Chapter 19

by Herman Melville

　　A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE."Mexico? Molino del Rey? Resaca de la Palma?""Resaca de la Tomba!"Leaving his reputation to take care of itself, since, as is not seldomthe case, he knew nothing of its being in debate, the herb-doctor,wandering towards the forward part of the boat, had there espied asingular character in a grimy old regimental coat, a countenance at oncegrim and wizened, interwoven paralyzed legs, stiff as icicles, suspendedbetween rude crutches, while the whole rigid body, like a ship's longbarometer on gimbals, swung to and fro, mechanically faithful to themotion of the boat. Looking downward while he swung, the cripple seemedin a brown study.As moved by the sight, and conjecturing that here was some battered herofrom the Mexican battle-fields, the herb-doctor had sympatheticallyaccosted him as above, and received the above rather dubious reply. As,with a half moody, half surly sort of air that reply was given, thecripple, by a voluntary jerk, nervously increased his swing (his customwhen seized by emotion), so that one would have thought some squall hadsuddenly rolled the boat and with it the barometer."Tombs? my friend," exclaimed the herb-doctor in mild surprise. "Youhave not descended to the dead, have you? I had imagined you a scarredcampaigner, one of the noble children of war, for your dear country aglorious sufferer. But you are Lazarus, it seems.""Yes, he who had sores.""Ah, the other Lazarus. But I never knew that either of them was inthe army," glancing at the dilapidated regimentals."That will do now. Jokes enough.""Friend," said the other reproachfully, "you think amiss. On principle,I greet unfortunates with some pleasant remark, the better to call offtheir thoughts from their troubles. The physician who is at once wiseand humane seldom unreservedly sympathizes with his patient. But come, Iam a herb-doctor, and also a natural bone-setter. I may be sanguine, butI think I can do something for you. You look up now. Give me your story.Ere I undertake a cure, I require a full account of the case.""You can't help me," returned the cripple gruffly. "Go away.""You seem sadly destitute of----""No I ain't destitute; to-day, at least, I can pay my way.""The Natural Bone-setter is happy, indeed, to hear that. But you werepremature. I was deploring your destitution, not of cash, but ofconfidence. You think the Natural Bone-setter can't help you. Well,suppose he can't, have you any objection to telling him your story? You,my friend, have, in a signal way, experienced adversity. Tell me, then,for my private good, how, without aid from the noble cripple, Epictetus,you have arrived at his heroic sang-froid in misfortune."At these words the cripple fixed upon the speaker the hard ironic eye ofone toughened and defiant in misery, and, in the end, grinned upon himwith his unshaven face like an ogre."Come, come, be sociable--be human, my friend. Don't make that face; itdistresses me.""I suppose," with a sneer, "you are the man I've long heard of--TheHappy Man.""Happy? my friend. Yes, at least I ought to be. My conscience ispeaceful. I have confidence in everybody. I have confidence that, in myhumble profession, I do some little good to the world. Yes, I thinkthat, without presumption, I may venture to assent to the propositionthat I am the Happy Man--the Happy Bone-setter.""Then, you shall hear my story. Many a month I have longed to get holdof the Happy Man, drill him, drop the powder, and leave him to explodeat his leisure."."What a demoniac unfortunate" exclaimed the herb-doctor retreating."Regular infernal machine!""Look ye," cried the other, stumping after him, and with his horny handcatching him by a horn button, "my name is Thomas Fry. Until my----"--"Any relation of Mrs. Fry?" interrupted the other. "I still correspondwith that excellent lady on the subject of prisons. Tell me, are youanyway connected with my Mrs. Fry?""Blister Mrs. Fry! What do them sentimental souls know of prisons or anyother black fact? I'll tell ye a story of prisons. Ha, ha!"The herb-doctor shrank, and with reason, the laugh being strangelystartling."Positively, my friend," said he, "you must stop that; I can't standthat; no more of that. I hope I have the milk of kindness, but yourthunder will soon turn it.""Hold, I haven't come to the milk-turning part yet My name is ThomasFry. Until my twenty-third year I went by the nickname of HappyTom--happy--ha, ha! They called me Happy Tom, d'ye see? because I was sogood-natured and laughing all the time, just as I am now--ha, ha!"Upon this the herb-doctor would, perhaps, have run, but once more thehyna clawed him. Presently, sobering down, he continued:"Well, I was born in New York, and there I lived a steady, hard-workingman, a cooper by trade. One evening I went to a political meeting in thePark--for you must know, I was in those days a great patriot. As badluck would have it, there was trouble near, between a gentleman who hadbeen drinking wine, and a pavior who was sober. The pavior chewedtobacco, and the gentleman said it was beastly in him, and pushed him,wanting to have his place. The pavior chewed on and pushed back. Well,the gentleman carried a sword-cane, and presently the pavior wasdown--skewered.""How was that?""Why you see the pavior undertook something above his strength.""The other must have been a Samson then. 