Chapter 10

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_ Chapter X

_Shy_. Three thousand ducats--well.
_Bass_. Ay, sir, for three months.
_Shy_. For three months--well.
_Bass_ For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall become bound.
_Shy_. Antonio shall become bound--well.

Merchant of Venice.

I found John Wallingford in town, awaiting my appearance. He had taken lodgings at the City Hotel, on purpose to be under the same roof with me, and we occupied adjoining rooms. I dined with him; and after dinner he went with me to take a look at the Dawn. The second-mate told me that Marble had made a flying visit to the ship, promised to be back again in a few days, and disappeared. By comparing dates, I ascertained that he would be in time to meet the mortgage sale, and felt no further concern in that behalf.

"Miles," said John Wallingford, coolly, as we were walking up Pine street, on our way back towards the tavern, "did you not tell me you employed Richard Harrison as a legal adviser?"

"I did. Mr. Hardinge made me acquainted with him, and I understand he is one of the oldest lawyers in the country. That is his office, on the other side of the street--here, directly opposite."

"I saw it, and that was the reason I spoke. It might be well just to step in and give some directions about your will. I wish to see Clawbonny put in the right line. If you would give me a deed of it for one dollar, I would not take it from you, the only son of an eldest son; but it would break my heart to hear of its going out of the name. Mr. Harrison is also an old adviser and-friend of mine."

I was startled with this plain-dealing; yet, there was something about the manner of the man that prevented my being displeased.

"Mr. Harrison would not be visible at this hour, but I will cross to the office, and write him a letter on the subject," I answered, doing as I said on the instant, and leaving John Wallingford to pursue his way to the house alone. The next day, however, the will was actually drawn up, executed, and placed in my cousin's hands, he being the sole executor. If the reader should ask me why I did this, especially the last, I might be at a loss to answer. A strange confidence had come over me, as respects this relative, whose extraordinary frankness even a more experienced man might have believed to be either the height of honesty, or the perfection of art. Whichever was the case, I not only left my will with him, but, in the course of the next week, I let him into the secret of all my pecuniary affairs; Grace's bequest to Rupert, alone, excepted. John Wallingford encouraged this confidence, telling me that plunging at once, heart and hand, into the midst of business, was the most certain mode of forgetting my causes of sorrow. Plunge into anything with my whole heart, I could not, then, though I endeavoured to lose my cares in business.

One of my first acts, in the way of affairs, was to look after the note I had given to Rupert. It had been made payable at the bank where I kept my deposits, and I went thither to inquire if it had been left for collection. The following conversation passed between myself and the cashier on this occasion:

"Good morning, Mr.----," I said, saluting the gentleman; "I have come to inquire if a note for $20,000, made by me in favour of Rupert Hardinge, Esquire, at ten days, has been left for collection. If so, I am ready to pay it now."

The cashier gave me a business smile,--one that spoke favourably of my standing as a moneyed man,--before he answered the question. This smile was, also, a sign that money was plenty.

"Not absolutely for collection, Captain Wallingford, as nothing would give us more pleasure than to renew it, if you would just go through the form of obtaining a city endorser."

"Mr. Hardinge has then left it for collection," I observed, pained, in spite of all that had passed, at Rupert's giving this conclusive evidence of the inherent meanness of his character.

"Not exactly for collection, sir," was the cashier's answer, "for, wishing to anticipate the money, by a few days, and being under the necessity of leaving town, we discounted it for him."

"Anticipate!--you have discounted the note, sir!"

"With the greatest pleasure, knowing it to be good. Mr. Hardinge remarked that you had not found it convenient to draw for so large a sum on the spot, and had given this note at short date; and the consideration having been received in full, he was desirous of being put in cash, at once. We did not hesitate, of course."

"Consideration received in full!" escaped me, spite of a determination to be cool; but, luckily, the appearance of another person on business prevented the words, or the manner, from being noted. "Well, Mr. Cashier, I will draw a check, and take up the note, now."

More smiles followed. The check was given; the note was cancelled and handed to me, and I left the bank with a balance in my favour of rather more than $10,000, instead of the $30,000 odd, which I had held previously to entering it. It is true, I was heir at law to all Grace's assets, which Mr. Hardinge had handed over to me, the morning I left Clawbonny, duly assigned and transferred. These last consisted of stocks, and of bonds and mortgages, drawing interest, being on good farms in our own county.

