 | CHAPTER XIII. Master William Mitten, or, A youth of brilliant talents, who was ruined by bad luck |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
Captain Thompson's design was to keep his nephew at Doctor
Waddel's school long enough to wean him from his old associates,
and his old habits, to put at least seventeen years upon his head before
he entered College, to prepare him so thoroughly for the sophomore
class, that he might enter it with credit, and in the meantime
to give him the strength and vigor of constitution, that would sustain
him through any amount of mental labor that he might find it
necessary to undergo in order to stand at the head of his classes in
College. All this was as well planned as it could be. College is no
place for a youth given to bad habits. It sometimes happens, that
religion finds such an one there, and reforms him; but it much
oftener happens, that he makes shipwreck of the religion of all his
College companions who associate with him. Nor should a youth be
sent to College until he has acquired some little stability of character
and self-control; and seventeen is the earliest age at which these
can be hoped for, in youths generally. Well for them if even at
that age they have the moral firmness needful to resist the temptations
to vice, which are found in all Colleges. One of the best securities
against these temptations is a high reputation for talents and
scholarship, acquired immediately on entering College. Students
in their classes.
But to the success of Captain Thompson's plans, it was indispensable
that William Mitten should become reconciled to this school;
otherwise he would keep his mother in such a state of mental excitement,
that her health must soon give way under it, when no alternative
would be left him, but to save the life of the mother, by indulgence
of the son. He flattered himself that time would reconcile
William to the school, and the sooner, when he saw all hope of leaving
it cut off. He knew that the worst must soon be told, and he
supposed that if he could carry his sister safely through the successive
developments of the first month or two, his ultimate designs
would be accomplished. His policy was, therefore, to lighten the
first shock of each unpleasant discovery, by diverting her mind from
it, with something amusing, flattering, or harmlessly controversial.
The critical reader will have learned his tactics from what has been
recorded specially in the last Chapter. Having allayed the mother's
anxieties for a moment at least, he turned to the son, and addressed
to him a letter, in which, with much good advice, he administered to
him a stern rebuke for afflicting his mother with his complaints.
“Are you,” said he, “so inhuman, so brutish, as to try to win me
over to your wishes, through your mother's tortures? Are you not
well enough acquainted with her to know that she never forfeits her
word—that she would sooner die, now, than reclaim you from me
until your education is completed? Why, then, do you croak to
her? Why do you not make your wants and discontents known to
me? I am the only one that can appcase them.
“And you are grumbling about your fare already! Why, I carried
cakes and sugar things enough with you to last you one week
surely; and pray get unstuffed of them, before you begin to grumble
about your next cramming. If you had seen your father and me
when we were of your age, gulping down ash-pone and cracklings,
you would, for the honor of the stock at least, keep your daintiness
to yourself. I don't know what Newoy gives you to eat; but I have
no doubt it would have been a feast to us in our day. What apology
have you for grumbling at your diet, when you have the privilege of
boarding where you please? If you don't like Newby's, go somewhere
else. What better are you than the hundred and fifty boys
around you? This much you may take for settled: that I never will
take you away from Mr. Waddel's, just to accommodate your belly.
So quit your grunting about what you are to eat; and if you must
grunt, grunt to me, and not to your mother.
“And what does it signify to you, who or how `old Waddel,' as
you call him, whips, so long as he does not whip you? `Old Waddel!'
That is a pretty way for such a chap as you are to speak of a
man of Mr. Waddel's age and rank, now is it not? Pray, Master
Mitten, where did you learn your manners? From `uncle Twal,'
or uncle Sot? In the parlor, or in the kitchen? Now mark me,
young man! The next time you write that name in that way to
your mother, or me, I will cut it out and send it to Mr. Waddel, and
ask him whether he allows his pupils to speak of him after this
manner. I lose all patience, when I think that at the very time
when you were speaking thus rudely of him, he was penning a letter
filled with the most flattering compliments to you—”
While the Captain was thus writing to his nephew, Mrs. Mitten
was busily engaged devising means to raise her son above want and
ridicule. She resolved that William never should “blossom,” and
that in this matter, at least, she would disappoint Mr. Brace. Accordingly
she set to work with all dispatch to make him up two new
suits; and that they might not attract attention from their fineness,
she chose for them the coarsest material that her heart would consent
to William's wearing. “Let my son,” sighed she, “look like a negro,
rather than suffer worse than one!” She taxed her mind to
find some decent substitute for a shirt, but failing here, she made
him up three cotton shirts, of Mrs. Thurlow's spinning and weaving
—that is to say—of the best quality of home manufacture. To
these she added three pairs of stockings of Mrs. Figg's knitting.
