The Silver Bottle; or, The Adventures of Little Marlboro in Search of His Father

by J. H. Ingraham

  `What name?' asked the minister.

  `That on the paper. It was what first struck my eye when I unrolled the caps, and it seemed to me that that was the name Providence sent for it.'

  `It is a very odd name for a child,' said his reverences miling.

  `I confess it is odd; but there it is on the paper, and it seems as plain to me that it ought to be the child's name, as if his mother had writ it there.'

  `So you mean to call him `Little Marlboro',' and nothing more?' asked the minister.

  `Yes if there is no objection to it in the christening,' answered Dame Darwell; `for I want him christened and properly named; for no one knows whether he has been christened, and I should be uneasy if I thought it was a little heathen!'

  `Little Marlboro' is a very good name, and is the title of a tune which I am partial to. A very good name for a tune, Mistress Darwell, but not so appropriate for a child,' he said with a quiet smile.

  `Now I think it is very pretty,' said Dame Darwell, looking affectionately down upon me as I was laying in her lap perfectly comfortable. `Itty Marly dear itty Marly! See him smile! The dear little fellow knows his name already! '

  `Well Mrs. Darwell, you are at liberty to do as you choose, and if you will prefix George to the Marlboro' I have no objections to baptizing him; for he will need the George when he is too much grown to make the `Little' appropriate. '

  `Little Marlboro' is my fancy, Doctor,' said the good hostess smiling. `There it is on the paper and it seems somehow to belong to him.'

  `Well then I will humor you, Mrs. Darwell. Bring the babe to church next Sunday and I will christen him `Little Marlboro'.'

  The next Sunday `Little Marlboro' I was christened, not a little to the amusement and surprise of the congregation, who thought doubtless that name was quite as much out of the common way as way my mysterious appearance in the `best bed' of the Inn kept by the worthy Dame.'

  CHAPTER VI.

  My name causes remark, but Dame Darwell explains and satisfies curiosity— Aunt Keezy and cousin Mariah conspire against me, and open war is declared between us—My victory and Emma Field—A battle—A new and painful view of my position.

  The oddity of the name by which good Dame Darwell had had me christened, created not a little curiosity and amazement; but when the worthy hostess explained to inquirers how the caps had come wrapped up in the piece of music called `Little Marlboro', they one and all agreed with her in the propriety of bestowing upon me a name, which Providence seemed in a particular manner to have designated as that which should belong to me.

  Such, then, as I have narrated in the foregoing chapter, was the manner, not of my birth exactly, for that remains still an impenetrable mystery, but of my appearance! From that time Dame Darwell became a mother to me. She never failed to have me dressed in my best `bib and tucker' when any of the more respectable order of her guests arrived, and brought into the room; when she began to relate my history, a thing she was very fond of doing. In this manner I soon got to be quite a hero before I was one year old; and Dame Darwell always ended her narrative with the assertion of her firm belief that I should yet turn out to be some great personage, and she hoped to live to see the day when I should ride in my state carriage. She never failed to declare her intention of making me her heir, which assurances did not tend to elevate me very greatly in the affections of `aunt Keezy' and cousin Mariah.' These two personages soon began to regard me with the most decided demonstrations of hostility, and to look upon me as a little heathen that had surreptitiously crept in between them and the twelve thousand dollars at which Dame Darwell's fortune was estimated. But their fears of the good dame prevented them from openly exhibiting their malevolence; though they did not fail to put their heads together against me when alone, and plot how they should get me out of the way without absolutely putting arsenic into my milk. But their conspiracies did not, it would seem, arrive at any positive head inasmuch as I reached my seventh year alive, hale and thriving as any urchin in all those parts. I can, however, distinctly recollect sundry privately administered pinches and ear pullings from these two good ladies whenever they would meet me in the passage, or be alone with me; which led me to take a very decided dislike to their society, a disposition I was by no means backward in manifesting. I was too spirited even at seven years to complain to Dame Darwell of their persecutions, but used to retaliate in my own way. I took pitch and with it fastened nut shells on aunt Keesy's cat, and turned her into their bed room at night, where her clattering footsteps up and down the floor terrified them out of their wits; and Dame Darwell used to laugh while they cried, for the good dame, in the first place, never thought any thing I did was wrong; and in the second place she well knew their dislike of me, and connived at any tricks I saw fit to play upon them. I would resent `cousin Mariah's' treatment by putting honey on a stick and bringing into the house a cloud of bees and wasps of which she stood in the greatest terror, and at the sight of which she would drop everything and run screaming to shut herself up. I put bees under her dinner plate and hornets in the lining of her bonnet. One Sunday she heard a well known buzzing and angry humming in the crown of her bonnet. In such cases cousin Mariah lost all presence of mind. She did so now! She jumped up in her pew, tore off her bonnet, snapping the strings and flinging it into the aisle, and then uttered a shrick that paralyzed every body in the meeting house.

