University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

Paul had now thrown off his allegiance to society. The fear of
the detection of his forgeries, the necessity of getting money to sunply
the extravagant habits he had fallen into, as well as those of his
mistress, led him to a determination for obtaining resources, as bold
as it was now in keeping with his reckless character. After threading
his way along the crowded thoroughfares, he reached, by a narrow
alley, an old brick tenement situated upon the river. The lower
part was used as a drinking-room, and was thronged with men
in the garb of seamen, laborers, and mechanics, drinking, smoking,
and in high talk. A stout Englishman, his face horribly disfigured
with the smallpox, was the keeper.

Just glancing into this apartment, as he passed by, Paul entered
a side door of the `Bowl and Pitcher,' as the respectable place
was called, and, guided by a dimly burning japanned lamp, nailed
against the partition in the entry above, he ascended a winding
and broken stairway. Upon the landing was a door which
he threw open, and at once entered a long low-ceiled apartment
in which were several tables strewn with cards—a board for farodealing
against the wall, and a roulette table. Benches were
arrayed about the sides of the room and chairs were standing around
in disorder. The whole was lighted by two lamps swinging from
a hook affixed in a beam overhead at each end of the chamber.
At the further extremity beneath the lamp sat two young men
gambling at cards. They were the only occupants of the room. On
seeing Paul enter, they both rose up and welcomed him. One of them
was about Paul's age, handsome in person, and with an air of gentility.
A black handkerchief was knotted in sailor-fashion about
his neck, and he wore a seamen's pea jacket. There was a look of
careless good-nature united with resolution in his face, and his person
was tall and well shaped. His companion was short and stout,
with a twinkling eye and a devil-me-care look, that marked recklessness
of character in no ordinary degree.

`Ah, Paul, so you are here at last,' said the latter, coming forward.
`We thought you would disappoint us.'

`All our number is now complete, and good fellows all,' said the
other. `We have been waiting for you to choose our coxswain.'

`I have had a difficulty with my uncle and he has thrown up my
indentures. Here they are!'

This intelligence was received with hearty congratulations,
which were hardly over, before several other young men, attired in
various degrees of shabby gentility, relies of a better past, entered
the room, from an inner chamber. They all warmly welcomed
Paul, who had no sooner repeated what he had communicated to
the others, than the old gambling-hall rang with hurras! It was
very soon apparent that of the party he was not only superior in intelligence
and influence, but that his superiority was tacitly acknowledged
by them. They were nine in number, and constituted
an association which they had denominated the `River Rover's
Club.' Since the secession of the more principled of their club, the
week before, they had completed the number by each bringing in a
friend. After some preliminary proceedings, Paul was now unanimously
voted coxswain, and wine was ordered, while all gathered
around one of the tables. Paul, however, but barely touched the
glass to his lips; for, with all his bad habits, he had not that of intemperance.
He was therefore at all times cool, calm, and collected,
and always prepared to avail himself of the firmness and resolution
of his daring character. As he gazed around him upon his companions,
all of whom were more or less needy adventures, his eye
flashed with pride; and, as they drank his health in a bumper, he
rose and addressed them:

`My club-mates, we are assembled here to-night to reorganize
our club, after the withdrawal of those cowardly members who feared,
from a wild proposition one of us made, in short, to take possession
of a north river sloop, that our love of adventure would lead
them into danger. We who are now here, are, I trust, of one heart
and one mind! `Ay, ay,' resounded along the table. `Are you
ready to second any scheme or any adventure your coxswain may
propose?' `Ay, ay! if to board a vessel in earnest,' cried some,
with an oath. `Not too loud, my lads! What our future course is,
as a club, will depend on you each as individuals. We want here
only men who hold no allegiance—no master—no calling! You,
Fleming,' he said, addressing the tall young man in the pea jacket.
`are, like me, without employment. If I mistake not, your merchant
failed and left you penniless. Be frank in confession, for I am resolved,
that our meeting here to-night shall tend to the improvement
of each of our fortunes.'

`Yes—it is true, Tatnall! I am out of employ, out of favor with
my landlady, out of credit with my tailor, and most confoundedly
out of pocket.' `You will do, Fleming. And you Dawley,' he continued,
addressing the shorter one, `have had some little difficulties,
such as using your employer's money, and such like touches of absence
of mind.'

