Continental Monthly, Vol. III, No IV, April 1863

'I do not know. I was shut in my room for several days. When I got out, I was told Joe had freed her, and she had disappeared, no one knew whither. I tried every means to trace her, but could not. At the end of a week, I went home, what you see me – a broken-hearted man.'

The next morning, despite our urgent entreaties, he returned to the South.

The twenty days were expiring. By hard struggling I had met my liabilities, but the last day – the crisis – was approaching. Thirty thousand dollars of our acceptances had accumulated together, and were maturing on that day. When I went home, on the preceding night, we had only nineteen thousand in bank. I had exhausted all our receivables. Where the eleven thousand was to come from, I did not know. Only one resource seemed left me – the hypothecation of produce; and a resort to that, at that time, before warehouse receipts became legitimate securities, would be ruinous to our credit. My position was a terrible one. No one not a merchant can appreciate or realize it. With thousands upon thousands of assets, the accumulations of years, my standing among merchants, and, what I valued more than all, my untarnished credit, were in jeopardy for the want of a paltry sum.

I went home that night with a heavy heart; but Kate's hopeful words encouraged me. With her and the children left to me, I need not care for the rest; all might go, and I could commence again at the bottom of the hill. The next morning I walked down town with a firm spirit, ready to meet disaster like a man. The letters by the early mail were on my desk. I opened them one after another, hurriedly, eagerly. There were no remittances! I had expected at least five thousand dollars. For a moment my courage failed me. I rose, and paced the room, and thoughts like these passed through my mind: 'The last alternative has come. Pride must give way to duty. I must hypothecate produce, and protect my correspondents. I must sacrifice myself to save my friends!

'But here are two letters I have thrown aside. They are addressed to me personally. Mere letters of friendship! What is friendship, at a time like this? – friendship without money! Pshaw! I wouldn't give a fig for all the friends in the world!'

Mechanically I opened one of them. An enclosure dropped to the floor. Without pausing to pick it up, I read:

'Dear Father: Mother writes me you are hard pressed. Sell my U. S. stock – it will realize over seven thousand. It is yours. Enclosed is Cragin's certified check for ten thousand. If you need more, draw on him, at sight, for any amount. He says he will stand by you to the death.

    'Love to mother.
    Frank.'

'P. S. – Fire away, old fellow! Hallet is ugly, but I'll go my pile on you, spite of the devil.

    Cragin.'

'Saved! saved by my wife and child!' I leaned my head on my desk. When I rose, there were tears upon it.

It wanted some minutes of ten, but I was nervously impatient to blot out those terrible acceptances. I should then be safe; I should then breathe freely. As I passed out of my private office, I opened the other letter. It was from Preston. Pausing a moment, I read it:

'My very dear Friend: I enclose you sight check of Branch Bank of Cape Fear on Bank of Republic, for $10,820. Apply what is needed to pay my account; the rest hold subject to my drafts.

'I have sold my town house, furniture, horses, etc., and the proceeds will pay my home debts. I shall therefore not need to draw the balance for, say, sixty days. God bless you!'

'Well, the age of miracles is not passed! How did he raise the money?'

Stepping back into the private office, I called my partner:

'Draw checks for all the acceptances due to-day; get them certified, and take up the bills at once. Don't let the grass grow under your feet. I shall be away the rest of the day, and I want to see them before I go. Here is a draft from Preston; it will make our account good.'

He looked at it, and, laughing, said:

'Yes, and leave about fifty dollars in bank.'

'Well, never mind; we are out of the woods.'

When he had gone, I sat down, and wrote the following letter:

'My dear Frank: I return Cragin's check, with many thanks. I have not sold your stock. My legitimate resources have carried me through.

'I need not say, my boy, that I feel what you would have done for me. Words are not needed between us.

'Tell Cragin that I consider him a trump – the very ace of hearts.

'Your mother and I will see you in a few days.'

In half an hour, with the two letters in my pocket, I was on my way home. Handing them to Kate, I took her in my arms; and, as I brushed the still bright, golden hair from her broad forehead, I felt I was the richest man living.

Within the same week I went to Boston. I arrived just after dark; and then occurred the events narrated in the first chapter.

WAR.

[J. G. PERCIVAL.]

For war is now upon their shores,
And we must meet the foe,
Must go where battle's thunder roars,
And brave men slumber low;
Go, where the sleep of death comes on
The proudest hearts, who dare
To grasp the wreath by valor won,
And glory's banquet share.

A CHAPTER ON WONDERS

'Obstupui! steteruntque comæ, et vox faucibus hæsit.'

