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THE WEST SHORE.
July.
FACT AND FICTION.
bv mks. r. r. vicroK.
The elements of tragedy are very
simple; lit least they are not necessarily
complex. We praise and admire the
author of a celebrated composition, for
his plot, when perhaps he had not to
imagine a single leading event, but only
to use some artistic skill ill combining.
This is the whole secret of the author's
invention; for fiction cannot possibly
surpass fact ill the representation of de
tached single scenes, or even in remark
able sequences of events. It is the
natural gift to discover the relation of
events, and so to place them as to have
them fall into what every one recog
nizes as Iheir proper situation, as prece
dent and consequence, that makes the
successful playwright or novelist. The
unused elements of tragedy lie about us
in every neighborhood, almost in every
family. The poet and the novelist have
not far to look; sometimes, indeed,
have to Use very little invention. We
propose to prove our proposition by
two dilll-rcnt instances.
Some years ago fifteen or twenty
a man lived down the Columbia, in the
neighborhood of St. Helen. He was
young, but had a wife and two or three
children, and was in the employ of a
person owning a lumber-mill. Nothing
in particular was known or observed of
him while in this situation. Having
occasion to go upon some errand in a
row-boat, be never returned. The boat,
with his hat in it, was picked up, but
his body was not found. His wife,
believing him drowned, gave him up
forever, and he was long since forgotten
by those who had once known him.
A number of mouths ago, a small
boat was landed in an obscure part of'
Scappoose Hay, to the south of St
Helen, A man rather past middle life,
and a dark-complexioned boy, sprang
upon the shore, ami securing their little
craft, took their way through the woods
inland. The man evidentlv remem
bered the country, and was shaping his
course to reach some certain point of
destination. The boy was more doubt,
ful, and followed the lead of his com
panion. The mall said little, but ap
peared to reiterate some instructions,
which the lad listened to with down
cast face.
A smart walk ol' half an hour, brought
llli-iil to the dwelling of a familv whom
we shall name Parsons. Hut the man
ilid not enter, or show himself to the
inmates; he remained at a little distance
away, and sent the bov to the house.
Only Mrs. Parsons anil her children
were w ilhin.
If we were writing a novel, we
should defer the discovery we are about
to make. Hut here we have not space
for high art. The boy soon sought an
opportunity to confess to Mrs, Parsons
the object of the isit, and the fact that
be w as a woman, cxH'cting ere manv
months to lie clow ned or cursed, as the
case might be, with motherhood, ami
soliciting the shelter of a home ami a
woman's sympathy and care, until the
pains mid )H-rils of that event should
have Wen passed. We must now call
our boy by the name of I.aura, as not
only indicating Ins change of sex, but its
leing more convenient.
The nun had calculated well w hen
he brought his companion to the house
of Mrs. I'arsons, whose charitable feel
ing w as well known to the neighbor
hood. To make more sure, he had in
ttiuctcd Laura to promise ample iav
nicnt for all the care and cx)icnsc she
might occasion or receive. The result
of the interview was, that Mrs. Parsons
agreed to undertake to find a place
where the girl w ho was a half-breed
might k Iniaided for a time, for such
service as she was able to render; and
also to furnish the requisite care and
nursing, when it should be needed.
This matter settled, the countenance of
Laura, which had been troubled, be
came more calm; and Mrs. Parsons,
who could not well find room for
another member in her family, started
to St. Helens to procure a temporary
home for her protege.
As she walked along the road that
runs through groves of fir and oak, she
unexpectedly encountered the man
who had been drowned twenty years
ago!
"How do you do, Mr. Ward?" she
said; while he, rinding that the hasty
slouch he had given his hat did not
conceal from her his identity, was forced
to reply with civility.
