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The Von Toodleburgs; Or, The History of a Very Distinguished Family

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Title: The Von Toodleburgs; Or, The History of a Very Distinguished Family

Author: F. Colburn Adams

Illustrator: Alfred R. Waud


        
Release date: June 10, 2006 [eBook #18549]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18549

Credits: Produced by Curtis Weyant, Josephine Paolucci and the
        Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
        (This file was produced from images produced by the Wright
        American Fiction Project)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VON TOODLEBURGS; OR, THE HISTORY OF A VERY DISTINGUISHED FAMILY ***




Produced by Curtis Weyant, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images produced by the Wright
American Fiction Project)








[Illustration: There was no happier couple in all the settlement than
Hanz and Angeline Toodleburg. Page 13.]




THE

VON TOODLEBURGS;

OR,

THE HISTORY OF A VERY DISTINGUISHED FAMILY.

BY

F. COLBURN ADAMS,

AUTHOR OF "MANUEL PERIERE, OR THE SOVEREIGN RULE OF SOUTH CAROLINA;"
"OUR WORLD;" "CHRONICLES OF THE BASTILE;" "AN OUTCAST;" "ADVENTURES OF
MAJOR RODGER SHERMAN PORTER;" "THE STORY OF A TROOPER;" "THE SIEGE OF
WASHINGTON," ETC.


ILLUSTRATED FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY A.R. WAUD.

PHILADELPHIA:

CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER,

819 AND 821 MARKET STREET

1868.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by

F. COLBURN ADAMS,

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.




PREFACE.


I never could see what real usefulness there was in a preface to a work
of this kind, and never wrote one without a misgiving that it would do
more to confuse than enlighten the reader.

The good people of Nyack will pardon me, I know they will, for taking
such an unwarrantable liberty as to locate many of my scenes and
characters in and around their flourishing little town. I have no doubt
there are persons yet living there who will readily recognize some of my
characters, especially those of Hanz and Angeline Toodleburg. That the
very distinguished family of Von Toodleburgs, which flourished so
extensively in New York at a later period, as described in the second
series of this work, will also be recognized by many of my readers I
have not a doubt. Nyack should not be held responsible for all the sins
of the great Kidd Discovery Company, since some of the leading men
engaged in that remarkable enterprise lived on the opposite side of the
river, many miles away.

The reader must not think I have drawn too extensively on my imagination
for material to create "No Man's Island" and build "Dunman's Cave" with.
About eighteen years ago I chanced to have for fellow traveller an odd
little man, of the name of Price, (better known as Button Price,) who
had been captain of a New Bedford or Nantucket whaleship. He was an
earnest, warm-hearted, talkative little man, and one of the strangest
bits of humanity it had ever been my good fortune to fall in with. He
had lost his ship on what he was pleased to call an unknown island in
the Pacific. He applied the word "unknown" for the only reason that I
could understand, that he did not know it was there until his ship
struck on it. He regarded killing a whale as the highest object a man
had to live for, and had no very high respect for the mariner who had
never "looked round Cape Horn," or engaged a whale in mortal combat. He
was on his way home to report the loss of his ship to his owners. An act
of kindness, and finding that I knew something of the sea, and could
sympathize with a sailor in misfortune, made us firm friends to the end
of our journey.

To this odd little man, then, I am indebted for the story of the old
pirate of "No Man's Island," and what took place in "Dunman's Cave;" for
it was in just such a place, according to his own account, that he lost
his ship. Much of his story, as told to me then, seemed strange and
incredible--in truth, the offspring of a brain not well balanced.

Time has shown, however, that there was much more truth in this old
whaleman's story than I had given him credit for. "No Man's Island" is
somewhat better known to navigators now, though still uninhabited and
bearing a different name. "Dunman's Cave," too, has been the scene of
more than one shipwreck within six years.

Those who have carefully studied the causes producing "boars," or "tidal
waves," as they appear in different parts of the world, and the singular
atmospheric phenomena which at times accompany them, will not find it
difficult to understand the startling changes which took place in
"Dunman's Cave" when the "_Pacific_" was wrecked. They will understand,
also, why the "_set_" was so strong at so great a distance from the
entrance, and why the "boar" rose to such a height in a narrow gate, or
entrance formed by steep rocks, before it broke, and went rushing and
roaring onward with irresistible force. They will also understand what
produced the noise resembling the sound of a mighty waterfall.

                                           F.C.A.

  WASHINGTON, D.C., _January_, 1868.




CONTENTS.


BOOK I.

Chapter.                                           Page.

I. Ancient Heads of the Family,                       9

II. Coming into the World,                           16

III. The New Comer,                                  21

IV. Changed Prospects,                               25

V. Tite Toodleburg and a Modern Reformer,            30

VI. A Little Family Affair,                          39

VII. The Town moved with Indignation,                46

[Transcriber's note: Chapter VIII is missing in book.]

IX. Tite takes his Departure for the South Sea,      57

X. Mr. and Mrs. Chapman disagree,                    63

XI. Mr. Chapman cultivates New Acquaintances,        70

XII. Strange Gentleman,                              81

XIII. Captain Bottom, the Whale-Killer,              88

XIV. The Coming Winter and a Merry-Making,          100

XV. Mrs. Chapman and the Upper Circles,             109

XVI. A Night Expedition,                            113

XVII. Mr. Gusher is introduced to Mattie,           123

XVIII. Rounding Cape Horn,                          135

XIX. Making a Fortune,                              143

[Transcriber's note: Chapter XX is missing in book.]

XXI. Coming Events cast their Shadows,              158

XXII. The Chapmans move into the City,              166

XXIII. Mrs. Chapman gives a Ball,                   176

XXIV. Very Perplexing,                              186

XXV. An Unlucky Voyage,                             196

XXVI. Dunman's Cave,                                204

XXVII. Old Dunman and the Pirate's Treasure,        213

XXVIII. Mr. Gusher sustains his Character,          225

XXIX. Changed Circumstances,                        230

XXX. A Terrible Calamity overtakes the Family,      237

XXXI. A Very Perplexing Situation,                  247

XXXII. Harvest-Sunday,                              251

XXXIII. Returned Home,                              260

XXXIV. He brings Joy into the House,                273

XXXV. How He got away from the Island,              277

XXXVI. An Interesting Ceremony,                     282




THE VON TOODLEBURGS,

OR THE

History of a very Distinguished Family.




CHAPTER I.

ANCIENT HEADS OF THE FAMILY.


Not more than a mile from the brisk little town of Nyack, on the Hudson
river, and near where the road makes a sharp turn and winds up into the
mountain, there lived, in the year 1803, an honest old farmer of the
name of Hanz Toodleburg. Hanz was held in high esteem by his neighbors,
many of whom persisted in pronouncing his name Toodlebug, and also
electing him hog-reef every year, an honor he would invariably decline.
He did this, he said, out of respect to the rights of the man last
married in the neighborhood. It mattered not to Hanz how his name was
pronounced; nor did it ever occur to him that some of his more ambitious
descendants might be called on in a court of law to explain the
circumstances under which their name was changed. I speak now of things
as they were when the old settlers around Nyack were honest and
unsuspecting, before Fulton had astonished them with his steamboat, or
those extravagant New Yorkers had invaded the town, building castles
overlooking the Tappan Zee, and school-houses where the heads of honest
Dutch children were filled with wicked thoughts.

Hanz Toodleburg was short and stout of figure, had a full, round face, a
large blunt nose, and a small gray eye. Indeed, there was no mistaking
his ancestors, in whose language he spoke whenever the Dominie paid him
a visit, which he did quite often, for Hanz had always good cheer in the
house; and a bed for a stranger. In short, it was a boast of Hanz that
no traveller ever passed his house hungry, if he knew it. And it
increased his importance with his neighbors that he raised more bushels
to the acre than any of them, and sent better vegetables to the New York
market. More than that, he would tell all the big folks in the village,
with a nod of his head, that he owed no man a stiver he could not pay
before the sun set, and in such a way as to convey a sly hint that it
was more than they could do. The neighbors consulted Hanz concerning
their worldly affairs, and, indeed, received his opinions as good
authority. In fine, Hanz and the Dominie were called in to settle nearly
all the disputes arising between the country folks for miles around. And
it was said by these simple minded people that they got their rights
quicker and less expensively in this way than when they went to law in
the village and trusted to the magistrate and the lawyers for justice.

As, however, there always will be idle and gossiping people everywhere
to say unkind things of their neighbors, especially when they are more
prosperous than themselves, so there were gossips and mischievous people
in the settlement who, when engaged over their cups, would hint at
suspicious enterprises in which Hanz's ancestors were engaged on the
Spanish Main. Indeed, they would hint at times that it was not saying
much for his family that his father had sailed with Captain Kidd, which
would account for the doubloons and Mexican dollars Hanz could always
bring out of a "rainy day." That Hanz had a stock of these coins put
safely away there could not be a doubt, for he would bring them out at
times and part with them, declaring in each case that they were the
last. But how he came by them was a mystery not all the wisdom of the
settlement could penetrate. It was conceded that if there was any man in
the settlement who knew more than Jacques, the schoolmaster, it was
Titus Bright, who kept the little inn near the big oak; and these two
worthies would discuss for hours over their toddy the question of how
Hanz came by his dollars and doubloons. But they never came to a
decision; and generally ended by sending their listeners home with their
wits worse perplexed than ever. It was all well enough for old Jacques
and the inn-keeper to show their knowledge of history; but the gossips
would have it that if Hanz's father had sailed with Captain Kidd he, of
course, knew where that bold pirate had buried his treasure, and had
imparted the secret to his son. Here was the way Hanz came possessed of
the doubloons and dollars. Indeed, it was more than hinted that Hanz had
been seen of dark and stormy nights navigating the Tappan Zee, alone in
his boat, and no one knew where he went. Another had it that he was sure
to part with a doubloon or two shortly after one of these excursions,
which told the tale. There were others who said it did not matter a fig
if Hanz Toodlebug's doubloons were a part of Kidd's hidden treasure; but
it was selfish of him not to disclose the secret, and by so doing give
his neighbors a chance to keep as good cows and sheep as he did. Hanz
was not the man to notice small scandal, and continued to smoke his pipe
and make his friends welcome whenever they looked in. Once or twice he
had been heard to say, that if anybody was particular to know how he
came by his doubloons and dollars he would tell them. There was a place
up in the mountain where he made them.

I will say here, for the benefit of my readers, that the little old
house where Hanz Toodleburg lived, and about which there clustered so
many pleasant memories, still stands by the roadside, and is an object
of considerable curiosity. It is much gone to decay now, and a very
different person occupies it. There are persons still living in the
village who knew Hanz, and never pass the place without recurring to the
many happy hours spent under his roof. That was in the good old days,
before Nyack began to put on the airs of a big town. There is the
latticed arch leading from the gate to the door; the little veranda,
where the vines used to creep and flower in spring; the moss-covered
roof, and the big arm chair, made of cedar branches, where Hanz used to
sit of a summer evening contemplating the beauties of the Tappan Zee,
while drinking his cider and smoking his pipe. It was in this little
veranda that business of great importance to the settlers would at times
be discussed. The good sloop Heinrich was at that time the only regular
New York packet, making the round voyage every week. Her captain, one
Jonah Balchen, was much esteemed by the people of Nyack for his skill in
navigation; and it was said of him that he knew every rock and shoal in
the Tappan Zee, and no man ever lost his life who sailed with him. The
arrival of the good sloop Heinrich then was quite an event, and whenever
it occurred the neighbors round about would gather into Hanz's little
veranda to hear what news she brought from the city, and arrange with
Captain Balchen for the next freight. Indeed, these honest old Dutchmen
used to laugh at the idea of a man who would think of navigating the
Tappan Zee in a boat with a big tea-kettle in her bottom, and making the
voyage to New York quicker than the good sloop Heinrich.

I have been thus particular in describing Hanz Toodleburg's little home,
since it was the birth-place of Titus Bright Von Toodleburg, who
flourished at a more recent date as the head of a very distinguished
family in New York, and whose fortunes and misfortunes it is my object
to chronicle.

Having spoken only of one side of the family, I will proceed now to
enlighten the reader with a short account of the other, "Mine vrow,
Angeline," for such was the name by which Hanz referred to his good
wife, was a woman of medium size and height, and endowed with remarkable
good sense and energy. Heaven had also blessed her with that gentleness
of temper so necessary to make a home happy. They had, indeed, been
married nearly twenty years, and although nothing had come of it in the
way of an offspring, not a cross word had passed between them. It was
said to her credit that no housewife this side of the Tappan Zee could
beat her at making bread, brewing beer, or keeping her house in good
order. The frosts of nearly forty winters had whitened over her brows,
yet she had the manner and elasticity of a girl of eighteen, and a face
so full of sweetness and gentleness that it seemed as if God had
ordained it for man's love. Angeline's dress was usually of plain blue
homespun, woven by her own hands, and with her cap and apron of snowy
whiteness she presented a picture of neatness and comeliness not seen in
every house.

There was a big, square room on the first floor, with a little bed room
adjoining, and an old-fashioned bed with white dimity curtains, fringe,
and tassels made by Angeline's own hand. Snow white curtains also draped
the windows; and there was a tidy and cosy air about the little bed room
that told you how good a housewife Angeline was. An old-fashioned
hand-loom stood in one corner of the big, square room; and a flax and a
spinning-wheel had their places in another. A farm-house was not
considered well furnished in those days without these useful implements,
nor was a housewife considered accomplished who could not card, spin,
and weave. Angeline carded her own wool, spun her own yarn, and weaved
the best homespun made in the settlement; and had enough for their own
use and some to sell at the store. In addition to that there was no
housewife more expert at the flax-wheel, and her homemade linen was
famous from one end to the other of the Tappan Zee. Hanz was, indeed, so
skilful in the art of raising, hetcheling, and dressing flax, that all
the neighbors wanted to borrow his hetchel. And if needs be he could
make reeds and shuttles for the loom, while Angeline always used
harnesses of her own make. And so industrious was this good wife that
you could rarely pass the house of a night without hearing the hum of
the wheel or the clink of the loom.

The good people about Nyack were honest in those days, paid their debts,
were happy in their very simplicity, and had no thought of sending to
Paris either for their fabrics or their fashions.

Now Angeline's father was a worthy blacksmith, an honest and upright
man, who lived hard by, had a house of his own, and owed no man a
shilling. This worthy blacksmith had two daughters, Angeline and
Margaret, both remarkable for their good looks, and both blessed with
loving natures. And it was said by the neighbors that the only flaw in
the character of this good man's family was made by pretty Margaret, who
went away with and married one Gosler, a travelling mountebank. This
man, it is true, asserted that he was a Count in his own country, and
that misfortune had brought him to what he was. His manners were,
indeed, those of a gentleman; and there were people enough who believed
him nothing more than a spy sent by the British to find out what he
could.




CHAPTER II.

COMING INTO THE WORLD.


It was mentioned in the last chapter that Hanz Toodleburg had seen
twenty years of the happiest of wedded life; and yet that Angeline had
not increased his joys with an offspring. Thoughtless people made much
ado about this, and there were enough of them in the settlement to get
their heads together and say all sorts of unkind things to Hanz
concerning this family failing. I verily believe that the time of
one-half of the human family is engaged seeking scandal in the
misfortunes of the other. And I have always found that you got the
ripest scandal in the smallest villages; and Nyack was not an exception.
No wonder, then, that Hanz had to bear his share of that slander which
one-half the world puts on the other. Not an idle fellow at the inn,
where Hanz would look in of an evening, but would have his sly joke.
Many a time he had to "stand" cider and ale for the company, and
considered he got off cheap at that. And when they drank his health, it
was with insinuating winks and nods; one saying:

"What a pity. He ought to have somebody to leave his little farm to."

"Yes," another would interrupt; "if he had a son he'd be sure to leave
him the secret of Kidd's treasure."

The gossips of the village were to change their tune soon. Dame rumor
had been whispering it around for a month that there was something in
the wind at Toodleburg's. And, to put it more plainly, it was added
that Hanz was soon to be made a happy man by the appearance of a little
Toodleburg. This change, or rather apparent change, in the prospects of
the family did not relieve Hanz from the tax for ale and cider levied on
him by the idle fellows at the inn. Indeed, he had to stand just twice
the number of treats in return for the compliments paid him as a man and
a Christian. It was noticed, also, that the Dominie took tea more
frequently at Hanz's table; and that Critchel, the little snuffy doctor,
who had practised in the settlement for a quarter of a century, and,
indeed, assisted in bringing at least one-half of its inhabitants into
the world, and of course was considered very safe in such cases, had
increased his visits at the house.

Now these honest old burghers had almanacs made with strict regard to
truth, and if they prognosticated a storm it was sure to come. They
would not consider it safe to navigate the Tappan Zee on a day fixed by
the almanac for a storm. On the 5th day of January, 1805, in the almanac
that never failed Hanz, there was this: "Look out for a snow storm."
This time, however, the snow, if not the storm, was ahead of the
almanac. Indeed, it had been falling slowly and gently for two days; and
a white sheet of it, at least three inches deep, covered the ground on
the morning of the 5th. The weather had changed during the night, and
now the air was sharp and cold. Dark, bleak clouds hung along the
horizon in the northeast, the distant hills stood out sharp and cold,
and a chilling wind whispered and sighed through the leafless trees.
Then the wind grew stronger and stronger, the snow fell thicker and
faster, making fantastic figures in the air, then dancing and scudding
to the force of the gale, and shutting the opposite shore from sight.
Nyack lay buried in a storm, and the Tappan Zee was in a tempest. Snow
drifted through the streets, up the lanes, over the houses, and put
night-caps on the mountain tops. Snow danced into rifts in the roads and
across fields, and sent the traveller to the inn for shelter. Lowing
cattle sought the barn-yard for shelter, or huddled together under the
lee of some hay-stack, covered with snow. Night came, and still the snow
fell, and the wind blew in all its fury.

It was on that cold, stormy night that a bright light might have been
seen burning in the little house where Hanz Toodleburg lived. The storm
had shook its frame from early morning; and now the windows rattled,
discordant sounds were heard on the veranda, wind sighed through the
crevices, and fine snow rifted in under the door and through the
latch-hole, and tossed itself into little drifts on the floor. Nyack was
buried in a storm that night. There was an old clock on the
mantle-piece, and it kept on ticking, and its ticks could be heard above
the storm. And the bright oak fire in the great fireplace threw out
shadows that flitted over the great loom, and the wheels, and the
festoons of dried apples, and the pumpkins that hung from the beams
overhead. And old Deacon, the faithful watch-dog, lay coiled up on the
flag hearth-stone.

The old clock had nearly marked the hour of midnight as Hanz came out of
the little room in an apparently agitated state of mind. The dog raised
his head and moved his tail as Hanz approached the fire and threw some
sticks on. "Dere's no postponin' it; and it sthorms so," muttered Hanz,
shaking his head. Then he put on his big coat and boots, drew his cap
over his ears, and went out into the storm, leaving the big dog on
guard. How he struggled through the snow that night, what difficulty he
had in waking up his two nearest neighbors, and getting one of them to
send his son for Doctor Critchel, and what was said about such things
always happening of such a night, I will leave to the imagination of my
reader.

It was nearly an hour before Hanz returned, bringing with him two stout,
motherly-looking dames. The storm had handled their garments somewhat
roughly, and they were well covered with snow. The old dog was pleased
to see them, and wagged them a welcome, and made sundry other signs of
his affection. And when they had shaken the snow from their garments,
and taken seats by the fire, Hanz gave them fresh pipes, which they
lighted and proceeded to enjoy while he went to preparing something warm
for their stomachs, and doing various other little things regarded as
indispensable on such an occasion.

The storm had caught the little house by the shoulders, and was giving
it one of its most violent shakes, when the dog suddenly started up,
gave a growl, then walked solemnly to the door and listened. A footstep
in the old veranda, then the stamping of feet, and a knock at the door
came. It was Critchel, the little snuffy doctor, who entered, looking
for all the world like an enlarged snow-ball. These were the occasions
in which the doctor rose into the most importance, and as his coming had
been waited with great anxiety, great efforts were made by those present
to assure him of the esteem in which he was held. Even the dog would not
go to his accustomed place on the hearth until he had caressed the
doctor at least a dozen times. Although held in great respect by the
settlers, Critchel was what might be called a shabby-looking little man,
for his raiment consisted of a brown coat, which he had worn
threadbare, a pair of greasy pantaloons that were in shreds at the
bottom, a spotted vest, and a Spitlesfield neckerchief. Indeed, he was
as antique in his dress as in his ideas of the science of medicine. He
had a round, red face, a short, upturned red nose, and a very bald head,
which Hanz always declared held more sense than people were willing to
give him credit for. There was no quainter figure than this familiar old
doctor as seen mounted on his big-headed and clumsy-footed Canadian
pony, his saddle-bags well filled with pills and powders, and ready to
bleed or blister at call. He was considered marvelously skilful, too, at
drawing teeth and curing the itch, with which the honest Dutch settlers
were occasionally afflicted. I must mention, also, that an additional
cause of the great respect shown him by the settlers was that he took
his pay in such things as they raised on their little farms and could
best spare.




