Sheppard Lee, Written by Himself. Vol. II (of 2)

CHAPTER XI.
IN WHICH A CATASTROPHE BEGINS

The various mischances and afflictions, as narrated in the preceding chapter, which rewarded my virtue, had begun to affect my mind with sundry pangs of melancholy and misgiving. I perceived that the world was ungrateful, and I had my doubts whether it was a whit the better for my goodness. These doubts and this persuasion were confirmed by the experience of each succeeding day; and by the month of September as aforesaid, I found myself becoming just as miserable a man as I had ever been before, and perhaps more so, being pierced not merely with the ingratitude of those I had befriended, but convinced that the unworthiness of man was a thing man was determined to persevere in.

It was at the moment of my greatest distress, that the catastrophe alluded to before happened; and this was nothing less than the sudden bankruptcy of Abel Snipe, whereby I was reduced in a moment from affluence to destitution; and what made the calamity still more painful, was a conviction forced upon me by my own reflections, as well as the representations of others, that the failure could not have happened without a fraudulent design on the part of the fiduciary. It is true, this worthy gentleman was the first to inform me of his mishap, which he did with tears in his eyes, and with divers outbreaks of self-accusation and despair; he declared that his imprudence had ruined me, his benefactor, and implored me, his benefactor, to knock him on the head with a poker I had begun to embrace in my agitation; but how he had effected such a catastrophe I could not bring him clearly to explain. The only answers I could get from him were, "Speculation, speculation – bad speculation! – ruined my benefactor! might as well have murdered thee!" and so on; and having given vent to some dozen or more of such frantic interjections, he ran out of the house.

Enter Jonathan the very next moment. The sight of him renewed my grief; he, poor youth, was ruined as well as myself, yet not wholly; for, as good luck would have it, I had, a week or two before, after long cogitation on the subject, resolved to marry him to the maid Ellen Wild, and so secure his happiness more certainly than, it appeared to me, it could be secured by a life of philanthropy. To effect this desirable purpose I bestowed upon him the only property which I had not thought fit to put into Abel Snipe's hands, being the new house I was then building, promising also to add a sum of money, as soon as it could be conveniently withdrawn from the concern. He received the gift and the promise with much joy and gratitude, but betrayed surprising indifference on the score of matrimony, saying that he was in no great hurry, and in fact giving me to understand that there was a difference between him and the maiden.

"Jonathan," said I, as soon as I saw him, "thee is a ruined young man. Abel has broken."

"All to smash!" said Jonathan; "I know all about it. Horrible pickle we're in. But I say, uncle, if thee can borrow twenty thousand dollars, we can save friend Abel yet."

"Does thee say so?" said I; "is it true?"

"Verily," said Jonathan, "I have looked over the demands, and twenty thousand dollars by nine o'clock to-morrow will make all straight. But where will thee get twenty thousand dollars?"

"Where?" said I, fairly dancing for joy. "It was but two days since that thy friend Ebenezer Wild did offer me exactly the sum of twenty thousand dollars for the new house as it stood, not knowing I had conveyed it to thee, until I told him the same, as a reason why I could not take such a handsome offer."

"Well," said Jonathan, opening his eyes, "what then?"

"Surely," said I, "if he would give twenty thousand then, he will give twenty thousand now. And so, Jonathan – "

"And so," said Jonathan, "thee wants me to sell the house, does thee? and give thee back the money? Uncle Zachariah, thee should be a little more reasonable. Thee must remember that the house is mine; and as it seems to be all I am ever to get, why, uncle, thee must excuse me, but – I have no notion of parting with it."

If Jonathan had picked up the poker and served me the turn Abel Snipe had so piteously entreated me to serve him – that is, knocked me on the head, I could not have been more shocked and horror-struck than I was by these words.

"What, Jonathan," said I, "does thee refuse to save me from ruin —me, who have been a father to thee, and given thee all that thou hast?"

