 | CHAPTER I. Bankrupt stories |  |
1. CHAPTER I.
YOUNG TREMLETT RETURNS TO NEW YORK AND RECEIVES
AN UNLOOKED VISITOR.
ALTHOUGH John hastened with all possible speed to
New York, anxious as he was to meet the friends that
were still dear to him, and to re-visit the places that had been
sanctified by the presence of his earliest, his first and almost
his only friend;—his more than father; he looked forward
with dread to a meeting with Mrs. Tuck, for he had no consolation
to offer to the proud and bereaved mother; and
though he longed once more to see Fidelia, he hardly dared
to think of her, for what could he say to her, when he had
offered her a free undivided heart but a few weeks before, and
now must come to her in the character of a widower. But
these thoughts gradually gave away to grief for his father as
he approached nearer and nearer to his now sad and desolate
house. It was late in the evening when he reached the hall
door, and as he pulled the bell, he was obliged to lean against
the pillars for support. He found Mrs. Swazey and Jeremiah
sitting in the back parlor, and they both caught hold of his
sat down and wept in silence. They knew each other's
thoughts well, and there was no need of words to communicate
them. The servants stood looking in at the door anxious
to speak to young Tremlett, and to tell him how rejoiced they
were to see him again and to condole with him in his affliction,
but not knowing how to begin they soon withdrew to
greet Patrick, who now came in with the baggage, and to
learn from him the particulars of his adventures.
Mrs. Swazey was the first to break silence, for having
given the freest vent to her grief it was soonest exhausted.
“That dear good soul is gone,” said the old lady, “precious
heart, if the dear Lord had only spared him to see you
again, he would have gone as happy as a little child. But
he went off as quiet as a lamb, and talked beautifully. Didn't
he, Jeremiah? O, if he isn't happy I don't know who is. It
will be hard for us if he isn't. And such a funeral, it would
have done your heart good. They say it was the longest
procession ever known, and when they got to the comentary
the minister made as beautiful a prayer as ever was heard.
They say it was lovely. Everybody was there, and there
was a long piece in the papers about it. I've got it cut out to
show you. Dear Lord! And there you was almost dying in
that dreadful place all the time, O, it was too much.” Here
the old lady indulged in a fresh flood of tears, when Jeremiah
to save his young friend from a fresh infliction of her
eloquent grief, took a candle and motioned to him to follow
him. They went up stairs into the old gentleman's room
which had not been disturbed since his death, and Jeremiah
proposed that they should strive for consolation and support
in prayer, and he then knelt down and prayed in a low
solemn voice; and his words calmed their feelings, so that
at the end they were enabled to speak together placidly and
without tears. John requested Jeremiah to remain in the
house that night, but begged to be left alone in his father's
which a sight of his apparel and the furniture of his room
awakened. They embraced each other, and Jeremiah withdrew.
John looked around the room, but he could see nothing
distinctly; his eyes were blinded with tears and he threw
himself upon the bed where he lay a long while, until he
was disturbed by a gentle tap at the door. It was Mrs.
Swazey. “Thank my dear God, for this,” said the old lady,
as she sat down her chamber lamp, and threw her arms
around him and kissed him, “precious heart, I dream't every
night I seen you as plain as I do now; but don't stay in this
room, my child; there is your own chamber prepared for
you. I have had the new chintz curtains put up, and you
will be more comfortable than you can be here.”
“I must sleep here to night, mother; to-morrow I will
go into the other room, but to night I must remain here.”
“Well, well; you shall do as you wish; Thank my dear
God! I shall sleep happy this night,” and then the old lady
kissed him once more, and bade him good night.
