THE KING OF TERRORS
They all admitted that Hanny had improved a good deal. She seemed to
have grown every way. Her mother was sure she must let her skirts down;
and her last winter's frocks were too tight about the shoulders, and too
short in the sleeves. She had absolutely gained five pounds, and her
little face had rounded out. But still she was smaller than most girls
of her age.
She had so much to talk about that her mother said she was a regular
little gossip. Her father liked to hear about grandmother and the
kindly, large-hearted Major. She had found out that when grandmother was
a young girl her name was Hannah Underhill, now it was Horton. So many
elderly people had been visiting at Fordham, and her father knew most of
them. But Ben and Doctor Joe were interested in the poet Poe; Joe knew
more about him than he confessed to his little sister.
Oh, how glad she was to get back to school! There were so many things to
learn. But Dolly had to have her one Saturday; and Mrs. French came over
and took her to the house Beautiful. Ben was quite in love with Mrs.
French. And now they were filling up the conservatory for winter
blooming; and Hanny wished _they_ could have some house-flowers. Her
mother had hydrangeas and an oleander; but they were put in the end of
the stable for winter.
Now and then she went up to Margaret's to stay all night. Daisy was
growing to be almost as lovely as Stevie had been; and though she did
not suggest Daisy Jasper, the name always recalled her dear friend. And
Stevie was quite a big boy. He was getting some rough ways, too, and
wanted to drive Hanny about for a horse, just as he did papa.
Great-grandmother Van Kortland had knit him some beautiful horse-lines.
And Annie was such a sweet little thing! Stevie wished she was a little
brother, "'tause dirls ain't no dood," he said. "You'm dot to be so
tareful." He talked quite crooked, and could not pronounce "g" at all.
He said "umbebella" and "peaapoket" and "tea-tettletel." Philadelphia
always floored him. But then he had been Hanny's first love, and she
could never forget the Christmas morning when he came.
There had been another exciting matter as well, and this was a
presidential election. Zachary Taylor, Old Rough and Ready, as he was
called, had become a great hero to her. She found that he had served
gallantly in the War of 1812, fought against the mighty Tecumseh, and
been in the Black Hawk War, beside all the late Mexican engagements,
where he had so distinguished himself. At the nomination, she had been a
little sorry to have her old favourite Harry Clay superseded, and
General Scott was a war-veteran as well. Then there had been famous
Daniel Webster, whose speeches were the favourite of school-boys, though
they had not banished Patrick Henry. But the real race was between Cass,
Van Buren, Charles Francis Adams and himself; and Old Rough and Ready
won. She wore a rough-and-ready straw bonnet this fall; all the girls
did.
Margaret agitated the school question again. Hanny ought to be making
some useful friends, and though the "First Avenue and First Street girls
might be very nice--"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Underhill. "She's too little to be sent so
far off. And I don't want any lovers put in her head this many a year."
Margaret was getting to be rather aristocratic. She kept her whole house
now, and had a maid-servant beside the coloured "boy." Some stylish
people were building up-town. Dr. Hoffman had a good many friends, and
he was very proud of his handsome wife. But Mrs. Underhill sometimes
said, in the bosom of her family, that Margaret "put on airs."
Hanny was well satisfied, and found a great many things to learn at Mrs.
Craven's.
Then Mr. Theodore Whitney came home, and published a book of travel
letters. And another young man, one Bayard Taylor, had been abroad and
seen all of Europe with knapsack and staff, and had published his "Views
Afoot." Ben was so interested. He often stopped at the Whitneys for
supper and a talk.
Nora grew like a weed, and developed a good deal of musical ability.
They had a steady servant now; and Mrs. Whitney was more "intellectual"
than ever, and beginning to be proud of Delia's stories. She was
generally paid for them; although young writers of that day were
satisfied with the chance of being heard of, and read. She was getting
quite a library together, and had her corner of the back parlour, which
Mr. Theodore took possession of at once. He had brought home some fine
engravings and studies, and half-a-dozen different "Virgins." The aspect
of the rooms changed altogether. Delia began to cultivate quite a
"circle."
