An Unexpected Visit--Morning Drives--Gabrielle's Ponies--A Repulsive
Object--A Visitor--The King of Sweden's Soup--Advantages of a Royal
Kitchen--Startling Experience--Ida's Letters--Strange Contents--A Lucky
Stone--Bequest for a Melodeon--Offers of Marriage--Arrival of a
Suitor--Reasons why he should marry Ida Greeley--He proves a
Lunatic--He is taken before a Magistrate--He is lodged in the County
Jail.
_June 5_.
As unexpected visit yesterday from Mr. O'Dwyer, a member of _The
Tribune_ staff, and for several years dear uncle's private secretary.
Mamma had invited Mr. O'Dwyer to come out and pass a quiet day with us,
and had appointed Wednesday for the visit. Desirous of a little
excitement, and already somewhat weary of our nun-like simplicity of
toilette, we decided to do honor to our guest by dressing our hair
quite elaborately, and attiring ourselves, despite the heat, in our
best bombazines with their weight of crape. We were assembled in the
dining-room after our early dinner, discussing, in our plain print
wrappers and Marguerite braids, our plans for the morrow, when Minna
announced:
"A visit, Madame; a gentleman."
"Probably a neighbor upon business," said mamma to us; "show him in
here, Minna."
The door opened, and enter the guest for whom, in imagination, we were
making such extensive preparations.
A very expressive glance was telegraphed around our circle. I was
engaged in the domestic occupation of hemming one of papa's
handkerchiefs, and although Hawthorne draws so pretty a picture of the
beautiful Miriam while engaged in "the feminine task of mending a pair
of gloves," with all deference to the poet's taste, I consider the
beguiling little scraps of canvas or kid which I produce when company
is present, much more attractive than plain sewing.
In a moment the surprise was explained. Mr. O'Dwyer had received
orders to represent _The Tribune_ somewhere, the following day, just in
time to catch the Pleasantville express, and run out to tell us that he
could not come at the time appointed.
"The circumstances were trying," we said to each other, after his
departure; but imagine, girls, how much worse they would have been, had
the visitor been a lady! As long as a wrapper is black, I very much
doubt if a gentleman would know it from an afternoon dress.
_June 8_.
The usual routine of our morning occupations has been somewhat broken
of late, for these June days are too perfect to be spent within doors,
even with such grand companions as Plato or Beethoven. We plan
charming hours to be spent in the pine grove, where Marguerite will
read to us a chapter or two of Kohlrausch's "Germany," and Ida will
give us a few pages of Taine's brilliant "Angleterre;" but as we are
starting with camp chairs, books, and work, Bernard approaches:
"Any orders, Miss?"
Frail mortals are too weak to resist, and in a few moments we are
seated in Ida's stylish new phaeton; and Gabrielle's irrepressible
ponies, under the guidance of Tourbillon herself, are dashing away at a
pace that terrifies our sober Quaker neighbors beyond expression.
Mamma has been solemnly warned against allowing Gabrielle to drive
"those fearful horses;" but we all share our pretty Tourbillon's
fondness for a _tourbillon_ pace, and know well the strength she
possesses in her little wrists, and the coolness she could exercise
were there any danger.
While returning from a charming drive upon the Sing Sing road, a day or
two since, the horses, whose spirits were unusually high, shied
suddenly at something dark by the roadside. By a dexterous management
of the reins, Gabrielle quickly subdued them, and we all looked to see
what had startled them. An object was crouching in the grass,
evidently human, but of what sex or nationality it was impossible in
one swift glance to determine; and it was quite amusing to hear our
different opinions as we drove on.
"I think," said mamma, "that it was an enormous woman, with a baby in
her arms, but I really cannot be sure, for I only looked at the
face--such a hideous, repulsive face. I shall dream of it to-night, I
am convinced."
"A woman!" said Marguerite. "My impression was of a very
murderous-looking man--an Indian, I thought, he was so very dark."
Gabrielle's view of the case differed from the others. The creature
had, she said, a heavy black beard, which, was un-Indian-like, and was
garbed in a dark calico gown with open sleeves, through which she
plainly perceived a pair of unmistakably muscular, masculine arms. In
the words of Macbeth--
"You should be woman,
And yet your beard forbids me to interpret
That you are so."
