But he had a rival,a 'base hireling'named Archibald Lynch,who said the girl should be his,or he would 'dye his hands in her heart's best blood.'The carpenter,'innocent and happy in love's young dream,'gave no weight to the threat,but led his 'golden-haired darling to the altar,'and there,the two were made one;there also,just as the minister's hands were stretched in blessing over their heads,the fell deed was done--with a knife--and the bride fell a corpse at her husband's feet.
And what did the husband do?He plucked forth that knife,and kneeling by the body of his lost one,swore to 'consecrate his life to the extermination of all the human scum that bear the hated name of Lynch.'
That was it.He had been hunting down the Lynches and slaughtering them,from that day to this--twenty years.He had always used that same consecrated knife;with it he had murdered his long array of Lynches,and with it he had left upon the forehead of each victim a peculiar mark--a cross,deeply incised.Said he--
'The cross of the Mysterious Avenger is known in Europe,in America,in China,in Siam,in the Tropics,in the Polar Seas,in the deserts of Asia,in all the earth.Wherever in the uttermost parts of the globe,a Lynch has penetrated,there has the Mysterious Cross been seen,and those who have seen it have shuddered and said,"It is his mark,he has been here."You have heard of the Mysterious Avenger--look upon him,for before you stands no less a person!But beware--breathe not a word to any soul.
Be silent,and wait.Some morning this town will flock aghast to view a gory corpse;on its brow will be seen the awful sign,and men will tremble and whisper,"He has been here--it is the Mysterious Avenger's mark!"You will come here,but I shall have vanished;you will see me no more.'
This ass had been reading the 'Jibbenainosay,'no doubt,and had had his poor romantic head turned by it;but as I had not yet seen the book then,I took his inventions for truth,and did not suspect that he was a plagiarist.
However,we had a Lynch living in the town;and the more Ireflected upon his impending doom,the more I could not sleep.
It seemed my plain duty to save him,and a still plainer and more important duty to get some sleep for myself,so at last I ventured to go to Mr.Lynch and tell him what was about to happen to him--under strict secrecy.
I advised him to 'fly,'and certainly expected him to do it.
But he laughed at me;and he did not stop there;he led me down to the carpenter's shop,gave the carpenter a jeering and scornful lecture upon his silly pretensions,slapped his face,made him get down on his knees and beg--then went off and left me to contemplate the cheap and pitiful ruin of what,in my eyes,had so lately been a majestic and incomparable hero.
The carpenter blustered,flourished his knife,and doomed this Lynch in his usual volcanic style,the size of his fateful words undiminished;but it was all wasted upon me;he was a hero to me no longer,but only a poor,foolish,exposed humbug.
I was ashamed of him,and ashamed of myself;I took no further interest in him,and never went to his shop any more.He was a heavy loss to me,for he was the greatest hero I had ever known.
The fellow must have had some talent;for some of his imaginary murders were so vividly and dramatically described that I remember all their details yet.
The people of Hannibal are not more changed than is the town.
It is no longer a village;it is a city,with a mayor,and a council,and water-works,and probably a debt.It has fifteen thousand people,is a thriving and energetic place,and is paved like the rest of the west and south--where a well-paved street and a good sidewalk are things so seldom seen,that one doubts them when he does see them.
The customary half-dozen railways center in Hannibal now,and there is a new depot which cost a hundred thousand dollars.
In my time the town had no specialty,and no commercial grandeur;the daily packet usually landed a passenger and bought a catfish,and took away another passenger and a hatful of freight;but now a huge commerce in lumber has grown up and a large miscellaneous commerce is one of the results.A deal of money changes hands there now.
Bear Creek--so called,perhaps,because it was always so particularly bare of bears--is hidden out of sight now,under islands and continents of piled lumber,and nobody but an expert can find it.
I used to get drowned in it every summer regularly,and be drained out,and inflated and set going again by some chance enemy;but not enough of it is unoccupied now to drown a person in.
It was a famous breeder of chills and fever in its day.
I remember one summer when everybody in town had this disease at once.Many chimneys were shaken down,and all the houses were so racked that the town had to be rebuilt.
The chasm or gorge between Lover's Leap and the hill west of it is supposed by scientists to have been caused by glacial action.
This is a mistake.
There is an interesting cave a mile or two below Hannibal,among the bluffs.
I would have liked to revisit it,but had not time.In my time the person who then owned it turned it into a mausoleum for his daughter,aged fourteen.
The body of this poor child was put into a copper cylinder filled with alcohol,and this was suspended in one of the dismal avenues of the cave.
The top of the cylinder was removable;and it was said to be a common thing for the baser order of tourists to drag the dead face into view and examine it and comment upon it.
