University of Virginia Library

THE INTESTATE, OR JERRY SMITH'S
WIDOW.

I left my residence in Kentucky, a few years
ago, and proceeded to Baltimore, for the purpose of
transacting some business with a mercantile house,
with which I had been extensively concerned. No
one knew the object of my journey; because, being
a bachelor in easy circumstances, I was under no
obligation to disclose to any person more than I
thought proper. I left my farm under the direction
of a manager, with the expectation of returning in
a few weeks. On my arrival in Baltimore, I found
that it would be necessary to proceed to New
Orleans. The vessel in which I embarked, after
being baffled and detained by head winds, at length
sprung a leak, and we were obliged to put in to the
Havana. Here various delays occurred, and as I
could neither talk Spanish, play billiards, nor smoke
segars, the time hung so heavy upon my hands,
that I soon fretted myself into a bilious fever. In
this condition my captain left me, without so much
as saying good-by; and when at last I reached
New Orleans by another vessel, I found that the

person with whom my affairs had been entrusted,
was absent, and not expected to return for several
weeks. There was now no alternative left me, but
either to abandon the object of my voyage, and risk
the entire loss of a large sum, or by remaining,
expose my constitution, already debilitated and predisposed
to disease, to the dangers of a sickly
climate. Unfortunately I adopted the latter course.

I found the weather as hot here as in Cuba, the
language as incomprehensible, and the billiard-tables
quite as devoid of interest. The sickly season
was fast approaching, and as I had determined not
to escape disease by flight, I endeavoured to avoid
it by precaution. It is amusing enough, to those
who can look on from a distance, to see the various
expedients by which men endeavour to contend
with death; as if the great destroyer was a foe who
could be eluded by cunning, or baffled by force.
The yellow fever assailed the inhabitants; I felt the
malady, or thought I felt it, creeping slowly into
my system, and resorted to every preventive
which my own reason, or the experience of others
suggested. I first tried the Sangrado plan; drank
water, ate vegetables, and suffered phlebotomy.
But I soon found that I could not endure starvation,
nor carry on the functions of life without a due
supply of the circulating medium. I resorted to
stimulants and tonics—a mint-julap in the morning,
bitters at noon, and wine after dinner; but alas!
with no better success; for every time that I looked
in the glass, I discovered, by my sallow visage, that

the enemy was silently making his approaches.
My eyes became jaundiced; my pulse heavy; my
skin dry; and my complexion received a new coat
of yellow every day, deepening at first into a
delicate orange, then to a saffron, and lastly to a
copper colour; until I began to fear that I was
actually degenerating into a Spaniard, a Quarteroon,
or a Cherokee.

and on this occasion the shadows that tinged my
face were but too prophetic. The dreaded fever
came at last, and I sunk into a state of helpless
and hopeless misery, which none can truly estimate
but those who have felt its poignancy. I was a
stranger, far from home; in a climate tainted with
disease; and attacked by a disorder supposed to
be fatal. That malady, among other distressing
characteristics, has one which is peculiarly aggravating.
I know not whether others are similarly
affected, but to me a fever brings a state of excitement
and sensitiveness, which produces the most
exquisite torture. My whole nature is subtilized
—every feeling is quickened—and every sense
sharpened into a painful acuteness of perception.
The judgment is weakened, but the imagination acquires
a supernatural activity; the body sinks, but
the spirit is feelingly alive. Such was my state. In
the early stages of my disease, a thousand wild
visions were in my brain. I made rhymes; repeated
pages of Latin, although in a moment of sanity I
could not have connected a sentence; I saw people
whose faces had been forgotten for years; I called
up events which had transpired in my childhood; I
planned novels, composed essays, and devised
theories; I fought battles; I recalled the joys and
repented the sins of my whole life. I was a madman,
a philosopher, a devotee, and a wag, in the
same hour. At one moment I prayed fervently;
at another I dropped the doctor's nostrums in my
sleeve, and amused myself with inventing ingenious
answers to deceive him, and feigning symptoms
which did not exist. I jested, moralized, groaned,
wept, and laughed; and found in each new mood
that came over me, a pang as agonizing as that
which I had suffered in the one that had passed.
Such is fever! excruciating bodily pain, with a
brilliancy and strength of intellectual vision, which
looks back to infancy, and forward to eternity, and
around upon the whole scene of life, while the
mental eye is crowded with images, whose number
and vividness weary and distract the brain. Loss
of strength, stupor and melancholy succeeded. I
thought of home, of myself, and of death; and my
visions assumed every day a deeper and more death-like
hue.

