GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
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 BY THE AUTHQIjfc, PF,"?HILIP 
 
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 IN TWO VOLUMES, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 CARLETON, PUBLISHER, 413 BROADWAY. 
 MDCCCLXV. 
 
• * • .*•» * * 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1805, by 
 
 GHOHG-E 'W, 
 
 CABLEtON", 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York 
 
 Geo. C. Kaip & Avery, Stereotypers and Printers 
 No. 3 Cornhill, Boston. 
 
GOIERY OF MONTGOMERY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. •■ 
 
 " Old Man. Threescore and ten I can remember well ; 
 Within the volume of which time I have seen 
 Hours dreadful and things strange ; but this sore night 
 Hath trifled former knowings." — Macbeth. 
 
 It was the year after the Revolutionary War had ended, 
 and that part of the newly formed Union, which had suf- 
 fered most during that long and passionate struggle for free- 
 dom against the ideas and pretensions of the mother-coun- 
 try, was just beginning to enjoy the advantages of peace, and 
 to experience the delight of receiving back the sons who, 
 years before, had been sent to do battle against the invading 
 English. From this part of the country, all who were able 
 to bear arms had gone forth to fight, and perhaps to fall, 
 hundreds of miles away from home, leaving their own 
 hearthstones to be defended by the patriotic women; the 
 men too old, and the boys too young, to join the army. 
 Among those people, there was no disloyalty to the cause, 
 no Tories or traitors to be feared. The feelings of patriot- 
 ism were so intense, and the hatred of the English and Hes- 
 sians so bitter and deep, that no one suspected an enemy or 
 spy in his neighbor. The life and fortune of every man, 
 woman, and child, were in the struggle ; and with such a 
 make-weight there could be but one result. This unity of 
 sentiment among the people of New England soon made it 
 apparent to the invaders, that, if they would subdue the re- 
 bellion, they must first possess that country where Loyalists 
 and Tories abounded, and afterwards close around the New- 
 Englanders, and destroy and finally eradicate those ideas of 
 republican equality which had been planted by the Puritan 
 
 M7?397 
 
4: GOMEEY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 fathers. That nest of political heresies was to be broken 
 up ; but so generally did they obtain among the people, and 
 the first invaders experienced such a warm reception, that 
 they soon changed the seat of their operations to other parts 
 of the country, where opinions were more divided. 
 
 The seat Of war being thus removed from their own 
 d-qors., the ,sons,;of ;thc Pilgrims went forth to aid their 
 brothers in' ^rms*,^—.' it mattered not where, whether among 
 the swamps of Virginia, the fens of Georgia, or along the 
 rugged frontiers of* ^ke'Oanadas. Thus joined in a common 
 qause*, ^he^ wen e, largely instrumental in moulding into an har- 
 monious whole that republican Union that was destined to 
 go on in a career of prosperity and greatness unexampled in 
 the world's history, until the insidious seeds of toryism and 
 anti-republicanism, still left in some parts of the country, 
 should take such root as to threaten the re-establishment of 
 a privileged aristocracy, and to found an oligarchy of wealth 
 and rank on the rains of democracy. 
 
 At this time, the power of the Indians in New England 
 had been destroyed. The tribes had either been scattered 
 to the winds, or were compelled to submit to the laws im- 
 posed by their conquerors. The stragglers and remnants of 
 tribes were broken in spirit, harmless and miserable. With 
 no future for themselves as a people, they seemed willing to 
 hasten their own extermination by falling unreluctantly into 
 the destroying vices of idleness and intemperance. The 
 savage having been overcome, and the civilized invader who 
 had stimulated him to his deeds of midnight slaughter hav- 
 ing been driven away, the country, from one end to the 
 other, was fast emerging into the prosperity of peace. The 
 larger part of the New England of to-day was then a wil- 
 derness ; and the soldiers who had returned from the war 
 after the long service of seven years generally found them- 
 selves with nothing but their own hard hands to rely upon 
 for support. But they had a fertile country of boundless 
 extent, free and secure ; and they were satisfied. They were 
 content with the issue of the war, though their little for- 
 tunes had, during its continuance, been all dissipated and 
 lost, their families broken up, and the bones of their fathers 
 and brothers were whitening alike the soil of every State 
 from Canada to the Gulf. 
 
 Of those who thus went forth to the war were the four 
 
A FAMILY niSTORY. O 
 
 sons of the widow Gomery of Dorchester. The father was 
 one of the first martyrs to the cause, having falltn at Bun- 
 ker's Hill. His oldest son, then a youth of twenty-three, 
 also took part in that action ; and, from that day till he was 
 surprised and treacherously slain at. the board of a South- 
 Carolina Tory, he never, for a single day, was out of the 
 colonial service. The three other sons also enlisted soon 
 after the affair at Bunker's Hill ; their high-spirited and patri- 
 otic mother cutting up her bed-blankets to make coats and 
 pantaloons for them, and telling them not to return till the 
 British" were driven beyond the seas. And they literally 
 obeyed her admonition ; for two of them did not return at 
 all, and the third, the youngest, not till after the surren- 
 der of Cornwallis. And, when at last he wended his way 
 back to the place of his birth, it was to find the remnants of 
 his father's property all gone for the support of his widowed 
 mother, who, broken down by hardship and anxiety, had, for 
 the last year, been indebted to the betrothed wife of her 
 only living son for her maintenance. The faithful Huldab 
 Tappan had been to her a support, instead of husband and 
 sons, and had submitted to menial and servile labor that she 
 might supply the wants of the mother of him she loved. 
 Her fidelity was in time rewarded ; for, as soon as the army 
 was disbanded, Robert Gomery returned, and hastened to 
 redeem his pledge of years before. 
 
 The capital with which this worthy couple commenced 
 life consisted of their own willing hands and loving hearts. 
 A free and vast country was open to them "where to 
 choose ; " and it was their intention, when first married, to 
 make their way into the wilderness, and find their home in 
 the as yet unbroken forest. But the old lady was too in- 
 firm to bear the hardships of the journey, or the life that 
 might be anticipated when the new home was reached : so, 
 for the time, they continued to reside in Dorchester, content 
 to remain, if necessary to the comfort and happiness of the 
 good old mother. But her days after her son's return were 
 few. Within a year after his marriage, she slept her last 
 sleep, thankful in her heart that in her humble way she had 
 been able to contribute her mite — indeed it was all the liv- 
 ing that she had — to the cause of liberty ; not doubting but 
 that, in another world, she would share with those she loved 
 the reward of well-doing. 
 
6 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 Robert Gomery, when the last rites had been performed 
 for his last of kin, resolved to carry into effect his cherished 
 purpose of going back into the forest, and there making 
 himself a home. With that idea, he set forth on foot and 
 alone to seek for an eligible spot. He had a pack on his 
 back containing a few changes of raiment, and as much pro- 
 vision as he could well carry without making his load so 
 heavy as to impede his journey. He was a brisk walker: for 
 before this he had followed his country's invaders for many 
 days and nights with musket and knapsack, and had been 
 followed by them, too, in turn, when there was no need of 
 bloodhounds to aid in the pursuit ; for the blood on the snow 
 and frozen ground but too clearly showed the course of the 
 Continentalers. His present journey he therefore thought 
 but play, as with a young and loved wife behind him, 
 and a new home adorned with the luxuries and comforts 
 that a vivid imagination conjured up before him, he whis- 
 tled over the rugged road happier than ever king led forth 
 an army with banners. 
 
 The evening of the fifth day of his travels and explora- 
 tions found him at the door of a log-house, the owner of 
 which was a war veteran like himself, who had got a year's 
 start of him in his forest home. This man gave Gomery a 
 hearty welcome, and urged him to settle in his neighbor- 
 hood. This he promised to do if he did not find a spot to 
 please him better during the next day's travel. The host, 
 whose name was Ransom Greenfield, assured him that the 
 soil in the vicinity was deep and rich, the climate healthy, 
 and that as pretty a tract as lay out of doors was still un- 
 claimed near by. These were strong temptations ; and so 
 was the company of Greenfield, whose war experiences had 
 been of the hardest kind; and the two entertained each 
 other till a late hour, recounting the scenes of other days. 
 The next morning, however, they were both up betimes; 
 and Robert Gomery, having laid in a substantial breakfast, 
 bade his newly-made acquaintance good-by, and was on his 
 way again a good hour before the sun showed his merry face 
 above the hills. He diligently pursued his way along the 
 trail, which was called a road since wheeled vehicles had 
 passed over it ; and, just as the sun was fairly above the 
 highest peaks, he emerged from a thick and heavy wood 
 upon an open space, where he had a distinct view of a 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. I 
 
 large range of country, rarely diversified with upland and 
 meadow, woods and openings. It was a beautiful ^ sight. 
 Nature never looked lovelier. She was clothed in her 
 richest verdure; and the diamond drops pendent from 
 leaf and twig shone and sparkled laughingly in the bright 
 morning sun. 
 
 But, looking beyond the prospect immediately around him, 
 his eye rested on a high hill that stood forth in its native 
 grandeur ; and, as the early rays of the sun struck across it, 
 he was so charmed with its appearance, that he determined 
 that on the side of that hill should be his future home. He 
 sat down, and contemplated the scene for a full hour; and the 
 air-castles he built within that time, could he have rented 
 them at a fair rate, would have made him a millionnaire at 
 once. He descried at that distance the appearance of a 
 clearing, which somewhat damped his ardor ; for he feared 
 that already it was taken up by some earlier pioneer. 
 He at length resumed his journey ; and by twelve o'clock he 
 reached the house of another settler, less than half a dozen 
 miles from the base of the hill on which his eyes had rested 
 so covetously in the morning. The occupant of this house 
 was a man by the name of Asa Fisher. He, too, had been 
 in the war ; but, being wounded at Saratoga, was sent home, 
 and did not take the field again. He had now a wife and 
 four children ; and they lived in a snug log-house having only 
 two small rooms, but large enough to hold a great deal of 
 happiness. Our traveller here, too, found an honest and 
 hearty welcome ; for a stranger from the settlements was, to 
 the dwellers in the forest, equal to a file of newspapers, and 
 could tell them of the important events of the day that had 
 transpired since last they had heard from the outer world. 
 Asa had already passed the crisis of a pioneer's life ; that is, 
 he had experienced the hardest seasons which he had any 
 reason to anticipate when he first sought a home in the for- 
 est. He had effected a clearing of twenty acres, and raised 
 each year all the Indian corn, wheat, potatoes, and other 
 vegetables required by his family, and cut grass enough to 
 keep through the long winter a yoke of oxen, some cows, a 
 few sheep, and a horse. The difficulties and deprivations of 
 the first year or two, before any thing could be raised from 
 the soil, were all over ; and Asa was already a contented and 
 well-to-do settler. He gave Robert Gomery a frank welcome, 
 
8 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 and was overjoyed when he learned that he was looking for 
 a place whereon to settle and make it his home. He too, 
 like Greenfield, and as all pioneers are prone to do, assured 
 him that his neighborhood possessed advantages above any- 
 other within many miles. The land was excellent and cheap, 
 the climate healthy ; and there was already a grist-mill within 
 twenty miles. 
 
 The hill which had struck Robert's eyes in the morning as 
 so beautiful and inviting was in full view from this house ; 
 and the clearing was fronting directly towards them. He 
 inquired anxiously if that was already appropriated, and was 
 answered that it was inhabited no longer. 
 
 " How is that ? " said Robert : "'tis a fine spot to look at." 
 
 " There is a sad history connected with that place," an- 
 swered Asa. " It is a long story ; but, in as few words as pos- 
 sible, I will tell you all about it. You see it is a lovely place 
 to look upon, — the finest in all this section ; and, long be- 
 fore any other place in this neighborhood was taken up, that 
 spot was selected, and a man settled there by the name of 
 Gault. We could never learn much about what kind of 
 man he was ; for it was before the war broke out that he 
 struck his axe there. We only know he had a wife 
 that was monstrous pretty, — handsome as a picture. Well, 
 he lived there all alone for some years, and had got a big 
 clearing, as you see, and a good snug and warm log-house. 
 He also had two children, so it was said : but that is not quite 
 certain ; for only one was ever heard of afterwards, and there 
 is great doubt what became of that one. They were all 
 killed by a straggling company of soldiers and Indians that 
 passed through during the war. All that was ever known 
 of them for certain was, that one spring a small company of 
 English, with about as many Indians, passed through this way, 
 and by the trail that leads over the hill and near the Arch 
 Fountain ; and some two or three weeks afterwards a couple 
 of travellers passed through by the same trail, and, coming to 
 the house, called to ask for entertainment. The house had 
 an air of death-like stillness ; and, before dismounting, they 
 called aloud to ascertain if it was inhabited. But, receiving 
 no answer, one of them got off his horse, and pushed open 
 the door ; and what do you suppose he saw ? " 
 
 " I am sure I have no idea." 
 
 " There, in front of the fireplace, lay the half-consumed 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 9 
 
 and half-decayed body of the murdered woman; and around 
 it lay the extinguished brands of wood, where they had evi- 
 dently been placed and set on fire by the murderers, with the 
 ntention of burning the house, and thus destroying all signs 
 of their horrid work. But, irom appearances, the fire had 
 expired of itself, and without setting the house on fire. Hor- 
 ror-struck, the travellers gazed upon the sight, and then 
 looked about the house and clearing for other signs of the 
 murderers' tracks. Walking along a trail that led to the 
 spring, a little ways from the house (and from its shape called 
 the Arch Fountain, though the Indians call it 'The Weeping 
 Angels'), from which the family obtained their water, and 
 which was so clear and cool that the place had long been 
 known as a sort of camping-ground for parties travelling 
 through this way, they found the bones of a man, from which 
 a gaunt wolf stole away as they approached, and a flock of 
 carrion crows were hovering about. There was an axe lying 
 near the skeleton. The travellers could form little idea, from 
 the appearances, of the way the people had been murdered. 
 They inferred that the woman was first killed, and the burn- 
 ing firebrands piled around her; and that, as the savages were 
 leaving the house, they met Gault, and shot him in his tracks, 
 and left him to feed the crows. The house had been robbed 
 of almost every thing valuable, and both victims had been 
 scalped. At that time, there was nobody living within twenty 
 miles of the place ; and the travellers dug a grave for the unfor- 
 tunate people, and buried them, and carefully observed every 
 circumstance, in order to report to the friends of the deceased 
 if they should ever learn who they were. They observed in 
 the house a variety of children's clothes, — some intended for 
 a boy, and some for a girl ; but no trace or sign besides of 
 boy or girl could they find, except in the family Bible they 
 found recorded : — 
 
 Married. 
 
 David Gault and Alice Fletcher, April 5, 1773. 
 
 " On the opposite page was written : — 
 
 Births. 
 
 Randolph Gault, born June 17, 1774. 
 Judith Gault, born Sept. 4, 1775. 
 
10 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 "The next page contained only the printed word Deaths; 
 for under it no record had ever been made. But, though 
 they looked in every place, they could find no trace of these 
 children. It was nearly sunset before the travellers left the 
 place, and it was a long time before any investigation was 
 made into that dreadful affair. The boy, it was afterwards 
 said, was not there at the time, but had been sent off to some 
 of his relations in the settlements." 
 
 " And so the place was abandoned, and is now left open 
 to the first one that comes along ? " said Gomery. 
 
 " Why, yes : it is open to any one that cares to take it. 
 But there is another part to the story, which, when you have 
 heard it, will cure you, as it has cured others of their par- 
 tiality for it." 
 
 " What is that ? It will take a strong dose of objection 
 to cure me." 
 
 " The place is haunted." 
 
 " Haunted ! Well, if that is all, I think I will pitch my 
 tent there without looking farther. How ? — who haunts it ? 
 I thought those old silly superstitions had all died out. Have 
 you ever seen any ghosts about here ? " 
 
 " No ; but I have heard such strange stories about that 
 place, and from such good sources, that though I don't really 
 believe in ghosts, yet I can't doubt what they say. Since I 
 have been here, there have been along by here as many as 
 half a dozen different parties who had never heard of the 
 house till they saw it, and, thinking it would be better to 
 sleep under its roof than in the open air, have done so. But 
 they always saw strange sights, and left in the night terribly 
 scared, and have always said they would not sleep in the 
 house again for any money." 
 
 " Why, what did they see ? " 
 
 " Children, leave the room ! " This order was obeyed by 
 the three eldest children; but the youngest, being yet in its 
 mother's arms, was allowed to remain. 
 
 " I never talk about wild beasts or ghosts, or any thing of 
 that kind, before my children ; and so they don't know there 
 is such a thing in the world." 
 
 "As a ghost? — probably not." 
 
 " As a ghost or wild beast either ; and hence they have 
 no fear of any thing of the kind, and would go into the woods 
 of the darkest night without fear. There are some bears and 
 wolves about ; but they don't fear them." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 11 
 
 "Yes," said his wife, who had been giving her attention to 
 her household affairs ; " and I raly b'leve, if either one of 'em 
 was to meet a bear in the road, he would run at and not 
 run away from it." 
 
 " Less danger that way," said Asa. " You know what the 
 Scripture says : i Resist the Devil, and he will run away.' " 
 
 "But how about the ghost?" said Robert, getting impatient. 
 " I would like to see a ghost." 
 
 " You can have a chance any night. The travellers that 
 have stopped in that house all tell precisely the same story. 
 They say, that, at about ten o'clock at night, a light shines up 
 from the hearth, and reveals the face of a very pretty woman 
 sitting on one side of the fireplace, holding a child's night- 
 gown in her hand. On the other side sits a man in his 
 stockings, with a Bible in his lap, not reading, but looking at a 
 little girl who stands on tiptoe between the two, as if going 
 towards her mother, with her head thrown back over her 
 shoulder, looking arch and cunning at her father. They say, 
 that, when they first see it, it is the prettiest sight they ever 
 set eyes on : and all travellers report the same appearance, — the 
 man on one side of the fireplace, the woman on the other; the 
 child always in that position, her face turned away from the 
 fire, and yet always giving out an illumination of its own 
 that renders every feature perfect. This illusion lasts but a 
 moment, and all is darkness for a short time; when a noise of 
 fire-arms is heard at a little distance from the house, and 
 then are heard the shriek and stifled cries of a woman, and, 
 above all, the piercing screams of a child. These continue 
 for several minutes, growing gradually fainter till nothing can 
 be heard but the spasmodic screams and sobbings of the 
 child, that seem to die away in the distance ; and then again is 
 the house illuminated, and rising from the floor in front of 
 the fireplace appears the body of the murdered woman, her 
 throat cut from ear to ear, and her eyes always open, and giv- 
 ing forth a light that they all say haunts 'em and haunts 
 'em. A good many are so badly scared that they do not 
 stay to see it all through ; but those that do stay all have the 
 same story. One man, who was a mighty hard sleeper, and 
 who went to sleep before the fire, and did not wake till the 
 house was lit up for the last time, when he saw the body of 
 the woman beside him, with her throat cut clear across, he 
 jumped up, and run out of the house like mad ; and he never 
 
12 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 stopped till he got here, though he came barefoot, and had 
 nothing on but his shirt and trousers. He was the scared- 
 est man I ever saw when he got to my house at two o'clock 
 in the morning. But when I told him a great many others 
 had seen the same sights, and they had done them no harm, 
 he got calmer, and, when it was light, went back to meet his 
 companions and get his clothes." 
 
 A man of gentler experience or of weaker nerves than 
 Robert Gomery might have been deterred from selecting a 
 place with such terrible associations as Gault's Hill, or Mount 
 Gault as it was more frequently called, for his home. But 
 he was not of the stuff to be frightened at an armed soldier, 
 and much less at an unarmed ghost. Often, when sitting at 
 the camp-fire with his companions, during his war experience, 
 he had heard many marvellous tales of ghosts, witches, and 
 hobgoblins. But the New England of that day had too 
 many enemies in the flesh, to look after or give heed to those 
 of the spirit. The re-action that had followed the persecu- 
 tion for witchcraft had caused almost total disbelief in all su- 
 pernatural appearances. Hence the stories of ghosts and all 
 sorts of strange apparitions usually had a very matter-of-fact 
 explanation to them; and those persons who had been fright- 
 ened by them had the satisfaction of finding out that the 
 ghosts they had seen were no ghosts at all, but only the de- 
 vices of wags and mad-caps. 
 
 Fisher's story, therefore, made small impression on Robert 
 Gomery : and he told his entertainers that he was resolved to 
 go to the hill that night, and to sleep in the house ; and, if 
 there were any ghosts wandering about the premises, he was 
 determined to see them, and ask them what they wanted, and 
 why they revisited the earth, and on whom their troubled 
 spirits sought vengeance ere they could sleep in peace. " I 
 will have a long talk with them," he continued, laughing ; 
 " and I will get all the late news from their country, and find 
 out how all the dead folks are getting on." 
 
 Fisher shook his head at this exhibition of incredulity, and 
 said he would talk differently about them when he had seen 
 them. 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," said Gomery. 
 
 Accordingly, with this resolution, at about three o'clock in 
 the afternoon he set forth for Gault's Hill. His hospitable, 
 newly-found friends put some corn-bread and a slice of ham 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 13 
 
 into his knapsack for his supper, of which Gomery said he 
 should invite the ghosts to partake if they would deign to 
 taste of his cheer. Thus ridiculing the ghosts, he set forth, 
 leaving his friends to their sad misgivings. 
 
 An hour and a half of brisk walking brought him to the 
 clearing. The sun was now fast declining in the west; and, 
 if he was pleased at the appearance of the place when 
 viewed from a distance in the morning, he was enchanted 
 now that he stood upon it. There was a clearing of full twenty 
 acres, having a* soil black, rich, and loamy, and facing, with a 
 moderate inclination, towards the south-east. The stumps 
 of the trees that had been first felled were some of them en- 
 tirely decayed ; and a thick growth of raspberry and hazel 
 bushes, and young saplings of beech, birch, and maple, were 
 fast growing in their places. But these could be easily sub- 
 dued, and with little labor the whole space could be reduced 
 to yield to the plough and the hoe. The log-house, though 
 it had been built several years before, and had been unten- 
 anted for most of the time, was still in a fair state of pres- 
 ervation ; though the door was no longer held in its place by 
 its wooden hinges, and the roof of rifted oak needed relaying. 
 " Two years of hard labor, two years at the least," said Rob- 
 ert to himself, " would be required to reduce a tract so large 
 as this to a condition so fitted to support a family. Ghost 
 or no ghost, I will try it." He found the spot where Gault 
 and his wife were buried." The grass was growing green 
 and luxuriant from the little mound above them ; and as Rob- 
 ert Gomery looked upon it, and thought of their sad end, he 
 heaved a sigh, and uttered a prayer that his end might not 
 be like theirs. The place was so still and tranquil, and so 
 beautiful withal, that he fell into a fit of musing as he strayed 
 along the trail towards the spring. He was indulging in 
 the illusion of a hopeful mind, and thinking he would make 
 this place the finest in the whole country. The forest 
 should be levelled, and where it stood should be bright fields 
 of waving grain, and broad pastures grazed by herds of cattle, 
 horses, and sheep. A grand house should be built on the 
 most commanding spot, and huge bams to hold the as yet 
 imaginary crops. While indulging in this pleasing dream, he 
 came to the spring of which Fisher had told him. 
 
 This spring was a natural curiosity. The hill here rose 
 abruptly, and formed a cave or grotto some twenty feet in 
 2 
 
14 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY.: 
 
 diameter. The arch overhead was rough and jagged ; and 
 from the point of a rock in the centre was ever running a 
 small stream of water, that fell into a basin below. This 
 basin was in the very centre of the grotto ; and around it 
 were several large stones, that had evidently been placed 
 there, to serve as seats, long, long before. But that which 
 had most attracted the attention of the Indians, and caused 
 them to have a sort of superstitious reverence for the place, 
 was the peculiar form and position of the rocks that jutted 
 out from the farthest and darkest part of the cave, and un- 
 less the day was clear, and the light strong, gave them the 
 appearance of two human figures. At certain periods, it was 
 said the water could be seen trickling down the cheeks of 
 these dim statues ; and hence this spring had received the 
 name of "The Weeping Angels." There were numerous 
 Indian traditions in regard to it, and there were many indi- 
 cations that it had been a favorite place of resort for the 
 aborigines at the time that Gomery first visited it; and he 
 thought it probable that it was a roving company of these 
 savages that had murdered the Gault Family for trespassing 
 on ground regarded by them as sacred. But the savages 
 were now little to be feared ; and the more he saw of the 
 place, the more confirmed he was in his intention to make it 
 his home. 
 
 Robert Gomery had an eye for the picturesque and roman- 
 tic, and this spring had a peculiar charm for him. He ima- 
 gined the days when, in the summer-time, he and his beloved 
 Huldah would sit in the cool grotto ; and then his practical 
 mind was directed to the consideration of its usefulness to 
 the farm, and especially to the dairy, which in turn should 
 furnish forth many firkins of golden butter and many cash- 
 producing cheeses for the markets of the sea-ports. The wa- 
 ter that fell from the arched roof, or trickled down from the 
 cheeks of " The Weeping Angels," falling into the pool be- 
 low, kept it always full, and, overflowing it, then stole back 
 into the side of the hill, again to re-appear a few yards dis- 
 tant, and form a little pond, as if Nature had intended it for a 
 drinking fountain for man and beast. The place combined 
 so completely the beautiful with the useful, that it was calcu- 
 lated of a sultry evening equally to please young lovers and 
 tired laborers. 
 
 When the darkness closed about the place, Robert Gom- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 15 
 
 ery entered the house, and, taking a tinder-box from his 
 pocket, soon had a fire blazing brightly upon the hearth. He 
 next took his bread and ham from his pocket, and began eat- 
 ing his frugal supper. Often before, it had been his lot to 
 sup on nothing save the hope of future freedom, which, 
 though good in its way, was less substantial than the johnny- 
 cake and ham that had been furnished him by good Mrs. 
 Fisher, and which he now thought was sumptuous fare. The 
 fire on the hearth lighted up the solitary room ; and he dis- 
 tinctly saw the charred spots on the floor that had been 
 made by the funeral pyre of the unfortunate Mrs. Gault. A 
 little farther, a dark spot revealed but too plainly that there 
 the blood of the unhappy woman had settled in a pool, and 
 coagulated and dried ; for the scales of it were yet clearly 
 visible. 
 
 Thus sitting alone, he mused over the strange revelation 
 which he had heard, and soon found himself getting nervous 
 and excited. "Faith," said he, "if I don't go to sleep, and 
 quit thinking of these people, I shall conjure up their ghosts 
 in spite of themselves or me either." So, going out, and find- 
 ing some fragments of undecayed logs, he built a rousing fire, 
 and laid himself down to sleep in the back part of the room. 
 He had not lain there long before it occurred to him that his 
 head was exactly over the spot where had stood the pool of 
 blood. Though ashamed of his weakness, but more sur- 
 prised than ashamed, — for he had often before this "sank, 
 overpowered and weary, to sleep " on the field of battle, 
 where the blood of the wounded was clotted beneath him, 
 and on all sides friend and foe were lying in their last sleep, 
 — he moved from this position, and took up another ; and was 
 just dropping off into the obliviousness of sleep, and his 
 mind was fast losing its grasp on earthly affairs, when he fan- 
 cied some object passed between him and the fire. He 
 opened his eyes, and was sure he caught a glimpse of a child 
 passing out through the wall of the house, opposite the door. 
 
 "Nonsense!" said he to himself. " What a goose I am to be 
 disturbed in this way! I warrant I had seen nothing if that 
 foolish fellow, Fisher, had not told me his bugbear stories." 
 He then turned over his face to the wall, and his back to the 
 fire; and, resolutely shutting his eyes, was soon fast asleep. 
 
 He did not leave the house till nearly sunrise the next 
 morning ; and then, with his staff in his hand, he briskly 
 
16 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 walked back to his friend Fisher's house, where the family 
 were anxiously waiting him to join them in their matutinal 
 meal. To their curious questions he replied, that he had 
 only had a strange dream, and that he had seen and heard 
 things very much as others had described them. But he in- 
 sisted that it was only a dream ; or rather, that, in his sleep, 
 he had thought over the odd story of the day, which if he 
 had not heard, he would have slept as calmly and untroubled 
 as he had been wont to do when expecting a brush with the 
 British the next morning at daylight. 
 
 " Are you sure you were not awake all the while ? " asked 
 Fisher. 
 
 "ISTo, I am not sure : I thought I was broad awake, I con- 
 fess. And yet I don't believe there has been a ghost on the 
 earth since the witch of Endor quit it in such high dudgeon : 
 and, if anybody supposes I am to be thwarted in my pur- 
 pose by any stories of scared boys or foolish old women, he 
 may give up that notion at once; for I am resolved that I 
 shall take that place in spite of them." 
 
 Fisher saw that his guest was getting nettled, and that it 
 was useless to attempt to dissuade him from his purpose. 
 The subject of the ghosts was therefore dropped ; and, after 
 a silence of a few minutes, Gomery asked him if he knew to 
 whom the land belonged. 
 
 "It did belong," answered Fisher, "to Col. Scranton of 
 Boston. He was the original grantee of all this section. I 
 bought my land of him. Whether Gault ever paid him for 
 it, I don't know ; but it is probable he only had a bond for a 
 deed, and that, as Gault was killed, the deed was never exe- 
 cuted. Anybody knows Col. Scranton. He is one of the 
 rich folks in Boston, and lives close by the State House." 
 
 Being informed on this point, Gomery told his host, that, 
 on his return to Dorchester, he should go right over to Bos- 
 ton, and find Col. Scranton ; and, if the place could be had 
 for any reasonable price, he should certainly bargain for it. 
 Fisher told him that he had no doubt it could be had very 
 cheap ; for nobody else wanted it, or would buy it at any 
 price. He asked his hosts a multiplicity of questions about 
 what was required for pioneers in the forest ; and he also 
 took a bit of a walk, for the sake of exercise, as he said, to 
 the house of one of Fisher's near neighbors, named Thomas 
 Thorpe. He found Thorpe situated very much as Fisher 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 17 
 
 was, — with a small clearing, and a family of half a dozen chil- 
 dren, all boys. He talked with him about the country, its 
 advantages and disadvantages ; and informed him that he had 
 resolved to settle on Gault's Mount, or Mount Gault as it 
 was indifferently called. 
 
 " The place is haunted," said Thorpe. 
 
 " That don't frighten me." 
 
 " But, if you had heard all the stories about t that I have, 
 you would never go by there in the dark. I have had my 
 share of bear and wolf fights; am lame now from the hug of 
 a black one : but I don't fancy fighting ghosts. I advise you 
 to stop in the house one night before you conclude to settle 
 there." 
 
 Gomery told him he had done that already, and intended 
 to do so many times more. 
 
 "And did you see nothing strange and marvellous?" 
 
 " Nothing to be afraid of." 
 
 " Well, we shall be glad of you for a neighbor ; for we 
 have only two near neighbors, — Fisher, as you know, and 
 Welch, who lives about twice as far in the other direction, — 
 say ten miles by trail, and twelve by the road." 
 
 Having thus made acquaintance with Thorpe, and an- 
 swered all the questions of his inquisitive wife as to his wife 
 and family, Gomery returned to his old friend Asa Fisher's, 
 and there passed the night, discoursing of the war, the peace, 
 and the future, to which they looked forward hopefully ; pic- 
 turing to their minds the time when the forests should be 
 levelled, and green fields and comfortable farm-houses should 
 dot the landscape in every direction. 
 
 The next morning, before daylight, good Mrs. Fisher was 
 up and stirring ; and, ere it was light enough to fairly see the 
 road, the frugal breakfast of fried bacon and eggs, boiled po- 
 tatoes, corn-bread, butter, and coffee made of parched peas, 
 was despatched, and Gomery was on his way back to Dor- 
 chester with his heart light, his steps buoyant, and his knap- 
 sack filled with the best that Mother Fisher's homely larder 
 could supply. 
 
 2* 
 
18 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "Archbishop, What is this forest called ? " 
 Hastings. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your grace. 
 
 Second Part King Henry IV. 
 
 Huldah Gomery waited impatiently for the return of her 
 husband; and it was not till the end of the twelfth day, just 
 as the darkness was shutting down, that she recognized the 
 music of his footstep upon the stair. Her heart leaped up 
 at the sound, and she sprang forward to open the door and 
 greet him. " I thought you would be along to-night," said 
 she : " I have felt so all day." 
 
 "Ah ! well, I am glad to get back," said he while she was 
 engaged unstrapping his knapsack. "I have had a long 
 trudge to-day; and, if it had not been for getting home to- 
 night, I would have made two days' work of to-day's jour- 
 ney. I had such good news to tell you, I pushed on with all 
 my might." 
 
 "I was sure you would bring good news: my father used 
 to say, that I could always tell what was going to happen ; 
 that, if he heard me talking about folks at a distance, he was 
 sure to see them at our house very soon after, or else hear 
 something about them that showed they were thinking about 
 us. But how about the news ? what is it ? But no : I won't 
 hear a word of it till you have got your supper ; and it will 
 be ready in a jiffy. I knew you would come ; and I have every 
 thing ready. Now, you dear, good soul, while you are 
 washing up, and changing your clothes, I will get the sup- 
 per on the table." She then struck up, in a clear, ringing, 
 happy voice, one of the rude war-ballads of the time, which 
 she kept up till Robert came in from his sleeping-room, 
 freshly attired, and ready for his supper. 
 
 "Now," said Huldah, "take a good strong cup of tea first; 
 then begin. There is nothing like tea to make folks social." 
 
 Robert took his tea ; and, after drinking off his first cup, he 
 proceeded to narrate the incidents of his journey, — much 
 
A FAMILY HISTOKY. 19 
 
 more fully than they have been narrated to the readei ; but 
 it is to be taken for granted that Huldah took more interest 
 in the trifling details than will the most obliging and good- 
 natured of my readers, and therefore many things not directly 
 bearing on the current of this history are omitted. He de- 
 scribed very minutely the country over which he had passed, 
 and said he saw many beautiful and tempting spots, and was 
 urged by the settlers along his route to select places near 
 them ; and each one informed him that his immediate vicin- 
 ity offered more inducements to the settler, and combined 
 more advantages, than any other locality in all North Ameri- 
 ca. " But I continued on," he said, " till one morning, early, 
 my eyes rested on the loveliest spot I had ever seen ; and I 
 determined to make that my future home. But at the 
 house nearest to it they told me it was a haunted spot." 
 
 "What! haunted?" 
 
 "Indeed, they said so, and they believed it; and they 
 said, too, that it was because it was haunted that nobody 
 had ever settled there since the first settlers were mur- 
 dered." 
 
 "Murdered?" 
 
 " Yes : the family that first took up the place were killed, 
 in time of the war, by a company of English and Indians 
 that passed through that way ; and the people in the neigh- 
 borhood say the place has been haunted ever since." 
 
 "Well, I never heard of a ghost that troubled a quiet 
 conscience, and all the hobgoblin stories ever invented will 
 not frighten me." 
 
 "But hear what the story is, and listen to my own experi- 
 ence, and perhaps you will not be so incredulous." 
 
 Huldah remained silent, slowly eating her supper, while 
 Robert proceeded to narrate, to its minutest details, all that 
 he had heard from Fisher and Thorpe : and he did not with- 
 hold the fact, either, that he had had a very strange dream, 
 so like reality that he could not see the difference ; or else he 
 had seen unreal figures, or, in plain language, ghosts, wander- 
 ing about the house while he was staying in it. 
 
 " I warrant you," said she, " they are honest ghosts, and 
 will do no harm to honest people. At any rate, in my mind, 
 they are no objection to the place ; and the sooner we make 
 sure of it, the better." 
 
 The next day, therefore, Robert went into Boston to hunt 
 
20 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 up Col. Scranton, and see if he could make a bargain with 
 him for the land on Gault's Hill. Huldah, in the mean 
 while, busied herself in getting ready for a removal into the 
 wilderness. The labor of preparation for the journey was 
 not much, as their house contained barely the necessaries for 
 housekeeping. They were in that blissful state that poor 
 people are often in, — being free to move with slight inconve- 
 nience ; whereas the rich often find their possessions to be only 
 as clogs and fetters, that keep them as prisoners bound to 
 places they would gladly leave. The original Tantalus was 
 probably only a rich man whose great wealth bound him to 
 one spot ; and being bothered to death with agents and ser- 
 vants, to say nothing of the sharks of the law and others 
 who were trying to get his thrifty earnings away from him, 
 he could enjoy nothing; and so some illiterate booby of a 
 painter who could not read or write, and therefore could not 
 represent his character in words, resorted to the clumsy de- 
 vice of painting him as chained to a rock, with tempting 
 things always before his eyes, but which, though always 
 starving to death, he could never touch. 
 
 To find the house of Col. Scranton in Boston was not a 
 difficult matter; and Robert Gomery found himself face to 
 face with that benevolent and wealthy old gentleman about 
 nine o'clock in the morning. He asked him if he was not 
 the owner of a piece of land, away back in the woods, that a 
 man by the name of Gault had once settled on. 
 
 "I did own it once," was the reply, "and I suppose it is 
 mine now ; but I have pretty much forgotten all about it. I 
 have a whole township up there, all but a few small farms I 
 have sold ; and, whether I have a right to sell that tract or 
 not, there are other places just as good that I will sell very 
 cheap to honest, industrious settlers." 
 
 " But I have taken a fancy to that particular lot," said 
 Robert ; " and, as nobody is occupying it, I presume it is for 
 sale, if I could only find the owner." 
 
 " The fact is, it is legally mine," said Scranton ; " at least, 
 I think so. Gault was a young, enterprising fellow, and he 
 had a lovely wife ; and I gave him a bond of this kind : He 
 was to go and settle there ; and at the end of four years, if he 
 cleared up thirty acres, he was to have a tract of five hun- 
 dred on the payment of fifty dollars. I wanted to get one 
 settler in there ; for I thought that would induce others to 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 21 
 
 go : but he and his wife were both murdered before the four 
 years were out, and so he never got the deed. He sent me 
 the money, however, before two years : and I told him when 
 I was up there with my surveyor, just afterwards, he could 
 have the deed as soon as he liked ; and* after I got home, I 
 had it made out for him. But the poor fellow never came 
 for it. I never could hear any thing of his children, though 
 I inquired very particularly for them. I went up there after 
 the massacre ; but there was no trace of them : and probably 
 they both were carried away, and died under the cruel treat- 
 ment of the savages. If either one of them is alive, it prop- 
 erly belongs to him ; but still it can do them no good, if they 
 ever should appear, to have it remain as it is. The fifty dol- 
 lars I put into a bank, to remain at interest till called for by 
 the heirs of Gault : and, if I sell the place again, I shall put 
 the money I get for it with that ; and, if it is not called for in 
 fifty years, I shall direct to give it to some charity." 
 
 " You can give a complete title ? " 
 
 "A warranty deed." 
 
 "What are your terms for the same tract you sold to 
 Gault?" 
 
 " I ought to have not less than two hundred and fifty dol- 
 lars. I have offered it for that, and I suppose I must let you 
 have it for the same. I think it is the prettiest site I ever 
 saw ; and, if I were not so old, I would keep it, and have a 
 house built for myself, only I would not like the associa- 
 tions." 
 
 " Oh ! you have seen the ghosts, then ? " 
 
 " Ghosts ? Nonsense ! " 
 
 " But they all say up there that the place is haunted." 
 
 " Then what do you want with it ? " 
 
 " I am not afraid of ghosts." 
 
 "Then it will be worth no less to you on that account." 
 
 " But I am a poor man, and am unwilling to pay more than 
 you could get from another person. You admit that the as- 
 sociations of the place are not agreeable to you, or else you 
 would keep it. What will you charge me for the tract be- 
 yond it, on the western declivity of the hill ? " 
 
 " No : I prefer to sell this Gault Tract. Say what you are 
 willing to give." 
 
 " I can't pay but a mere trifle, cash in hand." 
 
 " Well, that don't matter : pay me fifty dollars down, and 
 
22 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 give me your note for two years for a hundred, with a mort- 
 gage on the place, and I will give you a deed." 
 
 " I will do it," said Gomery. 
 
 " Well, then, call to-morrow, and the deed shall be ready. 
 The township was surveyed seven years ago; audi have only 
 to hunt up the deed I filled out for Gault, and make another 
 like it, only inserting your name in place of his. What may 
 I call your name ? " 
 
 " Robert Gomery." 
 
 " All right : call to-morrow, and get your deed. You are a 
 lucky man to get this property so cheap." 
 
 "It is all owing to the ghosts," said Robert. "Did you 
 see any of those spirits when you were up there ? " 
 
 " Well, I confess I didn't have a very quiet night ; and, 
 though we staid about the place for a week, none of us ever 
 slept in the house after the first night. But let us drop the 
 subject. Good-morning, sir." 
 
 Robert took the hint, and left well satisfied with his bar- 
 gain ; and, when he reached his own house, he was met at 
 the threshold by Huldah, eager to learn the result of his visit. 
 When informed that he had got the land at so cheap a rate, and 
 because of the ghosts, she laughed at the credulity of people 
 who could thus be imposed upon ; saying that ghosts were 
 very good things, and very useful to those who were not 
 afraid of them. 
 
 Though Robert had set forth on his first journey early in 
 the spring, and before the frost was out of the ground, yet, 
 with all his despatch, the season was well advanced before 
 he was ready to set out for the second time, taking with him 
 his household gods, — an expression supposed to mean cooking 
 utensils. He was in great haste to get to his new home in 
 season to make a crop that year ; and so, on his return the 
 next day from Col. Scranton's 1 with his deed, he and Huldah 
 set to work alertly to get ready to depart. By " swapping 
 around," trading off things they had, and could not 
 carry with them, for those which they had not and must 
 have, they were able, after paying the fifty dollars to Col. 
 Scranton, to increase their stock ; so that, in addition to the 
 household utensils, and firm and forest tools indispensable in 
 their new home, they had three milch cows, two horses, and 
 seven sheep. 
 
 The rays of the sun struck brightly across the waters of 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 23 
 
 Boston Harbor, and were just warming into a cheery glow 
 the Heights of Dorchester, as Robert Gomery and his wife set 
 forth on their way to their distant home. Many of their 
 neighbors were out, early as it was, to witness their depart- 
 ure, and bid them God speed. On one of the horses rode 
 Huldah, looking fresh and hopeful, her cheeks red as the 
 roses by the wayside that were lifting their heads brightly 
 towards the sky. But though her courage was high, and her 
 heart brave, yet her eyes were moist, as, without lifting 
 them to those around her (for she knew they would overflow 
 if she did), she turned her horse's head towards the road, 
 and faintly saying " Good-by ! " and " God bless you ! " she took 
 her way along the road, and, with her husband, commenced 
 the long journey. She looked beautiful, although she did 
 not ride forth like a princess, her steed richly caparisoned, 
 prancing and champing to be galloping over the road. 
 Her horse was a stout, slow, honest farm-horse, his back 
 rounded like a rainbow ; and, in addition to herself, he bore 
 a good quantity of wearing apparel, stuffed into bags, that 
 hung, like John Gilpin's wine-bottles, across the animal's 
 back, behind the saddle. The other horse was loaded down 
 with farm-tools, pots, pans, kettles, books, and an infinite va- 
 riety of things necessary and convenient. Robert walked in 
 front, driving the cows and sheep before him, which at first 
 gave him trouble, as the latter were wild and shy, and the 
 former were ever for running back to the yard where their 
 young were left with their last breakfast to be derived from 
 the maternal source, or " Nature's fount." Indeed, they had 
 all had their last breakfast of any kind ; for the butcher was 
 already in the yard with them, ready to take them to the 
 slaughter-house, and there convert them into young beef. 
 But sheep and cattle both soon got tamed and tired ; and, 
 after causing Robert a little extra running, they settled down 
 into a steady jog, and left him to walk quietly beside his wife, 
 and talk of what they had left, and what they anticipated in 
 the future. They anticipated a long life of contented toil, 
 and wished no other lot than what seemed before them ; and, 
 from morning till night, they planned and talked of what 
 and how they would do in their new home ; and, trusting 
 only to themselves and the good Being above, they had little 
 anxiety, and less fear. Hope gave a rosy glow to all they 
 saw. 
 
24 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 They timed their journey so as to stop at night at the same 
 houses where Robert had made acquaintances on his previous 
 journey, and at every place were expected and welcomed. 
 It was ten days before they reached the log-cabin of Asa 
 Fisher. They could hardly have been greeted more heartily 
 had they been life-long acquaintances : and the good wife, 
 Ruth, declared that it was " the most unfortunate thing in 
 the world they hadn't come any other day, for she was 
 ashamed to say she had nothing in the house fit to eat ; " 
 though, in truth, she had, in anticipation of their coming, 
 cooked up provisions enough to last her guests and her own 
 family for a week. But such is the way with many well- 
 meaning persons. They lie out of sheer good-nature and 
 politeness. 
 
 But Huldah told her not to be uneasy ; that, for her part, 
 she expected to rough it, and should be content with a crust 
 and a cup of water. 
 
 " We haven't come to that yet, here," said Ruth, a little 
 piqued that she had been believed. 
 
 " Pray, then, let me assist you," said Huldah. " It is so long 
 since I have done any thing, I should be delighted to help 
 you." And with that the two women went into the back 
 pert of the room, and fell to work, and conversation on the 
 science of housekeeping ; leaving Robert and Asa by the fire 
 to discuss matters of more dignity, if not more importance. 
 
 It was not long, however, before Ruth alluded to the sub- 
 ject that most concerned her on her friend's account, and 
 asked her if she was not afraid of the ghosts up there on 
 the hill. 
 
 " I am afraid of nothing," said she, " so long as I keep a 
 clear conscience." 
 
 " You have more courage than I have, then ; for I wouldn't 
 live on Gault's Hill for ten thousand dollars. And none of 
 the neighbors wouldn't neither." 
 
 The ghosts, then, have done us a good service ; for, had it 
 not been for them, the place had been taken up long before 
 we had seen it. When I see 'em, I will give 'em my thanks 
 and Robert's too." 
 
 " Are you, then, such heathen ? " said Ruth, dropping the 
 subject, which was not again alluded to that evening. The 
 news of the ratification of the peace, and the important 
 events that followed the war, were the subjects on which the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 25 
 
 two men dwelt ; while the talk of the women was of a more 
 practical character, being about the wants and ways of a 
 pioneer life. 
 
 The next morning, even before the cock crowed, Huldah 
 was up, and had a fire on the hearth ere her hostess was 
 awake. She was impatient to get to the hill, and so hurried 
 up the breakfast that it was despatched a good half-hour be- 
 fore sunrise. Robert had, in the mean while, attended to the 
 dumb animals ; and, as the first rays of the morning sun lit 
 upon the side of Gault's Hill, it gave it a look as beautiful 
 and inviting as when it first caught and charmed his eye. 
 Huldah was impatient to get to a spot so lovely ; and bidding 
 her kind friend Ruth good-by, after having made her promise 
 to come and see her in her new home as soon as she got 
 things to rights, she jumped upon the back of old Rainbow, 
 and whipped him along the trail. Asa Fisher took his axe 
 upon his shoulder, and said he would go with them up to the 
 hill, and lend a hand for the day in getting the place in 
 order. 
 
 "Don't stay in that wicked house over night," said his 
 wife anxiously. 
 
 " No fear of that," replied Asa. 
 
 "More fear than danger, I guess," said Robert, starting 
 forward, and driving the cattle that had been browsing near 
 for the past few minutes. 
 
 As they approached the house and clearing, Fisher called 
 Gomery's attention to a large tree that stood alone in the 
 opening, having been left as a shade-tree by Gault when all 
 its fellows fell before his resounding axe. It stood about 
 half way between the spring and the house. "That is 
 called the Gault Tree," said Fisher ; " and its leaves change 
 their color a month earlier than any other tree in the forest. 
 Some say the change takes place on the anniversary-night of 
 the murder. It is called the Gault Tree ; and some folks call 
 the place the Gault-tree Hill or Forest, though we call it 
 Mount Gault." 
 
 "Probably, when the ghosts come, they heat their cal- 
 drons under that tree," said Gomery ; " and that changes the 
 color of the leaves." 
 
 " You will see," said Fisher, not at all pleased at the scep- 
 tical way in which Gomery treated all allusion to the ghosts. 
 
 That day saw a wonderful revolution on Mount Gault. 
 
 3 
 
26 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 Robert and Asa made their axes ring in clearing up brush, 
 cutting wood, and building a yard for the cattle, repairing 
 the house, and redeeming from waste and ruin the premises 
 that had been going to decay ever since the night of the 
 Gault murder. 
 
 Nor was Huldah less busy. She had not been an hour in 
 the house before a brisk fire was on the hearth ; and over it 
 was set the brass kettle, filled with water from the spring ; 
 and, with a scrubbing-brush of hemlock twigs made by 
 Robert for the occasion, she was scouring the floor, and ob- 
 literating the signs of the dark deed the room had once wit- 
 nessed. But there was one spot, that, though she scrubbed 
 it long, would still look black. She scoured it with hot 
 water and with cold water, with ashes and with sand, but all 
 in vain ; and she remarked to her husband and Fisher, that 
 she did not see why she could not get that spot clean, for it 
 seemed as if all the water of the spring could never wash it 
 white. They knew what had once been there, and /glanced 
 significantly at each other. 
 
 " Probably it's the ghost's doings," said Robert ; at which 
 Fisher shuddered so, that both he and his wife broke into a 
 broad laugh. 
 
 "You may laugh to-day," said he; "but we will see who 
 laughs to-morrow. But it is getting towards sundown, and 
 I must be going home. I wish you a pleasant night of it ; 
 but I am sure you won't have it, and will want to change 
 your lot, even if you lose all the money you have paid." 
 
 " Oh ! never fear," said Huldah : " if you will cast your eyes 
 this way early in the morning, you will see the smoke rising 
 quietly above the house, and you may take that as a sign 
 that all is right." 
 
 " I hope it may be so," said he, still doubting ; " but good- 
 evening. If any thing happens, it can't be said Asa Fisher 
 has not done his duty, and given fair warning." So saying, 
 he shouldered his axe, and trudged away. 
 
 During the day, a great change had taken place in the ap- 
 pearance of the premises ; for, instead of looking cheerless 
 and deserted, they had an air of neatness and comfort. 
 Robert and Asa had manufactured various rude articles of 
 house-furniture, that, if not elegant, were none the less useful. 
 
 From a bit of board that had escaped the funeral pyre 
 they made a small table ; and, by rifting the cut log of a still 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 27 
 
 undecayed oak, they made some rough benches, that served, 
 in the absence of chairs, for seats. Outside, there had been 
 a great clearing-up of underbrush and rubbish, and every 
 thing had a renovated appearance. Good Mother Fisher 
 had given her husband, on setting out in the morning, a 
 meal-bag to carry on his shoulder, in which she had put a 
 couple of loaves of brown rye and corn bread, with a roll of 
 her own golden butter and a small cheese. Upon this store, 
 with the milk drawn from the cows, they made a luxurious 
 repast of bread and milk; and then, when the evening closed 
 in, they made their bed for the first night upon the floor. 
 
 The day had been a happy one, and Huldah often spoke 
 of it in after-years as the happiest of her whole life. When 
 all the other duties of the day were concluded, Robert took 
 the old Bible that his father was accustomed to read when 
 he was a small boy ; and,, having read a portion by the light 
 of the dim fire, the two united to return thanks to. the Giver 
 of all good gifts; and, in their excess of joy and thankfulness, 
 the tears of gratitude welled up from their hearts, and over- 
 flowed. 
 
 This couple, so innocent of wrong to any human being, of 
 faith so undoubting in the Supreme Ruler of the universe, — 
 how could they have any fear of ghosts? It is only sceptics 
 who fear such incorporeal wanderers, or the guilty who feel 
 that they deserve to be punished. But the clear conscience, 
 and the unhesitating faith in a just and wise Ruler, fear 
 nothing from those spirits that walk abroad in the dark. A 
 fear of such visitants implies either a bad conscience or a 
 defective faith. Believe you that a God of love and justice 
 rules the earth ? Then why, if guilt is not on your soul, fear 
 to meet the spirits of the dead ? Is not God over all, and 
 governing all ? and will you blaspheme him by doubting his 
 omnipotence, and dreading lest he shall not protect you from 
 the power of those whom he allows to revisit the earth from 
 the other world ? God is good, and he rules everywhere. 
 He is everywhere. Believe this ; and, if you have no guilt 
 on your conscience, you will never fear that he will send in- 
 corporeal beings to torment you. 
 
 Robert Gomery had no fear of ghosts ; neither had his 
 wife Huldah : and so, in spite of all they had heard, after 
 the labors and duties of the day were over, they betook 
 themselves to their hard couch, and soon fell asleep. They 
 
28 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 had thought it not unlikely that they would see strange 
 sights before morning, and had some curiosity to witness 
 the singular apparition that report said had so long haunted 
 the place ; but, further than that, they neither knew nor cared 
 whether they saw or heard any thing of it. 
 
 They had slept, they knew not how long, when both of 
 them opened their eyes on a scene exactly as it had been 
 several times described to them. A beautiful woman, par- 
 tially disrobed, with a sweet witching smile ; her dress half 
 open in front, revealing a neck and bust of marvellous 
 beauty ; her eyes cast with a look of unspeakable love on an 
 object near her, — was sitting, clearly, distinctly, as in real 
 life and in the broad day, upon one corner of the hearth. 
 She was holding in her hand a child's night-gown ; and oppo- 
 site, at the other corner, sat a man of rugged, manly appear- 
 ance, in his stocking-feet, holding a large book, apparently a 
 Bible, on his lap. His eyes, too, were resting on a figure 
 that was directly in front of the fire-place and between the 
 other two. This was the figure of a little girl, as if ap- 
 proaching, half reluctant, from its father to its mother, and 
 with its face averted from the fire, casting back an arch look 
 over her shoulder to the good man, who, with a smile, was 
 admonishing her to bed. 
 
 The face of the child seemed to be strangely lit up ; for it 
 appeared to have a brightness of its own that revealed every 
 feature, though averted from the light of the fire. This sin- 
 gular scene lasted but a moment, and was succeeded by in- 
 stant and total darkness. Directly they heard the noise of 
 fire-arms outside, and then the shriek and struggling screams 
 of a woman, and, above all, the piercing cries of a child. 
 
 Robert and Huldah lay breathlessly silent until the sounds 
 all died away. The last they heard was the screaming, 
 shrieking voice of the child, that grew weaker and fainter 
 until it ceased altogether. As these sounds were dying 
 away, they seemed to dimly see the face of the woman, 
 with a sweet, forgiving smile on her features, stretched, 
 not upon the floor, but, as it were, suspended in the air. 
 Her neck, so white and beautiful as she sat on the hearth, 
 was now slashed from ear to ear. Her eyes were wide 
 open ; and, though there was an expression of anguish on 
 the face, it was strangely blended with a smile of joy, as if 
 the soul, in its transition from earth to heaven, had felt 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 29 
 
 the glow of the divine effluence, and impressed the mortal 
 form with something of its angelic beauty ere it winged its 
 way towards heaven. 
 
 Neither spoke nor moved till all was still ; and then 
 Robert said, " Huldah, did you see it ? " 
 
 "Indeed I did." 
 
 "Then it was not a dream?" 
 
 " Dream ! no : that child or somebody else that saw that 
 awful deed is alive, and its mind cannot rest; but every 
 night it leaves its body, and comes back ; and it conjures up 
 the same sight again so clearly, that all who are near can 
 see it." 
 
 " Why, Huldah, how knowledgeable you talk ! How did 
 you learn about these strange things ? " 
 
 " When I was at service in Dr. Parkinson's family, I read 
 in the papers all about what Dr. Franklin said on the sub- 
 ject to those Frenchmen that thought they knew more than 
 he did. And then Dr. Parkinson was always reading and 
 talking about them ; and, after my work was done at night, I 
 used to get some of his big books, and read all about it too. 
 I made up my mind on the matter then." 
 
 " Then they are not ghosts ? " 
 
 " Ghosts ! — fiddlesticks ! No. The mind of one person of 
 strong will, — and that makes me think it is not the girl ; 
 alack, it is the man that did it ! — I say, the mind of one per- 
 son is so strongly impressed with that sight, that it im- 
 presses others ; and I'll make you a bet of a boiled apple 
 dumpling (only we've no apples) that the man who did that 
 terrible deed is now alive, and sees the same sight every 
 night. His strong will and vivid imagination impresses all 
 other minds that happen to be in this house. To him that 
 sight is a reality. He sees it, and it is just as it often is in 
 dreams : we hear frequently that people dream of what is 
 going on at a distance, and they find their dreams come true. 
 The way of that is, that somebody else sees in reality what 
 they see in their dreams; and there is a kind of electricity of 
 mind, like that Dr. Franklin discovered with his kite, that 
 passes from one brain to another, so that the thoughts of 
 one person often are the thoughts of another person far 
 away." 
 
 " Well, you may be right, Huldah. I never thought of the 
 subject before. I only took it for granted that all these 
 8* 
 
30 GOMERT OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 stories of ghosts and apparitions were all lies and nonsense. 
 But I can't deny I have seen something looking like human 
 beings ; and yet they were not flesh and blood. Still, as they 
 have done us no harm, we will go to sleep again. But I 
 wish I had not seen that poor woman after her throat was 
 cut. I am afraid I shall dream about her." 
 
 But his sleep was not disturbed again; and he did not 
 awake till the light from the fire that his wife had kindled 
 shone full upon his closed eyelids, and awoke him. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 31 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 ** Stung with the thoughts of home, 
 The thoughts of home rush on his nerves, 
 And call their vigor forth." — Thomson. 
 
 The next morning, invigorated and fresh, Robert and Hul- 
 dah arose to their toil. They were not of the timid or ner- 
 vous kind, to be troubled by any thing that their reason re- 
 jected ; and, though the dreadful sounds and disagreeable 
 sights of the night before would often recur to them, they 
 banished as much as possible such thoughts from their minds, 
 and cheerfully pursued their labor, never alluding during the 
 whole day to the subject. They applied themselves with 
 such willing hands to their work, that, ere the month of 
 May was out, Robert had grubbed and burned over some 
 four acres of the ground on which the trees had been just 
 felled by Gault at the time of his murder. It was easier 
 clearing up this part than that which had been partially 
 burned over by its former owner; as on the latter had 
 sprung up a thick growth of blackberry-bushes, and young 
 saplings of maple and beech, that had got such root, that 
 only by much labor could they be exterminated. On the 
 other part, on the contrary, the small bushes had hardly 
 started ; and the large trees of hard-wood had lain so long 
 on the ground, that the trunks were decayed, and easily 
 knocked to pieces; while the limbs lying light upon the 
 ground, or standing forth to the air, were dry and crisp, and 
 were quickly licked up by the flames that were sent to con- 
 sume them. In the part before burned, there had also 
 grown up among the bushes a thick undergrowth of fine 
 grass, on which the cattle and horses fed eagerly, at the 
 same time that they killed out the troublesome bushes. 
 
 On the part recently burnt over, Robert planted a patch 
 with Indian corn and potatoes, and also sowed a half-acre with 
 spring rye. A spot near the house, which had evidently 
 
 31 
 
32 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 been devoted by his predecessor to the same purpose, he se- 
 lected for a garden, and planted it with the seeds of turnips, 
 cabbages, beets, carrots, pease, and beans, sufficient to supply 
 the wants of a family no larger than his was at that time. 
 It might increase; so might the garden. Every night, it is 
 true, they saw the apparition ; but, as it did not hurt them, 
 they paid little heed to it. They resolutely closed their eyes 
 against the frightful sight of the murdered woman ; and after 
 a short time they divided off the house, and had their bed in 
 the back room, so that they were cut off from that dreadful 
 view. They still heard the noises as before, however ; and, as 
 before, saw the light that streamed bright and vivid through 
 the crevices of the partition, and through the door-way 
 whenever left open or ajar. Huldah was confident that 
 her explanation of the phenomena was correct ; and, as she 
 and her husband never alluded to the subject by word, of 
 course there was no disagreement between them. For a 
 long time, as the ghosts did not trouble them, they did not 
 care to trouble the ghosts ; but at length Robert took it into 
 his head that he would cultivate an acquaintance with them. 
 His wife endeavored to dissuade him ; but he was bent upon it : 
 and so one night, just as the first light flashed into the house, 
 he jumped from his bed, and, looking through the door, saw 
 the same three figures as before. " Well, my friends," said 
 he, and was going on to say, " What do you want here ? " but 
 the first words were scarce out of his mouth, when all was 
 darkness, so suddenly that he started, and, from some cause he 
 could not explain, he fell sideways to the floor, his head strik- 
 ing a jagged corner of a bench, which cut a large gash 
 from the ear across the cheek to the right eye. He heard 
 no more that night ; but his wife told him, that instead of 
 a few musket-shots, as on ordinary occasions, there was a 
 sound as of a terrific cannonade as loud as the heaviest 
 thunder-storm. It had no terrors for her, however ; for, when 
 Robert came to himself, he found his wife calmly bending 
 over him, and washing the blood from his wounds. When 
 his consciousness was fully restored, and he realized where 
 he was, Huldah, for the first time in her life, spoke to him in 
 a fretful, querulous tone. 
 
 "I told you not to trouble the ghosts. But you wouldn't 
 hearken to me ; and now see what you have come to ! Don't 
 we know they are our friends ? Didn't we get the land for 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 33 
 
 a quarter of its value because of them ? And is this the re- 
 turn you would make, you goose ? Have ghosts no rights ? " 
 
 " Of course, they have rights ; but you say they are not 
 ghosts. If they are not ghosts, but only the forms conjured 
 up by the wicked murderer, how could they knock me down, 
 I would like to know ? " 
 
 " If they were ghosts, how could they do it ? for ghosts 
 are nothing but shadows, and haven't the weight of a feather, 
 nor the strength of a fly. And, besides, I don't think any 
 thing touched you. You knew you were meddling in what 
 was none of your business, and so had neither courage nor 
 strength: so, when the light disappeared so suddenly, you 
 started, made a misstep, stumbled, and fell sprawling, cut- 
 ting your head against that broken corner of the meal-chest ; 
 and rightly served you were too." 
 
 Robert made no reply to this ; but having washed his wound 
 till the blood had nearly ceased to flow, his forgiving wife 
 bandaged up his head, and the two lay down to sleep till 
 daylight should summon them to their daily duties. 
 
 The next day they pursued their avocations as usual, and 
 without a word of the incidents of the night. The wound 
 on Robert's face was not deep, and soon healed ; but it left 
 a scar that was to be seen when he lay in his coffin. When- 
 ever his neighbors asked him the cause of it, he always an- 
 swered, " The ghosts." 
 
 The next night, however, no apparition was seen ; which 
 was accounted for on the supposition that they had slept so 
 soundly, that it had failed to awaken them. So uniformly 
 had it appeared before then, that it did not occur to them 
 as possible that it was not present as usual. But as they 
 saw nothing of it for a week, and were sure of having been 
 awake at the hour when it had been wont to appear, they 
 concluded it had left them, and, they hoped, forever. It 
 matters little how sceptical people are : they are pleased 
 with signs and portents reputed favo able, no matter how 
 absurd they may be. Even the sight of the new moon over 
 the right shoulder is more pleasing to the veriest disbeliever 
 in lunar influences, or foreshadowings of the future, than 
 the same crescent seen first with the sinister eye. 
 
 After a few nights, however, it began to appear again, — 
 sometimes faint and indistinct, and at others bright and lu- 
 minous. But it was irregular in its habits ; now coming 
 
34 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 every night for a week, then not showing itself for as long a 
 time, and again appearing at such intervals as seemed to 
 please its capricious temper. 
 
 Their neighbors, from the first, were very curious to know 
 their experience with these incorporeal beings ; but the only 
 answer they gave to the question, if they ever saw any 
 ghosts, was, " None to speak of j" or " None to hurt." 
 
 Their neighbors increased very rapidly around them ; for it 
 was a fine region of country : and, after the war, great num- 
 bers pushed back into the interior ; and at the end of a 
 year, instead of having only two neighbors within a dozen 
 miles of them, they had no less than twenty. They all knew 
 the strange story of the ghosts, and also the former history 
 of Gault's Hill, or Gomery Hill as it was sometimes called. 
 As a general rule, however, these early settlers had difficul- 
 ties and troubles enough of their own, and so paid little 
 attention to those of their neighbors. Some Scotch emi- 
 grants, however, who had recently come from that country 
 where ghosts, witches, hobgoblins, and special providences, 
 were, according to many authentic writers, known to abound, 
 were not disposed to let our friends off so easily. That Rob- 
 ert Gomery and his wife lived in that haunted house, pros- 
 pered, and did not fear the ghosts, was conclusive evidence 
 that they were in league with the Devil. There were also 
 some others of a similar opinion, honest people and industri- 
 ous, but having the most gloomy religious ideas ; being lineal 
 descendants of those zealous bigots of which Cotton Mather 
 was a bright and shining light. These thought something 
 should be done ; but, as there was no law by which they 
 might interfere, they only counselled together, and consid- 
 ered what course ought to be taken. They even spoke to 
 Asa Fisher, and admonished him to beware of the Gomery 
 Family ; for they surely were in league with the Prince of Evil, 
 and no good would come to him or his if he did not abjure 
 their friendship. 
 
 But Asa answered them very shortly: "What do you 
 know against Robert Gomery?" 
 
 " Oh ! we know nothing against him, except that it is known 
 he has dealings with the Devil," said one of his Scotch neigh- 
 bors, who, with one of the native-born bigots, had called to 
 admonish him. " We believe he is an agent of the Devil, 
 and that he will have his part with the wicked, where their 
 worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 35 
 
 " I am sorry for him if that is so," said Asa. 
 
 "It is the Lord's will, and it is marvellous in our eyes. 
 The wicked shall not go unpunished." 
 
 " How do you know it is so ? " 
 
 " Why, man, it is in the Scripter." 
 
 " Why ! there are various opinions about what the Bible 
 contains. I have read it and read it, till I almost know it by 
 heart ; and I have observed that people make up their mind 
 what ought to be in it, and then find it there. Now, you de- 
 sire that the most of your fellow-creatures should be sent to 
 endless torment." 
 
 " It is no such thing. I pray every night that they may 
 all be converted." 
 
 " And think as you do ? " 
 
 " And think as I do, of course ; for mine is the doctrine 
 of the Holy Scripter." 
 
 "And those that differ from you ? " 
 
 " Of course they will go to the bad place." 
 
 " And, had you the power, would you save them from so 
 dreadful a fate?" 
 
 " Let the Lord's will be done ; and, if he dooms such un- 
 believers to perdition, shall I not glorify his name ? " 
 
 " Yes : I see. You have a creed that accords with your 
 own wishes." 
 
 " It is not so. I would that all should repent, and be con- 
 verted." 
 
 " But do you call yourself wiser or better than your Crea- 
 tor?" 
 
 " I should blaspheme to do it." 
 
 " Then you admit you would do as you believe he does. 
 If you had the power of the final disposition of your fellow- 
 men, you would send the most of them to eternal woe, for 
 so you believe the God you worship does ; and, if you say 
 you would do different if you could, you say that you are 
 either more just or merciful than he. Now, I don't believe 
 you are ; and I am very slow to trust men that think so of 
 themselves. They think that other men must go to hell be- 
 cause they desire it. Their creed is an index of their minds. 
 They would torture men in this life for not agreeing with 
 them; and, when they find they can't do that, they console 
 themselves with believing that they are to be miserable for- 
 ever in the next." 
 
36 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 " Brother McPherson, I think we had better go : there is 
 no hope of such a godless sinner as this." 
 
 "There wouldn't be, I confess," said Fisher, "if my future 
 state was to be left to the mercy of such merciless zealots as 
 you are. But it is not, the Lord be praised ! " 
 
 With this last expression, the door of Fisher's house closed 
 on his visitors, who, as soon as they got into the street, be- 
 gan between themselves. 
 
 " Brother Catlin, I am sorry I ever left Scotland, if such 
 abominable doctrines are allowed." 
 
 " I own it is great shame, Brother McPherson ; but what 
 can we do ? The people, generally, have got it into their 
 heads that there must be entire religious toleration; and, un- 
 fortunately, the people rule." 
 
 " It is much better in Scotland. There, if a man is an 
 unbeliever, we contrive to ruin him ; and he hardly knows 
 how it is done. There it is represented as the Lord's do- 
 ings, and has a blessed influence in discouraging non-con- 
 formists and infidels. But here we have no remedy. It 
 is too dangerous trying to destroy their property. We can 
 only wait, and pray that no mercy may be shown them be- 
 yond the grave ; and you know the prayers of the righteous 
 avail much." 
 
 "There is no escape for such as this man Fisher, and 
 Gomery too. They may be good men in their way, — may 
 be honest, industrious, and moral ; but works are nothing : 
 and they are as sure to have the fate of Dives as we are to 
 have that of Lazarus. And, I am sure, I feel such an abhor- 
 rence of their wicked scepticism and unbelief, that, were I in 
 heaven and they in hell, they would have to call a long time 
 before they would get a drop of water from me." 
 
 Conversing thus, Catlin and McPherson pursued their 
 way to their respective homes; and the last words uttered by 
 McPherson, as they parted, were, " We know that they will 
 catch it hereafter, if they don't here." 
 
 " That is our hope and consolation," said Catlin. 
 
 But time wore on ; and, in the changes that were taking 
 place, people forgot to trouble themselves about the ghosts 
 of Gault's Hill. Robert Gomery was a successful man, and 
 prosperity makes friends. He was liberal and easy in his 
 dealings, and an obliging neighbor; and, as his good will 
 was desired, even Brother McPherson and Brother Catlin 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 37 
 
 ceased to talk against him by hinting that he was in league 
 with the Evil One. In fact, he had no neighbors more willing 
 than they to help out at a corn-husking, or spend a social 
 winter evening, after a sumptuous supper, succeeded by lib- 
 eral potations of hot rum-toddy. But they never would 
 stay till the hour when it was said that the ghosts ap- 
 peared. 
 
 Though Gomery had got possession of a large tract of the 
 best land in the country, and had a goodly space cleared, 
 and was prospering beyond his first expectations, he unex- 
 pectedly found that his purchase was far more valuable than 
 he had ever supposed. The boundaries of his land being 
 sought, it was found, that, to the north-east, it extended 
 not only the whole breadth of the hill to the base, but 
 about forty rods beyond, and took in that part of Salmon 
 River that included the only available water-falls in its course 
 for a distance of twenty miles. He was thus the owner of 
 a valuable water-privilege sufficient to run all the mills that 
 would be required in that vicinity for fifty years. 
 
 He no sooner made this discovery than he resolved to 
 profit by it ; and, in a short time, he had a small saw-mill 
 erected for the manufacture of boards and joists. His 
 neighbors were all greatly in need of lumber ; and, as money- 
 was a very scarce commodity, they gave their labor will- 
 ingly ; and his little mill was able to do enough to pay for 
 all the labor that he could profitably employ. Taking ad- 
 vantage of their necessities, so as to serve himself at the 
 same time he benefited his neighbors, he built himself a 
 new house upon the hill, as a dwelling for his increasing 
 family. A boy and a girl had, in the course of these happy 
 and prosperous years, appeared to gladden his hearth ; and, 
 as his circumstances would justify it, he resolved that he 
 would have a new, large, and commodious house for a 
 dwelling, instead of the humble log-house that had been so 
 famous for years as the scene of ghostly visits. 
 
 The new house was a large square building, two stories 
 high, and painted white. From its commanding position, it 
 could be seen at a great distance to the south and east ; and, 
 as Gomery had become the most important man in the vicin- 
 ity, the name of the hill was gradually changed from Mount 
 Gault to Mount Gomery. The transition from this to Mont- 
 gomery was natural and inevitable; and the village that 
 
 4 
 
38 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 grew up at the Falls, was, by general consent, at first called 
 Montgomery's, and then Montgomery. Robert continued 
 to live on the hill, however ; and as the name " Gomery," 
 though not common, had other claimants in the country, 
 Robert Gomery came to be known, among all the people 
 within a hundred miles of him, as Gomery of Montgomery. 
 The new house was painted white, and loomed up so 
 grandly, that it could be seen at a great distance ; and Asa 
 Fisher called it Gomery's Perch. The name ever after at- 
 tached to the house, " The Perch," was well known far and 
 near; and many a chance traveller who had there found 
 hospitality and welcome remarked that it was rightly named, 
 for it always offered a comfortable place in which to roost. 
 
 After the new house was finished, and the family had 
 moved into it, the old log structure was degraded to the 
 humble service of a storehouse. It stood in the rear of the 
 new house, and besides being a receptacle for farming tools, 
 empty casks and boxes, and discarded or broken furniture, 
 it was a sort of rude workshop, with a bench, and such car- 
 penter's tools as were required to make yokes and bows, 
 wood-sleds, axle-trees, and such other utensils as economy 
 and convenience required should be made upon the place. 
 After its desertion as a place to sleep in, it was not known 
 how often the apparition appeared. Occasionally, however, 
 if any one happened to be stirring at the " ghost's hour," 
 as it was called, the strange sights and sounds were observed ; 
 though, oftener, the people who were moving about the 
 premises at midnight observed nothing. 
 
 It was not long after the first small saw-mill was built at 
 what was now called Montgomery Village, before its profits, 
 and the profits of the hill-farm, were sufficient to enable the 
 proprietor to build another and larger mill, — one that could 
 saw not only boards and joists, but shingles and clapboards; 
 and the succeeding year he built a grist-mill with two run of 
 stones, and the year after put up a wool-carding machine 
 and fulling-mill. He was, indeed, a thriving man, and his 
 prosperity made him few enemies ; for he had the sense to 
 see that his neighbors' prosperity was his own. The land in 
 the immediate vicinity of the village he sold out in alter- 
 nate lots, at nominal prices, to sober and industrious me- 
 chanics ; knowing that, if a large town grew up, the part left 
 to him would be worth more in a few years than would the 
 whole if he acted the part of the dog in the manger. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 39 
 
 For all these changes, however, which we have noticed, a 
 few years sufficed. Though the country was fast filling up, 
 yet it was mostly an uncultivated waste still. There were 
 many small clearings ; but the openings in the forest were 
 but as islands in the sea compared with the broad expanse ■ 
 of unbroken wilderness. Robert Gomery had the best 
 house in all that section, the best farm, and the largest 
 clearing ; and yet between him and Asa Fisher's on the old 
 road, or trail (a distance of four and a half miles), there was 
 not another settler. The distance from the house on the 
 hill to the village, that lay in a different direction, was only 
 about half as far; and the only carriage-road between the 
 houses of the two pioneers was by way of the village, being 
 some two miles farther than by the old trail that Robert had 
 first travelled when he ascended the hill. 
 
 If Robert Gomery was somewhat inflated at his own suc- 
 cess ; if, as he looked out_ from his own door and saw the 
 thriving village beneath his eye, and the beautiful country 
 spread out before him, each year showing more signs of 
 wealth and cultivation, he looked back, and thought of his 
 early struggles, and his present independence; if he in- 
 dulged in reveries of how he would be such a benefactor to 
 all the people in his neighborhood, that, by and by, they 
 should send him to Congress, or elect him Governor, — it was 
 an ambition and a vanity not to be despised, but rather hon- 
 ored; for, in all his plans and projects, his hope was to be 
 honored for the good he had done. 
 
 His neighbors had reason to respect him, and he deserved 
 of them all that he anticipated from them. He not only 
 sold his own lots in the village very cheap, but he bought 
 land in the vicinity for cash, and sold it out, on long credit 
 and at very low interest, to such settlers as he knew would 
 be useful citizens. He never inquired into the politics or 
 religion of any person who came to settle near Montgomery, 
 and this caused more complaint against him than all other 
 causes put together; for though he\did not profess to belong 
 to any sect, yet the members of each thought it his particu- 
 lar duty to favor their own : they thought, that with his 
 wealth and influence, if he would encourage only settlers of 
 their faith, then, in a short time, they could overshadow the 
 heretics. The immersionists thought that with his aid they 
 could drown out the sprinklers ; and the sprinklers thought 
 
40 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 that with him to back them they could wither up the im- 
 mersionists. But he would not take sides; and then the 
 rigidly righteous, the "unco gude," began to hint that he 
 was no better than an infidel ; but, when he heard of it, he 
 said he did not think it necessary to persecute in order to 
 prove that he was a Christian. With this remark he 
 quietly pursued his way, and left those more sectarian than 
 he to fight it out among themselves. 
 
 He had been now more than ten years on the place. His 
 worldly goods had increased wonderfully, and the world lay 
 all sunshine before him. He had, as we have said, two chil- 
 dren, both healthy, robust, and promising. The elder was a 
 boy ; and in view of the fact, that, unlike his father, he had 
 been born under a free government, of an independent coun- 
 try, he had been named Freeborn. He had made no claim 
 to attention till his parents had been three years in the 
 woods; and then he made his appearance, and was gladly 
 welcomed, notwithstanding the trouble he caused. A sister 
 appeared two years later, who was named Eunice, as the 
 name signified a glorious victory: so that, at the time to 
 which we have now arrived, the boy was seven and the girl 
 five years old. 
 
 The harvest had been gathered in, and the winter had 
 shut down upon the earth with its thick quilt of snow. The 
 earth had given forth abundantly; and Robert Gomery 
 found it necessary to go to Portland to attend to certain 
 business there requiring his attention, and at the same time 
 to take to market a load of farm-produce which he wanted to 
 sell for such groceries and other necessaries as his family re- 
 quired. He accordingly loaded up his large "pung" with 
 butter, cheese, lard, and the carcasses of two huge hogs that 
 had been slaughtered the day before for this destination. 
 The affectionate Huldah had put up for him a large round 
 box of luncheon, consisting of bread and butter, sausages, 
 cheese, doughnuts, and Thanksgiving mince-pies more liberal- 
 ly stuffed with plums than was the famous bag-pudding whose 
 fragments were so economically used by the thrifty queen of 
 good King Arthur. The children, though it was not three 
 o'clock when he started, were up to see him off; and many 
 commissions did they give him to execute for them in the 
 purchase of toys and goodies. Freeborn had the* day before 
 secured the bladders of the slaughtered hogs; and, having in- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 41 
 
 flated them through a straw, he put them on top of the load, 
 to be sold in payment for some new boots, a pair of skates, a 
 fur cap, cloth for some new clothes, besides sundry other 
 things which he desired should be bought for him. His 
 father objected to taking any more additional load, and said, 
 if the sleighing were not good for the whole distance, he 
 would be obliged to throw them off. 
 
 It was a cold raw morning when he started ; and the sleigh- 
 ing was such, that he could go by the old road, or Indian 
 trail, — a way never travelled by carriages. This was a saving 
 of a good bit of travel ; but as it was seldom travelled now, 
 except by travellers from a distance, who had no object in 
 going round by the village, it had never been made a high- 
 way fit for wheels. It was a sort of road for travellers, on 
 foot or on horseback, who were passing through from the 
 seacoast to the North ; and Gomery of Montgomery's became 
 known for a long distance as a resting-place by the way- 
 side, where the rich and poor alike found an honest Yankee 
 welcome, a bountiful repast, a warm bed, and no charge for 
 the entertainment. 
 
 The ground had been frozen solid before the snow had 
 fallen ; and, with the snow now on the ground, the sleighing 
 was perfect. The crisp, eager air seemed to stimulate the 
 stout horses ; and Gomery frisked over the road at a rate that 
 surprised him. He had gone full twenty miles before he 
 saw the first light in any house that he passed ; and even this 
 one was seen before the first gleam of dawn appeared in the 
 east. 
 
 Oh ! it was glorious sleigh-riding in those brave days of old, 
 when the weather was cold, the snow not too deep, and the 
 air clear and nipping ; when there were only sleighs enough 
 on the highways to make the roads smooth, and not enough 
 to cut through into the sand and earth beneath. How fleetly 
 the honest Morgans skimmed over the hills, and along the 
 valleys ! and how merrily the great heavy bells jingled! How 
 laughingly the hills echoed back their jocund sound! Alas! 
 those days are gone ; and now, if we would ride in a sleigh, it 
 is to the music of tea-table bells, and over roads where the 
 snow clings tenaciously, but vainly, for precedence with the 
 sand and gravel. 
 
 As Robert Gomery moved so briskly over the hills, he in- 
 dulged in many pleasing reveries, — now thinking of the 
 
 4* 
 
42 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 honors that the people ere long would thrust upon him, and 
 now imagining the expressions and surprise of Freeborn 
 and Eunice when he should produce before them the numer- 
 ous toys and gimcracks that he intended purchasing for them. 
 Certainly the latter picture was the more pleasant to con- 
 template; and the sweet home-thoughts soon drove his ambi- 
 tious schemes quite out of his head, and he glided along sing- 
 ing snatches of war-songs and "pennirial" hymns, mixing 
 them in sandwich fashion as they flew up from his merry 
 heart to his trolling tongue. The sun at last showed his face, 
 but so white and pale as if ashamed of himself for his weak- 
 ness in allowing the winter to rule so absolutely in spite of 
 him. When he first showed his head, the air was clear and 
 transparent : but, as if in contempt of his power, a haze soon 
 began to overspread the earth ; and by nine o'clock, though 
 be could be seen in his place in the heavens, his appearance 
 was rather that of a broad, bright shield, than as the god of 
 day. In a little while he could hardly be seen at all ; and by 
 eleven o'clock he was completely obscured, and there was 
 every appearance of another snow-storm. But no snow fell 
 that day ; and it was not till the next morning, at about nine 
 o'clock, that one of those storms set in, that, from the start, 
 show that the gusty old gentlemen is in earnest. The flakes 
 were fierce, round, and scattering at first, and the air sharp and 
 biting. Gradually they grew larger, the sky darker, and the 
 air softer; and, in a couple of hours, the snow was filling fast 
 and furious, and rapidly filling up the road, so as to cause the 
 load to drag heavily on the stout team. But Gomery of 
 Montgomery still pushed on, and, before night of the second 
 day, had reached his destination, sold his load, made his 
 purchases, transacted all his other business, and was ready 
 to return. In the morning, therefore, notwithstanding the 
 storm still kept up, though at a more moderate rate, he de- 
 termined to start for home, in spite of hard roads and stormy 
 weather. Bad as the roads were, and deep as was the snow, 
 he thought it would be easier getting along than after the 
 storm had abated, and the inevitable nor'-wester set in. So 
 he set forth, his load but little lighter than when he came in ; 
 for, in exchange for his farm-produce, he had laid in a supply 
 of salt, sugar, tea, coffee, molasses, and other things wanted 
 at home, not forgetting Freeborn's skates, and various other 
 trinkets and kickshaws. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 
 
 43 
 
 But though he urged forward his horses through the day 
 with unusual cuts of the whip, and walked beside the sleigh 
 for the most of the way, he found the darkness closing down 
 upon him by the time he got to the Cross-roads Tavern, 
 twenty miles from town. He therefore stopped for the night 
 at the inn ; and the next morning the storm had ceased, and 
 the wind was blowing the snow wildly about, piling up large 
 drifts in some places, and sweeping other long reaches bare 
 as before the storm. Yet, nothing daunted, he set forth so 
 soon as he saw the farmers living on the road pass by with 
 their heavy ox-teams for the purpose of tramping down the 
 snow, and making the roads passable for loads. 
 
 The second night after leaving the Cross-roads Tavern, by 
 hard driving, Gomery reached the house of his last neighbor 
 on the direct or shortest road to his house. This was the 
 house of his old friend Fisher ; not a log-cabin as of yore, but 
 a comfortable frame-house, lathed and plastered, shingled 
 and clapboarded. Since the last storm, no one had passed 
 over the old road by the Indian trail; and he could not 
 think of pushing his jaded team that night over the longer 
 route by the village. The last day had been very hard on 
 the horses, and it was only after much coaxing and whipping 
 that he was able to reach *Fisher's house. To Fisher's offer, 
 therefore, to put up his team in his barn for the night, he 
 willingly assented; but, to the invitation to stop himself, 
 he gave a flat refusal. 
 
 The night was stinging sharp. "The owl, for all his feath- 
 ers, was a-cold." The cattle and horses stood curled and 
 humped up in their stalls, and the air in the red west seemed 
 to sparkle and shimmer with the frost. 
 
 "It is a bitter night, neighbor," said Fisher. "The frost 
 has not been so thick on the windows any night this winter. 
 You had better stay, and go round by the village in the 
 morning. At any rate, let us have supper, and then you 
 will think better of it." 
 
 But he even refused to partake of the ample supper now 
 spread upon the board. 
 
 " No, no ! " said he. " There is a supper waiting for me at 
 home, and anxious eyes are watching. I warrant you there 
 has not been a sound heard outside of the house for two 
 nights but Freeborn and Eunice have run to look for 
 me. They went crying to bed last night ; and to-night there 
 
44 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 will be older eyes than theirs crying, if I don't get home." 
 So throwing off his outside and heaviest overcoat, that it 
 might not impede his walking, he prepared to sally forth. 
 
 "You had better keep on your overcoat," said Fisher. 
 "You will need it." 
 
 " I have got one on now ; and I have no fear but I shall be 
 warm enough, breaking my way through the snow. Good- 
 night ! I will send one of the hired men early in the morn- 
 ing for the team." With that he passed out, and took his 
 way towards his home. 
 
 Robert Gomery had not been mistaken in supposing that 
 anxious eyes were on the lookout for him. He had been 
 gone a day beyond the alloted time; and the affectionate 
 Huldah was getting uneasy about him, though she well 
 knew the deep snow must keep him back for a considerable 
 time. The children were excessively impatient for his re- 
 turn, and had gone reluctantly to bed for the last two nights. 
 This night, however, they were resolute to see him, and with 
 many tears protested that they could not sleep till he re- 
 turned; and it was a full hour beyond their usual time before 
 their mother could persuade them to their beds by promises 
 that they should be called when he came. But their strange 
 anxiety imparted itself to her; and, for some reason (she 
 could hardly tell why), she became very nerv r ous and anx- 
 ious. Several times during the evening she required the 
 two farm-laborers to go out, and look and listen for him. 
 She supposed, of course, that he would come by way of the 
 village, as the other road had not been broken out since the 
 great storm. 
 
 It was past nine o'clock, and there were no signs of the 
 good man. The voice of little Eunice was heard calling from 
 her truckle-bed in the next room, saying she heard a noise 
 outside. 
 
 At that, one of the men, called Linus, went out again to 
 look. He soon returned, saying it was only the old Indian 
 who was sleeping out in the old house. 
 
 " Who is that old Indian I have seen about for the last 
 two or three days ? " asked Huldah. 
 
 " I don't know who he is," replied Linus. " Chesley and I 
 were at work in the old house the day the storm begun. I 
 was making a yoke, and Chesley was making the bows, when 
 the door opened, and that awful-looking critter stood at the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 45 
 
 door. He 'peared to be almost froze to death. He never 
 said a word, but came right in, and lay down by the -fire like 
 a dog. He shivered so, that I was a-feared he'd die ; and Ches- 
 ley came in, and got him a glass of hot grog. I guess he 
 wanted a drink himself. The old fellow, when he see the 
 grog, catched it, bilin' hot as it was, and swallowed it at a 
 gulp; and then lay down, and went to sleep. When he was 
 asleep, we looked at him hard ; and never in all my life did I 
 see so pitiable an object. He was thin and black and hag- 
 gard ; and one leg had been broken and grown together, so 
 that the heel of the right foot pointed right into the hollow 
 of the left. When he waked up, Freeborn and Eunice were 
 both out there, and he looked amazing curis at them. Jest 
 then Chesley took off the big kettleful of potatoes biled for 
 the hogs ; and he snatched one of 'em right out of the kettle, 
 and eat it down as if he was starved." 
 
 " I think he is cold out there to-night," said Chesley. " I 
 asked him if he wasn't last night, and he said ' No ; ' but it 
 is a great deal colder to-night." 
 
 " Well, I wish you would go and get some of those old 
 blankets and the old buffalo, and carry out to him," said Hul- 
 dah. " It is a pity he should suffer when we have clothes 
 enough." 
 
 Chesley did as he was requested ; and, while he was away, 
 Huldah spoke up again, and said, — 
 
 " Why did not you send into the house and get some good 
 victuals, and not let him eat only pigs' food ? " 
 
 "That is just what I was coming at. When Freeborn see 
 him catch at the potato so, he run into the house, and got a 
 great plate of beef and pork and bread and cabbage and 
 turnips, and gave 'em to him ; and he eat it all. We asked 
 him a great many questions ; but he would not answer a 
 word." 
 
 " I think that old Indian is crazy," said Chesley, coming in 
 again after having taken out to him the bed-clothes as or- 
 dered. 
 
 " Why ? what tantrums is he in now ? " inquired Linus. 
 
 "They are coming to-night," says he; "the angels are 
 weeping;" and I says, "Who is coming? and what angels?" 
 and at that he drew his finger across his throat, and laughed 
 like a devil, and pointed his finger toward the spring. 
 
 " Ah, well ! 'tis some old Indian who has heard the stories 
 that they used to tell about ghosts on this hill." 
 
46 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 " Oh, yes ! he said he had been here before," said Linus. 
 "First he would answer nothing. But yesterday, when I 
 took the rum-bottle out for me and Chesley to take some- 
 thing, I gave him a swig. I put the bottle down in a corner, 
 and he got hold of and drinkt it every drop. It was every 
 drop there was in the house, and we sha'n't have any more 
 till Mr. Gomery gets back. Fort'nate, that'll be soon. Well, 
 after he had got all that rum down his neck, he began to 
 mutter something ; and I asked him if he was ever here be- 
 fore. He said, 'Yes.' 'How many years ago?' 'Fourteen.' 
 « Who lived here then ? ' « Gault,' said he. « What ! ' says I, 
 4 were you one of them Indians that murdered him ?' He only 
 said, ' Ugh ; ' and that might mean any thing or nothing. Fi- 
 nally Chesley asked him if he knew whether or no that child 
 was dead or alive ; and then he looked up, shook his head, 
 and passed his finger across his throat, as much as to say 
 how it had been killed. Then he laughed, and looked so 
 devilish, I should have thought he was the Devil himself, if 
 he had only had a split foot, instead of one turned wrong 
 side out." 
 
 At this time, the voice of Eunice was heard calling from 
 her bed-room for the second time. She had heard papa's 
 voice ; and Freeborn said he had heard it too, and it was in 
 the direction of the old trail. Again they all listened; and 
 this time they went to the door, and stood till the cold 
 drove them in. They cast their eyes along the old road ; but 
 the snow lay deep, stiff, and hard, and there was no sign of a 
 track in that direction. Of course, he would not come that 
 way : and so they strained their eyes and ears to catch some 
 sign from the village road ; and Chesley walked down in that 
 direction for half a mile, and, seeing nothing of living 
 beings, returned. Then they waited for a few minutes 
 longer ; when Freeborn came running out in his night-clothes, 
 saying he knew he had heard his father calling ; and he begged 
 that he might be dressed, and go and search for him. Then 
 all went to the door again, and looked. But no sound was 
 heard ; and though the sharp, biting air was so clear and cold, 
 that the bright starlight, falling on the crisp snow, glittering 
 back the diamond light from its myriads of crystal particles, 
 enabled them to peer far into the distance, yet no moving 
 thing was to be seen. 
 
 Eleven o'clock came ; and, as nothing more was heard, they 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 47 
 
 thought it useless to sit up later. The hired men were dis- 
 missed to their rest ; and Huldah, as usual, went to look at 
 her children before retiring for the night. Neither of them 
 was asleep yet ; but both were intently listening for the sounds 
 which they said they had again heard. Their mother was 
 uneasy, but, assuming a bold heart, told the children they 
 must be mistaken, and, carefully tucking the clothes around 
 them, bade them go to sleep. But she herself had hardly laid 
 her head upon her pillow, when she fancied she heard a 
 sound as of some one hallooing ; and at that instant the two 
 children jumped up in their beds, saying they had heard it 
 again. Huldah arose again instantly, and, partially dressing 
 herself, went to the chamber-door, and called out to the men 
 to come down, and again go out and look; for she was sure 
 she had heard some one calling outside. Incredulous, yet 
 good-natured, they both came down, and again went out into 
 the cold, dark night. They walked some distance down the 
 road towards the village, and, as they were returning, saw a 
 bright light gleaming from the window of the old house. 
 
 " By George ! " said Linus, " I b'leve the old Indian has set 
 the old ark a-fire." In an instant, however, it was dark as 
 ever; and instantly they heard a noise as of the discharge 
 of fire-arms. " By hokey ! I guess the devil is to pay to- 
 night," said Chesley. 
 
 " That was nothing but the cracking of the ice on the 
 river." 
 
 " But we never hear the ice crack on the river way up 
 here." 
 
 " It is a very cold, still night ; and it is possible." 
 
 As they approached the old house, they saw the figure of 
 the old Indian limping away, and in the same direction 
 heard a strange noise. 
 
 " Come back, old man ! " said Chesley. " What are you 
 going off now for ? You will freeze to death before morn- 
 ing." 
 
 But the old cripple limped away, answering never a word 
 to them ; but still the sound kept up in that direction. 
 
 " That is a queer noise for an old man," said Linus. 
 
 "It sounds more like a scared baby," answered Chesley. 
 
 When they entered the house again, they asked Huldah if 
 she had seen the light in the old house. 
 
 " Certainly I did," she replied. " I have seen it a hun- 
 
48 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 dred times before, though not once for I don't know how 
 long." 
 
 " What is the cause of it ? " asked Linus. 
 
 " I don't know much about it," said she ; and the men, con- 
 fused and astonished, again went to their beds. 
 
 "Mind you," said Huldah, as a parting injunction, "get up 
 early in the morning, and one of you go down to the village, 
 and see what that noise was about ; " and with these last 
 words she again retired, and fell asleep. 
 
 The next morning, before the first gleam of daylight could 
 be seen, Linus was up, and on his way to the village, for what 
 he hardly knew. It occurred to him that he was going on a 
 foolish errand, — one implying that Gomery of Montgomery 
 did not know enough to take care of himself; and couldn't find 
 his way home. But somehow he felt that something had 
 gone wrong ; and so he pushed on at a quick trot, it being 
 necessary to move briskly to keep from freezing. It was the 
 coldest morning, he thought, he had ever known ; and, by the 
 time he reached the village, his congealed breath had collected 
 on his eyebrows, on his locks and whiskers, and on the up- 
 turned collar of his coat, so that he looked like Winter per- 
 sonified. 
 
 There was but one store in Montgomery at this time, and 
 this was the principal place of public resort. It was kept by 
 a thrifty young speculating tradesman, named Springer ; and 
 he was just opening his place when Linus arrived. 
 
 " Halloo, Linus ! " said the shopman : " you are out early 
 this morning. What has Jbrought you here at this time o' 
 day, such a morning as this ? " 
 
 "The-rum jug gin out, for one thing." 
 
 " What ! hasn't Gomery got back yet ? " 
 
 " No : hasn't he got along this fur ? " anxiously inquired 
 Linus. 
 
 " This fur ! That's a pretty question. It's likely he would 
 stop here, ain't it ? " 
 
 Linus felt that he had come on a fool's errand, and so said 
 he wanted a small jug of New-England rum to last till the 
 old man got home. With this, having first taken a warming 
 draught to sustain him, he set forth on his way back to the Hill. 
 Huldah anxiously awaited his return, though really unexpec- 
 tant of any good news. Freeborn and Eunice seemed to 
 have forgotten their anxiety of the night before, and were 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 49 
 
 busily engaged in playing at hauling wood, with a chair for a 
 bob-sled, and Eunice for oxen. She was Star and Buck, 
 Lineback and Golden, to the youthful teamster. Huldah, 
 when Linus returned with no tidings, was convinced that 
 the sounds she had heard were connected with the old tra- 
 ditional sights and cries that had been heard every night on 
 the Hill for so long after the Gault murder ; and, feeling easier, 
 told the men to go about their work. 
 
 That day an unusual number of the villagers was collected 
 at the store of Job Springer. Job always kept a good fire ; 
 and, as it was so cold that few people could face it by work- 
 ing out of doors, many gathered in there as a place where 
 all had an equal right. They amused themselves by talking 
 over the meagre news of the day, telling stories, chewing 
 and smoking tobacco, and occasionally indulging in a glass 
 of rum. It was about eleven o'clock, and the company were 
 discussing the cold weather ; and various reasons were given 
 for regarding the night before as the coldest ever known in 
 that vicinity. One of the company, Tisdale Abbott, gave as 
 a proof of it, that some rum he carried home the night be- 
 fore was found frozen solid in the morning, and he had never 
 had that happen to him before. 
 
 " No," said Job, who felt the strength of his rum called in 
 question : " I presume you never did, and for the good reason 
 that you never kept any rum over night before." 
 
 This caused a hearty laugh at Tisdale's expense, as he was 
 known to be a man that never drank spirituous liquors of 
 any kind. The laugh was interrupted by the entrance of a 
 stranger who had driven up to the door, who, having covered 
 his horse with a bed-quilt, entered the store to warm him- 
 self externally by the fire, and internally with a glass of 
 " black-strap." He had previously stopped on his way at 
 Asa Fisher's, and there learned that Gomery of Montgomery 
 had arrived there the night before, and left his team; going 
 home on foot by the old road. This fact came out incident- 
 ally as he was sipping his glass of hot water, rum, and mo- 
 lasses. 
 
 " That couldn't be," said Springer ; " for one of his men 
 was here, and inquired for him early this morning." 
 
 " Yes : it was so ; for I see his pung standin' at the door, 
 full of things he had got down below." 
 
 5 
 
50 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 "By golly! then he's froze to death," said Abijah Kim- 
 ball, jumping from his seat. 
 
 Every man sprang up instantly at this exclamation ; for the 
 probability of its truth flashed instantly on every mind. 
 
 There was little more said. Tisdale Abbott flew to his 
 own house, and, taking his black mare from the stable, har- 
 nessed her, with immense celerity, to the sleigh ; and when 
 his wife came out to the door, and saw him driving furiously 
 away, she called out to know what the matter was. Tisdale 
 imagined rather than heard her question, and screamed in 
 reply, as he whizzed past the door, the tears rolling down his 
 rough, honest cheeks, " Gomery of Montgomery is froze to 
 death ! " A quick switch or two across the flanks of his 
 gamy little mare, and, in a moment, he is back to the 
 store. Two others of the company jump into the sleigh ; and 
 the little mare is put into a canter that she is scarce allowed 
 to break till she stopped, puffing and panting, at the door of 
 Asa Fisher. The rest of the company followed on, — some in 
 sleighs, and some on foot. No one felt the cold now ; for, 
 though they had started off without staying for overcoats or 
 other extra protection from the cold, the news they had 
 heard sent the blood coursing so livelily through their veins, 
 that no idea of cold was suggested to them. 
 
 Asa and his wife, and all his children, were at their mid- 
 day meal when they saw the sleigh drive up ; and, observing 
 through the window the excited countenances of the pas- 
 sengers, all hurried to the door, Asa calling out, — 
 
 " What, what, what's this ? " 
 
 " Was Gomery of Montgomery here last night?" said Tis- 
 dale, though the well-known sleigh at the door rendered his 
 question superfluous. 
 
 " Yes : he left here last night at about eight o'clock to go 
 home by the old road." 
 
 " He's froze to death ! " 
 
 These were all strong men, inured to life in its roughest, 
 rudest form ; but there was not a diy eye among them. Fish- 
 er's children broke out crying aloud, and his wife joined in 
 the melancholy wail. 
 
 Asa put on his old cap and mittens, and told them to follow 
 him. It was idle to think of going through the snow on the 
 old road with a horse ; and they set forth on foot, running and 
 pushing by each other in their haste to get over the ground. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 51 
 
 They were closely followed by others who had pursued hard 
 after them from the village ; and, by the time they had got a 
 mile from Fisher's, there were a dozen in the company. 
 
 The track of Gomery was the only one in the road ; and 
 they followed it for about two miles, when they observed a 
 place where he had apparently stopped, and leaned against a 
 tree. After this the steps seemed irregular, and showed that 
 he had stopped frequently. The pursuers pushed on till 
 they came to within less than a mile from the house, and 
 they could see the road for half a mile directly before them, 
 and there were no signs of him to be seen. Tbey now began 
 to hope that he had got through alive, and was at last safe 
 at home ; but just as they were making the last turn that 
 shut out the house from their view, and the tall edifice loomed 
 full on their sight before them, they passed an immense birch 
 that stood close to the road. There the track came to an 
 end ; for sitting on the closely packed snow, on the upper 
 side of the tree, was Gomery of Montgomery, frozen to death. 
 His eyes looked as clear and bright as ever ; for they had 
 doubtless been frozen in their sockets, as, with a spasmodic 
 effort to throw off the overpowering drowsiness, they opened 
 to gaze on the light that beamed through the windows of 
 his own home. 
 
52 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Whip me, ye devils, 
 From the possession of this heavenly sight I 
 Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur! 
 Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire I " — Othello. 
 
 The terrible death of Gomery of Montgomery caused the 
 strange appearance, the mysterious behavior, and the still 
 more mysterious departure, of the old Indian to be, for a 
 time, unthought of. He had been mentioned at the break- 
 fast-table the morning after his disappearance ; but as strag- 
 gling Indians were not rare in those days, and were erratic 
 and peculiar in their movements, he was dismissed as an od- 
 dity, and not thought of again for a long time. 
 
 There was sad wailing in the house, when, looking forth 
 from the window, Huldah Gomery saw a dozen men ap- 
 proaching laboriously through the snow, bearing in their 
 arms the stark-stiff body of her husband. 
 
 The dead was buried in time ; and save that the master's 
 hand was no more visible, and sorrow reigned instead of joy, 
 every thing went on as regularly as before the fatal night. 
 
 The Indian had been over the same ground before. On 
 that occasion, he was one of a party who had escaped from 
 a sharp action in the East between a party of Arnold's men 
 and a body of Indians, Canadians, and English, which, under 
 a certain Col. Cumberland, an officer of high repute in his 
 Britannic majesty's service, had been surprised and cut to 
 pieces, to the great mortification of the commanding officer. 
 He had barely escaped alive with a dozen of his English vet- 
 erans, together with about thirty Indians, whom he had be- 
 guiled with large promises of blankets, fire-water, and scalps, 
 from their own hunting-grounds farther west. Col. Cum- 
 berland not only stood high as an officer of enterprise and 
 daring, but he was a scion of one of the blood aristocracy. 
 The name of his ancestor was to be found in Domesday Book ; 
 and the family history was checkered by many acts of cour- 
 age and loyalty. He was a man of excessive pride, and of 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 53 
 
 boundless ambition. He had not only an unbending will, 
 but a will that never bent. Like all men, he could be con- 
 quered or killed ; but in his will and purpose he never gave 
 way : his temperament and education alike forbade it. And , 
 yet, for all this, he had been surprised by a company of rag- 
 ged, shoeless, Yankee recruits, and his force destroyed ; and 
 he was now making his way back to meet his superior, and 
 report his own defeat. His contempt for the Yankees was 
 now changed into inveterate, unquenchable, remorseless hate. 
 He could never know them more but as vermin, deserving 
 only of extermination. The younger of two sons of an 
 English nobleman, he made up in pride for his lack of heri- 
 tage, and had quarrelled with his family over his father's 
 grave. Subsequently, however, he had married an heiress of 
 more rank than beauty, and more wealth than either. She 
 was the last in the line of a great name, and of vast estates 
 that fell to her and the heirs of her body, and which, in 
 case they lapsed, would go to a distant, unknown, and de- 
 spised branch of the family. If he was unscrupulous in the 
 means he took for gaining his ends, it followed as a part of 
 his character. In his mind, it was right for him to do any act 
 that would advance his interests. His moral perception 
 went no farther. His wife he had married from interest, and 
 with no pretence of love ; but she had turned to him with a 
 singleness of devotion and sacrificing regard, that showed too 
 well that she had never won by personal charms the affection 
 her heart coveted. His great, immediate ambition was, by 
 means of his own energy and talent, and his wife's wealth, 
 to attain a position in the political and social world where 
 he could express his contempt for his brother, whom lie hated 
 as intensely as he could hate one whom he despised so much. 
 In the accomplishment of his purposes, he had sought the 
 theatre of war ; and his wife, with that tenacity of affection, 
 or rather sacrifice of self, that is not unfrcquently shown by 
 persons conscious of personal inferiority, insisted on accom- 
 panying him. She went with him to Quebec ; and two years 
 and a half afterwards departed to another world, leaving a 
 child, a daughter, that had been born six months after her 
 arrival. Col. Cumberland had regarded his wife only as an 
 investment. He had never pretended to love her ; and when 
 she died, as she had left an heir, he did not pretend to mourn 
 her death. The child, however, was all in all to him. 
 
 6* 
 
54 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 Worldly interest and parental fondness seemed to unite in 
 him towards this wee thing, thus cast, as it were, on a foreign 
 shore, and to waken feelings that had hitherto been dormant 
 in his selfish, ambitious nature. 
 
 As all his plans and hopes depended on this child's life, 
 he was naturally anxious that it- should be sent to Eng- 
 land, where it would receive more care and attention than 
 among the strangers who had the charge of it in the city 
 of its birth. His wife would never consent to return to 
 England without her husband; but the child had no voice in 
 its own disposition : and it was Col. Cumberland's intention, 
 as soon as he reached Quebec, to get leave of absence, and 
 take it himself to his friends, and see that in every thing it 
 was amply provided for. His surprise and defeat, however, 
 disarranged all his plans, and dashed all his hopes of prefer- 
 ment ; and now, instead of being on his way to England, he 
 was hunting a road through the forest to report his own dis- 
 comfiture, and perhaps be subjected to the humiliation of a 
 court-martial. He had not thought of being absent from 
 headquarters for more than two weeks ; but he had been sur- 
 prised, his force destroyed, his retreat cut off, and he could 
 return only by a long circuit, intercepting and joining one of 
 the detachments moving by the western road from the army 
 of New York to Montreal. It was a long, perilous, and pe- 
 culiarly vexatious journey; and, as he led his small fragment 
 of an army through the forest, he was in the most vicious 
 and implacable frame of mind. 
 
 In his flight to the west, he was obliged to follow the old 
 Indian trails; and, unfortunately, the one he chose led directly 
 over Gault's Hill. The path they took was a well-known 
 trail ; and the spring near Gault's house had been a famous 
 camping-ground for the savages for a long time. The party 
 had arrived in sight of Gault's Hill and clearing about an 
 hour before sunset ; and, at sight of it, it occurred to Cumber- 
 land that perhaps there might be an encampment of Yankee 
 troops, which, if he could surprise, it would go far to wipe 
 out the disgrace of his last engagement. The party arrived 
 at the spring about nine o'clock in the evening ; and here the 
 word was given out that they would encamp for the night, if 
 nothing new were discovered. Strict injunctions were given 
 that no noise should be made, and no fire lighted, till a re- 
 connoissance had been made. The company therefore threw 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 65 
 
 themselves on the ground about the spring, and waited for 
 their colonel to go, and examine for himself the prospect of 
 an adventure. 
 
 He took with him, for this purpose, his most expert Indian 
 scout, — the one on whom he most relied for daring ventures 
 and subtle resource. He was one of the last of a tribe nearly- 
 extinct ; and was so noted for his cunning and ferocity, that 
 he was known by the name of " Sleeping Vengeance." 
 
 The two advanced very cautiously ; and, as they beared the 
 house, they perceived that outside all was still and quiet, and 
 only the gleam of a light from a single window gave any 
 signs that any waking person was about the premises. 
 Stealthily creeping round till they came within the glare of 
 the light, they could see, from the stump of a tree very near 
 the house, such a scene as neither anticipated. Instead of a 
 company of soldiers, making use of the house for a resting- 
 place for the night, and who could be surprised, and taken 
 prisoners, there was a fireside of domestic happiness such as 
 had not been seen by Col. Cumberland for many a day. A 
 bright fire was in the broad fireplace ; and at one side sat a 
 man of powerful frame, holding a large book open on his 
 lap. At the opposite corner sat a woman, young and beauti- 
 ful, her dress partially loosed about the neck as if about re- 
 tiring for the night, revealing shoulders and bosom of snowy 
 whiteness, while a smile of playfulness and love was upon 
 her face as she held up a child's night-gown to a little girl 
 that was coyly approaching her from the other side, now 
 casting an arch look over her shoulder to her father, and 
 then mischievously laughing and pouting as if yet unwilling 
 to submit to the maternal commands. It was a sight to have 
 softened the spirit of a demon, and for a moment Col. Cum- 
 berland paused to admire. But it was only for a moment. 
 A second glance at the beautiful, partially undressed woman, 
 roused in him a feeling of diabolical passion such as we read 
 of having possessed the Cenci, or that " Sextus who wrought 
 the deed of shame." Gazing with malignant, devilish eye 
 for a moment, his resolution was taken. He bade the Indian 
 return, and tell the soldiers to be prepared, if any one ap- 
 proached without first giving the countersign of "King 
 George," to shoot him in his tracks. Some one was then to 
 make a noise as of a person calling for help ; and as soon as 
 they saw a man approaching, as they undoubtedly would, to 
 
00 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 learn the cause, they were to shoot him dead ; but for no one, 
 save himself, to return to the house till further orders. 
 
 The Indian returned to the spring, and repeated the or- 
 ders of the commandant, and then went back to learn and 
 execute his further pleasure. They both now concealed 
 themselves behind a fallen tree, and soon after heard a call as 
 of a person in great distress. They saw the door open, and a 
 man come forth, and look out. There was another cr.ll ; and 
 they saw the man turn back, and re-appear a moment after 
 with an axe on his shoulder, and go forth along the path 
 towards the spring. The colonel now told his compan- 
 ion, as soon as he heard the sound of fire-arms, to rush 
 into the house, seize the child, and make off with it ; doing 
 with it as he liked. 
 
 " It is to be mine, is it ? " said Sleeping Vengeance. 
 
 " If you want it ; but yofi will split its skull before you 
 have had it an hour," replied the officer. 
 
 "That is for me to say," said the savage, just as the sharp 
 reports of half a dozen muskets were heard. 
 
 The two sprang forward, Vengeance in advance ; and, just 
 as the door was opened again, they heard a loud agonizing 
 groan, that was answered by a shriek from the wife, who 
 rushed to the door in frantic alarm. At the threshold 
 she met the uncouth figure of Sleeping Vengeance, who 
 pushed her back into the room, and caught up the child (that 
 in its fright had jumped from its low truckle-bed), and 
 rushed toward the door. The mother, seeing the purpose 
 of the Indian, grasped at the child, and tried to tear it from 
 him. At this instant she was seized by a tall officer in uni- 
 form, who thrust her back into the middle of the room, and 
 bade the savage make way with the child. She made an- 
 other spring towards the door ; but the officer hurled her 
 back with such force, that this time she fell unconscious on 
 the floor. He then firmly closed and barred the door; and, 
 with water from a bucket standing in the room, he dashed 
 her face till she was roused to consciousness. 
 
 The fire was still bright upon the hearth. He looked 
 about to see that no other eyes were beholding him ; and, 
 feeling that the deed in his heart would not bear the light, 
 he dashed the bucket of water on the fire, and all was 
 dark. 
 
 In half an hour he left the house, and returned to his par- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 57 
 
 ty, who were waiting impatient at his long delay. His vic- 
 tim he had left senseless in the house ; and the remaining 
 ejaculations of the child which Vengeance held in his arms 
 near by was all the sound that disturbed the stillness of that 
 dreadful night. 
 
 "Make way with the brat!" said the colonel, impatient 
 and troubled. " Let us be off now ! " 
 
 " The child belongs to Vengeance," said the savage, mov- 
 ing off towards the spring. 
 
 They passed the body of the dead pioneer, fallen direct- 
 ly in their path, at a distance of about ten rods from the 
 camping-ground. Their companions were all on the alert, 
 expecting an engagement with a body of Yankees; but their 
 commander told them they were all despatched except that 
 noisy young one that old Vengeance carried in his arms. 
 " But, to make all sure, I will return : come with me," said he, 
 addressing two other savages that stood in front of him. 
 " The rest of the party move on, and we will overtake you 
 in half an hour." , 
 
 With the two savages he returned to the house, and bade 
 them enter, and, if the woman were alive, despatch her 
 (imitating the throat-cutting process), heap up some wood 
 and furniture on her body, and set fire to the pile. 
 
 The fire, that for the moment he had extinguished, was 
 blazing brighter than ever on the hearth ; and, to make sure 
 that his orders were obeyed, he climbed upon the same 
 stump from which he had first viewed the happy family cir- 
 cle. The two savages had entered and despatched the wo- 
 man, whom they had found insensible upon the floor ; cutting 
 her throat from ear to ear. At this instant, Col. Cumberland 
 gained a view from the outside; and a single glance sufficed 
 to fill him with horror, and cause his soul to revolt within 
 him. Though he gazed but for an instant, the sight never 
 left him. It was ever after present to him. The murdered wo- 
 man lay extended on the floor, with a horrid gash across her 
 neck; and the blood was fast gushing from the wound. 
 The blow of the knife had aroused her, for the instant, to 
 consciousness ; and her face assumed a look such as trans- 
 fixed the beholder. Her countenance looked more beautiful 
 than ever in life, for there was an angelic smile upon it ; and 
 the eyes, that rolled till they seemed to rest upon him, had 
 a look all unearthly, all forgiving, and yet all withering to 
 
58 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY ! 
 
 bis guilty soul. But they had not the curse that the An- 
 cient Mariner saw "in the dead man's eye." It was a look 
 that served to illuminate the dark soul of him who beheld 
 it, and to show its own blackness. There was a look, too, of 
 resignation and of joy upon the countenance, as if the re- 
 leased spirit, catching a view of the bright hereafter, had, on 
 quitting its earthly tabernacle, left this glimpse of a brighter 
 world impressed on the features it was leaving. 
 
 Col. Cumberland turned away from the scene ; but that 
 face was ever present to his eyes, — the horrid gash; the 
 Upturned, unearthly eyes ; the features of ethereal loveliness. 
 He heard a noise behind him, and, looking back, beheld 
 Sleeping Vengeance looking in at the window. He held 
 the child, which was now silent, in his arms, its head averted 
 from the scene. 
 
 "Come away!" said the colonel : " let us march ! " 
 
 " Ugh ! white woman very pretty. White officer love 
 white woman : ha, ha ! " 
 
 " Follow me," said the colonel, moving rapidly after the 
 company, who had taken up their line of march some 
 time before. "Tell the others to make sure and set the 
 house on fire, and come on." 
 
 The two Indians who had entered the house to fulfil 
 their commander's orders, having piled about the body a 
 quantity of fire-wood and broken chairs and tables, drew 
 out some brands from the fireplace ; and, as soon as the 
 funeral pyre was fairly ablaze, they set forth to follow the 
 rest of the company. But they were not forgetful of their 
 own war practice ; for the scalps of both the man and wo- 
 man were taken, and also such trinkets and valuables as 
 their eyes coveted, and were not too heavy or cumbersome 
 to be carried on their long and difficult march. 
 
 The party moved on at a rapid pace for three or four 
 hours ; their leader urging them, every few moments, to 
 greater speed. Sleeping Vengeance no sooner came up 
 with the company than he put himself at their head, carry- 
 ing the child all the while tenderly in his arms. It had 
 worn itself out by crying, and calling for its father and 
 mother ; and at length slept in the embrace of the savage. 
 At about three o'clock in the morning, they came to another 
 spring of water, with a small opening around it. The sol- 
 diers here begged that they might be allowed to rest for a 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 59 
 
 few hours ; and the colonel gave a surly assent to their re- 
 quest. The Indians, all but Vengeance, threw themselves, 
 without waiting for leave, upon the ground, and were soon 
 asleep. But it was not for Col. Cumberland to sleep then, 
 nor for long after. Not Hamlet's uncle, nor Macbeth's wife, 
 was ever troubled with such " thick-coming fancies " as was 
 he that night. Every minute he would crouch and cringe 
 and shrink as if some horrid phantom was before his eyes, 
 some fearful sound piercing his ear. 
 
 He walked back and forth ; he closed his eyes ; he put 
 his hands over his ears ; he whistled ; he sung : but it would 
 not do. There was before him, behind him, on this side 
 and on that, the same picture, — the fireside scene, the fire of 
 musketry interrupting, the groan of the strong man, the 
 scream and piercing cry of the outraged woman, the shriek 
 of the child. Turn here, turn there, it was the same. An 
 accusing spirit was pursuing him ; and, whether his eyes were 
 open or closed, that last scene — the sweet face of the mur- 
 dered woman ; the mild, angelic eyes ; the heaven-irradiated 
 features; the gash in the neck, from which the life-blood 
 gushed — was ever present to his view. 
 
 The child, overcome by fright and exhausted by its cries, 
 was now lying silent, and apparently asleep, wrapped in the 
 blanket of Vengeance, and held gently in his arms as he lay 
 reposing on the ground. It had been carried away with 
 nothing but its night-gown; and Vengeance was too cunning 
 and subtle to expose so delicate a prize to the night air. 
 Every person in the company slept, save only Vengeance and 
 Col. Cumberland. The latter wandered about, endeavoring 
 to shut out from his perturbed sight the ever-present vision. 
 He would have given any thing in the world, excepting only 
 his own child's life, to have recalled the last few hours. But 
 it was too late now. The past could not be obliterated. The 
 deed, too horrible, too infamous, to be recalled, or related in 
 its details, had been committed; and how should he expiate 
 it ? He would do any thing that would not compromise his 
 family rank, or be inconsistent with the name and dignity of 
 the Cumberlands. His education, his pride, his rank, had all 
 so tempered his character, that no natural right of persons, 
 not of his own class, could ever conflict with the interests of 
 his family. 
 
 But he cannot long endure the phantom that pursues him, 
 
60 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 and his thoughts are bent on some way to appease and lay it. 
 The child is the only medium ; and he resolves that he will 
 protect it, and do every thing for it in his power. And he 
 imagines that thus he will atone for the crime on Gault's 
 Hill. As he was moving along, turning his head, now this 
 way, and then that, to avoid the dreadful sight that was ever 
 present to his mind's eye, he was overheard by Vengeance, 
 who was creeping stealthily behind him, holding the child 
 asleep in his arms. 
 
 " Yes : I will do it. I will take her to England. I will 
 adopt her as my own. She shall be the companion and 
 playmate of my own child. I will endow her with a for- 
 tune, and she shall marry a lord, — any thing, any thing to put 
 away that infernal sight. And isn't that enough ? Wouldn't 
 many a man in my country gladly sacrifice all the rest of 
 his family to see one member in a family like mine ? And 
 what more can I do ? My mind is made up : I will do it; I 
 will make ample amends. Now, you horrid spectre, down ! " 
 
 But the spectre would not down, notwithstanding these 
 good resolutions ; and in his despair he called out, "What 
 more can I do ? what more would you have ? " 
 
 " Life for life," said Vengeance, whose proximity had not 
 been suspected by Cumberland. 
 
 " You here, monster ? " said he, turning gruffly round, and 
 waiting for the savage to pass ahead, who, with a grin sinis- 
 ter and devilish on his countenance, seemed to mock his 
 misery. 
 
 That night he resolved that he would take the child from 
 the possession of old Vengeance. But how could he do it ? 
 He first thought to order him to give it up ; and, if he de- 
 murred, to reason with him, and coax him with promises of 
 large rewards when they should reach Quebec. 
 
 Accordingly, when all the others were asleep save a sin- 
 gle sentinel, the unhappy commander approached the spot 
 where Vengeance was lying, holding the child asleep in his 
 arms. 
 
 '• Old man," said he, " you must give me that child." 
 
 " Give it to you ? It is mine. No ! " 
 
 " But you must be tired of carrying it. I will order my 
 men to carry it carefully by turns ; and, when we get to Que- 
 bec, I will give you a hundred dollars." 
 
 " Aha ! " said he, raising himself on his elbow, and looking 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 61 
 
 sharply at the officer, and whispering fiercely through his 
 long shark's teeth, "I shall give it to you, shall I? Ven- 
 geance shall give his pet lamb to the wolf? He had not 
 seen the servant of his great father, the king, do an act that 
 even the Huron would recoil from, — an act that would make 
 the basest red-skin disown his own flesh and blood ; ay, and 
 give him to his enemies to roast him before his eyes, while 
 they sung and danced to the sweet music of his dying ago- 
 nies ? And to such mercy will Vengeance give this sleeping 
 lamb? The tomahawk of the Delaware is heavy, and his 
 knife sharp ; but they are merciful to Mellita, compared to the 
 kindness of the servant of our good father beyond the big 
 waters." 
 
 Cumberland turned away at this speech ; for it was evident 
 that the savage would bury his tomahawk in the brain of the 
 child sooner than surrender it to him. If he would ever 
 get possession of it alive, he was convinced now that it must 
 be by stratagem ; and he thought it better to make no at- 
 tempt of that kind until near the end of their journey. 
 
 At the first glimmering of day the next morning, the order 
 was given to march. There had been no sleep for the com- 
 mander that night ; and he longed for daylight, in the hope 
 that with it the dreadful vision before him would disappear. 
 Vengeance stole off in advance of the rest of the party, bear- 
 ing the girl gently in his arms. 
 
 The child at length awoke ; and, after staring about in 
 wonder at nojb being able to realize where she was, she broke 
 into loud cries, calling alternately for her father and mother. 
 At length she fell into a spell of* bitter, hopeless weep- 
 ing, and from that into a state of silent and fright- 
 ened apathy, and seeming indifference to all around her. 
 When the party stopped to partake of such food as their 
 arms had brought to the ground, the Indian protector se- 
 cured the nicest pieces for his charge, which he carefully 
 broiled, and held to the child's lips. At first it was forced to 
 taste the dripping gravy ; but directly it seized the delicate 
 morsel, and devoured it as eagerly as it had been wont to 
 devour the titbits which it had received from a mother's 
 hand. 
 
 On the third day after the Gault's-Hill affair, the party 
 struck a cross-trail that led from New York to Canada. 
 They found, near where the trails met, the smoking embers 
 
62 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 of a camp-fire; and, from a close inspection of the tracks, 
 they were satisfied that a considerable party of royal 
 troops had camped there the night before, and that their 
 course was to the north. This was a cheering prospect 
 for Cumberland ; for it was his wish, above all things, to 
 return to Quebec ; and, had he met a large party going the 
 other way, he would have felt compelled to join it, and go to 
 New York, and there submit the affair of his surprise and 
 defeat to the scrutiny of his superiors. He therefore resolved 
 to follow and overtake this party with all despatch ; and, giv- 
 ing orders accordingly, they overtook it the same night, and 
 pursued their journey with them to their destination. The 
 party which they thus opportunely met was an escort of some 
 American prisoners, among whom was that terror of British 
 arms, Ethan Allen. The presence of this hero gave great 
 uneasiness both to Cumberland and Sleeping Vengeance. 
 The former feared that the particulars of the Gault-Hill tra- 
 gedy would become known to the world through him ; and 
 Vengeance feared that he mi^ht interfere with the authori- 
 ties at Quebec, and get the child taken from him. He and 
 Cumberland, accordingly, both avoided the sight of the pris- 
 oners as much as possible ; and not unfrequently the two 
 would be the last of the whole company. 
 
 Cumberland appeared dejected and haggard. The savage 
 noticed his wretchedness, and saw that he constantly seemed 
 to be endeavoring to avert from his eyes an apparition or 
 vision that was ever present in spite of him. From the mut- 
 terings which he heard, he learned the nature of the appari- 
 tion ; and when the cokmel fell back to talk with him, and to 
 urge him to treat the child tenderly, he guessed the train of 
 his thoughts, and was fully convinced that he meant to take 
 it from him whenever a good opportunity should occur. 
 Each day Vengeance saw that his face grew more haggard, 
 his step less firm, his brow more anxious and care-worn. 
 If he turned to the right or to the left, he seemed to see 
 something that appalled him, and turned to look another 
 way. But he could not look in any direction more tl^an 
 a moment, but must turn away again, as if pursued by an 
 avenging, palpable, and visible spirit. If the Indian chanced 
 to be near enough to overhear his mutterings to himself, he 
 found they were always on the same subject and in one 
 strain. " Yankees, rebels against the king. Ah, well ! the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 63 
 
 minister told me to show no mercy ; that I should never suf- 
 fer from too much severity. But that look ! — down ! But if 
 the story gets out ? He can't abandon me. He told me to 
 show no quarter, but that the written orders must conform to 
 the usages of war. Will he stand by his verbal or his writ- 
 ten instructions ? But why does that woman always look at 
 me so ? Won't I take good care of her child ? " 
 
 " You will ! " says Vengeance to himself, falling back so 
 as not to be suspected of overhearing. "Vengeance may 
 sleep ; but he never forgives nor forgets." 
 
 That night, as the savage lay upon the ground, holding 
 the child asleep in his arms, he was conscious that Col. Cum- 
 berland was watching him, though he had seen or heard 
 nothing. Without the least motion of his body that could 
 disturb his sleeping charge, he began to mutter aloud, "Ven- 
 geance sleeps now ; and the servant of our great father, the 
 king, may win new stars for his coat, new plumes for his cap, 
 and a new victim of his brave exploits to bear to his own 
 country to show to his chiefs and squaws. Ha! let him 
 strike at Sleeping Vengeance, and he cuts the air." 
 
 The officer fell back ashamed and mortified, for he saw 
 that the savage was too vigilant for him ; and he continued 
 to walk about till morning, to make it appear that his intru- 
 sion on the Indian had been accidental, and without object 
 or special purpose. 
 
 The Indian and the officer now fully understood each oth- 
 er. The former meant to keep the child, and the latter to 
 get it from him. The officer was aware that it would be im- 
 possible to get it away alive until they arrived at their point 
 of destination ; when he was resolved to do it, even if it be- 
 came necessary to shoot the savage dead. Once arrived at 
 Quebec, he could easily render harmless the Indian compan- 
 ions of their leader by giving them a liberal supply of rum ; 
 and then a single bullet would settle Vengeance, and place 
 the child in his power. 
 
 On arriving at Quebec, Cumberland hurried to see his own 
 child, which, in spite of all his fears and misgivings, he found 
 alive, in good health, and well cared for. His resolution was 
 at once taken, that, as soon as he could rescue the other one 
 from the hands of Vengeance, he would sail for England, 
 taking the two with him. The Indians in his party had 
 been promised large quantities of blankets, fire-water, ammu- 
 
64 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 nition, arms, and trinkets, which he took good care should 
 not be paid till his purpose was accomplished, lest they 
 should depart for the West, taking the child along with them. 
 They were encamped on the outskirts of the town ; and Col. 
 Cumberland represented to the commandant of the forces then 
 at Quebec that there was a white child among them, that 
 could be rescued alive only by stratagem, and asked his as- 
 sistance in obtaining it. The commandant said it would be 
 well to arrest the whole party ; and then, when they were 
 surrounded and powerless, it would be an easy matter to get 
 the child away. Cumberland knew that it would be neces- 
 sary for him to keep out of sight ; for, if Vengeance suspected 
 he had any hand in the movement, he would escape, and 
 either take the child with him, or destroy it. The plan of 
 the commandant was approved by him ; and he was ordered to 
 take a company of soldiers, and bring all the Indians into town. 
 
 The next day, at the hour of drill, a company of infantry 
 was ordered to go out and practise their evolutions in the 
 vicinity of their Indian allies, and to gradually surround 
 them, and then march them all into town. 
 
 Cumberland watched their movements unobserved and 
 at a distance. He had placed himself, armed with a loaded 
 musket, near a path along which Vengeance would be obliged 
 to pass if he attempted to escape, and there waited and 
 watched. The captain of the company alone had been in- 
 formed of the real object of making this arrest of the Indi- 
 ans ; and he marched out his men, and put them through a 
 variety of evolutions, but gradually getting behind and en- 
 circling the savages. 
 
 From his concealment, Cumberland observed every move- 
 ment, and saw, that, as the troops approached the Indian 
 encampment, old Vengeance moved away a short distance, 
 carrying the child in his arms. 
 
 " He is coming this way," said Cumberland to himself. " I 
 will shoot him before I will let him get away." 
 
 The drill was kept up so long, that the wily old savage 
 began to think that there was no other object in view, and 
 approached his comrades. Then the drill-officer undertook 
 to suddenly throw his men behind him and all the others, 
 and then, when no escape was possible, to announce to 
 them that they must march into town to be paid off. This 
 was the advice of Cumberland, who feared that the Indians 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 
 
 65 
 
 might otherwise suspect a snare, and be unwilling to enter 
 the town, and perhaps make a great tumult and confusion, 
 in which Vengeance might escape. • Besides, he w T as afraid 
 that Vengeance, after they were all taken, would suspect the 
 real object, and, rather than give up the child, bury his toma- 
 hawk in its brain. 
 
 The instant that the crafty savage saw the last movement 
 of the soldiers, he caught the child, and ran ; and the captain 
 incautiously gave orders to follow, and bring him back, and 
 kill him, if necessary, to save the child. 
 
 Several of the younger and fleeter soldiers sprang forward ; 
 and the sergeant, who was in advance, ordered him to stop. 
 But the Indian heeded him not : he, even with his burden, 
 gained fast on his pursuers ; and they were about abandoning 
 the chase, when, just as he was springing like a deer along 
 the brow of an abrupt cliff, the report of a musket was 
 heard, and the Indian, was seen to stagger forward, and, drop- 
 ping the child upon the bank, to fall over to the bottom of 
 the cliff below. 
 
 Cumberland ran forward from his hiding-place, and, catch- 
 ing up the child, hurried from the spot, without seeing or 
 being seen by the savage, whose ankle he had shivered as he 
 was springing towards the top of the cliff. The Indian had 
 intended to drop down the cliff, and escape with his charge ; 
 but the ball from Cumberland's rifle had caused him to drop 
 the child on the bank, and tumble over himself to the bot- 
 tom, some twenty feet below. He quickly scrambled to the 
 top, however, but to find his treasure gone. Casting round 
 his eyes, he saw the sergeant of the company running rapidly 
 towards him. The savage calmly awaited his approach, his 
 tomahawk poised in his hand, until he had come within 
 about twenty yards, when with eagle aim he let fly the 
 hatchet, that whizzed through the air, and buried itself, to 
 the eye, in the head of the soldier. With a yell of defiance, 
 the savage turned, and jumped down the bank ; and, by the 
 time the others of the pursuers had reached the edge of the 
 cliff, he had hobbled away, and was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 The child was taken to the house of the commandant, 
 and strict orders given that on no account should any one, 
 but the nurse that had been procured for it, be admitted, 
 and that the room in which it was kept should be always 
 locked. He still feared the vengeance of Vengeance. 
 
 6* 
 
66 GOMERT OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 Having, as he thought, secured the child in a place of 
 safety, he immediately made preparations for taking the two 
 orphans to England. He was not liable to forget his resolu- 
 tion to that effect, notwithstanding the child of the mur- 
 dered Gaults was now in safe hands, and well taken care of. 
 The horrid spectre had never left his sight for a moment; 
 and he was every instant turning his eyes to avoid the 
 dread apparition that arose on each and every spot where 
 they fell. He found a vessel ready to sail on the next day ; 
 and he secured a passage for himself, two children and two 
 nurses, and gave orders to have every thing put on board 
 early in the morning. The last thing in the evening, he 
 went to give some final directions in regard to his own 
 child. He feared at every turn and corner lest he should 
 encounter Sleeping Vengeance ; but having made up his 
 mind that the greater despatch, the less danger, he resolved 
 at any rate to leave in the ship that was to sail the follow- 
 ing day. 
 
 It was late in the evening when he came, for the second 
 time that day, to the house in which his child was living 
 with its nurse. It was the same house in which the child 
 was born, and occupied by one of the wealthiest colonial 
 families. The lady of the house had been kind to the de- 
 ceased mother, and regarded Cumberland with great awe 
 and respect because he was of the blood of the old nobility. 
 This lady was greatly surprised at the changed and hag- 
 gard appearance of Cumberland, and noticed his troubled 
 countenance, and his constant efforts to avoid looking at 
 something that seemed ever before his eyes. She remarked 
 to her husband " that his grief for the loss of his wife had 
 wrought a" great change in him. For her part, she had 
 never suspected his love for her was so great." 
 
 When he came to the house this time, intending to 
 pass the night there, and, as early as possible, go on board 
 the ship in the morning, he talked over with his friends the 
 adventures of his late disastrous campaign ; but he made no 
 allusion to the affair at Gault's Hill. 
 
 Before retiring for the night, the father insisted on seeing 
 his child. The nurse was called in, and said it had been 
 fast asleep for more than an hour, and, if disturbed, would 
 keep awake all night. "Ah ! well," said he, " let me take a 
 light, and go in gently, and take a look at her sleeping." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 67 
 
 \ 
 
 The good woman led the way, followed by Cumberland. 
 They approached the door of the room, and gently opened 
 it, and entered. At first the candle flared so in the wind, 
 they could see nothing distinctly; but directly the light was 
 composed, and there before them, on the floor, lay the child, 
 its throat cut from ear to ear, the head thrown back, reveal- 
 ing the yawning gash, one hand placed under the head, the 
 eyes open and fixed, and the whole disposed like that other 
 figure when he last gazed upon it, and whose dying look, 
 from which he had turned sickening and horror-struck away, 
 had haunted him ever since. 
 
 Cumberland knew well enough who had done this ; and 
 turned, shuddering and appalled, away. "My God ! my 
 God ! " said he, " have I deserved a punishment like this ? 
 It is more than I can bear." He sat down on the floor, and 
 for ten minutes gazed with a fixed and rigid look upon the 
 infant corpse. It was the first steady look he had given 
 any thing since the fearful tragedy at Gault's Hill. 
 
 A search was made for the perpetrator of this deed. 
 How he had got into the room, no one could tell. The win- 
 dows were found fastened down, and could not be raised 
 from the outside ; so that he must have stolen in and out 
 through the doors. The nurse testified that she was not ab- 
 sent from the room more than half an hour during the whole 
 evening. She had left the child asleep, and gone into the 
 kitchen, and did not see it again till she had entered with the 
 others to find it dead. The servants took lights, and looked 
 carefully about the doors outside for traces of the murderer. 
 They found some fresh moccason tracks; but they were all of 
 the left foot. The report of the murder soon spread through 
 the neighborhood ; and, through the night, many people 
 were on the alert, seeking for the maimed savage ; but no 
 trace of him could be found farther than a few yards from 
 the house. 
 
 Vengeance, though unsated, was asleep. 
 
68 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 H Mac. Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more ! 
 Macbeth doth murder sleep; the innocent sleep; 
 Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care, 
 The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course, 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast. 
 
 Lady Mac. What do you mean ? 
 
 Mac. Still it cried, Sleep no more 1 to all the house ; 
 Glamis hath murdered sleep ; and therefore Cawdor 
 Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no morel" — Macbeth. 
 
 The impression made on the mind of Cumberland by the 
 scene last described, though at first overpowering, was of 
 but transient duration. Though all his hopes, his ambition 
 and pride, had been centred in the child so fiendishly mur- 
 dered, and laid before his eyes a mangled corpse, even that 
 dreadful sight could not drive from his mind, ay, from be- 
 fore his eyes, as it seemed to him, another scene a thousand 
 times more dreadful. Even though forced to think and look 
 upon the ghastly spectacle of his own murdered child, he 
 would see ever beside it the face of his own victim of 
 Gault's Hill. When he looked for the last time upon its 
 sweet young face as it lay in its little coffin, his eyes were 
 charmed away to gaze on another face, that seemed lying 
 beside that of the child, and from which he turned with a 
 shudder. Those mild eyes, illumined by a light not of 
 earth, were ever there to gaze upon him, and penetrate into 
 the innermost recesses of his soul. 
 
 Though Vengeance had so fearfully proved himself wor- 
 thy of the name which had been given him, yet Cumberland 
 feared him no less than before. He knew, that, if the other 
 child were not taken from the country very shortly, it would 
 share the same fate. He therefore decided to leave, as he 
 had intended, on the first vessel that sailed for England. A 
 metallic case was obtained, and the coffin containing the 
 child placed in it, and put on board the ship. Knowing the 
 superstition of sailors in regard to having dead bodies 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 69 
 
 aboard ship, he gave no notice to any one of the contents 
 of this case, but had it sent off with his baggage, and placed 
 with it in his state-room. The child of the forest was sent 
 on board with a nurse, and every thing provided for its 
 health and comfort. At daylight of the second day, after the 
 rescue of one child and the murder of the other, the an- 
 chor of the "Royal Edward" was raised ; and wind, tide, and 
 current all being favorable, the gallant ship was soon out 
 upon the broad Atlantic. 
 
 At sea, Cumberland had ample time to think upon the 
 past, and on his changed condition and prospects. Even on 
 board the " Royal Edward," the vision of Gault's Hill pursued 
 him. His great grief for the death of his child, and the rec- 
 ollection of its appearance when he first saw it dead, or af- 
 terwards when laid in its coffin, were as nothing towards 
 dispelling the illusion of that dreadful night in the forest. 
 But the vision was more distinct at some times than at oth- 
 ers. Being a man of strong will, of inflexible purpose, and 
 great self-control, he steeled himself to the sight, and gave 
 his thoughts to his affairs of ambition and business. But, be- 
 tween the hours of ten and eleven \at night, the whole scene 
 stood forth before him with such faithful reality of re-present- 
 ment, that he saw as with the bodily eye the whole tragedy 
 of that dreadful night enacted before him, — the fireside scene, 
 the clatter of musketry, the cry and groan of the strong 
 man, the shriek of the woman, the scuffle, the child borne 
 off by the savage amid its childlike screams, and last, most 
 fearful of all, the last look of the murdered woman, with 
 those calm, heaven-touched, unvengeful eyes. From this 
 the wretched man would recoil and shrink and turn through 
 several weary hours, till at length, from sheer exhaustion, he 
 would sink into a state of prostration and unconsciousness, 
 that from syncope changed to a troubled sleep of a few hours. 
 And that was all the sleep his Nemesis allowed him. 
 
 The waking thoughts of Cumberland were upon his affairs 
 in England. His wife and child being both dead, he could 
 have no claim on that estate which he had long counted on 
 as the lever of his ambitious plans ; and his thoughts were 
 directed to retrieving his fortunes, so seriously damaged. 
 However great his sorrows, and however conscious of guilt, 
 he was not one to forget his material interest, or to sac- 
 rifice to an uneasy conscience any of the privileges of his 
 
70 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 class. Though a younger son, he clung to the privileges of 
 blood against natural rights with as much tenacity as though 
 he had been the gainer by them, and not the loser. He was 
 a scion of that class whose absurd pretensions have been so 
 long recognized and deferred to by the common people of 
 England, that ; in their arrogance and contempt for all others, 
 they unhesitatingly believe that God Almighty must consult 
 them before deciding on any important point. Though the 
 avenger is behind, and treachery, ingratitude, and crime in 
 front, if rank, title, and privilege loom up beyond, all right 
 and justice are trampled as mere dust and rubbish under 
 their feet. So long have their arrogant claims been con- 
 ceded, that they have come to consider that no other class 
 has any rights which they are morally bound to respect. 
 This characteristic of a class, as it is developed socially and 
 politically, is typified in John Bull, who knows and recog- 
 nizes no principle of honesty or honor, and no motive of ac- 
 tion, except English interest and power. 
 
 Maxwell Cumberland, second son of Lord Maccleton, had 
 all the characteristics of the class to which he belonged. 
 Wilful in purpose, the opinion of the world was to him only 
 the opinion of his own class. What others of lower rank 
 might think or say of any act or measure was to him a mat- 
 ter of indifference. His class moved in a sphere so exalted, 
 that, if they did not look with indifference on all below them, 
 at least they regarded them as mere instruments, to be used 
 or abused as might most contribute to their own pleasure. 
 To them everything was subordinate to rank and title in the 
 English peerage. That was their Bible, in which the most 
 important text, though unwritten, was standing forth on 
 every page in blazing significance ; for it read thus different 
 from the King James's dishonest and sectarian version of the 
 text, and was, " What shall it profit a man though he gain 
 the whole world, and lose his rank and titles and family 
 estates ? " 
 
 When fairly out at sea, and safe from the pursuing arm of 
 Sleeping Vengeance, Cumberland began to arrange his plans 
 for the future. His former schemes had all come to nought. 
 With his child perished all his cherished prospects ; and he 
 now considered his position and the course that he should 
 pursue. That there were any rights of other parties not 
 pertaining to his class, which could interfere with any plans 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 71 
 
 he might devise, never occurred to his mind. In brooding 
 over his condition, his first thought was of his reception in 
 England in his changed circumstances; and he set about de- 
 vising some means to save himself from the consequences 
 that would naturally follow from the death of his child. In 
 some way, he must save to himself the income of the vast 
 estate which legally passed entirely from his control when 
 his child died; and he cared for no justification in any thing 
 he might do, except success. If, by any means, he could 
 take rank with his elder brother by reviving the title of his 
 deceased wife's ancestors, or by special favor for distinguished 
 services, it was all the same, whether the means were foul or 
 fair by which he accomplished it. The great, overruling idea, 
 that the nobility was not subordinate to any of the rules of 
 morality or honesty that obtained outside of that privileged 
 class, had entirely obscured any moral sense with which 
 Nature might have endowed him, and which, under the social 
 system in which he had been educated, he had been taught 
 to despise, and exorcise from his character. 
 
 His mind being thus agitated, and his conscience being 
 thus easy as to the means employed in the attainment of his 
 object, what more natural than that the thought should oc- 
 cur to him of substituting the living child for that which was 
 dead? The idea was no sooner conceived than his resolu- 
 tion was taken. He was sitting in the cabin of the ship, 
 muffled up, and gruffly musing and muttering to bimsclij 
 when first the idea was suggested to his mind. The child, 
 in its nurse's arms, was in the cabin ; and its fair blue eyes, 
 and delicate, beautiful complexion, so impressed him that 
 morning, that he resolved to make it his own, and thus, as he 
 hoped, appease the spirit of its mother, and carry out his 
 own ambitious schemes. That night the wind was high, and 
 the ship was studding along before it at a merry rate. The 
 fogs of the Great Bank were so thick, that the man at the 
 bow could see but a few feet before him ; and the light at 
 the foretop could scarcely be seen at the distance of the 
 ship's length. It was eleven o'clock at night, and every 
 thing jseemed quiet: nothing but the sound of the wind, 
 as it waved through the rigging, could be heard. At this 
 hour, Cumberland went on deck. The men at the wheel were 
 standing silent and rigid at their duty. The mate was mov- 
 ing about on the poop-deck. The men of the watch were 
 
72 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 crowding in corners and nooks to avoid the blast. Cumber- 
 land returned to his state-room, and taking from under his 
 berth a tin case two feet and a half long, a foot wide, 
 and some ten inches deep, went again on deck, and, unob- 
 served by a single soul, threw the box into the sea. That 
 night, no vision appeared to him ; and, for the first time since 
 the tragedy of Gault's Hill, he slept soundly in his berth. 
 
 After that he spoke of the child as his own to the nurse, 
 and to the officers of the ship ; and he hoped that the aven- 
 ging spirit of the mother was appeased, and would trouble 
 him no more. But, the next night after casting into the sea 
 the box containing the remains of his own child, the appari- 
 tion re-appeared with more terrible distinctness than on any 
 preceding night of the voyage. 
 
 In due time the " Royal Edward " arrived at Portsmouth ; 
 and lest the Canadian nurse might have some suspicions or 
 knowledge of the child that was to pass as his own, he dis- 
 charged her, and engaged another, who could have neither 
 knowledge nor suspicion. The daughter of David Gault, he 
 did not doubt, would pass as his own, without question, 
 among his friends. It was a much handsomer child: but there 
 was not one of his relations who had ever seen the other ; 
 and all they knew of it was from the letters its mother had 
 written praising its blue eyes and light flaxen hair. Fortu- 
 nately for his plans, the hair and eyes of the living child were 
 not dissimilar to those of her whose body he had cast into 
 the sea. He made his way directly to his former home, 
 where he found his relatives, and those of his deceased wife, 
 eager to welcome him, and surprised to find the child so fair, 
 since its mother was any thing but a beauty. Even the rel- 
 atives of the deceased wife said the child took after her fa- 
 ther, rather than her mother. They also remarked the great 
 change that had come over him during his absence ; and his 
 haggard, emaciated appearance they attributed not so much 
 to fatigue in the service as grief for the deceased Lady Cum- 
 berland. His constant habit of averting his eyes from some 
 apparent object that was invisible to them was observed, 
 but ascribed to some nervous affection. No one ever ques- 
 tioned him upon it. 
 
 If there is one thing more than another that the people 
 of the United States have to be thankful for, it is that so 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. ( 73 
 
 few members of the ruling families of England ever settled 
 in America. A few of the old Cavaliers, descendants of the 
 followers of Charles I. and the flatterers of James II., came 
 over at an early day, and brought with them their class pre- 
 judices and principles. They regarded the generality of 
 mankind as made out to serve the pleasure of the king, his 
 courtiers and courtesans. They held to the divine right of 
 prescription, — that the king was responsible to God, and 
 God only ; and, if he chose to act the part of a tyrant and 
 destroyer, the people had no right to complain, as the crown 
 owed no responsibility to the multitude over which a higher 
 power had ordained it to rule. The malign influence of the 
 few who did come was mostly confined to the South; and 
 the ideas ingrained in the blood and bone of their ancestors 
 — that they were born to rule, and live without toil, and to 
 look with contempt on labor and laborers — has had, from its 
 early settlement, a most baneful influence on our country. 
 Nor is it yet extinct. Of those who settled in Virginia, many 
 were early in their opposition to the crown in the war of 
 the Revolution ; not foreseeing that triumph of democracy 
 to which independence would lead. Conceiving themselves 
 to be born lords of the domain, they supposed their claims 
 would be none the less recognized after Independence than 
 before; and, in gloomy and sullen acquiescence, they sub- 
 sided, after the war, into the position which the popular gov- 
 ernment, the fruit of the Puritan element of the North, ren- 
 dered inevitable. Having obtained early grants of land 
 from the crown, their descendants had that power and influ- 
 ence that wealth confers ; but, lacking the enterprise and 
 spirit of adaptation of the self-made men of the North, 
 their political influence diminished in a still greater ratio 
 than their relative wealth. And they never could divest 
 themselves of the idea that they were the rightful rulers 
 of the land; and that there was something wrong in the sys- 
 tem that rendered it necessary for the son of a Cavalier, 
 whose grandfather's skull had been cracked by one of Crom- 
 well's psalm-singing Roundheads, to sit in the national 
 councils with a descendant of that landless Roundhead who 
 had been guilty of so disloyal an act. Fortunately, how- 
 ever, for the country, there was, even among them, a demo- 
 cratic element that was largely influential, more from the tal- 
 ents and virtues of its representatives than from any family 
 
 7 
 
74 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 prestige. Of these, the most conspicuous were Jefferson, Hen- 
 ry, and George Washington. These men, and those who sym- 
 pathized with them, were from a different class in the old 
 country from the Fairfaxes and Dinwiddies. They repudiat- 
 ed alike the divine right of kings once held by the people 
 of England, and the divine right of the nobility as held now 
 by them and the government dependants, and acquiesced in 
 by the nation at large. The power of the throne has been 
 absorbed by the aristocracy ; and its successive occupants 
 for many years have been persons of so little enterprise, so 
 little individuality of character, so little idea of their own 
 insignificance, and the manner in which all power has been 
 taken away, that now the crown is nothing, — nothing but 
 a popular idol to the multitude ; and the monarch who wears 
 it is but an automaton, that is made to speak the will of the 
 aristocracy. 
 
 But in spite of the bright examples of Washington, 
 Henry, and others of equal patriotism and scarcely less re- 
 nown, the 'influence of wealth among the early Virginians 
 was sufficient to imbue many of those of a different an- 
 cestry with many of their aristocratic ideas ; and as many 
 of the adventurers, who had been induced to leave their 
 country for their country's good, had been prosperous in the 
 acquisition of property, in some instances rivalling the Cava- 
 liers in wealth, they had a natural desire to have families of 
 their own ; and, as it was not altogether prudent for them to 
 return to the old country, they contracted with shipping 
 merchants to have young women sent out to the colony for 
 the liquidated sum of one hundred pounds of good Virginia 
 tobacco. The first that came were eagerly caught up by 
 these successful colonists, who had enjoyed to so great an 
 extent, years before, the consideration of the Government, 
 that it had sent them to the colony at its own expense. 
 These people then formed the class that constituted the first 
 families of Virginia. Subsequently other cargoes of mar- 
 riageable women were sent over ; but, as the demand dimin- 
 ished, the price fell, and, instead of one hundred, the ship- 
 pers could get only seventy-five pounds of the Virginia leaf. 
 Those who took these later importations, therefore, consti- 
 tuted and were known as the second families of Virginia. 
 In the course of the next one or two generations, however, 
 the descendants intermarried promiscuously, and all traces 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 75 
 
 of the second families disappeared : all were first-family 
 Virginians. A rumor gained currency a few years ago, that 
 a lineal descendant of one of the second families had been 
 discovered by that indefatigable searcher after curiosities, 
 P. T. Barnum ; but, after diligent inquiry, it was found to 
 be only one of the tricks of the famous showman to draw 
 visitors to his museum. Though a wicked imposition, it 
 brought great numbers to the show, and would have contin- 
 ued to do so much longer but for the reason that it was 
 pushed into the shade by the superior attractions of the 
 "What is it?" The race of the second families became ex- 
 tinct more than forty years ago, as was verified on oath to 
 Barnum by the veracious Joice Heth. 
 
 It may be objected to this historical figment thus intro- 
 duced into the body of a novel, that it does not stand to 
 reason that so large a class could be so suddenly extin- 
 guished ; or, in other words, that so many common people 
 could, in the course of one or two generations, become mem- 
 bers of the aristocracy. But our country has seen even 
 greater changes than this in other parts. A witty traveller 
 in this country has remarked, as the result of his observa- 
 tions in that city which is known as the " Porkopolis " of 
 the West, that there the common people are those who kill 
 pigs for a living ; that the aristocracy are those whose fath- 
 ers killed pigs for a living ; and that the latter look down 
 most contemptuously on the former as having no honorable 
 antecedents, and bristle up with a grunt whenever allusion 
 is made to the price of lard, or the philosophy of Bacon is 
 contrasted with that of Aristotle. 
 
 It may have been fortunate and it may have been unfortu- 
 nate for England that a refuge was opened in the New World 
 for the radicals and innovators who initiated the revolution 
 that culminated in the death of Charles I. Had the escape 
 been more easy, Cromwell would certainly never have been 
 Lord Protector, nor would Hampden ever have shed that 
 blood, at Marston Moor that was to prove the seed of civil 
 liberty and religious toleration. The idea of greater freedom 
 to the people, and less prescription to the king, was deeply 
 fixed in the minds of the middle classes before the faithless 
 head of Charles was brought to the block; and after 
 the death of Cromwell, though the nation rushed madly and 
 eagerly back to despotism, it was not easy to obliterate 
 
76 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 from the minds of the earnest men of the time those convic- 
 tions which had led them, through so long and desperate a 
 war, to that freedom and equality before the law, under the 
 protectorate, which they had never before enjoyed. With 
 these ideas, when they found the nation going back so precipi- 
 tately and stupidly to despotism, and saw people who had en- 
 joyed liberty under Cromwell thrusting their necks, not pas- 
 sively, but eagerly, under the yoke of the false and treacherous 
 Stuarts, the leaders and radicals left for the New World. They 
 were men without fame or name at home, except of being bad 
 subjects, blindly insensible of the blessings of a government 
 that was instituted by divine power, and restored by special 
 interposition. Left without the influence of these leading 
 spirits, their more passive followers yielded acquiescence to 
 the reigning powers, until the tyranny and intolerance of the 
 crown broke through the thick crust of conceit that hedged 
 in the brains of the nobility, and let in the idea that a king 
 who could be controlled by no earthly power was a very 
 doubtful blessing. Had all those men of busy minds and 
 advanced ideas of government remained in England during 
 the reign of Charles II. and James II., and the influence of 
 such characters as developed in the New World been walled 
 in by the sea that surrounds the British isles, it is not unlikely, 
 that, when the time came that compelled a general effort to 
 dispose of the Stuarts, they would have been strong enough 
 to have dispelled entirely the illusion of the divine right of 
 kings, instead of transferring it from the throne to the House 
 of Peers, from the king to the nobility. But it was not 
 so to be ; and speculations on the subject may be curious, but 
 they can never educe a fact. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 77 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 rt But thou who own'st that earthly hed, 
 Ah I what will every dirge avail ? 
 Or tears which love and pity shed, 
 That mourn beneath the gliding sail ? "— Collins. 
 
 The events succeeding the death of Robert Gomery were 
 as commonplace and matter-of-fact as could well be imagined, 
 even by one whose whole life had been passed in that most 
 staid and matter-of-fact land, New England. The shadow 
 of death had passed the threshold, and left a deep trace of 
 sorrow ; but the experience of several generations had 
 taught the people of that day to rely on their own exertions 
 and firmly do their duty if they would expect Providence to 
 smile on their labors or answer their prayers. In spiritual 
 matters, they put unhesitating faith in divine influences, but 
 did not believe that any supernatural interference would be 
 vouchsafed to save them from the effects of neglect of their 
 temporal affairs. The pithy advice of the great Crom- 
 well to his soldiers, to " trust in God, and keep their powder 
 dry," illustrates with great force as well as brevity, and in 
 few words epitomizes, the religion and the lives of the Puri- 
 tans. They believed in special providences manifested in 
 the saving grace rather than in the saving money, and had 
 small faith in hearing and believing if they were not doers 
 as well. So, when affliction came in the form of death, they 
 did not consider it so important to say masses for the dead 
 as to do their duties unshrinkingly to the living. Huldah 
 Gomery was one deeply imbued with these ideas ; and, though 
 the loss of a husband whom she loved and respected was a 
 terrible blow, she saw that she had duties to perform to the 
 living, that must be neglected if she gave way to unavailing 
 grief. She had no time for vain regrets for the dead ; and, if 
 she indulged in them, it must be to the neglect and wrong 
 of those who now might justly doubly claim all her care. 
 7* 
 
78 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 Her children now required all her attention, and in them all 
 her hopes were centred. These children gave that early 
 promise which fully justified in other than parental eyes the 
 good care and love, as well as high hopes, which she mani- 
 fested for them. 
 
 But another great sorrow was in store for Huldah Gomery. 
 Her daughter Eunice, within two years after the death of her 
 father, was laid in the graveyard beside him. Early in the 
 spring that succeeded his death, she had often resorted 
 to his grave, before the earth was dry and warm above 
 it ; and, in company with her brother, she had spent many 
 hours in beautifying the grounds around it; planting seeds 
 of the primrose and the myrtle, and transplanting the earli- 
 est violets that struggled into flower at the sunny side of im- 
 pending rocks. On one of these occasions, she had ventured 
 out in thin shoes at the middle of the day, and had become so 
 busy in her pious task that she forgot her mother's warning, 
 till the cold March wind of evening struck a chill through 
 her frame. She returned at once to the house, and the next 
 day was prostrate with cold and fever. She recovered from 
 them both ; but the seeds of consumption were implanted in 
 her constitution, and a year and a half from that day she 
 became a tenant of that graveyard which her own hands 
 had, in filial piety, labored to adorn. 
 
 The Montgomery property, at the time of the proprietor's 
 death, was every year rising in value. The liberal policy 
 which he had pursued in his lifetime toward settlers had 
 drawn in a considerable population ; so that it was the most 
 thriving interior village within a radius of more than sixty 
 miles. But, in order to make his improvements at the mills, 
 he had been obliged to incur heavy debts ; and it was debated 
 seriously between the widow and her friends, whether it 
 would not be better to sell off the village property, including 
 the mills and water-power, releasing all mortgages, and leav- 
 ing the farm unencumbered. But Huldah, believing that she 
 could manage the whole estate to profit until Freeborn came 
 of age to assist her, objected to any sale whatever. She was 
 confident she could make the improvements pay off their 
 cost, and that then she should have the whole property to 
 herself and children. Her success fully justified her estimate 
 of her own business capacity and tact ; for, when Freeborn 
 had reached the age of sixteen, the whole property was free 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 79 
 
 and unencumbered. Freeborn, however, was but little 
 inclined to give his attention to the business of the estate. 
 He was more inclined to books than business ; and his mother, 
 ambitious and proud of him, though she much needed his aid 
 in the administration of affairs, gladly encouraged his more 
 elevated tastes. She formed high hopes of future eminence 
 for him, and imagined that, instead of confining his talents 
 to the routine of trade and accounts, he would one day fill 
 some exalted position in the Government. Like most Ameri- 
 can mothers, she thought that very likely he would be, at 
 least, a governor of a State, and possibly president of the 
 whole Union. 
 
 Freeborn was accordingly sent away to an academy to 
 prepare for college ; and had nearly accomplished this part 
 of his education, when, unfortunately, the mills took fire one 
 night, and were burnt to the ground. The college course 
 was given up ; and Freeborn dutifully devoted himself for the 
 next three years to the work of rebuilding the mills, on 
 which his mother was determined, and to lightening the mater- 
 nal cares and responsibilities. He became the active business 
 manager of the estate, and was soon known as Gomery of 
 Montgomery. 
 
 At the age of twenty-one, Freeborn was still bent on study- 
 ing a profession ; and, as the affairs of the family estate were 
 in a flourishing condition, he went away from home to a 
 distant town to read law with a famous lawyer of his day, 
 who afterwards became chief justice of the State. When 
 I say that this learned pundit had three daughters, aged 
 seventeen, nineteen, and twenty-one, respectively, — all three 
 famous for their beauty, grace, and vivacity, and afterwards 
 to become more famous as matrons and leaders in society, — I 
 leave it to be inferred that Freeborn Gomery learned some- 
 thing more than law during his sojourn away from home. 
 But sundry chapters must intervene before I relate the par- 
 ticulars of this part of his life; though I may now admit, that, 
 at a subsequent period, the most beautiful of the Mackenzie 
 sisters accompanied him to his home at Montgomery. 
 
80 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 •* Friendship is constant in all other things 
 Save in the office and affairs of love : 
 Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues. 
 Let every eye negotiate for itself, 
 And trust no other agent." —Much Ado about Nothing. 
 