"Well. Miles, what do you mean to do with your ship," demanded Jack Wallingford, that evening. "I understand the freight for which you bargained has been transferred to another owner, on account of your late troubles; and they tell me freights, just now, are not very high."

"Really, cousin Jack, I am hardly prepared to answer the question. Colonial produce commands high prices in the north of Germany, they tell me; and, were I in cash, I would buy a cargo on my own account. Some excellent sugars and coffees, &c., were offered me to-day, quite reasonably, for ready money."

"And how much cash would be necessary to carry out that scheme, my man?"

"Some $50,000, more or less, while I have but about $10,000 on hand; though I can command $20,000 additional, by selling certain securities; so I must abandon the notion."

"That does not follow necessarily. Let me think a night on it, and we will talk further in the morning. I like quick bargains, but I like a cool head. This hot town and old Madeira keep me in a fever, and I wish a night's rest before I make a bargain."

The next morning, John Wallingford returned to the subject, at breakfast, which meal we took by ourselves, in order to be at liberty to converse without any auditors.

"I have thought over that sweet subject, the sugars, Miles," commenced my cousin, "and approve of the plan. Can you give me any further security if I will lend you the money?"

"I have some bonds and mortgages, to the amount of twenty-two thousand dollars, with me, which might be assigned for such a purpose."

"But $22,000 are an insufficient security for the $30,000, or $35,000, which you may need to carry out your adventure."

"That is quite true, but I have nothing else worth mentioning--unless it be the ship, or Clawbonny."

"Tut for the ship!--she is gone, if you and your cargo go; and as for insurances, I want none of them--I am a landed man, and like landed securities. Give me your note at three months, or six months if you will, with the bonds and mortgages you mention, and a mortgage on Clawbonny, and you can have $40,000, this very day, should you need them."

I was surprised at this offer, having no notion my kinsman was rich enough to lend so large a sum. On a further conversation, however, I learned he had near double the sum he had mentioned, in ready money, and that his principal business in town was to invest in good city securities. He professed himself willing, however, to lend me half, in order to help along a kinsman he liked. I did not at all relish the notion of mortgaging Clawbonny, but John soon laughed and reasoned me out of that. As for Grace's securities, I parted with them with a sort of satisfaction; the idea of holding her effects being painful to me.

"Were it out of the family, or even out of the name, I should think something of it myself. Miles," he said, "but a mortgage from _you_ to _me_ is like one from _me_ to _you_. You have made me your heir, and to be honest with you, boy, _I have made you mine_. If you lose my money, you lose your own."

There was no resisting this. My kinsman's apparent frankness and warmth of disposition overcame all my scruples, and I consented to borrow the money on his own terms. John Wallingford was familiar with the conveyancing of real estate, and, with his own hand, he filled up the necessary papers, which I signed. The money was borrowed at 5 per cent.; my cousin positively refusing to receive the legal rate of interest from a Wallingford. Pay-day was put at six months' distance, and all was done in due form.

"I shall not put this mortgage on record, Miles," Jack Wallingford remarked, as he folded and endorsed the paper. "I have too much confidence in your honesty to believe it necessary. You have given one mortgage on Clawbonny with too much reluctance, to render it probable you will be in a hurry to execute another. As for myself, I own to a secret pleasure in having even this incomplete hold on the old place, which makes me feel twice as much of a Wallingford as I ever felt before."

For my part, I wondered at my kinsman's family pride, and I began to think I had been too humble in my own estimate of our standing in the world. It is true, it was not easy to deceive myself in this particular, and, in point of fact, I was certainly right; but when I found a man who was able to lend $40,000 at an hour's notice, valuing himself on coming from Miles the First, I could not avoid fancying Miles the First a more considerable personage than I had hitherto imagined. As for the money, I was gratified with the confidence John Wallingford reposed in me, had really a wish to embark in the adventure for which it supplied the means, and regarded the abstaining from recording the mortgage an act of delicacy and feeling that spoke well for the lender's heart.

