Chapman had developed Nyack pretty thoroughly, had made money enough to feel independent, and attributed it all to his own virtues. He had got up no end of quarrels, invented new religions, established a hotel on principles of high moral economy, advocated broad and advanced ideas in everything, and kept the settlement in a state of excitement generally. Chapman was indeed a great human accident. There was no confining him to any one thing, either in religion, politics, or finance. He had a morality of his own, which he said belonged to the world's advanced ideas, and it was not his fault if there were so few persons enlightened enough to understand and appreciate it in its true sense.
Chapman was indeed not one of those men who carry blessings into a community with them, but rather one of those who seem to delight in planting curses wherever they go, and leaving their victims to reap the bitter fruit in poverty and ruin. Himself a mental deformity, none of his enterprises had been of any real benefit to the community, while his last and most reprehensible one had resulted in emptying the pockets of the old Dutch settlers, and leaving them bits of worthless paper to remember him by.
And yet this man could talk of himself like a very saint. He had the power, too, of making many of those who had suffered by his acts believe him honest. Indeed, while one portion of the community was cursing him for a knave, another was defending him as areally useful man—an opinion Mrs. Chapman was always ready to endorse. In short, Chapman had supporters in Nyack who would have sent him to Congress out of sheer love for his talents, which they were sure would have found a happy field for their development. Mrs. Chapman always sought to conciliate these friends, and would invite them to tea. On these little occasions, after discussing the merits of cider-vinegar and homemade pumpkin pies, and the care respectable people should exercise over the company they kept, for there was pure New England "grit" in the lady, she would recur to her dear husband.
"All Nyack will confess how intellectually great he is," she would say; "and show me the person who has done more to elevate the moral respectability of Nyack. Nyack was such a dull, sleepy place when—when we first honored it with our company. See what it now is. My dear husband worked up these low Dutch people so; yes, and he improved their morals. And I flatter myself I have elevated its society—a little."
Chapman had now thoroughly developed Nyack, financially and religiously. He had saved up a nice little fortune, enough with care and good management to keep him comfortable and give Mrs. Chapman a wider field for the exercise of her love of display. There was now little chance of making any more money out of Nyack, either by getting up quarrels between neighbors or inventing new religions. So the Chapmans resolved to go into the city and set up for very respectable people. As nobody wanted the big house for a church Chapman rented it to Titus Bright for an inn, and as nothing was said about moral restrictions, that worthy friend of the thirsty and weary traveller kept it in the good old-fashioned way of givingcustomers what they wanted and asking no questions. He would much rather, Chapman said, have seen it put to a less profane use, but as Bright was a responsible tenant, and could pay more rent than any one else, the morality had to sink in the necessity.
A few months passed and the Chapmans were set up in New York, in a spacious and well-furnished house on the east side of Bowling Green. Chapman was soon busy looking after the affairs of the great firm of Topman and Gusher, which I need scarcely tell the reader was a creation of his. Mrs. Chapman soon had enough to do at pushing her way into society. But the more she pushed the more did little social obstructions seem to rise up and defeat her efforts. She would associate with first-rate society, she said, or none; and Mattie should be introduced and shine in the "upper circles."
Bowling Green stood on its dignity in those days. There were very nice and very old families living there then, and they kept themselves rolled up in their wealth and comfort, and looked coldly down on all new and pretentious people. West Bowling Green, too, put on airs of superiority over East Bowling Green, which it affected to designate with the term "rather vulgar." They were quiet, well brought up people on the West side, people who had made a family name and were proud of it, whose superior enterprise and genius had raised them above ordinary people, and who had acquired wealth by honorable means.
There was, indeed, a charm about these families, made more attractive by the simplicity and gentleness of their manners, for they were refined, and entertained their friends generously. In short, West Bowling Green and a portion of the Battery had at that day asocial empire of its own, which had a flavor of rich old wine about it, and was as distinct as distinguished in all its surroundings. It rode in its own carriage, had orderly and well-dressed coachmen, wore an air of great circumspection, dined at five o'clock, and lived like a well-bred gentleman.
East Bowling Green had begun to lose cast, and, indeed, was under a cloud socially. Its society was made up of new, fast, and somewhat showy people, whose antecedents it was difficult to get at, (at least West Bowling Green said so,) and who, for want of a family reputation, put on the airs of a vulgarian. These people spent their money freely, and seemed to have enough of it, but they aspired to make a show rather than secure real enjoyment. They associated with third-rate people, and vied with each other in giving parties and balls to which all the young swells in town were invited. In fine, East Bowling Green had a cheap, retail flavor about it which all its show and extravagance failed either to conceal or atone for.
Mrs. Chapman had resided three months in Bowling Green, and yet first-class society had kept its doors closed—did not even condescend a smile. This was very mortifying to a lady whose pretentions were quite equal to her dimensions. A few second and third-rate people had made a formal call, or left a card. But it was merely as a matter of ceremony. Mr. Pinks, the elegant old beau of the Green, who was looked up to by first-rate society everywhere, and considered himself born to stand guard over it and protect it from vulgar contact, and who was accepted as authority in all matters of etiquette, and had standing invitations to dinner with all the best families, had called to pay his respects and congratulate the lady. But Pinksconsidered this strictly a matter of duty—to make an observation.
When Beau Pinks reported the result of his call to the Warburton family, who were first-rate people, and the Warburton family spread it through West Bowling Green, there was great amusement in the neighborhood.
"Won't do, the lady won't," said Pinks, lowering his voice to a whisper, and shaking his head. "Lady weighs two hundred pounds and more. A dead weight on the back of any society. Very pretentious, but makes shocking work of the King's English, and discovers low origin in her conversation generally. Puts on finery without regard to color or complexion, told me how many new dresses she had making, has big, fat hands, and wears common gold rings. Worse than all," continued Pinks, raising his hands, "the lady wanted to know if I could tell her how to reform servants, and if I liked rhubarb pies for breakfast."