  I may be censured as cruel and unfeeling. But that very morning she had pinched my ear till the blood came, without any provocation, and daily the two were exercising their wits to annoy me and give me pain, well knowing I would not complain to Dame Darwell; who, had she known what I endured from their malace, would have sent them both away from beneath her roof.— Thus under the necessity of defending myself, I early learned to regard them as my natural enemies; but I will say that in all my resentment, my revenge was without malace and often playful though severe. In my seventh year, I was sent to the village school, having already been previously taught to read fluently by my more than mother. From this time up to my twelfth year nothing of importance occurred to vary the monotony of a school boy's life. I had studied hard and improved all the privileges good Dame Darwell conferred upon me. Perhaps, however, it will be more modest to speak in the third person of my accomplishments at this period, and use Dame Darwell's words, as she spoke of me to the chief Justice who stopped one day at the Inn.

  `He is now twelve or thereabouts, your worship, but as you know he came to me so singularly I don't know when his birth day is, and so I always keeps that I discovered him on. He is the most affectionate and generous boy you ever saw. He loves me with all his heart and returns my affection with as much fondness as if I were his own mother. He has grown so tall and handsome with large, sparkling hazel eyes, brown curly hair, and such a pleasant voice and smile. I never hear him speak but I don't think of his mother's; for it sounds just like it. He has his father's forehead and eye, and I think will be tall like him, but he'll make a handsomer man, I think. He studies so hard too! He is at the head of all his classes in Latin and Greek, (for you know I send him to the Academy now) and has got through Ceesy's Commandment's and Vigil's Enidy.'

  `Cesar's Commentaries and Virgil's æneiad, you probably mean, madam, politely observed the chief Justice.

  Up to this time the course of my life had been smooth and happy. My little warfare, with couzin Mariah and aunt Keezy had given zest to my existence without in any degree affecting my tranquility. Dame Darwell did me justice in saying that I fondly returned her affection. I well knew the history of my life from her lips; and many is the hour I have sat at her knee, and heard her tell about my father and mother—mysterious persons to my youthful imagination. I felt all my obligations to her, and loved her not only from gratitude, but for herself. I tried hard by close application to my books to make her some return for her kindness: for I knew that every medal, every honor I obtained would gladden her heart.

  But there was now a change to pass over the hitherto
unruffled surface of my existence. I had at school become the rival both in Latin and love of the only son of a physician of the town; a lad who prided himself on his father's wealth and respectability, and who, thereupon, assumed a superiority over those boys whose parents did not move in the same exclusive set with his. He was a good scholar, and a youth of good deal of cleverness; and no doubt would have been a favorite, but for his insufferable arrogancy. This feeling he did not hestitate to show at any time, and on every occasion. If he was talking with one whom he considered his equal, and I or any lad whom he did not regard as such should approach, he would immediately turn his back and walk away. This conduct amused me and excited only pity. I did not seek his acquaintance, however, and we seldom spoke. There chanced, at length, to be an exhibition and a competition for Latin prizes. I feared only him and he feared only me. We both struggled hard! I did my best, resolved to punish him by getting the victory! I succeeded.