"No," said Jonathan, coolly, "I am not so bad as that; but as this house is all I have, I can't think of running too much risk with it. Suppose thee borrows that twenty thousand dollars that Ebenezer Wild has so handy: he is thy friend as well as mine. Or suppose thee tries some of thy other friends. Thee has often loaned to them, and not often borrowed. Sure thee has many friends who can spare money better than I can."

"Oh, thou ungrateful young man!" said I.

"Don't go to call me hard names," said the perfidious and unfeeling youth; "for, if thee comes to that, uncle Zachariah, I can tell thee, thee is the ungrateful man – though not a young one. Haven't I been as a son to thee for eighteen long years? haven't I humoured all thy foolish old notions, even to the point of giving alms, talking about virtue and philanthropy, and so on? haven't I given up Ellen Wild to please thee? And hasn't thee, after all my pains, choused me out of the portion I had a right to expect of thee, except a poor beggarly unfinished house, only worth twenty thousand dollars? Yes, thee has, uncle Zachariah, thee can't deny it. Don't thee talk to me of ingratitude."

"Thou art a viper," said I.

"If I am," said Jonathan in a huff, "I won't stay to be trodden on."

And with that, the heartless creature, tossing up his head like an emperor, stalked out of the house, leaving me petrified by the enormity of his baseness.

CHAPTER XII.
IN WHICH THE CATASTROPHE IS CONTINUED

I was, indeed, so shocked, so overwhelmed, by ingratitude coming from such a quarter, that it was some time before I could recover myself sufficiently to think of the steps necessary to be taken for my preservation. I remembered, however, that he, even he, my thrice unfeeling nephew, had recommended me to borrow of my friends what would be enough to retrieve my affairs from ruin. I ran from the house, not doubting that I could easily raise the sum. Fifty paces distant was my new house – that is, Jonathan's. My old friend Ebenezer, the father of the maid Ellen, was standing before it, looking up to the carpenters, who were nailing the shingles on the roof.

"Ebenezer," said I, "thee is my friend – does thee know I am on the brink of ruin?"

"Very sorry," said Ebenezer – "all the town-talk; looked for nothing better. Perhaps thee will sell the house – pho! I forgot; thee gave it to Jonathan."

"Ebenezer Wild," said I, "if thee is my friend, lend me that twenty thousand dollars. It will save me from ruin."

"Really, Mr. Longstraw," said Ebenezer Wild, (who was no Quaker, though his father had been before him), "I am surprised a reasonable man should make such a request. I have told you twenty times you would ruin yourself by your cursed philanthropy – can't consent to be ruined with you. Pity you, Mr. Longstraw – awfully swindled; wonder you could trust such a knave as Abel Snipe – sorry to hear matters look so black for Jonathan – thought better of him – quite unnatural to be defrauded by one's own flesh and blood."

What Ebenezer meant by his concluding remarks I did not, at that moment, understand. But I comprehended them well enough when I had run to five or six other friends, rich men like him, all of whom treated my request to borrow with as little respect, while all wound up their commonplace condolings by assuring me, first, that Abel Snipe had swindled me; and, secondly, that there was much reason to believe my nephew Jonathan had done the same thing.

Reader, this is a very wicked world we live in. My philanthropy did not make me, as philanthropy often does, selfish with my friends. I felt as much pleasure in obliging one who happened to be in a difficulty, with a loan of any sum within my reach, as in relieving actual distress. Of twelve different persons whom I now sought in my dilemma, I had in this manner, at different times, obliged no less than eleven; of not one of whom could I now borrow a dollar. Every man pitied my misfortune, every one inveighed with becoming severity against the villany of those by whom I was ruined, but every one was astonished that a reasonable man like me should expect another reasonable man to part with his money. In short, it was evident that my friends loved borrowing better than lending; and I left the door of the twelfth with the agreeable conviction on my spirit, that human nature was of the nature of a stone, I being the only man of the thousand million in the world that had actually a heart in my bosom.

