The great apothecary's shop of Human Vanity is filled with "flattering
unctions;" and there is not a sore spot upon the heart or mind of man,
which cannot there find its unguent--whether the disease proceed from
a self-generated canker, or from a blow inflicted by others. The
greatest, the wisest, the healthiest, the soundest-minded of mankind
have all occasion to apply to this shop; and they do so now and then,
under the sores of regret, and failure, and disappointment, or the
wounds of superciliousness, forgetfulness, or neglect. Oh,
"The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,"
how often do they drive the iron into the flesh which requires that
apothecary's shop to heal it!
Yet, let us not look too curiously into the motives which induced Mr.
Prevost, after some hesitation and some reluctance, to accept the
appointment offered to him by the government through Lord H----. It
was pleasing to him to think that his merits, and the services of
which he was conscious--though, be it said, not too conscious--had
only been so long overlooked, not from being unapparent or forgotten,
but because, in some of his views, he had differed from the ministers
lately dismissed. He knew not--or, at least, he did not recollect--how
easy it is to forget when one is not willing to remember; how rarely
qualities are brought before the public gaze, except by interest,
accident, or position--unless by impudence, arrogance, and
self-sufficiency. One in ten thousand men of those who rise, rise by
merit alone; though there must be some merit in almost all who rise.
But the really great are like fixed stars; few of the greatest are
ever near the eye; one requires a telescope to see them, and that
telescope is Time.
Putting aside military chiefs, who write their names in fire, many of
the greatest men of all ages have been overlooked by Fame. The author
of Job is unknown; the builders of almost all great buildings of
antiquity are nameless: the sculptor of the one Venus, and the one
Apollo--doubtful, doubtful--never recorded in history. Then look at
the fate of others. Behold Friar Bacon and Galileo, in their dungeons;
Dante proscribed and banished; Shakspeare, a mere yeoman at Stratford;
Homer and Milton, blind and poor; Virgil, Petrarch, Verulam, the
flatterers of a court; Newton, the Master of the Mint! Heaven and
earth! what a catalogue of black spots upon the great leopard! To
hardly one of them did contemporary fame ascribe a place pre-eminent.
Why, it is a salve and a comfort to every fool and every driveller. No
spawner of a penny pamphlet--with vanity enough--can be sure that he
is not twin brother to the blind beggar of Greece.
But Mr. Prevost forgot all this. He was conscious of having laboured
well and diligently in what he believed, the right path: there was in
him a sense and an experience of intellectual power: he had felt,
and had exercised, the capability of guiding and directing others
aright; and, more than all, he had seen many a time the schemes
which he had devised, the words which he had written or spoken,
adopted--appropriated--filched--by others, and lauded, making the fame
and the fortune of a weak, impudent, lucky charlatan, supported by
interest, family, or circumstances, while the real author was
forgotten, and would have been hooted had he claimed his own. This
gave him some confidence in himself, independent of vanity; and be it
not for us to assay the metal too closely.
He accepted the office tendered, and at once set about preparing for
its duties. There was but one impediment--his anxiety for his son;
for, notwithstanding every assurance, he felt that quivering doubt and
fear which can only be felt by a parent when a beloved child's fate is
in the balance--which all parents worthy of the name have felt, and no
child can comprehend.
When Edith rose, on the day following the visit of poor Captain
Brooks--somewhat later than was her custom (for the first half of the
watches of the night had known no comforter)--Woodchuck was gone. He
had waited for no leave-taking, and was on his road towards the
mountains before the dawn of day.
It was better for all, indeed, that he should go; and he felt it: not
that there was any chance of his resolution being shaken; but, as he
had himself said, he wished to forget that resolution as far as
possible--to think no more of his coming fate than the dark
remembrance of it within his own heart forced him to think; and the
presence of Mr. Prevost and his daughter--the very absence of
Walter from their fireside--would have reminded him constantly of the
rock on which his bark was inevitably steering. With Mr. Prevost and
Edith, his presence would have had the effect of keeping up the
anxious struggle between affection for Walter and a kindly sense of
justice towards him. His every look, his every word, would have been
a source of painful interest; and the terrible balancing of very
narrowly-divided equities, when life was in the scale, and affection
held the beam, would have gone on, in the mind at least, continually.
When he was gone, the agitating feelings gradually subsided. His
self-sacrifice presented itself to the mind as a thing decided: the
mind was relieved from a greater apprehension by a less; and a quiet
melancholy, whenever his coming fate was thought of, took the place of
anxious alarm. In some sort, the present and the past seemed to
transpose themselves; and they almost looked upon him as already dead.
