Ups and Downs in the Life of a Distressed Gentleman Part 3

"With darkness circled, and an ambient cloud."

Nearly a year elapsed after his release from the old _don-jon_, before I was enabled again to rejoice in a meeting with my friend Wheelwright; and our interview happened on this wise: Pa.s.sing by, or rather crossing, the foot of Courtland-street, one bright morning in May, I observed a group of laborers occupied in placing some articles of heavy iron-machinery on board of an Albany sloop--the General Trotter, I believe, commanded by Capt. Keeler--a veteran navigator of the Hudson. And whom should I discover among these men, giving directions with an authoritative air, and actually bending his own back to the work, but the veritable Doctor Daniel Wheelwright! It was indeed no less a personage. From the previous character and habits of my friend, the reader may judge of my surprise at beholding him thus engaged--laboring, too, as though his work was made easy by the good will with which he was performing it. Having exchanged salutations, mingled with expressions of surprise at finding him thus employed, and inquired upon what new enterprise he was bent--

"Why havn't you hearn?" was his response.

"No," was the laconic reply.

"What? not of the launch of the 'Lady-of-the-Lake,' on Lake George?"

"Ah--let me see--yes: I think I have seen a paragraph respecting it, in the Sandy Hill newspaper. But pray what have _you_ to do with that?"

"To do with it? Why every thing. I am the agent of the concern. I have made up the company, and built the boat. The engine has gone up the river, and I am now shipping the last of the machinery.--[Come, bear a hand there, boys--what are you about?] Have you ever been to Lake George? If you want to see a touch of the grand and glorious, I guess you'll find it there. The hills is sublime; and the lake so clear that you can see the stars in it when it's cloudy."

"Indeed! And you then are to be wedded to the Lady-of-the-Lake?"

"And a beautiful thing she is, too. We shall have all the travel of the grand tower through the lake to Montreal, and mean to have the boat ready to take the first travellers from the Springs after the fourth of July."

"And you are really looking up in the world again?"

"To be sure I be. I always told you that the world owed me a living, and I believe I have at last struck upon the right track to find it.

[Come, bear a hand there, boys--Why don't you take hold of that shackle-bar, Tom?"]

Saying which he applied his own shoulder to a huge cog-wheel, with the alacrity, if not the power, of another Hercules.

I was alike surprised and gratified with this apparent change in the Doctor's circ.u.mstances, as also at the unwonted industry and energy he was now putting forth. It seemed as though by some rare chance, my esteemed and hitherto unfortunate friend had at length become a.s.sociated in an enterprise for which he might be found very competent, and which might one day prove valuable--at least to him, if not to the stockholders. He was moreover taking hold of the work himself like one who had at last been taught by the "sweet uses of adversity," that a man is not always certain of obtaining a living by his wits, unless the labors of his own hands are superadded. Fashionable travelling during the summer months, was even then extensive; it was increasing from year to year--and was sure to continue increasing, with the augmentation of the national wealth and population. The unsurpa.s.sed attractions of that region--the lake--its bright waters--its enchanting islands--its course of winding beauty--and its stupendous mountains--glorious in their height, their wildness, and their desolation,--would soon become more generally known, and must inevitably command the attention of all travellers of taste, whenever it should appear that its surface might be traversed by a steamboat in a few hours, from the ruins of Fort William Henry at one extremity, to those of Ticonderoga at the other.

Wishing the Doctor a good morning, therefore, and all possible success in his new undertaking,--in which he was evidently sustained by the strongest hope and the most undoubting confidence,--we parted for that time--not, however, without a promise on the part of my friend, proffered of his own accord,--as had been the case at sundry times before,--that he would shortly remit the amount of several small advances which it had fortunately been from time to time in my power to make, for the purpose of occasionally rescuing him from his oft-returning pecuniary tribulations.

The machinery all arrived safe, and in good condition, at the head of the lake, and the boat was actually completed, under the charge of Dr.

Wheelwright. The good people of the little borough of Caldwell rejoiced in the brightening prospects of their village, and actually began to calculate how soon they might be able to repaint their houses, and subst.i.tute nine by seven window gla.s.s for the old hats and petticoats which, in the progress of their poverty, had been stuffed into the broken cas.e.m.e.nts.

