The Tennessean a novel, founded on facts |
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| 26. | CHAPTER XXVI. |
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 | CHAPTER XXVI. The Tennessean |  |
26. CHAPTER XXVI.
After attending the ladies home, I proposed a walk
to Jinkins. I was anxious to learn Horton's situation,
whether he lacked any thing to render him comfortable.
Calling at the Post Office on our way thither, I found a
letter from New-York: I broke the seal hastily and
looking at the signature found it was from Doctor Nevitt—wishing
to read it at my leisure, we walked on to
Horton's. It was dark when we arrived; he was sitting
at supper with his family, and received us with every
demonstration of joy. Mrs. Horton, in whose countenance
never aught but sweetness (the influence of virtue)
shone, received us like a blushing bride, while peace and
contentment sat on every brow.
The penitent Horton was overwhelmed at this instance
of our generosity and attention, and invited us to
partake of his supper. We thanked him, observing we
had just rose from tea, and entered upon common topics
of conversation, avoiding every thing which might tend
to wound his feelings, or those of his family. Every
thing about the house looked neat and comfortable, and
the table was amply spread.
I asked him “what business he intended to pursue, or
whether any?”
He said “if he had a capital he would set up a grocery.”
I replied “he should not want the necessary sum, and
that he had better perhaps go to New-York; he might
take an apartment in one of my buildings, and Mrs.
Horton could have her chamber and kitchen if she wished
one, and he should have it gratis the first year, after that
at a moderate rent. I would on my own account prefer
him to another.”
He thanked me and looked at his wife, as if to consult
her, but she remained silent. I told him he had better
perhaps make his arrangements for removing there as
and let me know in the course of the week—that I should
go to New-York myself in a few weeks, and should be
glad to know his determination, and after some minutes
we took our leave, as I was anxious to hear from the
Doctor.
We had proceeded perhaps half way to our lodgings,
when suddenly we heard a voice exclaim, “this is the
villain! seize him, seize him!” The noise now increased
to a tumultuous buz of numbers and we could distinguish
nothing.
It proceeded from one of the alleys which formed an
angle with the street we were in. I proposed going to
see what poor wretch it was, and what his crime: perhaps
he might be innocent, perhaps not; he might be
poor, he might want money, he might want a friend, he
might want something.
My own sufferings had been so great and so acute,
that I felt for every child of misfortune. I felt the force
more than ever of that emphatic reply of Terence:—“I
am a man, I therefore have an interest in every thing that
concerns humanity.”
We advanced but a few steps when we were met by
several men dragging a poor creature between them.
Whatever had been his crime, his looks bespoke poverty
and want; but we shall soon know thought I, what he
has done.”
“We will go,” said I “to Jinkins and see this poor fellow
tried.” for they were taking him before an officer of
the police.
When we arrived there, the magistrate asked “where
were the witnesses?” one of the men stepped out, and in a
few minutes brought in a middle aged woman; she was
sworn and gave the following testimony against the prisoner:
“She had stepped out of her house to see a neighbour,
and sat some time talking with her friend, and
while she was there, one of her children ran to her crying,
and told her that a strange man had come into the
house, and was stealing the bread, and that she and the
man at whose house she was, ran as fast as they could,
and when they had got near the house this man, pointing
was with her persued him—that her children were crying
when she came to them, and she went in to quiet
them.”
“And what did he take out of your house?” said the
magistrate.
“—She did not know whether he took any thing or not
except some bread, which was in a cupboard—that the
children told her he came in and went to the cupboard,
and took the bread, but whether he had taken any thing
else or not she could not tell, as she had not had time to
examine.”
The man gave in nearly the same testimony, except
the bread, which she only had from the children.
The magistrate desired the woman to withdraw, and
told her she “would do well to see whether she had lost
any thing, that he should hold the prisoner to bail, and
she could make the requisite search in the meantime.”
When she was gone he told the men to search the prisoner
and see what was to be found upon him. This
they did in his presence, and found nothing but a penknife.
The poor hungry wretch had lost his bread, I
suspect, (if he took any) in the squabble.
