Three millions! or, The way of the world
was estimated that the word “Whereas” occurred two hundred and some odd
number of times in the folios devoted to this preliminary statement.
But this story, in spite of the legal verbiage with which it was
encumbered, proved to be of the deepest interest to all present, even
including the eminent merchants, whose ideas were generally expressed
by figures.
The reader turned the folios for an hour before he came to the pith and
cream of the document, the masterpiece of John Hungerford’s labors.
“Imprimis” gave to John Lester, Edward Baker, and Loring Greene, the
eminent merchants, each the sum of fifty thousand dollars. These
gentlemen were John’s best friends, and he made them his executors
and trustees for the disposal of his property as “hereinafter
mentioned.” To the widow of his late brother James he gave twenty
thousand dollars. To Julia Hungerford and Thomas Lynch he gave a
like sum. Then were mentioned twenty-eight literary, scientific, and
charitable associations, to each of which the testator gave the sum of
ten thousand dollars. John Hungerford must have been terribly puzzled
to find all these names, and without the assistance of the eminent
merchants he would certainly have neglected many of them. He was
impartial in his bequests, for without regard to the objects or the
magnitude of the enterprises to which he contributed, he gave to each
the same sum.
These bequests, with an allowance of ten thousand dollars for present
expenses of probate--there were no stamps then--used up only the
half million, which was but a kind of flourish on the end of John
Hungerford’s fortune, and which had accumulated since he retired from
active pursuits. The grand army of zeros, marshalled by its significant
three, was yet in the field, and the three eminent merchants actually
gasped with anxiety to hear the name of the residuary legatee. And now
came John Hungerford’s dying crotchet; now came the notable scheme by
which John Hungerford, dead and in his grave, was to be represented in
the coming generation by a John Hungerford, alive and glorious in the
possession of a princely fortune; or, failing the “John,” by which the
name of Hungerford, simply, was to be honorably sent down to remote
ages.
The whole three millions was to be placed in the hands of the eminent
merchants, as trustees, who for their valuable services were to receive
a fixed sum per annum, the whole income of which, after deducting the
expenses, was to be paid to his “beloved nephew,” Eugene Hungerford.
Eugene did not faint when he heard that he was to be the recipient
of one hundred and eighty thousand dollars a year, but his mother
absolutely gasped for breath.
The lawyer proceeded. The eminent trustees were to retain possession of
the three millions, all safely and profitably invested at the present
time, until the before-mentioned beloved nephew, Eugene Hungerford, had
attained the age of thirty years; at which time, if the said Eugene was
legally married, and was the legal father of a legal son, then the said
eminent trustees should pay over to the said beloved nephew, Eugene
Hungerford, the said legal father of the said legal son, absolutely
and irrevocably the said three millions, now invested as aforesaid:
_provided_ that the name of John Hungerford shall be unchangeably given
by the said legal father to the said legal son.
Eugene twisted uneasily in his chair. Mrs. Hungerford looked very
complacent, as though the conditions of the will, in her estimation,
were not very difficult to be complied with. Julia wanted to laugh, but
the eminent merchants, who continued to glance at her occasionally,
were too solemn and dignified to permit her to indulge in any levity.
The reading was not finished. If the said beloved nephew was not
married when he attained the said age of thirty; or, if married, and
being the legal father of a legal daughter or daughters only, and not
being the said legal father of a said legal son; or if the said son was
called by any other than the said name of “John Hungerford,”--then the
three millions was to be shattered and divided into six equal parts of
half a million each; one part to be paid to the said beloved nephew,
Eugene Hungerford; one part to the before-mentioned beloved niece,
Julia Hungerford; one part to the son of his late wife, Thomas Lynch;
one part to the Hungerford Orphan Asylum; one part to the Hungerford
Institute for Aged Women; and one part to the Hungerford Home for Aged
Men.
Every provision of the will was carefully set forth, and nicely
protected from any possible misconstruction. John made things strong.
It was duly signed and sealed, and was witnessed by the twelve
proprietors of the twelve nearest stores; for though the testator knew
that three witnesses were enough, he insisted upon having an army of
them, at least one half of whom should not be over thirty years of age;
so that if any trouble came, some of them could be found, and not all
of them would have died of old age.
The reading of the will was completed. The eminent merchants and the
sharp lawyer congratulated Eugene, his mother, and especially his
sister. They were astonishingly polite to the whole family. Eugene
tried to be good natured, but, with his peculiar temperament, he found
it even more difficult than if he had been cut off with a shilling. As
Eugene is the hero of the story, we will not attempt to use him up in
the first chapter, or even to indicate his views of the magnificent
position to which he had suddenly been elevated.
Tom Lynch had not yet been heard from, and Eugene, after listening to
all the trustees had to say, started for Poppleton with his mother and
sister.
CHAPTER II.
MR. ELIOT BUCKSTONE.
