Alida; or, Miscellaneous Sketches of Incidents During the Late American War.

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER XI.

  The dreadful din of war is heard Wide spreading o'er the land and sea; The battle's shout and cannon's roar Proclaim the nation shall be free.

  The nodding plumes, like waving pines, Are shaken by the morning breeze; The gilded armour brightly shines, And patriots sigh for victories.

  The tumults of a second war with Great Britain still increased, and wasnot only exhausting the finances of the country, but called for a stillgreater sacrifice--all the bravest American youth. A large army ofreinforcements was shortly expected from England to land on our shores,and the confused noise of the warriors, with more vigorous and intrepidcombat, were already anticipated.

  Theodore had received a commission in a regiment of militia, and waspressed by several young gentlemen of his acquaintance, who had enlistedin the army, to join it also. He had an excuse: his father was a man inextensive business, was considerably past the prime of life, had anumber of agents and clerks under him, but began to feel himself unableto attend to the various and burthensome duties and demands of amercantile life. Theodore was his only son; his assistance, therefore,became necessary, until, at least, his father could bring his businessto a close, which he was now about to effect.

  Theodore stated these facts to his friends; told them that on everyoccasion he should be ready to fly to the post of danger when hiscountry was invaded, and that as soon as his father's affairs becamesettled, he would, if necessary, join the army.

  The president was now active in making every exertion in his power, torouse the feelings of his countrymen to act their parts with honour inthe scene that was now before them. He knew that much of theresponsibility rested on himself. The capacity he was in with regard tothe nation, caused the most material and important business--ofdirecting and superintending the weighty affairs of government--to fallupon his hands; and such was the situation of the country, that it notonly called for the exertion, the wisdom, sound judgment, and policy ofthe presidential chair, but likewise of every patriotic bosom toparticipate in their endeavours to oppose the depredations against it.The chief executive was entered on a theatre in which he was to act aconspicuous part in this war of America with Great Britain, and tooccupy a station in the page of history, where the interesting detailwill reach the ear of remotest ages in the dates of time.

  In the mean time, the father of Theodore had been absent for three orfour days to one of the commercial seaports, on business with somemerchants with whom he was connected in trade. He returned the next dayafter Theodore had got home; his aspect and his conversation were markedwith an assumed and unmeaning cheerfulness. At supper he ate nothing,discoursed much, but in an unconnected and hurried manner, interruptedby long pauses, in which he appeared to be buried in contemplation.After supper he asked Theodore "if it were not possible that his unionwith Alida could be concluded within a few days?" Theodore, startled atso unexpected a question, replied, that such a proposal would beconsidered extraordinary, perhaps improper; besides, when Alida hadnamed the day, she mentioned that she had an uncle who lived at adistance, whose daughter was to pass the summer with her, and wasexpected to arrive before the appointed time. It would, he said, be adelicate thing for him to anticipate the nuptials, unless he could givesome cogent reason for so doing, and at present he was not apprised thatany such existed. His father, after a few moments' hesitation, answered,"I have reasons which, when told,"--here he stopped, suddenly arose,hastily walked the room in much visible agony of mind, and then retiredto his chamber.

  Theodore and his mother were much amazed at so strange a proceeding.They could form no conjecture of its cause, or its consequence. Theodorepassed a sleepless night. His father's slumbers were interrupted; he wasrestless and uneasy: his sleep was broken and disturbed by incoherentmutterings and plaintive moans. In the morning when he appeared atbreakfast, his countenance wore the marks of dejection and anguish. Hescarcely spoke a word; and after the cloth was removed, he ordered allto withdraw except Theodore and his mother; when, with emotions thatspoke the painful feelings of his bosom, he thus addressed them:

