Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789-1851 [1845], The chainbearer, or, The Littlepage manuscripts, volume 2 (Burgess, Stringer & Co., New York) [word count] [eaf076v2].
To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.
Main text
-- 003 --
CHAPTER I.
Dans. “Ye boys who pluck the flowers, and spoil the spring,
Beware the secret snake that shoots a sting.”
Dryden's Eclogues.
[figure description] Page 003.[end figure description]
For the first half hour after I left Ursula Malbone's hut,
I was literally unconscious of whither I was going, or of
what I was about. I can recollect nothing but having passed
quite near to the Onondago, who appeared desirous of
speaking to me, but whom I avoided by a species of instinct
rather than with any design. In fact, fatigue first brought
me fairly to my senses. I had wandered miles and miles,
plunging deeper and deeper into the wilds of the forest, and
this without any aim, or any knowledge of even the direction
in which I was going. Night soon came to cast its
shadows on the earth, and my uncertain course was held
amid the gloom of the hour, united to those of the woods. I
had wearied myself by rapid walking over the uneven surface
of the forest, and finally threw myself on the trunk of
a fallen tree, willing to take some repose.
At first, I thought of nothing, felt for nothing but the unwelcome
circumstance that the faith of Dus was plighted to
another. Had I fallen in love with Priscilla Bayard, such
an announcement could not have occasioned the same surprise;
for she lived in the world, met with men of suitable
educations, conditions and opinions, and might be supposed
to have been brought within the influence of the attentions
and sympathies that are wont to awaken tenderness in the
female breast. With Dus, it had been very different: she
had gone from the forest to the school, and returned from
the school to the forest. It was true, that her brother, while
-- 004 --
[figure description] Page 004.[end figure description]
a soldier, might have had some friend who admired Ursula,
and whose admiration awakened her youthful sympathies;
but this was only a remote probability, and I was left burthened
with a load of doubt as respected even the character
and position of my rival.
“At any rate, he must be poor,” I said to myself, the
moment I was capable of reflecting coolly on the subject,
“or he would never have left Dus in that hut, to pass her
youth amid chainbearers and the other rude beings of a
frontier. If I cannot obtain her love, I may at least contribute
to her happiness by using those means which a kind Providence
has bestowed, and enabling her to marry at once.”
For a little while I fancied my own misery would be lessened,
could I only see Dus married and happy. This feeling
did not last long, however; though I trust the desire to
see her happy remained after I became keenly conscious it
would require much time to enable me to look on such a
spectacle with composure. Nevertheless, the first tranquil
moment, the first relieving sensation I experienced, was
from the conviction I felt that Providence had placed it in
my power to cause Ursula and the man of her choice to be
united. This recollection gave me even a positive pleasure
for a little while, and I ruminated on the means of effecting
it, literally for hours. I was still thinking of it, indeed,
when I threw myself on the fallen tree, where weariness
caused me to fall into a troubled sleep, that lasted, with
more or less of forgetfulness, several hours. The place I
had chosen on the tree was among its branches, on which
the leaves were still hanging, and it was not without its
conveniences.
When I awoke, it was day-light; or, such a day-light as
penetrates the forest ere the sun has risen. At first I felt
stiff and sore from the hardness of my bed; but, on changing
my attitude and sitting up, these sensations soon wore
off, leaving me refreshed and calm. To my great surprise,
however, I found that a small, light blanket, such as woodmen
use in summer, had been thrown over me, to the genial
warmth of which I was probably indebted more than I
then knew myself. This circumstance alarmed me at first,
since it was obvious the blanket could not have come there
without hands; though a moment's reflection satisfied me
-- 005 --
[figure description] Page 005.[end figure description]
that the throwing it over me, under the circumstances, must
have been the act of a friend. I arose, however to my feet,
walked along the trunk of the tree until clear of its branches,
and looked about me with a lively desire to ascertain who
this secret friend might be.
The place was like any other in the solitude of the forest.
There were the usual array of the trunks of stately trees,
the leafy canopy, the dark shadows, the long vistas, the
brown and broken surface of the earth, and the damp coolness
of the boundless woods. A fine spring broke out of a
hill-side, quite near me, and looking further, with the intention
to approach and use its water, the mystery of the
blanket was at once explained. I saw the form of the
Onondago, motionless as one of the trees which grew around
him, leaning on his rifle, and seemingly gazing at some
object that lay at his feet. In a minute I was at his side,
when I discovered that he was standing over a human skeleton!
This was a strange and startling object to meet in
the depth of the woods! Man was of so little account, was
so seldom seen in the virgin wilds of America, that one
naturally felt more shocked at finding such a memorial of
his presence, in a place like that, than would have been the
case had he stumbled on it amid peopled districts. As for
the Indian, he gazed at the bones so intently that he either
did not hear, or he totally disregarded my approach. I
touched him with a finger before he even looked up. Glad
of any excuse to avoid explanation of my own conduct, I
eagerly seized the occasion offered by a sight so unusual,
to speak of other things.
“This has been a violent death, Sureflint,” I said; “else
the body would not have been left unburied. The man has
been killed in some quarrel of the red warriors.”
“Was bury,” answered the Indian, without manifesting
the least surprise at my touch, or at the sound of my voice.
“Dere, see grave? 'Arth wash away, and bones come out.
Nuttin' else. Know he bury, for help bury, myself.”
“Do you, then, know anything of this unhappy man, and
of the cause of his death?”
“Sartain; know all 'bout him. Kill in ole French war.
Fader here; and colonel Follock; Jaap, too. Huron kill
-- 006 --
[figure description] Page 006.[end figure description]
'em all; afterward, we flog Huron. Yes, dat ole story
now!”
“I have heard something of this! This must have been
the spot, then, where one Traverse, a surveyor, was set
upon by the enemy, and was slain, with his chainbearers
and axe-men. My father and his friends did find the bodies
and bury them, after a fashion.”
“Sartain; just so; poor bury, d'ough, else he nebber
come out of groun'. Dese bones of surveyor; know 'em
well: hab one leg broke, once. Dere; you see mark.”
“Shall we dig a new grave, Susquesus, and bury the
remains again?”
“Best not, now. Chainbearer mean do dat. Be here
by-'m-bye. Got somet'ing else t'ink of now. You own
all land 'bout here, so no need be in hurry.”
“I suppose that my father and colonel Follock do. These
men were slain on the estate, while running out its great
lots. I think I have heard they had not near finished their
work in this quarter of the patent, which was abandoned on
account of the troubles of that day.”
“Just so; who own mill, here, den?”
“There is no mill near us, Susquesus; can be no mill,
as not an acre of the Ridge property has ever been sold or
leased.”
“May be so—mill dough—not far off, needer. Know
mill when hear him. Saw talk loud.”
“You surely do not hear the saw of a mill now, my
friend. I can hear nothing like one.”
“No hear, now; dat true. But hear him in night. Ear
good, in night—hear great way off.”
“You are right enough, there, Susquesus. And you
fancied you heard the stroke of a saw, from this place,
during the quiet and heavy air of the past night?”
“Sartain — know well; hear him plain enough. Isn't
mile off. Out here; find him dere.”
This was still more startling than the discovery of the
skeleton. I had a rough, general map of the patent in my
pocket; and, on examination, I found a mill-stream was laid
down on it, quite near the spot where we stood. The
appearance of the woods, and the formation of the land,
moreover, favoured the idea of the proximity of a mill.
-- 007 --
[figure description] Page 007.[end figure description]
Pine was plenty, and the hills were beginning to swell into
something resembling mountains.
Fasting, and the exercise I had taken, had given me a
keen appetite; and, in one sense at least, I was not sorry to
believe that human habitations were near. Did any persons
dwell in that forest, they were squatters, but I did not feel
much personal apprehension in encountering such men;
especially when my only present object was to ask for food.
The erecting of a mill denoted a decided demonstration, it is
true, and a little reflection might have told me that its occupants
would not be delighted by a sudden visit from the
representative of the owners of the soil. On the other
hand, however, the huts were long miles away, and neither
Sureflint nor I had the smallest article of food about us.
Both were hungry, though the Onondago professed indifference
to the feeling, an unconcern I could not share with him,
owing to habits of greater self-indulgence. Then I had a
strong wish to solve this mystery of the mill, in addition to
a feverish desire to awaken within me some new excitement,
as a counterpoise to that I still keenly felt in behalf of my
disappointed love.
Did I not so well understand the character of my companion,
and the great accuracy of Indian senses, I might
have hesitated about going on what seemed to be a fool's
errand. But circumstances, that were then of recent origin,
existed to give some countenance to the conjecture of
Sureflint, if conjecture his precise knowledge could be
called. Originally, New York claimed the Connecticut for
a part of its eastern boundary, but large bodies of settlers
had crossed that stream, coming mainly from the adjacent
colony of New Hampshire, and these persons had become
formidable by their positions and numbers, some time anterior
to the Revolution. During that struggle, these hardy
mountaineers had manifested a spirit favourable to the colonies,
in the main, though every indication of an intention to
settle their claims was met by a disposition to declare themselves
neutral. In a word, they were sufficiently patriotic,
if left to do as they pleased in the matter of their possessions,
but not sufficiently so to submit to the regular administration
of the law. About the close of the war, the leaders
of this self-created colony were more than suspected of
-- 008 --
[figure description] Page 008.[end figure description]
coquetting with the English authorities; not that they preferred
the government of the crown, or any other control, to
their own, but because the times were favourable to playing
off their neutrality, in this manner, as a means of securing
themselves in the possession of lands to which their titles, in
the ordinary way, admitted of a good deal of dispute, to say
the least. The difficulty was by no means disposed of by
the peace of '83; but the counties, that were then equally
known by the name of Vermont, and that of the Hampshire
Grants, were existing, in one sense, as a people apart, not
yet acknowledging the power of the confederacy; nor did
they come into the union, under the constitution of 1789,
until all around them had done so, and the last spark of
opposition to the new system had been extinguished.
It is a principle of moral, as well as of physical nature,
that like should produce like. The right ever vindicates
itself, in the process of events, and the sins of the fathers are
visited upon the children, even to the third and fourth generations,
in their melancholy consequences. It was impossible
that an example of such a wrong could be successfully
exhibited on a large scale, without producing its deluded
imitators, on another that was better suited to the rapacity
of individual longings. It is probable Vermont has sent out,
among us, two squatters, and otherwise lawless intruders on
our vacant lands, to one of any other of the adjoining States,
counting all in proportion to their whole numbers. I knew
that the county of Charlotte, as Washington was then called,
was peculiarly exposed to inroads of this nature; and did
not feel much surprise at this prospect of meeting with some
of the fruits of the seed that had been so profusely scattered
along the sides of the Green Mountains. Come what would,
however, I was determined to ascertain the facts, as soon
as possible, with the double purpose of satisfying both hunger
and curiosity. As for the Indian, he was passive,
yielding to my decision altogether as a matter of course.
“Since you think there is a mill, out here, west of us,
Sureflint,” I observed, after turning the matter over in my
mind, “I will go and search for it, if you will bear me
company. You think you can find it, I trust, knowing the
direction in which it stands?”
“Sartain—find him easy 'nough. Find stream first—
-- 009 --
[figure description] Page 009.[end figure description]
den find mill. Got ear—got eye—no hard to find him.
Hear saw 'fore great while.”
I acquiesced, and made a sign for my companion to proceed.
Susquesus was a man of action, and not of words;
and, in a minute, he was leading the way towards a spot
in the woods that looked as if it might contain the bed of
the stream that was known to exist somewhere near by,
since it was laid down on the map.
The sort of instinct possessed by the Trackless, enabled
him soon to find this little river. It was full of water, and
had a gentle current; a fact that the Indian immediately
interpreted into a sign that the mill must be above us, since
the dam would have checked the course of the water, had
we been above that. Turning up stream, then, my companion
moved on, with the same silent industry as he would
have trotted along the path that led to his own wigwam, had
he been near it.
We had not been on the banks of the stream five minutes,
before the Trackless came to a dead halt; like one who had
met an unexpected obstacle. I was soon at his side, curious
to know the motive of this delay.
“Soon see mill, now,” Susquesus said, in answer to an
inquiry of mine. “Board plenty—come down stream fast
as want him.”
Sure enough, boards were coming down, in the current
of the river, much faster than one who was interested in the
property would be apt to wish; unless, indeed, he felt certain
of obtaining his share of the amount of sales. These
boards were neither in rafts, nor in cribs; but they came
singly, or two or three laid together, as if some arrangement
had been made to arrest them below, before they
should reach any shoals, falls, or rapids. All this looked
surprisingly like a regular manufacture of lumber, with a
view to sales in the markets of the towns on the Hudson.
The little stream we were on, was a tributary of that noble
river, and, once in the latter, there would be no very material
physical obstacle to conveying the product of our hills
over the habitable globe.
“This really looks like trade, Sureflint,” I said, as soon
as certain that my eyes did not deceive me. “Where there
are boards made, men cannot be far off. Lumber, cut to
-- 010 --
[figure description] Page 010.[end figure description]
order, does not grow in the wilderness, though the material
of which it is made, may.”
“Mill make him. Know'd mill, when hear him. Talk
plain 'nough. Pale-face make mill, but red-man got ear to
hear wit'!”
This was all true enough; and it remained to ascertain
what was to come of it. I will acknowledge, that, when I
saw those tell-tale boards come floating down the winding,
little river, I felt a thrilling of the nerves, as if assured
the sight would be succeeded by some occurrence of importance
to myself. I knew that these lawless lumbermen
bore a bad name in the land, and that they were generally
regarded as a set of plunderers, who did not hesitate to
defend themselves and their habits, by such acts of violence
and fraud as they fancied their circumstances justified. It
is one evil of crime, where it penetrates masses, that numbers
are enabled to give it a gloss, and a seeming merit, that
unsettle principles; rendering the false true, in the eyes of
the ignorant, and generally placing evil before good. This is
one of the modes in which justice vindicates itself, under the
providence of God; the wrongs committed by communities
re-acting on themselves, in the shape of a demoralization
that soon brings its own merited punishment.
There was little time for speculation or conjecture, however;
for, resuming our march, the next bend in the river
brought into view a reach of the stream in which half a
dozen men and lads were at work in the water, placing the
boards in piles of two or three, and setting them in the current,
at points favourable to their floating downwards.
Booms, connected with chains, kept the confused pile in a
sort of basin beneath some low cliffs, on the margin of which
stood the expected mill itself. Here, then, was ocular proof
that squatters were systematically at work, plundering the
forests, of which I was in charge, of their most valuable
trees, and setting everything like law and right at defiance.
The circumstances called for great decision, united with the
utmost circumspection. I had gone so far, that pride would
not suffer me to retreat, had not a sense of duty to my father
and colonel Follock, come to increase the determination to
go on.
The reader may feel some desire to know how far Dus
-- 011 --
[figure description] Page 011.[end figure description]
mingled with my thoughts, all this time. She was never
absolutely out of them, though the repulse I had met in my
affections gaven an impetus to my feelings that rendered me
more than usually disposed to enter on an adventure of
hazard and wildness. If I were naught to Ursula Malbone,
it mattered little what else became of me. This was the
sentiment that was uppermost, and I have thought, ever
since, that Susquesus had some insight into the condition of
my feelings, and understood the cause of the sort of desperation
with which I was about to rush on danger. We
were, as yet, quite concealed, ourselves; and the Indian
profited by the circumstance, to hold a council, before we
trusted our persons in the hands of those who might feel it to
be their interest to make away with us, in preference to
permitting us ever to see our friends again. In doing this,
however, Sureflint was in no degree influenced by concern
for himself, but solely by a desire to act as became an
experienced warrior, on a very difficult war-path.
“S'pose you know,” said Sureflint. “'Em no good men—
Varmount squatter—you t'ink own land—dey tink own
land. Carry rifle and do as please. Best watch him.”
“I believe I understand you,” Susquesus, and I shall be
on my guard, accordingly. Did you ever see either of those
men before?”
“T'ink have. Must meet all sort of men, when he go
up and down in 'e wood. Despret squatter, dat ole man,
out yonder. Call himself T'ousandacre — say he alway
own t'ousand acre when he have mind to find him.”
“The gentleman must be well provided with estates! A
thousand acres will make a very pretty homestead for a
wanderer, especially when he has the privilege of carrying
it about with him, in his travels. You mean the man with
grey hairs, I suppose—he who is half dressed in buckskin?”
“Sartain; dat ole T'ousandacre — nebber want land—
take him where he find him. Born over by great salt lake,
he say, and been travel toward setting sun since a boy.
Alway help himself — Hampshire Grant man, dat. But,
Major, why he no got right, well as you?”
“Because our laws give him no right, while it gives to
the owner in fee, a perfect right. It is one of the conditions
of the society in which we live, that men shall respect each
-- 012 --
[figure description] Page 012.[end figure description]
other's property, and this is not his property, but mine—or,
rather, it is the property of my father and colonel Follock.”
“Best not say so, den. No need tell ebbery t'ing. No
your land, say no your land. If he t'ink you spy, p'raps
he shoot you, eh? Pale-face shoot spy; red man t'ink spy
good feller!”
“Spies can be shot only in time of war; but war or
peace, you do not think these men will push matters to extremities?
They will be afraid of the law.”
“Law!—What law to him?—Nebber see law—don't go
near law; don't know him.”
“Well, I shall run the risk, for hunger is quite as active
just now as curiosity and interest. There is no necessity,
however, for your exposing yourself, Sureflint; do you stay
behind, and wait for the result. If I am detained, you can
carry the news to Chainbearer, who will know where to
seek me. Stay you here, and let me go on alone—adieu.”
Sureflint was not to be dropped in this manner. He said
nothing, but the moment I began to move, he stepped quietly
into his accustomed place, in advance, and led the way
towards the party of squatters. There were four of these
men at work in the river, in addition to two stout lads
and the old leader, who, as I afterwards ascertained, was
very generally known by the sobriquet of Thousandacres.
The last remained on dry land, doubtless imagining that his
years, and his long services in the cause of lawlessness and
social disorganization, entitled him to this small advantage.
The evil one has his privileges, as well as the public.
The first intimation our hosts received of this unexpected
visit, came from the cracking of a dried stick on which I
had trodden. The Indian was not quicker to interpret and
observe that well-known sound, than the old squatter, who
turned his head like thought, and at once saw the Onondago
within a rod of the spot where he himself was standing. I
was close on the Indian's heels. At first, neither surprise
nor uneasiness was apparent in the countenance of Thousandacres.
He knew the Trackless, as he called Susquesus,
and, though this was the first visit of the Indian, at that
particular `location,' they had often met in a similar manner
before, and invariably with as little preliminary notice.
So far from any thing unpleasant appearing in the
-- 013 --
[figure description] Page 013.[end figure description]
countenance of the squatter, therefore, Susquesus was greeted with
a smile, in which a certain leering expression of cunning
was blended with that of welcome.
“So it 's only you, Trackless,” exclaimed ThousandAcres,
or, Thousandacres, as I shall, in future, spell the
name — “I didn't know but it might be a sheriff. Sitch
crittur's do get out into the woods, sometimes, you know;
though they don't always get back ag'in. How come you
to find us out, in this cunning spot, Onondago!”
“Hear mill, in night.—Saw got loud tongue. Hungry;
so come get somet'ing to eat.”
“Waal, you v'e done wisely, in that partic'lar, for we
never have been better off for vi't'als. Pigeons is as plenty
as land; and the law hasn't got to that pass, yet, as to
forbid a body from taking pigeons, even though it be in another
man's stubble. I must keep that saw better greased,
nights; though, I s'p'ose, a'ter all, 't was the cut of the
teeth you heard, and not the rubbing of the plate?”
“Hear him all—saw got loud voice, tell you.”
“Yes, there 's natur' in that. Come, we 'll take this
path, up to the house, and see what Miss Thousandacres can
do for you. Breakfast must be ready, by this time; and
you, and your fri'nd, behind you, there, is wilcome to what
we have, sitch as it is. Now, as we go along,” continued
the squatter, leading the way up the path he had mentioned—
“now, as we go along, you can tell me the news, Trackless.
This is a desp'rate quiet spot; and all the tidings we
get is brought back by the b'ys, when they come up stream,
from floating boards down into the river. A desp'rate sight
have we got on hand, and I hope to hear that matters be
going on so well, in Albany, that boards will bring suthin',
soon. It 's high time honest labour met with its reward.”
“Don't know—nebber sell board,” answered the Indian—
“nebber buy him. Don't care for board. Powder cheap,
now 'e war-path shut up. Dat good, s'pose you t'ink.”
“Waal, Trackless, I kear more for boards than for powder,
I must own; though powder 's useful, too. Yes, yes;
a useful thing is powder, in its way. Venison and bear's
meat are both healthy, cheap, food; and I have eaten catamount.
Powder can be used in many ways. Who is your
fri'nd, Trackless?”
-- 014 --
[figure description] Page 014.[end figure description]
“Ole young frien'—know his fader. Live in wood, now,
like us, this summer. Shoot deer like hunter.”
`He 's wilcome—he 's heartily wilcome! All 's wilcome
to these parts, but the landlord. You know me, Trackless—
you 're well acquainted with old Thousandacres; and few
words is best, among fri'nds of long standing. But, tell me,
Onondago; have you seen anything of the Chainbearer, and
his party of lawless surveyors, in the woods, this summer?
The b'ys brought up an account of his being at work, somewhere
near by, this season, and that he 's at his old tricks,
ag'in!”
“Sartain, see him. Ole frien', too, Chainbearer. Live
wit' him, afore old French war—like to live with him, when
can. Good man, Chainbearer, tell you, Thousandacres.
What trick he do, eh?”
The Indian spoke a little sternly, for he loved Andries too
well, to hear him disrespectfully named, without feeling
some sort of resentment. These men, however, were too
much accustomed to plain dealing in their ordinary discourse,
to take serious offence at trifles; and the amicable
sunshine of the dialogue received no serious interruption
from this passing cloud.
“What trick does Chainbearer do, Trackless,” answered
the squatter—“a mortal sight of tricks, with them plaguy
chains of his'n! If there warn't no chains and chainbearers,
there could be no surveyors; and, if there warn't no
surveyors, there could be no boundaries to farms but the
rifle; which is the best law-maker, and lawyer, too, that
man ever invented. The Indians want no surveyors,
Trackless?”
“S'pose he don't. It be bad to measure land, will own,”
answered the conscientious Susquesus, who would not deny
his own principles, even while he despised and condemned
the man who now asserted them. “Nebber see anyt'ing
good in measurin' land.”
“Ay, I know'd you was of the true Injin kidney!” exclaimed
Thousandacres, exultingly, “and that's it which
makes sich fri'nds of us squatters and you red-skins. But
Chainbearer is at work hard by, is he, Trackless?”
“Sartain. He measure General Littlepage farm out.
Who your landlord, eh?”
-- 015 --
[figure description] Page 015.[end figure description]
“Waal, I do s'pose it 's this same Littlepage, and a desp'rate
rogue all agree in callin' him.”
I started at hearing my honoured and honourable father
thus alluded to, and felt a strong disposition to resent the
injury; though a glance from the Indian's eye cautioned me
on the subject. I was then young, and had yet to learn that
men were seldom wronged without being calumniated. I
now know that this practice of circulating false reports of
landlords, most especially in relation to their titles, is very
general, taking its rise in the hostile positions that adventurers
are constantly assuming on their estates, in a country
as unsettled and migratory as our own, aided by the common
and vulgar passion of envy. Let a man travel through
New York, even at this day, and lend his ear to the language
of the discontented tavern-brawlers, and he would hardly
believe there was such a thing as a good title to an estate of
any magnitude within its borders, or a bad one to the farm
of any occupant in possession. There is among us a set of
declaimers, who come from a state of society in which little
distinction exists in either fortunes or social conditions, and
who are incapable of even seeing, much less of appreciating
the vast differences that are created by habits, opinions, and
education, but who reduce all moral discrepancies to dollars
and cents. These men invariably quarrel with all above
them, and, with them, to quarrel is to calumniate. Leaguing
with the disaffected, of whom there always must be some,
especially when men are compelled to pay their debts, one
of their first acts is to assail the title of the landlord, when
there happens to be one in their neighbourhood, by lying and
slandering. There seems to be no exception to the rule, the
practice being resorted to against the oldest as well as against
the most recently granted estates among us. The lie only
varies in particulars; it is equally used against the titles of
the old families of Van Rensselaer, Livingston, Beckman
Van Cortlandt, de Lancey, Schuyler, and others, as against
the hundred new names that have sprung up in what is
called the western counties, since the revolution. It is the
lie of the Father of Lies, who varies it to suit circumstances
and believers. “A desp'rate rogue,” all agree in calling the
man who owns land that they desire to possess themselves,
-- 016 --
[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]
without being put to the unpleasant trouble of purchasing
and paying for it.
I so far commanded myself, however, as to make no retort
for the injustice done my upright, beloved, and noble-minded
father, but left his defence to the friendly feelings and sterling
honesty of Sureflint.
“Not so,” answered the Indian sternly. “Big lie—forked
tongue tell dat—know gen'ral—sarve wid him—know him.
Good warrior—honest man—dat lie. Tell him so to face.”
“Waal—wa-a-l—I don't know,” drawled out Mr. Thousandacres:
how those rascals will “wa-a-l” and “I don't
know,” when they are cornered in one of their traducing
tales, and are met face to face, as the Indian now met the
squatter! “Wa-a-l, wa-a-l, I don't know, and only repeat
what I have heern say. But, here we be at the cabin,
Trackless; and I see by the smoke that old Prudence and
her gals has been actyve this morning, and we shall soon get
suthin' comfortable for the stomach.”
Hereupon, Mr. Thousandacres stopped at a convenient
place by the side of the stream, and commenced washing
his face and hands; an operation that was now performed
for the first time that day.
CHAPTER II.
“He stepped before the monarch's chair,
And stood with rustic plainness there,
And little reverence made;
Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent,
But on the desk his arm he leant,
And words like these he said.”
Marmion.
While the squatter was thus occupied in arranging his
toilet, previously to taking his morning meal, I had a moment
of leisure to look about in. We had ascended to the
level of the mill, where was an open, half-cleared space, of
some sixty acres in extent, that was under a rude
-- 017 --
[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]
cultivation. Stubs and stumps abounded, and the fences were of
logs, showing that the occupancy was still of recent date.
In fact, as I afterwards ascertained, Thousandacres, with
his family of hopeful sons and daughters, numbering in all
more than twenty souls, had squatted at that spot just four
years before. The mill-seat was admirable, nature having
done for it nearly all that was required, though the mill
itself was as unartificial and make-shift as such a construction
very well could be. Agriculture evidently occupied
very little of the time of the family, which tilled just enough
land “to make a live on't,” while everything in the shape
of lumber was “improved” to the utmost. A vast number
of noble pines had been felled, and boards and shingles were
to be seen in profusion on every side. A few of the first
were being sent to market, in order to meet the demands
of the moment, in the way of groceries; but, the intention
was to wait for the rise in the little stream, after the fallrains,
in order to send the bulk of the property into the
common artery of the Hudson, and to reap the great reward
of the toil of the summer and spring.
I saw, also, that there must be additions to this family, in
the way of marriage, as they occupied no less than five
cabins, all of which were of logs, freshly erected, and had
an air of comfort and stability about them, that one would
not have expected to meet where the title was so flimsy.
All this, as I fancied, indicated a design not to remove very
soon. It was probable that some of the oldest of the sons
and daughters were married, and that the patriarch was
already beholding a new generation of squatters springing up
about him. A few of the young men were visible, lounging
about the different cabins, and the mill was sending forth
that peculiar, cutting, grating sound, that had so distinctly
attracted the attention of Susquesus, even in the depths of
the forest.
“Walk in, Trackless,” cried Thousandacres, in a hearty,
free manner, which proved that what came easily went as
freely; “walk in, fri'nd; I don't know your name, but
that 's no great matter, where there 's enough for all, and a
wilcome in the bargain. Here 's the old woman, ready and
willing to sarve you, and looking as smiling as a gal of
fifteen.”
-- 018 --
[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]
The last part of this statement, however, was not precisely
accurate. “Miss Thousandacres,” as the squatter
sometimes magnificently called his consort, or the dam of
his young brood, was far from receiving us with either
smiles or welcomes. A sharp-featured, keen, grey-eyed old
woman, her thoughts were chiefly bent on the cares of her
brood; and her charities extended little beyond them. She
had been the mother of fourteen children herself, twelve of
which survived. All had been born amid the difficulties,
privations and solitudes of stolen abodes in the wilderness.
That woman had endured enough to break down the constitutions
and to destroy the tempers of half a dozen of the
ordinary beings of her sex; yet she survived, the same enduring,
hard-working, self-denying, suffering creature she
had been from the day of her bloom and beauty. These
two last words might be supposed to be used in mockery,
could one have seen old Prudence, sallow, attenuated, with
sunken cheeks, hollow, lack-lustre eyes, and broken-mouthed,
as I now saw her; but there were the remains of great
beauty, notwithstanding, about the woman; and I afterwards
learned that she had once been among the fairest of the
fair, in her native mountains. In all the intercourse I subsequently
had with her family, the manner of this woman
was anxious, distrustful, watchful, and bore a strong resemblance
to that of the dam that is overseeing the welfare of
its cubs. As to her welcome at the board, it was neither
hearty nor otherwise; it being so much a matter of course
for the American to share his meal with the stranger, that
little is said or thought of the boon.
Notwithstanding the size of the family of Thousandacres,
the cabin in which he dwelt was not crowded. The younger
children of the settlement, ranging between the ages of four
and twelve, appeared to be distributed among all the habitations
indifferently, putting into the dishes wherever there
was an opening, much as pigs thrust themselves in at any
opening at a trough. The business of eating commenced
simultaneously throughout the whole settlement, Prudence
having blown a blast upon a conch-shell, as the signal. I
was too hungry to lose any time in discourse, and set to,
with the most hearty good will, upon the coarse fare, the
moment there was an opportunity. My example was imi
-- 019 --
[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]
tated by all around our own particular board, it being the
refined and intellectual only, who habitually converse at
their meals. The animal had too great a preponderance
among the squatters, to leave them an exception to the
rule.
At length, the common hunger was appeased, and I could
see that those who sat around began to examine me with a
little more curiosity than they had previously manifested.
There was nothing in the fashion of my attire to excite
suspicion, perhaps, though I did feel some little concern on
account of its quality. In that day, the social classes were
broadly distinguished by dress, no man even affecting to
assume the wardrobe of a gentleman, without having certain
pretensions to the character. In the woods, however,
it was the custom to throw aside every thing like finery, and
I wore the hunting-shirt already mentioned, as my outer
garment. The articles most likely to betray my station in
life were beneath this fortunate covering, and might escape
observation. Then our party was small, consisting, besides
the parents and the two guests, of only one young man, and
one young woman, of about the ages of two and twenty and
sixteen, whom the mother addressed as Zephaniah and
Lowiny, the latter being one of the very common American
corruptions of some fine name taken from a book—Lavinia,
quite likely.[1] These two young persons deported themselves
with great modesty at the table, old Thousandacres
and his wife, spite of their lawless lives, having maintained
a good deal of the ancient puritan discipline among their
descendants, in relation to things of this nature. Indeed, I
-- 020 --
[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]
was struck with the singular contrast between the habitual
attention that was paid by all in the settlement to certain
appearances of the sort, and that certainty which every one
must have possessed that they were living daily in the commission
of offences opposed not only to the laws of the land,
but to the common, inherent convictions of right. In this
particular, they exhibited what is often found in life, the
remains of ancient habits and principles, existing in the
shape of habits, long after the substance that had produced
them had disappeared.
“Have you asked these folks about Chainbearer?” said
Prudence abrnptly, as soon as the knives and forks were
laid down, and while we still continued in our seats at the
table. “I feel a consarn of mind, about that man, that I
never feel about any other.”
“Never fear Chainbearer, woman,” answered the husband.
“He 's got his summer's work afore him, without
coming near us. By the last accounts, this young Littlepage,
that the old rogue of a father has sent into the country,
has got him out in his own settlement; where he 'll be
apt to keep him, I calcerlate, till cold weather sets in. Let
me once get off all the lumber we 've cut, and sell it, and I
kear very little about Chainbearer, or his master.”
“This is bold talk, Aaron; but jist remember how often
we 've squatted, and how often we 've been driven to move.
I s'pose I 'm talking afore fri'nds, in sayin' what I do.”
“No fear of any here, wife.—Trackless is an old acquaintance,
and has as little relish for law-titles, as any on
us; and his fri'nd is our fri'nd.” I confess, that I felt a
little uncomfortable, at this remark; but the squatter going
on with his conversation, there was no opportunity for saying
anything, had I been so disposed.—“As for moving,” continued
the husband, “I never mov'd, but twice, without
getting pay for my betterments.—Now, I call that a good
business, for a man who has squatted no less than seventeen
times. If the worst comes to the worst, we 're young
enough to make an eighteenth pitch. So that I save the
lumber, I kear but little for your Littlepages, or Greatpages;
the mill is no great matter, without the gear; and that has
travelled all the way from Varmount, as it is, and is used to
moving. It can go farther.”
-- 021 --
[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]
“Yes, but the lumber, Aaron! The water 's low, now,
and you can never get it to market, until the rivers rise,
which mayn't be these three months. Think how many
days' labour that lumber has cost you, and all on us, and
what a sight of it there would be to lose!”
“Yes, but we wunt lose it, woman,” answered Thousandacres,
compressing his lips, and clenching his hands, in a
way to show how intensely he felt on the subject of property,
himself, however dishonestly acquired. “My sweat and
labour be in them boards; and it 's as good as sap, any day.
What a man sweats for, he has a right to.”
This was somewhat loose morality, it is true, since a man
might sweat in bearing away his neighbour's goods; but a
portion of the human race is a good deal disposed to feel
and reason on principles but little more sound than this of
old Thousandacres.
“Wa-a-ll,” answered the woman, “I 'm sure I don't
want to see you and the b'ys lose the fruits of your labours;
not I. You 've honestly toiled and wrought at 'em logs, in
a way I never seed human beings outdo; and 't would be
hard,” looking particularly at me, “now that they 've cut
the trees, hauled 'em to mill, and sawed the boards, to see
another man step in and claim all the property. That could
never be right, but is ag'in all justice, whether Varmount
or York. I s'pose there 's no great harm in jist askin' what
your name may be, young man?”
“None in the world,” I answered, with a self-command
that I could see delighted the Onondago. “My name is
Mordaunt.”
“Mordaunt!” repeated the woman, quickly. “Don't we
know suthin' of that name?—Is that a fri'ndly name, to us
Varmounters?—How is it, Aaron? you ought to know.”
“No, I hadn't ought to, for I never heerd tell of any sich
name, afore. So long as 'tis n's Littlepage, I kear nothin'
about it.”
I felt relieved at this reply, for I will own, that the idea
of falling into the power of these lawless men was far from
pleasant to me. From Thousandacres, down to the lad
of seventeen, they all stood six feet in their stockings; and
a stouter, more broad-shouldered, sinewy race, was not
often seen. The idea of resisting them by force, was out
-- 022 --
[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]
of the question. I was entirely without arms; though the
Indian was better provided; but no less than four rifles
were laid on brackets in this one cabin; and I made no
doubt that every male of the family had his own particular
weapon. The rifle was the first necessary, of men of this
stamp, being as serviceable in procuring food, as in protecting
them from their enemies.
It was at this moment that Prudence drew a long sigh,
and rose from table in order to renew her domestic labours.
Lowiny followed her motions in submissive silence, and we
men sauntered to the door of the cabin, where I could get a
new view of the nature of those “betterments” that Thousandacres
so highly prized, and of the extent of the depredations
that had been committed on colonel Follock and my
father. The last were by no means insignificant; and, at
a later day, they were estimated, by competent judges, to
amount to fully a thousand dollars in value. Of course
these were a thousand dollars totally lost, inasmuch as redress,
in a pecuniary sense, was entirely out of the question
with men of the stamp of Thousandacres and his sons.
This class of persons are fond of saying, “I 'll guarantee,”
and “I 'll bind myself” to do this or that; but the guaranty
and obligation are equally without value. In fact, those
who are the least responsible are usually the freest with
such pledges.
“This is a handsome spot,” said Thousandacres, whose
real name was Aaron Timberman. “This is a handsome
spot, Mr. Mordaunt, and one it would go kind o' hard to
give it up at the biddin' of a man who never laid eye on 't.
Be you any way acquainted with law?”
“A very little; no more than we all get to be as we
move along through life.”
“You 've not travelled far on that journey, young man,
as any one can see by your face. But you 've had opportunities,
as a body can tell by your speech, which isn't exactly
like our'n, out here in the woods, from which I had
kind o' thought your schoolin' might be more than common.
A body can tell, though his own l'arnin' amounts to no great
matter.”
This notion of Aaron's, that my modes of speech, pronunciation,
accent and utterance had come from the schools,
-- 023 --
[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]
was natural enough, perhaps; though few persons ever acquire
accuracy in either, except in the familiar intercourse
of their childhood. As for the “common schools” of New
York, they are perpetuating errors in these respects, rather
than correcting them; and one of the largest steps in their
improvement would be to have a care that he who teaches,
teaches accurately as to sounds, as well as to significations.
Under the present system, vicious habits are confirmed by
deliberate instruction and example, rather than corrected.
“My schooling,” I answered, modestly enough, I trust,
“has been a little better than common, though it has not
been good enough, as you see, to keep me out of the woods.”
“All that may be inclination. Some folks have a nat'ral
turn for the wilderness, and it's workin' ag'in the grain,
and nearly useless, to try to make settlement-bodies of 'em.
D 'ye happen to know what lumber is likely to bring this
fall?”
“Everything is looking up since the peace, and it is fair
to expect lumber will begin to command a price, as well as
other property.”
“Wa-a-l, it 's time it should! During the whull war a
board has been of little more account than a strip of bark,
unless it happened to be in the neighbourhood of an army.
We lumbermen have had an awful time on it these last eight
years, and more than once I 've felt tempted to gi'n in, and
go and settle down in some clearin', like quieter folks; but
I thought, as the 'arth is to come to an eend, the war must
sartainly come to an eend afore it.”
“The calculation was a pretty safe one; the war must
have truly made a dull time for you; nor do I see how you
well got along during the period it lasted.”
“Bad enough; though war-times has their wind-falls as
well as peace-times. Once, the inimy seized a sight of continental
stores, sich as pork, and flour, and New England
rum, and they pressed all the teams, far and near, to carry
off their plunder, and my sleigh and horses had to go along
with the rest on 'em. Waal, go we did; and I got as
handsome a load as ever you seed laid in a lumber-sleigh;
what I call an assortment, and one, too, that was mightily
to my own likin', seein' I loaded it up with my own hands.
'T was in a woody country, as you may s'pose, or I wouldn't
-- 024 --
[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]
have been there; and, as I know'd all the by-roads, I watched
my chance, and got out of the line without bein' seen, and
druv' as straight up to my own hum' as if I 'd just come
from tradin' in the nearest settlement. That was the most
profitablest journey I ever tuck, and, what is more, it was a
short one.”
Here old Thousandacres stopped to laugh, which he did
in as hearty, frank a manner as if his conscience had never
known care. This story, I fancy, was a favourite with him,
for I heard no less than three other allusions to the exploit
on which it was based, during the short time our communication
with each other lasted. I observed the first smile I
had seen on the face of Zephaniah, appear at the recital of
this anecdote; though I had not failed to notice that the
young man, as fine a specimen of rustic, rude, manly proportions
as one could wish to see, had kept his eyes on me
at every occasion, in a manner that excited some uneasiness.
“That was a fortunate service for you,” I remarked, as
soon as Aaron had had his laugh; “unless, indeed, you felt
the necessity of giving back the property to the continental
officers.”
“Not a bit of it! Congress was poor enough, I 'm willin'
to own, but it was richer than I was, or ever will be. When
property has changed hands once, title goes with it; and
some say that these very lands, coming from the king, ought
now to go to the people, jist as folks happen to want 'em.
There 's reason and right, I 'm sartain, in the idee, and I
shouldn't wonder if it held good in law, one day!”
Alas! alas! for poor human nature again. Seldom does
man commit a wrong but he sets his ingenuity to work to
frame excuses for it. When his mind thus gets to be perverted
by the influence of his passions, and more especially
by that of rapacity, he never fails to fancy new principles
to exist to favour his schemes, and manifests a readiness in
inventing them, which, enlisted on the side of goodness,
might render him a blessing instead of a curse to his race.
But roguery is so active, while virtue is so apt to be passive,
that in the eternal conflict that is waged between them, that
which is gained by the truth and inherent power of the last
is, half the time, more than neutralized by the unwearied
-- 025 --
[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]
exertions of the first! This, I fear, may be found to contain
the weak spot of our institutions. So long as law represents
the authority of an individual, individual pride and
jealousy may stimulate it to constant watchfulness; whereas,
law representing the community, carries with it a divided
responsibility, that needs the excitement of intolerable abuses
ere it will arouse itself in its own vindication. The result
is merely another proof that, in the management of the
ordinary affairs of life, men are usually found to be stronger
than principles.
“Have you ever had occasion to try one of your titles of
possession in a court of law, against that of a landholder
who got his right from a grant?” I asked, after reflecting a
moment on the truth I have just narrated.
Thousandacres shook his head, looked down a moment,
and pondered a little, in his turn, ere he gave me the following
answer:
“Sartain,” he said. “We all like to be on the right
side, if we can; and some of our folks kind o' persuaded
me I might make out, once, ag'in a reg'lar landlord. So I
stood trial with him; but he beat me, Mr. Mordaunt, just
the same as if I had been a chicken, and he the hawk that
had me in his talons. You 'll never catch me trusting myself
in the claws of the law ag'in, though that happened as
long ago as afore the old French war. I shall never trust
to law any more. It may do for them that 's, rich, and
don't kear whether they win or lose; but law is a desp'rate
bad business for them that hasn't got money to go into it,
right eend foremost.”
“And, should Mr. Littlepage discover your being here,
and feel disposed to come to some arrangement with you,
what conditions would you be apt to accept?”
“Oh! I 'm never ag'in trade. Trade 's the spirit of life;
and seein' that gin'ral Littlepage has some right, as I do
s'pose is the case, I shouldn't want to be hard on him. If
he would keep things quiet, and not make a fuss about it,
but would leave the matter out to men, and they men of the
right sort, I shouldn't be difficult; for I 'm one of that kind
that hates law-suits, and am always ready to do the right
thing; and so he 'd find me as ready to settle as any man
he ever had on his lands.”
-- 026 --
[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]
“But on what terms? You have not told me the
terms.”
“As to tarms, I 'd not be hard, by any means. No man
can say old Thousandacres ever druv' hard tarms, when
he had the best on't. That 's not in my natur', which runs
altogether towards reason and what 's right. Now you see,
Mordaunt, how matters stand atween this Littlepage and
myself. He 's got a paper title, they tell me, and I 've got
possession, which is always a squatter's claim; and a good
one 'tis, where there 's plenty of pine and a mill-seat, with a
handy market!”
Here Thousandacres stopped to laugh again, for he
generally indulged in this way, in so hearty and deep a
tone, as to render it difficult to laugh and talk in the same
breath. As soon as through, however, he did not forget to
pursue the discourse.
“No, no man that understands the woods will gainsay
them advantages,” added the squatter; “and of all on 'em
am I now in the enj'yment. Wa-a-l, gin'ral Littlepage, as
they call him about here, has a paper title; and I 've got
possession. He has the courts on his side, I 'll allow; but
here are my betterments—sixty-three as large acres chopped
over and hauled to mill, as can be found in all Charlotte,
or Washington, as they tell me the county is now called.”
“But general Littlepage may not fancy it an improvement
to have his land stripped of its pine. You know,
Thousandacres, as well as I do, that pine is usually thought
to greatly add to the value of land hereabouts, the Hudson
making it so easy to get it to market.”
“Lord! youngster, do you think I hadn't all that in my
mind, when I made my pitch here? You can't teach old
bones where it 's best to strike the first blow with an axe.
Now, I 've got in the creek,” (this word is used, in the parlance
of the State, for a small river, nine times in ten);
“now, I 've got in the creek, on the way to the Hudson, in
the booms below the mill, and in the mill-yard yonder, a
hundred and twenty thousand feet of as handsome stuff as
ever was cribbed, or rafted; and there 's logs enough cut
and hauled to make more than as much more. I some sort
o' think you know this Littlepage, by your talk; and, as I
like fair dealin's, and what 's right atween man and man,
-- 027 --
[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]
I 'll just tell you what I 'll do, so that you can tell him, if
you ever meet, and the matter should come up atween you,
as sich things sometimes do, all in talk like, though a body
has no real consarn in the affair; and so you can tell this
gin'ral that old Thousandacres is a reasonable man, and is
willing to settle on these tarms; but he won't gi'n a grain
more. If the gin'ral will let me get all the lumber to market
peaceably, and take off the crops the b'ys have put in
with their own hands, and carry off all the mill-gear, and
take down the doors and windows of the houses, and all the
iron-work a body can find about, I 'm willing to agree to
quit 'arly enough in the spring to let any man he chooses
come into possession in good season to get in spring grain,
and make garden. There; them 's my tarms, and I 'll not
abate on one on 'em, on no account at all. But that much
I 'll do for peace; for I do love peace and quiet, my woman
says, most desp'ately.”
I was about to answer this characteristic communication—
perfectly characteristic as to feelings, one-sided sense of
right, principles and language—when Zephaniah, the tall
son of the squatter, suddenly laid a hand on his father's
arm, and led him aside. This young man had been examining
my person, during the whole of the dialogue at the
door of the cabin, in a way that was a little marked. I
was disposed at first to attribute these attentions to the
curiosity natural to youth, at its first meeting with one who
might be supposed to enjoy opportunities of ascertaining the
newest modes of dress and deportment. Rustics, in America,
ever manifest this feeling, and it was not unreasonable
to suppose that this young squatter might have felt its influence.
But, as it soon appeared, I had altogether mistaken
my man. Although both he and his sister, Lowiny,
had never turned their eyes from my person, I soon discovered
that they had been governed by totally opposing
feelings.
