CHAPTER XXI.AN EXILE FROM HOME.I WAS astonished to find that I could commit a crime of such magnitude with so little remorse. It is true, the sin had become, in a measure, necessary to my salvation, and that of my wife; but I was only excited, not burdened with guilt, when I did the deed. I had been traveling very rapidly on the downward road, and in a few weeks I had acquired a facility in crime which enabled me to rob the bank of thirty thousand dollars without considering any thing but the peril of being discovered. Fatal facility, which can only be avoided by those who refrain from taking the first step!I had deluded myself into the belief that principle was only a worldly sense of honor. Tom Flynn was a man of genuine principle, for his actions were based upon a religious foundation, which alone can vitalize principle. A man may be honest because it is safer or more reputable to be so; but then he would steal if it were notfor being found out, and will be as dishonest as fashion or custom will tolerate. When I had leisure to think of the matter, I marvelled that I had fallen so easily; and this was the explanation I made to myself.Tom Flynn had said as much as this to me, in the way of argument, assuring me it was quite impossible for a man without the love of God and the love of man in his heart—which is the epitome of the whole gospel—to have any genuine principle in his soul. Any thing short of this is mere sentiment, which is blown aside by the rude blast of temptation. The hymn he used to sing so much seemed to tell the whole story:—“I want a principle withinOf jealous, godly fear;A sensibility to sin,A pain to find it near.”Worldly honor, the fear of discovery, the bubble of reputation, are not enough to keep a man in the path of rectitude. But I will not anticipate the reflections which were forced upon me afterwards. I did not believe I was much worse than the majority of young men. I certainly did not mean to steal when I began to take money from the bank; and even when I found it necessary toflee from the anticipated consequences of my errors, I had a certain undefined expectation of being able to restore all I had taken. The fortune of Aunt Rachel still flitted through my mind as the solution of the difficult problem.I left the bank struggling to look cool and indifferent. I bowed and spoke to my acquaintances as naturally as possible. In two or three hours more I should be out of the city, perhaps never to see it again. I could not even go down to Springhaven to see my mother—probably I had seen her for the last time on earth. My blood seemed like ice as the thought came to my mind. I reflected upon all she had been to me, all she had done for me. The prayers and the hymns she had taught me in my childhood came back to me as though I had learned them but yesterday. I was amazed at my own folly and wickedness. What a blow I was dealing to that mother! When she heard that her only son had fled from his home, steeped in crime, and covered with shame how she would weep! For days months and years she would groan in bitterness of spirit.What a wretch, what a villain, what an ingrate I was to strike her in this cruel manner! Mysense of worldly honor would have revolted at the thought of giving her even the slightest blow with my hand; but how inconceivably more cruel was the blow I was giving her by my conduct! Could I have sooner realized the anguish which the thought of my mother would cause me, I think it might have saved me.I could not make up my mind to doom her who had given me being, who had watched over me in my childhood, who had loved me as none else but God could love me, to such awful agony as the revelation of my crime would cause her. Was there no way to escape? I could restore the thirty thousand dollars. With the proceeds of my house and furniture I could make up three thousand more. I was really, then, only five thousand dollars in debt—the sum which I had lost in copper stocks. The case seemed not so desperate, after all. I could go to Aunt Rachel, tell her, with the genuine penitence I then felt what a wicked deed I had done. She would lend me five thousand dollars, and I could pay all I owed.My heart leaped with delight as I thought of this remedy. But then there might be some delay. Lilian was all ready to start for New York.It was possible that the deficit might be discovered before I had raised the money. If it were, I was lost. Still farther, if I paid the three thousand dollars in my possession into the bank, I should not have any thing to furnish another house. I should be compelled to board, and very likely the circumstances would drive me back to Mrs. Oliphant’s. I shuddered as I considered it.I thought of my mother again, and had almost resolved to adopt the suggestion of my better nature, when I was tempted to enter a bar-room. I drank a glass of whiskey. The effect of strong drink upon me was to stupefy my faculties and make me reckless. I drank a second and then a third glass, in as many different saloons. I forgot my mother then. I was excited, and pictured to myself the delights of foreign travel.I am almost sure now, so strong was the tendency upon me, that I should have carried out the suggestion of my higher impulses, if I had not entered the bar-room. The devil of whiskey drove the good resolution, still in its formative state, out of my mind. If the thought of my mother came back to me, I drove it from me. In this frame of mind, I could not think of humiliating myself by confessing my errors even to Aunt Rachel, the most indulgent of women.I walked up Tremont Street, thinking of the future. The die was cast, and I refused to avail myself of the means of escape which were open to me. It was a sorry day for me when I turned from the road which might have restored me to honor and integrity. As the events proved, it would have been better, and I should have realized more than I anticipated. I had long dreamed of seeing the wonders of the old world, and the prospect of doing so at once had a powerful influence upon me. Within twenty-four hours I should be on board of a steamer bound to Europe; but at the same time I should be an exile from home, from honor and integrity, leaving a ruined name and a blasted reputation behind me.