With such a report from Pinks it was no wonder first-rate society did not take kindly to the lady. The rhubarb pies for breakfast settled the question in Pinks' mind, and he never called again, though he kept up a bowing acquaintance with the lady. Mrs. Chapman now fell back on a reception. A reception would be the thing to make Bowling Green surrender. The day was set and cards sent out, and notwithstanding Mr. Gusher, who was her standing ornament and idol, assisted her in drumming up recruits, the affair turned out to be very unsatisfactory. The nice people she invited sent regrets; and those who did come were second and third-rate people, who never miss a reception on any account, seeing that it affords them the cheapest means of showing themselves. There werecheap people then, just as there are cheap people now, ready enough to put in an appearance at a lady's reception, especially if she gave nice suppers and had daughters to be admired. Nor was it an uncommon thing, even at that day, for a pretentious woman who had just set up in society, and taken to the business of reception-giving, to find herself made the target of a little innocent satire by the nice young gentlemen she had invited to pay her homage.
Chapman differed from his wife, inasmuch as he regarded society as a great bore. Mrs. Chapman, however, was not a little disappointed at the way things had turned. They were flashy and rather fast people who came to her reception; people whom nobody of established respectability knew or cared to know—thoughtless young men, overdressed young women with matrimonial expectations, and a few needy foreigners with small titles. To make the matter worse, some of the lady's guests wore eye-glasses, through which they persisted in gazing at her, and conducted themselves very unbecomingly. Indeed, they eat up all her supper, spoiled her carpet, insulted her servants, and paid her certain left-handed compliments because she had neither coffee nor wine on her side-board. The foreigners, too, were inclined to be merry at the lady's circumference, and at the awkwardness of her movements, as well as to be severe on the style of her dress and the way she wore her hair.
"Who are these people?" enquired a young man, adjusting his eye-glass.
"Very new people," whispered another in reply.
"Vulgar, evidently—just set up to be somebody—don't understand it," rejoined a third, shrugging his shoulders.
Mr. Gusher, who had assisted the lady in beating up her recruits, had assured them that the Chapmans were very distinguished people.
Mrs. Chapman was not more successful in setting up a carriage of her own. She had done a great deal of pushing without affecting a lodgment in the society she had set her heart on. With a carriage of her own she felt that she would be just as good as any of those high old Bowling Green people. She had read of a lady in her carriage driving right into society and forcing a surrender.
Unfortunately the fools were not so plenty as formerly, the demand for Kidd Discovery stock had greatly diminished, and the expense of keeping up appearances in the city had far exceeded Chapman's calculations. Indeed, he had already begun to talk of the necessity of economy. Topman was already drawing heavily on the income of the firm to keep up appearances, and the future must not be overlooked. The lady had, therefore, to content herself with a one-horse turn-out, an establishment not very popular in Bowling Green even at that day. Although the lady had to accept the necessity, there was no getting along without a coachman, and Mr. Napoleon Bowles was engaged to wear a livery and wait on the lady in that capacity. Now Bowles stood about five feet four inches in his boots, was very fat and very short-legged, and very black, for he was a person of African descent and established color. Bowles weighed at least two hundred and fifty solid, so that when he drove his mistress out for an airing of an afternoon the whole establishment made so shabby and yet so comical an appearance as to afford the whole neighborhood a subject for amusement. Nor was there a more self-importantperson in all Bowling Green than Bowles—except, perhaps, it might be his mistress. But it was only when he got himself into those tight-fitting drab trousers, and that bright blue coat with double rows of brass buttons, and mounted that small, tall hat with the huge buckle in front, that he fancied himself seen to advantage.
Bowles not only became a feature in Bowling Green society, but indeed considered himself necessary to the dignity of the family he was serving, and in duty bound to fight any coachman who would make the slightest insinuations against it. This got him into numerous difficulties, for there was not a coachman in the neighborhood that did not set him down as a fair subject for unpleasant remarks. One called him a dumpling-stomached darkey; while another said he must have been brought up in the family and fed on puddings.
"Can't be much of a family," a third would say, "to have such a short-legged shadow as you for coachman, and only one horse. And such a livery as that! Why don't your mistress dress you like a man?"
Mr. Bowles had several times found himself measuring the pavement and his hat in the gutter, as a reward for his attempts to resent such indignities, which he considered were offered to the family rather than himself. There was so close a resemblance between the circumference of the lady and her coachman as to seriously damage the pretensions of the family, and bring down upon it no end of ridicule.
There was another serious impediment to the lady's pretentions, and that was no less a person than Mrs. Topman. No sooner had the Chapmans set up in Bowling Green than that lady took them into her keeping, promising them no end of introductions tonice people. Now, Mrs. Topman was one of those social afflictions which are found everywhere, whose touch is like contagion, and who take strangers into their keeping only to do them more harm than good. I have called them social afflictions for want of a better term. Mrs. Topman was the highest example of the species. She had been beating about on the outskirts of society without gaining an entrance into it until she was like a faded bouquet that had lost its freshness and perfume. In short, she was a tall, rakish looking craft, with ingeniously painted head-gear, carrying an immense amount of sail, and flying colors not recognized by good society in Bowling Green—at least not on the West side.
It was a cold, dark night in December. The wind was blowing fresh from the northeast, the tall trees on the Battery were in commotion, and the ships in the harbor, seen through a pale mist, were straining at their anchors. A thin, pale mist hung over the sombre old fort on the Battery, over the trees, over the ships, over everything within the eye's reach. And the mist and the solemn beating sound of the sea-wail, in which the sailor fancies he can read all his sorrows, gave a weird and mysterious appearance to the scene. The Battery was nearly deserted that night, for at the time we write of only two old men could be seen, leaning over the railing on the sea-wall and watching in the direction of a ship at anchor in the stream, and looking as if she was just in from sea.
Mrs. Chapman was to give her ball that night. The lady had for several weeks given all her mind and energy to the preliminaries of this grand affair. Who was to be invited, what sort of new dresses she and Mattie would appear best in, who was to provide the supper, and what the whole would cost, were subjects which so engaged the lady's attention that she could think of nothing else. In vain did Chapman demur to the great expense and the folly of keeping up appearances under such circumstances. In vain did he insinuate the probable necessity of inventing a new religion as a means of bringing his revenues up to his necessities. A necklace of pearls and a diamond ring hadbeen got for Mattie, and now a demand was made for a new and expensive dress. If there was anything in the world Chapman admired and submitted to it was his wife. In his thoughts she was above everything else, and he would surrender to her demands, no matter at what sacrifice. As for Mattie, he never seemed to care much about her, nor indeed to regard her with anything more than ordinary affection.