The first intimation I got of the nature of the mistake
into which I had fallen, was from the manner of Thousandacres,
as soon as his son had spoken to him, apart, for a
single minute. I observed that the old squatter turned suddenly,
and began to scrutinize my appearance with a scowling,
but sharp eye. Then he would give all his attention
-- 028 --
[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]
to his son; after which, I came in for a new turn of examination.
Of course, such a scene could not last a great
while, and I soon felt the relief of being, again, face to face
with the man whom I now set down for an enemy.
“Harkee, young man,” resumed Thousandacres, as soon
as he had returned and placed himself directly before me,
“my b'y, Zeph, there, has got a suspicion consarning you,
that must be cleared up, fairly a-tween us, afore we part.
I like fair dealin's, as I've told you more than once, already,
and despise underhandedness from the bottom of my heart.
Zeph tells me that he has a kind o' suspicion that you 're
the son of this very Littlepage, and have been sent among
us to spy us out, and to l'arn how things stood, afore you let
on your evil intentions. Is it so, or not?”
“What reason has Zeph for such a suspicion?” I answered,
with as much coolness as I could assume. “He is
a perfect stranger to me, and I fancy this is the first time
we have ever met.”
“He agrees to that, himself; but mankind can sometimes
see things that isn't put directly afore their eyes. My son
goes and comes, frequently, between the Ravensnest settlement
and our own, though I don't suppose he lets on any
great deal about his proper hum'—He has worked as much
as two months, at a time, in that part of the country, and I
find him useful in carrying on a little trade, once and awhile,
with 'squire Newcome.”
“You are acquainted, then, with Mr. Jason Newcome, or
'squire Newcome, as you call him?”
“I call him what 's right, I hope!” answered the old man
sharply. “He is a 'Squire, and should be called a 'Squire.
Give the devil his due; that 's my principle. But Zephaniah
has been out a considerable spell this summer to work
at Ravensnest. I tell him he has a gal in his eye, by his
hankering so much after the 'Nest folks, but he won't own
it: but out he has been, and he tells me this Littlepage's
son was expected to come into the settlement about the time
he last left there.”
“And you are acquainted with 'Squire Newcome?” I said,
pursuing the subject as its points presented themselves to my
own mind, rather than following the thread of the squatter's
-- 029 --
[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]
discursive manner of thinking; “so well acquainted as to
trade with him?”
“Sartain; well acquainted I may say. The 'Squire tuck
(took) all the lumber I cut 'arly in the spring, rafting and
selling it on his own account, paying us in groceries, womans'
cloth, and rum. He made a good job of it, I hear tell, and
is hankerin' round a'ter what is now in the creek; but I
rather think I 'll send the b'ys off with that. But what 's
that to the purpose? Didn't you tell me, young man, that
your name is Mordaunt?”
“I did; and in so saying I told no more than the truth.”
“And what may you call your given name? A'ter all,
old woman,” turning to the anxious wife and mother, who
had drawn near to listen, having most probably been made
acquainted with the nature of her son's suspicions—“a'ter
all the b'y may be mistaken, and this young man as innocent
as any one of your own flesh and blood.”
“Mordaunt is what you call my `given name,' I answered,
disdaining deception, “and Littlepage—” The hand of the
Indian was suddenly placed on my mouth, stopping further
utterance.
It was too late, however, for the friendly design of the
Onondago, the squatters readily comprehending all I had
intended to say. As for Prudence, she walked away; and
I soon heard her calling all her younger children by name,
to collect them near her person, as the hen gathers its
chickens beneath the wing. Thousandacres took the matter
very differently. His countenance grew dark, and he whispered
a word to Lowiny, who departed on some errand
with reluctant steps, as I thought, and eyes that did not
always look in the direction she was walking.
“I see how it is!—I see how it is!” exclaimed the squatter,
with as much of suppressed indignation in his voice and
mien as if his cause were that of offended innocence; “we 've
got a spy among us, and war-time 's too fresh not to let us
know how to deal with sich folks. Young man, what 's your
arr'n'd down here, in my betterments, and beneath my ruff?”
“My errand as you call it, Thousandacres, is to look
after the property that is entrusted to my care. I am the
son of General Littlepage, one of the owners of this spot,
and the attorney of both.”
-- 030 --
[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]
“Oh! an attorney be you!” cried the squatter, mistaking
the attorney in fact for an attorney at law—a sort of being
for whom he necessarily entertained a professional antipathy.
“I'll attorney ye! If you or your gin'ral father thinks
that Aaron Thousandacres is a man to have his territories
invaded by the inimy, and keep his hands in his pockets the
whull time, he's mistaken. Send 'em along, Lawiny, send
along the b'ys, and let's see if we can't find lodgin's for
this young attorney gin'ral, as well as board.”
There was no mistaking the aspect of things now. Hostilities
had commenced in a certain sense, and it became
incumbent on me for the sake of safety to be on the alert.
I knew that the Indian was armed; and, determined to defend
my person if possible, I was resolved to avail myself of the
use of his weapon should it become necessary. Stretching
out an arm, and turning to the spot where Susquesus had
just stood, to lay hold of his rifle, I discovered that he had
disappeared.
eaf076v2.n1[1] The commoner dialect of New England is as distinct from the
language of the rest of the republic, cases of New England descent
excepted, as those of many of many of the English counties are from that of
London. One of the peculiarities of the former, is to pronounce the
final a of a word, like y; calling America, Ameriky; Utica, Utiky;
Ithaca, Ithaky. Thus, Lavinia would be very apt to be pronounced
Lavinny, Lavyny, or Lowiny. As there is a marked ambition for
fine names, the effect of these corruptions on a practised ear is somewhat
ludicrous. The rest of the nation is quite free from the peculiarity.
Foreigners often mistake New Englandisms for Americanisms;
the energy, importance, and prominency of the people of the
former portion of the country, giving them an influence that is disproportioned
to their numbers.
CHAPTER III.
“The lawless herd, with fury blind,
Have done him cruel wrong;
The flowers are gone, but still we find,
The honey on his tongue.”
Cowper.
There I stood, alone and unarmed, in the centre of six
athletic men, for Lowiny had been sent to assemble her
brothers; a business in which she was aided by Prudence's
blowing a peculiar sort of blast on her conch; and, as unable
to resist, as a child would have been in the hands of its
parent. As a fruitless scuffle would have been degrading,
as well as useless, I at once determined to submit, temporarily
at least, or so long as submission did not infer disgrace,
and was better than resistance. There did not seem
to be any immediate disposition to lay violent hands on me,
however, and there I stood, a minute or two, after I had
missed Sureflint, surrounded by the whole brood of the
-- 031 --
[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]
squatter, young and old, male and female; some looking
defiance, others troubled, and all anxious. As for myself,
I will frankly own my sensations were far from pleasant;
for I knew I was in the hands of the Philistines, in the
depths of a forest, fully twenty miles from any settlement,
and with no friends nearer than the party of the Chainbearer,
who was at least two leagues distant, and altogether
ignorant of my position as well as of my necessities. A
ray of hope, however, gleamed in upon me through the probable
agency of the Onondago.
Not for an instant did I imagine that long-known and welltried
friend of my father and the Chainbearer false. His
character was too well established for that; and it soon
occurred to me, that, foreseeing his own probable detention
should he remain, he had vanished with a design to let the
strait in which I was placed be known, and to lead a party
to my rescue. A similar idea probably struck Thousandacres
almost at the same instant; for, glancing his eye
around him, he suddenly demanded—
“What has become of the red-skin? The varmint has
dodged away, as I 'm an honest man! Nathaniel, Moses,
and Daniel, to your rifles and on the trail. Bring the fellow
in, if you can, with a whull skin; but if you can't, an Injin
more or less will never be heeded in the woods.”
I soon had occasion to note that the patriarchal government
of Thousandacres was of a somewhat decided and
prompt character. A few words went a great ways in it,
as was now apparent; for in less than two minutes after
Aaron had issued his decree, those namesakes of the prophets
and lawgivers of old, Nathaniel, and Moses, and
Daniel, were quitting the clearing on diverging lines, each
carrying a formidable, long, American hunting-rifle in his
hand. This weapon, so different in the degree of its power
from the short military piece that has become known to
modern warfare, was certainly in dangerous hands; for
each of those young men had been familiar with his rifle
from boyhood; gunpowder and liquor, with a little lead,
composing nearly all the articles on which they lavished
money for their amusement. I trembled for Susquesus;
though I knew he must anticipate a pursuit, and was so
well skilled in throwing off a chase as to have obtained the
-- 032 --
[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]
name of the Trackless. Still, the odds were against him;
and experience has shown that the white man usually surpasses
the Indian even in his own peculiar practices, when
there have been opportunities to be taught. I could do no
more, however, than utter a mental prayer for the escape
of my friend.
“Bring that chap in here,” added old Thousandacres
sternly, the moment he saw that his three sons were off;
enough remaining to enforce that or any other order he
might choose to issue. “Bring him into this room, and let
us hold a court on him, sin' he is sich a lover of the law.
If law he likes, law let him have. An attorney is he? I
warnt to know! What has an attorney to do with me and
mine, out here in the woods?”
While this was in the course of being said, the squatter,
and father of squatters, led the way into his own cabin,
where he seated himself with an air of authority, causing
the females and younger males of his brood to range themselves
in a circle behind his chair. Seeing the folly of resistance,
at a hint from Zephaniah I followed, the three
young men occupying the place near the door, as a species
of guard. In this manner we formed a sort of court, in
which the old fellow figured as the investigating magistrate,
and I figured as the criminal.
“An attorney, be you!” muttered Thousandacres, whose
ire against me in my supposed, would seem to be more excited
than it was against me in my real character. “B'ys,
silence in the court; we 'll give this chap as much law as
he can stagger under, sin' he 's of a law natur'. Everything
shall be done accordin' to rule. Tobit,” addressing his oldest
son, a colossal figure of about six-and-twenty, “you 've been
in the law more than any on us, and can give us the word.
What was 't they did with you, first, when they had you up
in Hampshire colony; the time when you and that other
young man went across from the Varmount settlements to
look for sheep? A raft of the crittur's you did get atween
you, though you was waylaid and robbed of all your hard
'arnin's, afore you got back ag'in in the mountains. They
dealt with you accordin' to law, 'twas said; now, what was
the first thing done?”
“I was tuck [taken] afore the 'squire,” answered Tobit
-- 033 --
[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]
Thousandacres, as he was often called, “who heerd the
case, asked me what I had to say for myself, and then permitted
me, as it was tarmed; so I went to gaol until the
trial came on, and I s'pose you know what come next, as
well as I do.”
I took it for granted that what “come next” was anything
but pleasant in remembrance, the reason Tobit did
not relish it even in description, inasmuch as sheep-stealers
were very apt to get “forty save one” at the whipping-post,
in that day, a species of punishment that was admirably
adapted to the particular offence. We are getting among
us a set of soi-disant philanthropists, who, in their great desire
to coddle and reform rogues, are fast placing the punnishment
of offences on the honest portion of the community,
for the especial benefit of their eleves. Some of these persons
have already succeeded in cutting down all our whipping-posts,
thereby destroying the cheapest and best mode
of punishing a particular class of crimes that was ever invented
or practised. A generation hence, our children will
feel the consequences of this mistaken philanthropy. In
that day, let those who own fowl-houses, pig-pens, orchards,
smoke-houses, and other similar temptations to small depredations,
look to it, for I am greatly mistaken if the insecurity
of their moveables does not give the most unanswerable
of all commentaries on this capital misstep. One whipping-post,
discreetly used, will do more towards reforming a
neighbourhood than a hundred gaols, with their twenty and
thirty days' imprisonments![2] I have as much disposition
to care for the reformation of criminals as is healthful, if I
know myself; but the great object of all the punishments of
society, viz., its own security, ought never to be sacrificed
to this, which is but a secondary consideration. Render
character, person and property as secure as possible, in the
-- 034 --
[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]
first place, after which, try as many experiments in philanthropy
as you please.
I am sorry to see how far the disposition to economise is
extending itself, in the administration of American justice,
generally. Under a government like that of this country,
it is worse than idle, for it is perfectly futile to attempt to
gratify the imagination by a display of its power, through
the agency of pomp and representation. Such things,
doubtless, have their uses, and are not to be senselessly
condemned until one has had an opportunity of taking near
views of their effects; though useful, or the reverse, they
can never succeed here. But these communities of ours
have it in their power to furnish to the world a far more
illustrious example of human prescience, and benevolent
care, by its prompt, exact, and well-considered administration
of justice—including the cases in both the civil and the
criminal courts. With what pride might not the American
retort, when derided for the simplicity of his executive, and
the smallness of the national expenditure in matters of mere
representation, could he only say—“True, we waste nothing
on mere parade; but, turn to the courts, and to the
justice of the country; which, after all, are the great aim
of every good government. Look at the liberality of our
expenditures, for the command of the highest talent, in the
first place; see, with what generous care we furnish judges
in abundance, to prevent them from being overworked, and
to avoid ruinous delays to suitors; then, turn to the criminal
courts, and into, first, the entire justice of the laws; next,
the care had in the selection of jurors; the thorough impartiality
of all the proceedings; and, finally, when the right
demands it, the prompt, unerring, and almost terrific majesty
of punishment.” But, to return to something that is a good
deal more like truth:—
“Yes, yes,” rejoined Thousandacres, “there is no use
in riling the feelin's, by talking of that”—(meaning Tobit's
sufferings, not at the stake, but at the post;)—“a hint's as
good as a description. You was taken afore a magistrate,
was you;—and he permitted you to prison—but, he asked
what you had to say for yourself, first? That was only
fair, and I mean to act it all out here, accordin' to law.
-- 035 --
[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]
Come, young attorney, what have you got to say for yourself?”
It struck me that, alone as I was, in the hands of men
who were a species of outlaws, it might be well to clear
myself from every imputation that, at least, was not
merited.
“In the first place,” I answered, “I will explain a mistake
into which you have fallen, Thousandacres; for, let
us live as friends or foes, it is always best to understand
facts. I am not an attorney, in the sense you imagine—I
am not a lawyer.”
I could see that the whole brood of squatters, Prudence
included, was a good deal mollified by this declaration. As
for Lowiny, her handsome, ruddy face actually expressed
exultation and delight! I thought I heard that girl half suppress
some such exclamation as—“I know'd he wasn't no
lawyer!” As for Tobit, the scowling look, replete with
cat-o'-nine-tails, actually departed, temporarily at least. In
short, this announcement produced a manifest change for
the better.
“No lawyer, a'ter all!” exclaimed Thousandacres—
“Didn't you say you was an attorney?”
“That much is true. I told you that I was the son of
general Littlepage, and that I was his attorney, and that of
colonel Follock, the other tenant in common of this estate;
meaning that I held their power of attorney to convey
lands, and to transact certain other business, in their
names.”
This caused me to lose almost as much ground as I had
just gained, though, being the literal truth, I was resolved
neither to conceal, nor to attempt to evade it.
“Good land!” murmured Lowiny. “Why couldn't the
man say nothin' about all that!”
A reproving look from Prudence, rebuked the girl, and
she remained silent afterwards, for some time.
“A power of attornies, is it!” rejoined the squatter.
“Wa-a-l, that's not much better than being a downright
lawyer. It 's having the power of an attorney, I s'pose,
and without their accursed power it 's little I should kear
for any of the breed. Then you 're the son of that Gin'ral
Littlepage, which is next thing to being the man himself. I
-- 036 --
[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]
should expect if Tobit, my oldest b'y, was to fall into the
hands of some that might be named, it would go hard with
him, all the same as if t'was myself. I know that some
make a difference atween parents and children, but other
some doosen't. What 's that you said about this gin'ral's
only being a common tenant of this land? How dares he
to call himself its owner, if he 's only a common tenant?”
The reader is not to be surprised at Thousandacres'
trifling blunders of this sort; for, those whose rule of right
is present interest, frequently, in the eagerness of rapacity,
fall into this very kind of error; holding that cheap at one
moment, which they affect to deem sacred at the next. I
dare say, if the old squatter had held a lease of the spot he
occupied, he would at once have viewed the character and
rights of a `common tenant,' as connected with two of the
most important interests of the country. It happened, now,
however, that it was “his bull that was goring our ox.”
“How dares he to call himself the owner of the sile,
when he 's only a common tenant, I say?” repeated Thousandacres,
with increasing energy, when he found I did not
answer immediately.
“You have misunderstood my meaning. I did not say
that my father was only a `common tenant' of this property,
but that he and colonel Follock own it absolutely in
common, each having his right in every acre, and not one
owning one half while the other owns the other; which is
what the law terms being `tenants in common,' though
strictly owners in fee.”
“I shouldn't wonder, Tobit, if he turns out to be an
attorney, in our meaning, a'ter all!”
“It looks desp'rately like it, father,” answered the eldest
born, who might have been well termed the heir at law of
all his progenitor's squatting and fierce propensities. “If
he isn't a downright lawyer, he looks more like one than
any man I ever seed out of court, in my whull life.”
“He 'll find his match! Law and I have been at loggerheads
ever sin' the day I first went into Varmount, or them
plaguy Hampshire Grants. When law gets me in its
clutches, it 's no wonder if it gets the best on 't; but, when
I get law in mine, or one of its sarvants, it shall be my fault
if law doosen't come out second best. Wa-a-l, we 've heerd
-- 037 --
[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]
the young man's story, Tobit. I 've asked him what he
had to say for himself, and he has g'in us his tell—tell'd us
how he 's his own father's son, and that the gin'ral is some
sort of a big tenant, instead of being a landlord, and isn't
much better than we are ourselves; and it 's high time I
permitted him to custody. You had writin's for what they
did to you, I dares to say, Tobit?”
“Sartain. The magistrate give the sheriff's deputy a
permittimus, and, on the strength of that, they permitted
me to gaol.”
“Ye-e-es—I know all about their niceties and appearances!
I have had dealin's afore many a magistrate, in
my day, and have onsuited many a chap that thought to
get the best on't afore we begun! Onsuiting the man that
brings the suit, is the cleanest way of getting out of the
law, as I knows on; but it takes a desp'rate long head
sometimes to do it! Afore I permit this young man, I 'll
show writin's, too. Prudence, just onlock the drawer—”
“I wish to correct one mistake before you proceed further,”
interrupted I. “For the second time, I tell you I am
no lawyer, in any sense of the word. I am a soldier—have
commanded a company in General Littlepage's own regiment,
and served with the army when only a boy in years.
I saw both Burgoyne and Cornwallis surrender, and their
troops lay down their arms.”
“Good now! Who'd ha' thought it!” exclaimed the compassionate
Lowiny. “And he so young, that you 'd hardly
think the wind had ever blown on him!”
My announcement of this new character was not without
a marked effect. Fighting was a thing to the whole family's
taste, and what they could appreciate better, perhaps, than
any other act or deed. There was something warlike in
Thousandacres' very countenance and air, and I was not
mistaken in supposing he might feel some little sympathy
for a soldier. He eyed me keenly; and, whether or not he
discovered signs of the truth of my assertion in my mien,
I saw that he once more relented in purpose.
“You out ag'in Burg'yne!” the old fellow exclaimed.
“Can I believe what you say? Why, I was out again
Burg'yne myself, with Tobit, and Moses, and Nathaniel,
and Jedidiah—with every male crittur' of the family, in
-- 038 --
[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]
short, that was big enough to load and fire. I count them
days as among my very best, though they did come late,
and a'ter old age had made some head ag'in me. How can
you prove you was out ag'in Burg'yne and Cornwallis?”
I knew that there was often a strange medley of soi-disant
patriotic feeling mixed up with the most confirmed knavery
in ordinary matters, and saw I had touched a chord that
might thrill on the sympathies of even these rude and
supremely selfish beings. The patriotism of such men,
indeed, is nothing but an enlargement of selfishness, since
they prize things because they belong to themselves, or
they, in one sense, belong to the things. They take sides
with themselves, but never with principles. That patriotism
alone is pure, which would keep the country in the paths
of truth, honour and justice; and no man is empowered, in
his zeal for his particular nation, any more than in his zeal
for himself, to forget the law of right.
“I cannot prove I was out against Burgoyne, standing
here where I am, certainly,” I answered; “but give me an
opportunity, and I will show it to your entire satisfaction.”
“Which rijiment was on the right, Hazen's or Brookes's,
in storming the Jarmans? Tell me that, and I will soon
let you know whether I believe you or not.”
“I cannot tell you that fact, for I was with my own battalion,
and the smoke would not permit such a thing to be
seen. I do not know that either of the corps you mention
was in that particular part of the field that day, though I
believe both to have been warmly engaged.”
“He warnt there,” drawled out Tobit, in his most dissatisfied
manner, almost showing his teeth, like a dog, under
the impulse of the hatred he felt.
“He was there!” cried Lowiny, positively; “I know he
was there!”
A slap from Prudence taught the girl the merit of silence;
but the men were too much interested to heed an interruption
as characteristic and as bootless as this.
“I see how it is,” added Thousandacres; “I must permit
the chap a'ter all. Seein', however, that there is a chance
of his having been out ag'in Burg'yne, I 'll permit him
without writin's, and he shan't be bound. Tobit, take your
prisoner away, and shut him up in the store-'us'. When
-- 039 --
[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]
your brothers get back from their hunt a'ter the Injin, we 'll
detarmine among us what is to be done with him.”
Thousandacres delivered his orders with dignity, and
they were obeyed to the letter. I made no resistance, since
it would only have led to a scuffle, in which I should have
sustained the indignity of defeat, to say nothing of personal
injuries. Tobit, however, did not offer personal violence,
contenting himself with making a sign for me to follow him,
which I did, followed in turn by his two double-jointed brothers.
I will acknowledge that, as we proceeded towards
my prison, the thought of flight crossed my mind; and I
might have attempted it, but for the perfect certainty that,
with so many on my heels, I must have been overtaken,
when severe punishment would probably have been my lot.
On the whole, I thought it best to submit for a time, and
trust the future to Providence. As to remonstrance or deprecation,
pride forbade my having recourse to either. I
was not yet reduced so low as to solicit favours from a
squatter.
The gaol to which I was “permitted” by Thousandacres
was a store-house, or, as he pronounced the word, a “store-'us,”
of logs, which had been made of sufficient strength to
resist depredations, let them come from whom they might;
and they were quite as likely to come from some within as
from any without. In consequence of its destination, the
building was not ill-suited to become a gaol. The logs, of
course, gave a sufficient security against the attempts of a
prisoner without tools or implements of any sort, the roof
being made of the same materials as the sides. There was
no window, abundance of air and light entering through the
fissures of the rough logs, which had open intervals between
them; and the only artificial aperture was the door. This
last was made of stout planks, and was well secured by
heavy hinges, and strong bolts and locks. The building
was of some size, too—twenty feet in length, at least—one
end of it, though then quite empty, having been intended
and used as a crib for the grain that we Americans call, par
excellence, corn. Into this building I entered, after having
the large knife that most woodsmen carry taken from my
pocket; and a search was made on my person for any similar
implement that might aid me in an attempt to escape.
-- 040 --
[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]
In that day America had no paper money, from the bay
of Hudson to Cape Horn. Gold and silver formed the currency,
and my pockets had a liberal supply of both, in the
shape of joes and half joes, dollars, halves, and quarters.
Not a piece of coin, of any sort, was molested, however,
these squatters not being robbers, in the ordinary signification
of the term, but merely deluded citizens, who appropriated
the property of others to their own use, agreeably to
certain great principles of morals that had grown up under
their own peculiar relations to the rest of mankind, their
immediate necessities and their convenience. I make no
doubt that every member of the family of Thousandacres
would spurn the idea of his or her's being a vulgar thief,
drawing some such distinctions in the premises as the Drakes,
Morgans, Woodes Rogers' and others of that school, drew
between themselves and the vulgar every-day sea-robbers
of the seventeenth century, though with far less reason.
But robbers these squatters were not, except in one mode,
and that mode they almost raised to the dignity of respectable
hostilities, by the scale on which they transacted business.
I was no sooner “locked up” than I began a survey of
my prison and the surrounding objects. There was no difficulty
in doing either, the openings between the logs allowing
of a clear reconnoissance on every side. With a view
to keeping its contents in open sight, I fancy, the “store-'us”
was placed in the very centre of the settlement, having the
mills, cabins, barns, sheds and other houses, encircling it
in a sort of hamlet. This circumstance, which would render
escape doubly difficult, was, notwithstanding, greatly in
favour of reconnoitring. I will now describe the results of
my observations. As a matter of course, my appearance,
the announcement of my character, and my subsequent arrest,
were circumstances likely to produce a sensation in
the family of the squatter. All the women had gathered
around Prudence, near the door of her cabin, and the
younger girls were attracted to that spot, as the particles of
matter are known to obey the laws of affinity. The males,
one boy of eight or ten years excepted, were collected near
the mill, where Thousandacres, apparently, was holding a
consultation with Tobit and the rest of the brotherhood;
-- 041 --
[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]
among whom, I fancy, was no one entitled to be termed an
angel. Everybody seemed to be intently listening to the
different speakers, the females often turning their eyes towards
their male protectors, anxiously and with long protracted
gazes. Indeed, many of them looked in that direction,
even while they gave ear to the wisdom of Prudence
herself.
The excepted boy had laid himself, in a lounging, American
sort of an attitude, on a saw-log, near my prison, and
in a position that enabled him to see both sides of it, without
changing his ground. By the manner in which his eyes
were fastened on the “store-'us” I was soon satisfied that he
was acting in the character of a sentinel. Thus, my gaol
was certainly sufficiently secure, as the force of no man,
unaided and without implements, could have broken a passage
through the logs.
Having thus taken a look at the general aspect of things,
I had leisure to reflect on my situation, and the probable
consequences of my arrest. For my life I had no great apprehensions,
not as much as I ought to have had, under the
circumstances; but, it did not strike me that I was in any
great danger on that score. The American character, in
general, is not blood-thirsty, and that of New England less
so, perhaps, than that of the rest of the country. Nevertheless,
in a case of property, the tenacity of the men of
that quarter of the country was proverbial, and I came to
the conclusion that I should be detained, if possible, until
all the lumber could be got to market and disposed of, as
the only means of reaping the fruit of past labour. The
possibility depended on the escape or the arrest of Sureflint.
Should that Indian be taken, Thousandacres and his family
would be as secure as ever in their wilderness; but, on the
other hand, should he escape, I might expect to hear from
my friends in the course of the day. By resorting to a requisition
on 'squire Newcome, who was a magistrate, my
tenants might be expected to make an effort in my behalf,
when the only grounds of apprehension would be the consequences
of the struggle. The squatters were sometimes
dangerous under excitement, and when sustaining each
other, with arms in their hands, in what they fancy to be
their hard-earned privileges. There is no end to the
-- 042 --
[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]
delusions of men on such subjects, self-interest seeming completely
to blind their sense of right; and I have often met
with cases in which parties who were trespassers, and in a
moral view, robbers, ab origine, have got really to fancy
that their subsequent labours (every new blow of the axe
being an additional wrong) gave a sort of sanctity to possessions,
in the defence of which they were willing to die. It
is scarcely necessary to say that such persons look only at
themselves, entirely disregarding the rights of others; but,
one wonders where the fruits of all the religious instruction
of the country are to be found, when opinions so loose and
acts so flagrant are constantly occurring among us. The
fact is, land is so abundant, and such vast bodies lie neglected
and seemingly forgotten by their owners, that the
needy are apt to think indifference authorizes invasions on
such unoccupied property; and their own labour once applied,
they are quick to imagine that it gives them a moral
and legal interest in the soil; though, in the eye of the law
and of unbiassed reason, each new step taken in what is
called the improvement of a “betterment” is but a farther
advance in the direction of wrong-doing.
I was reflecting on things of this sort, when, looking
through the cracks of my prison, to ascertain the state of
matters without, I was surprised by the appearance of a
man on horseback, who was entering the clearing on its
eastern side, seemingly quite at home in his course, though
he was travelling without even a foot-path to aid him. As
this man had a pair of the common saddle-bags of the day
on his horse, I at first took him for one of those practitioners
of the healing art, who are constantly met with in the new
settlements, winding their way through stumps, logs, morasses
and forests, the ministers of good or evil, I shall not
pretend to say which. Ordinarily, families like that of
Thousandacres do their own “doctoring;” but a case might
occur that demanded the wisdom of the licensed leech; and
I had just decided in my own mind that this must be one,
when, as the stranger drew nearer, to my surprise I saw
that it was no other than my late agent, Mr. Jason Newcome,
and the moral and physical factotum of Ravensnest!
As the distance between the mill that 'squire Newcome
leased of me, and that which Thousandacres had set up on
-- 043 --
[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]
the property of Mooseridge, could not be less than five-and-twenty
miles, the arrival of this visiter at an hour so early
was a certain proof that he had left his own house long
before the dawn. It was probably convenient to pass
through the farms and dwellings of Ravensnest, on the
errand on which he was now bent, at an hour of the night
or morning when darkness would conceal the movement.
By timing his departure with the same judgment, it was
obvious he could reach home under the concealment of
the other end of the same mantle. In a word, this visit
was evidently one, in the objects and incidents of which
it was intended that the world at large should have no
share.
The dialogues between the members of the family of
Thousandacres ceased, the moment 'squire Newcome came
in view; though, as was apparent by the unmoved manner
in which his approach was witnessed, the sudden appearance
of this particular visiter produced neither surprise nor
uneasiness. Although it must have been a thing to be
desired by the squatters, to keep their “location” a secret,
more especially since the peace left landlords at leisure to
look after their lands, no one manifested any concern at
discovering this arrival in their clearing of the nearest
magistrate. Any one might see, by the manner of men,
women and children, that 'squire Newcome was no stranger,
and that his presence gave them no alarm. Even the early
hour of this visit was most probably that to which they
were accustomed, the quick-witted intellects of the young
fry causing them to understand the reason quite as readily
as was the case with their seniors. In a word, the guest
was regarded as a friend, rather than as an enemy.
Newcome was some little time, after he came into view,
in reaching the hamlet, if the cluster of buildings can be so
termed; and when he did alight, it was before the door
of a stable, towards which one of the boys now scampered,
to be in readiness to receive his horse. The beast disposed
of, the 'squire advanced to the spot where Thousandacres
and his elder sons still remained to receive him, or that near
the mill. The manner in which all parties shook hands,
and the cordiality of the salutations generally, in which
Prudence and her daughters soon shared, betokened
-- 044 --
[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]
something more than amity, I fancied, for it looked very much
like intimacy.
Jason Newcome remained in the family group some eight
or ten minutes, and I could almost fancy the prescribed
inquiries about the “folks” (anglice, folk), the “general
state of health,” and the character of the “times,” ere the
magistrate and the squatter separated themselves from the
rest of the party, walking aside like men who had matters
of moment to discuss, and that under circumstances which
could dispense with the presence of any listeners.
eaf076v2.n2[2] Mr. Mordaunt Littlepage writes here with prophetic accuracy.
Small depredations of this nature have got to be so very common,
that few now think of resorting to the law for redress. Instead of
furnishing the prompt and useful punishment that was administered
by our fathers, the law is as much adorned with its cavillings and
delays in the minor as in the more important cases; and it often takes
years to bring a small depredator even to trial, if he can find money
to fee a sagacious lawyer.—Editor.
CHAPTER IV.
“Peculiar both!
Our soil's strong growth
And our bold natives' hardy mind;
Sure heaven bespoke
Our hearts and oak
To give a master to mankind.”
Young.
Thousandacres and the magistrate held their way directly
towards the store-house; and the log of the sentinel
offering a comfortable seat, that functionary was dismissed,
when the two worthies took his place, with their backs
turned towards my prison. Whether this disposition of
their persons was owing to a deep-laid plan of the squatter's,
or not, I never knew; but, let the cause have been what it
might, the effect was to render me an auditor of nearly all
that passed in the dialogue which succeeded. It will greatly
aid the reader in understanding the incidents about to be
recorded, if I spread on the record the language that passed
between my late agent and one who was obviously his confidant
in certain matters, if not in all that touched my interests
in that quarter of the world. As for listening, I have
no hesitation in avowing it, inasmuch as the circumstances
would have justified me in taking far greater liberties with
the customary obligations of society in its every-day aspect,
had I seen fit so to do. I was dealing with rogues, who had
-- 045 --
[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]
me in their power, and there was no obligation to be particularly
scrupulous on the score of mere conventional propriety,
at least.
“As I was tellin' y'e, Thousandacres,” Newcome continued
the discourse by saying, and that with the familiarity
of one who well knew his companion, “the young man is
in this part of the country, and somewhere quite near you
at this moment”—I was much nearer than the 'squire, himself,
had any notion of at that instant — “yes, he 's out in
the woods of this very property, with Chainbearer and his
gang; and, for 'tinow [for aught I know], measuring out
farms within a mile or two of this very spot!”
“How many men be there?” asked the squatter, with
interest. “If no more than the usual set, 't will be an
onlucky day for them, should they stumble on my clearin'!”
“Perhaps they will, perhaps they wunt; a body never
knows. Surveyin's 's a sort o' work that leads a man here,
or it leads him there. One never knows where a line will
carry him, in the woods. That 's the reason I 've kept the
crittur's out of my own timber-land; for, to speak to you,
Thousandacres, as one neighbour can speak to another
without risk, there 's desp'rate large pine-trees on the unleased
hills both north and east of my lot. Sometimes it 's
handy to have lines about a mile, you know, sometimes 't isn't.
“A curse on all lines, in a free country, say I, 'squire,”
answered Thousandacres, who looked, as he bestowed this
characteristic benediction, as if he might better be named
Tenthousandacres; “they 're an invention of the devil.
I lived seven whull years, in Varmount State, as it 's now
called, the old Hampshire Grants, you know, next-door neighbour
to two families, one north and one south on me, and
we chopped away the whull time, jest as freely as we
pleased, and not a cross word or an angry look passed
atween us.”
“I rather conclude, friend Aaron, you had all sat down
under the same title?” put in the magistrate, with a sly
look at his companion. “When that is the case, it would
exceed all reason to quarrel.”
“Why, I 'll own that our titles was pretty much the
same;—possession and free axes. Then it was ag'in York
Colony landholders that our time was running. What 's
-- 046 --
[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]
your candid opinion about law, on this p'int, 'Squire Newcome?—
I know you 're a man of edication, college l'arnt
some say; though, I s'pose, that 's no better l'arnin' than
any other, when a body has once got it—but what 's your
opinion about possession?—Will it hold good in twenty-one
years, without writin's, or not? Some say it will, and some
say it wunt.”
“It wunt. The law is settled; there must be a shadow
of title, or possession 's good for nothin'; no better than the
scrapin's of a flour-barrel.”
“I 've heer'n say the opposyte of that; and there 's reason
why possession should count ag'in everything. By possession,
however, I don't mean hangin' up a pair of saddle-bags
on a tree, as is sometimes done, but goin' honestly and
fairly in upon land, and cuttin' down trees, and buildin'
mills, and housen and barns, and cuttin', and slashin', and
sawin' right and left, like all creation. That 's what I
always doos myself, and that 's what I call sich a possession
as ought to stand in law—ay, and in gospel, too; for I 'm
not one of them that flies in the face of religion.”
“In that you 're quite right; keep the gospel on your
side whatever you do, neighbour Thousandacres. Our
Puritan fathers didn't cross the ocean, and encounter the
horrors of the wilderness, and step on the rock of Plymouth,
and undergo more than man could possibly bear, and that
all for nothin'!”
“Wa-a-l, to my notion, the `horrors of the wilderness,'
as you call 'em, is no great matter; though, as for crossin'
the ocean, I can easily imagine that must be suthin' to try
a man's patience and endurance. I never could take to the
water. They tell me there isn't a single tree growin' the
whull distance atween Ameriky and England! Floatin'
saw-logs be sometimes met with, I 've heer'n say, but not a
standin' crittur' of a tree from Massachusetts bay to London
town!”
“It 's all water and of course trees be scarce, Thousandacres;
but let 's come a little clusser to the p'int. As I was
tellin' you, the whelp is in, and he 'll growl as loud as the
old bear himself, should he hear of all them boards you 've
got in the creek—to say nothin' of the piles up here that
you haven't even begun to put into the water.”
-- 047 --
[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]
“Let him growl,” returned the old squatter, glancing
surlily towards my prison; “like a good many other crittur's
that I 've met with, 't will turn out that his bark is worse
than his bite.”
“I don't know that, neighbour Thousandacres, I don't by
any means know that. Major Littlepage is a gentleman of
spirit and decision, as is to be seen by his having taken his
agency from me, who have held it so long, and gi'n it to a
young chap who has no other claim than bein' a tolerable
surveyor; but who hasn't been in the settlement more than
a twelvemonth.”
“Gi'n it to a surveyor! Is he one of Chainbearer's
measurin' devils?”
“Just so; 't is the very young fellow Chainbearer has
has had with him this year or so, runnin' lines and measurin'
land on this very property.”
“That old fellow, Chainbearer, had best look to himself!
He's thwarted me now three times in the course of his life,
and he's gettin' to be desp'rate old; I 'm afread he won't
live long!”
I could now see that Squire Newcome felt uneasy. Although
a colleague of the squatter's in what is only too apt
to be considered a venial roguery in a new country, or in
the stealing of timber, it did not at all comport with the scale
of his rascality to menace a man's life. He would connive
at stealing timber by purchasing the lumber at sufficiently
low prices, so long as the danger of being detected was kept
within reasonable limits, but he did not like to be connected
with any transaction that did not, in the case of necessity,
admit of a tolerably safe retreat from all pains and penalties.
Men become very much what—not their laws—but what the
administration of their laws makes them. In countries in
which it is prompt, sure, and sufficiently severe, crimes are
mainly the fruits of temptation and necessity; but such a
state of society may exist, in which Justice falls into contempt
by her own impotency, and men are led to offend
merely to brave her. Thus we have long laboured under
the great disadvantage of living under laws that, in a great
degree, were framed for another set of circumstances. By
the common law it was only trespass to cut down a tree in
England; for trees were seldom or never stolen, and the
-- 048 --
[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]
law did not wish to annex the penalties of felony to the
simple offence of cutting a twig in a wood. With us, however,
entire new classes of offences have sprung up under
our own novel circumstances; and we probably owe a portion
of the vast amount of timber-stealing that has now
long existed among us, quite as much to the mistaken lenity
of the laws, as to the fact that this particular description of
property is so much exposed. Many a man would commit
a trespass of the gravest sort, who would shrink from the
commission of a felony of the lowest. Such was the case
with Newcome. He had a certain sort of law-honesty
about him, that enabled him in a degree to preserve appearances.
It is true he connived at the unlawful cutting of
timber by purchasing the sawed lumber, but he took good
care, at the same time, not to have any such direct connection
with the strictly illegal part of the transaction, as to
involve him in the penalties of the law. Had timber-stealing
been felony, he would have often been an accessory before
the act; but, in a case of misdemeanour, the law knows no
such offence. Purchasing the sawed lumber, too, if done
with proper precaution, owing to the glorious subterfuges
permitted by “the perfection of reason,” was an affair of no
personal hazard in a criminal point of view, and even admitted
of so many expedients as to leave the question of
property a very open one, after the boards were fully in his
own possession. The object of his present visit to the clearing
of Thousandacres, as the reader will most probably
have anticipated, was to profit by my supposed proximity,
and to frighten the squatter into a sale on such terms as
should leave larger profits than common in the hands of the
purchaser. Unfortunately for the success of this upright
project, my proximity was so much greater than even Squire
Newcome supposed, as to put it in danger by the very excess
of the thing that was to produce the result desired.
Little did that honest magistrate suppose that I was, the
whole time, within twenty feet of him, and that I heard all
that passed.
“Chainbearer is about seventy,” returned Newcome,
after musing a moment on the character of his companion's
last remark. “Yes, about seventy, I should judge from
what I 've heerd, and what I know of the man. It 's a
-- 049 --
[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]
good old age, but folks often live years and years beyond
it. You must be suthin' like that yourself, Thousandacres?”
“Seventy-three, every day and hour on 't, 'squire; and
days and hours well drawn out, too. If you count by
old style, I b'lieve I 'm a month or so older. But, I 'm not
Chainbearer. No man can say of me, that I ever made
myself troublesome to a neighbourhood. No man can p'int
to the time when I ever disturbed his lines. No man can
tell of the day when I ever went into court to be a witness
on such a small matter as the length or breadth of lots, to
breed quarrels atween neighbours. No, 'squire Newcome,
I set store by my character, which will bear comparison
with that of any other inhabitant of the woods I ever met
with. And what I say of myself I can say of my sons
and da'ghters, too—from Tobit down to Sampson, from Nab
to Jeruthy. We 're what I call a reasonable and reconcileable
breed, minding our own business, and having a respect
for that of other people. Now, here am I, in my seventyfourth
year, and the father of twelve living children, and
I 've made, in my time, many and many a pitch on't, but
never was I known to pitch on land that another man had
in possession:—and I carry my idees of possession farther
than most folks, too, for I call it possession to have said
openly, and afore witnesses, that a man intends to pitch on
any partic'lar spot afore next ploughin' or droppin' time, as
the case may be. No, I respect possession, which ought to
be the only lawful title to property, in a free country.
When a man wants a clearin', or wants to make one, my
doctrine is, let him look about him, and make his pitch on
calcerlation; and when he 's tired of the spot, and wants a
change, let him sell his betterments, if he lights of a chap,
and if he doos'nt, let him leave 'em open, and clear off all
incumbrances, for the next comer.”
It is probable that Jason Newcome, Esq.—magistrates in
America are exceedingly tenacious of this title, though they
have no more right to it than any one else—but Jason
Newcome, Esq.,[3] did not carry his notions of the rights of
-- 050 --
[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]
squatters, and of the sacred character of possession, quite
as far as did his friend Thousandacres. Newcome was an
exceedingly selfish, but, withal, an exceedingly shrewd man.
I do not know that the term clever, in its broadest signification,
would fitly apply to him, for, in that sense, I conceive
it means quickness and intelligence enough to do what is
right; but, he was fully entitled to receive it, under that
qualification by which we say a man is `a clever rogue.'
In a word, Mr. Newcome understood himself, and his relations
to the community in which he lived, too well to fall
into very serious mistakes by a direct dereliction from his
duties, though he lived in a never-ceasing condition of small
divergencies that might at any time lead him into serious
difficulties. Nevertheless, it was easy enough to see he
had no relish for Thousandacres' allusions to the termination
of the days of my excellent old friend, Chainbearer;
nor can I say that they gave me any particular concern,
for, while I knew how desperate the squatters sometimes
became, I had a notion that this old fellow's bark would
prove worse than his bite, as he had just observed of
myself.
-- 051 --
[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]
It would hardly repay the trouble, were I to attempt recording
all that passed next between our two colloquists;
although it was a sufficiently amusing exhibition of wily
management to frighten the squatter to part with his lumber
at a low price, on one side, and of sullen security on the
other. The security proceeded from the fact that Thousandacres
had me, at that very moment, a prisoner in his
store-house.
A bargain conducted on such terms was not likely soon
to come to a happy termination. After a great deal of
chaffering and discussing, the conference broke up, nothing
having been decided, by the magistrate's saying —
“Well, Thousandacres, I hope you'll have no reason to
repent; but I kind o' fear you will.”
“The loss will be mine and the b'ys, if I do,” was the
squatter's answer. “I know I can get all the boards into
the creek; and, for that matter, into the river, afore young
Littlepage can do me any harm; though there is one circumstance
that may yet turn my mind—”
Here the squatter came to a pause; and Newcome, who
had risen, turned short round, eagerly, to press the doubt
that he saw was working in the other's mind.
“I thought you would think better of it,” he said; “for,
it's out of doubt, should major Littlepage l'arn your pitch,
that he'd uproot you, as the winds uproot the fallin' tree.”
“No, 'squire, my mind's made up,” Thousandacres
coolly rejoined. “I'll sell, and gladly; but not on the
tarms you have named. Two pounds eight the thousand foot,
board measure, and taking it all round, clear stuff and refuse,
without any store-pay, will carry off the lumber.”
“Too much, Thousandacres; altogether too much, when
you consider the risks I run. I'm not sartain that I could
hold the lumber, even after I got it into the river; for a
replevy is a formidable thing in law, I can tell you. One
pound sixteen, one-third store-pay, is the utmost farthin' I
can offer.”
In that day all our calculations were in pounds, shillings
and pence.
“Then the bargain's off.—I s'pose, squire, you've the
old avarsion to being seen in my settlements?”
-- 052 --
[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]
“Sartain — sartain,” answered Newcome, in haste.
“There's no danger of that, I hope. You cannot well
have strangers among you!”
“I wunt answer for that. I see some of the b'ys coming
out of the woods, yonder; and it seems to me there is a
fourth man with them. There is, of a sartainty; and it is
no other than Susquesus, the Onondago. The fellow is
cluss-mouthed, like most red-skins; but you can say best
whether you'd like to be seen by him, or not. I hear he's
a great fri'nd of Chainbearer's.”
It was very evident that the magistrate decided, at once,
in the negative. With a good deal of decent haste he
dodged round a pile of logs, and I saw no more of him until
I caught a distant view of his person in the skirts of the
woods, at the point whence he had issued into the clearing,
two hours before, and where he now received his horse from
the hands of the youngest of Thousandacre's sons, who led
the animal to the spot for his especial accommodation. Mr.
Newcome was no sooner in possession of his beast, again,
than he mounted and rode away into the depths of the forest.
So adroitly was this retreat conducted, that no person of
ordinary observation could possibly have detected it, unless
indeed his attention had been previously drawn to the movement.
What passed, at parting, between Thousandacres and his
visiter, I never knew; but they must have been altogether
alone, for a few minutes. When the former re-appeared,
he came out from behind the logs, his whole attention seemingly
fastened on the approaching party, composed of his
sons and Susquesus. Those resolute and practised men had,
indeed, overtaken and captured the Onondago, and were
now bringing him, a prisoner, unarmed, in their midst, to
receive the commands of their father! Notwithstanding
all that I knew of this man, and of his character, there was
something imposing in the manner in which he now waited
for the arrival of his sons and their prisoner. Accustomed
to exercise an almost absolute sway in his own family, the
old man had acquired some of the dignity of authority; and
as for his posterity, old and young, male and female, not
excepting Prudence, they had gained very little in the way
of freedom, by throwing aside the trammels of regular and
-- 053 --
[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]
recognised law, to live under the rule of their patriarch.
