Chapter XVIII: Part 18

"Dick Clapp!" said he, "I hope you are not over here on business you are ashamed of. I swear you _are_ Dick Clapp, and I went to school with you and your brother James, and your sisters Mary, Adeline, and Isabella, in the good old town of Putney. Now, if you are here up to anything you ought to be ashamed of, you should have given me the wink when you denied yourself, and not acted so like a d--d hog."

There was no mistaking the American's conviction that he knew Mr. Clapp, and Mr. Edward Hague called the man aside, and told him what this Mr. Frederic Hague had come over for. The American was indignant, and offered to prove Clapp's identity at his own expense; said he would send over to America for witnesses to come out, and identify him, and then went and told Clapp he had better get out of the country as soon as he could, or he would expose him through the press of the United States. Clapp defied him; but it was too evident to all present that he was an impostor, and it is supposed that when Mr. Rogers came to hear of the fact, he felt as if the Yankee lawyer had been too shrewd for him.

It afterwards appeared that Rogers had not been carrying on the correspondence with _the_ lawyer he supposed to be his correspondent. Some other lawyer had assumed the real lawyer's name, and given it an initial letter of a middle name. The London friend had not discovered or thought of this, and was himself imposed upon (he who commended the Yankee lawyer to Mr. Rogers). So when Mr. Rogers afterwards instituted proceedings against a certain Vermont lawyer to recover the amount of the swindle, he found he had been dealing with some other man--an "unknown" and unknowable.

Clapp got out of England at his early convenience, and the search of Frederic was about being given up; but during the excitement in regard to Clapp, an account of what was going on reached an old playmate of Frederic's, living some twenty miles away from where Mr. Edward Hague lived, and this man remembered that one time, when he and Edward, as boys of about eight years of age, were playing in the loft of an old carriage-house, Edward, jumping from a beam, had got his foot entangled in something, and fell slantingly upon the teeth of a kind of hatchel,--and terribly lacerated the flesh on the back portion of his left shoulder, tearing the flesh, in fact, nearly off from the scapular bone. This wound, he said, left great scars. He had, in after years, frequently been bathing with Frederic, and knew that he must bear these scars for life. He therefore wrote to Mr. Edward Hague that Frederic could be identified by that "private mark," and Mr. Edward gave publicity to the fact, and quite a number of people then called the facts to mind.

It so happened that in the correspondence Mr. Rogers had heard of a man in Missouri who said he was the Frederic Hague, and gave a pretty good account of matters before he left England, and had told Mr. Rogers's correspondent, a lawyer, of this very incident of the injury in the carriage-house, and stated that he had borne the scars of it all his life since. This had been communicated to Rogers, but the lawyer had added, in his letter, that, on the whole, he did not believe the man's story; that he had, as near as he could learn, been a gambler; had lived much, too, among the Indians; was a drunkard, and much broken down, and quite incoherent in his memory. Still he sometimes thought that he was, after all, the Frederic Hague so much wanted, but he could not conscientiously advise Mr. Rogers to spend any money on him.

When the fact of Frederic's "private mark" was called to mind, Rogers again took heart, and searched his papers for the lawyer's letters, but they could not be found. He fancied to himself that perhaps some secret emissary of Edward Hague had been rifling his papers, and he got into torrents of anger over it, till at last he swore he would trust no man, and would go out to America himself to find Frederic Hague, "and restore him to his lawful rights." His friends remonstrated, pointed him to the perils of the sea, the sickly character of a great portion of our Western States, etc.; but the hardy old man, for he was getting beyond middle age now, would hear to none of them. He made his will, left his affairs in good hands, and out to America he came, and it was three days after his arrival that I made his acquaintance. He could remember neither the Missouri lawyer's name nor that of his post office, and it was suggested to Mr. Rogers by an English friend, whom he found residing in New York, and who had been here long enough to learn that there is a difference between the vast extent of the United States and the confined area of England, that he had better employ a man to "pilot" him about the country, especially in the great West; and it chanced that, through an acquaintance of mine, to whom Mr. Rogers's want was made known, I was hit upon as the proper individual to consult, and Mr. Rogers and his friend called on me, and made known his business, giving me a good part of this story as I have detailed it. Other parts I, of course, obtained from others, for he did not, at first, let me into the secret of his present hatred of, and his former love for, Edward Hague. He was here as a sort of messenger of justice, as he would have me believe,--and as I did for a long time believe,--making pure self-sacrifices in the cause of right, to restore a man to his rightful possessions, and "see justice triumph."

We soon got ready, and started off for St. Louis, I having concluded that the best thing to be done was to hunt up that lawyer,--Mr. Rogers's correspondent,--and to go on to the ground, and find out the names of as many lawyers as I could, trusting to Mr. Rogers's memory to recollect the name if he should hear it; and we were in due time the guests of the Planter's Hotel, and went at once to prosecuting our inquiries. I proceeded to find the assistant clerk of the Supreme Court,--an old man, who had, since the territorial days of Missouri, done service as a court clerk, and knew almost everybody of any note in the State.

