The Life and Adventures of Maj. Roger Sherman Potter

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This eBook was edited by Charles Aldarondo (www.aldarondo.net).

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MAJ. ROGER SHERMAN POTTER:

TOGETHER WITH AN ACCURATE AND EXCEEDINGLY INTERESTING ACCOUNT OF HIS
GREAT ACHIEVEMENTS IN POLITICS, DIPLOMACY, AND WAR,--ALL OF WHICH ARE
HERE RECORDED OUT OF SHEER LOVE FOR THE MARTIAL SPIRIT OF THIS TRULY
AMBITIOUS NATION.

I HERE DECLARE THAT THIS GREAT WORK WAS NEITHER TRANSLATED FROM THE
FRENCH, NOR PRIGGED FROM THE UNPUBLISHED WORK OF ANY ENGLISH AUTHOR,
BUT WAS TRULY AND HONESTLY WRITTEN FOR THE ESPECIAL BENEFIT OF MY
PUBLISHER.

BY PHELEG VAN TRUSEDALE, WHO, WITHOUT ASKING PERMISSION,
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATES IT TO HIS FRIEND AND BENEFACTOR, JAMES
BUCHANAN, PRESIDENT OF THESE UNITED STATES.

NEW YORK:

1858.

AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

IF the reader will but pay attention to what I have written in this
great work, it will be found that I have taken an unwarrantable
liberty with his good taste; that is to say, I have so far deviated
from that stereotyped rule-so strictly observed by all our great
authors-as to make my hero, who is what is curiously enough called a
"Yankee Character," speak tolerably good English, instead of vulgar
slang. In truth, so closely do "our great writers" adhere to this
rule of depicting the eccentric American as a lean, scraggy
individual, dressed most outlandishly, making splinters of the
king's English, while drawling it with offensive nasal sounds, and
violating the rules of common politeness in whatever he does, that
when he goes abroad the foreigner is surprised to find him a
tolerably well polished gentleman, and indeed not unfrequently
inquires what part of our country those lean persons he has seen
described in the books of American authors reside in.

Let this preface then suffice, for if any one of my many readers
think he can write a better--and I doubt not he can-let him set
about it, and not stop until he get it exactly to his fancy. But
before he say one word against aught that is herein written, let him
bear in mind that I am the author of not less than a stack of great
histories, which have already so multiplied my literary fame, that
the mere announcement of another book by me sends that only great
and generous critic, the public at large, into a perfect fever of
anxiety.

PHELEG VAN TRUSEDALE.

New York, Nov., 1857.

CONTENTS.

1.--A Chapter Wherein those Having a Taste for Nonsense may find It

2.--Containing Sundry Matters of Deep Interest

3.--A Pleasant Meeting with a Renowned Major

4.--Major Roger Sherman Potter Recounts his Exploits in War and
Politics

5.--In which Politicians and Other Vagabonds may find Something to
Their Advantage

6.--Major Roger Potter's First Adventure in New York

7.--The Pleasant Side of a Misfortune

8.--Meeting Between the Renowned Major and an Eccentric Fishmonger

9.--How the Renowned Major Exchanged Chickens with Mrs. Trotbridge

10.--The Kindness of Mine Host of the Astor

11.--Wonderful Story of an Intelligent

12.--Concerning Matters Necessary to the Perfection of This History

13.--The Two Strange Characters at the Independent Temperance Hotel

14.--A whole Town in a State of Alarm

15.--An Amusing Meeting between Major Roger Potter and his Wife,
Polly Potter

16.--Many Queer and Deeply Interesting Things which took place When
Major Potter arrived at Barnstable

17.--A Man of the Name of Giles Sheridan

18.--Which Relates how Major Roger Potter Sailed for New York, to the
Great Delight of Little Barnstable

19.--The Most Pleasant and Satisfactory Mode of Displaying Courage
and Military Skill

20.--A Mistake that had Nearly Cost Major Potter his Life

21.--The Happiest Way of Settling a Difference

22.--The Least Expensive Way of Manufacturing Heroes

23.--Which Treats of a Party of Yachters Met on the Sound

24.--A Remarkable Interview between the Renowned Major Roger Potter
and the Commander of the Fleet

25.--A Small Accident which had well nigh Lost the Renowned Major all
His Reputation for Gallantry

26.--Major Roger Potter's Grand Reception in New York, and How he was
Fairly Suffocated with the Attentions of Our Aldermen

27.--What was Said and Done when the Renowned Major Potter Arrived at
the Great St. Nicholas Hotel

28.--A Remarkable Mayor of the City; how he Received the Major,
Exchanged Speeches, and was Serenaded, to the Great Delight of
Politicians and Vagabonds in general

29.--Wherein is Pleasantly Related how Major Roger Potter was Found
Almost Suffocated

30.--How to Regulate the Good Conduct of Young Gentlemen Entering the
"Century Club."