He threw himself upon the bed again where he lay until
past midnight, his mind dwelling upon the past scenes of his
life, and sometimes conjuring up scenes of the future; the
house was still as a tomb, the candle burned low in its socket
and after flickering awhile, seemingly struggling to retain its
hold upon the exhausted wick, at last went out and left him
in complete darkness. Thus he thought his good old father
had died. The thought rather tranquilized than disturbed
his mind, for it suggested no image of pain or violence, and
he might have fallen asleep, had not this quiet thought called
up in his recollection the peaceful happy look of his father's
face as he had dreamed of seeing it while he lay sick in
Charleston. But, was it a dream? No. He now remembered
how distinct the appearance had been; the impression it
had made upon his mind; and the certainty of its being a
which he felt it foretold, had happened exactly at the time
when the shade of his father first appeared to him. He had
forgotten these things until this moment; why, he could
not conceive; for they had made a deep impression upon his
mind, and his blood chilled as he thought of them. He wished,
and yet he dreaded to see his father again. He was not
superstitious; he had never been troubled by idle fears; but
the thought of being visited by a disembodied spirit, even
though it was the spirit of one whom he had loved, and who
could only come to him from motives of peace and good will,
terrified him, and his heart beat quick, and the sweat started
upon his forehead, as the probability of the same apparition
again presenting itself occurred to him. All the stories that
he had ever read or heard of spirits, rushed through his mind,
and all the arguments that he had ever heard made use of in
favor of spectral appearances came up fresh in his memory.
And, notwithstanding that he had never been at a loss for a
refutation, he could think of nothing now to urge against their
speciousness. He would have called to Jeremiah who slept
in the next room, but a strange feeling of awe had taken possession
of him, the very darkness seemed like palpable fetters
upon him, he could neither move nor speak; or he felt that
he could not, at least; and yet he knew of no reason why he
should not. Of one thing he was certain. He was wide
awake, in the full possession of his faculties, and entirely free
from fever. Yes, it might have been a hallucination before,
but now, come what might, he could not be deceived. Hardly
had this thought filled his mind, when his father again stood
by his side. He saw him as plainly as he had ever seen him
when alive; there was no glare of light, nothing strange, nothing
to affright him; there he stood and gazed upon him
with a fixed, calm, and happy look. Although the apprehension
of seeing the venerable shade again had filled him with
terror, now that he beheld it, he experienced no fear, but rather
him there, love that survives death. He did not speak aloud,
but he seemed to commune with the spirit, and he knew that
his own thoughts were understood. A strange feeling of
numbness suddenly came over him, he lost all consciousness
of thought or feeling; the apparition was gone; he opened
his eyes and it was light. The sun was streaming into his
window, the tread of feet was heard on the pavement, and the
distant rumble of carriage wheels mingled with the shrill
voices of perambulating merchandizers crying their wares,
filled his ears. The old familiar sights and sounds around
him, assured him that he still belonged to the eating, bargaining
and working world. Presently Jeremiah opened his
door.
“What, are you already dressed?” said Jeremiah.
“I am already dressed, because I have not been undressed,”
replied he, “O, Jeremiah, I have seen—” He checked
himself suddenly, and changed his subject. He was afraid
to say what he had seen. And it was a strange thing, but
he thought after all that he might have been in a dream.
The news of John's arrival was soon noised about, not
only among his own immediate acquaintances, but among
the public at large, for his great wealth, and the respectability
of his father, made him a personage of sufficient consequence
to have his arrival chronicled in the public prints; and the
small papers contained the most wonderful particulars of his
history, wonderful from their utter dissimilarity to the truth,
for which they were reproved by the larger papers which corrected
the errors of their tiny contemporaries by counter statements
still more wonderfully incorrect. However, these
things all tended to bring him into notice, and he found himself
beset by a host of particular friends whose existence he
had been living in most unfortunate ignorance of until that
time. Before he left the house Tom Tuck made his appearance.
Their meeting was respectful, but solemn. No allusion
they parted, promising to see each other in the evening.
