I've Been Thinking Part 16

'Poor fellows! I am almost sorry for them.' Mr. Cross was not so sorry but he could smile a little as he said it.

'I am not a bit--I am not a bit sorry, neighbor; they are upstarts, nothing else; and they have made all the folks about them think that they are the end of the law. No, no; let them go down--the sooner the better; and when they are once down on their back, you see, then up goes Dave. You have got the cash, you know--a dash he will make; and the whole country round will be the better for it.'

'Yes; but, Squire, you know these fellows will fight hard to live it through; they are no fancy boys; they have worked their way along by their own efforts; they stand high at the bank. McFall is a great friend of theirs; they will make the bank help them--see if they don't.'

'I have thought of that too, neighbor'--another hard poke--'I've thought of that; and there you have them too.'

'How so, Squire? I have nothing to do with the bank you know.'

'Don't you know a certain man who would not refuse you a favor for a trifle? Bank Directors are not always so independent as they would wish to be thought--ha, ha, ha!'

'Well, what of him?'

'You just whisper in his ear that it would be no particular accommodation to you, that certain folks should receive any favors; that will be enough. One man, you know, in a board is as good as a dozen'--another poke.

'Well, well, I understand.'

'I thought you did--but what was that? There is n.o.body sleeps here, I hope?'

'Oh no, it is the dog; he is dreaming I suppose.'

'It startled me though, neighbour, for it would not be quite so clever to have any one get the run of what we have been saying.'

'Never fear, Squire; I shut all up myself.'

'I hope you are sure of that; for I was just going to tell you the best of the whole joke.'

'Tell away, Squire; there are no listeners but the old casks; they won't tell any tales.'

'They do sometimes though, neighbour.'

'How so?'

'They tell a little bit, sometimes by the end of our nose, ha, ha, ha!'--another poke--'don't they? ha, ha, ha! Well, as I was saying, the best of it is all to come. Rutherford is clean done up'--one, two, three pokes right off.

'Rutherford done up! What do you mean now, Squire?'

'Why you know I told you that we had killed five birds with one stone, and so we have. Bolton is dead, the other two fellows are kicking, and the Montjoys will be dead soon: and our old friend Rutherford, whom we have been picking at these six years, is down at last, all gone to smash. Think of that, neighbor Cross.'

Mr. Cross made no reply; but turning to the decanter, filled his own gla.s.s and the Squire's about half full of the clear stuff, added a little water to his own, and then swallowed the potion at one draught. The Squire did not trouble the water, preferring the good creature in its pure state.

'Your gin is uncommonly strong, neighbour--'ugh, 'ugh, 'ugh--it almost shakes a body--'ugh, 'ugh, 'ugh.'

'Water it then, why don't you? But what is it about Rutherford, and how has that come?'

'Why, you know as well as I do, that Rutherford is an easy body; you know that the quarry folks have been getting round him, and drawing him in more and more every year. He, good soul! thought all was right, while they have been going on, as you know very well, running into debt deeper and deeper. Well, it is only a little pull that is needed to bring down a great weight when it is tottering and ready to fall. This business of Bolton's has upset the whole concern; they only lost a trifle by him, but it touched them just at a delicate time. People got frightened, and the game was up, and Rutherford is in for all their debts; it is thought it will sweep every thing away, homestead and all.

'Now this, I know, is of no consequence to you: it will not give you any t.i.tle to these barrens; but now that they are in a muss, will be the time to accomplish our great plan. That deed is not on record yet'--a very hard poke--'you know that your deed from old Ross covers the whole ground, when once this claim of Rutherford's is put one side. Old Rutherford, I suppose, thought that the whole tract here was not worth the trouble of looking after, and the young one, no doubt, thinks that all is right; but mind me, neighbour, now is your time, or never. This land, between you and me, which Rutherford owns here, is worth all the rest of his property put together. These Montjoys have, you see, opened a trade for the timber, and there is no telling what its value will yet be. The creditors will be searching the records; it will soon be found out that this deed is not registered, and then your play is out. What you do, must be done at once.'