“How are you, Paley?”It was Tom Flynn. His voice startled me. I would rather have met any other one than him, for his very looks seemed to reproach me.“Ah, how do you do, Tom?” I replied, in some confusion.“So you are going to Albany to-night?” he added.“Yes; poor Whiting is quite sick?”“Who?”“Whiting; don’t you know him?”“No; who is he?”“I knew him in the city here, and we were cronies.”Whiting was a myth, but I had a facility for lying which helped me through in an emergency.“I hope you will find him better.”“I’m afraid it’s all up with him; he is probably in consumption.”“I am sorry for him.”“I suppose you knew I had sold my furniture and lease?”“No!” exclaimed he, opening his eyes.“Yes. Brentbone takes possession to-night.”“I am sorry for that, for I liked to go there.”“The fact is, I lost heavily for me in coppers, and I can’t afford to keep that house any longer.”“One must be prudent,” said he, musing. “I was afraid you were going a little too fast. Did you lose much?”“Considerable, for me.”“If I can do any thing to help you out, Paley, I will, with the greatest pleasure. I never had anything to do with fancy stocks.”“Thank you, Tom. You are fortunate. But I must go along.”“I suppose you are in a hurry, so I will walk along with you. I don’t know but you will thinkme impertinent, Paley, but I don’t want to meddle with your business, in a bad sense. I have been thinking that something was going wrong with you.”“With me?” I demanded, not a little startled by this candid revelation. “Going wrong?”“I had an idea that you were losing money, or that something serious troubled you.”“What makes you think so?” I asked.“I hardly know; but you seem to act strangely; to be excited or absent-minded. Perhaps you have lost more on coppers than you care to acknowledge?”“Well, I have lost more than I ought to lose.”“And—excuse me, Paley—but you have been drinking.”“Only a nipper or two for a pain which often vexes me.”“It’s a dangerous practice—don’t do it, Paley. Better suffer the pain than fall into a bad habit. I’m impudent, I know, but I can’t help it. I wouldn’t have things go wrong with you for all the world. Are you in debt?”“Somewhat.”“Let me help you out. With what I have saved myself, and with what came to me from my father’sestate, I have about eight thousand dollars. Promise me that you won’t drink any more, and I will let you have money enough to help you out of debt.”“What has the drinking to do with it?” I asked, rather vexed at the manner in which he put the question.“I am always afraid that any man who drinks will become a drunkard. Perhaps it is a superstition; but I can’t help it, and you know that the theory is backed up by common experience.”“I don’t think I’m in any danger; but I am not exactly willing to be bought up to total abstinence.”“I didn’t mean that, Paley. You know how much wine was drank at your party. Never mind that now; we will talk of it at another time. How much do you owe?”“Five or six thousand.”“So much!” exclaimed he.“All of that. I lost just five thousand on Bustumups,” I replied, desperately.“I had no idea you were in so deep as that,” he added, looking very serious. “But I will not go back on myself. I will lend you every dollar I have rather than permit the world to gowrong with you. We will talk it over when you return from Albany.”We parted at the corner of Needham Street, for he was going to the Oliphants to see Miss Bertha. What could Tom mean? He had observed that something was wrong with me. I was troubled. If he had noticed it, perhaps others had, and it was time for me to be gone. He was a noble fellow, and I knew that he was deeply concerned about me. From his standpoint, I had been gambling in fancy stocks, had lost, and was in imminent peril of becoming a drunkard under the influence of my financial troubles. He wanted to be a brother to me, but I felt humiliated by the view he took of my case. Why should he think I was in danger of becoming a drunkard? It was fanaticism.He offered to lend me money enough to pay my debts. I could not borrow it of him. I could not place myself under so great an obligation to him. He tendered me the means of making myself square with the bank; but then I should be a beggar, five thousand in debt, instead of travelling like a lord in Europe, with over thirty thousand dollars at my disposal. My pride resented his offer and I did not give it another thought.Dinner was ready when I went into the house. Lilian had almost worn herself out in getting ready for her departure. She told me she had been at her mother’s, and that the whole family were astonished when she told them I had sold out the English basement house. She had informed them that I had an offer in New Orleans, as I had directed her to do; in a word, she had been faithful to my instructions. Before the carriage came for us, Mrs. Oliphant and her two daughters appeared to bid us good-by. I must say that “dear ma” behaved with great propriety on this trying occasion, for it must be remembered that she expected to see no more of Lilian for months, if not for years.We drove to the railroad station with our two heavy trunks. It was fortunate that neither Tom Flynn nor any one but the Oliphants took it into his head to “see us off,” or the quantity of baggage we carried might have provoked inquiry. The train moved out of the station-house, and I felt that I had bade farewell to Boston forever. I had my wife, but I had sundered all ties with every body else.