All these, with three blankets, and two pairs of cotton sheets, were
packed in one box; but as they did not quite fill it, she slipped into
it one tumbler of plum jelly, and one of raspberry jam. These
being nicely surrounded and covered with cotton, the box was closed.
Another was replenished with biscuit, crackers, cheese, tongue, sliced
ham, sausages, &c., &c., to a large extent; and this too, like the
other, was closed rather carelessly. The whole process was kept a
profound secret from the Captain; and indeed, from everybody else,
but Tom, upon whom secrecy was strictly enjoined. As there was
no hope of meeting with a convenient opportunity of sending these
cumbrous stores to William, by one going to Willington, Mrs. Mitten
determined to forward them without delay per cart, in charge of
her most intelligent and trusty servant. The reader immediately
conjectures who this servant was. But a very ugly difficulty lay between
the plan and its execution. Tom did not know the first mile
of the way to Willington, and to get directions from the Captain,
rounds of the stores, therefore, in quest of the desired information.
But few of the merchants or citizens of whom she made inquiry,
had ever heard of Willington; and, when she told them that Willington
was the place where Mr. Waddel kept his school, they
looked at her as if doubting whether she was in her right mind; for
every body knew that her son was at Mr. Waddel's school, and that
her brother had carried him there. All were too polite, however,
to ask explanations of her. From Mr. West, she got a little light.
He told her that when her brother went off with William, he met
them near Mr. Ellison's, on the Washington road. This was
enough to start by, at least; and she knew that Mr. Smith's was
the first stage; but she was well aware that it would never do to
dispatch Tom upon this information alone. She was constrained,
therefore, to resort to her brother at last. She went over to his
house early in the afternoon, and found that he had gone to his farm.
She awaited his return; and in the meantime made a confidant of
Mrs. Thompson, and bespoke her assistance in extracting from her
husband such directions, as would guide Tom surely and speedily to
Willington. The Captain reached home just at supper time. His
sister greeted him with a radiance of countenance and gaiety of manner,
that really transported him.
“Oh, my dear sis,” said he, “how happy I am to see you so
cheerful—so much like your own dear, sweet, former self! What good
news have you heard?”
“None, brother. My cheerfulness is not altogether real; but I
hope it soon will be so; and perhaps the best way to make it so, is to
assume it when I can.”
So went the conversation, as they went to the table. When seated,
Mrs. Mitten actually began a playful conversation with Mrs. Thompson,
by enquiring whether she had heard lately of “David Ramsay,
son of Dr. Ramsay, the Historian, &c., &c., &c.”
“No,” said Mary, “I don't think he'll ever say `Ramsay' to me
again, as long as he lives.”
The Captain roared, and all laughed.
“Well, Moll,” said he, “if I could always see you and sis in such
fine spirits, I believe I should be the happiest man living.”
“Well husband,” said Mary, “we ought both of us always to be in
fine spirits, for after all your teasing and wilfulness, I don't think any
woman ever had a better husband than I have, or a better brother
than Anna has.”
“I can say `amen' to that with all my heart,” said Anna.
“Well, done, ladies!” cried the Captain, pretending to take it all
as a joke, “what project have you now on foot? Where are the girls
going? How many horses will they want, and for how long? How
much money will it take to rig them out, and bear their expenses. It
can't be that either of the girls are going to get married: the oldest
is a little too young for that.”
“Nothing of the kind, husband; nothing of the kind. It just
came in the way, and I spoke out the honest sentiments of my heart.”
“And so did I, brother, I assure you.”
