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Title: The Red Box
Author: Eliza Leslie [
More Titles by Leslie]
THE RED BOX, OR, SCENES AT THE GENERAL WAYNE.
A TALE.
----"Just of the same piece
Is every flatterer's spirit."--SHAKSPEARE.
In one of the most beautiful counties of Pennsylvania, and in the immediate vicinity of the Susquehanna, stood an old fashioned country tavern, known by the designation of the General Wayne. Of its landlord and his family, and of some little incidents that took place within its precincts about forty years ago, it is our purpose to relate a few particulars.
The proprietor of the house and of the fine farm that surrounded it, was by birth a New-Englander; and having served in Washington's army during the whole of the revolutionary war, he was still distinguished by the title of Colonel Brigham. When, on the return of peace, he resumed his original occupation of farming, he concluded to settle on the genial soil of Pennsylvania, and removed thither with his wife, their little daughter, and an adopted child named Oliver, a fine boy whom they boasted of loving equally with their own Fanny; that he was equally indulged admitted not of a doubt.
As Oliver advanced to manhood he took the chief charge of the farm, and Mrs. Brigham with great difficulty prevailed on her husband to set up an inn; partly to give himself more occupation, and partly because his boundless hospitality in entertaining gratuitously all strangers that came into the neighbourhood, had become rather too much of a tax.
Accordingly, a range of stalls for horses was erected at a short distance from the house, which was beautified with a new porch, running all along the front, and furnished with green benches. A village artist (who was not only a painter, but a glazier also) was employed to contrive a sign, which it was expected would surpass all that had ever been seen in the country; it being neither Buck nor Fox, neither Black Horse, Green Tree, Conestoga Wagon, or any of those every-day things.
The painter's ideas were committed to board in the shape of the landlord's old commander, General Anthony Wayne. This effigy was evidently designed for that of a human being, but the artist had begun the upper part on so large a scale, that there was little or no room for the body and limbs; the gallant general looking as if crushed down by the weight of his hat and head. He stood upon a narrow strip of verdigris green, with his two heels together, and his toes wonderfully turned out. The facings of his coat, and all his under-clothes, were of gold. He wielded in one hand an enormous sword--the other held out a pistol in the act of going off--and he leaned on a cannon from whence issued a flash of scarlet fire, and a cloud of sky-blue smoke.
It is true, that when the sign came home, the colonel made many objections to it, declaring that gold breeches had never been worn in the continental army, and that no man ever stood still leaning on a gun at the moment it was discharged--neither did he think it by any means a good likeness of General Wayne. But Mrs. Brigham reminded her husband that there was no use in telling all this to everybody, and that it might suit some people's ideas of General Wayne--adding, that she never saw a sign that was a good likeness, except Timothy Grimshaw's White Lion, which looked exactly like Timothy himself.
Oliver averred that the artist was certainly a liberal man, and had given them the full worth of their money, for beside the gilding, there was more paint on it than on any sign he had ever seen.
Their neighbour, Tempy Walters, was, however, of opinion that they had been greatly overcharged, for that a man had painted her brother's cellar-door (which was considerably larger than this sign) for half the money. "To be sure," added Tempy, "there was no gold on the cellar-door--but it must have taken twice the paint."
To be brief, the colonel dismissed the case by paying the artist rather more than he asked--telling him, also, that he should be glad to see him at his house whenever he chose to come, and that his visits should not cost him a cent.
There never, perhaps, was a less profitable tavern than the General Wayne. The people of the neighbourhood were amazingly sober, and Mrs. Brigham allowed no tipplers to lounge about the bar-room or porch. The charges were so moderate as scarcely to cover the actual cost of the good things which were so profusely lavished on the table, and the family could not relinquish the habit of treating their guests as visiters and friends. Colonel Brigham always found some reason why such and such articles were not worth considering at all, and why such and such people could not afford to pay as well as he could afford to give them food and shelter. On soldiers, of course, he bestowed gratuitous entertainment, and was never more delighted than when he saw them coming. Pedlers and tinmen always took it--and emigrants on their way to the back settlements were invariably told to keep their money to help pay for their land.
But though tavern-keeping did not realize the anticipations of Mrs. Brigham in operating as a check on the hospitality of her husband, still, as she said, it kept him about the house, and prevented him from heating and fatiguing himself in the fields, and from interfering with Oliver in the management of the farm--Oliver always doing best when left to himself. It must be understood that this youth, though virtually a dependant on the bounty of the Brighams, evinced as free and determined a spirit as if he had been literally "monarch of all he surveyed." He was active, industrious, frank to a fault, brave and generous; and would have fought at any moment in defence of any member of the family; or, indeed, for any member of any other family, if he conceived them to have been injured.
Between Oliver and Fanny Brigham there was as yet no demonstration of any particular attachment. They had been brought up so much like brother and sister that they seemed not to know when to begin to fall in love. Fanny coquetted with the smart young men in the neighbourhood, and Oliver flirted with the pretty girls; not seeming to perceive that Fanny was the prettiest of all. The old people, however, had it very much at heart for a match to take place between the young people, as the best preventive to Oliver "going west" (a thing he sometimes talked of, in common with the generality of young farmers), and therefore they watched closely, and were always fancying that they detected symptoms of real bona fide love. If the young people quarrelled, it was better so than that they should feel nothing for each other but mutual indifference. If they appeared indifferent, it was supposed that Fanny was modestly veiling her genuine feelings, and that Oliver was disguising his to try the strength of hers. If they talked and laughed together, they were animated by each other's society. If they were silent, they had the matter under serious consideration. If Fanny received with complaisance the civilities of a rural beau, and if Oliver devoted his attention to a rural belle, it was only to excite each other's jealousy. On one thing, however, the old people were agreed--which was, that it was best not to hurry matters. In this they judged from their own experience; for Mrs. Brigham had lost her first lover (a man that had come to see her every Wednesday and Saturday for five years and a half) because her father prematurely asked him what his intentions were. And Colonel Brigham had been refused no less than nine times, in consequence of "popping the question" at his first interview--a way he had when he was young.