“I hope we shall not have to come back here again next week,” said Lilian, as the train began to increase its speed.“There is little danger of that,” I replied.I was obliged to admit to myself that I might possibly be brought back by an officer, with irons on my wrists, within a week. I had committed a crime which would condemn me to the State Prison for a long term of years, if discovered—and it could not be long concealed.“Do you really think we shall go to Europe, Paley?”“I have hardly a doubt of it.”“Then why didn’t you let me tell mother, and not make her think I was going to New Orleans?”“I told you the reasons, my dear, and I hope you will be satisfied with them,” I answered, rather petulantly.“Don’t be cross, Paley.”“I’m not cross.”But the fumes of the whiskey I had drank were nearly evaporated, and I did not feel right. I could not help dreading something which I tried to define. If Tom Flynn had suspected that something was going wrong with me, it was not impossible that Mr. Bristlebach, or Mr. Heavyside, had been equally penetrating in their observations. It was possible that, at this moment, the bank officers were engaged in examining my accountsand my cash. Any attempt to verify some of my entries must infallibly expose me.Even without any suspicions of me, they might, in looking over my accounts, discover the altered figures, or the fictitious items. An accident might betray me. Perhaps the detectives were already on my track. Telegraphic dispatches to New York might place officers at the station in that city ready to arrest me when I arrived. If my deficit was exposed, it would be impossible for me to take a foreign-bound steamer. My photograph, or at least my description, would be in the hands of all the detectives.All these reflections, all these fears and misgivings, are the penalty of crime. I was called to endure them, as thousands of others have been; and those who commit crimes must remember that these things are “nominated in the bond.” But no telegram preceded me; no detectives dogged my steps; and the bank had no suspicion that anything was wrong with me. We went to the Fifth Avenue Hotel on our arrival in the city.I hastened down town after breakfast, engaged a state-room in the steamer which sailed at one o’clock, and procured a letter of credit on London for three thousand five hundred pounds, payableto Charles Gaspiller, whose signature I left to be forwarded to the banker. I then went to a barber, and had my beard, except the moustache, shaved off. When I entered the parlor of the hotel, Lilian did not at first recognize me. She was talking to a lady and gentleman—a young married couple—whose acquaintance we had made at breakfast. They intended to sail in the afternoon for Havana. The husband was about my size, and not unlike me. He wore only a moustache, and for this reason I had sacrificed my beard. If any detectives, after a few days, should be disposed to ascertain what had become of me, they would be as likely to follow him to Havana as me to Liverpool. It was well to be prudent and take advantage of circumstances.
CHAPTER XXI.AN EXILE FROM HOME.I WAS astonished to find that I could commit a crime of such magnitude with so little remorse. It is true, the sin had become, in a measure, necessary to my salvation, and that of my wife; but I was only excited, not burdened with guilt, when I did the deed. I had been traveling very rapidly on the downward road, and in a few weeks I had acquired a facility in crime which enabled me to rob the bank of thirty thousand dollars without considering any thing but the peril of being discovered. Fatal facility, which can only be avoided by those who refrain from taking the first step!I had deluded myself into the belief that principle was only a worldly sense of honor. Tom Flynn was a man of genuine principle, for his actions were based upon a religious foundation, which alone can vitalize principle. A man may be honest because it is safer or more reputable to be so; but then he would steal if it were notfor being found out, and will be as dishonest as fashion or custom will tolerate. When I had leisure to think of the matter, I marvelled that I had fallen so easily; and this was the explanation I made to myself.Tom Flynn had said as much as this to me, in the way of argument, assuring me it was quite impossible for a man without the love of God and the love of man in his heart—which is the epitome of the whole gospel—to have any genuine principle in his soul. Any thing short of this is mere sentiment, which is blown aside by the rude blast of temptation. The hymn he used to sing so much seemed to tell the whole story:—“I want a principle withinOf jealous, godly fear;A sensibility to sin,A pain to find it near.”Worldly honor, the fear of discovery, the bubble of reputation, are not enough to keep a man in the path of rectitude. But I will not anticipate the reflections which were forced upon me afterwards. I did not believe I was much worse than the majority of young men. I certainly did not mean to steal when I began to take money from the bank; and even when I found it necessary toflee from the anticipated consequences of my errors, I had