By Sarah Orne Jewett
Speaking of courage,” said my friend Tom Barton, as we met one day after a long separation, “reminds me of an incident that happened at the doctors’ school the first winter after you left.
“It was during the Christmas holidays, and all of the boys had gone home except two brothers, named Fred and Albert Kobb, and myself. They were obliged to stay during the vacation because their parents were spending the season in Florida, and I,—well, as you know, my home was at a distance, and we were poor, so I remained at school.
“The brothers were very unlike, both in appearance and character. Fred, the elder of the two, was a large, muscular, ruddy-faced boy, not much in love with books. He was of an over-bearing disposition, and had a great deal of conceit.
“Albert, on the contrary, was pale and slender. He was very quiet and studious, and had such a love of honesty and truth, and such detestation of meanness and wrong, that we boys had dubbed him the ‘Parson.’
“It was the Saturday night between Christmas and New Year’s. We three boys were hugging the stove in the little room adjoining the doctor’s study. Doctor was in the study writing a sermon for the following day, as he had to preach at Milltown.
“We could hear his pen scratching over the paper during the lulls in our conversation. Occasionally that ‘ahem!’ of his would come through the partially opened door; but somehow his ‘ahems’ seemed to lose their ominous character during holidays.
“The subject of our conversation was a robbery that had been perpetrated at Squire Little’s store the previous night.
“Robberies, as you know, were unusual occurrences in the little village of Acme. Of course this one furnished a topic for abundance of talk.
“Wherever we had been that day we had found some groups of men and boys talking about robberies in general, and this one in particular.
“It was but natural that in the evening we boys should discuss the same subject, and each of us offered various speculations as to who the robber was, where he had gone, and whether he would be captured or not.
“Then we told stories of all the daring burglaries of which we had ever heard or read, and finally described such as had happened in our own houses.
“In the descriptions of our personal experiences Fred gave a glowing account of an incident that had occurred in his father’s family. One night he said the coachman thought he saw a man prowling in the chicken-yard. He fired a pistol at him, and had summoned the other servants to go in pursuit of the robber. He told us how the brave men, armed with lanterns, pokers, and blunderbusses, had reached the chicken-yard, and there found traces of blood, which they followed up for a few yards, and found, lying in the last throes of death, the victim of the coachman’s prowess,—a fine black Spanish rooster!
“At length said I, ‘What would you do if you should hear a burglar some night trying to enter your house?’
“Fred straightened himself and squared his shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t hesitate a moment to shoot him,’ said he, valiantly. ‘I tell you, it would be a good burglar that could get away from me.’
“Al rested his chin in his hands, and gazed thoughtfully into the glowing coals.
“’Well,’ said he slowly, ‘it is hard to tell what a fellow might do under such circumstances. I rather believe, though, I would take good care to keep out of his way. What would you do, Tom?’
“’Me?” I exclaimed. ‘Very likely I’d cover my head with the bedclothes and leave him to carry off house and all if he could.’
“Fred was about to make another remark, but was prevented by the doctor, who appeared in the doorway. ‘Well, boys,’ said he, ‘don’t you think we’ve had enough talk about robberies for one evening? It is getting late now, and your continual talking has bothered me so that I have only written one page during the last half hour, and on that page I have written four times the word “burglar” instead of “bravery.”’
“Bidding him good-night we went up stairs, and were soon fast asleep.
“About midnight I awoke with the consciousness of having been aroused by some unusual noise. Slightly raising my head I listened, and heard a scraping sound at the back hall window.
“We three boys occupied the front room on the third floor, the same that you and Atkinson had at one time. It was a bright moonlight night. Glancing towards the Kobbs’ bed, I saw them both sitting up. The noise had aroused them also.
“’There’s some one trying to get in that hall window,’ said Al, in a whisper. ‘I’m going to see.’
“’Wait and listen awhile,’ urged Fred.
“’And give the fellow a chance to get in?’ exclaimed Al. ‘No; we better stop him where he is.’
“’Let’s call the doctor,’ said Fred.
“’There isn’t time for that. Don’t you hear him unfastening the window-bolt? Come, hurry! I’m going to take the old-musket; you take the bat.’
“’The gun isn’t loaded,’ said Fred; and his voice actually trembled. Whether he was shivering from cold or fright, I don’t know.
“’It will scare him just the same,’ said Al; and taking down the rusty firearm, he hurried out into the hall, followed at a little distance by his brother, armed with the base-ball bat.
“I was never very brave, and therefore I took good care to keep as far behind Fred as he was behind his brother; in fact to be more honest, I merely ventured as far as the door, and there peeped into the hall.
“A man’s form was crawling through the window, but he seemed to be so occupied by keeping the sash up that he had not as yet noticed the two boys. As he threw one leg over the sill, he thrust his hand into his breast pocket and drew out a small, dark object.
“’Murder! he’s drawing a pistol!’ roared Fred in terror; and turning hastily to fly, he ran against me in the doorway, and we both fell sprawling upon the floor.
“’Robbers! fire!’ shrieked Fred. ‘Here’s another one!’ and darting into an opposite room, he crawled under the bed there.
“’Move another inch and I’ll fire!’ cried Al, pointing the musket at the man’s breast.
“Och!—murther! Masther Al, don’t be afther a-shootin’ me!’ came a familiar voice in broad Hibernian accents.
“It was Pat, the doctor’s man.
“’What! is that you, Pat?’ exclaimed Al, lowering the weapon.