This consideration was racking enough; but it made a small part of my distress. Every man had charged my friend, honest Abel Snipe, with having swindled me, as Ebenezer Wild had charged before; and every one, in like manner, swore that my nephew Jonathan had borne a part in the nefarious transaction. This seemed to me incredible enough; but when I remembered Jonathan's late behaviour, his unexpected defection, his hard, unfeeling, nay, his treacherous selfishness, I felt prepared to believe almost any wickedness that might be said of him.

I ran to Abel's office, resolved to sift the affair to the bottom. The work was already done to my hands; I found the office full of people, some of whom were officers of the police, who had seized upon books and papers, and (awful to be said!) the body of Abel Snipe; and all raging with vociferation and confusion, except the latter worthy, who looked as if astounded out of his senses. "It's a clear case of swindling," cried a dozen voices as I entered, "a design to defraud – fraud from beginning to end; flagrant, scandalous, scoundrelly swindling – , nay, worse than swindling – it is a conspiracy! Jonathan has confessed it – been going on this three months; – Jonathan has confessed it!"

Jonathan had confessed it! confessed what? Why, confessed, as every one gave me to understand, and confessed in the hands of justice (for it seems he had been arrested), that he and Abel Snipe had entered into a conspiracy to defraud me of my property, which had been carried on from the moment that the latter was established in business, and was now completed by a long-designed bankruptcy.

Let the reader imagine my feelings at this disclosure of ingratitude and villany so monstrous.

My best friend – a man whom I had wrested from the extremity of poverty and disgrace, and my only relative – a youth whom I had adopted and reared as my son, who was my heir at law, and the living partner, as I may say, in all my possessions – had leagued together feloniously to deprive me of what I never denied them the privilege to share, – to rob, to fleece, to reduce me to beggary.

Words cannot paint my grief. I crept away from the scene of confusion, ashamed of my manhood, ashamed even of my philanthropy. I reached the door of my house; it was just dusk; a poor man standing at the door implored my charity for a miserable creature, as he called himself. "Go to the devil!" said I.

"You are Zachariah Longstraw?" said another man, tapping me on the shoulder. "I am," said I, supposing he was a beggar like the other; "and you may go to the devil too."

"Very much obliged to you," said the man; "but you're my prisoner; and so come along, if you please." And with that he took me by the arm, and began to march me down the street.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE DÉNOUEMENT OF THE DRAMA

Why I was arrested, and at whose instance, I knew not; I was too downcast and spirit-broken to inquire. I had, doubtless, divers small debts due to persons with whom I was accustomed to deal; and it seemed to me natural enough, as all men were ungrateful rascals, that all such persons, now that I was known to be penniless, should fall upon me without shame or mercy, demanding their dues. I say I thought such a consummation was natural enough, and I asked no questions of my captor. I let my head drop upon my bosom, and, without resisting or remonstrating, and looking neither to the right nor the left, suffered him to conduct me whither he would.

Our progress was rapid, our journey short; in a few moments I found myself led into a house, and ushered into a lighted apartment.

I looked up, to see into what alderman's hands I had fallen. The reader may judge of my surprise, amounting almost to consternation, when I beheld myself in an elegant saloon, brilliantly lighted, and surrounded by a dozen or more gayly-dressed people of both sexes, among whom was my friend Ebenezer Wild, and two or three others whose countenances seemed familiar, but whom, in my surprise and confusion, I did not immediately recognise.

A maiden, beautiful as the morning, and smiling as if her little heart was dancing out of her eyes, ran from the throng, and seized me by the hands, crying, —

"Now, uncle Zachariah, thee shall pay me what thee owes me, or be turned over to some other creditor!"

I looked upon her in astonishment, and began to fancy I was in a dream.

"What!" said my friend Ebenezer, "don't you know my little Ellen?" And thereupon he added other expressions, but what they were I retain no remembrance of, my wits being utterly amazed and confounded.