There was no getting along without the ball, Mrs. Chapman said. West Bowling Green had given two or three balls, and had not condescended to send her an invitation. It was very mortifying to get the cut direct in this way. She must bring West Bowling Green down by showing that she could give a ball of her own. And then it would be such a relief to her pride. And, too, it would be just the thing to show Mattie off to the best advantage. Mr. Gusher would shine brilliantly in a ball room, and so would Mattie, and if the young people could be reconciled in that way, why it would be money well spent.
Mrs. Topman was delighted at the prospect, and so was Gusher. And both had been going about among their friends for a week sounding the trumpet of Mrs. Chapman's ball, as well as telling their friends that the Chapmans were rich and very distinguished people. Bowling Green, then, was in a flutter that night. Chapman's house was brilliantly lighted, and carriages began to arrive and set down their gaily-attired occupants ere St. Paul's clock had struck nine. Then there was such a tripping of delicately turned little feet, such a flashing of underskirts, such a witching of perfumed silks and satins, such a display of white arms and white shoulders, as each bevy of beauties vaulted up the steps and were bowed into the house by the politeMr. Bowles. Bowles felt himself an important element in the dignity of the family that night. His mistress had got him a new blue coat with large brass buttons, and a white waistcoat that reached nearly to his knees, and gave him the appearance of a huge ball of snow surmounted by an illuminated globe painted black. Bowles had delivered most of the invitations, and firmly believed that his mistress was indebted to him for the success of her ball, inasmuch as he had solicited guests worthy of her favor. Nor was he sure that the ball was not given by his mistress to show him off in his new clothes. Bowles had a bow and a smile for each of the guests. "My missus is right glad to sees you—she is. Be a heap o' dancin' did to-night," he would say, as he bowed the guests into the hall.
At ten o'clock the brilliantly-lighted parlors were filled, and presented the appearance of a garden of flowers variously colored. There were merry, laughing voices, graceful forms, young and happy faces, forming the light and shade of the picture presented to the eye. The ponderous figure of Mrs. Chapman formed a sort of central object. The lady was indeed got up in a gorgeous style of dress, for she wore all the colors of the rainbow, without their blending, had flounces nearly to her waist, giving her the appearance of an half-inflated balloon; and she had made a very flower-basket of her head. In short, the lady had made a bold attempt to improve on all known styles of dress, and at the same time to show her contempt for what other people might call taste in such matters. Thus elaborately arrayed she fancied herself as much a lady of quality as any of your fine old West Bowling Green people.
A number of exquisitely dressed young men had gathered about the lady, and although they paid her all manner of compliments, and said various pretty things in admiration of her charming daughter, it was evident that they regarded her as a rare curiosity, whose mental defects were affording them a subject for amusement. There the lady stood, receiving the congratulations of her friends and introducing her daughter Mattie, who was dressed in a plain blue silk with white trimmings, a wreath of orange blossoms on her head, and her golden hair hanging in simple curls down her shoulders. Indeed, the lady suffered by comparison with her daughter, whose charms were made more fascinating by the simplicity of her dress and the quietness of her manners.
In truth, Mattie had no taste for the show and extravagance her mother was so fond of indulging in. Nor could she see what object her mother had, or what really was to be gained by giving this ball. She felt in her heart that it was a piece of extravagance her father could not afford as an honest man, and she saw prominent among the guests persons she had long mistrusted of being his enemies. Gay as the scene was it had nothing in it to interest her. Her thoughts were engaged in something more real and true. They were wandering just then into a distant ocean in search of the object dearest in her affections, wondering how it fared with him. Then the picture of Hanz and Angeline, in their humble little home, revealed itself to her, and her mind filled with strange fancies as to the part she might have to perform in saving them from the trouble she saw foreshadowed in her father's conversation with Topman and Gusher. She little knew what sorrow had been brought into Hanz's homesince she left Nyack; nor did it occur to her that old Father Hanz, as she playfully called him, might even then be within the sound of her voice.
The company had all assembled, the musicians were beginning to tune their instruments, and the time for dancing was drawing near. Mrs. Chapman flattered herself that Bowling Green would wake up in the morning to find that she had carried its outworks. But notwithstanding all the pushing she had done, and all the pushing her friends had done for her, she had not succeeded in catching the sort of people she had thrown her net for. There was Topman and Mrs. Topman, moving here and there in all the elegance of full dress. There were a number of others, who were always ready to accept an invitation where there was dancing to be done, or an opportunity afforded to show themselves in their best clothes. They were second and third-rate people, after all—people who get a cheap position in society through their proficiency in dancing, which they accept as the highest object a man or woman has to live for.
Poor Chapman moved about here and there like a raven among birds of brilliant plumage; and never did man look meeker or more submissive. There had been a curious change in his worldly affairs since the time when he preached humility and economy at Dogtown, and was ready to quarrel with any man who did not agree with him that show and extravagance were carrying the country to the devil.
"My wife, my dear wife, gives this ball," he would say, referring timidly to the subject. "My dear wife enjoys these things. Mrs. Chapman is very fond of young society, you see. I hope you are enjoyingyourselves. There will be dancing soon—I never dance—and supper at twelve."
There was no man more elaborately got up that night than Gusher. Every hair on his head was trained into exact position, and his tailoring was faultless. In short, Gusher had got himself up with a view to making the greatest destruction on the female heart. He whisked about here and there, making himself useful as well as ornamental, for he felt that he had got the Chapman family on his shoulders, and was responsible for its reputation as very distinguished.
"Miz, you shall permit me ze pleazure, and ze 'onar, to open ze dance wiz you," said Gusher, approaching Mattie with his right hand on his heart, and making one of his extensive bows, "You shall do me ze 'onar, I am sure," he continued, and as he raised his head with an air of confidence, expecting to see her extend her hand, his eye fell on the familiar face of a young man standing at her side, engaging her in conversation. He paused suddenly, his face changed color from pale to crimson, and his manner became nervous and agitated. His whole system, mental and physical, seemed to have received a sudden and unexpected shock.
