Title: A British Islander - From "Mackinac And Lake Stories", 1899
Author: Catherwood, Mary Hartwell
Language: English
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A BRITISH ISLANDER

From “Mackinac And Lake Stories”, 1899

By Mary Hartwell Catherwood


     * This story is set down exactly as it was told by the
     Island Chronicler.

Well, I wish you could have been here in Mrs. Gunning’s day. She was
the oddest woman on Mackinac. Not that she exerted herself to attract
attention. But she was such a character, and her manners were so
astonishing, that she furnished perennial entertainment to the few
families of us constituting island society.

She was an English woman, born in South Africa, and married to an
American army surgeon, and had lived over a large part of the world
before coming to this fort. She had no children. But her sister had
married Dr. Gunning’s brother. And the good-for-nothing pair set out to
follow the English drum-beat around the world, and left a child for the
two more responsible ones to rear. Juliana Gunning was so deaf she
could not hear thunder. But she was quits with nature, for all that; a
wonderfully alluring kind of girl, with big brown eyes that were better
than ears, and that could catch the meaning of moving lips. It seemed
to strangers that she merely evaded conversation; for she had a sweet
voice, a little drawling, and was witty when she wanted to speak.
Juliana couldn’t step out of the surgeon’s quarters to walk across the
parade-ground without making every soldier in the fort conscious of
her. She was well-shaped and tall, and a slight pitting of the skin
only enhanced the charm of her large features. She used to dress unlike
anybody else, in foreign things that her aunt gave her, and was always
carrying different kinds of thin scarfs to throw over her face and
tantalize the men.

Everybody knew that Captain Markley would marry her if he could. But
along comes Dr. Mc-Curdy, a wealthy widower from the East, and nothing
will do but he must hang about Mackinac week after week, pretending to
need the climate--and he weighing nearly two hundred--to court Juliana
Gunning. The lieutenant’s wife said of Juliana that she would flirt with
a half-breed if nothing better offered. But the lieutenant’s wife was
a homely, jealous little thing, and could never have had all the men
hanging after her. And if she had had the chance she might have been as
aggravating about making up her mind between two as Juliana was.

We used to think the girl very good-natured. But those three people made
a queer family. Dr. Gunning was the remnant of a magnificent man, and he
always had a courtly air. He paid little attention to the small affairs
of life, and rated money as nothing. Dr. Gunning had his peculiarities;
but I am not telling you about him. He was a kind man, and would cross
the strait in any weather to attend a sick half-breed or any other
ailing creature, who probably never paid him a cent. He was fond of the
island, and quite satisfied to spend his life here.

The day I am telling you about, Mrs. Gunning had driven with me into the
village to make some calls. She was very punctilious about calling upon
strangers. If she intended to recognize a newcomer she called at
once. We drove around to the rear of the fort and entered at the back
sallyport, where carriages always enter; but instead of letting me put
her down at the surgeon’s quarters, she ordered the driver to stop in
the middle of the parade-ground. Then she got out and, with never a
word, marched down the steps to Captain Markley, where he was leaning
against the front sally-port, looking below into the town. I didn’t know
what to do, so I sat and waited. It was the loveliest autumn morning
you ever saw. I remember the beeches and oaks and maples were spread out
like banners to the very height of the island, all crimson and yellow
splashes in the midst of evergreens. There had been an awful storm the
night before, and you could see down the sally-port how drenched the
fort garden was at the foot of the hill.

Captain Markley had a fearfully depressed look. He was so down in the
mouth that the sentinels noticed it. I saw the one in front of the
western block-house stick his tongue in his cheek and wink at one pacing
below. We heard afterwards that Captain Markley had been out alone to
inspect target-ranges in the pine woods, and almost ran against Juliana
Gunning and Dr. McCurdy sitting on a log. Before he could get out of the
way he overheard the loudest proposal ever made on Mackinac. It used to
be told about in mess, though how it got out Captain Markley said he did
not know, unless they heard it at the fort.

“I have brought you out here,” the doctor shouted to Juliana, as loud as
a cow lowing, “to tell you that I love you! I want you to be my wife!”

She behaved as if she didn’t hear--I think that minx often had fun with
her deafness--and inclined her head to one side.

So he said it all over again.

“I have brought you to this secluded spot to tell you that I love you! I
want you to be my wife!”

