University of Virginia Library

THE GREAT RHODE ISLAND SEAM:

A NARRATIVE, IN RHYME.

I.

Harmanus Van Brunck was an old Knickerbocker,
Who long sailed a ship in the Rotterdam trade;
Then retired from the sea, with “some shot in the locker,”
To build him a fig-tree, and sit in its shade.
So on Murray Hill he erected a mansion,
With a sort of indefinite sky-ward expansion;
A brown-stone front of the Folderol order,
With curlicues spread over every casement;
The ceilings dove-colored, with blue and gold border;
Gas introduced from the attic to basement;
Encaustic tiles for the pavement of halls,
Rosewood furniture, paintings on walls—
The first, in the style of Louis Quatorze;
The second bought cheap, through “the terrible wars,”
The dealer averred, with a wink so sly,
“In Europe,” but really “all in my eye”;
Curtains of silk to each window and bed,
And the costliest carpets to deaden the tread.
Never before was a fig-tree grown,
Of such beautiful mortar, and bricks and stone;
And sitting beneath its comforting shade,
Like Selkirk, the “monarch of all he surveyed,”
Van Brunck exclaimed—“I've left the seas,
Nothing to do, but to do as I please;
Henceforward I live me a life of ease;
Let the howling winds blow high, blow low—
Come heat, come cold, come rain, come snow,
Care or trouble no more I'll know.”

II.

But Captain Harmanus found out to his cost,
He had footed his bill without leave from his host;
That slippers of silk, and a downy bed,
Might still to a thousand woes be wed;
That in brown-stone fronts brown studies might be,
And rosewood furniture furnish ennui.
Familiar long with the tempest's strife,
Harmanus he missed his former life:
He missed the ship, that never missed stays,
He missed his sailors, with nautical ways;
He missed the heave of the foaming sea;
He missed the white-caps, driving free;
He missed the noise of the angry gale;
He missed the stretched and bellying sail;
He missed his cabin and worn-out traps;
He missed—no, he didn't! his dram of schnapps;
Though never yet knowing of married bliss,
He found his bachelor life amiss;
And, in spite of his brown-stone house and pelf,
Would have been very glad to have missed himself.
For hours by the windows he twiddled his thumbs,
With an eloquence silent as Orator Mum's;
He yawned and he gaped and he dawdled away,
From morning till evening, the wearisome day;
He took up the papers the hours to amuse,
And read thrice over the nautical news;
He travelled his parlors to and fro,
With a quarter-deck tramp and a whistle low;
Till it seemed at length, that Care, so grim,
Having killed a cat, was at work upon him.

III.

He took to wandering every day,
In a listless, do-nothing, feel-nothing way,
With his gold-headed cane of Malacca wood,
But with stately step, as a gentleman should,
To the pier where his ship was wont to lie,
To gaze on the scene with a lustreless eye.
There was the spot where his vessel had come,
Her sails all furled, and her anchor “home,”
In the days when he was a sailor free,
And whatever he saw, still went to sea.
Now she was absent, and he mourned the loss of her,
Wishing in vain that his bones felt the toss of her
Rollicking heave, as she sped with her freight;
But wishes like these were all too late:
She was away with another master,
Bearing her cargo of pipes and kanaster;
Oils odoriferous, women to please,
From blossoms as fragrant as those of the South;
Big boxes of more odoriferous cheese,
Which offended the nose, but delighted the mouth;
Spice from Batavia, ingots of tin,
Rotterdam sausage, Dutch herrings, and gin.
But he had abandoned such treasures as these,
To another had given his place on the seas;
Had fled from “duff,” “salt-horse,” and such,
Abandoned bilge-water, oakum, and pitch,
Surrendered forever his trade with the Dutch,
And settled him down as a gentleman rich.
And while the world was moving through
Its business orbit, with a din,
He only, it seemed, had nothing to do,
And plenty of leisure to do it in.

IV.

In most of these daily walks he met
A business man who seemed quite needy,
Whose coat was glossy, whose hat-rim's “set”
Had the curve of age, and whose look was seedy;
But whether the day was dark or light,
At the close of the morn, or the coming of night;
Whether the earth was parched and dry,
Or the rain fell fast from the cloudy sky,
This seedy man looked always worried,
As through the avenues swift he hurried,
With brow that was wrinkled with constant thought,
And the lines that a life of action had wrought;
All proving as clearly as anything can,
That this was a stirring and worrying man;
And, whatever his knowledge, that he never knew
The terrible trouble of nothing to do.
“By Jove,” said Captain Van Brunck, said he,
“This is the fellow, I think, for me.
He could relieve all my care, without doubt,
By giving me plenty to care about.
I'll ask him to indicate some pursuit,
And whatever he tells me to do, I'll do 't.”

