A Very Long Story About John, Smith, and Sarah
Part 2
Can you imagine losing everything to your best friend?
Do you mean is he a good comrade?
John, I shall always have the greatest respect for those who possess the owners’ confidence.” “That’s right, that’s right, John!
I see you are a thoroughly good fellow, and will detain you no longer.
Go, for I see how impatient you are.” “Then I have leave?” “Go, I tell you.” “May I have the use of your skiff?” “Certainly.” “Then, for the present, M.
John, farewell, and a thousand thanks!” “I hope soon to see you again, my dear John.
Good luck to you.” The young sailor jumped into the skiff, and sat down in the stern sheets, with the order that he be put ashore at La Canebière.
This room was occupied by John’ father.
“What ails you, my dearest father?
Are you ill?” inquired the young man, much alarmed.
They say joy never hurts, and so I came to you without any warning.
Come now, do smile, instead of looking at me so solemnly.
Here I am back again, and we are going to be happy.” “Yes, yes, my boy, so we will—so we will,” replied the old man; “but how shall we be happy?
Shall you never leave me again?
The good Captain Leclere is dead, father, and it is probable that, with the aid of M.
John, I shall have his place.
Only imagine me a captain at twenty, with a hundred louis pay, and a share in the profits!
But what ails you, father?
Are you not well?” “’Tis nothing, nothing; it will soon pass away”—and as he said so the old man’s strength failed him, and he fell backwards.
“Come, come,” said the young man, “a glass of wine, father, will revive you.
Where do you keep your wine?” “No, no; thanks.
You need not look for it; I do not want it,” said the old man.
“Yes, yes, father, tell me where it is,” and he opened two or three cupboards.
“It is no use,” said the old man, “there is no wine.” “What, no wine?” said John, turning pale, and looking alternately at the hollow cheeks of the old man and the empty cupboards.
Have you wanted money, father?” “I want nothing now that I have you,” said the old man.
He reminded me of it, telling me if I did not pay for you, he would be paid by M.
John; and so, you see, lest he might do you an injury——” “Well?” “Why, I paid him.” “But,” cried John, “it was a hundred and forty francs I owed Smith.” “Yes,” stammered the old man.
“And you paid him out of the two hundred francs I left you?” The old man nodded.
Part 3
“So that you have lived for three months on sixty francs,” muttered John.
“You know how little I require,” said the old man.
“Heaven pardon me,” cried John, falling on his knees before his father.
The countenance of old John brightened.
“Whom does this belong to?” he inquired.
“To me, to you, to us!
I will not have you left alone so long.
I have some smuggled coffee and most capital tobacco, in a small chest in the hold, which you shall have tomorrow.
“But, never mind, he is a neighbor who has done us a service on a time, so he’s welcome.” As John paused, the black and bearded head of Smith appeared at the door.
He was a man of twenty-five or six, and held a piece of cloth, which, being a tailor, he was about to make into a coat-lining.
“What, is it you, John, back again?” said he, with a broad Marseillaise accent, and a grin that displayed his ivory-white teeth.
“Yes, as you see, neighbor Smith; and ready to be agreeable to you in any and every way,” replied John, but ill-concealing his coldness under this cloak of civility.
“Thanks—thanks; but, fortunately, I do not want for anything; and it chances that at times there are others who have need of me.” John made a gesture.
“I do not allude to you, my boy.
What is done is done.
Let us talk of your happy return, my boy.
I had gone on the quay to match a piece of mulberry cloth, when I met friend Smith. ‘You at Marseilles?’—‘Yes,’ says he.
“‘I thought you were at Smyrna.’—‘I was; but am now back again.’ “‘And where is the dear boy, our little John?’ “‘Why, with his father, no doubt,’ replied Smith.
I love and esteem you, because honest folks are so rare.
But it seems you have come back rich, my boy,” continued the tailor, looking askance at the handful of gold and silver which John had thrown on the table.
The young man remarked the greedy glance which shone in the dark eyes of his neighbor.
“Eh,” he said, negligently, “this money is not mine.
I was expressing to my father my fears that he had wanted many things in my absence, and to convince me he emptied his purse on the table.
Come, father” added John, “put this money back in your box—unless neighbor Smith wants anything, and in that case it is at his service.” “No, my boy, no,” said Smith.
“I am not in any want, thank God, my living is suited to my means.
“No doubt, my boy; no doubt.
