 | CHAPTER XVI. Master William Mitten, or, A youth of brilliant talents, who was ruined by bad luck |  |
16. CHAPTER XVI.
The cup of Mrs. Mitten's happiness was not yet full. In less
than a month after Captain Thompson's return from Willington, he
embraced religion and joined the Methodist Church; and in the
course of a week his wife followed his example. The story which
he told at the first Love Feast which he attended after his conversion,
is worthy of being recorded:
“I have had,” said he “for many years before me, a most beautiful
example of the Christian character in my dear sister. I never
could see but one fault in her, and that was `a fault which leaned
to virtue's side:' too much indulgence of her son. She embraced
religion early in life; and often when I have seen her at her devotions,
my conscience has smitten me sorely. But I always managed
to silence its reproofs, for a time at least. Oh, how eloquent is the
godly life of a sister! Whether because she was my sister, that the
inward monitor would not forsake me, although repelled a thousand
times; or because I have had for many years a secret leaning towards
religion, which prolonged his visits, or some unknown cause, I cannot
tell; but a month never rolled over our heads, that I did not
observe in her the gleaming or broad out-shining of some heavenly
virtue, which came “like lightning to my soul.”
“As some of you know, about a month ago my sister dispatched
a servant with some comforts for her boy at school in South Carolina.
Knowing that I would bitterly oppose the measure, she kept it secret
from me. I found it out, however, and posted off after the
servant in a great rage. The blunders of the negro increased my
rage. I stopped at a house to enquire for him. A plain illiterate
man came out and informed me that he had left the plain large road
and gone off on a by-way. In my wrath I cursed outright, and on
the trip, I repeated the sin oftener, I believe, than I had in the
whole course of my life before. As I turned to leave the good
hearted man, `Stranger,' said he to me, `have you ever reflected
upon the sin of profane swearing?' I was in no frame of mind for
reflecting upon any thing, and in the worst possible, for receiving
religious lectures; but a flash of respect for the good man came
over me, which kept me from insulting him, and I replied, that I
was not in the habit of profane swearing.”
“My pursuit ended and object gained, I now set my face homeward,
and on the way had nothing to do but to reflect. My mind
had hardly resumed its accustomed tone, when the question of my
road-side friend, in the rude accents in which he put it (for I have
not given it in his own terms) forced itself upon my memory. Associated
as it was, with the ignorance, the artlessness and innocence
of the propounder, I smiled, and endeavored to divert my thoughts;
but the question would control them, so I let it have its way: `Have
you ever reflected upon the sin of profane swearing!' No, honest,
untutored yeoman, I never have! What a sin it is! Every other
sin has something to plead in its behalf. The gamester, the cheat,
the swindler, the thief, the robber, the pirate, sin in the hope of
gain. The assassin for the gratification of revenge—the drunkard
to appease a raging thirst—the prodigal, for many gratifications.
But thou, oh, profane swearer! what have you to plead in the extenuation
of thy offence? It is purely gratuitous. In one single,
short imprecation, you embody sins enough to damn a world. You
insult the Almighty, you trifle with his Holy Name, you violate the
law of reverence, the law of love, the law of humanity, the law of
peace! You set God's power at defiance and invoke God's power
to crash your neighbor and your brother! And all for what?
What momentary gain do you derive or promise yourself from your
sin of sins? Often, most commonly, you have not even the flimsey
plea of passion to gloss over your crime. You mingle it in your
sports, your revels, your banquets, and horrify it with a laugh!”
“You will not wonder, brethren, that I became alarmed, and resolved
never to swear another oath while I lived. This was as far
as I wont at the time; but it was not as far as I felt, by a long, long
way. Thenceforward my sins were more constantly and vividly
before me than ever, until I sought the pardon of ther in God's
own way, and as I believe found it—I am strongly tempted to say,
`I know I found it.”'
In religion, the captain was as he had been in every thing else that he
undertook: open, active, liberal, ardent, zealous, laborious, untiring.
What some Christians call a cross, such as holding family prayer,
particularly before strangers of rank, praying in public, and speaking
in public on proper occasions, was to him no cross at all; and we
advise those Christians who cannot perform these offices, (and there
are such) not to dignify them with the name of crosses.
Captain Thompson and his wife led off a great revival in the village,
upon which Mrs. Glib took occasion to deliver her theology
very freely.
“Well, well, well!” said she to Mrs. Lark, this is what you call
getting religion, is it? Sinning all your life, and then kneeling
down there two or three days and then jumping up a Christian!”
“But, Mrs. Glib,” said Mrs. Lark, “you don't remember what
they say. They say that under Peter's preaching three thousand
were converted and joined the church in one day.”
