USA > Maryland > Frederick County > Emmitsburg > History of Emmitsburg, Maryland, with a prelude of historical facts of Frederick County, and a romance entitled Disappointed, or, The recluse of Huckle's feld > Part 10
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
"I am James Dillinger; I am the tramp that asked you for tobacco in Emunitsburg, as you sat on the store box in front of a store. You need not fear; I still have honor. If you wish to speak to me it will be in confidence, if not I will go away, and the secrecy you wish about yourself will remain as you have desired, but if you wish to renew ac- quaintance I will be outside the College gate at the pike at six o'clock tomorrow evening. The clothes I now wear were given me by the institution; I have turned from the tramp to the gentleman and will continue. Yours,
JAMES DILLINGER. "
In answer to the letter written to John Dillinger's father came an urgent request for him to return to his father's house, as they have been advertising for him for years; they concluded he was dead. Now the Rev. Father is re- quested to supply him the necessary funds to travel to New York, and delay not to send him at once. The engage- ment Dillinger has made to be at the gate to meet John Hartel interferes with his going today. What shall he do, he considers, he may not get back again; having came so near a reunion of an old friendship he could not think of breaking off his engagement. He wrote his father he would be on in a few days. Oh, these days of suspense to
1
120
an old father and mother whose lost boy was found, to think of that long lost son returning in a few days, he has wondered these twelve years; no tidings from him; how their hearts are rejoicing over the prospects before them.
At 6 o'clock in the evening Dillinger stands at the gate on the pike, looking down the road, the minutes fly fast. No Hartel in sight, perhaps his watch is not with the Col- lege clock, allowances must be made always, not in time- pieces only but in people. John was a prompt man in youth, he may by his life alone have changed; have I changed, conscience speak; a tramp yesterday, a citizen in intention today, going home in my right mind, a determi- nation to live a changed life. There comes a man is that he? presently he came near enough to distinguish, it is a black man; when he gets to the gate he asks, can you tell me where Mr. James Dillinger is? I am he; what is your business, are you from Huckle's field ? "I am," he replied; he then drew froin his pocket a package; I opened it and found it contained a sealed book with these words written on it: "Break the seals, read carefully, then act accord- ingly." I broke the seal and stepped back to a seat on the terrace, saying to the black man, "Wait for an answer;"' the first page read, Mollie the last Whittier; then I cut the strings that held the body of the book together and read: At eight o'clock tonight come to the tube and drop this book in; I will open the gate for you; let no one see you; the black man will be in bed. At eight o'clock I was there, into the tube I passed the book; I heard a bolt drawn and John Hartel stood before me; "step in, old comrade, " said he (what a welcome thought I, compared to the many rebuffs I met as a man on the road); I passed in, the gate closed, the bolt fastened and we stood face to face; "come this way" said he, and he led me to a grotto from which no sound could reach the house, then he said, "Jim how is this, such peculiar circumstances, this secrecy compared to the bril- liant lighted hall and the dance." I replied, "John how is it you are here in the bushes?" "Well," said he, "it . would take weeks to tell all that has passed through iny-
121
mind from thoughts to acts, I say it will take weeks to tell all that has happened since last we met, but suffice it to say, I was a fool, and this is the result. Tell me your his- tory, Jim, and then I will tell mine."
I replied, I must leave tomorrow for New York; I have written home, I will be there, all of which I related to John, and the particulars of the Rev. Father; then I com- menced my story as follows. When I returned home from college my father concluded I had better get into business at once. I thought otherwise, as six years pent up life ought to have one of recreation, at the end of which I pro- posed to engage in some calling; he consented, and supplied me with means, and I took a trip around the world, I went around the States from Maine to California, then I crossed the ocean to Europe, and all over the East. When I re- turned home I had spent all he gave me and had drawn on him for two thousand more. I gambled and lost, I drank, I carried the sign of it on my face and person. He was so disgusted he told me to try the world without money. This I knew meant leave, for I knew him to be a man of iron will. I sought employment, what could I do? If I ob- tained a position it was but for a short time, as I was not fitted for any work. I drifted by dint of luck to California, and did any and everything I could find to do, when I en- gaged to serve as a cowboy; this suited best of all, this went on for two years. I had funds to return, when I thought of the good home and none to share it, as I was the only child, I returned. When I entered the house they could see no return for the care and expenditure on me. After a few days resting my father said, "James, what have you in view ?" Nothing, said I. "Well the world is be- fore you said he." I knew what that meant, and I left the house and took to the road. The last twelve years have been years of a living death. I pity any man that has left his home for the road, and here I can assure you, there are thousands who are tramping that had they, like myself, done the proper thing, would be ornaments to their family instead of disgracing them. They now want me to come
122
home, and I am going. I have tramped from State to State, north and south; I have seen the country. But oh, the remorse that this heart has endured, I cannot tell, I did not wish suicide as many do, nor to be placed on a desect- ing table, or buried in a potter's field. Oh, no, yet I did not know what was before me; I did know there was a good home I had deserted by not taking a father's good advice. There are many men competent to teach, to transact busi- ness of all kinds, on the road. There is a facination about it, especially to those who are friendless and homeless. The variety, sometimes well clothed and fed, other times hungry and almost naked. In some sections people will feed us, in others deny everything; taking it altogether it compares favorably with all callings in life.