She and Ben were splendid comrades. She had plans for going abroad also;
and he entered into them with great zeal. She "didn't suppose she could
pay her way like The.; but she was saving up her money for that object."
Aunt Clem was real good to her; and when her quarterly allowance was
paid she often dropped five dollars into Dele's bank.
"I don't know how much there is, and I am not going to open it under two
years. Of course a woman couldn't take matters as Bayard Taylor did; but
if she was economical and found cheap places! I do wonder if she could
go alone?"
Tourists' parties had not been invented, though men occasionally
clubbed together and obtained accommodations more cheaply.
"Two years," returned Ben, musingly.
Dele was certainly growing prettier. Her hair wasn't even Titian colour
now, but a decided bright brown, and the curly roughness seemed just to
suit her. Then the freckles were disappearing. He didn't know as
freckles spoiled any one's complexion when it had that peachy softness
and the kind of creamy look. If her mouth was wide, it had some pretty
curves, and her teeth were beautiful. A Grecian nose would take all the
piquancy out of her face.
"It may be a little more than two years," considered Delia, "and The.
may start off again. Oh, I'm pretty sure to go some time!"
"I've quite made up _my_ mind to go some time," Ben announced gravely,
then laughed.
"It would be such fun to go together," said Dele, in her harum-scarum
fashion, without a thought of any future contingency. "I'll try to make
The. wait until I get rich enough."
Ben went home thinking what rare fun it would be to travel with some one
who saw the comical side of everything, and who could extract pleasure
straight along, as a bee could gather up honey. He enjoyed the fun
mightily, but he could not always bring it to pass. Joe and Jim had a
humourous side; but John had always been grave and steady-going. Ben
wanted some one to stir up the spirit of fun, and then he did his best
to keep it going. But he always had so much of the past seething in his
brain. The world had such a wonderful history! He was almost afraid that
now, when there was no war on hand, only Indian skirmishes, it would
grow common-place. There were no breathless romances about it, as there
were about Europe and Asia, where such conquerors as Tamerlane, Genghis
Khan, Alexander and Philip and Attila, Charlemagne and Napoleon had
stalked across the world as it was known then. Not that Ben had any
soldierly ambitions, but to youth everyday plodding along seems
unheroic.
The pleasant neighbourhood-life went on, though it must be confessed
that Hanny often longed for Daisy Jasper. Mr. Jasper had returned; and
the plan was now that the others might stay abroad two or three years.
Daisy had improved wonderfully at the baths. They would spend the winter
at Naples, and go back to Germany in the summer. Daisy was taking
lessons in music and painting and Italian.
She wrote about herself to Hanny. She only practised an hour a day, and
could stand it very well. Everything was so queer and foreign, though
often very beautiful. But the operas were enchanting beyond description.
"I want to learn to play a little for myself," she wrote. "And I find I
have quite a good voice. I don't want to drop behind you all, and have
you ashamed of me when I come back, for I couldn't spend a whole
lifetime here, unless I had you, Hanny, and dear Doctor Joe. Tell me
everything about everybody."
Hanny was always two or three days answering the letters. There were new
girls in school to talk about, and the many things the others were
doing. Charles and Jim were at the Deans so much; Mr. Dean was so
interested in them, and Mrs. Dean made it so pleasant! Mrs. Reed was
induced to come over now and then. She had softened considerably; but
she had never regained her strength, and sometimes she felt quite
useless, she declared to Mr. Reed. But he thought they had never been so
happy or comfortable.
That left Hanny quite alone. Josie seemed such a very large girl, and
she classed Hanny and Tudie as "the children." Tudie was a good deal
engrossed with her first large piece of worsted work. Not that Hanny was
lonely! She read to her father when lessons were done, or he came
upstairs to hear her play. She was learning some of the old-fashioned
songs that he had loved in his youth, though I think sometimes he leaned
his head against the high back of his chair and went sound asleep.
