University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
WHICH RECORDS MR. BELCHER'S CONNECTION WITH A GREAT
SPECULATION AND BRINGS TO A CLOSE HIS RESIDENCE IN
SEVENOAKS.

Whither was he going? He had a little fortune in his
pockets—more money than prudent men are in the habit of
carrying with them—and a scheme in his mind. After the
purchase of Palgrave's Folly, and the inauguration of a scale
of family expenditure far surpassing all his previous experience,
Mr. Belcher began to feel poor, and to realize the necessity
of extending his enterprise. To do him justice, he
felt that he had surpassed the proprieties of domestic life in
taking so important a step as that of changing his residence
without consulting Mrs. Belcher. He did not wish to meet
her at once; so it was easy for him, when he left New York,
to take a wide diversion on his way home.

For several months the reports of the great oil discoveries
of Pennsylvania had been floating through the press. Stories
of enormous fortunes acquired in a single week, and even in
a single day, were rife; and they had excited his greed with
a strange power. He had witnessed, too, the effect of these
stories upon the minds of the humble people of Sevenoaks.
They were uneasy in their poverty, and were in the habit of
reading with avidity all the accounts that emanated from the
new center of speculation. The monsters of the sea had long
been chased into the ice, and the whalers had returned with
scantier fares year after year; but here was light for the
world. The solid ground itself was echoing with the cry:
“Here she blows!” and “There she blows!” and the long

harpoons went down to its vitals, and were fairly lifted out
by the pressure of the treasure that impatiently waited for deliverance.

Mr. Belcher had long desired to have a hand in this new
business. To see a great speculation pass by without yielding
him any return was very painful to him. During his brief stay
in New York he had been approached by speculators from the
new field of promise; and had been able by his quick wit
and ready business instinct to ascertain just the way in
which money was made and was to be made. He dismissed
them all, for he had the means in his hands of starting nearer
the sources of profit than themselves, and to be not only one
of the “bottom ring,” but to be the bottom man. No
moderate profit and no legitimate income would satisfy him.
He would gather the investments of the multitude into his
own capacious pockets, or he would have nothing to do with
the matter. He would sweep the board, fairly or foully, or
he would not play.

As he traveled along westward, he found that the company
was made up of men whose tickets took them to his own
destination. Most of them were quiet, with ears open to the
few talkers who had already been there, and were returning.
Mr. Belcher listened to them, laughed at them, scoffed at their
schemes, and laid up carefully all that they said. Before he
arrived at Corry he had acquired a tolerable knowledge of
the oil-fields, and determined upon his scheme of operations.

As he drew nearer the great center of excitement, he came
more into contact with the masses who had gathered there,
crazed with the spirit of speculation. Men were around him
whose clothes were shining with bitumen. The air was loaded
with the smell of petroleum. Derricks were thrown up on
every side; drills were at work piercing the earth; villages
were starting among stumps still fresh at the top, as if their
trees were cut but yesterday; rough men in high boots were
ranging the country; the depots were glutted with portable
steam-engines and all sorts of mining machinery, and there

was but one subject of conversation. Some new well had
begun to flow with hundreds of barrels of petroleum per
diem. Some new man had made a fortune. Farmers, who
had barely been able to get a living from their sterile
acres, had become millionaires. The whole region was alive
with fortune-hunters, from every quarter of the country.
Millions of dollars were in the pockets of men who were
ready to purchase. Seedy, crazy, visionary fellows were
working as middle-men, to talk up schemes, and win their
bread, with as much more as they could lay their hands on.
The very air was charged with the contagion of speculation,
and men seemed ready to believe anything and do anything.
It appeared, indeed, as if a man had only to buy, to double
his money in a day; and half the insane multitude believed
it.

Mr. Belcher kept himself quiet, and defended himself from
the influences around him by adopting and holding his scoffing
mood. He believed nothing. He was there simply to
see what asses men could make of themselves; but he kept
his ears open. The wretched hotel at which he at last found
accommodations was thronged with fortune-seekers, among
whom he moved self-possessed and quite at home. On the
second day his mood began to tell on those around him.
There were men there who knew about him and his great
wealth—men who had been impressed with his sagacity. He
studied them carefully, gave no one his confidence, and quietly
laid his plans. On the evening of the third day he returned
to the hotel, and announced that he had had the good fortune
to purchase a piece of property that he proposed to operate
and improve on his own account.