Jeremiah now informed John that the business of the
house had been entirely suspended, waiting for his return,
and that it was necessary to take immediate steps for the settlement
of the estate, as many of the holders of the obligations
of the house were impatient for their money. As John was
ignorant of the proper steps to be taken, he called upon his
father's lawyer, Mr. Polesworthy, for advice. And this gentleman
told him that the estate must be settled by the executors
named in the will, and asked their names. “The will,”
said John, “where is the will, Jeremiah?” But Jeremiah
had not seen it. So they returned together, to the house, and
searched in the desk and private drawers of the old gentleman
but no will was there. They rummaged his apartment
through and through; they examined the pockets of all his
clothes; they broke open chests; they tore open bundles of
papers; they ransacked in the cellar; they searched in the
garret; they left no hole or corner unexamined, but they
found no will. Then they went down to the counting room
and searched all the pigeon-holes of his desk; they untied
all the bundles of old letters and invoices that had been lying
on top shelves and in dark corners collecting dust for years;
but no will was found. Mr. Polesworthy had assisted in
drawing up a will five years before, and two of the students
in his office, one of whom had removed to Illinois and the
other to Arkansas had witnessed it; the other witness was
the Junior partner, Mr. Tuck. Perhaps it had been deposited
in the Bank, of which the old gentleman had been a director,
for safe keeping. But, upon enquiry they found that it
had not been. Then they re-examined all the places that
they had searched before but still without success. The
will could not be found. The whole day was consumed in
this wearying business, and at night John sank down exhausted
with the fatigue he had undergone, and bewildered at the
mention the circumstance of the missing will, but when Tom
Tuck called upon him at night, he told him of it in confidence.
Tom was amazed to hear it. And knowing the prudent,
methodical habits of Mr. Tremlett, he feared that it must
have been destroyed by accident.
“It will be a horrible, wretched, dismal business, if no will
can be found” said Tom Tuck, “all that money may go to
the people, confound them, and you will be left without a
copper. Something must be done to prevent it.”
“I do not see what can be done. I will submit without a
murmur if I cannot get possession, in an honest manner, of the
property which I know my father intended for me.”
“Well, I am no philosopher myself,” said Mr. Tuck, “and
if I were in your place, I would curse like a pirate about it, if
I did nothing else. But I would be even with the Law, you
know; and when the Law, which is always a villain, and
takes the part of villains, because if there were no villainy
there would be no Law, attempts to cheat me out of my
rights, I am an ass if I don't do my best to cheat the Law.”
“But the Law is framed on general principles, and is no
doubt correct; if I have to suffer from its operation it is my
misfortune, and not the fault of the Law.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Excuse me for laughing,” said Tom, “ha,
ha, ha,” but his laughter needed no excuse; there was not a
bit of merriment in it. “Your apology for the Law is its
severest condemnation. The devil himself could not quote
his own damnation out of scripture, more adroitly. It
is the curse of the Law that it is framed on general principles,
but must have an individual application; and the chances
are, that nine times out of ten it will not meet the merits of the
case where it is applied. So that you see in a government of
laws there will generally be more injustice perpetrated than
in a pure despotism. With us the people are the Despot;
but instead of giving audience to his subjects and awarding
out of pure indolence, or want of knowing better, he frames
a set of rules, which he calls laws, and compels all his
subjects to be measured by them without any reference to
their peculiar wants. But this is not the worst of it. The
law-makers are not the administrators of the law. One body
makes the laws and another construes them, and as there is
no positive meaning to words, it frequently happens, and indeed
it almost always happens, that the man who construes
the law, finds in it a meaning very different from what the
maker of it intended. Then look again at the absurd want of
checks and counterbalances in such a system of villany and
fraud; here are about a dozen courts for the commission of
errors and only one for the correction of them. This all appears
absurd enough, I dare say, even to you who would
apologise for it, but there is something still more absurd, still
more wicked, still more deeply, damnably mulish than all
this. The law-makers themselves know nothing about law
as a study, but those who apply the law must study seven
years before they can be licensed to do so; and what do you
suppose their studies must be? Don't laugh, or rather don't
weep, for only the Devil himself could have the heart to
laugh at such an instance of human folly,—why, Greek and
Latin poets; and then after a case has been submitted to all
these hard students in the law, and been adjudged and sat
upon by one Judge after another, going up by regular steps
out of one court into another above, the last place of appeal
is to a set of Judges again who are required to know nothing,
not even their alphabet, much less Greek and Latin, and they
have the power to reverse all the decisions made by their
betters, and from their decision there is no appeal.”
“But surely you are in error as to the qualifications of a
lawyer,” said John, who had listened to this wrathful tirade
with a very serious countenance.
