CHAPTER IX.
A MYSTERIOUS LETTER, AND AN UNEXPECTED DEPARTURE.
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THE death of Mr. Tuck had imposed new duties upon
young Tremlett, and he was forced to confine himself
to his desk the whole day, and at dark, when he threw down
his pen and was preparing to go home, he remembered that a
foreign arrival in the morning had brought intelligence from
Captain Clearman and letters for his daughter, the young
lady in the Bowery, which he had, by some strange mistake
put into his pocket, instead of sending them to her, as he
should have done. This was very wrong, as he honestly
confessed; and to punish himself for his negligence, he resolved
to take them up into the Bowery and deliver them into
the young lady's own hands and confess his fault. It would
learn him to do better another time. So he buttoned up his
coat and hurried off on his penitential errand; but so little
like a penance did his pilgrimage into the Bowery appear to
him, that he was forced to confess he never found that famous
thoroughfare one half so pleasant before. It did, indeed, appear
to him like what its name would lead a stranger to expect,
a mossy road winding amongst venerable trees by the
green margin of crystal brooks, with climbing vines dropping
their clustered fruit around and warbling birds filling
the air with melody; instead of a cobble-paved street lighted
with gas and and filled with oyster saloons and pawnbrokers'
shops, with nothing in the world to remind one of a `bowery'
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save a farmer's waggon from Westchester stopping at the
door of a feed store. But he walked on encountering many
a sad sight which gave him no sadness, and jostled by rude
passengers who could get no rudeness from him, until he
reached the little court where the old sailor lived, where
he found the quaint little garden with its two large conch
shells, and the two bits of rope with the two turks'-heads, and
the bright little brass knocker, and the yellow painted stoop
exactly as he had left them; and on entering this quiet home
he found the old man, and the old lady, and the young lady,
and the drab colored parrot, exactly as he had found them before,
excepting that they now all met him with smiling faces,
whereas before they had welcomed him with a serious and
respectful air; only poll preserved her gravity; nothing
could have induced her to unbend.
But when the letters were handed to the young lady, then
there were renewed smiles, sobered a little by a vagrant tear,
which, coming unbid, was soon dashed away, as tears should
be; and the old sailor took larger whiffs of his pipe, and the
old lady rubbed her spectacles, and Fidelia knelt down at her
grandmother's feet who read the letters aloud; and they were
all exceedingly happy at the news, and the bearer of the letters
having heard the contents, took his hat and said he must
leave them, but upon being pressed, consented to take a cup
of tea with them lest he should hurt the feelings of the old
couple; so they sat down to the same neat and well spread
board as before, the old lady again implored a blessing, and
after tea the old man told the same stories, and laughed the
same good-natured and honest laugh, Fidelia sang the same
little ballad, only with a sweeter voice and a more bewitching
smile, and afterwards the venerable old bird startled them
again with her exclamation of `let us pray;' for it appeared,
to their visitor at least, that the evening was not half spent;
and after prayer poll again pronounced her solemn amen, and
John again took his leave, more delighted than ever with
Fidelia, and resolved to see her again the very next night.
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The first sight of this young lady had given him a new
taste of life, with which he was so enchanted that with all the
inconsiderateness of youth he yielded himself up to its influences
without taking a second thought about propriety, or
fitness, or prudence, or station, or age, or wealth, or any of
those numberless considerations which are known by the experienced
to be so essential to secure permanent happiness
when one makes a business of falling in love. But if he was
enchanted on his first visit he was enraptured and maddened
on the second, and instead of cooly calculating the advantages
which his prospects of wealth, his education, and his person
should entitle him to, and prudently exacting a certain
amount of family dignity, of wealth, of connections and of
personal accomplishment in exchange for them, he renounced
them all and with a total disregard of riches and position
thought of nothing but the charms of Fidelia which eclipsed
and annihilated every possible consideration, save only his
father; and but for the respect which he felt for the good
old man, he would have proposed immediate marriage to her
before he left the quiet little house. What the effect of such
a sudden and astounding proposition would have been it is
not easy to conceive, since it is very certain, from events
which afterwards transpired, that neither Fidelia nor her
grand parents had she most remote suspicion that John had
called upon them from any other than the kindest and most
respectful motives. For although it is true that she looked
upon him as the very perfection of humanity yet she could not
but consider that there was a great gulf between them which it
would require at least half a million of dollars to fill up, and
she did not even in her dreams, once fancy so wild and improbable
an event as his falling in love with her. She looked
upon him as a superior being, one whom she could venerate
and love, as she might a distant star, without a hope of
calling it her own, and therefore to be loved fervently and
ardently, without passion, or dissapointment, or jealousy.