'Strong as a pavior,' is aproverb.""So it is, and the gentleman was in body a rather weakly man, but, forall that, I say again, the pavior undertook something above hisstrength.""What are you talking about? He tried to maintain his rights, didn'the?""Yes; but, for all that, I say again, he undertook something above hisstrength.""I don't understand you. But go on.""Along with the gentleman, I, with other witnesses, was taken to theTombs. There was an examination, and, to appear at the trial, thegentleman and witnesses all gave bail--I mean all but me.""And why didn't you?""Couldn't get it.""Steady, hard-working cooper like you; what was the reason you couldn'tget bail?""Steady, hard-working cooper hadn't no friends. Well, souse I went intoa wet cell, like a canal-boat splashing into the lock; locked up inpickle, d'ye see? against the time of the trial.""But what had you done?""Why, I hadn't got any friends, I tell ye. A worse crime than murder, asye'll see afore long.""Murder? Did the wounded man die?""Died the third night.""Then the gentleman's bail didn't help him. Imprisoned now, wasn't he?""Had too many friends. No, it was I that was imprisoned.--But I wasgoing on: They let me walk about the corridor by day; but at night Imust into lock. There the wet and the damp struck into my bones. Theydoctored me, but no use. When the trial came, I was boosted up and saidmy say.""And what was that?""My say was that I saw the steel go in, and saw it sticking in.""And that hung the gentleman.""Hung him with a gold chain! His friends called a meeting in the Park,and presented him with a gold watch and chain upon his acquittal.""Acquittal?""Didn't I say he had friends?"There was a pause, broken at last by the herb-doctor's saying: "Well,there is a bright side to everything. If this speak prosaically forjustice, it speaks romantically for friendship! But go on, my finefellow.""My say being said, they told me I might go. I said I could not withouthelp. So the constables helped me, asking where would I go? I toldthem back to the 'Tombs.' I knew no other place. 'But where are yourfriends?' said they. 'I have none.' So they put me into a hand-barrowwith an awning to it, and wheeled me down to the dock and on board aboat, and away to Blackwell's Island to the Corporation Hospital. ThereI got worse--got pretty much as you see me now. Couldn't cure me. Afterthree years, I grew sick of lying in a grated iron bed alongside ofgroaning thieves and mouldering burglars. They gave me five silverdollars, and these crutches, and I hobbled off. I had an only brotherwho went to Indiana, years ago. I begged about, to make up a sum to goto him; got to Indiana at last, and they directed me to his grave. Itwas on a great plain, in a log-church yard with a stump fence, the oldgray roots sticking all ways like moose-antlers. The bier, set over thegrave, it being the last dug, was of green hickory; bark on, and greentwigs sprouting from it. Some one had planted a bunch of violets on themound, but it was a poor soil (always choose the poorest soils forgrave-yards), and they were all dried to tinder. I was going to sit andrest myself on the bier and think about my brother in heaven, but thebier broke down, the legs being only tacked. So, after driving some hogsout of the yard that were rooting there, I came away, and, not to maketoo long a story of it, here I am, drifting down stream like any otherbit of wreck."The herb-doctor was silent for a time, buried in thought. At last,raising his head, he said: "I have considered your whole story, myfriend, and strove to consider it in the light of a commentary on what Ibelieve to be the system of things; but it so jars with all, is soincompatible with all, that you must pardon me, if I honestly tell you,I cannot believe it.""That don't surprise me.""How?""Hardly anybody believes my story, and so to most I tell a differentone.""How, again?""Wait here a bit and I'll show ye."With that, taking off his rag of a cap, and arranging his tatteredregimentals the best he could, off he went stumping among the passengersin an adjoining part of the deck, saying with a jovial kind of air:"Sir, a shilling for Happy Tom, who fought at Buena Vista. Lady,something for General Scott's soldier, crippled in both pins at gloriousContreras."Now, it so chanced that, unbeknown to the cripple, a prim-lookingstranger had overheard part of his story. Beholding him, then, on hispresent begging adventure, this person, turning to the herb-doctor,indignantly said: "Is it not too bad, sir, that yonder rascal should lieso?""Charity never faileth, my good sir," was the reply. "The vice of thisunfortunate is pardonable. Consider, he lies not out of wantonness.""Not out of wantonness. I never heard more wanton lies. In one breath totell you what would appear to be his true story, and, in the next, awayand falsify it.""For all that, I repeat he lies not out of wantonness. A ripephilosopher, turned out of the great Sorbonne of hard times, he thinksthat woes, when told to strangers for money, are best sugared. Thoughthe inglorious lock-jaw of his knee-pans in a wet dungeon is a far morepitiable ill than to have been crippled at glorious Contreras, yet he isof opinion that this lighter and false ill shall attract, while theheavier and real one might repel.""Nonsense; he belongs to the Devil's regiment; and I have a great mindto expose him.""Shame upon you. Dare to expose that poor unfortunate, and byheaven--don't you do it, sir."Noting something in his manner, the other thought it more prudent