University of Virginia Library

15. EDGAR HUNTLY.
CHAPTER XIV.

I came hither with an heart
desponding of success. Adversity had
weakened my faith in the promises of the
future, and I was prepared to receive just
such tidings as you have communicated.
Unacquainted with the secret motives of
Waldegrave and his sister, it is impossible
for me to weigh the probabilities of their
rectitude. I have only my own assertion
to produce in support of my claim. All
other evidence, all vouchers and papers,
which might attest my veracity, or sanction
my claim in a court of law, are buried in
the ocean. The bill was transmitted just

before my departure from Madeira, and
the letters by which it was accompanied,
informed Waldegrave of my design to
follow it immediately. Hence he did not,
it is probable, acknowledge the receipt of
my letters. The vessels in which they
were sent, arrived in due season. I was
assured that all letters were duly deposited
in the post-office, where, at present,
mine are not to be found.

You assure me that nothing has been
found among his papers, hinting at any
pecuniary transaction between him and
me. Some correspondence passed between
us previous to that event. Have
no letters, with my signature, been found?
Are you qualified, by your knowledge of
his papers, to answer me explicitly? Is
it not possible for some letters to have
been mislaid?

I am qualified, said I, to answer your
inquiries beyond any other person in

the world. Waldegrave maintained
only general intercourse with the rest of
mankind. With me his correspondence
was copious, and his confidence, as I imagined,
without bounds. His books and
papers were contained in a single chest,
at his lodgings, the keys of which he had
about him when he died. These keys
I carried to his sister, and was authorized
by her to open and examine the contents
of this chest. This was done with the
utmost care. These papers are now in
my possession. Among them no paper,
of the tenor you mention, was found, and
no letter with your signature. Neither
Mary Waldegrave nor I are capable of
disguising the truth or committing an
injustice. The moment she receives
conviction of your right she will restore
this money to you. The moment I imbibe
this conviction, I will exert all my
influence, and it is not small, to induce
her to restore it. Permit me, however, to
question you in your turn. Who was the
merchant on whom your bill was drawn,
what was the date of it, and when did the
bill and its counterparts arrive?

I do not exactly remember the date
of the bills. They were made out, however,
six days before I myself embarked
which happened on the tenth of August
1784. They were sent by three vessels,
one of which was bound to Charleston
and the others to New-York. The last
arrived within two days of each other,
and about the middle of November in
the same year. The name of the payer
was Monteith.

After a pause of recollection, I answered,
I will not hesitate to apprise you
of every thing which may throw light
upon this transaction, and whether favourable
or otherwise to your claim. I
have told you among my friends' papers

your name is not to be found. I must
likewise repeat that the possession of
this money by Waldegrave was wholly
unknown to us till his death. We are
likewise unacquainted with any means
by which he could get possession of so
large a sum in his own right. He spent
no more than his scanty stipend as a
teacher, though this stipend was insufficient
to supply his wants. This Bank-receipt
is dated in December 1784, a
fortnight, perhaps, after the date that
you have mentioned. You will perceive
how much this coincidence, which could
scarcely have taken place by chance, is
favourable to your claim.

Mary Waldegrave resides, at present,
at Abingdon. She will rejoice, as
I do, to see one who, as her brother's
friend, is entitled to her affection. Doubt
not but that she will listen with impartiality
and candour to all that you can

urge in defence of your title to this
money. Her decision will not be precipitate,
but it will be generous and just,
and founded on such reasons that, even
if it be adverse to your wishes, you will
be compelled to approve it.

I can entertain no doubt, he answered,
as to the equity of my claim. The coincidences
you mention are sufficient to
convince me, that this sum was received
upon my bill, but this conviction must
necessarily be confined to myself. No
one but I can be conscious to the truth
of my own story. The evidence on
which I build my faith, in this case, is
that of my own memory and senses; but
this evidence cannot make itself conspicuous
to you. You have nothing but
my bare assertion, in addition to some
probabilities flowing from the conduct of
Waldegrave. What facts may exist to
corroborate my claim, which you have

forgotten, or which you may think proper
to conceal, I cannot judge. I know not
what is passing in the secret of your
hearts; I am unacquainted with the character
of this lady and with yours. I have
nothing on which to build surmises and
suspicions of your integrity, and nothing
to generate unusual confidence, the
frailty of your virtue and the strength
of your temptations I know not. However
she decides in this case, and whatever
opinion I shall form as to the reasonableness
of her decision, it will not
become me either to upbraid her, or to
nourish discontentment and repinings.