He gave us the names of all the lawyers in St. Louis, and in the adjoining counties,--Jefferson, St. Charles, Pike, Crawford, Franklin, Warren, etc., lists of which he chanced to have; and then named to us all the lawyers in other parts of the State whom he had chanced to know; but Mr. Rogers recognized none of them as his correspondent, and after a day spent in this sort of search, we returned to our hotel, and eventually sought our beds.

Finally, I was aroused out of a two hours' slumber by a servant, who told me that Mr. Rogers wanted me to get up, and come at once to his room.

"Has he a fit?" I asked, fearful that the old fellow had got desponding over our ill success, and worked himself into a fever, or something else.

"No; I reckon he hain't, massa," responded the darkey, opening the largest mouth I ever saw, and displaying a set of teeth formidable enough to frighten a man just awakened from sleep, "for he's up, poundin' 'roun'; but I do say, massa, his face _is_ juf as red as if he'd had a fit, or two uv 'em to th' same time, massa,--ugh! ugh!"

I pulled on my pants and coat, and proceeded to Mr. Rogers's room.

"My good fellow," said he, "I couldn't let you sleep any longer. That infernal name has come to my mind. My correspondent lived in Warren County somewhere,--Pinckney, I think is the name of his place, and I am sure the old clerk read his name to us to-day, but I could not recall it then."

I asked him _why_ "in the name of St. George," he didn't take his pencil and make a note of this, and let me sleep till morning, reminding him that we could not do anything till daylight. With English stupidity, he said he didn't think so far as that, and didn't suppose I was asleep, as he was not! And back to bed I went, without even thanking him for thus disturbing me. In the morning we again repaired to the old clerk, and found at last the name of Mr. Rogers's correspondent. He was a very shrewd lawyer, so said the old clerk, and I "wormed out" of him that the fellow was rather "tricky." At this time I knew nothing of Mr. Rogers's affair with the Vermont lawyer. He was rather ashamed of that, and I never heard a word about it till my visit to England subsequently. It was arranged that I go alone out to Pinckney, about twenty-five miles west, or north-west of St. Louis, and I departed--found the lawyer; and I would like to give his full name, for reasons which will suggest themselves to the reader as he goes on, but the man is still living, I hear; has since been a member of Congress (from another State than Missouri, however), and is believed to be a very honest, upright man in his present neighborhood; and, perhaps, he has properly won the esteem he enjoys. I believe in the right and privilege of scoundrels to repent, if they are so inclined (and here let me interpolate, that, in my opinion, if society at large would recognize and _respect_ such right and privilege, many a villain, who now preys upon communities, would lead a respectable life; and nine tenths of the poor fallen women, now "hedged in" (as that piquant and humanitary author, Miss Elizabeth Phelps, would express it), by the unforgiving spirit of the times, and confined to the low estate into which they are fallen, would abandon their unhappy mode of life, and become true and pure women again; and many of them, too, become the very best, noblest, and greatest women of the age).

Well, I found the lawyer; and such a man I never encountered before. Affable, "good-looking" in the general, but with a something so devilish about him--something indefinable--I have never met another like him, save within the last year from this writing, when I was closeted at the gubernatorial rooms with the governor of a certain Southern State,--the keenest mere politician, perhaps, now on the stage. I made my errand known at once to the lawyer, that is, I told him that I came as the emissary of his English correspondent, Mr. Rogers, and at the same time handed him a short note of introduction, which Mr. Rogers had prepared just before I started. This was a mistake; but I never suspected that I should find such a man to deal with. As he opened the note, he turned his back upon me, but a little too late, evidently, to hide an expression of triumph on his face. I instantly suspected foul play, and as instantly put myself into the mood to receive it.

"Ah, my friend Rogers has got as far as St. Louis, on his scent?" said he, turning about to me. "What does he expect?"

"The note of introduction tells you--does it not?"

"No, not exactly; Mr. Campbell" (the name I had assumed, for the reader knows, who has followed these pages, that I had been in St. Louis before, and there was a good reason now why I should not appear upon the register of the hotel by any of my old names); "but tell me what sort of a man is this Mr. Rogers. I have never seen him. I can only judge by his writing."

"Well, what do you judge by his writing?" I asked, resolved to tell him as little as need be.

"I hardly know, in fact. Is he a pretty resolute man--man of sanguinary temperament?"

"I am not technically acquainted with temperaments--couldn't tell what you would call his."

"Well, describe him; is he large or small, red or black-haired; old or young; hearty or ill?"

"You've seen a good many Englishmen in your life, I suppose," I replied.

"O, yes, sir; a great many."

"Well, to my eye, he's pretty much like all the rest."

"That's not very definite, sir; but I suppose you don't study these matters of temperament, etc., as much as we lawyers do. It is a part of our business. We must know our clients in order to serve them well."

"But, in this case, I don't see why it is necessary to know your client at all. No matter who he is; all he wants is to find Mr. Frederic Hague, and I have come to you to learn where he is, with instructions from Mr. Rogers to pay you for the trouble you have been at, and for whatever further assistance you may render him," I replied.

