Kitabı oku: «The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No. 2, August, 1862», sayfa 14

CHAPTER VI

A few miles to the north-east of Sudbury the country, at the time I speak of it, had a wild and forbidding appearance. This was partly owing to the immense forest which stretched along a continuous ridge of land covering both sides of it and the plain below. On one side of this ridge the face of the country was very rough; on the other side, through a fine intervale, flowed a stream of respectable size called Pine Creek, which took its rise in the mountains at some distance, and was fed by innumerable springs and rivulets from the surrounding hills. Nearly a thousand acres of these lands were owned by an old merchant in New-York, who had taken them for debt many years before, and had become, as he said, tired of paying taxes on them.

Joel had had his eye on the property for two or three years. What his views were, we shall presently see, for no sooner did Miss Bellows quit Sudbury with her aunt, than Joel, after remarking to the sheriff that he did not propose to interfere with him in any way, proceeded to pack his trunks, which he removed to the inn. Then he hired a horse and wagon for a week, and set off no one knew whither. He came back within the time limited, and found a committee of creditors awaiting his return. They wanted to engage him to sell out the stock of goods and to close up Mr. Bellows' affairs. Joel declined the service, although the offers were liberal and coupled with the intimation that it would be the means of starting him in business as the successor of Mr. Bellows. Joel resolutely declined. He knew the estate was hopelessly insolvent, and that he could not be of the least service to Ellen by any labors he should undertake; and besides, he did not care to even appear to thrive out of the broken fortunes of his patron. When still pressed by the now perplexed creditors, he turned sharply on them and said: 'Gentlemen, don't you think it would have been more judicious, not to say more humane, had you waited on Mr. Bellows in his lifetime, and requested him to undertake this service instead of pouncing on his property, closing his store, and hurrying him into his grave? He was an honest man, and would have worked honestly for your benefit, and I would have aided him. As it is, I do not feel disposed to lift a finger for you. Good morning.'

Joel left the same day for New-York, and did not again return to Sudbury. Some weeks afterward, in mid-winter, the report was circulated that he was living in the woods on Pine Creek. Then the story went abroad that the poor fellow was crazy and had turned hermit. This was followed by other rumors still more ridiculous.

I have no desire to alarm the reader on Joel's account. It is time, therefore, I should say that he had formed extensive plans for the future, which he was proceeding to carry out. During his week's absence he went carefully over the entire tract owned by the old merchant in New-York. This lay on both sides of the creek, and extended to the eastward quite over the 'ridge.' It was well timbered and beautifully situated. After making these observations, Joel proceeded to New-York and called on the proprietor. He stated his object to be to purchase a hundred acres of the tract, for which he would pay five dollars an acre cash. He wanted, besides, the refusal of the rest of the property, for a certain time, at the same rate. The old merchant was pleased with Joel's ingenuous manner as well as with his intelligence. He questioned him minutely about the lands, for he had never seen them, and asked him what he proposed to do with his purchase. Joel answered promptly and truthfully. He put the owner in possession of every material fact.

'And all you will give is five dollars per acre?'

'Yes.'

'Do you think that is all the lands are really worth?'

'I hope to make them worth much more to me, else I would not seek to buy,' responded Joel. 'What they are worth to you, is for you to judge after what I have said about them.'

Thereupon the old gentleman told Joel he would do better by him than he asked. He would sell him the whole, receive the five hundred dollars, and take back a mortgage for the balance. Joel would not accept this proposition. He wanted one hundred acres, and he wanted to pay for them, and the money was ready at five dollars the acre, and he desired the refusal of the balance at the same rate. The bargain was closed in this way, and Joel went on to his own property rejoicing. The plot selected by him was from that portion nearest to the road, which here was about a mile distant, and at a point of the stream most favorable for the erection of a saw-mill. This hundred acres Joel had had carefully surveyed before he went to New-York. It embraced a portion of the 'ridge,' with a front on the stream. The old village was miserably situated, on the ancient principle of putting it in the centre of the township, and a new road had been talked of for some time, which would shorten the communication between two important points, and leave it to one side. This was also known to Joel, and it led him to greater energy in trying to secure the property. But he did not omit to mention this circumstance in his interview with the proprietor, though, if the truth be told, he was tempted to keep silent. Joel Burns had a fine moral sense, to violate which, gave him pain. Without going through any argument on the subject, he felt that it would amount to a deception if he withheld the information.

