{"id":885,"date":"2010-04-25T04:44:46","date_gmt":"2010-04-25T11:44:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/?p=885"},"modified":"2012-06-18T12:05:56","modified_gmt":"2012-06-18T12:05:56","slug":"dick-and-i-chapter-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/885\/dick-and-i-chapter-3\/","title":{"rendered":"Dick and I, Chapter 3, 19th Century Unpublished Book by S. B. McKenney"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Dick<\/a>
Dick and I by Samuel Bartow McKenney<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

This manuscript was written before 1881 by Samuel Bartow McKenney. In the transcription I’ve not changed spellings or punctuation unless I absolutely must for coherence. There were no periods in the manuscript and I have added those.<\/em><\/p>\n

Chapter III<\/strong><\/p>\n

They called him back to many a glade
\nHis childhood haunts of play
\nwhen brightly through the beechen shade
\nThe waters glanced away
\nThey called him back with their sounding waves
\nBack to his fathers hills and groves<\/em>
\nHemans<\/p>\n

—-till the air a solomn stillness holds
\nSave when the beetle wheels his droning flight<\/em>
\nGray<\/p>\n

It was now about one o’clock in the afternoon and the day was
\nexcessivly warm for the season. The tall trees and dense foliage
\nshut out every breath of fresh air although we were on the base of
\na point that extended about half a mile into the lake to the
\nwestward and finally terminated in a narrow strip of sand and<\/p>\n

– 10 –<\/p>\n

rocks that were covered with a almost inpentrable dense thicket of
\nwillows and shunted cedars. I took a zig zag course, back and
\nforth across the point in order to intercept the object of my
\nsearch should he have been on the point and attempted to return
\nand gradually worked my way toward the extremity. In some places
\nthe woods were more open and I was enabled to see the water on
\nboth sides but again in other places the under brush was so matted
\ntogether with greenbriar, grape and bittersweet vines that I found
\nit almost impossible to proceed so that on the whole my progress
\nwas slow indeed.<\/p>\n

I had almost reached the rocks of end of the point that was
\ncovered with the willows when I thought I heard some one call
\nbehind me. Surely I could not have passed any one without seeing
\nthem when the point was so narrow. I stopped and listoned
\nattentively. No: I must have been mistaken. It could not be that
\nany one was following me. There again! Hark!<\/p>\n

“Bertie! Bertie! Oh my God I shall never see the child again.”<\/p>\n

The voice came from behind a thick cope of prickly ash behind me.<\/p>\n

“Hallo!” I called.<\/p>\n

A moment after the prickly plants were torn aside and a gentleman
\nabout fifty tall and gray haird emerged from the thicket. His face
\nwas haggard his clothes torn and soiled and his flesh cruelly
\nlacerated by the vicious shrub. His hands were literally covered
\nwith blood and althgether he had more the appearance of a maniac
\nthan sane man.<\/p>\n

“Can this be Mr. Blanchard,” I asked.<\/p>\n

“I am sir. Tell me have you seen any thing of my child in your
\nramble – a little girl —- ”<\/p>\n

“Calm your self sir. We found your child about an hour ago and she
\nis now with your daughter and my friend Mr Rashboy who was
\nprincipally instrumental in finding her.”<\/p>\n

“Oh. Thank God,” and the exhausted man overpowered by fatigue and
\nthe excess of his emotions sank tremblingly upon a fallen tree and
\ncovered his face with his blood stained hands.<\/p>\n

I fired the signal as agreed upon with Rashboy and then going to
\nthe lake I wet my hankerchief in its cool waters and bathed the
\nmans temples and wiped the bloodstains from his face.<\/p>\n

“There. Thank you I feel better now.”<\/p>\n

“Try some of this sir. I think it will help you,” said I giving him
\nmy brandy flask. He was able to rise although he trembled
\nexcessively.<\/p>\n

“Let me assist you to the lake shore and wash some of this blood
\nfrom your hands. It may frighten your daughters.”<\/p>\n