Arrangements were making for the first trip down the lake, and among the fairy islands apparently floating like emeralds upon its bosom; and but a few days more were to elapse before all things were to be in readiness. Meantime, however, before the captain and crew had been shipped, and in order that accident might not happen to the fair Lady-of-the-Lake, or danger come nigh her, Mr. Wheelwright slept on board himself, like a prudent guardian of the property confided to his charge.

The last memorable night on which he thus slept on board, was remarkably clear and beautiful. All was silent and sublime among the lofty mountains in which the peaceful lake lay deeply embosomed. A grateful coolness pervaded the atmosphere, and no sounds disturbed the general repose, after the night-hawk and whip-poor-will had ceased their vesper-melodies, save the distant hootings of the owl on the mountain-side, or the occasional crash of a dried limb of a tree, over which the prowling wolf, or perchance some heavier tenant of the forest, was bounding. The stars hung pendent and sparkling like diamonds from a canopy of "living sapphires," and were reflected back with vivid brilliance from the dark surface of the waters.

A poet could not have gone to bed on such a night, and amid such a scene of gloomy grandeur as this. But the agent of the Lady-of-the-Lake was not distinguished for enthusiasm of that sort, and he turned into his berth--having no oyster-supper to eat--at a very early hour, and betook himself to dreaming--not "of antres vast and desarts idle,"--or of what is sublime and glorious in creation,--but of piston-rods and safety-valves--pence and pa.s.sengers. But his repose was disturbed in a manner alike unexpected and unwelcome; by a catastrophe, too, which had well-nigh deprived the world of the farther services of Mr.

Wheelwright, and his biographer of the pleasing duty of extending these memoirs beyond the present chapter. In plain terms, at about half-past twelve o'clock he was awakened by a choking sensation, and sprang upon his feet, already half suffocated by smoke. The awful truth of the cause was literally _flashing_ around him upon all sides. The Lady-of-the-Lake--the first of the fair upon whom he had ever in fact bestowed his affections--was not only on fire, but the flames had already made such progress in the work of destruction as at once to preclude the hope of extinguishing them. From the cabin windows, the appearance rendered it certain that the whole structure was wrapped in a sheet of flame. In the next instant, the fire burst through the dividing part.i.tion of the cabins, obliging our hero to fly in his night-gown, with his inexpressibles under his arm. Thus, coatless and bootless, he leaped on sh.o.r.e, when delay a second longer would have effectually prevented his ever recounting the tale.

What a moment, and what a spectacle for a lover of the "sublime and beautiful!" Could Burke have visited such a scene of mingled magnificence, and grandeur, and terror, what a vivid ill.u.s.tration would he not have added to his inimitable treatise upon that subject! Let the reader picture the scene to himself. There, at the dark hour of midnight, among the ruins of Fort William Henry and Fort George, stood Daniel Wheelwright, alone, like Marius amid the ruins of Carthage,--_in puris naturalibus_; as the insurgent Shays fled on horseback, and in a snow-storm, from the face of General Lincoln--and looking for all the world like a forked radish, as Shakspeare says of Justice Shallow. But albeit ludicrous in his own plight and position, there was nothing of that character in the scene around him, or in his own contemplations.

The fire raged with amazing fury and power,--stimulated to madness as it were, by the pitch, and tar, and dried timbers, and other combustible materials used in the constriction of the boat. The lurid flames ascended to a great height,--the smoke rolled upward in majestic volumes, while the light, red as the flames of aetna, streamed across the lake, gilding the crumbling battlements of the old fort, flushing the face of the waters, and tinging the mountain sides to their very crests. The night-bird screamed with terror, and the beasts of prey fled in wild affright into the deep and visible darkness beyond.