Then he was approached with propositions for forming a
company. He had paid fifty thousand dollars for a farm—
paid the money—and before morning he had sold half of it
for what he gave for the whole, and formed a company with
the nominal capital of half a million of dollars, a moiety of
the stock being his own at no cost to him whatever. The

arrangements were all made for the issue of stock and the
commencement of operations, and when, three days afterward,
he started from Titusville on his way home, he had in his
satchel blank certificates of stock, all signed by the officers of
the Continental Petroleum Company, to be limited in its issue
to the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He
never expected to see the land again. He did not expect that
the enterprise would be of the slightest value to those who
should invest in it. He expected to do just what others were
doing—to sell his stock and pocket the proceeds, while investors
pocketed their losses. It was all an acute business operation
with him; and he intended to take advantage of the
excitement of the time to “clean out” Sevenoaks and all the
region round about his country home, while his confreres
operated in their own localities. He chuckled over his plans
as if he contemplated some great, good deed that would be
of incalculable benefit to his neighbors. He suffered no
qualm of conscience, no revolt of personal honor, no spasm
of sympathy or pity.

As soon as he set out upon his journey homeward he began
to think of his New York purchase. He had taken a bold
step, and he wished that he had said something to Mrs.
Belcher about his plans, but he had been so much in the habit
of managing everything in his business without consulting her,
that it did not occur to him before he started from home that
any matter of his was not exclusively his own. He would
just as soon have thought of taking Phipps into his confidence,
or of deferring to his wishes in any project, as of extending
those courtesies to his wife. There was another consideration
which weighed somewhat heavily upon his mind.
He was not entirely sure that he would not be ashamed of
Mrs. Belcher in the grand home which he had provided for
himself. He respected her, and had loved her in his poor,
sensual fashion, some changeful years in the past; he had
regarded her as a good mother, and, at least, as an inoffensive
wife; but she was not Mrs. Dillingham. She would not be

at home in the society of which he had caught a glimpse, or
among the splendors to which he would be obliged to introduce
her. Even Talbot, the man who was getting rich upon
the products of his enterprise, had a more impressive wife
than he. And thus, with much reflection, this strange, easy-natured
brute without a conscience, wrought up his soul into
self-pity. In some way he had been defrauded. It never
could have been intended that a man capable of winning so
many of his heart's desires as he had proved himself to be,
should be tied to a woman incapable of illuminating and
honoring his position. If he only had a wife of whose person
he could be proud! If he only had a wife whose queenly
presence and manners would give significance to the splendors
of the Palgrave mansion!

There was no way left for him, however, but to make the
best of his circumstances, and put a brave face upon the matter.
Accordingly, the next morning after his arrival, he told,
with such display of enthusiasm as he could assume, the story
of his purchase. The children were all attention, and made
no hesitation to express their delight with the change that lay
before them. Mrs. Belcher grew pale, choked over her breakfast,
and was obliged to leave the table. At the close of the
meal, Mr. Belcher followed her to her room, and found her
with dry eyes and an angry face.

“Robert, you have determined to kill me,” she said, almost
fiercely.

“Oh, no, Sarah; not quite so bad as that.”

“How could you take a step which you knew would give
me a life-long pain? Have I not suffered enough? Is it not
enough that I have ceased practically to have a husband?—
that I have given up all society, and been driven in upon my
children? Am I to have no will, no consideration, no part
or lot in my own life?”

“Put it through, Sarah; you have the floor, and I'm ready
to take it all now.”

“And it is all for show,” she went on, “and is disgusting.

There is not a soul in the city that your wealth can bring to
me that will give me society. I shall be a thousand times
lonelier there than I have been here; and you compel me to
go where I must receive people whom I shall despise, and
who, for that reason, will dislike me. You propose to
force me into a life that is worse than emptiness. I am
more nearly content here than I can ever be anywhere
else, and I shall never leave here without a cruel sense of sacrifice.”

