IN DEFENCE OF HIS NAME
He was again talking of his ancestors. He was always talking of his ancestors....
It was in the library of a Fifth Avenue club, but the gentlemen seated at a window overlooking the famous thoroughfare were not discussing books. They were examining with care the beautiful ladies that always decorated this brilliant highway.
"That—with the blue bonnet and the short blue sleeves, is Mrs. Wilberforce Andre," said John Stuyvesant DePuyster. "Her husband is a descendant of Varick who served as aide-de-camp to General Arnold."
"That doesn't make her more attractive," said Robert Hooker.
DePuyster ignored the remark. "My great grandfather—"
"We know all about him," chorused the others. "Let-up, please. Have mercy on us, it's a hot day."
"My great grandmother, on my father's side—" persisted DePuyster.
"We know all about her!" the others answered, wearily.
"But Mrs. Andre reminds me of an interesting story. And you are always looking for stories. In January, 1779, my great grandfather was serving on the staff of Benedict Arnold. As you know, it was he, John Stuyvesant DePuyster, my namesake, who rescued the colors so gallantly at Saratoga—who fought at Germantown—who almost starved at Valley Forge—who rescued General Greene at the risk of his life—who was wounded with two bullets in his flank at the battle of Trenton—who served so brilliantly under Mad Anthony Wayne—who—"
The others looked at each other furtively, with misery indicated on every feature.
One of them, the great autograph collector, Robert Hooker, nervously twitched his fingers. He seemed in agony, and looked around, evidently for signs of relief.
—"Who received a medal for gallantry at Monmouth," chronicled the voice in a perfectly satisfied tone,—"who rebuked Colonel Tarleton—who was praised even by the British commander Lord Howe—who sat at the court-martial of Andre—and who—"
"Was a traitor to his country!" said Hooker, quietly.
Everyone looked uneasy. They all hated scenes. But at any rate, it was a fortunate escape. A duel with bloodshed would be better than DePuyster's stories!
"Sir," he returned hotly, "an accusation such as this has never been made against our family!"
"Then I shall be the first to make it."
"It is outrageous,—a damnable, lying statement, and you've got to prove it I I'll force it back into your throat, you slanderer! You've got to prove it, I say, Sir!"
"I have the proof!"
"Then you've got to show it. I demand it. I have the right to demand it."
"Two weeks from now, there will be sold at the Amhurst Auction Galleries, an autograph letter of General Arnold, in which he speaks of General DePuyster as an accomplice, who was ready to turn over to the British cause his honor and his sword. The catalogue will be issued in two weeks' time, and the full text of the letter printed. It might be well for your precious family that this letter remains unpublished!"
"I'll look it up at once," said DePuyster. "Until you prove your statement, I'll not notice or speak to you, Sir."
A week later an old autograph letter was shown to him at the cataloguing rooms of the auction-house. DePuyster had called every day, but it was a week before he was allowed to see it. It was to be sold as the "property of a gentleman."
With trembling hands, he examined this tomb of the secrets of the illustrious DePuyster, this time-stained document with faded writing. The letter read as follows:
Robinson's House,
September 2, 1780.
Sir:—
Everything is progressing as agreed. I have secured a pass for Hett Smith. I suppose the ordnance at West Point is the same as given. What of the military force? We have not enough to help us on this side. We need more than two, a third or fourth person is required. Colonel DePuyster, in charge of the ordnance, has given me his word that he will be ready when called upon. He has already written me, giving the number of blackberries in the first field. He is of great assistance, and his name, which has always stood for honor in America, will prove a great asset to us. It is a name that is like Cæsar's wife, and has never been suspected. I have supplied the third help-mate; will you furnish our fourth?
I am, Sir, with great respect,
Your most obedient humble servant,
GUSTAVUS.
Maj. John Anderson.
The descendant of the gallant revolutionary soldier trembled like a coward. The name of John Anderson and Gustavus were well-known to him as those assumed by Andre and Arnold in the great conspiracy. The hand-writing was, undoubtedly, Arnold's; he had letters in his own home written by the infamous general to Col. DePuyster, his great grandfather—letters written years before the treason—and the writing was identical.
"What—what will you take for this letter?" asked DePuyster.
"It will be sold at auction in two weeks' time," the clerk answered, politely.
"But I would like to purchase it before the sale."
