Beechenbrook Part 6

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A simple, sodded mound of earth, Without a line above it; With only daily votive flowers To prove that any love it: The token flag that silently Each breeze's visit numbers, Alone keeps martial ward above The hero's dreamless slumbers.

No name?--no record? Ask the world; The world has read his story-- If all its annals can unfold A prouder tale of glory:-- If ever merely human life Hath taught diviner moral,-- If ever round a worthier brow Was twined a purer laurel!

A twelvemonth only, since his sword Went flashing through the battle-- A twelvemonth only, since his ear Heard war's last deadly rattle-- And yet, have countless pilgrim-feet The pilgrim's guerdon paid him, And weeping women come to see The place where they have laid him.

Contending armies bring, in turn, Their meed of praise or honor, And Pallas here has paused to bind The cypress wreath upon her: It seems a holy sepulchre, Whose sanct.i.ties can waken Alike the love of friend or foe,-- Of Christian or of pagan.

THEY come to own his high emprise, Who fled in frantic ma.s.ses, Before the glittering bayonet That triumphed at Mana.s.sas: Who witnessed Kernstown's fearful odds, As on their ranks he thundered, Defiant as the storied Greek, Amid his brave three hundred!

They well recall the tiger spring, The wise retreat, the rally, The tireless march, the fierce pursuit, Through many a mountain valley: Cross Keys unlock new paths to fame, And Port Republic's story Wrests from his ever-vanquish'd foes, Strange tributes to his glory.

Cold Harbor rises to their view,-- The Cedars' gloom is o'er them; Antietam's rough and rugged heights, Stretch mockingly before them: The lurid flames of Fredericksburg Right grimly they remember, That lit the frozen night's retreat, That wintry-wild December!

The largess of their praise is flung With bounty, rare and regal; --Is it because the vulture fears No longer the dead eagle?

Nay, rather far accept it thus,-- An homage true and tender, As soldier unto soldier's worth,-- As brave to brave will render,

But who shall weigh the wordless grief That leaves in tears its traces, As round their leader crowd again, The bronzed and veteran faces!

The "Old Brigade" he loved so well-- The mountain men, who bound him With bays of their own winning, ere A tardier fame had crowned him;

The legions who had seen his glance Across the carnage flashing, And thrilled to catch his ringing "_charge_"

Above the volley crashing;-- Who oft had watched the lifted hand, The inward trust betraying, And felt their courage grow sublime, While they beheld him praying!

Good knights and true as ever drew Their swords with knightly Roland; Or died at Sobieski's side, For love of martyr'd Poland; Or knelt with Cromwell's Ironsides; Or sang with brave Gustavus; Or on the plain of Austerlitz, Breathed out their dying AVES!

Rare fame! rare name!--If chanted praise, With all the world to listen,-- If pride that swells a nation's soul,-- If foemen's tears that glisten,-- If pilgrims' shrining love,--if grief Which nought may soothe or sever,-- If THESE can consecrate,--this spot Is sacred ground forever!

[A] In the month of June the singular spectacle was presented at Lexington, Va., of two hostile armies, in turn, reverently visiting Jackson's grave.

WHEN THE WAR IS OVER.

A CHRISTMAS LAY.

I.

Ah! the happy Christmas times!

Times we all remember;-- Times that flung a ruddy glow O'er the gray December;-- Will they never come again, With their song and story?

Never wear a remnant more Of their olden glory?

Must the little children miss Still the festal token?

Must their realm of young romance All be marred and broken?

Must the mother promise on, While her smiles dissemble, And she speaks right quietly, Lest her voice should tremble:--

"Darlings! wait till father comes-- Wait--and we'll discover Never were such Christmas times, When the war is over!"

II.

Underneath the midnight sky, Bright with starry beauty, Sad, the shivering sentinel Treads his round of duty: For his thoughts are far away, Far from strife and battle, As he listens dreamingly, To his baby's prattle;-- As he clasps his sobbing wife, Wild with sudden gladness, Kisses all her tears away-- Chides her looks of sadness-- Talks of Christmas nights to come,-- And his step grows lighter, Whispering, while his stiffening hand Grasps his musket tighter:--

"Patience, love!--keep heart! keep hope!

To your weary rover, What a home our home will be, When the war is over!"

III.

By the twilight Christmas fire, All her senses laden With a weight of tenderness, Sits the musing maiden: From the parlor's cheerful blaze, Far her visions wander, To the white tent gleaming bright, On the hill-side yonder.

Buoyant in her brave, young love, Flushed with patriot honour, No misgiving, no fond fear, Flings its shade upon her.

Though no mortal soul can know Half the love she bears him, Proudly, for her country's sake, From her heart she spares him.

--G.o.d be thanked!--she does not dream, That her gallant lover Will be in a soldier's grave, When the war is over!

IV.

'Midst the turmoil and the strife Of the war-tide's rushing, Every heart its separate woe In its depths is hushing.

Who has time for tears, when blood All the land is steeping?

--In our poverty we grudge Even the waste of weeping!

But when quiet comes again, And the bands, long broken, Gather round the hearth, and breathe Names now seldom spoken-- _Then_ we'll miss the precious links-- Mourn the empty places-- Read the hopeless "_Nevermore_,"

In each other's faces!

--Oh! what aching, anguish'd hearts O'er lone graves will hover, With a new, fresh sense of pain, When the war is over!

V.

Stern endurance, bitterer still, Sharp with self-denial, Fraught with loftier sacrifice, Fuller far of trial-- Strews our flinty path of thorns-- Marks our b.l.o.o.d.y story-- Fits us for the victor's palm-- Weaves our robe of glory!

Shall we faint with G.o.d above, And His strong arm under-- And the cold world gazing on, In a maze of wonder?

No! with more resistless march, More resolved endeavor, Press we onward--struggle still, Fight and win forever!

--Holy peace will heal all ills, Joy all losses cover, Raptures rend our Southern skies, When the war is over!

VIRGINIA CAPTA.

APRIL 9TH, 1865.

I.

Unconquered captive!--close thine eye, And draw the ashen sackcloth o'er, And in thy speechless woe deplore The fate that would not let thee die!

II.

Beechenbrook Part 5

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The Chaplain's recital is ended:--no word From Alice's white, breathless lips has been heard; Till, rousing herself from her pa.s.sionless woe, She simply and quietly says--"I will go."

There are moments of anguish so deadly, so deep-- That numbness seems over the senses to creep, With interposition, whose timely relief, Is an anodyne-draught to the madness of grief.

Such mercy is meted to Alice;--her eye That sees as it saw not, is vacant and dry: The billows' wild fury sweeps over her soul, And she bends to the rush with a pa.s.sive control.

Through the dusk of the night--through the glare of the day, She urges, unconscious, her desolate way: One image is ever her vision before, --That blanketed form on the hospital floor!

Her journey is ended; and yonder she sees The spot where _he_ lies, looming white through the trees: Her torpor dissolves with a shuddering start, And a terrible agony clutches her heart.

The Chaplain advances to meet her:--he draws Her silently onward;--no question--no pause-- Her finger she lays on her lip;--if she spake, She knows that the spell that upholds her, would break.

She has strength to go forward; they enter the door,-- And there, on the crowded and blood-tainted floor, Close wrapped in his blanket, lies Dougla.s.s:--his brow Wore never a look so seraphic as now!

She stretches her arms the dear form to enfold,-- G.o.d help her!..., she shrieks ..., it is silent and cold!

X.

"Break, my heart, and ease this pain-- Cease to throb, thou tortured brain; Let me die,--since he is slain, --Slain in battle!

Blessed brow, that loved to rest Its dear whiteness on my breast-- Gory was the gra.s.s it prest, --Slain in battle!

Oh! that still and stately form-- Never more will it be warm; Chilled beneath that iron storm, --Slain in battle!

Not a pillow for his head-- Not a hand to smooth his bed-- Not one tender parting said, --Slain in battle!

Straightway from that b.l.o.o.d.y sod, Where the trampling hors.e.m.e.n trod-- Lifted to the arms of G.o.d; --Slain in battle!

Not my love to come between, With its interposing screen-- Naught of earth to intervene; --Slain in battle!

s.n.a.t.c.hed the purple billows o'er, Through the fiendish rage and roar, To the far and peaceful sh.o.r.e; --Slain in battle!

_Nunc demitte_--thus I pray-- What else left for me to say, Since my life is reft away?

--Slain in battle!

Let me die, oh! G.o.d!--the dart Rankles deep within my heart,-- Hope, and joy, and peace, depart; --Slain in battle!"

'Tis thus through her days and her nights of despair, Her months of bereavement so bitter to bear, That Alice moans ever. Ah! little they know, Who look on that brow, still and white as the snow, Who watch--but in vain--for the sigh or the tear, That only comes thick when no mortal is near,-- Who whisper--"How gently she bends to the rod!"

Because all her heart-break is kept for her G.o.d,-- Ah! little _they_ know of the tempests that roll Their desolate floods through the depths of her soul!

Afar in our sunshiny homes on the sh.o.r.e, We heed not how wildly the billows may roar; We smile at our firesides, happy and free, While the rich-freighted argosy founders at sea!

Though wrapped in the weeds of her widowhood, pale,-- Though life seems all sunless and dim through the veil That drearily shadows her sorrowful brow,-- Is the cause of her country less dear to her now?

Does the patriot-flame in her heart cease to stir,-- Does she feel that the conflict is over for her?

Because the red war-tide has deluged her o'er,-- Has wreaked its wild wrath, and can harm _her_ no more,-- Does she stand, self-absorbed, on the wreck she has braved, Nor care if her country be lost or be saved?

By her pride in the soil that has given her birth-- By her tenderest memories garnered on earth-- By the legacy blood-bought and precious, which she Would leave to her children--the right to be free,-- By the altar where once rose the hymn and the prayer; By the home that lies scarred in its solitude there,-- By the pangs she has suffered,--the ills she has borne,-- By the desolate exile through which she must mourn,-- By the struggles that hallow this fair Southern sod, By the vows she has breathed in the ear of her G.o.d,-- By the blood of the heart that she worshipped,--the life That enfolded her own; by her love, as his wife; By his death on the battle-field, gallantly brave,-- By the shadow that ever will wrap her--his grave-- By the faith she reposes, oh! Father! in Thee, She claims that her glorious South MUST be free!

VIRGINIA.

A SONNET.

Grandly thou fillest the world's eye to-day, My proud Virginia! When the gage was thrown-- The deadly gage of battle--thou, alone, Strong in thy self-control, didst stoop to lay The olive-branch thereon, and calmly pray We might have peace, the rather. When the foe Turned scornfully upon thee,--bade thee go, And whistled up his war-hounds, then--the way Of duty full before thee,--thou didst spring Into the centre of the martial ring-- Thy brave blood boiling, and thy glorious eye, Shot with heroic fire, and swear to claim Sublimest victory in G.o.d's own name,-- Or, wrapped in robes of martyrdom,--to die!

JACKSON.

A SONNET.

Thank G.o.d for such a Hero!--Fearless hold His diamond character beneath the sun, And brighter scintillations, one by one, Come flashing from it. Never knight of old Wore on serener brow, so calm, yet bold, Diviner courage: never martyr knew Trust more sublime,--nor patriot, zeal more true,-- Nor saint, self-abnegation of a mould Touched with profounder beauty. All the rare, Clear, starry points of light, that gave his soul Such lambent l.u.s.tre, owned but one sole aim,-- Not for himself, nor yet his country's fame, These glories shone: he kept the cl.u.s.tered whole A jewel for the crown that Christ shall wear!

DIRGE FOR ASHBY.

Heard ye that thrilling word-- Accent of dread-- Flash like a thunderbolt, Bowing each head-- Crash through the battle dun, Over the booming gun-- "_Ashby, our bravest one_,-- _Ashby is dead!_"

Saw ye the veterans-- Hearts that had known Never a quail of fear, Never a groan-- Sob 'mid the fight they win, --Tears their stern eyes within,-- "Ashby, our Paladin, Ashby is gone!"

Dash,--dash the tear away-- Crush down the pain!

"_Dulce et decus_," be Fittest refrain!

Why should the dreary pall Round him be flung at all?

Did not our hero fall Gallantly slain?

Catch the last word of cheer Dropt from his tongue; Over the volley's din, Loud be it rung-- "_Follow me! follow me!_"-- Soldier, oh! could there be Paean or dirge for thee, Loftier sung!

