University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.
DISSIMULATION.

When Sandford withdrew from Harvard University,
to avoid the disgrace of a public expulsion,
he turned his attention to a military life;
and, through the influence of his mother's friends,
obtained a captain's commission, and assumed
the command of a small garrison in the state of
Virginia. He anticipated no hostilities, and only
aspired to become the hero of a drawing-room,
and display a rich uniform on a holiday parade.
He had contracted an intimacy with several young
dashers of similar character, and squandered, at
brothels and the gaming-table, not only all his
pay, but also the bountiful supplies remitted him
by his mother.

The alarming cry of fire had, this evening,
interrupted a game at billiards, in which he was
engaged, and he was approaching the scene of
conflagration as an idle spectator, when major
Willoughby requested his assistance in conveying
his lovely charge to a place of safety, with
so much earnestness, that he could not refuse.
But, no sooner had he obtained a full view of the
charming but senseless Catharine, than his fiend-like
heart conceived the horrid idea of her seduction,
and he only awaited her return to life and

recollection to convey her far distant from the
reach of her friends, if she had any to seek
after her.

This diabolical plan, however, was frustrated
by the sudden appearance of her father; when
it was immediately changed to another of equal
enormity, though of less precipitancy. He would
accompany them to their lodgings, claim the
merit of the daughter's preservation, engage her
gratitude, and all the rest was easy to accomplish.
The ready lie he invented appeared very
plausible, and both father and daughter were elated
with gratitude.

So far he was successful; but could he have
read the pure heart he was studying to corrupt,
he would have discovered an image, which she
was contemplating at the very moment when
he flattered himself that his own was imparting
an impression there. She withdrew her hand,
and sighed, while reflections like the following
crowded on her mind:

“O that George Willoughby had been my preserver!
But he is far off, and knew not the danger
of his Catharine. How unhappy would he
have been, had I perished like the rest! Compared
with his, the anguish of such a death would
have been trifling and momentary. O my God,
teach me to be sufficiently grateful that he is
spared such a trial. But whither am I wandering?
Foolish girl! Perhaps he has forgotten
me! Perhaps he loves another! If that should
be the case, O why was I preserved?”

Here busy thought burst through the organs of
speech, and the exclamation (as before stated)
was imputed by her father to a temporary delirium.

Sandford failed not in the promised repetition
of his visit. He called early the next day, and
found Fleming confined to his bed, in a high
fever, with his daughter sitting by the side of his
pillow, watching over him with the tenderest
anxiety. She rose as he entered the room, and
with a faint smile presented him her hand, which
he pressed with fervor to his lips. She disapproved
of his freedom, but felt too much depression
of spirits to chide any one—least of all the
preserver of her life. Her father was in a disturbed
slumber, interrupted by frequent starts
and unintelligible exclamations. His left temple
was severely burnt, and the whole side of his
head extremely swelled and inflamed. Besides
this, he had received a dangerous contusion on
the right shoulder, in his fall from the window of
the theatre. His physician, however, assured
Catharine that rest and tranquility would speedily
restore him.

It was no time for Sandford to introduce the
topic of love; he only indirectly intimated what
would have been his theme under more happy
auspices. At the present interview, he contented
himself with tender glances, affectionate
tones, and the most respectful attentions. He
pretended to have passed a sleepless morning,
merely from his fears on her account, and should
now continue excessively unhappy until her dear
father was restored to health. Catharine was
melted with gratitude for such kindness in a stranger,
and, on his taking leave, could do no less
than mingle a general visiting invitation with her
thanks; all of which this paragon of vanity interpreted
in favor of his unhallowed wishes.

In the mean time, major Willoughby and his
son were seeking in vain to discover the lodgings

of Fleming and his daughter. The whole city
was in tears, and their inquiries were disregarded.

On the day following the dreadful event, an
extraordinary meeting of the city council was
held, at which four gentlemen were appointed
as a committee to superintend the funeral rites
due to those unfortunate sufferers whose remains
might not be claimed by relatives; to cause them
to be collected and enclosed in urns, coffins, or
other suitable receptacles, and publicly interred,
with all proper respect and solemnity, and to
give notice to the citizens of Richmond and
Manchester of the time at which such interment
would take place. This committee were also
empowered to cause suitable monuments to be
erected over their ashes, with such inscriptions
as would be best calculated to record the melancholy
and affecting catastrophe.

The council also recommended an entire suspension
of business for forty-eight hours; and
ordained, that for four months thereafter, no
public show or spectacle, or open dancing assembly
should be exhibited or held in the city, under
a heavy penalty.

A very numerous meeting of the citizens was
held at the Capitol the same day, at which another
committee was appointed, to inquire into the
causes of this afflicting calamity, to trace the particulars
of its disastrous progress, and to ascertain
the extent of its melancholy effects. From
the report of this committee, it appeared that
eighty-five persons had perished in this dreadful
conflagration.

For several days the Willoughbys continued
their search; but compelled at length to relinquish
the vain pursuit, George accompanied his

father to Washington, almost in a state of despair.

He had clasped Catharine in his arms; nay,
more—he had saved her precious life, and rescued
her from the most dreadful of deaths. This
was a literal answer to his impious prayer. Had
it made him happy? Alas! no—he was miserable
in the extreme. Vain, presumptuous man!
Were heaven literally to grant every wish of our
selfish hearts, earth would soon become a hell, and
universal damnation succeed. No supplication
should ever rise from the human heart to which
an earthly idea is attached—nothing, relative to
the dispensations of Providence, but “thy will be
done,” should ever pass the human lips. We
are expressly forbidden to pray or even to “take
thought” for temporal blessings; and are as expressly
promised, that if we seek first for spiritual
ones, the others shall be added thereto.

Many letters of inquiry were sent to Richmond,
but no tidings could be obtained of Fleming or
his daughter. On the second day of January the
army act became a law, and, in ten days after,
our hero received his commission, and was attached
to a regiment then raising in the District
of Columbia. Here his father took leave of
him, (after presenting him with the sword of
Washington) and departed for the western country,
promising to write immediately on his reaching
Mulberry-grove, and communicate every information
he could procure respecting the fate of
Fleming and his daughter; as they must have
either set out for that country, or written to Mrs.
Fleming an account of their present situation.