In this respect they might be likened to the masses, who, in
a blind pursuit of liberty, impatiently cast away the legal
and healthful restraints of society, to submit to the arbitrary,
selfish, and ever unjust dictation of demagogues. Whatever
difference there might be between the two governments,
was in favour of that of the squatter, who possessed the
feelings of nature in behalf of his own flesh and blood, and
was consequently often indulgent.
It is so difficult to read an Indian's mind in his manner,
that I did not expect to ascertain the state of the Onondago's
feelings by the countenance he wore, on drawing near. In
exterior, this man was as calm and unmoved as if just
arrived on a friendly visit. His captors had bound him,
fearful he might elude them, in some of the thickets they
had been compelled to pass; but the thongs seemed to give
him neither mental nor bodily concern. Old Thousandacres
was stern in aspect; but he had too much experience in
Indian character—knew too well the unforgiving nature of
the Indians' dispositions, or the enduring memories that forgot
neither favours nor injuries, to wantonly increase the
feeling that must naturally have been awakened between him
and his prisoner.
“Trackless,” he said, considerately, “you're an old
warrior, and must know that in troubled times every man
must look out for himself. I'm glad the b'ys warn't driven
to do you any harm; but it would never have done to let
you carry the tidings of what has happened here, this morning,
to Chainbearer and his gang. How long I may have
to keep you, is more than I know myself; but your treatment
shall be good, and your wilcome warm, so long as
you give no trouble. I know what a red-skin's word is;
and maybe, a'ter thinkin' on it a little, I may let you out to
wander about the clearin', provided you'd give your parole
not to go off. I'll think on't, and let you know to-morrow;
but to-day I must put you in the store'us' along with the
young chap that you travelled here with.”
Thousandacres then demanded of his sons an account of
the manner in which they had taken their captive; which
it is unnecessary to relate here, as I shall have occasion to
give it directly in the language of the Indian himself. As
-- 054 --
[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]
soon as satisfied on this head, the door of my prison was
opened, and the Onondago entered it, unbound, without
manifesting the smallest shade of regret, or any resistance.
Everthing was done in a very lock-up sort of manner; the
new prisoner being no sooner `permitted,' than the door was
secured, and I was left alone with Sureflint; one of the
younger girls now remaining near the building as a sentinel.
I waited a moment, to make certain we were alone, when I
opened the communications with my friend.
“I am very sorry for this, Sureflint,” I commenced, “for
I had hoped your knowledge of the woods, and practice on
trails, would have enabled you to throw off your pursuers,
that you might have carried the news of my imprisonment
to our friends. This is a sore disappointment to me;
having made sure you would let Chainbearer know where I
am.”
“W'y t'ink different, now, eh? S'pose, 'cause Injin prisoner,
can't help himself?”
“You surely do not mean that you are here with your
own consent?”
“Sartain.—S'pose no want to come; am no come. You
t'ink Thousandacre's b'ys catch Susquesus in woods, and
he don't want to? Be sure, winter come, and summer
come. Be sure, gray hair come a little. Be sure, Trackless
get ole, by-'m-bye; but he moccasin leave no trail
yet!”
“As I cannot understand why you should first escape,
and then wish to come back, I must beg you to explain
yourself. Let me know all that has passed, Sureflint—how
it has passed, and why it has passed. Tell it in your own
way, but tell it fully.”
“Sartain — Why no tell? No harm; all good — some
t'ing capital! Nebber hab better luck.”
“You excite my curiosity, Sureflint; tell the whole story
at once, beginning at the time when you slipped off, and
carrying it down to the moment of your arrival here.”
Hereupon, Susquesus turned on me a significant look,
drew his pipe from his belt, filled and lighted it, and began
to smoke with a composure that was not easily disturbed.
As soon as assured that his pipe was in a proper state, however,
the Indian quietly began his story.
-- 055 --
[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]
“Now listen, you hear,” he said. “Run away, 'cause
no good to stay here, and be prisoner—dat why.”
“But you are a prisoner, as it is, as well as myself; and,
by your statement, a prisoner with your own consent.”
“Sartain — nebber hab been prisoner, won't be prisoner,
if don't want to. S'pose shot, den can't help him; but in
woods, Injin nebber prisoner, 'less lazy, or drunk. Rum
make great many prisoner.”
“I can believe all this—but tell me the story. Why did
you go off at first?”
“S'pose don't want Chainbearer know where be, eh?
T'ink T'ousandacre ebber let you go while board in stream?
When board go, he go; not afore. Stay all summer; want
to live in store-'us' all summer, eh?”
“Certainly not — Well, you left me, in order to let our
friends know where I was, that they might cast about for
the means of getting me free. All this I understand; what
next?”
“Next, go off in wood. Easy 'nough to slip off when
T'ousandacre no look. Well, went about two mile; leave
no trail — bird make as much in air. What s'pose meet,
eh?”
“I wait for you to tell me.”
“Meet Jaap—yes—meet nigger. Look for young master—
ebbery body in trouble, and won'er where young chief
be. Some look here—some look out yonder—all look somewhere—
Jaap look just dere.”
“And you told Jaap the whole story, and sent him back
to the huts with it!”
“Sartain — just so. Make good guess dat time. Den
t'ink what do, next. Want to come back and help young
pale-face frien'; so t'ought get take prisoner one time. Like
to know how he feel to be prisoner one time. No feel so
bad as s'pose. Squatter no hard master for prisoner.”
“But how did all this happen, and in what manner have
you misled the young men?”
“No hard to do at all. All he want is know how. A'ter
Jaap get his ar'n'd, and go off, made trail plain 'nough for
squaw to find. Travel to a spring — sit down and put rifle
away off, so no need shoot, and let squatter's boys catch
-- 056 --
[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]
me, by what you call s'prise; yes, 'e pale-faces s'prise redman
dat time! Warrant he brag on 't, well!”
Here, then, was the simple explanation of it all! Susquesus
had stolen away, in order to apprise my friends of my
situation; he had fallen in with Jaap, or Jaaf, in search of
his lost master; and, communicating all the circumstances
to the negro, had artfully allowed himself to be re-captured,
carefully avoiding a struggle, and had been brought back
and placed by my side. No explanations were necessary
to point out the advantages. By communicating with the
negro, who had been familiar for years with the clipped
manner of the Indian's mode of speaking English, everything
would be made known to Chainbearer; by suffering
himself to be taken, the squatters were led by Sureflint to
suppose our capture and their “pitch” remained secrets;
while, by re-joining me, I should have the presence, counsel
and assistance of a most tried friend of my father's and
Chainbearer's, in the event of necessity.
This brief summary of his reasoning shows the admirable
sagacity of the Onondago, who had kept in view every
requisite of his situation, and failed in nothing.
I was delighted with the address of Sureflint, as well as
touched by his fidelity. In the course of our conversation,
he gave me to understand that my disappearance and absence
for an entire night had produced great consternation
in the huts, and that everybody was out in quest of me and
himself, at the time when he so opportunely fell in with
Jaap.
“Gal out, too” — added the Onondago, significantly.
“S'pose good reason for dat.”
This startled me a little, for I had a vague suspicion that
Susquesus must have been an unseen observer of my interview
with Ursula Malbone; and noticing my manner on
rushing from her cabin, had been induced to follow me, as
has been related. The reader is not to suppose that my late
adventures had driven Dus from my mind. So far from
this, I thought of her incessantly; and the knowledge that
she took so much interest in me as to roam the woods in
the search, had no tendency to lessen the steadiness or intensity
of my reflections. Nevertheless, common humanity
might induce one of her energy and activity to do as much
-- 057 --
[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]
as this; and had I not her own declaration that she was
plighted to another!
After getting his whole story, I consulted the Indian on
the subject of our future proceedings. He was of opinion
that we had better wait the movements of our friends, from
whom we must hear in some mode or other, in the course
of the approaching night, or of the succeeding day. What
course Chainbearer might see fit to pursue, neither of us
could conjecture, though both felt assured he never would
remain quiet with two as fast friends as ourselves in durance.
My great concern was that he might resort at once to force;
for old Andries had a fiery spirit, though one that was eminently
just; and he had been accustomed to see gunpowder
burned from his youth upward. Should he, on the other
hand, resort to legal means, and apply to Mr. Newcome for
warrants to arrest my captors, as men guilty of illegal personal
violence, a course it struck me Frank Malbone would
be very apt to advise, what might I not expect from the
collusion of the magistrate, in the way of frauds, delays
and private machinations? In such a case, there would be
time to send me to some other place of concealment, and
the forest must have a hundred such that were accessible to
my new masters, while their friend Newcome would scarcely
fail to let them have timely notice of the necessity of some
such step. Men acting in conformity with the rules of right,
fulfilling the requirements of the law, and practising virtue,
might be so remiss as not to send information of such an
impending danger; for such persons are only too apt to rely
on the integrity of their own characters, and to put their
trust on the laws of Providence; but rogues, certain that
they can have no such succour, depend mainly on themselves,
recognizing the well-known principle of Frederick
the Great, who thought it a safe rule to suppose that “Providence
was usually on the side of strong battalions.” I
felt certain, therefore, that squire Newcome would let his
friends at the “clearing” know all that was plotting against
them, as soon as he knew it himself.
The squatters were not unkind to us prisoners in the way
of general treatment. Certainly I had every right to complain
of the particular wrong they did me; but, otherwise,
they were sufficiently considerate and liberal throughout that
-- 058 --
[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]
day. Our fare was their own. We had water brought in
fresh by Lowiny no fewer than five several times; and so
attentive to my supposed wants was this girl, that she actually
brought me every book that was to be found in all the libraries
of the family. These were but three—a fragment of a
bible, Pilgrim's Progress, and an almanac that was four
years old.
eaf076v2.n3[3] In order to understand Mr. Littlepage in what he says of
`Esquires,' a word of explanation may be necessary. The term,
“Esquire,” is, as every well-informed person knows, a title of honour,
standing next in degree below that of knight. On the continent of
Europe the `écuyer' properly infers nobility, I believe, as nobility is
there considered, which is little, if any more than the condition of
the old English gentry, or of the families having coat-armour. By
the English law, certain persons are born esquires, and others have
the rank ex-officio. Among the last, is a justice of the peace, who is
legally an `esquire' during his official term. Now, this rule prevailed
in the colonies, and American magistrates were, perhaps legally,
esquires, as well as the English. But, titles of honour were abolished
at the revolution, and it is a singular contradiction in substance,
to hold that the principal is destroyed while the incident remains.
The rank of esquire can no more legally exist in America, than that
of knight. In one sense, neither is noble, it is true; but in that broad
signification by which all constitutions are, and ought to be interpreted,
both would come within the proscribed category, as set forth
in art. 7th, sect. 9th, and art. 1st, sect. 10. Const. U. S. Nevertheless,
so much stronger is custom than positive law, that not only every
magistrate, but every lawyer in the country fancies himself peculiarly
an `esquire!' It is scarcely necessary to add that, by usage, the
appellation is given by courtesy, wherever the English language is
spoken, to all who are supposed to belong to the class of gentlemen.
This, after all, is the only true American use of the word.—Editor.
CHAPTER V.
“I mark'd his desultory pace,
His gestures strange, and varying face,
With many a muttered sound;
And ah! too late, aghast, I view'd
The reeking blade, the hand embru'd:
He fell, and groaning grasp'd in agony the ground.”
Warton.
In this manner passed that long and wearying day. I
could, and did take exercise, by walking to and fro in my
prison; but the Indian seldom stirred, from the moment he
entered. As for the squatter himself, he came no more near
the storehouse, though I saw him, two or three times in the
course of the day, in private conference with his elder sons,
most probably consulting on my case. At such moments,
their manner was serious, and there were instants when I
fancied it menacing.
Provision was made for our comfort by throwing a sufficient
number of bundles of straw into the prison, and my
fellow-captive and myself had each a sufficiently comfortable
bed. A soldier was not to be frightened at sleeping on
straw, moreover; and, as for Susquesus, he asked for no
more than room to stretch himself, though it were even on a
rock. An Indian loves his ease, and takes it when it comes
in his way; but it is really amazing to what an extent his
powers of endurance go, when it becomes necessary for him
to exert them.
In the early part of the night I slept profoundly, as I believe
did the Indian. I must acknowledge that an
-- 059 --
[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]
uncomfortable distrust existed in my mind, that had some slight
effect in keeping me from slumbering, though fatigue soon
overcame the apprehensions such a feeling would be likely
to awaken. I did not know but Thousandacres and his sons
might take it into their heads to make away with the Indian
and myself under cover of the darkness, as the most effectual
means of protecting themselves against the consequences
of their past depredations, and of securing the possession of
those that they had projected for the future. We were completely
in their power, and, so far as the squatter knew, the
secret of our visit would die with us; the knowledge of
those of his own flesh and blood possessed on the subject
excepted. Notwithstanding these thoughts crossed my mind,
and did give me some little uneasiness, they were not sufficiently
active or sufficiently prominent to prevent me from
slumbering, after I had fairly fallen asleep, without awaking
once, until it was three o'clock, or within an hour of the
approach of day.
I am not certain that any external cause aroused me from
my slumbers. But, I well remember that I lay there on my
straw, meditating for some time, half asleep and half awake,
until I fancied I heard the musical voice of Dus, murmuring
in my ear my own name. This illusion lasted some little
time; when, as my faculties gradually resumed their powers,
I became slowly convinced that some one was actually calling
me, and by name too, within a foot or two of my ears.
I could not be mistaken; the fact was so, and the call was
in a woman's tones. Springing up, I demanded—
“Who is here? In the name of heaven can this really
be Miss Malbone—Dus!”
“My name is Lowiny,” answered my visitor, “and I'm
Thousandacres' da'ghter. But, don't speak so loud, for
there is one of the b'ys on the watch at the other end of the
store'us', and you 'll wake him up unless you 're careful.”
“Lowiny, is it you, my good girl? Not content to care
for us throughout the day, you still have a thought for us
during the night!”
I thought the girl felt embarrassed, for she must have
been conscious of having a little trespassed on the usages
and reserve of her sex. It is rare, indeed, that any mother,
and especially an American mother, ever falls so low as
-- 060 --
[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]
completely to become unsexed in feelings and character,
and rarer still that she forgets to impart many of the decencies
of woman to her daughter. Old Prudence, notwithstanding
the life she led, and the many causes of corruption
and backslidings that existed around her, was true to her
native instincts, and had taught to her girls many of those
little proprieties that become so great charms in woman.
Lowiny was far from disagreeable in person, and had the
advantage of being youthful in appearance, as well as in
fact. In addition to these marks of her sex, she had manifested
an interest in my fate, from the first, that had not
escaped me; and here she was now doubtless on some
errand of which the object was our good. My remark embarrassed
her, however, and a few moments passed before
she got entirely over the feeling. As soon as she did, she
again spoke.
“I don't think anything of bringing you and the Injin a
little water,” she said—laying an emphasis on the words I
have put in Italics—“nor should I had we any beer or sapcider
instead. But all our spruce is out; and father said he
wouldn't have any more of the cider made, seein' that we
want all the sap for sugar. I hope you had a plentiful supper,
Mr. Littlepage; and for fear you hadn't, I 've brought
you and the red-skin a pitcher of milk and a bowl of hastypudding—
he can eat a'ter you 've done, you know.”
I thanked my kind-hearted friend, and received her gift
through a hole that she pointed out to me. The food, in the
end, proved very acceptable, as subsequent circumstances
caused our regular breakfast to be forgotten for a time. I
was desirous of ascertaining from this girl what was said or
contemplated among her relatives, on the subject of my
future fate; but felt a nearly unconquerable dislike to be
prying into what was a species of family secrets, by putting
direct questions to her. Fortunately, the communicative
and friendly disposition of Lowiny, herself, soon removed
all necessity for any such step; for after executing her
main purpose, she lingered with an evident wish to gossip.
“I wish father wouldn't be a squatter any longer,” the
girl said, with an earnestness that proved she was uttering
her real sentiments. “It 's awful to be for ever fighting
ag'in law!”
-- 061 --
[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]
“It would be far better if he would apply to some landowner,
and get a farm on lease, or by purchase. Land is
so plenty, in this country, no man need go without a legal
interest in his hundred acres, provided he be only sober and
industrious.”
“Father never drinks, unless it 's on the Fourth of July;
and the b'ys be all pretty sober, too, as young men go,
now-a-days. I believe, Mr. Littlepage, if mother has told
father once, she has told him a thousand times, that she
doos wish he 'd leave off squatting, and take writin's for
some piece of land or other. But father says, `no—he
warn't made for writin's, nor writin's for him.' He 's desp'ately
troubled to know what to do with you, now he 's got
you.”
“Did Mr. Newcome give no opinion on the subject,
while he was with you?”
“'Squire Newcome! Father never let on to him a syllable
about ever having seen you. He knows too much to
put himself in 'squire Newcome's power, sin' his lumber
would go all the cheaper for it—What 's your opinion, Mr.
Littlepage, about our right to the boards, when we 've cut,
and hauled, and sawed the logs with our own hands. Don't
that make some difference?”
“What is your opinion of your right to a gown that
another girl has made out of calico she had taken from your
drawer, when your back was turned, and carried away, and
cut, and stitched, and sewed with her own hands?”
“She never would have any right to my calico, let her
cut it as much as she might. But lumber is made out of
trees.”
“And trees have owners, just as much as calicoes.
Hauling, and cutting, and sawing can, of themselves, give
no man a right to another man's logs.”
“I was afeard it was so—” answered Lowiny, sighing
so loud as to be heard. “There 's suthin' in that old bible
I lent you that I read pretty much in that way; though
Tobit, and most of the b'ys say it don't mean any sich
thing. They say there 's nothin' about lumber in the bible,
at all.”
“And what does your mother tell you on this head?”
“Why, mother don't talk about it. She wants father to
-- 062 --
[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]
lease, or buy: but you know how it is with women, Mr.
Littlepage; when their fri'nds act, it 's all the same as a
law to them to try to think that they act right. Mother
never says any thing to us about the lawfulness of father's
doin's, though she often wishes he would live under writin's.
Mother wants father to try and get writin's of you, now
you 're here, and in his hands. Wouldn't you give us
writin's, Mr. Littlepage, if we 'd promise to give you suthin'
for rent?”
“If I did, they would be good for nothing, unless I were
free, and among friends. Deeds and leases got from men
who are `in the hands,' as you call it, of those who take
them, are of no value.”
“I 'm sorry for that—” rejoined Lowiny, with another
sigh—“not that I wanted you to be driven into any thing,
but, I thought if you would only consent to let father have
writin's for this clearin', it 's so good a time to do it now,
't would be a pity to lose it. If it can't be done, however,
it can't, and there 's no use in complaining. Father thinks
he can hold you 'till the water rises, in the fall, and the
b'ys have run all the lumber down to Albany; a'ter which,
he 'll not be so partic'lar about keepin' you any longer, and
may be he 'll let you go.”
“Hold me until the water rises! Why that will not take
place these three months!”
“Well, Mr. Littlepage, three months don't seem to me
sich a desp'ate long time, when a-body is among fri'nds.
We should treat you as well as we know how, that you
may depend on—I 'll answer for it, you shall want for
nothin' that we 've got to give.”
“I dare say, my excellent girl, but I should be extremely
sorry to trouble your family with so long a visit. As for
the boards, I have no power to waive the rights of the
owners of the land to that property; my power being
merely to sell lots to actual settlers.”
“I 'm sorry to hear that,” answered Lowiny in a gentle
tone, that fully confirmed her words; “for father and the
b'ys be really awful about any thing that touches their profits
for work done. They say their flesh and blood 's in
them boards, and flesh and blood shall go, afore the boards
shall go. It makes my blood run cold to hear the way they
-- 063 --
[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]
do talk! I 'm not a bit skeary; and, last winter when I
shot the bear that was a'ter the store-hogs, mother said I
acted as well as she could have done herself, and she has
killed four bears and near upon twenty wolves, in her time.
Yes, mother said I behaved like her own da'ghter, and that
she set twice the store by me that she did before.”
“You are a brave girl, Lowiny, and an excellent one in
the main, I make no question. Whatever become of me, I
shall not forget your kindness as long as I live. It will be
a very serious matter, however, to your friends to attempt
keeping me here three or four months, as mine will certainly
have a search for me, when this clearing would be found.
I need not tell you what would be the consequence.”
“What can—what will father and the b'ys do? I can't
bear to think on't — Oh! they 'll not have the hearts to try
to put you out of the way!”
“I should hope not, for their own sakes, and for the
credit of the American name. We are not a nation addicted
to such practices, and I should really regret to learn that
we have made so long a step towards the crimes of older
countries. But, there is little danger of anything of the sort,
after all, my good Lowiny.”
“I hope so, too,” the girl answered in a low, tremulous
voice; “though Tobit is a starn bein' sometimes. He
makes father worse than he would be, if let alone, I know.
But, I must go, now. It 's near day-light, and I hear 'em
stirrin' in Tobit's house. It would cost me dear did any
on 'em know I had been out of my bed, talking to you.”
As this was said, the girl vanished. Before I could find
an aperture to watch her movements, she had disappeared.
Susquesus arose a few minutes later, but he never made
any allusion to the secret visit of the girl. In this respect,
he observed the most scrupulous delicacy, never letting me
know by hint, look, or smile, that he had been in the least
conscious of her presence.
Day came as usual, but it did not find these squatters in
their beds. They appeared with the dawn, and most of
them were at work ere the broad light of the sun was shed
on the forest. Most of the men went down into the river,
and busied themselves, as we supposed, for we could not see
them, in the water, with the apples of their eyes, their
-- 064 --
[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]
boards. Old Thousandacres, however, chose to remain
near his habitation, keeping two or three well-grown lads
about him; probably adverting in his mind to the vast
importance it was to all of his race, to make sure of his
prisoners. I could see by the thoughtful manner of the old
squatter, as he lounged around his mill, among his swine,
and walked through his potatoes, that his mind wavered
greatly as to the course he ought to pursue, and that he was
sorely troubled. How long this perplexity of feeling would
have continued, and to what it might have led, it is hard to
say, had it not been cut short by an incident of a very unexpected
nature, and one that called for more immediate
decision and action. I shall relate the occurrence a little
in detail.
The day was considerably advanced, and, Thousandacres
and the girl who then watched the store-house excepted,
everybody was occupied. Even Susquesus had picked up
a piece of birch, and, with a melancholy countenance, that
I fancied was shadowing forth the future life of a half-civilized
red-man, was attempting to make a broom with a part
of a knife that he had found in the building; while I was
sketching, on a leaf of my pocket-book, the mill and a bit
of mountain-land that served it for a back-ground. Thousandacres,
for the first time that morning, drew near our
prison, and spoke to me. His countenance was severe, yet
I could see he was much troubled. As I afterwards ascertained,
Tobit had been urging on him the necessity of putting
both myself and the Indian to death, as the only probable
means that offered to save the lumber.
“Young man,” said Thousandacres, “you have stolen
on me and mine like a thief at night, and you ought to
expect the fate of one. How in natur' can you expect men
will give up their hard 'arnin's without a struggle and a
fight for 'em? You tempt me more than I can bear!”
I felt the fearful import of these words; but human
nature revolted at the thought of being cowed into any submission,
or terms unworthy of my character, or late profession.
I was on the point of making an answer in entire
consonance with this feeling, when, in looking through the
chinks of my prison to fasten an eye on my old tyrant, I
saw Chainbearer advancing directly towards the store-house,
-- 065 --
[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]
and already within a hundred yards of us. The manner in
which I gazed at this apparition attracted the attention of
the squatter, who turned and first saw the unexpected visiter
who approached. At the next minute, Andries was at his
side.
“So, T'ousantacres, I fint you here!” exclaimed Chainbearer.
“It 's a goot many years since you and I met, and
I 'm sorry we meet now on such pusiness as t'is!”
“The meetin 's of your own seekin', Chainbearer. I 've
neither invited nor wished for your company.”
“I p'lieve you wit' all my heart. No, no; you wish for
no chains and no chainpearers, no surfeyors and no compasses,
no lots and no owners, too, put a squatter. You and
I haf not to make an acquaintance for t'e first time, Thousandacres,
after knowin' each other for fifty years.”
“Yes, we do know each other for fifty years; and seein'
that them years haven't sarved to bring us of a mind on
any one thing, we should have done better to keep apart,
than to come together now.”
“I haf come for my poy, squatter—my nople poy, whom
you haf illegally arrestet, and mate a prisoner, in the teet' of
all law and justice. Gif me pack Mortaunt Littlepage, and
you 'll soon be rit of my company!”
“And how do you know that I 've ever seen your `Mortaunt
Littlepage?' What have I to do with your boy, that
you seek him of me? Go your ways, go your ways, old
Chainbearer, and let me and mine alone. The world 's
wide enough for us both, I tell you; and why should you be
set on your own ondoin', by runnin' ag'in a breed like that
which comes of Aaron and Prudence Timberman?”
“I care not for you or your preet,” answered old Andries
sternly. “You 've darest to arrest my frient, against law
and right, and I come to demant his liperty, or to warn you
of t'e consequences.”
“Don't press me too far, Chainbearer, don't press me too
far. There 's desp'rate crittur's in this clearin', and them
that isn't to be driven from their righteous 'arnin's by any
that carry chains or p'int compasses. Go your way, I tell
ye, and leave us to gather the harvest that comes of the
seed of our own sowin' and plantin'.”
“Ye 'll gat'er it, ye 'll gat'er it all, T'ousantacres—you
-- 066 --
[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]
and yours. Ye 've sown t'e win't, ant ye 'll reap t'e whirlwints,
as my niece Dus Malpone has reat to me often, of
late. Ye 'll gat'er in all your harvest, tares ant all, ye will;
and t'at sooner t'an ye t'ink for.”
“I wish I 'd never seen the face of the man! Go away,
I tell you, Chainbearer, and leave me to my hard 'arnin's.”
“Earnin's! Do you call it earnin's to chop and pillage
on anot'er's lants, and to cut his trees into logs, and to saw
his logs into poarts, and sell his poarts to speculators, and
gif no account of your profits to t'e rightful owner of it all?
Call you such t'ievin' righteous earnin's?”
“Thief back ag'in, old measurer! Do not the sweat of
the brow, long and hard days of toil, achin' bones, and
hungry bellies, give a man a claim to the fruit of his
labours?”
“T'at always hast peen your failin', T'ousantacres; t'at 's
t'e very p'int on which you 've proken town, man. You
pegin wit' your morals, at t'e startin' place t'at 's most convenient
to yourself and your plunterin' crew, insteat of goin'
pack to t'e laws of your Lort ant Master. Reat what t'e
Almighty Got of Heaven ant 'art' sait unto Moses, ant you 'll
fint t'at you 've not turnet over leafs enough of your piple.
You may chop ant you may hew, you may haul ant you
may saw, from t'is tay to t'e ent of time, and you 'll nefer
pe any nearer to t'e right t'an you are at t'is moment. T'e
man t'at starts on his journey wit' his face in t'e wrong
tirection, olt T'ousantacres, wilt nefer reach its ent; t'ough
he trafel 'till t'e sweat rolls from his poty like water. You
pegin wrong, olt man, and you must ent wrong.”
I saw the cloud gathering in the countenance of the
squatter, and anticipated the outbreaking of the tempest that
followed. Two fiery tempers had met, and, divided as they
were in opinions and practice, by the vast chasm that separates
principles from expediency, right from wrong, honesty
from dishonesty, and a generous sacrifice of self to support
the integrity of a noble spirit, from a homage to self that
confounded and overshadowed all sense of right, it was not
possible that they should separate without a collision. Unable
to answer Chainbearer's reasoning, the squatter resorted
to the argument of force. He seized my old friend by the
throat and made a violent effort to hurl him to the earth. I
-- 067 --
[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]
must do this man of violence and evil the justice to say,
that I do not think it was his wish at that moment to have
assistance; but the instant the struggle commenced the
conch blew, and it was easy to predict that many minutes
would not elapse, before the sons of Thousandacres would
be pouring in to the rescue. I would have given a world to
be able to throw down the walls of my prison, and rush
to the aid of my sterling old friend. As for Susquesus,
he must have felt a lively interest in what was going on, but
he remained as immoveable, and seemingly as unmoved as
a rock.
Andries Coejemans, old as he was, and it will be remembered
he too had seen his three-score years and ten, was
not a man to be taken by the throat with impunity. Thousandacres
met with a similar assault, and a struggle followed
that was surprisingly fierce and well contested, considering
that both the combatants had completed the ordinary
limits of the time of man. The squatter gained a slight
advantage in the suddenness and vigour of his assault, but
Chainbearer was still a man of formidable physical power.
In his prime, few had been his equals; and Thousandacres
soon had reason to know that he had met more than his
match. For a single instant Chainbearer gave ground;
then he rallied, made a desperate effort, and his adversary
was hurled to the earth with a violence that rendered him,
for a short time, insensible; old Andries, himself, continuing
erect as one of the neighbouring pines, red in the face,
frowning, and more severe in aspect than I remembered
ever to have seen him before, even in battle.
Instead of pushing his advantage, Chainbearer did not
stir a foot after he had thrown off his assailant. There he
remained, lofty in bearing, proud and stern. He had reason
to believe no one was a witness of his prowess, but I could
see that the old man had a soldier's feelings at his victory.
At this instant I first let him know my close proximity by
speaking.
“Fly—for your life take to the woods, Chainbearer,” I
called to him, through the chinks. “That conch will bring
all the tribe of the squatters upon you in two or three minutes;
the young men are close at hand, in the stream below the
-- 068 --
[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]
mill, at work on the logs, and have only the banks to
climb.”
“Got be praiset! Mortaunt, my tear poy, you are not
injuret, t'en! I will open t'e toor of your prison, and we
will retreat toget'er.”
My remonstrances were vain. Andries came round to
the door of the store-house, and made an effort to force it
open. That was not easy, however; for, opening outwards,
it was barred with iron, and secured by a stout lock. Chainbearer
would not listen to my remonstrances, but he looked
around him for some instrument, by means of which he
could either break the lock or draw the staple. As the
mill was at no great distance, away he went in that direction,
in quest of what he wanted, leaving me in despair at
his persevering friendship. Remonstrance was useless, however,
and I was compelled to await the result in silence.
Chainbearer was still a very active man. Nature, early
training, sobriety of life in the main, and a good constitution,
had done this much for him. It was but a moment
before I saw him in the mill, looking for the crow-bar.
This he soon found, and he was on his way to the store-house,
in order to apply this powerful lever, when Tobit
came in sight, followed by all the brethren, rushing up the
bank like a pack of hounds in close pursuit. I shouted to my
friend again to fly, but he came on steadily toward my prison,
bent on the single object of setting me free. All this
time Thousandacres was senseless, his head having fallen
against a corner of the building. Chainbearer was so intent
on his purpose that, though he must have seen the crowd
of young men, no less than six in number, including well-grown
lads, that was swiftly advancing towards him, he did
not bestow the least attention on them. He was actually
busied with endeavouring to force the bar in between the
hasp and the post, when his arms were seized behind, and
he was made a prisoner.
Chainbearer was no sooner apprised of the uselessness
of resistance, than he ceased to make any. As I afterwards
learned from himself, he had determined to become a captive
with me, if he could not succeed in setting me free.
Tobit was the first to lay hands on the Chainbearer; and
-- 069 --
[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]
so rapidly were things conducted, for it happened this man
had the key, that the door was unbarred, opened, and old
Andries was thrust into the cage, almost in the twinkling
of an eye. The rapidity of the movement was doubtless
aided by the acquiescent feeling that happened to be uppermost
in the mind of Chainbearer, at that precise moment.
No sooner was this new prisoner secured, than the sons
of Thousandacres raised their father's body, and bore it to
his own residence, which was but a few yards distant. Old
and young, both sexes and all ages, collected in that building;
and there was an hour during which we appeared to
be forgotten. The sentinel, who was a son of Tobit's, deserted
his post; and even Lowiny, who had been hovering
in sight of the store-house the whole morning, seemed to
have lost her interest in us. I was too much engaged with
my old friend, and had too many questions to ask and to
answer, however, to care much for this desertion; which,
moreover, was natural enough for the circumstances.
“I rejoice you are not in the hands of that pack of
wolves, my good friend!” I exclaimed, after the first salutations
had passed between Andries and myself, and squeezing
his hand again and again. “They are very capable of any
act of violence; and I feared the sight of their father, lying
there insensible, might have inflamed them to some deed of
immediate violence. There will now be time for reflection,
and, fortunately, I am a witness of all that passed.”
“No fear for olt T'ousantacres,” said Chainbearer,
heartily. “He is tough, and is only a little stunnet, pecause
he t'ought himself a petter man t'an he ist. Half an hour
will pring him rount, and make him as good a man ast he
ever wast. But, Mortaunt, lat, how came you here, and
why wast you wantering apout t'e woods at night, wit'
Trackless, here, who ist a sensiple ret-skin, and ought to
haf set you a petter example?”
“I was hot and feverish, and could not sleep; and so I
took a stroll in the forest, and got lost. Luckily, Susquesus
had an eye on me, and kept himself at hand the whole
time. I was obliged to catch a nap in the top of a fallen
tree, and, when I woke in the morning, the Onondago led
me here in quest of something to eat, for I was hungry as
a famished wolf.”
-- 070 --
[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]
“Tid Susquesus, t'en, know of squatters having mate
t'eir pitch on t'is property?” asked Andries, in some surprise,
and, as I thought, a little sternly.
“Not he. He heard the saw of the mill in the stillness
of night, and we followed the direction of that sound, and
came unexpectedly out on this settlement. As soon as
Thousandacres ascertained who I was, he shut me up here;
and as for Susquesus, Jaap has doubtless told you the story
he was commissioned to relate.”
“All fery true, lat, all fery true; t'ough I don't half understant,
yet, why you shoul't haf left us in t'e manner you
tit, and t'at, too, after hafin' a long talk wit' Dus. T'e gal
is heart-heafy, Mortaunt, as 'tis plain to pe seen; put I
can't get a syllaple from her t'at hast t'e look of a rational
explanation. I shall haf to ask you to tell t'e story, lat.
I was tryin' to get t'e trut' out of Dus, half of t'e way
comin' here; put a gal is as close as—”
“Dus!” I interrupted — “Half the way coming here?
You do not, cannot mean that Dus is with you.”
“Hist, hist—pe careful. You speak too lout. I coult
wish not to let t'ese scountrels of squatters know t'at t'e gal
is so exposet, put here she ist; or, what is much t'e same,
she is in t'e woots out yonter, a looker-on, and I fear must
pe in consarn at seein' t'at I, too, am a prisoner.”
“Chainbearer, how could you thus expose your niece—
thus bring her into the very grasp of lawless ruffians?”
“No, Mortaunt, no—t'ere is no fear of her peing insultet,
or any t'ing of t'at sort. One can reat of such t'ings in
pooks, put woman is respectet ant not insultet in America.
Not one of T'ousantacres rascals woult wount t'e ear of t'e
gal wit' an improper wort, hat he a chance, which not one
of 'em hast, seein' nopody knows t'e gal is wit' me, put ourselves.
Come she woult, and t'ere wast no use in saying
her nay. Dus is a goot creature, Mortaunt, and a tutiful
gal; put it 's as easy to turn a rifer up stream, as to try to
holt her pack when she loves.”
“Is that her character?” I thought. “Then is there
little chance, indeed, of her ever becoming mine, since her
affections must have gone with her troth.” Nevertheless,
my interest in the noble-hearted girl was just as strong as
if I held her faith, and she was to become mine in a few
-- 071 --
[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]
weeks. The idea that she was at that moment waiting the
return of her uncle, in the woods, was agony to me; but I
had sufficient self-command to question the Chainbearer,
until I got out of him all of the following facts:
Jaap had carried the message of Susquesus, with great
fidelity, to those to whom the Indian had sent it. On hearing
the news, and the manner of my arrest, Andries called
a council, consisting of himself, Dus, and Frank Malbone.
This occurred in the afternoon of the previous day; and that
same night, Malbone proceeded to Ravensnest, with a view
of obtaining warrants for the arrest of Thousandacres and
his gang, as well as of procuring assistance to bring them
all in, in expectation of having the whole party transferred
to the gaol at Sandy Hill. As the warrant could be granted
only by Mr. Newcome, I could easily see that the messenger
would be detained a considerable time, since the magistrate
would require a large portion of the present day to
enable him to reach his house. This fact, however, I
thought it well enough to conceal from my friend, at the
moment.
Early that morning, Chainbearer, Dus, and Jaap, had left
the huts, taking the nearest route to the supposed position
of the clearing of Thousandacres, as it had been described
by the Indian. Aided by a compass, as well as by their
long familiarity with the woods, this party had little difficulty
in reaching the spot where the Onondago and the
negro had met; after which, the remainder of the journey
was through a terra incognita, as respects the adventurers.
With some search, however, a glimpse was got of the light
of the clearing, much as one finds an island in the ocean,
when the skirts of the wood were approached. A favourable
spot, one that possessed a good cover, was selected,
whence Chainbearer reconnoitred for near an hour, before he
left it. After a time he determined on the course he adopted
and carried out, leaving his niece to watch his movements,
with instructions to rejoin her brother, should he himself be
detained by the squatter. I was a little relieved by the
knowledge of the presence of Jaap, for I knew the fidelity
of the fellow too well to suppose he would ever desert Dus;
but my prison became twice as irksome to me after I had
heard this account of Chainbearer's, as it had been before.
-- 072 --
CHAPTER VI.
“Was she not all my fondest wish could frame?
Did ever mind so much of heaven partake?
Did she not love me with the purest flame?
And give up friends and fortune for my sake?
Though mild as evening skies,
With downcast, streaming eyes,
Stood the stern frown of supercilious brows,
Deaf to their brutal threats, and faithful to her vows.”
Shaw.
[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]
Dus was then near me—in sight of the store-house, perhaps!
But, affection for her uncle, and no interest in me,
had brought her there. I could respect her attachment to
her old guardian, however, and admire the decision and spirit
she had manifested in his behalf, at the very moment the
consciousness that I had no influence on her movements was
the most profound.
“T'e gal woult come, Mortaunt,” the Chainbearer continued,
after having gone through his narrative; “ant, if you
know Dus, you know when she loves she wilt not be deniet.
Got pless me! what a wife she woult make for a man who
wast desarfin' of her! Oh! here's a pit of a note t'e dear
creature has written to one of T'ousantacre's poys, who hast
peen out among us often, t'ough I never so much as dreamet
t'at t'e squatting olt rascal of a fat'er was on our lant, here.
Well, Zepaniah, as t'e lat is callet, hast passet much time at
t'e Nest, working apount in t'e fielts, and sometimes for us;
and, to own the trut' to you, Mortaunt, I do pelieve t'e young
chap hast a hankerin' a'ter Dus, and woult pe glat enough
to get t'e gal for a wife.”
“He! Zephaniah Thousandacres—or whatever his infernal
name may be—he a hankering or an attachment for
Ursula Malbone—he think of her for a wife—he presume
to love such a perfect being!”
Hoity, toity,” cried old Andries, looking round at me in
surprise, “why shoult'n't t'e poy haf his feelin's ast well ast
-- 073 --
[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]
anot'er, if he pe a squatter? Squatters haf feelin's, t'ough
t'ey haf n't much honesty to poast of. Ant, ast for honesty,
you see, Mortaunt, it is tifferent petween T'ousantacres and
his poys. T'e lats haf peen prought up to fancy t'ere ist
no great harm in lif'ing on anot'er man's lants, wherast t'is
olt rascal, t'eir fat'er, wast prought up, or t'inks he wast
prought up, in t'e very sanctum sanctorum of gotliness,
among t'e puritans, and t'at t'e 'art' hast not t'eir equals in
religion, I 'll warrant you. Ask olt Aaron apout his soul,
ant he 'll tell you t'at it 's a petter soul t'an a Dutch soul,
and t'at it won't purn at all, it 's so free from eart'. Yes,
yes—t'at ist t'e itee wit' 'em all in his part of t'e worlt.
T'eir gotliness ist so pure even sin wilt do it no great
harm.”
I knew the provincial prejudices of Chainbearer too well
to permit myself to fall into a discussion on theology with
him, just at that moment; though, I must do the old man
the justice to allow that his opinion of the self-righteousness
of the children of the puritans was not absolutely without
some apology. I never had any means of ascertaining the
fact, but it would have occasioned me no surprise had I discovered
that Thousandacres, and all his brood, looked down
on us New Yorkers as an especially fallen and sinful race,
which was on the high road to perdition, though encouraged
and invited to enter on a different road by the spectacle of a
chosen people so near them, following the strait and narrow
path that leads to heaven. This mingling of God and
Mammon is by no means an uncommon thing among us,
though the squatters would probably have admitted themselves
that they had fallen a little away, and were by no
means as good as their forefathers had once been. There
is nothing that sticks so close to an individual, or to a community,
perhaps, as the sense of its own worth. As “coming
events throw their shadows before,” this sentiment
leaves its shadows behind, long after the substance which
may have produced them has moved onward, or been resolved
into the gases. But I must return to Zephaniah and
the note.
“And you tell me, Chainbearer, that Ursula has actually
written a note, a letter, to this young man?” I asked, as
-- 074 --
[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]
soon as I could muster resolution enough to put so revolting
a question?
“Sartain; here it ist, ant a very pretty lookin' letter it
is, Mortaunt. Dus does everyt'ing so hantily, ant so like a
nice young woman, t'at it ist a pleasure to carry one of her
letters. Ay—t'ere t'e lat ist now, and I 'll just call him,
and gif him his own.”
Chainbearer was as good as his word, and Zephaniah
soon stood at the side of the store-house.
“Well, you wilt own, Zeph,” continued the old man, “we
didn't cage you like a wilt peast, or a rogue t'at hast peen
mettlin' wit' what tidn't pelong to him, when you wast out
among us. T'ere ist t'at difference in t'e treatment—put no
matter! Here ist a letter for you, and much goot may it
do you! It comes from one who vilt gif goot atvice; ant
you 'll be none t'e worse if you follow it. I don't know a
wort t'at 's in it, put you 'll fint it a goot letter, I 'll answer
for it. Dus writes peautiful letters, and in a hand almost
as plain and hantsome as His Excellency's, t'ough not quite
so large. Put her own hant isn't as large as His Excellency's,
t'ough His Excellency's hant wasn't particularly
pig neit'er.”
I could scarce believe my senses! Here was Ursula
Malbone confessedly writing a letter to a son of Thousandacres
the squatter, and that son admitted to be her admirer!
Devoured by jealousy, and a thousand feelings to which I
had hitherto been a stranger, I gazed at the fortunate being
who was so strangely honoured by this communication from
Dus, with the bitterest envy. Although, to own the truth,
the young squatter was a well-grown, good-looking fellow,
to me he seemed to be the very personification of coarseness
and vulgarity. It will readily be supposed that Zephaniah
was not entirely free from some very just imputations of the
latter character; but, on the whole, most girls of his own
class in life would be quite content with him in these respects.
But Ursula Malbone was not at all of his own class
in life. However reduced in fortune, she was a lady, by
education as well as by birth; and what feelings could there
possibly be in common between her and her strange admirer?
I had heard it said that women were as often taken
-- 075 --
[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]
by externals as men; but in this instance the externals were
coarse, and nothing extraordinary. Some females, too,
could not exist without admiration; and I had known Dus
but a few weeks, after all, and it was possible I had not penetrated
the secret of her true character. Then her original
education had been in the forest; and we often return to
our first loves, in these particulars, with a zest and devotion
for which there was no accounting. It was possible this
strange girl might have portrayed to her imagination, in the
vista of the future, more of happiness and wild enjoyment
among the woods and ravines of stolen clearings, than by
dwelling amid the haunts of men. In short, there was
scarce a conceit that did not crowd on my brain, in that
moment of intense jealousy and profound unhappiness. I
was as miserable as a dog.
As for Zephaniah, the favoured youth of Ursula Malbone,
he received his letter, as I fancied, with an awkward surprise,
and lounged round a corner of the building, to have
the pleasure, as it might be, of reading it to himself. This
brought him nearer to my position; for I had withdrawn,
in a disgust I could not conquer, from being near the scene
that had just been enacted.
Opening a letter, though it had been folded by the delicate
hands of Ursula Malbone, and reading it, were two very
different operations, as Zephaniah now discovered. The
education of the young man was very limited, and, after an
effort or two, he found it impossible to get on. With the
letter open in his hand, he found it as much a sealed book
to him as ever. Zephaniah could read writing, by dint of
a considerable deal of spelling; but it must not be a good
hand. As some persons cannot comprehend pure English,
so he found far more difficulty in spelling out the pretty,
even characters before him, than would have been the case
had he been set at work on the pot-hooks and trammels of
one of his own sisters. Glancing his eyes around in quest
of aid, they happened to fall on mine, which were watching
his movements with the vigilance of a feline animal, through
the chinks of the logs, and at the distance of only three feet
from his own face. As for the Indian, he, seemingly, took
no more note of what was passing, than lovers take of time
in a stolen interview; though I had subsequently reason to
-- 076 --
[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]
believe that nothing had escaped his observation. Andries
was in a distant part of the prison, reconnoitring the clearing
and mills with an interest that absorbed all his attention
for the moment. Of these facts Zephaniah assured himself
by taking a look through the openings of the logs; then,
sidling along nearer to me, he said in a low voice—
“I don't know how it is, but, to tell you the truth, Major
Littlepage, York larnin' and Varmount larnin' be so different,
that I don't find it quite as easy to read this letter as I could
wish.”
On this hint I seized the epistle, and began to read it in a
low tone; for Zephaniah asked this much of me, with a
delicacy of feeling that, in so far, was to his credit. As
the reader may have some of the curiosity I felt myself, to
know what Ursula Malbone could possibly have to say in
this form to Zephaniah Thousandacres, I shall give the contents
of this strange epistle in full. It was duly directed to
“Mr. Zephaniah Timberman, Mooseridge,” and in that
respect would have passed for any common communication.