"Yes, my daughter, you must open the ball with Mr. Gusher. How very kind of you, Mr. Gusher," said Mrs. Chapman, with a courtesy. "It will be so very appropriate, my daughter, for you and Mr. Gusher to lead off." Mrs. Chapman had not noticed the singular change in Mr. Gusher's manner. He, however, recovered himself in a minute, and affecting not to notice the young man at Mattie's side, who still kept his eyes fixed on him, he resumed:
"Do me ze 'onar, Miz, and you shall make me so happy."
"I am sure, mamma," returned Mattie, "Mr. Gusher will excuse me. It was very kind of you to remember me," (turning to Mr. Gusher.) "But really I should appear very awkward dancing with you, who are so good a dancer. I am sure you will excuse me for the opening dance, Mr. Gusher, and I shall have the pleasure, if you will condescend to honor me, of dancing with you during the evening."
"My daughter, my daughter!" interrupted Mrs. Chapman, motioning with her fan, "pray don't be eccentric to-night. Accept the honor Mr. Gusher intended and please me—if only for once."
"I am sure, mamma, I always try to please you," returned Mattie, "and I appreciate the honor Mr. Gusher would do me, knowing how much my dear mamma admires him." Here Mattie paused for a moment and tapped her fingers with her fan, as the young man who had stood by her side turned and walked away for a moment. "It was very thoughtless of me, mother," resumed Mattie, ("you know I am only a thoughtless girl, after all)—but the truth is I am already engaged for the first dance."
"Engaged, my daughter, engaged?" Mrs. Chapman rejoined. "Pray, who to? It was very strange of you!" Here the young man returned to Mattie's side.
"Allow me to introduce you to my mother, Mr. Romer," said Mattie. "Mr. Romer, Mr. Gusher,—a friend of our family." Mrs. Chapman made a courtesy, and the two gentlemen bowed formally and coldly.
"If I mistake not," said Mr. Romer, who was a young man of polished manners, slender of form, with a frank, open countenance, and evidently a gentleman,"we have met before." He kept his eyes fixed on Gusher, as if resolved to read his thoughts in the changes that were going on in his countenance.
"Pardon, pardon, monsieur," returned Mr. Gusher, affecting an air of self-confidence supported by innocence. "I ne-var re-mem-bar as we has meets before. You shall zee I shall make you my respects. We shall meet again, I am sure of zat, zen we shall be such good friends. But I ne-var re-mem-bar zat we meets before."
"You were living in a castle then," returned the young man, coolly, "and I was only an outsider. People who live in castles at times don't remember common people."
It was a strange and curious meeting. Mattie saw there was something embarrassing between the two gentlemen, and came quickly to their relief.
"I am Mr. Romer's partner for the first dance," she said, addressing Mr. Gusher, with a bow. "It was very thoughtless of me. You were so very kind. But I am sure you are too generous not to excuse me."
"It is my great misfortune, miz. But you shall zee as I ne-var intrude myself. I shall have ze pleazure during ze evening." Gusher blushed and withdrew to another part of the ball room, where he captured Mrs. Topman, who was delighted at having such a partner for the first dance. Mrs. Topman was indeed popular as a dancing lady, and nothing pleased her better than to show her skill in the art in company with Gusher, whom all the pretty young girls said moved so nice on his feet.
The music now struck up and fell softly and sweetly on the ear, and the dancing began, and each figure seemed floating in the very poetry of motion, until thebewitching scene carried the mind away captive in its gyrations.
Mattie had never seen Mr. Romer, nor indeed heard of him before that night. She knew nothing of the relations existing between him and Gusher. She was equally a stranger to Mr. Gusher's antecedents. Her mind had, however, for some time been engaged trying to solve the mysterious agency that had brought him into business relations with her father. Being a girl of fixed character and good common sense, it was only natural that she should entertain an instinctive dislike for Gusher, in whom she saw a nature, if not really bad, at least frivolous and artificial.
The unexpected meeting between Romer and Gusher threw a shadow over the entertainment, so far as it affected the latter. Here he had been for weeks sounding the trumpet of Mrs. Chapman's ball, and looking forward to it as the means of making a temple of triumph of himself, and captivating no end of female hearts, Mattie's included; but how sadly he was disappointed. It had suddenly thrown around him a chain of difficulties that might blast his ambition, destroy all his hopes, and cause the veil he supposed was forever drawn over his past life to be lifted. The only way he saw of extricating himself from these difficulties, of cutting through them as it were, was by the force and skilful exercise of great coolness and impudence, and these he resolved to use, and use quickly.
And while the dancing was progressing a number of young fellows, who found more congenial enjoyment in their glasses and cigars, were seated at a table in a room down stairs, which Mrs. Chapman had provided as a sort of free-and-easy for such of her guests as wereinclined to enjoy themselves in their own way. Chapman had provided generously, both of wines and cigars, which might have seemed strange to one of his Dogtown acquaintances. He had, however, so modified his ideas as to what constituted strict morality as to believe it would be nothing against a man in the other world that he had drank a glass of wine and smoked a cigar in this.
The young gentlemen were conducting themselves in a manner not recognized in the rules of propriety. Indeed, they had smoked so many of Chapman's cigars, and uncorked so many bottles of his wine, and drank the health of the family such a number of times, that they were fast losing their wits. When, then, Bowles made his appearance in the room, to see if there was anything he could do for the gentlemen, he found them talking so strangely of his mistress, and making so free with her personal appearance, that he considered it an indignity he was bound to defend by putting on the severest look he was capable of.
"Say, Charles," said one of the young men, addressing a comrade as he raised his glass, "who did you get your card through? What sort of a family is it, anyhow?"
"Got mine through Gusher. He's a kind of a spoon, you know. Don't know anything of the fellow, particularly—met him outside, you know. He's mighty sweet on the filly. She's pretty. Would'nt mind being sweet on her myself. I'd be a little afraid the old one would want to throw herself into the bargain. What a crusher of a mother-in-law she'd make," returned the young man.
"An odd-sized lot, anyhow," interrupted a third. "How frightfully the old lady's got herself up, eh?What a melancholy little specimen of humanity she's got for a husband, eh? Who are the Chapmans, anyhow?"