This is truly a gloomy place for a lone person to stand in of a dark night--particularly if he has a touch of superst.i.tion. There have been fierce conflicts on this spot--sieges, and battles, and fearful ma.s.sacres. Here have the Briton, and the Gaul, and the painted savage, mingled in the dread fight,--steed rushing upon steed, hands clenched in hands with grappling vigor, while the climbing fire, and the clashing steel, and eyes flashing with maddened fury, and the appalling war-whoop of the Indian, have all combined in adding terror to "the rough frowns of war." Here "hath mailed Mars sat on his altar up to his ears in blood," smiling grimly at the music of echoing cannons, the shrill trump, and all the rude din of arms, until, like the waters of Egypt, the lake became red as the crimson flowers that blossom upon its margin.[1] And if at "the witching hour of night," the unquiet ghosts of murdered sinners _do_ stalk forth to re-visit earth by the pale glimpses of the moon, the slaughter of Fort William Henry might have furnished a goodly number of shadowy companions for the hero of a tale which is no fiction. But I am not aware that any of them came forth to add to the troubles of that memorable night, or divert his mind from what must then have been the absorbing subject of his contemplations.

Still, if they had had any desire of mustering for a midnight review, or for a goblin-dance, they lost the best opportunity, probably, that will again occur for ages;--since another such illumination of the beautiful esplanade in front of the old fortress where the ma.s.sacre took place, and where the skeleton platoons would of course have mustered, will never again be presented--at least not until another Doctor Wheelwright shall build and watch over the fortunes of another Lady-of-the-Lake.

In the course of an hour, the beautiful vessel was burned to the water's edge; when the weight of the ma.s.sive iron machinery, rendered white and malleable by the intenseness of the heat, carried down the hull to the bottom, and the waters closed over it, sissing and boiling for a moment, as when a stream of lava runs burning into the embrace of the ocean. The illumination being thus extinguished, darkness once more brooded over the mountains, the face of the deep, and the fortunes of Mr. Daniel Wheelwright--of whom, for the present, we must take leave, even while thus he stands, as Sir John Moore lies under the walls of Corunna--"alone in his glory"--surveying

"----The circling canopy Of night's extended shade."

[1] The _Lobelia Cardinalis_, commonly called the _Indian Eye-Bright_. It is a beautiful blossom, and is frequently met with in this region. The writer has seen large cl.u.s.ters of it blooming upon the margin of the "_b.l.o.o.d.y Pond_," in this neighborhood--so called from the circ.u.mstance, of the slain being thrown into this pond, after the defeat of Baron Dieskau, by Sir William Johnson. The ancients would have constructed a beautiful legend from this incident, and sanctified the sanguinary flower.

CHAPTER X.

HOW HE AGAIN CHANGES HIS CIRc.u.mSTANCES.

"When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think that I should live till I were married."--_Shakspeare._

"I knew a wench married in an afternoon, as she went to the garden for pa.r.s.ely to stuff a rabbit."--_Idem._

The year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and twenty-two, is yet freshly remembered in New-York, as being the last, (thus far,) in which that metropolis was visited by the afflictive plague of yellow fever.

It was also a memorable year in the life of Doctor Wheelwright. Most of the inhabitants were obliged to flee the city--those who could, to the country;--and those who could not, to the temporary lodges hastily constructed for their reception upon the then unoccupied grounds between Broadway and the North River, now covered by Greenwich and the splendid edifices of the fifteenth ward--containing much of the present opulence and taste of the city. The location of the writer hereof was near the hotel and nine-pin alley, kept by Signor Fieschi;--an Italian, celebrated for the excellence of his segars, and for whipping his wife with rods larger than is allowed by the English common law--the size of Lord Chief Justice Holt's little finger being the maximum in such cases.

The Autumn of that year was remarkable for the beauty and clemency of the weather. Knowing that there was little hope for the abatement of the pestilence, and none of its extinction, until after a severe frost, the exiled citizens were never before so anxious for the frosty foretaste of winter. But the heavens continued cloudless, and week after week of ethereal mildness succeeded, until past the middle of October.