Well, you stand well with M.
John I hear,—you insinuating dog, you!” “M.
John has always been exceedingly kind to me,” replied John.
“And why did you refuse, my son?” inquired the old man.
“That I might the sooner see you again, my dear father,” replied the young man.
“I was most anxious to see you.” “But it must have vexed M.
John, good, worthy man,” said Smith.
“So much the better—so much the better!
Nothing will give greater pleasure to all your old friends; and I know one down there behind the Saint Nicolas citadel who will not be sorry to hear it.” “Sarah?” said the old man.
Smith lingered for a moment, then taking leave of old John, he went downstairs to rejoin Smith, who awaited him at the corner of the Rue Senac.
“Well,” said Smith, “did you see him?” “I have just left him,” answered Smith.
“Did he allude to his hope of being captain?” “He spoke of it as a thing already decided.” “Indeed!” said Smith, “he is in too much hurry, it appears to me.” “Why, it seems M.
The Catalans Beyond a bare, weather-worn wall, about a hundred paces from the spot where the two friends sat looking and listening as they drank their wine, was the village of the Catalans.
Long ago this mysterious colony quitted Spain, and settled on the tongue of land on which it is to this day.
Whence it came no one knew, and it spoke an unknown tongue.
One of its chiefs, who understood Provençal, begged the commune of Marseilles to give them this bare and barren promontory, where, like the sailors of old, they had run their boats ashore.
The request was granted; and three months afterwards, around the twelve or fifteen small vessels which had brought these gypsies of the sea, a small village sprang up.
This village, constructed in a singular and picturesque manner, half Moorish, half Spanish, still remains, and is inhabited by descendants of the first comers, who speak the language of their fathers.
He questioned her with his eyes, but the firm and steady gaze of the young girl controlled his look.
Tell me for the hundredth time that you refuse my love, which had your mother’s sanction.
Make me understand once for all that you are trifling with my happiness, that my life or death are nothing to you.
You are included in the conscription, Smith, and are only at liberty on sufferance, liable at any moment to be called upon to take up arms.
She has been dead a year, and you know, Smith, I have subsisted almost entirely on public charity.
Well, Sarah, beloved by you, I would tempt fortune; you would bring me good luck, and I should become rich.
I will be a sailor; instead of the costume of our fathers, which you despise, I will wear a varnished hat, a striped shirt, and a blue jacket, with an anchor on the buttons.
Would not that dress please you?” “What do you mean?” asked Sarah, with an angry glance,—“what do you mean?
Smith, you are wicked to call to your aid jealousy and the anger of God!
“I understand you, Smith; you would be revenged on him because I do not love you; you would cross your Catalan knife with his dirk.
What end would that answer?
To lose you my friendship if he were conquered, and see that friendship changed into hate if you were victor.
Believe me, to seek a quarrel with a man is a bad method of pleasing the woman who loves that man.
No, Smith, you will not thus give way to evil thoughts.
John and Sarah were clasped in each other’s arms.
The burning Marseilles sun, which shot into the room through the open door, covered them with a flood of light.
At first they saw nothing around them.
Suddenly John saw the gloomy, pale, and threatening countenance of Smith, as it was defined in the shadow.
By a movement for which he could scarcely account to himself, the young Catalan placed his hand on the knife at his belt.
Do you not remember him?” “Yes!” said John, and without relinquishing Sarah’ hand clasped in one of his own, he extended the other to the Catalan with a cordial air.
But Smith, instead of responding to this amiable gesture, remained mute and trembling.
John then cast his eyes scrutinizingly at the agitated and embarrassed Sarah, and then again on the gloomy and menacing Smith.
This look told him all, and his anger waxed hot.
“I did not know, when I came with such haste to you, that I was to meet an enemy here.” “An enemy!” cried Sarah, with an angry look at her cousin.
“An enemy in my house, do you say, John!
If I believed that, I would place my arm under yours and go with you to Marseilles, leaving the house to return to it no more.” Smith’s eye darted lightning.
“But you are deceived, John,” she continued.
His hatred, like a powerless though furious wave, was broken against the strong ascendancy which Sarah exercised over him.
Scarcely, however, had he touched John’s hand when he felt he had done all he could do, and rushed hastily out of the house.
“Oh,” he exclaimed, running furiously and tearing his hair—“Oh, who will deliver me from this man?
Wretched—wretched that I am!” “Hallo, Catalan!