There was one object which intruded into all my
dreams. I need only name its character, in order
to enlist the sympathy of every tender hearted
reader. It was a young widow—for whom I felt
a particular regard, and to whom—if I must speak
out—I was engaged to be married, on my return

home. She was my first love. I had paid my
addresses to her before her marriage, but was too
bashful to declare myself explicitly; and while I
balanced matters in my own mind, and sought by
the gentlest hints to disclose my passion, she by
some fatality—by mere accident, as I have since
understood—married a certain Jeremiah Smith! a
fellow for whom, and for whose name, I had always
entertained a sovereign and special contempt. I
did not blame her for marrying, for that was her
privilege;—but to wed a fellow named Jerry! and
of all the Jerries in the world to pitch upon Jerry
Smith, a dissipated silly profligate, not worth a
cent in the world, was too bad! It was flying in
the face of propriety, and treating her other lovers,
who were numerous, with indignity. Poor girl!
she had a sad time of it, for Jerry treated her worse
than a brute; but at the end of two years he had the
grace to pop off, leaving her pennyless and as pretty
as ever. It was a long time after her widowhood
before we met; I would not call on her, and as to
courting Jerry Smith's widow, that seemed out of
the question. But when we did meet, she looked
so sad and so beautiful, and smiled so pensively, and
talked so sweetly of old times, that all her power
of fascination over me revived. I began to visit
her, thinking of nothing more at first than to show
her my superiority over Jerry Smith, and to convince
her how great a slight she had shown to my
merits in selecting him. But, in trying to make
myself agreeable to the widow, she became so very
agreeable to me, that in spite of all of my former
resolutions, I offered her my hand, which was accepted
with the most charming grace imaginable.
This was just before my journey, and as that could
not be postponed, we agreed to put off the wedding
until my return.

Such was the beautiful vision that had smiled
upon me through all my wanderings; but which now
was presented to my distempered fancy, arrayed in
the brightest colours. In vain did I sometimes try
to banish it; I thought of my business, my farm,
my negroes, my tobacco—but anon came the
graceful widow, with that same smile and blush that
she wore when she faintly murmured “no,” and
expressively looked “yes”—there she was, hanging
fondly over me, and chiding my delay.

This could not last forever; and just when every
body thought that I was about to die, I grew better;
and to my great joy was put on board a steam-boat
bound for Louisville. For a day or two I continued
to recruit; change of air, scene, and food did wonders:
but the happiness of a speedy recovery was not
fated to be mine. I had embarked in a steam-boat
of the largest class, on board of which were four
hundred passengers. The weather was excessively
hot, there where many sick among us, and the
atmosphere between the decks soon became impure.
The yellow fever was said to be on board; and our
comfortless situation was rendered dreadful by the
panic that ensued. I relapsed, and was soon pronounced
past recovery. I had the yellow fever,

and was considered a fatal bearer of contagion. It
was thought proper to remove me from the boat,
and to abandon me to my fate, rather than endanger
the lives of others.

I was accordingly put on shore; but when or how
it happened I know not. I have a faint recollection
of being lowered into the yawl, and seeing
people gazing at me; I heard one say “he will die
in an hour;” another inquired my name; one voice
pitied me; and another said I had made a happy escape
from pain. I thought they were about to bury
me, and became senseless in an agonizing effort to
speak.