It was during this protracted season of sunny weather, that for several days in succession, I observed my old friend Wheelwright pa.s.sing the window of my temporary office, in company and close conversation with a lady clad in the deepest habiliments of mourning. The doctor was well dressed, and so was the lady; for the suit and trappings of her wo were new as though she was but recent from "the sad burial feast," probably, of her wedded lord. Whether her countenance was as indicative of a sorrowful and bleeding heart, as the deep sables in which she was veiled, I could not tell. But no matter: day after day were they seen strolling leisurely up the then unbuilt portion of Broadway, and among the wooded lanes leading therefrom in the outskirts of the city.

Love lane--a retired and charming walk--exactly the place for meditation or making love,--crossing over from the Bloomingdale road to the North River, which has since been "improved" out of existence,--was a favorite place of resort with my old friend and his fair companion--_fair_, no doubt she was, albeit her beauty was hidden from the vulgar gaze in the manner already indicated.

But who was _she_? Perhaps a sister, or some other near relative of his, whose husband had been swept off by the pestilence, and into whose throbbing bosom he was kindly endeavoring to pour some of the balmy drops of consolation! But no--such could not be the fact, since no corresponding weed of sorrow appeared upon his own well-brushed beaver. Perhaps a stranger, just rendered an orphan, or bereft of a brother by the ruthless hand of the West India plague--an acquaintance of my friend, whose melancholy he was kindly endeavoring to a.s.suage.

But, on the other hand, such offices were quite out of his line, since he was not easily moved--unless from one purpose to another--and of all men he was the most unused "to the melting mood." It was truly a perplexing affair; and the mystery was increased by the pains taken by Wheelwright to avoid such an interview with me as might lead to an _eclairciss.e.m.e.nt_. Several times did I strive to throw myself in the way of the lady and her a.s.siduous attendant--venturing even to cross their path, on one occasion, for the purpose of making some discovery.

But the attempt was vain, for my old acquaintance had apparently become so near-sighted as not to discern a person, unless he came bolt-upright against him--or unless, perchance, on some occasions, when he was sufficiently far-sighted, to enable him to turn a corner in season to avoid an interview. Once, and once only, I received a nod of recognition; but although I had succeeded in gaining a closer proximity than usual, all that I could ascertain through the deep folds of the lady's c.r.a.pe, was an impression that she was pale, pensive, a little pock-marked, and five and thirty. Had the ladies not all been driven from the city by the pestilence, I should most a.s.suredly have engaged some one or more of them to solve the question, whether the doctor was engaged in offices of sympathy, or an affair of the heart--or whether he was actually _engaged_ in any way. But there was no pretty familiar at hand skilled in these delicate matters; and I was therefore compelled to forego, for a time at least, the gratification of my curiosity.

Obedient to the law of the disease, with the first sound frost, the fever disappeared; the citizens returned to their respective homes; resumed their wonted avocations; and as usual in New-York, the calamity which had interrupted its business, and driven its inhabitants out of town for half the season, was forgotten, with its consequences, in a fortnight. One of my earliest visiters, after business had resumed its accustomed channels, was none other than the subject of this memoir, whose recent avoidance of me had been marked with so much emphasis. He entered my little _sanctum_ with a grin between a smile and a laugh, and was evidently on excellent good terms with all the world, himself not excepted. Without waiting to see what might be his reception, he began:

"Ah, Colonel, how are ye? Escaped the yellow fever, then, eh?"

"Yes: I have been thus fortunate--and am well."

"Is that all you've got to say? I hope you've hearn of my good luck, haint you? You know I've always said the world owed me a living."

"I hope you'll get it: Pray what new scheme are you driving at now, Mr.

Wheelwright?"

"Do tell! don't you know that I am now a married man--good as the rest of you?"

"Married, my good doctor! To whom?"

"Why, to a young widow from England, with only one child, and worth thirty-thousand pounds sterling--think of that!"

"Indeed! Well: I wish you joy, doctor. It's a long road that never turns. But I hope there's no doubt"--

"There's no doubt or mistake in the matter. The lady was the widow of an Irish captain, and"--

"The lady in mourning, I presume, to whom you seemed so attentive up town, a few weeks ago? But whence the necessity of keeping so dark upon the subject?"

"I thought it like enough you'd think I was behaving kinder-curious-like.