'True enough, Squire; his deed once out of the way, mine is worth a trifle no doubt; but the question is, has he a deed at all? and if he has, how can we get hold of it?'

'Ah, neighbour, he has got the deed; I have seen it with my own eyes: you see I have not been idle about this matter of yours, although it is a thing that it will not do to say much about. Some time since, I thought I would just call and inquire about some old matters, merely to see what might turn up. He was very polite, you know, handing me a chair, and all that. "You want to look at the old survey, do you, Squire?" "Yes," said I, "if it is not too much trouble, Mr. Rutherford." "Oh no, by no means." And so he out with the old tin trunk; you have seen that trunk in old Rutherford's time.'

'Oh, yes, often.'

'Well, he out with the old trunk; he keeps it just where the old man did, under the secretary; you know as well as I can tell you.'

'Yes, yes, I've seen it, but go on with your story.'

'Well he out with his trunk, as I was saying, and among the very first papers he threw on the table, was this very deed. Thinks I, old fellow, if I had you once in my grip, I guess I know whose fortune would be made.'

'Well, the thing is now, how to get hold of it.'

'That's the thing neighbour;'--one or two good pokes.

'I have a few good fellows that are up to any thing, only let me tell them what to do.'

'Then it can be done, neighbour. What a nice thing it would be to have a little bit of a fire happen, say about midnight. A pretty state of confusion that would make, you know; doors open, everybody running helter-skelter, all frightened to death! Wouldn't that do?'--a hard poke--'but there is no time to lose.'

Cross evidently relished the idea suggested, for he replenished the gla.s.ses again, omitting the water this time; then talking in a much lower tone, named the persons--smart fellows, as he called them--arranged time, place of rendezvous, etc.; to all which the Squire a.s.sented, every once in a while putting out his long finger and striking neighbour Cross in the ecstacy of his admiration. And thus they devised this deed of darkness, careless of all the terrible consequences which might result, so that their own crafty designs were accomplished.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Sam Oak.u.m was indeed very much excited at the close of his interview with Commodore Trysail; the bright prospect before him of soon realizing what his heart had been so long aspiring after, gave a sudden spring to all his feelings, and the spirit of his station seemed already to have taken possession of his mind.

The trifle of news, too, which Peter had communicated, might also have had something to do with the bouyancy of his feelings. Sam longed to see again the little fairy-like creature, with golden locks and dark blue eyes, that once in his early days he occasionally met.

This little fairy, however, is a fairy no longer, for she has grown up to be a fine, good-natured young lady; her golden locks have turned to a rich auburn; her dark blue eyes illuminate, with their bright and pleasant sparkles, her full oval face, on which the rose and the lily have beautifully blended.

Sam has not seen her, however, for four long years, and he thinks of her as she looked then. And if the Commodore had known how much more Sam was thinking about Peter's news, than about the schooner or the ship, it might have injured his confidence, a very little.

As to what this little fairy ever thought of Sam, it would be equally hard to divine. All we know is that when a little girl she used to be very glad to see a little black-eyed boy in blue jacket and trousers, and would frequently smile when she saw him, and perhaps on one or two occasions exchanged a word with him--nothing more.

She is now, I have said, a young lady; and whether she ever thinks of the little black-eyed boy is yet to be known.

Sam had thought all day of the visit which he felt he ought to make to his friends the Morris's. He called there in the edge of evening, and no doubt spent a very pleasant hour, for his friends were rejoiced to see him, and gave him to understand that the Commodore had let them into the secret; and from the kindness with which he was treated, it was very evident that he had not fallen in their estimation.

I said, that he no doubt spent a pleasant hour; but that idea intruded itself rather because there was everything conspiring to make it pleasant, than from its apparent effect upon our hero; for his countenance, as he walked on his way towards home, was sad, and it was some time before the lively, happy circle there could so impart their cheerfulness as to enable him to join heartily with them.