a certain undefined expectation of being able to restore all I had taken. The fortune of Aunt Rachel still flitted through my mind as the solution of the difficult problem.I left the bank struggling to look cool and indifferent. I bowed and spoke to my acquaintances as naturally as possible. In two or three hours more I should be out of the city, perhaps never to see it again. I could not even go down to Springhaven to see my mother—probably I had seen her for the last time on earth. My blood seemed like ice as the thought came to my mind. I reflected upon all she had been to me, all she had done for me. The prayers and the hymns she had taught me in my childhood came back to me as though I had learned them but yesterday. I was amazed at my own folly and wickedness. What a blow I was dealing to that mother! When she heard that her only son had fled from his home, steeped in crime, and covered with shame how she would weep! For days months and years she would groan in bitterness of spirit.What a wretch, what a villain, what an ingrate I was to strike her in this cruel manner! Mysense of worldly honor would have revolted at the thought of giving her even the slightest blow with my hand; but how inconceivably more cruel was the blow I was giving her by my conduct! Could I have sooner realized the anguish which the thought of my mother would cause me, I think it might have saved me.I could not make up my mind to doom her who had given me being, who had watched over me in my childhood, who had loved me as none else but God could love me, to such awful agony as the revelation of my crime would cause her. Was there no way to escape? I could restore the thirty thousand dollars. With the proceeds of my house and furniture I could make up three thousand more. I was really, then, only five thousand dollars in debt—the sum which I had lost in copper stocks. The case seemed not so desperate, after all. I could go to Aunt Rachel, tell her, with the genuine penitence I then felt what a wicked deed I had done. She would lend me five thousand dollars, and I could pay all I owed.My heart leaped with delight as I thought of this remedy. But then there might be some delay. Lilian was all ready to start for New York.It was possible that the deficit might be discovered before I had raised the money. If it were, I was lost. Still farther, if I paid the three thousand dollars in my possession into the bank, I should not have any thing to furnish another house. I should be compelled to board, and very likely the circumstances would drive me back to Mrs. Oliphant’s. I shuddered as I considered it.I thought of my mother again, and had almost resolved to adopt the suggestion of my better nature, when I was tempted to enter a bar-room. I drank a glass of whiskey. The effect of strong drink upon me was to stupefy my faculties and make me reckless. I drank a second and then a third glass, in as many different saloons. I forgot my mother then. I was excited, and pictured to myself the delights of foreign travel.I am almost sure now, so strong was the tendency upon me, that I should have carried out the suggestion of my higher impulses, if I had not entered the bar-room. The devil of whiskey drove the good resolution, still in its formative state, out of my mind. If the thought of my mother came back to me, I drove it from me. In this frame of mind, I could not think of humiliating myself by confessing my errors even to Aunt Rachel, the most indulgent of women.I walked up Tremont Street, thinking of the future. The die was cast, and I refused to avail myself of the means of escape which were open to me. It was a sorry day for me when I turned from the road which might have restored me to honor and integrity. As the events proved, it would have been better, and I should have realized more than I anticipated. I had long dreamed of seeing the wonders of the old world, and the prospect of doing so at once had a powerful influence upon me. Within twenty-four hours I should be on board of a steamer bound to Europe; but at the same time I should be an exile from home, from honor and integrity, leaving a ruined name and a blasted reputation behind me.“How are you, Paley?”It was Tom Flynn. His voice startled me. I would rather have met any other one than him, for his very looks seemed to reproach me.“Ah, how do you do, Tom?” I replied, in some confusion.“So you are going to Albany to-night?” he added.“Yes; poor Whiting is quite sick?”“Who?”“Whiting; don’t you know him?”“No; who is he?”“I knew him in the city here, and we were cronies.”Whiting was a myth, but I had a facility for lying which helped me through in an emergency.“I hope you will find him better.”“I’m afraid it’s all up with him; he is probably in consumption.”“I am sorry for him.”“I suppose you knew I had sold my furniture and lease?”“No!” exclaimed he, opening his eyes.“Yes. Brentbone takes possession to-night.”“I am sorry for that, for I liked to go there.”“The fact is, I lost heavily for me in coppers, and I can’t afford to keep that house any longer.”“One must be prudent,” said he, musing. “I was afraid you were going a little too fast. Did you lose much?”“Considerable, for me.”“If I can do any thing to help you out, Paley, I will, with the greatest pleasure. I never had anything to do with fancy stocks.”“Thank you, Tom. You are fortunate. But I must go along.”“I suppose you are in a hurry, so I will walk along with you. I don’t know but you will thinkme impertinent, Paley, but I don’t want to meddle with your business, in a bad sense. I have been thinking that something was going wrong with you.”