I know that my claim has no legal
support: that, if this money be resigned
to me, it will be the impulse of spontaneous
justice, and not the coercion of law
to which I am indebted for it. Since,
therefore, the justice of my claim is to
be, measured not by law, but by simple

equity. I will candidly acknowledge, that
as yet it is uncertain whether I ought
to receive, even should Miss Waldegrave
be willing to give it. I know my
own necessities and schemes, and in
what degree this money would be subservient
to these; but I know not the
views and wants of others, and cannot
estimate the usefulness of this money
to them. However I decide upon your
conduct in withholding or retaining it,
I shall make suitable allowance for my
imperfect knowledge of your motives
and wants, as well as for your unavoidable
ignorance of mine.

I have related my sufferings from
shipwreck and poverty, not to bias your
judgment or engage your pity, but merely
because the impulse to relate them
chanced to awake; because my heart is
softened by the remembrance of Waldegrave,

who has been my only friend, and
by the sight of one whom he loved.

I told you that my father lived in
Chetasco. He is now aged, and I am
his only child. I should have rejoiced
in being able to relieve his grey hairs
from labour to which his failing strength
cannot be equal. This was one of my
inducements in coming to America.
Another was, to prepare the way for a
woman whom I married in Europe, and
who is now awaiting intelligence from
me in London. Her poverty is not less
than my own, and by marrying against the
wishes of her kindred, she has bereaved
herself of all support but that of her
husband. Whether I shall be able to
rescue her from indigence, whether
I shall alleviate the poverty of my father
or increase it by burthening his scanty
friends by my own maintenance as well
as his, the future alone can determine.

I confess that my stock of patience
and hope has never been large, and that
my misfortunes have nearly exhausted
it. The flower of my years has been
consumed in struggling with adversity,
and my constitution has received a shock
from sickness and mistreatment in Portugal,
which I cannot expect long to
survive...But I make you sad (he continued.)
I have said all that I meant to
say in this interview. I am impatient
to see my father, and night has already
come. I have some miles yet to ride to
his cottage and over a rough road. I
will shortly visit you again, and talk to
you at greater leisure on these and other
topics. At present I leave you.

I was unwilling to part so abruptly
with this guest, and intreated him to
prolong his visit, but he would not be
prevailed upon. Repeating his promise
of shortly seeing me again, he mounted

his horse and disappeared. I looked
after him with affecting and complex
emotions. I reviewed the incidents of
this unexpected and extraordinary interview,
as if it had existed in a dream.
An hour had passed, and this stranger
had alighted among us as from the
clouds, to draw the veil from those obscurities
which had bewildered us so long,
to make visible a new train of disastrous
consequence flowing from the untimely
death of thy brother, and to blast that
scheme of happiness on which thou
and I had so fondly meditated.

But what wilt thou think of this
new born claim? The story, hadst
thou observed the features and guize of
the relater, would have won thy implicit
credit. His countenance exhibited
deep traces of the afflictions he had
endured and the fortitude which he had
exercised. He was sallow and emaciated,

but his countenance was full of
seriousness and dignity. A sort of ruggedness
of brow, the token of great
mental exertion and varied experience,
argued a premature old age.

What a mournful tale! Is such the
lot of those who wander from their
rustic homes in search of fortune. Our
countrymen are prone to enterprize, and
are scattered over every sea and everyland
in pursuit of that wealth which will not
screen them from disease and infirmity,
which is missed much oftener than
found, and which, when gained, by no
means compensates them for the hardships
and vicissitudes endured in the
pursuit.

But what if the truth of these pretentions
be admitted? The money must
be restored to its right owner. I know
that whatever inconveniences may follow
the deed, thou wilt not hesitate to act

justly. Affluence and dignity, however
valuable, may be purchased too dear.
Honesty will not take away its keenness
from the winter blast, its ignominy and
unwholesomeness from servile labour,
or strip of it charms the life of elegance
and leisure; but these, unaccompanied
with self-reproach, are less deplorable
than wealth and honour, the possession
of which is marred by our own disapprobation.

