THE LAST AND MOST CURIOUS CHAPTER IN "THIS EVENTFUL HISTORY."
MANY strange and unforeseen events have overtaken and seriously
damaged the prospects of various great monarchs, and indeed nipped
their career in the very bud. At least, so it is written in history.
But I venture to assert, that never until the history of General
Roger Sherman Potter was given to the world, could there be found
any record of a great monarch who had ruled supreme over a kingdom,
won battles such as mankind never had dreamed of, and indeed gained
so much glory that every general in the nation was envious of it,
escaping, on a mule, from the country he had conquered, and leaving
his army to the devil and the enemy. Your exacting critic may say,
there is Napoleon! But I would have him bear in mind, that while
Napoleon sent terror to the very heart of nations, the presence of
General Potter was a sign of feasting and merriment, which things
are blessings, mankind stand much in need of.
But why do I thus give way to my giddy brain? Why, too, should I
thus rudely abandon my hero when on his return to the land where he
drew his first breath, carrying with him no less than a multitude of
laurels? Nay! though my few remaining locks are silvered with the
frosts of four-score winters, and my almost palsied hand refuses to
render me further service, I will not thus leave him to his fate.
Having been ruler over Kalorama, I am sensitive of his virtues, and
would give the world rather than have him damage his reputation. To
enter New York, then, with his glories yet moist upon his garments,
and give himself up to the follies of those who follow the trade of
setting up heroes, would be to consign himself to an oblivion no man
need envy. Being of a humane turn, I am resolved this shall not be,
though it were necessary to invoke the power of the saints to
prevent it.
In resuming, then, I will merely mention that General Potter and the
critic arrived safe at Jolliffee, the former feeling a regret now
and then for the loss of his kingdom, and the latter scarcely giving
a thought to his Angelio. And, as heaven favors the vanquished, so
they found in the harbor of Jolliffe a brig, which had therein
sought shelter from a storm. Taking advantage of this fortunate
circumstance-for the brig was bound to New York-they sold their
mules, and with the price nicely in their pockets, proceeded on
board and demanded passage for charity's sake. And when they
discovered what manner of men they were, the captain treated them
with great consideration, and not only gave them of his best cheer,
but was delighted at the chance of doing so kind an act as that of
rescuing them from the clutches of the enemy and conveying them
safely to their homes. He also shared his wardrobe with the general;
but all his efforts to cheer his drooping spirits failed. The loss
of his kingdom was no trifling matter; but the sufferings he had
endured cured him of his ambition for worldly glories. And although
the passage to New York was long and tedious, he would sit for
hours, alone, and without exchanging a word with any one. Then again
he would mutter to himself, "Worldly grandeurs-oh! what are they?
God disposes all things! perhaps I did not deserve the kingdom; and
so His will be done." Again he would sit gazing for hours at the
stars, and sigh as if the cares of his forlorn heart were too heavy
for him to bear.
I remember that once, during one of these reveries, he called Mr.
Tickler to him, saying, "Remember, my trusty friend, I do not mourn
the loss of this kingdom because I am weak at heart, but that it is
natural for a man to reflect on his losses. All I now ask is that
heaven will save me from a watery grave, and see me safe home to my
wife Polly."
When they arrived at New York it turned out that divers newspapers
had made great victories of all his reverses. And this so delighted
his whole host of admirers that no sooner had the news of his return
got noised about than they ran mad to meet him, discharged numerous
cannons, and indeed made so many demonstrations of joy that the
whole city was on tip-toe to see him, and not a few otherwise
sensible persons would have exchanged all their worldly goods for
even a thread of his garments. A committee of faded heroes and
highly flushed aldermen rushed to the Battery to pay him homage, and
would have had him drawn through the city by the lean horses I have
before described. But unlike another great hero I have in my eye, he
yielded to the promptings of his modesty, took leave of Mr. Tickler
with tears in his eyes, and with a little bundle under his arm,
landed and walked quietly away. In fine, (and with reverence do I
record it here to his credit) he shook his head, and when the
committee of honor pressed upon him and seemed resolved that he
should undergo no few ceremonies, he turned and addressed them thus:
"Let me to my peace, gentlemen, for I am no fool. And if you be good
and honest men, disturb not the peace of the community in this
manner, but get to your homes; and if you cannot comfort your
families, give what you can to the poor, and heaven will forgive
you for your follies." Indeed, so firmly was he resolved to wash his
hands of the world that no force of argument could have induced him
to call upon Glenmoregain, whom he felt in his heart would be
grievously disappointed that he had not returned with his pockets
stuffed full of kingdoms.
