Benstown
Written By: Commander Cody CC-2224
CHAPTER 10
Showdown with John Herring
Phillip Michaels was at the right side corner table devouring the last remnants of his hominy grits. The morning was cool, and he was very much inclined to take it easy, as it was quiet in the tavern, and he was the only one here. He planned to meet up with Elizabeth after he finished breakfast.
Suddenly a man in his late twenties to early thirties barged into the open entranceway and into the tavern room, armed to the teeth with two flintlock pistols, a fairly heavy blunderbuss, and a butcher's knife. His gentleman clothes were rather mussed and rugged-looking, and his black-brown buckled shoes were worn-out-looking. Some ample daylight in the tavern revealed the man's face, and Phillip, who was still bolted to his chair in fright, was wide-eyed by his ghastly looks.
Unbeknownst to Phillip, it was John Herring, Benjamin Davidson's former comrade and nemesis. And he seemed to be in quite a killing mood right now.
"A tipsy of mine told me you was with 'The Lad They Call Ben'," said Herring in his typical Scottish accent.
Phillip eyed Herring in a cautious manner. "I beg your pardon, sir?" he inquired suspiciously.
Being quite a compulsive bully, Herring used his right arm to violently slap Phillip in the head in such a manner that he stumbled out of his chair in his left side chaotically and onto the floor. The table noisily crashed on his side, too.
"Sir?" he yelled vociferously. "Look at me, ye bloody, reeking son of a TORY bitch!" He violently kicked Phillip in the middle of his guts with his right foot. "I've just spent the last sixteen bloody endless months Charleston's local jail, and you're 'sir'-ing me?" After a last kick to Phillip in the guts again, he lifted him by the scruff of his waistcoat and pinned him to the side of the wall.
"Tipsy said you was part of Ben's dedicated compatriots," he continued, as he pulled out his big butcher's knife and flicked it sadistically alongside Phillip's frightened face. Phillip immediately became squeamish and recoiled in fright, hyperventilating frantically.
"Where is that reeking, bloody, damnable, no-good, dishonorable piece of reeking Patriot horse shit hiding himself? Speak, man, or I shall saw off every last one of yer bloody good looks so no woman will ever want to get married to you!"
Phillip struggled to reach for a butter knife lying on the right side of another table next to his left side. Not being that much of a trained fighter, he jagged it into Herring's left head. Rather than penetrating him completely, as the knife blade was curved rather than sharp, it only irritated Herring a great deal. Instinctively, Herring allowed his right arm carrying the butcher's knife to slash Phillip's left arm. Phillip wrenched and screamed in pain with his eyes tightly shut.
"AAUGH!" cried Phillip.
Herring took no heed; no pity. "I'm not done with ye yet, boy!" he growled. "Such impertinence is going to cost you a good-looking eye!"
But before Herring could sadistically take advantage of poor Phillip with his knife, something made him whip his head around the tavern like a scared beast. The faint sounds of chanting could be heard outside the tavern.
"BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN!…"
Herring could not believe his ears. Ben, his nemesis, was back! And not far from the tavern! Sheathing back his knife in a cursory manner, he grabbed Phillip with his burly right arm and his blunderbuss in the other, and hobbled out of the tavern.
The Charleston town square was filled nearly to the brim with a mass of folk convening to the place where the portrait was. Aside from the majority of common colonial folk, there was a handful of distinguished ladies and gentlemen, as well a dearth of black slaves and a fair amount of black freemen and freewomen, and children. The crowd kept chanting his name. The shouts were enough to get a man carried away like a spectator in an arena.
Suddenly the throng kept chanting, "SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH!…"
Law enforcement rushed to the scene pronto and formed at the ready. Disciplined Continental infantry regulars lined up in formation, along with a regiment of many horsemen. The entire force was stationed at the far end of the crowd opposite the area of the pedestal, ready to spring into action if something dared to go awry at the gathering. Their uniforms were spiffed, their guns fairly polished, and their bayonets, which gleamed in the near midday sun, were attached at their barrels' ends. The regulars, under the direction of their commanding officer, who was on horseback, shouldered their muskets first, and then positioned them at ready position on both hands, ready to cock and fire at a minute's notice, should the order come. The horses of the light foot infantry restlessly kicked up their heels a bit and neighed, being on the ready, as well as the horsemen themselves.