It was like a steamer bellowing on the strait. Then Juliana threw her
scarf over her face, and Captain Markley broke away through the bushes.

Mrs. Gunning never said a word to me about either of the suitors. It
wasn’t because she didn’t talk, for she was a great talker. We had to
postpone a card-party one evening, on account of the continuous flow of
Mrs. Gunning’s conversation, which never ceased until it was time for
refreshments, there being not a moment’s pause for the tables to be set
out.

[Illustration: Startled to see her rush down at Captain Markley 176]

I was startled to see her rush down at Captain Markley, brandishing her
parasol as if she were going to knock him down. I thought if she had
any preference it would be for an army man; for you know an army woman’s
contempt of civilian money and position. Army women continually want to
be moving on; and they hate bothering with household stuff, such as we
prize.

Captain Markley did look poor-spirited, drooping against the sally-port,
for a man who in his uniform was the most conspicuous figure to Mackinac
girls in a ball-room. Maybe if he had been courting anything but a
statue he might have made a better figure at it. Juliana was worse than
a statue, though; for she could float through a thousand graceful poses,
and drive a man crazy with her eyes. He wasn’t the lover to go out in
the woods and shoot a proposal as loud as a cannon at a girl; and it
seems he couldn’t get any satisfaction from her by writing notes.

Mrs. Gunning was drawing off her gloves as she marched at him with her
parasol, and I remember how her emeralds and diamonds flashed in the
sun--old heirlooms. I never saw another woman who had so many precious
stones. She was tall, with that robust English quality that sometimes
goes with slenderness. She and Juliana were not a bit alike. When she
walked, her feet came down pat. I pitied Captain Markley. By leaning
over the carriage I could see him give a start as Mrs. Gunning pounced
at him.

“It’s a fine day after the storm, Captain Markley,” says she; and he
lifted his cap and said it was.

Then she made a rush that I thought would drive him down the cliff, and
whirled her parasol around his head like sword-play, talking about the
havoc of the storm. She rippled him from head to foot and poked at his
eyes, and jabbed him, to show how lightning struck the rocks, Captain
Markley all the time moving back and dodging; and to save my life I
couldn’t help laughing, though the sentinels above him saw it. They were
pretty well used to her, and rolled their quids in their cheeks, and
winked at one another.

When she had all but thrown him down-hill, she stuck the ferrule right
under his nose and shook it, and says she: “Yet it is now as fine a day
as if no such convulsion had ever threatened the island. It is often so
in this world.”

He couldn’t deny that, miserable as he looked. And I thought she would
let him alone and come and say good-day to me. But no, indeed! She took
him by the arm. Soldiers off duty were lounging on the benches, and
Captain Markley wouldn’t let them see him haled like a prisoner. He
marched square-shouldered and erect; and Mrs. Gunning says to me as they
reached the carriage:

“The captain will help you down if you will come with us. I am going to
show him my Shanghai rooster.”

I thanked her, and gladly let him help me down. I wasn’t going to desert
the poor fellow when Mrs.

Gunning was dealing with him; and, besides, I wanted to see that rooster
myself. We heard such stories of the way she kept her chickens and
labored over all the domestic animals she gathered around herself at the
fort.

[Illustration: The Quarters 182]

By ascending a steep bank on which the western block-house stands, you
know you can look down into the drill-ground--that wide meadow behind
the fort, with quarters at the back. Mrs. Gunning had an enclosure built
outside the wall for her chickens; and there they were, walking about,
scratching the ground, and diverting themselves as well as they could in
their clothes. She had a shed at one end of the enclosure, and all the
hens, walking about or sitting on nests, wore hoods! Holes were made for
their eyes but none for their beaks, and the eyelets seemed to magnify
so that they looked wrathy as they stretched their necks and quavered
in those bags. Captain Markley and I both burst out laughing, but Mrs.
Gunning explained it all seriously.

“They eat their eggs,” says she; “so I tie hoods on them until I have
collected the eggs for the day.”

I remember some were clawing their head-gear, trying alternate feet, and
two determined hens were trying to peck each other free. But they wore
generally resigned, and we might have grown so after the first minute,
if it hadn’t been for the rooster.

