Ambrose Fecit, or, The peer and the printer :: :: University of Virginia Library

The next morning I arose before my
companion. I found Potter and his
wife busy, the latter about household
matters, and the former in-doors and
out; but as there was no opportunity
for the desired conference, I left the
house and walked up the stream, to
the spot on which we had camped the
night before. I went to the fire, which
still smouldered, examined the ashes,
and then looked for more lumps of the
coal. I found these scattered in every
direction, having been washed from
the hills by floods. It proved to be an
exceedingly fat cannel-coal, a mineral
I was not then aware was to be found
in the United States. I next endeavored
to discover it in its original situation,
and soon found it where the stratum
crossed the brook, and had been
washed clean by the flow of water. I
measured the seam by my hand, and
estimated it to be nearly four feet from
roof to floor. The seams of cannel-coal
in Scotland are much thinner than
this, and yet are profitably worked. I
thought the discovery might possibly
be turned to account, and walked quietly
back.

Breakfast was ready when I returned,
and Archbold had arisen. We sat
down, and while eating engaged in
conversation.

“How much land do you hold here?”
I asked.

“Eight hundred acres, and about
forty of it first-rate bottom land,” was
the answer. “But if I could sell out,
I'd go back to the old country again,
for I've picked up something by ranging
cattle in these hills, and I could
live snugly enough on it in Lincolnshire.
I've got neither chick nor child,
both my sons are dead, and I'd like to
lay my bones in the old church-yard at
home.”

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“What do you hold your land at?”

“Well, the bottom land is worth,
with the improvements, say thirty dollars
an acre, and cheap at that; and
the hill land about a dollar and a quarter.
That's—let me see—over twenty-one
hundred dollars, but I'd take a little
less for cash. That's the worst of
it, for you can't sell here, except for
long credits.”

“How far up this creek do you go?”

“About a mile, and down clear to
the mouth, with a narrow strip on the
river.”

“I think I might buy myself, if we
could agree,” I said.

“You think of settling here, then?”

“No, but I'd like to own it. I've
taken a fancy to the place.”

“You'd have to declare yourself a
citizen, or you couldn't hold it, I think.
I don't know much about the law, but
I think that's the case.”

I looked, I suppose, disappointed.

“Oh,” said Archbold, “if you really
want to buy that can be arranged. I
believe he is right that an alien can't
well hold real estate in this Commonwealth,
or at least can't transmit it;
but an enabling act could be got
through the Legislature easy enough.
It often passes such bills; and in the
meanwhile you could take a covenant
title. I think, by the by, some of the
larger tracts are held abroad by special
act.”

“Oh, that will answer. What is the
lowest you could take in cash?”

“Well,” said Potter, reflectingly,
“if you really want to buy, I'd take
two thousand dollars, and you to pay
for drawing the papers, and not a cent
less.”

“I'll take it. Here's ten dollars be
fore witness to bind the bargain. We'll
have the papers drawn to-day.”

And I handed Potter a gold coin.

“You're pretty quick,” said he, “but
it's a bargain. And as you were talking
about your tract, Mr. Archbold,”
he added, “I can tell you your line
joins mine. I can show you one of
your corner-trees about a mile from
this, a poplar, up a dry branch. So
your friend and you will be near neighbors.”

“Suppose you show it to me this
morning,” said Archbold, seizing the
opportunity to afford me the promised
interview with Potter's wife.

“Agreed,” said the other.

In the course of a half hour the woman
and I were alone together.

“Now,” said she, “I speak bad English.
Do you speak Spanish?”

“Yes.”

She addressed me then in the language
of the Peninsula.

“Why do you change your name to
Brooks? Is your father alive?”

“That is more than I can tell,” I
said, “for I do not know who he is.”

I had thought her crazy, but there
was not a little method in her madness,
if she were so.

“Do not know!” she ejaculated.
“What do you mean? What is your
real name, then?”

“Fecit. At least that is the name
given me, because they had no other
at hand, I suppose.”

“I must be mistaken, and yet—your
face—it is too marked. If your father
be dead, you should have succeeded to
his title. What is your history? Who
are you that comes here into the wild
forest, and brings up with that face
and tone, the memories of the past?

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Speak!”

Should I tell her? It would do no
harm, I thought. What should I care
for this stranger in the woods of Virginia?
If she were mad, what then?
I briefly narrated the story of my having
been placed as a babe in the hands
of Mr. Guttenberg.

“Yes, I know all that,” she said
when I had closed, “but did not the
valet keep his promise?”

“I'm sure I don't know. Explain
yourself.”

“I will explain when we meet in
England. Buy this place. Then my
husband will go; but do you follow
us there.”

“I have bought it, but I can't go
home because—well, you don't know
him, but I have unwittingly incurred
the ill-will of the Earl of Landys; and
I had better keep out of his way?”