Bold as the Lion-heart, Dauntless and brave; Knightly as knightliest Bayard could crave; Sweet with all Sidney's grace-- Tender as Hampden's face-- Who--who shall fill the s.p.a.ce Void by his grave?

'Tis not _one_ broken heart, Wild with dismay; Crazed with her agony, Weeps o'er his clay: Ah! from a thousand eyes Flow the pure tears that rise; Widowed Virginia lies Stricken to-day!

Yet--though that thrilling word-- Accent of dread-- Falls like a thunderbolt, Bowing each head-- Heroes! be battle done Bravelier every one, Nerved by the thought alone-- _Ashby is dead!_

STONEWALL JACKSON'S GRAVE.[A]

Beechenbrook Part 4

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Oh! sirs!--there lurks a fiercer foe, Than this that treads your soil, Who springs from unseen ambuscades, To drag you as his spoil.

He drugs the heedless conscience, till, No wary watch it keeps, And parleys with the treacherous heart, While fast the warder sleeps.

He captive leads the wavering will With specious words, and fair, And enters the beleaguered soul, And rules, a conqueror there.

Will ye who fling defiance forth, Against a temporal foe, And rather die, than stoop to wear The chains that gall you so,--

Will ye succ.u.mb beneath a power, That grasps at full control, And binds its helpless victims down In servitude of soul?

Nay,--act like brave men, as ye are,-- Nor let the despot, sin, Wrest those immortal rights away, Which Christ has died to win.

For Heaven--best home--true fatherland, Bear toil, reproach and loss, Your highest honor,--holiest name,-- The soldiers of the Cross!

VIII.

"My Dougla.s.s! my darling!--there once was a time, When we to each other confessed the sublime And perfect sufficiency love could bestow, On the hearts that have learned its completeness to know; We felt that we too had a well-spring of joy, That earthly convulsions could never destroy,-- A mossy, sealed fountain, so cool and so bright, It could solace the soul, let it thirst as it might.

"'Tis easy, while happiness strews in our path, The richest and costliest blessings it hath, 'Tis easy to say that no sorrow, no pain, Could utterly beggar our spirits again; 'Tis easy to sit in the sunshine, and speak Of the darkness and storm, with a smile on the cheek!

"As hungry and cold, and with weariness spent, You droop in your saddle, or crouch in your tent; Can you feel that the love so entire, so true, The love that we dreamed of,--is all things to you?

That come what there may,--desolation or loss, The p.r.i.c.k of the thorn, or the weight of the cross-- You can bear it,--nor feel you are wholly bereft, While the bosom that beats for you only, is left?

While the birdlings are spared that have made it so blest, Can you look, undismayed, on the wreck of the nest?

"There's a love that is tenderer, sweeter than this-- That is fuller of comfort, and blessing, and bliss; That never can fail us, whatever befall-- Unchanging, unwearied, undying, through all: We have need of the support--the staff and the rod;-- Beloved! we'll lean on the bosom of G.o.d!

"You guess what I fain would keep hidden:--you know, Ere now, that the trail of the insolent foe Leaves ruin behind it, disastrous and dire, And burns through our Valley, a pathway of fire.

--Our beautiful home,--as I write it, I weep, Our beautiful home is a smouldering heap!

And blackened, and blasted, and grim, and forlorn, Its chimneys stand stark in the mists of the morn!

"I stood in my womanly helplessness, weak-- Though I felt a brave color was kindling my cheek-- And I plead by the sacredest things of their lives-- By the love that they bore to their children,--their wives, By the homes left behind them, whose joys they had shared, By the G.o.d that should judge them,--that mine should be spared.

"As well might I plead with the whirlwind to stay As it crashingly cuts through the forest its way!

I know that my eye flashed a pa.s.sionate ire, As they scornfully flung me their answer of--fire!

"Why harrow your heart with the grief and the pain?

Why paint you the picture that's scorching my brain?

Why speak of the night when I stood on the lawn, And watched the last flame die away in the dawn?

'Tis over,--that vision of terror,--of woe!

Its horrors I would not recall;--let them go!

I am calm when I think what I suffered them for; I grudge not the quota _I_ pay to the war!

"But, Dougla.s.s!--deep down in the core of my heart, There's a throbbing, an aching, that will not depart; For memory mourns, with a wail of despair, The loss of her treasures,--the subtle, the rare, Precious things over which she delighted to pore, Which nothing,--ah! nothing, can ever restore!

"The rose-covered porch, where I sat as your bride-- The hearth, where at twilight I leaned at your side-- The low-cushioned window-seat, where I would lie, With my head on your knee, and look out on the sky:-- The chamber all holy with love and with prayer, The motherhood memories cl.u.s.tering there-- The vines that _your_ hand has delighted to train, The trees that _you_ planted;--Oh! never again Can love build us up such a bower of bliss; Oh! never can home be as hallow'd as this!

"Thank G.o.d! there's a dwelling not builded with hands, Whose pearly foundation, immovable stands; There struggles, alarms, and disquietudes cease, And the blissfulest balm of the spirit is--peace!

Small trial 'twill seem when our perils are past, And we enter the house of our Father at last,-- Light trouble, that here, in the night of our stay, The blast swept our wilderness lodging away!

"The children--dear hearts!--it is touching to see My Beverly's beautiful kindness to me; So buoyant his mein--so heroic--resigned-- The boy has the soul of his father, I find!

Not a childish complaint or regret have I heard,-- Not even from Archie, a petulant word: Once only--a tear moistened Sophy's bright cheek: '_Papa has no home now!_'--'twas all she could speak.

"A stranger I wander midst strangers; and yet I never,--no, not for a moment forget That my heart has a home,--just as real, as true, And as warm as if Beechenbrook sheltered me too.

G.o.d grant that this refuge from sorrow and pain-- This blessedest haven of peace, may remain!

And, then, though disaster, still sharper, befall, I think I can patiently bear with it all: For the rarest, most exquisite bliss of my life Is wrapped in a word, Dougla.s.s ... I am your wife!"

IX.

When fierce and fast-thronging calamities rush Resistless as destiny o'er us, and crush The life from the quivering heart till we feel Like the victim whose body is broke on the wheel-- When we think we have touched the far limit at last, --One throe, and the point of endurance is pa.s.sed-- When we shivering hang on the verge of despair-- There still is capacity left us to bear.

The storm of the winter, the smile of the Spring, No respite, no pause, and no hopefulness bring; The demon of carnage still breathes his hot breath, And fiercely goes forward the harvest of death.

Days painfully drag their slow burden along; And the pulse that is beating so steady and strong, Stands still, as there comes, from the echoing sh.o.r.e Of the winding and clear Rappahannock, the roar Of conflict so fell, that the silvery flood Runs purple and rapid and ghastly with blood.

--Grand army of martyrs!--though victory waves Them onward, her march must be over _their_ graves: They feel it--they know it,--yet steadier each Close phalanx moves into the desperate breach: Their step does not falter--their faith does not yield,-- For yonder, supreme o'er the fiercely-fought field, Erect in his leonine grandeur, they see The proud and magnificent calmness of LEE!

'Tis morn--but the night has brought Alice no rest: The roof seems to press like a weight on her breast; And she wanders forth, wearily lifting her eye, To seek for relief 'neath the calm of the sky.

The air of the forest is spicy and sweet, And dreamily babbles a brook at her feet; Her children are 'round her, and sunshine and flowers, Try vainly to banish the gloom of the hours.

With a volume she fain her wild thoughts would a.s.suage, But her vision can trace not a line on the page, And the poet's dear strains, once so soft to her ear, Have lost all their mystical power to cheer.

The evening approaches--the pressure--the woe Grows drearer and heavier,--yet she must go, And stifle between the dead walls, as she may, The heart that scarce breathed in the free, open day.

She reaches the dwelling that serves as her home; A horseman awaits at the entrance;--the foam Is flecking the sides of his fast-ridden steed, Who pants, over-worn with exhaustion and speed; And Alice for support to Beverly clings, As the soldier delivers the letter he brings.

Her ashy lips move, but the words do not come, And she stands in her whiteness, bewildered and dumb: She turns to the letter with hopeless appeal, But her fingers are helpless to loosen the seal: She lifts her dim eyes with a look of despair,-- Her hands for a moment are folded in prayer; The strength she has sought is vouchsafed in her need: --"I think I can bear it now, Beverly ... read."

The boy, with the resolute nerve of a man, And a voice which he holds as serene as he can, Takes quietly from her the letter, and reads:--

"Dear Madam,--My heart in its sympathy bleeds For the pain that my tidings must bear you: may G.o.d Most tenderly comfort you, under His rod!

"This morning, at daybreak, a terrible charge Was made on the enemy's centre: such large And fresh reinforcements were held at his back, He stoutly and stubbornly met the attack.

"Our cavalry bore themselves splendidly:--far In front of his line galloped Colonel Dunbar; Erect in his stirrups,--his sword flashing high, And the look of a conqueror kindling his eye, His silvery voice rang aloft through the roar Of the musketry poured from the opposite sh.o.r.e: --'Remember the Valley!--remember your wives!

And on to your duty, boys!--on--with your lives!'

"He turned, and he paused, as he uttered the call-- Then reeled in his seat, and fell,--pierced by a ball.

"He lives and he breathes yet:--the surgeons declare, That the balance is trembling 'twixt hope and despair.

In his blanket he lies, on the hospital floor,-- So calm, you might deem all his agony o'er; And here, as I write, on his face I can see An expression whose radiance is startling to me.

His faith is sublime:--he relinquishes life, And craves but one blessing,--_to look on his wife!_"

Beechenbrook Part 3

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She dares not to stir with a question, _her_ woe, One word,--and the bitter-brimm'd heart would o'erflow: But speechless, and moveless, and stony of eye, Scarce conscious of aught in the earth or the sky, In a swoon of the heart, all her senses have reeled,-- But she prays for endurance,--for here is the field.

The flight and pursuit, so hara.s.sing, so hot, Have drifted all combatants far from the spot: And through the spa.r.s.e woodlands, and over the plain, Lie gorily scattered, the wounded and slain.

Oh! the sickness,--the shudder,--the quailing of fear, As it leaps to her lips,--"What if Dougla.s.s be here!"

Yet she frames not a question; her spirit can bear Oh! anything,--all things, but hopeless despair: Does her darling lie stretched on the slope of yon hill?

Let her doubt--let her hug the suspense, if she will!

She watches each ambulance-burden with dread; She loots in the faces of dying and dead: And hour after hour, with steady control, She bends to her task all the strength of her soul; She comforts the wounded with pity's sweet care, And the spirit that's pa.s.sing, she speeds with her prayer.

She starts as she hears, from her stout-hearted boy, A wild exclamation, half doubt and half joy:--

"Oh! Surgeon!--some brandy! he's fainting!--Ah! now The colour comes back to his cheek and his brow:-- He breathes again--speaks again--listen!--you are 'An orderly'--is it?--'of Colonel Dunbar?'

'He fought like a lion!' (I knew it!) and pa.s.sed Untouched through the battle, 'unhurt to the last?'

--My father is safe,--mother!--safe!--what a joy!

And here is Macpherson,--our barefooted boy!"

Poor Alice!--her grief has been tearless and dumb, But the pressure once lifted, her senses succ.u.mb: Too quick the revulsion,--too glad the surprise,-- The mists of unconsciousness curtain her eyes: 'Tis only a moment they suffer eclipse, And words of thanksgiving soon thrill on her lips.

To Beechenbrook's quiet, with tenderest care, They hasten the wounded, wan soldier to bear; And never hung mother more patiently o'er The couch of the child, her own bosom that bore, Than Alice above the lone orphan, who lay Submissively breathing his spirit away.

He knows that existence is ebbing; his brain Is lucid and calm, in the pauses of pain; But his round boyish cheek with no weeping is wet, And his smile is not touched with a shade of regret.

No murmur is uttered--no lingering sigh Escapes him;--so young,--yet so willing to die!

His garment of flesh he has worn undefiled, His faith is the beautiful faith of a child: He knows that the Crucified hung on the tree, That the pathway to bliss might be open and free: He believes that the cup has been drained,--he can find Not a drop of the wrath that had filled it,--behind.

If ever a doubt or misgiving a.s.sails, His finger he puts on the print of the nails; If sometimes there springs an emotion of fear, He lays his cold hand on the mark of the spear!