“Good for you, Sarah!” said Mr. Belcher. “You're
more of a trump than I thought you were; and if it will do
you any good to know that I think I've been a little rough
with you, I don't mind telling you so. But the thing is done,
and it can't be undone. You can have your own sort of life
there as you do here, and I can have mine. I suppose I could
go there and run the house alone; but it isn't exactly the
thing for Mrs. Belcher's husband to do. People might talk,
you know, and they wouldn't blame me.”

“No; they would blame me, and I must go, whether I
wish to go or not.”

Mrs. Belcher had talked until she could weep, and brushing
her eyes she walked to the window. Mr. Belcher sat still-casting
furtive glances at her, and drumming with his fingers
on his knees. When she could sufficiently command herself,
she returned, and said:

“Robert, I have tried to be a good wife to you. I helped
you in your first struggles, and then you were a comfort to
me. But your wealth has changed you, and you know that
for ten years I have had no husband. I have humored your
caprices; I have been careful not to cross your will. I have
taken your generous provision, and made myself and my
children what you desired; but I am no more to you than a
part of your establishment. I do not feel that my position is
an honorable one. I wish to God that I had one hope that it
would ever become so.”

“Well, by-by, Sarah. You'll feel better about it.”

Then Mr. Belcher stooped and kissed her forehead, and
left her.

That little attention—that one shadow of recognition of
the old relations, that faint show of feeling—went straight to
her starving heart. And then, assuming blame for what
seemed, at the moment of reaction, her unreasonable selfishness,
she determined to say no more, and to take uncomplainingly
whatever life her husband might provide for her.

As for Mr. Belcher, he went off to his library and his cigar
with a wound in his heart. The interview with his wife,
while it had excited in him a certain amount of pity for her,
had deepened his pity for himself. She had ceased to be
what she had once been to him; yet his experience in the
city had proved that there were still women in the world who
could excite in him the old passion, and move him to the old
gallantries. It was clearly a case of incipient “incompatibility.”
It was “the mistake of a lifetime” just discovered,
though she had borne his children and held his respect for
fifteen years. He still felt the warmth of Mrs. Dillingham's
hands within his own, the impression of her confiding clasp
upon his arm, and the magnetic influence of her splendid
presence. Reason as he would, he felt defrauded of his
rights; and he wondered whether any combination of circumstances
would ever permit him to achieve them. As this
amounted to wondering whether Mrs. Belcher would die, he
strove to banish the question from his mind; but it returned
and returned again so pertinaciously that he was glad to order
his horses and ride to his factory.

Before night it became noised through the village that the
great proprietor had been to the oil regions. The fact was
talked over among the people in the shops, in the street, in
social groups that gathered at evening; and there was great
curiosity to know what he had learned, and what opinions he
had formed. Mr. Belcher knew how to play his cards, and
having set the people talking, he filled out and sent to each
of the wives of the five pastors of the village, as a gift, a certificate

of five shares of the stock of the Continental Petroleum
Company. Of course, they were greatly delighted,
and, of course, twenty-four hours had not passed by when
every man, woman and child in Sevenoaks was acquainted
with the transaction. People began to revise their judgments
of the man whom they had so severely condemned. After
all, it was the way in which he had done things in former
days, and though they had come to a vivid apprehension of
the fact that he had done them for a purpose, which invariably
terminated in himself, they could not see what there was
to be gained by so munificent a gift. Was he not endeavoring,
by self-sacrifice, to win back a portion of the consideration
he had formerly enjoyed? Was it not a confession of
wrong-doing, or wrong judgment? There were men who
shook their heads, and “didn't know about it;” but the preponderance
of feeling was on the side of the proprietor, who
sat in his library and imagined just what was in progress
around him,—nay, calculated upon it, as a chemist calculates
the results of certain combinations in his laboratory. He
knew the people a great deal better than they knew him, or
even themselves.

Miss Butterworth called at the house of the Rev. Solomon
Snow, who, immediately upon her entrance, took his seat in
his arm-chair, and adjusted his bridge. The little woman was
so combative and incisive that this always seemed a necessary
precaution on the part of that gentleman.

“I want to see it!” said Miss Butterworth, without the
slightest indication of the object of her curiosity.

Mrs. Snow rose without hesitation, and, going to a trunk
in her bedroom, brought out her precious certificate of stock,
and placed it in the hands of the tailoress.

It certainly was a certificate of stock, to the amount of five
shares, in the Continental Petroleum Company, and Mr. Belcher's
name was not among the signatures of the officers.