“Well, ladies, I can only say that I wish from the very bottom of
my heart, that all this would `just come in the way' every day. It
would make me the happiest man in the United States, I'm sure.”
“Brother, have you answered William's letter?”
“Oh, yes, long ago,” said the Captain, looking as if he thought
something was about to come in the way” that was not quite so comfortable.
“Husband, how far is it to Mr. Waddel's?”
“About sixty miles—maybe a little under or over.”
“Which way do you go to get there, brother?”
“I went the Barkesdale Ferry Road, because it is a little nearer
than the upper road by Lisbon, Petersburg, and Vienna. Look
here, good women, what do all these questions mean? Anna, you
surely have no notion of going to Mr. Waddel's, have you?”
“Oh, no, not the most distant idea of it—at least till the weather
becomes milder.”
“You're not going to send for William to come home, surely!”
“No, no, my dear brother, no. Did you ever know me to violate
my word? And if I were disposed to do it, do you suppose that I
would do it stealthily?”
“That would be quite out of character with you, sister, I confess.
But there is something so strange in this catechising from you and
Mary, and it goes on with such quizzical looks between you, right
upon the heel of a loving fit, that I am constrained to think that
there is something in the wind that I am not to be suffered to understand.”
“How do you know husband, but that we are paying you back in
your own coin? It is fine sport for you to trifle with our curiosity.”
“I should expect such pay from you, but not from Anna.”
“Well, sister Mary, as we can't please him either by being serious
or pleasant, suppose we go over to my house for the remainder of the
evening.”
“Oh, no, my dear wife, and my dear sister, don't go away and leave
me while you are in such a pleasant mood. I have not had such a
refreshing, for two years. Stay, and you may ask me as many questions
as you please, and I will answer them with pleasure.”
“Stay a moment, Anna, and let's try him,” said Mrs. Thompson.
“What is the given name of the Smith whom you stayed with the
first night?”
“John.”
“How far does he live this side of Washington?”
“About three miles—perhaps a little less.”
“After you pass through Washington, what is the next town that
you come to?”
“No town. But there are two places that bear the names of towns—
or names which a traveller, would take for the names of towns, though
there are not six houses in both of them put together; the first is
Rehoboth and the second is Goshen.”
“Well, you have said your lesson so well that we will not examine
you any more to-night. And now, sister Anna, he has been such a
good boy that I think you ought to sit down and spend the evening
with him.”
“I would with all my heart, sister, if I could, but business that
must be attended to-night, calls me home. Remember, I have
been here nearly all the afternoon.”
“Well, if you must go, I'll go with you.”
“What in the mischief can these women be after?” mused the
Captain as they left the house. “If Waddel was a widower, and
didn't whip so joyfully, I should think that Anna was going over to
lay siege to his heart.” The Captain being fatigued, retired early to
rest.
As soon as the ladies entered the house, Tom was summoned.
“Tom,” said Mrs. Mitten, “I want you to take old Ball and the
cart, and carry those boxes to your mas' William. He is going to
school to Mr. Waddel, in Willington, over in South Carolina—is Ball
shod?”
“Yes, ma'am, new shod, day before yesterday.”
“I want you to start at the peep of day in the morning. And now
listen well to what I'm going to tell you. You take the Washington
road, the road by Mr. Ellison's, and keep it till you come to Mr. John
Smith's. He lives only two or three miles this side of Washington.
There you will stop for the night, no matter what time you get there.
enquire for Rehoboth—”
“Stop, Mis'ess—call that name 'gin!”
“Rehoboth—Re-ho-both.”
“I got him!” said Tom, with one ear up and the other down, his
eyes looking on the ground six feet off, and listening, most vigorously.
“When you get to Rehoboth, inquire for Goshen, and when you
get to Goshen, enquire for Barkesdale's ferry; and when you get to
Barkesdale's ferry, enquire for Willington, or Mr. Waddel's either;
and when you get to Willington, ask for Mr. Newby's, where you will
find William—I believe that's all right, isn't it, Mary?”
“Exactly.”