When I recovered my consciousness, I found
myself in a cabin on the shore of the Mississippi.
A kind family had received and nursed me, and had
brought me back to life after I had been long insensible.
They were poor people, who made their
living by cutting fire-wood to supply the steam-boats;—a
lean and sallow family, whose bilious
complexions and attenuated forms attested the
withering influence of a corrupted atmosphere.
They had the languid southern eye, the heavy gait,
and slow speech, of persons enervated by burning
sunbeams and humid breezes.

For two weeks I was unable to rise from the
miserable pallet with which their kindness had supplied
me. I counted every log in the wretched cabin
—my eye became familiar with all the coats, gowns,
and leathern hunting shirts, that hung from the
rafters—I noticed each crevice—and set down in

my memory all the furniture and cooking utensils.
For fourteen long summer days my eyes had no
other employment but to wander over these few
objects again and again, until at last nothing was left
to be discovered, and I closed them in the disgust
occasioned by the sameness of the scene, or strained
them in search of something new, until my eye-balls
ached. But I had no more feverish dreams,
and when I thought of the widow Smith, it was
with the delight of newly awakened hope; and with
the confidence that better days and brighter scenes
awaited me at home.

At last I was able to crawl to the door, and to see
the sun, the green trees, and the water. It was a
most refreshing sight, although the landscape itself
was any thing but attractive. The cabin stood on
the bank of the river, in a low alluvion bottom. It
was surrounded and overhung by a forest of immense
trees, whose tall dark trunks rose to the
height of sixty or seventy feet, without a branch,
and then threw out their vast lateral boughs, and
heavy foliage, so luxuriantly as entirely to exclude
the sun. Beneath that dense canopy of shade, were
long, dark, and gloomy vistas, where the Indian
might well fancy himself surrounded by the spirits
of his departed friends. The soil itself had a dismal
aspect; the whole surface had been inundated but
a few weeks past; the fallen leaves of last year,
saturated and blackened by long immersion, were
covered with a thick deposit of mud, and the reeking
mass sent up volumes of noxious vapour. Before

the house was a naked sand-bar, sparkling and
glowing with heat. In the middle of the river was
a large sawyer, an immense log, the entire trunk
of a majestic oak, whose roots clung to the bottom,
while the other end, extending down the stream,
rose to the surface, the current giving it a heavy
and eternal motion; now uprearing some twenty
feet of the huge black mass above the surface, and
then sinking it again in the water with the regular
swing of a pendulum. I gazed for hours at that
perpetual seesaw, wondering what law of nature
governed its exact vibrations. Here the hideous
alligator might be seen rocking through half a day,
as if in the enjoyment of an agreeable recreation;
while droves of those animals, sporting in the stream
or crawling on the beach, roared like so many
bulls, filling the whole forest with their bellowings.
Added to those sounds, were the braying of the
wolf, the croaking of innumerable frogs, and the
buzz of myriads of musquitoes. Under any other
circumstances I should have thought myself in a
pandemonium; but I had in the last few weeks
endured so much pain, passed through so many
horrors, and trembled so often, and so long, upon
the brink of the grave, that I enjoyed the sun, the
breeze, and the verdure, even with these dismal accompaniments.
I was even agreeably situated; for
so great and so pleasing was the change, in having
my mind relieved from its abstraction, that I could
gaze placidly for hours upon natural objects of the
most common description, and converse with interest
on the most trivial subjects. Of all forms
none are so hideous or so terrifying, as the horrible
creations of a distempered imagination.

For another fortnight I remained contented, gradually
gaining strength; and then finding myself
again able to travel, I took my passage in a steam-boat
for Louisville. The river was now extremely
low, and we advanced slowly, sometimes running
aground upon the sand-bars, and always getting
forward with difficulty. At length we reached our
port, and I sprung with delight upon the soil of
Kentucky. Among the steam-boats lying along the
shore, dismantled and laid up for the season, was
the vessel in which I had embarked at New Orleans,
a feeble invalid, and which had left me almost a
corpse.