“Well, that beats me!” exclaimed Miss Butterworth.
“What do you suppose the old snake wants now?”

“That's just what I say—just what I say,” responded Mrs.
Snow. “Goodness knows, if it's worth anything, we need
it; but what does he want?”

“You'll find out some time. Take my word for it, he has
a large axe to grind.”

“I think,” said Mr. Snow judicially, “that it is quite
possible that we have been unjust to Mr. Belcher. He is certainly
a man of generous instincts, but with great eccentricities.
Before condemning him in toto (here Mr. Snow opened
his bridge to let out the charity that was rising within him,
and closed it at once for fear Miss Butterworth would get in a
protest), let us be sure that there is a possible selfish motive
for this most unexpected munificence. When we ascertain
the true state of the case, then we can take things as they air.
Until we have arrived at the necessary knowledge, it becomes
us to withhold all severe judgments. A generous deed has its
reflex influence; and it may be that some good may come to
Mr. Belcher from this, and help to mold his character to
nobler issues. I sincerely hope it may, and that we shall
realize dividends that will add permanently to our somewhat
restricted sources of income.”

Miss Butterworth sat during the speech, and trotted her
knee. She had no faith in the paper, and she frankly said so.

“Don't be fooled,” she said to Mrs. Snow. “By and by
you will find out that it is all a trick. Don't expect anything.
I tell you I know Robert Belcher, and I know he's a knave,
if there ever was one. I can feel him—I can feel him now—
chuckling over this business, for business it is.”

“What would you do if you were in my place?” inquired
Mrs. Snow. “Would you send it back to him?”

“Yes, or I'd take it with a pair of tongs and throw it out
of the window. I tell you there's a nasty trick done up in
that paper; and if you're going to keep it, don't say anything
about it.”

The family laughed, and even Mr. Snow unbent himself so
far as to smile and wipe his spectacles. Then the little

tailoress went away, wondering when the mischief would reveal
itself, but sure that it would appear in good time. In
good time—that is, in Mr. Belcher's good time—it did appear.

To comprehend the excitement that followed, it must be
remembered that the people of Sevenoaks had the most implicit
confidence in Mr. Belcher's business sagacity. He had
been upon the ground, and knew personally all about the great
discoveries. Having investigated for himself, he had invested
his funds in this Company. If the people could only embark
in his boat, they felt that they should be safe. He would defend
their interests while defending his own. So the field was
all ready for his reaping. Not Sevenoaks alone, but the whole
country was open to any scheme which connected them with
the profits of these great discoveries, and when the excitement
at Sevenoaks passed away at last, and men regained their
senses, in the loss of their money, they had the company of
a multitude of ruined sympathizers throughout the length and
breadth of the land. Not only the simple and the impressible
yielded to the wave of speculation that swept the country, but
the shrewdest business men formed its crest, and were thrown
high and dry beyond all others, in the common wreck, when
it reached the shore.

On the evening of the fourth day after his return, Mr. Belcher
was waited upon at his house by a self-constituted committee
of citizens, who merely called to inquire into the
wonders of the region he had explored. Mr. Belcher was
quite at his ease, and entered at once upon a narrative of his
visit. He had supposed that the excitement was without any
good foundation, but the oil was really there; and he did not
see why the business was not as legitimate and sound as any
in the world. The whole world needed the oil, and this was
the one locality which produced it. There was undoubtedly
more or less of wild speculation connected with it, and, considering
the value of the discoveries, it was not to be wondered
at. On the whole, it was the biggest thing that had
turned up during his lifetime.

Constantly leading them away from the topic of investment,
he regaled their ears with the stories of the enormous
fortunes that had been made, until there was not a man before
him who was not ready to invest half the fortune he possessed
in the speculation. Finally, one of the more frank and impatient
of the group informed Mr. Belcher that they had
come prepared to invest, if they found his report favorable.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Belcher, “I really cannot take the
responsibility of advising you. I can act for myself, but
when it comes to advising my neighbors, it is another matter
entirely. You really must excuse me from this. I have gone
into the business rather heavily, but I have done it without
advice, and you must do the same. It isn't right for any man
to lead another into experiments of this sort, and it is hardly
the fair thing to ask him to do it. I've looked for myself,
but the fact that I am satisfied is no good reason for your
being so.”