"Yes, yes; well--I should--should rather like to see Mr. Rogers first," drawlingly responded he; and I felt that I was in the hands of a practised scoundrel, as well as a practising lawyer, and I resolved to bring matters to a focus at once; and so I inquired, "Well, sir, what is your bill for past services, and what will you demand for pointing out Mr. Hague? Is he here with you?"

"No, he's not in this quarter now. I mean he lives in another State," returned he, hurriedly; for that word "now" had escaped his lips undesignedly.

"Well, I reckon I shall have to charge Mr. Rogers five hundred dollars for the trouble I've been at. It has cost a great deal of anxiety."

"Why, sir, if I understand Mr. Rogers aright, your correspondence with him was to the extent of only a half dozen letters at most; and you are not sure at that, it would seem, from what he says you wrote him, that you have found the veritable Frederic Hague. Suppose you divide up your bill--charge some reasonable sum for the services you have rendered, and let the rest of the five hundred remain contingent on your presenting to Mr. Rogers the real Mr. Hague?" said I. This seemed to open up to him a new vision of things.

"Well, I will," said he; "give me two hundred and fifty dollars down, and I will wait for the rest till I produce Mr. Hague."

"Are these your best terms?"

"Yes; I must be paid for my services, and Mr. Rogers can afford to pay, for he'll make Hague pay the bill finally, of course."

"I will report to Mr. Rogers," said I, "and will let you hear from me in a few days at most," I said. "Good day, sir."

He bade me a very pleasant day, hoped I'd have a pleasant ride back to St. Louis, and that our acquaintance, "so pleasantly inaugurated" (to use his own words), would continue, etc., in a most fascinating way, as if he felt that his little scheme for putting five hundred new dollars in his pocket was already a confirmed success.

But I had no notion at all that Mr. Rogers would suffer himself to be bled to the tune of two hundred and fifty dollars on a decided uncertainty, and two hundred and fifty more, too, on another uncertainty; and as that little word "now" had not escaped my notice, I thought best to institute some inquiries in the village about this Mr. Hague before I left. So, returning to the little hotel, where I stopped, I inquired about the lawyer in the place and vicinity, and soon found out who among them was this lawyer's greatest foe,--the thing I wished to learn; and finding that he lived in an adjoining town, about five miles away, I procured a horse and rode over there to consult him. He was quite the opposite of the other in personal appearance. Mr. John Howe (now dead, I hear with regret, for he was one of those men who ought to live always) was a frank, open-hearted, sturdy man, of fine intellect, scorning to do mean things, and was, by nature, the uncompromising foe of such men as the one I had just left. So I found him, and the more I talked with him the less homely he grew to my eye; for I confess he was called, in the vernacular of that quarter, "the homeliest man, by a heap, around these yere diggings." But he was good, and that's "better than riches."

I told him my story. He wasn't at all surprised at the lawyer's exactions, and told me that he doubted anybody's being about there by the name of Hague. Said that he had seen a man in the lawyer's office some three months before that would answer the description I gave of Hague, as to age, etc., but said I would find he was known by some other name; that the lawyer had doubtless picked him up on speculation, having probably seen one of the advertisements, and that Hague himself was in his power, and had probably been induced to change his name. He said the lawyer had a plantation in Arkansas, and occasionally went down to New Orleans. So that it would not be strange if he had encountered "Hague" somewhere, and brought him home, and made a sort of servant of him, while he was carrying on the correspondence. The man he had in his office was a wreck, and in his poverty easily controllable.

Mr. Howe agreed to make all inquiry possible into the matter at once, and I went back to the village; and making sundry acquaintances, I inquired after new comers, and eventually found that there was occasionally in the village, and sometimes with the lawyer, a fellow called John Dinsmore, who, on a drunken occasion, two months or so before, had boasted that he was the ward of an English lord, and had large estates in England, and that he was going back, by and by, with Squire ---- (the lawyer) to get his property. This was considered a drunken man's idle boast, and would have been forgotten but for my inquiry. I found out what persons had been most seen with this John,--for I was sure he was the man I wanted to find--and left some money in my informant's hands to encourage him in "the field of research," and instructed him to find out in as adroit a way as he could, where John could be found; and back I went to St. Louis, to see Mr. Rogers. I told him of my visit to the lawyer, and its results, without stating at first what I had subsequently done.

As I expected, Mr. Rogers was very wroth; but finally said, he supposed he would have to pay the five hundred dollars; he had come too far to lose his game now, he said. Whereupon I told him I hoped we should be able to avoid the exaction, and "take in" the lawyer--play a sharp game on him; and told him what further I had learned. The old man brightened up, and said he'd rather spend two hundred pounds, in his own way, than be swindled out of a hundred; and told me to "go ahead," and take my own time for a while. I went back to Warren County, and got scent of my man. A boon companion of his had told my "spy" that John had gone off to the lawyer's plantation in Arkansas, where he was a sort of supernumerary overseer; but where the plantation lay, nobody knew within nearer than fifty miles; at least my man could get no definite information. So I instructed my friend how to act, and sent him over to the lawyer's with a statement that a cousin of his (my friend) had got it into his head to buy out a plantation somewhere in Arkansas; that he had a plenty of money, and wanted a good plantation, and would stock it well; that he was coming down from Lewis County in a few days, and wanted him to go on "prospecting" with him. Could the lawyer give him any idea of where such a plantation could be found?