Everybody was always wanting her; and her mother said she was a sad
little gad-about. Even John's wife insisted upon a share of her.
Cleanthe wasn't bright and full of fun like Dolly, but she was very fond
of the little girl, and both she and John considered it a great treat to
have her come in to tea.
There was a grand time when Zachary Taylor was inaugurated. Stephen and
Dolly and the Doctor and Margaret went on to Washington with many
others. They were fain to take Hanny.
"Such a crowd is no place for children," said Mrs. Underhill. "There'll
be presidents likely, if the world should stand, and she'll have chances
to go when the journey will do her more good."
Ben went with Mr. Whitney. And at the eleventh hour, Theodore gave in
and said Delia might go, and she needn't rob her bank either.
Oh, what a splendid time they had! Washington has changed wonderfully
since then; but the White House and some of the government buildings are
just the same. Ben was a little startled at the splendour. Mr. Theodore
was much engrossed with some friends, so Ben and Delia rambled about,
lost themselves, and came to light in out-of-the-way places, hunted up
famous spots, and rehearsed old-time stories of brave men and notable
women. The sail down the Potomac was delightful. There was Alexandria
and Mount Vernon and Richmond, all of which were to become a hundred
times more famous in the course of a few years. Ben went over this
youthful trip, so full of delight, many a time when, as a soldier, he
slept under the stars, not knowing what the morrow would bring.
They were just a big boy and girl, in search of fun and knowledge, and
they found plenty of both. Ben made up his mind that, when he did go
abroad, Delia certainly should be his companion.
Margaret and her husband went to Baltimore at once, as they were not
partial to crowds; and Dolly felt that she must get back to the
children. But Mr. Theodore had some business on hand, so the young
people had their holiday lengthened.
Still the season in New York had been a rather brilliant one, with
various noted singers. An opera troupe from Havana had been giving some
famous operas; and Hanny was delighted to hear "La Somnambula," because
now she could compare notes with Daisy Jasper.
And in May, the famous rivalry between two leading theatres, that
culminated in a great riot, occurred. Edwin Forrest, the great tragedian
of that day, and many a year later, and Macready, a celebrated English
actor, seemed almost pitted against each other in the same play, Hamlet.
A certain party coming into existence had taken for its watchword
Americanism of a rather narrow sort, and was protesting against all
foreign influence. Macready had played, and then gone to fulfil another
engagement, but was to return and play again. Some of the hot heads
decided he should not; and though all precautions were taken, the
feeling was that the better sense of the community would prevent any
absolute disturbance. But the mob had grown larger and stronger in their
narrow prejudice, and, before the play was half through, an onslaught
was made on the opera-house. The rioters were in such force that the
famous Seventh Regiment had to be called out. It was a night of terror
and tragedy, and the whole city was wild with alarm. So serious did it
become, that it was not quelled without bloodshed; and for days the
whole city seemed amazed that such a thing could have happened.
But before the surprise and regret had died away, a sudden sound of
alarm ran through the city, in curiously muffled tones that blanched the
bravest faces,--a visitant, then feared beyond measure, that science had
not been able to cope with. People spoke of it with bated breath. It was
not simply among the poor and destitute, or those indifferent to
cleanliness and order, but it spread everywhere,--the dreaded,
mysterious cholera.
The older people remembered the scourge of almost twenty years before,
and many of them prepared to fly to places of safety. The plague spot of
the city was then the old Five Points, where the lowest and poorest,
beggars and thieves, and sometimes murderers, had crowded in until it
was a nest to be shunned and feared. Through this tract the plague swept
like wildfire.
Margaret had accepted the urgent invitation of the cousins at Tarrytown,
and gone thither with her baby, insisting also upon taking her little
sister. Father Underhill was glad to have her out of danger, and was
fain to persuade his wife to follow.
"No," she said stoutly; "Joe must remain; and you and Stephen cannot run
away from business. With Margaret and Hanny safe, I shall stay to keep
watch over the rest of you. I may be needed."
Dolly had taken her two children up to her sisters', who lived on the
Hudson near Fort Washington. Stephen could drive up every day or two
with news of everybody.