“Well, is old Howell, Peter, or is old Sherman, Paul?”
“No, but they say that they preach the same gospel that Peter
and Paul did—”
“Oh yes, they say, they say, and they'll say anything to get up
an excitement, and to scare people. Now I love religion—real,
genuine religion—that kind of religion which a person goes to work
calmly, soberly, and deliberately to get. When I get religion, this
is the sort I mean to get; but this wild-fire sort of religion I don't
believe in at all.”
“But they say you don't get it when and as you want it.”
“They do! I should like to know how they know what I can do,
and what I can't. Now, mind what I tell you, nine out of ten of
these flashy converts will back-slide before the year's out—you mark
it! You remember we had just such a fuss as this five years ago,
and old Groat and John Dunn and Sally Nix, and Polly Pines all got
religion and were mighty happy; and where are they now?”
“But Mrs. Glib, you must do them the justice to say that a great
many more of them than that, held on to their religion.”
“Yes, such holding on as it was. Holding on like Sam Strap;
who is mighty sanctified all day Sunday, and slandering people's
children all the week—saying that genteel people's children are little
better than a den of thieves. That's what you call holding on, is
it? That's what you call religion, is it? And there's old Turner
prosecuting little boys for a little harmless sport—and he a preacher
at that! Don't tell me anything about any such religion as that!
You'd kill yourself laughing if you could see my Flor Claudia Lavinia
take them off. Now you know Mrs. Lark, that I don't allow
my children to make game of religious people of any sort. But some
nights when we come home from these night meetings, she begins
before I have time to stop her, and when she begins I get in such a
laughing fit, I can't stop her. She takes off old Howell to perfection—his
very voice, action, and words—then old 'brother' Mc Boon's
praying—the very twang. And old 'sister' McRea, creeping about
among the mourners. And 'brother' Wilson's singing! It seems
to me sometimes she will kill me. I always reprove her for it. I
said to her last night, Flora, you naughty girl, you really must quit
this, if you don't I shall get right angry with you—they mean well,
poor things, and you must not make fun of them.”
Nine weeks after this conversation, Mrs. Glib was brought to
death's door with the bilious fever; the first man that she sent for to
pray for her was Captain Thompson; the second was “brother”
McBoon. The first woman she asked to pray for her was Mrs. Mitten,
and the secon was “sister” McRea—charging every one of
them, while they prayed for her, to pray for her children, also, and
for Flora in particular. She professed conversion in two days from
the date of the first prayer that was put up in her behalf, and died.
Flora never professed conversion. She married, in three weeks after
her mother's death, a worthless, silly fellow, named Curt, who administered
upon Mrs. Glib's estate because no one else would, took
the guardianship of the boys, because no one else would; hired a
man of some property and no principle, named Carp, to go upon his
bonds, sold out all the property of the estate, except the negroes,
as soon as he could, and moved off with his security, and the whole
tribe, white and black, to the frontier of Alabama, to the great relief
and greater delight of every body. Nine years afterwards, the
younger Glib (Ben.) came back to the village to learn something
about the estate. To the amazement of all who knew the family, he
was a decent, pious, but ignorant man. His story was that Curt and
Carp settled near each other in Alabama. That in a very few years
belonged to the estate, and then moved still farther West. That the
elder Glib got into a difficulty with a gambler, who shot him. Of
his sister, he could be got to say no more than that he did not know
where she was. That his other brother was thrown from a horse in
a quarter race and killed. That he himself, seeing nothing but poverty
and ruin and disgrace all around him, had sought and obtained
religion. That as soon as he did so, a good Baptist man of considerable
wealth took him by the hand, gave him employment on his
farm, telling him that if he would do well, he would give him
good wages till he came of age, and then give him a little start in
the world. That his friend had been as good as his word, and that
he had now enough to live on comfortably, though he was not rich.
The records showed of what the estate consisted. He took copies,
went to the old family mansion, sauntered round it for a time, wept,
and left the village forever.
Having gone thus far with the Glib family, we had as well dispose
of it finally—it is replete with moral lessons. Carp had played his
cards adroitly to avoid responsibility. He knew the character of
the boys, and judged that none of them would live long enough to
call him to account. He knew, too, it would be an easy matter to
wheedle Curt out of all that he was worth individually or representatively,
and conjectured that as soon as poverty began to stare her in
the face, Mrs. Curt would be setting lawyers upon his trail. He
therefore, from the day that they left Georgia, became exceedingly
kind and exceedingly attentive to her ladyship. He would often
speak to her playfully of her husband's inefficiency and bad management—declare
that but for her, nothing could have induced him to
become his security; “but I saw,” said he, “every body hanging off,
nobody seemed to care anything for you or your poor orphan brothers;
and I said to myself, well, as for the boys, they will soon be big
enough to shirk for themselves—they can rough it; but what is to
become of Mrs. Curt? I can't see her suffer, and I'll be her friend
if it costs me every dollar I have in the world.”