Major Morris and his lovely daughter had reached home, as Peter had said, accompanied by a young lady, who had been a companion of Susan at school, and her brother, a fashionable young man, the parents of whom were wealthy and truly respectable in their standing. And it may as well be told at once, that although not engaged to this youth--for Susan's parents were too careful of her happiness to allow such a step at the age she then was--still there was decided feeling on the part of the young man, and Susan had been perhaps as well pleased with him as with any of those who constantly sought her company. He was not, however, visiting as a suitor, but had been invited with his sister to spend a few weeks at the Major's delightful residence.

Susan Morris was by no means an imaginative girl. She had, it is true, very ardent feelings, but they had always been expended upon real objects; and, in consequence, she was the beloved of every circle where she moved.

Two weeks from the day on which Commodore Trysail gave the appointment, Sam and his beautiful schooner were ready for the ocean.

Partings with near friends are not pleasant scenes, so I shall pa.s.s them over. It was a lovely afternoon, one of summer's brightest days; a lively breeze played over the water, and scarcely bending to its power, a small trim vessel, rigged in pilot-boat fashion, was gliding gracefully along, not far from the sh.o.r.e. Every sail was set, and filled just enough to display their graceful cut, the little black hull beneath making them look more white and showy by the contrast. A row-boat, well manned, was by the sh.o.r.e, around which were gathered groups of lookers-on, or friends saying some last words to the youths who held the oars, and whose half serious smiles told plainly that their hearts were not so light as they would seem.

Just beyond the sh.o.r.e, upon the sloping green, a little party stands, eyeing with apparent interest the motions of the schooner and the preparations for departure, which are plainly visible in the gathering crowd that was surrounding the little boat at the water's edge.

'Oh, Susan, what a fine sight that vessel makes; but who would think of venturing to sea in such a craft?'

'Why not, Julia?'

'Oh, she is so small, I should think the waves would ingulf her--but here comes her Captain, I suppose. Your father keeps close to him; and the old Commodore, how proud he seems.'

'Yes, he does, I a.s.sure you,' said Mrs. Morris; 'he is proud of his vessel and her Captain too.'

The three gentlemen now approached the ladies, raising their hats, and again replacing them, with the exception of the younger one, who, having removed his light chapeau, kept it in his hand.

There was a seriousness in his air as he immediately stepped up to Mrs. Morris, and received her offered hand.

'May G.o.d bless you, my dear fellow! Come, a mother's kiss.'

Sam's heart was brave, but it was very tender. He took the liberty allowed him, but uttered not a word, while Mrs. Morris took no pains to restrain the flowing tears. He bowed to Miss Walton, and then the hand of Susan is within his own. He bowed respectfully, raised her hand, and touched it to his lips. He saw a tear start as he cast one parting glance upon her sweet face, and, without a word on either side, they separated.

The Commodore and Major Morris, each taking an arm, walked with him to the little boat.

'G.o.d bless you!' and the Major clasped his hand in both of his.

'G.o.d bless you, Captain Oak.u.m--a fine voyage to you!' and the Commodore gave him a sailor's squeeze.

A great many hands were stretched out, and Sam was busy enough for a little while. He was a great favorite, and all were sad at parting with him. Just as he was about to step into the boat, two men were seen hastening along sh.o.r.e.

'There are the two men, Captain, that have shipped to-day.'

'Have you your papers with you?' said Captain Oak.u.m, addressing the men who had just reached them.

'Yes, sir--here they are;' handing them at the same time to the Captain.

'Aboard with you, then.'

They sprang in and tumbled themselves away as they best could. Sam raised his hand; every oar was dropped, and the little boat shot away like an arrow from the strand. As she left the sh.o.r.e, he turned towards the land, and removing his chapeau, waved it towards those who stood on sh.o.r.e, and then raising his eye to the different groups which he saw on the elevated bank, bowed, and at once there was a great waving of handkerchiefs, and some among them had other work to do with theirs, for tears were flowing freely. A fond mother and sisters were there, and there were friends of his early days, hearts knit to him in tenderest friendship. Gracefully the little schooner rounds to, and for a few moments lies flapping in the wind. Her Captain springs upon her deck, again she falls off to take the breeze, the sails swell gently out, and on she goes ploughing her way towards the mighty ocean.

