Vincent van Gogh, An Old Man Putting Dry Rice on the Hearth, 1881
It was the design of Angelo Ricci and Joe Czanek and Manuel Silva to call onthe Terrible Old Man. This old man dwells all alone in a very ancient house onWater Street near the sea, and is reputed to be both exceedingly rich andexceedingly feeble; which forms a situation very attractive to men of theprofession of Messrs. Ricci, Czanek, and Silva, for that profession was nothingless dignified than robbery.The inhabitants of Kingsport say and think many things about the TerribleOld Man which generally keep him safe from the attention of gentlemen like Mr.Ricci and his colleagues, despite the almost certain fact that he hides afortune of indefinite magnitude somewhere about his musty and venerable abode.He is, in truth, a very strange person, believed to have been a captain of EastIndia clipper ships in his day; so old that no one can remember when he wasyoung, and so taciturn that few know his real name. Among the gnarled trees inthe front yard of his aged and neglected place he maintains a strange collectionof large stones, oddly grouped and painted so that they resemble the idols insome obscure Eastern temple. This collection frightens away most of the smallboys who love to taunt the Terrible Old Man about his long white hair and beard,or to break the small-paned windows of his dwelling with wicked missiles; butthere are other things which frighten the older and more curious folk whosometimes steal up to the house to peer in through the dusty panes. These folksay that on a table in a bare room on the ground floor are many peculiarbottles, in each a small piece of lead suspended pendulum-wise from a string.And they say that the Terrible Old Man talks to these bottles, addressing themby such names as Jack, Scar-Face, Long Tom, Spanish Joe, Peters, and Mate Ellis,and that whenever he speaks to a bottle the little lead pendulum within makescertain definite vibrations as if in answer.Those who have watched the tall, lean, Terrible Old Man in these peculiarconversations, do not watch him again. But Angelo Ricci and Joe Czanek andManuel Silva were not of Kingsport blood; they were of that new andheterogeneous alien stock which lies outside the charmed circle of New Englandlife and traditions, and they saw in the Terrible Old Man merely a tottering,almost helpless grey-beard, who could not walk without the aid of his knottedcane, and whose thin, weak hands shook pitifully. They were really quite sorryin their way for the lonely, unpopular old fellow, whom everybody shunned, andat whom all the dogs barked singularly. But business is business, and to arobber whose soul is in his profession, there is a lure and a challenge about avery old and very feeble man who has no account at the bank, and who pays forhis few necessities at the village store with Spanish gold and silver minted twocenturies ago.Messrs. Ricci, Czanek, and Silva selected the night of April 11th for theircall. Mr. Ricci and Mr. Silva were to interview the poor old gentleman, whilstMr. Czanek waited for them and their presumable metallic burden with a coveredmotor-car in Ship Street, by the gate in the tall rear wall of their hostsgrounds. Desire to avoid needless explanations in case of unexpected policeintrusions prompted these plans for a quiet and unostentatious departure.As prearranged, the three adventurers started out separately in order toprevent any evil-minded suspicions afterward. Messrs. Ricci and Silva met inWater Street by the old man's front gate, and although they did not like the waythe moon shone down upon the painted stones through the budding branches of thegnarled trees, they had more important things to think about than mere idlesuperstition. They feared it might be unpleasant work making the Terrible OldMan loquacious concerning his hoarded gold and silver, for aged sea-captains arenotably stubborn and perverse. Still, he was very old and very feeble, and therewere two visitors. Messrs. Ricci and Silva were experienced in the art of makingunwilling persons voluble, and the screams of a weak and exceptionally venerableman can be easily muffled. So they moved up to the one lighted window and heardthe Terrible Old Man talking childishly to his bottles with pendulums. Then theydonned masks and knocked politely at the weather-stained oaken door.Waiting seemed very long to Mr. Czanek as he fidgeted restlessly in thecovered motor-car by the Terrible Old Man's back gate in Ship Street. He wasmore than ordinarily tender-hearted, and he did not like the hideous screams hehad heard in the ancient house just after the hour appointed for the deed. Hadhe not told his colleagues to be as gentle as possible with the pathetic oldsea-captain? Very nervously he watched that narrow oaken gate in the high andivy-clad stone wall. Frequently he consulted his watch, and wondered at thedelay. Had the old man died before revealing where his treasure was hidden, andhad a thorough search become necessary? Mr. Czanek did not like to wait so longin the dark in such a place. Then he sensed a soft tread or tapping on the walkinside the gate, heard a gentle fumbling at the rusty latch, and saw the narrow,heavy door swing inward. And in the pallid glow of the single dim street-lamp hestrained his eyes to see what his colleagues had brought out of that sinisterhouse which loomed so close behind. But when he looked, he did not see what hehad expected; for his colleagues were not there at all, but only the TerribleOld Man leaning quietly on his knotted cane and smiling hideously. Mr. Czanekhad never before noticed the colour of that mans eyes; now he saw that theywere yellow.Little things make considerable excitement in little towns, which is thereason that Kingsport people talked all that spring and summer about the threeunidentifiable bodies, horribly slashed as with many cutlasses, and horriblymangled as by the tread of many cruel boot-heels, which the tide washed in. Andsome people even spoke of things as trivial as the deserted motor-car found inShip Street, or certain especially inhuman cries, probably of a stray animal ormigratory bird, heard in the night by wakeful citizens. But in this idle villagegossip the Terrible Old Man took no interest at all. He was by nature reserved,and when one is aged and feeble, one's reserve is doubly strong. Besides, soancient a sea-captain must have witnessed scores of things much more stirring inthe far-off days of his unremembered youth.
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