The Lost Hunter Part 37

"Go to h----l with your pity. n.o.body asks you for it," exclaimed Haxall, fiercely.

"Gently, boy, gently, and do not profane thy lips with such language.

Alas! thou hast been allowed to grow up like a wild animal, and canst not be expected to know there are those who regard thee with affection. But, surely, goodness can never be quite extinguished in one who has the form of humanity. I see thou dost not know me?"

"Never set eyes on ye before, old square toes, and be d----d to you."

"Yet, I know thee, and, perhaps, the guilt is partly mine that thou art even now what thou art. Thou hast, then, forgotten the man who, only a year ago, jumped off Coenties Slip, and, by the kindness of Providence, rescued a boy from drowning?"

"Have I forgot!" exclaimed Haxall, with a sudden revulsion of feeling.

"No, d----d me, not altogether. I thought there was something devilish queer in your voice. So you was the man, and I am the b'hoy. Oh, what a cussed beast I am to insult you! Give us your hand. I ask your pardon, sir. I ask your pardon. And," he added, looking fiercely round, "if there's a man here who crooks his thumb at ye, I swear I'll whip him within an inch of his life."

"Swear not at all," said the mild Quaker, "nor talk of fighting, as if thou wert a dog. I see, notwithstanding thy coa.r.s.eness and vile language, thou art not all evil, and, if thou wilt come with me, I will endeavor to repair my former neglect, by putting thee in a situation where thou mayst become an useful man."

The boy hesitated. Two impulses seemed to be drawing him in opposite directions. He was afraid of the ridicule of his companion, and of the sneer which he saw on his face, and who, now, was urging him to leave with him. Yet, there was something peculiarly attractive about the Quaker that was difficult to resist.

The good Quaker read the indecision of his mind, and understood the cause. "Come," he said, "be a man, and choose for thyself like a man.

Thou shalt remain with me only so long as thou wilt, and shalt be free to leave at thy pleasure."

"That's fair," said Haxall. "I'll go with you, sir. Goodbye, Bill," he exclaimed, turning to his companion, and extending his hand. But Bill, thrusting both his hands into his pockets, refused the hand, and answered contemptuously--

"If you've turned sniveller, go and snivel with Broadbrim. I've nothing to say to such a mean-spirited devil."

"You're a mean devil yourself," retorted Haxall, all his fiery pa.s.sions kindling at the other's taunt.

"Come, my young friend," said the gentleman, drawing him away gently, "return not railing for railing. I trust the time may yet come, when reproach, instead of exciting anger, will only be an incentive to examine thy bosom more closely, to see if thou dost not deserve it."

Long before the conclusion of this conversation, the original cause of it had entered the house with Pownal, and, upon his departure, the little crowd had gradually dispersed, so that, when the benevolent Quaker left, with the boy whom he hoped should be a brand plucked from the burning, very few persons remained. Bill followed his departing companion with a scornful laugh, but the latter--as if his good angel stood by his side to strengthen him--had resolution enough to disregard it.

When Holden and Pownal entered the house, the front part of which was used as a shop, they were received with great civility by a woman who was officiating at the counter, and, upon their desire to speak with her husband, were shown by her into a back room, used as a parlor, and requested to be seated. Her husband, she said, had stepped out a short time since, though, already, gone longer than she expected, and would certainly be back in a few moments. Her prophecy was correct, for, sure enough, they were hardly seated before he made his appearance.

He appeared to be an intelligent person, and answered without suspicion or hesitation to the best of his ability, all the questions addressed to him, so soon as he understood their object. But his information was exceedingly limited. He knew nothing at all about a person who had occupied the house more than twenty years before--nor was it, indeed, reasonable to suppose he should. In all probability the number of tenants was almost as great as of the years that had since elapsed: the name mentioned to him was a very common one: many such were to be found in the Directory, and the chances were that the house itself had repeatedly changed owners in a community so changeable and speculating. If the gentlemen would allow him to suggest, the best course would be to examine the records in the Register's office, and trace the t.i.tle down to the time desired.

