 | EMPTY POCKETS. The soldier's bride and other tales |  |
EMPTY POCKETS.
I would not have my fair readers to suppose, that
I have dreamed away my life in a “Bachelor's Elysium”
or a “Paradise of Coquettes,” or that all my
days have been devoted to “Love in a village.” I
have done the state some service, in the days that
tried men's soles, and have had my own blistered
with many a weary march. This explanation will
no doubt dispel any surprise which may have arisen
in the reader's mind when the title of this paper
first caught his eye; for if there is any class of citizens
in this vast republic, who are peculiarly fitted
and prepared by experience to expatiate with accuracy
and feeling on the subject of empty pockets, it
is composed of those gentlemen who follow to the
field a warlike chief. It is not necessary to state to
what corps I belonged, nor will I be called upon, I
trust, to exhibit my commission, or give a countersign:
assure my fair readers that although I now languish
at the feet of beauty, or listen to the inspirations of
the muse, I have in verity earned the right to
“shoulder my crutch and show how fields were
won.”
I shall now proceed to relate an adventure which
happened to me when I was a young man and a soldier.
It was about nine years ago. I was then
about twenty-one years old, but nobody would have
taken me for more than eighteen. I was returning
home from a severe tour of duty upon the frontiers,
and wore in my features and habiliments the aspect
of a “poor gentleman.” My face was sallow and
sunburnt—my cash low—my coat threadbare and
my epaulet tarnished;—as for my laurels, they were
not yet in bloom.
It was about sunrise in the morning—a delightful
morning in October—when a waiter at the City Hotel
in New York roused me from a sound slumber
to announce that the steamboat was about to depart,
and that a porter waited for my trunk. Having
discharged my bill and made all the necessary arrangements
on the preceding evening, I had only to
throw on my clothes and follow the bearer of my
baggage, who paced Broadway with rapid strides.
The street was filled with truant passengers like
myself, some yawning from their broken slumbers,
some grumbling from a half finished breakfast, some
fretting about their baggage, and some were in high
wharf. The bell was ringing, and the captain of
the steamboat bellowing like a madman—“I'll
swear I wont wait for nara man, woman or child
breathen—cast off that cable there forard—stand by
to clap on the steam! If people wont come in time
I wont wait—If I do”—“Nobody wants you to
wait,” thought I, for I was now on board; and the
boat was soon paddling her way through the water.
It was indeed a delightful morning, and the passengers
crowded to the deck. Bright eyes and dull
ones, drowsy heads and all, seemed to feel the vivifying
effect of the beauteous scene and the calm
hour. The soldiers were on drill at Governor's
Island, the fatigue parties were at work, the drums
were beating—all was bustle. But the water, and
the surrounding shores, how serene, how lovely! As
the eye wandered over the blue expanse—but perhaps
my fair reader has never been at New York—
has never seen the North river, nor the East river,
nor the Battery, nor Governor's Island, nor the Narrows—if
so, my poor dear unfortunate reader, it is
utterly impossible to convey to thee any adequate
idea of the picturesque beauties of New York Harbour,
and the highest point of my success would be
to make thy mouth water like that of Tantalus. I
could indeed, if I had not long since disposed of my
instruments, and almost forgotten their use, put my
little knowledge of military topography in requisition,
and sketch the commanding points of the landscape.
diggers,” display the last scene of Decatur's glory,
and designate the spot where Hamilton fell, and the
monument erected to his memory. But I beg to be
excused—and to assure the reader that although I
cannot enable him to participate in the pleasure, all
these scenes, and the incidents attached to them,
were glowing richly upon my fancy as the steamboat
cleft her rapid way through the silent waters.
But my attention was soon drawn to the busy,
the smiling and the contented faces—the gay, the
respectable, and the decent appearance of my fellow
passengers. Fresh from scenes of tumult and
danger—from the daily contemplation of hardy soldiers,
lurking borderers, and sturdy woodsmen—
from camps which, though containing the bravest of
men, were surrounded by the worst of women,—
with a heart sickened among the gloomy scenes of
the hospital, and yearning after repose, I gazed with
delight upon my countrymen. I marked the elegance
of one, the neatness of another, and the suavity
of a third—and contrasting this placid and
cheerful display of national happiness, with the
vice, dejection, and disease which I had left behind,
my heart was filled with delight. Cheerful greetings,
and friendly interchanges of civility were circulating
round me; I only was unknown and solitary
—but I reflected that I too should soon be surrounded
by warm hearts and long remembered faces, and
should feel a parent's embrace and a sister's kiss.
Strolling towards the cabin door, I now observed
a large handbill, the “Rules and Regulations of this
Boat,” perspicuously set forth in legible characters.
It was announced in this document, that shortly
after the boat should get under weigh, a bell should
be rung to summon the passengers to the clerk's
room, where they were to pay for their passages,
and be entitled to a seat at the breakfast table. A
gentleman who stood near me perusing this important
information, now turned to the captain, whose
impatience had by this time subsided into a tolerable
degree of calmness, and observed, “Would it not
be better, captain, to make your passengers discharge
their fare before they get on board? You
must sometimes be imposed upon under your present
regulations.” “Not at all,” said the captain:
“very few persons travel in this way, who have not
honour enough to pay—and as for the slippery chaps,
I watch them, and I know one of them as soon as I
see him.”