At the time of Mr. Bellows' death Joel was worth about twelve hundred dollars. His benefactor had not only paid him a full salary, but, besides this, perceiving that Joel displayed an aptitude for business, Mr. Bellows allowed him privileges by which he was able to make some money on his own account. The result was, he had accumulated the sum I have mentioned, from which had now been disbursed five hundred dollars for the land purchase.

Through the winter Joel was very busy. He hired four stout, active lumber-men, built a rude log-hut, which was comfortable enough inside, and all set to work first to cut a road to the highway. Then they commenced clearing. The timber was magnificent first-growth pine. It cut up splendidly. The lumber-men now saw what Hiram was driving at. They began to respect the young fellow who looked so much like a boy, yet who showed such pluck, nerve, and sagacity. After a while, in a pleasant position on the ridge could be seen a very neat log-house in progress of erection. It contained four rooms—a spacious edifice for the woods—all of course on the ground floor, for there was no second story. Great attention was paid in a rude way to the interior, and by spring it was finished.

During the winter Joel was twice absent from the 'settlement' for two or three days. He was making a visit to– Ellen's aunt. That worthy woman had only been half-persuaded when she invited her niece home. Very soon, she began to think she had made a mistake in 'harboring' her, especially as the news spread abroad that Bellows' estate was a very great deal worse than nothing. To be sure Joel's presence reässured her, he looked so competent, and spoke so confidently yet still so mysteriously. On his second visit, however, the lady pretty flatly intimated she was losing confidence in his assertions. She did not believe her brother had left Ellen a cent in any shape.

'And I tell you what it is, Joel Burns, you need not think we are going to support her. She must earn her living like other folks.'

'I will be responsible for Ellen's board,' said Joel indignantly. 'I would have said that before, but I should feel mortified to have her know I had made the offer, or you had accepted it.'

'You need not mount your high horse with me, Joel,' retorted the other, but in a mollified tone. 'You know I am just as kind to Ellen as any body would be under the circumstances.'

'As kind as Mr. Bellows would have been to Tilly and Eliza, had they been left orphans, I suppose,' interrupted the still indignant Joel.

'Yes, to be sure. You don't imagine I should have expected him to take care of my children!'

'But he would have done it though.'

'Well that may or may not be—he is dead and gone, poor man, and I have done my best to make it pleasant for Ellen, and she will tell you so. We have got along very well; I like her and her cousins like her, and I am satisfied after what you have said.'

By the middle of April, the people of Sudbury had made up their minds that Joel Burns was neither crazy nor exactly a hermit, nor yet a fool, though some candidly admitted they had been fools when they so judged of him. For by the middle of April a saw-mill with a double set of saws had been put in operation, and was turning out the lumber rapidly. Quickly the knowing ones saw into it, (but they did not see into it till Joel had made his demonstration,) and now wondered why they had overlooked the speculation. One very keen fellow determined to make the most out of Joel's beginning. He examined the records at the office of the register of deeds and discovered that Joel had title to but a hundred acres. Thereupon he went to New-York with the object of purchasing the adjacent lands. Imagine his chagrin, when he was told Joel had the refusal of the whole tract. With a low cunning he endeavored to make the old merchant dissatisfied with the sale, by telling him that he had parted with his property for a quarter of its value—in fact, had given it away. He would have offered twice the money himself.

'I am glad to hear you say so,' was the only reply the fellow received, 'for I take a great interest in that young man. So he has got his mill a-going, has he? Good.'

'But if I should offer you ten dollars an acre for the next hundred-acre-lot, don't you think you could manage to let me have it?'

'No.'

What an excitement there was when our smart man returned and gave an account of his trip. Then followed all sorts of rumors. Joel was in partnership with a rich old fellow in 'York,' who was going to let him have all the money he wanted. There was to be a new village right away, situated somewhere—on the ridge—on the stream—across the creek—on the plain—under the hill. What wouldn't the speculators give to know just where! With the erection of the saw-mill, several little huts went up near it for the use of those employed there. These huts were not made of logs—there was plenty of lumber now—but cheaply constructed and clap-boarded with slabs. Some of the Sudbury wits derisively called the place 'Slab City.' The lumber-men seemed to like this name, for they at once adopted it, and it has never been known by any other.