In the midst of the crowd Mr. Merriman, Felicity, and Elizabeth were situated a stone's throw from the portrait and the pedestal. As it was rather sunny during the morning, both girls each had their hats on. Mr. Merriman eyed his surroundings suspiciously and critically. Elizabeth was getting rather anxious about the well-being of her fiancé. Felicity was too hurt by what her beloved Ben did to her at the local tavern to be getting anxious about him, but at the same time, she was quite curious as to what Ben would do in a situation he was up front right now. For the time being, she seemed to have quite a lot of difficulty in forgiving her beloved for his tavern stint.
Near the front of the portrait, which was facing the front of the throng was Ben. His uniform was fairly tidy now, and his personal effects were strapped on him in their original places. He didn't seem to be in any mood for heroics, that was for sure. Nevertheless, he placed his right foot on a sturdy wooden tea crate set especially for him as a making platform, got himself on top of the crate, and uplifted his arms in a firm but rather bashful manner as an indication that the enthusiastic hubbub was to quiet down.
The crowd was silent, as they awaited for an uplifting speech from their favorite hero. Ben gulped before he uttered a single word.
"I'm…uh…I'm afraid I'm…not that much good with words myself, folks," began Ben in an awkward but humble manner. "Not like my sweetheart Lissie, who can be…quite outgoing at times."
The last statement could have and should have done best to uplift Felicity's spirits, but, as she kept thinking to herself, it wasn't enough to just say that he loved her and wanted her, he had to earn her love and prove himself worthy for her. Forcing a small smile in her pretty face on account of the seeming hilarity that Ben seemed to make in front of the crowd, she watched intently as Ben continued the rest of his much-awkward speech.
"B-But I'd like to thank…you all for being here, during this…beautiful spring day; that's my Lissie's favorite time of the year, if I might add;…and for generously thinking…so much of me. 'Tis not often someone who has served in Washington's army…ever…gets something like this." His eyes suddenly caught up with his beloved Felicity, who forced a somewhat thin-lipped smile at him. In his mind he almost imagined that only his Lissie was there, and that he was doing it for her and only her, and not for the crowd itself. "And 'tis not often that every girl like my beloved Lissie…ever gets to be the devoted Patriot sweetheart of a town hero…who's formally served in the 5th Regiment of Lee's Legion." He stopped to think for a moment. "And that's…well, I guess that's something. So, thank you."
The crowd immediately erupted into jovial cheers and applauds, which seemed to uplift Ben's spirits, knowing that he would truly be appreciated around the town.
In the midst of the throng Felicity and Elizabeth watched Ben in admiration. For the moment Felicity's remembrance of Ben's perceived wrongdoing seemed to die down, little by little, if not right away.
"That didn't seem so bad," Felicity confided to her friend in a rather casual manner as she mildly beamed at Ben.
"Aye, 'tis so," replied Elizabeth, her avid blue eyes gazing at Ben dreamily.
"I'm…I'm quite surprised," admitted Mr. Merriman.
The celebration was pretty short-lived when suddenly a pistol blast exploded in midair. The crowd immediately stopped applauding and timidly parted to make way. Mr. Merriman and the girls stayed on the left side wing of the crowd, relative to facing the portrait and pedestal, and anxiously pushed their way to the front of the line.
As the crowd pushed back, they revealed a frightening menace. It was John Herring, and he had come to the town square to make trouble. His left hand carried his pistol, smoking from the barrel, which he slung away to his left direction. On his right shoulder he was carrying a bruised and injured Phillip by the scruff of his dustily soiled waistcoat. After walking some distance until he came near a stone's throw to where Mr. Merriman and the girls were, he gruffly hurled Phillip to the dirt ground like a heavy sack of oats. Elizabeth, upon seeing the pitiful state of her barely unconscious beloved, nervously gasped in disbelief, both hands on her mouth. Felicity's eyes widened with fright and disgust at the sight of Herring's blatantly unkempt and ill-bred manner. The crowd was too frightened to do anything about him, for he was quite armed to the teeth.
The bruised and injured Phillip struggled to crawl on the ground. When he came near enough to where Mr. Merriman and the girls were, both Felicity and Elizabeth picked him up.