To make my confusion still greater, the door suddenly opened, and in rushed my nephew Jonathan, dressed, like a dandy of the first water, in a blue cloth coat with shining buttons, white trousers, and satin waistcoat, and exclaiming "Bravo!" and "Victoria!" as if a very demon of joy and exultation possessed him. As soon as he beheld me he ran forward, snatched one of my hands from the maiden, and, dropping on his knees, cried, with a comical look of contrition, —

"Forgive me all my sins, uncle Zachariah, and I'll behave better for the future."

"Oh thou ungrateful wretch!" said I, "how canst thou look me in the face, having ruined me?"

"Don't say so!" cried Ellen Wild; "you don't know how Jonathan has saved you."

"The deuse he don't!" said Jonathan, jumping up; "why then we've got the play all wrong. I say, uncle, don't look so solemn and wrathful. You are no more ruined than I am, and you are out of the clutches of the harpy!"

"Haven't I been swindled?" said I.

"Unutterably!" said Jonathan; "but, as the swindler has been swindled also, there's no great harm done. Uncle Zachariah, a'n't you satisfied Abel Snipe is a rascal?"

"I am," said I; "but what shall I say of thee?"

"That I have broken the spell the villain cast over your senses," said Jonathan, "and so saved you from the ruin your confidence invited him to attempt. Uncle Zachariah, you think I am as bad as Abel. Now listen to my story. I knew that Abel Snipe was a rogue and hypocrite, but could not make you believe it; I saw that he was daily fleecing you of sums of money under pretence of giving to the poor; that he was artfully goading and inflaming your benevolence into a passion, nay, into a monomania (for, uncle, everybody said you were mad), for his own base purposes; and that, sooner or later, he would strip you of every thing. This I could not make you believe; I resolved you should see it. I turned hypocrite myself, and began to fleece you ten times harder than Abel. The rogue was alarmed; he perceived I was ousting him from his employment – that I had greater facilities for cheating (having more of your affection) than himself. His alarm, added to another feeling which you shall hear all about, brought him into the trap from which cautiousness at first secured him. I convinced him I was as great a rogue as himself, and he then agreed with me – yes, uncle, formally agreed – to join in a plan to strip you of fortune. We arranged the whole scheme from beginning to end – the business, the speculations, the bankruptcy. Abel was to play Sir Smash – his reputation could stand it. The sums received from you were to be handed over to me, and accounted for as lost in bad speculations; to make which appear straight, his books were filled with fictitious sales and purchases, very ingeniously got up. After the grand crash we were to make a division of the plunder, he being content, honest man, to receive one fourth, of which he considered himself secure enough as long as I had any value for good name or fear of the penitentiary. Now you may wonder how such a cautious rogue could be so easily gulled. Here stands the fairy," said Jonathan, pointing to the maid Ellen, "who dazzled the eyes of his wisdom. Yes, uncle, would you believe it? the impudent, the audacious fellow had the vanity to think he had found favour in her eyes, at a time when I had lost favour in those of her father. You must know we had a coolness – that is, father Wild and I; it was about you – that confounded philanthropy – but we'll say nothing of that. I used to communicate with Ellen by letter, and Abel was often my Ganymede. Now, you must know, Ellen is a coquette – '

"Fy, Jonathan!" said the damsel; "it was all that vicious Abel's presumption and folly. Because I was glad to see him, and treated him well, just because he brought me letters – oh, the monster! I soon saw what was running in his head!"

"Yes," said Jonathan, "Ellen's a much smarter girl than people suppose her."

"Oh! you great Quaker bear!" said the maiden.