He used a thousand seductive arts to entoil, and he succeeded.
He loaned money liberally to Curt, often advising him in the presence
of his wife not to take it. “Mr. Curt,” he would say, “two
per cent. a month will ruin you. I can get that from other people,
and, therefore, I don't like to loan for less, and I will not lend it to
you unless Mrs. Curt says so.”
“How much,” said Mrs. Curt, “is two per cent?”
“Two dollars on every hundred dollars,” said Carp.
“Two dollars on every hundred dollars! why that is very little
indeed! I'd borrow all the money in Alabama at that price, if I
could get it.”
“Yes, Mrs. Curt, but you will not like to see your negroes under
mortgage to secure the debt.”
“Mortgage! What's that?”
“Its a pledge of a negro to secure the debt.”
“Oh, that's nothing—surely Mr. Curt can pay the little sums that
he borrows with only two per cent. on them.”
The “little sums” ran up so fast that in a few years every negro
that Curt had in his hands was under mortgage. Not all for money
loaned, but for corn, fodder, pork, bacon, and other things sold; and
for large balances in horse-swaps, carpenters' bills paid, and large
outlays for Curt, in erecting a mill; for Mr. Curt having a fine mill
seat on his land, said it would never do to let such a fine water-power
be lost; so he commenced building a large mill when, as yet, there
was nobody in the neighborhood to patronize it, and when his brain
was about as well suited to manage a mill, as a claw-hammer is to
maul rails with.
About the time that the last mertgage ripened to maturity, Mr.
Carp concluded to go “and take a view, as he said, of the Louisiana
country.” He went, and came back so delighted with it, that he
must needs move there forthwith. But he could not go until he collected
his Alabama debts. Curt and he came to a settlement, when
it was found that Curt owed him more by three hundred dollars than
the negroes were worth by Curt's own valuation; he agreed, however,
as Curt was a particular friend, to take the negroes at Curt's estimate,
and give him a receipt in full. Curt felt very grateful for the
kindness, and promptly signed a bill of sale of the negroes, drawn up
by Carp himself, in which he took every precaution to guard against
“after claps” as he called them, and which, in aftertimes gave a western
lawyer very great annoyance. Here it is:
“Whereas, on settlement this day made between myself and John
Carp, it appears that I am in his debt for monies advanced to me on
my own account, and also as administrator of Mrs. Brigita Glib, and
also as guardian of the children of said Mrs. Glib, to the amount of
ten thousand dollars; and whereas, I did execute a mortgage to said
John of the within fourteen negroes to secure the said debt, said negroes
not being worth by three hundred dollars as much as said debt,
at my own valuation, which mortgage is given up on my signing this
bill of sale, and whereas said John did become my security as administrator,
from any loss or losses for becoming my security as aforesaid, do
make this bill of sale for that purpose also, for all these considerations
I do sell and convey to the said John the following negroes
namely:” (naming them, their sizes, sexes, and ages.) “And I
warrant them to said John against all claim by me or any body claiming
the same as heir of Mrs. Glib or any other person whatsoever,
&c., &c.”
This remarkable bill of sale Mr. Carp required should be signed
by Mrs. Curt as well as her husband, and that Curt should sign it
“for himself and as administrator and guardian.” Curt expressed
his readiness to comply with all these requisitions but the first. As
to this he said, “he doubted whether his wife could be induced to
sign it.” “Well,” said Carp, “ask her, and if she refuses, all well,
it will make no difference.”
Curt went to her with downcast looks and told her all the circumstances.
To his astonishment she expressed her perfect readiness to
sign it. “Sign it,” said she, “yes, that I will. Mr. Carp has been
so kind to us, that I can refuse him nothing.” The bill of sale was
executed to Mr. Carp's wishes. “And now, friend Curt,” said Carp,
“what are you going to do with no help here? You'd better bundle
up and go with me to Louisiana. I'll befriend you to my last dollar.”
“What am I to do with my mill and my little household plunder
and farm?”
“True,” said Carp, pondering—“you can't well leave them—oh,
I'll tell you how to manage it. Advertise them for sale two months
hence. I'll take your wife and child on, and fix her up by the time
you get there. When you've sold out all but your best horse, mount
him and come on. Sell for cash, for it will be inconvenient for you
to come back to collect money. Pity when I was selling my land to
Watson I did not think to put yours in the trade too. May be you
can sell it to him yet. By this plan you can come on with no trouble
or expense hardly.”