“With me?” I demanded, not a little startled by this candid revelation. “Going wrong?”“I had an idea that you were losing money, or that something serious troubled you.”“What makes you think so?” I asked.“I hardly know; but you seem to act strangely; to be excited or absent-minded. Perhaps you have lost more on coppers than you care to acknowledge?”“Well, I have lost more than I ought to lose.”“And—excuse me, Paley—but you have been drinking.”“Only a nipper or two for a pain which often vexes me.”“It’s a dangerous practice—don’t do it, Paley. Better suffer the pain than fall into a bad habit. I’m impudent, I know, but I can’t help it. I wouldn’t have things go wrong with you for all the world. Are you in debt?”“Somewhat.”“Let me help you out. With what I have saved myself, and with what came to me from my father’sestate, I have about eight thousand dollars. Promise me that you won’t drink any more, and I will let you have money enough to help you out of debt.”“What has the drinking to do with it?” I asked, rather vexed at the manner in which he put the question.“I am always afraid that any man who drinks will become a drunkard. Perhaps it is a superstition; but I can’t help it, and you know that the theory is backed up by common experience.”“I don’t think I’m in any danger; but I am not exactly willing to be bought up to total abstinence.”“I didn’t mean that, Paley. You know how much wine was drank at your party. Never mind that now; we will talk of it at another time. How much do you owe?”“Five or six thousand.”“So much!” exclaimed he.“All of that. I lost just five thousand on Bustumups,” I replied, desperately.“I had no idea you were in so deep as that,” he added, looking very serious. “But I will not go back on myself. I will lend you every dollar I have rather than permit the world to gowrong with you. We will talk it over when you return from Albany.”We parted at the corner of Needham Street, for he was going to the Oliphants to see Miss Bertha. What could Tom mean? He had observed that something was wrong with me. I was troubled. If he had noticed it, perhaps others had, and it was time for me to be gone. He was a noble fellow, and I knew that he was deeply concerned about me. From his standpoint, I had been gambling in fancy stocks, had lost, and was in imminent peril of becoming a drunkard under the influence of my financial troubles. He wanted to be a brother to me, but I felt humiliated by the view he took of my case. Why should he think I was in danger of becoming a drunkard? It was fanaticism.He offered to lend me money enough to pay my debts. I could not borrow it of him. I could not place myself under so great an obligation to him. He tendered me the means of making myself square with the bank; but then I should be a beggar, five thousand in debt, instead of travelling like a lord in Europe, with over thirty thousand dollars at my disposal. My pride resented his offer and I did not give it another thought.Dinner was ready when I went into the house. Lilian had almost worn herself out in getting ready for her departure. She told me she had been at her mother’s, and that the whole family were astonished when she told them I had sold out the English basement house. She had informed them that I had an offer in New Orleans, as I had directed her to do; in a word, she had been faithful to my instructions. Before the carriage came for us, Mrs. Oliphant and her two daughters appeared to bid us good-by. I must say that “dear ma” behaved with great propriety on this trying occasion, for it must be remembered that she expected to see no more of Lilian for months, if not for years.We drove to the railroad station with our two heavy trunks. It was fortunate that neither Tom Flynn nor any one but the Oliphants took it into his head to “see us off,” or the quantity of baggage we carried might have provoked inquiry. The train moved out of the station-house, and I felt that I had bade farewell to Boston forever. I had my wife, but I had sundered all ties with every body else.“I hope we shall not have to come back here again next week,” said Lilian, as the train began to increase its speed.“There is little danger of that,” I replied.I was obliged to admit to myself that I might possibly be brought back by an officer, with irons on my wrists, within a week. I had committed a crime which would condemn me to the State Prison for a long term of years, if discovered—and it could not be long concealed.“Do you really think we shall go to Europe, Paley?”“I have hardly a doubt of it.”“Then why didn’t you let me tell mother, and not make her think I was going to New Orleans?”“I told you the reasons, my dear, and I hope you will be satisfied with them,” I answered, rather petulantly.“Don’t be cross, Paley.”“I’m not cross.”But the fumes of the whiskey I had drank were nearly evaporated, and I did not feel right. I could not help dreading something which I tried to define. If Tom Flynn had suspected that something was going wrong with me, it was not impossible that Mr. Bristlebach, or Mr. Heavyside, had been equally penetrating in their observations. It was possible that, at this moment, the bank officers were engaged in examining my accountsand my cash. Any attempt to verify some of my entries must infallibly expose me.Even without any suspicions of me, they might, in looking over my accounts, discover the altered figures, or the fictitious items. An accident might betray me. Perhaps the detectives were already on my track. Telegraphic dispatches to New York might place officers at the station in that city ready to arrest me when I arrived. If my deficit was exposed, it would be impossible for me to