CHAPTER III.

THE NEW COMER.


The storm ceased its fury at four o'clock, and a cold, bright, and calm
morning succeeded. The hills stood out in sharp, clear outlines, mother
earth had put on her cleanest cap, and there was not a ripple on all the
Tappan Zee. Hanz Toodleburg was now the happiest man in Nyack, for
Heaven had blessed his house and heart during the morning with as plump
and healthy a boy as ever was seen. There was a fond mother and a happy
father in the little house now; and the sweet innocent babe, their first
born, was like flowers strewn along their road of life. It was something
to live for, something to hope for, something to brighten their hopes of
the future, and to sweeten their love-dream.

In spite of the snow drifts, news of this important event ran from one
end to the other of the settlement before the sun was an hour up, and
set it all aglow. The roadmaster was early at the door to warn Hanz out
to break roads, but excused him when he heard how happy a man he had
been made during the night. And when the merry men came along with their
oxen, and their sledges, and their drag-logs, ploughing through and
tossing the snow aside, and making a way for the traveller, there were
cheers given for honest Hanz and the little gentleman who had just come
to town. And as they ploughed along through the drifts, they struck up a
merry song, which so excited Hanz's emotions that he could not resist
the temptation to put on his coat and follow them. And when they reached
Titus Bright's inn that ruddy-faced host met them at the door and bade
them welcome under his roof, and invited them to drink flip at his
expense. Hanz was treated and complimented in steaming mugs, and the
health and happiness of mother and son were not forgotten. Even the
Dominie was sent for, and made to drink flip and tell a story, which he
did with infinite good humor. Then the school-master, who was not to be
behind any of them when there was flip in the wind, looked in to pay his
compliments to Hanz, for the snow had closed up his little school-house
for the day. But, in truth, the pedagogue had a weakness he could not
overcome, and when invited to take flip tossed off so many mugs as
completely to loose his wits, though his tongue ran so nimbly that he
was more than a match for the Dominie, who declined discussing a
question of religion with him, but offered to tell a story for every
song he would sing. Four mugs of flip and two songs and the
school-master went into a deep sleep in his chair, where he remained for
the rest of the day.

The question as to who should name the young gentleman at Hanz's house
was now discussed. The names of various great men were suggested, such
as George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Hanz shook his head
negatively at the mention of these. "It vas not goot to give a poy too
pig a name; t-makes um prout ven da grows up," he said. It was finally
agreed that the young gentleman should be called Titus Bright, after the
little ruddy-faced inn-keeper. And the little man was so pleased with
the idea of having his name engrafted on that of the Toodleburg family,
that he promised a fat turkey and the best pig of the litter for the
christening dinner. More flip was now drank, and the merry party shook
hands and parted in the best of temper.

Hanz felt that as Heaven had blessed him and Angeline with this fine
boy, and so increased their joys, he must do something generous for his
friends. So, on the morning following he sent the Dominie a pig and a
peck of fine flour, for which that quaint divine thanked him and prayed
Heaven that he might send more. He gave the school-master a big pipe and
tobacco enough to last him a month. He also ordered the tailor to make
the pedagogue a new suit of homespun, something the poor man had not had
for many a day. School-mastering was not a business men got rich at in
those days, and poor Wiggins, for such was his name, had a hard time to
keep the wolf from his door. Indeed, he thought himself well paid with
four dollars a week and his victuals, which he got around among the
parents of his scholars. His worldly goods consisted of little else than
his birch and pipe, and the shabby clothes on his back. And as the
length of his engagements depended on his good behavior, which was none
of the best, he was frequently seen tramping from village to village in
search of a job.

As for Doctor Critchel, Hanz felt that he owed him a debt of gratitude
he could never pay, even were he to give him the farm. It was no use
offering the doctor a new suit of clothes, as he was never known to wear
such things. As for snuff-boxes, he had at least a dozen. Hanz sent him
a goose to roast for his dinner, a fat sheep, and a bag of extra flour,
just from the mill.

I may have been too particular in describing how and when this young
gentleman came into the world, but my reason for it is that there may
be those among my readers who will recognize the great and very
distinguished family of Von Toodleburg, which not many years ago amazed
New York with its brilliancy, and be anxious to know some of the ups and
downs of its early history.




CHAPTER IV.

CHANGED PROSPECTS.


Twelve years have passed since that stormy night when Titus Bright
Toodleburg--for the young gentleman as I have said before, was named
after the inn-keeper, came into the world. Great changes have taken
place since then. Tite, as the neighbors all call him, is now a bright,
intelligent boy, and a great favorite in the village. Hanz and Angeline
are proud of him, and he promises to be the joy of their declining
years. Hanz had always held to the opinion that men with too much
learning were dangerous to the peace of a neighborhood, inasmuch as it
caused them to neglect their farms and take to pursuits in which the
devil was served and honest people made beggars. He had, however, sent
Tite to school, and now the young gentleman could read, write, and
cypher; and this, he declared, was learning enough to get a man safe
through the world if he but followed an honest occupation and saved his
money. In addition to so much learning, the young gentleman had early
discovered an enterprising spirit, and a remarkable taste for
navigation. When only six years old he had his tiny sloops and
schooners, rigged by himself, on every duck-pond in the neighborhood.
And he could sail them with a skill remarkable in one so young. Indeed,
these duck-ponds were a source of great annoyance to Angeline, for
whenever one of Tite's crafts met with an accident he would wade to its
relief, no matter what the condition or color of the water.

Hanz shook his head, and felt that no good would come of this taste for
the sea on the part of Tite. He intended to bequeath him the farm, so
that he could spend his life like an honest man in raising good
vegetables for the New York market. Following the sea, Hanz urged, was a
very dangerous occupation, and where one man made any money by it, more
than a dozen lost their lives by storms. But Tite was not to be put off
by such arguments. The spirit of adventure was in the boy, and all other
objects had to yield to his natural inclinations. And now, at the age of
twelve, we find Tite a smart, sprightly cabin-boy, on board the good
sloop Heinrich, making the voyage to New York and back once a week, and
taking his first lessons in practical seamanship.

Wonderful changes had been developed along the beautiful Hudson during
these twelve years. People in the country said New York was getting to
be a very big, and a very wicked city. Already her skirmishers, in a
line of little houses, were pushed beyond the canal, and were
obliterating the cow-paths. The honest old Dutch settlers shrugged their
shoulders, and said it was not a good sign to see people get rich so
fast. Indeed, they declared that these fast and extravagant New Yorkers,
who were building great houses and sending big ships to all parts of the
world, would bring ruin on the country.

A ship of five hundred tons had been added to the old London line, and
her great size was an object of curiosity. But the man who projected her
was regarded by careful merchants as very reckless, and not a safe man
to trust.

That which troubled the minds of these peaceable old settlers most was
Mr. Fulton and his steamboat. Steam they declared to be a very
dangerous thing. And, as for this Mr. Fulton, he should be sent to an
insane asylum, before he destroyed all his friends, and lost all his
money in this dangerous undertaking. He might navigate the river with a
big tea-kettle in the bottom of his boat, but he would be sure to set
all the houses along the river on fire. And who was to pay the damages?
Steam was, however, a reality, and the little Fire Fly went puffing and
splashing up and down the river, alarming and astonishing the people
along its banks. She could make the voyage from the upper end of the
Tappan Zee to New York in a day, no matter how the wind blew. Hanz
Toodleburg called the Fire Fly an invention of the devil, and nobody
else. The bright blaze of her furnaces, and the long trail of fire and
sparks issuing from her funnel of a dark night, gave a spectre-like
appearance to her movements, that rather increased a belief amongst the
superstitious that she was really an invention of the evil one, sent for
some bad purpose.

A meeting was called at Hanz Toodleburg's house to consider the
dangerous look of things along the river. The Dominie and the
schoolmaster, and all the wise men in the settlement, were present, and
gave their opinions with the greatest gravity. If this Mr. Fulton, it
was argued, could, with the aid of the evil one, build these steamboats
to go to New York and back in a day, why there was an end to the
business of sloops and barges. And if the honest men who owned these
vessels were thrown out of business, how were they to get bread for
their families? These new inventions, Hanz argued, would be the ruin of
no end of honest people.

The schoolmaster, who assumed great wisdom on all such occasions, and
who had tossed off several pots of beer during the evening, put the
whole matter in a much more encouraging light. He had read something
about steam, he said, and knew that it was a very dangerous thing for a
man to trifle with. Mr. Fulton had built his steamboat one hundred and
nine feet long; and he could get to New York and back in a day, if
nothing happened to his boiler, which was all the time in danger of
bursting. Then if the boiler bursted, very likely the boat and all in
her would go to the bottom. Just let that happen once in the Tappan Zee,
and there would be an end to Mr. Fulton and his invention for getting
people to New York quick. Just let him set the Tappan Zee afire once,
and people would make such a storm that nothing more would be heard of
his inventions. When there was such danger of losing one's life
travelling in this way, what careful farmer, who had a family depending
on him, would think of either going himself or sending his produce to
market in such a way? There was no wisdom in the thing. The people would
stick to the sloops. That was the only safe way for sensible people to
get to market. Let them stick to the sloops, and Mr. Fulton would not
build a castle of what he got by his inventions.

The meeting was highly gratified at what the schoolmaster had said, and,
indeed, felt so much relieved that Hanz ordered a keg of fresh beer to
be tapped. These noisy, splashing steamboats would frighten people, and
by that means the good old-fashioned way of getting to market would not
be interfered with. It was also a source of great relief to these honest
people, that when those extravagant New Yorkers had spent all their
money on such wild and dangerous experiments, they would be content to
stay at home and mind their own business. Another source of great alarm
to these honest people was that several New Yorkers had come to Nyack,
and were building large houses, and otherwise setting examples of
extravagance to their children, when it was reported that they did not
pay their honest debts in town. The people of Hudson, too, were going
wild over a project for establishing a South-sea Company, and sending
ships to the far off Pacific ocean--where the people were, it had been
said, in the habit of eating their friends--to catch whales. Now, as the
people of Hudson had no more money than was needed at home, this
dangerous way of spending all they had was not to be justified.

Satisfied that they had settled a question of grave importance, and in
which the great interests of the country were involved, these honest
Dutchmen smoked another pipe and drank another mug of beer, and then
went quietly to their homes, feeling sure that the world and all Nyack
would be a gainer by what they had done.




CHAPTER V.

TITE TOODLEBURG AND A MODERN REFORMER.


Young Tite Toodleburg has grown up to be a boy of sixteen. A bright,
handsome fellow he is, every inch a sailor, and full of the spirit of
adventure. There is something more than Dutch blood in Tite, and it
begins to show itself. His figure is erect and slender, his hair soft
and flaxen, and his blue eyes and fresh, smiling face, almost girlish in
its expression, gave to his regular features a softness almost feminine.
And yet there was something manly, resolute, and even daring in his
actions. There was no such thing as fear in his nature. He had acquired
such a knowledge of seamanship that he could handle the good sloop
Heinrich quite as skilfully as the skipper, and, indeed, make the voyage
to New York as promptly as the greatest navigator on the Tappan Zee. He
was expert, too, at taking in and delivering out cargo, could keep the
sloop's account, and drive as good a trade as any of them with the
merchants in Fly Market. In this way Tite made a host of friends, who
began to look forward to the time when he would have a sloop of his own,
and be in a way to do friendly acts for them, perhaps to make a fortune
for himself.

Tite thought very differently. Navigating the river in a sloop, to be
passed by one of Mr. Fulton's steamboats, was not the sort of sea-faring
that suited his ambition. He had seen big ships come home, after long
voyages, and the majesty of their appearance excited his spirit of
adventure. He had also spent his evenings reading the works of
celebrated navigators and travellers; and these very naturally increased
his curiosity to know more of the world and see the things they had
seen. He had also looked out through the Narrows of New York harbor, and
his young heart had yearned to be on the broad ocean beyond. If he could
only master all the mysteries of Bowditch, be a skilful navigator, and
capable of sailing a ship to any part of the world, and see strange
things and people--that day might come, he thought to himself. He had
listened, too, for hours at a time, to the stories of old sailors who
had come on board the sloop while in port. One had been to India, and
another to Ceylon; and both told wonderful stories concerning the
voyages they had made and the people they had met. Another had seen
every port in the North Pacific, had been wrecked on Queen Charlotte's
Island, and told wonderful stories of his adventures in rounding Cape
Horn. His adventures among the South Sea Islands were of the most
romantic kind, and colored so as to incite the ambition of a venturesome
young lad like Tite to the highest pitch. There was another old sailor
who had sailed the South and North Pacific, had killed his score of
whales, and been as many times within an inch of losing his own life.

These stories so fired the young gentleman's imagination that he
resolved to try his fortune at a whaling voyage as soon as the people of
Hudson sent their first ship out. There was the wide world before him,
and perhaps he might find the means of making a fortune in some distant
land. But how was he to break this resolution to his kind parents, whom
he loved so dearly? What effect would it have on his mother, who doted
on him, and for whom he had the truest affection? His mind hung between
hope for the future and duty to his parents. Regularly every Saturday
afternoon Tite had come home, received his mother's blessing, and put
his earnings into her hands for safe-keeping. There would be an end of
this if he went to the South Sea. Then his parents were both getting
old, and would soon need a protector, and if anything serious happened
to them during his absence how could he ever forgive himself. Week after
week and month after month did Tite ponder these questions in his mind,
and still his resolution to see the world grew stronger and stronger.

It was about this time that there settled in Nyack a queer and very
inquisitive sort of man of the name of Bigelow Chapman. He was a
restless, discontented sort of man, very slender of figure, with sharp,
well-defined features, keen gray eye, and wore his dark hair long and
unkept. His manner was that of a man discontented with the world, which,
he said, needed a great deal of reforming; indeed, that it could be
reformed, ought to be reformed, and that he was the man to do it. He had
been the founder of Dogtown, Massachusetts, where he had built up a very
select community of keen-witted men and women--just to set an example to
the world of how people ought to live. Dolly Chapman, his wife, (for
what would a reformer be without a wife,) was a ponderous woman,
weighing more than two hundred pounds, and a proof that even in
matrimony the opposites meet. She was a fussy, ill-bred woman, spoke
with a strong nasal twang, and a sincere believer in all the reforms
advocated by her husband, though she differed with him on one or two
points of religion. And there was Mattie Chapman, a bright, bouncing
girl of fifteen, with rosy cheeks and fair hair, ambitious for one of
her age, and evidently inclined to make a show in the world. These
constituted the Chapman family.

Dogtown, of which I made mention, was a creation of Chapman's. With it
he was to demonstrate how the world could be reformed, and how the
prejudices were to be driven from other people's minds. Strong-minded
people from various towns in Massachusetts came and settled in Dogtown,
invested their money, were to do an equal share of work, and receive an
equal share of profits, and live together as happily as lambs. But
Dogtown did not long continue a paradise. Indeed, it soon became famous
for two things: for the name of Bigelow Chapman, and for having more
crazy and quarrelsome people in it than could be found in any other town
in Massachusetts, which was saying a good deal. The brothers and
sisters, for such they called themselves, got to quarrelling among
themselves on matters of politics and religion, though charity was a
thing they made no account of. In truth, there was more politics than
religion in their preaching.

Chapman constituted himself treasurer of the community, and some little
private speculations of his led to a belief among the brothers and
sisters that his mind was not solely occupied with schemes for reforming
the world. To tell the truth, Bigelow Chapman was not so great a fool as
his followers. He had intended, when Dogtown got thoroughly under way,
to sell out, put the money in his pocket, and employ his genius
somewhere else. He, however, undertook the enterprise of building a
church on speculation, being persuaded to do so by an outside Christian.

The church was to be a large, handsome building, with a butcher's shop
and a grocery, a shoe store and a confectionery in the basement, and a
school and a dancing academy up stairs; so that the brothers and
sisters could get everything they wanted, religion included, in one
locality. But the enterprise failed for want of funds to finish it, and
Dogtown went to the dogs, and the Chapman family to Nyack. Report has it
that the church was afterwards finished and converted into an insane
asylum, where several of the brothers and sisters lived for the rest of
their lives.

It was hinted that Chapman had brought some money to Nyack with him, but
exactly how much no one knew. The only thing positively known about him
at that time was that he had a great number of new ideas, all of which
he was in great haste to develope. Indeed, he soon had Nyack in a state
of continual agitation. He declared it his first duty to open the eyes
of the Dutch settlers to truth and right; then to get them to thinking;
and finally to make fortunes for all of them. He begun business,
however, by quarrelling with nearly everybody in the village, and
asserting that he knew more than all of them.

Twice he had Titus Bright, the inn-keeper, up before the magistrate and
fined for selling liquor in opposition to law. He proclaimed it highly
immoral to sell liquor at all, and told Bright to his teeth that no
honest man would do it. For this he had been twice kicked out of the inn
by Bright, who damned him as a meddling varlet, not to be tolerated in a
peaceable village. Again he had Bright up before the magistrate, who
justified the aggression, but fined the aggressor ten dollars a kick,
which Bright considered cheap enough considering what was got for his
money. Bright declared it a principle with him to give his customers
what they wanted, and let them be the judge of their own necessities.
Bigelow Chapman held that mankind was a big beast, to be subdued and
governed by laws made for his subjection. It never occurred to him,
however, that there might be reason in the opinions of others. Finding,
however, that he could not get the better of Bright in any other way, he
organized a company and set up an opposition tavern, where a traveller
could feel at home and have none of the annoyances of beer. The new inn
was to be conducted on strictly temperance principles, and the price of
board was to be reduced a dollar a week. But the principle of temperance
was carried out so rigidly in the fare that travellers, although treated
politely enough, found it difficult to get anything to eat, to say
nothing of drink.

While this was going on Mrs. Bigelow Chapman was busying herself getting
up an anti-tea-and-coffee-drinking society. She declared that this
coffee and tea-drinking was nothing less than an oppression, breaking
down people's health and making them poor, while the grocers who sold
the stuff were getting rich. It was evident, also, that she was carrying
her principles out on the table of the new inn. However commendable
these reforms might be in the eyes of a true reformer, they were not
exactly the thing to satisfy the wants of hungry travellers. The new inn
soon got up an excellent reputation for giving its customers nothing but
politeness and clean linen. This not being satisfactory to the
travelling public generally, the establishment had to close its doors
for want of customers. Chapman was surprised at this. He could not
understand why reformers were not better appreciated about Nyack. The
stock-holders, however, had lost all their money, and were glad to sell
out to Chapman, which they did for a trifle, and that was all he
wanted.

People began to inquire what the big building would next be turned into.
Mrs. Chapman and her dear husband, as she called him, were always
projecting something new. Indeed, she saw two fortunes in the future
where Chapman only saw one. The thought invaded her mind that there was
a fortune to be made by turning the big house into a great moral
progress boarding-school for young ladies, where "all the proprieties"
would be strictly attended to. Yes, "the proprieties" would take with
steady-minded people. She could attend to the proprieties, and dear
Chapman could look after the little money affairs. She did not want to
trouble herself with the sordid things of this world; she only wanted to
reform it. And to do that you must begin at the bottom. You must teach
young people, and especially young ladies, the value of reforms. In that
way you enable them to reform their husbands when they get them, and
also make them comprehend the value of new ideas. As for old people, she
declared it time wasted to try to get new ideas into their heads.

Chapman congratulated his dear wife on this new and grand idea. He
agreed with her that a woman was just the thing to straighten up a
husband in need of mental and physical reformation. But it would not do
to start the enterprise until you could get people to take stock enough
to insure a sound basis. He did not care about money himself, still it
was necessary to the success of all great enterprises. And seeing that
the inn had failed, though based on great moral principles, he was not
quite sure that the people would hasten to take stock in the new
enterprise.

It was also an objection with Chapman that with such an institution
there would be nothing to run opposition to except a few beer-drinking
school-masters, who got their victuals and fifteen dollars a month for
driving a knowledge of the rule of three into the heads of little Dutch
children. How different it would be with a church. And then the big inn
could be made such an excellent church, at such a small expense. A man
owning a church could feel himself strong in both politics and religion,
and have all the quarrels he wanted. Chapman was delighted with this new
idea of his; and his good wife supposed it was infinitely superior to
her own. It was another proof to her that there was no greater man in
the world than her dear Chapman. Once get the church going, and with a
preacher of the Dogtown school, to preach out and out transcendentalism,
and another ism or two, and they could get up an opposition that would
be popular with the people. In that way the thing would be sure to go.