“Not a bit of it. I know a gentleman who was what they
he afterwards became famous as an orator; he was then two
years clerk of one of the higher courts; after this he had a
seat on the bench, where he served four years in the capacity
of a Judge. Afterwards, he became ambitious of legal honors,
and he applied for admission to the bar; the judges of the
Supreme Court, in consideration of the stations he had occupied,
decided that he might be admitted to practice as an attorney
in the lowest courts after four years of probationary
study in a lawyer's office; and at the same time they awarded
three years study to his own son, a boy of eighteen, because
he procured a certificate from his father of having pursued
classical studies under his tuition for four years. The father,
poor man, was doomed to one year more, because he could
produce no certificate, he having been his own instructor.”
“But, you would not abolish all law?” said John.
“Yes I would,” replied Tom, “my friend the great Jupiter
Grizzle, has been doing a prosperous business for more than
forty years, and he tells me that he has never once resorted
to law during the whole time.”
“But what would the unprosperous do? How could they
get redress when they had been injured?”
“Precisely as they try to get it now, but always fail. As
the People are the Despot, as I before stated, they should always
sit, that is, agents appointed by them, to hear the complaints
of their subjects and award justice according to the
circumstances of the parties and not in conformity to the practice
of their ancestors, or of England or Rome, a thousand
years before. Here's a case exactly in point. The brothers
Tuck are indebted to Morphine & Nephews a thousand dollars,
for a balance due them on an exchange operation; now,
the money is due, and any two or three intelligent men who
should hear the case from the parties would decide without
hesitation that the money must be paid; but it is not convenient
for the Brothers Tuck to pay it, so they allow themselves
objection, all based upon some allowable legal lie, by which
means judgement is delayed some two or three years, and
when at last the plaintiffs get their suit, the defendants are
bankrupts, and in addition to the original debt, the Messrs.
Morphine lose a large bill of costs.”
“Even though we should not succeed in finding my father's
will,” said John, who did not appear to have been listening
to this last ingenious illustration, “I can appeal to the legislature
and they can pass a special law giving me possession
of what I should but for an accident have been legally entitled
to.”
Tom shook his head and smiled in his peculiar manner.
“No, no, our legislators always look at the wrong side of a
question first. How much will it cost? is the first consideration;
is it right and proper? comes afterwards. I am not
much of a politician, and know but little about public affairs;
but this I do know; I have never in any one instance seen
a report of any debate upon any great subject in either the
state or national assemblies, wherein it was discussed upon
any higher principle than as a mere matter of dollars and
cents. You could have no hope from the legislature. They
would not give up their claim upon half a million of dollars
to render an act of justice to an individual.”
“Perhaps you are right. I will not allow myself to be disheartened
even though I do not recover a shilling. My
father commenced life as poor as I can be now; and with his
example before me I have no fears of success.”
“You can afford to take matters coolly, with my sister's
share of my uncle's property at your command. I should
have no fears of success myself, with such a foundation as
that to build upon.”
“I had not calculated on that,” said John, with a hesitation
in his manner,” I did not mean to claim your sister's
fortune.”
Tom looked at him a moment as though he doubted his
seriousness, but showed no surprise himself, although he
could scarce refrain from jumping out of the window, so excited
did this short speech render him, but said deliberately,
“I knew that you would not, and so I assured my mother,
who, it is true, cares nothing for the money, so overcome has
she been since the death of my poor sister.” Here he pulled
out his pocket handkerchief and held it to his eyes nearly
five minutes, during which John thought to himself it would
be as well to consult Mr. Polesworthy before he made any
positive declaration of his intentions. So he made no farther
remarks about Julia's fortune.
“Poor Julia!” said Tom, “you must excuse this weakness
but you cannot understand my feelings; you have never
lost a sister. I will try to forget her now. I have a proposition
to make to you. If no will can be found, it is clear
enough that you will not be able to recover a dollar of your
father's property, and it would be hard to take from you the
property to which you are entitled by your marriage with my
sister, and yet it is hard that I and my mother and brother
should be deprived of it since it, belongs to us by right. Now
if you are willing, we will continue the business of Tremlett
& Tuck, on the capital of my uncle, giving you full claim to
the capital, and dividing the profits, one half to myself and
the other half equally between my mother and brother and
yourself. The house is well known, has an established
credit, good correspondents, and being continued in the same
name, one half the world will not know that there has been
any change; in a few years we shall all be able to retire with
handsome fortunes.”