"Devilish new, devilish new," rejoined a fourth. "What a mixed lot they have got for company."
"Fill up! fill up! gentlemen. Here's a bumper to the beautiful daughter. Beauty and modesty carry us all captive in their charms. Let us drink to the daughter." And they filled their glasses and drank Mattie's health.
"When my missus inwites pussons to de ball, my missus 'specs dem ar gemmens what is inwited to presarve dar qualifications. If gemmen am gemmen den dey don't cum'd to my missus's ball to suffocate her!" said Bowles, expressing himself, and assuming an air of injured dignity.
Bowles had to pay dear for his speech in defence of the family, for the young gentlemen surrounded him, and, getting him into a high chair at the head of the table, compelled him to perform all sorts of antics for their amusement, such as making speeches and singing songs. They also made Bowles drink so many times to the lady whose livery he had the honor to wear, that he lost his senses, and fancied himself fighting any man who had said a word against the family. Indeed, it soon became necessary to extinguish Mr. Bowles, and to that end the young gentlemen rolled him up in the table-cover, and put him carefully away in a corner, where he soon went into a sound sleep, and remained until his master woke him up on the following morning.
While these young gentlemen were thus enjoying themselves, and taking such liberties with Mrs. Chapman's favorite servant, Romer entered the room, and was followed in a few minutes by Gusher. They had again met unexpectedly, for there was something nervous and hesitating in Gusher's manner. Romer seemed to be a general favorite with the young men, and they insisted that he fill his glass and join them in drinking the health of the family.
"You will pardon me," said Romer, turning to Gusher when they had set down their glasses; "I took the liberty I did up stairs through mistake."
"It is no matter, mine friend," returned Gusher, patting Romer on the shoulder familiarly. "I ac-cept ze ap-pology. You are one gentleman, I am sure. We shall be very good friends." It was curious to see how quick Gusher regained his confidence and coolness.
"I mistook you for a gentleman I once met in Havana. I understand you have been there," resumed Romer, keeping his eyes steadily fixed on Gusher.
"My farer, he has very large estates in ze Havana. Mine friend, I love ze Havana." Here Gusher put his hand to his heart, and became exuberant. "It make me so much joy to zink of ze day when I shall be back in mine own Havana."
"Knew I had seen you there. You would'nt be likely to remember me, however. Let us fill our glasses, and drink to the pleasant days we have spent there—"
"Oh, it is so many years since I was so happy zare," interrupted Gusher, coolly.
They filled their glasses and drank to the happy days they had spent in Havana. "At least the wine may quicken your memory as to the time we met. About the time I refer to," continued Romer, still watching Gusher's manner carefully, "which was about the time we met, a fellow of wonderful audacity was flourishing, and so attracting public attention by his skill in rascality that little else was talked of. Louis Pinto was his real name; but he regarded names as a matter of no consequence, and used the names of rich and respectable gentlemen whenever a necessity demanded."
"You shall give me zat hand," replied Gusher, extending his hand and taking Romer's, with an air of refreshing coolness. "You bring ze gentleman to my mind. When I shall speak ze truth I shall say he was one grand rascal, I remember him just so well as you shall see."
"I am glad," resumed Romer, "that you know him for a grand rascal. Rascal as he was, I had great admiration for him. He had three remarkable virtues—impudence, coolness, and audacity. I call these virtues because a man possessing them may go through the world and have a history of his own. It was Louis's ambition to do the State some service one day and ornament society with his presence the next. One day he relieved a rich old gentleman of his pretty daughter and twelve thousand ounces, and did both so cleverly that his skill was more admired than condemned. Carrying off the daughter did not seem to offend the old gentleman so much; but his grief was so great over the loss of his ounces that he employedmeans of recovering them, and with them the thief, whom he had sent to prison to repent of the sin. Louis was rather fond of a change, and accepted prison life as a relief from the labor society required of him, and as a necessary benefit to his health rather than a punishment. He once relieved me of some diamonds, and in such a manner as to make me remember him for his skill."
"I tells you, mine friend," interrupted Gusher, "zat grand rascal 'onar me in ze same way. He gets ze diamond. And I ne-var gets zat diamond back. He make me so much trouble. I am mistake for him so many times." Gusher now proposed that they should fill their glasses again, which they did, the rest of the company joining and drinking to the health of the family.
"That he is taken for you," resumed Romer, "might be considered a compliment, as far as looks go. If I remember right the fellow was exceedingly handsome."
This seemed to excite Gusher's vanity. Laying his hand patronizingly on Romer's arm, he looked up in his face with a smile of injured innocence. "I care nosin for myself; it is wiz mine friend he make me so much trouble."
"You're to be pitied, sir, very much to be pitied. Of course you are not Pinto, and yet the dashing, handsome fellow will insist in trafficking on your reputation. How very aggravating to a gentleman of your position. It requires a genius to do that well. That's what I admired Pinto for. The fellow had such a number of family histories at his tongue's end, and could apply any one of them so cleverly to his own case. In short, he knew exactly how to suit his customer. Butyou will remember, Mr. Gusher, the most amusing thing of all was the number of fathers he had. To-day he had a Spanish father, who had been through all the wars of Spain; to-morrow his father was a Frenchman who had smelled powder in all the battles fought by Napoleon. They were generals, too. There was one bad feature about Louis's fathers. They were all unfortunate gentlemen, who managed to fight on the wrong side, and got their estates confiscated and their families left destitute."
Romer paused for a moment, but kept his eyes fixed on Gusher. Still there was no change in his countenance. The young gentlemen who had been so merry but a few minutes before, now put down their glasses and listened with intense interest to the conversation.
"You shall zee, mine friend, (wiz your permizion I shall call you mine friend,") replied Gusher, still cool and nonchalant, and again giving Romer's hand a decided shake, "I have hear zat grand rascal tell ze same story so many times. You shall know zat I meets ze grand rascal on Broadway—a few days ago—"
"You met him in New York, eh?" resumed Romer, affecting great surprise. "Looking just as fresh and rosy as ever, I suppose, and as ready to give himself up to the business of ornamenting society." Romer patted Gusher on the shoulder familiarly, and smiled.