“I suppose two hundred dollars will do,” said the magistrate,
whose lenity and mildness towards this unfortunate
man interested me much in his favour.
“Can you give security to that amount?”
He replied that “he did not know—he was a stranger
in the place.”
“Gentlemen,” said the magistrate, “must this man
go to prison? will none of you venture to bail him?” no
one spoke.
“I must write your mittimus, then,” said he.
“I will be one,” said Jinkins.
“I will be another,” said I. The poor creature, for
the first time, looked up, and such a meagre countenance
I never saw.
The magistrate wrote the bonds, and called upon us
severally for our names. The prisoner eyed me with
apparent attention, and seemed to change countenance
upon hearing my name.
Of this I took little notice, being in haste to have done.
When the business was finished we arose to depart, and
bowing to the company, I invited the prisoner, whose
name was Smith, to accompany us, telling him, with a
smile, “that I was compelled to look after him.” He
bowed and accepted the invitation, and I thought I saw
his eye fill as he spoke.
It must be a hard-hearted wretch, indeed, that kindness
cannot penetrate; but this depends upon circumstances
entirely. Had this man been wealthy, or even
independent, my attention to him would have passed
over as a thing by the by—but poor and friendless as he
was, it affected him to the quick.
As we walked towards our lodgings I asked him “if
he had any friends or acquaintances in the city?”
He answered “that he had a few acquaintances, but
he did not know that he had a friend in the world; but
this he said was his own fault, for his conduct had been
such that he deserved none.”
I asked him what part of the Union he was reared in?
“Dear sir,” said he, “excuse me, for I am an outcast
from my country. I dare not be seen there.”
I observed that I would not press the thing; I was
merely talking to pass off the time, and that I had no desire
to pry into his affairs; but hoped he would amend
his life, from this time; that the sense he had of his
faults was a favourable symptom.
Just at this instont, I saw him take something from
the extended hand of Jinkins, which I concluded was his
purse.
We were now at our lodgings, I hastened to the landlord,
and desired supper to be set immediately for one
person, a friend of mine, and leaving the stranger in a
room where I requested his supper might be served, I
stepped to the bar-keeper for a bottle of wine, which I
set on a table by Smith, telling him to help himself and
that he should have something to eat, in a few minutes.
It is needless to repeat the expressions of gratitude
and thanks this poor creature bestowed on me in his
turn, for poor he was His clothes were all in tatters,
and his shirt was as black as a chimney-sweeper. He
three days. No wonder he forced the bread from the
woman! Oh misery, misery, how appalling thou art!—
This unhappy man, I thought, no doubt, impelled by
want has committed some crime for which he has been
obliged to quit his native soil, and roam abandoned
amongst unfeeling strangers.
When I viewed his dress and his meagre looks it
brought to mind my own situation, from which I had
but just escaped—and feel for him I did at every pore of
my heart. Had I not done so I had deserved a tenfold
vengeance at the hand of Him who disposes events.
I drew his table near the fire and cautioned him against
eating too much; but seeing no abatement for several
minutes after this precaution, I began to be alarmed,
and told him I must insist upon his leaving off, and desired
the waiter to carry away the things. I perceived
no alteration in his looks at this order—he neither frowned
nor smiled.
I told him he might drink as much wine as he pleased,
but I thought it dangerous to indulge him in eating any
more, and enquired how long it had been since he eat?—
Guess my astonishment when he replied he had not eaten
a meal in four days! he had, in that time, begged a little
girl for part of a piece of bread she was eating, and
at another time he took a bone of meat, by force, from a
dog.
“Well, my friend, content yourself, you shall never
want another meal, at least while I have any thing myself;
in the meantime you will not take it amiss if I send
you a change of clothes until you can have some made.”
“Oh, sir, this is too much for such a wretch as I am.
You know not sir for whom you are doing all this—I am
a bad man, a very bad man.”
“There are none of us good,” said I, and left him for
the present. I stepped to the landlord and desired him
to send a tub of water into the next room with a towel
and plenty of soap, and then proceeded to the parlour of
Mrs. Cary, where Jinkins had already related the cause
of our absence. Every one enquired who the stranger
left them abruptly.
