--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Evans, John Henry collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 15 number: 2 published: 1911-12 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Evans, John Henry, "The Open Road: Adventure IV. A Story," *Improvement Era* 15, no. 2 (December 1911): 107–112.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1502unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1502unse start_page: 107 end_page: 112 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1911-12) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1502unse publication_year: 1911 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1911, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Open Road: Adventure IV. A Story The Open Road. BY JOHN HENRY EVANS, OF THE LATTER-DAY SAINTS UNIVERSITY. Adventure IV. — Wherein is Told the Story of the Brindled Sea Cow. And so to Holland, the country of windmills, where all the elements are only sketched in, so to speak — the water, because it loses itself among sand and moorland, like a ravelled old fabric; the land, because it lies below the sea level and has to be ingeniously coaxed and watched on every hand; the air, because it is mostly veiled in the fog and mist. Brocketts' work on the boat had not been hard and exacting, so that he had had time for such diversions as a boy would naturally find on this beautiful river. For one thing, he had learned much about the Rhine, and the largely man-made scenery along its banks ; and for another, he had discovered some marvelous things about a boat — that marvelous invention which is a source of perpetual delight to a boy. But most of all he had learned, from three boatmen, some- thing that set his heart beating feverishly, and that made him vow a vow which would probably take him the rest of his life to fulfil. Brocketts was asleep in the bunkhouse down there in the bowels of the Walrus. That was while the boat was coming- down the river. Anyway, he was supposed to be asleep, seeing that it was 2 o'clock in the morning. But, as a matter of fact, if you insist on the strictest precision, he had just waked up; for what boy can sleep when old tars are pouring out their sea tales, and, what is better, breathing out something with the sea tales that concerns him, far more than the most entrancing story. I pass by these salt-water narratives, however, not only because they do not belong here, but also because I have a strong suspicion that not one of the three old salts in the bunkhouse, for all his giibness and easy memory, ever experienced a tithe of what he related, or even that any of the others believed that he had. 108 IMPROVEMENT ERA "I'll tell you what," roared a man who went by the name of Max, speaking in such a tone as to drown out effectually the begin- ning of Adam's "That reminds me" — "I'll tell you what, boys, talkin' of sellin' real live humans, now, I've got a corker for you. It's here right under my jacket pocket where my 'baccy is, and it's been there more'n twelve year." Since the hand of the story-teller went into the breast, over that same " 'baccy" pocket, you would naturally suppose he was to pull out a written manuscript and read it there and then in the dim candle light. But Max was to do nothing of the sort. This was only a figurative way he had of saying that his two companions were about to have the distinguished honor of being the first to hear this tale. He whom they called the Abbot, from his grand way of over- shooting the truth in everything, had just finished unwinding a yarn, in which he was hero, wherein the Royal Charles with a cargo of black men from the African coast for the American market, had made a wonderful voyage, and had come near floundering. The others, even Brocketts, knew of course, that traffic in slaves had come to an end a generation before the Abbot was born. But that trifling fact did not in the least spoil the zest with which the story was told nor the relish with which it was received. Selling "humans" was out of the ordinary, and that was the main point. "This is a true one," the narrator began, "and comes out of my own life. And I'll tell it to you, if you won't let on as you've heard me." Adam swung back on the bunk where he sat, the Abbot relit his powerful clay pipe, and Brocketts, in his upper berth, propped himself on his elbow, his left ear pressed forward to catch every sound. "It was about twelve year ago," Max went on in such bad German vernacular as I cannot hope wholly to reproduce in English, "and I was stranded at Strausberg. Strausberg's a bad place to be stranded at, if you'll believe me. How I got there has nothing to do with this story; so I'll leave that out. And then, besides, to tell it might give you a bad notion of my occupation — which wasn't sailoring, either, nor anything like it. Anyway, I was there, sails torn, deck-tackle lost, and the hull split in two pieces, as you might say. "Well, one day, or rather night, who should I meet at the THE OPEN ROAD 109 Bull's Eye tavern but old Fishbones. Fishbones unci me, you understand, had known each other many a year, and been in the same trade at Munich. " 'Want a job?' says he. " 'Sure,' says I /What's on deck?' " 'Oh, a small business transaction, same's you've been used to. Come in here, and I'll tell you.' "We went in a side room that Fishbones had a private key to. You know, more than one tavern keeper was glad to let Fishbones have a private key. Very accommodatin', they was, in them days. "Well, when we got in there, he says: 'Max, I've got a bit of a parcel I want you to keep for me.' " 'All right,' says I, looking 'round for it. " 'Ain't here now,' says he 'but I c'n get it if you say the word.' "Of course, I hadn't anything against keeping parcels for a friend, and I said the word. 