Chapman declared this a golden opportunity. He had felt for some time
like getting up something that would drive the devil and all the
Dutchmen out of Nyack and into the Tappan Zee, and establish an entire
new order of things.

It was agreed between Chapman and his good wife that the church should
be put on its legs without delay; that the work of reforming Nyack and
the rest of the world should begin at once. As funds were necessary to
all great enterprises, and Chapman was inclined at all times to husband
his own, the good woman got up a regular season of religious
tea-parties, exclusively "for ladies." Mrs. Chapman was intent on
popularizing the enterprise, and to that end had inserted on her cards
of invitation, "exclusively for ladies." There was nothing like tea when
you wanted to make a great reform movement popular. Chapman had more
than once said that woman, under the inspiration of tea, made a mighty
engine in moving the world. Under its influence they gave enlargement
and development to progressive ideas. It had been charged that great
generals won their most celebrated battles under the influence of strong
drink. He had known great generals to win great battles under the
inspiration of tea alone. Tea and women were prodigious in their way.

The tea parties were not only got on their legs, but soon became very
popular. There were women enough in Nyack to give them, and neither rain
nor hail would keep them home of a Thursday evening. The great value of
progressive ideas was thoroughly discussed over these cups; and the fact
that their husbands were to be brought into a line of subjugation not
before anticipated had an inspiring effect. In short, female Nyack began
to carry a high head, and to make male Nyack feel that he was no longer
master in its own house. Dolly Chapman presided at these tea-parties
with that smartness peculiar to women of her class, taking particular
pains to explain how much could be done for Nyack and the world--if only
the women could get the direction of things into their own hands. A
church as the means of carrying out these new and grand ideas was
exactly what was wanted. The tea-party women all took up the idea, and
the enterprise was made so popular that each resolved herself into a
begging committee, and soon had collected the sum of seven hundred
dollars, an amount sufficient to put the thing on its legs.




CHAPTER VI.

A LITTLE FAMILY AFFAIR.


While the heads of the Chapman family were engaged in their great work
of reform, and Hanz Toodleburg, as the head of the Dutch settlers, was
preparing to resist all their efforts, Mattie Chapman and young Tite
were engaging in a matter of a very different nature. A little flame of
love had begun to burn in their youthful hearts, and was giving out such
manifestations of tenderness. I have noticed that when once the little
under-current of love begins to ebb and flow in young and innocent
hearts, it will break over whatever obstacles you put in its way, and
rarely stops until it has reached that haven of happiness called
matrimony. The parents of these young people seemed to have been cast in
opposite moulds, mentally and physically. Their modes of thought, their
expectations, and their manner of living differed entirely. Hanz
Toodleburg was simple-minded, honest, contented with his lot in the
world, smoked his pipe, and lived in peace with his neighbors. And these
he esteemed the greatest blessings a man could enjoy. Chapman was
restless, designing, ambitious of wealth, and ready always to quarrel
with those who did not fall in with his opinions. Indeed, he never
seemed happier than when he had a quarrel on hand; and he had the rare
tact of turning a quarrel into profit.

It was very different with the young people. In their innocent hearts
the fires of love had been kindled, and they were burning brighter and
brighter every day. The thought that they should incur opposition from
their parents never entered their minds. They would meet together of a
Sunday afternoon, and walk by the river side. They would meet and talk
over the gate as Tite passed and re-passed Chapman's house. And Mattie
was sure to meet him at the gate as he passed on his way to New York.
And then there would be an affectionate good-bye, and Mattie would watch
him until he had disappeared beyond the hill. The ordinary observer
would have seen in Tite's blushes and confused manner, whenever he met
Mattie, how the current of his love was setting. And when he returned at
the end of the week there was something for Mattie, some little token of
his affection; a proof that he had cherished her in his thoughts while
absent.

This little love affair did not fail to attract the attention of the
Chapman family. Nor was honest Hanz Toodleburg indifferent to what was
going on. Indeed, the gossips at the inn had joked Hanz about it,
hinting at a future connection of the two families. To all of which Hanz
would reply that Tite was only a boy yet, and had a good deal of other
kinds of business to do before thinking of what sort of a wife he
wanted. "If ta torter ish like ta fader, sho quarrelsome, t'man what
gets her for a vife don't lives in t'house mit her," Hanz would always
conclude.

Young as Tite was, he began to look on the matter seriously. The whaling
voyage was still exciting his ambition, however, and he began to enquire
of every one he thought likely to know, when the people of Hudson would
send their first ship to the South Sea. Then the thought of leaving
Mattie would depress his spirits, and for a time shake his resolution.
The trouble with him at first was how he could separate from his
parents; now his love for Mattie was added to his obstacles.

Chapman had not failed to notice this little affair of the affections
between the young people. He had noticed, also, that it had attracted
the attention of his wife. But neither had spoken of it. In short,
Chapman was anxious to have his wife refer to it first, to see in what
light she viewed it. And Mrs. Chapman was equally anxious to have her
dear husband, as she called him, express an opinion on the subject
before she gave one. He had once or twice noticed that when the young
people were at the gate she would call Mattie and tell her it was time
to come in; that she ought not to stay there so long talking to a
sailor-boy. Mattie would yield obedience with blushes and an air of
reluctance, the meaning of which her mother properly understood.

The truth of the matter was that the affair had engaged Chapman's
thoughts for some time; and it suddenly occurred to him that the whole
thing might be turned to profit. Toodleburg was a man of some
consequence among the people; they had great confidence in his
integrity, and implicitly believed him possessed of a secret that would
make the fortune of every man in Nyack. He had been evolving that secret
in his mind for some time, and if he could in any way get the confidence
of Hanz, and obtain the secret, or allow himself to be used in
connection with it, he could make money enough to live like a lord in
New York. And that was exactly what Mrs. Chapman wanted. The good woman,
however, had been so much engaged of late getting the new church on its
legs, and negotiating for the services of the Reverend Warren Holbrook,
of Dogtown, Massachusetts, who was to spread the doctrines of
transcendentalism, and a variety of other isms, before the people, and
turn Nyack out of doors, religiously speaking, that she felt that she
had not performed her whole duty towards Mattie.

There had been a religious tea-party at Chapman's house, where the
affair of the new church had been talked over, and the opening day
arranged. Mrs. Chapman was in her best dress, with a profusion of
ribbons streaming down her back, and a puffy cap on her head. She had
received a letter from the Reverend Warren Holbrook, accepting the offer
of three hundred dollars a year and board and washing, and saying, that
in addition to transcendentalism, he would advocate the equality of the
great human family. If these poor, benighted Dutch people who lived
about Nyack would only be regenerated and made progressive. Mrs. Chapman
found great consolation in this letter, and sat down to read it to her
dear husband, who had moved up nearer to the lamp and opened the last
great-work on the new doctrine.

When she had finished reading it she paused for a moment, and then
spoke. "Have you noticed, my dear," she enquired, and again hesitating,
"what has been going on between our Mattie--?" Again she hesitated.

Expecting what was coming, Chapman interposed by saying, "Don't be
afraid to speak, my darling; I know what you mean."

"I meant," resumed Mrs. Chapman, blushing and looking very serious, "I
meant, have you noticed the attention that sailor-boy--(young Toodlebug
did you call him?) horrors! what a name--was paying to our Mattie?"

"Burg, my dear, not bug," rejoined Chapman.

"People are beginning to talk about it, and they say such things!" The
good woman blushed, and assumed an air of great seriousness. "The young
man may be well enough, but then the Toodlebugs are only a common Dutch
family."

"Toodleburgs, my dear, not bugs. The name makes a great difference with
some people," rejoined Chapman, correctively. "Very natural, my dear,
very natural. The most natural thing in the world for young people to
make love. And the most natural thing in the world is that people should
talk about it. It is according to the principles of true philosophy. You
must not be alarmed, my dear, when you see young people make love. Harm
rarely comes of it, and it generally ends in a very small affair."

"Yes, my dear," replied the good woman, "and experience has proved to me
that it sometimes ends in a very large affair. A little flirtation
between young people--"

"Should be encouraged, my darling," interrupted Chapman.

"I was going to say," she continued, "was not objectionable. But when
looks come to be serious, the equality of things should be enquired
into. Time's a coming when we may be rich, and live in New York, and be
somebody, and move with the best of people. I looks forward to it, my
dear; and I am sure the enterprises we have on hand will be a success.
It will never do to marry our daughter to a sailor-boy, to say nothing
of connecting ourselves to a common Dutch family--"

"You talk like a philosopher, my darling; but I have known worse things
done, and great results flow from them. That young man promises well,
and as for old Hanz, he is a man of more importance than you think.
Some of these Dutch people are slow, but solid," rejoined Chapman,
shutting up the book. "I have an object in view, and this little,
innocent flirtation may help to improve it. At least, it can do no
harm."

"It is not good to let anything go on that might lead to harm," resumed
the good woman. "Mattie has good looks, and I intend that she shall have
a polished education, and shine in society some day. You have always
agreed with me, my dear, that it was good to look forward. How could
Mattie shine in society with such a husband, and such a name? The very
name of Toodlebug would sink us. Yes, my dear, sink us right down--"

"Wrong again, my dear; Tutle-burg. You may put an _e_ in it instead of
an _r_, if you please. That's where the difference is," interrupted
Chapman.

"I don't care, my dear; these polite people would turn up their noses,
and get it Too-dle-bug. They are very nice on names. If the young man
should get up in the world and keep a carriage, people would say 'there
goes Too-dle-bug's carriage--oh! what a name. What low people they must
have been.' If they should own a house in the fashionable part of the
city. We should both look forward to that, you know. Would'nt it be a
horrid name to read on the door? Toodlebug!"

"Tutle-burg, my dear; there's a big difference," interposed Mr. Chapman.

"As you says; but nice people would not pronounce it except with a bug,"
continued the good woman, looking discomfitted. "You have given so much
time to progress and reforming the world, that you don't understand
these matters as well as I do. I am sure there would be blushes and
smiles enough over such a name. Think of our daughter being Mrs.
Toodlebug, (I pronounce it with a b-u-g, you see,) and inviting nice
people to her reception. There would be people enough at that reception
to make light of the name. Yes, Mr. Chapman, you might as well have her
married to a Mr. Straddlebug. It's so very vulgar, my dear."

"As to that," replied Chapman, "the world is a great vulgarity, and only
puts on politeness for appearance sake. The young man might have his
name changed, or he might add something to it to soften it. How would
you like Von Toodleburg, my dear?"

"Never can be softened; never! The Von would do something to lift a
family up into respectability. And then, socially speaking, there was
such a wide difference between them distinguished Dutch families and
them common Dutch families."

"What would you have me do about it, darling?" enquired Chapman,
submissively.

"Oppose it, my dear!" replied Mrs. Chapman, bowing, and becoming
earnest. "Oppose it. You know how to oppose everything, and surely you
can oppose this."

This reply troubled Chapman considerably. He had for once found
something he would rather encourage than oppose. But he had a motive for
his action, as will be seen hereafter.




CHAPTER VII.

THE TOWN MOVED WITH INDIGNATION.


It was less than a week after the scenes we have described in the
foregoing chapter took place, that the good sloop Heinrich arrived,
having made her weekly voyage to New York and back. A small, ill-favored
man, with a very long red beard, and very long red hair, might have been
seen stepping ashore, with a book and an umbrella under his arm, and
wending his way up the lane, followed by Tite, carrying a corpulent
carpet-bag. There was a combative air about the little man, who stared
with a pair of small, fierce eyes, through a pair of glaring spectacles
at every one he met. He was dressed in a shabby black suit, that hung
loosely on his lean figure. This, with a broad, rolling collar, a pair
of russet brogans, and a common straw hat, turned up at one side,
completed his wardrobe, and gave an odd appearance to the man. Indeed,
the gentleman had no taste for the vanities of the world, and parted his
hair in the middle to save trouble. The ordinary observer might easily
have mistaken him for a school-master out of employment and in distress.
That such a man was to upset the settled opinions of a big town, few
persons would have believed. Such, however, was this odd-looking little
man's mission, and there was no end of new ideas contained in that
little bumpy forehead of his.

The new arrival was the much-expected Reverend Warren Holbrook, from
Dogtown last. As I have said before, he looked askance and inquisitively
at every one he met as he walked up the lane. He bowed, too, and had a
smile for all the females; then he enquired the name and condition of
those who lived in each house he came to--how many children they had,
and whether they were boys or girls. Now he paused and rested on his
umbrella when he had reached a bit of high ground, and gazed over Nyack
generally, and then over the Tappan Zee. Here was the new field of the
great labors before him. How often he had taken Dogtown by the neck and
shaken her up severely. The day might come when he would have to take
Nyack by the neck and give her a good shaking up, morally and
religiously. Mrs. Chapman had written him to say that Nyack was a bad
place, secularly and otherwise.

The whole Chapman family (including the big dog) was out at the door to
welcome the stranger; and such a warm greeting as he got. Mrs. Chapman
assured him that the best in the house had been prepared for him, and
that she had got the town in a state of great anxiety to see him. To
tell the truth, this busy, bustling woman had been blowing a noisy
trumpet for him in advance, and enlisting a large amount of female
sympathy by stating that he was preeminent as an advocate of woman's
rights in all things.

Of course the Reverend Warren Holbrook's arrival soon got noised over
Nyack, and the female mind was in a state of great agitation. Before
bed-time a number of curious and somewhat aged women dropped in to pay
their respects to the gentleman, and see for themselves what this man of
great natural gifts, who was to reform all Nyack and the world
generally, was like.

There was one member of the Chapman family, however, not pleased with
the way things were going, and that was Mattie. When the older Chapmans
had taken their guest into the house, she embraced the opportunity to
have a talk with Tite, and reproached him for what she had seen him do.

"Now, Tite," said she, looking earnestly into his face, "if you have any
respect for me, never walk behind a man, carrying his carpet-bag--never!
And such a looking man as that! You are as good as he, or anybody else,
and if you don't think yourself so, other people wont think so for you.
Never think you are not as good as somebody. Don't act as a help for
anybody, for if you do you will be set down for nobody all your life."

At first Tite hardly knew what to say in reply. The nature of the rebuke
showed the deep interest Mattie felt in him. "If I had taken pay," said
Tite, hesitating, "'twould have been different. I carried his
carpet-bag, I know, but then I did it as a favor; and, as you saw,
declined to take the sixpence he offered me. But I'll do as you say,
Mattie, and won't do so again; for I want to please you, you know." The
words fell nervously from Tite's lips, and there was a throbbing at the
heart he could not suppress.

"My mother," resumed Mattie, in a frank, girlish manner, "brought this
man Warren Holbrook into the house at Dogtown, and he got father into
such a deal of trouble. He was always quarrelling with somebody. He got
up a disturbance in the church. And then the church all went to pieces.
Oh, what a church it was! And mother thinks he's such a nice man. I
don't. Don't carry his carpet-bag again, Tite. Don't make a menial of
yourself for anybody." After saying this she walked part of the way home
with Tite, and then they parted with a sweet good-night.

The following day being Sunday, and the Reverend Warren Holbrook having
brought several prepared sermons with him, service was held in the new
church at the regular morning hour. The women gathered in great numbers,
and nearly filled the church; and the odd appearance of the little man,
as he took his place in the pulpit, was a subject of general remark.

His sermon, I may here state, was one of the most singular and
pyrotechnical ever preached in Nyack. He began by saying that Christ had
risen, and was with them in person. He had come to Nyack, he added, to
tell the truth and preach to sinners, for he understood the devil had
had things his own way for a long time in the town; and he understood
also there were sinners enough in Nyack to sink it. The world had
reached a stage of wickedness when it needed reforming. It must be
reformed, or it would sink under the weight of its wickedness. People
were getting rich, and with great riches there always came pride and
wickedness. He continued in this strain for nearly an hour, mixing up
transcendentalism, rationalism, unitarianism, and a number of other
isms, so unartistically as to astonish and confound his audience, and
give his hearers something to talk about for a week.

Then he suddenly broke away from his disputed points, as he called them,
and took up the subject of woman's wrongs. "My hearers," said he,
pausing and pointing upward with the fore-finger of his right hand,
"What would the world be without woman? From the very beginning of the
world she has been the victim of wrong, great wrong. Man has sinned
against her by making her his inferior. God never intended that she
should be the inferior of man. He never would have created her with a
form so beautiful, and a voice so soft and musical, if he had not
intended her for man's superior. And the day will come, and come soon,
too, when she will have her rights, and her voice will be heard in the
government of the nation. The angel that she is! Woman is a great power.
She has made kings and conquerors, and she can unmake them. She has
influenced the acts of statesmen, and made children of grave Senators.
Yes, my hearers, her power can be made greater than the throne. And yet
how few husbands appreciate their wives as they should do." Here the
reverend gentleman paused for a few seconds, and cast meaning glances at
several of his male hearers, who were evidently not inclined to receive
his remarks with favor. Indeed, Mr. Holbrook, while making a high bid
for popularity with the female portion of his audience, was throwing an
immense fire-brand into the family circle of a number of his hearers.

"My hearers, remember this," resumed this odd little man: "Manage a
woman right, and you have a mighty power to carry out the greatest
project the world ever saw."

Disjointed and illogical as this sermon was, it was just what Chapman
and Mrs. Chapman wanted to put the church of the new ideas firm on its
legs. It was popular with the women; and with their favor Holbrook could
ride triumphantly over any number of quarrels.

Mrs. Chapman intimated to another admiring female that the little man
they had just listened to was very like an oyster--looked better when
opened. In short, it was the general opinion of the women that Mr.
Holbrook had preached a very sensible sermon; and they were delighted,
notwithstanding what their husbands said to the contrary. "We have got a
preacher now," said the women, "who will stick up for our rights. You
men have had it all your own way long enough." Some of the men,
however, were not inclined to let these taunts pass quietly, declaring
that they had never listened to such nonsense before. One shook his
head, and declared that no good could come of such preaching, since
there was no true religion in it. Another snapped his fingers, saying
the man was not only a fool, but a mischief-maker. A third said all the
trouble in the world had been made by just such meddlesome men. The
church of great moral ideas might be a good enough church for some
people; but such a preacher as this made more infidels than honest men.

The whole town soon got into a dispute as to whether the Reverend Warren
Holbrook was a wise and good man, or simply a mischief-making egotist.
The women took the side of Holbrook, and stuck to it, like true women.
He preached the right sort of religion, they said, and was a wise and
good man, or he could not preach as he did. The men did not believe a
word of it, but seeing that their wives were inclined to have it all
their own way, and would not hear a word against the new preacher,
quietly submitted, as men generally do. That is to say, they surrendered
their authority.

Chapman was delighted at the nice little turn his preacher had made in
the affairs of the town. Nothing pleased him better than to have a dozen
disputes on hand at a time. If only well nursed they could be all made
profitable. Woman was the great pillar of Chapman's hopes. He had always
regarded her as the great foundation of any church. She could make it
popular if she pleased, and she could make it profitable, too. This, in
a measure, accounted for the unlimited admiration Mrs. Chapman had for
this great progressive clergyman. His great progressive religion was
just exactly the thing needed in Nyack. He must next attack the
Dominie, and drive him out of his pulpit, for it would not do to have
men preaching in an unknown tongue at this enlightened day.

In less than two months from the time this teacher of great progressive
ideas landed at Nyack, he had not only got the town by the ears, but so
divided his flock that it was now composed almost exclusively of women.
The men stayed at home and nursed their wrath. And it was good for them
that they did, for the women had things all their own way generally, and
Warren Holbrook, ill-favored and formed, was their idol. The pew rents
ran up, however, and the contributions of a Sunday increased nearly
double. Indeed, the Chapmans felt that they were now on the road to
fortune, and Mrs. Chapman's ambition increased accordingly.

All great enterprises, however, are liable to sudden checks, and
misfortune too often comes when one least expects it. And so it was with
the Reverend Warren Holbrook, the man of the great progressive ideas. He
was discovered paying what ladies of strict propriety regard as more
than ordinary attentions to a fair young damsel, the daughter of one of
the most active members of the church--a woman who had carried her head
high, and was so much given to wearing more finery than her neighbors
that the few friends she had were always ready to say ill-natured things
of her. The young woman was ready enough to embrace matrimony at any
moment; but the attentions she received from the reverend gentleman
caused great distress among a number of other young women of his church.
It was agreed among them that the reverend gentleman was neither
fascinating nor handsome, but he had mind, and was smart. Smart was the
thing a man most needed in a New England village.

