TOGETHER WITH AN ACCURATE AND EXCEEDINGLY INTERESTING ACCOUNT OF HIS GREAT ACHIEVEMENTS…

I HERE DECLARE THAT THIS GREAT WORK WAS NEITHER TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, NOR PRIGGED FROM THE UNPUBLISHED WORK OF ANY ENGLISH AUTHOR, BUT WAS TRULY AND HONESTLY WRITTEN FOR THE ESPECIAL BENEFIT OF MY PUBLISHER.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

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 Æneas, 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 Cæsar, 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.