The view from Poppleton Point was very fine. A marine painter sat
making a sketch where the spray from the sea which beat upon the rocks
below spattered his patent leather boots. He was wholly absorbed in
his work, and one with a taste for the grand and beautiful, engaged in
such a task, might well be pardoned for knowing nothing else. The Point
was the eastern boundary of the northern coast line of the estuary
into which Bell River disembogued. At an average distance of half a
mile from the shore lay two islands, which had been named from their
shape The Great Bell and The Little Bell. Just above the latter, on the
north side of the river, was Port Poppleton, a village of four thousand
inhabitants, who were principally engaged in the coasting and fishing
business.
Above its mouth Bell River made two turns, which gave it the form of
the letter S. The country was hilly and rocky, and the stream had been
forced into a tortuous way in its path to the sea. Two miles north of
the Port was another village, within the corporate limits of the town,
which went by the name of Poppleton Mills. The place was a live New
England town, with some farming, some fishing, some coasting, some
ship-building, a great deal of trade with Boston and Portland by land
and by sea, but the principal interest was the cotton factories.
The mouth of Bell River was surrounded by rocks, and the region to
the southward was rather noted for its fine scenery. The gunning and
fishing in the vicinity were first class. Not only were the finest cod,
haddock, perch, and tautog caught in the sea off the Port, but the
finest pickerel and pouts were taken in the river above the Mills, and
the finest trout in the brooks which flowed into it. It was therefore
a paradise for sportsmen and summer idlers, and two very comfortable
hotels in the lower village were usually well filled with visitors
for four months in the year. Port Poppleton was rapidly acquiring a
reputation as a watering-place, on a small scale.
Mr. Eliot Buckstone, marine painter from the city of New York, sat on
a rock at the extremity of Poppleton Point. He had taken a room at the
Bell River House for a fortnight, and was just now at the height of
earthly felicity in the enjoyment of the luxuries of the place, not
the least of which, to his artistic soul, was the view from the Point.
He watched the green waves, as they rolled up from the sea, and broke
themselves in flaky spray upon the rocks of the Great Bell. This was
the scene he was sketching. He had already outlined the rocks, with the
curling billows shattering themselves upon them, and the dilapidated
farm-house and barn which occupied the highest part of the island.
“Help! help!”
Eliot Buckstone dropped his sketch-book and pencil, and sprang to his
feet, for the tones were those of a woman.
“Help! Help!”
It was the voice of a woman, but the accents were not so deeply
burdened with terror as the words would seem to indicate. Mr. Buckstone
glanced in the direction from which the appeal came, and discovered a
small boat, containing a female. She uttered no wild screams, she made
no extravagant gestures; and as her tones, gentle and supplicatory as
they were, had before informed him, she did not appear to be seriously
alarmed. The strong tide was bearing the boat swiftly through the
narrow strait between the Great Bell and the north shore.
Although the lady, standing up in the boat, did not seem to regard her
situation as a perilous one, the artist took a very different view
of it. The wind was blowing fresh from the south-west, and the frail
craft, already tossed by the great waves that rolled up from beyond
the Point, was going out to sea. The wind and the tide might force it
miles from the shore, and the lady, if not drowned, would be subjected
to a long absence and a great deal of suffering. She appealed to him
for help, or, if not to him, to somebody, for it was doubtful whether
she had yet seen him. If there was no danger, of course she would
not ask for assistance. Mr. Eliot Buckstone was an artist, and his
imagination was strong and vivid. To him the lady’s situation at once
became desperate. Without his prompt decision, and his strong arm,
the interesting supplicant would be swallowed up by the remorseless
billows, ingulfed by the relentless tide, mangled upon the pitiless
rocks.
Mr. Buckstone threw off his coat the very instant he discovered the
helpless lady, for though all the matters we have mentioned were duly
considered, the thoughts flashed through his mind as thoughts always
should flash through the brain of a genius. Mr. Buckstone threw off
his vest. He did not take off either of these garments, for he was an
impetuous young man, and a lady was in mortal peril--he threw them off.
Mr. Buckstone kicked off his boots, though they were of patent leather,
and snugly encased a pair of well-formed feet; he did not pull them
off by any of the slow and tedious expedients known to the wearers of
artistic boots--he kicked them off.
“Help! help!” again appealed the lone voyager, this time with a little
more emphasis, but hardly with more feeling or more terror.
Mr. Buckstone rushed down to the water, walked out upon a big flat
rock, and launched himself upon the stormy tide. The boat was coming
within a few rods of the Point, and having measured with his eye the
base and perpendicular of a triangle, the hypothenuse of which was the
space between himself and the boat, he struck out on the base line,
leaving the wayward craft to follow the perpendicular.
The artist swam well, and vigorously breasted the strong waves which
beat against him. It is hardly more than once in a lifetime that a
young man has an opportunity to become the hero of a romance, and Mr.
Eliot Buckstone seemed to be determined to make a rich investment on
the present occasion. It is hardly necessary to say that he intercepted
the truant boat, as it was in the act of passing the Point, for to
a young man in his frame of mind, with a helpless female before him