`Yes; and I fear every day being arrested, for the old man more
than suspects.'

`Then return no more to him, but cast your fortunes in with this
club. It is no longer to be merely an amateur recreation upon the
water, but one of real service, if I can make it so.'

This hint of the new coxswain's was received with acclamations;
and after Paul had questioned each, and secured the improvident, and
induced others still in employ `to leave work to slaves' and commit
their fortunes to the good genius of their club, he entered more fully
into the detail of his bold and daring scheme. He soon found, that
those with him were congenial spirits; that each of them, like himself,
had imbibed notions of extravagant living, above his means, and
had been ruined in name and fame, by unlawful resorts to obtain
money to expend in luxurious indulgences.

The determination of Paul to cast off at once all allegiance to
society, though sudden in act, had been mature in contemplation
Proud and poor, with all he had had to render his soul bitter,
this course was consistent with himself—with the independent,
fearless, and impetuous character, he had exhibited, from the time
he leaped from the cliff into the nest of the hawk, and fought his
pitched battle with Duncan Powell, up to the day of his parting with
his uncle. Minor points of his character, not here drawn and commented
upon, also had their bearing upon this final determination.
He had now shown no ordinary talent in forming the association of
which he was the head, and in leading and controlling the minds of
young men, many of them originally of a superior standing in socieety
to himself. His tact, coolness, and foresight, were also, during
the evening, singularly exemplified in the course of the progress of
the planning of their operations.

But, without following the incipient career of this River Rover's
Club, through a series of adventures, of foray and spoil, both on the
water and land, whose bold deeds puzzled the police, and filled the
public mind with constant excitement, we will briefly pursue Duncan
Powell's career.

We have alluded to his visit to New York, and its baneful influence
upon the happiness and character of Paul Tatnall. His
course at West Point had not been up to this visit without censure.
And some occurrences of his sojourn in town, not very honorable
to his character as a cadet of a national institution, having reached
the Superintendent, he found, on his return, that he was about to
be tried; when, resenting their interference in his conduct beyond
Post, he resigned and returned to Kirkwood. Here he passed his
time mostly in the society of Catharine Ogilvie, and giving midnight
entertainments to his former companions at the Post, in an untenanted
building, which stood on the confines of the estate near the
water. At length his revels were discovered by his father, who
threatened to cut him off with a shilling unless he mended his
ways; while he perplexed his avaricious brain to divine how his
son got the money he expended in his revellings. This, however,
presented no difficulty to a certain old New York Jew, named Jacob
Goldschnapp, whom Duncan had found out on his first visit to
the city, and who, after satisfying himself of the value of Kirkwood,
and other estates of his father, and that he had twelve thousand dollars
coming to him at his majority in right of his mother, advanced
him at fifty per cent. what money he wanted, to be repaid thirty
days after his coming of age, taking his bond for it. To such a
wild spendthrift as the heir of Kirkwood, limited as he was in means
by the miserly spirit of his father, the discovery of old Goldschnapp's
den' in Chatham Street, was like finding a mine of gold,
and he was not backward in availing himself of his good fortune.

At length, finding that his libertine plans with regard to Catharine
Ogilvie would not be successful, he left home for New York,
resolved to live a life congenial with his tastes and means. This
was about the time Paul Tatnall banded with other young men,
who like himself had gradually fallen from virtue and principle to
a disregard of the laws of society, so that they could obtain the
means for those vicious indulgences, that had been their ruin. Duncan
Powell, in the mean while, followed a course of fashionable dissipation.
He spent his days and nights as became a man of fortune,
who looks upon money only as the means of indulgence.
His rooms were elegantly furnished; his servant wore a stylish livery,
his dinners were superb, and his turnouts in Broadway, and on
the Avenue, were unrivalled. But to keep up this wild extravagance
he had to make frequent visits to his obliging friend Mr. Goldschnapp.
In addition to his other follies, was that of gambling at faro and high
betting on the turf. He was seldom a winner; for his knowing
friends, who basked in his gold and were hangers-on at his dinners—
those `toadies' of rich young men, always managed to make him
lay his bets as they would have him, and also to cheat him at play.
By these means Duncan's drafts upon his banker in Chatham street
became heavy and frequent; but as he kept no account of the

amount he received, and as his drafts had been always promptly met,
he pursued his extravagant course without fear or reflection.