“Very well, tell us how to do it,” said the spokesman.
“We cannot leave our business to do what you have done,
and we shall be obliged to run some risk, if we go into it at
all.”

“Now, look here,” said the wily proprietor, “you are putting
me in a hard place. Suppose the matter turns out badly:
are you going to come to me, and charge me with leading you
into it?”

“Not at all,” was responded, almost in unison.

“If you want to go into the Continental, I presume there
is still some stock to be had. If you wish me to act as your
agent, I will serve you with a great deal of pleasure, but,
mark you, I take no responsibility. I will receive your money,
and you shall have your certificates as soon as the mail will
bring them; and, if I can get no stock of the Company, you
shall have some of my own.”

They protested that they did not wish to put him to
inconvenience, but quietly placed their money in his hands.
Every sum was carefully counted and recorded, and Mr. Belcher

assured them that they should have their certificates
within five days.

As they retired, he confidentially told them that they had
better keep the matter from any but their particular friends.
If there was any man among those friends who would like “a
chance in,” he might come to him, and he would do what he
could for him.

Each of these men went off down the hill, full of dreams
of sudden wealth, and, as each of them had three or four
particular friends to whom Mr. Belcher's closing message was
given, that gentleman was thronged with visitors the next
day, each one of whom he saw alone. All of these, too, had
particular friends, and within ten days Mr. Belcher had
pocketed in his library the munificent sum of one hundred
and fifty thousand dollars. After a reasonable period, each
investor received a certificate of his stock through the mail.

It was astonishing to learn that there was so much money
in the village. It came in sums of one hundred up to five
hundred dollars, from the most unexpected sources—little
hoards that covered the savings of many years. It came from
widows and orphans; it came from clergymen; it came from
small tradesmen and farmers; it came from the best business
men in the place and region.

The proprietor was in daily communication with his confederates
and tools, and the investors were one day electrified
by the information that the Continental had declared a
monthly dividend of two per cent. This was what was needed
to unload Mr. Belcher of nearly all the stock he held, and,
within one month of his arrival from the oil-fields, he had
realized a sum sufficient to pay for his new purchase in the
city, and the costly furniture with which he proposed to illuminate
it.

Sevenoaks was happy. The sun of prosperity had dawned
upon the people, and the favored few who supposed that they
were the only ones to whom the good fortune had come, were
surprised to find themselves a great multitude. The dividend

was the talk of the town. Those who had invested a portion
of their small means invested more, and those whose good
angel had spared them from the sacrifice yielded to the glittering
temptation, and joined their lot with their rejoicing
neighbors. Mr. Belcher walked or drove among them, and
rubbed his hands over their good fortune. He knew very well
that if he were going to reside longer among the people, his
position would be a hard one; but he calculated that when
the explosion should come, he should be beyond its reach.

It was a good time for him to declare the fact that he was
about to leave them; and this he did. An earthquake would
not have filled them with greater surprise and consternation.
The industries of the town were in his hands. The principal
property of the village was his. He was identified with the
new enterprise upon which they had built such high hope,
and they had come to believe that he was a kindlier man than
they had formerly supposed him to be.

Already, however, there were suspicions in many minds that
there were bubbles on their oil, ready to burst, and reveal the
shallowness of the material beneath them; but these very
suspicions urged them to treat Mr. Belcher well, and to keep
him interested for them. They protested against his leaving
them. They assured him of their friendship. They told him
that he had grown up among them, and that they could not
but feel that he belonged to them. They were proud of the
position and prosperity he had won for himself. They fawned
upon him, and when, at last, he told them that it was too
late—that he had purchased and furnished a home for himself
in the city—they called a public meeting, and, after a dozen
regretful and complimentary speeches, from clergy and laity,
resolved:

“1st. That we have learned with profound regret that our
distinguished fellow-citizen, Robert Belcher, Esq., is about
to remove his residence from among us, and to become a citizen
of the commercial emporium of our country.

“2d. That we recognize in him a gentleman of great business

enterprise, of generous instincts, of remarkable public
spirit, and a personal illustration of the beneficent influence
of freedom and of free democratic institutions.