  "For more than thirty years I have been engaged in commerce, in order toacquire independence for myself and my family. To accomplish this,I became connected with some English importing merchants, in a seaporttown, and went largely into the English trade. Success crowned ourendeavours. On balancing our accounts, two years ago, we found that ourexpectations were answered, and that we were sufficiently wealthy toclose business, which some proposed to do; it was, however, agreed tomake one effort more, as some favourable circumstances appeared tooffer, in which we adventured very largely, on a fair calculation ofliberal and extensive proceeds. Before returns could be made, the warcame on, embarrassments ensued, and by indubitable intelligence latelyreceived, we find that our property in England has been sequestered;five of our ships, laden with English goods, lying in English harbours,and just ready to sail for America, have been seized as lawful prizes;added to this, three vessels from the Indies, laden with island produce,have been taken on their homeward bound voyage, and one lost on herreturn from Holland.

  "This wreck of fortune I might have survived, had I to sustain only myequal dividend of the loss; but of the merchants with whom I have beenconnected, not one remains to share the fate of the event--all haveabsconded or secreted themselves. To attempt to compound with mycreditors would be of little avail, so that the consequence to me isinevitable ruin.

  "To abscond would not secure me, as most of my remaining property isvested in real estate; and even if it would, I could not consent to it.I could not consent to banish myself from my country, with the view todefraud my creditors. No: I have lived honestly, and honestly will Idie. By fair application and industry my wealth has been obtained, andit shall never justly be said that the reputation of my latter days weresullied with acts of meanness. I have notified and procured a meeting ofthe creditors, and have laid the matter before them. Some appearedfavourable to me, others insinuated that we were all connected infraudulent designs to swindle our creditors. To this I replied withbecoming spirit, and was in consequence threatened with immediateprosecution. Whatever may be the event, I had some hopes that yourhappiness, Theodore, might yet be secured. Hence I proposed your unionwith Alida before our misfortunes should be promulgated. Your parentsare old, a little will serve the residue of their days. With youracquirements you may make your way in life. I shall now have no propertyto give you; but I would still wish you to ensure to yourself that whichyou prize far above, and without which, both honours and emolumentswould be unimportant and worthless."

  At this moment a loud rap at the door interrupted the discourse, andthree men were ushered in, which proved to be the sheriff and hisattendants, sent by the more inexorable creditors of Theodore's fatherand company, to levy on the property of the former, which orders theyfaithfully executed by seizing the lands, tenements, and furniture. Wewill not stop the reader to moralize on this disastrous event--thefeelings of the family can better be conceived than described.

  Hurled, in a moment, from the lofty summit of affluence to the low valeof indigence, Christian philosophy after a while came to the aid of theparents, but who can realize the feelings of the son? Thus suddenly cutshort, not only of his prospects of future independence, but evenpresent support, what would be the event of his suit to Alida, andstipulated marriage? Was it not probable that her father would nowcancel the contract? Could she consent to become his in his presentpenurious situation? and could he himself be willing to make hermiserable?

  In this agitated frame of mind he received a letter from a friend in theneighbourhood of Alida, requesting him to come immediately to his house,whither he repaired the following day.

  This person had ever been the unchanging friend of Theodore; he hadheard of the misfortunes of his family, and he deeply sympathized in hisdistress. He had lately married and settled near the residence ofAlida's father. His name was Raymond. When Theodore arrived at the houseof his friend, he was received
with the same disinterested ardour he hadever been before, in the day of his most unbounded prosperity. Afterbeing seated, Raymond told him the occasion of his sending for him wasto propose the adoption of certain measures which he doubted not mightbe considered highly beneficial, as it respected his future peace andhappiness. "Your family misfortunes," continued he, "have reached theear of Alida's father. I know old people, generally speaking, too wellto believe he will now consent to receive you as his son-in-law underyour present embarrassments. The case is difficult, but notinsurmountable. You must first see Alida; she is now in the next room;I will introduce you in; converse with her, after which I will lay myplan before you."

