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The Life and Adventures of Maj. Roger Sherman Potter, a novel by F. Colburn Adams |
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Chapter 17. Which Treats Of What Was Done With The Pig... |
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_ CHAPTER XVII. WHICH TREATS OF WHAT WAS DONE WITH THE PIG; AND ALSO OF THE LECTURE ON CRABBE, BY GILES SHERIDAN, AND VARIOUS THINGS
"As to that, my dear husband," responded the earnest woman, "I cannot be a judge. But a major as famous as yourself, should be careful how he mixes glory with his profanity; lest the public, whose servant he is, set it down against him, and use it to his injury on election day." "Truly, wife," rejoined the major, assuming an air of great self-complacency, "we military politicians had needs keep our wits whetted, and be careful how much honey we mix with the brimstone. But I must go look up my chickens; and if the devil, as some say, regulates the future affairs of politicians, we may safely leave our enemies to him." The good woman now brought food for the pig, when, having devoured it with a keen appetite, the major, in order to test his various talents, put him to a severe examination. It was found that he could perform with wonderful agility numerous gymnastic feats, such as jumping backward and forward, walking and vaulting upon his hinder legs, and keeping time to certain tunes. He could also distinguish between certain figures and letters of the alphabet, to the latter of which he would, when directed, point with his nose. Like some of our New York politicians, the pig was a wondrous animal in various ways. In fine, so extraordinary was his talent, that, as I have before said, the major resolved at once to proceed with him to one of our great cities, where first rate talent, whether of pigs or tragedians, was sure to find appreciation. But before this could be carried out, it was necessary that the services of Monsieur Pensiné, who gave lessons in politeness to youths just entering society, be engaged to cultivate and so polish his manners as to render him an acceptable member of the Union Club, under the patronage of which institution, (generally supposed to have been established for the cultivation of effeminacy and other vices, common to the Dutch of New York,) he was sure to become a lion. Monsieur Pensiné; had figured in New York; was an exile of unquestionable nobility; and if we can trust the Tribune, a journal in high favor with foreign counts, a hero of enlarged celebrity. And now the sagacious animal, fatigued with the labors of his examination, evinced an inclination to sleep, and to that end sought a distant corner of the room. "We must treat him tenderly, dear Polly, for he has wonderful instincts," said the major, casting a look of endearing sympathy at the animal. The good woman pledged her word not to be found wanting. Indeed so well did she appreciate the instincts, and even the tastes of the animal, that, having at hand a stray copy of the New York Express, and another of a very rare but no less wonderful journal, called the Mirror, (whose editor was famous for the immense amount of light and shade he threw into his financial operations,) she spread them upon the floor for his bed. And with an evident fellow feeling for those worthy journals, the animal coiled himself down, casting an approving look at the good woman as she covered him with an aged copy of the Herald. Seeing the animal thus reconciled, the major declared, that so pure a native American as Duncan could not have selected bed more appropriate, though he was not quite sure how the Express editors would regard the matter. Indeed, he was not quite sure that they would not, feeling sorely grieved, dig up Duncan's ancestors, and thereby find a means of damaging his character. As the precious animal calmly went to sleep, the major sallied out, having first drawn his sword to disperse the noisy boys who had gathered about his door, and who hurled no few missiles at his head before they were routed. He then set out for the church, where he had an altercation with the sexton, which had resulted in blows but for his courage giving out. Twice he lost his temper, and twice he regained it. He at length got into the church, in search of his chickens; and to his great surprise and mortification, found that some political or military enemy (he would swear it was no one else) had broken his coop, and set them loose among the pews. Indeed it was high noon when the major got possession of his fowls, which he did with the aid of the sexton and several mischievous boys. He then secured them nicely in his coop, and having shouldered it, returned to his wife, presenting her with another proof of the success of his voyage, and relating how he got the advantage of Mrs. Trotbridge in the trade of the Shanghais. After which he seated himself in a chair, and for several minutes seemed absorbed in deep study. "Now, I tell thee, my dear Polly," he suddenly broke out, "Major Potter was born for no ordinary man. My enemies can inflict no injuries that will discourage me, for I have got scars enough, heaven knows; and scars are the proofs of a brave soldier. Major Potter never ran from an enemy! And that is something for a man to say who has been in the Mexican war. It was, as you know, by the merest slip in the world that I did not succeed to fortune the two last times I was in public life. And, dear Polly, I have now a better chance than