take a foreign-bound steamer. My photograph, or at least my description, would be in the hands of all the detectives.All these reflections, all these fears and misgivings, are the penalty of crime. I was called to endure them, as thousands of others have been; and those who commit crimes must remember that these things are “nominated in the bond.” But no telegram preceded me; no detectives dogged my steps; and the bank had no suspicion that anything was wrong with me. We went to the Fifth Avenue Hotel on our arrival in the city.I hastened down town after breakfast, engaged a state-room in the steamer which sailed at one o’clock, and procured a letter of credit on London for three thousand five hundred pounds, payableto Charles Gaspiller, whose signature I left to be forwarded to the banker. I then went to a barber, and had my beard, except the moustache, shaved off. When I entered the parlor of the hotel, Lilian did not at first recognize me. She was talking to a lady and gentleman—a young married couple—whose acquaintance we had made at breakfast. They intended to sail in the afternoon for Havana. The husband was about my size, and not unlike me. He wore only a moustache, and for this reason I had sacrificed my beard. If any detectives, after a few days, should be disposed to ascertain what had become of me, they would be as likely to follow him to Havana as me to Liverpool. It was well to be prudent and take advantage of circumstances.
AN EXILE FROM HOME.
I WAS astonished to find that I could commit a crime of such magnitude with so little remorse. It is true, the sin had become, in a measure, necessary to my salvation, and that of my wife; but I was only excited, not burdened with guilt, when I did the deed. I had been traveling very rapidly on the downward road, and in a few weeks I had acquired a facility in crime which enabled me to rob the bank of thirty thousand dollars without considering any thing but the peril of being discovered. Fatal facility, which can only be avoided by those who refrain from taking the first step!
I had deluded myself into the belief that principle was only a worldly sense of honor. Tom Flynn was a man of genuine principle, for his actions were based upon a religious foundation, which alone can vitalize principle. A man may be honest because it is safer or more reputable to be so; but then he would steal if it were notfor being found out, and will be as dishonest as fashion or custom will tolerate. When I had leisure to think of the matter, I marvelled that I had fallen so easily; and this was the explanation I made to myself.
Tom Flynn had said as much as this to me, in the way of argument, assuring me it was quite impossible for a man without the love of God and the love of man in his heart—which is the epitome of the whole gospel—to have any genuine principle in his soul. Any thing short of this is mere sentiment, which is blown aside by the rude blast of temptation. The hymn he used to sing so much seemed to tell the whole story:—
“I want a principle within
Of jealous, godly fear;
A sensibility to sin,
A pain to find it near.”
Worldly honor, the fear of discovery, the bubble of reputation, are not enough to keep a man in the path of rectitude. But I will not anticipate the reflections which were forced upon me afterwards. I did not believe I was much worse than the majority of young men. I certainly did not mean to steal when I began to take money from the bank; and even when I found it necessary toflee from the anticipated consequences of my errors, I had a certain undefined expectation of being able to restore all I had taken. The fortune of Aunt Rachel still flitted through my mind as the solution of the difficult problem.
I left the bank struggling to look cool and indifferent. I bowed and spoke to my acquaintances as naturally as possible. In two or three hours more I should be out of the city, perhaps never to see it again. I could not even go down to Springhaven to see my mother—probably I had seen her for the last time on earth. My blood seemed like ice as the thought came to my mind. I reflected upon all she had been to me, all she had done for me. The prayers and the hymns she had taught me in my childhood came back to me as though I had learned them but yesterday. I was amazed at my own folly and wickedness. What a blow I was dealing to that mother! When she heard that her only son had fled from his home, steeped in crime, and covered with shame how she would weep! For days months and years she would groan in bitterness of spirit.
What a wretch, what a villain, what an ingrate I was to strike her in this cruel manner! Mysense of worldly honor would have revolted at the thought of giving her even the slightest blow with my hand; but how inconceivably more cruel was the blow I was giving her by my conduct! Could I have sooner realized the anguish which the thought of my mother would cause me, I think it might have saved me.
I could not make up my mind to doom her who had given me being, who had watched over me in my childhood, who had loved me as none else but God could love me, to such awful agony as the revelation of my crime would cause her. Was there no way to escape? I could restore the thirty thousand dollars. With the proceeds of my house and furniture I could make up three thousand more. I was really, then, only five thousand dollars in debt—the sum which I had lost in copper stocks. The case seemed not so desperate, after all. I could go to Aunt Rachel, tell her, with the genuine penitence I then felt what a wicked deed I had done. She would lend me five thousand dollars, and I could pay all I owed.