So equal, however, was their love for the two children (as they still continued to call them), so anxious were they to keep Oliver always with them, and so impossible did it seem to them to think of any other young man as a son-in-law, that they would have sacrificed much to bring about so desirable a conclusion. But we have been loitering too long on the brink of our story, and it is time we were fairly afloat.
One clear, mild autumnal evening, Colonel Brigham (who for himself never liked benches) was occupying a few chairs in his front porch, and reading several newspapers; looking occasionally towards a cider-press under a large tree, round which lay a mountain of apples that a horse and a black boy were engaged in grinding. The colonel was habited in striped homespun trousers, a dark brown waistcoat with silver buttons, and no coat--but he took great pride in always wearing a clean shirt of fine country-made linen. As relics of his former military capacity, he persisted in a three-cocked hat and a black stock. He had joined the army in the meridian of life, and he was now a large, stout, handsome old man, with a clear blue eye, and silver gray hair curling on each side of a broad high forehead. Suddenly a stage that passed the house twice a week, stopped before the door. The only passengers in it were an old gentleman who occupied the back seat, and four young ones that sat on the two others, all with their faces towards him.
"Can we be accommodated at this inn for a few days?" said the elder stranger, looking out at the side. Colonel Brigham replied in the affirmative, adding that just then there were no guests in the house. "So much the better," said the old gentleman; "I like the appearance of this part of the country, and may as well be here for a little while as any where else." And making a sign to the young ones, they all four scrambled out of the stage with such eagerness as nearly to fall over each other--and every one took a part in assisting him down the steps, two holding him by the hands, and two by the elbows. But as soon as his feet touched the ground, he shook them all off as if scattering them to the four winds. He was a small slender old man, but of a florid complexion, and showed no indication of infirm health, but the excessive care that he took of himself--being enveloped in a great coat, over it a fur tippet round his neck, and his hat was tied down with a silk handkerchief.
"Sir, you are welcome to the General Wayne," said Colonel Brigham, "though I cannot say much for the sign. That was not the way brave Anthony looked at Stony Point. May I ask the favour of your name?"
The stranger looked at first as if unaccustomed to this question, and unwilling to answer it. However, after a pause, he deigned to designate himself as Mr. Culpepper, and slightly mentioned the four young men as his nephews, the Mr. Lambleys. There was a family likeness throughout the brothers. They were all tall and slender--all had the same fawn-coloured hair, the same cheeks of a dull pink, the same smiling mouths habitually turned up at the corners, and faces that looked as if all expression had been subdued out of them, except that their greenish-gray eyes had the earnest intent look, that is generally found in those of dumb people.
Mr. Culpepper was conducted into a parlour, where (though the evening was far from cold) he expressed his satisfaction at finding a fire. He deposited on the broad mantel-piece a small red morocco box which he had carried under his arm, and while his nephews (who had all been to see the baggage deposited) were engaged in disrobing him of his extra habiliments, he addressed himself to Colonel Brigham, whom he seemed to regard with particular complaisance.
"Well, landlord," said he; "you are, perhaps, surprised at my stopping here?"
"Not at all," said the colonel.
"The truth is," pursued Mr. Culpepper, "I am travelling for my health, and therefore I am taking cross-roads, and stopping at out of the way places. For there is no health to be got by staying in cities, and putting up at crowded hotels, and accepting invitations to dinner-parties and tea-parties, or in doing anything else that is called fashionable."
"Give me your hand, sir," said Colonel Brigham; "you are a man after my own heart!"
The four Mr. Lambleys stared at the landlord's temerity, and opened their eyes still wider when they saw it taken perfectly well, and that their uncle actually shook hands with the innkeeper. This emboldened them to murmur something in chorus about their all disliking fashion.
"And pray," said old Culpepper, "why should you do that? 'Tis just as natural for young people to like folly, as it is for old people to be tired of it. And I am certain you have never seen so much of fashion as to be surfeited with it already."
The nephews respectfully assented.
It had already come to the knowledge of Mrs. Brigham (who was busily occupied up stairs in filling with new feathers some pillow-ticks which Fanny was making) that a party of distinguished strangers had arrived. "Fanny, Fanny," she exclaimed, opening the door of the adjoining room, in which Fanny was seated at her sewing, "there are great people below stairs. Get fixed in a moment, and go down and speak to them. I am glad your father has had sense enough to take them into the front parlour."
"But, mother," replied Fanny, "I saw them from the window when they got out of the stage. They are all men people, and I know I shall be ashamed, as they are quite strange to me, and I suppose are very great gentlemen. Won't it suit better for you to go?"
"Don't you see how the feathers are all over me?" said Mrs. Brigham: "it will take me an hour to get them well picked off, and myself washed and dressed. Get fixed at once, and go down and let the strangers see that the women of the house have proper manners. If you think you'll feel better with something in your hands, make some milk punch, and take it in to them."
Fanny's habitual neatness precluded any real necessity for an alteration in her dress--but still she thought it expedient to put on a new glossy blue gingham gown, and a clean muslin collar with a nicely plaited frill round it. This dress would have been very well, but that Fanny, in her desire to appear to great advantage, added a long sash of red and green plaid riband, and a large white satin bow deposited in the curve of her comb. Then, having turned herself round three or four times before the glass, to ascertain the effect, she descended the stairs, and in the entry met Oliver, who had just come in at the front door, and had seen from the barn-yard the arrival of the guests.
"Fanny," said Oliver, "why have you put on that great white top-knot? It makes you look like one of the cockatoos in the Philadelphia Museum. Let me take it off."
"Oh! Oliver, Oliver!" exclaimed Fanny, putting her hands to her head, "how you have spoiled my hair!"
"And this long sash streaming out at one side," pursued Oliver, "how ridiculous it looks!" And he dexterously twitched it off, saying, "There, take these fly-traps up stairs--they only disfigure you. I thought so the other day when you wore them at Mary Shortstitch's sewing frolic. You are much better without them."