31.--How the Landlord of the Astor pursued the Renowned Major with a
Small Bill

32.--A Queer Account of How the Major got into Debt to the Landlord
of the Astor

33.--How the Major became a General, and Joined the Young American
Banking House of Pickle, Prig & Flutter

34.--A Remarkable Showman, and what was Done with the Intelligent Pig

35.--Two Great Generals, and an Amusing Account of the Very
Unmilitary Predicament they were Found in on the Morning of the
Review

36.--The Story of a very Learned Critic, together with other Queer
and Interesting Matters, all of which took place at the New York
Hotel

37.--A Chapter on Military Politicians and Critics, all of which is
set down in Writing by Mr. Orlando Tickler, one of the Order

38.--Major Roger Potter Engages to get the Kingdom of Kalorama for
us, and Prepares to Depart for Washington, to Procure the Mission
promised him by the Government

39.--A Remark or two concerning our Grand Opera House

40.--How certain Well-Known Adepts and Office-Seekers were Alarmed at
General Roger Potter's Arrival in Washington

41.--An Adept of the Name of Ben Stretcher, and what He Does for
those who Stand in Need of His Services

42.--Which Records the Singular Character of the Application made by
General Roger Potter for an Office, and how he is sent Minister to
the King of the Kaloramas, that being the Easiest Method of Getting
Rid of Him

43.--Which Records how the General Got His Commission, and Returned
to New York, with Other Things Common to Politicians

44.--General Roger Potter gets a Mission, and Returns to New York,
with the Loss of his Secretary, Mr. Tickler

45.--An Affair of Gallantry that had Nearly Cost Mr. Tickler his
Life, an event that would have been a Serious Loss to the Nation;
also, the Story of Leon and Linda, as Told by the Critic

46.--The Renowned General Potter takes his Departure as Minister
Plenipotentiary for Kalorama; as, also, a True and Accurate Account
of What Took Place when the Ship Crossed the Line. To which is Added
the Sad History of Spark Island

47.--Which Describes the Rejoicing that Took Place when the General
Landed at Buzabub, on the Coast of Kalorama

48.--How the Renowned General Potter Spent a Night Among the Dead

49.--Sorry Trials of a Great Minister Plenipotentiary, all of which
arise from his Ignorance of the Language spoken at Court

50.--The Journey to Nezub; as, also, a Curious Conversation which
took place between Minister Potter and his Secretary

51.--In which is Minutely Described an Entirely New and Most
Extraordinary Mode of Punishing Ministers and Secretaries of
Legation

52.--Things which the Author Ventures to Assert Cannot Fail to Amuse
and Instruct the Reader

53.--How the Renowned General Potter had an Army of Vagabonds sent
him, and how the Terrible Battle of the Banana Hills was Fought
Without Bloodshed

54.--An Amusing Result of a Great Battle

55.--Which Recounts how General Potter Condemned the Priests to Ride
Asses Three Times a Day, as a Good Enough Punishment for their
Intriguing; also, a Plain and Unvarnished Account of the
ever-Memorable Battle of "The Miracle," in which Old Battle, the
Greatest War Horse of these times, Lost his Life

56.--An Amusing Quarrel, which Arose Concerning the Government of
Kolorama

57.--Which Treats of How the Ruler of a Kingdom was Carried Off into
Captivity on a Mule, and how he Escaped from the Priests

58.--An Account of how the Renowned General Potter stole the Hat and
Mule of a Poor Priest, that he might go in Search of his Straying
Army

59.--The Vagaries of Mr. Tickler, Secretary and Critic to General
Roger Potter. He Relates the Story of Angelio

60.--The Last and Most Melancholy Chapter in this Eventful History,
and wherein will be found one the Most Truthful Accounts of a
Warrior Returning Home Without a Kingdom, and in a Pelting Rain

THE ADVENTURES OF MAJOR ROGER SHERMAN POTTER.

CHAPTER I.

WHICH TREATS OF THINGS NOT PARTICULARLY INTERESTING, AND MIGHT HAVE
BEEN OMITTED WITHOUT PREJUDICE TO THIS HISTORY.

