A TERRIBLE CALAMITY OVERTAKES THE FAMILY.
It was not to be expected that so pushing a woman as Mrs. Chapman would
be turned from the object she had set her heart on by the interposition
of ordinary obstacles. She had taken good care to have the engagement
pretty well trumpeted over Bowling Green; and in less than three months
from the time what is described in the foregoing chapter occurred, the
lady had a day fixed for the wedding ceremony, which, she declared
should be on such a scale of magnificence as would astonish all New
York, to say nothing of West Bowling Green. And now she was distracting
her wits, and the wits of her friends, over what she called the
preliminaries extraordinary. Weddings, the lady said, must be
illuminated according to the position of the family. And to that end an
additional amount of elegant furniture was got for the house, a new
carriage was ordered, and Mr. Napoleon Bowles was to appear in a new
livery, with top boots. Nor was the family finery to be neglected, for
at least a dozen dressmakers had been employed for a month plying their
needles. In short, this great coming event in the history of the Chapman
family had afforded Bowling Green enough to talk about for a month.
The lady's meek looking little husband pleaded in vain for economy;
suggested in vain his almost empty pocket. "A quiet family wedding, my
dear, with a few honest-hearted friends invited, will be so much better,
you know;" he would say, submissively. "You know what nice quiet
weddings we used to have at Dogtown, and how cheap they were."
"Don't mention Dogtown, my dear; pray don't, my darling," the lady would
reply, a curl of contempt on her lips. "We live in New York, now. I wish
we had never known Dogtown--only common people marry in that way in New
York. Never bring Dogtown into the house again, my darling."
"Have it all your own way, my dear," Chapman would conclude, knowing
there was nothing for him to do but surrender submissively.
St. Paul's Church was to be decorated with flowers, for the young people
were to be married there, surrounded by gay and admiring friends, who
were to make the picture bright and sunny with their smiles and
congratulations. And there was to be a grand reception and a sumptuous
supper at the house; and the happiness of bride and bridegroom was to be
drunk in sparkling wine; and music and dancing was to animate the soul
and add charms to their joy-dream.
Mrs. Chapman, I may add here, had a great weakness for distinctions. She
had cards printed in gold, in blue, and in red. Such as received cards
printed in gold were to consider themselves particularly honored. In
short, she divided her guests into three classes--select friends,
friends, and acquaintances, and sent them cards accordingly. This manner
of distinguishing between guests got the lady into a deal of trouble,
and gave rise to much ill-feeling between those who held cards printed
in gold and those holding ordinary red ones. Beau Pinks had been honored
with a card printed in gold, which he said was a proof of the high
esteem he was held in by the lady. In truth, the Beau took great pride
in showing this card to the best Bowling Green society, and, with a
suggestive nod of the head, saying he had got his best clothes ready,
and was waiting to put in an appearance. Mrs. Chapman had always
regarded Pinks as a valuable capture, and if he came to the wedding,
why, that would in part be gaining the advantage she desired, and in a
measure pay off the old score she had against a few of these nice old
Bowling Green people.
It must be said to Pinks' credit that he never declined an invitation to
a wedding, and rarely missed a chance to mourn at a friend's funeral.
And while Mrs. Chapman seemed to think of nothing else, and talk of
nothing else but this great coming event, Chapman had been noticed to
wear a more serious look than usual, and indeed to be in a more
thoughtful mood. Indeed it was evident there was something on his mind
causing him deep anxiety, even distress. It was noticed, too, that he
had for several days gone to business earlier than usual and returned
later. And when Mrs. Chapman requested an explanation, he would reply by
saying: "Matters at the counting-house require examining into, my dear."
In truth, the financial affairs of the great Kidd Discovery Company had
begun to exhibit those infirmities which are a sure sign of speedy
wreck.
And now the day was come when Mattie was to be married to Mr. Gusher. It
was three years to-day since Tite bid her good-bye and sailed on his
voyage, and it was to be her wedding-day. How strange the changed scene
seemed to her.
It was one of those soft and balmy mornings in May, when nature seems to
enchant us, and hold sweet communion with us through all her beauties.
There was not a ripple on the water; white sails dotted the calm
surface of the bay, which seemed like a silvery lake quietly sleeping in
the embrace of pretty green hills, softened by the golden gleams of the
rising sun. The trees were in blossom; birds were filling the air with
delicious melody, but not a leaf stirred.
The Chapman family were up before the sun that morning, and the whole
house was astir ere Bowling Green had fairly waked up, or the din of
Broadway had broken the stillness. Chapman had spent a restless night,
and seemed sad and downcast, as if some trouble he would fain conceal
was weighing on his mind. He breakfasted alone that morning, and went to
business an hour earlier than usual, promising to return at one o'clock.