"B-B-Beth?" blurted Phillip.
"Oh, Phillip," said Elizabeth, as she held her beloved in her arms. "How did this happen to you?" She and her friend struggled to keep Phillip upright.
"Y-You look beautiful, Beth," he remarked tiredly, his voice trailing off. He struggled to stand on his own two feet.
Ben could not believe the sight of his former comrade, now his arch nemesis due to a long-ago conflict. He stepped down from the platform. "John…Herring," he muttered audibly in mortified disbelief for the crowd to hear.
Suddenly Felicity seemed to have forgotten everything about being unforgiving to her beloved. Ben's life was at stake, and in her mind there seemed to be no room for harboring thoughts that made her beloved appear in all manner unforgivable. She shuddered at the sight of Herring, and what he was about to do with Ben.
Herring began his seemingly short tirade in his typical Scottish accent as he un-shouldered his blunderbuss. "Well, we-hell, well. Good day to ye, Benjamin Davidson," he greeted in an uncouth manner. "I thought I'd make you watch while I butcher me one of yer friends."
"He isn't one of mine," replied Ben in a rather casual manner. Both Felicity and Elizabeth instinctive turned their heads at Ben and frowned anxiously. How could he? they thought to themselves.
Ben could notice the looks of disapproval on the girl's faces, and especially that of Mr. Merriman. He tried to keep a cool head. "Where have you been imprisoned?" he asked his adversary coolly. "I dare say you've got yourself looking mighty hideous today, Mr.…Herring."
Herring laughed a bitter laugh. "So what's all this bloody talk I hear about a so-called "Hero of Charleston"?
Ben took a defiant step and made a struggling effort to steady himself. "I'm no hero, John Herring," he replied. "I was just a light foot infantry in the 5th Regiment of Lee's Legion working in Washington's army for my cause, my cut, and my sweetheart."
Herring laughed another bitter laugh, remembering how he used to insult the honor of Ben's beloved Lissie. "Sweetheart," he uttered acidly, as if the very word itself had left a pungent taste in his mouth. He spat on the ground. Both Mr. Merriman and the girls recoiled in disgust at how ill-mannered and vicious that ill-bred oaf could be.
"Aye, he's right!" continued Herring. "The fact is…we worked together, he and I." Taking notice of Mr. Merriman's step forward, he immediately pointed the blunderbuss at him with his right hand, pulling the cock with his thumb it. His finger was poised at the trigger. The girls shrank back a little, desperately holding on to Mr. Merriman's arms for dear life. While Elizabeth was frightened as a newborn babe, Felicity held a tinge of defiance in her face. "Now why don't you let old John Herring speak his bloody mind?" Herring requested.
Mr. Merriman took a little step cautiously, keenly aware that he was dealing with a cold and deadly son of a bitch far worse than the mean old Jiggy Nye, the former tanner and horse-beater whom his daughter had taken a personal dislike of, due to his brutal treatment of Penny the horse. "Go on, then," he said calmly.
Herring immediately un-cocked the blunderbuss and rested it on his shoulder. "There was a whopping amount of hard money in the Governor Hathaway's treasury, wasn't there, Davidson?" he ranted. "Just think, man, we managed to get away clean. Or so we thought. But then, the bloody carriage ye was driving got caught and disabled by them bloody redcoats. And when them bloody redcoats came wee closer, ye just simply dumped the carriage, the money, and me! Ain't no way he could have dumped the bloody money!"
The same black freeman that Ben had a chat with at the tavern stepped forward bravely. "He did," he declared. "He dropped it for us poor folk so we could be freemen, like 'em rest of 'em folks 'round us."
Herring growled furiously. "By accident, ye bloody, reeking, inbred shit pot of a bloody nigger!" he yelled. "Did ye really think that this bloody Davidson lad was generous of heart to go to the bloody trouble of doing something like that! Nay! He only thinks of his own bloody self! Am I right, Davidson?"
The idea of stealing all that money for himself pierced right through Ben's heart. He felt as though his honor was grievously insulted to the point where his sweetheart would despise him for it. But he wasn't ready to fight to the death in defense of his honor. Not yet. Maybe at the right time, but not yet. So he just simply kept his moth shut and frowned at him.