I have said before that the mother of this damsel carried a high head,
as well in as out of the church. She seemed also to have more rights
than ordinary females, and would give herself a great deal of
unnecessary trouble in asserting them, so much so that many of her less
strong-handed sisters regarded her with fear. The gentleman's attentions
had not progressed far when it was evident to all attentive observers
that there must soon be a split in the female division of his church.
Indeed, the quarrel in the female division of the church of the great
progressive ideas was waged with great fierceness, and had such a number
of nice little scandals mixed up in it as to make it quite interesting
to people of a contemplative turn of mind.

Every meddlesome old woman in the church must put her finger in the
reverend gentleman's love pie, and would speak her mind plainly enough,
especially if she had daughters of her own. To use the poor man's own
language, he found himself spiked on all sides; and all for love, a
thing which has brought no end of mischief on the world. In short, from
being an idol he found himself between fires that threatened to consume
him, so fiercely did they burn.

The gentleman's position was indeed becoming perilous, when an
unforeseen circumstance afforded him the means of relief. There arrived
in Nyack late one Saturday night, a man of tall, slender figure, dressed
in a suit of plain black, and having the appearance of a young clergyman
just from the country. He put up at Titus Bright's inn, gave out that he
was from Dogtown, Massachusetts, and after partaking of supper, enquired
of the landlord where he could find the Reverend, so to speak, Warren
Holbrook. There was something serious in the man's manner, like one who
had been grievously wronged. Being told where he could find the object
of his search, he paced the room thoughtfully for a few minutes, then
muttered to himself, "I must see him to-night. The sooner settled the
better. It will not do to wait until morning."

Half an hour later, and the two reverend gentlemen (the stranger and
Holbrook) might have been seen seated at a table in a room of Chapman's
house. Their conversation had evidently not been of a very pleasant
nature, for the stranger, rising to take his departure, said: "You have
only to do her justice, and show to the world that you are an honorable
man. She is my sister; and unless you keep your promise, solemnly made
to her, I will follow you to the end of the earth, and make you the
scorned of men. Mark this well: it is the haunted soul of the hypocrite
that burns him through life; that makes him a very torment to himself."
The stranger returned to the inn, where he paced the room for nearly an
hour, and then retired for the night.

The bells rang on the following morning, and the good women of Nyack
wended their way to and had nearly filled every pew in the church of
great progressive ideas. The choir sung one hymn, and then sung another.
But no pastor came. There was something wrong, evidently. Hope and faith
were enjoined by a few. Some watched the door, others the pulpit.
Whispers succeeded wonder, and murmurs took the place of curiosity. The
church was clearly without a pastor; and what was a church to do under
such circumstances? At length the whole congregation got into a state of
profound agitation. What was the matter? where was the pastor? would'nt
somebody speak? These and similar questions were on every tongue. It
was suddenly discovered that the Chapmans were also absent.

An indignant female got up and proposed that some one "go for" the
Chapmans, and make them explain what it all meant. Another, equally
indignant, took a more sensible view of things. "If there's to be no
service," said she, "I'm going home to read my Bible in quiet." And she
left the church, followed by the rest of the congregation. And as nobody
explained, of course every one had his or her own reason for this
singular turn in the spiritual affairs of the new church. There was no
getting over the fact that the new church had been brought to a stand
still. To be plain about the matter, the Reverend Warren Holbrook had
put his great progressive ideas into practice during the night by
leaving the town, and also by taking with him the young woman to whom he
had been paying such marked attentions. The Tappan Zee had never been
more troubled in a storm than was the moral sensibilities of Nyack at
this news. The very atmosphere was rank with scandal. The men laughed
and jeered, and the women shook their heads and talked of nothing else.
"After that," said the women, "who can we trust."

"Served you right," replied the men, "for making much of such a fellow.
Women never take such men into their confidence without bringing dirty
water to their own doors." It was fortunate for Holbrook that he left
during the night, for, seeing the temper Nyack was in during that day,
there would have been some stones thrown had he remained.

The Chapmans took the matter very cool, however, counted the profits,
and put up the church shutters. Such things had happened before, Chapman
said. It was a weakness that had marked the history of the world; and
it had been a failing with the greatest of intellects. They would yet
show to the people of Nyack what could be done with the right sort of
enterprise. The honest old Dutchmen were in high glee over the turn
affairs at the new church had taken. They got together in Hanz
Toodleburg's veranda, drank their beer, and smoked their pipes, and
wished the devil might get the new preacher, "what comes t'down to raise
t'tevil mit de peoples, and raises t'tevil mit he self."

The stranger, of whom mention has been made, was more seriously
troubled. He heard the news of Holbrook's departure with a sad heart,
for he was the kind brother of a young woman to whom the delinquent had
made a solemn vow to marry. But that solemn vow he had recently broken
in the most heartless manner, and left her hopes blighted and her heart
sad. He declared, however, that he would follow Holbrook if he went to
the end of the earth, and bring him to justice before God and man.




CHAPTER IX.

TITE TAKES HIS DEPARTURE FOR THE SOUTH SEA.


High above all this hypocrisy, this intrigue, this selfishness and
dissimulation, there was something more pure and good. It was love, pure
and simple, binding the thoughts and hearts of Mattie Chapman and young
Tite. That love which forgets everything else in its truth and purity,
had been gently binding their young affections together. And now nothing
could separate them.

What sweet joys and touching sorrows are mingled with the wonderful
history of love. How surely it marks its objects. It seeks its most
precious captive in the strongest and bravest of hearts. Love has
dethroned kings, built up empires, set great nations at war, and made
statesmen weep with sorrow. Yea, it has made the mightiest to unbend,
and brought them bowing before its altar. It holds its capricious empire
in every heart, prompts our ambition, guides and governs our actions,
makes us heroes or cowards, and carries us hoping through the world.

It was love, then, that was holding its court on the occasion I am about
to describe. It was one of those bright and breezy spring mornings, when
Nature seems to have decked herself in her brightest colors, giving such
a charm to the banks of the Hudson. The young, fresh leaves were out,
and looking so green and crisp. The leak and the moss were creeping
afresh over the rocks; wild flowers were budding and blossoming, and
giving their sweet odors to the wind; birds were singing their touching
songs; brooks rippled and murmured their mysterious music; and all
Nature was indeed putting forth her beauties in one grand, sweet,
soul-stirring harmony.

How I envy the being who, free from the cares of the world, can elevate
his soul by holding sweet communion with nature, at spring time. Earth
has nothing so pure as the thoughts inspired by such sweet communion
with the buds, the blossoms, and the flowers of spring.

It was one of these soft, breezy mornings in early spring, I have said,
that Mattie and Tite sat together in a little clump of woods, where the
branches formed a sort of bower overhead, and overlooking the Tappan
Zee. Every few minutes Tite would get up, advance to a point commanding
a view of the river above, and gaze intently in that direction, as if
expecting some object of interest.

"She is not in sight yet, Mattie," he said, as he returned after one of
these intervals. "But she will be down to-day, I know she will, and then
we must part. Think of me when I am away, and I will think of you. Yes,
Mattie, I am only a sailor now, but I shall see the world, and that's
what I want, because it will make me something better. It will be three
years before we meet again; three long, long years. But I will think of
you and dream of you through all that time. And I will be so happy when
the day of our meeting comes. Be good to my mother and father while I am
gone. Be good to them for my sake. You will, won't you, Mattie?"

Mattie's blue eyes filled with tears, the wind tossed her golden curls
over her fair neck and shoulders, and there was something so tender and
touching in the picture of these young lovers. "I have made you a
solemn promise, Tite," she replied, in broken accents. "That promise
shall be kept sacred. I shall think of you, and pray for you. Your
parents shall be my parents. I will count the days until you return."
She paused for a moment and wiped her eyes. "Neither storm nor tempest
shall trouble you, Tite, for I will follow you with my prayers that God
may carry you safe through all dangers, and bring you safe back to us.
But, Tite, take this advice from me. Do all you can for yourself. Rise
as high as you can; make all the money you can; and don't forget what we
may come to be. People who get money, and take care of it, are sure to
rise in the world. People that don't get money never do. But, God bless
you, Tite; think of me and I'll think of you." This advice to the young
sailor to make all the money he could, and given on the eve of
departure, may seem out of place to some of my romantic readers; but it
was, perhaps, the best Mattie could have given him. She was a girl of
strong affections, and it was only natural that she should have
something of the propensity so strong in both her parents. But beyond
and above this there was something frank and generous, something of real
good in her nature. Young as she was, she saw in Tite's courage and
ambition traits of character that promised well for the future. This
made her forget that which was so objectionable to her mother--that he
was only the son of common Dutch people.

Tite had been looking for the object of his anxiety several minutes,
when, turning toward Mattie, he exclaimed: "Here she comes! here she
comes!" and they kissed and took an affectionate farewell, each
hastening to their homes. The object he had watched for so intently was
the ship Pacific, belonging to the Hudson Company's fleet of whale
ships, and bound on a voyage to the South Sea, as it was called in those
days. There was something grand and imposing about this fine old ship as
she moved majestically down the stream, her starboard tacks aboard, the
breeze filling her sails so nicely, for she had her royals set. Then her
new, white canvas contrasted so strikingly with the green hills that yet
shut her hull from view. Who could tell what might befall her in the
eventful voyage she was bound on?

A few minutes more and she braced her yards sharp and rounded the point,
and stood on her way down the Tappan Zee. Every outline of her hull now
came clearer and clearer. There were her heavy quarter-davits, her
hoisting gear, and whale-killing gear; her long, sharp boats, lashed so
carefully, some to her davits, others athwart her quarter-deck frames;
and about all of which there was a mysterious interest. These whale
ships were at that day an object of distrust in the minds of the honest
Dutchmen along the banks of the Hudson, who never saw them go to sea
without shaking their heads and predicting all sorts of disasters, such
as would be sure to bring ruin on the men unwise enough to risk their
money in such enterprises.

As the ship neared Nyack a group of ten or a dozen persons were seen
near the landing, with a boat and two men to take Tite off. There was
Hanz, old and grey; and Angeline, her eyes filled with tears, but her
face as full of sweetness and tenderness as it was twenty years ago.
Tite had been the joy and hope of her life. And now he was going to
leave home and sail to the other side of the world, among strange
people, and would have to brave dangers of the worst kind.

[Illustration: Who could tell what might befall her in the eventful
voyage she was bound on? Page 60]

There, too, was Doctor Critchel, and the good Dominie, and Titus Bright,
the inn-keeper; the first wearing his old brown coat, and looking as
snuffy as on the stormy night when he assisted in bringing Tite into the
world. They had all come to see Tite off, to say God speed, and to give
him some little token of their affection to carry with him on his voyage
after whales.

And now that time which so tries a mother's heart had come. "Good bye,
mother, good bye, and may God be with you and protect you," said Tite,
throwing his arms around his mother's neck, and kissing her wet cheek.
"I will come back safe, and never go to sea again." Then he took leave
of his father, and each of his friends in turn. In another minute the
boat in which he stood waving his handkerchief was pulling swiftly
toward the ship. There was not a dry eye in that little group as each
figure in it stood gazing out upon the calm waters, and watching the
object so dear to the hearts of all in it. And now the boat has reached
the ship, men are seen in the gangway, a line was thrown to the men in
the boat, the ship luffed a little, and in another moment Tite mounted
the ladder and was on deck. The first officer welcomed him, for there
was something in his appearance that indicated respectability and true
character; and his ship-mates gathered about him, each giving him a warm
shake of the hand and a friendly word. Then the good ship moved
gallantly down the stream, and Tite appeared on the forecastle, and
waved adieus until she disappeared among the green hills of the
Palisades.

There was a heart that fluttered, and a hand that waved signals, from a
point on the shore recognized by Tite, and responded to, but not seen by
the little sorrowing group waiting the return of the boat. It was
Mattie's heart that fluttered, and it was her hand that waved the last
adieu as the ship passed out of sight. There she stood, a touching
picture of truth and love, shedding her tears and waving a last farewell
to the object of her heart, and whom she might never see again.

Such are the transmutations of commerce that it would be a curious sight
at this day to see a whaleship, under full sail, proceeding up or down
the Hudson river. It was no uncommon sight then. The enterprising people
of Hudson shared the whale-fishery business with New Bedford and
Nantucket; their fleet of ships were fitted out in the very best manner,
and some of the most famous whaling captains sailed from that port.




CHAPTER X.

MR. AND MRS. CHAPMAN DISAGREE FOR THE FIRST TIME.


A bright light burned in Chapman's parlor that night, and the ponderous
Mrs. Chapman sat nursing her dignity in a great new rocking-chair. Her
little pale-faced husband, with keen eyes, and his hair somewhat longer
than usual, sat beside the lamp on the round table pouring over a book.
There was an air of improvement about the parlor, an evidence, indeed,
that the Chapmans had renounced their Dogtown habits, and were bent on
getting up in the world. New carpets, new mirrors, new furniture, and
window-curtains such as had not been seen in Nyack before, had been got
from New York. You must make your style of living, Mrs. Chapman said,
keep pace with the progress of the family. And it would not do to let
those new, rich, and stylish people who were coming up from New York get
ahead of you in the way of elegance.

Mrs. Chapman no longer condescended to prepare the sausage meat and
pumpkin pies; in a word, to do the work of her own kitchen. She could
afford, she said, to keep two "helps," a cook and a chambermaid, to take
it easy and put on the lady, and to give evening parties that quite
outdid in the way of nice little suppers anything their neighbors could
give. There was, however, a number of people in Nyack who shook their
heads at the pretensions of the Chapmans; said they were putting on too
many airs, and made no response to Mrs. Chapman's invitations. Others,
when a little scandal was necessary to keep up the interest of an
evening, would insinuate that they had "originally" been very common and
vulgar people. But now, like most New England people of that class, they
were not only trying to force their opinions down other and honester
people's throats, but had a way of meddling with business that did'nt
concern them, and making themselves disagreeable generally. When
Holbrook disappeared in disgrace, there were persons malicious enough to
say that the Chapmans had better mend their own morals before they went
to patching other people's up.

Mrs. Chapman could dress of an evening in silk, wear kid gloves that
came from France, and had plenty of real French lace on her caps. Few
persons in Nyack at that day could do such things and pass for honest
people.

"My dear," said Mrs. Chapman, addressing herself to her small, but
intellectually great, Mr. Chapman; "my dear." She paused for a moment,
as her face assumed an air of seriousness. "We must turn our backs
entirely on Dogtown. Dogtown won't do to elevate the family on. We never
can rise in the world with Dogtown on our shoulders. And if we would
live down that scandal brought on us by Holbrook, (an indiscretion, I
think you called it,) we must keep our heads up." She paused, shook her
head in pity, and raised her fat, waxy hands. "I can't sleep of nights,
thinking of it. Lays a body's feelings out terribly. But he was so
wonderfully clever." Her face brightened up as she said this.
"Wonderfully clever," she interpolated. "It was his mental greatness I
always subsided to and admired. Clever people have their weaknesses as
well as people what are not as clever. I sometimes thought you had
yours, my dear--"

"My dear!" interrupted Chapman, with an air of surprise, "what do you
mean? Hav'nt I been a finished husband, and a loving father?"

"You are just as good, my dear, as husbands can be made." Mrs. Chapman
said this condescendingly, and with an air of admiration truly grand.
"But then, you know," she said, more mildly, "there was that handsome
widow you used to be so polite to, my dear. You know I detected her
waving a handkerchief once. Then you said it was one you left at the
house; and so I never thought of it again."

"I never let the past trouble me, my dear, never. A man of forethought,
of progressive ideas, looks always ahead, and by his acts proves that he
is up square with the spirit of the age. I have a new conception. Yes,
my dear, a new conception. Nothing figurative about it, my dear. I have
a new and grand conception, which I have been evolving in my mind for
some time, and now I am getting it into a scheme which I am sure will be
profitable."

"My dear husband," said Mrs. Chapman, in a strain of intense excitement,
"do let us know what it is."

"Of great importance to us both," he replied, with great seriousness, as
he brushed his long black hair back over his parchment-like forehead.

"I'll be bound it refers to what took place to-day between our Mattie
and that young sailor. I saw it all; and you saw it all, too, my dear,
and you never said a word. We never can agree on that matter, my dear,
never. On everything else we can. You can't mistake what two young
people mean when they go to waving handkerchiefs, and picking wild
flowers in the woods. This little love matter must be stopped before it
gets into a big one. Yes, it must, my dear. So fine a young woman as
our daughter condescending to marry a sailor! As I said before, my dear,
you know I have had experience in these matters--"

"In other matters, you know, Mrs. Chapman, I have always yielded to
you--"

"And I have always yielded to you," resumed the anxious woman, "and
never considered it a condescension. But in this I must have my own
way." And Mrs. Chapman got up and walked to a window overlooking the
Tappan Zee. The night was bright and starlight, and shadows were
flitting and dancing over the smooth waters. The picture of the ship,
with Tite waving Mattie an adieu from the forecastle, haunted her mind.

"If that ship goes to the bottom of the sea, not a tear shall I
shed--not a tear!" resumed the speaker, in an agitated tone. "And I have
as tender a heart as anybody. But we must elevate the family. That's
laudable, you know. Nice people are very particular about these things.
And you know how much there is in names. Think of elevating the family
by taking a man by the name of Toodlebug into it! Think of our going to
live in New York with such a name. Everybody would say Toodlebug!
Toodlebug! and nobody would come to our daughter's parties." The good
woman ran on in this way for several minutes, compelling her dear
Chapman to keep the peace. At length she settled back into her rocking
chair, and there was a pause.

"My dear," said Chapman, meekly, "I have always held that a man could
commit no greater folly than that of quarrelling with a woman on a
question of family pride. In such a contest the man is sure to get the
worst of it. I say this understandingly, my dear." And Chapman shut up
his book, and looked up into his wife's face, as if to watch the changes
of her countenance.

"We may agree on that matter yet, my dear. A man is never so low by
birth (I mean in this country, at least,) but that he may rise to the
highest office of honor and trust--"

"Not with such a name as Toodlebug--never!" Mrs. Chapman interrupted,
curtly.

"That's a mistake, my dear. Names never distinguished people. A man's
merit and money are the things that do it. This is a free country. A
woman may have as many quarrels as she pleases, and have her own way in
things generally. Nothing personal, my dear.

"But to go back to what I was pondering over when you interrupted me. A
family never gets through the world easy without a solid basis; and I
was thinking how to give a solid basis to our little family. Marrying is
all well enough in its way; but the woman who marries a man without a
solid basis, either in money or character, marries into misery. That's
my philosophy--"

"Exactly!" interrupted Mrs. Chapman, with a stately nod of the head, and
rubbing her fat hands. "Now you talk as I like to hear you. There's no
getting up in the world without money."

"I intended to make that point in my logic, and was coming to it, my
dear. You see, we have got the building and everything in it, all our
own. And we have got two or three thousand dollars, all put away for a
wet day. Property all honorably made. Heaven knows I would not have a
dollar that was not. That, my dear, is a good beginning for a good
basis. We must keep adding to it; keep the tide flowing in the channel
of success. I was thinking, my dear, of inventing a new religion."

"My dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Chapman, with an air of astonishment, "what an
inventive head you have got. But you have said so often that there was
too much religion in the world, and not enough of true goodness."

"Of the old kind, I meant, my dear;" resumed the little man. "What I
mean is to invent a religion that is new and novel, has something broad
and attractive in it, and that people of a curious turn of mind would
pay for enjoying. That's the kind of religion that pays, you see. And if
we could put the church on its feet again with something of that kind.
It's the propensity people have to go galloping after new things in
religion that we must study and turn to our advantage if we would be
prosperous." The little man fretted his fingers nervously through his
unkept hair, and his face assumed an air of great seriousness.

"How, my dear," enquired Mrs. Chapman, "could you put the church on its
feet with such a load of scandal on its back? Could'nt you invent
something else that would be novel and profitable?"

"There's where my new conception was coming in. That's the point I was
considering when you interrupted me with Mattie's love affair," Chapman
replied, looking more serious than ever.

"It struck me that we might do something profitable by getting up a
company for the discovery of Kidd's treasure. 'The Great Kidd Discovery
Company' would be a good name, my dear. You must always give a company a
good name. Then you must manage it with tact and prudence. A prodigious
enterprise, my dear. These simple-minded and honest Dutch people would
fall into it like a flock of sheep. They honestly believe Kidd was a
bold pirate, who amassed a great fortune by plundering towns on the
Spanish Main. That, having more gold and silver than he could invest to
advantage, he buried it on the bank of the river, a few leagues above
this place, where he entered into an agreement with the devil to stand
guard over it until he returned. They believe, also, that Hanz
Toodleburg, whose father knew Kidd well, and perhaps had something to do
with his adventures, is the only man now living who possesses the secret
of where that treasure is buried."




CHAPTER XI.

MRS. CHAPMAN CULTIVATES NEW ACQUAINTANCES.