At length, one night, after he had given a dinner to several of his
select associates, at the sumptuous rooms of his mistress, he resorted
with them to a fashionable gambling-room, whither his friends always
enticed him when he was in wine. Here he played heavily,
and, betting recklessly, lost large sums of money! His losses sobered
him, and made him at the same time anxious to win back
what he had lost. He therefore staked the whole amount of his
losses, two thousand dollars—on a single bet. There was the most
eager and intense anxiety on the faces of all gathered around the table
as the dice were being thrown. Duncan won!

`I will now double the whole bet against whoever will take it
up,' he said, triumphantly, and striking his hand emphatically upon
the green cloth.

There was no reply, and each looked to the other, to see who
would accept the challenge. His success disconcerted his friends,
who had been diligently playing into each other's pockets, as they
believed, at his expense. No one took the bet, for the good reason
that no one of his friends ever had money to bet with unless they
won or borrowed it from him. Elated with his good fortune, he was
resolved to attempt to break the bank by betting at roulette. He
bet one hundred dollars upon a color, at each time, and, in twenty
minutes, found himself indebted to the bank five hundred dollars.
Maddened by his ill-fortune, and the loud regrets of his friends, who
were pained to see money lost to this bank which they felt they were
legitimately entitled to finger, he offered to double his losses, at a
single stake.

`Plank the amount,' said the bank-keeper, coolly snapping the
ball into the wheel, `all set—double 00 black!'

Duncan turned his pocket-book inside out in vain!

`I am run out, Coburn,' he said, laughing.

`Fill and sign that,' said the man, handing him a small elegantly
printed slip of paper—which proved to be a form of a note at one
day's date. The banker knew his man, and had no fear of the payment.

`Give me two,' said Duncan, eagerly; and taking a pen he filled
each out for five hundred dollars. `There,' he cried, dashing down
the pen! `now I am in funds once more! Five hundred on the single
O red!'

He placed the note upon the spot—the wheel flew round—the
ball spun from the fingers of the bank dealer, and every eye watched
anxiously as it bounded and danced from number to number till
it settled to rest.

`Sev-en red!' drawled out the dealer, quietly drawing with his little
rake the note towards the pile, that lay mixed with gold and silver
at his right hand.

`Give me another blank,' said Duncan, without changing countenance,
though murmurs of disappointment fell thickly from the
lips of his friends.

The blank was placed within his reach and filled for one thousand
dollars and signed by him.

`Single O red!' he said, in a low voice, with a pale cheek and
compressed mouth.

`All set,' cried the banker, launching the ball from his thumb into
the revolving wheel.

How anxiously were the motions of the little ivory ball watched
till its wild circles ceased!

`Double 00 black,' drawled the unmoved banker, raking the note
towards him.

Every eye was turned upon Duncan! His cheek was flushed,
and for a moment he seemed deliberating. At length he said, calmly
addressing the banker,

`My losses are fifteen hundred in notes, and a debt to the bank of
three hundred. Will you take my note for two thousand, and give
me a chance to win back what I have lost?'

The banker whispered aside a few moments with the faro-dealer,
who had left his own bank to watch the progress of the heavy betting
at roulette, and then replied in the affirmative.

`For Heaven's sake, Duncan, quit playing! you are sure to lose,'
said his solicitous friends, crowding about him.

`If I lose, it is my loss, not yours,' he said, sharply.

They thought to the contrary, however. The blank was given
him and filled out and signed for two thousand dollars, at one day's
date; muttering, as he laid down the pen, `if old Jacob will have to
shell this out at last, I am afraid I shall have small balance behind.'

`All set,' cried the man, sending the wheel revolving.

`Single O red!' calmly repeated Duncan, placing the note upon the
red cypher in the green squares.

`Seven black!' sung the man, in his drawling, professional tone,
which no amount of winning or of losses could alter.

`Seven devils,' fiercely cried Powell, flinging the note towards
the dealer, and striking the table with his clenched fist.

`Nearly four thousand dollars due the bank,' groaned his friends,
as they turned away.