But before this, a remarkable event occurred, affording still greater food for town-talk and gossip generally. The neat log-house on the ridge had been comfortably furnished, and Ellen Bellows—now Ellen Burns—installed as its mistress.

On his third visit the mystery was solved in a manner quite satisfactory to the aunt. To do that lady justice, we must say she was not half so selfish nor so calculating as she might have been. It is true she had not generosity enough to run the risk of offering Ellen a home as long as she might require one, whatever should happen. But she was tolerably kind to her, and when she heard that a wedding was to be speedily improvised, she entered into it heart and soul, and made every thing pass pleasantly, yes, happily. Furthermore, I am bound to record that she refused to take one penny for Ellen's 'board,' although Joel pressed her to do so.

'Do you think I am an old hunks, Joel, because I did not feel able to undertake Ellen's support? Prudent I try to be, it is my duty. Haven't I my own children to look after? but because I am prudent and do my duty, can't I show some kindness to my poor brother's only child? Don't talk to me about 'board,' and, Joel, don't say any thing to Ellen about our previous conversation. You know I have always been perfectly satisfied with every thing you told me.'

Joel felt too happy then to question the fact, if indeed, it could be questioned. He reässured the good woman on that head, and added he should in due time expect visits from Tilly and Eliza.

'They will be delighted to go, and what is more Mr. Barron (her husband) has been thinking a good deal of leaving here, and I should not be surprised if he paid you a visit one of these days to see what chances offer, for we have all heard how smart you have been.'

It is essential I should explain to the reader why Joel Burns, who was ingenuous and truthful, and by no means fond of mystery or concealment, should make use of both in his intercourse with Ellen's aunt. We have previously stated how desperately he was in love with Ellen, and further how hard he tried to make himself believe his affection could never be reciprocated. When, however, the day of trial came suddenly on her, all the nonsense was scattered from Joel's brain like mist before the wind. But the romance in his heart was not dissipated, because romance is not nonsense. Genuine romance is a real element in our natures, and so long as we preserve it, we are young. When Joel found himself placed in the position of Ellen's sole protector, he took prompt and decisive steps for her protection. But while he hoped to win her for his wife, he could not endure the thought that possibly a part of his success might be due to the change in Ellen's fortunes, or that her choice should not be free and unrestrained. It was for this reason he mystified the aunt and procured for Ellen a cordial invitation to stay with her 'till the business matters were settled,' thus mystifying Ellen also. She, poor girl, continued in happy ignorance of her absolutely destitute condition. She loved Joel dearly, and it was one of her happiest day-dreams to plan how she could aid him in his projects by putting him in possession of all she should have—yes, all.

The evening before the wedding, after Joel had given a full history of the progress of the 'settlement' and what he hoped to do in the future, Ellen, overcoming the timidity which had before prevented her speaking, exclaimed:

'O Joel! how much you have done—all alone, too! When you get what is coming to me, won't that help you? and you shall have the whole of it, dear Joel, every dollar!'

She stopped and blushed, half-frightened at her boldness. Tears came into Joel's eyes, he was so happy. He threw his arms around his beloved and pressed her to his heart.