 During the time that Freeborn Gomery was away from 
 home, storing his mind with a knowledge of the law, the 
 country in the vicinity of his birthplace continued rapidly to 
 improve. Settlers were constantly coming in from different 
 parts, purchasing land, and making themselves homes. Roads 
 were made in various directions, large tracts of land were 
 cleared, and the hardy settlers were fast emerging from 
 the trials of frontier life to the comforts of civilization. The 
 arrival of so many emigrants from farther south created a 
 demand for land, and increased its value ; and the saw-mills 
 at Montgomery were busy in sawing up into boards, planks, 
 shingles, and clapboards, the stately pines that grew in great 
 numbers near by. The grist-mills were also kept running 
 day and night in grinding up the corn, wheat, and rye that 
 were now produced in abundant crops by the neighboring 
 farmers. As has been before stated, a large part of the ori- 
 ginal Gomery Estate in the vicinity of the village had been 
 sold off to the settlers, though the old home on the hill had 
 been reserved by the widow as a homestead. Freeborn 
 Gomery, on his return to his native place, after having been 
 admitted to the bar, became at once the most important man 
 in the vicinity; but, much to his mother's disappointment, 
 he had very little ambition for distinction or notoriety. He 
 had no desire for public life, but was rather inclined to prac- 
 tise his profession. His mother was far more ambitious than 
 he, and had so exalted an opinion of his abilities, that she 
 expected at one time to live to see him the great man of 
 the State, if not of the nation, instead of the little village 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 81 
 
 of Montgomery. But Freeborn did not enter into any of 
 her ambitious schemes. His plan of life was far happier 
 than hers. He would have a home, for which he had already 
 selected a partner; and would look for life's enjoyments in the 
 home circle, rather than in the noise and strife of the world. 
 But, as he knew a life of idleness was not intended for man's 
 happiness, he determined to engage in the practice of the 
 law; and, accordingly, he opened an office in the village, and 
 over the door of it this sign was placed: "F. Gomery, 
 Attorney at Law." He still lived at the Perch ; and every 
 morning, at about sunrise, he might be seen clattering down 
 the road on a stout nag; and, when he reached the level ground, 
 he would strike into a brisk gallop, and sweep up through 
 the village, to the great admiration of the milkmaids, who 
 were sure to be out to catch a nod and a merry word from 
 the dashing young attorney. He was a model horseman, six 
 feet two in height ; and his figure, athletic and graceful, 
 showed to great advantage as he cantered up through the 
 town on his stout bay. His features, however, were neither 
 regular nor handsome. His nose was large, his cheek bones 
 high, his chin massive, and his lips heavy and firm, showing 
 more of firmness than energy of character. 
 
 The young lawyer had no sooner opened his office than 
 business came rushing in upon him. In those early days of 
 the town's settlement, the boundary-lines between the settlers 
 were not clearly defined and established ; and hence there 
 was much litigation between neighbors before each knew 
 what was legally his own. Then there were, annually, sev- 
 eral "training-days," and one "general muster" of the mili- 
 tia of the surrounding country ; and, as they seldom passed 
 without more or less fights and knock-downs, much law 
 business resulted from these patriotic meetings, which, as they 
 had been convoked by law, were settled by the law, and Law- 
 yer Gomery was soon in a profitable practice. His legal 
 business so crowded upon him, and so completely absorbed 
 his time, that he could give little or no attention to the affairs 
 of the mills and other village property ; and therefore, taking 
 advantage of a period of great prosperity, when speculation 
 ran high, he prevailed on his mother to sell it all out, and 
 convert the money realized from it into something that would 
 require less care and attention. The shire-town, with its 
 county court-house, was some twenty miles from Montgom- 
 
82 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 ery; and at every session of the district and county courts 
 Freeborn attended, having a long docket of cases to be dis- 
 poned of. Except in the winter-time, when there was snow 
 on the ground, he always went to court on horseback; and 
 his neighbors observed, that, after the term was over, he 
 would, each spring and fall, be away from home some ten 
 days longer than the term of the court. The secret of this 
 was soon found out ; and several village belles learned, to 
 their no small disappointment, that his visits to the south- 
 ward were no compliment to them ; and their efforts to get 
 the full truth of the matter were finally rewarded by an ad- 
 mission from Freeborn's mother, that her son was engaged to 
 the second daughter of Judge Mackenzie of Pittstown, and 
 that they were to be married one H year from the coming au- 
 tumn. The good woman was highly pleased at the prospect 
 of this match ; for she did not think any of the neighboring 
 damsels at all worthy of so great a catch as her Freeborn. 
 
 Though a considerable portion of the original Gault or 
 Gomery Tract had been sold off, especially of that part near- 
 est the village, yet there was one spot on it which Freeborn 
 would never consent to have sold, though willing to sell 
 other lots at their value. This spot was about half the dis- 
 tance from the village to the old house, and a little back from 
 the direct road between the two. It appeared to be a sort 
 of hillock, or knoll, upon that side of the great hill; and was 
 the most commanding and beautiful spot in all the neighbor- 
 ing country, save only the site of the old house, which had, 
 long before, charmed the eyes of David Gault, and afterwards 
 Robert Gomery. This place overlooked the village, and was 
 in full view of the old homestead and the "Arch Fountain," 
 and w T as called the "Pivot." The reason of Freeborn's 
 unwillingness to sell it was apparent a year after he had 
 commenced practice as a lawyer, as he began at that time 
 to make preparations for building himself a fine house, with 
 barn, stable, and out-buildings, such as a man in easy circum- 
 stances might be supposed to require. 
 
 In those days, the style of architecture was in most vicious 
 taste. It seemed to be an emanation of the Puritan severity 
 and straight-lacedness, — a sort of ambitious simplicity. But 
 it was a style universal in that region, and no house was con- 
 sidered at all genteel unless it conformed to it. This style 
 required that a house should be of two stories ; have a roof 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 83 
 
 without gables, but coming to a point in the centre ; a light 
 cornice; numerous and small windows; a main door in the 
 centre of the front, opening into a hall that led on either 
 side into a large square parlor. The internal arrangement 
 might vary ; but the outward appearance must conform to one 
 fixed, unvarying standard, — a broad, bare, white front, re- 
 lieved only by a single door: and the windows in the upper 
 and lower stories gave the structure an outward appearance 
 of cheerlessness and frigidity, frequently very incompatible 
 with the warmth and hospitality within. In the centre of 
 the house was an immense chimney-stack, having a fireplace 
 on three sides below, and the same number above. The fire- 
 place of the kitchen was always made very wide, for the 
 purpose of accommodating such logs of wood as were too 
 large and gnarled to split up ; and was flanked on one side by 
 an ash-hole and oven, that, for size, might have vied with- a 
 modern steam-bakery. The other sides of the house were. 
 very similar to the front ; and, at this period, the extravagance 
 of blinds was scarcely known. Seen at a distance, a house as 
 plain as this did not make a bad appearance if it happened to 
 be half hidden among trees. But in those days the great object 
 of people was to get trees out of the way, and land was re- 
 garded more valuable the less vestige of the forest was left 
 upon it. It is not remarkable, therefore, that a lawn was a 
 luxury to the eye, and that people, when recollecting so 
 freshly the difficulty and toil of clearing away the trees, 
 regarded them as a blemish in any landscape, and especially 
 objectionable if they hid the painted front of a house from 
 view. 
 
 In this style was built the house of Freeborn Gomery, or 
 "Gomery of Montgomery" as he was most frequently called. 
 In addressing him, he was called the "Squire," or "Square," 
 and sometimes Mr. Gomery; but his usual appellation was the 
 same as had been his father's before him. 
 
 The house and out-buildings were all completed in good 
 time, and the grounds were cleared up, the stumps of trees 
 removed, new fences made, a large front yard, a lawn fenced 
 in; and the place had a more pretending ambitious look than 
 any other within many miles. Then came, to the astonish- 
 ment if not envy of the mothers and daughters of the vil- 
 lage, a large quantity of furniture, of finer quality than had 
 ever been seen in that part of the country before ; and it 
 
84 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 all went direct to the Pivot. Finally, the fall term of the 
 court came on, and the squire left to attend it ; and this 
 time he was gone longer than ever before. It was known at 
 the village that the old lady, who, with a sort of respectful 
 familiarity, was called " Aunt Huldah," had been at the new 
 house for two days getting it in order for occupancy ; and 
 everybody in the town asked everybody else, as often as he 
 met him, when Gomery of Montgomery with his new wife 
 was expected to arrive. At last their interest in their neigh- 
 bor's welfare was rewarded, and their expectant eyes glad- 
 dened by the familiar sight of the squire's well-known horse 
 "Ticonderoga" moving up through the principal street, draw- 
 ing after him a stylish chaise, in which were seated the law- 
 yer and his new wife. Beneath the carriage was suspended 
 a large square trunk, which, it may be supposed, contained 
 those articles of apparel required for the journey. Every 
 thing else had been sent on previously, and had arrived at 
 the Pivot some days before; and had been all arranged and 
 disposed for use, ere the young couple appeared, by the busy 
 hand of Aunt Huldah. The chaise passed directly through 
 the village, and up to the new house at the Pivot ; and you 
 may be sure the talk that evening through the village was 
 of the bride of Gomery of Montgomery. But two persons 
 in the village had got a glimpse of her face ; and these two 
 differed widely in opinion respecting her, as was but natural ; 
 since one was Belinda Baker, a fair, rosy, buxom lass, who 
 for one whole season had scarcely failed a single morning to 
 cross the road with her milking-pail just at the time that the 
 young lawyer was riding by on his powerful " Ticonderoga." 
 As he always had a merry word for her, she had for a while 
 indulged the hope that she would distance all the other 
 belles of the village, and catch the " square." The person 
 with her, who likewise saw the face of the new bride, was 
 Reuben Stockman, to whom she had become engaged when 
 she found that Gomery did not duly appreciate her charms. 
 This couple were taking an evening stroll between sunset 
 and daylight-down; and, though they acknowledged his greet- 
 ing, they scarcely looked at him, so staring and eager were 
 they to get a good look at his wife. No sooner had they 
 passed them than they fell to discussing her looks. Reuben 
 thought her very handsome. Belinda said, "It was no such 
 thing, and that she didn't think that a man like Gomery of 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 85 
 
 Montgomery need go away two hundred miles to find a 
 great deal better -looking woman than that. And I know 
 she is a Tartar!" said she. "Didn't you see how her eyes 
 flashed fire when she looked at me?" 
 
 "No," replied Reuben : "I thought she had the sweetest 
 look I ever saw, and such a sweet smile ! No wonder she 
 caught the square ! " 
 
 " It is a pity you can't find one like her," said she pet- 
 tishly. 
 
 "Might do worse I guess," he replied; to which Belinda 
 was about to answer something still more gingerly, when 
 they were hailed by a voice from a group of persons near 
 by, and asked if they had got sight of the squire and his 
 wife. Reuben spoke first, and said " they had, and she was 
 a darned sight the harnsomest woman "ever seen in Mont- 
 gomery." 
 
 "She ain't, nuther!" said Belinda. "There's lots o' girls 
 here harnsum as she." 
 
 " You may think so," said Reuben ; " but I don't ; and I 
 don't blame Freeborn Gomery for goin' away to get a wife 
 like that." 
 
 " I should be ashamed ! I s'pose you would do the same 
 if you could," said she, the tears filling her eyes. 
 
 " No, of course not," answered he as the two turned away 
 from the group, and pursued their walk. Reuben accom- 
 panied Belinda, who was in no amiable frame of mind, to 
 her home that night. What passed between them before 
 they reached her father's house is not known to the writer 
 of this history ; but it is certain the match was broken off, 
 not to be renewed again for six months, when negotiations 
 were opened, and a marriage-treaty finally effected. 
 
 There was wonderful unanimity of opinion, however, re- 
 garding the lawyer's new bride, when all had seen her, in 
 spite of the adverse judgment of Belinda Baker; and even 
 she was obliged to own, that, in giving her first impressions, 
 she was prejudiced. It was no use to stand out against a 
 verdict otherwise unanimous ; and that verdict was, that the 
 squire's wife was a marvel of beauty. She was tall and grace- 
 ful, with hazel eyes, and dark hair with the slightest possible 
 tinge of auburn. Her teeth were perfect, her lips firm and 
 round, and moved witchingly to let escape the silvery tones of 
 her voice, that was so soft and winning, it was no wonder that 
 
 8 
 
00 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 the sensitive heart of Freeborn Gomery was captivated and 
 inthralled. Her cheeks were not only rosy and fresh, but 
 rounded out with those curved lines of highest beauty sel- 
 dom seen but in the masterpieces of statuary; and, when 
 a smile lit up the ever-radiant face, the prettiest pair of dim- 
 ples ever seen were disclosed. Indeed, it was a wonder 
 that Freeborn Gomery, with all his advantages of wealth, 
 talents, and position, could ever win a lady so fair as she. 
 
 The good people of Montgomery Village were greatly 
 pleased, when they became acquainted with the squire's 
 wife, to find that she was as affable and condescending as 
 she was fair. They had feared she would be distant and 
 haughty, and assume such airs of superiority as would wither 
 them into insignificance, and, which was worse, silence ; but 
 she was all courtesy and kindness towards them, and made 
 the acquaintance of all the village people in a way that won 
 their hearts. She was so extremely affable and conde- 
 scending as even to shock Aunt Huldah. The old lady 
 seemed to think it beneath the dignity of the wife of her Free- 
 born to treat certain poor people so familiarly ; but the young 
 bride seemed to find it a great pleasure to call at the houses 
 of the poorest, and go in without ceremony, chatting with 
 the mothers, talking over with them the ailments of the 
 children, advising with the fathers, patting the heads of the 
 little ones, and shedding a halo of light and joy that seemed 
 to linger in the house for days after she had departed. She 
 participated in the tea-drinking parties of the village, and 
 always found something to especially praise in the house- 
 keeping qualities of her hostess. If a ball was got up, she 
 was sure to attend ; and she and her husband led down the 
 dance with as brisk and reckless gleesomeness as the young 
 lads and lasses just out with their new clothes. 
 
 Gomery of Montgomery was now a happy man. His busi- 
 ness was sufficient to keep him employed through the day, 
 and his evenings at home were seasons of unalloyed delight. 
 He wanted for nothing. His opinion was respected by all 
 his neighbors; and, if not universally popular, it was because 
 in his professional duties he had had occasion to rebuke in- 
 justice and extortion. He was beloved by all he could re- 
 spect; and for the opinions of others he cared little. 
 
 The dozen years that followed were of that placid kind 
 that leave only pleasant memories. There were no ups and 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 87 
 
 downs in his career. The days passed as monotonously as 
 those who would always have to-morrow the same as to-day 
 could desire. Those regular increments to the family that 
 serve to give interest and variety to the home-circle made 
 their appearance with biennial certainty ; and, at the end of 
 ten years after Freeborn Gomery had brought his bride to 
 his new home, there were four children that played around 
 his hearthstone, — two daughters and two sons, the boys 
 being younger than the girls, and the youngest two years 
 old : but the season came and went, and there was no ad- 
 dition to the number this year, nor the next, nor the next. 
 
 And so the world moved on with this family as the wise 
 would desire to have it, — devoid of incident to ruffle the calm 
 stream of events. " Blessed," says Montesquieu, " is that peo- 
 ple whose annals are written in water;" and blessed is that 
 family, that, holding fast to the golden mean, knows neither 
 the anxieties of the ambitious and great, or of the suffering 
 and poor. So it was with the family of Freeborn Gomery 
 for the first twenty years of his married life ; and yet, happy 
 as his life had been, his mother, Aunt Huldah, had never felt 
 satisfied with his career. In her opinion, he had the intellect- 
 ual capacity to become one of the great men of the nation ; 
 and, if he would only aspire to a leading position in the coun- 
 try, she did not question his ability to reach it. But Free- 
 born had more- sense and less ambition than his mother ; and 
 at last, when the old lady saw how contented a life he led, 
 and looked upon his increasing family, that each year de- 
 manded more of his attention, she resigned herself to his 
 indifference to fame, and consoled herself with the hope 
 that his children would be more ambitious. She still con- 
 tinued to live in the old house at the Perch on the hill, 
 and superintended the conduct of the farm, though she spent 
 nearly half her time at the Pivot with her grandchildren, 
 making herself more busy than useful, but always welcome. 
 
 But, whatever her disappointments and troubles, they all 
 came to an end some fifteen years after her son's marriage. 
 At this time, when little past fifty years of age, and appar- 
 ently in the full vigor of life and health, she was suddenly 
 taken down with a fever of the most violent typhoid charac- 
 ter; and, in spite of all that affection and attention could do, 
 in three weeks she breathed her last. 
 
 Some folks said of Freeborn Gomery that he did not show 
 
88 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 half so much grief and sorrow on this occasion as was to 
 have been expected from one who had ever exhibited so 
 much affection and filial regard to his mother while living. 
 There was a great deal of crying and lamentation among the 
 children ; but the tears shed by Freeborn and his wife were 
 not seen by the public. They both wore a look of calm 
 sorrow on the day of the funeral, and, when it was over, pur- 
 sued their usual avocations sadly, though calmly, as if nothing 
 unusual had transpired. It was frequently remarked in the 
 village, that, after all Freeborn Gomery's pretended regard 
 for his mother, he did not, when the pinch came, show half 
 so much love for her as did Tom Homer, two months before, 
 for his mother, notwithstanding he had sent her off to die at 
 the poorhouse as soon as she got too weak and feeble to do 
 any more work. This remark was made in the store of Ira 
 Morris, the day after the funeral, by Stephen Gifford, to 
 Henry Fisher, a son of our old acquaintance Asa. 
 
 "I don't think," said Fisher, "that it is any great sign of 
 love to cry for those that we didn't care for when alive. My 
 'pinion is, it is remorse, and not love, that makes the tears come. 
 You may say what you like about Tom Homer: I say nothing 
 against him. He pays his debts, and does as he agrees; and, 
 next to the square, he is the richest man in this county. He has 
 got but two children in the world; and I say that when he let 
 his old mother, who had worked and slaved all her life to get 
 the property, go to the poorhouse, it was a shame ; and it is 
 no wonder, that, when he saw her poor old withered body 
 in her coffin, he felt great grief and remorse." 
 
 "You don't know any thing about the matter," said Gifford. 
 " He grieved for his mother, not only as for a parent, but for 
 higher and holier reasons. She was a good and a pious 
 woman." 
 
 "I know that," said Fisher; "as good a woman as ever 
 lived in this town; and so much the greater shame that her 
 son should let her go to the poorhouse." 
 
 "I don't defend that," said Gifford; "I think he was 
 wrong : but yet his grief was sincere and to his credit, and 
 will do much to atone for his unkindness in the great day. 
 I have been at the communion-table with them both a hun- 
 dred times ; and it was but natural that when the minister 
 told of the great loss the neighborhood had sustained by the 
 death of such a woman, — such a sincere, praying Christian, — 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 89 
 
 and petitioned Heaven that this great loss to him who was 
 bone of her bone, and flesh of her flesh, might be sanctified 
 to his welfare, — I say the grief he then showed was much 
 to his credit; and I think he made a great many friends by 
 it, and that every person at the funeral thought better of 
 him for it." 
 
 "I wasn't at the funeral," said Fisher; "and I would like 
 to ask you if the minister quoted the last words of the old 
 woman." 
 
 " No : what were they ? " 
 
 " Why, when Homer was sent for, and told that his mother 
 could not hold out till morning, he went over to see her; 
 and when he first went in she did not know him, — she was 
 wandering in her mind. By and by she came to her senses, 
 and they told her Thomas was there. 'Thomas,' said the 
 old woman, starting up and looking at him, — 'Thomas, why 
 did you send me here ? ' and the old woman fell back, and died 
 in a minute. Now, after that, I can understand why he 
 should take on so at the funeral. I have seen such things 
 before, but none quite so bad as that. When people do 
 their duty to the living, they may mourn their loss; but they 
 don't bewail and lament and reproach themselves as those 
 do who neglect and abuse their fathers, mothers, and other 
 kindred, till they have left the world and are beyond the 
 reach of their cruelty. People like Gomery and his wife 
 have no self-reproaches; and, when death came and took away 
 the old lady whom they loved so tenderly that they did all 
 in their power for her comfort and happiness, they had no 
 stings of conscience to prick them into loud cries of grief 
 and sorrow. They know that death must come sooner or 
 later to all; and they do not fret against the Lord, however 
 much they mourn. They are rather thankful for mercies 
 received than complaining of those withheld." 
 
 "You had better turn infidel preacher, and done with it," 
 said Giflford, leaving abruptly, and putting an end to the dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 However correct Fisher may have been in his estimate of 
 the character of the grief manifested by Freeborn Gomery, 
 it gave no clew to the frequently expressed sorrow of his 
 children. They only knew their grandmother as the imper- 
 sonation of kindness, and her death came upon them as an 
 irreparable loss. They knew that they had been often wil- 
 
 8* 
 
90 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY! 
 
 ful, troublesome, disobedient, and unkind to her, and that 
 she ever repaid them with gentleness and love; and now all 
 their acts of unkindness came up to their memories in re- 
 proachful contrast to her unvarying gentleness and affection. 
 And yet they had been always sincerely attached to her, 
 and, while she lived, thought they were dutiful and respectful. 
 It had ever been their custom to spend much of their time 
 with her at the Perch, and they all felt as much at home 
 there as at their own home at the Pivot. The good old lady 
 had always entered into all their youthful games, and had 
 taught them those she had played at as a girl ; and was never 
 tired of hearing them repeat the lessons in spelling, arith- 
 metic, and geography, which had been given them by the 
 school-teacher. The old lady had also beguiled many hours 
 with them in recounting the story of the Revolution ; and, as 
 her youthful and more impressible days had been passed at 
 the time of that struggle, it was not strange that her opinion 
 of the English was scarcely more favorable than it was of the 
 Indians. Of them both she had many stories to tell; and 
 especially did she recount to them that dreadful affair on 
 that very hill where they lived, when the British and Indians 
 came along and murdered poor Mr. and Mrs. Gault, and. car- 
 ried their little girl into captivity : and then she would tell 
 how that, for many years after, strange noises had been heard 
 in the old log-house where the murder had been committed; 
 and even to that day the servants said the old log-house was 
 haunted. But, of course, she always added, it was only bad 
 people that ghosts disturbed ; and if they were always good 
 and honest, and did as they would be done by, they would 
 never see any ghosts. But the story, nevertheless, gave the 
 children a great horror of the old log-house, that had been 
 allowed to stand by reason of its historic interest, notwith- 
 standing it was an offence to the eye, and cumbered up 
 the ground. If compelled to pass by it at night, they always 
 kept as far from it as possible, and always, when fairly past, 
 cast a look back, dreading to see the apparition of the lovely 
 woman with her throat cut. It was never visited by them, 
 even in the daytime, unless some older person was with 
 them. Being used only as a depository for farming tools and 
 rubbish, it was a great place for the hens to go into to hide 
 their nests. The feathered bipeds had somehow learned that 
 the place was avoided by the children, — those great destroy- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 91 
 
 ers of embryo chickens, — and hence they selected that 
 place for their incubating habitation. 
 
 It was less than a year after the good old lady had been 
 carried amid sorrow and tears to the tomb that another 
 event happened in the family, of an opposite character. 
 Another angel passed over, and this was an angel of life. 
 
92 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Make thick my blood ; 
 Stop up the access and passage to remorse; 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 Shake my fell purpose." — Macbbth. 
 
 When Maxwell Cumberland returned to England, after 
 an absence of two years and a half, he looked more than ten 
 years older than when he left. Though still less than thirty 
 years of age, he might have been taken for forty. Then he 
 was the picture of health ; active, erect, and handsome, with 
 a clear and steady eye, and a bold and arrogant air. Now 
 he was haggard and emaciated, his eye unsteady, his look 
 downcast and evasive. But, in spite of all his experience in 
 America, he cherished all his former ambitious plans ; and, 
 with unrelaxed tenacity of purpose, he made straight for the 
 accomplishment of his designs. And the prospect of suc- 
 cess on his return was even better than he expected. The 
 only son of his brother, Lord Maccleton, was dead ; and, if his 
 brother would only be so obliging as to die too, his way 
 would be clear before him. And it seemed as if the elder 
 was willing to oblige the younger ; for he was leading a life 
 of dissipation and extravagance, that was fast undermining 
 his health and ruining his constitution. He was, in all re- 
 spects, different from his brother. The elder was weak and 
 purposeless ; the younger, resolute and ambitious. The fam- 
 ily estate was encumbered and neglected, and each year the 
 affairs of its noble possessor were becoming more complicated 
 and embarrassed. The younger brother, presuming that the 
 estate would probably fall to him, regarded it as a sort of 
 special providence that had blessed his thrifty management ; 
 so that, if he should ever become Lord Maccleton, he would 
 have abundant means to clear off all encumbrances, re- 
 store and renovate the old hall, and make all other needed 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 93 
 
 improvements. In overlooking the estate which had for 
 centuries been the property of his ancestors, he was morti- 
 fied at the contrast it presented to some of the thrifty coun- 
 try seats of men whose ancestry, compared with his own, 
 was but as yesterday. His father had been a bluff fox-hunter, 
 who sacrificed every thing to his horses and dogs ; and his 
 brother had added to these accomplishments those other, 
 not so exclusive, but equally unprofitable practices, — gam- 
 bling and drunkenness. But, by retaining his fraudulent hold 
 on the estate of his deceased wife by means of the suppositi- 
 tious child, it would be easy for him, should his beloved 
 brother be so obliging as to break his neck, to pay off all en- 
 cumbrances, and make improvements that would render the 
 place one of the finest in the United Kingdom. It was now 
 a shabby affair, and was no fit place to which to invite any 
 of the high officers of the government ; much less the 
 young snobs, whose pretensions give the tone of fashion in 
 society, and among whom Cumberland was especially anxious 
 to make an impression. 
 
 His ambition was of a higher order than that of most 
 of those whose friendship and support he courted. It would 
 not suffice to be a mere lay-figure, even in the most exclusive 
 circles of society ; but he longed for power and fame, and he 
 meant to have them : and he had the discernment to see, that, 
 if he cultivated and flattered the young scions of the aris- 
 tocracy, it was possible that they might remember his atten- 
 tions when they became lords of the realm, and wielded an 
 influence in shaping the national policy and the formation of 
 his majesty's ministries. His schemes were well laid and 
 well digested ; and all that was lacking was, that a good 
 Providence should reward his virtuous acts by taking his 
 elder brother to a brighter and a better world. His own 
 brother was the Mordecai at the gate. As long as he lived, 
 he could not come into the Maccleton property; and the 
 elder might be so unfraternal as to outlive the younger. 
 Life, at best, is uncertain ; and, for aught he knew to the con- 
 trary, his weak and dissipated brother might live forty years, 
 and perhaps leave a lineal heir to the coveted estate and 
 honors. The revival of an extinct title would be attended 
 with too much delay for his active, eager mind ; and then it 
 would not, after all, give him what he wanted. He wanted 
 to be the Lord Maccleton, and restore the honor, influence, 
 
94 GOMERT OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 and glory of the name ; and, not seeing his way clear to his 
 object, he was in a most unsatisfactory frame of mind. To 
 add to his perplexities, he had made overtures for the daugh- 
 ter of Lord Crosstree; and, though not directly refused, the 
 noble lord indicated to him, that, while his daughter could 
 love a Lord Maccleton, she never could be made to regard 
 with favor a mere colonel in the army, who, perhaps, would 
 never be a lord at all. It might be inferred from this, that, 
 in the circles of the nobility, love was a thing not recognized ; 
 and it must be admitted, that, in drawing up marriage-settle- 
 ments, it is usually left out of sight by the high contracting 
 parties. But that love will sometimes intrude into most 
 exclusive and best-regulated families is proved by the fact, 
 that the only sister of Col. Cumberland had so far disgraced 
 the family as to marry a man without a name, and who had 
 nothing to recommend him but his fine person, and an im- 
 mense fortune which he had acquired in the undignified 
 business of banking. His father had been a manufacturer, 
 and had left him the nucleus of a fortune, which the young 
 man had so well managed, that, at the age of thirty, he was 
 known in Downing Street as one of the heavy capitalists of 
 the city. For this upstart she had refused the hand of Lord 
 Landisgone, a nobleman of blood so pure that it was ever break- 
 ing out in scrofulous sores, the scars of which were con- 
 sidered as so many badges of honor, since they proved his 
 race had never mixed and crossed with plebeian stock. By a 
 judicious system of intermarriage among their kin, his fam- 
 ily had kept itself elevated, and pure from taint of the com- 
 mon herd ; and as their connections were all of the noblest 
 families in the kingdom, and his title was as old as the Nor- 
 man invasion, it was considered a great shame that the Lady 
 Henrietta had rejected so noble and honorable an alliance; 
 and when it was considered that to such a man she had pre- 
 ferred a mere banker, a man who had made his own money, it 
 was thought positively disgraceful. 
 
 Success, however, is a great mollifier of offences; and 
 though it was long before the family would forgive the erring 
 one for thus bringing disgrace on the noble house, and con- 
 taminating the stock of the Cumberlands with plebeian blood, 
 yet her husband, Sir Henderson Strongham, was not a man 
 to be despised even by such old aristocracy. His success in 
 business had been astonishing; and, within ten years of his 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 95 
 
 marriage, his advice on affairs of finance had been sought in 
 government circles; and so useful had he made himself in 
 effecting certain important loans, that his majesty graciously- 
 conferred upon him the honor of knighthood. After this 
 success, not only without the influence of his wife's family, 
 but in spite of it, it was finally concluded, after mature de- 
 liberation, that a reconciliation should take place, and the 
 erring sister be forgiven. 
 
 The overtures for a reconciliation now came, for the first 
 time, from the country. On sundry previous occasions, the 
 man of debits and credits had approached through third par- 
 ties the proud relatives of his wife, but had always been un- 
 ceremoniously snubbed. The rebuffs he took with only the 
 resentment of resolving that he would one day overcome 
 their opposition, which he regarded as but just and proper, 
 and that, when he was entitled to a recognition, he did not 
 doubt but he should get it. He therefore applied himself 
 more assiduously than ever to the accumulation of money; 
 for he had great faith in that, and believed that with money 
 and tact he could get among the landed aristocracy, and that 
 he could reward his wife's sacrifices for him and his sake by 
 one day restoring her to the society she had left, recognized 
 as the equal of the best of them. 
 
 Following the preliminaries of the reconciliation, Col. Cum- 
 berland came down to London, and was cordially received 
 at the magnificent town residence of his brother-in-law, Sir 
 Henderson Strongham. His sister, whom he had not seen 
 for a dozen years before, had been dealt with more kindly 
 by time than himself. To her eyes, there had been no aven- 
 ging power ever present, showing forth a ghastly spectacle 
 that would never depart. Yet to him, notwithstanding his 
 mind was ever active in the execution of his ambitious 
 schemes, the dreadful apparition of the scene at Gault's 
 Hill was constantly present; and he could never keep his 
 eyes in any direction for more than two minutes, but that 
 it would show itself so distinctly, that he would be compelled 
 to turn his head, and look another way. This restlessness 
 of the eyes, and habit of averting their gaze as from some 
 disagreeable object, soon attracted the notice of his sister; 
 but he explained it by saying that his sight had been in- 
 jured by the snows of Canada. She overheard some of 
 the servants, however, say, that, during the whole time her 
 
96 
 
 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY 
 
 brother was there, he walked the room every night from 
 twelve or one o'clock till four or five in the morning. Was 
 the tragedy of Gault's Hill enacted every night before his 
 eyes? He never said it. 
 
 Lady Strongham had three children of her own, the young- 
 est of which was about the same age as Cumberland's pro- 
 tegee, and, like her, a girl. She was vastly pleased at the 
 family reconciliation that had just been effected, and at the 
 prospect of seeing her children not only relations but ac- 
 quaintances of the old nobility, among whom she had her- 
 self been born and reared. She even indulged the hope 
 of one day seeing her eldest boy the husband of her broth- 
 er's child, who, besides her high birth, would inevitably be 
 heiress to an immense estate. But, let the future have in 
 store what it might, she was so pleased at the changed as- 
 pect of family affairs, that she thought she could not do 
 enough to gratify her brother, the colonel. She insisted 
 that his. child should come to London, and live with her 
 children, and have a home among friends. This proposition 
 was pleasing to Cumberland ; and a messenger was sent 
 into the country with authority to bring the precious dar- 
 ling with her governess and nurse to the metropolis. Cum- 
 berland spared no pains nor expense to obtain every comfort 
 and advantage for the child; but he never saw it himself. 
 From the first, it had ever showed an aversion to him, and, 
 to avoid him, had sought the protection of Sleeping Ven- 
 geance, whenever, in the journey through the forest, he had 
 sought to ingratiate himself into its favor. On board the 
 ship, too, it never saw him but it turned away affrighted to 
 its nurse; and he was convinced that the only way to over- 
 come its antipathy was to keep out of its sight till the mem- 
 ory of those scenes in the forest should be effaced. The 
 child, at the time of that fearful crime, was less than a year 
 and a half old ; and, though it might always have a vague 
 recollection of it, he hoped it would retain no impression of 
 himself as connected with it. 
 
 In the mean while, the report of the surprise and defeat of 
 Cumberland's veterans by a handful of raw militia had 
 reached England, and was discussed in high quarters, little 
 to the credit or advantage of the officer in command. The 
 Gault's-Hill affair was one of those common and insignifi- 
 cant episodes in this war so unnatural and ungrateful on the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 97 
 
 part of the colonists as to deprive them of the rights of 
 civilized warfare, and therefore not likely to be remembered 
 or reported in England. Cumberland, nevertheless, was ex- 
 ceedingly anxious for a long time lest the facts should be- 
 come public through the babbling of some disabled soldier, 
 who, being sent home, might narrate his experiences in Amer- 
 ica to some one who would publish the whole affair; but, 
 as no mention was made of it in any quarter, he at length 
 breathed more freely in the belief that his secret was safe. 
 
 But he could not remain in England. After so inglorious 
 a defeat, it was no time for him to retire. The stigma of sur- 
 prise must be wiped out, and his character as a soldier re- 
 deemed, and that, too, on the same theatre of action where he 
 had incurred his disgrace. A few years more of absence might 
 largely augment his importance at home ; and on his return, 
 covered with laurels and glory plucked from the field of bat- 
 tle, he might find himself not only a popular favorite, but a 
 lord of the realm. Besides, he was a man of action, -and not 
 a mere idle dreamer ; and, as soon as his affairs at home were 
 properly disposed, he embarked again for America; and in 
 his subsequent career, by his reckless bravery, his ferocity 
 of deportment against the rebels, his wanton destruction of 
 property, his cruelty to prisoners, and his encouragement of 
 rapine, he fully atoned for the disasters of his earlier cam- 
 paign. A manuscript letter of thanks drawn up by the 
 board of war, signed by the king, and countersigned by 
 Lord North, is still preserved at Maccleton Hall, suspended 
 in a rich frame against the wall among the family pictures. 
 It was slightly injured a few years after, when all the pic- 
 tures were hastily taken down and hid away in anticipation 
 of the invasion of the ruthless " Corsican upstart." 
 
 In this family history, which may be true in every word, 
 it is not for me to give any more of the events that trans- 
 pired across the water than is essential to the full under- 
 standing and development of the story at home. If I at- 
 tempt to give any thing more than the necessary incidents 
 in their chronological order, and seek to represent the man- 
 ners, the habits, or the customs of a country of which I have 
 seen but little, I shall probably make a ridiculous figure; and 
 if I could succeed in the effort, even then the labor would be 
 quite unnecessary. Everybody, that reads novels in Eng- 
 lish, of course reads every thing written by those two mas- 
 
 9 
 
yo GOMEEY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 ters of fiction, more competent than all others to paint the 
 characteristics of their own nation. The great genius of 
 humanity, who evolves so much of the good that exists in 
 human nature as almost to make the cynic amiable, has de- 
 picted the inner man of the English. The kind impulses, 
 the generous self-sacrifice, the pure love, of which the hu- 
 man heart is capable, seem to be incarnated in his enduring 
 characters ; and whether we are following the fortunes of a 
 precocious Nell, or smiling at the sanguine expectations of 
 Wilkins Micawber, we can hardly realize that we are not 
 reading of living persons. The outer man of the English 
 has been drawn by as great an artist, but one whose genius 
 is of the earth earthy, and who does not believe in the ex- 
 istence of those qualities that the other conceives and de- 
 picts. The one discovers and portrays the good in nature ; 
 the other, the evil. The one sees love, affection, and kindness 
 moving to acts of mercy and benevolence : the other sees 
 selfishness supreme behind and governing all. The latter 
 unmasks and remorselessly exposes the shams and preten- 
 sions of society, and is accordingly courted and feted, feared, 
 feasted, and shunned, that his trenchant pen may not em- 
 balm in the amber of his genius the stupid pretentious non- 
 entities that float on the surface of high society. With a 
 keen and trenchant blade, the author of "Vanity Fair" has 
 divided the people of England into two classes, which are 
 always with infinite variety of shading presented to his cos- 
 mopolitan reader, — the snobs and flunkies. His aristocrats 
 are snobs, whose pretensions make up for lack of talent and 
 virtue among the staring crowd of flunkies that compose 
 the body of the people, and who take it as their lot and 
 their duty to uphold the divine rights of a class whose in- 
 tellect they cannot respect, and whose morals they detest. 
 The gloze of English society does not enable it to escape 
 his eagle glance ; and it is fair to presume, that if, after his 
 sojourn in this country, he has not made us the subjects of 
 his satire and ridicule, it is not because he has not observed 
 our national faults and follies, but that, in spite of them, he 
 has seen that our people are free from that disgusting sub- 
 serviency to sounding titles that has debased the middle and 
 lower ranks of England, as well as that supercilious arro- 
 gance of rank, that, in the upper class, serves as a cloak for 
 ignorance and imbecility. He has seen here that it is 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 99 
 
 " worth that makes the man," and not ancestral fame, good 
 or bad, of honored men or dishonored women ; and that the 
 peculiarities of our people do not interfere with the general 
 happiness and development; that, in a land of great prosper- 
 ity, exotics and demagogues flourish for a time, but only to 
 wither after a brief day under the light of general intelli- 
 gence and universal suffrage ; that, truth being free, error 
 must be short-lived ; and that where education is general, and 
 every mind active, or encouraged to activity, there will be 
 the greatest advancement in practical inventions, as well as 
 an uneasy restiveness under any system or policy which is 
 not for the general good. Selah. 
 
100 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil 
 Impels the native to repeated toil, 
 Industrious habits in each bosom reign, 
 And industry begets a love of gain. 
 Hence all the good from opulence that springs, 
 With all those ills superfluous pleasure brings, 
 Are here displayed. Their much-loved wealth imparts 
 Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts. 
 But view them closer, craft and fraud appear : 
 Even liberty itself 1s bartered here." — Goldsmith's Traveller. 
 
 The village of Montgomery, we have already said, was as 
 thriving and bustling a little place as any within many miles 
 of it. Owing to the wise forecast of the elder Gomery, the first 
 settlers had been of a class superior to the average of those in 
 the neighboring towns. If a man of good character and habits 
 came into the village with a view of settling there, he would 
 give him strong inducements to do so ; but a seedy fellow, 
 out at elbows, who wanted credit for his grog-bills, was al- 
 ways told that there was no land for sale there, but it was 
 plenty and cheap a few miles farther on. 
 
 It seems inevitable, however, that, in every new country, 
 there should be a great deal of litigation. One great cause 
 is the uncertainty of boundaries between neighbors. Anoth- 
 er is, that the people are exposed to a rough and hard 
 life, that renders them less reluctant to engage in personal 
 frays and grog-shop broils than in parts that have been longer 
 settled, and where the supremacy of law is better established. 
 The pioneers of a new country are also so far removed from 
 the restraints of the society in which they were brought up, 
 that they are not withheld by it from asserting their rights 
 according to those primitive expounders of jurisprudence, 
 the strong arm and bony knuckles. 
 
 But with civilization came evils not known among barba- 
 rians. In organized society, it is found that the men who 
 nourish on the vices, follies, and misfortunes of their neigh- 
 
A FAMILY HISTCJJY. 
 
 M 
 
 bors, are the most influential, and frequently the most re- 
 spected, of any in the community. These are the lawyers 
 and doctors. They both flourish on moral or physical ail- 
 ments. The latter profit by the violation of Nature's laws in 
 over-indulgence of the appetites ; and the former profit by the 
 pig-headed obstinacy and selfishness of those who violate 
 that higher law which says, " Do unto others as ye would 
 that they should do unto you." Yet, as long as human na- 
 ture is as it is, it must needs be that offences must come ; 
 and as we are to deal with the world as it is, and not as it 
 ought to be, and as complaining will not improve or change 
 it, we will accept it as we find it, well pleased to know, that, 
 though lawyers live and flourish on the vices and follies of 
 mankind, there are many members of the profession as free 
 from those vices or follies as human nature admits, and who 
 are more prompt to warn their clients of the uncertainties 
 and expenses of litigation than to urge them to enter its 
 winding, uncertain labyrinths. 
 
 Of this class was Freeborn Gomery. But in spite of his 
 oft-repeated advice to his clients to avoid the law, and settle 
 their difficulties by compromise or reference, he had, for the 
 first few years after he opened his office, as much as he could 
 do. It gradually fell off, however, as the town improved, 
 both for the reason that there was less law business in the 
 town to be done, and that, in the adjoining towns, limbs of the 
 profession had been domiciled, who secured a large share of 
 the practice that had previously fallen to Gomery of Mont- 
 gomery. Nor was he unwilling to see it diminish : on the 
 contrary, he was rejoiced at it, and was frequently more 
 frank than mild, when people applied to him to bring suit on 
 some trivial matter, in the advice he gave them. He was 
 now in easy circumstances, and was as rich, so he said, as he 
 wanted to be ; and he told people who sought his services 
 that he would not engage himself in the petty quarrels of 
 those who were fools enough to resort to the law for redress 
 in cases where the expenses of the action would very likely 
 exceed the amount in dispute. It was only in important 
 suits that his services could be obtained; and not then, except 
 his client was obviously in the right, and must suffer injustice 
 unless he took up his case. He had a farm of a hundred 
 acres of the original Gault Tract, and he preferred to devote 
 his time to that rather than fret himself over the strifes and 
 
 9* 
 
19$ GOllERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 perplexities of the law. His two boys were now two good- 
 sized lads, that, according to his old-fashioned ideas, could 
 be benefited by being put to work on the farm ; and while 
 they hardened their hands, and knit more firmly their frames, 
 they would learn both how to do and how to endure, and 
 Would likewise be made to appreciate the cost and value of 
 money. He had never been exactly a popular man ; though 
 all stood in awe of him, and courted his good opinion. But 
 he had never sought the popular favor, and never yielded to 
 popular passions or prejudices ; and in these later years, 
 when endeavoring to get out of practice, he was often so 
 churlish and severe as to give serious offence. 
 
 His business, however, held on against his will, sufficient to 
 require his regular attendance at the district county courts; 
 though it was not unfrequently the case that he would 
 find, on his return home, that his entire fees would not suffice 
 to pay his tavern-bills and river-toll. Hence it is no wonder 
 he became disgusted with his profession. It took him from 
 his home, to which, when away, his heart was ever turning ; 
 and it brought no corresponding returns : and he longed to 
 withdraw from it altogether. His neighbors and former cli- 
 ents knew of his aversion to taking up any new business ; 
 but, as a case was considered more than half won when he 
 took hold of it, he was still often importuned for counsel and 
 service. 
 
 An incident at this time so clearly manifested his repug- 
 nance to the profession, that afterwards it was considered a 
 trespass on good nature to solicit his aid in a lawsuit, and 
 from thenceforth no one had the face to ask it ; and it was 
 only when he volunteered in some cases of flagrant wrong 
 that his voice was ever heard in a court of law. 
 
 The incident was this: Two of his neighbors, both honest, 
 industrious men, and members of the same church, one a 
 farmer and the other a blacksmith, had a sharp pass at a con- 
 ference that at once put an end to a friendship of years, and 
 made them implacable enemies. They had lived long within 
 a stone's-throw of each other, and had bought and sold, bor- 
 rowed and lent, all the while in great confidence and friend- 
 ship, until now ; when Brother Craig felt called upon to ex- 
 press a fear that Brother Cook was falling from the sterner 
 doctrines of Calvin, and regarding with too great favor, or 
 at least indulgence, the heresy of Arminianism. This was 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 103 
 
 touching Cook on a tender point ; and he replied with more 
 sharpness than he was wont, and came back with interest on 
 his accuser, saying it ill became him to call into account the 
 orthodoxy of a brother in the church, when it was known 
 that his own daughter was being courted at that very time 
 by a man, who, in spite of his good clothes and fair words, 
 was a great deal worse than an infidel ; for, instead of not be- 
 lieving that the eternal misery of the wicked was pre-or- 
 dained and predestinated from the foundation of the world, 
 he did not believe in endless misery at all ; and that was a 
 great deal worse than believing, that, by faith and works, 
 people could work out their own salvation. 
 
 " One is just about as bad as the other," said Craig. " If 
 we let go the good old hope and doctrine of election, we 
 don't know where we shall bring up ; and, if we open the gates 
 to let in one error, the waters of heresy will rush in, and all 
 the hopes of all evangelical Christians will be destroyed." 
 
 " Ah ! it is very well," retorted Cook, " for you to be so 
 strict on other people, when your own daughter is goiug to 
 marry an unbeliever, — a worse than an infidel ; a man who 
 makes light of all our glorious hopes of immortality, when 
 we shall sit in high places, and sing glory and hallelujahs as 
 we look upon the wicked in hell and in torment." 
 
 Deacon Craig was incensed that his family-matters should 
 thus be made a subject for church -discipline. The first allu- 
 sion to them by Cook he had not noticed ; but, when he saw 
 that it was Cook's determination to force the church to take 
 action upon it, he waxed warm, and told him he would never 
 brook such interference. He said he would be proud to 
 own Caleb Thornton as a son-in-law ; for, though he could 
 not agree with him on points of belief and doctrine, he did 
 not doubt that the Lord would yet open his eyes to the truth. 
 And he continued : " As for Brother Cook, I never heard of his 
 objecting to his visiting his family, and waiting on his daughter 
 Salome, and even going to a ball with her; yes, brothers 
 and sisters, going to a ball with her ! — a thing he never al- 
 lowed any of his children to do before. As long as he had 
 any hopes of getting him for Salome, he had not a word to 
 say agin him or his religion ; but, as soon as he found out 
 that he was engaged to my daughter Lucy, he is so disap- 
 pointed, he tries to set the church by the ears, and so 
 break off the match. Now, brothers and sisters, that is all 
 
104 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 there is about it ; and I say to you, if Caleb Thornton wants 
 my Lucy, and my Lucy wants Caleb Thornton, not all the 
 Cooks in the devil's kitchen can stop their marriage." 
 
 Poor Lucy was present at this scene. At the first allusion 
 to a subject so unpleasant to her, she blushed, and hid her 
 face in her handkerchief; and ere long, as the discussion pro- 
 ceeded, she sobbed aloud ; and, before it was concluded, she 
 got up and left the church. Salome Cook, who had not 
 spoken to her for two months before, — not since it was known 
 to her that Lucy, and not herself, was the one preferred by 
 Caleb, — followed her out, not less vexed, and endeavored 
 to comfort her. It is true, she had put all these accusations 
 into the head of her father ; but she had not anticipated a 
 scene like this ; and when she overtook her old, and once 
 most intimate, friend, sobbing in the entry of the church, she 
 threw her arms around her neck, and kissed her ; and bare- 
 ly saying, " Do forgive me, Lucy ! " she, too, burst into tears. 
 
 Of course the young folks were good friends after that ; 
 but not so with the parents. The scene at the church was 
 stopped by the other members, while each of the belliger- 
 ents went home to furbish his arms for war. Each 
 began to count up the favors he had done, and the credits 
 he had given to his neighbor since the last settlement, five 
 years before ; to recall the implements lent, the labor given, the 
 payments made, and to array all his charges into an account. 
 They both were oblivious of any thing and every thing re- 
 ceived in return. Cook could remember how he had shod 
 Craig's oxen the winter before ; but he had entirely forgotten 
 that he had had the use of the cattle for a couple of days, 
 in hauling up his winter wood, in payment therefor. Craig 
 remembered how his oxen were employed ; but the shoeing 
 had escaped his memory. So, much to their surprise and 
 satisfaction, both found they had large accounts one against 
 the other; and Brother Craig, whose charges summed up 
 nearly a hundred dollars, sent word to Cook that he must 
 settle up, and pay what he owed, or he would sue him. 
 
 Cook answered very testily, that he might sue as soon as 
 he pleased, and the sooner the better, for it would save time 
 and trouble ; that Craig was owing him over seventy dollars, 
 and he wanted the money, and, what was more, he meant 
 to have it. 
 
 The village of Montgomery was in an uproar. The scan- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 105 
 
 dal at the conference-meeting was common talk ; and people 
 took sides as friends and foes of the different parties. The 
 principals in the quarrel went at once to consult Lawyer 
 Gomery ; for public opinion would, in such a case, inevitably 
 follow where he led; and, though he did not belong to the 
 same church with them, each belligerent felt, that, if it were 
 known that Gomery of Montgomery had agreed to take up 
 his cause, it would avail more in the general community 
 than the unanimous approval of every church communi- 
 cant. 
 
 Cook was the first to get his ear, and pour forth his griev- 
 ances. But the lawyer told him, as he afterward did Craig, 
 that they were both very foolish ; and advised that they 
 should meet together, and talk over affairs, and come to an 
 amicable arrangement, and, by all means, to avoid the law; 
 that it would be much cheaper for each one to pay the full 
 account of his erring neighbor than to get involved in the 
 expense and uncertainties of a lawsuit. In fact, he extorted 
 a promise from each to have a talk with his neighbor, and 
 endeavor to come to a settlement. A meeting was accord- 
 ingly held for this purpose at Cook's house ; and the result 
 of it may be inferred from the fact, that, after an interview 
 which began with gentle breezes that increased into a raging 
 hurricane, Craig told his former friend, but present enemy, 
 that it was only because he was in his own house that he did 
 not give him a black eye. 
 
 After this altercation, there was less hope of an amicable 
 adjustment of the war. Before the first blow had been 
 struck, the overtures of peace had been rejected on both 
 sides with scorn, and the war must go on. 
 
 The belligerent parties talked with their respective 
 friends, and, of course, received consolation and encourage- 
 ment from this source. As the deep mutterings of the dis- 
 tant thunder foretell the coming storm, so did the busy 
 whispering in every house in the village of Montgomery 
 foreshadow that a neighborhood war was about to break 
 forth. But as a preliminary to a formal declaration of hos- 
 tilities, in the form of a suit for damages, each of the parties 
 in interest rushed to the house of Lawyer Gomery — he 
 was now seldom at his office in the village, — to tell him of 
 the dishonesty and overbearing insolence of his neighbor, 
 and to insist that it was his duty as a man to use his influ- 
 
106 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : . 
 
 ence in checking the rapacity and arrogance of such notori- 
 ous rascals. It was no longer Brother Craig and Brother 
 Cook, but that knave Craig and that scoundrel Cook. 
 
 The lawyer heard their stories patiently, and saw from the 
 incongruities of their statements, though both meant to tell 
 him the truth, that there was no hope of their coming to an 
 understanding between themselves. He therefore advised 
 them to refer the whole matter to two disinterested men, 
 who should examine into the accounts ; and, if they could 
 not agree, then a third should be called in to act as umpire ; 
 and thus the whole matter should be finally and irrevocably 
 disposed of. To this plan they both agreed ; but it failed to 
 work, for the reason that each had taken care to get a pledge 
 from the person which he selected, that he would choose for 
 the third one, or umpire, a person approved of his principal. 
 At one time, it was suggested that Lawyer Gomery himself 
 should be umpire ; but Craig would not consent to that un- 
 less he would promise to throw out such of Cook's charges 
 as were not entered in his own account at the time the ser- 
 vice was rendered. Cook would have him to judge how 
 much Craig owed him ; and, if he found it near a reasonable 
 amount, he would take it, and they would pass receipts. As 
 they could get no nearer than this, all idea of an arbitrament 
 was at an end ; and both parties refused to submit to any 
 thing less than the stern verdict of the law. 
 
 The village of Montgomery was in wild commotion. 
 .Nothing like it had ever been known before in that gener- 
 ally peaceful, quiet, and sober community. Neighbor was 
 arrayed against neighbor. People talked of it going to 
 church, before the church-door, and on their way home from 
 church. Some took sides with Craig, some with Cook. 
 They even began to talk about it in Thornton's store ; but he 
 had the good sense to prohibit their discussions : and then 
 the bar-room of the tavern was the scene of the excited and 
 sometimes angry discussions. Everybody ran to Lawyer 
 Gomery to ask his opinion on the different points in the 
 case, which was, of course, to be given gratuitously, and then 
 transferred to the friend of the person who obtained it. But 
 the lawyer had no advice to give, except that recourse to the 
 courts of law was, of all things, to be avoided. 
 
 A young lawyer named Clofton had moved into Mont- 
 gomery a few weeks before this, and opened an office, and 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 107 
 
 put out a large sign in letters of bright gold-leaf, that an- 
 nounced his occupation to be that of attorney-at-law. 
 As yet, he had had no practice : not a client had ever tapped 
 at his door. The talk of everybody was of law, law, law ; 
 and yet he, the only man that had that commodity to sell, 
 was not consulted by either party. Nevertheless, he was free 
 in expressing his opinion, and signified to the friends of both 
 that the case was beyond a peradventure. A friend of 
 Cook's asked him what he meant by that ; and he said that if 
 the blacksmith knew his rights, and had the spirit to resist 
 being trod upon, he would not wait an hour, but bring an 
 action at once, and he was sure not only to recover the full 
 amount claimed, but heavy exemplary damages. 
 
 This expression of the young Coke came, as it was intend- 
 ed it should, direct to the ears of Cook. An opinion so en- 
 tirely in accordance with his own ideas at once raised the new 
 lawyer to a position of great respect in the mind of the black- 
 smith. He determined to go and consult him the next 
 morning. He still would have preferred Gomery ; but Gom- 
 ery was obstinate and churlish : and as the expression of the 
 young attorney evinced so correct a knowledge of what the 
 law ought to be, whether it was or not, he would give him a 
 trial. 
 
 The next morning, therefore, when he saw him going over 
 from the tavern to his office, he threw aside his leather 
 apron, and washing his hands and face in the trough in which 
 he was used to cool his irons and temper his steel, and roll- 
 ing down his shirt-sleeves, he put on his coat and hat, and 
 started to consult the young attorney. But, as is often the 
 case, events of the most trifling importance, seemingly, 
 change the entire fortune of men and women, and, of course, 
 history. Had Cook gone directly, and without interruption, 
 to Clofton's office, the suit would probably have been com- 
 menced that day. But it was not so to be; for, as fate 
 would have it, he had hardly got out of his shop when he 
 chanced to meet Artemus Diller, the tavern-keeper, a loqua- 
 cious, well-meaning little man, who, besides looking after the 
 wants of his guests, attended to the business of all his 
 neighbors much more faithfully. 
 
 " Well, well ! " says the little Boniface as soon as he saw 
 the son of Vulcan, " this new lawyer says you have no case 
 at all j and, if Craig has only spunk enough to go to law, he 
 
108 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY! 
 
 can get such a judgment that you will have to mortgage 
 your shop-tools and all." 
 
 " Ah ! " says Cook, " he said that, did he ? " 
 
 " He told Joe Sanderson so, Craig's hired man ; and I 
 heard him say it." 
 
 " But he told my wife's brother that I had a good case, 
 and would be a great gump not to sue ; that I should recover 
 my full account, and more too." 
 
 " Well, it's no affair of mine : you know I never meddle 
 in the affairs of my neighbors. I only tell what I heard last 
 night with my own ears in my bar-room, sitting behind 
 the bar, and Joe Sanderson comin' in to get a drink of rum 
 and water, and sugar in it too ; and Clofton he sot there 
 readin' a paper : you know he boards at my tavern ; though 
 I've seen only three dollars of his money since he come 
 there, now it is nigh on to three months ago." 
 
 Cook walked on, leaving the little landlord still talking, and 
 musing on what he had told him. Before he reached the 
 door of Clofton's office, he concluded he would have one 
 more talk with the old lawyer before taking extreme meas- 
 ures. So he turned on his heel, and walked back to his 
 shop, and, resuming his leathern apron, began hammering 
 away at his anvil. 
 
 Craig, too, had come to the same conclusion as Cook, hav- 
 ing heard that Clofton was giving such contradictory advice 
 to the friends of the opposite parties. So it happened that 
 both had determined to consult again with Gomery of 
 Montgomery. 
 
 The first on the ground at the Pivot was Cook. This 
 time he took all his accounts and memoranda, and, laying 
 them before the lawyer, again besought him to take hold of 
 the case in his behalf. The lawyer thought that he would now 
 make a final effort to bring him to agree to some sort of a 
 reasonable settlement. He therefore took him into his pri- 
 vate room, and sitting down with him by a table, with the 
 accounts before them, he examined, item by item, all his 
 figures ; and, in a tone and manner that Cook did not care to 
 disregard or resist, he told him what he had overcharged, 
 what he had charged that he ought not to, and would not 
 have put into his account but for the miserable quarrel in 
 which they had engaged. Then he reviewed with equal 
 scrutiny the credit side of his books ; and, instead of the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 109 
 
 credit given to Craig for the items allowed, he told him he 
 must alter them to conform to what was usually considered 
 fair and just in the neighborhood. All these changes in his 
 accounts Cook was compelled to make with his own hand, 
 under the stern eye of Gomery of Montgomery ; and then, 
 when the account was cast up, he found that Craig owed 
 him only fifteen dollars, instead of seventy-five. This sum 
 Cook agreed to receive as a final settlement, and balance ac- 
 counts. 
 
 The next morning, Gomery sent a message to Craig, re- 
 questing him to call that evening at the Pivot, and bring all 
 his account-books with him. The request was readily com- 
 plied with, as he, before that, had determined to do the same 
 thing. His accounts, both debits and credits, were all exam- 
 ined with the same scrutiny that had so contracted Cook's. 
 But he found Craig neither so fairly disposed, nor so reason- 
 able in his charges, as Cook. He alleged that Cook owed 
 him little short of a hundred dollars ; but when the lawyer 
 instanced this or that item that he had seen on Cook's 
 book's, but which Craig had never given credit for, and yet 
 could not deny or dispute, the larger figures melted away ; 
 and, when the whole had gone through the contracting cru- 
 cible of the lawyer's mind, there was found to be only the 
 small sum of seventeen dollars due the farmer from the 
 blacksmith. The amount astonished . Craig ; but, as he had 
 assented to each item, he could not well refuse the total ; 
 and so he consented, that, if Cook would pay that amount 
 in cash, he would square off accounts with him. 
 
 After Craig had left him, the lawyer began to consider de- 
 liberately the difficulties of the case. With all he could do, 
 he found it beyond his power to make the accounts of the 
 quarrelsome neighbors harmonize. There was a discrepancy 
 of thirty-two dollars in spite of all his efforts ; and as he sat 
 alone in his room, reflecting on the folly and obstinacy of 
 human nature, he said thus to himself: — 
 
 " Here are these two honest, hard-working men, who have 
 fallen out; and both seem bent on ruining themselves and 
 their families sooner than give in a single inch. If they once 
 get into law, no one can foresee the end of it. They have 
 trafficked a good deal together, and neither thought of 
 taking ^ any advantage of the other; and the number of 
 items in their accounts which have been running on for 
 10 
 
110 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 years is necessarily large. But, as long as they were 
 friends, they supposed their accounts were about even ; and, 
 had they continued friends, neither would have cared for 
 a settlement for forty years to come. To prove their bar- 
 gains, sustain their charges, and justify their accounts, will 
 require a great many witnesses, some of whom must be 
 brought at large expense from a distance. Their quarrel has 
 annoyed me already very much ; and, if they once get into 
 the hands of the young sprigs of necessity, I shall have little 
 peace for a year. Therefore the cheapest and best way for 
 me to do is to pay this difference of thirty odd dollars out of 
 my own pocket, and make money, or at least quiet, by the 
 operation. But I must do this very secretly ; for I will do 
 them both the credit of believing that they would sooner pay 
 the amount twice over than have it come out of my pocket : 
 knowingly they would never accept such a settlement, and 
 would resent the offer. Honest men they are, though obsti- 
 nate ; and each must be made to believe that the other has 
 acceded to his terms, and then they will be friends again, and 
 bother me no more." 
 
 Now, though, as we have seen, Freeborn Gomery was a 
 man of most " incorrigible and losing honesty," it must be 
 confessed that the course he had resolved upon was clearly 
 unprofessional. He did not, even in his own mind, assume 
 that he was acting from any high and magnanimous motives, 
 or that, for the good of others, he was sacrificing his own 
 interest. He never thought of pacifying or tickling his con- 
 science in any such way. In fact, he was one of those men 
 without a conscience. At least, if he had one, it never trou- 
 bled him. As a man in robust health and perfect digestion is 
 scarcely conscious that he has such a thing as a stomach, so a 
 man who only sees his duty, and thinks no more of it, but does 
 it as a matter of course, never knows that he has an accus- 
 ing conscience within him. Lawyer Gomery thought that he 
 could secure comfort and ease to himself at a cheap rate by 
 the practice of a little unprofessional deception ; and as nobody 
 else would be injured by it, but, on the contrary, two of his 
 neighbors would be benefited, he resolved to carry it into 
 effect. Other members of the bar might call it unprofessional ; 
 but their opinion was of small account to him, as he desired 
 to be quit of their company and profession. He had incurred 
 much ill-will from them already ; for he had counselled con- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. Ill 
 
 cession and arbitration, and thus induced many contestants 
 to consent to a reference, by which means many cases, giv- 
 ing promise of rich pickings, were compromised before they 
 ever came before the courts. Some of the more rapacious 
 and hawk-like lawyers would have gladly had him expelled 
 from the courts, or, in legal parlance, " thrown over the bar." 
 If that would have only put an end to his practice, he would 
 have thanked them for such manifestation of their apprecia- 
 tion and regard ; but, as people who did not know him might 
 construe the act to his discredit, he thought the wiser course 
 was, not to unnecessarily provoke the anger of his profes- 
 sional brethren, but, in cases like this of Craig and Cook, 
 not to let his right hand know what his left hand was doing. 
 
 The crafty lawyer, having weighed the matter well, decid- 
 ed on this course ; and, in order to get rid of the troublesome 
 business as soon as possible, he sent a note to Cook to come 
 up to his house the next day at four o'clock, and get his 
 money, but not to mention the subject to any of his neigh- 
 bors. Craig received a similar message, but was to attend 
 an hour later. 
 
 Both were punctual on this occasion, if never before. 
 Cook, coming first, asked how he had " managed to make 
 that obstinate old critter fork over." Gomery replied, it was 
 better for him to pay fifteen dollars, without going to law, 
 than spend two hundred, and perhaps get nothing at last. 
 
 " Get nothin' : I guess he wouldn't. He'd had to pay at 
 least fifty dollars, and the costs of the court too. Me and 
 my wife, we talked it over ; and both said, if I hadn't prom- 
 ised to take the fifteen dollars, we'd got fifty, certain, by goin' 
 to law. My wife is a very high-spirited woman, Square ; and 
 she hates Craig and Craig's wife ; and Lucy, she says, is a 
 proud, stuck-up minx, and wonders Caleb Thornton hain't 
 got more sense than to have such a silly thing." 
 
 " In this way is she showing her new heart ? " mildly sug- 
 gested Gomery. 
 
 " Square Gomery, I respect you as a man and a lawyer ; 
 but of spiritual things you know no more than a child un- 
 born. The saints have trials as well as sinners ; and in this 
 we know we are of the elect." 
 
 " Conclusive reasoning," said the lawyer with a shrug. 
 " But this meeting is for business, not to talk religion. When 
 we get our business relations arranged, we are in a much 
 
112 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 better position to obey the Golden Rule, and do as we would 
 be done by. Now, you get all you claim that Craig owes 
 you ; and the best thing you can do is for you to make up 
 and be friends again, and promise me not to open the subject 
 with him again. Let by-gones be by-gones." 
 
 " Of course, Square : I agree to that. As he has done 
 what is reasonable, I shall be very glad to forget and forgive. 
 But it will be mighty hard for me to sit at communion with 
 him." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " Because he has done me great injustice, and has said 
 things that were untrue about me and my family ; and has, 
 in many things, shown himself my enemy." 
 
 "Neighbor Cook, what is the object of your church com- 
 munion ? " 
 
 "Object, Square! — object! I am astonished you should 
 ask that question. Ain't it ordered in Scripter ? and musn't 
 we obey Scripter ? and shall we not follow its commandments, 
 if we are not bound to the place where the fire is not 
 quenched and their worm dieth not ? But you don't believe 
 in Scripter ; that is, no, I don't mean that you are a heathen. 
 But what would be the use of Scripter if there ain't no hell 
 torments ; if we are all goin' to heaven ? If we are all goin' 
 to heaven whether or no, what is the use of preachin' and 
 prayin', and goin' to meetin', and buildin' meetin'-houses ? 
 We don't make nothin' by it." 
 
 " Then you expect to be paid for your religion ! You keep 
 an account with your Maker, and only sin so much as will be 
 safe, and yet leave you sure of heaven ! The Devil is your 
 keeper, is he ? " 
 
 "Square, I hain't got so much larnin' as you have. I only 
 read my Bible, and believe it." 
 
 " Do you love your enemies ? " 
 
 "Yes; that is, the most of them, — all but Craig; and, 
 now he has done what is about right, I sha'n't be obstinate. 
 But I wouldn't have taken a cent less." 
 
 " What other enemies have you ? " 
 
 " Well, I don' know. Don' know as I 'ave got any." 
 
 " Then you only love your friends ; and the publicans and 
 sinners do that! What thanks have you, then, for that?" 
 
 " I don't say, Square, I am so good as I o'rt to be ; but I 
 believe the Bible, every word of it. I believe in all its glori- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 113 
 
 ous promises that we shall be raised in glory ; I mean, we 
 righteous ; that is, we believers : and that we shall see the 
 justice of God manifest in the condemnation of the wicked, 
 and shall sing praises to him for it." 
 
 "And are those the wicked, or the saints, that love not 
 their enemies ? " 
 
 "You know nothing about it, Square. The unregenerate, 
 as Elder Millson says, are full of subtle craft, and would de- 
 ceive the very elect. But my refuge, my rock, is the Bible." 
 
 "Do you understand it all ? " 
 
 " I don't pretend to do that of myself; but as it is ex- 
 plained by the ordained preachers, by the aid of the Holy 
 Spirit, I see it and know it all." 
 
 "But many others — as honest, as devotional as you, 
 taught by their priests and bishops — see many things in it 
 in a very different light." 
 
 " Why, Square, I am astonished at your ignorance ! — you, 
 a man that has read and studied so much as you ! It is just 
 as it is writ in the Bible ; and that, we know, is true ; for it 
 says so. It says all scripter is given by inspiration." 
 
 " What is meant by that word ' scripture ? " 
 
 " The Bible, of course. Why, I am out of patience with 
 your ignorance ! " 
 
 " I know it's unfortunate to be so ignorant ; but let us ex- 
 amine. ' Scripture ' is from the Latin word scripta, and means 
 'writings.' Now, you don't pretend that all writings are 
 true?" 
 
 " No, not that : only the Bible." 
 
 " But, when that passage was written, much of the Bible 
 had not been. Is it only that part, then, which was written 
 before that passage you have quoted ? " 
 
 "Don't you believe the Bible, Square Gomery?" 
 
 " I believe that Jesus Christ had a divine commission. 
 The record of his life is enough for me. No man of mere 
 human will and power ever spake and did as he. His life 
 was a living sermon ; and, if I imitate him to the best of my 
 weak nature, I will leave the rest to God." 
 
 " And don't you believe in the savin' grace ? " 
 
 " Saving from what ? " 
 
 " Savin' from hell, to be sure." 
 
 " I thought that Christ's mission was to save people from 
 their sins : but I find that many of his professed followers 
 10* 
 
114 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 regard his blood as a sufficient atonement for themselves, and 
 all who think and believe as they do ; and go on hating their 
 enemies, and cheating their friends, even worse than the infi- 
 del. Having made a contract by which they are to be taken 
 direct into heaven, they think themselves privileged to in- 
 dulge in all uncharitableness to their fellow-men, and that 
 even deeds of hate and dishonesty will not be remembered 
 against them." 
 
 " You are getting too personal." 
 
 " Perhaps I am ; and, before we go farther, you sign this 
 receipt, and here is the fifteen dollars." 
 
 Cook put his name to the receipt, and took the money, and 
 deposited it in his heart-case purse, which he returned to his 
 trousers-pocket. He had hardly done this when a knock 
 was heard at the door ; and, in answer to the lawyer's " Come 
 in," the door was opened, and Craig entered. 
 
 The farmer shook hands heartily with the lawyer, but did 
 not even notice the presence of the blacksmith, who, having 
 his money already in his pocket, was not unwilling to receive 
 friendly advances. 
 
 As Cook did not offer to leave, but was determined to show 
 that he would not give way to accommodate his surly neigh- 
 bor, the lawyer invited the last comer into an adjoining room, 
 and, having closed the door, wrote a receipt in full for all de- 
 mands against Cook ; and, counting down seventeen dollars in 
 money, requested Craig to sign the paper. The latter readily 
 complied, and inquired how it was that he had induced that 
 wrong-headed, stubborn old sinner to do such an act of 
 justice. 
 
 " Oh ! you never mind how," said the lawyer. " You have 
 got your money, and that is enough. Your quarrel has set 
 the whole town by the ears ; and, to stop it, I have endeavored 
 to reconcile you ; and if you are going to continue it, then it 
 is the last time I shall ever interfere in behalf of either of 
 you." 
 
 " Don't talk so hard, Square. I am ready to make up with 
 Brother Cook." 
 
 "Then promise me never to allude to this subject to him. 
 Just consider the whole thing at an end, and never allude to 
 it again." 
 
 "I'll do it, Square ; and now allow me to say that I think 
 you have saved us both from a great piece of folly. I shall 
 be grateful to you as long as I live." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 115 
 
 The lawyer here opened the door, and led the way back 
 into the front office, followed by Craig, who now, for the first 
 time, seemed to be aware of Cook's presence. The money 
 that was jingling in his pocket had an effect more potent 
 than Thompson's eye-water; for the scales at once fell from 
 his eyes, and he saw clearly. The same medicine worked 
 equally well in both cases ; and after giving each other a 
 friendly recognition, and shaking hands most fraternally, the 
 following interesting dialogue took place : 
 
 " How do you do, Brother Cook ? " 
 
 " How do you do, Brother Craig ? " 
 
 " Your folks are all well, I hope, Brother Cook." 
 
 " Tolerably well, I thank you, Brother Craig ; though my 
 wife is but poorly. She has not been able to go to meetin' 
 but twice for four months." 
 
 " That is very bad, Brother Cook ; for Brother Millson has 
 been preachin' some excellent sarmons lately: that you 
 know. I wish that the Square here would go to our church 
 instead of runnin' after those poor itinerants that have to 
 preach in the schoolhouse. I think he would be a better 
 man, and a Christian : besides, it would be more respectable, 
 and he would get a good deal more practice. I think you 
 would make a great deal by it if you would only become a 
 Christian." 
 
 " I have more practice now than it pays me to attend to," 
 quoth the lawyer, a little piqued at the summary way these 
 two saints assigned him a place outside of the pale of Chris- 
 tianity ; " and, if I come short in my daily life and conversa- 
 tion, I shall be the sufferer by it. But, so long as my own 
 conscience is clear, I have no doubt or fear in trusting myself 
 to Him who has ever shown himself so kind and beneficent 
 a Being, and, above all, has given me a heart appreciative 
 and thankful for all his blessings. 
 
 1 Ten thousand thousand precious gifts 
 My daily thanks employ ; 
 Nor is the least a cheerful heart, 
 That tastes these gifts with joy.' " 
 
 "I know, Square, you have been a very fortunate man, and 
 have been wonderfully blessed in the things of this world. 
 But you should remember how it was witli Dives. He had 
 his good things in this life ; and in the next he lifted up his 
 
116 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 eyes, being in torment, and prayed for one drop of water to 
 cool his tongue." 
 
 " And what evil had Dives done on earth ? " 
 
 " He was rich ; and the Bible says that it shall be easier 
 for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a 
 rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven." 
 
 "And yet you two men, in your eagerness to get rich, — to 
 be as Dives, — have been willing to tear out each other's 
 eyes ; the reward of which, if you succeed so as to fare sump- 
 tuously every day, Avill be to be broiled in the future world 
 on the Devil's gridiron." 
 
 " The unregenerate heart don't understand the mystery of 
 these things," said Craig. " ' Great is the mystery of godli- 
 ness.' " 
 
 " And those that can't understand this mystery are to have 
 the fate of Dives, are they ? " 
 
 " They could understand if they would. If they would 
 have faith, and believe, the Spirit would come to them." 
 
 " How are they to have faith without reason ? You tell 
 me there is a great mystery ; that only the converted can 
 see the truth, and the truth makes free ; and then the old 
 things pass away, and the old Adam is put off. But 1 don't 
 see as the outer life of the saints, who profess to have cruci- 
 fied the carnal man, is such as to lead a looker-on to suppose 
 they are specially favored of Heaven. And the God they 
 worship seems to be rather a cruel and unrelenting despot 
 than the kind, good Being who gives us so many blessings. 
 The Devil that you fear seems to be a far better being than 
 the God you profess to love. To me the God of Nature is 
 the God of grace." 
 
 " The God of Nature is the Devil," said Craig. 
 
 "A very good Devil we have, then," said the lawyer. 
 " He gives us so many blessings, let us be thankful to him. 
 Glory to the Devil ! " 
 
 " Mr. Gomery, it is wicked for you to talk so ; and I won't 
 hear it. Good-by, sir. You are a very good lawyer, and I 
 don't deny but you are an honest and just man: but you are 
 a wolf, — a wolf in sheep's clothin', — an emissary of Satan; 
 and I won't talk with you any more." 
 
 " How much are you goin' to charge for this business ? " 
 asked Cook. 
 
 " Of course he won't charge any thing," said Craig. " He 
 hain't done nothin', hain't sued nobody nor nothin'." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 117 
 
 "But then," answered the lawyer, "the case has given me 
 a great deal of trouble, and taken up a good deal of my 
 time ; and, besides, I have served you much better than I 
 could had either of you brought suit. I must charge you 
 five dollars each." 
 
 " Five dollars ! " exclaimed Craig in amazement ; " five dol- 
 lars ! 'tis extortion." 
 
 " 'Tis too much," said Cook. 
 
 " Five dollars ; not a cent less," said the lawyer. 
 
 Craig, with an ill grace, took out five dollars from the 
 money the lawyer had just given him, and, looking at it most 
 wishfully for some moments, finally laid it on the table. 
 Cook followed his example. 
 
 " Square Gomery," said Craig, buttoning up his coat, and 
 planting his hat firmly on his head, — " Square Gomery, I 
 consider this charge an imposition, and nothing less than rank 
 extortion ; and I want to tell you that this is the last time 
 you will ever do any business for me." 
 
 "I say the same," joined in Cook. 
 
 "But'l want my receipt, Square," said Craig. 
 
 " So do I," said Cook. 
 
 " Ah ! they are in the other room. You may as well leave 
 them with me. I shall keep them safe ; and they can be pro- 
 duced at any time, if needed." 
 
 "No, sir," said Craig sternly. "I want my receipt. I 
 shall have no more to do with you." 
 
 The lawyer went into the other room, and brought out the 
 papers, and gave them to their respective claimants. With- 
 out reading them again, and never having observed the pe- 
 culiar wording, each folded his receipt, and put it in his 
 pocket. 
 
 "After this, Square," said Craig, "you need never expect 
 any more business from one client at least." 
 
 " From two," said Cook. 
 
 " Very well : I hope it may be so. Good-evening, gentle- 
 men." The lawyer turned to his desk, and left his angry 
 clients to withdraw at their pleasure. He was rather pleased 
 to have turned their anger against himself, as now they 
 would not be likely to talk about the manner in which their 
 own difficulties had been arranged. 
 
 The lawyer could not restrain himself from laughing when 
 his angry neighbors and clients had left him to his own re- 
 
118 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 flections. Their threats, that they would never give him any- 
 more of their valuable business, pleased him greatly ; and his 
 only fear was that they would not keep their word, both in 
 regard to that and the terms on which the settlement had 
 been effected. " But if," said he to himself, " they should 
 ever learn that the money they have paid me as fees is only 
 a part of what I have advanced from my own pocket to 
 save them from their own folly, it may teach them a lesson 
 of charity." Thus saying, he dismissed the subject from his 
 mind, and went out to his corn-field, and began hoeing with 
 his boys. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 119 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " For forms of faith let graceless zealots fight : 
 His can't be wrong whose life is in the right." — Pope. 
 
 As soon as the wronged and indignant victims of irreli- 
 gious cupidity found themselves in the street, they joined in 
 harmonious execration of the unjust lawyer; and the hate 
 that a little before they had felt towards each other was 
 now allowed to flow in one common stream of abuse of 
 Gomery of Montgomery. How is it that a common object 
 of hate often makes men friends, while a common object of 
 love makes them envious and jealous, — haters and revilers 
 of one another? 
 
 Cook had come up to the Pivot on foot, while Craig 
 had come in his old one-horse wagon ; and, as they were 
 both going back to the village, the latter said, "Brother 
 Cook, will you ride with me? I am going right by your 
 shop, and then I am going to the mill to get a grist I left 
 there as I came along." 
 
 Nothing loath, his neighbor got into the wagon ; and away 
 the lazy old horse jogged toward the village. On their way, 
 they said they would go to the post-office and get their 
 papers that they supposed had arrived that afternoon. The 
 office was kept in Caleb Thornton's store, which was the 
 principal one in the place ; and this evening, as it happened 
 to be Saturday, an unusual number of people were collected 
 in and around it. As is generally the case in and about 
 country villages, Saturday afternoon was the time when the 
 heads of families sought a little relaxation and recreation by 
 resorting to the centre of news, politics, and religion, and 
 discussing all these subjects with their neighbors, at the same 
 time that they purchased their groceries and small stores for 
 the family consumption. In these discussions, not a few used 
 to get the aid of John Barleycorn to help out their causes • 
 
120 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 and, when inspired by that " hero bold," they not only often 
 waxed eloquent, but not unfrequently were carried home 
 with broken heads and other wounds received in the form 
 of knock-down arguments. 
 
 On this particular occasion, the crowd in the village was 
 uncommonly large, even for a Saturday ; and great was the 
 astonishment when they saw Brother Craig and Brother 
 Cook drive up in the same wagon. They had all known 
 that the two had been on very bad terms for several weeks, 
 and that each had threatened to have justice from the other 
 if it took the last dollar of his property; and their kind 
 friends were expecting a fine feast of scandal and excitement 
 when the two worthies should get mixed up in the dread uncer- 
 tainties of the law ; and each was trying to keep the other in 
 front of him on the road to ruin. It was evident, at a glance, 
 that they were to be disappointed ; and as soon as the two 
 had got out of the wagon, and had separated a little distance 
 from each other, Tom Bryan, who had been a great partisan 
 of Craig, took him aside, and asked him how it was that they 
 so easily settled their difficulties. Craig replied that Cook 
 was not so unreasonable, after all, but had come down from 
 his high horse ; and, when he made him an offer, he acted 
 like a brother Christian, and accepted it ; and they had made 
 all up, and passed receipts. "But," said he, " Cook had to 
 yield. I had my way ; and, if he hadn't knuckled under, I never 
 would have settled without puttin' him through a course, of 
 law. But don't say any thing about it." 
 
 Cook had made a similar statement to Bion Teague, one 
 of his partisans, saying that Craig had shown himself a man, 
 and had yielded all pretension that the balance was in his 
 favor, being convinced that he was in the wrong. His con- 
 duct now had proved him to be the same good Christian 
 and brother that he had thought him for years ; and his con- 
 duct in this case showed the effect of severe religious doc- 
 trine on a man's life, since it contrasted strongly with that 
 of the unbelieving Gomery of Montgomery, who had been 
 so unjust and extortionate as to charge them five dollars 
 each for doing nothing but talk over the matter, when they 
 might just as well have talked it over among themselves. 
 
 Each brother warmly commended the other for giving 
 way, and both spoke of the lawyer as a heathen and extor- 
 tioner. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 121 
 
 But, unfortunately, the two friends of the respective par- 
 ties, when they came together, fell to talking on the same 
 matter; and, naturally, Lawyer Gomery's scheme of adjust- 
 ment must come out, and, of course, must cause a great ex- 
 plosion. 
 
 " I didn't think old Craig would back down quite so meek- 
 ly," said Teague. " Still, I always knew he was a great brag ; 
 always talking of what he is going to do, but never doing it." 
 
 " He didn't back down at- all," sharply retorted Bryan. 
 "He just told me so." 
 
 " Yes, he did : he backed clean out. Cook just told me 
 that he made his terms, and gave them to Squire Gomery; 
 and that Craig acted like a man, and came up handsomely 
 and settled on them terms, and so admitted he had been in 
 the wrong. But," he said, " the lawyer had played 'em a 
 scurvy trick ; for, though he did nothing, he charged 'em five 
 dollars apiece. I've long thought Gomery was no better 
 than other folks, for all that they are always telling what an 
 honorable man he is. I've thought so ever since he took 
 Brown's part agin me five years ago, when I lost, and had to 
 sell off part of my land. Now I know it. But here comes 
 the man himself. — Mr. Cook, I say: Bt-yan says that you 
 backed down, and came to Craig's terms, and paid him his 
 money." 
 
 " Didn't back out at all, Teague. Brother Craig yielded to 
 my terms, and it was on the terms I gave to the Square 
 that we settled ; and I've got the money now, all but what 
 Gomery grabbed away from me. So there was no backing 
 out on my part. I would have spent the last cent I have 
 in the world before I would have backed down a single inch, 
 much regard as I have for Brother Craig. Here he comes 
 now. — Brother Craig, these fellers will have it that I backed 
 out about the lawsuit. I promised Gomery to say nothing 
 about it : but you can just tell them that it was no such thing ; 
 that you, finding yourself in the wrong, came to my terms, 
 and paid the balance due me." 
 
 " But I didn't do no such thing. It was you that come to 
 my terms. You know I never back down : I only ask what 
 is right, and that I will have ; for I never submit to any thing 
 that is wrong." 
 
 "I didn't think that of you, Mr. Craig: you know you 
 backed down." 
 11 
 
122 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY; 
 
 " You backed down yourself." 
 
 "That is a lie!" 
 
 Whack ! was the answer of Brother Cook, as his heavy fist 
 flew up and hit the affectionate cheek of Brother Craig a 
 blow, at which he reeled, and would have fallen but for the 
 crowd, that, as the conversation had waxed warm and inter- 
 esting, had gathered close around the angry disputants. In- 
 stead of turning his other cheek to his erring brother, he 
 drew up his own brawny arm to strike back, but was re- 
 strained by the spectators. 
 
 " I say you are a liar, Mr. Cook ! " he roared out ; for his 
 tongue was not pinioned, though his arms were. "You 
 backed out, and you know you did ; and I have got your 
 receipt in my pocket." 
 
 " And I have got yours too ; and you paid me seventeen 
 dollars to square accounts ; and you have been braggin' that 
 I owed you seventy or eighty dollars, and would sue me if I 
 didn't pay you." 
 
 " I didn't pay you seventeen dollars, neither. You paid 
 me fifteen ; and only last week you said you wouldn't take a 
 cent less than seventy-five." 
 
 " Here is the receipt," said Craig, drawing a paper from his 
 pocket, " writ in Square Gomery's handwriting. Read that, 
 Mr. Bryan, and tell us if it ain't so." 
 
 Bryan took the paper, and read : — 
 
 "Received this October 14, 183-, by hand of Freeborn 
 Gomery, on account of Jabez Craig, fifteen dollars, in full of 
 all demands. "Levi Cook." 
 
 "But I never paid the seventeen dollars," said Craig in 
 surprise, not having observed before that Cook's receipt was 
 so worded." 
 
 " And I never paid the fifteen dollars," said Cook in his 
 turn, drawing forth the receipt which he had received from 
 the lawyer, with Craig's signature to it. " I now understand 
 why the lawyer wanted us to leave the receipts with him. 
 He was mean enough to charge us five dollars apiece for 
 doing nothing, and wanted to keep our receipts besides." 
 
 " Then the Square has made up the difference," said little 
 Diller, the landlord of the tavern, who, like the stormy petrel, 
 always delighted to be in the midst of a tempest. " He found 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 123 
 
 you were a couple of such bull-heads, that you would ruin 
 yourselves in order to ruin each other. You wanted to bite 
 off your noses to spite your faces. Pretty-looking fellers 
 you'd be without noses. So, to save your pretty mugs, 
 Gomery of Montgomery has paid over thirty odd dollars ; 
 and yet you are abusing him for charging ten dollars fees." 
 
 Brother Craig looked at Brother Cook. 
 
 Brother Cook looked at Brother Craig. 
 
 " Did you," said he, " pay Square Gomery fifteen dollars 
 forme?" 
 
 "No: I received seventeen dollars from him on your 
 account." 
 
 " Well, then, it was because he knew you was an unjust 
 man, a mean old skin-flint, and didn't want me to go to law 
 and waste my property on such carrin." 
 
 "Don't talk so to me, Mr. Craig! You are a liar ! " 
 
 Here the two were on the point of coming to blows again ; 
 when a third brother got between them, and said, "Let us 
 have no fighting. It is all the fault of these lawyers. It is 
 only a device of Satan to bring scandal upon us, and make 
 a breach in the church." 
 
 " I think," said a stranger who chanced to be present, " you 
 have a queer kind of a lawyer here." 
 
 " He is a great rascal ! " said Cook. 
 
 "That is false," said Simeon Carter, the head stockman of 
 the sawmill. "It is false, I say; and any man that says any 
 thing agin Squire Gomery is a liar ; and I'll fight him, if he 
 dares ! " 
 
 "You are right," said Caleb Thornton, who now, for the 
 first time, interposed. "These men are angry with him for 
 saving them from foolish and expensive litigation at his own 
 expense. — Isn't it so?" he continued, turning to them. 
 " You get into a quarrel ; and he spends not only time and 
 money to reconcile you, and yet you abuse him. Now, I have 
 a proposition to make. It is that you refund the thirty odd 
 dollars that Gomery of Montgomery has paid to save you 
 from ruin, and then that you go right to law, and fight it 
 out. I have got a thousand dollars in my store that I want 
 to put out at interest ; and I will lend five hundred to each of 
 you, and take mortgages on your property ; and, when you 
 have spent that in law, I will let you have more ; and then, 
 
124 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 in a couple of years or so, I will get Craig's farm, and Cook's 
 house and shop, and you will both get law and justice." 
 
 " Good ! " shouted several. " That's the way to do, — eat 
 each other up." Brother Cook did not raise his eyes again, 
 but walked deliberately away to his shop. Brother Craig 
 got into his wagon, and, looking neither to the right nor left, 
 drove directly home. 
 
 When these two came to reflect upon their conduct, it 
 may well be supposed they were more heartily ashamed of 
 themselves than they ever had been before in all their lives ; 
 and, as soon as it was dark, Cook, who intended to be scru- 
 pulously honest and fair in all his dealings, — a good citizen, 
 a hard-working, blunt, honest blacksmith, whose work was 
 never slighted, — stole quietly forth from his house, and at 
 about eight o'clock his knock was heard at the door of the 
 big house at the Pivot. Being bid to enter, he went in ; and, 
 as soon as he opened the door of the parlor, his eyes fell on 
 the smilingly incredulous face of the beautiful Mrs.-Gomery, 
 who to his eyes looked no less fair than she did many years 
 before, when he had first seen her, a young bride, soon after 
 her arrival at her new home. She was sitting in a large 
 rocking-chair, holding a child of some six or eight months 
 old on her lap, which she was dandling and chattering to, 
 looking the very picture of matronly content and joy. The 
 arrival of this younger scion of the house of Gomery was 
 recorded at the close of the last chapter. He had been 
 named Walter, after his grandfather, old Judge Mackenzie, 
 who, about a year before, had departed on his final journey 
 to the unseen land. Mrs. Gomery looked up from the smil- 
 ing, healthy little face that lay thus in its natural cradle ; and 
 her knowing and pleasant look made the blacksmith feel 
 more confused and ashamed than ever. But when in an 
 instant he saw Craig was there before him, standing with 
 his purse in his hand, and counting out some money to the 
 lawyer, he took courage, and said, — 
 
 " I must pay back too. I have been very much to blame, 
 Square; but I am a man that pays his debts, and tries to live 
 honestly. Here is the fifteen dollars." 
 
 " I only want ten from you, as I have taken only twelve 
 from Mr. Craig. I shall only take back what I have paid out ; 
 and if by my services I have saved two of my neighbors, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 125 
 
 whom I have always respected, from a long and serious law- 
 suit, I shall consider myself well paid for my trouble." 
 
 Neither could say a word in reply to this ; and, though Mrs. 
 Gomery tried to get some words from them in regard to their 
 family matters, they felt so awkward and confused, that they 
 directly withdrew. When outside of the door, they stood on 
 the steps a moment, feeling about as guilty and ashamed as 
 it may be supposed they would have felt if caught stealing 
 sheep. They were even ashamed to begin "brothering" each 
 other; and so, without saying a word, they went separately 
 to their respective homes. 
 
 The conduct of Gomery of Montgomery in this affair, 
 though characteristic, was so entirely unprofessional, that the 
 little business that he had retained, up to this time against 
 his will, abruptly fell off. In fact, it seemed to j3ut a total 
 stop to all litigation in that town for the next two years ; so 
 that Clofton, when his board bill at Diller's would bear no 
 longer extension, was obliged to leave. He left the place 
 with a bad impression of the character of the people, and 
 said they were the meanest-spirited set he ever saw ; for there 
 was not a man among them who had the pluck to stand up 
 for his rights, if it were to cost him four and sixpence. The 
 case was a standing joke for a long time ; and no one seemed 
 to enjoy it more after a little while than Craig and Cook, 
 and they could never meet each other for a year after with- 
 out inquiring one of the other when he was intending to 
 commence that lawsuit. Whenever there happened to be 
 any dispute between neighbors, and either threatened to go 
 to law, it was only necessary to propose to refer it to Gomery 
 of Montgomery; and such resort would appear so ludicrous 
 and absurd, that no one had the assurance to insist upon it. 
 So, instead of going to law to get damages for the mischief 
 done by a breachy cow, or compel a settlement of longstand- 
 ing accounts at an expense most likely exceeding the whole 
 amount in dispute, the disagreeing parties were in a manner 
 compelled by the public sentiment to leave it out to either 
 one or three disinterested persons, who would not charge 
 more than half a dollar each for sitting in judgment, and 
 who, if they gave original law, generally gave old-fashioned 
 justice.- The case of Craig and Cook became a by-word in 
 this town, and was as frequently alluded to as in after-years 
 11* .* 
 
126 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 was the famous case of Dred Scott in the halls of Congress. 
 To Lawyer Goraery it proved an advantage entirely unantici- 
 pated. After that he was not disturbed by his friends and 
 neighbors coming to him with their complaints. He was 
 thenceforth regarded as an oracle of wisdom, and respected too 
 much for any one to think of annoying him with his petty 
 troubles. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 127 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Where yet was ever found a mother 
 
 Who'd give her booby for another ? " — Gay. 
 
 The family of Gomery of Montgomery, consisting now of 
 two daughters and three sons, was naturally enough the 
 principal object of the father's care and solicitude. The two 
 daughters were just emerging from the state of girlhood, and 
 gave promise of being as fair as their mother had been at the 
 time she had captured their fortunate father. They were 
 somewhat hoidenish at this age, and delighted to take part 
 in the rough out-door sports of their brothers. They had 
 never attended any school but the public school of the vil- 
 lage; and, as the Pivot was a long mile from the school- 
 house, they had a good invigorating walk every morning 
 and evening, if the weather was fair ; but, if not, the old man- 
 servant, Ethan Hurd, who had lived with them ever since 
 they could remember, would harness up old " Barnacle " in 
 the winter to a lumber-box, and in the summer to a low-cov- 
 ered wagon, and drive them to and from the schoolhouse. 
 "Barnacle " was an old horse that knew enough to make him- 
 self the pet of the children, and thereby secure many a savory 
 morsel, many sweet apples, and many nibs of corn ; and, in re- 
 turn for these toothsome dainties, he allowed them to play all 
 manner of tricks with him ; to ride two or three at once ; to 
 pull his tail, and crawl between his legs. He never resented 
 these liberties further than gently to raise one hind foot and 
 hold it up, as much as to say, " I could if I would, and you 
 had better take care." The name of this venerable beast had 
 been bestowed on him by an occasional visitor to Montgom- 
 ery Village, who had a great propensity to roam about the 
 old house on the hill, and talk of the strange events of its 
 early history. He was a sort of vagabond sailor, and pre- 
 tended to have been all over the world. He was a stout, 
 
128 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 broad-shouldered, powerfully built man, active and athletic, 
 with eyes bright and merry, and a nose the bridge of which 
 had once been broken, so that his nostrils opened directly in 
 front, and looked more like two worm holes in a board than 
 the olfactories of a human face. But the extreme humor 
 that was ever flowing from his mouth served well to divert 
 attention from his strange-looking nose ; for he could tell 
 stories and sing songs for hours, and his fund would seem in- 
 exhaustible ; and he had always a joke or repartee with which 
 to interlard his conversation and silence cavillers. The name 
 of this singular character was Joe Pumpagin, though few peo- 
 ple knew him by any other cognomen than "Old Joe." But he 
 was not old when he first was known in the village ; and at 
 the present time he might have been taken for any age be- 
 tween thirty-five and fifty. Lawyer Gomery, at this time, 
 though frequently called the "old Squire," or more frequently 
 " Square," was, nevertheless, but little past forty; and, if I 
 were to guess, I should say that old Joe was his senior by five 
 or six years. 
 
 Both Freeborn Gomery and his wife had always intended 
 to give their children a better education than could be ac- 
 quired in the schools of the village; and, the summer preced- 
 ing the events narrated in the last chapter, the two daughters 
 had bedn sent away to a neighboring academy, distant some 
 fifty miles from Montgomery. This institution deservedly 
 enjoyed a high reputation ; and the letters that the parents 
 received from their daughters showed that they had put 
 away for the time all thoughts of gayety and romping play, 
 and were studying with all desirable enthusiasm and ardor. 
 These letters were not of the balls and parties they would 
 miss by being at school, and which they had so much enjoyed 
 the winter before, but of arithmetic and algebra, of natural 
 philosophy, geography, and the French language, of drawing 
 and English composition. Juliet, the elder of the two, com- 
 plained a great deal of the difficulty of the latter; for she 
 said that the preceptor gave them subjects of which she 
 could think of nothing to say that she could not find bet- 
 ter said in books, and which the preachers were not always 
 saying in their sermons. One time the subject would be 
 the beauties of summer; another, the pleasures of winter; 
 again they would be required to write on hope ; then again 
 on youth ; on virtue, temperance, and so on, when she didn't 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 129 
 
 care to say a word on any of them. Rose, however, — the 
 younger of the sisters, who had more ingenuity, — would put 
 the title assigned at the head of her theme, and then go off 
 in a tangent to express what she had to say on any thing else. 
 When the novel subject, Hope, was given out, she began by 
 saying she hoped to have again such a jolly time as she re- 
 membered at a bee for sliding down hill ; and then she went 
 off into a ludicrous description of the party, — the upsets, the 
 boys fighting, the whole party staying too late, when her 
 father came out with a stick in his hand, and drove his truant 
 flock home like so many sheep. 
 
 It was during the autumn that Juliet and Rose were 
 at the academy for their first term, and about two weeks after 
 the great case of Craig and Cook had been arranged, that 
 the long-time servant-maid of Mrs. Gomery was walking up 
 and down, one bright morning near the last of October, in 
 the back-yard or court of the Pivot, and before the kitchen 
 door, bearing in her arms the youngest Gomery. The ser- 
 vant's name was Prudence Dodge ; and she was amusing her- 
 self and her charge by feeding the chickens, and singing 
 scraps of hymns and songs that she had learned a great many 
 years before. The morning was beautiful, the sun warm 
 and genial, and the air bracing and fresh, so as to cause all 
 animated things to experience a pleasure in mere existence. 
 
 While thus engaged, the discreet Prudence was startled to 
 hear, in a voice that sounded familiar, " It's a boy ! " 
 
 She turned, and standing before her was Kitty Floyd, the 
 only daughter of the nearest neighbor of the Gomerys. 
 
 " Of course it's a boy," said Prudence. " They wouldn't 
 call a girl Walter, would they ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I don't mean Walter. I mean Betsey Fabyan's 
 baby. I met the doctor this morning as he was coming 
 down the lane from their house ; and he said it was a boy, 
 and mother and child were doing as well as could be ex- 
 pected." 
 
 "You don't say so! Well, I dun'no. Betsey will be 
 mighty proud now, I 'spect ; and so will George. Oh, I 
 am so glad for 'em ! because they are always so anxious the 
 first time." 
 
 " And don't it beat it all ? This makes five babies born in 
 Montgomery this year since Fast Day. I declare, it's quite 
 discouraging ! " 
 
130 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 "Pshaw! what do you know about these things, Kitty? 
 You are only twenty years old yet ; I am past fifty : and I 
 guess there will be a lot more afore Thanksgiving. Let me 
 see : there is John Eckerman's wife has been married nearly 
 a year ; then Levi Chetwood's wife has one every two years, 
 and this is her year ; and the Widow Sawbuckle has been 
 engaged already to nurse Mis' Sanderson ; and I say, Kitty, 
 I don't know what the world is coming to ! " 
 
 " Nor I nuther : there won't be a married woman in all 
 our neighborhood to go to the Thanksgiving ball, and what 
 a flat time it will be ! I declare, I shouldn't wonder if they 
 didn't have any Thanksgiving ball this year, because there 
 will be so many babies. And poor Mr. Diller! I don't know 
 what will become of him; for he has been and built a great 
 piece on to his hall a-purpose for the Thanksgiving ball ; and, 
 after all, there won't be any ; " and the tears welled up to the 
 eyes of the poor girl. 
 
 " Of course, there will be a ball. There always is : and 
 Mr. Diller aren't afraid of the babies ; for he has put an addi- 
 tion of twenty feet to his hall, and has already sent clear to 
 Tivernet to engage the music. Of course, we shall have our 
 old leader, for nobody can play the fiddle like him ; but Dil- 
 ler has engaged another fiddler, a clarionet, and bass-viol from 
 Tivernet. But why do you take on so about it, Kitty? 
 You are always sure of the best partners, and a great many 
 say you dance as well as Juliet Gomery." 
 
 " Prudence, won't you tell nobody ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " For sure, — never ? " 
 
 " Certain, — for sure." 
 
 " Now, I wouldn't have a soul know it but you for the 
 world." 
 
 " Do tell me, then, if you want to keep it safe ! I will 
 never breathe a word ! " 
 
 " Well, then, you know Isabel Lott what a proud silly 
 thing she is ? " 
 
 " Yes : I know how she has been trying to cut you out 
 with Joel Slocum. She must think her pretty face will do a 
 good deal for her, when everybody knows what a temper she 
 has got ! " • 
 
 " Well, she can't do it ; for we are to be married Thanks- 
 giving-day morning, — ha, ha ! " 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 131 
 
 " Kitty Floyd ! you don't say so ? Well, I do declare ! I 
 thought I know'd a'raost every thing; and this beats me. I 
 do say, now, you have kept it dreadful secret. I guess Isa- 
 bel Lott will be pretty well cut up when she hears it. Won't 
 she sputter ? " 
 
 " Yes : we are to be married on Thanksgiving morning, 
 and we are to have Square Gomery to marry us ; and then 
 we are to go to meeting and hear Elder Millson, for Joel's 
 folks are that kind ; and after that we are to go home and 
 eat our Thanksgiving-dinner ; and in the evening we shall 
 go to the ball, and the next morning go over to Bridge- 
 ville, where he is already getting his house ready for us to 
 live in ; and — oh, dear me ! I am thinking so much about it, 
 I can hardly catch my breath ! " 
 
 " Well, Kitty, I'm mighty glad ; for Mrs. Gomery says you 
 are a good girl, and I say so too. And Joel Slocum is a very 
 good man, and has property too, and is prudent and honest, 
 and has a good business, and you will be as happy as two 
 ducks ; and the Square is to marry you, and you are to go 
 to the ball in the evening ! Ain't it too bad so many have 
 got babies, so they can't go?" 
 
 "Yes: it makes me so mad! There won't be anybody 
 there to see my wedding-dress and the bosom-pin and brace- 
 let that he is to give me for a wedding-present. And, of 
 course, I sha'n't dance with anybody but Joel on my wedding- 
 night ; and there are only three or four married women in 
 town that can go ; for the rest are too old, or have got babies. 
 And, oh dear! I know it will be so stupid! I know it will! It 
 is too bad, and they ought to stop it! " 
 
 " Hoity-toity, Kitty Floyd ! They ought to stop it, had 
 they? You are setting a fine example, going off out of town 
 to marry Joel Slocum. You will sing another song, I guess, 
 next year. Hoity-toity, I say ! A pretty time for you to 
 talk about stopping it ! " 
 
 During the time of this conversation between the youthful 
 Kitty and the mature Prudence, the young Gomery had been 
 seated in his low chair that stood in the doorway of the 
 kitchen ; for Prudence had got tired of holding him long before 
 it had reached this point. She was startled now at hearing 
 a sharp cry from him; and, turning to look, saw him sprawl- 
 ing on the floor, having fallen from his chair flat upon his face. 
 She ran and caught him up again ; but he cried as if nearly 
 
132 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 killed, though in half a minute he was laughing again in 
 answer to the good-natured condolences of Kitty. The 
 mother, having heard the infantile pipes playing, came hur- 
 riedly to the rescue of her darling ; but, before she had 
 reached the scene, he was smiling, like Andromache, through 
 his tears. 
 
 "Good-morning, Kitty," said she, after first seeing that the 
 child was unhurt. " How do your folks all do this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Very well, I thank you. When did you hear from Juliet 
 and Rose? I hope they are coming home before Thanks- 
 giving." 
 
 " No : they don't wish to come. I got a letter from Rose 
 last night ; and she says the examination will not take place 
 till a week after Thanksgiving, and she wouldn't miss it for 
 the world. She says she expects to get the first prize in 
 drawing and history, and shall try for it in composition. And 
 Juliet is sure of it in algebra and Latin; and, of course, they 
 can't think of coming home before Thanksgiving. Of course 
 our daughters will take all the prizes if they try." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! then I am so sorry ! I was in hopes they would 
 be here to attend the ball. There will be hardly anybody 
 to go, because the girls are all married, and have got babies ; 
 and it will be so flat and stupid ! But dear me! " she exclaimed, 
 her eyes brightening, " why can't you go, Mrs. Gomery ? 
 We don't have any more such grand balls as we used to have 
 when you and the Squire went. I was littler than I am 
 now ; but I remember they all said that you danced more 
 lightsome and better than all the girls in town. And, when 
 you stopped going, a great many others stopped ; for they 
 said it wasn't fashionable. And then came the revival; and 
 a great many got religion, and said it was wicked to go to 
 balls ; and so, now, there will be hardly anybody to go." 
 
 "My dancing days are over, Kitty. But I will promise 
 you one thing. When you get married, I will dance at your 
 wedding." 
 
 "Will you? certain?" 
 
 "I will, honest and sure." 
 
 " What, if I get married this Thanksgiving, will you go 
 to the ball?" 
 
 " I will. I will, sure, if I am alive and well, and Walter is not 
 sick. I will for your sake ; for you are a good girl, and have 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 133 
 
 always been very kind and good in coming to assist when 
 any of us were sick and we needed extra help." 
 
 "Well, then, it is a bargain; for I am to be married on 
 Thanksgiving-day morning." And the girl laughed a merry, 
 ringing laugh ; and, in her joy, the tears again came into her 
 eyes. 
 . " Indeed, Kitty ! Is that so ? " 
 
 "Yes, it is ; and Mr. Slocum is getting his house ready at 
 Bridgeville ; and nobody knows it here but you and pa and 
 ma. We had it all arranged last Sunday evening, and here 
 it is Tuesday morning ; and I thought I should a' died all 
 day yesterday, and I know I should a' died to-day, if I hadn't 
 come up here to tell Prudence about it ; and I was so afraid 
 nobody would go to the ball, and it would be so stupid. 
 And may I tell folks you are going ? " 
 
 " Certainly, if you like. I shall tell them if you don't." 
 
 "Oh, how glad I am! I guess there will be no holding 
 back now, and everybody will want to go, and I am to be 
 married ; and, oh dear, how glad I am ! " And the honest girl's 
 eyes were now suffused with tears of joy. 
 
 " Well, Kitty, my sweet girl, you are so rejoiced I will not 
 fail you ; and I know Mr. Goniery will be as glad as I am to 
 please you, for he always said you were one of the most sen- 
 sible girls in the neighborhood. Good-morning, my good 
 girl;" saying which, and taking her boy in her arms, she 
 walked into the house. 
 
 Kitty, left alone with Prudence, did not attempt to repress 
 or conceal her joy, but giggled and laughed and shook and 
 hopped about like a child with a new rattle; and soon, bid- 
 ding her friend good-morning, she ran down the hill from 
 the Pivot, as light as a fawn, to her own home, to tell her 
 father and mother the good news. A good girl was Kitty 
 Floyd, — an affectionate, dutiful daughter. She knew how 
 to make a pudding or roast a turkey, and do all those thou- 
 sand and one things that tend so much to make home agree- 
 able. Fortunate Joel Slocum! — when you marry her, you 
 take a bond of fate ; for yours shall ever be a house of com- 
 fort and domestic happiness. I envy you, crabbed old cynic 
 that I am, with only my cat and dog for companions. 
 
 " O God ! the thought forgive, — 
 If 'twere not for my cat and dog, 
 I thiuk I could not live." 
 
 12 
 
134 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 The glad tidings that Kitty bore home from the Pivot 
 soon spread through the town, and before night it was in 
 everybody's mouth that the next Thanksgiving ball was to 
 be the grandest ever given in Montgomery; that Diller had 
 enlarged his hall, at an expense of a hundred dollars, for the 
 occasion; that extra music was to come from Tivernet; and 
 finally, and most important of all, Gomery of Montgomery 
 and his wife were to attend as in days of yore. As the story 
 rolled, it increased like a snowball ; for various other married 
 folks, who had not been in the habit of attending balls of 
 late years, said, on hearing the news, that they had, some 
 time before, made up their minds to attend this one ; to 
 shake a foot just to encourage Diller for going to the expense 
 of enlarging his hall. 
 
 The next day the newspapers brought the governor's proc- 
 lamation for Thanksgiving Day. It was later in the season 
 than usual, and the people would have more than a month 
 to prepare for the grand affair of the season. Little Diller 
 was in his element, and so busy that he had time to do 
 nothing. Not a guest came to his house but he told him of 
 the expense he had been at to enlarge the hall of the Eagle. 
 He always called his house the Eagle, for the reason that 
 there was a picture of this bird of freedom, that wars on all 
 other birds, painted on the sign at the corner of the house. 
 But the other people of the village always called it the Tav- 
 ern. Then he would add that Gomery of Montgomery 
 would attend ; but if, unfortunately, the guest had never 
 heard of that distinguished character, — as was often the 
 case, — and asked who and what he was, then Diller had 
 such a contempt for him, that he would waste no more words, 
 but would stop his clatter, and attend to his business. If, 
 however, the traveller affected to know all about him, then 
 the delighted host would regale him with a long account 
 of the Gomery history, and tell of the great and rich relatives 
 the family had in the great cities of the country; always 
 adding that Mrs. Gomery might have had the richest heir of 
 his day in all New England, but she preferred Gomery 
 of Montgomery, which, in his opinion, showed she was a 
 woman of good sense. 
 
 But, in a village like Montgomery, no man, no family, could 
 be universally popular. The very eminence and influence of 
 the Gomery Family made them many enemies, — not open 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 135 
 
 and avowed enemies, but envious carpers, that would have 
 been rejoiced to see them humbled and dethroned. And 
 neither Gomery nor his wife courted popularity. They had 
 for their intimates and particular friends such as pleased them ; 
 and several of the poorer sort of women were invited to tea- 
 drinkings at the Pivot, to which others of more pretensions 
 and property were never bidden. The squire's most intimate 
 associate was an old pensioner, named Tench Wales, who 
 eked out his living by cobbling shoes. He and his wife were 
 a queer couple; for he was the best-informed man in the 
 county, not excepting even the lawyer ; and the old woman 
 was a living history of New England, and could tell of 
 every important incident that ever happened, from the land- 
 ing of the Pilgrims to the great case of Craig and Cook ; 
 having a memory for names and dates, that, at an earlier 
 period, would have proved her a witch, without contradic- 
 tion or doubt. It was a sight to see this worthy couple, each 
 with big horn spectacles on nose, trudging up the hill of an 
 afternoon to the Pivot, from which they would return late 
 in the evening in the squire's best carriage, driven by that 
 reliable and sober Jehu, Ethan Hurd. The variety of sub- 
 jects discussed, and the history narrated, could it be given in 
 this book, would form a much better chapter than any I have 
 written ; but it would not be pertinent to my story, and I 
 will not attempt it. The children were all more anxious to 
 sit up late when Wales and his wife were visitors ; for they 
 said the talk was more interesting than on other occasions. 
 
 Joe Pumpagin was the particular friend of Wales and his 
 wife ; and, whenever Diller began to hint that he would like 
 a sight of his money, Joe would tell him he would not pat- 
 ronize his house any longer, and go and quarter himself on 
 Wales, where he was always welcome, and never dunned for 
 pay. • • 
 
 There was nothing in the manner or disposition of Free- 
 born Gomery or his wife to repel intimacy of the most 
 cordial kind with their neighbors ; and, when they were 
 first married, they sought to make the acquaintance of all, 
 and put them on a level of familiarity and friendship^ : but 
 in time, when they came to know people better, they found 
 some that they liked better than others ; and they chose for 
 intimates those they could sympathize with, paying small 
 regard to their worldly circumstances. Nor did political or re- 
 
136 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 ligious differences ever interfere with their preferences. They 
 found some of every party and sect in town, for whom they 
 had a particular liking ; and so it happened that the envy or 
 jealousy that some people felt towards them could never 
 assume a partisan or sectarian form. It was necessarily en- 
 tirely of a social character; and, notwithstanding the great 
 liberality of the two, it must be admitted, that, on more than 
 one occasion, the high spirit of the Mackenzies broke forth 
 in a manner that showed a conscious sense of superiority on 
 the part of the woman, little calculated to flatter the vanity 
 or win the love of those who had excited it. 
 
 In matters of general interest, in affairs of politics or re- 
 ligion, she was always calm, complacent, and yielding; but, 
 in regard to her husband or children, she was as sensitive as 
 a lioness with her young. She was in many respects dif- 
 ferent from and in some the antipodes of him; but she loved 
 him most strongly for those points of character that con- 
 trasted most clearly with her own. In appearance, even, 
 they exhibited a strong contrast. Though both were large 
 of frame, and even stately in appearance, there seemed a con- 
 trast between them in every other respect. He was a man 
 of strong rough features, with a firm iron frame ; and, though 
 as far as possible from a plain man, his features were such, 
 that they might be best described by the expression, " whole- 
 some ugly." His nose was prominent and slightly aquiline, 
 his cheek-bonies high, his complexion ruddy, his hands and 
 feet large ; and yet there was such a lively expression to the 
 eye, and such a general beaming of good nature about his 
 entire appearance, that it was encouraging to a shy, and sooth- 
 ing to an alarmed man to look at him. His wife, on the other 
 hand, had features regular and symmetrical, a complexion 
 exceedingly fair, and large blue eyes that seemed as inex- 
 haustible and comprehensive in their effulgence as the blue 
 vault of heaven. He was a man of a thoughtful, intellectual 
 cast of mind, an omnivorous reader, fond of a sermonizing 
 kind of talk, and without ambition. In every thing he acted 
 as he did, not from calculation or chance, but because he 
 could not help it. A sense of duty impelled him in every 
 thing; and it would have been as easy for him to have com- 
 mitted burglary or highway robbery as to have overcharged 
 a client, or taken advantage in a bargain. There were in 
 his mind, for himself, no degrees of crime, no shades of sin. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 137 
 
 If an act were right, he performed it ; if it were wrong, he 
 could not do it. It was impossible ; and to this man, that 
 never realized that he had a conscience, there could be no 
 temptation. 
 
 Such were the natures and dispositions of Gomery of 
 Montgomery and his wife ; and, being so, it needed no disci- 
 ple of Gall or Combe to foretell that the children would be 
 of uncommon promise. There existed that contrast between 
 the parents that physiologists insist upon as most likely to 
 produce the highest order of mind and body in the pro- 
 geny. He was the more intellectual and robust ; she the 
 more beautiful and sensitive. He was the more reflec- 
 tive; she the more energetic. He the more humorous; 
 she the more sprightly. He fonder of books and politics; 
 she of admiration and deference. He acted only because 
 he must; she for an object and purpose. He had more 
 strength of character; she more ambition. The children 
 inherited the better qualities of both their parents, taking 
 after their mother in personal appearance and energy, and 
 after their father in mental scope, and facility of learning ; 
 but, though all showed the effects of such a fortunate mix- 
 ture of opposites, the boys all inclined more to the father, 
 while the girls more resembled the mother, having all her 
 symmetry of feature, at the same time that they inherited 
 the intellectual tastes of their father. 
 
 An incident is related, and was long current in the village 
 (having occurred when her first-born was only six months 
 old), as showing not only how early in their career she fore- 
 saw the future eminence of her offspring, but how it was 
 she raised a spirit of opposition and envy to her among those 
 whom she wished to conciliate. Her early faith in the supe- 
 riority of her children, expressed even before they could 
 speak, or, to other minds than hers, give any evidence of 
 their capacity, caused it to be said by some of the older 
 heads, spitefully of course, that she had only married Gom- 
 ery of Montgomery for the sake of the cross in the stock, 
 when it was well known she might have had the only son 
 of the richest man in Boston, whose yearly income was more 
 than Gomery of Montgomery was ever worth, or ever likely 
 to be. The incident happened at a tea-drinking. 
 
 Mrs. Gomery was then young, and for the first time a 
 mother, and as beautiful a woman as ever graced such a fes- 
 12* 
 
138 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 tive occasion. As was the custom among those primitive 
 people, poor unfortunates that did not know any better, she 
 had taken to the social gathering this first-fruit of her union 
 with Gomery of Montgomery. Then, as at a later period, 
 the country in that vicinity was exceedingly healthy and 
 prolific; and it happened that the arrival of young 
 strangers was so common an occurrence, that a tea-party 
 at which several of them were not present with their mam- 
 mas was never known. On this occasion, there happened 
 to be two others, besides Mrs. Gomery, with their infantile 
 treasures, and both about the age of little Juliet ; and, as it 
 was the first time the three had been brought together, the 
 partial, fond, foolish mothers began comparing features. 'Tis 
 said that ugly babies make the handsomest grown people. 
 I do not believe it; yet it is certain, that, at that period, Juliet 
 Gomery was not half so pretty as Eliza Thurston. Her 
 cheeks were full and plump, her nose undefined, her forehead 
 high and broad, her chin and mouth irregular and uncomely. 
 To offset these, she had blue eyes and a faultless complexion. 
 The other baby, Eliza Thurston, had more regular features, 
 and its mother thought it much the prettier. Indeed, it was 
 so at that time ; but when the mother began to boast, and 
 to say to a companion who sat near, both supposing that 
 they were overheard, " See ! isn't it a beauty ? see what pretty 
 cheeks ! what a sweet mouth ! " and looking from her own 
 child to young Juliet Gomery, then about three months old, 
 and lying smiling, and biting its fists, in a large arm-chair, 
 "Isn't it," she. continued, "a great deal prettier than that?" 
 Mrs. Gomery remained silent over her needle-work, though 
 the fires of a thousand volcanoes were agitating her bosom. 
 But the other did not stop here ; and, all unsuspicious of 
 being overheard, she went on, "Yes: it is a thousand times 
 prettier than that ugly little thing." 
 
 Human nature could not stand this. Others besides Mrs. 
 Gomery had overheard the doting, foolish words, and had 
 foreseen that the tempest must break forth. "Woman!" 
 said she, " do you dare to compare your baby with mine ? 
 Simon Thurston's child with Gomery of Mongomery's ? 
 You are a silly little fool ! The baby of such a light-head- 
 ed goose as you and your noodle of a husband to be com- 
 pared with that of a man like my husband, and a woman like 
 me ! My daughter shall be the belle of the country while 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 139 
 
 yours is angling for a wood-sawyer's clerk. She shall be the 
 wife of a senator while yours will be glad to get a cant- 
 ing parson on a salary of fifty dollars a year, and half the 
 fish he can catch out of the river." 
 
 Mrs. Thurston, poor, weak thing, dropped her eyes at this 
 cruel speech ; and the tears began to fall as she clasped her 
 child more closely to her bosom. It was a most ungener- 
 ous and unmerited rebuke, and far severer than her own 
 idle, vain words deserved ; but she had no spirit to retort 
 on so superior a person as the angry woman that stood be- 
 fore her, her eyes flashing fire, and her cheeks, a little before 
 so pale, now flushed and excited. The barbed arrow had 
 sped, and it could not be withdrawn without still more pain. 
 Poor Mrs. Thurston stole from the room immediately, carry- 
 ing her child with her; and, though others followed her, she 
 could not be consoled, but, sobbing and heart-broken, left for 
 her own home. There was no more pleasure nor gossip that 
 night. The tea had been drunk before this sad climax, and 
 the party soon broke up. 
 
 Mrs. Gomery repented of this cruel outbreak a thousand 
 times. The memory of it was a drop of bitter in many a 
 cup of sweet ; and long years after, when it appeared that 
 her words of anger were likely to be literally fulfilled, and 
 her daughter came to be recognized as one of the most beau- 
 tiful and brilliant women of her day and the wife of one of 
 the leading men of the nation, and Eliza Thurston became 
 the wife of a poor preacher and the mother of several chil- 
 dren, and was so poor that she was obliged to labor like a 
 very drudge for their support, she remembered with bitter 
 remorse her cruel words ; and, though she could never hear 
 the parson preach, she prevailed on her husband to contrib- 
 ute more to his support than any other of his parishioners. 
 Not to show partiality, however, he gave the same amount to 
 another preacher, for whose preaching both he and his wife 
 had the same respect. This was Elder Millson, under whose 
 teachings for many years sat Brother Craig and Brother 
 Cook, — all of whom, while lamenting the spiritual darkness 
 in which the " square " was groping, admitted that, though 
 his faith was weak and his creed lax, his works were emi- 
 nently evangelical. 
 
 The tradition of this scene at the tea-party was preserved 
 with awe and envy, as a sort of moral pickle, by sundry peo- 
 
140 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY .' 
 
 pie, who saw, as year after year passed by, that the lawyer 
 waxed rich, independent, and influential ; and that, as each 
 child was born to his house, it early in life gave signs of 
 superior sprightliness and intelligence. As children, they 
 had more tact, more self-possession and innate refinement, 
 than other children of the village. They were not more 
 amiable or more quiet. On the contrary, the girls were the 
 greatest romps, and the boys the most vicious, mischievous, 
 troublesome blades, in town : and for mad pranks, harum- 
 scarum adventures, they always took the lead ; and nothing of 
 a novel or frolicsome character was ever attempted unless 
 approved by at least one of the young Gomerys. They held 
 their position and influence without asserting it ; having in- 
 herited that fortunate gift, — the natural tact of leading while 
 seeming to follow. These were general characteristics ; and 
 yet each differed much from the others, having peculiar traits 
 and idiosyncrasies, and distinctive elements of originality. 
 
 With such a family, it may well be supposed that Mrs. 
 Gomery found abundant exercise for her busy and ambitious 
 mind. The four oldest had all made their appearance on the 
 stage during the first ten years of her married life ; and an 
 interval of nearly ten years succeeded before the fifth came 
 to claim his place and assert his rights. 
 
 When he did appear, he was most heartily welcome, more 
 especially to the old squire. In the infantile years of the 
 older ones, he had been immersed in business, and had not 
 given so much time or personal care to them as he had 
 wished ; but now his business had nearly all left him, and his 
 time was at his disposal for his family, his books, or his farm, 
 as he might feel inclined. The mother, too, — though we 
 have seen she fully appreciated the superior qualities of her 
 first children, — thought she would rear this one to be the 
 crowning glory of her house. Her experience with the oth- 
 ers had given her better ideas, as she believed, in regard to 
 children, and the way to bring them up ; and, as she fancied 
 she had made some mistakes with the others, she would for 
 the future avoid all such errors in her better knowledge of 
 maternity. 
 
 Thus it is that people in their imaginary knowledge, but 
 real ignorance, rely more on education than instinct, — as 
 though any amount of experience or education could serve 
 so well as the native promptings of the young mother's 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 141 
 
 heart ! Why, these were implanted by the same God who 
 gave the young child to meet its early wants ; and who shall 
 say he has not done his work well, and seek to supersede it 
 by the fallible, erring rules of reason ? The grim bachelor 
 or morose old maid, whose hearts have become dry, cheerless, 
 and unsyrnpathizing, when they see the fond, foolish mother 
 giving way to her young darling, humoring its every whim 
 and caprice, and seeing signs and wonders in things that to 
 other eyes have no meaning, may exclaim, "Ah, she will 
 spoil the child ! It is getting the upper hands of her now, 
 and it will be ruined. Children should be taught to obey. 
 Their stubborn wills must be taught obedience in youth. I 
 was brought up to obey." Doubtless you were ; and a pretty 
 specimen you are. What impious fools! — as if God, who 
 gave the young child life, did not give its natural protector 
 instinctive knowledge of its first year's existence. See the 
 child that from its infancy is subjected to the arbitrary, ex- 
 acting will of a parent devoid of this quality ! See its pre- 
 cocious propriety, its quiet and subdued deportment ! Hear 
 its parrot-like answers, and observe its passive obedience! 
 Then weep with me over a crushed flower, that must grow 
 up dwarfed and stunted, if not deformed ; and rejoice that 
 this is an exception, and that the rule is for the first instruct- 
 or — that which Nature has provided — to encourage and 
 humor the child in its whims and caprices, to visit its trivial 
 offences with indulgent neglect, and see promise and charac- 
 ter in its waywardness and rudeness. You, who, like Mr. 
 Bunsby, are " older than you once were," and who look back 
 to the time when some particular pet and joy of the mother 
 was the most troublesome and mischievous of urchins ; who 
 was never so happy as when engaged in some prank ; who 
 would put shoes on Grimalkin, or his grandmother's specta- 
 cle on his dog, — now find him a grown man, and that in life's 
 race he has left all the good little boys behind him ; and you 
 wonder at the change. Change ! — there has been no change. 
 His early pranks, that you regarded as annoying and vicious, 
 were but the effervescence of his spirit and genius. He had 
 not learned then any other way of keeping his active mind 
 at work. But, when he grew older, that same activity and 
 restlessness that made him his teacher's torment pushed 
 him into enterprises of moment, and rendered him a man of 
 marked influence, to whom others look as a leading, vigor- 
 
142 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY .* 
 
 ous, self-reliant character. O ye child- whippers ! could ye 
 have had your way with him, ye would never have spared 
 the rod, and spoiled the child. Oh, no ! ye would have taught 
 him his place in his childhood ; ye would have curbed his 
 wayward courses, and taught him obedience and respect ; and 
 to-day would have the reward of your cruel care in seeing 
 him a broken-spirited imbecile, yielding a passive assent to 
 minds that have never been subjected to the Procrustean 
 rules. 
 
 This valued gift, this inborn tact of meeting and yield- 
 ing to the caprices and foibles of the young, is but of tem- 
 porary duration. It exists in the natural course of things 
 when needed, and then is gone. The hen picks and scratches 
 for her whole brood of chickens so long as they are too 
 young to look out for themselves. But the instinct to do it 
 endures but for a few weeks, and she has no more care for 
 them. So with the young mother: that partial fondness, 
 that natural conformity to the wants of the offspring, is only 
 for her own children, and comes to her with them, and comes 
 not back when other children appeal to her care. The grand- 
 mother may fancy she can instruct the daughter how to rear 
 and manage the grandchild. But, with all her experience, 
 she is to her in this matter like another person; and she 
 thinks it strange and ungrateful, perhaps, that her counsels 
 are not regarded. But the inconsiderate woman forgets, or 
 perhaps never knew, that it was instinct, and not knowledge, 
 that enabled her to bring through successfully her numerous 
 progeny, and that the instinct no longer remains to her, but 
 exists, in all its unerring force, with the daughter. With her, 
 it is experience and reason ; and though we must trust to 
 these when the spark of instinct has been quenched in the 
 dark waters, yet they are not unerring. 
 
 " One must be right ; the other may be wrong." 
 
 Ah, happy the child whose tottering steps are led by the 
 hand that knows only the moving love to guide it that is in 
 the mother's heart ! Verily Shakspeare uttered a great truth 
 through the mouth of his sensual philosopher, when he said, 
 " Instinct is a great matter." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " But wot you what ? the youth was going 
 To make an end of all his wooing ; 
 
 The parson for him staid. 
 Yet, by his leave, for all his haste 
 He did not so much wish all past 
 
 Perchance as did the maid. 
 
 The maid, — and thereby hangs a tale,— 
 For such a maid no Whitsun-ale 
 
 Could ever yet produce, — 
 No grape that's kindly ripe could be 
 So round, so plump, so soft as she, 
 
 Nor half so full of juice." — Suckling. 
 
 The great ball that was to come off on Thanksgiving 
 evening was now the principal subject of conversation in 
 Montgomery Village. It was understood that it was to be a 
 very grand affair, and to surpass in splendor any ball ever 
 held in that or any of the neighboring towns. There was to 
 be extra music ; and several couples were coming from Tiv- 
 ernet, Bridgeville, and other neighboring places. Little Dil- 
 ler was so busy, that he could do nothing. The supper, so he 
 told everybody, was to be of unsurpassed excellence, and 
 got up in such style as would do credit to the Boston City 
 Tavern ; and he buzzed about, stopping to tell everybody he 
 met that this and that couple were coming, and that some 
 other great attraction would be presented. He even stopped 
 the mail-coach, as it was just starting from the post-office, to 
 tell the passengers that Thanksgivin' was to be a great day in 
 that village, and to say that he was the proprietor of the Engle 
 Tavern, and had built an addition to his hall, that cost a hun- 
 dred dollars, to be used for the first time for the Thanksgivin' 
 ball ; and that Square Gomery was goin' to attend, and all 
 the other big-bugs, as he forcibly expressed it, in that part 
 of the country. Neither Packard, who kept the Tivernet 
 Tavern, nor Tozer, who kept that at Bridgeville, could begin 
 to get up a ball to compare with those at the Eagle. He 
 
144 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY I 
 
 had the best hall, and his wife knew better how to get up a 
 supper than anybody else's wife ; for she was a Morton, and 
 they all knew the Mortons were famous good livers. The 
 coach moved away, leaving the little host of the Eagle still 
 talking; the passengers, neither of whom ever was in the 
 place before or ever expected to be again, being dumfound- 
 ed with astonishment, and not knowing what to make of 
 the fund of useful information he had gratuitously bestowed 
 upon them. 
 
 When it was known that the ball was to be so magnificent 
 an affair, not only did many people who had given up balls 
 and dancing years before determine to go to it, but many 
 young married people, whose practices of late years were 
 such that sweet Kitty Floyd thought they ought to be 
 stopped, discovered that they could attend, even if their 
 babies were young. There was a ball-furor, and they would 
 not miss it : that was flat. They would go, and take nurses 
 or hired girls with them to look after the young heirs while 
 the mothers were tripping it over the floor to the tune of the 
 " Chorus Jig " or " Fisher's Hornpipe." As yet, even qua- 
 drilles were unknown to those simple rustics ; and the waltz 
 and polka had never come among them with their graceful 
 movements and questionable influences. Every thing was 
 old-fashioned, notwithstanding that, in the language of little 
 Diller, all the " big-bugs " of the county were to be present. 
 
 This ball was a most remarkable affair, — far more so 
 than the most enthusiastic had anticipated, — and was long 
 remembered in the annals of the town as the "great ball." 
 The day was fine, and in the first week in December : fortu- 
 nately, the snow had fallen early that year, and at this time 
 lay evenly distributed six inches deep upon the ground, and 
 had been trodden just enough to render the sleighing perfect. 
 There was fine skating, too, on the ponds ; though as yet the 
 running streams were unbridged by the ice. The snow had 
 fallen before even the ponds had been frozen over: and, when 
 the cold snap came on directly afterwards, it covered them 
 with ice both glare and strong; so that, for this day of joy 
 and thankfulness, there were good skating and good sleigh- 
 ing. This combination of blessings was well appreciated and 
 improved by the younger folks, and was very grateful to 
 those who did not share in the pleasure they afford. It took 
 away the boys with their skates and hand-sleds to skate and 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 145 
 
 slide, while it relieved their mothers of their troublesome 
 presence at the time they were preparing the Thanksgiving- 
 dinner, or getting ready for the great affair of the evening. 
 
 Kitty Floyd, sweet Kitty ! was married at nine o'clock in 
 the morning. The ceremony was performed by Squire Gom- 
 ery, who, at Kitty's special request, was called in for that 
 service, and for which service the bridegroom paid him a dol- 
 lar and a quarter in silver. There was no wedding-party, 
 and no one present to witness the ceremony except the father 
 and mother of Kitty, and her two young brothers, who, as 
 soon as it was over, hied away to the pond with their skates, 
 to be away till the dinner should be ready at two o'clock. 
 
 The lawyer took his departure soon after the ceremony, 
 leaving Kitty and Joel sitting side by side in the parlor, both 
 looking confused, and at a loss what to say. Kitty looked 
 very happy, and so did Joel ; though his diffidence on this 
 occasion made his natural awkwardness more conspicuous 
 than usual. But, though bashful and awkward, he was a 
 man of more than average intelligence, honest, industrious, 
 and of an amiable and humorous disposition. Had not Kitty 
 been very much in love, she would have been mortified at 
 some of his awkward ways. His appearance would certainly 
 have tried eyes that were not loving; for were he, as he 
 stood up to be married, to walk upon the stage of one of our 
 modern theatres, he would certainly be pronounced a carica- 
 ture of the Yankee. His clothes were bran-new. His own 
 sisters had spun the warp and woof of which they were 
 made, and the cloth had been colored and dressed at the 
 Montgomery clothing-mill. They had been cut and made 
 by a matured woman of forty-five, — for as yet Montgomery 
 did not boast a man tailor, — who did the fashionable cutting 
 for the gay bucks not only of that village, but for those of 
 Tivernet and Bridgeville. This worthy woman always had 
 several buxom country girls in her employ, and learning her 
 trade. But hers was the village tailor's-shop ; and over her 
 door the traveller might read, " Polly WellingTON, Fashion- 
 able Taylor." With such a name, how could she fail to con- 
 quer on her own chosen field of glory? When asked, by her 
 neighbors more ignorant than she, if she were any connec- 
 tion of the great duke, she always replied, " Distant ; " and 
 when the schoolmaster, for whom she had made a sad misfit 
 in the very clothes destined to be worn for the first time at 
 
 13 
 
146 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 the great ball, told her in his wrath that the great duke 
 was not named Wellington at all, that the Duke of Welling- 
 ton was only his title, and that his real name was Wellesley, 
 she replied that she was a Wesleyan too, and her father and 
 mother before her, and they always went to that church. 
 But this is a digression into which my perverse pen has led 
 me against my will. But how can I control a weapon so 
 much mightier than the sword ? — I, " that never set a squad- 
 ron in the field, nor the division of a battle knew." 
 
 The boots of our bridegroom were, as he imagined, the 
 strong point of his dress ; for they were spick-span new, and 
 made of fine calf-skin, neatly polished with neat's-foot oil : 
 and so smart did they look, that the happy man could not 
 refrain from looking at them, but would turn his delighted 
 eyes from the blushing bride to the new boots, and from the 
 new boots to the blushing bride, with a divided if not a 
 diminished admiration. 
 
 The ceremony was performed in brief terms, the lawyer 
 discharging his duty with dignity and solemnity. The 
 bride's mother turned away, and shed tears, — what faithful 
 mother ever failed to do that ? — the father looked on immo- 
 bile and stern, save only a slight quivering of the lip, that 
 showed how deeply his affections were stirred. The boys — 
 undignified brats — looked on agape till the ceremony was 
 over, and then began to laugh ; at which Kitty looked at 
 them reproachfully, when they left the room, and hied away 
 with their skates to the pond. The magistrate departed for 
 home, having left the dollar and a quarter in the palm of 
 Kitty when he shook hands with her at parting ; and soon 
 after the newly married couple set forth for church, from 
 which they returned in just one hour and twenty minutes by 
 the clock that ticked loudly in the keeping-room. 
 
 At two o'clock all were ready to begin that important 
 work, the eating of the Thanksgiving-dinner. The boys, 
 you may be sure, were prompt to return in time for this, the 
 family feast of the year ; and, at sharp two, they all sat down 
 to the table. At the head of the table sat Mrs. Floyd. At 
 her right, but turned the corner, sat her husband ; and at her 
 left, and opposite to him, sat Kitty. By all rules of modern 
 propriety, Joel should have sat beside the bride ; but, instead 
 of that, he was placed by the side, and at the right hand, of 
 Farmer Floyd. The elder of the two boys sat opposite his 
 mother ; and the other sat beside Kitty, sweet Kitty ! 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 147 
 
 The dinner was not a fashionable dinner ; or, if it were 
 fashionable, it was very old-fashioned. There was neither 
 soup nor fish, and the nearest approach to wine was a large 
 pitcher of hard cider. 
 
 But the dinner! — how tempting does it appear to me now 
 as the memory of it comes up after many years! There 
 were never such dinners in this world, except on the tables 
 of our mothers and grandmothers. First, there was the tur- 
 key, only eight months from the shell, and yet large enough 
 to make you doubt whether it was the old gobbler, or one 
 of his descendants. His appearance on the table had a look 
 of gratitude; for it seemed to say that the cooking and 
 basting he had received had done him good. Such a deli- 
 cate, deep brown all over him ! You could see, as he lay in 
 the platter, how, before the kitchen-fire, he had been suspend- 
 ed by a string, and, like an apostle of charity, " went about 
 doing good ; " how that the unctuous juices of his body, as 
 they struggled through the pores of the skin before the 
 warming, grateful fire, were crisped and browned, and formed 
 a sort of crust or crackling ; while that which dripped off to 
 the gravy dish below was repeatedly caught up, and basted 
 over the revolving, absorbing, and satisfied and satisfying 
 bird. Then how gently had the condiments which seasoned 
 the stuffing — composed of bread-crumbs, pork-scraps, and 
 chopped giblets — penetrated through the texture and grain 
 of the body ! Ah, how few can appreciate this description ! 
 How few, even of those who live in four-story, stone-front 
 houses, or in first-class, marble-faced hotels, have any such 
 reminiscences as these ! Who, in these days of cooking- 
 stoves and ranges, remembers with just appreciation the 
 cooking of the olden time, when a piece of turkey like that 
 I have described would tickle the palate for hours alter it 
 was eaten ; when the very delicacy and relish of the savory 
 morsel would make one to pause, and husband the grateful 
 flavor, and keep it long lingering on the palate ? 
 
 Besides the turkey, there was a brace of fat chickens that 
 had been roasted in the old tin-kitchen with the same care 
 as had the more pretending turkey on the string before the 
 fire. For vegetables, there was that great rarity of modern 
 times, potatoes boiled to a dot, and, of course, mealy and 
 palatable ; turnips mashed finely, and in slices ; and boiled 
 onions. But the coarser vegetables, like cabbages and car- 
 
148 G0MERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 rots, eaten on ordinary occasions, were not on the table. 
 Kitty at first abstained from the onions; but, seeing Joel mak- 
 ing free with them, she sparingly indulged, having heard that 
 persons would not notice the disagreeable effluvia of a breath 
 tainted with onions, garlic, or rum, if they first made their 
 own equally offensive to others. 
 
 Then came the plum-pudding, — not the rich, hard, indi- 
 gestible plum-pudding on which John Bull nourishes his 
 conceit and surliness, but a lighter, more palatable, and whole- 
 some article, and as well stuffed with plums as was the his- 
 toric pudding made by good King Arthur. The lumps of 
 fat of the royal pudding, however, were wanting in this; 
 though of eggs, cream, sugar, and spice there was surely no 
 lack. Then came mince-pies, apple-pies, and pumpkin-pies ; 
 and withal a dish of tea for the good wife and such oth- 
 ers as cared for it. But Joel and Farmer Floyd preferred 
 the cider. This great dinner, the only dinner of the year 
 on which neither pains nor expense were spared, was de- 
 spatched in just an hour; and, to the credit of Kitty's nerves 
 and self-control, it must be admitted, that, notwithstanding 
 the excitements of the morning, she ate a substantial and 
 hearty dinner. But, compared with Joel, she had eaten 
 nothing, — nothing. • 
 
 Joel was a fortunate man, as we predicted he would be. 
 The way the dinner was prepared would have been evidence, 
 even to a less acute observer than he, that his wife must have 
 learned all the arts and duties of housekeeping, and qualified 
 herself in one important particular to make her home a place 
 of comfort and content. He was sure always to find his din- 
 ner well cooked, his house well arranged, his clothes well 
 taken care of and mended, and that general air of neatness 
 and enjoyment that would be sure to render his own home, 
 of all places in the world, the most inviting and desirable. 
 All these blessings were secured to Joel by his marriage ; and 
 what better marriage-settlement would he desire for her? 
 With their united thrift, they were sure of all the material 
 happiness and comfort that this world could give to persons 
 of their range of thought and limited ambition. Idleness 
 would have made them miserable, and great wealth would 
 have brought idleness and care. They were fitted for 
 the lot assigned them by Providence ; and they were happy as 
 they could possibly be, wanting for nothing that was not with- 
 in their grasp. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 149 
 
 How many people there are in our happy times and coun- 
 try who have the early fortune of Joel Slocum and his wife! 
 It is a lot that is open to all, and is improved by a great 
 many ; honest, unpretending, and shrewdly intelligent people, 
 who do their duty in life as a matter of course, and hardly 
 know the cares, trials, and difficulties of people of the same 
 rank in the over-crowded, aristocracy-ridden-and-ruled coun- 
 tries of the Old World. And yet, with all their simplicity of 
 character, how devoted they are to their country's welfare ! 
 how true to the instinct of patriotism ! how prompt at the 
 ballot-box ! how ready at their country's call to shoulder the 
 musket, and go forth to battle, and, if need be, to die ! Hap- 
 py country and happy people ! 
 
 But we are lingering too long over our Thanksgiving-din- 
 ner. No wonder : it hath a grateful memory. 
 
 13* 
 
150 GOMEET op montgomeey: 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " O' the sudden, up they rise and dance j 
 Then sit again, and sigh and glance ; 
 
 Then dance again, and kiss. 
 Their several ways the twain did pass 
 Till every woman wished her place, 
 
 And every man wished his. 
 
 By this time all were stolen aside 
 To counsel and undress the bride; 
 
 But that he must not know : 
 But yet 'twas thought he guessed her mind, 
 And did not mean to stay behind 
 
 Above an hour or so." — Suckling. 
 
 Aftee the Thanksgiving-dinner had been eaten, the table 
 was allowed to stand for about half an hour, with its ample 
 remnants undisturbed, while the family gathered round the 
 fire, and discoursed of the various topics the day suggested. 
 The boys sat quiet and silent, as the violent exercise on the 
 pond in the keen December wind, followed by the enor- 
 mous dinner they had eaten, had brought on a feeling of stu- 
 por and a desire of rest. The old man smoked his pipe, 
 looking and feeling very happy ; and the good mother sus- 
 tained the burden of the talk ; while Joel and Kitty sat side 
 by side, saying little, but evidently not unhappy. At the 
 end of the half-hour, Kitty suggested that it was time to be 
 preparing for the ball, and retired to her own room to make 
 ready for that important event. The farmer took his clay 
 pipe from his mouth, knocked out the ashes, and then deposit- 
 ed it, in a little leathern loop made for the purpose, over the 
 fireplace. He and Joel then went out to the stable, and led 
 out the horse of the latter, which they harnessed to the sleigh. 
 They then returned to the house. In half an hour more, the 
 bride is ready ; all the family come out ; the happy pair get 
 into the sleigh ; the farmer tucks the buffalo-robe closely 
 around them : a cut of the whip, and the horse is off at a 
 lively pace. The farmer and wife now return into the house ; 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 151 
 
 and the latter proceeds to clear away the dinner, and set 
 the house in order to receive a few neighbors to drink 
 tea in the evening, congratulate her on Kitty's marriage, and 
 talk about the new minister, the prices of butter, cheese, and 
 poultry, and how to make soap. The farmer went directly 
 to attend to his cattle ; and the boys, having recovered from 
 their stupor, and partly digested their dinner, went forth 
 with their sleds to slide down the steep hill at the back side 
 of the barn. 
 
 In those "brave days of old," when the young people 
 danced with a vim and a vigor that would shame their de- 
 generate posterity, if a ball was to be very grand, it was 
 customary to have the hour of opening as early as two o'clock 
 in the afternoon. If it were less pretending, then the hour 
 was later; being just the reverse of what it is now, when, 
 the later the hour, the more fashionable the affair is supposed 
 to be. But, though the time set for the ball to commence 
 was at that early hour, the guests did not begin to assemble 
 in much force before three ; though some of the younger and 
 more ardent, who had never been invited to a ball before this, 
 were prompt to the hour appointed. 
 
 The dancing began at four o'clock. Alden Tinkam, cap- 
 tain in the militia, was the head manager, and of course 
 took the lead, and marched out his partner with a military 
 step, taking the head of the first contra-dance with proud and 
 pretty Isabel Lott for his partner, — the handsomest girl in 
 the room, the most vigorous dancer, and the acknowledged 
 belle of all the balls in Montgomery, whenever the Gomery 
 girls were not present. On those occasions, her light paled 
 like stars before the sun, like a State senator before a mem- 
 ber of congress, or a commoner before a peer. This was a 
 proud affair for Isabel ; for, though she knew the mother of 
 those she called "the stuck-up Gomerys" would be there at a 
 later hour, and would attract more attention than any three 
 unmarried ladies present, she did not fear nor envy her as she 
 did her daughters, who were the very bane of her life. But 
 as they were now away at school, and could not attend, she 
 was, therefore, in high spirits ; and, being sure of a great tri- 
 umph, was arrogant and capricious accordingly. 
 
 How the young people did dance in those days ! There is 
 nothing like it now. There was none of the graceful, lazy 
 gliding over the floor, in sylph-like ease, to the measured, 
 
152 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 gentle cadence of the music; none of the voluptuous swinging 
 about of ethereal young ladies in the arms of amorous, dissolute 
 young gentlemen ; no dreamy whirl in the gliding, noiseless 
 waltz. No: it was dancing, — vigorous and strong. He 
 was not the best dancer who moved post easily and grace- 
 fully about : but the lion of the dancing-hall was he who 
 threw the most shakes and quakes and quivers of the foot 
 into the time of the music ; whose instep had the spring of 
 steel, that would scarcely ever permit the heel to touch the 
 floor. To cut the pigeon's wing or the double-shumc was 
 an accomplishment at a time when the mazurka, the polka, 
 and schottische were unknown. How, when the fiddle, — 
 for, in those days, the fiddle was the chief and often the 
 only instrument of music, though on this occasion, as it was 
 on a scale of unprecedented magnificence, there were two 
 fiddles and a clarionet, — how, when the fiddle was first heard 
 to twang, as the fiddler took his stand in the corner, did the 
 dancers array themselves in precise, prim order in two paral- 
 lel lines up and down the hall, the ladies on one side, the 
 gentlemen on the other, and there wait, trim, grim, and 
 expectant, for the first downward stroke of the bow that 
 was to set free the eager, restless limbs of the impatient dan- 
 cers! 
 
 It comes at last ! Capt. Tinkam, who has been standing 
 on his left foot, — his right as uneasy as a steed that scents 
 the battle afar off, and champs his bit, and paws the ground, 
 eager for the fray, — can scarcely wait for the music to begin. 
 A " stomp " of the foot, simultaneous with a sharp burst of 
 music, is the signal from the first fiddler, who was called 
 Christopher Columbus; and then the right foot of Capt. 
 Tinkham, incased in a bran-new pump, and which, for some 
 time, he could not keep to the floor but it would come up as 
 by a spring to his left knee, now comes down with a force 
 that makes the house shake ; and away go this leading cou- 
 ple down the outside, back, down the middle, back, right 
 and left, balance, turn partners, and so on, as the figure 
 might be. First they pass below one couple, then another 
 and another ; and then the next that stood below them start 
 off, and by the time the first .couple reach the foot, what with 
 the four or five leading couples balancing and turning cor- 
 ners with them, the whole company are in motion, enjoying 
 themselves as only people do who have the fire of youth in 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 153 
 
 their veins, and who have not yet come to the serious cares 
 of mature life. 
 
 After the first two dances, and just as the third was com- 
 mencing, Kitty Floyd that was, now Mrs. Slocum, came 
 walking into the hall on the arm of her husband. I doubt 
 if ever princess walked to her coronation looking more proud 
 and happy than she. Joel had exchanged his new boots for 
 a pair of calf-skin pumps equally new ; and no sooner had 
 they entered the hall than it was insisted by manager Tink- 
 am that they should lead off the next dance. To this they 
 assented ; and as sweet Kitty stood at the head of the hall, 
 and saw what a grand success the ball was, she could not 
 help thanking Mrs. Gomery in her heart for so great a tri- 
 umph. She and Joel, when they had, long before, first talked of 
 being married on this day, had anxiously thought of the ball, 
 and feared lest it should prove a failure by reason of the 
 superabundance of babies. But here before her stood not only 
 all the young mothers, whose maternal duties, she had feared, 
 would keep them at home, but seated around the hall were 
 many staid matrons who had not honored a ball for years 
 before. Beside these, several of the most exclusive and fash- 
 ionable couples from Bridgeville and Tivernet were present ; 
 and, to crown all, there was an extra fiddle and clarionet. 
 The dance proceeded : and though Joel, it must be confessed, 
 was but an awkward dancer, she saw it not ; and, if he went 
 wrong, she corrected his mistake with a glee and merry laugh 
 that showed she had no eye for his faults. 
 
 It was fully seven o'clock when Lawyer Gomery and his 
 wife walked into the hall, — she with stately tread, and he 
 with a merry twinkle in his eye. By general consent, all 
 gave way ; and they were assigned the best seats in the room. 
 But neither long remained seated : the old squire was soon 
 among the boys, laughing and joking ; and his wife went up 
 to Kitty, and gave her a hearty kiss. 
 
 " That is the first kiss I have got to-day," said Kitty. 
 
 " For shame, Joel ! " said Mrs. Gomery. 
 
 At this, Joel colored, stammered, tried to laugh, and couldn't; 
 and Kitty, who by great good luck was standing at the mo- 
 ment on the raised platform which had been placed at the 
 lower end of the hall as a vantage-ground for the musicians, 
 in confusion and vexation at seeing Joel so awkward at 
 retort, just put her arms around his neck, and gave him the 
 
154 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 heartiest smack he had ever received. It was like a spark 
 of electricity, and he kissed back with interest. 
 
 "Bravo ! " said Mrs. Gomery ; and the spectators of the scene 
 shouted, and clapped their hands. Joel thought he was the 
 bravest, most audacious, and gallant fellow in the world. 
 His spirits rose immediately, and he began to talk and laugh 
 as loud as the gayest of them. 
 
 In forming the next set, it was insisted that the old squire 
 and his wife should lead the dance. The latter told Kitty 
 she would agree to it if Mr. Gomery would. So Kitty led 
 Joel off to find the squire. 
 
 "O Mr. Gomery!" said she, "you and your wife must 
 dance this time. She has come here just 'cause it is my wed- 
 din'-day, and she will if you will. Do, now, Mr. Gomery ! " 
 
 " Ah, Kitty, you darling ! I have got no pumps : besides, I 
 am too old. Let Joel dance with my wife if she wants to 
 dance." 
 
 " What should I do all the while ? " said Kitty despond- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Oh ! you can talk to me," said .the lawyer. 
 
 " I wanted to dance this time," replied Kitty. 
 
 " Well, then, you can dance with me. What say you to 
 that?" 
 
 " It is a bargain," said Joel ; while Kitty could scarce con- 
 ceal her vexation, having, before this, taken pains to tell 
 several, that, " of course, she should dance that night with no 
 one but Mr. Slocum." 
 
 But, seeing herself entrapped, she made the best of it ; and 
 away they went to find Mrs. Gomery, who by this time was 
 dandling in her arms the youngest baby in the adjoining 
 room, where several of these rare prodigies were dispose,! 
 in different corners, — some asleep, some awake, some crying, 
 some laughing in their mothers' arms, or taking a slight 
 repast at Nature's fount. Each mother was surrounded by 
 her particular friends, who were protesting their admiration 
 of her young progeny. But more gathered around Mrs. 
 Gomery than about any one else ; and little Walter, now six 
 months old, attracted more attention than any of the others. 
 All were familiar with the traditional scene between his mother 
 and Eliza Thurston, some sixteen years before : so all admired 
 all, and made no comparisons. The astonishing ways of 
 babies, that know nothing at all, must always, in the presence 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 155 
 
 of their mothers, be wondered at and admired, else beware 
 of the maternal displeasure. 
 
 When this dance was over, which the old squire managed 
 to get through greatly to his credit as a master of the Terp- 
 sichorean art, Mrs. Gomery returned to the nursery-room to 
 look again after the young Gomery, whom she left in the 
 care of her faithful Prudence Dodge while she was tripping 
 it on the toe still light and fantastic, though her older 
 daughter was already past seventeen. 
 
 The number of babies at this ball was so large, that, if I 
 knew it exactly, I should not dare to tell it, for fear that it 
 would not be believed, and thus throw discredit on this en- 
 tire history. There were some so young, that they kept 
 their mothers from church for three months afterwards ; but, 
 as the ball was to be such an uncommon affair, go they must, 
 would, and did. But, grand and gay as it was, it could 
 never have attained the importance it was destined to ac- 
 quire in the simple annals of that town but for the mischiev- 
 ous trick of that old joker, Joe Pumpagin. This eccentric 
 character, who had, according to his own story, been a wan- 
 derer all his life, — at one time a sailor, at another a soldier 
 in the war of 1812, — had returned for the last time to the 
 village about three months before. As usual, when he re- 
 turned from his distant pilgrimages, he brought no money 
 with him; but he somehow found a welcome that many 
 others with money could not find, by reason of his irresisti- 
 ble humor, his strange stories, and odd adventures in foreign 
 lands. But, as he had no claim on any one in particular, he 
 usually quartered himself at the tavern, until, as he said, 
 Diller insulted him by asking payment, and then he would 
 go and live with his friend Tench Wales, where he was al- 
 ways welcome, and never dunned for payment. And yet he 
 was always welcome in every house for an evening. With 
 his inexhaustible anecdotes and vivid descriptions of foreign 
 places, he was regarded by the younger folks as their special 
 friend ; and they did not quite like that kind of hospitality 
 that kept him amusing the family through the evening, and 
 then let him go to get his lodging and breakfast at the house of 
 poor Tench Wales. But this time he had lived all the while 
 at the tavern ; for Diller had been so busy, and had had so 
 much talking to do with people whom it did not concern, 
 that he had no time to dun Old Joe. Besides, Joe was 
 
156 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 not altogether idle or superfluous : he acted as a sort of dep- 
 uty host, receiving the guests, attending to and communicat- 
 ing their wants, and amusing them with his jokes. In these 
 offices he was so exceedingly polite, so cordial in his manner, 
 and so generally agreeable, that garrulous little Diller was 
 quite eclipsed by him. He would also entertain the guests 
 during the long winter evenings with marvellous tales of sea 
 and land, in which he was always the principal hero. He 
 had tact enough always to have his stories partly true, or have 
 a base of truth, so that no one could tell where reality ceased 
 and fiction began. And yet he was regarded as so notorious 
 a liar, that, when a person wished to say to another that his 
 statement was false, he would convey his idea by saying it 
 was one of Old Joe's stories. But an event that occurred 
 at the Eagle one evening, after he had been regaling with 
 his adventures some stranger guests, and also several of the 
 villagers assembled in the bar-room of the hotel, served to 
 confound the doubters, and set him up as a faithful chroni- 
 cler of truth. He had been giving them a long account of 
 his adventures years before on the eastern coast of Africa, 
 and was just describing the way in which he had rescued a 
 white woman from some black cannibals on the Island of 
 Madagascar, just as they were getting ready to kill and roast 
 her. 
 
 " And did they kill and roast you too ? or were you one 
 of the cannibals?" said Jesse Spinney, one of the town's 
 people, who was always doubting and ridiculing Joe's yarns. 
 
 " True as gospel what I say," said Joe. 
 
 " Did you fly away with her on your back ? " 
 
 "No: while they were gathering fagots for the fire to 
 roast her in, I hid her under the bank of a river. We both 
 sunk into the water among the snags of an old tree that had 
 fallen into the stream; and there we lay for four hours, 
 our noses just out of water. We were awfully skeered for 
 fear the crocodiles or sharks should get hold of us ; but the 
 branches of the tree were so thick around us, they couldn't 
 get at us : but them human tigers thought they had us, of 
 course, and so didn't look for us very sharp. When it be- 
 came dark, I crawled out, and dragged the old woman after 
 me. She was as weak — as weak in the body as Brother 
 Spinney is in the head. I laid her on the ground, and then 
 collected some snags and sticks, and made a sort of raft, on 
 which we floated down the river to where our ship lay." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 157 
 
 " What was that woman's name ? " inquired a traveller, who 
 had been listening for an hour and a half to Joe's stories, 
 without saying a word. 
 
 " Her name was Piper. She was almost as great a trav- 
 eller as I was. She was the darndest homeliest woman 
 ever I saw, except that old thing that jilted Spinney 
 when he went a-courting her, because he was so infernal ug- 
 ly." This occasioned a loud laugh at Spinney's expense, who 
 exclaimed angrily, "It is strange people will listen to such a 
 batch of lies!" 
 
 ".What is your name ? said the traveller. 
 
 " Joe Pumpagin." 
 
 " Then the story is true." 
 
 " Of course it is : all my stories are." 
 
 " I don't know about all ; but this is I know, for I have a 
 paper in my pocket now that has the same story in it. It is 
 an extract from a book called the ( Wanderings of Madame 
 Piper.' " 
 
 " Read, read it ! " cried all, as the stranger got up, and took 
 the paper from his overcoat pocket. The traveller complied ; 
 and, as the narrative went on, every few moments Joe would 
 exclaim, " Jes' so, jes' so! " and when he came to where the 
 female adventurer told of her rescue by a sailor named Joe 
 Pumpagin, whom she described as a queer-looking fellow 
 with his nose turned back like the lid of a coffee-pot, a great 
 wag, but an incorrigible liar, Joe exclaimed, "It's a lie, it's 
 all a lie, — a slander! there wan't no such woman ! " 
 
 But it was too late. He was too clearly identified as the 
 rescuer of Madame Piper to escape her compliments to his 
 veracity ; and thenceforth his character as a traveller and a 
 faithful chronicler of events was indubitably established. 
 He could say any thing after that, and few ventured to 
 doubt him. The next night he had a new series of marvel- 
 lous tales, in one of which he sought to regain his former 
 character as the greatest liar ever known in the country, and 
 which he was in danger of losing, since one of his strangest 
 stories had been confirmed by a creditable witness. On this 
 night he minutely described a voyage to the south pole ; and 
 the strange, weird particulars of his voyage were quite as 
 entrancing as the tale which the Ancient Mariner told to 
 the wedding-guest. His story had the appearance of reality 
 until he came to the pole ; and then he went on to describe 
 
 14 
 
158 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 the complicated gear of the axletree on which the earth 
 turned. The number of sperm-whales used to grease this 
 huge machinery was enormous; and he said it was no won- 
 der they were growing scarce. The oil was not tried out, 
 but the whales were drawn backwards into a kind of hop- 
 per ; and, when their tails were drawn in between the pole 
 and the gudgeon in which it revolved, the poor animals 
 would give a terrific roar, almost as loud as were Brother 
 Spinney's shouts and groans at the last revival. He did not 
 like to stay there long ; for the earth whirled round so, that it 
 made him dizzy, and he was near falling off several times. 
 "I wonder where I should have gone to, suppose I had fallen 
 off," said he. 
 
 " Guess you would have gone to hell, " said his inveterate 
 enemy, the doubting Spinney. " Certainly you would if 
 there is any truth in the Bible, which says that all liars shall 
 have their part there." 
 
 " 'Tis a true story," said Joe, — " true as that about Madame 
 Piper and the #annibals. If you think it ain't true, just 
 prove it." 
 
 As proof of the matter was not easy to be got at, Joe 
 came off again with flying colors, and Spinney retired crest- 
 fallen. 
 
 On the evening of the ball, Joe was in the highest spirits. He 
 helped the ladies from their sleighs as politely and gently as 
 the most gallant youth in town, and took the babies from 
 the arms of their mothers as carefully and with as much 
 knack as any nurse of thirty years' experience ; and he car- 
 ried them into the house more tenderly, I opine, than he had, 
 years before, borne away Madame Piper from the feast of the 
 cannibals. He constituted himself general guardian and 
 watcher over the little ones ; passing from one to another, 
 and praising them all as children of wondrous beauty ; tell- 
 ing each mother slyly, that her baby was the handsomest one 
 in the room, and making himself vastly agreeable and useful. 
 
 The dancing went on briskly till nine o'clock, when supper 
 was announced ; and the company proceeded to the dining- 
 room, the old squire and his wife leading the way. It was 
 half-past ten before they left the table, during which time the 
 servants and nurses having charge of the children were very 
 impatient and restless. Old Joe, however, made himself as 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 159 
 
 agreeable as possible, and hushed the children, and told the 
 waiting-women that their turn at the frosted cakes, almonds, 
 oranges, and raisins, would come by and by; and when it 
 did come, and they got down to the table, they must take 
 their time. They little knew the mischief that was brew- 
 ing in his mischief-making head. 
 