Going to my chamber I selected a complete suit of
clothes, a change or two of linen, and proceeded with
them to the room in which I left Smith. I laid them on
a chair and told him the servant would bring him water
to wash, after which he would oblige me by putting on
the clothes—that I would stay with him longer, but having
other engagements, I was compelled to leave him—
that he would sleep there that night, and further it was
my wish that he would remain there, and then bid him
good night.
“I'll be bound, for Charles he's been seein' to the
poor fellow, here these milksops sit as if 'were nailed to
the stools 'cause they're got a wife, would'nt give 'um for
a squadron o'ye, how do'st 'do Charles did'st give the
poor fellow something to put 'um comfortable?”
“I have sir.”
“Jinkins is tellin' as how they was going to harryfy
and tarryfy 'um and put 'um in limbo and all that, tho'f
I scolded Dick 'case he dident let me know, I would a
thought nothin' a walkin' that far to save a comrade
from a tucken up.—What dose say Charles, dose want
any thing? Jinkins says give 'um some.—Dick knew
that was right, faith if 'hadn't done it 'would a sent him
a drift.”
I told him the stranger was well taken care of, and
had plenty to eat and drink.
The company had waited supper for us some time, I
sat down with them, and taking a cup of choclate, excused
myself, and withwrew to my room to read the
Doctor's letter. It ran in the following words:—
“Dear Sir.—Agreeably to my promise, I communicate
the following particulars relative to Miss Simpson.
“She continues to mend every day; I think her cure
will be perfected in the course of three or four weeks.
The girl you left here, still attends her with unremitting
attention.
“I yesterday for the first time informed her that you
were brother to the young lady that formerly lived at her
father's, and that your name was Burlington. She was
—When she asked, “what was become of Miss Mary?”
I told her she was in Philadelphia, and was to be married
in a few days, to a Mr. Wilson an old suitor, and
that you had recovered your property, with every other
circumstance that related to your present happy independence.
“She was greatly astonished—sighing deeply, she said
had you known how unworthy she was of your compassion,
and the cruel treatment your sister received from
her, you would have left her to that fate she so justly deserved.
I thought I would let her rest upon her own
ideas awhile, and enquired how she came to fall into the
distressing situation in which you found her.
“She answered, that she had been seduced by a wretch
from her father's house, that her father was a respectable
man in Boston, he had one son and three daughters;
she was the eldest. She then went on to relate the story
of your sister, the plots that were laid to ensuare her,
and the falsehoods she propagated to injure her—she
took the whole of the blame on herself. She said she
reigned mistress in the family, and would have every
thing as she pleased, not even her father or mother dared
to contradict her.
“On mentioning her parents, she burst into a flood of
tears, and it was several minutes before she was able to
proceed—I was a very undutiful child, I broke my father's
heart—no wonder God has sent his judgments upon
me.
“I asked her what had become of the man who seduced
her, what was his name, and place of residence, and
whether it was to him she owed the complaint, under
which she had so nearly fallen a sacrifice?
“She said his name was Hunter—that he had been
partly reared in New-York, but was often in Boston—
that he had been guilty of crimes, was thrown into prison,
and while there contrived to write to her, and entreated
her to aid him in getting out: that through her
means he was let out with a false key, which she hired
a man to make at a great expence. She had agreed to
run off with him to North-Carolina, and get married:
(poor fool that I was)—but at that time I really loved
that he said. I met him at a place agreed upon, with
only one small trunk of clothes, and as many more as I
could tie in a handkerchief. I had bespoke a passage to
Norfolk, in Virginia—from there we were to go by land
to Carolina. As the vessel was to sail by day-light in
the morning, and as the keeper of the prison would not
discover the cheat until the usual time of taking breakfast
to the prisoners, the prospect of our getting off was favourable.
I had stolen five hundred dollars from my father
the night before we sailed—this with a little change
and a gold watch which Hunter had, was all our dependence,
and we left Boston under feigned names.