CAPE COD, you must know, gentle reader, is my bleak native home, and
the birth-place of all the most celebrated critics. The latter fact
is not generally known, and for the reason that the gentry composing
that fraternity acknowledge her only with an excess of reluctance.
Her poets and historians never mention her in their famous works;
her blushing maidens never sing to her, and her novelists lay the
scenes of their romances in other lands. One solitary poet was
caught and punished for singing a song to her sands; but of her
codfish no historian has written, though divers malicious writers
have declared them the medium upon which one of our aristocracies is
founded. But I love her none the less for this.

It was a charming evening in early June. I am not disposed to state
the year, since it is come fashionable to count only days. With my
head supported in my left hand, and my elbow resting on my knee, I
sat down upon the beach to listen to the music of the tide. Curious
thoughts crowded upon my mind, and my fancy soared away into another
world. The sea was bright, the breeze came soft and balmy over the
land, and whispered and laughed. My bosom heaved with melting
emotions; and had I been skilled in the art of love, the mood I was
in qualified me for making it. The sun in the west was sinking
slowly, the horizon was hung with a rich canopy of crimson clouds,
and misty shadows played over the broad sea-plain, to the east. Then
the arcades overhead filled with curtains of amber and gold; and the
sight moved me to meditation. My soul seemed drinking in the
beauties nature was strewing at the feet of her humblest, and,
perhaps, most unthankful creatures. Then the scene began to change;
and such was its gently-stealing pace that I became moved by
emotions my tongue had no power to describe. The more I thought the
more I wondered. And I sat wondering until Dame Night drew her dusky
curtains, and the balconies of heaven filled with fleecy clouds, and
ten thousand stars, like liquid pearls, began to pour their soft
light over the land and sea. Then the "milky way" came out, as if to
take the moon's watch, and danced along the serene sky, like a
coquette in her gayest attire.

How I longed for a blushing maiden to tune her harp, or chant her
song, just then! Though I am the son of a fisherman, I confess I
thought I heard one tripping lightly behind me, her face all warm
with smiles. It was but a fancy, and I sighed while asking myself
what had induced it. Not a brook murmured; no willows distilled
their night dews; birds did not make the air melodious with their
songs; and there were no magnolia trees to shake from their locks
those showers of liquid pearls which so bedew the books of our lady
novelists. True, the sea became as a mirror, reflecting argosies of
magic sails, and the star-lights tripped, and danced, and waltzed
over the gently undulating swells. A moment more and I heard the
tide rips sing, and the ground swell murmur, as it had done in my
childhood, when I had listened and wondered what it meant. The sea
gull, too, was nestling upon the bald sands, where he had sought
rest for the night, and there echoed along through the air so
sweetly, the music of a fisherman's song; and the mimic surf danced
and gamboled along the beach, spreading it with a chain of
phosphorous light, over which the lanterns mounted on two stately
towers close by threw a great glare of light: and this completed the
picture.

While contemplating the beauties before me, I was suddenly seized
with a longing for fame. It was true I had little merit of my own,
but as it had become fashionable at this day for men without merit
to become famous, the chance for me, I thought, was favorable
indeed. I contemplated my journey in quest of fame, and resolved
never to falter. "Fame," I mused, "what quality of metal art thou
made of, that millions bow down and worship thee?" And all nature,
through her beauties, seemed returning an answer, and I arose from
my reverie, and wended my way toward the cabin of my aged parents. A
bright light streamed from one of the windows, serving as my beacon.
I had not gone far before Fame, I thought, replied for herself, and
said: "Know, son of a fisherman, that I am a capricious goddess; at
least, I am so called by the critics. And they, being adepts in deep
knowledge, render verdicts the world must not dispute. I have the
world for my court: my shrine is everywhere, and millions worship at
it. Genius, learning, and valor, are my handmaids. I have great and
good men for my vassals; and upon them it affords me comfort to
bestow my gifts. I seek out the wise and the virtuous, and place
garlands of immortality upon their heads; I toy with my victims, and
then hurl them into merited obscurity. Little men most beset me,
most hang about my garments, and sigh most for my smiles. The rich
man would have me build monuments to his memory; the ambitious poor
man repines when I forget him. Novel-writing damsels, their eyes
bedimmed with bodkin shaped tears, and their fingers steeled with
envious pens it seems their love to dip in gall, cast longing looks
at me. Peter Parley, and other poets, have laid their offerings low
at my feet. I have crowned kings and emperors; and I have cast a
favor to a fool. With queens and princes have I coquetted, and
laughed when they were laid in common dust. I have dragged the
humble from his obscurity, and sent him forth to overthrow kingdoms
and guard the destinies of peoples. Millions have gone in search of
me; few have found me. Great men are content with small favors;
small men would, being the more ambitious of the two, take me all to
themselves. Millions have aspired to my hand; few have been found
worthy of it. Editors, critics, chambermaids and priests, (without
whom we would have no great wars,) annoy me much. I am generous
enough to forgive them, to charge their evil designs to want of
discretion, to think the world would scarce miss them, and certainly
could get along well enough without them.