'We're fellow workmen,' says I, 'and I'm glad to accommodate you. What's in it?' " 'In what?' says he, innocent like. " 'The parcel,' says I, winking, with my left eye. " 'Oh,' says he, 'call it a brindled sea cow.' " 'What's in it?' says I, again, but not winking this time. " 'Four thousand marks or so.' " 'I'll do it,' says I , 'to accommodate you.' " 'That's a good man,' says he. 'I knew you would.' "And what d'ye think he brought me that night when it was as dark as Egypt, and the Egyptians was all asleep?" The story-teller paused and glanced at Adam, who had sat up again, and at the Abbot, whose pipe had gone out once more. They remained in the same posture, knowing that the narrator only made this pause out of a habit he had of extreme slowness in his speech. But a small voice piped from the upper berth — "A pot of gold." The men looked up at this unexpected answer, and then ex- ploded into laughter. Max went on — "It was a youngster — a real live youngster, no more'n two years old." He waited for the full effect of this revelation. On the men there was no visible effect. The boy stretched his head farther over the berth. 110 IMPROVEMENT KRA " 'He's the only son of a rich merchant,' says Fishbones, 'and I've got a grudge against the man.' "Fishbones used to work for that same store-keeper. That I knew very well. I didn't know what the grudge was, though. " 'I'll do it,' says I, 'and do it well for the four thousand.' " 'I know ye will,' says he, 'else I wouldn't have trusted ye with so important a undertakin'. You'll get your money safe, Max.' "But I didn't." Here he rolled a quid of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other, and chewed it three or four times, and spat a deluge on the floor. You would have thought he was through with his tale. The two boatmen looked up, and the boy looked down, inquiringly. "You see, it was this way. Before our little enterprise had gone too far the merchant got a letter in a unknown hand to the effect that if at a certain place and time — named in the letter, you understand— he would deliver, without watching or asking any questions, twenty-five thousand gold marks, his boy would be given him back safe and sound. "Twenty-five thousand, mind you, and me to get only four." " 'Half.' says I to Fishbones, when I saw him again. " 'No, siree,' says he. " 'Then I'll squeak.' says I. " 'How 'bout you?' says he, innocent-like again. 'You've got the kid, you know.' " 'That's so,' says I, 'I forgot.' " 'Thought so,' says he. "But neither of us got anything, and that's what I was going to tell you. For the day before we was to get the money,the body of a boy about the same age and looks as ours there, was washed ashore near the town, but in such a bad state as made it hard to know who it was. But there was the yellow curls and all, and a red jacket exactly like the one our kid wore when it left home — anyway, what was left of it. "I have my opinion, though, about that jacket business. Fishbones had took it off with him one day. I don't want to do him no injustice, you understand, but I had my suspicions, for he was born a fool in some things. THE OPEN ROAD 111 "Anyway the drownded youngster was took for the missing one, and we lost our money. "We laid low for a while, but when we started the ball a rolling again, our bird had flew away, as the poet says. The rich merchant had pulled up anchor and gone to America. And there I was with a kid on my hands that nobody wanted. "Say, did you ever have a youngster on your hands like that?" Max inquired. Of course, they had not. "Well, it's an experience, I can tell you?" he went on. "And I know what I'm talkin' about. I lugged that boy around for a whole year. Couldn't safely get rid of him, you know, till one day I run upon an orphan asylum and dropped him down there gently into the lap of a big Sister. But I had to pay a pretty sum, I — what's the matter, Brocketts?" "Nothing much; only, I nearly fell out." "After that I quit the business," went on the story-teller, "and took to the sea. There's nothing like the sea for safe work. You've got to be decent there." "That's a thrilling story," commented Brocketts naively. "I like it; only, what's the name of the place you left the boy at?" "Don't know the name." "And don't you know where it was, even?" "Oh yes, somewhere up the country near Pirmasens — a little one-horse village." "But Fishbones wasn't his real name, was it?" Brocketts asked again. "No, sir; not by a jug full! It's only what we called him. His name was well, never you mind what his name was." "I suppose you don't know the name of the boy, or the boy's father, either?" "No; don't remember the boy's. Never saw the father." This was a thrilling story! Brocketts fell into a profound reverie right off. There could be no doubt that he was the boy whom Max had left at the orphanage, for Yinningen was only eight or ten miles from Pirmasens. Indeed, far back in his con- sciousness was the impression that a lone man had taken him there. Who were his parents? He wondered. If he could only find them! But how could he? Had he not better ask this man to help him 112 IMPROVEMENT ERA find them? Should he tell him who he was? Very wisely he decided not to. The three tars below, utterly oblivious of the train of Brock- etts' lively reflections, had gone on with the conversation. The boy's ears caught the' now familiar word "America." "It's a grand country, is America," the Abbot was saying, "and a good place to get rich in. When we get there, as we'll do in — let me see — six weeks at most, we'll all sing a different tune!" And so these men were going to America, where Brocketts' parents had gone! Instantly the idea suggested itself, why not go with them? And the more he thought about it the firmer he was in the conviction that he ought to go. But how could he, a penni- less boy, cross the ocean? These sailors had money. He would have to stay in Germany, most probably, till he, too, could get money. But he would talk with them tomorrow to see if some way could not be found by which he might accompany them to the new land. He would find his parents, if it took a life time. (To be continued.)