- end_line
- 5225
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T07:57:45.581Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 5131
- text
- "Don't _you_ like it? Don't it do _you_ good? Ain't it inspiring? Don't
it impart pluck? give stuff against despair?"
"All true," said I, removing my hat with profound humility before the
brave spirit disguised in the base coat.
"But then," said I, still with some misgivings, "so loud, so
wonderfully clamorous a crow, methinks might be amiss to invalids, and
retard their convalescence."
"Crow your best now, Trumpet!"
I leaped from my chair. The cock frightened me, like some overpowering
angel in the Apocalypse. He seemed crowing over the fall of wicked
Babylon, or crowing over the triumph of righteous Joshua in the vale of
Askelon. When I regained my composure somewhat, an inquisitive thought
occurred to me. I resolved to gratify it.
"Merrymusk, will you present me to your wife and children?"
"Yes. Wife, the gentleman wants to step in."
"He is very welcome," replied a weak voice.
Going behind the curtain, there lay a wasted, but strangely cheerful
human face; and that was pretty much all; the body, hid by the
counterpane and an old coat, seemed too shrunken to reveal itself
through such impediments. At the bedside sat a pale girl, ministering.
In another bed lay three children, side by side; three more pale faces.
"Oh, father, we don't mislike the gentleman, but let us see Trumpet
too."
At a word, the cock strode behind the screen, and perched himself on
the children's bed. All their wasted eyes gazed at him with a wild and
spiritual delight. They seemed to sun themselves in the radiant plumage
of the cock.
"Better than a 'pothecary, eh," said Merrymusk. "This is Dr. Cock
himself."
We retired from the sick ones, and I reseated myself again, lost in
thought, over this strange household.
"You seem a glorious independent fellow," said I.
"And I don't think you a fool, and never did. Sir, you are a trump."
"Is there any hope of your wife's recovery?" said I, modestly seeking
to turn the conversation.
"Not the least."
"The children?"
"Very little."
"It must be a doleful life, then, for all concerned. This lonely
solitude--this shanty--hard work--hard times."
"Haven't I Trumpet? He's the cheerer. He crows through all; crows at
the darkest: Glory to God in the highest! Continually he crows it."
"Just the import I first ascribed to his crow, Merrymusk, when first
I heard it from my hill. I thought some rich nabob owned some costly
Shanghai; little weening any such poor man as you owned this lusty cock
of a domestic breed."
"_Poor_ man like _me_? Why call _me_ poor? Don't the cock _I_ own
glorify this otherwise inglorious, lean, lantern-jawed land? Didn't
_my_ cock encourage _you_? And _I_ give you all this glorification away
gratis. I am a great philanthropist. I am a rich man--a very rich man,
and a very happy one. Crow, Trumpet."
The roof jarred.
I returned home in a deep mood. I was not wholly at rest concerning the
soundness of Merrymusk's views of things, though full of admiration for
him. I was thinking on the matter before my door, when I heard the cock
crow again. Enough. Merrymusk is right.
Oh, noble cock! oh, noble man!
I did not see Merrymusk for some weeks after this; but hearing the
glorious and rejoicing crow, I supposed that all went as usual with
him. My own frame of mind remained a rejoicing one. The cock still
inspired me. I saw another mortgage piled on my plantation; but only
bought another dozen of stout, and a dozen-dozen of Philadelphia
porter. Some of my relatives died; I wore no mourning, but for three
days drank stout in preference to porter, stout being of the darker
color. I heard the cock crow the instant I received the unwelcome
tidings.
"Your health in this stout, oh, noble cock!"
- title
- Chunk 7