People could now understand where the village was to be. The new road had been laid out and was in course of construction. It passed along the ridge near the centre. On computing the distances, it was found this point would be a convenient one for a stage-house, where passengers could pass the night. Joel sold to the stage company what lots they required, at a very low price, on condition that they would erect a first-rate public house. The water-power at 'Slab City,' three fourths of a mile distant, attracted attention. The 'fell' was large, and the supply of water abundant. One man started with a turning-machine, which was attached to the mill. Another, with more capital, established a fulling-mill, and so on. Joel avoided the ordinary errors of landholders. He did not attempt to carry on all sorts of business himself, neither did he hold his lots at too high prices. To actual settlers he sold very cheap; to speculators he would not sell at all. The old merchant continued his friend. By his recommendation a man with considerable capital visited the place, and being well pleased, purchased some of the water-power and built a large button-factory, Joel's views proved most judicious. By laying out the village on the ridge, he secured a beautiful site, which was relieved from a close proximity to shops and mills and factories, while it had really the support of all these. Several fine houses were now erected. Two stores were started, and a meeting-house built, for which Joel gave nearly all the lumber. Next a post-office was established, and the place called Burnsville. It was a beautiful spot, and how it grew and flourished! But Burnsville would have amounted to little had it not been for Slab City. Joel took care not to lose an opportunity for strengthening it. Water-power could always be had of him cheap. I forgot to say he erected a 'grist-mill,' which was much needed. Two other saw-mills beside his own were built a little way further up, but on his tract. Mr. Barron and family did move to Burnsville, as Mrs. B. intimated they might. He brought a good deal of money with him, and turned his enterprise to account. The families continued intimate. In ten years Burnsville became one of the most prosperous villages in the State. Joel Burns was a rich man, as well as the man of the place. These ten years had wrought no great changes in Joel's character or habits. To be sure he had become more engrossed in plans for future operations. By degrees he had narrowed his mind into the channel of successful effort. The circumference of his existence was probably more limited than when he brought his little wife into the pretty log-house on the ridge. (He now lived in the handsomest one in the village.) Still, he was more active, more perseveringly energetic, more effective than ever before. But the romance of which I spoke had faded, or was overshadowed, by the forms of active, busy, bustling life. Still Joel Burns was in the main the same ingenuous, honest-hearted fellow as ever. A happy man—happy in his home—happy because prosperous in his business—but by no means as happy as he might have been. Regarding him in this view, it was melancholy to see him so utterly engrossed in his pursuits and plans. He did not take time to look about him and enjoy. The Sabbath to him was a dull, wearisome, restless day. He had too much respect for it to desecrate it by even a private attention to his affairs, and he had very little idea of any spiritual wants. He was active in erecting a church and securing a good preacher, on whose ministrations he attended regularly with his family. Yet it was a great relief to him when Sunday was over, and he welcomed the succeeding morning with a renewed zest.

Joel Burns became a very popular man; he was universally beloved; he was generous and public-spirited. He was unselfish in his ordinary dealings, and always ready to lend a helping hand to those about him. His success was not owing to a close, hard, grasping nature, but was the result of fine business abilities, coupled with extraordinary energy and perseverance.

Joel Burns was unjust to no one but himself. He neglected to cultivate his moral nature, and left it in danger of being choked by the cares he voluntarily assumed. He had one safeguard, however. I have observed that he was happy in his family. This consisted of his wife, and one child—a daughter named Sarah, after Joel's mother. When with them, Joel did forget his business life. His love for his wife and child was like a gushing fountain of pure water. It preserved his heart from becoming arid, and his nature from ossification.

Twelve years passed, and found Burnsville more nourishing than ever, and Joel Burns yet without any interruption to his fortunes or his happiness.

Late in summer, typhus fever—a dreadful visitor in this part of New-England—made its appearance, and became more prevalent than usual, and assumed a severer type. Mrs. Burns was among the first attacked, and with great severity.

Joel felt the foundations of his soul giving way when the possibility presented itself that his wife might die. He called to mind with a shudder the scene at the village tavern in Sudbury, when, a child, he stood by his mother's bedside and heard, awe-struck, her incoherent ravings while the delirium of fever was on her. 'O my God! she will die, she will die!' he exclaimed, as he rushed out of the room, unable to control his feelings.

The country was scoured for doctors. An eminent medical man from New-Haven was sent for. He was unable to come; but the house was filled with consulting physicians. Alas I they knew little in those days how to treat this terrible malady, or rather how to skillfully let it alone. Day after day, Joel paced up and down, now in this room, now in that, all over the house. At night he watched by his wife. He insisted on doing so; no argument or entreaty could prevail on him to leave her a moment. She was delirious nearly all the time. Then her voice would be strong, her eyes glassy bright, her cheeks flushed and burning. She recognized neither husband nor child.

It was in the middle of the night. The 'watcher' who sat up in company with Joel, slumbered in his chair. He did not slumber, but sat with eyes fixed on his wife, who for some time seemed to be resting easier than before. Presently her lips moved. Her husband bent over her.

'Joel.'