“I like your proposition well,” said John, “but it strikes
me that you make too unequal a division of the profits.”
“Ah, but consider my experience, and that I shall have
half the business to do myself, if not the whole of it,” replied
this singularly modest merchant, “and then remember that I
relinquish to you the whole of my sister's fortune.”
“There is something in that” thought John, so he acquiesed
in the division of the profits, “but,” he said, “I should be
glad to include Jeremiah in the partnership, even though I
had to allow him a portion of my own profits.”
“No, that I won't consent to. Jernegan is a good clerk
enough, but, I wouldn't have such a fellow for a partner.”
“Well, I will not insist upon it,” said John, “but it would
gratify me, and I doubt not prove of advantage in the end;
but one thing I must stipulate for, and that is that he be allowed
to retain the situation which he has held in the old firm, and
at the same salary. And I should be glad for all the old
clerks to be retained, who may wish to remain.”
“We will not quarrel about them,” replied Tom, “and now
I am so well satisfied with this arrangement, you must go with
me and see my mother; it will be a painful meeting, I know,
but it has got to take place, and the sooner it's over the better
for all of us.”
John would have been glad to put off the meeting with Mrs.
Tuck, but it was his duty to go and he could not refuse. So
he accompanied his new partner to his mother's house.
Perhaps our readers will think that the senior Tuck evinced
a degree of generosity in proposing this arrangement at
variance with his former actions. But no man can act contrary
to his nature. Tom Tuck knew what he was about,
and his motives will divulge themselves in good time.
They found Mrs. Tuck alone in her parlor, but when she
perceived that John had entered the room, she began a
piteous moaning, crying out, “O, my daughter, my daughter,”
nor would she lift her eyes or speak a word to him. Tom endeavoured
to quiet her, but she refused to be comforted, and
continued to exclaim “O! my daughter, my daughter! Give
me back my daughter!”
This was so distressing to John that he could not remain,
he was touched by her grief, and was forced to withdraw
without speaking to her, so keenly did he feel for her. But
handkerchief from her eyes, and said,
“My son, how could you bring that fellow to me? If you
have any love for your heart-broken mother, never again let
him darken my doors. The sight of him is harrowing to my
feelings. He has deprived me of my daughter, and made us
beggars.”
“But my dear mother, we must remember that he was
Julia's husband; he is one of our family, and if we would
have him love us we must show some love for him.”
“Never, never,” replied the afflicted mother, “he has been
a source of mortification and misfortune to us since the day
when that misguided old man took him into his house. But
the worst has been done, he can injure us no more. He has
deprived us of Julia, and of the fortune which was ours by
right. Love him, my son, never! never! He will know,
before he dies, what it is to rob a mother of her child. O, Julia!
Julia!”
“You must exercise some reason, even in your grief,”
replied her son, “Julia is gone, rash girl that she was, and,
to be just, we cannot blame young Tremlett, for I know that
he had no agency in her leaving us. As for the marriage,
you know that nobody was to blame for that but Fred, and,
for the property, he has offered to relinquish his claim in our
favor.”
“But has he done it?” said his mother.
“He has not, and I will not allow him to do so. I will
make a better arrangement. I have proposed to enter into
partnership with him and use it as a capital, retaining only a
moity of the profits. But we shall get it all in the end.”
“But, does he know that his father left no will?”
“Does he know it?” said Tom looking at her with astonisement
in his face. “He does, but how did you know it?”
“I was told of it in confidence,” she replied.
“It's a strange business,” said Tom, “and it has puzzled
must treat Tremlett with respect, let your feelings be what
they may, I will have it so.”
“O, my son, you know that I live only for the sake of
you and Fred, and if you wish it, it is enough; but my heart
will always rebel against him.”
Mrs. Tuck was as good as her word. The next Sunday
herself and her two sons returned thanks publicly in church
through the Rev. Doctor Misty, for the safe return from
abroad after a dangerous illness of their near relation and
friend.
| CHAPTER I. Bankrupt stories | |