University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

The following morning was the Sabbath. William Martin awoke
in pain from sundry bruises which now began to make themselves
felt. He spent half an hour bathing a swelled eye, and patching up
with court-plaster sundry bruises. At length he took his way out of
town in the direction of his mother's abode, on the banks of the river
Charles.

The sun which had risen without a cloud, shone cheerfully into the
cottage window of the invalid widow. The air was still; not a leaf
stirred on the branches; the river glided by peacefully; the fields
on the opposite shore were clothed with brilliant green; a robin-red
breast was singing in a tree near the widow's door. All was harmonious,
peaceful and serene. It was such a morning as the convalescent
loves.

`Open the door, good Mrs. Firth,' said the widow, `I think I
should be better to breathe the pure air of out-doors, and look upon
the pleasant fields and skies. Besides I can see William as he comes
up the road.'

The nurse complied with her wish, and the widow propped up in
her bed, sat gazing with peaceful joy out upon the quiet scene before
her cottage. Her eye was fixed upon the distant turn in the road,
and its constant searching glance that way, showed she was thinking
of her absent son, and was momentarily expecting him to appear. At
length a person was seen hastening along the road.

`There he comes! Look, Dame Frith! my eyes are not very clear;
Is that William?'

`No—It is a student in one of the new-fangled square caps they
wear now.'

`It is my benefactor! He promised to visit me this morning. Oh,
that William would come home!'

`No—it is not Mr. Cassidy; it is another person.'

As the student came near, they saw that his arm was in a sling
and that his face was bruised. He approached the cottage door, and
asked if Mrs. Martin lived there. On being answered in the affirmative,
he said that he had been sent by Mr. Cassidy to say to her that
he had met with an accident and should not be able to visit her, perhaps

for some days to come, as he was now confined to his bed; but
that if she was in need of any thing, to send to Dr. —, who was
instructed to furnish her with whatever her convalesence required.

`Mr. Cassidy—my noble benefactor, ill—hurt!' exclaimed the widow,
sinking back upon her bed. `Oh, that I could fly to him and
do something now to show him my gratitude! But my son—Wiliam
—shall go to him—shall nurse him. He will not rest till he can
show him how deeply he feels what he has done for his mother!'

In reply to his anxious inquiries the student informed her that he
had been severely injured in a broil by the leader of a gang of apprentices,
who had assailed a party of the students; that his skull indeed
was severely fractured; and weeks might elapse before he got
abroad again.

The widow was overwhelmed with grief at this intelligence, and
incapable herself of doing any thing, she only prayed for the return
of her son, that she might, through his attention, in some measure
repay his kindness to her. Replying in the negative to the students
inquiry if she needed any thing, she suffered him to depart after
making him promise to let her hear every day from her benefactor.

William Martin was approaching his home by a path across the
fields, when he saw the student come up the road and enter. The
anger that rose in his bosom at seeing a `trencher cap,' was immediately
subdued by the suspicion that he was his mother's benefactor!
The idea was unpleasant to him—for he felt in his heart that he would
not for the world he should prove to be a hated square-cap. To be
sure he crept round by the rear of the cottage, and approached unseen
and unheard to the back window which looked in upon his
mother's bed. Several panes were out, and he heard all that was
said. His heart smote him, and he felt as if he would sink through
the ground when he heard what evil he had done; for his conscience
told him that he was the `leader' of the gang, who had dealt the
blow. Yet his mother's benefactor might not have been he whom he
struck! This was one ray of hope! There were many a hard blow
—many a broken head in the fearful combat. But this hope was
faint! While he was agitated by these emotions, the student quitted
the cottage. Martin made a circuit by the field and met him beyond
the turning in the road. He came up to him with such a hurried
manner, and looked so wild and disturbed, that the student, who instantly

recognized him as the leader of the mob, drew back a step
and threw himself into a defensive attitude.

`No—I am not going to fight you,' said Martin in a humbled tone.
`I came sir, to ask you—for I am the son of the widow there, and
overheard your conversation in the cottage—to inquire of you, if the
young man you spoke of as being hurt was the leader of the trencher-caps?'

`Yes.'

`Was he the last one struck down?'

`Yes, and I saw you do it with your own hand, villain!'