In this way the name of the owner could, without difficulty, be discovered, and if he were alive he might, perhaps, be able to inform them what had become of the person who was his tenant at the time, although that was hardly probable.

The suggestion was plainly sensible, and had, indeed, occurred to Pownal from the beginning, and he had accompanied Holden that morning more for the purpose of determining whether the house described by Esther, still existed, than with the expectation of making any further discovery. His antic.i.p.ations had been more than realized; a favorable beginning had been made; there was every inducement to prosecute the search. When, therefore, Holden and Pownal thanked the obliging shopkeeper for his politeness, and took their leave, both felt that their morning had not been thrown away, though the condition of their minds was somewhat different, the former being confident of success, the latter hoping for it.

"I will call at the Register's office," said the young man, "and direct an examination to be made of the records. We shall be able to obtain the result to-morrow, and until then you must endeavor to amuse yourself, my dear friend, as well as possible. You know I sympathize with your impatience, and shall expedite our search with all diligence, and heaven grant it a happy termination."

Pownal saw that the search was made at the office of the Register, and the t.i.tle traced through several persons to the period when the house was occupied by the man named by Esther. Upon further inquiry it was ascertained that the proprietor at that time was still alive, and one of the princ.i.p.al citizens of the place. Holden lost no time in calling upon him, but was doomed to disappointment. He was received, indeed, with great urbanity by the gentleman, one of the old school, who proffered every aid in his power, and made an examination of his papers to discover the name of his tenant. He was successful in the search, and found that the name was the same given by Esther, but what had become of the man he was unable to say.

Holden now determined to make the inquiry of every one of the same name as that of the person sought. The search he pursued with all the ardor of a vehement nature, stimulated by the importance of an object that lay so near his heart. There was no street, or alley, or lane, where there was the slightest chance of success, unvisited by his unwearied feet. And varied was the treatment he received in that persevering search: by some met with contempt and insult as a crazy old fool, whose fittest place was the lunatic asylum, and who ought not to be allowed to prowl about the streets, entering people's houses at unseasonable hours and plaguing them with foolish questions: by others with a careless indifference, and an obvious desire to be rid of him as soon as possible, but to the honor of human nature, be it said, by most with sympathy and kindness. It was, moreover, usually among the poorer, that when it was necessary to mention the reason of his inquiry, he was treated with the most gentleness and consideration. Whether it is that suffering had taught them feeling for others' woes, while prosperity and worldly greed had hardened the hearts of the richer, let the reader determine. And, again, it was upon the women his tale made the tenderest impression. Whatever maybe the condition of woman, however sad her experience in life, however deplorable her lot, however low she may be sunk in degradation, it is hard to find one of her s.e.x in whom sensibility is extinguished. With her, kindness is an instinct. The heart throbs of necessity to a story of sorrow, and the eye overflows with pity.

But the diligence of Holden was in vain, and, at last, he was obliged to confess that he knew not what further to do, unless he took his staff in hand and wandered over the world in prosecution of his search.

"And that will I do, Thomas," he said, as one day he returned from his inquiry, "if naught else can be done. My trust is in the Lord, and He doth not mock. He despiseth not the sighing of the heart, nor hath He made the revelation and put this confidence into my mind in vain. I know in whom I have trusted, and that He is faithful and true."

Whatever might have been the opinion of Pownal, he was incapable of uttering a word to discourage Holden, or of inflicting unnecessary pain. "Why should I," he said, "dampen his enthusiasm? Small, as seems to me, the chance of ever discovering his son, it is, after all, mere opinion. Things more wonderful than such a discovery have happened. By me, at least, he shall be sustained and encouraged. Disappointment, if it comes, will come soon enough. I will not be its ill-omened herald."