I know the bitterness of this sacrifice.
I know the impatience with which your
poverty has formerly been borne, how
much your early education is at war
with that degradation and obscurity to
which your youth has been condemned,
How earnestly your wishes panted after
a state, which might exempt you from
dependence upon daily labour and on
the caprices of others, and might secure
to you leisure to cultivate and indulge

your love of knowledge and your social
and beneficent affections.

Your motive for desiring a change
of fortune has been greatly enforced
since we have become known to each
other. Thou hast honoured me with
thy affection, but that a union, on which
we rely for happiness, could not take
place while both of us were poor. My
habits, indeed, have made labour and
rustic obscurity less painful than they
would prove to my friend, but my
present condition is wholly inconsistent
with marriage. As long as my exertions
are insufficient to mantain as both, it
would be unjustifiable to burthen you
with new cares and duties. Of this
you are more thoroughly convinced than
I am. The love of independence and
ease, and impatience of drudgery, are
woven into your constitution. Perhaps
they are carried to an erroneous extreme,

and derogate from that uncommon excellence
by which your character is, in
other respects, distinguished, but they
cannot be removed.

This obstacle was unexpectedly
removed by the death of your brother.
However justly to be deplored was this
catastrophe, yet like every other event,
some of its consequences were good.
By giving you possession of the means
of independence and leisure, by enabling
us to complete a contract which poverty
alone had thus long delayed, this event
has been, at the same time, the most
disastrous and propitious which could
have happened.

Why thy brother should have concealed
from us the possession of this
money; why, with such copious means
of indulgence and leisure, he should
still pursue his irksome trade, and live
in so penurious a manner, has been

a topic of endless and unsatisfactory
conjecture between us. It was not dfficult
to suppose that this money was held
in trust for another, but in that case it
was unavoidable that some document or
memorandum, or at least some claimant
would appear. Much time has since
elapsed, and you have thought yourself
at length justified in appropriating this
money to your own use.

Our flattering prospects are now
shut in. You must return to your
original poverty, and once more depend
for precarious subsistence on your needle
You cannot restore the whole, for unavoidable
expenses, and the change of
your mode of living, has consumed
some part of it. For so much you must
consider yourself as Weymouth's debtor.

Repine not my friend, at this unlooked-for
reverse. Think upon the merits
and misfortunes of your brother's friend,

think upon his aged father whom we
shall enable him to rescue from poverty;
think upon his desolate wife, whose
merits are, probably, at least equal to
your own, and whose helplessness is
likely to be greater. I am not insensible
to the evils which have returned upon
us with augmented force, after having,
for a moment, taken their flight. I know
the precariousness of my condition,
and that of my sisters, that our subsistence
hangs upon the life of an old
man. My uncle's death will transfer
this property to his son, who is a stranger
and an enemy to us, and the first act
of whose authority will unquestionably
be to turn us forth from these doors.
Marriage with thee was anticipated
with joyous emotions, not merely on my
own account, or on thine, but likewise
for the sake of those beloved girls, to
whom that event would enable me to
furnish an asylum.

But wedlock is now more distant
than ever. My heart bleeds to think
of the sufferings which my beloved
Mary is again fated to endure, but
regrets are only aggravations of calamity.
They are pernicious, and it is our duty
to shake them off.

I can entertain no doubts as to the
equity of Weymouth's claim. So many
coincidences could not have happened by
chance. The non-appearance of any letters
or papers connected with it is indeed
a mysterious circumstance, but why
should Waldegrave be studious of preserving
these? They were useless paper,
and might, without impropriety, be
cast away, or made to serve any temporary
purpose. Perhaps, indeed, they
still lurk in some unsuspected corner.
To wish that time may explain this

mystery in a diffierent manner, and so
as to permit our retention of this money
is, perhaps, the dictate of selfishness.
The transfer to Weymouth will not be
productive of less benefit to him and to
his family, than we should derive from
the use of it.

These considerations, however, will
be weighed when we meet. Meanwhile
I will return to my narrative.