Within, it read as follows:—
“Sir:—
“As you have often professed a strong regard for me, I
now put you to the proof of the sincerity of your protestations.
My dear uncle goes to your father, whom I only
know by report, to demand the release of Major Littlepage,
who, we hear, is a prisoner in the hands of your family,
against all law and right. As it is possible the business of
uncle Chainbearer will be disagreeable to Thousandacres,
and that warm words may pass between them, I ask of your
friendship some efforts to keep the peace; and, particularly,
should anything happen to prevent my uncle from returning,
that you would come to me in the woods—for I shall accompany
the chainbearer to the edge of your clearing—
and let me know it. You will find me there, attended by
one of the blacks, and we can easily meet if you cross the
fields in an eastern direction, as I will send the negro to
find you and to bring you to me.
“In addition to what I have said above, Zephaniah, let
me also earnestly ask your care in behalf of Major Littlepage.
Should any evil befall that gentleman, it would prove
-- 077 --
[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]
the undoing of your whole family. The law has a long
arm, and it will reach into the wilderness, as well as into a
settlement. The person of a human being is a very different
thing from a few acres of timber, and General Littlepage
will think far more of his noble son, than he will think of
all the logs that have been cut and floated away. Again
and again, therefore, I earnestly entreat of you to befriend
this gentleman, not only as you hope for my respect, but as
you hope for your own peace of mind. I have had some
connection with the circumstances that threw Mr. Littlepage
into your hands, and shall never know a happy moment
again should anything serious befall him. Remember this,
Zephaniah, and let it influence your own conduct. I owe it
to myself and to you to add, that the answer I gave you at
Ravensnest, the evening of the raising, must remain my
answer, now and for ever; but, if you have really the regard
for me that you then professed, you will do all you can to
serve Major Littlepage, who is an old friend of my uncle's,
and whose safety, owing to circumstances that you would
fully understand were they told to you, is absolutely necessary
to my future peace of mind.
“Your friend,
“Ursula Malbone.”
What a strange girl was this Dus! I suppose it is unnecessary
to say that I felt profoundly ashamed of my late
jealousy, which now seemed just as absurd and unreasonable
as, a moment before, it seemed justified and plausible.
God protect the wretch who is the victim of that evil-eyed
passion! He who is jealous of circumstances, in the ordinary
transactions of life, usually makes a fool of himself,
by seeing a thousand facts that exist in his own brain only;
but he whose jealousy is goaded on by love, must be something
more than human, not to let the devils get a firm grasp
of his soul. I can give no better illustration of the weakness
that this last passion induces, however, than the admission
I have just made, that I believed it possible Ursula
Malbone could love Zephaniah Thousandacres, or whatever
might be his real name. I have since pulled at my own
hair, in rage at my own folly, as that moment of weakness
has recurred to my mind.
-- 078 --
[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]
“She writes a desp'rate letter!” exclaimed the young
squatter, stretching his large frame, like one who had lost
command of his movements through excitement. “I
don't b'lieve, Major, the like of that gal is to be found in
York, taken as state or colony! I 've a dreadful likin' for
her!”
It was impossible not to smile at this outpouring of attachment;
nor, on the whole, would I have been surprised at
the ambition it inferred, had the youth been but a very little
higher in the social scale. Out of the large towns, and
with here and there an exception in favour of an isolated
family, there is not, even to this day, much distinction in
classes among our eastern brethren. The great equality
of condition and education that prevails, as a rule, throughout
all the rural population of New England, while it has
done so much for the great body of their people, has had
its inevitable consequences in lowering the standard of cultivation
among the few, both as it is applied to acquirements,
and to the peculiar notions of castes; and nothing is more
common in that part of the world, than to hear of marriages
that elsewhere would have been thought incongruous,
for the simple reason of the difference in ordinary habits
and sentiments between the parties. Thus it was, that
Zephaniah, without doing as much violence to his own, as
would be done to our notions of the fitness of things, might
aspire to the hand of Ursula Malbone; unattended, as she
certainly was, by any of the outward and more vulgar
signs of her real character. I could not but feel some
respect for the young man's taste, therefore, and this so
much the more readily, because I no longer was haunted
by the very silly phantom of his possible success.
“Having this regard for Dus,” I said, “I hope I may
count on your following her directions.”
“What way can I sarve you, Major? I do vow, I 've
every wish to do as Ursula asks of me, if I only know'd
how.”
“You can undo the fastenings of our prison, here, and
let us go at once into the woods, where we shall be safe
enough against a re-capture, depend on it. Do us that
favour, and I will give you fifty acres of land, on which
you can settle down, and become an honest man.
-- 079 --
[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]
Remember, it will be something honourable to own fifty acres of
good land, in fee.”
Zephaniah pondered on my tempting offer, and I could
see that he wavered in opinion, but the decision was adverse
to my wishes. He shook his head, looked round wistfully
at the woods where he supposed Dus then to be, possibly
watching his very movements, but he would not yield.
“If a father can't trust his own son, who can he trust,
in natur'?” demanded the young squatter.
“No one should be aided in doing wrong, and your father
has no just right to shut up us three, in this building,
as he has done. The deed is against the law, and to the
law, sooner or later, will he be made to give an account
of it.”
“Oh! as for the law, he cares little for that. We 've
been ag'in law all our lives, and the law is ag'in us. When
a body comes to take the chance of jurors, and witnesses,
and lawyers, and poor attorney-gin'rals, and careless prosecutors,
law 's no great matter to stand out ag'in, in this
country. I s'pose there is countries in which law counts
for suthin'; but, hereabouts, and all through Varmount, we
don't kear much for the law, unless it 's a matter between
man and man, and t'other side holds out for his rights, bulldog
fashion. Then, I allow, it 's suthin' to have the law on
your side; but it 's no great matter in a trespass case.”
“This may not end in a trespass case, however. Your
father—by the way, is Thousandacres much hurt?”
“Not much to speak on,” coolly answered the son, still
gazing in the direction of the woods. “A little stunned,
but he 's gettin' over it fast, and he 's used to sich rubs.
Father 's desp'rate solid about the head, and can stand as
much sledgehammering there, as any man I ever seed.
Tobit 's tough, too, in that part; and he 's need of it, for
he 's for ever getting licks around the forehead and eyes.”
“And, as your father comes to, what seems to be his disposition
towards us?”
“Nothin' to speak on, in the way of friendship, I can tell
you! The old man 's considerable riled; and when that 's
the case, he 'll have his own way for all the governors and
judges in the land!”
-- 080 --
[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]
“Do you suppose he meditates any serious harm to us
prisoners?”
“A man doosn't meditate a great deal, I guess, with such
a rap on the skull. He feels a plaguy sight more than he
thinks; and when the feelin's is up, it doosn't matter much
who 's right and who 's wrong. The great difficulty in your
matter is how to settle about the lumber that 's in the creek.
The water 's low; and the most that can be done with it,
afore November, will be to float it down to the next rift, over
which it can never go, with any safety, without more water.
It 's risky to keep one like you, and to keep Chainbearer,
too, three or four months, in jail like; and it wunt do to let
you go neither, sin' you 'd soon have the law a'ter us. If
we keep you, too, there 'll be a s'arch made, and a reward
offered. Now a good many of your tenants know of this
clearin', and human natur' can't hold out ag'in a reward.
The old man knows that well; and it 's what he most afeard
on. We can stand up ag'in almost anything better's than
ag'in a good, smart reward.”
I was amused as well as edified with Zephaniah's simplicity
and frankness, and would willingly have pursued the
discourse, had not Lowiny come tripping towards us, summoning
her brother away to attend a meeting of the family;
the old squatter having so far recovered as to call a council
of his sons. The brother left me on the instant, but the
girl lingered at my corner of the store-house, like one who
was reluctant to depart.
“I hope the hasty-puddin' was sweet and good,” said
Lowiny, casting a timid glance in at the chink.
“It was excellent, my good girl, and I thank you for it
with all my heart. Are you very busy now?—can, you
remain a moment while I make a request?”
“Oh! there 's nothin' for me to do just now in the house,
seein' that father has called the b'ys around him. Whenever
he doos that, even mother is apt to quit.”
“I am glad of it, as I think you are so kind-hearted and
good, that I may trust you in a matter of some importance;
may I not, my good Lowiny?”
“Squatters' da'ghters may be good, then, a'ter all, in the
eyes of grand landholders!”
“Certainly—excellent even; and I am much disposed to
-- 081 --
[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]
believe that you are one of that class.” Lowiny looked
delighted; and I felt less reluctance at administering this
flattery than might otherwise have been the case, from the
circumstance that so much of what I said was really merited.
“Indeed, I know you are, and quite unfitted for this sort
of life. But I must tell you my wishes at once, for our time
may be very short.”
“Do,” said the girl, looking up anxiously, a slight blush
suffusing her face; the truth-telling sign of ingenuous feelings,
and the gage of virtue; “do, for I 'm dying to hear
it; as I know beforehand I shall do just what you ask me
to do. I don't know how it is, but when father or mother
ask me to do a thing, I sometimes feel as if I couldn't; but
I don't feel so now, at all.”
“My requests do not come often enough to tire you.
Promise me, in the first place, to keep my secret.”
“That I will!” answered Lowiny, promptly, and with
emphasis. “Not a mortal soul shall know anything on 't,
and I won't so much as talk of it in my sleep, as I sometimes
do, if I can any way help it.”
“Chainbearer has a niece, who is very dear to him, and
who returns all his affection. Her name is—”
“Dus Malbone,” interrupted the girl, with a faint laugh.
“Zeph has told me all about her, for Zeph and I be great
fri'nds—he tells me everything, and I tell him everything.
It 's sich a comfort, you can't think, to have somebody to
tell secrets to;—well, what of Dus?”
“She is here.”
“Here! I don't see anything on her” — looking round
hurriedly, and, as I fancied, in a little alarm — “Zeph says
she 's dreadful han'some!”
“She is thought so, I believe; though, in that respect,
she is far from being alone. There is no want of pretty
girls in America. By saying she is here, I did not mean
here, in the store-house, but here, in the woods. She accompanied
her uncle as far as the edge of the clearing —
look round, more towards the east. Do you see the black
stub, in the corn-field, behind your father's dwelling?”
“Sartain — that 's plain enough to be seen — I wish I
could see Albany as plain.”
“Now, look a little to the left of that stub, and you will
-- 082 --
[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]
see a large chestnut, in the edge of the woods behind it —
the chestnut I mean thrusts its top out of the forest, into the
clearing, as it might be.”
“Well, I see the chestnut too, and I know it well. There 's
a spring of water cluss to its roots.”
“At the foot of that chestnut Chainbearer left his niece,
and doubtless she is somewhere near it now. Could you
venture to stroll as far, without going directly to the spot,
and deliver a message, or a letter?”
“To be sure I could! Why, we gals stroll about the
lots as much as we please, and it 's berryin' time now. I 'll
run and get a basket, and you can write your letter while
I 'm gone. La! Nobody will think anything of my goin' a
berryin'—I have a desp'rate wish to see this Dus! Do you
think she 'll have Zeph?”
“Young women's minds are so uncertain, that I should
not like to venture an opinion. If it were one of my own
sex, now, and he had declared his wishes, I think I could
tell you with some accuracy.”
The girl laughed; then she seemed a little bewildered,
and again she coloured. How the acquired — nay native
feeling of the sex, will rise up in tell-tale ingenuousness to
betray a woman!
“Well,” she cried, as she ran away in quest of the basket,
“to my notion a gal's mind is as true and as much to be
depended on as that of any mortal crittur' living!”
It was now my business to write a note to Dus. The
materials for writing my pocket-book furnished. I tore out
a leaf, and approached Chainbearer, telling him what I was
about to do, and desiring to know if he had any particular
message to send.
“Gif t'e tear gal my plessin', Mortaunt. Tell her olt
Chainpearer prays Got to pless her—t'at ist all. I leaf you
to say t'e rest.”
I did say the rest. In the first place I sent the blessing
of the uncle to the niece. Then, I explained in as few words
as possible, our situation, giving it as promising an aspect
as my conscience would permit. These explanations made,
I entreated Ursula to return to her brother, and not again
expose herself so far from his protection. Of the close of
this note, I shall not say much. It was brief, but it let Dus
-- 083 --
[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]
understand that my feelings towards her were as lively as
ever; and I believe it was expressed with the power that
passion lends. My note was ended just as Lowiny appeared
to receive it. She brought us a pitcher of milk, as a sort
of excuse for returning to the store-house, received the note
in exchange, and hurried away towards the fields. As she
passed one of the cabins, I heard her calling out to a sister
that she was going for blackberries to give the prisoners.
I watched the movements of that active girl with intense
interest. Chainbearer, who had slept little since my disappearance,
was making up for lost time; and, as for the Indian,
eating and sleeping are very customary occupations
of his race, when not engaged in some hunt, or on the war-path,
or as a runner.
Lowiny proceeded towards a lot of which the bushes had
taken full possession. Here she soon disappeared, picking
berries as she proceeded, with nimble fingers, as if she felt
the necessity of having some of the fruit to show on her return.
I kept my eye fastened on the openings of the forest,
near the chestnut, as soon as the girl was concealed in the
bushes, anxiously waiting for the moment when I might see
her form re-appearing at that spot. My attention was renewed
by getting a glimpse of Dus. It was but a glimpse,
the fluttering of a female dress gliding among the trees; but,
as it was too soon for the arrival of Lowiny, I knew it must
be Dus. This was cheering, as it left little reason to doubt
that my messenger would find the object of her visit. In
the course of half an hour after Lowiny entered the bushes
I saw her, distinctly, near the foot of the chestnut. Pausing
a moment, as if to reconnoitre, the girl suddenly moved into
the forest, when I made no doubt she and Dus had a meeting.
An entire hour passed, and I saw no more of Lowiny.
In the meanwhile Zephaniah made his appearance again
at the side of the store-house. This time he came accompanied
by two of his brethren, holding the key in his hand.
At first I supposed the intention was to arraign me before
the high court of Thousandacres, but in this I was in error.
No sooner did the young men reach the door of our prison
than Zephaniah called out to the Onondago to approach it,
as he had something to say to him.
It must be dull work to a red-skin to be shut up like a
-- 084 --
[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]
hog afore it 's wrung,” said the youth, drawing his images
from familiar objects; “and I s'pose you 'd be right glad to
come out here and walk about, something like a free and
rational crittur'. What do you say, Injin—is sich your
desire?”
“Sartain,” quietly answered Sureflint. “Great deal radder
be out dan be in here.”
“So I nat'rally s'posed. Well, the old man says you
can come out on promises, if you 're disposed to make 'em.
So you 're master of your own movements, you see.”
“What he want me do? What he want me say, eh?”
“No great matter, a'ter all, if a body has only a mind to
try to do it. In the first place, you 're to give your parole
not to go off; but to stay about the clearin', and to come in
and give yourself up when the conch blows three short
blasts. Will you agree to that, Sus?”
“Sartain—no go 'way; come back when he call—dat
mean stay where he can hear conch.”
“Well, that 's agreed on, and it 's a bargain. Next,
you 're to agree not to go pryin' round the mill and barn,
to see what you can find, but keep away from all the buildin's
but the store-'us' and the dwellings, and not to quit the
clearin'. Do you agree?”
“Good; no hard to do dat.”
“Well, you 're to bring no weepons into the settlement,
and to pass nothing but words and food into the other prisoners.
Will you stand to that?”
“Sartain; willin' 'nough to do dat, too.”
“Then you 're in no manner or way to make war on any
on us 'till your parole is up, and you 're your own man
ag'in. What do you say to that, Trackless?”
“All good; 'gree to do him all.”
“Wa-a-l, that 's pretty much all the old man stands out
for; but mother has a condition or two that she insists on 't
I shall ask. Should the worst come to the worst, and the
folks of this settlement get to blows with the folks out of it,
you 're to bargain to take no scalps of women or children,
and none from any man that you don't overcome in open
battle. The old woman will grant you the scalps of men
killed in battle, but thinks it ag'in reason to take 'em from
sich as be not so overcome.”
-- 085 --
[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]
“Good; don't want to take scalp at all,” answered the
Indian, with an emotion he could not altogether suppress.
“Got no tribe—got no young men; what good scalp do?
Nobody care how many scalp Susquesus take away—how
many he leave behind. All dat forgot long time.”
“Wa-a-l, that 's your affair, not mine. But, as all the
articles is agreed to, you can come out, and go about your
business. Mind, three short, sharp blasts on the conch is
the signal to come in and give yourself up.”
On this singular cartel Susquesus was set at liberty. I
heard the whole arrangement with astonishment; though,
by the manner of the high contracting parties, it was easy
to see there was nothing novel in the arrangement, so far
as they were concerned. I had heard that the faith of an
Indian of any character, in all such cases, was considered
sacred, and could not but ask myself, as Susquesus walked
quietly out of prison, how many potentates and powers there
were in Christendom who, under circumstances similarly
involving their most important interests, could be found to
place a similar confidence in their fellows! Curious to
know how my present masters felt on this subject, the opportunity
was improved to question them.
“You give the Indian his liberty on parole,” I said to
Zephaniah—“will you refuse the same privilege to us white
men?”
“An Injin is an Injin. He has his natur', and we 've
our 'n. Suthin' was said about lettin' you out, too, major;
but the old man wouldn't hear to it. `He know'd mankind,
' he said, `and he know'd 't would never do.' If you
let a white man loose, he sets his wits at work to find a hole
to creep out on the bargain—goin' back to the creation of
the 'arth but he 'll find one. The major will say I was put
in ag'in' law, and now I 'm out, I 'll stay out ag'in' promises,
or some sich reasonin', and now we have him safe,
't will be best to keep him safe! That 's the substance of
the old man's idees, and you can see, major, just as well as
any on us, how likely he 'll be to change 'em.”
There was no contending with this logic, which in secret
I well knew to be founded in fact, and I made no further
application for my own release. It appeared, however, that
Thousandacres himself was half-disposed to make a
-- 086 --
[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]
concession in favour of Chainbearer, similar to that he had granted
to the Indian. This struck me as singular, after the rude
collision that had already occurred between the two men—
but there are points of honour that are peculiar to each condition
of life, and which the men of each feel a pride not
only in causing to be respected, but in respecting themselves.
“Father had some thoughts of taking your parole, too,
Chainbearer,” added Zephaniah, “and he concluded he
would, hadn't it been that you 've been living out in the settlements
so much of late years, that he 's not quite easy in
trusting you. A man that passes so much of his time in
running boundaries, may think himself privileged to step
over them.”
“Your fat'er ist welcome to his opinion,” answered Andries
coolly. “He 'll get no parole of me, nor do I want any
favours of him. We are at sword's p'ints, young man, and
let him look out for himself and his lumper as pest he
can.”
“Nay,” answered Zephaniah, stretching himself, and
answering with spirit, though he well knew he was speaking
to the uncle of Dus, and thereby endangering his interests
with his mistress—“nay, Chainbearer, if it comes to
that, 't will be `hardest fend off.' We are a strong party
of stout men, and arn't to be frightened by the crier of a
court, or to be druv' off the land by sheep-skin. Catamounts
must come ag'in' us in droves, afore we 'll give an
inch.”
“Go away, go away—foolish young fellow—you 're your
fat'er's son, and t'at 's as much as neet pe said of you. I
want no favours from squatters, which ist a preed I tetest
and tespise.”
I was a little surprised at hearing this answer, and at
witnessing this manifestation of feeling in Chainbearer, who,
ordinarily, was a cool, and uniformly a courteous man. On
reflection, however, I saw he was not so wrong. An exchange
of anything like civilities between us and our captors,
might seem to give them some claim on us; whereas,
by standing on the naked right, we had every advantage of
them, in a moral sense, at least. Zephaniah and his brethren
left us, on receiving this repulse of Andries; but
-- 087 --
[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]
Susquesus kept loitering around the store-house, apparently little
better off, now he was on its outside, than he had been when
in it. He had nothing to do, and his idleness was that of
an Indian—one of a race of such terrible energies, when
energy is required, and so frequently listless, when not
pressed upon by necessity, pleasure, war, or interest.
Things were in this state, when, some time after the interview
just related, we had another visit from a party
headed by Tobit. This man came to escort Chainbearer
and myself to the cabin of Thousandacres, where all the
men of the family were assembled; and where, as it now
appeared, we were to have something like a hearing, that
might seriously affect our fates, for good or for evil. I
consulted Chainbearer on the propriety of our lending ourselves
to such a measure; but I found Andries disposed to
meet the brood of squatters, face to face, and to tell them
his mind, let it be when and where it might. Finding my
friend in this temper, I made no farther objections myself,
but left the storehouse in his company, well guarded by four
of the young men, all of whom were armed, holding our
way to the seat of justice, in that wild and patriarchal
government.
CHAPTER VII.
“When Adam delv'd, and Eve span,
Where was then the gentleman?”
Old Saw.
Thousandacres had not altogether neglected forms,
though so much set against the spirit of the law. We found
a sort of court collected before the door of his dwelling,
with himself in the centre, while the principal room contained
no one but Prudence and one or two of her daughters.
Among the latter was Lowiny, to my surprise; for I had not
seen the girl return from the woods, though my eyes had
not been long turned from the direction in which I had hopes
of catching a glimpse of Dus.
-- 088 --
[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]
Tobit led us prisoners into the house, placing us near the
door, and facing his father; an arrangement that superseded
the necessity of much watchfulness, as our only means of
escape would necessarily be by rushing through the throng
without—a thing virtually impracticable. But Chainbearer
appeared to have no thought of flight. He entered that
circle of athletic young men with perfect indifference; and
I remember that it struck me his air resembled that which
I had often seen him assume when our regiment was on the
eve of serious service. At such moments old Andries could,
and often did, appear grand—dignity, authority and coolness
being blended with sterling courage.
When in the room, Chainbearer and I seated ourselves
near the door, while Thousandacres had a chair on the turf
without, surrounded by his sons, all of whom were standing.
As this arrangement was made amid a grave silence, the
effect was not altogether without impressiveness, and partook
of some of the ordinary aspects of justice. I was struck
with the anxious curiosity betrayed in the countenances of
the females in particular; for the decision to which Thousandacres
was about to come, would with them have the
authority of a judgment of Solomon. Accustomed to reason
altogether in their own interests, I make no doubt that, in
the main, all of that semi-barbarous breed fancied themselves
invested, in their lawless occupation, by some sort of
secret natural right; ignorant of the fact that, the moment
they reduced their claim to this standard, they put it on the
level with that of all the rest of mankind. Nature gives
nothing exclusively to an individual, beyond his individuality,
and that which appertains to his person and personal
qualities; all beyond, he is compelled to share, under the
law of nature, with the rest of his race. A title dependent
on original possession forms no exception to this rule; for
it is merely human convention that gives it force and authority,
without which it would form no title at all. But
into mysteries like these, none of the family of Thousandacres
ever entered; though the still, small voice of conscience,
the glimmerings of right, were to be traced occasionally,
even amid the confused jumble of social maxims in which
their selfishness had taken refuge.
We live in an age of what is called progress, and fancy
-- 089 --
[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]
that man is steadily advancing on the great path of his
destiny, to something that we are apt to imagine is to form
perfection. Certainly I shall not presume to say what is,
or what is not, the divine intention as to the future destination
of our species on earth; but years and experience must
have taught me, or I should have lived in vain, how little
there is among our boasted improvements that is really new;
and if we do possess anything in the way of principles that
bear on them the impress of inviolability, they are those
that have become the most venerable, by having stood the
severest tests of time.
I know not whether the long, silent pause that succeeded
our arrival, was the result of an intention to heighten the
effect of that strange scene, or whether Thousandacres
really wished time to collect his thoughts, and to mature his
plans. One thing struck me; notwithstanding the violence
that had so recently occurred between Chainbearer and
himself, there were no traces of resentment in the hardened
and wrinkled countenance of that old tenant of the forest;
for he was too much accustomed to those sudden outbreakings
of anger, to suffer them long to linger in his recollection.
In all that was said, and in all that passed, in the
course of that (to me) memorable day, I could trace no
manifestation of any feeling in the squatter, in consequence
of the rude personal rencontre that he had so lately had
with my friend. They had clenched, and he had been
overthrown; and that ended the matter.
The silence which occurred after we took our seats must
have lasted several minutes. For myself, I saw I was only
a secondary person in this interview; old Andries having
completely supplanted me in importance, not only in acts,
but in the estimation of the squatters. To him they were
accustomed, and accustomed, moreover, to regard as a sort
of hostile power; his very pursuit being opposed to the great
moving principle of their every-day lives. The man who
measured land, and he who took it to himself without measurement,
were exactly antagonist forces, in morals as well
as in physics; and might be supposed not to regard each
other with the most friendly eyes. Thus it was that the
Chainbearer actually became an object of greater interest to
these squatters, than the son of one of the owners of the
-- 090 --
[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]
soil, and the attorney in fact of both. As for the old man
himself, I could see that he looked very Dutch; which implied
a stubborn resolution bordering on obstinacy; unmoved
adherence to what he conceived to be right; and a strong
dislike to his present neighbours, in addition to other reasons,
on account of their having come from the eastward; a race
that he both distrusted and respected; disliked, yet covertly
honoured, for many a quality that was both useful and good.
To the next generation, the feeling that was once so active
between the descendants of Holland among ourselves, and
the people of English birth, who came from the eastern
States, will be almost purely a matter of history. I perceive
that my father, in the manuscript he has transmitted to me,
as well as I myself, have made various allusions to the subject.
It is my wish to be understood in this matter. I have
introduced it solely as a fact that is beyond controversy;
but, I trust, without any undue bigotry of opinion. It is
possible that both Mr. Cornelius Littlepage and his son,
unconsciously to ourselves, may have been influenced by the
ancient prejudices of the colonies; though I have endeavoured
scrupulously to avoid them. At any rate, if either
of us has appeared to be a little too severe, I trust the reader
will remember how much has been uttered to the world in
reference to this dislike, by the Yankee, and how little by
the Dutchman, during the last century and a half, and grant
to one who is proud of the little blood from Holland that he
happens to possess, the privilege of showing, at least, one
of the phases of his own side of the story. But it is time to
return to our scene in the hut.
“Chainbearer,” commenced Thousandacres, after the
pause already mentioned had lasted several minutes, and
speaking with a dignity that could only have proceeded from
the intensity of his feelings; “Chainbearer, you 've been an
inimy to me and mine sin' the day we first met. You 're
an inimy by your cruel callin'; yet you 've the boldness to
thrust yourself into my very hands!”
“I 'm an enemy to all knaves, T'ousantacres, ant I tont
care who knows it,” answered old Andries, sternly; “t'at
ist my trate, ast well ast carryin' chain; ant I wish it to
pe known far and near. Ast for pein' your enemy by
callin', I may say as much of yourself; since there coult pe
-- 091 --
[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]
no surveyin,' or carryin' of chain, tit all t'e people help
t'emselves to lant, as you haf tone your whole life, wit'out
as much as sayin' to t'e owners `py your leaf.”'
“Things have now got to a head atween us, Chainbearer,”
returned the squatter; “but seein' that you 're in
my hands, I 'm ready and willin' to reason the p'int with
you, in hopes that we may yet part fri'nds, and that this
may be the last of all our troubles. You and I be gettin'
to be oldish men, Chainbearer; and it 's fittin' that them
that be gettin' near their eends, should sometimes think on
'em. I come from no Dutch colony, but from a part of the
world where mankind fears God, and has some thoughts of
a futur' state.”
“T'at 's neit'er here nor t'ere, T'ousantacres,” cried Andries,
impatiently. “Not put what religion is a goot t'ing,
and a t'ing to pe venerated, ant honouret, and worshipet;
put t'at it 's out of place in a squatter country, and most of
all in a squatter's mout'. Can you telt me one t'ing, T'ousantacres,
and t'at ist, why you Yankees pray so much, ant
call on Got to pless you ever ot'er wort, and turn up your
eyes, ant look so temure of Suntays, ant t'en go ant squat
yourselfs town on a Tutchman's lant of a Montay? I 'm
an olt man, ant haf lifed long ant seen much, ant hope I
unterstant some of t'at which I haf seen ant lifed amongst,
put I do not comprehent t'at! Yankee religion ant Tutch
religion cannot come out of t'e same piple.”
“I should think not, I should think not, Chainbearer;
and I hope not, in the bargain. I do not wish to be justified
by ways like your'n, or a religion like your'n. That which
is foreordained will come to pass, let what will happen, and
that 's my trust. But, leaving religion out of this matter
atween us altogether—”
“Ay, you 'll do well to do t'at,” growled Chainbearer,
“for religion hast, inteet, very little to do wit' it.”
“I say,” answered Thousandacres, on a higher key, as
if resolute to make himself heard, “leaving religion for
Sabba' days and proper occasions, I 'm ready to talk this
matter over on the footin' of reason, and not only to tell
you my say, but to hear your'n, as is right atween man and
man.”
“I confess a strong desire to listen to what
-- 092 --
[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]
Thousandacres has to say in defence of his conduct, Chainbearer,” I
now thought it best to put in; “and I hope you will so far
oblige me as to be a patient listener. I am very willing
that you should answer, for I know of no person to whom
I would sooner trust a righteous cause than yourself. Proceed,
Thousandacres; my old friend will comply.”
Andries did conform to my wishes, thus distinctly expressed,
but it was not without sundry signs of disquiet, as
expressed in his honest countenance, and a good deal of
subdued muttering about “Yankee cunnin' and holy gotliness,
t'at is dresset up in wolf's clot'in;” Chainbearer meaning
to express the native garment of the sheep by the latter
expression, but falling into a confusion of images that is by
no means rare among the men of his caste and people. After
a pause, the squatter proceeded.
“In talkin' this matter over, young man, I purpose to
begin at the beginnin' of things,” he said; “for I allow, if
you grant any value to titles, and king's grants, and sich
sort of things, that my rights here be no great matter. But,
beginnin' at the beginnin', the case is very different. You 'll
admit, I s'pose, that the Lord created the heavens and the
'arth, and that he created man to be master over the last.”
“What of t'at?” eagerly cried Chainbearer. “What of
t'at, olt T'ousantacres? So t'e Lort createt yonter eagle
t'at is flyin' so far apove your heat, put it 's no sign you are
to kill him, or he ist to kill you.”
“Hear to reason, Chainbearer, and let me have my say;
a'ter which I 'm willing to hear you. I begin at the beginnin',
when man was first put in possession of the 'arth, to
till, and to dig, and to cut saw-logs, and to make lumber,
jist as it suited his wants and inclinations. Now, Adam
was the father of all, and to him and his posterity was the
possession of the 'arth given, by Him whose title 's worth
that of all the kings, and governors, and assemblies in the
known world. Adam lived his time, and left all things to
his posterity, and so has it been from father to son, down
to our own day and giniration, accordin' to the law of God,
though not accordin' to the laws of man.”
“Well, admittin' all you say, squatter, how does t'at
make your right here petter t'an t'at of any ot'er man?”
demanded Andries, disdainfully.
-- 093 --
[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]
“Why, reason tells us where a man's rights begin, you 'll
see, Chainbearer. Here is the 'arth, as I told you, given to
man, to be used for his wants. When you and I are born,
some parts of the world is in use, and some parts isn't. We
want land, when we are old enough to turn our hands to
labour, and I make my pitch out here in the woods, say,
where no man has pitched afore me. Now, in my judgment,
that makes the best of titles, the Lord's title.”[4]
“Well, t'en, you 've got your title from t'e Lord,” answered
Chainbearer, “and you 've got your lant. I s'pose
you 'll not take all t'e 'art' t'at is not yet peoplet, and I
shoult like to know how you wilt run your lines petween
you ant your next neighpour. Atmittin' you 're here in t'e
woots, how much of t'e lant woult you take for your own
religious uses, and how much woult you leaf for t'e next
comer?”
“Each man would take as much as was necessary for
his wants, Chainbearer, and hold as much as he possessed.”
“Put what ist wants, ant what ist possession? Look
arount you, T'ousantacres, and tell me how much of t'is
fery spot you 'd haf a mint to claim, under your Lort's
title?”
“How much? As much as I have need on—enough to
feed me and mine—and enough for lumber, and to keep the
b'ys busy. It would somewhat depend on sarcumstances:
I might want more at one time than at another, as b'ys grew
up, and the family increased in numbers.”
“Enough for lumper how long? and to keep t'e poys
-- 094 --
[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]
pusy how long? For a tay, or a week, or a life, or a great
numper of lifes? You must tell me t'at, T'ousantacres,
pefore I gif cretit to your title.”
“Don't be onreasonable—don't be onreasonable in your
questions, Chainbearer; and I 'll answer every one on 'em,
and in a way to satisfy you, or any judgmatical man. How
long do I want the lumber? As long as I 've use for it.
How long do I want to keep the b'ys busy? Till they 're
tired of the place, and want to change works. When a
man 's a-weary of his pitch, let him give it up for another,
selling his betterments, of course, to the best chap he can
light on.”
“Oh! you 't sell your petterments, woult you! What!
sell t'e Lort's title, olt T'ousantacres? Part wit' Heaven's
gift for t'e value of poor miseraple silver and golt?”
“You don't comprehend Aaron,” put in Prudence, who
saw that Chainbearer was likely to get the best of the argument,
and who was always ready to come to the rescue of
any of her tribe, whether it might be necessary with words,
or tooth and nail, or the rifle. “You don't, by no manner
of means, comprehend Aaron, Chainbearer. His idee is,
that the Lord has made the 'arth for his crittur's; that any
one that wants land, has a right to take as much as he
wants, and to use it as long as he likes; and, when he has
done, to part with his betterments for sich price as may be
agreed on.”
“I stick to that,” joined in the squatter, with a loud hem,
like a man who was sensible of relief; “that 's my idee, and
I 'm detarmined to live and die by it.”
“You 've lifed py it, I know very well, T'ousantacres;
ant, now you 're olt, it 's quite likely you 'll tie py it. As
for comprehentin', you don't comprehent yourself. I 'll just
ask you, in the first place, how much lant do you holt on
t'is very spot? You 're here squattet so completely ant
finally as to haf puilt a mill. Now tell me how much lant
you holt, t'at when I come to squat alongsite of you, our
fences may not lap on one anot'er. I ask a simple question,
and I hope for a plain ant straight answer. Show me t'e
pountaries of your tomain, ant how much of t'e worlt you
claim, ant how much you ton't claim.”
“I 've pretty much answered that question already,
-- 095 --
[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]
Chainbearer. My creed is, that a man has a right to hold
all he wants, and to want all he holds.”
“Got help t'e men, t'en, t'at haf to carry chain petween
you and your neighpours, T'ousantacres; a man's wants
to-tay may tiffer from his wants to-morrow, and to-morrow
from t'e next tay, ant so on to t'e ent of time! On your
toctrine, not'in' woult pe settlet, ant all woult pe at sixes
ant sevens.”
“I don't think I 'm fully understood, a'ter all that 's been
said,” returned the squatter. “Here 's two men start in life
at the same time, and both want farms. Wa-a-l; there 's
the wilderness, or may be it isn't all wilderness, though it
once was. One chooses to buy out betterments, and he
doos so; t'other plunges in, out o' sight of humanity, and
makes his pitch. Both them men 's in the right, and can
hold on to their possessions, I say, to the eend of time.
That is, on the supposition that right is stronger than
might.”
“Well, well,” answered Chainbearer, a little drily; “ant
s'pose one of your men ton't want to puy petterments, put
follows t'ot'er, ant makes his pitch in t'e wilterness, also?”
“Let him do 't, I say; t'is his right, and the law of the
Lord.”
“Put, s'pose bot' your young men want t'e same pit of
wilt lant!”
“First come, first sarv'd; that 's my maxim. Let the
sprighest chap have the land. Possession 's everything in
settling land titles.”
“Well, t'en, to please you, T'ousantacres, we 'll let one
get aheat of t'ot'er, and haf his possession first; how much
shalt he occupy.”
“As much as he wants, I 've told you, already.”
“Ay, put when his slower frient comes along, ant hast
his wants, too, ant wishes to make his pitch alongsite of his
olt neighpour, where is t'e pountary petween 'em to be
fount?”
“Let 'em agree on't! They must be dreadful poor
neighbours, if they can't agree on so small a matter as
that,” said Tobit, who was getting weary of the argument.
“Tobit is right,” added the father; “let 'em agree on
their line, and run it by the eye. Curse on all chains and
-- 096 --
[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]
compasses, say I! They 're an invention of the devil, to
make ill blood in a neighbourhood, and to keep strife awake,
when our bibles tell us to live in peace with all mankind.”
“Yes, yes, I understant all t'at,” returned Chainbearer,
a little disdainfully. “A yankee piple ist a fery convenient
pook. T'ere 's autority in it for all sorts of toctrines ant
worshippin', ant prayin', ant preachin', ant so forth. It 's
what I call a so-forth piple, Mortaunt, ant wilt reat packwarts
as well ast forwarts; put all t'e chapters into one, if
necessary, or all t'e verses into chapters. Sometimes St.
Luke is St. Paul, and St. John ist St. Matt'ew. I 've he'rt
your tominies expount, and no two expount alike. Novelties
ist t'e religion of New Englant, ant novelties, in t'e
shape of ot'er men's lants, is t'e creet of her lofely chiltren!
Oh! yes, I 've seen a yankee piple! Put, this toes'nt settle
our two squatters; bot' of whom wants a sartain hill for its
lumper; now, which is to haf it?”
“The man that got there first, I 've told you, old Chainbearer,
and once tellin' is as good as a thousand. If the
first comer looked on that hill, and said to himself, `that
hill 's mine,' 't is his'n.”
“Well, t'at ist making property fast! Wast t'at t'e way,
T'ousantacres, t'at you took up your estate on t'e Mooseridge
property?”
“Sartain—I want no better title. I got here first, and
tuck up the land, and shall continue to tuck it up, as I want
it. There 's no use in being mealy-mouthed, for I like to
speak out, though the landlord's son be by!”
“Oh! you speak out lout enouf, ant plain enouf, ant I
shoultn't wonter if you got tucket up yourself, one tay, for
your pains. Here ist a tifficulty, however, t'at I 'll just
mention, T'ousantacres, for your consiteration. You take
possession of timper-lant, by lookin' at it, you say—”
“Even lookin' at isn't necessary,” returned the squatter,
eager to widen the grasp of his rights. “It 's enough that
a man wants the land, and he comes, or sends to secure it.
Possession is everything, and I call it possession, to crave
a spot, and to make some sort of calkerlation, or works,
reasonably near it. That gives a right to cut and clear,
and when a clearin's begun, it 's betterments, and everybody
allows that betterments may be both bought and sold.”
-- 097 --
[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]
“Well, now we understant each o'ter. Put here ist t'e
small tifficulty I woult mention. One General Littlepage
and one Colonel Follock took a fancy to t'is spot long pefore
t'e olt French war; ant pesites fancyin' t'e place, and sentin'
messengers to look at it, t'ey pought out t'e Injin right in t'e
first place; t'en t'ey pought of t'e king, who hat all t'e lant
in t'e country, at t'at time, ast hatn't ot'er owners. T'en
t'ey sent surfeyors to run t'e lines, ant t'em very surfeyors
passet along py t'is river, ast I know py t'eir fielt-pooks (fieldbooks):
t'en more surfeyors wast sent out to tivite it into great
lots, ant now more still haf come to tivite it into small lots: ant
t'ey 've paid quit-rents for many years, ant tone ot'er t'ings
to prove t'ey want t'is place as much as you want it yourself.
T'ey haf hat it more ast a quarter of a century, ant
exerciset ownership over it all t'at time; ant wantet it very
much t'e whole of t'at quarter of a century, ant, if t'e trut'
was sait, want it still.”
A long pause followed this statement, during which the
different members of the family looked at each other, as if
in quest of support. The idea of there being any other
side to the question than that they had been long accustomed
to consider so intently, was novel to them, and they were a
little bewildered by the extraordinary circumstance. This
is one of the great difficulties under which the inhabitant
of a narrow district labours, in all that pertains to his personal
notions and tastes, and a good deal in what relates to
his principles. This it is that makes the true provincial,
with his narrow views, set notions, conceit, and unhesitating
likes and dislikes. When one looks around him and sees
how very few are qualified, by experience and knowledge
of the world, to utter opinions at all, he is apt to be astonished
at finding how many there are that do it. I make no
doubt that the family of Thousandacres was just as well
satisfied with their land-ethics, as Paley ever could have
been with his moral philosophy, or Newton with his mathematical
demonstrations.
“I don't wonter you 're callet T'ousantacres, Aaron Timperman,”
continued Chainbearer, pushing his advantage,
“for wit' such a title to your estate, you might as well pe
tarmet Ten T'ousantacres at once, ant more, too! Nay, I
wonter, while your eyes was trawin' up title teets, t'at you
-- 098 --
[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]
shoult haf peen so moterate, for it was just as easy to possess
a patent on t'at sort of right, as to possess a single
farm.”
But Thousandacres had made up his mind to pursue the
subject no further; and, while it was easy to see that fiery
passions were burning within him, he seemed now bent on
bringing a conference, from which he doubtless expected
different results, to a sudden close. It was with difficulty
that he suppressed the volcano that was raging within, but
he so far succeeded as to command Tobit to shut up his
prisoner again.
“Take him away, b'ys, take him back to the store-'us',”
said the old squatter, rising and moving a little on one side
to permit Andries to pass, as if afraid to trust himself too
near; “he was born the sarvent of the rich, and will die
their sarvent. Chains be good enough for him, and I wish
him no greater harm than to carry chains the rest of his
days.”
“Oh! you 're a true son of Liperty!” called out the
Chainbearer, as he quietly returned to his prison; “a true
son of Liperty, accordin' to your own conceit! You want
efereyt'ing in your own way, and eferyt'ing in your own
pocket. T'e Lort's law is a law for T'ousantacres, put not
a law to care for Cornelius Littlepage or Tirck Follock!”
Although my old friend was escorted to his prison, no
attempt was made to remove me. On the contrary, Prudence
joined her husband without, followed by all her young
fry, and for a moment I fancied myself forgotten and deserted.
A movement in one corner of the room, however,
drew my attention there, and I saw Lowiny standing on
tiptoe, with a finger on her lips, the sign of silence, while
she made eager gestures with the other hand, for me to enter
a small passage that communicated by means of a ladder
with the loft of the hut. My moccasins were now of great
advantage to me. Without pausing to reflect on consequences,
or to look around, I did as directed, drawing to
the door after me. There was a small window in the sort
of passage in which I now found myself alone with the girl,
and my first impulse was to force my body through it, for
it had neither glass nor sash, but Lowiny caught my arms.
“Lord ha' massy on us!” whispered the girl — “you 'd
-- 099 --
[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]
be seen and taken, or shot! For your life don't go out there
now. Here 's a hole for a cellar, and there 's the trap — go
down there, and wait 'till you hear news from me.”
There was no time for deliberation, and the sight of Chainbearer's
escort, as they proceeded towards the store-house,
satisfied me that the girl was right. She held up the trap,
and I descended into the hole that answered the purposes
of a cellar. I heard Lowiny draw a chest over the trap,
and then I fancied I could distinguish the creaking of the
rounds of the ladder, as she went up into the loft, which
was the place where she usually slept.
All this occurred literally in about one minute of time.
Another minute may have passed, when I heard the heavy
tread of Thousandacres' foot on the floor above me, and the
clamour of many voices, all speaking at once. It was evident
that I was missed, and a search had already been
commenced. For half a minute, nothing was very intelligible
to me; then I heard the shrill voice of Prudence calling
for Lowiny.
“Lowiny — you Lowiny!” she cried — “where has the
gal got to?”
“I 'm here, mother” — answered my friend, from her loft—
“you told me to come up, and look for your new bible.”
I presume this was true; for Prudence had really despatched
the girl on that errand, and it must have sufficed to
lull any suspicions of her daughter's being connected with
my disappearance, if any such had been awakened. The
movements of footsteps was now quick over my head, those
of several men being among them; and in the confusion of
voices, I heard that of Lowiny, who must have descended
the ladder and joined in the search.
“He mustn't be allowed to get off, on no account,” said
Thousandacres, aloud, “or we 're all ondone. Everything
we have will fall into their hands, and mill, logs and all,
will be utterly lost. We shan't even have time to get off
the gear and the household stuff.”
“He 's up stairs”—cried one—“he must be down cellar,”
said another. Steps went up the ladder, and I heard the
chest drawn from the trap; and a stream of light entering
the place, notified me that the trap was raised. The place I
was in was a hole twenty feet square, roughly walled with
-- 100 --
[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]
stones, and nearly empty, though it did contain a meatbarrel
or two, and a few old tubs. In the winter, it would
have been filled with vegetables. There was no place to
hide in, and an attempt at concealment would have led to a
discovery. I withdrew to a corner, in a part of the cellar
that was quite dark, but thought myself lost when I saw a
pair of legs descending the ladder. Almost at the same moment,
three of the men and two of the women came into the
hole, a fourth female, whom I afterwards ascertained to be
Lowiny herself, standing in the trap in such a way as to
double the darkness below. The first man who got down
began to tumble the tubs about, and to look into the corners;
and the lucky thought occurred to me to do the same thing.
By keeping as busy as the rest of them, I actually escaped
detection in the dark; and Tobit soon rushed to the ladder,
calling out, “the window — the window — he 's not here —
the window!” In half a minute the cellar was empty again;
or no one remained but myself.
At first I had great difficulty in believing in my good luck;
but the trap fell, and the profound stillness of the place satisfied
me that I had avoided that danger, at least. This escape
was so singular and unexpected, that I could hardly believe
in its reality; though real it was, to all intents and purposes.
The absurd often strikes the imagination in an absurd way;
and so it proved with me on this occasion. I sat down on
a tub and laughed heartily, when I felt absolutely certain all
was right, holding my sides lest the sound of my voice might
yet betray me. Lowiny was similarly infected, for I heard
peals of girlish laughter from her, as her brothers tumbled
about barrels, and tubs, and bedsteads, in the upper part of
the building, in their fruitless and hurried search. This
merriment did not pass unrebuked, however; Prudence
lending her daughter a box on the side of the head, that, in
one sense, reached even my ears; though it probably aided
in saving the girl from the suspicion of being in my secret,
by the very natural character of her girlish indulgence.