My cousin did not cast me adrift as soon as he had filled my pockets. On the contrary, he went with me, and was a witness to all the purchases I made. The colonial produce was duly bought, in his presence, and many a shrewd hint did I get from this cool-headed and experienced man, who, while he was no merchant, in the common sense of the term, had sagacity enough to make a first-class dealer. As I paid for everything in ready money, the cargo was obtained on good terms, and the Dawn was soon stowed. As soon as this was done, I ordered a crew shipped, and the hatches battened on.

As a matter of course, the constant and important business with which I was now occupied, had a tendency to dull the edge of my grief, though I can truly say that the image of Grace was never long absent from my mind, even in the midst of my greatest exertions. Nor was Lucy forgotten. She was usually at my sister's side; and it never happened that I remembered the latter, without seeing the beautiful semblance of her living friend, watching over her faded form, with sisterly solicitude. John Wallingford left me, at the end of a week, after seeing me fairly under way as a merchant, as well as ship-owner and ship-master.

"Farewell, Miles," he said, as he shook my hand with a cordiality that appeared to increase the longer he knew me, "farewell, my dear boy, and may God prosper you in all your lawful and just undertakings. Never forget you are a Wallingford, and the owner of Clawbonny. Should we meet again, you will find a true friend in me; should we never meet, you will have reason to remember me."

This leave-taking occurred at the inn. A few hours later I was in the cabin of the Dawn, arranging some papers, when I heard a well-known voice, on deck, calling out to the stevedores and riggers, in a tone of authority--"Come, bear a hand, and lay aft; off that forecastle; to this derrick,--who ever saw a derrick standing before, after the hatches were battened down, in a first-class ship!--a regular A. No. 1? Bear a hand--bear a hand; you've got an old sea-dog among you, men."

There was no mistaking the person. On reaching the deck, I found Marble, his coat off, but still wearing all the rest of his "go-ashores," flourishing about among the labourers, putting into them new life and activity. He heard my footsteps behind him, but never turned to salute me, until the matter in hand was terminated. Then I received that honour, and it was easy to see the cloud that passed over his red visage, as he observed the deep mourning in which I was clad.

"Good morning to you, Captain Wallingford," he said, making a mate's bow,--"good morning, sir. God's will be done! we are all sinners, and so are some of the stevedores, who've left this derrick standing as if the ship needed it for a jury-mast. Yes, sir, God's will must be submitted to; and sorry enough was I to read the obittery in the newspapers--Grace, &c., daughter, &c., and only sister, &c.--You'll be glad to hear, however, sir, that Willow Cove is moored head and starn in the family, as one might say, and that the bloody mortgage is cut adrift."

"I am glad to hear this, Mr. Marble," I answered, submitting to a twinge, as I remembered that a mortgage had just been placed on my own paternal acres; "and I trust the place will long remain in your blood. How did you leave your mother and niece?"

"I've not left 'em at all, sir. I brought the old lady and Kitty to town with me, on what I call the mutual sight-seeing principle. They are both up at my boarding-house."

"I am not certain, Moses, that I understand this mutual principle, of which you speak."

"God bless you, Miles," returned the mate, who could presume to be familiar, again, now we had walked so far aft as not to have any listeners; "call me Moses as often as you possibly can, for it's little I hear of that pleasant sound now. Mother will dub me Oloff, and little Kitty calls me nothing but uncle. After all, I have a bulrush feelin' about me, and Moses will always seem the most nat'ral. As for the mutual principle, it is just this; I'm to show mother the Dawn, one or two of the markets--for, would you believe it, the dear old soul never saw a market and is dying to visit one, and so I shall take her to see the Bear first, and the Oswego next, and the Fly last, though she cries out ag'in a market that is much visited by flies. Then I must introduce her to one of the Dutch churches;--after that 't will go hard with me, but I get the dear soul into the theatre; and they tell me there is a lion, up town, that will roar as loud as a bull. _That_ she must see, of course."

"And when your mother has seen all these sights, what will she have to show you?"

"The tombstone on which I was laid out, as a body might say, at five weeks old. She tells me they traced the stone, out of feelin' like, and followed it up until they fairly found it, set down as the head-stone of an elderly single lady, with a most pious and edifying inscription on it. Mother says it contains a whole varse from the bible! That stone may yet stand me in hand, for anything I know to the contrary, Miles."

I congratulated my mate on this important discovery, and inquired the particulars of the affair with the old usurer; in what manner the money was received, and by what process the place had been so securely "moored, head and starn, in the family."