“We had a quick passage to Norfolk; there we tarried
a week, and I passed for his sister. At Norfolk he
spent his time with gamblers at the gaming table, where
he won all their money. From this place instead of going
to North-Carolina, we took shipping for Charleston,
South-Carolina, which was against my will. I urged
him to go to North-Carolina, where we could have our
marriage celebrated with more facility, but he was inflexible.
“I now, for the first time, began to suspect his sincerity;
but it was too late. I set off with him to Charleston,
where we passed for man and wife, and took lodgings
in an obscure part of the town. Flushed with his
success at Norfolk, he became a gambler by profession,
and spent his time wholly with gamblers, and the most
abandoned characters; he would be out whole nights,
rioting in all manner of debauchery—he would often
bring his companions to my room, where they would
drink and carouse till day-light: singing lewd songs,
demolishing glasses, bottles, chairs, and tables; cursing,
swearing, and very often fighting. It was in vain to
remonstrate against these unparalleled scenes.
“Not to tire you, sir, we lived in this manner nine
months; during which time he had extorted my last dollar
for stakes—sometimes he won, but oftener lost, and
being detected by the police officers, he decamped I
knew not where, leaving me without a single dollar,
and in daily expectation of being confined. When I
eternally disturbed my quiet. I sent for the landlord
and candidly confessed the whole truth to him, begging
him to dispose of some jewels upon the best terms he
could, pay himself for the rent which was due, and purchase
the requisites for my confinement: and told him if
that was not sufficient, I had some good clothes left,
which he would have the goodness to dispose of, in order
to make himself sure. The landlord was a humane, goodhearted
man, or I do not know what would have become
of me. Matters being thus arranged, I waited the issue
with an aching heart.
“In the meantime I wrote home to my oldest sister,
calling myself Mrs. Hunter. This was the first time I
had written home since I left Boston. In this letter I
concealed my misfortunes, but begged her to implore the
forgiveness of my parents, and write to me as quick
as possible—that if my parents refused to forgive
me, I would never see them more. In short, sir, my
child died, and I had every attention paid to me during
my illness which I had a right to expect.
“When I recovered my health, I took in sewing and
all sorts of needle-work, and not having heard from my
parents, I determined not to return to Boston until I
was sure of being forgiven. I saw no company except
my landlord and his wife, who treated me with great
kindness and respect. I set up a milliner's shop, worked
day und night, and made money fast. At length I
received the long-looked-for letter from my sister. It
brought news that my father was dead! that he never
was well from the time I had cloped, that the family was
in the deepest distress, that my father's creditors rushed
upon the family without delay or mercy, and his property
fell by a great deal short of paying his debts, that
my brother had abandoned himself to drunkeness and debauchery,
that she and her other sister had taken a small
room and followed mantua-making for the purpose of
maintaining themselves and their aged mother. That
my mother when pressed upon the subject of my forgiveness,
said she never would, though she would be glad
if I would come and see my sisters.
“This melancholy news almost drove me distracted.
My father dead! I could never forgive myself, and was
for a long time inconsolable! Not to be tedious, I continued
in Charleston where I got plenty of work, intending
to make a little sum for the relief of my mother, besides
as much as would clothe me decently, and pay my
passage to Boston; to this end, I doubled my diligence,
I sat up late and early, got a handsome custom. I sat
behind my counter all day, to attend my customers, and
worked every moment I had to spare. It was about six
months or nearly that from the time I received the letter
from my sister, when upon counting my money I found
it amounted to two hundred and sixty dollars; I owed
about as much as my stock would sell for, so that I could
count nothing upon that.
“I had sat up late that night, the embers on the hearth
were dead, my candle was burnt to the snuff, when I
was roused from my reverie by a gentle tap at the door;
I ran and hid my money under the head of my bed, and
thinking none other than the landlady was at the door,
stepped to it to see what was the matter, when who
should it be but Hunter! His appearance was so sudden
and unexpected, that it deprived me both of speech and
motion. He took the advantage of my situation, and
caught me in his arms—`My dear Clarissa,' said he,
`forgive me, take pity on me, and give me something to
eat, for I am starving.' His pathetic address, added to
his miserable situation, softened me into pity; my resolution
gave way, and his tears which flowed plentifully,
obtained his pardon. I opened a drawer where I kept
wine, buiscuit, cheese, &c., lighted a candle and sat the
whole affair upon the table, bidding him go and eat; he
sat down and eat voraciously, thanking, and praying God
to bless me all the while. After eating sometime, `dear
Clarissa,' said he, `come and take a glass of wine with
me'—I refused: `I will drink none then,' said he mournfully.