Captain Markley roared, and I leaned against the lower part of the
block-house and held my sides. That long-legged, awkward, high-stepping
Shanghai cock was dressed like a man in a suit of clothes--all but a
hat. His coat-sleeves extended over his wings, and when he flapped them
to crow, and stuck his claws out of his trousers-legs, I wept tears on
my handkerchief. Mrs. Gunning talked straight ahead without paying
any attention to our laughter. If it ever had been funny to her it had
ceased to be so. She had not brought Captain Markley there to amuse him.

“Look at that Shanghai rooster now,” says she. “I brought him up from
the South. I put him among the hens and they picked all his feathers
off. He was as bare, captain, as your hand. He was literally hen-pecked.
First one would step up to him and pull out a feather; then another; and
he, poor fool, did nothing but cower against the fence. It never seemed
to enter his brain-pan he could put a stop to the torture. There he
was, without a feather to cover himself with, and the cool autumn nights
coming on. So I took some gray cloth and made him these clothes. He
would have been picked to the bone if I hadn’t. But they put spunk
into him. That Shanghai rooster has found out he has to assert himself,
captain, and he does assert himself.”

I saw Captain Markley turn red, and I knew he wished the sentinel wasn’t
standing guard a few feet away in front of that block-house.

She might have let him alone after she had given him that thrust, and
gone on to her house, and said good-bye in the usual way. But just as he
was helping me down it happened that Juliana and Dr. Mc-Curdy appeared
through the rear sally-port, which they must have reached by skirting
the wall instead of crossing the drill-field. As soon as Mrs. Gunning
saw them she stiffened, and clubbed her umbrella at Captain Markley
again. He couldn’t get away, so he stood his ground.

“See that creature begin to curvet and roll her eyes!” says Mrs.
Gunning. “If the parade-ground were full of men I think she would prance
over the parapet. At my age she may have some sense and feeling. But I
would be glad to see her in the hands of a man who knew how to assert
himself.”

“May I ask,” says Captain Markley, “what you mean by a man’s asserting
himself, Mrs. Gunning?”

She made such a pounce at him with the parasol that her waist began to
rip in the back.

“My dear boy, I am a full-blooded Briton, and Juliana is what you
may call an English half-breed. In the bottom of our hearts we have a
hankering for monarchy. The lion, who permits nobody else to poach on
his preserves, is our symbol. While the vexatious child and I are not at
all alike in other things, I know she admires as much as I do a man who
asserts himself.”

Though it was said Juliana Gunning could not hear thunder, she generally
understood her aunt’s voice, and could tell when she was being talked
about. She came straight to her own rescue, as you might say, and Dr.
McCurdy, poor man, was very polite, but not cheerful. If we had known
then what he had been yelling in the woods, we should have understood
better why Captain Markley seemed to pluck up and strut at the sight of
him.

I think Mrs. Gunning determined to finish the business that very hour.
She met Dr. McCurdy with all the sweetness she could put into her manner
just before she intended to pounce the hardest.

“I have been showing the captain my chickens,” she says, “and now I want
to show you my cows.”

Dr. McCurdy thanked her, and said he would be delighted to see the cows,
but he stuck to Juliana like a shadow. Maybe he expected the cows would
give him a further excuse for being with her. But Mrs. Gunning cut him
off there. She gave her keys to her niece, and says she:

“Go in the house, my dear, and set out the decanter and glasses, and
give Captain Markley a glass of wine to keep him until we come back. I
want to tell him something more about that Shanghai rooster.”

Juliana understood, and took the keys, and rolled her eyes tantalizingly
at Dr. McCurdy. The poor fellow made a stand, and said the cows would do
some other time, and mightn’t he beg for a glass of wine too, after his
walk?

“Certainly, doctor, certainly,” says Mrs. Gunning, leading the way to
the front sally-port. “We expect you to take a glass with us. But while
Juliana sets out the decanter, let us look at the cows.”

She hadn’t mentioned me, but I didn’t care for that, knowing Mrs.
Gunning as I did. I should have followed if she Hadn’t beckoned to me,
for I was as determined to see the affair through as she was to finish
it.

We had to go down that long path from the front sally-port to the
street, and then turn into the field at the foot of the hill, where
the fort stables are. Mrs. Gunning talked all the time about cattle,
flourishing her parasol and flashing her diamonds and emeralds in the
sun, and telling Dr. McCurdy she had intended to ask his opinion about
them ever since his arrival on the island. He answered yes, and no, and
seemed to be thinking of anything but cattle.