"It was all plain sailing when a fellow got on the right course," Marble answered. "Do you know, Miles, that they call paying off one of your heavy loads on land, '_lifting_ the mortgage;' and a lift it is, I can tell you, when a man has no money to do it with. The true way to get out of debt is to 'arn money; I've found that much out since I found my mother; and, the cash in hand, all you have to do is to hand it over. Old Van Tassel was civil enough when he saw the bag of dollars, and was full of fine speeches. He didn't wish to distress the 'worthy Mrs. Wetmore, not he; and she was welcome to keep the money as long as she pleased, provided the interest was punctually paid;' but I'd have none of his soft words, and laid down the Spaniards, and told him to count them. I 'lifted his encumbrance,' as they call'd it, as easily as if it had been a pillow of fresh feathers, and walked off with that bit of paper in my hands, with the names tore off it, and satisfaction give me, as my lawyer said. This law is droll business, Miles; if money is paid, they give you satisfaction, just as gentlemen call on each other, you know, when a little cross. But, whatever you do, never put your hand and seal to a mortgage; for land under such a curse is as likely to slide one way as the other. Clawbonny is an older place than Willow Cove, even; and both are too venerable and venerated to be mortgaged."

The advice came too late. Clawbonny _was_ mortgaged already, and I confess to several new and violent twinges, as I recalled the fact, while Marble was telling his story. Still I could not liken my kinsman, plain-talking, warm-hearted, family-loving, John Wallingford, to such a griping usurer as Mrs. Wetmore's persecutor.

I was glad to see my mate on every account. He relieved me from a great deal of irksome duty, and took charge of the ship, bringing his mother and Kitty; that very day, to live in the cabin. I could perceive that the old woman was greatly surprised at the neatness she found in all directions. According to her notions, a ship floated nearly as much in tar as in the water; and great was her pleasure in finding rooms _almost_ (conscience will not allow me to say quite) as clean as her own residence. For one whole day she desired to see no more than the ship, though it was easy to discover that the good woman had set her heart on the Dutch church and the lion. In due time her son redeemed all his pledges, not forgetting the theatre. With the last, good Mrs. Wetmore was astounded, and Kitty infinitely delighted. The pretty little thing confessed that she should like to go every night, wondered what Horace Bright would think of it, and whether he would dare venture alone to a play-house, should he happen to come to York. In 1803 this country was still in the palmy state of unsophistication. There were few, scarcely any, strolling players, and none but those who visited the _cities_, properly so called, enjoyed opportunities of witnessing the wonders of paint, patch and candle-light, as auxiliary to the other wonders of the stage. Poor little Kitty! There was a day, or two, during which the sock and buskin wrought their usual effect on her female nature, and almost eclipsed the glories of Horace Bright, in her own bright eyes.

I could not refrain from accompanying Marble's party to the museum. In that day, this was a somewhat insignificant collection of curiosities, in Greenwich Street, but it was a miracle to the aunt and niece. Even the worthy Manhattanese were not altogether guiltless of esteeming it a wonder, though the greater renown of the Philadelphia Museum kept this of New York a little in the shade. I have often had occasion to remark that, in this republic, the people in the country are a little less country, and the people of the towns a good deal less town, than is apt to be the case in great nations. The last is easily enough accounted for: the towns having shot up so rapidly, and receiving their accessions of population from classes not accustomed to town lives from childhood. Were a thousand villages to be compressed into a single group of houses, their people would long retain the notions, tastes and habits of villagers, though they would form a large town in the aggregate. Such, in a measure, is still the fact with our American towns; no one of them all having the air, tone or appearance of a capital, while most of them would be paragons in the eyes of such persons as old Mrs. Wetmore and her grand-daughter. Thus it was, that the Greenwich Street Museum gave infinite satisfaction to these two unsophisticated visitors. Kitty was most struck with certain villainous wax-figures, works of art that were much on a level with certain similar objects that were lately, if they are not now, exhibited for the benefit of the Dean and Chapter of Westminster Abbey, above the tombs of the Plantagenets, and almost in contact with that marvel of gothic art, Henry VII's. chapel! It is said that "misery makes a man acquainted with strange bed-fellows." So, it would seem, do shillings and sixpences. To return to Kitty: After admiring divers beauties, such as the New York Beauty, the South Carolina Beauty, and the Pennsylvania Beauty, she fastened her own pretty eyes on a nun, wondering who a female in such an attire could be. In 1803, a nun and a nunnery would be almost as great curiosities, in America, as a rhinoceros, though the country has since undergone some changes in this respect.