"Jim," said John Hartel, "you know how I was left, plenty, to come and go, engage in any business at my pleasure. Mary and I were children together, and by com- mon consent the parents on both sides were satisfied that we marry. She received a fine education, was a musician of high order. I received, as you know, high honors at Yale. We both traveled a great deal. I knew she was in Europe and corresponded with her. My parents died within six months unexpectedly. I concluded to follow her to Europe; if possible overtake her, and return home together. I found her at Venice and gave her every atten- tion, intending to return home on the same boat, and if agreeable marry after we came to New York, as I was alone and did not wish to dispose of the home property.
On my outgoing steamer I met an Italian gentleman and his daughter going home; she had just graduted at Holy- oke; she was a lady of finished education; we became com- panionable, the father included. On the steamer some friends who knew us both, and knew the relations between us, met Mary before I got to Venice; they met her at Ver- sales, and told her of my attentions to this Italian lady, had they told the truth, but no, it was exaggerated. I thought when I first met her, she had cooled somewhat, or perhaps had become interested in another; she was not as genial as
١٠
1
1
123
heretofore, but somewhat reserved. I engaged a dongola, beautiful it carried itself, like a duck on the water; the oarsman could neither speak not understand English. Scarcely had we started when she spoke of the black-eyed Italian girl; I did not attempt to explain, here was my mis- take; that was the end of an anticipated life. I returned home, arranged my affairs to live a life of ease and pleasure, which I did for years; I banished woman from my thought, I avoided every opportunity of meeting her or her family. A few years ago I was informed by Martha Gardner, a cousin of Mary Whittier, she had purchased a mountain peak at Emmitsburg, Md. ; this aroused my sympathies. I concluded as I could not follow her to the different places to which she travelled, but I could erect on this mountain a house, where I could be satisfied to live a recluse, from the observatory of which I could see the house that had within its walls the person that was all to me, that she was safely housed, and it might be my good luck some day to get a glimpse of her in her snow white garb. I put talent on the road to observe, had ladies to search for her where- abouts to be sure I was right before I took this course. I did hope it was not true and a reconciliation would ensue. At last I ascertained it was true; she was over there, as he pointed in the direction of the Cliff House, for that reason I am here, not that I wish her to know me, far from it. I wish her to live and die keeping her individuality.
Thus the night was spent in conversation until early dawn. Dillinger left Huckle's field promising to return at sometime to visit John Hartel, but always to observe secrecy, that his friends may be ignorant of him. Dillinger returned home to find his parents old and feeble, this time they were glad to receive him, he is another man, he re- mains at home to comfort them; in less than one year both pass away; he the only heir to an estate, the income of which yields kim a sufficiency; he remembers when a young man, the lady who clung to him as a school boy, a young man and enjoyed his vacation with him, whose let- ters he gladly replied to when at College, who he forsook in his rioutous life, keeping her in ignorance of it all; to his delight she was still a maid, not having sought the company of another since he disappointed her; he finds her,
124
joyfully she receives him, and mutually they rekindle the old embers into a flame, and marry in a fortnight; sitting in his homestead, this he wrote to Huckle's field, telling John Hartel he would visit Eminitsburg with his bride the com- ing summer.
The house on Carrick's Knob could be seen from all the adjoining towns, Taneytown, Uniontown, Gettysburg; its bright light at night lighted with acetylene gas gave it an impressive appearance none others have. The town peo- ple delight to stand and gaze at its brilliancy, as the knob looks more like a light at sea. John Hartel can sit in his house at Huckle's field and see the flash of light as it pene- trates the darkness, and wonder at the stupidity of two re- fined, educated and social beings, whose lives were blighted in youth, who in the maturer period of life had acted so unwisely. James Dillinger and his wife visit Eininitsburg; after a few days spent in town he visited John Hartel, tell- ing him he had visited the Cliff House and conversed with Mary Whittier; he told of Hartel's life and where he was living, when she exclaimed: "Oh, tell him to call and see me !" She had not heard he was the herinit, therefore was exceedingly astonished. I am here for the same reason he is there, to avoid the world; this was too much for Hartel. That night the buildings were all burned, nothing remained to tell of his mansion but the foundation and chimney. In the grotto lay a paper inscribed, "I came to the mountain for peace, I found it not. The Field is to remain open for all to use the fruits. It shall be called Huckle's field to the end of time." Hartel found a home in the Holy Land where he died, the American consul burying him accord- ing to request, where no man can discover his grave. Mary Whittier lived to do much good; she prepared her last rest- ing place beside the rock at Indian Look Out, erecting a tablet with this inscription: "Life's fitful scenes are over, the mockery of society and the hypocracy of trusted friends behooves all to do riglit, regardless of speech or acts, that would serve to point to future happiness in this world, but ends in disappointment here, estranging one from the other, past reconciliation for time, and no desire to renew it in eternity. Do right always." Mary Whittier dying, she was buried in lier selected tomb.
One night the lightning flash centered on the Cliff House, and a conflagration ended all the beauty of the peak of Car- rick's Knob. If the citizens and strangers go to see. this tomb, as they visit the tomb of Lady Stanhope and Helen Hunt Jackson, it will be no greater disappointment than was the entire drama to the actors.
F 857425, 379
5614
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.