toretire than retort. By-and-by, the cripple came back, and with glee,having reaped a pretty good harvest."There," he laughed, "you know now what sort of soldier I am.""Aye, one that fights not the stupid Mexican, but a foe worthy yourtactics--Fortune!""Hi, hi!" clamored the cripple, like a fellow in the pit of a sixpennytheatre, then said, "don't know much what you meant, but it went offwell."This over, his countenance capriciously put on a morose ogreness. Tokindly questions he gave no kindly answers. Unhandsome notions werethrown out about "free Ameriky," as he sarcastically called his country.These seemed to disturb and pain the herb-doctor, who, after an intervalof thoughtfulness, gravely addressed him in these words:"You, my Worthy friend, to my concern, have reflected upon thegovernment under which you live and suffer. Where is your patriotism?Where your gratitude? True, the charitable may find something in yourcase, as you put it, partly to account for such reflections as comingfrom you. Still, be the facts how they may, your reflections are nonethe less unwarrantable. Grant, for the moment, that your experiences areas you give them; in which case I would admit that government might bethought to have more or less to do with what seems undesirable in them.But it is never to be forgotten that human government, being subordinateto the divine, must needs, therefore, in its degree, partake of thecharacteristics of the divine. That is, while in general efficacious tohappiness, the world's law may yet, in some cases, have, to the eye ofreason, an unequal operation, just as, in the same imperfect view, someinequalities may appear in the operations of heaven's law; nevertheless,to one who has a right confidence, final benignity is, in everyinstance, as sure with the one law as the other. I expound the point atsome length, because these are the considerations, my poor fellow,which, weighed as they merit, will enable you to sustain with unimpairedtrust the apparent calamities which are yours.""What do you talk your hog-latin to me for?" cried the cripple, who,throughout the address, betrayed the most illiterate obduracy; and, withan incensed look, anew he swung himself.Glancing another way till the spasm passed, the other continued:"Charity marvels not that you should be somewhat hard of conviction, myfriend, since you, doubtless, believe yourself hardly dealt by; butforget not that those who are loved are chastened.""Mustn't chasten them too much, though, and too long, because their skinand heart get hard, and feel neither pain nor tickle.""To mere reason, your case looks something piteous, I grant. But neverdespond; many things--the choicest--yet remain. You breathe thisbounteous air, are warmed by this gracious sun, and, though poor andfriendless, indeed, nor so agile as in your youth, yet, how sweet toroam, day by day, through the groves, plucking the bright mosses andflowers, till forlornness itself becomes a hilarity, and, in yourinnocent independence, you skip for joy.""Fine skipping with these 'ere horse-posts--ha ha!""Pardon; I forgot the crutches. My mind, figuring you after receivingthe benefit of my art, overlooked you as you stand before me.""Your art? You call yourself a bone-setter--a natural bone-setter, doye? Go, bone-set the crooked world, and then come bone-set crooked me.""Truly, my honest friend, I thank you for again recalling me to myoriginal object. Let me examine you," bending down; "ah, I see, I see;much such a case as the negro's. Did you see him? Oh no, you came aboardsince. Well, his case was a little something like yours. I prescribedfor him, and I shouldn't wonder at all if, in a very short time, he wereable to walk almost as well as myself. Now, have you no confidence in myart?""Ha, ha!"The herb-doctor averted himself; but, the wild laugh dying away,resumed:"I will not force confidence on you. Still, I would fain do the friendlything by you. Here, take this box; just rub that liniment on the jointsnight and morning. Take it. Nothing to pay. God bless you. Good-bye.""Stay," pausing in his swing, not untouched by so unexpected an act;"stay--thank'ee--but will this really do me good? Honor bright, now;will it? Don't deceive a poor fellow," with changed mien and glisteningeye."Try it. Good-bye.""Stay, stay! Sure it will do me good?""Possibly, possibly; no harm in trying. Good-bye.""Stay, stay; give me three more boxes, and here's the money.""My friend," returning towards him with a sadly pleased sort of air, "Irejoice in the birth of your confidence and hopefulness. Believe methat, like your crutches, confidence and hopefulness will long support aman when his own legs will not. Stick to confidence and hopefulness,then, since how mad for the cripple to throw his crutches away. You askfor three more boxes of my liniment. Luckily, I have just that numberremaining. Here they are. I sell them at half-a-dollar apiece. But Ishall take nothing from you. There; God bless you again; good-bye.""Stay," in a convulsed voice, and rocking himself, "stay, stay! You havemade a better man of me. You have borne with me like a good Christian,and talked to me like one, and all that is enough without making me apresent of these boxes. Here is the money. I won't take nay. There,there; and may Almighty goodness go with you."As the herb-doctor withdrew, the cripple gradually subsided from hishard rocking into a gentle oscillation. It expressed, perhaps, thesoothed mood of his reverie.