Two or three minutes after the trap closed on me for the
second time, the sounds of footsteps and voices overhead
ceased, and the hut seemed deserted.
My situation now was far from comfortable. Confined
in a dark cellar, with no means of escaping but by the trap,
-- 101 --
[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]
and the almost certainty of falling into the hands of my
captors, should I attempt such a thing, I now began to regret
having entered so readily into Lowiny's scheme. There
would be a certain loss of dignity in a recapture, that was
not pleasant in itself; and I will own, I began to have some
doubts of my eventual safety, should I again come under the
control of such spirits as those of Thousandacres and his
eldest son. Buried in that cellar, I was in a manner placed
immediately beneath those whose aim it was to secure me,
rendering escape impossible, and detection nearly unavoidable.
Such were my meditations when light again streamed into
the cellar. The trap was raised, and presently I heard my
name uttered in a whisper. Advancing to the ladder, I saw
Lowiny holding the door, and beckoning for me to ascend.
I followed her directions blindly, and was soon at her side.
The girl was nearly convulsed between dread of detection
and a desire to laugh; my emerging from the cellar recalling
to her imagination all the ludicrous circumstances of the
late search.
“Warn't it queer that none on 'em know'd you!” she
whispered; then commanding silence by a hasty gesture.
“Don't speak; for they 're s'archin' still, cluss by, and
some on 'em may follow me here. I wanted to get you out
of the cellar, as some of the young-uns will be rummagin'
there soon for pork for supper; and their eyes are as sharp
as needles. Don't you think you could crawl into the mill?
It 's stopped now, and wun't be goin' ag'in till this stir 's
over.
“I should be seen, my good girl, if any of your people
are looking for me near at hand.”
“I don't know that. Come to the door, and you 'll see
there is a way. Everybody 's lookin' on the right side of
this house; and by creepin' as far as them logs, you 'd be
pretty safe. If you reach the mill safely, climb up into the
loft.”
I took a moment to survey the chances. At the distance
of a hundred feet from the house there commenced a large
bed of saw-logs, which were lying alongside of each other;
and the timber being from two to four feet in diameter, it
would be very possible to creep among it, up to the mill
-- 102 --
[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]
itself, into which even several of the logs had been rolled.
The great difficulty would be in reaching the logs through a
perfectly open space. The house would be a cover, as
against most of the family, who were busy examining everything
like a cover on its opposite side; no one supposing for
a moment I could be near the mill, inasmuch as it stood
directly in front of the spot where the crowd was collected
at the moment of my sudden disappearance. But the boys
and girls were flying around in all directions; rendering it
uncertain how long they would remain in a place, or how
long their eyes would be turned away from my path.
It was necessary to do something, and I determined to
make an effort. Throwing myself on the ground, I crawled,
rather slowly than fast, across that terrible space, and got
safely among the logs. As there was no outcry, I knew I
had not been seen. It was now comparatively easy to reach
the mill. Another dangerous experiment, however, was to
expose my person by climbing up to the loft. I could not do
this without running the risk of being seen; and I felt the
necessity of using great caution. I first raised my head
high enough to survey the state of things without. Luckily
the house was still between me and most of my enemies;
though the small-fry constantly came into view and vanished.
I looked round for a spot to ascend, and took a final survey
of the scene. There stood Lowiny in the door of the hut,
her hands clasped, and her whole air expressive of concern.
She saw my head, I knew, and I made a gesture of encouragement,
which caused her to start. At the next instant
my foot was on a brace, and my body was rising to the
beams above. I do not think my person was uncovered
ten seconds; and no clamour succeeded. I now felt there
were really some chances of my finally effecting an escape;
and glad enough was I to think so.
eaf076v2.n4[4] Lest the reader should suppose Mr. Mordaunt Littlepage is here
recording, uselessly, the silly savings of a selfish, ignorant and vulgar
robber, it may be well to add, that doctrines of a calibre, considered
in respect of morals and logic, similar to this, though varying
according to circumstances and the points it is desired to establish,
are constantly published in journals devoted to anti-rentism in the
state of New York, and men have acted on these principles even to
the shedding of blood. We purpose, when we come to our third
manuscript, which relates to movements of our immediate time, to
distinctly lay before the reader some of these strange doctrines; entertaining
little doubt that those who originally promulgated them
will scarcely admire their own theories, when they see them introduced
into a work that will contain the old-fashioned notions of honesty
and right.—Editor.
-- 103 --
CHAPTER VIII.
“Alone, amid the shades,
Still in harmonious intercourse they liv'd
The rural day, and talked the flowing heart,
Or sigh'd, and looked unutterable things.
Thomson.
[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]
That was a somewhat breathless moment. The intensity
with which I listened for any sound that might announce
my discovery, was really painful. I almost fancied I heard
a shout, but none came. Then I gave myself up, actually
believing that footsteps were rushing towards the mill, with
a view to seize me. It was imagination; the rushing of
the waters below being the only real sound that disturbed
the silence of the place. I had time to breathe, and to look
about me.
As might be supposed, the mill was very rudely constructed.
I have spoken of a loft, but there was nothing
that really deserved the term. Some refuse boards were
laid about, here and there, on the beams, making fragments
of rough flooring; and my first care was to draw several
of these boards close together, placing them two or three in
thickness, so as to make a place where, by lying down, I
could not be seen by any one who should happen to enter
the mill. There lay what the millers call a bunch of
cherry-wood boards at no great distance from the spot
where the roof joined the plate of the building, and within
this bunch I arranged my hiding-place. No ostensible
change was necessary to complete it, else the experiment
might have been hazardous among those who were so much
accustomed to note circumstances of that nature. The
manner in which the lumber was arranged when I reached
the spot was so little different from what it was when I had
done with it, as scarcely to attract attention.
No sooner was my hiding-place completed to my mind,
than I looked round to see if there were any means of making
-- 104 --
[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]
observations without. The building was not shingled, but
the rain was kept out by placing slabs up and down, as is
often seen in the ruder, rustic, frontier architecture of
America. With the aid of my knife, I soon had a small
hole between two of these slabs, at a place favourable to
such an object; and, though it was no larger than the eye
itself, it answered every purpose. Eagerly enough did I
now commence my survey.
The search was still going on actively. Those experienced
border-men well knew it was not possible for me
to cross the open ground and to reach the woods in the short
interval of time between my disappearance and their discovery
of the fact, and they consequently felt certain that
I was secreted somewhere near the building. Every house
had been searched, though no one thought of entering the
mill, because my movement, as all supposed, was necessarily
in an opposite direction. The fences were examined,
and every thing like a cover on the proper side of the house
was looked into with care and activity. It would seem that,
just as I took my first look through the hole, my pursuers
were at fault. The search had been made, and of course
without effect. Nothing likely to conceal me remained to
be examined. It was necessary to come to a stand, and to
concert measures for a further search.
The family of squatters was too much accustomed to
their situation and its hazards, not to be familiar with all
the expedients necessary to their circumstances. They
placed the younger children on the look-out, at the points
most favourable to my retreat, should I be in a situation to
attempt going off in that quarter of the clearing; and,
then, the father collected his older sons around him, and the
whole cluster of them, seven in number, came slowly walking
towards the mill. The excitement of the first pursuit
had sensibly abated, and these practised woodsmen were
in serious consultation on the measures next to be taken. In
this condition, the whole party entered the mill, taking their
seats, or standing in a circle directly beneath my post, and
within six feet of me. As a matter of course, I heard all
that was said, though completely hid from view.
“Here we shall be safe from the long ears of little folks,”
said the father, as he placed his own large frame on the log
-- 105 --
[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]
that was next to be sawed. “This has been a most onaccountable
thing, Tobit, and I 'd no idee at all them 'ere city
bred gentry was so expart with their legs. I sometimes
think he can't be a Littlepage, but that he 's one of our hill
folks, tossed out and mannered a'ter the towns' folks, to
take a body in. It seems an onpossibility that the man
should get off, out of the midst on us, and we not see or
hear anything on him!”
“We may as well give up the lumber and the betterments,
at once,” growled Tobit, “as let him get clear.
Should he reach Ravensnest, the first thing he 'd do would
be to swear out warrants ag'in us all, and Newcome is not
the man to stand by squatters in trouble. He 'd no more
dare deny his landlord, than deny his meetin'.”
This expression of Tobit's is worthy of notice. In the
estimation of a certain class of religionists among us, the
“meetin',” as the young squatter called his church, had the
highest place in his estimate of potentates and powers; it is
to be feared, often even higher than the dread being for
whose worship that “meetin”' existed.
“I don't think as hard of the 'squire as all that,” answered
Thousandacres. “He 'll never send out a warrant
ag'in us, without sendin' out a messenger to let us hear of
it, and that in time to get us all out of the way.”
“And who 's to get the boards in the creek out of the
way afore the water rises? And who 's to hide or carry
off all them logs? There 's more than a ton weight of my
blood and bones in them very logs, in the shape of hard labour,
and I 'll fight like a she-bear for her cubs afore I 'll
be driven from them without pay.”
It is very surprising that one who set this desperate value
on the property he deemed his, should have so little regard
for that which belonged to other persons. In this respect,
however, Tobit's feeling was no more than submission to
the general law of our nature, which reverses the images
before our moral vision, precisely as we change our own
relations to them.
“It would go hard with me afore I should give up the
lumber or the clearin', “returned Thousandacres, with emphasis.
“We 've fit King George for liberty, and why
shouldn't we fight for our property? Of what use is liberty
-- 106 --
[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]
at all, if it won't bear a man harmless out of a job of this
sort? I despise sich liberty, b'ys, and want none on it.”
All the young men muttered their approbation of such a
sentiment, and it was easy enough to understand that the
elevated notion of personal rights entertained by Thousandacres
found an answering echo in the bosom of each of his
heroic sons. I dare say the same sympathy would have
existed between them, had they been a gang of pickpockets
collected in council in a room of the Black Horse, St. Catharine's
lane, Wapping, London.
“But what can we do with the young chap, father, should
we take him ag'in?” asked Zephaniah; a question, as all
will see, of some interest to myself. “He can't be kept a
great while without having a stir made a'ter him, and that
would break us up, sooner or later. We may have a clear
right to the work of our hands; but, on the whull, I rather
conclude the country is ag'in squatters.”
“Who cares for the country?” answered Thousandacres,
fiercely. “If it wants young Littlepage, let it come and
s'arch for him, as we 've been doin'. If that chap falls into
my hands once more, he never quits 'em alive, unless he
gives me a good and sufficient deed to two hundred acres,
includin' the mill, and a receipt in full, on his father's behalf,
for all back claims. On them two principles my mind
is set, and not to be altered.”
A long pause succeeded this bold announcement, and I
began to be afraid that my suppressed breathing might be
overheard in the profound stillness that followed. But Zephaniah
spoke in time to relieve me from this apprehension,
and in a way to satisfy me that the party below, all of
whom were concealed from my sight, had been pondering
on what had been said by their leader, and not listening to
detect any tell-tale sounds from me.
“I 've heern say,” Zephaniah remarked, “that deeds
gi'n in that way won't stand good in law. 'Squire Newcome
was talkin' of sich transactions the very last time I
was out at the Nest.”
“I wish a body could find out what would stand good in
law!” growled Thousandacres. “They make their laws,
and lay great account in havin' 'em obsarved; and then,
when a man comes into court with everything done
-- 107 --
[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]
accordin' to their own rules, five or six attorneys start up and bawl
out, `this is ag'in law!' If a deed is to set forth so and so,
and is to have the name writ down in such a place, and is
to have what they call `hand and seal and date' beside; and
sich bein' the law, I want to know why an instrument so
made won't hold good by their confounded laws? Law is
law, all over the world, I s'pose; and though it 's an accursed
thing, if men agree to have it, they ought to stand
by their own rules. I 've thought a good deal of squeezin'
writin's out of this young Littlepage; and just as my
mind 's made up to do 't if I can lay hands on him ag'in,
you come out and tell me sich writin's be good for nothin'.
Zeph, Zeph—you go too often out into them settlements, and
get your mind pervarted by their wickedness and talk.”
“I hope not, father, though I own I do like to go there.
I 've come to a time of life when a man thinks of marryin';
and there bein' no gal here, unless it be one of my own
sisters, it 's nat'ral to look into the next settlement. I 'll
own sich has been my object in going to the Nest.”
“And you 've found the gal you set store by? Out with
the whull truth, like a man. You know I 've always been
set ag'in lyin', and have ever endeavoured to make the whull
of you speak truth. How is it, Zephaniah? have you found
a gal to your mind, and who is 't? Ourn is a family into
which any body can come by askin', you 'll remember.”
“Lord, father! Dus Malbone would no more think of
askin' me to have her, than she 'd think of marryin' you!
I 've offered three times; and she 's told me, as plain as a
woman could speak, that she couldn't no how consent, and
that I hadn't ought to think of her any longer.”
“Who is the gal, in this part of the country, that holds
her head so much higher than one of Thousandacres' sons?”
demanded the old squatter, with some such surprise, real or
affected, as a Bourbon might be supposed to feel at having
his alliance spurned on the score of blood. “I 'd like to
see her, and to convarse with this young woman. What
did you call her name, Zeph?”
“Dus Malbone, father, and the young woman that lives
with Chainbearer. She 's his niece, I b'lieve, or something
of that sort.”
-- 108 --
[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]
“Ha! Chainbearer's niece, d'ye say? His taken da'ghter?
Isn't there some mistake?”
“Dus Malbone calls old Andries `Uncle Chainbearer,'
and I s'pose from that she 's his niece.”
“And you 've offered to marry the gal three times, d'ye
tell me, Zephaniah?”
“Three times, father; and every time she has given `no'
for her answer.”
“The fourth time, may be, she'll change her mind. I
wonder if we couldn't lay hands on this gal, and bring her
into our settlement? Does she live with Chainbearer, in his
hut, out here in the woods?”
“She doos, father.”
“And doos she set store by her uncle? or is she one of
the flaunty sort that thinks more of herself and gownd, than
she does of her own flesh and blood? Can you tell me that,
Zeph?”
“In my judgment, father, Dus Malbone loves Chainbearer
as much as she would, was he her own father.”
“Ay, some gals haven't half the riverence and love for
their own fathers that they should have. What 's to prevint
your goin', Zephaniah, to Chainbearer's pitch, and tell the
gal that her uncle 's in distress, and that you don't know
what may happen to him, and that she had better come over
and see a'ter him? When we get her here, and she understands
the natur' of the case, and you put on your Sabba'day
clothes, and we send for 'squire Newcome, you may
find yourself a married man sooner than you thought for,
my son, and settle down in life. A'ter that, there 'll not be
much danger of Chainbearer's tellin' on us, or of his great
fri'nd here, this major Littlepage's troublin' the lumber afore
the water rises.”
A murmur of applause followed this notable proposal,
and I fancied I could hear a snigger from the young man,
as if he found the project to his mind, and thought it might
be feasible.
“Father,” said Zephaniah, “I wish you 'd call Lowiny
here, and talk to her a little about Dus Malbone. There
she is, with Tobit's wife and mother, looking round among
the cabbages, as if a man could be hid in such a place.”
-- 109 --
[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]
Thousandacres called to his daughter in an authoritative
way; and I soon heard the girl's step, as she came, a little
hesitatingly as I fancied, into the mill. As it would be very
natural to one in Lowiny's situation to suppose, that her
connection with my escape occasioned this summons, I could
not but feel for what I presumed was the poor girl's distress
at receiving it.
“Come here, Lowiny,” commenced Thousandacres, in
the stern manner with which it was his wont to speak to his
children; “come nearer, gal. Do you know anything of
one Dus Malbone, Chainbearer's niece?”
“Lord ha' massy! Father, how you did frighten me!
I thought you might have found the gentleman, and s'posed
I 'd a hand in helpin' to hide him!”
Singular as it may seem, this burst of conscience awakened
no suspicion in any of the listeners. When the girl
thus betrayed herself, I very naturally expected that such
an examination would follow as would extort the whole details
from her. Not at all, however; neither the father nor any
of the sons understood the indiscreet remarks of the girl,
but imputed them to the excitement that had just existed,
and the circumstance that her mind had, naturally enough,
been dwelling on its cause. It is probable that the very
accidental manner of my evasion, which precluded the
attaching of suspicious facts to what had really occurred,
favoured Lowiny on this occasion; it being impossible that
she should be suspected from anything of that character.
“Who 's talkin' or thinkin' now of young Littlepage, at
all,” returned Thousandacres a little angrily. “I ask if
you know anything of Chainbearer's niece—one Dus Malbone,
or Malcome?”
“I do know suthin' of her, father,” answered Lowiny,
willing enough to betray one—the lesser—of her secrets, in
order to conceal the other, which, on all accounts, was much
the most important; “though I never laid eyes on her 'till
to-day. Zeph has often talked to me of the gal that carried
chain with her uncle for a whull month; and he has a notion
to marry her if he can get her.”
“Never laid eyes on her 'till to-day! Whereabouts have
you laid eyes on her to-day, gal? Is all creation comin' in
-- 110 --
[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]
upon my clearin' at once? Whereabouts have you seen
this gal to-day?”
“She come to the edge of the clearin' with her uncle,
and—”
“Well, what next? Why don't you go on, Lowiny?”
I could have told Thousandacres why his daughter hesitated;
but the girl got out of the scrape by her own presence
of mind and ingenuity, a little aided, perhaps, by
some practice in sins of the sort.
“Why, I went a berryin' this forenoon, and up ag'in the
berry lot, just in the edge of the woods, I saw a young
woman, and that was the Malbone gal. So we talked together,
and she told me all about it. She's waitin' for her
uncle to come back.”
“So, so; this is news indeed, b'ys! Do you know where
the gal is now, Lowiny?”
“Not just now, for she told me she should go deeper into
the woods, lest she should be seen; but an hour afore sundown
she's to come to the foot of the great chestnut, just
ag'in the berry lot; and I promised to meet her, and either
bring her in to sleep in one of our housen, or to carry her
out suthin' for supper, and to make a bed on.”
This was said frankly, and with the feeling and sympathy
that females are apt to manifest in behalf of each other. It
was evident Lowiny's audience believed every word she had
said; and the old man, in particular, determined at once to
act. I heard him move from his seat, and his voice sounded
like one who was retiring, as he said:
“Tobit—b'ys—come with me, and we 'll have one more
look for this young chap through the lumber and the housen.
It may be that he 's stolen in there while our eyes have been
turned another way. Lowiny, you needn't come with us,
for the flutterin' way of you gals don't do no good in sich a
s'arch.”
I waited until the last heavy footstep was inaudible, and
then ventured to move far enough on my hands, to find a
crack that I had purposely left, with a view to take through
it an occasional look below. On the log which her father
had just left, Lowiny had seated herself. Her eye was
roaming over the upper part of the mill, as if in quest of
me. At length she said, in a suppressed voice,—
-- 111 --
[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]
“Be you here, still? Father and the b'ys can't hear us
now, if you speak low.”
“I am here, good Lowiny, thanks to your friendly kindness,
and have overheard all that passed. You saw Ursula
Malbone, and gave her my note?”
“As true as you are there, I did; and she read it over
so often, I guess she must know it by heart.”
“But, what did she say? Had she no message for her
uncle—no answer to what I had written?”
“Oh! she 'd enough to say—gals love to talk, you know,
when they get with one another, and Dus and I talked together
half an hour, or longer. She 'd plenty to say,
though it wunt do for me to sit here and tell it to you, lest
somebody wonder I stay so long in the mill.”
“You can tell me if she sent any message, or answer to
my note?”
“She never breathed a syllable about what you 'd writ.
I warrant you she 's close-mouthed enough, when she gets
a line from a young man. Do you think her so desp'rate
handsome as Zeph says she is?”
This boded ill, but it was a question that it was politic to
answer, and to answer with some little discretion. If I lost
the services of Lowiny, my main stay was gone.
“She is well enough to look at, but I 've seen quite as
handsome young women, lately. But handsome or not,
she is one of your own sex, and is not to be deserted in her
trouble.”
“Yes, indeed,” answered Lowiny, with an expression of
countenance that told me at once, the better feelings of her
sex had all returned again, “and I 'll not desart her, though
father drive me out of the settlement. I am tired of all this
squatting, and think folks ought to live as much in one spot
as they can. What 's best to be done about Dus Malbone—
perhaps she 'd like well enough to marry Zeph?”
“Did you see, or hear, any thing while with her, to
make you think so? I am anxious to know what she
said.”
“La! She said sights of things; but most of her talk
was about old Chainbearer. She never named your name
so much as once!”
“Did she name Zephaniah's? I make no doubt that
-- 112 --
[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]
anxiety on account of her uncle was her chief care. What
are her intentions, and will she remain near that tree until
you come?”
“She stays under a rock not a great way from the tree,
and there she 'll stay till I go to meet her, at the chestnut.
We had our talk under that rock, and it 's easy enough to
find her there.”
“How do things look, around us? Might I descend, slip
down into the bed of the river, and go round to Dus Malbone,
so as to give her notice of the danger she is in?”
Lowiny did not answer me for near a minute, and I
began to fear that I had put another indiscreet question.
The girl seemed thoughtful, but when she raised her face
so high as to allow me to see it, all the expression of the
more generous feminine sympathy was visible.
“'T would be hard to make Dus have Zeph, if she don't
like him, wouldn't it!” she said with emphasis. “I don't
know but t'would be better to let her know what 's coming,
so that she can choose for herself.”
“She told me,” I answered, with perfect truth, “that she
is engaged to another, and it would be worse than cruel—
it would be wicked, to make her marry one man, while she
loves another.”
“She shan't do 't!” cried the girl, with an animation
that I thought dangerous. But she gave me no opportunity
for remonstrance, as, all her energies being aroused, she
went to work in earnest to put me in the way of doing
what I most desired to achieve.
“D'ye see the lower corner of the mill,” she continued,
hurriedly. “That post goes down to the rock over which
the water falls. You can walk to that corner without any
danger of being seen, as the ruff hides you, and when you
get there, you can wait till I tell you to get on the post.
'T will be easy to slide down that post to the rock, and
there 'll be not much of a chance of being seen, as the post
will nearly hide you. When you 're on the rock, you 'll
find a path that leads along the creek till you come to a
foot-bridge. If you cross that log, and take the left-hand
path, 'twill bring you out near the edge of the clearin', up
on the hill again, and then you 'll have only to follow the
edge of the woods a little way, afore you come to the
-- 113 --
[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]
chestnut. The rock is right off, ag'in the chestnut, only
about fifty rods.”
I took in these directions eagerly, and was at the post
almost as soon as the girl ceased speaking. In order to do
this I had only to walk on the boards that lay scattered
about on the girts of the mill, the roof completely concealing
the movement from any on its outside. I made my arrangements,
and only waited for a signal, or the direction
from Lowiny, to proceed.
“Not yet,” said the girl, looking down and affecting to
be occupied with something near her feet. “Father and
Tobit are walkin' this way, and lookin' right at the mill.
Now—get ready—they've turned their heads, and seem as
if they 'd turn round themselves next. They 've turned
away ag'in; wait one moment—now's a good time—don't
go away altogether without my seein' you once more.”
I heard these last words, but it was while sliding down
the post. Just as my head came so low as to be in a line
with the objects scattered about the floor of the mill, I clung
to the post to catch one glimpse of what was going on without.
Thousandacres and Tobit were about a hundred yards
distant, walking apart from the group of young men, and
apparently in deep consultation together. It was quite evident
no alarm was taken, and down I slid to the rock. At
the next moment I was in the path, descending to the foot-bridge,
a tree that had been felled across the stream. Until
that tree was crossed, and a slight distance of the ascent on
the other side of the stream, along the left-hand path, was
overcome, I was completely exposed to the observation of
any one who might be in a situation to look down into the
glen of the river. At almost any other moment, at that particular
season, my discovery would have been nearly certain,
as some of the men or boys were always at work in
the water; but the events of that morning called them elsewhere,
and I made the critical passage, a distance of two
hundred yards, or more, in safety. As soon as I entered
behind a cover, my speed abated, and, having risen again
to the level of the dwellings, or even a little above them, I
profited by openings among the small pine bushes that
fringed the path, to take a survey of the state of things
among the squatters.
-- 114 --
[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]
There the cluster of heavy, lounging young men was,
Thousandacres and Tobit walking apart, as when last seen.
Prudence was at the door of a distant cabin, surrounded, as
usual, by a collection of the young fry, and conversing herself,
eagerly, with the wives of two or three of her married
sons. Lowiny had left the mill, and was strolling along
the opposite side of the glen, so near the verge of the rocks
as to have enabled her to see the whole of my passage
across the open space. Perceiving that she was quite alone,
I ventured to hem just loud enough to reach her ear. A
hurried, frightened gesture, assured me that I had been
heard, and, first making a gesture for me to go forward, the
girl turned away, and went skipping off towards the cluster
of females who surrounded her mother.
As for myself, I now thought only of Dus. What cared
I if she did love another? A girl of her education, manners,
sentiments, birth and character, was not to be sacrificed
to one like Zephaniah, let what might happen; and,
could I reach her place of concealment in time, she might
still be saved. These thoughts fairly winged my flight, and
I soon came in sight of the chestnut. Three minutes later
I laid a hand on the trunk of the tree itself. As I had been
a quarter of an hour, at least, in making the circuit of that
side of the clearing, some material change might have occurred
among the squatters, and I determined to advance to
the edge of the bushes, in Lowiny's “berry lot,” which
completely screened the spot, and ascertain the facts, before
I sought Dus at her rock.
The result showed that some measures had been decided
on between Thousandacres and Tobit. Not one of the
males, a lad that stood sentinel at the store-house, and a
few of the smaller boys excepted, was to be seen. I examined
all the visible points with care, but no one was visible.
Even Susquesus, who had been lounging about the
whole day, or since his liberation, had vanished. Prudence
and her daughters, too, were in a great commotion, hurrying
from cabin to cabin, and manifesting all that restlessness
which usually denotes excitement among females. I stopped
but a moment to ascertain these leading circumstances, and
turned to seek the rock. While retiring from among the
bushes, I heard the fallen branch of a tree snap under a
-- 115 --
[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]
heavy footstep, and looking cautiously around, saw Jaaf, or
Jaap as we commonly called him, advancing towards me,
carrying a rifle on each shoulder.
“Heaven's blessings on you, my faithful Jaap!” I cried,
holding out an arm to receive one of the weapons. “You
come at a most happy moment, and can lead me to Miss
Malbone.”
“Yes, sah, and glad to do it, too. Miss Dus up here, a
bit, in 'e wood, and can werry soon see her. She keep me
down here to look out, and I carry bot' rifle, Masser Chainbearer's
and my own, 'cause Miss Dus no great hand wid
gun-powder. But, where you cum from, Masser Mordaunt?—
and why you run away so, in night-time?”
“Never mind just now, Jaap—in proper time you shall
know all about it. Now, we must take care of Miss Ursula.
Is she uneasy? has she shown any fear on her uncle's
account?”
“She cry half 'e time, sah—Den she look up bold, and
resolute, just like ole Masser, sah, when he tell he rijjement
`charge baggonet,' and seem as if she want to go right into
T'ousandacres' huts. Lor' bless me, sah, Masser Mordaunt—
if she ask me one question about you to-day, she ask me
a hundred!”
“About me, Jaap!”—But I arrested the impulsive feeling
in good time, so as not to be guilty of pumping my own
servant concerning what others had said of me; a meanness
I could not easily have pardoned in myself. But I
increased my speed, and, having Jaap for my guide, was
soon at the side of Dus. The negro had no sooner pointed
out to me the object of my search, than he had the discretion
to return to the edge of the clearing, carrying with
him both rifles; for I returned to him the one I had taken,
in my eagerness to hurry forward, the instant I beheld
Dus.
I can never forget the look with which that frank, noble-hearted
girl received me! It almost led me to hope that my
ears had deceived me, and that, after all, I was an object
of the highest interest with her. A few tears, half-suppressed,
but suppressed with difficulty, accompanied that
look; and I had the happiness of holding for some time,
-- 116 --
[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]
and of pressing to my heart, that little hand that was freely—
nay, warmly extended to me.
“Let us quit this spot at once, dearest Ursula,” I cried,
the moment I could speak. “It is not safe to remain near
that family of wretches, who live by depredation and violence.”
“And leave uncle Chainbearer in their hands!” answered
Dus, reproachfully. “You, surely, would not advise me to
do that!”
“If your own safety demands it, yes—a thousand times,
yes. We must fly, and there is not a moment to lose. A
design exists among those wretches to seize you, and to
make use of your fears to secure the aid of your uncle in
extricating them from the consequences of this discovery
of their robberies. It is not safe, I repeat, for you to remain
a minute longer here.”
The smile that Dus now bestowed on me was very sweet,
though I found it inexplicable; for it had as much of pain
and suffering in it, as it had of that which was winning.
“Mordaunt Littlepage, have you forgotten the words
spoken by me when we last parted?” she asked, seriously.
“Forgotten! I can never forget them! They drove me
nearly to despair, and were the cause of bringing us all
into this difficulty.”
“I told you that my faith was already plighted—that I
could not accept your noble, frank, generous, manly offer,
because another had my troth.”
“You did—you did—Why renew my misery—”
“It is with a different object that I am now more explicit—
That man to whom I am pledged is in those huts, and I
cannot desert him.”
“Can I believe my senses! Do you—can you—is it
possible that one like Ursula Malbone can love Zephaniah
Thousandacres — a squatter himself, and the son of a
squatter?”
The look with which Dus regarded me, said at once that
her astonishment was quite as great as my own. I could
have bitten off my hasty and indiscreet tongue, the instant
it had spoken; and I am sure the rush of tell-tale blood in
my face must have proclaimed to my companion that I felt
-- 117 --
[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]
most thoroughly ashamed of myself. This feeling was
deepened nearly to despair, when I saw the expression of
abased mortification that came over the sweet and usually
happy countenance of Dus, and the difficulty she had in
suppressing her tears.
Neither spoke for a minute, when my companion broke
silence by saying steadily—I might almost add solemnly—
“This, indeed, shows how low my fortune has become!
But I pardon you, Mordaunt; for, humble as that fortune
is, you have spoken nobly and frankly in my behalf, and I
exonerate you from any feeling that is not perfectly natural
for the circumstances. Perhaps”—and a bright blush suffused
the countenance of Dus as she said it—“Perhaps I
may attribute the great mistake into which you have fallen
to a passion that is most apt to accompany strong love, and
insomuch prize it, instead of throwing it away with contempt.
But, between you and me, whatever comes of it,
there must be no more mistakes. The man to whom my
faith is plighted, and to whom my time and services are
devoted, so long as one or both of us live, is uncle Chainbearer,
and no other. Had you not rushed from me in the
manner you did, I might have told you this, Mordaunt, the
evening you were showing so much noble frankness yourself.”
“Dus!—Ursula!—beloved Miss Malbone, have I then no
preferred rival?”
“No man has ever spoken to me of love, but this uncouth
and rude young squatter, and yourself.”
“Is your heart then untouched? Are you still mistress
of your own affections?”
The look I now received from Dus was a little saucy;
but that expression soon changed to one that had more of
the deep feeling and generous sympathy of her precious sex
in it.
“Were I to answer `yes,' many women would think I
was being no more than true to the rights of a girl who has
been so unceremoniously treated; but—”
“But what, charming, most beloved Ursula? But what?”
“I prefer truth to coquetry, and shall not attempt to deny
what it would almost be treason against nature to suppose.
How could a girl, educated as I have been, without any
-- 118 --
[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]
preference to tie her to another, be shut up in this forest,
with a man who has treated her with so much kindness and
devotion, and manly tenderness, and insensible to his merits?
Were we in the world, Mordaunt, I think I should prefer
you to all others; being, as we are, in this forest, I know I
do.”
The reader shall not be let into the sacred confidence that
followed; any further, at least, than to know the main
result. A quarter of an hour passed so swiftly, and so
sweetly, indeed, that I could hardly take it on myself to
record one-half that was said. Dus made no longer any
hesitation in declaring her attachment for me; and, though
she urged her own poverty as a just obstacle to my wishes,
it was faintly, as most Americans of either sex would do.
In this particular, at least, we may fairly boast of a just
superiority over all the countries of the old world. While
it is scarcely possible that either man or woman should not
see how grave a barrier to wedded happiness is interposed
by the opinions and habits of social castes, it is seldom that
any one, in his or her own proper sphere, feels that the
want of money is an insurmountable obstacle to a union—
more especially when one of the parties is provided with the
means of maintaining the household gods. The seniors
may, and do often have scruples on this score; but the
young people rarely. Dus and myself were in the complete
enjoyment of this happy simplicity, with my arms
around her waist, and her head leaning on my shoulder,
when I was aroused from a state that I fancied Elysium, by
the hoarse, raven-throated cry of—
“Here she is! Here she is, father! Here they are
both!”
On springing forward to face the intruders, I saw Tobit
and Zephaniah directly before me, with Lowiny standing at
no great distance behind them. The first looked ferocious.
the second jealous and angry, the third abashed and mortified.
In another minute we were surrounded by Thousandacres,
and all the males of his brood.
-- 119 --
CHAPTER IX.
“My love is young—but other loves are young;
And other loves are fair, and so is mine;
An air divine discloses whence he sprung;
He is my love who boasts that air divine.”
Shenstone.
[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]
A more rude and violent interruption of a scene in which
the more gentle qualities love to show themselves, never occurred.
I, who knew the whole of the past, saw at once
that we had very serious prospects before us; but Dus at
first felt only the consciousness and embarrassment of a
woman, who has betrayed her most sacred secret to vulgar
eyes. That very passion, which a month later, and after
the exchange of the marriage vows, it would have been her
glory to exhibit in face of the whole community, on the occurrence
of any event of moment to myself, she now shrunk
from revealing; and I do believe that maiden bashfulness
gave her more pain, when thus arrested, than any other
cause. As for the squatters, she probably had no very clear
conceptions of their true characters; and it was one of her
liveliest wishes to be able to join her uncle. But, Thousandacres
soon gave us both cause to comprehend how much he
was now in earnest.
“So, my young major, you 're catched in the same nest,
be you! You 've your ch'ise to walk peaceably back where
you belong, or to be tied and carried there like a buck that
has been killed a little out in the woods. You never know'd
Thousandacres and his race, if you raally thought to slip
away from him, and that with twenty miles of woods around
you!”
I intimated a wish not to be tied, and professed a perfect
willingness to accompany my captors back to their dwellings;
for, nothing would have tempted me to desert Dus, under
the circumstances. The squatters might have declared the
road open to me, but the needle does not point more
-- 120 --
[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]
unerringly to the pole than I should have followed my magnet,
though at liberty.
Little more was said until we had quitted the woods, and
had reached the open fields of the clearing. I was permitted
to assist my companion through the bushes, and in climbing
a fence or two; the squatters, who were armed to a man,
forming a circle around us, at a distance that enabled me to
whisper a few words to Dus, in the way of encouragement.
She had great natural intrepidity for a woman, and I believe
I ought to escape the imputation of vanity, if I add
that we both felt so happy at the explanations which had so
lately been had, that this new calamity could not entirely
depress us, so long as we were not separated.
“Be not downhearted, dearest Dus,” I whispered, as we
approached the store-house; “after all, these wretches will
not dare to transgress against the law, very far.”
“I have few fears, with you and uncle Chainbearer so
near me, Mordaunt,” was her smiling answer. “It cannot
be long before we hear from Frank, who is gone, as you
must have been told, to Ravensnest, for authority and assistance.
He left our huts at the same time we left them to
come here, and must be on his return long before this.”
I squeezed the hand of the dear girl, receiving a gentle
pressure in return, and prepared myself to be separated
from her, as I took it for granted that Prudence and her
daughters would hold watch and ward over the female prisoner.
I had hesitated, ever since quitting the woods, about
giving her notice of the trial that probably awaited her; but,
as no attempt to coerce a marriage could be made until the
magistrate arrived, I thought it would be rendering her unnecessarily
unhappy. The trial, if it did come at all, would
come soon enough of itself; and I had no apprehension that
one of Dus's spirit and character, and who had so recently
and frankly admitted that her whole heart was mine, could
be frightened into a concession that would give Zephaniah
any claim to her. To own the truth, a mountain had been
removed from my own breast, and I was too happy on this
particular account, to be rendered very miserable on any
other, just at that time. I do believe Dus was a little sustained
by some similar sentiment.
Dus and I parted at the door of the first house, she being
-- 121 --
[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]
transferred to the keeping of Tobit's wife, a woman who
was well bestowed on her brutal and selfish husband. No
violence was used, however, towards the prisoner, who was
permitted to go at large; though I observed that one or two
of the females attached themselves to her person immediately,
no doubt as her keepers.
In consequence of our having approached the dwelling of
the squatters by a new path, Chainbearer knew nothing of
the arrest of his niece, until the fact was communicated by
me. He was not even aware of my being retaken, until he
saw me about to enter the prison again; though he probably
anticipated that such might be my fate. As for Susquesus,
he seldom manifested surprise or emotion of any sort, let
what would occur.
“Well, Mortaunt, my lat, I knowet you had vanishet, py
hook or py crook, ant nopoty knowet how; put I t'ought
you woult fint it hart to t'row t'ese rascally squatters off
your trail,” cried Andries, giving me a hearty shake of the
hand as I entered the prison. “Here we are, all t'ree of
us, ag'in; ant it 's lucky we 're such goot frients, as our
quarters are none of t'e largest or pest. The Injin fount I
was alone, so he took pack his parole, ant ist a close prisoner
like t'e rest of us, put in one sense a free man. You
can tig up t'e hatchet ag'in t'ese squatters whenever you
please now; is it not so, Sureflint?”
“Sartain—truce done—Susquesus prisoner like everybody.
Give T'ousandacres p'role back ag'in — Injin free
man, now.”
I understood the Onondago's meaning well enough, though
his freedom was of a somewhat questionable character. He
merely wished to say that, having given himself up to the
squatters, he was released from the conditions of his parole,
and was at liberty to make his escape, or to wage war on his
captors in any manner he saw fit. Luckily Jaap had escaped,
for I could see no signs of even his presence being
known to Thousandacres or to his sons. It was something
to have so practised a woodsman and so true a friend still
at large, and near us; and the information he could impart,
should he fall in with Frank Malbone, with the constable and
the posse, might be of the utmost service to us. All these
points Chainbearer and I discussed at large, the Indian
-- 122 --
[figure description] Page 122.[end figure description]
sitting by, an attentive but a silent listener. It was our joint
opinion that Malbone could not now be very far distant with
succour. What would be the effect of an attack on the
squatters it was not easy to predict, since the last might
make battle; and, small as was their force, it would be likely
to prove very available in a struggle of that nature. The
females of such a family were little less efficient than the
males, when posted behind logs; and there were a hundred
things in which their habits, experience, and boldness might
be made to tell, should matters be pushed to extremities.
“Got knows—Got only knows, Mortaunt, what will come
of it all,” rejoined Chainbearer to one of my remarks, puffing
coolly at his pipe at intervals, in order to secure the fire
he had just applied to it. “Nut'in is more unsartain t'an
war, as Sus, here, fery well knows py long exper'ence, ant
as you ought to know yourself, my poy, hafin seen sarfice,
ant warm sarfice, too. Shoult Frank Malpone make a
charge on t'is settlement, as, pein an olt soltier, he will pe
fery likely to do, we must make efery effort to fall in on one
of his flanks, in orter to cover t'e atvance or t'e retreat, as
may happen to pe t'e movement at t'e time.”
“I trust it will be the advance, as Malbone does not strike
me as a man likely to retreat very easily. But, are we
certain 'Squire Newcome will grant the warrant he will ask
for, being in such close communion himself with these
squatters?”
“I haf t'ought of all t'at, too, Mortaunt, ant t'ere is goot
sense in it. I t'ink he will at least sent wort to T'ousantacres,
to let him know what is comin', ant make as many
telays as possiple. T'e law is a lazy sarfant when it wishes
to pe slow; ant many is t'e rogue t'at hast outrun it, when
t'e race hast peen to safe a pack or a fine. Nefert'eless,
Mortaunt, t'e man who is right fights wit' great otts in his
fafor, ant is fery apt to come out pest in t'e long run. It is
a great atvantage to pe always right; a trut' I 've known
ant felt from poyhoot, put which hast peen mate more ant
more clear to me since t'e peace, ant I haf come pack to lif
wit' Dus. T'at gal hast teachet me much on all such matters;
ant it woult do your heart goot to see her alone wit'
an olt ignorant man in t'e woots, of a Suntay, a tryin' to
teach him his piple, ant how he ought to lofe ant fear Got!”
-- 123 --
[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]
“Does Dus do this for you, my old friend?—Does that
admirable creature really take on herself this solemn office
of duty and love! Much as I admired and esteemed her
before, for her reverence and affection for you, Chainbearer,
I now admire and esteem her the more, for this proof of her
most true and deep-seated interest in your welfare.”
“I 'll tell you what, poy—Dus is petter ast twenty tominies
to call a stupporn olt fellow, t'at has got a conscience
toughenet ant hartenet by lifin' t'reescore years ant ten in
t'e worlt, pack from his wicketness into t'e ways of gotliness
and peace. You 're young, Mortaunt, and haf not yet got
out of t'e gristle of sin into t'e pone, ant can hartly know
how strong ist t'e holt t'at hapit and t'e worlt gets of an olt
man; put I hope you may lif long enough to see it all, ant
to feel it all,” I did not even smile, for the child-like
earnestness, and the sincere simplicity with which Andries
delivered himself of this wish, concealed its absurdity behind
a veil of truth and feeling too respectable to admit of a
single disrespectful impulse.—“Ant t'at is t'e worst wish I
can wish you, my tear poy. You know how it hast peen
wit' me, Mortaunt; a chainpearer's callin' is none of t'e pest
to teach religion; which toes not seem to flourish in t'e
woots; t'ough why I cannot tell; since, as Dus has ag'in
ant ag'in shown to me, Got is in t'e trees, ant on t'e mountains,
ant along t'e valleys, ant is to pe hearet in t'e prooks
ant t'e rifers, as much if not more t'an he ist to pe hearet
ant seen in t'e clearin's ant t'e towns. Put my life was not
a religious life afore t'e war, ant war is not a pusiness to
make a man t'ink of deat' as he ought; t'ough he hast it
tay and night, as it might pe, afore his eyes.”
“And Dus, the excellent, frank, buoyant, sincere, womanly
and charming Dus, adds these admirable qualities to
other merits, does she! I knew she had a profound sentiment
on the subject of religion, Chainbearer, though I did
not know she took so very lively an interest in the welfare
of those she loves, in connection with that all-important
interest.”
“You may well call t'e gal py all t'em fine worts, Mortaunt,
for she desarfs efery one of t'em, ant more too. No—
no—Dus isn't known in a tay. A poty may lif in t'e
same house wit' her, ant see her smilin' face, ant hear her
-- 124 --
[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]
merry song, mont's ant mont's, ant not l'arn all t'at t'ere ist
of gotliness, ant meekness, ant virtue, ant love, ant piety, in
t'e pottom of her soul. One tay you 'll t'ink well of Dus,
Mortaunt Littlepage.”
“I!—Tell me that I shall think well of Ursula Malbone,
the girl that I almost worship!—Think well of her whom I
now love with an intensity that I did not imagine was possible,
three months since!—Think well of her who fills all
my waking, and not a few of my sleeping thoughts—of
whom I dream—to whom I am betrothed—who has heard
my vows with favour, and has cheerfully promised, all
parties that are interested consenting, to become at some
early day my wife!”
Old Andries heard my energetic exclamation with astonishment;
and even the Indian turned his head to look on
me with a gratified attention. Perceiving that I had gone so
far, under an impulse I had found irresistible, I felt the necessity
of being still more explicit, and of communicating all
I had to say on the subject.
“Yes,” I added, grasping old Andries by the hand—
“Yes, Chainbearer, I shall comply with your often-expressed
wishes. Again and again have you recommended your
lovely niece to me as a wife, and I come now to take you
at your word, and to say that nothing will make me so
happy as to be able to call you uncle.”
To my surprise, Chainbearer expressed no delight at this
announcement. I remarked that he had said nothing to me
on his favourite old subject of my marrying his niece, since
my arrival at the Nest; and now, when I was not only so
ready, but so anxious to meet his wishes, I could plainly
see that he drew back from my proposals, and wished they
had not been made. Amazed, I waited for him to speak
with a disappointment and uneasiness I cannot express.
“Mortaunt! Mortaunt!” at length broke out of the old
man's very heart—“I wish to Heafen you hat nefer sait
t'is! I lofe you, poy, almost as much as I lofe Dus, herself;
put it griefs me—it griefs me to hear you talk of marryin'
t'e gal!”
“You grieve, as much as you astonish me, Chainbearer,
by making such a remark! How often have you, yourself,
expressed to me the wish that I might become acquainted
-- 125 --
[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]
with your niece, and love her, and marry her! Now, when
I have seen her—when I have become acquainted with her—
when I love her to my heart's core, and wish to make her
my wife, you meet my proposals as if they were unworthy
of you and yours!”
“Not so, lat—not so. Nut'in' would make me so happy
as to see you t'e huspant of Dus, supposin' it coult come to
pass, ant wrong pe tone to no one; put it cannot pe so. I
tid talk as you say, ant a foolish, selfish, conceitet olt man
I wast for my pains. I wast t'en in t'e army, ant we wast
captains alike; ant I wast t'e senior captain, and might
orter you apout, and tid orter you apout; ant I wore an
epaulette, like any ot'er captain, and hat my grantfat'er's
swort at my site, ant t'ought we wast equals, ant t'at it wast
an honour to marry my niece; put all t'is wast changet, lat,
when I came into t'e woots ag'in, ant took up my chain, ant
pegan to lif, ant to work, ant to feel poor, ant to see myself
as I am. No— no — Mortaunt Littlepage, t'e owner of
Ravensnest, ant t'e heir of Mooseritge, ant of Satanstoe, ant
of Lilacsbush, ant of all t'e fine houses, ant stores, ant farms
t'at are in York ant up ant town t'e country, is not a suitaple
match for Dus Malbone!”