“He! why should he injure you?”

“That is what I cannot tell.”

“He! impossible! But go to England.
There has been wrong done to
you somehow. It shall be righted.”

All farther I could get from her was
the injunction to go to England as
speedily as possible, and wait for her.
Presently Potter and Archbold return
ed, and with them a stranger.

“As you seemed in a hurry,” said
Potter, “I thought I'd bring Squire
Adkins to draw them papers.”

“Thank you,” said I, “I'm quite
ready.”

The covenant to convey was drawn,
executed, and duly witnessed, and it
was arranged that the money was to
be paid, the title perfected, and the
deeds made to me or my assigns, within
three months. We shook hands
with our host, who would accept no
pay for our entertainment, and, bow
ing to the wife, we mounted our horses
and rode away.

“You have some strong motive in
buying this mountain land?” was Archbold's
question, as we rode along.

“I have,” I answered, and then gave
him the secret. When we came to the
bare stratum in the creek bottom, I
pointed it out to him.

“Do you think it so valuable, then?”
he asked.

“Certainly. It is worth much more
than the other coal, and will cost less
to mine and transport. Coal River
can be readily made navigable by a
company, and Kanawha is already fit
for coal barges during more than half
the year. Wait awhile, and you will
see.”

“By Jove! if that should prove to
be as you assert, I am the better off
for it, for by the bearing of this stream
it goes right through a corner of my
tract. I must see to it.”

We remained in the neighborhood
for several days, quite long enough for
Archbold, under the pretence of hunting,
to see that he had a goodly share
of the benefits of my discovery; and
after boxing up some specimens, and
sending them by wagon to Kanawha
to be shipped to New York, we started
for home, by the way of the White
Sulphur Springs, first selling our horses
at the town of Charleston, on Kanawha.

When we arrived at New York,
Archbold brought a noted speculator
into our counsels, who undertook to
engineer the matter through, for a per
centage on the nett proceeds. So systematically
and energetically did he go
to work, having paragraphs inserted
in the journals, and capitalists approached
in various effective ways,

120

that he soon had a fever among monied
men. Nothing was talked of in Wall
street but cannel coal, and the possibility
of supplying the population of
the Mississippi valley from a single
seam. A geologist was sent out, and
a chemist employed to analyze the coal.
On the favorable report of these a company
was formed. The stock was taken
rapidly, and my eight hundred
acres, with seven hundred from Archbold's
tract, was transferred to the
new corporation. In nine week's time
I had received, as my nett profits, after
our broker's commission had been
paid, the sum of seventeen thousand
dollars in cash, and an equal sum in
stock of the new company, which I at
once sold at ten per cent. discount.

This realized me in cash over thirty-two
thousand dollars. I felt, however
trifling the amount might he to millionaires,
with such a little fortune at my
command, I would be considered well-to-do-in-the-world
at home.

I wrote at once to both Sharp and
Paul an account of my good fortune,
and was in a state of bewildered delight
for some time.

About a week after I had written
home, I received the following letter:

“My dear Ambrose:—You have been
nearly four years absent from England,
and I have done my best to send
and keep you away. Now, I write to
you to urge you to come back.

“The Earl of Landys died at his
place near Puttenham last week. According
to that veracious sheet, the
Chronicle, `the deceased earl has closed
a life of public usefulness and private
worth, to the great regret of his friends,
and the irreparable loss of his tenantry
and dependants. His late lordship will
be succeeded in his title and estates
by his only son, Francis, a minor, who
is under the guardianship of his noble
mother.'

“Much reliance to be placed on the
newspapers, to be sure! You know
what his private worth amounted to,
and you may judge how much his loss
will affect his tenantry; but as to the
succession you don't know. A new
claimant has arisen to the title and
estates, and I think there can be no
donbt the new-comer will win. That
is the only legitimate daughter of the
late Earl, with his lawful wife—to sum
up shortly—our little Zara.

“And now you will want to know
all about it. I have sat down for the
purpose of writing you the points of
this singular case.

“It appears that eighteen years ago
the Hon. Mr. Marston, then only a commoner,
was in Spain, where he had
been traveling over a year. At the
commencement of the term of travel,
he had become acquainted with the
Conde de Espinel, a wealthy nobleman
of high political influence, and was his
invited guest. The Count had a son,
Silvan, and a daughter, Zara. He had
also a younger brother, Jose, who was
in orders, and was a friar, and the head
of a religious house. Mr. Marston fell
violently in love, or fancied he did,
with the daughter, who returned his
passion. The father acceded to the
match. The son, who was weakly in
constitution, and a bigoted devotee,
objected to it on the ground of a difference
of religion in the parties, but
really because he hated Marston. The
Count fell from his horse, and died from
the effects of the fall. Silvan, now
the head of the house, withdrew the
consent for the marriage. The customary
steps on the part of the lovers followed.