"Grandmother," exclaimed Kitty, "who _can_ that lady be--it isn't _Lady_ Washington, is it?"

"It looks more like a clergyman's wife, Kitty," answered the worthy Mrs. Wetmore, not a little '_non-plushed,_' herself, as she afterwards admitted. "I should think Madam Washington went more gaily dressed, and looked happier like. I'm sure if any woman could be happy, it was she!"

"Ay," answered her son, "there is truth in that remark. This woman, here, is what is called a nun in the Roman Catholic quarters of the world."

"A nun!" repeated little Kitty. "Isn't that the sort of woman that shuts herself up in a house, and promises never to get married, uncle?"

"You're quite right, my dear, and it's matter of surprise to me how you should pick up so many useful idees, in an out-of-the-way place, like Willow Cove."

"It was not out of _your_ way, uncle," said Kitty, a little reproachfully, "or you never would have found us."

"In that partic'lar it was well enough, my dear. Yes, a nun is a sort of she-hermit, a breed that I detest altogether."

"I suppose, Kitty," I inquired, "you think it wicked in man or woman to take a vow never to get married."

The poor girl blushed, and she turned away from the nun without making any reply. No one can say what turn the conversation might have taken, had not the grandmother's eye fell on an indifferent copy of Leonardo's celebrated picture of the Last Supper, receiving at the same time a printed explanation, one got up by some local antiquary, who had ventured to affix names to the different personages of the group, at his own suggestion. I pointed out the principal figure of the painting, which is sufficiently conspicuous by the way, and then referred the good woman to the catalogue for the rest of the names.

"Bless me, bless me!" exclaimed the worthy mother, "that I should live ever to see paintings of such people! Kitty, my dear, this bald-headed old man is St. Peter. Did you ever think that St. Peter was bald! And there is St. John, with black eyes.--Wonderful, wonderful, that I should ever live to see likenesses of such blessed men!"

Kitty was as much astonished as her grandmother, and even the son was a little mystified. The latter remarked that "the world was making great head-way in all such things, and, for his part, he did not see how the painters and authors found out all they drew and recorded."

The reader may easily imagine that half a day spent in such company was not entirely thrown away. Still, half a day sufficed; and I went to the Old Coffee-house at one, to eat a sandwich and drink a glass of porter; that being the inn then most frequented for such purposes, especially by the merchants. I was in my box, with the curtain drawn, when a party of three entered that which adjoined it, ordering as many glasses of punch; which in that day was a beverage much in request of a morning, and which it was permitted even to a gentleman to drink before dining. It was the sherry-cobbler of the age; although I believe every thing is now pronounced to be out of fashion before dinner.

As the boxes were separated merely by curtains, it was impossible to avoid hearing any conversation that passed in the one adjoining my own, especially when the parties took no pains to speak low, as happened to be the case with my three neighbours. Consequently, I recognised the voices of Andrew Drewett and Rupert Hardinge in an instant;--that of the third person being unknown to me.

"Well, Norton," said Rupert, a little affectedly as to manner, "you have got Drewett and myself down here among you traders, and I hope you will do the honours of the place, in a way to confer on the latter some credit. A merchant is nothing without credit, you know."

"Have no apprehensions for your gentility, Hardinge," returned the person addressed. "Many of the first persons in town frequent this house, at this hour, and its punch is renowned. By-the-way, I saw in a paper, the other day, Rupert, that one of your relatives is dead--Miss Grace Wallingford, your sister's old associate."

A short pause followed, during which I scarcely breathed.

"No, not a relation," Rupert at length answered. "Only my father's ward. You know how it is in the country: the clergyman being expected to take care of all the sick, and all the orphans."

"But these Wallingfords are people altogether above standing in need of favours," Drewett hastily observed. "I have been at their place, and really it is a respectable spot. As for Miss Wallingford, she was a most charming girl, and her death will prove a severe blow to your sister, Hardinge."

This was said with so much feeling, that I could almost forgive the speaker for loving Lucy; though I question if I could ever truly forgive him for being beloved by her.