"Well," continued Jonathan, "she boasted her conquest, and then I saw I had the ogre by the nose. It was this put me upon turning swindler; I had a talk with father Wild, who approved my plan, and Ellen agreed to cultivate Abel's good opinion as far as a smile or two. We affected to quarrel; I began to coquet with another, abusing poor Ellen to Abel as hard as I could, until he was persuaded the breach between us was incurable. Ellen gave him a smile – her papa became condescending. In a word, the rascal thought nothing was wanting to make him the happiest man in the world, save the one full fourth of his patron's estate, and as much more as he could cheat me of. Here was the rock upon which Abel split, and split he has; he is now safe. The moment matters came to a crisis, which was this afternoon, I ran to a magistrate – my friend Jones there" (pointing to an elderly gentleman who had entered with him), "and made confession of our roguery; deposed the whole matter; accused myself and Abel of conspiracy to defraud, and so forth, and so forth; and was admitted to the honourable privileges of evidence for the commonwealth, and allowed to walk about on bail, while my rascally colleague takes up his lodgings in prison. There's the whole story; I have exposed Snipe's rogueries, and secured his conviction; and, what is equally agreeable, I have saved your property. Here, uncle – you called me a viper – I only wanted to make you believe I could be ungrateful, as well as others. By-the-way, that was a plan of father Wild's, to have your friends refuse to assist you; they were let into the secret, and I recommended you to apply to them. Here, uncle, you'll see what a viper I am," he continued, a little impetuously; "here are the deeds for the house; here is a roll of bank-notes I cheated you of, to play the philanthropist; you will be surprised at the amount, but I did spend some, I confess, for there are wretches who deserve our charity. And here, and here, and here you have the property out of which Abel and I conspired to cheat you – at least, the chief part of it; the rest we will soon get possession of, having laid the villain in limbo. Here, uncle Zachariah, take them, and be as philanthropic as you please; we have no fear of you, now your familiar is tied up; take your property, and much good may it do you. As for me, I am content to take Ellen – that is, if you have no objection."

This was a turn of circumstances that confounded me more than ever; and, verily, I knew not whether I was standing on my head or feet. I stood staring Jonathan in the face, without saying a word, until the youth was seized with the idea that the surprise of the thing had turned my wits; at which, being alarmed, he took me again by the hand, and said, with the tears in his eyes, —

"Oh, my dear uncle! do consider it is nothing more than a joke, and that I never meant to offend thee."

"No," said I, "thee did not. Therefore thee shall have it all, and thee shall marry the maiden."

And with that, being seized with uncommon generosity, or perhaps not well knowing what I did, I put into his hands the conveyance of the house, the bank-bills, and other papers which he had given me but a moment before, and turned to leave the house.

"Stay, uncle – I am just going to be married," said he; and "Stay, Zachariah!" said a dozen others; when some one suddenly calling out, "Let him go; he is afraid of being turned out of meeting if he witnesses the ceremony," I was suffered to obey the impulses of the spirit within me, and walk out of the house; which I did without exactly knowing what I was doing.

To tell the honest truth – as, indeed, I have been trying to do all along – I was in a kind of maze and bewilderment of mind, which the first shock of ruin had produced, and which Jonathan's story rather increased than diminished. The effect of this was divided in my brain with the impression of the various proofs of ingratitude and baseness to which the day had given birth, the latter, however, being greatly preponderant. Of one feeling only I had entire consciousness, and that was a hearty disgust of philanthropy, coupled with a sense of shame at having been so basely cheated as I seemed to have been on all sides. I had been cheated out of my senses, as the saying is; and the only cure for me was to be cheated into them again; which was not an agreeable reflection, the whole affair being a reproach on my good sense.

On the whole, I felt very melancholy and lugubrious, and began to have my thoughts of leaving Zachariah Longstraw's body at the first convenient opportunity. The great difficulty was, however, to find a tenement in which I might promise myself content, the disappointment I had experienced in my present adventure having filled me with doubts as to the reality of any human happiness. "At least," said I to myself "I will henceforth look before I leap. I will cast mine eyes about me, I will gird up my loins and look abroad into the human family, and peradventure I shall find some man whose body is worth reanimating. Yea, verily, I will next time be certain I am not putting my soul, as the pickpocket did his hand, into a sack of fish-hooks."

With this resolution on my mind I walked towards my house, and was just about to pass the door, when an adventure befell me which knocked the aforesaid resolution entirely on the head. But before I relate it my conscience impels me to make one remark, which I beg the reader, if he be a man of fortune and blood, to peruse, without excusing himself on the score of its dulness.