He thinks of his darling, dead mother;--the light Of the Heavenly City falls full on his sight: And under the rows of the palms, by the brim Of the river--he knows she is waiting for him.

But the present comes back;--and on Alice's ear, Fall whispers like these, as she pauses to hear:

"Only a private;--and who will care When I may pa.s.s away,-- Or how, or why I perish, or where I mix with the common clay?

They will fill my empty place again, With another as bold and brave; And they'll blot me out, ere the Autumn rain Has freshened my nameless grave.

Only a private:--it matters not, That I did my duty well; That all through a score of battles I fought, And then, like a soldier, fell: The country I died for,--never will heed My unrequited claim; And history cannot record the deed, For she never has heard my name.

Only a private;--and yet I know, When I heard the rallying call, I was one of the very first to go, And ... I'm one of the many who fall: But, as here I lie, it is sweet to feel, That my honor's without a stain;-- That I only fought for my Country's weal, And not for glory or gain.

Only a private;--yet He who reads Through the guises of the heart, Looks not at the splendour of the deeds, But the way we do our part; And when He shall take us by the hand, And our small service own, There'll a glorious band of privates stand As victors around the throne!"

The breath of the morning is heavy and chill, And gloomily lower the mists on the hill: The winds through the beeches are shivering low, With a plaintive and sad _miserere_ of woe: A quiet is over the Cottage,--a dread Clouds the children's sweet faces,--Macpherson is dead!

VII.

'Tis Autumn,--and Nature the forest has hung With arras more gorgeous than ever was flung From Gobelin looms,--all so varied, so rare, As never the princeliest palaces were.

Soft curtains of haze the far mountains enfold, Whose warp is of purple, whose woof is of gold, And the sky bends as peacefully, purely above, As if earth breathed an atmosphere only of love.

But thick as white asters in Autumn, are found The tents all bestrewing the carpeted ground; The din of a camp, with its stir and its strife, Its motley and strange, mult.i.tudinous life, Floats upward along the brown slopes, till it fills The echoing hollows afar in the hills.

'Tis the twilight of Sabbath,--and sweet through the air, Swells the blast of the bugle, that summons to prayer: The signal is answered, and soon in the glen Sits Colonel Dunbar in the midst of his men.

The Chaplain advances with reverent face, Where lies a felled oak, he has chosen his place; On the stump of an ash-tree the Bible he lays, And they bow on the gra.s.s, as he solemnly prays.

Underneath thine open sky, Father, as we bend the knee, May we feel thy presence nigh, --Nothing 'twixt our souls and thee!

We are weary,--cares and woes Lay their weight on every breast, And each heart before thee knows, That it sighs for inward rest.

Thou canst lift this weight away, Thou canst bid these sighings cease; Thou canst walk these waves and say To their restless tossings--"Peace!"

We are tempted;--snares abound,-- Sin its treacherous meshes weaves; And temptations strew us round, Thicker than the Autumn leaves.

Midst these perils, mark our path, Thou who art 'the life, the way;'

Rend each fatal wile that hath Power to lead our souls astray.

Prince of Peace! we follow Thee!

Plant thy banner in our sight; Let thy shadowy legions be Guards around our tents to-night."

Through the aisles of the forest, far-stretching and dim As a cloister'd Cathedral, the notes of a hymn Float tenderly upward,--now soft and now clear, As if twilight had silenced its breathing to hear; Now swelling, a lofty, triumphant refrain,-- Now sobbing itself into sadness again.

The Bible is opened, and stillness profound Broods over the listeners scattered around; And warning, and comfort, and blessing, and balm, Distil from the beautiful words of the Psalm.

Then simply and earnestly pleading,--his face Lit up with persuasive and eloquent grace, The Chaplain pours forth, from the warmth of his heart, His words of entreaty and truth, ere they part.

"I see before me valiant men, With courage high and true, Who fight as only heroes fight, And die, as heroes do.

Your serried ranks have never quailed Before the battle-shock, Whose maddest fury beats and breaks Like foam against the rock.

Ye've borne the deadly brunt of war, Through storm, and cold, and heat, Yet never have ye turned your backs Nor fled before defeat.

Behind you lie your cheerful homes, And all of sweet or fair,-- The only remnants earth has left Of Eden-life, are there.

Ye know that many a once bright cheek Consuming care, makes wan; Ye know the old, dear happiness That blest your hearths,--is gone.

Ye see your comrades smitten down,-- The young, the good, the brave,-- Ye feel, the turf ye tread to-day, May be to-morrow's grave.

Yet not a murmur meets the ear, Nor discontent has sway, And not a sullen brow is seen, Through all the camp to-day.

No Greek, in Greece's palmiest days, His javelin ever threw, Impelled by more heroic zeal, Or n.o.bler aim than you.

No mailed warrior ever bore Aloft his shining lance, More proudly through the tales that fire The page of old romance.

Oh! soldiers!--well ye bear your part; The world awards its praise: Be sure,--this grandest tourney o'er,-- 'Twill crown you with its bays!

But there's sublimer work than even To free your native sod; --Ye may be loyal to your land, Yet traitors to your G.o.d!

No Moslem heaven for him who falls, A bribed requital doles; And while ye save your country,--ye, Alas! may lose your souls!

No glorious deeds can urge their claim,-- No merits, entrance win,-- The pierced hand of Christ alone, Must freely let you in.

Beechenbrook Part 2

If you are looking for Beechenbrook Part 2 you are coming to the right place. Beechenbrook is a Webnovel created by Margaret Junkin Preston. This lightnovel is currently completed.

"I turn a deaf ear to the scream of the wind, I leave the rude camp and the forest behind; And Beechenbrook, wrapped in its raiment of white, Is tauntingly filling my vision to-night.

I catch my sweet little ones' innocent mirth, I watch your dear face, as you sit at the hearth; And I know, by the tender expression I see, I know that my darling is musing of me.

Does her thought dim the blaze?--Does it shed through the room A chilly, unseen, and yet palpable gloom?

Ah! then we are equal! _You_ share all my pain, And _I_ halve your blessedness with you again!

"Don't think that my hardships are bitter to bear; Don't think I repine at the soldier's rough fare; If ever a thought so unworthy steals on, I look upon Ashby,--and lo! it is gone!

Such chivalry, fort.i.tude, spirit and tone, Make brighter, and stronger, and prouder, my own.

Oh! Beverly, boy!--on his white steed, I ween, A princelier presence has never been seen; And as yonder he lies, from the groups all apart, I bow to him loyally,--bow with my heart.

"What brave, buoyant letters you write, sweet!--they ring Through my soul like the blast of a trumpet, and bring Such a flame to my eye, such a flush to my cheek,-- That often my hand will unconsciously seek The hilt of my sword as I read,--and I feel As the warrior does, when he flashes the steel In fiery circles, and shouts in his might, For the heroes behind him, to follow its light!

True wife of a soldier!--If doubt or dismay Had ever, within me, one instant held sway, Your words wield a spell that would bid them be gone, Like bodiless ghosts at the touch of the dawn.

"Could the veriest craven that cowers and quails Before the vast horde that insults and a.s.sails Our land and our liberties,--could he to-night, Sit here on the ice-girdled log where I write, And look on the hopeful, bright brows of the men, Who have toiled all the day over mountain, through glen,-- Half-clothed and unfed,--would he doubt?--would he dare, In the face of such proof, yield again to despair?

"The hum of their voices comes laden with cheer, As the wind wafts a musical swell to my ear,-- Wild, clarion catches,--now flute-like and low; --Would you like me to give you their Song of the Snow?

Halt!--the march is over!

Day is almost done; Loose the c.u.mbrous knapsack, Drop the heavy gun: Chilled and wet and weary, Wander to and fro, Seeking wood to kindle Fires amidst the snow.

Round the bright blaze gather, Heed not sleet nor cold,-- Ye are Spartan soldiers, Stout and brave and bold: Never Xerxian army Yet subdued a foe, Who but asked a blanket On a bed of snow.

Shivering midst the darkness Christian men are found, There devoutly kneeling On the frozen ground,--

Pleading for their country, In its hour of woe,-- For its soldiers marching Shoeless through the snow.

Lost in heavy slumbers, Free from toil and strife; Dreaming of their dear ones,-- Home, and child, and wife; Tentless they are lying, While the fires burn low,-- Lying in their blankets, Midst December's snow!

Come, Sophy, my blossom! I've something to say Will chase for a moment your gambols away: To-day as we climbed the steep mountain-path o'er, I noticed a bare-footed lad in my corps; "How comes it,"--I asked,--"you look careful and bold, How comes it you're marching, unshod, through the cold?"

"Ah, sir! I'm a poor, lonely orphan, you see; No mother, no friends that are caring for me; If I'm wounded, or captured, or killed, in the war, 'Twill matter to n.o.body, Colonel Dunbar."

Now, Sophy!--your needles, dear!--Knit him some socks, And send the poor fellow a pair in my box; Then he'll know,--and his heart with the thought will be filled,-- There is _one_ little maiden will care if he's killed.

The fire burns dimly, and scattered around, The men lie asleep on the snow-covered ground; But ere in my blanket I wrap me to rest, I hold you, my darling, close,--close, to my breast: G.o.d love you! G.o.d grant you His comforting light!

I kiss you a thousand times over!--Good night!

V.

"To-morrow is Christmas!"--and clapping his hands, Little Archie in joyful expectancy stands, And watches the shadows, now short and now tall, That momently dance up and down on the wall.

Drawn curtains of crimson shut out the cold night, And the parlor is pleasant with odours and light; The soft lamp suspended, its mellowness throws O'er cl.u.s.ter'd geranium, jasmine and rose; The sleeping canary hangs caged midst the blooms, A Sybarite slumberer steeped in perfumes; For Alice still clings to her birds and her flowers, Sweet tokens of kindlier, happier hours.

"To-morrow is Christmas!--but Beverly,--say, Will it do to be glad when Papa is away?"

And the face that is tricksy and blythe as can be, Tries vainly to temper its shadowless glee.

"For _you_, pet, I'm sure it is right to be glad; 'Tis a pitiful thing to see little ones sad; But for Sophy and me, who are older, you know,-- We dare not be glad when we look at the snow!

I shrink from this comfort, this light and this heat, This plenty to wear, and this plenty to eat, When the soldiers who fight for us,--die for us,--lie, With nothing around and above, but the sky; When their clothes are so light, and the rations they deal, Are only a morsel of bacon and meal: And how can I fold my thick blankets around, When I know that my father's asleep on the ground?

I'm ashamed to be happy, or merry, or free, As if war and its trials were nothing to me: Oh! I never can know any frolic or fun,-- Any real, mad romps,--till the battles are done!"

And the face of the boy, so heroic and fair, Is touched with the singular shadow of care.

Sophy ceases her warbling, subdues her soft mirth, And draws her low ottoman up to the hearth:

"But, brother, what good would it do to refuse The comforts and blessings G.o.d gives us, or use Them quite with indifference, as much as to say, We care not how soon they are taken away!

I am sure I would give my last blanket, and spread My pretty, blue cloak, at night, over my bed,-- (Mamma, you know, covers herself with her shawl, Since we've sent all our blankets,)--but, then, it's too small!

Would Papa be less hungry or cold, do you think, If _we_ had too little to eat or to drink?

So I mean to be busy,--I mean to be glad; Mamma says there's time enough yet to be sad; I'll work for the soldiers,--I'll pray, and I'll plan, And just be as happy as ever I can; I've made the grey shirt, and I've finished the socks:-- So come, let us help,--they are packing the box."

How grateful the task is to Alice! her cares Are quite put aside, and her countenance wears A look of enjoyment as eager, as bright, As Santa Claus brings little dreamers to-night; For Dougla.s.s away in his camp, is to share The daintiest cates that her larder can spare.

The turkey, well seasoned, and tenderly browned, Is flanked by the spiciest _a la mode_ "round;"

The great "priestly ham," in its juiciest pride, Is there,--with the tenderest surloin beside; Neat bottles, suggestive of ketchups and wines, And condiments racy, of various kinds; And firm rolls of b.u.t.ter as yellow as gold, And patties and biscuit most rare to behold, And sauces that richest of odors betray,-- Are marshalled in most appetizing array.

Then Beverly brings of his nuts a full store, And Archie has apples, a dozen or more; While Sophy, with gratified housewifery, makes Her present of spicy "Confederate cakes."

