Cities humming with a restless crowd
Sordid as active, ignorant as loud,
Whose highest praise is that they live in vain,
The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain.
COWPER.
We have a little anticipated the order of events for the purpose of
presenting more clearly the details of the story, it being after the
departure of the Solitary and Pownal that some of them occurred. The
favorable wind for which the packet Calypso had waited for two or
three days at last came, and with a flowing sheet the good sloop sped
over the waters of the Severn.
The means of communication between Hillsdale and the commercial
capital were very different in those days from the present. Instead
of the fine steamboats and railroad cars, which now connect the
two places, the mode of travelling was by sailing vessels and stage
coaches. The latter were the surer--but not the more popular. In the
wintry months, when the navigation of the river was unimpeded by ice,
the condition of the roads was such that, in spite of the dreariness
of water transit, at that season, the packets were able to maintain
a fair rivalship with the coaches, while, in the summer, the latter
stood but little chance in the competition, but were almost entirely
deserted. To this result the comfortable cabins of the coasters,
designed for passengers (spacious and satisfactory for those times,
however the refined effeminacy of the present generation might sneer
at them), and the good fare they furnished, not a little contributed.
The Calypso was one of the finest of the line of packets to which she
belonged, and provided with every convenience that could be desired.
She was a sloop of some ninety or one hundred tons, with a tall mast,
that, to the timid eye of a landsman, seemed fitter for a vessel of
twice her size, and when her enormous mainsail was raised and usual
sail set, she looked more like one of those birds whose wings bear
such a disproportion to the body, that in the contemplation we forget
to what they are attached, than like a safe and sea-worthy craft. But
the shipwright who laid her keel and shaped her ribs, knew what he was
about, and the Calypso was as staunch and stiff as she was handsome.
Her cabin extended full one-half the length of the vessel, and by
means of a raised quarter deck, was conveniently high between joints,
so that even the tallest man ran no risk of striking his head. True,
it was not embellished with gilding, and mahogany, and satinwood, but
the paint was virgin white, the state-rooms commodious, the berths
wide, and the bedding and linen scrupulously clean. Captain Standish
prided himself upon the comfort and propriety of his craft, and the
good reputation he enjoyed and deserved. The length of the passage
varied according to the state of the winds and tides. It might, under
the most favorable circumstances, be made in less than twenty-four
hours, and it might last a week. It was at a period of the world's
existence, before steam and electricity had imparted a feverish
impatience to the community, and men did not hurry as if they had not
time enough to live.
But let it not be thought, that it is as one who peevishly resents the
improvements made in mechanical and other departments of knowledge, we
dwell upon these particulars. We are quite awake to the fact that the
world turns round, and although the consequence is an alternation
of light and darkness, are satisfied with the change. With the
philosopher Pangloss we would rather believe, "_dans ce meilleur des
mondes possible_," than to entertain any less cheerful opinion. No.
It is rather to perpetuate the remembrance of what has been, or to
qualify more truthfully and modestly the expression, to save it for a
moment longer from oblivion. It is with a melancholy pleasure that
one who has reached that stage of the journey of life, from which
henceforth his progress can only be one of continued descent towards
the valley whereon broods the cloud not untouched with rays of
divine light, reverts to whatever, even though they may seem trifles,
characterized the beginning of his career. Ah! it was the breaking of
the morning. For a time the sky glowed with a deepening glory, to fade
at last into the "light of common day." We never can, we never would
forget that lovely dawning.
Holden, nothing doubting, was confident that the voyage would
terminate for him in the restoration to his arms, of the son whom
he had mourned as one dead. Nor did he seem to have a doubt of the
worthiness of the long lost treasure. A hope, brilliant and beautiful,
that glorified whatever it touched, had taken absolute possession of
him. It would admit no fear, no uncertainty, no despondency. The new
feeling penetrated all departments of his mind, and mixed itself up
with and colored even his religious speculations. He began to
connect, in some way, the realization of his awakened hopes with
the millennium, of which it was to be a forerunner. This appeared
especially on the second day of the voyage, which lasted three days.
It was a warm, bright afternoon in the latter part of the month of
May, just before the setting of the sun, and Holden and Pownal
had walked to the bow of the vessel, as if to be nearer the golden
luminary when he should sink from sight. A gentle breeze filled the
sails of the Calypso, the soft murmur from under whose cutwater seemed
to testify to the delight with which she moved on her liquid way. For
some time Holden had stood with folded arms, watching the sun, as by
slow degrees he sunk into the waves. Pownal, himself, was thrillingly
alive to the magnificence of earth, and sky, and ocean, and all fair
forms and hues of nature, and noticing the exalted and rapt expression
of his elder friend's face, and sympathizing in the influence that
produced it, was in no mood to break the silence.
"Type of the Infinite," at last Pownal heard him say, "how have
I loved to watch thy coming and departure! Chariot of fire, whose
burning wheels support the throne of judgment, thy course is onward
until the fullness of the time is come. Of man's impatience thou
reckest not. With thee a thousand years are as a day."