“Here is your pass, Tom, in which I have stated where you are
going, and for what. If you get out of the way, show that to any
one you meet, and he will set you right. And here are ten dollars;
take five to bear your expenses, and give the other five, with this letter,
to William. Now, do be particular, Tom, for if anything goes
wrong, we shall never hear the last of it. I want you to get back
before brother David finds out that you have ever been.”
“I'll go it, mis'ess, like a streak o' lightnin'.”
Mrs. Thompson returned home and slipped into bed without waking
her husband. The next morning he watched her very closely,
but could discover nothing unusual in her conduct or conversation.
After breakfast, he re-visited his farm, and returned to dinner. Having
dined, he sauntered down to the business part of the town, where
he joined a group of gentlemen in front of Mr. West's store. They
gave him a somewhat distant salutation, and eyed him with rather a
solemn interest, saying nothing.
“Why, gentlemen,” said the Captain, “what makes you all look so
serious?”
“Captain,” said Mr. West, “have you heard from your nephew,
William Mitten, lately?”
“Not very,” said the Captain, turning pale. “Has anything happened
to him?”
“Not that I know of, but his mother asked me the way to Mr.
Waddel's yesterday, with some auxiety, and I didn't know but that
something had happened.”
“She asked me, too,” said a second. “And me, too,” said a third.
“And me,” said a fourth.
“Why,” resumed the Captain, “it is the strangest thing in the
at my house last night, and I hardly ever saw her more cheerful than
she was, all the time she stayed. And, what was unaccountable to
me, then, and is more so now, she and my wife were pumping me all
the time about the road to Waddel's.”
“I thought it very strange,” continued West, “that she did not go
to you for information.”
“I was not at home in the forenoon.”
“Oh, well, that accounts for it.”
It was sheer good luck on Mrs. Mitten's side that none of the party
knew but that she had gone to consult her brother in the first instance.
While the whole company were standing amazed, Mr. Houghton
came up, smiling—
“Captain,” said he, “as I came into town this morning, I met your
sister's Tom about two miles this side of my house, in a cart, with
two boxes in it, and about two feeds of fodder and corn. Why,
Tom, said I, “where are you going?”
“I'm gwine,” says he, “to Mr. Wodden's, who keeps school at Mr.
Williston's, in Car'lina.”
“Well,” said I, “Tom, you'll never get to Car'lina this way, till you
pass through Augusta.”
“Why, ain't this the Washington road, Mas' Josh?” said he.
“No, Tom, you left the Washington road three or four miles
back.”
“Emp-e-e-eh!” says Tom. “My sign fail me this time, that's sartain!”
“What sign, Tom?”
“Why, you see, Mas' Josh, when I come to the fork of a road, and
don't know which to take, I spit in my hand and hit 'um with my
fore-finger, so; and which way the mos' spit fly, I take that road.
But, bless the Lor', the spit cheat me this time, that's sartain.”
A peal of laughter followed this narrative, loud enough to be heard
over half the village; but the Captain did not swell it much. He
disguised his wrath, however, pretty well.
“I put him in the right road again,” continued Mr. Houghton,
“and for fear the spit wouldn't fly right, I advised him of all the
forks between my road and the Washington road.”
“The mystery is explained,” said the Captain. “Anna has sent off
a cart load of comforts to her son, which she did not wish me to know
about; and now I'll have to go after Tom, for he'll never find the way
to Waddel's during ash and oak.”
“What did he mean, Captain,” inquired Houghton, “by Waddel's
keeping school at Mr. Williston's?”
“The place where Waddel's school is kept, is called Willington,
and Tom has mistaken it for a man's name.”
As the Captain's feelings were not in tune with those of the company,
and as every question made the discord more and more grating
to his refined sensibilities, he concluded to retire; so putting on an
air of perfect indifference to the whole matter, and saying carelessly
“I must see Anna,” he withdrew very leisurely; but one who saw
how his face reddened, and his pace quickened with every step towards
his sisters after he turned the nearest corner, might with truth have
exclaimed, “The ma-an's mad!”
| CHAPTER XIII. Master William Mitten, or, A youth of brilliant talents, who was ruined by bad luck | |