And then in a snug little corner, there lies A pacquet will brighten the orphan boy's eyes; For Beverly claims it a pleasure to use His last cherish'd h.o.a.rdings in buying him shoes.

Sophy's socks too are there; and she catches afar-- "There's _somebody_ cares for me, Colonel Dunbar!"

What subtlest of essences, sovereign to cheer-- What countless, uncatalogu'd tokens are here!

What lavender'd memories, tenderly green, Lie hidden, these grosser of viands between!

What food for the heart-life,--unreckon'd, untold-- What manna enclosed in its chalice of gold!

What caskets of sweets that Love only unlocks,-- What mysteries Dougla.s.s will find in the box!

VI.

The lull of the Winter is over; and Spring Comes back, as delicious and buoyant a thing, As airy, and fairy, and lightsome, and bland, As if not a sorrow was dark'ning the land;-- So little has Nature of pa.s.sion or part In the woes and the throes of humanity's heart.

The wild tide of battle runs red,--dashes high, And blots out the splendour of earth and of sky; The blue air is heavy, and sulph'rous, and dun, And the breeze on its wings bears the boom of the gun.

In faster and fiercer and deadlier shocks, The thunderous billows are hurled on the rocks; And our Valley becomes, amid Spring's softest breath, The valley, alas! of the shadow of death.

The crash of the onset,--the plunge and the roll, Reach down to the depth of each patriot's soul; It quivers--for since it is human, it must; But never a tremor of doubt or distrust, Once blanches the cheek, or is wrung from the mouth, Or lurks in the eye of the sons of the South.

What need for dismay? Let the live surges roar, And leap in their fury, our fastnesses o'er, And threaten our beautiful Valley to fill With rapine and ruin more terrible still: What fear we?--See Jackson! his sword in his hand, Like the stern rocks around him, immovable stand,-- The wisdom, the skill and the strength that he boasts, Sought ever from him who is Leader of Hosts: --He speaks in the name of his G.o.d:--lo! the tide,-- The red sea of battle, is seen to divide; The pathway of victory cleaves the dark flood;-- And the foe is o'erwhelmed in a deluge of blood!

The spirit of Alice no longer is bowed By the troubles, and tumults, and terrors, that crowd So closely around her:--the willow's lithe form Bends meekly to meet the wild rush of the storm.

Yet pale as Ca.s.sandra, unconscious of joy, With visions of Greeks at the gates of her Troy, All day she has waited and watched on the lawn, Till the purple and gold of the sunset are gone; For the battle draws near her:--few leagues intervene Her home and that Valley of slaughter, between.

The tidings and rumors come thick and come fast, As riders fly hotly and breathlessly past; They tell of the onslaught,--the headlong attack Of the foe with a quadruple force at his back: They boast how they hurl themselves,--shiver and fall Before their stout rampart, the valiant "Stonewall."

At length, with the gradual fading of day,-- The tokens of battle are floated away: The booming no longer makes sullen the air, And the silence of night seems as holy as prayer.

Gray shadows still linger the beeches among, And scarce has the earliest matin been sung, Ere Alice with Beverly pale at her side, Yet firm as his mother, is ready to ride.

With sympathy, womanly, tender, divine,-- With lint and with bandage, with bread and with wine,-- She hastes to the battle-field, eager to bear Relief to the wounded and perishing there: To breathe, like an angel of mercy, the breath Of peace over brows that are fainting in death.

Beechenbrook Part 1

If you are looking for Beechenbrook Part 1 you are coming to the right place. Beechenbrook is a Webnovel created by Margaret Junkin Preston. This lightnovel is currently completed.

Beechenbrook.

by Margaret J. Preston.

I.

There is sorrow in Beechenbrook Cottage; the day Has been bright with the earliest glory of May; The blue of the sky is as tender a blue As ever the sunshine came shimmering through: The songs of the birds and the hum of the bees, As they merrily dart in and out of the trees,-- The blooms of the orchard, as sifting its snows, It mingles its odors with hawthorn and rose,-- The voice of the brook, as it lapses unseen,-- The laughter of children at play on the green,-- Insist on a picture so cheerful, so fair, Who ever would dream that a grief could be there!

The last yellow sunbeam slides down from the wall, The purple of evening is ready to fall; The gladness of daylight is gone, and the gloom Of something like sadness is over the room.

Right bravely all day, with a smile on her brow, Has Alice been true to her duty,--but now Her tasks are all ended,--naught inside or out, For the thoughtfullest love to be busy about; The knapsack well furnished, the canteen all bright, The soldier's grey dress and his gauntlets in sight, The blanket tight strapped, and the haversack stored, And lying beside them, the cap and the sword; No last, little office,--no further commands,-- No service to steady the tremulous hands; All wife-work,--the sweet work that busied her so, Is finished:--the dear one is ready to go.

Not a sob has escaped her all day,--not a moan; But now the tide rushes,--for she is alone.

On the fresh, shining knapsack she pillows her head, And weeps as a mourner might weep for the dead.

She heeds not the three-year old baby at play, As donning the cap, on the carpet he lay; Till she feels on her forehead, his fingers' soft tips, And on her shut eyelids, the touch of his lips.

"Mamma is _so_ sorry!--Mamma is _so_ sad!

But Archie can make her look up and be glad: I've been praying to G.o.d, as you told me to do, That Papa may come back when the battle is thro':-- He says when we pray, that our prayers shall be heard; And Mamma, don't you _always_ know, G.o.d keeps his word?"

Around the young comforter stealthily press The arms of his father with sudden caress; Then fast to his heart,--love and duty at strife,-- He s.n.a.t.c.hes with fondest emotion, his wife.

"My own love! my precious!--I feel I am strong; I know I am brave in opposing the wrong; I could stand where the battle was fiercest, nor feel One quiver of nerve at the flash of the steel; I could gaze on the enemy guiltless of fears, But I quail at the sight of your pa.s.sionate tears: My calmness forsakes me,--my thoughts are a-whirl, And the stout-hearted man is as weak as a girl.

I've been proud of your fort.i.tude; never a trace Of yielding, all day, could I read in your face; But a look that was resolute, dauntless and high, As ever flashed forth from a patriot's eye.

I know how you cling to me,--know that to part Is tearing the tenderest cords of your heart: Through the length and the breadth of our Valley to-day, No hand will a costlier sacrifice lay On the altar of Country; and Alice,--sweet wife!

I never have worshipped you so in my life!

Poor heart,--that has held up so brave in the past,-- Poor heart! must it break with its burden at last?"

The arms thrown about him, but tighten their hold, The cheek that he kisses, is ashy and cold, And bowed with the grief she so long has suppressed, She weeps herself quiet and calm on his breast.

At length, in a voice just as steady and clear As if it had never been choked by a tear, She raises her eyes with a softened control, And through them her husband looks into her soul.

"I feel that we each for the other could die; Your heart to my own makes the instant reply: But dear as you are, Love,--my life and my light,-- I would not consent to your stay, if I might: No!--arm for the conflict, and on, with the rest; Virginia has need of her bravest and best!

My heart--it must bleed, and my cheek will be wet, Yet never, believe me, with selfish regret: My ardor abates not one jot of its glow, Though the tears of the wife and the woman _will_ flow.

"Our cause is so holy, so just, and so true,-- Thank G.o.d! I can give a defender like you!

For home, and for children,--for freedoms--for bread,-- For the house of our G.o.d,--for the graves of our dead,-- For leave to exist on the soil of our birth,-- For everything manhood holds dearest on earth: When _these_ are the things that we fight for--dare I Hold back my best treasure, with plaint or with sigh?

My cheek would blush crimson,--my spirit be galled, If _he_ were not there when the muster was called!

When we pleaded for peace, every right was denied; Every pressing pet.i.tion turned proudly aside; Now G.o.d judge betwixt us!--G.o.d prosper the right!

To brave men there's nothing remains, but to fight: I grudge you not, Dougla.s.s,--die, rather than yield,-- And like the old heroes,--come home on your shield!"

The morning is breaking:--the flush of the dawn Is warning the soldier, 'tis time to be gone; The children around him expectantly wait,-- His horse, all caparisoned, paws at the gate: With face strangely pallid,--no sobbings,--no sighs,-- But only a luminous mist in her eyes, His wife is subduing the heart-throbs that swell, And calming herself for a quiet farewell.

There falls a felt silence:--the note of a bird, A tremulous twitter,--is all that is heard; The circle has knelt by the holly-bush there,-- And listen,--there comes the low breathing of prayer.

"Father! fold thine arms of pity Round us as we lowly bow; Never have we kneeled before Thee With such burden'd hearts as now!

Joy has been our constant portion, And if ill must now befall, With a filial acquiescence, We would thank thee for it all.

In the path of present duty, With Thy hand to lean upon, Questioning not the hidden future, May we walk serenely on.

For this holy, happy home-love, Purest bliss that crowns my life,-- For these tender, trusting children,-- For this fondest, faithful wife,--

Here I pour my full thanksgiving; And, when heart is torn from heart, Be our sweetest tryst-word, '_Mizpah_,'-- Watch betwixt us while we part!

And if never round this altar, We should kneel as heretofore,-- If these arms in benediction Fold my precious ones no more,--

Thou, who in her direst anguish, Sooth'dst thy mother's lonely lot, In thy still unchanged compa.s.sion, Son of Man! forsake them not!"

The little ones each he has caught to his breast, And clasped them, and kissed them with fervent caress; Then wordless and tearless, with hearts running o'er, _They_ part who have never been parted before: He springs to his saddle,--the rein is drawn tight,-- And Beechenbrook Cottage is lost to his sight.

II.

The feathery foliage has broadened its leaves, And June, with its beautiful mornings and eves, Its magical atmosphere, breezes and blooms, Its woods all delicious with thousand perfumes,-- First-born of the Summer,--spoiled pet of the year,-- June, delicate queen of the seasons, is here!

The sadness has pa.s.sed from the dwelling away, And quiet serenity brightens the day: With innocent prattle, her toils to beguile, In the midst of her children, the mother _must_ smile.

With matronly cares,--those relentless demands On the strength of her heart and the skill of her hands,-- The hours come tenderly, ceaselessly fraught, And leave her small s.p.a.ce for the broodings of thought.

Thank G.o.d!--busy fingers a solace can find, To lighten the burden of body or mind; And Eden's old curse proves a blessing instead,-- "In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou toil for thy bread."

For the bless'd relief in all labours that lurk, Aye, thank Him, unhappy ones,--thank Him for work!

Thus Alice engages her thoughts and her powers, And industry kindly lends wings to the hours: Poor, petty employments they sometimes appear, And on her bright needle there plashes a tear,-- Half shame and half pa.s.sion;--what would she not dare Her fervid compatriots' struggles to share?

It irks her,--the weakness of womanhood then,-- Yet such are the tears that make heroes of men!

She feels the hot blood of the nation beat high; With rapture she catches the rallying cry: From mountain and valley and hamlet they come!

On every side echoes the roll of the drum.

A people as firm, as united, as bold, As ever drew blade for the blessings they hold, Step sternly and solemnly forth in their might, And swear on their altars to die for the right!

The clangor of muskets,--the flashing of steel,-- The clatter of spurs on the stout-booted heel,-- The waving of banners,--the resonant tramp Of marching battalions,--the fiery stamp Of steeds in their war-harness, newly decked out,-- The blast of the bugle,--the hurry, the shout,-- The terrible energy, eager and wild, That lights up the face of man, woman and child,-- That burns on all lips, that arouses all powers; Did ever we dream that such times would be ours?

One thought is absorbing, with giant control,-- With deadliest earnest, the national soul:-- "The right of self-government, crown of our pride,-- Right, bought with the sacredest blood,--is denied!

Shall we tamely resign what our enemy craves?

No! martyrs we _may_ be!--we _cannot_ be slaves!"

Fair women who naught but indulgence have seen, Who never have learned what denial could mean,--

Who deign not to clipper their own dainty feet, Whose wants swarthy handmaids stand ready to meet, Whose fingers decline the light kerchief to hem,-- What aid in this struggle is hoped for from them?

Yet see! how they haste from their bowers of ease, Their dormant capacities fired,--to seize Every feminine weapon their skill can command,-- To labor with head, and with heart, and with hand.