And now, at early dawn of a November morning, a short, fat man, in
tight-fitting garments and the hat of a priest, might have been seen
stepping from on board a small schooner just arrived at Barnstable.
His face was covered with a thick, coarse beard, his countenance
wore a dejected air, and his raiment, if the hat be excepted, was
shabby enough for a professional mountebank out of business. A
chilly wind and a drizzling rain filled the heavens with gloom;
mist-clouds rolled over the land; a gray fog trailed lazily along
the harbor; the scudding clouds vaulted along the heavens as if
driven by the furies; and, indeed, the drenched earth was bespread
with a pall of gloom.
The dejected man-for such he seemed-adjusted the little bundle under
his arm, looked confusedly upon each object that met his eye, and
then picked his way, shivering, over the muddy road into the
outskirts of the town, which was yet in a sound sleep. He was soon
wet to the skin, and the great rain-drops that fell from his
broad-brimmed hat added to the forlornness of his condition. The
ducks by the roadside ran to their ponds quacking as he approached;
and even the geese seemed to pity his condition, for they awoke to
gabble him out a salutation, and having shook their feathers, they
would sail in the same direction, so long as there was water, and
then take leave of him with a loud gabbling. But this homage brought
him no consolation: indeed, the bleak earth seemed sending a deeper
chill to his heart; and the brown leaf that hung twirling and
dripping from the almost naked tree by the roadside, invested his
feelings with a deeper melancholy, for in it he read the sorrows of
a dead summer.
Halting at the door of a little house, the roof overgrown with black
moss, the windows filled with rags, and poverty written upon every
shingle, he stood for several seconds hesitating and shivering. Now
he fixed his eyes upon the ground and seemed giving his thoughts to
the music of the rain-drops; now he turned his eyes sorrowfully
upward, as if contemplating the driving clouds. And while I assert
that not even the most keen-eyed observer of human things would have
detected in this forlorn sojourner a professional warrior returning
from the scene of endless victories, and now out of business, the
reader, I am sure, will not be surprised when I inform him that this
drenched traveler was no less a person than General Roger Sherman
Potter, commonly called Roger Potter, the like of whose exploits
modern history bears no record.
Having done ample penance in the storm, he shook the rain from his
hat and knocked timidly at the door, to which he placed his ear and
listened, as if counting with great exactness every second that
intervened between its opening. Presently a little window at the
side opened and a lean but well-browned face, framed in the grim
border of a dusky night-cap, protruded. Then a sharp, shrill voice
inquired, "Who's there?"
"Heaven be blessed, Polly, it is your husband Roger!" replied the
traveler, as the words faltered in his chattering teeth.
Exclamations of joy so various that they have entirely escaped the
writer of this history, followed this glad announcement. Thrice the
good woman invoked the blessings of the angels; and, in truth, so
bent did she seem on going mad with joy, that it was not for several
minutes that she bethought herself of opening the door. But when she
did, not a second elapsed until they were in each other's arms,
unburdening their affections in kisses and such other tokens of the
deep seated love they bore each other, that for minutes, and even
hours, it seemed impossible they could survive their joys, which I
here confess (lest some critic set me down for a malicious writer,)
ran into tears, such being the most pious proof of perfect
happiness.
When, then, they had wiped away their tears of joy, and were more
composed, the good woman, having bid Roger be seated, said, "A
merciful providence, dear Roger, must have hovered over all your
undertakings, or you could not have gained them kingdoms you
described in your letter-"
"Umph!" returned Roger, hanging down and shaking his head, "the
kingdoms would be well enough if they did not slip so easily through
one's fingers. And what is more, dear Polly, I have come to know
that there is only one kingdom an honest man need have a longing
for, which is the Kingdom of Heaven. Therefore, I am resolved for
the rest of my days to covet no other."
"But you talk strangely, husband; for I can vow of my own knowledge
that you would not have conquered all them kingdoms without bringing
home cart-loads of gold. We have had a terrible struggle for bread,
dear husband!"
"You surprise me, Polly! did I not send you a purse full of
doubloons not long since?"
"The one you sent it with must have mistaken the road, husband, for
he has not showed his face here."
"Here's where the kingdoms pinch," muttered Roger to himself; while
at the same moment a little boy unrolled himself from the covering
of a bed on the floor, and crying "father! father!" ran to the
general, threw his little arms about his neck, and kissed him, and
fondled over him, like one whose love knew no bounds. And these
caresses the father returned with great paternal tenderness; but he
was too much dejected in spirit to offer the child those merry
tokens of his attachment which had so often amused him in days
gone-by.