The bait took. The lawyer was not only ready to have good neighbors to his plantation, but was ready to sell his own for "a fair price." Of course this led to the naming of the place, and the time it would take to go there. The plantation was in the vicinity of Gascony, Jefferson County, on the Arkansas River, as my friend reported, on his return from the lawyer's, and I felt easy. I rode over to see Squire Howe, and told him of the situation of things. Meanwhile he had been active, and had learned that John Dinsmore was the name of the man he had seen in the lawyer's, and that he had gone to the plantation in Arkansas. So I felt quite assured that we were on the right track. That night I went back to the village--called next day on the lawyer, and told him that Mr. Rogers would not pay him over a hundred dollars to produce Mr. Hague; to which he replied, in a very gruff and decided way,--

"He can't have him short of my first figures; no, he shall not have him now for less than a thousand dollars."

"Well," said I, "that ends the matter. Mr. Rogers will return to England, I think, without his man, rather than pay you over a hundred dollars. It won't be any loss to him, except what he has already been at, if he don't find him; but," said I, "I guess we'll leave it this way. You may hear from him again or you may not. He will not remain in this country over a month longer, at most."

"O, he won't go away without his man," said he, with a soft, oily voice; "he'll think better of it, and pay the money, before he returns."

"Perhaps so," said I; and I bade him a pleasant good day. We shook hands quite cordially, and I got off to St. Louis as soon as possible, and the next day in the afternoon found us on board the steamer "Pike, No. 9,"--a Cincinnati and New Orleans boat, which had been run out of line up to St. Louis, on an extra occasion,--on our way to Napoleon, Arkansas, where we arrived duly, with no noticeable incidents on board (save one, and that is the key to another narrative I may write out for this work), "always excepting," of course, "as worthy of note," the gambling, tippling, bowie-knife exercises, and so forth, by which steamboating on the Mississippi used, more than in later years, to be rendered "interesting and fascinating;" and the next day the shaky steamboat "Little Rock" bore us on our way up the Arkansas.

We arrived safely at Gascony, and were not many hours in finding our way to the plantation, and in the presence of Frederic Hague, alias John Dinsmore. Mr. Rogers was a most delighted man, when, by sundry questions, he assured himself of the identity of the man; but he could not be satisfied till Hague pulled off his flannel wrapper (for he wore no shirt, poor fellow, and everybody who can wears flannels, in that region, in summer as well as winter). The dirty old wrapper tore into pieces in the operation; and I dare say that Hague had not removed it before in two months. But there was the "private mark." There was no disputing that; and Mr. Rogers ordered, on the evening of that day, the richest dinner ever cooked, I presume, at a country hotel in that State. He did not forswear wines, such as they were, and both he and Hague put me quite to shame with the amount of liquor they drank. But I must hasten with my story.

We learned from Hague that the Missouri lawyer had picked him up at Napoleon one day, learned something of his history, called to mind an advertisement he had seen, took him on to Missouri, as he was at that time on his way home, and had a written contract with him for one half of his estate, if he should recover it. He had kept him there and on the plantation in Arkansas, and sometimes wrote him, always encouragingly, about the matter of the estate. Hague had got it into his head that that lawyer was the only authorized person to treat with, and he was jubilant when he found himself out of his clutches.

We were to return to St. Louis, in any event, to see after some manufacturing matters in which Mr. Rogers had taken some interest, and I felt, and so did Hague, that it would be well enough to have a little fun with the lawyer. So, after we arrived at St. Louis, I went out to Warren County to see him again, and told him I was ready to give him the two hundred and fifty dollars down, and two hundred and fifty more on his producing the identical Frederic Hague, if he would put himself under bonds of five hundred dollars, or put the money in the hands of the village landlord, to be paid over to me in case his Frederic Hague should, under my cross-examination, fail to assert himself to be the true Frederic Hague. He assented, being positively sure of his five hundred dollars, as he thought, and I drew up to his table and scratched off a short agreement, taking care to word it as indicated above. He was to produce Hague within a week and a half or two weeks, and I was to wait there or in St. Louis.

The next day Hague came straggling along, playing drunk, and told the lawyer a proper story; and he told Hague his time was come--that an Englishman would be there to see him, and take him home, to restore to him his estate, and he wanted Hague to make some alteration in their contract. Hague consented, but when he got the paper in his hands he feigned crazy, had a fit, a proper one, and tore and in part ate up the contract, and felt "relieved," as he said afterwards.

