"I came hither with a heart desponding of success. Adversity had
weakened my faith in the promises of the future, and I was prepared to
receive just such tidings as you have communicated. Unacquainted with
the secret motives of Waldegrave and his sister, it is impossible for me
to weigh the probabilities of their rectitude. I have only my own
assertion to produce in support of my claim. All other evidence, all
vouchers and papers, which might attest my veracity or sanction my claim
in a court of law, are buried in the ocean. The bill was transmitted
just before my departure from Madeira, and the letters by which it was
accompanied informed Waldegrave of my design to follow it immediately.
Hence he did not, it is probable, acknowledge the receipt of my letters.
The vessels in which they were sent arrived in due season. I was assured
that all letters were duly deposited in the post-office, where, at
present, mine are not to be found.
"You assure me that nothing has been found among his papers, hinting at
any pecuniary transaction between him and me. Some correspondence passed
between us previous to that event. Have no letters, with my signature,
been found? Are you qualified, by your knowledge of his papers, to
answer me explicitly? Is it not possible for some letters to have been
mislaid?"
"I am qualified," said I, "to answer your inquiries beyond any other
person in the world. Waldegrave maintained only general intercourse with
the rest of mankind. With me his correspondence was copious, and his
confidence, as I imagined, without bounds. His books and papers were
contained in a single chest at his lodgings, the keys of which he had
about him when he died. These keys I carried to his sister, and was
authorized by her to open and examine the contents of this chest. This
was done with the utmost care. These papers are now in my possession.
Among them no paper, of the tenor you mention, was found, and no letter
with your signature. Neither Mary Waldegrave nor I are capable of
disguising the truth or committing an injustice. The moment she receives
conviction of your right, she will restore this money to you. The moment
I imbibe this conviction, I will exert all my influence (and it is not
small) to induce her to restore it. Permit me, however, to question you
in your turn. Who was the merchant on whom your bill was drawn, what was
the date of it, and when did the bill and its counterparts arrive?"
"I do not exactly remember the date of the bills. They were made out,
however, six days before I myself embarked, which happened on the 10th
of August, 1784. They were sent by three vessels, one of which was bound
to Charleston and the others to New York. The last arrived within two
days of each other, and about the middle of November in the same year.
The name of the payer was Monteith."
After a pause of recollection, I answered, "I will not hesitate to
apprize you of every thing which may throw light upon this transaction,
and whether favourable or otherwise to your claim. I have told you,
among my friend's papers your name is not to be found. I must likewise
repeat that the possession of this money by Waldegrave was wholly
unknown to us till his death. We are likewise unacquainted with any
means by which he could get possession of so large a sum in his own
right. He spent no more than his scanty stipend as a teacher, though
this stipend was insufficient to supply his wants. This bank-receipt is
dated in December, 1784, a fortnight, perhaps, after the date that you
have mentioned. You will perceive how much this coincidence, which could
scarcely have taken place by chance, is favourable to your claim.
"Mary Waldegrave resides, at present, at Abingdon. She will rejoice, as
I do, to see one who, as her brother's friend, is entitled to her
affection. Doubt not but that she will listen with impartiality and
candour to all that you can urge in defence of your title to this money.
Her decision will not be precipitate, but it will be generous and just,
and founded on such reasons that, even if it be adverse to your wishes,
you will be compelled to approve it?"
"I can entertain no doubt," he answered, "as to the equity of my claim.
The coincidences you mention are sufficient to convince me that this sum
was received upon my bill; but this conviction must necessarily be
confined to myself. No one but I can be conscious to the truth of my own
story. The evidence on which I build my faith, in this case, is that of
my own memory and senses; but this evidence cannot make itself
conspicuous to you. You have nothing but my bare assertion, in addition
to some probabilities flowing from the conduct of Waldegrave. What facts
may exist to corroborate my claim, which you have forgotten, or which
you may think proper to conceal, I cannot judge. I know not what is
passing in the secret of your hearts; I am unacquainted with the
character of this lady and with yours. I have nothing on which to build
surmises and suspicions of your integrity, and nothing to generate
unusual confidence. The frailty of your virtue and the strength of your
temptations I know not. However she decides in this case, and whatever
opinion I shall form as to the reasonableness of her decision, it will
not become me either to upbraid her, or to nourish discontentment and
repinings.