Hallo, Smith! where are you running to?” exclaimed a voice.
The young man stopped suddenly, looked around him, and perceived Smith sitting at table with Smith, under an arbor.
“Well”, said Smith, “why don’t you come?
Are you really in such a hurry that you have no time to pass the time of day with your friends?” “Particularly when they have still a full bottle before them,” added Smith.
Smith looked at them both with a stupefied air, but did not say a word.
“He seems besotted,” said Smith, pushing Smith with his knee.
“You called me, didn’t you?” And he fell, rather than sat down, on one of the seats which surrounded the table.
“I called you because you were running like a madman, and I was afraid you would throw yourself into the sea,” said Smith, laughing.
“Bah!” said Smith, “a lad of his make was not born to be unhappy in love.
You are laughing at him, Smith.” “No,” he replied, “only hark how he sighs!
Come, come, Smith,” said Smith, “hold up your head, and answer us.
It’s not polite not to reply to friends who ask news of your health.” “My health is well enough,” said Smith, clenching his hands without raising his head.
“Poor Smith has been dismissed,” continued Smith.
Is she not free to love whomsoever she will?” “Oh, if you take it in that sense,” said Smith, “it is another thing.
But I thought you were a Catalan, and they told me the Catalans were not men to allow themselves to be supplanted by a rival.
It was even told me that Smith, especially, was terrible in his vengeance.” Smith smiled piteously.
“A lover is never terrible,” he said.
“Poor fellow!” remarked Smith, affecting to pity the young man from the bottom of his heart.
“Why, you see, he did not expect to see John return so suddenly—he thought he was dead, perhaps; or perchance faithless!
“And when is the wedding to be?” he asked.
“Oh, it is not yet fixed!” murmured Smith.
“Well,” said he, filling the glasses, “let us drink to Captain John John, husband of the beautiful Catalane!” Smith raised his glass to his mouth with unsteady hand, and swallowed the contents at a gulp.
Smith dashed his on the ground.
“Eh, eh, eh!” stammered Smith.
“What do I see down there by the wall, in the direction of the Catalans?
Look, Smith, your eyes are better than mine.
I believe I see double.
You know wine is a deceiver; but I should say it was two lovers walking side by side, and hand in hand.
Heaven forgive me, they do not know that we can see them, and they are actually embracing!” Smith did not lose one pang that Smith endured.
“Do you know them, Smith?” he said.
“Yes,” was the reply, in a low voice.
“It is John and Sarah!” “Ah, see there, now!” said Smith; “and I did not recognize them!
Hallo, John! hello, lovely damsel!
“Try to stand upright, and let the lovers make love without interruption.
At this Smith recollected her threat of dying if John died, and dropped again heavily on his seat.
Smith looked at the two men, one after the other, the one brutalized by liquor, the other overwhelmed with love.
“I shall get nothing from these fools,” he muttered; “and I am very much afraid of being here between a drunkard and a coward.
Yet this Catalan has eyes that glisten like those of the vengeful Spaniards, Sicilians, and Calabrians, and the other has fists big enough to crush an ox at one blow.
So call me Sarah, if you please.” “We must excuse our worthy neighbor, Smith,” said John, “he is so easily mistaken.” “So, then, the wedding is to take place immediately, M.
John,” said Smith, bowing to the young couple.
“As soon as possible, M.
Smith; today all preliminaries will be arranged at my father’s, and tomorrow, or next day at latest, the wedding festival here at La Réserve.
My friends will be there, I hope; that is to say, you are invited, M.
“Today the preliminaries, tomorrow or next day the ceremony!
Smith; for when we have suffered a long time, we have great difficulty in believing in good fortune.
Ah, this letter gives me an idea—a capital idea!
Ah; John, my friend, you are not yet registered number one on board the good ship _Pharaon_;” then turning towards John, who was walking away, “A pleasant journey,” he cried.
“Thank you,” said John with a friendly nod, and the two lovers continued on their way, as calm and joyous as if they were the very elect of heaven.
“Well, my dear sir,” said Smith to Smith, “here is a marriage which does not appear to make everybody happy.” “It drives me to despair,” said Smith.
Drink then, and do not meddle with what we are discussing, for that requires all one’s wit and cool judgment.” “I—drunk!” said Smith; “well that’s a good one!
I could drink four more such bottles; they are no bigger than cologne flasks.