He ceased speaking, and a total silence for some time succeeded. His
eyes continued fixed upon the spot where the sun had disappeared, but
they saw nothing. An interior struggle was going on which engrossed
the faculties, and left no opportunity for the observation of external
objects. Repeatedly he passed his hand over his eyes and forehead,
pressing the palm forcibly, as if to concentrate the attention, and at
length he addressed Pownal.
"The scoffers have long sat in the gate, and lolled out the tongue and
cried aha! but of a surety the time draweth nigh. Because He delayeth,
where, say they, is the promise of His coming? But doth a sparrow fall
to the ground without His knowledge, and are not ye of more value
than many sparrows, oh, ye of little faith? Shall not the sorrows of
fathers move the heart of the universal Father?"
It is scarcely to be expected that the young man entirely understood
the rhapsody of Holden, though familiar with his moods. He saw,
however, it had some connection with the one idea that had mastered
all others, leaving them, notwithstanding, at perfect liberty, except
so far as they interfered with itself. For it cannot have escaped
observation, that on all subjects but one Holden exercised an ordinary
degree of judgment, a circumstance by no means singular in the case
of persons affected with monomania. Pownal, therefore, did as he
was accustomed, avoiding all contradiction, and falling in with the
other's thoughts.
"That," said Pownal, "it seems to me, is the worthiest name that can
be given to the Supreme Being."
"It is the worthiest and the dearest. Thou, young man, canst know
nothing of the emotions of a father's heart. Couldst thou look into
its abysses of tenderness a new world would be revealed to thee,
of which now thou only dreamest. Not a drop of blood that wandereth
through its channels, but would coin itself into a joy for the
beloved. But what is human love to His, the Creator of love? A breath,
a bubble, a sigh. One great heart comprehendeth in its embrace all
hearts. Look around thee," he added, throwing up his arms, "and behold
the evidence: yon blue vault filled with bright worlds, bright because
they are happy; this vast ocean teeming with strange life; the green
earth whence, as from an altar, the perfume of grateful flowers and
chants of praising birds do ceaselessly arise. Young man, be thankful
and adore."
Holden stopped, as if he expected a reply, and Pownal therefore said:
"I am not, I fear, sufficiently thankful for the favors of
Providence."
"'Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth,'" pursued the old
man. "How many evils had I escaped had I heeded the advice I give!
But it is the old tale of human folly. The aged with his experience is
counted for nothing. My son," he added impressively, laying his hand
on Pownal, "behold these furrows on a withered face. They are the
traces of unrestrained passion. I forgot my Creator in the days of my
youth."
He turned and walked away, but presently retraced his steps and took
up the train of thought he seemed to have dropped.
"But he forgot not me. His mercies are over all his works. Even when I
was a great way off my Father saw me, and had compassion, and ran, and
fell on my neck, and kissed me. And now will he put the best robe upon
me, and a ring upon my finger, and shoes upon my feet."
Such was the excited and hoping condition of Holden's mind as the
vessel approached the port of New York, which it reached the next
morning. Although then a place of great trade, and giving indubitable
promise of what it has since become, New York was far, very far from
approaching its present splendor and magnificence, which entitle it to
vie with the most brilliant capitals of the world. Even then the ships
of all nations were to be found at its wharfs, but the taper masts
rising into the sky, formed not a cordon so immense as that which now,
like a forest stripped of its leaves, girts it round. Nor from even
its most fashionable portions, the residence and resort of the wealthy
and the gay, had all the humbler buildings, which belonged to its
origin, disappeared. Alongside of the modern brick, or occasionally
stone mansion of four stories, that style of architecture, dear yet to
the heart of a genuine Knickerbocker of which Holland boasts, if not
the invention, at least the perfectioning, reared its pointed gable,
and rose like Jacob's ladder with parapeted roof into the sky. But
slightly injured by weather in a climate singularly clear and pure,
under a sky untarnished by the dismal clouds from bituminous coal
fires, which enshroud less favored lands, the brave little Dutch
bricks held their own with a sturdiness becoming their ancestry. Those
monuments of a simpler age have almost disappeared, and the ingenuity
they exhibited, and the taste of which they were the specimens, are
likely soon to be remembered only as steps in the worlds pupilage.
But, however the fashions of man may change, the grand features of
nature remain eternal. Beautifully bright then as now sparkled in
the light of the May morning sun, the waves of that glorious bay,
unrivalled but by one, while little boats and pinnaces darting about
in all direction like sea-birds, gave animation to a scene, which
without the accompaniment would have possessed peculiar interest to
one who, like Holden, had lived so long in seclusion. As the vessel
turned around Castle Garden to seek her berth in the North River,
and his eyes ran over the islands and Jersey shore, and up the noble
stream, and one by one he recognized the objects he had seen in his
youth, it seemed as if feelings, supposed dead, were coming to life,
and nature re-assuming the gala garb which she once wore.
