The major said he had come to see if I was comfortable, and to inform me that he had thrown the editor of the Patriot a sly hint about noticing the arrival of so distinguished a person as myself. And the editor had assured him it would be properly recorded in his columns, and so embroidered as to make it pleasant to his fancy. The major now took leave of me, satisfied within himself of having convinced me that he was a man of stupendous parts. I must not forget to say that he promised to call again, and be present at the lecture in the evening, inasmuch as his absence could not fail to be seriously felt.
Night came on, and with it there gathered into the lecture room of the Orthodox Church, an audience of many bonnets and much respectability. Proverbially inquisitive, the people of the good old town of Barnstable were on tip-toe, to see the man of whose curious figure they had heard so much. And as if to gratify their curiosity, Giles Sheridan now rose, frisked the little black scroll about in his fingers, wiped the sweat nervously from his brow, and, in a faltering voice, gave an interesting sketch of the early life of his darling poet. This he continued for more than an hour, now warming into eloquence, now subsiding into a low, desponding voice. But his hearers sat unmoved, nor was one hand of applause raised to cheer his too misgiving heart. They wondered, and listened, and looked at one another, as was the custom of the country. The little deformed man, however, took it as a proof that he had failed to interest them; and this sorely taxed his sensitive nature. I ought also not to forget to mention that the speaker was twice interrupted by the major, who begged that he would state the exact quality of poetry written by his friend, the poet. The audience took this interruption very good naturedly, while the speaker gratified the major's curiosity by reciting a number of verses written by him. The major then said he was fully satisfied that this Mr. Crabbe must have been a great poet; but he thought if the speaker had known one Sergeant Milton, who wrote poetry in honor of the regiment he was major of during the Mexican war, he would not have set Mr. Crabbe on so high a horse. Indeed, according to what the major said, this Sergeant Milton was the most wonderful poet that ever sung of the Mexican War; and in addition to the gift of being a versifier, he was celebrated for brewing an excellent whiskey punch, without which no poet could hope for prosperity in New York, where punch begat poetry, and foul linen seemed inseparable from poets.
The speaker smiled at the major's quaint remarks concerning his friend, Sergeant Milton. But such was the failure he fancied himself making, that he would gladly have given the fifteen dollars he was to receive in pay for his lectures, and said not a word about the victuals, to have got quietly out of town. But in truth he had not a shilling in his pocket, and the money he was to receive of the committee constituted the forlorn hope of his future fortunes. So, with a heart overburdened with despondency, and an eye made liquid with anxiety, he concluded in a faltering voice, and heaved a sigh. And as no one came forward to congratulate him, and the very atmosphere seemed to partake of the frigidity of the audience, he watched his hearers disperse in silence, frisking his fingers, and wondering if he had made them any wiser on the life of one Crabbe.
But a silent tongue is no proof of what the heart feels; nor does the outward demonstration carry with it the stronger appreciation of merit. And so it proved in this instance. It being the custom of the country not to applaud on such occasions, the audience went home to unbosom its approval, which was of the heartiest kind. On his way home, the little man was joined by an elder of the church, who, seeing his despondency, said unto him: "Permit me to congratulate you, sir, for never was audience more interested in a lecture. You did nobly, sir." The little man's heart was touched. He grasped the speaker by the hand firmly, and as his enthusiasm broke its bounds, he poured forth his gratitude in a rhapsody of thanks. Indeed, so quickly did the word of consolation reinstate his confidence, that he became like an overjoyed child, and in the innocence of his heart invited the elder home with him, that they might enjoy a punch together. In short, he not only convinced Barnstable that Mr. Crabbe was a great poet, but so enlisted sympathy for himself, that the benevolent ladies of the sewing circle, seeing the dilapidated state of his raiment, made him up a purse, and presented it with an intimation that Warren, the tailor, lived at the corner. I should not forget to mention, that his second and third lectures proved more successful than the first, and that Major Roger Potter looked in at the "Independent Temperance" to compliment the little deformed man on the very learned character of his lecture, much of which (so he said) had so deeply interested him, that he had resolved to incorporate it into his next political speech, which he intended soon to make in opposition to that arch agitator, Thomas Benton, Esq., and which the state of the nation demanded should be done at no very distant day. Having said this, he called me aside, and enjoining me to keep what he said a profound secret, whispered what will be related in the next chapter, and took his departure.
CHAPTER XVIII.
WHICH TREATS OF HOW MAJOR ROGER SHERMAN POTTER, SOLELY IN OBEDIENCE TO THE DEMANDS OF THE NATION, TURNED A DEAF EAR TO THE REMONSTRANCES OF HIS WIFE POLLY, AND SAILED FOR NEW YORK, TO THE GREAT DELIGHT OF LITTLE BARNSTABLE.