Herring continued his tirade. "Not only was the money tossed, my whole body was tossed, to, and given to the bloody redcoats to be made a bloody spectacle out of! For nearly a year Davidson and I worked together. He bloody well turned me out before I could bloody well scream!"
"You would have done the same," replied Ben coolly and firmly.
"No, never," said Herring bitterly.
"Yes, you would!" burst out Ben. This time he was on the offensive regarding the battle of words. "Judging by your unremittingly dishonorable character, you would have dumped me to the redcoats and leave me to rot in jail, with them taunting and starving me!"
"Well…that's exactly what happened to me, Davidson!" shouted Herring. "You were dishonorable, Davidson! You're supposed to protect the comrade you're with! Everybody who is so damn well honorable knows that! Everyone…!" He lowered his voice as his eyes stared and glowed maliciously at Ben. "…Except the bloody 'Hero of Charleston'." He then raised his voice. "And for that, I bloody well want his shitty head on a nice, silver platter!"
Ben steadied himself, his eyes defiantly cast upon his arch-nemesis. "'Twas dishonorable for you to post up my death notice and put up my name in the tavern lists just to cause distress to my sweetheart Lissie," he said.
Herring shrugged rudely. "'Twas only a bloody prank, Davidson! Must you really take such a bloody affair so personally?"
"I must," replied Ben. "For such actions not only caused distress to my Lissie, but also to the family members, friends, and acquaintance whom I hold most dear."
"You're really that bloody sentimental, are you, Davidson?" said Herring. "But letting my bloody faults be known to the bloody townsfolk of Charleston ain't gonna save your bloody reputation, much less your body, lad! Everyone knows that what you did during the bloody heist was damn well bloody dishonorable! And you…and your bloody redheaded witch of a 'sweetheart' will carry that bloody stain of dishonor on your reputation, and so will your bloody offspring…that is, if your pretty little strumpet ever gives you any."
Felicity's face began to flush with defiant lividness. She was really itching to punch Herring's face for his blatant insults against her and her beloved Ben. Mr. Merriman, perceiving that trait in her, given her tendency to be defiant whenever someone teased or insulted her and her loved ones, made an effort to steady his headstrong daughter as best he could. Elizabeth also joined in the effort by holding her left arm while at the same time trying to keep her beloved Phillip upright.
Ben took another defiant but cautious step. "You're going to talk me to death, Herring, 'till I grow damn well tired of your incessant rants?" he asked coolly but firmly. "Is that your bloody plan?"
Herring eyed Felicity, who was just as well frightened as her friend beside her. He immediately cocked his blunderbuss and pointed it determinedly at her.
"Nay, Davidson," he replied. "The plan is, I subject you to a lifetime of unremitting agony over the heart-wrenching loss of yer bloody redheaded Patriot brat of a sweetheart." As if it was not enough, Herring insultingly spat directly at Felicity's face. Elizabeth recoiled in shock, her hand at her mouth, while holding her free arm around her friend. Mr. Merriman glared at him for his blatantly abusive action. Ben was dismayed and wholeheartedly angry by Herring's dishonorable and abusive actions as well.
Slowly Felicity dried the spit off her face as her emerald-green eyes glared at him. She was about to protest this abuse against a gentlewoman when Mr. Merriman steadied her. Protectively he took a step forward in front of his daughter, as well as in front of Elizabeth as well. He was calm, but his face was serious.
"You'll have to kill me before you can kill her, or both of them," he said sternly.
Herring shrugged and scoffed. Oh, that'll be bloody well easy, sir, since I have two loaded guns. All I have to do is blow yer bloody head off, and then bloody well finish off hers."
"That's three people to kill, Mr. Herring, not to mention my daughter's rather protective fiancé, as well as the regrettably bruised-up fiancé of her best friend" replied Mr. Merriman coolly. "And as you've said, you've got only two loaded guns."
"Well, in that case, sir, I can use my other gun against the lass whom the "Hero of Charleston" holds most dear."
Herring instinctively turned around as he pointed the blunderbuss at Felicity. Mr. Merriman surreptitiously curled his right hand into a fist.