  As I left the Academy a lovely little girl of eleven years came up to me with a bright smile, and holding out a boquet. I knew her name to be Emma Field, for I had often seen her pass on her way to a boarding school near, though I had never spoken with her. Yet her sweet image had made a deep impression upon me, and I never passed her without coloring deeper (young as we both were) and without seeing her beautiful face all that day mingling like sunshine with my Latin verbs. I had several times seen Russel Carryl join her and walk with her, and felt a rising emotion of cordial antipathy to him for that very circumstance. Emma Field came from Boston, and belonged, I was told to one of the most wealthy and aristocratic families in that city, of wealth and olden lineages.

  As she approached me, I felt my face glow and expressed a mixed sensation of timidity and delight; for her eye was upon, and her smile was directed towards me.

  `Here, master Marlboro',' she said in a voice as musical as a robin red-breast's, at the same time presenting me with the bunch of flowers; `here is a boquet I gathered expressly for Russel Carryl, because I expected he would gain the medal; and as I gathered it and brought it on purpose to present to the victor, you and not he are the one entitled to it. Will you please accept it!'

  This was spoken with such grace, such sweet propriety of manner, and the flowers were proffered with so frank and gracious a mien that I was both charmed and bewildered. I hardly knew where I was, and stuttering out some clumsy reply and blushing up to the eyes, I received from her the boquet and placed it in my vest.

  `There, sir Russel Carryl,' she cried, laughing and turning towards this personage whom she had passed by to reach me, and who saw the act: `I gathered that beautiful bunch of flowers to bring to the exibition to give to you, because you told me you were to be the victor; and only because I expected you to win the prize did I promise it to you. But as you have lost I have bestowed it upon the winner.'

  Thus speaking she bowed and laughed, nodded to me and bounded away to join a group of her school-mates who with their governess had walked from the Boarding school a mile distant to witness the exhibition. As soon as she had turned away leaving my heart bounding wildly and full of sweet joy (for I then, with school boys of the same age, felt the first delightful emotions of that sensation which a few years later I knew to be love) I could not help glancing with a triumph in my looks I did not wish to conceal towards Russel Carryl. He was glaring on me with a scowl of hatred and defiance. No sooner did he catch the exulting expression of my eye, than he came up to me, and said in an imperious tone,

  `Give me that boquet, sirrah?'

  `It is mine,' I answered with a smile. `If you wish it you will have to take it from me, for I shall not resign it.'

  He clenched his fist and cried,

  `Give it to me or I will knock you down.'

  I knew him to be as courageous as he was proud and vain, and that he would not hesitate to make the effort to do what he threatened. He was a year older but no taller than I. I had never tried my strength or skill with him, but I felt all at once a disposition to do so.

  `I shall not take a blow from you,' I answered very positively.

  He looked steadily in my face a moment, and then with a sudden movement of his hand snatched the boquet from my vest. I instantly struck him a blow in the left temple and he reeled. But he recovered himself enough to dash the bunch of flowers to the earth and grind them into the ground with his heel. This act called forth all my indignation. I attacked him with well directed blows, which he met with courage and returned with no little skill. For at least ten minutes we fought there on the green surrounded by a ring of boys. and both excited by as determined a spirit of rivalry in love as ever inspired the breasts of two rival knights' errant. It was a drawn battle, for seeing the Preceptor and one of the tutors coming we ceased. Seeing that the battle had torminated the teachers passed on their way without approaching nearer. Russel Carryl picked up his hat and was instantly surrounded by a party of his fellow `aristocrats' who were loud in their expressions of resentment against me: for he had a black eye and was bleeding freely at the nose, while I had not received a single mark.

  I was also surrounded by a party of my friends who were rejoicing in my success.

  `I wouldn't have fought with such a low fellow,' said one of the aristocratic consolers to my wounded antagonist.

  `He is only a tavern keeper's boy,' said another.

  `I wouldn't have fought with the bastard,' said Russel Carryl! `But the fellow dared to carry in his bosom the flowers she had given him.'