V.

They formed acquaintance—when, or how,
I never learned, nor boots it now.
Enough, that to the stranger, there,
Impelled by hope, to lose his care,
Van Brunck, without interrogation,
Revealed his doleful situation.

VI.

“I pity you,” answered the seedy chap,
“For nothing to do, and the money in hand,
To such as you is a sad mishap,
And very exceedingly hard to stand.
Now, as for me, why I haven't a rap;
Scarcely a dollar can I command—
To find a shilling sometimes is hard—
(My name is Sharp, and there is my card!)
But I manage to get my grub each day,
Beside my share of a pleasant tap,
When a friend stands treat, and there's nothing to pay.
I drive my work in a quiet way,
And when the night has driven the day,
My wearied form on the bed I lay,
And take, what my hat now needs—a nap.
My fortune is to come as yet,
While yours, you tell me, has been made;
I have no doubt that wealth I'll get,
But not by process slow of trade.
No, sir! I have a project rare,
Suited to such a man as you,
Doubling your riches. Do not stare!
Something you'll shortly have to do,
Giving that joy you've sought in vain,
And making just such golden rain,
As Zee-us brought to woo the maid,
Miss Daniels, in the Grecian shade.”
(You see, the seedy man had read
The classics, in a free translation,
And, not remembering clearly, made,
In names and facts, some alteration.)
“Very well,” quoth the Captain, “your meaning make clear;
Pray develop your project; speak boldly and freely.”
“Some spying reporter,” Sharp answered, “might hear
And carry the details to Bennett or Greeley.
Let me see! it is three; I've no business at present
To trouble my head, so we'll lunch, if you say,
At Taylor's, and there we'll discuss it—'tis pleasant
To lunch with a friend, when there's nothing to pay.
'Tis a joy fit for monarchs, to ask a good fellow
To feed at your cost, when you've plenty of pelf;
But my selfishness green, and benevolence mellow,
Will let you have that pleasure, debarring myself.”

VII.

To Taylor's they started, and over a dozen
Of delicate dishes, and Mumm's Verzenay,
Our seedy friend opened his project to cozen
That donkey, the public, and this was the way:—
In the State of Rhode Island—great place, and all that,
Lay the treasure which soon could be brought into light;
'Twas a seven-foot seam, fully black as your hat,
Of a beautiful, easily-mined anthracite.
The coal was good, and none could doubt it,
The owner himself knew nothing about it;
In fact, had no notion at all how grand
Was the mine of wealth that lay in his land;
So, keeping quiet, and making no rout,
Sharp would be able to buy him out.
Van Brunck could furnish the cash to buy it,
And Sharp, the company organize;
By the operation, if managed in quiet,
A nice little penny they'd both realize.
“No cash,” quoth Sharp, “from you to me;
But an owner of stock I'd like to be;
So out of the shares that you will hold,
A thousand is what I want, all told—
You'll never miss it, so much you'll make.
Nor is it too much for me to take.
To guard your interests, it is clear,
That secretary and engineer
I ought to be, at three thousand a year—
For brains like mine, that's not too dear,
If the company thrive, as thrive it must,
Or set me down as a nincom,
I can manage to keep up my head from the dust,
With my dividends fat, for my income.
The seam is so thick, and the coal is so fine,
There never was known such a wealthy mine;
We have only together in earnest to join,
And a mint of money we'll certainly coin.”
With that, he made him a calculation,
That, in the thousand acres of ground,
By most reliable multiplication,
Three hundred millions of tons were found;
The value of which, at four dollars per ton—
Well—no matter—'twas plain unto every one.

VIII.

Captain Van Brunck he opened his eyes,
And opened his ears to a very great size;
But what, to my view, was a great deal worse,
Captain Van Brunck he opened his purse.

IX.

In less than a month, were paragraphs found
Flying the various journals around,
Of the great discovery, wonderful quite,
Of a goodly seam of anthracite:
Of its quality, quantity, and location,
In such an elegant situation.
But what the journalists chiefly built on,
Was a statement made by Professor Chilton,
Showing as plainly as figures could show,
Glowing as brightly as words could glow,
That the purest of carbon made up the coal,
Except some half per cent. of the whole;
That Lehigh and Schuylkill couldn't shine
Beside the great Rhode Island Mine,
Which had coal enough to serve the nation
For all its domestic conflagration.