Then Herring turned his head to Ben and slowly pointed the loaded blunderbuss at him. Ben had his right hand on the hilt of his knife. "On second thought, I should take pleasure in the grief that will result from poor Davidson's sweetheart if I shoot him first. That way, he'll be unable to throw his bloody knife at me, and thus I can be free to take liberties with her." He shot a gleeful, lustful, malicious, look at Felicity. "'Cause after all, she's only just…a bloody bit of a girl."
The last part of Herring's statement was enough to set Felicity off, as she took a dislike to being called such a term. She was incensed.
"That's not true!" cried Felicity in an angry, defiant outburst.
"Silence from ye, ye bloody witch!" bellowed Herring, as he pointed the blunderbuss at Ben.
Rage shot through Felicity as she instinctively curled her hands into fists. Mr. Merriman steadied her, and she relaxed her hands.
"How can he do this?" cried Felicity in an anguished sort of way.
"He can, and he will, Miss Merriman," replied Phillip rather exhaustively. "Unfortunately. Getting turned in to the enemy by your comrade is not something you take kindly to. 'Tis considered dishonorable."
Felicity shot an unfriendly look at Phillip, despite his condition. "So you're implying that my Ben was dishonorable?" she asked hotly.
"Lissie," whispered Elizabeth firmly. Her blue eyes were troubled and solemn at the same time.
But Phillip answered Felicity, despite himself. "No, Miss Merriman," he replied. "It may be that Mr. Herring's getting turned in to the redcoats might very well have been an accident. If Mr. Herring was at least a likable individual, rather than an ill-bred oaf, as he is regrettably now, Ben would at least have risked his reputation and his life to save him. But you've heard how Mr. Herring treated him when Ben talked about his…heist. Who would want to risk his very life for a comrade you consider a sworn enemy?"
Meanwhile, Herring continued pointing his blunderbuss at Ben. "If you value yer bloody life," he yelled, "'Twould do well for you to disarm yerself completely!"
"Even if I disarm myself," replied Ben, "You would still shoot me. 'Twould make no difference whether I disarmed myself or not."
Herring looked sharp at his adversary's eyes as Ben gazed at his beloved Felicity. "Oh!" said Herring. "'Tis love, ain't it. If the fear of losing yer bloody life ain't gonna give ye much reason to live, then perhaps the fear of yer desperate sweetheart over yer safety will. Ye wouldn't want to make her too unhappy, would you?"
Ben could see that his adversary was playing on his fears. He couldn't bear to see, much less think of Felicity's unhappiness over the idea of throwing his life away for no good reason, so he slowly and cautiously disarmed himself. Slowly he un-shouldered his musket and dropped it on the ground. Then he removed his flintlock pistol strapped to his left side, and threw it next to his musket.
Herring still pointed his blunderbuss at Ben, but in a gesture that seemed to indicate that he wanted his adversary's knife off his body. "And the knife," he demanded coldly.
Ben hesitated for a second. "No bloody way, Herring," he protested. "What's a knife going to do to you, anyway? You're just too damn far away for me to attack you with it; if I try lunging at you I'll be an easy target for your blunderbuss."
Herring cocked his blunderbuss again. "Ye don't drop yer knife, lad, I swear I will shoot to kill you in cold blood."
Ben crossed his arms in a rather self-satisfied manner. "Go ahead," he challenged. "Shoot me, then."
Herring decided that the time to get rid of his adversary once and for all had come. He aimed his blunderbuss at the middle of Ben's torso region.
"Say goodbye to yer dear sweetheart, Mr. Davidson," he uttered bitterly.
But before he could kill him, the black freeman who stood up for Ben and challenged Herring stepped in and took the bullet. As Herring fired his blunderbuss, the freeman hurled his way front of Ben seconds before the bullet could hit Ben himself. The bullet impacted flat on the freeman's chest and the freeman dropped to the ground, dead, with his eyes still open.
Ben was very much dismayed, at first, and then became disgusted and furious by what John Herring did to the poor black freeman, as well as to what the freeman did for him. "No…no…" he murmured frantically. He was horrified at the sight of him; the way the dark red blood, which gleamed in the sunlight while fresh, was still bleeding and trickling from the middle of his heart. Ben could also notice a trickle of blood from his mouth.
Herring, on the other hand, was pitiless over his cold-blooded murder. "Damn! I bloody well missed him!" he yelled, as he was intending the bullet to be for Ben. "Well, he won't get away this time!" He brandished his second pistol with his left hand and transferred it to his right.