He returned, however, at twelve, and in such a state of distress as to
alarm the whole house. Indeed he entered the house more like a madman
than a philosopher, and so alarmed Bowles by the wildness of his manner
and appearance, that he proceeded in a state of great excitement to
inform his mistress. When, then, that lady entered the parlor she found
her husband stretched on the sofa, with his right hand pressing his
forehead, and apparently in a state of great distress. To her repeated
enquiries as to what produced this great distress, he would only answer
by shaking his head and giving vent to the most pitiful groans.
The lady could not fail to see that some great misfortune had overtaken
her husband--something that might blast the dream of her golden future.
"I hope, my dear, it is nothing that will interfere with the wedding
to-day?" she enquired, her face already beginning to give out signs of
alarm.
Chapman made no reply, but got quickly up from the sofa and paced the
room hurriedly, his hair tossed in to disorder, and in a state of
frenzy.
After pacing up and down the room in this manner for two or three
minutes, which seemed like hours to Mrs. Chapman, who had kept her eyes
fixed on his every movement, he approached the lady, and with a wild
stare, muttered rather than spoke: "A funeral, funeral, my dear--not a
wedding to-day." Chapman pressed his hands to his head again, and wept
like a child. "Boundless iniquity," he resumed, "fraud--deception--crime--
disgrace--folly--extravagance--disappointment--poverty. What a sham the
world is! All, all is gone! No need for a clergyman here to-day. The
sheriff will be here in an hour."
"My dear, my dear, do explain yourself, so that I may understand our
position;" Mrs. Chapman interposed, her whole system yielding to the
force of excitement. "If the trouble is only of a transient nature, we
may still give the wedding--"
"Wedding! my dear," interrupted Chapman, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"There can be no wedding in this house to-day, for Gusher has turned out
an impostor, and is in prison--." Before he had time to say any more,
the lady threw up her arms with an exclamation, shrieked and swooned.
Chapman attempted to catch her in his arms as she was falling, but she
carried him to the floor under her great weight, and indeed caused him
to feel alarmed for his own safety. Fortunately, Bowles entered the
parlor just as his mistress fell, and seeing the danger his master was
in, ran to his relief, and after extracting him from his perilous
position, assisted in getting his mistress safely on the sofa, where
restoratives, such as are common where ladies are given to such ills,
were applied.
Chapman was indeed a man to be pitied. He had now more than his head and
hands full of trouble. The care it was now necessary to bestow on his
wife (for she was above all else in his mind) in a great measure
relieved him of the excitement caused by his great financial
misfortunes. When, then, Mattie entered the parlor and found him
comparatively calm, she fancied her mother had swooned from
over-exertion on her behalf. Taking a seat beside her mother, she kissed
and kissed her cheek, and proceeded to bestow upon her those attentions
her case demanded, and in so kind and gentle a manner as to show how
deep and true was the love she bore her.
Chapman soon relieved Mattie's mind, by telling her all that had
happened. As he concluded she grasped his hand firmly and imprinted a
kiss on his cheek. "Heaven be thanked, father," she said, "it is a kind
Providence that directs all our destinies. I am free now. You are
free--free in your intentions--free in your conscience. I am happy
now--happy because I shall not have to interpose my oath against yours.
You shall know what I mean by that hereafter."
While this was going on up stairs Bowles, his eyes protruding, and in a
state of great alarm, entered the kitchen, where Bridget, the cook, and
Kitty, the chambermaid were at work, and stammered out: "Der don't be no
weddin' in dis house to-day--peers to me--no how. Quid mortibus,
portendibus--my missus am most dead."
"To the pots wid yeer latin, ye nager," said Bridget, seizing the tongs
and holding them threatingly over his head. "To the pots wid yeer latin,
ye nager. Spake so a dacent woman can understand what ye mane." To
appease Bridget's wrath and save his head, Bowles condescended to use
plain English in describing what had happened up stairs.
"Much good may the faint do the big, auld woman," said Bridget, with an
air of indifference. "The divel takes a mighty good care of his own."
"Quid--mortibus--portendibus," repeated Bowles, as Bridget ran to the
door with the tongs upraised, causing him to beat a hasty retreat.
"Bad luck to such a nager!" exclaimed Bridget, as Bowles shut the door.
"Shure he thinks more about his latin and his livery an he do about his
priest."
"Chapman, my dear Chapman, how crushing this all is," the lady
whispered, as she began to recover her consciousness. "I feel more dead
than alive--I do. Send Bowles out. Do what you can to soften the
disappointment. Tell those who come it was all owing to unforeseen
circumstances. Oh, my dear daughter," she put her arm around Mattie's
neck, drew her to her and kissed her, "how can we look Bowling Green in
the face after this? We never shall, and yet your father is a scholar
and a gentleman."