He, therefore, said, in reply--

"Esther's story is certainly true. Our researches corroborate its truth. We have found the house, and a person of the name she gave, did live in it at the time she mentioned."

"They satisfy thee, Thomas; but I have a more convincing proof--an internal evidence--even as the sure word of prophecy. It speaks to me like a sweet voice, at mine uprising and lying down, and bids me be strong and of good cheer, for the day of deliverance draweth nigh.

Doubt not, but believe that, in His good time, the rough places shall be made smooth, and the darkness light. And yet, shall I confess it unto thee, that, sometimes, a sinful impatience mastereth me? I forget, that the little seed must lie for a time in the earth, and night succeed day and day night, and the dew descend and the rain fall, and the bright sun shine, and his persuasive heat creep into the bosom of the germ before its concealed beauty can disclose itself, and the lovely plant--the delight of every eye--push up its coronal of glory. But, it is a transitory cloud, and I cry, Away! and it departeth, and I say unto my heart, Peace, be still, and know that I am G.o.d!"

"It would seem," said Pownal, "that there is often a connection between the presentiments of the mind and an approaching event. How frequently does it happen, for instance, that one, without knowing why, begins to think of a person, and that, almost immediately, the person will present himself.

"It is the shadow of approaching destiny, and men have moulded the fact into a proverb. There is a world of truth in proverbs. They enclose, within a small s.p.a.ce, even as a nut its kernel, a sum of human experience. In the case thou citest, may it not be that the man doth project a sphere of himself, or subtle influence, cognizable by spirit, albeit, the man be himself thereof unconscious? But know that it is no vague and uncertain emotion that I feel. I tell thee young man, I have heard the voice as I hear thee, and seen the vision clearer than in dreams. Naught may stay the wheel of destiny. An Almighty arm hath whirled it on its axis, and it shall revolve until He bids it stop."

Thus, unfaltering in his confidence, secure of the result, believing that to himself a revelation had been made, the Solitary expressed himself. As the blood mounted into his ordinarily pale cheeks, his lips quivered and his eyes were lighted up with a wild enthusiasm, Pownal could not but admire and acknowledge the omnipotence of that faith which regards no task as arduous, and can say unto the mountains, Be ye cast into the sea! and it is done.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

Oh my soul's joy!

If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have wakened death!

And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas Olympus-high, and duck again as low As h.e.l.l's from heaven.

OTh.e.l.lO.

In accordance with the determination he had expressed, Holden began soon to talk about putting his wild plan of roaming through the world into execution, and was withheld from it only by the entreaties of Pownal, that he would at least postpone it until after the arrival of his uncle, who was daily expected, and until they had taken his advice.

"I consent," said Holden, "both out of love to thee, and because I would not willingly leave a roof that hath protected me, without giving thanks to its owner."

A few days afterwards, Mr. Pownal returned with his family, by all of whom the young man was welcomed with every evidence of the warmest regard. Holden, too, as the friend of the younger Pownal, came in for a share of attention. The family consisted of the father and mother, and two children, a boy and girl, the former of whom could not be more than ten years of age, while the latter was probably two years younger.

Mr. Pownal himself was a fine, frank, hearty gentleman of some sixty years, whose appearance indicated that the world had gone well with him, and that he was satisfied with the world. The ordinary expression of his face was that of quiet contentment, though at times it betrayed a keen sagacity and shrewdness, partly the revelation of nature, and partly the product of an intimate intercourse with that world with which his business brought him, in various ways, in contact. It was however apparent, that however much the a.s.sociations and experiences of trade had sharpened his intellect, they had not tarnished the natural goodness of his heart. That spoke in the frank tones of his manly voice and shone in the light of his clear blue eyes. One could hardly look at him without a conviction that he was a man to be trusted, and a desire to grasp his hand in friendship. Holden felt the influence at the introduction, and no mean judge of character himself, was glad to make the acquaintance.

