University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Gertrude had seen the new heir. She had observed,
despite her unwillingness, his resemblance to
the late patroon; she had seen him undergo what she
thought a rigid cross-examination from her own legal
adviser, and even that had proved unfavorable to
her interests. Was there then no hope? Should
“the fates” triumph over her? Should she be the
laughing-stock of the whole world? No—she would
not submit. Harry should defend his rights to the
very last! To the high court of Parliament, if necessary,
should the question go, to be settled in some future
generation, among future heirs. Such was the
determination of Gertrude, to which, with an iron
will, she resolved that Harry should consent. Even
although the stranger was the true heir, she argued
to herself, his claim was too old to be thus trumped
up when the rights of so many others had become involved.
“Possession is nine parts of the law; what

can't be proved, doesn't exist,” she said, with several
other equally moral axioms, which she had caught up
from her astute counsel before his sudden conversion.

When Livingston returned from the city, it was in
company with old Aunt Schermerhorn, who had once
seen Bleecker Van Ness, and who thought she could
settle the question of identity; for Harry's mind was
so harassed with the excitement that he was anxious
in some way to terminate his suspense. He had a
painful presentiment that his own very first glance of
the stranger's face would be convincing as to the
correctness of his pretensions; but he felt that he
ought not to be satisfied with that proof alone. Gertrude
hastened to relate to him the interview of the
morning, to which, of course, she gave her own coloring,
while the old lawyer maintained a discreet silence,
not being quite certain yet which way the wind would
set.

Derick was faithful to his appointment on the ensuing
day, and was received this time in committee
of the whole. A thrill of amazement, distinct and
perceptible, seemed to pass through the whole company,
on their simultaneous perception of a countenance

which, whoever or whatever it belonged to
was so strikingly like that of the good old patroon.
Dame Van Corlear was just restrained by an imperative
frown from Gertrude, from rising and grasping
the visiter by the hand; while, in the strong resemblance
to the portrait of Bleecker, Livingston had an
additional ground of apprehension, and his few remaining
hopes were fast flitting away. The salutations
on both sides were courteous, though cool, and
conversation at once took a business turn. Aunt
Schermerhorn was the only one of the company who
had ever seen Bleecker since he was a very small
boy, and some favorable turn was hoped for from her
verdict. The stranger made no hesitation in submitting
to a close scrutiny from the old dame, who, having
wiped her spectacles with great care, walked deliberately
up to him, and peered silently for some minutes
into his face. Gertrude's heart beat violently, and
even poor Harry felt his breath come quicker during
this examination. There was perfect silence in the
room, and the excitement, of which even the old lady
seemed to partake, grew momentarily stronger.
Again and again did she gaze at each individual feature,
and when, at length, she lowered her spectacles
to speak, more than one heart stood suddenly still with
emotion.

“I think it is Bleecker!” said the old lady, and Gertrude
lay swooning upon the floor. Borne from the
room, and speedily resuscitated, it was only, in the
violence of her emotion, to heap reproaches upon
Livingston, who with affectionate solicitude sought to
dispel her grief.

“Why,” she said, “should you search out witnesses
against yourself, and aid your adversary to make good
his claims? Never mortal before heard of such
fatuity! If you are so soon tired of your wealth,
Mr. Livingston, remember that there are others who
have a right now to be consulted in its disposal.” Bewildered
by anger and mortification, such was the
language of Gertrude. Livingston listened for a few
moments with the keenest anguish to the revelations
thus opened to him, of a heart which he had long so
devotedly loved. But he listened in silence. He
returned to the parlor with a settled conviction that
fate had no remaining dart in all its armory for him,
more keen than those which he had already felt. If