"But I am not," said Fanny, angrily snatching them from his hand; "look how you've crumpled them up! Instead of finding fault with me for wishing to look respectfully to the strangers, you had best go and make yourself fit to be seen."
"I always am fit to be seen," replied Oliver, "and you know very well that I always do put myself in order as soon as I have done my work. But as for dressing up in any remarkable finery on account of four or five strange men, it is not in my line to do so. If, indeed, there were some smart girls along, it would be a different thing: but it is not my way to show too much respect to any man."
"I believe you, indeed," remarked Fanny.
"Well, well," said Oliver, "your hair is pretty enough of itself--and you fix it so nicely that it wants no top-knot to set it off; and this party-coloured sash only spoils the look of your waist. I hate to see you make a fool of yourself."
Fanny tossed her head in affected disdain, but she smiled as she ran up stairs to put away the offending ribands. She found her mother leaning down over the banisters, and looking very happy at Oliver's desire that Fanny should not make a fool of herself.
Fanny, having prepared the milk-punch in the best possible manner, filled half a dozen tumblers with it, grating a profusion of nutmeg over each, and then arranged them on a small waiter. When she entered the parlour with it, Mr. Culpepper, who called himself a confirmed invalid, was engaged in giving her father a particular description of all his ailments; and the four nephews were listening with an air of intense interest, as if it was the first they had heard of them.
"This is my daughter, Fanny," said Colonel Brigham, and Mr. Culpepper stopped short in his narrative, and his nephews all turned their eyes to look at her. When she handed the milk-punch the old gentleman declined it, alleging that the state of his health did not permit him to taste any sort of liquor. His nephews were going to follow his example, till he said to them peremptorily--
"Take it--there is nothing the matter with any of you. If there is, say so."
The Mr. Lambleys all rose to receive their tumblers, their uncle having made them a sign to that purpose, and Fanny thought herself treated with great respect, and curtsied, blushingly, to every one as he set down his glass.
"From such a Hebe it is difficult to refuse nectar," said the old gentleman, gallantly.
"A Hebe, indeed!" echoed the nephews.
The uncle frowned at them, and they all looked foolish--even more so than usual.
"Now, Fanny, my dear," said her father, "you may go out, and send in Oliver."
"Mother," said Fanny, as she joined Mrs. Brigham in the pantry, "I like these strangers quite well. They were very polite indeed--but they called me Phebe--I wonder why?"
When Oliver made his appearance, Colonel Brigham introduced him as "a boy he had raised, and who was just the same as a son to him." Mr. Culpepper surveyed Oliver from head to foot, saying, "Upon my word--a fine-looking youth! Straight--athletic--brown and ruddy--dark hair and eyes--some meaning in his face. See, young men--there's a pattern for you."
The four Mr. Lambleys exchanged looks, and tried in vain to conceal their inclination to laugh.
"Behave yourselves," said the uncle, in a stern voice.
The nephews behaved.
The supper table was now set, and Mr. Culpepper had become so gracious with his landlord, as to propose that he and his nephews should eat with the family during their stay. "That is what my guests always do," said Colonel Brigham; "and then we can see that all is right, and that they are well served."
When supper came in, Mr. Culpepper declined leaving the fire-side; and having previously had some cocoa brought from one of his travelling boxes, and prepared according to his own directions, he commenced his repast on a small round table or stand, that was placed beside him, declaring that his evening meal never consisted of anything more than a little cocoa, sago, or arrow-root.
But after taking a survey of the variety of nice-looking things that were profusely spread on the supper-table, the old gentleman so far broke through his rule, as to say he would try a cup of tea and a rusk. When Mrs. Brigham had poured it out, the four nephews, who at their uncle's sign manual had just taken their seats at the table, all started up at once to hand him his cup, though there was a black boy in attendance. The business was finally adjusted by one of the Mr. Lambleys taking the tea-cup, one the cream-jug, one the sugar-dish, and one the plate of rusk; and he of the cup was kept going all the time, first to have more water put into it, then more tea, then more water, and then more tea again. The invalid next concluded to try a cup of coffee, to counteract, as he said, any bad effects that might arise from the tea; and he ventured, also, on some well-buttered buckwheat cake and honey. He was afterwards emboldened to attempt some stewed chicken and milk toast, and finally finished with preserved peaches and cream.
All these articles were carried to him by his nephews, jumping up and running with an empressement, that excited the amazement of Mrs. Brigham, the pity of Fanny, the smiles of her father, and the indignation of Oliver.
The females retired with the supper equipage; and finding that Colonel Brigham had served in the war of independence, Mr. Culpepper engaged him in recounting some reminiscences of those eventful times; for the veteran had seen and known much that was well worth hearing.
The Mr. Lambleys, unaccustomed to feel or to affect an interest in anything that was not said or done by their uncle, looked very weary, and at last became palpably sleepy. They all sat in full view, and within reach of old Culpepper, who, whenever he perceived them to nod, or to show any other indication of drowsiness, poked at them with his cane, so as effectually to rouse them for a time, causing them to start forward, and set their faces to a smile, stretching up their eyes to keep them wide open.
At last the colonel, who was much amused by the absurdity of the scene, came to a full pause. "Go on," said Culpepper, "never mind their nodding. I'll see that they do not go to sleep."
The colonel, out of compassion to the young men, shortened his story as much as possible, and finally, on Mrs. Brigham sending in the black boy with bed-candles, Mr. Culpepper looked at his watch, and rose from his chair. The nephews were all on their feet in a moment. One tied the old man's fur tippet round his neck, to prevent his taking cold in ascending the staircase, another put on his hat for him, and the two others contended for the happiness of carrying his cloak. "What are you about?" said Mr. Culpepper; "do not you see my greatcoat there on the chair? Take that, one of you."
He bade good night, and the procession began to move, headed by Peter, the black boy, lighting them up stairs.
As soon as they were entirely out of hearing, Colonel Brigham, who had with difficulty restrained himself, broke out into a laugh, but Oliver traversed the room indignantly.
