University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

Our voyage to New-Orleans was tedious; although
we took a smaller vessel when we gained the mouth of
the Mississippi, it was twenty days in all before we
reached New-Orleans. Here we procured horses, saddles,
and saddle-bags, and set out without delay for Tennessee.
Our horses were good and we spared them not.
Nothing worthy of remark happened during our journey,
which we accomplished in nineteen days.

It was just dusk when we arrived before the gate of
Captain Wilson. For the sake of the jest, and actuated by
curiosity we concluded to pass for strangers, being almost
sure that none of the family would recognize our
persons. Accordingly we hailed the house, a servant
came and opened the gate, we rode into the yard and dismounted.
The old gentleman who was standing at the
door to receive us, called to the servant and directed him
“to bring the gentlemen's saddle-bags in the house,”
politely invited us to walk in. We apologized for intruding,
saying we were benighted, and begged for leave to
spend the night with him.

“Certainly, certainly, gentlemen—I am proud of
your company, glad you called.”

He then invited us to refresh ourselves with a little spirits
and water, without the least recognition of our persons.

“My dear,” said he to his wife, “have supper got for
the gentlemen.”[1]

The old lady arose accordingly, and went out to give
the necessary orders. When she left us, the Captain
commenced the common topics, such as the weather,
roads, &c. Meantime a negro girl of about twelve
years of age, seemed to eye Wilson very attentively; it
struck me at the time that she had some knowledge of
her young master. After staring at him some time, she

withdrew, and in a few minutes Mrs. Wilson came in,
and looking in her son's face very earnestly, exclaimed,
“My son—my son—it is my Henry!” and rushed into
his arms.

The Captain was thunderstruck, and sat as though he
was nailed to his seat. At length he got up and shook
us cordially by the hand, reproving us for playing the
cheat—but any how I am glad to see you—glad to see
you—couldn't tell what had become of you.

“Here,” said he to a servant, “take the keys—set the
cellar door open—tell every body to come and rejoice.”

He ran to and fro like one distracted—the servants,
field negroes and all poured into the house, which rang
with acclamations of joy. “Massa Henry's come—
massa Henry's come.” The little girl “I know'd him
fus, I know'd him fa' all he look so sly out o' he eyes.”

After the tumult subsided, Mrs. Wilson related the
circumstance which led to the discovery. She said the
little girl already mentioned, came to her in the kitchen
and said.

“Mistress, dat dare man what got on de whitish coloured
surtout look mighty like massa Henry.”

“He does?” said Mrs. Wilson.

“Yes, madam, he do so, and I do tink it is him, if
didn't look so old.”

Mrs. Wilson soon had a sumptuous supper prepared,
and the Captain invited his nearest neighbours to come
and rejoice with him over his lost son.

In the meantime we gave a summary of all our bad
and good fortune, which have already been detailed. I
thought the old lady seemed to dwell with most pleasure
on that part of it which promised so favourably in behalf
of the connection, which was to take place between
the two families.

“Poor man, she was sorry for his loss, (meaning my
uncle) but such things will happen.”

As a proof of my uncle's intentions towards her son,
Henry ordered his saddle-bags to be brought to him, and
taking out a bag of guineas which he had received from
my uncle, and which he had never opened, threw it into
his mother's lap, saying,

“I hope, madam, that will indemnify you and my father
for the expense you have incurred on my account,
though it never can obliterate that distress of mind
which both must have suffered.”

“Why dear me, what's all this?” said she, weighing
it in her hand.

“I don't know how much there is. Commodore Burlington
forced it on me, and I never opened it since it
has been in my possession.”

“Well he is certainly—why there must be a great deal
here.” (untying the bag and pouring the contents on the
table.) My stars, and all guineas too!”

“Pshaw!” said the old man, “what a fuss you always
make about money now. I never cared for money in
my life.”

“Here old man, do count it.”

“Faith, I'll not,” said he, “you may count it yourself.”

Finding she was anxious to know the amount. I sat
down and counted it for her; there were nine hundred
and ninety-seven. I told her I would make it even
money, and putting my hand in my pocket took out
three more, which made it a thousand guineas.

“Oh, dear sir, you are quite too kind, I declare—I
have now more than I shall ever find use for.”

She continued to poize them backwards and forwards,
admiring them with great satisfaction, until her husband
laughed at her for being so childish. He asked where
she intended to keep them?

“My dear, you must hide them better than you did
your butter money.”

“Indeed I will,” she answered.

“I will tell you a good story,” said the old man,
“about your mother.”

I was sorry to hear this, as it grew near bed-time, and
his stories were at any time, rather long and dull.

“Last fall she was gone a visiting somewhere, I don't
remember now exactly the place; but it happened that I
was sent for to town, to assist at a meeting, for the purpose
of nominating commissioners to settle a dispute that
had arisen between us and the Cherokee Indians. Some

of our people had encroached upon their lands—(I began
to gape and shut my eyes)—Well she was gone, I wanted
clean clothes—didn't know what to do—hated to go as I
was—I expected to see every body dressed up, and she
had the keys. Upon reflection, I bethought myself of a
key, that opened the drawers—It belonged to the desk
—(I desired the servant who waited to pull off my boots.)
Stop, says I, believe I can open them—put in the key—
(Wilson had his boots drawn)—and sure enough opened
them as sleek as you please. Well, I turns over the
things to find my clothes, and what should I come across
but the old woman's bag of dollars—she wont look at a
bank note—“Oh, my lad,” says I, “I'll fix you.”—
I then took out the bag of dollars, and locked them up
my private drawer, thinking to have some fun when
she came home. Well, so it passed on for three or
four weeks—(I rested my head upon my hand)—at last,
to cut my story short, she went to put away more butter
money, and here we had it—

“My dear, somebody has stolen every cent of my
money.”