Then suddenly rage shot through the entirety of Ben's body. Immediately after he stood up he unsheathed his knife still strapped on his left side and skillfully threw it at Herring. The knife whizzed through the air at deadly high velocity until its razor-sharp blade caught itself in the dead center of Herring's body. Herring staggered a little bit while struggling to stand upright, dropping the spent blunderbuss on the ground near his side. Fresh blood started to drip out from the middle of his body, and he started coughing a bit and struggling to breathe.
His adrenaline rushing across his body, Ben charged at his enemy like a mad bull and a madman bent to a slaughter. Despite his pitiful condition, Herring struggled to pull out his second pistol and managed to aim it almost right and his charging adversary lunged it him madly, forcing Herring to fire off the pistol into the air. Gripping around his adversary, Ben managed to throw Herring in such a manner where he spun and fell flat to the ground. He nearly stumbled seconds after he threw his much-hated enemy to the dust, which flew up in fairly small puffs, but managed to get a firm footing on the dusty ground.
When Herring struggled to get up slowly, Ben grabbed hold of him by the scruff of his dirtied-up waistcoat. They struggled. Herring, despite his waning strength, attempted a downward elbow strike. However, the strike didn't deter Ben because his grip was too strong. Using his left hand to get a firm grip on Herring's right shoulder, Ben used his free right hand to swing a bone-crushing punch against his face. Dragging his nearly unconscious adversary to the left side of the pedestal near the portrait, relative to facing the townhouse, as fast as he could, Ben grabbed Herring on the scruff of his waistcoat again and smashed his head repeatedly against the tone pedestal once, twice, three times. After his fourth attempt, his adversary was dead. Ben's bloodstained knife was still stuck in the middle of his adversary's heart, and blood was dripping out of his adversary's mouth. He found himself hyperventilating in a sort of voluntary manner, not because of elation over his victory, but because of sheer relief over his evasiveness from the predatory jaws of death.
There was no cheering from the formerly enthusiastic crowd; no applauses. Ben didn't expect any; he figured that the truth of his seemingly dishonorable intentions was already known to the townsfolk. Felicity did not and could not cheer for her Ben, now victorious after his duel with his sworn enemy; she was far too stunned in grim fascination in knowing how aggressive Ben could be, in knowing how the poor black freeman gave his life to save her beloved, and finally in the realization of how much nearer her beloved Ben was at death's door during the violent duel. Elizabeth, having never seen this kind of violence up close, was very much traumatized and shaking with fright near the side of her beloved Phillip. Mr. Merriman was nearly stunned at what Ben could do, and so was Phillip.
Ben slowly pulled the bloodstained knife from Herring's bleeding and bloodstained body. He could feel the cool tang of the blood spurts on the handle of his knife. The blood, still fresh, gleamed in the sunlight, almost generating reflections of the sunlit surroundings of the town square. Wiping the blood off the blade of his knife with a fairly clean region of Herring's shift below the waist, he sheathed it back into his left side. He dolefully approached the area where the freeman's body lay, and struggled to pick it up. The solemn spectators watched with shock and reverential awe Ben trudged his way through the pathway between both sides of the throng, toting the freeman's body in his arms. It was a very heartfelt, touching sight.
As Felicity and Elizabeth watched, they felt relieved in the bottom of their hearts that inside Ben's gruff exterior existed some shred of humanity in him. Mr. Merriman felt the same way too, and most likely so did Phillip.
A/N (1): The idea for the troop deployment of the Continental Army was taken from a scene from Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ, where Roman infantrymen rushed to the scene promptly and lined themselves up at the entrance of the praetorium, pointing their spears at the frenzy local crowd that gathered to condemn Jesus of Nazareth to death.
A/N (2): The quote "my cause, my cut, and my sweetheart" is quite a catchy phrase for Benjamin Davidson. I was thinking of including the word "freedom" between the words, "cut" and "sweetheart", but since the cause that Ben is fighting for during the American War for Independence involves freedom, or rather, being free from British rule, I thought it was kind of redundant into include that word. For those of you readers who may not have the slightest hint as to what those terms allude to, the term "cause" refer to the cause for freedom, "cut" refers to his monetary pay or recompense, and "sweetheart" refers to his beloved Lissie.