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But he had never valued himself on his prospective riches,
and therefore he did not undervalue others whose prospects
were not as bright as his own; neither had he ever been
troubled with any of those overwhelming feelings of the irresistible
charms of his own person which are common to
good looking young men of his age; and his only fear was
that he might not be acceptable to Fidelia. But it was not
in his nature to disguise his feelings long, except when the
utterance of them would cause pain, and he resolved as soon
as he reached his fathers chamber to confess to the old gentleman
the exact state of his affections, and then to make a
formal offer to the young lady herself.
But on entering his father's office he found him with an
open letter in his hand, and apparently in a state of great
perplexity.
“I am glad you have come, my boy,” said the old gentleman,
brightning up as the young man entered; “here is a
most perplexing affair, and I do not see how we are to
manage it.”
“What is it, can my advice be of any service?”
“I hardly know what to make of it,” continued Mr. Tremlett,
“here's a letter that has been brought to me this evening
but from whom I do not know, stating that our correspondent
in Charleston is on the point of failing, and that unless
I, or my partner, of whose death the writer does not appear
to have been aware, do not immediately repair to that city we
shall lose the very large amount now owing to us by him.”
“It is a very strange business, indeed,” said John, “have
you any reason to believe the statement?”
“None whatever. But you know that our correspondent,
Mr. Loudon, has property in his hands, belonging to the firm,
to a very large amount, and it will not do to trust to chance
for its security. Even though I were willing to risk my own
property I have no right to sacrifice that of my partner's representative,
so I think we must look into this business.”
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“Perhaps it would be well to write to Mr. Loudon, first,”
said John, “something is due to the feelings of so old a correspondent.”
“True, true,” replied the old merchant, “but more is due
to ourselves. I have always made it a point, my son, in business
engagements, to look upon men as mere machines; feelings
are things which, you know, I never treat lightly; but,
in business they must be thrown aside. Loudon is a heavy
operator in cotton on his own account, and it is by no means
improbable that he may have ruined himself by bad speculations;
and now I think of it, his book-keeper is a Scotchman
to whom I once made a small loan when he was embarrassed,
and who afterwards carried letters of recommendation from
me to Charleston, by which means he got employment; and
it is the likeliest thing in the world that he has taken this method
of repaying the favor, for he was a grateful fellow.”
“It seems very natural,” said John, “but how are you to
avail yourself of his suggestion? You cannot leave, yourself
at this time.”
“True, true, what can be done?”
“Will it be prudent to send Jeremiah?”
“No, no, Jeremiah could not be trusted on so delicate an
errand; he is too honest and unsuspecting. Every day
something turns up to make me feel the loss of poor Mr. Tuck.”
replied the old gentleman as he put his hand to his eyes.
“Could you trust Mr. Bates?” said John.
“No, no,” replied Mr. Tremlett, “Bates would never do.
He is too precise, too exact; he would only do what he might
be instructed to do, and nothing more; but this is a case
where no instructions can be given. Crisp would not do, he
is too much of a dandy, he might be bought with a cigar and
a glass of champagne; Keckhaussen would do if he could
talk English. Let me see.”
“There is Van;” suggested John.
“Which of the Vans?” replied the old gentleman.
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“Van Winkle.”
“No, no, he is too young, and if he were not, he is too
simple.”
“Could you trust to Tom Tuck?” asked John.
“I could trust to his ability, if nothing more were required;”
replied Mr. Tremlett, “but it will not do to employ a stranger
on such a business.”
“Have you no other correspondent there, whom you could
trust?”
“Yes, but not without a breach of confidence towards Loudon,
which I could not be guilty of,” replied Mr. Tremlett.
