, to receive it back, thrice paid in treblingprofits.""What, what?" imbecility in the ascendant once more; "but the vouchers,the vouchers," suddenly hunkish again."Honesty's best voucher is honesty's face.""Can't see yours, though," peering through the obscurity.From this last alternating flicker of rationality, the miser fell back,sputtering, into his previous gibberish, but it took now an arithmeticalturn. Eyes closed, he lay muttering to himself--"One hundred, one hundred--two hundred, two hundred--three hundred,three hundred."He opened his eyes, feebly stared, and still more feebly said--"It's a little dim here, ain't it? Ugh, ugh! But, as well as my poor oldeyes can see, you look honest.""I am glad to hear that.""If--if, now, I should put"--trying to raise himself, but vainly,excitement having all but exhausted him--"if, if now, I should put,put----""No ifs. Downright confidence, or none. So help me heaven, I will haveno half-confidences."He said it with an indifferent and superior air, and seemed moving togo."Don't, don't leave me, friend; bear with me; age can't help somedistrust; it can't, friend, it can't. Ugh, ugh, ugh! Oh, I am so old andmiserable. I ought to have a guardian. Tell me, if----""If? No more!""Stay! how soon--ugh, ugh!--would my money be trebled? How soon,friend?""You won't confide. Good-bye!""Stay, stay," falling back now like an infant, "I confide, I confide;help, friend, my distrust!"From an old buckskin pouch, tremulously dragged forth, ten hoardedeagles, tarnished into the appearance of ten old horn-buttons, weretaken, and half-eagerly, half-reluctantly, offered."I know not whether I should accept this slack confidence," said theother coldly, receiving the gold, "but an eleventh-hour confidence, asick-bed confidence, a distempered, death-bed confidence, after all.Give me the healthy confidence of healthy men, with their healthy witsabout them. But let that pass. All right. Good-bye!""Nay, back, back--receipt, my receipt! Ugh, ugh, ugh! Who are you? Whathave I done? Where go you? My gold, my gold! Ugh, ugh, ugh!"But, unluckily for this final flicker of reason, the stranger was nowbeyond ear-shot, nor was any one else within hearing of so feeble acall.