ever, having fallen in with a great politician in search of fame. By joining our fortunes I will so manage it as to get the better of my enemies; and with a little aid from my friends of the newspapers, you will yet see me in power. I am a man of valor, I mix but little honey with my brimstone; and let my enemies say what they will, take my word for it, you shall yet see yourself the wife of a foreign minister." "As to your valor, dear husband," returned his affectionate wife, "no one ever doubted it who knew you; and though there is nothing I so much covet as to be the wife of a foreign minister, and to move among great people abroad, and talk about it when I get home, our family is growing up, and need all we can earn to get them bread. And as they might become a town tax, while you were getting the office, perhaps we had better thank heaven, and remain humble folks until we can get to be fine ones without being sneered at." "Indeed, Polly," said the major, in reply, "if any such mishap should befall you while I am gone, you must pray heaven, and get along as well as you can until I send relief. It is noble to struggle on and wait for the reward, which always comes." The good woman heard these words with tears in her eyes, and began to tax her resolution for means to meet the emergency; for she saw clearly that the major had got a freak into his head, and was about to give up the business of peddling tin ware, at which he made an honest living, and again lead the vagabond life of a politician. And while this colloquy was proceeding between the major and his wife, I had taken a seat in the reading-room of the "Independent Temperance," where Giles Sheridan, the little deformed man, was nervously pacing the floor, and pausing every few minutes either to give me a few random sketches of his career in the world, or to mutter his misgiving at the result of his lecture on Crabbe. In truth, he had been waited upon several times during the morning by persons regarded by the town as famous for their great learning, all of whom said, if he had chosen a subject less remote, they would have guaranteed a large house; as it was, they were not quite so sure of the result. Soon the dapper figure of Bessie appeared in the room. "Please, sir," she said, as her cheeks crimsoned with blushes, "they say you came into town with that queer man they call Major Potter?" "And what of that, my child?" I replied, as another sentence trembled upon her lips, which were as tempting as ripe cherries. "Why, sir," she lisped, "you must know that although he now and then talks like a sensible man, he is set down for a great fool. He affords a deal of amusement for the boys, and never comes home but what he keeps the whole town in an uproar. Being a great fool is what got him elected Major of the Invincibles. And then he fancies himself a great politician, and goes about the country delivering lectures, as he calls them, and leaves his family to starve. Proceed no farther with him; for I heard our minister say (and he never profanes his calling) that the devil had run away with his brains. He is always talking about his valor, and his military dignity; but his poor distressed wife can tell you all about that." She was proceeding to say much more, but was interrupted by the appearance of the major, who, as he said, came to say, that as his wife was sick of a fever, and the house in a somewhat disordered condition, I must excuse his not giving me an invitation to dine with him. He hoped, however, that sufficient proof had been given to convince me of the high estimation in which he was held by Barnstable in general. "Pardon what I may have said extravagant of myself, sir. The rabble, you know, are always ready to get down a man of genius, and to misconstrue his acts; but the thinking never fail, as they have done with me, to give merit its due." Having said this with refreshing self complacency, the major turned to Giles Sheridan, (Bessie had left the room,) and as if to add to his discomfiture, told him he had little to expect from his lecture on Crabbe, of whom it was said that he could not be much of a poet, since the people of Barnstable knew so little of him. Indeed he offered to wager two dozen tin pints, a Shanghai chicken, and his military honor with the little deformed man, that he would give an exhibition with his pig, whose wonderful qualifications had already got noised over town, and attract a greater audience. Indeed, as I have resolved never to swerve from the truth in this history, it must be here acknowledged that the pig had become quite as famous as his master. The little deformed man was in nowise pleased with such a comparison of his acquirements, and answered by saying, it did not become him to hold argument with a man, however high his military position, who would place genius in the scale with brute instinct. Seeing the pain he had caused the little man, the major said he meant no offence, and was ready to get upon his knees, dissolved in tears, if that were necessary to a good and sufficient apology. In fine, it must be said of the major, that, although he was at times emphatic in his eccentric declarations, he would not knowingly wound the feelings of those who had done him no harm. And, unlike some editors of New York newspapers, he always held himself accountable according to the strictest military rules, nor was he ever known to regard the character of his fellow in arms as of so little worth, that he would daily splinter it