“’Sorra the day for me an’ it wur,’ said the Irishman, as he carefully deposited on the floor the pistol Fred had seen him draw, which was simply a small, flat bottle. He then leisurely lifted his other ponderous foot over the window-sill, shook himself, as if to ascertain whether he had a whole skin, and shut the window. Then he picked up the bottle, and carefully replaced it in his coat pocket.
“Meanwhile, Al had been quietly laughing, and I was still on the floor laughing and rubbing the bruises on my legs, which had been caused by Fred’s collision.
“’What’s the meaning of this?’ whispered Al. ‘How is it, Pat, that you come into the house in this way instead of by the door?”
“’Well, you see,’ said Pat, ‘I just wint the night to say me cousin, who is a-workin’ at the Smit’s, an’ not moindin’ to disturb the docther an’ his wife, sure didn’t I put the long laddher forninst the windew, intindin’ to tak out that new pane of glass that was raycintly tacked in, an’ inter in as nate an’ quiet as ye plaze: but the lad was scared a bit. Where is he?’
“’Who? Fred?’ asked Al.
“’Ay, it’s Fred I mane,’ said Pat.
“Having by this time rubbed my bruises sufficiently and picked myself up, I led them to Fred’s place of concealment. His feet and legs were in plain sight, for, ostrich-like, he seemed to have imagined that if his head alone were covered, he was perfectly safe. Pat grasped him by the ankle, and despite of his kicking hauled him out.
“’Oh,’ cried Fred, in abject terror, supposing it was the burglar who had caught him, ‘don’t kill me! don’t kill me! My money is all in the trunk in the opposite room!’
“’Do keep still, and don’t make such a fool of yourself! It’s only Pat,’ said Al, with suppressed laughter, while Pat and I indulged in laughter that was far from suppressed.
“In the midst of this racket we heard a door open below, and the doctor’s voice called,—
“’What is the matter up there?’
“’Nothin’, sur,’ replied Pat, with Irish readiness, ‘only the lads got freighted as I was comin’ to bed.’
“’Tell them to be quiet, or I shall come up,’ said doctor.
“’D’ye hear that, b’ys?’ said Pat. ‘Get to bed now; ye’ll tak’ your death runnin’ round in the cowld widout your clothes on.’
“In our excitement we had forgotten that the mercury outside was nearly down to zero, and had not noticed the cold; but Pat’s words quickened our sensitiveness, so we hastened shivering to bed, and the house was again quiet.
“Monday morning the doctor summoned us all to his study, and there instituted one of his usual courts of inquiry. He was judge, jury and counsel. Pat was the principal witness, and we boys were there in order to corroborate or refute Pat’s testimony, and also to sustain somewhat the respectability of the court I suppose.
“’Patrick,’ said the doctor, in opening the case, ‘what was the cause of that noise up stairs Saturday night?’
“’Well, Your Riverence,’ began Pat, and his small gray eyes twinkled as he cast a sly glance at me, ‘Sathurday noight I fought I’d call on me cousin, who has just coom from the ould counthry, an’ is workin’ in the village’—
“’At Smith’s,’ put in Al, by way of explanation.”
The doctor was not very strict when he held court during holidays, otherwise he might have told Al to remain silent until he was questioned.
“’At Smit’s,’ repeated Pat, ‘an’ moindin’ not to disturb yez by comin’ in late, sure I just climbed up to the hall winder, an’ as I wur half t’rough, an’ wur’ takin’ somethin’ from me pocket’—
“’A flat bottle,’ interposed Al.
“’A bottle, eh? And what was in it?’ asked the doctor, suspiciously, in an unprecedented manner beginning the cross-examination before the direct was concluded.
“’Only a wee dhrap of medicine, sur,’ said Pat. ‘Me cousin was afeared I had the influenzys, an’ gave it to me for it.’
“’Go on,’ said doctor, with a smile.
“’As I wur a-sayin’, sur, I dhrew forth the bottle, whin there came wan yell from Masther Fred in the back part of the hall, an’ says he, “Och! murther! he’s dhrawin’ his pistol!” an’ thin’ he run like—like’—
“’Ay, ay!’ exclaimed doctor, warningly.
“’Like a deer,’ said Pat; ‘an’ as I wur a-sayin’, sur, I looked up and saw Masther Al fornist me, with a gun dhrawed up to his shoulder an’ pintin’ at me, an’ says I, “Don’t murther me!”
“’An’ sure, sir, he did not, an’ thin we wint an’ pullt Fred out from under the bed, where he’d crawled wid his two legs stickin’ out in the moonlight, an’ Tam an’ messel’ wur smilin’ quiet like, an’ Your Riverence towld us to shut up, an’ we wint to bed, sur.’
“’And how did Tom act?’ said the doctor. ‘Eh, Tom, you young rogue, what are you snickering and giggling at behind Pat’s back? Are you laughing at him or me?’
“’Neither,’ I replied; ‘but the truth is, doctor, that Pat told me he might be out late Saturday night, and that I needn’t be frightened if I heard any unusual noise. But I forgot to tell the boys, and was so startled and confused in waking from a sound sleep, that I at first thought it was a burglar, and after I did recollect that it was only Pat, I concluded not to say anything, but test their courage, as I supposed there was no danger in it.’
“’Well, Pat,’ said doctor, ‘when you visit your cousin again, don’t climb through the window on your return. And, boys, the next time you hear any suspicious sound at midnight, come and call me the first thing you do.’
“So having brought in a verdict of ‘not guilty of any evil intentions,’ the doctor adjourned the court.
“Poor Fred was never heard to boast of his bravery, or even to mention the word ‘burglar,’ after that. So true it is that boasters usually prove cowards when put to the test.”