Chapman's excitement began to return with his wife's recovery; indeed it
soon became her turn to soothe his troubled mind.
"Gusher--the handsome young gentleman--is in prison, eh, and turns out
to be--"
"My dear wife," interrupted Chapman, again giving way to his feelings,
"he turns out to be Louis Pinto, an impostor. That's the whole of
it--except what there may be in this paper." He drew a newspaper from
his pocket, and pointing to an article headed: "A Notorious Impostor
caught at Last," said: "There, my dear, read that." It gave a very long
account, or rather history of the prisoner's exploits in Havana and New
Orleans, his operations in New York, financially as well as socially,
and indeed all the circumstances attending his career since he arrived
in the city, his connection with the great Kidd Discovery Company, and
not forgetting to mention that he was to have been married this day to a
lovely and interesting young lady--the daughter of a highly respectable
family.
"Have read enough, my dear," said Mrs. Chapman, putting the paper aside
quietly. "Smelling salts, the ammonia, my daughter," she whispered to
Mattie, and motioned her hand to bring them quickly. "I shall faint
again, I am sure I shall."
"Don't let it worry you so much, mother," replied Mattie, as she handed
her the phial. "We ought all to be thankful that we have escaped with no
worse disgrace. I at least am thankful."
Mrs. Chapman shook her head, but made no reply for several minutes. Then
turning to her husband, she pressed her hands to her head and resumed:
"My pride is crushed, and my courage all gone, gone, gone. Bigelow
Chapman, my dear, when I married you I knew you were intellectually
great, and I looked forward to a brilliant future. The house is all dark
now."
"Extravagance, my dear, extravagance," said Chapman, shaking his head
suggestively. "It is a master that will break down the best of us."
Topman and Mrs. Topman have been indulging in extravagance; Gusher has
been spending all the money he could get, and all the young men in the
office went to doing the same. "And you, my darling--you know you havn't
lived--." Chapman was going to say, "so economical."
"But, my dear," rejoined Mrs. Chapman quickly, and evidently inclined to
change the conversation: "It was not me who introduced the handsome
young gentleman into the house."
"No, my dear--you only encouraged him when he was in," replied Chapman,
submissively. "I didn't tell you all, my dear, Topman is a forger, and
is not to be found. And, and the worst of it is--and that is what has
caused all the trouble--the great Kidd Discovery Company is dead! That's
where it is!"
"Dead, my dear, dead!" reiterated the astonished woman. "We call it gone
up in Wall Street--"
"Couldn't you contrive some way, my dear, to lighten the disgrace?"
"Wall Street is in a state of excitement, the sheriff is in possession
of everything, and beggary stares me in the face--"
This conversation was interrupted by loud ringing of the hall bell, and
in another minute Bowles opened the parlor door and the sheriff and one
of his deputies entered, and commenced their business. "Beg your
pardon," said the sheriff, bowing politely, while his deputy
deliberately took a seat and began a survey of everything within sight.
"You must excuse any lack of ceremony on our part. It is a part of our
duty to do these things, and we try to relieve them as much as possible
of their painful features." Then taking Chapman aside, he suggested that
the ladies better be got up stairs. And while this was being done the
deputy entered the back parlor, and placing his hat on the pier table,
began taking an inventory of all the furniture.
"You will find my deputy a gentleman," said the sheriff, addressing
Chapman when the ladies had left the parlor, "and if not such a
companion as you would prefer, I am compelled to leave him with you, and
hope your esteem for him will improve on acquaintance. He will take a
schedule of everything, and anything missing thereafter you will be held
responsible for." Thus saying, the gentleman bid Chapman a polite good
morning, and hurried himself out of the house.
Again the hall bell rang. This time Bowles brought in an unsealed note,
grimy and discolored. Chapman immediately recognized it as from Gusher.
He carried it up stairs to his dear wife, who read it aloud, for it was
addressed to her, and read thus:
"Pardon, madam, pardon. Zis one circumstance, he is so very
disagreeable. My compliment to ze family, an Mr. Gusher, he beg
to say as he shall be compel to forego ze pleasure of is
marriage zis day wiz your daughter. He is one grand rascal what
make me so much trouble. So many friend come to see me to-day.
But ze suberscribed condition of my accommodation shall prevent
ze carry out of my obligation wiz your lovely daughter. You
shall zee, madam, as I am a man--yes, madam, a gentleman of
'onar. I shall get all my enemies undar my feet. Zen I shall do
myself ze 'onar to marry your lovely daughter. Allow me, madam.
I shall subscribe myself your friend.
"PHILO GUSHER."
"Impudence to the very last," said Mrs. Chapman; "he has brought this
disgrace upon us, and now insults us in this way." When Chapman returned
he found the parlor doors locked, and was informed by the sheriff's
deputy that he must confine himself to the kitchen and one room up
stairs.