"In my halcyon days there appeared before me one ’neas, who was
great of piety, which he laid at my feet, soliciting only a smile.
After him came Hector, whom I condoled for his misfortunes. Upon the
head of Achilles, who sought the smallest favor, I placed a garland.
Eurylas, a man of large friendship; and Alexander, who was known
among the nations for his liberality; and C‘sar, who had some valor;
and Trajan, whose probity no one doubted; and Topirus, a man of
great fidelity; and Cato, of whom it was said that he had some
wisdom-these came, and in humility bowed before me and accepted my
offering. For the delight and instruction of future generations, I
have had their names written on the pages of history, which is the
world's gift. And this was an age of the past.

"Then the age of modern poetry and oratory came in with one
Shakspeare, and a friend of his of the name of Bacon. And it went
out with Sheridan, and one Pitt, and a queer man of the name of
Byron, whose name I have written in letters of gold, and have placed
where envious bishops cannot take it down, though they build ladders
of lawn. I will watch over it, and it shall be bright when kings and
bishops are forgotten.

"Then there came the age of Washington; which was a new age, in a
new world, with new glories and new men, whose names I have
enshrined for the study of the young, the old, the great, and the
good. On Jefferson's brow I laid a laurel that shall be green in all
coming time; and the memories of Webster, Clay, and Calhoun shall
long wear my mantle, for they won it worthily.

"Latterly, I have been much annoyed by one Benton, who, being a man
of much light and shade, climbs my ladder only to break it down, and
is for ever mounting dragons he cannot ride. If I shake him from my
skirts to-day, he will to-morrow meet me upon the highway, and
charge me with ingratitude. Dancing-girls and politicians beset me
on all sides, reminding me that, without them, the world would go to
ruin. Political parsons and milliners daily make war upon me. And
singing women, and critics who herald their virtues for pennies,
threaten to plunder me of my glories. And, though I am not a vain
dame, many of these think me as cheaply bought as their own praise.

"I would not have you mourn over the age of poetry and oratory, for
that also is of the past. You must not forget that it is become
fashionable for men to give themselves to the getting of gold, which
they pursue with an avidity I fear will end in the devil getting all
their souls. You, son of a fisherman, shall be the object of my
solicitude. Go out upon the world; be just to all, nor withhold your
generosity from those who are worthy of it. Be sure, too, that you
make the objects of your pursuit in all cases square with justice.
Let your purposes be unvarying, nor be presumptuous to your equals.
Beware lest you fall into the company of boisterous talking and
strong drinking men, such as aspire to the control of the nation at
this day; and, though they may not have been many months in the
country, kindly condescend to teach us how to live. Also let those
who most busy themselves with making presidents for us keep other
company than yours, for their trade is a snare many a good man has
been caught in to his sorrow."

And Fame, I thought, continued discoursing to me in this manner
until I reached the cabin of my father, when she bid me good night
and departed. I entered the cabin and found my father, who was bent
with age, sitting by the great fire-place, mending his nets. My
mother was at her wheel, spinning flax. She was a tidy little body,
of the old school. Her notions of the world in general were somewhat
narrow and antiquated; while the steeple-crown cap she wore on her
head so jauntily, and her apron of snow-white muslin, that hung so
neatly over a black silk dress, and was secured about the neck with
a small, crimped collar, gave her an air of cheerfulness the sweet-
ness of her oval face did much to enhance. My father, whose face and
hands were browned with the suns of some sixty summers, had a touch
of the patriarch about him. He often declared the world outside of
Cape Cod so wicked as not to be worth living in. He was short of
figure, had flowing white hair, a deeply-wrinkled brow, and
corrugated lips, and blue eyes, over-arched with long, brown
eyelashes. My mother ran to me, and my father grasped me firmly by
the hand, for he was not a little concerned about my stay on the
beach. Indeed, I may as well confess, that he regarded me as a
wayward youth, over whom it was just as well to exercise a guardian
hand. In his younger days he had been what was called extremely good
looking, a quality he frequently told me I had inherited, and from
which he feared I might suffer grievous harm, unless I exercised
great caution when divers damsels he had a jealous eye upon
approached me. My mother was less jealous of my exploits among the
sex, which she rather encouraged.