for the amusement of the public. The major said he had come to see if I was comfortable, and to inform me that he had thrown the editor of the Patriot a sly hint about noticing the arrival of so distinguished a person as myself. And the editor had assured him it would be properly recorded in his columns, and so embroidered as to make it pleasant to his fancy. The major now took leave of me, satisfied within himself of having convinced me that he was a man of stupendous parts. I must not forget to say that he promised to call again, and be present at the lecture in the evening, inasmuch as his absence could not fail to be seriously felt. Night came on, and with it there gathered into the lecture room of the Orthodox Church, an audience of many bonnets and much respectability. Proverbially inquisitive, the people of the good old town of Barnstable were on tip-toe, to see the man of whose curious figure they had heard so much. And as if to gratify their curiosity, Giles Sheridan now rose, frisked the little black scroll about in his fingers, wiped the sweat nervously from his brow, and, in a faltering voice, gave an interesting sketch of the early life of his darling poet. This he continued for more than an hour, now warming into eloquence, now subsiding into a low, desponding voice. But his hearers sat unmoved, nor was one hand of applause raised to cheer his too misgiving heart. They wondered, and listened, and looked at one another, as was the custom of the country. The little deformed man, however, took it as a proof that he had failed to interest them; and this sorely taxed his sensitive nature. I ought also not to forget to mention that the speaker was twice interrupted by the major, who begged that he would state the exact quality of poetry written by his friend, the poet. The audience took this interruption very good naturedly, while the speaker gratified the major's curiosity by reciting a number of verses written by him. The major then said he was fully satisfied that this Mr. Crabbe must have been a great poet; but he thought if the speaker had known one Sergeant Milton, who wrote poetry in honor of the regiment he was major of during the Mexican war, he would not have set Mr. Crabbe on so high a horse. Indeed, according to what the major said, this Sergeant Milton was the most wonderful poet that ever sung of the Mexican War; and in addition to the gift of being a versifier, he was celebrated for brewing an excellent whiskey punch, without which no poet could hope for prosperity in New York, where punch begat poetry, and foul linen seemed inseparable from poets. The speaker smiled at the major's quaint remarks concerning his friend, Sergeant Milton. But such was the failure he fancied himself making, that he would gladly have given the fifteen dollars he was to receive in pay for his lectures, and said not a word about the victuals, to have got quietly out of town. But in truth he had not a shilling in his pocket, and the money he was to receive of the committee constituted the forlorn hope of his future fortunes. So, with a heart overburdened with despondency, and an eye made liquid with anxiety, he concluded in a faltering voice, and heaved a sigh. And as no one came forward to congratulate him, and the very atmosphere seemed to partake of the frigidity of the audience, he watched his hearers disperse in silence, frisking his fingers, and wondering if he had made them any wiser on the life of one Crabbe. But a silent tongue is no proof of what the heart feels; nor does the outward demonstration carry with it the stronger appreciation of merit. And so it proved in this instance. It being the custom of the country not to applaud on such occasions, the audience went home to unbosom its approval, which was of the heartiest kind. On his way home, the little man was joined by an elder of the church, who, seeing his despondency, said unto him: "Permit me to congratulate you, sir, for never was audience more interested in a lecture. You did nobly, sir." The little man's heart was touched. He grasped the speaker by the hand firmly, and as his enthusiasm broke its bounds, he poured forth his gratitude in a rhapsody of thanks. Indeed, so quickly did the word of consolation reinstate his confidence, that he became like an overjoyed child, and in the innocence of his heart invited the elder home with him, that they might enjoy a punch together. In short, he not only convinced Barnstable that Mr. Crabbe was a great poet, but so enlisted sympathy for himself, that the benevolent ladies of the sewing circle, seeing the dilapidated state of his raiment, made him up a purse, and presented it with an intimation that Warren, the tailor, lived at the corner. I should not forget to mention, that his second and third lectures proved more successful than the first, and that Major Roger Potter looked in at the "Independent Temperance" to compliment the little deformed man on the very learned character of his lecture, much of which (so he said) had so deeply interested him, that he had resolved to incorporate it into his next political speech, which he intended soon to make in opposition to that arch agitator, Thomas Benton, Esq., and which the state of the nation demanded should be done at no very distant day. Having said this, he called me aside, and enjoining me to keep what he said a profound secret, whispered what will be related in the next chapter, and took his departure. _ |
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