 The anxious mothers, as soon as they returned from the 
 supper-table, all went to look for their offspring ; and, seeing 
 them all asleep in their respective corners, told the waiting- 
 maids to go down and get some supper. They also reminded 
 them to remember and take something for the children at 
 home, as their own pockets were not half large enough. 
 Mrs. Gomery, however, gave no such caution ; for, before ris- 
 ing from the table, she had laid out two of the finest oranges, 
 and told the waiter to keep them for her till she went home, 
 as they were for her two boys. No other woman present had 
 the assurance to follow her example; but what they took 
 they removed very quietly, — slipping the fruit, nuts, and 
 cake, unobserved, under the table and into their pockets. 
 But, if their manner was not as good as hers, they secured 
 double the quantity. 
 
 The servants all rushed to the supper-room ; and the moth- 
 ers, seeing the children all quiet, returned to the hall, and the 
 dancing soon began again. 
 
 And now was the time for Joe Pumpagin to carry into 
 effect his Herod-like plot. He took a survey of the field. 
 There were seven babies between the ages of three and six 
 months, and any number less than a year older. But only 
 against the younger ones would it be safe for him to proceed. 
 The older might rebel ; and their lungs were so strong, they 
 might give an alarm to their mothers in the hall. But all 
 were alike asleep. Not a waking eye was in the room save 
 his own, and they were wide awake. During the evening, 
 whenever either of the seven younger children had cried, he 
 had either taken it from its corner, or from its mother's or 
 nurse's arms ; and, before giving it back, he contrived so as to 
 take out nearly all the pins from its clothes, and leave it in a 
 ready condition for carrying into effect his original scheme. 
 Quickly, then, as soon as the coast was clear, he proceeded 
 to his work. First, he took the boy baby of Reuben Chan- 
 dler and his wife Emeline, who was the daughter of his old 
 inveterate enemy, Jesse Spinney the doubter, and who lived 
 
160 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 near Bridgeville, ten miles to the north-west of Montgomery ; 
 and for it he substituted the girl baby of another couple, 
 Josiah Gibson and his wife of Tivernet, seven miles to the 
 east. Carefully and gently, his ears all open for the approach 
 of intruders, he unswaddled them both, and exchanged clothes 
 and shifted their positions, so that, in less than four minutes' 
 time, the boy was sleeping in the clothes and comer where 
 the girl had been, and the girl was equally quiet in the swad- 
 dling covering of the boy. " Neatly done," said Joe to him- 
 self, hardly able to keep from laughing aloud. The next 
 baby he approached was Walter Gomery ; but no sooner did 
 he attempt to move him than the young fellow raised a loud 
 protest, that was like to have put a stop to all further proceed- 
 ings. Joe drew back, fearing lest the noise should be heard in 
 the hall. But the boy was still again, and Joe passed on to the 
 next, saying to himself, "You can't mix them Gomerys with 
 common people, anyway." The next two were a boy and 
 girl, each about six months old ; but the hair of one was 
 much thicker and darker than the other. " No time to stick 
 at trifles," said Joe ; and within five minutes these two — one 
 of them, the boy, being the son of Lewis Hinson and wife 
 of Tivernet, and the other the only and first-born child of 
 Nathan Tarlton, a young joiner in the village, who, a year 
 and a half before, had married Mary Ann Fisher, daughter 
 of David the son of Asa Fisher, whom our readers will recol- 
 lect as one of the pioneers of this section of the country — 
 were transposed. 
 
 There was but one pair more that Joe had marked as vic- 
 tims to be transposed ; and he went to the door to see if there 
 was any danger ahead. Two of the young mothers — one 
 of a changed, and the other of an unchanged baby — were 
 approaching ; and Joe invited them to observe how sweetly 
 all were sleeping. They immediately returned to the hall, 
 and reported that all were quiet and asleep ; and Joe, having 
 the coast now clear, soon changed these two, who were boys, 
 — one of which was, unfortunately, two months older than 
 the other. The younger was the son of Thomas Homer, 
 who lived about a mile from the village, on the Tivernet Road. 
 The elder was the son of Isaac Crooker of the village, — a 
 shoemaker, and a very good one too. He had made the wed- 
 ding-boots of Joel Slocum. 
 
 This nice and difficult job of transposing and transmogri- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 161 
 
 fying so many babies was finally accomplished much more 
 successfully than the wicked sinner who had conceived and 
 executed it had ever hoped. He had thought it very likely 
 that he might confound one or two pairs of them, and then 
 that the trick would be discovered, and a great commotion 
 caused in the ball-room, and great laughter and sport for those 
 who were not personally concerned in the transposition. 
 But he had done so much better than this, that he fairly 
 chuckled to himself: and, for fear he might yet be discovered, 
 he blew out all the candles, and wet the wicks, so that they 
 would not light again ; and the only light in the room came in 
 through the door, from a single candle in the entry-way be- 
 tween the room and the hall. Thus the room was so dark, 
 that it would have been almost impossible for the mothers to 
 distinguish the features even of their own children. 
 
 When all was completed to his satisfaction, Joe went down 
 stairs, and out into the open air, and looked about, wishing 
 the party would break up. For some time, he dared not ven- 
 ture into the hall, or into the presence of others ; for he could 
 not keep from laughing at the success of his own trick. Nev- 
 ertheless, he soon returned into the house, and, unobserved, 
 set the old house-clock, that stood in the main entry of the 
 hotel, an hour and a half ahead. Then he went outside, and 
 looked up again at the moon, that was shining full and clear 
 in her meridian. The snow was perfectly white, and glitter- 
 ing in all directions; and the evening was just what all peo- 
 ple wish for a Thanksgiving evening. A happy thought now 
 strikes 'Joe. He is in a fever of anxiety that the people, or 
 at least the parents of the interchanged babies, should leave 
 before his trick is discovered. But genius is full of resources, 
 and Joe was a genius, — a rare genius ; and the thought that 
 occurs to him is, that he will tell the company that the 
 weather has changed, and a snow-squall is approaching. To 
 think, with a man of genius, is to perform. So he immedi- 
 ately re-entered' the house, and, going up into the hall, ap- 
 proached, as it were, carelessly, near where Mrs. Gomery was 
 standing, surrounded by several who delighted to linger be- 
 neath her shadow; and observed to some one in her hearing, 
 that the weather had changed, and that it threatened a tre- 
 mendous squall of wind and snow. Being an old tar, he was 
 acknowledged as weather-wise ; and Mrs. Gomery, noticing 
 the remark, asks what time it is. A young man standing 
 
 14* 
 
162 G0MERY OF MONTGOMERY ! 
 
 near, having a new watch which he is eager to show, at 
 once produces it, and says it is twelve o'clock. 
 
 " Later than that," says Joe : " past one." 
 
 " I guess my watch is right ! " indignantly answered the 
 youth, showing his silver time-keeper with pride. " It is bran- 
 new, and cost twenty dollars ; and I guess I ought to know 
 as well as you." 
 
 " Run down into the entry," said the madam to her servant 
 Prudence, who had just come in to tell her that Walter was 
 awake, and calling for his supper, — " run down, and see what 
 time it is by the clock." 
 
 The woman hurried away, and soon returned, saying that 
 it was half-past one. 
 
 " What ! Then it is time for us to go. Mr. Gomery, it is 
 half-past one o'clock ; and I meant to be at home by twelve." 
 
 She hastened to the ante-room, where cloaks, shawls, and 
 bonnets had been left, and was followed by all the young 
 mothers, who had been more alarmed at the story of the im- 
 pending squall than the lateness of the hour. Horses were 
 at once called for, and, ere many minutes, began to be driven 
 up to the door ; the large old family horse of Lawyer Gom- 
 ery being the first. He handed his wife into the sleigh ; and 
 old Joe brought up the rear with young Walter in his arms, 
 who, by this time, was bawling lustily. The sleigh was a 
 very large one, made to order for the squire, with room for 
 several children in front. This space was occupied on this 
 occasion by the faithful Prudence, who sat on a stool or 
 cricket at the feet of her mistress. 
 
 Joe was equally polite and serviceable to all the ladies who 
 had brought their infants with them, — carrying them down 
 and handing them to the maternal arms as carefully as though 
 ajar would be fatal to them, and saying to each, as he deliv- 
 ered the precious treasure, that hers was the prettiest baby 
 at that ball. At length the last baby of those he had manip- 
 ulated was delivered to the last other baby's mother ; and the 
 sleigh containing them started off. It was not out of sight ; 
 but Joe could hold in no longer. He roared out in a laugh 
 that frightened the horse next in the line. He shook, he 
 giggled, he snickered, till people thought he must be either 
 drunk or crazy.- He returned to the bar-room, and laughed 
 louder than ever. He sat down a moment, and gave a 
 chuckle ; then he got up, and went into the hall, where lie 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 163 
 
 caught hold of some of the young girls, and whisked them 
 about like a rollicking young blade; then he improvised a 
 hornpipe, to the astonishment of all beholders ; then he re- 
 turned to the room where the young innocents had been, if 
 not slaughtered, delivered into unknown hands. Here he lay 
 down on the floor, and rolled over and laughed and cackled 
 and chuckled like a madman. 
 
 " What is it, Joe ? " asked Capt. Tinkam. " Give us all a 
 chance." 
 
 "You will know before to-morrow night, and then you 
 may laugh too ; but I can't tell you now." 
 
 But, great as was the delight of Joe at the success of his 
 trick, he thought that it would be prudent to be out of the 
 way of the explosion that was sure to follow. So he quickly 
 put on his hat and overcoat, and left the house. Some of 
 the people who departed an hour later — for the ball did not 
 break up with the departure of those who brought their ju- 
 venile encumbrances — overtook him about three miles from 
 town, on the road towards the sea-coast. But they only 
 said, " He was always an odd critter." -> 
 
 Soon after the departure of old Joe, the interest in the ball 
 began to flag. Within an hour, all the married people had 
 left, including Joel Slocum and his wife, who had been among 
 the first to leave. Some of the younger people were anxious 
 to keep it up much later, being desirous of getting the worth 
 of their money : but, at three o'clock, there were few left who 
 were not too tired to dance more ; and, half an hour later, all 
 had left, and the lights were put out in the hall. Little 
 Diller, utterly tired out, at last retired to bed ; and the ball 
 had closed, a complete success for him and for the glory of 
 his house. 
 
164 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Ah I then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
 And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress; 
 And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
 Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness." 
 
 The quotation is exceedingly apposite as a heading to this 
 chapter, albeit the application is to a different stage of fes- 
 tivities from that given by the author. "The ball in Belgi- 
 um's capital was at its gayest season when "the cannon's 
 opening roar " was first heard ; whereas the ball at Diller's 
 Tavern, Montgomery Village, was over before the great com- 
 motion began. But in both cases there was " hurrying to 
 and fro, and gathering tears, and tremblings of distress; " and, 
 if the cheeks present at Diller's tavern did not blush at their 
 own praise, it was only because they received it as their hon- 
 est due, and had no occasion to blush at the fibbing of their 
 adorers. In this instance, however, the blushing, if there 
 were any, was rather at the praise of their babies than of 
 themselves ; for old Joe had told every mother, as he handed 
 somebody's else baby to her, that it was by far the finest and 
 prettiest child at the ball, and just like its mother. And 
 there was this other difference, among many more, between 
 the beauties of Montgomery and those of Belgium's capital : 
 those were in a state of consternation and fear because of 
 the dread Napoleon, who was advancing; these were in a 
 state of anxiety and vexation because of Joe Pumpagin, 
 who was retreating as fast as his two legs and a stout stick 
 could carry him. 
 
 But we must follow the people to their homes if we would 
 know how they discovered the shameful trick that had been 
 played upon them, and the way they bore themselves under 
 the great tribulation. 
 
 And first we will accompany Thomas Homer and his wife, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 165 
 
 who lived, as we have before said, about two miles from the 
 village. Their child, which was their first-born, and was only- 
 three months old at the time, had been sleeping without dis- 
 turbance, except the gentle han dling which Joe had given it, 
 for an hour before it was taken up to be carried home. The 
 child of Isaac Crooker had been sleeping quietly ever since 
 Joe had metamorphosed and placed it in the corner belonging 
 to the young Homer. This child was some two or three 
 months older than the other ; and it was this one that Joe 
 took up so carefully, and carried down to the door, in the 
 very sight and presence of unsuspecting Dorcas Homer. 
 " Isn't he a bouncer? " said he, gently tossing him in his arms. 
 "What is his name?" — "We haven't named him yet," re- 
 plied his mother. "Well, then, let me name him," said Joe, 
 holding the child in one arm, while with the other he helped 
 her into the sleigh. " 'Tis the only child in the lot I care to 
 name. I tell you what," said he, sinking his voice to a whis- 
 per : " it is the finest baby I ever saw ; and, you know, I have 
 been a great traveller. Name him for me, and I will give 
 him a cow." — " It is a bargain, " said she, as Thomas took 
 his seat and drove off. 
 
 They had hardly started from the house, when young Joe 
 Pumpagin, just named, began to make a loud outcry, which 
 the proud and happy mother found means very soon to sup- 
 press. " Say what they will," said she, " about old Joe : he 
 knows more about* babies than any man I know of. Isn't 
 he kind to give baby a cow for calling him Joseph?" — 
 " Humph ! " exclaimed her husband, not quite sure of the re- 
 ward, never having known of his paying a dollar to anybody. 
 But the artful Joe had so smothered his promises with words 
 of flattery, that the fond mother had not thought of that, and 
 was chatting away to her darling, calling him Joe, pretty 
 Joe, Josey have a cow, — mooly cow. "Thomas," said she 
 suddenly, " this boy's teething ! " — " Nonsense ! " said her 
 husband : " he is not three months old yet." — " He has cer- 
 tainly got a tooth," said she more positively. " Mr. Pumpa- 
 gin said he was a very remarkable child. I told you he knew 
 all about babies." The conversation here fell off into com- 
 monplace topics — about the ball, about the bride, and about 
 Mrs. Gomery — until they reached home. 
 
 This couple lived alone, having neither man nor maid ser- 
 vant ; and, as thieves were little feared in those days, they 
 
166 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 had gone off and left the doors unlocked. They drove up 
 to the door ; and Thomas, having assisted his wife and little 
 Joe into the house, drove to the barn, put up the horse, 
 and fed the cattle, as he thought very likely it would other- 
 wise be late before they got their regular morning feed. In 
 fact, it did not lack more than an hour of the usual time for 
 it already. While he was attending to these duties, his wife 
 had gone into the house : and, laying young Josey on the 
 bed, she struck a light, and began to build a fire ; for her feet 
 had become benumbed and cold, and she did not care to go 
 to bed till she had warmed them. The fire was soon blazing ; 
 and, when her husband came in, the two sat before the large 
 fireplace, and warmed their toes in the coseyest manner possi- 
 ble, resuming, in the mean while, the talk about the ball. 
 Then she went and brought out little Joe ; and, as she did 
 so, she exclaimed, " This boy is awful heavy, or else I am aw- 
 ful tired." She sat down, with the full light of the candle 
 and of the fire shining in his face. 
 
 " How strange he looks ! " said she, turning to her husband. 
 
 " Good God! " cried he. " Strange ! I guess he does : that 
 ain't our baby ! " 
 
 " So it isn't," said she, giving a scream, and nearly letting 
 the child fall. Then she began to cry ; and though the child, 
 unused to such parental demonstrations, began to assert his 
 right to be heard, she threw it contemptuously into the cra- 
 dle, and commenced wringing her hands, and crying out, " Oh, 
 my boy, my poor boy, my darling baby boy ! He is lost ! I 
 know he is lost ! Some pirates came and stole him away ! 
 Oh, dear ! 
 
 " No, they haven't, either," said Thomas. " It is nothing 
 but a trick of that old vagabond, Joe Pumpagin. He has 
 given you the wrong baby, and given ours to somebody else. 
 Perhaps this is little Walter Gomery." 
 
 " No, 'tisn't, either ! it is Ruth Crooker's. It is just such a 
 hateful little thing as hers. I shall pisen it if it stays in the 
 house here ; I know I shall ! Oh, that vile old Joe ! " 
 
 " The wretch ! " said Thomas, clinching his fist, and walk- 
 ing up and down the room. " I will go right down to the 
 tavern, and break every bone in his body; I'll kill him; 
 I'll maul him ; I'll beat him ; I'll chaw him up. But there is 
 no time to lose. Get the brat ready, and I will bring out the 
 horse again." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 167 
 
 So, without stopping to put on his overcoat, he rushed out ; 
 and, more quickly than ever before, the old horse was har- 
 nessed to the sleigh, and driven up to the door. His wife, in 
 the mean while, had thrown on her shawl, cloak, and bonnet, 
 muttering all sorts of invectives against that hateful Old Joe, 
 and the innocent child lying in the cradle. There was not a 
 word now for darling little Josey. The cow-prospect was 
 suddenly eclipsed. 
 
 But she caught up the child, so innocently offensive to 
 her eyes, when she heard the bells at the door, and ran out, 
 and jumped into the sleigh. With neither overcoat nor 
 mittens, Homer stood up in the sleigh, and hit the old horse 
 a smart cut across his hind-quarters ; at which he sprang for- 
 ward so briskly, that, in turning into the road, he came very 
 near upsetting the sleigh, and emptying its contents into the 
 road. But no sooner was he in the open way, with a smooth 
 road before him, than his excited driver plied the whip again 
 and again ; and the old horse laid back his ears and nose like 
 a thorough-bred. Better time was never made in that part 
 of the country than was made by this old farm-horse between 
 his owner's house and the tavern. The few stragglers who 
 had been to take their ladies to their homes, and were return- 
 ing to their own domiciles, when they saw Thomas Homer, in 
 the clear moonlight, drive past them so furiously, standing up 
 in his sleigh, and every minute giving the old horse another 
 blow, while his wife sat crouching, with the child in her 
 arms, upon the seat, were a thousand times more astonished 
 than were the witnesses of the famous race of John Gilpin. 
 
 By the time he reached the door of the Eagle, all was 
 silent about the house and stable. Not a soul was stirring. 
 The lights were all out. Little Diller and his wife, weary 
 and exhausted, though very happy at the success of the ball, 
 having seen every thing safely disposed, and the doors shut 
 and bolted, had retired, and were both in their first sleep, 
 when they were awakened by a tremendous knocking at the 
 door, and a voice crying, "Mr. Diller, get up ! here is a mis- 
 take ! We've got the wrong baby ! " The little man hopped 
 out of bed, and looked out where the moon was still shining as 
 clear as ever. He raised the window, and called out, " Who's 
 there?" 
 
 " It's me," answered a voice, — " me, Tom Homer. There 
 is a great accident has happened ! We've got the wrong 
 
168 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 baby ! Do you know who's got our baby? That old rascal, 
 Joe Purapagin, changed 'em. Where is he? I'll kill him! 
 I'll break every bone in his body ! I certainly will." 
 
 " Hold on a bit, and I'll come down," said Diller, closing 
 the window. His wife, having heard the conversation, at 
 once perceived, that, tired as she was, she must get up ; and, 
 with great good nature, this worthy couple hastily dressed 
 themselves. Descending into the entry-hall, the landlord 
 opened the front-door, and asked the untimely visitors to 
 come into the house. Thomas helped his wife over the slip- 
 pery way from the sleigh to the door, taking the child 
 in his own arms. They then entered the house, and were 
 shown to the guests' parlor. 
 
 " What does all this mean ? " said Diller. 
 
 " Mean ! " said Homer. " It means that we have got the 
 wrong baby." 
 
 "Whose baby have you got?" 
 
 " I don't know whose it is, " said the woman, crying spite- 
 fully through her tears. "It is such an ugly little brat, I 
 think it is Ruth Crooker's. Just look at the little goose! 
 Not a bit like mine ! Mr. Pump " — She was going to 
 say that Mr. Pumpagin had called hers the finest baby at the 
 ball; but reflecting that, under all the circumstances, Mr. 
 Pumpagin's testimony in the case would not be of great 
 value, she checked herself. 
 
 Now, Ruth, the wife of Isaac Crooker, had long been the 
 mortal enemy of Dorcas Harrison. They grew up hating 
 each other as jealous rivals. Dorcas, when she first saw that 
 Isaac was showing partiality to Ruth, employed all her arts 
 and devices to win him to herself, but she failed completely; 
 and, when Tom Homer began to show her particular atten- 
 tion, her kindly acts were fully reciprocated by Ruth, who 
 more than hinted to him that she cared little for Crooker, 
 and that, if he would only say the word, she would send him 
 packing. The truth was, each would have been a little bet- 
 ter pleased originally had the other's husband fallen to her 
 lot. But it was not so to be : hence they came in good time 
 to hate not only each other, but each other's husband, and all 
 that belonged to him. Hence the idea in the mind of Dor- 
 cas, that she had had the child of her hated rival and enemy 
 in her arms for so long a time, and had actually given it the 
 nourishment that Nature designed for her own precious dar- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 169 
 
 ling, made her mad enough to strangle the child then and 
 there, — the darling Josey. But when she thought that her 
 own sweet bahy was probably at that moment in the arms 
 of the murdering Ruth, perhaps imbibing the fatal poison of 
 the rival blood, which, if not potent to destroy life, was yet 
 sure to contaminate the system and make a reprobate of him, 
 at least a thief, she could contain herself no longer, but 
 screamed and cried, and tore her hair, so as to alarm little 
 Diller ; and even her husband was afraid of consequences. 
 
 Good Mrs. Diller, who had come into the room in time to 
 witness the latter part of this scene, with her ready tact at 
 once invented a harmless story to calm the storm now raging 
 furiously. Looking at the child which her husband had been 
 obliged to take, as both Homer and his wife seemed to loathe 
 it, she said, "No, it ain't Ruth Crooker's baby, neither. It 
 is Walter Gomery ; and I guess nobody needn't be afraid of 
 nussing any Gomery baby." 
 
 " Is it a Gomery ? " said she eagerly. " I thought it was 
 too pretty for a Crooker." 
 
 "Hush, hush ! " said her husband, who saw how ridiculous 
 she was making herself. " Shall we call him little Josey?" 
 
 "Well, it is no great matter if it is Squire Gomery's child. 
 Come, Thomas, let us go up to the Pivot, and get ours; back, 
 and let Mrs. Gomery have hers before she finds out the mis- 
 take. They look so much alike, perhaps she won't notice 
 the exchange." 
 
 Diller and his wife, and even Tom Homer, smiled when 
 they saw the mother's vanity showing itself under such try- 
 ing circumstances in such contradictions. If it were Mrs. 
 Gomery's child, then it was a beauty, and wonderfully like 
 her own ; but, if Ruth Crooker's, then it was a hateful, ugly 
 thing, and offensive to the sight. ,; 
 
 Mrs. Diller knew well enough that the child was Ruth 
 Crooker's; but her quick wit readily suggested a way to 
 lessen the difficulty of the situation. She said — as it was 
 barely possible that it might be the child of Lewis Hinson 
 of Tivernet, though she knew it was not Ruth Crooker's — 
 it would be best to leave it there, and go up to the Pivot, 
 and ascertain if there was any mistake up there, and, if so, 
 get her own precious. "What's his name?" 
 
 "Joe," said Homer dryly. 
 
 15 
 
170 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 " Satan ! " snapped out his wife, vexed with him, but more 
 vexed with herself. 
 
 They assented to the proposition, however, and, leaving 
 the child with Mrs. Diller, had no sooner driven off in the 
 direction of the Pivot than the cunning woman threw a 
 cloak over her shoulders, and, taking the disowned child in 
 her arms, ran over to Isaac Crooker's, which, fortunately, was 
 close by. The daylight was now disputing the reign of the 
 moon; and, as she approached the house, she saw a light 
 moving about as if something unusual had occurred. 
 
 She knocked at the door ; which was quickly opened by 
 Isaac, looking excited and troubled. " Here is your baby ! " 
 said she, giving it to him. He caught it eagerly, and ran 
 into his wife's bedroom, where she was endeavoring to dress 
 herself; but, having learned the mistake about two minutes 
 before, was in such a state of excitement that she had got 
 her gown on hind side before, forgetful, at the moment, of a 
 recent incident that rendered that style of dress inconvenient. 
 Isaac had an old-maid sister, who lived with him, — a staid, 
 thrifty woman, who had not been to the ball, and who, hav- 
 ing got up early and built the fire, brought the baby out to 
 still its crying. She saw at once it was not her brother's 
 child, and, running to the door of his bedroom, gave the 
 startling information. Quicker than his wont, he was out of 
 bed and in his pantaloons and the pumps he had worn to the 
 ball the night before. In this toilet he met the landlord's 
 wife as she opened the door. The other child was in the 
 arms of the maiden sister, who was regarding it very much 
 as it might be supposed a hen would regard a young owl 
 hatched among her chickens. Isaac rushed into the bedroom, 
 carrying the child ; and, when the mother saw it, she clasped 
 it convulsively, and smothered it with kisses. After fondling 
 it a while, she laid it on the bed, and changed her dress to the 
 right side before. Kind-hearted Mrs. Diller took the other 
 child from the astonished spinster; and to the question, 
 " Whose child is it ? " she only answered, " It isn't yours," and 
 hurried out of the house, and homewards, without heeding 
 the reply of the indignant maid, who was almost as much 
 scandalized as if the answer had been the reverse of what it 
 was. 
 
 She returned to the house, and, going into her own room, 
 laid the child in her own bed, and proceeded to complete her 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 171 
 
 toilet, that had been slighted when she first arose. It was 
 not long before she heard bells at the dobr ; and directly she 
 recognized the ejaculations of Tom Homer and his wife, the 
 latter now more furious than ever. She had not been very 
 graciously received at the lawyer's ; for Mrs. Gomery, when 
 awakened by the servant, and told the object of this early 
 visit, was very indignant, and sent back word that the Gomerys 
 and Mackenzies were never mistaken for other people. The 
 servant softened the message returned, so that poor Dorcas 
 still had her doubts, and insisted on seeing the child that 
 Mrs. Gomery had brought home. This request being com- 
 municated to Mrs. Gomery, the flames of offended pride that 
 had been smothered for many years ' — ever since the scene 
 with Eliza Thurston — broke out with terrible fury. Hastily 
 dressing herself, she went into the family kitchen, where a 
 good fire was burning, and the servant was staring in stupid 
 wonderment, first at Homer, who stood hat in hand, and then 
 at the pretty, spiteful little virago at his side. Aunt Hannah, 
 or Goody Wales, stood looking on in wonder. This old lady, 
 with her husband Tench, had gone up to the Pivot on the 
 evening before ; and as Mrs. Gomery was going to the ball, 
 and must take her faithful Prudence with her, Aunt Hannah 
 was prevailed on to stop till morning, and serve in the dou- 
 ble capacity of housekeeper and watchman. 
 
 No sooner did the wretched, anxious mother cast her eyes 
 on Mrs. Gomery than she began, " Oh ! we have lost our 
 baby. We carried away the wrong one from the ball : that 
 wicked old Joe Pumpagin changed them, and somebody else 
 took our sweet darling, that had never got a name ; and I 
 thought it must surely be up here, for it looked so much like 
 your little Walter." 
 
 " What ! " said the proud woman, drawing herself up in 
 indignation, her eyes flashing fire. " Your child look like 
 mine ! — look like a Gomery ! Prudence, bring out Walter ! " 
 The waiting-woman left, and directly returned with the child 
 in her arms. 
 
 " Look at that, you impudent thing ! Do you pretend to 
 compare your sniffling young one to that ? See the forehead, 
 the eyes, the mouth! There is more character in those big, 
 close-set, firm lips than in all the Homers ever born since the 
 old blind one peddled songs for a living ! " Whew ! here 
 was an exhibition of pride and self-importance, — a conceited 
 
172 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 woman flying in a passion because her boy was compared to 
 a Homer; for an old Homer, she had heard, had begged his^ 
 bread through seven cities ! Probably she had not read the 
 " Odyssey " in the original. 
 
 Poor Dorcas could not oppose a word, nor stand an instant, 
 against this withering scorn, but, bursting into tears, meekly 
 retired more miserable than ever. Mrs. Gomery repented of 
 her harsh words as soon as uttered; for who could blame this 
 breaking heart ? She followed the stricken soul out of doors, 
 and told her she did not mean any thing unkind, and 
 attempted to console her. But the poor crushed spirit never 
 heeded her. She sobbed as if her last hope were gone; 
 and Aunt Hannah Wales remarked at the cruel words, as 
 the sleigh drove away, "When your heart is breaking in 
 anxiety for your boy, you will remember this." 
 
 At these words, Mrs. Gomery started back. The blood 
 fled from her flushed cheeks, and they turned pale and white 
 as the snow at her feet. She stood unmoved as a statue for 
 a few moments, as if there had been a power in the words to 
 transform her. " Your heart breaking in anxiety for your 
 boy" continued ringing in her ears after Homer and his wife 
 had passed out of her sight. "Anxiety for my boy," said 
 she half aloud. Then she gave a sort of hollow laugh ; and, 
 at the instant, Prudence was at her side, who, as she looked 
 in her mistress's face, was startled at the strange, wild look it 
 presented. " You will catch your death a cold," said she, 
 taking her by the arm : " let us go in ! " The proud woman 
 suffered herself to be led passively into the house. She sat 
 down by the fire, and it seemed to her that the words spoken 
 by Aunt Hannah Wales had a dreadful portent. It had never 
 occurred to her before as one of the things possible, that 
 either of her children could ever give occasion for heart- 
 breaking anxiety. Was not her husband, of all men, the 
 noblest, most honorable and sagacious? Was not she the 
 daughter of the good, just, and eminent Judge Macken- 
 zie, of whom all people said he was not only the most impar- 
 tial of judges, but the best of men ? Had they not implanted 
 in the minds of all their children the most exalted ideas of 
 virtue and industry? and would they not do the same by 
 this one, the youngest, now asleep in the cradle ? How, then, 
 could those words ever come true ? 
 
 " What are you thinking about ? " said Prudence, observ- 
 ing the still abstracted manner of her mistress. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 173 
 
 " I was thinking if it were possible that sorrow and grief 
 could be the lot of those who are brought up in the way of 
 truth and virtue." 
 
 " We read of One that was without sin, and yet wicked 
 men put him to death." 
 
 "We do, indeed," said Mrs. Gomery; and now, for the 
 first time during the twenty years she had lived with her, the 
 faithful Prudence saw the tears flowing freely down her 
 cheeks. • 
 
 When Mrs. Diller entered the room with the right baby, 
 there was a scene, it may well be believed. But it was a 
 scene I have no taste for describing. I would not do it if 
 my pen had a diamond point, and would cut through the 
 film of word-description, and present it, as in a mirror, to 
 the bodily sight. It must suffice that the child was found, 
 and the father and mother left with it for their home. 
 
 This was only one of the several denouemetits of the dia- 
 bolically clever plot of Old Joe. The others were some of 
 them so ridiculous, that I approach the narrative with a cau- 
 tious pen. By telling so much of this singular story, I have 
 got into serious danger : I must tell the whole tale, and 
 what came of it. Let my reader imagine the difficulty of 
 narrating, without offending the fastidious, severe taste of any, 
 how the discoveries were effected which he already foresees 
 must soon be made. How is it possible to relate the manner 
 in which one fond mother discovered in the morning that a 
 metamorphosis had taken place in the night, and the boy of 
 yesterday was changed into a girl ? My vagrant pen has led 
 me into this quite against my will. It has much to answer 
 for. 
 
 Among the attendants at the ball, we have already seen, 
 were several couples from the neighboring towns of Tiver- 
 net and Bridgeville, which were situate in nearly opposite 
 directions from Montgomery. From each of these places 
 one couple had come, bringing one of the doomed infants. 
 In one case the husband, and in the other the wife, was a 
 native of Montgomery ; and both couples had eaten their 
 Thanksgiving-dinner in town with their parents. Unfortu- 
 nately, these two babies had been exchanged, the one for the 
 other, by the remorseless Joe; and what made the act more 
 atrocious still, was the fact that one was a boy, and the other 
 
 15* 
 
174 G0MERY OJF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 a girl. The latter was the offspring of Reuben Chandler, 
 who had married Emeline Spinney, the daughter of the 
 doubter, a year and a half before, and taken her to his home 
 in the village of Bridgeville, where he was doing a thriving 
 business, — selling coffee, tea, molasses, teacups, pepper, gin- 
 ger, new rum, tobacco, and the usual groceries, gimcracks, 
 and kickshaws that make up the assortment of a small 
 country store. The other was the child of Josiah Gibson, a 
 native of Montgomery, and son of» Levi Gibson, who lived 
 in the village, and carried on the business of tanner and cur- 
 rier. His son had learned his father's trade, and had com- 
 menced the same business in Tivernet. 
 
 Reuben and his wife did not reach home till near day- 
 light ; and then both of them were so sleepy and exhausted, 
 that, as soon as they could warm their feet at the large pile 
 of smouldering embers in the fireplace, they retired ; and the 
 baby was scarcely looked at by the weary mother, who 
 placed it in bed by the side of her servant-girl, a poor, sim- 
 ple-minded pauper about fourteen years old, whose scope 
 of mind will appear from the physiological and scientific 
 discoveries about to be made. 
 
 It was seven o'clock in the morning, and the sun was just 
 rising, when this girl, whose name was Adeline, was called to, 
 from the sleeping-room of her master and mistress, to get up 
 and build the fire. She, too, had been to a Thanksgiving- 
 party of young folks the night before, and had,, played 
 " Hunt the Squirrel," " Puss in the Corner," " Button, Button, 
 who's got the Button ? " and other games, till it was past her 
 usual bed-time. So she was oversleeping herself; and, when 
 she heard the master call, she hastily dressed herself, and 
 soon had a roaring fire in the kitchen. She then brought 
 out the baby, who was squalling lustily ; and her mistress 
 called out to her to change its clothes, and carry it to her. 
 
 " Why, baby, how your hair has growed ! " said she : " how 
 funny! when muzzer trimmed it so pooty yesterday; and 
 what a funny little nosey ! Ah, it is a boy ! " exclaimed she 
 in astonishment : " who'd a thought a girl would grow into a 
 boy in one night ? Well, I never ! I guess Master Reuben 
 will be proper glad; for he said he wished it had been a 
 boy." So, in her glee, she ran to the door, and called out to 
 the parents that the baby wasn't " a girl no more, but a boy, 
 and so pooty ! " 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 175 
 
 I pass over the next half-hour at this house. 
 
 At the end of this time, a conclave of neighbors have 
 assembled, and are consulting over the extraordinary event. 
 Poor Emeline was vexed that she had not shown more ma- 
 ternal sagacity than to have brought another woman's child 
 so far, and kept it so long, without discovering the mistake. 
 She recollected the super-serviceable conduct of Joe Pum- 
 pagin the night before ; and it was clear to her, that when 
 he was flattering her wfth soft words, telling her that hers 
 was the finest baby at the ball, and looked just like its moth- 
 er ; and begging her to name it Nancy, after a dear sister of 
 his that died in the poor-house ; and promising to give it a 
 present, at its next birthday, of ten and sixpence or two dol- 
 lars (enough to buy two sheep, that, being put out, would 
 increase to a nice little flock by the time she, was old enough 
 to get married, which would be a nice thing for her husband) ; 
 and she had half promised to call the child Nancy, — it 
 was clear to her he was, at the very time, carrying out his 
 horrid treachery. The whole story was told to the assembled 
 neighbors. All sympathized with the afflicted parents ; but, 
 while some accepted their explanation, others regarded it in 
 a different light. 
 
 " It is a mericle," said Deacon Stover, — "a mericle, and is 
 marvellous in our eyes." 
 
 " A fiddlestick ! " exclaimed the indignant mother. " Don't 
 you see it ain't our baby at all ? Whose is it ? Oh ! it must 
 be Squire Gomery's wife's, for I couldn't mistake nobody 
 else's baby for mine ; and as she left before we did, seem' 
 as how they are so much alike, she probably took lit- 
 tle"— 
 
 " Nancy," suggested Deacon Stover. 
 
 "It ain't Nancy, nuther.. It's Harriet. Goin' to the ball, 
 Reuben and I agreed to call it Harriet, after his sister who 
 died, when she was four years old, of the canker-rash." 
 
 "But it's a boy; and my 'pinion is, that it is the same 
 child, and has been changed by a mericle." 
 
 " It ain*t a bit like mine." 
 
 " No, if it's a Gomery it ain't, I am sure," said Stover, who 
 was yet firm in the belief that it was her own child. 
 
 There was one other person besides Deacon Stover who 
 maintained it was the same baby, and had been metamor- 
 phosed by some strange process not understood except by 
 
176 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 the doctors. This was Silas Johnson, a house-carpenter, who 
 took the deacon aside, and told him he was going over to 
 Montgomery that morning, and, if he would go with him, 
 they would call on Dr. Purkitt, and get his opinion on the 
 case. " Perhaps," said Johnson, " he could change it back, 
 and make it the same as before." 
 
 The deacon assented ; and, as soon as Johnson could get 
 his horse and sleigh ready, the two men, in pursuit of knowl- 
 edge under strange circumstances, set forth to consult the 
 learned doctor. 
 
 They were followed soon after by Reuben and his wife 
 with the child. The latter party went directly to Diller's 
 Tavern, as the place where they would be most likely to hear 
 of lost heirs. They were naturally anxious to recover their 
 own lost treasure ; but, perceiving and appreciating the trick 
 that had been played upon them, they did not doubt but it 
 would be well taken care of in the same manner as they 
 had taken care of the unknown one. They drove up to the 
 tavern, around which, thus early, was collected a considera- 
 ble crowd ; for by this time the story of Old Joe's pranks 
 was known at every house within a radius of two miles 
 from the village. There was much curiosity manifested by 
 the crowd, when the sleigh drove up, to know if the child 
 of Josiah Gibson of Tivernet had been brought back. Josiah 
 and his wife had arrived about twenty minutes before ; and 
 when no one present could give any information regarding 
 his missing boy-baby, and no one was present to claim the 
 girl he had brought back, Reuben and his wife entered the 
 parlor of the Eagle, the latter carrying the child, that was now 
 quietly asleep. They saw the room full of the women of the 
 village, all looking serious and sad as if at a funeral. Josiah 
 Gibson sat near the fire, holding their child in his arms, while 
 his wife sat sobbing beside him. As soon as she saw Emeline, 
 having a child in her arms, enter, she rushed towards her; 
 and, finding it was indeed her own darling, she clutched it 
 from her, and ran away to the corner of the room, and 
 hugged and kissed it till the baby roared out an infantile 
 protest. Emeline also caught up her own baby ; and, though 
 less demonstrative, the tears in her eyes told of a mother's 
 joy. All the other changes had been made before, as the 
 parties lived near the village ; and being familiar with each 
 other, and all the children of the neighborhood, the anxious 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 177 
 
 parents, on finding whose child had been substituted for 
 their own, exchanged with comparatively little emotion 
 or excitement. No one among these thrifty people thought 
 of requiring boot when asked to trade back, — a thing never 
 known before in any trade in that part of the country. 
 
 Silas Johnson and Deacon Stover, instead of going to the 
 tavern, as everybody else did, for a solution of the mystery, 
 went directly to the house of Dr. Purkitt; and I should be 
 guilty of infidelity to the truth of vital history if I did not 
 here give a full and faithful account of the interview that 
 took place between these three philosophers. 
 
 They entered the house of the learned physician, each one 
 of them with so serious a look, that the doctor's wife had no 
 doubt they had come with the mournful story that a patient 
 had died, and his services would be no longer needed. They 
 were at once shown into the presence of the wise man ; 
 when, without stopping for preliminaries, Silas began in a 
 manner all his own, making that use of the English lan- 
 guage which had given him a celebrity in that part of the 
 country as the mortal foe of Dr. Johnson and Noah Web- 
 ster. 
 
 " Doctor," said he, " we come to you on an affair of great 
 approbation, and puny importance, and auspicious difference. 
 It is not any thing affecting our fiscal health ; and we don't 
 want to pay for't. But as friends of science and religion, 
 anc 1 men of function and good moral obligations, and fathers 
 of families, we want to ask your advice and opinions ; and 
 if, at the same time, you could tell me what to do for my 
 oldest boy, that is poorly, and not charge nothing for it, 
 Deacon Stover says you will get paid in that kingdom where 
 neither thieves nor rust doth corrupt, nor moths break 
 through and steal, 'specially if you tell him also how to cure 
 his wife's cough." 
 
 "Well, well," said the doctor, who, sitting in his little 
 dingy room which he called his office, was reading at the 
 moment of their entrance, spectacles on nose, the "Adventures 
 of Peter Wilkins," — " well, well, tell us all about it." 
 
 Doctor Purkitt was a man of sixty, portly and bald ; and 
 partly from fear of medicine, and more from ignorance of it, 
 had never given but little to his patients, and hence had been 
 wonderfully successful as a practitioner. His face was a liv- 
 ing contradiction j for no man could be so wise as he looked. 
 
178 G0MERY OP MONTGOMERY I 
 
 Pushing back the spectacles on his ample forehead, he sat 
 squarely before the fire, a hand on each knee. His teeth 
 were so set as to give his lips their appearance of greatest 
 wisdom ; which, even when shut, seemed to say, that, as 
 soon as opened, words of weight and wisdom must come 
 forth. The two callers did not doubt that the knotty ques- 
 tion they had to submit to him would be solved without 
 hesitation. 
 
 During the drive from Bridge ville to Montgomery, John- 
 son and Stover had discussed with characteristic language 
 and logic the remarkable event that had occurred. Both 
 believed that a boy had been metamorphosed into a girl. 
 The latter thought it "a mericle ;" but Johnson said "mericles 
 did not happen in these wicked and ungenerate times; 
 and if it is a mericle," added he, " what is the use of going 
 to see Dr. Purkitt about it? He don't know nothin' about 
 mericles. He don't never cure nobody by power of 
 grace, but is always givin' pills and rhubarb and calomel. 
 He knows an awful sight about them things. I have heard 
 him talk of medicine and mattery medicum, so that I 
 couldn't understand a thing about it; and you know I'm not 
 a niggorant man. I have read a great deal ; and if I don't 
 misremember, in some of the books of unheard-of countries 
 that I have examined, such things are said to be quite com- 
 mon, and in the nat'ral course." Both of them being thus 
 convinced that the child they had seen in Reuben Chand- 
 ler's house was his own, and had been changed from a boy 
 to a girl, it was not thought necessary, in stating the case 
 to Galen, to make any allusion to the ball, or to the possibil- 
 ity that an exchange had there been made. The mother's 
 indignant rebuke of such a suggestion was not mentioned. 
 
 "A most remarkable case," said the deacon, — "a mericle, 
 probably ; though Mr. Johnson says such things is common in 
 some countries." 
 
 " Well," says the doctor, " what is it ? " 
 
 " You know Reuben Chandler, that married Emeline Spin- 
 ney?" 
 
 "Yes: I was out there when their child was born." 
 
 "It is the same child! You remember it was a girl?" 
 
 " Yes, I believe so ; but I a'most forget, I have so many of 
 these things." 
 
 " Yes, it was a girl last night ; and this mornin', when they 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 179 
 
 took it up to dress it, it was a boy. It had been changed in 
 the night. Ain't it a mericle ? " 
 
 Doctor Purkitt was never known to be taken by surprise. 
 Whatever the case might be, he assumed and appeared to 
 know all about it. A case like this, the facts being unques- 
 tioned, would have astonished most men. Not so Dr. Purkitt. 
 If he had not seen, he had always read of, similar cases to 
 those submitted to him, and poured a flood of light on them 
 that so dazzled the listeners, that they at once knew it was 
 because of their own ignorance that they could not understand 
 all about it. His first reply was one that would have done 
 no discredit to Mr. Bunsby ; for he said, " It was a case ac- 
 cording to the laws of Nature, or else it was of a supernatu- 
 ral character." 
 
 " It couldn't happen unless it was a mericle," said Stover. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! such things have been known before, but very 
 rarely. In fact, I have never known of more than two or three 
 cases of the kind in all my practice, now going on for more 
 than thirty years." 
 
 " Then it is not a mericle ? " 
 
 "Oh, no! such things do happen. I have read a good 
 deal about them in the books. You say the girl was changed 
 to a boy?" 
 
 " Yes : it was a girl last night, and a boy this morning." 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course : these changes are all that way. 
 But boys never change to girls, in the course of nature. 
 Had it been that way, I should certainly have allowed it was 
 a miracle. But this is a mere odd occurrence, a freak of Na- 
 ture ; or, as we say in Latin, a lusus natures." 
 
 " I thought likely that was it," said Johnson. "I told the 
 deacon, comin' down, you would have some Latin or science 
 to make it all clear to us. A Lucy Natury ? I s'pose it was 
 called so because Lucy was changed to Nat, some time: 
 wasn't it, doctor?" 
 
 " Perhaps so," said the doctor, not caring to be drawn into 
 a philological explanation. 
 
 They had got thus far in the elucidation of the subject, 
 when the door opened, and in came Levi Gibson, father of 
 Josiah, who, having just heard of the trick that had been 
 played on his son and grandson, was in a very bad humor 
 with the world in general, while another incident had put 
 him in a bad temper with the doctor in particular. Enter- 
 
180 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 ing the doctor's sanctum with a brusk, excited manner, he 
 scarcely noticed the Bridgeville people, but at once broke 
 forth : — 
 
 " Well, well, this is a pretty go ! My son Josiah's baby 
 was changed last night." 
 
 " Changed ! " exclaimed the doctor. " Very singular ! 
 We were just talking about such a case up at Bridgeville. 
 I have known such cases before in my practice. Of course, 
 it was a girl changed to a boy." 
 
 " No : it was a boy, and now it is a girl." 
 
 " Very singular ! — the only similar case I ever heard of 
 since the time of Tiresias, as related by Sydenham, vol. iii. 
 page 191. The case of Tiresias is well authenticated. He 
 was changed back and forth from a man to a woman, and 
 from a woman to a man, several times. You will find it laid 
 down in all the old books, which are much more reliable than 
 those of later times. Galen, I think, mentions other instances 
 of such changes." 
 
 " Changes ! what do you mean ? My son's boy was changed 
 at the ball last night by that rascal, Joe Pumpagin : so he car- 
 ried home the wrong one. You didn't think I was such a 
 fool as to suppose there was any other change, did you ? " 
 
 " Mr. Gibson, your remark is a reflection on my profes- 
 sional knowledge and character." 
 
 Gibson was a testy, fiery-tempered man, and in particularly 
 bad humor this morning ; besides which, I am sorry to say, 
 he had verv little respect for the pompous ways and words 
 of Dr. Purkitt. 
 
 " I always knew you were a pot-bellied old fool and pre- 
 tender, that knew as much of medicine as my dog knows of 
 law, or my horse of divinity; but I did not think you such an 
 ass as to suppose my grandson could be changed into a girl." 
 
 If a scowl could have withered Gibson, he would have 
 been calcined on the spot ; but, as it couldn't, he continued : 
 " I come to pay you for them pills you sent up to my daugh- 
 ter. Powerful pills ! one a day, no more ; for they were very 
 powerful ! She took them for a week, and got worse all the 
 time ; and this morning her little boy, three years old, got 
 hold of the box, ate the whole on 'em at once, and they 
 hain't hurt him any. How much for them pills ? I want to 
 pay you." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 181 
 
 " Leave my house ! " roared the doctor, who had been so 
 choked with rage, that, until now, he could not speak. 
 
 Gibson threw down two coppers to show his appreciation 
 of the doctor's medicines ; and, with the deacon and Silas 
 Johnson, left, and went over to the tavern. 
 
 There the conduct of Old Joe was the subject of conversa- 
 tion among all. Those who had not been sufferers laughed 
 at the joke ; but some of the others were violent and angry. 
 All the soft nonsense he had talked to the beguiled and de- 
 ceived mothers was repeated. Tom Homer, after taking his 
 wife and the right baby home, had returned on purpose to 
 wreak his vengeance on Old Joe ; and the foolish fellow, in 
 his wrath, told how the smooth-tongued villain had promised 
 to give his boy a cow if they would only call him Joseph, 
 and the rascal never had a cow, nor a dollar to buy one with. 
 " He is a swindler," said he ; " and we must go right up to 
 Square Gomery's, and get a warrant, and send the sheriff 
 after him." Lewis Hinson said, " He had cheated his wife the 
 same way, and promised, if they wouldn't call their boy Roger 
 Sherman, as they had determined to do, but Joseph Pumpa- 
 gin, he would leave him five hundred dollars in his will. 
 And while he stood holding the baby, waiting for the sleigh 
 to come up, he told my wife how he had a great estate com- 
 ing to him in a few days. It was in England. Very likely 
 he would be a lord before he died ; for, he said, mighty big 
 fools were lords sometimes." 
 
 By gifts like these, thickly coated with words of flattery of 
 both mothers and children, Joe had got all the mothers of 
 the boys to promise to name their sons Joseph, and the moth- 
 ers of the girls to name their daughters Nancy, after his 
 sister, who had died in the poor-house, and who, had she 
 lived, would have been a great lady, and lived in a castle 
 when he got his estate and became a lord. 
 
 In the midst of this conference, which was held in the 
 large parlor of the tavern, and was participated in by men 
 and women alike, the old family sleigh of Squire Gomery was 
 seen going by ; and Landlord Diller cried out to its occupant, 
 who was the lawyer himself, to call, as his advice was wanted. 
 So the lawyer reined up to the door, and went in ; when there 
 was a fresh narration of the whole affair, " whereof, by par- 
 cels, he had something heard " already. 
 
 The sufferers united in saying that Joe should be pursued 
 
 16 
 
182 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 by the sheriff, and brought back, and tried, and put into the 
 county jail. 
 
 "What shall he be tried for?" asked the squire with 
 great gravity. 
 
 "Burglary," said one. 
 
 "Arson," said another. 
 
 " Getting goods under false pretences," said Reuben Chand- 
 ler. 
 
 " Abduction," said Capt. Tinkham. 
 
 " Yes, seduction," said Silas Johnson. 
 
 " As you have agreed so well on the offence, who is to pay 
 the costs ? " asked the lawyer. " I can't take up the case 
 unless I am paid for it." 
 
 " Get it out of Joe," said Tom Homer. 
 
 " Will you give me a lien on the cow? " inquired the law- 
 yer. " Or perhaps Hinson will give me an interest in the 
 will as a fee ? But then Joe's promise was contingent on the 
 name of the child. Of course, if I take up the case, you 
 will call the boy Joe, — Joe Pumpagin, — else I lose my fee." 
 
 "I'll see him hanged first, and you too!" said Homer. 
 " The old wretch ! He give a cow ! He make a will ! I 
 wonder what he has got to will ! " 
 
 " His good name," said the lawyer ; " and probably he 
 thought he might will that Hinson's child should have five 
 hundred dollars, whether he had a dollar himself or not. 
 You must admit his intentions were good. And then it was 
 kind and thoughtful in him to remember his sister who died 
 in the poor-house. You certainly will not disregard his 
 brotherly affection," said he to Chandler. "You will, of 
 course, name your girl Nancy. Nancy Pumpagin Chandler, 
 — Nancy P. Chandler, — a very pretty name." 
 
 " You hateful old thing ! " screamed out Emeline. " Do 
 you think I would name my child after a pauper ? " 
 
 " But, then, if her brother is a lord ! " 
 
 " Come, let us go," said she to her husband ; and the two 
 left the room in what the squire called high dudgeon, bear- 
 ing away the yet nameless child. 
 
 The idea of pursuing Joe was abandoned; and the injured 
 parents returned to their homes. Those who had escaped 
 Joe's wicked arts remained for some time either at the tav- 
 ern or Caleb Thornton's store, joking and laughing at the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 183 
 
 trick. Before night, Joe was more popular than ever ; and, 
 had he returned that evening, he would have been a hero. 
 But his time went by. He failed to take that tide in his 
 affairs that leads on to fortune ; and, on the next day, every 
 thing was as orderly and quiet as if nothing unusual had 
 occurred. The ordinary humdrum had settled on the place. 
 
184 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 "Desdemona. I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; 
 And to his honors and his valiant parts 
 Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate." — Othello. 
 
 The annual Thanksgiving Day had been the first Thurs- 
 day in December; and, two weeks from the succeeding Sat- 
 urday, the two daughters of Freeborn Gomery returned to 
 their home from the Echester or East Chester (as it had for- 
 merly been called) Academy. In their respective classes, they 
 had fulfilled all of their proud mother's expectations, and car- 
 ried off all the prizes they had seriously contended for. The 
 New England of that day, as the New England of to-day, 
 boasted of many beautiful girls; and as the rule was for all to 
 be healthy, rosy, and fair, the exceptions who excelled the 
 generality were wonderfully fair. And among the excep- 
 tions were still other exceptions, very limited in number, 
 whose exceeding beauty was celebrated throughout the coun- 
 try. The daughters of Freeborn and Jane Gomery were 
 such exceptions. They had been, as we have seen, wild, 
 romping girls at the town-school, and would slide down the 
 steepest hills with the boldest of the boys, and hold a good 
 hand at a snow-balling, nor wince at a frozen shot, or cry out 
 that it was unfair if it struck spank against the ear. Learn- 
 ing with great quickness, and having a mother at home such 
 as no other children of the village had, they were soon so. 
 much in advance of the rest of the school, that they must be 
 sent abroad to complete their education. 
 
 The two sons, besides the young hero Walter, who had so 
 successfully protested against exchange to Joe Pumpagin, 
 were both younger than the sisters; and Theron was the 
 elder of the two by a year and a half. The younger of these, 
 whose name was Wirtimir (where the name came from, I 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 185 
 
 never could learn after much inquiry), usually called Wirt 
 for short, as was said in the vernacular of the times, was, at 
 the period to which we have now arrived, fourteen years 
 of age. The boys were not only younger than the girls in 
 years, but they developed later in life ; so that, when the 
 younger sister was become a belle of seventeen, the elder boy, 
 Theron, was an awkward youth of fifteen and a half, that could 
 not walk up the aisle of the old church without blushing as 
 red as a pippin at the idea that everybody was looking at 
 him and scanning his appearance. In outward semblance, 
 too, the boys took after their father rather than their mo- 
 ther. They were strong, healthy, hardy boys; rough and 
 ready at play, and at their books more apt than eager. 
 " Health is beauty : " but that remark must be qualified and 
 restricted within certain limits ; for when children give the 
 most evidence of health at the time they are growing fast, 
 then they are awkward in manners and uncouth in appear- 
 ance. On the other hand, the sickly, dainty boy or girl that 
 is always ailing, and always petted, never knows the gawki- 
 ness and diffidence of a healthy, modest, and natural transi- 
 tion from childhood to youth or manhood. What is more 
 ungainly or unseemly than a fast-growing boy of fifteen or 
 sixteen, his coat — made a short time before — too small, his 
 pantaloons too short, his beard too unpronounced for the 
 unnatural barbarism of the razor, and too fuzzy and colorless 
 to be clipped as beard or nursed as whiskers? If he wears a 
 coat, it is too old for so young and raw a boy ; if a short 
 jacket, it is too young for such an overgrown stripling. Like 
 Charles Lamb's poor relation, "he is known by his knock, — 
 a rap between familiarity and respect. He entereth smiling 
 and embarrassed. He holdeth out his hand to shake, and 
 drawejih it back again. He is too humble for a friend, yet 
 taketh on him more state than befits a client. His memory 
 is unseasonable, his compliments perverse, his talk a trouble, 
 his stay pertinacious." All this is the'transition youth. He 
 knoweth not, when he speaks, whether he will be rebuffed as 
 presumptuous, or sneered at as diffident. He must at some 
 time pass the fence that separates boyhood from manhood ; 
 but it is odd, that, every day during that unhappy period, he 
 will be reminded by some that he has passed it too soon, 
 and by others that he has too long lagged behind. Thus be- 
 tween fires in front, and fires in the rear, he will be kept in a 
 
 16* 
 
186 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 state of perpetual annoyance and distrust, which must con- 
 tinue till the line is so distinctly cleared that he may assume 
 the boldness of the man, without fear of being snubbed for his 
 presumption. 
 
 With the transition girl it is very different. She passes, as 
 it were, in a single day, from girlhood to womanhood. The 
 period of her embarrassment, and doubt of her position and 
 place, is short; but yet there is to her such a time, when, leav- 
 ing off the playfulness of the child, she assumes the dignity 
 of the lady. She has not learned what to do with her arms, 
 that seem to have grown out of proportion. She can no 
 longer busy them with dolls, or hide her face in her hands, 
 and laugh when spoken to. So, in this growing, developing 
 period, — brief fortunately for her, — she is awkward, embar- 
 rassed, and affected. Surely this health is not beauty. 
 
 Though Freeborn Gomery was a man in easy circumstances, 
 and, for that part of the country, was considered very wealthy, 
 — having no idea that either of his sons would ever be re- 
 quired to earn his bread by manual labor, — yet he put them 
 to work on his farm during their boyhood, to inure and 
 harden them to toil and endurance. They were required to 
 labor as hard and perform as much as the sons of poorer peo- 
 ple whose earnings were needed for their parents' support. 
 The daughters, too, were taught all the arts and secrets of 
 housekeeping; and, ere they were sent to the academy, could 
 bake and brew, and spin and weave. Their mother was in 
 all respects a superior woman, and had the sagacity to see that 
 useful knowledge would not come amiss in any station in life. 
 She had never doubted, as we have seen on two memorable 
 occasions, that her children would all fill leading positions in 
 life, and that, in influence and public regard, they would far 
 surpass those of her two sisters, who had married men of great 
 wealth, and who, at the time she accepted Freeborn Gomery, 
 were astonished and mortified at her choice. Of the daugh- 
 ters of Judge Mackenzie, she knew as well as anybody else 
 that she was far the handsomest, and had had more magnifi- 
 cent offers than any of them, among whom was the Boston 
 heir before mentioned, and a widower, — at the time a national 
 senator, with flattering prospects of being advanced to a much 
 higher position. Other people had thought that her sisters had 
 made much more eligible matches than she ; but she thought 
 far otherwise. The nobility then known in America was of 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 187 
 
 that kind which she fancied she saw in the shrewd, honest, 
 humorous Freeborn Gotnery. Her elder sister, Catharine, 
 had married the only son of a rich merchant of Philadelphia, 
 named Gilderkin, who had retired on a colossal fortune, con- 
 sisting mainly of mines of coal and iron, which the son subse- 
 quently inherited, and the care of which had been the busi- 
 ness of his life. The younger sister, Margaret, had married 
 the son of old Thomas Fogus of New York; a man who, be- 
 ginning from nothing, had seemed to have been the favorite 
 of Mammon; for his investments always exceeded his calcu- 
 lations. After accumulating a small capital, he invested a 
 part of it in real estate in the outskirts of the city, that in a 
 few years was worth ten times the sum paid for it ; and, in 
 subsequent purchases, he pursued the same policy of buying 
 land just in advance of its sudden appreciation in value. His 
 only child, Thomas Fogus, junior, inherited much of the old 
 man's business tact ; and, being of an aspiring disposition, he 
 changed his plebeian name from Fogus to Fogue. This 
 name itself implied solidity, wealth, and conservatism ; and 
 such were the characteristics of young Thomas. He was 
 turned of thirty when he first met Margaret Mackenzie; 
 and, at the time he married her, the yearly income of his fa- 
 ther's property, that was soon to be his, was nearly as much 
 as the whole fortune of Gomery of Montgomery. And Gom- 
 ery the country attorney had married the fairest and wit- 
 tiest of them all! 
 
 The family residence of the Mackenzies was about two 
 miles from the thriving, puritanic village of Plympton, and 
 at about equal distances from Boston and New York. It 
 was not on the line of the main road between the two cities; 
 and it is my impression that Boston was a little nearer and 
 easier to reach of the two. At any rate, the family used to 
 visit there much oftener than in the larger and rival city. They 
 had more friends there; and the judge was obliged to go up 
 there at least twice a year to attend court. So it came to pass 
 that Boston was the city to which they went for fashions, 
 books, papers, and such other things as could not be obtained 
 at the village near by. 
 
 To this country residence came the suitors of the three 
 belles; and their number was large, and their pretensions 
 various. Hither came the village lawyer and the village 
 shopkeepers ; and hither, too, came the demure parson, with 
 
188 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 white choker and intellectual spectacles. The judge's house 
 was a great resort for the young people of the village ; for 
 the old man, now a widower for the last six years, delighted 
 to see the younger folk enjoy themselves: and his house was 
 truly a happy place to look in upon of an evening, and a 
 most enjoyable house for all to visit, except those who came 
 with "serious and honorable intentions." Parson Skinner, 
 who was of this latter class, after many and dolorous visits, 
 in which he had taken every possible and improper opportu- 
 nity to impress first on one sister, then on another, and after- 
 wards on the third, the vanity of all worldly things, and the 
 great advantage sure to accrue from giving up the follies and 
 pleasures of this world, having, after two years' seeking, 
 found it impossible to propose to either, finally abandoned 
 the field. He was encouraged to this raising of the siege by 
 the death of one of his richest parishioners, who had left a 
 widow with only two children, — both of which, he told his 
 confidential deacon, were hopefully sickly; and it would be a 
 pleasure to him to minister to their spiritual wants, should 
 the Lord see fit to remove them in childhood from the trials 
 and temptations of this wicked world. 
 
 I have a great regard and respect for that woman who never 
 allows any man to propose to her, except it be the one whom 
 she has resolved in her own heart to accept. A woman of 
 any tact or discernment can* always discover signs of an 
 approaching proposal, can always foresee that a plan of siege 
 is going on, even though it be not according to the military 
 rules observed by Uncle Toby when he made his famous 
 attack on the citadel of the Widow Wadman's heart. Then, 
 if a man has either sense or discretion, he is saved from the 
 pain and mortification of a refusal. It is natural that women 
 should delight in making conquests. They like to see that 
 they fascinate and please the other sex, and can have them 
 at their feet at a word : but they can see this without a pro- 
 posal, which, if refused, leaves the heart-stricken proposer 
 humbled and mortified; and, without saying so directly, 
 they can give him to understand, that, by retreat, he can 
 save himself from the humiliation of rejection and defeat. 
 But the selfishness and vanity that induce a woman to lead 
 a man on to a declaration, in order to witness his discomfit- 
 ure and humiliation, and boast of it afterwards, are among 
 the wickedest and most detestable weaknesses of the 
 
A FAMILY HISTOEY. 189 
 
 sex. They have the conscious triumph of adulation long 
 before this; and if they have those gentle feelings that 
 befit a woman, that delicate sense of tact and kindness that 
 are indispensable to the true lady, they gracefully avoid the 
 subject, that, if pursued, can only lead to disappointment, 
 and convey such intimations as effectually warn off those 
 who are prone to a bootless errand. Few men are like 
 Rogers, the banker-poet, who said that he made it a rule, 
 whenever his name was connected with that of any marriage- 
 able woman, to say that he had been refused ; and, if he did 
 say so always, I doubt not there had been one occasion, at 
 least, when the confession caused a deep sense of sorrow 
 and pain. 
 
 I have before said that Jane Mackenzie had had other offers 
 than that of Freeborn Gomery ; and, after the late digression, 
 it may be asked how it was that she allowed them to be 
 made. Had she desired it, she might have had scores ; but 
 she effectually warned off all such small pretenders as Par- 
 son Skinner and Lawyer Eveleth of Middlebury ; but when 
 deputies duly authorized by the Boston Croesus and the 
 senator in Congress came without notice, with formal pro- 
 positions, they received what their impertinence deserved, — 
 a flat refusal. 
 
 The style in which the accepted suitors from the great cities 
 appeared at the door of the paternal mansion showed plainly 
 the difference of their circumstances from that of the country 
 lawyer who was to carry off the belle of the three. The came 
 in elegant carriages, with servants and outfits, and changes of 
 raiment, equal in number to those of Naaman when he went 
 to consult Elisha ; while he came on horseback, or perhaps in 
 the public coach, with a pair of saddle-bags containing his 
 extra linen and a change of apparel. It so chanced that on 
 one occasion the three suitors all arrived on the same even- 
 ing. A little before sunset might have been seen a fine, open 
 carriage, drawn by a showy pair of gray nags, with two gen- 
 tlemen on the back seat, and a spruce driver in front, moving 
 with a quickened pace up to the door of the old-fashioned 
 mansion of Judge Mackenzie. They were not unexpected; 
 for, being the accepted suitors of the oldest and the youngest 
 daughters, their arrival had been previously announced. 
 They had hardly saluted their friends, and were yet looking 
 to the disposition of their trunks, when " a solitary horse- 
 
190 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 man might have been seen " winding his way up the long 
 lane to the house. His appearance was certainly less pre- 
 tending than that of his brothers-in-law in posse ; and when 
 the exultant sisters, standing on the steps of the house, look- 
 ing with pride and satisfaction at the splendid turn-out of 
 their lovers, saw the solitary Freeborn coining up the lane, 
 covered with dust, on his stout old roadster, they turned 
 with a look of mortification and pity to their sister, who 
 stood like a queen, her eyes beaming with joy and love on 
 the approaching traveller. She caught the look of her sis- 
 ters, and fully understood it ; and away she rushed, and, meet- 
 ing Freeborn at some distance from the house, she seized his 
 hand, and by main force pulled him from the horse, and gave 
 him a saluting kiss that rather shocked her sisters, who had 
 received their lovers in a manner that would have done credit 
 to the training of a boarding-school miss. 
 
 With exulting pride she led her lover up to the door, and 
 introduced him to the sprigs of city life ; and having told 
 the servant-boy to bring in the saddle-bags, regardless of the 
 astonished and angry looks of her two sisters, she showed 
 him up stairs to the best of the three rooms that had been 
 prepared for the expected guests. Here she left him to per- 
 form his ablutions and deck himself in his Sunday garb, while 
 her sisters were getting through .the formalities of the meet- 
 ing, and expressing their apologies for being so unprepared. 
 Love makes no apologies, and love wants none ; but these 
 two sisters were not in love, but were only making for them- 
 selves most splendid matches. Hence, though this day had 
 long been looked forward to as the happy day of the lovers' 
 arrival, and they had been watching for good two hours for 
 their appearance, they thought it better to pretend want of 
 preparation. 
 
 In due time the table was laid for the hungry and welcome 
 guests ; and you may be sure the best the house could afford 
 was on the board. With an eye to the wants of the hungry 
 travellers, they had boiled, in the morning, two of the fattest 
 chickens in the yard, with a square piece of corn-fed pork, 
 and set them away to be eaten cold. They also had some 
 slices of cold corned-beef and cold neat's tongue, and hop- 
 bread light and sweet, such as the city beaux never saw 
 anywhere else, and Freeborn saw every day at his own home. 
 Then there were hot biscuit, and sponge-cake and pound- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 191 
 
 cake, and strawberry preserves, and tea and coffee, with 
 cream, rich and golden ; and all set off with the best china 
 and knives and forks, bought in Boston the winter before. 
 
 The supper was disposed of, not without a variety of con- 
 versation, in which Freeborn somehow took the lead ; and it 
 would have been plainly evident to an impartial observer, 
 had such been present, that his was the leading mind of the 
 company. When the city sprigs introduced into the conver- 
 sation the politics and literature of the day, he showed a 
 readiness in discussing them, and an understanding of their 
 merits, that, while it surprised the others, greatly gladdened 
 the heart of one. But, when they introduced the subject of 
 the amusements and fashions of the day, he wisely said 
 nothing on matters so much above his comprehension. All of 
 the sisters saw the difference in the scope and calibre of the 
 men ; and the sparkling and happy eyes of one gave back 
 with interest the triumphant look that the others had given 
 her when the "solitary horseman " made his first appearance 
 in the lane. 
 
 In a couple of days the successful suitors all departed for 
 their respective homes, each well pleased with his visit ; for it 
 had been decided by each couple — and the old judge, who had 
 returned from court during their visit, had ratified the decision 
 — when the important event of their lives should take place. 
 The first, that of Catharine, the oldest daughter, was fixed 
 for the ensuing autumn; that of the youngest, Margaret, 
 in the spring; while the marriage of Jane to Gomery of 
 Montgomery was to be deferred some six months later. As 
 it is not within the scope of this work to follow the fortunes 
 of these city people farther than may be necessary to the 
 history of the family fortunes of Gomery of Montgomery 
 and his wife, the preceding incidents have been related only 
 to show how it came to pass that they had so many relations 
 of wealth and influence in the large commercial cities. At a 
 future time we shall see, perhaps, how the family affairs were 
 affected by this < ircumstance. 
 
 In after-years, on the occasion of that good old New- 
 England festival, the annual Thanksgiving, it was a duty 
 that the old judge exacted from his daughters, that at 
 least one of them should return to the old homestead, and 
 pass it with him. This duty was always cheerfully fulfilled ; 
 and one year, at the instance of the old man, "the three 
 
192 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 returned and sat round the hearthstone, each with her hus- 
 band and children, and listened to the tremulous voice of 
 the aged patriarch while he read from the same old family 
 Bible from which, as children, they had been wont to be taught 
 at their mother's knee. The changes that had taken place 
 during those few years, though regular and in the gentle 
 course of nature, had » been great. The daughters had all 
 become matured and thoughtful women; and the men who 
 had formerly come a- wooing from the large cities were no 
 longer engaged or interested in the light frippery of city 
 snobs, but had become shrewd and thoughtful men of busi- 
 ness. Happy and proud were the young mothers returning 
 to the loved scenes of youth, and full of questions and curi- 
 osity were the younger folk to visit a place of which from 
 their infancy they had heard so much. As in former days, 
 the style of Gomery's equipage but poorly comported with 
 that of his rich brothers-in-law. It was a plain covered 
 wagon, drawn by a pair of stout farm-horses, and contained 
 the whole family, consisting of Freeborn, his wife, and four 
 children. At first, when the city matrons saw the homely 
 carriage of their sister draw up, they felt for her a mingled 
 sense of humiliation and pity ; but as they looked into her 
 fresh, happy face, and saw nothing but pride, joy, and health, 
 they could see that she needed or asked for no one's pity; 
 and when, afterwards, the children were assembled together 
 in the parlor, the native superiority of her children was 
 observed with a feeling near akin, it may be presumed, to 
 that of Cornelia when she exhibited her jewels. The two 
 daughters from the country even then gave promise of that 
 rare beauty and sprightliness that in after-years were to render 
 them the queens of fashion, and leaders of society, in their 
 respective spheres. The city cousins were pale and pretty; 
 the country lasses, blooming and beautiful. The boys from 
 the country were rough, boisterous young fellows, clad in 
 strong, coarse cloth, that would bear vigorous exercise ; and, 
 as soon as they could get away, they were off among the 
 horses and cattle of their grandfather; and not a little 
 shocked were their timid cousins to see them mount the 
 horses bareback, and go scampering to the brook where the 
 animals were accustomed to drink. It may and it may not 
 have occurred to the wife of Gomery of Montgomery that 
 her lot was to be envied above that of her sisters; but it is 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 193 
 
 certain her beautiful face always had the look of cheerfulness 
 and content. Time had made less impression on her than 
 on them, and she retained more of her youthful vivacity and 
 activity. Hers had certainly been the happier life thus far; 
 and yet how few were wise enough to prefer her lot among 
 the rustic people of a country village to that of the city ma- 
 trons, who participated in all the gayety of fashionable life, 
 and had only to express a wish, and, if money could effect it, 
 it was gratified ! 
 
 Freeborn Gomery and his wife returned to their home 
 in the country, and for years little occurred to vary the 
 tranquillity of their lives. The only incident of impor- 
 tance was the arrival of the third son, Walter, with whom 
 my readers made a slight acquaintance some time ago. But 
 at length it became necessary to decide what should be the 
 future profession or occupation of the eldest of the three sons. 
 He was nearly fitted for college; and, if he was going there, 
 it was best that he should enter at the approaching com- 
 mencement. But he had more taste for business than litera- 
 ture ; and his mother, with quick intuition, saw that, where- 
 as he would never excel in letters, he had all the qualities 
 necessary to render him a most successful merchant or finan- 
 cier. Indeed, he had shown signs of over-reaching ability far 
 less displeasing to his mother than to his father. 
 
 Now, it happened, that, while this matter was under dis- 
 cussion, the first visit of Thomas Fogue and his wife and a 
 younger son to the Pivot was made. It was in the autumn 
 of the year ; and the excursion was made partly for pleasure, 
 and partly to improve the ailing condition of the younger 
 member of the family. During this visit, the subject of 
 Theron's education came up ; and his uncle proposed that he 
 should go to New York, and there learn the mysteries of 
 banking and finance. The capitalist was honest and sensible 
 in his advice. He said the secret of success was to know 
 and do every thing thoroughly ; that the boy must begin at 
 the foot of the ladder, and by experience, as he ascended, 
 learn the routine and details of the entire business. He must 
 accept of a very humble position at first, as it would be his 
 duty to keep the house in order, and do all sorts of odds-and- 
 ends jobs that might be required. Afterwards, if found 
 faithful and steady, and when he had learned to write a 
 17 
 
194 G0MERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 good hand, he would be promoted from one step to another 
 as fast as he was fitted^to perform its duties. 
 
 This proposal was submitted to Theron ; and he eagerly- 
 jumped at it, for he was not at all inclined to a college 
 course. It was accordingly determined, that, with the opening 
 of the ensuing spring, he should go to New York, and, under 
 the patronage of his rich uncle, learn the arts and mysteries 
 of financiering. 
 
 The trials that he passed through in a strange city ; his 
 labors; his rebuffs from his relations ; the sneers and insults 
 of city-born youths of his own age, who jeered at his severe 
 ideas, and laughed at his country manners, — were all endured 
 manfully; but, as they were very similar to those endured 
 by thousands and thousands of country lads who go from 
 the country into the cities to better their fortunes, it is not 
 necessary to describe them here. It is sufficient at this time 
 to state that he went forth an honest lad, determined to make 
 his way in the world. With a natural tact for business, and 
 born of such parents as Freeborn Gomery and his wife, it 
 will be strange if he does not achieve a success far beyond 
 his youthful expectations. But that must be years hence ; 
 and, as he has nothing to do with this history for some time 
 to come, we will, if the reader does not object, now return to 
 the principal characters. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 195 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " What ! art thou mad ? art thou mad ? Is not the truth the 
 truth ?"— Falstaff. 
 
 Two years passed away, after the abrupt departure of 
 Joe Pumpagin from Montgomery, before that worthy re- 
 turned to look after his friends and namesakes. By this 
 time the anger of the deceived parents had cooled off; and 
 even the injured mothers, who at first were so wildly furi- 
 ous, admitted that it was a good joke which he had played 
 them. Yet, as the presents that he had promised to the little 
 darlings had never been forthcoming, the names given them 
 by him had not been retained. This time, Joe made his ap- 
 pearance in very different trim from what had been his wont 
 on former occasions. He had usually come trudging into the 
 village tired, footsore, dusty, and ragged ; and it was only 
 after he had visited his old friend Tench Wales, to divide with 
 him. his scanty wardrobe, that he ventured to show himself 
 about the village, and relate his wonderful adventures, and 
 set the old people to doubting, and the young ones to mar- 
 velling, at the strange stories he told. 
 
 On this occasion, Joe returned in the depth of winter (it 
 being the last day of December when the stage drove up to 
 the door of the Eagle), and was met as usual by little Diller 
 himself, who came running to the door. Pushing back the 
 curtains of the covered sleigh, he saw that there was but 
 one passenger, and that was his old customer, Joe Pumpagin. 
 He hardly knew whether to feel glad or sorry at the appear- 
 ance of this doubtful advantage to his house. Yet he 
 was so in the habit of welcoming everybody with cordial 
 words, that it is doubtful, if the Devil himself had driven up 
 to the door, and the first foot put from the carriage had been 
 cloven, whether he would not have helped him out with 
 great politeness, and said he was glad to see him, that he 
 
196 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY! 
 
 should be proud of the honor of attending to his wants, and 
 that his wife knew how to set the best table and keep the 
 best tavern between Boston and Canada. Such was the wel- 
 come that from habit he gave to Joe Pumpagin ; and the 
 weary traveller stepped from the sleigh to the house, direct- 
 ing that his baggage should be brought in. Several old vet- 
 erans of the place, who had known Joe well in former times, 
 were seated in the bar-room at the time he entered, smoking 
 their pipes, and discussing the late peace. But they hardly 
 knew him, he looked so spruce and well-to-do. Instead of 
 the rusty garments of former times, he had on an overcoat of 
 stout yet fine beaver-cloth, with a fine fur collar, a fur cap, 
 and a pair of fur mittens. His boots were new, thick, and 
 warm; and his red nose peeped through the upturned collar, 
 while farther back his merry eyes twinkled expressively as he 
 witnessed the surprise depicted on the faces of his old ac- 
 quaintances at his unusual as well as unexpected appearance. 
 
 His old enemy, Spinney the doubter, was the first to 
 recognize him, and exclaimed, " It's Joe Pumpagin, by the liv- 
 ing hokey ! How are you, truthful Joseph ? " 
 
 "Well and hearty," said Joe, extending his hand first to 
 Spinney, and then to all the others. " Never better. Had 
 great luck this time. Seen strange sights. Have seen the 
 Devil sure enough, and had a fight with him, and am none 
 the worse for it. Money enough. Look a-here! I never 
 used to wear such clothes as these. I told you I'd come 
 back by and by, and show you I was no impostor or story- 
 teller; but you didn't believe me. Here is Spinney, an un- 
 convarted sinner, though he pretended convarsion ; but he 
 shall have his part with the hypocrites and unbelievers. I 
 have just come back here for a few days to take a look at my 
 namesakes, and see how their mothers get on. By the way, 
 Homer, how is my godson ? Of course you called him after 
 Old Joe." 
 
 "I'd sooner 'ave named him the Devil ! " said Homer, net- 
 tled at the question, and more nettled at the shout it had 
 provoked. 
 
 " All right," said Joe. " If you prefer to name him after 
 some of his relations, instead of me, it's no affair of mine. 
 What is his name, if not Joe?" 
 
 " Obededom." 
 
 " Obed-e-dom, — Obededom Homer. Well, I can't say 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 197 
 
 but it was a scurvy trick I played him. But no matter for 
 that now. Let us have something warm. Come, boys, what 
 will you all take ? " 
 
 Diller heard this proposition with fear and trembling. 
 "Perhaps," thought he, "he can pay the old bill now ; and, if 
 can't, he never can ; and it is as well to stop it from grow- 
 ing any larger first as last. — Mr. Joe," said he timidly, " be- 
 fore we open another account, I guess we'd better settle up 
 the old one. Here it is, scored down on the wall inside the 
 bar just after you left; and you can see it for yourself. c Joe 
 Pumpagin, Dr. to Artemus Diller, $21.37 1-2 cts.' " 
 
 " That all ? Well, here, count it out," said he, giving him 
 a bag of coin weighing at least two pounds. " Take your 
 pay." 
 
 Diller took the bag, and, thrusting in his hand, pulled out 
 a handful of gold and silver, the gold predominating. The 
 others gathered round in surprise; while Joe, who had lit his 
 pipe, sat smoking by the fire in apparent unconcern. 
 
 The host of the Eagle counted out the amount of his own 
 demand, and from such coin as he knew the value of; for 
 the most of it was of strange, outlandish dies such as he had 
 never seen before. Giving back the purse to the owner, he 
 said, "Mr. Pumpagin," — he had never been known to dig- 
 nify him before by any title but Joe, or Old Joe, — "I have 
 got some good Jamaica, good New-England, first-rate Santa 
 Cruz, and some stunnin' brandy." 
 
 " Well, it's my treat. Give the boys all they want, and the 
 best you have got." 
 
 "Philemon," says Diller to a tall, raw youth, who was serv- 
 ing at the Eagle in the treble capacity of stable-boy, errand- 
 boy, and butt for everybody to scold at, — " Philemon, bring 
 in some hot water. Perhaps Joe — Mr. Pumpagin — would 
 like suthin' warm, as he has been ridin' all day, and it is a 
 proper cold night." 
 
 "Yes: get us a big pitcher of flip, — hot flip. Put in 
 plenty of nutmeg, and be sure you make it strong." 
 
 "It shall be done, Mr. Pumpagin," said Diller; "though 
 there hain't been a mug of flip made in this house, now it's 
 more than two year ago, since you left. But the old flip-dog 
 is there in the cupboard. Philemon, get it out, can't you, you 
 stupid, and put it in the fire ! No matter now about the hot 
 water ; but go and bring up some beer, you fool ! Here, take 
 17* 
 
198 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 my key, and go down cellar to the closet ; and mind you 
 don't touch none of that brandy. That brandy cost me fif- 
 teen shillin' a gallon." 
 
 Away went Philemon, having first thrust the heavy end 
 of the flip-dog into the bed of coals glowing under the fore- 
 stick. 
 
 The company impatiently awaited the preparation. 
 
 When Philemon returned with the bottles of beer, Joe, 
 who had by this time got warmed, threw off his overcoat, 
 and, as was his wont in times long agone, proceeded to make 
 the flip. His dark sea-browned and sun-browned counte- 
 nance shone bright and red ; his little snub-nose, that turned 
 up below the broken bridge so as to look like a huge wart, 
 with holes on the lower side of it, seemed gratefully to inhale 
 the aroma of the various ingredients. The beer was poured 
 into a deep pitcher, and to that was added the Jamaica rum ; 
 then a large lump of loaf sugar;, and lastly a nutmeg — or, 
 as Joe called it, " gimlet handle " — was rasped over it. « Joe 
 then advanced, and, seizing the long handle of the flip-dog, 
 drew the knob, now of the color of the coals, so white and 
 bright that it dazzled the eyes of the expectant spectators, 
 and made the face of Old Joe as radiant as that of a trans- 
 lated saint. 
 
 " Not too hot," said Joe : " burn the beer." Then, swing- 
 ing it back and forth for a few times till it became of a 
 heavy red, he plunged it into the still foaming mixture, that 
 sizzled and sozzled and hissed and spluttered ; while the 
 steam, ascending around the rubicund face of Joe, gave it an 
 appearance " round and red as the harvest-moon through 
 the mist of the marshes." The flip was now pronounced 
 made; and the glasses, that Diller had taken care to have 
 warm to prevent cracking, were set out upon the table. 
 Joe filled them to the brim, and then told all to help them- 
 selves. Foremost to do this was Nat Dobble, the acknowl- 
 edged soaker, idler, and sot of the village. Quickly seizing 
 a glass, he raised it to his mouth, not reflecting, in his haste, 
 that the same mouth that could swallow fourth-proof " white 
 eye" without flinching would not be equally insensible to 
 boiling flip. He was in such haste, that half his allowance 
 was down his throat before he was aware of his error ; and 
 Joe, who had seen his greedy an$ dangerous haste, quietly 
 remarked, " It is hot." 
 
A FAMILY HISTOEY. 199 
 
 " Oh, ugh, ugh ! " spluttered out Nat ; " I've found it out ; " 
 casting, at the same tfme, a quantity of the scalding fluid 
 recklessly from his mouth, so that it fell upon the new win- 
 ter suit of Joe's ever-doubting enemy, Spinney. 
 
 "There," says Joe; "I just told ye that all unbelievers 
 should have their part; and you've got yours, and more too. 
 Fulfilment of Scripter. There shall be weeping, and gnash- 
 ing of teeth. Just look at Nat ! See the tears! Ain't that 
 weeping? And see Spinney gnash his teeth because his clothes 
 are spilt on !" 
 
 The others were seated round with their glasses, all laugh- 
 ing at the expense of Nat and Spinney, and sipping their flip 
 with evident delight; and it was not long before Spinney 
 became much mollified, — the warm mixture that he sipped 
 down seeming to thaw out from his frigid nature the 
 latent humors of his body, that, in their turn, lubricated the 
 social enginery of his system, and set in full flow the ideas 
 long congealed in his brain, that now ran glibly and kindly 
 from his usually caustic tongue. Nat Dobble, who had been 
 so cruelly cheated out of his first glass, escaped from the 
 gibes of his companions to the door, and cooled his mouth 
 with a handful of snow; and then, taking another handful, he 
 made it into a hard ball, and returned with it to the bar- 
 room ; and, as the pitcher was yet far from empty, he filled his 
 glass, and slyly dropped his snow-ball into it, and then took 
 off the hot flip, iced, to his evident satisfaction. He then 
 filled his glass a third time, when his thirst was so far ap- 
 peased that he was content to sip slowly like the others, and 
 in the mean while discuss with them the merits of the con- 
 coction. All said it was good, though it did not quite suit 
 the palate of either. One said it was too strong; another, 
 that a drop more of the Jamaica would have improved it; 
 still another said it was too sweet ; another, that it was too 
 bitter. Nat said it was too hot. All agreed that it was too 
 soon gone ; and straightway Joe set himself to the prepara- 
 tion of another pitcherful. In the mean while, good Mrs. 
 Diller had prepared an excellent supper in the dining-room, 
 to which he paid his respects while his friends were discuss- 
 ing the second pitcher of flip. He returned to them as soon 
 as he had testified to his approval of Mistress Diller's re- 
 past, and found that the pitcher was again empty. The 
 company by this time were in excellent humor, and Joe be- 
 
200 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: - 
 
 gan to tell of his adventures while away during the two 
 years since his last departure. i 
 
 "You see," said he, addressing himself particularly to Tom 
 Homer, " being a man of my word, and having promised so 
 many presents to my namesakes, and those of my sister 
 Nancy, who died in the poor-house, I thought I must go and 
 look after my property off to the west'ard ; and then I thought, 
 too, that may-be I would go and look after my estate in 
 England, and see if I was a lord yet, or only plain Joe Pum- 
 pagin. But, when I got so near as to smell the salt water, 
 I'm staggered if I didn't give up all thoughts of my important 
 interests, and ship as second mate on board a ship bound to 
 Matanzas. Our vessel was a tidy little brig called the 
 'Lovely Ann;' and we had been out about a week, when 
 we were overtaken by a squall, that, at the first gust, carried 
 away our jib-boom, and took off half our men, who were 
 just then furling the sails with all haste. Our skipper had 
 come in through the cabin-window, as his father owned 
 the vessel, and the first mate was sick in the cabin with the 
 fever. So the cap'n, when he seen the devil was to pay, says 
 he to me, 'Mr. Pumpagin, I'll jist go down and make up the 
 reckoning, and you look to the ship.' Now, as we had not 
 seen the sun for three days, and had been running all 
 the while at twelve knots an hour by dead reckoning, and 
 our compass was out of order and wouldn't move, and the 
 chronometer had run down, I was curious to know how he 
 was going to make up the reckoning. He was a poor noddy, 
 always swearing at the men in fair weather ; and to me and 
 the other mate he was always telling what great things he 
 had done in other ships, with mutinous crews, and amid de- 
 stroying hurricanes : but now his face was as pale as Desde- 
 mona's after that black fellow Othello had choked her to 
 death. He gave me a look so despairing and cowardly, that 
 I laughed in his face. Directly the first mate, having heard 
 the crash on deck, and knowing there must be some fun go- 
 ing on on deck, crawled out, sick as he was ; and, going for- 
 'ard, an awful wave dashed over us, and took him off, and 
 two more of the men. 
 
 " ' This must be stopped,' said the cap'n, crouching between 
 the hen-coop and clothes-line on which the sailors' clothes 
 were hung a-drying. ( Can you pray ? ' 
 
 " < Got no time for it,' says I. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 201 
 
 " ' But something must be done ; for this thing must be 
 stopped, I say.' 
 
 ."'That is just what the man said when the doctor told 
 him his wife had had the third baby. But how to do it is 
 the devil of it.' — 'It must be stopped,' says the cap'n again. 
 * Yes,' says I; 'but, as the doctor said, how the devil to do it.'" 
 
 "I believe every word of it," said Spinney. "But you 
 would oblige me if you would just tell how it was that the 
 hen-coop, and line full of clothes, was left, seein' as how the 
 hurricane carried off the masts, mate, and men." 
 
 "Do you think I had any time to look after hen-coops in 
 such a gale as that ? " answered Joe indignantly. " No, sir : 
 I had the ship to look out for, and keep her afloat ; for just 
 then the cap'n bolted into the cabin ; and, when I looked 
 down about two minutes after, I saw him drop on his 
 knees, and begin, ' Now I lay me down to sleep.' — ' That ain't 
 the way ! ' I sung out to him at the top of my voice. ' How 
 is it, then?' said he : 'you come and lend a hand. You begin; 
 and you can just say to the Lord for me, if he will only get 
 me safe out of this 'ere, I'll never ask him for any thing 
 again.' — ' Can't indorse for you, cap'n,' says I. 'Draw your 
 own bills. You know you are an awful liar, and you can't 
 take me in in that way.' Just then came another crash, and 
 the masts all went by the board ; the rudder was knocked all 
 to shivers ; and every man aboard ship was swept off, except 
 the cap'n and me. The cap'n was now so scared, that he fell 
 over in a fit. I left him to go on deck, when I found the 
 wind blowing at the rate of a knot a minute." 
 
 " I believe every word of it," said Spinney. 
 
 " Believe it or not, do you see that?" said he, pointing to* 
 the top of his head, which formerly had a thick growth of 
 hair upon it, but was now as bald as a turnip. " It blew so, 
 that it took every hair out of my head. On the top it never 
 grew again. At last, I saw we were being driven full head 
 on a rocky shore ; and, as we neared the land, I caught sight 
 of a little cove that made up between two large rocks. By 
 putting the helm hard a-port at the nick of time, I managed 
 to throw the ship on top of a big wave into this cove ; and 
 she settled hard and dry on a sand-bank." 
 
 " I believe every word of it," said Spinney ; "but how did 
 you put the helm a-port when the rudder had been all 
 knocked to shivers ? " 
 
202 GOMEBY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 " Do you think I could stop to mend the rudder when we 
 were driving full-head on a rock-bound coast ? " triumphant- 
 ly responded Joe. 
 
 " No sooner did the cap'n feel that the ship was safe an& 
 hard a-ground than he came on deck to see how to get from 
 the ship. But, as every minute a huge wave rolled in that 
 made the stern of the ship bob up and down like a cork in a 
 boiling kettle, he was afraid to make the attempt alone ; and 
 says he to me, ' Mr. Pumpagin, can you swim ? ' — ' Like a 
 duck,' says I. 'Well,' says he, * take me on your back, and 
 a quarter of the cargo is yours.' — 'Agreed,' says I ; and, let- 
 ting ourselves down from the side, I took the scared-to-death 
 lobster on my back; and, as the great Shakspeare says, 
 
 'As iEneas, our great ancestor, 
 
 Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
 
 The old Anchises bear, so from the waves ' — 
 
 did I the skipper of the 'Lovely Ann.' I had just struck 
 off" — 
 
 "On the sandbank?" interrogated Spinney. 
 
 " Don't bother me, Mr. Spinney, if you please ! My story 
 is all true." 
 
 " I believe every word of it." 
 
 " I was saying," continued Joe, " I had just struck off when 
 a big wave came bouncing in, and carried us both out to sea. 
 'Now,' says I to myself, 'Old Joe, "there is a tide in the affairs 
 of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune:" that's 
 what Shakspeare says; and I guess it's high tide for me just 
 now.' So says I, 'Cap'n, you're getting heavy; and I'm 
 afraid I must drop you.' — ' Oh, lordy ! oh, don't ! ' says he. 
 ' Save me, and half the cargo is yours.' — ' All right,' says I, 
 striking for the shore. 'But now,' thinks I, ' here am I, Joe 
 Pumpagin, without a cent to bless myself with.' " 
 
 " Except the property to the west'ard," interrupted Homer. 
 
 " And the estate in England," added Spinney. 
 
 " Ah ! that was all intended for my namesakes. But, as I 
 was saying, here was I, Old Joe, without money, and with 
 mighty low credit at the Eagle ; and this cap'n has lots of 
 money, and a rich old father owning a whole fleet of ships : 
 and, if I save his life, he must pay for it. So I says again, 
 'Cap'n, I shall have to drop you.' — ' Oh, don't ! ' says he, 
 clinging tighter and tighter : ' don't, and you shall have three- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 203 
 
 quarters.' — ' All right,' says I ; ■ but why shouldn't I drop 
 you, and take the whole?' — 'You may have the whole,' he 
 whined piteously; * only bring me safe to shore.' — 'It's a bar- 
 gain ! ' said I, striking lustily for the shore, which I reached 
 in about five minutes. We had not been long ashore when 
 we knew we were in a hot climate ; for the rays of the sun 
 scorched us like Nat's flip scorched his mouth just now." 
 
 " Did the storm continue ?" said Nat Dobble. 
 
 "Yes : it lasted three days and nights ; and at last, when 
 it abated, the old ship was high and dry on the land. Now, 
 as the ship and cargo were all mine, I hired the cap'n to 
 work for me as clerk ; but, as he had begun swearing again 
 as soon as he got on shore, I told him to stop it, or every time 
 he swore I should dock off ninepence of his wages. The 
 first day brought him two and thrippence in my debt; and 
 it was only when I gave him a taste of the rope's end, that 
 he quit, and became a very respectable man and good citizen." 
 
 " I believe every word of it," said Spinney. 
 
 "The flip-dog will all be burnt up if we wait to hear any 
 more of your infernal lies," said Nat, who grew surly as he 
 grew drunk. 
 
 " Every word true," said Spinney. " I saw that cap'n af- 
 terwards, and he told me the same story." 
 
 " That can't be true ; for he was lost on his voyage home," 
 replied Joe. 
 
 " Then it was his brother." 
 
 "Ah! very likely: he said he had a brother that looked 
 just like him. But let us have more flip. Here, the dog is 
 red, — as red as Spinney's nose." 
 
 As this member of the doubter's physiognomy was noted 
 for its high color, which people whispered came out of a pri- 
 vate decanter, he did not at all like this comparison ; but as 
 Joe was preparing the third mug of flip, to which he was not 
 disinclined to pay his respects, he thought it not a favorable 
 time to insist on his temperate habits. The flip was made 
 as before, and each one sat down to sip the palate-tickling 
 compound. Joe, with his glass in his hand, then resumed his 
 narrative. 
 
 " When the storm had abated, I sent my clerk to look 
 about, and learn where we were. He soon returned, and re- 
 ported that there was a large city not more than six miles 
 off: so we put on our best clothes, and went to visit the 
 
204 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 town, and see what we could do with the cargo. The name 
 of the town was Krampagoola ; but I have never been able 
 to meet with anybody who had been in the place before or 
 since, and it is not laid down on any map or chart. I have 
 made great inquiries of other celebrated travellers like my- 
 self about it; but nobody seems to have heard of such a 
 place." 
 
 " I think Gulliver mentions it," said Spinney. 
 
 " The people were all fine-looking ; the men being all 
 stout and graceful like myself, and the women were all much 
 handsomer than Square Gomery's wife was when she first 
 came to this village. I soon sold the cargo, for ten thousand 
 dollars, to a rich merchant; and, not to be hard on the cap'n, 
 I gave him five hundred dollars to get home with. But he 
 never got home, as the ship was lost, and all on board per- 
 ished. It was the English brig ' Rover,' Cap'n Bluster." 
 
 " I believe every word of it. I met Cap'n Bluster after- 
 wards, and he told me the same story." 
 
 " The merchant that bought the cargo," resumed Joe, " was 
 richer a hundred times than every man in this town put to- 
 gether, including Gomery of Montgomery ! He had a hun- 
 dred horses, and a house as large as Mount Gomery, — I mean 
 the hill. He had so many ships coming and going all the 
 time, that it took a hundred clerks to take account of their 
 cargoes ; and he had two thousand slaves always at work 
 loading and unloading ! " 
 
 " I believe every word of it," said Spinney. 
 
 "The merchant insisted that I should go to his house and 
 stop while I remained in town ; and I went. He had a beau- 
 tiful daughter, who was an only child, and heir to all his 
 property ; and it was easy for me to see, that, from the first, 
 the old man was determined to make a match between us. 
 And the young woman, who was highly educated and accom- 
 plished, and of exceeding fine taste, was of the same mind. 
 But, as Shakspeare says, 'the course of true love never did 
 run smooth.' There was a gay cavalier near by, who had 
 been trying to get a smile from her for years ; and, when he 
 saw me coming in and getting such great attention, he was 
 jealous as a pet dog; for, as Shakspeare says, 'trifles light 
 as air ' — you know the rest. He was considered a famous 
 horseman in those parts, and used to brag and boast that he 
 could ride a whirlwind. But when I told what I had 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 205 
 
 clone; that I fought and killed single-handed, with these 
 two hands, the lions of Sahara; how that, being shipwrecked 
 once, I had mounted on the back of a big whale, and driven 
 him into the harbor of New Bedford, where I sold his oil for 
 six and ninepence a gallon, — then my Desdemona would 
 devour my discourse, as Shakspeare says; and the green- 
 eyed monster — that's what Shakspeare calls it — made him 
 as mad as a live lobster in hot water. He said nothing, how- 
 ever, 'but let concealment, like a worm in the bud' (you 
 know how the great bard of Avon has it) ; and a few days 
 after that, when we were both present, and I had been sing- 
 ing to her and playing on the guitar, the young lady told us 
 that the next day she was going to prove who was the best 
 man. 
 
 "'How?' said I, standing up, and putting my hand on my 
 heart. ' Tell me any danger I would not encounter for my 
 Betsey' (Betsey was her name, you know). 'If you bid me 
 follow the tiger to his lair, to scale the heights of the preci- 
 pice and rob the eagle of its young, command me, and either 
 the young tigers and eaglets shall be yours, or your slave 
 shall be a bleeding corpus at your feet.' 
 
 "'Oh, tut!' said she: 'nothing of that kind. My father 
 has bought me a pony that nobody yet can ride. It is fleet as 
 the wind, and wild as the chamois. It is more beautiful than 
 the lily, the flamingo, or the soft texture of the tiger's skin. 
 Who first rides and subdues this steed, and brings him sub- 
 missive to my hand, he that hand may claim.' 
 
 " The cavalier, whose name was Don Frederico Antonio 
 Bombasto Gumbo, sprang up at the word, and, in a voice 
 quaking with emotion, exclaimed, ' To-morrow I claim the 
 test ! ' 
 
 " ' I give the rash booby the first chance,' said I, and retired 
 with a lofty disdain, receiving an admonition from the sweet 
 Betsey to be on the ground at nine o'clock in the morning to 
 witness my rival's triumph or discomfiture. 
 
 " I was there at the hour. The vain Don Gumbo, booted 
 and spurred, with a riding-whip in his hand, was walking 
 up and down in front of the house ; while, on a balcony above, 
 sat the divine Betsey. As I appeared, and walked up to- 
 wards the don, he cast upon me such a look of rage and hate 
 as he supposed would knock me down. But I returned it 
 with a look of such withering defiance and contempt, that, 
 
 18 
 
206 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 had he been a gentleman of sensitive feelings, he would 
 have sunk into the earth. 
 
 " Presently the gate of the stable-yard was opened, and 
 the fiery steed was led forth. My, he was a beauty ! Two 
 grooms were at his head ; and they could hardly hold him to 
 the ground. At first I could hardly believe it was a horse, 
 so graceful was its form, so light its tread, so beautiful its 
 skin. He was striped like the zebra; the ground-work, of 
 the purest white, being varied by serpent-like stripes of glossy 
 black. The mane was all white, the tail all black." 
 
 " I've seen such frequently," said Spinney. 
 
 "Don Gumbo looked hard at the beast, and then, approach- 
 ing, bounded to his back, and away he went, clearing fences 
 and gates without an effort. ' Follow him,' said Betsey to 
 the grooms. They hurried to the stables ; and, having got 
 out their own nags, were just mounting, when the striped 
 pony came dancing back over the fence into the yard, having 
 spilled his rider in the mean while. He was led submissive 
 to the stable, and the grooms went to look for the fallen 
 cavalier. They found him lying senseless at a short distance 
 from the house, and carried him back, and laid him on a bed ; 
 and it was two weeks before he became conscious. In his 
 ravings, he used to swear all sorts of vengeance on Don 
 Hozay, as he called me. 
 
 "At length he was no longer hors du combat, as the 
 French say, but was able to witness my trial of the fiery 
 beast. By great good luck, there came on a tremendous 
 snow-storm the night before I was to show my skill in 
 horsemanship. The snow, in the morning, lay damp and 
 heavy, two feet and a half deep ; and in some parts of the 
 yard, where it had drifted, it was five feet deep. Betsey stood 
 at her window above, looking out on the scene. Don Gum- 
 bo stood below, looking glum and savage. The horse was 
 brought out, and he was even more fiery and mettlesome 
 than on the previous morning. He was led up to where I 
 stood; when, seizing the reins, I jumped upon his back, and 
 by a quick jerk brought his head round towards the deepest 
 snow, when I plunged the spurs into his sides. At the first 
 bound, he jumped full thirty feet, and landed in four feet of 
 snow. Again he made a spring ; but this time his bound was 
 less. I held him up firmly towards the deepest snow-banks ; 
 and the way he floundered and plunged was right curious to 
 
)a family history. 207 
 
 behold. But he soon learned he had a master; and then, 
 bringing him up to a place where the snow was not so deep, 
 I jumped him over the fence, and galloped away for a good 
 three hours, at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour. At 
 length he owned himself mastered, and trotted away, broken 
 and submissive. I then concluded it was time to return ; 
 but, thinking it might be too hard on the horse to ride him 
 so far without baiting, I called up to a farm-house by the 
 roadside, and asked the farmer if he could give my horse 
 some oats. 
 
 " ' Not an oat,' said he. 
 
 " ' Have you any hay, then ? ' 
 
 "'No hay neither,' said he. 
 
 " ' Well,' says I, ' there is a good field of grass : will you 
 lend me a scythe to go and cut a baiting for my horse if I 
 pay you the worth of it ? ' 
 
 " ' How much might that be ? ' said he. 
 
 "'Well, I reckon about two and thrippence.' 
 
 "'All right,' said he; and off he went and brought me a 
 bran new scythe, made by Joy & Sons, Providence : and in a 
 short time I had a stout handful of grass before the noble 
 beast ; and he took hold of it right heartily, I tell ye." 
 
 " I believe every word of it ; but where was the snow all 
 the while ? " said Spinney. 
 
 "Oh! I forgot to say it was in a hot country, and the snow 
 melted." 
 
 " That explains it," said Spinney. 
 
 " I think a little more flip would make it clearer," said Nat 
 Dobble. 
 
 " I think so too," said Joe. " Let us have another pitcher;" 
 and he at once commenced preparing it. 
 
 "When I returned," he resumed, " Miss Betsey stood on 
 the steps of the piazza, smiling and pleased; and she looked — 
 oh, how beautiful ! Why, Gomery's wife, in her best days, 
 was no more to be compared to her than a three-legged milking- 
 stool to the throne of Great Britain ! Gumbo sat in a chair on 
 the stoop, fanning himself, and looking black enough to turn 
 milk sour. A thunder-cloud was nothing to him. Betsey 
 had a nosegay in her hand as large as a peck basket, which 
 she placed in her bosom as I approached." 
 
 " Commodious bosom ! " said Nat. 
 
 "She extended both hands to me at once; and then, tak- 
 
208 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY ! 
 
 ing the flowers from their delicate resting-place, she gave them 
 to me with a look and a smile that said, as plainly as words, 
 'The prize you have won, — it is yours: take it and wear it!' 
 Falling on one knee, I took the bouquet, and held it to my 
 nose for a moment." 
 
 " Such a nose ! " muttered Nat. 
 
 " Then seizing her hand, which she did not hold back, I 
 covered it with kisses from my lips." 
 
 "I hope there was no tobacco-juice on them," said Nat. 
 
 " ' Is not the truth the truth ? ' as Falstaff says. At that 
 moment, I considered my fortune made ; and as I rose up, 
 and turned to depart, my eyes met those of Gumbo, and 
 such a look of scorn and contempt as no other man ever saw, 
 and lived." 
 
 " I believe it," said Spinney. 
 
 " That evening I received a message from the merchant, 
 Betsey's father, that he would be glad to see me, at eight 
 o'clock, in his private parlor. Of course, I knew what his 
 business was. It was to make arrangements for the great 
 affair, — the wedding. So, happy fellow that I was, I got my- 
 self up in my best clothes, and was all on tip-toe for the 
 hour ; for Betsey had also sent word, that, when I was 
 through with my business with the old man, she would ex- 
 pect me in the grand parlor, and there would be no other 
 company. I thought eight o'clock would never come. I 
 was ready for the fray ; and it was only six and a half, and 
 the sun was barely down. So I thought to kill an hour 
 by a walk among the orange-groves in the garden. Taking 
 a good stiff drink of grog, and stowing a big quid of tobacco 
 into my mouth, I sallied forth, and was thinking how that, 
 some day, all these things would be mine. But, just as I was 
 coming out from a thick clump of pomegranate-bushes, 
 who should I meet but Don Gumbo, with his sword drawn, 
 and his eyes flashing fire!" 
 
 « Villain ! " said he : " you die ! " 
 
 " You don't tell me that," said I carelessly, and making as 
 if to pass on. 
 
 " At that he made a thrust at me, which I caught on the 
 fleshy part of my left fore-arm ; and now, being convinced 
 that he was a man without principle, and really meant to in- 
 sult me, I let out the clinched knuckles of my right mauler, 
 that hit him fair and plump on the bridge of his nose. That 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 209 
 
 prominent feature of his handsome face was rendered unfit 
 either for ornament or use by the blow ; for I heard the 
 bones of his head craunch in as I have heard the frozen ground 
 under a cart-wheel. He fell as motionless as any ox you 
 ever knocked on the head with a narrow axe, 'Bijah Gordon. 
 My arm was bleeding fast ; and I have the scar now where 
 the rascal run it through." 
 
 Joe here took off his coat, and, rolling up his shirt-sleeve, 
 showed a large scar, that several witnesses, who had often 
 seen him in former times with his sleeves rolled up, said was 
 not there two years before, when he was last in the village. 
 " Now," said he triumphantly to Spinney, " you will believe 
 it, won't you ? " 
 
 " I believed it before, every word of it," said the doubter, 
 " especially about the snow-storm and the grass-cutting." 
 
 " All alike true," said Joe. 
 
 " He's a villain that doubts it," said Dobble. 
 
 "But wasn't I in a pretty fix then? Gumbo belonged to 
 one of the first families, and had a great many friends ; and, 
 if it became known that I had killed him, nothing would 
 save me. So I stole out of the garden, and, running down to 
 the bay or harbor of the town, I found the ship ■ Hurricane,' 
 Cap'n Tarbox, was to sail the next morning at day- 
 light. Only the day before I had put my money on board 
 the ' Hurricane,' to be taken to New York; and I wrote to my 
 agent there to have it divided among my namesakes. It 
 amounted to nine thousand dollars, being the amount I had 
 left from the proceeds of the 'Lovely Ann.' I had spent a 
 good deal courting Betsey. Courting is very expensive in 
 that country. On board the ship, I wrote a letter to Bet- 
 sey, explaining to her why I had left her so strangely, and 
 sent it on shore by the pilot. So, when I got to New York, 
 I found, as the result of my voyage, that I had nine thousand 
 dollars in gold doubloons." 
 
 " And what became of the poor girl?" inquired Abijah Gor- 
 don, who had listened all through the long story with an in- 
 terest that showed he believed every word of it. 
 
 " Oh ! she died in a mad-house. At least, she wrote to me 
 that she intended to if I did not go back ; and her father he 
 wrote to me, that, to save my character, they had hired a slave, 
 on the promise of freedom, to own that he had killed Gumbo, 
 and then they hung him to make all safe. He begged me 
 
 18* 
 
210 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY I 
 
 to return, and save the life of his daughter Betsey. Another 
 letter came soon after, saying she was dead, and that she had 
 died in a mad-house, without the aid of a physician." 
 
 "A little crack-brained before, perhaps," said Nat. 
 
 "And what became of the old man?" said Abijah. 
 
 " He died too. While I was there, I had showed him how 
 to make flip, and he loved it powerful ; and, when I was gone, 
 he took to flip, and drank so much that it flipped him over, 
 and he was buried by the side of Betsey. This is a warn- 
 ing to you all to beware of flip ; for, as Shakspeare says, 
 4 It is strange that a man should put an enemy into his 
 mouth to steal away his brains-' But here the pitcher is 
 out again : we must have some more." 
 
 The company were all in too maudlin a state to object to 
 this last proposition ; and Philemon, or, as Joe called him, the 
 Kurnill, was despatched to the cellar to bring up more beer, 
 and the flip-dog was again thrust into the coals. Little Dil- 
 ler was getting anxious about the good name of his house ; 
 while Spinney was become as amiable and happy as Tam 
 O'Shanter on the evening of that fearful ride when his gray 
 mare Meg distanced the witches, "leaving behind her ain 
 gray tail." He was equally ummindful as Tam of one 
 who sat at home, "nursing her wrath to keep it warm." The 
 next pitcher of the insinuating flip was prepared by Joe, 
 who, with a roguish design on Spinney, poured into it double 
 the usual amount of spirit; and, when each had refilled his 
 glass from this stronger preparation, Joe asked them for their 
 opinion upon it. Spinney said it had a finer flavor than the 
 last; so did Nat: and they both evidenced that they thought 
 so by draining their glasses as soon as the high temperature 
 of the mixure would permit, and immediately refilling them. 
 Diller himself was fast getting over his anxiety for the repu- 
 tation of the Eagle, and was so happy, that he proposed to 
 drink the health of the distinguished traveller, Mr. Joseph 
 Pump agin. 
 
 " Bumpers ! " said Nat ; and he and Spinney filled their 
 glasses once more. \ 
 
 By this time, Spinney was thoroughly amiable; and, advan- 
 cing towards Joe, he extended his hand, and said, "Mr. 
 Pumpagin, here is my hand, and I accept your 'pology. No, 
 you accept my 'pology. I didn't mean nothing when I kept 
 saying, C I believe every word of it.' I say it was all true; 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 211 
 
 and any man who says Joe Pumpagin ain't a man of truth, 
 then I am ready to fight him ! " 
 
 To this Joe responded by giving his hand ; when Spinney 
 closed by giving him a hug, and then, stepping back, unfor- 
 tunately made a misstep, lost his balance, and fell on the 
 floor. His glass, flying from his hand and striking the 
 hearth, broke into a thousand pieces. Nat Dobble advanced, 
 and, with benevolent intentions, stooped to assist the doubter 
 to rise ; but, not carefully balancing himself, he fell over the 
 prostrate Spinney, his head striking the hearth among the frag- 
 ments of his friend's tumbler so violently, that he rolled 
 over insensible upon the floor, with the blood oozing from a 
 dozen wounds in his face. Little Diller now rushed forward 
 to their relief: but, at the instant of his approach. Spinney 
 chanced to throw out one leg ; and, his heavy boot striking the 
 spindle-shanks of the landlord, he, too, fell over, and neither 
 of the three had the power to rise. Two others, less intoxi- 
 cated, now rushed in : but so vigorously did Diller and Spin- 
 ney strike out with their feet and hands, that they, too, were 
 soon sprawling on top of the heap ; and the whole five were 
 piled up like a nest of snakes, all intertwisted, heads and 
 points, and unable to extricate themselves. 
 
 Joe looked at this interesting group with a complacent 
 chuckle, and then, drawing forth his pipe from his- pocket, 
 sat down, and began to smoke with an air of indifference. 
 Those present who had not got entangled in the human 
 jumble on the floor quickly left the room, and went home. 
 And now Philemon, coming to the rescue of his master, drew 
 him forth, and thrust him into the kitchen, where his good 
 wife was in a terrible state of perturbation, as the last scene 
 in the bar-room had been attended with such a clatter and 
 tumult as to seriously alarm her lest the good name of the 
 hotel should be prejudiced. But the sight of Diller as he was 
 thrust through the doorway by Philemon, his hair all dishev- 
 elled, his coat torn, and his whole appearance that of maud- 
 lin drunkenness, raised this good woman's temper to a pitch 
 of fury. 
 
 " Ah! " said she, "this is the way you keep your tavern, is 
 it? And all because that low fellow, Joe Pumpagin, has 
 come back ! " 
 
 Here Philemon closed the door ; and what more passed 
 between this usually happy and loving couple has never to 
 
212 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY ; 
 
 this day been revealed. All extricated themselves from the 
 floor, and left the house, except Spinney and Nat : they 
 both lay in a drunken sleep. Joe now took a candle, and, 
 knowing where the best chamber and bed were, went up 
 stairs, and, without leave, took possession of this room; 
 though in former days he had never been allowed to look 
 towards so exclusive an apartment, which was reserved only 
 for the most distinguished guests. Here, between the whi- 
 test sheets, and on a bed of the lightest live-geese feathers, 
 he was soon sleeping off the effects of his potations of flip. 
 
 A little before sunrise the next morning, Spinney was seen 
 stealing from the house homeward, followed, half an hour af- 
 ter, by Nat Dobble ; and from that day, for many years, the 
 adventures of that night formed an epoch in the town his- 
 tory. For a time, it completely cast in the shade the "great 
 baby ball," as it was called ; and was always spoken of as the 
 "great drunk." Spinney was not seen at the Eagle again 
 during the winter; and when, a month later, he met Joe in 
 the street, who asked him why he did not call in again, and 
 take a glass with his old friends at the tavern, he replied, 
 "he had abandoned the follies and vices of this world, and, 
 besides, was busy getting up his winter firewood." 
 
 " I believe every word of it," said Joe. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 213 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " In truth he was a strange and wayward wight, 
 
 Fond of each gentle and each dreadful scene. 
 
 In darkness and in storm he found delight; 
 
 Nor less than when, on ocean wave serene, 
 
 The southern sun diffused his dazzling sheen. 
 
 E'en sad vicissitude amused his soul; 
 
 And if a sigh would sometimes intervene, 
 
 And down his cheek a tear of pity roll, 
 A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wished not to control." — Beattie. 
 
 That Joe Pumpagin had returned with his pockets full of 
 money was soon known to every one in the village of Mont- 
 gomery. But that the whole story of the sea-voyage was an 
 entire fiction, as well as the transparent parts of it, very few 
 had any doubt. It was the only account, however, that he 
 would give of the way he had obtained his money ; and so 
 people were left in curious perplexity in regard to him. 
 Some even whispered that he must be either a pirate or a 
 burglar, and, having made a haul, had come to Montgomery 
 to spend it, safe from the clutches of the law. But no one 
 who knew him believed any thing of this kind, as he seemed 
 always so careless and jolly, either with or without money, 
 that it was an evident absurdity to connect him with any 
 thing like violence or crime. A more plausible theory, and 
 one more generally accepted, was, that he was connected 
 with some wealthy family, and had probably inherited a for- 
 tune ; and, in support of this opinion, his playful allusions to 
 his estate in England, and his boast to the confiding mothers 
 at the great ball that he would one day be a lord, were quot- 
 ed as proof. 
 
 But his money, however obtained, was always current at 
 the Eagle ; and he was no longer an unwelcome sitter in the 
 chimney-corner of Diller's bar-room. He paid all his bills 
 promptly, and spent more money at the bar than all the vil- 
 lage besides. His old friend, Tench Wales, was now remem- 
 
214 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 bered ; and Joe bought him two cows and a small flock of 
 sheep; besides which he ordered a carpenter to renovate his 
 house, holding himself responsible for the job. Tench was 
 as fond of flip as Joe, though he was not often at the tavern ; 
 and preferred a quiet mug at his own house, of a cold night, 
 when the winds were merry. Except when Joe was thus 
 engaged, there was scarce an evening during that winter that 
 the flip-dog at the tavern was not in requisition. 
 
 Though Joe's education was not of a high order, he, never- 
 theless, could read ; and his reading, though not taking an 
 extensive range among authors, was well selected ; for he 
 read only one book, and that book, as may be inferred from 
 his frequent quotations, was Shakspeare. In some of his 
 early adventures, he had visited the theatres, not only in the 
 large cities of his own country, but in those of England, and 
 had seen the best of actors, and been so impressed with 
 the renderings of the great bard by some of the eminent tra- 
 gedians, that he took to studying the text, and found it such 
 a mine of intellectual treasures, practical wisdom, and flow- 
 ers of fancy, that he read it and read it, year after year, till it 
 was as familiar to him as was ever the Bible to Puritan or 
 Covenanter. In the use of the pen, his knowledge was very 
 limited ; at least, it was supposed to be so by the good people of 
 Montgomery; for, whenever his autograph had been required, 
 it was always found that he had a middle name, the first letter 
 of which was X : and, from the knowledge of this fact, some 
 of his listeners at the Eagle were inclined to doubt whether he 
 ever wrote that letter to Miss Betsey of which he had boasted 
 at " the great drunk." But envious minds are always carp- 
 ing, and genius is ever exposed to the shafts of common- 
 place. 
 
 During the winter of Joe's return, he enjoyed his ease and 
 comfort at the Eagle. He was somewhat erratic in his life, 
 having many confidences with the town's-people, and espe- 
 cially with Tench Wales and his wife. If a fat turkey or 
 brace of chickens was to be sold, he would not unfrequently 
 buy them, and send them to his friends, and follow them at 
 about the hour he knew they would be ready for the table. 
 As often as twice a week, he would set out early in the morn- 
 ing for the old Gomery or Gault Farm upon the hill, and 
 would not return till near evening. He made the acquaint- 
 ance of Nathan Pratt, who had long been the upper-servant 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 215 
 
 or manager of the place, while his wife Jerusha was under- 
 housekeeper to the overseeing and overruling Huldah ; and 
 by a judicious use of his stories, and by sending up every 
 few days small presents of sea-shells or other curiosities 
 which he had picked up in his travels, and which he knew 
 would be acceptable, and on one occasion the materials for 
 a new dress to Jerusha, wife of Nathan, he made himself se- 
 cure of a hearty welcome. Here it was his delight to talk 
 with those worthy people of the early history of the place, 
 and fish up all the old traditions that hung around it with 
 their heavy shadows. Nathan and his wife had heard, during 
 their residence there, all the marvellous tales of the place ; 
 and, in her time, had often talked with old Lady Gomery of 
 the dreadful Gault massacre. But she, as we saw long ago, 
 was a woman of too strong sense, too well informed, and of 
 too philosophical a turn of mind, to attach any thing of a su- 
 pernatural or miraculous character to the phenomena which 
 she had witnessed, but had explained them to her own 
 satisfaction by following to their legitimate conclusion the 
 speculations of Mesmer and Franklin, that at a far later day 
 were systematized and verified by Richenbach and his disci- 
 ples. But Joe was not so much interested in the ghost sto- 
 ries as he was in gathering up all the reports, rumors, and 
 traditions that had ever circulated about the place in regard 
 to the tragedy itself and the authors of it. The occurrence, 
 at the time, had excited the horror and indignation of all 
 who knew of it ; and when the history of the war came to 
 be written out, and the official reports of all the different 
 movements, successes, and disasters of the royal troops were 
 published, Huldah Gomery, who had sifted the evidence 
 more thoroughly than any one else, had made up her mind 
 as to the guilty party. From Nathan and his wife, Joe 
 learned what this good woman had often said of the affair, 
 and that the leader of the murdering party was, in her opin- 
 ion, a Col. Cumberland : but whether the act were done by 
 him, or by one of his subordinates with his consent, or 
 despite his authority, she did not pretend to know; though 
 her opinion was that it was the colonel himself, as the figure 
 seen in the apparition had always been a tall, handsome offi- 
 cer in uniform. 
 
 Thus the winter passed away, and Joe Pumpagin enjoyed 
 his ease and comfort at the Eagle. He entertained the tra- 
 
216 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 vellers with his strange stories, and the neighbors with hot 
 grog. His face grew redder, his form more rotund, as the 
 spring advanced ; and in his visits he was always welcome, 
 for he scattered his sixpences freely among the little folks, 
 and praised them up to their mothers as juvenile paragons. 
 But, next to Tench Wales and his wife, his most intimate 
 friends were the occupants of the old Gomery Place on the 
 hill ; and between him. and them there was a sort of Freema- 
 sonry established, or rather an implied treaty of reciprocity, 
 by which it was understood, that, while they were to relate to 
 him all the floating traditions of the place, he was to regale 
 them with his still more marvellous adventures in countries 
 not laid down on any map, nor mentioned in any geography. 
 The old log-house, the one built by Gault, and which had 
 been the habitation of Robert Gomery till the new one was 
 built, now stood a dishonored edifice, being still used as a place 
 of shelter for farming-tools and dilapidated furniture. It 
 was even now said to be occasionally haunted ; but, as the 
 family made it a practice never to go near it during the tra- 
 ditional hours when the ghosts were abroad, they could not 
 tell whether they had revisited the pale glimpses of the 
 moon during the last year. A little more than a year before, 
 however, one of the hired men, having returned from the 
 village one hot July evening so intoxicated that he hardly 
 knew what he did, staggered into it, and lay down on a pile of 
 horse-blankets. There he had fallen asleep, but was soon after 
 awakened by a horrid noise, and saw, as clear as daylight, the 
 figure of a woman with her throat cut, and heard such 
 screams of a child that he durst not move nor speak till the 
 apparition had disappeared, and the sounds of the child's 
 voice receding in the distance could be no longer heard. 
 Then, running to the door of the house, he raised the whole 
 family by his shouts and clatter, and told of the dreadful 
 sights he had seen. This laborer had been on the place but 
 a few days, and, never having heard of the Gault tragedy, 
 was not prepared for such sights. When he told his story, 
 he was surprised at the cool way in which it was received. 
 Nathan told him it was only the ghosts of the Gaults come 
 back ; and all went to bed again to sleep as undisturbed as 
 ever. But the witness of the scene did not sleep again that 
 night, and in the morning said he wanted to settle off and 
 leave ; for he was " afraid of them fellers that went about in 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 217 
 
 the night with lanterns, cuttin' folks' throats just for takin' 
 suthin' to warm the stomach." So he left, and no more 
 ghosts were seen or heard of till old Joe Pumpagin made his 
 appearance on the hill. When Nathan asked him why he 
 was so curious to know all the freaks and fantasies of the 
 ghosts, and all about the Gault history, he replied that he was 
 of an inquiring turn of mind, and it was because of that that 
 he had seen and learned so much, and was so full of knowl- 
 edge. No ignorant man, he said, could tell such stories as 
 he could, and have them all true ; and this was because he 
 was so honest and particular always to winnow the wheat 
 from the chaff, or truth from falsehood. Nobody, he said, 
 could get round him with their big stories ; and so, as he was 
 never imposed upon by others, people might depend on all 
 he said to the smallest particular. 
 
 In his visits at the hill in former times, he had often met 
 the children of Freeborn Gomery. But he never could have 
 much intimacy with them in their grandmother's lifetime, as 
 she had always looked upon him as a disreputable character, 
 having no employment, or means of support ; and such a per- 
 son she regarded as little better than a downright criminal. 
 But in these later days, when the boys visited the hill, he 
 soon found the way to their hearts by his voluble tongue, his 
 strange adventures, and unceasing good nature. He was not 
 only a favorite with the older boys, Theron and Wirt, who 
 highly enjoyed his practical jokes, but with the youngest, 
 Walter, he soon established terms of the most confidential 
 intimacy. He so amused them with his oddities and experi- 
 ences, that they used to report them to their parents; and their 
 reports confirming so well the testimony of Tench Wales in 
 regard to his amusing character, in time Joe became as wel- 
 come a guest in the parlor of the Pivot as any man in 
 the village ; and, when more pretending visitors came to the 
 house, the boys would steal away from the company of the 
 parlor to sit on Joe's knees in the kitchen, and hear him 
 tell of what he had seen " in his trips to the Moon, to Jupi- 
 ter, Saturn, and the other West-India islands." Besides 
 telling them stories, he made them kites and pop-guns, cross- 
 bows and arrows, and an ingenious water-wheel, with the 
 gear for a trip-hammer, that, by striking on the bottom of 
 an old tin pan, could be heard at the house, though the little 
 brook that turned the wheel was nearly half a mile distant. 
 
 19 
 
218 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 But it was the youngest boy, Walter, — the hero who, in his 
 infantile days, had protested so successfully, at the time of 
 the grand ball, against being exchanged by this same Joe, — 
 that was now his greatest friend. He took to him with a 
 strange attachment; and every night, when in his night- 
 gown his father took him in his arms to rock him to sleep, 
 he would invariably ask for " Old Joe." He knew him by no 
 other name ; and when he came and knelt down at his 
 mother's knee to say his evening prayer, if asked whom he 
 wanted to pray for, it was always father, mother, brothers, 
 sisters, and everybody else, and "Old Joe." This boy Wal- 
 ter was very different from all the other Gomery children ; 
 and, as he bids fair to be the hero of this book (if his friend 
 Joe does not overshadow him), I advise the reader thus 
 early to observe his peculiar and strange traits of character. 
 He was not vivacious and playful like the older children, 
 but, even at this age, would ask questions so strangely diffi- 
 cult, that he was looked upon as an oddity, if not a prodigy. 
 He would never engage in any cruel sport at the expense 
 of dumb animals ; and the dog and cat, if hectored by the 
 older boys, would run to him for protection : and it was not 
 till overcome by force that he would allow them to play 
 their tricks on these friends of his. Even the chickens would 
 come about him, and fear nothing ; though, at such times, the 
 approach of an elder brother would send them clucking from 
 the yard. 
 
 He was soon to know his first great grief. The summer 
 had passed, and autumn had come, and brought its leaves of 
 gold and red, with the fruit burning among them. Old Joe 
 had been his constant friend during the whole of the depart- 
 ed season, and there had been scarcely a day when he had 
 not been at the Pivot ; and he was equally ready at all times 
 to help the older boys through with their " stents" if there 
 was a fishing excursion, or any other juvenile adventure in 
 prospect, or to wander about the woods and fields with 
 Walter, telling him stories, crossing brooks with him on his 
 back, or gathering choice apples and pears to send to some 
 poor woman or sick child in the neighborhood, concerning 
 whom Walter was ever inquiring. 
 
 One day, Old Joe did not appear at the Pivot. Why, they 
 knew not ; and though Walter was impatient and discontent- 
 ed, going into the road every five minutes, and casting a 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 219 
 
 glance towards the town in the hope of seeing the well- 
 known form heaving up the hill, yet, when the night came, 
 he went off to bed without a murmur, though he got his 
 mother to promise, that, if he came in the night, he should be 
 waked up to see him. But, as he did not appear the next 
 day, not only Walter, but Theron and Wirt, became so 
 anxious and importunate, that, towards night, the old squire 
 said he would go down to the village and see what had be- 
 come of him. He did not get back till late, and till long 
 after the usual bed-time for them all : but this night they 
 were disinclined to retire till they had seen or heard from 
 their friend ; and their mother acceded to their wish, until 
 Theron and Wirt fell asleep in their chairs, when unreluc- 
 tantly they obeyed her orders to go to bed. 
 
 But there were no signs of drowsiness in Walter : he sat 
 bolt upright in his chair, his eyes wide open, listening intent- 
 ly for any noise or sound of approaching footsteps. 
 
 " He is a strange boy," said his mother to herself, taking 
 him in her lap. 
 
 " You like Joe, don't you," said she, " better than anybody 
 else?" 
 
 "ISTo, mother, — not better than you or papa," said he 
 thoughtfully. "And I would like Theron and Wirt a great 
 deal better if they would not plague poor Peleg Skiff so." 
 Then, reflecting a while, he said, "Ain't I a good boy, mother ? 
 Do I ever make a noise, or plague Towser or Puss, as Wirt 
 does ? Do I ever call Peleg names, and ask about his pa, and 
 make him cry, as Theron does ? Don't I do all you tell me ? " 
 
 " Oh, you are a darling good boy ! " said she, giving him a 
 kiss, which he received very passively. Then, looking at his 
 thoughtful, anxious face, she thought how different he was 
 from all her other children, how thoughtful of others, and how 
 affectionate and unselfish. Can an organization so sensitive 
 endure this rough world, and grow up to manhood ? She 
 now thought of the weird words of Goody Wales the morn- 
 ing after the great ball, and cla'sped her child convulsively to 
 her heart. But no sooner did she unloose her embrace than 
 he resumed his earnest look at the fire, as if, in the bright 
 coals, he was reading the pages of futurity. 
 
 " Don't you want me to love Old Joe, mother ? " said he. 
 
 "Yes, my child : Joe is very kind to you." 
 
 " Poor Old Joe ! He has no children and no wife to love 
 him, — only me. Poor Old Joe ! " 
 
220 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 At this time the sound of steps was heard, and the lawyer 
 entered. Laying aside his hat and cane, and calling the boy 
 to him, he said, " Well, my good boy, why are you not 
 abed?" 
 
 " I wanted to hear about Old Joe." 
 
 " Well, I have seen him this evening at the tavern, and 
 he is not very well. I hope he will be better before long, 
 and then he will come and see you." The eyes of the boy 
 were suffused with tears ; but he only said he wanted to go 
 to bed. He was accordingly gratified ; and, after his mother 
 returned from seeing him well covered and tucked in, she 
 inquired more particularly for the sick man, and her husband 
 said, that, from what he could learn, the romancer had not 
 been quite well for a week or two preceding. Unfortunately, 
 when he returned to the tavern two evenings before, he 
 encountered some travellers of a social turn, who had stopped 
 there for the night. Joe, as usual, must entertain them with 
 stories, and with his favorite beverage, flip. He began by 
 telling of his wonderful adventures in unheard-of parts of 
 the earth ; and, for every story he told, one of the travellers 
 gave another, if possible more extravagant and absurd. The 
 flip flowed freely ; and, as Joe found that in story-telling he 
 was getting the worst of it, he thought he would put his an- 
 tagonist hors de combat by aid of the potent flip. But 
 though the traveller swallowed it fearlessly, and called for 
 more, he only grew more glib of tongue, and more prolific of 
 marvellous tales; and at last Joe got so thick of utterance, 
 that he could not go on, and was obliged to retire from the 
 field, which he could only do by the aid of Diller and Phile- 
 mon, who supported him to his room, which he had not left 
 since. The combined effect of the flip and of the discomfit- 
 ure so prostrated him, that the next morning he was too sick 
 to leave his bed ; and Doctor Purkitt, being called in, said he 
 had a severe and very dangerous fever. During that day, he 
 had been allowed to see no one but the physician and Tench 
 Wales, who acted as watcher and nurse, till Lawyer Gomery 
 arrived, who, as the important man of the village, was allowed 
 to transgress rules that all others must respect. 
 
 The next morning, Walter was up before any of the rest 
 of the family, and, as soon as he was dressed, was for going 
 off to see his friend Joe. But, when his father came down, 
 he told him he must wait, and that Ethan should go to the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 221 
 
 village to get some wheat and corn ground at the mill, and 
 should inquire and bring back word about Joe. Poor Walter 
 was but illy satisfied with this arrangement, but, as usual, 
 submitted without a murmur, and went quietly out to look 
 after his ducks and chickens. But when the breakfast-hour 
 came, and he took his little high chair at the table by his 
 mother's side, he barely tasted the cup of sweet bread and 
 milk that was set before him, and said he couldn't eat it. So 
 he got down from his high chair, and went back to his ducks. 
 It was almost noon before Ethan returned ; and the news 
 he brought was, that " he wa'n't no better, and, if any thing, 
 a little wuss." He also brought from the village a box of 
 fruit which had been sent from a town far to the south of 
 Montgomery by some of the distant relations of Mrs. Gom- 
 ery. It had been left at the Eagle late the night before, 
 and Ethan brought it up to the Pivot on his return. It 
 was a strong box, about a foot long by six inches in breadth 
 and depth, and, when opened, appeared to be filled with 
 nicely packed cotton ; but, on removing the first layer of 
 this, the sight of some large blushing peaches, with the down 
 yet on them, was revealed. Theron and Wirt were each given 
 one of the finest and ripest ; which they quickly disposed of, 
 and came back clamorous for more. Walter also had one 
 given to him ; but, instead of devouring it as the others had 
 done, he carried it up to his sleeping chamber, where he had 
 a little box for keeping his juvenile riches. In this he care- 
 fully laid his peach, and covered it with a piece of paper, so 
 that Theron or Wirt should not discover it if they chanced 
 to pry into his treasury. He then returned to the sitting- 
 room, and all were promised another at supper-time ; and, 
 after that, each was to have one morning, noon, and evening, 
 till they were all gone. The proposition was demurred to 
 by all three of the boys, who insisted that their father and 
 mother should come in, at least, on equal shares. This being 
 conceded, the box was put away till evening. When the 
 hour for distribution came round, Theron and Wirt always 
 had a contest for the largest one ; and, after this was settled 
 by lot, Theron was ever ready to sell out to Wirt for some- 
 thing less perishable than peaches, and the latter was disposed 
 to gratify his palate at the expense of his pennies and " fo'- 
 pences." But, as they could seldom agree on the value of 
 the perishables, the result generally was, that, after much hag- 
 
 19* 
 
222 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 gling and many offers, they ended by each devouring his 
 own, and calling the other mean and stingy. But Walter 
 always went away by himself; and, as his brothers supposed 
 it was to eat his peach alone, Wirt called him a pig, and 
 Theron a sneak. 
 
 Every day, Walter inquired several times about his old 
 friend Joe. But no cheering word came to him. Every 
 day the report was that he was " no better ; " and the squire 
 and his wife both knew that no better meant worse. So one 
 afternoon, when the two older boys were away in the woods 
 gathering beech-nuts, and Walter was down looking at the 
 trip-hammer that had got out of gear during the absence 
 of Joe, it was resolved that they would drive down to the 
 village, and call and see the sick man. Mrs. Gomery took 
 with her some strawberry-preserves, some raspberry-shrub, 
 some sago, and other niceties, such as are usually given to 
 sick and convalescent people. 
 
 Poor Joe was indeed very sick : but the honor and kindness 
 which the squire and his wife had shown him by coming to 
 visit him went right home to his heart ; and his face bright- 
 ened up with a sense of gratitude as the handsome Mrs. 
 Gomery sat down by the side of his bed, and began to ques- 
 tion him of his condition. The fever had been running for 
 several days with great violence, and gave as yet no signs of 
 abatement or turning. It was difficult for the poor man to 
 talk ; though he inquired about the boys, and especially for 
 Walter. When the good woman told how hardly he had 
 taken his absence, and how he went about restless and dis- 
 contented, inquiring for him many times each day, the inva- 
 lid smiled, and, evidently affected, said, " Then there is some- 
 body that cares for Old Joe, after all. Do let him come' and 
 see me, will you ? " 
 
 " Yes, he may come," answered the lawyer ; " but perhaps 
 he had better wait a few days till you are stronger." 
 
 " No," said Joe. " Let him come to-morrow. Perhaps — 
 no, it can't be : my work is not done. Oh, well ! no matter. 
 Let him come to-morrow." He could say no more, and the 
 visitors withdrew. 
 
 On their way, Mrs. Gomery asked her husband what Joe 
 meant when he said his work was not done. 
 
 " I can't imagine. There is some mystery about that man 
 quite incomprehensible to me. If he lives, I may find it out ; 
 but I fear it will die with him. His hours are few." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 223 
 
 As they approached their home, they met Walter a quarter 
 of a mile from the house, coming to meet them. Though all 
 the boys had been warned not to go so far from home 
 without leave, yet the parents, knowing what had induced 
 him to go astray at this time, did not have it in their hearts 
 to say a word to him, but stopped for him to get into the 
 chaise ; when his mother took him in her lap, and pressed him 
 in her arms more fondly than ever before. She had been 
 proud of her other children ; but this one developed such pre- 
 mature affection, such filial love, and precocious moral quali- 
 ties, that her heart yearned towards him with a depth of 
 feeling that she had never before experienced. She looked 
 into his calm thoughtful eyes until her own were suffused and 
 well-nigh overflowed. Then with an effort she controlled 
 herself, and told him that that they had seen Joe, and that 
 to-morrow afternoon they were going to see him again ; and 
 he might, if he was a good boy, go with them. 
 
 " Me a good boy, mother?" said he; " ain't I always a good 
 boy ? " and, at the reflection her words implied, he burst into 
 tears. 
 
 But, when evening came, he appeared more sprightly and 
 cheerful than he had been for days. He prattled of the good 
 times he expected to have when Old Joe got well ; of the 
 promised visit to Obededom Homer, who had but a little 
 before met with a serious accident, having had his ankle-bone 
 shivered very badly, so that it could not be got into place 
 again by the doctors, in consequence of which he suffered 
 constant and excessive pain. Then he would carry Obed- 
 edom some of the best apples in the orchard and his new 
 bow-gun that Joe had made for him, and was as enthusias- 
 tic as was " my Uncle Toby " when enumerating all he pro- 
 posed to do for poor Lefevre. And, besides all this, he was 
 going with Joe, to take some good warm clothes, some tarts 
 and " goodies " that his mother had promised him, to the 
 poor wicked woman that lived all alone in a little house, and 
 whom nobody but his mother ever went to see, because all the 
 folks said she was so wicked. Since her little boy Peleg 
 died, that never had any father, she had lived all alone, and 
 was very poor ; for nobody in the village would give her any 
 thing to do, because of her great sin, except Mrs. Gomery. 
 She, however, could defy the public sentiment and the anath- 
 emas of tl;e persons who professed to be following Him who 
 
224 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 had said, " Neither do I condemn thee : go, and sin no more." 
 This poor woman wore not the visible scarlet letter ; but it 
 was nathless ever burning into her breast. She passed 
 unrecognized through the village ; or, if noticed at all, it was 
 by heartless boys, who jeered her as she passed. Caleb 
 Thornton, it is true, bought her finely knit stockings and 
 mittens, and never cheapened them ; and Mrs. Gomery gave 
 her the wool for their manufacture, besides which she sent 
 her many little presents of fresh meat, of fruits and vegeta- 
 bles. But these people, as we have seen, were regarded by 
 Parson Millson and his flock as not only spiritually blind, 
 but as worse than the infidel. The lonely and friendless con- 
 dition of this outcast had often excited the sympathy and 
 inquiry of Walter ; and it had been at his suggestion that 
 many a delicacy had been sent to her from the Pivot. This 
 evening, as the prospect of Joe's return loomed up before 
 him, his thoughts were only of doing good to the unhappy 
 and afflicted. His mother listened to his enthusiastic plans, 
 and could hardly keep back the tears as she thought of the 
 disappointment that, in all probability, awaited him. She 
 could not, however, bring herself to communicate her fears 
 that Joe had played his last trick and told his last story. 
 But the words of Goody Wales, the night after the great 
 ball, came to her recollection ; and she withdrew to her own 
 room to indulge in a gush of tears. 
 
 " Ah, Walter, Walter ! — what an oddity you were, to be 
 sure ! and what a task is upon me to bring you through the 
 world ! Will you be hanged or translated ? Your destiny 
 points to one of these extremes. You have come upon me 
 with such qualities as the great masters never ascribed to 
 their characters, except purposely, and with malice prepense, 
 to kill them off prematurely ; and how can you expect to 
 fare in such bungling hands Z But courage : yours is not to 
 be the fate of little Nell, nor of Eva, nor of the traditional 
 "good little boy that died." 
 
 The next day, after dinner, the old horse and chaise were 
 brought to the door ; and Walter, in his Sunday's best, was 
 eager to set out. But, just as they were ready to start, he 
 ran up stairs to his own room, and brought down a small box 
 under his arm. " What is that ? " said his mother, taking it 
 from him. The boy was half reluctant to give it up ; but his 
 mother nevertheless took and opened it, and found on the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 225 
 
 top some loose cotton, beneath which were all the peaches 
 that had been given him (save two that he had sent to Obed- 
 edom Homer), and which they had all supposed had been 
 eaten at the time. But, alas ! the peaches were all rotten. 
 " My dear boy," said his mother, placing the box on the table, 
 " you are a good boy, and I will tell Joe how you remem- 
 bered him ; but your peaches are all spoiled." Walter burst 
 into tears at this ; and the old squire, who found his eyes 
 getting moist, went out, and stood beside the carriage. 
 "Boys," said the mother to Theron and Wirtimir, "you 
 called Walter a pig and a sneak ; yet, while you ate up all 
 your peaches, he saved his for his poor sick friend. Who is 
 the pig, I would like to know, now ? " The boys stole away 
 abashed to the task that their father had set them at gathering 
 apples ; but they soon forgot their shame and self-condem- 
 nation in the amusement they found in throwing the apples 
 at each other. 
 
 On the way to the village, Mrs. Gomery held her boy in 
 her lap. She could see that he was sorely troubled in spirit ; 
 and, for fear that he should break forth in tears, she made no 
 allusion to Joe. Thinking, however, to divert his attention, 
 she asked him what he had been doing during the morning. 
 
 "I was at the spring, watching the angels. I have watched 
 'em a great many times to see the tears run down their faces ; 
 but I never saw them till yesterday." 
 
 " Who has told you any thing about the * Weeping An- 
 gels'?" 
 
 " Old Joe : he says that they often weep at night at the 
 hour the poor Gault Family was killed ; and, when any danger 
 is nigh, they weep all the time. Last night the water was 
 trickling down and dropping into the spring, and this morn- 
 ing too." 
 
 " Have you ever noticed, Freeborn, any thing in regard to 
 this superstition of the ' Weeping Angels ' ? " 
 
 " I have noticed that the water trickles down from above 
 at some seasons of the year, and not at others, and from 
 those points of the rock in the arch overhead, that, in the twi- 
 light, seem to be the heads of human figures. But, with a 
 strong light, no fancy could imagine such a resemblance. 
 The Indians, it is said, gave them the name of ' Weeping An- 
 gels ; ' and it is probably one of their superstitions, that these 
 tears portend catastrophe." 
 
226 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 When the lawyer, with his wife and son, reached the tav- 
 ern, they found there a number of people, who had collected 
 from a sense of mingled curiosity and sympathy. A doctor 
 of considerable local eminence, named Keezar, from Tivernet, 
 had been called in to add his mite to the vast quantity stored 
 in the head of Doctor Purkitt. Squire Gomery had given 
 orders the day before to have him sent for, as, in his opin- 
 ion, — to use his own figure, — Purkitt knew as much of 
 medicine as a hen knew of geometry. The two were in con- 
 sultation over the sick man at the»time of the lawyer's arri- 
 val ; but directly they came down from the sick man's cham- 
 ber, and the squire asked the Tivernet doctor for a few 
 words in private with him. Little I)iller, whose ears were 
 ever open, showed them into his wife's parlor, Mrs. Gomery 
 accompanying them ; while "Walter was left in the entry, 
 exposed to have his already overwrought sympathies still 
 more excited by the undertone expressions of those around 
 him. Doctor Purkitt thought it very strange that he was 
 not invited to this conference on the case ; and, on being 
 asked how the patient was, said " he had been doing very 
 well ; and, if he had been left alone, he would have had him 
 out in a few days. But he could not answer for what these 
 new-fangled doctors might do." 
 
 "When the door of the parlor had been closed, the physician 
 was asked to state frankly and fully what was the actual con- 
 dition of the patient. To this, Doctor Keezar replied that 
 the fever had run its course, and at the same time it had run 
 the patient so low, that it was doubtful if he had life enough 
 left in him to rally. " The disease," he continued, " is ex- 
 hausted. He is alive, it is true ; and that is all. There is no 
 force nor strength nor vitality left. If by any means a re- 
 action could be got up, he would doubtless recover ; and it is 
 possible he may float over the crisis, and, without any extra- 
 neous aid, survive. It is barely possible, and that is all. But, 
 without some turn, the little life left cannot long continue. 
 He lies just hovering on the brink of two worlds; and the 
 scale is so nicely balanced, that the least thing will turn it 
 either way. If by any expedient his nerves could be ex- 
 cited, or his mind impressed by some story, pleasurable rem- 
 iniscence, or emotion, he would recover. But I have ex- 
 hausted my ingenuity, and he lies still dormant ; and ere long, 
 unless there is a reflux, the little life left must ebb away." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 227 
 
 " Let us go up and see him, Freeborn," said Mrs. Gomery. 
 " Perhaps we can say something to revive him or make him 
 laugh." 
 
 " Do it, and I then shall have strong hopes of him," said 
 the doctor. 
 
 They all left the parlor and went up stairs, and were met 
 at the door of Joe's room by his ever-faithful friend, Tench 
 Wales. Mrs. Gomery with an affected lightness approached 
 his bedside, and said, " Well, how are you to-day ? Better, 
 I hope." The only answer to this was a slight raising of the 
 eyelids. The lawyer now spoke up, and said, " Joe, they say 
 you are likely to kick the bucket, and I have come up to make 
 out your will for you. Of course, you will want to provide 
 for your namesakes, who were to have cows and money, and 
 a great many other things, when you got to be a lord ; and 
 also for those of your sister Nancy, who died in the poor- 
 house." 
 
 This sally of the lawyer, recalling to his mind the inci- 
 dents of the great ball, caused the eyelids again to move ; 
 and even the faint glimpse of a smile could be seen. But it 
 was only for a moment. The lawyer looked at Dr. Keezar, 
 who shook his head, as much as to say, " Too later Just then, 
 Walter, who had remained in the back-ground, crept up 
 quietly to the bedside, and, in a voice that was not to be 
 mistaken by Joe even at this low tide of life, said, " Old Joe, 
 Old Joe, little Walter has come to see you." The eyes now 
 opened wide ; a decided smile lit up the sick man's features ; 
 he drew a longer and a stronger breath ; the ebbing tide was 
 turned, and the way of Joe Pumpagin set once more towards 
 life and the world. 
 
228 GOMEBY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 u The pang, the curse, with which they died, 
 Had never passed away." — Coleridge. 
 
 "The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on 
 edge." — Ezekiel. 
 
 Though the story-teller began to improve from the time 
 of the event described in the last chapter, yet he was so very 
 low, that the change was for some time almost imperceptible, 
 and it was several weeks before he was able to get up to the 
 Pivot. There was not at first life or strength enough left in 
 him to start upon with any degree of momentum. But he 
 improved in a sort of geometrical ratio, — the little that he 
 gained one day enabling him to gain twice as much the 
 next, — until he was able to sit up; and then his improve- 
 ment was very rapid. And, a few days after that, Lawyer 
 Gomery came one fine November morning to the tavern 
 with his old-fashioned " one-horse shay," and took hirn out for 
 a drive in the brisk, invigorating air. A few days after this, 
 the lawyer came again ; and this time he was accompanied by 
 Walter, when the convalescent was taken to the Pivot, 
 where, though still pale and weak, he soon felt himself to be 
 a well man" Walter every day watched the spring. The 
 next day after his visit, he told his mother that the angels 
 did not drop their tears half so fast as on the day before ; and, 
 a few days after that, he came running in with great joy, and 
 said they had ceased entirely. 
 
 One day the squire sent Walter to request Joe to come to 
 his private room. The summons was obeyed ; and Walter 
 was told to go and join his brothers, and not to return for an 
 hour. The lawyer begged Joe to be seated, saying he de- 
 sired to have a long talk with him. The perplexed victim 
 obeyed, looking confused, guilty, and comical. He knew 
 enough of Freeborn Gomery to know that he was not to be 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 229 
 
 cajoled or trifled with, and that, though he could brave with 
 indifference and contempt a whole crowd of bar-room doubt- 
 ers of his stories, he could not impose upon the stern, search- 
 ing, practised lawyer; and he felt that the words would stick 
 in his throat if he attempted deception under the clear, hon- 
 est eye of Gomery of Montgomery. 
 
 " Mr. Pumpagin," said the lawyer, " you have been a great 
 traveller, and have seen much of the world, and, in the 
 course of your vagabond life, have picked up a great deal of 
 information ; and, with your rich imagination and total dis- 
 regard of truth, you make yourself vastly entertaining to the 
 idle crowds that you collect around you." 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered Joe; "but my stories don't do any 
 harm." 
 
 "You have had a strange, eventful life; and that which 
 you have always led about here has been one of consummate 
 acting, — in other words, false and affected. You have 
 feigned an ignorance and carelessness that were not yours. 
 You have pretended to a life without purpose, when you 
 have been actuated by deep design; and you have dis- 
 guised your real character so well, that, save Mrs. Gomery 
 and myself and Tench Wales, no one suspects that you are 
 any thing else than what you pretend to be. With your boon 
 companions you purposely use language coarse, ungrammati- 
 cal, and low ; but, when you talk to my children, you are 
 always severely correct, and reprimand them for errors of 
 expression that few people would detect. Hence I have 
 heard it said, that, when you are well charged with flip, you 
 use better language than when strictly sober. To me this is 
 proof that your bad English is affected, and that you use it 
 as a blind for some purpose, that, as yet, I do not understand. 
 Now, I beg of you, do not think me distrustful or suspicious ; 
 but, as I see that you are assuming a character not your own, 
 it is my duty to my children, before you are allowed to asso- 
 ciate with or influence them further, to know what is the 
 drift, the object, of all this acting, — this assumption of an 
 unreal character. Your familiar and winning ways with chil- 
 dren show a natural tact and refinement that ill comports with 
 the boisterous mirth you display among the coarse natures 
 that delight to gather around you and listen to your fantas- 
 tic, absurd stories, and drink grog at your expense. I have 
 thought much about you of late, and have tried to imagine 
 20 
 
230 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 a reason why you should, for so long a time, assume a char- 
 acter not your own. But I am still all in the dark ; and now 
 either all acquaintance and intimacy must be broken off, or 
 I must hear from your own lips something of your true 
 history." 
 
 Joe sat bolt upright in his chair during this harangue of 
 the lawyer, at first looking quizzical and humorous, but after- 
 wards surprised and serious. The lawyer looked steadily in 
 his face for a reply ; and he said, " Well, square, you give me 
 credit for more wit than anybody else. I was not aware 
 I was such a dangerous character. I believe I have ex- 
 plained to other people satisfactorily my course of life, and 
 how it happens that I am situated as I am." 
 
 " Evasion with me will not do. I know very well your 
 condition when you left here, now nearly three years ago ; 
 and I know, that though you had not a dollar then, yet two 
 years afterwards you returned with a large sum of money." 
 
 " I explained how I got it to the people at the tavern the 
 night I got back, just so there needn't be any mistake or 
 wonder about it. Like Othello, I told 
 
 ' The story of my life, 
 From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 That I have- passed. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 
 Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, 
 Of moving accidents, by flood and field ; 
 Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach ; 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
 And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, 
 And portance in my travel's history : 
 Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, 
 Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, 
 It was my hint to speak, — such was the process ; 
 And of the cannibals that each other eat ; 
 The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders/ " 
 
 " Your quotations from Shakspeare are very well in your 
 fancy sketches," said the squire ; " but I ask you for truth 
 without poetry or romance." 
 
 " But I find it so easy to quote Shakspeare : he expresses 
 my ideas so much better than I can myself. " 
 
 " No matter for that : tell me the truth in your own Amer- 
 ican vernacular " 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 231 
 
 " Very well, square ; just as you say. Down, Shakspeare, 
 down ! Hide your diminished head." 
 
 " I heard," replied the lawyer, not heeding the equivocal 
 compliment, " of your explanation about the shipwreck, and 
 breaking the colt in the deep snow, and all those strange 
 events of which Deacon Spinney believed every word. But 
 the truth is what I want ; and you surely can have no good 
 reason to withhold it. By refusing my request, you betray a 
 lack of confidence in me, and put me to an unpleasant neces- 
 sity. You know full well I can have no person of so myste- 
 rious a character, and so doubtful antecedents, in my house, 
 the intimate and confidant of my children." 
 
 The lawyer said this so sternly, looking the horse-tamer 
 all the while full in the eye, that Joe saw it was useless to 
 attempt to equivocate further ; that he must either say noth- 
 ing at all, or tell the simple truth, — a thing he had never 
 been known to do within the memory of " the oldest inhabit- 
 ant." 
 
 " At what period of my checkered life would you have me 
 begin?" 
 
 " Commence from the time that you left here three years 
 ago. That will do for the present." 
 
 " That I am very willing to do, though some things before 
 that I must reserve to another time ; but some day you shall 
 know it all. At present, it would advantage neither of us 
 were I to make a full revelation." 
 
 " Narrate, then, the events of the last two years, and as 
 much more as you choose to make known." 
 
 Joe now drew his pipe and a plug of tobacco from his 
 pocket, and then, taking out an old jack-knife, began cut- 
 ting off small chips of the Virginia twist, till he had got 
 enough to load his pipe ; and then, lighting it with a coal, 
 he sat back, and was evidently collecting his thoughts, and 
 recalling to mind the scenes he intended to describe. At 
 length he said, " You remember the night of the great ball ? " 
 
 " Yes : I have not forgotten it." 
 
 "Well, it occurred to me, after the babies had all been 
 properly mixed up and sent off in the arms of other babies' 
 mothers, — all except your Walter, and he wouldn't mix with 
 common folks, — that it would be a good time for me to 
 leave, and travel in foreign parts. Well, you must know that 
 during the last war I was a privateer, and was in at the cap- 
 
232 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 ture of two British vessels that were sent to New York to 
 be condemned. I have often told of these adventures, but 
 have so mixed them up with others, that people put little 
 more faith in them than in my trips to the moon or the 
 poles. After we had made these captures, one of which was 
 a very valuable one, our ship was captured in turn, and the 
 crew were all sent to England. There I was kept a prisoner 
 till after peace was declared, when I was turned adrift in 
 England ; and being, as you know, of an inquiring turn of 
 mind, I thought it a good opportunity to see a bit of that 
 little island. I therefore travelled about afoot and alone ; 
 and, though I hadn't a cent of money, I never wanted for 
 any thing." 
 
 "How was that?" inquired the lawyer. "You did not 
 help yourself, I hope, to what you needed." 
 
 " Far from it. I had wit, if I hadn't money. I knew 
 something of human nature; and when, in my travels, I 
 came to a house that looked comfortable and snug and neat, 
 and saw the children and women-folks about the door, I 
 would go up and begin to talk with 'em. Of course, it didn't 
 take me long to get them all interested in my adventures. 
 Then I would branch off to the last war with America, and 
 w r ould inquire if any of their friends were engaged in it ; 
 and, as it was generally the case they knew of some one who 
 had been, I was prepared with a great deal of information 
 about him. If killed, I had seen him fighting bravely; and, 
 if wounded, I had borne him from the field on my own shoul- 
 ders ; and, if he had escaped unhurt through all, I could tes- 
 tify to his gallant conduct in battle on several occasions. If, 
 again, he had never returned, and they knew not what had 
 become of him, I shrewdly suspected he was the same man, 
 
 — for the name was the same, — that, after the war was over, 
 had staid in the country, and settled down, and married a 
 Yankee girl for a wife, who was a second cousin of mine, 
 
 — my uncle having emigrated forty years before, — and as tidy 
 and likely a girl as any in them parts. With such conversa- 
 tions I would beguile the time till I saw the supper prepar- 
 ing, and then would manage to be in the middle of a very 
 interesting story just as it was ready. Then I would break 
 short off, and say, ' Ah ! I see your supper is ready, and the 
 poor old soldier must be on his way. My poor wife and 
 children little think where I am; that after fighting long 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 233 
 
 and bravely for my country, and being shipwrecked, and cast 
 away among the savages, I am on my way to my old home ; 
 and that at last, having escaped all the other dangers by sea 
 and land, I am like to die of starvation in my own country; 
 for I have not had a morsel to eat for the last twenty- 
 four hours, and have no place to sleep but under the broad 
 sky.' This would usually be sufficient to excite the compas- 
 sion of the little folks; and more than once have I known 
 the little girls to come up stealthily, and give me bread 
 and cheese and cakes, and such things as had been given 
 to themselves to eat. When I have been in the middle of 
 a story of great interest (for I don't need to invent stories 
 to make them interesting, after all I have seen ; for, begging 
 your pardon, Othello's adventures were nothing to mine), 
 telling of my dangers and escapes, I have had little girls, 
 with tears in their eyes beg their mothers to give their sup- 
 pers to me. Thus I seldom failed of getting enough to eat ; 
 and sometimes I would be offered a bed, and sometimes 
 would be allowed to sleep on the sweet hay in the barn or 
 stack. In the morning, I would make bold to ask for a cut 
 of meat, and slice of bread : and this, after the hospitalities 
 of the night, was never refused; for, having gone so far, they 
 would not do any thing niggardly at my departure. I have 
 always found, that, if you can get a little bit of an opening 
 into a person's heart, you can soon, with tact and patience, 
 walk in and take possession. The first favors are then a sort 
 of capital invested in charity ; and as people neither wish to 
 lose it, or acknowledge it was badly invested, they are loath 
 to forfeit your good opinion afterwards, which was the con- 
 sideration previously received. 
 
 " I had wandered about for five or six weeks, and had seen 
 a great deal of England. The way those great lords live 
 there beats any thing about here. Your house here at the 
 Pivot is not so good as some of those great men have for 
 their hogs and horses. They had such grand houses, such fine 
 fences, and fields so closely hedged in, and all that, and their 
 servants were so well dressed, and looked so fat and saucy, 
 that I thought it would be a fine thing to have a place 
 among them as keeper or hostler or butler, or any thing that 
 gave good living and little to do. You may be sure it did 
 not take me long to get inside of the best houses in England. 
 Genius triumphs everywhere ; and I flatter myself I have 
 30* 
 
234 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 my share of that available commodity. Hence I had only 
 to get into conversation with one of the servants, when I 
 soon made myself so interesting, that I was cheek by jowl 
 with the butler, steward, and all hands, within the next 
 twenty-four hours. In fact, of an evening, I often held a 
 levee in the kitchen, where came all the servants to hear my 
 strange and amusing stories; and, as it happened that an 
 under-keeper had been discharged, the butler and upper- 
 keeper managed to get me taken in his place. The butler 
 loaned me seven pound ten shillings to get me a uniform, or 
 livery ; and I was soon set up in as good style as any lord in 
 England. 
 