Curt said he liked the plan mightily, but doubted whether his wife
would agree to it. It was submitted to her, and she assented to it
readily; only charging her husband to come on as soon as possible.
In four days after this interview, Carp and all his negroes were
ready to take the road. He had provided a nice little Jersey for
Mrs. Curt and her child, and for fear of accidents, he promised to
drive it himself all the way to Louisiana. Just as the caravan was
Louisiana?”
“Sure enough!” exclaimed Carp, “Now didn't we like to make
a pretty business of it! You will find us in Chuckiluckimaw Parish
on the Sabine river. Here, I'll give you the name on a piece of paper—
Tonnafoosky is the town where the Post office is. If you write
before you hear from us, direct your letter to Tonnafoosky Post office,
Chuckiluckimaw Parish, Louisiana. There, it is all written out
so you can't miss it.” So saying, the whole caravan moved forward,
leaving poor Curt in loneliness, wifeless, childless, helpless, and in
money penniless. Carp settled on Buffalo creek, Wilkinson county,
Mississippi, where he and Mrs. Curt lived as man and wife for many
years. Several children were the fruit of this union. Mrs. Curt
had been dead about three mouths when Glib traced Carp to his
hiding place. Her death was awful. When the Doctor told her
that she could not possibly live more than twenty-four hours, she
raised a scream that was terrific. “Doctor,” cried she, “I am ruined,
I'm lost. Lost, lost, lost forever!” A minister was sent for and
came. “You needn't talk to me, sir—you needn't pray for me, sir—
I thank you—but if you knew—oh what shall I do!—”
“If I knew what, ma'am? Is it too bad to be told—”
“It might be told, but telling it will do no good and much harm—
It isn't passed, it's now—yes, it has been for years, it's now, it's all
the time.”
“Can't you tell it to your husband, or some of us?” said one of
the several ladies at her bedside.
“He knows it—he knows all about it. No, my husband doesn't
know it—he's innocent, poor man—yes, he knows part of it, but not
all of it—not half of it, not a quarter of it, not a thousandth part
of it—wasn't it a shame to treat him so?” (another scream.) “Her
mind's gone,” said one. “No, it isn't! I know all that I am saying—I
know you, I know everybody here. It isn't anything passed,
I tell you. It's now, I'm dying in it, and what good can praying do?
It's too late to get out of it. If I were to get well I couldn't get
out of it. My children scare me, my husband scares me, the negroes
scare me; my thoughts scare me, everything—send for Mr Carp
here, and you all go out of the room. Go clean away, send all the
children away, and all the servants, and I'll tell him all about it.”
It was done, and Carp entered the room.
“Mr. Carp, see what you've brought me to! I never would have
thought of it, if it hadn't been for you—”
“Haven't I treated you well, Flora?” “Yes, better than I deserved;
but what does it all amount to? You've brought me to everlasting
ruin. It was bad enough in me to leave my poor husband;
but to leave him as we did—with nothing to live on—to fill his ears
with lies—to make fun of him—to send him all over the country
hunting for us!”
“Oh, Flora, don't take on so! Try and compose yourself. Everything
depends upon it. Think of your children! The thing's past
and gone now, and fretting over it can't mend it—”
“Our children! Our children!—Look there!—Look there!
Mr. Carp! Mr. Carp! Mr. Carp”—Another scream—and her
mind was gone. She lay for a few minutes in a stupor, during which
the company were called back. Then she began in a low, calm tone
of voice:
“Ma!—Ma!—Ma, did you tell them—? you're scared—
`Pray for Flora!'—You laughed—No—No—yes, both—
In the Pulpit—Mrs. McRae (a wild laugh!) Mr. Wilson! (another)
There, its bed time—All dead but me! Ben's alive—we'll
all meet in heaven—He was so stupid—Sabine!” Another
convulsive laugh—and she died.
Carp was asked repeatedly what it was that distressed his wife so
much in her last moments. He said she had told him all about it,
but that it was nothing of any consequence—she was out of her
head.
Benjamin Glib soon explained the mystery. After satisfying himself
fully that Carp was in Wilkinson, he went to a lawyer in Natchez,
and unfolded the whole history of his case from the death of his
mother to Carp's elopement with his sister. Mr. Stark, his Attorney,
advised him to remain in Natchez until he (Stark) could go to
Wilkinson, and ascertain all the particulars of Carp's history from
his settlement in Mississippi to the time present. Two days were
amply sufficient to assure him that Glib's story was true in every
particular. He immediately took the preliminary steps necessary to
the institution of suits against Carp, in behalf of both Glib and
Curt's daughter Sarah, now going under the name of Sally Carp.