They st.i.tch the rough jacket, they shape the coa.r.s.e shirt, Unheeding though delicate fingers be hurt; They bind the strong haversack, knit the grey glove, Nor falter nor pause in their service of love.

When ever were people subdued, overthrown, With women to cheer them on, brave as our own?

With maidens and mothers at work on their knees, When ever were soldiers as fearless as these?

June's flower-wreathed sceptre is dropped with a sigh, And forth like an empress steps stately July: She sits all unveiled, amidst sunshine and balms, As Zen.o.bia sat in her City of Palms!

Not yet has the martial horizon grown dun, Not yet has the terrible conflict begun: But the tumult of legions,--the rush and the roar, Break over our borders, like waves on the sh.o.r.e.

Along the Potomac, the confident foe Stands marshalled for onset,--prepared, at a blow, To vanquish the daring rebellion, and fling Utter ruin at once on the arrogant thing!

How sovran the silence that broods o'er the sky, And ushers the twenty-first morn of July; --Date, written in fire on history's scroll,-- --Date, drawn in deep blood-lines on many a soul!

The Third Pig Detective Agency Part 8

If you are looking for The Third Pig Detective Agency Part 8 you are coming to the right place. The Third Pig Detective Agency is a Webnovel created by Bob Burke. This lightnovel is currently completed.

'Of course,' he continued, 'that won't stop you from being harmed by anyone else.'

The smile disappeared as fast as it had arrived. Typical, I thoughtthere's always a downside. Mind you, at least I was safe from the two people currently most likely to do me harmboth of whom, along with their respective entourages, were backing away quietly from me so as not to incur any further pain or humiliation.

I couldn't resist it; I ran quickly towards them. It was one of the finest moments of my life. Imagine, if you will, one very fat oriental gentleman, a goat, two large gorillas in tuxedos, a disorganised swarm of Orcs, and Edna (who had trouble walking let alone moving any faster) all desperately clambering backwards over each other in a frantic effort to get as far away from me as they could. The resulting scrum made me laugh out loud for the first time in quite awhile.

I think it was at that point I realised that the case was more or less over. All I needed to do was tie up a few loose ends and explain to Jack what had happened.

13.

Exposition, Basili.

'But how did you know it was the genie?' Jack asked.

The three of usJack, the genie and Iwere in my office, sitting around my desk drinking coffee. Much as I'd like to take all the credit for solving the casebeing a famous detective and allif Jack hadn't turned up at Edna's wielding the leg from a suit of armour, chances are I'd have ended up a permanent face-down resident in the sewers I'd come to love so much. The least he deserved was an explanation.

The genie, on the other hand, was just hanging around. Now that he was homeless, seeing as he couldn't fit into his lamp any more, he had latched on to meand it was placing me in a very difficult position.

In my job, I needed to be discreet, and discretion was going to be very difficult when you were being shadowed by a large dark-skinned ex-genie whose idea of sartorial elegance was a bright yellow turban, a yellow and red patterned waistcoat that seemed twenty sizes too small and a pair of baggy yellow silk trousers that ended just above the ankles and looked like someone had inflated a large hot-air balloon in each leg. On his feet a pair of yellow slippers that curled up at the front just added the final lurid touch.

Oh, and he farted a lotan awful lot.

But I digress. Elbows on my desk, I rested my head on my trotters, made sure I had everyone's attention and began.

'It was the lamp. I'd stared at it for most of the night trying to figure out why it seemed so familiar. Then, just as I was on the point of giving up, I went to bed and it struck me.'

'The bed struck you?' said Jack. 'How?'

'No, not the bed,' I replied wearily. 'An idea. I suddenly realised where I'd seen it before and why it had taken so long to work it out. I'd seen it from the inside.'

'Huh?' The look on Jack's face said it all.

'It was when I was in that white room. The curved walls were the same shape as the body of the lamp. I'd been pulled into it by our friend Basili here,' I said, nodding at the genie. 'Of course, I didn't know it at the time; I just thought I'd been taken prisoner by an insane interior decorator.

'Once I figured that the genie was looking for his own lamp, it all began to fall into place.'

I could see the confusion on Jack's face and held up a warning trotter before he could ask another 'why' or 'how' question.

'When I rubbed the lamp, nothing happened,' I continued. 'My first reaction was that it was all a hoax and the lamp was exactly that: a lamp; with no magic, no three wishes and no genie. No offence.' I looked across the table at the genie.

'None taken,' he replied calmly.

'Then I figured that if the last owner hadn't used up all his wishes yet, then rubbing the lamp would probably have no effect. However, once the three wishes had been granted then the lamp was up for grabs again, making it a very valuable antique indeed.'

The genie nodded his agreement.

'This would explain why Aladdin had kept the lamp so securely under lock and key. As long as he had it, he still had a last wish, but it was useless to anyone else unless they could get him to use up that last wish.

'Now, if you were the genie that provided this somewhat unique service, I imagine that it would get quite tedious, if not downright frustrating, being stuck in a lamp with no way of getting out, just sitting there waiting for that last rub to happen.'

I turned to Basili. 'How long were you waiting after Aladdin's second wish?'

The genie heaved a deep sigh. 'Forty years.'

'Wow!' exclaimed Jack. 'You were stuck in there for forty years? What did you do to pa.s.s the time?'

'Initially, I read, watched TV and ate a lot,' said Basili. From his size, it didn't need a detective to work that out. 'Then with the arrival of the computer age and the information superhighway, I learned everything about PCs and used them to interface with the outside world, looking for an opportunity to set myself free.'

'Which is how he met Benny,' I said.

'Poor Benny,' said Basili with a sympathetic shake of the head and a loud fart. 'I'm sorry about that but he was my only option.'

'Don't worry, he's probably already forgotten about it. Gnomes have a very short attention span.' I looked at the genie. 'What I want to know is how you managed to find out so much about security systems?'

Basili's grin was so wide his head looked like it was split in two. In fact, I don't believe he'd actually stopped smiling since he'd been freed. 'Hacking.'

'Hacking?' I repeated stupidly.

'Yes, hacking. With twenty years of computer experience, I was at the cutting edge of cyber crime from the word go. There isn't a system out there I can't crack. Aladdin's just needed a bit of time. Once I had access, it was easy to figure out where the weaknesses were. I just wish I'd picked someone brighter to actually steal the lamp.' There was another loud rumble from his side of the desk, which I hoped was his stomach telling him it was hungry. A few moments later that hope was cruelly dashed and I walked over to the window to let some fresher air in. Basili gave me another apologetic look.

I figured it was about time I took back control of the conversation and make myself the centre of attention once more. I walked back to the desk and looked at the other two.

'Once I figured that the genie was the one who was calling the shots, or at least one of the three calling the shots, I thought that if I could strike a deal with him I might get the other two off my backa.s.suming he was willing to play ball.'

'And I was,' grinned Basili. Paarp! Phut-phut-phut-phut! 'All I wanted was someone to help me gain my freedom and Mr Harry here was most anxious to help me, as well as himself.'

I nodded furiously. 'Using the same email address Benny had used, I told him that I knew who he was and proved it by cryptically suggesting that the person who controlled the third wish effectively controlled the genie. If the message was understood then all he had to do was follow my lead at Wilde Park when I was hopefully going to make him appear.' I smiled at the memory of the look on Aladdin's face when he realised he'd been duped. 'Fortunately for us all, everything went more or less according to plan. Basili was set free and I got Aladdin and Edna off my back. Unfortunately, as I was no longer flavour of the month with Aladdin, he declined to pay me for my services.'

As usual things hadn't panned out yet again for the proprietor of the Third Pig Detective Agency. Then again, I was getting used to it. This time, however, I had also picked up a straya very large, yellow stray that, partly thanks to me, no longer had a home.

To my surprise (and embarra.s.sment) Basili stood up, walked around the desk to me and gave me a big hug. It was the kind of hug that large bears used to crush their prey but he managed to break off before any major organs were ruptured. Struggling for breath, I dropped back into my chair.

'It is not so big a problem, Mr Harry.' His smile was even broader. I suspected that both ends met at the back of his head. 'While I waited in my lamp for all those years, I also used my computer to play the market. I have been very successful and have built up a most valuable and highly diverse portfolio. Perhaps I can recompense you somewhat for your efforts in this matter.'

If this had been a cartoon, my jaw would have bounced off the ground in surprise. I struggled to get words out. 'You mean, you're rich?' I gasped.

'But of course,' Basili replied. 'How else would I have been able to help Benny with his most audacious plans for the theme park? I insist that you be paid for the most successful resolution of this case.' He thought for a moment. 'Hey, maybe I can become your backerlike Charlie in Charlie's Angels.'

I was about to point out that I looked nothing like any of Charlie's Angels when I became aware of a commotion from reception. Two voices were raised in argument. One was clearly Gloria's but the other was unfamiliar and very loud, very female and very commanding. For one awful minute I thought Edna or one of her sisters had come to 'pay me a visit', but the voice sounded a little more cultured than those of the Wicked Witch sisters so I relaxed a littlebut not too much.

'But you don't have an appointment,' I could hear Gloria say.

'Nevertheless, I must see him,' said the other voice, in a tone that suggested she wasn't used to being obstructed. She didn't realise that she was being obstructed by the best. If she managed to get past Gloria, she deserved an appointment.

'No appointment, no meeting,' said Gloria emphatically. 'Mr Pigg is a very busy detective and can't afford to have his time wasted. If you care to make an appointment, I can organise a suitable time.'

'No way, lady,' came the reply. 'I know he's in that office and I am going in to see him now. Please do not get in my way.'

Now I was starting to get scared. What kind of monster was in my reception area and why did she want to see me? More to the point, did I really want to see her?

I could see that Jack and Basili were giving me anxious looks as well. We all started to back away from the door slowly and quietly. In hindsight there wasn't really any point. The only thing behind us was the window; we were on the third floor and there was no fire escape.

Note to self: speak to new landlord about fire safety regulations.

Through the frosted gla.s.s I could see a large red shape move towards the door.

'Do not go in there,' shouted Gloria.

'Try and stop me, lady.' There was a sound of scuffling and then the door burst open, banging off the wall with a loud crash.

A very large lady dressed in black boots, bright red trousers and a hooded red jacket stood there. Gloria was clinging on to one of her legs. She had clearly been dragged across the room in her efforts to keep this person out.

'Sorry, Harry,' she gasped. 'She got by me when I wasn't looking.'

'It's OK, Gloria,' I said and walked over to her to help her up. 'Let's see what this lady wants that's so urgent.'

I looked at the new arrival. Her face was as red as the clothing she was wearingpresumably from her altercation with Gloria. White fur lined the cuffs of her jacket and rimmed her hood. For some reason her appearance suggested Christmas.

I indicated one of the seats recently vacated by my colleagues.

'Ma'am,' I said, turning on the charm, 'if you'd care to sit down.'

As she sat I turned to the others. 'If I could perhaps speak to this fine lady alone,' I suggested. Gloria nodded and, grabbing the other two by the arm, dragged them both out of the office before they could protest.

I nodded towards the door as they left. 'My partners. They may not look like much but they've got it where it counts.'

As I spoke, I realised that they had indeed become partners, either by virtue of the help one had given or the financial backing the other was offering. Looked like the Third Pig Detective Agency was expanding.

I turned to my newest prospective client.

'Now then,' I said. 'How may the Third Pig Detective Agency be of help, Miss, Mrs, Ms...?'

'Claus. It's Mrs Claus and I need you to find my husband. He's been kidnapped and it's only two days to 25th December. If he's not found soon we may have to cancel Christmas.'

The End.

The Third Pig Detective Agency will return.

in The Ho Ho Ho Mystery.

Acknowledgements.

This book's formative years were spent on the web so huge thanks go to all at Writelink for the initial encouragement and those at YouWriteOnespecially Edward Smith and Michael Legatwhose critiques (good, bad and otherwisebut always constructive) helped shape the opening chapters into something approaching legibility.

I owe a lot to the good people at the Friday Project: especially Scott, whose unflagging belief in Harry's adventures and championing of the cause kept the book alive when things didn't look so good.

Thanks to Dooradoyle and Adare Libraries for providing a quiet corner to write in and to Carol Anderson for a wonderful copy-edit.

I also owe a debt of grat.i.tude to my parents who instilled a love of reading in me at a very young age. This is all your fault!

Above all, huge thanks go to my wife Gemma and my three boys, Ian, Adam and Stephen, whose support, belief, encouragement and the occasional 'get back in there and write another chapter now' made all this worthwhile.