True, all fear in regard to Walter was not completely banished. There
was nothing definite; there was no tangible object of apprehension;
they felt perfectly certain that Woodchuck would execute his
resolution; yet the heart, like an agitated pendulum, vibrated long
after the momentum had ceased. It grew quieter and quieter by degrees,
however, on the part of Mr. Prevost: a change of thought and of object
did much. All his preparations had to be made for the proper execution
of the office he had undertaken; he had more than once to go to
Albany, and on each occasion he took his daughter with him. Each
change had some effect; and both he and Edith recovered a certain
degree of cheerfulness, at least in general society. It was only in
the quiet and the silent hours, when either was left alone--when those
intervals took place during which sleep refuses to visit the eye--when
all external sounds are still--when all external sights are absent,
and the mind is left alone with thought, and nothing but thought, for
its companion,--it was only then that the fears, and the anxiety, and
the gloom returned.
Every moment that could be spared from military duties was passed by
Lord H---- at Edith's side, whether in her own home or in the city.
People remarked his attentions, and commented on them as usual; for no
publicity had been given to their engagement, and the good-humoured
world thought fit to judge it strange that a young nobleman of such
distinction should be so completely captivated by the daughter of a
simple gentleman like Mr. Prevost.
Their comments affected the two lovers little, however. They were
thinking of themselves, and not of the world; and though the happiest
hours of Lord H---- were those in which, at her father's quiet
hermitage, he could pass a brief space in wandering with her alone
through the beautiful scenery round, or sitting with her under the
verandah, gazing out upon the prospect and watching the advance of
summer over the forest world, still he was happy by her side anywhere;
and her demeanour in society, her grace, her beauty, as compared with
others, only served to render him proud and happy in his choice.
Thus passed nearly three weeks; by which time the bustle of active
preparation, the marching of several regiments towards the north, and
signs of activity in every department, gave notice to the inhabitants
of Albany that some important military movement was about to take
place. The fife and drum, and the lumbering roll of the cannon, were
daily heard in the quiet streets. Boats were collecting on the river;
parades and exercises occupied the greater part of every day; scouts
and runners were seen hurrying about in different directions; and
clouds of Indians, painted and feathered for the war-path, hovered
round the city, and often appeared in the streets.
Lord H---- had advanced with his whole regiment to the neighbourhood
of Sandy Hill; other bodies of troops were following; and the
Commissary-General, whose active energy and keen intelligence
surprised all who had only known him as a somewhat reserved and moody
man, had advanced to a spot on the Hudson where a small fort had been
built at the commencement of what was called the King's Road, to see
with his own eyes the safe delivering and proper distribution of the
stores he had collected. Long ranges of huts were gathered round the
fort, which was judged so far within the English line as to be a place
of perfect security; and many a lady from Albany, both young and old,
had gathered together there to see the last of husband, brother, or
father, before they plunged into the forest and encountered the coming
strife.
Here everything was done as usual to smooth the front of war, and
conceal its ugly features; and certainly after the arrival of Lord
H----, with his regiment and the wing of another, the scene was
brilliant and lively enough. Bright dresses, glittering arms, military
music, fluttering flags, and prancing chargers were beheld on every
side; and gay and lively talk, only interrupted now and then by the
solemn words of caution or direction from anxious heart to anxious
heart, hid, in a great degree, the deeper, stronger, sterner feelings
that were busy underneath.
In all such expeditions, amidst the bustle and excitement, there come
lapses of quiet inactivity, especially before the first blow is
struck. Some accident causes a delay; some movements have not been
combined with sufficient accuracy; one party has to wait for another,
and is left unoccupied. Thus was it in the present instance. A small
but important division of the army, to be accompanied by a large body
of Indians, was retarded by a deficiency of boats; and the news
arrived that two days must elapse before they could reach the fort.
A superior officer was now present; and both Lord H---- and Mr.
Prevost felt that it would be no dereliction of duty to seek leave of
absence in order to visit once more the house of the latter, and
personally escort Edith to the place where she was to remain till the
object of the expedition was accomplished.
The same day it was first made known what the object of that
expedition was. The word "Ticonderoga" was whispered through the
encampment, running from the general's quarters through every rank
down to the private soldier. A strange sort of feeling of joy spread
throughout the force; not that many knew either the importance of the
object or the state of the place, but simply that all were relieved
from an uncertainty.
The comment of Lord H---- was very brief. He had, indeed, long known
the fact now first published; but, as he told it to Edith while
seating her on her horse to set out, he said--
"The place is luckily near; and the business will soon be brought to
an end, my love." A something indefinable in his heart made him add,
mentally, "one way or another."
But he gave no utterance to the gloomy doubt; and the little party
rode away.