"Though I have conquered kingdoms enough, Polly," said the general,
his eyes moistening with tears, "I am none the better for them now.
In truth, I have nothing but the clothes I stand in; and having
resolved that it was best to be an honest man, I was glad enough to
get safely home, and wash my hands of these kingdoms, which I have
left behind for them who have a turn for such things."
"Indeed, husband, I will think no more of these riches you promised
me, if you will stay quietly at home, assist me in getting an honest
livelihood, and give your thoughts to God and the church. But how
comes it that you are in the hat of a priest?"
The forlorn general picked up the hat, and having eyed it
distrustfully, said in reply: "You must know, dear Polly, that
though I gained some fame as a politician; that my valor as a
military man no man ever dared doubt; and that no really great man
ever had more undertakings; this hat is the only trophy left to me.
And though my melancholy put a quick end to the rest of my days, I
am resolved to preserve this relic of my lost kingdom, so that when
my enemies scoff and say, "all the wonderful things that were
written of him had no truth in them, except only as they appeared on
paper, I can, pointing to this hat, say: 'here's the ducat!'"
"You are dearer to me than several kingdoms would be, dear Roger,"
resumed the honest woman, kissing him affectionately.
"And now, Polly," he rejoined, "give me an account of your trials
and struggles during my absence, for I see care has written the
history of many of them in your face."
The good woman immediately drew her chair beside him, and commenced
giving an account of the many troubles and trials she had undergone;
but so numerous were they, that it would be impossible to recount
them all here. The little pictures which gave such a martial air to
his home had been sold to get bread; death had kindly stepped in and
relieved the mother of one daughter; the other was out at service.
In short the forlornness pervading each object that met his eye,
told how hard had been the struggle for bread. As she continued
recounting her trials his grief deepened; but when she came to the
death that had carried away his favorite child, his head dropped,
and burying his face in his hands, he gave vent to his feelings in
sobs and tears. "Heaven give me strength," he sighed, "that I may
retain her sweet face in my memory." This was indeed a misfortune
that seemed to shut the past from his thoughts, and to increase his
sufferings as the future appeared to him in all its loneliness. And
when he had partially recovered from this shock of grief, the good
woman brought him food, for he was hungry; and also procured him a
change of raiment from one of the neighbors, there not being a shred
of his own in the house. And when he had satisfied his appetite, he
turned to his wife, saying; "As these misfortunes which have
overtaken me are incident to the lives of all great men, I hold it
good policy that we mourn them not too long, but set to loving one
another, that we may be cured of the sins of this world when death
calls us away."
Polly at once fell in with this opinion; but being a sensible woman,
was careful to add a clause stipulating that Roger give up politics
and return to the making of shoes, at which employment there was
some chance of getting food to maintain the body, without which
there was no knowing what would become of the soul. His sword being
in the possession of the priest, there was no immediate danger of a
return of his military ardor. As for governing, he made up his mind
that the most worthy man in that line was the shepherd who provided
well for the lambs of his own flock. "For truly," said he, "I have
gained the applause of millions; but it has not saved my family from
want." And with these salutary resolutions, he sought and obtained
employment in the town; where he lives much respected by his
neighbors, who, I must add, were not a little disappointed that he
returned so unexpectedly and shabbily, for they had read in the
newspapers that he was a great ruler, which, however, was strange
enough, for they knew in their own minds that he was dull of
intellect, and in truth had a disordered brain.
Many years after his return he went about seemingly much dejected.
Indeed, he would avoid even his best friends, and go straight into a
melancholy mood if in a merry moment any one ever touched upon his
past career, though I ought to mention that he rarely appeared in
the street without being saluted by little Barnstable, who would
gather about him, and persist in offering him that species of homage
it was accustomed to pay him in years gone by. But even this failed
to excite the slightest love of adventure in his bosom; and the star
of his glory sank to rise no more.
And now, the stream of my compassion having run out, I have felt
myself at liberty to desert many of the characters who figured so
conspicuously in the early part of this history; and, indeed, to
leave them in that state of glorious uncertainty for which critics
have a perfect madness, since it furnishes their bountiful pens
with means to show the greatness of their wisdom. But if any of
these good natured gentlemen critics call me such names, as:
"simpleton," "a fool and don't know it," "an idiot making an ass of
himself," which exquisite expressions I have selected from the
sayings of critics at this day, I would have them beware, since if I
am old, my heart is none the less given to mischief, and I have a
rare knack for cracking the pates of those who say aught
disrespectful of my books.
THE END.