'I am here, my darling.'

'Joel.'

'Yes, dearest.'

'We have not lived right'

'No, dear.'

'You do not think we have lived right, do you?'

'No, oh! no.'

'I am going to die, Joel.'

'Do not speak in that way!' and the poor fellow groaned, in spite of every effort to control himself.

'I must, Joel, I must. We have not lived right You will live right when I am gone. You will teach Sarah to live right, won't you?'

'I don't want to live at all if you do not live!' was the passionate answer.

'For our child's sake, Joel.'

No reply.

'What a kind, loving husband you have been to me—been to me always! I loved you—loved you before you knew it, Joel.' Here she opened her eyes languidly, and essayed to turn them on him. 'But we have not lived right.'

There was still no response, save by audible sobs.

'I think I have made my peace with God. Are you glad, Joel?'

'Now I don't care what happens, if you only feel happy!' he cried. 'But to have you die in distress of mind! It would drive me crazy.'

'Give God the praise, Joel. I am happy. It is so sweet to trust in Him! You won't neglect—neglect—you won't–' She fell into a stupor, from which she never fully awoke. Although she lived another day, she exhibited no signs of consciousness. Joel fancied that she was aware of his presence; but she never spoke again.

The funeral was attended by a large concourse of people—very different from that of Joel's mother, whom three selectmen followed to the grave. When it was over, Joel and his daughter went back to their desolate house, while the village set to work to speculate as to whom the widower would marry. 'Such a match! So rich, and only one child! Emily Parks would make him a good wife; only Emily was rather old—at least twenty-seven or eight—and Mr. Burns would marry a young girl, of course. Why shouldn't he, with the amount of money he had? He might take a fancy to Julia Davis—she had just left school.' 'Why shouldn't he marry Lizzie?' said Mrs. Barron to herself. And Lizzie was sent over that very day to 'see to things' for Mr. Burns.

His trials were not ended. Sarah, who was now in her twelfth year, was taken ill the following week. The fever was no doubt going through the family, said the doctors. Joel's faith in medical men was a good deal shaken, but he had to call them in, and Sarah grew worse. Three weeks she lay, submitting to the old treatment, waiting for the 'crisis.' Joel could endure it no longer. He started for New-Haven, changing horses every ten miles. He found the doctor he went in quest of at home; but he said it was impossible for him to go.

'I have lost my wife, and shall lose my child,' said Joel Burns hoarsely.

'My friend,' said the doctor in a mild tone, 'people are dying every where. I have my own patients, whom I ought not to neglect.'

'Go with me, I, implore you,' urged the despairing man; 'I have relays of horses, and I will drive ten miles an hour.' Joel's importunity prevailed. The distance was accomplished in a marvelously brief time.

It was a hot, sultry day, the second week of September, about noon, when Joel, accompanied by the doctor, entered the sick-room.

'How is Sarah?'

'No better,' whispered Miss Barron, who had remained in the house. 'The doctor left half an hour ago. He says he thinks she will go as her mother went.'

'I am awake, father!' (He had approached the bed very carefully, so as not to disturb her.) 'It seems a great while since you went away.'

'I have brought a doctor to cure you, my child,' said Joel. He knew the value of hope and confidence.

Meanwhile the physician was glancing around the room. As I have said, it was a close, sultry day; but the windows were all closed, so that not a breath of air could circulate through the apartment. The doctor quietly threw up every one of them. Perceiving a cot standing near, he ordered it made up with fresh sheets. Going to the bedside of his little patient: 'How do you feel, my child?' he asked.

'I don't know.'

'Bring me a bowl of water and a soft napkin.'

'Warm water, I suppose?' said the nurse.

'Cold.' He threw off the heavy blanket from the bed, and unbuttoning the night-dress, which came close around her, he bathed the child's face and neck with the grateful fluid.

'You feel better now?'

'Yes,' she whispered.

'Don't you want any thing, my dear?'

'I want some water.'

'Give her water, nurse,' said the doctor.

The woman stared in utter amazement. If she had been ordered to cut the child's throat, she could not have been more astounded.

'I say, bring a tumbler of water.'

This was done, and the nurse offered the patient a few drops in a tea-spoon.