There is a certain portion of mankind ever on the alert to see or hear some wonderful thing; whose minds are attuned to a marvellous key, and vibrate with extreme sensitiveness to the slightest touch; whose vital fluid is the air of romance, and whose algebraic symbol is a mark of exclamation! This sentiment, existing in some persons to a greater degree than in others, is often fostered by education and association, so as to become the all-engrossing passion. Children, of course, begin to wonder as soon as their eyes are opened upon the strange scenes of their future operations. The first thing usually done to develop their dawning intellect, is to display before them such objects as are best calculated to arrest their attention, and keep them in a continual state of excitement. This course is succeeded by a supply of all sorts of toys, to gratify the passion of novelty. These are followed by wonderful stories, and books of every variety of absurd impossibilities; – which system of development is, it would seem, entirely based upon the presumption, that the faculty of admiration must be expanded, in order that the young idea may best learn how to shoot. It is therefore quite natural, that – the predisposition granted – a faculty of the mind so auspiciously nurtured under the influence of exaggeration should mature in a corresponding degree.

Thus we have in our midst a class, into whose mental economy the faculty of wonder is so thoroughly infused, that it has inoculated the entire system, and forms an inherent, inexplicable, and almost elementary part of it. These persons sail about in their pleasure yachts, on roving expeditions, under a pretended 'right of search,' armed to the teeth, and boarding all sorts of crafts to obtain plunder for their favorite gratification. They are most uneasy and uncomfortable companions, having no ear for commonplace subjects of conversation, and no eye for ordinary objects of sight.

When such persons approach each other, they are mutually attracted, like two bodies charged with different kinds of electricity – an interchange of commodities takes place, repulsion follows, and thus reënforced, they separate to diffuse the supply of wonders collected.

By this centripetal and centrifugal process, the social atmosphere is subjected to a continual state of agitation. Language is altogether too tame to give full effect to their meaning, and all the varieties of dumb show, of gesticulation, shrugs, and wise shakes of the head, are called into requisition, to effectually and unmistakably express their ideas. The usages of good society are regarded by them as a great restraint upon their besetting propensity to expatiate in phrases of grandiloquence, and to magnify objects of trivial importance. They are always sure to initiate topics which will afford scope for admiration; they delight to enlarge upon the unprecedented growth of cities, villages, and towns; upon the comparative prices of 'corner lots' at different periods; and to calculate how rich they might have been, had they only known as much then as now.

They experience a gratification when a rich man dies, that the wonder will now be solved as to the amount of his property; and when a man fails in business, that it is now made clear – what has so long perplexed them – 'how he managed to live so extravagantly!' See them at an agricultural fair, and they will be found examining the 'mammoth squashes' and various products of prodigious growth – or they will install themselves as self-appointed exhibiter of the 'Fat Baby,' to inform the incredulous how much it weighs! See them at a conflagration, and they wonder what was the cause of the fire, and how far it will extend?

They long to travel, that they may visit 'mammoth caves' and 'Giant's Causeways.' We talk of the 'Seven Wonders of the World,' while to them there is a successive series for every day in the year – putting to the blush our meagre stock of monstrosities – making 'Ossa like a wart.' Nothing gratifies them more than the issuing from the press of an anonymous work, that they may exert their ingenuity in endeavoring to discover the author; and, when called on for information on the subject, prove conclusively to every one but themselves, that they know nothing whatever about the matter.

The ocean is to them only wonderful as the abode of 'Leviathans,' and 'Sea Serpents,' 'Krakens,' and 'Mermaids' – abounding in 'Mäelstroms' and sunken islands, and traversed by 'Phantom Ships' and 'Flying Dutchmen' in perpetual search for some 'lost Atlantis;' – all well-attested incredibilities, certified to by the 'affidavits of respectable eye-witnesses,' and, we might add, by 'intelligent contrabands,' – and all in strict conformity with the convenient aphorism 'Credo quia impossibile est.' They are ever ready to bestow their amazement upon a fresh miracle as soon as the present has had its day – like the man who, being landed at some distance by the explosion of a juggler's pyrotechnics, rubbed his eyes open, and exclaimed, 'I wonder what the fellow will do next!'

If a steamboat explodes her boiler, or the walls of a factory fall, burying hundreds in the ruins, their hearts – rendered callous by the constant stream of cold air pouring in through their ever-open mouths– are not shocked at the calamity, but they wonder if it was insured!

The increase of population in this country affords a most prolific and inexhaustible fund for statistical astonishment, as an interlude to the entertainment, while something more appalling is being prepared.

The portentous omens so often relied on by the credulous believers in signs, have so frequently proved 'dead failures,' that one would suppose these votaries would at length become disheartened. But this seems not to be the case – like a quack doctor when his patient dies, their audacity is equal to any emergency, and, with the elasticity of india rubber, they come out of a 'tight squeeze' with undiminished rotundity. With stupid amazement, hair all erect, and ears likewise, they pass through life as through a museum, ready to exclaim with Dominie Sampson at all they cannot understand, 'Pro – di – gi – ous!'

It matters little, perhaps, in what form this principle is exhibited, while it exists and flourishes in undiminished exuberance. Thus says Glendower:

'At my nativity
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning cressets; and, at my birth,
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shak'd like a coward.