My heart leaped with delight as I thought of this remedy. But then there might be some delay. Lilian was all ready to start for New York.It was possible that the deficit might be discovered before I had raised the money. If it were, I was lost. Still farther, if I paid the three thousand dollars in my possession into the bank, I should not have any thing to furnish another house. I should be compelled to board, and very likely the circumstances would drive me back to Mrs. Oliphant’s. I shuddered as I considered it.
I thought of my mother again, and had almost resolved to adopt the suggestion of my better nature, when I was tempted to enter a bar-room. I drank a glass of whiskey. The effect of strong drink upon me was to stupefy my faculties and make me reckless. I drank a second and then a third glass, in as many different saloons. I forgot my mother then. I was excited, and pictured to myself the delights of foreign travel.
I am almost sure now, so strong was the tendency upon me, that I should have carried out the suggestion of my higher impulses, if I had not entered the bar-room. The devil of whiskey drove the good resolution, still in its formative state, out of my mind. If the thought of my mother came back to me, I drove it from me. In this frame of mind, I could not think of humiliating myself by confessing my errors even to Aunt Rachel, the most indulgent of women.
I walked up Tremont Street, thinking of the future. The die was cast, and I refused to avail myself of the means of escape which were open to me. It was a sorry day for me when I turned from the road which might have restored me to honor and integrity. As the events proved, it would have been better, and I should have realized more than I anticipated. I had long dreamed of seeing the wonders of the old world, and the prospect of doing so at once had a powerful influence upon me. Within twenty-four hours I should be on board of a steamer bound to Europe; but at the same time I should be an exile from home, from honor and integrity, leaving a ruined name and a blasted reputation behind me.
“How are you, Paley?”
It was Tom Flynn. His voice startled me. I would rather have met any other one than him, for his very looks seemed to reproach me.
“Ah, how do you do, Tom?” I replied, in some confusion.
“So you are going to Albany to-night?” he added.
“Yes; poor Whiting is quite sick?”
“Who?”
“Whiting; don’t you know him?”
“No; who is he?”
“I knew him in the city here, and we were cronies.”
Whiting was a myth, but I had a facility for lying which helped me through in an emergency.
“I hope you will find him better.”
“I’m afraid it’s all up with him; he is probably in consumption.”
“I am sorry for him.”
“I suppose you knew I had sold my furniture and lease?”
“No!” exclaimed he, opening his eyes.
“Yes. Brentbone takes possession to-night.”
“I am sorry for that, for I liked to go there.”
“The fact is, I lost heavily for me in coppers, and I can’t afford to keep that house any longer.”
“One must be prudent,” said he, musing. “I was afraid you were going a little too fast. Did you lose much?”
“Considerable, for me.”
“If I can do any thing to help you out, Paley, I will, with the greatest pleasure. I never had anything to do with fancy stocks.”
“Thank you, Tom. You are fortunate. But I must go along.”
“I suppose you are in a hurry, so I will walk along with you. I don’t know but you will thinkme impertinent, Paley, but I don’t want to meddle with your business, in a bad sense. I have been thinking that something was going wrong with you.”
“With me?” I demanded, not a little startled by this candid revelation. “Going wrong?”
“I had an idea that you were losing money, or that something serious troubled you.”
“What makes you think so?” I asked.
“I hardly know; but you seem to act strangely; to be excited or absent-minded. Perhaps you have lost more on coppers than you care to acknowledge?”
“Well, I have lost more than I ought to lose.”
“And—excuse me, Paley—but you have been drinking.”
“Only a nipper or two for a pain which often vexes me.”
“It’s a dangerous practice—don’t do it, Paley. Better suffer the pain than fall into a bad habit. I’m impudent, I know, but I can’t help it. I wouldn’t have things go wrong with you for all the world. Are you in debt?”
“Somewhat.”
“Let me help you out. With what I have saved myself, and with what came to me from my father’sestate, I have about eight thousand dollars. Promise me that you won’t drink any more, and I will let you have money enough to help you out of debt.”
“What has the drinking to do with it?” I asked, rather vexed at the manner in which he put the question.
“I am always afraid that any man who drinks will become a drunkard. Perhaps it is a superstition; but I can’t help it, and you know that the theory is backed up by common experience.”
“I don’t think I’m in any danger; but I am not exactly willing to be bought up to total abstinence.”
“I didn’t mean that, Paley. You know how much wine was drank at your party. Never mind that now; we will talk of it at another time. How much do you owe?”