  Had I heard aright? All the blood in my heart rushed to my brain! I walked firmly up to him and fixing my eyes upon his, I said—

  `What term was that you applied to me, Russel Carryl?'

  He hesitated a moment and then answered boldly—

  `I said that you were a bastard!'

  My hand was clenched to strike him to the ground. But suddenly the mystery hanging around my birth rushed full upon my mind! My fears seemed painfully to whisper that he might have spoken the truth. My clenched hand relaxed. I felt my bosom bursting with my feelings. I made no answer. I opened not my pale and trembling lips; but turning away I walked homeward at a rapid step, which under the increasing excitement of my wounded and insulted feelings, soon increased into a run. I had gone but a few steps before they began shouting after me and calling me boldly by that epithet of infamy, and even some of the boys of my own party I heard taking up the cry. Such is human nature whether manifesting itself in the boy of twelve or the man of mature years. On reaching the Inn which had been the only home I had ever known, I threw myself into the arms of Dame Darwell weeping as if my heart would burst and poured into her maternal ears the bitterness of my young soul. She was indignant, and vented her anger in no measured words; and did all she could to soothe me, by assuring me that she was as certain that my father and mother, whoever they were, were as much husband and wife, as she and George Darwell had been! I listened to her reasons for believing this and became calmer. But I firmly refused to go back to that school again. This weakness the kind woman indulged me in, and in a few days afterwards sent me into Boston to the Latin School in School street, with the arrangement that I should come out every Saturday and return every Monday.

  CHAPTER VII.

  The green silk purse—I enter at Harvard—My meeting with Russel Carryl— The effect of my menace—A sudden change in the bearing of my classmates— Henry Seaford calls on me—My determination—The midshipman's warrant arrives.

  I remained at the Latin School two years, during which time I was fitted for the Sophomore class at Cambridge. I had left behind me in the village the mystery touching my birth, and the name of `Little Marlboro';' passing for the son of Dame Darwell, under the name of Marlboro' Darwell. By this name I was now known. Yet not a day passed while I was at the Latin School that I did not labor under a nervous apprehension that the skcret should be discovered, and that the epithet I had heard applied to me by Russel Carryl would be repeated. But during the two years I was known only as Marlboro' Darwell,
and not even suspected of being other than the son of Mrs. Darwell. At length, as I have said, I was fitted for the university and returned to the Inn and to my more than mother. Noble woman! how my heart fills while I speak of thee and recall thy goodness to me! During the two years I was at the Latin School she liberally supplied me with money, a liberality I never abused; and clothed me very handsomely. Twice during those two years I had met Emma Field. The first time was in Washington street, directly opposite the Old South. I was going to school with my green sachel over my sboulders, as she was tripping along with a little green silk purse in her hand. She knew me as quickly as I recognized her and smiled, and stopped. I myself was passing by, blushing, for I would not have been so bold as to have spoken to her first for the world.

  `So you've come to Boston to school, Master Marlboro'?' she said in a voice whoes sweet tones I have never forgotten.

  `Yes,' I stammered out confusedly.

  `I am sorry my little bunch of roses should have caused such a battle between that quick Russel Carryl and you. I heard of it; he told me all about it, and how he tore the bouqet from you and trampled on it. I was very angry with him, and told him I was; and said it was a very ungentlemanly act. We are not friends now on account of it! Will you take this little green purse instead of the bouquet. I netted it myself. There is no money in it, for I have just spent my last penny, but I know you will value it, you fought so bravely for the bouquet!'

  This was spoken with a naivette I am unable to describe. Her manner was frank, friendly, and more like that of a sister or a cousin than a stranger whom I had never spoken to but once before. I took the purse and thanked her with a flow of glowing words, not one of which can I now remember. Indeed I could not have told five minutes afterwards what I said. I only recollect that she smiled, bowed, and the next moment was tripping away. I was only recalled to consciousness by one of my classmates asking me `if I had found a purse?' I hastily thrust it into my pocket and making some embarrassed answer, joined him and went toward the school.