 " In return for all my stories, the servants told me a great 
 deal about the affairs of the family. The present lord was a 
 man not far from sixty, though he looked older in the face. 
 He was tall, spare, and erect ; his hair white as snow, and 
 his eye restless and uneasy, and ever turning away from 
 whatever object might be before it. They said he was a very 
 irritable and unhappy man, and there were strange stories of 
 some dreadful thing he had done when a young man. He had 
 been an officer in the army during the Revolutionary War, 
 and had fought against our troops under Arnold and Stark, 
 and lost his wife during one of his campaigns in Canada. 
 He was, at that time, only a colonel in the army ; but his 
 elder brother, Lord Maccleton, died soon after his return 
 from America, leaving an only son, who also died during his 
 minority : so that he succeeded to the Maccleton title and 
 estates, and was now Lord Maccleton. His daughter by his 
 first wife he carried home to England, where she was brought 
 up with great care by her father's relatives ; and, as she was 
 heiress in her own right to an immense property, she made 
 what was called a splendid marriage ; that is, she married 
 into one of the oldest and most aristocratic families in Eng- 
 land, though it was said to have been recently distinguished 
 in a different manner from that which distinguished its an- 
 cestors and founders, who had won their estates and honor 
 by services in both field and cabinet. The descendants, 
 however, were only eminent for their misfortunes. They 
 had nothing left but their titles, having squandered every 
 thing else; and so mortgaged the income of every thing they 
 could not sell, that the only chance for the young lord to 
 redeem himself was a rich marriage. The only daughter of 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 235 
 
 Lord Maccleton had the one essential qualification ; and 
 though she had a strong aversion to the young Lord Beres- 
 ford, who, at thirty, was a worn-out roue, yet, at the imperi- 
 ous mandate of her father, she resigned herself to the grovel- 
 ling rake. As there was no love on either side, the mar- 
 riage was mutually unhappy. 
 
 "By judiciously husbanding the income of his daughter 
 during her minority, Lord Maccleton, at the time of coming 
 into the old family estates and titles, was enabled to clear off 
 heavy encumbrances, to make many and extensive improve- 
 ments, and to maintain a style and retinue worthy of the 
 former grandeur of the family. And now, being a peer of 
 the realm, he was, though somewhat advanced in years, re- 
 garded as a most desirable son-in-law by ambitious mothers 
 and managing dowagers. The fairest belle of seventeen in 
 the kingdom might think herself fortunate in such a match. 
 His hospitality was profuse ; and titled dames with marriage- 
 able daughters were not backward in accepting his invita- 
 tions to Maccleton Hall. His manner was not agreeable, as 
 he was morose and silent until his temper was mellowed by 
 wine ; and then he was very uncertain, breaking out now in 
 fierce passion, and then indulging in terms of maudlin ten- 
 derness. 
 
 " This part of my story, you must know, squire, happened 
 before my last visit here, and does not come within the last 
 three years ; but it is necessary to relate it, in order that you 
 may understand what is to come by and by." 
 
 " Well, proceed." 
 
 "Lord Maccleton was not at all displeased at the hints 
 thrown out by his guests, that his establishment was not com- 
 plete without a mistress as well as a master ; and in the course 
 of time he proposed to the third daughter of Lord Totherly, 
 who, though less than one-third as old as himself, was never- 
 theless, under the influence of that judicious instruction that 
 is so cultivated among the infallible classes in England, 
 already prepared to confess her love. The marriage was 
 speedily arranged, and as beautiful a young woman as ever 
 trod the soil of England was transferred by all the forms of 
 the Established Church to the bed of a man who was haunted 
 through the world by the ghost of his former crimes. It was 
 a great wedding, and we folks in the kitchen had a copy of 
 the paper that gave a full account of it, and which added that 
 
236 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 the happy couple set off for the Continent to be present at 
 certain fetes in Paris and Vienna, and afterwards were to re- 
 turn to Maccleton Hall, that was to be opened with more than 
 its former splendor. 
 
 " The marriage brought nothing but fashion and misery to 
 the young wife. Her husband's way of turning his eyes, 
 now this way and now that, as if he saw in all directions 
 something that it pained him to look upon, had not particular- 
 ly struck her attention before marriage. Indeed, she had seen 
 but little of him before that event, as the arrangement had 
 been made by her parents, and she had dutifully consented 
 to it. She only knew that she cared nothing for him ; but 
 she had not regarded that as an objection to her marrying 
 him, as she had grown up, under the influence of privileged 
 exclusiveness, to think that, so that she got a title and an es- 
 tate, it was of small account what she got for an encumbrance 
 in the way of a husband. But, when compelled to be in the 
 society of this man, she could not avoid noticing his pecu- 
 liarity. He could not gaze on an illumination in Paris, nor 
 contemplate the wildest and grandest scenery of the Alps, but 
 some horrid figure would seem to rise before him, and compel 
 him to turn his head away, and in an instant after to see 
 again the same phantom. So it was in looking at the finest 
 paintings of Rubens, of Raphael, and Michael Angelo, in the 
 Louvre ; and so in the quiet and seclusion of his own room. 
 There was evidently a dreadful apparition always present to 
 his sight ; and the manner and habit of the man in trying to 
 avoid it soon caused his young, timid, and inexperienced 
 wife to regard him with aversion and terror. But, worse 
 than that, his wife found that every night, from the hour of 
 eleven until four, he shut himself in his own private room, 
 and would see no one. She asked an explanation of this, 
 but he would give none; and, on coming to the hall, she 
 learned that this had always been his practice, and the ser- 
 vants said that at such time he never slept. This informa- 
 tion added greatly to her fear of her lord ; and her aversion 
 became so strong, that his approach inspired her with terror 
 and disgust. His daughter, the Lady Catherine, whom he 
 had brought back from America after the death of her moth- 
 er, had been already married off to Lord Beresford ; and her 
 husband was leading such a life of dissipation as promised 
 soon to leave her a widow, — a prospect at which no one who 
 knew him could suppose she felt any great anxiety. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 237 
 
 " Men in the ordinary walks of life, who have not grown 
 up in the belief that they are of a higher order than the gen- 
 erality of mankind, and consequently entitled to peculiar and 
 special immunities, would have supposed that a person in 
 Lord Maccleton's condition and mental distress would have 
 sought by good deeds, and a virtuous and repentant life, to 
 have conciliated the avenging Nemesis that ever confronted 
 him. But I observed that people in the class to which he 
 belonged had little idea of responsibility to the general world, 
 or of reciprocal obligations between them and their fellow- 
 men. They have an undoubting faith in their own infallibili- 
 ty, that any thing that differs from the standard set up by 
 themselves, whether of morals, of manners, of religion, or 
 politics, must be wrong; that whatever they do must be 
 right ; and that the complete duty of man consists in enrich- 
 ing and strengthening the privileged classes, and in circum- 
 scribing and restricting the power and influence of the work- 
 ing multitude. If they concede any thing to the latter, it is 
 because they must, and not because it is right; and they 
 think it strange that Heaven permits those who hold divine 
 privileges to be fettered and restrained by those that the 
 same Heaven has ordained to be their subjects and depend- 
 ants. 
 
 " Lord Maccleton was one of this class. He didn't realize 
 that he had any duties except to those of his own rank. 
 His religion was found in the peerage, and the book of her- 
 aldry was the evidence of the divine heritage ; and, though 
 an old man now, all his thoughts in respect to the future 
 were upon the succession to the estates and title of Maccle- 
 ton. In the course of the first three years of his married 
 life, his wife had borne him a son and a daughter ; and his 
 daughter, Lady Beresford, had also given birth to a son : so 
 that every thing seemed to favor his ambitious designs. But 
 about a year after the birth of the second child, the daugh- 
 ter, it was said that his wife received a letter from some un- 
 known source, that caused her to loathe the very sight of her 
 husband. He had long been an object of aversion to her ; 
 but, after this ill-omened letter fell into her hands, he became 
 utterly unbearable. But another great grief awaited this 
 unhappy woman. Both her children were observed to 
 have their father's habit of averting their eyes from some 
 seemingly disagreeable object, — not always, and in all places, 
 
238 GOMEET OF MONTGOMEEY : 
 
 like him; but if, alone and quiet, they looked for any consid- 
 erable time in one direction, there seemed to rise up some 
 disagreeable object that made a painful impression, and 
 caused them to turn their heads away to avoid the hideous 
 sight. It was clear to the mother that her children had in- 
 herited the peculiarity of their father; and one day, observ- 
 ing the elder one, the son, gazing on a distressful sight that 
 was to herself invisible, and begin soliloquizing, she listened, 
 and overheard such expressions as these: 'What a pretty 
 face ! Who could be so wicked as to cut her so ? Ah, the 
 blood ! how it runs ! ' and then he turned away his eyes, 
 and for a time was apparently as blithesome and happy 
 as any child of his years. But, if for any cause his eyes 
 were cast in any direction for several minutes, the appa- 
 rition was sure to rise, and compel him to turn away to 
 avoid the sight. The daughter too, young as she was, 
 showed that she had a similar infirmity; for she did not 
 long hold her gaze in any one direction, in the manner 
 3f most children. Such an accumulation of sorrows drove 
 the poor woman into a delirious fever, in which she called 
 her husband a fiend and an assassin, and said he might well 
 turn his eyes away from the woman he had violated and 
 murdered ; for it was not a pretty sight, — a woman with her 
 throat cut. Then she would screech and scream, and tell her 
 attendants to take him away, or he would murder her too. 
 But the poor woman did not live long ; and the servants 
 who had heard these strange imprecations and upbraidings 
 were immediately sent to distant parts, though not before 
 they had told, in the strictest confidence, of the scenes in the 
 sick lady's death-chamber. 
 
 "These things had all happened before I was there; but I 
 learned them all from the servants below stairs. The days 
 of mourning for the deceased wife were past when I was 
 first engaged in service, and the hall had assumed its former 
 appearance of cheerfulness and luxury. There was much 
 company at the house, of the most exclusive and aristocratic 
 sort ; and it was thought that my lord would take another 
 wife. But his object had been obtained by his second mar- 
 riage, as it had brought him two children, who, notwithstand- 
 ing the infirmity they had inherited from him, were, never- 
 theless, strong and healthy. A male heir to the Maccleton 
 estates, in the direct line, was what he had desired ; and, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 239 
 
 as he had secured that, his dead wife was soon forgotten, 
 and he had no reason for taking another. 
 
 " Among the visitors at the hall were some rich relatives 
 of Lord Maccleton, from London. Of the number was the 
 family of a great banker, who, it was said, had made his 
 money himself, which the head butler and steward said was 
 not considered respectable, and that we were not to show 
 him so much respect as Lord Beresford, who had spent all 
 he had inherited, and married the governor's daughter only 
 for her money. And yet they said the banker was a great 
 man too : for the king used to ask his advice in great affairs, 
 and had made a baronet of him ; so that he was called Sir 
 Henderson Strongham. He had married the sister of Lord 
 Maccleton against the wishes of her friends, and the affair 
 made a great scandal at the time; and her family cast her 
 off, and would not speak to her, till her husband got to be 
 very rich and a baronet, and could buy out all the Maccle- 
 tons, and not feel it. They then offered to forgive the erring 
 daughter, and she and her husband were very glad to be 
 forgiven ; for there is no act of self-abasement so low, but 
 that a thorough Englishman will submit to it, if, by so doing, 
 he can secure the notice of the old aristocracy, and be allowed 
 an inferior position within their charmed circle. I speak, I 
 am aware, with severity and prejudice ; but that which 
 I have seen I know ; and, if I am prejudiced against Al- 
 bion, surely I have had more reason to be so, humble and 
 obscure as I am, than any man that ever lived, — not except- 
 ing the great Bonaparte. 
 
 " I staid in this place nearly a year ; but at last I got tired 
 of it. The fact is, I never made my bow, and, hat in hand, said 
 ' Your lordship,' but what I felt ashamed of myself. The 
 work I had to do was light, but the pay was lighter. The 
 fare was good; and the butler, who took a great fancy to 
 me, used to give me many a glass of wine that would make 
 my eyes sparkle. He had a buxom daughter, and I think 
 he wished me to marry her; but she gave me such evidences 
 of liking me, that I thought it not worth while to pay any 
 fee for license or clergyman. In fact, the morals below 
 stairs were very loose ; and such, I was told, was the case with 
 the servants of all the nobility. The young lords, and even 
 the old ones too, play the very devil with the daughters of 
 their domestics ; and the latter have such a reverence for ti- 
 tles and noble blood, that they think it no disgrace. 
 
240 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 " So, at the end of a quarter, after I had got my pay (it 
 was a mighty small sum, believe me), I concluded to give 
 up my situation, and resume my travels. But as I had played 
 off a great many jokes during my stay, and had always 
 stoutly maintained the superiority of my own country to any 
 other, my fellow-sexwants had retorted on me by calling me 
 a Yankee ; which, according to their ideas, was something 
 very contemptible. So I determined I would not leave with- 
 out playing a joke worth remembering, and showing them a 
 bit of my Yankee character and ingenuity. As Lord Mac- 
 cleton was to give a great dinner to some of his famous 
 friends, I thought that would be a good opportunity to get 
 even with them all for the insolence and disrespect they had 
 shown to a sovereign of this great Republic. To accomplish 
 my object, I must get into the dining-hall, and serve at table ; 
 which was not one of my allotted duties. How to do this 
 was the first question ; and I managed it by asking one of 
 the servants who served in that capacity, and who happened 
 to be near my size and figure, to drink a glass of beer with 
 me a short time before the hour for dinner. In half an hour 
 he was sick and scared, and knew not what ailed him ; but 
 I had a suspicion that a sprinkling of ipecac had been put in 
 his beer, and that it had caused his sudden illness. * The 
 feast was set, the guests were met ; ' and one of the head 
 waiters was unable to serve, and a substitute must be found 
 among the other servants. Of course, I knew they would 
 select me for that duty, as I was about his size, and could 
 wear his livery. So he was put to bed ; and his fine suit was 
 assigned to me for the evening. It was a great dinner. I 
 was deputed to stand behind two veterans, one a bishop and 
 the other a peer, but both of them with broad shoulders, capa- 
 cious stomachs, and bellies protuberant. The soup was excel- 
 lent, as I judged by the way they devoured it ; and so were 
 the fish, the roast, the game, and every thing. The wines 
 were so superb, that their excellence formed the principal 
 subject of conversation during the dinner ; and the quantity 
 that my two governors absorbed would have floated a birch- 
 bark canoe. They got happy and careless as the dinner pro- 
 ceeded ; and told stories and uttered jokes, at which they 
 laughed consumedly. Waiting my chance, I tied their two 
 pig-tails together, and escaped from the room to the yard op- 
 posite the dining-room, where I lighted a train that set off half 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 241 
 
 a dozen rockets that I had previously arranged for an explo- 
 sion. I was back at my post to enjoy the success of my own 
 joke by the time the match had burned up so as to reach the 
 train of loose powder, that instantly set off the rockets with 
 a whiz, a sputter, and a trail of light, at which every one at 
 table jumped up as if they had thought the day of judgment 
 was upon them. My two particular friends jumped up in 
 great fright; and, as they did so, they turned their faces 
 from each other to break from the table, when their pig- 
 tails brought them up with a jerk so sudden, that the short- 
 est and drunkest fell backwards, and, catching hold of the 
 table-cloth, drew his companion after him, together with 
 all the dishes, bottles, glasses, and candles yet left at the 
 feast. With the exception of a branch candlestick, contain- 
 ing a dozen candles, at the side of the dining-hall, all the 
 lights were extinguished; and, by a judicious movement, I 
 contrived to upset that without being observed : so that we 
 were all in total darkness. Several others of the company, 
 among whom was Lord Maccleton, had rushed to the assist- 
 ance of my lords on the floor ; but, when the last light was 
 out, they all fell into a heap as confused and ridiculous as 
 that made by Spinney, Dobble, and others, at c the great 
 drunk.' During the tumult, I made good my escape, and 
 that night, left Maccleton Hall. Great efforts were made 
 to catch me the next day ; but I was not one to be caught : 
 and, as soon as it was safe to travel, I put out for the sea- 
 coast. At the nearest port, I succeeded in getting the 
 position of second mate on a vessel bound to New York. 
 On arriving there, I found that my share of the prize-money 
 for one of the vessels we had taken in the war was on de- 
 posit for me, and the other was still in litigation. The latter 
 was a fine large vessel with a valuable cargo ; and my share 
 in her, if it were decided in favor of the captors, would not 
 be less than five thousand dollars. The other, however, was 
 a small affair; and my portion was only four hundred dollars. 
 
 " I staid in New York until I had spent about a hundred 
 dollars ; when I happened to hear a man in a hotel talking of 
 a fine section of land away to the west of the Hudson River, 
 and which was being settled up very fast. He said he owned 
 two townships, and was selling it at a rate that was sure to 
 make the fortunes of all purchasers. 
 
 " ' Now,' says I to myself, 'Old Joe, " There is a tide in the 
 21 
 
242 
 
 G0MEKY OF M0JSTTG0MEEY I 
 
 affairs of men, that, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.'" 
 You see, squire, I must quote Shakspeare sometimes, if I am 
 telling the truth. I have got so used to it in making up my 
 yarns, that, even when relating literal facts, I can hardly avoid 
 appealing to the great poet to corroborate my opinions and 
 illustrate my subjects. 'Then,' says I to myself, 'if there is 
 such a tide, perhaps it is now at the flood; and, if so, now is 
 your time to follow on to fortune. Why not at once quit 
 this roving way of life, buy a farm, settle down, and take 
 your ease V So I made up to the proprietor, and inquired all 
 about the country, and the way to get there. He showed 
 me his maps and plans, and pointed out his two townships 
 on them, all laid out in streets. He urged me to buy, saying 
 he would sell me, for two hundred dollars, a hundred acres 
 of as good land as the sun ever shone on ; and urged me to 
 buy at once, as it would soon be all gone. He said he would 
 make the terms easy ; that I need not pay more than fifty 
 dollars down ; though, if I paid all cash, he would take off 
 twenty-five per cent. I told him I would go and look at 
 the country first ; and if the land suited me, and the price 
 was not too high, I would purchase. Finding he could not 
 make me buy a pig in a poke, he kindly told me the way ; 
 and said, if I would wait up there a month or two, he should 
 go up himself, and would sell to me then if I cared to trade. 
 " So the next morning I took passage on board a sloop, and 
 went a hundred miles, more or less, up the river. Then I 
 struck off for the west ; and after travelling for six days, as 
 directed by my friend in New York, I reached the townships 
 he had described to me. But, instead of the streets and 
 churches and schoolhouses that I had expected to find, there 
 were only some dozen or two scattering settlers on the two 
 townships. Yet it was a fine tract of country. The soil was 
 rich and deep, and the climate healthy ; and the people I met 
 were so kind, and so well pleased with their prospects, that I 
 resolved that I would buy, when the proprietor came, at 
 least a hundred acres. In the mean while, I busied myself 
 in looking for the best lots and sections from which to select. 
 A stream of considerable size ran through the farther town- 
 ship ; and, following it up, I discovered a fall of water, that 
 I thought at some time must be valuable, for I had seen 
 what a waterfall might prove to be in the case of Montgom- 
 ery Village. I no sooner made this discovery than I deter- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 243 
 
 mined to take a lot that would embrace the waterfall. I said 
 nothing to anybody, however ; and, when the owner came, I 
 asked him what he would take for such a lot : he said a 
 hundred and thirty dollars. I told him I would take it ; and 
 he made out the deed, and I paid him the money. But what 
 could I do with a waterfall or mill-privilege? I had no 
 money to build mills ; and, if they were built, they would be 
 of no use until the country around was settled. Still I had 
 faith the water-power would one day be valuable, and deter- 
 mined to bide my time. In the mean time, I must live : so 
 I began to build a log-house on my land, which was four 
 miles from any human habitation ; and, after that was done, 
 I set to to make a clearing. But it was slow work, and I 
 soon got tired of it. I was never over-fond of hard, continu- 
 ous work ; and, as game was plenty, I depended mainly on 
 my gun for support. I soon got sick of the kind of life I was 
 leading, and wished myself back in Montgomery. The life 
 was too solitary for me : my neighbors were too far off for 
 me to visit them often, and I had made up my mind to leave ; 
 when, coming in one day, I found an old Indian sitting on 
 the floor of my house, in front of the fire. He was old, hag- 
 gard, and decrepit : and one leg had been broken, and either 
 never set, or set so badly, that it was deformed and crooked ; 
 so that that foot was nearly at right angles to the other. 
 
 " 'Halloo ! ' says I : ' who is here ? ' 
 
 " ' A friend,' said he gruffly. 
 
 " ' You make mighty free with your friends, then.' 
 
 " ' Ay ; and I have made free with my enemies. Which 
 are you ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh ! a friend,' I replied, not at all liking his sinister re- 
 mark. 
 
 " ' Prove it, then,' said he ; * for Vengeance is hungry.' 
 
 " ' On whom would you wreak your vengeance ? ' said I, 
 now somewhat nettled at his sullen insolence. ' If you come 
 here to threaten me, well and good ; for we will understand 
 each other. But, if you want food, you can have the same as 
 I eat myself.' 
 
 " I said this standing with my gun, so that I could raise it 
 on the instant if he made a hostile movement. The savage, 
 seeing I doubted him, gave a scornful sneer, and, with an 
 expression of mingled rage and contempt, said, ' Fear not, 
 you pale coward ! for the sun of Vengeance is almost set. 
 
244 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY*. 
 
 He has no strength to follow his enemies ; and his friends — 
 where are they ? The leaves have fallen and fallen till their 
 bones no longer whiten their pathway through the forest, 
 and Vengeance now begs his bread of the white man.' 
 
 u This speech, with the manner of the old savage, disarmed 
 me of all apprehension. I was ashamed of my suspicions 
 when I looked at the wretched object before me. He was 
 withered, haggard, and wrinkled. He might, from his ap- 
 pearance, have been eighty or a hundred and eighty. His 
 scanty hair hung in plaits, like so many snakes ; his fingers 
 were long and bony, and his eyes dimly savage. 
 
 " * Old man,' said I, ' stay with me as long as you like.' I 
 then went and drew a bottle of rum from a corner, and, pour- 
 ing a gill of it into a tin cup, gave it to him. He drank it 
 off as so much water, and said nothing more for some minutes. 
 While he sat musing, I went out and cut off some thick 
 slices from the body of a deer that I had shot the day before, 
 and which hung suspended from the branch of a tree close 
 by; and then, returning to the house, I raked some coals 
 from the fire, and placed the venison upon them. The sav- 
 age glared at it with the ferocity of a wolf. * Eat, old man,' 
 said I, ' as soon as you like.' With the word, though the 
 meat was hardly warmed, he reached forth and caught it 
 from the coals, and devoured it as one famished. He ate all 
 I had brought in, and then saying, -Vengeance will rest 
 now,' lay down on the floor, and was soon fast asleep. 
 
 " * Well,' thought I, as I contemplated the haggard figure, 
 looking grim and horrible before me, * I have been wanting 
 company for a long time, and here it is. This must be what 
 such fellows as Cook and Craig and Spinney call a special 
 Providence ; but I don't know as I feel much inclined to 
 thank Providence for it. But it is a human critter, anyhow, 
 and shall have protection.' So I went and began to hoe in 
 a small patch where I had planted some corn and potatoes, 
 leaving him asleep. Towards night, I saw the old man come 
 out of the house, and look about. Espying me at a distance, 
 he advanced towards me with extreme pain. His age and 
 lameness made walking very difficult and slow ; but at length 
 he managed to get near me, and said, * So, Pug-nose,' (do 
 you know, square, he called me Pug-nose ?) — ■ so, Pug-nose, 
 you were not afraid to give deer and rum to old Vengeance? 
 Ah ! well, it matters little : a few days, and Sleeping Ven- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 245 
 
 geance will sleep, and wake only where his fathers dwell ; 
 but he will not forget Pug-nose. No : behind the merry eye 
 of Pug-nose shall dwell the spirit of Sleeping Vengeance. 
 Did not the old witch say that the light heart and the merry 
 eye should hew the wood and draw the water for Sleeping 
 Vengeance when his bones were gathered to the earth ? ' 
 
 "This talk of the old Indian seemed but incoherent jargon 
 at the time ; but, if the savage was mad, I found, long after, 
 that there was method in his madness. But I only said to 
 him then, * Come, let us go to the house, and we will talk 
 of these things another day ; for I suppose you will stay with 
 me for some time. I then went on towards the house, fol- 
 lowed by him with such slow and painful haste as he could 
 make. I now cooked some more of the venison, and, putting 
 some Indian corn-meal into a kettle of boiling water, soon 
 had a pot of boiling hasty-pudding. When it was sufficient- 
 ly cooked, I set it down on the hearth before him ; and, while 
 I was looking for a dish and spoon, he began to eat it with 
 his fingers, as if insensible to heat. He also ate several large 
 slices of the venison ; and, when sated, crawled to the side 
 of the room, lay down, and was soon asleep. 
 
 " I need not tell you of the life I led with this miserable 
 being for my companion. I could not bid him go, and I did 
 not want him to stay. But he improved somewhat on ac- 
 quaintance ; and my generous fare seemed to infuse new life 
 into him, and he became very communicative and garrulous. 
 He told me of many desperate and bloody adventures that 
 he had taken part in; and that, because of his great cunning 
 and undying hate of all who injured him, he was called 
 Sleeping Vengeance. One evening, after I had given him 
 a large drink of rum, he went on to tell about the massacre 
 at Gault's Hill ; for it seemed that he was there, and took a 
 leading part in that dreadful tragedy. He told me how he 
 aided Col. Cumberland to surprise the house ; and how he 
 stole and carried away the child, while the king's officer, 
 having first drawn forth and murdered the man of the house, 
 entered, and worse than murdered his wife ; and how he after- 
 wards sent in some other Indians, who cut her throat and 
 made a funeral pyre for her, while he and Cumberland looked 
 through the window to see the work completed. And the 
 dead woman cast such a look on Cumberland, that he could 
 never sleep afterwards, but was always seeing her lovely, 
 21* 
 
246 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 angel eyes turned towards him ; while the horrid gash in her 
 tliroat, from which the blood ever trickled, was always present 
 to his sight. The blood ever trickled, and the eyes ever 
 looked as of some being not of earth, but rather of some 
 good spirit, better than Indian ever worshipped, full, beam- 
 ing upon him. 
 
 " Then he told how that for many days he bore the child of 
 the murdered pair through the forest, and how the colonel 
 tried to get it from him to kill it, and how he scarcely slept 
 for weeks, till at last it was taken from him by a trick, at 
 the same time that his leg was shivered by a musket-ball. 
 Thus he lost the child ; but the same night he cut the throat 
 of the only child of the colonel, and so disposed it in death 
 as to resemble, as far as possible, the dead form of Gault's 
 wife, as she cast her last look upon him. A few days after- 
 wards, the colonel and Gault's child sailed for England. 
 
 "When he had gone thus far, I told him that his story of 
 the ever-present apparition reminded me of a man I had 
 known in England, and who, by a strange coincidence, bore 
 the same name as the author of the Gault murder. But of 
 course it was not he, as he was a great man, a very honora- 
 ble man, a peer of the realm, and one of that class whose 
 united opinion was considered infallible. 
 
 " 'Ah, ha, ah ! ' he drawled out. « Tell me of him.' 
 
 "I then related to him, as I have to you, the events of my 
 life in England, and dwelt particularly upon the idiosyncra- 
 sies of Lord Maccleton. When I spoke to him of the letter 
 which his wife received, that caused her so to detest her 
 husband, he exclaimed, ' Ah, ha ! she got the letter, did she ? 
 I thought she would. Vengeance required it.' 
 
 " c What ! ' said I, ' did you follow him to England ? or how 
 could you send a letter ? ' 
 
 " ' Vengeance forgets nothing,' answered he. ' It was a 
 long time before my shattered leg would allow me to move ; 
 and, when I did move, it was only for vengeance. I fol- 
 lowed the army of the king. I made myself useful as a spy, 
 and learned all about the colonel from other officers in the 
 king's army. I heard it said he had left with his child for Eng- 
 land ; though I knew his own child was dead, and he must have 
 substituted Gault's for it. I learned, too, that, after he re- 
 turned to England, he had married the fairest flower that 
 ever bloomed on a soil base enough to produce so vile a 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 247 
 
 wretch as he. * You ask how I wrote, or how I sent, the 
 letter. It is enough that I found means to do it. It was to 
 be ; and what is to be will be. You tell me that it had the 
 effect I intended. But my work is not yet done : more of 
 my vengeance is yet to be wrought ; but it is you that hence- 
 forth must do it. You will be the instrument of justice in 
 the hands of the Great Spirit ; for did not the witch say that it 
 should fall to a light heart and a merry face to inflict the 
 penalty of guilt ? And are not yours such ? Is not yours a 
 light heart? and have you not a merry eye?' He then 
 drew from a pocket in his worn and stained garment a pack- 
 age, and said, ■ I leave this with you : it will explain itself. 
 When I have been gone for one week, open and read it, and 
 not before.' 
 
 " I took the package from the old man, and lay down on 
 my straw bed on one side of the room ' y while he rolled over 
 to the other side, and was soon asleep. The next morning I 
 got up early, and, taking my gun, went out to see if I could 
 shoot a partridge or hare. My luck was bad ; and I was gone 
 full two hours, having in all that time shot only three par- 
 tridges. When I returned, the old man was still lying in the 
 same place. I approached, and called out to him ; but he 
 moved not. He was dead. I went over that day to my 
 nearest neighbor, Ben Barker, and told him that the old In- 
 dian, of whom I had before told him, was dead ; and he and 
 his hired man went with me, and we buried him. What an 
 amount of suffering he must have endured from that lame 
 leg ! It was a hideous thing to look at. 
 
 My prize-money was now nearly exhausted ; and I had 
 nothing left but my land, that would be of little use to me 
 for several years. I was more lonely than ever after the In- 
 dian had left me for his long home. I could not bear to sit 
 in my cabin through a long evening. Besides, I had learned 
 from his lips, and the package he had left behind, that I had 
 something more to do than to wait. So I determined to 
 leave ; and leave I did. And in four weeks I was back in 
 Montgomery, without a cent in my pocket. That was the 
 time of my arrival here the last time before this. I came by 
 way of New York, and then I found the lawsuit about the 
 other prize-money was not yet decided. So I got on board 
 a schooner, and worked my passage to Boston, and found my 
 way on foot to this town. 
 
248 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 " After being here for several months, I left, as you may 
 recollect, rather suddenly. I had other business, you may well 
 suppose, besides looking for means to fulfil my promises to 
 my namesakes, and to those of my c sister Nancy, who died 
 in the poor-house.' I thought I would go first and look after 
 my prize-money. It was still tied up in law. You lawyers, 
 square, have a bad way of holding on to money when you 
 once get it. I then made a trip to the West Indies as mate 
 of a small vessel; and, having got a little money in that way, 
 I went up to look at my farm again. The settlers were gath- 
 ering in fast, and I found I could sell my place for five times 
 what it cost me. I said no : I would wait. But I had the 
 only water-power within six miles, and people wanted a saw- 
 mill and grist-mill put up : so I sold ten acres from my pur- 
 chase to a man who was a mill-wright, and gave him a lease 
 of water-power, for a grist and saw mill, for ten years ; at the 
 end of which time I was to take his improvements at their 
 value, or give an extension of the lease. He paid for this 
 just what I had paid for the whole, — a hundred and fifty 
 dollars. And so, well satisfied, I left again ; and, when I got 
 to New York, the prize-money was ready for me. It amount- 
 ed to five thousand two hundred and seventy-three dollars. 
 I then thought it a good time to return and visit my old 
 friends in Montgomery, and fulfil my promises to my name- 
 sakes ; and, taking a thousand dollars in my pocket (leaving 
 the rest drawing interest), I came on here, and here I am. 
 This is all of my story that I can tell you now." 
 
 " But what of the Indian's package ? What was in that ? " 
 inquired the lawyer. 
 
 " That you must leave with me for the present," said Joe. 
 " If the proper time ever comes, you will know all about its 
 singular contents, but not now. Think not I could have 
 lived this life if I had not been nerved to it by some great 
 wrong. It is true, for a long time I knew not the unseen in- 
 fluence that held me tied. But do not think that a great 
 crime like that against the Gaults could go unavenged. Ask 
 not why I was of all the world the person fated to be the in- 
 strument of the immutable laws of justice. 'Tis enough 
 that the crime is yet unrepented ; for the fruits of it are as 
 yet possessed and enjoyed by him who committed it. But 
 this I have learned : that he who seeks to profit by wrong or 
 crime enters the lists against God Almighty ; and in his own 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY;. 249 
 
 foils he must be confounded. This is a universe of harmony, 
 and Nature ever strives for equilibrium and justice; and, in 
 the moral as in the physical world, he who tries to subvert 
 its inevitable laws 'shall be destroyed, and his sins visited on 
 him and his children, even to the third and fourth genera- 
 tion.' I have a work to do ; for I am the appointed instru- 
 ment to work out the confusion of the guilty. But, if I call 
 up the apparitions of their deeds to the wicked, I invoke 
 only honest ghosts. I disturb not the innocent, nor the re- 
 pentant guilty. I have my work to do as clearly as had 
 Hamlet ; and I go to do it, — not indeed with rapier or 
 pistol, but to prick to duty the guilty conscience. My story 
 is now told. Even to you I can relate no more till I have 
 finished the work that is before me." 
 
 He ceased ; and both he and the lawyer sat for several 
 minutes without uttering a word. At length the latter rose 
 from his seat, and said, " I neither doubt nor believe your 
 story. It may be true ; but by it you have proved yourself 
 the most consummate actor I ever saw. That there was 
 something mysterious about you and your history, as I told 
 you at first, I have for some time been well convinced ; and 
 that leads me to suppose that your story is true. But, as you 
 have ever deceived everybody before, how can I know that 
 you are not practising still deeper deception on me now ? I 
 admit you appear in all respects a different character than 
 ever before. Hitherto you have always made people be- 
 lieve you were illiterate, careless, thriftless, and ignorant; 
 and here you have told off your story, if not in language of 
 classic purity, at least in good methodical English." 
 
 " You have heard," said Joe, " the story of Junius Brutus, 
 who was permitted to live only because folks thought him a 
 fool. So I, by passing for an ignorant, illiterate, and purposeless 
 adventurer, am indulged and tolerated where one thought 
 wiser would be distrusted. If I always sign my name with 
 an X, leaving somebody else to fill up the other part of it, 
 people will never think of me as a suspicious or dangerous 
 character ; and if I tell ridiculous, amusing, and absurd sto- 
 ries of my adventures, they will despair of ever learning any 
 thing of my real history. Hamlet, you remember, feigned 
 insanity; but there was much method in his madness : and, if 
 I act the part of a joker and buffoon, it is with no less fell 
 purpose than that which possessed the Prince of Denmark." 
 
250 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 " But it seems to me you might feel confidence enough in 
 me to tell me your whole story." 
 
 " Were I to do that, it would cause < thy knotted and com- 
 bined locks to part, and each particular hair to stand on end 
 like quills upon the fretful porcupine.' It is not within the 
 scope of my fell mission — revenge I do not call it — that 
 any one should know of my existence in my real character. 
 I move, an instrument of divine justice; and 'tis mine to keep 
 alive the fires of remorse in the unrepentant, guilty con- 
 science. I would willingly tell you all but for fear that, 
 through unforeseen casualty, it might become known to 
 others." 
 
 " You pay a poor compliment to my fidelity and discretion." 
 
 " Squire Gomery, do you promise me that, under any pos- 
 sible circumstances or contingency, you will never reveal a 
 word of what I now tell you ? " 
 
 " Of course, I should never mention any thing told me in 
 confidence. Nevertheless, I pledge myself, in terms as strong 
 as you can make them, never to intimate by word or deed, 
 by hint or sign, that I know any thing more of you or your 
 history than is known to others of your acquaintances." 
 
 " Not if beggary and ruin stood before you, and could only 
 be averted by disclosure ? " 
 
 " Not to save myself from the inquisition," said Gomery, 
 smiling at the earnestness of Joe. 
 
 "Know then," said Joe, "that I am the son of David 
 Gault ; that my father and my mother were murdered by 
 Col. Cumberland, my sister carried into captivity, and after- 
 wards substituted for his child that had been murdered by 
 Sleeping Vengeance ! The package left me by that hideous 
 savage contained a fearful legacy. It was a long and closely 
 written narrative of the GaultVHill massacre, much more 
 full and minute than he had told it verbally. How he had 
 procured it to be written, I know not ; but there it was. I 
 had been struck, when he was telling his story to me, by the 
 resemblance to Lord Maccleton which his description bore to 
 the author of that horrid deed. But yet it did not impress 
 me that they could be one and the same individual. At that 
 time, you must know, I knew nothing of my own family but 
 that my father and mother had been murdered by the In- 
 dians when I was but a lad of five years of age. I had led 
 a vagrant life, and had no earnestness of purpose or definite 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 251 
 
 object before me. I had never thought of returning to my 
 birthplace again ; and when he told me his story, though 
 greatly moved by his vivid description of the manner of my 
 parents' death, I could not even then suppose that the author 
 of it was the great Lord Maccleton. But the Indian's legacy 
 made known every thing. It gave a minute account of the 
 murder; the journey to Quebec; the rescue of my sister 
 from the savage ; her substitution for Cumberland's murdered 
 child ; the imposition practised by him on his friends and 
 family in England ; his succeeding to the family estates and 
 titles, and becoming Lord Maccleton ; and the narrative con- 
 cluded with a statement that it was intended to be read only 
 by the son of the murdered Gaults, to whom the task of ven- 
 geance was intrusted. 
 
 " You may imagine, squire, that this revelation wrought a 
 change in my whole nature. It was days before I could com- 
 prehend it all. I was at first in a sort of stupor ; but gradu- 
 ally I awoke to a rigid purpose, and my life ever since has 
 been impelled to one object. I shall soon set forth upon my 
 mission ; for it is not revenge. I am compelled by the im- 
 pulses of compelling Nature to be the Nemesis of one whose 
 very life is a torment." 
 
 " What do you propose to do ? Deeply, dreadfully as you 
 have been wronged, you will not imbrue your hands in his 
 blood?" 
 
 " He shall not escape me so. He would die ; but he can- 
 not, dare not. He must live, — live in agony and remorse till 
 long past the average life of man ; and mine it must be to hold 
 up to him his own crimes. When he is dead I will return, and 
 pass the residue of my life here, and be buried on Gault's 
 Hill, under the shadow of the Gault Tree ; and then the 
 angels will weep no more. 
 
 He ceased, and both sat silent for several minutes ; at the 
 end of which time the door was gently opened, and Walter 
 looked timidly in to see if he might venture farther. " Come 
 in, my boy," said the lawyer ; and Joe's narrative was con- 
 cluded. 
 
252 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " She, as her carol sadder grew, 
 
 From brow and bosom slowly down 
 Through rosy taper fingers drew 
 
 Her streaming curls of deepest brown 
 To left and right, and made appear, 
 
 Still lighted in a secret shrine, 
 
 Her melancholy eyes divine, — 
 The home of woe without a tear." — Tennyson. 
 
 From what we have seen of Joe Pumpagin, and now know 
 of his antecedents, it is not to be supposed that he could 
 long remain contented in the quiet town of Montgomery, 
 notwithstanding that he was equally at home at the Pivot 
 and at Diller's Tavern. Though he delighted to be the hero 
 of the " nippers," as his associates who drank flip at his ex- 
 pense were now called, and was ever welcome at the Pivot, 
 and had formed so strong an attachment for young Walter 
 that he was reluctant to leave him, yet it was not for him to 
 remain long inactive anywhere, as he was impressed with 
 the idea that there was some great and mysterious work for 
 him to do. So, when the winter was over, and the days 
 were lengthening as they went through the opening spring 
 until the middle of May was past, his resolution was sudden- 
 ly taken ; and, at a meeting of the " flippers," he invited 
 them all to be there the next night, when he would show 
 them a trick. Then, in the presence of several of his faith- 
 ful supporters, he told Diller to be prepared for a big spree 
 the next night. But the company had no sooner left, than, 
 as on a memorable occasion years before, he took his staff in 
 his hand, and giving an outlandish gold-piece to Philemon, 
 telling him to keep it till his return, and also to put his best 
 trunk on board the stage which was to pass by early the next 
 morning, he walked away, without so much as saying good- 
 by, or even notifying his friends at the Pivot of his intended 
 departure. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 253 
 
 At the Pivot, much surprise was felt by the whole family 
 when they learned that Joe had left so abruptly. Walter 
 was sorely grieved at first : but his mother consoled him by 
 saying that his departure had been so sudden and unexpect- 
 ed, that his return would probably be as sudden, and perhaps 
 very soon ; for " Old Joe was always up to pranks and sur- 
 prises." Consoled by this hope, the boy soon recovered his 
 usual quiet cheerfulness ; and the season glided by, all things 
 at the Pivot moving on in their accustomed channel. 
 
 As the autumn came on, Freeborn Gomery and his wife 
 thought it time to decide definitely what should be the future 
 calling, or rather education, of their youngest child. It had 
 before this been decided that Theron and Wirtimir should 
 be men of business, and learn the art of merchandising to 
 profit; and it was the hope of Mrs. Gomery, and of the less 
 ambitious squire, that Walter would take to books, and be- 
 come a man of letters, and perhaps a great statesman. He 
 was very different from the other children ; not so robust of 
 constitution, nor so sprightly, mischievous, or vivacious. He 
 was not of other children of his years in their plays and 
 games. In quickness of parts, and capacity to learn, he was 
 not behind either of his brothers ; nor was he much their 
 superior. Yet he was a better scholar at the same age than 
 they had been ; for he was more obedient, and did as he was 
 bid either by teachers or parents. If told to study, he 
 studied, if not from a desire to learn, then from a sense of 
 duty ; and he never repined at an unreasonable lesson, but 
 set himself to it as a thing to be accomplished if possible. 
 
 And yet, in his own way, he was mischievous enough, and 
 ingenious in his mischief. In devising pleasing surprises for 
 his comrades, he was exceedingly fertile ; and it was not 
 unusual for him to take boys much older and stronger than 
 he under his protection, when he saw them imposed upon 
 by others. No boy at school could ever quarrel with him ; 
 and he had a juvenile moral power that larger boys could 
 not face ; and when, one day, he gave his own new cap to 
 Peter Penniman, an awkward, ragged, and ungainly boy, 
 whose dilapidated hat had been torn in pieces by his school- 
 mates, and went home bare-headed himself, there was not a 
 boy in the school who had taken part against Peter but went 
 home chapfallen, and ashamed of himself. Indeed, such little 
 acts were almost of every-day occurrence ; of little impor- 
 
 22 
 
254 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 tance in themselves, but all going to show a character of pre- 
 cocious moral development. 
 
 The old squire took great delight in the character of this 
 boy, and inculcated all the stern virtues he had learned to 
 appreciate, but which, in his younger days, he had not always 
 been strong enough in his moral self-reliance to carry into 
 effect. Mrs. Gomery thought her boy a wonder; and yet she 
 feared that such qualities as his would never make him the 
 successful and distinguished man of the world which she 
 hoped he might be. 
 
 At this season, the oldest son of Thomas Homer, whose 
 name was Obededom, and who will be remembered as having 
 figured so conspicuously on the night of the great ball, and 
 who, as has been said, a few months before had had his leg 
 crushed, was the especial care of Walter. The distance 
 across lots from the Pivot to the house of Homer was less 
 than a mile ; and every day, unless the weather was so bad 
 as to prevent, Walter went to see his crippled friend, and 
 always took with him something to please him. Obededom, 
 it must be confessed, was not a worthy nor a very hopeful 
 subject for such attentions ; and the forbearance that could 
 tolerate his ingratitude, and still continue them, would be 
 regarded by most people as mawkish and morbid. In fact, 
 I am not sure but Walter was one of those whom men of 
 hard, available, common sense would call mawkish, morbid, 
 and sickly sentimental. But, such as he was, he was the 
 embodiment of certain actual, vivid, and transparent quali- 
 ties ; and, such as he was made, he is presented to be com- 
 mended, blamed, or despised. Neither charity nor pity is 
 asked for him. Such as he was let him be regarded. He 
 never counted results, or considered what was expedient. If 
 he regarded only what was right, and had no idea of a wis- 
 dom independent of it, then let him suffer for his folly. As 
 his Creator made him, let him be judged ; but let him who 
 condemns him take heed lest he arrogate to himself virtues 
 that he does not possess, and cannot appreciate in others. 
 
 During the summer season, it had been the custom of 
 Walter to go into the fields, and gather such berries from the 
 vines and hedges, and such fruits, as were in their season, and 
 trudge over, with a little basket in his hand containing his 
 gift, to the bed-ridden Obededom. The strawberries of June 
 were earliest ; and, ere they had departed, the raspberries 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 255 
 
 were ripe upon the bushes, which were in turn succeeded by- 
 blueberries in bogs and pastures ; and after them came the 
 large, wild, and sweet blackberries ; and, by the time the last 
 were no longer to be found, the early apples were ripe : so 
 that, for almost an entire season, there was scarcely a day, 
 if the weather were fair, but Walter could find some- 
 thing that would be a welcome present to his afflicted com- 
 rade. But it was oftener that he received blame than thanks 
 for his pains ; for Obededom received his gifts without acknow- 
 ledgment, and often found fault because the berries were 
 unripe or over-ripe, or not sufficient in quantity. Then the 
 ingrate would tease him to bring toys and presents made to 
 him by his father and mother, or such as had been sent to 
 him by distant cousins ; and, if he replied that he could not 
 do this without the parental leave, the invalid would fly in a 
 passion, and call him mean and stingy, and tell him, that, if 
 he ever got well again, he would flog him half to death. 
 These exhibitions of ingratitude and ill-temper would grieve 
 Walter sorely; but he never replied to them, for he attribut- 
 ed all to the cruel pain that ever racked the body of Obed- 
 edom; and, besides that, he saw, that, much as it pained him, it 
 grieved infinitely more another who was ever present at the 
 juvenile interviews and altercations. This was the only sis- 
 ter of Obededom, who at this time, when her brother was 
 thirteen, was nine years old. She was, in all things, the 
 opposite of him. Before his accident, he had been bluff, bois- 
 terous, rude, and violent. He was the hope of his father, 
 who took pride in his most transparent faults. His insolence 
 went unrebuked by his indulgent parents ; and his domineer- 
 ing and selfishness were looked upon as hopeful signs. To 
 his sister he had ever been the arrogant master, and could 
 destroy her dolls and other girlish playthings with impunity, 
 insensible to her tears, and unresponsive to her love. She 
 was ever trying to placate his temper and to win his affection. 
 But her acts of affection were as seed sown in stony places ; 
 for there was none of the soil of love in his heart in which 
 they could take root. His mother only stood between the 
 two to avert his tyranny ; but she, like her husband, regard- 
 ed his rude disregard of others as indications of promise, 
 rather than signs of innate depravity. The sister had come 
 into the world a creature of the finest and most sensitive 
 organization, and her whole life had been imbittered by the 
 
256 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 rude heartlessness of her brother; but it could not crush her 
 loving spirit, or cause it to send forth any thing but expres- 
 sions of gentleness and love. It is a wonder, that when, so 
 sensitive and affectionate, she had seen her pets ruthlessly 
 killed before her eyes, her doll-babies torn to pieces, and her 
 fine clothes rumpled and torn by her cruel brother, she had 
 not sickened and died. Many a time did she steal away to 
 indulge her tears, and, for a time, wish she were dead : but 
 the feeling of active love was so strong within her, that, after 
 a little while, she would put away such ideas, and think, per- 
 haps, that the fault was her own ; and then she would set 
 herself to devise new ways to please her unlovable and 
 unlovely brother. But her efforts met with no response 
 except derision and contempt; and the life she led under 
 the same roof with her brother was so wretched and misera- 
 ble, that she appeared a sickly wee thing, gentle, submissive, 
 and affectionate, yet so fragile withal, that her lease of life 
 seemed doubtful and brief. Yet she was never ill, never com- 
 plaining. Though her form was spare, her cheeks pale, and 
 her eyes had a look of premature care, yet she never com- 
 plained of being ill ; and, whenever bid by her brother to do 
 any task, the whole of her little strength was cheerfully 
 applied to it, hoping thereby to win an approving word. 
 But such words seldom fell to her from a source so barren in 
 affection and gratitude. Her child-heart yearned for some 
 one who could sympathize with her innermost desires ; but, 
 as yet, she had been repelled in all her affections. She was 
 as a flower in the desert, and must wither and die if her 
 young soul were not watered by the springs of affection and 
 love. But like the fading, perishing rose, that, to the last, 
 exhales a grateful odor, she, in her loveliness, only breathed 
 forth thoughts of affection and kindness. 
 
 At this period of her life, Hester Homer was not what is 
 generally considered a handsome child. She had, it is true, 
 eyes of striking softness and beauty, and was of the most 
 delicate complexion. Her hair was light and flaxen ; and her 
 figure, though faultless in form, seemed too ethereal and sha- 
 dowy to be of real flesh and blood. Certainly she was very 
 different from the healthy, buxom children of that day, who 
 became the mothers of a succeeding generation. The robust 
 health and vigor of constitution and mind, which, in the de- 
 veloped woman, gave an air of thrift and comfort to the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 257 
 
 houses of the daughters of New England, had no promise 
 in the sensitive, timid, and loving Hester Homer. 
 
 It was only the day before Obededom had met with his 
 accident that he had played one of his most cruel tricks on 
 his over-sensitive sister. It had always been a delight of 
 his to destroy her pets and playthings. His last feat had 
 been to shoot her pet lamb in the eye with his bow-gun ; 
 which caused her so much grief, that even her father gave 
 him a severe reprimand, and sent him to bed with a sound 
 flogging, instead of his supper. Even then, Hester begged 
 that she might carry up her bowl of bread and milk to him. 
 This request was refused; though, a little later, she was 
 allowed to go up, and carry him a piece of molasses-ginger- 
 bread. She found the young brute sulky and pouting ; and, 
 when she handed him the cake, he caught it, and threw it at her 
 head. She cried now worse than ever at having her kindness 
 and forgiveness spurned ; and, creeping away to her own little 
 bed, sobbed herself to sleep. Two days after this, going 
 into the kitchen-yard, carrying in her arms a Maltese kitten 
 that had been given her the day before, she put it down, and 
 saw it run at a piece of fresh meat that was lying on the 
 ground. It had been thrown there by Obededom, who, in 
 his wickedness, had attached to it a small fish-hook and line ; 
 and the latter he had tied to a fishing-rod that had been bent 
 to the earth, and, by an ingenious contrivance, set it like a 
 trap, so that, at the least twitch on the line, it would spring 
 into the air. No sooner had the kitten caught the tempting 
 bit in her mouth than the hook caught, at which she gave 
 a twitch, which set free the bended pole, that flew up, and 
 held poor pussy suspended in the air about four feet from 
 the ground. Hester rushed to save her favorite ; but the kit- 
 ten did not distinguish between friend and foe, and scratched 
 and bit the arms, hands, and neck of its young mistress, so 
 that she was obliged to leave it still pendent from the string. 
 But her screams had brought her mother to the rescue, who 
 quickly released the kitten from the line ; when it fled away 
 in affright, with the hook still in its mouth. Obededom, from 
 a hiding-place, saw the success of his stratagem ; and, think- 
 ing it best not to show himself too soon, ran away to one of 
 the neighbors. Though forbidden to do so, he insisted 
 on climbing upon a loaded cart, and, within two hours after 
 his feat with the kitten, he was brought home, his left leg 
 
 22* 
 
258 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 terribly crushed just below the knee. Dr. Purkitt was 
 at once called in, and a messenger was despatched to 
 Bridgeville for Dr. Keezar, and to Tivernet for Dr. Millett. 
 A consultation was held by the three physicians; and it 
 was decided that they must try and save the leg, though 
 Purkitt was of opinion that amputation would be safer 
 and less troublesome. The limb was saved; but Obed- 
 edom was subjected to a very long confinement, throughout 
 which he suffered the most intense pain. During this trial, 
 he was, if possible, less amiable than ever, and chafed, fretted, 
 and complained incessantly. 
 
 The sight of her brother, brought home maimed and sense- 
 less, at once turned to another object the tears and sorrows 
 of Hester, who, until then, could think of nothing but the 
 cruelty that had been practised on her pretty little kitten, 
 that had run away and hid with the barbed hook in its 
 mouth, and would not return, though she sought it every- 
 where. 
 
 During the weary months that Obededom lay on his back, 
 Hester seemed to forget all her other cares and sorrows, 
 and devoted herself solely to minister to his wants, and be- 
 guile the time of his racking pains. But his nature was so 
 entirely selfish, that he had no idea or sense of gratitude, and 
 looked on all attentions received as his by right ; and would 
 often snarl out so spitefully at his timid little sister, that she 
 would steal away, abashed and in tears, to contrive some new 
 means to conciliate him. 
 
 At first, Walter Gomery, when he came with his gifts to 
 offer to the sick boy, was not allowed to see him. It was 
 thought by the physicians indispensable that he should lie 
 entirely quiet, and therefore must not be excited or disturbed 
 by the presence of other boys. But when it became appa- 
 rent that the leg would be saved, and its improved condition 
 rendered slight motion less dangerous, he was admitted ; and 
 each day thereafter he was sure to appear with something 
 that he hoped would be acceptable. 
 
 In one sense they were so ; for if, by any chance, he did 
 not appear, Obededom was sure to be very fretful and queru- 
 lous, and more testy and ill-natured towards his mother and 
 sister. They both, therefore, were always glad to see Walter 
 come ; and though they could not conceal their shame and 
 regret at the ungracious return that Obededom made for his 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 259 
 
 kindness, nevertheless the hours passed off more smoothly 
 when he was present. 
 
 But the absence of all sense of gratitude towards Walter 
 was as nothing to that displayed towards the unfortunate 
 Hester. She could do nothing to please him ; nothing to 
 provoke a kind word or a grateful smile. And yet she was 
 all sweetness and gentleness, sensitively shrinking back when- 
 ever she approached his bed to adjust his pillow, or offer a 
 plum or a cherry, as if the cruel words that he was to utter 
 had a power to pierce her very soul. 
 
 Walter witnessed the unbrotherly and unkind returns that 
 Obededom made to his sister, and his heart was every day 
 moved with pity towards her ; and it was not many days be- 
 fore the two had a bond of sympathy between them in the 
 ungrateful returns of him whom they both sought to concili- 
 ate and serve. The difference in their ages — she being but 
 nine years old, and he nearly fourteen — prevented any of 
 that diffidence and coyness on either side that would have 
 restrained them had she been three or four years older. In- 
 tuitively he saw that she was a child of a most gentle and 
 loving nature ; that her love was wasted on those who could 
 not appreciate it, and that it came back on her own heart, 
 withering its best impulses, and drying up the springs of 
 affection. Young as she was, she already had a look of anx- 
 iety and suffering. She was lithe and sprightly; yet her 
 figure was so light and airy, that she seemed hardly made for 
 earth ; and in the hard, rough natures of her parents there 
 was no delicate appreciation of an organization and temper- 
 ament so delicate and sensitive. To a close observer of the 
 finer shades of character, it would have been evident that 
 she must ere long have an object on which to fix her affec- 
 tions, or she must early die. It had been the daily delight 
 of her brother, until his accident, to destroy her playthings 
 and tease her pets. But Walter could appreciate her child- 
 ish efforts to please, and win a return for her loving acts. 
 In a little time she confided to him her little griefs, and her 
 little plans to please. He entered at once into all her child- 
 ish devices ; and the gifts he intended for Obededom came 
 to him by the hands of the unregarded Hester. The two 
 would sometimes go off together in the fields and orchards 
 to look for berries and apples, during which times their prin- 
 cipal talk was of ways and means to please the young in- 
 
260 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 grate lying at home upon his bed. In time, Walter thought 
 much more of the mild blue eyes of Hester than of the suf- 
 fering, churlish Obededom. He found it more pleasant to 
 loiter in the yard with Hester, playing with her pet chickens 
 and ducks, making pens and coops for them, than to sit in 
 the room of Obed, who never could realize a sense of obliga- 
 tion to any one. The latter saw that a feeling of affection 
 and confidence was growing up between his sister and Wal- 
 ter ; and it made him more abusive and rude towards her than 
 ever. Though he cared not for her love for himself, he 
 could not bear that she should find in another that sympathy 
 which he could not feel; and, as the two seemed to find 
 more pleasure in being together away from him, he thought 
 they both wronged him by robbing him one of the other, 
 and hated them both accordingly. 
 
 But, selfish and unamiable as Obededom Homer was, he 
 was not, as this world goes, devoid of redeeming qualities. 
 In his early years he gave such evidences of thrift, that even 
 Iago might have commended him ; for that worldly philoso- 
 pher would never have found it necessary to admonish him 
 to " put money in his purse." Among his schoolmates he 
 had ever been known as sharp ; for he was always ready for a 
 trade in jack-knives, skates, jews-harps, and kickshaws; and 
 it was the general experience of all who dealt with him, that 
 he got the best of a bargain. And, though all knew full well 
 that he was always the winner in a trade, he had the tact and 
 art to persuade them into experiments of truck and dicker. 
 He gave every evidence of becoming a man of worldly suc- 
 cess. In the English sense of the word, he was clever ; but 
 in the American he was the reverse. He was sharp, but not 
 amiable. 
 
 These qualities, early developed, were vastly pleasing to 
 his father, who was a man of thrift, and was, like too many 
 others in this wicked world, accustomed to regard a faculty 
 for acquiring money as the only one really needful. In the 
 shrewd selfishness of Obededom, he saw signs of great prom- 
 ise ; but, in the gentle nature of Hester, there was little to 
 excite his admiration. She bade fair to attain to rare beauty 
 if she could but gain a little more strength and cheerfulness; 
 and this quality her father and mother both regarded as cap- 
 ital, that should secure her, not love for love, but a man of 
 worldly goods. During the long half-year that her brother 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 261 
 
 lay helpless on the bed, Hester Homer became very much 
 changed from what she had been at the time of his accident. 
 Her cheek was no longer pale and colorless ; and the unhap- 
 py look that seemed prematurely to have settled on her 
 brow was fast disappearing. She was no longer brooding 
 over lost pets, or seeking in vain for some one to whom she 
 could approach, and confide her affection. No one of her 
 own family could appreciate her, and she was not even al- 
 lowed to love her dolls and kittens in peace. If the former 
 were torn to pieces, and the latter worried and hunted, by 
 her big brother, both her father and mother thought it rather 
 a joke to laugh at than a fault to be rebuked, and scolded 
 her for her tears. But the coming of Walter had opened a 
 new life to her. Of course she felt nothing of that love, 
 which, at a much later period of her life, was to move her 
 young heart, and send the blood coursing more livelily 
 through her veins. She would have felt equally grateful to 
 any child of her own sex, or to an old grandmother, if she 
 could only find an object to accept, appreciate, and return 
 her love. 
 
 By the time the snow flew, Obededom was so far recovered 
 as to be able to sit in his arm-chair all day ; and, before 
 Christmas, he could get about the house on crutches. Wal- 
 ter's visits were now necessarily suspended for the most part ; 
 for the public school had commenced a month before, and he 
 must be punctual in his attendance. There he met, each 
 day, the gentle Hester; and,. when she was away from it, 
 the house of Thomas Homer had small charms for him. 
 But, as the winter advanced, he thought less and less of 
 them all, including little Hester ; and she found, in her school- 
 mates of her own sex, corresponding returns for that affec- 
 tion which had before been lavished almost entirely on Wal- 
 ter. So, when the term ended in the spring, they had both 
 so many other friends in the school, that they were no longer 
 to each other what they had been. With the close of the 
 school, we will leave Hester to her desolate life at home. 
 But, during the past year, the crisis of her childhood has 
 passed. The flower that was withering, and like to die, has 
 been revived by the waters of affection, and taken fresh root 
 in the earth. Alas for her ! — it had been better that the* 
 sickly bud had then perished. 
 
262 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " How rarely Reason guides the stubborn choice, 
 Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice ! 
 How nations sink, by darling schemes oppressed, 
 When vengeance listens to the fool's request ! " — Dk. JOHNSON, 
 
 The spring at Montgomery Village opened, if possible, 
 more tame and monotonous than usual. The farmers at- 
 tended to their farms, the mechanics to their shops : there 
 were neither dancing nor singing parties ; and the attempts 
 at a revival in the early part of the winter having proved a 
 failure, and that constant source of amusement and mischief, 
 Joe Pumpagin, having gone away, nothing had occurred, for 
 three months, of sufficient importance for a tea-table topic. 
 There had not been in all that time a death or a funeral; and 
 the whole community were suffering for an accident, a quar- 
 rel, or a scandal, that might give them something to talk 
 about. But at last this painful quiet is broken by the arrival 
 of a fine double carriage drawn by a span of stout bays, 
 which, as a matter of course, goes directly up to the Pivot. 
 This carriage, as was suspected, contained some of the rich re- 
 latives of Gomery of Montgomery ; and the marvel was, which 
 of them they were. It was soon known, however, that the 
 party consisted of Thomas Fogue, the rich New-York 
 brother-in-law of the squire, his wife, and two children. 
 They had been so well pleased with their former visit, and it 
 had had so good an effect on the feeble health of their 
 youngest child, that they had come on a second excursion 
 into the hills, intending to make a long family visit. They 
 brought letters from Theron to every member of the family, 
 from the squire to Walter. He also sent such presents as 
 "he could afford ; for his uncle, with a full knowledge of city 
 temptations, and a prudent regard for his nephew's welfare, 
 had forewarned his father that the success of his son would 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 263 
 
 probably be in the inverse ratio of his pocket-money. But 
 though Theron saw little of the august Fogue in the city, 
 and, when he did see him, never ventured to speak to him, 
 he was not so entirely forgotten and neglected by him as he 
 supposed. It was the habit of the rich banker to walk pom- 
 pously into the bank, and, with an air of great dignity and 
 self-complacency, take a deliberate look at the clerks, and no- 
 tice carefully the general arrangement ; observing if each 
 clerk was properly employed, and kept his desk, books, and 
 papers in neat and systematic order ; and then walk through 
 to his private office, and there read his letters, and attend to 
 that general supervising of the bank-affairs which might be 
 required from a faithful servant of Mammon. This was 
 about all that Theron saw of the rich banker ; and, if he ever 
 encountered his cousins, they passed without seeming to rec- 
 ognize him ; though, if their mother was with them, she would 
 always detain him to inquire about his family in Montgom- 
 ery. But, on the whole, he found that his relationship was 
 more irksome than advantageous in the performance of his 
 duties. 
 
 Yet, as has been said, Fogue was not unmindful of him. 
 He noticed his punctuality and industry, and made sure 
 that his time was not misspent when the hours of duty at 
 the bank were over. On his first coming into the city, and 
 while he was yet a guest at his uncle's house, the old man 
 had questioned him in his studies, and, giving him a bit of 
 paper and a pencil, asked him to cast the interest on a 
 thousand seven hundred and eighty-three dollars and ninety- 
 one cents, at five and one third per cent annually. The an- 
 swer was soon given ; and as the old man had taken care to 
 have the same question put to an expert clerk in the bank, 
 and had the result on a slip of paper in his pocket, he saw at 
 once that Theron's figures were correct. This pleased the 
 man of method; and he then asked for a specimen of his hand- 
 writing, at the sight of which he was not so well pleased. 
 Having thus informed himself in regard to the qualifications 
 of his wife's nephew, he sat himself squarely in his arm-chair; 
 and, pushing his gold spectacles back upon his forehead, he 
 thus addressed him : — 
 
 "Theron Gomery, you are the nephew of my wife; for 
 which reason, I shall give you some valuable advice. In 
 the first place, you must understand, that, though you are re- 
 
264 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 lated to my family, you will not come to this house again for 
 a year. It is not to be supposed that you will move in the 
 same circles as my children, as you must make your own 
 way in the world. You must begin at the foot of the ladder. 
 There is where my father began. He commenced by catch- 
 ing fish, and selling them out ; and, by being prudent and 
 careful, he accumulated money, and bought a smack, and sold, 
 in his own saloon, oysters that his own boat brought to the 
 city. He was great at a stew ; and the first I can remember 
 of him was his standing over the coals in his cellar, cooking 
 oysters. But he made a large fortune ; and, when I came to 
 man's estate, he lived in one of the best houses in the city of 
 New York, and had one of the largest incomes. That is the 
 way for you to do, my boy. Begin at the bottom, and work 
 up. Be satisfied with your position, and don't try to get 
 into one where you do not belong. My children will have 
 no need to be economical, as you must be, as I have enough 
 to leave them all rich ; and of course you will not expect to 
 associate with them, since they only move in the best soci- 
 ety. Among the old and rich families, it is a point of honor 
 not to bring in any of their poor relations. We wish to 
 build up an upper class to be a conservative interest in the 
 country, and keep in check the dangerous tendencies and 
 power of the democratic masses. We have not the position 
 that our wealth would give us in any other part of the world. 
 Even our brethren at the South are better off than we are; for 
 their institutions are better and stronger than ours ; giving 
 property more power over labor than it has among us. 
 There a man with large property has great influence; for the 
 poor people are kept down, and, as in England (which country 
 we ought to copy), are so largely dependent on the landlord 
 and capitalist, that they are obliged in all things to follow 
 his lead and second his wishes. But here, where the fell 
 spirit of democracy is destroying all the great pillars of 
 rank and government, what am I, Thomas Fogue, with all 
 my wealth, more than another man without a hundredth part 
 as much ? My coachman's vote counts the same as mine ; 
 and, if I tell him he must vote as I do, he ups and tells me 
 he is not my slave, and that I can get somebody else if he 
 don't suit me. And, what is more aggravating still, they 
 make us pay taxes, and educate their children when it is 
 much better for us not to have them educated, but to man- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 265 
 
 age the affairs of government in our own way. But I do 
 not suppose you can understand these things fully as yet ; 
 and I give you this admonition in time, lest you get into 
 your head the foolish idea that so many upstarts are prating 
 about, that property will be safe if the people are well edu- 
 cated. But it is a dangerous error. Government should 
 always be in the hands of those who have most at stake. 
 They are sure to be conservative, and to keep things as they 
 are. You should remember, if you would be respected by 
 the rich and wise, always to be conservative." 
 
 Theron hardly knew what to make of this speech of the 
 successful man of business. It was not a speech made for 
 him, but was a coarse rehash of the bank-office conversation, 
 such as was wont to be held in the private office of the bank 
 by the president and directors of the institution, and which 
 was delivered in an oracular way, as if every word weighed 
 a pound. But the boy was not so deeply impressed with 
 the sage remarks of his superior as the latter supposed ; and 
 when the prospered man assumed that the young Gomery 
 must ever move in a lower sphere than his cousins, because 
 they were a generation in advance of him on the road to 
 wealth, he mentally rebelled against it, but only said he should 
 do his duty, and make the most of his advantages. 
 
 On leaving his country home, Theron had received good 
 advice from both father and mother, and inwardly resolved 
 to follow it. " Do every thing well," said his father, " as 
 well as possible, in starting in life ; and every thing will come 
 easy to your hand as you advance. Learn to write a good 
 hand ; spare no pains for that ; and it shall save you months, 
 if not years, of labor. With an easy, rapid, and legible hand, 
 you can get through well in an hour, what, with a slow, 
 cramped hand, you can only badly do in double the time. 
 Then get every thing in the way of business thoroughly 
 fixed in your mind. Have every thing of a practical charac^ 
 ter indelibly stamped on your memory; so that you can draw 
 any paper, bill, or instrument, without looking at a form. 
 Know all about the details of your business ; and, if you 
 should ever have others under you, you will then know who 
 are faithful and capable, and who are not. But if you ever 
 undertake any business, with the routine and details of which 
 you are not familiar, you will be robbed and cheated, and at 
 last find that your plans, however well devised, will mis- 
 
 23 
 
266 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 carry. Remember these words, my son, and they shall be 
 better to you than houses and lands. An hour of study now 
 will save you months of labor hereafter. Therefore my 
 parting advice is for you to improve all your time for the 
 first two or three years that you are away from home ; then 
 you will not only have formed habits of industry and regu- 
 larity, but your path of life will be free from surprises and 
 thorns. Dr. Franklin says, — 
 
 ' He who would thrive must rise at five ; 
 But he who hath thriven may sleep till seven.' 
 
 You will find, if you follow this course, that, though you 
 have accumulated little, you have so prepared the way, that 
 all else will be easy and pleasant. You will have thriven, and 
 you may ' sleep till seven ; ' for you will know so well how 
 every thing is going on, that you will have no anxiety on 
 you mind." 
 
 That this was good advice, every man who has failed and 
 blundered through life will admit ; and it was not lost on 
 Theron Gomery. He put himself to his work with a will; 
 and, though his life was not enlivened by any social inter- 
 course, it did not pass heavily, for it was always occupied. 
 Ere' the sun was up in the summer-time, he was away to a 
 free bath in the Hudson, from which he returned to read 
 such books as his father had advised him to purchase and 
 study. His evenings were spent at a night-school, where 
 penmanship and bookkeeping were taught; and, when the 
 hours of the school were past, he would return to his scanti- 
 ly furnished room, and there sit at his table till his allow- 
 ance of candle was consumed, practising his new style of 
 calligraphy, and drawing from memory various instru- 
 ments, the forms of which he were given in his text-book on 
 bookkeeping. With such habits, he could but make rapid 
 progress ; and at the end of a year, when questioned with 
 a view to advancement, if qualified, it was found there was 
 not a branch of the whole business of which he did not 
 know the entire details. He was advanced at once ; his 
 salary increased ; and, instead of being the boy of all work to 
 run at everybody's call, he was promoted to a desk, and 
 thenceforth dignified as "Mr." 
 
 This was the report that good Mr. Fogue took home to 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 267 
 
 his parents ; and when he got a letter from his mother, recit- 
 ing the kind things that had been said of him, and wonder- 
 ing how he could so dislike so just and considerate a man, as 
 he appeared to do from his letters home, he felt a sort of 
 self-condemnation. But when he remembered the old man's 
 admonition, that he must not ever expect to move in the 
 same circles as his own children, his resentment revived, and 
 he snapped his fingers, and said he would consider that point 
 farther on in the race. 
 
 The good character which Fogue gave to his folks at home 
 was not limited to them; but on one occasion, when his 
 aunt from Philadelphia was on a visit to New York with her 
 husband, he told her that her nephew from the country was 
 a most excellent boy, the most apt and handy he had ever 
 had in his employ, and was sure to make his way in the 
 world. This conversation took place at the breakfast-table, 
 where sat the two aunts and their husbands, besides young 
 Lester Fogue, who was the first-fruit of the union of Thomas 
 Fogue and Margaret Mackenzie, and was of about the same 
 age as Theron Gomery. 
 
 " It strikes me," said Mrs. Fogue, " that, being my sister's 
 child, if he is so well-behaved, he might be permitted to come 
 to the house occasionally." 
 
 "I will tell him to come up this evening, so that he may 
 see his Aunt Gilderkin." 
 
 "I should be delighted to see him," said Mrs Gilderkin; 
 and her husband joined in the request that he might be per- 
 mitted to come and see them in the evening. 
 
 " He is a curiosity," said young Lester, who felt a great con- 
 tempt for all his country relations. 
 
 " How is that," said Gilderkin, " if he is so well-behaved 
 and so faithful a clerk? " 
 
 " A clerk! a clerk coming here, and so green too ! I hope 
 none of my friends will call this evening if that cub is com- 
 ing. He hasn't pluck enough to smoke a cigar without it's 
 making him sick ; and, if you were to offer him a glass of 
 wine, he would be so scared, he would want to run home 
 and tell his mother." 
 
 " But he had pluck enough to throw you into the horse- 
 pond, and keep you there till you brought out little Walter's 
 cap, that you had thrown in ; and he served you right too," re- 
 plied his mother excitedly. "And, if you had been as much 
 
268 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 afraid of a glass of wine as he is, your father would not have 
 been obliged to pay a hundred and sixteen dollars for the 
 glass and furniture you broke at one of your rowdy dinners 
 in the City Hotel." 
 
 "I thought," said Lester, turning to his father, "you ap- 
 proved of my associating with gentlemen ; and, if I did so, 
 you have always told me not to mind the expense. And 
 now you are praising up this country bumpkin, as if he was 
 an example for me to follow. But I won't see him ; I won't 
 stay in the house if he comes here ; " and with this he got 
 up angrily from the table, and left the room. 
 
 "That is the right spirit," said his father. "I have always 
 encouraged him and all my children to be very choice in 
 their company. Brother Gilderkin, it is such families as ours 
 that are the only hope and safety of the country. Now, the 
 spirit that Lester shows is worthy of a young English lord 
 or a young Southern planter. I only praised his cousin in 
 order to badger him, so that you might see that I have not 
 neglected the education of my children. I am proud to see 
 them manifest a proper spirit, and sense of thetr position. 
 However, we will have this young Theron up here this even- 
 ing, that you may all take a look at him ; but he must 
 understand that he is not to repeat the visit. I will speak 
 to him on the matter to-day." 
 
 Here the conversation ended, and the company rose from 
 the table. The two rich men, having smoked their cigars 
 and glanced over the morning papers, left the house, and pro- 
 ceeded to walk down town, as Fogue said he found it a good, 
 healthy exercise. They parted at the door of the Bullion 
 Bank; Fogue to go in and attend to business, and Gilderkin 
 to go farther down, to South Street, to the counting-room of 
 his brother, a large importer. 
 
 In the course of the morning, a message was sent to The- 
 ron that the president wanted to see him in his private office. 
 The youth obeyed the summons, and found the portly old 
 man sitting at his table, spectacles on nose, examining some 
 letters and papers. On seeing the young man enter, he sat 
 back in his chair, and pushed up his spectacles till they rested 
 on his forehead, and motioned the visitor to a seat. Then, 
 looking very wise for about two minutes, he began : — 
 
 " Theron, I have called you in here to express to you my en- 
 tire satisfaction with your conduct since you have been in the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 269 
 
 employ of this institution. I have no fault to find with you ; 
 and as I informed you when you first came, that, owing to 
 the fact that you had been brought up in lower society than 
 my children " — 
 
 "Much higher, with all due respect," said Theron. 
 
 "Young man, you are not to contradict me in my office.! 
 None of your impertinence ! " 
 
 "I had no wish to be impertinent : but when any man un- 
 derrates my father and mother, and speaks of them as lower 
 than anybody else, I will contradict him; and I don't care 
 who it is." 
 
 " It is very right for you to speak w r ell of your father and 
 mother. They are very good, worthy people, I do not 
 doubt, — very honest and respectable ; but, not having moved 
 in our circles, of course they do not understand the genteel 
 and polite ways that are familiar to us. But that is neither 
 here nor there. Your Uncle Gilderkin and wife are at my 
 house ; and, as a mark of the appreciation we have of your 
 good conduct, we have decided that you may come to the 
 house this evening, and spend a couple of hours. But it 
 must be understood, that, in granting this great privilege, no 
 concession is mnde; and you are not to repeat the visit except 
 by special invitation. My son Lester is very proud and se- 
 lect in his company, as I have felt it my duty as a leading 
 member of my class to encourage him to be; and, as none 
 but the sons of those who are in like position with myself, 
 and who are acting with me to build up an aristocracy like 
 what they have in the old European countries, are accus- 
 tomed to visit him, of course it would not be agreeable to 
 either party to meet the other." 
 
 " Certainly it would not be to me." 
 
 " Very well, then: we shall expect you at eight o'clock 
 this evening." Saying this, the man of money turned to his 
 papers ; and the young clerk left the room for his own desk 
 in the other part of the building. 
 
 From the defect of education which Fogue had observed 
 and commented on, or from some other cause, Theron did 
 not appreciate the honor which the bank president had prof- 
 fered him. On the contrary, he had a feeling of great con- 
 tempt for him and his opinions ; and, as he returned to his 
 desk, he muttered to himself, " When I go to your house, it 
 will not be by courtesy or condescension." 
 
 23* 
 
270 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 The evening came ; and the two sisters, Mrs. Fogue and 
 Mrs. Gilderkin, sat in the parlor of the former, talking over 
 their days of childhood, in the course of which it was natu- 
 ral for them to allude to their sister, Mrs. Gomery ; and this 
 led them to comment on the strange caprice of their sister 
 in taking up with Freeborn Gomery, when she could have 
 commanded the hand and fortune of the richest man in the 
 country. This, again, led to remarks on the expectant vis- 
 itor, whom the Philadelphia aunt had not seen for several 
 years, and the other but two or three times since his first ar- 
 rival in New York. The brothers-in-law were in the library, 
 discussing bank-matters, expressing the greatest concern at 
 the new doctrine lately broached by the President of the na- 
 tion in regard to the great bank of the country. 
 
 "Brother Fogue," said Gilderkin, "we are not now pre- 
 pared for a crisis. This interference with the finances of the 
 country by the Government is a great outrage. It is down- 
 right robbery, and a gross outrage on vested rights. It is 
 forcing a crisis that we are not prepared for. A crisis brought 
 about in the legitimate way, at a proper time, is an excellent 
 thing ; but it must be worked up by the moneyed interest of 
 the country, and not precipitated when we are not prepared 
 to take advantage of it. Our securities are not now in the 
 right shape for a crisis, and the public confidence is so affected 
 already, that we shall not be able to improve them ; and, 
 though we can doubtless protect ourselves from loss, we can 
 make nothing compared with what we could have done had 
 matters been kept quiet, and business gone on prosperously 
 for a few years longer. Since the last crash, people have not 
 got fairly launched into speculation ; and a crisis now would 
 give us nothing compared with what it would do if the thing 
 were left in our own hands, where it belongs, and the Gov- 
 ernment had the sense not to meddle with the currency. 
 Then a well-timed and well -managed crisis would have 
 swept by the board a multitude of small jobbers, builders, 
 manufacturers, and other struggling adventurers ; and all 
 could have been gathered up by those having surplus capital. 
 By getting mortages and liens on the real property of such, 
 and then forcing a crisis which shall greatly depreciate prices, 
 we can secure all their accumulations to ourselves for one- 
 half its intrinsic value. But, to effect these operations, there 
 must be a tacit union of capitalists, who must lead people on 
 
A FAMILY HISTOEY. 271 
 
 to speculation and extravagance, and not contract the cur- 
 rency until their securities are on real property. Then there 
 is no actual loss of property in a financial crash. It only 
 changes from the hands of the active tradesman and opera- 
 tor to the capitalist who has accommodated him. Now, this 
 commendable thrift, and shrewd use of our means, are all 
 liable to* be rendered ineffectual, and set at nought, by the 
 bungling intervention of this bush-fighter now at the head of 
 the Government. In my opinion, his conduct deserves im- 
 peachment. He is breaking up all the safeguards of the 
 Government. With his co-operation, we could have built up 
 a strong, conservative interest that would have been able to 
 shape the policy of the nation; and, by wielding the capital 
 in such a way as to control the labor, would have made the 
 Government strong, central, and conservative." 
 
 " You say right^ Brother Gilderkin. You have expressed 
 my ideas better than I could have done for myself. I con- 
 sider that this wrong-headed man now in the presidential 
 chair has put back the country at least fifty years. And it is 
 all owing to our system of Government. We shall always be 
 exposed to civil commotion, and to having our plans thwart- 
 ed, until we have a recognized aristocracy, — an upper and 
 wealthy class, that shall have its distinct place and power in 
 the Government ; and it is our duty to unite, and break down 
 this demagogue and innovator, who seeks to destroy all the 
 rights and powers that capital has and ought to have over 
 labor." 
 
 "I would willingly aid in that," said Gilderkin, "with my 
 vote, my pen, my voice, and my money, if I could only see 
 how to effect any good result. The people, at least the more 
 ignorant of them, are against us; and as for the President, 
 he has the post of power, and what can we do?" 
 
 "Do? What is his power compared with ours, if we are 
 but united, patriotic, and determined ? Let there be a gen- 
 eral union of capitalists against him. Let us call in the 
 money we have got out ; let us refuse any more loans ; let 
 us compel the manufacturers to suspend their works, destroy 
 credit, and bring on general bankruptcy ; let the men go 
 about the streets begging for work, the women for bread ; 
 and let them understand that all this evil has come upon 
 them through the act of their President, — and they will, if 
 necessary, tear him from the White House, and hang him to 
 
272 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 the gate-post of the Capitol. Force the ignorant multitude 
 to depose him : that is my way! " 
 
 " You are for strong measures, Brother Fogue ; but there is 
 reason in what you say. At least, I will carefully consider it ; 
 and on my return to Philadelphia we will have a meeting of 
 our heaviest men, and then we will give the subject our serious 
 attention. One thing is very clear, — something must be 
 done." 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by a call from the 
 other room, and the two patriots adjourned to the parlor. 
 
 " I thought," said Mrs. Gilderkin, addressing Fogue, " we 
 were to see our nephew here to-night. You invited him ; 
 did you not?" 
 
 " Invited ! No, I don't invite my clerks. I told him to 
 come ; to be here at eight o'clock ; and here it is nearly nine. 
 That is the way with these country boys : they have no pro- 
 per respect for those above them." 
 
 " You say that he is a young man that is attentive to his 
 business, and a good clerk ? " 
 
 " As for that, he is the best I ever saw : he is quick as an 
 eel, and does every thing in the most perfect and systematic 
 manner. He seems to know every thing about the bank and 
 all its customers; and only last week, at a meeting of the 
 directors, he sent in a memorandum, that, but for the impor- 
 tant nature of its contents, would have caused his immediate 
 dismissal for impertinence." 
 
 " How was that, Brother Fogue ? " 
 
 " It was in this way : One of our heaviest debtors, it seems, 
 had got into a bad way, and was privately disposing of his 
 goods. But he had not got every thing ready for a grand 
 failure; for he wanted to have his accounts once more bal- 
 anced with us, and then he would expect to enlarge his mar- 
 gin, and overdraw to a large amount. This note from The- 
 ron Gomery was simply a suggestion, that when he made his 
 next deposit, preliminary to balancing the books, his account 
 should be closed till his affairs could be investigated. On 
 reading this note to the board, every one of the directors 
 was as indignant as if the cashier had absconded with his 
 trunk-full of money. In fact, I was quite angry myself; and 
 we all considered it a piece of presumption, impertinence, 
 and insubordination, besides being a gross slander on one of 
 our best customers, — a man of large means, and doing a fine 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 273 
 
 business. So a vote was taken that he be permitted to re- 
 sign his position. Afterwards it was decided to follow his 
 advice, and not notify him of his dismissal till the result was 
 known. The next day, the man's account was squared ; and 
 the day after, a note was sent to him, that, as the bank was 
 about to contract, it would not, for the present, accommodate 
 him any further. The next morning his store was not opened, 
 and it was found he had made the worst failure of the sea- 
 son. But for that note, he would have got thirty or perhaps 
 fifty thousand dollars ; and that afternoon, when we had a 
 special meeting to consider the case, finding that this boy 
 had saved us the money, we reconsidered our vote to dis- 
 charge him, and it was left to me to give him such repri- 
 mand as, in my judgment, his impertinence deserved." 
 
 " Then the only reward of his fidelity was a reprimand ? " 
 said Mrs Gilderkin. 
 
 "But I never alluded to the subject," said Fogue. "I 
 thought I would spare his feelings." 
 
 " Spare his feelings ! " she exclaimed excitedly. " Peter," 
 she added, turning to her husband, " I don't think Brother 
 Thomas gives Sister Jane's boy a fair chance. I propose 
 that we have the other one go with us to Philadelphia. 
 What say you ? " 
 
 "I am willing if you are," said Gilderkin. "If he is like 
 this one, I am not afraid but I can stand his vulgar ways. 
 So you can write to your sister Jane, and tell her that — 
 what is the next one's name ? " 
 
 " Wirtimir," answered his wife. 
 
 " What names they find for their children ! Tell Jane that 
 if she will let Wirtimir come and begin with me, as Theron 
 did with Brother Fogue, he may come, and he shall live with 
 us." 
 
 " I am astonished at you, Brother GilderWn," said Fogue, 
 "that you should take a country boy with all his rough 
 manners and vulgar ways into your house." 
 
 " He can't be rougher or greener than I was at his age," 
 said Gilderkin. 
 
 "Ah! my dear sir, with all your sound ideas on finance 
 and money-making, you have no proper sense of the dignity 
 and duties of your position and class. We must keep dis- 
 tinct from those below us, and make more broad and clear 
 the line between us who have inherited wealth, and the 
 vulgar upstarts who have made their own money." 
 
274 G0MERY OP MONTGOMERY! 
 
 " I think, Brother Fogue, you are carrying your ideas a little 
 too far. My father, you know, honest man, was a poor farm- 
 er; and, until I was eighteen years old, I worked on his farm 
 as hard as any drudge ; but, when it was found that there 
 was a valuable coal-mine on his land, he at once became rich. 
 I have heard you boast frequently that your father was 
 the best hand at an oyster-stew in New York. So, as it 
 seems to me, our lineage is neither so ancient nor honorable 
 that we should pride ourselves too much upon it, or despise 
 all whose fathers did not accidentally find coal-mines or cook 
 oysters." 
 
 " I am aware we have not the advantage of a long and 
 honorable ancestry, as the higher classes have in older coun- 
 tries ; but it is our privilege to found such a class, and, as the 
 first in the line, we shall have the more honor with future 
 generations. If we were to trace back the first families of 
 England a sufficient time, we should doubtless find a link 
 where the head of it was no better than an oyster-dealer or 
 small farmer; and yet they are prouder of the moss-trooper 
 of five hundred years ago than of his descendant of the last 
 generation who was a lord or archbishop. If we can only 
 lay the foundations of an aristocracy, we need have no fear 
 of not being respected two hundred years hence." 
 
 " Small comfort that will be to us. However, to come back 
 to the subject, I am disposed to make a trial of the other 
 Gomery boy. But I would have liked to have seen this one." 
 
 "I shall give him a severe talking to in the morning," said 
 Fogue. 
 
 " Perhaps he was looking after another of your lame cus- 
 tomers," suggested Sister Gilderkin. 
 
 The next morning, as threatened, Theron was summoned 
 again to the rear office of the bank. The banker looked 
 stern and displeased, and did not ask the young man to be 
 seated. Pushing back his spectacles, and directing a look 
 that he intended should make him tremble before him, he 
 began : — 
 
 " You were not up at my house last evening." 
 
 " I am aware of that," said Theron with a coolness that 
 somewhat disconcerted the old man. 
 
 " And why, sir, did you not come ? " 
 
 " I did not wish to go ; and that was reason enough." 
 
 " But I wished you to ; and I am to be respected in my 
 wishes." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 275 
 
 " In business-hours, you have the whole of my time and 
 my best services ; but out of business-hours I am my own 
 master, and go where I please." 
 
 "Young man, you are insolent! You shall leave the 
 bank!" 
 
 " That is just what I desire to do," replied Theron with 
 an air of indifference. 
 
 " But you shall have no recommendation." 
 
 "I don't want any. I am offered a thousand dollars a year 
 more than I get here, besides being promoted, in the bank 
 opposite." 
 
 "Leave the room!" said the excited Fogue, getting up 
 from his chair as if to enforce prompt obedience. Theron, 
 however, required neither force nor a second order, but with- 
 drew quietly, and returned to his desk. 
 
 Here was insubordination indeed! The lion had been 
 bearded in his den. His threats had been flung back at him 
 with defiance, and there was no remedy. The young clerk 
 was too clever for the conceited capitalist. The old man paced 
 the room for a short time, and then sat down again at his 
 desk. "That is just the way," said he, "whenever genteel 
 people attempt to do any thing for their vulgar poor rela- 
 tions. But they are not my relations, thank God ! There is 
 none of the Fogue blood so low and base as that ; so want- 
 ing in respect for rank, position, and deference to the higher 
 classes. Now, we can't spare the boy very well ; and he 
 would not think of leaving if he had any sense of gratitude. 
 I took him in here when he knew nothing about business ; 
 and now, after all my care, he is going off when we have no 
 one to take his place. What depravity ! And yet we can't 
 let him go. All the board will want to know the reason. 
 And yet I know he will go. I have told him to leave; and 
 go he will, if I don't call him back. I will send word to him 
 by Jenks. Jenks and he are great cronies. I will tell Jenks 
 to say to him, if he will make an apology he may stay." Af- 
 ter reflecting on the matter for about half an hour, he rang 
 the bell for the errand-boy ; who instantly appearing, he bid 
 him tell Jenks that he wanted to see him. 
 
 Jenks quickly obeyed the summons ; and the old man, con- 
 trary to his custom, bade him be seated. Then sitting back in 
 his chair, and raising his spectacles to his forehead, he began : — 
 " Mr. Gomery, my nephew (or rather my wife's nephew) 
 
276 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 has used very improper language to me, and I have told him 
 to leave ; but, considering his former good conduct, you 
 may say to him, that as he must expect to make his way in 
 the world, and I don't want to be hard upon him, and his 
 mother will take it unkindly of me if I send him away, he 
 may apologize and stay." 
 
 " That will be quite unnecessary," said Jenks ; " for he has 
 ready sent in his resignation, and you will find it in the let- 
 ter-box in the front office; and he has also written another 
 letter, to the President of the Bank of Security, saying he ac- 
 cepts his offer, and will commence at the first of the next 
 quarter." 
 
 " How is that ? How did the Bank of Security know any 
 thing about him ? " 
 
 " One of the directors of the Security is an uncle of mine, 
 and one day met Gomery at my father's house ; and, getting 
 into talk* with him about banks and exchange, he found him 
 so well-informed and familiar in both the principles and de- 
 tails of banking, that he invited him to dine at his house a 
 few weeks ago." 
 
 " Dine at his house ! A clerk ! He has never dined at 
 my house, for all he is my wife's nephew." 
 
 " He dined there at the same time with the President of 
 the Security ; and as he thinks he knows more about bank- 
 ing, and national wealth, and political economy, than Say or 
 Adam Smith ever dreamed of, he soon got into a discussion 
 with my uncle, who, finding himself getting the worst of it, 
 called on young Gomery to help him out ; and the result was, 
 those two had a discussion that lasted two hours, and my un- 
 cle thought the old man got the worst of it. When they 
 parted, the old president told him he had good parts, but had 
 much to learn. Soon after, he invited him to his house ; and 
 now he verily believes that Theron Gomery knows more 
 about banking than any man in America, — save only Nick 
 Biddle and himself. And, what is more, he is engaged to his 
 daughter Letitia ; and you know she is an only child, and is 
 one of the richest heiresses in New York." 
 
 " "What ! Theron Gomery engaged to Letitia Pickering ! " 
 said Fogue in amazement. "Do you say my old friend 
 Stephen Pickering, the President of the Security, gives his 
 consent that his daughter shall marry such a country clown 
 as Theron Gomery, who hasn't a dollar in the world ? " 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 277 
 
 " He consents that -she shall marry Theron Gomery, and is 
 much pleased at the prospect." 
 
 Fogue dropped his head at this, and told Jenks to leave. 
 "Is the world gone mad?" said he. "Theron to marry 
 Letitia Pickering ! Has the old man no respect for his posi- 
 tion? — none for his class ? He is as prone as I am to a priv- 
 ileged class, to an established aristocracy ; yet he allows 
 my wife's nephew, whom I do not permit to darken my door, 
 and who has never yet, and never shall, cross his legs under 
 my mahogany, to come to his house, and marry his daughter, 
 when he must have known that she should marry Lester. I 
 wonder what Mrs. Fogue will say to this. It was all her 
 work, bringing the country bumpkin into the city. I never 
 approved of it. And as for Lester, I know he will kill him. 
 He has great spirit, that boy ! — very much like his father. 
 What is the world coming to ? Surely the times are out of 
 joint." And with such reflections the capitalist tried to re- 
 sume his labors. 
 
 24 
 
278 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 " It's hardly in a body's power 
 To keep, at times, frae being sour, 
 
 To see how things are shared ; 
 How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
 While coofs on countless thousands rant, 
 
 And ken na how to wair't. — Burns. 
 
 The favorable reports received at the Pivot, of the good 
 conduct and rapid proficiency of the eldest son, had the 
 effect of stimulating a desire in the next one to go forth, and 
 try his fortune in the great world. As is not unfrequently 
 the case, when the oldest of a family of boys enters reso- 
 lutely and boldly into the battle of life, he furnishes the best 
 example possible for those who are to come after him ; and, 
 if there be no radical innate difference of organization and 
 character, in all probability the feeling of home rivalry that 
 existed among them as boys will develop in them, as men, 
 into energy, perseverance, and honorable ambition. In start- 
 ing off from home, their great desire is that those they leave 
 behind them — for they have then no other public to please 
 — will hear good reports of their conduct, and be cheered 
 by news of their success. If one has gone before them, and 
 good reports have come back of his conduct and success, 
 they then feel that they have a standard which they must at 
 least equal, if not excel, and that any thing short of that 
 will cause sorrow and disappointment at home. But if the 
 eldest has proved a thriftless, graceless idler, the next one, 
 when he ventures away, will have less faith in himself, less 
 courage to undertake ; his standard will be less elevated, his 
 aim lower ; and if he avoids the evil ways of the eldest, and 
 very likely pet son, so that relatively he is the better con- 
 ducted of the two, he rests there, and aspires to nothing bet- 
 ter. The eldest, therefore, has a great responsibility; for the 
 road he takes will most likely be followed, with more or less 
 deflections, by his younger brothers. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 279 
 
 Accordingly, when Wirtimir saw how rejoiced his father 
 and mother were at the reports which came to them of The- 
 ron's good conduct, and how proud his sisters Juliet and 
 Rose were of his success, he was naturally eager to distin- 
 guish himself in the same way. He became discontented at 
 home, and was pressing that he might have " a place " in 
 New York. When told of the severe solitary life that his 
 brother had been compelled to lead for the first year and a 
 half of his city residence, he scouted the idea that he would 
 shrink from any hardship or any duty. He feared nothing 
 if he could only have the opportunity to learn and improve. 
 The days seemed long to him, for they appeared to be time 
 wasted ; and his native hills no longer had any charm for his 
 discontented eyes. He was in this uneasy frame of mind 
 when his mother received a letter from her sister, Mrs. Gil- 
 derkin, proposing that he should go and live with her family 
 in Philadelphia, and be a sort of clerk to her husband, look- 
 ing after his affairs, and learn the ways of doing business 
 and gaining money. An invitation was also given to his 
 elder sister, Juliet, to accompany him, and pass the winter 
 in the city of brotherly love. 
 
 The invitation was accepted for both; and as the journey 
 was a long one, and the means of travel very different from 
 what they are now, it was finally decided that the old squire 
 should accompany them. Preparations for the journey were 
 immediately commenced ; but it was two weeks before they 
 were ready to start. The old family carriage, which had 
 been built in the village according to the lawyer's own de- 
 sign, and more with regard to convenience and comfort than 
 display, was sent to the maker's to have the tire reset, to be 
 repainted and furbished up for the journey. Within-doors, 
 all were busy in making ready for the journey ; and, to accel- 
 erate the work, Miss Wellington, " the fashionable tailor," 
 was brought to the house to make an entire new suit for the 
 lawyer, and such clothes as it was supposed Wirtimir would 
 wear out before he could outgrow them. Juliet and Rose 
 were busy in making, sorting, and packing all the fine things 
 which it was supposed a young lady would require in a great 
 city. 
 
 At length, all was prepared. The old carriage looked as 
 good as new ; and the two stout horses, that brought a ready 
 shoulder to draw the plough or take the family to church, were 
 
280 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY I 
 
 round and fat ; and when the load was all taken on board, 
 and the good-by said, away they moved, at a brisk trot, on 
 their long journey. 
 
 The equipage and general turn-out of Gomery of Mont- 
 gomery on this occasion, though plain and unassuming, gave 
 evidence of more substantial wealth than was often seen in 
 the family carriages of the people in that part of the country. 
 Indeed, to the eyes of the common folk along the road, it 
 had quite an ambitious look as it drove along past their quiet 
 farm-houses. The old squire felt happy, and so did Juliet 
 and Wirtimir after the first few miles had been passed over, 
 and the road became less familiar to their eyes. At first, 
 they could not refrain from casting back regretful, sad, and 
 lingering glances on the now receding scenes of their child- 
 hood. During the journey, they met with few incidents 
 worthy of note. They put up at the best of the good old- 
 fashioned taverns on the road ; and, as their appearance indi- 
 cated them to be people of a better position than ordinary 
 travellers, they had the best apartments and the best fare 
 that the different public-houses could afford. But, as they 
 approached the city, they observed that their old-fashioned 
 covered wagon, that was thought a very stylish affair at 
 Montgomery Village, was but a sorry-looking vehicle as com- 
 pared with the splendid carriages that rolled by them in the 
 outskirts of the city; and their stout old farm-horses cut a 
 dismal figure compared with the prancing roadsters that 
 proudly dashed by them along the finely gravelled turnpike. 
 
 Very near the city, in those days, there was a public water- 
 ing-trough, which was fed by a spring, and which served to 
 water the thirsty animals of both teamsters and travellers. 
 Here the lawyer pulled up his horses to refresh them for the 
 last time previous to entering the city. At a little distance 
 from the trough, engaged in the healthful exercise of throw- 
 ing stones at the windows of an old, uninhabited house, were 
 a couple of barefoot, ragged, dirty urchins, who might have 
 been taken for specimens of Young America, except that 
 that interesting and hopeful individual was not then in exist- 
 ence. " I say, Bill," said one of them : " ain't that a he old 
 go-cart?" 
 
 " I reckon that is the same that old Peter the Headstrong 
 used to ride in," replied the other. 
 
 " You old fool you ! that was made before old Peter's 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 281 
 
 grandfather was a little boy. It's the same wagon old Noah 
 rid down the mountain after the ark got aground." 
 
 " That's so ! And that is old Noah himself. I say, old 
 man, when did you leave the ark ? and how was all the folks? 
 And you youngster there : what is your name? Is it Shem, 
 or Ham, or Japhet ? It ain't Ham, 'cause he was a nigger." 
 
 " I say, old Noah, what did you let all them sarpents into 
 the ark for ? " 
 
 " I 'spect that is Eve, that woman : ain't it, Bill ? She is 
 handsome enough." 
 
 " No : you ignorant crittur you ! Eve wa'n't Noah's wife : 
 she wa'n't in the ark." 
 
 " She was some relation, anyhow ; and how do you know 
 she wa'n't in the ark ? " 
 
 The horses, having drunk their fill, were turned into the 
 road, and started on their way ; and the rest of this discus- 
 sion on biblical history between these learned pundits was 
 not heard, and probably is lost to the world. 
 
 It was near three o'clock in the afternoon when the 
 quaint family carriage of Gomery of Montgomery turned 
 down Wall Street from Broadway, and stood before the 
 Bank of Bullion. The lawyer, giving the reins to Wirtimir, 
 descended, and, entering the bank, inquired if Mr. Fogue 
 was in. The teller, who was the person addressed, seeing a 
 stranger with the appearance of a countryman, replied, 
 " Yes, sir ; he is in : but it is past his hour of business, and 
 he can see no one. He is busy." 
 
 " Busy, is he ? Well, you tell him that Freeborn Gomery 
 is here, — better known as Gomery of Montgomery; that 
 his daughter is with him, and his son : tell him that, sir, if 
 you please, and be very quick about it ! " 
 
 This, uttered in a loud and authoritative tone, caused all 
 the other clerks to look up ; and the teller addressed, turn- 
 ing to an under book-keeper, bade him tell the president that 
 a man wanted to see him. 
 
 " Tell him that Freeborn Gomery wants to see him. And 
 where is my son ? Isn't he here, — my boy Theron ? " 
 
 Here the clerks began to titter, all except Jenks, who ad- 
 vanced, and said very blandly, "Ah! Mr. Gomery, I pre- 
 sume. Happy to meet you ! Your son left here a few days 
 since, anof is now at the Security Bank opposite." 
 
 " Left here ! How is that ? " 
 
 24* 
 
282 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 The door into the rear office was now opened; and the 
 president advanced, confused and embarrassed. Here had 
 his brother-in-law, with his broad-brimmed hat and his 
 Polly Wellington clothes, all well covered with dust, an- 
 nounced himself before all his clerks ; and thus was he, the 
 founder of an aristocracy, confounded. But, putting on the 
 best face he could, he advanced, and, extending his hand, 
 said, "Indeed, Mr. Gomery! I hope you are very well! 
 Walk into my office." 
 
 " But my son and daughter are waiting in the carriage." 
 
 " In a moment we will attend to them," said Fogue, draw- 
 ing his brother-in-law inside the door, and closing it, so that 
 the clerks should not be witnesses of the scene. " Take a 
 seat, Mr. Gomery ! I hope you left your folks all well." 
 
 " Yes, sir, very well," said he somewhat sternly, and still 
 standing ; for it had not escaped him that his affectionate 
 brother-in-law secretly wished him to the Devil. 
 
 " Well; I am delighted to see you, and am very sorry it 
 has happened so that your visit is at such a very unfortunate 
 season. You see, my house is now full of very fashionable 
 company, — the son and daughter of a friend of mine in 
 Georgia, a man of great wealth, and connected by blood or 
 marriage with all the great Southern families, and descended 
 from the old Cavalier stock of Virginia ; and — I say it with 
 pride, sir — the ancestor of my friend was killed at Mars- 
 ton Moor by some of Cromwell's psalm-singing Roundheads. 
 His son and daughter, as I said, are at my house ; and we 
 are having a grea*t deal of very fashionable company. We 
 even expect an English lord: yes, sir, an English lord, — 
 Lord Noddlekin, a distinguished member of the great aris- 
 tocracy of England, who arrived in the last packet. Yes, 
 sir, we expect him to visit our house ; and of course you 
 will not wish to be there, as you know the company will be 
 so different from what you have up at Montgomery Village. 
 The young ladies there will be the most fashionable in 
 New York; and several of the old Dutch families have 
 promised to come who were never there before, in order to 
 meet Lord Noddlekin ; and they would take it as a great 
 offence if I were to invite any common folks there with 
 them." 
 
 While Fogue was thus excusing himself for his refusal 
 of hospitality to his brother-in-law, his confusion and pride 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 283 
 
 were strangely intermingled. He was ashamed of his boor- 
 ishness, but could not conceal his exultation when speaking 
 of the distinguished visitors expected at his house. His 
 face flushed, first with shame, and then with pride ; but as 
 Gomery stood unmoved, with a perplexed though stern look 
 upon him, he felt he must propose something, and so said, — 
 
 " But we have excellent hotels here. There is the great 
 City Hotel, where all the great people go. But, as it is very 
 fashionable, perhaps you would prefer the Bleeker Street, 
 which is a very good one, and a great many respectable 
 farmers from the country put up there with their teams ; and 
 here," he continued, sitting down to the table, "I will just 
 write a note for you to take to the landlord to tell him I 
 will pay all the bills. You know, I want to be hospitable." 
 
 " You unmannered hypocrite ! " exclaimed Gomery of 
 Montgomery in a voice that could be heard in the next 
 room, and caused the clerks to hold their breaths, " do you 
 think I have come here to ask charity or favor from you?" 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! not so loud ! " said Fogue, looking up, 
 ashamed and supplicating; afraid, above all things, of having 
 the conversation overheard. 
 
 "Send your clam-diggers and oyster-spawn to Bleeker 
 Street; but don't insult me again by proposals to pay my 
 tavern-bills, or I shall throw you neck and heels out of your 
 own window." Fogue sank down in his broad arm-chair, 
 looking the very picture of cowardice and shame, and as if he 
 feared that his brother-in-law would put his threat in execu- 
 tion. But Gomery only looked at him as at a reptile be- 
 neath his contempt, and then, turning on his heel, walked 
 out with an elephantine tread that made the building 
 quake. 
 
 The clerks, who had overheard the loud and angry words of 
 Gomery, had also from the window caught sight of Juliet 
 sitting in the carriage in front of the bank. The outer door 
 of the bank had been closed just as Gomery had entered 
 (the hours for business with customers closing at that time) ; 
 and the clerks, snuffing some fun from the pompous old pres- 
 ident, had gathered near the windows that looked out on 
 the street. " Look ! " said Jenks, who was the first to get a 
 sight of Juliet, — " look ! isn't that a beauty? " 
 
 "By the powers!" said another, "is that Gomery's sis- 
 ter?" 
 
284 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY I 
 
 " Of course it is : isn't she handsome ? " 
 
 " Handsome ? — all New York can't touch her. See ! the 
 people on both sides of the street are stopping to look at 
 her." 
 
 The heavy tread of the elder Gomery, as he stalked an- 
 grily out, interrupted this conversation. 
 
 Juliet and Wirtimir saw a thunder-cloud on their father's 
 brow as he came out, such as they had never seen before. 
 
 "Where is Theron?" asked Juliet. 
 
 "Over here," said he, crossing over to the other side. 
 " Drive over here to this side, Wirtimir." 
 
 The boy obeyed ; and the old man entered the door of the 
 Security Bank, which was not yet locked, though business 
 hours were past. He had no sooner approached the counter 
 than his son happened to cast his eyes in that direction, and 
 instantly recognized him. Eagerly he flew through the gate- 
 way that cut off the clerks' apartment from the public, and 
 grasped the old man by the hand. 
 
 " How is this ? " said he. " I wasn't looking for you. 
 How is mother ? how Juliet and Rose ? and how Walter and 
 Wirt? and how is everybody?" The clerks of the Security 
 looked up, and smiled at the joyful enthusiasm of Theron ; 
 and, just at this moment, President Pickering came in from 
 his private office ; when the young man proudly turned to 
 him, and said, " Mr. Pickering, this is my father ; and I am 
 so glad to see him ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " said the president : " your father ! I am delighted 
 to see you, sir. I have known your son only a short time, 
 and I am proud to know the father of such a son." 
 
 " I am glad that the boy pleases you," replied Gomery, 
 " though I was not expecting to find him here." Then, turn- 
 ing to Theron, he told him that Wirt and Juliet were in the 
 wagon at the door. 
 
 At this the young man hurried hatless into the street ; and 
 such a hearty greeting passed between the parties, that the 
 people, who before stopped and stared, now stared and won- 
 dered. 
 
 Fogue, of the Bullion, saw this scene from his window, 
 and thanked his stars that he had got rid of his country rel- 
 atives so easily, notwithstanding he heard his clerks giggling 
 and laughing in the next room, and was well aware that they 
 were witnesses of the scene in the street. But his joy was 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 285 
 
 turned into astonishment when he saw his much-respected 
 friend Pickering, President of the Security, follow his clerk, 
 bareheaded, out of the bank to the rustic old family carriage 
 of Gomery of Montgomery, and give both Juliet and Wirt 
 a warm shake of the hand. Then, agape, he saw the boy 
 descend from the carriage, and the President of the Security 
 re-enter the bank, and soon return, with hat on and cane in 
 hand, and get into the carriage with Gomery and his daugh- 
 ter, when they all drove away. Theron and Wirtimir en- 
 tered the bank, but returned directly, and followed the car- 
 riage on foot. 
 
 " How much good that man might do," soliloquized Fogue, 
 "if he only had proper social ideas ! With his fortune and 
 influence, he could do more towards forming a correct public 
 opinion, and establishing the necessary distinctions between 
 classes, than any man in New York. But he has no sense of 
 his position or duty to his class. On the whole, I think it is 
 as well for Lester to marry the daughter of my Georgia 
 friend. It is true, she is not very handsome, and has no edu- 
 cation; but she has two plantations, and belongs to one of the 
 oldest families. If Pickering will fraternize with such low 
 people, we must let him go, and build up our aristocracy with- 
 out him." 
 
 Good old Jesse Pickering, who was thus delinquent in his 
 duties to his class, had very different ideas of propriety from 
 his neighbor over the way. His early days had been differ- 
 ent, and with his mother's milk he had imbibed other ideas 
 of the world. Fogue, as we have heard him confess, had 
 come up from a labor almost menial ; and, as his wealth came 
 pouring in upon him, his great struggle was for position. 
 His money came easier and faster than social respect, for 
 refinement was not natural to him ; and his idea of the value 
 of money was that it was mainly useful as a means of main- 
 taining social distinctions. Hence he grew up a fawning 
 sycophant at the feet of those having social standing and in- 
 fluence, while he passed with haughty indifference those who 
 were not thus favored. And yet he had many redeeming 
 qualities. Though shrewd and sagacious in business, he was 
 just and honorable in all his transactions. He was public- 
 spirited, and gave liberally to public charities. His heart 
 was liberal, and his hand was free. But early rebuffs when 
 seeking position had burnt into his very nature ; and he was 
 
286 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 like too many people of like experience, who, having come 
 up from the dung-hill, from that rich soil have grown rank 
 and lusty in wealth, and are afraid of being contaminated by 
 contact with people once their equals. Such people are 
 always talking of rank and position in society, and make 
 their attainment the great end of life. You shall know a 
 man, and more especially a woman, of vulgar antecedents 
 and connections, by their proneness to talk of the genteel 
 people and great folks whom they have known. They are 
 so fearful of being confounded with their own kind, that they 
 are ever reminding you of their distinguished and fashionable 
 friends. 
 
 On the other hand, Jesse Pickering had no fear of having 
 his position mistaken or his importance undervalued by rea- 
 son of his courteous and familiar bearing towards all men. 
 His early years had been spent in a country village not far 
 from New York ; and though his father had been a man of 
 small fortune, yet the family was as much respected as any 
 in the place ; and in his boyhood he was not aware that 
 there vyas any society above that in which he lived, or which 
 he looked up to with covetous eyes. Hence he never knew 
 the bitterness of being excluded from any society he cared 
 to move in. He had come to New York, a young man, to 
 look after what was then a small property that had been left 
 to him at the decease of a maiden aunt. This consisted of 
 a house and three acres of land, at a small distance from the 
 city as it then was, and which he hadr the sagacity never to 
 sell. Twenty years after, the same property had increased a 
 hundred-fold ; and twenty years later still, which was about 
 the time to which this history has arrived, he ranked as one 
 of the richest men in the city, and was on terms of intimacy 
 and familiarity with all the people of established wealth, in- 
 cluding, of course, the rich descendants of the web-footed 
 Dutch dames, of whom the historian of New York makes 
 elegant mention. Being thus independent, he could consult 
 his own tastes, and could afford to disregard the rules of so- 
 ciety, by having such intimates and visitors as he liked, with- 
 out regard to their wealth or social position. He was there- 
 fore frank and familiar with the poor and rich alike ; and in 
 this he was the exact contrast of Fogue, who was afraid of 
 being contaminated, or classed with the poor and vulgar, if he 
 did not assume a bearing of haughty superiority, and keep 
 them at a proper distance. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 287 
 
 For the two days and a half that Gomery tarried in New 
 York, he and his daughter were the guests of Pickering. 
 "Wirtimir, however, stopped at a boarding-house, lower down 
 town, where his brother lived. Juliet captivated the hearts 
 of all with whom she came in contact ; and she and Fanny 
 Pickering — now engaged to her brother — were confidential 
 friends at sight. Gomery of Montgomery occupied his time 
 while in the city in looking at its wonders, of which he had 
 read much, but which he had never seen before, — its fine 
 buildings, large wharves, and the fleets of shipping riding at 
 anchor in front of the city. The President of the Security 
 put his carriage and driver at his disposal ; and the old man 
 in his broad-brim and Polly Wellington clothes was driven 
 through all the principal streets of the city ; the people gen- 
 erally taking him for a Western governor or a foreign lord. 
 Juliet busied herself in improving her wardrobe for the win- 
 ter campaign in Philadelphia ; and her great delight was in 
 walking up and down Broadway with her friend Fanny, to 
 call her attention to what was most worthy of notice, re- 
 ceiving hints as to what was or was not in the fashion, and 
 making such purchases as suited the wants and tastes of the 
 two. 
 
 But the lawyer and capitalist could not agree in politics. 
 Freeborn Gomery was, as we have seen, a man inclined to 
 think for himself; and his principles were based on his own 
 observations and reflections. For the opinions of other men 
 he cared very little, though he cared a great deal for the 
 facts and data on which they were founded ; and, when pos- 
 sessed of them, he had a logic of his own, and formed his 
 own conclusions. His natural sense had never been biassed 
 by prejudice, or warped by false ideas ; and hence he took 
 men as they were, and valued them at their intrinsic worth. 
 If he met with native wit and honesty, it mattered little 
 to him that its possessor " dined on homely fare, wore hod- 
 den gray, and a' that." In politics, he was a radical Demo- 
 crat in the best sense of the term ; and hence he could 
 never reconcile it with his system of logic, that it was just 
 or honest to keep in bondage an entire people, whose 
 wrongs were increasing with their numbers, and whose 
 rights it was growing more difficult each year to acknowl- 
 edge. 
 
 Pickering, in his way, was as just and liberal as Gomery. 
 
288 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 Indeed, in some respects, he was more so. But his experi- 
 ence and way of life had led him to regard the masses of 
 mankind as of importance only so far as they contributed to 
 the aggregate wealth of the country. The public happiness, 
 and general education and improvement of the masses, were, 
 in his eyes, matters of trivial importance, compared with 
 that regular business prosperity which allows capital to roll 
 on like a snow-ball, gradually accumulating all the damp 
 flakes that have fallen on the ground before it. And he was 
 right in that, perhaps ; as doubtless the people will elevate 
 themselves to a more healthy position than under any en- 
 forced system of protection, if they are left free to work out 
 their own improvement. But he went somewhat farther 
 than this ; and, in his dread of innovation, was so prone to 
 conservatism as to oppose needed reforms. But, in this re- 
 spect, he was far more liberal than Fogue, who regarded it 
 as an offence against society and order for any one to seek, 
 by elevating the masses, to lessen the distinctions between 
 them and the upper classes. Both were disciples of that po- 
 litical school of which Hamilton was the recognized leader, 
 and looked upon the ideas of natural rights, as set forth by 
 Jefferson, Franklin, and Tom Paine, as dangerous heresies. 
 Hence the conversations that passed between Gomery and 
 his host were of a political character; and so intent was 
 each on convincing the other, that many matters were neg- 
 lected on which the lawyer was especially anxious to be in- 
 formed. On some subjects the banker could enlighten him. 
 But many of these were not introduced ; and all his time 
 was taken up on abstruse questions, of which one knew no 
 more than the other, and both were resolved to be neither 
 enlightened nor convinced. 
 
 Two full days Gomery had allotted himself to spend in 
 New York ; and so, on the morning of the third day after 
 his arrival, the old-fashioned team was brought up to the 
 door, and the lawyer, his son and daughter, took their seats, 
 and, with a hearty " God speed you," resumed their way. 
 
 They were expected at their Uncle Peter's in Philadelphia, 
 and met with a reception more cordial than they had antici- 
 pated after their rebuff from their New-York relatives. 
 Gomery remained there two days ; and then, with a sorrow 
 in his heart at parting with his children such as he had 
 never felt before, he commenced his journey homewards. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 289 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ** What's a' your jargon o' your schools. 
 Your Latin names for horns and stools ? 
 If honest Nature made you fools, 
 
 What sairs your grammars ? 
 Ye'd better ta'en up spades and shools, 
 
 Or knappin' hammers. 
 
 A set o» dull, conceited hashes, 
 Confuse their brains in college-classes ! 
 They gang in stirks, and come out asses, 
 
 Plain truth to speak ; 
 An' syne they think to climb Parnassus 
 
 By dint o' Greek."— Burns. 
 
 From its commencement, the village of Montgomery had 
 been a thriving place. It had been fortunate in its early set- 
 tlers; for, as was said long since, the original proprietor of 
 the tract where it stood, Robert Gomery, had been very par- 
 ticular respecting the habits and character of those who 
 wished to buy land, and settle in the vicinity. Beyond most 
 villages of its time, it had been distinguished for the sobriety 
 of its inhabitants ; and only under the potent influence of 
 Joe Pumpagin's tongue, and the more potent influence of 
 his flip, had any thing like a drinking-bout been known. 
 The consequence of all this was that the people were gener- 
 ally in prosperous circumstances; and as the population 
 waxed numerous, like the uneasy, contriving, innovating 
 New-Englanders generally, they got an idea that they must 
 have something better than the ordinary town-schools for 
 the education of their children. Somehow the Yankees 
 have an intuitive sense of Bacon's maxim, that " knowledge 
 is power; "and the first thing they think of, when they have 
 set want at a distance, is to give their children a better edu- 
 cation than falls to the lot of those who have only the privi- 
 leges of the free schools. The parents do not labor to accu- 
 mulate property for their children to inherit, so much as to 
 employ it in educating them ; believing that money thus ex- 
 pended in youth will bear fruit in manhood a hundred-fold. 
 
 25 
 
290 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 Now, the good people of Montgomery Village had, like 
 Freeborn Gomery, on many occasions sent their children, as 
 they got somewhat advanced in their studies, to distant acad- 
 emies ; and, as they did not like the idea of thus paying 
 tribute to other villages of less population and importance 
 than their own, the project was started of having an academy 
 of their own. It was not till about the time that Theron 
 Gomery left his home to begin life in New York, that the 
 plan of an academy was seriously talked of; and then, 
 though by the time the building could be completed, and 
 the institution opened for pupils, it was probable that Lawyer 
 Gomery would not have left at home more than one of his 
 children to benefit by it, he nevertheless entered zealously 
 into the scheme, and offered to give the ground for the site, 
 and twice as much as any man in the village besides. This 
 liberality was so far imitated by others, that the money neces- 
 sary for the building was subscribed ; and, a year after, it 
 was opened in due form, a recent college graduate accepting 
 the post of principal, and a sentimental lady of mature years, 
 who taught French without being able to speak or read it, 
 and who could tell the language of every flower and plant 
 from a violet to a pine-tree, was engaged as assistant. The 
 academy was first opened on a bright December morning; 
 and among those who attended at the commencement were 
 Walter Gomery and Obededom and Hester Homer. 
 
 It had been the intention of both Freeborn Gomery and 
 his wife to give Walter a college education if he should 
 have any inclination for it himself. Accordingly, as he was 
 already well advanced in arithmetic, English grammar, and 
 geography, he now began to study Latin and Greek. At 
 school he was the favorite of all save one; and that was 
 Obededom Homer. Obededom disliked him because others 
 liked him ; and as he had now recovered from his wound, 
 and was a large, stout boy, with a deformed leg, he gave 
 vent to his vicious disposition, and sought every opportunity 
 to annoy Walter. However, as he could get neither coun- 
 tenance nor sympathy at school, he contented himself by 
 ceaseless efforts to annoy his much-forgiving sister, knowing 
 that she had a childish liking for Walter, and that, when he 
 made her cry, it pained him a thousand times more than if he 
 himself were the direct object of his malice. Somehow these 
 two children, more by force of circumstances than from any 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 291 
 
 other cause, came to have such mutual confidence, that they 
 told their griefs to each other for sympathy, and also their 
 hopes and pleasures, that each might share the other's joy. 
 As children, they paired like young birds ; and, as they got 
 older, they regarded it as a matter of course that they were 
 to grow up, and be man and wife. Mrs. Gomery saw these 
 evidences of youthful attachment; and notwithstanding the 
 contempt for all the Homers, from the great bard down to 
 young Obededom, which she expressed the morning after the 
 great ball, she had it not in her heart, so gentle and innocent 
 was Hester, to interfere with the developing affection of the 
 youthful pair. The peculiar, eccentric character of Walter 
 had brought out in her a finer and tenderer feeling than she 
 had ever known, when, a young mother, she proudly scorned 
 comparison between her child and that of another equally 
 proud and hopeful of the child resting in her bosom. 
 
 As Walter grew older, his character seemed to harden, and 
 to lose somewhat of its eccentricity. With such precocious 
 virtues, it might reasonably be expected of him, that, like the 
 traditional "good little boy that died," he should follow his 
 example, and be laid in the churchyard. But this he per- 
 versely refused to do. He would live on against rule and 
 precedent; and, at seventeen years of age, was fitted for and 
 entered college, a healthy, robust lad. 
 
 Some would say that he had more bodily than mental 
 health. The wisest student is he who makes the most of his 
 college advantages, and who begins his course by getting 
 every lesson perfectly, so that every thing once passed over 
 he will have ever after at his fingers'-ends. This plan, though 
 it may require some application at first, will enable him to 
 complete the course with credit, and with less study bestowed 
 on the prescribed lessons than if he begins in the usual way, 
 and only gets each lesson so as to pass for the day. More- 
 over, he will consequently have more time for general read- 
 ing, and will, in all respects, be the gainer. Walter Gomery 
 had this idea so thoroughly inculcated by his excellent father, 
 that he acted upon it ; and hence was so well grounded in the 
 rudiments of every thing he studied, that the class-lessons 
 that required the most of the time of others who pursued a 
 different course, with him occupied but a small portion. But 
 he was regardless of rank, and not always respectful to the 
 college faculty. In fact he was shockingly unorthodox in 
 
292 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 politics and religion; and he read very extensively those 
 books in the college libraries that were allowed there by rea- 
 son of their literary merits, though the students were warned 
 not to open them. He would startle his classmates by the 
 boldness of his suggestions, evincing a scope of thought so 
 far beyond them, that they could neither controvert nor op- 
 pose. Being so entirely self-reliant and original, he was 
 voted an oddity by the students, and of small account : and, 
 though some of the more venturesome looked to him for 
 ideas, it was with fear and trembling even with them ; for it 
 exposed them to be rated by the college faculty, and to be 
 suspected by the implicit students. At last his intrusion of 
 unauthorized ideas forced matters to a crisis. The professor 
 of the ancient languages had preached a famous sermon, 
 entitled " The Fate of the Ungodly," which he thought so 
 much of, that he had got it published : and this sermon 
 Walter Gomery made the text for a theme, which he most 
 diplomatically and irreverently termed " The Attributes of the 
 Two Great Powers, the Divine and the Diabolical; or, Prof. 
 Hoppin's Theory of Grace." In this audacious attack of the 
 stripling upon the giant, the parts of the sermon reviewed 
 were those in which the learned professor had proved, to his 
 own satisfaction, the great scheme of creation, sin, and re- 
 demption, according to which, if logically followed out, the 
 great multitude of mankind were fore-ordained, from the 
 time nihil Jit to a miserable eternity, for not believing what 
 their reason told them was not true. He proved too, with 
 equal clearness, that man could do nothing towards averting 
 so awful a doom ; and that those who escaped were singled 
 out by divine mercy, and then became saints upon earth 
 until translated to another world. Then the professor had 
 dwelt at great length on the wickedness of being governed 
 in matters of belief by reason, and proved the great liability 
 of this human attribute to err. They must believe, not what 
 reason said was true, but what they, the saints, told them to 
 believe, or else they would be cut off, and there would be no 
 hope. Of their own merits they could expect nothing but 
 damnation, and that they deserved for Adam's transgression. 
 But if they accepted all these ideas, and became orthodox 
 in belief and faith, they then might hope that a dispen- 
 sation in their favor, which had been ordained from the foun- 
 dation of the world, would be made known to them, and 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 293 
 
 they would receive from the Holy Spirit the assurance of 
 their redemption, and become so purified and changed, that 
 they would rejoice to behold the torture of those whom in life 
 it was their duty to love and pity. Ay, so great would be 
 their ecstasy and delight in beholding the misery of others, 
 that they would rejoice, and sing praises and paeans to the 
 author of it; and their joy would be as great as was that of 
 the saints of old at witnessing a royal auto-da-fe. 
 
 Having drawn this picture, which was but a mild para- 
 phrase of the professor's sermon, Walter charged upon the 
 human side of the fortress, and asked who, without denying 
 every attribute of his humanity, every quality that is rightly 
 admired in men, every principle and duty taught by Christ's 
 words, and illustrated in his life, would wish to share such a 
 heaven as this? For his part, he would rather take his lot 
 with the Devil, and stand his chance with him for good or 
 evil ; for, with all their abuse and high coloring, they could 
 not make him out so bad as the God of their vengeance. 
 " Such a heaven," said he, " if there be such, let those have it 
 that can enjoy it, but not me; and, if I never get to it, I shall 
 pity those that do. 
 
 ' I'm wae to think upon yon din, 
 E'en for your sake.' " 
 
 This daring assault on the lingual professor was read be- 
 fore the whole class, which would hardly have been allowed 
 had he himself been present. But, as the tutor was not so 
 high in authority as to venture to stop the reading of it, 
 Walter was allowed to read it through ; some of the stu- 
 dents evincing a chuckling satisfaction at the well-put thrusts 
 through the mail of the professor's logic, while others looked 
 awe-struck and aghast at the author's temerity. 
 
 After being read, the obnoxious paper was given with oth- 
 ers into the hands of the tutor, who immediately sent it to 
 the professor with an excuse for allowing it to be read, and 
 recommending that most prompt measures be taken to pre- 
 vent the repetition of such insubordinate heresy. A perusal 
 of the audacious criticism was enough to set the professor in 
 a towering passion. A special meeting of the faculty was 
 called for that very evening ; and the offended professor, hav- 
 ing fortified himself with a substantial repast of hot biscuit, 
 new butter, sponge-cake, and tea, — to which, before setting 
 
 25* 
 
294 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 out, he added a strong glass of brandy and water, — he ap- 
 peared at the board, like Desdemona's father, "full of supper 
 and distempering draughts," or, like the Dutch governor, 
 "brimful of wrath and cabbage," and opened the case 
 with so violent a tirade against the offending Gomery, as to 
 show that he was himself a very proper candidate for the 
 heaven he had depicted. 
 
 The obnoxious theme was read ; and the professor, so an- 
 gry before, was even more astonished when he found he was 
 not fully sustained by his brother professors ; and the presi- 
 dent of the college flatly told him that his sermon, though 
 rhetorically effective, would not bear criticism, and should 
 not have been published. Though the students ought not to 
 criticise their teachers publicly, they had often experienced 
 the fact, that, if the latter would lay themselves open, the 
 former would take advantage of every weak and exposed 
 point. The professor insisted that the offender should be ex- 
 pelled. 
 
 " What specific charge would you make ? " suggested Pro- 
 fessor Pophara, who was the teacher of moral and mental 
 philosophy, and somewhat more tolerant of dissent than his 
 colleague, Hoppin. " We have never yet expelled any stu- 
 dent for his religious opinions ; and we have always said we 
 had no religious test. On the contrary, we have had avowed 
 infidels here, who have graduated, and received the highest 
 honors ; and this young man is not an infidel." 
 
 "He is a great deal worse than an infidel! He is sapping 
 the very foundation of all evangelical religion. What in- 
 ducement is there for being religious or honest, pray, if such 
 ideas are to prevail ? " 
 
 " We will not discuss the merits of him who abstains from 
 sin for a selfish consideration," quietly suggested Popham : 
 "but I don't see that we can interfere in this particular case, 
 unless we are prepared to change our entire policy, and avow 
 that we will receive only those who pass a satisfactory exam- 
 ination on the cardinal points of religion ; and that you 
 know, and I know, would soon leave the college without stu- 
 dents. Free thought is the right and habit of the people of 
 this country ; and, if you attempt to restrain it, the students 
 will leave us, and the professors will become the derision even 
 of those of our own persuasion, and can be of no use or im- 
 portance in the world, except as guide-posts to admonish 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 295 
 
 others not to follow their example. Now, though I am some- 
 times accused of Machiavellian tact and policy, I must say- 
 that we have no case against this young man. You can rea- 
 son with him, Professor Hoppin, and so can others of us ; and, 
 having done so, if he persists in his errors, we cannot pre- 
 vent it. JMaking a public matter of the thing by his expul- 
 sion would only draw public attention to it ; and we must 
 avoid that. Let us do our duty in kindness and charity, and 
 leave the event to a higher power; and, if he be one of 
 those whom you represent in this sermon as cast out, his fate 
 be upon his own head, not ours." 
 
 " That is just what he wants. He says in this very theme 
 he prefers hell to heaven." 
 
 "But then it is your heaven and your hell, not his," said 
 the president. " You must make heaven appear more at- 
 tractive if you would draw men towards it." 
 
 The professor, finding himself unsupported, gave up the 
 case for the present, and consoled himself with the idea, that, 
 when the offending student came before him in recitations, 
 he would confound him with unanswerable questions, and 
 give him no*marks but those of demerit. 
 
 It was not long after this that an event happened that 
 served to put him in a still more anomalous position, and to 
 render his college-life any thing but agreeable. He had already 
 seen that he was regarded with little favor by the faculty. It 
 somehow had leaked out that Prof. Hoppin had attempted to 
 have him expelled; and, though the other members of the fac- 
 ulty had not sustained him, he could see that he was regarded 
 as a wolf in the fold. Some of the students, however, could 
 not but admire his temerity; and he was rather a favorite 
 than otherwise of those who made a merit of defying the 
 rules and laws of the college. But, soon after his "mill" with 
 Prof. Hoppin, he so lost the good will of this class, that there 
 was not a student in the college willing to associate with 
 him ; and many of them thought they were doing a good 
 service by smashing his windows of a dark night. They 
 thought of that afterwards with different feelings. 
 
 In all our American colleges, there is a sort of class- 
 honor, as there is among our " Southern brethren " a sort of 
 bastard honor, which has nothing to do with and no resem- 
 blance to legitimate honor and integrity. As with the latter 
 it is no disgrace to swindle a tradesman by direct lying, and 
 
296 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 to cheat a landlord or even a washer-woman of money honest- 
 ly, hardly earned, while a hint that such acts are not exactly 
 honorable is an offence to be wiped out in blood ; so this class- 
 honor exacts of students collectively some things that indi- 
 vidually would be accounted mean and despicable. The class- 
 honor, however, is much the better of the two; and, within 
 proper limits, is entirely and altogether commendable. It is 
 right to frown upon the mean spirits that would curry favor 
 with the faculty by acting the spy or informer. But when, 
 under that shield, mean and contemptible acts are perpetrated, 
 and injustice and wrong committed, it is cowardly and mean 
 to submit to such tyranny, and bold and noble to face it. 
 Time out of mind it has been thought a noble and dashing 
 thing among students to cut up some mischievous prank on 
 unoffending citizens ; and a midnight supper on chickens or 
 turkeys stolen from the poorest people is too often thought 
 an orgy to boast of. It was with this system of college ethics 
 that Walter Gomery came in collision, and in this wise : — 
 
 A half-mile or more from the college, in a back street, lived 
 several families, all of which were exceeding poor, and almost 
 entirely depended on the wages of the husbands and fathers 
 as day-laborers ; to which were added, in some instances, the 
 paltry earnings of the women by washing for the students. 
 But as, in two or three instances, the demon of intemperance 
 had entered the poor habitations, the larger part of the earn- 
 ings of the men was spent for strong drink ; and the conse- 
 quence was, that the women were obliged to eke out a meagre 
 support for themselves and children as best they might by 
 cultivating a small garden-patch, raising chickens, ducks, and 
 turkeys, and going out by the day to wash or scrub, or per- 
 form any severe in-door drudgery required by the wealthier 
 families of the town. It so chanced that this year the scarlet- 
 fever had prevailed in the town, and in this particular neigh- 
 borhood scarce a child had escaped ; and, as the women had 
 necessarily been obliged to give their time and attention to 
 the sick at home, they had not been able to earn any thing as 
 usual by going out to wash and scrub for their richer neigh- 
 bors. And now winter was approaching, and the prospect was 
 indeed cheerless for these poor people. Walter Gomery, who 
 was prone to solitude, had often strayed in his evening 
 walks in this direction, and had sometimes stopped to talk 
 with the poor women, who seemed to find a relief in telling of 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 297 
 
 their sorrows. They had the old and weary tale of the drunk- 
 ard's wife : " The winter was coming on, and their husbands 
 'were not saving any of their wages; and, during the sickness 
 of the children, every thing that could be raised had gone to 
 pay for medicines, and such food as the sick must have, or die ; 
 and now it is little enough, God knows, the provision they 
 have for the winter. A few potatoes and cabbages, a patch of 
 turnips, and another of corn, that, in its season, was sadly de- 
 nuded of its roasting-ears by the students, and a stinted pig, 
 were all the family had to depend on to eat during the long, 
 long winter ; and the chickens and turkeys they could sell 
 would barely afford shoes to secure the many feet of the family 
 from the snow; and the children had no warm winter clothes." 
 And with this recital of sorrow the poor woman would usually 
 break down in a gush of tears, and Walter would leave a sad- 
 der if not a wiser man. Sometimes he would leave a trifle 
 on departing; though oftener he would tell a market-man to 
 take a quarter of lamb or a bushel of corn to them, and not 
 tell vj/io sent it. 
 
 The college-building in which Walter's room was situated 
 was occupied, for the most part, by the members of his class; 
 and the occupants of the room opposite proposed to several 
 of their neighbors to^ave what they called a "blow-out," 
 and he was invited to participate. He at first declined; but, 
 when pressed to join by the additional inducement that the 
 chickens were to be procured by a feat of daring known as 
 robbing hen-roosts, he consented to be one of the party ; and, 
 when all had assembled preliminary to sallying forth, he re- 
 monstrated against the intended robbery, and proposed that 
 the chickens should be honestly bought and paid for, in which 
 case he would stand the whole cost. To this course the others 
 objected, saying "there would be no fun in it in that way." 
 One student said lie knew of a place not far off where there 
 were chickens in plenty, and he had found where they roosted, 
 and offered to lead the Spartan band to the booty. But, when 
 Walter learned whose poultry it was that had been signalled 
 out for the feast, he denounced the contemplated robbery ; 
 and, to dissuade his companions from it, he related with 
 warmth what he knew of the poverty and affliction of the peo- 
 ple who would be the sufferers, and said the thing should not 
 be done. 
 
 " It will be done in spite of you," said Horton, an influen- 
 
298 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 tial member of the class. "We are not to be balked by any 
 of your squeamish notions." 
 
 " Squeamish or not, I say that to rob those poor people 
 would be an unspeakable meanness ; and, regardless of re- 
 sults, I will denounce the perpetrators of it to the faculty." 
 
 " You will bully us, then, will you, Mr. Tell-tale ? " said Hor- 
 ton ; and others cried out that he dared not do it, or, if he did, 
 "he should never know another day's peace in that col- 
 lege." 
 
 " I know the consequences," said he, turning, and leaving 
 the room. 
 
 Soon after, he heard them all go out, and in about an hour 
 return ; and, from the noise kept up till nearly dawn, he had 
 no doubt that the hen-roost had suffered. 
 
 The next morning, when he opened his door, he saw be- 
 fore it some chickens' and turkeys' legs, heads, and feathers, 
 that had evidently been left there by the roysterers as a defi- 
 ance for him to carry his threat into ' execution if he dared. 
 But, as he was up a good hour before the first morning bell, 
 he thought he would walk down to the place where he sus- 
 pected the robbery had been committed. As he approached 
 the house, he saw several of the neighbors standing about the 
 door, from which he suspected that tlfey had come to condole 
 with the family for the loss of their chickens. But not so. 
 As he approached the house, he observed on the faces of all 
 an expression of sorrow, but none of indignation. A visitor, 
 more unwelcome than any he had suspected, had been there. 
 The death-angel had passed during the night, and borne 
 away one of the sick children; and under that load of grief 
 no one had discovered the robbery. Walter said nothing of 
 it, but, placing a five-dollar bill in the hands of the afflicted 
 woman, left without revealing the business that had taken 
 him there. 
 
 During the morning, he wrote a note to the president, 
 saying that certain students, members of his class, whose 
 names he gave, had been engaged in robbing the hen-roost of 
 a poor family the night before, and that he might be given as 
 authority for the charge. 
 
 Such a letter was without a precedent in that seat of learn- 
 ing. What to think of it the good old president did not 
 know. He could hardly ascribe it to a high conscientious- 
 ness ; for Gomery was notoriously a free-thinker, and, as Hop - 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 299 
 
 pin said, worse than an infidel. While pondering over the 
 grave accusation of so many students by one of their own 
 class, he was interrupted by the entrance of Prof. Hoppin, 
 to whom he showed the letter. 
 
 " Grave charges," said he, reading over the names. " We 
 must take serious action on this business. They must be 
 suspended at least, and the ringleaders expelled." But, just 
 as the word " expelled " fell from his lips, his eyes rested on the 
 name of Gomery. " What ! Gomery (Gomery of Montgom- 
 ery, as they call him) making such charges against some of 
 our best students, and those who abhor his abominable doc- 
 trines? Of course, we can take no notice of charges from such 
 a source." 
 
 " But suppose they are true," mildly suggested the presi- 
 dent : " their nature is not changed by the character of the 
 complainant." 
 
 "I think we shall not only encourage a mean spirit of 
 treachery, but shall also be lending our approbation and 
 countenance to a young man who is a perfect snake, and is 
 capable of doing more mischief than all the infidels and row- 
 dies we have had in the college for the last ten years. You 
 have asked my opinion, and I am free to give it : take no no- 
 tice of the letter, and I will take it on myself that the students 
 shall all know what a vile character is among them. We 
 can, by judicious treatment of the subject, impress the great 
 moral truth, that false ideas and false doctrines inevitably 
 lead to vice and crime." 
 
 "But not to stealing chickens," meekly interposed the 
 president. 
 
 Hoppin left the room both pleased and angry, — pleased 
 that Gomery had committed himself so against college honor, 
 for his influence would thenceforth be gone ; and angry at 
 the mild rebuke administered to him by the president. 
 
 A few minutes after the departure of Hoppin, Popham, 
 the professor of mental and moral philosophy, entered. He 
 was a man very different from Hoppin, of less zeal, and more 
 discretion. Hoppin was dogmatic and overbearing, and had 
 the true spirit of an inquisitor ; while Popham was all gentle- 
 ness and persuasion, uniting Machiavellian wisdom with the 
 most indulgent charity and benevolence. To him the per- 
 plexed president gave the letter of Gomery ; and, when he 
 had read it, he related what had transpired between him 
 and Dr. Hoppin. 
 
300 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 " It would be well to investigate the matter somewhat be- 
 fore making any disturbance about it," said Prof. Popham. 
 " Leave it to me, and I will find out the merits of the case. 
 There must be some cause, founded in spite or pride or per- 
 sonal dislike, for such a singular accusation as this. I will see 
 Gomery, and I can probably ascertain what has prompted him." 
 He went out, and, returning to his own room or study, sent for 
 Gomery, who promptly obeyed the summons, but refused to 
 give a word more of information than was contained in the let- 
 ter. The good-natured professor then thought he would visit 
 the scene of the depredation, and learn what he could of the 
 robbery from the victims of it.* He was not sure which of 
 the poor families of Poverty Lane, as it was called, had 
 been robbed ; but, as he had heard of the death of a child in 
 one of them, he thought he would visit that house, and offer 
 such condolence and consolation as he thought might be 
 timely and appropriate, and perhaps he might meet with some 
 one who would inform him of the raid on the hen-roosts the 
 night before. 
 
 It was nothing unusual to see Prof. Popham strolling down 
 Poverty Lane. His benevolence had been experienced in 
 that neighborhood often before ; and, as he now entered the 
 house of mourning, no one suspected him of a double object, — 
 of administering Christian consolation, and inquiring about 
 their hen-roosts. Such incongruous purposes, nevertheless, 
 were in the good, benevolent, worldly-wise man's mind. The 
 poor woman, whose child — a little girl of seven — lay a corpse 
 in the room, was in deep grief. She listened, as it were, with 
 passive indifference to the words of the good man when he 
 told her of the future and better world. No hopes of the 
 future could divert the mind of the mother from the dread- 
 ful present : the thought that her pretty flaxen-headed Kitty 
 was dead, and must to-morrow be laid away in the grave, was 
 too overpowering to admit of consolation. The good man 
 saw this, and saw that grief must first have way, and that it 
 was not yet time to offer the consolations of religious hope. 
 He therefore abstained from further remarks of that kind, and 
 with great delicacy said that this bereavement must subject 
 them to expenses that they were not prepared to meet, and 
 offered to provide any thing required. " Will you not," asked 
 he, " find it difficult to provide the graveclothes and coffin 
 for your little girl's funeral ? " 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 301 
 
 "Oh ! you are so kind to us poor people always, Mr. Popham: 
 but there was another good Christian here early in the morn- 
 ing, one of the students ; and he left five dollars, which will 
 pay for the graveclothes. David Chenery has promised to 
 make the coffin for nothing for poor little Kitty ; and so the 
 five dollars will pay for all, and make up for the chickens that 
 some bad boys stole last night. While Kitty was dying, they 
 came and stole my chickens and turkeys." 
 
 " What ! stole your chickens last night ? " 
 
 "Yes: they stole all the best of them, and my biggest, fat- 
 test turkey ; and I was expecting to sell them to buy shoes for 
 George and Richard and Kitty for winter. But now Kitty is 
 dead, and she will never want any shoes again." And here 
 the poor woman broke down with crying, and sobbed aloud. 
 
 After waiting for her to compose herself somewhat, the 
 professor asked, "Do you think any students took your 
 chickens ? " 
 
 " I am afraid they did." 
 
 " Do you think that one had a hand in it who gave you 
 the money this morning? Perhaps he thought he would pay 
 you for them after having taken them." 
 
 " Oh, no, sir ! it was not him : he is such a good young man ! 
 He has been very kind to us before." 
 
 " Do you know his name ? " 
 
 " It is Montgomery, or Gomery, or some such name." 
 
 " Ah, ha! " soliloquized the professor : " this is a phase of 
 student character I have never seen before in my thirty-three 
 years of experience as a teacher." He put the same amount 
 into the woman's hand as had Gomery in the morning, and 
 returned home " a sadder and a wiser man." 
 
 The next day he sent for one of the students who had 
 participated in the stolen feast, telling him he was very 
 sorry to learn that certain students had been engaged in a 
 very disreputable transaction, — one of the very meanest of 
 all acts, — the robbing of a poor woman of her chickens, and 
 at a time when she had a sick child dying in her house. 
 
 "A child dying ! " faintly exclaimed the student, turning 
 pale, and then nerving himself for the assault that was sure 
 to follow. 
 
 " Do you know any who were of the party ? " asked Pop- 
 ham with assumed indifference. 
 
 "No!" said the student indignantly; "and, if I did, do 
 
 26 
 
302 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 you think I am so mean, so destitute of honor, that I would 
 tell of it?" 
 
 The professor had not intended that the youth should 
 commit himself in a falsehood ; but, now that he had done so, 
 he was willing he should take the consequences. He ques- 
 tioned him so closely as to his whereabouts on the night in 
 question, as to make him feel that his lie was discovered, and 
 then dismissed him. After leaving the professor's room, the 
 convicted poacher met another of the robbing fraternity, and 
 related What had passed between him and " Old Popham," 
 and warned him to be on his guard ; " for," said he, " we 
 must all tell the same story, or refuse to answer any thing, 
 and then they can't prove any thing." Directly a meeting of 
 the party was held, and a course of policy determined upon 
 by which to prevent contradictions and defeat proof. It was 
 ominous to them when they met again that evening at a late 
 hour, and learned that every one who had shared the feast, 
 and none others, had been summoned to the professor's room. 
 
 The next day they were all called before the president, 
 Profs. Popham, Hoppin, and the rest of the faculty. They 
 were politely requested to be seated ; and, soon after, Gom- 
 ery of Montgomery entered. They saw at once that denial 
 or evasion would be useless, and were ready to confess every 
 thing. But " Old Pop " was not now disposed to allow them 
 the benefit of a plea of " Guilty." 
 
 Taking up a letter, he handed it to Gomery, and asked, 
 "Did you write that?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You have done a very wicked thing, then. You have 
 wrongly accused all these young men ; for they all deny 
 having had any hand or part in this very low and dishonora- 
 ble transaction." 
 
 " We did not suppose we had a sneaking traitor and in- 
 former among us," said one, more angry than discreet. 
 
 " Traitor and informer ! " said Walter. " Traitor ! Did I 
 betray you? Did I not warn you that the act was wrong? 
 Did I not refuse to be one of your party so soon as I found 
 it was your purpose to rob a poor family of what was of so 
 much importance to them, and could afford so little pleasure 
 to you? And did I not offer to send out, buy, and pay for 
 every thing you might want, and then warn you, if you per- 
 sisted, I should denounce you? Could I know of your con- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 303 
 
 duct, and be silent, without sharing your guilt ? I have only- 
 done as I said I would, and I have no more to say. If your 
 act is defensible, defend it ; but don't think to skulk behind 
 my unpopularity to save yourselves. What ! keep me silent 
 over such an act as this ? Make me wink at such a meanness? 
 (for I will not dignify it by calling it a crime.") With this 
 burst of indignation, he arose, and left the room. 
 
 The students denied nothing more. Hoppin sought to 
 palliate their conduct by telling them to be cautious, and 
 avoid the society of young men who had neither evangelical 
 religion nor a proper sense of honor. But the students were 
 all sharply reprimanded by the president. Each one was 
 required to make a written confession ; and each was to go 
 to the house of the poor woman, and leave with her a sum 
 of money equal to the entire value of the purloined poultry. 
 This was the penalty imposed ; and the alternative of refusal 
 was to be immediate and unconditional expulsion. To these 
 conditions they all promised to submit, when they were al- 
 lowed to withdraw. 
 
 " I trust," said Hoppin, after the door was closed, " that 
 those who have exercised this severity are prepared to bear 
 the responsibility of their acts." 
 
 " What less could we do, if we would maintain any disci- 
 pline in the college?" replied Popham. 
 
 "I don't object to the punishment in itself; but I do object 
 to giving any heed or respect to such a cast-away as 
 Gomery." 
 
 " But the others confessed." 
 
 " That does not matter. By sustaining him, we aim a blow 
 at vital, evangelical religion." 
 
 " On the contrary, I think we aim a blow at chicken-steal- 
 ing, and knavery in general." 
 
 The matter was here allowed to drop by the faculty, but 
 not so by the students. The affair was bruited through the 
 college ; and the version given of it by the six, and by the 
 amiable Hoppin, was such as to set the whole current of 
 public sentiment of the college against Gomery. He knew 
 that he was suffering injustice at their hands, but took no 
 pains to correct the misapprehension. If he heard cat-calls 
 near his room, or was startled by a brick-bat crashing his 
 window, he made no complaint, — not even allowing the 
 damages to be repaired, as is usual, at the common cost of 
 
304 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 the students, but paying for all out of his own pocket. "It 
 will be all right," said he to himself, "some day; and it is 
 not for me to doubt that final justice will be done. There is 
 a God in the earth." 
 
 Popham knew of this injustice and wrong that Gomery 
 was receiving from the hands of his fellow-students, and he 
 might easily have stopped it. But Popham always went 
 abroad in silver slippers, even on errands of mercy ; and the 
 slippers would have been tarnished by following the path of 
 Walter Gomery. 
 
 In time, however, the persecution on account of this act 
 abated ; and, as his character became better understood, he 
 grew into favor, and was thought to be, though radical and 
 erratic, one of the best fellows in the college ; though some 
 insisted that his adherence to his own sense of right, in defi- 
 ance of the established laws of college-honor, was a dark 
 blot on his character. But thus he had been constituted by 
 his Creator. It was not possible for him to see glory, except 
 hand in hand with duty ; and it would seem, from some of 
 the ideas and opinions advanced by him, that he would not 
 shrink from infamy if he could see in it the way to others' 
 good. To be infamous before the world, and know that in- 
 famy must follow him through life and after death ! And 
 for what? To benefit those who will stigmatize his name, 
 and teach their children to abhor it. What a character ! 
 
 But in time his position, opinions, and his boldness in 
 avowing them, commanded so much respect, that, before he 
 graduated, he grew into more influence than any other stu- 
 dent. His audacity in attacking opinions and ideas that 
 were so generally received as never to be questioned by 
 others caused some of the more timid and worshipful to fear 
 him as no better than he should be. But his good nature 
 and his unselfish disposition won upon the hearts of even 
 these; and in charity they ascribed his radical eccentric ideas 
 to a sort of mental deformity. 
 
 Though his peculiar opinions were hard to combat, yet 
 they were so at variance with the popular and received ideas 
 of the time, that it was unwise for him to advance them. 
 He could do little good to others by it, but did himself much 
 harm. Yet it was in him to oppose error, or what seemed 
 to him error; and he could not allow it to pass unchal- 
 lenged, because to expose or assail it would expose him to 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 305 
 
 obloquy. Hence, during the last year of his college course, 
 during which he had much leisure, he set his fellow-students 
 by the ears by throwing among them apples of discord in 
 the shape of startling propositions; so that the professors 
 were far more liable to overhear the students criticising, rather 
 than extolling, the doctrines taught them. The professors 
 wished him away; for they regarded his influence as noxious 
 and innovating. But he remained to graduate, and left the 
 college with few honors, and on the part of the faculty with 
 no regrets, except that he had ever been one of its students. 
 They did not consider it creditable to the college that a 
 young man should leave its walls, after a four-years' course, 
 with such capacity to do harm as he had shown in getting his 
 dangerous opinions diffused all through the college. That 
 he had helped several poor students over their term-bills was 
 not known till after he had graduated ; nor was it suspected 
 that his rigid economy was practical, that he might save from 
 his own liberal allowance a sum to enable others to complete 
 the course. 
 
 After leaving the college, Walter returned to his old 
 home at the Pivot, and commenced reading the elementary 
 books on law in his father's office. He was inclined to re- 
 main at home rather than enter an office in a large city ; for 
 the reason that Hester Homer, now grown to a beautiful girl 
 of sixteen, was in the neighborhood. During his college 
 course, he had frequently written to her, and had induced 
 her, after much persuasion, to answer his letters. At first 
 they were timid, reserved, and childish ; but in time she 
 learned to write more freely, and to tell him of things he 
 cared to know. He would ask her to write of the most 
 every-day occurrences, the events of the village, and the lit- 
 tle incidents of her own quiet, humble life. With this in- 
 ducement, and with such a friend to counsel her, and advise 
 her of her errors in orthography or expression, she soon 
 found it an easy task to fill whole pages, even when, on sit- 
 ting down to write, she felt that she had nothing to say. 
 
 Walter was now known by most people as Gomery of 
 Montgomery. He had been so called while in college ; and 
 after his return he was called so by the people of the vil- 
 lage, in contradistinction to his father, who was called 
 the Squire, or Square as the villagers most generally pro- 
 nounced it. 
 
 26* 
 
306 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's 
 eyes ! " —As You Like It. 
 
 Great changes have taken place in the Gomery Family 
 during the time that Walter has been pursuing his studies 
 and bothering professors at college. On his final return, he 
 was the only one of the children who had not left the pater- 
 nal roof, never, in all probability, to return to it except as a 
 transient visitor. His elder sister, Juliet, had, while he was 
 yet a freshman, married in Philadelphia a man twice her age, 
 — a gentleman famous as a lawyer and statesman through- 
 out the whole country, and, at the time of her marriage, just 
 elected a senator in Congress. His brother Theron had 
 married the daughter of Jacob Pickering, President of 
 the Security Bank ; his only child, and heiress to nobody knew 
 how much money. He had taken a house in the most ex- 
 clusive and fashionable part of the city, and was living in 
 great splendor, as his sister Rose, who had gone soon after 
 the marriage to visit them, had written home. She had 
 spent the winter in New York, intending, when she left the 
 Pivot, to go on to Philadelphia in the spring ; but this plan 
 was frustrated, as might have been foreseen. A man who 
 had never seen her was lying in wait for her to come. This 
 was Jenks, who will be remembered as the particular friend 
 of Theron during his apprenticeship at the Bullion. He 
 had seen the elder sister, and had known Theron so well, and 
 had formed so favorable an opinion of the whole family, that 
 he fancied himself in love with Rose even before he saw her. 
 It is certain he was soon after; and she did not reject his 
 attentions, but on the contrary, to the great joy of her 
 brother, reciprocated his love with that ardor peculiar to her 
 enthusiastic and earnest nature. She therefore returned in 
 the spring to her home to pass those hopeful yet melancholy 
 months that precede that important event which removes 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 307 
 
 the loved and loving daughter from the fond home of her 
 childhood. Thither she was followed, a few months later, by 
 the devoted Jenks, who bore back to his home in New York 
 as fair a bride as ever breathed the mountain air of New 
 England. The career of Wirtimir in Philadelphia had been 
 nearly as successful as that of his elder brother ; as, having 
 been promoted to a partnership with his uncle, he was already 
 on the high road to fortune. 
 
 This unparalleled success of the children caused more 
 gratification than surprise to Freeborn Gomery and his wife. 
 She was not surprised at all ; indeed, she was not quite satis- 
 fied. As we said long ago, she was conscious of a something 
 in her children that would give them a leading position in 
 the world. If it were so, as was said by certain envious per- 
 sons long before, that she must have married Gomery of 
 Montgomery on physiological principles, the result would go 
 to show that such matches were not always unwise. And 
 yet she was not satisfied. Though her elder sons were on 
 the road to wealth and fortune, she hoped to see one of her 
 children distinguished for something more than a capacity to 
 make money, or take a lead in society for a day, and then be 
 superseded and forgotten, leaving no honored name to pos- 
 terity. Had she not rejected a young man of immense 
 wealth to accept the comparatively poor Gomery of Mont- 
 gomery ? and did her sons promise any more or better than 
 the man whom she thought unworthy of her hand? Had 
 she not, in her days of courtship, despised Thomas Fogue, 
 when she compared him with her own accepted suitor? and 
 did her sons, Theron and "Wirtimir, promise to be like him, 
 whom no woman of equal character and discrimination with 
 herself could love or respect ? 
 
 Such were the thoughts that passed through the mind of 
 this wisely ambitious woman. She hoped to see one of her 
 sons famous ; and she fancied she saw in Walter the germs 
 of originality and independent thought that would develop 
 into intellectual greatness. In him were the hopes of her 
 mature years centred, and in his struggles and successes 
 she expected to find the excitements and delights of a well- 
 spent life for her declining years. 
 
 The neighbors of Mrs. Gomery supposed her later life 
 must be that of unalloyed happiness ; and, if she was not con- 
 tent when so highly blessed, I fear the charge would lie 
 
308 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY .' 
 
 against her of possessing an ungrateful and rebellious heart. 
 But her life had been one of such constant happiness, in 
 spite of the small disappointments I have mentioned, her 
 ways had fallen in such pleasant places, that the best traits 
 of her character had never been revealed. The most envious 
 of her neighbors, however, were destined to see her subjected 
 to trials such as their worst malignity or most grudging 
 envy had never desired to witness, and to see her rise above 
 them, so resigned and so grand, that the most bigoted of her 
 accusers should feel humbled before her. 
 
 But when one after another of the young Gomerys had 
 left their native place, and the news had come back to Mont- 
 gomery Village of the success they had met with, the ambi- 
 tion of other village swains was fired, so that they, too, must 
 set off to try their fortunes abroad. They had never, as boys, 
 recognized themselves as inferior to the young Gomerys; and 
 not only were there several who could outrun, outbox, and 
 outwrestle them, but as for dancing, half the fellows in the 
 village could outwing and outshuffle them. It was true, 
 they had always been more forward in their studies ; but that 
 was only because they had been made to study at home 
 under parental tuition, while the others were hanging about 
 the shops and stores, skating on the ponds, or snowballing 
 in the streets. " If the Gomerys could do so well abroad, then 
 why could not they ? " reasoned these hopeful youths. And 
 parents and sisters encouraged them in their ambitions hopes 
 and schemes; the latter imagining, that, if their brothers 
 would only venture forth, they, too, would somehow soon fol- 
 low them to the large cities, there to become, like Juliet and 
 Rose Gomery, the wives of rich merchants and bankers. 
 With such encouragement, some half a dozen young men in 
 Montgomery Village resolved to give up the vulgar, hard 
 labor of farming, tending saw-mills, and house-carpentering, 
 and go forth to fields more worthy of their talents and ambi- 
 tion. Of the six who thus left, the next autumn found three of 
 them back to Montgomery ; and these had been obliged to 
 hire out for the season as lighterers and farm-hands, instead 
 of being sought for, as they had anticipated, to take the 
 management of extensive mercantile houses. Of the other 
 three, the one most sprightly and intelligent took to evil 
 courses, and never returned ; another shipped as a green hand 
 before the mast ; and the last hired out as a drayman, and, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 309 
 
 after a few months, bought a dray and horse for himself, and 
 with that made money so fast, that he soon bought other 
 drays and horses, and hired men, and, in a few years, was 
 able to return to his native village, and boast often thousand 
 dollars invested in real estate in New York, and of drays 
 and horses besides, that were bringing in to him two thousand 
 dollars a. year more, clear profit. The sailor, whose name 
 was Peter Dykes, we shall meet with again in the course of 
 this history. 
 
 The failure of those other young men who left Montgom- 
 ery to achieve any success corresponding to that of the 
 young Gomerys caused people to have more respect and 
 awe than ever for Freeborn Gomery and his proud and still 
 beautiful wife. The neighboring women thought it very strange 
 that she never evinced surprise or gratitude at their unparal- 
 leled good fortune. Her self-complacency, her manner of 
 accepting it all as a matter of course, was exceedingly amaz- 
 ing to them; for though she had not said it in words 
 since the time of the great ball, when she had so furiously 
 rebuked the wife of Tom Homer for imagining, that, with 
 all the art of Joe Pumpagin, she could mistake any other 
 child for a Gomery, yet did her whole manner say, " There is 
 nothing strange about it at all. It is the most natural thing 
 in the world. The children of Freeborn Gomery and Jane 
 Mackenzie are to be judged by no common test. They were 
 born to prosper and lead. There was a harmony of health, 
 bodily and mental, that gave them to the world, adapted and 
 fitted for it. In their case, Nature's laws have been observed : 
 a healthy parentage on both sides has produced a healthy 
 stock, fitted for the healthy world in which it is to play its 
 part." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 % Jfamxlg pisiorg. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "PHILIP THAXTER. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 *&. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 CARLETON, PUBLISHER, 413 BROADWAY. 
 
 MDCCCLXV. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by 
 
 GEORGE W. CARLETON, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. 
 
 Geo. C. Rand & Avert, Stereottpers and Printers, 
 No. 3 Cornhill, Boston. 
 
GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Like one that on a lonesome road 
 
 Doth walk in fear and dread, 
 And, having once turned round, walks on, 
 
 And turns no more his head, 
 Because he knows a frightful fiend 
 
 Doth close behind him tread." — Coleridge. 
 
 It was three years, more or less, after the ludicrous scene 
 at Lord Maccleton's dinner-table, when his distinguished 
 guests were disturbed by the fireworks so inopportunely 
 let off in the yard and under the dining-room window as to 
 throw some of the guests under the table, and bring to the 
 floor, with a crash, an amount of glass and porcelain that 
 would have furnished a small dealer in such articles with a 
 stock sufficiently expensive and elegant to have insured him 
 a large custom, that a traveller called at the lodge of the old 
 Beresford Estate, and inquired if my lord was at home. He 
 was a stout man, of uncertain age ; for he might have been 
 forty-five, and he might have been sixty. His complexion, 
 once sandy, was inclining to gray : he had a merry eye, and 
 his nose was unnaturally pug. Of course, he could be no 
 other than Joe Pumpagin. He began somewhat abruptly 
 I questioning the keeper, whom he found churlish, and chary 
 of his answers; and Joe found it necessary to resort to his 
 usual expedient of invention and story-telling to command 
 attention. 
 