'Give me the glass,' and he took it out of her hand. Tenderly he raised the sick child to a comfortable position, and placed it to her lips. 'Take as much as you like, my dear. Water was made to drink.'

He now directed a complete and speedy change of garments, and then he himself took Sarah in his arms and laid her on the other bed. In fifteen minutes, she was sleeping, while a gentle perspiration showed the crisis had passed. Joel Burns stood still, regarding the doctor as he would a being from another world. When he saw him doing just what was invariably prohibited, doing it with such an air of decision and self-confidence yet with no peculiar ostentation, he felt it would all be right. The nurse, at first, was in very bad humor; but nobody noticed her, so she concluded it was best to be good-natured and obey orders. The next day, the doctor pronounced little Sarah out of danger, provided she was properly nursed, and after leaving special directions, which he charged Joel to see to personally till he could hear from him, he returned home as rapidly as he came. When the man who accompanied him came back, he brought the doctor's favorite student, who had directions to devote himself to the 'case,' in which the doctor took so strong an interest. The good man had another motive. He believed the fever was about to attack Joel, and he determined to exert his skill to save him, if possible. To have advised him of his fears, would have been injudicious. He therefore dispatched a young man in whom he had great confidence, after giving him minute instructions. Little Sarah, watched and tended with great care, grew rapidly better. But when the excitement produced by the scenes through which Joel had passed was at an end, a great reaction took place, which left him in a very weak state. In that condition, he was seized by the terrible malady, which found a fit subject in his weakened frame and broken spirits. For weeks Joel Burns lay balancing between life and death. It seemed as if a feather's weight on either side would turn the scale. Morning after morning, the question was put by the whole village: 'Is Mr. Burns alive?' Twice, on occasions which seemed specially urgent, did our worthy doctor come from New-Haven, spend a few hours, and return. The medical student kept his post manfully. It was something to go counter to the opinions and judgments of all the physicians about, far and near. Especially when, if the patient should die, the voice of authority would proclaim that a murder had been committed. [Now, it would be considered murder to follow the old method.] But the doctor was firm, his pupil an enthusiastic believer in his master's genius, and the course was persisted in. At length, the daily reports were modified. First, Mr. Burns was 'no worse.' After that, he was 'a little more comfortable.' Then came the announcement that he was 'better.' The medical men round about were excessively chagrined; but every body else rejoiced at the good news.

All this time, what of Joel Burns? How did he do? Not what was the history of his physical malady. But what was his state morally, mentally, religiously before God! Recollect, the man had never had a check in his whole career before. The circumstances of his childhood served rather to give strength and firmness to his nature. The sudden failure and death of his benefactor only threw him the more on his own resources, with which he was amply provided. His plans had been successful. His friends were many. His hopes for the future were large, yet not unreasonable; while on all sides, as we have said, he was regarded as the man of the community in which he lived.

Joel had scarcely time for reflection, after the death of his wife, before his child was taken ill, and ere she was really out of danger, he himself was stricken down. All that long, weary time, during days and nights of fever and delirium, of exhaustion and weakness, of convalescence and recovery, the whisper of his dying wife was constantly heard:

'Joel, we have not lived right! Do you think we have lived right, Joel?'

'Lived right!' What did that mean? Was Joel Burns a dishonest man? Was he not kind-hearted, generous, loving toward his wife, affectionate to his child, charitable and public-spirited?

'Lived right.' Joel had answered his wife instantly, not daring then and there to soothe her by equivocation, but replying truthfully out of his soul: 'No, oh! no.' What did he mean by that? Of what did he stand convicted, and wherefore? These were the thoughts which occupied his mind, especially after the fever had left him, during the long weeks of his recovery. Joel was a man of extraordinary perceptive faculties. The situation in which he had been placed, the remarkable health which he had enjoyed, (for he had never been ill in his life,) and the success which had attended every plan and effort, served to still more develop all his practical talents, and were at the same time unfavorable to reflection or serious thought. Now he could do nothing else but reflect and think. He looked about him. His wife was gone, and his happiness wrecked. What was he to do? Should he make haste to push on the schemes which his sickness had brought to a stand? The idea was loathsome to him. He had seen how completely they were liable to interruption and blight. The thought of his daughter was the only comfort left, but she might be taken—then what?