It did not seem at all alarming up at the Morgan's rural home. True,
Cousin Famie was aging fast, and had grown more feeble than her years
really warranted. Mrs. Eustis was quite the head of the house, and very
bright and chatty, with a rather romantic turn of mind, just as fond of
reading as some of the younger folks.
And it seemed to them as if the world was quite full of famous people
then. For beside Cooper and Irving, there were Prescott's splendid
histories, that were full of romance. And for story-writers, Miss
Leslie, who was entertaining magazine-readers, and Miss Sedgwick and
Lydia Maria Child. Then there was Hanny's favourite Mrs. Osgood, Alice
Carey, and Mrs. Welby coming into notice, and Longfellow, Hawthorne and
Emerson. The Doctor brought them up the new magazines, and said
everybody kept well. Ben came up and stayed a week, and added to their
stock of books.
They went down to Sleepy Hollow, though it had not become so famous for
pilgrimages. Mr. Irving had come home from Madrid, and friends dropped
in upon him. He always had a delightful welcome for them. They used to
sit out on the old porch and talk; or, when there were no guests, his
two nieces and some of his brothers' kept him company.
Ben summoned up courage and went down to see the charming man, beloved
of so many friends, taking his little sister with him. What a
delightful hour it was! Hanny was too shy to talk much, although she had
been so brave on the poet's old stoop at Fordham. Perhaps, really, there
was no opportunity, Ben kept the floor so entirely. They went in and
looked at the drawings from Rip Van Winkle and Ichabod Crane and
Katrina. But she still loved the old history that had charmed her so at
first, and she would have given him her child's adoration freely, if he
had written nothing else.
Ben had already seen a number of notable people. They often came in at
the Harpers'. He used to talk them over with Delia; and he thought now
what a fascinating story he should have to tell her.
The next day they went over to see grandmother and Uncle David. Jim was
up making a visit. His mother preferred to have him out of danger. He
and Ben were to go down to Yonkers; and though they were loth to spare
the little girl, she went back to Tarrytown.
It was October before the Doctor would let Margaret return to the city.
Daisy had grown so much, and was talking in a cunning, broken fashion.
Mrs. Underhill had made two brief visits; and though she seemed rather
nervous for her, she declared, "She had been very well all summer, and
that they had a great deal to be thankful for. She couldn't have left
father and the boys."
She had never been so demonstrative to Hanny, much as she had loved her.
She kept one arm around her, and could hardly bear her out of her
sight.
"Had she been content, and not made any trouble, and waited upon Cousin
Famie, and helped all she could? She was such a large girl now, and
ought to be useful."
Hanny smiled, and kissed her mother, and said: "She had tried to do her
best. And she had been very, very happy."
"Cousin Margaret, I do wonder if you appreciate that child," said
Roseann, when Hanny had gone out on the porch to have a romp with little
Daisy. "She's such a smart little thing, and not a bit set up about it.
I've been clear beat to see how she understands books, and people, too.
And she's so industrious and pleasant-tempered. She makes me think of
Grandmother Underhill and Aunt Eunice. I do hope you'll be able to keep
her. It's a providential mercy she hasn't been in the city all summer.
The cholera has been just awful! I don't see how you had the courage to
stay."
"My sons were there." The tears came to Mrs. Underhill's eyes. "And
though they were spared, they often needed me. No one really can know
what it was, unless they have been through it. Joe came home one night
so worn out that he stayed in bed all the next day. I just prayed every
moment; I felt as if I'd never prayed before. And there was all of
John's trouble. Yes; many a one has been called upon to part with their
nearest and dearest."
John Underhill's wife had lost both father and mother, within
twenty-four hours of each other. Then Cleanthe's little baby had been
born dead; and they had to move her to Mother Underhill's, more dead
than alive; but good care had at last restored her. The old Archer
cousins in Henry Street had gone; and many another among friends and
relatives.