Frightened at finding herself alone
with this man, whom now she instinct
ively felt to be a villain, and the betrayer
of her strange guest, she still had the
courage to test him by a pretended
revelation of the singular visitation that
was taking her to town. To her story
he lent an attentive ear, taking care to
;isk if the girl had mentioned the name
of any one in connection with her his
tory. When he found that she had
not, he was evidently relieved, and
shortly after taking leave, hastened
back, as Mrs. Parsons believes, to seek
a final interview with Laura, and
further instruct her to silence and
secrecy.
rhe ellorts of the good woman were
successful; a place for the girl was
lound in a small family; feminine ap
parel was furnished her, and for several
mouths she served acceptably her new
mistress; in the meantime so quietly
and modestly conducting herself as to
win the hearty sympathy of the people
about her. For a few days the resusci
tated Ward kept about in her vicinity,
hut without ever being seen to speak
with her. Finally he disappeared;
but with the restlessness of guilt, that is
ever seeking to betray itself, he sent a
letter to a citizen of St. Helen, asking
him to furnish the money that might
he required by Laura, and promising
pavment. Since then nothing is known
ofWard.
Now for the culmination of this
tragedy. In due time Laura returned
to Mrs. Parsons, and a girl-babe opened
its eyes on this sorrowful world; of
whom the poor, silent girl-mother,
seemed as fond as other mothers are of
soft and helpless infancy, Hut despite
the uncomplaining bravery with which
Laura had endured her condition up to
this time, her heart was breaking.
Frequently she asked lief kind nurse
if she really should get well; and as
frequently w as assured that there seemed
nothing in the way of a perfect and
speedy recovery. Hut the burden was
greater than could be borne, and one
day, when her babe was a week
old, she sat up, and showed an inclina
tion to talk of herself and her circum
stances. Motherhood had oK-ued her
eyes more than ever to the sin of com
plicity with guilt, and she wished to
rid herself of her sins by confession.
According to the storv of Laura, she
had been adopted and brought up by a
family living a few miles from Rose-
burg. The man Ward came to her
home, from, she knew not where, and
remained for some time at the place in
the capacity of hired man; but as for
some reason became partially crippled,
she was often required to wait upon
him, w hich at first she very much dis
liked doing, trom something repulsive
about him that she did not understand.
However, she became accustomed to
him, then attracted to him by his strong
and subtle magnetism, anil linallv so
under his iutliience that she consented
to a scent engagement, and at last to
an elopement, he having promised to
take her to Roseburg, where the mar
riage service should be performed.
On leaving the house of her protec
tress, by whom she had been well
taught in all that the ordinary country
girl is expected to know, she felt con
siderable shame and regret at the du
plicity and ingratitude of her conduct.
This feeling was increased to alarm
when she found that Ward had no in
tention of going with her to Roseburg.
In reply to her remonstrances, he
plainly told her that it was impossible
for him to go to Roseburg, where he was
likely to be arrested for horse-stealing;
and equally impossible for him to allow
her to return to her home, for he had
stolen from her mistress a large sum of
money, and he would run no risks of
discovery. His intention was to go into
the mountains, and to take her with
him. If she attempted to escape or to
betray him, he would not hesitate to
take her life.
Here, again, the novelist would find
occasion for the use of strong imagery.
We have not room nor inclination for
it. The boldest imagination can easily
picture the struggle of a girl's mind
under these circumstances, even while
giving credit to the wild impulses of
her Indian blood that naturally crept
towards the mountain fastnesses. To
the mountains they went but of their
life there, Laura was not able to say
much, except that they kept themselves
hidden, and that Ward was not person
ally hard or cruel to her, though always
giving her to understand her life would
pay the forfeit of his exposure. She
knew that if she lived he would be
revenged upon her for the exposure she
was now making, but she did not ex
pect to live. She seemed to have given
up life almost as soon as her baby came.
It was the thought that she could not
return to such a life with her child, and
that she was in Ward's power, and
would be required to do so, that killed
her. In spite of the constant encourage
ment given by Mrs. Parsons, she con
tinued from the first to talk of ding.
When Laura's confession was ended,
her brain all at once seemed to give
way,and she commenced to rave wildly.