The lawyer caused me to be sent for. Luckily, as he thought, I had not left the village. When I reached his office he took me aside very privately, and told me the "bird" had dropped down upon him, all of a sudden, in a very providential way, and that now he would show me Mr. Hague, when I was ready to deposit, and he would do the same. The landlord was sent for, preliminaries arranged, and Frederic Hague called in. The lawyer questioned him before me, and he answered all clearly, even to having a "private mark on his shoulder," etc.

"He's your witness now," said the lawyer, triumphantly, probably feeling the five hundred dollars itching in his palms. And I commenced, with confidence of success, for Hague and I had practised "our parts," and "rehearsed" to my satisfaction.

"You say your name is 'Frederic Hague'?"

"Yes, sir."

"How do you know?"

"That's what they call me."

"Ah! well, do they call you anything else?"

"Yes, sir."

"What?"

"John Dinsmore."

"Then John Dinsmore is as much your name as Frederic Hague?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who calls you John Dinsmore?"

"Everybody here and in Arkansas."

"Who first called you John Dinsmore?"

"Mr. ----" (the lawyer); "he gave me the name--said that was my proper name; and I've used it ever since."

"Who gave you the name Frederic Hague?"

"I don't know."

"Were you ever in England, sir? Come, now, sir, tell the truth, and no lying."

"Seems as though I was."

"Seems so? What makes it seem so?"

"Why, I suppose it is because Mr. ----" (the lawyer), "has told me so so often."

"Has he told you about one Frederic Hague, a man by the same name you sometimes have borne?"

"Yes, sir."

"A great deal?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you have come to think that you are that Frederic Hague? Now, sir, tell me if you dare assert that you are the veritable Frederic Hague, the heir to the estate of one Oliver Hague, about which he has told you? Don't let us have anything but the truth now, sir."

"No, sir; I don't say that I dare assert it."

"Did you ever have any notice that you were entitled to any property at all in England, till Mr. ---- told you so?"

"No, sir."

"Well, do you now think you are entitled?"

"I don't know anything about it--"

"O, the fool," here broke in the lawyer; "he's stultified, or he's lied to me. Here, 'John,' show this man the scars on your shoulder, and tell him the story you told me about it."

"What story?"

"Why the story about the fall in the carriage house."

"Why, I never told you any such story--did I? I told you I had a dream once; I suppose that is what you mean," said John, stripping himself meanwhile.

"There!" exclaimed the lawyer, "there are unmistakable marks; and they tell, of themselves, how they got there--cut with hatchel teeth."

And John, alias Frederic, roared out, with a well-feigned laugh, "Yes, hatchel teeth, in Bill Currier's coach-dog's mouth, down to Mobile!"

The lawyer looked confounded--and he put "John" through a severe re-examination; all to no avail, except to force John into some rather _bold_ species of story-telling.

The landlord decided the case in my favor, according to the contract between the lawyer and me, and gave me the five hundred dollars on our return to his hotel. I got Frederic Hague to St. Louis as soon as I could, and we proceeded to New York. I let my friend there into the joke by letter, and told him to make the most of the story for a month, when I would return the lawyer all his money, except what it had cost me--the matter of forty-five dollars--to play the joke on him, saying that he ought to be willing to pay for his fun; and at the end of a month, after the story had gone far and near, how the lawyer had set his bait to fish out an estate for a client, and had lost five hundred dollars himself, the money was duly returned to him through draft on a St. Louis bank; and that was not the last I heard of him. But I cannot stop to tell the full story here.

Mr. Frederic Hague, neatly dressed, and apparently in excellent health, though by no means strong,--his nervous system having been shattered by his rough western life,--and Mr. Rogers, after a trip to Montreal and Boston, took steamer from New York for Liverpool.

Mr. Rogers was one of the most victorious, haughty-looking men I ever saw, as he stepped on to the steamer's deck, with Frederic Hague by his side. Up to within one or two of my last interviews with him, he always vaunted himself as struggling in the cause of justice only; but at last he allowed some remarks to escape him about Mr. Edward Hague, and how chopfallen he would feel when Frederic should appear on the tapis. And my curiosity being awakened, I sounded him considerably, the rest I learned in England afterwards.

Mr. Rogers was very liberal with me, paid me very handsomely, and treated me most hospitably when I visited him at home. But the poor man was destined to lose his almost won, but foolish, triumph. Four days out, Frederic, meeting on board a couple of men whom he had known, the one in New Orleans, and the other at Louisville, Kentucky, he had served in the care of horses,--these men were cousins, it appeared,--must needs tell them of his vast estates in prospect, which he was just going over to claim. These men were high livers, and took along their own wines and liquors, and of these, with them, Mr. Hague partook very liberally, got ravingly intoxicated, and howling about the deck one night, while something of a breeze was blowing; and the ship ploughing a little, he was toppled over the rail, as she suddenly lurched, into the unquiet waters. Every effort was made to save him. The steam was shut off, the life-boats lowered, and search made for a whole hour, without avail. The darkness was too great to permit him to be easily found, if he had not drowned at once.

Of course, Mr. Rogers went home a wiser, and perhaps better man. He had, unfortunately for his pride, written a triumphant letter home, stating that he had found the veritable Frederic, and that he should bring him by the next, or the second steamer thereafter, and would then teach Edward Hague good manners. But it was difficult to learn anything from him, I was told, after he arrived at home.