“Ah yes. Thank you. You are very thoughtful.”<\/p>\n

– 11 –<\/p>\n

I assisted him to the beach and bathed the swollen hands and
\nchafed his temples but it was no use, he could not rise again and
\nwhen he made the effort sank back into a fainting fit. I debated
\nwith myself what was best to do. Whether to leave him there alone
\nwhile I went for his daughter or to attempt to call. The distance
\nand dense forest almost precluded any chance they might otherwise
\nhave had of hearing me. Should I stay then and wait it might be
\nhours before they would find me and time was precious to the sick
\nman. Still I disliked to leave him there in the woods alone I was
\ngreatly relived to see Rashboy emerge from the woods and come to
\nmy side.<\/p>\n

“Get the boat please and bring the ladies round in it. I fear he
\nhas overheated himself and is threatened with a fever.\u201d<\/p>\n

“Let me help you cary him up from this damp sand first. So–I
\nwill be back as soon as possible,” and he disappeared.<\/p>\n

I sat by the father – her father – and bathed his burning temples
\nand strove to relieve his suffering all I could for near half an
\nhour when he fell into a troubled sleep and did not awaken until
\nRashboy returned with the boat and the ladies. The poor girls were
\ngreatly distressed when they saw their father and Miss Inez
\nturning to me with hurt eyes swimming in tears placed both her
\nhands in mine and said, “Oh Mr Etheridge how could we repay you for
\nyour kindness to dear Papa.”<\/p>\n

“By calming yourself dear lady. He will probably need all your
\ncare although,” I added as I saw a frightened look come into her eyes.
\n“I do not think his symptoms are dangerous with good care and
\ngentle nursing both of which I am sure he will receive. I think he
\nwill come out all right although it may take some time.”<\/p>\n

And I thought how gladly I would undergo all his suffering for the
\nsake of the nursing. Ah what would I not suffer to have those
\nlittle soft hands stroke my forehead and – pshaw – what a fool I
\nam getting to be. She probably has half a dozen admirers perhaps
\nis already betrothed and I set my teeth.<\/p>\n

“Etheridge,” whispered my friend, \u201cFor heavens sake keep your
\nfeatures under a little better control. You look black as a
\nthunder cloud.”<\/p>\n

“Oh Mr. Etheridge,” said the dark eyed houri having seen Rashboy
\nwhisper to me. “I fear he is more worn than you think. You do not
\nknow how weak he has been. It was for his sake we came up here.”<\/p>\n

“You are not a native of this place then,\u201d said I willing to direct
\nher thoughts.<\/p>\n

“No sir. Our home is in Mississippi on the gulf.”<\/p>\n

“Please arrange a couch for him on board the boat and we will
\nremove him.”<\/p>\n

Rashboy and I raised him carefully and took and laid him on the
\ncouch prepared by his daughters and as there was a pleasant breeze
\nblowing we set sail.<\/p>\n

Mr. Blanchard was stopping at the Lake Henn in E —- and we had a<\/p>\n

– 12 –<\/p>\n

sail of about four miles which we accomplished without any further
\nmishap. After doing all we could to make our fair friends and
\ntheir father comfortable we took our leave promising to call again
\nand see them. We hired a skiff and reached Maplewood house just as
\nthe supper bell was ringing.<\/p>\n

\u201cWill you share my room with me tonight Etheridge as I did yours
\nonce. Come,” he added seeing me hesitate, “I will not take no for an
\nanswer. I know you are hungary and you shall have an opportunity
\nof judging whether I sang my land1ady’s praises unadvisadly or
\nnot.\u201d<\/p>\n

“Oh very well!” I replied, “since I am obliged to say yes I may as
\nwell do so as gracefully as possible for to tell the truth I am
\nhungry as a woodchuck.”<\/p>\n

And I am sure the good woman found no reason to complain of my want
\nof appreciation of her roast duck and mealy potatoes for I did
\nample justice to both.<\/p>\n

