The loss of the Tonquin was a grievous blow to the infant establishment
of Astoria, and one that threatened to bring after it a train of
disasters. The intelligence of it did not reach Mr. Astor until many
months afterwards. He felt it in all its force, and was aware that it
must cripple, if not entirely defeat, the great scheme of his ambition.
In his letters, written at the time, he speaks of it as "a calamity, the
length of which he could not foresee." He indulged, however, in no
weak and vain lamentation, but sought to devise a prompt and efficient
remedy. The very same evening he appeared at the theatre with his usual
serenity of countenance. A friend, who knew the disastrous intelligence
he had received, expressed his astonishment that he could have calmness
of spirit sufficient for such a scene of light amusement. "What would
you have me do?" was his characteristic reply; "would you have me stay
at home and weep for what I cannot help?"