Neither Marguerite nor Gabrielle had seen the baby, and Gabrielle's
conclusion that this frightful being was a convict who had escaped from
Sing Sing disguised as a woman, was quite logical.
"Chappaqua is certainly in unpleasant proximity to Sing Sing," I said
with a shudder, for I have not many elements of a heroine about me.
"Yes," was mamma's cheerful rejoinder, "and you know we were told
yesterday that one or two of the most dangerous convicts had recently
escaped, and had entered several houses in Chappaqua--to say nothing of
Mr. O'Dwyer's report that that dreadful Captain Jack has escaped, and
is known to be lurking in the neighborhood of our peaceful little
village."
"Pray let us change the subject," I entreated, "or between convicts and
Modocs I shall have the nightmare for a month."
_June 9_.
We have just said good-by to Señor Delmonte, of Hayti, who has gone
down on the 4.45 train, after passing, I hope, a pleasant day with us.
[Illustration: The Train Station.]
We have led such a quiet life since last fall, that a visit from a
friend is a very pleasant excitement, and with the assistance of our
invaluable Minna and Lina, there is nothing to be dreaded in the
preparations. Then, too, it is so pleasant to unpack the superb linen
that Aunt Mary bought abroad--the heavy damask table-cloths with their
beautiful designs, and the immense dinner napkins, protecting one's
dress so admirably against possible accident--and to take out the
exquisite silver and Sèvres; everything is perfection, even to the
little gold, lily-shaped hand-bell. Afterwards we go to gather flowers
in all their morning freshness, and if it is ten o'clock, we walk down
to the station to meet the New York train.
Señor Delmonte is a very agreeable gentleman, and quite a favorite in
New York circles. In figure he rises far above ordinary humanity, six
feet two inches being, I believe, his exact height--and his very dark
complexion and stately gravity render him quite conspicuous in a
drawing-room. He is reported extremely wealthy.
Upon returning from a drive on the Pleasantville road with Señor
Delmonte, Ida ran down to the kitchen for a moment, to see if harmony
reigned there (for Lina and Minna are not, I regret to say, becoming
warm friends; but more of that to-morrow). Ida rarely troubles the
cook with her presence, for Lina, like all _cordons bleus_, is a great
despot, and impatient of _surveillance_; but as she can be trusted to
arrange an entire _menu_ without any hints from Ida, la Dame Châtelaine
gladly leaves the responsibility to her. What therefore was my
surprise to see Ida return from her visit downstairs with an
unmistakable look of anxiety upon her pretty face, and beckon me out of
the music room where we were sitting.
"What _do_ you think, Cecilia?" she announced, in despairing accents.
"Lina has made a soup of sour cream, which is now reposing in the
ice-box!"
"Of _what_?" I said, scarcely crediting her words, and running down to
the kitchen.
Lina's feelings were considerably ruffled that her young mistress did
not appreciate the soup, which she considered a triumph of art, and
which consisted of sour cream, spices, and a little sugar--to be eaten,
of course, cold.
"Nice soup," she said, in the most injured tones; "King of Sweden think
excellent, but Miss no like it."
It was, however, too late to make another soup, so we consoled
ourselves with the thought that a king approved of it, and we would
show a plebeian taste if we did not also appreciate it. However, some
wry faces were made over the unlucky soup at the table, and the King of
Sweden's taste was the subject of much merriment.
I was somewhat sceptical at first that Lina had ever been in the royal
household at Stockholm, notwithstanding that she did cook so admirably;
but she managed yesterday evening to tell me, in her broken English,
about her residence in the palace.
It seems that inexperienced cooks can, by paying a certain sum, be
admitted into the royal kitchen to learn from the chief cook. After
they have perfected themselves in their profession, they receive wages,
and upon leaving, are presented with a diploma. Why could not a
somewhat similar institution--omitting the sovereign--become
practicable in our own country? Both housekeepers and newspapers groan
over the frightful cooking of our Bridgets; Professor Blot lectures
upon the kitchen scientifically and artistically considered, and our
fashionable ladies go to his classes to play at cooking; but the
novelty soon wears off, and home matters continue as badly as ever.