`And he is the same person,' continued Martin eagerly, `that has
been taking care of my poor mother?'

`Yes.'

`Then I am a villain! any thing and every thing that is bad! Yes
sir, I did strike him down! I confess it. I am willing to undergo any
punishment—I deliver myself up! He may throw me into prison, if
he will. I deserve death!'

Martin's last words were choked with tears of shame, remorse and
penitence. The student watched him in silence and wonder. The
apprentice stood before him, his arm covering his face, humbled and
weeping like a child.

`I did not know he was my mother's benefactor. I did not know
it was even a student, or I should never have lifted hand against them.
Will you lead me to him, sir?'

`It would be dangerous, my good fellow,' said Harry Powers, the
student, feeling for him and sympathizing with him. `It would be
as much as your life is worth, to be seen in the College grounds.'

`I care not! I will see him! I wish to acknowledge my fault!
I wish to do something by which I can atone for what I have
done.'

`This evening he will be removed from the college to a private
house. If you insist upon it, I will get his permission for you to come
there and see him.'

`If you will, sir, you will make me grateful to you all the days I
live!' he cried, taking Harry's hand.

`But what set you against him and the students so fiercely?'

`We apprentices always feel a sort of dislike to students and all
rich and well-dressed young men. With us, we are too apt to consider
roughness, independance and manliness; and refinement, effeminacy.
I see now we are wrong. We looked upon your square cap
as assumed to show your superiority—to mark you as gentlemanly
students, and so distinguish you from the vulgar herd, as we supposed
you termed us. We therefore made war against it. Now that I find
Mr. Cassidy was a student, and that I have done him an injury, I
feel mortified that I should ever have had such feelings, and assure
you I shall never be so foolish again. Do you think he is dangerously
hurt?' asked the repentant Martin with anxiety.

`It is uncertain how it will terminate at present. He is very
ill.'

`You will let me see him?'

`If he will, on knowing the facts, suffer it,' answered Powers.—
`Come at seven this evening, to Mrs.—, on H— street, and if
he will admit you, I will there receive you. I hope you have had a
lesson never to declare hostility against a man for the fineness of his
coat, or the cut of his cap.'

`I certainly have, sir. I hope my poor mother will not hear that
I hurt Mr. Cassidy. It would be the death of her.'

`She shall not from me; and I am sure, Edward will not tell
her.'

After again expressing his regret at his folly, Martin left him and
sought his mother's cottage. There, every word she uttered in praise
of her wounded benefactor, cut him to the heart; and, to save his
own feelings, he had to go out from her presence.

To end our tale. When Edward learned from his friend, Harry
Powers who it was that had wounded him, and how penitent the widow's

son was, he said he freely forgave him, and would see him when
he came. The interview between the two we will pass over. From
that hour William Martin was a changed man! Day by day he called
and passed hours by Edward's bedside, and watched over him with
the affectionate tenderness of a brother till he recovered. The humbled,
grateful apprentice thought he could not do too much for him!
At length, Edward was fully restored to health, and resumed his studies.
William now had no further excuse for pressing his services upon
him, and returned to remain with his mother, who had also got
entirely well. He now wished to go to work, but such a healthy moral
change had taken place in his heart, that he trembled to be once
more thrown among his former rude companions, and shrunk at the
idea of again being saluted as `Bruising Bill,' a name, which he now
as cordially hated as he had once taken pride in it. While he was
indulging in these reflections, and thinking what he should do, he received
the following note:

After perusing this note, the young man laid his face upon the table
and burst into tears. He handed it to his mother in explanation

of his emotion. We need not say that he hastened to his friend and
expressed from an overflowing heart his grateful sense of his kindness.
He accepted the offer, and with his mother shortly left for New
York. He is now junior partner in one of the most respectable printing
offices in that city, respected by his co-partner, and making friends
of all whom he has intercourse with. No one who knew him as
`Bruising Bill,' could now recognize in Mr. William Martin that
leader in the war of the `Trencher Caps.' Having learned by painful
experience that a man's attire is but a cover to his nakedness, and
that the character is the man, he judges rightly of all men, and neither
honors nor despises any one for the fineness or coarseness of his garment,
nor make war upon any man for the cut of his cap.