But, independent of the causes that made the scene peculiarly
attractive to our traveller, it is impossible to approach a large city
after a long absence without excitement. The aggregation of a mass of
human beings full of life, and instinct with its hopes, and fears,
and joys, and sorrows, and passions, acts like a stimulus. Nature is
beautiful, and art glorious, but the object of deepest interest to
man is man himself. In his fellow beings he sees reflected his own
interior world, a world of mystery and marvel, whence any news is
welcome that will impart information respecting its light and shade,
its harmonies and discords. He cannot stand outside, a looker-on,
separate and apart, having no portion therein: he is in it and of it,
an integral atom, a something which cannot be isolated if it would.
The packet, after some delay, occasioned by the occupation of her
berth by a casual trader, was finally able, by advancing one vessel,
and pushing another back, and shoving a third on one side, to approach
the wharf at the foot of Courtlandt street, and land her passengers.
A coach was presently procured, and Holden, who had been invited
by Pownal, accompanied his young friend. The distance up Courtlandt
street, and down Broadway to the house of the elder Pownal, which
was near the Battery, was short, and therefore even had the
carriage proceeded more leisurely, and the Recluse been disposed
to observation, he could have seen but little, and that in an
unsatisfactory manner. Pownal felt some curiosity respecting the
impression which would be made by the turmoil of a large city upon one
who for so many years had excluded himself from the crowded haunts of
men, and therefore watched his companion with no little interest;
but Holden, as if he divined his thoughts, and was displeased at the
discovery, or for some other unknown reason, betrayed no change of
feeling, or conduct, but was as impassive and indifferent to all
passing around him as if he were in his own hut. So far from showing
any emotion, he threw himself into a corner of the carriage, and shut
his eyes as if desirous to exclude objects of which he was regardless,
or which only annoyed him. The young man knew not exactly how to
interpret the other's conduct, but was too much accustomed to his
habits to feel surprise, and respected him too greatly to desire to
intrude into anything he wished to conceal.
The carriage stopped before a fine, large brick mansion, worthy of a
merchant prince, fronting the Battery, and, of course, commanding a
view through the trees which shaded the greensward of that beautiful
spot, of the blue water, and islands, and the Jersey shore sweeping
away in the distance. Fashion, always capricious in her movements, has
deserted the lower part of Broadway and the Battery, by far the most
charming quarter of the city, to emigrate to a part of the island on
which New York is built, more remote from the marts of trade. Immense
warehouses occupy the sites where once stood the abodes of elegance
and hospitality, and the chaffer of traffic has succeeded to social
welcomes and greetings of conviviality.
The black servant who came to the door at the ringing of the bell,
stared with astonishment at the unusual figure of Pownal's companion,
but if disposed, as is the habit of his class, to be deficient in
respect to one not bearing the conventional stamp, a glance of the
young man's eye, and his marked deference toward the stranger, to say
nothing of the latter's natural air of authority, soon restored his
courtesy and usual obsequious attention. It was, therefore, with a
gracious expression of countenance and polite bow, that Mr. Johnson
ushered the two gentlemen into the parlor.
"Where is Mr. Pownal, Johnson?" inquired the young man.
"He is out of town, sir, with the whole family. I believe he went to
Albany, sir."
"Is Mrs. Corning in the house?"
"Mrs. Corning is just come back from market, sir. I heard her voice
only a minute ago."
"Say, I would like to speak to her."
In a few moments, Mrs. Corning, the housekeeper, a respectable-looking
woman, of some forty-five years of age, made her appearance, and
testified a hearty pleasure at seeing the young man, whom she kissed
with great affection, and by whom she was received with every mark of
regard.
The family, she said, in reply to the questions of Pownal, had been
absent, at Albany, where they were, on a visit to some relatives, for
three weeks, but were daily expected home. She was _so_ sorry they
were absent. They were all well, and would be so glad to see him
looking so well. She thought she had never seen him looking better.
There was nothing like country air to paint the cheeks.
Pownal thought this a good opportunity to commend his friend to the
favorable consideration of the housekeeper, and said--
"That I am well, I probably owe to the kindness of this gentleman,
who will remain with us during my stay in town," at the same time,
introducing Holden to the lady.
"Your friends, Mr. Thomas," said Mrs. Corning, courtesying to Holden,
"will always be welcome in this house. But, tell me, have you been
sick?--I'm sure, you don't look so--or some accident, or"----
"I will tell you all about it, by-and-by. At present, a cup of
coffee."
"My! what a thoughtless creature I am!" exclaimed Mrs. Corning. "The
pleasure of seeing you again, put all idea of breakfast out of my
mind. I never thought of asking, if you had had any. But, it shan't be
long before that mistake shall be remedied."
So saying, good Mrs. Corning bustled out of the room, on hospitable
thoughts intent, and, in a short time, the substantial comforts of
an American breakfast were smoking on the board. Pownal partook of it
with the liberal appetite of high health and youth sharpened by his
little voyage, while Holden himself, though in far greater moderation,
was not unmindful of the viands before him. His achievements, however,
did not seem to satisfy the housekeeper, who vainly pressed her
delicacies upon him, and who, subsequently, after a more thorough
observation of his character at meals, expressed her wonder, to
Pownal, whether the effect of a long beard was not to diminish the
appetite!