"If you should meet him again," he resumed, playfully, "and it is more than likely you will—stop him. He does'nt take offence easily. Keep your eye on him. Tell him you are a friend of his, and have a lady with a fortune you would like to introduce him to. That will gain his confidence. Then slip this card into his hand. It contains my address. Tell him I am an old friend of his, and have some old and important businessI would like to settle. Don't let your modesty interfere with your intentions, you know."
Gusher took the card, and after affecting to read the name placed it in his pocket, without exhibiting the slightest change of countenance. "You shall zee I shall do myself ze 'onar of being your diplomat," said he, bowing himself formally out of the room.
"Romer, old fellow, what's up?" enquired one of the young men. "A spoon, ain't he, Romer?"
"Not so much of a spoon, I take it," said another. "Considers himself a planet illuminating the social hemisphere of the Chapman family."
"You must pardon me, gentlemen," said Romer, "for introducing a conversation so strange to you. It refers to a matter which concerns the gentleman and myself, which he perfectly understands, and you may hear more of soon—not now."
Another, and very different scene from that described above, but which forms an essential part of this history, was being enacted just outside. While the sound of the music was reverberating over Bowling Green, and mingling curiously with the sea-wail; while the dance went on, and all seemed gay and festive within, two old men, bent with age and poorly clad, were seen in front of Chapman's house, one of them leaning on a staff. They were the two shadowy figures seen on the Battery in the early part of the evening, looking anxiously out in the direction of a ship at anchor in the stream.
Their manner indicated that they were strangers in the city, uncertain of the location they were in. They would move slowly up and down in front of the house, then pause and listen to the music, the tripping of feet, and the sound of merry voices. The shadowy figuresseen flitting through the curtains seemed to bewilder them. Then, after consulting together for a few minutes, and as if armed with some new resolution, they would ascend two or three steps, as if intent on seeking admission to the house. Then their resolution would seem to fail them, they would hesitate, and return slowly and reluctantly to the sidewalk.
Then he of the staff stood in the shadow of the street lamp, and as he did so his kindly but wrinkled face, his white, flowing beard and hair, reflected in the dim light, formed a striking picture of age made touching by sorrow. Then his eyes brightened and his lips quivered, and after looking sorrowfully up at the scene before him for several minutes, he motioned his companion to him, laid his trembling hand on his arm, and said:
"Tar pees no shustice in dis. He prings shorrow hinto mine house, unt shust now his house pees full of peeples what rejoices. I gits mine preat mit t' sweet of mine prow, so ven I ties I ties mit mine conscience so clear as I shays t' mine Got, ven I meets mine Got, dar pees no tirt on mine hands. If I only gits some news from mine poor Tite, Critchel, some shoy comes t' mine poor heart." And he shook his head as he said this, and leaned on his staff, and tears coursed down his wrinkled face.
The old man was overcome, and had no power to restrain his emotions. It was several minutes before he regained control of his feelings. Then he raised his head, and wiping his wet, dripping beard, he pointed with the fore-finger of his right hand upward, and resumed: "Critchel!" said he, in a tone as decided as it was touching, "Critchel! if tar pees un shust Got, un I knows in mine heart as tar pees un shust Got, He come to mine aid, unt He shows he pees angry mit t'man vat shays he pees mine friend t'tay un prings shorrow into mine house to-morrow."
"God will make a just reckoning with us all—depend on that, Hanz," replied the other. "But it will do no good to stand here. We must wait until to-morrow." And the two old men proceeded up Broadway and were shut from sight in the mist. It will hardly be necessary to tell the reader that one was Hanz Toodleburg, the other Doctor Critchel.
Two days before the sheriff of the county had seriously disturbed the peace of Hanz's little house by walking in and making service of a legal document of immense length—Topman and Gusher vs. Hanz Toodleburg—and in which the names were recapitulated so many times, and in so many different ways, as to bewilder Hanz's mind and send him into a state of deep distress. In short, Topman and Gusher, (Chapman's name was not mentioned, and for reasons which any sharp gentleman of the legal profession will understand,) had entered suit against Hanz, charging him with having made certain contracts he had not fulfilled, of procuring money and certain other property for the sale of secrets he did not possess, and indeed of having deceived and defrauded the plaintiffs, and of committing crimes enough to have sent at least a dozen men to the penitentiary. And all this to the serious damage, as well in reputation as pocket, of the highly enterprising and rapidly advancing firm of Topman and Gusher. And the plaintiffs prayed, as virtuous gentlemen are known to pray in such cases, that the defendant's property might be attached, and such damages decreed as in the discretion of the court justice demanded.
The great Kidd Discovery Company was bearing bitter fruit for Hanz. Never before had a sheriff darkenedhis door, for it had been the aim of his life to owe no man a shilling, and never to quarrel with a neighbor. But here he was with law enough for a life-time, and all for doing a kindness for people he thought honest. He saw Chapman's finger at the bottom of the transaction, but the more he pondered over his troubles the more his mind got bewildered. He knew that before a court his simple story would weigh as nothing against the proof they could bring that he had been associated in some suspicious way with all the circumstances which led to the formation of the great Kidd Discovery Company. There, too, was a paper, bearing his own signature, and indeed a confession of guilt.
In the midst of his grief it occurred to Hanz that a man who had invented so many religions must be something of a Christian, so he resolved to see him face to face, and have an honest talk with him. To that end he persuaded Critchel, who was his friend and adviser always, to bear him company into the city. He forgot that there were religions, based on what are called advanced ideas, and invented so plentifully in certain portions of New England, having little of either heart or soul in them, and which are in truth a cheap commodity, used more to advance commercial than spiritual purposes.
There was still another reason why these two old men were found in the city on that night. Nothing had been heard from Tite, or indeed the ship on which he sailed, for more than a year, and great anxiety was felt for her safety. A report, however, had reached Nyack that day that one of the Hudson Company's ships had arrived at New York, and the hope that she might bring some tidings of the ship Pacific quickened his actions.
Let us go a little back, reader, and trace the course of the ship Pacific and those on board of her. The iceberg had rendered her almost helpless, and we left her bearing up for Punta Arenas. Having made temporary repairs there she sailed for Coquimbo, where she was thoroughly refitted and provided with new anchors and chains. The great expense and delay incident to this had seriously interfered with the prospects of the voyage, and to such of the crew and officers as were on shares left but little hope of returns. This naturally produced a feeling of discouragement and despondency.