They did not tell Hanny until she came home who had gone out of the
neighbourhood. Mrs. Reed had been among the first. She was getting ready
to go away with Charles, when the summons came. But the greatest sorrow
of all to her was the loss of Tudie Dean. She had been rather drooping
for several days; and one night Doctor Joe had been summoned, but in
vain. Two of the prettiest of the little Jewish children who had come to
the Whitney house were buried on the same day.
Cleanthe was still at home, as she called her mother-in-law's house. She
was very pale and wan, and just hugged Hanny to her heart, and cried
over her.
Charlie Reed sorrowed deeply for his mother.
"I don't just know how it came about," he said tremulously; "but we were
getting to be such friends; she took such a real interest in my studies;
and she seemed to want father to be happy in the things he liked. He's
most broken-hearted over it; and the house seems dreadful! Cousin Jane
advises father to break up and board; I think she's kind of nervous, and
wants a change. Oh, what a terrible time it has been; I am glad you
were away. And poor little Tudie Dean!"
They both cried over her. And when she went in to see Josie, she was
almost heart-broken; for Josie looked so strange and grown-up, and was
so grave.
Mrs. Dean pressed her to her heart.
"Thank God, my little dear," she exclaimed, "that your mother hasn't to
sorrow over any loss. Your brother has been heroic; and there was one
time when we were all afraid. He was so dead-tired that I know he
couldn't have lived if it had been cholera. The doctors were all heroes;
and many of them have given their lives."
Yet the world went on, over the thousands who had dropped out of it.
Business resumed its sway; even amusements started up. But there were
many sad households.
And though the Underhills had not taken Cleanthe to their hearts with
quite the fervor Dolly had awakened, they loved her very tenderly now;
and she seemed to slip in among them with a new and closer bond.
There would be a good deal of business to settle. John thought it better
to look about for a new partner. Mr. Bradley had left quite a fortune
for the times. He had been investing in up-town property, and John
thought it would be wise to build, and sell or rent as his wife desired.
The old home was dismantled, the best of the furniture stored for
further use.
He tried to persuade his father to go farther up-town. Joe was also a
factor in this matter.
For though the cholera had spared Dr. Fitch, the infirmities of age and
hard work had overtaken him. A nephew who had recently graduated, and
had the prestige of the same name, was anxious to take the practice. Joe
felt as if circumstances were shaping a change for him; and he was ready
now to take up a life of his own.
Then the Deans sold, and were to go up a little farther. Sometime, and
before many years, there would be street-cars, instead of the slow,
awkward stages, and people could get to and fro more rapidly. The trend
was unmistakably up-town.
Mr. Reed hired out his house furnished, and went over to the Deans to
board.
It seemed to Hanny that no one was quite the same. Nora Whitney was
almost a head taller than Hanny, and was getting to be a very stylish
girl. Her voice was considered promising, and was being cultivated. But
poor old Pussy Gray had rounded out his life, and slept under a great
white rosebush at the end of the yard. Mrs. Whitney's hair was nearly
all white, and she was a very pretty woman. Mr. Theodore was showing
silver in both hair and beard; but Delia changed very little. Aunt Clem
went on living in her serene and cheerful fashion.
And then the bells rang out for the mid-century, 1850! How wonderful it
seemed.
"I wonder if any one of us will live to nineteen hundred," questioned
Hanny, with a strange thrill of awe in her voice.
"I don't suppose I will," replied her father; "but some of you may.
Why, even Stephen wouldn't be much above eighty; and you'll be a little
past sixty!" He laughed with a mellow, amused sound. "And all you young
people of to-day will be telling your grandchildren how New York looked
at the half-century mark. Well, it has made rapid strides since eighteen
hundred. I sometimes wonder what there is to happen next. We have steam
on land and water. We have discovered Eldorado, and invented the
telegraph; and there are people figuring on laying one across the ocean.
That may come in your day."
"And a sewing-machine," added the little girl, smilingly.
The sewing-machine was attracting a good deal of attention now, and
making itself a useful factor.
But to live to see nineteen hundred! That would be like discovering the
fountain of perpetual youth.