I do not know if the President would consent to imitate the Swedish
sovereign, by throwing open the kitchen of the White House in the same
liberal fashion, but surely he ought to be willing to make some
sacrifices for the common good--perhaps even to submit occasionally to
a dinner spoilt by the experiments of young apprentices to the culinary
art. Three months' training ought to suffice to make a very good cook,
and with a diploma from the White House, situations would be plentiful,
wages higher than ever, and employers would have the satisfaction of
knowing that their money was not thrown away.
_June 11_.
We may pass some sad hours at Chappaqua this summer, but I do not think
we shall suffer from _ennui_--that is, if the startling events of the
past week are to be repeated often during the summer.
I have already spoken of the escaped convict whom we saw in the grass
the other day. It is unnecessary to say that we carefully barricaded
our doors that night; for, in case of danger, our situation would not
be a cheerful one--a household of seven helpless women, save during
papa's weekly visit, and Bernard, our only protector, asleep in the
side-hill house. Our precautions, however, were superfluous; the
convict did not favor us with a visit, but something far more thrilling
than the loss of the family silver was in store for us.
Dear Ida has received since last fall scores of letters from, I think,
every State in the Union, and even from Europe, from people of whom she
had never heard before, and upon all sorts of subjects. Some of her
correspondents are interested in her spiritual, others in her temporal,
welfare; some advise change of air as beneficial after her affliction,
and alternately she is offered a home in Colorado and Maine. But such
letters form the exception; usually the writer has a favor to request.
The most modest of the petitions are for Ida's autograph or photograph,
while others request loans of different sums from units to thousands.
She is occasionally informed that the writer has a baby named Ida
Greeley, and it is intimated that a present from the godmother would be
acceptable. Again she is asked to assist in building a church, or to
clothe and educate some poor girl--her own cast-off wardrobe of colored
clothes will be accepted, the writer graciously says, although new
dresses would be preferable.
One letter dated Lebanon is chiefly upon the virtues of a _lucky
stone_, which the writer will as a great favor sell to Miss Greeley for
twenty-five dollars. All further misfortune will, she says, be averted
from Ida if she becomes its owner; the stone is especially recommended
as beneficial in love-affairs, and, the writer kindly adds, it is not
to be taken internally.
Another letter is from the mother of a young invalid girl, begging Miss
Greeley, whom she knows by report to be very wealthy and charitably
inclined, to make her daughter a present of a melodeon, as music, she
thinks, might help to pass away the tedious hours of illness.
Sometimes Ida is solicited to open a correspondence for the improvement
of her unknown friend, or to dispose of some one's literary wares,
while offers of marriage from her unseen admirers are of almost daily
occurrence. I think I would not exaggerate in saying she might reckon
by the bushel these letters, written generally in very questionable
grammar, and worse chirography. In very few instances has she ever
replied to them, for they have been usually from people possessing so
little claim upon her, that the favors they so boldly requested could
only be viewed in the light of impertinence.
One letter, couched in somewhat enigmatical terms, was dated from
Baltimore, and was explicit upon one point only--that it was the
manifest will of Providence that Ida should marry him--S. M. Hudson.
We read the letter together, laughed a little over it, and threw it
into the waste basket. Time passed, and we came out here. Ida was
greeted upon her arrival by another letter from the mysterious Hudson,
who, not at all discomfited by the cool reception, of his proposal,
addressed her as his future wife, and announced that he had come on
from Baltimore to marry her, that he was now in New York, and would
wait there to hear from her.
"The man is certainly crazy!" exclaimed Marguerite.
"Indeed he is!" said mamma, reading his rambling sentences very slowly:
"I should judge him to be perfectly insane, and I only hope he will not
come out here to pay his _fiancée_ a visit."
"You know he requests me to send him funds to defray his expenses, Aunt
Esther," said Ida quietly; "perhaps the lack of money will avert such a
calamity."
"What an unromantic conclusion to a love-letter!" said Gabrielle
scornfully.