“This is so extraordinary a notion for you to take up,
Chainbearer, and so totally opposed to all I have ever before
heard from you on the subject, that I must be permitted to
ask where you got it?”
“From Dus Malbone, herself—yes, from her own mout',
ant in her own pretty manner of speech.”
“Has, then, the probability of my ever offering to your
niece been a subject of conversation between you?”
“T'at hast it—t'at hast it, ant time ant ag'in, too. Sit
town on t'at log of woot, ant listen to what I haf to say, ant
I will tell you t'e whole story. Susquesus, you neetn't go
off into t'at corner, like a gentleman as you pe; t'ought it is
only an Injin gentleman; for I haf no secrets from such a
frient as yourself. Come pack, t'en, Injin, ant take your
olt place, close at my site, where you haf so often peen
when t'e inemy wast chargin' us poltly in front.”—Sureflint
quietly did as desired, while Chainbearer turned towards me
and continued the discourse.—“You wilt see, Mortaunt,
poy, t'ese here are t'e fery facts ant trut' of t'e of t'e case. When
-- 126 --
[figure description] Page 126.[end figure description]
I came first from camp, ant I wast full of the prite, ant
aut'ority, ant feelin's of a soltier, I pegan to talk to Dus
apout you, as I hat peen accustomet to talk to you apout
Dus. Ant I tolt her what a fine, bolt, hantsome, generous,
well-principlet young fellow you wast,”—the reader will
overlook my repeating that to which the partiality of the
Chainbearer so readily gave utterance—“ant I tolt her of
your sarfice in t'e wars, ant of your wit, ant how you mate
us all laugh, t'ough we might pe marchin' into pattle, ant
what a fat'er you hat, ant what a grantfat'er, ant all t'at a
goot ant a warm frient ought to say of anot'er, when it wast
true, ant when it was tolt to a hantsome ant heart-whole
young woman t'at he wishet to fall in love wit' t'at fery
same frient. Well, I tolt t'is to Dus, not once, Mortaunt;
nor twice; put twenty times, you may depent on it.”
“Which makes me the more curious to hear what Dus
could, or did say in reply.”
“It's t'at reply, lat, t'at makes all t'e present tifficulty
petween us. For a long time Dus sait little or not'in'.
Sometimes she woult look saucy ant laugh—ant you know,
lat, t'e gal can do bot' of t'em t'ings as well as most young
women. Sometimes she woult pegin to sing a song, all
about fait'less young men, perhaps, ant proken-hearted virgins.
Sometimes she woult look sorrowful, ant I coult fint
tears startin' in her eyes; ant t'en I pecome as soft and
feeple-hearted as a gal, myself, to see one who smiles so
easily mate to shet tears.”
“But, how did all this end? What can possibly have
occurred, to cause this great change in your own wishes?”
“'Tis not so much my wishes t'at be changet, Mortaunt,
ast my opinion. If a poty coult haf t'ings just as he wishet,
lat, Dus ant you shoult pe man and wife, so far as it tepentet
on me, pefore t'e week ist out. Put, we are not our own
masters, nor t'e masters of what ist to happen to our nephews
and nieces, any more t'an we are masters of what
ist to happen to ourselves. Put, I wilt tell you just how it
happenet. One tay, as I wast talking to t'e gal in t'e olt
way, she listenet to all I hat to say more seriously t'an ast
common, ant when she answeret, it wast much in t'is manner:—
`I t'ank you from t'e pottom of my heart, uncle
Chainpearer,' she sait, `not only for all t'at you haf tone for
-- 127 --
[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]
me, t'e orphan da'ghter of your sister, put for all you wish
in my pehalf. I perceive t'at t'is itee of my marryin' your
young frient, Mr. Mortaunt Littlepage, hast a strong holt on
your feelin's, ant it ist time to talk seriously on t'at supject.
When you associatet with t'at young gen leman, uncle Chainpearer,
you wast captain Coejemans, of t'e New York state
line, ant his senior officer, ant it wast nat'ral to s'pose your
niece fit to pecome his wife. Put it ist our tuty to look at
what we now are, ant are likely to remain. Major Littlepage
hast a fa'ter ant a mot'er, I haf he'rt you say, uncle
Chainpearer, ant sisters, too; now marriage ist a most serious
t'ing. It ist to last for life, ant no one shoult form sich
a connection wit'out reflectin' on all its pearin's. It ist
hartly possiple t'at people in t'e prosperity ant happiness of
t'ese Littlepages woult wish to see an only son, ant t'e heir
of t'eir name ant estates, takin' for a wife a gal out of t'e
woots; one t'at ist not only a chainpearer's niece, put who
hast peen a chainpearer herself, ant who can pring into t'eir
family no one t'ing to compensate 'em for t'e sacrifice.”
“And you had the heart to be quiet, Andries, and let
Ursula say all this!”
“Ah! lat, how coult I help it? You woult have tone it
yourself, Mortaunt, coult you haf he'rt how prettily she
turnet her periots, as I haf he'rt you call it, ant how efery
syllaple she sait come from t'e heart. T'en t'e face of t'e
gal wast enough to convince me t'at she wast right; she
looket so 'arnest, ant sat, and peautiful, Mortaunt! No,
no; when an itee comes into t'e mint, wit' t'e ait of sich
worts and looks, my poy, 'tis not an easy matter to get rit
of it.”
“You do not seriously mean to say, Chainbearer, that
you will refuse me Dus?”
“Dus will do t'at herself, lat; for she ist still a chainpearer's
niece, ant you are still general Littlepage's son ant
heir. Try her, ant see what she wilt say.”
“But I have tried her, as you call it; have told her of
my love; have offered my hand, and—”
“Ant what?”
“Why she does not answer me as you say she answered
you.”
-- 128 --
[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]
“Hast t'e gal sait she woult haf you, Mortaunt? Hast
she said yes?”
“Conditionally she has. If my grandmother cheerfully
consent, and my parents do the same; and my sister Kettletas
and her husband, and my laughing, merry Kate, then
Dus will accept me.”
“T'is ist strange! Ah! I see how it is; t'e gal has seen
you, ant peen much wit' you, ant talket wit' you, ant sung
wit' you, ant laughet wit' you; ant I do s'pose, a'ter all, t'at
will make a tifference in her judgment of you. I 'm a pachelor,
Mortaunt, ant haf no wife, nor any sweetheart, put it
ist easy enough to comprehent how all t'ese matters must
make a fery great tifference. I 'm glat, howsefer, t'at t'e
tifference is not so great as to make t'e gal forget all your
frients; for if efery poty consents, and ist cheerful, why
t'en my pein' a chainbearer, and Dus' pein' so poor ant forsaken
like, will not pe so likely to pe rememperet hereafter,
and pring you pitter t'oughts.”
“Andries Coejemans, I swear to you, I would rather
become your nephew at this moment, than become the son-in-law
of Washington himself, had he a daughter.”
“T'at means you 'd rat'er haf Dus, t'an any ot'er gal of
your acquaintance. T'at's nat'ral enough, and may make
me look like His Excellency, for a time, in your eyes; put
when you come to t'ink and feel more coolly, my tear poy,
t'ere ist t'e tanger t'at you wilt see some tifference petween
t'e captain-general and commanter-in-chief of all t'e American
armies, ant a poor chainpearer, who in his pest tays
was nut'in' more t'an a captain in t'e New York line. I
know you lofe me, Mordaunt; put t'ere ist tanger t'at it
might not pe exactly an uncle and nephew's lofe in t'e long
run. I am only a poor Tutchman, when all is sait, wit'out
much etication, and wit' no money, and not much more
manners; while you 've peen to college, and pe college
l'arn't, and pe as gay ant gallant a spark as can pe fount in
t'e States, as we call t'e olt colonies now. Wast you a
Yankee, Mortaunt, I 'd see you marriet and unmarriet
twenty times, pefore I 'd own as much as t'is; put a man
may pe sensiple of his ignorance, ant pat etication, ant
weaknesses, wit'out wishin' to pe tolt of it to his face, and
laughed at apout it, py efery A B C scholar t'at comes out
-- 129 --
[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]
of New Englant. No, no—I 'm a poor Tutchman, I know;
and a potty may say as much to a frient, when he woult tie
pefore he woult own t'ere wast anyt'ing poor apout it to an
inimy.”
“I would gladly pursue this discourse, Andries, and bring
it to a happy termination,” I answered; “but here come the
squatters in a body, and I suppose some movement or proposal
from them is in the wind. We will defer our matter,
then; you remembering that I agree to none of your opinions
or decisions. Dus is to be mine, if indeed we can
protect her against the grasp of these wretches. I have
something to say on that subject, too; but this is not the
moment to utter it.”
Chainbearer seized my hand, and gave it a friendly
pressure, which terminated the discourse. On the subject
of the intentions of Thousandacres towards Dus, I was now
not altogether free from uneasiness; though the tumult
of rapturous feeling through which I had just passed,
drove it temporarily from my mind. I had no apprehensions
that Ursula Malbone would ever be induced, by ordinary
means, to become the wife of Zephaniah; but I trembled
as to what might be the influence of menaces against
her uncle and myself. Nor was I altogether easy on the
score of the carrying out of those menaces. It often happens
with crime, as in the commission of ordinary sins, that
men are impelled by circumstances, which drive them to
deeds from which they would have recoiled in horror, had
the consummation been directly presented to their minds,
without the intervention of any mediate causes. But the
crisis was evidently approaching, and I waited with as much
calmness as I could assume for its development. As for
Chainbearer, being still ignorant of the conversation I had
overheard in the mill, he had no apprehensions of evil from
the source of my greatest dread.
The day had advanced, all this time, and the sun had
set, and night was close upon us, as Tobit and his brethren
came to the door of our prison, and called upon Chainbearer
and myself to come forth, leaving Susquesus behind. We
obeyed with alacrity; for there was a species of liberty in
being outside of those logs, with my limbs unfettered, though
a vigilant watch was kept over us both. On each side of
-- 130 --
[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]
me walked an armed man, and Chainbearer was honoured
with a similar guard. For all this, old Andries cared but
little. He knew and I knew that the time could not be very
distant when we might expect to hear from Frank Malbone;
and every minute that went by added to our confidence in
this respect.
We were about half-way between the store-house and the
dwelling of Thousandacres, towards which our steps were
directed, when Andries suddenly stopped, and asked leave
to say a word to me in private. Tobit was at a loss how
to take this request; but, there being an evident desire to
keep on reasonably good terms with Chainbearer, after a
short pause he consented to form an extended ring with his
brothers, leaving me and my old friend in its centre.
“I'll tell you what I t'ink atvisaple in t'is matter,” commenced
Andries, in a sort of whisper. “It cannot pe long
afore Malpone will be pack wit' t'e posse ant constaples, ant
so fort'; now, if we tell t'ese rapscallions t'at we want taylight
to meet our inimies in, ant t'at we haf no stomach for
nightwork, perhaps t'ey'll carry us pack to gaol, ant so gif
more time to Frank to get here.”
“It will be much better, Chainbearer, to prolong our interview
with these squatters, so that you and I may be at
large, or at least not shut up in the store-house, when Malbone
makes his appearance. In the confusion we may even
escape and join our friends, which will be a thousand times
better than to be found within four walls.”
Andries nodded his head, in sign of acquiescence, and
thenceforth he seemed to aim at drawing things out, in order
to gain time, instead of bringing them to a speedy conclusion.
As soon as our discourse was ended, the young
men closed round us again, and we moved on in a body.
Darkness being so close upon us, Thousandacres had determined
to hold his court, this time, within the house, having
a care to a sufficient watchfulness about the door. There is
little variation in the internal distribution of the room of
what may be called an American cottage. About two-thirds
of the space is given to the principal apartment, which
contains the fire-place,[5] and is used for all the purposes of
-- 131 --
[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]
kitchen and sitting-room, while the rest of the building is
partitioned into three several subdivisions. One of these
subdivisions is commonly a small bed-room; another is the
buttery, and the third holds the stairs, or ladders, by which
to ascend to the loft, or to descend to the cellar. Such was
the arrangement of the dwelling of Thousandacres, and such
is the arrangement in thousands of other similar buildings
throughout the land. The thriving husbandman is seldom
long contented, however, with such narrow and humble accommodations;
but the framed house, of two stories in
height, and with five windows in front, usually soon succeeds
this cottage, in his case. It is rare, indeed, that any
American private edifice has more than five windows in
front, the few exceptions which do exist to the rule being
residences of mark, and the supernumerary windows are
generally to be found in wings. Some of our old, solid,
substantial, stone country houses occasionally stretch themselves
out to eight or nine apertures of this sort, but they
are rare. I cannot gossip here, however, about country
houses and windows, when I have matters so grave before
me to relate.
In the forest, and especially in the newer portions of New
York, the evenings are apt to be cool, even in the warm
months. That memorable night, I well remember, had a
sharpness about it that threatened even a frost, and Prudence
had lighted a fire on the yawning hearth of her rude
chimney. By the cheerful blaze of that fire, which was
renewed from time to time by dried brush, the American
frontier substitute for the fagot, were the scenes I am about
to mention enacted.
We found all the males, and several of the females, assembled
in the large apartment of the building I have described,
when Chainbearer and myself entered. The wife
of Tobit, with one or two of the sisterhood, however, were
absent; doubtless in attendance on Dus. Lowiny, I remarked,
stood quite near the fire, and the countenance of
the girl seemed to me to be saddened and thoughtful. I
trust I shall not be accused of being a coxcomb if I add,
that the idea crossed my mind, that the appearance and
manners of a youth, so much superior to those with whom
she was accustomed to associate, had made a slight
-- 132 --
[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]
impression on this girl's—I will not say heart, for imagination
would be the better word—and had awakened sympathies
that manifested themselves in her previous conduct; while
the shade that was now cast across her brow came quite as
much from the scene she had witnessed between myself and
Dus, near the rock, as from seeing me again a prisoner.
The friendship of this girl might still be of importance to
me, and still more so to Ursula, and I will acknowledge that
the apprehension of losing it was far from pleasant. I could
only wait for the developments of time, however, in order
to reach any certainty on this, as well as on other most interesting
topics.
Thousandacres had the civility to order us chairs, and we
took our seats accordingly. On looking round that grave
and attentive circle, I could trace no new signs of hostility;
but, on the contrary, the countenances of all seemed more
pacific than they were when we parted. I considered this
as an omen that I and my friend should receive some propositions
that tended towards peace. In this I was not mistaken;
the first words that were uttered having that character.
“It's time this matter atween us, Chainbearer,” commenced
Thousandacres, himself, “should be brought to
suthin' like an eend. It keeps the b'ys from their lumberin',
and upsets my whull family. I call myself a reasonable
man; and be as ready to settle a difficulty on as accommodatin'
tarms as any parson you 'll find by lookin' up and
down the land. Many is the difficulty that I 've settled in
my day; and I 'm not too old to settle 'em now. Sometimes
I 've fit it out, when I 've fell in with an obstinate
fellow; sometimes I 've left it out to men; and sometimes
I 've settled matters myself. No man can say he ever
know'd me refuse to hearken to reason, or know'd me to
gi'n up a just cause, so long as there was a morsel of a
chance to defend it. When overpowered by numbers, and
look'd down by your accursed law, as you call it, I 'll own
that, once or twice in my time, when young and inexper'enced,
I did get the worst of it; and so was obliged to sort
o' run away. But use makes parfect. I 've seen so much,
by seventy odd, as to have l'arnt to take time by the forelock,
and don't practyse delays in business. I look upon
-- 133 --
[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]
you, Chainbearer, as a man much like myself, reasonable,
exper'ne'd, and willin' to accommodate. I see not great
difficulty, therefore, in settlin' this matter on the spot, so as to
have no more hard feelin's or hot words atween us. Sich
be my notions; and I should like to hear your'n.”
“Since you speak to me, T'ousantacres, in so polite and
civil a manner, I 'm reaty to hear you, ant to answer in t'e
same temper,” returned old Andries, his countenance losing
much of the determined and angry expression with which
he had taken his seat in the circle. “T'ere ist nutin' t'at
more pecomes a man, t'an moteration; ant an olt man in
partic'lar. I do not t'ink, however, t'at t'ere ist much resemplance
petween you ant me, T'ousantacres, in any one
t'ing, except it pe in olt age. We're pot' of us pretty well
atvancet, ant haf reachet a time of life when it pehooves a
man to examine ant reflect on t'e great trut's t'at are to pe
fount in his piple. T'e piple ist a pook, Aaron, t'at ist not
enough re't in t'e woots; t'ough Almighty Got hast all t'e
same rights to t'e sarfices ant worship of his creatures in t'e
forest, as to t'e worship and sarfices of his creatures in t'e
settlements. I 'm not a tellin' you t'is, T'ousantacres, py
way of showin' off my own l'arnin'; for all I know on the
supject, myself, I haf got from Dus, my niece, who ist as
goot, ant as willin', ant as hanty in explainin' sich matters,
as any tominie I ever talket wit'. I wish you woult listen
to her, yourself; you and Prutence; when I t'ink you
woult allow t'at her tiscourse ist fery etifyin' ant improfin'.
Now you seem in t'e right temper, ist a goot time to pe
penefitet in t'at way; for t'ey tell me my niece ist here, ant
at hant.”
“She is; and I rej'ice that you have brought her name
into the discourse so 'arly; as it was my design to mention
it myself. I see we think alike about the young woman,
Chainbearer, and trust and believe she 'll be the means of
reconciling all parties, and of making us good fri'nds. I 've
sent for the gal; and she 'll soon be coming along, with
Tobit's wife, who sets by her wonderfully already.”
“Well, talkin' of wonterful t'ings, wonters wilt never
cease, I do believe!” Chainbearer exclaimed, for he really
believed that the family of the squatter was taken suddenly
with a `religious turn,' and that something like a
-- 134 --
[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]
conversion was about to occur. “Yes, yes; it ist so; we meet
wit' wonters when we least expect 'em; and t'at it is t'at
makes wonters so wonterful!”
eaf076v2.n5[5] At the present day, the cooking-stove has nearly superseded the
open fire-place.
CHAPTER X.
“Yet, Hastings, these are they
Who challenge to themselves thy country's love;
The true, the constant, who alone can weigh,
What glory should demand, or liberty approve!”
Akenside.
A pause succeeded this little opening, during which the
assembly was waiting for the arrival of Ursula Malbone,
and that semi-savage guardian that “set” so much by her,
as not to leave her out of sight for a moment. All that
time Thousandacres was ruminating on his own plans;
while old Andries was probably reflecting on the singular
circumstance that “wonters shoult pe so wonterful!” At
length a little bustle and movement occurred near the door,
the crowd collected in it opened, and Dus walked into the
centre of the room, her colour heightened by excitement,
but her step firm, and her air full of spirit. At first, the
blazing light affected her sight, and she passed a hand over
her eyes. Then looking around I met her gaze, and was
rewarded for all my anxiety by one of those glances, into
which affection knows how to infuse so much that is meaning
and eloquent. I was thus favoured for a moment only;
those eyes still turning until they met the fond answering
look of Chainbearer. The old man had arisen, and he now
received his niece in his arms as a parent would embrace a
beloved child.
That outpouring of feeling lasted but a little while. It
had been unpremeditated and impulsive, and was almost as
suddenly suppressed. It gave me, however, the happiness
of witnessing one of the most pleasant sights that man can
behold; that of youth, and beauty, and delicacy, and female
-- 135 --
[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]
tenderness, pouring out their feelings on the bosom of age—
on the ruder qualities of one, hardened in person by the
exposures of a life passed in the forest. To me the contrast
between the fair, golden hair of Dus, and the few straggling,
bleached locks of her uncle; the downy, peach-like cheek
of the girl, and the red, wrinkled, and sun-dried countenance
of Chainbearer, was perfectly delightful. It said how deep
must lie those sympathies of our nature, which could bring
together so closely two so differently constituted in all things,
and set at defiance the apparent tendencies of taste and
habit.
Dus suffered herself to be thus carried away by her feelings
for only a moment. Accustomed in a degree, as she
certainly was, to the rough associations of the woods, this
was the first time she had ever been confronted with such
an assembly, and I could see that she drew back into herself
with womanly reserve, as she now gazed around her,
and saw in what a wild and unwonted presence she stood.
Still, I had never seen her look so supremely lovely as she
did that evening, for she threw Pris. Bayard and Kate, with
all their advantages of dress, and freedom from exposure,
far into the shade. Perhaps the life of Ursula Malbone had
given to her beauty the very completeness and fulness, that
are most apt to be wanting to the young American girl, who
has been educated in the over-tender and delicate manner
of our ordinary parental indulgence. Of air and exercise
she had already enjoyed enough, and they had imparted to
her bloom and person, the richness and development that are
oftener found in the subordinate than in the superior classes
of the country.
As for Thousandacres, though he watched every movement
of Ursula Malbone with jealous interest, he said nothing
to interrupt the current of her feelings. As soon as
she left her uncle's arms, however, Dus drew back and took
the rude seat that I had placed for her close at Chainbearer's
side. I was paid for this little act of attention, by a sweet
smile from its subject, and a lowering look from the old
squatter, that admonished me of the necessity of being
cautious of manifesting too much of the interest I felt in the
beloved object before me. As is usual in assemblages composed
of the rude and unpractised, a long, awkward pause
-- 136 --
[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]
succeeded this introduction of Dus to our presence. After
a time, however, Aaron resumed the subject in hand.
“We 've met to settle all our difficulties, as I was sayin',”
observed Thousandacres, in a manner as deliberative and
considerate as if he were engaged in one of the most blameless
pursuits of life, the outward appearances of virtue and
vice possessing a surprising resemblance to each other —
“When men get together on sich a purpose, and in a right
spirit, it must be that there 's a fault somewhere, if what 's
right can't be come at atween 'em. What 's right atwixt
man and man is my creed, Chainbearer.”
“What 's right petween man ant man is a goot creet,
T'ousantacres; ant it 's a goot religion, too,” answered Andries,
coldly.
“That it is! — that it is! and I now see that you 're in a
reasonable temper, Chainbearer, and that there 's a prospect
of business in you. I despise a man that 's so set in his
notions that there 's no gettin' him to give in an inch in a
transaction—don't you hold to that too, captain Andries?”
“T'at tepents on what t'e notions pe. Some notions do
nopoty any goot, ant t'e sooner we 're rit of 'em t'e petter;
while some notions pe so fery excellent t'at a man hat pest
lay town his life as lay t'em town.”
This answer puzzled Thousandacres, who had no idea of
a man's ever dying for opinion's sake; and who was probably
anxious, just at that moment, to find his companion
sufficiently indifferent to principle, to make some sacrifices
to expediency. It was quite evident this man was disposed
to practise a ruse on this occasion, that is often resorted to
by individuals, and sometimes by States, when disposed to
gain a great advantage out of a very small right; that of
demanding much more than they expect to receive, and of
making a great merit of yielding points that they never had
the smallest claim to maintain. But, this disposition of the
squatter's will make itself sufficiently apparent as we proceed.
“I don't see any use in talkin' about layin' down lives,”
Thousandacres returned to Chainbearer's remark, “seein'
this is not a life and death transaction at all. The most that
can be made of squattin', give the law its full swing, is trespass
and damages, and them an't matters to frighten a man
-- 137 --
[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]
that has stood out ag'in 'em all his days. We 're pretty
much sich crittur's as sarcumstances make us. There be
men, I don't question, that a body can skear half out of
their wits with a writ, while a whull flock of sheep, skins
and wool united, wunt intimidate them that 's use to sich
things. I go on the principle of doin' what 's right, let the
law say what it will of the matter; and this is the principle
on which I wish to settle our present difficulty.”
“Name your tarms — name your tarms!” cried Chainbearer,
a little impatiently; “talkin' ist talkin', all t'e worlt
ofer, ant actin' ist actin'. If you haf anyt'ing to propose,
here we are reaty ant willin' to hear it.”
“That 's hearty, and just my way of thinkin' and feelin',
and I 'll act up to it, though it was the gospel of St. Paul
himself, and I was set on followin' it. Here, then, is the
case, and any man can understand it. There 's two rights
to all the land on 'arth, and the whull world over. One of
these rights is what I call a king's right, or that which depends
on writin's, and laws, and sich like contrivances; and
the other depends on possession. It stands to reason, that
fact is better than any writin' about it can be; but I 'm
willin' to put 'em on a footin' for the time bein', and for the
sake of accommodatin'. I go all for accommodatin' matters,
and not for stirrin' up ill blood; and that I tell Chainbearer,
b'ys, is the right spirit to presarve harmony and fri'ndship!”
This appeal was rewarded by a murmur of general approbation
in all that part of the audience which might be
supposed to be in the squatter interest, while the part that
might be called adverse, remained silent, though strictly attentive,
old Andries included.
“Yes, that 's my principles” — resumed Thousandacres,
taking a hearty draught of cider, a liquor of which he had
provided an ample allowance, passing the mug civilly to
Chainbearer, as soon as he had had his swallow — “Yes,
that 's my principles, and good principles they be, for them
that likes peace and harmony, as all must allow. Now, in
this matter afore us, general Littlepage and his partner
ripresents writin's, and I and mine ripresent fact. I don't
say which is the best, for I don't want to be hard on any
man's rights, and 'specially when the accommodatin' spirit
is up and doin'; but I 'm fact, and the gin'ral's pretty much
-- 138 --
[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]
writin's. But, difficulties has sprung up atwixt us, and it 's
high time to put 'em down. I look upon you, Chainbearer,
as the fri'nd of the t'other owners of this sile, and I'm now
ready to make proposals, or to hear them, just as it may
prove convenient.”
“I haf no proposals to make, nor any aut'ority to offer
t'em. I 'm nut'in here, put a chainpearer, wit' a contract
to survey t'e patent into small lots, ant t'en my tuty ist tone.
Put, here ist General Littlepage's only son, ant he ist empoweret,
I unterstant, to do all t'at ist necessary on t'is
tract, as t'e attorney—”
“He is and he isn't an attorney!” interrupted Thousandacres,
a little fiercely for one in whom `the accommodatin'
spirit was up.' At one moment he says he 's an attorney,
and at the next he isn't. I can't stand this onsartainty any
very great while.”
“Pooh, pooh! T'ousantacres,” returned Chainbearer,
coolly, “you 're frightenet at your own shatow; ant t'at
comes, let me telt you, from not lifing in `peace ant harmony,
' as you call it, youself, wit' t'e law. A man hast a
conscience, whet'er he pe a skinner or a cow-boy, or efen a
squatter; ant he hast it, pecause Got hast gifen it to him,
ant not on account of any sarfices of his own. T'at conscience
it is, t'at makes my young frient Mortaunt, here, an
attorney in your eyes, when he ist no more of a lawyer t'an
you pe yourself.”
“Why has he called himself an attorney, then, and why
do you call him one. An attorney is an attorney, in my
eyes, and little difference is there atween 'em. Rattlesnakes
would fare better in a clearin' of Thousandacres', than the
smartest attorney in the land!”
“Well, well, haf your own feelin's; for I s'pose Satan
has put 'em into you, ant talkin' won't pring t'em out. T'is
young gentleman, however, ist no attorney of t'e sort you
mean, olt squatter, put he hast peen a soltier, like myself,
ant in my own regiment, which wast his fat'ers, ant a prave
young man he ist ant wast, ant one t'at hast fou't gallantly
for liperty—”
“If he 's a fri'nd of liberty, he should be a fri'nd of
liberty's people; should give liberty and take liberty.
Now, I call it liberty to let every man have as much land
-- 139 --
[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]
as he has need on, and no more, keepin' the rest for them
that 's in the same sitiation. If he and his father be true
fri'nds of liberty, let 'em prove it like men, by giving up all
claims to any more land than they want. That 's what I
call liberty! Let every man have as much land as he 's
need on; that 's my religion, and it 's liberty, too.”[6]
“Why are you so moterate, T'ousantacres? why are you
so unreasonaply moterate? Why not say t'at efery man
hast a right to eferyt'ing he hast need of, ant so make him
comfortaple at once! T'ere is no wistom in toin' t'ings by
hafs, ant it ist always petter to surfey all t'e lant you want,
while t'e compass is set ant t'e chains pe goin'. It 's just as
much liperty to haf a right to share in a man's tollars, as to
share in his lants.”
“I don't go as far as that, Chainbearer,” put in Thousandacres,
with a degree of moderation that ought to put the
enemies of his principles to the blush. “Money is what a
man 'arns himself, and he has a right to it, and so I say let
him keep it; but land is necessary, and every man has a
right to as much as he has need on—I wouldn't give him an
acre more, on no account at all.”
“Put money wilt puy lant; ant, in sharin' t'e tollars, you
share t'e means of puyin' as much lant as a man hast neet
-- 140 --
[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]
of; t'en t'ere ist a great teal more lant ast money in t'is
country, ant, in gifin' a man lant, you only gif him t'at
which ist so cheap ant common, t'at he must pe a poor tefil
if he can't get all t'e lant he wants wit'out much trouple and
any squattin', if you wilt only gif him ever so little money.
No, no, T'ousantacres — you 're fery wrong; you shoult
pegin to tivite wit' t'e tollars, ant t'at wilt not tisturp society,
as tollars are in t'e pocket, ant go ant come efery day;
whereast lant is a fixture, ant some people lofe t'eir own
hills, ant rocks, ant trees—when t'ey haf peen long in a
family most especially.”
There was a dark scowl gathering on the brow of Thousandacres,
partly because he felt himself puzzled by the
upright and straight-forward common sense of Chainbearer,
and partly for a reason that he himself made manifest in the
answer that he quite promptly gave to my old friend's
remarks.
“No man need say anything ag'in squattin' that wants
to keep fri'nds with me,” Thousandacres put in, with certain
twitchings about the muscles of the mouth, that were
so many signs of his being in earnest. “I hold to liberty
and a man's rights, and that is no reason I should be deflected
on. My notions be other men's notions, I know,
though they be called squatters' notions. Congressmen
have held 'em, and will hold 'em ag'in, if they expect much
support, in some parts of the country, at election time. I
dare say the day will come, when governors will be found
to hold 'em.[7] Governors be but men a'ter all, and must
hold doctrines that satisfy men's wants, or they won't be
governors long. But all this is nuthin' but talk, and I want
to come to suthin' like business, Chainbearer. Here 's this
clearin', and here 's the lumber. Now, I 'm willin' to settle
on some sich tarms as these: I 'll keep the lumber, carryin'
it off as soon as the water gets to be high enough, agreein'
to pay for the privilege by not fellin' another tree, though I
must have the right to saw up sich logs as be cut and hauled
already; and then, as to the land and clearin', if the writin'
owners want 'em, they can have 'em by payin' for the betterments,
leavin' the price out to men in this neighbourhood,
-- 141 --
[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]
sin' city-bred folks can't know nothin' of the toil and labour
of choppin', and loggin', and ashin', and gettin' in, and croppin'
new lands.”
“Mortaunt, t'at proposal ist for you. I haf nut'in' to do
wit' t'e clearin' put to surfey it; and t'at much will I perform,
when I get as far ast t'e place, come t'ere goot, or
come t'ere efil of it.”
“Survey this clearin'!” put in Tobit, with his raven
throat, and certainly in a somewhat menacing tone. “No,
no, Chainbearer—the man is not out in the woods, that
could ever get his chain across this clearin'.”
“T'at man, I tell you, is Andries Coejemans, commonly
called Chainpearer,” answered my old friend, calmly. “No
clearin', ant no squatter, ever stoppet him yet, nor do I
t'ink he will pe stoppet here, from performin' his tuty. Put
praggin' is a pat quality, ant we 'll leaf time to show t'e
trut'.”
Thousandacres gave a loud hem, and looked very dark,
though he said nothing until time had been given to his
blood to resume its customary current. Then he pursued
the discourse as follows—evidently bent on keeping on good
terms with Chainbearer as long as possible.
“On the whull,” he said, “I rather think, Tobit, 't will
be best if you leave this matter altogether to me. Years
cool the blood, and allow time to reason to spread. Years
be as necessary to judgment as a top to a fruit-tree. I kind
o' b'lieve that Chainbearer and I, being both elderly and
considerate men, will be apt to get along best together. I
dare say, Chainbearer, that if the surveyin' of this clearin'
be put to you on the footin' of defiance, that your back
would get up, like any body else's, and you 'd bring on the
chain, let who might stand in your way. But, that's neither
here nor there. You 're welcome to chain out just as much
of this part of the patent as you see fit, and 't will help us
along so much the better when we come to the trade. Reason
's reason; and I 'm of an accommodatin' spirit.”
“So much t'e petter, T'ousantacres; yes, so much t'e
petter,” answered old Andries, somewhat mollified by the
conciliatory temper in which the squatter now delivered himself.
“When work ist to pe performet, it must be performet;
ant, as I'm hiret to surfey and chain t'e whole
-- 142 --
[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]
estate, t'e whole estate must pe chainet ant surfeyet. Well,
what else haf you to say?
“I 'm not answered as to my first offer. I 'll take the
lumber, agreein' not to cut another tree, and the valie of the
betterments can be left out to men.”
“I am the proper person to answer this proposal,” I
thought it now right to say, lest Andries and Thousandacres
should get to loggerheads again on some minor and immaterial
point, and thus endanger every hope of keeping the
peace until Malbone could arrive. “At the same time, I
consider it no more than right to tell you, at once, that I
have no power that goes so far as to authorize me to agree
to your terms. Both colonel Follock and my father have a
stern sense of justice, and neither, in my opinion, will feel
much of a disposition to yield to any conditions that, in the
least, may have the appearance of compromising any of
their rights as landlords. I have heard them both say that,
in these particulars, `yielding an inch would be giving an
ell,' and I confess that, from all I have seen lately of settlers
and settlements, I 'm very much of the same way of thinking.
My principals may concede something, but they 'll
never treat on a subject of which all the right is on their
own side.”
“Am I to understand you, young man, that you 're on-accommodatin',
and that my offers isn't to be listened to, in
the spirit in which they 're made?” demanded Thousandacres,
somewhat drily.
“You are to understand me as meaning exactly what I
say, sir. In the first place, I have no authority to accept
your offers, and shall not assume any, let the consequences
to myself be what they may. Indeed, any promises made
in duresse are good for nothing.”
“Anan!” cried the squatter. “This is Mooseridge
Patent, and Washington, late Charlotte County—and this
is the place we are to sign and seal in, if writin's pass
atween us.”
“By promises made in duresse, I mean promises made
while the party making them is in confinement, or not
absolutely free to make them, or not; such promises are
good for nothing in law, even though all the `writings' that
could be drawn passed between the parties.'
-- 143 --
[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]
“This is strange doctrine, and says but little for your
boasted law, then! At one time, it asks for writin's, and
nothin' but writin's will answer; and, then, all the writin's
on 'arth be of no account! Yet some folks complain, and
have hard feelin's, if a man wunt live altogether up to
law!”
“I rather think, Thousandacres, you overlook the objects
of the law, in its naked regulations. Law is to enforce the
right, and were it to follow naked rules, without regard to
principles, it might become the instrument of effecting the
very mischiefs it is designed to counteract.”
I might have spared myself the trouble of uttering this
fine speech; which caused the old squatter to stare at me in
wonder, and produced a smile among the young men, and a
titter among the females. I observed, however, that the
anxious face of Lowiny expressed admiration, rather than
the feeling that was so prevalent among the sisterhood.
“There 's no use in talkin' to this young spark, Chainbearer,”
Thousandacres said, a little impatiently in the way
of manner, too; “he 's passed his days in the open country,
and has got open-country ways, and notions, and talk;
and them 's things I don't pretend to understand. You 're
woods, mainly; he 's open country; and I 'm clearin'.
There 's a difference atween each; but woods and clearin'
come clussest; and so I 'll say my say to you. Be you,
now, r'ally disposed to accommodate, or not, old Andries?”
“Anyt'ing t'at ist right, ant just, ant reasonaple, T'ousantacres;
ant nut'in' t'at ist not.”
“That 's just my way of thinkin'! If the law, now,
would do as much as that for a man, the attorneys would
soon starve. Wa-a-l, we 'll try now to come to tarms, as soon
as possible. You 're a single man, I know, Chainbearer;
but I 've always supposed 't was on account of no dislike to
the married state; but because you didn't chance to light on
the right gal; or maybe on account of the surveyin' principle,
which keeps a man pretty much movin' about from
tract to tract; though not much more than squattin' doos,
neither, if the matter was inquired into.”
I understood the object of this sudden change from feesimples,
and possessions, and the `accommodatin' spirit,' to
matrimony; but Chainbearer did not. He only looked his
-- 144 --
[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]
surprise; while, as to myself, if I looked at all as I felt, I
must have been the picture of uneasiness. The beloved,
unconscious Dus, sat there in her maiden beauty, interested
and anxious in her mind, beyond all question, but totally
ignorant of the terrible blow that was meditated against
herself. As Andries looked his desire to hear more, instead
of answering the strange remark he had just heard, Thousandacres
proceeded—
“It 's quite nat'ral to think of matrimony afore so many
young folks, isn't it, Chainbearer?” added the squatter,
chuckling at his own conceits. “Here 's lots of b'ys and
gals about me; and I 'm just as accommodatin' in findin'
husbands or wives for my fri'nds and neighbours, as I am
in settlin' all other difficulties. Anything for peace and a
good neighbourhood is my religion!”
Old Andries passed a hand over his eyes, in the way one
is apt to do when he wishes to aid a mental effort by external
application. It was evident he was puzzled to find out
what the squatter would be at, though he soon put a question
that brought about something like an explanation.
“I ton't unterstant you, T'ousantacres;—no, I ton't understant
you. Is it your tesire to gif me one of your puxom
ant fine-lookin' gals, here, for a wife?”
The squatter laughed heartily at this notion, the young
men joining in the mirth; while the constant titter that the
females had kept up ever since the subject of matrimony
was introduced, was greatly augmented in zest. An indifferent
spectator would have supposed that the utmost good
feeling prevailed among us.
“With all my heart, Chainbearer, if you can persuade
any of the gals to have you!” cried Thousandacres, with
the most apparent acquiescence. “With such a son-in-law,
I don't know but I should take to the chain, a'ter all, and
measure out my clearin's as well as the grandee farmers,
who take pride in knowin' where their lines be. There 's
Lowiny, she 's got no spark, and might suit you well enough,
if she 'd only think so.”
“Lowiny don't think any sich thing; and isn't likely to
think any sich thing,” answered the girl, in a quick, irritated
manner.
“Wa-a-l, I do s'pose, a'ter all, Chainbearer,”
-- 145 --
[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]
Thousandacres resumed, “we 'll get no weddin' out of you. Threescore
and ten is somewhat late for takin' a first wife; though
I 've known widowers marry ag'in when hard on upon
ninety. When a man has taken one wife in 'arly life, he
has a kind o' right to another in old age.”
“Yes—yes—or a hundred either,” put in Prudence, with
spirit. “Give 'em a chance only, and they 'll find wives
as long as they can find breath to ask women to have 'em!
Gals, you may make up your minds to that—no man will
mourn long for any on you, a'ter you 're once dead and
buried.”
I should think this little sally must have been somewhat
common, as neither the “b'ys” nor the “gals” appeared to
give it much attention. These matrimonial insinuations
occur frequently in the world, and Prudence was not the
first woman, by a million, who had ventured to make them.
“I will own I was not so much thinkin' of providin' a
wife for you, Chainbearer, as I was thinkin' of providin' one
for a son of mine,” continued Thousandacres. “Here 's
Zephaniah, now, is as active and hard-workin', upright, honest
and obedient a young man as can be found in this
country. He 's of suitable age, and begins to think of a
wife. I tell him to marry, by all means, for it 's the blessedest
condition of life, is the married state, that man ever
entered into. You wouldn't think it, perhaps, on lookin' at
old Prudence, there, and beholdin' what she now is; but I
speak from exper'ence in recommendin' matrimony; and I
wouldn't, on no account, say what I didn't really think in
the matter. A little matrimony might settle all our difficulties,
Chainbearer.”
“You surely do not expect me to marry your son Zepaniah,
I must s'pose, T'ousantacres!” answered Andries, innocently.
The laugh, this time, was neither as loud nor as general
as before, intense expectation rendering the auditors grave.
“No, no; “I 'll excuse you from that, of a sartainty, old
Andries; though you may have Lowiny, if you can only
prevail on the gal. But, speakin' of Zephaniah, I can r'ally
ricommend the young man; a thing I 'd never do if he didn't
desarve it, though he is my son. No one can say that I 'm
in the habit of ever ricommendin' my own things, even to
-- 146 --
[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]
the boards. The lumber of Thousandacres is as well known
in all the markets below, they tell me, as the flour of any
miller in the highest credit. It 's just so with the b'ys, better
lads is not to be met with; and I can ricommend Zephaniah
with just as much confidence as I could ricommend
any lot of boards I ever rafted.”
“And what haf I to do wit' all t'is?” asked Chainbearer,
gravely.
“Why, the matter is here, Chainbearer, if you 'll only
look a little into it. There 's difficulty atween us, and pretty
serious difficulty, too. In me the accommodatin' spirit is
up, as I 've said afore, and am willin' to say ag'in. Now,
I 've my son Zeph, here, as I 've said, and he 's lookin'
about for a wife; and you 've a niece here—Dus Malbone,
I s'pose is her name—and they'd just suit each other. It
seems they 're acquainted somewhat, and have kept company
some time already, and that 'll make things smooth.
Now, what I offer is just this, and no more; not a bit of it.
I offer to send off for a magistrate, and I 'll do 't at my own
expense; it shan't cost you a farthin'; and, as soon as the
magistrate comes, we 'll have the young folks married on
the spot, and that will make etarnal peace for ever, as you
must suppose, atween you and me. Wa-a-l, peace made
atween us, 'twill leave but little to accommodate with the
writin' owners of the sile, seein' that you 're on tarms with
'em all, that a body may set you down all as one as bein' of
the same family, like. If gin'ral Littlepage makes a p'int of
any thing of the sort, I 'll engage no one of my family, in
all futur' time, shall ever squat on any lands he may happen
to lay claim to, whether he owns 'em or not.”
I saw quite plainly that, at first, Chainbearer did not fully
comprehend the nature of the squatter's proposal. Neither
did Dus, herself; though somewhat prepared for such a
thing by her knowledge of Zephaniah's extravagant wishes
on the subject. But, when Thousandacres spoke plainly of
sending for a magistrate, and of having the “young folks
married on the spot,” it was not easy to mistake his meaning,
and astonishment was soon succeeded by offended pride,
in the breast of old Andries, and that to a degree and in a
manner I had never before witnessed in him. Perhaps I
ought, in justice to my excellent friend, to add, that his high
-- 147 --
[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]
principles and keen sense of right, were quite as much
wounded by the strange proposal as his personal feelings.
It was some time before he could or would speak; when he
did, it was with a dignity and severity of manner which I
really had no idea he could assume. The thought of Ursula
Malbone's being sacrificed to such a being as Zephaniah,
and such a family as the squatter's, shocked all his sensibilities,
and appeared, for a moment, to overcome him. On the
other hand, nothing was plainer than that the breed of Thousandacres
saw no such violation of the proprieties in their
scheme. The vulgar, almost invariably, in this country,
reduce the standard of distinction to mere money; and, in
this respect they saw, or fancied they saw, that Dus was
not much better off than they were themselves. All those
points which depended on taste, refinement, education, habits
and principles, were Hebrew to them; and, quite as a matter
of course, they took no account of qualities they could
neither see nor comprehend. It is not surprising, therefore,
that they could imagine the young squatter might make a
suitable husband to one who was known to have carried
chain in the forest.
“I pelieve I do pegin to unterstant you, T'ousantacres,”
said the Chainbearer, rising from his chair, and moving to
the side of his niece, as if instinctively to protect her;
“t'ough it ist not a fery easy t'ing to comprehent such a
proposal. You wish Ursula Malpone to pecome t'e wife of
Zephaniah T'ousantacres, ant t'ereupon you wish to patch
up a peace wit' General Littlepage and Colonel Follock, ant
optain an intemnity for all t'e wrong ant roppery you haf
done 'em—”
“Harkee, old Chainbearer; you 'd best be kearful of
your language—”
“Hear what t'at language ist to pe, pefore you interrupt
me, T'ousantacres. A wise man listens pefore he answers.
Alt'ough I haf nefer peen marriet, myself, I know what ist
tecent in pehaviour, ant, t'erefore, I wilt t'ank you for t'e
wish of pein' connectet wit' t'e Coejemans ant t'e Malpones.
T'at tuty tone, I wish to say t'at my niece wilt not haf your
poy—”
“You haven't given the gal a chance to speak for herself,”
cried Thousandacres, at the top of his voice, for he
-- 148 --
[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]
began to be agitated now with a fury that found a little vent
in that manner. “You haven't given the gal a chance to
answer for herself, old Andries. Zeph is a lad that she
may go farther and fare worse, afore she 'll meet his equal,
I can tell you, though perhaps, bein' the b'y's own father, I
shouldn't say it—but, in the way of accommodatin', I 'm
willin' to overlook a great deal.”
“Zephaniah 's an excellent son,” put in Prudence, in the
pride and feeling of a mother, nature having its triumph in
her breast as well as in that of the most cultivated woman
of the land. “Of all my sons, Zephaniah is the best; and
I account him fit to marry with any who don't live in the
open country, and with many that do.”
“Praise your goots, ant extol your poy, if you see fit,”
answered Chainbearer, with a calmness that I knew bespoke
some desperate resolution. “Praise your goots, ant extol
your poy; I 'll not teny your right to do as much of t'at as
you wish; put t'is gal wast left me py an only sister on her
tyin' pet, ant may Got forget me, when I forget the tuty I
owe to her. She shalt nefer marry a son of T'ousantacres—
she shalt nefer marry a squatter—she shalt nefer marry
any man t'at ist not of a class, ant feelin's, ant hapits, ant
opinions, fit to pe t'e huspant of a laty!”
A shout of derision, in which was blended the fierce
resentment of mortified pride, arose among that rude crew,
but the thundering voice of Thousandacres made itself
audible, even amid the hellish din.
“Beware, Chainbearer; beware how you aggravate us;
natur' cant and won't bear every thing.”