"Why, yes," rejoined Rupert, affecting an indifference that I could detect he was far from feeling, "Grace _was_ a good creature; though, living so much with her in childhood, she had less interest in my eyes, perhaps, than she might have had in those of one less accustomed to see her. Notwithstanding, I had a certain sort of regard for Grace, I will confess."

"Respect and esteem her!--I should think all who knew her must," added Drewett, as if determined to win my heart; "and, in my opinion, she was both beautiful and lovely."

"This from a man who is confessedly an admirer--nay, engaged to your own sister, as the world says, Hardinge, must be taken as warm praise," said the third. "But, I suppose, Drewett sees the dear departed with the eyes of her friend--for Miss Hardinge was very intimate with her, I believe."

"As intimate as sisters, and loving each other as sisters," returned Drewett, with feeling. "No intimate of Miss Hardinge's can be anything but meritorious?"

"Grace Wallingford had merit beyond a question," added Rupert, "as has her brother, who is a good, honest fellow enough. When a boy, _I_ was rather intimate with _him_."

"The certain proof of his excellencies and virtues;" put in the stranger, laughing. "But, if a ward, there must be a fortune. I think I have heard these Wallingfords were richish."

"Yes, that is just it--_richish_" said Drewett. "Some forty or fifty thousand dollars between them, all of which the brother must now inherit; and glad am I it falls to so good a fellow."

"This is generous praise from _you_, Drewett; for I have heard this brother might prove your rival."

"I had some such fears myself, once, I will confess," returned the other; "but they are all vanished. I no longer fear _him_, and can see and acknowledge his merits. Besides, I am indebted to him for my life."

"No _longer_ fear _him_."--This was plain enough, and was proof of the understanding that existed between the lovers. And why should I be feared?--I, who had never dared to say a word to the object nearest my heart, that might induce her to draw the ordinary distinction between passion and esteem--love, and a brotherly regard?

"Ay, Drewett is pretty safe, I fancy," Rupert remarked, laughing; "though it will hardly do for me to tell tales out of school."

"This is a forbidden subject," rejoined the lover, "and we will talk of Wallingford. He must inherit his sister's fortune."

"Poor Grace!--it was little she had to leave, I fancy," Rupert quietly observed.

"Ay, little in your eyes, Hardinge," added the third person, "but a good deal in those of her brother, the ship-master, one might think. Ever since you have fallen heir to Mrs. Bradfort's estate, a few thousands count for nothing."

"Were it a million, that brother would think it dearly purchased by the loss of his sister!" exclaimed Drewett.

"It's plain enough there is no rivalry between Andrew and Miles," added the laughing Rupert. "Certainly money is not quite of so much account with me now, as it used to be when I had nothing but a clergyman's salary to glean from. As for Mrs. Bradfort's fortune, it came from a common ancestor, and I do not see who has a better right to it, than those who now enjoy it."

"Unless it might be your father," said the third man, "who stood before you, according to the laws of primogeniture. I dare say Rupert made love to his venerable cousin, if the truth were known, and induced her to overlook a generation, with his oily tongue."

"Rupert did nothing of the sort; it is his glory to love Emily Merton, and Emily Merton only. As my worthy cousin could not take her fortune with her, she left it among her natural heirs. How do you know I have got any of it. I give you my honour, my account in bank is under $20,000."

"A pretty fair account, that, by Jove!" exclaimed the other. "It must be a rapping income that will permit a fellow like you to keep up such a balance."

"Why, some persons say my sister has the whole fortune. I dare say that Drewett can satisfy you on this head. The affair concerns him quite as much, as it does any other person of my acquaintance."

"I can assure you I know nothing about it;" answered Drewett, honestly. "Nor do I desire to know. I would marry Miss Hardinge to-morrow, though she had not a cent."

"It's just this disinterestedness, Andrew, that makes me like you," observed Rupert, magnificently. "Depend on it, you'll fare none the worse, in the long run, for this admirable trait in your character. Lucy knows it, and appreciates it as she should."

I wished to hear no more, but left the box and the house, taking care not to be seen. From that moment, I was all impatience to get to sea. I forgot even the intention of visiting my sister's grave; nor did I feel that I could sustain another interview with Lucy herself. That afternoon I told Marble the ship must be ready to sail the succeeding morning. _

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