“After all, my son, I see no alternative, but for you to go on
this unpleasant business yourself.”
John bit his lip, and looked a little disconcerted, for he
had formed a plan of operations, in his own mind, for the next
fortnight, which an excursion to Charleston would completely
overthrow. In truth, we will inform the reader, as he has
a right to know, John had formed a very strong resolution, to
which he had bound himself without writing, to spend every
evening of the succeeding two weeks at the little yellow house
in the Bowery, and the few thousands of dollars owing by
the Charleston merchant appeared to him too trifling a matter
to call for such a sacrifice as he would have to make to secure
them. But he made no objections, and the old gentleman
either did not see, or would not, that his proposition was
not a very pleasant one. “You will be absent but a very
short time,” continued the fond old man, “or I would not
consent to your going; and the journey will be shorter to
you, than it will to me, for there will be novelty and excitement
to divert your attention, while I shall be left alone without
a friend to cheer me until you return.”
A second thought had worked a change in John's mind,
for he felt the unreasonableness of objecting to his father's
wishes; and he expressed a cheerful willingness to undertake
the business; although he had doubts of the necessity of the
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journey. And he truly said that he felt a disinclination to
leaving the old gentleman for so long a time. But it being
a matter of urgent necessity, they both heroically agreed to
bear their temporary separation with fortitude, and made
themselves very happy in the thoughts of meeting after a
brief absence.
The old gentleman detained his son in conversation as
long as he could, but as it was necessary to make preparations
for leaving the next morning they separated at an earlier hour
than usual, and John, after he had retired to his chamber, sat
down and penned a few, but expressive lines to Fidelia, in
which he told her in simple language, without adornment or
exaggeration, that he loved her, and that on his return he
should call upon her to learn from her own lips whether or
not she could love him in return. Never before had he expressed
himself on paper so easily, so feelingly, and so much
to his own satisfaction. After he had written his letter he
read it over and over again, delighted at the true expression
of his own feelings, and wondering at his success in
a style of composition which he had then attempted for the
first time. Those who feel can write feelingly, but counterfeit
feelings on paper, like counterfeit laughter, or counterfeit
tears, affect nobody, because feelings lie deeper than the
eye or the ear, and like can only affect like; as the devil
could not tempt St. Anthony, although he has tempted so
many sham saints before and since his time, and the angel
could find shelter with no man but Lot in all Sodom because
Lot alone of all its inhabitants partook of the angel's nature.
When he had folded and sealed his letter to Fidelia, he
attempted to write to Julia, but after many attempts and great
study he was obliged to give it up, he could neither arrange
his thoughts to suit him, nor find proper words in which to
express them. Something was necessary, but he could not
write, and at last he determined to wait until his return and
then make a formal explanation to her brothers and let chance
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direct him afterwards. And then he resigned himself to sleep
and forgot all his cares and anxieties and rambled, spirit-free
over the beautiful land of dreams, and his soul refreshed herself
by drinking at the fountains of living waters from which
she was exiled during her attendance upon his body, which,
while she was thus pleasantly employed, regained the vigor
and beauty it had lost during the day, and rendered itself
more worthy of her dwelling.
But his old father remained many hours in dark and silent
watchfulness, his spirit weary of his body and yet unable to
leave it; for Nature has seemingly reversed her rule of compensating
in regard to sleep, giving it in liberal measure to the
young and healthful, whose cares are few, and whose memories
are pleasant, but doling it out with a niggard hand to the
old and diseased, who have many cares they would forget, and
memories that do but sadden them.
The next morning John was up with the sun, and his preparations
being completed, he entrusted the letter for Fidelia
to the keeping of Jeremiah, from whom he exacted a promise
that he would deliver it in person to the young lady herself
that very evening, and having taken a tender leave of his
father, whose old eyes ran over with tears, for the first time
in many a long day, as he shook the young man by the hand
and in vain endeavoured to ask God's blessing upon him, he
brushed the falling drops from his own bright eyes and followed
by his servant departed upon his journey.
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Briggs, Charles F. (Charles Frederick), 1804-1877 [1843], Bankrupt stories (John Allen, New York) [word count] [eaf024].