My baggage consisted of several well filled trunks;
one of which, a common black leather travelling
trunk, I had purchased at New Orleans, and packed
with articles of finery, for my intended bride. On
setting me ashore at the wood-cutter's, the captain
of the boat had been careful to land my several chattels,
and I now proceeded with them to a hotel in
Louisville. My baggage was carried into a bar-room
crowded with gentlemen, and I had scarcely
time to turn round, when a lank, agile Frenchman,
with tremendous whiskers, darted forward, and
seizing my black trunk, seemed to be about to
appropriate to his own use all my nuptial presents.

“That is my trunk, Sir,” said I.

“Aha, sair! you say dat your tronk? By gar,
sair, dat is not your tronk!”

“Excuse me, sir, it is undoubtedly mine.”

“Ah! ma foi! I shall not excuse you, sair! By
gar, sair, if you say dis your tronk you no gentiman.”

As he said this he jerked a key from his pocket,
thrust it into the lock, threw open the disputed
trunk, and to my utter consternation, and the infinite
amusement of all others present, displayed a
magazine of “sundries” as undoubtedly French as
his own accent.

“Dare! vat you say now, sair?” he exclaimed
triumphantly, as he threw out the contents, “you
say dat your coat? dat your waistcoat? your fiddle-string?
your musique note? your every ting! by gar,
sair, you are no gentiman, if you say dat your
tronk!”

“I ask your pardon,” said I, “the trunk is not
mine; but there is a strange mystery in this affair,
which I cannot pretend to unravel.”

“Ah, very much mystery, for some oder gentiman
get my tronk, and make me wear my linen in
dis hot contry for five six week!”

“The fault is not mine; I purchased a trunk at
New Orleans so nearly resembling that one, that if I
was not convinced by the contents, I would still
think it mine. I am sorry to have been the innocent
cause of any inconvenience to you.”

“Very well; I buy my tronk at New Orleans
too—dat how he look so much alike; very sorry for

you, sair; but I cannot let you have my tronk, indeed,
sair.”

I stood mortified and confounded; cutting a very
awkward figure in the presence of a large company,
who viewed this odd adventure with astonishment.
I began almost to doubt my own identity, and to
fancy myself transformed by magic into somebody
else. It seemed as if my ill luck was never to cease.
I dreaded lest this incident should prove prophetic,
and as I had seen my trunk transformed under my
very nose into the trunk of another gentleman, I
feared that I might find my widow changed into
another man's wife. I was somewhat relieved by
the captain of the steam-boat, who had witnessed
this scene, and who now stepped forward, and informed
me, that my trunk, which had been exchanged
by mistake, was on board his boat.

Feeling in no mood to visit any of my acquaintances,
I directed my course to the counting-house
of a merchant, upon whom I held a draft. On
handing it to his clerk, he returned it, observing,

“The drawee of this bill is dead, sir; and we
have instructions not to pay it.”

“I am the drawee,” returned I.

“There must be some mistake,” replied the clerk
very coldly; “Mr M—, in whose favour that bill
is drawn, is certainly dead. We have it from his
heir.”

“Heir! don't you suppose, sir, that I am the best
judge whether I am dead or alive!”

“Can't say, sir—sorry to dispute any gentleman's
word—but my orders—”

“Sir, you don't only dispute my word, you
deny my existence—don't you see me, and hear
me, and can't you feel me?” said I, laying my long
cold hand upon his soft white palm.

“Very sorry,” repeated the book-keeper, withdrawing
his hand as if a viper had touched it, “but
my principal is absent—I act under instructions—
and Mr M—'s account is closed on our books.”

“This is the strangest turn of all,” said I to myself,
as I stepped into the street. “I am dead—my
heir has entered upon the estate—the widow mourns
over my grave! Very pretty truly! I shall next be
told that this is not Kentucky, and that I am not,
and never was, Edward M—.”