It was spring-time of the year 1824. A new era in the history of the
nation's wealth and progress seemed to have fairly begun. Strong and
vigorous intellects ruled in the councils of the nation and inspired
confidence in the people. Science was breathing new life into our
enterprise, and leading us rapidly into new fields and richer prospects.
It was also brushing away the prejudices that had narrowed our thoughts
and confined our action to things of a past age. Steam was an adjustable
power now, a reality; still there were sensible men who shook their
heads in doubt; and the men who declared it would soon revolutionize the
commerce of the world were set down as not safe to do business with.

Steamboats of improved model and of increased size seemed to spring up
every day, and might be seen passing up and down the Hudson night and
morning. Now a company of reckless New Yorkers proposed to build a
steamboat two hundred feet long, and with an engine of one hundred and
fifty horse power, to navigate the Hudson to Albany at the rate of
thirteen miles an hour. This great experiment, regarded so hazardous at
that time, sent the honest and peace-loving Dutchmen along the banks of
the river into such a state of alarm that they called meetings, and in
the most solemn manner declared that no man's life would be safe while
sailing at such a dangerous rate of speed. And they further declared
that all these new-fashioned methods of putting an end to the lives of
honest people must be stopped. In fine, they predicted nothing but
distress and ruin on all who had anything to do with them.

It was at one of these meetings, held in Nyack about this time, and
presided over by the school-master, that a number of these honest and
peace-loving old settlers resolved, after much grave deliberation, that
a man who paid his debts and was contented with what he had was the only
true Christian. And it was further resolved, that the world was getting
to be very wicked and very full of foolish people, who were in such a
hurry to get to the devil before their time that they had devised these
steamboats to carry them. And seeing that it was neither wisdom nor
prudence for honest people to travel on such craft, they would also not
send their vegetables to market on them.

This resolution was kept good for a number of years, the honest people
who made it firmly believing that all good and prudent persons would
follow their example, and in that way drive the steamboats from the
river. Alarming as these things were, there were others which fairly
frightened these honest people out of all their courage. The gossips had
gathered in force at Titus Bright's inn one night, to enjoy a pipe and a
mug of his new ale. There was the school-master, and Doctor Critchel,
and Hanz Toodleburg, and other choice spirits, who knew all about the
affairs of the nation. When they had discussed all manner of subjects,
Titus drew from his pocket a newspaper and read, to the astonishment and
evident alarm of his guests, that a man in England had invented a
machine to do away with horses. The doctor set down his ale and adjusted
his spectacles, and gazed at the speaker with an air of surprise and
astonishment, while Hanz and the school-master suddenly ceased smoking.

"Now don't get alarmed, my friends," said Titus, watching with evident
delight the increasing alarm of his guests. "It is all here, and true.
He has invented a steam-horse, with an iron stomach and wheels; and the
animal can, with good management, be made to run over a road at the rate
of twenty miles an hour. Yes," added Titus, with a look of great
seriousness, "people are already risking their lives by riding in this
way."

The doctor heaved a sigh, and, half raising his pipe, gave it as his
opinion that a man who would invent such dangerous machines must be in
league with the devil. This profound opinion was endorsed by both Hanz
and the school-master. The latter, in short, suggested that such men
were generally vagabonds, whom it were well to throw into the Tappan
Zee, with stones around their necks.

"If the world was going to the devil in this way, what was the use of
living in it," inquired the school-master, finishing his ale, and
passing his mug for a fresh draught.

"Sure enough, sure enough!" a number of voices ejaculated
simultaneously.

"Truly, the dragons are to be let loose upon us," resumed Bright,
passing the schoolmaster his mug of ale. "An' here's now in New York,
that's got to be so wicked honest folks can't live in it, a lot o' crazy
men talking about building one of these here steamboats big enough to
cross the Atlantic."

"Der won't be much heerd of de mans nir de vomans vat goes in um,"
interrupted Hanz.

"Peoples is not sho crazy as t'too any un de sort. 'Tis all hombug;"
joined the doctor.

"So I say, doctor!" interposed the school-master.

"Here it is, gentlemen," resumed Bright; "all down in the newspaper. No
getting over that." Thus was this important subject discussed until a
late hour, the gossips going to their homes with serious faces and heavy
hearts.

It is a very well established fact that the question of building
steamships large enough and strong enough to cross the ocean was
discussed by a number of New York merchants who were ready to embark
capital in the project, several years before the keels of the Royal
William, the Savannah, the Sirius, or the Great Western were laid. But
we must leave this subject for the present, and return to our friends,
the Chapmans.

These people professed to be plain and practical, brought up according
to the creed of New England. They also affected to despise the small
vanities of the world. The effect of prosperity, however, on their
natures was singularly instructive, since it entirely changed their
manners. No sooner did fortune favor them than Mrs. Chapman began to
display an ambition for vulgar show, such as well-bred people never
indulge in. She never failed to remind her friends that she was brought
up in Boston, where everything was very refined. She regarded it as a
compliment to herself that she had an intellectual husband. He had a big
head, if he was small, and could carry any number of books in it. That
was what Boston people liked. Her thoughts seemed continually navigating
between religion and the fashions. She had no deep affection or love for
any one, not even for her daughter Mattie, whom she viewed in the light
of a rather valuable ornament, in the disposal of which she must make
the best bargain she could, not so much for the girl's sake as her own.
She could toss her head as disdainfully as any of your fine dames; and
she could discourse as glibly about genteel society as a successful
milliner just set up for a lady. She had plain Mrs. Jones for a
neighbor, and would drop that honest woman a nod now and then, out of
mere politeness. But she never condescended to associate on terms of
equality with the Jones family. Mrs. Jones's husband was a common,
unintellectual sort of person, who retailed groceries for a living.

A singular and mysterious change had now taken place. Chapman no longer
got up quarrels with his neighbors. Indeed, he had a good word to say
whenever he met Titus Bright. He could shake hands with Doctor Critchel,
and agree with the Dominie on matters of religion. In fine, if he was
everybody's enemy before, he was now everybody's friend. He admired the
Dutch for their honesty and true-heartedness. This singular change gave
the gossips of the town something to talk about for a week. The Chapmans
and the Toodleburgs were now the very best of friends. Chapman could be
seen of an evening sitting in Hanz's little ivy-covered porch, enjoying
a pot of ale. And Hanz had been seen smoking his pipe in Chapman's
garden. All this meant something, the gossips said, and something of
great importance. Where two such men got their heads together, and pipes
and ale were called in, there was sure to be something deep going on.
Hanz Toodleburg, they said, never smoked his pipe with a man like
Chapman but that there was something in the wind. Then Mrs. Chapman and
her gushing, blue-eyed daughter had condescended to visit at
Toodleburg's, and could make themselves quite agreeable at Angeline's
tea-table. And then Angeline, good, kind Angeline, with her face still
bright with gentleness and love, was always so happy When Mattie called.
Then there was something so simple, so frank and straightforward in
Mattie's nature. Angeline could not help loving her. And the affection
she cherished for Tite, who was the idol of her thoughts, strengthened
the ties of their love.

"We have not forgot you, you see," said Mrs. Chapman, as she bowed
herself into Toodleburg's little house one evening. "We expected company
at home to-night, but says I to my dear husband, 'you know, my dear
husband,' (here Mrs. Chapman bowed to her dear husband, who had followed
her,) 'we have been promising so long to visit Mr. and Mrs.
Toodleburg.'"

Angeline bowed and invited her visitors to be seated, while Hanz gave
Chapman a hearty shake of the hand, and an assurance that no man was
more welcome under his roof. "Always glad to see mine friends," said
Hanz. "You shall take seats, and be shust so much at home as you is in
your own house." And he drew one big chair up for Chapman, and another
for Mrs. Chapman. "Peoples always makes themselves at home in mine
house."

"You must excuse our humble little place," Angeline said; "we are plain,
every-day people." And she made Mrs. Chapman a low courtesy, as that
stout, bustling woman, apparently overcome with the heat, settled her
solid circumference into a chair.

"Dear a me," rejoined Mrs. Chapman, "what happy people you ought to be.
Everything so comfortable round you, you know, and all your own. What a
blessing to have things all your own." Here Mrs. Chapman raised her
bonnet carefully and used it as a fan.

"Yes, we are quite unpretending people," Angeline repeated. "What we
have got is our own. We are getting old now, and if we die owing nobody
a shilling we shall die in peace." And her sweet face lighted up with a
smile, the true reflex of that goodness her heart was so full of.

"It's so warm--I'm about melted," rejoined Mrs. Chapman, not appearing
to notice what Angeline had said. "And this is my new bonnet, you see.
Bonnets cost so much money now. People are getting so fashionable, and
to be anybody you must keep up appearances." She held her bonnet up
admiringly. "And my dear, good husband there--he's such a good
husband--says I'm a very expensive wife. Always buys me what I want,
though." Here she raised her waxy, fat hand, and dropped a bow of
approval to the little husband, who was quietly surveying the scene from
Hanz's big chair. "My husband is so intellectual, and does so much for
other people. He's always doing for other people. But he's a treasure to
me, for all that--"

"My dear, my dear," interrupted Chapman; "what a kind way you have of
paying compliments. Mrs. Toodleburg will not understand you, my dear.
What more than any one else have I done for other people?"

"You have been a perfect Christian, my dear, so you have," resumed Mrs.
Chapman, giving her head a toss and pressing the fore-finger of her
right hand on the arm of the chair. "Why, Mrs. Toodlebug--pardon me; I
never did pronounce names correct." She turned condescendingly to
Angeline. "You must know that my dear husband created a whole town once.
Then he built a great and flourishing church, founded on advanced moral
ideas. And he intended to have sold it for the good of others, and would
have sold it, but for an unforeseen circumstance."

"A very unforeseen circumstance, my dear," rejoined Chapman, shaking his
head admonishingly. "You see, I have got one of the very best wives in
the world. She has a philosophy of her own, and we agree in everything."

"Shust like me and mine vife," said Hanz. "We agrees in everything.
Lived dese forty nor more years togeder, mitout a quarrel." Hanz had
been sitting where a pale shadow of the dim light played over his broad,
kindly face, and, with his long, white hair curling down his neck, gave
a clearer outline to the picture.

"Never had even a little quarrel?" resumed Mrs. Chapman, inquiringly. "I
have heard married people say it was so nice to have a little quarrel
now and then. But my dear husband is such a good husband, Mrs.
Toodleburg. Just like yours." Here she turned toward and dropped
Angeline a bow. "I never want to live to see the day when I shall have
to marry a second husband." Here she turned and dropped a bow to her
dear Chapman. "I should be always praising you, my dear. And unless my
dear second husband was a saint there would be trouble in the house, you
know. My dear, let us drop this subject. It is not pleasant to look to
far into the future." Here she turned to Angeline, who had proceeded to
get some strawberries and cream for her guests.

"You are so nice and comfortable here," she resumed; "it takes one back
to the good old times, when everything was true and simple." Mrs.
Chapman gave quicker motion to her tongue. "You have your loom, and your
spinning-wheel, and homespun made by your own hands. How delightful."

"My dear, my dear," interrupted Chapman; "what a homily on the beauties
of economy you are reading our friends--"

"Don't interrupt me, my dear," resumed Mrs. Chapman, and she again
turned to Angeline. "Do you know, Mrs. Toodlebug, that I have always
felt that we ought to be the best of friends?"

"You are very kind," said Angeline, "very kind. We are very plain
people."

"That's why I like you all the better," Mrs. Chapman resumed, with an
air of condescension. "My husband and your husband must also be the best
of friends. They can make a fortune by it, you know. You see, my husband
proposes to make your husband's fortune. He is the greatest man to make
other people's fortunes. Yes, he is. My husband's head is full of great
progressive ideas. And he has made the fortunes of so many men." Here
Mrs. Chapman lowered her voice to a whisper, and drew her chair a little
nearer to Angeline. "There is another little matter that should make us
firm friends. I would not mention it, you know; but I feel that it is no
secret." Here she dropped one of her most significant bows. "I have
taken such a liking to your son. Such a promising young man, he is. That
voyage will make a man of him; who knows but he may come home with a
large fortune. I have known stranger things than that. I have been
encouraging a little love affair between him and my daughter Mattie. You
have seen my Mattie? She is clever, wonderfully smart, handsome, too;
and if she gets the right kind of a husband, will shine in society."

"My poor boy, my poor boy!" exclaimed Angeline, her eyes filling with
tears at the mention of his name. "How, how, how I should like to see
him to-night. There is where he used to sit, (here her voice yielded to
her emotions,) and here is the chair we always kept for him. Perhaps we
shall never see him again. He was so good and so kind to us. I hope God
will be good to him, and will watch over him, and carry him safe through
dangers, and bring him back to us. Oh, I know God will be good to him.
We are both old now, and have nothing to live for but him." Again she
gave way to her grief, and as the tears flowed buried her face in her
hands.

"My dear, good friend," rejoined Mrs. Chapman, rising from her chair,
and placing her hand consolingly on Angeline's shoulder; "there is
nothing in the world to weep for. Nothing in the world. I would be proud
of a son who had courage and ambition enough to go on one of these
voyages. It is proof, my good woman, that he has something in him. And
if he should bring home a fortune, you know. Oh, he'd have so many
friends. Don't weep, my good woman, don't weep. He'll be such a joy to
you when he comes home. And I will encourage Mattie to think of nobody
else."




CHAPTER XII.

A STRANGE GENTLEMAN.


Angeline had just recovered from her grief, and was setting strawberries
and cream before her visitors, when a loud knock was heard at the door,
which Hanz proceeded to open; when a tall, well-dressed man, with dark,
well kept hair, piercing black eyes, features of great regularity, and
having the manners of a gentleman, entered and introduced himself as Mr.
Luke Topman, just from New York. "I am a stranger to you all here," he
said, in a deep, clear voice, "and I owe you an apology for calling at
this seemingly late hour. I said I was a stranger," he repeated, "but
the business I am on may make us acquaintances." The stranger stood for
a moment, with his eyes fixed on Chapman. Still no recognition passed,
and their manner was that of strangers who had never met before.

The figures here grouped together were of the most opposite kind, and
presented a picture at once striking and effective. A table stood in the
centre of the little room, and on it burned a candle, casting a pale and
shadowy light over and giving clearer outline to each figure. There was
the old loom, with its harnesses, its reed, and its shuttles; the
flax-wheel and the distaff, forming a quaint setting, but representing a
past age and the primitive habits of the people who used them.

There was Hanz and Angeline on one side. Time was writing its record in
deep lines on their faces, and whitening their gray hairs. Frank,
simple-minded, honest, and contented, they had enough to carry them
through life comfortably; and why should they, Hanz said, trouble
themselves about anything more? They represented an age and a people
perfectly happy with what it had pleased God to give them. On the other
side there was Chapman and Mrs. Chapman, exact types of the people they
represented. Ambitious of making a show in the world, grasping,
restless, selfish, intriguing, seeking always for means to advance
themselves, studying the future for their own advancement, and ready to
use even religion as an assistant to gaining their objects. Such was the
contrast presented in the picture before us.

Again apologizing for calling at what seemed a late hour, the stranger
proceeded. "I am in great haste, madam. I came all the way from New York
to-day. Crossed the ferry only an hour ago, and am somewhat fatigued. My
business is of great importance, and with Mr. Toodleburg. I was directed
here, and am glad to find him so comfortably situated."

"Very well, very well," rejoined Hanz, his face lighted up with a smile,
and his white hair flowing; "dat's me, mine friend. You be's welcome to
my little home. Yees, mine friend, you shall be so welcome as I can make
you." Hanz shook him heartily by the hand, and invited him to sit down.
"You be's had no shupper, eh?" he resumed. "Der's no man what comes nor
goes hungry to my house."

The stranger bowed and said, "Thank you--you are very kind; but I supped
on the other side of the sea, and have no need for any more."

"Mine gracious!" exclaimed Hanz. "You comes all de way from New York to
she me. You eats anoder shupper, shure."

The stranger persisted that he would eat no more that night. The
appearance of the man at so late an hour excited serious apprehensions
in the mind of Angeline lest he should bring news of some disaster to
the good ship Pacific.

Then turning to Mrs. Chapman, he said, "I hope, madam, I have not
intruded on your privacy here to-night?"

That lady, having dropped him one of her best bows, assured him there
was nothing private so far as she was concerned. "We are friends and
neighbors of these good people," she replied with a forced smile and an
air of condescension. "We like to be neighborly, and just dropped in to
make a friendly call. That's all, sir."

"I am very glad to meet Mr. Toodleburg. Very glad to find him such an
excellent person," the stranger repeated, turning to Hanz, and again
taking him by the hand. "Topman, I said my name was; Luke Topman, senior
partner of the enterprising house of Topman and Gusher, doing a large
miscellaneous business in Pearl, near Wall street. You are, doubtless,
well acquainted with the reputation of the firm." Here Mr. Topman
compressed his lips, brushed his fingers through his hair, and addressed
himself to Chapman, who up to this time had maintained an air of
indifference to what was going on.

"Perfectly well," replied Chapman, with an air of surprise. "Highly
respectable and equally responsible house, that. Why, sir, it is
somewhat curious that we should meet here. A relative of mine did
business with that house a long time. Highly satisfactory--highly."

"We endeavor to make everything satisfactory with our customers,"
resumed Mr. Topman. "Happy to have met a gentleman so familiar with the
reputation of our house. Pray, may I enquire to the name?"

"Chapman--Bigelow Chapman. My wife, Mr. Topman; my enlarged and better
half. Mr. Topman, my dear, of the firm of Topman and Gusher. Doing a
large miscellaneous business, and highly respectable."

"What a strange meeting this is. You used to know each other? How
curious!" interposed Mrs. Chapman, rising from her seat and dropping Mr.
Topman one of her most stately bows.

"By reputation. Perhaps I should have said general reputation, my dear,"
returned Chapman. During all this time Hanz was kept in ignorance of the
object of the stranger's visit. Yet the whole scene was such as could
not fail to excite his curiosity to the very highest pitch.

"And now," said the stranger, "as the night is warm, and ladies never
care to hear anything about business, I propose, Mr. Toodleburg, that we
retire to the porch. You can enjoy your pipe, there; and, if you will
permit me, I will enjoy a cigar. Our friend, here--he will permit me to
call him so--will join us."

The three now proceeded to the porch; where, when they had become
seated, the stranger discovered the object of his visit. "I have been
informed on good authority," said Mr. Topman, "that you possess the
secret of where Kidd's treasure is buried--"

"Vel, vel, vel!" exclaimed Hanz, raising his hands in astonishment; "if
dat ish'nt so pig a lie as ever vas told. No, mine friend, I knows
nothin' apout dis Mr. Kidd, nor his money. Dis one big lie de peoples
pout here gits up, as has nothin' petter to do."

"It's somewhat singular," said Chapman, fixing his keen black eyes on
the stranger, "it was that that brought me here to-night. Mr.
Toodleburg may be innocent of all knowledge of Mr. Kidd, as he says. But
the people sincerely believe that he does, and that he possesses the
secret of where his treasure is buried. The belief is just as good as
the reality, and may be made equally profitable."

"Exactly," interposed Mr. Topman, "exactly! Just what I was going to
suggest." Here Mr. Topman put his thumbs in the arms of his waistcoat,
and drummed on the front with his fingers. "If these honest people
believe Mr. Toodleburg knows where the money is buried, why, sir,
there's your solid basis for a grand joint stock company, dividends
twenty per cent., payable quarterly. That's what takes. God bless me,
Mr. Toodleburg, here's a fortune in your fingers. Capable heads, sir,
and capable hands. There's all, sir, that is required to give the thing
popularity and insure its success." Mr. Topman paused for a moment,
threw himself back in his chair, and cast a patronizing glance at Hanz.
"Progressive idea, sir. Grand Kidd Discovery Company. Capital one
hundred thousand dollars, all paid in. The man fortunate enough to get
twenty shares is sure to make a fortune."

"Den if he pe so grand, why you don't make all de fortune, and keep him
yourshelf?" said Hanz, rubbing his head and dropping his pipe.

"Having the secret," resumed Mr. Topman, blandly, "of course you are
indispensable to the success of the enterprise. Think of it, sleep over
it, and I am sure, sir, you will wake up in the morning resolved to
place yourself in the hands of Topman and Gusher." Mr. Topman made
another pause, and threw his hands over his head. "No matter whether you
have the secret or not. Stick to it that you have; and refer your men
to Topman and Gusher."

Again Hanz shook his head, and smoked his pipe thoughtfully. The whole
thing was new and strange to him. Never in his life before had anything
taken him by such surprise. He had enough to carry him through the world
comfortably, and something to give his poor neighbors when they stood in
need. Why should he trouble his head about Mr. Kidd. He did not know
where a dollar of his money was buried.