The terms of the will were such, that the property went to Mr. Edward Hague; and when I met him, he was living in most comfortable style, but without any attempt at vain show. He was satisfied with his possessions, and was not a little amused when I told him of Mr. Rogers's personal exertions in America "in the cause of justice and truth;" but said he was sorry Frederic had not lived to enjoy something of life, and that he had no doubt Frederic would have been kind to him. In fact, I found Mr. Edward Hague one of the most lovable of men, and I confess that I think the property in his hands was made more useful to a larger number than it probably would have been in Frederic's hands, for he had learned some bad habits in America, among which was the inveterate one of gambling.

I never think of Mr. Rogers without laughing; and so, with a laugh, I leave him now, and the fortune, and the "private mark."

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WILLIAM ROBERTS AND HIS FORGERIES.

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A MAN OF THE OLDEN TYPE--HIS SAD STORY ABOUT HIS WIFE AND
HIMSELF--THEY ADOPT A BRIGHT BOY--THE WIFE'S PROPHET
SPECULATIONS ABOUT THE BOY--THE BOY GROWS UP, AND GOES TO
COLLEGE--A PLEASANT YEAR--HE LEARNS CERTAIN MYSTERIES OF
LIFE--STUDENTS' PITCHED BATTLE WITH THE FACULTY OF THE
COLLEGE--OF THE "WHITE HORSE"--A WHILE IN A LAWYER'S
OFFICE--BECOMES A MERCHANT--MAKING MONEY TOO FAST--A FATAL
HOUR--THE VORTEX OF WALL STREET--SUNDRY FORGERIES--A STRANGE
CAREER--AN IMPORTANT WITNESS LOST, AND FOUND IN THE INSANE
RETREAT, HARTFORD, CONN.--A TERRIBLE COMPLICATION OF AFFAIRS;
LAWYERS AND ALL BAFFLED--I AM CALLED IN TO WORK UP THE
CASE--DIFFICULTIES ENCOUNTERED--FATE INTERPOSES--WENTWORTH, THE
INSANE WITNESS, RECOVERS--A VAST DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BLACK INK
AND BLUE INK--DYING OF GRIEF--AN UNHAPPY HOUSEHOLD.

I was sitting one day in my office, about noon, in July, 1858, with windows up, coat off, my legs sprawled upon the table, and fanning myself for a breath of living air out of the sweltering atmosphere. I had tried to enjoy my position (but there was no joy for me on that day) only a few minutes, when I heard a strong tap at the open door, and without looking around, I called out, "Come in!" with what I suspect was a peculiar emphasis, for presently an old man stood before me aghast, as if he knew not what to think.

"You are Mr. ----?"

"Yes, sir, the same."

"Mr. ----, the detective officer?"

"Yes, sir, the detective officer. But pray, sir, take a seat," said I, seeing that the man meant business, doubtless; and I pointed him to a seat near the window.

"What can I do for you, sir?" I asked.

"That's just what I've come to see," said he.

I scanned the man. He was evidently from the country. His manner and dress showed this; but there was something remarkably intelligent about his well-cut, smoothly-shaven face, which was square at the base, with those wide cheeks, which distinguished so many of the rare men of revolutionary days. Jefferson's face will give one a good notion of what I mean. This style of face has gone almost "out of fashion" in these days, only one here and there having been transmitted by the sires of the republic. I am always attracted to these faces, and although they denote firmness, amounting to obstinacy sometimes, I have never found one not belonging to a man of unquestioned respectability and probity.

"It's a warm day, sir," said I, as he took his seat; "and you must pardon me for my being in undress, sir; but, really, I can't endure a coat to-day. Wouldn't you like to pull off your own? Make yourself perfectly at home, sir."

"O, no, sir; thank you. _I_ am not warm; on the other hand, I am cold," and the old man buttoned his coat about him.

I was surprised, for I saw that he was evidently healthy, and then I conjectured that his frigidity on that hot day must proceed from intense mental suffering, and I asked him,--

"Did you call to see me professionally?"

"Yes, sir; I have been recommended by my attorney, Judge Hoffman, to call upon you and lay a case before you, which he says you may possibly be able to work out; and if _you_ can't, he tells me to give up trying further. He has exhausted his powers upon it, and my all depends upon it," and the old man's voice discovered a slight tremor as he uttered the last words, and excited my interest intensely.

"Tell me your story in detail, leaving out nothing that you can remember, however trivial, and I will listen patiently; take your time."

The old gentleman, taking me at my word, and beginning with a "You must know," recited his own early history, which had no bearing on the case in issue, as I soon saw; but I let him go on; so much had his real trouble weighed upon his mind that he seemed to think the line which led to it ran through his whole life.