 " How far is it," asked he, " to the next town ? 
 
 " I never measured the distance," answered the keeper. 
 
 " Thank you ! " said Joe. " What does his lordship pay 
 you for treating people so politely ? " 
 
 " 'E pays me wage," growled the keeper. 
 
4 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 "Well, then, give him my respects when you see him 
 next; and here, old woman, can't you give me a pot of 
 beer ? " — " No," said she sharply. "Well, then, I must get on 
 to the next town without it ; for I have got to lodge an in- 
 formation with the magistrate." 
 
 " A hinformation ! " said the keeper : " against whom ? " 
 
 " I can't tell against whom ; but I saw the most daring 
 highway robbery ever committed in England since the days 
 of Robin Hood, not more than two miles from here." 
 
 " A robbery ! " exclaimed he in surprise, taking his pipe 
 from his mouth, and for the first time looking at his visitor, 
 — "a robbery ! " 
 
 " Yes : a robbery, I said, not half a league from here. I 
 must hurry along and report it." 
 
 " Come in, and tell us all about it," said the keeper's wife, 
 who had been standing in the door, her arms akimbo, during 
 the conversation between Joe and her husband. 
 
 Joe accepted this invitation, and entered the lodge, fol- 
 lowed by the keeper ; and, taking a seat, he drew forth from 
 his pocket a pipe so black as to prove its long service, a plug 
 of tobacco, and jack-knife, and said, as he began clipping off 
 the filling for the dudeen, " Perhaps you will give me a light 
 for my pipe if you won't give me a drop of beer. But I 
 can't stop long; for that young lady is in the hands of the 
 robbers, and I must be off so as to give the information." 
 
 " A young lady ! " exclaimed the keeper. " Old woman, 
 bring a pot of beer ! " 
 
 While the dutiful wife was gone for the beer, Joe filled 
 his pipe, and, finding he had clipped off double the quan- 
 tity the bowl could contain, gave the remainder to the keep- 
 er, who in turn loaded his pipe, and then raked a coal from 
 the fireplace, with which they both lighted their furnaces, 
 and began puffing away. As soon as the old woman re- 
 turned with the beer, Joe resumed his narrative of the rob- 
 bery. 
 
 " You see," said he, " I had been walking pretty brisk for 
 about three hours, and had sot down to rest me by the road- 
 side. I had sot only a few minutes, when a fine carriage 
 drawn by four splendid black horses swept by. There were 
 but two passengers inside, — one an old man, and the other 
 a most beautiful young lady, with eyes that sparkled like dia- 
 monds, and eyelashes so long and silky, and teeth as white 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. O 
 
 as pearls ; and then, to crown all, she had golden hair, that 
 hung in the most beautiful locks about her cheeks, neck, and 
 shoulders. Well, as I sot there on the grass, the carriage 
 swept by me like a whirlwind ; and I was so impressed with 
 her beauty, that I'm scorched, if she had only stopped there, 
 and given me a chance, if I hadn't made her an offer of my 
 hand, heart, and fortune. But she swept by me in a twin- 
 kling, and was no sooner past than twelve ruffians came out 
 of the forest that lined the road on one side, and stopped the 
 carriage, and killed the driver and the footman, and also the 
 old man : and then one of the ruffians got on the box, and 
 took the reins ; another took the place of the footman ; a 
 third, who seemed to be the leader, got inside with the 
 young lady with golden locks ; and off they drove lick-a-ti- 
 cut." 
 
 " Old woman," said the keeper, " bring on some cold meat 
 and bread and cheese. Bring two mugs of hale too." 
 
 " It is my treat now," said Joe, throwing down a sovereign 
 to the old woman ; "and that is just the change." 
 
 The good woman hurried to bring the things called for, 
 having first put the sovereign where her husband could not 
 find it ; and Joe and the keeper regaled themselves with a 
 hearty lunch, during which Joe kept up the favorable impres- 
 sion he had made by telling other stories of his wonderful 
 adventures, so much more marvellous than that of the lady 
 with the golden locks, that they all forgot about the urgent 
 need of his hastening forward so as to give information to 
 the magistrate. 
 
 The beer and the easy confidence of Joe soon unlocked 
 the tongue of the porter; and, to Joe's inquiries, he an- 
 swered that the proprietor of that estate was Lord Beres- 
 ford ; and that, though yet a young man, he was essentially 
 used up ; that he had been the wildest young lord in Eng- 
 land, till his excesses had ruined his health ; and now, at 
 forty-five, he was an old man. 
 
 " And has he no family ? " asked Joe. 
 
 " Indeed 'e 'as ; and 'er ladyship is a fine woman too, and 
 has two sweet children, that sometimes come down to the 
 lodge. But the poor lady, their mother, is not 'appy, — so the 
 servants at the 'all say. She is the daughter of Lord Mac- 
 cleton ; but 'e never comes to visit 'er : and them servants up 
 to the 'all says that the butler 'e 'eard 'er ladyship's waiting- 
 
6 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 maid say that she 'ad 'eard 'er ladyship say to the little girl 
 that is the oldest child, that she 'ad 'er mother's fortune in 
 never seeing 'er father ; and then 'er ladyship stopped, and 
 said to 'erself, 'I never saw my father three hours since I left 
 the ship.' Strange ! — wa'n't it strange ? But then these 
 servants are always talking. I make it a rule never to say a 
 word of what is going on either in the 'all or on the estate. 
 When anybody comes prying round me for secrets, they go 
 away with fleas ia their ears. That is the reason, you see, 
 why I spoke to you so roughly at first ; for I didn't know 
 but you was one of these curis sort of men, wanting to 
 find out the family secrets; and I was determined you should 
 not get a thing from me. But, as soon as I saw you was a 
 gen'leman and man of truth, I felt as if I could give you my 
 confidence ; and I hoffer you my 'and in apology for my 
 rudeness at first." 
 
 Joe, having thus established relations of friendship and con- 
 fidence with the gate-keeper, determined to push on to the 
 town as he had intended, and make that his headquarters 
 while pursuing his investigations. He accordingly bade his 
 friends of the lodge good-by, and walked briskly away, prom- 
 ising to call again and visit them should he ever pass that 
 way again. In an hour and a half, he reached a considerable 
 town or village, and went directly to the best hotel in the 
 place. He was somewhat begrimed with dust and dirt, and 
 had very much the appearance of a sailor who had doffed his 
 seaman's garb to conceal his occupation. As he entered the 
 door of the inn, the landlord, a fat round-bellied man, formal 
 as a priest, with a sort of Quaker coat and white choker, eyed 
 him askance, and asked him what he wanted. 
 
 " I will tell you when I get ready," said Joe, throwing his 
 bundle on a table, and taking a chair. 
 
 " Oh, sir ! " said Boniface, " I am not particular : only I was 
 going to say this is a 'otel of the first class, very expensive ; 
 and only the betters of you, such as gen'lemen and lords and 
 great ladies, ever stop here." 
 
 " The devil they do ! Then this is just the house for my 
 money. I have been hunting for my betters for a long time; 
 and, as you say they stop here, I think I will put up here for 
 a few weeks. So bring me a pot of beer, and be quick about 
 it, old Butter-face ! " 
 
 The landlord rose on tiptoe ; and his eyes rolled up as if 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 7 
 
 he thought the Devil had come to claim his own, and thjn 
 timidly said, " I beg pardon ; but this is not an inn for the 
 likes of you." 
 
 " Bring me the beer ! " said Joe, bringing his cane down 
 athwart the table, so that it caused the very floor to rebound 
 like a spring board, so as to raise the landlord to his toes. It 
 was a hint he did not care to disregard : nor did he venture 
 to remonstrate further ; but, going out, he called a boy who 
 was in the yard, and told him to run and fetch a constable ; 
 and then, thinking it prudent to keep his visitor quiet by 
 complying with his request, he brought in a pint mug of 
 beer, and set it on the table before his burly customer. 
 
 "Another!" said Joe, "another! do you think I can drink 
 alone ? " and he looked ominously at his stick that was lying 
 on the table. Another pint was brought ; and Joe then said, 
 " Sit down, my friend, sit down, and let us be social ; for, as 
 you say yours is a first-rate tavern, I intend to stop here some 
 time, say a month or two : for the fact is," giving the indig- 
 nant host a punch in the ribs that made him reel, "I took a 
 great fancy to you when I first saw you. I liked your coun- 
 tenance much ; for I agree with tho great bard of Avon, — 
 
 * The man that hath no music in himself/ — 
 
 no, I don't mean that : — 
 
 ' Let me have men about me that are fat, — 
 Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights. 
 Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look : 
 He thinks too much : such men are dangerous.' 
 
 "Now, you are none of that lean and hungry kind, but 
 sleek-headed and fat, and can sleep, I warrant you, like a 
 bear in winter. So here is to a better acquaintance ! " Joe 
 drained his mug, and so did Boniface, though with fear and 
 trembling. 
 
 " Now, landlord," said Joe, wiping his lips with his coat- 
 sleeve, " you are a fool. But it is no fault of yours. Your 
 lazy frame is so beswaddled with fat, and your thimbleful 
 of brains so befuzzled with beer, that you can't tell the differ- 
 ence between a clown and a nobleman. You think that I 
 am not respectable enough for your tavern. But know you, 
 old Butter-face, I am intending to stop here for a month ; and 
 you must serve me with the best your house affords, and 
 
8 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 that will be too poor for a man of my quality. Be jause I 
 came on foot, you stare and scowl, and look as suspicious as 
 a policeman, and as if afraid I hadn't a shilling to pay for 
 my beer. Here, then ; take your pay for two pints out of 
 that ! " said he, throwing down a hundred-pound note. 
 
 The host looked at the note, then at Joe, and was more 
 disconcerted than ever. " He is a highwayman, most prob- 
 ably," thought he, though he answered, — 
 
 " Oh ! it's no consequence about the beer. I can't change 
 this note." 
 
 " All right," said Joe, putting it back in his pocket. " It 
 is very kind in you to stand treat on so short an acquaint- 
 ance. Show me my room now, if you please. I want to 
 wash off the dirt and dust ; and then I want some supper, — 
 the best you have got. Do you understand, old Butter- 
 face?" 
 
 The landlord went to the door, and looked anxiously forth 
 to see if the boy had not returned with a constable. But 
 neither boy nor constable was to be seen; and then, very 
 reluctantly, he led his unwelcome guest up stairs. They 
 passed the open door of a large and well-furnished room, and 
 on towards the back part of the house, till they came to a 
 small room with little furniture, and that old and rickety; 
 and to this room Joe was shown. 
 
 " This for me ! " said Joe indignantly. " Never do at all. 
 Take my bundle of duds into that other room ! " 
 
 " Oh ! that is my best room. Lord Dawdley occupies that 
 room when in town ; and the Duke of Botchester was once 
 detained in town on his way to London, and slept in that 
 very room ; and my wife has now got the sheets he slept in, 
 and has never allowed them to be washed." 
 
 " I dare say they needed it badly enough, however," said 
 Joe. " But take my bundle in there, if you please ; and just 
 shut up your clam-shells, and let me hear no more of your 
 gab ! " 
 
 There was no resisting that order ; and the rotund, pale, 
 and affrighted landlord escorted Joe into the room made 
 sacred from having been occupied by Lord Dawdley and the 
 Duke of Botchester. 
 
 The landlord threw the bundle on the floor, as if fearing 
 it was infested with some contagious disease, and then re- 
 treated towards the door; and Joe, closely following him 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 9 
 
 up, shut it to, and locked it, and then, opening L is bundle, 
 proceeded to wash himself and change his linen. On return- 
 ing to the office below, the distracted landlord found that 
 the boy had returned with the constable ; but when he had 
 told his story, that the man to be arrested had called for beer 
 for two, and offered to pay with a hundred-pound note, and 
 had committed no breach of the peace, but was quietly 
 locked up in his own room, the officer declined to interfere. 
 
 " He may be a lord in disguise," said the innkeeper. " Why 
 didn't I think of that before ? Perhaps a Scotch lord. I'm 
 sure he's no Englishman, nor is he an Irishman. How stu- 
 pid I was not to think of that before ! Yes : he must be a 
 lord. Of course he must be ; for he said he took a fancy to me 
 at first sight. Nothing like blood : you can see that by look- 
 ing at me. My mother was a waiting-maid to Lady Dum- 
 pledon ; and, though I say nothing against my mother (and I 
 say it who ought not to say it), I have noble blood in my veins. 
 And Lord Dumpledon set me up in this business. So, of 
 course, this man is a lord, or how could he have taken such 
 a liking to me and my house? There is a fellow-feeling 
 among people of noble blood ; always is : ' birds of a feather,' 
 you know." 
 
 The officer, finding that the culprit he was to arrest had turned 
 out a lord, having moistened his clay at his host's expense, 
 went about his business ; and the now-delighted landlord, 
 feeling confident that he had one of the nobility in his care 
 and keeping, went and ordered such a supper as would be 
 meet and meat for so distinguished a guest. 
 
 In about half an hour, Joe re-appeared below ; and the host, 
 much to his surprise, was now all politeness and attention. 
 He invited him into a sitting-room, and most obsequiously 
 asked what his lordship would please to have. 
 
 " Lordship, lordship ! Ha, ha ! How did you find that 
 out ? Show me the rascal that told you I was a lord ! " 
 
 " Oh ! we men of noble blood can always tell ; and, you 
 understand, my mother — but no matter for that. My 
 lather was a lord : perhaps you knew him ? — Lord Dumple- 
 don." 
 
 " What! are you a son of my old friend, Lord Dumpledon ? 
 Why, I might have known that, you are so like him. He 
 was a fat old beast ; and there's where you got your pig's eyes 
 and butter-face. But what have you got for supper? 
 Hurry up : I am sharp set as a shark." 
 
10 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 " Your lordship shall be served directly," said the man oi* 
 noble blood, bowing himself obsequiously from the room. 
 
 In a short time he returned, and said his lordship's dinner 
 was ready, and with great formality bowed him into the 
 dining-room, where a repast was prepared that was indeed 
 fit for a lord. Joe brought to the charge an appetite worthy 
 of the entertainment ; and, when he had concluded, he went 
 into the hall, and from there to the front of the house, 
 where he seated himself in full view of the street and town, 
 and to the horror of his host, and the surprise of the villagers, 
 — many of whom, having heard that a lord was at the inn, had 
 gathered round to get a sight of him, — he took out his old 
 black pipe from his pocket, and, filling it with chips cut from 
 a plug of old Virginia, ordered Butter-face to bring him a 
 light. The order was instantly obeyed ; and the newly creat- 
 ed peer began to send forth the white smoke, that curled 
 with aristocratic grace as it mounted up through the evening 
 twilight. 
 
 The next morning Joe ordered writing materials, and 
 wrote the following letter: — 
 
 Lady Beresford, — Being in possession of information 
 of great interest to yourself, and no less to your reputed 
 father, Lord Maccleton, I take this method of informing you 
 in what manner it can be obtained. The purport of my in- 
 formation you may surmise, if you will recall the earliest 
 recollections of your childhood, — the time when you lived in 
 the backwoods of America, and you were carried away a cap- 
 tive by an old Indian, the house where you lived burned 
 down, and all your friends murdered. Lord Maccleton can 
 explain every thing ; but, if he declines to do so, you can 
 learn more by sending a letter to me at the Golden Bull, in 
 London, Holborn, where all inquiries will be answered. 
 
 Yours to command, 
 
 Joseph Porter 
 
 This letter Joe posted for himself, and then returned to 
 the inn, where he was treated with most oppressive con* 
 descension. In the evening, he called in several of the villa- 
 gers, and told the host to treat them all to the best in his 
 cellar. lie asked him if he knew how to make flip. 
 
 " Flip ? Ah ! yes ; no. Scotch drink, I suppose ? No : the 
 last of the tap was drunk when Lord Dumpledon was here.* 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 11 
 
 "The devil it was! Ah! I remember his lordship was 
 very fond of it. But never mind : give the boys plenty of 
 beer and gin, and charge it all to me." He then singled out 
 the raggedest and dryest looking of the crowd, and brought 
 them in, and made them drink; and, calling in all the others 
 who had collected outside, he kept up such a run on the cel- 
 lar, that poor Pilicod was driven to desperation serving his 
 thirsty customers. 
 
 " You might know he was a lord," said one, " by his being 
 so noble and gen'rous, and willing to drink with poor people. 
 It's only the rale old nobles that dare to be civil to the likes 
 of us. Take your rich men that have just made their money, 
 and they are afraid to speak to anybody that is not a lord. 
 So hurrah for the old aristocracy ! " 
 
 The crowd was getting fast inebriated, and gave a yell for 
 the nobility in general, and its distinguished member now 
 present in particular ; when Joe, bidding the landlord keep 
 the ale running, quietly withdrew, and went to his own 
 room. 
 
 Before the crowd dispersed, there were several broken 
 heads and bloody noses ; and the landlord thought, that, if 
 he were to have many such lords at his house, its reputation 
 would be in danger. 
 
 The next day, Joe told his host that he liked his house 
 so much, that he should probably stop with him for several 
 weeks ; but begged that he might be treated as an ordinary 
 guest, and not as a lord. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I understand," said Boniface. " Your lordship 
 has come away into these quiet parts to have a little quiet, 
 and get away from the noble company that is now probably 
 roaming about in the Highlands." 
 
 In the course of the day, he was called upon by the local 
 dignitaries, who proffered their services to render agreeable 
 his stay in the obscure town which he had honored by his 
 presence. But Joe told them he wanted quiet rather than 
 attention ; though, in his travels, he was always glad to learn 
 as much as possible of the principal families ; and, during the 
 the time of his stay, he should busy himself in gathering up 
 bits of history of the place, which information he should 
 make use of in the great book he was preparing. But, in all 
 his inquiries, he always reverted to one subject; and that 
 was Beresford Hall and its occupants. He could gather little, 
 
12 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY J 
 
 however, from the town's-people save that it was reported 
 that Lady Beresford was a miserable and unhappy woman ; 
 that she was not on good terms with her father, Lord Mac- 
 cleton, who had never been to visit her ; and that her hus- 
 band was a dissipated rake and spendthrift, and ran riot with 
 all the loose characters of the county. 
 
 Joe sharply caught at every scrap of information bearing 
 upon the inmates of Beresford Hall, and was not displeased 
 to find how well every thing that happened there was known 
 at the neighboring town. He expected, therefore, soon to 
 hear of a new commotion there. Nor was he disappointed. 
 About three days after he had posted the letter signed "Joseph 
 Porter," there was a rumor in town of a great tumult at the 
 hall; that Lady Beresford had been taken strangely, and had 
 raved about the house, calling her father a murderer, tearing 
 her hair, and shrieking like a mad woman ; that she had 
 shown such violence, and altogether cut up so, that she had 
 been locked up in her room ; and had since been so ill, 
 that Lord Maccleton had been sent for, and there was great 
 fear that her ladyship had gone crazy. 
 
 This information did not surprise Joe very much ; for he 
 felt assured that his letter had caused this great commotion. 
 His object at the town had now been accomplished; and, 
 two days after, he told his host that he thought he would 
 leave. So, having paid his bill, he took his bundle on his 
 shoulder, and trudged back the way he had come, and, about 
 eleven o'olock, stopped at the lodge to talk with his old 
 friend the porter. The old man was now free to converse, 
 and told him that there was sad trouble at the hall ; that 
 the mistress was mad, and like to die ; and her father had 
 been sent for, and had arrived at the hall for the first time 
 in sixteen years ; and having gone into the room where Lady 
 Beresford was lying on a sofa, in j)resence of her maids, she 
 sprang up at the sight of him, and held out a letter, and, 
 with eyes flashing fire, cried out, " I knew it ! I remember 
 all about it! The old Indian — my mother — my father! 
 Oh, you killed them ! Let me go ! I will go ! I will go to 
 London, and find out all about it ! " And then, with a shriek 
 that could be heard all through the hall, she fell senseless on 
 the floor; and then the old lord, her father, caught the letter 
 from her hand, and left the room ; and having warned all the 
 servants, that, if they ever mentioned the affair to anybody, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 13 
 
 they would all be sent to Botany Bay, he left the hall immedi- 
 ately. " Notwithstanding being thus warned," said the loqua- 
 cious porter, " the stupid, disobedient servants are all talking 
 about it to everybody ; and I am the only one on the place 
 that has sense enough to say nothing about it." Joe com- 
 mended the honest lodge-keeper for his fidelity and caution ; 
 and the latter having ordered the old woman to bring two 
 pints of beer, some cold meat, and bread and cheese, the two 
 held a discussion over the collation, such as would have 
 done credit to princes of the blood royal of England. 
 
 Joe was now satisfied that the train was laid, and that an 
 explosion must sooner or later take place ; that the avenging 
 Nemesis which had so long pursued the unrepentant Lord 
 Maccleton must soon, amid the glare and scorn of the 
 world, hurl him, in ignominy and shame, to destruction. 
 He therefore concluded that he would return to London, and 
 there await the issue of events. So he bade the porter and 
 his wife good-by, and directed his steps to the nearest post- 
 road. By the first coach that came along, he took passage 
 to the great city. 
 
 On reaching London, and taking a survey of the field, he 
 was convinced that the house of Sir Henderson Strongham 
 was the place where he could best learn of those coming 
 events in which he was most interested. The whole matter 
 of Lady Beresford's strange illness and strange conduct was 
 sure to be talked about above-stairs and below-stairs ; and it 
 was Joe's next scheme to get into the baronet's house in 
 some capacity as a servant. Joe, as the reader has seen 
 before this, was a genius. Whenever he had a will to 
 do a thing, he always found a way. For an ordinary man, 
 no matter how competent or honest he may be, it is next to 
 impossible to force his way into the service of an English 
 family of established wealth and position. The servants 
 grow up a part of the household, and, like the bleached 
 servants of "our Southern brethren," often have ties of 
 blood to connect them to the family. Joe easily found the 
 city residence of Sir Henderson; and by a judicious use of 
 money expended in beer, and his unfailing fund of strange 
 stories, he contrived, in the course of three or four weeks, to 
 work himself into a familiar and confidential acquaintance 
 with most of the servants below-stairs. By a singular coin- 
 
14 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 cidence, of which he had taken warrant, and provided for its 
 occurrence, one of the kitchen-servants received a letter 
 from a friend in the country, saying that his mother was very 
 sick, and desired to see him. The boy got leave of absence 
 for a month ; and Joe, by another strange coincidence, hap- 
 pened to be conveniently near, so as to be asked to fill the 
 vacancy. As the boy was leaving to visit his affectionate 
 parent, Joe took him aside, and told him that he would not 
 touch a cent of the wage, but leave it all for him on his 
 return, even if he staid away for a whole quarter ; and as an 
 earnest of his intentions, and a reward for his filial affection, 
 as he assured him, he slipped five guineas into his hand, and 
 with a warm shake of the hand, and trembling voice, he bade 
 him good-by. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Like to the Pontic Sea, 
 Whose icy current and compulsive course 
 Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but Keeps due on 
 To the Propontic and the Hellespont; 
 Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, 
 Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
 Till that a capable and wide revenge 
 Swallow them up." — Othello. 
 
 Joe Petmpagin, having thus secured a place in the baronet's 
 kitchen, was in a position to observe the denouement of the 
 great tragedy that had been working to its catastrophe for so 
 many, many years. He was aware that an effort to discover 
 him would be made by Lady Beresford; and the lodge-keeper's 
 story of the interview between her and Lord Maccleton, of 
 the seizure and reading of the letter by the latter, left no 
 doubt in his mind that two parties, but with very different 
 objects, would be in search of him. The address he had given 
 in the letter was doubtless known to both parties. It was at 
 a well-known public-house, where he had frequently stopped, 
 and with the hostess of which he was well acquainted. Very 
 probably Lord Maccleton would go there, and inquire of her if 
 she knew of such a person as Joseph Porter, probably an 
 American. Joe then thought that he had not observed his 
 usual caution in signing his letter with a name having the same 
 initials of his own. However, he went to the place which 
 he had designated, and inquired if any letter had been left 
 there for a man by the name of Porter. 
 
 " Why, yes, Mr. Pumpagin," answered the hostess. "A man 
 as was a lord, I think, for 'e came in a grand carriage as 'ad a 
 coat of harms on the panels ; and 'e axed for it, and I showed 
 it to 'im, and 'e threw down 'alf a crown, and took it away. I 
 should not 'ave let 'im 'ad it ; but 'e was such a fierce-looking 
 man ! He was an old man with gray 'air and whiskers ; and 'e 
 could look at nobody in the face, but was allers turning his 
 face as if there was something hawful right before 'im. 'E 
 
16 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 told me, if I would keep all other letters that came to the 
 same man for 'im, 'e would give me a guinea apiece for 'em." 
 
 " Well," says Joe, "there is a friend of mine down to the 
 King's Arms, Cheapside : his name is Alden, — Oliver Alden. 
 He is expecting letters here ; and as he is sick, and can't come 
 for them himself, you will keep them till I call for them. Here 
 is half a guinea to make you remember." 
 
 "Bring him Imp 'ere. There is no better place in hall 
 London for a sick man than the Golden Bull." 
 
 " He is too sick for that now ; but he may come when he is 
 better. Don't forget the name now : here, let me write it down 
 on a bit of paper." Then, taking up pen and paper from the 
 desk, he wrote the name, and handed the slip to the buxom 
 hostess. 
 
 " Holiver Halden. I will remember," placing the name 
 in a little rack that was fastened to the wall, and was intended 
 to hold letters and odd memorandums. "Now," said Joe, if 
 any letter comes to my friend Oliver, don't put it up there, 
 and don't let anybody else see it ; for," said he in a whisper, " I 
 am afraid the police are after him. Just hide the letter till I 
 call for it, and it will be all right." The plump-faced, good- 
 natured hostess said she knew a thing or two ; and Joe, bidding 
 her good-by, returned to his duties in Sir Henderson's kitchen. 
 
 A few days after, it was reported among the servants that 
 Lady Beresford was coming to town ; and that, being seriously 
 ill, her father, Lord Maccleton, had come before her to make 
 arrangements ; and that, as the town residence of his lordship 
 was undergoing extensive repairs, she was coming to stop at 
 Sir Henderson's. Lady Beresford was said to be sick in body, 
 and worse in mind, as one of the maids had heard his lordship 
 say to his sister, the baronet's wife. It was known that he had 
 held several very long interviews with his sister ; and when, a 
 few days after, she arrived, there was a mystery and secrecy ob- 
 served by the servants, that greatly provoked their curiosity, 
 and was sure to draw out the reasons for it. 
 
 Joe was now in the same house with Lady Beresford ; and 
 his next object was to convey a message to her. He saw that 
 ghe was closely watched and guarded, and that only by shrewd 
 management and tact could he hope to convey to her any 
 warning or message. But Joe, as has been seen and said, was 
 a genius, and no ordinary genius either. He was one of those 
 who had the mastery of his accidents, and, when necessary, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 17 
 
 could create occasions and means to accomplish his purpose. 
 He wrote the following on a small slip of paper ; and, folding 
 it over till it was not larger than a shilling, he awaited till 
 he could find or make his opportunity : — 
 
 " LadyBeresford, — Lord Maccleton got the other addressed to Joseph 
 Porter. Write again to Oliver Alden, — same place." 
 
 This note Joe carried in his pocket for three days, and 
 could find no means nor think of any device to send it to 
 her ladyship ; till one morning he met her maid in the kitch- 
 en, bearing on a tray an invalid's breakfast. 
 
 " Who is that for ? " asked Joe. 
 
 " My mistress, Lady Beresford, of course," replied the maid, 
 turning from him with a look that said that he had no busi- 
 ness to ask such impertinent questions. At that instant, Joe 
 hurled the large butcher-knife which he held at that moment 
 in his hand across the room, into a shelf of crockery. The 
 crash caused the maid in alarm to look in the direction of 
 the noise ; and at the instant Joe deposited his letter between 
 two slices of dry toast that were on the tray. He then ran 
 to see the cause of the disaster, and began swearing at the 
 d d cats while the maid hurried away to her mistress's apart- 
 ments. He inferred that the note was received ; for the next 
 day it was reported below-stairs that Lady Beresford was so 
 much better, that she insisted on driving out ; and the horses 
 and carriage were ordered for that purpose. Lady Strongham 
 insisted on accompanying her dear niece ; though the latter 
 said it was unnecessary, as she was quite well, and able to go 
 by herself and maid. The evident determination of the old 
 lady to accompany her showed very clearly to Lady Beresford 
 that she was closely watched, and that it was the purpose of 
 her dear relatives to defeat any efforts she might make to com- 
 municate with anybody else. The position in which she 
 found herself, however, served to convince her that it was 
 necessary to preserve her self-control ; that, whatever might 
 happen to her, she must not again give way to her emotions 
 as she had done at the hall on the receipt of the letter of 
 "Joseph Porter." She now had a part to act, an object to 
 accomplish ; and, if she would succeed, she must steel her 
 nerves to callous insensibility, and wear a placid face to 
 conceal the workings of an indignant, raging, stormy heart. 
 She must now call into action powers such as she had never 
 2* 
 
18 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 exercised, and which she was not sure that she possessed. 
 Sentiment and emotion must now be subordinate to the will ; 
 and the demonstrative woman must become the self-re- 
 strained, impassive actress. Her object now was to get a letter 
 unobserved into the post-office, and above all things avoid 
 exciting suspicion. She saw it would be far better not to 
 make the attempt then than to make it and fail. She would 
 therefore be prepared with her letter ; and, if the opportunity 
 offered, avail herself of it; and if not, would bide her time. 
 
 Joe Pumpagin had no doubt, when he heard that Lady 
 Beresford was going out for a drive, what was the object of 
 it ; and, with the celerity of genius, he contrived to have the 
 coachman where he could not be found when he was wanted. 
 Then, much against his will of course, he consented to serve 
 in that capacity himself. On entering the carriage, Lady 
 Strongham asked her niece whither she cared to go. 
 
 " To see the parks and streets," said the latter, sinking 
 back disheartened into her seat. 
 
 They drove about for two hours; but never once did Lady 
 Beresford look out, or pay the least regard to her affection- 
 ate aunt, who was calling her attention to many objects of 
 public interest as they drove by them. In the course of the 
 drive, however, the elder lady had occasion to stop at a dry- 
 goods store to make some purchases. While she was thus 
 engaged, Lady Beresford looked out, and inquired of the 
 footman if there was a post-office near by. 
 
 "Don't know of any," said the handsome youth. 
 
 "Ay, ay, your ladyship," said Joe, jumping down to the 
 sidewalk. " There is one just around the corner : give me 
 your letter." 
 
 The manner of Joe disarmed the lady ; and she gave him 
 the letter, which he contrived to receive at the same time 
 that he directed the footman's attention in another direction. 
 He passed round the nearest corner, and, as soon as out of 
 sight, put the letter in his pocket, and returned just in time 
 to prevent the footman from answering the question of Lady 
 Strongham as to what had become of him. He knew that 
 the first question of the suspicious lady would be for the ab- 
 sent coachman, and that the handsome lout in livery would 
 have no more sense than to blurt out the truth, — that he had 
 gone to post a letter for her ladyship in the carriage ; and that 
 then there would, sooner or later, follow an explosion. So, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 19 
 
 as soon as he saw her come out of the store, though s Dine 
 dozen yards distant, lie sung out to the footman to open the 
 door, thus saving him the necessity of answering the question 
 that she was asking at the instant. He instantly came up and 
 closed the carriage-door, and ordered the footman to his place, 
 whispering to him so loud at the same time as to be sure 
 that he was overheard, that they had capital beer round the 
 corner. Then he asked the ladies where next ; and, as or- 
 dered, climbed to his seat* and drove home. 
 
 As soon as his horses were stabled, he hied away to a quiet 
 corner where no one could see him; and, drawing forth the 
 letter he had pretended to post, he broke the seal, and read 
 as follows : — 
 
 "Whoever you are, I must see you. I remember that 
 dreadful night. Who are you, and who am I? My maid 
 only is true to me; yet Lord Maccleton has feed her for his 
 service, and thinks her his spy. I shall send her every week 
 to the Holborn office to inquire for a letter for Rebecca Pat- 
 terson. Write to that address, and I shall always get your 
 letters." 
 
 The means of communication were now established ; but 
 Joe knew too well the character of Lord Maccleton to ven- 
 ture on any thing at present that could more than excite 
 suspicion. He knew that this man, whose evil genius he was, 
 was of a position so elevated, and of a character so honorable, 
 that, however hideous a crime he might commit, he would, 
 with ordinary caution, never be suspected. More than forty 
 years before, he had committed a great crime, which, though 
 he might have regretted, he had never repented. Through 
 all these long years, he had steeled himself to a callous disre- 
 gard of that vengeance which pursues the wicked ; and Joe 
 Pumpagin knew too well the danger to Lady Beresford, if 
 Lord Maccleton was not first made to understand that there 
 were others than herself possessing his dreadful secret, and 
 that there was an unseen avenging hand that he could nei- 
 ther reach nor stay. He knew, therefore, that he must exer- 
 cise great caution and circumspection. 
 
 But, first of all, it was necessary to have an interview with 
 Lady Beresford ; and it was his next effort to create an op- 
 portunity. If it be true that fortune favors the brave, it is 
 no less so that genius controls its accidents. Joe's eyes were 
 open to take advantage of any occasion that should favor his 
 
20 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 design. He had laid aside, as far as possible, his character as 
 a joker, and quoter of Shakspeare ; and sought to make him- 
 self master of the establishment of Sir Henderson Strong- 
 ham. At this time, Sir Henderson was in the heyday of his 
 prosperity. He was the head of one of the largest banking- 
 houses in the United Kingdom ; and, for the two reasons of 
 pride and policy, he entertained munificently. One day the 
 orders were sent to the kitchen, that, on the second day fol- 
 lowing, a dinner was to be prepared of a most sumptuous 
 character. Indeed, it was to be a dinner fit not only for 
 a lord, but for lords, dukes, and marquises. Little did Joe 
 care for the high-sounding names that reached the kitchen, 
 and impressed the other servants with a sense of awful gran- 
 deur and responsibility. But, when he heard that among the 
 guests were to be two American gentlemen, his curiosity was 
 excited; and he sought out the head servant to learn their 
 names. The major-domo did not remember the name of one 
 of them; but the other, he said, was Gomery, or Montgomery, 
 he was not sure which. Though Joe did not suppose that 
 the possessor of this name was any connection of his old 
 friends at the Pivot, yet the familiar sound excited his curi- 
 osity ; and he was as anxious to get a sight of him as Morgi- 
 ana was to get a look at the mysterious oil-merchant who 
 would eat n<y salt. When the guests began to arrive, Joe 
 contrived to place himself so as to get a sight of them all ; 
 and great was his surprise when he saw his old friend Theron 
 Gomery, now a fine-looking, tall, and muscular man, descend 
 from a carriage at Sir Henderson's door. The old man who 
 came with him he did not recognize. Joe was now all 
 excitement, and would have given much to have been an 
 unobserved witness at the dinner-table. He would have 
 resorted to his usual expedient of getting one of the table- 
 servants put out of the way but for fear of being recognized 
 by his former friend. It is true, more than a dozen years had 
 passed since they had last seen each other, and the younger 
 of the two had greatly changed during the time ; but Joe 
 had not changed in the least particular. At twenty-five he 
 might have been taken for forty-five, and at forty-five he 
 might have passed for sixty. He therefore contented him- 
 self with making himself agreeable to the coachman who had 
 driven his friend, from whom he learned where he was stay- 
 ing, and resolved to find him early the next day. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 21 
 
 Accordingly, the next morning, at about nine o'clock* he 
 made his way to that part of the city where Goraery lodged, 
 and presented himself at the number given by the coach- 
 man the night before. 
 
 It was opened by a tall and well-trained flunkey, who, 
 seeing a man, apparently of the ordinary walks of life, before 
 him, stared at him with that freezing civility which said, 
 without words, "What the devil are you here for?" 
 
 " Take up my card to Mr. Gomery," said Joe. 
 
 "Mr. Gomery is at breakfast, and can't be disturbed," re- 
 plied the flunkey. 
 
 " Take up my card, sir, or I will throw you into the street ! " 
 said Joe, moving towards him, and crowding inside the door, 
 which he shut behind him. 
 
 The flunkey, in despair and dismay, took the card, and, 
 glancing his eye over it, saw written in pencil, " Old Joe." 
 Then he looked at Joe ; then he said, " Isn't there a mistake ?" 
 But he saw at a glance in Joe's eye that there was no mis- 
 take ; and casting a look about the hall, that Joe understood 
 to be a charge of theft or thieving purpose, he glided up 
 stairs, and laid the card on the table by the side of Gomery, 
 saying apologetically, " The man made me bring it up, sir." 
 
 "Old Joe!" said Gomery: "Old Joe! who is he? Old 
 Joe ! by the living hokey, it must be Old Joe Pumpagin ! It 
 is he, I really believe. Show him up, show him up! quick, 
 you staring blockhead! show him up!" 
 
 The flunkey departed ; and Gomery, turning to the old 
 man, who was unfolding the "Times," said, "This Old Joe is 
 from my native place. He was the Yorick of my boyhood ; 
 'a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath 
 borne me on his back a thousand times.' " 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Joe, entering the room, " and taught you 
 Shakspeare into the bargain." 
 
 The greeting he received was so frank and cordial, that the 
 flunkey was utterly dumfounded, and withdrew, muttering 
 to himself that "these Americans were a werry wulgar 
 people." 
 
 " Uncle Fogue, this is my old friend, Joe Pumpagin, that 
 I have not seen before for a dozen years." 
 
 Uncle Fogue bowed with aristocratic punctilio, and went 
 on reading his paper. 
 
 A hurried conversation was now held between Theron 
 
22 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 and Joe, in which the latter said, in answer to a question as 
 to where he had been, and what he had seen and done, during 
 the last dozen years, that it would take a big book to contain 
 all his adventures in that time; and that he must postpone 
 his narrative to a more convenient season. He asked, in 
 return, what had brought Theron to England ; and the latter 
 answered, that it was business of great importance. " Since 
 I last saw you at Montgomery," he said, " I, too, have had quite 
 an eventful life. I am a rich man now; have a wife and 
 two children ; and have been selected, with my uncle here 
 (whom you have, perhaps, heard us talk about when boys), at 
 a council of capitalists to come over here, and have an inter- 
 change of views on the financial interests of the two coun- 
 tries, more especially in regard to the political necessity and 
 duty of concentrating the permanent wealth of our country 
 in the hands of an upper class, or privileged aristocracy, and 
 by that means wielding such an influence as to direct and 
 control the policy of our own government, as it is controlled 
 here, for the benefit of the higher classes." 
 
 " You have very different ideas to what your father, the 
 old squire, had," said Joe. 
 
 "And very different to what I had myself when I was 
 younger. But wealth works great changes in the ideas of 
 men. When we get property, we are not satisfied with its 
 possession and enjoyment during our own lives merely. 
 How much more satisfactory to feel assured that our children 
 and grandchildren will enjoy it after us ! And then what a 
 grand thing to be the founder of a noble family ! Our coun- 
 try is yet young; and those who now take the initiative will 
 be known in history as the oldest and most honored aristoc- 
 racy." 
 
 "Then I suppose," said Joe, "you intend to be a lord ; at 
 least, a duke or marquis." 
 
 " If we can effect the change, I shall have aspirations of 
 the kind. It may be we are reckoning our chickens before 
 they are hatched; but Uncle Fogue and I have been consid 
 ering what titles we will take, supposing we can get the aris- 
 tocratic principle grafted into our constitution and society. It 
 is customary in this country to take a title corresponding with 
 the name of the section, town, or county where the family 
 has lived : and my uncle here is sorely puzzled what title to 
 assume, and what to have for his coat of arms; for he says 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 23 
 
 his father, when he married his mother, had no coat to his 
 arms. As for me, I shall seek to show my respect for the 
 old place at the Pivot, and shall take the first name of the 
 hill, — Gault, Duke of Gault. I think that would sound 
 well; and then my oldest son can be known during my time 
 as Lord Gomery, or Marquis of Montgomery ; and of course, 
 after me, he will be Duke of Gault." 
 
 " Perhaps the Gaults may have something to say on that 
 question," said Joe. 
 
 " The Gaults ! The Gaults are all dead long ago." 
 
 "Perhaps not. But, if they never appear to claim their 
 own, 'tis not your fault. So long life to Lord Gault ! and 
 that old man — what is to be his title ? " 
 
 " That we can't agree on ; but his family crest is to be an 
 oyster-shell, as his father made his fortune in the oyster 
 business. But we will talk over these matters at another 
 time. I have an engagement now ; and, at three o'clock this 
 afternoon, Mr. Fogue and myself are to meet a number of 
 the heaviest bankers and capitalists in England, when mat- 
 ters of the greatest financial and political importance are to 
 be discussed. So come and see me again to-morrow morn- 
 ing early." 
 
 " You would not suspect it," said Joe ; " but the fact is, I 
 have some little business with the aristocracy, as well as 
 yourself, just now; and, not to go any farther, I am even 
 now serving as a menial in the house of Sir Henderson 
 Strongham, and it was thus that I learned of your being 
 here. I am acting a part, and in a character, that no man 
 living, save myself and your honored father, has any knowl- 
 edge of. I, as well as yourself, have been favored by fortune 
 in getting money ; and it is not for wages that I am in Sir 
 Henderson's service. But it would serve my purpose far bet- 
 ter if you would, during your residence in London, make me 
 your head servant, or major-domo. I know London well, 
 and have learned something of the fashionable ways, and can 
 serve you well at the same fhne I serve myself." 
 
 " That is just what I would have above all things," said 
 Theron; "and I will give orders this instant that you are to 
 have unlimited authority, and that whatever you say or 
 order is to be taken as coming from myself." 
 
 Gomery here touched the bell, which brought Mr. Flunk 
 to the door. " Mr. Flunk," said he, " Mr. Pumpagin is to be 
 
24 GOMERT OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 my steward or head man. What he says, I say ; what he 
 orders, I order ; what he w^ants, I w T ant. Do you understand, 
 Mr. Flunk?" 
 
 "Shall be wery 'appy to serve the genTman ; but 'opes 'e 
 'as took no hoffence for not taking hup 'is card." 
 
 "You do great credit to your class and education, Mr. 
 Flunk. You combine perfectly that insolence and sycophan- 
 cy essential to an English servant. See, now, that my friend 
 has every respect shown him." 
 
 " Of course, I respects my betters," said the flunkey, as he 
 withdrew from an interview apparently not to his taste. 
 
 " And that is the style of abject creature to which you 
 would reduce free and enlightened Americans, is it?" said 
 Joe. "If the old squire were to overhear you, and know 
 what you were about, he would disown you. In fact, I am 
 ashamed of you myself." 
 
 " Ah, well ! you will think better of it after I have talked 
 with you again." 
 
 "I will be back here this evening," said Joe; "and then 
 we will, over a mug of flip, talk not only of this, but of 
 many other things. So good-by till then." 
 
 Joe left the house; and, returning to Sir Henderson's, he 
 announced that unforeseen events required him to leave, 
 even though he forfeited a quarter's wages. When asked if 
 the police were after him, he winked mysteriously, and begged 
 them to say nothing. The steward paid him off, glad to 
 escape the scandal of having a jail-bird found on the prem- 
 ises. The evening found him domiciled with his old friend. 
 
 ' 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 25 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 " So wills the fierce, avenging sprite, 
 Till blood for blood atones : 
 Ay, though he's buried in a cave, 
 And trodden down with stones, 
 And years have rotted off' his flesh, 
 The world shall have his bones 1 "—Thomas Hood. 
 
 That afternoon, the meeting of capitalists, of which Theron 
 had spoken to Joe, took place in one of those Downing-street 
 bank parlors where such magnates were wont to assemble in 
 force when any important affairs requiring combination and 
 accord of action were to be considered. On this occasion, a 
 subject was to be discussed that had engaged the attention 
 of the rich and conservative classes for a long time. A dan- 
 ger to their influence and position had been descried in the 
 political firmament ; and this meeting was to be an initiatory 
 effort to organize the means to avert it. To render it at all 
 effective, it was necessary to enlist the active rather than the 
 dormant wealth of the country, as it is well known that the 
 real men of power in England are those who can influence 
 the floating capital that lubricates the wheels of commerce. 
 The landed business-despising aristocracy may combine and 
 knock their heads together till the little brains they have in 
 them are addled ; but without the aid and practical support 
 of the parvenu commoners, whom they tolerate, fear, and de- 
 spise, they can accomplish nothing, and they know it. Though 
 on this occasion it was felt to be so essential to combine the 
 floating and uninvested capital of the country, it was neces- 
 sary to omit from its invited participants the most important 
 of all. One firm, or rather one family, that wielded more 
 of the active capital of Europe than any other, and proba- 
 bly more than all who would meet on this occasion, must be 
 left out ; for it had a policy very different and distinct from 
 that of the Established-Church aristocracy. This firm still 
 bore the curse of their ancestors, who had invoked the blo*d 
 
 VOL. II. 3 
 
26 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 of the Son of man on them and their children. They could 
 not be expected to sympathize with a movement that was 
 intended to strengthen and perpetuate a form of religion that 
 disfranchised them, and were wisely left out. 
 
 But, though this was to be a meeting of those men who 
 had an active and palpable influence, it was felt indispensable 
 that a certain number of the landed, established aristocracy 
 should give it their countenance and support. A sufficient 
 number of that class accordingly were present, however, to 
 give assurance, that, generally they would heartily co-operate 
 in the movement. The attendance of the Duke of Manny- 
 fields was therefore secured, as he was of such vast wealth, 
 and had such immense landed interest, that his bare name, it 
 was thought, would insure the concurrence of the entire 
 landed aristocracy. His presence was desired, rather to 
 mark the character of the meeting than to profit by his 
 muddy suggestions. He was accordingly made chairman of 
 the select meeting. In accepting the chair, he would be ex- 
 pected to make a few remarks on the subject that had called 
 them together. His speech was both worthy of the man and 
 the class to which he belonged. He said, "In accepting the 
 honor conferred upon me by the distinguished gentlemen 
 who compose this meeting, I feel that I should do injustice 
 to my own feelings if I did not express my sincere thanks. 
 I cordially concur in the object of this meeting. The subject 
 which it is proposed to consider is one to which my attention 
 has long been directed. I am not ignorant of the dangers 
 which threaten, and which it is the object of this meeting to 
 take measures to avert. It is known to us all that the people 
 across the water have enjoyed a kind of general prosperity 
 that threatens the safety and perpetuity of our rights and 
 privileges. Indeed, I may say, the very throne, now occu- 
 pied by a prince of such transcendent talents, of such exalted 
 virtues, such lofty character, as to be known and acknowl- 
 edged as the 'first gentleman in Europe,' — the very throne, 
 I say, is in danger. Under the system of universal suffrage, a 
 great nation is growing up in ignorance of the first principles 
 of government. Here, where the voters are few, we can, by 
 a judicious use of our wealth and influence, always maintain 
 our rights and privileges ; and, on all important questions, 
 we can have the Commons with us. .. But to buy up a whole 
 people, to have the entire power of the government in the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 27 
 
 hands of the wealthy and the noble, when every man has a 
 voice in the matter, is preposterous. Hence there is no privi- 
 leged class there, no aristocracy, no immunity of noble fami- 
 lies, and few of the advantages of wealth as enjoyed by us. 
 And the worst feature of the whole is, that the people there 
 have no idea of their deplorable condition. They are so igno- 
 rant as to think that they are as well off as though they had 
 a nobility of blood to direct them and shape their policy. 
 They are so lost to a sense of shame, that they even glory in 
 their self-made men. They boast of their increase in wealth 
 and power, and contrast their plenty and comfort with that 
 of the English people ; as if the common people had any thing 
 to do with the laws except to obey them, or as if their hap- 
 piness and well-being were a compensation or offset for the 
 lack of a nobility of blood. But, were the evil confined to 
 their own country, we might leave them to their own follies. 
 That, however, is not the case. First, their evil example 
 reached France ; and we all know what horrors were com- 
 mitted under the ideas of liberty and equality. And yet, in 
 spite of that fearful havoc, we find the dangerous contagion 
 of ideas has spread into this country ; and we have our 
 home demagogues preaching discontent to our working 
 classes, and commending American examples to them. Al- 
 ready we hear the mad clamor that suffrage must be extend- 
 ed, and are told by low reformers that the corn-laws must 
 be changed, and the duties lowered or abolished. These 
 monstrous innovations are only equalled by each other in 
 daring atrocity. If the suffrage is extended, how, then, are 
 we to control the votes ? To coerce and buy up a few dozen 
 men is easy, but to dictate to as many thousands is too much 
 for any man's rent-roll ; and the proposed repeal of the corn- 
 laws is a direct blow aimed at the rights and privileges of 
 the aristocracy. Are not the peers nearly all large land- 
 owners ? and if our ports are to be thrown open to foreign 
 corn, so that we can no longer have the monopoly of our 
 own market, how are we to maintain our position? And 
 they have even the^ audacity to commend this measure for 
 the reason that it will benefit the poor. Has it come to this, 
 then, that the interests of the nobility are to give way that a 
 hungry crowd may be fed ? My friends, it is time to take 
 action in England, in order to break up the nest of political 
 error in America ; and, for one, I am glad that our friends 
 
28 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 across the water have been induced to come over here and co- 
 operate in this work of general patriotism and international 
 philanthropy We give them a cordial welcome, and trust 
 that we shall have their views fully expressed on this occa- 
 sion." 
 
 This speech was followed by another, of similar import, 
 delivered by Sir Prosper Neerstickle, who, on concluding, 
 expressed a hope that the distinguished American financier 
 then present would favor the meeting with his views. 
 
 Mr. Fogue, taking the invitation to himself, arose, and said 
 that he was deeply impressed with the correctness of the 
 views advanced by his honorable friends, and fully concurred 
 in all they had said. " For myself," he continued, " I have 
 long felt that wealth does not secure to its possessor in my 
 country the advantages to which he is justly entitled. It 
 will buy him houses and lands and luxuries ; but that is all. 
 We have no hold on our possessions only so long as we 
 manage them well. A vast estate, accumulated by one gen- 
 eration, is very apt to be squandered by the next. Instead 
 of being hedged around and protected by the laws for the 
 ennobling of a single family, it goes to increase the small 
 estates of the ignoble multitude. Thus, though I count my 
 gains by millions, what does it amount to ? When I am 
 gone, I may be pretty sure that they will all soon follow. I 
 can have no hope of founding a family that hundreds of 
 years hence shall be reckoned among the old nobility. In- 
 stead of retaining in my name the broad acres that are now 
 mine, and which ought to be adorned with halls and parks 
 and pleasure-grounds, they will be cut up into small farms ; 
 and communities of small farmers and busy mechanics will 
 usurp the soil which ought to be reserved for the nobler 
 purposes of supporting game, and yielding health, exercise, 
 and pleasure to an enlightened and refined aristocracy." 
 
 At the conclusion of this eloquent period, the chairman 
 said, "Hear, hear;" and of course the rest of the company 
 joined in rapturous applause. " But this is not all," contin- 
 ued the gratified Fogue : " even in my own time, I have no 
 more power in the government than my servant who drives 
 my horses. He votes as well as I, and his vote counts for as 
 much as mine. In fact, the man of wealth in the free States 
 of America is the most unfortunate man living : he is really 
 to be pitied. With our Southern brethren, the case is differ- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 29 
 
 ent : there the rich man owns his laborers, and his condition 
 is similar to that of the landholders here. Though the poor 
 man there can vote, yet the rich planter has such power, by- 
 reason of his numerous dependants and connections, that he 
 can easily render the atmosphere unwholesome; and the poor 
 man there becomes a political nonentity. As for the slave, 
 he is like the most of your non-freeholders : he works, and 
 that is his only privilege. The law is made to protect him, 
 it is true ; but the law is read only through the planter's 
 spectacles : as, for instance, my honorable friend, the chair- 
 man of this meeting, has, I presume, the administration of 
 the laws on his own estates pretty much his own way. And 
 that is right ; that is as it should be. There is too much of 
 mawkish and mock sentimentality in these degenerate days. 
 The rich and the powerful should be respected and privi- 
 leged as in the olden time. The case of Uriah the Hittite 
 is an illustration given for our instruction to show that the 
 sins of the rich and powerful shall not be visited against 
 them : and from that day to this David is honored exceed- 
 ingly ; but who ever speaks well of Uriah the Hittite ? " 
 
 These pious words were warmly commended by the com- 
 pany ; and, when Mr. Thomas Fogue took his seat, it was 
 remarked by several that his speech was the most states- 
 manlike and comprehensive ever made by an American. Sir 
 Philpot Puncheon, a man whose father had begun life as a 
 tapster, and ended it as the richest brewer in the world, fol- 
 lowed Mr. Fogue, and said he had been a close observer of 
 affairs across the Atlantic for many years ; and the remarks 
 of his distinguished friend who had just sat down, in relation 
 to the advantages enjoyed by the people of the Southern 
 States over their Northern brethren by reason of their more 
 conservative institutions, had struck him as eminently just 
 and true. " It is," he continued, " the policy of the people 
 of established wealth in England to cultivate more intimate 
 relations with the only class in America that has in it any 
 of the exclusive or aristocratic element. The interests of 
 wealth are closely linked the world over ; and it only re- 
 quires an international exchange of ideas, among those who 
 control the capital of the world, to be able to influence, if 
 not direct, the policy of the governments of the earth. The 
 great danger now is that the democratic idea should com- 
 mend itself to the rest of the world by reason of the pros- 
 8* 
 
30 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 perity of the working-men of the United States. There 
 must be a grand combination to throw the government into 
 the hands of the rich and conservative ; and we must aid in 
 this good work. The great central, moneyed institutions 
 must be sustained, that, being owned and controlled by the 
 rich, they can wield a power adequate at all times to defeat 
 any obnoxious party or interest." 
 
 Several other short speeches were made ; and the discus- 
 sion gradually passed into a sort of free-and-easy conference, 
 and finally became a miscellaneous, unorganized meeting. It 
 was decided that a committee should be raised, with full 
 power to act executively in carrying out the views that had 
 been expressed at the meeting. Sir Henderson Strongham 
 was put at the head of this committee, and Sir Philpot Pun- 
 cheon was made secretary. It was understood and agreed 
 that the proceedings should not be published in the news- 
 papers, but that the different persons present should talk of 
 the matters discussed in the various circles of their acquaint- 
 ance. That evening, over a mug of flip prepared by Joe, 
 Theron Gomery and his uncle Fogue recapitulated the inci- 
 dents of the day; their conversation being enlivened by the 
 interruptions and sallies of Joe, who could not forbear ex- 
 pressing his views and quoting Shakspeare as opportunity 
 offered. 
 
 The next day, Joe overheard a conversation which led him 
 to suppose that his services would not be in requisition that 
 day or the next. It appeared that Gomery and Fogue, Sir 
 Philpot Puncheon and Sir Henderson Strongham, were to 
 leave London that afternoon, in order to visit the nearest 
 castle and country estate of the Duke of Mannyfields. Not 
 only, therefore, would Joe himself be disengaged, but the 
 carriage and horses that Fogue and Gomery had hired dur- 
 ing their stay in England would be at his individual service. 
 His plans were accordingly taken with characteristic celerity. 
 He immediately wrote a note to the address of Rebecca Pat- 
 terson, and posted it. In that letter he said, that, at twelve 
 the next day, a carriage would call at Sir Henderson's for 
 Lady Beresford ; and, if she would venture to trust herself 
 to it, she would be taken to a place where she could learn all 
 that any living soul knew of her early life and history. At 
 sharp twelve, the carriage would be in attendance ; and she 
 would know which was intended for her, if there chanced 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 31 
 
 to be more than one, as it would be driven by a stout, pug- 
 nosed coachman, and drawn by a pair of heavy black horses. 
 
 At the appointed hour, the carriage was in attendance ; and 
 Lady Beresford was prompt to meet it. Lady Strongham, 
 when she saw her niece going out with her maid, objected 
 to her leaving the house, in her feeble state of health, unac- 
 companied by herself, saying that Lord Maccleton had ex- 
 pressly forbidden it. " I am no more his slave than I am his 
 child!" answered Lady Beresford with a vehemence that 
 quite silenced the opposition of her officious aunt. 
 
 No sooner had she entered the carriage than Joe drove 
 hurriedly away, taking various by-ways, cross-streets, and 
 sudden turns; going at a brisk gait, so as to render any 
 attempt to follow him, if it were made, unsuccessful. 
 
 In less than an hour, he stopped in a very respectable 
 street, and before a house of considerable pretensions; 
 though, in one of the windows, a card, with the words, 
 "Apartments to let," was displayed. In front of the house 
 had been standing, for the last half-hour, a young man, 
 apparently watching and waiting for some one. No sooner 
 had Joe driven up to the door, and shown Lady Beresford 
 and her maid into the house, than this youth mounted in 
 Joe's place, and was told by him to drive away, and return in 
 just two hours. Joe then followed Lady Beresford into the 
 house ; and was shown by the landlady into the same room 
 that he had engaged the day before, and into which Lady 
 Beresford had preceded him. 
 
 As Joe entered the room, and closed the door after him, 
 Lady Beresford, who had not taken a seat, turned upon him, 
 and asked abruptly, " Whom am I to meet here ? " 
 
 " Me, madam," answered Joe. 
 
 " Did you send me the letter signed ' Joseph Porter ' ? " said 
 she with a look of incredulity, disappointment, and surprise. 
 
 "I did," said Joe. 
 
 "And do you know as much as you intimate about me 
 and my early days ? " 
 
 " More than I have ever intimated. I know more of you," 
 said he, taking a seat, though uninvited, and while the lady 
 was yet standing, — " I know more of you and your history 
 than all other living persons." 
 
 Lady Beresford, still standing, but with her right arm on 
 the shoulder of her maid, and looking pale, agitated, and anx- 
 
32 G0MERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 ious, said, " Whoever you are, do not trifle with me : my agony 
 already is greater than I can bear. There is, I know there 
 is, something dreadful for me to learn ; and for years, since I 
 received a mysterious letter describing and recalling events 
 of my childhood that I had a feint recollection of, but knew 
 not whether they were real or the creations of a distempered 
 fancy, I have not known an hour of peace or rest ; and 
 never shall till the mystery is cleared up, and I know more 
 of myself and my history." 
 
 " Woman," said Joe. 
 
 The sound of this word, pronounced in a familiar and 
 yet a mandatory tone by one who appeared to be but a 
 menial, caused Lady Beresford to start as if touched by a 
 repulsive object. But, quickly recovering herself, she sank 
 into a seat, and said, " I know not who you are ; but I beg 
 you to bear in mind that I am not accustomed to be addressed 
 in that manner, at least by servants." 
 
 " Woman," said Joe, leaning forward, and looking her full 
 and sternly in the face, — " woman, I am of as good blood 
 as you are. 
 
 " You, a servant, as good blood as the Cumberlands ! " 
 
 " As good blood as you are ; and better, I trust, than the 
 Cumberlands." 
 
 " What mean you by that ? I hope you are not an im- 
 postor. You claim to have blood like mine ! " And the wo- 
 man turned away from the coachman with an air in which 
 disgust and pride struggled, with a desperate will, to achieve 
 a purpose. 
 
 "Woman," said Joe, still leaning forward, and looking 
 sternly at her, "fear not that any disclosure that I shall 
 make will discover any taint in your blood ; for you are of as 
 pure blood as flows in human veins, and yet not better than 
 mine. And here, on this occasion, I must speak to you as an 
 equal; and, if you will listen to me, you shall hear a tale at 
 which your pure blood shall curdle in your veins, and all you 
 have most prized in life you shall view with horror and 
 abhorrence." 
 
 "Go on, sir!" 
 
 " Madam, this young woman must first leave the room, 
 since no two living souls are concerned, like you and me, to 
 know the awful secret." 
 
 The proud woman waved her hand to her maid to with- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 33 
 
 draw ; and the latter left the room, casting back a look that 
 plainly said she would continue within call. 
 
 No sooner had the waiting-woman left than Joe took off 
 his overcoat, and laid it on a chair, and then, resuming his 
 seat, said, " Madam, it is a long story I have to tell ; and you 
 would do well to lay aside your bonnet and shawl." 
 
 " I do not want advice : I want your story." 
 
 "You shall have it, and at its conclusion will be ready to 
 take my advice. But first permit me to ask you a question : 
 How old are you ? " 
 
 " If you are curious on that point, you can consult the 
 parish register," replied she, scarcely able to control herself, 
 and showing that she felt her dignity insulted at the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 "I should not find it there," said Joe: "and perhaps I 
 ought not to have asked the question ; for I know your age, 
 though you don't." 
 
 "I want no more of this, sir!" said she, breathing quickly, 
 while the blood left her face, and a rigid pallor overspread her 
 countenance. " Tell me what you have to say, and let there 
 be an end of this business." 
 
 " Lady Beresford, I will tell you all I know ; and, if you 
 will listen, you shall hear enough." 
 
 The lady composed herself, sitting upright on the sofa, 
 and, with an air of mixed anxiety and disdain, awaited Joe's 
 disclosure. 
 
 " You must know," said he, " that I was born in the forests 
 of New England. My parents were pioneer settlers in the 
 wilderness ; and my first recollection is of a log-house in a 
 clearing, on the side of a high hill that commanded a fine 
 view of the country for a great distance round about. I re- 
 member my father and mother well. My father was a large 
 and powerful man ; and my mother, as I recollect her, was a 
 beautiful woman." 
 
 "I don't know that I am particularly interested in your 
 father and mother," said Lady Beresford. 
 
 "We will see how that is," said Joe. "I was just going 
 to remark, that, as I remember her, she looked very much 
 like your ladyship. At any rate, her memory is beautiful, 
 and I loved her very much. When I was about four years 
 old, I had a sister born ; and as my mother had many cares 
 in her forest life, and I had got to be a big boy, it was my 
 
34 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 great pleasure to play with my little. sister, and take care of 
 her, so that my mother could attend to her household duties, 
 get the dinners and suppers for my father when he was at 
 work in the clearing, make and mend his clothes, and make 
 happy the humble house in the forest. When my father had 
 finished his work for the day, he always found welcome and 
 anxious eyes watching his return ; yet tired as he was, and 
 hard as he worked, he never was too tired to have a frolic with 
 his children on the floor, or to carry me on all-fours about 
 the room. We were all very happy then ; and, as I grew 
 older and stronger, my baby sister grew prettier, until she 
 was large enough and old enough to walk alone ; and then I 
 used to take her out with me into the fields where my father 
 was at work. The country was then almost an unbroken 
 forest, and there were no neighbors within several miles of 
 our small log-house. It was a long time ago, and during the 
 first war with England (what we call the Revolution) ; and 
 as the trees were newly felled, and the fields were yet full of 
 stumps, and many of the fallen logs were but partially burnt, 
 we seldom went far from the house. But, one afternoon, I 
 took my little sister (her name was Judith), and led her out 
 to where we thought our father was at work ; but, not find- 
 ing him, we wandered on over a piece of lately felled trees, 
 when suddenly we were startled by the appearance of a 
 huge black bear, which was moving lazily and awkwardly 
 along over the fallen trees towards a piece of Indian corn 
 that was just then in the ear. The bear saw us, and, after 
 looking at us a moment, turned away his head, and pursued 
 his way towards the field of corn. But, though he paid no 
 further attention to us, I was, nevertheless, very much fright- 
 ened, and caught my little sister in my arms, and tied 
 towards the house; and in my haste I stumbled and fell, 
 throwing my sister on the ground in front of me, and falling 
 forward with my full weight, and striking my nose against 
 a root, breaking in the bridge, and rendering me senseless. 
 The noise we made had been heard by our father, who came 
 running towards us. My sister he threw on his back, and 
 she clung to his neck like a scared lobster; and me he bore in 
 his arms to the house. My nose was broken, my face much 
 disfigured, and my parents were greatly alarmed about me. 
 The wound was a serious one : my face soon swelled out of 
 proportion, and there was no doctor to apply to within many 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 35 
 
 miles. But there was no time to delay. My head was 
 bound up with cooling herbs ; and my father, mounting his 
 stout old nag, took me in his arms, and we were soon clat- 
 tering down the hillside, along the path or trail that had been 
 made long before by the Indians. It was a ride of thirty 
 miles before we reached the doctor's house. My father had 
 not spared the horse ; and we arrived there the same evening 
 of the accident* The doctor examined my wound, and 
 dressed it carefully, but gave it as his opinion that the broken 
 bridge of the nose could never be restored to its former 
 shape, and that I must always be disfigured. The next 
 morning he examined me again, and advised my father to go 
 no farther; for no surgeon could bring my disfigured probos- 
 cis into shape. My father would not listen to any such idea ; 
 and so, early in the morning, he set forth with me again, tak- 
 ing me in his arms, for his native town, thirty miles farther, 
 where lived a surgeon of great local celebrity. We reached 
 there the same night ; and the opinion of this doctor was 
 the same as the other's, that my nose could never be restored 
 to its original shape, and that the long ride had done me a 
 great injury. The wound, by that time, had become very 
 much inflamed ; and the doctor told my father, that, in his 
 anxiety to save my nose, he had endangered my life. He 
 said I must have quiet and gentle nursing, or I would surely 
 die. The town where the doctor lived, as I said, was my 
 father's native place, and he had a married sister living there ; 
 and I was carried to her house, where I was treated as ten- 
 derly as if I had been her own child. Here, under the treat- 
 ment of the doctor and the loving gentleness of my aunt, I 
 was soon out of danger ; and my father departed for home, 
 leaving me to get well, and remain through the winter with 
 my aunt, and, when recovered, to attend the village school. 
 I never saw my father again." 
 
 During this narrative, Lady Beresford scarcely looked at 
 Joe; but, as he stopped here, she turned towards him, and 
 saw the tears in his eyes, which he was vainly endeavoring 
 to repress. " I don't see," said she, " why you should tell 
 this long story to me. It does not concern me, as I can see. 
 If you have any thing to say that affects me, I wish you to 
 say it. I came here for that purpose, and not to hear your 
 lachrymose story of your father and mother. What are they 
 tome?" 
 
36 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 " Patience a few moments, and you shall know," said Joe. 
 "Allow me to continue. During the winter succeeding my 
 arrival at my kind aunt's, she told me that she intended al- 
 ways to keep me, and that I must consider myself her boy. 
 I felt that something very bad had happened ; for she could 
 not talk to me without crying. A great many of the neigh- 
 bors came to visit the family then, and they all looked very 
 sad ; and they always used to talk in whispers to my uncle 
 and aunt, so that I should not hear wha^ was said. They al- 
 ways looked at me a great deal, and I could see that I was 
 the subject of their conversation. But though I questioned 
 her many times, and asked her what made her so sad, she 
 would tell me nothing : and the house was so dismal, that I 
 disliked to stay in it ; but, as often as possible, I would run 
 away to play in the streets and fields with other boys of my 
 own age. But the secret could not long be concealed from 
 me. Another boy, with whom I had quarrelled, and who 
 had got the worst of it, took his revenge by telling me the 
 dreadful truth. When fairly out of my reach, he turned, 
 and sung out, " You ugly feller, you ! your father and moth- 
 er have been killed by the Indians, and I am glad of it ! " I 
 ran home to my aunt, and told her what the bad boy had 
 said, and, in great alarm, asked her if it was true. She did 
 not need to answer me. I knew it was so by the look she 
 gave me ; and I burst into tears. My aunt and my cousins, 
 who were much older than I, soon joined in the melancholy 
 wail ; and my uncle, a rough, kind-hearted man, left the 
 house to avoid joining in the melancholy chorus. 
 
 " I cried till my strength was gone ; I cried till I could 
 make no more noise ; and then 1 was prostrate and calm. 
 I asked for the particulars, and was told that a party of Brit- 
 ish and Indians had passed through the country, and by my 
 old home; and that they had killed my father and mother, 
 and my sweet little sister they had carried into captivity." 
 
 Lady Beresford gave a start at this, but, controlling her- 
 self, was again as impassive as marble, her face pale as 
 death, her eyes fixed in their sockets, and her lips rigidly 
 compressed. 
 
 •' You look faint," said Joe. " Shall I call for a glass of 
 water?" 
 
 " Go on," said the lady, not relaxing a muscle, but sway- 
 ing back and forward under the effort of restraint. 
 
A FAMILY HISTOET. 37 
 
 "I learned no more of this affair for a long time, except 
 that the band of soldiers and savages was commanded by a 
 Col. Cumberland." 
 
 Lady Beresford started again, and made a slight scream, 
 but again recovered herself, and told Joe to proceed. 
 
 " Years after, I learned it all ; how, it matters not now. 
 Col. Cumberland commanded the force that killed my father. 
 He ordered him to be treacherously murdered, all defence- 
 less and unarmed as he was. My sister was borne away in 
 the arms of an Indian ; and, when the party reached Quebec, 
 Col. Cumberland stole her from the savage. To do it, he 
 shot the Indian through the leg with a musket-ball ; and, in 
 return, his own only child, a little girl of nearly the same age, 
 on whom his whole fortune depended, was murdered by the 
 vindictive savage. For that child was my sister substituted, 
 and brought to England." 
 
 Lady Beresford still looked rigid and firm ; but the drifted 
 snow is not whiter than was she at that moment. The whole 
 dream or phantasmagoria of her childhood, which she could 
 never comprehend before, was now plain and clear before her. 
 She saw the part she had been made to play; and the dim, in- 
 distinct recollection of her earliest years ; of the home in the 
 forest; of her father and mother, which she had always be- 
 fore regarded as unreal, the creations of a diseased imagina- 
 tion during a period of sickness in childhood, — now all stood 
 out before her as grim, real, awful facts. 
 
 "My father murdered by Col. Cumberland !" said she, still 
 swaying back and forward, but retaining all her fixed rigid- 
 ity of countenance. 
 
 "Your father! my father! — your mother! my mother! 
 Hear me now ! My mother, your mother, was worse 
 than murdered by Col. Cumberland ; and then he sent two 
 Indians to cut her throat, while he looked through the win- 
 dow to see the horrid deed committed ; and he sees it 
 ever since. Her dying eyes are ever on him ; and from the 
 light of her sweet face, and gaping wounds, he ever seeks to 
 turn his eyes." 
 
 Lady Beresford raised her hands, gave a wild screech, and 
 fell forward on the floor. 
 
 The noise brought the maid into the room, and soon after 
 the landlady. The latter was well acquainted with the mala- 
 dies of nervous ladies, and had a good supply of the reme- 
 
 VOL. II. 4 
 
6$ GOMERY OE MONTGOMERY: 
 
 dies usually employed in such cases ; and the two, having 
 loosened the dress of the unconscious lady, with Joe's help 
 placed her on the sofa, and in a few minutes had her re- 
 stored to consciousness. 
 
 She lay a full half-hour without speaking a word, occasion- 
 ally casting her eyes at Joe, who sat anxiously watching for 
 the effect that his revelation might have upon her. At 
 length she requested the landlady and maid to leave the 
 room again, and then said to Joe, " It is enough for this day. 
 I know it all now ; but I have no power to act, no will to 
 decide. You are, then, that brother of whom I have always 
 had a faint glimmer of remembrance ! Let me have days, or 
 weeks if necessary, to reflect. The world now opens so 
 strangely before me, I know not what path to take. But 
 you, my brother, whom I treated so rudely, — you have done 
 well in pursuing the authors of this dreadful crime. And fear 
 not that I shall shrink from my duty." Joe advanced, and 
 gave her his hand, saying, " I have now, and have had for 
 many years, nothing in this world to live for but to fulfil 
 the justice of Heaven on those who destroyed our father and 
 mother. It is not vengeance that I seek; but an unseen 
 power, an element of natural justice that permeates the world, 
 impels me to work out the inevitable doom of guilt. At the 
 proper time, the instrument always comes fitted to my hands. 
 I never have any doubt of what I ought to do. My way is 
 always open and clear before me. The harmony of Nature's 
 laws is such, that he who would do his duty need never 
 hesitate. Shall I go on? Shall I bring ruin on you and 
 your children? or shall I shrink from duty, and leave to other 
 and unnatural hands the fulfilment of the decrees of Divine 
 Justice ? " 
 
 " And do you ask me if I shall partake of this wickedness ? " 
 said she with a vehemence that startled Joe. " Shall I be- 
 come a party to the great crime by eating the fruits that grow 
 rank from the blood of my father and mother? " 
 
 " It is enough," said Joe : " leave the future to itself. Our 
 way from this dark labyrinth will yet be all clear before us. 
 Let us now return. The carriage waits. You now know 
 who your mysterious correspondent is : when necessary, we 
 can communicate with each other." 
 
 The party then left the house ; and the carriage was driven 
 directly back to the town residence of Sir Henderson Strong- 
 ham. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 6\) 
 
 A few days after this, a great dinner-party was given at Sir 
 Henderson's. Among the guests were Fogue and Gomery, 
 besides many of the nobility, including Lord and Lady Maccle- 
 ton, the Duke of Mannyfields, Sir Philpot Puncheon, and Sir 
 Prosper Neerstickle and daughter. Lady Beresford was also 
 of the company. At the table, this lady chanced to be seated 
 between the two Americans, and opposite to that man whom, 
 till recently, she had always regarded as her father. She no- 
 ticed now, more particularly than usual, his nervous twitching 
 of the eyes ; for this was the first time she had met him since 
 she had learned the cause of this peculiarity. Owing to the 
 presence of the Americans, the conversation naturally fell, 
 early in the feast, on America and American affairs. " I have 
 long had a desire," exclaimed the Duke of Mannyfields in a 
 loud and pompous tone, " to visit your interesting country. 
 In my young days, I was a great sporting man ; and even now 
 I would like a crack at some of your buffaloes. I did think, 
 a few years ago, I would cross over, and give a week to that 
 sport. I supposed, that, in a week from the time I left New 
 York, I could traverse your great prairies, and get all the 
 buffalo-shooting I cared for; ascend the Rocky Mountains, 
 take a peep at Niagara, get back again to New York, and 
 be ready to re-embark." Gomery told him, that, in the imme- 
 diate vicinity of New York, buffaloes were getting rather 
 scarce ; but, beyond the Mississippi, they still roamed in vast 
 herds. The noble duke, with that thirst for information char- 
 acteristic of his class, also inquired if the Indians were so 
 numerous in New York as to constitute a majority of the 
 people, and if the wild animals were very dangerous in the 
 outskirts of the city. 
 
 Poor Fogue, with all his disposition to fawn on a live duke 
 and to flatter him in every way, could not repress a smile, or 
 rather sneer of contempt ; but with ready phrase he assured 
 his noble questioner that great changes had taken place in 
 America during the last few years ; that now it was quite 
 safe to venture back from such places as Boston, New York, 
 and Philadelphia, as much as fifty miles. 
 
 " Very different, then," replied the duke, " from what it 
 was when my noble friend opposite was there. How long is 
 it, Maccleton, since you were last in America ? " 
 
 " I returned the last time in '83." 
 
 " Indeed," said Fogue. " I was not aware that you had been 
 in America." 
 
40 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 "Ah, yes!" continued the duke : "my noble and gallant 
 friend won great distinction during that foolish war you made 
 against us, and more against your own interests. Indeed, it 
 has ever since been a mystery to me that the independence 
 of the Colonies was ever acknowledged." 
 
 "If you had seen as much of their fighting as I did, the 
 mystery would have been cleared up long ago," replied Mac- 
 cleton. 
 
 "Have you ever been in America, Lady Beresford?" said 
 Gomery. 
 
 " I was born there," said she, fixing a look of immobility on 
 Lord Maccleton. 
 
 " Born there ! " exclaimed the astonished duke. 
 
 At this expression of Lady Beresford, Lord Maccleton 
 turned ghastly pale, and gave a start unusual even for him, 
 who was always starting, and turning away from disagreeable 
 objects. He was too well drilled, however, had too long 
 schooled himself to self-control, and was too well aware of 
 his duty to his rank and class, to falter, even for an instant. 
 " My daughter," said he, " and her mother, went with me on 
 my first campaign in America ; and consequently her first rec- 
 ollections are of that country." 
 
 "His daughter went with him to America," said she, still 
 keeping the same steady, fixed look*fast upon him. 
 
 Lord Maccleton started again at this, but not as before. 
 His nerves were steeled ; besides which, the surprise was not 
 so sudden as before. 
 
 Gomery alone of all the party noticed her words and man- 
 ner, and also their effect on Lord Maccleton. 
 
 " You must have seen a rude and rough country, then," said 
 Fogue. " I trust you may come over and see us again, and 
 observe the progress we have made." 
 
 "That progress and prosperity," said Mannyfields, "I view 
 with great suspicion. They only make your people contented 
 with their vicious form of government. Without an estab- 
 lished aristocracy, you must drift into license and barbarism. 
 Your theory of democracy is, from the nature of the case, 
 self-destructive and absurd. When the people have not the 
 examples of the nobility to imitate and honor, they necessa- 
 rily fall into dejiravity, anarchy, and crime ; and sooner or 
 later your institutions must be changed. It would be easy 
 to do it now ; but the prosperity of the ignorant masses leads 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 41 
 
 them to believe they are well off, and to rest contented with 
 their absurd government. But it must break up, and it will 
 be well if it does so soon, and before the country becomes so 
 populous, that change will be destructive." 
 
 " I know there are evils in our social and political organiza- 
 tions," answered Fogue ; "but I am hopeful of a change more 
 gradual, and attended by less convulsions and disaster than 
 what you apprehend. With the aid and co-operation of the 
 wealth and noble blood of England acting cordially with our 
 educated and wealthy classes, we expect to work out a great 
 change quietly and with little opposition, and no violence." 
 
 " I hope it may be so," said the duke ; " but I have no faith 
 in democracy correcting itself. It must first ruin itself and 
 all it touches, and then something better will succeed." 
 
 Gomery, not wishing to participate in the political discus- 
 sion, turned again to Lady Beresford, and said, " What are 
 your recollections of America ? It appears, from a remark 
 of your illustrious father, that you were very young when 
 you left there." 
 
 "My recollections," she replied in a voice loud and clear, 
 that could be heard at either end of the table, " are of sav- 
 age Indians, and more savage English officers." 
 
 Lord Maccleton gave another start, and drank a glass 
 of wine. It was evident to him, that, at last, his long life of 
 crime was discovered. The words of his reputed daughter 
 were like red-hot needles in his ears, that pricked through, 
 and at length reached the guilty conscience of the wicked, old, 
 and honored man. He felt the ground on which he had 
 firmly stood so long, defying God and despising man, slipping 
 from beneath his feet, and that he and his house were going 
 down to shame and universal contempt. And this was all 
 going on while he was yet honored and respected ; and, even 
 in the strongholds of his friends, he saw the hand of justice 
 writing for the world to read his ignominy and disgrace. 
 This member of a privileged class of a great nation, whose 
 members regarded themselves as superior to all other human 
 or earthly things, and who were envied by common mortals 
 as beings already in the third heavens, and to attain which 
 position men would sacrifice every other consideration, — this 
 man, thus envied, was now the most miserable wretch in the 
 whole kingdom. No starving mother in a London cellar, 
 who saw her children dying of want before her eyes, ever 
 
 4* 
 
42 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 felt the acute and agonizing misery of this wretched old 
 man. She could but die, and be forgotten ; and her children 
 could but follow her through crime, misery, and death. But 
 he could not thus die, and be forgotten. He felt that his 
 secret was one 
 
 " The earth refused to keep." 
 
 For a long time, he had been receiving occasional hints 
 that his crimes were known, and that a volcano was smoul- 
 dering beneath him. He had borne the horrid vision before 
 his eyes for years, and passed a life of ever-present horrors, 
 to save his name and his house from infamy. He would 
 gladly have died at any time for many years past, could he have 
 been assured that his evil deeds should followhim to the grave, 
 and never be divulged on earth. But they held him as by 
 a spell to life ; and he felt that his pursuers only refrained 
 from exposure in order to continue their secret torture, and 
 that his death would be the signal of infamy to his house. 
 Life was horrible; but he dared not relinquish it; for he had 
 grown up in and had always cherished the idea and belief 
 that he belonged to a class not only superior to other men 
 in things temporal, but so transcendently so, that it was for 
 him and such as him to prescribe the form and degrees of reli- 
 gious faith for the National Church, to which all must assent 
 under penalty of forfeitures and disabilities. But now the 
 shell of his self-conceit and complacent superiority seemed 
 to be cracking and crumbling away; and he felt there was a 
 power in the earth superior to the aristocracy of England 
 and its Established Church. 
 
 Thoughts of this kind passed so rapidly through the mind 
 of Lord Maccleton, as he received, one after another, the 
 remorseless thrusts of Lady Beresford, that, to an extent 
 never before observed, he lost his self-control, and, more 
 abruptly than usual, turned his head in different directions to 
 avert his eyes from the ever-present spectre. Gomery was 
 the only one at the table, besides the lady herself, that ob- 
 served the effect of her enigmatical expressions upon him ; 
 but what they all meant, or why she took this occasion to 
 bring her father to shame and remorse, he could not divine. 
 Yet it was clear that there was a dreadful secret between 
 them. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 43 
 
 The dinner was at length finished ; and the ladies with- 
 drew, leaving the gentlemen to their wine. As Goraery was 
 not given to deep potations, he followed the young Viscount 
 Muddybumps, who was dying of a passion for the daughter 
 of Sir Prosper Neerstickle (a young lady whose beauty was 
 only excelled by her fortune), into the company of the ladies 
 a little earlier than their older and wiser companions had 
 raised the spirit-level to its customary after-dinner point. 
 
 Gomery, as he entered the drawing-room, had a few words 
 with one, and then another; and gradually drifted towards a 
 corner where sat Lady Beresford looking over some loose 
 engravings. 
 
 As he approached, Lady Beresford, without raising her 
 eyes, said, " I was looking for you, Mr. Gomery." 
 
 "Indeed," said he : "you greatly honor me. In such com- 
 pany, I knew I should be the least important person present ; 
 and, when out of sight, never expected to be afterwards in 
 mind." 
 
 " What do you think of that ? " said she, placing under his 
 eyes the first of Hogarth's series of Love a la mode. 
 
 "I am not a proper judge of it as a comment on the social 
 life of England ; but I must say, that as yet, in our republi- 
 can simplicity, we have little to justify such a reproach." 
 
 " What do you think of that, then ?" said she, drawing from 
 below, and placing at the top, the scene from the " Four 
 Stages of Cruelty," by the same master-hand, where the 
 woman is shown with her throat gashed across from ear to 
 ear. 
 
 "That may be truthful, but is certainly horrible, and is 
 enough to make one shudder at the sight, and keep him 
 awake afterwards." 
 
 " Will you please ask Lord Maccleton what he thinks of 
 it ? " said she. 
 
 Gomery took up the engraving, and, approaching Lord 
 Maccleton, said, "Lady Beresford begs me to ask your 
 lordship's opinion of this one of Hogarth's pictures." 
 
 The noble lord took out his spectacles, and, placing them 
 astride his nose (averting his eyes but twice in the while 
 from the apparition invisible to all but himself), took the 
 engraving in his hands; and, after two or three attempts to 
 bring it to the right angle and focus, his eye fell on the 
 figure of the woman, the victim of passion, whose throat 
 
44 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 had been cut, and who lay dead upon the floor, a horrid 
 illustration of fiendish cruelty. 
 
 At the first glance, the picture dropped from his hand ; and 
 Lord Maccleton fell insensible upon the floor. 
 
 There was a rush, a tender of helping hands, to the pros- 
 trate and noble lord ; but Lady Beresford sat with a face of 
 marble, looking unmoved on the scene. 
 
 " Did you notice," said Fogue to Gomery on their way to 
 their lodgings, "how cold and indifferent Lady Beresford 
 looked when her father was in the fit?" 
 
 " I noticed it," replied Gomery. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 45 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "Kent. . . . Such smiling rogues as these, 
 Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain 
 Which are too intrince t' unloose ; smooth every passion 
 That in the natures of their lords rebels ; 
 Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods ; 
 Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks 
 With every gale and vary of their masters."— King Lear. 
 
 It was some five months after Joe Pumpagin had left 
 Montgomery, and gone off, — for the last time, so far as is 
 now known to this history, — that a sharp-featured, tall, and 
 precise-looking man made his appearance at Diller's Tavern. 
 He was apparently about forty-five years of age, and might 
 have passed for a clergyman, a lawyer, or a college-professor. 
 He had no ostensible business; and of course the gossips 
 were soon engaged in ferreting out who he was, and what he 
 wanted. His trunk was marked " S. Mettlar, Boston ; " and, 
 when Diller called him Mr. Mettlar, he answered to the 
 name as his own. He was a tall, thoughtful-looking man, 
 with silver-bowed spectacles; and he had sound, white teeth, 
 that from long practice he had learned to show whenever 
 he opened his mouth, so that he had a continued smirk 
 and smile on his face whenever he engaged in conversation. 
 He was apparently flush of money, and paid the servants 
 for any attentions showed him with a liberality quite un- 
 usual. He had that characteristic of his race, inquisitiveness, 
 which is far more agreeable than taciturnity to the gossips 
 and newsmongers of a New-England village. But he had 
 the more rare faculty of working the mental pump-handle 
 till he had exhausted the wells of knowledge in others with- 
 out saying any thing himself that could give an idea of 
 what he was seeking to discover. He secured the best 
 rooms in the Eagle, and did not ask the terms till he had 
 occupied them a week; and then he sent for his bill, and paid 
 it without objecting to an item : at which little Diller was 
 u exceedingly astonished ; for, excepting Joe Pumpagin, it 
 was a thing he had seldom known before. 
 
46 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 The stranger was prompt to make acquaintance with the 
 people of the village. He talked with everybody. If there 
 was company in the bar-room, he was there, and always 
 ready to talk, and sharp at gleaning information of the place 
 by the most innocent, insinuating questions. Though neat 
 and precise in his dress, and evidently not " to the manner 
 born " of the country people whose confidences he sought 
 to cultivate, he yet mingled with them on the most familiar 
 terms ; and at the militia training, or in the crowds col- 
 lected around the stores and tavern of a Saturday afternoon, 
 he was always in the thickest of the crowd, and ready to 
 drink the New-England rum or potato whiskey with the 
 dryest, and always insisted on paying the score. On several 
 occasions he had met Squire Gomery, and had endeavored 
 to make his acquaintance. But the lawyer at once detected 
 something forbidding and sinister in the man's character, and 
 allowed neither familiarity nor acquaintance. To allay suspi- 
 cion, the stranger gave out that he was in bad health, and 
 had come up into the country to get the fresh air of the 
 hills, and recuperate his shattered system. But Mrs. Diller, 
 who suspected mischief, told him plainly that his appetite 
 was wonderful for a sick man; and he then said he was 
 seeking materials for a book on the early history of New 
 England. This report being given out, he found people 
 very communicative, and willing to furnish all they knew, 
 and a great deal more. They were growing suspicious of 
 his curiosity in prying into the private history of the dif- 
 ferent families ; but, as soon as it was reported that he was 
 to write a book, they were eager to tell all about the won- 
 derful deeds of their ancestors, incited thereto by the hope 
 of honorable mention in the forthcoming volume. They 
 now saw in the stranger one who could confer immortal 
 fame upon them, and were eager enough to ingratiate them- 
 selves with him. But, however the conversation might 
 begin, he was sure to lead his interlocutors to talk about 
 the early traditions of Gault's Hill. Every morning, when 
 the weather was fair, he would sally forth from his room in 
 the inn, and call upon some of the oldest settlers of the 
 place, and gather from them the floating stories of its early 
 history. These had wonderfully increased with time ; and 
 the many versions of the terrible Gault tragedy sadly con- 
 fused him in his efforts to learn the truth. Some said that 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 47 
 
 the whole family had been killed; some, that the wife 
 of Gault was an old friend and sweetheart of the British 
 officer in command of the soldiers, and was a party to the 
 conspiracy ; had fled with him to England, and there mar- 
 ried him, lived like a great lady, and had a large family of 
 children. Others, again, said there was a tradition of a 
 boy who was not killed, but was roaming over the earth 
 in disguise as an avenging spirit that would never allow a 
 moment's rest to the perpetrator of the deed. Still others 
 said that the boy who had escaped the massacre had after- 
 wards died; as it was quite evident, that, had he been alive, 
 he would have come back, and claimed the property left by 
 his father. In regard to the fate of the girl, there were 
 nearly as many stories as in regard to that of the boy. But 
 the most current was, that she had been taken away, and 
 lived to grow up with the Indians, and was seen, years after, 
 a haggard, crazy, decrepit woman, wandering about the 
 hill at the dusk of evening ; but she could never be ap- 
 proached near enough to be spoken to, as she vanished into 
 the thicket at the first sound of footsteps, shunning the 
 human race like a wild fawn or a fox. Some said that she 
 was always accompanied by a large she-bear; but as no 
 tracks of such an animal had ever been seen, though dili- 
 gently searched for after each reported appearance of the 
 strange pair, it was generally considered that the bear was 
 only an illusion, or imaginary creature conjured up by the 
 fears of the witnesses. Among most people, a vague super- 
 stition lingered for a long time about Gault's Hill; and 
 even the bravest and most sceptical could never pass certain 
 places of a dark night without calling to mind the sad 
 history of its first settlement; and an unusual noise or 
 movement of an unseen animal in the bushes in the vicinity 
 of the hill would cause an expression like " Gault's daughter 
 is about," or, " The girl and the bear are prowling round," to 
 escape from the lips of the belated passer-by. 
 
 But whether the daughter of the murdered Gault was 
 alive or not, or whether, if alive, she occasionally appeared 
 in the vicinity of the hill, it was said by all that a strange 
 figure had been accustomed in times past to make its ap- 
 pearance in the dusk of the evening, and watch the house ; 
 but whether it was a man or woman, savage or civilized, no 
 one could tell. The tracks of this person had frequently 
 
48 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 been seen, and they were so very peculiar, that they were 
 instantly recognized ; though sometimes the feet that made 
 them had been bare, and at other times wore moccasons. 
 But the tracks showed that the feet of the straggler were 
 generally bare : they always had, whether bare or covered, 
 one peculiar feature that proved their identity. The print 
 of the right foot was not so deep as that of the left, and 
 was always at right angles with it ; the toe of the right, 
 whenever the person seemed to be standing still, invariably 
 pointing from the hollow of the other. 
 
 There was no tradition that Gault's daughter was de- 
 formed in the feet : on the contrary, like all unhappy damsels 
 of whom little or nothing is known, she was said to have been 
 a young girl possessed of all the graces, and of that angelic 
 beauty which is always fatal to its possessor. It is a myste- 
 rious order of things that kills off the unnaturally good be- 
 fore any but their friends and biographers have discovered 
 their rare qualities, and remorselessly strangles the angelic 
 beauties before they have been debased by vulgar eyes. 
 Like the child-pig of Elia, they are snatched away " ere sin 
 can blight or sorrow fade ; " and are not allowed to grow up 
 either to man, woman, or hog hood. 
 
 But the traditions of her infantile perfections were not 
 conclusive that the mysterious tracks were not hers ; for some 
 said, that, after she was stolen away, she had been mutilated 
 by the Indians. The footprints were too large, too broad 
 across the joints of the toes, for a white man; and to sup- 
 pose they could be those of a white woman, especially one 
 so fair and delicate as Gault's daughter, was considered ab- 
 surd. Hence the evidence, as it appeared to the investi- 
 gator, was against the re-appearance of the child at the 
 scene of the massacre. 
 
 Seth Mettlar, while contriving to revive the fading tradi- 
 tions of Gault's Hill, and to induce the people of Mont- 
 gomery to rehearse all they had heard, dreamed, or imagined 
 in regard to its early history, carefully treasured up every 
 thing he heard. But, at this period of time, he could learn 
 little that was positive or satisfactory. None of the resi- 
 dents of the village knew any thing of the circumstances of 
 the massacre of the Gaults, except what they had heard from 
 others who knew little more than themselves of the facts of 
 that dreadful crime. So this searcher after truth enlarged 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 49 
 
 the sphere of his investigations, and inquired who were the 
 first settlers of the town, and who had ever known person- 
 ally any thing of the unfortunate family. But, to his discom- 
 fiture, he learned that Gault was the pioneer settler in that 
 region, and was killed, and the grass had grown for one 
 season at least over his grave, before any other of the early 
 settlers had come into the vicinity. After Gault, he learned 
 that the next settler was Asa Fisher ; and both he and his 
 wife had long since paid the debt of nature ; and not one of 
 their children was left in Montgomery, but all, with that pro- 
 pensity to " move on " so characteristic of the genuine Yan- 
 kee, had gone farther back into still newer settlements. 
 Henry, the youngest son, whose defence of the religion and 
 character of Gomery of Montgomery may be recollected, 
 had moved away about a year before the advent of this an- 
 tiquarian. The oldest daughter, now an old woman, had 
 married near forty years before, and had settled in a town 
 some forty miles to the north of Montgomery, where she 
 bore her husband a goodly number of sons and daughters. 
 These, too, were all grown up, and married off. Her husband 
 had passed to the undiscovered country; and the widow 
 was living with her oldest daughter on the same farm that 
 her husband had redeemed from the forest. 
 
 Seth Mettlar resolved to go and see this ancient dame, as 
 it seemed that she was more likely than any one in Mont- 
 gomery to have the earliest traditions of the neighborhood. 
 In seeking for some one who had lived in the same town 
 with her, he found that the young wife of Jason Lewis was 
 a native of the same place, and had known her from child- 
 hood. From her he learned that the old lady was very fee- 
 ble, having had a paralytic attack a year before that left her 
 helpless in body, though her memory of the early times was 
 in no way impaired. 
 
 With this resolution of consulting this aged woman, Seth 
 Mettlar hired the steady, fast-trotting nag of Deacon Spinney, 
 which he mounted early of a morning, and rode away, with 
 the distant town of Ridgeway for his destination, and with- 
 out informing any one of the object of his journey. This 
 reticence was regarded as gross treachery on his part by 
 many of his most valuable acquaintances; and some of them 
 said, that, if they had known beforehand that he was going 
 to Ridgeway, they could have given him directions that 
 
 VOL. II. 6 
 
50 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 would have insured him a better road, and saved him miles 
 of travel, and this, too, without knowing what road he had 
 taken. By good riding, which was harder on himself than 
 on the horse he bestrode, he reached Ridgeway at sunset on 
 the same day ; and, as he was approaching that part of the 
 town known sometimes as the " Village," and sometimes as 
 the "Corner," he chanced to observe a boy driving some 
 cows from an opening close by, towards the highway. He 
 did not like to inquire directly for the house he sought ; for 
 then the people there, if they should learn of it, would be 
 apt to inquire about his business with them. So he began 
 beating about the bush, commencing his conversation in 
 this manner : — 
 
 " Well, my lad, what is your name ? " 
 
 « Peltire." 
 
 "Pelatiah?" 
 
 "Yes; Peltire Staples: but they call me Pell-mell for 
 short." Just at this moment, a young heifer made a dash 
 towards the bushes ; and young Pelatiah started to head her 
 off, singing to himself, " Pell-mell, and you may go to hell." 
 
 The youth soon came up again alongside of Seth ; and, as 
 he walked along beside the horse, he stared at the rider as 
 though he were some natural curiosity. "What is your 
 father's name ? " inquired Seth. 
 
 " Sullivan. What's yours ? " 
 
 "Sullivan?" 
 
 " Yes : Sullivan Staples. That is our house up there on 
 the ridge. We put up travellers sometimes. Only two and 
 thrippence for supper, breakfast, and lodging. Horse only 
 ninepence for hay, and ninepence more for oats. Better 
 stop, old man ! " 
 
 " Sullivan Staples," mused Seth to himself. " This must 
 be the house, then, that I wanted to find. I think so : but 
 I am not certain ; for nobody was quite sure who the old 
 woman's daughter married. Some said it was a Sullivan ; 
 but then Jason Lewis's wife said it was a Staples, and here 
 are the two names both together. Boy, are your folks 
 well?" 
 
 "Well enough: why?" 
 
 " Are your father and mother well ? " 
 
 "Agreed." 
 
 " How is your grandmother ? * 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY, 51 
 
 " None the better for you." 
 
 " You are a sharp lad." 
 
 "Ami? Tell news, will ye ? " 
 
 By this time they reached the house, and turned up to the 
 door. The sharp boy's mother was standing in the doorway ; 
 and Seth rode up, and asked if he could get entertainment 
 for himself and horse for the night. 
 
 " Certainly," said the woman : " we always keep travellers. 
 Pel, you good-for-nothin' creeter, why don't you take the 
 gentleman's boss?" 
 
 " Come in Mr., will you ? and sit down by the fire : it is 
 getting right chilly." 
 
 The traveller followed the good woman into the house ; and 
 his eyes were gladdened at the sight of an old woman, sitting 
 staring in the corner, mumbling, and bobbing her head, and 
 looking blear and curious at his approach. 
 
 The thrifty grand-daughter of Asa Fisher soon had an 
 abundant repast for her guest, who, directly on entering, had 
 commenced conversation with the old woman, whose con- 
 fidence he had won by addressing her as grandmother, and 
 shaking her heartily by the hand. 
 
 Taking his seat at the table, on which the hostess had set 
 a platter of cold boiled beef, and potatoes, turnips, carrots, 
 and cabbage, some brown-bread made of mixed rye and corn 
 meal, an apple-pie and a pot of tea, with rich cream and 
 brown sugar, the traveller resumed his conversation with 
 the old woman. 
 
 "And how long have you lived in this place, grand- 
 mother?" 
 
 " Well, it is nigh on to forty year. I was goin' on past 
 one and twenty when I was married to Goin — Goin — Goin 
 Gordon was my husband's name ; but he is dead now, more 
 than ten year ago : and so I live with my darter Betsey here, 
 who married Sullivan Staples, him as was son of Cap'n Sta- 
 ples, that fit in the Revolution." 
 
 " Then you were not born in this place ?" 
 , " Lord a marcy ! When I was born, there wan't no soul this 
 side of Montgomery Village. My feyther was the first settler 
 in all them parts arter David Gault, — him as was killed by the 
 British and Indians." 
 
 " How ! killed! what for? Tell me, my good woman, all 
 about it." 
 
52 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 "What! didn't you never hear about how they was all 
 murdered up there on Gault's Hill as it used to be called? 
 now called Montgomery. I wasn't born then ; but I have 
 heerd my feyther and mother talk it over more'n a thousand 
 times. You see Gault was a man as come from Taunton or 
 Hampton or Gloucester, or some of them parts to the west'ard ; 
 and he had a good log-house and was doin' well, and had a 
 wife as they said was a beauty, and two childer." 
 
 " Only one child, mother," interupted her daughter, the 
 mistress of the house. 
 
 " No, Betsey : there was two childer, I have heard my fey- 
 ther say, — one a boy, and one a gal ; but them Welch's folks 
 said as how one on 'em was not at home at the time when 
 liis pa and ma was killed, but was away off to the west'ard 
 with some of his aunts. But I don't know nothin' about 
 that. My feyther said the house had ghosts in it ; and I have 
 heard a' many travellers come along and stay there, and tell 
 the same story of ghosts and awful noises. And such a pret- 
 ty woman they all saw by the fire, and the man too, and the 
 little girl, and the guns and sich noises, and then — I dunno 
 all." 
 
 "The boy, you say, was not killed ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! Them as seen the ghosts never seen no boy ; and 
 I 'spect it was true that he was gone off at the time to his 
 aunts; for he was never heard on in all them parts arterwards." 
 
 "You never knew where his relatives lived, did you ? " 
 
 " Well I a'inost forgot. But yet a' remember. Once, a 
 good bit arterwards, when I was as old as that gal there, — that 
 gal with a tidy ; she was named arter me, Jerusha ; and I gin 
 her a dollar when she was a year old, a silver dollar, and she 
 has got it now. Jerusha, can't you show the gentleman your 
 dollar?" 
 
 " Oh ! never mind about that, my good woman : what were 
 you saying about Gault's relations ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! so I was. I think they was somewhere from 
 Gloucester: and yet I don't seem to know, nuther; for it 
 'pears to me I've hearn they come from Nor'hampton ; and 
 Reuben Richards's wife, she that was Ruth Welch, said how 
 she see a man once that passed through the village, and he said 
 he knowed him when he was a young man, and long afore he 
 had ever seen Gault's Hill. Lord a marcy ! it would ha' been 
 well if he'd never seen it ; and so, too, poor Robert Gom«-y, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 53 
 
 feyther of the square, him as was froze to death in sight of his 
 own winder. I remember all about that. I was older than 
 I was when I was younger and littler. And we all cried so! 
 for Mr. Gomery, the square's feyther, was a proper good man. 
 Oh, dear ! what a time it was ! He was froze to death the same 
 night he left our house." 
 
 "Then you think that the boy that was not killed lived 
 with his aunts at Northampton or Gloucester? " 
 
 " Well, I misremember which. My feyther thought so ; 
 and Ruth Welch, she that married Reuben Richards, — she 
 said that the man she seen told how he knowed him in Glou- 
 cester. And just after my feyther moved on to his place, and 
 two months before I was born, there was a man from Bos- 
 ton come and stopped at our house ; and he said he was a 
 brother of poor Mrs. Gault that was killed. His name was 
 Grover or Governor, or some sich name ; but I wasn't born 
 then, and I can't remember. My memory is not so good as 
 some is." 
 
 "He came from Boston, you say?" 
 
 "Well, I misremember that too; fori wasn't born then. 
 He talked a great deal about Boston, and a great great deal 
 about Gloucester too, — so my feyther said; and he knew a 
 sight of folks my feyther knew, for he came from near Glou- 
 cester." 
 
 The old woman's ideas were evidently confused, and her 
 memory hazy; but Seth Mettlar was convinced that the 
 Gaults had emigrated, before the war, from either Northamp- 
 ton or Gloucester in Massachusetts. The conversation, thus 
 far, had been carried on entirely between himself and the 
 old woman, while he was eating his supper. Jerusha had 
 stood all the time in the chimney-corner, staring at the 
 stranger as if transfixed by his presence. Pelatiah had been 
 engaged in building cob-houses in one corner, where his 
 father, who had just gone to a neighbor's, had been shelling 
 corn during the afternoon. This was the information he 
 had come to seek; and so eager had he been to catch every 
 word the old woman uttered, that he scarcely tasted the 
 coarse, wholesome food that he had swallowed. As he was 
 rising from the table, the goodman of the house came in ; and, 
 having already learned from the old woman all she probably 
 knew of the Gaults and their history, he began to talk with 
 the host about the condition, history, and prospects of Ridge- 
 
 6* 
 
54 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 way. In less than an hour, the motions and signs of his host- 
 ess clearly intimated that it was time for him to retire. 
 Being satisfied, that, though he were to stay a week longer, 
 he would learn little more of the matter that had brought 
 him to the place, he told his entertainer (whom he addressed 
 as Cap'n Staples) that he would be off betimes in the morn- 
 ing, and ride as far as Tavish's before breakfast. The host 
 promised to feed his horse at half-past three in the morning, 
 and call him at half-past four. 
 
 He was as good as his word ; for our friend Seth seemed to 
 have hardly fallen asleep when he was aroused by his host, 
 who told him it was past four o'clock, and breakfast was 
 ready. He arose immediately; and on coming into the 
 kitchen, which served as kitchen, dining-room, and sitting- 
 room, he found the family breakfast on the table, and cer- 
 tainly abundant and wholesome, if not elegant or dainty. 
 He at once determined to take his breakfast before setting 
 out, and not trouble Tavish's people. 
 
 " Jerusha," said the mother, "show the gentleman where 
 to wash ; and here, you jade, take this clean towel with you ! " 
 
 The girl thus addressed led the way to a large trough, a 
 few yards from the house, full of running water; then, point- 
 ing to a dish of soft soap, she laid down her towel, and ran 
 back into the house. 
 
 The guest now laved himself in the cool, clear, limpid 
 water; and then, returning to the house, sat down with the 
 family, and made a substantial breakfast. This done, he 
 asked for his bill ; and, being told that it was three and six- 
 pence, he paid it without grumbling, and then gave a cent 
 to each of the children, except Jerusha, — to her he gave 
 a fourpence. 
 
 Ere sunset, he was back to Montgomery, to the great sur- 
 prise of his acquaintances there, who were discussing in dif- 
 ferent circles the reason of his sudden departure. 
 
 The next day, he asked little Diller for his bill, and said he 
 should take the stage the following morning on his way back 
 to Boston. The new*s soon spread through the village that 
 the mysterious stranger was going away, and would leave in 
 the stage the next day. Several desperate attempts were, ac- 
 cordingly, made to learn the object of his visit there; but he 
 gave no satisfaction to any, except that he sajd he should be 
 back again before long, and they should certainly hear from 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 55 
 
 him again. So he departed, and no one was the wiser; 
 though it seemed to be felt, rather than seen, that he had 
 been there for no good purpose. 
 
 Within two weeks after the departure of the inquisitive and 
 mysterious visitor from the village of Montgomery, the same 
 industrious antiquary could have been seen in the old town 
 of Northampton, where he made himself familiar, equally as 
 in the former place, with everybody who would talk with 
 him ; giving out the same idea, — that he was an historian : for 
 which reason he sought the society of the oldest inhabitants, 
 and inquired of them the early events of the town's history. 
 He soon learned that there had been a family of Gaults in 
 the place long before ; but not one of the name was left. 
 The story of the massacre at Gault's Hill was generally 
 known, however, to both old and young ; having been hand- 
 ed down from one generation to another, like many other 
 traditions of the suffering and wrongs of the pioneers of 
 the forest. But though there were many people in the place 
 who could tell all the particulars of that bloody deed, and 
 more than we know of (who know all), yet so vague was 
 their knowledge, and so made up of different stories and 
 traditions was their information, that no one of them had 
 any distinct idea where Gault's Hill was. Some thought it 
 was away up in Vermont ; others, in the eastern part of 
 Maine ; though many inclined to the opinion that it must be 
 in Massachusetts, and pretty well toward the eastern shore, 
 as only there, in all this wide country, were witches, hobgob- 
 lins, and disembodied spirits ever known for a certainty to 
 show their unwelcome, unearthly, incorporeal forms. Old 
 Gen. Sturgis, son of that Gen. Sturgis who "fit the Brit- 
 ish," w Y as now well stricken in years ; for, at the time of the 
 battle of Bunker's Hill, he was a lad in trousers. He had 
 often heard his father tell the story of Gault's ghosts ; and 
 being now old, independent in his worldly affairs, and living 
 in the best house in the place, he was looked up to as a sort 
 of oracle, second only to that great Dr. Edwards, who, after 
 having proved incontestably, and much to their consolation, 
 that the most of the world would inevitably be damned, 
 had long rested from his labors. The old general was 
 a man of great benevolence of heart, but somewhat vain 
 and pompous ; and was often to be seen in the most public 
 
56 GOMEEY OP MONTGOMEEY : 
 
 places, such as the town-hall, the bar-room of the principal 
 hotel, with spectacles sometimes on nose, and sometimes 
 across his ample forehead, "in fair, round belly," with his 
 gold-headed cane in his hand, entertaining his admiring 
 towns-people with talk suited to their taste or capacity. 
 He was not particular who his auditors were, if they only 
 listened admiringly to his wise sayings. 
 
 This was exactly the man whom Seth Mettlar would be 
 sure to encounter soon after his arrival ; and he was the man, 
 of all others, who could impart to him most of the informa- 
 tion which he sought. The first day after Seth's arrival, as 
 he was questioning the landlord of the hotel in regard to 
 the condition and prospects of the town, the veteran general 
 came in ; and the landlord, knowing how much the brigadier 
 prided himself on his knowledge of the early history of the 
 country, turned his guest over to him. They at once fell 
 into a long conversation ; and the subaltern adroitly led the 
 superior to talk upon such subjects as most interested him- 
 self. 
 
 "You have lived a long time here, general?" said Seth. 
 
 "Yes: I was born here. I know, I may say, as much 
 about this part of the country as any man in it." . 
 
 " Indeed ! I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I 
 am engaged in writing a history of the early settlements of 
 New England ; and that business is what has brought me 
 here now." 
 
 " You have come to the right man ; I may say, the foun- 
 tain-head. Yes, I was born in this town ; and, when I was 
 five years old, my father and mother went to Boston on a 
 visit, and took me with them : and, while there, the battle of 
 Bunker Hill took place ; and my father fit in it, and got 
 wounded in the leg. I can remember standing on top of my 
 uncle's house, and watching with my mother all that long 
 day. My father sent us back to Nor'hampton ; but he staid, 
 and never even came to see us for two year. He was a 
 brigadier-general before the war was over. I trust you will 
 not fail to do honor and justice to the Sturgis Family in your 
 history." 
 
 "It will be my special object to do that," replied Seth. 
 " Are there many more families in the place whose ancestors 
 distinguished themselves in the Revolution?" 
 
 " Several j but none so much as the Sturgises." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 0< 
 
 " Isn't there a family of the name of Gault here ? " 
 
 "Gault, Gault? I don't know of any such ; and, if there 
 were any such, I should certainly know it. The only Gault 
 Family that I ever heard of in these parts was that of 
 Alpheus Gault; and they have been gone from here ever 
 since I was a boy." 
 
 " Had he a family of children ? " 
 
 "If I recollect right, one son and two daughters. The 
 daughters married a year or two before the old folks moved 
 away ; and both went to live in Deerfield, some forty miles 
 from here to the north. The son I remember well, both on 
 account of his being a young man of great enterprise and 
 promise, and by reason of the sad fortune that overtook 
 him." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Seth, his eyes brightening, as he now believed 
 he was on the track of the first settler on Gault's Hill. 
 "What was that?" 
 
 " Well, it was so long ago, that I don't remember all the 
 particulars ; but young Gault had married the daughter of 
 old Godfrey Cargill, the richest man in the town at that time. 
 The old man was violently opposed to the match ; for he was 
 very proud of his daughter (and certainly Jane Cargill was 
 the handsomest girl, at that time, in all this part of the 
 country) ; and, as old Godfrey was rich, he expected she 
 would marry at least a governor, judge, or member of Con- 
 gress. But Gault's father was known to be poor; and, what 
 was worse, he was heavily in debt to Cargill, who revenged 
 himself by foreclosing the mortgage which he held of his 
 farm, and turning him into the street. Old Mr. Gault was a 
 very worthy citizen, and was probably the best informed and 
 most generally respected of any man in the town. But he 
 was poor; and that was enough for Cargill. He roundly 
 rated his daughter for marrying a pauper ; so that the poor 
 girl begged her husband to take her away. Young Gault, 
 who had got a few hundred dollars ahead, was able to get 
 enough more, so as to pay off the debt to Cargill ; but the 
 old man would not listen to it : so it was agreed that old 
 Mr. Gault (his wife had been dead for some years) should go 
 and live with his daughter at Deerfield, and young Gault 
 and his wife would seek out an Arcadian home in the wilder- 
 ness. But,. before starting for the forest, they went to visit 
 an elder and married sister of Jane, who lived in Gloucester." 
 
58 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 " Gloucester!" exclaimed Seth, as the narrative of the old 
 woman, relict of Goin Gordon of Ridgeway, flashed across 
 his mind. 
 
 Yes, Gloucester, I believe it is, where the elder sister lived. 
 She had married an old man there, — old enough to be her 
 father; but he was rich, and old Cargill approved the match. 
 The elder sister, Charlotte, did not approve of her father's 
 harshness towards Jane, and urged them very strongly to 
 settle in Gloucester ; and her husband offered to render any 
 needed assistance in starting them in life. But they had 
 resolved to go into the wilderness, and be dependent on no 
 one ; and so David Gault set forth alone to look out a choice 
 spot to settle on, leaving his wife with her sister while he 
 was away. He returned in about two months, and reported 
 that he had found the finest place in all New England, and 
 was eager to return to it ; for he said, that, if it should chance 
 to fall under the eye of any other person on the same errand, 
 it would surely be taken up before his return. But there 
 was a difficulty in the way of his immediate setting out; 
 and you will understand the nature of this difficulty, when I 
 tell you, that, two weeks after his return, his wife presented 
 him with a young Gault. As soon as the mother and child 
 were supposed to be able to endure the journey, they set forth 
 with their scanty effects for the deep, dark forest." 
 
 " Was this child a boy, or a girl?" inquired Seth. 
 
 "If I don't misremember, it was a boy. In fact, I know 
 it was a boy; for years after, when the story got abroad 
 how they had all been murdered, the elder sister came home 
 from Gloucester to her father's, and the affair was talked 
 about a great deal in this place. She took pains to send a 
 man away up there to learn all the particulars ; for, if I 
 don't mistake, she brought the boy, that was not murdered, 
 up here to his grandfather's. She told how her sister enjoyed 
 her life in the forest, and how her boy grew apace ; and 
 after a couple of years she had a little girl, and was so happy 
 in her home in the wilderness, that she never wanted to 
 leave it. Old Godfrey Cargill said little about the matter, 
 and never proposed making any inquiry in regard to poor 
 Jane's death. On the contrary, he told his other daughter, 
 Ruth, that she must send away from his house the surviving 
 son ; for he could never endure the sight of his disgraced 
 child ; that her punishment was a special judgment upon her 
 
A FAMILY fllSTOEY. 59 
 
 for disobedience to her father. Ruth told him that God 
 would punish him for his unnatural cruelty, and that she 
 would never darken his doors again. She left his house the 
 same day ; and, the next day being Sunday, the old man 
 sent a request to the clergyman that he might have the 
 prayers of the congregation, that the death of his daughter 
 might be sanctified to his spiritual and eternal welfare." 
 
 "And did the other daughter return to Gloucester with 
 the boy ? " 
 
 "So it was reported; and, the day after her return, her 
 husband died, and I believe she never married again. Old 
 Cargill soon after had a stroke of palsy, and lost his senses 
 to a great extent ; and it was piteous to hear him, in his pain 
 and weakness, call for Jane to return. Ah ! she could never 
 return again ; and though his other child broke her vow, and 
 came back to comfort him, the old man never ceased to wail, 
 and call for Jane, till he died " 
 
 " Did the widow continue to live in Gloucester after her 
 father's death?" 
 
 " Yes : I think so, at least. People said she never was the 
 woman she was before, after the murder of the Gaults. At 
 the time she was here, Parson Dickerson tried to console her 
 by telling her she should imitate the Christian resignation 
 and pious example of her father, who, instead of repining at 
 the Lord's doing, became more devout than ever, and gave 
 more liberally for the building-up of Zion than ever before. 
 When the minister talked to her thus, some thought she was 
 crazy, she went on so. She arraigned her own father for 
 cruelty and pride, that drove her sister to the wilderness, 
 where she miserably perished by the hand of the savage ; 
 and she cursed the parson to his face for his acquiescence in 
 the old man's unnatural conduct. He was greatly scandal- 
 ized at this burst of passion, and threatened to send a letter 
 to the church at Gloucester, recommending the expulsion of 
 so refractory a member; but some of his parishioners warned 
 him that the less said on that subject the better, and that, if 
 it were to become a matter of general notoriety and discus- 
 sion, they must withdraw from all connection that might 
 seem to approve his course." 
 
 " But the boy — what became of him ? " 
 
 " He never came here again, and we lost sight of them all ; 
 for you must know that it was a great while ago. There 
 
60 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY I 
 
 was a great deal of talk about it at the time ; for it was a 
 strange and very dreadful affair." 
 
 " Do you remember the name of this sister's husband ? " 
 
 " I only remember, that, when she was here the last time, 
 she was called the Widow Carver." 
 
 " And she never married again ? " 
 
 " It strikes me you are very curious about the matter, if I 
 may be allowed to say so, stranger." 
 
 " The truth of history," replied Seth with an air of great 
 gravity, " requires us to be very thorough in our searches ; 
 and, before leaving, I shall be as particular in gathering up 
 other facts of importance in regard to the early history of 
 other families. In cases like this, I must rely on verbal 
 traditions ; but in a family like yours, containing men of 
 eminence, it is easy to get from them the family records ; 
 and, if I could persuade you to give me a brief history of your 
 family, I shall be most happy to incorporate it into my 
 book." 
 
 " I shall be most happy to do it," said the general, draw- 
 ing himself up with towering dignity : " I will have it ready 
 for you before your departure ; or, if not, I will send it to 
 your address in Boston." 
 
 The general now rose, and, shaking the historian by the 
 hand, walked out of the hotel, feeling a foot taller than when 
 he entered. He did not doubt that he had now taken a 
 bond and mortgage on fame and immortality. 
 
 No sooner had he left, however, than the Boston antiquary 
 said to himself, that he thought he had got all the informa- 
 tion required in regard to the Gaults, and would leave the 
 gallant general to compose his Memoir of the Sturgis Family 
 at his leisure. Accordingly, that same afternoon, he com- 
 menced his journey back to Boston; and, three days after, 
 he was ensconced as a guest in the Massasoit House in 
 Gloucester. Here his first inquiry was for the Widow Carver ; 
 but the landlord told him that there was no such person then 
 living in Gloucester. 
 
 "No such person?" said he. 
 
 " No, sir : the only Widow Carver that I ever knew in this 
 place has been dead for years. She had a nice property left 
 her by her husband, Solon Carver, who died a great while 
 ago; but she would never marry again, though she had some 
 excellent offers. Truth is, stranger, confidentially, — but I beg 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 61 
 
 you won't mention it, — my first wife died- soon after Solon 
 failed to come to dinner, and ah ! — well I say nothing ; but 
 I think she might have done worse." 
 
 Seth saw at once that his host was blessed with a garru- 
 lous, tell-tale tongue, and it would be easy to draw from 
 him all he knew of any and every body. So he determined 
 to take his ease at the Massasoit, and watch his opportunity 
 for getting the desired information. He talked freely with 
 the landlord, and, with his usual affability and tact, made 
 the acquaintance of the people of the village, who at that 
 time, when it was respectable both to drink and to sell strong 
 drink at retail, used to congregate at the village tavern. 
 
 On learning that the "Widow Carver was dead, Seth 
 thought it entirely safe to evince a high degree of interest 
 in her history; for no one would probably question his object 
 or motives. But he found the landlord of the Massasoit the 
 most intelligent and communicative of all whom he ques- 
 tioned, as it is a part of the business of the host of a country 
 tavern to know all about his neighbors. If he is competent 
 for his high and honorable calling, he is a living epitome of 
 history, as well as a walking newspaper, carrying in his head 
 all the rumors of the day, and prepared at all times to regale 
 his guests on old legends and recent events ; while his help- 
 meet's care is that they shall be regaled on things more sub- 
 stantial : the former are thrown in gratis, while the latter are 
 charged in the bill. 
 
 Having made this estimate of the jolly landlord of the 
 Massasoit, Seth Mettlar sought an early opportunity to draw 
 him aside, and question him about the Widow Carver. 
 
 " Did she leave any children ? " he asked. 
 
 " Not a child. She never had but one of her own, and 
 that died young." 
 
 " Had she any with her ever that were not her own ? — any 
 nephews or nieces ? " 
 
 " Yes : she had the most mischievous little devil of a 
 nephew that ever cut up shines in all these parts. He was 
 a good-natured little cuss too : but he was up to more tricks 
 than all the rest of the boys in town ; and, by George ! he 
 came near ruining my house." 
 
 "How was that?" 
 
 " Why, you see, one Fourth of July we was having a cele- 
 bration here; but it was a great while ago, and when I 
 
62 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 hadn't kept the Massasoit so long at I have now: I have 
 kept it more'n forty year. That is a great while for a man to 
 keep the same hotel in this country ; but, in some of these 
 old towns near the seacoast, we don't change about so much 
 as they do in other parts. Well, as I was saying, it was the 
 Fourth of July, and we was having a celebration here ; and 
 we had an oration by the great Mr. Quincy from Boston. 
 We had a procession and a cannon and music ; and we 
 had a long table in front of the house, and a grove to shade 
 it. And we got up the dinner here at the Massasoit; 
 though not this house, either ; for I rebuilt the house a few 
 years after ; but I have had the same sign always that you 
 can see now. I have it taken down, furbished up, and painted 
 every two years. Now, this was in the time of my first wife : 
 she is dead now, poor woman ! She died a year or two after 
 this ; and you can see her grave in the churchyard : the 
 gravestones cost me fourteen dollars. She was great on 
 making beefsteak and chicken-pies. Whenever she was ex- 
 pecting any of the great folks from Boston, she always had 
 one with a top-crust that would melt in your mouth. Now, 
 on this occasion, she had two of the best chicken-pies she 
 could possibly make set on the table ; one before the orator : 
 he was a senator in Congress too, from Boston; and he 
 had a ruffled shirt and gold-headed cane, and silver buckles 
 on his shoes. Well, the other pie was set before Parson 
 Dwight ; and my wife she knowed he was mighty fond of 
 her chicken-pie, and had made this one rich as cream on his 
 account ; and what do you think that little cuss did ? " 
 
 " I hope he did not steal the pies." 
 
 " Steal 'em ! A thousand times worse than that. That 
 morning, when they was all ready to be put in the oven, and 
 was standing in the back part of the kitchen, he starts a fire 
 of shavings in the porch ; and my wife, and the hired gals, 
 and all, thought the house was afire, and run out to put it 
 out; and just then he stole in, and, lifting up the kivers of 
 them two pies, he stole out the wings of the chickens, and in 
 their place put two little dead kittens just born." 
 
 " That was a sad joke ! Did you catch him in the act ? " 
 
 " Catch him, catch him ! — catch a weasel asleep ! He was 
 too sharp for that. We never found it out till the pies was 
 baked and put on the table. There was a lot of the great 
 Boston men here besides the orator. The Quincys, the Win- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 63 
 
 throps, the Appletons, the Otises, the Peabodys, were as 
 thick as huckleberries that day ; and they come down in 
 their fine carriages, and took up all the best rooms in the 
 house. That day was a proud one for my wife. She knowed 
 nobody in Boston could make such chicken-pies as she did ; 
 and she sot up stairs so as to look down on the long table. 
 I re'ly believe she thought that Independence Day had been 
 made on purpose, so that she could^how the Boston folks her 
 chicken-pies. She was a very good woman ; but she hadn't 
 much learnin', and didn't know that it was all to save the 
 country. The table ran along near the house ; and the presi- 
 dent of the day, old Judge Bates, sat right opposite her win- 
 dow, with the orator on one side, and Parson Dwight on the 
 other. Fact is, stranger, I was a little curis myself to see how 
 the dinner would pass off; and, after they was all sot down to 
 the table, I run up stairs, and stood looking out of the win- 
 dow over my wife's shoulders while the parson was askin' 
 the blessin'. When he came to pray that they might all be 
 thankful for all God's mercies, and especially be duly grateful 
 for the repast spread before them, I could hear my wife mut- 
 terin', ' You may well be grateful ; for you don't get such a 
 dinner as that every day! ' It was true enough, but in a way 
 she little suspected. Her pride was bound to have a fall. 
 She thought the grace very short ; but she excused it, as she 
 supposed the parson was in haste to get his knife into the 
 chicken-pie. But first came the roast beef and the roast 
 lamb. She noticed that Parson Dwight hardly tasted either. 
 She knowed what he was waitin' for. She was in haste for 
 the moment of her triumph, and did not doubt that no sooner 
 were the pies tasted than they would forget all about savin' 
 the nation, and leave it to Tom Jefferson and destruction. 
 
 " But now the plates have been changed ; and the orator 
 himself proceeds to cut the pie that is before him. He cuts 
 out and lays on his plate a big junk ; and now, stranger, im- 
 agine, if you can, how he looked, how I looked, how Parson 
 Dwight looked, how my wife looked, when he took the slice 
 on his plate, and, instead of a leg or wing of a chicken, there 
 rolled out from under the crust the head of a young kitten ! 
 All saw it, — all them Bostoners and all. My wife she gave 
 a scream, and some of the folks began smashing the plates in 
 their fury. But the orator jumped up, and cried out that 
 ' some democrat had evidently been inside the pie, thinking it 
 
64 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 the Federal treasury, and had sneaked out, and forgot his 
 head. If there was any Jeffersonian present, he would please 
 come forward and claim it.' This sally served to calm the 
 tumult for a time, and the guests at the other part of the 
 table resumed their knives and forks ; and Parson Dwight, 
 who had asked the blessing, could not doubt that what was 
 under his reverend nose must be free from any thing ' com- 
 mon or unclean ; ' and so Ke began to cut into the chicken-pie 
 that stood before hmi, its rich, flaky crust, of which he well 
 knew the flavor, tempting him to alacrity. The eyes of all 
 near him were upon him ; for a suspicion was lurking in their 
 minds that another kitten might have been sacrificed for this 
 day's celebration. But the first slice, as it was lifted from the 
 pan, or nappy, dispelled all fear. The parson took a liberal 
 slice to himself; but he could not wait to serve the others, 
 but pushed the dish along to Judge Bates, president of the 
 day, who first helped the orator, and then helped all those 
 near him, and at last took a slice himself, and pushed back 
 the dish in front of Parson Dwight, who, by this time, had 
 nearly disposed of his first allotment. My wife, by this time, 
 had recovered herself in part, and was listening, with all her 
 ears, for the comments of the guests. ' You have got some- 
 body here that knows how to make chicken-pie,' said the ora- 
 tor. * That is so,' said several others. ' Very good, consid- 
 ering' said Parson Dwight ; his mouth so full he could hardly 
 speak, as he crammed in the remainder on his plate, and 
 reached out to secure the dish before any one else should get 
 a chance to repeat. 
 
 " « Good, considering' muttered my wife : ■ I wish it would 
 choke him!' 
 
 " The parson drew the nappy towards him, and yet about 
 one-quarter of the pie was unbroken. He laid a chicken's 
 leg on his plate, and a large piece of crust, and then inserted 
 the spoon under the remaining crust to fish out another sa- 
 vory morsel. Egad, stranger ! he caught it ; for he drew 
 forth another kitten, that had evidently never lifted its inno- 
 cent eyes to the light of day. 
 
 " Stranger, I can't tell what happened after that. My wife 
 went off into fits ; and all the dishes on the table was broken 
 all to smash, and it was an awful row. You could have seen 
 all them Bostoners, and others who had eat of the pie, not 
 with fingers in their mouths, like boys caught stealing, but 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 65 
 
 with fingers in their throats, trying to coax up the chicken- 
 pie. But, finding it loath to come iip, they sought to neutral- 
 ize the effect of kitten on the stomach by huge draughts of 
 brandy and Jamaica rum; and I think there were more 
 drunken people in Gloucester that night than there ever has 
 been since. It come nigh ruining my tavern ; and would, 
 but for the fact that people said it was Pickard's doings. 
 Pickard, he kept the other tavern ; and, being a Democrat, 
 folks said it was one of his tricks to get away my custom." 
 
 "Was it Pickard?" 
 
 " No : it was that scamp, the Widow Carver's nephew." 
 
 " What was his name ? " 
 
 "His name was Randolph Gault. But he was always 
 called Dolph. He was a queer-looking little cuss as ever 
 you see. He had the devil's own eye for mischief; and his 
 nose had been broken and turned up, so that his nostrils 
 looked like two worm-holes in a board*; and he always looked 
 so good-natured and full of fun, that everybody liked him in 
 spite of his mischief and tricks, except Parson Dwight. The 
 parson said he was an imp of Satan ; and they were always 
 at war ; and the boy never got the worst of it, you may be 
 sure. At last, matters came to a crisis when the good man 
 refused to let the schoolmaster have a certificate to keep 
 school till he promised to flog the mischief out of Dolph 
 Gault. When his aunt heard of this, she was in a great tan- 
 trum, — for she thought every thing of the boy, — and would 
 not let him go to school at all, and was turned out of the 
 church for it. 
 
 "That schoolmaster had a sorry time of it. Dolph set 
 all the other boys agin him, and they played all sorts of 
 pranks on him. He was the most ingenious cuss for mis- 
 chief. The schoolmaster never went to prayer-meetin' or 
 singin'-school that winter but what he lost his hat or cloak, 
 which was sure to be found the next morning near the house 
 of Dolly Turpie, who had twice been unfortunate, or, as she 
 expressed it, * fallen into sin.' It wasn't to spite me or my 
 wife, though, that the kittens was put into the pies : it was 
 to put the parson's nose out of joint." 
 
 " What became of this hopeful youth ? " 
 
 u He staid here with his aunt till about fourteen years 
 old; and then went to sea, and never come back." 
 
 " He probably died, then, long ago ? " 
 
 6* 
 
66 GOMEET OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 " No : I guess not. But folks thought he took to bad 
 ways, as his aunt nevej; said much about him. But she 
 used to get lots of presents from somebody, and queer pre- 
 sents they were too; such as sea-shells and fine feathers 
 and trinkets, such as Steve Martin — him that went to sea 
 — says they have way off in the South-Sea islands. Some- 
 times she received things that must have cost a great deal 
 of money: and Parson D wight said that Dolph had probably 
 turned pirate ; at which the widow was terribly indignant, 
 and said that her nephew was the best boy she ever knew." 
 
 " Was he never heard of again ? " 
 
 "No — yes: Steve Martin said he saw him in New York 
 once, and asked him if his name wasn't Dolph Gault, and he 
 
 said no : it was Joe ; well, I forget Joe what ; though 
 
 Steve said he knew it was nobody but Dolph Gault. " 
 
 « Where is this Steve Martin ? " 
 
 " He hasn't been heard on this four year. He was lost 
 at sea. The vessel he sailed in was never heard of after she 
 left Matanzas for Boston." 
 
 " Don't you think you could recollect the name he gave 
 him?" 
 
 " Well, I might ; but it was a curious, odd name. But I will 
 inquire : perhaps some of Steve's folks may recollect it." 
 
 " I have a great interest in this youth," said Seth. "He 
 was a relative of mine." 
 
 " Indeed ! I always said somebody would turn up, or that 
 he would come back and claim the property." 
 
 " What ! had he property ? " 
 
 " Yes : his aunt left him all her property (and it was a 
 good deal) if he should come back before the end of fifteen 
 year ; if not, the money was to go, half to the poor of this 
 place, and half to the poor of Nor'hampton." 
 
 "Did you ever know any thing about the early history of 
 this unfortunate child ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! everybody has heard of that. His father and 
 mother was killed by the Indians and British in the Revolu- 
 tionary War." 
 
 " It is the same. There is some property still for him if 
 he can be found ; but that seems scarcely possible. If you 
 will find out the name he goes by, I will pay you well ; and, 
 if he is ever found, I will pay you a hundred-dollar bill." 
 
 "I'll do my best; but, you know, it is a long time since 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 67 
 
 he left here. Some people said he used to come once in 
 a while, very secretly, in his aunt's lifetime ; and, when she 
 was questioned about it, she said Dolph knew his own busi- 
 ness, and, if other people would attend to theirs, it would 
 be just as well for them. She used to throw out dark hints, 
 though ; and, whenever any thing was said about the Gault 
 murder, she would repeat time after time, "Murder will 
 out ; murder will out ! ' " 
 
 After this conversation with the landlord of the Massasoit, 
 Seth Mettlar made further inquiries of other inhabitants 
 of Gloucester about the well -remembered youth, Dolph 
 Gault. But he could learn nothing about him more than 
 Boniface had told him. Even Steve Martin's folks could 
 not remember precisely what name he went by. It was 
 something like Pumpwater or Pumphandle, or something 
 with a pump to it ; but, whatever it was, the painstaking 
 Seth was satisfied he had pumped out all the information to 
 be had on the subject in the town of Gloucester, when he 
 had exhausted the knowledge of Paul Blossom, landlord of 
 the Massasoit. 
 
 The reader has already discovered before this that Seth 
 Mettlar is a bird of ill-omen. What is he hunting through 
 the country for in this mysterious manner ? It would be 
 good fortune, I suspect, for more than one person, whose 
 acquaintance we have made in this history, if he would 
 accidentally break his neck. But, as he will not do it, he 
 must be looked after ; for he is evidently plotting harm to 
 some of the most important characters we have yet encoun- 
 tered; and we must try and discover what it is he is plotting, 
 and why he is thus intruding his unwelcome presence. 
 
 Seth Mettlar called himself, and was called in the good 
 city of Boston, where he lived, a lawyer. He passed, too, 
 for a man of high respectability; for he was precise, me- 
 thodical, and outwardly correct. He had never been known 
 to wear but one suit of clothes for twenty years ; at least, 
 no one of his acquaintance could ever tell that the coat of 
 to-day was not the coat of yesterday, last week, or last year. 
 It was always a nice fitting dress-coat, neither too new nor 
 too old. How the transition from one fashion to another — 
 from the short waist, long skirt, and high, stiff collar, to 
 the lighter collar, long waist, and broader flaps — was effected, 
 no one knew. But he was always dressed so neatly, and 
 
68 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 yet so far in the rear of the latest fashion, that his outer 
 garb never attracted attention, and never diverted the eyes 
 of people to look at any part of him but his respectable 
 close - shaved, sandy -complexioned, slightly -rubicund face. 
 His hair was of that color, that, if it ever turns white, the 
 process is imperceptible, as it mellows into lighter shades 
 without revealing the white intruders that warn the pos- 
 sessor of raven locks of the passing years. It was always 
 nicely, and even adroitly combed, so as to make his forehead 
 appear higher and broader than it really was ; and his thin 
 lips had been equally jockeyed to display a set of faultless 
 white teeth, that smiled and smiled upon you, whether he 
 was talking or listening. His collar and cravat were always 
 of spotless white ; and a stranger would have taken him 
 for a clergyman sooner than a lawyer. But, whatever you 
 might suspect his vocation to be, you would know that he 
 was a man of the nicest method and order; and his very 
 appearance was an advertisement to business, and procured 
 him all he had. This business was not of that kind that 
 took him into the courts; but it was, nevertheless, re- 
 spectable and remunerative, if not lucrative. His office was 
 in the third story of a large block filled with lawyers' offices ; 
 and, in confused cases in which complicated and long- 
 standing accounts were to be sifted, his aid was considered 
 invaluable ; and his briefs were such lucid abstracts of the 
 cases submitted to him, that he had come to be thought so 
 valuable as junior council, that he could choose his cases, and 
 almost dictate his terms. 
 
 Such being the reputation of Seth Mettlar, it was but 
 natural that when old Col. Scranton died, being a nona- 
 genarian, and leaving a large amount of property scattered 
 in various parts of New England, with books and accounts 
 in almost irretrievable confusion, his executors should engage 
 the services of the precise and methodical Seth Mettlar to 
 bring order out of chaos, and arrange his papers so that they 
 could understand them. The employment was congenial to 
 the tastes of the attorney ; and an immense quantity of books, 
 deeds, mortgages, notes-of-hand, bonds, letters, and loose 
 papers of almost every variety, were deposited in his office, 
 which the practised accountant proceeded to examine and 
 arrange with scrupulous fidelity. He first assorted the 
 papers according to their date, paying little regard to their 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 69 
 
 contents ; and then, beginning back with the first business 
 transactions of the deceased, he endeavored to trace up his 
 business-life, and to learn the history and course of each 
 transaction, and hence deduce its legal effect and bearing. 
 
 Col. Scranton, like many bold and successful speculators, 
 had been a man of slack business habits ; having been more 
 prone to regard general results than attend to details. 
 His father had left him a considerable fortune, which he had 
 made in navigation : and the son had the forecast to perceive, 
 while yet a young man, that America was a land of promise ; 
 that it must increase rapidly in population ; and that in broad 
 acres was the surest fortune. So he bought large tracts of 
 land in various parts ; and, before the first tree had been felled, 
 he owned townships and half-townships in three States, — 
 Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont. For these he paid, 
 in some instances, less for a whole township than a single 
 hundred-acre lot was worth during his own lifetime. He 
 was a sagacious and far-seeing man, and by sheer liberality 
 grew rich apace. Instead of holding on to his lands for high 
 prices, he sold lots very cheap to desirable settlers, knowing 
 that, as the country became populated, the residue of his lands 
 would increase in value. As he waxed old, however, he sold 
 off the remnants of his early purchases, and invested his 
 money in improved city property; so that in his latter years 
 he had little to do but receive his rents, and witness the 
 augmentation of. his estate. His children were all married, 
 and settled within a stone's-cast of his own door ; and as they 
 were all honored and respected, and he was of a benevolent 
 and tolerant disposition, his declining years were as calm 
 and happy as it is often the lot of man to experience in this 
 world. 
 
 Seth Mettlar began his investigations with his wonted 
 method and industry, and found that, rich as (JJol. Scranton 
 was when he died, he would have been much richer had he 
 held on to some of his land purchases in the country. In one 
 instance, a large village, which has since become an important 
 city, was entirely situated on a tract of land, that, thirty years 
 before, the colonel had sold for five hundred dollars. But, as 
 it was, he had been rich enough, and that sufficed ; and so 
 the lawyer traced along his affairs, finding now and then an 
 odd corner, that, from accident or neglect, had never been 
 sold. 
 
70 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 He had been at work some two or three weeks on these 
 papers, when he opened a large bundle of letters, and, looking 
 over them, found one, not addressed to Col. Scran ton, 
 but to one David Gault. This letter he opened, and found 
 within it a deed of a tract of land situated a long distance 
 from Boston. The letter was brief and business-like, and 
 simply stated that the money stipulated to be paid for the 
 land, together with a note for the balance, had been received, 
 and the deed made out, and would be sent by the first oppor- 
 tunity ; that for the payment of the note he might take his 
 own time, and, if not convenient, need not pay it at all, but 
 could at some future time render such assistance in survey- 
 ing the township, and disposing of lots to other purchasers, 
 as he thought would be reasonable. 
 
 Seth looked at the deed. It was a singular instrument, as 
 showing the difficulty of description, and of definitely fixing 
 and defining the boundaries of land in unsurveyed and little 
 known districts. Except in the boundaries, however, it was 
 in the usual form. The initial point was a spring on the side 
 of a hill, and known as " The Weeping Angel." From this 
 point, a line due south-west was to be struck; and at a dis- 
 tance of one hundred rods, in a straight line from the spring, 
 was to be one corner of the lot. From there the line was to 
 run due north three hundred rods ; thence due east three 
 hundred rods; thence due south three hundred rods; thence 
 due west three hundred rods, to the place of beginning. 
 
 Why this deed had never been delivered, did not appear; 
 and Seth, who had no recollection of ever having heard the 
 name of Gault, concluded, that, for some reason unknown to 
 him, another deed had been given, perhaps with different 
 boundaries; and this, from some oversight, though useless, 
 had never been destroyed. He laid it one side, however, 
 and went on with his labor ; and the next day he found a can- 
 celled bond for a deed of the same property to one Robert 
 Gomery. Comparing this with the deed, he saw it was dated 
 some three years later; but the description was the same, 
 the one being evidently copied from the other. "There 
 must be something wrong here," said Seth to himself. "This 
 deed to Gault is duly signed, witnessed, and sealed ; and the 
 property was undoubtedly paid for, as is proved by the letter. 
 'Tis clearly a matter the family know nothing about; and 
 now, Seth, just keep your own counsel, and v see what comes 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 
 
 71 
 
 of it. There may be something better than fees in this case, 
 after all. If so, why shouldn't you make it as well as the 
 next man? The heirs have got enough without this, and 
 they can never miss any thing; for they will never know any 
 thing about it." 
 
 With this commendable intention of turning an honest 
 penny, he put the deed, the letter, and the bond in his own 
 pocket, and went on with the other letters and accounts. 
 
 After this discovery, the mind of Seth Mettlar was not so 
 entirely devoted to the work in hand as it had been. It was 
 ever reverting to that Gault property, wherever it might be. 
 From the description in the deed, it was plain that it was 
 situated a considerable distance to the north or north-west of 
 Boston ; and, as the names Gault and Gomery were constantly 
 recurring to his mind, it occurred to him that the thriving 
 town of Montgomery might be the identical place. He 
 knew nothing of the place, except that it existed, and was a 
 village of some importance ; and so he sought a dry-goods 
 jobber of his acquaintance, whom he knew to have large 
 dealings with that part of the country, and asked him if he 
 had any knowledge of such a place. 
 
 "Indeed I have," answered the merchant. "Our house 
 has sold goods to go there for this ten years past ; and only 
 last fall I went up there to look after a poor customer." 
 
 "Is there a family of the name of Gomery there?" he 
 further inquired. 
 
 " Yes : it is the principal family of the place, and, for a 
 country village, is very rich." 
 
 "What sort of a place is it ? " 
 
 "One of the most thriving inland villages I have ever seen. 
 There is a fine water-power, and large saw and grist mills, 
 besides a fulling-mill and carding-machine, and every thing 
 that any village of that size ever has." 
 
 " Is it a level or hilly country ? " 
 
 "Rather hilly. The large hill at the south-west of the 
 village has one of the finest prospects I know of anywhere. 
 The town took its name from that. The Gomery Family 
 that I was speaking of first settled there; and so the hill 
 was called Montgomery, and after that the village. You 
 must have heard of that place when you were a boy. It is 
 the same place where the Gault Family were murdered by 
 the British and Indians in the time of the Revolution." 
 
72 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 " It seems to me I do remember something about such an 
 affair. Wasn't there a famous spring in the place ? " 
 
 "Ah, yes! and I went up to see it; and they say it looks 
 just as it did fifty years ago. The Indians used to hold 
 their powwows near it ; and they first named it the ' Weeping 
 Angel.' " 
 
 Seth, having gained all the information he desired, bade the 
 merchant good-morning, and returned to his office. He had 
 ascertained where the tract of land was situated that Col. 
 Scranton had sold to David Gault, and the deed of which 
 was in his own pocket. He had also learned that the tract 
 was of great value; and he resolved to bide his time. 
 
 It was six months after this before the affairs of the Scranton 
 Estate were so far arranged and disposed of, that the service- 
 able and respectable Seth could leave the city, and go in 
 search of the Gault Property. When he was at liberty to 
 leave, however, he set forth, and made directly to Montgomery 
 Village, and took up his lodgings at Diller's Tavern, where 
 we first met him, and where we have already observed his 
 curious investigations. It was some two months after his 
 arrival there before he got back to Boston ; and, the very 
 next day after his return, an advertisement appeared in the 
 "Advertiser and Post," to the effect, that if Randolph Gault 
 
 would inquire at the office of Seth Mettlar, No. 27, 
 
 Street, third story, he would learn something greatly to his 
 advantage. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 73 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " I have lived long enough : my May of life 
 Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf; 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 I must not look to have, but in their stead 
 Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath, 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not." — MACBETH. 
 
 It was only a few days after the dinner given by Sir Hen- 
 derson Strongham, as described in the last chapter but one, 
 that our friends Fogue and Goraery left England for the 
 Continent, where they proposed to make a short tour, and 
 thence return to the United States. But Joe Pumpagin 
 had not yet accomplished his business ; and, though hard 
 pressed by his old friend Theron to accompany them, he de- 
 clined. He had been present in the kitchen at the time the 
 dinner was in progress ; and, when the news of the sudden 
 indisposition of Lord Maccleton reached there, he had no 
 doubt that an explosion of some kind had taken place be- 
 tween him and Lady Beresford. The next day, he ques- 
 tioned Theron closely on the affair, and from him he learned 
 all the particulars without leading him to suppose he was 
 moved by any thing more than his habitual curiosity. 
 
 Lord Maccleton was now become a feeble and tottering 
 old man. It was nearly sixty years that he had walked the 
 earth with the horrid vision of the Gault massacre before his 
 eyes ; and now it seemed that all his pride of family, his 
 ambitious schemes, were to come to nought, and he was to 
 be held up to the scorn and contempt of the world, and the 
 infamy of his life mercilessly exposed. The estates that he 
 had hoped would descend to the children of Lady Beresford, 
 and which were to keep up the name and title of Maccleton, 
 would revert to the heirs of his first wife ; and it would be 
 proved that Lady Beresford was not his daughter, but a sup- 
 posititious child that he had picked up to replace his own that 
 
 VOL. II. 7 
 
74 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 had died in infancy. Then, too, the fearful tale of Gault's 
 Hill would become known to all ; and, of all men scorned 
 and abhorred throughout the land, he would be most univer- 
 sally execrated. 
 
 And, for a final exit like this from life's stage, he hail borne 
 through the weary years the miserable existence of a crimi- 
 nal, perpetually haunted by the apparition of his own crimes. 
 Why had he not died long ago, and ere the danger of any 
 exposure such as now was impending over bim ? Why had 
 he lived so long? Few men with quiet consciences and hap- 
 py homes lived to be so old as he ; but even Death seemed to 
 be in league with other demons to torture him. Such 
 thoughts came crowding so thickly upon him, that he avoided 
 the sight of everybody, and, retiring to the hall, gave out 
 word that he should be busily engaged for some weeks, and 
 did not wish to be interrupted. 
 
 But he did not thus escape the watchful eye of Joe Pum- 
 pagin. Joe had so attached himself to the head steward of 
 Maccleton Hall, that he was always in demand ; and no one 
 suspected that behind those merry eyes, and that funny face, 
 there was lurking a most desperate and unforgiving purpose. 
 
 Yet Joe's feelings towards the object of his vengeance 
 were not those of personal vindictiveness. He had no desire 
 to inflict bodily pain or pecuniary loss on the man who had 
 committed the awful crimes against his father and mother, 
 and had caused him to be a wandering vagabond through 
 the world. He was not even conscious of a vindictive 
 thought towards the author of all this. He only felt that he 
 was the instrument of punishment, in the order of Nature, 
 to execute the decrees of justice, and followed the course 
 he did as the clearly defined line of duty. It was not vin- 
 dictiveness or hate that impelled him : it was the hand of 
 natural justice. Except for his connection with the Gault 
 massacre, Lord Maccleton was to him as any other man ; 
 and had he known of his having committed any other of- 
 fence, more heinous if possible than this, ogainst other par- 
 ties, he would have thought or cared no more for it than if 
 it had been committed by some one of whom he had never 
 seen or heard before. But his part in the fearful tragedy 
 was that of an avenger: he accepted it as such, and for 
 many years had pursued his object with as unhesitating a 
 purpose as most men pursue those avocations that bring gain 
 
• A FAMILY HISTORY. 75 
 
 to their stores. His resources and ingenuity, we have seen, 
 were very great ; and even away off here at the hall, where 
 all was so quiet and beautiful, he would every day contrive 
 some means to recall more vividly the recollection of the 
 Gault tragedy. During the time that the old Indian had 
 quartered himself upon him in his wilderness home, he had 
 learned from the hideous savage a peculiar whoop, such as 
 he had never heard before or since. It was not simply an 
 Indian cry ; but at first it was a long, deep, savage howl, 
 breaking soon into a womanlike screech, and then the weak 
 scream or shriek of a child. This cry the old savage used 
 to repeat again and again as he lay on the floor of Joe's 
 cabin ; and, from the indistinct mutterings he made, it was 
 clear that he was rehearsing in his mind the terrible scenes 
 of years long, long agone. This cry, when Joe came to 
 know the Indian, he had no doubt was an imitation of the 
 noises made at the time of the Gault massacre ; and, if it left 
 such an impression on the mind of the rude savage, what 
 must it have been on that of a man educated and sensitive like 
 Lord Maccleton ? Joe had learned to mimic the sound (as 
 he was clever at imitation as at any thing else) ; and now, 
 it occurred to him, was a favorable opportunity to try its 
 potency on the nerves of the lord of the manor. 
 
 He had resolved on something of this kind some time 
 before ; and, thinking it might facilitate his purpose, he had, 
 before leaving London, procured a cane to be made, about four 
 feet long, that would open and shut like a telescope, and very 
 similar to the patent fishing-rods that were subsequently in- 
 vented for the convenience of the disciples of Izaak Walton. 
 Indeed, I am not sure but the first hint of that ingenious con- 
 trivance was first given by Joe Pumpagin to the Balls. Tak- 
 ing an opportunity, when no one was in sight, Joe contrived to 
 break out a small hole in a pain of glass in a window of his 
 lordship's dormitory ; and the same night, at the hour when 
 he knew his infallibility first ventured to court his pillow, and 
 when the other persons on the premises were likely to be in 
 their soundest sleep (that is, about three hours past midnight), 
 he left his room, and stationed himself directly in front of 
 his lordship's window. He had not yet retired ; but Joe saw 
 him approach the window, and, raising the sash, look out 
 into the darkness. He turned his face sideways, so that the 
 light within the room clearly revealed his features ; and there 
 
76 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 was such a look of agony, despair, and grief upon them, as 
 Joe had never seen before. But it did not occur to him that 
 the sight of such misery bad any tbing to do with him. The 
 agonized features awoke no sentiment of pity in his mind. 
 He only saw in the wretched face of the old man the hard 
 lines of inexorable law ; and he thought no more of his own 
 agency than as of a necessary part of the great enginery of 
 the universe, that works out its destinies with the rigidity 
 of fate. 
 
 The old man turned away, the window was closed, and 
 soon the light disappeared ; and at last, as Joe imagined, the 
 troubled mind of the old man was seeking in sleep a tem- 
 porary oblivion of its miseries. Then it was that Joe 
 stepped forth ; and, having adjusted his hollow rod, he ap- 
 plied one end to the broken window-pane above his head, and 
 putting his lips to the other end, that was dished out in the 
 manner of the mouth of a speaking-trumpet, he began with 
 the deep, heavy sound that he had learned -from the old In- 
 dian, and then followed the scream as of a woman, and then 
 the cries of a child. But this noise had not ceased before 
 another, much louder, was heard within the room above. 
 The voice of the unhappy man within could be heard call- 
 ing out in an agony of terror, and shouting for help. 
 
 No sooner had Joe heard the terror-stricken voice of his 
 lordship than he quietly withdrew to his own room, and 
 threw off his clothes so as to be duly unprepared. The ser- 
 vants, alarmed by the unusual noise, came running out in 
 great terror, all in their night-clothes, armed with brooms, 
 fire-shovels, and tongs, and whatever else came to hand. They 
 dared not venture far into the darkness, though their master 
 was shouting furiously for help, and directly came rushing 
 through the house, and dashing down stairs, shouting " Mur- 
 der, death, devils, and furies ! " But his very calls for help 
 frightened them, and drove them back to their rooms, where 
 they barricaded their doors ; for they all believed him, if not 
 actually mad, at least as troubled with "thick-coming fan- 
 cies;" and, if not now affrighted by lesser spirits, they thought 
 that the Devil himself had come to claim him. They dared 
 not venture to his aid, though he called piteously for help ; 
 for they feared, that, if the old enemy of the saints — of 
 whom the born lords were, of course, the most shining lights 
 — had come to claim one that had fallen into his power, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 77 
 
 he would catch up some others if he found them "lying 
 round loose " ? Directly a light was seen approaching ; and the 
 cheery voice of Joe was heard calling out, " What is the mat- 
 ter ? " Having returned to his room, he had no sooner divested 
 himself of part of his clothing, and lit a candle, than he sallied 
 forth, rubbing his eyes, and calling out incoherently, as if he 
 had been aroused from a four-o'olock-in-the-morning sleep. 
 Hearing his voice, and seeing the light moving about, the other 
 servants ventured from their rooms; and, the doors being 
 opened, Joe entered the main hall, calling out in a stentorian 
 voice, and asking what was up that they could not let honest 
 folks sleep. The old man was still calling out piteously ; and 
 Joe led the way to where he lay at the foot of the stairs. 
 In his flight, his weak and aged limbs had been unable to save 
 him from falling ; and he lay at the foot of the stairs, bruised 
 and helpless, shrinking and groaning, the very picture of re- 
 morse and terror. The servants took hold of him to carry 
 him back to his own room; but he begged them to take him 
 to any part of the house but that; and he was accordingly 
 borne away to a room in a distant part of the hall. Here he 
 was laid upon a bed ; and, bidding them not to leave him alone, 
 he closed his eyes as if to shut out the horrors of the night. 
 
 The reader has observed long before this that the strange 
 apparitions at Gault's Hill for years after the massacre, and 
 which at first were regular in their appearance every night 
 at the same hour, gradually became uncertain and fitful in 
 their visits, until, in these later years, they'have appeared only 
 at very rare intervals. But it would appear, that, whenever 
 the mind of Lord Maccleton was unusually disturbed and 
 torn, at the same hour and minute — making allowance for 
 the longitudinal difference — the same sights and sounds as 
 were witnessed by Robert Gomery and others, many, many 
 years before, were seen and heard in and about the dilapidat- 
 ed remains of the old house that had been the scene of the 
 dreadful tragedy. Joe had been aware of this fact for a long 
 time ; and the next morning he jotted down in a memoran- 
 dum-book the day of the occurrences now recorded, and said 
 to himself, " We will see now what happened on the hill last 
 night." It was the night of the 22d of February ; and, on 
 his return, he learned, that, on that night, the anniversary ball 
 of Washington's birthday had been given as usual at Diller's 
 Tavern. The dancing began early, and broke off early ; that 
 7* 
 
78 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 is, it began at five o'clock in the afternoon, and ceased at half- 
 past eleven in the evening. There was a hired man on the 
 Gomery Place at that time, who had been engaged byDiller 
 to lend assistance, on this extra occasion, at the stable ; and he 
 returned to the hill, and reached the house at the same mo- 
 ment that a more ambitious spark arrived, bringing home a 
 young lady that was visiting, at the time, at the house. The 
 fair maid had but just stepped inside the door when a strange 
 noise was heard in the direction of the old house ; and the 
 two men, each gathering courage from the presence of the 
 other, ran out to look for the cause of it; and, sure enough, 
 the old apparition, such as they had heard of a thousand times, 
 but never seen, was clearly before 'their eyes. Then followed 
 the same strange sounds which tradition reported as having 
 once haunted the place. The next day, the circumstance was 
 talked about in the house ; and the young lady said, that, a 
 month before, she had heard an unusual noise at about the 
 same time of night, and getting up, and looking out of her 
 window, a strange and lurid light was seen in the old hovel, 
 that soon went out; after which she fancied she heard. the 
 screaming and crying of a child. This was the first night 
 after her arrival at the hill ; and Joe learned by comparing 
 dates when he came to the hill, it was same day that Sir 
 Henderson Strongham gave the great dinner, to which Fogue 
 and Gomery had been invited. 
 
 As Lord Maccleton lay upon his bed crushed and discom- 
 fited, it seemed to him that universal anarchy was coming 
 upon the world. All his cherished ideas and unquestioned 
 convictions seemed to be giving way, and all was a haze to 
 his mind. He, even he, was held to an accountability for 
 acts towards those to whom men of his class were in no way 
 accountable. How was this ? Were the laws of Nature 
 changed ? Was it come to this, that one of the old nobility, 
 of that class which in all things was to be imitated, and in 
 few things to be questioned, was to be made to repent for 
 acts towards those who had no rights that they were bound 
 to respect? Had not the experience of ages sanctioned and 
 sanctified the privileges of immunity from moral responsibil- 
 ity ? Had not the rebellion against it been followed by a 
 wholesome re-action, that had caused the bones of its sternest, 
 bravest leader to be disinterred and exposed, a ghastly spec- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 79 
 
 tacle, to all posterity, to admonish future generations of the 
 immaculate privileges of nobility? Was he not of that class? 
 and was he not of those anointed to decide on the rubric and 
 the liturgy, on what is orthodox and what is heterodox ? Is 
 it not in the established order of things that he is a guide and 
 example, a being of a superior order ? and when he and his 
 peers decide on what is right and true, both in regard to things 
 temporal and things spiritual, is it not rank heresy, presump- 
 tuous doubt, and unpardonable sin, to question their infallibil- 
 ity ? And has it come to this, that there is a power in Nature 
 to overwhelm them with remorse ? The insolence of the idea ! 
 To give in charity and live generously was consistent with 
 their duties; but to be responsible for deceiving or trampling 
 on the poor helpless wretches below them was so palpable a 
 violation of privilege, that an act of Parliament must be at 
 once procured to forbid it. What if, by fraud, violence, and 
 deception, they persuade vain and indigent beauties from the 
 path of virtue: do they not make ample reparation by allotting 
 a day's income each year for their support? and, besides this, 
 do not their victims have the honor of the connection ? 
 
 Thoughts of this kind, often incoherent and disconnected, 
 passed through the disordered mind of Lord Maccleton. A 
 servant was despatched for the nearest surgeon, and, a little 
 after sunrise, he arrived at the hall ; but, as the case baffled 
 his skill, a famous London physician was sent for, who did 
 not reach there before the afternoon of the next day. The 
 old man had rallied a little in the mean while ; but the phy- 
 sician was perplexed exceedingly with the case. He could 
 not make his diagnosis agree with the invalid's statement: 
 he surmised a mental trouble, which the patient denied. 'In 
 this perplexity, he believed his own senses, and not his lord- 
 ship's words; and, prescribing accordingly, left for home. 
 The patient gradually rallied until the end of two weeks, 
 when an event occurred, which so diverted his mind, and im- 
 pelled him to action, that he speedily improved, and, in a 
 week more, was apparently as well as before that dreadful 
 night when he fancied he heard the voice of Sleeping Ven- 
 geance again sounding in his ears. This event was followed 
 by another within a week, no less important to him, or less 
 likely to distract his attention from other and more displeas- 
 ing subjects. The first of these was the death of the heir 
 of Broadlea, leaving his wife childless, and his father in a 
 
80 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 state of hopeless imbecility from which he could never rally. 
 This event, so entirely unexpected, left the vast estates of 
 that family to Lord Beresford, as next of kin, and heir-at-law. 
 The old lord had often speculated on the probability of such 
 an event ; but when, ten years before, the direct heir had 
 married, and his younger brother left on his travels, he con- 
 cluded that the chances of Lord Beresford were not worth 
 any further thought, and so dismissed the matter from his 
 mind. But the young wife bore only two children to her 
 lord, and both died in infancy; and, while as yet there was 
 no prospect of another, the marquis himself died, and on the 
 very night that the mail from London was conveying a let- 
 ter with the information, that, a month before, his brother 
 had died in the Holy Land. 
 
 The effect of this news was to arouse the flagging spirits 
 of Lord Maccleton ; and this sudden acquisition to his fami- 
 ly importance he regarded as a special interposition of Provi- 
 dence in his behalf, in compensation for what he had already 
 suffered in sustaining prerogative and privilege. But scarce- 
 ly had he nerved himself to take in the full consolation of 
 this event, when the news came that his son-in-law, Lord 
 Beresford, who had always been distinguished as the most 
 dissolute and dissipated lord in the three kingdoms, had 
 killed himself in a drunken debauch in which he was in- 
 dulging in celebration of his great good fortune. 
 