My companion seemed gloomy and abstracted although I could see
\nthat he made an effort to appear cheerful. Failing to get any
\nthing but random replies to my remarks we finally both relapsed
\ninto silence each being busy with his own thoughts until the meal
\nwas completed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI fear I am a dull companion Etheridge, but there are times when
\nit is torture for me to talk. Let us have a cigar out on the lake
\nshore I should sufficate here.”<\/p>\n

We strolled along the lake shore through an old field among the
\nscarlet sumach until we came upon a slight emminence upon which
\nstood the ruins of an old house. We seated ourselves upon the soft
\nshort grass in front of the ruins and gazed out over the quiet
\nwaters of the bay that was now without a ripple. Some old gnarled
\nmaples interlocked their branches over our heads and sent
\nfluttering down upon us occasionally their bright tinted leaves or
\nlet them fall upon the quiet bosom of the lake where floated
\ngracefully like miniature ships of gold and ruby upon a sea of
\njasper. It was one of those warm, hazy indian summer evenings for
\nwhich Minnesota is so noted. The sun like a huge ball of fire was
\njust sinking behind the crimson and golden leaved trees that lined
\nthe opposite margin of the bay: their bright variegated splendor
\nbeing reproduced with a softened tint in the limped waters. As the
\ndusky shadows of the long autumn twilight began to enfold us in
\ntheir hazy mantle thousands of little autumn crickits began their
\nmelancholy chirp – chirp – chirp – as if chanting a dirge over their
\nown short lives or perchance bewailing that the gorgeousness in
\nwhich every thing was arrayed was but the herald of coming
\ndesolation and death. The dismal hollow boom of the night-hawk as
\nhe descended from his giddy height or the weird screem of the loon
\nthat came floating oer the water or was echoed from the
\nsurrounding wooded hills were the only sound that varied the
\nmelancholy chanting of the insects and disturbed the deep repose.
\nAnd thus it had been for ages past: The same bright tints of
\ntrees, the same melancholy chirp of insects and the same wild cry
\nof the night birds has marked each golden indian summer as the
\nchanging season brought them round. And in that far off past other
\nbeings have sat in the soft twilight as we did then and felt
\nperchance the same deep melancholy and creep over them that nature<\/p>\n

– 13 –<\/p>\n

ever inspires in the hearts of her children when they recognize in
\nall round them that we are each but an atom and a part of the
\ngreat hole that goes to make up the universe in which mans short
\nlive aye even the forms most ancient hills and rocks are “as
\nbubbles tossing in the air”, transitory as a beach when viewed
\nfrom eternity as a stand point and yet these minute atoms of which
\nour earth is composed and all the turning motions of animal forms
\nupon it are as eternal as the heavens. Yet each individual
\nexistence how transitory! Can we even claim it for a moment. Our
\nbodies are composed of different atoms from what they were yester-
\nday and our minds concieve of different thoughts. Tis true some
\nof yesterdays atoms as well as thought are with us today never all
\nof either, and yet taken as an individual whole are we the same.
\nAges hence when I have returned to the elements all that there was
\ngone these atoms and to the great fountain of intelligence and
\nlife my thoughts and existance which now combined form an effect
\nas experienced in my existance. Others will sit on this same shore
\nwatch the same sky and fading landscape and listen to the same
\nsounds that cast such a solemn melancholy over me now and
\nperchance ponder on the same problem that now occupies my thoughts.<\/p>\n