No, Ian, we won't be getting a Gulfstream jet with the proceeds. Yes, Adam, the book will be in the shops. No, Stephen, you can't have your teayou only had your dinner an hour ago.

Harry would like to thank the Big Bad Wolf, for giving him that first big break; Little Red Riding Hood, for not appearing in this book and making a show of herself; Jack Horner, for the pizza (you know what I'm talking about!) and his legions of fanshe knows you're out there somewhere, you just haven't made yourself known to him yet.

end.

The Third Pig Detective Agency Part 7

If you are looking for The Third Pig Detective Agency Part 7 you are coming to the right place. The Third Pig Detective Agency is a Webnovel created by Bob Burke. This lightnovel is currently completed.

On the street below, three Orcs that had obviously been asked to guard the hotel entrance looked up vacantly as I fell towards them. Taken completely by surprise, they didn't have time to get out of the way as a large glowing 'TY INN' and a purple-hued pig landed on them. For once I got lucky as I dropped on the largest and fattest of the Orcs and was exceedingly grateful for the soft landing. Unfortunately I didn't have the time to express my grat.i.tude properly, seeing as the rest of his buddies were about to come charging out of the hotel in hot pursuit of my blood. In any event the poor guy was unconscious and I didn't have the luxury of enough time to even write a thank-you note; not that I would have anywayI wasn't that grateful!

Checking to ensure I still had the lamp, I slowly got to my feet and racedwell, staggered actuallydown the street. Seconds later, what was left of the Orc posse charged from the hotel and, spotting me limping towards the next intersection, howled in triumph as they ran after me.

I now had two objectives: evade my pursuers any way I possibly could and, a.s.suming I was successful and didn't end up skewered by a large and rusty spear, get to an Internet cafe so I could send the most important email of my life.

I made the intersection and ran up the next street looking for somethinganythingthat might get the Orcs off my back. All I could see was the usual collection of seedy bars, dodgy clubs and occasional p.a.w.nshop that seemed to proliferate in the more disreputable parts of town. Despite my vain hope, there didn't appear to be any obvious cavalry-corning-over-the-hill-type rescue operation waiting for me. I had to admit it was looking grim. I could hear the grunts and shouts of the Orcs as they gained on me. Surely it was only a matter of seconds before I became a pork kebab.

Then I spotted it: a possible way out of my current predicament. Limping across the street, I staggered through the doors of the Tingling Finger Bar and Grill, hoping that the name reflected the nature of its clientele. I almost fell to my knees in relief (and pain and exhaustion) as every elf in the bar stopped what he was doing and stared at me in surprise.

Hanging on to the door for support with one arm, I indicated back over my shoulder with the other.

'Orcs,' I gasped. 'Following...me, trying...to...kill...'

I couldn't get any more out and clutched the door, trying to catch my breath.

Despite my semi-coherent gasping, they got the thrust of my message quickly enough. Then again, all they really needed to hear was 'Orc', as it tended to provoke an almost Pavlovian response when uttered in the presence of an elf. All the rest of the message was just supplemental information.

As any reader of fantasy fiction will tell you, Orcs and elves are sworn enemies. All it takes is for one to unexpectedly b.u.mp into the other at, say, a movie premiere for a small-scale war to break out. As a rule, hostilities usually only cease when one of the two opposing sides has been rendered totally unconsciousor worse.

It was no surprise, therefore, when my arrival resulted in the entire bar suddenly changing from a bunch of happy-go-lucky elves (if elves could ever be described as happy-go-lucky) trying unsuccessfully to get drunk to an efficient and very hostile fighting machine waiting for their enemy to burst through the door.

They didn't have long to wait, as the leading Orc pushed his way in, to be met by the heavily moisturised fist of the lead elf, the impact of which drove him back out again and into the arms of his colleagues.

'Orcs in the pub; blood will be spilled this night,' shouted one of the elves as he followed his leader outside to give both moral and physical support. Within seconds the bar was empty, apart from the barman and me. Like barmen the world over, he nodded at me and continued to clean gla.s.ses with a pristine white cloth as if nothing untoward had actually happened. Maybe his customers poured out of the bar every night in search of a row but I doubted it; elves usually preferred a quiet drink as opposed to a full-blooded brawlexcept, that is, where Orcs were involved.

Still hurting, I staggered to the bar and looked up at the barman.

'Back...door?' I asked him.

He indicated a door at the back of the room with a brief twist of his head.

'Nearest...Internet...cafe?' Barmen usually knew everything about the locality; I just hoped this chap was one of them.

'Out the door; turn right; two blocks down. It's called the Cyber Punk. You can't miss it.'

I thanked him and struggled onwards out of the bar and down the street. The Cyber Punk was exactly where he described it. Looking around to confirm I was no longer being followed, I pushed the door open and made my way to the counter. A geeky goblin (the actual Cyber Punk presumably) sat behind it, glancing through a magazine. I waved a twenty under his nose to get his attention. He looked down at me over gla.s.ses that were so thick they could have been used as bullet-proof windows.

'I need to access the web,' I said to him and waved the twenty from side to side. His head moved back and forth tracking every movement, his eyes never leaving the money.

'Pick any one you want,' he said slowly reaching for the bill.

Picking a terminal at the back of the room, where I was less likely to be seen from the street, I accessed one of my many email accounts. I began to carefully compose the most important email I was probably ever going to send. After typing furiously for a few minutes, I reviewed what I had written. I hoped it was enough to get the attention of the recipient without giving too much away to anyone else that might intercept it.

Dear Criminal Mastermind, I know who you are and why you stole the lamp. I understand your need for complete secrecy, although transporting me to your hideout ultimately gave the game away (and employing Benny certainly didn't help your cause, either). To prove I know what's going on, I offer you this: he who controls the third option controls the power. It may be cryptic but I think you'll understand what I mean.

I think I can help you. Be prepared to be present at the original drop point early tomorrow morning and take your cue from me. If all goes to plan we may both find ourselves out of this sorry mess for once and for all.

Best regards, Harry Pigg After a moment's panic when I couldn't remember it, I typed in the address Benny had used previously (), hit the send b.u.t.ton and my email disappeared from the screen. All I needed to do now was to get the other two players in this dangerous game to meet me tomorrow, and hope I could pull off a very elaborate stunt.

If I was successful, then I would be free of any unpleasant entanglements forever. If not, then I was likely to be caught in a very unsavoury Aladdin and Edna sandwichwith me as the filling.

I borrowed a phone from the Cyber Punk and, with a certain degree of trepidation, I made two very nervous calls. With nowhere else to go, I spent the rest of the night in the Cyber Punk, alternately surfing the web and playing World of War craft.

12.

A Gripping Finale.

Even early in the morning, Wilde Park was busy. The Three Blind Mice were begging as usual at the main gate. Fairy G.o.dmothers fussed around their charges, making sure they were well wrapped up against the morning chill as they played on the swings. An occasional elf jogger in pastel Lycra running gear panted along the pathways. Show-offsalways more concerned with looking good than actually keeping fit.

I had picked the most public area I could find for my dangerous rendezvous: a large open area with a small clump of trees to one side. Hidden in the trees was a very nervous Jack.

I had called him first thing and briefed him on the plan. He wasn't going to be in any danger but his role was critical. Precise timing was essential so I drilled him over and over on his instructions.

'You sure you know what to do?' I asked him as we walked towards the bushes.

'For goodness sake, Mr Pigg, we've gone over it twenty times. Just give me the lamp.' Grabbing it from my hands he forced his way into the bushes and crouched down.

'Just wait for my signal, OK?' I said to him as I walked away. 'And keep yourself hidden until then.'

He gave me a thumbs-up sign and disappeared from view. I walked to the middle of the park and looked back. Satisfied that he couldn't be detected, I stood where anyone entering could see me and waited.

I didn't have to wait long. There was a loud rumbling from above and a helicopter flew low over the trees. It circled the park twice and then landed close to me, the blast of wind from the rotors covering me in dust, potato chip packets and candy wrappers. This case had certainly found diverse and interesting ways of getting me dirty.

Peeling away a potato chip packet that had stuck to my forehead, I watched as Aladdin and my good friend Gruff alighted from the 'copter. The wind from the rotors didn't appear to affect Aladdin in the slightest. Nothing stuck to his suit, and his hair moved so little it must have been glued to his head. If nothing else, the man had style in spades.

'Mr Aladdin.' I stretched out my trotter. 'Glad you could make it at such short notice.' I didn't acknowledge Gruff and, strangely, he didn't offer to shake my trotter either.

Aladdin gave my trotter a perfunctory shake. 'Mr Pigg. I a.s.sume from your call that you have my lamp.'

'It's nearby and very safe,' I replied. 'Please be patient and you'll have it back shortly.'

From the look he gave me, patience clearly wasn't going to be top of Aladdin's order of business for the day. I hoped that Edna was going to arrive soon as I didn't know how long Aladdin's fuse was.

Fortunately, the Wicked Witch of the West Side was as anxious to recover the lamp as everyone else. A long line of stretch limos snaked from the main entrance of the park to where we waited. A small army (in both size and number) of henchOrcs disgorged from the cars and took up positions around us.

Two very large minders in black tuxedos and sungla.s.ses squeezed themselves out of a large black Merc and stood beside the rear door as Edna made her entrance. These bodyguards exuded menace and were the kind of muscle that would still look intimidating dressed in pink tutus. They stood at either side of Edna as she walked towards us, their faces (at least what I could see of them behind the shades) expressionless. When they got closer I could see they were actually gorillas (as in silverbacks and mutual grooming). Clearly Edna relied on minders that were a little bit more effective than Ogre Security (Not On Our Watch). Her gorillas were the genuine article.

Aladdin and Edna both eyed each other warily. Clearly both wanted to know what the other was doing here, but neither was going to be the first to ask. They had their pride. I let them posture and sweat for a bit longer just to show who was nominally in charge, but primarily because I was thinking of a thousand ways how my plan (which seemed so foolproof last night) might, in the light of day, actually blow up in my face now that all the key players were here.

Edna broke the silence first.

'Harry Pigg again,' she sneered. 'And smelling so much nicer than when we last met. Care to tell me what we're all doing here?'

'A very good question, Mr Pigg.' Aladdin looked at me steadily. 'More to the point, do you have my lamp?'

'Your lamp?' exclaimed Edna, turning her attention to Aladdin. 'No way, pal. It's my lamp.'

Aladdin took a step towards her and the two bouncers suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking his way. I was interested to see that Gruff was keeping himself a safe distance away from his master, which was quite understandable, considering the size of Edna's minders, but hardly a career-enhancing move. Unless he backed up his employer, it was quite possible his next job could be propping up a bridgefrom inside the concrete support. Mr Aladdin had certain expectations of his employees.

'Ma'am,' said Aladdin, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture, 'I a.s.sure you the lamp is mine. In fact, I employed Mr Pigg here,' and he waved an arm in my direction, 'to locate it for me.' He looked at me again. 'And you have found it, haven't you?' he said levelly. 'Because I really hope you didn't bring me to this accursed place at this unearthly hour of the day for any other reason.'

Despite my best effort I was now the centre of attention and that was the last place I wanted to be. Beads of sweat formed on my brow.

Edna took a few steps towards me. 'Well, Pigg, is this true? Is it his lamp?'

I coughed nervously and cleared my throat.

'OK folks,' I stammered. 'Let me explain. Now if you could all step back a small bit and give me some room, I'll begin.'

I didn't really need the room; I just wanted to be able to see where Jack was hiding.

Everyone shuffled back slowly, muttering and giving me foul looks. If this didn't work, chances were I'd become the b.o.o.by prize in a turf-war between Aladdin and Edna and I really didn't fancy my head being mounted over the fireplace of the winner.

'Ladies, gentlemen, foul-smelling Orcs, very muscular simian bodyguards and offensive goat,' I began. 'Let me tell you a little story.

'Once upon a time, a very rich man had a magic lamp that he treasured above all else. One night the lamp was stolen by person or persons unknown and, through a series of bizarre circ.u.mstances, ended up in the hands of another of our foremost citizens.' I nodded towards Edna, who just continued to scowl at me.

I know, I know; I was piling it on with a trowel but I had to keep both of them sweet for a little while longer.