CHAPTER XIX.

Sam is now off, and for a season we must bid him adieu. Jim and Ned felt sorely the loss of one with whom they had been so long and happily connected; but matters of the last importance soon demanded their attention, and for the time banished thoughts of friends, and almost all other earthly considerations. Their business had hitherto been prosperous, and they had yet to learn, by their own experience, some of those trials which business men are ever liable to suffer. The advantage which they possessed of receiving supplies immediately from one of the largest marts in our country not only insured to them the trade of individual families, but also that of many stores removed far back into the country; with these they were obliged to deal on liberal terms, allowing them a credit of sufficient length to meet the slow returns of a country trade. They had as yet carried on a successful traffic, settling every six months by an exchange of produce, or a note at short time.

One article of country produce had become a valuable item in their trade--the pine timber from the barrens--and so urgent was the demand for it, in consequence of its excellent quality, and the facility with which it could be floated to market, that they found it necessary to make large purchases beyond what they would receive as an exchange of goods; these purchases had frequently to be made by an advance of one-half or three-fourths of the value, and the balance paid on delivery.

As their orders of late had been much increased, they had exerted themselves to procure funds, and by this method had, as they supposed, secured a very large and valuable lot of timber.

One morning--the very day after the departure of Sam--they were favoured with a visit from Mr. Cross. James, the elder partner, received him politely, but with some reserve; for, to tell the truth, they had no favorable opinion of his character. He had a fine lot of timber for sale, and would be glad to contract with them for it.

'We have already engaged as much as we need at present, sir, and are expecting it every day; in fact, Mr. Bolton promised to deliver it last week, but I presume he has met with some unexpected hindrance.'

'If it is from Mr. Bolton you are expecting the timber, I think you may give up looking for it, as I have been obliged to take all he has on hand, to secure myself for a debt he owed me. I suppose you know that he has gone to pieces?'

As Mr. Cross said this, he cast a very inquisitive glance at young Montjoy-- 'I hope you have not advanced much to neighbor Bolton on account of the timber; these are tight times, you know.'

Just then Ned entered the store, and handed his brother a letter, which he had opened and read. Jim saw too clearly that there was a good reason for the very serious air which his brother's countenance a.s.sumed, when he handed it to him.

'I believe, Mr. Cross, that we can do nothing about the timber this morning.'

'Good morning, gentlemen.'

No sooner had their visitor left, than they retired to a little back room at the end of their store, where they had held many a pleasant conversation in company with their friend Sam. Heretofore, when they had repaired to this room, it had been with light hearts, and many a joyous hour had they pa.s.sed there--far different feelings now pressed their spirits. Their trials until now had been of the light and transient kind, which a little youthful energy, a little determination of purpose, or putting forth of physical power, could overcome and scatter. Now they have got a lesson to learn on a new page of life.

When they reached the room, Jim again read over the letter, which proved to be another messenger with bad tidings.

It ran as follows:-- 'GENTLEMEN,--I am sorry to be compelled to inform you that the two notes of Bowers & Co. and Jones & Brothers, which fell due yesterday at the Bank, were protested for non-payment; the note which I hold of yours for fifteen hundred dollars, and to meet which the above notes were left with me, will be due in ten days, and you will be obliged to remit the amount, or otherwise arrange for it, as the distressing pressure at present on the money market will render it utterly impossible for me to honor your note from my own resources. I send this by private hands in advance of the mail, as I wish you to have the earliest notice possible of this event.

'Yours respectfully, 'JAMES MCFALL.'