Mrs. Pownal was by several years the junior of her husband, and in all respects different from him. Her hair and eyes were raven-black, her complexion dark and saturnine, and she wore an expression of care inconsistent with enjoyment. She had been for many years a childless wife, and it may be that early disappointment, occasioned by the want of children, uniting with a melancholy temperament, had imparted an appearance of dejection which the subsequent birth of a boy and girl after she had given up the expectation of offspring, was unable to remove. She seldom smiled, and when she did, the smile played over her countenance like the sickly gleam of a wintry clay through clouds, and seemed rather to chill than to warm what before was cold. It was a formal tribute to the customs of society, not the spontaneous outburst of joy. She presented the tips of her fingers with all the grace of an accomplished lady, to Holden, and meant that her reception of him should be kind, but the hand was cold, and apparently as unfeeling as marble, and the Solitary dropped it as soon as touched. And yet Mrs.

Pownal had feeling.

The first few days after the return of the Pownals was spent by them in gathering up those threads of relationship by which people are connected with society. Even a short absence from home induces sometimes the necessity of paying and receiving many visits, proportioned to the extent of the circle in which the parties move.

The visiting circle of the Pownals was large, and hence the longer time was required. Besides, the business pursuits of the merchant engrossed some hours each day, though as the head of a large house in which there were several younger partners, he claimed and enjoyed all the leisure he desired. For these reasons young Pownal had found no fitting opportunity to speak in the presence of Holden of the purpose which brought the Solitary to the city, and besides, he did not wish to do so, until the time should arrive for his own return to Hillsdale, when he hoped, with the a.s.sistance of his uncle, to persuade him to return home. But the business of the young man was at last completed, and he was ready to retrace his steps.

It was then one evening when both Mr. and Mrs. Pownal were present, and immediately preceding the day when he had announced his intention to depart, that Holden, at the solicitation of young Pownal, supported by the courteous entreaties of his uncle, narrated the events of his life, which are already known to the reader, and avowed with that unshaken trust in Providence, which in all circ.u.mstances sustained him, his resolution to beg his way through the world on his sacred search. His hosts had become, by this time, so accustomed to the fiery enthusiasm and antique diction of his discourse, that they no longer excited their surprise, but as he proceeded with his tale, the attention of both seemed arrested by a strange fascination. Even the figure of Mrs. Pownal lost its listlessness. Her black eyes became riveted on the speaker. She bent forward, with parted lips, as if unwilling to lose a word, while from time to time glances of intelligence pa.s.sed between the husband and wife, which neither Pownal nor Holden were able to understand.

"Thus far," said the enthusiast, in conclusion, "the Lord hath led me on. By flood and fire, and in battle He hath preserved a life, that long was wearisome to me. But in these latter days, He hath awakened a new hope, and given me an a.s.surance thereof which I can better feel than tell. He hath not prolonged my life for naught. Behold, I know a.s.suredly, that the child liveth, and that in my flesh, I shall see His salvation. Therefore, in obedience to the inner voice, will I gird up my loins, and after thanking you my friends, for the bread we have broken together, and the roof that hath sheltered the wanderer's head, will I proceed upon my way."

He rose and strode across the room, as if to put his design into instant execution, but the voice of the elder Pownal arrested him.

"Stay," he said, "and listen. Your steps have indeed, been wonderfully directed. I can give you, perhaps, some information, about this John Johnson, with whom the boy was left."

Holden stopped but made no motion to return. He seemed to hear and understand the words, but to be uncertain whence they proceeded. His eyes were cast up and fixed on vacancy. At last he said, still gazing in the air. "Speak Lord for thy servant heareth."

Mr. Pownal approached, and taking Holden by an arm, led him gently to the sofa, and took a seat by his side. Mrs. Pownal said not a word, but threw her arms round young Pownal's neck, and sobbed upon his bosom.

The young man, unable to divine a reason for such unusual emotion, could only silently return the caress and wait for an explanation.

"I knew a person of the name," said Mr. Pownal, "but he has been dead many years."