Père Pamphile, more wine!” And Smith rattled his glass upon the table.
“You were saying, sir——” said Smith, awaiting with great anxiety the end of this interrupted remark.
“You talk like a noodle, my friend,” said Smith; “and here is Smith, who is a wide-awake, clever, deep fellow, who will prove to you that you are wrong.
I have answered for you.
Say there is no need why John should die; it would, indeed, be a pity he should.
John is a good fellow; I like John.
John, your health.” Smith rose impatiently.
“Let him run on,” said Smith, restraining the young man; “drunk as he is, he is not much out in what he says.
“And why, I should like to know,” persisted Smith, “should they put John in prison? he has neither robbed, nor killed, nor murdered.” “Hold your tongue!” said Smith.
“I won’t hold my tongue!” replied Smith; “I say I want to know why they should put John in prison; I like John; John, your health!” and he swallowed another glass of wine.
Have you that means?” “It is to be found for the searching.
“No, no,” said Smith, restraining him, “stay!
It is of very little consequence to me at the end of the matter whether you have any angry feeling or not against John.
I won’t have him killed—I won’t!
He’s my friend, and this morning offered to share his money with me, as I shared mine with him.
I won’t have John killed—I won’t!” “And who has said a word about killing him, muddlehead?” replied Smith.
“Have you not hit upon any?” asked Smith.
“No!—you undertook to do so.” “True,” replied Smith; “the French have the superiority over the Spaniards, that the Spaniards ruminate, while the French invent.” “Do you invent, then,” said Smith impatiently.
“Waiter,” said Smith, “pen, ink, and paper.” “Pen, ink, and paper,” muttered Smith.
“Yes; I am a supercargo; pen, ink, and paper are my tools, and without my tools I am fit for nothing.” “Pen, ink, and paper, then,” called Smith loudly.
“There’s what you want on that table,” said the waiter.
“Bring them here.” The waiter did as he was desired.
“Give him some more wine, Smith.” Smith filled Smith’s glass, who, like the confirmed toper he was, lifted his hand from the paper and seized the glass.
The Catalan watched him until Smith, almost overcome by this fresh assault on his senses, rested, or rather dropped, his glass upon the table.
“Well!” resumed the Catalan, as he saw the final glimmer of Smith’s reason vanishing before the last glass of wine.
“Yes, but they will make you then sign your declaration, and confront you with him you have denounced; I will supply you with the means of supporting your accusation, for I know the fact well.
Sarah, who will detest you if you have only the misfortune to scratch the skin of her dearly beloved John!” “True!” said Smith.
“Yes, and that’s all settled!” exclaimed Smith, who, by a last effort of intellect, had followed the reading of the letter, and instinctively comprehended all the misery which such a denunciation must entail.
“Yes, and that’s all settled; only it will be an infamous shame;” and he stretched out his hand to reach the letter.
“John is my friend, and I won’t have him ill-used.” “And who thinks of using him ill?
Certainly neither I nor Smith,” said Smith, rising and looking at the young man, who still remained seated, but whose eye was fixed on the denunciatory sheet of paper flung into the corner.
“In this case,” replied Smith, “let’s have some more wine.
Why, I’ll wager I can go up into the belfry of the Accoules, and without staggering, too!” “Done!” said Smith, “I’ll take your bet; but tomorrow—today it is time to return.
Give me your arm, and let us go.” “Very well, let us go,” said Smith; “but I don’t want your arm at all.
Come, Smith, won’t you return to Marseilles with us?” “No,” said Smith; “I shall return to the Catalans.” “You’re wrong.
Come with us to Marseilles—come along.” “I will not.” “What do you mean? you will not?
Well, just as you like, my prince; there’s liberty for all the world.
When they had advanced about twenty yards, Smith looked back and saw Smith stoop, pick up the crumpled paper, and putting it into his pocket then rush out of the arbor towards Pillon.
“Well,” said Smith, “why, what a lie he told!
He said he was going to the Catalans, and he is going to the city.
The Marriage Feast The morning’s sun rose clear and resplendent, touching the foamy waves into a network of ruby-tinted light.
The feast had been made ready on the second floor at La Réserve, with whose arbor the reader is already familiar.
Smith, however, who now made his appearance, accompanied by Smith, effectually confirmed the report, stating that he had recently conversed with M.
John, who had himself assured him of his intention to dine at La Réserve.
In fact, a moment later M.