"I have no patience," said he, "with such fellows. To think that full-grown men--men that have hands to work and get their own living, should humble themselves to the dust, and submit to be treated as lacqueys by an old uncle (or, indeed, by anybody), merely because he happens to be rich, and they expect to get his money when he sees proper to die, which may not be these twenty years, for it is plain that nothing ails him. 'I'd rather be a dog and bay the moon,' as I once heard an actor say in the Philadelphia play-house. Now I talk of Philadelphia; I have engaged all our next barley to Wortley & Hopkins. They pay better than Maltman & Co. But these Lambleys, Sheepleys rather--I saw them from the barn, handing the old fellow out of the stage. I almost expected to see them lift his feet for him; I was glad he scattered them all as soon as he had got down the steps. I dare say if he rides on horseback, they all four run beside him and hold him on his horse. Now I talk of horses, I've concluded to keep the two bay colts, and raise them myself. Tom Martingale shall not have them for the price he offers. To see how these chaps fetch and carry, and rise up and sit down, just at that old fellow's beck. It would be harder work for me than following the plough from sunrise to sunset, were I obliged to do so. Now I talk of ploughing; I bought another yoke of oxen yesterday, and hired a Dutchman. I shall put the five-acre field in corn. That old villain! you may see by his eye that he is despising them all the time. Why should not he? ninnies as they are. I wonder where they all came from? I do not believe they are Americans."
"And yet," said Colonel Brigham, "they do not speak like Englishmen, and I am sure they are neither Scotch nor Irish."
"I hear them all pacing about up stairs in the old fellow's room," said Oliver; "think of four men putting one man to bed, or of any one man allowing four to do it. But 'their souls are subdued to what they work in,' as I heard another play-actor say. By-the-bye, the old rogue has forgotten his red box, and left it on the mantel-piece. I wonder what is in it?"
"Maybe it is full of gold money," said Mrs. Brigham, who had just entered the room with Fanny; the daughter proceeding to put back the chairs, while the mother swept up the hearth.
"Bank notes rather," said Oliver.
"Jewels, I think," said Fanny.
"Deeds of property, perhaps," said the colonel.
"Well, well," said Mrs. Brigham, "'tis time for all good people to be in bed, so we'll let the strangers and their box rest till to-morrow."
"I think," observed the colonel, "the box had best be carried up to them. Take it, Oliver."
"I just heard the young men leave their uncle's room to go to their own," said Mrs. Brigham. "May be it won't do to disturb him, now he's in bed."
"Then let it be taken to the young men," returned the colonel. "Where have you put them?"
"I told Peter to show them all to the four-bedded room, at the other end of the house," answered Mrs. Brigham, "as they seemed to be alike in everything. I supposed they always prefer sleeping in the same place. All the four beds have exactly the same blue and white coverlets."
"Well," said Oliver, "I'll take them the box as I pass their room on the way to my own. But I must go first to the stable, and see how Sorrel's foot is; I cannot be satisfied if I do not look at it once more to-night."
The other members of the family now retired to their apartments, and Oliver took a lantern and went to the stable, to inspect again the state of the disabled horse.
When the four Lambleys waited on their uncle out of the parlour, they all perceived that the old gentleman had for the first time forgotten to take the red morocco box with him, and they all exchanged glances to this effect, being used to each other's signs. After they had gone through the tedious process of seeing him to bed, and carefully folding up his numerous garments, they held a consultation in their own room; and, accustomed to acting in concert, they concluded that as soon as the house was quiet, they would all go down stairs together and bring up the red box. Fortunately for them, they knew Mr. Culpepper to be a sound sleeper (notwithstanding his constant assertions to the contrary), and that he always went to sleep as soon as he was in bed.
When they came into the parlour, where all was now dark and silent, they set their candle on the table, and taking down the red box, one of them said, "At last we have an opportunity of satisfying ourselves."
"Tis the first time," said another, "that the box has ever been out of the old villain's possession. How strange that he should not have missed it! He must have had something in his head more than usual to-night."
"He even forgot to take his lozenges before he went to bed," said the third.
"James," said the fourth, "did you slip the little key out of his under waistcoat pocket, as I signed to you to do while you were folding it up?"
"To be sure I did," replied James, "here it is," (dangling it by the red ribbon that was tied to it). "But do you open the box, George, for I am afraid."
"Give me the key, then," said George, "for we have no time to lose."
"What a lucky chance!" said Richard Lambley.
"Now," said William, "we shall learn what we have been longing to discover for the last five years."
The key was turned, and the box opened. A folded parchment lay within it, tied round with red tape. Each of the brothers simultaneously put out a hand to grasp it.
"One at a time," said the elder, taking it out and opening it; "just as we suspected. It is the old fellow's will, regularly drawn up, signed and witnessed."
They looked over each other's shoulders in intense anxiety, while the eldest of the brothers, in a low voice, ran over the contents of the parchment. There was a unanimous exclamation of surprise that amounted almost to horror, when, after the usual preamble, they came to some explicit words by which the testator devoted the whole of his property to the endowment of a hospital for idiots. They had proceeded thus far, when they were startled by the entrance of Oliver, who saw in a moment in what manner they were all engaged. They hastily folded up the will, and replaced it in the box, of which they directly turned the key, looking very much disconcerted.
"I was coming," said Oliver, setting down his lantern, "to get that box and take it to you, that you might keep it safe for your uncle till morning. I have been detained at the stable longer than I expected, doing something for a lame horse."
There was a whispering among the Lambleys.
"Very well," said one of them to Oliver, "the box can stand on the mantel-piece till morning, and then when my uncle comes down he can get it for himself. He must not be disturbed with it to-night; and no doubt it will be safe enough here."
The truth was, they were all justly impressed with the persuasion, that if Mr. Culpepper knew the box to have been all night in their room, he would believe, as a thing of course, that they had opened it by some means, and examined its contents. Servility and integrity rarely go together.
They whispered again, and each advanced towards Oliver, holding out a dollar.
"What is this for?" said Oliver, drawing back.
"We do not wish you," said one of the Lambleys, "to mention to any one that you found us examining this box."