`Never fear, boys,' said Duncan, laughing! `I shall have to fork
over, but I swear I will yet break their confounded bank for them!
Come, let us go to my rooms and have a supper of champagne and
oysters! This infernal betting at roulette is dry work. I have been
cursedly unlucky.'

Duncan seemed to feel his losses much less than his interested
friends; for, like cormorants, they had been always near him, to gorge
his freely scattered gold. It was like losing so much themselves;
and when they quit the room they fastened savage looks upon the
bank dealer as if he had been picking their own pockets. The
night was ended with champagne and oysters, and Duncan retired
in happy oblivion of his losses.

It was about half past twelve the next day'when he awoke; but,
so thickly curtained was his luxurious chamber, that the only indications
of day was the roar of wheels along the pavements of the
streets. Rising, and throwing on his rich dressing-gown, he passed
into a small parlor, where his black servant was preparing a table
for his breakfast.

`How is the day out, Peter?'

`Rain, master!'

`Then my drive with Feneton, on the Avenue, is knocked in the
head! I should have won a cool hundred. What are these?' he
said, taking up several letters.

`Sent up from de bar dis forenoon, master.'

`Well, have my breakfast, while I look at them. My father's
hand! I wonder what the old miser has to say. Ordering me
home, I suppose,' he added, indolently breaking the seal.

`Poor Deerfoot!' said this filial youth, closing his letter. `I am
sorry for your mishap, at least. I would not for five hundred dollars
lose you, my faithful horse!'

Here is another letter. What a scrawly hand!

`These gentlemen are very ceremonious, to take the trouble to
inform me of this fact! Peter, how much was I to pay for the bay
mare?' he asked, as the black came in with the tray.

`Six hundred, master,' answered Peter, stopping short and resting
his tray on his knee, while he reflected a moment.

`You are right. To-morrow, ah! Well, old Goldschnapp will
have to release his notes freely. What says this?'

`And here is another. A dun, I dare say. My tailors!'

`Hum! Three hundred and forty dollars! I shall want full five
thousand from Goldschnapp. Confound it, here is another! What
does this mean? I should think all these fellows had heard of my
losses last night, and were sending in their accounts for fear of my
running out. But they need not fear! I have not certainly drawn
more than four thousand from Goldschnapp, and so they need not
be alarmed. Mine was a confoundedly heavy loss, though, last
night! What is this?'

`There is two hundred and fifty more. I can do with no less than

six thousand, for I shall want odd money over, as I am without a
dollar. Hurry with my breakfast, Peter, I have got to go out.'

`It rains, master.'

`So much the better—I shall be less observed—for I am going into
a neighborhood I don't care being seen in.'

As he sat down to his coffee, a rap was heard at the door, and a
waiter delivered Peter a note.

`Ah, perfumed, and with a fancy seal! No money wanted here!
From some of my hundred female friends. `Dear Powell!' It is
from Anna, by the rood! Wants me to come, or send Peter, with
a hundred dollar note! What can she want of it! I gave her fifty
the day before yesterday. Confound money, I say!'

In no very good-humor Duncan finished his late breakfast, and
was preparing to go out, when a young gentleman was announced by
the name of Feneton.

`Ah, Ralph! I was just saying how sorry I was we should lose
our trotting match!'

`The rain is over, and the clouds are breaking away, and the afternoon
will be fine! Come and dine with me, and we will start at
four.'

`I should be glad to, but I have just breakfasted and don't care
about dining before six; —besides, I have a little engagement just
now.'

`Let that wait! A man of fortune should never pledge his
time to any body.'

`But—'

Here other friends were announced, and Duncan's demuarrer
was cut short. In their company he soon forgot his intention of
calling on the Jew, and joined them in a promenade up Broadway.
He dined with Feneton, lost his race on the Avenue, and came home
in ill-humor. It was already twilight when he reached his chambers.
A note was waiting for him on his toilet. He tore it open,
and read, with a vexed look;

`I must go to Goldschnapp, at once,' he said, with an oath of annoyance.
Peter, my cap and cloak.'

`Nother rain, master. Shall I call a coach?'

`No, I walk.'

Thus speaking he left his apartment, and, enveloping himself in
his cloak, and hiding his features, sallied forth into the rainy streets
and took his way towards the Park.