 But, in spite of this apparent interposition in his behalf, 
 Lord Maccleton found himself involved in new difficulties. 
 The son of Lady Beresford (now a young man of seven and 
 twenty), whose entire time, since leaving the university, had 
 been spent abroad, was inevitably the heir to the Broadlea 
 estates ; and there was not a drop of the blood of the Cum- 
 berlands in his veins. An unlineal hand would grasp that 
 inheritance. This, however, he cared little about, if the 
 world knew it not. And so it would be in regard to the larger 
 portion of his own estates. That part which came by his 
 first wife must all descend, according to the terms of settle- 
 ment, to the heirs of her body. But the only heir had been 
 murdered, more than half a century before, in America, and a 
 backwoods child had been stolen and substituted for it. And 
 now this child, that had grown to be an elderly woman, had 
 learned her history, and the nature of the act that had torn 
 her from her native home ; and her conduct showed that 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 81 
 
 she was bent on exposing the author of it, and overwhelm- 
 ing him, now that he was old and helpless, with disgrace and 
 infamy. There seemed no escape for him; and he regret- 
 ted that the good Hindoo custom of wives burning them- 
 selves on the funeral pyres of their husbands did not obtain 
 in England ; and he thought it very unreasonable that she 
 who had always passed as his daughter would not imitate 
 her lord, and take herself off, and so leave the inheritance 
 to succeed in the most approved and conservative manner. 
 But, even then, there would have been great difficulties 
 in the way. The intercepted letter convinced him that at 
 least one other knew of the whole deception he had so long 
 practised, and that not even death itself could avert the im- 
 pending catastrophe. Turn which way he would, he saw 
 no light to illume the brief path that lay between him and 
 the grave. It was darkness, darkness, everywhere. 
 
 I suspect there is much more personal selfishness in the 
 desire of leaving vast estates to our lineal descendants than 
 is generally supposed. When a man has acquired property, 
 his love of fame tempts him to leave it, so that posterity 
 will do him honor. He delights to tie it up so with legal 
 cords and forms, that it shall remain, for all time, a monu- 
 ment of his own wisdom. It is not parental affection ; for it 
 conflicts with that, and, for the sake of keeping the estate 
 intact, allows those of equal kin to remain in indigence, 
 while the one who is to perpetuate the founder's honor and 
 fame rolls in wealth, and dispenses hospitality to his peers. 
 The great and ruling idea is to keep up a family name and 
 prestige that ordinary mortals shall wonder at and admire ; 
 nor does it matter so much that the original blood and stock 
 shall be transmitted, as that the monument of Mammon 
 shall endure, and preserve its identity. Few of the older 
 estates in England, though passing by the same titles (in 
 law and in name) as centuries ago, are held by those who have 
 in their veins any of the blood of their founders; and the 
 most of those of a more recent period, judging from the expe- 
 rience of those who have preceded them, can have but slight 
 expectation that their own lineal descendants are to be bene- 
 fited by their efforts to link their names to the estates they 
 entail. That is not the primary object. The primary object 
 is entire selfishness and vanity, to be gratified at the expense 
 of the natural affections. Hence it is that the want of an heir 
 
82 GOMEBY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 is liable to defeat the best-laid schemes ; and, if so be that 
 the important and leading object be attained, the lesser con- 
 siderations of ties of blood are swept away as trivial and 
 unworthy. 
 
 Nor is this confined to one class or to one nation : we see 
 it everywhere. The most notable instance of modern times 
 is the case of the present French despot. There was a Bo- 
 naparte that shed great lustre on the name. The terror of 
 the world, he became the glory of France. He was at last 
 overthrown, and left to die by slow torture on a desolate 
 rock. But the spirit and enthusiasm of the French people 
 for their great hero survived, and burned to aggrandize the 
 name of Bonaparte. The greatest hero the world had ever 
 seen had sought to enroll himself among the recognized 
 sovereigns of the earth, to found a Bonaparte dynasty. The 
 French people recognized, in the glory he had conferred upon 
 them, the right to do this. Time passed on ; change after 
 change occurred among the French people in all things save 
 one: their admiration for the great Napoleon was undimin- 
 ished. Then a new man appeared, — a man of tenacious pur- 
 pose and subtle capacity. He called himself, and was called 
 by the world, a Bonaparte ; but history and scandal and 
 probability called him the son of a vagrom Dutchman. A 
 later hero-worshipper attempts to prove that he is the son 
 of his uncle. But what care the French people, or what 
 cares anybody else, whose son he is ? He passes as the Bona- 
 parte. He is carrying into effect the idea of the great Na- 
 poleon, and bending all his powers to firmly establishing a 
 Bonaparte dynasty. His success counts with the world for 
 the glory of the founder of the family ; and hence it acqui- 
 esces in his pretensions. 
 
 Thus Lord Maccleton cared less of what stock or blood 
 the future possessors of the ancestral estates should be, than 
 that they should be increased in extent and augmented in 
 value, and carry with them more influence in the country. 
 His ambition had been to be known as that Lord Maccleton 
 who had greatly magnified the house; and, if that object 
 could have been attained by a change of babes in their swad- 
 dling-clothes, he would have thought it a perfectly proper 
 and legitimate transaction. Such things had been frequently 
 done, not only at the instigation of kings, but with the ap- 
 proval of priests. Then why should he scruple? That view 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 83 
 
 of the case never troubled him in the least. The fears that 
 . were upon him were of exposure ; and this, too, from the 
 refusal of the suposititious heir to be made a party to the 
 fraud. 
 
 While Lord Maccleton was in this dilemma, debating in 
 his own mind various plans for extricating himself from his 
 troubles, the course of the law was onward. The death of 
 the Marquis of Broadlea and of the Lord Beresford had ne- 
 cessitated important law proceedings. Of course, Lady Beres- 
 ford would be called upon to affix her signature, and give 
 her assent to various authorizations and transfers. Lord 
 Maccleton, shut up at home, scarcely dared to learn what 
 was going on. He believed that she would seek some occa- 
 sion as public as possible to precipitate the catastrophe ; and 
 he was not surprised, therefore, when he learned that she 
 utterly refused to take any steps in the matter. Her son's 
 solicitor, suspecting nothing, went to consult with Lord 
 Maccleton in regard to her contumacy, and to urge him to 
 use his influence with her. As may be supposed, he declined 
 to see her ladyship. Hence it became necessary to apply 
 for a mandamus to compel her to the performance of acts 
 that were in conformity to her own interests. 
 
 This part of the story, in hands more familiar with English 
 life and manners, might make an interesting chapter in this 
 book. But I pass it over, simply narrating how that Lady 
 Beresford was brought into court ; how that the whole 
 country around was greatly astonished at her conduct, and a 
 great crowd was in the court-room when the complaint 
 against her was read. The woman had nerved herself to a 
 rigid calmness : she sat immovable as marble, and appeared 
 to notice nothing. After the preliminaries had been gone 
 through with, the judge turned to the defendant, and said, 
 "As your ladyship has allowed the proceedings to be taken, 
 I suppose you have retained counsel." 
 
 In a clear voice she answered, " I have no counsel ; and I 
 desire none. I am not the person named in that paper which 
 has just been read." 
 
 " Not Lady Beresford ! " 
 
 " I am Lady Beresford. But the person therein described 
 is Lady Emily Cumberland, daughter of Lord Maccleton, 
 and relict of Lord Beresford. I am not the daughter of Lord 
 
84 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 Maccleton, and my true name never was Emily Cumber- 
 land." 
 
 "Your ladj^ship, this is a very singular proceeding on 
 your part. Please explain." 
 
 " My name was Judith Gault. I was born in the forests 
 of America. My father and mother were murdered by the 
 hands or at the instigation of Col. Cumberland, now Lord 
 Maccleton. I was stolen away ; and, ere my lips had learned 
 to speak the name of my parents, I was made to take the 
 place of his child that had come to a violent death." 
 
 Here the proceedings were summarily stopped. The court- 
 room was ordered to be cleared, and Lady Beresford was taken 
 away to her own house. It was busily circulated that Lady 
 Beresford had become deranged; but Joe Pumpaign took 
 good care that the truth should not be silenced in that way. 
 He sent a brief anonymous statement of the facts of the case 
 to the judge, and warned him that silence was impossible. 
 Great pains were taken to keep the affair from the newspa- 
 pers, and they were successful. But they were well known 
 in high quarters ; and the first official intimation that Lord 
 Maccleton had of his exposure was a formal notice that he had 
 been disgracefully dropped from the retired list of the army. 
 Soon after, it was announced that the recent additions to the 
 Maccleton estates would not descend in the regular line to 
 young Henry Torley, the son of Lady Beresford, but that 
 they would all lapse to the other heirs of the first wife of 
 Col. Cumberland, who never lived to become Lady Maccle- 
 ton. It was said, also, that there could be no union of the 
 two estates ; that Henry Torley, now Lord Beresford, would 
 only inherit the estate of his father; and that Maccleton 
 would go to the eldest son of Lord Maccleton by his second 
 wife, who, as we have seen long since, had inherited his infir- 
 mity, and often saw the same dreadful apparition that had 
 so long haunted the guilty old man. It had been the same 
 with a sister older than he, who, the nurses and gossips said, 
 had been frightened out of her life, at the age of seven, by 
 the sight of ghosts. The heir to the title and estates had 
 from infancy been affected in the same way, and so had the 
 two younger children. They would, each and all, in their 
 childhood, describe to their playmates and governesses the 
 Gault tragedy, precisely as it appeared to Robert Gomery and 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. * 85 
 
 his wife and many others more than half a century before 
 they were born. Their father had been aware of this ; and 
 the sight of them, with their heads jerking at times, and their 
 eyes shrinking, and turning away from an apparition of which 
 he knew too well its dreadful character, had so disturbed 
 him, that he scarcely ever allowed himself to look upon 
 them, and, after the death of their mother, never went near 
 them, and never allowed them to come near the hall. 
 
 During the time that these developments were being 
 made, Lord Maccleton never went out of the hall. His 
 solicitor was the only person besides one servant that he al- 
 lowed to approach. The affair was in such high life, that 
 great pains were taken to keep the facts of the case from 
 reaching the public ear ; and all the newspapers likely to 
 divulge them were duly bribed to silence. But their pains 
 were set at nought by the still unappeased Joe Pumpagin. 
 He had prepared a small pamphlet, and found means to have 
 it printed, giving the history of the Gault tragedy, and the 
 substitution of the infant Gault for the infant Cumberland. 
 One of these was first found in Lord Maccleton's chamber ; 
 and the next day there was not an ale-house, and but few 
 dwelling-houses, within many miles, that did not contain one. 
 The pamphlet concluded with saying that the author was 
 the son of the murdered Gault, and brother of Lady Beres- 
 ford ; that for twenty-five years he had followed the guilty 
 wretch who had caused all this misery ; that he was still in 
 the midst of the people who dwelt near Maccleton, as en- 
 tirely unsuspected as any one could be who read his state- 
 ment; that now he had finished his work, as justice had 
 worked out his revenges ; and he should return to the land 
 of his birth, and at last rest by the side of those whose 
 wrongs he had spent his life in avenging. • 
 
 What passed between Lord Maccleton and his solicitor, 
 after this pamphlet came into the hands of the former, is not 
 known. The latter came in, and found his lordship sitting 
 in his arm-chair, holding the pamphlet in his hand. " What ! " 
 exclaimed the lawyer: "have you got one of those?" 
 
 " How ! " said Lord Maccleton, starting up : " have you 
 seen it before ? " 
 
 " Seen it ! — yes. Some busy fool has circulated it all 
 through the country. But nobody will believe it, of course." 
 
86 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 An hour after, the lawyer left the room, and was gone for 
 about twenty minutes. When he returned, Lord Maccleton 
 lay upon the floor dead, his throat cut from ear to ear, a 
 razor still clutched in his right hand. 
 
 A week after this, the American ship " Osprey " left the 
 port of Liverpool for New York. Among her passengers, 
 but under fictitious names, were Lady Beresford and Joe 
 Pumpagin. 
 
A FAMILY HISTOET. 87 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 "Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants; 
 And in your wicked drucken rants 
 Ye mak a devil o' the saints, 
 
 An' fill them fou ; 
 And then their failings, flaws, an' wants 
 
 Are a' seen through." — BURNS. 
 
 If this history has shown one thing more clearly than oth- 
 ers, it is that Joe Pumpagin was possessed, to a remarkable 
 degree, of that quality of strength which is called patience. 
 He never feared that his plans would miscarry through delay; 
 but his faith in the natural justice that rules the earth- was so 
 strong, that he seemed possessed of that sixth sense that some 
 one has called the " sense of opportunity." On reaching 
 New York, therefore, after his voyage across the ocean, — 
 during which time it may be supposed he recounted to his 
 titled sister the strange events of his life more minutely than 
 he had opportunity previously to do, — it was not in accord- 
 ance with his character or habits to rush to Montgomery and 
 astonish the people with his discoveries, and account to them 
 for his strange career. On the contrary, it was arranged that 
 Lady Beresford should first go up there by herself and con- 
 trive some excuse for spending a week in the place, and grat- 
 ify her curiosity by visiting the scene of her birth and earli- 
 est recollections, and then return to Boston, and there await 
 the arrival of her brother after he had attended to certain 
 business affairs of importance. He had now been absent 
 many years, and, during that time, the country had made 
 great progress ; and he considered it imperative that he should 
 go immediately, and look after his real-estate investments in 
 the interior of the State. Accordingly, having seen his sister 
 set forth, with her faithful servant-maid who had accompanied 
 her from England, on her excursion to Montgomery, he took 
 passage up the river, and made his way with all despatch to 
 his former home, the scene of his first encounter with Sleeping 
 
88 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMEEY : 
 
 "Vengeance. The country through which he passed was no 
 longer a wilderness. Though much of the primeval forest was 
 still standing, yet good roads and bridges had been built, mail 
 and stage routes established, and along their lines were many 
 fine farms with substantial houses and barns, fat cattle, horses 
 and sheep grazing in pastures, and fields of waving grain just 
 now ripening for the sickle, at the period he passed along. 
 As he approached his own tract, he found that the main road 
 that led from the most important port on Lake Ontario to 
 Albany passed along the valley of the stream of which he 
 had been wise enough, many years before, to appropriate to 
 himself the only available waterfall for many miles on either 
 side. 
 
 A considerable village had grown up at the place ; and he 
 was welcomed by the people there for reasons that he had 
 not foreseen. When last there, it will be remembered, he 
 had sold a ten-acre tract from his lot to a millwright, and 
 leased him a water-privilege on terms that required him to 
 renew the lease on easy conditions, or take the improvements 
 at their value. Thus there were saw-mills and grist-mills 
 already doing a thriving business ; and Joe no sooner cast 
 his eyes on the site of his purchase of a dozen years before, 
 than he knew he was a rich man. The villagers welcomed 
 him as the proprietor and the capitalist; and, of course, 
 showed him great respect and attention. But they were 
 puzzled to make out who and what he was. His old habit 
 of telling marvellous stories richly garnished with quotations 
 from Shakspeare still clung to him ; and, whatever conflict of 
 opinion there might be in regard to his antecedents, he was 
 unanimously declared to be very amusing. He had seen, in 
 more than one instance, the folly of landholders acting the 
 dog in the manger till they had forced into demand land 
 naturally less eligible than their own, till they were at last 
 glad to sell for a tithe of what they could once have com- 
 manded. He determined not to err in that way, and so an- 
 nounced a readiness to sell certain parts of his estate at 
 prices such as were regarded by all as reasonable. But he 
 was a little particular to whom he sold ; and it was found, 
 after a time, that he was a mortal enemy to flip-drinkers. 
 This was not suspected at first : quite the reverse. The 
 drink had, not been known in the village previous to his ar- 
 rival ; but, within a short time, he had taught the landlord 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 89 
 
 of the village inn how to make it, and many others how to 
 drink it. Indeed, I begin to suspect that flip was an engine 
 of his craft ; for it is certain, that, when he found a person 
 easily persuaded to drink it, he could never come to terms 
 with him on the price of a lot. But a man whom he could 
 never wheedle or coax to drink more than a single glass of 
 that insinuating beverage could almost make his own terms 
 with him. If he was intelligent, and had a will of his own, 
 — and those whom he could not persuade to drink flip gen- 
 erally were so, — Joe would let him have land at his own 
 price, and give him his own time in which to pay for it. He 
 had learned thus much from the example of Gomery of 
 Montgomery, — that the prosperity of a place depended very 
 much on the sobriety and intelligence of its early settlers. 
 If they were industrious and temperate, then the place would 
 have a character for thrift and morality for generations; but, 
 if they stamped it as a " rum-hole," it remained a " rum-hole " 
 in spite of temperance societies or river water. But he took 
 care, after having his land all surveyed and laid out in lots, 
 to sell only alternate plots or blocks, reserving to himself the 
 squares intervening ; knowing full well, that, with the growth 
 of the town, they would increase enormously in value. His 
 arrival at the place seemed to give a sudden impetus to busi- 
 ness ; and, within a month of his return, he had sold lots 
 amounting to several thousand dollars* The demand for 
 lumber for building was such, that a new saw-mill, with shin- 
 gle and clapboard machines, was immediately commenced ; 
 and a bargain was struck with Joe, by a young man who had 
 lately come into the village bringing a few thousand dollars' 
 capital, for the site and privilege for a large flouring-mill that 
 was to grind all the wheat raised in the neighboring country. 
 Joe's popularity when he reigned flush at Diller's Tavern, 
 and dispensed flip among his admirers, had never been so 
 great as it now was in this modern village of Barkersville, 
 named after its first settler, Capt. Ben. Barker, who the reader 
 may remember as the nearest neighbor of Joe at the time" of 
 his first residence there, and who assisted him in burying 
 Sleeping Vengeance. But, popular as he was, the villagers 
 were sadly perplexed what to make of him. They knew 
 nothing of him, except that he had come to the place a long 
 time ago, and secured the most valuable town-site within 
 many miles ; and that he was a most inveterate joker and 
 
 8* 
 
90 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 story-teller, quoting Shakspeare on all occasions, whether it 
 was in sending a dog after cattle, by bidding him to " stand 
 not on the order of his going, but go at once," or in excus- 
 ing himself to his flip-drinking companions, that he might 
 woo that gentle sleep, — " sleep that knits up the ravelled 
 sleave of care." 
 
 From their prying and inquisitive manner, he saw that 
 people were dying to know more about him ; and he was too 
 good-natured not to oblige them. But his accounts of him- 
 self were sadly inconsistent with each other. At one time, he 
 would say that he was a retired New-York merchant, living 
 in fine style in Beekman Street, and that he, his wife, and 
 daughter would be delighted to receive visits from his Bar- 
 kersville friends ; and he should take it as a personal affront 
 if they did not one and all, when they came to New York, 
 make his house their home for themselves and families. 
 This rendered him immensely popular with the women 
 folks for a time, as scarce a woman in Barkersville but had 
 promised herself a visit and a month's sojourn in New York 
 within a year; and fathers and husbands could no longer 
 refuse, as there would be no tavern-bills to pay. But this 
 illusion was soon dispelled when it was known that to an- 
 other company of inquisitors he had said he was a West- 
 India merchant, living most of his time, and doing business, 
 at Matanzas. When asked to explain how it was that he 
 lived in Matanzas, and did business, when he had only the 
 day before reported that he was a retired merchant living in 
 Beekman Street, New York, he said he would be honest, and 
 own up that he had been deceiving them ; that he was a 
 Boston clergyman of the most approved and Orthodox cut. 
 But this story seemed more incredible than either of the 
 others, or the two combined ; for his incurable and original 
 style of swearing rendered this pretension so absurd, that 
 one of his listeners timidly asked how it was that he swore 
 so if he was" a clergyman. 
 
 " Swear ! " said he : "I don't swear ; I only use strong ad- 
 jectives. I got in the habit by preaching. I used to threaten 
 hell-fire so much to sinners, that I got used to it ; and I talk 
 now of the Devil and his dominions like an acquaintance." 
 
 Certain persons were greatly shocked at this explanation ; 
 and were much relieved when they heard, soon after, that 
 he claimed to be a retired sea-captain. In fact, he never told 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 91 
 
 the same story of himself twice : and, when people came to 
 compare notes, they found they could make neither head nor 
 tail from his own words, as to what he was ; and, as they 
 concluded that he did not wish it to be known, they became 
 doubly curious about it. However, he did not long remain 
 among them, but left them to wonder at his queer stories 
 and odd ways. He returned to New York, and made a de- 
 posit of the money he had received at Barkersville, and 
 arranged his old account with the bank, that had only known 
 him, or of him, by an occasional draft for the last twenty 
 years. 
 
 Having thus duly arranged his business-affairs, and feeling 
 so tired of wandering and unrest, that he thought, if he once 
 more got back to Montgomery, he never would leave it 
 again, he set forth for that longed-for haven ; and there, sur- 
 rounded by those friends best beloved of all he had met in 
 all his weary, eventful life, he hoped to pass the remainder of 
 his days. 
 
 But it was not characteristic of this philosopher to leap 
 before he looked. He resolved to abide on his way, for a 
 time, at the " City of Notions," and await advices from his 
 sister, who had preceded him some weeks before. There he 
 took lodgings at a noted hotel of the day, called the City 
 Tavern, which was a favorite boarding-place of the mem- 
 bers of the General Court, as the State Legislature was then 
 called. Here he soon made himself famous by his art in 
 making flip, and taught the landlord how to make it; so 
 that the house soon became immensely popular. The So- 
 lons of the State capital used to congregate in large num- 
 bers in the bar-room every evening ; and on one occasion it 
 was announced on the floor of the house, by a member more 
 ready with familiar than classical illustrations, that it was 
 " as clear that the fisheries should be protected, as that the 
 best flip in all Boston could be had at the City Tavern." 
 
 Joe had been a guest of the City Tavern about three 
 days, when he received a letter from his sister, giving an 
 account of her experience since she left him in. New York. 
 She had arrived in due time at Montgomery with her maid, 
 and stopped at the tavern of his old friend Diller. She 
 had feigned fatigue as a reason for delaying a few days 
 on her journey ; and as she professed to be travelling for 
 health and amusement, and was much charmed with the 
 
92 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 scenevy around Montgomery, she easily excused her long 
 tarry there. But she said great changes must have taken 
 place there since he had left; for the family of Gomery, of 
 which she had heard him speak, Jiad lost all their property, 
 and, besides, had lost the good will of a great many of the 
 people ; that the old place on the hill, as well as all the original 
 tract first owned by Gomery, was being sold off, except only 
 the place called the Pivot, where the old squire still con- 
 tinued to live with his wife, though his children had all left 
 him. She said that she had made an offer to buy the old 
 place, including the spring called the " Weeping Angel ;" and 
 that it had been accepted, though the papers had not been 
 yet drawn, nor had she come provided with money sufficient 
 for the purchase. 
 
 Joe was greatly disturbed at this news, and resolved to 
 proceed without further delay to Montgomery; and he made 
 his arrangements to start the next morning. 
 
 Now, among the persons who used to congregate at the 
 City Tavern, and drink flip, there was a tall, spare man, with 
 hair slightly gray, teeth white and always visible, and silver- 
 bowed spectacles. He used to come in every evening about 
 seven o'clock, and leave about half-past nine. The reader 
 may recognize in this description our old acquaintance, Seth 
 Mettlar. He sipped his flip with as keen a relish as Joe 
 himself, or the eloquent member of the General Court from 
 Farmington, who had advertised the hotel and its flip in his 
 eloquent and patriotic speech on the fisheries. Joe, at first 
 sight, had conceived a great dislike to the mousing attorney ; 
 and, as he always was pleased to have a butt for his jokes, 
 he made him the object of all his funny sayings that re- 
 quired to be personal in order to be pungent. In relating 
 his most marvellous stories, he would address himself directly 
 to Seth, and then ask him if he believed them, with such a 
 tone and air, that his victim dared only to say yes, until at 
 last he found he was becoming not only the butt of Joe, but 
 of all those who were wont to meet at the City Tavern. 
 At last he resolved to show the spirit of a man, and say no. 
 This resolution he made known to one of his fellow-sitters, 
 who straightway informed Joe that Seth was determined to 
 give him a piece of his mind, and that he would put him to 
 such open shame by exposing his arrant lies, that he would 
 never dare show his head again at the City Tavern. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. . 93 
 
 Thus forewarned, Jo,e took his customary place in the bar- 
 room of the hotel y and as he was intending to leave the 
 next morning for Montgomery, and, besides that, was expect- 
 ing a fierce battle with Seth-, he ordered the host to keep the 
 flip flowing, at his expense, during the whole evening. There 
 chanced to be an unusual number present on the occasion, 
 including several stranger-guests-; and Joe began telling 
 various yarns, more or less absurd, and kept it up till the 
 third pitcher of flip had been disposed of. Then, turning 
 upon Seth so as to draw all eyes upon him, he said, " I had 
 a strange adventure up towards the State House to-day." 
 
 « Indeed ! " said Seth. " What was that ? " 
 
 " Why, you see, I was walking along, arm-in-arm, with the 
 governor. The governor and I are old friends : we have 
 drunk flip together a thousand times ; but then he could 
 never put aivay the quantity that you do. We were walking 
 along up near the Common, when I bade him good-morning, 
 and walked down Park Street by myself, till I met a most 
 beautiful lady. She looked at me, as much as to say, ' I am 
 no such woman.' Of course I, too, scorned the imputation, 
 and walked on, like Queen Elizabeth, ' in maiden meditation, 
 fancy-free.' You know what Shakspeare says about that. 
 But, just then, I saw a horse running away lick-a-ti-cut with 
 a bran-new carriage, in which sot this same beautiful lady. 
 Oh! she was beautiful. She far excelled any woman of 
 modern times. In fact, she put me in mind of Helen and 
 Penelope and Xenophon." 
 
 " Xenophon wa'n't a woman, you ignoramus you ! " said 
 Seth. 
 
 " Xenophon wa'n't a woman ! How do you know that ? " 
 
 "Why, all the books say so, — all the Greek histories." 
 
 " Well, they don't know any thing at all about it. I have 
 seen some of his relations ; and they say he was a woman." 
 
 " How could you see his relations ? He has been dead these 
 three thousand years." 
 
 "How do you know that? Can you remember three 
 thousand years ago ? I want you to know, you mousing, 
 deceitful owl ! that I have travelled some. I have been in 
 all those countries ; have been where he used to live, and 
 sell soap, candles, and combs ; and I saw his tombstone, and 
 on it was writ these words: 'Sacred to the memory of 
 George Washington Xenophon, beloved wife of Alexander 
 
94 ' , t GOME&Y OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 the Great, who died in the faith of the gospel, nine hundred 
 and sixteen years before Christ." 
 
 "How could he. die in the faith of the gospel before 
 Christ?" 
 
 "The fashions were different then. Children are often 
 born there before their fathers and mothers ; and time goes 
 the other way, and the water runs up hill. The sun rises 
 in the west, and it is midnight just after sunrise." 
 
 " What is the name of that country ? " sneered Seth. 
 
 "It is called Abyssinia; but the people there are so 
 ashamed of their country, because it is so different from the 
 rest of the world, that, when they catch a foreigner among 
 them, they make him swear not to tell of it." 
 
 " How did you get off, then ? " asked Seth. 
 
 " Oh ! I stole away in the night on the back of a snapping- 
 turtle. The third day out, we hailed a vessel bound for 
 Baltimore. They took us both on board. The turtle was 
 served up for soup, and capital good soup it made too ! It 
 made a mess for all hands ! " 
 
 " Couldn't you tell us something that has a word of truth 
 in it, just for a change?" said Seth. 
 
 "The truth- you want, do you? Why, if the truth were 
 known, unless your face is a lie, you would be in the State 
 Prison. And you question my veracity, do you? — you 
 sneaking cat-butcher, you canting copper-catcher, you ghoul, 
 you counterfeit of a man made by one of Nature's journey- 
 men, as Shakspeare says, and not made well at that, since, 
 you imitate humanity so abominably ! " 
 
 " I am afraid," said Deacon Giles of Marblehead, — "I am 
 afraid you read your Shakspeare more than your Bible." 
 
 "Perhaps I do," said Joe ; " but I have read them both, till, 
 as Shakspeare says, ' they are familiar in my mouth as house- 
 hold words.' " 
 
 " It is only another proof that the word, on the unre- 
 generate heart, is * like seed sown in stony places.' " 
 
 " You judge hastily, my Christian friend ; but you are 
 greatly deceived." 
 
 " What ! you don't pretend that you are a professor ? " 
 
 " No : I am not a professor," said Joe. " In fact, I have 
 found that those who profess much have their own reason 
 for doing so ; as, by professing strongly, they think to make 
 up for delinquencies in doing. I come far short of the per- 
 
A FAMILY HISTOEY. 95 
 
 feet man, I am well aware : therefore I study, quote, and 
 live by Shakspeare. He was neither saint nor professor. I, 
 though some might doubt it, neither fast twice in a week, nor 
 give tithes of all I possess. In fact, as Shakspeare says, I 
 am ' little better than one of the wicked.' My range of 
 thought is, I confess, not" so high as I could wish. It is of 
 human mould, and not of the divine. Now, Shakspeare 
 epitomized all human thoughts. All great, noble, sublime, 
 poetic, subtle, sympathetic ideas that ever it entered into 
 the heart of man to conceive, passed through his all but 
 inspired mind. You shall read the great thoughts and grand 
 conceptions of all men who preceded him ; and, for each 
 one, I will find you a line in Shakspeare that shall better 
 express it, and show you that it was better comprehended 
 and appreciated by him than by its first author. Not only 
 were all men's thoughts in that one head, but that head was 
 a refining crucible for them all ; and he sent them forth 
 purified of their dross, — pure ethereal gems of fancy, wit, 
 and wisdom. The first dawning sense of early love by him 
 was set in words that give back to all lovers their vague, 
 unpronounced sensations, with all their virgin delicacy, yet 
 clearly and sharply defined as a problem of Euclid. The 
 great schemes of ambition that have moved conquerors 
 to battle, to intrigue, to treachery, were all before him, as 
 if he read, as in a glass, the very words of the projectors, 
 and searched, and brought to light, with a distinctness that 
 makes them shudder at their own deformity, the low mo- 
 tives and selfish ends that influence base minds. He has 
 searched the human heart, and laid bare its wickedness, at 
 the same time that he has set in a clearer light than all other 
 men of mere human gifts the nobler attributes of the human 
 heart." 
 
 " That is little better than blasphemy," said Deacon Giles. 
 " There is only one Searcher of hearts ; and he has said, 
 'The wicked shall not go unpunished.'" 
 
 "Have patience, my Christian friend!" said Joe, "and be 
 not alarmed, lest I escape the damnation you seem to covet 
 for all who don't believe as you do. I have said that all 
 human thoughts that the world had known in Shakspeare's 
 day seemed to have passed through his capacious, refining 
 mind ; but his thoughts were of the earth, earthy. There 
 was one, long before Shakspeare, 'whose shoe-latchets he was 
 
 m 
 
96 GOMEItY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 not worthy to unloose.' ' The fool hath said in his heart, 
 There is no God ; ' and many men accounted wise have said 
 the same : and they have sought to prove that the Son of 
 man was no other than a man ; for that, before he appeared 
 on the earth, other wise and good men had enunciated 
 many of his doctrines. But I say, that, as all human 
 thoughts found place in Shakspeare's mind, so all that the 
 world had known of the divine character and attributes 
 found expression and illustration in the words and life of 
 Christ. Nothing godlike was ever spoken by saint or pro- 
 phet but that it came from Jesus' lips with a finer sense, a 
 diviner influence. His thoughts and conceptions were as 
 high above Shakspeare's as heaven is higher than the earth. 
 Shakspeare could reveal the human heart to its innermost 
 depths ; but the divinity as shown in the life of Christ was 
 beyond him. He could depict the workings of Hamlet's 
 thoughtful, vacillating mind ; but he never imagined a 
 character with that faith in the divine power, that it would 
 say to his followers, ' Leave all, and follow me.' He could 
 show the moving springs of kings and tyrants that made 
 them pronounce remorseless judgments against innocent 
 offenders and fallen favorites ; but the sublimity of him 
 who said to the woman taken in sin, ' Neither do I condemn 
 thee ; go, and sin no more,' was not of the human kind ; 
 and you may search Shakspeare, from the 'Tempest' to 
 ' Othello,' and you will find nothing bearing the impress of 
 divinity like that. Devils like Iago, and monsters like 
 Macbeth, and lovers like Romeo and Juliet, he could 
 draw to their nicest shade of thought ; but he who described 
 the returning prodigal was possessed with those divine attri- 
 butes never limned by Shakspeare. The one epitomized the 
 thoughts of men; the other, the attributes of God." 
 
 At this apostrophe or panegyric on the great poet, Seth 
 looked again at his persecutor; and, for the first time, the 
 truth flashed upon his mind, that he was in the presence of 
 Joe Pumpagin, of whom he had heard much during his visits 
 at Montgomery. The burly form, the queer nose with hori- 
 zontal nostrils, exactly accorded with the descriptions he had 
 had of that singular individual ; but the identity of the man 
 before him with the hero of the "great baby ball" and the 
 "great drunk," of which he had heard many accounts, had 
 never occurred to him till now, when he heard the name of 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 97 
 
 Shakspeare, and then the truth flashed across his mind. At 
 once his boldness and his spirit of contradiction forsook him. 
 He would have left the room ; but by this time the brawny 
 figure of Joe was before him, and he quivered and gasped as 
 if he felt that his last hour was come. 
 
 " You don't believe me, then, do you ? " said Joe. 
 
 " Ye-es, — ye-es. I meant no offence." 
 
 " You believe all that about Xenophon ? " 
 
 "Yes, — yes." 
 
 " And about the sun rising in the west ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And that it is midnight just after sun-up ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! that too. Any thing ! " 
 
 " Well, it is well you do ; but hark me, my beauty, if you 
 ever question my stories again, I will tell a tale that shall 
 shut you in prison for the rest of your days!" 
 
 With this he turned away ; and, as just at the instant a 
 fresh pitcher of smoking flip was set on the table, he turned 
 to fill his glass, and, as he did, said, as if musing to himself, 
 " O Shakspeare, Shakspeare ! well might you say, * How 
 this world is given to lying ! ' " Having filled his own glass, 
 he called on the others to push forward theirs, and, for the 
 first time, found that Seth did not come up to share the third 
 pitcher. He had left, discomfited ; and Joe, looking about, 
 and not seeing him, resumed, as if still musing, "'TJm! the 
 coward ! No wonder he quails, with such a conscience as 
 he carries behind those restless, villanous eyes! Ah, yes! 
 Shakspeare was right when he said, c Thus conscience doth 
 make cowards of us all ! ' " 
 
 "You are rather severe on our friend the lawyer," said 
 Col. Bowles, a representative from the western part of the 
 State. 
 
 " So it seems to me," said another member of the General 
 Court. "I am not personally acquainted with him; but he 
 is reputed to be a very respectable man, and a man of large 
 wealth, and very benevolent and conscientious." 
 
 "Never saw the man in my life till I saw him here," said 
 Joe. " I don't know his name, or any thing about him, but 
 his face ; and I tell you he is a villain, or else his Creator 
 don't write a legible hand ! I saw villany lurking behind 
 those eyes; and dark deeds done before this are always 
 shining through them, spectacles and all ; and I can read, as 
 
y» GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 clearly as by the light of noonday, the acts of a villain in 
 that countenance. I have seen eyes before haunted by an 
 evil conscience; and I tell you that man drinks flip, not 
 because he likes it, but to drown his coward conscience ! " 
 
 "You were never so mistaken in all your life," said Deacon 
 Giles of Marblehead. "I know Brother Mettlar well, and 
 I am proud to own him as a friend and a brother. He is, 
 indeed, a pillar of the Church. Some men are tried by afflic- 
 tion and adversity, and some by the more trying ordeal of 
 prosperity; and Brother Mettlar has passed through that 
 ordeal, and come out like gold seven times purified. As he 
 has grown rich, he has become more religious and benevolent ; 
 and the vanities of this world, he has often assured me, have 
 far less attraction for him than in the days when he was poor. 
 He has no fellowship with sin now : far from it. A ser- 
 vant-boy that he had taken from the alms-house so shocked 
 bim by straying on the Common one Sunday, that he could 
 not restrain himself from so severely 'punishing him, that he 
 was arraigned before the police-court, and fined for it fifty 
 dollars. But, when the matter was brought before the vestry, 
 he said that every blow inflicted had pained him twice as 
 much as the boy; but his abhorrence of sin was so great, that 
 when he returned from church, after listening to a most con- 
 vincing sermon on the eternal horrors that hang around the 
 second death, his conscience would neither permit sleep to 
 his eyes, nor slumber to his eyelids, till he had severely pun- 
 ished this child of sin. We all felt our own too-frequent 
 weaknesses under such circumstances ; and, inasmuch as he 
 had given the church a new communion-service a few days 
 before, the members voted to raise the money by contribution 
 to pay the fine. You should recollect, sir, that, when you 
 speak of such a man as a villain, you reflect on many of the 
 most substantial and most religious and respectable men — 
 and women too — in Boston." 
 
 "Your panegyric only convinces me more and more that 
 he is a villain, — a doubly-dyed, damned villain! and how 
 men of sense could ever be deceived by such a hypocrite is 
 beyond my comprehension." 
 
 " Well : it is idle to waste breath on such an unbeliever. 
 To me, the life of Seth Mettlar is a bright and shining 
 example, and shows the reward that follows well-doing, and 
 trusting in divine Providence. Indeed, his remarkable sue- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 99 
 
 cess in life has frequently been cited as proof of the direct 
 interposition of the Lord, and is, to all liberal and evangelical 
 minds, a complete, convincing proof of special providence, 
 and is like a voice from the other world rebuking the hea- 
 thenish, infidel idea of universal, unchanging law. His expe- 
 rience is a beautiful illustration of the lines, — 
 
 * Religion never was designed 
 To make our pleasures less/ " 
 
 "Why, how was that? How has such a libel on humanity 
 been so especially favored as to indicate that he is to be 
 imitated?" 
 
 " The manner in which his property came to him, or rather 
 was thrown upon him, was most singular; and, since we have 
 got into this discussion, I will, with the permission of the 
 company, relate how it was." 
 
 " Let us hear how it was, then, when the Devil was upper- 
 most!" 
 
 Deacon Giles rolled up his eyes at this, as a pious ejacu- 
 lation against the unregenerate unbeliever. Then, turning 
 away from him as something to be shunned, and directing 
 his conversation to others, but intending it especially for Joe, 
 he began : — 
 
 " You have all of you heard of old Col. Scranton, who lived 
 in this city, and died some eight or ten years ago, leaving 
 one of the largest estates ever acquired, up to that time, by 
 any one man in this part of the world. Well, at the time 
 of his death, Seth Mettlar, whom this man has just abused 
 so outrageously, was a poor lawyer, who got his living by 
 copying, arranging, and adjusting accounts, and doing the 
 drudgery of such lawyers as were more profitably employed. 
 In doing such things, he was known to be very careful and 
 precise ; and when Col. Scranton died, leaving his books and 
 papers in confusion, he was engaged to adjust and arrange 
 them. Well, as he went on overhauling and assorting them, 
 he discovered that long, long years before, — in fact, when 
 Col. Scranton was a young man, — he had sold a piece of 
 land to a man away back in the woods, and made a deed for 
 it, and forgot all about it, and neglected to deliver it. Col. 
 Scranton, as everybody knows, was a very honorable man ; 
 but he had a very loose way of doing business. He carried 
 his accounts very much in his head; and, it is supposed, had 
 
100 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 forgotten about having sold this land, or that he had ever 
 made out and executed a deed for it. Indeed, it is known 
 that the land was not fully paid for, but that another payment 
 was expected on it, and that the deed had already been 
 made out, ready to deliver on application. But, before it was 
 called for, it would seem that the man and all his family 
 were killed by the British and Indians during the time of 
 the war; and, as this deed was never asked for, the land was 
 sold again, after a number of years, to a man by the name of 
 Gomery." 
 
 " Gomery, sir ! " exclaimed Joe, turning his face to the shad- 
 ow, that the interest he was taking might not be observed. 
 
 "Gomery, or Montgomery: Gomery I think it is. Yes: 
 Gomery is the name of the family, and Montgomery the 
 name of the town. Well, as I was saying, he bought the 
 same tract of land that had before been sold to the man who 
 had been killed, and went and settled on it; and was just 
 getting fairly started in the world, when he died, — he was 
 frozen to death, I think, — and left a son, who inherited the 
 property. This son, in time, grew up, and became a lawyer ; 
 and the tract of land became the site of a thrifty village, and 
 very valuable. But observe the ways of Providence : this 
 Gomery was not on the Lord's side, and, of course, the Lord was 
 not on his side ; and, when Seth Mettlar came to overhaul Col. 
 Scranton's papers, he found a deed and letter showing that 
 the tract bought by Gomery had been sold, long before, to 
 another man. This was a discovery sorely trying to a man 
 so scrupulous and conscientious as Seth ; and he has frequent- 
 ly said he had never so felt his own weakness and sinfulness 
 as on this occasion. It was in wrestling with this temp- 
 tation, he has assured me, that he first was awakened to his 
 lost and unregenerate state, and experienced the saving grace, 
 and was taken into the church." 
 
 "Do you remember the name of the man that first bought 
 the land of Col. Scranton?" quietly asked Joe. 
 
 " Gault. You must have heard, when you were a boy, 
 about the Gault massacre. This Gault was the same man 
 killed by the Indians and British." 
 
 "I think I have heard something about it," said Joe. 
 " Was the whole family killed ? " 
 
 "No; and that is just where the special providence comes 
 in. One of the children was saved, as it were, by a divine 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 101 
 
 interposition in behalf of Seth Mettlar, even before he was 
 born, that, in his own person, he might be an evidence to 
 confound the sceptics, and build up Zion. This boy, accord- 
 ing to all accounts, was as graceless a young scamp as ever 
 kept clear of the gallows. He ran away to sea while still a 
 boy, and was believed to be dead, as he was never heard of 
 till after this deed had been found by Mr. Mettlar." 
 
 "Perhaps he was dug up on purpose for the occasion," 
 suggested Joe. 
 
 " When Seth found the deed, and learned that the Gomery 
 Estate was held wrongfully and tortuously, and that it right- 
 fully belonged to the heirs of Gault, if any survived, he put 
 an advertisement in the papers ; and, the very next day, the 
 man sought landed in Boston, where he had not been before 
 for twenty years. Now, you infidels and sceptics may call 
 it a strange coincidence, I call it a special providence, in 
 behalf of that good man whom this stranger here has been 
 abusing so shamefully." 
 
 The members of the General Court looked upon Joe as a 
 monster ; but Joe, who had turned to face the defender of 
 Seth's character, looked the very picture of innocence, and 
 his merry eye shone brighter than ever. 
 
 " What a wretch I am!" he said ; " but go on with your 
 story." 
 
 " It was only a day or two after the advertisement had 
 been in the papers, when the man so long missing turned up. 
 He was a rough sailor, and a good deal intoxicated; and 
 used language so profane, that Brother Mettlar was greatly 
 shocked. He could not reconcile it with his conscience to 
 inform so base a character that there was a large property 
 belonging to him that he might possibly recover, and which 
 he knew would be spent in sin and riotous living: so he got 
 him to sign a quit-claim deed to this tract, which was duly 
 witnessed by two law-students in an adjoining office, one of 
 whom died of consumption the same season, and the other 
 was afterwards a principal witness in the case. For this, 
 Seth paid the poor wretch one hundred dollars. But after 
 the man was gone, he has since told me, he was greatly ex- 
 ercised in mind, lest his own selfish interest or his own car- 
 nal heart was tempting him to some great sin ; and he was 
 on the point of following him, when he bethought himself 
 that he would wait for a sign from the Lord. So he took a 
 s* 
 
102 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 candle, and set it in the window ; and, taking out bis watch, 
 this scrupulous, God-fearing man said to himself, 'I will 
 wait five minutes; and if, in that time, the light is not blown 
 out, I will go after the man, ask him to give me up the 
 money, and destroy the deed.' He waited for five minutes ; 
 and, though he moved the candle twice (once to the window 
 and once to near the door), it was not blown out; and ac- 
 cordingly he set forth to find the man. Now, had the Lord 
 intended he should find him, and destroy the deed, of course 
 he would have directed his steps to where he was. But, 
 though he walked up and down through several streets, he 
 saw nothing of him; and when convinced by this token 
 that the Lord did not intend for him to meet him, but that 
 he should retain the deed to himself, he returned to his 
 office, and, falling on his knees, returned thanks to God 
 for the divine light that had been vouchsafed to him under 
 these trying circumstances. Then he made an oath to de- 
 vote his life to piety and virtue, and on bended knees prom- 
 ised, that, if this property ever came into his hands, he would 
 devote it to charitable and pious purposes. After that his 
 mind was at rest ; for his duty was clear. A few days after, 
 an unknown man was killed in a low house on the T ; and 
 Seth, and one of the witnesses of the deed, identified him as 
 the poor sailor, who, like Esau, had, for a mess of pottage, 
 given up his birthright." 
 
 " But what became of that other lawyer man who thought 
 he owned the property, — Gomery, or Montgomery ? Did 
 he give it up without resistance? I thought that undis- 
 turbed possession in this country, for a great number of 
 years, of itself created a title." 
 
 " I will explain all about that. The man Gomery stood a 
 terrible lawsuit. He called Mr. Mettlar all sorts of hard 
 names, and said he was a swindler, a forger, and a hypocrite; 
 but it did not help him any, for the Rev. Dr. Bloggett, at 
 whose church he worshipped, sent a letter to the court, signed 
 by all the deacons and leading church-members, stating that 
 Seth was a most exemplary and truthful man, and one of the 
 pillars of the church. When this letter was read in the court, 
 it brought tears into Seth's eyes, he was so affected. He 
 had been grossly abused, during the trial, by Gomery and 
 his counsel ; and they even had the wickedness to accuse 
 Seth of forgery, and to deny that he had ever seen the man 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 103 
 
 Gault, whose signature was witnessed by the young law- 
 students." 
 
 "What did they say about it? Didn't they contradict 
 each other in this great conspiracy ? " asked Joe. 
 
 Deacon Giles turned a look of mingled scorn and disgust 
 on the doubter, and went on : — - 
 
 " Unfortunately, one of the witnesses had died before the 
 suit was commenced; but the other gave full and clear evi- 
 dence : and, though the other side brought the charge of 
 perjury against him, they could not sustain it; and the ver- 
 dict of the jury, in Seth's favor, completely vindicated his 
 character. But the conduct of Seth after the trial was the 
 most characteristic and forgiving ; and had not Gomery been 
 an unbeliever, and ' little better than one of the wicked'" — 
 
 "Don't profane Shakspeare by such a tongue as yours," 
 said Joe. 
 
 "I say, if this Gomery had not been an austere man and 
 an unbeliever, he would have seen the hand of the Lord in 
 this affliction." 
 
 "The Devil's own fingers ! " broke in Joe. 
 
 " He would have seen the hand of the Lord in this judg- 
 ment, and submitted without a murmur. But his hard and 
 rebellious heart was at enmity against God, and he refused 
 to abide by the verdict, and appealed ; and, as if to punish 
 him for his stubbornness, the verdict was set aside, and, at 
 the next trial, he lost it again ; and after two more trials, 
 extending, in all, through a period of four years, and spend- 
 ing a vast amount of money, he finally lost it before the Su- 
 preme Court. 
 
 " After the case was finally closed, and there was no fur- 
 ther appeal, the friends of Seth thought it due to himself 
 that he should vindicate his character by bringing a suit for 
 libel against Gomery. He was very reluctant to do it, as he 
 is of that meekness and gentle character, that he forgives 
 his enemies until seventy times seven. But, as he was a lead- 
 ing member of the church, it was considered due to it that 
 he should not let his own personal feeling stand in the way 
 of the interests of Zion. The suit was brought ; and Seth 
 got a heavy verdict for damages. This completely ruined 
 the proud squire ; for he was left without a dollar in the 
 world. But he was still as rebellious and proud as ever, 
 and refused to see that all his troubles were a judgment on 
 him for his wickedness." ' 
 
104 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 "Did he leave the place after that?" asked Joe. 
 
 "No: though his children (the most or all of them) were 
 married off, and were rich people, and offered him a home in 
 New York or Philadelphia, he said he never would give rest 
 to the sole of his foot till he got his own back, and had the 
 pleasure of kicking that forger and scoundrel, Mettlar, into 
 the street. The idea! Brother Mettlar a forger and scoun- 
 drel! 
 
 "But this wicked, worldly man, Gomery, had still greater 
 punishment reserved for him by an avenging Providence. 
 The people to whom he had sold land came upon him for 
 their purchase-money, and that, too, when he had nothing; 
 and, because he could not pay them, he could not walk the 
 streets without being assailed by them, and called a swin- 
 dler and a cheat. On the other hand, the new owner of the 
 property was very liberal with those who had bought of 
 Gomery, and compromised with them on very liberal terms, 
 receiving a small sum in cash, and taking notes to be paid at 
 such time as should be convenient. But the folks said that 
 the hardest blow to Gomery and his family was not the loss 
 of his property, or the respect of the people. It was this : 
 His youngest son, who was said to be a sort of dreamer, had 
 been engaged for a long time to a young woman in the place, 
 and she jilted him to marry Seth. She was married about a 
 year ago ; and she is now down at Nahant to get the benefit 
 of the sea-air, as her health is very feeble, which causes her 
 loving and affectionate husband great anxiety. A year and 
 a half ago, she was up here; and it was the unanimous opin- 
 ion that she was the handsomest woman that ever walked 
 the streets of Boston. Seth is, indeed, a most fortunate 
 man. His life is a bright example to the young, as it shows 
 the rewards of virtue, and that a man whose thoughts are 
 on spiritual things may yet prosper in w T orldly things. I 
 trust that this man here will now acknowledge that he has 
 done great injustice to a most worthy man, and will apolo- 
 gize to him when he shall meet him again. I dare say he will 
 ask forgiveness for you on his knees this night before he 
 sleeps." 
 
 Joe sat silent for a few moments, and then said, "I will 
 certainly apologize when I see him." 
 
 " That is right, that is right ! " said Deacon Giles, approach- 
 ing as if to take his hand and offer forgiveness. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 105 
 
 " But," he continued, rising from his chair, " my apology- 
 will have a sting in it. I tell you all, he is a villain of the 
 darkest dye ; and as to this man who has been defending 
 and bepraising him, I can hardly tell whether he is more a 
 knave or a fool ! I think he is a good deal of both ! Does 
 he think us such shallow-pated dolts as not to see that his 
 own narrative proves his friend Seth, as he calls him, a vil- 
 lanous, lying hypocrite ? I tell you he is so ! He is capa- 
 ble of any crime, and has already committed enough to send 
 him to State Prison ; and that is where his infamous career 
 will at last bring up. But I have no breath to waste on such 
 a knave as he is, or such a canting fool as his defender here. 
 Good-evening, gentlemen ! Tell that deep-scheming villain 
 for me, that the day of judgment is at hand ; for that there 
 is a just God that rules in the earth, not to be appeased by 
 a moiety of a stolen fortune." 
 
 With this outbreak, Joe left the room, slamming the door 
 after him, and leaving the assembled guests staring wildly at 
 each other. He retired to his own room ; and the stage- 
 coach that left the City Tavern at four o'clock the next 
 morning bore him away as passenger in the direction of 
 Montgomery. 
 
106 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " But grant the virtues of a temperate prime, 
 Blest with an age exempt from scorn or crime ; 
 An age that melts with unperceived decay, 
 And glides with modest innocence away ; 
 Whose peaceful day benevolence endears, 
 Whose night congratulating conscience cheers, 
 The general favorite as the general friend : 
 Such age there is ; and who shall wish its end ? " — Dr. Johnson. 
 
 A great change has taken place in the village of Mont- 
 gomery. It is now a thriving manufacturing town ; and not 
 only that, but the social relations of some of our best friends, 
 whose acquaintance we made a long time ago, have, as good, 
 credulous Deacon Giles has already informed us, been mate- 
 rially changed. Gomery of Montgomery is no longer the 
 great man of the place. His property is all gone ; and 
 though he continues to live in the old house at the Pivot, 
 which he had built for his young bride many years before, it 
 was no longer his house. That, together with the old house 
 on the hill in which he had been born, had fallen with the 
 rest of the property into the possession of the conscientious 
 Seth Mettlar. 
 
 When the people of Montgomery first learned that the 
 title of Squire Gomery to the original Gault or Gomery tract 
 was called in question, there was great excitement through- 
 out the village and adjoining country. Most of the vil- 
 lage was located on this tract : the water-power was included 
 in it, and all the valuable factories, shops, and stores were 
 located on it. The first outbreak of expression was, that 
 some great fraud and swindle was contemplated. "What!" 
 said every one, "has not Freeborn Gomery lived on this 
 tract, man and boy, for more than fifty years ? and was not 
 his father before him one of the first settlers in this part of 
 the country? and have we not held undisputed possession of 
 our homes, some of us, for thirty or forty years? and who 
 can now disturb us?" When the report first started, it hap- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 107 
 
 pened that Gomery of Montgomery and his wife were not 
 at home. They had gone on a visit to their children in 
 New York and Philadelphia, and had been absent about six 
 weeks, and were daily expected, when this rumor first got 
 about. Hence there was intense anxiety for their return ; 
 for, no matter how absurd or ridiculous a bad rumor may be, 
 it nevertheless has the power to annoy and disturb. 
 
 It was not long that the anxious people had to wait for 
 their return. Only three days after the report was first put 
 in circulation, the family carriage of the squire was seen to 
 drive through the village just at dusk; and, but for the ever- 
 officious little Diller, it would have passed directly through 
 to the Pivot. His tongue had been running on the subject 
 for the past three days ; and, when he saw the familiar car- 
 riage of the squire pass within thirty feet of his door, he 
 could not refrain from calling out for him to stop. 
 
 "Halloo there, Square Gomery! is that you? Stop a 
 minute!" 
 
 The carriage stopped; and the squire put out his head, and 
 said, " How are you, Mr. Diller ? I am glad to see you ; but 
 Mrs. Gomery and myself are both very tired, and want to get 
 home." 
 
 " It is all a lie, — it is all a lie ! I told 'em it was all a lie, 
 and all a trick of some of them thieving Boston lawyers ! " 
 said Diller, with his usual respect to what his interlocutor was 
 saying. 
 
 " What's this ? what's this ? " said the lawyer, suspecting 
 from Diller's manner that some catastrophe had happened 
 during his absence. 
 
 " Well, I told 'em that there was nothing in it : but the dod- 
 blasted fools would keep on talkin' about it, though I told 
 'em to do as I did, and hold their tongues; for it would all 
 be cleared up as straight as the last kink in a pig's tail when 
 you come back." 
 
 " Do tell me what you are talking about, or I may as well 
 move along," said the lawyer, drawing up his reins, and chir- 
 ruping to his horses to start. 
 
 " I'll tell 'em it's all a lie, then, and they needn't be skeered 
 about losin' their property ; and it's jist as I told 'em be- 
 fore; and" — 
 
 "What is all this about? " said Gomery to our old acquaint- 
 ance Craig, who with several others, when they saw the 
 
108 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY *. 
 
 Gomery carriage standing in the street, could not resist 
 approaching to learn the lawyer's opinion on the startling 
 report that had reached the village since he had left it. 
 
 " What is your opinion about it, square ? " said Craig. 
 
 "My opinion about what? Do you want to drive me 
 #razy ? What has happened ? What are you talking about ? " 
 
 "There, there! it is just as I said. I told you the square 
 would make it all right," said Diller. 
 
 " Tell me, in mercy's name, Mr. Craig, what all this means ! " 
 
 "What, you haven't heard the report that is going about?" 
 
 " No, not a word ! I am just now on my way home from 
 New York ; and here I am met by Diller, so excited, that 
 he can only buzz like a bumble-bee." 
 
 " Well, the story is that your title to all this property about 
 here was never good for anything; that, at the time it was 
 bought by your father, it belonged to another man ; and that 
 all of us who hold under you or your father have no more 
 title than you have." 
 
 " Why, who has been setting you by the ears with such 
 nonsense as that ? " 
 
 "I don't know how the story has got abroad ; but it goes 
 that the land was bought by somebody else before your father, 
 and his heirs have found the deed, and we all of us must give 
 up all our property, and, besides that, pay damage for keep- 
 ing it out of the rightful owner's possession for so many 
 years." 
 
 "Well, if that is your story, I can set your minds at rest 
 very easily. It don't matter now who owned this property 
 before my father did, or whether he bought from the right 
 owner or not. The law is, that twenty years' undisputed pos- 
 session makes a perfect title ; and as it is now nearly sixty 
 years since my father bought this tract, known as the Gault 
 Tract, and as no one has ever questioned his title before, it is 
 clear that this story has no sort of just foundation. Your 
 titles are as good as law can make them ; and you can all 
 rest easy on that score. So, now, good-evening; for I want 
 to get home, as we are both very tired." With this he whipped 
 up his tired horses ; and the crowd that had gathered round, 
 including several women who had come up to the other side 
 of the carriage to exchange news, and gossip with Mrs. Gom- 
 ery, were left standing in the road to discuss the opinion that 
 had just been delivered by the respected autocrat of the 
 town. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 109 
 
 A bad rumor is a bad thing; and though Freeborn Gomery 
 could not imagine any contingency in which the one he had 
 just heard could have the least foundation, yet his thoughts 
 were disarranged by it; and he did not approach his house 
 with the same calm satisfaction and pleasant reveries that he 
 had been indulging in for hours before. The journey home- 
 wards of this worthy couple had been, up to this point, a season 
 of perpetual delight. That poet was a spooney, in spite of his 
 name and fame, who said, — 
 
 " There's nothing half so sweet in life 
 As love's young dream." 
 
 Had he said there's nothing sweet having so much bitter 
 mixed with it, I would not have disputed him ; but when he 
 compares the fitful pleasure, the feverish anxiety, the jealous 
 fears, of young love, with the calm enjoyment, the sweet con- 
 tent, and the retrospective, present, and prospective realiza- 
 tion of that love cemented by years of trial, of affection, and 
 experience, and gives the preference to the former, he proves 
 himself to be very young, or an incorrigible booby. 
 
 During this long drive homeward, Freeborn Gomery and 
 his wife had talked over the events of their lives, the inci- 
 dents of the childhood of their children, the peculiarities of 
 each, their present condition and prospects ; and the sum total 
 of it all was, that they were content. They could see little in 
 the past to regret, and nothing to hope for in the future that 
 they did not anticipate. They were proud and happy in their 
 children ; and each felt grateful to the other for the faithful 
 discharge of duties towards them. They were happy, too, in 
 the love and esteem of their neighbors, both far and near, in 
 and around Montgomery; and, as they drew near the place, 
 they thought of the happy greeting they would receive from 
 them, and of the quiet social enjoyment that would be theirs 
 in the rustic intercourse with their old and well-tried friends. 
 Thoughts of this kind had been passing through the minds of 
 the two but a short time before they approached the village ; 
 and, in a half-musing tone, Gomery repeated to himself these 
 lines, so expressive of deep gratitude to the divine Giver: — 
 
 " Ten thousand, thousand precious gifts 
 My daily thanks employ ; 
 Nor is the least a cheerful heart, 
 That tastes these gifts with joy." 
 
 vol. n. 10 
 
110 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 But, of all the blessings which they prized and loved, they 
 hoped most from the son, who now, though a young man, had 
 never yet left, but for the short. period of his college-terms, 
 the parental roof. In him there was something so unworldly, 
 so Shelley-like, so individual, that he had always been to them 
 a sort of superior being ; and though his promise to the rest 
 of the world was feeble, and his worldly wisdom so scant as 
 to make his simplicity a by-word, it seemed to them that he 
 saw even with a finer eye, and a more comprehensive vision, 
 than other men. What would come of all these peculiarities, 
 they could not foresee ; but, in his broad perception and large 
 charity, they saw that which ever made their hearts glad. 
 
 And yet, notwithstanding all the blessings they enjoyed, 
 the evil rumor gave them an uneasy feeling, and somewhat 
 damped the joy they felt as they ascended the long incline 
 from the village to the Pivot. But, as they neared the 
 house, they saw, through the dusk, a figure standing beside 
 the road. " Freeborn," said Mrs. Gomery, " there is Walter, 
 and on the very spot where he stood when he came to meet 
 us to inquire after Old Joe." 
 
 Though none saw them, yet I warrant you there were 
 tears standing in two pair of eyes at this thought. 
 
 When th ejmo rning broke, and Freeborn Gomery opened 
 his eyes in his*o\vn long-familiar bed-room, he felt a thrill of 
 rest, if such a thing there be, pass through his frame ; and 
 he thought, that, however pleasant it was to travel abroad, 
 staying at home was vastly better. But this sense of satis- 
 faction was soon succeeded by a feeling that something had 
 occurred the night before that somehow jarred the harmony 
 of his life. What it was, he could not at first remember; 
 but that the strings of his nature had been roughly touched 
 was evident from the discordant vibrations that still faintly 
 swept through his harmonized and contented being. It was 
 some time before the cause of this occurred to him : but ere 
 long, in thinking of the village and of what he had to do 
 there that day, the incidents of the night before were re- 
 called to his mind, and the excited figure of little Diller was 
 before him ; and this set him into such a fit of laughing, that 
 he was compelled to forego his " forty morning winks." 
 
 The middle of the forenoon, however, found the squire at 
 his office ; though it was now years since writ, warrant, or 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. Ill 
 
 summons had passed through its doors in search of witness 
 or delinquent. It had been occupied more or less, during the 
 past year or two, by Walter, where it was said he was study- 
 ing law. But, though many had come to him to ask advice or 
 engage counsel, he had never been solicited to take charge of 
 a case. He had heard of the famous case of Craig vs. Cook, 
 and invariably alluded to it when a client sought his advice. 
 He always advised against litigation; and on several occa- 
 sions, when the amount at issue was small, he offered to make 
 up the difference from his own pocket. This offer having 
 been accepted on a certain occasion by a person who it was 
 supposed had threatened a suit for this purpose, so great 
 a commotion was caused in the village, that the man was 
 finally compelled by the public sentiment to sell his property, 
 and emigrate to a distant town. Hence the law-office, over 
 the door of which could still be seen, in letters scarcely legi- 
 ble, " Freeborn Gomery, Attorney-at-Law," was never visit- 
 ed by litigants or litigious persons : on the contrary, such 
 people always passed by with a sneaking, stealthy tread, 
 with a feeling akin to that of a debtor who fears a hail as 
 he passes a creditor's house. 
 
 But this morning, however, as it was known that the old 
 squire had returned, a large number of people called in dur- 
 ing the forenoon to give him a welcome back, and feel the 
 warm grasp of his honest hand. There was also a strong 
 desire to hear from his own lips the assurance that the late 
 rumors affecting the tenure of property in Montgomery could 
 not have any real foundation. This he gave without hesita- 
 tion, assuring them that their long possession, without dispute 
 or question, was sufficient to perfect a title, however defective 
 originally ; that the law on that point was as clearly defined 
 and well established as the natural right of every man to eat 
 the bread his own hands had earned, and in practice was 
 much more uniformly respected. The village people were 
 also eager to hear what the squire had to say of the strange 
 and interesting things he had seen in the great cities ; and 
 were equally anxious to tell him of what had transpired, 
 during his absence, in his own neighborhood. 
 
 " Silas Barton has sold his farm," said Ebenezer Otis in 
 the course of the conversation ; " and everybody, I b'lieve, 
 is in hopes he is going to move away." 
 
 ' Sold his farm ! Who has bought it ? " asked the squire. 
 
112 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY! 
 
 "It is that tall man, with silver-bowed spectacles, who 
 was here a year or two ago : Mettlar, or Meddler, I think his 
 name is." 
 
 "Little cause, then, I think you have to rejoice at the 
 change." 
 
 " Why, square ! how is that ? I thought Barton had given 
 you a sight of trouble." 
 
 " So he has. He has been the greatest nuisance this town 
 ever knew, and is the only man in these parts I ever had a 
 lawsuit with on my own account; and with him I have had at 
 least five or six. The first was near thirty years ago, soon after 
 I sold him his land, when he tried to cheat me out of half the 
 purchase-money. Then we had another dispute afterwards 
 about boundaries, and then another about fences, and then 
 about the right of way through my upper lot to the river ; 
 and here, for the last year and a half, he has been threatening 
 to bring a new suit on that score, though at the last trial he 
 had not a peg to hang his case on : and the judge said, in 
 his charge to the jury, that it was so unjustifiable a suit, that 
 an action for malicious prosecution would doubtless lie 
 against him ; and the jury found against him without leaving 
 their seats." 
 
 " Well, you are not the only man that has been worried 
 by him," said Ebenezer ; " and how it is he has been able to 
 keep his head above water so long, and pay such law ex- 
 penses, I don't understand." 
 
 " He seems," said Ben Bradish, an old sea-captain, who 
 had, a few years before, finally cast his anchor in Mont- 
 gomery, and was living at his ease on a small farm half a 
 mile from the village, — "he seems to take to law like dolphins 
 to a ship's wake, and never can be at rest in smooth water. 
 He likes the excitement of a lawsuit, as a petrel likes a storm 
 of wind and thunder and lightning. Whenever I find he 
 has any hand in any thing that I am concerned in, I always 
 take in sail, and scud under bare poles for other waters." 
 
 "Well, well," said the squire, "he is not here ; and let us 
 not talk of folks behind their backs. He will probably now 
 leave the place ; and I am sure I would sooner do him a 
 favor than an injury." 
 
 After this evil report in regard to tenure had been so effect- 
 ually killed by the authoritative dictum of Gomery of Mont- 
 gomery, every thing in the village seemed to move along with 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 113 
 
 that industrious monotony that tells of peace and prosperity. 
 Little Diller, now getting old, and, if possible, more garrulous 
 than ever, continued to surprise his guests with all sorts of 
 irrelevant gossip ; while his wife, good woman, with specta- 
 cles askew, entertained them with the good cheer that had 
 rendered the Eagle famous for many years. Craig and Cook 
 had never got at loggerheads again after the famous case, a 
 full account of which was given in the earlier parts of this 
 history. They had ever since been as regular attendants at 
 church as Elder Millson himself; and, as (so Craig once 
 expressed it) they were both of a " musical persuasion," they 
 always sang from the same hymn-book. Thomas Homer 
 was now a man prematurely broken in health and spirits. 
 Rheumatism had impaired the one, and a thankless, graceless 
 child the other. Young Obededom Homer was never amia- 
 ble. He was quarrelsome, selfish, and domineering when a 
 child ; and, during the long confinement succeeding the acci- 
 dent that made him a cripple for life, his bad qualities in- 
 creased upon him. He was the autocrat of the house, and 
 received every attention without thanks and as a right. 
 Even the attentions of Walter Gomery, in searching the 
 fields for berries or in bringing him his toys and goodies, 
 never could draw from him an expression of gratitude : on 
 the contrary, he would inquire what new presents Theron 
 and Wirtimir had lately had given to them, and would beg 
 Walter to bring them to him. But if he did not do that, 
 either from the disinclination of his brothers to part with 
 their juvenile riches, or from an idea that he ought not to 
 ask others to make sacrifices for so ungrateful an invalid, he 
 was sure to be rated and abused as a mean, stingy sneak. 
 But, as Obededom was a great sufferer from his wounded leg, 
 Walter attributed much of his unkindncss to that cause. 
 This unfortunate limb had been so shattered, that fragments 
 of bone continued to exfoliate, and work through the flesh 
 for a year and a half after the accident ; and the pains were 
 constant, and often excruciating. Such a trial would doubt- 
 less have affected for the worse a temper less morose than 
 Obededom's ; but him it made as savage as a young bear 
 with a sore head. He was the absolute tyrant of the house ; 
 and more than half his time was given up by his father to 
 attend to his wants and caprices. To him only he did not 
 snarl and snap ; but for his mother and sister he never had a 
 10* 
 
114 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 gentle word. It was like arrows in the heart of Walter 
 when he saw the kind attentions of the gentle Hester so 
 rudely repulsed, that she would shrink away to hide her tears ; 
 but when, as Obededom began to recover from his wound, 
 he saw that his sister had found a recipient for that love 
 which he had always rejected, he hated Walter with all the 
 intenseness of his vindictive, selfish, and arrogant nature. 
 And yet the loves of these two children throve and strength- 
 ened on persecution. They loved as children ; and their 
 dream of future happiness was rather of some place where 
 there should be no big ugly brother to torment them, than of 
 any fancy castle or isle such as young lovers picture to them- 
 selves. They had, as children, been thrown together at a time 
 when the childish affections of Hester, scorned and repulsed 
 by her brother, longed for recognition and sympathy. The 
 kindness of Walter had come like a healing balm ; and the 
 tender regard he evinced for her as a neglected child had 
 caused her to turn to him as her friend and protector. Thus 
 had their love begun, and it had gone on increasing with 
 years. It contained no episodes of flirtings and jealousies, 
 of quarrels and reconciliations. The two seemed to regard 
 themselves as intended for each other ; and their interests and 
 lives so blended together, that contention, doubt, or distrust, 
 were impossible. So they grew up children ; and, at the time 
 to which this history has arrived, the good gossips were be- 
 ginning to speculate on the time when the marriage of Wal- 
 ter Gomery and Hester Homer would come off. 
 
 It was but a few days after the return of Gomery and his 
 wife that Seth Mettlar again appeared in town, and took up 
 his lodgings at the Eagle. He appeared more deeply engaged 
 than before in searching out the facts in regard to the early 
 annals of the town, and in gathering materials for his history. 
 Though Montgomery was the largest town within forty miles, 
 it was not the shire-town, owing to its being situated in a 
 corner of the county. The shire-town was Chesterville, 
 some twenty miles to the north-east. After Seth had been 
 a few days in the village, he said he had a little business in 
 Chesterville, and that he must go over and attend to it. He 
 accordingly hired Diller's horse and wagon ; and giving no- 
 tice, that, if anybody had any deeds or other instruments that 
 they would like to have recorded, he would cheerfully attend 
 to them, he set out, and did not return till the evening of the 
 fourth day afterwards. 
 
A FAMILY HISTOKY. 115 
 
 Nobody knew how or why it was, but everybody felt that 
 the presence of Seth Mettlar in Montgomery Village boded 
 no good. He was liberal and free with his money, however, 
 and endeavored to ingratiate himself into the favor and con- 
 fidence of the people. Though he had bought Silas Barton's 
 farm, he made no preparations to occupy it, but, on the con- 
 trary, leased it, to the disgust of the town generally, to its 
 former owner, for the term of three years, at little more than 
 a nominal rent. 
 
 He soon left the place, however ; and the only regret people 
 felt was that he had ever been there. But, about a month 
 after, it appeared that he had not been there without an ob- 
 ject. The first intimation that any one had of what was his 
 real purpose was contained in a notice to the adverse party, 
 which the deputy sheriff of the county left at the Pivot one 
 day when the squire was away from home. This notice in- 
 formed him that an action had been commenced for trespass 
 in closing up the road leading through a certain lot ; and it 
 appeared this was to be a new trial of the last case he had 
 had with Silas Barton, — only in this case the name of Seth 
 Mettlar appeared as plaintiff instead of the former litigant. 
 The squire was annoyed at this ; for he knew it would cause 
 much trouble, vexation, and expense to defend his rights, 
 though he never had the first thought or suspicion that the 
 result would not be the same as in the last trial concerning 
 the same asserted right of way. 
 
 But more rumors of unknown origin began to circulate in 
 town ; and people began to suspect there was more truth in 
 the former ones than the squire had acknowledged or believed. 
 These all soon assumed a tangible and coherent shape when a 
 Boston paper found its way to Dille^'s Tavern, containing a 
 long and minute account of an important discovery that had 
 recently been made, showing that the title to the land on 
 which stood one of the most thriving villages in the interior 
 had recently been discovered to be in a person supposed to 
 be dead ; that it had been purchased by a most respectable 
 citizen of Boston, a member of the bar ; and that an action 
 had already been commenced that would involve the title of 
 most of the town, as well as the enormous property held by 
 the person who had not only defrauded and kept the rightful 
 owner out of his own for many years, but had assumed to 
 sell lands of great value to which he had no title. 
 
116 . GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY! 
 
 This statement in the paper was so minute in its details, 
 and so favorable to the plaintiff in the suit, as to leave no 
 doubt that the information had been derived from him, if it 
 had not been written by his own hand. But, whether that 
 were so or not, Gomery of Montgomery saw, as soon as he 
 had read the article, that he would have an antagonist in the 
 suit to deal with very different and much more formidable 
 than the weak and querulous Silas Barton. The people of 
 the village rushed to see him, and to ask what it all meant. 
 He could only tell them that he was as much in the dark as 
 they were. He could not imagine any contingency in which 
 their titles could be affected ; and assured them, if there ever 
 had been any laches, that it had been from no fault of his, 
 but that, for his part, he believed it was an attempt to extort 
 black-mail, or was a part of some other scheme to get money 
 by fraud. In this uneasy condition, the people were obliged 
 to wait till the trial came on. Efforts were made to learn 
 what the plan of assault was to be by some of the tradesmen 
 who bought their goods in Boston, and who made it their 
 business to call on Seth, and question him about his lawsuit 
 with Gomery. But Seth, like a prudent general, concealed 
 his plan of attack ; and the people were left to surmise on 
 what weak point of Gomery's title he would make his 
 assault. 
 
 The case would come on for trial at the next term of the 
 District Court ; and, until then, nothing was thought of or 
 talked of in Montgomery but the great lawsuit. The history 
 of this village seems to have been marked by great events. 
 First, there was the " great baby ball," then the " great drunk," 
 and now they were on the eve of a " great lawsuit." Gomery 
 of Montgomery was far from easy in his mind about the 
 result; but he could not find a defect or flaw in his own title. 
 The original deed given by Col. Scran ton to his father more 
 than fifty years ago was in his possession, and nobody had 
 ever questioned its form or validity ; and, even if it had been 
 faulty at first, long use had made complete what might have 
 been originally defective. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 117 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "No common object to our sight displays, 
 But what with pleasure Heaven itself surveys, — 
 A brave man struggling with the storm of Fate, 
 And greatly falling with a falling State."— Pope. 
 
 At the time the great suit of Mettlar versus Gomery was 
 commenced, it had been many years since the old squire 
 had appeared in court. Even in cases in which he was a 
 party, he would employ some younger member of the bar to 
 attend to them. But, in this instance, he had a misgiving 
 that it was too important to trust to stranger hands ; and 
 therefore he prepared to defend the case. As yet, however, 
 he was unaware of any new facts or evidence that the present 
 plaintiff had over his predecessor, and therefore could only 
 appear with the same original deed from Scranton to his 
 father, and the same witnesses that had testified in the last 
 suit, when Silas Barton was plaintiff. Armed with these, he 
 went over to Chesterville to be prepared when the case 
 should come on. 
 
 Seth was there before him ; and he had brought with him 
 one of the most eminent Boston lawyers, whose fee, Squire 
 Gomery was well aware, would be five times the amount 
 involved in this suit. It was evident from this that it was 
 to be only a test suit, and that, as the Boston papers had 
 said, the question of title to his whole Montgomery property 
 was to be tried. 
 
 The case had created much excitement, and great interest 
 was felt to learn the issue ; and a great multitude of people 
 had gathered in Chesterville, all curious and eager to know 
 the result. By consent of counsel, other cases on the dock- 
 et, having precedence of this one, were passed over; and 
 Mettlar vs. Gomery came on for trial the second day of the 
 term. 
 
 The court-room was crowded, and the curiosity of the 
 
118 GOMEKY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 spectators was about equally divided between Gomery and 
 Mettlar. The appearance of the former was imposing. His 
 form was yet erect as ever, though his hair was fast turning 
 gray; and his more intimate acquaintances thought that he 
 did not have, on this occasion, that cheerful, contented, 
 reliant expression of countenance that he was wont to wear. 
 But he had nothing of the nervous, anxious, twitching look 
 of Seth Mettlar, who, having entered before Gomery, seemed 
 to feel confused and guilty under the gaze of the multitude. 
 He had taken his seat within the bar by the side of his 
 Boston counsel, and was trying to avoid the gaze of the 
 crowd by turning to and whispering in the ear of his com- 
 panion. But, when the tall form and broad shoulders of 
 Gomery of Montgomery was seen making its way through 
 the crowd that fell back for him to approach, all eyes were 
 turned to him; and Seth felt a sense of relief that they were 
 withdrawn from himself. The old man took his seat, and 
 cast his eyes about the room; then he looked at the judge, 
 — a man as old as himself, — with whom in former years, and 
 before he became judge, he had many sharp contests in that 
 very forum ; all of which had left, however, in the mind of 
 each, the deepest respect for the other. His eyes next fell 
 upon the Boston lawyer, — Mr. Dextrous, — of whose great 
 success as an advocate and pleader he had heard much, 
 though he had never seen him before. Then his eyes fell 
 upon Seth, who, under their gaze, could no longer turn 
 away ; but with a cringing, guilty look, he cast such a piteous, 
 abject appeal on Gomery, as seemed to say, "Don't read 
 aloud my villanies to the people." At a glance, Gomery 
 read the thoughts of his antagonist, and saw conscious guilt 
 in his every look. He kept his eyes fixed on him for about 
 three minutes, as if reading the very record of his crimes; 
 then, with a smile more of pity than of scorn, he said to 
 himself, though loud enough to be heard by several, including 
 Seth, "The fool! Does he think there is no God in the 
 earth ? " At this moment the sheriff called out, " Silence in 
 the court ! " though for the last few minutes you could have 
 heard the ticking of the court-room clock. The judge 
 announced the business for the day ; and the clerk read the 
 complaint in the usual sing-song way, so that no one under- 
 stood from the reading a word of what it meant. Gomery, 
 however, had been served with a copy, and found it to be 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 119 
 
 an exact duplicate, excepting the date and the name of the 
 plaintiff, of the one he had received some years before, when 
 Silas Barton had sought redress of injuries. Hence he 
 could judge nothing, as yet, what was to be the mode of 
 attack. 
 
 Seth had employed not only the eminent Mr. Dextrous of 
 Boston to manage his case, but a young limb of the law 
 living at the county seat, named Farley, had also been en- 
 gaged as junior counsel to open the case and do the office 
 drudgery. To be retained as counsel with so eminent a 
 jurist as Mr. Dextrous, and in a case so important as this, 
 was regarded as a rare honor for so young a lawyer; and he 
 had prepared himself, with the assistance of Seth, to justify 
 the choice of his patron. He began by paying a high tribute 
 of respect to Gomery of Montgomery, who was, as all ad- 
 mitted, a man above suspicion or reproach ; a man who had 
 enjoyed more of the respect and confidence of the county 
 in which he lived than any man who had ever resided in it ; 
 one whose integrity and benevolence were so well known, 
 that there was reason to fear that that bulwark of justice, 
 the trial by jury, was sometimes impotent against him. His 
 life had been so marked by honesty and fair-dealing, that 
 many people thought all who differed from him must be 
 in the wrong. Yet the best were liable to err; and if the 
 evidence should show, that, in this case, the law was against 
 this man, — so honored, that it was only under a high sense of 
 duty that he appeared as counsel against him, — then he was 
 convinced that a jury of men so honest and respectable as 
 those before him would not let their feelings outweigh their 
 judgment, but would give a verdict in accordance with their 
 oath to respect the law and the facts. The plaintiff, though less 
 known to them, was a no less worthy citizen than the defend- 
 ant. To understand the merits of his case, it would be neces- 
 sary to revert to the early history of the town, and to examine 
 into the original titles by which the property in dispute was 
 held. In the first place, it would appear that the tract of 
 land -on which the town was situate had been granted by the 
 Colonial Government, years before the Revolutionary War, 
 to Jotham Scranton, from whom it was inherited by his son, 
 Col. Richard Scranton, who, it would appear, from some un- 
 explained reason, had deeded the property in question to two 
 parties. Under these circumstances, only the first one could 
 
120 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 be valid, unless it could be shown th.it the former one had 
 been cancelled. This one, which was made in favor of David 
 Gault, would be produced in court. It was dated in the 
 year 1773. The unfortunate fate of David Gault was too 
 well known to need comment or explanation. He had been 
 murdered during the war, himself and family; and the places 
 that once knew them knew them no more forever. It was 
 believed for a long time that not one of the family had escaped 
 the tomahawk or the rifle. Under this belief, doubtless, Col. 
 Scranton had resold the same property to Robert Gomery, the 
 father of the honored and respected defendant in this case. 
 
 But all had been mistaken. There was a son of Gault, 
 who had gone on a visit to his relatives at a distance, that 
 had not perished with the rest of the family. Unfortunately, 
 when grown up, he had taken to evil courses ; and instead 
 of coming forward, and claiming the property that his father 
 had bought and improved (the deed of which was preserved to 
 him, and was the same that would he produced in court), he 
 had run away to sen, and led the life of a roving prodigal. 
 But a life of dissipation and hardship had ruined his health ; 
 and after being cast on foreign shores, and living for years 
 among the savages of the Pacific islands (having at one 
 time given up all hope of ever seeing his native country 
 again), he at length returned, a miserable old man, with 
 scarce a dollar in his pocket; and, a poor, sick, helpless object 
 of charity, he was first met by the plaintiff in this case. He 
 had seen the poor man shivering in rags in the streets of 
 Boston ; and he had acted, as was his wont, the part of the 
 Good Samaritan. He clothed him in decent raiment, and 
 took him to a public-house ; and to the landlord thereof he 
 gave, not " two pence," but two dollars, and said, " Whatsoever 
 thou spendest more, when I come again I will repay thee." 
 But the man did not long survive ; and, feeling his death to 
 be drawing near, he sent for his benefactor, and told him who 
 he was, — that his name was Randolph Gault, the son of 
 David Gault, who had, with the rest of his family, except 
 himself, been murdered by the British and Indians in the 
 time of the Revolutionary War. To corroborate his state- 
 ment, the sick man drew from under his pillow a small pack- 
 age, and handed it to the defendant, and requested him to 
 open it. He did so, and found the deed which we shall here 
 present, soiled, yet perfect in all its parts. " There," said he, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 121 
 
 " is all I have got in this world to repay you for your kind- 
 ness. That land is mine, and I wish to leave it to you. 
 And now, as I feel my end is drawing nigh, I want you to 
 make a deed of it to yourself, and bring it to me, and I will 
 sign it." — "But," said Mr. Mettlar, the defendant in this case, 
 "perhaps, if I should accept your grateful offer, I might do 
 much injury to innocent persons. This deed is now sixty 
 years old, and more ; and many people are doubtless on the 
 property; and, if they were to be dispossessed, it would cause 
 much suffering." — " It is mine," said the dying man. " The 
 world has been against me all my life : you only have been 
 kind to me. Promise me, now, to claim this property, and 
 possess and enjoy it." Thus adjured, the plaintiff gave 
 his word ; and the deed was prepared, and signed by the sick 
 man, in the presence of two competent and reliable witness- 
 es. The next day, the unfortunate man died ; and the plain- 
 tiff, in bringing this action, is but fulfilling a solemn promise 
 to the dead; and you, gentlemen of the jury, must con- 
 sider, that, if you wrong my client, you wrong the dead ; and if 
 now, after so long a delay, justice is denied, be not surprised 
 if to you return the ghosts and troubled spirits that once 
 haunted the vicinity of Gault's Hill ! We are sorry to say that 
 one of the witnesses has also died. Thus we have the deed 
 of Col. Scranton to Gault the elder, and of Gault the young- 
 er to the plaintiff. This clearly gives the original title ; and 
 the next question is, How far have we forfeited it by non-use ? 
 To complete a vicious, defective, or fraudulent title, quiet 
 and undisputed possession for twenty years is required by 
 the common law. We shall show that the defendant in this 
 action has never passed twenty consecutive years without 
 having suits in which his title was questioned, and he was 
 obliged to assert it. The small piece of land now owned by 
 the defendant, near the village of Montgomery, was, as will 
 be shown, the subject of a lawsuit some forty years ago. It 
 changed hands by being first mortgaged ; and then, from a 
 technical defect, the mortgage did not hold ; and, when the 
 deed of Squire Gomery was brought forward, he will himself 
 recollect how it was questioned and disputed as not being 
 genuine, and he was called upon to testify to its authenticity. 
 Then there was another suit regarding the same property 
 some twenty years or more ago, in which the question of 
 ownership and title was again in dispute: and, five years 
 
 VOL.. II* 11 
 
122 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY! 
 
 ago, Silas Barton, then in possession of the land, brought a 
 suit for right of way to the river; being, technically, precise- 
 ly similar to the case that is now pending. But, as we claim 
 never to have been divested of our title, we stand on a very 
 different footing from what he did. If, now, we can show 
 that the land in question was sold to Gault sooner than to 
 Gomery, then Gomery's title is void ; and if we show that 
 we have a good and perfect deed from the only heir of Gault, 
 and that twenty years' unquestioned possession has never been 
 enjoyed by the Gomerys, father and son, then our case is 
 complete, and we shall expect a verdict in our favor. 
 
 When Farley had concluded his opening address, indicat- 
 ing the course that the plaintiff would pursue, it was clear to 
 the mind of Gomery that the whole proceeding was a gigan- 
 tic fraud. He did not believe that any deed given by Col. 
 Scranton, anterior to his, was in existence ; and, if there was, 
 he did not believe it had ever come honestly into the hands 
 of Seth Mettlar, — certainly not in the manner indicated. 
 He knew, long ago, that the survivor of the Gault Family 
 was none other than Joe Pumpagin ; and that Joe ever had 
 such a deed in his possession he knew was next to impossi- 
 ble. But even if he had, that he would ever assign it over 
 to so transparent a hypocrite as Seth Mettlar, with such an 
 injunction as had been conjured up in justification of the 
 proceeding, was utterly without the bounds of belief. The 
 reader will remember under what circumstances the secret 
 of Joe's history had been confided to Squire Gomery. It 
 was in such a manner that it could be no evidence in court, 
 even were he at liberty to use it. But it had been confided 
 to him under the strictest pledge of secrecy ; and he was, 
 therefore, utterly precluded from using in any way the secret 
 information. By breaking faith with a man whom he had not 
 seen for years, and probably never would see again, he could, 
 very likely, preserve his estate ; for he knew very well, that, 
 if he were to get up and relate the story of Joe Pumpagin, 
 as narrated by himself, a dozen years before, one afternoon, at 
 the Pivot, Seth Mettlar and his great Boston lawyer would be 
 driven ignominiously from the court, and happy would Seth 
 be to escape from the town without rough handling. But these 
 considerations did not weigh a feather in the mind of Free- 
 born Gomery. He was a man without a conscience ; or, if 
 he had one, it never troubled him. Whatever seemed to 
 
A FAMILY HISTOPwY. 123 
 
 him to be right, that he did, without hesitation or question. 
 It was in his nature to do so ; and hence lie had no need of 
 conscience to prick him to a sense of duty. Joe Pumpagin, 
 therefore, with his narrative, was accordingly dismissed from 
 his mind, as having nothing to do with the case. He must 
 make the best defence he could, without alluding to him or 
 his story. 
 
 The deed of Scranton to Gault was first put in as evi- 
 dence. It was handed to the judge, who adjusted his spec- 
 tacles, and scrutinized it closely ; then it was passed before 
 the jury, and came back to the clerk's desk. It looked old, 
 worn, and greasy. Gomery reached forward, took the deed 
 in his hands, and carefully scrutinized it. Then he took his 
 own deed,, from Scranton to his father, from his pocket, and 
 compared them. He read over the description, or bounda- 
 ries, of the two, and found them the same ; looked carefully at 
 the signature ; examined the paper on which the two were 
 written; then laid them both on the table, and said, "No 
 proof of the genuineness of the deed is required : it is ad- 
 mitted." 
 
 The next evidence put in was a mass of affidavits of vari- 
 ous persons in Gloucester, testifying to the fact that they had 
 once known the son of David Gault, the victim of Indian 
 and English cruelty; that his name was Randolph Gault; 
 and two of them testified to his having been brought to the 
 place by his father to be cured of a serious wound he had 
 received by a fall. 
 
 " That David Gault left a son, who grew up to manhood, 
 is also admitted," said Gomery, in a voice loud enough to be 
 heard all over the court-room. 
 
 The admissions of Gomery caused great consternation in 
 the crowd. Many in the audience held all they owned in 
 the world under a title derived from him ; and, if his own 
 title was invalid, then what could theirs be good for? 
 " What ! " says one, "does he intend to surrender us to that 
 snake, without an effort ? If he is willing to give up his own 
 property, he might have some regard for us, who have paid 
 him for our land, and not give up without making a fight 
 over it." 
 
 " My 'pinion," said Silas Barton, who always had a sore 
 head, and was snarling and fault-finding at every breath he 
 drew, — " my 'pinion is, that it is all a made-up thing between 
 Gomery of Montgomery and that Boston lawyer, who bought 
 
124 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 my little farm for a hundreth part of what it would sell for 
 at this minute. It's all got up 'tween the two to cheat hon- 
 est folks of their property." — "It is, is it?" hissed a- stal- 
 wart old man standing close by, as he turned his eye on the 
 speaker. " That is my answer to that," said he, as he dealt 
 a tremendous blow at the head of the complaining Barton, 
 who fell like a dead man on the floor. " Silence in court! " 
 cried the judge. 
 
 " Silence in court ! " vociferated the sheriff. 
 
 The order was obeyed by everybody rising up, and each 
 asking his neighbor what it all meant. The prostrate Bar- 
 ton was picked up and carried out, and was followed by his 
 assailant, who proved to be none other than Cook, the black- 
 smith, whom the reader may remember as once having 
 brought a grievance of his own to Lawyer Gomery for ad- 
 justment. 
 
 He was an older and a wiser man than then, and, I think, 
 a better one. As soon as they were fairly out in the open 
 air, he said, "Mr. Barton, it was I that knocked you down ; 
 and I will do it again, if you say a word agin Square Gom- 
 ery. You are the second man I ever struck in all my life, 
 and, I hope, the last. I profess to be a follower of Christ ; 
 and though Gomery of Montgomery is not of my faith, and, 
 I believe, is in a fatal error, yet he is as honest a man as God 
 ever made ; and anybody that slanders him is a villain ! " 
 
 Barton only replied, that the law would settle all difference 
 between them ; and withdrew to bathe his eye, now fast 
 changing its hue ; while Cook and the others, who, for the 
 time, had been diverted from the main business, returned to 
 the court-room. 
 
 The next link in Seth's chain of title was the deed, which 
 he alleged he had received from Randolph Gault the day be- 
 fore he died. This instrument, like the former one, was sub- 
 mitted to the judge, and then to the jury. Gomery then 
 took it, and examined and laid it on the table, saying, loud 
 enough to be heard by all, "That is a forgery! The plain- 
 tiff, in this case, is a forger ; and, for the credit of the pro- 
 fession, I am sorry to see that any respectable lawyer should 
 lend himself to a work so nefarious, so atrociously wicked, 
 as this which is now attempted." This outbreak of Gomery 
 caused a sensation in court; and the low titter of applause 
 that run through the crowd clearly indicated that the public 
 sentiment was very strong against Mettlar. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 125 
 
 The Boston lawyer, who, up to this time, had not opened 
 his lips, here rose, and said, that, with the permission of his 
 honor the judge, he would remark, that he had been most 
 fortunate in being retained as counsel in this case, as hither- 
 to it had been his misfortune to practise among city barba- 
 rians ; but now he would have an opportunity to learn not 
 only law, but courtesy. In his practice, he had never known 
 counsel to prejudge and denounce the client of his opponent 
 as infamous ; nor had it been customary to exhibit the rare 
 benevolence of giving gratuitous advice to other members 
 of the bar: and, though it might seem ungrateful in him not 
 to heed such advice, he must still insist in defending the in- 
 terest of his client; and he was greatly mistaken if the ver- 
 dict of that intelligent jury did not administer a rebuke to 
 such unjust reflections and cruel calumnies as had been in- 
 dulged in towards his client, whom he loved as a friend, and 
 honored as a man. 
 
 It should be borne in mind that Gomery knew absolutely 
 that this pretended deed was a forgery, and that his knowl- 
 edge was of that kind, and obtained under such circum- 
 stances, that he could not or would not use it ; and that, 
 unless Joe Pumpagin should unexpectedly turn up after the 
 manner that indispensable men are wont to appear in plays 
 and novels, he would find it imppssible to prove the fraud. 
 He was convinced that Seth Mettlar was not a man to en- 
 gage in such a scheme without being very sure of success. 
 He had doubtless prepared his way too well to be caught 
 tripping; had foreseen the weak points in his case, and pre- 
 pared to defend them. Unless the validity of this deed 
 could be impeached, it was clear that the law would be 
 against him. He therefore called upon the plaintiff to prove, 
 first, that it was ever signed by Randolph Gault ; and that, 
 if it was, then to prove his identity with the son of David 
 Gault, to whom the land had first been deeded. 
 
 In proof of the first proposition, several newspapers were 
 put in as evidence, containing paragraphs alluding to the 
 death of a man about a year before, named Randolph Gault; 
 then a certificate of a physician who attended him, and of 
 the sexton who buried him, were adduced ; and afterwards 
 one of the witnesses who signed the deed came forward, and 
 gave his evidence of what he knew of the case. 
 11* 
 
126 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 This was a young law-student named Trevitt, who proved 
 to be a swift witness ; and, if in all respects his testimony 
 was not what was desired, it was surely from no fault of his 
 trainer. The sagacious Seth had foreseen every possible 
 question that might embarrass a witness whose story had 
 been made for him, and he had provided an answer accord- 
 ingly. The youth was sharp, and of natural ready wit, and 
 had been wisely selected for the purpose. To secure his ser- 
 vices, Seth had been obliged to pay him a hundred dollars 
 in advance, and to promise a thousand more when a verdict 
 in his favor was given ; and five hundred dollars a year for 
 twenty years afterwards, if both should live so long. His 
 story was therefore clear and consistent throughout, and 
 was to the effect that he and the other witness to the deed 
 were both students in the law-office of Messrs. Pike & Alli- 
 born ; when one day, as they were alone pouring over Kent 
 and Chitty, the plaintiff entered, having a blank deed in his 
 hand, and told them he wished they would go with him for 
 an hour, and witness the execution of it in another part of 
 the city. He had a carriage waiting at the door, and told 
 them, if they would go, they could be back in half an hour ; 
 and, if they liked, they could stop and get some oysters on 
 their return. As it was near the close of the day, they were 
 pleased with the diversion, and went with him. They were 
 taken to a part of the town where the witness had never 
 been before, and were shown into a poorly furnished room, 
 in which was a low bed. On this was lying an old man, ap- 
 parently very sick, who, as soon as they entered, opened his 
 eyes ; and, when the plaintiff approached the bed, he clasped 
 his hand, and said, " Then you have come back : you wouldn't 
 desert the old man. God bless you in time and eternity for 
 this!" — "This is the poor man," said the plaintiff, "who 
 wants to make the deed, and to which I have brought you 
 to be witnesses." 
 
 " Did he tell you his name ? " asked Gomery. 
 
 " He did ; or rather he told my companion, — the other 
 young man who asked him the question. And he told us a 
 long story of his life. Though very weak, he told how that 
 he was born in the forest ; and that, when he was a small 
 boy, his father and mother were both murdered by the 
 Indians, at a time when he was away living with an aunt of 
 his down in Gloucester. Then he told of his life at sea, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 127 
 
 and how he had wandered all over the world, being detained 
 on one of the islands in the Pacific Ocean among the natives 
 for near twenty years, but that he had always kept the deed 
 by him to his father's property, thinking that, some time, 
 he would come and claim it. He arrived in Boston without 
 a cent of money, and not a friend in the whole world ; and 
 4 but for this good man,' said he, taking plaintiff's hand, ' I 
 should have died in the streets. All the return I can make 
 to him is to make over to him this deed. Promise me again,' 
 said he, 'to get possession of it, and enjoy it if possible.' 
 The plaintiff begged to be excused ; and said, that, were he 
 to do so, it might cause great injury to innocent parties. 
 'And you won't do it, then?' said the sick man. Then, sink- 
 ing back in his bed, he lay for some time silent and ex- 
 hausted. Soon he began again murmuring to himself, ' Oh 
 the cruelty of man ! Years have I hoped to return and claim 
 my own, to rescue my heritage from the spoiler ; but none 
 will aid me, — none. I must die ; and my curse be upon ye!' 
 ' I accept the gift, with all its responsibilities,' said the plain- 
 tiff. 'I promised it yesterday, but hoped that to-day you 
 would relent, and leave it to me to pursue such a course as 
 might seem just and proper; but I cannot resist a dying 
 man's curse. I accept the gift; but on you, in time and 
 eternity, be the consequences ! ' — ' You will accept it? ' said 
 he, rising up again, and clutching the plaintiff's hand. 'I 
 will,' responded Mr. Mettlar. 
 
 " ' And drive the spoilers off? * 
 
 " ' Yes : I have promised ? ' 
 
 "'Will leave no honest means untried to eject them? 
 will leave no stone unturned to recover that which was my 
 father's, and ought to-day to be mine ? Swear it, then.' 
 
 " ' I swear it,' said the plaintiff. 
 
 "'And you have brought the deed?' 
 
 '•' ' It is here.' 
 
 " The man looked at it, and then said, ' Do you on your 
 honor, and to a man about to die, and appear against you, 
 if you speak falsely, before the final Judge, — do you say that 
 this paper, if signed by me, will transfer all my rights in 
 this property to you ? ' 
 
 "'I do.' 
 
 " ' And you will do your best to get it ? ' 
 
 '"I will.' 
 
128 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 " c Then give me a pen.' 
 
 "The plaintiff had seen the necessity of pen and ink, and 
 had brought them with him ; and, moving up the table that 
 was in the room to the side of the bed, he placed the open 
 paper upon it, and handed the pen, dipped in ink, to the in- 
 valid. He could hardly hold himself up to write ; but, with 
 my assistance, he was able to keep himself in position long 
 enough to write his name, Randolph Gault, as you see it on 
 the deed. He fell back on the bed, and did not speak for 
 some time. Then he asked the plaintiff if he could write 
 something on the back of the deed. 
 
 " * Certainly,' said Mr. Mettlar : ' whatever you like. You 
 can revoke it all if you desire to do so.' 
 
 " < Never ! ' said he. ' Give me the pen ! ' 
 
 " He was again raised up ; and, taking the pen, he turned 
 over the deed, and began writing on the back ; but he had 
 only got to the words, ' I, Randolph Gault, son of David 
 Gault who was murdered by the Indians, declare and ' — 
 when the pen dropped from his hands ; and he fell back in the 
 bed, and did not recover so as to finish the sentence. I then 
 signed as a witness, and my friend as a notary ; and then 
 the plaintiff, calling in the woman of the house, gave her a 
 ten-dollar bill, and told her to provide every comfort for the 
 sick man. We then left, the plaintiff promising to call again 
 in the morning. The next morning, I went again to see 
 him, in company with Mr. Mettlar ; but he had died before 
 we got there." 
 
 "Who was this other witness that went with you?" 
 
 " His name was Kinney." 
 
 "You say he was a law-student, and yet a notary-public?" 
 
 " He was, as he would say himself if he were alive, or as 
 you may learn by applying at the Secretary of State's office. 
 He was a poor young man, in bad health, and of excellent 
 character ; and his friends got him a commission as notary 
 before he was admitted to the bar. He had all the notarial 
 business of Messrs. Pike & Allibone; and, with this and the 
 other fees from the office, he supported himself while getting 
 his profession." 
 
 " Did you say he was not living ? " 
 
 "He is not. He died the next spring, of consumption." 
 
 "And this signature to this deed, Henry Kinney, is his?" 
 
 " I saw it written by his own hand." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 129 
 
 The comments that were made by the spectators towards 
 the close of the above testimony did not indicate so clearly 
 as did the surprise and astonishment on their faces their 
 conviction that the case was lost ; that Gomery of Mont- 
 gomery, and many others, were inevitably ruined. Under 
 the feeling of depression and disappointment, many left the 
 court-room ; and some, thinking the verdict otherwise than 
 against Gomery impossible, left for home. 
 
 Trevitt's testimony was concluded after a brief cross-ex- 
 amination. 
 
 " What sort of looking man was this one that signed this 
 deed ? " asked Gomery. 
 
 " He was so emaciated and broken by sickness and ex- 
 posure, I could judge little of how he might have Jooked 
 when in health. I can only recollect one peculiarity. He 
 had a flat nose, as though the bridge might at some time 
 have been broken." 
 
 This peculiarity of the broken nose had been learned by 
 Seth in his researches at Gloucester, as will be remembered 
 in the narrative of the landlord of the Massasoit when re- 
 lating the mischievous pranks of young Dolph in his youth- 
 ful days, especially his revenge on Parson Dwight. In the 
 affidavits that were afterwards obtained by Seth from the 
 old people of Gloucester, this peculiar feature was described ; 
 and the witness, thus instructed on that member, was fully 
 prepared on all matters of description. 
 
 During the examination of this witness, Seth had been in 
 such a state of anxiety, that he could scarcely breathe. The 
 story, all made up from beginning to end by himself and the 
 youth, hung together with beautiful consistency in all its 
 parts ; but if by any chance a question should be asked for 
 which no answer had been foreseen and provided, and if 
 the witness should contradict himself, get confused, or forget 
 his part, then he saw ruin and disgrace before him. But the 
 youth had learned his lesson well. Seth had procured a 
 room in a back alley in Boston, which, a year before, had 
 been occupied by a dissipated char-woman, who had con- 
 veniently died in season to be out of the way as a witness. 
 This room was hired by Seth ; and to it he and his witness 
 resorted frequently to rehearse their parts. Every question 
 that either could imagine had been raised, and an answer 
 prepared for it, so as to involve no contradiction. They had 
 
130 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 even gone so far as to act the part several times, Seth taking 
 the character of the sick man. The position of the house 
 and every thing in it were carefully noted; so that, if the case 
 were obstinately contested, and wicked, unbelieving eyes 
 should come to examine the premises, no discrepancy or con- 
 tradiction should be found in the evidence to be given at the 
 trial. 
 
 It had never been the way with Gomery, when a younger 
 man, and in the full tide of practice, to attempt to confound 
 and confuse adverse witnesses. He never sought, by cross- 
 questions and ferocious aspect, to bully and frighten a wit- 
 ness with a damaging story to tell, so that he could not 
 speak the truth though he tried. But he rather encouraged 
 them to go on and tell all they knew, relying on his own 
 power to sift it, and make the truth clear to the jury. In 
 this case, the witness Trevitt had told his story clearly, con- 
 cisely, and with every appearance of truth; and Gomery 
 saw by his manner, that, though in every word he said he 
 was deliberately lying, he was not to be caught in a contra- 
 diction. That the plaintiff had made out a case that must 
 appear unimpeachable to the jury, he was quite well aware; 
 but he hoped by some means to be able to divide the jury, 
 so that they would not agree, and thus, before a second trial, 
 get time to go to Boston, and find evidence to disprove and 
 break down Trevitt's testimony. This would be a great point 
 gained. But, whether the verdict was for or against him, he 
 was convinced that this would not be the last trial. If it 
 were for him, it would be from the partiality and prejudice 
 of the jury in his favor; but if against him, while he might 
 yield as to the right of way over a small tract, he would 
 contest at the next stage of the proceedings that Seth would 
 be compelled to take, in order to benefit by this verdict. 
 Thus the whole case would be re-opened, and then he would 
 be better prepared to confound the swift witness. 
 
 From the nature of the case, Gomery had no witnesses. 
 His own deed from Col. Scranton, and the continuous pos- 
 session, constituted his case ; and the evidence brought for- 
 ward by Seth of an earlier and better title was such, that he 
 could offer nothing to weaken or destroy it. When the 
 plaintiff had concluded his evidence, therefore, he arose, and 
 said that it would matter little, probably, what the verdict 
 in this case might be, as it was only a suit preliminary to a 
 
A FAMILY HISTOBY. 131 
 
 long course of litigation. Not knowing the grounds on 
 which the plaintiff had stood, he had not been able to pre- 
 pare for the case as he would do in a subsequent trial, and 
 might have asked for postponement on the ground of sur- 
 prise. But he preferred that the plaintiff should now dis- 
 close his evidences and titles, so that at another time he 
 would be prepared for him. " But there is one thing," said 
 he, "that I wish to say to the jury ; and that is, that I know, 
 absolutely, of my own knowledge, that this whole affair is, 
 on the part of the plaintiff, Seth Mettlar, and his paid wit- 
 ness, Henry Trevitt, a monstrous, abominable, deliberate 
 fraud and conspiracy; that the deed purporting to be 
 signed by Randolph Gault is a forgery; that the whole 
 story, as given in evidence, of the sick man, the signing of 
 the deed, the dying injunction, is nothing but a series of 
 concocted lies." 
 
 Here he was interrupted by Mr. Dextrous, who claimed 
 the protection of the court for his client, as the speaker was 
 not a witness, and not sworn, and had no right to give his 
 own evidence or allege his own prejudices as facts. 
 
 " That is all I have to say on that score," replied Gomery. 
 "That I have said, and it will stand. The jury have heard 
 it ; and the most if not all of them know something of the 
 character of Freeborn Gomery, better known to them, per- 
 haps, as Gomery of Montgomery. They know that what I 
 state to be true is true; and that nothing can strengthen, 
 nothing can weaken, a statement made by me. I have said 
 what I know to be a faet ; and it is for the jury to deny it if 
 they can. I give no clew to my reasons for the positive 
 assertions I have made ; I offer no explanations : I have only 
 said that I know of a certainty, and beyond a shadow of 
 doubt, what I have charged against the plaintiff and his 
 fellow-conspirators." 
 
 The argument of Mr. Dextrous was long and artful. He 
 had carefully observed the jury during the trial, and had 
 seen that their sympathy was entirely with the defendant. 
 Therefore he could gain nothing by abusing him: on the 
 contrary, he must chime in with their prejudices, and praise 
 him. He did this so cunningly, that a stranger, unacquainted 
 with the facts, would have thought that he was retained by 
 the defendant to defend and eulogize him. And first he 
 justified himself in appearing against a man so universally 
 
132 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 respected. At first, he had been retained before he knew the 
 merits of the case ; and when he began to examine it, and 
 found it was a suit involving the interests not only of a 
 man loved and respected far above what it was the lot of 
 most men to enjoy, but also, through him, seriously affecting 
 a large community, his first impulse was to have nothing 
 more to do with it, but tell his client to look elsewhere for 
 an advocate. But he looked farther, and found that there 
 were two sides to the case ; that, as would sometimes hap- 
 pen in this world of crosses, the interests of deserving par- 
 ties conflicted and clashed: one or the other, from no fault 
 of his own, must suffer wrong ; and, in such a case, there 
 were but two ways to arrange the difficulty; one was by a 
 compromise, and the other by the Procrustean rule of the 
 law. The first had been refused with scorn and contumely 
 by the defendant; and hence the plaintiff had no resort but 
 to those courts that deal justice to all alike, respecting not 
 persons nor prejudices. But this was not a case of a grasp- 
 ing, unjust man against one honored and just, like the de- 
 fendant. His client was no less honored and respected 
 among his own people than the defendant among his. He 
 was a man, as the evidence had shown, of the finest sense of 
 honor; of most sublime rectitude; of a conscience sensitive 
 to the call of duty as the needle to the magnet. But of that 
 hereafter. The first thing was to consider the case in its 
 legal aspect ; and as it was written in the law, so must the 
 jury give their verdict. 
 
 The evidence adduced by his client in support of his case 
 was then reviewed by Mr. Dextrous at great length. The 
 chain of title was traced from its original source, — the grant 
 by Government to old Jotham Scranton ; from whom it de- 
 scended to his son, and was by him sold to Thomas Gault, 
 whose only surviving heir was Randolph Gault, whose deed 
 to the plaintiff was now in court. The law in regard to 
 undisputed possession for the term of twenty years was then 
 recited, and the records of all the suits, that, from the first, 
 the defendant had had with Silas Barton and other people : 
 and it was clearly shown that that term had never passed 
 without the question of title to the Gomery Estate being 
 raised ; not with a view to contest it, — for its validity had 
 never been doubted before, — but it had come up incidentally, 
 as one of the points formerly raised in those suits where the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 133 
 
 question of title was concerned. This point was made so 
 clear, it was evident, that, if Gomery's case depended on 
 the possession, he must inevitably lose it. Dextrous saw in 
 the eye of the only juryman he feared, that, on that point, he 
 was convinced. He had observed one man in the .jury-box 
 that all his soft words in praise of Gomery had not moved. 
 He saw, early in the trial, that this man was strongly preju- 
 diced against his client ; that he smiled and scowled accord- 
 ing as the evidence was favorable or adverse to Gomery. 
 His general appearance, during the time that the evidence 
 was being given, had been anxious and attentive. The ac- 
 cumulating evidence, going to show, that, in all probability, 
 the title to the Gomery Estate was legally and . technically 
 in the plaintiff, disturbed him greatly ; and Dextrous watched 
 the workings of his countenance with great curiosity, and no 
 little satisfaction, as he read in his face the honest man's 
 regrets that the painful duty would devolve on him of ren- 
 dering a verdict so contrary to his feelings. 
 
 But, when Gomery got up to address the jury, the anxiety 
 in the face of this man was more distinctly visible than is 
 often seen in that of a criminal when waiting a verdict that 
 must either bid him go free, or send him to the gallows. 
 And never did the words " Not guilty," from the foreman of 
 a jury, light up the countenance of a prisoner in the box 
 more suddenly than did the deliberate declaration of Gom- 
 ery, that, on his own knowledge, the whole case of the 
 plaintiff was based on forgery and fraud, change the aspect 
 of this concerned juryman. Dextrous had observed the 
 effect of this declaration, and read at once that it would 
 take a large amount of sworn testimony to rebut, in that 
 man's mind, the naked word of Gomery of Montgomery. 
 
 The other jurymen had all, at the commencement of the 
 trial, evinced more or less the same prejudice in favor of 
 the defendant as this one. But Dextrous had read their 
 thoughts so well as to see that prejudice had given way be- 
 fore tact and evidence ; and it was only the stubborn will 
 and striking individuality of the large man with rough fea- 
 tures, who sat in a corner of the jury-box, that he feared. 
 
 This man we have met before, — many, many years ago. 
 In selecting a jury, objection had been made to every one 
 drawn from the town of Montgomery, on the ground of either 
 interest or prejudice ; but, with all his acuteness, Mr. Dex- 
 
 VOL. II. 12 
 
134 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 trous had not thought to question jurors from other towns, 
 further than to ask if they had any interest, direct or indi- 
 rect, in the suit. He did not ask any one, if, in his mind, 
 the bare assertion of Freeborn Gomery would outweigh the 
 sworn evidence of a host of other witnesses ; and this was 
 the only question that would have reached the case. 
 
 The man thus interested in behalf of Gomery was Joel 
 Slocum, whom the reader may remember as having been 
 married on the day of the " great baby ball," and taken part 
 in the festivities that occurred on that memorable occasion. 
 Twenty-five years and more have passed since then; and 
 instead of the raw, awkward youth of his wedding-day, he 
 is a self-reliant, obstinate, well-to-do man. He is known as 
 a man of strong sense, but terribly set in his opinions ; and, 
 though people admit that his opinions in the end prove 
 right, they think he should be less stubborn in adhering to 
 them. But, for all that, they have imperceptibly learned to 
 appreciate the fact, that he only comes to a conclusion after 
 a thorough examination and consideration of the matter in 
 hand ; and that conclusion they respect. 
 
 At the time of his marriage to sweet Kitty Floyd, Joel 
 Slocum was far less strict in religious observances than 
 he afterwards became. Had he not been so, he had never 
 consented to attend the " great baby ball." He had been 
 brought up, as was related long ago, in the Calvinistic faith ; 
 and, at that time, was, in theory, as good a Calvinist as 
 afterwards. But it was two years after this when he made 
 an open profession, and submitted to all the requirements 
 and restrictions that were self-imposed by the earnest, hon- 
 est, respectable, but contracted and slightly bigoted mem- 
 bers who dictated that creed, and the worldly limitations 
 essential to salvation. But, whatever his religious experi- 
 ences, he had never ceased, from the day of his marriage with 
 Kitty Floyd, to regard Gomery of Montgomery as the man, 
 above all others of his acquaintances, to be honored and ad- 
 mired. In respect and reverence for Gomery and his wife, he 
 and his wife entirely concurred. The affairs of their marriage, 
 and the incident of the " great baby ball," were standing topics 
 of conversation all their lives. No English commoner, who 
 had been kicked by a lord, was ever more proud of the indig- 
 nity than he was of the courtesy and good-nature of Gomery 
 and his wife at the time of his marriage. And he had kept 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 135 
 
 up his acquaintance ever since ; and, if it ever chancer! that 
 Mrs. Gomery came to Tivernet, she did not fail to call on 
 her whom she never ceased to call " sweet Kitty Floyd." 
 Some of his church-brethren, when they heard Joel enlar- 
 ging so freely on the virtues and merits of Gomery as the 
 perfect man, would question his judgment, since, by his 
 own confession, this modern Job was far from the true faith. 
 Joel never attempted to reconcile these discrepancies, but 
 said the Lord had his own way of effecting his purposes, and 
 would make it all right in his own good time. He had also 
 another reply, that was more effectual in silencing criticism. 
 He would cite the case of Craig vs. Cook, both of whom were 
 shining lights of his own church, and say, " Who is my 
 neighbor ? " That silenced his accusers ; for they could not 
 deny that the unbelieving Samaritan was a better Christian 
 than either the priest or the Levite. 
 
 The Boston advocate read the nature of this man, and saw 
 that he had not made out his case so as to convince him, long 
 after it was evident that all the rest had made up their 
 minds. His attention was as fixed as ever; and the keen 
 observer saw, that, on the question of continuous possession, 
 even he was convinced. He did not leave that part of his 
 argument, however, for that reason : on the contrary, he 
 amplified the more upon it. He assumed that that was the 
 only point on which there could be any doubt; and by 
 dwelling long upon it, eloquently piling up the evidence and 
 the law, he thought to divert the mind of this obstinate 
 juryman from any other difficulties in the case on which he 
 might be laboring. And with an eloquent peroration, 
 assuming this as the only point for the jury to pass on, and 
 with a glowing tribute to jurors generally, and this one in 
 particular, whose honest, intelligent faces showed they could 
 never be swayed by cunning or prejudice, he confidently 
 intrusted the case to their hands. 
 
 The charge of the judge was, however, more formidable 
 in the mind of Joel Slocum than any thing advanced by the 
 oily tongue of Mr. Dextrous. He told the jury they must 
 decide according to the law and the evidence ; and, in com- 
 ing to a conclusion, they should carefully sift that which was 
 legal and pertinent from their vague impressions and private 
 belief. It was an important case, — the most important ever 
 tried in that county ; and the interests of many people were 
 
136 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 liable to be affected by their verdict. Hence they had 
 reason to guard especially against personal prejudice or per- 
 sonal sympathy. Evidence unimpeached, and standing to 
 reason, was to have due weight ; and all other was to be, 
 so far as possible, dismissed from their minds. Then review- 
 ing in detail the evidence offered, and reciting the law bear- 
 ing upon it, he bade the jury retire, and consult on their 
 verdict. 
 
 The jury were conducted to the jury-room, and then left 
 to themselves. The judge, the jury, the lawyers, and specta- 
 tors generally, believed that they would soon return. Not 
 so, however, Mr. Dextrous : he feared the stubborn will of 
 one man, and was convinced that it would require all the 
 influence and persuasion of his fellow-jurors to bring him to 
 assent to their verdict. The time passed away, — half an 
 hour, three-quarters. It was getting to be dark, and the 
 judge wanted his supper. He ordered the court to be ad- 
 journed for two hours; remarking sotto voce, that, if a jury 
 could hesitate in a case so clear as this, they deserved to be 
 locked up till they agreed, and an hour afterwards, as a pun- 
 ishment. 
 
 Two hours afterwards, the court was re-opened ; but, as 
 yet, the jury had made no sign. The judge ordered the 
 sheriff to inquire if there was no prospect of their agreeing 
 that night. The answer was, that they wanted further in- 
 structions; and the whole body were marched back into their 
 box. 
 
 The foreman stood up, and said, " The jury, your honor, 
 have all been agreed from the start, except one man.- He 
 persists in regarding the statement of the defendant as evi- 
 dence ; and the instructions now asked for are not to convince 
 us, but him, that we are not to regard it as testimony." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the judge, "does any person here 
 consider that the unsworn statement of the party in the suit 
 can weigh against the positive, direct sworn evidence of un- 
 impeached witnesses ? It is absurd and preposterous ! Such 
 evidence is no evidence at all. It is to be dismissed from 
 your minds as irrelevant; and your duty as honest men is to 
 weigh the evidence, and decide as if you knew nothing what- 
 ever of the suit, or the parties to it, except what you have 
 heard in court." 
 
 The jury again retired : but it would seem that the obsti- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 137 
 
 nate juror was still unconvinced ; for they did not soon return, 
 as was expected. After waiting half an hour longer, word 
 was sent that they had not agreed, and there was no proba- 
 bility that they ever would. 
 
 " Let them come in, then," said the judge. 
 
 They again defiled into their box ; and the foreman, stand- 
 ing up, said, " Owing to the obstinacy of one man, there is no 
 prospect of agreeing on a verdict." 
 
 "It is no obstinacy on my part," said Joel, interrupting the 
 foreman: "it is the obstinacy of the other 'leven. They all 
 admit that they would sooner take the word of Square Gom- 
 ery than the sworn testimony of every other man in the 
 house, including your honor; and yet the stubborn fools re- 
 fuse to give him a verdict." 
 
 " But you have no evidence of that kind that you can 
 entertain. His word is not legal evidence. You have no 
 right, according to your oath to respect the law, to give any 
 heed to any thing so spoken." 
 
 " But he said that the whole case of the plaintiff was a 
 forgery and fraud, and that he knew it to be so of his own 
 knowledge; and what he says I know is true, your honor 
 knows it to be true, all my fellow-jurymen know it to be 
 true ; and they have no more doubt than I have that this 
 plaintiff is a great scoundrel, and has got up the case to rob the 
 defendant of his property. We all know this to be the truth 
 of the case ; and, sooner than give a verdict in favor of a fraud 
 and forgery, I will be roasted like John Rogers. 
 
 At this outburst of nature, the judge could not forbear a 
 smile ; the foreman, and the rest of the jury, looked abashed 
 and guilty ; and there was a movement among the spectators 
 which showed that they sympathized with the rebellious juror. 
 The testimony to Gomery that had thus unwittingly been 
 drawn from the lips of the honest Joel could not but cause a 
 smile to overspread his face, that showed an inward satisfac- 
 tion scarcely less than he would have felt could he have seen 
 Joe Pumpagin at that moment enter the court-room. He 
 could see that all present, save only Seth Mettlar, his lawyers, 
 and his witness, fully concurred in the testimony that had 
 been wrung from Joel Slocum ; and the question before the 
 court, the lawsuit, sunk into insignificance in his eyes. 
 
 The judge could not expect a verdict from this jury after 
 such an exhibition of contumacy as he had witnessed; and 
 12* 
 
138 GOMEEY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 after giving Joel a brief lecture on the impropriety of carry- 
 ing his prejudices and stubbornness into the jury-box, and 
 warning him that he had already exposed himself to severe 
 punishment for contempt of court, he dismissed the jury ; and 
 the case went over to the next term, to be tried again in its 
 course. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 139 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "For most men, till by losing rendered sager, 
 Will back their own opinion with a wager." — BYRON. 
 
 At the first trial, Mettlar was obliged to show his hand ; 
 and this gave Gomery opportunity to prepare his defence at 
 the next one. He accordingly went to Boston to look up 
 evidence, and to find counsel able to compete with the subtle 
 Mr. Dextrous. He was determined not to appear himself a 
 second time in the case, but to intrust the whole matter to a 
 younger man, and one who was more familiar with the sharp 
 practice of practical sharpers. He gave a thousand-dollar 
 retainer-fee to Messrs. Myrick & Chauncey, reputed to be 
 the equals of any at the bar for "tough cases;" and having 
 narrated at great length the history of the first trial, and 
 recapitulated the points of Trevitt's testimony, he left the 
 case in their hands, and returned to his home at the Pivot. 
 
 Myrick and Chauncey set to work at once to hunt up the 
 evidence that should confound Trevitt. They set detective 
 police to inquire all about the house where it was alleged 
 Randolph Gault had ended his days, and also to learn the 
 particulars in regard to the other witness to the deed, before 
 whom it was acknowledged, and who had since died. But 
 they could not find a flaw in Seth Mettlar's chain of evidence : 
 on the contrary, they found several things to corroborate his 
 version of the manner in which he had obtained the deed 
 from Randolph Gault. The house where the man had last 
 lived, and finally died, was just as had been described; and 
 numerous people in the neighborhood remembered a poor* 
 broken old man, that had lived there a year before, and had 
 died, and been buried from that house. The woman who 
 kept the house was no longer there ; and, if the whole affair 
 was a fraud and a conspiracy, it was certainly so cleverly 
 managed, that it would be hard to detect it. So wrote Myrick 
 
140 GOMEEY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 & Chauncey to their client; but he only answered them, 
 that, as it was a plot to rob him, he would contest it, through 
 one court after another, till it was impossible to do so any 
 longer. 
 
 Of the result of all these trials the reader has already been 
 informed by good Deacon Giles, in his vindication of Brother 
 Mettlar against the aspersions of Joe Pumpagin in the Boston 
 City Tavern. The case was carried from one court to 
 another, being contested at every step by Gomery, with a 
 pertinacity, that, even to his friends, seemed headstrong and 
 absurd. In the course of the various trials, one fact had come 
 out that was a great relief to many of the residents of Mont- 
 gomery Village. Those who had bought their land from the 
 elder Gomery, or from the younger, long enough before this 
 trial came on to have had the twenty years' unquestioned 
 possession, could not be affected by the result of this case. 
 Even though Gomery had no right to sell the land which 
 they ignorantly purchased from him, yet, having held it 
 twenty years without molestation, their title was complete ; 
 while his to that which he still claimed, having been disputed, 
 or called in question, during each twenty years, still depended 
 on the final judgment in the "great lawsuit." Thus as it 
 came about that more than three-fourths of the people of 
 Montgomery were not to be disturbed, even though Gomery 
 of Montgomery were evicted, they took less interest in the 
 case ; and many of those who were not so fortunately circum- 
 stanced took advantage of the generous offer of the politic 
 Seth to compromise with him at a figure little more than 
 nominal. Others determined to stand by Gomery, and do as 
 he did; though he warned them, that, in this case, he was a 
 most unsafe guide to follow. 
 
 Hence it was, that, during the time the litigation was 
 in progress, two parties arose in the village. At first, there 
 was no man there, except, perhaps, Silas Barton, who did 
 not think the claim of Mettlar fraudulent, and commend the 
 spirit of Gomery in refusing all compromise, and resolving to 
 contest it to the last. But, when some began to compromise, 
 they found it necessary to justify their apostasy; and, to do 
 that, they must praise the liberality and generosity of Mettlar; 
 and from that it was easy to pass to comparisons, and say, 
 that, under the same circumstances, Gomery would never 
 have been so liberal. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 141 
 
 The result of all this was, that, when the final decision by 
 the full bench of the Supreme Court of last appeals was 
 given, — every point of which was in Seth Mettlar's favor, — 
 Gomery found that he had not only lost his property, but 
 that many of his friends now loudly cried out against him. 
 Seth had been wary enough to conciliate a good part of the 
 villagers while the case might be said to be still in doubt; 
 but when once every point had been decided in his favor, as 
 he had warned them beforehand, no favors were granted. 
 Those who could not establish the twenty years' possession 
 were proceeded against without mercy; and by many Gomery 
 was held accountable, because they had not compromised 
 before it was too late. 
 
 Besides this, as Deacon Giles informed Joe Pumpagin, 
 when the case was finally decided in Mettlar's favor, he 
 brought a libel suit against Gomery, which, from the novel 
 line of defence adopted by him, resulted in his being "cast" 
 in heavy damages. The defence had been justification. He 
 admitted that he had called Mettlar a forger, a knave, a 
 swindler, a perjurer, a suborner of perjury, a hypocrite, and 
 yet had not half described the infamy of his character. But 
 as the verdicts and decisions of the courts had not sustained 
 his cause, and he had no proofs of fraud that had not been 
 adduced and pronounced insufficient in the civil case, he had 
 no evidence to sustain his justification, and was left to be 
 mulcted in such damages as a jury — all of whom once thought 
 him " a man of most incorrigible and losing honesty," but 
 now regarded as an obstinate, perverse calumniator — might 
 see fit to inflict. 
 
 Fortunately, however, before this time, the older sons 
 of Gomery — Theron and Wirtimir — had taken a more 
 worldly and common-sense view of their father's difficulties 
 than he had himself. Like dutiful children, they had both 
 been on to counsel and confer with their parents on this 
 unexpected turn in their worldly fortunes; but, even to them, 
 the old squire could not and did not confess how it was that 
 he knew so positively that the claim of Seth Mettlar was all 
 a fraud from beginning to end. He told them that it was so, 
 and he knew it; and they had too much respect and filial 
 reverence to question him further. Wirtimir was the first 
 to visit him after hearing of the impending troubles; and, on 
 his return, he took counsel with his elder brother on the un- 
 
142 G0MERY OP MONTGOMERY". 
 
 toward event that was so calculated to disturb the current 
 that was to bear downwards to the ocean of eternity those 
 whom, above all others, they had so much reason to love and 
 reverence. Theron soon imitated his brother's example, and 
 made a visit to the Pivot, and, being convinced that the issue 
 of the great suit was worse than doubtful, stopped at Boston 
 on his way home, and unbeknown to his father, and so long 
 before the final verdict that he could make reasonable terms, 
 bought the old homestead, that included the Pivot, and a 
 hundred acres of land surrounding it. The deed, however, 
 was never put on record till the delays of the law were 
 exhausted ; for the son was well aware that his father would 
 be greatly displeased if he knew that any of his family had 
 had any dealings with that " canting knave," as he always 
 called the oily-tongued Seth. But when the decision had 
 been rendered by the Appellate Court, and he had engaged 
 a small house in the village, to which he intended to remove, 
 and resume the practice of law, and wait, as he expressed it, 
 "the justice that time and nature always bring," he was sur- 
 prised to receive a very polite note from Seth, informing him 
 that the house at the Pivot, with the outbuildings, and what 
 was called the "Home Farm," had been sold some months 
 before, to his son Theron, for much less than its value ; and 
 that he had done so to show that he forgave him for the 
 harsh and unjust language he had used towards him. To 
 this information he added a pious exhortation, to the effect 
 that he hoped his irreligious and unbelieving friend would 
 appreciate his Christian kindness, forsake the error of his 
 ways, and, forgetting the vanities of this world, spend the 
 remnant of his days in seeking his soul's salvation. 
 
 The old man was indignant at the letter; for he believed 
 that Seth was a forger, and knew him to be a hypocrite and 
 knave. He was also both indignant and grieved that his 
 own son should have had any dealings with him. But, as 
 he knew he had acted purely from filial kindness and affec- 
 tion, he smothered his resentment, and continued to live in 
 the old house. But as he steadily refused Seth's overtures 
 for friendship, and did not heed his request, communicated 
 by various officious persons, that by-gones should be by- 
 gones, that worthy soul testified his further forgiveness by 
 commencing a libel suit, laying his damages at ten thousand 
 dollars ! 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 143 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Oh enviable early days, 
 
 When dancing thoughtless Pleasure's maze, 
 
 To care and guilt unknown I 
 How ill exchanged for riper times, 
 To feel the follies or the crimes 
 
 Of others or my own ! " 
 
 Long before the termination of the great lawsuit, Walter 
 Gomery had awakened so far from his dreamy speculations 
 as to feel that the life he was leading was unprofitable, if 
 not ignoble. He saw as well as others what the final result 
 of the long litigation must be ; and that, in the natural order 
 of events, it would be his duty to earn his own bread. The 
 family estate must, in all probability, sooner or later pass 
 into other and unlineal hands; and he must make up his 
 mind either to be a dependant on his rich relatives, or launch 
 his untried bark on the sea of the world's struggles and com- 
 petitions. He had never before considered that he had any 
 thing else to do in life than live and love, speculate, and 
 write his great book, that was to confound doubters, and 
 solve a host of social, political, and religious problems. But 
 now he perceived that he had the duty before him of earn- 
 ing the bread he was to eat; and that, to do this, he must 
 break away from his old habits and customs, and go forth 
 into the world, dependent only on himself. 
 
 When his mind was made up as to what duty required, 
 he was not long in putting his resolution into practice. 
 
 The altered fortunes of the Gomery Family had caused 
 such a difference of demeanor in some of the people of the 
 village, that Walter felt it as a reason for going away. Still 
 he would have cared little for it, but that from one quar- 
 ter he was subjected to reproaches, sarcasm, and insult. 
 Obededom Homer, who was grown a dissipated young man 
 of near his own age, now turned upon him with all the vin- 
 dictiveness of his nature. Naturally vicious, his misfortune 
 
144 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 had rendered him worse. Long indulged as a suffering inva- 
 lid, he expected, when recovered, the same indulgence and 
 deference to his whims and caprices. We have seen how he 
 repaid Walter's kindness and attention when he was suffer- 
 ing most. After his pain had left him, he was little more 
 considerate, and continued to delight in playing practical 
 jokes upon him, from the double pleasure derived from an- 
 noying Walter and grieving his sister Hester. He was a 
 cripple, and for a long time went about on crutches : after- 
 wards he got along with a single crutch, and at last with a 
 cane. The right knee-joint was set at an angle that barely 
 allowed the toes of that foot to touch the ground as he stood 
 upright. As he was an idler, he verified the truth of the 
 saying, that " Satan will always find some mischief for idle 
 hands to do." He first took to trading in jack-knives and 
 watches with other young men that he met at school and 
 about the stores; and from this he became a horse-dealer, 
 being ever ready for a bargain with any one who would 
 " swap " and give boot. His poor father would see a good 
 horse swapped off for an inferior one, and this, again, for 
 another still worse ; till finally the last rack-a-bones would be 
 sold for a song, and the poor man would be obliged to buy 
 another. This would be sure to go in nearly the same way ; 
 until at last the old man determined to compromise affairs 
 with his son by giving him the small farm he owned a couple 
 of miles from the village, on the Tivernet Road, on the con- 
 dition he was to take that, and be satisfied. But the grace- 
 less youth sold the farm within a year, taking in payment 
 five hundred dollars in cash and three horses. The horses 
 he took at once to his father's stables ; and, as he was in 
 no immediate need of money, he did not trade them out as 
 formerly, but kept them a long time to eat up the hay and 
 grain of his indulgent and grieving father. Poor Tom Homer, 
 now an old man, groaned in spirit as he saw the property, 
 acquired with such toil, squandered and lost. But he had no 
 power to resist. The son was arrogant, insolent, and domi- 
 neering, and was master of the house. When he came home 
 from the village, he brought no sunshine with him to gladden 
 the house. No face smiled at his approach ; for the first 
 word he uttered was sure to be a surly complaint or angry 
 command. Often did Thomas Homer and his wife talk over 
 between themselves the ingratitude and evil courses of their 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 145 
 
 only son. They felt that they had no power in themselves 
 to reform him, or save the whole family from poverty and 
 ruin. Under these circumstances, they were doubly pleased 
 to know of the attachment existing between Hester and 
 Walter Gomery ; not doubting that it would result in mar- 
 riage, and that, therefore, whatsoever might come to them 
 through Obed's folly and extravagance, she would be well 
 provided for. 
 
 But even this hope was taken away from them when it 
 became evident that Squire Gomery would be left a poor 
 man, — the poorest man in the town, and quite unable to pay 
 his debts. Walter would inherit nothing; and, as he had 
 never given any promise of business talent or capacity, it 
 seemed that they were doing a great wrong to Hester in per- 
 mitting Obed to squander what should be rightfully her 
 patrimony. For some time before the commencement of the 
 great lawsuit, Obed had accepted it as a fact that his sister 
 would marry Walter Gomery ; and, though too unamiable to 
 care for either of them, his pride was flattered by the in- 
 tended connection, and he thought, too, it would be a good 
 thing in a pecuniary sense to have a rich relation. 
 
 But, in spite of these considerations, his malignant nature 
 rejoiced when misfortunes came upon the Gomerys. He 
 never met his sister but he indulged in an exultant chuckle 
 at the changed prospects of Walter ; and, if he met the lat- 
 ter, his malicious eye revealed the triumph of his heart; and 
 his vicious tongue would let fall some remark, as that some 
 folks who always played the gentleman would have to dig 
 potatoes for a living yet. 
 
 Walter felt that it was time for him to leave ; that he 
 could not and ought not to stay longer at Montgomery. 
 His changed prospects were the subject of many long and 
 serious conversations with Hester; and many plans and pro- 
 jects for the future did they discuss and consider. She could 
 not object to his going away; for her own heart was made to 
 bleed too often by the cruel words of her brother on his ac- 
 count for her not to realize the necessity of his departure. 
 
 Hester Homer was " pure womanly." Not strong-minded, 
 nor intellectually gifted, she was all love and affection to 
 every thing and everybody. In her childhood, as we have 
 seen, she had been very delicate, pale, and fragile. Her eyes 
 were large and blue, and her complexion was fine and deli- 
 
 VOL. II. . 13 
 
146 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY! 
 
 cate as ever rejoiced a proud mother's heart. In her earlier 
 years, she was so fragile as to appear almost sickly ; and it 
 was not till she was past her fifteenth birthday that her 
 body had acquired the strength and vigor necessary to de- 
 velop all of Nature's reserved beauties. She never took 
 greatly to books or studies, but was ever happy with her 
 pets and flowers. The dreamy speculations of Walter she 
 could but little appreciate; but his earnest nature and con- 
 siderate kindness appealed to her heart, and she regarded 
 him as a being of a superior order. When she realized the 
 fact that it was necessary that he must leave her for a time, 
 she acquiesced, though with many tears, in the belief that he 
 knew and would do what was for the best. She had little 
 of self-reliance ; and, as if conscious of her own deficiency 
 in this respect, she clung with fond tenacity to those who 
 commanded her respect; while, to those who could respond 
 to her affection, she gave her love without suspicion and with- 
 out guile. Frank and artless in her manner, she had small 
 faith in her own opinions ; and partly from the pliancy of 
 her disposition, and partly from the desire of seeing others 
 pleased, she would readily yield her own preferences and 
 pleasures, if thereby the gratification of those around her 
 could be secured. 
 
 Though Walter, in one sense, had not been idle since leav- 
 ing college, his occupations had been of that kind that had 
 brought no money. He had been an omnivorous reader, and 
 had written many fragments that he intended to work into the 
 great book that he was resolved to write. This idea he now 
 felt, that, for the time at least, he must give up ; for his altered 
 prospects would no longer justify him in anticipating a quiet 
 life at the Pivot, watching the parental footsteps as they de- 
 scended the down-hill of life, and sharing the pleasures and 
 delights of domestic quiet with the woman of his love, free 
 from the cares and troubles that follow those who strive for 
 wealth and fame. But these dreams must all be given up ; 
 and so, with a resolution and firmness hardly to be expected 
 from his character, he made his preparations without impart- 
 ing to any one but his father and mother, and her to whom 
 he had promised to return and at a future time take with him 
 to his new and as yet undiscovered home, his intentions to 
 leave Montgomery, and begin thus late the battle of life. 
 
 Though he resolved, previous to setting out, that under no 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 147 
 
 circumstances would he become in any way dependent on his 
 rich relations in the great cities, yet, as he must pass through 
 those places on his way to that unknown country where he 
 expected to begin his struggles, he must, of course, visit his 
 brothers and sisters. This had been enjoined upon him by 
 both father and mother ; and the latter hoped that he might 
 by them be induced to abandon his design of going farther, 
 and, under their protection and assistance, embark in business 
 that would place him, like them, independent of the world. 
 But he felt the impossibility of accepting any proposition of 
 the kind. There had never been much sympathy of ideas 
 between his brothers and himself. His ways were not their 
 ways. He did not incline to business ; nor could he see how 
 the accumulation of wealth was in itself a worthy object, or 
 its possession the highest earthly enjoyment. For him there 
 were still other objects in life; and he had self-knowledge 
 sufficient to convince him, that, in the pursuit of a vocation or 
 calling to which he was by nature unfitted, he would proba- 
 bly prove inefficient, and fail. 
 
 During the time of his miscellaneous reading, he had been 
 ostensibly studying law ; but his legal studies were such as 
 would be pursued by the statesman or political economist, 
 and not by the practising attorney. He was well grounded 
 in the principles of the noble science ; but the forms of prac- 
 tice he had never learned. Nevertheless, after making up his 
 mind to go away, and before avowing his purpose to any one 
 save Hester, he ventured to apply for admission to the bar ; 
 and, by good management, was rejected. The reason of this 
 was, first, that, as the phrase went in the village, " the house 
 of Gomery was falling ; " and, second, that he knew too much. 
 His examiners began by proposing what they thought puz- 
 zling questions : but he entered into the principles on which 
 certain rules of the law were founded, so fully as to confound 
 them, and, by a sort of cross-questioning them in turn, so 
 thoroughly exposed their own ignorance of the fundamental 
 principles of law, that they unanimously reported him not 
 qualified; adding the consoling advice, that, with a couple of 
 years more of study, he would doubtless be able to pass a 
 satisfactory examination. This result astonished many peo- 
 ple ; and it was remarked, that if he had applied a year and a 
 half before, when he did not know half so much law, he 
 would doubtless have been admitted to practice, without 
 
148 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 question. But the Mettlar suit had intervened ; and even the 
 best friends of the Gomerys felt a secret satisfaction at their 
 misfortunes. Now, any thing that could humiliate was not 
 considered improbable. 
 
 Amid all these reverses and calamities, however, the old 
 squire was as light of heart, apparently, as ever; and, though 
 he saw clearly enough that his neighbors paid him less defer- 
 ence than formerly, he took good care that they should not 
 perceive that he observed it. Even the parson of the All- 
 saints could with difficulty get an opportunity to express his 
 condolence with him, and to warn him, in view of his uncer- 
 tain tenure of his worldly possessions, to lay up treasures in 
 heaven ; and, if his earthly riches were swept away, to con- 
 sider it as a lesson, doubtless sent as a special providence to 
 punish him for his unbelief. To this his rejoinder was, that 
 ■ if I were as orthodox in belief and as loud in my prayer as 
 the canting thief who is trying to rob me, it would not, pro- 
 bly, save my property ; and, if it would, how then could your 
 good brother Mettlar be rewarded for his piety? Could my 
 property be gained by him, and saved to me by that means, 
 and thus, by a sort of transubstantiation or a hocus-pocus, 
 both of us be rewarded for our piety ? " 
 
 The good parson said that "great is the mystery of godli- 
 ness ; " and it would be useless to try to bring him to a sense of 
 his condition, until, like Dives, he waked up in hell, being in 
 torment, and beheld Mettlar like Lazarus in Abraham's bosom. 
 This retort was reported to the faithful at the next conference, 
 and they were greatly comforted. 
 
 Proud, ambitious Mrs. Gomery, however, did not regard 
 the impending loss of property so calmly and wisely as did 
 her husband. She showed that she was annoyed by the 
 changed manners of her neighbors ; and, instead of bruskly 
 laughing to herself at their folly and fickleness, she made many 
 little observations, that, though sarcastic and just, still afforded 
 the objects of them consolation ; for they showed that she was 
 annoyed and hurt. But she mixed little with society, and 
 shut herself up as exclusively as possible in her own house; 
 and, after a while, was so seldom seen abroad, that it was im- 
 possible for her malicious friends and neighbors to annoy her, 
 and, which grieved them worse, to know that she was annoyed. 
 
 All these changes were observed by Walter, and contrib- 
 uted to make him impatient of delay. Any place in the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 149 
 
 world, it seemed to him, would be less suggestive of unpleas- 
 ant thoughts than his native village ; and he left it, feeling th.it 
 he was an exile, and must return to it as his home never 
 again. He took with him only money enough to serve him, 
 at the most, two months ; for he concluded, that, if ever he was 
 to earn his bread, the sooner he began, the better it would be. 
 Of all things, he now most wanted to get to work ; for he was 
 no sickly sentimentalist whining and puling for sympathy, but, 
 when the necessity for labor and endurance appeared, he was 
 ready to bear his part. Though aware that any call for aid 
 from home, or from either brother or sister, would be prompt- 
 ly and cheerfully responded to, yet he was determined that 
 in no contingency would he ever call for help from any such 
 source ; and this not so much from pride as from the reflection 
 that he was a well man, possessed of all his faculties ; and, if 
 he could not earn his bread, he concluded — as many others 
 might with propriety — that he had better die. 
 
 On his arrival at the house of his brother and brother-in- 
 law at New York, his reception was more cordial and warm 
 than he had expected. Indeed, for the past few years, he 
 had seen little of his brothers or sisters. His memory of 
 the former, when he was a boy, was of large, rough, rollick- 
 ing fellows, that often dealt rudely with him, delighting to 
 annoy his pets, and always laughing at his queer, old-fash- 
 ioned ways. Since then, they had always regarded him as 
 odd and eccentric ; and always spoke slightingly of his pro- 
 pensity to retirement, and unprofitable dreaming and specu- 
 lations. But, if such a life suited him, they cared little 
 about it as long as every thing went prosperously at the old 
 homestead. That they would, of course, always wish to 
 keep in the family; and if he preferred to remain there, 
 and inherit the Pivot, it would always be to them and their 
 children a delightful retreat, to which they would make 
 occasional pilgrimages when wishing to escape from the 
 cares and excitement of town life. But now that their 
 father was like to be stripped of all his property, and the 
 Pivot, if not rescued by them from the spoiler's hands, would 
 go to strangers, they thought it high time for Walter to give 
 up dreaming, and set himself to business. Accordingly, 
 when he reached New York, his brother Theron, his sis- 
 ter Juliet, and his brother-in-law Jenks, all tried to per- 
 suade him to give up his project of going off on a wild-goose 
 
 13* 
 
150 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 chase he knew not whither or for what object, and set 
 himself down to the routine of business in some house in 
 New York; assuring him that they could easily find him any 
 situation that he was competent to fill. But, however ro- 
 mantic his ideas, he acted on his own convictions ; and for 
 reasons within his own mind, when once he had resolved, he 
 was not to be coaxed, persuaded, or driven from his purpose. 
 At Philadelphia, he was subjected to still stronger pressure 
 to induce him to remain there : but the result was the same ; 
 and after spending a fortnight there, debating whether he 
 should go west or south, an incident occurred that deter- 
 mined his course. But, until we know any thing more of 
 him or his fortunes, many changes will take place at Mont- 
 gomery ; and we shall meet with some old acquaintances in 
 whom the reader may still have an interest. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 151 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "Adieu 1 — a heart- warm, fond adieu I 
 Though I to foreign lands must hie, 
 Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ryba', 
 With melting heart and brimful eye 
 I'll mind you still, though far awa\" — Burns. 
 
 The great lawsuit has been brought to a close, and the 
 final decision has been given ; and a year has passed since 
 Seth Mettlar was declared, by the highest tribunal in the 
 land, to be the owner of the Gault-Gomery Estate. The 
 village is changed from what it once was. Gomery of Mont- 
 gomery has not the influence he once had ; and he no longer 
 tries to exert what is left to him. The village has changed, 
 not so much in outward appearance as in the character of 
 its people. There the stern yet glowing light of Freeborn 
 Gomery's presence is not potent, as formerly, to hush scan- 
 dal, and frown down strife and litigation. The whole place 
 seems to have become quarrelsome and litigious. Neighbor 
 is now against neighbor ; and strife and contention are in 
 many places where they had before been unknown. Even 
 Cook and Craig, both of whom are now grandfathers, have 
 fallen out again ; and neither has the assurance to apply to 
 Gomery for counsel or advice. 
 
 "With the change in the fortunes of Freeborn Gomery, or, 
 as the people ambitiously expressed it, with "the fall of the 
 house of Gomery," Diller's Tavern seemed to lose its char- 
 acter. His wife had become aged and infirm; and even 
 Diller's strength was too often recuperated from the bottle. 
 People continued to meet in his bar-room to talk over public 
 affairs: but now they invariably came to personalities; and 
 many bruised shins, bloody noses, and broken heads, were 
 carried out of his doors. He was no longer the active, 
 loquacious little fusser of the jolly days of old. His tongue 
 only knew its old vigor when the character and fortunes of 
 Gomery of Montgomery were under discussion. Then he 
 
152 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY! 
 
 always waxed wroth, and declared that Goraery was, in all 
 respects, the best man and the best Christian he ever knew, 
 or ever expected to know, and that he had been robbed of 
 his property by the meanest lantern -jawed hypocrite that 
 ever disgraced the Eagle by his presence; and all who did 
 not agree with him were requested never to darken his 
 doors. 
 
 And all this, too, when Seth Mettlar was his guest, and 
 occupying the best rooms in his house, and paying double 
 the price he had ever asked before. He had grown old in 
 the faith that Gomery was the man to stand by and to 
 swear by ; and, now that misfortunes were upon him, he was 
 more vehement than ever in his praises. This was well 
 known to Seth, who, for a year before the lawsuit was finally 
 decided, had been a resident of Montgomery, living all the 
 while at Diller's Tavern. But he never combated Diller's 
 opinions or expressions : on the contrary, he rather com- 
 mended his fidelity, saying it was a most noble trait to 
 stand by one's friends in misfortune. Further than this, the 
 meek and misrepresented Seth gave no sign, except to avoid 
 the subject, and avoid Diller, too, when he was about 
 opening on his favorite topic. 
 
 This, however, was not long to continue, though Seth's 
 forbearance was often cited by his friends as evidence of 
 his Christian charity. He endured all the hard things said 
 of him by the chattering old landlord until after the final 
 decision, beyond which there was no appeal. Then he left 
 the house ; and, for reasons not suspected at the time, he 
 bought and moved into the cottage-house about a mile from 
 the village, and near to the house of Thomas Homer. Here, 
 with one servant brought from Boston, he began keeping 
 bachelor's hall. He and Obededom had somehow become 
 great friends, though very different in habits and character. 
 There was one point of sympathy between them, and that 
 was mutual hatred of the Gomerys. Obededom had traded 
 out and squandered the proceeds of the farm his father had 
 given him ; and Seth was so indulgent as to loan him small 
 sums of money on his own security, and larger ones when 
 his father could be coaxed or bullied into giving his note. 
 This acquaintanceship was highly gratifying to Mrs. Homer, 
 who hoped great good from it for Obed : and she remarked 
 to her husband, that tfye influence of so religious and worthy 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 153 
 
 a man as Mr. Mettlar would be of great benefit to Obed ; for 
 " he always was a good-hearted boy." But Thomas shook 
 his head, and said he feared no good would come from those 
 who made war on Gomery of Montgomery. 
 
 It was not long after Seth had changed his quarters from 
 the Eagle to his own house, when it so happened that Obed 
 Homer came into the bar-room to treat a friend who had 
 just cheated him at a horse-trade. There were a number of 
 people in the room, including several of the villagers, and 
 half a dozen travellers who had stopped there for the night. 
 Obed, feeling rich, invited everybody to drink ; and, in the 
 course of the conversation that followed, he spoke of the 
 brighter prospects for the people of Montgomery now that 
 Old Gomery had been obliged to disgorge the wealth that 
 never was his, and a man of enterprise and Christian prin- 
 ciples had come in to give business a start and clever fellows 
 a chance. 
 
 This remark was overheard by Diller, who, standing behind 
 his bar on a raised platform that added eight inches to his 
 height, always felt free to launch forth his opinions of men 
 and things ; and accordingly he spoke up, so that his sharp, 
 piping voice could be heard clear into the street, and said, 
 that as he believed, and every other honest man, — though 
 he gave his opinion confidentially, and not publicly, — the 
 Gomery property had all been stolen by them Boston rascals, 
 and that Seth Mettlar was the king on 'em ; and that he had 
 no more right to it than Buck Robinson had to the horse he 
 stole of Cyrus Saunders, and which he was now in the State 
 Prison for. If justice was done, he added, he guessed that 
 Buck Robinson and Seth Mettlar would put up at the same 
 tavern. 
 
 This tirade of the rash landlord was duly reported to 
 Mettlar by his faithful friend Obed the next day, which 
 happened to be Sunday, as the good man was sitting in front 
 of his cottage, towards evening, conversing with several of 
 his neighbors on certain theological points that had been 
 authoritatively settled that day by Parson Skeelrnan in his 
 afternoon's discourse. In the heat of the discussion, Obed 
 drove up in a flashy light wagon drawn by the horse he 
 had traded for the day before, paying boot with the money 
 lent him by Mettlar. Alighting from his carriage, he limped 
 up towards the house, and was met half-way by Seth, who 
 
154 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY 1 
 
 warmly shook his hand, remonstrating with him at the same 
 time for not having been at church, assuring him that he had 
 lost a great deal. 
 
 "Yes, yes ! I dare say ; but I will attend to those things in 
 time. The Devil ain't going to catch me ; and, if he thinks 
 he has got me fast, he'll find I'll slip the halter yet before I 
 kick the bucket. But I haven't come to talk religion ; in- 
 deed, I make a d — d poor fist of it when I try it. I've come 
 to let you know what that magpie of old Gomery says of 
 you, and to tell you, that, if you don't shut up his clam- 
 shells, I shall. It makes my blood bile to see my friends 
 abused so ! " 
 
 " Why, what did he say ? " spoke up several. 
 
 " He said that Mr. Mettlar was a thief and a robber ; had 
 stole old Gomery's property; was the king of the Boston 
 rascals ; and that he had no more right to his property than 
 Buck Robinson had to the horse he stole from Cyrus Saun- 
 ders, that he was sent to jail for ; and, if justice was done, he 
 and Buck would put up at the same tavern, and sleep in the 
 same bed." 
 
 Seth said " it was a great pity men should be so unjust 
 to those who never did them any harm ; but Diller was a 
 poor weak creature, a silly tool of Freeborn Gomery, and he 
 could not feel it in his heart to resent his scandalous words. 
 Indeed, he was not angry, — not at all : he knew the weak- 
 ness of poor human nature, and that the heart of man was 
 deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked." 
 
 "You will certainly take some means to put a stop to his 
 calumnies," said Nathan Jones, a man who had early es- 
 poused the cause of Seth, as he said, on religious grounds, 
 for the good reason that he always regarded Gomery of 
 Montgomery as a godless, graceless man. 
 
 " No : I can forgive him, not only till seven times, but till 
 seventy times seven." 
 
 " But he says he won't have your forgiveness," said Na- 
 than. " I have heard him talk ; and when I told how you 
 disregarded his vile words, and did not resent them, but, in 
 view of his ignorance, would freely forgive him, he replied, 
 that when you gave up the property, and confessed you had 
 got it by fraud and forgery, then you might forgive him, but 
 not before." 
 
 Seth cast his eyes upwards as if beseeching Heaven to 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 155 
 
 witness his resignation under persecution, but afterwards sat 
 moody and silent. His friends and neighbors soon after took 
 their leave, more than ever impressed that the town and the 
 church had made a great acquisition in having for its richest 
 and most influential citizen a man so meek and orthodox, 
 instead of the free-thinking, sternly-judging Gomery of Mont- 
 gomery. 
 
 After Seth's friends had left him, he sat for some time 
 meditating vengeance on little Diller. He was such a garru- 
 lous, irrepressible talker, that he thought it would be undig- 
 nified to pursue him for libel as he had Gomery; and, be- 
 sides, he wanted to show that he was of a forgiving spirit. 
 So he resolved to ruin him by putting up an opposition tav- 
 ern, larger and better than the Eagle, and thus take away 
 his custom. This he would do from a sense of duty, and as 
 a public-spirited citizen; but he would bear no malice to 
 Diller. He would only rescue travellers from the necessity 
 of listening to his slanderous tongue. 
 
 A large vacant lot in the centre of the town, and over 
 against the Eagle, had always been retained by Gomery; 
 and this having, with the rest of that estate, fallen in due 
 course of law to Seth Mettlar, he determined to make this 
 the site of the new hotel. He talked over his project with 
 some of his*most confidential friends ; and, that it might not 
 appear to be a scheme of his own to revenge himself on Dil- 
 ler, he proposed to make a joint-stock company, and take 
 the most of the stock to himself. They readily joined in the 
 enterprise ; and, in a few days, it was announced that a new 
 hotel was to be built right opposite the Eagle, so much 
 larger, finer, and more commodious, that little Diller's house 
 would appear but as a pig-sty beside it. I am sorry to say 
 that some men took stock in this new hotel, of whom better 
 things were to be expected ; for, disguise it to themselves as 
 they might that they acted only from a desire to encourage 
 public enterprise, they all knew that the project originated 
 in the malice of Seth Mettlar. Among these were both 
 Craig and Cook and Thomas Homer; the latter, however, 
 being pressed into it by his wife and his hopeful son, the 
 former of whom had always been a worshipper of wealth, 
 and regarded poverty as a crime ; While money, more com- 
 prehensive than charity, would cover every sin. 
 
 The scheme was hardly mooted before it came to Diller's 
 
156 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 ears, and he at once understood its dread import. He was 
 to be ruined by inches by the cool, malignant Seth Met- 
 tlar. At first his rage was so great, that he could say noth- 
 ing; and, when asked what he thought of the project, his 
 tongue failed. " Gentlemen," said he to the bystanders, 
 "excuse me: I can't at present do justice to the subject." 
 As evening fell, he thought he would go up and consult his 
 old friend Gomery on the aspect of things : but, just as he 
 was sallying forth into the street, he saw a carriage with 
 two horses drive by in the direction of the Pivot ; and, as 
 he had no doubt it contained one of the sons or daughters 
 from abroad, he thought it better to postpone his visit till 
 morning. 
 
 Diller had been right in his conjecture. The carnage that 
 he saw passing through the village the night before con- 
 tained Wirtimir Gomery and his eldest son, now a good- 
 sized lad. He had come on to see what could be done for 
 the old people, who latterly, though still living at the Pivot, 
 had found life less pleasant than before the dark shadow of 
 Seth Mettlar had crossed their path. They were alone ; not 
 one of their children was left with them : and, under their 
 changed circumstances, they did not wish any one to remain 
 there, and be compelled to witness the changes that were 
 going on, especially in the respect and regard shown to the 
 family. But a greater source of grief to them was that they 
 had heard nothing from Walter since he left Philadelphia. 
 They knew he had there shipped on a small vessel to go 
 farther south ; but even the name of the vessel was unknown 
 to them. Had he been lost at sea ? and were his bones lying 
 at the bottom of the Atlantic ? Was he cast away on a 
 desert shore ? or was he wandering, suffering, perhaps, in a 
 foreign land? A year had gone by, and not a word from 
 him had his parents received, and they greatly feared that 
 he had found a watery grave ; wfyen one autumn evening, 
 as Mrs. Gomery was sitting alone, just as daylight was 
 shutting down into darkness, thinking of poor Walter, 
 the door opened, and Hester Homer entered. The candles 
 had not yet been lighted; but the light from the brisk 
 autumn fire was sufficient to reveal the excited features of 
 Hester. 
 
 " What, Hester, you ! " said Mrs. Gomery, rising and em- 
 bracing her, while the tears rolled fast down the cheeks of 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 157 
 
 both. "What has brought you ? you have not been here for 
 so long." 
 
 Hester sank down in a low chair, and faintly said, "A 
 letter ! " 
 
 Mrs. Gomery also sank back in her chair, and gasped, " A 
 letter, a letter ! —from Walter? " 
 
 "Yes, from Walter; but I have not seen it. Oh, dear, 
 dear \ I shall go crazy ; indeed I shall : I can't live this life 
 any longer. Do take me here, and let me live with you ! 
 Obed has got the letter, and read it, and says he has 
 lost it." 
 
 " Ah, thank God ! then he is alive." 
 
 "Yes : he is alive, but is dead to me. But it is false ! " 
 
 " Dear child, be calm ! What does he say ? " 
 
 Between sobs and tears, she managed in time to say that 
 Obed found a letter for her in the post-office, and opened 
 and read it ; and Walter wrote that he had become tutor to 
 a rich planter's family, and should never return. 
 
 " ' Tis false ! " said Mrs. Gomery firmly: " he wrote no such 
 thing!" 
 
 " He says, too, I had better forget him ; for he is soon to 
 be married to the planter's daughter, who is heiress to a large 
 plantation." 
 
 " 'Tis false ! Show me the letter ! " 
 
 " He says, that, after reading the letter, he put it in his hat; 
 and, in coming home, it blew off, and the letter flew into the 
 river, and he has forgot the name of the place where the 
 letter was written." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it. He never got any letter." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he did ! for father was there too, and saw the 
 postmaster give it to him." 
 
 " Did your father read the letter ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! Pie wouldn't read my letter without my per- 
 mission." 
 
 The truth was, a letter had been received, and given by 
 the postmaster to her father; and he, unthinkingly, gave it 
 to Obed to take home to his sister. The old man had come 
 to the village with his ox-team to haul out some lumber to 
 repair his barn ; and Obed was, of course, there with his 
 horse and wagon. The letter was Well worn, as though it 
 had come a long way ; and Obed saw that it was in Wal- 
 ter's handwriting. 
 
 VOL. II. 14 
 
158 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 The reader has doubtless discovered ere this that Obed 
 has set his heart on having his sister marry Seth Mettlar, 
 notwithstanding she is not twenty, and he is past forty-five. 
 From the first (partly from admiration, and partly from mal- 
 ice), Seth had determined to crown his triumph over the 
 Gomerys by winning to himself, by fair means or foul, the 
 woman who had, from a child, been plighted to Walter. It 
 was to have an ally in Obed that Seth had affected so much 
 friendship towards him, and been so free to lend him money. 
 But, though words of praise of his friend were always in 
 Obed's mouth when in the presence of his sister, he never 
 could induce her to tolerate his presence. Though yielding 
 and gentle generally, yet, whenever Seth Mettlar came to 
 the house, she kept her own room, against both the threats 
 and persuasions of Obed and her mother. The latter had 
 adopted the views of her son, and was as eager as he that she 
 should look kindly on Seth. Hester saw through the whole 
 scheme, and, for a while, used to steal away from home as 
 often as possible, and go and take counsel with Mrs. Gom- 
 ery. But this refuge and solace were soon forbidden her; 
 and she felt herself to be a prisoner at home, — a sort of An- 
 dromeda exposed to a monster. 
 