He was a farmer and a country merchant, who had, at the age of twenty-two, succeeded to the estate of his father, who was also a farmer and a merchant; that is, he "kept store" in a respectable country farming town, and "carried on farming" besides, with the aid of "hired men," whom he supervised. He was a man--that is, my visitor--of more than ordinary information, probably a great reader, and at one time the leading "Whig" of his place--the village oracle, in fact, at whose "store" the country people gathered of nights to hear him talk politics, and doubtless to debate among themselves the issues of those days when Clay was the idol of the great, respectable Whig party of the land. The old man was able to narrate a story with great fidelity, and showed a mind well disciplined. I had but few questions to ask him, as he went on in his narrative, and when he had concluded, I had already conceived a theory of the case, which in due time I proceeded to verify in practice.

He was then seventy-eight years old, he said; was married at thirty-four, his wife still living. They had had one child, a son, born in his father's thirty-seventh year, but who died at the age of four years, just when he had begun to be most interesting, the delight, of course, of his parents. The old man descanted, in pathetic terms, upon his desolation over the loss of that dear child, and said it came near bringing his mother to her grave; that she had never since been the same woman as before; that she never laughed aloud now, as she used to when they were first married, being then a woman of very jocular habits, and full of boisterous fun. "Since then," said he, "she has only faintly smiled, now and then, over something which pleased her fancy or met her hearty approval. No ordinary occurrence can bring a smile or a tear to her eye. But she is a dear, dear woman; and now that a great grief is upon us, I suffer more for her sake than my own."

The old man's voice grew husky as he proceeded, and I confess that, accustomed though I was to tales of horror, and feeling always that nothing of a wretched nature could ever surprise or move me to deep emotions, I felt for him nevertheless, and entered into the spirit of his soul before I knew what were its griefs.

The old gentleman continued his tale.

"For some years after the death of our child my wife was disconsolate beyond my power to give her any relief. She used to keep to the house constantly; never went abroad among the neighbors, but treated them all kindly when they called at the house, and with no diversion except her household duties, led almost a hermit's life, avoiding seeing whomsoever she decently could. I fitted up a little private room for her, and beguiling her time with reading and with her devotions she spent most of her days. I sought every means to comfort her; called children to the house to play. She was very fond of children, and would chat and chaffer with them to make them happy, as if she too enjoyed it; but there was always a sadness mingled with her smiles upon them even. But I must not stop to tell you too much of this. And now, sir, in our old age has come a grief which weighs her down as did the loss of our blessed, only child.

"I must tell you that, after years had passed, I finally induced my wife to consent to my adopting a bright boy--a cheerful, handsome lad of eight years of age, whose father was a good, honest laborer on my farm, but had been killed some months before by the falling upon him of a tree which he had cut. He having lost his life in my employ, I felt a particular interest in his family, and having aided the mother to get situations for her five other children, had defrayed her expenses back (with an infant in arms) to her native place in Rhode Island, according to her desire, and took the boy, of whom I spoke, to bring up, educate, and establish in business.

"At first my wife, though she admired the boy's beauty and his manners, which were very gentle, did not open all her heart to him, and had misgivings that in her state of mind she should be able to do by the boy as she ought. And one day, after he had been with us a few weeks, she said to me, 'What if William should not grow up a good man? Sometimes I feel, I know not why, that he will not. He is very "deep," and if his talents, as he grows up, should chance to take a wrong course, he might be a very bad man, and it would break my heart to think that we had brought him up in the place of our angel who is in heaven,' and she burst into tears, and I consoled her; but, sir, the terrible day which she seemed to then anticipate, has come, and her heart _is_ broken indeed.

"I know, sir, you must lose your patience to hear me talk of these things, but though I am old in years in comparison with you, yet it is not years that makes me so weak to-day. I feel as if I were a hundred years old, and you must pardon my imbecilities."

I assured the old man that I was far from being impatient with his story, for I knew full well that he could never make me an intelligent narrative of the facts I should need to know, if his business proved of real importance, until he had delivered his mind of these special burdens; and so I waited patiently to the end of his story, which it took far more time to reach than I can afford in this narrative.

The young, adopted lad, William, it seems, enjoyed all the advantages of the village school, and of the preparatory academy in the shire town of the county in which the old man resided, and whither, at a distance of some twelve miles from his own home, the old man (taking his wife often) visited the lad at least once a week, and sometimes twice, especially if by any means the old gentleman could contrive to have a "business" excuse for going there, during the boy's whole course at the preparatory school, so great was his affection for him; and, finally, being well prepared, and giving high promise of becoming a great scholar, and a great man, the lad, or now well-grown young man, was sent off to college. During his first collegiate year he bore himself faultlessly, and achieved a high position in his class, in some branches of study being at the head. The old gentleman said that his own pride was never so flattered in all his life as when the boy came home at the end of the year and all the village was talking of the honors he had won. He said he felt a relief then, as if he had a staff well grown, and to grow still stronger and stronger in the coming years, upon which to lean in his own declining years--a young counsellor, whose judgment already good, would grow better and better.