“3d. That the citizens of Sevenoaks will ever hold in
kindly remembrance a gentleman who has been identified
with the growth and importance of their beloved village, and
that they shall follow him to his new home with heartiest
good wishes and prayers for his welfare.

“4th. That whenever in the future his heart and his steps
shall turn toward his old home, and the friends of his youth,
he shall be greeted with voices of welcome, and hearts and
homes of hospitality.

“5th. That these resolutions shall be published in the
county papers, and that a copy shall be presented to the gentleman
named therein, by a committee to be appointed by
the chairman.”

As was quite natural, and quite noteworthy, under the circumstances,
the committee appointed was composed of those
most deeply interested in the affairs of the Continental Petrolcum
Company.

Mr. Belcher received the committee very graciously, and
made them a neat little speech, which he had carefully prepared
for the occasion. In concluding, he alluded to the
great speculation in which they, with so many of their fellow-citizens,
had embarked.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “there is no one who holds so
large an interest in the Continental as myself. I have parted
with many of my shares to gratify the desire of the people
of Sevenoaks to possess them, but I still hold more than any
of you. If the enterprise prospers, I shall prosper with you.
If it goes down, as I sincerely hope it may not—more for
your sakes, believe me, than my own—I shall suffer with you.
Let us hope for the best. I have already authority for announcing
to you that another monthly dividend of two per cent.
will be paid you before I am called upon to leave you. That
certainly looks like prosperity. Gentlemen, I bid you farewell.”

When they had departed, having first heartily shaken the
proprietor's hand, that gentleman locked his door, and gazed
for a long time into his mirror.

“Robert Belcher,” said he, “are you a rascal? Who says
rascal? Are you any worse than the crowd? How badly
would any of these precious fellow-citizens of yours feel if
they knew their income was drawn from other men's pockets?
Eh? Wouldn't they prefer to have somebody suffer rather
than lose their investments? Verily, verily, I say unto you,
they would. Don't talk to me about being a rascal! You're
just a little sharper than the rest of them—that's all. They
wanted to get money without earning it, and wanted me to
help them to do it. I wanted to get money without earning
it, and I wanted them to help me to do it. It happens that
they will be disappointed and that I am satisfied. Don't say
rascal to me, sir. If I ever hear that word again I'll throttle
you. Is that question settled? It is? Very well. Let
there be peace between us. * * * List! I hear the roar
of the mighty city! Who lives in yonder palace? Whose
wealth surrounds him thus with luxuries untold? Who walks
out of yonder door and gets into that carriage, waiting with
impatient steeds? Is that gentleman's name Belcher? Take
a good look at him as he rolls away, bowing right and left to
the gazing multitude. He is gone. The abyss of heaven
swallows up his form, and yet I linger. Why lingerest thou?
Farewell! and again I say, farewell!”

Mr. Belcher had very carefully covered all his tracks. He
had insisted on having his name omitted from the list of
officers of the Continental Petroleum Company. He had
carefully forwarded the names of all who had invested in its
stock for record, so that, if the books should ever be brought
to light, there should be no apparent irregularity in his dealings.
His own name was there with the rest, and a small
amount of money had been set aside for operating expenses,
so that something would appear to have been done.

The day approached for his departure, and his agent, with

his family, was installed in his house for its protection; and
one fine morning, having first posted on two or three public
places the announcement of a second monthly dividend to be
paid through his agent to the stockholders in the Continental,
he, with his family, rode down the hill in his coach, followed
by an enormous baggage-wagon loaded with trunks, and
passed through the village. Half of Sevenoaks was out to
witness the departure. Cheers rent the air from every group;
and if a conqueror had returned from the most sacred patriotic
service he could not have received a heartier ovation
than that bestowed upon the graceless fugitive. He bowed
from side to side in his own lordly way, and flourished and
extended his pudgy palm in courtly courtesy.

Mrs. Belcher sat back in her seat, shrinking from all these
demonstrations, for she knew that her husband was unworthy
of them. The carriages disappeared in the distance, and
then—sad, suspicious, uncommunicative—the men went off to
draw their last dividend and go about their work. They
fought desperately against their own distrust. In the proportion
that they doubted the proprietor they were ready to defend
him; but there was not a man of them who had not been
fairly warned that he was running his own risk, and who had
not sought for the privilege of throwing away his money.