such were the wealth of human love; if all the treasures
of affection amounted to but this, then not for a
few square miles of soil would he condescend to
grieve. Two cubic yards would better subserve the
purpose of any rational man, for that would serve to
hide him from a world deserving only of execration
and contempt. Such were the first bitter thoughts that
forced themselves in a dark current over the mind of
the ingenuous youth, flooding and overwhelming for a
while every nobler sentiment. But a better spirit soon
returned. The very violence of his feelings caused a
sudden reaction, and Hope and Charity came hastening
back to the posts from which they had been temporarily
frightened. He would be better satisfied yet before he
recognized the stranger's claims and yielded up dear
Gertrude's rights. Having made this resolve, he reentered
the room where Derick was entertaining the
company with the accounts of his toils under cruel
taskmasters, upon the piers and fortifications of the
barbarian's capital. The subject of identity being
resumed, Aunt Schermerhorn suggested that there was
one relation of the family who she thought could settle
the matter beyond dispute, by reason of his know intimacy
with the late patroon, and that was a cousin,
of the same name, who lived far off to the north, away
beyond Schagticoke, but whose Christian name she
had forgotten.

“Ah, I remember him,” interposed Derick; “old
cousin Bartholomew! a lame old cock!”

“That's the name,” replied Aunt Schermerhorn,
“Bartholomew; and he is very lame.”

Harry turned a thought paler at this additional
proof in the stranger's favor. He whispered a moment
with the old lady, and then proceeded to ask
one more question, trembling while he awaited a reply.
“If you do, indeed, remember him so well,” he
said, “there is still another peculiarity of his person
which you can hardly have forgotten.”

Derick drew his finger diagonally across his upper
lip and smiled; it was in allusion to a hare-lip of the
old man, and seemed conclusive beyond further cavil.

“I can no longer doubt,” said Harry, extending his
hand to his cousin, “that you are what you claim to
be. As the son of my deceased friend and benefactor,
I welcome you,”—his voice faltered as he spoke—“I
heartily welcome you back to your native land. For

the sake of those whose interests are bound up in my
own, and who have a right to be more incredulous
than myself, I will not offer to resign to you your
rights, until your witness arrives from England.
Until then, however, share with me in everything of
what thereafter will be exclusively your own.”

“Not exclusively, cousin Harry,” returned Derick,
pompously; “I intend that the Wilton farm shall be
yours.”

Harry looked surprised at this narrow generosity
for the land alluded to, although a tract of about a
thousand acres, was scarcely worth half that number
of pounds. He made, however, no reply. His cousin
expressed himself perfectly willing to await returns
from England, and his entire readiness to acquiesce
in this proposal dispelled the last shade of doubt that
had rested on his claims. There would be nearly a
year's delay preceding his full investiture in his rights,
but he was looked upon as virtually the present owner
of the deceased patroon's estates. But Derick had
still a further ordeal to undergo, for although he was
now no longer questioned by way of testing his claims,
a natural desire pervaded the minds of his companions

to learn all the particulars of those remarkable vicissitudes
of fortune to which he had been subjected. So
reasonable a curiosity could not be censured, and
vainly did he seek to evade the torrent of questions
which was poured in upon him from all quarters, but
chiefly, of course, from the sympathizing old ladies.

“Tell us about your capture,” exclaimed Aunt
Schermerhorn, “all about it, and the fighting, and the
black flag and all; and where it was, and how many
were killed, and strangled, and bow-stringed, and
goodness gracious me! do tell us all about it now!”
she said, drawing her chair closer to Derick, and
folding up her spectacles, as she gazed with watery
eyes into his face.

Derick, thus adjured, buried his face for a moment
in his handkerchief, doubtless to conceal the emotion
which it would have been unmanly to betray, as
the remembrance of some dreadful scenes returned
to his mind.

“Well, you see,” he said, speaking with the hesitation
which strong emotion always occasions, “we
were somewhere in latitude about forty-four, and longitude—let
me see—say twenty-two west from

Greenwich—when we were overtaken by a tremendous
gale, most tre-men-dous; and were compelled to
scud under bare poles.”

“Bare polls indeed,” muttered Van Bummel, in a
voice inaudible to Derick; “it blew your hats off, I
suppose.”