 Affairs were at this stand at the time that Obed received 
 the letter, and started for home, having it in his pocket. On 
 his way, he was greatly troubled for fear it might contain a 
 promise of Walter's return ; in which event, all his affection- 
 ate and brotherly designs would come to nought. So, in his 
 doubt and dilemma, he resolved to call, on his way home, 
 and take counsel with his friend Seth Mettlar. 
 
 Seth at once proposed that he should open the letter, and 
 read it ; and Obed concluded that they must do that, in order 
 to ascertain what it would be necessary and proper to do 
 next. So Obed broke the seal, and read the letter to his 
 friend. It was full of tenderness and affection, and gave an 
 account of his doings since his last letter was written ; which, 
 he said, he had enclosed in one to his mother six months 
 before. He wondered why he had never received an answer 
 to it. He concluded by promising to return, at the farthest, 
 in two years, if life were spared him. By that time, he 
 doubted not he would be able to offer her a humble home. 
 
 "That letter must be stopped," said Seth. 
 
 "It can't be done : father knows I have got it; and so does 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 159 
 
 Capt. Keyes, the postmaster. He said he guessed it was 
 from Walter Gomery." 
 
 "Can't you lose it?" said Seth. "Say that your hat blew 
 off, and it flew into the river." 
 
 "But she will know I had it, and will think he is coming 
 right home; and that will be worse than the letter." 
 
 "Tell her that the seal was already broken, and that you 
 read it, and he said he was never coming home again, but 
 was going to many another girl." 
 
 "I might do that," said Obed musingly. "I think, how- 
 ever, I will keep the letter; and, if the worst comes to the 
 worst, I can give it up, and say I only meant it as a joke." 
 
 " That will never do," said Seth, taking the letter, and 
 carefully reading it over to himself, and then handing it back. 
 You are not afraid, I hope, of such a milk-sop as this Walter." 
 
 "Me afraid of any Gomery! I'll show you how much 1 
 am afraid of him!" And with this he crumpled the letter, 
 and threw it in the fire. 
 
 "All right," said Seth; "but don't let her know that I 
 knew any thing about it. If she takes on too much, you can 
 tell her how to direct her letter, and she will get another. 
 But I didn't notice where this was dated." 
 
 " Nor I : what a pity ! " Seth, however, had noticed it, 
 and had made the suggestion to see if Obed had done the 
 same ; and, as soon as Obed had left him, he jotted it down in 
 his note-book, that it should not afterwards slip his memory. 
 
 Mrs. Gomery saw that a cruel imposition had been attempt- 
 ed on Hester, and told her so. She said that the letter 
 doubtless contained the most cheering news, or else it would 
 not have been lost ; that she would probably get another one 
 soon ; and, in the mean while, she must speak to the postmaster 
 to deliver no more of her letters, except into her own hand. 
 
 But these encouraging words gave small consolation to 
 poor Hester. She returned home as sad as she came. It 
 had got to be dark before she set out to cross over by the 
 back path from the Pivot; and as she hurried home, being 
 blinded by her tears, in crossing a brook she made a misstep, 
 and wet her feet. On reaching home, for the first time she 
 was glad to learn that Seth Mettlar was in the parlor, as it 
 gave her an excuse for going to her own room, and thus es- 
 caping from the censuring eye of her mother. She sat an 
 hour in her room, thinking over the events of the day, till 
 
160 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 at last the cold dampness of her extremities warned her of 
 her careless exposure. She took up her Bible, and read a few 
 verses, not comprehending a word. Then she breathed a 
 prayer; and then 
 
 " Her gentle limbs did she undress, 
 And lay down in her loveliness." 
 
 But not to sleep. What with the excitement and the ex- 
 posure, she tossed about, growing each moment more fidgety, 
 till at last the idea possessed her that she was wandering 
 barefoot over the frozen ground, seeking for Walter; and so 
 vividly did the hallucination possess her, that she called aloud 
 on his name, so that both her father and mother were awa- 
 kened from their first sleep by her cries. They both hastened 
 to her room ; but Hester knew them not. She called upon 
 them, with a voice harsh and unnatural, to give her back 
 Walter. The mother looked at her daughter, whose wild, 
 unnatural eyes smote her to the heart ; and, hardly knowing 
 what she said, she exclaimed, " God's curse is upon me, I 
 verily believe!" The old man hurried from the room, and 
 called up Obed (who slept in a distant part of the house), 
 and bade him hurry for the doctor; for that Hester was stark 
 mad, and calling for Walter. 
 
 Even this selfish, heartless, and unnatural brother was now 
 alarmed. He hastily dressed ; and seizing his cane, and hur- 
 rying to the stable, he brought out and harnessed his horse, 
 and was away to find the doctor. The wise and learned Dr. 
 Purkitt had been gathered, with all his wisdom, to his 
 fathers, long before this ; and it was profanely remarked by 
 sundry of his left-handed admirers, that, by such an acquisi- 
 tion, the amount of knowledge in the other world must be 
 greatly increased. Dr. Toler was now the recognized 
 physician of Montgomery. As Obed was driving towards 
 his house as fast as he dared in the darkness, he could not 
 but think that perhaps his sister would die, and then he must 
 admit that he had killed her. Then the thought of how, for 
 long years, she had borne his unkind ness with the most for- 
 giving gentleness, came upon his mind; and, in spite of him- 
 self, the tears came into his eyes. Then he excused himself 
 by saying it was all the fault of that intruder, Walter: and 
 then the thought occurred that he already owed Seth a great 
 deal of money, who was his best friend, and he ought to 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 161 
 
 serve him; and perhaps Hester would not die, after all, — 
 she might get well, and change her mind ; and, on the whole, 
 he concluded, as he drove up to the doctor's door, that he 
 had done about right. 
 
 The first gleams of daylight could be seen streaking the 
 east as Dr. Toler and Obed entered the house. Obed hadn't 
 the courage to enter the sick-room; but, having learned that 
 Hester was about the same as when he left, he sneaked off 
 to his own room, and was soon asleep. 
 
 The doctor examined his patient, and said there was no 
 immediate danger; but she had evidently received a shock 
 from which she would not recover for months. She had a 
 sort of delirious or brain fever, and would require the closest 
 attention and care. The good man staid with the grief- 
 stricken parents till after sunrise ; and, word of Hester's un- 
 happy condition having been sent to the neighbors, several of 
 those mature women who were famous for their services 
 when people first came into the world, and for disposing them 
 decently when they left it, had come to render assistance. 
 Among the first of those who came to give their aid and 
 sympathy was Mrs. Gomery. She entered the house as if it 
 were her own ; and even Mrs. Homer shrank back abashed 
 before her, perhaps thinking of the rebuff she had received 
 when she ventured to suggest that her vicious son had been 
 taken and mistaken by her for a Gomery. She entered 
 Hester's room without invitation ; and her mother saw with 
 relief and satisfaction that she recognized her, called her by 
 name, and spoke endearingly to her, while all the rest, 
 including her father and mother, appeared to her as 
 strangers. 
 
 Mrs. Gomery staid with her the larger part of the day; 
 but as there was no immediate danger, and she had been 
 advised that her son Wirtimir would probably arrive that 
 night, she left for home, promising to come the next day. 
 It was after a day like this that she welcomed the son, whom, 
 for five years, she had not seen. 
 
 After supper, the young Master Freeborn, who was now 
 making his first visit to his grandparents, was despatched, 
 very tired and sleepy, to bed. The conversation that ensued 
 during the long evening can be pretty well imagined by the 
 reader, from his knowledge of the family affairs. Wirtimir 
 had come on with the idea, that, after all, it would be best 
 
 14* 
 
162 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 for the old people to give up the Pivot, and move away, so 
 that they could be nearer their children. He said they had 
 all conferred together on the subject, except Walter; and 
 he was of small account, besides being a poor wanderer, 
 nobody knew where; and they had agreed to buy any city 
 or suburban place that might please them in or near either 
 New York or Philadelphia, so that they could see each other 
 every day if they liked. But neither the squire nor his wife 
 would listen to this suggestion for a moment. They wisely said 
 they were too old to get accustomed to a new place ; that, 
 however good people they might find their new acquaintances, 
 there could not be the same identity of interests, sympathies, 
 and feelings, as with those among whom they had spent so 
 many years, — those little incidents of social life that make 
 up the pleasures of the old would be wanting; that, at Mont- 
 gomery, they knew everybody, and everybody knew them; 
 and, if ever a neighbor called on them, they would be inter- 
 ested in all he had to say ; if his child was sick, they could 
 condole with him ; if his cow was lost, or his horse had got 
 lamed, they could do the same? But, in a new place, they 
 could feel little interest in such affairs ; and few or none would 
 come to them for advice or condolence. As they were, they 
 could share, to some extent, the enjoyments of the younger 
 people ; and though they had experienced much ingratitude 
 in their misfortunes, that pierced them to the quick, yet, on 
 the other hand, they had received much genuine sympathy, 
 which they could never have known in prosperous times; 
 and Mrs. Gomery spunkily remarked, that true friends she 
 would not pain, nor false ones gratify, by going away. 
 
 The next morning, they were all up betimes; and, while the 
 breakfast was preparing, the old squire, Wirt, and young 
 Freeborn, were out looking at the farm, the cattle, horses, and 
 hogs. The apple-trees in the orchard were now loaded with 
 fruit that "burned among the withered leaves;" and the 
 " good trees " were pointed out to the delighted Freeborn. 
 
 In looking over the place, recalling to mind the events 
 of his boyhood, and surveying its scenes, Wirt could not 
 wonder at his parents' unwillingness to leave the Pivot. 
 It was a beautiful place, having a commanding view of all 
 the surrounding country, save that to the south-west : the 
 hill that overshadowed the Pivot, on which still stood the 
 old house built by his grandfather, cut off the prospect in 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 163 
 
 that direction. The situation of the old house, or " Perch," 
 was the finer of the two ; but it had not been kept in repair 
 like the house at the Pivot, and the fences and shrubbery 
 were falling into neglect. This was now the property, of 
 Seth Mettlar; and it caused a pang to the old squire whenever 
 he cast his eyes towards it. 
 
 But the Pivot was in complete order. The house and 
 barns, the wood and carriage houses, the carriages and farm- 
 tools, were all in perfect repair. The house, in its internal 
 arrangement, was very like many a New-England home. 
 It was larger and more pretentious than any other in the 
 vicinity; but it had the same characteristics of plainness, 
 comfort, and convenience. The rooms were large and airy ; 
 and r plain as was the furniture, it was solid, durable, and 
 expensive. The large, high bedsteads of mahogany, oak, or 
 bird's-eye maple, were furnished with well-rounded ticks of 
 live-geese feathers, overspread with linen white as the newly 
 drifted snow, and blankets of fine merino wool ; and there 
 were spare beds for many guests. Hospitality was a virtue 
 of the Gomerys ; and many a customer had little Diller lost 
 by it. 
 
 The breakfast is waiting ; and, until the tour of the in- 
 spection of the premises has been completed, Mrs. Gomery 
 takes her place at the head of the table, and falls to musing. 
 She thinks of the changes in Wirt's appearance since she last 
 saw him. He was the largest and finest-looking of her sons, 
 and now, just in the prime of life, was as fine a specimen of 
 the physical man as ever New England produced. He was 
 just six feet one and a half, and with a form faultlessly sym- 
 metrical. He had the manly, wholesome cast of his father, 
 somewhat tempered and softened by the graceful lines of 
 beauty which he had inherited from his mother. With a 
 feeling of intense pride, his mother now contrasted him in 
 her mind with the other men of his age whom she knew; 
 and she remembered and was confirmed in her former im- 
 pressions, that the children of Freeborn Gomery were not 
 as the children of other men. There was something so noble 
 and grand about him, that it seemed not for one generation 
 alone, but to have the power of self-perpetuation. During 
 her revery, many incidents of her early wifehood occurred 
 to her; and, the memory of the "great baby ball" recurring 
 to her mind, she smiled as she thought of its ludicrous scenes, 
 
164 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 and of the part that the infant Walter bore in them. This, 
 again, recalled her thoughts to her poor wandering boy, 
 whom, in her heart of hearts, she loved above all her chil- 
 dren ; and the tears were just rising to her eyes, when she 
 heard the outer door open, and the voice of her husband 
 calling to his grandson to come in to breakfast. She roused 
 herself from her revery, forced back the tears, and was ready 
 for the matutinal duties of the table. 
 
 The breakfast was but about half over when the serving- 
 maid said that Mr. Diller was at the door. 
 
 " Show him in here," said the squire ; and directly, and 
 before he could get into the room, the little man's voice was 
 heard in the entry- way, — 
 
 " Well, well, square ! what do you think now ? That thief, 
 that rascal, that forger, is going — Oh ! how do you do, Mr. 
 Wirt? excuse me, I am glad to see you. Good-morning, 
 ma'am. That woodchuck, that musquash, that skunk, is goin' 
 to build another tavern just to ruin me, and take off the cus- 
 tom from my house. But he will find it a losin' business, I 
 can tell him ; for I will cut down prices, and I'll keep folks 
 for nothin', sooner than have that rascal get their custom." 
 
 " Why, what is all this you are talking about ? " said the 
 squire. 
 
 " What ! you hain't heard the news ? Well, then, I'll tell 
 ye. This thief Mettlar, that stole all your property, has been 
 stopping at my house ; and just because I gin him now and 
 then a piece of my mind, and said he ought to be in the State 
 Prison, he said he'd forgive me, and then went to work to 
 ruin me. He gives the vacant lot between Gibbs's store and 
 Kidder's shoe-shop, just opposite my tavern, and is goin' to 
 run up a three or four story brick house that will knock the 
 Eagle all to flinders. I won't stand it, square; I won't, I 
 won't ; and so I won't ! " 
 
 "But how can you help yourself? He has ten times the 
 money that you have ; and suppose you run opposition, 
 what will you make by it? It is probably just what he 
 would like. After you have spent all you have ever saved 
 by keeping the Eagle, you can go upon the town ; and then 
 you will have the satisfaction of knowing that he must pay 
 taxes for your support." 
 
 " But what shall I do ? He is bound to ruin my house, 
 and spile my business." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 165 
 
 "Haven't you kept tavern long enough to afford to quit?" 
 asked Wirtimir. " You were keeping the Eagle as long ago 
 as I can remember. You must have something pretty hand- 
 some laid up by this time." 
 
 " Yes : I suppose, if I could sell out my place for what it is 
 worth, I should have enough to do me and the old woman." 
 
 " What , do you call your property worth ; that is, the 
 house, land, and stables, — in fact, all but the furniture ? " 
 
 " I have offered to sell for three thousand dollars." 
 
 "I will give you twenty-eight hundred dollars, and six 
 months' time to close up your business, rent free." 
 
 " You will ? It's a bargain." 
 
 " Yes ; but there is one condition I must make. You shall 
 say nothing about it till the new house is well along, — till 
 you are about leaving the Eagle. Then just take your mon- 
 ey, buy a small place, live at your ease, and talk with every- 
 body." 
 
 " I'll do it. It's just what me and the old woman has been 
 wantin' to do for a long time." 
 
 So it was agreed that Wirtimir should buy the old Eagle- 
 Hotel property ; that his father should make out the deed 
 that day, and he would send on the money to pay for it im- 
 mediately on his return home. Diller, it was understood, 
 was to keep on in the hotel as usual till the new one was 
 well advanced ; and then the old house should be pulled down 
 to make way for a block of brick stores, and Diller should 
 have the superintendence of their building under the old 
 squire, and be paid a regular commission for his services. 
 
 The little landlord returned home in high glee ; and, enter- 
 ing his house, he there met Seth Mettlar and several of his 
 admirers waiting the landlord's return to serve them with 
 some of his newly worked cider, which had been tapped the 
 day before. 
 
 Entering behind the bar, the little man mounted the small 
 platform, which, for thirty years, had been his rostrum for dis- 
 pensing grog, and, launching forth his opinions, said, "Mr. 
 Mettlar, you can't have any cider at this house." 
 
 " How ? Why is this ? " spoke up several. " What does 
 this mean ? " 
 
 "It means that this house is no place for rascals and 
 thieves ; and I don't want none of their custom. So, Mr. 
 Setli Mettlar, you will just put your mean carcase outside of 
 my door, and never enter it again, if you please." 
 
166 GOMEEY OP MONTGOMERY I 
 
 Seth and his friends were so astonished at this outbreak of 
 the fiery little Boniface, that they could answer never a word ; 
 and they all left the house, Seth taking the lead. 
 
 This last act of aggression and insult on the part of Diller 
 greatly scandalized the friends of the meek and forgiving 
 Mettlar ; and a meeting of the directors of the new hotel 
 was held the evening of the same day, and measures were 
 taken to commence the work immediately. The next day, 
 men were set to work to dig the cellar, and the contracts 
 were made for the bricks and lumber for the house; and the 
 master-builder, who had already made his plans, was duly en- 
 gaged to superintend the work. 
 
 Little Diller took great interest in the new hotel. He 
 would stand in his own door, and talk to the workmen, telling 
 them they were doing the Devil's work. His sharp, piping 
 voice could be heard a dozen times a day foretelling all sorts 
 of disaster to the shareholders, and threatening to run an 
 opposition which should render their investment a dead loss. 
 He indulged his vagrant tongue without restraint or remorse 
 in denunciation of Seth, and the silly dupes who had been 
 foolish enough to think they could run an opposition to the 
 Eagle, and make money by it. Indeed, he was a thorn in 
 the flesh of them all ; and the foundation was not fairly laid 
 before the most of Seth's co-workers wished both him and 
 his hotel to the Devil. 
 
 When the work was fairly begun, and the contracts made 
 for all the different parts both of the house and stables, Seth 
 informed his loving friends that business would require his 
 attendance in Boston, and that he should be absent for a few 
 months. In view of this afflicting necessity, he sent a well- 
 expressed note to the new minister, Parson Skeelman,of the 
 All-Saints Church, requesting that he might have the prayers 
 of the congregation in his behalf under the sad dispensation 
 that called him to part with so many beloved brothers and 
 sisters. 
 
 Parson Skeelman was a most worthy man. His parish- 
 ioners said he was neither so sound in doctrine nor so strong 
 in argument as his predecessor, Elder Millson; but he was a 
 man of peace, and intended to be a strict follower of him 
 he professed to serve. He believed Seth to be a knave and 
 a hypocrite ; and, if left to himself, he would have avoided 
 mentioning his name, except in condemnation ; and, instead 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 167 
 
 of praying that he might prosper in his courses, he would 
 have prayed that he might turn from his life of hypocrisy and 
 sin, and restore his ill-gotten gains to their rightful owners. 
 But this would breed a schism in the church ; and the good 
 man could not bear that. There was no element of discord 
 or strife in his nature ; and he told one of his deacons, when 
 Seth was taken into the church, that he feared he would 
 prove a Trojan horse. In his present perplexity, he called 
 on the same deacon and another leading member for advice ; 
 and they asked him censoriously, if he had the interests of 
 the church no more at heart than to think of offending, and 
 perhaps driving from them, the man who, above all others, 
 could and would do most to build up Zion. They even 
 hinted to the good man that he must be tainted with free- 
 thinking and infidelity if he did not see a special providence 
 in the misfortunes that had fallen onGomery of Montgomery, 
 who was worse than an infidel (for he professed Christianity 
 while he denied its fundamental doctrines), and in giving 
 his property to one of the elect. 
 
 The poor parson could # not contend. It was not possible 
 for him to hold his own in controversy ; and, the next day 
 being Sunday, he read the request of the woe-begone Seth, 
 and made a somewhat ambiguous prayer, beseeching the 
 throne of grace- that their departing brother might return 
 to them strengthened in faith, and, by good works, be a 
 bright and shining proof of the divine power and grace. 
 Many were deeply moved at the words of the good pastor; 
 and there was not a dry eye among all the shareholders in 
 the new hotel. As for Seth, he covered his face, like the 
 wife of Bath, to hide the tears he did not shed. 
 
 The work on the new hotel was pushed ahead with great 
 activity ; and on Seth's return, some four or five months 
 later, it was nearly finished. He returned to be present at 
 the opening, which was to be a great event in the town, — 
 in fact, Montgomery was famous for great events, — and to 
 witness the dismay and discomfiture of Diller, and the tri- 
 umph and reward of himself and virtue. But what was his 
 astonishment on his arrival to learn that that bumptious and 
 irascible little man was preparing to rebuild, or at least to 
 greatly repair and enlarge, his house ! for he had just moved 
 out of it, and taken with him the best part of his furniture, 
 and sold the rest at auction. 
 
168 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 Under these circumstances, gnly a nominal rent could be 
 got for the new hotel ; and some of the shareholders were 
 even now, before the house was opened, offering to sell out 
 at a loss. Seth cared little for that, however, if he could 
 only punish the pugnacious Diller, and show the world that 
 he bore a heavy hand that was powerful to destroy. The 
 house might pay rent big or little ; but people must learn 
 that he was the man of power in the place, and that they 
 would show him any want of respect or deference at their 
 peril. 
 
 The good man's plan for effecting this consummation worked 
 badly ; for, the next week, men were set to work by Diller to 
 tear down the old house which had so long been a land- 
 mark for travellers. The Eagle Hotel, under Diner's manage- 
 ment, had long been a credit to the place; and people saw 
 with regret the relentless hand of improvement engaged in 
 its destruction. As for Diller and his wife, they would not 
 stay to witness it ; but, before the work of demolition be- 
 gan, they started off to visit some relatives living some thirty 
 miles distant, and did not come back till it was razed to the 
 ground. Before his return, Seth had the further consolation 
 of knowing that he did not intend to rebuild his house, 
 and that, therefore, the new hotel had been leased for 
 five years for one-fifth the rent it would readily command. 
 Instead of rebuilding the Eagle, Diller now told everybody 
 he was going to put up a row of brick stores ; and it was 
 soon known that he had made a contract to that effect with 
 a master-builder, and advanced one-half the money to pay 
 the cost of them, the other half to be paid on the completion 
 of the building. 
 
 Seth groaned in spirit at these signs of Diller's prosperity; 
 and, on meeting with Parson Skeelman, he told him, that 
 notwithstanding all he had done for that people, and espe- 
 cially the church, he did not seem to be appreciated as he 
 ought to be, and that his trials and sorrows were heavy, and 
 grievous to be borne. He therefore hoped, that, for his spe- 
 cial edification and consolation, he would, on the next Sunday, 
 preach from the words, " Whom the Lord loveth, him he 
 chasteneth." The good parson — he was a good man, if 
 ever there lived one ; I knew him well — saw that Seth was 
 afflicted at the impotence of his own malice ; but, neverthe- 
 less, he promised compliance, and, without consulting any 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 169 
 
 one, prepared a sermon which was very different from what 
 Seth had wanted. Inclined as he was to peace, he felt it 
 would be sinful and cowardly not to rebuke such hypocrisy 
 and malice; and he nerved himself to the work. He began 
 by citing Job — "a perfect and upright man, one that feared 
 God, and eschewed evil " — as an illustration of the text ; 
 and after dwelling at length on the Lord's dealings with 
 him, and drawing therefrom the moral that men should first 
 do their duty in all things, and then, like Job, trust in entire 
 confidence in the Lord, he said that he could illustrate his 
 idea further by an illustration of their own times, and from 
 their own neighborhood. Seth's eye brightened at this ; and 
 he stealthily looked around to see if people were not all 
 looking towards him as the modern Job. But his pride and 
 vanity were destined to a speedy fall. The familiar illus- 
 tration was not himself, but Gomery of Montgomery. Many 
 others besides Seth were startled at the allusion to a man, 
 who was not of their own faith, as one whom the Lord loved. 
 It had been the fashion and cant of this church to speak of 
 Gomery's misfortunes as a punishment for his unbelief. " But 
 here," said the bold parson, " is a man living among us whom 
 we all feel and think to be in error; who in faith and doc- 
 trine is not with us, nor of us; and whose creed is the 
 device of the enemy of souls : and yet what a rebuke are the 
 ways of this man to many of those here before me who have 
 been born into the new life ! His voice is ever cheerful, and 
 his face ever serene ; for all he has a kind word, and to the poor 
 his hand is always open. He never repines at his lot; his 
 heart never frets against the Lord. He returns not railing 
 for railing, nor treasures up the memory of ingratitude. Nay, 
 outwardly, during a long life, not even his bitterest enemy 
 can deny, but that, like Job, he has not sinned, nor charged 
 God foolishly. And, if the righteous scarcely be saved, how 
 shall the ungodly and sinner appear ? If he is to be cut off, 
 how shall it fare with you who are given to slander and 
 envy, and all manner of uncharitableness ? Faith without 
 works is dead. Hotv, then, do ye expect to enter the king- 
 dom of the blessed, when your religion is but a cloak to sin, 
 and your lives an insult to the blessed Saviour whom ye pro- 
 fess to serve?" 
 
 The boldness of this onslaught on the members of the 
 church for a time disarmed criticism. People felt its just- 
 
 VOL. II. 15 
 
170 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 ness, and were rebuked ; and Seth saw that he had gone too 
 far in trying to make the whole church a party to his own 
 malice. He was greatly comforted, however, soon after, on 
 learning that Diller was not acting on his own account, but 
 as the agent of Wirt Gomery ; for, much as he disliked the 
 Gomerys, little Diller had been such a constant annoyance 
 to him, that he both feared and hated him above all the 
 world besides. In time, however, he so far rallied the mem- 
 bers of the church, that Parson Skeelman was arraigned for 
 the obnoxious sermon of six months before. But other 
 events are now culminating fast; and perhaps, before the 
 good parson is offered up as a sacrifice to the vindictive ma- 
 lignity of Seth Mettlar, something may occur to avert his 
 punishment. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 171 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " The bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 
 And I am next of kin ; 
 The guests are met, the feast is set : 
 Mayst hear the merry din." — Coleridge. 
 
 The days and months go by, the winter has passed, and 
 the summer has come ; but no word of cheer has reached the 
 house of Gomery of Montgomery. No word from Walter 
 comes to gladden his mother's heart ; and age, which she has 
 so long defied, is beginning to tell on her form and features. 
 The old squire, too, is no longer the man of former times. 
 He still bears a stout heart in his intercourse with the world ; 
 but his restless eye and abstracted manner still show that 
 grief is doing its work. The sympathy and attentions of 
 friends seem no longer welcome : a great sorrow that none 
 but themselves can comprehend has made a great gulf be- 
 tween them and their neighbors. People feel that their 
 condolences are but a mockery of woe, and keep aloof. The 
 Pivot is isolated from the village, and is regarded with a sort 
 of sacred awe. Friends and enemies alike respect the grief 
 that now reigns there. 
 
 Except Seth Mettlar. The clouds and darkness that are 
 settling on the heads of Gomery and his wife in their declin- 
 ing years are welcome to this night-bird of fortune. While 
 darkness has gathered around the Pivot, he has waxed strong 
 and confident in his prosperity and success. He is to be 
 married to Hester Homer ! 
 
 When Mrs. Gomery returned to the house of Thomas Ho- 
 mer, the second day after her interview with Hester at the 
 Pivot, she entered with the same air of confidence and right 
 as on the day before. In the parlor she met Homer, who 
 was sitting silent and sad, the very picture of despair. 
 
 " How is this ? " said she. " Hester is no worse ? " 
 
172 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 The poor man burst into tears, and left the room ; and, at 
 the same moment, his hopeful son Obed limped in, with an 
 air of saucy assurance that more than answered her ques- 
 tion. 
 
 "How is Hester?" inquired she, with a look in which 
 anxiety and contempt were strangely blended. 
 
 " She is very sick," said Obed, approaching the fire, and 
 seizing the tongs, but not venturing to raise his eyes. 
 
 "Poor child! I will go and see her," said she, moving 
 towards the door that led to her room. 
 
 " She is not able to see any one to-day," said he, as, with a 
 hop, skip, and a jump, he sprang between her and the door. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the indignant woman : " can't see 
 me ! She will, I think ; " and she brushed past the cowed 
 wretch, who shrank back beneath her indignant glance, and 
 rudely opened the door. At the same moment, she con- 
 fronted the mother of Hester, who, with finger to her lip, 
 motioned silence, and said, " Hush ! Hester can see nobody." 
 
 " Not see me ! " 
 
 " She must have quiet. We are very anxious about her ; 
 and we all think it best she shall see no company at pres- 
 ent." 
 
 " I must and I will see her ! She is mine, my child, the 
 plighted wife of my boy, and I will see her ! " 
 
 Obed, who by this time had rallied, now stepped up, and 
 said, " Mrs. Gomery, this is not your house ; and you cannot 
 see my sister. We all think she will be be better without 
 your visits." 
 
 Bewildered and astonished, Mrs. Gomery cast her eyes 
 through the door, and towards the stairs that led to Hes- 
 ter's room, and caught a glimpse of the head and spectacles 
 of Seth Mettlar, at the instant they bobbed back to escape 
 her glance. At once she comprehended the whole plot, — 
 that it had been arranged that she should not see Hester; 
 and proud woman that she was, and accustomed to have 
 her own will and way, she now saw she could only submit. 
 For an instant, fierce anger lit up her face ; then tears rose to 
 her eyes ; and, raising her handkerchief to her face, she sobbed 
 aloud, turned, and left the house. 
 
 More sad and despondent than she had ever been, Mrs. 
 Gomery fook the trail back to the Pivot that had been worn 
 by the dear feet of her lost Walter. Though it was broad 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 173 
 
 day, yet she could hardly see the path ; and crushed, helpless, 
 and well-nigh heart-broken, she slowly retraced her steps 
 across the fields, and through the belt of woods between the 
 ungrateful threshold and her own house. Her only wish 
 was that Walter would return ; and then, she doubted not, 
 some means would be found to free Hester from the con- 
 straint that had been put upon her. Of course, she was no 
 party to the insult that had been offered her : but Mrs. Gom- 
 ery knew full well how yielding and gentle she was in her 
 disposition ; how she had borne without complaint, for her 
 life long, the tyranny of her morose, exacting brother, and 
 would, to draw the least expression of kindness from him, 
 concede any cherished pleasure or anticipated enjoyment. 
 She might die. " Ah, well ! " she thought : " there might be 
 a worse fate than that. To die, — why, all must die : but to 
 be driven to a living death ; to be the compelled wife of Seth 
 Mettlar, a repulsive, crawling reptile, whose very sight is 
 enough to make the blood curdle and the flesh creep, — it is 
 a refinement of torture ; and it will kill poor Hester, and the 
 sooner the better." 
 
 After this, Mrs. Gomery went out less than ever. The old 
 squire used to move about as usual among people; but it 
 was clear to all that something else had affected him more se- 
 riously than the loss of his property. No one could see, when 
 that was first taken from him, that he was affected by it in 
 the least; for his jokes were as piquant, his face as cheerful, 
 and his voice and laugh as loud and sonorous, as ever. But 
 now, though he never complained, it was evident that deep 
 sorrow was gnawing at his heart-strings. Seth Mettlar heard 
 these rumors, and chuckled with delight. Hester Homer 
 too, it was said, had recovered from her sickness, and was 
 more beautiful than ever before. Seth was now a constant 
 visitor at the house : and it was soon announced that Hester 
 and her mother, and the reformed and affectionate Obed- 
 edom, were going on a visit to Boston ; and the latter in- 
 formed his friends that their object was to make the neces- 
 sary purchases preliminary to his sister's wedding. Seth was 
 to follow soon after, and, as soon as he could, make his ar- 
 rangements for building a new house on the site of his cot- 
 tage, which was to be finer than any thing ever seen in Mont- 
 gomery. 
 
 Some people said that Hester Homer was greatly changed 
 
 15* 
 
174 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 from her former self. Her old schoolmates said she did not 
 seem to be the same person. She had always been a great 
 favorite among the young girls of the village ; for combined 
 with her gentleness of disposition were great vivacity, and 
 the faculty of throwing herself into the sports of youth, so 
 as to make all lively and cheerful around her. But the few 
 that saw her now said she never talked to them of her vil- 
 lage companions ; never made any allusion to those town 
 affairs that make up the senseless chatter of village school- 
 girls ; but she talked of the fine things she was to have, — 
 the fine house, the rich furniture, and handsome carriage. 
 But she never laughed or smiled as in former days, and never 
 seemed to care for any of those things in which she once 
 took an interest. 
 
 Thomas Homer saw the changes going on in his own 
 household with great sorrow. But he was past the power 
 of resistance. His thankless ingrate of a son had attained a 
 complete control over him. He one day met Gomery of 
 Montgomery, and detained him to assure him that he had no 
 hand or part in the acts of his family. 
 
 " I know that full well," said Gomery. 
 
 "It can only end in shame and sorrow," continued Homer; 
 " and I wish I were dead, so as not to witness the end of it." 
 
 Seth, having made his arrangements to have his house fin- 
 ished in the autumn, followed the Homers to Boston, where 
 he was warmly congratulated on his great good fortune. He 
 was now exultant in his pride ; and, in company with his 
 betrothed, he paraded daily up and down the most frequented 
 streets of Boston, that his old acquaintances might see, won- 
 der, and admire. It was on this occasion that Hester created 
 the great impression of which Deacon Giles spoke in his long 
 eulogium on Seth Mettlar, given at the city tavern for the 
 purpose of confounding Joe Pump agin. 
 
 The summer months are past, and the Indian summer of 
 autumn has given way to the frosty nights of November. 
 The forest-leaves, yellow and red, are fast falling before the 
 rustling winds, that go sighing among the trees, as it were, 
 wailing at their own havoc. The farmer is busy gathering 
 in his latest crops. The boys shiver at their work in the 
 potato-field ; and the girls are busy in peeling and cutting 
 apples for drying, from the sales of which are to come their 
 side-combs, ribbons, and new school-books. The creaking 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 175 
 
 of the cider-mill can be heard early and late ; and corn- 
 huskings and apple-bees are the diversions of the season. 
 The cattle, as night approaches, gather round the barn, and 
 stand curled up and shivering under the lea wall. The milch- 
 cows contract their udders, and give less milk ; and the hens 
 refuse their eggs. But the first snow has not yet fallen ; and 
 the frost, as yet, has only been sufficient to kill the vines 
 and potato-tops. 
 
 At this season, the roads are in fine condition ; and the 
 tradesmen are getting in their stocks of dry-goods and gro- 
 ceries for the winter. But, besides the teams loaded with 
 goods for the village-stores, several come to Montgomery 
 with household furniture of rich and expensive quality and 
 pattern. These all go straight to the scarcely finished house 
 of Seth Mettlar, where a Boston upholsterer is engaged in 
 arranging and disposing every thing according to the taste 
 of the times. Every thing is prepared for the grand wed- 
 ding. It is arranged that it shall take place at the house 
 of the bride's father; that the happy pair shall adjourn to 
 their own elegant mansion in the afternoon ; and that a grand 
 entertainment shall be given in the evening, which shall 
 combine the double purpose of a house-warming and a wed- 
 ding-party. But there was a slight derangement in carrying 
 out this programme, of which the Gomerys, of course, had 
 the credit, probably justly so ; for it is certain, that, the day 
 before, Squire Gomery was seen to enter the house of Par- 
 son Skeelman. 
 
 It was taken for granted that the good minister, to whose 
 teachings both Hester and her mother had been wont to 
 listen ever since good old Elder Millson had been consigned 
 to the churchyard, would officiate on this interesting occa- 
 sion. This had been assumed as a matter of course ; but from 
 some inadvertence, or from the supposition that it was not 
 necessary, nothing was said to the good man till the morn- 
 ing of the wedding-day. But the omission was thought of 
 early in the morning; and it was arranged, that, about an 
 hour before the appointed time, Obed should drive up in his 
 light wagon, and bring hirn down to the house. The hour 
 appointed for the ceremony was ten o'clock; and, at a little 
 past nine, the brisk little turn-out of Obededom Homer drove 
 through the village, and was followed by many eyes till it 
 turned up at the parsonage. Obed, as he reined up to the 
 
176 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY*. 
 
 house, was surprised at not seeing the parson at his doorway, 
 dressed in his Sunday's best, and ready to accompany him. 
 There was nobody in sight about the house ; and so he was 
 obliged to get out of his carriage,-and hitch his horse. He 
 then limped up to the door, and knocked. He was answered 
 by the parson's daughter, a girl of eight or nine years. 
 
 " Is your father in ? " said he. 
 
 " Yes, sir: he is in his room." 
 
 "Tell him I am waiting for him." 
 
 The girl ran away to deliver this message, and, returning, 
 said, "Pa says, 'Please come in.'" 
 
 Obed followed his guide into the study of the minister, 
 and found him sitting by his table in his morning-gown. 
 
 "What! not ready yet?" said Obededom. "It is past 
 nine o'clock ; and the wedding is to be at ten. We shall be 
 late if we don't hurry." 
 
 "It is rather a short notice," said the minister calmly. 
 " However, that makes no difference : I shall not officiate at 
 your sister's wedding." 
 
 " Not officiate ! Why, what does this mean ? You must : 
 we can't get along without you. Why, Elder Skeelman, you 
 must be crazy ! What will folks say ? " 
 
 " What folks may say it matters very little ; but what 
 my conscience says is very important. It bears a great 
 weight of guilt already for allowing this thing to go so far 
 without protest and remonstrance ; but I will not assist at 
 a human sacrifice." 
 
 Obed stood confounded and dumfounded by the words 
 and manner of the minister ; and, at first, could only repeat 
 the word " Sacrifice." 
 
 "Sacrifice, I say!" continued the minister. "Your sister 
 has been sacrificed to your own cruel selfishness and malice. 
 I regard you as the most unnatural brother I ever saw. You 
 must see that the result of this union will be a protracted 
 misery, to be relieved only by the death of the victim." 
 
 Obed, who by this time had regained his wonted assurance, 
 could contain himself no longer, but broke out, " Why, you 
 talk like an old fool ! You, a minister of the gospel, think 
 there is nobody but them miserable infidels of the Gomerys! 
 But we'll let you know that Seth Mettlar can just give ten 
 rods in the race, and yet beat any Gomery that ever rid a 
 horse." With this outburst, that was repented of as soon as 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 177 
 
 uttered, Obecl turned to leave : but then the thought oc- 
 curred that the wedding could not go on without some one 
 to perform the ceremony; and his base nature changed at 
 once from defiance to supplication. " I beg pardon," said he : 
 "I do, indeed. I hope you will excuse me. Now, do come! 
 We can't get along without you. There's nobody else we'd 
 ever think of having, except you. Of course, we can't think 
 of getting old Squire Gomery for this job ; and my mother 
 would never think of having that heathen infidel of a preacher 
 to marry her daughter that the Gomery tribe are trying to 
 build a church for. And then, you know, Mr. Mettlar 
 couldn't bear that ; "for he hates them infidels as bad as you 
 do. Come, now ; come ! You must come ; and you shall be 
 well paid for it." • 
 
 " You have had my answer," said the minister. " All the 
 money ever stolen by your intended brother-in-law could not 
 induce me to perform this ceremony." 
 
 "You old cur! you shall smart for this!" said Obed, slam- 
 ming the door, and hobbling out of the house. His horse 
 was quickly untied ; and, jumping into the wagon, he drove 
 rapidly back to his father's house ; the people staring and 
 wondering at seeing him, at such a time, drive so excitedly 
 and furiously through the town. 
 
 He drove rapidly home ; and great was the consternation 
 caused as he was seen to drive up alone. " The feast was 
 set, the guests were met ; " and all was ready for the cere- 
 mony as soon as the minister should arrive. A few of the 
 more intimate and favored friends of the family were to. be 
 present at the marriage ; while the great multitude of ac- 
 quaintances were expected at the house-warming in the 
 evening. 
 
 A brief conference Was held between Obed and Seth ; and 
 the latter soon returned to say that Mr. Skeelman could not 
 come, and therefore the ceremony must be postponed till 
 Obed could ride to Tivernet, and bring over the Rev. Mr. 
 Furbish. 
 
 Three hours must elapse before the Tiverne*t minister could 
 arrive ; and a long and wearisome three hours they were. 
 As yet, the bride had not been seen ; nor did she show her- 
 self till the weary hours had passed away, and her brother 
 had returned, bringing at last the indispensable parson. No 
 
178 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 time was now lost : Hester was led into the room by Seth ; 
 and, taking their places, Elder Furbish, in about seven min- 
 utes by the watch, pronounced them man and wife. 
 
 " Did you ever see anybody so beautiful as Hester was ? " 
 said Ann Stickney to Maria Carlton as they stood together 
 eating wedding-cake after the ceremony was over. 
 
 " I never did, Ann," replied the other. " Wasn't that a 
 handsome dress ? And such ear-rings ! — my eyes ! Miss 
 Homer told mother they cost two hundred dollars!" 
 
 " Tou don't say ! But didn't she act queer ? I never seen 
 a woman stand up to be married in that way before, — just 
 as though she didn't care any thing about it. Why, when 
 Lucy Tuttle was married, she looked as though she was 
 skeered half to death. But Hester sne didn't even look at 
 the minister, but kept looking out of the window, as if she 
 was thinking of something else ; and then, when the minister 
 asked her if she took that man for her wedded husband, she 
 didn't hear him the first time, nor the second either till Mr. 
 Mettlar pulled her arm, and her mother spoke up, and said, 
 'Hester ! ' and she said, ' Yes.' Wasn't it queer ? " 
 
 "I think she ought to have been ashamed; just as if she 
 didn't care a bit for her husband, and when he has given her* 
 such lots of fine things, and she is to have the best house in 
 Montgomery! Pshaw ! she is thinking of that Walter Gom- 
 ery. I wish I was in her place ; that's all : the Gomerys might 
 all go to grass." 
 
 Here this conversation was interrupted, and was not re- 
 newed by the same parties ; but something like it passed be- 
 tween several coteries during the time that intervened before 
 the guests departed for home to be ready for the grand 
 evening party that was to be held at a later hour in the new 
 house that was to be the home of the happy pair. 
 
 But the wedding-party, after all the expensive preparations, 
 was not a success. Few people besides those who had been 
 at the wedding-ceremony were present ; and those few were 
 either not residents of the village, or else of that questionable 
 position, that their attendance was a doubtful compliment. 
 Parson Skeelman's obstinacy had been the town-talk of the 
 day ; and many people, who, in the morning, had intended 
 to be present in the evening, asked themselves, if, by their 
 attendance, they would give countenance to what he had 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 179 
 
 denounced as a " human sacrifice." Probably there was more 
 self-examination and self-condemnation among the good peo- 
 ple of Montgomery that day than ever before. The result 
 of it was, few attended the wedding-party ; but all who did 
 attend concurred in saying they had never seen any thing so 
 fair as the bride on that her wedding-eve. 
 
180 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 44 Leave untended the herd, 
 The flock without shelter-; 
 Leave the corpse uninterred, 
 The bride at the altar ; 
 Leave the deer, leave the steer, 
 Leave nets and barges ; 
 Come with your fighting gear, 
 Broadswords and targes." — Scott. 
 
 Through the State of Georgia flows a river called the Al- 
 tamaha. It is a noble river, deep enough and broad enough 
 to accommodate a merchant-fleet many times larger than has 
 ever yet been required by the people who dwell in its valley. 
 At the time to which this history has arrived, the section of 
 country which it drains was far less populous than it has since 
 become ; and where there was then one steamboat of slight^ 
 proportions and moderate speed, now ply back and forth the 
 strong tug, the swift and elegant passenger-boat, and the 
 freight-bearing propeller, — this last, however, before the great 
 Rebellion. Some thirty miles from the mouth of this river, 
 on its left bank, stands the town, now city, which, though not 
 so laid down on the map, we will call Lancaster. At that 
 time, it contained about ten thousand people, and was one of 
 the most flourishing places in the State. It was so near the 
 sea, that schooners, brigs, sloops, and even small barks, could 
 reach it, favored by a south wind, with little difficulty. These 
 vessels were accustomed to bring assorted cargoes of pro- 
 visions and manufactures from the North, and return laden 
 with cotton, rice, and sometimes tar and pitch, turpentine, 
 hemp, and tobacco, that had come down a long distance from 
 the interior. Owing to its peculiar situation, the entire trade 
 of this place was with the North, and none of it with Europe. 
 Small vessels, well adapted for the coasting-trade, could 
 easily ascend the river ; but large ships, suitable to cross the 
 Atlantic, could not come within twenty miles of the town. 
 Hence the trade was all forced to the North ; and the result 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 181 
 
 was, that very close business relations were established with 
 the Northern cities ; and all sorts of coasting-craft used to 
 come and go, with little remark or attention as to their objects 
 or business. The public mind of the South had not at that 
 time been educated up to the point of regarding their pecu- 
 liar practice as a divine institution ; and the people were not 
 so jealous as they afterwards became, of having the pillars of 
 their faith sapped by fanatics and intruders. But the light 
 was fast breaking in upon them. 
 
 Between this city and Philadelphia, there had long been 
 plying a regular coaster, named the " Good Intent." She was 
 a Maine-built schooner, trim, tidy, and fleet, and was owned 
 in good part by her skipper, who had made many voyages in 
 her from port to port, with varying success, but with the total 
 result that he had secured a moderate competency to himself 
 apart from and independent of the schooner. For the last 
 three years, there had been employed, as cook and steward of 
 the " Good Intent," a jet-black negro named Lem Woolsey. 
 He was never called Lem, however, nor Woolsey, but always 
 Linsey, or Linsey Woolsey. He was a stout burly fellow, the 
 very impersonation of African good-nature and contentment, 
 with a face as black and shiny as a black bottle, and as redo- 
 lent of happiness as any son of Ham that ever experienced 
 the curse of his progenitor. 
 
 Now, it chanced that the " Good Intent" was lying at a 
 wharf in Philadelphia at the time that Walter Gomery was 
 stopping there on his way he knew not whither. In the un- 
 certainty of his future, it may well be believed that his mind 
 was anxious and active. Though he lodged in one of the 
 best houses in the most exclusive part of the city, and had 
 met with a welcome that strongly appealed to him to give up 
 his romantic idea of achieving his fortune independent of 
 family aid, he was still firm in his purpose ; and the difficulties 
 that he now clearly perceived were before him kept his mind 
 in a whirlwind of plans and schemes that rendered his sleep 
 fitful and unrefreshing, and caused him to welcome the day- 
 light that dispelled in a measure the feverish perplexities of 
 the night. Long before the family of his brother-in-law were 
 stirring, he had, during his stay with them, risen, and gone 
 forth to walk off the troubles of the mind by the exercise of 
 the body. Naturally he sought those parts of the city where 
 men were most astir at that early hour ; and the wharves and 
 
 VOL. II. 16 
 
182 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 markets became his usual resorts. He was inquisitive and 
 curious with every one he met that seemed inclined to talk 
 with him ; and he questioned and argued with a view of elicit- 
 ing information that should determine his course. 
 
 Now, it happened that one morning, when Walter was 
 strolling about in search of something to direct his course, he 
 came to a wharf alongside of which the " Good Intent" was 
 lying. As he stood there, looking at the shipping, and debat- 
 ing in his mind whether he had not better, after all, ship as a 
 green hand before the mast for a long voyage, he overheard 
 Capt. Dykes of the " Good Intent," who was standing on the 
 wharf within a few feet of him, talking to a seedy-looking 
 young man who was higgling with him for a passage to the 
 Altamaha. 
 
 " Can't think of taking you for less than ten dollars, money 
 or no money," said the skipper. 
 
 " But I haven't got so much," said the youth : " I have only 
 got four dollars left. I will give you that, and work for the 
 balance of the passage-money." 
 
 " Work ! a pretty hand you will be to work after we have 
 been four hours out of port : why, you will be so sea-sick, you 
 will want a nurse and doctor to look after you. You remind 
 me of the man that got the monkeys to pick cotton. Them, 
 cussed critters were so spry, he allowed that one monkey 
 would pick as much cotton as ten niggers ; and, when he come 
 to try it, he found it took ten niggers to watch one monkey : 
 and so you, when you get out to sea, instead of helping the 
 hands, will want half the crew to help you. But hark you : 
 if you will pay what you can in cash, and agree to work for 
 me four days, unloading, after we get there, or one day here 
 and three there, I will take you. I don't like to leave a poor 
 devil who wants to get home." 
 
 " I'll work the four days after I get there," said the youth. 
 " When shall I come on board ? " 
 
 " To-day. We shall clear this evening. You can come on 
 board and get your breakfast now in a few minutes, and live 
 with us to-day if our grub is not too hard for you." 
 
 At this moment, the captain turned to look to some freight 
 that was going on board the schooner ; and Walter, who had 
 heard the above conversation, approached the young man, 
 and asked him to what port that schooner was going. 
 
 " To Lancaster, Ga., on the Altamaha." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. % 183 
 
 " You have been there, then, before ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! that is where I was born ; or about forty miles 
 from there, up the river. My father lives there, and has got 
 a bully plantation, and lots of niggers ; and, if I ever get 
 back there, you'll never catch me North again. I come on 
 here three months ago to study medicine ; but the mean 
 Yankees up there to the colleges told me I didn't know 
 enough to begin to study medicine, and so I went on a big 
 spree, and spent all my money. Then I writ to the old gov- 
 ernor for more ; and the old cuss writ back, that, if I had 
 spent t"he fifteen hundred dollars he give me to start on, I 
 might go without, or else work for more. So you see, stran- 
 ger, I've got to get back as I can. But I have come it right 
 smart on the cap'n of the skuner here. I'm to work for him 
 after I get there, and pay for my passage ; but let me once 
 set my foot on the soil of Georgia, and get once more among 
 gentlemen and men of honor, and it's small work I shall do 
 for him." 
 
 " You don't intend cheating him out of your passage, do 
 you?" 
 
 " Stranger, if you were down in our part of the country, 
 it wouldn't be healthy for you to talk about cheating to a 
 gentleman. We never allow anybody to reflect on our 
 honor. Why, there was Jim Wiggle, he shot Dan Limpkin 
 for saying he didn't think it was right for him to gamble off 
 the money that belonged to the Widow Tompkinson ; and 
 Jim said it was a reflection on his honor, and shot him, and 
 everybody said he did right." 
 
 "It must be a pleasant country to live in ! What chance 
 is there for a man to do any thing for himself if he is with- 
 out capital?" 
 
 " Stranger, you may be an honest man, and a human ; but, 
 if you don't know that the Valley of the Altamaha beats all 
 the rest of creation, your ignorance is right smart. The peo- 
 ple there is all rich ; and nobody works except the niggers, 
 and half of them does powerful little." 
 
 " Well," mused Walter to himself, " if that is the way they 
 do, and money is so easy to get, perhaps a man of education, 
 who is willing to work, can at least make a living. — Captain," 
 said he to the skipper, who by this time was unoccupied, and 
 had returned to talk with his newly engaged passenger, — 
 " captain, what will you charge to take me to Georgia ? " 
 
184 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 "You!" said the captain, surveying him with a look of 
 surprise : " you ! I shall charge you twenty dollars." 
 
 "Why charge me more than him ?" 
 
 " Because a man with such clothes on don't need to travel 
 on such a schooner as mine ; and he will be very particular 
 about his victuals. But then, if you are sea-sick (as of 
 course you will be), it won't make much difference ; for we 
 will be there by the time you are so as to stow away your 
 allowance." 
 
 "When do you sail?" 
 
 "To-morrow morning, at daylight." 
 
 " Let me see your accommodations." 
 
 The three then went on board ; and Walter engaged his 
 passage, paying the required sum of twenty dollars, thinking 
 no worse of the skipper for charging extra on account of his 
 good clothes. 
 
 It was a week and a day after this that the " Good Intent" 
 was made fast to the miserable skeleton wharf belonging to 
 the corporation of Lancaster. She had come up the river in 
 the night under a strong breeze from the south, and, before 
 daylight, was ready for discharging. 
 
 The passenger with the nice sense of honor, who had 
 agreed to work at the end of the voyage in payment of his 
 passage, was not to be found when daylight appeared; and 
 it was surmised by the mate that he had fallen overboard, as 
 no man of such high-toned principles would think of sneak- 
 ing off without bidding his shipmates good-by. Walter, 
 however, said he had probably gone ashore to get money to 
 pay the interest on the ten dollars he borrowed from him the 
 ilay before. 
 
 During the passage, Walter had ingratiated himself into 
 the good graces of Capt. Dykes ; and without giving him 
 any account of his family connections, or the somewhat 
 Quixotic idea that had sent him forth among strangers, he 
 told him, that, like thousands of others of the sons of New 
 England, he had set forth to seek his fortune by his own wits 
 and labors. The captain told him to stay on board the 
 schooner as long as he liked, and take his meals with him. 
 This offer he improved for two or three days, spending his 
 time mostly on shore looking for something to do. 
 
 Lancaster, as has been said, was a town of some ten thou- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 185 
 
 sand inhabitants, besides which it was the shire-town of the 
 county. The court was then in session ; and Walter strayed 
 into the court-room to see how law and justice were here ad- 
 ministered. He had on several occasions attended court 
 with his father in his native county; and, though he had 
 seen painful exhibitions of ignorance by men calling them- 
 selves lawyers, he had never before witnessed any thing so 
 gross as here met his view. He now deeply lamented his 
 failure to pass his examination at home ; for he fancied that 
 if men so illiterate, so merciless to Lindlay Murray, and so 
 prone to mix up the dialect of the negro with the language 
 of Shakspeare and Milton, could get practice, he might also 
 succeed. 
 
 But, besides never having been admitted to the bar, he 
 had never learned the forms and details of practice ; and 
 hence his knowledge of the principles of the law must all 
 go for nothing. What, then, could he do ? and why had he 
 come to a country like this? He heard that an overseer was 
 wanted on a plantation a few miles up the river ; the last one 
 having been killed by a slave a few days before. But he 
 did not understand the business of overseeing negroes; and, 
 besides, he had a prejudice against it. His education had 
 been so defective, that he could not regard the occupation of 
 slave-driving as altogether respectable and elevating. This 
 defect in the system of education in the institutions of learn- 
 ing at the North, was subsequently, to a great extent, re- 
 moved through the pious and patriotic exertions of various 
 eminent divines, including bishops, college presidents, and 
 professors, whose labors to present the South-side view 
 of slavery in its most lovely aspects were so entirely suc- 
 cessful, that those who doubted its divine character, and its 
 humanizing and refining tendency, came to be regarded as 
 fanatics, as men of one idea, utterly unfit to take part in the 
 administration of the Government, and undeserving of social 
 influence and respect. 
 
 After casting about for several days, finding nothing at all 
 congenial to his tastes, he at length heard of an opening 
 that he believed he could fill acceptably. A few miles up 
 the river from Lancaster, a sort of private academy, of a 
 character quite exceptional in that country, had been kept 
 up for several years. The late teacher (or professor, as he 
 was called) had just married a rich widow twenty years 
 
 16* 
 
186 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 older than himself, with a large plantation well stocked with 
 slaves and other cattle. This necessitated the giving-up of 
 his school ; and so it came about that there was a vacancy, 
 and an eligible situation for any young man competent for 
 the place. The school had long enjoyed a good reputation, 
 notwithstanding that the last teacher had disappointed his 
 patrons. But love and plantations are prone to play sad 
 havoc with schoolmasters. 
 
 Walter applied for the situation; and, producing his col- 
 lege diploma, was at once engaged at a salary of four hun- 
 dred dollars a year. 
 
 This school was a private affair, and supported by a few 
 wealthy families, whose plantations were so situated, that, 
 though the estates were large, the houses were all so near to 
 each other, that, from a given centre, they would all be in- 
 cluded in a radius of two and a half miles. They all com- 
 manded a view of the Altamaha, though situated at dis- 
 tances more or less remote from its banks. The boundaries 
 between the plantations seem to have been set by Nature, 
 as, from the high range of hills that stretches along in a zig- 
 zag course nearly parallel with the river, descend numerous 
 rivulets, that, uniting as they course their way between the 
 spurs which jut out from the mountain-range, form, as they 
 descend into the plain, large brooks, so deep and broad be- 
 fore discharging into the Altamaha, that long and substantial 
 bridges are required to span them. These brooks form the 
 boundaries of those plantations next to the river; and others 
 farther back lie between the different forks, that, united, make 
 up the larger streams : yet the whole is so situated withal, 
 that eight plantations (two of them very large, and none of 
 them small) have their family mansions within a short radius 
 of two and a half miles. At the central point, and at a 
 place called the "Grove," had been erected a cheap building, 
 which was called the " College " by the people in the vicini- 
 ty, but which Walter told them would be called a school- 
 house in New England, and a poor one at that. 
 
 To keep up this school, the proprietors of the different 
 plantations had paid, for some years, the sum of fifty dollars 
 each ; and the privilege was accorded to the professor to 
 receive other pupils on tuition, if none of the corporation 
 objected : so that his income for the year usually amounted 
 to seven hundred dollars or more. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 187 
 
 The families who composed the corporation, as people 
 called those privileged ones that had a college of their 
 own, were all of the most respectable and aristocratic char- 
 acter; and the neighborhood of the Grove, which they 
 formed, was regarded as more exclusive and select than any- 
 other within a hundred miles of Lancaster. Their college 
 had given their young people a precedence over the children 
 of the other neighborhoods ; and though the patriarchs of 
 the plantations often quarrelled on other subjects, like the 
 people of less-favored sections, and on politics and religion 
 were as uncharitable and intolerant as the most orthodox, 
 yet on the subject of keeping up the school on a liberal 
 basis, so that no man's politics or creed should have the 
 preference, their "unanimity was wonderful." The school 
 gave them all the advantages of private tutors, at a moiety 
 of the expense, and without that encumbrance in the 
 respective families. The boys had the stimulus of emulation, 
 and there was less danger that the girls would fall in love 
 with the Yankee schoolmaster. 
 
 The most influential man of this favored neighborhood was 
 also the richest ; and it was owing to his influence that the 
 college had been originally established. He was known as 
 Col. Kingsbury. At the time Walter was engaged as teach- 
 er, his oldest son was partly fitted for college ; and a most 
 amiable and exemplary youth he was. There were two young- 
 er brothers besides, and a little girl, — the youngest^ of all, 
 who was the pet and joy of the house. It was, take it all in 
 all, a most interesting family. The head of it was, in the 
 best sense of that oft-perverted expression, "a high-toned 
 Southern gentleman." He had strong prejudices, it is true, 
 against innovation ; and was of that numerous and respec- 
 table class that is unwilling to believe that any thing new 
 can be otherwise than evil. But he was a just man, and of 
 vastly superior intelligence to any of his neighbors; and, as 
 it is a well-established fact that light and prejudice do not 
 dwell harmoniously together in the same tenement, he was 
 more liberal and tolerant than those who, in their extreme 
 ignorance, knew they were right. His wife was admitted by 
 all her acquaintances to be a pattern housekeeper, but wanting 
 in that dignity peculiar to ladies of Southern birth. She 
 would look to her own household, and, if things went wrong 
 in-doors, would take the blame to herself instead of sending 
 
188 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMEEY I 
 
 her maid-servants to the quarters to be whipped. She had 
 come South nineteen years before to serve as a governess 
 in the family of her husband's father, and had brought many 
 ideas of thrift with her that were quite unknown to her 
 neighbors. 
 
 This good woman suggested that the teacher of the school 
 should come and live in the family; and thus, while lessening 
 his expenses, he would be able to act as a sort of private 
 tutor to the younger children, teaching them their elementary 
 branches at the same time that he would be of assistance out 
 of school-hours to the elder ones. This arrangement seemed 
 to please all, and was finally adopted; and Walter found 
 himself comfortably domiciled in the Kingsbury mansion, 
 with a comfortable room to himself, and among people who 
 showed him respect and confidence. His prospects were now 
 brighter than he had ever hoped for ; his employment was 
 not distasteful to him ; and he determined to be an independ- 
 ent man, and work out his own fortune, unaided by his 
 worldly-wise brothers, who had always laughed at his roman- 
 tic ideas and impractical theories. 
 
 Why should he not be a teacher? Why not spend his life 
 in that useful employment? He could soon accumulate a 
 few hundred dollars, and return North, and bring back with 
 him one who would be but too happy to share with him so 
 humble and so useful a lot. Such a life would allow him to 
 indulge in his favorite studies and theories, and would afford 
 him time to write his great book. Thus elated with his 
 prospects, he wrote his first letter home, enclosing in it one 
 to Hester. 
 
 For some reason unknown, that letter never reached its 
 address. * 
 
 As a teacher, Walter's experience was more agreeable 
 than he had reason to or did anticipate. His oldest pupil 
 was George Kingsbury; and he was but sixteen. An older 
 set, who had made difficulty with the former professor, 
 had left the college a year before ; and his scholars were 
 too young to set up a new standard of rebellion. Besides, 
 his manner was more calculated to excite emulation than 
 opposition. He piqued their curiosity by suggesting and 
 arguing various propositions and problems, always having as 
 a substratum of his theories and ideas the absolute and eternal 
 right, that, in his own college-days, he had relied upon to con- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 189 
 
 found the professors, and win marks of demerit. The conse- 
 quence was, that he soon found his own pupils arguing with 
 their parents various abstruse and home-reaching questions, 
 some of which involved the justice of that institution which 
 statesmen and clergymen were just beginning to teach was 
 of divine origin. This provoked inquiry from the parents; 
 but they could never learn of an idea advanced by the teacher 
 to which they did not, to the fullest extent, assent. Yet they 
 found heresy in their midst, — fanatical, damnable, abolition 
 heresy ; and how to account for it they did not know, except 
 on the hypothesis that the Southern blood was degenerating. 
 Surely they could take no blame to themselves for this. 
 Though they had been taught by their parents that slavery 
 was an evil, a sin, and a curse, yet they had grown wiser in 
 their generation, and taught their children that it was of 
 divine right, ordained of Providence to exalt the master, and 
 redeem and Christianize the lost children of Ham. Yet, for 
 all that, they found a dangerous heresy making its way 
 among them, and they regarded it as an infliction sent by 
 Providence ; and, instead of taking it as one of the judgments 
 against the wicked, they comforted themselves, as Seth 
 Mettlar was doing about the same time far away from there, 
 with the text, "Whom the Lord loveth, him he chasteneth." 
 
 Now, while Walter Gomery was thus engaged in instructing 
 the youth of this neighborhood in the elementary branches 
 of knowledge, from simple addition to differential calculus, 
 and from reading the "National Reader" to translating Homer, 
 the schooner "Good Intent" was still plying between Lan- 
 caster and Philadelphia, and Capt. Dykes still held his old 
 position as skipper. He and Walter continued fast friends; 
 and, every time he came up the river, he went out to the 
 Kingsbury Plantation to visit his former passenger. He 
 found his visits there not only agreeable, but profitable; 
 for he was able to make several good bargains with the 
 planters to ship their produce direct, and thus save the com- 
 missions and brokerage to his own pocket; and, if an advance 
 was wanted by the always-in-debt rich planter, he could strain 
 a point, double his profit, and make it. A true Yankee was 
 Capt. Dykes, shrewd at a bargain, and exact in the execu- 
 tion of its terms. 
 
 Six months passed away, and Walter received no answer 
 to his letters. This caused him great uneasiness ; but then 
 
190 GOMERT OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 the mails were not so prompt and regular in those days as 
 they became afterwards. Perhaps his letters had nevei 
 reached Montgomery; or, if they had, the answers might 
 have miscarried. So he wrote again direct to Hester; and 
 the fate of that letter we have already seen, and the dispo- 
 sition made of it by her brother at the instigation of Seth 
 Mettlar. Thus it came about, that, from the failure of those 
 two letters, no one at Montgomery, save only Seth Mettlar, 
 had the least idea where he was ; and he had written two 
 more letters to Hester, which her fond husband took care 
 should never come into her hand. He had also written to his 
 father and mother again, asking why it was that he never 
 heard from any of them. This last letter he sent to the post- 
 office by a young man, the son of Col. Kingsbury's nearest 
 neighbor, who forgot to leave it, and, being out shooting the 
 next day, used it up for gun-wads. But, before he received 
 any answer from them, a paper came addressed to him, being 
 the first thing that had yet come to him through the post- 
 office. He opened it, and saw, that, to call his attention, a 
 paragraph had been marked with a pen. It was the announce- 
 ment of Hester's marriage to Seth Mettlar. 
 
 Walter was not demonstrative in his nature; and, save 
 only good Mrs. Kingsbury, no one divined that any trouble 
 was preying at his heart. She saw it, and endeavored to 
 draw from him the* cause of it, but without avail. He con- 
 tinued at his labors with never a word of repining or re- 
 proach; but his plans for the future were all destroyed. 
 There seemed nothing for him now but to mark out the way 
 to which duty called, and to follow it as a remorseless task, 
 and in that find the only content this world could offer. 
 
 While he was in this frame of mind, he strolled out one 
 Wednesday afternoon, — for there was no school on Wednes- 
 day afternoons, — and wandered away into the deep woods 
 of magnolia, Cyprus, oak, and laurel, that, at a distance of 
 half a mile from the house, covered the crests of the increas- 
 ing undulations, until the clearly defined hill-sides stood 
 forth decked with the- gorgeous foliage of every hue that 
 Nature can show when she first touches the earth with her 
 pencil of frost. He had been roaming about for two or 
 three hours, now stopping to gather the wild nuts of the 
 forest, and now observing the squirrels and wild pigs that 
 his approach sent scampering from his path. As he was re- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 191 
 
 turning homewards after his stroll, he had barely emerged 
 from the woods, when he saw, coming along the path by 
 which he had himself entered, the burly form of Capt. Dykes. 
 
 "Halloo, captain!" said he: "where are you steering 
 now?' 
 
 " Ha, Walter ! here you are, then ! I was going to look 
 for you. I couldn't find any cargo, though I have been 
 lying here a month; and so I thought I'd come up and give 
 you a call. When I got to the house, they told me you 
 had gone off moping into the woods. I told 'em I'd go and 
 look for you ; for I've got something on hand mighty par- 
 ticular, and I've come up to consult you about it. But I've 
 made up my mind." 
 
 " You've made up your mind ! and so you come to con- 
 sult me?" 
 
 "Yes — no: I mean I think I have a good thing, and 
 want to ask your opinion about it." 
 
 " And if my opinion don't agree with yours ? " 
 
 " Then I shall follow my own." 
 
 " I am obliged to you for the respect you show me at least. 
 You put yourself out to come up here to get my opinion, 
 after having made up your mind that it is not worth heeding. 
 Your acts contradict themselves." 
 
 " Well, you have helped me to two or three good things ; 
 and I thought it would not be showing much respect or 
 gratitude if I did not now consult you, though I think well 
 enough of this job to take it up on my own judgment." 
 
 " What is it, then ? " 
 
 " I am going to sell the old schooner. I have had a bully 
 offer. You know she's getting old, and I am older than I 
 used to be ; and I've been thinking for the past year or two, 
 if I could sell out the 'Good Intent,' I'd quit going to sea, and 
 stay at home with the wife and children. The pitcher that 
 goes often to the well is sure to be broken at last ; and how 
 do I know but I may make one voyage too many if I don't 
 quit now? That is what Kitty has been telling me for five 
 years or more ; and Kitty, poor foolish thing ! she thinks 
 there's not another man on airth so good as me. Besides, 
 I've seen so much of this nigger business, I'm sick of it. So 
 I think, if I can sell out, I'll quit going to sea. But the fact 
 is, I b'lieve there is some underhand business going on, and 
 that's why I've come to see you." 
 
192 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 " Since you have come to consult me, tell me all about it," 
 said Walter, as they leisurely strolled along towards the 
 house. 
 
 " I suspect," replied the captain, looking cautiously about, 
 as fearing, even there, lest he should be overheard, — "I sus- 
 pect a plot among a lot of niggers to run away, and get 
 North ; and they want to buy the 'Good Intent' for that pur- 
 pose. They offer me five hundred dollars more than she is 
 worth ; and they have got the money too ; and, what do 
 you think, old Lindsey Wolsey is at the bottom of it ! If I 
 trade, I can just take my money and cut home, and get 
 there, too, in time for Jane's wedding. I told you on the 
 voyage that my oldest daughter was to be married at 
 Thanksgiving; and then, if the slaves can get away, all I 
 have to say is, I would do the same if I was in their place ; 
 and you know the Scripter it says ' we should do as we'd 
 be done by.' And I know, if I was in their place, I'd be 
 mighty glad to have somebody give me a chance for my 
 freedom." 
 
 " Capt. Dykes," said Walter, " why did you wish to say 
 any thing to me about this affair? Do you not see that I am 
 liable to be brought into difficulty ? These people here have 
 used me with great kindness ; and if I know of this affair, 
 and do not reveal it, I shall seem to them guilty of ingrati- 
 tude ; and, if I do inform on them, I shall be guilty of a 
 crime against nature, by informing on men seeking the right 
 of owning themselves, — the freedom that God intended for 
 all." 
 
 " But you won't expose me ? You won't ruin me by re- 
 porting what I have told you in confidence ? " 
 
 " As for your profit and loss, it is a matter of minor im- 
 portance. I shall surely do nothing to compromise your 
 personal safety. But the matter of liberty or slavery to a 
 single individual outweighs, by a thousand times, any in- 
 terest you may have in this speculation. During my resi- 
 dence here, I have seen, as I have been told and believe, 
 slavery in its best aspects ; and yet I have witnessed enough 
 to make a man ashamed of bearing the human form. It was 
 only last week that a slave-trader was along buying up the 
 surplus stock on the older plantations in this neighborhood; 
 and, though I kept out of sight as much as possible, I saw 
 that death's doings are merciful compared with those of 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 193 
 
 slavery. I know not whether I more pitied or despised the 
 miserable wretches. I could but pity their torn hearts, the 
 agony of natural ties rudely rent asunder, and their hopeless 
 despair. But I despised them because they endured their 
 servitude so humbly. Why, any other race would brave 
 and endure any thing sooner than submit to or live such 
 a life ; they would rise, though death inevitable, unsparing, 
 stood before them in every form of cruelty and torture. 
 And yet they submit, year after year, and see their children 
 and brothers and sisters sold oif, never to meet them again 
 in this world; and the father and mother go unresisting 
 again to their work, and raise up more children to follow the 
 same cheerless, hopeless road. Occasionally one, more cou- 
 rageous and intelligent than his fellows, makes his escape ; 
 and I honor him as one above his class, and above the po- 
 sition of a beast and chattel. But such are so few, that I 
 see no hope for them as a race ; and I have been perplexed 
 in trying to study out some plan that might mitigate their 
 condition, and promise a brighter future. But they have so 
 little ambition, so little recuperative energy left them, after 
 centuries of degradation, that their redemption must come 
 from a source beyond themselves. Could the subject be 
 treated on humane and enlarged principles, their gradual 
 elevation might be possible ; but the system is a self-evident 
 crime, and those who uphold it dare not look it in the face. 
 They suppress all discussion of the subject, and try to convince 
 themselves that they are not worse, after all, than other men. 
 After brutalizing the poor wretches through successive gene- 
 rations, they smother all reflection on their own responsi- 
 bility for what they have caused and are causing; and, by 
 transparent sophistries, they try to soothe their own con- 
 sciences, and reconcile duty with self-interest. But, conscious 
 of their own false reasoning, they will not tolerate discus- 
 sion ; and they regard as enemies, to be destroyed without 
 mercy, all who would disturb the quiet of their souls in the 
 enjoyment of what is held only by a system of robbery. 
 The highwayman takes the traveller's money because he is 
 stronger, the master eats the bread the slave has earned 
 because he is whiter; but both are alike thieves. The 
 slaves are too abject to strike a blow for themselves ; and the 
 demon of selfishness has so possessed the souls of the mas- 
 ters, that they have become purblind and callous; and to 
 
 VOL. II. 17 
 
194 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMEEY : 
 
 me there appears little hope that the masters will ever break 
 their mental, or the slaves their material, chains. The latter 
 have no hope in themselves ; but they have a faith that 
 they will be delivered some day from bondage ; and it ap- 
 pears to me that deliverance can come only through the 
 folly of their masters. The existence of an enslaved race 
 renders their masters domineering, self-confident, and arro- 
 gant. The boys learn to be despots while hardly out of 
 their swaddling-clothes ; and, when men, we have seen their 
 insolence in the halls of Congress. Their arrogance and spirit 
 of aggression, which are the direct result of the curse 
 they so cherish, must sooner or later provoke opposition and 
 collision between them and the people of the North, whom 
 they affect so much to despise. Then the accursed thing 
 will be swept from the earth ; for neither the legions of 
 Titus against Jerusalem, of Brennus against Rome, or Scipio 
 against Carthage, committed such havoc as will the armies 
 of the North on the citadels of slavery when once they 
 realize the true character of the horrid Moloch that aspires 
 to govern the whole land. Thus, perhaps, the vile system 
 may be broken up and destroyed. To this end, such escapes 
 as you speak of must all tend; for not only does every 
 fugitive excite the interest and sympathy, but also the re- 
 spect, of the people both North and South by the mere fact 
 of his escaping. And it is respect that must finally tell. 
 Escaped fugitives are listened to and respected, because 
 they have shown, that, to gain freedom, they would confront 
 danger. Before our people at the North can take much in- 
 terest in the slave, he must see that he is possessed of some 
 sparks of those higher feelings that ennoble humanity. He 
 must show, that, for liberty, he is willing to risk something. 
 It is hard to help those who will not help themselves. The 
 gods are not prone to do it; and men are less than gods. 
 Hence I regard the fugitive as the forerunner, and in a 
 manner the cause, of the redemption of his race. He departs, 
 and drags at each remove a shortening chain. When he re- 
 turns, his neck will be clothed with thunder." 
 
 Thus, as they walked towards the house, Walter expressed 
 his ideas of slavery to Capt. Dykes, who assented to all he 
 said, not because he believed in it, or took much interest in 
 the subject any way, but because he was only thinking of 
 the sale of the " Good Intent." If he could pocket his money, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 195 
 
 and get safely away, his object would be accomplished ; and 
 he thought little about subsequent results. The slaves were 
 to take their chance for freedom, or the penalties of being 
 caught in attempting to escape ; and he was not responsible 
 for either failure or success. He would sell his vessel only 
 as a business transaction ; and, if they achieved their free- 
 dom, what was that to him ? and if they failed, and were put 
 to death for the attempt, what was that to him ? He was 
 no politician, and only wanted to sell his vessel, get his 
 money, and return North to his family. Then he would 
 never go to sea again. 
 
 To a train of replies of this kind, Walter said, " Well, 
 then, I don't know as I am called upon, under the circum- 
 stances, either to say or do any thing in the affair. I would 
 dislike to be a party to it ; for people here have been kind to 
 me, and it would seem a poor return for me to entice away 
 what they regard as property. Much less can I interfere to 
 put any obstacle in the way of their escape. If I were in 
 their place, I would do the same ; and, as I shall neither 
 help nor hinder, I am sorry you ever said any thing to me 
 about it. It can do no good, and may get me into 
 trouble." 
 
 " But," says Dykes, " if you are to be exposed to the ven- 
 geance of the owners, I will have nothing to do with the 
 affair. I shall not leave you in the lurch." 
 
 " I will look out for myself, and keep out of harm's way. 
 I shall take no part either way, and shall have nothing to 
 fear." 
 
 By this time they had reached the house ; and Capt. 
 Dykes got into his wagon, and drove away. 
 
 For several days after this, every thing in and about Lan- 
 caster moved along as quietly, to all appearance, as ever. 
 But Walter, being forewarned, could plainly see that some 
 of the oldest and most faithful house-servants were engaged 
 in some deep and mysterious plot. Yet none of the Kings- 
 bury Family suspected any thing. About a week after his 
 interview with Capt. Dykes, he went to the town in com- 
 pany with Col. Kingsbury ; and, while the latter was engaged 
 in transacting some business, Walter, seeing the " Good In- 
 tent" apparently deserted, so near the bank that a plank 
 reached from the shore to the schooner, went on board to 
 have a talk with the captain. 
 
196 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY I 
 
 But he found no one in the vessel, except old Lindsey 
 Woolsey, whose face shone as radiant and unctuous as ever; 
 and he gave " Massa Walter " a welcome as loud and bois- 
 terous as ever, though the latter plainly saw that his hilarity 
 was affected, and his carelessness assumed. 
 
 He inquired of the Ethiopian for Capt. Dykes. 
 
 " Don't know whar he is," said Lindsey. " Him an' the 
 mate had a awful big jaw night afore last; and the cap'n 
 paid him off, and told him, if he ever seed him aboard the 
 Good Intent' agin, he'd split his head with a marlin-spike. 
 -in', arter he'd gone, he fell to 'busin' the han's; an' he told 
 'em they was a set o' lazy rascals ; an' he paid them too, an' 
 sent 'em off; an' they went an' shipped on the 'Wild Drake,' 
 that had been waitin' for han's for a week ; an' yesterday 
 she dropped down the river, an' I 'spect she's clean out to 
 sea by this time. Then the cap'n went off hisself some'eres. 
 So there's nobody left to take care of the ship 'cept old Lin- 
 sey Woolsey; an' I'm cap'n, mate, cook, an' all han's. 
 Ha, ha!" 
 
 " And when is he coming back? " 
 
 " I'm looking for him every minute. Won't you walk into 
 the cabin, and set down and wait for him ? An' won't you 
 take suthin', Massa Walter ? Here's the cap'n's brandy bot- 
 tle ; an' he always drinks the best." 
 
 "No: I will not drink any thing. But tell him that I 
 called to see him ; tell him, too, that I want to see him. 
 Will you?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I'll tell him sartain ; and he will come right up 
 and see you, when he comes back." 
 
 " Yes : vj/ien he comes back." 
 
 Walter looked sharply at the negro when he said this, 
 particularly emphasizing the word when. The black man 
 started, and gave a look of mingled surprise and despair ; 
 but in an instant he recovered himself, and, forcing his ivory 
 into full view, he said, " Yes, yes ! I'll tell him you want to 
 see him right quick." 
 
 It was now clear to Walter that the skipper, after having 
 got his crew out of harm's way by means of a quarrel, 
 had taken himself off by means of another conveyance. It 
 was not likely the plot would long slumber ; and Walter re- 
 turned to the Kingsbury plantation bewildered and anxious. 
 
 The next morning, Walter rose earlier than usual, and set 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 197 
 
 himself to reading the Confessions of Rousseau. He had 
 been thus engaged about an hour, when he heard the voice 
 of Col. Kingsbury calling loudly for old Peter. 
 
 " Pete, Pete ! come here, you sluggard ! What does this 
 mean ? Why aren't the cattle turned out ? " 
 
 " Pete aren't to home, massa," piped out a decrepit old 
 slave, named Clem, that had just crawled out from the cook- 
 house, on the floor of which he had been sleeping all night. 
 
 " Aren't to home ? Where is he, then ? " 
 
 " I 'spect he's gone over t'other side the ridge to see one 
 o' Gen. Pinnock's gals. He is in lub powerful with one o' 
 the gen'l's young niggers. I 'spect he's gone to see her, an' 
 staid too long ; an', as he knowed he'd get a lickin' anyhow, 
 he thought he might just as well be hanged for an old sheep 
 as a lamb." 
 
 " Where's Albert, then ? Albert, come here, you lazy 
 fellow ! " But Albert answered not. 
 
 " I reckon he's gone to look arter de hosses in de fur- 
 der pasture, as you telled him to last night, — to start arly, 
 and bring up the big grays." 
 
 " So I did, devil take it ! Go and call Sam, then, from 
 the garden ; and tell him to saddle Tipton," said he to a bright 
 quadroon girl of about seven, who showed strong evidence 
 of the Kingsbury blood in her veins. And then tell Lotty 
 to hurry up her breakfast. You needn't send for Sam 
 neither ; for I promised him a holiday to-day, and last even- 
 ing he went off to see his old woman, and won't be back all 
 day." 
 
 "He went last night," replied Clem. 
 
 " Well, this is a fine state of affairs ! " said the master, get- 
 ting excited, and striding up and down in front of the 
 house. " Not a boy about to saddle a horse ! If this is the 
 way things are going on, I reckon I may as well let all my 
 slaves go." 
 
 "I can't find Lotty," said the little quadroon, running 
 back out of breath. " She aren't in the kitchen, aren't in the 
 store-house, aren't nowhar." 
 
 " Worse and worse ! I shall have to turn cook, and get 
 my own breakfast, yet." 
 
 At this time, Walter appeared among them, and asked 
 what was the matter. 
 
 " Matter ! " said the old man, stamping his foot : " matter 
 17* 
 
198 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY*. 
 
 enough, I think. The field-hands are all out picking, and not 
 a house-servant to be found." 
 
 Just at this moment, the overseer of the next plantation 
 came riding up in great haste, and inquired if any of their 
 slaves had been seen about there. Six of them, including 
 two house-servants, and the blacksmith and carpenter, were 
 missing. 
 
 " I 'spect I know all about it," said old Clem. " There was 
 a great ball over to Col. Preston's among his niggers las' 
 night ; and dat's whar dey all went." 
 
 " I am afraid there's something worse than that going on. 
 Did you hear any thing, Jackson, of the ball old Clem speaks 
 about ? " 
 
 " Yes : that's what some of the chil'en was talking on. 
 But I don't b'lieve it. Thar's a stampede," replied the over- 
 seer. 
 
 " Stampede ! where can they stampede to ? " said the colonel 
 in contempt, "iou must have learnt your trade in Virginia 
 or Kentucky. They don't do such things here. Now and 
 then a boy runs away, and hides ; but it's only when the 
 planter has such a brute as you are for overseer. Come, 
 George," addressing his eldest son : " let us saddle our own 
 horses, and ride down towards town to see what we can dis- 
 cover. Will you come, Mr. Gomery?" Walter followed, 
 and took out and saddled, for the first time since he had been 
 there, the horse that had been assigned to him whenever he 
 cared to ride. 
 
 The four were soon under way at a full gallop to the next 
 house on the road to the town where lived an old war-vete- 
 ran, named Churchill. As they approached, they saw a great 
 commotion about the premises, and at once guessed the 
 cause. The old man was tearing about like mad, shaking 
 his long white locks, and stamping the ground with a heavy 
 cane, with which he hit right and left every slave that came 
 within his reach, and swearing at every thing in the heavens 
 above, the earth beneath, and the waters under the earth. 
 His next neighbor, from another direction, had arrived there 
 just before Kingsbury; and all three had the same story of 
 lost treasures. They all had the same report, from their slaves 
 who were left, of the great ball on the other side the ridge. 
 
 Col. Preston, a large planter, who lived some eight miles 
 distant, and on the other side of the ridge, had built during 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 199 
 
 the season a large storehouse, and had promised his slaves 
 that they should have a grand Virginia break-down when it 
 was finished. It seemed that the night before was the time 
 when the ball was to take place ; and it looked as if there had 
 been a great conspiracy to go off without even letting the 
 masters or overseers know any thing about it, as they knew 
 too well that few if any would get leave if they asked for it, 
 but, on the contrary, extra care would be taken to prevent 
 them from going by stealth. 
 
 This solution of the question that had so excited them had 
 the effect to somewhat calm their apprehensions ; but still, as 
 they were not sure it was the right one, there was a great 
 deal of anxiety felt. " Here, Taggard," said Gen. Churchill 
 (every planter is a general, or at least a colonel, by cour- 
 tesy, though Churchill had once held a commission, and " fit " 
 the Creeks and Cherokees), — "here, Taggard, you long- 
 legged, lantern -jawed, knock-kneed, Yankee-livered son of a 
 sea-cook, jump on the painter colt, and ridej>ver to Preston's, 
 and see if they are there, or have been there. Of course they 
 are not there now, but are sneaking home through the woods 
 and by-paths. And, you whittling Yankee, take a pistol ; 
 and, if you find them, drive them as you would a herd of buf- 
 faloes. Don't spare the whip, you whelp of a dog hung for 
 sheep-stealing ! . Don't spare the leather, I say ! " 
 
 " I ain't apt to do that," said the Yankee as he jumped 
 upon the horse, and started in a gallop up the road leading 
 over the ridge. 
 
 "Egad! he'll make 'em hop! " said the old ruffian. "He 
 has got more grease in his elbow than any overseer I ever 
 had. He likes the music of his own whip. But come in, 
 and let us have some breakfast." 
 
 The party entered the house, where a genuine planter's 
 breakfast was on the board. It consisted of beefsteak, 
 broiled chicken, cold boiled ham, roast sweet-potatoes, hot 
 biscuit, hot corn-bread, and eggs both fried and boiled. The 
 coffee was dispensed from a huge silver coffee-pot, or urn, 
 that stood at the right of the hostess, who was some forty 
 years younger than her lord, and looked as beautiful and 
 fresh as a rose on a June morning. 
 
 During the breakfast, the conversation naturally turned on 
 the subject of slave management; and the host stoutly main- 
 tained that there was too much lenity shown in that neigh- 
 borhood. 
 
200 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 " The fact is," said Churchill, " we are allowing our slaves 
 too many privileges. It only makes them discontented. 
 Now, I give my field-hands each his peck ol* meal and two 
 pounds of pork ; and, with my Yankee overseer, I get more 
 work out of the same number of hands, when they are well, 
 than any man within fifty miles of Lancaster Court House. 
 And they are contented too : there is nothing like plenty of 
 work to make niggers contented. If they are called up ev- 
 ery morning by daylight, and kept at it till dark, and given 
 just time to eat their dinner at noon, they can't have time to 
 hatch mischief. They are always too glad to get to sleep to 
 steal around among the neighbors' niggers." 
 
 " I know," said Kingsbury, " your hands give less trouble 
 than some others ; but you use them up faster, and are obliged 
 to buy others from the North to fill their places ; and those 
 Northern slaves that come down this way very often are the 
 smartest in the country, and are sold because they are so 
 sharp and intelligent, that their masters are always afraid of 
 their running away or plotting some mischief." 
 
 " But my slaves never run away, hard as I am said to use 
 'em. It has seemed to me, when I have come suddenly 
 among them of a Sunday evening, they were the most con- 
 tented and happy beings in the world. And then I take 
 good care to tell them, that, if any one of them were to get 
 North, he would be starved to death, and froze to death after- 
 wards ; and then I make it a rule once in three months to in- 
 vite Parson Southside to come home with me after service ; 
 and then all the servants are gathered together in the even- 
 ing, and he talks to them most affectionately, and tells 
 them the mercy of the Lord in granting them so many bless- 
 ings when their poor brethren of the North are starving 
 to death by hundreds, and, besides, have not the consolations 
 of the gospel to cheer them, but all go to the bad place. 
 And when I have heard him describe the fate of the poor 
 deluded wretches who have been beguiled away by the 
 wicked abolitionists, who were only doing the Devil's work 
 getting them away from their happy homes to whip them to 
 death, and then turn them over to their master, Satan, to be 
 roasted for ever and ever, it has made me laugh, in spite of 
 myself, to hear the poor wretches cry out, ' O Lord ! save us 
 from Satan and save us from the abolitions ! ' And the old 
 preacher, Pompey, beats 'em all hollering; and, when he 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 201 
 
 preaches himself, he always warns his woolly audience to 
 shun the way of Satan and the abolitionists." 
 
 " I always thought that Parson Southside was a great 
 hypocrite," said Kingsbury. 
 
 After the breakfast was finished, and each one had smoked 
 his cigar, as it was supposed that Taggard would not proba- 
 bly return before noon, the company dispersed, each going to 
 his own home. 
 
 But, before eleven o'clock, the news came up from the vil- 
 lage that slaves were missing from almost every house ; and 
 no one knew whither they had gone. Those left behind in- 
 variably spoke of them as gone to the great ball at Col. Pres- 
 ton's; and at least half a dozen couriers had been sent out, 
 not only to Preston's, but in every other direction ; and not a 
 word could be heard of one of the missing chattels. 
 
 As soon as this news arrive^, every man, planter, and over- 
 seer alike, hurried to town, where was a greater commotion 
 than had ever been seen there before. The whole population 
 was in the streets ; a*hd they could scarcely have shown more 
 consternation and excitement had the bombardment of the 
 town been hourly expected. About five minutes before the 
 arrival of Col. Kingsbury and his party, of whom Walter was 
 one, the messenger, who had been despatched to Preston's 
 plantation to learn if the missing property had been seen at 
 the great ball, had returned, and reported that not one of them 
 had been there the night before ; but so far from it, that four 
 of Col. Preston's best hands, two of the Widow Plunkett's, 
 and five of Capt. Strother's, both neighbors of Col. Pres- 
 ton, were missing. 
 
 Not until this moment had it occurred to any one in the 
 crowd, except Walter, that perhaps the fugitives had escaped 
 by way of the river. Now, however, it was evident that such 
 must have been the case; and a warehouse-man, whose build- 
 ing stood fronting the main street, — where the crowd was 
 thickest, — and extending back to the bank of the river, ran 
 to look from a rear window, and, behold ! the " Good Intent," 
 which had not before been missed, was nowhere to be seen. 
 Rushing back to the front-door, he shouted out, " They have 
 gone off on the Yankee schooner, the i Good Intent' ! " This 
 caused a rush round the corner of the warehouse, and towards 
 the bank or bluff where the " Good Intent " had been moored : 
 but nothing was to be seen of her ; and the crowd returned 
 
202 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 to the centre of the town, and great was the tumult and com- 
 motion. The attention of the mob — for it was now little 
 better than a mob — was soon turned on Walter, whom Col. 
 Kingsbury had begun to question about his friend Capt. 
 Dykes. But, to the great relief of both, a stable-keeper pres- 
 ent said Capt. Dykes had hired a horse and buggy of him, 
 leaving their value in money, the day before, to go up into 
 the back country to see a relation of his; and he believed the 
 niggers had taken advantage of his absence to steal his vessel. 
 
 "And I hearn his mate say," said a man named Riley, " that 
 he was such a quarrelsome old cuss, that he and all the hands 
 had left him, and shipped on board the ' Wild Drake.' " 
 
 "It is no time now to talk about how they got off so slyly. 
 The thing now is to catch 'em," cried the captain of the lit- 
 tle steamboat, the "Lady Berrien," that plied between Lancas- 
 ter and the towns above, and that had unexpectedly arrived 
 that morning. " They haven't got more than ten or twelve 
 hours' start ; and we will catch them yet." 
 
 "That is the kind of talk," said old Churchill. "Here's 
 the * Lady Berrien ' arrived just in time to catch them ; and 
 it's no doubt a special providence that sent her down just now. 
 Cap'n Webber, how soon can you be off? " 
 
 " In an hour, if I'm only paid for the service." 
 
 " Is this a time to talk of price, you son of a sea-cook ! when 
 our lives, our liberty, our institutions, are in danger?" cried 
 Churchill, shaking his head fiercely, and stamping the earth 
 with his cane. " Be off, and catch them ! and I will be respon- 
 sible for all damage and costs. How' soon can you be off, 
 you money loving skip-jack?" 
 
 " The fires are up now. I'll be ready as soon as you can 
 get a company aboard large enough to capture the ungrateful 
 wretches. If we overtake them, they will fight like devils 
 before they surreiMer, and very likely they've got arms 
 aboard." 
 
 " Ay, you're right," said Churchill. " Boys, come on : get 
 all your guns and pistols, and let us be off! I will lead you," 
 said the old man, shaking his white locks, and assuming the 
 command in every thing. " We must take the field-pieces of 
 the Calhoun Blues, besides the little swivels on board the 
 * Lady Berrien.' Let us take care that we are the whales, 
 not Jonahs. Every man to his duty ! " 
 
 Those of the crowd who lived near by, and had arms at 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 203 
 
 home, hurried off to bring them ; and soon every gun, rifle, 
 and pistol, that had not been previously appropriated by the 
 fugitives, was brought forth to do service in the impending 
 naval battle. The pursuers hastily embarked, and the "Lady 
 Berrien" swung round from the old hulk to which she had 
 been moored as a wharf. Gen. Churchill, by tacit consent, 
 took the command of the party, consisting of about a hun- 
 dred of the chivalrous sons of the South, all panting for ac- 
 tion, honor, and immortal glory, and well provided with fire- 
 arms, bowie-knives, and ammunition, both to charge their 
 weapons, and to fortify their courage. Their general had fore- 
 seen that the latter kind would be in demand, and sent on 
 board a cask of the best Monongahela whiskey. 
 
204 GO'mERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " God's arm be with us! 'tis a fearful odds." — Henry V. 
 
 Unobserved and silent, Walter Goraery went on board 
 the " Lady Berrien " with the crowd. What purpose could he 
 have had to subserve ? Surely, after what he had said to 
 Capt. Dykes, he would not turn slave-catcher, or be one of 
 a party engaged in hunting down men flying from bondage ! 
 What, then, was his object? We shall see. 
 
 The " Lady Berrien " moved rapidly down the stream. The 
 passengers were busy scouring, cleaning, and loading their 
 weapons, not forgetting to charge their stomachs with the 
 Monongahela. Walter went on the hurricane-deck, and 
 walked back and forth, absorbed in deep reflection. An ill- 
 looking, heavily-whiskered ruffian (who, nevertheless, was a 
 rich planter, and none other than the Col. Preston wno had 
 given the great ball the night before) was eying him omi- 
 nously; which observing, he went below, and procured from 
 young Kingsbury an old king's-arm blunderbuss, with which 
 he paraded himself, predicting that the ungrateful scoundrels 
 would never get away. Col. Kingsbury, who witnessed this, 
 came up to him, and said in an undertone, " Mr. Gomery, I 
 never thought to see you in such disgraceful business ! " 
 
 " See the end before you condemn," replied Walter. 
 
 The bit of acting resorted to by Walter speedily allayed 
 the suspicion of Whiskerando ; who then mounted a stool, 
 and proposed to have an organized meeting. "Now is the 
 time," said he, "to consider what we are to do with these 
 cussed, ongrateful runaways." 
 
 " Catch 'em fust," said a small, squeaking voice. 
 
 " Catch em ? Of course we shall. Cap'n, look a' here ! 
 Do you see this revolver? Do you see this here institution? 
 If you don't catch 'em, you may know what to expect." 
 
 The captain, who was a quick-spoken, sharp-voiced, brave 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 205 
 
 little game-cock, stepped forward, and snid, " Gentlemen, I am 
 not to be bullied on my own boat. We are carrying now 
 all the steam it is safe to carry ; but if this big bully wants 
 to carry more, though I think he has got about as much 
 in his own biler as he can carry without busting, he can go 
 down and feed the fires, or set on the escape-valve." 
 
 " Ay, ay : the cap'n's right," said old Churchill. " No in- 
 terference ! " 
 
 "At this rate," said the captain, "we will make the mouth 
 of the river before sunset ; and I don't believe they can get 
 out to sea before then, for the wind has been light and flawy 
 all day. If they do get off, it shall not be my fault, nor that 
 of the ' Lady Berrien.' " 
 
 "All right, then," said Whiskerando. "I have a proposition 
 to make. I see the owners of all or nearly all the runaways 
 on board. Now, it won't do at all to let any of them remain 
 in this part of the country after they are captured. They 
 have got their heads full of notions of freedom, and will be 
 putting all the other slaves up to mischief. They are bent 
 on running away ; and we may lick the life e'en a'most out 
 on 'em, and they will still try to get away. They are the 
 most ongrateful critters ! I move, therefore, that they all be 
 kept in prison till they are sold to be taken to Missippi or 
 Lusiana, and each one to have a hundred lashes a day 
 until they are sold, and fed only on rice and water. The ring- 
 leaders will, of course, all be hanged ; for the State will pay 
 us for them." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! that is fust-rate, 'specially the last part," said 
 Riley. 
 
 " But I never sold a slave in my life," said Kingsbury, " and 
 have said a thousand times I never would." 
 
 "But the public safety, the public safety! have you no 
 patriotism ? " said Preston, who knew better than to act the 
 bully towards a man of Kingsbury's wealth and influence. 
 
 " I am not to be taught my duty by a man of your sort," 
 replied Kingsbury testily. "I have at least six slaves on 
 board the schooner, worth a thousand dollars apiece ; and 
 what have you got ? " 
 
 " I have got four of the smartest boys in the county, two 
 of 'em three-quarters white," said whiskers; "and I'll bet 
 two to one that the whole thing was hatched up by them, as 
 there ain't no others in these parts smart enough to do it. 
 
 VOL. II. 18 
 
206 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 Fact is, they look a little like me. But I offer to give 'em 
 all up to be hanged if they are proved to be the ringleaders." 
 
 " Yes ; and the State must pay for them, and all the rest of 
 us be taxed to raise the money," muttered Kingsbury. 
 
 " It is a fair proposition," said Churchill. " Put the vote." 
 
 " All in favor will hold up their hands," said Preston. 
 
 Every hand was raised, except that of Kingsbury and 
 Walter. These two were now standing a little apart, convers- 
 ing in a low tone. " You see," said the elder, " who it is that 
 prevails in a crowd of this kind. I shall be obliged to yield ; 
 and, if we overtake the schooner, all my boys will either be 
 hanged, or I shall be forced to sell them to go farther south 
 or west. In fact, I shall not shed a tear if they all escape. 
 I never blame a slave for escaping; and to hang them for it, 
 in my mind, is no better than murder ; and I don't choose to 
 carry a dead hand as the price of blood." 
 
 Walter turned away, and went upon the upper deck, where 
 he found the crowd getting more and more noisy and quar- 
 relsome, as the Monongahela ran free to all. The talk was 
 loud and profane ; and the captain, who stood alongside of 
 the pilot-house, was anxiously looking for the schooner. It 
 was now but a short distance to the open sea ; and, if he failed 
 to overtake the schooner, the drunken crowd would very 
 likely turn upon him (as he had been guilty of a Northern 
 birth), and maltreat him, and deface, if not ruin, his boat. 
 Besides, he knew no money would be paid unless the fugi- 
 tives were caught. 
 
 In the mean while, Walter was pacing the deck, deeply 
 absorbed in his own thoughts ; and thus he reasoned with 
 himself: — 
 
 " Here are more than a hundred fugitives from bondage 
 on the point of escaping. An accident that should delay 
 the steamer (the breaking of a pipe or connecting-rod, or 
 any derangement of the machinery that should cause an 
 hour's delay) would insure freedom to them all. Is there no 
 power in heaven to do it? No, none: man's devices are to 
 be circumvented by man's devices. These poor wretches 
 have the same right to their liberty that I have ; and those 
 that pursue them are but thieves and robbers. To rob an 
 equal is theft ; to rob an inferior is a meaner theft ; and yet 
 the whole system of slavery is based on this principle of 
 robbing the weak because they are weak, and are powerless 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 207 
 
 to protect themselves. Shall I be a party to such an act? 
 No! Shall I look passively on, and not try to prevent it? 
 No ! Come what will, my duty is to risk myself and all I have 
 to avert their impending fate. Of course, they will put mc 
 to death; of course, I shall die like a felon or a dog; and 
 word will be sent forth to the world through the newspapers, 
 so colored as to make my name detestable, and perhaps 
 cause my own kindred to disown me. But father or mother 
 will believe never a word to my prejudice. They cannot be 
 made to think evil of me; and for the rest of the world, what 
 is their opinion to me, compared with my duty ? Men have 
 often died before for the sake of their fellow-men and glory; 
 but to me is presented the bitter cup of death and infamy ; 
 Well, so be it! I accept the chalice; I am a coward else. 
 My duty is clear. My life is of little value compared with 
 that of all these poor fugitives, who are seeking that life and 
 liberty which God intended for them as well as me. If they 
 escape, each will be a missionary to arouse the people of the 
 North to a sense of the horrors of the accursed system 
 which they now passively approve and actively support. 
 Each life thus may be of more value than mine. What, 
 then, but fear and selfishness restrain me? The case is 
 clear: why, then, argue it? No more: down, thoughts of 
 self! You owe your life to God ; and his work it is to save 
 your fellow-creatures. Duty, duty! and leave the results 
 with Him who doeth all things well." 
 
 While thus meditating, Walter had been walking up and 
 down the hurricane-deck, stopping for a moment each turn 
 as he came near the engine, and looking at the two pieces 
 of a broken spar that were lying on the deck between the 
 walking-beam and the wheel-house. The boat was moving 
 with great rapidity, and the interest of the slave-hunters 
 was at its highest pitch. The sun was getting low, and they 
 were fast nearing the mouth of the river; and the breeze was 
 freshening fast, so that it would never do to follow the 
 schooner beyond the headlands. 
 
 Walter does not dare to look ahead where all other eyes 
 are turned, for fear of beholding the unwelcome sight of the 
 fugitive vessel. But a shout from the others announces but 
 too clearly that the schooner is in sight. With a sickening 
 sense he turns his head, and sees her not more than half a 
 mile in advance. Rounding a point, the steamboat had come 
 
208 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 almost full upon her. An hour more would have saved them, 
 for the open sea was in sight; and, with the approaching 
 darkness and gathering breeze, they never would have ad- 
 ventured the " Lady Berrien " on the rising ocean. 
 
 " It's lucky the wind didn't spring up earlier," said Gen. 
 Churchill. "It's a special providence, such as Parson South- 
 side is always prophesying for the righteous. It shows which 
 side the Lord's on, at any rate." 
 
 The steamer fast neared the schooner, the deck of which 
 was covered with the despairing fugitives. At sight of the 
 approaching capturers brandishing their weapons, many of 
 the frightened wretches fell on their knees ; though it could 
 be seen that the old preacher, Pompey, was urging them to 
 put off their praying, and prepare to fight. 
 
 "Ah, ha!" said old Churchill : "you old hypocrite, you! 
 This is the way you want to be saved from the abolitionists, is 
 it ? It's no use your praying if you get into my hands again. 
 The Lord don't hear the prayers of runaways. It's only those 
 servants that obey their masters that the Lord ever listens to." 
 
 Walter stood on the front quarter of the deck, looking ea- 
 gerly at the unhappy sight before him. Old Lindsey Woolsey 
 could be distinctly seen at the helm ; and his voice could be 
 heard above the plashing of the waters, the snorting of the en- 
 gine, and the shouts of the slave-hunters, calling on his com- 
 panions to fight, and they would yet escape. 
 
 The schooner was now so near the broad mouth of the 
 river, that there was plenty of room for working her; and the 
 breeze, now fresh and steady, bore her along at a speed almost 
 as great as that of the steamer. 
 
 " They can't board us unless we lay to ! " shouted Lindsey 
 Woolsey. " So courage, and liberty will be yours ! They 
 will never shoot thousand-dollar niggers." 
 
 The sharp crack of a rifle was now heard, and Lindsey 
 Woolsey was seen to fall back from the helm ; but he in- 
 stantly sprang forward, and caught it again with his left hand, 
 his right hanging shattered and powerless by his side. 
 
 " Hit the black scoundrel again ! " roared out old Churchill : 
 "he's free, and they can't steer the " — 
 
 But just at that instant a tremendous crash was heard be- 
 hind them. Their first idea was the boiler had burst ; and 
 Churchill, Whiskerando, and about half the rest, fell on their 
 knees: but, as they saw neither steam nor smoke, they con- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 209 
 
 eluded the danger was not so imminent, and jumped up, and 
 began to swear as usual. They looked to see what the disas- 
 ter was; and, behold! some one, evidently not on the Lord's 
 side, had thrown one of the pieces of broken spar under the 
 end of the walking-beam, so that, when it came down, it struck 
 it with such force as to smash through the deck at the same 
 time that the shaft snapped in two like a pipe-stem. 
 
 The noise was heard on board the schooner, now just along- 
 side of the steamboat. Lindsey Woolsey gave a shout of 
 defiance, brandishing his left arm at the pursuers, who were 
 now thinking more of their own safety than of catching run- 
 aways. The steamer, impelled by the momentum she had 
 before acquired, drove past the schooner, that yielded to her 
 helm, bore down to the leeward, and was soon beyond rifle- 
 shot. The " Lady Berrien " lay helpless on the water ; and 
 the " Good Intent " had escaped. 
 
 18* 
 
210 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Why, man, they did make love to this employment. 
 They are not near my conscience : their defeat 
 Does by their own insinuations grow." — Hamlet. 
 
 All had been looking intently at the schooner at the time 
 that Walter Gomery, taking advantage of the upward stroke 
 of the walking-beam, had thrust the broken spar into such a 
 position, that, on the downward stroke, it should disable the 
 engine. The instant it was in its place, he sprung lightly and 
 unobserved to the side of the vessel ; and, by the time the 
 crash came, he was at the railing, looking as intently as any 
 one towards the schooner, that was still leading off before the 
 breeze in gallant style. Lindsey Woolsey was still holding 
 the helm, assisted by preaching Pompey ; the two being pro- 
 tected by a wall of the most valuable negroes, who knew 
 they were too valuable to be shot, and who formed so perfect 
 a shield to Lindsey, that no ball could reach him without 
 destroying at least two thousand dollars' worth of human 
 property. But the crash caused all on board the steamer to 
 turn their eyes to the rear; and the captain, who at once saw 
 there was no explosion, and probably no danger, as he turned 
 and saw Preston, or Whiskerando, on his knees, cried out to 
 him, "Get off your marrow-bones, you cowardly bully! there 
 is no danger. Don't you see the steam is blowing off? " 
 
 Looking down through the opening in the deck through 
 which the connecting-rod of the walking-beam with the piston 
 played, they saw the battered fragments of the spar, and at 
 once comprehended the cause of this disaster, so flatly in the 
 face of special providence. They looked aghast as they be- 
 held the ruin it had caused ; and as they cast their eyes in 
 another direction, and saw the "Good Intent" driving fist 
 out to sea, the volleys of curses and oaths uttered were enough 
 to have sunk her, had she not been a taut-built craft. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 211 
 
 The "Good Intent," Lindsey Woolsey, master, has sailed, 
 bearing a hundred and fifteen human souls, let us hope, to 
 freedom and to happiness. Walter Gomery has served them, 
 in all probability, at the sacrifice of his own life. Not only 
 that, but, as the popular opinion then was, his death must be 
 infamous. He cannot even have the poor satisfaction of 
 knowing that the escaped fugitives will thank him: on the 
 contrary, he was sure that Lindsey Woolsey had seen him 
 among the pursuers ; and after the shot was fired, and the ves- 
 sels were near each other, he saw the enraged negro shake 
 the fist of his undamaged arm towards him, and heard him cry 
 out, " That cursed Yankee has betrayed us ! " Others heard 
 the same remark, but supposed it referred to the captain of 
 the " Lady Berrien," who was also a Yankee ; at which that 
 enterprising individual instantly advanced a hundred per cent 
 in their estimation. It was after this that the plan he had 
 before matured was carried into effect. Those whom he was 
 to save had wronged him through ignorance, and he blamed 
 them not. His duty was not the less clear. Had not Christ 
 died for his enemies ? What though those he was to die for 
 were cursing him in their hearts? It was through ignorance; 
 and that sin " God winked at." 
 
 Walter had seated himself, after the catastrophe, on one of 
 the seats that ran round the railing of the deck. The cry 
 was, "Who did it V" 
 
 " I know who done it," said a voice from below. 
 
 " Come up, then ! " cried the captain. 
 
 The order was obeyed with alacrity ; and a tall, finely 
 formed mulatto, a waiter on the boat, came bounding up the 
 stairs. 
 
 "Mind what you say, now," said Col. Kingsbury, while his 
 face blanched and his voice quivered ; for he was almost as 
 sure who had done the deed as though he had seen it. 
 " Mind you don't accuse the wrong man : if you do, you will 
 be hanged." 
 
 " Be hanged ! " said the slave with a sneer of contempt : 
 " who was ever hanged for accusing a Yankee ? Thar, that's 
 him thar on the bench, — that schoolmaster." The eyes of 
 all were turned on Walter, who sat as unmoved, and appar- 
 ently as calm, as a statue. 
 
 The first to speak was Gen. Churchill. "You did this 
 awful crime, did you, you cowardly infidel, you white-livered 
 
212 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 thief, you imp of Satan !" at the last words, making a motion 
 to strike him with his cane, which was arrested by Kings- 
 bury. "Take that!" said Preston, striking him a heavy 
 blow in the face that nearly knocked him from his seat, and 
 immediately drawing his revolver. 
 
 " They have escaped," mildly answered Walter. 
 
 " Ay, they have ! " said Whiskerando, discharging his pis- 
 tol. But the motion of the ruffian had been seen by Kings- 
 bury, who endeavored to prevent it: but, instead of that, the 
 pistol was knocked aside accidentally by Churchill, who was 
 raising his cane to strike a second time ; and, instead of hit- 
 ting Walter, the ball went through the heart of the mulatto 
 waiter. 
 
 " Better luck next time ! " said the planter, cocking, and 
 firing again. This time the ball entered the shoulder of 
 Walter, who fell forward on the deck. 
 
 " Cowardly assassin ! " cried old Churchill, enraged at the 
 firing into a crowd, nor yet believing in such deliberate mur- 
 der ; for, brutal and overbearing as the slave practice had 
 made him, he still had some notions of fair-play. The old 
 man stepped forward to raise up Walter, and to protect him, 
 if need be, from further indignity or harm. With the assist- 
 ance of Kingsbury and others, he was carried below, and 
 placed on a sofa in the ladies' saloon. Some were so en- 
 raged, that they did not wish him to escape by a merciful 
 and sudden death ; others, more hasty, only regretted that 
 the ball had not been through the heart. 
 
 Meanwhile the " Lady Berrien " had been drifting, or rather 
 driven, before the wind. Fortunate it was for those aboard 
 of her that there was a wind; for had there been none, or 
 had it been in a contrary direction, or had not a new spar 
 been rigged in place of the one that was broken a few days 
 before, they must all inevitably have been carried out to sea ; 
 and a river steamboat, drawing three feet and a half of 
 water, with a fresh and freshening breeze, could not long 
 keep afloat on the billowy Atlantic. But fortunately, or, as 
 our friend Whiskerando would say, through a special provi- 
 dence, the wind was blowing fresh from the south, — a wind 
 that came quartering on the schooner ; and so, instead of 
 drifting out to sea, the " Lady Berrien " was driven hard and 
 fast against the left bank of the river, where she was made 
 fast to the roots of a huge sycamore-tree. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 213 
 
 It was after sundown when the " Lady Berrien " struck the 
 bank ; and the baffled rage of the crowd had been growing 
 more and more furious ; so that, but for an incident that hap- 
 pened a few minutes before she struck, it had been doubtful 
 whether Walter would have been allowed to leave the boat 
 alive. After Walter had been laid in the cabin below, 
 Churchill returned on deck ; and he and Preston got into a 
 violent dispute in regard to the negro who had been shot. 
 He was the property of Churchill, and was supposed to have 
 a nearer relation to him than that even; and had been hired 
 to the captain of the " Lady Berrien " as head waiter and 
 steward. He was valued, at the least, at two thousand dol- 
 lars. Churchill swore that the other should pay for him ; 
 but the other answered back that he was a selfish old churl, 
 without a spark of patriotism, or else, under such circum- 
 stances, he would never ask for pay. He was only trying to 
 do his duty when he accidentally shot him instead of the 
 Yankee who had caused all the trouble ; and, if the old man 
 hadn't been an abolitionist at heart, he would never ask for a 
 cent of compensation. 
 
 To be called an abolitionist was too much for the still 
 fiery blood of the old Cavalier. He might have been called 
 a thief, and have answered the charge with oaths and 
 threats ; or he might have been accused of selling his own 
 children to grace the harems of Mobile and Savannah, and 
 he would have laughed at it. But to be called an abolition- 
 ist ! — he! — Archibald Churchill, a descendant of the old 
 Cavaliers, first cousin to two Ex-Governors, brother-in-law 
 to a United-States senator, and father-in-law to a mem- 
 ber of Congress, — to have a charge so infamous brought 
 against him was too much foi human nature to bear. Quick 
 as a flash, his heavy cane lighted on the sconce of the auda- 
 cious slanderer, and knocked him senseless on the floor. 
 
 This incident diverted the attention of all from Walter for 
 several minutes, — save only Col. Kingsbury, who kept near 
 him all the while, and, as soon as the boat was fast to the 
 bank, hurried him, with the help of some of the boat-hands, 
 on shore. There were several carriages waiting near the 
 bank where they landed, as the singular manoeuvres of the 
 two vessels had attracted the notice of people on shore, sev- 
 eral of whom had followed the road along the river's bank 
 to see what it all meant. 
 
214 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 Walter's wound was not so severe but that he was able, 
 with the assistance of Kingsbury and the black servants of 
 the boat, to ascend the bank. Among the carriages standing, 
 there was one farm-wagon, in which sat the driver, a middle- 
 aged negro, who had stopped, and was looking curiously at 
 the unusual scene. Without ceremony, Walter was lifted 
 into this hard-jolting vehicle, and laid flat on the floor; and 
 Kingsbury, taking his seat beside the driver, told him to 
 drive on. 
 
 " Whar to ? " asked the slave. 
 
 " To your master's." 
 
 " Massa aren't to home." 
 
 " So much the better : drive on," said Kingsbury ; at the 
 same time catching the whip, and belaboring the flanks of 
 the horses. " Who is your master ? " 
 
 " Mr. Caperton, up on the Point." 
 
 " Why, that's half-way up to Lancaster. 
 
 " Yes, massa; but it's on the ole road : its much furder than 
 the new road." 
 
 " No matter for that," said he, looking anxiously behind 
 him, and then plying the whip with renewed vigor. He 
 knew, that, as soon as the crowd perceived that Walter had 
 been spirited away, pursuit would instantly be made ; and 
 his object was to get up to the point where the new road 
 forked off from the old; and as the latter was never travelled 
 now, except by those having business at one or the other 
 of the three plantations situated on what was called the 
 " Point," — so called from the bend in the river, — he would 
 thus probably escape his pursuers. The latter would proba- 
 bly think he had made directly for home, and by the shortest 
 route; nor would they ascertain their mistake until the 
 drunken excitement they were now in would have time to 
 wear off. If they were to get hold of Walter that night, 
 Kingsbury had too good reason to believe that the morning 
 sun would show him dangling from the branch of a sycamore 
 or magnolia by the road-side. 
 
 The darkness favored the flight; and, as had been foreseen, 
 the pursuers all took the direct road to Lancaster, leaving 
 Kingsbury to find his way during the night as best he might. 
 
 It was ten o'clock before the farm-wagon reached the 
 Caperton Plantation, from which the family was absent ; the 
 place being left in charge of a nephew of the owner, who 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 215 
 
 was a young man well known to Col. Kingsbury. They 
 drove up to the front of the house, and were hailed from a 
 chamber window by a voice calling out, " Who is there ? " 
 
 « Halloo ! is that you, Robert ? " said Kingsbury : " come 
 down if it is, and help me out of this." 
 
 " But who are you ? " 
 
 " It's Kun'l Kingsb'ry, Massa Robert, from Lancaster." 
 
 u Col. Kingsbury, you here at this time o' night ! I'll come 
 down directly." 
 
 They waited the appearance of the young man, who came 
 running out, saying, " What does all this mean ? " 
 
 " It means that there has been awful work up at the vil- 
 lage. About a hundred slaves ran off last night on a schoo- 
 ner ; and we started off on the steamer to catch them, and 
 have had a fight, and this young man in the wagon got 
 wounded." 
 
 " Is that it ? I saw the ' Lady Berrien ' go down, covered 
 with passengers ; and I couldn't think what was up. I'll bet 
 five to two that some of uncle's niggers are gone, then ; for 
 there's two been missing all day : and I sent this evening for 
 cock-eyed Riley to come to-morrow with his dogs to hunt 
 for them. Fury ! won't the old man bluster when he hears 
 of it ! Who is this wounded man ? Let us take him into 
 the house." 
 
 " Are you in much pain, Mr. Gomery ? " said Kingsbury. 
 
 "A little, sir." 
 
 " He is the schoolmaster up in our neighborhood ; and, as 
 we must get home before his wounds can be dressed, we will 
 try and make him a bed as comfortable as possible in the 
 wagon ; and if you can give us some fresh horses, then we 
 will be able to get to Lancaster by three o'clock in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " All right : that can be done easy. — Boys," said he, turn- 
 ing to the slaves who had gathered around to see what this 
 strange arrival meant, — "boys, change these horses, and put 
 in Whitefoot and Old Roger. They will take you up in two 
 hours, or two and a half, easy. 
 
 " I am very thirsty," said Walter. 
 
 " Of course you are," said the young man. "What am I 
 thinking of? You want a good glass of brandy ; and I'll get 
 it for you." ; 
 
 In a little time, the fresh horses were harnessed, another 
 
216 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 driver was mounted to the seat, some straw was placed in 
 the wagon, and over it a light feather-bed was thrown ; and 
 Walter was carefully placed upon it, and some blankets 
 thrown over him ; and then, after both he and his kind pro- 
 tector had each taken a glass of brandy and water, the driver 
 was told to go ahead, and soon they were jogging at a brisk 
 trot over the fine old road towards Lancaster. 
 
 Kingsbury knew too well the temper of the people among 
 whom he lived to think of taking the wounded man to his 
 own house. He drove directly to the county jail, and roused 
 up the jailer, who was almost as much surprised, when he 
 opened the sliding panel in the front door of the jail and rec- 
 ognized Col. Kingsbury, as young Caperton had been. 
 
 " I have brought you a prisoner," said Kingsbury : " lock 
 him up, and keep him safe. Give him the best room in the 
 jail, and send off to Dr. Jones at once to come and dress his 
 wounds." 
 
 The jailer, who had a room in the jail, where he slept, now 
 opened the door; and the two, with the assistance of the 
 driver, lifted Walter from the wagon, and carried him into 
 the jail, and laid him on a low, miserable bed in the jailer's 
 own room. 
 
 The crowd who had pursued Walter and his protector had 
 arrived at Lancaster before them ; but, as they could hear 
 nothing of the fugitives, they concluded they had stopped at 
 some planter's house on the road; and after going to the 
 Southern-Rights Hotel, rousing up the landlord, and re- 
 charging their exhausted bodies with whiskey, they separated, 
 to meet again early the next, or rather that morning, when 
 
 it was agreed they would " make short work of the d d 
 
 Yankee." There were but about a dozen who pushed 
 through to the village that night. Of the rest, some staid 
 aboard the boat, and some straggled up to the nearest plan- 
 tations to tell their sad story and beg for a night's lodging. 
 Hence it came to pass, that, after a day of excitement and 
 turmoil such as the town had never witnessed before, all was 
 quiet as possible when Kingsbury and his charge drove up to 
 the jail; and Walter was safely locked inside before any of 
 the towns-people knew of the " distinguished arrivals." 
 
 Thus for, Kingsbury had acted a courageous and noble 
 part. But he knew that there was a limit, beyond which, 
 much respected as he was, he must not pass. The fury of 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 217 
 
 the mob the next day, he well knew, would be ferocious and 
 ungovernable. Were Walter in any private house, he did 
 not doubt that he would be taken out and hanged before 
 ten o'clock in the morning. But the mob might respect the 
 public jail, and appease their sanguinary thirst with the re- 
 flection that they were sure of his blood at last, and that they 
 could make his life a prolonged torture. "If," thought Kings- 
 bury, " they can get over the first excitement and rage, and 
 come to think coolly on the bravery and self-sacrifice of their 
 prisoner, their animosity might change to respect, and he 
 might secure, perhaps, a fair trial ; and the only action that 
 would lie against him would be for damages to the boat ; for 
 by no straining of law or evidence could he be convicted of 
 enticing slaves to escape. And as for the other matter, there 
 was but one witness, and he was dead ; and besides, by the 
 laws of Georgia, he was not competent to testify against a 
 white man." 
 
 Thus reasoned Col. Kingsbury in regard to the man he 
 had hoped to save. His next care was to provide for his own 
 safety. It was not enough for him to leave the wounded 
 man to his fate in the jail. Of course, his standing by him 
 longer would be accounted black treason. He must be 
 among the most vociferous for vengeance ; for slavery ac- 
 knowledges no half-way loyalty. If at the same time, how- 
 ever, that he calls for the severest measures and penalties, he 
 can at the same time convince the mob to let the law take 
 its course, perhaps, before his trial comes on, a better feeling 
 may obtain among the people. First of all, however, he 
 must keep clear of suspicion ; for once let the impression 
 get abroad that he has sentiments less than fiendish towards 
 the great culprit, and he may expect a warning to leave the 
 State in twenty-four hours, to return at his peril. 
 
 Thoughts of this kind passed through the mind of Col. 
 Kingsbury as he pursued his way through the village and up 
 to his own home. His wife had not been in bed during the 
 night ; and, when he entered the house, her first question 
 was, " Have they got away ? " — " Yes," he replied : " they 
 are far at sea before this." — " Oh, I am so glad ! " exclaimed 
 she. " I was so afraid they would be brought back ! and 
 then" — 
 
 "Hush, wife!" said he : "never say such a thing as that 
 
 VOL,. II. 19 
 
218 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 again. If overheard, we could not live a day longer in Lan 
 caster." 
 
 The next morning, by nine o'clock, Kingsbury was again 
 at the village. The people were gathered in knots, talking 
 over the events of the day before, and considering what 
 should be done with their great criminal. Those of the pur- 
 suers who had returned the night before had been so over- 
 powered by their hard work and harder drinking, that they 
 had not yet appeared on the scene ; and it was twelve 
 o'clock in the day before the loiterers, who had stopped at 
 different places below, had all returned, crest-fallen, to town. 
 
 At about two o'clock, the valiant Col. Preston mounted 
 the steps in front of the State-Rights Hotel, and began a 
 speech, and was going on vigorously, urging that such prompt 
 measures must be taken, and vengeance fall so quickly on the 
 heels of crime, that nobody should ever dare such a thing 
 again. Most fortunately, the author and originator of the 
 atrocious act that had called them together was a prisoner 
 in their hands. A special providence had reserved him to 
 them for punishment ; and, if they failed to put him to death 
 by torture, they would show themselves heathens and infidels. 
 He had got fairly into his favorite subject of special provi- 
 dence, when the voice of a deformed, half-idiotic old negro, 
 who lived about the town after the manner of a cur dog 
 whom nobody will own, called out, loud enough to be heard 
 by the whole crown, "Dat's mighty fine speech, Massa Prest'n; 
 but I reck'n you wouldn't go on so if you know'd your shirt 
 was hanging out behind a foot, foot and a halt) or two feet." 
 
 This, with the shout produced by it, was too much for Col. 
 Preston. Special providence had jilted him, and he could 
 not go on. He hemmed, hawed, and stammered a few words : 
 but the crowd broke forth in repeated guffaws ; and he was 
 obliged to stop, and descend from his eminence. If his rage 
 was great when he thought his pantaloons had betrayed him, 
 it was unbounded, gnashing, frothing, when he learned, that, 
 while preaching war in front, there was really no white flag 
 in the rear. 
 
 Kingsbury took advantage of this first symptom of reason 
 or good-humor, and began talking to the multitude. He 
 asked if they were insane, and were prepared to grant the 
 mad fanatic what of all things he most wanted, — to be sud- 
 
A. FAMILY HISTORY. 219 
 
 denly put to death, and thus gain the reputation of a martyr 
 among his fanatical brethren. 
 
 " He knows," said he, " that he can't live ; and let him lie 
 and suffer not only the pain of his wounds, but the penalty 
 of his crimes, and the horrors of a guilty conscience. And, 
 after all that, we shall have none the less satisfaction of 
 seeing him hanged and die infamously, like a dog, and none 
 — not one — to pity him. But you, poor fools ! would shoot 
 him at once ; and there is not a slave within forty miles but 
 would steal away at night, and plant flowers on his grave." 
 
 This view of the case so accorded with the devilish passion 
 of the multitude, that, after it had been concurred in by 
 Gen. Churchill in a short speech, more out of spite to Pres- 
 ton than because he really approved, was assented to by the 
 crowd ; and Churchill, who regarded the vote in its favor as 
 a tribute to his own eloquence, proposed that they should 
 adjourn to the hotel, and he would treat the crowd. This 
 motion was carried; and Walter had escaped that death 
 which he had supposed was inevitable. 
 
220 GOMEEY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " O God ! Horatio, what a wounded name ! 
 Things standing thus unknown shall live behind me."— Hamlet. 
 
 The excitement that prevailed throughout F County, 
 
 and indeed through the whole State, and even the whole 
 South, when the news spread of the successful hegira of so 
 many valuable chattels, was nearly as great as it was some 
 years after, when the " Old Dominion," the mother of states- 
 men, and grandmother of pygmies, was invaded and captured 
 by that distinguished person whose soul has ever since been 
 "marching on." Nothing else was talked of or thought of. 
 The newspapers far and near were full of the matter. A 
 crime had been committed, exceeding in atrocity the Guy 
 Faux Plot, or the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew. The 
 circumstances of the escape were detailed with perverted 
 minuteness; and the crime of Walter Gomery, whose name, 
 however, was never permitted to appear in print, was por- 
 trayed in colors so repugnant, that, compared with him, 
 Judas Iscariot was a respectable and honorable citizen, Cati- 
 line a virtuous, well-deserving patriot, and all the Borgias 
 exemplary Christians. It was said of him that he had come, 
 like a wolf in sheep's clothing, into the midst of a commu- 
 nity where all was peace, — a very Arcadia of content and 
 patriarchal bliss; that with words of virtue and love on his 
 tongue, and infernal hypocrisy in his heart, he had plotted 
 an escape of a hundred and fifteen slaves, the most valua- 
 ble in the country, worth at least a thousand dollars each ; 
 and this, too, at the very time he was receiving food and 
 shelter from the very men he was seeking to rob of their 
 property, — property not only allowed by the Constitution, 
 but property of an especially sacred character, inasmuch as it 
 was sanctioned by the divine law, and ordained in the curse 
 pronounced against Ham and all his descendants. There- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 221 
 
 fore was he doubly, trebly, atrociously wicked ; for he not 
 only sought to despoil men of their property, but to weaken 
 the institutions of the country, and sap the foundations of 
 religion. Hence he was declared a thief, a traitor, and an 
 infidel. 
 
 " But," said these truthful chroniclers, " it was from no love 
 to the slave that he had done this." Oh, no ! let not his sym- 
 pathizers and abetters say that. His papers had been 
 searched ; and it had been found that he was only a hireling, 
 a paid instrument of the fanatics and free-thinkers of the 
 North, to entice away slaves, before content, from their 
 homes ; for each of whom that left his master he was to be 
 paid the sum of fifty dollars by the antislavery men of the 
 North, and fifty dollars more by the slaves themselves when 
 their freedom was attained. Indeed, this "cute" Yankee 
 had a nice scheme for making a small fortune. With no dan- 
 ger to himself, he thought to organize his abominable con- 
 spiracy, and, when the parties to it had escaped, to leave 
 quietly and unsuspected, and pocket his ill-gotten gains. He 
 saw his plans successfully matured ; and every thing had 
 worked favorably to the scheme which his devilish ingenuity 
 had devised, when, unexpectedly and providentially, a steam- 
 er arrived ere it was too late to overtake the fugitives. But 
 this scoffer, this infidel, refused to see a special providence 
 in this unlooked-for arrival, but deliberately went on board 
 the vessel ; and, when escape seemed impossible, he boldly 
 and profanely disabled the pursuing craft, and then sought 
 to shield himself by deliberately murdering a mulatto slave, 
 head waiter of the steamboat, and then accused him of hav- 
 ing caused the disaster, and alleged that he had shot him in 
 his indignation at the deed. 
 
 And worse than that, even ! It was proved by a high- 
 toned Southern gentleman — on his honor too, and of course 
 it was true — that this doubly-dyed villain was willing, for a 
 consideration, to prove false both to his employers at the 
 North, and the slaves he was corrupting ; that he had told 
 him if he would pledge his word to secrecy (which a South- 
 ern gentleman, it was well known, would sooner part with 
 his life than violate), then he would impart to him some- 
 thing important, on condition that he would engage to pay 
 him as much for disclosing it as he was sure to make by 
 keeping it a secret. But the gentleman, unfortunately, was 
 
 19* 
 
222 G0MERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 a Virginian, and too sensitive on points of honor, and would 
 make no terms with the canting, cringing, thrifty Yankee ; 
 and so his plot was undiscovered till it was too late. This 
 part of the story was first learned at Lancaster from those 
 organs of truth, the "Richmond Enquirer," "Examiner," and 
 " Whig ; " and thought here was much search for this high- 
 toned, chivalrous Virginian, he could not be found. 
 
 While all these perversions were circulating through the 
 press of the entire country, Walter lay in prison, closely 
 guarded and watched. His wound, though severe and pain- 
 ful, was not serious ; and the doctor whom Kingsbury had 
 ordered the jailer to call had treated him professionally. 
 He had extracted the ball; and, as no bones were seriously 
 fractured, he left Nature to effect a cure. 
 
 But there was great uneasiness, not only in the vicinity of 
 Lancaster, but throughout all slavedom. The temerity of 
 the man had caused him to be feared. The flight of so many 
 slaves was so unexpected, that people feared even their own 
 shadows. If so many of the most faithful and well-con- 
 ducted could plot so heinous a crime, who of them could be 
 trusted ? Who knew what other conspiracies were in pro- 
 cess of incubation? There were other Yankees about, — 
 some schoolmasters, some tradesmen, some mechanics, — all, 
 however, engaged in low and undignified occupations. But 
 there were no gentlemen of that breed there ; none who 
 kept their horses and dogs, or who had that fine sense of 
 honor that would blow off the top of an offending head at 
 the suspicion of an insult. All these low-bred people within 
 fifty miles of Lancaster were given to understand, by hints 
 and threats, that they must leave that part of the land of 
 liberty. One of them, an entire stranger to Walter, having 
 made all his preparations to return North, preferred a request 
 to be permitted to visit the great criminal. His request was 
 politely complied with, but coupled with this condition, that 
 he must first lay aside his ordinary clothing, and accept a 
 suit of tar and feathers. This joke was so good, it set up the 
 perpetrator for a wit, and finally carried him into Congress. 
 
 During the time of Walter's convalescence, he was visited 
 by several of the most important and influential men in the 
 neighborhood. They were generally prompted by a vulgar 
 curiosity to see a man capable of such an act as he had 
 committed. Among others came a certain Dr. Lancy, who 
 
A FAMILY HISTOKY. 223 
 
 was no longer a practising physician, but a rich planter ; 
 having, a few years before, married the richest heiress in 
 Georgia, with a plantation so well stocked with fat negroes, 
 that an Irish exiled patriot might have envied him. He was 
 usually accompanied by a young lawyer, a man about thirty 
 years of age, by the name of Larcomb, who had lived some 
 years at Lancaster, but who, notwithstanding his orthodox 
 politics, had but a starving business. In fact, but for the 
 small jobs thrown in his way by Lancy, he would probably 
 have been obliged to give up his profession, and take to the 
 more lucrative business of overseeing. The former's object 
 ostensibly was to consult with Dr. Jones on the condition of 
 his patient. But, in reality, he and his friend Larcomb came 
 as spies ; thinking that, by getting him into conversation, he 
 might be drawn to implicate others. But in this they neces- 
 sarily failed, from the fact that there was nobody to impli- 
 cate. Baffled in this, they told the jailer to let nothing pass 
 between him and the outer world until it had gone through 
 their hands. Larcomb, however, continued his visits, and 
 his efforts to draw something from the prisoner that should 
 entitle him to that gratitude of the public which should 
 bring business to his office. 
 
 As had been foreseen by these two attentive visitors, Wal- 
 ter, when sufficiently recovered to be able to write, requested 
 permission to send letters to his friends. He was assured 
 that his request should be granted ; and accordingly he wrote 
 to his father and mother a full and complete history of his 
 life from the time he left the house of his brother-in-law in 
 Philadelphia. This letter he was just sealing up one day, 
 when Dr. Lancy entered; and thinking that perhaps, from 
 his position, he would be above the despicable meanness of 
 tampering with a private letter, he requested him to have it 
 mailed. He had not yet learned, that, when men make a god 
 of slavery, it matters little how high or low their position : — 
 
 " The trail of the serpent is over them all." 
 
 The doctor assured him, " on his honor," that the letter 
 should be mailed that very day. But, the second day after- 
 wards, he was led to believe that it had not been sent, but 
 that, on the contrary, its contents were known by sundry 
 people in Lancaster, who, notwithstanding their high sense 
 of honor, were, it seemed, up to tricks of which the meanest 
 
224 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 Yankee he had ever known would be ashamed. An allusion 
 was made by Larcoinb to his connections in New York and 
 Philadelphia; and as he had never mentioned to a soul, 
 since he first took passage on the " Good Intent," that he 
 had even an acquaintance in either of those places, he knew 
 that the seal of his letter had been violated, — an offence de- 
 clared a felony among people who are simply civilized and 
 honest, and not " high-toned," "honorable," or " chivalrous." 
 While waiting for an answer, however, — if perchance his 
 letter had been resealed, and forwarded after having been 
 read, and an answer to it should be allowed to reach him, — 
 he was indulged in the favor of reading the Southern papers, 
 which, with characteristic kindness, were sent to him by Dr. 
 Lancy. 
 
 But what was his surprise, on reading them, to find himself 
 magnified into a person of great notoriety and importance. 
 In fact, the papers from Baltimore to New Orleans were 
 filled with him and his doings. Through them, he learned, 
 for the first time, that he was a paid agent, — a hireling of 
 those disreputable characters at the North who were opposed 
 to the divine institution of human slavery. With an 
 ingenuity that would have done crecftt to an inquisitor, they 
 represented him as a selfish schemer, paid for the work he 
 was engaged in ; as an ingrate, who had won his way into 
 the regards and confidence of those he intended all the while 
 to betray, and rob of their property; that he had been moved 
 to what he had done by no feeling or sympathy with the 
 slave, as it was clearly shown by his papers that he was a 
 paid tool of men more cautious, if not more wicked, than 
 himself. Besides the accounts and comments of the Southern 
 papers, they contained various extracts from the press of the 
 North, all of which concurred in depicting him as the most 
 infamous of mankind. If other papers expressed different 
 opinions, he was not allowed to see them ; but several of 
 those he did receive had commented on tha tone of the 
 Northern press, and said it was greatly to their credit, that, 
 with scarce an exception, they spoke in the strongest con- 
 demnation of the hideous arid unnatural act ; and some of 
 them candidly admitted there must be something entirely 
 wrong in the social condition of the North, when it could 
 produce such a monster. 
 
 The jailer, who brought him the package of papers con- 
 
A FAMILY HISTOBY. 225 
 
 taining all this, remained, carefully observing the effect they 
 had on his prisoner. But he moved never a muscle, nor said 
 a word. The turnkey, however, was not able to repress his 
 curiosity; and after Walter* had been reading an hour or 
 more, and had laid down one paper to take up another, he 
 said, — 
 
 "Well, what do you think now?" 
 
 " Think ? " said Walter : " I foresaw it all ; and I am con- 
 tent." 
 
 Being convinced in his own mind that his letter to his 
 father had not been forwarded, Walter made no inquiries for 
 an answer; and, when asked by Larcomb — who continued to 
 visit him frequently, more as a spy upon the jailer than from 
 any further hope of inducing him to inculpate others — if it 
 were not about time for him to hear from his friends at the 
 North, he replied, "No; for my letter was not sent." The 
 lawyer was fiercely indignant at this, and told him he was a 
 liar. 
 
 A few days after this, the paper of the town, the " Lancaster 
 Star," contained a statement that a letter had been received 
 by Dr. Lancy, written at the request of the father of the 
 unhappy young man who lay in prison awaiting the punish- 
 ment due to his crimes ; and that he utterly disowned his 
 child, and disclaimed all knowledge of his acts, or of his 
 intentions previous to his going South ; that the old man, 
 who was a very respectable man, was very much grieved at 
 the wayward and wicked conduct of his erring son ; that he 
 was utterly cast down and depressed at his unnatural con- 
 duct, and so deeply felt the shame he had brought upon him 
 and his house, that he had forbidden his name ever to be 
 mentioned in his presence ; and that, were it in his power to 
 rescue him from the position in which his own bad acts had 
 placed him, he would not lift a finger to do it; for as he had 
 sown, so he must reap. 
 
 But, in all the papers that he was allowed to see, he observed 
 that his nameVas never given. He was usually designated 
 as the young Caliban. The object of thus suppressing his 
 name he could only surmise; but taken with the studied 
 perversions of his acts, the transparent falsehoods in regard 
 to the manner in which his father had received the news, 
 it appeared clear to him that the purpose was to preclude his 
 friends at a distance from knowing or suspecting his fate 
 
226 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 until the curtain should fall on the last scene of the tragedy. 
 That his death, and the manner of it, would be subsequently 
 known to them, he did not doubt. But what would be the 
 story of his offences? He would doubtless be represented, 
 as he had been already, as the most despicable wretch that 
 ever crawled upon the earth. All these reflections passed 
 through his mind; yet he never repined, nor regretted his 
 acts. His mental exclamation was ever the same, "It is 
 what I bargained for; and I am content." 
 
 Still his estimate of the exalted character and nice sense 
 of honor of those into whose power he had fallen was not 
 so high but that he thought he would be justified in circum- 
 venting, to a certain extent, their designs. Though he 
 regarded his own fate with remarkable indifference, yet he 
 was racked and tortured that when the news of it reached 
 the Pivot, perverted and distorted as it was sure to be, it 
 would send the gray hairs of both father and mother in 
 sorrow to the grave. What he most feared was that he 
 would be represented as a cowardly repentant, when he was 
 convinced, if they knew the whole facts, if they could hear his 
 story, they would approve and justify him in what he had 
 done. "Ay," said he to himself, "if I obeyed their instruc- 
 tions and examples, I could not have done otherwise. My 
 father would have done the same in my position. Thank 
 God, when the trial came, I did not falter, or shrink from my 
 duty!" 
 
 Was it possible to communicate with his father ? He was 
 closely watched ; and no one was ever allowed to converse 
 with him, whose fidelity to slavery could, for a moment, be 
 called in question. While thinking on this matter, he was 
 interrupted by the entrance of Larcomb, who came to see 
 him much oftener than he was welcome. 
 
 " Why do you come here ? " said Walter. " Have you any 
 sympathy with me or my acts?" 
 
 " God forbid," said the lawyer, " that I should have any 
 sympathy with you! The truth is, if you must know, I 
 come to see that every thing is safe, and from a sense of 
 patriotism." 
 
 "I conclude, then, you haven't much else to do, as patriot- 
 ism is said to be the last resort of a scoundrel ! " 
 
 " Were it not for your wounds, I would soon mend your 
 manners," said the lawyer. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 227 
 
 "In my wounds is my only danger from such as you," 
 replied Walter. " You come on me as a spy, and you intend 
 to report all you can hear to my prejudice. But I can show 
 you a joke worth half a dozen of that. In fact, I can throw 
 a handsome fee in your way." 
 
 "But you have no money to pay for your defence," an- 
 swered the lawyer, not observing that his own words betrayed 
 him, until they were uttered. 
 
 "But do you want to turn an honest penny, or rather 
 make a handsome fee ? " 
 
 "It would be very dangerous," replied the attorney, casting 
 his eyes about to make sure that he was not overheard, and 
 in a manner that clearly showed that he was a candidate for 
 anybody's money. 
 
 "Not the least danger," said Walter. "I will put it in 
 your power to realize two thousand dollars, and no one sus- 
 pect you, if you will only do me a favor which you can easily 
 do." 
 
 "Look here, stranger: though I did feel rather prejudiced 
 against you at first, and p'raps used some hard talk, I always 
 did think you was a gentleman ; and I will do any thing you 
 ask me, so it is safe, and I get paid what is fair." 
 
 " Well, then, could you go North, and be gone for a week 
 or ten days, and not excite suspicion?" 
 
 " You are trying to escape ; and my conscience would not 
 allow me to help you do that." 
 
 " No : nothing of the kind. I know I must die, and that 
 it is perfectly useless to try to escape. All I hope before that 
 is to send a letter North ; and if you will take it, and bring 
 me back an answer that will prove that mine has been 
 received, I will make you sure of two thousand dollars." 
 
 " But will nobody blow on me ? " 
 
 " No : I will make you feel safe on that score." 
 
 "Well, stranger, you must give me time to think of this. 
 It seems very fair on your part ; and if you will make it all 
 safe, and will pay me w T ell, I am as willing to do a fellow a 
 good turn as any other high-toned gentleman." 
 
 Walter had not mistaken his man ; and the same night he 
 set to work to write out a full account of the unfortunate 
 affair in which he had been involved. The story is known 
 to the reader. At its conclusion, he told how his conduct 
 had been intentionally misrepresented ; and, if he did not find 
 
228 GOMERT OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 some way to make known the real facts, his death would be 
 learned of through the papers, and he would be represented 
 as having committed many cowardly and disgraceful acts; 
 whereas he had done nothing that he would not, under the 
 same circumstances, do again. To make sure that his letter 
 should reach them, however, he had been obliged to promise 
 the bearer of it two thousand dollars, — fifteen hundred of 
 which was to be paid on delivery of the letter, and the other 
 five hundred when the answer was received and delivered 
 into his hands, by an order of his father on himself in favor 
 of Walter, to be indorsed when an answer to his letter 
 should reach him in prison. 
 
 Such were the terms made with Larcomb ; and that enter- 
 prising patriot found means to excuse his absence from Lan- 
 caster for a few days by saying that his brother, who lived 
 near Baltimore, had lately died and left him a little property. 
 But this serviceable patriot was still very much afraid of 
 being suspected; nor was he quite sure that he was not run- 
 ning into danger by venturing North and making known his 
 errand. Walter was therefore obliged to read to him that 
 part of his letter concerning the terms of payment, and also 
 the part in which he enjoined it on his father, that, after 
 receiving the letter, he should keep strictly silent, nor make 
 any move in his behalf until the bearer had left, and had 
 time to get a good distance back, on his return home. 
 "I have promised," he added, "that his safety shall not be 
 compromised ; and I have only to say this to make sure of 
 its righteous fulfilment." 
 
 Thus fortified with Walter's letter, and a weed on his hat, 
 the self-sacrificing patriot set forth on his journey. 
 
A FAMILY HISTOEY. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " In distant countries have I been ; 
 And yet I have not often seen 
 A healthy man, a man full-grown, 
 Weep in the public roads alone." — Wordsworth, 
 
 It was about the middle or towards the latter part of 
 November, and among the last days of the Indian summer, 
 that Freeborn Gomery was sitting in his large arm-chair in 
 front of the house, thinking over the late events of his life, 
 and gazing with a mournful eye at the sun, that was now but 
 a little above the horizon, and, through the haze and smoke, 
 looked dull and red, when he observed a stranger approach- 
 ing the house. He had a suspicious and timid look ; and 
 the old man arose to meet him, and asked him to take a 
 chair that was standing near his own. The stranger com- 
 plied ; and then casting his eyes about in all directions, as 
 if fearing to be observed or overheard, he said in a half- 
 whisper, " Is your name Gomery ? " 
 
 " It is, sir." 
 
 " Freeborn Gomery ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir : Freeborn Gomery." 
 
 " Can I have a few words in private with you ? " 
 
 " Most certainly ! Here is a good place for it." 
 
 "Well, then," said the stranger, again looking around, as 
 fearing intrusion, " I must have a clear understanding with 
 you before I begin. I must have a promise from you not to 
 expose me." 
 
 " But, my good sir, I am no longer a practising lawyer ; 
 and, if you want counsel, you must go elsewhere ; and, be- 
 fore you begin, let me tell you that I am fully determined 
 never to try another case in court. Therefore it is better 
 you should not give me your confidence." 
 
 " You mistake my object," said the other. " I do not want 
 counsel or law service. I want money. I have come to 
 you for that, and from a long distance ; and, if you were to 
 vol. n. 20 
 
230 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 hear my story, you would not allow me to depart without it. 
 But, before I tell you any thing more, I must know that you 
 will not use the information I shall give you to my disadvan- 
 tage. If I give you information that you desire to have, and 
 cannot otherwise get, will you promise not to use it to my 
 injury?" 
 
 Of course, I could promise anybody that ; but, as my im- 
 pression is that it is some affair that does not concern me, 
 you had better not reveal it to me." 
 
 " It concerns you to know it more than any man in the 
 world." 
 
 The old man looked curiously and incredulously at the 
 stranger, utterly at a loss to conceive what he had to confide 
 to him. But he saw the man was in earnest, and very anx- 
 ious for his own safety. He assured him his confidence should 
 not be abused, and that no word he might utter should ever 
 be construed to his injury or prejudice. 
 
 The stranger then drew from the inner pocket of his coat 
 a sealed package, and handed it to the other, saying, " On 
 honor." 
 
 " On honor," said Gomery, taking the package, and looking 
 at the superscription. " Why, this," said he, starting up, — this 
 is from my son, my Walter ! Then you know him ? A good 
 boy is Walter." He was proceeding to break the seal ; when 
 the stranger stopped him, saying, — 
 
 " Before reading this, you will allow me to go. I shall 
 stop in the hotel in the village till day after to-morrow 
 morning, when I shall leave, as I came, by the stage. I shall 
 be prepared to take any messages you may have to send to 
 your son, and you can find me any time to-morrow." 
 
 Saying this, the stranger walked away. The old man 
 looked at the letter again ; but it was becoming too dark to 
 read, so he put it in his pocket; and, after seeing that every 
 thing about the premises was properly attended to and se- 
 cured for the night, he entered the house. Then, bidding 
 the servant put two lighted candles in his private room, he 
 entered, and sat down before the fire that smouldered upon 
 the hearth. His room was small and cosey, and opened into 
 the large family parlor. It contained his library of miscel- 
 laneous books, his writing-desk, and all his private papers. 
 He had a misgiving that the letter in his hand contained 
 unwelcome tidings ; and he was studying over in his mind 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 231 
 
 what it might be that had rendered it so necessary for the 
 bearer of it to approach him so cautiously and mysteriously. 
 He drew the letter from his pocket, and again looked at the 
 address. The servant was just leaving the room: "Ask Mrs. 
 Gomery to come in here," said he. 
 
 Directly his wife appeared at the door. She was beauti- 
 ful still, though the last two years had told upon her more 
 than the preceding ten. Yet she was a beautiful woman. 
 It is true, there were many white hairs mingling with the 
 black locks that were puffed out above her temples. Her 
 cheeks had not the fresh tints of thirty or forty years before ; 
 but they still looked firm and hard, and her eyes had all the 
 fire that distinguished the fair daughters of Judge Mackenzie 
 of a past generation. She was tall and erect as ever; and 
 this summer evening she was dressed more youthfully than 
 had been usual with her since the period when her anxiety 
 for Walter's absence first began to weigh on her life. 
 
 "Well, Freeborn," said she, "what is it?" 
 
 He looked around ; and she, with the quick instinct of 
 love, saw that, though there was no cloud on his counte- 
 nance, there was anxiety in his mind. She closed the door, 
 and approached ; and, leaning over him as he sat in his 
 chair, she placed her left hand on his shoulder, and laid her 
 head as gently and lovingly against his as she had used to 
 do in those years when both were young, ay, and both 
 were beautiful. 
 
 Talk not of the beauty of youth ! What is it compared 
 with the beauty of virtuous, healthy, contented maturity? 
 No young couple standing at the marriage-altar ever pre- 
 sented such a picture of real, noble beauty as did Freeborn 
 Gomery and his wife at this moment. He, with his ample 
 forehead, his heavy, projecting eyebrows, his firm lips, and 
 thoughtful face, appeared the very embodiment and incarna- 
 tion of massive and granite beauty as represented by the 
 great masters of antiquity in their conceptions of Jupiter 
 and Hercules ; while contrasting with this was her half- 
 playful smile, her matronly dignity, her feminine delicacy, 
 that made perfect the picture : for shedding a halo over all 
 was that perfect love, that, through more than thirty years' 
 companionship, had set the seal of calmness and grandeur on 
 the face of both. 
 
 But the smile, half-playful, half-curious, that sat on the face 
 
232 G0MEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 of Mrs. Goraery when she first leaned her head over her 
 husband's shoulder, vanished in an instant when she saw 
 the familiar writing on the letter which he held in his 
 hand. 
 
 Alas ! that smile was never to return to her face again ; 
 never, never, never ! 
 
 She took the seat at the left of her husband, and, as if 
 already impressed with a sense of the importance of the 
 letter, asked, " What is it ? I know there is bad news from 
 Walter." 
 
 " I have not read a word as yet ; but the manner of the 
 man who brought it leads me to suspect evil." 
 
 " I knew we should have bad news from Walter. I have 
 told you so every day for weeks ; that something was going 
 wrong with him ; and, Freeborn, did you know what I went 
 to the Perch for yesterday ? " 
 
 "Perhaps for the same reason that I went this morning." 
 
 " To see if the angels were weeping ? " 
 
 " I went for that purpose." 
 
 " And they wept ? " 
 
 " There was a constant trickling down their cheeks into 
 the pool below." 
 
 " It was so yesterday ; and I knew we should have some 
 dreadful news : then I dreamed of him last night, and he 
 seemed to be translated, — poor boy ! poor Walter ! " 
 
 " We will read the letter now, my dear," said her husband ; 
 " and let us hope for disappointment in our fears." He then 
 adjusted his spectacles, and, drawing the letter from its en- 
 velope, began at the beginning, giving the place and date, 
 " County Jail, Lancaster, F County, Ga." 
 
 He read the letter from beginning to end with an unfalter- 
 ing voice. Walter had suppressed or extenuated nothing. 
 He gave a minute and exact history of his life from the time 
 he had last written to them. He told of the kindness ex- 
 perienced from the Kingsburys ; of his foreknowledge of the 
 plot of escape ; of what he had seen of the evils of slavery ; 
 of the plan of the flight; the pursuit, and the means that he 
 had taken to defeat it ; the success of his daring act ; and all 
 the reasons and motives that had influenced him. He then 
 alluded to the persistent and shameful system of falsehood 
 that had been adopted to misrepresent his acts, and make 
 him infamous before the world. He said the newspapers 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 233 
 
 had been filled with the most glaring misstatements, repre- 
 senting him as a mere hireling, and, when caught, bitterly- 
 repentant, begging for mercy, and confessing all that they 
 charged upon him ; that only their version of his conduct 
 could reach them, unless he adopted some extraordinary 
 means to make known his own story ; and therefore he had 
 bribed the bearer of the letter to take it North, and deliver 
 it into his father's hands ; and had engaged, that, for this 
 service, his father should pay him fifteen hundred dollars on 
 delivery, and give him an order for five hundred dollars 
 more, payable when Walter's indorsement upon it should 
 be procured. The indorsement was to be the evidence that 
 the father's answer was delivered into the son's hands. 
 
 The squire, having read the letter, turned, and looked at 
 his wife. She was white and rigid as marble. Then he 
 looked at the letter again, and exclaimed, "O Walter, Wal- 
 ter ! would that I could die for you ! " 
 
 "Die!" cried his mother: "die! he shall not die: he is 
 an angel now." 
 
 She arose, and walked about the little room. Then she 
 sat down by the side of her husband, and said, " Freeborn, 
 we must both go to him at once." 
 
 " My dear, it is impossible. The man who brought us the 
 letter has done so at the peril of his life; and, before he 
 would deliver it, he exacted a promise from me that I would 
 do nothing that might excite suspicion in regard to him, or 
 expose him to danger. We must pay him as Walter has 
 promised, and then he must be allowed to depart as quietly 
 as he came ; otherwise Walter can never know that we have 
 received his letter. He must return, and carry word of its 
 reception." 
 
 " But, Freeborn, we can't do that : we must away. Why 
 need the man go back ? Let us send somebody else to carry 
 our blessing. Let us compensate him for all his losses and 
 risks, and so detain him ; and we will go down there, and I 
 am sure they will set Walter free." 
 
 " Wife, that could do Walter no good : it would only 
 hasten his end. Do you think they would respect us after 
 they have treated him so ? More likely you would see these 
 gray hairs insulted, and these old limbs torn asunder. No, 
 wife : there is but one way for us. I promised this man, un- 
 conditionally, to see him safe away, and keep entirely quiet 
 20* 
 
234 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 till he was so far off that no suspicion could follow him. 
 Now, what think you Walter would do, were he in my 
 place?" 
 
 " Walter, Walter would " — 
 
 " Would not hesitate, but keep his word." 
 
 " Ay, Walter is not like other men : he never acted from 
 his babyhood like other children. He never knew tempta- 
 tion : what was right and good and noble he always did as 
 a matter of course ; and what was not so, he could see no 
 reason for doing, any more than if it were an impossibility. 
 He never had a thought of self in all his life. O Walter, 
 Walter, my last-born, my dearest! you were always my 
 pride, but never so much as now ! " 
 
 " Let us, then, do our duty, and do as he would were he in 
 our place. Let us be worthy of a son so far above all others 
 we have ever known, ay, or heard of, except him who died 
 for his enemies. First, our duty is to reward this man, and 
 send him away." 
 
 " It is right, and it must be so ; but it will kill me, — it 
 will kill me!" 
 
 This painful interview was prolonged through the night. 
 A dozen times, Mrs. Gomery left the room to retire to her 
 own chamber, but as often she returned to renew the con- 
 versation. Whatever might be done afterwards, it was clear 
 that the messenger must be sent unharmed away. But it 
 was not always an easy thing to raise fifteen hundred dollars 
 in a day in the village of Montgomery. Gomery must scour 
 the town next day, and get all that was to be had ; and, if it 
 was not the amount required, he must then give an order on 
 his son in New York for the balance. 
 
 At seven o'clock in the morning, he was at his old office in 
 town. He first went to Caleb Thornton, jun., the principal 
 tradesman in the place, son of that Caleb Thornton, and 
 grandson of that Craig, who will be remembered as having 
 figured in the famous case of Craig vs. Cook. Caleb told 
 him he had made a remittance of a thousand dollars to 
 his creditors in Boston the day before, and had but about 
 a hundred dollars that he could lay his hands on. " I don't 
 believe that there is anybody in town who has any thing 
 near fifteen hundred dollars," added Caleb, " unless it is Seth 
 Mettlar; and he was telling me yesterday he wanted to let 
 out twenty-five hundred dollars on bond and mortgage." 
 
V 
 
 FAMILY HISTORY. 235 
 
 Another tradesman had about two hundred dollars on hand, 
 which he told Gomery was at his service, adding the same 
 remark that Thornton had made in regard to Seth Met- 
 tlar. But Squire Gomery would none of Mettlar's money, 
 and was only able to obtain six hundred dollars in the whole 
 town. With this he went to see the messenger at the hotel, 
 and told him he would make up the balance by an order 
 on his son in New York. But the man, in his conversation 
 with the people about the hotel, had learned, that, since 
 Gomery's great lawsuit with Seth Mettlar, he had nothing in 
 his own name, and in fact owned nothing. " Was his credit 
 good ? " the stranger asked. " Good ! " replied Caleb Thorn- 
 ton, sen., to whom the question was addressed : " any man 
 in this place would trust him for any amount he might ask 
 for, without note or security. You must be a stranger about 
 here, I guess, not to know the reputation that old Squire 
 Gomery holds in these parts." 
 
 Yet this did not satisfy the messenger. "How do I 
 know," said he, "that your son would pay the order? I 
 have seen too much of that thing. I've known heaps of men 
 down South, high-toned gentlemen, and men of the nicest 
 sense of honor, give such drafts when they knew they would 
 not be paid. Have you any money in your son's hands ? " 
 
 " No ; but I am not the less sure the draft would be paid." 
 
 " Well, you may be sure ; but I am not. And how do 
 I know but that it is a trap laid to expose me ? Your son 
 that we catched trying to run off our niggers promised me, 
 that, if I would deliver that letter into your hands, you would 
 pay me fifteen hundred dollars, and five hundred more after 
 the thing comes off." 
 
 " What thing comes off ? " 
 
 "I mean, after he is hung." 
 
 A cold perspiration stood on the forehead of Squire Gom- 
 ery. Never in all his life had man addressed him so before. 
 He could not resent it, nor could he close the interview. 
 " Stay," said he : " you shall have your money, if I sell my 
 heart's blood." The only way to raise the money in time 
 was to apply to Seth Mettlar. Pride must yield ; even self- 
 respect must be stifled. The man who had robbed him, and 
 wronged him worst of all men in the world, was the only 
 one who could furnish the money that he must have. Hu- 
 miliating as it was, he must apply to him. 
 
236 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 He accordingly left the hotel, and bent his steps towards 
 Seth's house. Yesterday he would sooner have been seen 
 entering a den of shame. But between yesterday and to-day 
 had rolled the sea of boundless sorrow. In appearance, he 
 was very different this day from what he had ever been 
 before. All who met him remarked the entire absence of his 
 usual mirth, his free, hilarious manner. He was serious and 
 abstracted ; and, if any old friend or neighbor stopped him 
 for a few moments in the street to talk about any of the 
 usual matters of interest about town, he gave no heed, but 
 seemed to be thinking of something else. In fact, this 
 change of manner had been observed by so many, that before 
 noon it was reported by everybody to everybody in the vil- 
 lage that there was serious trouble up at the Pivot. 
 
 But, when it was reported that Squire Gomery had been 
 seen to approach and enter the splendid mansion of Seth 
 Mettlar, the wonder of the people knew no bounds. What 
 did it mean ? Matthew Staples, who lived half a mile from 
 the village, beyond Seth's house, came in in the afternoon to in- 
 quire what had befallen old Squire Gomery ; for his little boy 
 saw him walking away from Mettlar^s, and he was a-crying. 
 
 When Gomery knocked at Seth Mettlar's door, he was 
 ushered into the sitting-room, where was sitting, musing 
 alone, the wife of the man of business and rewarded virtue. 
 The squire had not seen her before for a year. But how 
 changed was she from what he had known her! Then she 
 had been blonde, beautiful, and sprightly. He thought of 
 the times before Walter went away, when he used to see her 
 very frequently. He remembered the sweet, gentle voice, 
 the merry ring of her laugh, the smile of most witching 
 sweetness, that disclosed two dimples, which, indeed, were 
 scarce ever seen ; for the merry, glancing eyes, and the round, 
 red lips, that, parted, showed a set of teeth of ivory white- 
 ness, were ever diverting the eyes of the gazer from the 
 peach-blown cheeks with their matchless dimples. She had 
 always been of slender form, with an airy, ethereal grace seen 
 only once in ten thousand of those who pass for beautiful. 
 One could hardly imagine any thing material as j^ertaining 
 to her. To Squire Gomery she had then seemed more like a 
 fairy than a woman ; and her very presence seemed to diffuse 
 a glow of joy and happiness. ^ 
 
 It was such a being that Squire Gomery remembered ; and 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 237 
 
 when he saw the wife of Seth Mettlar before him, the sight 
 smote him to the heart. He had passed a harsh judgment 
 on her once ; but now, when he saw her so changed and 
 faded, so evidently miserable, he condemned himself, and 
 not her. 
 