The bell now sounded, and I hastened towards
the clerk's desk, when, feeling for my pocket-book,
what was my consternation to find it gone! I felt
all my pockets, but found it not—I hastened to my
trunk, but it was not there—the pocket-book was
lost. Most people would on such an occasion have
made an immediate and loud outcry, but I had
learned from the rules and articles of war the danger
of giving false alarms, and by my General, who
though nicknamed old Jake, was a wise man and a
discover our weakness to the enemy. I had learned
too in travelling, that nothing is considered as a
surer sign of a slippery chap, than an empty pocket.
I therefore assumed as much composure as possible,
and returning to the deck strolled up and
down, like a sentry upon post, revolving what was
best to be done. Perhaps there might be a bank-note
lurking in some of my pockets. I was aware
that this was the worst place in the world to look
for a bank-note—but still, I was a careless fellow,
and sometimes stowed my cash in odd places. Upon
this suggestion, my pockets were searched anew,
and a thorough inquisition had through every hole
and corner of my trunk—a bank-note in my pocket,
indeed! I might as well have expected to find the
Sea Serpent there! However, my commissariat
had not been deficient the day before—I will not
name the sum in deposit, but it was sufficient. I
had given all the loose change in my pocket to the
servants at the tavern, and the porter who carried
my trunk—the rest was in my pocket-book, and the
pocket-book was—where? I had arrived at New-York
the preceding day, had gone to the theatre at
night, and recollected having had it while there. I
had returned to the hotel late at night, and had discharged
my bill, but whether from the contents of
the said-pocket book, or from the loose change in
my pocket, I could not tell. My heart and head
had been too full of the sorrows of Juliet to dwell
thought,
certain, my money was gone!—and locking my trunk
I walked to the side of the vessel, and leaned over,
gazing at the water in deep reverie!
The surface of the water was unruffled, and as I
looked upon it in painful thought, my agitated mind
began to acquire a congenial serenity. Where now,
I thought,—
Ye ever tempting, ever cheating train,
Where are ye now!”
distance—“Oh such a night as this, Leander swam
the Hellespont;” and why should not Lieutenant
— immortalise himself by swimming the East
River? I had but to leap in, a few minutes would
bring me to the shore, and I could march to Philadelphia—but
Leander swam by moonlight, and there
was a lady in the case, besides I had had marching
enough, I had no provisions, and could not carry off
my baggage—I was in the enemy's country, it was
true, without the means of carrying on the war—
but to retreat and leave my baggage!—“Old Jake”
never taught me that!
The more I thought upon my situation, the more
complicated, the more painful were my reflections.
I was among total strangers—there was not a face
would recognise me. I could not boast that genteel
outside which is the common passport to civility—
my tarnished vestments presented no very inviting
appearance—my face was red and blistered by the
sun—these might be taken as the indications of intemperance.
I fancied that I exhibited the counterfeit
presentiment of one of those slippery chaps
alluded to by the captain. When my inability to
comply with their lawful requisitions should be announced,
what ungenerous surmises would be formed
by this rough sailor and his hawk-eyed clerk!
If my feelings should not be assailed by rude remarks,
they would be equally galled by supercilious
looks and silent suspicions.
Something must be done. I might appeal to the
generosity of the captain; but I was to be his passenger
only to Brunswick—how should I get thence
to Philadelphia? Besides, I did not like his looks.
I paced the deck with rapid strides, and with a sensation
of real pain at my heart. My profession had
led me through innumerable dangers; I had faced
men in honourable fight, but I could not cope the
redoubted commander of a steamboat, and challenge
the inquisitive glances of a crowd of strangers.
The passengers were now crowding to the clerk's
room with open pocket-books, or returning from it
securing their purses, and buttoning their pocket
flaps. Many of those gentlemen were doubtless
to one of them my situation, and solicit a loan, to
be repaid on my arrival.—But he might doubt my
word. I thought of Jeremy Diddler a thousand
times, and wished for his easy knack of making useful
acquaintances. I began to scrutinize the faces
of my fellow-travellers—and endeavoured to find
among them a generous, confiding physiognomy. I
found some cold polite faces—some foppish faces—
some miserly faces—and a great many common
place faces which said nothing. There was one
gentlemen whose countenance pleased me. He
was a middle-aged, fine looking man—easy and
genteel in his deportment—with a noble eye and
thoughtful features. I approached him, but at that
moment a couple of fine girls who had been lounging
over the deck addressed him as their father, and I
shrunk back. They were beautiful—the rays of
beneficence beamed from their eyes; but a young
gentleman does not like to disclose his poverty to
the ladies, who of all things have a particular antipathy
to empty pockets.
There was a young gentlemen of an open pleasing
countenance, with whom I now entered into
conversation. He was quite accessible, communicative,
and even voluble, and I was about to open
my heart to him—but he ran on—became familiar,
vulgar, and disagreeable. I turned from him in
disgust.
“Come, gentlemen, be expeditious if you please,'
turned immediately towards a gentleman of respectable
apearance, whose sun-browned features announced
him to have been a traveller. I addressed
him, learned that we were destined to the same city,
and told him my story. The old gentleman looked
at me for a moment with an inquisitive glance, then
drawing forth his pocket-book presented it, and desired
me to take what I wanted. I did so—presented
him with my address, received his, and hastening
to the clerk discharged his claim in time to
take my seat at the breakfast table.
This was one of the petty incidents of life, but
caused me more pain than I have sometimes experienced
under real affliction; so true is it that we
can bear any evils with greater composure than
those which touch our pride, and that of all misfortunes
there is none to be dreaded more than an
Empty Pocket.
| EMPTY POCKETS. The soldier's bride and other tales | |