And when the ship was about to proceed on her voyage to cruise among the islands of the Pacific, the second officer disappeared mysteriously, and Coquimbo was searched in vain for him. Tite was accordingly promoted to fill his place. The crew had great confidence in him, for he had shown himself not only the best sailor on board, but had exhibited in cases of great peril such quickness and courage as are necessary to the highest standard of seamanship. Hence it was that the change, while it did not dispel the gloom occasioned by the second officer's mysterious disappearance, gave satisfaction to all on board, except, perhaps, Mr. Higgins, the first officer, who had almost from the day of leaving New York regarded Tite with a feeling of undisguised jealousy.
The lucky old ship Pacific, with her famous old whale-killing captain, had made a bad voyage of it this time.
Fifteen months had passed since she took her departure off the Highlands of New York, and now she had just weighed anchor, and with her canvas spread once more was bidding good bye to Coquimbo, and proceeding to cruise among the islands of the South Sea.
Weeks passed and still the old ship tumbled and rolled about on the placid waters of the Pacific, now touching at a port to get news of the whaling fleet, now anchoring off some island to have a talk or trade with the natives. But all the news the sturdy old captain could get was bad.
Bad luck had followed the whaling fleet through the Pacific that year. The habits of the whale in changing his locality at certain periods are somewhat curious, and afford old sailors a subject for the most wild and unreasonable stories. The sailors, yielding to their superstitions, attributed the scarcity of whales to the appearance of a number of mermaids, whom the natives on various islands had reported, and the sailors sincerely believed, had been seen and heard singing in various parts of the Pacific that year, and under very suspicious circumstances. The sailors had also a superstition that whales entertain so great a dislike for mermaids as to proceed to visit their friends and relatives in another sea as soon as they made their appearance.
Captain Price Bottom declared he was too old a whale-killer to put any faith in the story of the mermaids. Whales, he said, had sense and pluck, and were not to be frightened away by such fish as mermaids. He had his deck cleared, his gear put in order, his boats' crews told off, and officers and men kept practising and made familiar with their duties. Still not a whale showed his head, or blew a challenge toput their skill in practice. The bluff old captain began to feel at last that luck had left him. Morning after morning he would loom up in the companion way before the crew was up, gaze up at the lookout aloft, ask the usual questions concerning the night's sailing, then shake his head despondingly.
"Fifteen months out—sixteen months out—and not a whale killed!" he would say. Then taking the glass he would make a turn or two of the quarter-deck, looking here and looking there, as if to satisfy himself that there was nothing between his ship and the horizon. Then lowering his glass he would nod his head affirmatively, and say: "Mermaids ain't got nothin' at all to do with it. Somebody's been a tellin' them whales I was comin'. Whales has got more sense some years than other years. Know when there's harpoons about as well as any of us, and keeps at a comfortable distance."
One morning he appeared on deck in a more serious mood than usual. Tite was officer of the watch that morning, and the old captain, after pacing up and down the deck several times, apparently in deep study, approached him with his hand extended.
"When I give a young man like you my hand, I gives him my heart, too. If there's a man aboard of this ship what I respect, it's you, Mr. Toodleburg. Yes, sir, I respect you for your mother's sake, as well as for your worth as a sailor and a man." And he shook Tite cordially by the hand, and spoke with such an emphasis.
Then setting his glass down on the binnacle, he took Tite by the arm, and, whispering something in his ear, led him to the taffrail, as if he had something of importance to communicate in private.
"You have a sweetheart at home, I take it, Mr. Toodleburg?" he said, inquiringly, and assuming a very serious manner. "Every young man like you should have a sweetheart at home. Somebody to think about. Somebody to cheer one up. Them we leaves at home is all men like you and me go through these hardships and disappointments for."
Tite blushed and smiled, and made an evasive reply.
"No use denying it, my hearty," he resumed. "Knew ye had a sweetheart thinkin' of ye at home. Show her by yer conduct while yer away that yer worthy of her when yer get home. My sweetheart, God bless her! is all the sunlight I have in a voyage of this kind. My little wife is my sweetheart, she is, Mr. Toodleburg. She an' the two little angels are the sunlight of my heart. There ain't nobody sails the sea has a trimmer little craft of a sweetheart nor I have." He paused for a minute, as if to collect his distracted thoughts. "The man that would bring trouble to her door while I'm away—he would'nt be a man, Mr. Toodleburg," he resumed, still preserving a serious countenance. "Had an ugly dream last night. That's what troubles me. Anything happens to me, Mr. Toodleburg, you're the man I looks to as a friend to my little sweetheart and them two angels at home."
Tite assured him that he would do as he desired, and at the same time tried to dispel from his mind the gloomy forebodings impressed on it by the dream.
"Never had an ugly dream of that kind that it did'nt foretell somethin' bad, Mr. Toodleburg," he replied to a remark made by Tite, that it was not wise to give one's self uneasiness concerning dreams. "There's sharks a' land as well as sharks a' sea. Keep that in your mind, my hearty. And I dreamed thatmy time had come, and my poor little sweetheart at home was surrounded by sharks ready to devour her. Made my blood boil, it did. Waked up feelin' for a harpoon to throw among 'em. My ghost'll haunt the man that wrongs my little sweetheart.
"That's not all, my hearty. Somebody's brought bad luck aboard—that's certain. A voyage begun in bad luck, as this ere voyage has been, never ends in good luck. But you're young, and so cheer up. Look ahead, and never let present misfortunes discourage you.
"England honors Scoresby to this day. And Scoresby was successful after two voyages that ruined his owners. As to them mermaids frightening away the whales, it's all a superstition. The natives on Queen Charlotte's island have a superstition that there is an island down north of them, called No Man's island—for no man, as they say, was ever seen on it—where there is a subterranean sea peopled by these mermaids; and that these mermaids have built them a palace, where they hold their revels and do all sorts of strange things, even to decoying navigators into it. That story won't do. Don't believe a word of it, Mr. Toodleburg."