"Why should I mention it?" replied Oliver; "do you suppose I tell everything I see and hear? But what is that money for?"
"For you," said the Lambleys.
"What am I to do for it?"
"Keep our secret."
Oliver started back, coloured to his temples, contracted his brows, and clenching his hands, said, "I think I could beat you all four. I am sure of it. I could knock every one of you down, and keep you there, one after another. And I will; too, if you don't put up that money this instant."
The Lambleys quickly returned the dollars to their pockets, murmuring an apology; and Oliver paced the room in great agitation, saying, "I'll go west. I'll go to the backest of the back woods; nobody there will affront me with money."
The Lambleys hastily replaced the red box on the mantel-piece, and taking an opportunity when Oliver, as he walked up and down, was at the far end of the room, with his back to them, they all stole past him, and glided up stairs, to talk over the discovery of the night.
Having no longer the same motive for submitting to the iron rule of their uncle, they were eager to be emancipated from his tyranny, and they spent several hours in canvassing the manner in which this was to be effected. They had not candour enough to acknowledge that they had inspected the will, nor courage enough to break out into open rebellion; still, knowing what they now did, they feared that it would be impossible for them to persevere in their usual assiduities to Mr. Culpepper, for whom they could find no term that seemed sufficiently opprobrious.
Habit is second nature. The morning found them, as usual, in their uncle's room to assist at his toilet, with all their accustomed submission. The one that had purloined the key of the red box, took care to contrive an opportunity of slipping it unperceived into the pocket, as he unfolded and handed Mr. Culpepper his under waistcoat.
After he was shaved and dressed, and ready to go down stairs, the old gentleman suddenly missed the red box, and exclaimed, "Why, where is my box? What has gone with it? Who has taken it?"
The nephews had all turned their faces to the windows, and were steadfastly engaged in observing the pigeons that were walking about the roof of the porch.
"Where's my red box, I say?" vociferated the old man. "Go and see if I left it down stairs last night. A thing impossible, though. No--stay--I'll not trust one of you. I'll go down myself."
He then actually ran down stairs, and on entering the parlour where the breakfast table was already set, and the family all assembled, he espied the red box standing quietly on the mantel-piece.
"Ah!" he ejaculated, "there it is. I feared I had lost it." And he felt in his waistcoat pocket to ascertain if the key was safe.
To Mrs. Brigham's inquiry, of "how he had rested," Mr. Culpepper replied in a melancholy tone, that he had not slept a wink the whole night. On her asking if anything had disturbed him, he replied, "Nothing whatever; nothing but the usual restlessness of ill health." And he seemed almost offended, when she suggested the possibility of being asleep without knowing it.
Though he assured the family, when he sat down, that he had not the slightest appetite, the bowl of sago which had been prepared by his orders was soon pushed aside, and his breakfast became the counterpart of his supper the night before.
In taking their seats, the Lambleys, instead of their customary amicable contention, as to which of them should sit next their uncle, now, in the awkwardness of their embarrassment, all got to the other side of the table, and ranged themselves opposite to him in a row. Mr. Culpepper looked surprised, and invited Fanny and Oliver to place themselves beside him.
The four young men were very irregular and inconsistent in their behaviour. As often as their uncle signified any of his numerous wants, their habitual sycophancy caused them to start forward to wait on him; but their recent disappointment with regard to the disposal of his wealth, and their secret consciousness of the illicit means they had made use of to discover the tenor of his will, rendered them unable to watch his countenance, and anticipate his demands by keeping their eyes on his face as heretofore.
Their uncle saw that they were all in a strange way, and that something unusual was possessing them, and frequently in the midst of his talk with Colonel Brigham, he stopped to look at them and wonder. Something having reminded him of a certain ridiculous anecdote, he related it to the great amusement of the Brighams, who heard it for the first time. Mr. Culpepper, on looking over at his nephews, perceived that instead of laughing in concert (as they always did at this his favourite joke), they all appeared distrait, and as if they had not paid the slightest attention to it. He bent forward across the table, and fixing his keen eyes upon them, said, with a scrutinizing look, and in an under tone, "you have been reading my will."
The poor Lambleys all laid down their knives and forks, turned pale, and nearly fell back in their chairs.
"Don't expose yourselves farther," whispered Culpepper, leaning across to them, "I know you all;" and then turning to Colonel Brigham, he with much sang froid pursued the conversation.
Oliver (who alone of the family understood what was passing) began to feel much compassion for the poor young men. The scene became very painful to him, and finding that his aversion to the uncle was increasing almost beyond concealment, he hastily finished his coffee, and quitted the room.
When breakfast was over, and they were all leaving the table, old Culpepper said aside to his nephews: "In founding a hospital for idiots, I still give you an opportunity of benefiting by my bounty."
They reddened, and were about to quit the parlour, when their uncle, taking a chair himself, said to them: "Sit down, all of you." They mechanically obeyed, looking as if they were about to receive sentence of death. Fanny began to feel frightened, and glided out of the room; her mother having just followed the departure of the breakfast things. Colonel Brigham rose also to go, when Mr. Culpepper stopped him, saying: "Remain, my good friend. Stay and hear my explanation of some things that must have excited your curiosity."
He then took down the red box. The nephews looked at each other, and a sort of whisper ran along the line, which ended in their all jumping up together, and bolting out at the door.
Mr. Culpepper gazed after them awhile, and then turned towards Colonel Brigham, with a sardonic laugh on his face. "Well, well," said he, "they are right. It is refreshing to see them for once acting naturally. It was, perhaps, expecting too much, even of them, to suppose they would sit still and listen to all I was likely to say, for they know me well. Yet, if they had not read my will, they would not have dared to quit the room when I ordered them to remain."
He then proceeded to relate that he was a native of Quebec, where, in early life, he had long been engaged in a very profitable commercial business, and had been left a widower at the age of forty. A few years afterwards, he married again. His second wife was a lady of large fortune, which she made over to him, on condition that he should take her family name of Culpepper. The Mr. Lambleys were the nephews of his wife, being the children of her younger sister. On the death of their parents, he was induced by her to give them a home in his house.