"Mine friends," said Hanz, "I likes you poth. And I thanks you, and ish
much opliged to you for dis offer to makes my fortune. But, what I do
mit sho much moneys, eh? My neighbors all say 'Hanz Toodleburg steals
him,' Maybe I gits prout mit him. Den everypody says Hanz Toodleburg
gits apove his pisness. Mit a fortune perhaps t'tivel gits into mine
head. Der ish nopody now put me und mine Angeline--"

"There's your son, Mr. Toodleburg," interposed Chapman, who until now
had remained almost passive. "You ought to regard him above everything
else, you ought. I feel a deep interest in that young man, you know. If
you could have a fortune for him when he comes home--well, that would be
the making of him."

"Shure enough, dere ish mine poor poy, Tite. He ish such a goot poy. It
most preaks his muder's heart to have him go dis long voyages," said
Hanz, taking the pipe from his lips, as his eyes filled with tears. "If
I only could have a fortune und de little farm for mine poor Tite when
he gits home."

"Give us your hand, sir," said Mr. Topman. "You talk now like a man, and
a father. I'm a father, sir, and know how to feel for you. Had a son at
sea four years. Gave him a fortune when he came home. A most
enterprising and highly respected merchant now. Has ships at sea, rides
in his carriage, and a balance in his bank." The thought of providing a
future for Tite was more than Hanz could resist, and his unsuspecting
nature yielded to the temptation.

"And now," said Mr. Topman, rising from his chair, "if Mr. Toodleburg
will sign these papers--they merely set forth that he possesses and will
confide to the house of Topman and Gusher, their heirs or assigns, the
secret of where Kidd's treasure is buried, and that he shall have a
tenth interest in all the profits. A sure gain and no risk, you know."

The three gentlemen now returned to the little room. Topman handed
Chapman the paper, and requested that he would read it, which that
gentleman affected to do.

"Perfectly straightforward and correct," said Chapman; "perfectly! I am
sure you are very kind to these people, and I wish the great Kidd
Discovery Company every success."

Angeline brought the little old ink-bottle, and Hanz, with feelings of
hesitation, it must be confessed, signed the papers, when the visitors
retired for the night.




CHAPTER XIII.

CAPTAIN BOTTOM, THE WHALE-KILLER.


On the morning of the 24th of June, the good ship Pacific was sailing
gallantly down the coast of Brazil, all her canvass spread to a light
breeze, her port tacks aboard, and heading for Bahia.

The air was hot with the breath of tropic winds, and the horizon to the
west and south was festooned with fierce red clouds. The sun was just
setting, and spreading the broad ocean with a crimson light, giving a
weird and curious outline to every feature of the ship. There was
something grand, even enchanting and sublime, in the picture here spread
out, presenting as it did the highest example of God's goodness and
reality.

The scene changed suddenly, as the sun disappeared. The fierce, red
clouds melted into softness and tenderness. A pale, yellow light spread
along the heavens and over the sea; and the ship that a few minutes
before had looked like a white-winged phantom floating over a sea of
fire, now assumed the appearance of a maiden decked in her bridal robes.

A man of short, stout figure, a sort of compromise between an alderman
and a dwarf, with very short legs, a broad red face, wide mouth, crispy
grey hair that stood nearly erect on his head, a red, punky nose, and
keen, grey eyes, paced watchfully up and down the quarter-deck. He was
dressed in white pantaloons and jacket, both fitting tight to his skin,
and wore a Panama hat, with a long black ribbon streaming behind.

He would pause at the hand-rail every few minutes, scan eagerly along
the sky from north to south, as if studying the strange and sudden
changes that were going on in the heavens. Then he would exchange a few
words with the officer of the watch, and resume his walk. Eight bells
had just struck, the wind began to freshen and veer to the southwest,
and the sky became overcast and filled with white, fleecy clouds.

An order was given to take in studding-sails and get the ship "snug" for
the night, and quickly obeyed. Order and regularity prevailed on board
the good ship Pacific; and the promptness and cheerfulness with which
both officers and men performed their duties showed that they had a more
than ordinary interest in the ship and her voyage. Fashion had not then
made slaves and idlers of our young men of wealthy parents, and it was,
indeed, thought no disgrace for a gentleman of position to send his sons
on one of these voyages, to do duty before the mast. It taught them how
to face danger and endure hardships. It developed their manliness, and
made them more self-reliant. It gave them a knowledge of the world they
could not get elsewhere, and laid a good foundation for a fixed and
lasting character. Indeed, some of our richest and most enterprising
merchants have dated their prosperity from one of these voyages.

The short, bluff-looking man pacing the quarter-deck was Captain Price
Bottom; and a more honest-hearted old salt never sailed the sea. His
great skill in killing whales had made him famous among whalemen
throughout the Pacific. He had made three successful voyages, bringing
home cargoes that had enriched his owners, put money in his own pocket,
and secured him a reputation he esteemed of more value than a fortune.
In truth, he regarded whales just as a terrier does rats, and found his
highest enjoyment in killing them. And yet nothing pleased him better
than when a whale showed pluck, as he called it, and made a square,
fierce fight for his life. A man had a chance then to show his skill and
power over the brute, he said. He held, too, that man's highest object
in life was to know how to kill a whale skilfully; and he heartily
despised the whale "as would submit quietly to the harpoon, and die like
a lubber." He also affected great contempt for the landsman who had
lived like a gentleman, and never killed a whale in his life.

"There's no lunar to-night," said Captain Bottom, pausing at the
quarter-deck rail, and addressing himself to the officer of the watch.
"There's a goin' to be dirt, sir, there is; and them royals and
topgallant-sails is got to cum in. Would'nt surprise me if we had to
double-reef topsails afore mornin'. Tell you what it is, Mr. Higgins,
there's that ar north star with a towel over her face again. Sink me if
there'll be any lunar took to-night." The captain shook his head, gave
his Panama a tip, and walking aft, stood beside the binnacle watching
the compasses for several minutes. Then returning to where the officer
of the watch stood, he resumed:

"Never made a bad landfall in my life, Mr. Higgins. Never shall be said
of Captain Price Bottom that he lost his reckonin'. It's judgment; yes,
Mr. Higgins, it's good judgment and sound sense what makes a good
sailor. A man may cram his skull till it hurts with Bowditch, but if he
hain't sense he'll never be a sailor. Same in killin' whales. If a man
hain't got sense, the whale is sure to get the advantage of him." Again
he paused, as if courting a reply; but Mr. Higgins merely bowed assent
to everything the captain said, every few minutes keeping an eye aloft
at the sails.

"Man what gets his navigation aboard ship knows his business. Got mine
there; yes, sir! Did'nt know a Bowditch from a Bible when I went aboard
ship. Can do my amplitude and variations now without looking at a
nautical almanac. Can, sir, by Jove!"

The ship bounded gallantly over the sea, leaving in her wake a long
silvery train of phosphoric light. Drawing no response from Mr. Higgins,
the captain raised his night-glass and scanned along the heavens to the
west. "We'll get somethin' out o' that quarter, butt end foremost," said
the captain, lowering his glass.

Mr. Higgins was first officer of the ship, a position secured to him,
not because he had worked his way up to it, but through the influence of
a rich father, who was a large owner in the ship and her venture. He was
a tall, well-formed, fine-looking young man, with delicate and well-cut
features, and black hair. He was also a fine scholar and a perfect
master of the theory of navigation, and a voyage or two to Europe had
given him a slight knowledge of the practical part of it. Yet he was
more an ornamental than a practical sailor; and it was this that made
Captain Bottom, the whale-killer, hold him in no very high respect.
Indeed, he had several times said, in the presence of Mr. Higgins, that
it was all very well for a young gentleman to be a scholar; but a sailor
what had his head full of books never made a fortune for his owners.

"Eight and forty hours more, Mr. Higgins! Yes, sir, eight and forty
hours more--keepin' her as she's going--and we have the land off Bahia."
Captain Bottom gave his head a significant shake as he spoke. "Using
judgment, you see; not books, Mr. Higgins. Captain Price Bottom has
sailed seventeen years, and never was deceived by that chart. Don't make
charts now as they used to make 'em, Mr. Higgins," he concluded,
shrugging his shoulders.

The wind now came over the sea roaring like a fierce lion, indicating
the rapid approach of the gale.

"If we make land off Bahia in forty-eight hours, then I'm mistaken,"
rejoined the first officer, satirically. "There's something coming that
will give us enough to do before morning."

The words had hardly escaped his lips when the full force of the gale
struck the ship, roaring and shrieking through her shrouds, and nearly
throwing her on her beam ends. The sea was soon lashed into a tempest,
and made a clean sweep over her decks. The canvas was carried clean from
the bolt-ropes, the sheets were let go, and the lighter sails clewed up,
and an attempt made to get the ship's head to the wind and lay her to.
But the mizzen-sails were all gone, and she fell off, and refused to
obey her helm. The lashings had given way, and the larboard, waist, and
quarter boats were all swept from the davits, the frames sprung, and
every timber in the good ship's hull worked, and strained, and
complained, like a frail thing that must soon go to pieces. Every order,
however, was obeyed promptly and cheerfully, for both officers and crew
felt that their lives, as well as the saving of the ship, depended on
the way in which each man performed his duty.

Just before the gale came up five young men, including Tite, might have
been seen grouped together in the waist of the ship, pondering over a
chart. Several books and nautical instruments were lying around. They
were all, except Tite, young men of wealthy parents, who had joined the
ship to enjoy the excitements of a whaling voyage. These young men, with
Tite, had formed a school of instruction, and every evening got together
in the same place to improve their knowledge in practical navigation.
One of them, a young man who had endeared himself to all on board by his
courage and the gentleness of his manners, was third mate, and took a
leading part in instructing the others. It would, indeed, have been
difficult to find two young men whose characters bore a stronger
resemblance than his and Tite's. Between them there grew up the
strongest friendship.

The ship was now laboring in the trough of the sea, when a loud crash
was heard aloft. The fore, main, and mizzen top-gallant masts had gone
in rapid succession, and the swaying mass of wreck was threatening the
destruction of the ship. Death now stared every one in the face. There
was no hope of saving the ship and the lives of those on board, except
in the strength and courage of those willing to go aloft and clear away
the wreck. But who was there to do this perilous work?

Amidst the confusion caused by the excited elements there was the sturdy
little captain, calm and cool, and giving his orders with that clearness
and decision which had always characterized him. Men were called for to
go aloft and cut away the swaying wreck, and save the ship. The first to
obey this summons was young Tite Toodleburg, whose example was followed
by the young man I have described as third mate, and one of his
companions. They mounted the fore, main, and mizzen rigging, and working
with all their strength and skill soon had the swaying wreck cut away,
and the ship relieved of her strain. But in descending, the third mate,
who had so gallantly performed his duty, lost his hold, and the ship
giving a terrible lurch, he was plunged into the sea, and seen no more.

The ship now gradually righted, and with the aid of a storm-sail in her
mizzen rigging, for her top-sail had been torn into shreds, her head was
got to the wind.

In that latitude gales of this kind are of short duration, generally;
and in half an hour from the time it struck the ship there was a calm,
smooth sea, and all hands were engaged repairing damages.

On the following morning the ship was proceeding on her course, with a
light breeze from the north and a clear sky. Captain Bottom was there on
the quarter-deck, directing affairs, and in a talkative mood.

"She's a good ship, sir, this old Pacific is, Mr. Higgins;" said he,
again addressing that officer. "Never knew her get off her feet before."
He always spoke of the ship as if she were a thing of life. "Bless her
staunch old soul! Made her timbers talk, eh? Wants a man as has got
confidence in the craft what's under him. Then if she goes down, why he
feels like being a hero and keeping her company.

"But it makes me feel bad, Mr. Higgins, that we have lost our third
mate, poor fellow! He was a good sailor, and a brave young man, and had
such good friends at home, who thought so much of him." And as he said
this tears glistened in his eyes, and ran down his cheeks. "I'm sorry
for that young man, I am, so I am, Mr. Higgins," said the old sailor,
wiping the tears from his bronzed cheeks. "I do hope his soul will sail
in peace in a better world." Again he shook his head sorrowfully, and
then paused for a minute as if to regain control of his feelings. "God
forgive me," he resumed, "for making a woman of myself. Don't do it
often, Mr. Higgins."

"Shows that you have a kind heart, sir, and can shed a tear when it is
touched. I appreciate you for it. There is something manly in the tear
of a brave sailor," returned the officer, coldly, but politely. "We
shall get a good observation to-day, and if the men work hearty all the
spare spars and sails will be up by nightfall." Mr. Higgins's mind was
evidently on his duty, and not being inclined to enjoy the captain's
conversation, he took every opportunity to change the subject.

"Give us your hand, Mr. Higgins," said he, rather unannoyed than
otherwise by what that officer had said. "But look you here!" He lowered
his voice as he took the officer's hand, "There'll be no whales to kill
where that poor fellow has gone. Not a whale. I promised his poor old
father--a good old red coat killer he was, too, in the Revolution--that
this here son of his should kill the first whale. Yes, I did, Mr.
Higgins. And that's what mortifies me. He's dead, you see, poor fellow.
T'was'nt my fault that I did'nt keep my promise. There'll be no whales
to kill where he's gone, poor fellow!" Again he shook his head
feelingly, then raising his hat, wiped the sweat from his bronzed brow.

He now sent for Tite, who came upon the quarter-deck nervously, and
saluted his superior. "Well, my hearty," said Captain Bottom, "here's my
hand. You're a sailor, every inch on you. And a brave man, too, if
Captain Bottom does say it." Tite was not a little surprised at this
familiarity on the part of his captain, for he had before coming on
board been led to believe that the most severe discipline ruled on board
a whale ship.

"There's the true sailor in you, my hearty," continued the captain,
again shaking Tite warmly by the hand. "You saved the ship, my hearty.
There'd a bin no more of the good old Pacific--God bless her! nor none
of us standin' here, but for you, my hearty."

"I only done my duty, sir," rejoined Tite, modestly, as the color came
into his face. "I hope, captain, to merit your praise to the end of the
voyage." The young sailor made a bow, and was about returning to his
duty.

"Avast, a bit," interrupted the captain. "Your name's Toodlebug, is'nt
it, my hearty?"

"Yes, sir," replied Tite. "Titus Bright Toodleburg; usually called Tite.
Hope, sir, to improve myself in navigation and seamanship under your
command. I shall always feel proud, sir, that I sailed with you. Some
one may trust me with a ship some day."

"That's the talk, my hearty; keep a sharp look ahead," rejoined the
captain, his face lighting up with a smile. "Cram Bowditch into yer
head, and keep a sharp look ahead. Have ye so ye can bring the sun down
to dinner and put the north star in yer pocket afore ye get round Cape
Horn. You'll be a sailor yet, my hearty." Again Captain Bottom shook
Tite by the hand warmly.

"Git yer head full of navigation; and with good judgment to help ye out,
ye can look an owner in the eye without winking, and tell him ye want a
ship. And if that recommendation don't do, tell him you have killed
whales with Captain Bottom, a man what never let a whale git the better
of him. And if he has never heard of Captain Price Bottom, of the good
old ship Pacific, then he never should own a ship, and don't sail for
him. That's my advice, my hearty. So keep a sharp look out ahead." Here
he tapped Tite on the shoulder, exultingly.

"It's very kind of you," returned Tite, modestly, "to take this interest
in me, a stranger to you. I shall do my best to merit your confidence
and respect."

"A stranger, eh? Not a bit of it!" resumed the captain, quickly. "Look
ye here, my hearty. Your good old father and me was old friends. That
was years ago, you know. Meeting you brings an old love affair of thirty
years right back to my heart again. Yes, my hearty, that old feelin's
just as good as new this minute. God bless yer father; and God bless yer
mother, too! Here's a hand what'll always give a warm welcome to the son
of old Hanz Toodlebug--"

"Then you knew my father? I hope, sir, I may never do anything to lessen
your respect for him."

"Know'd him?" resumed the captain. "Yes, sir, and yer mother, too. And
when Captain Price Bottom says he know'd a man, he means it. Your father
and me was rivals!" Here he touched Tite on the elbow, and winked
significantly. "That is--well, it's rather a delicate subject--he
courted yer mother, and so did I! There, sir, there's just what it is.
She was as trim a young craft then as ever spread sails, and as full of
goodness and good looks." Captain Bottom again paused for a moment,
shook his head despondingly, and placed his hand on his heart. "A number
of young bloods like me trimmed their sails, but did'nt overhaul her.
Many a heart-flutter she caused me in them days. And just when I
thought, says I to myself, 'I'm to wind'rd,' and had got ready to make
fast to her--" Here he paused for a moment, and then lowering his voice,
continued: "Well, what does she go and do? Blow me, my hearty, if she
did'nt go off and marry your father. That's what dismasted me. Never
bore him nor her any ill-will. 'God bless ye both,' says I; 'may ye be
happy and have a large family!' And it does me good to know that they
was prosperous. Your father had a home to take a woman to, and that is
what a woman should look to. Price Bottom was poor then, and without a
shillin' in his pocket. It was disappointment that made me take to the
sea, though. Went from the fo'castle t'where you see me now--Captain
Price Bottom, sir, of the good ship Pacific. It's a man's own exertion
that lifts him up in the world. There's my poor old woman at home
to-night--God bless her and the two little ones! thinking of me, and
praying for me, and wondering where we are. Laid her up a nice little
fortune; wolf can't bark at her door. That's a gratification, my hearty.
Made three successful voyages, you see. This, our fourth one, is to be
the last. Keep a sharp look ahead, and there's a future for you, too.
Ah, there'll be a heap of happiness a'tween me and my old woman when
this voyage is ended. A true wife at home, and a lovin' husband at
sea--ah, my hearty, them's jewels!"

Tite listened with surprise to the story of this strange and eccentric
man. He had never heard either of his parents mention his name. He,
however, regarded it as very fortunate that he should be on board a ship
commanded by a captain who held his humble parents in such high regard.
The jolly old sailor finished his story by enjoining Tite to keep what
he had said a matter of confidence. He also made him third mate, to fill
the place of the young man who fell from the fore-mast into the sea
during the gale.

"You shall take a hand at killing the first whale; shall command the
larboard boat. And you shall never want a friend while Captain Price
Bottom treads this quarter-deck," he concluded.

Tite bowed, and thanked his benefactor again. He then proceeded to his
duty, as the ship headed for Bahia, with a fair wind.




CHAPTER XIV.

THE COMING WINTER, AND A MERRY-MAKING.


November was come now. The day I write of was damp and cheerless. Grey,
vapory clouds swept over the Tappan Zee, and a sad, sighing wind tossed
it into crests. A drizzling rain fell over Nyack, and the little town
looked as if it had just taken a bath and gone to sleep for the night.
The hills wore a cold and bleak look, the foliage had lost its bright,
golden tints, and now looked faded and colorless. The leaves, too, were
falling, and the naked trees seemed weeping and cold. Sheep browsed on
the hill-sides, or nibbled coldly under the branches of sheltering
trees. In the wet, dripping barn-yard cattle were seen huddled together
under a lee, now seeking warmth in the fresh shocks, now proclaiming
their troubles in subdued lowing.

The very landscape seemed weeping and melancholy. Even the summer birds,
whose songs give such a charm to the woods, were gone. And there was the
loon upon the lake gabbling his welcome to the approaching winter. The
rain, too, had filled the brooks, and their waters were gurgling down
deep, shadowy dells, mingling their touching music with the sad, sighing
wind. There were pleasant memories entwined in that departing summer;
and it now seemed as if all nature was joining in a requiem to its
fading beauties.

The settlers had gathered their winter fruit, and the cider-presses had
finished their work for the season. Squashes were hung up in the cellar,
the corn was shucked and in the bins, and heaps of ripe, lusty pumpkins
stood in the fields. In the houses fresh flitches of bacon hung by the
fireside, while festoons of dried apples decorated the beams overhead.
There, too, were the young nut-gatherers, coming home of an evening with
their well-filled satchels. There was to be peace and plenty at the
settlers' fireside this winter, for an all-wise Providence had so
ordained it in an abundant harvest.

It was a custom with Hanz Toodleburg, as it was also with many other of
the settlers, to entertain his friends and neighbors with a merry-making
when the harvest was gathered. Hanz had invited his neighbors on the
evening of the day I have described, and notwithstanding the cold and
cheerless character of the night, the little house was full ere it was
dark. The bright, happy faces of the women, and the jolly, ringing laugh
of the men, all dressed in their neat new homespun, presented a pleasant
picture of rustic life. Each man came armed with a long pipe, while his
good vrow had some little present for Angeline. Hanz had a warm, hearty
shake of the hand for each of his guests. Indeed, he welcomed each of
the good vrows with a kiss and an admonition to be happy while they were
under his roof. And these good vrows put their hands to the wheel, and
assisted Angeline in preparing the feast. Indeed, she soon had her table
spread with as good and well-cooked fare as could be found in the
county.

