the misanthropic idiosyncrasies of
her husband, and leaving behind her a girl of twelve and a boy of
sixteen to console him. How futile was this bequest may be guessed
from a brief summary of Mr. Culpepper's peculiarities. They were the
development of a singular form of aggrandizement and misanthropy. On
his arrival at Logport he had bought a part of the apparently valueless
Dedlow Marsh from the Government at less than a dollar an acre,
continuing his singular investment year by year until he was the owner
of three leagues of amphibious domain. It was then discovered that
this property carried with it the WATER FRONT of divers valuable and
convenient sites for manufactures and the commercial ports of a noble
bay, as well as the natural embarcaderos of some 'lumbering' inland
settlements. Boone Culpepper would not sell. Boone Culpepper would
not rent or lease. Boone Culpepper held an invincible blockade of his
neighbors, and the progress and improvement he despised--granting only,
after a royal fashion, occasional license, revocable at pleasure, in
the shape of tolls, which amply supported him, with the game he shot in
his kingfisher's eyrie on the Marsh. Even the Government that had made
him powerful was obliged to 'condemn' a part of his property at an
equitable price for the purposes of Fort Redwood, in which the adjacent
town of Logport shared. And Boone Culpepper, unable to resist the act,
refused to receive the compensation or quit-claim the town. In his
scant intercourse with his neighbors he always alluded to it as his
own, showed it to his children as part of their strange inheritance,
and exhibited the starry flag that floated from the Fort as a flaunting
insult to their youthful eyes. Hated, feared, and superstitiously
shunned by some, regarded as a madman by others, familiarly known as
'The Kingfisher of Dedlow,' Boone Culpepper was one day found floating
dead in his skiff, with a charge of shot through his head and
shoulders. The shot-gun lying at his feet at the bottom of the boat
indicated the 'accident' as recorded in the verdict of the coroner's
jury--but not by the people. A thousand rumors of murder or suicide
prevailed, but always with the universal rider, 'Served him right.' So
invincible was this feeling that but few attended his last rites, which
took place at high water. The delay of the officiating clergyman lost
the tide; the homely catafalque--his own boat--was left aground on the