That morning about ten o'clock the lookout aloft called, "Whale, O!" The glad announcement sent a thrill of joy over every one on board. The crew turned out with cheerful faces, and every one looked eagerly in the direction pointed to by the man aloft.
"Where away?" was the quick enquiry from the deck.
"Off the larboard bow—three miles. There he blows!" was the response.
A light breeze was blowing, and the ship was bowling off four knots, with her port tacks aboard. There was no one on board more elated at the prospect thanthe sturdy old captain. Seizing his glass he looked for a moment in the direction indicated.
"There he is!" he exclaimed, lowering his glass. "Clear away the boats and bear away for him, my hearties."
The lashings were cast away, the davit-tackle falls overhauled, and a larboard and starboard boat was launched and manned, and in a few minutes they were dashing over the waves, the men pulling that steady, strong, and even stroke which gives such propelling force to the whaleman's oar. The men on board cheered, and their cheers seemed to quicken the action of the boatmen. The sturdy old captain watched their progress through his glass, every few minutes giving expression to his feelings in words of hope and encouragement.
"An old coaster, that whale is—thirty, yes, nearly forty barrels there. Got pluck, too, that whale has. Can always tell when a whale's got pluck. Them old ones are ugly customers when they gets their pluck up," he would say, nodding his head decidedly and encouragingly.
The ship was now kept away a point or two, and proceeded under easy sail. There was something thrilling in the scene, and every heart on board beat with excitement as the boats went swiftly on, one commanded by the first officer, the other by Tite. Neither of these two young men had seen a whale killed; but there were in the boats old whalemen, who had successfully thrown both harpoon and lance.
The huge monster could now be seen clearly with the naked eye by those on the ship's deck, sporting lazily on the surface, his bright black sides now falling, now rising, like the hull of some water-logged ship,and throwing up thin white volumes of spray, over which the sun's rays reflected with singular brilliancy. Nearer and nearer the boats approached the monster, the first officer's boat being a little ahead. Now the stern boat ceased pulling, and the men laid on their oars. Then the other slackened her speed, and began pulling with cautious and quiet stroke. The lookout announced that the head boat had made the whale, and the men climbed the ship's rigging to witness the struggle. They were doomed to temporary disappointment, however, for the whale, suddenly discovering his pursuers, made a vault and a plunge, tossed the sea into commotion, and disappeared.
"That's what comes of sendin' an amateur after an old whale," said the captain, thrusting his hands deep into his nether pockets, shrugging his shoulders, and pacing nervously up and down the deck.
A signal was now made from the ship directing the boats what course to keep, for experience had taught the old captain what course the whale would take, and where he would be most likely to appear again. It was nearly half an hour before the monster lifted his huge, dripping sides above the surface again, but so near the first officer's boat that a harpoon was let go. They had fastened to him, and the scene became more exciting.
"Bad strike," said the captain, shaking his head and stamping his feet. "That whale's going to die hard." The harpoon, in short, had fallen weak, had failed to touch a vital part, and had made one of those wounds which excite a whale to attack his pursuers.
The word "astern" was given as soon as the harpoon was thrown. The monster threw up a thin wreath of slightly discolored spray, and set off at a velocity ofspeed almost incredible. Away he went, the boat following in his wake and cutting the water like a thing of life—the boat-steerer and line-tender carefully watching every movement, for the lives of all on board depended on their vigilance. The whale struck his course directly across the ship's bow, less than a mile away. The boat Tite commanded followed, with all the strength her crew could put on their oars.
It was easy to read in the captain's manner, however, that all was not going well with the boats. He quickly ordered a third boat launched, supplied with gear, and the best oarsmen on board to hold themselves ready to man it.
"Thar'll be a fight when that ar whale rises," he muttered, rather than spoke. "Wants a lance in the right place, and a man to put it there. Mr. Higgins ain't the man for that work."
The boat's speed began to slacken. The sharp, whizzing sound, caused by the rapid paying-out of the line and its great tension, gradually subsided. It was evident the whale was coming up to blow, perhaps change his course, perhaps attack his assailants. He had crossed the ship's course, and the head boat was nearly two miles off the starboard bow, the stern boat rapidly coming up.
The water just ahead of the boat began to quiver and curl into eddies, then the huge monster lifted himself, as it were, high above the surface, struck his flukes, and lashed the sea into a foam. This lasted for several minutes, the boat pulling for him with all the strength of her oarsmen. But when nearly alongside of the whale she suddenly slackened her speed, then stopped, then went "astern hard." It was evident to those on board the ship that something was wrong, forthe boat seemed to be manœuvring more for her own safety than to gain a position from which a lance could be hurled with effect.
"Too many landsmen in that boat!" said the old captain, who had been carefully watching every movement through his glass; now hoping, now fearing. He shook his head doubtingly, and paced the deck nervously for several minutes. Then, as if there was something it was necessary for him to set right, he turned to the officer of the watch, and ordered him to have the third boat manned. In another minute he was standing in the bow, lance in hand.
"Pull away for him, my hearty bullies," he said; and the men plied their oars, and away the boat went, skimming over the water like a sea-bird. There was resolution and courage depicted in every feature of that bronzed face.
The whale had now turned and was proceeding with open jaws to attack the first officer's boat. Another minute and he would have destroyed it, and perhaps all on board. Just at that moment Tite's boat came up, and with a quick, bold, and dexterous movement, rounded close under the whale's off side, and with a strong arm sent a lance home. That lance made a deep and fatal wound. The enraged monster forgot in a moment the object he was in pursuit of, threw up a volume of deep red spray, then making a desperate plunge, disappeared. He had no intention of giving up the battle, however. He merely sought relief for his wounds in deep water. The boats now waited and watched for the result. After waiting nearly twenty minutes the monster rose again, directly ahead of the captain's boat, and so near as to dash the spray into it.
"Take that!" said the old captain; "that iron'll stop your fightin'." And he hurled his lance, with quick and deadly aim, giving an order at the same time to "astern hard." But before sternway could be got on the boat, the infuriated monster made a sudden turn, dashed upon and stove it into fragments.
The famous old whale-killer had hurled his last lance, had killed his last whale. The dying monster, in making a last struggle with his enemies, had struck the captain with his fluke, and he sunk never to rise again.