“They have!” said I.

“Yes, they have taken every dollar.”

Wilson's patience being exhausted, he put a stop to
the story by saying, “indeed father it was wrong in you to
plague my mother so.”

“Well, gentlemen,” I observed, “I think it's time to
retire.”

“Oh, it is quite early yet,” replied the old gentleman.

Finally we got leave to retire; we chose to sleep in the
same room, though presented with two. Upon gaining
our chamber I applauded my friend for his generosity
to his mother. I never thought of the thing myself,
but it was just what I would have done: indeed it was
a very poor return for that affliction of mind his parents
must have suffered on his account, and though money
could have been no object with them yet still the action
had a charm in it which could not fail to win upon the
heart. I now accounted for his not changing his gold in
New-Orleans, which I did, being unwilling to carry
such a ponderous load.

“I shall sponge upon you now,” he said, and well
he might.

Before going to sleep we held a consultation respecting
the time we should set out for Boston. I observed
we should find more difficulty in obtaining his parents'
consent to leave them so soon as we designed, than we
did in obtaining my uncle's.

Wilson was of my opinion—I proposed setting out on
Friday: this was Wednesday; one day I conceived was
as much as we could spare, adding, that if any accident,
through my neglect, had befallen my sister, I should be
forever miserable. This affected Wilson like an electric
shock—it roused all his energy, which was turned principally
against me. He walked the floor with hasty
steps, and exclaimed,

“You have put me on the rack, Charles, I shall sleep
none to night.”

I told him calmly that we had much better deliberate
on the ways and means to obtain the consent of his parents,
and asked him which of us he thought possesed the
most courage, as it required no small share to make the
attempt.

“I will,” he exclaimed, “I will myself, I will insist
upon their consent—I will demand it boldly, to-morrow
it shall be done.”

“Very good,” I replied, “I am pleased to see you so
resolute, it's more than half the battle, go to sleep now
and dream of happiness—In two or three weeks you
will have your bride in your arms, and poor I shall
have none. I have a great mind to return and seek my
Leanora instead of going with a man that's stark mad,
and will be whining all the way about a bit of a girl—
shame on you!

Next morning I hid Wilson get up and let's see how
courageously he would carry his resolution into effect.

“Oh, Charles, do you open the subject, do you begin
it, you can say the obligations your under to meet your
uncle, you can name the condition upon which you obtained
his consent to accompany me, and how hazardous
it would have been had I undertaken the journey alone;
in short you are much better in the art of persuasion

than I am. The first word I should attempt to speak
would choke me, and then my mother's tears—consider
that! Oh, I shall never do it, I shall depend on you, indeed—help
me out this time, dear Charles.”

After laughing at him for his bravado over night. I
told him to cheer up, that I would do all that lay in my
power; in short, that I would not go without him, and
desired he would be ready by the next day; in the mean
time I should ride over to Mr —'s to enquire for
letters, and should take occasion to mention the subject
of our departure that morning.

Accordingly next morning I proposed a walk to Capt.
Wilson to look at our horses—Henry declined going—
when we arrived at the lot where our horses were feeding—“I
believe sir, (said I) if you will lend me a horse
to ride to Mr. —'s I will let my poor fellow rest
to-day, as I intend to set out for Boston to-morrow.”

“Not going to leave us so soon?”

“I must go sir, indeed; consider how long it is since
I left my sister, heaven knows what has become of her,
she may be dead, or in some extremity. I am going
over to Mr. —'s, perhaps I may hear something
about her—but the worst of it is, I am going to take
your son along with me.”

“Oh, Lord, sir, that's out of the question—his mother
would run crazy; can't you stay this week and start
on Monday? a day or two will make no difference.”

“I cannot indeed sir; I pledged my honour to my uncle
that, provided he would consent to let me accompany
your son to Tennessee, we would just call to see you and
proceed on to meet him in New-York; and from thence
we are all to proceed to Boston together.—I hope, sir,
you will not act more ungenerous towards me than he
did towards your son. When we represented to him the
dangers of the roads he had to travel, I suspected he
himself would have accompanied him, rather than have
him travel alone.”

“Indeed it was very kind, very generous! I wish
you had brought him with you; how I should like to see
him! I'll be bound he's a hearty soul—I'll see what can

be done—I have no objection on my own account; but
his mother—Well, she'll only cry a little, and that she
would do if he was to stay a month with her.—I suppose
Henry is going to bring a wife with him this time.”

“I only surmise so, I can't tell—perhaps he may—
But let me have a horse, sir, I am anxious to know
whether there are any letters from Boston.”

He ordered a horse and we returned to the house.—
Wilson examined my countenance with a scrutinizing
look, when we entered the house, but whether he made
any satisfactory discovery in it, or the contrary, he has
never informed me, as an event turned up in the course
of the day that almost deprived us both of our senses.