There was the cold boar's head, decorated with flowers; the fattest
turkey, roasted before the great fire; boiled beef, bathed in odorous
krout, and declared delicacies by every sturdy Dutchman; a spiced ham,
decorated with vegetables. Then there were apple and pumpkin pies just
baked, cuddled apples, and jam, and fresh cranberry sauce. And these
were backed up with new cider and home-brewed ale, and coffee. Such was
the supper Hanz had prepared for his friends, and which he invited them
to eat and be happy.

The good-natured Dominie was there, and so was Doctor Critchel and the
school-master. Nor was Titus Bright, the inn-keeper, forgotten. They
were equally important characters in the settlement, and no honest
Dutchman, who had any regard for his reputation for hospitality, would
think of giving a merry-making without them. The good Dominie was fond
of puddings and pies, and preached that the three highest objects a man
had to live for were peace, contentment, and a good dinner. The Dutch
regarded this as good enough religion for them--better, perhaps, than
that preached by the man of the church of progressive ideas. The
school-master could sing a good song, and, although an idle, shiftless
fellow, got more invitations to supper than any other man in the
settlement. As for the inn-keeper, he was a merry little man, who made
everybody laugh, and was held in high esteem by all the good vrows
around Nyack.

Now that the supper was ready, there was a general exchange of vrows,
for it was not considered etiquette to sit at table with your own wife
during one of these feasts. Then the Dominie invoked God's blessing on
the bounties He had spread before them, thanked Him for the bountiful
harvest, and for the love He had shown these happy people. He then
proceeded to carve the boar's head, while every man and woman present
went to enjoying the feast.

When supper was over and the table cleared away the men took to their
pipes and discussed their crops, and the women discoursed of carding,
and spinning, and housewifery in general. Then there was a dance around
the apple-basket, and a dance in which every man kissed every other
man's vrow, and in which the Dominie joined, and was as jolly as any of
his flock. And they danced to the music of a fiddle, played by Lame
George, who lived up in the mountain. Then the Dominie told a number of
amusing stories, and the school-master sang them several of his best
songs, and cider and ale was drank.

And while the pleasantry was at its highest, a loud knock was heard at
the door. The revelry ceased for a moment. There was the postmaster's
boy, bearing a letter with several curious stamps on it. Hanz was
overjoyed. He shook the boy's hand, and then scanned over the letter.
"God pless mine poor poy, Titus!" he exclaimed. "He wrotes dat ledder.
Yes, he does; mine poor poy Titus does;" and he struck his hands on his
knees, and laughed with joy. "He ton't forgets his old fadder. He be's a
goot poy, mine Titus." And he shook hands with the Dominie and the
inn-keeper. Indeed, he seemed so completely unmanned that he was
powerless to open the letter. Then he took a candle in his right hand,
and again scanned and scanned the superscription. "Sumthin' goot in dat
ledder. Mine poor poy Titus writes him!" he ejaculated, in a subdued
tone.

[Illustration: Then tears gushed into her eyes and moistened her pale
cheeks. Page 102.]

During all this time, for it seemed long to Angeline, she became pale
with anxiety. Then tears gushed into her eyes and moistened her pale
cheeks. But they were tears of joy, not sorrow--the wealth of that pure,
honest heart now beating so violently in anticipation of the good
tidings. When Hanz had somewhat controlled his feelings he sat down in
the big chair, and with Angeline looking anxiously over his shoulder
and holding the candle, opened and began reading the letter "Yesh, t'is
mine poor poy Titus as writes him," he said, pausing for a moment. "Hish
name shust as he wrotes him when a poy." The rest of the company looked
on and listened in silence. Then he resumed the reading. "Vell, dere
wash a pig sthorm, and t' ship most goes down to t' pottom. Den she
does'nt go to t' pottom. No, she no goes to t' pottom. Den mine poy, he
shaves t' ship." Hanz went over the letter in this incoherent manner,
and then handed it to the Dominie to read for the entertainment of the
company. The letter was dated at Bahia, where the ship had put in for
fresh supplies, as was the custom with whalers. He gave a glowing
account of the voyage, and the storm, and the persons he found on board.
The good Dominie was several times interrupted by some one of the
company invoking a blessing on Tite's head. And when it was announced
that he had been made third mate of the ship, an expression of joy broke
on every lip. The school-master shook Hanz warmly by the hand, and the
inn-keeper declared it would not surprise him if Tite came home captain
of the ship.

"High, high!" exclaimed the Dominie, re-adjusting his spectacles;
"here's news. An old acquaintance has turned up." Then turning to
Critchel, he touched that odd old gentleman on the elbow, saying: "You
remember the old grave-digger of thirty years ago, oh, Critchel?"

"Well, very well," replied Critchel; "he was a clever old man, and did
his business well. He used to say I brought people into the world, and
he sent them out."

"Bless me!" resumed the Dominie; "if here is'nt his son come to life
again. The poor fellow! we all knew him well. Tite says here that he has
found a good friend in the captain, an old acquaintance of his mother.
And who do you think it is?"

Not one in the company could answer, although Angeline blushed, and
looked confused. "Price Bottom, son of that clever old man, the
grave-digger," concluded the Dominie.

"How strange," said the inn-keeper. "Old Bottom had many a glass of ale
at my house, and never troubled anybody, except to dig their graves."

"He was very poor," rejoined Critchel, in a subdued voice, "and died
leaving my bill unpaid. But he was an honest man, and paid when he had
it."

"The son was a queer young man," resumed the Dominie. "Nobody seemed to
care anything about him. And when he left the settlement it was thought
he had got into the city and became a worthless. But here he is, made a
man of himself and has not forgot his old friends."

This was good news to Angeline and Hanz. Still the name of Price Bottom,
the grave-digger's son, revived old if not pleasant memories. The odd
old captain had not forgotten his first love. The flame of that love
always burns, but never dies out. Disappointment may cross it, may for a
time veil its charm, but never can quench it. How strange, Angeline
thought, that her darling boy, the consolation of her heart, should have
met this once discarded lover, and under such circumstances. And that he
should be such a friend and protector to her boy only showed how good a
heart he had.

The good news gave an additional charm to the evening's entertainment.
One after another shook Hanz and Angeline by the hand, and congratulated
them on the happy prospect. Indeed, they seemed the happiest people on
earth. Mugs of fresh cider were filled and drank to the health of
Captain Price Bottom, of the good ship Pacific--the poor fellow who had
only a grave-digger for a father, and left the settlement friendless and
without a shilling.

And now these sturdy settlers again took to their pipes, and having
smoked in silence for at least five minutes, embraced and kissed their
hosts, and parted for the night.




CHAPTER XV.

MRS. CHAPMAN AND THE UPPER CIRCLES.


Let us go back, gentle reader, into the village of Nyack on that same
damp, stormy night, and into the house of Bigelow Chapman, the reformer.
A very different picture was presented there. The reformer was up
stairs, studying plans for the future. His spacious parlor was furnished
with a profusion of furniture, of the most approved style, and such as
was not common in the country at that day. They have got a new piano,
too; and a nice young gentleman in reduced circumstances, a foreigner,
is expected up from New York to give their daughter lessons on it. This
little affair of the piano and the foreigner has set the whole town to
talking, and people are putting on grave faces, and inquiring how they
can afford it. But it seems they do afford it, and also to have the best
of carpets on their parlor floor. And they have shown a taste for art in
several engravings hung on the walls.

The Chapmans expected company from the city that night. A bright coal
fire and a globe lamp on the centre-table are shedding a soft, mellow
light, and adding an air of comfort and cheerfulness to everything in
the room.

Mattie was sitting alone in the parlor reading a letter by the light on
the centre-table. Her dress was a plain black silk, made high at the
neck, and with an open stomacher, disclosing an aggravating bit of white
lace. There was always something neat and becoming in Mattie's dress,
and the white ruffles that now encircled her neck and wrists added the
charm of simplicity to her appearance. Her hair, too, was almost
golden, and hung in long, careless curls down her shoulders.

There was something of deep interest to her in that letter, for she read
and re-read it, as her soft, blue eyes, so full of love and tenderness,
almost filled with tears. Then she kissed it, and kissed it, and pressed
it to her bosom. "Oh, how I wish he was here to-night, that I could tell
him how much I love him;" she said, resting her head on her hand
thoughtfully. "I would tell him all my thoughts and feelings, just as he
has told me his. He is so true to me, and it never shall be said that I
am not true to him, poor fellow!" she mused, and putting the letter to
her lips again she kissed and kissed it. "They never can get me to love
any one else, never!" she resumed, when the door opened and Mrs. Chapman
entered, arrayed in her best millinery, and her front hair screwed into
the tightest of curls. The good woman had evidently resolved to put on
her very best appearance.

"These disappointments are very annoying, my daughter, very," she spoke,
advancing and fretting her hand nervously. "If our company does not come
then--well, all our dressing will be for nothing. I wanted you so much
to see Mr. Gusher, my daughter. He's such a nice young gentleman, so
clever and agreeable--and has such a distinguished look, my daughter."
Mrs. Chapman expanded herself, while emphasizing the word distinguished.
She then filled the great arm-chair with her weighty person. "To get
prepared for company, and city company at that, and then have company
not come!" she resumed, casting a glance at Mattie, to see if she could
discern in her countenance what impression she had made. But Mattie
remained silent and thoughtful.

"It's not Mr. Gusher's fault, though. We must charge it all to the
storm, I suppose. Then I did want you to see Mr. Gusher so much, my
daughter. He is such a nice young man--and has such prospects. And
prospects is what a young woman should look to when gentlemen come
seriously inclined to matrimony--"

"Mother," said Mattie, interrupting, "I have got such a nice letter. It
has made me so happy. I know you would like to read it. You always like
to read my letters, you know." And Mattie looked playfully in her
mother's face, and handed her the letter. "You will be delighted to hear
from him. He says so many kind, good things."

Mrs. Chapman took the letter and scanned over it hastily. "And so it has
come to this, has it?" she said, looking admonishingly at Mattie. "A
letter from that sailor-boy, the son of them common Dutch people. Your
father shall see this. Our daughter has stooped so low as to pledge
herself to such a common man!"

"I love you, mother," said Mattie, "and I don't want to be disobedient;
but I love him, and I know he loves me. Yes, mother, I love Tite just as
much as if he was a rich man's son. I dreamed last night that he came
home a rich man, and brought me so many nice things; and that we were
married, and were so happy." And she threw her arms around her mother's
neck and kissed her so affectionately. "Who knows, mother, but that he
may come home rich? But even if he comes home poor, I know he will be
good and true to me," she concluded.

"How very sentimental you are, my daughter," rejoined Mrs. Chapman, the
little curls about her brow seeming to get tighter as her broad face
grew redder. "Sentimental people never prosper, though--never knew one
yet that did. Was silly and sentimental once myself. That was before I
married your father."

"Oh," rejoined Mattie, playfully, "I am real glad that you remember
those things, mother. Was father rich when you were married?"

Mrs. Chapman shook her head, and looked confused for a moment. "He was
not rich, my daughter. But then he was so clever--and had such
intellectual prospects. Brought up as you have been, my daughter, and
with such accomplishments, and such prospects!--to throw yourself away
on a sentiment. Just think of it! What would my mother have said if I
had gone off and married a man just for sentiment's sake? I brought you
up in strict regard to all the proprieties, and now you insist that you
won't be a lady."

"Don't fret so, mother," said Mattie, again putting her arms around her
mother's neck, and kissing her. "I will be a real good, obedient girl,
and do anything you bid me. But then--" Here Mattie paused for a moment,
and looked roguishly up into her mother's face.

"But then--what?"

"Well, I don't think we shall agree about Mr. Gusher. The truth is,
mother--I don't know why--but then I don't think I ever can love him.
But then, you know, mother, I have not seen him yet; and you would'nt
have me love a man before I saw him?"

"Perhaps not, my daughter; but I would have you look up, remember your
quality, and consider what you may be. If you condescend to look down on
that sailor-boy, there's no hope of the family ever moving in the upper
circles. But he'll never come back. That ship'll go to the bottom as
sure as the world. Something tells me she will go down, and I know she
will."

At this Mattie's eyes filled with tears, and she buried her face in her
hands and gave vent to her emotions in sobs. "Mother, mother," she
rejoined, after a short pause, "how cruel of you to say so, even if you
thought so. He was so manly, and so kind to me."

At this Mrs. Chapman rose from her chair with an air of injured dignity,
and walked in silence up and down the room for several minutes. Then she
heaved a sigh, extended her hand, and resumed: "Your tears, my daughter,
are what tear down my pride. No use, I see; my advice is all thrown
away--all thrown away! Oh, what a thing it is to have a daughter, and
yet not have a daughter. I mean to have a daughter that will have her
own way." Again Mrs. Chapman resumed her chair, and became thoughtful
and silent.

"You know I love to please you, mother, for you are such a good mother
to me in everything else," rejoined Mattie, kneeling beside her mother,
placing her arms on her knees, and looking up lovingly in her face. "You
know I like to please you, mother," she repeated; "and I won't marry
anybody until Tite comes home. But then you must not say anything more
to me about Mr. Gusher."

"That's poor consolation--very poor consolation, my daughter," replied
Mrs. Chapman, rebukingly. "Exactly what I did'nt want you to promise.
Then you have promised yourself to the young man? I'd never have got
your father if I'd made such a promise to such a young man. I have
always looked forward to the time when we should have a fine house on
the Battery, and move in the higher circles."

Chapman now entered the room, which put an end to the conversation
between Mattie and her mother. Chapman smiled for once, and was
evidently in a pleasant mood. After rubbing his hands and taking a seat
by the fire, and looking first at Mattie and then at her mother, he
said: "I have good news to tell you. The storm has prevented Gusher from
getting here to-night. But the Kidd Discovery Company matter is settled,
and will be a great success. No need of inventing a new religion now.
Hanz has got his head full of the project. Has made all his Dutch
neighbors believe there is a fortune in it for them all. We go on an
expedition up the river to-morrow night, in search of the d----l's
sounding-rock. That's the place where Kidd buried his treasure, you see.
These honest old Dutchmen firmly believe that Kidd had an understanding
with the devil when he buried it there. Just show them how to start an
enterprise and make money, and they are as ready to make it as
anybody."




CHAPTER XVI.

A NIGHT EXPEDITION.


The wind and the cold had moderated, and a heavy grey mist hung over the
Tappan Zee on the following night. Hollow, echoing sounds came over and
through the mist clouds, and re-echoed up the mountain. The scene was
one common at that season of the year; still there was something strange
and mysterious in the very atmosphere that composed it. Gloom hung over
everything, and touched a melancholy chord in one's feelings. Curious
figures, dim and indistinct, seemed to move and dance up and down, and
thread their way through the curtain of mist, like phantoms in winding
sheets. They were but delusions, betraying the eye. But there is a
reality now; a steamer is seen cutting her way through the deep gloom,
and throwing a long trail of light high up over the grey mist and
reflecting curiously in the heavens.

Two stalworth men were seen walking down the road that night about eight
o'clock, dressed in a style common to boatmen. One carried a pair of
oars over his shoulder; the other had a well-filled haversack slung
across his, and a crowbar in his right hand. They halted on reaching
Bright's inn, and having stacked the oars and the bar against the little
porch, entered, and were greeted by a number of friends already
refreshing themselves at the counter. The appearance of these men--for
they were known to be the best boatmen on the Tappan Zee--greatly
surprised Bright and the gossips who were enjoying his ale around a
little table. One and then another invited them to drink, but they
refused, saying they had merely dropped in to light their pipes and look
for the men who were to join them. Various questions were now put to
them concerning their mission and its object. But the boatmen affected a
mysterious air; and all that could be got from them was that when they
returned it would be with money enough to buy all Nyack. They seemed
somewhat disappointed at not meeting some one, whose name they would not
disclose, at the inn.

Bright now mixed warm punches and set them before the boatmen, saying
that on such a night they were just what were needed to prop a man's
courage up. The men, however, steadily refused all invitations to drink,
and when they had lighted their pipes, and bid the host and his
customers good night, left the inn and proceeded to a landing at the
bank of the river, where a boat with two men in it was waiting them.

The manners of the boatmen had so excited the curiosity of the
inn-keeper and his guests, that no sooner had they left the inn than
Bright and several others put on their hats and followed, resolved to
see for themselves what was going on. Imagine, then, what must have been
their surprise to find the men in the boat Bigelow Chapman and Hanz
Toodleburg--both with heavy overcoats on. The boatmen were welcomed by
the men in the boat, whose voices were plainly heard, and after
exchanging a few words they threw in their oars carelessly and followed
themselves. In another minute the little craft was heading up the
stream, and disappeared in the thick mist.

"I have it all!" said Bright, turning to his companions with an assuring
nod of the head, and lowering his voice. "Toodleburg--Chapman--a
Dutchman and a Yankee--pick-axes, crowbars, and big ropes. Put them all
together; add going off at night to it--dark and misty night at
that--and there's something we'll all hear from in the wind. If Hanz and
that quarrelsome Yankee have got their heads together, then the devil
will get cheated out of Kidd's money. Sarves him right, too. Now them
two is after Kidd's money. Always knew old Hanz could tell where it
was."

The inn-keeper and his friends now returned to the inn and discussed the
matter over warm punch until nearly midnight, or until their wits became
so confused that the four men in the boat increased to forty. In short,
Nyack waked up on the following morning to find herself filled with the
wildest reports concerning this midnight expedition and its object.

The little boat moved on steadily up the stream, her sturdy oarsmen
pulling at a measured stroke through the bewildering fog. In this way
the boat was kept on up the river until past midnight, a glimpse of the
land being caught here and there, an assurance to Hanz that they were
not far out at sea. Indeed, Hanz began to get somewhat uneasy, and to
wish himself back with Angeline in the little house. As this expedition,
however, was to establish a solid basis for the great Kidd Discovery
Company, out of which a fortune for Tite was to come, he was willing to
run the risk of being lost in the fog for a night or two.

Towards morning the men became uneasy and hungry, and began cursing Kidd
and all connected with him, and enquired of Chapman if he knew where he
was going. Indeed, one of them declared it his belief that they had been
brought on a fool's errand. Chapman, however, assured them that he knew
exactly where Kidd had buried his treasure--that it was on a point not
many miles below the Highlands, and under a big rock called the d----l's
sounding stone. That if they kept on they would reach the place before
daybreak. Hanz assured the men that every word Chapman said concerning
Kidd was true, and this inspired their confidence, for they honestly
believed his father to be an intimate friend of the pirate, and of
course ought to know all about his money.

The boatmen now rested their oars and proceeded to refresh themselves.
And while they were doing this, and wondering what this night expedition
really meant, Hanz smoked his pipe and nursed his courage. In his heart,
however, he wished himself out of the affair and in a more honest
occupation. As for Chapman, he told a number of stories tended to excite
the cupidity of the boatmen. After resting an hour or two the party
proceeded about five miles further up the river, and landed just at
daybreak on a point jutting into the west side of the river, and just
above which there was a dilapidated little cabin, inhabited by a
laboring man and his wife.

It would not do to disturb these poor people at so early an hour,
Chapman said, nor to tell them what sort of a mission we were on.
Thereupon Hanz and he proceeded up the bank of the river, to make, as he
said, a discovery. So the boatmen were left to take care of themselves.
The boatmen waited for nearly two hours, still neither Chapman nor Hanz
returned. Where they had gone was fast becoming a mystery. The men at
length became alarmed and disappointed, and proceeded towards the little
house to enquire the name of the place, and see what they could do to
get breakfast. Before they reached the house, however, the door opened
and two half-naked, tow-headed urchins came toddling out, and as soon
as they saw the strangers scampered back in a state of great alarm. A
lusty dame, ragged and shoeless, and with her hair hanging loose about
her neck, now came to the door, with a broom in one hand and a
frying-pan in the other.

"Where on arth are you two come from?" enquired the woman, in a surly
tone, as she raised her broom. "Another lot o' fools com'd to look for
Mr. Kidd's money," she continued, without waiting for a reply. "Seems as
if all the folks atween this and Yonkers had got crazy about Mr. Kidd,
and was a comin' up here to dig for his money."

The men confessed that she was right in regard to their mission, and
begged that she would get them some breakfast, for which they would pay
her liberally.

"Yes!" rejoined the woman, angrily, "I know'd what you'd cum fur. Thar
ain't nothin' in this house to get breakfast on--nothin' fur my poor old
man and the two little children. Work's hard to get up here. And them
fools what comes up here to dig for Mr. Kidd's money eat up what little
we had, and did'nt pay fur it, nither. Go home, like honest men, and get
some honester work than comin' up here thinkin' you kin find Mr. Kidd's
money. Don't believe in Mr. Kidd--I don't!" The woman kept swinging her
broom as she spoke. Then the two children ventured back and peered from
behind her skirts at the strangers. "Don't believe he had any money,
anyhow. If he had he was a mighty fool to come up here and bury it.
People round here would 'a stole every dollar on it long ago. There's a
Yankee and a Dutchman diggin' a big hole a piece above here--expectin'
to find Mr. Kidd's money."