The four Lambleys had very little property of their own, their father having dissipated nearly all that he had acquired by his marriage. They had been educated for professions, in which it was soon found that they had neither the ability nor the perseverance to succeed; their whole souls seeming concentrated to one point, that of gaining the favour of their uncle (who lost his second wife a few years after their marriage), and with this object they vied with each other in a course of unremitting and untiring servilities, foolishly supposing it the only way to accomplish their aim of eventually becoming his heirs.
All that they gained beyond the payment of their current expenses, was Mr. Culpepper's unqualified contempt. He made a secret resolution to revenge himself on their duplicity, and to disappoint their mercenary views by playing them a trick at the last, and he had a will drawn up, in which he devised his whole property to the establishment of a hospital. This will he always carried about with him in the red morocco box.
He had come to the United States on a tour for the benefit of his health, and also to satisfy himself as to the truth of all he had heard respecting the unparalleled improvement of the country since it had thrown off the yoke which his fellow-subjects of Canada were still satisfied to wear.
"And now," continued Mr. Culpepper to his landlord, "you have not seen all that is in the red box. I know not by what presentiment I am impelled; but, short as our acquaintance has been, I cannot resist an unaccountable inclination to speak more openly of my private affairs to you, Colonel Brigham, than to any person I have ever met with. I feel persuaded that I shall find no cause to regret having done so. It is a long time since I have had any one near me to whom I could talk confidentially." And he added, with a sigh: "I fear that I may say with Shakspeare's Richard, 'there is no creature loves me.'"
Mr. Culpepper then opened the red box, and took out from beneath the will and several other documents that lay under it, a folded paper, which he held in his hand for some moments in silence. He then gave it to Colonel Brigham, saying, "Do you open it; I cannot. It is more than twenty years since I have seen it."
The Colonel unfolded the paper. It contained a small miniature of a beautiful young lady, in a rich but old-fashioned dress of blue satin, with lace cuffs and stomacher, her hair being drest very high, and ornamented with a string of pearls, arranged in festoons. Colonel Brigham looked at the miniature, and exclaimed in a voice of astonishment: "This is the likeness of Oliver's mother!"
"Oliver's mother!" ejaculated Mr. Culpepper, in equal amazement; "Oliver--what, the young man that lives with you--that you call your adopted son? This is the miniature of my daughter, Elizabeth Osborne."
"Then," replied the Colonel, "your daughter was Oliver's mother."
"Where is she?" exclaimed Culpepper, wildly. "Is she alive, after all?--When I heard of her death I believed it.--Do you know where she is?"
"She is dead," said Colonel Brigham, passing his hand over his eyes.--"I saw her die;--I was at her funeral.--I can bring you proof enough that this is the likeness of Oliver's mother.--Shall I tell my wife of this discovery?"
"You may tell it to your whole family," answered Mr. Culpepper, throwing himself back in his chair.--"You are all concerned in it.--Why, indeed, should it be a secret?"
Colonel Brigham left the room, and shortly after returned, conducting his wife, who was much flurried, and carried an enormously large pocket-book, worked in queen-stitch with coloured crewels. She was followed by Fanny, looking very pale, and bringing with her some sewing, by way of "having something in her hands." They found Mr. Culpepper with his face covered, and evidently in great agitation.
"See," said Mrs. Brigham, sitting down before him, and untying the red worsted strings of the pocket-book, "here's the very fellow to that likeness." She then took out an exact copy of the miniature. There were also some letters that had passed between the father and mother of Oliver, previous to their marriage.
"I keep these things in my best pocket-book," continued Mrs. Brigham; "husband gave them into my keeping, and when Oliver is twenty-one (which will not be till next spring), they are all to go to him."
Mr. Culpepper gazed awhile at the miniature, and then turned over the letters with a trembling hand. "I see," said he, "that there is no flaw in the evidence. This is, indeed, a copy of my daughter's miniature. These letters I have no desire to read, for, of course, they refer to the plot that was in train for deceiving me. And they thought they had well succeeded. But their punishment soon came, in a life of privation and suffering, and in an early death to both. May such be the end of all stolen marriages!--Still, she was my daughter; my only child.--So much the worse; she should not have left me for a stranger."
It was painful and revolting to the kind-hearted Brighams to witness the conflict between the vindictive spirit of this unamiable old man, and the tardy rekindling of his parental feelings. In a few moments he made an effort to speak with connexion and composure, and related the following particulars. After the unsuccessful attack on Quebec, by the gallant and ill-fated Montgomery, a young American officer, who had been severely wounded in the conflict, was brought into the city, and received the most kind and careful attendance from the family of a gentleman who had once been intimately acquainted with his father. The family who thus extended their hospitality to a suffering enemy, were the next-door neighbours of Mr. Culpepper, whose name was then Osborne. Captain Dalzel was a handsome and accomplished young man, and his case excited much interest among the ladies of Quebec, and in none more than in Miss Osborne, who, from her intimacy in the house at which he was staying, had frequent opportunities of seeing him during his long convalescence. A mutual attachment was the consequence, and it was kept a profound secret from her father, who had in view for her a marriage with a Canadian gentleman of wealth and consequence.
When Captain Dalzel was about to return home on being exchanged, he prevailed on Miss Osborne to consent to a secret marriage. Mr. Culpepper acknowledged that on discovering it he literally turned his daughter out of doors, and sent back unopened a letter which she wrote to him from Montreal. From that time he never suffered her name to be mentioned in his presence; and he was almost tempted to consign to the flames a miniature of her, that had been painted for him by an English artist, then resident in Quebec. But a revulsion of feeling so far prevailed, as to prevent him from thus destroying the resemblance of his only child; and he put away the miniature with a firm resolution never to look at it again. Five years afterwards he heard accidentally of Captain Dalzel's having fallen in battle, and that Elizabeth had survived him but a few days.
"And how did you feel when you heard this?" asked Colonel Brigham.