I went to the table and filled two glasses and we
drank, he pressed my hand to his lips; in short, he
spent the night with me and several weeks, during which
time we were married. This was done very privately,
no one being present but the landlord, who alone knew
very well; I attended to my business as usual, still
thinking I would go and see my mother, and return, as
my husband dare not show his face there. We had
agreed that he should remain in Charleston, I would
visit my mother, obtain some relief from Hunter's father,
if I could see him, and return. Hunter's father I knew
was wealthy, and he was his only child, and although he
had not heard from him since he had been imprisoned in
Boston, yet I hoped the time was not far distant when I
was to be independent and happy.
“In the meantime I made arrangements for my journey,
and packing up a few clothes in a small trunk, I
deposited the money which I intended as a present for
my mother, in the bottom of the trunk, taking out barely
enough to bear my expences. Matters being thus arranged,
I went to bed, fully intending to set out next
morning by six o'clock, but in the night my treacherous
husband decamped, taking my trunk with him and all
my hopes.
“My situation next morning you may easily imagine—it
was beyond description. But I soon found that
this part of his conduct was but a trifle, when compared
with what a few days brought to light. I found myself
infected with a disease which your goodness has relieved.
I sold off my stock, which was little more than
sufficient to pay my debts, applied to a physician, received
advice and medicine: and as I had understood Hunter
to say that his father had large possessions in this
city, I set sail in the first vessel that sailed, intending
upon my arrival here to find out Hunter's father and disclose
the whole matter to him.
“When I arrived here, after much enquiry I was informed
that such a man as I enquired for did live in the
city, but was scarcely ever at home; that he had been
absent for the last three months, no one knew whither.
It is about six weeks since I landed in New-York, where
I intended to remain until Hunter's father returned. In
the meantime from neglect or some cause unknown to
me, my complaint instead of growing better grew worse,
probably from the distress of mind and fatigue I underwent.
When Mr. Burlington came so fortunately, or
I had just sold the last thing I had to purchase a little
wood and procure medical aid. And even this was not
mine, but I will tell him all, I will confess to him how
cruel I was to his angelic sister, I will go on my knees
to him, I will tell him that I did defraud his sister out
of much—Yes, I will tell him that I did keep a necklace
of her's through all my wants and distress, and fully
intended to redeem it if I ever got well, for the purpose
of returning it to the right owner, for I have never prospered
since I had it: and if I live, I intend to refund every
thing belonging to Miss Mary.
“She then begged of me, since I was so good, she
said, to go and see the jeweller and charge him not to
dispose of the necklace; that it was not her own, but
belonged to another, and that she would redeem it when
she got well.
“I desired her to make herself easy, that you were in
the shop when the little girl came in with it, and that
you took it out of the girl's hand and knew it to be your
sister's, and to that circumstance she owed her recovery:
for the moment you discovered her, you came for me,
that you paid me my fee, purchased the necessaries she
saw, and hired the nurse, paying her wages in advance;
and that you and your sister being now independently
rich, she would find it no hard matter to obtain your forgiveness.
“She was amazed at hearing this—clasping her hands
together and raising her eyes to heaven, thank God, said
she, how glad I am to hear it; I hope I shall live to see
them both, see them happy, and acknowledge my crimes
to the innocent Mary, I shall never be happy until I do
that.
“I told her that she had better compose herself for
the present, that she had exerted herself rather too much;
she might rely firmly upon my attention until she was
perfectly well, and that you would then furnish her with
money to go where she wished.
“Thus, sir, I have detailed to you the story of this
unfortunate woman I shall be happy to hear from you
at all times, and take pleasure in your correspondence.
Respectfully yours.”
| CHAPTER XXVI. The Tennessean | |