HOW HE AGAIN CHANGES HIS CIRCUMSTANCES.
"When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think that I should live
till I were married."--_Shakspeare._
"I knew a wench married in an afternoon, as she went to the garden for
parsely to stuff a rabbit."--_Idem._
The year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and twenty-two, is yet
freshly remembered in New-York, as being the last, (thus far,) in which
that metropolis was visited by the afflictive plague of yellow fever.
It was also a memorable year in the life of Doctor Wheelwright. Most of
the inhabitants were obliged to flee the city--those who could, to the
country;--and those who could not, to the temporary lodges hastily
constructed for their reception upon the then unoccupied grounds
between Broadway and the North River, now covered by Greenwich and the
splendid edifices of the fifteenth ward--containing much of the present
opulence and taste of the city. The location of the writer hereof was
near the hotel and nine-pin alley, kept by Signor Fieschi;--an Italian,
celebrated for the excellence of his segars, and for whipping his wife
with rods larger than is allowed by the English common law--the size of
Lord Chief Justice Holt's little finger being the maximum in such
cases.
The Autumn of that year was remarkable for the beauty and clemency of
the weather. Knowing that there was little hope for the abatement of
the pestilence, and none of its extinction, until after a severe frost,
the exiled citizens were never before so anxious for the frosty
foretaste of winter. But the heavens continued cloudless, and week
after week of ethereal mildness succeeded, until past the middle of
October.
It was during this protracted season of sunny weather, that for several
days in succession, I observed my old friend Wheelwright passing the
window of my temporary office, in company and close conversation with a
lady clad in the deepest habiliments of mourning. The doctor was well
dressed, and so was the lady; for the suit and trappings of her wo were
new as though she was but recent from "the sad burial feast," probably,
of her wedded lord. Whether her countenance was as indicative of a
sorrowful and bleeding heart, as the deep sables in which she was
veiled, I could not tell. But no matter: day after day were they
seen strolling leisurely up the then unbuilt portion of Broadway, and
among the wooded lanes leading therefrom in the outskirts of the city.
Love lane--a retired and charming walk--exactly the place for meditation
or making love,--crossing over from the Bloomingdale road to the North
River, which has since been "improved" out of existence,--was a favorite
place of resort with my old friend and his fair companion--_fair_, no
doubt she was, albeit her beauty was hidden from the vulgar gaze in the
manner already indicated.
But who was _she_? Perhaps a sister, or some other near relative
of his, whose husband had been swept off by the pestilence, and into
whose throbbing bosom he was kindly endeavoring to pour some of the
balmy drops of consolation! But no--such could not be the fact, since
no corresponding weed of sorrow appeared upon his own well-brushed
beaver. Perhaps a stranger, just rendered an orphan, or bereft of a
brother by the ruthless hand of the West India plague--an acquaintance
of my friend, whose melancholy he was kindly endeavoring to assuage.
But, on the other hand, such offices were quite out of his line, since
he was not easily moved--unless from one purpose to another--and of all
men he was the most unused "to the melting mood." It was truly a
perplexing affair; and the mystery was increased by the pains taken by
Wheelwright to avoid such an interview with me as might lead to an
_eclaircissement_. Several times did I strive to throw myself in the
way of the lady and her assiduous attendant--venturing even to cross
their path, on one occasion, for the purpose of making some discovery.
But the attempt was vain, for my old acquaintance had apparently become
so near-sighted as not to discern a person, unless he came bolt-upright
against him--or unless, perchance, on some occasions, when he was
sufficiently far-sighted, to enable him to turn a corner in season to
avoid an interview. Once, and once only, I received a nod of
recognition; but although I had succeeded in gaining a closer proximity
than usual, all that I could ascertain through the deep folds of the
lady's crape, was an impression that she was pale, pensive, a little
pock-marked, and five and thirty. Had the ladies not all been driven
from the city by the pestilence, I should most assuredly have engaged
some one or more of them to solve the question, whether the doctor was
engaged in offices of sympathy, or an affair of the heart--or whether
he was actually _engaged_ in any way. But there was no pretty familiar
at hand skilled in these delicate matters; and I was therefore
compelled to forego, for a time at least, the gratification of my
curiosity.