"Feel," replied Culpepper, fiercely; "I felt that she deserved her fate, for having deceived her father, and taken a rebel for her husband, and an enemy's country for her dwelling-place."
Fanny shuddered at the bitter and implacable tone in which these words were uttered, and the Brighams were convinced that, with such a parent, Miss Osborne's home could at no time have been a happy one.
"But," continued old Culpepper, after a pause, "I will confess, that since I have been in your country, I have felt some 'compunctious visitings;' and I had determined not to leave the States without making some inquiry as to my daughter having left children."
"She had only Oliver," replied Colonel Brigham.
"The boy's features have no resemblance to those of his mother," said Culpepper; "still there is something in his look that at once prepossessed me in his favour. But tell me all that you know about his parents?"
The colonel's narrative implied, that he had been well acquainted with Captain Dalzel, who was of the Virginia line, and who was mortally wounded at Yorktown, where he died two days after the surrender; consigning to the care of Colonel Brigham a miniature of his wife, which he said was procured before his marriage from an artist whom he had induced to copy privately one that he was painting for the young lady's father.
The war being now considered as ended by the capture of Cornwallis and his army, Colonel Brigham repaired to Philadelphia, where her husband had informed him that Mrs. Dalzel was living in retired lodgings. He found that the melancholy news of Captain Dalzel's fate had already reached her; and it had caused the rupture of a blood-vessel, which was hurrying her immediately to the grave. She was unable to speak, but she pointed to her child (then about four years old), who was sobbing at her pillow. The colonel, deeply moved, assured her that he would carry the boy home with him to his wife, and that while either of them lived, he should never want a parent. A gleam of joy lighted up the languid eyes of Mrs. Dalzel, and they closed to open in this world no more.
The anguish evinced by Mr. Culpepper at this part of the narrative, was such as to draw tears from Mrs. Brigham and Fanny. The colonel dwelt no further on the death of Mrs. Dalzel, but concluded his story in as few words as possible, saying that he carried the child home with him; that his wife received him gladly; and that not one of the relations of Captain Dalzel (and he had none that were of near affinity) ever came forward to dispute with him the charge of the boy. Captain Dalzel, he knew, had possessed no other fortune than his commission.
When Colonel Brigham had finished his tale,----
"Well," said Mr. Culpepper, making a strong effort to recover his composure, "perhaps I treated my daughter too severely, in continuing to cherish so deep a resentment against her. But why did she provoke me to it? However, the past can never be recalled. I must endeavour to make her son behave better to me. Where is Oliver? Let me see him immediately."
He had scarcely spoken when Oliver entered the porch, accompanied by the four Lambleys, whom he had met strolling about lonely and uncomfortable, and he kindly offered to show them round the farm, not knowing what better he could do for them. They had just completed their tour; and though it was a beautiful farm, and in fine order, the Lambleys had walked over it without observing anything, being all the time engaged in inveighing bitterly to Oliver against their uncle. Oliver regarded them as so many Sinbads ridden by the Old Man of the Sea, and advised them to throw him off forthwith.
"Come in, Oliver," said Colonel Brigham; "you are wanted here."
Oliver entered the parlour, and the Lambleys remained in the porch and looked in at the windows, curious to know what was going on.
"Come in, all of you," said Mr. Culpepper.
They mechanically obeyed his summons, and entered the parlour.
Mr. Culpepper then took Oliver by the hand, and said to him in a voice tremulous with emotion, "Young man, in me you behold your grandfather."
Oliver changed colour, and started back, and Mr. Culpepper was deeply chagrined to see that this announcement gave him anything but pleasure. The story was briefly explained to him, and Mr. Culpepper added, "From this moment you may consider yourself as belonging to me. I like you--and I will leave my money to you rather than to found a hospital."
"You had better leave it to these poor fellows, that have been trying for it so long," said Oliver, bluntly.
The nephews all regarded him with amazement.
"Hear me, Oliver," said Mr. Culpepper; "It is not merely because you are my grandson, and as such my legal heir--unless I choose to dispose of my property otherwise--but I took a fancy to you the moment I saw you, when I could not know that you were of my own blood. As to those fellows, I have had enough of them, and no doubt they have had enough of me. I have towed them about with me already too long. It is time I should cut the rope, and turn them adrift. No doubt they will do better when left to shift for themselves."
The Lambleys exhibited visible signs of consternation.
"Oliver," continued Mr. Culpepper, "prepare to accompany me to Canada. There you shall live with me as my acknowledged heir, taking the name of Culpepper, and no longer feeling yourself a destitute orphan."
"I never have felt myself a destitute orphan," said Oliver, looking gratefully at Colonel and Mrs. Brigham, both of whom looked as if they could clasp him in their arms.
"I promise you every reasonable enjoyment that wealth can bestow," pursued Mr. Culpepper.
"I have all sorts of reasonable enjoyments already," answered Oliver. "A fine farm to take care of; a capital gun; four excellent dogs; and such horses as are not to be found within fifty miles; fine fishing in the Susquehanna; plenty of newspapers to read, and some books too; frolics to go to, all through the neighbourhood; and now and then a visit to the city, where I take care to see all the shows."
"Nonsense," said Mr. Culpepper; "what is all this compared to an introduction to the best society of Quebec?"
"And what better than all this is done by the best society of Quebec?" inquired Oliver.
Mr. Culpepper did not answer this question; but continued: "There is another consideration of still more consequence: As my grandson and heir, I can insure you an opportunity of marrying a lady of family and fortune."
"I would rather marry Fanny," said Oliver.
At this spontaneous and unequivocal announcement, Colonel and Mrs. Brigham each caught one of Oliver's hands, unable to conceal their joy. A flush passed over Fanny's face, and she half rose up, and then sat down again. At last she said, with sparkling eyes, and a curl of her lip, "How do you know that Fanny will have you?" And she pursued her work with such eagerness, that she forgot to replenish her needle, and went on sewing without a thread.
There was a silence a few moments, and then Mr. Culpepper proceeded: "In short, Oliver, you must go with me to Canada, and settle there for life."