“Five or six thousand.”
“So much!” exclaimed he.
“All of that. I lost just five thousand on Bustumups,” I replied, desperately.
“I had no idea you were in so deep as that,” he added, looking very serious. “But I will not go back on myself. I will lend you every dollar I have rather than permit the world to gowrong with you. We will talk it over when you return from Albany.”
We parted at the corner of Needham Street, for he was going to the Oliphants to see Miss Bertha. What could Tom mean? He had observed that something was wrong with me. I was troubled. If he had noticed it, perhaps others had, and it was time for me to be gone. He was a noble fellow, and I knew that he was deeply concerned about me. From his standpoint, I had been gambling in fancy stocks, had lost, and was in imminent peril of becoming a drunkard under the influence of my financial troubles. He wanted to be a brother to me, but I felt humiliated by the view he took of my case. Why should he think I was in danger of becoming a drunkard? It was fanaticism.
He offered to lend me money enough to pay my debts. I could not borrow it of him. I could not place myself under so great an obligation to him. He tendered me the means of making myself square with the bank; but then I should be a beggar, five thousand in debt, instead of travelling like a lord in Europe, with over thirty thousand dollars at my disposal. My pride resented his offer and I did not give it another thought.
Dinner was ready when I went into the house. Lilian had almost worn herself out in getting ready for her departure. She told me she had been at her mother’s, and that the whole family were astonished when she told them I had sold out the English basement house. She had informed them that I had an offer in New Orleans, as I had directed her to do; in a word, she had been faithful to my instructions. Before the carriage came for us, Mrs. Oliphant and her two daughters appeared to bid us good-by. I must say that “dear ma” behaved with great propriety on this trying occasion, for it must be remembered that she expected to see no more of Lilian for months, if not for years.
We drove to the railroad station with our two heavy trunks. It was fortunate that neither Tom Flynn nor any one but the Oliphants took it into his head to “see us off,” or the quantity of baggage we carried might have provoked inquiry. The train moved out of the station-house, and I felt that I had bade farewell to Boston forever. I had my wife, but I had sundered all ties with every body else.
“I hope we shall not have to come back here again next week,” said Lilian, as the train began to increase its speed.
“There is little danger of that,” I replied.
I was obliged to admit to myself that I might possibly be brought back by an officer, with irons on my wrists, within a week. I had committed a crime which would condemn me to the State Prison for a long term of years, if discovered—and it could not be long concealed.
“Do you really think we shall go to Europe, Paley?”
“I have hardly a doubt of it.”
“Then why didn’t you let me tell mother, and not make her think I was going to New Orleans?”
“I told you the reasons, my dear, and I hope you will be satisfied with them,” I answered, rather petulantly.
“Don’t be cross, Paley.”
“I’m not cross.”
But the fumes of the whiskey I had drank were nearly evaporated, and I did not feel right. I could not help dreading something which I tried to define. If Tom Flynn had suspected that something was going wrong with me, it was not impossible that Mr. Bristlebach, or Mr. Heavyside, had been equally penetrating in their observations. It was possible that, at this moment, the bank officers were engaged in examining my accountsand my cash. Any attempt to verify some of my entries must infallibly expose me.
Even without any suspicions of me, they might, in looking over my accounts, discover the altered figures, or the fictitious items. An accident might betray me. Perhaps the detectives were already on my track. Telegraphic dispatches to New York might place officers at the station in that city ready to arrest me when I arrived. If my deficit was exposed, it would be impossible for me to take a foreign-bound steamer. My photograph, or at least my description, would be in the hands of all the detectives.
All these reflections, all these fears and misgivings, are the penalty of crime. I was called to endure them, as thousands of others have been; and those who commit crimes must remember that these things are “nominated in the bond.” But no telegram preceded me; no detectives dogged my steps; and the bank had no suspicion that anything was wrong with me. We went to the Fifth Avenue Hotel on our arrival in the city.
I hastened down town after breakfast, engaged a state-room in the steamer which sailed at one o’clock, and procured a letter of credit on London for three thousand five hundred pounds, payableto Charles Gaspiller, whose signature I left to be forwarded to the banker. I then went to a barber, and had my beard, except the moustache, shaved off. When I entered the parlor of the hotel, Lilian did not at first recognize me. She was talking to a lady and gentleman—a young married couple—whose acquaintance we had made at breakfast. They intended to sail in the afternoon for Havana. The husband was about my size, and not unlike me. He wore only a moustache, and for this reason I had sacrificed my beard. If any detectives, after a few days, should be disposed to ascertain what had become of me, they would be as likely to follow him to Havana as me to Liverpool. It was well to be prudent and take advantage of circumstances.