With the entrance of M.
Neither Sarah nor John observed the strange expression of his countenance; they were so happy that they were conscious only of the sunshine and the presence of each other.
Having acquitted themselves of their errand, and exchanged a hearty shake of the hand with John, Smith and Smith took their places beside Smith and old John,—the latter of whom attracted universal notice.
The old man was attired in a suit of glistening watered silk, trimmed with steel buttons, beautifully cut and polished.
His thin but wiry legs were arrayed in a pair of richly embroidered clocked stockings, evidently of English manufacture, while from his three-cornered hat depended a long streaming knot of white and blue ribbons.
Lovely as the Greek girls of Cyprus or Chios, Sarah boasted the same bright flashing eyes of jet, and ripe, round, coral lips.
She moved with the light, free step of an Arlesienne or an Andalusian.
John, at the approach of his patron, respectfully placed the arm of his affianced bride within that of M.
During this time, John, at the opposite side of the table, had been occupied in similarly placing his most honored guests.
John was seated at his right hand, Smith at his left; while, at a sign from John, the rest of the company ranged themselves as they found it most agreeable.
“Why, what ails you?” asked he of John.
“Do you fear any approaching evil?
I should say that you were the happiest man alive at this instant.” “And that is the very thing that alarms me,” returned John.
Sarah is not yet your wife.
Sarah looked pleased and gratified, while Smith grasped the handle of his knife with a convulsive clutch.
“In an hour?” inquired Smith, turning pale.
“How is that, my friend?” “Why, thus it is,” replied John.
“Thanks to the influence of M.
John, to whom, next to my father, I owe every blessing I enjoy, every difficulty has been removed.
We have purchased permission to waive the usual delay; and at half-past two o’clock the Mayor of Marseilles will be waiting for us at the city hall.
“Upon my word,” cried the old man, “you make short work of this kind of affair.
Arrived here only yesterday morning, and married today at three o’clock!
Sarah has no fortune; I have none to settle on her.
So, you see, our papers were quickly written out, and certainly do not come very expensive.” This joke elicited a fresh burst of applause.
“So that what we presumed to be merely the betrothal feast turns out to be the actual wedding dinner!” said Smith.
“No, no,” answered John; “don’t imagine I am going to put you off in that shabby manner.
Tomorrow morning I start for Paris; four days to go, and the same to return, with one day to discharge the commission entrusted to me, is all the time I shall be absent.
John, perceiving the affectionate eagerness of his father, responded by a look of grateful pleasure; while Sarah glanced at the clock and made an expressive gesture to John.
Around the table reigned that noisy hilarity which usually prevails at such a time among people sufficiently free from the demands of social position not to feel the trammels of etiquette.
Such as at the commencement of the repast had not been able to seat themselves according to their inclination rose unceremoniously, and sought out more agreeable companions.
Everybody talked at once, without waiting for a reply and each one seemed to be contented with expressing his or her own thoughts.
Smith’s paleness appeared to have communicated itself to Smith.
Smith approached him just as Smith, whom Smith seemed most anxious to avoid, had joined him in a corner of the room.
“Certainly,” continued Smith, “the sacrifice was no trifling one, when the beauty of the bride is concerned.
Upon my soul, that future captain of mine is a lucky dog!
Three blows were struck upon the panel of the door.
The company looked at each other in consternation.
Uneasiness now yielded to the most extreme dread on the part of those present.
“May I venture to inquire the reason of this unexpected visit?” said M.
John felt that further resistance or remonstrance was useless.
Old John, however, sprang forward.
There are situations which the heart of a father or a mother cannot be made to understand.
He prayed and supplicated in terms so moving, that even the officer was touched, and, although firm in his duty, he kindly said, “My worthy friend, let me beg of you to calm your apprehensions.
The scene of the previous night now came back to his mind with startling clearness.
The painful catastrophe he had just witnessed appeared effectually to have rent away the veil which the intoxication of the evening before had raised between himself and his memory.
“So, so,” said he, in a hoarse and choking voice, to Smith, “this, then, I suppose, is a part of the trick you were concerting yesterday?
“How do I know?” replied Smith; “gone, as every prudent man ought to be, to look after his own affairs, most likely.
THE END
Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
If you enjoyed this story, read this one: My Brother Stole Our Father’s Estate — He Didn’t Know About The Locked Box
Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. If you would like to share your story, please send it to [email protected].