'Now this lady,' I nodded at Edna, the word 'lady' sticking in my throat, 'a.s.sumed that the lamp was now her property, possession being nine-tenths of the law and all that.

'Unfortunately, the original owner of the lamp employed the town's foremost detective to track it down and return it.' For some reason there was much coughing, clearing of throats and disbelieving glances at this statementI can't imagine why.

'Through prodigious feats of deduction,' more coughing, 'he tracked down and recovered the missing lamp and can now return it to its rightful owner.'

I looked straight at where Jack was hiding and nodded my head. I caught a glimpse of him as he bent down and began to cover the lamp in mud. When the lamp was liberally smeared, he cautiously made his way towards me, holding it carefully in both hands.

'Tell me, Mr Aladdin,' I asked, 'what do you most wish for right now?'

As I waited for his reply, I took the lamp from Jack and handed it to him. He looked at it aghast.

'For goodness sake, Pigg. Could you not have cleaned it before you handed it back?'

Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed a handkerchief and began cleaning the lamp.

I was sweating profusely nowlike a pig, in fact. The success of my plan depended on the next few minutes.

'I'm sorry, Mr Aladdin, I just hadn't time. I wanted to get it back to you as soon as I could. But you haven't answered my question.'

He continued rubbing the lamp furiously, oblivious to the plume of white smoke that was beginning to pour from the nozzle.

'Oh yes, your question,' he said. 'What I really wish for most right now is to find out who stole my lamp and why.'

There was a loud crack and the white smoke solidified into a very large and very happy-looking genieall turban, silk trousers and a cone of smoke where his feet should have been.

'BEHOLD, I AM THE GENIE OF THE LAMP,' he bellowed. 'AND YOUR THIRD WISH SHALL BE GRANTED. IT WAS I WHO STOLE YOUR LAMP.'

Aladdin looked at him in horror and with dawning comprehension. He'd been had.

I turned quickly to Jack while everyone was looking in astonishment at the genie.

'Jack, now!' I roared.

Quickly, Jack ran to Aladdin and, before he could react, had grabbed the lamp and flung it at me. Catching it skilfully, I quickly rubbed it again.

The genie looked at me and his smile grew even broader.

'I AM THE GENIE OF THE LAMP. YOU HAVE THREE WISHES. WHAT IS YOUR BIDDING, MY MASTER?'

I took a deep breath and in a very loud voiceto ensure everyone could hearoutlined my first wish.

'I wish that if, as a result of this case, any harm should come to me or any of my a.s.sociates at the hands of either Aladdin or Edna, or anyone connected with them for that matter, both will suffer cruel and unusual punishmentsuch punishment at the genie's discretion.' Granted, it was a mouthful but I needed to cover all the bases.

The genie bowed deeply.

'YOUR WISH IS GRANTED.'

From the horrified look on their faces, I could see that both Edna and Aladdin clearly understood what had happened. I was safe from any retaliation by either of them and, in the context of what had happened in this case, that had understandably been my first priority. I was untouchableat least by themand was savouring the moment. But I wasn't finished yet.

'My second wish is that, after thousands of years of imprisonment at the hands of selfish masters, the genie is to set himself free.'

The genie bowed even more deeply and waved his arms theatricallyobviously playing to his audience.

'YOUR WISH IS GRANTED.'

As he said this, the smoke began to drift away on the wind and, from his knees down, the rest of his legs began to materialise. Slowly he descended to the ground and landed carefully, testing his balance. Satisfied that he could at least stand without falling over (if not actually walk) he smiled at me and nodded his grat.i.tude.

'I thank you, sir, from the bottom of my heart. For too long have I been in thrall to masters who have used me for their own devices with no thought for my wishes. Now I am free and shall be no man's slave from here on in.'

I didn't want to point out to him that now that he was free he'd have to get a job. I wondered what skills he did have but imagined that being an ex-genie wouldn't necessarily endear him to potential employers. I also noticed that he wasn't shouting in block capitals any morepresumably another advantage of being a free man, and one that wasn't quite as hard on the ears of anyone within a ten-mile radius.

As he spoke I noticed Edna nod to her gorillas. They surrept.i.tiously made their way towards me, trying (not very successfully it has to be said) to be un.o.btrusive. As they advanced I began to back away ever so slowly. As I did so, the genie shook his head and, with a slight wave of his hand, motioned for me to stop.

I gave him a 'you must be joking; have you seen who's coming after me' look but he nodded more emphatically. As he did so I noticed that as the heavies got to about ten feet from me, they suddenly shrank to the size of garden gnomes. I suddenly became very brave and raised my foot to stomp down on them. Squealing in fear they ran back towards Edna and, as they did so, they quickly grew back to their original height. My enthusiasm for squashing them evaporated, primarily because they were now more than capable of squashing me first.

I looked at the genie in confusion.

'It's very simple,' he said. 'Even though I'm free and no longer capable of magic, any spell I've already cast remains in force. If either of them,' he nodded at Edna and Aladdin, 'tries to harm you, or employs someone to do so, they will suffer most unpleasant consequences indeed.'

I smiled at my sudden invulnerability.

The Third Pig Detective Agency Part 6

If you are looking for The Third Pig Detective Agency Part 6 you are coming to the right place. The Third Pig Detective Agency is a Webnovel created by Bob Burke. This lightnovel is currently completed.

'How long do you think we should give him?' said the first voice again.

'I dunno,' replied the second. 'But I know I'm getting bored just waiting here. The fun is going out of it.'

'Let's not wait any more,' said the first voice again. 'Let's just do it now.'

'OK. On a count of three: one...two...three.'

Before I had a chance to make any kind of sense of the conversation, the door swung open and two pairs of hands reached out and grabbed me. Hauling me into the room, they threw me unceremoniously to the floor where I lay panting, aching, smelling and trying to get my bearings.

'Well, paint my backside green and call me a goblin,' said a loud and very familiar voice from right in front of me. 'If it isn't Harry Pigg, c.r.a.p detective and failed burglar. I don't think I've ever seen anyone take so long to pick a lock. What kept you?'

My eyes ran slowly up past two legs so fat they were doing GBH to a pair of green stretch trousers. They traversed a torso that suggested its owner enjoyed several square meals a day (quite possibly a few circular, triangular and oval ones as well) and up to a face that defined new levels of ugliness, even for a witch. Imagine Jabba the Hutt with bright red lipstick and a long off-blonde straggly wig and you may get some idea of just how repulsive Ednafor it was sheactually was.

She grinned at me, which was a particularly unpleasant experience as it showed off a mouth with teeth that varied in shades of yellow and green, and that gave off a breath so unpleasant that I almost smelled good in comparison.

'There I was, wondering exactly what was so special about that lamp I took from Benny when suddenly you appear, stinking to high heaven and apparently eager to take it back.' She looked me straight in the eyeor at least as straight as someone whose eyeb.a.l.l.s rotated in two different directions couldand leaned forward so our faces were almost touching. 'Looks like you're the man who can answer this most intriguing of questions. What a timely arrival, eh?'

She was about to slap me enthusiastically on the shoulder but quickly reconsidered when she saw what I was coated in.

She turned to the two henchOrcs who had dragged me into the room. They were small but very mean-looking.

'Tie him to a chair and hose him down,' she ordered. 'I'm not asking him questions until he smells better than he does now.'

She walked towards the door and, as she opened it, she appeared to have an afterthought.

'Oh and I'm going for a bath, boys,' she said with a malicious gleam in the eye that was currently looking at me. 'So no need to use up all the hot water on him, is there?' And with a long, loud and unpleasantly mocking laugh, she left the room.

10.

Anyone for Pizza?.

As you can imagine, it doesn't take too long for two very burly henchOrcs to tie a relatively defenceless pig securely to a chaireven a pig that they had to keep at arm's length owing to the smell. And there was going to be none of that slowly working the trotters free while being interrogated either. These guys were pros in the tying-up game. My trotters had been tied to each other, then to my body and then to the chair. I felt my extremities begin to go numb as the ropes constricted the flow of blood. The only way I was going to free myself was by diligent use of a chainsaw and there didn't appear to be one conveniently to hand. I had been trussed up more securely than Hannibal Lecter; all I was missing was the hockey mask.

While the goons located a long hose and began running it out of the room and down to the nearest bathroom, I took the opportunity to have a closer look at my surroundings. As I expected, bearing in mind what had just happened to me, the lamp was nowhere to be seen. The room itself was relatively bare. All it contained were a few chairs, a long table and what looked like a drinks cabinet. Considering where Aladdin had kept the lamp, this room was a bit of a surprise. I had expected more hi-tech surveillance and security systems.

A large oval mirror hung from the wall directly opposite me (presumably deliberately, so I could see just how bad I looked). Without going into too much detail, my skin was no longer a fetching shade of pink and the new coloration wasn't entirely due to bruising. What was left of my Orc costume was sodden and covered in a variety of strange substances that didn't warrant a more detailed forensic examination.

It looked as though whoever had supplied the plans to Mr Big had led him up the garden path (and into the garden shed whereupon they had hit him across the back of the head with a shovel), as there certainly wasn't any sign of a lamp here.

Even I couldn't figure out how to rescue myself from this particular predicament. Apart from the unpleasant experience of being hosed down with cold water, I also had the pleasure of Edna's interrogation to look forward toand I was a.s.suming this was going to be a little bit more intense than just having a bright light shone in my eyes while she shouted 'you will answer the questions' at me.

I was still looking around the room when the Orcs came back in. From the expression on their faces, it appeared as though they were relishing the thought of hosing me down. Can't say I blamed them; I was looking forward to a shower myselfalbeit a somewhat hotter one than the one I was about to receive.

Grinning at each other, the two henchOrcs lifted the hose, aimed it at me and began to twist the nozzle. I turned away to shield my face and braced myself for the freezing deluge. There was silence, then two loud clangs in quick succession and the sound of the nozzle hitting the ground. After another brief pause this was followed by two more thudsthis time slightly further apart and much heavier. More importantly, I didn't seem to be getting wet.

I looked around very slowly and not without some trepidation as I had no idea what had just happened. To my utter amazement, both Orcs were lying unconscious on the ground. Standing over them, wielding a large metal legpresumably borrowed from one of the suits of armour outsidewas a very satisfied-looking Jack Horner.

'Jack,' I asked, somewhat stunned at this unexpected turn of events, 'what are you doing here?'

'Hey Mr Pigg,' he said cheerfully, 'I'm rescuing you. I told you you'd need my help.'

'But how did you find me?' I asked weakly.

'C'mon Mr Pigg,' he replied. 'You smell very strongly of shi...I mean poo. How difficult do you think it was to find you? I just had to follow my nose. Anyway, you left a trail of muddy footprints all over the building. It was easy.'

'And you got in how exactly?'

'Almost as easy. After I followed you here, I just bought a pizza from the takeaway around the corner, stuck a red hat on my head, called to the front door and said I was delivering a super pepperoni to Grazgkh. There's always a Grazgkh around, it's the Orc version of Joe.'

And I was supposed to be the detective!

'Then I just made my way up through the building, following your trail,' he continued, obviously enjoying himself. 'These Orcs aren't too observant, are they? Not one noticed me all the way up. Then I crept up behind those two guys and hit them over the head with this leg.' He swung it around with some relish. 'They were so busy with the hose they never heard me.'

'Good work, Jack,' I said. 'Now, can you untie me and we can get the h.e.l.l out of here before someone discovers I've escaped.'

'Righty-o,' he replied and went behind me to untangle the spaghetti of knots that bound me to the chair.

After a few minutes I still hadn't noticed any relieving flow of blood coursing back into my numb trotters.

'How are things going back there, Jack?' I asked.

'Not too good, Mr Pigg,' Jack replied. 'I can't seem to get these knots undone.'

'Well, try to find something that you can use to cut the ropes,' I said, scanning the room for anything that might have a sharp edge. 'But hurry. I'm sure Edna will be back soon, suitably refreshed, smelling very nice and eager to inflict pain.'

Jack began searching the room frantically, shifting bits of furniture aside as he looked for anything that might be used to set me free. As he searched I struggled to loosen the knots but my efforts were as fruitless as his. I could see that he was beginning to panic so I tried to calm him down.

'Take it easy, Jack. You need to calm down and focus. There must be something here we can use.'

'But I can't see anything, Mr Pigg.'

As I looked around the room yet again, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Inspiration struck meand it was probably the only thing that had struck me recently that hadn't hurt me in some form or another.