The conversation turned to the depredations of the neighbors and
neighbors' children upon the property. "Mr. Greeley's place" had
always been looked upon in the light of public property, and intruders
walked and drove through the grounds quite as a matter of course, and
helped themselves freely to whatever they liked in the floral, fruit,
or vegetable line. The young ladies, however, decided that they had
submitted to such conduct quite long enough, and we sent to Sing Sing
for some printed handbills warning trespassers off the place.
Two or three days passed, and we had entirely forgotten Ida's erratic
admirer, when Gabrielle returned from a morning walk with the
information that an intoxicated man was sitting upon the steps of the
side-hill house. She met mamma and Ida starting for a little stroll,
and communicated this unpleasant news to them. Mamma, however, is not
timid, and she walked on with Ida, determined to view the invader from
afar, and then summon Bernard to dismiss him.
A figure was sitting, as Gabrielle said, upon the piazza of the new
house, but was so motionless that Ida exclaimed laughingly:
"It is a scarecrow placed there by some one in retaliation for our
notice to trespassers to keep off the grounds."
As they passed it, however, the scarecrow slowly lifted its head and
addressed them with:
"Is this Mr. Greeley's place?"
"Yes," said mamma.
"And is this young lady Miss Ida?"
"Yes."
"You have received, I believe, a few letters from me, Miss Ida: my name
is Hudson."
Fortunately our family are not of a fainting disposition, for a
_tête-à-tête_ with a lunatic was a situation requiring some nerve and
perfect self-control; so, although mamma and Ida were much alarmed upon
learning the name of their visitor, they neither screamed nor fainted,
and mamma invited him quite courteously to walk up to the house.
Mr. Hudson was a tall, powerful man, with cunning, restless, gray eyes,
was well dressed, and wore a linen duster. He had come, he said, seven
hundred miles to see Ida. Upon reaching the house, he followed mamma
into the dining-room where Marguerite, Gabrielle, and I were sitting at
work.
"Ah, Miss Gabrielle!" he said, "I supposed you were at school."
One or two other rational remarks of the sort, and mamma's perfect
_sang-froid_ so deceived me that I decided the supposed lunatic must be
perfectly sane. In a moment, however, he looked somewhat uneasy, and
said:
"I have a long story to tell your niece, ma'am, but I feel a little
bashful about speaking before so many young ladies."
"Would you like to see me alone, then?" said mamma promptly; "you would
not object to telling your story to a married woman."
Then signing to us to leave the room, she followed us to the door, and
_breathing_ rather than whispering, "Run for Bernard," returned.
It appears that the man grew more excitable when alone with mamma, and
the story he told her was not a cheerful one to hear.
"It began," he said, "five years ago, by my father cutting his throat
with a razor. They say he was crazy, and," with a fiendish chuckle,
"some people say I am crazy too."
"Indeed!" said mamma, sympathetically, "how sad!"
"This we may call the first scene in the story," he added, although
what connection there was between suicide and his proposed marriage
with Ida, poor mamma could not imagine.
I could half fill my journal with the rambling, senseless, and menacing
remarks that Hudson made to mamma, adding emphasis to his discourse by
whirling a pair of very long and sharp scissors close to her eyes (he
was further armed with two razors, we subsequently learnt). Ida, he
said, first appeared to him in a vision--a beautiful young girl in
distress, who appealed to him for aid, but some one seemed to stand
between them--a tall woman dressed as a Sister of Charity (evidently
mamma, in her mourning dress and long crape veil). He then enlarged
upon the awful punishment that inevitably overtook those who opposed
the Will of Providence (i.e., his marriage with Ida): death by some
violent means being unavoidable. At this point, the scissors were
whirled more excitedly than ever, and Hudson's eyes glared with rage.
I need not say that mamma feared every moment would be her last; but
still preserving a calm exterior, she never took her eyes off him for
an instant, and merely remarking, "It is quite warm here; shall we not
sit upon the piazza?" accompanied him there, and sat down close beside
him, that he might not suspect she feared him. The moments seemed
endless until Bernard's heavy tread was heard upon the kitchen stairs.