“I know not,” said my friend, \u201cwhether such an evening makes me a
\nbetter man. Certainly not a more contented one. Every sound is
\nrife with memories of other days. All the tender memories of my
\nchildhood and boyhood pasttimes and the friends that shared them
\ntimes ( —- ) me are present half viled by a sort of soft regretful
\nmelancholy by which all misdeeds and sorrows are obscured and only
\nthe joys and pleasing recolections are seen but often they have
\nchanged this here and are viewed now in a softened and subdued
\nlight and over and around all is thrown that indescribable feeling
\nof sadness which is neither one entirely of pleasure or of pain
\nbut a soft blending of the two. Whether those days were really as
\nhappy as memory now paints I know not–perhaps not. It may be that
\nsome time in the future I will look back on this quiet night with
\nonly you, mother nature and my own thoughts for companions and
\npersuade myself that I was happy, but Etheridge I never felt sadder
\nin my life. The very air is thronging with the shadows of lived
\nones and of a happiness that never can return. How often have I
\nwandered through these same woods with my little brown haired
\nsister and gathered the fringed acorn cups and bright forest
\nleaves. Ay sat upon this same spot beneath these same trees with
\nher. I can almost feel the touch of her little warm soft hand in
\nmine and feel her little curly head resting against my shoulder as
\nwe sat and listened to the chirping of the insects and I saw the
\ntears spring into her blue eyes because she thought they were
\ncrying because they had to die. My mother has sat in the door of
\nthat old ruined house and watched us with the love light beaming
\nfrom her soft brown eyes. Another, and a younger little sister has
\nlistened to our talk and regarded us with her great black eyes as
\nwe built our fairy castles on the rosy future while a little
\ntoddling brother has lain on the soft grass beneath the same trees
\nand played with the leaves and winged (samara?) of the maples and
\nlaughed in childish glee as the old trees sent down their showers
\nof treasure. Dear Brother! his doors are closed now against his
\ninfidel brother and mother my dear old mother who once held me so
\ndearly and tenderly now feels no tenderness for her lunatic son or
\nif she does Nature is (prevented?) and a mothers instinct
\nsmothered to annuet the dogmas of a soulblighting creed. Of my two
\nsisters one of them sleeps beneath the same trees under which she
\nplayed in infancy and the other occupies an unknown grave in the<\/p>\n

– 14 –<\/p>\n

wild prairies of the far west. God wot I too shall be afraid when I
\nmay lay me down in my last sleep and lose in the oblivion of death
\nthis sorrow I must always know while living — I trust too that
\nthe day is not far distant when this faith which claims to teach a
\nreligion of love yet turns the mother against the child and the
\nbrother against the brother will have given place to a more
\nreasonable and please God a more human creed. But, Etheridge, my
\nsorrows make me egotistical. This old desolate home of mine and my
\nCares and troubles can have no interest for you.”<\/p>\n

“I assure you dear Dick.” said I grasping his hand, “that all that
\nconcerns you interests me.”<\/p>\n

\u201cMay you never, dear friend, taste the bitter cup that I have
\ndrained never know what it is to be an outcast from those you love
\non account of your faith.”<\/p>\n

“Was this old building indeed once your home?”<\/p>\n

“Yes: years ago.”<\/p>\n

“How long?”<\/p>\n

“Twenty years.”<\/p>\n

“And have you never been back since?”<\/p>\n

“Yes. Several times but did not stay long.”<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many of your family are still living?”<\/p>\n

“Their mother brother and sister born since they left here.”<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are they now?”<\/p>\n

“Living up the lake.”<\/p>\n

“Excuse me for asking so many questions Dick but I wish I could be
\nof service to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

“Thank you but there is nothing you can do in this case unless—”<\/p>\n

“What?”<\/p>\n

“Nothing now Let us return to the hotel it is late.”<\/p>\n

We wended our way arm in arm in the soft moonlight amoung the
\ntrees that cast their dark shadows across our way as trouble and
\nsuperstition overshadow the path of wandering humanity yet there
\nwere flecks of moonlight here and there between.<\/p>\n

Go to Table of Contents for “Dick and I”<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This manuscript was written before 1881 by Samuel Bartow McKenney. In the transcription I’ve not changed spellings or punctuation unless I absolutely must for coherence. There were no periods in the manuscript and I have added those. Chapter III They called him back to many a glade His childhood haunts of play when brightly through […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":8359,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[12,1],"tags":[192,686],"class_list":["post-885","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-mckenney-family","category-uncategorized","tag-dick-and-i","tag-samuel-bartow-mckenney"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/885","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=885"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/885\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/8359"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=885"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=885"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/evermore.imagedjinn.com\/blg\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=885"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}