In her delirium, her broken utterances
still further inculpated the author of her
misery. Over and over she cried out
that she " could not smother her little
babe, nor throw it into the river to
drown; no, he might kill her if he
chose, but kill her baby she could not ;"
showing that she had been instructed
to rid herself of the child in some such
way. In the few days that she lived,
after her mind lost its balance, there
were lucid intervals when she gave
directions about her child's future, leav
ing the poor little waif a ring, as a
dying gift from her mother, and even
taking a few stitches with her own
lingers in a trifling article for the child,
that she might some time sec her
mother's handiwork. In two or three
days she was dead, and the sympathiz
ing neighbors aided the county to
bury her.
Such is the true storv. than which
very few poets have put together a!
more touching one. The elements of
tragedy arc all there; the girl's in-
stmctive dislike, conquered by the man's
stronger magnetism; the betrayal; the
wild forest life of a skulking criminal;
the selfish and natural love of the lonely
man for the woman, w hich led him to
think of his old employer's kind wife
as a proper nurse for her; the mingled
attraction towards and horror of her
paramour, on the part of the helpless
victim of his cunning; her silent en
durance and final revolt under circum
stances showing the mother love, and
"pure womanly" nature, all brought to
l the tilting conclusion by her death.
Only one thing is lacking the punish
ment of the criminal, which we hope
time and the law will yet furnish.
Our second instance, showing how
plots are furnished ready to the author's
hand, is equally striking, but much
more mysterious. A popular story
writer, a friend of our own, was just
commencing to convalesce from a tedi
ous illness. She was rather anxious
and worried because her publisher was
waiting for a story contracted for before
she fell ill, and was casting about in her
brain for a plot. One morning the
New Tori 'J hues was laid upon her
bed, and upon running her eye over the
news columns she noticed a brief para
graph giving an account of a very mys
terious murder an assassination that
could not be accounted for the victim
being a young man of good family,
residing in New York, but at the time
of his death being on a visit to some
friends at Poughkeepsie, He was
stabbed in the back, on his way from
the railroad station to bis friend's house;
the evening being dark, and the walk
rather a lonely one. Nothing being
taken from the body, showed that
robbery was not the motive for the act.
What then was itf So far as the
public ever knew, neither motive nor
murderer were ever discovered.
But there was a partial discovery
made to certain persons in the following
very singular manner: The lady who
was wanting a plot for her story, was
struck by the mystery attached to the
assassination, and haunted for several
days by its recurrence to her mind. At
last it suggested itself to her as a hint
for her story the story of course to un
ravel nil this mystery, and furnish the
train of events that created the motive
for a murder; and giving besides the
consequences to many people concerned
in the story's plan.
Accordingly, the novelette was writ
ten, and commenced a very successful
issue in the new magazine. But sud
denly the publishers found their maga- '
zinc enjoined, and by the very people
in Poughkeepsie that the murdered
young man was about to have visited.
Now ensued a curious struggle between
the publishers, the author, and the
Poughkeepsie people. Of course A
magazine could not lie enjoined, and a
publisher ruined, without sufficient
reason; therefore, a reason was re
quired. With much caution it was
given. The author of the story, it was
charged, knew more than she had any
right to know about the family history;
must have obtained her knowledge in A
clandestine manner, and was evidently
making use of it in this story to annoy
them.
The author was then called to an ac
count by the publishers, and was filled
with astonishment at the charge. "I
know nothing whatever," was the re
ply. " The short paragraph I read was
the merest suggestion; simply on ac
count of the mystery. I never was in
Poughkeepsie in my life, and know
nothing about these people that say I
know their familv history. Everything
in my story, but the fact that a young,
popular, and handsome man, was mys
teriously assassinated while walking
from the railroad station to a friend's
house, in a town on the Hudson river,
was conceived in my own brain."
Hut this statement did not convince
the parties interested in suppressing the
story. They still declared that there
must kavt some know ledge of the
circumstances, even of their house and
its surroundings, in possession of the
writer of the obnoxious story. They
asserted that a certain apple-tree, stand
ing near the library window, was cor
rectly dcscrilietl ; and even the name of
the private detective employed by them
given; as also the name of a sewing-
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