Mackinac cows tinkled their bells in every thicket. But Mrs. Gunning’s
pets were brought in morning and afternoon to clean, well-lighted
stalls. There they stood in a row, sleek as if they had been
curried--and I have heard that she did curry them herself--all switching
natural tails except one. And, as sure as you live, that cow had a false
tail that Mrs. Gunning had made for her!

She took hold of it and showed it to us. It did not seem very funny to
Dr. McCurdy, but he had to listen to what she said.

“Spotty was a fine cow, but by some accident she had lost her tail, and
I got her cheaper on that account,” says Mrs. Gunning. “You don’t know
how distressing it was to see her switching a stump. So I made her a
tail of whalebone and India-rubber and yarn. I knit it myself.”

The poor fellow looked up at the fort and said: “Yes. It is very
interesting/ Mrs. Gunning.”

“I am aware,” says she, “that the expedient was never hit upon before.
But Spotty’s brush is a great success. It used to make me unhappy to
think of leaving this post. All the other cows might find good homes
with new owners; but who would care for Spotty? Since I have supplied
her deficiency, however, and know that the supply can constantly be
renewed, my mind is easy about her. If you ever have to knit a cow’s
tail, doctor, remember the foundations are whalebone and India-rubber;
and I would advise you to use the coarsest yarn you can find for the
brush.”

“I will, Mrs. Gunning,” he says, like a man who wanted to lie down in
the straw and die. And I couldn’t laugh and relieve myself, because it
was like laughing at him.

“Now that shows,” says Mrs. Gunning, and she pounced at him and shook
her parasol in his face so vigorously that she ripped in the back the
same as a chrysalis, “how easy it is to remedy a seemingly incurable
injury.”

If he didn’t understand her then, he did afterwards. But he looked as if
he couldn’t endure it any longer, and made for the door.

“Stop, Dr. McCurdy,” says she. “You haven’t heard these cows’
pedigrees.”

He stopped, and said: “How long are the pedigrees?”

“Here are four generations,” says Mrs. Gunning--“grandmother, mother,
daughter, and grandchild.” And on she went, tracing their lineage
through blooded stock for more than half an hour. She was enthusiastic,
too, and got between the doctor and the door, and emphasized all her
points with the parasol. Her back kept ripping until I ought to have
told her, but I knew the man was too mad to look at her, and she was so
happy herself, I said, “I will let her alone.”

I had forgotten all about my half-breed driver, sitting on the
parade-ground in the waiting carriage. But he was enjoying himself too,
when we climbed to the fort again, with a soldier lounging on the front
wheel.

Well, as soon as I entered the little parlor that Mrs. Gunning called
her drawing-room--ornamented with the movable knickknacks that an army
woman carries around with her, you know--I saw that Captain Markley had
asserted himself. If he hadn’t asserted himself on that occasion, I do
believe Mrs. Gunning would have been done with him forever. I never saw
a man so anxious to show that he was accepted. Of course he couldn’t
announce the engagement until it had been sanctioned by the girl’s
foster-parents. But he put Juliana through the engaged drill like a
veteran, and she was wonderfully meek.

I suppose one British woman knows another better than an American can.
But I felt sorry for Dr. McCurdy when he saw the state of things and
took his leave, and Mrs. Gunning rubbed his defeat on the raw.

“Ah, my dear friend,” says she, shaking his hand, “we see that buds will
match with buds. I could never find it in my heart to wed a bud to a
full-blown rose.”

I don’t doubt that the full-blown rose, as he went down the fort hill,
cursed Mrs. Gunning’s cow’s tail and all her cows’ pedigrees. But she
looked as serene as if he had pledged the young couple’s health (instead
of going off and leaving his wine half tasted), and took me to see her
chickens’ cupboard.

There were shelves with rows of cans and bottles, each can or bottle
labelled “Molly,” or “Lucy,” or “Speckie,” and so on.

“I have discovered,” Mrs. Gunning says to me, “that one hen’s food may
be another hen’s poison, so I mix and prepare for each fowl what that
fowl seems to need. For instance, Lucy can bear more meal than Speckie,
and the Shanghai cock had to be strongly encouraged. Though it sometimes
happens,” says she, casting her eye back towards the drawing-room, “that
such a fellow gets pampered, and has to have his diet reduced and his
spirit cooled down again.”





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