"First listen to me," said Oliver, "for I am going to make a speech, and I intend to abide by it.--As to your being my grandfather, that is a thing I cannot help. You must not expect me to be taken with a sudden affection for you, and to feel dutiful all at once, when I never saw you in my life till yesterday. Maybe it might come after awhile; but that is quite a matter of doubt, as I fear we should never suit each other at all. Neither will I ever consent to go and live in Canada, and be under the rule of a king. My father died in trying to get free from one. I like my own country, and I like the way of living I am used to; and I like the good friends that have brought me up. And if Fanny won't have me, I dare say I can find somebody that will."
The Brighams looked reproachfully at their daughter, who held down her head and gave her sewing such a flirt, that it fell from her hand on the floor and the Lambleys picked it up.
"Another thing," proceeded Oliver to Mr. Culpepper, "this is your will, is it not?" (putting his hand on it as it lay beside the red box). "Now tell me if there are any legacies in it?"
"Not one;" replied Mr. Culpepper, "the whole is left to endow a hospital for idiots. I knew nobody that deserved a legacy."
"So much the worse," said Oliver, "it looks as if you had no friends. You had better make another will."
"I intend to do so," replied Culpepper.
"Then," said Oliver, "this is of no use; and the sooner there is an end of it the better;"--and he threw it into the fire, where it was instantly consumed.
The Lambleys were so frightened at this outrageous act (for so it appeared to them), that they all tried to get out of the room. Mrs. Brigham spread her hands with a sort of scream; her husband could not help laughing; Fanny again dropped her work, and nobody picked it up. Mr. Culpepper frowned awfully; but he was the first to speak, and said, "Young man, how have you dared to do this?"
"I can dare twice as much," replied Oliver;--"I have shot a bear face to face. One hard winter there were several found in the woods not ten miles off. Suppose, Mr. Culpepper, you were to die suddenly (as you possibly may in a fit or something), before you get your new will made! This would then be considered the right one, and your money after all would go to that idiot hospital."
"You are the most original youth I have ever met with," said Culpepper; "I know not how it is; but the more you oppose me, the better I like you."
The nephews looked astonished.
"Still," observed Oliver, "it would never do for us to live together. For myself, I neither like opposing nor submitting; never having been used to either."
"It is not possible," said Culpepper, "that you mean seriously to refuse my offer of protection and fortune?"
"As to protection," replied Oliver; "I can protect myself. And as to fortune, I dare say I can make one for myself. And as to that other thing, the wife, I shall try to get one of my own sort--Fanny, or somebody else. And as to the name of Culpepper, I'll never take it."
"And will you really not go with me to Canada?"
"No! positively I will not. I believe, though, I ought to thank you for your offers, which I now do. No doubt they were well meant. But here I intend to stay, with the excellent people that took me when nobody else would, and that have brought me up as their own child. I know how sorry they would be were I to leave them, and yet they have had the forbearance not to say one word to persuade me to stay. So it is my firm determination to live and die with them."
He then shook hands with each of the old Brighams, who were deeply affected, and threw their arms round him. Fanny, completely overcome, entirely off her guard, flew to Oliver, hid her face on his shoulder, and burst into tears. He kissed her cheek, saying, "Now, Fanny, I hope we understand each other;"--and Colonel Brigham put his daughter's hand into Oliver's.
"So then," said Mr. Culpepper, "I have found a grandson but to lose him. Well, I deserve it."
The nephews looked as if they thought so too.
"What shall I do now?" continued the old man dolorously.
"Take your nephews into favour again," said Oliver.
"They never were in favour," replied the uncle.
"At all events treat them like men."
"It is their own fault. Why do they not behave as such?"
The old gentleman walked about in much perturbation. At last he said to the Lambleys, "Young men, as you took a most nefarious method of discovering my intentions towards you, and as I never had a doubt respecting the real motive of all your obsequiousness to me, there is no use in attempting any farther disguise on either side. When masks are only of gauze, it is not worth while to wear them. Try then if you can be natural for a little while, till I see what can be done with you. You will find it best in the end. And now, I think, we will go away as soon as possible. The longer I stay here, the more difficult I shall find it to leave Oliver."
To be brief.--Mr. Culpepper and his nephews departed in about an hour, in a vehicle belonging to the General Wayne, and which was to carry them to the nearest village from whence they could proceed to New York.
At parting, Mr. Culpepper held out his hand and said, "Oliver, for once call me grandfather."
Oliver pressed his hand, and said, "Grandfather, we part friends." The old gentleman held his handkerchief to his eyes, as he turned from the door, and his nephews looked nohow.
In about a month, Oliver received a parcel from Mr. Culpepper, containing the little red morocco box, in which was a letter and some papers. The letter was dated from New York. The old gentleman informed his grandson, that he had been so fortunate as to engage the affections and obtain the hand of a very beautiful young lady of that city (the youngest of eight sisters, and just entering her seventeenth year), who had convinced him, that she married only from the sincerest love. Finding no farther occasion for his nephews, he had established them all in business in New York, where no doubt they would do better than in Canada. He sent Oliver certificates for bank stock to a considerable amount, and requested him, whenever he wanted more money for the enlargement or improvement of the farm, to apply to him without scruple.
This letter arrived on the day of Oliver's marriage with Fanny; on which day the sign of the General Wayne was taken down, and the tavern became once more a farm-house only; Mrs. Brigham having been much troubled by the interruptions she sustained from customers, during her immense preparations for the wedding, and determining that on the great occasion itself, she would not be "put out" by the arrival of any guest, except those that were invited.
Colonel Brigham, never having approved of the sign, was not sorry to see it removed; and Mrs. Brigham, thinking it a pity to have it wasted, made it do duty in the largest bedchamber as a chimney-board.
In a few years the Colonel found sufficient employment for most of his time in playing with Fanny's children, and such was his "green old age," that when upwards of seventy, he was still able to take the superintendence of the farm, while Oliver was absent at the seat of the state government, making energetic speeches in the capacity of an assembly-man.
[The end]
Eliza Leslie's short story: Red Box
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