X.

Oh, what a jubilee Wall Street knew!
Harmanus Van Brunck had something to do;
And so had Sharp, and the brokers, too.
Seekers there were for the stock in plenty,
“Rhode Island Seam,” at a hundred and twenty;
But never a holder was found so flat,
To part with his stock at a figure like that.
As for the president, old Van Brunck,
Whom all set down for a millionaire,
Attack him when sober, attack him when drunk,
You couldn't persuade him to sell you a share;
For he knew what was what, and he certainly meant
To get for his money a hundred per cent.,
And though he had loaned to the Company cash
To a figure that some poor-old fogies thought rash,
He knew it was safe, for Sharp had said it,
And what Sharp said, he was “bound to credit.”
But Sharp, the intelligent Secretary,
Had very much feeling about him, very;
And, though it was much to his injury, meant
To part with a little, at thirty per cent.
Of a premium—just to a friend or two;
A few shares of stock, and only a few.
But so far did his courtesy bear him away,
That he found himself once on a very fine day,
On the road to becoming a millionaire,
But devoid of a single Rhode Island share.

XI.

Sharp often said he was poorly paid,
That he spent his salary three times over,
That extravagant ways, on some of these days,
Would send him adrift as a houseless rover.
Nevertheless, he grew neat in his dress,
And did not seem to be penniless.
Boots from Brooks, and hat from Knox,
Bouquet d'Ogarita to freshen his locks,
A broadcloth coat of the finest and best,
Gold chains crossing his velvet vest,
Cassimere trowsers, that fitted as sleek
As though they had grown to the delicate skin;
A costly repeater, with musical tick,
And from Tiffany's shop, a diamond pin;
Things like these his person bore—
These he had, and some little more.
He had his phaeton, of elegant style,
With as fine a trotter as he could find,
“Inside of the forties” to go his mile;
And a spotted dog, to travel behind.
He went to the Opera now and then,
But not like the poorer, musical asses,
In the upper tiers, with the lower classes,
But down below, with the upper ten;
And gave to all charities, giving account
In the newspapers, both of the name and amount.

XII.

But as the fever reached its height,
Some doubting dogs, for such there were,
Who thought that black could not be white,
That foul might be when seeming fair,
Just chanced to say, they'd like to know
When the Company meant to throw
In market a thousand tons or so.
Sharp opened his eyes, and hemmed and hawed;
He thought it impertinent, very, and odd;
For every one knew, that with motives prudential,
And for reasons numerous, safe, and potential,
The directors' action was confidential;
But thought, perhaps, in a year or so,
Some cargoes of coal to the market would go.

XIII.

Doubt is a plant of hasty growth—
Junius thought Confidence a slow one—
And some have learned, however loth,
To put implicit trust in no one.
These now began to fear and doubt,
And then to quietly sell out;
While whispers ran from man to man,
That all was but a swindler's plan;
Then, shares to fall at once began.
At length, one day, the stock-list bore
“Rhode Island Seam,” at sixty-four.
Next day, to fifty down it dropped;
Next day, sixteen from that was lopped;
The next, at twenty it was quoted,
As “offered,” but no sales were noted.

XIV.

XV.

The letter was opened; and these were the lines
That were signed by the savan, who wrote from the mines:

XVI.

“Dear Sir—I travelled through your mine,
And like it best above the ground;
I think your engine very fine—
I've analyzed the mineral found,
Of which I merely have to say,
That, at the final judgment-day,
The man who, on its sable heap,
Shall patiently take up his station,
May, past all doubt, his body keep
Safe from the general conflagration.
And yet it is not useless quite,
Although by no means anthracite,
'Twould serve some “fire-proof” maker's turn—
He couldn't get material colder—
There's one thing, it will surely burn,
Which is—the confident stockholder.”

XVII.

[OMITTED]
Sharp now keeps a coach—owns a fine country-seat;
A pew in Grace Church—he is famed for his piety—
Dresses in manner distingué and neat,
And is courted a deal in our better society.
[OMITTED]
Recently passing, one fair summer's day,
From his house in Fifth Avenue, into Broadway,
Sharp met an old beggar, who charity prayed—
Said he'd seen better days, when he'd plenty of cash,
Which was made by his ship, in the Rotterdam trade;
But he broke when the “Rhode Island Seam” went to smash.
Sharp, who has a heart that is well known to feel
For the woes of humanity, evermore willing
His mite to the wretched at all times to deal,
Like a nobleman, gave the old beggar a shilling.