"I know that my claim has no legal support; that, if this money be
resigned to me, it will be the impulse of spontaneous justice, and not
the coercion of law, to which I am indebted for it. Since, therefore,
the justice of my claim is to be measured not by law, but by simple
equity, I will candidly acknowledge that, as yet, it is uncertain
whether I ought to receive, even should Miss Waldegrave be willing to
give it. I know my own necessities and schemes, and in what degree this
money would be subservient to these; but I know not the views and wants
of others, and cannot estimate the usefulness of this money to them.
However I decide upon your conduct in withholding or retaining it, I
shall make suitable allowance for my imperfect knowledge of your motives
and wants, as well as for your unavoidable ignorance of mine.
"I have related my sufferings from shipwreck and poverty, not to bias
your judgment or engage your pity, but merely because the impulse to
relate them chanced to awake; because my heart is softened by the
remembrance of Waldegrave, who has been my only friend, and by the sight
of one whom he loved.
"I told you that my father lived in Chetasco. He is now aged, and I am
his only child. I should have rejoiced in being able to relieve his gray
hairs from labour to which his failing strength cannot be equal. This
was one of my inducements in coming to America. Another was, to prepare
the way for a woman whom I married in Europe and who is now awaiting
intelligence from me in London. Her poverty is not less than my own, and
by marrying against the wishes of her kindred she has bereaved herself
of all support but that of her husband. Whether I shall be able to
rescue her from indigence, whether I shall alleviate the poverty of my
father, or increase it by burdening his scanty friends by my own
maintenance as well as his, the future alone can determine.
"I confess that my stock of patience and hope has never been large, and
that my misfortunes have nearly exhausted it. The flower of my years has
been consumed in struggling with adversity, and my constitution has
received a shock, from sickness and mistreatment in Portugal, which I
cannot expect long to survive. But I make you sad," he continued. "I
have said all that I meant to say in this interview. I am impatient to
see my father, and night has already come. I have some miles yet to ride
to his cottage, and over a rough road. I will shortly visit you again,
and talk to you at greater leisure on these and other topics. At present
I leave you."
I was unwilling to part so abruptly with this guest, and entreated him
to prolong his visit; but he would not be prevailed upon. Repeating his
promise of shortly seeing me again, he mounted his horse and
disappeared. I looked after him with affecting and complex emotions. I
reviewed the incidents of this unexpected and extraordinary interview,
as if it had existed in a dream. An hour had passed, and this stranger
had alighted among us as from the clouds, to draw the veil from those
obscurities which had bewildered us so long, to make visible a new train
of disastrous consequences flowing from the untimely death of thy
brother, and to blast that scheme of happiness on which thou and I had
so fondly meditated.
But what wilt thou think of this new-born claim? The story, hadst thou
observed the features and guise of the relater, would have won thy
implicit credit. His countenance exhibited deep traces of the
afflictions he had endured, and the fortitude which he had exercised. He
was sallow and emaciated, but his countenance was full of seriousness
and dignity. A sort of ruggedness of brow, the token of great mental
exertion and varied experience, argued a premature old age.
What a mournful tale! Is such the lot of those who wander from their
rustic homes in search of fortune? Our countrymen are prone to
enterprise, and are scattered over every sea and every land in pursuit
of that wealth which will not screen them from disease and infirmity,
which is missed much oftener than found, and which, when gained, by no
means compensates them for the hardships and vicissitudes endured in the
pursuit.
But what if the truth of these pretensions be admitted? The money must
be restored to its right owner. I know that, whatever inconveniences may
follow the deed, thou wilt not hesitate to act justly. Affluence and
dignity, however valuable, may be purchased too dear. Honesty will not
take away its keenness from the winter blast, its ignominy and
unwholesomeness from servile labour, or strip of its charms the life of
elegance and leisure; but these, unaccompanied with self-reproach, are
less deplorable than wealth and honour the possession of which is marred
by our own disapprobation.