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The uncle, won over by the
tears of his niece, of whom he was
very fond, married the two secretly,
after they had been previously married
by the chaplain of the British Embassy.
The marriage was kept secret,
but the birth of a daughter, little Zara,
revealed it, and Count Silvan was indignant.
He declared the couple should
never come together, if he could help
it; and Marston seemed anxious to aid
him, or was tired of his wife, for he
left Spain and was heard of no more.
His wife was fragile, and the double
blow of her husband's desertion and
her brother's cruelty proved too much
for her. She went into a rapid decline,
and died, leaving Zara under her uncle's
charge. She was taken care of,
however, though grudgingly. Her father
never appeared to claim her, and
it turned out afterward that the message
sent to England, in regard to the
mother's illness, had been misinterpreted
into the death of both mother
and child. In the meanwhile Marston
was much embarrassed in his affairs;
he had obtained no money from his
marriage, and tempted by the fortune
of a wealthy heiress, he married again.
Unfortunately for himself, the new
marriage was performed a week before
his wife really died.

“Don Silvan died about nine years
after, and through political influence,
Don Jose, his uncle, was released from
his vows, and succeeded his nephew
as the next heir. He pitied Zara, for
his dead niece's sake, and determined
to have justice done her. He came to
England, and his visit to Puttenham
startled the new Earl of Landys, who
had long before discovered his involuntary
bigamy. He discovered the
presence of his daughter also, and af
ter consulting with Osborne, it was
determined to put Espinel out of the
way on the first opportunity, and obtain
possession of Zara, who was to be
educated at some convent abroad, in
ignorance of her true birth. In the
meanwhile he must have caused the
alteration of the church register, postdating
his marriage.

“Espinel was desirous, on account
of Zara, to disgrace her father as little
as possible, and, after consulting with
the Duke of Sellingbourne, whom he
had known while the latter served as
Ambassador to Spain, it was agreed
to put the evidence in such a shape as
to secure Zara's rights on her father's
death, and then leave all to time. The
Earl was unaware of his noble relative's
intimacy with the facts, and pursued
his own plan against Espinel.
He finally succeeded in having the latter
taken to the lunatic asylum, where
he thought he would be buried for life.
You were taken also, partly because
he thought you involved in the secret,
but partly, it appears, for another reason,
though we have not been able to
quite fathom that. He was preparing
to seize Zara when the escape occurred.
A message was now sent him,
that any farther attempts would be
followed by a public exposure of the
facts, bigamy and all, but if he refrained
the secret was safe during his life-time.
This communication came from,
and was signed by the Duke, with
whom the Earl did not think it prudent
to wage war. So he suspended operations,
content with the assurance,
which, coming from the quarter it did,
was to be relied on.

“His intentions with regard to you,
which were discovered by Gifford, who
had overheard himand Osborne talk it

122

over, were to get you out of England,
by fair means or foul, for it appears
that the mysterious portrait had afforded
you a clue which it was not advisable
for you to be permitted to follow.
The snuff-box business was not
probably meant to cover you with infamy,
but as a means to force your departure.
There is a mystery about
that business apparently impenetrable.
At all events, it baffles my ingenuity.

“Immediately on the Earl's death, a
claim was laid to the Earldom and estates—a
possible female inheritance
by creation—on behalf of Zara Marston,
daughter of the late Earl of Landys
and Zara de Espinel. The fair
claimant is now at the house of the
Duke of Sellingbourne, whose daughter,
Lady Caroline Barre, formerly Lady
Caroline Bowlington, is there with her.
The land title, involving, in its result,
the title to the peerage, will come off
before very long. The relatives of the
younger Countess of Landys affect to
believe it to be a trumped-up case, and
fight fiercely for the right of the son.
The late Earl evidently knew better,
for before his death he had invested all
the money he could obtain in the hands
of trustees, for the son's benefit.

“Thus you have all the facts in this
singular case; and now—come home.
You have no reason to stay, unless you
have picked up an American wife, with
a copper skin, bells on her fingers, and
rings in her nose. I have been married
myself since I last wrote, and my
wife, who knew you well once, sends
her regards to you. So does Espinel.
So does a certain little, dark-eyed lady
whom I saw yesterday. So does also
Captain Berkeley—Captain no more.
He is back again—has been married to
what he calls a `doosid fine woman'—
is a Lieutenant-Colonel, to be farther
promoted, they say, to a Baronet, and
a Companion of the Bath. He has
picked up lots of `loot' in India, and,
horrible to relate, is growing fat.

“Yours ever,

“Paul Bagby.”

During the following week I started
for England.