'Jack,' I said urgently. 'Take that thing you hit the goblins with and throw it at the mirror. Cover your eyes as you do.'

After a moment's incomprehension, Jack suddenly understood and, grabbing the metal leg, he flung it at his reflection. There was a loud crash and shards of gla.s.s flew in all directions. When the noise died down, Jack slowly brought his arm away from his eyes and scanned the floor for a suitable piece of gla.s.s. He picked up a shard so big and sharp it looked like it could have beheaded an elephant and, with great care, began sawing at the ropes. As they began to fall to the ground, I could hear what sounded like a small army pounding across the floor overhead. Someone (or lots of someones) was coming to investigate the noise and I really didn't fancy being here when they arrived.

'Come on, Jack,' I muttered. 'Speed it up, speed it up.'

'I'm going as fast as I can,' he replied, panting from the effort. 'I don't want to cut my hands.'

'Cut hands will be the least of your worries if we don't get out of here soon.' As I spoke, the ropes binding my trotters fell to the floor. Despite the pain as the blood rushed back in, I grabbed the gla.s.s off Jack and attacked the other ropes binding me. The sharp edge cut cleanly through them and I stood upa little bit unsteady but ready to accelerate out of the room as fast as I could.

'Good work, Jack. Now let's not be here.' I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door. As we were halfway across the room he stopped unexpectedly, almost pulling me off balance. I turned to him. He was looking at the broken or in fascination.

'Jack, what are you doing? We don't have time for admiring our reflections.' I was on the point of lifting him onto my shoulders and carrying him out when I saw what he was looking at. What he had broken wasn't a mirror; it was a door cleverly disguised as a mirror. With the gla.s.s surface now all over the floor we could see into the room beyond and sitting on a shelf (along with what I suspected was a lot of very expensive and probably very stolen artifacts) was what looked like Aladdin's lamp. It certainly looked battered enough.

'Nice one, Jack, I take it back. Get to the door and tell me when the ravening hordes charge down the corridor. If I'm quick enough we may be able to grab the lamp before they get here.'

Jack peered cautiously around the door.

'Nothing out there yet,' he reported, 'but there's definitely someone coming. I can hear lots of grunting, stomping and shouting. Hurry up.'

Very cautiously, so as not to cut myself on the jagged edges that were still embedded in the rim, I sidled through the doorway and into the storeroom beyond. Not even pausing to look at what other goodies might be on the shelves, I grabbed the lamp, stuffed it into my wetsuit and reversed just as carefully back out again. Once I was safely back out of the storeroom, I ran out the door, dragging Jack by the scruff of the neck as I went. Together we ran back down the corridor towards the stairs. As we did so, a horde of Orcs brandishing an interesting array of sharp and pointy objects came around the corner at the opposite end. Immediately spotting us (not that it was too difficult) they roared angrily and gave chase.

Fortunately for us, there were so many of them and the corridor was so narrow that they fell over each other in their eagerness to catch us. This slowed them down enough that we were able to get to the stairs. The two Orcs that manned the guard post on the landing tried to block our way but my impetus, speed and bulk bowled them easily aside and they tumbled down the stairs in front of us.

Tucking Jack under one arm, I threw a leg over the banister and slid down, trying to maintain what was a very precarious balance. For once, Jack didn't treat it as a theme park ride; presumably he was as scared as I was. The banister itself spiralled down in wide arcs all the way to the ground floor so I had no hairpin bends to navigate, which was probably just as well because with the rate we were accelerating, any sudden departure from the stairs would probably have resulted in us splattering against the wall at the far side of the room. Spotting a number of Orcs running up the stairs towards us I yelled at Jack to hold out his metal leg (which he'd shown the good foresight to hold on to) and he cut a swathe through them as we pa.s.sed, their bodies cascading down the stairs like ugly skittles.

We reached the ground floor and flew off the end of the banister. Fortunately, the thick carpet broke our fall and we avoided a collision with any of the furniture. Dizzy but otherwise unhurt, we staggered to our feet and ran through the door to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Grabbing the leg from Jack, I placed one end on the ground and wedged the other under the door handle. It wasn't going to hold our pursuers at bay for long but might give us enough of a lead to enable us to get to the drain safely.

As we charged recklessly down another flight of stairs there was a very satisfactory thump as the first of our pursuers. .h.i.t the door, followed by more thumps and much shouting as the rest of the pack hit it (and the leading Orcs) with equal force.

'Quickly, Jack, let's go,' I urged. 'It won't hold them up for long.'

Jack nodded and picked up speed. Now he was beginning to leave me behind. Willing my body to one last effort, I caught up with him and we ran for the manhole. As we reached it, there was a loud splintering from behind us as the door finally gave way. We only had minutes before the Orcs reached us. Grabbing Jack, I threw him into the tunnel and dropped down behind him.

'Go, go, go,' I roared.

Jack disappeared down the tunnel and I followed as fast as I could. Thankfully, someonemost probably Ednahad taken a bath since my last pa.s.sage through the drain, as it wasn't quite as unpleasant as previously, making our progress relatively more comfortable than before. In front of me, Jack was sliding away down the tunnel and I tried pigfully to keep up with him. Behind me I could hear voices raised in argument as the Orcs decided whether or not to follow us.

'You go first,' said one.

'Me? I'm not going in there,' said another in reply.

'Ma'am will be very angry.'

'Well you go, then.'

'I'll go if you go first.'

As is usual with Orcs in these situations, they then started squabbling and this soon erupted into a fully blown brawl. Orcs are good like thatlow attention spans but high animosity. By the time we reached the main sewer, they'd probably have either all killed each other or forgotten all about who they were chasing in the first place. We made our way through the water back to the ladder and climbed up to the street.

As we headed back to the car, it struck me that Edna would be somewhat miffed that I had stolen back the lamp. She would be probably even more annoyed that she hadn't had the chance to slap me around a bit. I figured it wouldn't take her too long to track me downespecially as both my apartment and office were in the phone book.

I was going to have to come up with a plan to resolve this dilemma and this had to be the plan to beat all plans. In fact, this one had to be a doozy or I was quite possibly going to end up revisiting the sewersthis time face down and probably not breathing.

11.

I Have a Cunning Plan!.

With Jack safely dropped off home, I decided to lie low to try to avoid detection by all the various factions that were by now, presumably, scouring the town for meand that didn't come any lower than the Humpty Inn chain of hotels. It was the cheapest and least reputable hotel chain in town. If they were any seedier you could have used them to feed birds. Fortunately, their very seediness meant that they were the perfect place to hide out as no one noticed, or even cared about, who was in the rooms.

Comfort wasn't high on the list of facilities offered by the hotel. The bed felt like it was made of rocks, there was a strange fungus growing on one of the walls and, yes, the room was lit up by the garish purple light from the neon sign that ran vertically along the front of the building and flashed on and off at regular intervals. The curtains didn't do much to block this light out as they looked to be made out of tissue paper.

The room had one very important feature, howevera working bathroom. Despite the imminent threat to my person, the first order of business was a long, hot, luxurious shower. I have to say I wallowed. If someone had broken in and pointed a gun at me, I'd have told them to get on with it and died a happy pig. Of such little pleasures is life made.

After my shower, and smelling a lot better, I sat at the wobbly dresser and studied the lamp carefully. It was as battered as its photograph suggested. The amount of dents in the metal suggested it had had a long and interesting historyquite a bit of which seemed to involve it being used as a football. It was so tarnished it was hard to make out what its original colour was. Try as I might, I couldn't open the lid. Although it didn't look to be sealed shut in any way, it just would not lift. I tried using a knife but it wouldn't budge. It was one stubborn lid.

There were no markings of any type on the surface, or at least none that I could see. I did contemplate dropping it in a fire to see if the flames revealed any mysterious writings but I didn't actually have a fireplace and I figured that a match wouldn't be quite as effective. In all probability, the room was so flammable even lighting a match would have caused it to catch fire.

I put the lamp on the dresser and stared at it. Then I stared at it some more and, just as I was about to give up, I stared at it especially hard. It didn't make any difference; it still sat there mocking me with its dullness and downright shabbiness.

Then I had a really outrageous idea: what if I rubbed it? What was there to lose? There was certainly a lot to gain, a.s.suming the rumours were true. If all went according to legend then I was on the point of leaving all my troubles behind. Wealth beyond my wildest dreams was within my grasp. No more worries; no more Aladdin, mysterious stranger or Edna. And that could be a real result rather than just a turn of phrase.

The more I thought about it, the more it appealed to me. What could possibly go wrong? I figured that the more I thought about it the more likely I was to talk myself out of it. Best be decisive and take immediate action.

I grabbed the lamp with my left trotter. It wasn't easy but I managed it. Holding it level with my eyes I contemplated it one last time; it was still as dingy and battered as before. I slowly raised my right arm and, taking a deep breath, I brought the lamp towards my trotter and when they touched, I rubbed the surface furiously.

There was a...well...nothing actually. No sudden clap of thunder. No flash of light. No puff of smoke. No intimidating eastern gentleman with a trail of vapour where his lower legs should be. No deep and terrifying voice shouting 'I am the Genie of the Lamp. What are your wishes, my Lord?'

Nothing!

The lamp still sat there silently mocking both my efforts and me. Either that or it wasn't as highly positioned on the alchemical plane as had previously been speculated. With a grunt, I flung it back on the dresser and headed for the bed. As I prepared for what looked like a very uncomfortable night's sleep, I took one last look back. Something about the shape of the lamp tried to trigger a thought at the back of my mind. My mind, however, was refusing to play ball and the door marked 'Free a.s.sociation' stayed resolutely shut. In the off chance that my subconscious would do what my waking mind couldn't, I stumbled into the bed, pulled the flimsy blankets over me and was asleep in seconds.

I was also awake within seconds as the synapses in my brainthat had steadfastly refused to work earlierset off a chain reaction that jolted me back to full consciousness. I sat bolt upright in the bed with a large grin on my face.

'You are so clever,' I shouted gleefully. 'No wonder you wanted to steal the lamp. If it was me, I'd probably have done the same. Any wonder it didn't work when I rubbed it.'

The beginnings of a really dastardly plan began to form in my mind as I tried to figure out where the nearest Internet cafe was. As I dressed, I thought I heard a noise from the corridor outside my room. I padded carefully to the door and put my ear against the wood. Fortunately, the quality of the workmanship was as poor as everything else in the hotel. The door was so thin I could hear clearly what was happening on the other side. As per usual, it didn't bode well for me.

'Is this the room?' whispered a voicevery low and very guttural; very Orcish, in fact.

'Yeah, he only checked in an hour ago,' replied a second voice I recognised as the concierge from downstairs. So much for anonymity. Obviously Edna's grapevine was very efficient. Once he'd heard she was looking for a pig, it didn't take the concierge too long to make both the obvious connection and the inevitable phone call and no doubt pocket the reward.

As I was only seconds from having a horde of Orcs explode into my room I had to think very fast. I grabbed the dresser and pulled it in front of the door. It wouldn't be a barricademore a minor hindrancebut it might give me a few seconds' head start. Grabbing the lamp, I ran to the window, forced it open and prepared to drop onto the fire escape that I realised at the last minute wasn't there. Well, I did say it was a seedy hotel and safety regulations obviously weren't high on management's list of priorities. As I quickly tried to formulate a Plan B, there was a splintering noise from the opposite side of the room and the door was reduced to matchwood under the onslaught of a variety of crude swords and axes although, in fairness, you could probably have broken it down with a rubber knife without too much effort.

The horde swarmed into the roomor at least would have if they hadn't, yet again, fallen over each other in their eagerness to get me. It appeared that Madame Edna had placed a very high bounty on my head.

'There he is,' growled one, stating the very obvious as they could hardly have missed me sitting on the window ledge. 'Get him.'

There was only one thing for it. Taking a deep breath, I swung my legs over the ledge and threw myself at the neon sign. My luck was in and I managed to grab the crossbar of the letter 'T' in Humpty. My luck wasn't in for long, however, as, with a screech of metal, the whole letter detached from the wall and slowly fell outwards and downwards. Like a demented stuntman, with my skin glowing purple, I clung on for dear life wondering if the rest of the letters would stay fixed to the wall. My question was quickly answered as, to my total lack of surprise, the other letters advertising the hotel slowly peeled away from the hotel wall and down towards the ground in a gigantic neon arc.