"Sorry, sir, but its owner will sell only at public sale. The competition will cause it to bring a high price."
"Who is the owner?"
"I don't know."
"Can't you find out?"
"He desires to remain unknown."
"Tell him for me, that I will give any price for it before it is published in the catalogue."
"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Hooker also came here to examine it. He wanted to buy it. He is a great expert, you know, and he always desired a letter of General Arnold's—about the treason. Mr. Sterling also wants it. He has a letter giving the amount Arnold received for betraying his country. It is said his letter is worth five thousand dollars. This is worth almost as much."
"I'll give him five thousand for this one."
"No, sir. You will have to wait until the sale."
Mr. Hooker sat at the club window. The feminine decorations of the Avenue did not interest him. He was thinking of poor DePuyster. Someone had just told him that DePuyster had remained indoors, not daring to show his face at the Club. He was at his apartments drinking Scotch whiskeys to take his mind away from the letter which haunted him. He could not bear to look into pedigrees and genealogies, which used to be his constant companions.
Hooker was actually sorry for the descendant of the stalwart Revolutionary hero, who dared not face his friends—much less his enemies. He would give the old man a tip! he said to himself. Anyhow it was delicious to have seen DePuyster's face when the accusation was made.
"DePuyster made me so nervous that I just had to do it. But I'll give him a hint. I'll write him, telling him perhaps the letter is a forgery. That will give him a chance. As a gentleman of honor, I shall write him. I should wish the proof, like his ancestors, to be "above suspicion!"
The letter was received by DePuyster, who becoming suddenly brave, faced the light of day, and made the astounding charge to the president of the auction-house that the Arnold (Gustavus) letter was nothing but a forgery! A rank imitation, a fabrication to blackmail a noble family distinguished for three hundred years in American History!
The president grew angry; the letter had been passed upon by well-known experts, as well as their own cataloguers of autographs; it was undoubtedly genuine, and would be sold as such.
"I'll sue you for damages, if you publish that letter before it is passed upon by the greatest experts in the world."
"Go ahead and sue," said the president, turning away.
DePuyster, however, had among his numerous acquaintances, many famous lawyers, one of whom secured an injunction, preventing the sale, and impounding the letter.
It came later before the Court which, with unusual wisdom, stated that the matter should be decided by three disinterested experts, one to be selected by the Court, one by the auction-house, and one by DePuyster.
The contestants assembled in the little court-room which was crowded with friends of the parties to the suit, and eminent autograph and book-collectors. They came from many cities to hear the wrangle over the famous letter, and to witness the battle of the experts.
The name of each expert was placed in an envelope, and sealed.
"The appointment of the Court—is Robert Hooker," announced the judge, tearing to pieces the envelope.
"The expert for the defense," read the judge, tearing open another envelope, "is Robert Hooker.
"The expert that will represent the plaintiff," continued His Honor, breaking with his fingers the manila paper, "is Robert Hooker."
All eyes were turned to the corner where Robert Hooker sat unconcerned. He seemed, in a measure, overwhelmed by this new distinction.
He had been known the world over as a collector of autographs and manuscripts, but he had never been called upon as an expert.
Hooker arose. He examined the letter but for an instant.
"I have formed an opinion, Your Honor."
"So soon?"
"Yes."
"What is your decision?"
"It is a forgery!"
"Are you certain?"
"Without a shadow of a doubt!"
"Why are you so positive," queried the Judge, "when so many other authorities state that it is genuine?"
"I am positive," said Hooker, "because I wrote it myself!"
There was an uproar in the Court.
"Please explain, sir," said the judge sternly.
"DePuyster had become such a pest, such a terror to his friends by his family anecdotes and antique stories that I could stand it no longer. I was literally bored to death. I made the charge in jest. DePuyster took it so seriously that I was compelled to supply the proof. I purchased an old sheet of writing paper with the water-mark of the Revolutionary period. I practised for hours, so I could imitate General Arnold's handwriting. When I finished the letter I almost thought it an original myself! The farce was wonderful! The hoax—a joy! I thought that I had become a Good Samaritan who had saved his friends from a very tiresome old gentleman with a hobby for family history. When my name was first called—I hesitated, but when you all selected me, I was overwhelmed with the distinguished honor. I told the truth, and spoiled a story."
"You have created a story!" said the judge.