“I want nut'in' of you, or yours, T'ousantacres,” calmly
returned the old man, passing his arm around the waist of
Dus, who clung to him, with a cheek that was flushed to
fire, but an eye that was not accustomed to quail, and who
seemed, at that fearful moment, every way ready and able
to second her uncle's efforts. “You 're nut'in' to me, ant
I 'll leaf you here, in your misteets ant wicket t'oughts.
Stant asite, I orter you. Do not tare to stop t'e brot'er who
is apout to safe his sister's da'ghter from pecomin' a squatter's
wife. Stant asite, for I 'll stay wit' you no longer.
An hour or two hence, miseraple Aaron, you 'll see t'e
folly of all t'is, ant wish you hat livet an honest man.”
-- 149 --
[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]
By this time the clamour of voices became so loud and
confused, as to render it impossible to distinguish what was
said. Thousandacres actually roared like a maddened bull,
and he was soon hoarse with uttering his menaces and maledictions.
Tobit said less, but was probably more dangerous.
All the young men seemed violently agitated, and bent on
closing the door on the exit of the Chainbearer; who, with
his arm around Dus, still slowly advanced, waving the
crowd aside, and commanding them to make way for him,
with a steadiness and dignity that I began to think would
really prevail. In the midst of this scene of confusion, a
rifle suddenly flashed; the report was simultaneous, and old
Andries Coejemans fell.
eaf076v2.n6[6] I am a little apprehensive that the profound political philosophers
who have sprung up among us within a few years, including some
in high places, and who virtually maintain that the American is so
ineffably free, that it is opposed to the spirit of the institutions of the
country, to suffer him to be either landlord or tenant, however much
he may desire it himself (and no one pretends that either law or facts
compel him to be either, contrary to his own wishes), will feel mortified
at discovering that they have not the merit of first proposing
their own exquisite theory; Aaron Thousandacres having certainly
preceded them by sixty years. There is no great secret on the subject
of the principle which lies at the bottom of this favourite doctrine,
the Deity himself having delivered to man, as far back as the
days of Moses, the tenth commandment, with the obvious design of
controlling it. An attempt to prove that the institutions of this
country are unsuited to the relations of landlord and tenant, is an
attempt to prove that they are unsuited to meet the various contingencies
of human affairs, and is an abandonment of their defence,
as that defence can only be made on broad, manly, and justifiable
grounds. As a political principle, it is just as true that the relations
of debtor and creditor are unsuited to the institutions, and ought to
be abolished.—Editor.
eaf076v2.n7[7] Thousandacres speaks here like a veritable prophet.—Editor.
CHAPTER XI.
“Ye midnight shades, o'er nature spread!
Dumb silence of the dreary hour!
In honour of th' approaching dead,
Around your awful terrors pour.
Yes, pour around,
On this pale ground,
Through all this deep surrounding gloom,
The sober thought,
The tear untaught,
Those meetest mourners at a tomb.”
Mallet.
It is a law of human nature, that the excesses of passion
bring their own rebukes. The violence of man feeds itself,
until some enormity committed under its influence suddenly
rises before the transgressor, as the evidence of his blindness
and the restorer of his senses. Guilt performs the
office of reason, staying the hand, stilling the pulses, and
arousing the conscience.
Thus it seemed to be with the squatters of Mooseridge.
A stillness so profound succeeded the crack of that rifle,
that I heard the stifled breathing of Dus, as she stood over
the body of her uncle, astounded, and almost converted into
a statue by the suddenness of the blow. No one spoke; no
-- 150 --
[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]
one attempted to quit the place; in fact, no one moved. It
was never known who fired that shot. At first I ascribed it
to the hand of Tobit; but it was owing more to what I knew
of his temper and character, than to what I knew of his
acts at that particular time. Afterwards, I inclined to the
opinion that my friend had fallen by the hand of Thousandacres
himself; though there were no means of bringing it
home to him by legal proof. If any knew who was the
criminal, besides the wretch who executed the deed, the fact
was never revealed. That family was faithful to itself, and
seemed determined to stand or fall together. In the eye of
the law, all who were present, aiding and abetting in the
unlawful detention of Dus and her uncle, were equally
guilty; but the hand on which the stain of blood rested in
particular, was never dragged to light.
My first impulse, as soon as I could recollect myself, was
to pass an arm around the waist of Dus and force her
through the crowd, with a view to escape. Had this attempt
been persevered in, I think it would have succeeded, so profound
was the sensation made, even upon those rude and
lawless men, by the deed of violence that had just been
done. But Dus was not one to think of self at such a
moment. For a single instant her head fell on my shoulders,
and I held her to my bosom, while I whispered my wish for
her to fly. Then raising her head, she gently extricated
her person from my arms, and knelt by the side of her
uncle.
“He breathes!” she said huskily, but hastily. “God be
praised, Mordaunt, he still breathes. The blow may not be
as heavy as we at first supposed; let us do what we can to
aid him.”
Here were the characteristic decision and thoughtfulness
of Ursula Malbone! Rising quickly, she turned to the
group of silent but observant squatters, and appealed to any
remains of humanity that might still be found in their
bosoms, to lend their assistance. Thousandacres stood foremost
in the dark cluster at the door, looking grimly at the
motionless body, over which Dus stood, pale and heart-stricken,
but still calm and collected.
“The hardest-hearted man among you will not deny a
daughter's right to administer to a parent's wants!” she
-- 151 --
[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]
said, with a pathos in her voice, and a dignity in her manner,
that filled me with love and admiration, and which had a
visible effect on all who heard her. “Help me to raise my
uncle and to place him on a bed, while Major Littlepage
examines his hurt. You 'll not deny me this little comfort,
Thousandacres, for you cannot know how soon you may
want succour yourself!”
Zephaniah, who certainly had no hand in the murder of
Chainbearer, now advanced; and he, myself, Lowiny and
Dus, raised the still motionless body, and placed it on the
bed of Prudence, which stood in the principal room. There
was a consultation among the squatters, while we were thus
employed, and one by one the family dropped off, until no
one was left in the house but Thousandacres, and his wife,
and Lowiny; the latter remaining with Dus, as a useful and
even an affectionate assistant. The father sate, in moody
silence, on one side of the fire, while Prudence placed herself
on the other. I did not like the aspect of the squatter's
countenance, but he said and did nothing. It struck me that
he was brooding over the facts, nursing his resentments by
calling up fancied wrongs to his mind, and plotting for the
future. If such was the case, he manifested great nerve,
inasmuch as neither alarm nor hurry was, in the slightest
degree, apparent in his mien. Prudence was dreadfully
agitated. She said nothing, but her body worked to and fro
with nervous excitement; and occasionally a heavy, but
suppressed groan struggled through her efforts to resist it.
Otherwise, she was as if not present.
I had been accustomed to seeing gun-shot wounds, and
possessed such a general knowledge of their effects as to
be a tolerable judge of what would, and what would not, be
likely to prove fatal. The first look I took at the hurt of
Chainbearer convinced me there could be no hope for his
life. The ball had passed between two of the ribs, and
seemed to me to take a direction downwards; but it was
impossible to miss the vitals with a wound commencing at
that point on the human body. The first shock of the injury
had produced insensibility; but we had hardly got the sufferer
on the bed, and applied a little water to his lips, ere he
revived; soon regaining his consciousness, as well as the
power to speak. Death was on him, however; and it was
-- 152 --
[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]
very obvious to me that his hours were numbered. He
might live days, but it was not possible for him to survive.
“Got pless you, Mortaunt,” my old friend murmured,
after my efforts had thus partially succeeded. “Got for
ever pless ant preserf you, poy, ant repay you for all your
kintness to me ant mine. T'em squatters haf killet me, lat;
put I forgif t'em. T'ey are an ignorant, ant selfish, and
prutal preed; ant I may haf triet 'em too sorely. Put Dus
can never pecome t'e wife of any of t'e family.”
As Zephaniah was in the room, though not near the bed
at the moment, I was anxious to change the current of the
wounded man's thoughts; and I questioned him as to the
nature of his hurt, well knowing that Chainbearer had seen
so many soldiers in situations similar to his own unhappy
condition, as to be a tolerable judge of his actual state.
“I 'm killet, Mortaunt,” old Andries answered, in a tone
even firmer than that in which he had just spoken. “Apout
t'at, t'ere can pe no mistake. T'ey haf shot t'rough my
rips, ant t'rough my vitals; ant life is impossible. But t'at
does not matter much to me, for I am an olt man now, hafin'
lifet my t'ree-score years ant ten—no, t'at is no great
matter, t'ough some olt people cling to life wit' a tighter grip
t'an t'e young. Such ist not my case, howsefer; ant I am
reaty to march when t'e great wort of commant comet'. I
am fery sorry, Mortaunt, t'at t'is accitent shoult happen
pefore t'e patent hast peen fully surfeyet; put I am not pait
for t'e work t'at is finishet, ant it ist a great comfort to me
to know I shall not tie in tebt. I owe you, ant I owe my
goot frient t'e general, a great teal for kintnesses, I must
confess; put, in t'e way of money, t'ere wilt be no loss by
t'is accitent.”
“Mention nothing of this sort, I do entreat of you,
Chainbearer; I know my father would gladly give the best
farm he owns to see you standing, erect and well, as you
were twenty minutes since.”
“Well, I tares to say, t'at may be true, for I haf always
fount t'e general to pe friently and consiterate. I wilt tell
you a secret, Mortaunt, t'at I haf nefer pefore revealet to
mortal man, put which t'ere ist no great use in keepin' any
longer, ant which I shoult have peen willing to haf tolt
-- 153 --
[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]
long ago, hat not t'e general himself mate it a p'int t'at I
shoult not speak of it—”
“Perhaps it might be better, my good friend, were you
to tell me this secret another time. Talking may weary
and excite you; whereas, sleep and rest may possibly do
you service.”
“No, no, poy—t'e hope of t'at ist all itleness ant vanity.
I shalt nefer sleep ag'in, tilt I sleep t'e last long sleep of
teat'; I feelt sartain my wount ist mortal, and t'at my time
must soon come. Nefert'eless, it doesn't gif me pain to
talk; and, Mortaunt, my tear lat, fri'nts t'at pe apout to
part for so long a time, ought not to part wit'out sayin' a
wort to one anot'er pefore separation. I shoult pe glat, in
partic'lar, to telt to a son all t'e kintness and fri'ntship I
have receivet from his fat'er. You know fery well, yourself,
Mortaunt, t'at I am not great at figures; and why it
shoult pe so, ist a wonter ant a surprise to me, for my
grantfat'er Van Syce was a wonterful man at arit'metic,
and t'e first Cojemans in t'is country, t'ey say, kept all t'e
tominie's accounts for him! Put, let t'at pe ast it wast, I
nefer coult do any t'ing wit' figures; ant, it ist a secret not
to pe concealet now, Mortaunt, t'at I nefer coult haf helt
my commission of captain six weeks, put for your own
fat'er's kintness to me. Fintin' out how impossible it wast
for me to get along wit' arit'metic, he offeret to do all t'at
sort of tuty for me, ant t'e whole time we wast toget'er,
seven long years ant more, Colonel Littlepage mate out t'e
reports of Cojeman's company. Capital goot reports was
t'ey, too, and t'e atmiration of all t'at see t'em; and I often
felt ashamet like, when I he'rt t'em praiset, and people wonterin'
how an olt Tutchman ever l'arnet to do his tuty so
well! I shalt nefer see t'e general ag'in, ant I wish you to
tell him t'at Andries tit not forget his gootness to him, to
t'e latest preat t'at he trew.”
“I will do all you ask of me, Chainbearer—surely it
must give you pain to talk so much?”
“Not at all, poy;—not at all. It is goot to t'e poty to
lighten t'e soul of its opligations. Ast I see, howsefer,
t'at Dus ist trouplet, I wilt shut my eyes, ant look into my
own t'oughts a little, for I may not tie for some hours
yet.”
-- 154 --
[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]
It sounded fearful to me to hear one I loved so well speak
so calmly, and with so much certainty of his approaching
end. I could see that Ursula almost writhed under the
agony these words produced in her; yet that noble-minded
creature wore an air of calmness, that might have deceived
one who knew her less well than she was known to me.
She signed for me to quit the side of the bed, in the vain
hope that her uncle might fall asleep, and placed herself
silently on a chair, at hand, in readiness to attend to his
wants. As for me, I took the occasion to examine the
state of things without, and to reflect on what course I
ought to take, in the novel and desperate circumstances in
which we were so unexpectedly placed: the time for something
decisive having certainly arrived.
It was now near an hour after the deed had been done—
and there sat Thousandacres and his wife, one on each
side of the fire, in silent thought. As I turned to look at
the squatters, and the father of squatters, I saw that his
countenance was set in that species of sullen moodiness,
which might well be taken as ominous in a man of his
looseness of principle and fierceness of temperament. Nor
had the nervous twitchings of Prudence ceased. In a word,
both of these strange beings appeared at the end of that
hour just as they had appeared at its commencement. It
struck me, as I passed them in moving towards the door,
that there was even a sublimity in their steadiness in guilt.
I ought, however, in some slight degree to except the woman,
whose agitation was some proof that she repented of what
had been done. At the door, itself, I found no one; but,
two or three of the young men were talking in a low tone
to each other at no great distance. Apparently they had
an eye to what was going on within the building. Still no
one of them spoke to me, and I began to think that the
crime already committed had produced such a shock, that
no further wrong to any of us was contemplated, and that
I might consider myself at liberty to do and act as I saw
fit. A twitch at my sleeve, however, drew my look aside,
and I saw Lowiny cowering within the shadows of the
house, seemingly eager to attract my attention. She had
been absent some little time, and had probably been listening
to the discourse of those without.
-- 155 --
[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]
“Don't think of venturing far from the house,” the girl
whispered. “The evil spirit has got possession of Tobit;
and he has just sworn the same grave shall hold you, and
Chainbearer, and Dus. `Graves don't turn State's evidence,'
he says. I never know'd him to be so awful as he is to
night; though he 's dreadful in temper when anything goes
amiss.”
The girl glided past me as she ceased her hurried communication,
and the next instant she was standing quietly
at the side of Dus, in readiness to offer her assistance in any
necessary office for the sick. I saw that she had escaped
notice, and then reconnoitred my own position with some
little care.
By this time the night had got to be quite dark; and it
was impossible to recognise persons at the distance of twenty
feet. It is true, one could tell a man from a stump at twice
that number of yards, or even further; but the objects of
the rude clearing began to be confounded together in a way
to deprive the vision of much of its customary power. That
group of young men, as I suppose, contained the formidable
Tobit; but I could be by no means certain of the fact
without approaching quite near to it. This I did not like to
do, as there was nothing that I desired particularly to say
to any of the family at that moment. Could they have
known my heart, the squatters would have felt no uneasiness
on the subject of my escaping; for were Dus quite out
of the question, as she neither was nor could be, it would be
morally impossible for me to desert the Chainbearer in his
dying moments. Nevertheless, Tobit and his brethren did
not know this; and it might be dangerous for me to presume
too far on the contrary supposition.
The darkness was intensest near the house, as a matter
of course; and I glided along close to the walls of logs until
I reached an angle of the building, thinking the movement
might be unseen. But I got an assurance that I was watched
that would admit of no question, by a call from one of the
young men, directing me not to turn the corner or to go out
of sight in any direction, at the peril of my life. This was
plain speaking; and it induced a short dialogue between us;
in which I avowed my determination not to desert my
friends—for the Chainbearer would probably not outlive the
-- 156 --
[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]
night—and that I felt no apprehension for myself. I was
heated and excited, and had merely left the house for air;
if they offered no impediment I would walk to and fro near
them for a few minutes, solely with a view to refresh my
feverish pulses; pledging my word to make no attempt at
escape. This explanation, with the accompanying assurance,
seemed to satisfy my guard; and I was quietly permitted
to do as I had proposed.
The walk I selected was between the group of squatters
and the house, and at each turn it necessarily brought me
close to the young men. At such moments I profited by
my position to look in through the door of the dwelling at
the motionless form of Dus, who sat at the bedside of her
uncle in the patient, silent, tender, and attentive manner of
woman, and whom I could plainly see in thus passing.
Notwithstanding the fidelity of my homage to my mistress
at these instants, I could perceive that the young men uniformly
suspended the low dialogue they were holding together,
as I approached them, and as uniformly renewed it as
I moved away. This induced me gradually to extend my
walk, lengthening it a little on each end, until I may have
gone as far as a hundred feet on each side of the group,
which I took for the centre. To have gone farther would
have been imprudent, as it might seem preparatory to an
attempt at escape, and to a consequent violation of my word.
In this manner, then, I may have made eight or ten
turns in as many minutes, when I heard a low, hissing sound
near me, while at the extremity of one of my short promenades.
A stump stood there, and the sound came from
the root of this stump. At first I fancied I had encroached
on the domain of some serpent; though animals of that
species, which would be likely to give forth such a menace,
were even then very rare among us. But my uncertainty
was soon relieved.
“Why you no stop at stump?” said Susquesus, in a voice
so low as not to be heard at the distance of ten feet, while
it was perfectly distinct and not in a whisper. “Got sut'in'
tell—glad to hear.”
“Wait until I can make one or two more turns; I will
come back in a moment,” was my guarded answer.
Then I continued my march, placing myself against a
-- 157 --
[figure description] Page 157.[end figure description]
stump that stood at the other end of my walk, remaining
leaning there for an entire minute or two, when I returned,
passing the young men as before. This I did three several
times, stopping at each turn, as if to rest or to reflect; and
making each succeeding halt longer than the one that had
preceded it. At length I took my stand against the very
stump that concealed the Indian.
“How came you here, Susquesus?” I asked; “and are
you armed?”
“Yes; got good rifle. Chainbearer's gun. He no want
him any longer, eh?”
“You know then what has happened? Chainbearer is
mortally wounded.”
“Dat bad—must take scalp to pay for dat! Ole fri'nd—
good fri'nd. Always kill murderer.”
“I beg nothing of the sort will be attempted; but how
came you here?—and how came you armed?”
“Jaap do him — come and break open door. Nigger
strong—do what he like to. Bring rifle—say take him.
Wish he come sooner—den Chainbearer no get kill. We
see!”
I thought it prudent to move on by the time this was said;
and I made a turn or two ere I was disposed to come to another
halt. The truth, however, was now apparent to me.
Jaap had come in from the forest, forced the fastenings of
the Onondago's prison, given him arms, and they were both
out in the darkness, prowling round the buildings, watching
for the moment to strike a blow, or an opportunity to communicate
with me. How they had ascertained the fact of
Chainbearer's being shot, I was left to conjecture; though
Susquesus must have heard the report of the rifle; and an
Indian, on such a night as that, left to pursue his own course,
would soon ascertain all the leading points of any circumstance
in which he felt an interest.
My brain was in a whirl as all these details presented
themselves to my mind, and I was greatly at a loss to decide
on my course. In order to gain time for reflection, I stopped
a moment at the stump, and whispered to the Onondago a
request, that he would remain where he was until I could
give him his orders. An expressive “good” was the answer
I received; and I observed that the Indian crouched
-- 158 --
[figure description] Page 158.[end figure description]
lower in his lair, like some fierce animal of the woods, that
restrained his impatience, in order to make his leap, when
it did come, more certain and fatal.
I had now a little leisure for reflection. There lay poor
Chainbearer, stretched on his death-pallet, as motionless as
if the breath had already left his body. Dus maintained
her post, nearly as immovable as her uncle; while Lowiny
stood at hand, manifesting the sympathy of her sex in the
mourning scene before her. I caught glimpses, too, in passing,
of Thousandacres and Prudence. It appeared to me
as if the first had not stirred, from the moment when he had
taken his seat on the hearth. His countenance was as set,
his air as moody, and his attitude as stubborn, as each had
been in the first five minutes after the chainbearer fell.
Prudence, too, was as unchanged as her husband. Her
body continued to rock, in nervous excitement, but not once
had I seen her raise her eyes from the stone of the rude
hearth, that covered nearly one-half of the room. The fire
had nearly burned down, and no one replenishing the brush
which fed it, a flickering flame alone remained to cast its
wavering light over the forms of these two consciencestricken
creatures, rendering them still more mysterious and
forbidding. Lowiny had indeed lighted a thin, miserable
candle of tallow, such as one usually sees in the lowest
habitations; but it was placed aside, in order to be removed
from before the sight of the supposed slumberer, and added
but little to the light of the room. Notwithstanding, I could
and did see all I have described, stopping for some little
time at a point that commanded a view of the interior of the
house.
Of Dus, I could ascertain but little. She was nearly immovable
at the bed-side of her uncle, but her countenance
was veiled from my view. Suddenly, and it was at one of
those moments when I had stopped in front of the building,
she dropped on her knees, buried her face in the coverlet,
and became lost in prayer. Prudence started, as she saw
this act; then she arose, after the fashion of those who imagine
they have contributed to the simplicity, and consequently
to the beauty of worship, by avoiding the ceremony
of kneeling to Almighty God, and stood erect, moving to
and fro, as before, her tall, gaunt figure, resembling some
-- 159 --
[figure description] Page 159.[end figure description]
half-decayed hemlock of the adjacent forest, that has lost
the greater portion of its verdure, rocked by a tempest. I
was touched, notwithstanding, at this silent evidence that
the woman retained some of the respect and feeling for the
services of the Deity, which, though strangely blended with
fanaticism and a pertinacious self-righteousness, no doubt
had a large influence in bringing those who belonged to her
race across the Atlantic, some five or six generations previously
to her own.
It was just at this instant that I recognised the voice of
Tobit, as he advanced towards the group composed of his
brethren; and speaking to his wife, who accompanied him
as far as his father's habitation, and there left him, apparently
to return to her own. I did not distinguish what was
said, but the squatter spoke sullenly, and in the tone of one
whose humour was menacing. Believing that I might meet
with some rudeness of a provoking character from this man,
should he see me walking about in the manner I had now
been doing for near a quarter of an hour, ere he had the
matter explained, I thought it wisest to enter the building,
and effect an object I had in view, by holding a brief conversation
with Thousandacres.
This determination was no sooner formed than I put it in
execution; trusting that the patience of the Indian, and
Jaap's habits of obedience, would prevent anything like an
outbreak from them, without orders. As I re-entered the
room, Dus was still on her knees, and Prudence continued
erect, oscillating as before, with her eyes riveted on the
hearth. Lowiny stood near the bed, and I thought, like her
mother, she was in some measure mingling in spirit, with
the prayer.
“Thousandacres,” I commenced in a low voice, drawing
quite near to the squatter, and succeeding in causing him to
look at me, by my address—“Thousandacres, this has been
a most melancholy business, but everything should be done
that can be done, to repair the evil. Will you not send a
messenger through to the 'Nest, to obtain the aid of the
physician?”
“Doctors can do but little good to a wound made by a
rifle that was fired so cluss, young man. I want no doctors
here, to betray me and mine to the law.”
-- 160 --
[figure description] Page 160.[end figure description]
“Nay, your messenger can keep your secret; and I will
give him gold to induce the physician to come, and come at
once. He can be told that I am accidentally hurt, and
might still reach us to be of service in alleviating pain; I
confess there is no hope for anything else.”
“Men must take their chances,” coldly returned that obdurate
being. “Them that live in the woods, take woodsmen's
luck; and them that live in the open country, the open
country luck. My family and lumber must be presarved at
all risks; and no doctor shall come here.”
What was to be done—what could be done, with such a
being? All principle, all sense of right, was concentrated
in self—in his moral system. It was as impossible to make
him see the side of any question that was opposed to his
interests, fancied or real, as it was to give sight to the physically
blind. I had hoped contrition was at work upon him,
and that some advantage might be obtained through the
agency of so powerful a mediator; but no sooner was his
dull nature aroused into anything like action, than it took
the direction of selfishness, as the needle points to the
pole.
Disgusted at this exhibition of the most confirmed trait of
the squatter's character, I was in the act of moving from
him, when a loud shout arose around the building, and the
flashes and reports of three or four rifles were heard. Rushing
to the door, I was in time to hear the tramp of men, who
seemed to me to be pushing forward in all directions; and
the crack of the rifle was occasionally heard, apparently
retiring towards the woods. Men called to each other, in
the excitement of a chase and conflict; but I could gain no
information, the body of darkness which had settled on the
place having completely hidden everything from view, at
any distance.
In this state of most painful doubt I continued for five or
six minutes, the noise of the chase receding the whole time,
when a man came rushing up to the door of the hut where
I stood, and, seizing my hand, I found it was Frank Malbone.
The succour, then, had arrived, and I was no longer
a captive.
“God be praised! you at least are safe,” cried Malbone.
“But my dear sister?”
-- 161 --
[figure description] Page 161.[end figure description]
“Is there unharmed, watching by the side of her uncle's
dying bed. Is any one hurt without?”
“That is more than I can tell you. Your black acted as
guide, and brought us down on the place so skilfully, that
it was not my intention to resort to arms at all, since we
might have captured all the squatters without firing a shot,
had my orders been observed. But a rifle was discharged
from behind a stump, and this drew a volley from the enemy.
Some of our side returned the discharge, and the squatters
then took to flight. The firing you have just heard is scattered
discharges that have come from both sides, and can be
only sound, as any aim is impossible in this obscurity. My
own piece has not even been cocked, and I regret a rifle has
been fired.”
“Perhaps all is then well, and we have driven off our
enemies without doing them any harm. Are you strong
enough to keep them at a distance?”
“Perfectly so; we are a posse of near thirty men, led by
an under-sheriff and a magistrate. All we wanted was a
direction to this spot, to have arrived some hours earlier.”
I groaned in spirit at hearing this, since those few hours
might have saved the life of poor Chainbearer. As it was,
however, this rescue was the subject of grateful rejoicing,
and one of the happiest moments of my life was that in
which I saw Dus fall on her brother's bosom, and burst into
tears. I was at their side, in the door-way of the hut, when
this meeting took place; and Dus held out a hand affectionately
to me, as she withdrew herself from her brother's
arms. Frank Malbone looked a little surprised at this act;
but, anxious to see and speak to Chainbearer, he passed into
the building, and approached the bed. Dus and I followed;
for the shouts and firing had reached the ears of the wounded
man, and Andries was anxious to learn their meaning.
The sight of Malbone let him into a general knowledge of
the state of the facts; but a strong anxiety was depicted in
his failing countenance, as he looked towards me for information.
“What is it, Mortaunt?” he asked, with considerable
strength of voice, his interest in the answer probably stimulating
his physical powers. “What is it, poy? I hope t'ere
hast peen no useless fightin' on account of a poor olt man
-- 162 --
[figure description] Page 162.[end figure description]
like me, who hast seen his t'ree-score years ant ten, ant
who owest to his Maker t'e life t'at wast grantet to him
seventy long years ago. I hope no one hast peen injuret in
so poor a cause.”
“We know of no one besides yourself, Chainbearer, who
has been hurt to-night. The firing you have heard, comes
from the party of Frank Malbone, which has just arrived,
and which has driven off the squatters by noise more than
by any harm that has been done them.”
“Got pe praiset! Got pe praiset! I am glat to see Frank
pefore I tie, first to take leaf of him, as an olt frient, ant
secontly to place his sister, Dus, in his care. T'ey haf
wantet to gif Dus one of t'ese squatters for a huspant, by
way of making peace petween t'ieves ant honest people.
T'at woult nefer do, Frank, as you well know Dus ist t'e
ta'ghter of a gentleman, ant t'e ta'ghter of a laty; ant she
ist a gentlewoman herself, ant ist not to pe marriet to a
coarse, rute, illiterate, vulgar squatter. Wast I young, ant
wast I not t'e gal's uncle, I shoult not venture to s'pose
I coult make her a fit companion myself, peing too little
edicated ant instructet, to pe the huspant of one like Dus
Malpone.”
“There is no fear now, that any such calamity can befall
my sister, my dear Chainbearer, answered Frank Malbone.
“Nor do I think any threats or dangers could so far
intimidate Dus, as to cause her to plight her faith to any
man she did not love or respect. They would have found
my sister difficult to coerce.”
“It ist pest ast it ist, Frank—yes, it ist pest ast it ist.
T'ese squatters are fery sat rascals, ant woult not pe apt to
stop at trifles. Ant, now we are on t'is supject, I wilt say
a wort more consarnin' your sister. I see she hast gone
out of t'e hut to weep, ant she wilt not hear what I haf to
say. Here ist Mortaunt Littlepage, who says he lofes Dus
more ast man efer lovet woman pefore —” Frank started,
and I fancied that his countenance grew dark—“ant what
ist nat'ral enough, when a man dost truly lofe a woman in
t'at tegree, he wishes fery, fery much to marry her”—
Frank's countenance brightened immediately, and seeing
my hand extended towards him, he grasped it and gave it a
most cordial pressure. “Now, Mortaunt woult pe an
-- 163 --
[figure description] Page 163.[end figure description]
excellent match for Dus — a most capital match, for he ist
young ant goot lookin', ant prave, ant honouraple, ant sensiple,
ant rich, all of which pe fery goot t'ings in matrimony;
put, on t'e ot'er hant, he hast a fat'er, ant a mot'er,
ant sisters, ant it ist nat'ral, too, t'at t'ey shoult not like,
overmuch, to haf a son ant a prot'er marry a gal t'at hasn't
any t'ing put a set of chains, a new compass, ant a few
fielt articles t'at wilt fall to her share a'ter my teat'. No,
no; we must t'ink of t'e honour of t'e Coejemans ant t'e
Malpones, ant not let our peloved gal go into a family t'at
may not want her.”
I could see that Frank Malbone smiled, though sadly, as
he listened to this warning; for, on him, it made little or no
impression, since he was generous enough to judge me by
himself, and did not believe any such mercenary considerations
would influence my course. I felt differently, however.
Obstinacy in opinion, was one of the weak points in
Chainbearer's character, and I saw the danger of his leaving
these sentiments as a legacy to Dus. She, indeed, had been
the first to entertain them, and to communicate them to her
uncle, and they might revive in her when she came to reflect
on the true condition of things, and become confirmed by
the dying requests of her uncle. It is true, that in our own
interview, when I obtained from the dear girl the precious
confession of her love, no such obstacle seemed to exist, but
both of us appeared to look forward with confidence to our
future union as to a thing certain; but at that moment, Dus
was excited by my declarations of the most ardent and
unutterable attachment, and led away by the strength of her
own feelings. We were in the delirium of delight produced
by mutual confidence, and the full assurance of mutual love,
when Thousandacres came upon us, to carry us to the
scenes of woe by which we had been, and were still, in a
degree, surrounded. Under such circumstances, one might
well fall under the influence of feelings and emotions that
would prove to be more controllable in cooler moments. It
was all-important, then, for me to set Chainbearer right in
the matter, and to have a care he did not quit us, leaving
the two persons he most loved on earth, very unnecessarily
miserable, and that solely on account of the strength of his
own prejudices. Nevertheless, the moment was not
-- 164 --
[figure description] Page 164.[end figure description]
favourable to pursue such a purpose, and I was reflecting bitterly
on the future, when we were all startled by a heavy groan
that seemed to come out of the very depths of the chest of
the squatter.
Frank and I turned instinctively towards the chimney, on
hearing this unlooked-for interruption. The chair of Prudence
was vacant, the woman having rushed from the hut
at the first sound of the recent alarm; most probably, in
quest of her younger children. But Thousandacres remained
in the very seat he had now occupied nearly, if not
quite, two hours. I observed, however, that his form was
not as erect as when previously seen. It had sunk lower
in the chair, while his chin hung down upon his breast.
Advancing nearer, a small pool of blood was seen on the
stones beneath him, and a short examination told Malbone
and myself, that a rifle-bullet had passed directly through
his body, in a straight line, and that only three inches above
the hips!
CHAPTER XII.
“With woful measures, wan despair—
Low, sullen sounds his grief beguil'd,
A solemn, strange, and mingled air;
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.”
Collins.
Thousandacres had been shot in his chair, by one of
the rifles first discharged that night. As it turned out, he
was the only one that we could ascertain was hurt; though
there was a report, to which many persons gave credence,
that Tobit had a leg broken, also, and that he remained a
cripple for life. I am inclined to believe this report may
have been true; for Jaap told me, after all was over, that
he let fly on a man who had just fired on himself, and who
certainly fell, and was borne off limping, by two of his
companions. It is quite probable that this hurt of Tobit's,
and the fate of his father, was the reason we received no
-- 165 --
[figure description] Page 165.[end figure description]
more annoyance that night from the squatters, who had all
vanished from the clearing so effectually, including most of
the females and all the children, that no traces of their place
of retreat were to be found next morning. Lowiny, however,
did not accompany the family, but remained near Dus,
rendering herself highly useful as an attendant in the melancholy
scene that followed. I may as well add, here, that
no evidence was ever obtained concerning the manner in
which Thousandacres received his death-wound. He was
shot through the open door, beyond all question, as he sat
in his chair; and necessarily in the early part of the fray,
for then only was a rifle discharged very near the house, or
from a point that admitted of the ball's hitting its victim.
For myself, I believed from the first that Susquesus sacrificed
the squatter to the manes of his friend, Chainbearer;
dealing out Indian justice, without hesitation or compunction.
Still, I could not be certain of the fact; and the Onondago
had either sufficient prudence or sufficient philosophy
to keep his own secret. It is true that a remark or two did
escape him, soon after the affair occurred, that tended to
sustain my suspicions; but, on the whole, he was remarkably
reserved on the subject—less from any apprehension
of consequences, than from self-respect and pride of character.
There was little to be apprehended, indeed; the previous
murder of Chainbearer, and the unlawful nature of all
the proceedings of the squatters, justifying a direct and sudden
attack on the part of the posse.
Just as Malbone and myself discovered the condition of
Thousandacres, this posse, with 'squire Newcome at its
head, began to collect around the house, which might now
be termed our hospital. As the party was large, and necessarily
a little tumultuous, I desired Frank to lead them off
to some of the other buildings, as soon as a bed had been
prepared for the squatter, who was placed in the same room
with Chainbearer, to die. No one, in the least acquainted
with injuries of that nature, could entertain any hope for
either; though a messenger was sent to the settlements for
the individual who was called “doctor,” and who was really
fast acquiring many useful notions about his profession, by
practising on the human system. They say that “an ounce
of experience is worth a pound of theory,” and this disciple
-- 166 --
[figure description] Page 166.[end figure description]
of Esculapius seemed to have set up in his art on this principle;
having little or none of the last, while he was really
obtaining a very respectable amount of the first, as he practised
right and left, as the pugilist is most apt to hit in his
rallies. Occasionally, however, he gave a knock-down blow.
As soon as the necessary arrangemenss were made in
our hospital, I told Dus that we would leave her and Lowiny
in attendance on the wounded, both of whom manifested
weariness and a disposition to doze, while all the rest of the
party would draw off, and take up their quarters for the
night in the adjacent buildings. Malbone was to remain,
as a sentinel, a little distance from the door, and I promised
to join him in the course of an hour.
“Lowiny can attend to the wants of her father, while
you will have the tenderest care of your uncle, I well know.
A little drink occasionally is all that can alleviate their sufferings—”
“Let me come in,” interrupted a hoarse female voice at
the door, as a woman forced her way through the opposing
arms of several of the posse. “I am Aaron's wife, and
they tell me he is hurt. God himself has ordered that a
woman should cleave unto her husband, and Thousandacres
is mine; and he is the father of my children, if he has murdered,
and been murdered in his turn.”
There was something so commanding in the natural emotions
of this woman, that the guard at the door gave way
immediately, when Prudence entered the room. The first
glance of the squatter's wife was at the bed of Chainbearer;
but nothing there held her gaze riveted. That gaze only
became fixed as her eyes fell on the large form of Thousandacres,
as he lay extended on his death-bed. It is probable
that this experienced matron, who had seen so many accidents
in the course of a long life, and had sat by so many
a bedside, understood the desperate nature of her husband's
situation as soon as her eyes fell on the fallen countenance;
for, turning to those near her, the first impulse was to revenge
the wrong which she conceived had been done to her
and hers. I will acknowledge that I felt awed, and that a
thrill passed through my frame as this rude and unnurtured
female, roused by her impulses, demanded authoritatively—
“Who has done this? Who has taken the breath from
-- 167 --
[figure description] Page 167.[end figure description]
my man before the time set by the Lord! Who has dared
to make my children fatherless, and me a widow, ag'in' law
and right? I left my man seated on that hearth, heart-stricken
and troubled at what had happened to another; and
they tell me he has been murdered in his chair. The Lord
will be on our side at last, and then we 'll see whom the
law will favour, and whom the law will condemn—!”
A movement and a groan, on the part of Thousandacres,
would seem first to have apprized Prudence that her husband
was not actually dead. Starting at this discovery,
this tiger's mate and tiger's dam, if not tigress herself, ceased
everything like appeal and complaint, and set herself about
those duties which naturally suggested themselves to one of
her experience, with the energy of a frontier woman—a
woodsman's wife, and the mother of a large brood of woodsman's
sons and daughters. She wiped the face of Thousandacres,
wet his lips, shifted his pillow, such as it was, placed
his limbs in postures she thought the easiest, and otherwise
manifested a sort of desperate energy in her care. The
whole time she was doing this, her tongue was muttering
prayers and menaces, strangely blended together, and quite
as strangely mixed up with epithets of endearment that were
thrown away on her still insensible and least unconscious
husband. She called him Aaron, and that, too, in a tone
that sounded as if Thousandacres had a strong hold on her
affections, and might at least have been kind and true to
her.
I felt convinced that Dus had nothing to fear from Prudence,
and I left the place as soon as the two nurses had
everything arranged for their respective patients, and the
house was quite free from the danger of intrusion. On
quitting her who now occupied most of my thoughts, I ventured
to whisper a request she would not forget the pledges
given me in the forest, and asked her to summon me to the
bedside of Chainbearer, should he rouse himself from the
slumber that had come over him, and manifest a desire to
converse. I feared he might renew the subject to which his
mind had already once adverted since receiving his wound,
and imbue his niece with some of his own set notions on
that subject. Ursula was kindness itself. Her affliction
had even softened her feelings towards me more than ever;
-- 168 --
[figure description] Page 168.[end figure description]
and, so far as she was concerned, I certainly had no ground
for uneasiness. In passing Frank, who stood on post some
twenty yards from the door of the house, he said `God bless
you, Littlepage,— fear nothing. I am too much in your
own situation, not to be warmly your friend.' I returned
his good wishes, and went my way, in one sense rejoicing.
The posse, as has been stated, were in possession of the
different deserted habitations of the family of Thousandacres.
The night being cool, fires were blazing on all the hearths,
and the place wore an air of cheerfulness that it had probably
never before known. Most of the men had crowded into
two of the dwellings, leaving a third for the convenience of
the magistrate, Frank Malbone, and myself, whenever we
might choose to repair to it. By the time I appeared, the
posse had supped, using the milk and bread, and other eatables
of the squatters, ad libitum, and were disposing of
themselves on the beds and on the floors, to take a little rest,
after their long and rapid march. But in my own quarters
I found 'squire Newcome, alone, unless the silent and motionless
Onondago, who occupied a chair in a corner of the
fire-place, could be called a companion. Jaap, too, in expectation
of my arrival, was lounging near the door; and
when I entered the house, he followed me in for orders.
It was easy for me, who knew of Newcome's relations
with the squatters, to discover the signs of confusion in his
countenance, as his eye first met mine. One who was not
acquainted with the circumstances, most probably would
have detected nothing out of the common way. It will be
remembered that the `'squire' had no positive knowledge
that I was acquainted with his previous visit to the mill;
and it will be easy to see that he must have felt an itching
and uneasy desire to ascertain that fact. A great deal depended
on that circumstance; nor was it long before I had
a specimen of his art in sounding round the truth, with a
view to relieve his mind.
“Who 'd 'a' thought of findin' major Littlepage in the
hands of the Philistines, in sich an out o' the way place as
this!” exclaimed Mr. Newcome, as soon as our salutations
had been exchanged. “I 've heern say there was squatters
down hereabouts; but sich things are so common, that I
-- 169 --
[figure description] Page 169.[end figure description]
never bethought me of givin' him a hint on the matter when
I last saw the major.”
Nothing could surpass the deferential manner of this person
when he had an object to gain, it being quite common
with him to use the third person, in this way, when addressing
a superior; a practice that has almost become obsolete
in the English language, and which is seldom if ever used
in America, except by this particular class of men, who
defer before your face, and endeavour to undermine when
the back is turned. My humour was not to trifle with this
fellow, though I did not know that it was exactly prudent,
just then, to let him know that I had both seen and heard
him in his former visit, and was fully aware of all his practices.
It was not easy, however, to resist the opportunity
given by his own remarks, to put him a little way on the
tenter-hooks of conscience—that quality of the human mind
being one of the keenest allies an assailant can possess, in
cases of this sort.
“I had supposed, Mr. Newcome, that you were generally
charged with the care of the Mooseridge lands, as one of
the conditions annexed to the Ravensnest agency?” I somewhat
drily remarked.
“Sartain, sir; the colonel—or gin'ral, as he ought to be
called now, I do s'pose—gave me the superintendence of
both at the same time. But the major knows, I presume,
that Mooseridge was not on sale?”
“No, sir; it would seem to have been only on plunder.
One would think that an agent, entrusted with the care of
an estate, and who heard of squatters being in possession,
and stripping the land of its trees, would feel it to be his
duty at least to apprise the owners of the circumstance, that
they might look to the case, if he did not.”
“The major hasn't rightly understood me,” put in the
'squire, in a manner that was particularly deprecatory; “I
don't mean to say that I know'd, with anything like positiveness,
that there was squatters hereabouts; but that
rumours was stirrin' of some sich things. But squatters is
sich common objects in new countries, that a body scarce
turns aside to look at them!”
“So it would seem, in your case at least, Mr. Newcome.
This Thousandacres, however, they tell me, is a well-known
-- 170 --
[figure description] Page 170.[end figure description]
character, and has done little since his youth but lumber on
the property of other people. I should suppose you must
have met him, in the course of five-and-twenty years' residence
in this part of the world?”
“Lord bless the major! met Thousandacres? Why,
I 've met him a hundred times! We all know the old man
well enough; and many and many is the time I 've met him
at raisin's, and trainin's, and town meetin's, and political
meetin's, too. I 've even seen him in court, though Thousandacres
don't set much store by law, not half as much
as he and every other man ought to do; for law is excellent,
and society would be no better than a collection of wild
beasts, as I often tell Miss Newcome, if it hadn't law to
straighten it out, and to teach the misguided and evil-disposed
what 's right. I s'pose the major will coincide with
that idee?”
“I have no particular objection to the sentiment, sir, but
wish it was more general. As you have seen this person
Thousandacres so often, perhaps you can tell me something
of his character. My opportunities of knowing the man
have been none of the best; for, most of the time I was his
prisoner, he had me shut up in an out-building in which I
believe he has usually kept his salt, and grain, and spare
provisions.”
“Not the old store'-us'!” exclaimed the magistrate, looking
a little aghast, for the reader will doubtless recollect
that the confidential dialogue between him and the squatter,
on the subject of the lumber, had occurred so near that
building as to be overheard by me. “How long has the
major been in this clearin', I wonder?”
“Not a very great while in fact, though long enough to
make it appear a week. I was put into the store-house
soon after my seizure, and have passed at least half my
time there since.”
“I want to know! — Perhaps the major got in that hole
as 'arly as yesterday morn?”
“Perhaps I did, sir. But, Mr. Newcome, on looking
round at the quantity of lumber these men have made, and
recollecting the distance they are from Albany, I am at a
loss to imagine how they could hope to get their ill-gotten
gains to market without discovery. It would seem to me
-- 171 --
[figure description] Page 171.[end figure description]
that their movements must be known, and that the active
and honest agents of this part of the country would seize
their rafts in the water-courses; thus making the very objects
of the squatters' roguery the means of their punishment.
Is it not extraordinary that theft, in a moral sense at least,
can be systematically carried on, and that on so large a
scale, with such entire impunity?”
“Wa-a-l—I s'pose the major knows how things turn, in
this world. Nobody likes to meddle.”
“How, sir — not meddle! This is contrary to all my
experience of the habits of the country, and all I have heard
of it! Meddling, I have been given to understand, is the
great vice of our immigrant population, in particular, who
never think they have their just rights, unless they are privileged
to talk about, and sit in judgment on the affairs of
all within twenty miles of them; making two-thirds of their
facts as they do so, in order to reconcile their theories with
the wished-for results.”
“Ah! I don't mean meddlin' in that sense, of which there
is enough, as all must allow. But folks don't like to meddle
with things that don't belong to them in such serious matters
as this.”
“I understand you — the man who will pass days in discussing
his neighbour's private affairs, about which he absolutely
knows nothing but what has been obtained from
the least responsible and most vulgar sources, will stand by
and see that neighbour robbed and say nothing, under the
influence of a sentiment so delicate, that it forbids his meddling
with what don't belong to him!”
Lest the reader should think I was unduly severe upon
'squire Newcome, let me appeal to his own experience, and
inquire if he never knew, not only individuals, but whole
neighbourhoods, which were sorely addicted to prying into
every man's affairs, and to inventing when facts did not exactly
sustain theories; in a word, convulsing themselves
with that with which they have no real concern, draw themselves
up in dignified reserve, as the witnesses of wrongs of
all sorts, that every honest man is bound to oppose? I will
go further, and ask if a man does happen to step forth to
vindicate the right, to assert truth, to defend the weak and
to punish the wrong-doer, if that man be not usually the
-- 172 --
[figure description] Page 172.[end figure description]
one who meddles least in the more ordinary and minor
transactions of life — the man who troubles his neighbours
least, and has the least to say about their private affairs?
Does it not happen that the very individual who will stand
by and see his neighbour wronged, on account of his indisposition
to meddle with that which does not belong to him,
will occupy a large portion of his own time in discussing,
throwing out hints, and otherwise commenting on the private
affairs of that very neighbour?
Mr. Newcome was shrewd, and he understood me well
enough, though he probably found it a relief to his apprehensions
to see the conversation inclining towards these
generalities, instead of sticking to the store-house. Nevertheless,
`boards' must have been uppermost in his conscience;
and, after a pause, he made an invasion into the
career of Thousandacres, by way of diverting me from
pushing matters too directly.