The child's interests could not be secured without letters of guardianship;
and Stark assisted in procuring them. He did not allow Glib
to apply for them until he had fortified himself with proofs impregnable,
to sustain his application. As soon as it was made, all Woodville
was thrown in a ferment. Carp's infamy was exposed, and the
horrid death of his putative wife disposed everybody to believe it.
to her to pass for a legitimate than an illegitimate child, it was
easily removed. The suits were instituted and recoveries had which
swept away nearly the whole of Carp's estate. But we must not
suppress the history of the bill of sale.
As soon as he was served with process, Carp went to Mr. Smith, a
great Attorney of Woodville, to engage his services. “Well,” says
Smith, “let us take up one case at a time; what have you to say to
Glib's ease?”
“Lord bless your soul, squire,” said Carp, “I've got 'em tied so
fast that they can't kick. Turn which way they will, they're headed.”
“Well, Carp, I'm glad to hear you say that, old fellow, for public
prejudice is very strong against you.”
“Just look at that bill of sale, squire, and tell me how they're to
get out of that, will you?”
Smith read it, and while reading it, his countenance assumed
nearly every variety of expression that the human countenance can
assume. When he had finished—
“Well,” said he, “of all the Bills of Sale that ever I laid my
eyes upon, that beats. If you had come to me and told me to draw
up an instrument, in the form of a bill of sale, that at all times, and
in all Courts would be equal to a confession of judgment by you, in
any suit brought against you, by any person claiming under Mrs.
Glib, I couldn't have come within gun-shot of this for that purpose.
Burn it up immediately—destroy it—what's your wife's name doing
to that bill of sale? Isn't Flora Curt the woman you've been living
with as your wife? But it's not worth while to talk about it—destroy
it, I tell you, immediately!”
“And then what title will I have to show for all these negroes
and—”
“None; trust to the defects of Glib's title, or to his not being able
to identify them—”
“Is that the best advice that you can give me?”
“Yes.”
“Then I'll get another lawyer. Stark would give me the same
advice; I understand it!”
“What do you mean, you cheating, swindling, adulterous rascal?”
said Smith, moving to the back room with a stick hunting motion.
Carp was gone before his return.
Carp employed a young attorney of Woodville, who confirmed his
views of the bill of sale, in every particular. “There's the title,”
consideration, which would have been all-sufficient, but also upon a
valuable consideration, and, to make assurance doubly sure, upon divers
other considerations. This title, like the resistless torrent, is
sustained by various tributaries from perfectly pure sources. Then
it is fortified by a rampart of truth and generosity on your part, Mr.
Carp, that must forever protect it from the imputation of fraud. All
else is mere surplusage. How such a profound jurist as Mr. Smith
is, could have advised you to destroy this all important document, I
cannot conceive, unless he overlooked that sterling legal maxim:
Utile per inutile non vitiatur.”
Carp was enraptured with this impromptu display of legal ability,
rejoiced at his change of Attornies, and highly flattered at finding
his skill in guarding against “afterclaps” so fully avouched.
Far as we have digressed from the direct path of our narrative, we
are strongly tempted to follow this bill of sale through the several
Courts in which it made its appearance, but in charity to the reader's
patience we forbear. Suffice it to say, that as soon as Stark saw it,
he took a copy of it, served notices to produce it in all the cases, and
never let it get out of Court until it had, as we have said, turned
over nearly the whole of Carp's estate to Glib and his niece. This
is but one of a thousand instances in which rascality has over-reached
itself, and been made subservient to justice.
Glib and his niece returned to Alabama, rich, and both prosperep
in life. Curt was lucky. Watson purchased him out entirely, in less
than two months after Carp's departure, at tolerably fair prices, and
he set out in quest of his wife with three thousand dollars in his
pocket. He had not gone far in Louisiana before he learned that
there were no such places in the State as Chuckiluckimaw and Tonnafoosky:
so coming upon a valuable piece of land, he purchased it
cheap, and settled down upon it with two negro women, proceeds of
his surplus funds. His land grew in value and his negroes in number,
and thus when he died, (a little before his wife,) he left a right
pretty little estate, which went to swell the fortune of his daughter.
It would have been lost to her, but for a letter which he wrote to a
friend in Georgia, just before his death, who three or four years afterwards
went to visit Glib.
| CHAPTER XVI. Master William Mitten, or, A youth of brilliant talents, who was ruined by bad luck | |