To make this letter more intelligible, it may be proper to state that Mr. McFall was a personal friend of the Montjoys, who attended to their banking arrangements--the inst.i.tution being at such a distance (full twenty miles) as rendered such aid necessary. He received their notes payable at the bank, due from merchants, collected and made payments as they directed, and having facilities, whenever they needed funds for extra service, procured for them what they wanted, either upon their own note, for which he held the business paper as security, or upon the paper itself. In the case of the fifteen hundred dollar note mentioned in the letter, he had procured the money from the bank on it alone, and held their business paper in two notes for about the same amount; these failing to be met, he was obliged to look to them for payment.

To describe the feelings of the two young men, as the alarming news broke upon them, and the calamitous consequences which it threatened, would be a vain attempt. Had an earthquake burst at mid-day, and with its convulsive quiver rocked their building, until they could see the tottering fabric parting at its joints and falling upon their devoted heads, it could not have waked up more intense, more appalling sensations. They had begun by the sweat of their brow; they had exerted every energy; they had advanced step by step; their business had grown by a natural progress; they had not forced it by speculation, nor by an undue haste to acquire wealth; they had abstained from borrowing on the names of others, and from lending their own; they had trusted to none but those who stood well in trade; their yearly gains were such as they had every reason to be contented with; and, but yesterday, they felt firm in their own strength, and buoyant with the fair prospect before them. Now their foundation is gone, and the labor of years that are past, and hope for years to come, alike vanished, as a vision, from before them.

Ned had so long been accustomed to lean upon his brother in every emergency, to have him think out a way for them, that hitherto he had never troubled himself with any further care than faithfully attending to the execution of his plans. Now he saw that the staff upon which he had leaned was broken: the pale features, the knit brow, the clammy sweat that stood upon his temples; the vacant gaze with which he looked upon the letter that lay folded in his hands, told him that James was sore dismayed, and at his wit's end.

'Let us go, Jim, and tell mother all about it.'

But Jim answered him not; he merely sighed and wiped his forehead, and then leaning forward, covered his face, as if he wished to hide even from his brother the agony that was wringing his bosom.

Oh! ye who despise the plodding toil of your daily labor, who think it drudgery to follow the plough, and handle the hoe, and reap the fields, and gather in your scanty gains, and are ashamed of the homely fare and the rude dress that these afford you, could you but have known the bitterness of that trial which was sending its pangs into the heart of that young man, you would prize more highly the freedom you have from distressing care, the independence you enjoy of either the frown or the favor of man, the quiet that is spread over all your humble enjoyments, and the peace of mind which goes with you to your rest and meets your waking thoughts. Depend upon it, that the glitter of wealth is purchased at a higher price than your imagination fancies.

Ned did not venture again to disturb his brother's meditations, and began even to hope that he was devising some plan for their rescue; but for once his clear and business intellect was at fault. The blow was so sudden, that his young mind could only suffer, without being able to wake up its energies to meet and ward off its consequences. Conscious at last that something must be done, and not sufficiently composed to know what that must be, he quietly arose, folded the letter, and placing it in his pocket-- 'You are right, Ned; let us go and tell mother. She ought to know how things stand, without delay.'

It was no strange thing for these young men to make a confidant of their mother. She had accustomed them to tell her all their thoughts, and thus had they grown up beneath her fostering care; and opening, as they did to her, the fountain of their soul, she watched each bubble that came sparkling up, cleared all the dross and specks away with sweet maternal care; and still she loved to watch--it was her life's one duty; for well she knew, if all was bright and pure within the living spring, the streams must, in the end, be bright and sparkling too.

Alarmed at once by the appearance of her sons, as they entered the little room, where she sat with their sweet sister, plying their busy needles, she laid aside her task, and turning her anxious eye on James-- 'What is it, my children? James, I know you are in some great trouble.'

'We are in trouble, mother, and we have thought it our duty to let you know all about it at once.' And they each took a seat beside her, while Ellen, the darling of their hearts, unused to any thing but smiles from her dear brothers, took Ned's hand in hers, and pressed it in all the warmth of her love, and wept as she looked at the calm yet serious countenance of her light-hearted brother.