 " Is your husband in, madam?" was his first expression after 
 entering. 
 
 She raised a look of such sad, beseeching grief to him, 
 that his heart smote him again. Rising up, and partly sup- 
 porting herself by her chair, she said, " He is in his room. 
 Ruth, tell Mr. Mettlar that Squire Gomery wishes to see 
 him." 
 
 "I have some private business," said he, "and had, per- 
 haps, better see him in his office." 
 
 " Then show him through the hall to Mr. Mettlar's room," 
 said she to the servant. The maid led the -way, opening the 
 door into a long entry, at the farther end of which was Seth's 
 private room,. or office, where he performed his devotions, 
 and figured up his accounts. In the former, even with his 
 bright example constantly before her, she could never be 
 induced to join her husband. 
 
 Gomery followed the servant across the room, and was just 
 passing through the door, when he felt a slight touch on his 
 arm. He turned ; and the woman was at his elbow, her face 
 excited, her eyes suffused ; and in a hurried whisper she said, 
 " Is it any news of Walter ? I know its something dread- 
 ful. Tell him I am dying." She sank into a seat as she 
 snid this; and the old man replied, "It is news from 
 Walter ; and you are not the only one that is dying, or soon 
 to die." 
 
 He passed through the hall, and entered the sanctum of 
 the man whose virtuous acts had been so signally rewarded 
 as to confound all doubters in special providences. He had 
 a lot of papers before him that he was busily engaged upon ; 
 but no sooner did his eyes rest on the tall form of Freeborn 
 Gomery than he turned pale, and a look of conscious guilt, 
 as if he felt that the hour of detection had come, overspread 
 his face. The other observed it, and rightly interpreted its 
 meaning. But he had not come to inspire terror; and the 
 expression of his face clearly showed it. "Mr. Mettlar," 
 said he, " you doubtless think it strange to see me here ; but 
 an unforeseen event compels me to come." 
 
238 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 "Ah!" said Seth, approaching, and offering a chair, "I 
 am delighted to see you in my house ! You make me very 
 proud and happy ! It is not Christian-like to remember our 
 enmities, but to forgive and forget ; and, before you ask me, 
 I say I forgive every thing. Though you have harbored 
 unjust feelings towards me, I freely forgive you, and hope 
 that henceforth we shall be good friends. Oh the delight 
 it would give my heart to meet you in our church (the 
 only true church), and unite with you in singing hosanna? 
 to the Lamb ! " 
 
 "Mr. Mettlar," said Gomery, "I have not come to talk of 
 the past. I find I must have some money to-day; more than 
 can be found in town, except what is in your hands. I come 
 to you to ask you to lend me nine hundred dollars for ten 
 days; and this, too, though you have a large judgment against 
 me that has never been paid, and never will be. This, how- 
 ever, will be promptly paid if you choose to lend it to me." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Gomery! it will afford me the greatest pleasure 
 to accommodate you. But do take a seat. You can have 
 three times the amount, and as long as you like. I want to 
 show you the forgiveness that only those can feel who have 
 put away the carnal heart, and are regenerated into the new 
 life, that my example may win others to the fold. O my 
 dear Mr. Gomery ! if I could only be the instrument of win- 
 ning you to repentance, it would " — 
 
 " I have no time to spare for conversation, Mr. Mettlar," 
 said Gomery, still standing. " I am in a hurry ; and, if you 
 will let me have the money for a few days, I will pay you 
 principal and interest, and a bonus besides if you ask it." 
 
 " I don't ask interest. I am only too happy to serve you. 
 Do take a seat ! " 
 
 The lawyer still remained standing; and Seth, seeing that 
 his honeyed words had no effect to draw him into a conversa- 
 tion, opened a drawer in his desk, and took out a package 
 of five-hundred-dollar bills, and four others of a hundred 
 dollars each. 
 
 The old man took them ; and, seeing that the amount was 
 correct, said, " Will you write me a note for this ? " 
 
 "No matter about a note among honorable men and 
 friends, you know : it don't signify." 
 
 " I must leave a note," said he, stepping up to the desk, 
 and taking up pen and paper. As soon as he had written 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 239 
 
 the note and signed it, he said, "You are entitled to my 
 thanks for this, and you have them ;" and with this he walked 
 from the room just as the servant entered and said to Met- 
 tlar, " Will you, please, sir, come and see missis ? for she is 
 took poorly." 
 
 The lawyer went directly to the tavern, and found the mes- 
 senger, and told him he had got the money. "This evening, 
 however," said he, "I shall see you again. I shall give you an 
 order on myself for five hundred dollars, to be paid when it 
 is returned to me with the signature of my son, to prove to 
 him, before he dies, that we have got his letter, and to prove 
 to me also, on its return for payment, that he received our 
 letter to him." 
 
 "But it will involve me in no danger, will it?" said the 
 other, thinking only of the safety of his own wretched 
 carcass. 
 
 " Not the least," replied Gomery. 
 
 " Oh, well ; then it is all right ! I am mighty shy of you 
 Yankees. If I was among Southern gentlemen, of course 
 I would never think of being so particular." 
 
 "I appreciate your Southern honor, and therefore don't 
 ask you to be honest without paying you for it. After you 
 return, you can probably get an interview with my son ; and, 
 on delivering the messages of his mother and myself, he will 
 sign the bill drawn to his order, and you can come here 
 again at such time as you like (after the whole affair is 
 over, if you think it safer), and I shall pay the money : or 
 you can send it to me by mail ; and, when it comes back with 
 his indorsement, I will pay it, and send you the money by 
 drafts in duplicate; so that you will be sure to get it, and no 
 one but yourself will know where it comes from. I never 
 before paid money so willingly ; and sooner than have failed 
 of receiving the letter you brought, or have received it when 
 it was too late for him to have got my answer, I would have 
 given every thing I have in the world, and bound myself a 
 slave for life, — yes, a slave to that rascal Mettlar." 
 
 The messenger promised to deliver faithfully, " as a man 
 of honor," whatever was intrusted to him ; and the old man 
 left him, to return to the Pivot to prepare, in conjunction with 
 his wife, their messages to the unfortunate Walter. 
 
 Late in the evening, the squire returned to the hotel, and 
 was again closeted with the stranger. Of the latter's visit, 
 
240 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 nobody in the village suspected the object or purpose ; but all 
 surmised that great grief had fallen on the house of Gomery. 
 Seth Mettlar, having been relieved of attendance on his wife 
 by the entrance of her mother at one door at the moment 
 Gomery left at the other, returned to his room, and fell into a 
 profound reflection. " It is strange," said he : " what does it 
 mean ? But I have got him now so he can't lord it over me any 
 more. He's had to come down at last. I am afraid, though, I 
 come it a little too strong on the religion. He's too old a bird 
 to be caught with chaff. But I have him on the hip, and I'll 
 make the most of it." Saying thi#, he sallied forth into the 
 street, and walked towards the village, telling everybody he 
 met of Gomery's application for money; and, dwelling with 
 great unction on his own Christian forgiveness of a man who 
 had so wronged and slandered him, he expressed the hope 
 that his coming to him was an act of self-humiliation, indicat- 
 ing a change of heart. 
 
 The next morning, the stranger departed; and the town was 
 as ignorant as ever of his business. 
 
 Three days were to elapse before the lawyer could give a 
 sign of what had been the errand of the stranger. He was 
 not seen in the village during all that time. But some of 
 the more curious or sympathetic of his neighbors had gone 
 to the Pivot, and found that he had changed wonderfully. He 
 looked haggard and care-worn ; and, whether true or no, they 
 said that his hair had changed from iron-gray to white. Mrs. 
 Gomery saw nobody; but the servants said that neither she 
 nor her husband had slept a wink since the stranger arrived. 
 They knew he had brought evil tidings of Walter; for his 
 mother was all the time wandering about the house, and was 
 often heard speaking his name. 
 
 On the third day, orders were given to have the carriage 
 and horses ready for a journey. The afflicted parents had 
 determined to hasten to New York : the journey was very 
 different from what it had been twenty years before, when 
 the squire made the whole distance in his own carriage ; for 
 now it was only twenty miles to a railroad station. In 
 their helplessness to do any thing effective of themselves, 
 they thought that perhaps the rich and influential friends of 
 their other children might enlist the efforts and interven- 
 tion of the State Governors, or perhaps of the President, 
 in behalf of Walter. All was prepared for setting out early 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 241 
 
 the next morning; and the two farm-servants were sitting by 
 the kitchen-fire, preparing to go to bed, when the maid came 
 running in, and said her mistress was dying. They all rushed 
 into the parlor ; and the woman was sitting in her arm-chair, 
 as rigid as death, her eyes fixed, her face bloodless, and white 
 as snow. The squire spoke to her ; but she neither heard nor 
 answered. 
 
 Without orders, one of the young men ran to the stable, 
 and, mounting a cart-horse, galloped like mad down the hill 
 to the village ; and seeing a group in front of the tavern, 
 among whom was old Dr. Cary and young Dr. Bacon, he 
 dashed up to it, and, before he could be questioned, exclaimed, 
 " Lady Gomery is a-dying ! " Mat Staples, who had a horse and 
 wagon standing near, took the old doctor, and drove off at a 
 gallop; while the younger Esculapius mounted a saddled horse 
 that stood by, and without asking who was the owner, or 
 saying "By your leave," soon left the old man in the carriage 
 far in the rear. 
 
 Soon there was a rush of people towards the Pivot. Delica- 
 cy no longer forbade their approach ; for, if Death is supposed 
 to be going before, he breaks down many barriers. 
 
 There was great confusion at the Pivot when the doctors 
 arrived. Everybody was running, and ordering everybody 
 else. The old squire alone was calm. The doctors examined 
 the patient, who, by this time, had been placed upon a bed. 
 They pronounced it a case of partial paralysis, and then pro- 
 ceeded to bleed, and give such " doctor's stuff" as they had 
 heard was usually given in such cases. The house was soon 
 crowded with people from the village ; and all the old nurses 
 and women skilled in ushering people into the world, and dis- 
 posing them decently to leave it, flocked with their camphors, 
 their catnip, their hoarhound, and thorough wort, to render 
 their assistance to the sufferer. One old lady, forgetful of the 
 season, carried her old copper w T arming-pan. 
 
 Among others Seth Mettlar went, if not to render assist- 
 ance, to tender his condolence. Poor old Mr. Gomery was 
 looking anxiously at his wife, while the nurse was rubbing 
 her forehead and temples. His face had a terrible calmness,; 
 but the hard lines made clearly visible the deep anguish that 
 was tearing at his heart-strings. As he stood looking thus, 
 he heard the voice of Seth Mettlar raised above all other 
 
 VOL. II. 21 
 
242 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY. 
 
 sounds, save only the hard and distressed breathing of the 
 patient. 
 
 " In the midst of life, we are in death," said he ; " and we 
 should all take warning from this afflicting dispensation, and 
 be ready. O my friends ! you don't know how my heart 
 bleeds when I see so many going unprepared to judgment!" 
 
 The old man heard him thus far. At the first sound of his 
 voice, a shudder passed through his frame, and his look of 
 pain changed to one of horror and disgust. The thought 
 went through his mind, that, if his wife were to see and recog- 
 nize Mettlar, the sight of him would strike her dead ; for, even 
 unconscious as she was, she started up at the tones of his 
 voice, and stared wildly around as if they had a power to 
 infuriate. " Walter, Walter, Walter! " she cried, and sank back 
 exhausted on the bed. The squire could bear this no longer. 
 He knew that Seth's presence was the insult of a hypocrite, 
 and was endangering the life of one worth a thousand Met- 
 tlars. He advanced towards him, and, with a look before which 
 the snake quivered and shrunk, he uttered, in a deep whisper 
 that caused all who heard it to recoil, " Leave this house, and 
 never darken my doors again ! " The chapfallen wretch 
 sneaked off, not daring to raise his eyes, yet casting back a 
 Parthian retort: "It is just as I expected : how can we ex- 
 pect gratitude from the ungodly ? " 
 
 The night wore off; and towards morning, what with the 
 bleeding and the medicine, it seemed pretty clear that this 
 shock was not to be fatal; and the old doctor told the squire 
 to cheer up, for he now thought that his wife would yet re- 
 cover. 
 
 She did, indeed, recover ; but she was hanging, as it were, 
 between life and death, during those precious hours which they 
 had hoped to have employed in behalf of Walter. As soon, 
 however, as his wife had sufficiently regained her conscious- 
 ness to recall the past, she insisted that he should leave her, 
 and go alone to New York, and see if something could not 
 be done to avert the impending and fatal blow from their un- 
 happy boy. When, therefore, he perceived that all immediate 
 danger to his wife was past, he departed accordingly; and, as 
 no one in the village besides themselves yet knew the cause 
 of all these strange and mysterious movements, the curiosity 
 of people was piqued, and some said it was unfeeling in him 
 to go off leaving his wife in so weakly a condition. Seth 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 243 
 
 Mettlar said, " It was the act of an ungenerate reprobate, and 
 that, if he had not paid the note the minute it was due, he 
 would have sued him, and had him arrested. Kindness was 
 thrown away on such ingrates ! It must henceforth be war, 
 as before." 
 
 He had been gone but a couple of days, when a newspaper, 
 that found its way to Montgomery, let in a flood of light on 
 the mystery of the strange proceedings that had lately been 
 witnessed at the Pivot. There had been various accounts, in 
 the public journals that came to the village, of the escape of 
 a large number of slaves from Georgia; and, in all of them, 
 it had been said that they had been instigated to the act by 
 a rascally Yankee, who was to have so much a head for all 
 that escaped ; that said Yankee was an infamous character, 
 who had been twice in the penitentiary, — once for forgery, 
 and once for horse-stealing; and that, while in Georgia, he had 
 been found several times in the negro-quarters, making love 
 to the wenches, causing great scandal and disgust in that 
 moral and virtuous community. But his name was never 
 given; he was usually called the young Caliban : and conse- 
 quently the quiet village of Montgomery was not a little 
 startled at learning from a New- York paper that the name 
 of the culprit was at last ascertained, and that it was Walter 
 Gomery, of Montgomery, State of ; and that he be- 
 longed to a very respectable family, on whom he had brought 
 great shame and sorrow by his perverse and wicked life. 
 
 It has been seen that the town of Montgomery, in the 
 course of its history, was subjected to many exciting incidents. 
 But never had there been so great an excitement as when 
 this news was received. Everybody was dumfounded ; and 
 yet everybody talked about it. But, though everybody 
 talked, there was only one man to do any thing. That 
 one was Seth Mettlar. He at once sat down and wrote 
 a letter, which he addressed to the postmaster of Lancaster, 
 
 F County, Ga. In this letter he said, that having 
 
 observed in a newspaper a notice of a young man by the 
 name of Walter Gomery, who had been caught in the mon- 
 strous crime of enticing away slaves (and who was held as 
 a prisoner to answer for the act), his conscience would not 
 let him rest until he had informed the authorities having him 
 in charge of the true character of their prisoner, and of the 
 plans and machinations of his abetters. The father of this 
 
244 GOMEEY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 young culprit was as bad as himself, and was, no doubt, a 
 party to bis crimes; and, when he heard that justice was like 
 to overtake his vagabond son, he immediately raised a large 
 sum of money, and went away ; and doubtless a desperate 
 effort would be made to rescue the criminal. The letter was 
 concluded by a series of moral reflections, in which the im- 
 piety and wickedness of those who sought to destroy our 
 glorious Constitution by setting free those whom God had 
 ordained to be slaves, as shown by the curse pronounced 
 against Canaan, was denounced with great propriety and 
 unction. What a reprobate he must be who objected to the 
 practice of raising babies to sell, when it was so clearly of 
 divine origin, besides being profitable ! 
 
 When the old man reached New York, he had no idea 
 what he was going to do. He consulted his oldest son and 
 son-in-law and daughters; and his second son, Wirtimir, came 
 on from Philadelphia to advise with them on the unfortu- 
 nate occurrence. They were all in deep affliction ; but what 
 could they do ? The old man proposed to go down to Geor- 
 gia, and intercede with those who held his son a prisoner; 
 for he said they would surely respect his gray hairs. But 
 the children would not listen to it ; for they said, that, instead 
 of relieving Walter, he would only share his fate. They would, 
 however, interest all the men of influence they could ap- 
 proach, senators, members of Congress, and others, who had 
 been as obedient to the behests of the South, and had ab- 
 jured their own manhood as effectually, as if they had them- 
 selves been slaves, to write letters to the leading men of the 
 South, and endeavor to enlist their interference ; and Wir- 
 timir, on his return, was to go on to Washington, and 
 intercede for the good offices of the President. But the 
 sons did not regard the act of Walter in the same light as 
 did the father. He looked upon it as most exalted, and sub- 
 limely heroic. They felt, that, however noble and self-sacrifi- 
 cing his motives, he had, in the existing state of public opinion, 
 disgraced his family. It was the custom to speak contemp- 
 tuously of those who interfered with the sacred institution ; 
 and a man incurred less obloquy if caught robbing the mail, 
 or breaking a bank-vault, than if detected giving food and 
 shelter to a fleeing fugitive. His sons, in the whirl of busi- 
 ness, and surrounded by those intent on money-making, had 
 imbibed the ideas of the Mammon-worshippers, and, as long 
 as slavery paid, thought that it was wrong to disturb it. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 245 
 
 With this poor consolation, Gomery of Montgomery re- 
 turned to his own home. The means proposed by his other 
 sons for the relief of Walter, he felt couscious, could do no 
 good. Nor could he think of any thing more effectual ; and, 
 as he reflected on the matter, he said, "I shall see his face 
 no more ! He has been a good boy, and has gladdened my 
 heart a thousand times ; and for that let God be thanked ! The 
 Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away : blessed be the 
 name of the Lord ! " 
 
 The bringer of unwelcome news to the house of Gomery 
 had returned to his home, and found that no suspicion was 
 entertained of what he had been doing. He had found 
 opportunity to deliver the letter of the old squire to Walter, 
 and to get his order indorsed by him ; after which his mind 
 was easy, and he was well satisfied that he had served 
 himself to good purpose, at the same time that he had 
 preserved his honor. The letter of Mettlar was received 
 within % couple of days after Larcomb's return, and it excit- 
 ed great astonishment, not so much at the information it 
 contained, as at the noble sentiments it expressed ; and the 
 remark passed round, that it was strange how so bright a 
 light could exist in so dark a place. But as to the rescue, if 
 there should be any signs of an attempt of that kind, they 
 would nip it in the bud, and "take a bond of fate." 
 
 But, the next day, a paper from the North contained an 
 account of the arrival of the "Good Intent" at Boston, 
 where she had been sold, and her passengers and crew had all 
 continued their way towards the north star, hoping to reach 
 so high a latitude, that the ground would no longer hold the 
 scent for the human hounds that might be put upon the 
 track. They fled from a land of freedom to a land of des- 
 potism. Benighted souls ! They told the story of their own 
 escape, with this addition to what was already known of it, — 
 that they were suspected at the last moment by a Yankee 
 schoolmaster, who, soon after they started, gathered a com- 
 pany of overseers and planters, that pursued them on a fast 
 steamer, which chanced to come in a few hours after they 
 left, and were on the point of capturing them, when the 
 steamer, by a special Providence, was disabled or blown up, 
 and they all escaped to sea. So it seems that special Provi- 
 dence had his hands full, — first in providing a steamer in 
 the nick of time to catch the runaways ; and next in break- 
 
 21* 
 
246 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 ing the engine when they were about to do it ; then in fur- 
 nishing a victim for sacrifice, whose fate should be a warning 
 to deter other like attempts; and lastly by giving good 
 breezes to the fugitives to encourage others to do likewise. 
 But, from time immemorial, Providence always interferes on 
 the side of those who recognize his hand, and in favor of 
 their doxy, and against their enemies and their doxy ; but 
 all regard him as a most orthodox intermeddler. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " Give sorrow words : the grief that does not speak 
 Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break."— Macbeth. 
 
 The wisdom of ages of experience has been condensed 
 into a few maxims. Inevitable results from given premises 
 have become proverbs ; and the forces of Nature, in both the 
 moral and material world, have, through the convictions of 
 centuries, become axioms of truth to men, so common and 
 familiar, that they are accepted as infallible rules of action. 
 The equilibrium and equivalents of Nature are felt, rather 
 than believed, to pervade the universe ; and men believe and 
 act in a thousand things, in violation of their own reason and 
 perceptions, from the influence of a power extraneous to 
 themselves. Men will admit all the premises that logically 
 and inevitably lead to a certain result ; and yet they will 
 utterly and unhesitatingly reject the natural conclusion. 
 Neither subtlety of argument, nor sophistries, nor success, 
 can prevent the majority of people from a correct apprecia- 
 tion of what is intrinsically right or inherently wrong. There 
 is in Nature a sort of balance-wheel, which men call moral 
 power, that, in spite of superstition or prerogative or igno- 
 rance or ambition, asserts its sway, and finally sets its seal 
 upon all. This moral power is the divine part of human 
 nature ; and, like the bow in the cloud, is set in the heart of 
 man as a sign that darkness will never again overspread the 
 earth. Neither wealth nor station, nor showy parts, nor 
 plausible manners, avail in the long-run against the deep 
 convictions, the intelligent judgment, and every-day life, that 
 constitute moral worth, and bear a moral weight in the coun- 
 sels of men. The balance of the public mind may be dis- 
 turbed, for a time, by transient influences ; but moral power 
 sooner or later asserts its superiority, and commands respect, 
 even when its voice comes up from the depths of adversity 
 and sorrow. 
 
248 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY! 
 
 The truth of these platitudes and commonplaces was emi- 
 nently illustrated by the position held in Montgomery by 
 Freeborn Gomery, after he had been despoiled of his proper- 
 ty, and bitter domestic sorrow had invaded his home. Seth 
 Mettlar had triumphed in every thing; he had become rich; 
 he had seen the man whom he most hated, because he had 
 wronged him, crushed by other afflictions ; and he had plant- 
 ed a barbed arrow in his heart by robbing him of one whom 
 he had regarded almost as his own child, and who, with that 
 son now about to die an infamous death, was to have been the 
 solace and staff of his declining years. He was now the richest 
 man in the place ; and, to carry forward any public work or 
 improvement, he must, first of all, be consulted. And yet 
 he was not the happy man he had expected to be. There 
 was always a Mordecai in his gate, and that Mordecai was 
 Freeborn Gomery. He felt that people did not and would 
 not respect him ; that the man of real power and influence, 
 in spite of all his afflictions and adversities, was Gomery of 
 Montgomery. A suspicion soon got abroad, too, that he was 
 not so happy at home as newly married people are supposed 
 to be : though he invited much company to his house, yet 
 few visited it, and those few always had the same story to 
 tell. Seth tried excessively to be agreeable ; but his wife was 
 a statue. She never had a word of welcome at the entrance 
 of former friends and schoolmates, or of regret at their de- 
 parture ; and they found the atmosphere of the house so som- 
 bre and chilling, in spite of bright lights, warm fires, and 
 Seth's forced smiles, that they soon gave up such unsatisfac- 
 tory visits. A few months after the marriage, it was 
 observed that even Mrs. Homer did not talk in so self-sat- 
 isfied a manner of the marriage and settlement of her daugh- 
 ter. Her son Obed was leading a dissipated life, and fast 
 squandering his father's property ; and, as she thought of this, 
 she consoled herself, that, at any rate, Hester had married a 
 rich man. 
 
 Poor old Thomas Homer was growing old apace. He had 
 never shared in his wife's or his son's plans to compass the 
 ruin and misery of his daughter; and he now blamed himself 
 for his passive assent. Why had he not asserted his author- 
 ity in time? Alas! in his doting fondness for his first-born, 
 he had allowed him, during the long and painful suffering 
 that had resulted from the accident to his leg, to become 
 
A FAMILY HISTOET. 249 
 
 master of the house. In his paternal love and tenderness, 
 he allowed the sceptre to pass from his hands; and he had 
 never regained it. After the marriage, Obed, greatly to his 
 surprise, found that his affectionate brother-in-law did not re- 
 spond so readily as before to his applications for money. 
 Somehow, though always anxious to serve him, he was just 
 then very hard up. It occurred, therefore, to the young 
 scion, that it would be a dutiful act for him to relieve his 
 aged sire from the cares of his property, and assume them 
 himself. So he consulted with his mother and his brother- 
 in-law ; and it was agreed among them all that the old man 
 had best deed his property all to Obed, and the latter would 
 engage to take care of him and his mother, tenderly and 
 carefully, to the end of their days. When this scheme was 
 first mentioned to the old man, he strongly disapproved of it, 
 as Obed had foreseen. He had also foreseen that he would 
 soon give way ; and in this, too, he was not disappointed. 
 No sooner, however, had the writings been drawn, and the 
 property duly made over to the son, than he mortgaged it, 
 for less than its value, to Seth, receiving back all the due-bills 
 he had ever given hirn, and eight hundred dollars besides. 
 
 As the summer advanced, Mrs. Homer admitted to some 
 of her elderly acquaintances that Hester was poorly, and she 
 had advised Mr. Mettlar to take an excursion with her to Bos- 
 ton ; and he had promised to do so, and she was going to 
 accompany them. 
 
 They were making preparations for this journey at the 
 time of the arrival of the ill-omened messenger at the 
 Pivot with the news from Walter. It was observed by Mrs. 
 Homer that her daughter was getting much worse soon after 
 that; and she insisted so strongly on having her taken to 
 Boston for medical advice, that Seth, having put his business 
 in order, and written the letter to the Lancaster postmaster, 
 set forth for the city of perplexed streets and civil policemen. 
 
 Here the most famous physicians were consulted in regard 
 to Hester's health ; and, much to the relief of her mother, 
 they all said that she was only suffering under some slight 
 mental depression, and needed excitement, exercise, and so- 
 ciety to render her as well as ever. As the town of Nahant 
 was famous for its sea-air, its long drives along the hard 
 beach, its fashion and folly, it was decided that this was the 
 place for them to go in order to recruit the invalid's health. 
 
250 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 After a few days' delay, therefore, in the city, the party 
 moved to Nahant ; and the mother and daughter were quar- 
 tered in the best rooms in the principal hotel. Having seen 
 them thus well bestowed and provided for, Seth returned to 
 Boston to attend to certain affairs of business, and, as a rich 
 man, astonish strangers, and cut acquaintances who had 
 known him as a mousing, briefless attorney. 
 
 It was during this period that he iirst met with Joe Pum- 
 pagin at the City Hotel, where the latter astonished and 
 shocked him by his marvellous stories, and his dissertations on 
 Shakspeare, at the same time that he consoled him with flip; 
 until at last, by his strong language, he drove him from the 
 house, and good Deacon Giles was obliged to volunteer in 
 vindication of his character. 
 
 A few days after the departure of Seth Mettlar, his 
 wife and mother-in-law, for Boston, a lady past middle age, 
 with a maid-servant, alighted from the stage at the door of 
 the new hotel. She had a large quantity of luggage, and 
 complained of being so unwell, that she would not be able to 
 pursue her journey farther for some days. She bespoke the 
 best rooms in the house ; and as she gave no intimation of 
 whom she was, whence she came, or whither she was going, 
 curiosity was soon all on tiptoe to discover something of 
 these secrets. She had an air of reserve and refinement; 
 and every thing she possessed showed that she had been ac- 
 customed to the very highest society. The maid was 
 quizzed and questioned by the servants of the hotel about 
 her mistress; but she never knew any thing of her, and what 
 she did know was none of their business ; and so they were 
 left as wise as before. The baggage was marked Beresford ; 
 and the only information that could be gathered from her 
 conversation was, that she was a widow travelling for her 
 health ; and as Montgomery Village was beautifully situated, 
 and was reputed healthy, she would have no objections to 
 remaining there for the season if a good and comfortable 
 house could be procured. She desired a carriage, the next 
 day after her arrival, to drive about the village j and insisted 
 on being driven up by the Pivot, and to the old house on the 
 hill beyond. The driver reported that she stopped a long 
 time here, and asked him a " heap of questions." She walked 
 back and forth from the house to the spring several times ; 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 251 
 
 but her chief interest seemed to centre about the graves of 
 the Gaults, and the old log-house that was now nothing but 
 a pile of ruins. " What is this old pile kept here so long 
 for?" she asked of the driver. 
 
 " Well, ma'am," replied he, " old Square Gomery, when he 
 had the place, would never let it be pulled down, though 
 he spent a heap o' money in keeping the place in order. It 
 was here, ma'am, that the Gault murder took place. Of 
 course you have heard of the Gault murder by the British 
 and Indians, and how the ghosts used to be about the house 
 in dark nights? " 
 
 "What! is the place haunted?" 
 
 " Oh, no, not now, ma'am ! but it used to be fifty or sixty 
 year ago ; and some says the ghosts have been seen within a 
 few years. But they never done no harm to nobody." 
 
 " What were the ghosts like V and what did they do ? " 
 
 "A sight o' things ! Some says that a whole tribe of In- 
 dians is seen dancin' round this old hovel. Others says there 
 is a sight of a woman with her throat cut ; and then agin 
 some says a little girl goes about in her night-gown, scream- 
 ing and crying for her ma, that the Indians has butchered : 
 but there's so many stories, there is no tellin' which is true." 
 
 When the old lady returned to her hotel, she told the 
 landlord that she had found a place that would suit her, and 
 inquired who owned the old house on the hill. She was 
 told it was the property of Seth Mettlar. 
 
 " It is not occupied, I see : how is that? " 
 
 The landlord informed her that "it had once belonged to 
 Squire Gomery ; and the house was occupied, for many years 
 after his mother died, by old Jabez Dearborn and his wife, 
 who just took care of the house and buildings, and lived like 
 great people, though they had nothing in the world that didn't 
 belong to Squire .Gomery. Every thing was kept in good 
 order by them, until the squire got into trouble about his 
 title ; and then Uncle Jabe took so much interest in the law- 
 suit, and fretted so, that he took sick, and died ; and then the 
 old woman took sick too, and she died ; and then the house 
 was shut up ; and, when the place come into Mr. Mettlar's 
 hands, he could neither let it, or sell it for what it is worth : 
 for people are sort o' superstitious about that place, and it is 
 vacant yet for that reason." 
 
 " It is for rent, then ? " said she. 
 
252 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 " Yes ; and it is well furnished, and has the same furniture 
 as was in it at the time that old Mr. Gomery, the squire's 
 father, froze to death one night on the hill, in sight of his 
 house." 
 
 " Is the owner at home now ? " 
 
 " No ; he has gone to Boston : but he has left the house to 
 my care, and I have got the key. He offers to let the whole 
 place, furniture and all, for two hundred dollars a year; and 
 it is very cheap : only he reserves one-half of the fruit-crop 
 to himself." 
 
 "Very well," said she, "I will take it; and you will send 
 and have the house opened and aired, and made ready for 
 use immediately." 
 
 When the news spread through the town that the stranger 
 lady was to occupy the old Gomery House, the curiosity to 
 know more about her was greatly intensified. But nothing 
 could they learn, with all their prying and questioning; and, 
 two days after, the old lady and her maid moved into the house. 
 As servant and man-of-all-work, she hired the somewhat anti- 
 quated and superannuated Philemon Gott, who had served at 
 the Eagle during all the long years that Diller kept it, and 
 on the night of the great drunk was dubbed " the kurnell " 
 by Joe Pumpagin, by which title he was ever afterwards 
 known. 
 
 Little Diller, who had now no business of his own to at- 
 tend to, gave all his time to bothering his neighbors about 
 theirs ; and he was especially concerned to know what the 
 advent of this mysterious lady portended. In ordinary cases 
 of doubt and perplexity, he had been accustomed to consult 
 his old friend, Squire Gomery. But, the last time he had 
 seen Gomery, he looked so serious and sad, he had not the 
 courage to ask him the cause of his sorrow. Since then, he 
 had gone away to New York; and another mystery had oc- 
 curred, and the little man was like to strangle with curiosity. 
 A few days after, however, hearing that the squire had re- 
 turned, he could neither contain nor restrain himself, but 
 posted up to the Pivot to get the squire's opinion in regard 
 to the strange lady. But the old man could give him no sat- 
 isfaction. He admitted it looked a little queer, the manner 
 in which she had come ; but she doubtless had good reasons 
 of her own, which, if they knew, they would not longer won- 
 der. Quite chapfallen, the little man was going away, when 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 253 
 
 the old servant, "the kurnell," appeared, and handed the 
 quire a note. He opened and read it, and, turning to his 
 wife, said, "This is indeed strange! This lady we were 
 just talking about has sent me a note, saying that she will 
 be glad to see me at the Perch this evening, at seven 
 o'clock." 
 
 "I knew it, I knew it ! " said Diller, jumping up in ecstasy. 
 "I knew it! and I told 'em, when they asked me what it 
 meant, that it meant justice to that darned old rascal and 
 hypocrite, Seth Mettlar, now, and hell-lire afterwards ! " 
 
 "Oh, hush!" answered the squire. "You wish so, and 
 therefore believe so ; but she probably wants some law ad- 
 vice. However, we shall see ; but you had better reserve 
 your opinions, Mr. Diller, until you have better grounds for 
 them." 
 
 Gomery's word was law with Diller; and, when he re- 
 turned to the village, he was well-nigh suffocated with the 
 importance of his secret. But, after the squire's warning, he 
 could say nothing more than indulge in the general observa- 
 tion, that "the day of reckoning for rascals was near at 
 hand." 
 
 The interview of the newly arrived lady and Squire Gora- 
 ery disclosed nothing to either that is not already known to 
 the reader. She declared herself to be the sister of the sin- 
 gular person known in that neighborhood as Joe Pumpagin, 
 and that the old hovel yet standing near by had been the 
 house of her birth. She explained, too, how her broth- 
 er had been delayed on business -matters of importance; 
 while she had come on by herself, and incognita, that she 
 might have the satisfaction of viewing, unknown and un- 
 watched, the spot so painfully interesting to her. Neither 
 she nor her brother had, at the time they parted, any knowl- 
 edge of the disasters that had fallen on the house of Gomery; 
 but, since her arrival, she had seen that changes had taken 
 place, through the grossest fraud, that would greatly astonish 
 and incense him. 
 
 The clouds seemed now to be lifting around the Pivot ; 
 and the first gleam of light that has reached it for a long 
 time has broken through the gloom that has so long envel- 
 oped it. It was observed by several, who met the old squire 
 the next day after Diller had given out his incoherent threat- 
 enings, that his step was more elastic, his eye more bright, 
 vol. ii. 22 
 
254 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 and his whole appearance more as it had been wont to be in 
 times gone by. But his countenance, though more excited, 
 was no less sad than before ; for there was one sorrow im- 
 pending, from which his soul " would be lifted nevermore." 
 
 It was three days after the interview between Gomery and 
 the new occupant of the old house, when the people of the vil- 
 lage were more astonished than they had been at the myste- 
 rious manner of the stranger lady, by the unexpected arrival 
 of Joe Pumpagin. After so many long years, and when 
 people had generally settled into the belief that he would 
 never come, he had returned to visit the scenes of his former 
 pranks and sportive triumphs. As on former occasions, he 
 had come in the mail-stage ; and, as it drove up to the hotel 
 (the new one, called the "Montgomery Exchange"), a mul- 
 titude of people gathered around to stare at the passengers, 
 and see who might alight. It was a Saturday afternoon in 
 June ; and, of course, there was an unusual number of peo- 
 ple in the village. No sooner was the burly form, the merry 
 eye, and the broken nose, of Joe seen to emerge from the 
 stage, than the whole crowd gave a shout of joy. He looked 
 somewhat older and stouter than when he left ; but otherwise 
 his appearance was little changed. His hair was more gray, 
 and his once fine teeth showed signs of service ; but his 
 motions were as quick, and his manner as hilarious, as thirty 
 years before. The word passed from one end of the village 
 to the other, as by telegraph, that " Old Joe had got back ; " 
 and, had the cry been that the Exchange was on fire, the 
 rush towards it could not have been more sudden and gen- 
 eral. In the annals of Montgomery, he was an historic char- 
 acter. Even the younger folk, that had come into the world 
 since he was last there, had been told of him a thousand 
 times, — of his jokes, his tricks, his marvellous stories, his 
 good nature, and his funny face with its queer-looking nose, 
 and his merry eyes. He shook hands all around, and slapped 
 those on the bacli, who had never seen him before, with a 
 familiarity that delighted them. He inquired particularly 
 for his namesakes, and also for those of his " sister Nancy, 
 who died in the poorhouse." 
 
 "You can't get any more flip now," said little Diller. 
 " You see, the old Eagle's gone ; and there's been the very 
 devil to pay since you left. Nothing goes right since the 
 Eagle shut up. Old Square Gomery's all fell to pieces, with 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 255 
 
 all his property; and he and the old woman live all alone up 
 to the Pivot : but I told 'em that darned old thief that stole 
 all from him would catch it yet." 
 
 "What! Gomery lost his property!" said Joe. "What 
 has become of his son Walter, then?" 
 
 " Why," answered Diller, " when the old man lost all, he 
 went off to the west'ard, and hadn't been hearn on for a year 
 or more, till, t'other day, there come a report in the papers 
 that he had been caught down to Georgia getting away 
 their niggers ; and they've got him in prison, and folks think 
 he'll be hung." 
 
 "What! Walter Gomery not here! — in prison down 
 South!" said Joe, as his countenance changed, and assumed 
 an air of sorrow altogether unusual with him. "I have 
 come back to see him, above all others ; for he thought about 
 poor old Joe when the rest of you cared nothing for him. 
 And he is gone, and I am not to see him after all ! Why did 
 I come back?" But the impression made by the informa- 
 tion contained in Diller's words appeared to pass off, and he 
 was directly himself again. He was a man of self-control, 
 and soon rallied his fund of humor and wit ; and, entering 
 the bar-room, he bargained with the landlord to give a free 
 run at the bar that evening, at his expense, for the sum of 
 ten dollars. By sunset, he was at the height of his popular- 
 ity; and several were so eager to testify their regard for 
 him, that they offered to fight any one who dared say a 
 word against him. As nobody was disposed to do that, they 
 found other occasions for fighting ; and, before midnight, a 
 goodly number of broken heads attested the joy of the peo- 
 ple at seeing their old friend returned once more. But Joe 
 did not remain long to witness these friendly demonstrations. 
 As soon as the spigot was drawn, and the rum was running 
 freely, he quietly withdrew from the crowd ; and, with the 
 first dusk of evening, left the hotel, and made his way to the 
 Pivot. 
 
256 G0MEEY OF MONTGOMEET : 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " If the wickedness of these men have defeated the law, and outrun native 
 punishment, though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to fly from 
 God."— HenkyV. 
 
 The news of Joe's arrival in town reached the Pivot before 
 him; and the squire, not doubting that he would soon be 
 there, sent his carriage and servant to the old place to bring 
 the Lady Beresford to his house. She arrived before Joe; 
 and, when the latter appeared, the squire gave orders that he 
 should, on no account, be interrupted that evening. 
 
 The interview between these four persons — Gomery and 
 wife, Lady Beresford and Joe — was long and painful. It 
 was past midnight ere they separated; and then they felt 
 that they had as much to say as when they began. Joe gave 
 a long account of his experience since he last left Mont- 
 gomery; and the squire, in his turn, narrated the troubles 
 that had fallen upon him and his since that time; — all of 
 which could not have happened, had Joe been there. But all 
 this was as nothing compared with the greater sorrow that 
 was upon him. He gave a full account of Walter's course 
 after he found that his father was bankrupt ; and how he had 
 got into his present position, from which he would probably 
 never escape alive ; and, if he did, what other changes had 
 taken place, that must ever render desolate the life of one 
 of his sensitive and earnest nature. 
 
 Bufr, as Joe wisely remarked, it was now " no time for sen- 
 timent. We must at once proceed to take such steps as the 
 exigencies require to secure the ends of justice, and recover 
 our own. We must lose no time; for if I were to die 
 to-night, though you would be at liberty to use all that infor- 
 mation, which, before, you were precluded from taking advan- 
 tage of, yet you would be obliged, perhaps, to go through 
 another long course of litigation. That muling hypocrite 
 has got possession ; and I am the only person who can kick 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 257 
 
 him out without ceremony." It was decided, however, to 
 await Seth's return to Montgomery, before taking any steps 
 of which the public could have any knowledge ; and an 
 accident that happened the next day to the dutiful Obededom 
 hastened that event. Returning home late in the evening, 
 after having taken several toddies, he was thrown out of his 
 wagon, and stunned and bruised so, that he was carried home 
 insensible. 
 
 Joe Pumpagin was in the bar-room of the Exchange, 
 telling marvellous tales, quoting Shakspeare, and teaching 
 the new landlord how to make flip, when the word was 
 brought in that Obed Homer had been thrown from his 
 wagon, and killed. A second report soon followed, that he 
 was not dead, but badly hurt, and perhaps would die. 
 
 "His friends should be notified," said Joe. "I understand 
 that that pretty sister of his has married one of the richest 
 men about here, and they are off at some watering-place. 
 The mail will leave at four o'clock in the morning ; and some- 
 body ought to write to them about this sad calamity. I would 
 do it myself if I knew how, and was only acquainted with 
 the man — what's his name? — that married Hester." 
 
 " Mettlar," answered the landlord. " I think I will write 
 to him myself; for he has left a good many things in my 
 care." 
 
 The landlord went to his desk behind the bar, and quickly 
 wrote an account of the accident that had befallen Obed, 
 setting forth that he was very dangerously wounded. This 
 letter Joe saw despatched to the post-office, and then ambig- 
 uously remarked, that, "if he were not a graceless unbeliever, 
 he should think this accident was a special providence got 
 up for his benefit." 
 
 The landlord's letter was received by Seth while at Nahant ; 
 and no sooner did his mother-in-law learn the contents of it 
 than she insisted on an immediate return home. Seth acqui- 
 esced ; and her daughter neither objected nor approved, for 
 she was passive in every thing. They returned to Boston the 
 next day, and, the following morning, set out for home. But, 
 just as they were leaving their hotel, another letter was put into 
 Seth's hands, stating that Obed was not badly hurt, after all. 
 He had only been badly bruised and stunned, and was able 
 to drive to the village the second day after the accident. 
 
 Seth arrived home with his family ; and the next day he 
 
 22* 
 
258 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 received the congratulations of his numerous friends. Many 
 of the friends and former schoolmates of Hester also called 
 on the evening of their return and the following day, hoping 
 to find her as she used to be. But there was no change in 
 her for the better. She had grown paler, and even more 
 reserved and silent, than when she left. 
 
 The high-sheriff of the county, of which Chesterville was 
 the shire-town, lived at Tivernet; and, as soon as Squire 
 Gomery learned that Seth Mettlar had returned, he sent a 
 messenger with a note, requesting him to come immediately 
 to Montgomery, as he had important business for him to 
 transact. The sheriff received the note at nine o'clock in the 
 morning; and, at twelve meridian, he drove up to the door of 
 the Pivot. He was curious to know what the important 
 business was that required such prompt attention. 
 
 " We will discuss that after dinner," said the squire. " In 
 the mean while, let me introduce you to my friend Mr. 
 Pumpagin." 
 
 "I know Mr. Pumpagin," said the sheriff, now stepping 
 forward to shake hands with him, though he had not thought 
 of noticing him before. 
 
 "He has been a great traveller, and can tell wonderful 
 stories about what he has seen in strange countries." 
 
 "I have heard a great deal of his wonderful stories," 
 replied the sheriff. 
 
 " To-day you may hear one, with your own ears, more 
 strange and wonderful than any you have ever heard of; and 
 it is not more strange than true." 
 
 " ' 'Tis strange, 'tis passing strange ; 'tis pitiful, 'tis wondrous 
 pitiful ! ' " said Joe. 
 
 " You seem to be very melancholy. I have been told you 
 were not only always joking and laughing yourself, but that 
 you make everybody else laugh." 
 
 "Slander, sir; slander! I am a man o'erpressed with mel- 
 ancholy; but, as Jaques says, — Shakspeare, you know, — 
 ' it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples 
 extracted from many objects; and, indeed, the sundry con- 
 templation of my travels, in which my often rumination 
 wraps me, is a most humorous sadness.' " 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of 
 Mrs. Gomery ; and, immediately afterwards, dinner was an- 
 nounced ; and great was the astonishment of the man of 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 259 
 
 » 
 
 executions when he saw Joe Pumpagin offer his arm to the 
 lady of the house, and escort her to the dinner-table. 
 
 After the dinner was finished, the party adjourned to the 
 parlor; and then the squire said to the sheriff, "I will now 
 tell you what I wish you to do. You will arrest Seth Mettlar, 
 and put him into the Chesterville jail ! " 
 
 "Arrest Seth Mettlar?" 
 
 " Even so. You are surprised ; but I can soon explain the 
 matter sufficiently, so that you need not hesitate. You are 
 aware of the way in which he came by the property now in 
 his possession." 
 
 " I ought to know something of it, as I was sheriff at the 
 time, and in attendance at every trial." 
 
 "Then you remember how he found a deed of the same 
 property that was bought by my father from Col. Scranton, 
 in favor of Thomas Gault, and dated anterior to that of my 
 father ; that he then pretended to have got a deed from the 
 sole heir of the said Thomas Gault." 
 
 "Of course, I remember all about that: how that he found 
 this heir in the last stages of sickness and suffering ; and, as 
 he had no money to reward him for his kindness, he gave 
 him a deed of his interest in the property left by his father." 
 
 " You remember, too, how I said at the time, that I knew, of 
 my own knowledge, that that deed was a fraud and a 
 forgery?" 
 
 "Yes; and Joel Slocum took your word against all the 
 evidence on the other side, and the judge's instructions 
 besides, and has been laughed at ever since." 
 
 "Well, it will be his turn to laugh now; for Randolph 
 Gault, the son and heir of Thomas Gault, is alive ! " 
 
 "He is, and can be brought as a witness! 'There are 
 more things in heaven and earth,' Mr. Sheriff," said Joe, 
 "'than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" 
 
 " This man," continued the squire, " who is known as Joe 
 Pumpagin, is the man Randolph Gault, as I have known for 
 a long time." 
 
 "Did you know it at the time of the trial? " 
 
 " I did. But I could not avail myself of that knowledge. 
 I knew not where he was ; and, even had I asserted it then, it 
 might have availed little ; for you will remember, in his de- 
 scriptions of the sick man, who, he pretended, had made the 
 deed, there was a similarity to our friend here." 
 
260 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 " Together we should have made a pair of pretty Dro- 
 mios," said Joe. 
 
 " Therefore I had only to endure the mortification of see- 
 ing my property stolen from me ; my youngest son driven to 
 seek his own fortune, and, I fear, forever lost to me ; and the 
 sweet young girl, to whom he had been engaged from child- 
 hood, forced to the embraces of the dark-hearted villain that 
 had robbed me. But now the day of reckoning has come, 
 and your services are in requisition. I have already made 
 out the necessary papers. Here is my accusation and affi- 
 davit, that, of my own knowledge, Seth Mettlar is guilty of 
 forgery, perjury, and subornation of perjury, Here, too, is 
 the sworn statement of Randolph Gault, known generally as 
 Joe Pumpagin, that he is the only son of David Gault, the 
 first settler on Mount Gault, — as it was formerly called, — 
 and the same who was murdered by the Indians and British 
 in the time of the Revolutionary War." 
 
 "But what am I to do with him ? I can't put him in jail 
 without authority of some kind." 
 
 " Of course not. Ambrose Addison received his commis- 
 sion as a justice of the peace only last week. I have pre- 
 pared all the papers myself. You will take them to him, or 
 rather I will go with you to his house, and will make my 
 complaint ; and he will sign the warrant that I have prepared, 
 without hesitation ; for, like Joel Slocum, he would take my. 
 word in preference to all the sworn witnesses that could be 
 brought to contradict me." 
 
 The squire next gave orders for his horse to be harnessed ; 
 and taking Joe into his carriage, the sheriff following after, 
 they rode towards the village, and stopped at the door of 
 Squire Addison. They found his honor hard at work making 
 shoes, having a volume of Blackstone's Commentaries open 
 on a chair beside him, reading and " pegging away " alter- 
 nately. But awl, wax, last, and apron were at once dropped ; 
 and the son of Crispin, and disciple of Justinian, stood ready 
 to serve his customers, whether it was law and justice, or 
 something in the shoe line, they had come after. They were 
 shown into the office of the learned justice, which was also 
 the sitting-room for his family ; and which, if plainly fur- 
 nished, showed, nevertheless, a goodly sized library of well- 
 selected, standard books. 
 
 Gomery at once proceeded to business, and said, "lam lia- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 261 
 
 ble to have more serious trouble with this man Mettlar ; and 
 I want you to issue a warrant, and the sheriff will at once 
 arrest him." 
 
 " I will accommodate you with great pleasure, Squire Gom- 
 ery ; but what have I to go upon ? " 
 
 " Here is my own affidavit, that I am ready to make oath 
 to, accusing him of high crimes." 
 
 The justice took the affidavit, read it through, and then 
 said, " You make oath to this ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 The affidavit was then duly sworn to ; and the justice signed 
 the warrant that Gomery had already prepared, commanding 
 the sheriff of the county, or any of his deputies, to arrest the 
 body of Seth Mettlar, and bring him before the said justice. 
 The sheriff took the paper, and left ; and Gomery and Joe 
 rode over to the old office of the former, which he had not 
 visited for months before. 
 
 Sheriff White was an obliging man, and avoided giving 
 offence as much as possible. He drove up to Seth's house 
 just at the moment he was dismissing two unfortunate debt- 
 ors with the comforting assurance that he must foreclose the 
 mortgages he held unless the money due was paid imme- 
 diately. When the Gomery Estate had first come into his 
 possession, he had thought it good policy to show considera- 
 ble liberality and public spirit until he got quietly and firmly 
 established in the enjoyment of it. But now he was secure 
 in all, and felt that he could defy public opinion, the cloven 
 foot showed itself; and he was as exacting and hard with 
 debtors as ever had been that litigious nuisance, Silas Barton. 
 As he found he could not make people respect him, he was 
 determined they should fear him, — that he would, in 'some 
 way, be a power among them. 
 
 The two unfortunate debtors were just being politely 
 bowed out of the house by the severely civil Seth, when 
 Sheriff White drove up to the door. Without alighting 
 from his carriage, he asked Seth if he would not like to take 
 a short ride. 
 
 " Where to ? " inquired Seth. 
 
 " Down to the village." 
 
 " It looks rather suspicious riding with you ; so I guess I 
 won 5 t go," replied he in a manner which he intended for 
 facetious. 
 
262 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 " There is a little business to be done down to Squire Ad- 
 dison's office, and they say they want you." 
 
 " Well, you tell them I can't go unless they send a sum- 
 mons ; and then I shall take my own time. I want people 
 here to understand that Seth Mettlar is to be respected ; and 
 those who think to trifle with him will get the worst of it. 
 They might have learnt that, I should think, from the fate of 
 old Gomery." 
 
 " Then you won't go without a summons ? " 
 
 "No, I won't!" 
 
 ;< Suppose I have a warrant." 
 
 " A warrant I — a warrant for me ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir, a warrant for you," said he, drawing it from his 
 pocket ; " and here it is. I am commanded to arrest you im- 
 mediately, and take you before Squire Addison." 
 
 " Why ! this is old Gomery's work ! " 
 
 " I dare say it is ; for the warrant recites that it is made 
 on his affidavit." 
 
 Seth, who but just before was bold and defiant, now turned 
 pale as a sheet ; and a cold perspiration broke out upon him. 
 But he still tried to keep on his #ir of bravado, and asked, 
 with a forced sternness, what he was charged with. 
 
 " Take it, and read for yourself," said the sheriff, tossing 
 the warrant towards him. With a hand whose tremor he 
 could not disguise, he picked up the paper, and read that he 
 was charged with forgery, perjury, and subornation of per- 
 jury. " Ha ! the old man thinks he's found a mare's nest ; 
 but he shall pay dearly for this ! I'll teach him that Mont- 
 gomery is not large enough for Seth Mettlar and Freeborn 
 Gomery. Yes, if it takes half I've got in the world, I'll 
 drive "him from the place." 
 
 " But that is not my business. I am ordered to arrest you ; 
 and, if you decline to ride with me, you can walk, or go in 
 your own carriage." 
 
 " I will not ride with you," said he, calling to his servant 
 to harness his horse to the light wagon. At this stage of 
 proceedings, the two debtors moved off homewards, telling 
 everybody they met and saw that Seth Mettlar had been 
 arrested by Sheriff White, and was going down to Squire 
 Addison's to have his trial. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards, Seth's smart, flashy, light wag- 
 on, drawn by his swift-going little black mare, was seen to 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 263 
 
 move down the road, closely followed by the heavy nag of 
 Sheriff White. The news rapidly spread that Seth Mettlar 
 had been arrested ; and great was the rush toward the house 
 of the new justice to learn what it was all about. 
 
 Before the justice took his seat, and announced the court 
 to be open, the room or office was full of people ; and, in half 
 an hour more, there was scarce a man or boy in the village, 
 who was able to walk, ride, or hobble, who was not in the 
 house, if he could crowd in, or, if not, as near to the door as 
 he could get. Various were the speculations among the 
 multitude. Little Diller said that he "always knowed it 
 would be so ; that that darned thing would be come up with 
 after all, and he would find it as hard to cheat the Devil as 
 Tom Walker had found it before him." 
 
 The new justice, though an intelligent man, and better 
 read in the law than many attorneys, was unfamiliar with 
 forms ; and he therefore allowed Gomery to indicate the 
 course of proceedings. But, before the complaint was read, 
 he asked Mettlar if he had employed counsel. "No," replied 
 that indignant and persecuted citizen : " I scorn to employ 
 counsel to defend me from a charge so absurd, and so redo- 
 lent of impotent malice, as this." The bold and defiant tone 
 in which this was uttered called forth symptoms of applause 
 from a few ; but the sharp voice of little Diller, when he piped 
 out, " Ay, ay, you directors of the Exchange, you can shout 
 now ; and you church folks, who want to turn out Parson 
 Skeelmanfor rebuking sinners as well as sin, you will find 
 the Devil is hard after you, and old Mettlar is his chief dep- 
 uty," — these words were the key-note of the public senti- 
 ment. 
 
 The complaint was first read, and then the affidavit on 
 which the arrest was made. The justice turned to Seth, and 
 asked him what he had to say against them. " I say," said 
 he, " the complaint is false from beginning to end. The affi- 
 davit is an act of perjury; and, if your honor gives the least 
 heed to either of them, you do so at your peril." 
 
 " Doubtless he will take all the responsibility and risks," 
 said Gomery, rising. " And now, with the permission of the 
 court, I propose, more for the satisfaction of the people whom 
 I see here than for the purpose of satisfying the court, to 
 submit some extended remarks ; and, the better that I may be 
 heard, I shall take my position near the window, which I re- 
 
264 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 quest may be raised, so that as many as possible may catch 
 my words." 
 
 The window was raised as requested ; and Gomery of Mont- 
 gomery, for the last time in his life, proceeded to address the 
 people, and incidentally the court. By his side sat Joe Pum- 
 pagin, who, strange to say, forbore from making a joke or 
 quoting Shakspeare. 
 
 In a loud, clear voice, the aged advocate then began to 
 give a history of the events that led to his being before them 
 at that time. He commenced with a picture of Mount Gault 
 when David Gault was the only settler within many miles. 
 He described the dangers and perils of the .pioneer life ; and 
 told the story of the bear ; the flight of the children ; the fall ; 
 the broken nose, and the journey to a distant town to find a 
 doctor who could mend it; the detainment of the boy; 
 the massacre of his parents ; the kidnapping of his sister; the 
 ghostly apparitions; and the evil name that fell upon the 
 place, ancl kept off settlers for years. Then he told the story 
 of his own father's fortunes and misfortunes ; how that, when 
 all trace of the Gaults was lost, he had bought the same tract 
 of land that had once belonged to the murdered man. Then 
 he gave a full and succinct history of the strange career of 
 the son of the murdered couple ; how, when he grew to 
 man's estate, he was haunted with the thought that he was 
 to be an instrument, in the hands of Providence, of justice ; 
 how he had sailed the seas, and travelled in unknown climes, 
 but was ever beset with the idea that he was flying from duty ; 
 and how, after a three-years' voyage, he resolved to return 
 to his native place, and, without discovering himself, learn 
 all the traditions that could be ascertained about his 
 parents' murder and their murderers. He had come among 
 them poor and unknown, and had passed by the name of 
 Joe Pumpagin. He had learned something of the instigator 
 of the murder of his father and mother, anti with that in- 
 formation left as suddenly and mysteriously as he arrived. 
 He had seen, after years of pursuit, the guilty sinner, who 
 ever carried before him the apparition of Gault's Hill, — the 
 lovely woman with her throat cut, and her angelic eyes yet 
 beaming with a love and spirit not of earth ; the rattle of 
 musketry; the blazing fire; and the child's cry, first sharp, and 
 then diminishing, till it was no longer to be heard. He had 
 seen this wretch, who attempted to defy God, to brave the 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 265 
 
 world, and go down to his grave honored and respected, 
 endure a life of prolonged misery, till finally, in disgrace, 
 exposure, and shame, he at last, when human nature could 
 endure no more, shrunk in cowardice and shame from this 
 world to the next. The sister that had been carried into 
 captivity had also been an object of his search ; and it was 
 enough for him then to say that she was no other than the 
 mysterious lady who had recently returned to the spot where 
 she was born, and now occupied the house that had been 
 built by his honored father. At last, when time had worked 
 out his revenges, the son, now an old man, older than the 
 speaker by some years, had returned to spend the balance 
 of his days near the spot where he had first seen the light. 
 " But how changed," he continued, " was every thing ! During 
 the long years of his later absence, the thief and forger had 
 done his work. His story of a deed, left him as a testament 
 and legacy of gratitude by the heir to whom he had shown 
 kindness, is familiar to all. At the time, I knew it was fic- 
 tion and fraud, but was debarred from making use of the 
 knowledge in my possession ; and so I have waited for the 
 Lord in his own good time to work out his salvation. I now 
 demand that the prisoner, Seth Mettlar, be committed to 
 prison, and held for trial till the grand jury shall indict him, 
 and that no bail be taken." 
 
 During these remarks, which entered into the detail of 
 many things which — the reader being already advised — it 
 has not been necessary to repeat, there was in the minds of all 
 present an intensity of interest that was painful and Oppres- 
 sive in its stillness. People listened for an hour and a half 
 without changing their position. It was dark long before he 
 concluded; and teams that had been left standing in the 
 fields while the farmer or his boys or hired men should run 
 to the road, and learn what was meant by all the bustle and 
 excitement, were still standing in the yoke, and perhaps 
 bearing the heavy cart's tongue on their necks. The cows 
 were unmilked till long past their hour; and women and 
 children gathered round the multitude of men who were 
 pressing near to catch the words of Gomery of Montgomery. 
 It was known that Seth Mettlar had been arrested, and great 
 was the curiosity to learn the reason for it. 
 
 As soon as Gomery ceased speaking, the people who had 
 been listening so intently changed their positions ; and the 
 vol. n. 23 
 
266 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 word soon extended back to those who were unable to hear, 
 that Seth Mettlar had been proved to be a forger and a per- 
 jurer, that Joe Pumpagin was the real Randolph Gault, and 
 that Gomery would have his own again. 
 
 Seth Mettlar sat unmoved, supported by his faithful and 
 affectionate brother-in-law, Obededom Homer, during the 
 whole time that Gomery was speaking. The latter attempted, 
 on several occasions, to express incredulity and contempt by a 
 scornful laugh and shrug, as he cast his eyes about among his 
 familiar acquaintances ; but all were too deeply absorbed in 
 what the speaker was saying to return any thing but a silen- 
 cing scowl. Seth hardly raised his eyes during the whole time ; 
 but the perspiration stood on his forehead, and even dripped 
 from his greasy gray hair. At the conclusion of Gomery's ad- 
 dress, the justice asked Seth what he had to say. His reply 
 was given in an undertone, and without rising from his seat. 
 He said "he did not suppose it was necessary for a man of his 
 position and reputation, and high religious character, to deny 
 so absurd a charge as this which had been brought against him. 
 It was evidently an attempt of Gomery, who had long been 
 known as his enemy, and whom a jury of his countrymen had 
 convicted of libel on his character, assisted by that low buf- 
 foon, Joe Pumpagin, to ruin his character and standing, and rob 
 him of his property. As his honor would doubtless take the 
 same view of the case, and dismiss it with the contempt it 
 deserved, he should not give it dignity nor importance by 
 saying any thing more." 
 
 But the justice did not take the same view of the case : 
 on the contrary, he ordered him to be committed to the 
 county jail until the next session of the county court. 
 
 When this result was known, people scattered about in 
 small knots, talking over in an undertone the strange turn of 
 fortune. The general feeling among them was one of shame. 
 They felt that they had not stood by Gomery through his 
 misfortunes as they ought to have done, and had shown a 
 deference to Seth Mettlar for no other reason than that he 
 had been successful in robbing Freeborn Gomery. They 
 were humiliated that they had so readily bowed before the 
 golden calf. In a short time, they all silently withdrew, and 
 went to their several homes. The sheriff told Seth that he 
 should be happy of his company that night as fa%as Chester- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 267 
 
 ville ; and the latter, after giving some directions to his friend 
 Obed, sullenly entered the carriage of the sheriff, and was 
 driven rapidly away. 
 
 Thomas Homer, on the day of these adventures, had been 
 at work in a field half a mile back from the road, and knew 
 nothing of what was going on till he returned home at the 
 dusk of evening. He was met at the dobr by his wife in a 
 great state of excitement, who informed him that the sheriff 
 had been up and arrested Seth,. and there was a great crowd 
 down at the village ; and the Widow Howlet had just gone by, 
 and said that Seth had been robbing and stealing ; and old 
 Square Gomery was making a great speech against him. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the old man coolly : " then it has come at last, 
 has it?" 
 
 "What has come?" 
 
 " Justice. Of course, this must be the end of Seth's doings. 
 The Devil is not to be cheated so easily." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Homer! will you turn against your own flesh 
 and blood ? What is to become of Hester, I would like to 
 know, if this is true ? And then poor Obed : he won't have a 
 friend in the world ! When I heard the news, I run up to see 
 Hester ; and when I told her that them wicked Gomerys were 
 trying to ruin her husband, and make her a beggar, she 
 laughed in my face." 
 
 " Did she laugh ? " said he, sitting down on the door-sill. 
 " I am glad of that ; for I have never seen her laugh since 
 she was married." 
 
 " Yes, she did laugh ; and then she said just as you did, that 
 she knew it would come to that, and that the ways of God 
 were just. And then she talked strangely, as she does talk 
 sometimes, and said, 'And then they will lay me in the cold 
 ground, and he will not come back till I am dead.' And I 
 said, ' Hush, child ! he has only gone to the village, and will 
 be back in an hour.' And she said, * Who ? ' and I said, ' Seth, 
 your husband.' Then she said, 'My husband!' and broke 
 out in a loud laugh ; and I told the old woman-servant to 
 watch her well, and I would come back in the evening." 
 
 Poor Homer gave a deep groan, and then took his milk- 
 pail, and went into the yard where the cows were waiting to 
 be milked. 
 
 The next term of the court, before which Seth was to be 
 
268 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY I 
 
 tried, would not commence for three weeks after his com- 
 mittal to prison ; but the whole question of property was 
 as well decided the next day, in the minds of the people, as 
 ever it could be. Gomery was recognized as the rightful 
 owner of all he had ever possessed, and assumed the control 
 of it ; no one venturing to question his right. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 H There is thy gold, — worse poison to men's souls, 
 Doing more murders in this loathsome world, 
 Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell." 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 The good people of Montgomery, who, like many others, 
 were much inclined to attend to other people's business, even 
 if they must neglect their own, had been so astonished at the 
 last revolution of Fortune's wheel, which had so utterly upset 
 the late much-respected Mr. Seth Mettlar, that the story of 
 Walter Gomery was, for a time, little thought of. When 
 alluded to, it was considered very strange that so well-inten- 
 tioned a youth should conduct himself as the newspapers 
 had represented him to have done. But a different report 
 appeared in the papers within a week of Seth's incarceration ; 
 and this again furnished a subject of much curious specula- 
 tion. 
 
 Capt. Dykes had escaped, without question or interruption, 
 from the land of slavery. As he had disposed of the " Good 
 Intent " at a bargain, he concluded he would give up the 
 coasting business, and spend the rest of his days, with his 
 wife and children, on his little farm down in Maine. At least, 
 he thought, that, if he made any further voyages, he had better 
 keep a respectful distance from Lancaster. After his return, 
 he watched the papers closely for news from the Altamaha, 
 and of the fate of the "Good Intent." Even before he 
 reached his home, he read that she had escaped to sea, tak- 
 ing with her one hundred and fifteen valuable slaves, after 
 being pursued by a swift steamer ; and was on the point of 
 being captured, when the steamer was disabled by the base 
 and treacherous act of a young Yankee, who was doubtless 
 the instigator of the conspiracy. Capt. Dykes feared that 
 this young Yankee was none other than his friend and quon- 
 dam passenger, Walter Gomery. But the papers did not 
 give the culprit's name, alleging that he had refused to tell 
 
 23* 
 
270 GOMEEY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 who he was ; and from this Dykes inferred that it could not 
 be Walter, as his name was well known to many in Lancas- 
 ter. The accounts also added, that, at first, his name was 
 supposed to be Torrence, from the marks on his linen ; but, 
 as this had doubtless been stolen from some clothes-line, 
 little could be inferred from the fact. 
 
 A fine character, Walter, our Southern brethren and chiv- 
 alrous neighbors are giving you \ 
 
 Capt. Dykes had not been at home two days, when he 
 read in a Boston paper of the safe arrival of the fugitives, 
 and their own account of their escape. His fears that his 
 friend Walter was the person implicated were now con- 
 firmed : for the fugitives' account stated that the first person 
 who got w T ind of their flight was a Yankee schoolmaster ; 
 and that, accompanied by a large number of planters and 
 overseers, he had pursued them on a steamer, and was on 
 the point of overhauling them, when, providentially, some- 
 thing gave way aboard the steamer, and so they escaped. 
 This schoolmaster, it was added, was named Walter Gomery, 
 from the town of Montgomery, State of . 
 
 So it appeared that Walter was getting credit from nei- 
 ther party for his services. The fugitives accused him of 
 exposing their plans, and attempting to catch them, that they 
 might be remanded to slavery. The slave-owners, on the 
 other hand, ascribed to him the disabling of the engine, and 
 their consequent escape. Capt. Dykes at once perceived the 
 truth of the case, and wrote a letter to a Boston paper, stat- 
 ing that, of his own knowledge, the Yankee schoolmaster, 
 who was accused by the fugitives of having informed upon 
 them, and the young man who was in prison for having pre- 
 vented their recapture, were one and the same person. This 
 statement of Capt. Dykes was read by the people of Mont- 
 gomery ; when, for the first time, they learned of the actual 
 part taken by Walter, but of which his father and mother 
 had known for weeks. 
 
 These accounts, being copied into various papers, soon 
 reached Lancaster; and great was the alarm which they 
 caused. It would be a month longer before the court would 
 sit that could try the prisoner, and it was not certain that 
 a capital case would be made of it even then. There was 
 no time to lose. It was necessary that he should be tided 
 and hanged, legally and decently, before the facts of the case 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 271 
 
 were fully bruited at the North. Besides (and which was of 
 more importance), the slaves far and near were taking a great 
 interest in the case ; and, in spite of all that flogging could 
 do, there were a great many secret meetings being held; 
 and a plot to burn the town and rescue the prisoner was 
 suspected. 
 
 But, while debating on this difficult matter, another letter 
 was received from Seth Mettlar. It had been written in the 
 Chesterville jail — though he did not allude to that inter- 
 esting fact in the letter — to a friend in Boston to be posted. 
 In this letter he said, that, in his former one, he had omitted 
 to mention certain suspicious circumstances that had come 
 under his observation, and which he thought it important 
 that his " Southern friends " should know. He said that it 
 was beyond question that a desperate attempt was to be 
 made to rescue the atrocious criminal that they held a pris- 
 oner, and that no time should be lost in rendering such an 
 act an impossibility. The means to be adopted for this were 
 entirely unknown to him ; but it was quite clear that the 
 father of the culprit was in collusion with spies and traitors 
 in their own midst. A suspicious-looking man had been 
 lurking about Montgomery some two weeks before, and it 
 was known that he held secret interviews with the elder 
 Gomery ; and there was no doubt that he brought secret in- 
 formation of the son's disgraceful acts. He was a tall, spare 
 man, with light hair and eyes, a little bald, with a scar on 
 his left cheek, was minus a front tooth, and apparently from 
 thirty to thirty-five years of age. 
 
 This letter was first read by the postmaster, who took it 
 to the district judge, and then to Dr. Lancy, and afterwards 
 to the jailer. Suspicion at once fell on the right party, 
 though they could hardly believe that such a true Southron 
 could be guilty of such turpitude. He was so loyal to 
 Southern institutions, such a hater of fanaticism, so vindic- 
 tive against all suspected of antislavery prejudices, was so 
 sensitive of his honor, so proud of his Cavalier ancestry, that 
 he was the last man to suspect in the whole country. Nev- 
 ertheless, the signs were against him. The description an- 
 swered to his; and he had frequently visited the prisoner 
 during the first days of his confinement, and had subse- 
 quently gone North, ostensibly called thither by the death of 
 a brother. He had returned flush of money, saying that it 
 
272 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY! 
 
 was left him by the deceased ; but that was only his word, 
 and proved nothing. Notwithstanding, however, all this 
 accumulated evidence against him, as he was a high-toned 
 gentleman, and very sensitive on points of honor, it would 
 not do to hint a suspicion without proof positive. Therefore, 
 proof must first be sought; and the best way they could 
 imagine to find it was to search his rooms, and overhaul his 
 papers. Taking advantage of his absence, this was done; and 
 in the side-pocket of his best coat was found the order of 
 Freeborn Gomery on himself, indorsed by Walter. This 
 was sufficient ; and the self-constituted detectives proclaimed 
 aloud that they had discovered the traitor. Soon after, the 
 unfortunate Larcomb returned home, and found his room full 
 of people. He feared he was suspected, but thought he had 
 covered his tracks too well to be traced or discovered. He 
 had forgotten that he had left the draft where it could be so 
 easily found. But, when he saw the angry faces of the crowd 
 that had gathered around the house where he lived, he sus- 
 pected the worst. They hardly showed less fury towards 
 their own high-toned friend than they had shown a short time 
 before towards the low, grovelling Yankee. The draft was 
 handed to him by Dr. Lancy ; and a dozen angry voices at 
 once asked how he came by it. 
 
 The poor wretch had nothing to say. He cowed and 
 cringed and begged; he whined and sniffled. He said he 
 didn't see what harm it was to euchre them mean Yankees 
 out of two or three thousand dollars. But it was all of no 
 avail. Those who have lived in the South well know the ever- 
 present dread of servile insurrection. Who might they not 
 suspect, if this man, a pink of chivalry, a dead-shot, who had 
 pinked one man and killed another, was a traitor. He, the 
 soul of honor, was false ; and who could be trusted ? 
 
 Tar and feathers were suggested ; and soon after a blazing 
 fire was on the common, and a kettle of tar was soon warmed 
 into comfortable and liquid consistency ; and, amid the hoot- 
 ings and execrations of five hundred people, this scion of the 
 old Cavalier stock was decked in plumage that once adorned 
 the sea-fowls of the coast of Labrador. Then a rail was 
 brought ; and four stout negroes were ordered to bear him 
 beyond the limits of the town, where he was put down, and 
 told, that, if ever seen in that vicinity again, he would not 
 get off alive. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 273 
 
 The next morning, lie was found dead about a mile from 
 the town, with a bullet through his head. No one knew who 
 had shot him ; no one cared. He had died as he deserved 
 to die ; and that was enough. 
 
 But there was great uneasiness felt, not only in Lancaster, 
 but throughout the entire county. The slaves were acting 
 suspiciously. They knew well enough that the prisoner had 
 sacrificed his life to give freedom to their companions in 
 bondage. There was something very strange in this, how- 
 ever. In their experience and knowledge of white men, 
 they had never seen any thing like it. They thought this 
 man, now a prisoner, must be an exception to all others they 
 had ever known. They thought there must be something 
 more than human about him ; and in spite of all that mas- 
 ters, overseers, or dogs could do, the slaves would get to- 
 gether, and talk of the case of " poor Walter," as he was 
 called by them. Among themselves, they said he was not a 
 man, but " a angel ; " that the day of deliverance was at 
 hand. This man must be, at least, a second John the Bap- 
 tist. 
 
 In this alarming state of affairs, a public meeting was 
 called to take into consideration the means necessary to the 
 public security. No colored people were allowed to be 
 present ; and even the poorer class of whites was excluded. 
 At this meeting, it was decided that a small and select 
 Committee of Public Safety should be chosen, who should 
 have full power to act, and not be held responsible to any- 
 body. It was voted that the laws should not be allowed to 
 interfere with the exercise of their duties ; that they should 
 never be called upon to report ; but that their doings should 
 ever remain secret. 
 
 Of course, only men of very high character could be 
 trusted on so important a committee. In selecting it, every 
 member must not only have large investments in human 
 cattle, but must have imbibed a love of slavery with his 
 mother's, or rather his nurse's milk. Some were proposed 
 for the committee on account of their brutal and inhuman 
 treatment of their slaves ; but this was considered more as 
 a proof of a bad temper than of pure blood. Others were 
 considered disqualified by reason of their blood having been 
 contaminated, at some period, by a Northern alliance. 
 Kingsbury was rejected, most righteously, for having so far 
 
274 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 forgot himself as to marry a Northern woman for a wife. 
 The chairman of the committee was Col. Singleton, a mem- 
 ber of the State Senate, and said to be booked for the next 
 Congress. His two associates were Solomon Scoville and 
 Dr. Lancy; the former distinguished as a leading member 
 of the Old-School Church, and for his success in redeeming 
 an encumbered estate in Virginia, which had been accom- 
 plished by raising babies to sell in the markets of the cotton 
 and sugar States. The other was a man of great wealth ; 
 and owned more slaves than any other two men in the county. 
 His wife was his first cousin ; and the estate had been hers 
 before marriage, when she was regarded as the richest heiress 
 in Georgia. They claimed descent, in a direct line, from 
 John Lancy, son of a baronet of that name who had fallen 
 in the battle of Sedgemoor, and whose son received a large 
 grant of land in Virginia from Charles II. after the Restora- 
 tion. The grantee had a sister who was a famous belle in 
 her day, and one of the bright lights of that virtuous mon- 
 arch's court. Some said that the king's gratitude was of 
 that kind which is a sense of favors to come ; but, of course, 
 that was a gross slander on a virtuous and grateful monarch. 
 
 The committee held a secret meeting the same night ; and 
 it was decided that the most prompt measures should be 
 taken. To wait for the regular term of the court, they all 
 agreed would be suicidal ; for if they could get a conviction, 
 and conviction for a capital crime, it would be dangerous to 
 venture on a public execution. The slaves all regarded him 
 as a saint or deliverer; and though any outbreak or insur- 
 rection could, as they believed, be easily suppressed, they 
 would all look upon him as a blessed martyr. They might 
 think, if there was one man so self-sacrificing, there must be 
 many; and if the abolitionists, which their masters had 
 always told them were a set of ghouls that feasted on the 
 flesh of young picaninnies, were like this one who freely 
 ventured his own life for them, it must be a fine thing to 
 escape to a land where abolitionists were abundant. 
 
 But the chief ground of alarm was the danger that the 
 slaves might regard his execution as a crime of their own, 
 and might avenge it with fearful fury. The current of 
 thought among them was well understood. One of their 
 most influential preachers had been overheard, in a meeting 
 held in the darkest midnight, praying to the Lord to en- 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 275 
 
 lighten him in his duty. The burden of his prayer was, that 
 a good man — one who, like the God he addressed, and the 
 Redeemer of the world, loved the slave — had come among 
 them, and had broken many chains, and was to be put to 
 death for it. Was it his duty, and the duty of the other 
 darkies, to rise up, and try to save him ? or would they not 
 deserve chains of slavery in this life, and the chains of hell 
 afterwards, if they quietly held their peace, and made no 
 effort for his deliverance ? 
 
 Another difficulty in the way of a public trial and execu- 
 tion would be the notoriety they would entail. The facts 
 would certainly all get out if he were to have a regular, open 
 trial. He would then be privileged to employ counsel ; and, 
 as it was now known that he had relations of wealth 
 and influence, some famous lawyers of national reputation, 
 whom it would not do to tar and feather, might be sent 
 to defend him ; and then they would learn all about the 
 monstrous system of falsehood that it had been necessary to 
 adopt in order to maintain Southern rights and Southern 
 honor. If he would only oblige them, and die, it would 
 save a world of trouble ; and if he would not even do so 
 small a thing as that, after all the trouble he had given them, 
 then it was no more than right that means should be found 
 to make him do it. 
 
 The same committee met again at ten o'clock the next 
 morning; and, this time, it was considered necessary to 
 take into their counsels another person, — a man whose busi- 
 ness it was to hunt up runaway slaves, and who kept a 
 pack of dogs for that purpose. They concluded that a man 
 whose business evinced so laudable a desire to guard the 
 sacred rights of property would have no scruples in under- 
 taking any job that promised good pay. But they were 
 mistaken : he required to be both flattered and coaxed. His 
 name was George Riley ; though he was always called cock- 
 eyed Riley, from a defect of vision that his nickname clearly 
 indicated. He had made a moderate fortune by buying 
 runaways at a low figure, and hunting them from their holes, 
 and then selling them to be taken West or South. His 
 business was revolting, even to those that employed him ; 
 and, sensible of the abhorrence in which he was held, he 
 was very scrupulous in his deportment. He was very 
 anxious for social recognition; and, to gain it, was most 
 
276 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 exemplary in general conduct. He was temperate in his 
 habits, punctual at church, and liberal in all public displays 
 and charities. He was now a widower of forty, with one 
 child, — a daughter, whom, though grossly illiterate himself, he 
 spared no expense to have educated. Such was the man 
 taken into the counsels of the Committee of Public Safety. 
 They were all closeted in a room in Col. Singleton's house ; 
 and the vanity of Riley was highly inflated when he received 
 a polite note from the chairman, saying that he was invited 
 to meet the committee on business of the first importance 
 and the strictest privacy. Of course, he attended with 
 alacrity. 
 
 " Well, George," said the chairman : " this is serious busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " Very serious, Col. Singleton." 
 
 " We have concluded that it is necessary to have a special 
 jailer for this fellow that's in prison." 
 
 "What is the objection to Jim Iverson? He's an honest 
 man enough. You know he was offered five thousand dol- 
 lars to give young Gadden a chance to escape : but he 
 wouldn't touch it ; and so old Gov. Gadden saved his mon- 
 ey. He might 'ave known a Georgia jury would never con- 
 vict a son of a gov'nor, and of the old Cavalier stock besides. 
 Do you know, colonel" — 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Seeing we are all gentlemen, I don't mind telling you 
 something." 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 " The old gov'nor give me a thousand dollars to find him 
 a witness. Not that I cared for the money ; but I thought it 
 my duty, as a man and a Christian, to prevent the disgrace 
 of a public execution of a member of one of the best fami- 
 lies on the eastern shore. 
 
 " You are as bad as Iverson. He is an honest man enough : 
 but he will blab. What business had he to tell about that 
 offer of five thousand dollars? You know it led to the 
 death of young Poindexter. He repeated the story, and 
 said it was a scandalous affair. Nobody could deny that : 
 yet Gadden's brother was bound to take it up, and call him 
 out to vindicate the family honor ; and the result was, Poin- 
 dexter was shot. Now, if you are to be admitted into our 
 councils, you must hold your tongue." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 277 
 
 " Certainly, certainly ! I shall be the discreetest critter 
 ever you seen." 
 
 " Well, then, you must act as special jailer." 
 
 " Special jailer ! Hum ! I 'spose I'll be well paid for it. My 
 time is vaPable now; for there's heaps o' niggers running off. 
 So I'll expect pay for my time, though I'm as anxious as any- 
 body to see this infernal villain hung. This thing of running 
 off niggers by sea must be stopped, or my business will be 
 ruined. My dogs won't be worth three dollars apiece." 
 
 " Well, then, you must undertake this business ; and if 
 every thing is carried out well, and you do your duty honor- 
 ably and like a gentleman, three days after the affair is over 
 you shall be paid, in gold, five hundred dollars." 
 
 "What am I to do?" 
 
 " Can't you surmise ? It will never do to bring that sneak- 
 ing coward to trial." 
 
 " Well, then, why not call him out ? Have the weapons 
 doctored, and there will be no danger." 
 
 " A Southern gentleman call out a Yankee thief to fight ! 
 I thought you had some sense." 
 
 " What is to be done, then ? " 
 
 " Hush ! He must be coaxed to die in prison." 
 
 " Oh ! you want him pisened, do you ? Well, I shall have 
 nothing to do with that job." 
 
 "Yes, very likely," said Lancy, rising up, and walking 
 across the room : " that is just the way with you mean-spirited 
 nigger-catchers ! You care for nothing but money ; haven't a 
 particle of public spirit." 
 
 "You don't consider the importance of this w r ork," said 
 Scoville. " You will be doing what will entitle you to the 
 gratitude of the whole State, if they could know of it." 
 
 " And to be hanged myself, if I'm found out." 
 
 " You will not be found out," said Lancy. " No one will 
 know of it but yourself, unless you tell of it ; and, besides, 
 some one must do it. The safety of our institutions and the 
 conservation of society require it. It is a necessity. Have 
 you no patriotism ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Scoville. "And have you no religion ? Are 
 you not aware that we are exposed to a deluge of Northern 
 infidelity, and that it is a religious duty to labor with all our 
 might to check the first inroads of their abominable here- 
 sies?" 
 
 vol. II. 24 
 
278 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY. 
 
 " I hope I ain't senseless to my religious duties," replied the 
 slave-catcher. 
 
 " But have you no patriotism ? " broke in Lancy. " We 
 are not to look too nicely into the character of our acts, when 
 the institutions of liberty and the religion of our forefathers 
 are at stake." 
 
 " How do you propose to do it ? " said Riley, beginning to 
 yield. " I am afeard I'll be fotched up if I try it." 
 
 " Not the least danger," said Lancy. " I know just the way 
 to do it. Only give him a sleeping draught a little too strong 
 for him, and the thing is done." 
 
 " But there'll be a public inquiry." 
 
 " We have provided for that. Iverson will know nothing 
 of it; and when he goes in and finds him past waking, with 
 a bottle marked 'Laudanum' by his side, of course he will 
 see that he committed suicide." 
 
 "That's true," said Riley, musing. "How much did you 
 say would be paid ? " 
 
 "Five hundred dollars." 
 
 " I don't mind so much about the money ; but I am strong- 
 ly impressed with the patriotic and religious arguments of 
 the case. On the whole, I think I will. I'll take charge of him. 
 But I must consider further about putting him to sleep. 
 Good joke, that!" 
 
 "Very well : we shall tell Iverson to turn him over to you. 
 You- will keep the key of his cell, and go in and see that all 
 is safe two or three times a day. I will give you the medi- 
 cine in a day or two, and the directions for using it." 
 
 The slave-catcher left, and the other three remained. 
 
 "Faith," said Scoville, "how do we know he will not be- 
 tray us ? He is bad enough for any thing." 
 
 "Because he knows nobody would believe him," said Sin- 
 gleton. " We have only to stand together, and say he is an 
 infamous liar, as everybody knows he is ; and he would be 
 put out of the way in the twinkling of a jack-knife." 
 
 The patriotic slave-catcher was duly installed as special 
 guardian of Walter ; and his employers had taken pains to 
 say to certain persons, who were sure to report it to him, that 
 it had been thought necessary, for so important a trust, to 
 have some one of character and responsibility. The remark, 
 however, repeated to others, caused a grim smile on many 
 features. 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 279 
 
 Riley was in high spirits ; his vanity was touched ; and he 
 thought that now he had surmounted the social prejudice 
 against him, and spoke of the duties that "us leading men 
 owes to society." The first day after his instalment, he 
 sent a magnificent bouquet (the flowers for which he had 
 bribed Dr. Lancy's gardener to procure for him. from Mrs. 
 Lancy's hot-house) to the daughter of Col. Singleton, to 
 whom he had never yet been allowed to speak. She would 
 have indignantly returned it with a stinging message, but 
 her father forbade it. The next day, she received another 
 still finer, with a card, on which two hearts, with an arrow 
 pierced through them (like two pigeons on a spit), were nice- 
 ly worked in pencil ; and underneath this suggestive figure 
 were the oft-quoted lines from Ingomar, in the donor's own 
 proper and peculiar calligraphy, and so altered in the spelling 
 as to conform to the writer's ideas of orthography : — 
 
 " To Soles with Butt a single thawt, 
 To harts that bete as wun." 
 
 This was too much even for Col. Singleton to stand ; and 
 he soothed his proud and angry daughter by telling her that 
 he would put a stop to such things in the future. He accord- 
 ingly told Riley, in the course of the day, that his daughter 
 was engaged to a very devil of a fire-eater in Charleston, 
 who was jealous and brave as Othello, and would be sure to 
 call out any man of his own standing if he found him trying 
 to supplant him in his daughter's affections. He was a terri- 
 ble duellist, was this Palmetto Quattlebum ; and that was 
 the only objection to him as a son-in-law. 
 
 "But," said Riley, his hopes falling fast, " I seen her walk 
 home from church twice with Bill Tyson ; and the boy that 
 took my bokets said that he took 'em for Bill e'enamost 
 every day." 
 
 "But you know Bill Tyson is nobody: his father owns 
 only four niggers, but he buys tobacco and sells goods; and 
 Bill, because he has been North, and got learning at one of 
 their colleges, thinks a heap of himself. But who would ever 
 think of taking him into the Committee of Public Safety ? 
 Oh, no ! it's only such men as you are, of high character and 
 large property, that could excite Quattlebum's jealousy. Of 
 course, he must be informed of your attentions. I hope you 
 will get through this little affair in the jail before he comes; 
 
280 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 for, if you do not, we must get somebody else, as he will not 
 wait two hours for satisfaction ; and, as he is a dead shot, the 
 result will be as well known before it happens as afterwards." 
 
 " Oh, my dear colonel ! I didn't mean nothing. Do write 
 to him, and say as much ; and I'll never do so no more." 
 
 " I'll do the best I can about it. But you must not neglect 
 this other matter." 
 
 "Never fear, colonel, about that. He'll sleep well to- 
 morrow night, I reckon." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 281 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " Brabantio. It is too true an evil : gone she is; 
 And what's to come of my despised time 
 Is nought but bitterness."— Othello. 
 
 The unfortunate and persecuted Seth Mettlar is fast locked 
 up in the Chesterville jail ; and no one of his late friends goes 
 to visit him or comfort him in his misfortunes. Even his 
 once devoted brother-in-law avoids him ; and the swift witness 
 in Boston, who had been a constant and pestilent friend 
 during his days of prosperity, always calling for more money, 
 and threatening disclosures if he did not get it, suddenly took 
 flight for parts unknown when he learned that his patron and 
 chief had come to grief. Squire Gomery and Joe Pumpagin 
 — for, though his true name is now known to be Randolph 
 Gault, he is still and always will be called Joe Pumpagin by 
 the people of Montgomery — are busy in preparing the legal 
 papers that shall restore the Gomery Estate to its rightful 
 owner. Though, by the legal verdicts and decisions in the 
 case of Mettlar vs. Gomery, Joe might claim it for himself, 
 he knew that, in justice, he had no right to it whatever: be- 
 sides, he did not want it if he had. His investments farther west 
 had made him rich, — rich as he wanted to be; and he felt, 
 that, with a single exception, the labors of his life were over, 
 and he might rest in quiet, and take his ease till he was sum- 
 moned to commence his last and longest journey. But he 
 must make an effort to save Walter ; and for that no time is 
 to be lost. Hastily he applied himself to preparing his state- 
 ment of his early history, identifying himself as the son of 
 David Gault, the first settler on Gault's Hill, and making 
 formal oaths to the same. Then he made a will, by which he 
 named Walter Gomery the heir of all his property ; and, 
 in case he did not survive him, then it was to take the due 
 line of inheritance in the same manner as though he had died 
 seized of it. Thus, if neither were to return alive, the whole 
 of Joe's property would fall to Freeborn Gomery. 
 
 24* 
 
282 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 The papers had all been drawn up so as to be used at the 
 trial of Seth Mettlar in case that Joe should not be able to 
 return in season to testify at the trial. Every thing was 
 ready ; and he sat, in the evening, in the parlor at the Pivot, in 
 company with the squire and his wife and Lady Beresford, 
 discussing different plans for Walter's rescue. It was decided 
 that he should leave the next morning for New York ; and 
 there he was to rely on his wits, which, on many occasions as 
 difficult as this, had served him most effectually. It was get- 
 ting late ; and they were all about retiring for the night, when 
 a low tap was heard at the door. The squire advanced, and 
 opened it ; and a crouching female figure, sobbing violently, 
 passed into the room. She sank into a chair near. The 
 bright lights of the room revealed that it was Hester's 
 mother, Dorcas Homer. 
 
 " What, my good woman, does this mean ? " said the squire. 
 
 " She's gone ! " sobbed the distressed woman. 
 
 " Gone ! who's gone ? " said he. " Be calm ; and, if there is 
 any new trouble, we must see what can be done." 
 
 " She has gone, — Hester. She left her house last night in 
 the night ; and I can't find her nowhere." 
 
 "When did you see her last?" inquired Mrs. Gomery. 
 
 "Last evening. I left her at seven o'clock to go home ; and 
 she told the servants all to go to bed, and she has not been 
 seen since. They come and told me, this morning, that she 
 had gone, and I was scared. I said, ' Of course, she has gone 
 to Chesterville to see her husband ;' but Mr. Homer said she 
 had gone any way but that. But I took Mr. Mettlar's horse 
 and wagon, and drove clear up to Chesterville all alone ; and 
 the jailer said there had been no woman there ; and I come 
 home, and I couldn't learn any thing about her, though I have 
 inquired at all the neighbors' ; and Mr. Homer won't move, 
 but he sets there at home, and don't speak to anybody. The 
 only words he said all day yesterday were, 'My mother, O 
 my mother ! forgive me ! ' And Obed he calls him hard names ; 
 and he drinks dreadful, poor boy ! " Here the poor woman 
 broke down with sobs and sighs ; and Mrs. Gomery went and 
 sat down beside her, and put her arm around her, and said, 
 " No, no ! do not cry so : we will all try and find Hester ; for 
 we all loved Hester." 
 
 The kind words seemed but to aggravate the unhappy 
 woman's grief; and the half-pent sorrow now gushed forth in 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 283 
 
 loud lamentations and sclf-upbraidings. After a while, toe 
 woman became more calm ; and then the squire told her that 
 they would all set to, and look for Hester on the following 
 day. If she had gone away, then Mr. Pumpagin, who was 
 to leave the next morning for Boston and New York, would 
 inquire at every point for her, and, if he learned any thing of 
 her, would bring her back. 
 
 " Ah, no, no ! " said the mother. " She has not gone away; 
 she has drowned herself in the river. Ever since she was 
 married, she has been in the habit of going down to the bank 
 of the river, and sitting down on the roots of the big elm 
 that bends over the flood below the falls, and looking for 
 hours into the angry, bubbling stream. I know now what 
 she was thinking of; and she is drowned." 
 
 Here Joe could not restrain himself; but, as if musing to 
 himself, said, "Ah, yes ! I remember, — 
 
 1 There is a willow grows askant the brook, 
 That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream : 
 Therewith fantastic garlands did she make 
 Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, 
 That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, 
 Bnt our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them : 
 There, on the pendent bows her coronet weeds 
 Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
 When down her weedy trophies and herself 
 Fell in the weeping brook.' " 
 
 "I do not think she is drowned," said the squire ; " and to- 
 morrow we will look for her, and will continue to look till we 
 learn something of her fate. Since I have lived here, several 
 people have been drowned in the river; but their bodies have 
 all been found within a few days. At the place suggested, 
 the river is so rapid, that it is no use to drag the bottom ; for 
 a person falling in there would be carried half a mile below. 
 We will rouse the whole town for the search to-morrow. Mr. 
 Pumpagin will endeavor to find her if she has gone away to 
 any distance. So cheer up, my good woman, and let us hope 
 for the best. Your grief is not greater than ours." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that, Square Gomery ; don't say that ! You 
 have not sold your child, and broke his heart for pride and 
 gold, as I have. It is all my fault, my shame, my sin ! " Here 
 the woman broke out again in louder cries, and fell prostrate 
 on the floor, her hands stretched towards Gomery. 
 
284 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY! 
 
 This painful scene brought tears into all eyes; and Mrs. 
 Gomery attempted to raise the prostrate woman ; but her 
 strength was not sufficient. The prostrate form before her 
 was too helpless and limp to make an effort to rise. Joe 
 Pumpagin saw that it was time for him to act. He opened 
 the door to the kitchen, and bade all the servants, consisting 
 of two men and two women, to come in. They came rush- 
 ing in on the instant, fearing that something had befallen 
 Mrs. Gomery. 
 
 " Gently," said Joe, — " gently take up that woman, and 
 bear her to a bed ; gently, I say." 
 
 The order was implicitly obeyed ; and Mrs. Gomery fol- 
 lowed them into the bed-room, which had always been held 
 as a sort of reserve for any member of the family who might 
 chance to be sick. "Build a fire," said she to one of the 
 men. She then proceeded, with the aid of the maid-ser- 
 vants, to disrobe the miserable woman ; and, after having 
 placed her in the bed, she told one of the serving-women to go 
 and steep some valerian, and the other to bring the camphor- 
 bottle and the paregoric. Mrs. Gomery had rightly judged 
 that her patient was suffering from nervous excitement, and 
 that what she most needed was rest and sleep. She rubbed 
 her temples with the camphorated spirit, and gave her a cup 
 of strong valerian-tea, and afterwards as much paregoric as 
 she thought it safe to administer. The woman tried to talk ; 
 but Mrs. Gomery hushed her to silence ; and, in the course 
 of an hour or two, she dropped off into a light sleep. Mrs. 
 Gomery sent the two servants to bed, and said she would call 
 them when wanted. She then sat down by the side of the 
 sick woman's bed, and remained watching her, repeating 
 the doses of valerian whenever she woke up, till she heard the 
 clock strike four. Then she called one of the servant-girls 
 to take her place, and retired to seek her own pillow. Her 
 husband and Joe sat up for an hour or two, till they found 
 that the sick woman had fallen asleep. 
 
 The next morning, Squire Gomery rose as soon as it was 
 light; but Joe had already left the house, and gone to the 
 village, where he was to take the stage, and set forth on 
 his journey for the rescue of Walter. 
 
 Mrs. Homer, though very weak, in the morning was calm, 
 and conscious of what had passed the night before. She in- 
 sisted on returning home; and the squire took the large 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 285 
 
 family carriage, and, with his wife, carried her to her own 
 house. They then drove into the village ; and, telling of the 
 flight of Hester, they set the whole town on the search ; 
 but no tidings or trace of her could be found. 
 
 When Joe Pumpagin arrived at the station where the 
 stage discharged its passengers for the train, he inquired if a 
 woman had applied for a ticket the day before. But the sta- 
 tion-master could give no information ; for another man had 
 been in charge the day before, and he had left on the first 
 train that morning for Boston. He inquired of all the 
 hangers-on, baggage-men, and conductors, if they had any 
 recollection of a woman entering the cars at that place the 
 day before ; but no one could remember any such person as 
 he described. Some twenty passengers had entered the 
 train there the day before ; among them, several ladies ; but 
 all strangers. Joe felt that his principal business was too 
 pressing for him to wait. He must hurry on, or else be too 
 late ; and leave others to the task of finding Hester. 
 
 With the best despatch he could make, Joe made direct for 
 New York, and, within four hours of his arrival, had bought 
 and paid for the schooner "Post-boy," that was already 
 partially loaded with lime, bricks, and lumber, to be taken to 
 Richmond. He bought every thing, and had the papers duly 
 executed ; and, constituting himself commander, in thirty 
 hours after reaching New York, the canvas of the " Post-boy " 
 could have been seen scudding down 'the bay before a stiff 
 north-west breeze. 
 
286 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " He spake of love, — such love as spirits feel 
 In worlds whose course is equable and pure; 
 
 No fears to beat away, no strife to heal ; 
 The past unsigned for, and the future sure : 
 
 Spake of heroic arts in graver mood 
 
 Revived, with finer harmony pursued. 
 
 Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there 
 
 In happier beauty : more pellucid streams, 
 An ample ether, a diviner air, 
 
 And fields invested with purpureal gleams ; 
 Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day 
 Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. " — Wordsworth. 
 
 During the time that Walter's keepers were making their 
 benevolent preparations for his quiet exit from the trials and 
 troubles of this capricious world, he remained closely con- 
 fined in his cell, awaiting the doom that he regarded as inev- 
 itable. He was allowed paper, pen, and ink, and assured by 
 Dr. Lancy, on the honor of a Southern gentleman, that any 
 letters he might wish to send would be sacredly forwarded, 
 with their seals unbroken. He mildly answered that he had 
 already experienced too well the value of slavemongers' 
 honor to think of trusting to it again. "To that honor," 
 said he, "I trusted, and was betrayed; but, when I trusted 
 to their cupidity, I succeeded. The man that will steal will 
 lie : the highwayman will not respect private letters ; and, as 
 sure as the greater includes the less, the man that will uphold 
 and justify a system that robs a man of himself, imbrutes 
 him, and makes him a thing, a chattel, a slave, will commit 
 any lesser crime. If you will rob other men of every right 
 that God has given them, why should you respect my right 
 to have my letters forwarded unopened and unread?" The 
 doctor hastily retired from this charge of hot shot; saying, as 
 he went, that "there was only one way to teach low-bred 
 Yankees the respect due to Southern gentlemen." 
 
 Soon after this, Walter observed that a new keeper was 
 placed over him. The old jailer, Iverson, for whom he had 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 287 
 
 begun to form a sort of regard, no longer had the key of his 
 cell, and never came to see him, except in company with his 
 new custodian. To this new keeper, Walter, at the first in- 
 terview, felt a deep and instinctive repugnance. He was 
 intrusive of his company and conversation ; and, when Wal- 
 ter asked him why the other man had been superseded, he 
 told him confidentially, and in a whisper, that " we citizens 
 of the first families thought it necessary to have a man of 
 high character and influence in so important a position." 
 
 Three days after the new keeper was installed in his office, 
 he was invited to meet Dr. Lancy at his private house. He 
 complied; and, on leaving, took away with him two small 
 papers containing powders. The one was an astringent, 
 nearly tasteless, and calculated to produce thirst, and was to 
 be mixed with the food of the prisoner's supper. The other 
 was morphine, and, of course, intensely bitter. The first 
 would produce thirst; and, when the prisoner should ask for 
 water, there was to be none in the jail. At that time, the 
 new keeper was to suggest that he was about taking a drink 
 of ale, and offer a glass to his prisoner, which would doubt- 
 less be accepted, and eagerly drank off without the extra bit- 
 terness from the added soporific being observed. 
 
 There was neither art nor novelty in this time-out-of-mind 
 method of murder; and there was no need of either, as there 
 was no fear of post-mortem investigations. 
 
 The plan, as sketched by Lancy, was carried out to the 
 letter by Riley. The beer, into which the light powder had 
 been thrown, was drunk off by its intended victim; after 
 which social act, Riley immediately left the jail, with the key 
 of Walter's room in his pocket, telling Iverson that he should 
 be back again that night, or early in the morning. 
 
 It was »past eleven o'clock when Riley left the prison. 
 As soon as he had gone, Walter began pacing up and down 
 his narrow cell. Gradually he experienced a most pleasing 
 sensation stealing over him ; when, divesting himself of his 
 clothes, he lay down on his low, miserable bed, and blew out 
 the only tallow dip that was allowed him. A moment after, 
 he fancied he heard his name called by a soft voice at his 
 solitary window. He listened, and was sure he heard the 
 w T ords, "Walter, Walter! speak tome! — one word!" in a 
 tone that was most pleasing and familiar. But the powerful 
 opiate he had taken rendered his thoughts intensely rapid 
 
288 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY I 
 
 and inconsecutive. Notwithstanding this, however, the fan- 
 cied resemblance to a voice that once breathed into his ears 
 the words of love, that, after their forfeiture, still retained a 
 lingering sweetness, caused his thoughts to take up the 
 tangled thread of his unhappy passion ; and, in a few short 
 moments, he seemed to live over again the joys of his entire 
 life. But the sweet, sad tones of the familiar voice continued 
 to sound in his ears as his whole life seemed to spread out 
 in a grand panorama before him. It appeared to him that he 
 was lifted above the earth, and that earthly love was the 
 only bond that connected him with it, and that love had a 
 perpetual sad refrain. Yet it was a delicious delirium. 
 Then he closed his eyes to the darkness to contemplate the 
 ever-changing, ever-beautiful scenes and objects that floated 
 before his mental sight. Then he yielded to a state of insen- 
 sibility, and knew no more for he knew not how long. 
 
 At length he awakened to what appeared to him a new 
 life ; and his first thought was, that old things had passed 
 away, and that he had entered on that existence which is 
 without end. He saw not, knew not, where he was ; but the 
 pains, the doubts, the cares, of earth had lost their hold on 
 him. The sadness of love's refrain was changed to tran- 
 scendent joy. He seemed to be drifting out on <the sea of 
 eternity ; and w r hile a perfect recollection, or rather present 
 consciousness, of every event, scene, thought, bias, action, 
 love, and passion, was present to him, he looked back upon 
 it all as past, and as if each had contributed to fit him for the 
 full enjoyment of his exceeding happiness. He seemed to 
 mingle in and become a part of the great ocean of infinity. 
 Though mingling thus, like the raindrops with the ocean, 
 he still preserved his identity, and his individual, distinct con- 
 sciousness ; and the dark spots on his life, that he viewed with 
 sorrow in the flesh, were still reproachfully visible, and 
 seemed to say it must be millions of ages ere they could be 
 washed out, and fade away in the light of all-consuming love. 
 And yet his happiness so far excelled all human conceptions 
 of bliss, that his soul swelled with praise to his Creator for 
 having brought him out from the gross cares of time to bathe 
 in this eternal ether. The power of motion and speech were 
 gone ; and yet he seemed to know and be permeated with 
 the knowledge, feelings, sensations, and ideas of those around 
 him, who mingled and made up the infinity of beings that 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 
 
 pervaded space. His sensitiveness to happiness seemed a 
 thousand times multiplied ; and, compared with present enjoy- 
 ment, all that had passed was as the lightest trifles. They were 
 mere nothings. They seemed only to have been the means 
 of developing and forming his character, as chinks or cogs 
 in the machinery of his life, that had at last evolved a being 
 capable of exquisite happiness. And yet he appeared to be 
 on the shores of the great ocean of eternity; and the happiness 
 he enjoyed was but as a grain of sand on the seashore, com- 
 pared with the measureless expanse of divine effulgence 
 which it would require an eternity to contemplate, though 
 ever progressing from one stage of happiness to another, 
 ever opening on new fields of knowledge, ever going from 
 the surprise of before-unseen excellence to yet brighter 
 views ; passing on thus, from stage to stage, through an eter- 
 nity of beatitude. The loves of earth seemed developed 
 into ethereal realization ; and even then, before its object had 
 yet left the earth, he seemed to be quickened, thrilled, and 
 intensely electrified by the presence of that love, which, in 
 life, he had thought lost and fatal. All had served to quicken, 
 strengthen, and intensify the great joy and boundless rapture 
 of eternity ; and he blessed the good Being who had made 
 him for the adversities he had endured. 
 
 How long he continued in this illusion or revery he had 
 no idea : it might have been moments or ages. Time, with 
 the things of earth, had been left behind. 
 
 Riley, after having left the jail, went to his own house ; but, 
 as might naturally be supposed of a man who had just com- 
 mitted murder, he was restless, and unable to sleep, though 
 he took several large glasses of raw whiskey as a sleep- 
 compelling sedative. He lay tossing in his bed for an hour, 
 and then rose and dressed himself, and again went forth 
 into the street. Against his will, he was impelled to stray 
 down in the direction of the jail. The night was dark and 
 still ; and he approached, thinking to listen, and satisfy himself 
 that all was progressing favorably. He drew near to the 
 main door, and applied his ear to the keyhole. Nothing 
 could be heard but the heavy snoring of old Mose, the 
 negro whose business it was to keep the jail in order. He 
 passed round the corner of the jail to reach Walter's window; 
 but, just as he drew near, a figure in white jumped up, and 
 
 vol. ii. 25 
 
290 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 gave a slight, faint cry, and fled into the darkness. But it 
 did not fly half as fast in one direction as Riley did in the 
 other. The first glimpse was enough for him. He did not 
 doubt that it was a veritable ghost ; and, dark as it was, he 
 could not have made more direct nor half as rapid tracks to 
 his own room, had it been broad daylight, and his own dogs, 
 like Actaeon's, in pursuit. He entered his room, but was 
 so agitated, he could scarcely lock his door; and he dared not 
 strike a light, for fear it should betray him to the ghost or 
 devil, or whatever it might be, that he was now persuaded 
 had come for him. To add to his griefs, in feeling for his 
 whiskey-bottle in the dark, he had knocked it from the table, 
 and broken it, with a noise that made him shudder; for it 
 smote him as if it had been the Devil's own knock, and an 
 inexorable summons to follow him. His only retreat was 
 to jump into his bed with his clothes on, hide his head be- 
 neath the coverlid, and shudderingly await the approach 
 of daylight. It is supposed that the night was long to the 
 unfortunate traveller who stumbled over a precipice, and 
 saved himself from instant destruction by catching hold of a 
 root, or cord, at the end of which he dangled, not doubting, 
 that, if he let go, he would be dashed in pieces hundreds of 
 feet below. But it was hardly longer than the night was to 
 cock-eyed Riley, as he lay crouching and shivering in his bed. 
 But to both the light at last came. To one it revealed the 
 smooth, level ground, but two inches from his feet ; and to 
 the other the scarcely less joyful fact, that the bottle which 
 fell from the table the night before with such an appalling 
 crash was not the whiskey-bottle after all, and that that 
 great solace still stood unharmed on the table, with a good 
 half-pint of the pure juice of the corn. He jumped up, poured 
 this into a dirty glass, swallowed it, and felt greatly com- 
 forted. 
 
 As soon as the first rays of the sun began to strike across 
 the country, and play among the tops of the trees, Riley 
 called out to his own personal servant to go down to the 
 jail, and tell Iverson to send up his overcoat, that he had 
 left in the cell of that Yankee. The negro departed with the 
 message, taking the key of Walter's cell, which he delivered 
 to the jailer. 
 
 Iverson unlocked and pushed open the door of Walter's 
 room, and started back aghast. There lay the prisoner on 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 291 
 
 his cot, to all appearance dead. His limbs were rigid, his 
 eyes closed, and the breathing had ceased. He ordered 
 Riley's servant to return at once, and inform his master that 
 the Yankee was dead, and to come down quick. Old Mose 
 stood looking on agape, at first unable to utter a word. 
 Then he so far recovered his self-possession, that he said, "I 
 knowed it, I knowed it, I knowed it! I heard de angels 
 calling, l Walter, Walter ! ' in de night." 
 
 The messenger with the news, more scared than the jailer, 
 rushed up towards the hotel, where, by this time, some half- 
 dozen were assembled, including Riley, Col. Singleton, and 
 Dr. Lancy. " He's dead, he's dead ! — dat ar Yankee ! " he 
 exclaimed, as soon as he could catch his breath sufficiently to 
 speak. 
 
 "Dead!" said Lancy in well-affected surprise. "What 
 does that mean? " At once, they all began moving towards 
 the jail; Riley being in advance, having good reasons for 
 wishing to enter first. 
 
 They found the prisoner as before described. Dr. Lancy 
 examined him with dainty fingers, as if he feared infection, 
 to see if he were indeed dead. There was no pulse; and, on 
 raising his eyelid, it fell back into its place again with no 
 signs of muscular contraction. They then looked about the 
 room to see if there were any signs of his having committed 
 suicide. At first, they could discover nothing; but Riley, 
 lifting up the end of the old mattress on which the lifeless 
 man lay, drew forth an ounce vial, nearly empty, labelled 
 "Laudanum, poison." He had put it there the night be- 
 fore, unobserved by Walter ; and, on finding it, evinced more 
 surprise than all the rest. 
 
 "The knave has cheated the gallows," said Singleton. 
 "It is just like these mean Yankees: they must always be 
 cheating somebody ! He couldn't even die without cheating 
 the hangman. It is an illustration of the old saying, ' The 
 ruling passion strong in death.' " 
 
 " Likely's not he is playing possum, and ain't dead after 
 all," said the overseer of Singleton, who had come in with 
 his master. "I never seed a dead man look like that before." 
 
 Dr. Lancy again looked at the body. " It has a singular 
 appearance," said he, "sure enough. Is there a looking-glass 
 in the prison ? Let me see if there is any breath left in his 
 ungodly carcass." 
 
292 GOMEEY OF MONTGOMERY ! 
 
 "There is no glass in the jail, except that big one in my 
 room, that is all cracked," answered the jailer. 
 
 "Has any one a bowie-knife with him?" 
 
 Several drew forth their shining blades. 
 
 The doctor took the newest and brightest, and wiped its 
 glittering surface on his handkerchief, and held it to the 
 lips of the subject. Its bright polish was not in the least 
 dimmed. There was no breath to dim it. 
 
 "He is dead enough," said the doctor; "at least, dead 
 enough to bury." 
 
 " If he ain't dead," said Riley, " we'll take care he don't 
 dig out." 
 
 " Get a box, Iverson," said Singleton, " and have him buried 
 in the burying-ground for free niggers." 
 
 "Aren't there to be no funeral, no nothing?" 
 
 "No: he lived like a dog, he died like a dog, and let him 
 be buried like a dog ! " 
 
 The party of gentlemen then left the jail, leaving Iverson 
 and old Mose alone with the dead. 
 
 Old Mose was a well-known character about Lancaster. 
 Though a full-blood African, he was by birth a subject of 
 Great Britain, and had first come to Georgia a cook on 
 board of an English vessel. But, unfortunately, he was, one 
 night, surrounded by a conclave of colored people, read- 
 ing and expounding the Bible. For this offence against the 
 laws of Georgia, he was put in prison ; and, for some un- 
 explained cause, his vessel went off, and left him there. Had 
 he been a native African, or a native of the United States, 
 he would probably have been sold off for jail-fees after a few 
 months' detention. But, as it was, he remained in prison two 
 years, and was at last so far liberated as to be made a sort of 
 scavenger about the jail, being allowed to go out and travel 
 about the town ; having, in fact, more privileges than most 
 free negroes. In this way he was regarded as a slave, though 
 nobody owned him; and in this capacity he remained for 
 more than twenty years, till his kinky hair became as white 
 as snow, and his big horn spectacles were as familiar to the 
 residents of Lancaster as the county court-house. 
 
 " Mose," said Iverson, after the party had withdrawn, " go 
 and get a box for that carrin ! " 
 
 " Massa, he aren't no carrin : he's an angel." 
 
 " One of the Devil's angels, then." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 293 
 
 "No, massa; an angel of lub and truf. I heard anoder 
 angel a' callin' him in the night. Look a dar! you nebber 
 see bad man die, and hab such smiling, lubly face. I 'spect 
 ebery moment to see him bust out wid de song ob de Re- 
 deemer, and see him go up like ole 'Lijah." 
 
 Iverson looked at the upturned face : there was certainly 
 something unusual, something startling, in its appearance. 
 The hard man recoiled; a shudder passed through his frame; 
 and he turned away from the motionless clay, saying with 
 forced sternness, "Go, go, and do as I bid you! Get a box 
 for the body, and send lame Pete out to the Black Patch 
 near the bluff to dig a hole." 
 
 "O Lord!" said Mose, casting up his eyes. "To bury 
 a angel wid de free niggers an' poor white trash ! I 'spect a 
 resurrection." 
 
 The old man turned away, and left the prison ; but he 
 could not believe the man to be buried was dead. He did 
 not look like a dead man ; and yet there were no signs of 
 life. "I reckon dey won't get him under ground dis day, 
 if old Mose has any ting to do wid it," he muttered to him- 
 self. 
 
 It was a long time before he could find lame Pete to tell 
 him what was to be done. "It's a bery sad business, Pete," 
 said he ; "and I'm afeard you'll feel very low in de mouf. 
 But 'ere is a quarter of a dollar for your 'couragement." 
 
 Pete took the money, and limped off, with pick and 
 shovel, to dig the grave ; but, as Mose intended he should 
 do, he stopped at a house where lived a miserable character, 
 who supported himself by buying stolen goods from the 
 negroes, and selling them contraband whiskey. The silver 
 piece was exchanged for a quart of the juice of the corn ; and 
 Pete went his way rejoicing, and began his work in great 
 glee: but, before he had digged the grave a foot deep, he was 
 too drunk to go on with his work, and lay down on the grass 
 and fell asleep, and only woke up when the effect of one swig 
 had passed off; and then he would take another, and fall into 
 the same state of sleep, or stupor, as before. 
 
 Mose, too, was delinquent ; for he could find nothing for 
 a long time to make a box of to serve for a coffin. He was 
 obliged to search through the entire village before he could 
 make a satisfactory bargain for the lumber. One man, living 
 in the other extreme of the town, had lumber to sell; but 
 
 25* 
 
294 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 Mose feared his price was too high : so he returned for further 
 instructions, contriving in this way to use up a couple of 
 hours. Then he managed to spend a long time more before 
 he got it to the carpenter's; and purposely left one board, so 
 as to occasion more delay. The result of all this management 
 was, that the box did not get to the prison till near sunset. 
 Then Mose sent a boy to the Black Patch to see if the 
 grave was dug and ready. The word came back that it was 
 not a foot deep, and lame Pete was lying drunk beside it. 
 
 Iverson was very much enraged at the delay. He was 
 superstitious and ignorant; and, during the day, it was mys- 
 teriously hinted that a ghost had been seen about the neigh- 
 borhood for several nights past. He inquired of old Mose 
 about it ; and Mose said it was no ghost, but an angel ; for 
 he had heard it in the night, calling " Walter, Walter!" in a 
 voice just like an angel's. He said, " De todder niggers say it 
 are a ghost ; but dey is ignorant darkeys, and don't know de 
 diff 'rence." But, whatever it was, Mose admitted it had been 
 seen for three nights past, flitting round the jail, and always 
 running off, when observed, to the woods just beyond the Black 
 Patch, as the burying-ground of the free negroes and white 
 trash was called. It had been proposed during the day to Riley 
 that he should turn out with his dogs, and hunt this unknown 
 visitant; but he had received such a fright from it himself, 
 that he said his dogs were sick. Iverson was in a sad plight, 
 and knew not what to do. He did not like the idea of sleep- 
 ing another night under the same roof with the dead man; 
 and he was ashamed to betray his fears. The unusual ap- 
 pearance of the body, combined with the reports of the 
 mysterious figure that had been seen floating about, as the 
 negroes said, without touching the earth, had so wrought on 
 his credulous and benighted mind, that he was in grievous 
 perplexity. But the night was now upon him, and there was 
 no help for him. As a sort of body-guard, therefore, he told 
 old Mose to bring his bed of rags into his room, and sleep 
 on the floor there, instead of in the entry of the jail, as was 
 his custom. The veteran obeyed the order ; but, even with 
 that precaution for mutual protection, it was little that either 
 slept. Mose did not believe that the man in the other room 
 was dead, and he greatly doubted whether he was a man at 
 all ; and, as he lay on the floor, he speculated deeply on the 
 character of the strange being, whose conduct had been so 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 295 
 
 different from that of all men who had lived since the age of 
 miracles. "Fact is," he muttered to himself, "I'spect'tis 
 an oder Moses, come to lead the chil'en of de Lord out from 
 dis land o' bondage. Den dar's two Moseses, me and t'other ; 
 an' de Lord no hab two Moseses. No : it's Aaron, and I is de 
 Moses." 
 
 " What are you jabbering about there, Mose," said Iver- 
 son. 
 
 "I'se 'specting a miracle in the morning. Dat man is de 
 Aaron de Lord has sent to jine with me ; dat is, Moses, 
 to lead our people out of de land o' bondage." 
 
 "Reckon you'll find cock-eyed Riley hard arter you, if 
 you try that," said Iverson. 
 
 " I reckon you'd better not try to foller us, if you don't 
 want to be cotched up in the deep water like Pharaoh and 
 his hosts was." 
 
 "Why, how was that?" 
 
 " They was all drownded in the Red Sea." 
 
 Iverson shuddered, and told Mose to hold his tongue ; and 
 then, pulling the bed-clothes over his head, he tried to sleep. 
 But sleep he couldn't. He lay tossing on his bed; and 
 about midnight he fancied he heard the strange, soft, gentle 
 voice calling " Walter ! " 
 
 " Mose," said he, " did you hear that ? " 
 
 " Sartain I did. It is de angel, — same as I heard it last 
 night." But, angel or not, the sound of their voices seemed 
 to have frightened it away ; and they heard no more of it. 
 But so frightened was Iverson, that every few minutes he 
 called out to Mose, as if fearing he was asleep, and not pro- 
 tecting him, or angry that he should sleep while his master 
 could not. 
 
 At about four o'clock in the morning, Mose said he thought 
 he heard a noise in the dead man's cell. 
 
 " Rats," said Iverson. 
 
 " No, it's not rats. P'raps it's de angels come to take him." 
 
 " Angels ! Devils, more like. How are the angels going 
 to take him ? " 
 
 " P'raps on a sea of glass like what the Millerites brag on. 
 P'raps ole Jacob will let down his ladder. Then, agin, p'raps 
 he'll go up like ole 'Lijah. Thar ! I heerd a noise agin. It 
 was a voice ! " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you miser'ble nigger ! Why didn't 
 
296 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY. 
 
 you bury him yesterday? I'll have you flogged to-mor- 
 row ! " With this threat, Iverson drew his head under the 
 bed-clothes, and sought to keep out all unwelcome sounds ; 
 and Mose lay, with his ears all open, intently listening for 
 other sounds. 
 
 As soon as it was daylight, Mose got up ; and the jailer, 
 who was still awake, told him to take the key, and unlock the 
 door of the dead prisoner's cell ; for, after he was supposed 
 to be dead, it was thought that Iverson might be trusted 
 with the key of his room. The order was obeyed with 
 hesitation by the old negro, who slowly unlocked the door, 
 and looked cautiously in, suspecting and hoping to find the 
 room vacant. But there lay the body as it had lain the 
 day before. He approached to scrutinize the face, and 
 rushed, horror-stricken, from the room. " O Massa Iverson, 
 he's alive, he's alive ! I seen him wink ! " 
 
 " You silly old fool ! " said Iverson, jumping out of bed, 
 and catching his pantaloons in his hand : " how can a dead 
 man wink?" 
 
 But the voice of the supposed dead, speaking just so as to 
 be heard, but too faint for the words to be distinguished, was 
 sufficient to dispel all the jailer's doubts, and send him from 
 the jail, pantaloons in hand, as if a spirit with a cloven foot 
 and fiery tail had risen through the floor before him. He 
 rushed up through the street with his toilet thus incomplete, 
 and did not stop till he had entered the bar-room of the hotel, 
 where an old slave was just sweeping up the "old sogers" of 
 the night before. "He ain't dead!" said he in breathless 
 haste. 
 
 " Who ain't dead ? " 
 
 " That Yankee that stole the niggers. He's come to life 
 agin ! " The sweeper dropped his broom, and ran out to tell 
 the news ; and Iverson, happening just then to catch a sight of 
 himself in the glass, drew on his pantaloons. The landlord, at 
 that moment, came in to get his morning dram, and, seeing 
 Iverson still half dressed and barefoot, inquired the cause of 
 this early visit. 
 
 " He ain't dead, after all ; and he's come to life again ! " 
 
 "Who ain't dead?" 
 
 " Why, that Yankee that pisened himself." 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing ! He was only in a stupor. Why 
 didn't the fools make sure, and bury him yesterday ? " 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 297 
 
 " O Lord, Lord ! I'll never have any thing more to do 
 with that man." 
 
 Early as it was, the news soon spread through the village 
 that the dead man was alive again ; and, just as the sun was 
 arising, at least a dozen men could have been seen hurrying 
 towards the jail. They entered, and found the man had not 
 moved, though he was breathing gently, and winking as 
 usual. 
 
 " I can't move my limbs, doctor," said he to Lancy, who 
 was one of the first to enter, and approach his bedside. " I 
 seem to have been in a kind of trance ; for I have had the 
 strangest visions ever seen by man. But I can't move my 
 limbs. Just lift up my hands, if you please." 
 
 The doctor complied ; and the movement seemed to restore 
 the muscles and the nerves to the power of the will. He 
 raised his head, and looked round in surprise. 
 
 " Why, it's all a dream, then," said he. " I thought I had 
 left the world. What time is it ? " 
 
 " A little after sunrise." 
 
 " What ! all that in one night ? " 
 
 Iverson was about to tell him that he had been two nights 
 and one day in his trance ; but he was motioned to silence, 
 and, at an intimation from Lancy, they all left the room. 
 
 The Committee of Public Safety met again that morning 
 at ten o'clock. Riley was called in ; and the subject of get- 
 ting rid of their prisoner was again discussed, and with more 
 anxiety than ever. The danger was now increased a hun- 
 dred-fold. The slaves, far and near, had all heard, or would 
 hear within twenty-four hours, that the man who had proved 
 himself so great a deliverer, and whom before they had al- 
 most worshipped as a god, had actually risen from the dead. 
 
 No time must now be lost. The patrols of the town must 
 be doubled, and the negroes on the plantations more closely 
 watched than ever ; and with as little delay as possible, with- 
 out exciting suspicion of foul play, the cause of all this anx- 
 iety must be put of the way. It was decided that Riley 
 should resume his office of watchman that night, and must 
 find some way to make an end of the prisoner. He was to 
 try the beer experiment a second time ; and if the victim 
 proved suspicious, or refused to drink the prepared chalice, 
 then he was to be despatched with a knife or pistol-ball, and 
 
298 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 the pretence made that he had been killed in an attempt to 
 escape. 
 
 During the day, Walter lay in that sort of half-stupor 
 that would naturally result from re-action after the joyous 
 delirium which he had experienced. He talked little ; 
 though Iverson and Mose, and several others, often favored 
 him with their company in the course of the day. He sus- 
 pected nothing of the attempt that had been made on his 
 life. Towards night, the stupor seemed to pass off; and he 
 signified to Iverson that he was hungry. A more bountiful 
 repast was furnished him than he had yet seen since he had 
 been a prisoner ; and he ate unsuspectingly and with relish. 
 A mug of beer, which had been charged with a dose of 
 morphine three times as powerful as that of the preceding 
 night, was sent to him with his food. Riley remained in his 
 room until his meal had been eaten, to satisfy himself that 
 the prepared dose had gone home to its victim, and to 
 guard, lest, if any were not taken by the prisoner, it should 
 be used so as to destroy valuable human property. But it 
 was all drunk by Walter, who soon after warmed into con- 
 versation, and talked so rapturously of visions opening to 
 his view, that Riley was afraid to stay with him alone, but 
 called in Iverson and Mose to sustain and defend him if 
 necessary. But the "leprous distilment " coursed its way 
 through the natural gates and alleys of the body with such 
 rapidity, that the prisoner's words soon became confused and 
 incoherent. Then, lying down on his low bed, and saying, 
 "It is time, the world is going, it is left, and oh how 
 bright and joyous!" he closed his eyes, and was again on 
 the broad sea of infinite love that makes up the universe of 
 God. 
 
A FAMILY HISTOET. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " I guess 'twas frightful there to see 
 A lady so richly clad as she, 
 Beautiful exceedingly." — Coleridge. 
 
 *' A lady wondrous fair; 
 But the rose of her cheek had faded away, 
 And her cheek was as white and cold as clay, 
 And torn was her raven hair." — Praed. 
 
 That Death had done his work was but too evident when 
 the door of Walter's room was opened the next morning. 
 There was none of that undeath-like appearance of a seem- 
 ing lifeless body as was observed two mornings before. He 
 was clearly dead. Even old Mose said he was dead now, 
 sure enough. Nevertheless, those who had murdered him 
 felt a strange misgiving, as if fearing lest he should rise 
 again ; and the orders were given to bury him immediately. 
 Several slaves were sent to the Black Patch to complete 
 what lame Pete had begun, and a flogging promised to 
 them all if the grave was not finished by ten o'clock. The 
 rough box was hastily knocked together, and received its 
 tenant; an old cart, drawn by two scare-crow mules, was 
 driven up to the jail, and received its load ; and Iverson 
 and old Mose followed it to the Black Patch, where it was 
 lowered into the grave, and the dirt shovelled hastily upon it. 
 Iverson witnessed with silent terror the stern, sad faces of 
 the negroes. On ordinary occasions of grave-digging and 
 burial, they were accustomed to laugh as loudly, and joke as 
 freely, as those grave-makers who jested with Hamlet when 
 digging Ophelia's grave. But now they said nothing, silently 
 working away till the grave was filled, and rounded on the 
 top, when they walked quietly away, each going off by him- 
 self, as if he had too great a grief at his heart to care for 
 condolence or sympathy. 
 
 A death-like stillness prevailed through the town during 
 the day. Towards evening, however, an unusual number 
 
300 gomery oe Montgomery: 
 
 assembled about the hotel ; and, as they fortified themselves 
 with whiskey, they waxed valiant and noisy and communica- 
 tive. It was now in the early part of December, and the 
 nights were of course cool ; and, as the darkness closed 
 around, the people gathered into the bar-room, which was 
 warmed by a wood-fire, and lighted with numerous tal- 
 low dips. Among the company appeared a man whom no 
 one seemed to know. He was an elderly person, evidently 
 a seafaring man ; of stout build, enormously broad shoul- 
 ders, and with a broken, indescribable nose. He was the 
 most talkative of the whole company, and was ready to 
 drink with every one. He sat down by a table at one side 
 of the room; and then, pulling out a handful of gold coin, 
 laid it down before him, and called out, — 
 
 "Landlord, landlord! do you see that?" 
 
 " I see it," replied Boniface, " and would like to put it in 
 my own pocket." 
 
 " Well, then, treat all these gentlemen at my expense, — 
 good whiskey, pure French brandy, port wine, — the best 
 you have got." 
 
 The landlord complied, and set before him various decan- 
 ters, and all the glasses in his miserable tavern, consisting 
 of six that were whole and two that were cracked; and 
 then the stranger bade all to help themselves, which they 
 were not slow to do. 
 
 Such a dispenser of liquors could not fail to have a crowd 
 of admirers round him directly, all of whom were curious 
 to know who this singular stranger could possibly be. He 
 soon set their minds at rest on that score, however, by telling 
 them he was a slave-trader, and was going up through Caro- 
 lina and Virginia to buy up a gang of slaves to take to 
 Texas ; that he wanted to buy them in different places, 
 where he could make good bargains as he went through ; 
 and should return, and pick up his scattering purchases a 
 month or two later. 
 
 " You have come to a bad place here," said Riley, " to buy 
 hands ; for more'n a hundred of our niggers run off about two 
 months ago, and nary one of 'em was ever cotched. Dogs 
 was worth nothin'." 
 
 " Why, how was that ? " 
 
 " You see, thar was a Yankee schoolmaster here, a regular 
 infidel and abolitionist, and he set 'em on to it ; and they got 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 301 
 
 off on a schooner, and he smashed up the steamer that went 
 after them, so we couldn't catch 'em. You must have read 
 about it in the papers." 
 
 " 'Pears to me I did hear suthin' of it," said the stranger, 
 whom the reader must know is Joe Pumpagin : " but the fact 
 is, I was born and fotched up in Mississip, and don't know 
 how to read ; but, as a judge of niggers and mules, I'll turn 
 my back to no man. But what did you do with that Yankee ? 
 He did not get away with the niggers, did he?" 
 
 " Nary time. We cotched him, and had him in jail more'n 
 a month; and he pisened himself last night, and was buried 
 among the free niggers this morning." 
 
 The start that this information gave Joe must have at- 
 tracted the attention of the crowd, had not their free pota- 
 tions already obfuscated their wits. But he recovered him- 
 self on the instant, and said, " We don't give 'em time to do 
 that down our way. We just catch 'em, and hang 'em the 
 same day when we find 'em fooling with our niggers. But 
 tell me all about this business." 
 
 Riley then began a narrative of the atrocious acts of the 
 man whom he said they had " planted " that morning, in 
 which office he was assisted by several others more drunk 
 than he, who supplied oaths and opprobrious adjectives when- 
 ever he left an opening for their application. His story was 
 in substance the same as that which had been promulgated 
 through the Southern newspapers, with which Joe was already 
 familiar. It was only when the manner of Walter's death 
 was approached that he became curious and inquisitive. 
 Riley detailed with great particularity the circumstances of 
 Ins long trance, and related how he had himself found the 
 vial, marked "Laudanum," under his pillow. Others here 
 broke in to tell about the ghost that had been seen for several 
 nights flitting about the prison; and Riley confessed that 
 he had seen it himself. 
 
 " How was that ? " said Joe. 
 
 q "Why, you see, one night I was afeard he would try to get 
 out, and about midnight I walked down to see if all was safe; 
 and as I crept along towards his window, as sure as I am alive, 
 I seen a ghost, or a woman, or something in white, jump up, 
 and fly away like a white crane across a swamp. I didn't 
 think much of it at the time ; but, when I heard that a good 
 many others had seen it, I knowed it was a ghost ; and old 
 
 vol. II. 26 
 
S02 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY: 
 
 Mose, who sleeps in the jail, says he heard it calling out in 
 the night: but as soon as we got him dead, safe dead the 
 second time, we took good care the ghosts should not bring 
 him to life again." 
 
 "As soon as you got him dead : that is a good joke; that 
 is the way we serve 'em in Mississip." 
 
 "No, no! I mean as soon as he took pisen, and died." 
 
 "Ah, ah! I understand; good joke: come, come, you don't 
 drink any thing. Now a good stiff horn all round." 
 
 Riley, for some reason, did not like the last allusions of the 
 queer-looking stranger, and soon left the company, and was 
 followed by such of the others as were not too drunk to trust 
 their legs. Joe called for more liquor, and soon had the re- 
 mainder of the company, including the landlord, too drunk 
 to notice his departure. He then left the room, and walked 
 rapidly down towards the river, below the town, where the 
 " Post-boy " had been moored to the bank since seven o'clock 
 in the evening. He roused his mate and two others, and, 
 aided by a dark lantern, he made his way in the direction 
 which Riley had indicated as the Black Patch. As he 
 passed along a few rods in advance of his men, he saw a 
 decrepit old negro moving painfully and slowly in the same 
 direction. He approached him quickly, and, placing his hand 
 on his shoulder, said sternly, " Where are you going ? " The 
 old slave dropped piteously on his knees, held up his hands, 
 and began to beg for mercy. " Oh, don't, massa ; don't ! I 
 was only going clown to the Yankee's grave." 
 
 "Go on, then," said Joe; "show me the way." 
 
 The old man limped away ; Joe following a few steps behind 
 him, and his men bringing up the rear. They coursed along 
 the outskirts of the town until they came to the edge of 
 a wood consisting of magnolias, black-oaks, laurels, and syca- 
 mores, underneath which, in some parts, was a thick under- 
 growth, and in others was nothing but dead leaves, stray 
 branches, and protruding roots. The negro slowly and pain- 
 fully made his way along the cart-road, through this wood, 
 until he came to an opening of a few acres, one side of which 
 bordered the bank of the river. 
 
 " Is this the Black Patch ? " asked Joe. 
 
 "Yes, massa: here's whar dey bury all de poor niggers 
 and de white trash. I 'spect to be buried here. De Yankee's 
 grave is close by." 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 303 
 
 "What is that moving along there?" asked Joe, stopping, 
 and pointing towards a moving figure that flitted rapidly 
 away among the trees. 
 
 " O Lord, massa ! dat is de ghost come back again ! " 
 
 "Do you know who I am?" said Joe. 
 
 "No, massa." 
 
 "I am Satan. I am come to carry away the dead man; 
 but this other spirit has been here before me; and now I am 
 going to take you. But, first, I will make terms with you. 
 Go home, and say nothing of what you have seen to-night, 
 and I will resign all claim to you." 
 
 Just at this time, Joe let a flash from the dark lantern 
 illumine his own strange-looking visage ; and the old man 
 dropped, half frightened to death, upon his knees. " O 
 good Mr. Devil ! " said he, " please let me go, and I'll never 
 peach a word ! " 
 
 " Be off, then ! and mind, if you look behind you, you will 
 be struck dead. Mind, now, you don't tell anybody that the 
 Devil was outwitted, and had his journey to this suburb of 
 his dominions ; for then they will set up a rebellion in»hell. 
 Now, off with yourself! and mind you don't open your mouth 
 for one week!" 
 
 The negro needed no second order ; but, as fast as his old, 
 decrepit limbs could carry him, he hastened back through 
 the woods, nor cast an eye behind him till he was safe within 
 his own miserable hovel. 
 
 Joe then approached the mound of fresh earth ; and, tell- 
 ing his companions to dig as for dear life, he struck off into 
 the woods, in the direction of the strange figure. He soon 
 caught sight of it again ; and it seemed to flit from behind 
 one large tree to another more distant. He then brought 
 up the lantern, and opened the slide that shut in the light, 
 and brought it in front of him, — moving it so as to reveal 
 his own form and features. Then, seeing the figure still 
 moving, he called out, "Hester!" It stopped ; but, as he 
 advanced, it moved away. Then he stopped, and again 
 called, "Hester!" Then he pronounced his own name, and 
 the figure moved a few steps^towards him. It stopped again, 
 and he advanced towards it. Again it receded ; and then 
 he held the lantern before him to give him the advantage of 
 its light, and ran towards it. It ran into a thicket ; but its 
 clothes got entangled in the thorns and underbrush, and Joe 
 
304 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 soon overtook it, crouching on the ground, its face upturned 
 towards him. He held the light to get a view of the up- 
 turned features. One glance was sufficient: the face was 
 thin, wild, and haggard ; the hair dishevelled ; and the large 
 blue eyes, that he remembered as so beautiful once, now 
 glared from their sockets with that unearthly, haunting look 
 that betrays the hopeless maniac. 
 
 " Hester," said Joe, " don't you remember me, — Old Joe, 
 Joe Pumpagin, Walter's friend ? " 
 
 "Walter, Walter, Walter!" said she. "Yes, yes: I'll go 
 and find him. But he is dead : I saw them put him in the 
 ground. I only asked one word. He gave all to the poor 
 slave, but not one word of forgiveness for poor Hester." 
 
 " Come, then, let us go," said Joe, taking her by the arm, and 
 raising her up. She offered no resistance, but suffered her- 
 self to be led gently along till they came to the grave, where, 
 by this time, the sailors had so well employed their time, 
 that they had dug out the earth from above the rude coffin, 
 and were just lifting it to the surface. "Take it up, and fol- 
 low we," said Joe to the two sailors, who stood awe-struck 
 and surprised at the sight of the dim figure which they saw 
 at the skipper's side. They obeyed without question ; and 
 Joe, taking the spades and lantern in one hand, while with 
 the other he firmly held Hester by the wrist, led the way 
 to the river's bank, to a point that was within a stone's-cast 
 from the place where the " Post-boy " was moored. He gave 
 a peculiar whistle ; and directly a boat put off to the shore, 
 into which the coffin was first placed : then Joe entered it, 
 tenderly bearing in his arms the frail figure that had so alarmed 
 his companions, holding it as tenderly as ever mother 
 held her sick child. They were soon aboard the schooner 
 with their burden ; and the order was given to cast off, and 
 make sail without delay. A strong breeze was setting sea- 
 ward; and the moon, that always shines opportunely for 
 romancers and historians, was just rising sufficiently to reveal 
 the headlands; and, before sunrise, the "Post-boy" was be- 
 yond danger of pursuit. 
 
 The little cabin of the " Post-boy " had been prepared on 
 the outward voyage to receive a passenger, but not the one 
 who now claimed the attention of the master. Into this 
 the night-wanderer was taken ; and, by the dim lights of 
 the vessel, Joe looked upon the wretched figure that lay on 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 305 
 
 the cot before him. The emaciated face, with dishevelled 
 hair, the eyes of unnatural lustre, were ever turned towards 
 him with a wild, demented look. The garments, once white, 
 rich, and delicate, were soiled and damp ; and the feet had 
 nothing left upon them but the dangling remnants of shoes 
 and stockings. The soles came directly upon the ground, 
 and were bleeding, blistered, and torn. From her ears 
 dangled a pair of finely chased gold ear-rings, — the gift of 
 Walter when she was a little girl ; and she wore a diamond 
 ring, that sparkled in the light. But it was not a marriage- 
 ring, though it was on that finger where the marriage-ring 
 had once been. It was the last gift from Walter, which he 
 put upon her finger the evening before he left to return no 
 more. 
 
 Joe's first care was to administer a powerful sedative. 
 Then, drawing off the fragments of the once delicate shoes 
 and stockings, he brought a tub of warm water, and gently 
 washed and dried the poor maniac's feet, and drew over them 
 a pair of his own thick, warm, woollen socks. Then he left 
 her to the care of the stewardess, who gently removed the 
 other damp and soiled garments; and, having supplied her 
 with clean linen from her own stock, she rolled her in a pair 
 of blankets; and, as the opiate was having its effect, she sat 
 down to watch her as she slept. 
 
 Anxiously they waited for the morning light. Joe Pumpa- 
 gin paced from stem to stern the deck of the " Post-boy," 
 at every turn stopping to contemplate for a few moments the 
 rough box that contained all that was mortal of Walter 
 Gomery, and occasionally looking into the cabin to make 
 sure that his charge was still sleeping. The night wore 
 away; and, as the sun rose bright and red before them, the 
 gallant little "Post-boy" skimmed like a bird before the 
 seaward breeze. 
 
 Great was the consternation at Lancaster the next day 
 when it was reported that the body of the twice-dead and 
 once-buried Yankee had been spirited away. A supersti- 
 tious fear and horror possessed the minds of the entire peo- 
 ple when it was known that his grave had been invaded. 
 Who could have done this? At first, the impression was 
 that some of the negroes had disinterred him in order to 
 give him a more decent and Christian burial. But the ne- 
 groes all, within many miles, had been carefully guarded 
 
306 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY : 
 
 during the last month ; and, after thorough inquiry, it ap- 
 peared that not a slave within twenty miles had been out of 
 his quarters during that night. The old negro who had act- 
 ed as a guide to Joe was regarded as too old and lame to 
 need watching, and therefore no guard had been set over 
 him. But a stronger evidence that they had had nothing to 
 do with the matter was the undoubting and absolute faith 
 they had that he had been borne away by supernatural 
 means. 
 
 What, in the mean time, had become of the high-toned, 
 free-handed, queer-looking stranger who had dispensed his 
 gold-pieces so liberally the night before? He was gone ; and 
 nobody knew how or whence be came, or how or whither he 
 had gone. A mysterious-looking schooner had been seen 
 sailing up the river the afternoon before, by the inhabitants 
 living near the bank. The Committee of Public Safety 
 again met, and, after long and anxious deliberation, concluded 
 that the best way to frighten the slaves to quiet and submis- 
 sion was to assert that the mysterious stranger was none 
 other than the Devil, who had come and taken away his own. 
 The next sabbath evening, Parson Southside preached a ser- 
 mon on this theory, especially for the slaves, to which many 
 of them were compelled to listen. He told them, that, by 
 divine ordinance, it was their lot to be slaves; that the 
 Lord had directly enjoined it upon them to be obedient to 
 their masters ; and that he had especially shown his disappro- 
 bation and displeasure towards one of the infidel and ungodly 
 by turning him over to Satan, as it were, before their eyes. 
 But the poor benighted darkies could not see the conduct 
 of the man, who had given his life that others of their race 
 might escape from slavery, in the same light as the learned 
 pastor. If he had gone to the bad place, and such as Parson 
 Southside and cock-eyed Riley were going to the land of the 
 saints, then they thought they might as well follow their 
 proved friend and deliverer; for, if the doctrine preached to 
 them was true, they felt they would be sure of better com- 
 pany and better treatment with the Devil and his angels than 
 with the Lord and his saints. 
 
 But, a few days after, old Congo told his story of his en- 
 counter with the odd-looking unknown, who carried an eye 
 like a ball of fire in his hand, or else swung it round at the 
 end of his tail; and how this strange being laid hold of him, 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 307 
 
 and made him go before, and point out the grave; and, when 
 they got near, they saw a ghost or angel start up, and fly 
 away; at which his companion was very angry, and said he 
 was Satan, and the angel of the Lord had been there before 
 him, and he had had all his journey for nothing. After that, 
 continued the old man, he fell to swearing awfully, and said 
 he had never been able to catch a genuine slave-stealing 
 abolitionist, and hadn't any specimen of one in all his king- 
 dom ; but he had priests and popes and generals and 
 colonels, and high-toned gentlemen, but he was always too 
 late to get hold of those fellows who risked their own lives 
 to give freedom to the poor slaves. Then Old Nick told 
 him to go back home, and not to speak of the night's adven- 
 ture for a week ; for, if he did, he would come and take him 
 off, and keep him in chains for ever and ever. 
 
 Within two days after this story was first divulged, it was 
 known by every negro within twenty miles of Lancaster, and 
 shortly after by the white people as well. The whole white 
 population were now in greater alarm than ever. They felt 
 that a volcano was smouldering beneath them, and might 
 burst out at any moment. A general insurrection of the 
 slaves was feared; for, in their ignorance and superstition, 
 they might venture every thing in their faith in supernatural 
 intervention. 
 
 But there was no outbreak. The long-suffering race knew 
 not how to begin a revolt. They waited for a sign ; but no 
 sign was given them ; and in time they settled into that stol- 
 id, brutal state of submission to which they had been born. 
 The day of their liberation was not yet. Their wrongs were 
 to be washed out in seas of blood of the stronger race, who 
 were even then accumulating wrath against the day of 
 wrath. 
 
308 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
 To have a thankless child ! " — Shakspeare. 
 
 The trial of Seth Mettlar was little more than a mere 
 form. He had no defence to make ; though, with a consist- 
 ent hypocrisy, he affected to be a much -injured man. He 
 had sent for his former counsel, Mr. Dextrous, to defend him ; 
 and that eloquent advocate, when he learned the merits of 
 the case and the nature of the evidence, advised his client to 
 plead guilty. But this advice was instantly rejected by Seth ; 
 and then the accommodating lawyer prepared himself to 
 make the best defence possible, and to earn the fee that he 
 had taken care to have paid in advance. 
 
 But, though there was no doubt about the result of the 
 trial, there was great interest taken in it ; and a large num- 
 ber of people went over to Chesterville from Montgomery to 
 witness it. Among them went old Thomas Homer. Poor 
 man, he was now alone in the wortd, except that his graceless 
 son was left to him. His wife never left her bed after her 
 return from the Pivot, where, broken-hearted and penitent, 
 she went to report her daughter's flight, and confess her own 
 selfishness and folly. Within a week from that time, she was 
 laid in the graveyard of Montgomery Village. 
 
 The day before the trial, Freeborn Gomery started in his 
 old family carriage, that had stood twenty years' service, to 
 go over to the county seat. He had gone about half the dis- 
 tance, when he overtook Thomas Homer walking in the 
 same direction. " What, Mr. Homer ! is this you ? " said 
 Gomery, at the same time checking the horses. 
 
 " Yes, squire ; I felt curis about the trial ; and I thought I 
 must go over and see how it would come out : for, if that 
 man escapes, I think I could tear his heart out with these 
 old teeth." 
 
 " You need have no fear of that ; but how is it you are 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 309 
 
 afoot ? Get in here, and ride ; and we will talk over matters 
 as we drive along." 
 
 Homer entered the carriage ; and the fat, lazy old horses 
 trotted on. 
 
 " Why are you on foot, Mr. Homer ? " Surely you are too 
 old a man to walk all this distance, — near twenty miles." 
 
 " Oh ! I have nothing left now, — no wife, no daughter, no 
 farm, no house, — nothing, nothing but Obed ; and he don't 
 use me as I would like to be used in my old age. I asked 
 him to let me ride with him, and he said no ; he and Bill Jack- 
 man were going together : but perhaps, he said, somebody 
 would pick me up on the road. But it don't much matter 
 to me, squire, what becomes of me now. I am not at all 
 well, and I guess I shall soon be laid away in the graveyard, 
 alongside of my poor wife; and, if only poor Hester was 
 with us, I wouldn't care." Here the old man's voice became 
 choked, and he could say no more ; but, burying his face in 
 his old bandanna handkerchief, he sobbed so piteously, that 
 Gomery could scarce refrain from a like demonstration. 
 
 The grand jury had found three bills of indictment against 
 Mettlar, — for forgery, perjury, and subornation of perjury. 
 The acute and subtle Mr. Dextrous resorted to every art 
 and expedient known to his profession to save his client. 
 He questioned and challenged jurors, till it seemed doubtful 
 if a new panel would not be required in order to find twelve 
 Unprejudiced men. Then, when the jury was complete, he 
 tried to pick flaws in the indictment ; but he was overruled 
 by the judge, and was forced to the general issue. In this 
 way, the whole of the first day was taken up ; and on the 
 next he began by strenuously objecting to the admission of 
 the affidavits of Randolph Gault, alias Joe Pumpagin, as 
 evidence, and insisting that he should be brought into court, 
 so that he could be cross-examined. He also ventured to 
 intimate that he had been kept back or hid away because his 
 testimony would not bear scrutiny. At this point he was 
 sharply rebuked by the judge, who warned him that the 
 character of the plaintiff in this case stood too high in the 
 community to be assailed in that court with impunity by 
 flippant, imported hirelings. This rebuke called forth a buzz 
 of satisfaction throughout the court-room, and evidently so 
 well pleased the jury, that it was clear to the crafty lawyer 
 that neither trick, subterfuge, nor eloquence would avail. 
 
310 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY : 
 
 Nevertheless, he made a long, ingenious plea in defence of 
 his client, mainly, however, to the judge, in mitigation of 
 sentence, as he read the verdict already in the faces of the 
 jurymen. 
 
 G ornery argued his own case, or rather told his own story, 
 as he paid no attention to the quibbles and subtleties of Mr. 
 Dextrous. The judge, however, in his charge, brushed away 
 all the latter's legal flummery, and told the jury they were 
 simply to decide whether or not they believed the prisoner 
 at the bar had been guilty of forgery, as charged in the in- 
 dictment. The jury, without leaving their seats, gave a 
 verdict of guilty. The judge, before pronouncing sentence, 
 said it was the most atrocious case of villany, successful for a 
 time, that had ever come before him, or that he had ever 
 heard of. Its consequences were commensurate with its 
 atrocity, for it had carried ruin and death in its train ; and 
 he should therefore impose the highest penalty of the law, — 
 ten years in the penitentiary ; leaving the other indictments 
 to be tried immediately. 
 
 When this result was known, the spectators generally left, 
 well satisfied, for home. Thomas Homer had remained till 
 nearly all the Montgomery people had started to return. 
 Gomery had told him, in coming over, to wait till he went 
 back, and he would give him a seat in his carriage. But 
 Gomery could not leave for a couple of days more ; and Ho- 
 mer had no wish to see the other trials of the hated Mettlar. 
 He therefore started on foot to return. But he felt sick and 
 weak, and often stopped to rest by the wayside. It Would 
 be dark before he could get home, at that rate ; and so he 
 hurried with the best speed he could make. Casting his 
 eyes back, he is cheered by the sight of a horse and wagon, 
 in which there is but a single person. " Surely now," said 
 he, " I shall get a ride." The carriage approaches briskly ; 
 and he looks again, and sees it is his own son who is driving 
 it. It comes up to him ; and, as it makes no sign of stopping, 
 he says, " Come, you'll certainly give me a ride now." But 
 the young man shook his head, gave his horse a cut of the 
 whip, and left him to plod his weary way. 
 
 Ah, Thomas Homer ! Long years ago I foresaw that evil 
 days were in store for you, when you were a stout, thrifty 
 young farmer, and allowed your aged mother to be carried 
 in tears to the poor-house, there to pass her few remaining 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 311 
 
 years, and then to die. I knew, as well as I know it now, as 
 I see you dragging your weary limbs for the last time home- 
 wards, that sorrow would come to you. You grieved deeply 
 when she died, for your conscience smote you : but unavail- 
 ing sorrow shall not atone for sins of commission, or sins of 
 omission ; for " as I live, saith the Lord, the wicked shall not 
 go unpunished." 
 
 The poor man never entered his own door again. Sick, 
 weary, and crushed in spirit, he reached the house of his 
 brother-in-law, and could go no farther. Poor old man! 
 His son's cruelty and ingratitude had broken a heart that had 
 been long bruised and bleeding. He took to his bed as soon 
 as he entered the house, saying he was tired ; but his friends 
 saw that he was more than tired. He talked wildly and in- 
 coherently, often calling his son's name ; asking what he had 
 done that he should be left to perish in the street. Then he 
 would call for Hester, and then for his wife. A physician 
 was sent for ; and, under the influence of the medicines ad- 
 ministered, he was made to sleep for a couple of hours. But 
 he was never to leave his bed. He lingered a few days, 
 growing weaker and weaker, until at last his son was per- 
 suaded to go and see him. At the sight of him, the old man 
 started, and exclaimed, " Obed, Obed ! you have killed your 
 old father ! " and then fell back, and expired. 
 
 The other indictments against Mettlar were disposed 
 of at less expense of time and talk than the first. Though 
 tried by different juries, the verdict in each case was 
 the same ; and the sentence abated little of its severity by 
 reason of the long punishment previously imposed. For the 
 crime of perjury, he was sentenced to five years' additional 
 penal service; and, for subornation of perjury, three years 
 more ; thus making, in the aggregate, eighteen years, which, 
 if he lived so long, he must give to the service of the State. 
 
312 GOMERY OP MONTGOMERY: 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " Love's last fond lure was vain." — Wordsworth. 
 
 The winter season set in more than a month later than 
 usual among the hills of New England. But it came at 
 length fierce and furious. Yet all was quiet in the village of 
 Montgomery. The ample harvests had been gathered in by 
 the husbandmen ; the cellars and granaries were well stored ; 
 the boys and girls had been provided with their warm and 
 heavy garments that they might defy the winter ; and the 
 elder people were happy in their abundance, and in the pros- 
 pective exemption from hard labor for the next two or three 
 months. The village was now all harmony for the first time 
 since the evil influence of Seth Mettlar was first felt among 
 the people. He had had his partisans ; and many neighbor- 
 hood quarrels had grown out of his protracted contest with 
 Gomery. But now all were united in praise of the Gomerys, 
 and in commiseration of the fate of poor Walter. Long be- 
 fore any thing was heard of Joe Pumpagin, it was announced 
 in the papers, that after having made a full confession, and 
 begged forgiveness, he had, under the remorse of conscience, 
 committed suicide. But they had, by this time, all been in- 
 formed of the contents of Walter's letter to his parents; and 
 no one doubted that he had been foully murdered. 
 
 It is towards evening of a cold clear day in the latter part 
 of December. A large covered sleigh is seen to drive through 
 the village towards the Pivot. Every one that saw it felt 
 that it had a funereal look and air. The delicacy and re- 
 straint that had formerly forbid people from pressing their 
 attentions on the Gomerys no longer obtained among them ; 
 and a dozen or more of the more influential men of the place 
 followed the sleigh up the hill to the Pivot. The squire and 
 his wife had anticipated the return of Joe, and did not be- 
 lieve he would ever come back without Walter. When they 
 saw the covered sleigh turn up to the door, they knew what 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 313 
 
 it meant, — that Joe had returned, and brought with him the 
 remains of the best beloved of their children. The curtain 
 of the sleigh was thrown back ; and the burly figure of Joe 
 Pumpagin stepped out upon the snow, and revealed two fe- 
 male figures, — one a stout mulatto woman; the other a 
 form enveloped in blankets and buffalo-skins, but through 
 which could be discerned the emaciated features and large 
 and still lustrous eyes of Hester Homer. A large box at the 
 bottom of the sleigh suggested its own contents, and required 
 no explanation. Both Gomery and his wife had steeled 
 themselves to this trial. There was no outbreak of grief, 
 no " scene," on the part of either : on the contrary, Gomery 
 took Hester in his arms, carried her into the house, and 
 laid her gently on the parlor sofa. He looked anxiously 
 in her face ; but she did not return his look, or seem to know 
 him. To his wife's attentions she appeared equally uncon- 
 scious ; and it was evident her mind was gone. She spoke 
 to no one ; and Joe said she had never spoken since the first 
 day that they were out at sea. He briefly recounted his ex- 
 perience since he left them, first to the squire, his wife, and 
 Dr. Toler, and afterwards to the assembled neighbors. The 
 most of them are already known. But of the remainder it 
 needs only to be said, that when fairly out to sea, finding that 
 Hester would not leave the sight of the rude coffin that lay on 
 the deck, he caused it to be opened, hoping that the sight of 
 the body would have the effect to recall her reason. She 
 looked at the face, that was calm and placid in death, for 
 about half an hour ; and then, with the words, " I am com- 
 ing," turned away, and looked no more upon it. They were 
 the last words she had ever spoken. 
 vol. n. 27 
 
314 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " All, all are gone, — the old familiar faces." — Charles Lamb. 
 
 The spot where David Gault had been buried more than 
 threescore years before the time to which we have now 
 arrived was upon a small knoll of about half an acre in ex- 
 tent, and very near to the "Weeping Angels." The knoll 
 had been enclosed by Robert Gomery soon after he settled 
 upon the hill. Afterwards, at the suggestion of Joe Pum- 
 pagin, a substantial stone wall was built around it by his son 
 Freeborn, after he had been admitted into Joe's confidence, 
 and knew the story of his life. It was on this spot that 
 Walter Gomery was buried, on the last day of the year. 
 Hester remained at the Pivot during the winter ; but noth- 
 ing could recall the departed mind. She never spoke, 
 never laughed, never wept. She was as dead to all around 
 her. As the spring came on, she grew paler and weaker ; and 
 on the last day of May, just five months after Walter had 
 been consigned to his rest, Hester — for it was thought 
 profanation to connect the name of him who had been her 
 husband with hers — was laid beside him. 
 
 The labors of Joe Pumpagin are now at an end; and 
 people who have known him long are astonished to find 
 what an old man he appears to be. The stern will and 
 fixed purpose have kept him strong and vigorous to act. 
 Now his work is done, and age shows itself in haggard 
 lines. His sister, Lady Beresford, waits till she sees the 
 laws of nature and justice vindicated, so far as possible in 
 this world, and then returns to England to spend her latter 
 days with her children. 
 
 For a year or two, Joe continued to preside occasionally 
 at the Exchange, and make the favorite flip. But most 
 of his earlier companions in his bacchanalian revels had 
 surrendered to a god stronger than Bacchus, and of whom 
 the latter is said to be prime minister. Little Diller had 
 
A FAMILY HISTORY. 315 
 
 dried up, and been whiffed out, but not till he had seen 
 Freeborn Gomery established in his rightful possession, and 
 had had the pleasure of hearing Seth Mettlar's sentence to 
 the penitentiary pronounced. Tench Wales had started on 
 his long journey even before the cloud over the house of 
 Gomery had made its appearance. Obededom Homer had 
 become a drunken, penniless sot, and was a town-charge. 
 Joe lived in the old house on the hill, though he spent the 
 most of his days at the Pivot. Gomery and his wife 
 scarcely ever left home ; and, notwithstanding the great sor- 
 row they had passed through, they continued to exhibit a 
 calm cheerfulness, and a cordial welcome to neighbors and 
 other friends. The memory of the dead Walter is to them 
 more than all else of their earthly possessions and earthly 
 
 joys. 
 
 Joe Pumpagin lived some five years after his work was 
 done. He died gently, and with a quotation from Shakspeare 
 in his mouth. He had been long failing, and knew that his 
 end was near. Gomery had come up, as he did every day, 
 to spend a couple of hours with him ; and, as he sat down by 
 his bed, he asked him how he was. " Ask for me to-morrow," 
 replied Joe, " and, as Mercutio says, 'you will find me a grave 
 man. I am peppered for this world, and mustered for the 
 next.' That's not Shakspeare ; though, of course, Shak- 
 speare hadn't all the wit in the world." 
 
 " You are not so far gone as that, I hope," said Gomery. 
 
 " Ay, that's past praying for. You shall know when I am 
 going : when you see me fumble with the sheets like this, 
 and a' babble of green fields, you may know, like. Dame 
 Quickly, there is but one way ; and then you may feel my 
 feet and hands, and you will find them cold as any stone, 
 cold as any s-t-o-n-e." The last breath passed from his body 
 with this last word. 
 
 Gomery and his wife lived several years longer. Joe 
 Pumpagin left a large property, the fruits of his Western in- 
 vestments, all of which fell to Gomery ; and at his decease 
 it went to his children, who already had more than they 
 knew what to do with. 
 
 Joe was buried on the knoll, between Walter and Hester 
 on one side, and his father and mother on the other. 
 
 There are three graves within a stone's-throw of the Arch 
 Fountain. At the head of each is a white marble slab. On 
 
316 GOMERY OF MONTGOMERY. 
 
 one of them is engraved the name of Joe Pumpagin ; on the 
 next, that of Walter Gomery ; and on the third, the one 
 word, " Hester." More than that there is neither letter nor in- 
 scription. But, to the people of Montgomery, the names 
 alone suggest the whole story of suffering and sacrifice ; and 
 many tears have fallen on the turf that rests above the dead. 
 But the angels have ceased to weep. 
 
 END OF VOL. II. 
 
 Press of Geo. C. Rand & Avery, 3 Cornhill. 
 
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