"You will see, sir," whispered the major, putting the fore finger of his right hand to his lips, "that my inclination never runs to small things. It quite confounded my wife, Polly, when I revealed to her my intention of complying with your request, and of our setting out together in search of fame and fortune. But as I have the power of persuasion pretty largely developed, and am in all quite a philosopher, I overcame her objections by telling her you were a sprightly young gentleman, whose political fame and great learning was coupled with the most kind and affectionate disposition. 'Honor, husband,' says she, 'to whom honor is due. I know you have deserved, if you have not yet achieved. But let not your success in office carry away your modesty and humility. And above all, remember to think of us at home, for I have heard it said that politicians let their loves run too free when away from their wives.' Having assured her that I would not forget her admonition, and be careful upon what damsel I let a double look fall, she consented that I might depart a third time, and see what could be done. And I made a vow never to forget her while the sun of prosperity shone upon me. Now, if you will just fix the time of our departure, you will find me ready. Major Potter, as you have seen, is no small man in Barnstable. Major Potter never comes and goes without being noticed. And if you havn't had proof enough of my popularity, you'll see what an ado there will be made when I leave. Honor, as my wife Polly says, always awaits them who merit it; and though a man's modesty will not let him be for ever speaking of himself, I may say it to you, seeing that we are about to join our fortunes, that the people never see me go without a regret. As to my children, I shall give each an admonition before I leave; and as I hope one day to see them enjoying the admiration, as well as the distinction my military reputation will confer upon them, it will be safe to leave the rest to heaven." The major conveyed this information in so quaint a manner that I could not suppress a smile, though it disclosed a resolution I by no means welcomed. In truth, I had already seen so much of his eccentricities, that I was hoping our acquaintance would cease in Barnstable. But it now became apparent that he regarded himself not only a necessary item in my welfare, but as being most essential to the achievement of my designs. So, charging me to think no more of Bessie, whom he hinted was as coy a little witch as ever waited on the table of a country tavern, and ready at all times to make love with every dashing young fellow who chanced that way, he took his departure, promising to call at noon on the next day.
Having passed the night in refreshing sleep, I was up with the sun on the following morning, and before noon had received the calls of several distinguished citizens, two or three of whom requested that I "remain over," and deliver an address on the state of the nation. Offering my inability as an apology for not complying with their request, I was surprised that so obscure a person should receive such homage. The mystery, however, was very soon explained. The major, adopting the method in fashion with some of our modern politicians, had been actively noising it about, that no greater politician than myself ever lived; and that, being on my way to Washington in search of a foreign mission, I had generously invited him to accompany me. The major was indeed building up my reputation with a view to the consolidation of his own. He had also deluded the editor of the Patriot, (who was a man much given to good jokes,) into writing several long articles in compliment of my political achievements, and which were of so serious a style, that the distant reader, unaccustomed to the tricks of editors, must have been grievously misled. And indeed such was the fact, for the political excitement makers of New York had no sooner seen the article copied into their newspapers, than they set about contriving a plan by which to rob the city treasury of some thousands of dollars, under the pretext of giving me a public reception worthy of the city and so great a man.
Toward evening, the major made his appearance in the "Independent Temperance," and handing me a copy of the New York Herald, pointed to a letter in its columns, written by one Don Fernando, who it was said hoped soon to be mayor of the city, which office many persons seriously believed had been created for the accommodation of men happily endowed with a fondness for showing their greatness, which was the case with the aspiring Don Fernando, whose light was no taper burning in a small space. The letter set forth, with many flourishes, the necessity for showing proper respect to one so distinguished in the political world. And this the major held to be a significant token of the success that awaited us. He further hinted that the next thing we should see would be a resolution introduced at the Board of Common Council, (provided a member could be found sober enough to do it,) to vote a sum of money adequate to the occasion, with an additional clause, that a committee be appointed to carry out the arrangements. But why should not a worthy servant of the people be thus honored? There were those of the honorable council who held it no harm to be liberal in the treatment of distinguished strangers, seeing that it cost them nothing, and might, by some bare possibility, afford them an opportunity of making a speech, as well as indulging a natural passion for free drinks. The major was in ecstasies with the prospect, and now disclosed to me the fact, that he had sold out his stock of tin ware for two hundred dollars, his Shanghai chickens for fifty, and his wagon for ninety, making in all three hundred and forty dollars, two hundred of which he had set apart as peace and comfort money for his wife, Polly, and the balance he had resolved to tuck nicely away in his wallet, to serve in case of emergency. We must take Duncan with us, he said, for he was a pig of wonderful parts, and deformed monstrosities being much in favor in New York, we could make a good thing of exhibiting him, which would save us against the rubs of ill fortune. As to old Battle, he had been his companion in so many wars and tin ware campaigns, that he had resolved also to take him along, though it cost a new pair of saddle-bags. And as the New York politicians were bent on doing him great honor, he would no doubt be invited to review the troops, (perhaps be escorted by the Seventh Regiment,) when, as a matter of economy, the animal would serve an excellent purpose; and, being quite as high in metal as he was in bone, he would no doubt astonish the bystanders with his proud demeanor.
There was lying in the harbor of Barnstable, bound for New York, a great, broad sterned sloop, called "The Two Marys," commanded by one Luke Snider, who was an old pilot along the coast, and as burly an old sea-dog as ever navigated the Sound. Luke's wife, a lusty wench of some forty summers, accompanied him, as mate and could steer as good a trick as any Tom Marlin that ever stood at a tiller. Indeed, Luke manned the "Two Marys" with his own family, for his two sons, who made up the crew, "went hands before the mast," while the good wife added to the office of mate that of cook. The "Two Marys" was, in addition to her other distinguishing qualities, dignified with the title of "New York Packet," and when in port always kept a sign in her rigging denoting that fact. Indeed, Captain Luke Snider was regarded an extremely sharp fellow by all who knew him, and in addition to having carried on a large trade in onions and watermelons, was a salt water politician of great influence, and could so direct the votes of his fellow craftsmen as to make him in high favor with all candidates for public office. And the major, who had an eye to the future, never let an opportunity to conciliate Luke's friendship slip, and would at times swear by him. And to further demonstrate his friendship for the versatile skipper, he now proposed that we take passage on the "Two Marys," as well for the purpose of disarming our political enemies, who might charge us with presumption did we take a more fashionable conveyance, as to carry out a genuine stroke of political economy. Feeling that objection would be useless, I consented to leave the matter entirely with him, being satisfied that so great a politician and military hero was a safe person to trust with such arrangements.