  Theodore entered the room. Alida was sitting by a window which lookedinto a pleasant garden, and over verdant meadows where tall grass wavedto the evening breeze; further on, low valleys spread their umbrageousthickets where the dusky shadows of night had began to assemble. On thehigh hills beyond, the tops of lofty forests, majestically moved by thebillowy gales, caught the sun's last ray. Fleecy summer clouds hoveredaround the verge of the western horizon, spangled with silvery tints orfringed with the gold of evening. A mournfully murmuring rivulet purledat a little distance from the garden, on the borders of a small grove,from whence the American wild dove wafted her sympathetic moaning to theear of Alida. She was leaning on a small table as she sat by the window,which was thrown up. Her attention was fixed. She did not perceiveRaymond and Theodore as they entered. They advanced towards her; sheturned, started, and arose. With a melancholy smile she said shesupposed it was Mrs. Raymond who was approaching, as she had just leftthe room. Her countenance was dejected, which, on seeing Theodore,lighted up into a languid sprightliness. It was evident she had beenweeping. Raymond retired, and Theodore and Alida seated themselves.

  "I have broken in upon your solitude, perhaps too unseasonably," saidTheodore. It is however the fault of Raymond; he invited me to walk intothe room, but did not inform me that you were alone.

  "Your presence was sudden and unexpected, but not unseasonable," repliedAlida. I hope that you did not consider any formality necessary in yourvisits, Theodore?

  "I once did not think so," answered Theodore; now I know not what tothink--I know not how to act. You have heard of the misfortunes of myfather's family, Alida?

  "Yes, I have heard the circumstances attending that event," said she; anevent in which no one could be more deeply interested, except theimmediate sufferers, than myself.

  "Your father is also acquainted with my present situation," saidTheodore; and how did he receive the intelligence?

  "With deep regret," replied Alida.

  Has he forbidden you to admit my addresses any longer? if even in anunqualified or indirect manner, it is proper I should know it.

  "It certainly is," said Alida. Soon after we received the intelligenceof your family misfortunes, my father came into the room where I wassitting: 'Alida,' said he, 'your conduct has ever been that of a dutifulchild,--mine, of an indulgent parent. My ultimate wish is to see mychildren, when settled in life, happy and honourably respected. For thispurpose I have bestowed on them a proper education, and design suitablyto apportion my property among them. On their part, it is expected theywill act prudently and discreetly, especially in those things whichconcern materially their future peace and welfare: the principalrequisite to insure this is a proper connexion in marriage.' Here myfather paused a considerable time, and then continued: 'I know, mychild, that your situation is a very delicate one. Your marriage-day isappointed; it was named under the fairest prospects. By the failure ofTheodore's father, those prospects have become deeply darkened, if nottotally obliterated. To commit your fortune through life to a person inhis present circumstances, would be hazardous in the extreme. The daynamed can at least be suspended; perhaps something more favourable mayappear. At any rate, I have too much confidence in your discretion tosuppose that you will, by any rash act, bring reproach either uponyourself or your connexions.' Thus spake my father, and immediatelywithdrew.

  "In our present dilemma," said Theodore, "what is proper to be done?"

  "It is difficult to determine," answered Alida. "Should my fatherexpressly forbid our union, or to see each other at present, it isprobable he will carry his commands into effect. I would advise you tocall on him to-morrow with your usual freedom. Whatever may be theevent, I shall deal sincerely with you. Mrs. Raymond has been my friendand associate from my earliest years--Raymond you know. In them we canplace the utmost confidence. From them you will be enabled to obtaininformation should I be prevented from seeing you. My reliance onProvidence, I trust, will never be shaken, but my future prospects, atpresent, are dark and gloomy."

  "Let us not despair," said Theodore; "perhaps those gloomy clouds whichnow hover around us, may yet be dissipated by the bright beams of joy.Worth and innocence are the care of Heaven,--there rests my hope.To-morrow, as you propose, I will call at your father's. If I should bedebarred in future from seeing you, I will write as formerly, and directthe letters to Raymond."

  Alida now returned home, attended by Theodore. A whip-poor-will tunedits nightly song at a distance; but the sound which had so late appearedto them cheerful and sprightly, now passed heavily over their hearts.