Another cause of anxiety with my father was the fact that I had
written a "Life and Times" of Captain Seth Brewster; which work,
though the hero was a fisherman, reached a sale of forty thousand
copies, put money in my pocket, and made me the pet of all the
petticoats round about. It was not unnatural, then, that my father,
with his peculiar turn of mind, should set me down as being
partially insane. I had also manufactured several very
highly-colored verses in praise of Cape Cod; and these my publisher,
who was by no means a tricky man, said had made a great stir in the
literary world. And his assertion I found confirmed by the critics,
who, with one accord, and without being paid, declared these verses
proof that the author possessed "a rare inventive genius." The
meaning of this was all Hebrew to me. My mother suggested that it
might be a figure of speech copied from Chaldean mythology.

Another cause of alarm for my morals, in the eyes of my father, was
the fact of my having made two political speeches. And these,
according to divers New York politicians, had secured Cape Cod to
General Pierce. And, as a reward for this great service, and to the
end of illustrating in some substantial manner (so it is written at
this day) their appreciation of a politician so distinguished, I was
waited upon by a delegation of the before-named politicians, (two of
whom came slightly intoxicated,) who had come, as they said, to
tender to me an invitation to visit New York. A public reception by
the Mayor and Council; a grand banquet at Tammany Hall; the honor of
being made one of its Sachems; free apartments and two charming
serenades at the New York Hotel; and divers suppers at very
respectable houses, were temptingly suggested as an inducement for
me to come out and take a prominent position. Indeed, such were the
representations of this distinguished delegation, that I began to
think the people of New York singularly rich and liberal, seeing
that they trusted their surplus money in the hands of persons who
were so loose of morals that they could find no other method of
spending it than suppering and serenading men of my obscure stamp.

But if my father was alarmed lest my morals should suffer by these
temptations, my mother would have answered to heaven for my virtue,
though a dozen damsels were setting snares for me. And this will be
shown in the next chapter.

CHAPTER II.

WHICH TREATS OF HOW I LEFT MY NATIVE CAPE, AND SUNDRY OTHER MATTERS.

I HAD no sooner disclosed to my father my musings with Fame, and the
aspirations she had excited in me, than he went right into a
passion, and set me down as extravagant and mad. He had entertained
hopes of making me a schoolmaster, perhaps an inspector of fish, in
which office excellent opportunities for increasing one's fortunes
were offered; but I had been rendered quite useless to the parish
ever since the New York politicians had taken me into their favor.
Anybody, he said, might go out upon and know the world, but few had
the courage and daring to grapple with its difficulties. And then,
the world was so wicked that men of reflection instinctively shrank
from it. Notwithstanding my wild, visionary plans, he yet had hopes
of me. But if I sought distinction in the political world, it would
be well not to forget that it had at this day become a dangerous
quicksand, over which a series of violent storms continually heaved.
And these storms, by some mysterious process or other, were
incessantly casting up on the shore of political popularity and
making heroes of men whose virtues were not weighty enough to keep
them at the bottom. "Be an humble citizen, my son," said he: "learn
to value a quiet life. You are not given to loud and boisterous
talking, to lying, or to slandering; which things, at this day, are
essential to political success. Worthy and well disposed persons are
too much afraid of being drowned in the violence of the storm
politicians with shallow brains and empty pockets create, by their
anxiety to take the affairs of the nation into their own keeping.
Remember, too, that if you fail in the object of your ambition (and
you are not vagabond enough to succeed), the remotest desert will
not hide you from the evil designs of your enemies. You may seek
some crystal stream; you may let your tears flow with its waters;
but such will not lighten your disappointment, for the persecuted
heart is no peace-offering to the political victor. Politically
vanquished; and you are like an unhappy lover who seeks him a rural
deity and sings his complaints to the winds. Your eye will become
jealous at the fortunes of others, but your sighs over the cruelty
of what you are pleased to call human imperfections will not bring
back your own. Stay quietly at home, my son, and if you cannot be a
schoolmaster, chance may one day turn you up President of these
United States. Let your insanity for writing books not beguile you
into crime; and above all, I would enjoin you, my son, never to
write the 'Life and Character' of an in-going President, for then,
to follow the fashion of the day, and make for him a life that would
apply with equal truth to King Mancho, or any one of his sable
subjects, will be necessary that you write him down the hero of
adventures he never dreamed of, and leave out the score of
delinquincies his real life is blemished with. If you do this, wise
men will set you down a scribbler for charity's sake."

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