Obedient to the law of the disease, with the first sound frost, the
fever disappeared; the citizens returned to their respective homes;
resumed their wonted avocations; and as usual in New-York, the calamity
which had interrupted its business, and driven its inhabitants out of
town for half the season, was forgotten, with its consequences, in a
fortnight. One of my earliest visiters, after business had resumed its
accustomed channels, was none other than the subject of this memoir,
whose recent avoidance of me had been marked with so much emphasis. He
entered my little _sanctum_ with a grin between a smile and a laugh,
and was evidently on excellent good terms with all the world, himself
not excepted. Without waiting to see what might be his reception, he
began:
"Ah, Colonel, how are ye? Escaped the yellow fever, then, eh?"
"Yes: I have been thus fortunate--and am well."
"Is that all you've got to say? I hope you've hearn of my good luck,
haint you? You know I've always said the world owed me a living."
"I hope you'll get it: Pray what new scheme are you driving at now, Mr.
Wheelwright?"
"Do tell! don't you know that I am now a married man--good as the rest
of you?"
"Married, my good doctor! To whom?"
"Why, to a young widow from England, with only one child, and worth
thirty-thousand pounds sterling--think of that!"
"Indeed! Well: I wish you joy, doctor. It's a long road that never
turns. But I hope there's no doubt"--
"There's no doubt or mistake in the matter. The lady was the widow of
an Irish captain, and"--
"The lady in mourning, I presume, to whom you seemed so attentive up
town, a few weeks ago? But whence the necessity of keeping so dark upon
the subject?"
"I thought it like enough you'd think I was behaving kinder-curious-like.
But her husband was lately dead, and she didn't care to see any body
just then;--and besides, I was determined nobody should know what was
going on betwixt us, till the job was done."
"A rich widow, then, and thirty-thousand pounds--sterling, did you
say?"
"Why, to be sure I did."
"And is she young and handsome?"
"She's comfortably good looking--though I don't know that you would say
raly handsome. But the thirty-thousand pounds, you know----"
"Very true: But who would have ever dreamed of your turning
fortune-hunter?"
"No body had more need on't than I."
"Not handsome, but rich: and so, I suppose you will soon learn to sing
the old ballad--
"Her _golden_ charms so sweetly _shine_,
While rising to my raptured view;
That I would rather call _them_ mine,
Than any _girl_ I ever knew!"
"Why, you don't mean to poke fun at me, I hope?"
"Not at all: But have you got the _ready_? Did she give you the
guineas, or good bills of exchange, with her person?"
"Why, no, not exactly that. The fact is, that her property belonged to
her husband, the late Captain Scarlett, of the King's Own, and it's all
vested in real estate."
"And you are quite sure?"
"As sure as a gun: just as sure as if I had the money in my hands. She
has a long row of housen in Dublin, and owns several housen, besides,
in one of the best streets in Liverpool."
Having communicated this agreeable intelligence, Mr. Wheelwright was
apparently about taking his departure, and moved to the door; but
suddenly turning round, as though some part of his errand had been
forgotten, he resumed:--
"So, you see, the small matter I am owing you will soon be paid;--but I
shall be obleeged to raise a little money--only a thousand dollars or
so--to pay a lawyer to investigate the titles, and I think it
like-enough I shall be obleeged to go to England before I get it all
settled."
"Oho! Then you are not quite so certain of the fortune, after all. The
titles are yet to be examined, eh?"
"But that won't amount to nothing serious though. I know all about it."
"Still, my good doctor, it would have been better had you looked well
to those titles before she obtained a title to you."
"But it's of no consequence. You see the case is just here: The
captain, d'ye see, had something to do with another woman, who now
claims the property for her children; but she wasn't his wife, and it
will all come right, as my lawyer tells me, if I can only get him a few
hundred dollars to carry it on."
By this time I began to see much more of the poor fellow's case than he
did himself. But as it was not particularly convenient for me to
accommodate him with another advance, we parted for that time--he to
live out his honey-moon in dreams of treasures shortly to be added to
the bliss of "wedded love"--and I to indulge in a variety of
reflections naturally arising upon the subject, which were doubtless
very good, though long since forgotten. The sagacious reader will,
perhaps, have no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that my
reflections and Doctor Wheelwright's treasures proved, in the end, of
about equal value; and that neither would have been taken as good
security by any bank or broker to whom application might have been made
for a loan of the required funds. Whether such a conclusion, when
arrived at, would be correct or not, will be discovered in a succeeding
chapter.