Such was the reception these boatmen met with at the hands of Mrs.
Brophy, whose husband, a short, thick-shouldered, bullet-headed son of
the Emerald Isle, with a short, black pipe in his wide mouth, and in his
shirt and trousers, came to the door and seated himself on the sill.

"Is it Misther Kidd's money ye's is afther?" he enquired, querulously,
putting his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands. "Much
luck may ye's have finding it. Divel a cint meself iver saw uv Misther
Kidd's money, an' we've liv'd here this two years an' more. It's mighty
little uv any other man's money--not enough, troth, to get bread for the
childher--have we seen."

The boatmen enquired of Mr. Brophy if he could tell them where the
devil's sounding-stone was. There was indeed a superstition amongst
these poor people that Kidd had buried his money under a rock he gave
that name to; and that there was an agreement with his satanic majesty,
who was to stand guard over it, and allow only those who had the
talisman to lay hands on it. This talisman, it was also believed, would
open the devil's conscience, and cause him to lift the stone and unlock
the great iron chest containing the gold and silver. Loud noises, it was
said, were heard under the stone, which was the voice of the devil
rebuking the follies of the men who came in search of this treasure.
These poor people also believed that Kidd had murdered a woman in cold
blood, and buried her under the same stone; that she would come to life
when it was lifted; and that her ghost haunted the spot every night, and
not less than a score of Dutchmen had seen it. The more religious of
them declared that the ghost would hold communion only with a certain
priest, who came once a year, at midnight, to invoke in an unknown
tongue a blessing on her troubled spirit.

"The divel's soundin'-stone is it ye's wants?" ejaculated Mr. Brophy.
"Shure, it's beyant--a mile, about--perhaps two--perhaps not so
many--perhaps more. Much good may it do ye's when ye's finds it. An',
an', an', the ghost standin' there ivery night." Mr. Brophy resumed his
pipe, and after two or three whiffs resumed: "Ye's may dig holes till
yer childhers wears rags, as mine does, an' not a mouthfull uv bread in
the house, an' not a cint of Misther Kidd's money ye'd git. An' the
ghost standin' there, too!"

Being satisfied that these poor people had nothing to give them to eat,
the boatmen presented the woman with two dollars and what liquor there
was in their flask, telling her to spend the money in bread for the
children. This little act of kindness so softened the poor woman's
feelings that she invoked numerous blessings on their heads; adding at
the same time that it was more money than she had seen for a month,
though persons in search of Kidd's gold and silver had beset her house.

The men now returned to their boat, and breakfasted on what they had in
their haversack. And when it was nearly noon, and they were beginning to
get alarmed, Chapman returned, apparently in the best of spirits, and
accompanied them to a comfortable farm-house, about a mile up the bank.
Here they found Hanz, very contentedly smoking his pipe, in the company
of two others, who at first affected to be strangers. It soon became
apparent, however, that these men had met Hanz and Chapman here by
appointment. And it was also apparent that they were engaged in the same
business of searching for Kidd's treasure. One was an ill-favored,
talkative little man, who wore spectacles and the shabbiest of clothing,
and seemed to pride himself in a bushy red beard and hair. In short, he
was about as dilapidated a specimen of rejected humanity as Nature in
one of her wildest freaks could have produced. Indeed, I may as well
inform the reader that this person was Warren Holbrook, who, since his
departure from Nyack, had been enlightening the people of this
neighborhood by preaching the gospel of the "great advanced ideas," and
in that way picking up enough to keep the wolf from the door, though it
would not put clothes on his back.

Holbrook declared that the world had not used him well generally; but he
never thought of looking into himself for the cause. He was willing,
however, to relinquish the gospel of the advanced ideas for a business
that would put money in his pocket and clothes on his back. Here he was,
then, engaged in the business of getting up the great Kidd Discovery
Company, by which every man who invested in it was to make a fortune.

The other was a slender, well-formed young man, perhaps twenty-five or
six years old, of dark olive complexion, and black, oily hair that
curled all over his head. His large black eyes were full of softness and
were well set under beautifully arched-brows. There was, indeed, a
moorish cast about his features, which were prominent and well lined;
and when he spoke, which he did with a foreign accentation, he disclosed
a row of white, polished teeth, every one set with perfect regularity.
His hands, too, were soft and delicate, and on each of his little
fingers he wore a large seal ring. He wore, also, a heavy gold
neck-chain, and his dress was of plain black, made in the latest style
and in great good taste. Romantic young girls just out in society might
have been excused for selecting just such a man as a model lover.

The young man I have described above so neatly dressed, was Philo
Gusher, of the great accommodating house of Topman and Gusher,
extensively engaged in making discoveries and fortunes for all persons
kind enough to honor them with their investments.

The boatmen found these men in a room at the farm-house, seated around a
table on which stood a bucket half filled with what appeared to be ugly
black sand. Just as they entered Mr. Gusher rose from his seat and
exclaimed:

"Greatest discovery what was ever made. There is nothing like it in
history. I tell you it is a great thing, gen-tle-men!" Here he raised
his right hand, and then lowering it ran his fingers into the dark sand,
and drew out a number of discolored Mexican and Spanish dollars. "Wis
zat--what is in zat bucket, gen-tle-mens--and ze ouse of Topman and
Gusher (me) is on a solid basis, as you shall see." Here he rang a dozen
or two of the discolored dollars on the table, adding, "Zis Kidd
Discovery Company is one zing so great as you ever did see,
gen-tle-men."

"And we are indebted to this good, honest old man for all of it--I
should say," rejoined Chapman, checking himself, "for selling us the
secret." Hanz had been smoking his pipe quietly, and seeming to take but
little interest in what was going on. Chapman now slapped him on the
shoulder violently, and shook his hand. "We are indebted to you for this
great and successful enterprise, eh? See the fortune now, don't you?"

"Perhaps I toes, und maybe I ton't," replied Hanz, relieving his mouth
of the pipe. "I shees t' shand, und I shees t' tirty tollars--how I know
where he comes from, eh?" Hanz began to have his suspicion aroused, and
to feel that he had got into queer company. "T' tollar might get back to
t' tivel when you gets him, if I vas only back mit mine Angeline!" said
he, shaking his head doubtingly.

"It is very generous of our friend here," interposed Holbrook, running
his fingers through his tufty red hair, and looking askance through his
spectacles at Hanz, "to affect that he cares nothing about our
discovery. Very kind of him. But we found the treasure exactly where he
said it was buried."

Hanz shook his head, and looked with an air of surprise at the speaker.
"If I tells you where dat gold und dat tirty shilver be's buried, und
you goes dar und finds him, ten I be's asleep, und ton't know what I
tells you."

"Te gen-tle-man," interposed Gusher, going off into a rhapsody of
delight, "is very modest. It is very good of him to be so modest. But
he, I am sure, will accept ze thanks of Topman and Gusher. Tis Kidd,
gen-tle-men--he must be one jolly, generous fellow. I loves tis
gen-tle-man Kidd. He bury his dollars here in bushel baskets full. We
find him, eh?" Here he again ran his hand into the sand, and drawing out
several more discolored dollars threw them on the table. "Te great big
Kidd Discovery Company is one great fixed fact--one grand success,
gen-tle-men. When ze customer come wiz his money, we shall say here is
ze zing what makes you one grand fortune; invest your money and put your
trust in Topman and Gusher."

Here, indeed, was the capital stock on which the enterprising firm of
Topman and Gusher had started a great and flourishing joint-stock
company. The boatmen listened to what they had heard with surprise and
astonishment. They, in short, firmly believed that what they had seen in
the bucket was treasure taken from the place in which it had been buried
by Kidd.




CHAPTER XVII.

MR. GUSHER IS INTRODUCED TO MATTIE.


The Reverend Warren Holbrook was left in the farm-house to further
develop the discovery, and lift the great enterprise into popularity
among the confiding people in that portion of the country. The rest of
the party, including Gusher, returned to the boat near sundown and set
off for Nyack, the sturdy oarsmen singing a merry song. There in the
bottom of the boat was the bucket containing the black sand and
discolored dollars--the capital stock of the great Kidd Discovery
Company--which Chapman and Gusher affected to guard with particular
care.

They reached Nyack the next day about noon, looking fatigued and
careworn, for they had enjoyed but little sleep since leaving. During
their absence all sorts of wild rumors had been circulated concerning
the object of the expedition. Imagination had made some of its highest
flights, and even found a relative of Kidd, who was to join the
expedition a few miles up the river, and who possessed the power to make
the devil surrender sounding-rock--in case he proved obstinate and
refused to acknowledge Hanz's authority. Titus Bright's inn was the
place where all the wisdom of the settlement concentrated of a night.
And it was here that all the various features of the great expedition
were discussed over ale and cider. Sundry honest Dutchmen shook their
heads suspiciously, and declared no good would come of it if Chapman got
his finger in. Others said it was all clear enough now where Hanz
Toodleburg got his dollars and his doubloons. It was no wonder that he
was so much better off than his neighbors. Another declared that he had
more than once told Hanz he would never get to heaven, and that secret
on his mind.

When the boat reached the landing a number of persons were gathered
there, all anxious to know what success had attended the expedition, and
what discoveries had been made concerning Kidd's money. News that the
expedition had returned soon spread over Nyack, and the town was greatly
agitated. The arrival of Gusher, a gentleman of such distinguished
personal appearance, tended still further to increase the agitation, and
to give wing to wilder rumors. Hanz was received with salutations of
welcome, for every one seemed glad to see him back. But where this
foreign-looking gentleman came from, and what was his history, were
questions they confounded their wits over without finding a satisfactory
solution.

Considerable ado was now made in getting the bucket and its contents on
shore, which was done with as much care and ceremony as if every grain
of black sand it contained had been gold. And when a number of the coins
had been exhibited to the bystanders, and the genuineness of the metal
they were made of shown to be beyond doubt, the boatmen ran a pole
through the handle and carried it on their shoulders up the road,
creating such a sensation in turn that they were followed by a curious
and astonished crowd, which seemed to increase at every step.

The effect was exactly what Chapman wanted. He had the precious treasure
carried to his house and deposited, while Hanz and the boatmen proceeded
to their homes, stopping at Bright's inn on the way, where they gave a
marvellous account of their expedition and what they had discovered.

The portly figure of Mrs. Chapman, arrayed in her best millinery, stood
in the door ready to welcome her dear husband and Mr. Gusher, who had
proceeded in advance of the crowd.

"Allow me to welcome you to my house--such as it is, Mr. Gusher," said
she, making a low courtesy, and then extending her fat, waxy hand. Mr.
Gusher bowed in return, and received the hand formally.

"Madam, I am so very happy to have ze pleazure to zee you in your own
house," replied Mr. Gusher, raising his hand to his heart, then lifting
his hat and making another formal bow.

"I am sure you will forego all ceremony, Mr. Gusher, and make yourself
at home. We are plain, unpretending people, and like to receive our
friends in a plain, unpretending manner," resumed Mrs. Chapman,
escorting her guest into the parlor, and begging him to be seated. "It
seems so very long since we met in New York, Mr. Gusher. I never shall
forget that visit, made so pleasant by your kindness. I have spoken of
you so often, Mr. Gusher, to my daughter, that we both feel as if we
were well acquainted with you--"

"Madam," interrupted Mr. Gusher, again putting his hand to his heart and
making a formal bow, "you do me so many compliments as I don't deserve.
I have anticipated ze pleazure and ze honor so much to zee your
daughter. I am zure I shall be delight wiz her. If I shall speak Englis
so well as you, then I shall be so happy. Then I makes myself agreeable
to your daughter, I am so sure." Mr. Gusher was indeed quite embarrassed
at the number of compliments Mrs. Chapman seemed inclined to bestow on
him.

"Nyack is so dull and stupid--so very dull, Mr. Gusher. We only endure
it, you know. And there are so few nice people in it--so very few we
care about associating with," resumed this fat, fussy woman, giving her
head a toss and extending her hands. "A few, a very few nice people have
come up from the city--we find them very agreeable society, quite a
relief. We intend to set up a residence in the city. How delightful to
look forward to the day. We can then live in a style more agreeable to
our taste."

"Oh! madam," rejoined Mr. Gusher, "I am sure you must be very happy.
Your house is so very elegant. I should be so happy in zis house.
(Pardon, madam, I cannot speak Englis so well.) And zen, wiz your
beautiful daughter." Mr. Gusher placed his hand to his heart again,
bowed his head gracefully, and assumed a sentimental air. "Oh, I shall
be so happy to have my home like zis. And your beautiful daughter--she
would sing to me, and she would play me sweet music, and read to me some
poetry. You shall zee I am so proud of ze poetry--"

"How very kind of you," interrupted Mrs. Chapman, bowing
condescendingly; "how very kind of you, to pay my daughter this high
compliment. And, then, coming from so distinguished a foreigner. Indeed,
Mr. Gusher, I have had a mother's responsibility in educating my
daughter up to the highest requisitions of society. Then she's only a
young, thoughtless girl yet, you know. Indeed, Mr. Gusher, if it was not
that she is so intellectual--I say this out of respect to her father,
whose intellectual qualities she inherits--I should feel alarmed about
her. Indeed I should. She is so much admired. And there is nothing
spoils a young, ardent girl so much as admiration."

Chapman now entered the room and suggested that Mr. Gusher, their guest,
must be very much fatigued after so arduous an expedition. Mr. Gusher
was thereupon shown to his room, and left to his own contemplations. In
truth, he was glad enough to escape in this way from a continuation of
this fussy woman's compliments. He had, however, created in his mind a
beautiful picture of Mattie, with oval face, fair complexion, soft blue
eyes, flowing golden hair, and a form that Diana might have envied, and
a voice so sweet in song. As to her parents, they knew nothing of him,
(perhaps it was well they did not); and he knew nothing of them. There
was a mystery overhanging the means by which he had been brought in
contact with these peculiar people. But the more he revolved the
beautiful picture of Mattie over in his mind the more his anxiety to see
her increased.

Mr. Gusher rested for two hours, and then re-appeared in the parlor, so
exquisitely dressed and made up. Every hair on his head seemed to have
been curled so exactly. The gentleman had evidently taken great pains to
get himself up in a style that should be faultless. I may mention, also,
that Mr. Gusher regarded himself as a very valuable ornament in the
atmosphere of fashionable society--just such a nice young man as an
ambitious woman just setting up in society would require at least a
dozen of to make her first reception a success.

Mrs. Chapman and Mattie were already in the parlor, waiting to receive
Mr. Gusher, "My dear sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Chapman; "you are looking so
much improved. I hope you are rested? And now, sir, allow me to present
you to my daughter--Miss Mattie, my only daughter. This is Mr. Gusher,
my daughter. You have heard me speak of Mr. Gusher so often." Mattie
blushed and looked confused, then courtesied in a cold and formal
manner.

"I am so glad to make you my compliments," said Mr. Gusher, making one
of his best bows, and moving backward with a shuffling motion, "I am so
glad to make you my friend," he continued, bowing and placing his right
hand on his heart. Mattie's beauty was quite up to the picture Mr.
Gusher had drawn of it in his imagination. But her manner was so cold
and formal that it not only disappointed but annoyed him. Instead of an
ardent, impressible, romantic and even demonstrative girl, bubbling over
with warmth and vivacity, here she was, as cold and formal as a charity
school matron of forty summers.

"I hope, sir, that you will find your visit to Nyack pleasant," she
replied, tossing her long, golden curls bewitchingly over her fair, full
shoulders with her right hand, then motioning Mr. Gusher to be seated
"Nyack is a very dull place, though. I am sure you will not find much in
it to interest you. My mother tells me you are to make but a very short
stay. I don't wonder you are anxious to get back, sir--"

Mrs. Chapman was at this time in a state of great alarm lest Mattie
should say something not strictly within the rules of propriety. She
shook her head and cast a significant glance at Mattie, then raised the
fore-finger of her right hand to her lips, admonishingly.

"My daughter has not heard of the great enterprise yourself and my dear
husband are engaged in--"

[Illustration: "I am so glad to make you my compliments!" said Mr.
Gusher, making one of his best bows. Page 128.]

"Why, yes, mother, I have," interrupted Mattie; "did'nt Mr. Toodleburg
and father go up the river to buy up all the vegetables for the New York
market?"

"Oh, horrors! horrors! Why, my daughter, what put such a strange thought
in your head? Think of it. Your intellectual father going into the
vegetable business--and with a common old Dutchman! Oh, horrors, my
daughter! What could have put such a thought in your head?" The fat,
fussy woman affected to be overcome, and raised her hands in the very
agony of distress.

"My daughter, Mr. Gusher, has a way of talking so at times. A little
satirical, you know--inherits it from her father."

"My mother has spoken of you frequently, Mr. Gusher. I almost felt
acquainted with you before you arrived. You do business in the city, she
says. The weather is so very bad, I am sure you will not enjoy such a
dull place as this," said Mattie, turning to Mr. Gusher and resuming the
conversation, cold and emotionless.

"No, no, miss," rejoined Mr. Gusher, smiling; "I am zure I shall be so
happy wiz you. Wiz you to zay so many good zings to me, my heart shall
be in ze paradise." Here Mr. Gusher made a bow, and pressed his hand to
his heart. "Wiz you for ze bird of zat paradise, oh, I shall be so
happy."

"Then you and father are going into business, Mr. Gusher? I do hope you
will be successful. If you can only get father to stick to business,"
resumed Mattie. "He is smart at inventing new religions, and other
things. Mother, (here she turned to her mother, who was in a state of
great alarm,) how many new religions has father invented? I know how
many churches he has built--"

"My daughter, my daughter!" exclaimed the impatient and perplexed woman.
"Such things as churches don't interest Mr. Gusher. Mr. Gusher moves in
distinguished society, and goes to a fashionable church."

"Oh, yes, madam, I go to ze very fazionable church. I go to zee ze
ladies, and to enjoy ze sentiment of ze music. Zen I shall enjoy myself
wiz your daughter more as well in your house. I shall do zat. Your
daughter, she shall zing to me, and she shall play to me, and she shall
read to me some poetry. I am so much love ze poetry."

"Truly, Mr. Gusher, I should make but very poor work in entertaining you
by singing or playing," replied Mattie; "and as for poetry, I never had
any taste for it. Father made me read Pilgrim's Progress until it has
got to be a favorite book with me. Did you ever read it, Mr. Gusher? It
is very interesting."

"Nevare, nevare!" returned Mr. Gusher, shaking his head and extending
his hands. "I nevare read ze book of ze Progress Pilgrim. I read ze book
what describe to me ze paradise of ze heart--love." How very
aggravating, thought Mr. Gusher. Instead of a girl with a whole volume
of poetry in her soft blue eyes, here was one whose very nature seemed
devoid of sentiment. Still there was something in this cold and reserve
manner, this indifference to Mr. Gusher's attractions, that tended to
excite his ambition, for he was excessively vain.

"Your dear mother say I go to ze fazionable church. Yes, I go to ze
fazionable church. I zee so many nice ladies, so many beautiful ladies,
all my friends; and za make me so many compliments. Oh, yes, Miss
Chapman, I have so many beautiful young ladies for my friend in ze
church."

"I don't see how it can be otherwise, Mr. Gusher," returned Mattie,
bestowing a look of admiration on him. "I am sure you would have a
great many admirers if you lived in Nyack. But, then, you would not
think of living in such a dull place."

"You do me so much honor, miss," rejoined Mr. Gusher, rising and making
a bow. "I hope it shall be my honor to count Miss Chapman--what shall I
say?--well, I will say as one of my so good friends."

"Indeed, Mr. Gusher, I have no such ambition. You have so many beautiful
friends now. You would not, I am sure, condescend to include a simple
country girl like me among them. I assure you, Mr. Gusher, I am not
ambitious."

"You will have discovered by this time," said Mrs. Chapman, rising and
making a low courtesy, "that my daughter delights in being eccentric.
Oh, sir, she says a great many things she never means. She has got
ambition enough. She would'nt be a Chapman if she had'nt."

Dinner was now announced. "I shall be so happy to escort you," said Mr.
Gusher, nearly doubling himself in a bow, and extending his arm.

Mattie hesitated for a moment, blushed, and seemed confused. "Please,
Mr. Gusher," she said, bowing and extending her right hand, "escort my
dear mother." Here was an awkward situation. Mr. Gusher's knowledge of
etiquette was for once put on trial by a plain, simple-hearted country
girl. But his offer wa

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