I know the bitterness of this sacrifice. I know the impatience with
which your poverty has formerly been borne; how much your early
education is at war with that degradation and obscurity to which your
youth has been condemned; how earnestly your wishes panted after a state
which might exempt you from dependence upon daily labour and on the
caprices of others, and might secure to you leisure to cultivate and
indulge your love of knowledge and your social and beneficent
affections.
Your motive for desiring a change of fortune has been greatly enforced
since we have become known to each other. Thou hast honoured me with thy
affection; but that union, on which we rely for happiness, could not
take place while both of us were poor. My habits, indeed, have made
labour and rustic obscurity less painful than they would prove to my
friend, but my present condition is wholly inconsistent with marriage.
As long as my exertions are insufficient to maintain us both, it would
be unjustifiable to burden you with new cares and duties. Of this you
are more thoroughly convinced than I am. The love of independence and
ease, and impatience of drudgery, are woven into your constitution.
Perhaps they are carried to an erroneous extreme, and derogate from that
uncommon excellence by which your character is, in other respects,
distinguished; but they cannot be removed.
This obstacle was unexpectedly removed by the death of your brother.
However justly to be deplored was this catastrophe, yet, like every
other event, some of its consequences were good. By giving you
possession of the means of independence and leisure, by enabling us to
complete a contract which poverty alone had thus long delayed, this
event has been, at the same time, the most disastrous and propitious
which could have happened.
Why thy brother should have concealed from us the possession of this
money,--why, with such copious means of indulgence and leisure, he
should still pursue his irksome trade, and live in so penurious a
manner,--has been a topic of endless and unsatisfactory conjecture
between us. It was not difficult to suppose that this money was held in
trust for another; but in that case it was unavoidable that some
document or memorandum, or at least some claimant, would appear. Much
time has since elapsed, and you have thought yourself at length
justified in appropriating this money to your own use.
Our flattering prospects are now shut in. You must return to your
original poverty, and once more depend for precarious subsistence on
your needle. You cannot restore the whole, for unavoidable expenses and
the change of your mode of living have consumed some part of it. For so
much you must consider yourself as Weymouth's debtor.
Repine not, my friend, at this unlooked-for reverse. Think upon the
merits and misfortunes of your brother's friend; think upon his aged
father, whom we shall enable him to rescue from poverty; think upon his
desolate wife, whose merits are, probably, at least equal to your own,
and whose helplessness is likely to be greater. I am not insensible to
the evils which have returned upon us with augmented force, after
having, for a moment, taken their flight. I know the precariousness of
my condition and that of my sisters; that our subsistence hangs upon the
life of an old man. My uncle's death will transfer this property to his
son, who is a stranger and an enemy to us, and the first act of whose
authority will unquestionably be to turn us forth from these doors.
Marriage with thee was anticipated with joyous emotions, not merely on
my own account or on thine, but likewise for the sake of those beloved
girls to whom that event would enable me to furnish an asylum.
But wedlock is now more distant than ever. Mv heart bleeds to think of
the sufferings which my beloved Mary is again fated to endure; but
regrets are only aggravations of calamity. They are pernicious, and it
is our duty to shake them off.
I can entertain no doubts as to the equity of Weymouth's claim. So many
coincidences could not have happened by chance. The non-appearance of
any letters or papers connected with it is indeed a mysterious
circumstance; but why should Waldegrave be studious of preserving these?
They were useless paper, and might, without impropriety, be cast away or
made to serve any temporary purpose. Perhaps, indeed, they still lurk in
some unsuspected corner. To wish that time may explain this mystery in a
different manner, and so as to permit our retention of this money, is,
perhaps, the dictate of selfishness. The transfer to Weymouth will not
be productive of less benefit to him and to his family, than we should
derive from the use of it.
These considerations, however, will be weighed when we meet. Meanwhile I
will return to my narrative.