"Excuse me a moment," said mamma, with a most innocent face; and in an
interview of _half_ a minute explained to Bernard that Hudson was a
dangerous lunatic who must be taken away immediately; then waiting till
the valorous Bernard was safely out on the piazza, she unceremoniously
shut and locked the door. Hudson, apparently much surprised at such
inhospitable conduct, pulled the door-bell half a dozen times. When he
was quite wearied with his exertions, Bernard suggested that they
should take a little walk together. Much coaxing was requisite, for
Hudson was quite determined to effect an entrance; but finally Bernard
took his arm, and bore him off to the tavern.
"I had much more to say to Mrs. Cleveland," he remarked, _en route_,
"but I fear it has already been too much for her nerves."
At the tavern, Bernard found a constable, who immediately arrested the
unhappy victim of misplaced affection, and telegraphed to Mount Kisco
for a magistrate. Then ensued endless hours of waiting. Mamma lay
upon the sofa whiter than any ghost, now that the strain upon her
nerves was relaxed, and Mrs. L----, a loquacious neighbor, ran in from
time to time with reports of what people were saying, and how the
prisoner looked and felt.
At 7 P.M. the magistrate, Mr. Clarence Hyatt, arrived, and we all went
down to the improvised court-house in the tavern. Ida and mamma were
shown into a private room, where Mr. Hyatt, a very polite and agreeable
gentleman, took their affidavits before they were confronted with the
enemy. The news had by this time spread far and near, and all
Chappaqua was assembled. The wildest reports were now circulated, to
the effect that Hudson had pointed a pistol at Ida, and vowed to kill
her instantly if she did not promise to marry him, and mamma and Ida
were advised to keep their veils down, that he might not become
familiar with their faces, and to remain at a respectful distance from
him.
Hudson was sitting between two constables, and was being inspected by a
large crowd. He looked very quiet, and upon listening to the
affidavits, remarked that Mr. Hyatt must have misunderstood the ladies,
for he was perfectly incapable of having alarmed them to the extent
indicated; that he certainly admired Miss Ida, and desired to marry
her, but that he would not willingly injure or alarm the humblest
creature--adding reproachfully that those affidavits would suffice to
condemn him to State prison for life. He appeared so perfectly
rational and calm, that the magistrate was perfectly dumbfoundered, and
for the moment thought him sane; and even we commenced to reproach
ourselves, and doubt which was the insane party.
"Well," said Mr. Hyatt, "I will now hear your story."
"I will read it to you," said Hudson, drawing a book from his pocket,
and then commenced again the same incoherent nonsense with which he had
already favored mamma. The object now was to show the chain of
evidence that pointed out Ida as his bride. The most important link
was the fact that he had once seen a flock of white geese sailing
through the air. He put up his finger, and one fluttered down to him;
and as G stood both for goose and Greeley, it was a clear manifestation
of the Divine Will (at this point, the audience burst into a roar of
laughter). Besides, he liked our family, we suited him in every
respect; and especially because we so much reminded him of John the
Baptist (we inwardly hoped that the resemblance would not extend to
decapitation). If Miss Greeley would not marry him, he kindly added,
he would take her cousin Marguerite instead, but he must positively
marry one of the family. He was now perfectly wild, and when he
remarked, with a reproachful glance at Ida, that he disliked
_ko-kwettes_, and liked a girl who would say in answer to an offer,
"Yes sir-ee," or "No sir-ee," the magistrate brought the evidence to a
conclusion. He gave him to the constable to be taken to the county
jail, where he was to be detained until the Court sat, if, in the
meantime, his relatives did not appear from Massachusetts to claim him
(for his place of residence varied--at first Baltimore, then Michigan,
it was now Massachusetts).
Hudson spent the night at the tavern, and appeared at times so
rational, that he was not strictly guarded; consequently, when the
constable looked for him after breakfast, the bird had flown. He was
instantly followed, and discovered walking on the railway track about
two miles off, swinging his little bundle quite unconcernedly. In
reply to the questions of his captors, he said that he had just
intended to make a little circuit about the country, and then return to
marry Ida. He is now, thank fortune, safely lodged _in jail_.