Angry and dispirited, I turned into a public reading
room, and sought for a file of the newspaper
published in my own neighbourhood. I looked for
an old date, and soon found—my own obituary! and
learned that in my untimely death society had been
deprived of a useful member; my kindred, of an
affectionate relative; and my servants, of a kind
master! Upon further research, I stumbled upon a
notice from my administrator—the next of kin—
inviting all my debtors to settle their accounts. I
saw no announcement of the widow's dissolution—
and concluding that her strength of mind had enabled
her to survive my “untimely death,” I determined
to set out for home instantly, as well to relieve

the burthen of her sorrows, as to reassume the privilege
of collecting my own debts.

After a tiresome journey, I arrived on the night
of the third day in my own neighbourhood. Concealed
by the darkness, I reached my own door
without being recognized. Two of my negro men
stepped up to the carriage as it stopped, and of them,
in a disguised voice, I inquired for myself, by my
christian and surname.

“Bless you, sir,” replied one of them, “old master's
dead and buried long ago!”

“And who is your master now?”

“Why, young master,—old master's nephew,
Mr Charles.”

I stepped out of the carriage, and the negroes no
sooner beheld my form in the moonlight, than they
shouted, “A ghost! old master's ghost!” and
scampered into the house. I entered after them,
but could not obtain an audience of any human being.
My servants fled when they perceived me,
screaming with surprise and terror. I followed them
to the kitchen. It was deserted by all but an old
palsied woman. She reminded me that she had
been my nurse, that she had served me faithfully
all my lifetime, and begged my spirit not to injure
her. She asked me affectionately what troubled
me, and promised to do any thing in her power to
enable me to repose quietly in my grave. She told
me I had been a good and kind master, and that all
my people liked me while I lived, and besought me

not to make them hate my memory, by haunting
them after my death. And finally she told me that
the spirit of a gentleman like me, who had been
well raised, might find some better employment,
than that of disturbing a peaceable family, and scaring
a parcel of poor negroes. I was too much affected
to make any reply to old Elsey, and turning
from her, stepped into the house. In the hall stood
a gentleman and lady, who had been drawn thither
by the uproar. They were, the “next of kin”
and—the widow Smith! The former, being a man
of spirit, stood his ground, but the lady screamed
and fled.

“Will you be good enough to tell me, sir,” said
I, “whether I am dead or alive?”

“We have mourned your death,” said my
nephew, with an embarrassed air, “but I am happy
to find that you are alive, and most sincerely welcome
you home.”

“Supposing the fact to be that I am alive,” said
I, “will you do me the kindness to tell me whether
I am master of this house?”

“Surely you are, and—”

“Do not interrupt me; you are my administrator,
I find; do you claim also to be my guardian? these
characters are not usually doubled.”

“I claim nothing, sir, but an opportunity to explain
those matters which seem to have offended
you so deeply.”

“Then, sir, being master here, and having

neither administrator nor guardian, I desire to be
alone.”

The young man looked offended, and then smiled
superciliously, as if he thought me insane, and turning
on his heel, walked off.

I retired to a chamber, and having with some
difficulty drawn my servants about me, and convinced
them of my identity, took supper, and went
to bed. About the widow I made no inquiry; circumstances
looked so suspicious, that I dreaded to
hear the truth.

In the morning I rose late. I sallied forth, and
gazed with delight upon my fields, my trees, and
the thousand familiar objects that are comprised
within that one endearing word—home. My negroes
crowded about me, to welcome me, inquire
after my health, and tell me all that had happened
to them. Passing over these matters as briefly as
possible, I proceeded to probe the subject nearest
my heart, and—what think you, gentle reader, was
the result?—the widow Smith was married to the
“next of kin!” They had left my house at the
dawn, that morning.

I have only to add that I have entirely recovered
my health and spirits; and that as Jerry Smith's
widow has twice slipped through my fingers, undervalued
my character, slighted my affection, and at
last married that wild scamp, my nephew, whom I
had before thought of disinheriting, I am determined
that neither of them shall ever touch a dollar
of my money; and to effect this laudable object I am
resolved not to live single, nor die intestate.