The boy had always been good, courteous, and obliging to the old man and his wife; but now, at the end of his first collegiate year, he seemed to have grown still better, if possible. Vacation being passed in perfect happiness for that household, the old gentleman accompanied William back to college, the wife bidding them God-speed on their journey, with copious tears flooding her face. "Come back, William, just as good a boy as you now are, and I will try to be better to you than I have ever been," said she; and William bade her dry her tears (while his own blinded his eyes), told her that she had always been more than a mother to him, and assured her that he thought of her and his happy home a hundred times a day, and could not, he hoped, but grow better himself every time he thought of home.

"We thought," said the old man, "then, that that was the happiest day of our lives; and when I returned home, after seeing William back again in the college, we talked over, day after day, the happiness of the parting hour, and every letter we got from William, who always wrote once a week at least, prompted us to remember that 'holy day,' as we called it, and we talked it over and over.

"But the next collegiate year brought William home, with a different report about him. He was still forward in his classes, but during the winter term had begun to grow a little wild; had attended a dancing-school privately, against the rules of the college, and had begun to feel himself 'man enough to control his own conduct,' etc. Indeed, on account of the expression of a great degree of obstinacy and self-will, with not a little defiance of the professors on a certain occasion, when they had thought best to gently hint a sort of reproval of some act of his, William had come near being 'suspended,' as the phrase is, for a while; that is, dismissed from the college for a season, to return on conditions. But he was not suspended finally, and had come home still a member of the college. But he had had a taste of certain liberties, had learned to look upon some things, such as 'card-playing for fun,' and which he had been used to look upon with horror, as a foolish, sinful way of spending time, as not, after all, so very bad. But I need not recite these things; for his career was from the good, gently at first, and by slow steps to the bad--much like that of everybody else who has followed the like path. William did not finish his junior years, finding it convenient to withdraw from the college during the spring term (as he was, by the grace of the faculty, permitted to do, instead of being expelled, in consideration of the entreaties of his adopted father, the good old man, who had been sent for to confer with the faculty). William had been engaged, with a score of other students, in some mischief, which, though not seriously bad at first, led to a terrible fight between these students and the authorities of the college-town, or city, rather, in which William had drawn a pistol, and attempted to make use of it (as he always claimed, however, in strict defence of his life), against some of the opposing party. But the pistol, being fortunately snatched from his hands, no blood was shed. William would not acknowledge to the faculty that he had been wrong in drawing his pistol with the purpose of making bloody use of it, but, on the other hand, insisted that, under like circumstances, he would do the same again, in self-defence, as he claimed. The faculty would not yield, and permitted him, in conclusion, to withdraw. And William went home, a somewhat altered young man, but beloved by all the villagers about him, some of whom, however, sometimes said, there was 'a great deal of the "wild-horse" in him which has got to come out in some way, some time;' but they little thought what lay in the line of William's career."

Having thus left college, the question arose, what William should do, what profession or business he should pursue? First, he was inclined to take up the study of the law, and entered the office of Mr. Mills, the only lawyer of the village; but Mr. Mills was far from being a profound or scholarly man, had but a meagre practice, and, on the whole, William, who had read over Blackstone, Chitty's Contracts, and some other works whose names the old man had forgot, and of which I know as little, came to the conclusion, that though he liked to read law, he should not like to practise it, and that course was abandoned; and William, thinking he would become a business man, entered the old man's little store. After a while he was intrusted to go to the city and make the little periodical replenishing purchases, and developed great taste and sagacity in his purchases. In fact, he had rare talents as a merchant, and it was not long before a place was found for him in New York, with a then ruling firm, where he speedily advanced, so as to be offered an interest in the concern. He had managed to lay up a little money for himself, but the old gentleman furnished him ten thousand dollars more,--a large sum, it was then thought,--the villagers thinking that the old gentleman was almost wild to part with that sum, which would then have bought two or three good farms in the vicinity of the village. Thus provided, William went into the partnership, and his business went on flourishing till, at the end of five years, he became the second member in importance in the concern; and though not married, had built a very fine summer residence in the outskirts of the old village, and filled and surrounded it with every comfort.

"I fear William Roberts is living too fast," some old villager would say. "He'll make money easy and spend it as easy. Easy comes, easy goes, you know."

"O, no, he won't. He knows the value of money," another would say. "The old man's taught him that. He knows how to hold on to a dollar."

"You see," said the old man, with a curious look in his eye, as he related what he used to hear (and sometimes overhear), that his neighbors said, "that they always thought me, up there, a little _too_ economical."

But William Roberts had made money too fast, as the sequel showed; he lived too high, contracted expensive habits, and, eventually, it got to be rumored that he indulged sometimes "in cards for fun;" but now the "fun" meant, the excitement of gambling for money. His business house knew nothing of this, and were unsuspicious of it for a long while, though William made large drafts upon it; but these not being more than he was entitled to, nothing was said about it. But finally he insisted on drawing at one time--when the house really needed the money to help carry on its business--the sum of five thousand dollars, and was rather curt and severe upon his partners on their remonstrating; and they began to look about them, and came to learn of Mr. Roberts's gambling habits; and, fearful of him, arranged, after a long while, to buy him out, accepting his figures on demand. This was the most fatal hour in his life.