“Seventy-four hours and a half—and a half—”

“Going,” whispered the lawyer—

“— did that wind continue, whistling, howling,
screaming among the cordage of the vessel, like some
wild animal, impatient for his prey.”

This poetical flight arrested the attention of Van
Bummel, who being himself a wholesale dealer in
flowers of rhetoric, began to think he might pick up
something for future use, and closed his jaws for
once as firmly as those of a steel-trap.

“So dreadful and so long-continued was the blast,”
continued Derick, “that it seemed impossible we
should finally escape its fury, and our ship lay at one
time for six hours together on her beam-ends.”

“Awful!” exclaimed Aunt Schermerhorn, “right
straight up on end! well—go on.”

“We were of course blown off our track many

hundred miles, and when the gale abated we found
ourselves off the north-western coast of Africa.”

“Maircy!” said the old lady, hitching her chair
still nearer to Derick, but without removing her eyes
from his face.

“Yes, ma'am,” continued the latter, “and not more
than fifty miles from the Mediterranean. The captain
then put the ship about, and made all sail for
America, but we had not gone more than three knots
before we discovered a fast-sailing sloop-of-war on
the weather-bow, coming down upon us like the wind.
It was an English-built ship, and under English colors,
and no one thought of being alarmed until she was
close alongside, when down came the banner of St.
George, and up went the black flag; while at the
same instant two hundred blackamoors who had been
concealed on deck sprang to their feet, with a tremendous
shout, and sixteen long cannon were suddenly
unmasked, pointing their great black open
mouths straight at us—and the captain, a hideous
looking Moor, stood waving his sword on the
quarter-deck, and calling on us to surrender. There
was no use in fighting; they would have blown us

out of water and air too in ten seconds at the very
most, and so our captain struck his flag. Then you
see, ma'am, they boarded us at once, and instantly put
to death—”

“Oh, maircy! maircy!”

“—all our pigs and poultry; for they had been at
sea a long time, and were quite out of fresh provisions.
They would doubtless have served us in the same way,
if we had not been worth more to them alive. They
took us straight to Algiers, and reported us to the
government, as so many head of infidels, fit for labor,
and so many invalids—two or three, you know, poor
sickly fellows, whom they just—” Derick here
waved his curved finger toward the back of his neck
by way of conclusion.

“What? what?” asked Aunt Schermerhorn, with
distended eyes.

“The scimetar, you know,” he continued—“one
blow, and the head was overboard, with the lips still
moving that had begged for mercy!”

The old ladies here gave a united scream, under
cover of which Derick attempted to retreat, with
the promise of resuming his narrative at some future

time; but this design was frustrated by his eager
listeners.

“Wan't you terribly scairt, Bleecker?” asked Dame
Van Corlear.

“Well, I must say those health-officers frightened
me a little—for I was rather puny then, and they
seemed to hesitate on my case, one feeling of me, and
the other standing by with his scimetar. It was neck
or nothing then, ma'am. But they pushed me aside
and passed on, and the next day I found myself
wheeling a barrow of dirt up a steep hill, a Sisyphan
sort of amusement, which I was allowed to pursue
steadily for the next eighteen months, after which I
was promoted to laying stone. I shouldn't have cared
so much for the work, for I grew as fat as a seal on
it, but it was rather aggravating to be ordered about
by a black Moor, with a turban on his head, sixteen
inches of beard, and a whip in his hand.”

“And you a patroon's son, too,” said Aunt Schermerhorn.

“And I a patroon's son, too,” said Derick.

There were some points in this story which aroused
the pettifogging spirit of Van Bummel not a little

and he began to square himself for a few puzzling
cross-questions, his very spectacles assuming for a
moment an air of triumph, when he fortunately remembered
that his interest was on the other side,
which, on the whole, he concluded must be the right
side, saying nothing at all about the investments.
Gertrude had not been present during the latter part
of the consultation, but she was soon informed of its
result. A stormy train of passions continued to agitate
her mind, but amidst them all was nought of commiseration
for Harry; no thought of self-censure,
humility, or submission.