“This old squatter was a desperate man, major Littlepage,”
he answered, “and it may be fortinate for the country
that he is done with. I hear the old fellow is killed,
and that all the rest of the family has absconded.”
“It is not quite so bad as that. Thousandacres is hurt—
mortally, perhaps—and all his sons have disappeared;
but his wife and one of his daughters are still here, in attendance
on the husband and father.”
“Prudence is here, then!” exclaimed Mr. Newcome, a
little indiscreetly as I thought.
“She is—but you seem to know the family well for a
magistrate, 'squire, seeing their ordinary occupation — so
well, as to call the woman by her name.”
“Prudence, I think Thousandacres used to call his
woman. Yes, the major is very right; we magistrates do
get to know the neighbourhood pretty gin'rally; what between
summonses, and warrants, and bailings-out. But the
major hasn't yet said when he first fell into the hands of
these folks?”
“I first entered this clearing yesterday morning, not a
long time after the sun rose, since which time, sir, I have
been detained here, either by force or by circumstances.”
A long pause succeeded this announcement. The 'squire
fidgeted, and seemed uncertain how to act; for, while my
-- 173 --
[figure description] Page 173.[end figure description]
announcement must have given rise, in his mind, to the
strong probability of my knowing of his connection with
the squatters, it did not absolutely say as much. I could
see that he was debating with himself on the expediency of
coming out with some tale invented for the occasion, and I
turned towards the Indian and the negro, both of whom I
knew to be thoroughly honest—after the Indian and the
negro fashions — in order to say a friendly word to each in
turn.
Susquesus was in one of his quiescent moods, and had
lighted a pipe, which he was calmly smoking. No one, to
look at him, would suppose that he had so lately been engaged
in a scene like that through which he had actually
gone; but, rather, that he was some thoughtful philosopher,
who habitually passed his time in reflection and study.
As this was one of the occasions on which the Onondago
came nearest to admitting his own agency in procuring the
death of the squatter, I shall relate the little that passed
between us.
“Good evening, Sureflint,” I commenced, extending a
hand, which the other courteously took in compliance with
our customs. “I am glad to see you at large, and no
longer a prisoner in that store-house.”
“Store-'us' poor gaol. Jaap snap off bolt like pipe-stem.
Won'er T'ousandacres didn't t'ink of d'at.”
“Thousandacres has had too much to think of this evening,
to remember such a trifle. He has now to think of his
end.”
The Onondago was clearing the bowl of his pipe of its
superfluous ashes as I said this, and he deliberately effected
his purpose ere he answered—
“Sartain—s'pose he kill dis time.”
“I fear his hurt is mortal, and greatly regret that it has
happened. The blood of our tried friend, Chainbearer,
was enough to be shed in so miserable an affair as this.”
“Yes, 'fair pretty mis'rable; t'ink so, too. If squatter
shoot surveyor, must t'ink surveyor's fri'nd will shoot
squatter.”
“That may be Indian law, Sureflint, but it is not the law
of the Pale Face, in the time of peace and quiet.”
Susquesus continued to smoke, making no answer.
-- 174 --
[figure description] Page 174.[end figure description]
“It was a very wicked thing to murder Chainbearer, and
Thousandacres should have been handed over to the magistrates,
for punishment, if he had a hand in it; not shot,
like a dog.”
The Onondago drew his pipe from his mouth, looked
round towards the 'squire, who had gone to the door in
order to breathe the fresh air—then, turning his eyes most
significantly on me, he answered—
“Who magistrate go to, eh?—What use good law wit'
poor magistrate? Better have red-skin law, and warrior be
he own magistrate—own gallows, too.”
The pipe was replaced, and Sureflint appeared to be
satisfied with what had passed; for he turned away, and
seemed to be lost, again, in his own reflections.
After all, the strong native intellect of this barbarian had
let him into one of the greatest secrets connected with our
social ills. Good laws, badly administered, are no better
than an absence of all law, since they only encourage evildoers
by the protection they afford through the power conferred
on improper agents. Those who have studied the
defects of the American system, with a view to ascertain
truth, say that the want of a great moving power to set justice
in motion lies at the root of its feebleness. According
to theory, the public virtue is to constitute this power; but
public virtue is never one-half as active as private vice.
Crime is only to be put down by the strong hand, and that
hand must belong to the public in truth, not in name only;
whereas, the individual wronged is fast getting to be the
only moving power, and in very many cases local parties
are formed, and the rogue goes to the bar sustained by an
authority that has quite as much practical control as the
law itself. Juries and grand juries are no longer to be relied
on, and the bench is slowly, but steadily, losing its influence.
When the day shall come—as come it must, if present
tendencies continue—that verdicts are rendered directly
in the teeth of law and evidence, and jurors fancy themselves
legislators, then may the just man fancy himself approaching
truly evil times, and the patriot begin to despair.
It will be the commencement of the rogue's paradise! Nothing
is easier, I am willing to admit, than to over-govern
men; but it ought not to be forgotten, that the political vice
-- 175 --
[figure description] Page 175.[end figure description]
that comes next in the scale of facility, is to govern them
too little.
Jaap, or Jaaf, had been humbly waiting for his turn to
be noticed. There existed perfect confidence, as between
him and myself, but there were also bounds, in the way of
respect, that the slave never presumed to pass, without direct
encouragement from the master. Had I not seen fit to
speak to the black that night, he would not have commenced
a conversation, which, begun by me, he entered into with
the utmost frankness and freedom from restraint.
“You seem to have managed your part of this affair,
Jaap,” I said, “with discretion and spirit. I have every
reason to be satisfied with you; more especially for liberating
the Indian, and for the manner in which you guided
the posse down into the clearing, from the woods.”
“Yes, sah; s'pose you would t'ink dat was pretty well.
As for Sus, t'ought it best to let him out, for he be won'erful
sartain wid he rifle. We should do much better, masser
Mordy, but 'e 'squire so werry backward about lettin 'e men
shoot 'em 'ere squatter! Gosh! masser Mordy, if he only
say `fire' when I want him, I don't t'ink so much as half a
one get off.”
“It is best as it is, Jaap. We are at peace, and in the
bosom of our country; and bloodshed is to be avoided.”
“Yes, sah; but Chainbearer! If 'ey don't like bloodshed,
why 'ey shoot him, sah?”
“There is a feeling of justice in what you say, Jaap, but
the community cannot get on in anything like safety unless
we let the law rule. Our business was to take those squattors,
and to hand them over to the law.”
“Werry true, sah. Nobody can't deny dat, masser Mordy,
but he nodder seize nor shot, now! Sartain, it best to
do one or t'odder with sich rascal. Well, I t'ink dat Tobit,
as dey calls him, will remember Jaap Satanstoe long as he
live. Dat a good t'ing, any way!”
“Good!” exclaimed the Onondago, with energy.
I saw it was useless, then, to discuss abstract principles
with men so purely practical as my two companions, and I
left the house to reconnoitre, ere I returned to our hospital
for the night. The negro followed me, and I questioned
him as to the manner of the attack, and the direction of the
-- 176 --
[figure description] Page 176.[end figure description]
retreat of the squatters, in order to ascertain what danger
there might be during the hours of darkness. Jaap gave
me to understand that the men of Thousandacres' family
had retired by the way of the stream, profiting by the declivity
to place themselves under cover as soon as possible.
As respects the women and children, they must have got
into the woods at some other point, and it was probable the
whole had sought some place of retreat that would naturally
have been previously appointed by those who knew that
they lived in the constant danger of requiring one. Jaap
was very certain we should see no more of the men, and in
that he was perfectly right. No more was ever seen of any
one of them all in that part of the country, though rumours
reached us, in the course of time, from some of the more
western counties, that Tobit had been seen there, a cripple,
as I have already stated, but maintaining his old character
for lawlessness and disregard of the rights of others.
I next returned to Frank Malbone, who still stood on post
at no great distance from the door, through which we could
both see the form and features of his beautiful and beloved
sister. Dus sat by her uncle's bed-side, while Prudence had
stationed herself by that of her husband. Frank and I advanced
near the door, and looked in upon the solemn and
singular sight that room afforded. It was indeed a strange
and sad spectacle, to see those two aged men, each with his
thin locks whitened by seventy years, drawing near their
ends, the victims of lawless violence; for, while the death
of Thousandacres was enveloped in a certain mystery, and
might by some eyes be viewed as merited and legal, there
could be no doubt that it was a direct consequence of the
previous murder of Chainbearer. It is in this way that
wrong extends and sometimes perpetuates its influence,
proving the necessity of taking time by the forelock, and
resorting to prevention in the earliest stages of the evil,
instead of cure.
There lay the two victims of the false principles that the
physical condition of the country, connected with its passive
endurance of encroachments on the right, had gradually
permitted to grow up among us. Squatting was a consequence
of the thinness of the population and of the abundance
of land, the two very circumstances that rendered it the
-- 177 --
[figure description] Page 177.[end figure description]
less justifiable in a moral point of view; but which, by
rendering the one side careless of its rights, and the other
proportionably encroaching, had gradually led, not only to
this violation of law, but to the adoption of notions that are
adverse to the supremacy of law in any case. It is this
gradual undermining of just opinions that forms the imminent
danger of our social system; a spurious philanthropy
on the subject of punishments, false notions on that of personal
rights, and the substitution of numbers for principles,
bidding fair to produce much the most important revolution
that has ever yet taken place on the American continent.
The lover of real liberty, under such circumstances, should
never forget that the road to despotism lies along the borders
of the slough of licentiousness, even when it escapes wallowing
in its depths.
When Malbone and myself drew back from gazing on
the scene within the house, he related to me in detail all that
was connected with his own proceedings. The reader knows
that it was by means of a meeting in the forest, between
the Indian and the negro, that my friends first became acquainted
with my arrest, and the probable danger in which
I was placed. Chainbearer, Dus, and Jaap instantly repaired
to the clearing of Thousandacres; while Malbone hastened
on to Ravensnest, in pursuit of legal aid, and of a force to
render my rescue certain. Meditating on all the facts of
the case, and entertaining most probably an exaggerated
notion of the malignant character of Thousandacres, by the
time he reached the Nest, my new friend was in a most
feverish state of excitement. His first act was, to write a
brief statement of the facts to my father, and to despatch
his letter by a special messenger, with orders to him to push
on for Fishkill, all the family being there at the time, on a
visit to the Kettletases; proceeding by land or by water, as
the wind might favour. I was startled at this information,
foreseeing at once that it would bring not only the general
himself, but my dear mother and Kate, with Tom Bayard
quite likely in her train, post haste to Ravensnest. It might
even cause my excellent old grandmother to venture so far
from home; for my last letters had apprised me that they
were all on the point of visiting my sister Anneke, which
-- 178 --
[figure description] Page 178.[end figure description]
was the way Frank had learned where the family was to be
found.
As Malbone's messenger had left the Nest early the preceding
night, and the wind had been all day fresh at north,
it came quite within the bounds of possibility that he might
be at Fishkill at the very moment I was listening to the
history of his message. The distance was about a hundred
and forty miles, and nearly one hundred of it could be made
by water. Such a messenger would care but little for the
accommodations of his craft; and, on the supposition that
he reached Albany that morning, and found a sloop ready
to profit by the breeze, as would be likely to occur, it would
be quite in rule to reach the landing at Fishkill in the course
of the evening aided by the little gale that had been blowing.
I knew General Littlepage too well, to doubt either his affection
or his promptitude. Albany could be reached in a day
by land, and Ravensnest in another. I made my account,
therefore, to see a part if not all of the family at the Nest,
as soon as I should reach it myself; an event not likely to
occur, however, for some little time, on account of the condition
of Chainbearer.
I shall not deny that this new state of things, with the
expectations connected with it, gave me sufficient food for
reflection. I could not and did not blame Frank Malbone
for what he had done, since it was natural and proper.
Notwithstanding, it would precipitate matters as regarded
my relations to Dus a little faster than I could have wished.
I desired time to sound my family on the important subject
of my marriage—to let the three or four letters I had already
written, and in which she had been mentioned in a marked
manner, produce their effect; and I counted largely on the
support I was to receive through the friendship and representations
of Miss Bayard. I felt certain that deep disappointment
on the subject of Pris. would be felt by the whole
family; and it was my wish not to introduce Ursula to their
acquaintance until time had a little lessened its feeling. But
things must now take their course; and my determination
was settled to deal as sincerely and simply as possible with
my parents on the subject. I knew their deep affection for
me, and relied strongly on that natural support.
I had half an hour's conversation with Dus while walking
-- 179 --
[figure description] Page 179.[end figure description]
in front of the hospital that night, Frank taking his sister's
place by the side of Chainbearer's bed. Then it was that I
again spoke of my hopes, and explained the probabilities of
our seeing all of my immediate family so shortly at Ravensnest.
My arm was round the waist of the dear girl as I
communicated these facts; and I felt her tremble, as if she
dreaded the trial she was to undergo.
“This is very sudden and unexpected, Mordaunt,” Dus
remarked, after she had had a little time to recover her
recollection; “and I have so much reason to fear the judgment
of your respectable parents—of your charming sister,
of whom I have heard so often through Priscilla Bayard—
and indeed of all who have lived, as they have done, amid
the elegancies of a refined state of society; I, Dus Malbone—
a chainbearer's niece, and a chainbearer myself!”
“You have never borne any chain, love, that is as lasting
or as strong as that which you have entwined around my
heart, and which will for ever bind me to you, let the rest
of the world regard us both as it may. But you can have
nothing to fear from any, and least of all from my friends.
My father is not worldly-minded; and as for my dear, dear
mother, Anneke Mordaunt, as the general even now often
affectionately calls her, as if the name itself reminded him
of the days of her maiden loveliness and pride—as for that
beloved mother, Ursula, I do firmly believe that, when she
comes to know you, she will even prefer you to her son.”
“That is a picture of your blinded partiality, Mordaunt,”
answered the gratified girl, for gratified I could see she was,
“and must not be too fondly relied on. But this is no time
to talk of our own future happiness, when the eternal happiness
or misery of those two aged men is suspended, as it
might be, by a thread. I have read prayers once already
with my dear uncle; and that strange woman, in whom
there is so much of her sex mingled with a species of ferocity
like that of a she-bear, has muttered a hope that her
own `dying man,' as she calls him, is not to be forgotten.
I have promised he should not be, and it is time to attend to
that duty next.”
What a scene followed! Dus placed the light on a chest
near the bed of Thousandacres, and, with the prayer-book
in her hand, she knelt beside it. Prudence stationed herself
-- 180 --
[figure description] Page 180.[end figure description]
in such a posture that her head was buried in one of her
own garments, that was suspended from a peg; and there
she stood, while the melodious voice of Ursula Malbone
poured out the petitions contained in the offices for the
dying, in humble but fervent piety. I say stood, for neither
Prudence nor Lowiny knelt. The captious temper of self-righteousness
which had led their ancestors to reject kneeling
at prayers as the act of formalists, had descended to
them; and there they stood, praying doubtless in their
hearts, but ungracious formalists themselves in their zeal
against forms. Frank and I knelt in the door-way; and I
can truly affirm that never did prayers sound so sweetly in
my ears, as those which then issued from the lips of Ursula
Malbone.
CHAPTER XIII.
“Thence cum we to the horrour and the hel,
The large great kyngdomes, and the dreadful raygne
Of Pluto in his trone where he dyd dwell,
The wyde waste places, and the hugye playne:
The waylings, shrykes, and sundry sortes of payne,
The syghes, and sobbes, the diep and deadly groane,
Earth, ayer, and all resounding playnt and moane.
Sackville.
In this manner did that memorable night wear away.
The two wounded men slumbered much of the time; nor
did their wants extend beyond occasional draughts of water,
to cool their feverish mouths, or the wetting of lips. I prevailed
on Dus to lie down on the bed of Lowiny, and try to
get a little rest; and I had the pleasure to hear her say that
she had slept sweetly for two or three hours, after the turn
of the night. Frank and I caught naps, also, after the
fashion of soldiers, and Lowiny slept in her chair, or leaning
on her father's bed. As for Prudence, I do not think her
watchfulness was lessened for a single instant. There she
sat the live-long night; silent, tearless, moody, and heart-stricken
by the great and sudden calamity that had befallen
-- 181 --
[figure description] Page 181.[end figure description]
her race, but vigilant and attentive to the least movement in
the huge frame of her wounded partner. No complaint
escaped her; scarcely once did she turn to look at what
was going on around her, nor in any manner did she heed
aught but her husband. To him she seemed to be unerringly
true; and whatever she may, and must have thought
of his natural sternness, and occasional fits of severity towards
herself, all now seemed to be forgotten.
At length light returned, after hours of darkness that
seemed to me to be protracted to an unusual length. Then
it was, when Jaap and the Indian were ready to take our
places on the watch, that Frank and I went to one of the
huts and lay down for two or three hours; and that was the
time when Dus got her sweetest and most refreshing sleep.
Lowiny prepared our morning's meal for us; which we
three, that is, Dus, Frank and myself, took together in the
best way we could, in the dwelling of Tobit. As for squire
Newcome, he left the clearing in the course of the night, or
very early in the morning, doubtless exceedingly uneasy in
his conscience, but still uncertain whether his connection
with the squatters was, or was not known to me: the
excuse for this movement being the probable necessity of
summoning a jury; Mr. Jason Newcome filling in his own
person, or by deputy, the several offices and functions of
justice of the peace, one of the coroners of the county, supervisor
of the township of Ravensnest, merchant, shopkeeper,
miller, lumber-dealer, husbandman and innkeeper; to say
nothing of the fact that he wrote all the wills of the neighbourhood;
was a standing arbitrator when disputes were
`left out to men;' was a leading politician, a patriot by
trade, and a remarkable and steady advocate of the rights
of the people, even to minutiæ. Those who know mankind
will not be surprised, after this enumeration of his pursuits
and professions, to hear it added that he was a remarkable
rogue in the bargain.
There are two things I have lived long enough to receive
as truths established by my own experience, and they are
these: I never knew a man who made large professions of
a love for the people, and of his wish to serve them on all
occasions, whose aim was not to deceive them to his own
advantage; and the other is, that I never knew a man who
-- 182 --
[figure description] Page 182.[end figure description]
was compelled to come much in contact with the people, and
who at the same time was personally popular, who had anything
in him, at the bottom. But it is time to quit Jason Newcome
and his defects of character, in order to attend to the
interesting scene that awaited us in the dwelling of Thousandacres,
and to which we were now summoned by Jaap.
As the day advanced, both the chainbearer and the squatter
became aroused from the languor that had succeeded the
receiving of their respective hurts, and more or less alive to
what was passing around them. Life was ebbing fast in
both, yet each seemed, just at that moment, to turn his
thoughts backward on the world, in order, as it might be, to
take a last look at those scenes in which he had now been
an actor for the long period of three-score and ten years.
“Uncle Chainbearer is much revived, just now,” said Dus,
meeting Frank and myself at the door, “and he has asked
for you both; more especially for Mordaunt, whose name
he has mentioned three several times within the last five
minutes. `Send for Mordaunt, my child,' he has said to
me, `for I wish to speak with him before I quit you.' I am
fearful he has inward admonitions of his approaching end.”
“That is possible, dearest Ursula; for men can hardly
lose their hold of life without being aware of the approaches
of death. I will go at once to his bedside, that he may know
I am here. It is best to let his own feelings decide whether
he is able or not to converse.”
The sound of Chainbearer's voice, speaking in a low but
distinct tone, caught our ears as we approached him, and
we all stopped to listen.
“I say, T'ousantacres,” repeated Andries, on a key a
little louder than before, “if you hear me, olt man, ant can
answer, I wish you to let me know it. You ant I pe apout
to start on a fery long journey, ant it ist unreasonable, as
well as wicket, to set out wit' pad feelin's at t'e heart. If
you hat hat a niece, now, like Dus t'ere, to tell you t'ese
matters, olt Aaron, it might pe petter for your soul in t'e
worlt into which we are poth apout to enter.”
“He knows it—I'm sure he knows it, and feels it, too,”
muttered Prudence, rocking her body as before. “He has
had pious forefathers, and cannot have fallen so far away
from grace, as to forget death and etarnity.”
-- 183 --
[figure description] Page 183.[end figure description]
“Look you, Prutence, Aaron nefer coult fall away from
what he nefer wast fastenet to. As for pious forefat'ers,
t'ey may do to talk apout in Fourt' of July orations, put
t'ey are of no great account in cleansin' a man from his
sins. I s'pose t'em pious forefat'ers of which you speak
wast t'e people t'at first steppet on t'e Rock town at Plymout';
put, let me telt you, Prutence, hat t'ere peen twice
as many of t'em, and hat t'ey all peen twice as goot as you
poast of t'eir hafin' peen, it wilt do no goot to your man,
untless he wilt repent, and pe sorry for all t'e unlawful ant
wicket t'ings he hast tone in t'is worlt, ant his treatment of
pountaries in jin'ral, ant of ot'ers men's lants in partic'lar.
Pious ancestors may pe pleasant to haf, put goot pehaviour
ist far petter as t'e last hour approaches.”
“Answer him, Aaron,” the wife rejoined—“answer him,
my man, in order that we may all on us know the frame
of mind in which you take your departure. Chainbearer
is a kind-hearted man at the bottom, and has never wilfully
done us any harm.”
For the first time since Andries received his wound, I
now heard the voice of Thousandacres. Previously to that
moment, the squatter. whether hurt or not, had sat in moody
silence, and I had supposed after he was wounded that he
was unable to use his tongue. To my surprise, however,
he now spoke with a depth and strength of voice that at
first misled me, by inducing me to think that the injury he
had received could not be fatal.
“If there wasn't no chainbearers,” growled Thousandacres,
“there wouldn't be no lines, or metes, and bounds, as
they call 'em; and where there 's no metes and bounds,
there can be no right but possession. If 't wasn't for your
writin' titles, I shouldn't be lyin' here, breathin' my last.”
“Forgive it all, my man; forgive it all, as behooves a
good christian,” Prudence returned to this characteristic
glance at the past, in which the squatter had so clearly
overlooked all his own delinquencies, and was anxious to
impute consequences altogether to others. “it is the law
of God to forgive your enemies, Aaron, and I want you to
forgive Chainbearer, and not go to the world of spirits with
gall in your heart.”
“'T woult pe much petter, Prutence, if T'ousantacres
-- 184 --
[figure description] Page 184.[end figure description]
woult pray to Got to forgif himself,” put in Chainbearer.
“I am fery willin', ant happy to haf t'e forgifness of efery
man, ant it ist not unlikely t'at I may haf tone somet'ing,
or sait somet'ing t'at hast peen hart to t'e feelin's of your
huspant; for we are rough, and plain-speakin', and plainactin'
enough, in t'e woots; so I'm willin' to haf even
T'ousantacres' forgifness, I say, and wilt accept it wit' pleasure
if he wilt offer it, ant take mine in exchange.”
A deep groan struggled out of the broad, cavern-like
chest of the squatter. I took it as an admission that he
was the murderer of Andries.
“Yes,” resumed Chainbearer,—“Dus hast mate me
see—”
“Uncle!” exclaimed Ursula, who was intently listening,
and who now spoke because unable to restrain the impulse.
“Yes, yes, gal, it hast peen all your own toin's. Pefore
ast you come pack from school, ast we come into t'e woots,
all alone like, you haf nefer forgotten to teach an olt, forgetful
man his tuty—”
“Oh! uncle Chainbearer, it is not I, but God in his
mercy who has enlightened your understanding and touched
your heart.”
“Yes, tarlin'; yes, Dus, my tear, I comprehent t'at too;
but Got in his mercy sent an angel to pe his minister on
'art' wit' a poor ignorant Tutchman, who hast not t'e l'arnin'
ant t'e grace he might ant ought to have hat, wit'out
your ait, and so hast t'e happy change come apout. No—
no—T'ousantacres, I wilt not tespise even your forgifness,
little as you may haf to forgif; for it lightens a man's
heart of heafy loats, when his time is short, to know he
leafs no enemies pehint him. T'ey say it ist pest to haf
t'e goot wishes of a tog, ant how much petter ist it to haf t'e
goot wishes of one who hast a soul t'at only wants purifyin',
to twell in t'e Almighty's presence t'roughout eternity!”
“I hope and believe,” again growled Thousandacres,
“that in the world we 're goin' to, there 'll be no law, and
no attorneys.”
“In t'at, t'en, Aaron, you pe greatly mistaken. T'at lant
is all law, ant justice, ant right; t'ough, Got forgif me if I
-- 185 --
[figure description] Page 185.[end figure description]
do any man an injury; put to pe frank wit' you, as pecomes
two mortals so near t'eir ents, I do not pelieve, myself, t'at
t'ere wilt pe a great many attorneys to trouple t'em t'at are
receivet into t'e courts of t'e Almighty, himself. T'eir
practices on 'arth does not suit t'em for practice in heafen.”
“If you 'd always held them rational notions, Chainbearer,
no harm might have come to you, and my life and
your'n been spared. But this is a state of being in which
short-sightedness prevails ag'in the best calkerlations. I
never felt more sure of gittin' lumber to market than I felt,
three days ago, of gittin' this that 's in the creek, safe to
Albany; and, now, you see how it is! the b'ys are disparsed,
and may never see this spot ag'in; the gals are in
the woods, runnin' with the deer of the forest; the lumber
has fallen into the hands of the law; and that, too, by the
aid of a man that was bound in honesty to protect me, and
I 'm dyin' here!”
“Think no more of the lumber, my man, think no more
of the lumber,” said Prudence, earnestly; “time is desp'rate
short at the best, and yours is shorter than common, even
for a man of seventy, while etarnity has no eend. Forgit
the boards, and forgit the b'ys, and forgit the gals, forgit
'arth and all it holds!—”
“You wouldn't have me forgit you, Prudence,” interrupted
Thousandacres, “that 's been my wife, now, forty long
years, and whom I tuck when she was young and comely,
and that 's borne me so many children, and has always been
a faithful and hard-working woman—you wouldn't have me
forget you!”
This singular appeal, coming as it did from such a being,
and almost in his agony, sounded strangely and solemnly,
amid the wild and semi-savage appliances of a scene I can
never forget. The effect on Ursula was still more apparent;
she left the bed-side of her uncle, and with strong womanly
sympathy manifested in her countenance, approached that
of this aged couple, now about to be separated for a short
time, at least, where she stood gazing wistfully at the very
man who was probably that uncle's murderer, as if she
could gladly administer to his moral ailings. Even Chainbearer
attempted to raise his head, and looked with interest
towards the other group. No one spoke, however, for all
-- 186 --
[figure description] Page 186.[end figure description]
felt that the solemn recollections and forebodings of a pair
so situated, were too sacred for interruption. The discourse
went on, without any hiatus, between them.
“Not I, not I, Aaron, my man,” answered Prudence,
with strong emotion struggling in her voice; “there can be
no law, or call for that. We are one flesh, and what God
has j'ined, God will not keep asunder long. I cannot tarry
long behind you, my man, and when we meet together
ag'in, I hope 'twill be where no boards, or trees, or acres,
can ever make more trouble for us!”
“I 've been hardly treated about that lumber, a'ter all,”
muttered the squatter, who was now apparently more aroused
to consciousness than he had been, and who could not but
keep harping on what had been the one great business of his
life, even as that life was crumbling beneath his feet—
“hardly dealt by, do I consider myself, about that lumber,
Prudence. Make the most of the Littlepage rights, it was
only trees that they could any way claim, in reason; while
the b'ys and I, as you well know, have convarted them trees
into as pretty and noble a lot of han'some boards and
planks, as man ever rafted to market!”
“It 's convarsion of another natur' that you want now,
Aaron, my man; another sort of convarsion is the thing
needful. We must all be convarted once in our lives; at
least all such as be the children of Puritan parents and a
godly ancestry; and it must be owned, takin' into account
our years, and the importance of example in sich a family
as our'n, that you and I have put it off long enough. Come
it must, or suthin' worse; and time and etarnity in your
case, Aaron, is pretty much the same thing.”
“I should die easier in mind, Prudence, if Chainbearer
would only admit that the man who chops, and hauls, and
saws, and rafts a tree, doos get some sort of a right, nat'ral
or legal, to the lumber.”
“I 'm sorry, T'ousantacres,” put in Andries, “t'at you
feel any such atmission from me necessary to you at t'is
awful moment, since I nefer can make it ast an honest man.
You hat petter listen to your wife, ant get confarted if you
can, ant as soon ast you can. You ant I haf put a few
hours to lif; I am an olt soltier, T'ousantacres, ant haf seen
more t'an t'ree t'ousant men shot town in my own ranks, to
-- 187 --
[figure description] Page 187.[end figure description]
say nut'in' of t'e ranks of t'e enemy; ant wit' so much exper'ence
a man comes to know a little apout wounts ant
t'eir tarminations. I gif it ast my chugement, t'erefore, t'at
neit'er of us can haf t'e smallest hope to lif t'rough t'e next
night. So get t'at confarsion as hastily ant ast well ast you
can, for t'ere ist little time to lose, ant you a squatter! T'is
ist t'e moment of all ot'ers, T'ousantacres, to proofe t'e true
falue of professions, ant trates, ant callin's, as well ast of
t'e manner in which t'eir tuties haf peen fulfillet. It may
pe more honouraple ant more profitaple to pe a calculating
surfeyor, ant to unterstant arit'metic, ant to pe talket of in
t'e worlt for work tone on a large scale; put efen His Excellency
himself, when he comes to t'e last moment, may pe
glat t'at t'e temptations of such l'arnin', ant his pein' so t'oroughly
an honest man, toes not make him enfy t'e state of
a poor chainpearer; who, if he titn't know much, ant coultn't
do much, at least measuret t'e lant wit' fitelity, ant tid his
work ast well ast he knew how. Yes, yes, olt Aaron; get
confartet, I tell you; ant shoult Prutence not know enough
of religion ant her piple, ant of prayin' to Got to haf marcy
on your soul, t'ere ist Dus Malpone, my niece, who unterstants,
ant what ist far petter, who feels t'ese matters, quite
as well ast most tominies, ant petter t'an some lazy ant selfish
ones t'at I know, who treat t'eir flocks as if t'e Lort
meant t'ey wast to pe shearet only, ant who wast too lazy
to do much more t'an to keep cryin' out—not in t'e worts
of t'e inspiret writer,—`watchman, what of t'e night?'—
`watchman, what of t'e night?'—put, `my pelovet, ant most
christian, ant gotly-mintet people, pay, pay, pay!' Yes,
t'ere ist too much of such afarice ant selfishness in t'e worlt,
ant it toes harm to t'e cause of t'e Safiour; put trut' is so
clear ant peautiful an opject, my poor Aaron, t'at efen lies,
ant fice, ant all manner of wicketnesses cannot long sully
it. Take my atvice, ant talk to Dus; ant t'ough you wilt
touptless continue to grow worse in poty, you wilt grow
petter in spirit.”
Thousandacres turned his grim visage round, and gazed
intently and wistfully towards Ursula. I saw the struggle
that was going on within, through the clear mirror of the
sweet, ingenuous face of my beloved, and I saw the
-- 188 --
[figure description] Page 188.[end figure description]
propriety of retiring. Frank Malbone understood my look, and
we left the house together, closing the door behind us.
Two, to me, long and anxious hours succeeded, during
most of which time my companion and myself walked about
the clearing, questioning the men who composed the posse,
and hearing their reports. These men were in earnest in
what they were doing; for a respect for law is a distinguishing
trait in the American character, and perhaps more so in
New England, whence most of these people came, than in
any other part of the country; the rascality of 'Squire
Newcome to the contrary, notwithstanding. Some observers
pretend that this respect for law is gradually decreasing
among us, and that in its place is sensibly growing up a
disposition to substitute the opinions, wishes, and interests
of local majorities, making the country subject to men instead
of principles. The last are eternal and immutable;
and, coming of God, men, however unanimous in sentiment,
have no more right to attempt to change them, than to blaspheme
His holy name. All that the most exalted and largest
political liberty can ever beneficially effect is, to apply these
principles to the good of the human race, in the management
of their daily affairs; but, when they attempt to substitute
for these pure and just rules of right, laws conceived in
selfishness and executed by the power of numbers, they
merely exhibit tyranny in its popular form, instead of in its
old aspect of kingly or aristocratic abuses. It is a fatal
mistake to fancy, that freedom is gained by the mere achievement
of a right in the people to govern, unless the manner
in which that right is to be both understood and practised,
is closely incorporated with all the popular notions of what
has been obtained. That right to govern means no more,
than the right of the people to avail themselves of the power
thus acquired, to apply the great principles of justice to
their own benefit, and from the possession of which they had
hitherto been excluded. It confers no power to do that
which is inherently wrong, under any pretence whatever;
nor would anything have been gained, had America, as soon
as she relieved herself from a sway that diverted so many
of her energies to the increase of the wealth and influence
of a distant people, gone to work to frame a new polity
which should inflict similar wrongs within her own bosom.
-- 189 --
[figure description] Page 189.[end figure description]
My old acquaintance, the hearty Rhode Islander, was one
of the posse; and I had a short conversation with him,
while thus kept out of the house, which may serve to let the
reader somewhat into the secret of the state of things at the
clearing. We met near the mill, when my acquaintance,
whose name was Hosmer, commenced as follows:
“A good day to you, major, and a hearty welcome to the
open air!” cried the sturdy yeoman, frankly but respectfully,
offering his hand. “You fell into a pit here, or into a den
among thieves; and it 's downright providential you ever
saw and breathed the clear air ag'in! Wa-a-l, I've been
trailin' a little this mornin', along with the Injin; and no
hound has a more sartain scent than he has. We went
into the hollow along the creek; and a desp'rate sight of
boards them varmints have got into the water, I can tell you!
If the lot 's worth forty pounds York, it must be worth every
shilling of five hundred. They 'd a made their fortin's,
every blackguard among 'em. I don't know but I 'd fit
myself to save so many boards, and sich beautiful boards,
whether wrongfully or rightfully lumbered!”
Here the hearty old fellow stopped to laugh, which he did
exactly in the full-mouthed, contented way in which he spoke
and did everything else. I profited by the occasion to put
in a word in reply.
“You are too honest a man, major, to think of ever making
your boards out of another man's trees,” I answered.
“This people have lived by dishonest practices all their
lives, and any one can see what it has come to.”
“Yes, I hope I am, 'squire Littlepage—I do hope I am.
Hard work and I an't no how afeard of each other; and
so long as a man can work, and will work, Satan don't
get a full grip on him. But, as I was sayin', the Trackless
struck the trail down the creek, though it was along a
somewhat beaten path; but that Injin would make no
more of findin' it in a highway, than you and I would of
findin' our places in the Bible on Sabba'day, where we had
left off the Sabba'day that was gone. I always mark mine
with a string the old woman braided for me on purpose, and
a right down good method it is; for, while you 're s'archin'
for your specs with one hand, nothin' is easier than to open
the Bible with t'other. Them 's handy things to have, major;
-- 190 --
[figure description] Page 190.[end figure description]
and, when you marry some great lady down at York, sich
a one as your own mother was, for I know'd her and honoured
her, as we all did hereaway—but, when you get
married, ask your wife to braid a string for you, to find the
place in the Bible with, and all will go right, take an old
man's word for it.”
“I thank you, friend, and will remember the advice,
even though I might happen to marry a lady in this part
of the world, and not down in York.”
“This part of the world? No, we 've got nobody our
way, that 's good enough for you. Let me see; Newcome
has a da'ghter that 's old enough, but she 's desp'rate humbly
(Anglise, homely — the people of New England reserve
`ugly' for moral qualities) and wouldn't suit, no how. I
don't think the Littlepages would overmuch like being warp
and fillin' with the Newcomes.”
“No! My father was an old friend — or, an old acquaintance
at least, of Mr. Newcome's, and must know and appreciate
his merits.”
“Yes — yes — I 'll warrant ye the gin'ral knows him.
Wa-a-l! Human natur' is human natur'; and I do s'pose,
if truth must be spoken, none on us be half as good as we
ought to be. We read about faithful stewards in the good
book, and about onfaithful ones too, squire” — here, the old
yeoman stopped to indulge in one of his hearty laughs, rendering
it manifest he felt the full application of his words.
“Wa-a-l, all must allow the bible's a good book. I never
open it, without l'arnin' suthin', and what I l'arn, I strive
not to forgit. But there 's a messenger for you, major, from
Thousandacres' hut, and I fancy 't will turn out that he or
Chainbearer is drawing near his eend.”
Lowiny was coming to summon us to the house, sure
enough, and I took my leave of my brother major for the
moment. It was plain to me that this honest-minded yeoman,
a good specimen of his class, saw through Newcome
and his tricks, and was not unwilling to advert to them.
Nevertheless, this man had a fault, and one very characteristic
of his “order.” He could not speak directly, but
would hint round a subject, instead of coming out at once,
and telling what he had to say; beating the bush to start
his game, when he might have put it up at once, by going
-- 191 --
[figure description] Page 191.[end figure description]
in at it directly. Before we parted, he gave me to understand
that Susquesus and my fellow, Jaap, had gone on in
pursuit of the retreating squatters, intending to follow their
trail several miles, in order to make sure that Tobit and his
gang were not hanging around the clearing to watch their
property, ready to strike a blow when it might be least expected.
Dus met me at the door of the cabin, tearful and sad, but
with such a holy calm reigning in her generally brilliant
countenance, as denoted the nature of the solemn business
in which she had just been engaged. She extended both
hands to meet mine, and whispered, “Uncle Chainbearer is
anxious to speak to us—on the subject of our engagement, I
think it is.” A tremour passed through the frame of Ursula;
but she made an effort, smiled sadly, and continued: “Hear
him patiently, dear Mordaunt, and remember that he is my
father, in one sense, and as fully entitled to my obedience
and respect as if I were really his daughter.”
As I entered the room, I could see that Dus had been at
prayer. Prudence looked comforted, but Thousandacres,
himself, had a wild and uncertain expression of countenance,
as if doubts had begun to beset him, at the very moment
when they must have been the most tormenting. I observed
that his anxious eye followed the form of Dus, and that he
gazed on her as one would be apt to regard the being who
had just been the instrument of awakening within him the
consciousness of his critical state. But my attention was
soon drawn to the other bed.
“Come near me, Mortaunt, lat; ant come hit'er, Dus, my
tearest ta'ghter ant niece. I haf a few worts of importance
to say to you, pefore I go, ant if t'ey pe not sait now, t'ey
nefer may pe sait at all. It 's always pest to `take time py
t'e forelock,' t'ey say; ant surely I cannot pe callet in haste
to speak, when not only one foot, put pot' feet and half my
poty, in t'e pargain, may well pe sait to pe in t'e grafe.
Now listen to an olt man's atfice, ant do not stop my worts
until all haf peen spoken, for I grow weak fast, ant haf not
strength enough to t'row away any of it in argument.
“Mortaunt hast sait ast much, in my hearin', ast to atmit
t'at he lofes ant atmires my gal, ant t'at he wishes, ant
hopes, ant expects to make her his wife. On t'e ot'er hant,
-- 192 --
[figure description] Page 192.[end figure description]
Ursula, or Dus, my niece, confesses ant acknowletges t'at
she lofes, ant esteems, ant hast a strong regart for Mortaunt,
ant ist willing to pecome his wife. All t'is ist nat'ral, ant
t'ere wast a time when it woult haf mate me ast happy ast
t'e tay ist long to hear as much sait by t'e one or t'e ot'er
of t'e parties. You know, my chiltren, t'at my affection for
you ist equal, ant t'at I consiter you, in all respects put t'at
of worltly contition, to pe as well suitet to pecome man ant
wife ast any young couple in America. Put tuty is tuty,
ant it must pe tischarget. General Littlepage wast my olt
colonel; ant, an honest ant an honouraple man himself, he
hast efery right to expect t'at efery one of his former captains,
in partic'lar, woult do unto him as t'ey woult haf him
do unto t'em. Now, t'ough heafen ist heafen, t'is worlt
must pe regartet as t'is worlt, ant t'e rules for its gofernment
are to pe respectet in t'eir place. T'e Malpones pe a
respectaple family, I know; ant t'ough Dus' own fat'er wast
a little wilt, ant t'oughtless, ant extrafagant—”
“Uncle Chainbearer!”
“True, gal, true; he wast your fat'er, ant t'e chilt shoult
respect its parent. I atmit t'at, ant wilt say no more t'an
ist apsolutely necessary; pesites, if Malpone hat his pat
qualities, he hat his goot. A hantsomer man coult not pe
fount, far ant near, ast my poor sister felt, I dares to say;
ant he wast prave as a pull-dog, ant generous, ant gootnaturet,
ant many persons was quite captivatet by all t'ese
showy atfantages, ant t'ought him petter ast he really wast.
Yes, yes, Dus, my chilt, he hat his goot qualities, as well
ast his pat. Put, t'e Malpones pe gentlemen, as ist seen py
Frank, Dus' prother, ant py ot'er mempers of t'e family.
T'en my mot'er's family, py which I am relatet to Dus,
wast very goot—even petter t'an t'e Coejemans—and t'e
gal is a gentlewoman py pirt'. No one can deny t'at; put
ploot won't do efery t'ing. Chiltren must pe fet, and clot'et;
ant money ist necessary, a'ter all, for t'e harmony ant comfort
of families. I know Matam Littlepage, in partic'lar.
She ist a da'ter of olt Harman Mortaunt, who wast a grant
gentleman in t'e lant, ant t'e owner of Ravensnest, ast well
ast of ot'er estates, ant who kept t'e highest company in t'e
profince. Now Matam Littlepage, who hast peen t'us born,
ant etucatet, ant associatet, may not like t'e itee of hafin'
-- 193 --
[figure description] Page 193.[end figure description]
Dus Malpone, a chainpearer's niece, ant a gal t'at hast peen
chainpearer herself, for which I honour ant lofe her so much
t'e more, Mortaunt, lat; put for which an ill-chutgin' worlt
wilt despise her—”
“My mother—my noble-hearted, right-judging and right-feeling
mother—never!” I exclaimed, in a burst of feeling
I found it impossible to control.
My words, manner and earnestness produced a profound
impression on my auditors. A gleam of pained delight shot
into and out of the countenance of Ursula, like the passage
of the electric spark. Chainbearer gazed on me intently,
and it was easy to trace, in the expression of his face, the
deep interest he felt in my words, and the importance he attached
to them. As for Frank Malbone, he fairly turned
away to conceal the tears that forced themselves from his
eyes.
“If I coult t'ink ast much—if I coult hope ast much, Mortaunt,”
resumed Chainbearer, “it woult pe a plesset relief
to my partin' spirit, for I know general Littlepage well
enough to pe sartain t'at he ist a just ant a right-mintet man,
ant t'at, in t'e long run, he woult see matters ast he ought
to see t'em. Wit' Matam Littlepage I fearet it wast tifferent;
for I haf always hearet t'at t'e Mortaunts was tifferent
people, ant felt ast toppin' people commonly do feel. T'is
makes some change in my itees, ant some change in my
plans. Howesefer, my young frients, I haf now to ask of
you each a promise—a solemn promise mate to a tyin' man—
ant it ist t'is—”
“First hear me, Chainbearer,” I interposed eagerly, “before
you involve Ursula heedlessly, and I had almost said
cruelly, in any incautious promise, that may make both our
lives miserable hereafter. You, yourself, first invited, tempted,
courted me to love her; and now, when I know and
confess her worth, you throw ice on my flame, and command
me to do that of which it is too late to think.”
“I own it, I own it, lat, ant hope t'e Lort, in his great
marcy, wilt forgif ant parton t'e great mistake I mate. We
haf talket of t'is pefore, Mortaunt, ant you may rememper
I tolt you it was Dus, herself, who first mate me see t'e trut'
in t'e matter, ant how much petter ant more pecomin' it wast
-- 194 --
[figure description] Page 194.[end figure description]
in me to holt you pack, t'an to encourage ant leat you on.
How comes it, my tear gal, t'at you haf forgot all t'is, ant
now seem to wish me to do t'e fery t'ing you atviset me not
to do?”
Ursula's face became pale as death; then it flushed to the
brightness of a summer sunset, and she sank on her knees,
concealing her countenance in the coarse quilt of the bed,
as her truthful and ingenuous nature poured out her answer.
“Uncle Chainbearer,” she said, “when we first talked on
this subject I had never seen Mordaunt.”
I knelt at the side of Ursula, folded her to my bosom, and
endeavoured to express the profound sentiment of gratitude
that I felt at hearing this ingenuous explanation, by such
caresses as nature and feeling dictated. Dus, however,
gently extricated herself from my arms, and rising, we both
stood waiting the effect of what had just been seen and heard
on Chainbearer.
“I see t'at natur' is stronger t'an reason, ant opinion, ant
custom,” the old man resumed, after a long, meditative
pause—“I haf put little time to spent in t'is matter, housefer,
my chiltren, ant must pring it to a close. Promise
me, pot' of you, t'at you will nefer marry wit'out t'e free
consent of General Littlepage, ant t'at of olt Matam Littlepage,
ant young Matam Littlepage, each or all pein' lifin'.”
“I do promise you, uncle Chainbearer,” said Dus, with a
promptitude that I could hardly pardon — “I do promise
you, and will keep my promise, as I love you and fear and
honour my Maker. 'T would be misery, to me, to enter a
family that was not willing to receive me—”
“Ursula!—Dearest—dearest Ursula—do you reflect!—
Am I, then, nothing in your eyes?”
“It would also be misery to live without you, Mordaunt—
but in one case I should be supported by a sense of having
discharged my duty; while in the other, all that went wrong
would appear a punishment for my own errors.”
I would not promise; for, to own the truth, while I never
distrusted my father or mother for a single instant, I did
distrust my dear and venerable grandmother. I knew that
she had not only set her heart on my marrying Priscilla
Bayard; but that she had a passion for making matches in
-- 195 --
[figure description] Page 195.[end figure description]
her own family; and I feared that she might have some of
the tenacity of old age in maintaining her opinions. Dus
endeavoured to prevail on me to promise; but I evaded the
pledge; and all solicitations were abandoned in consequence,
of a remark that was soon after made by Chainbearer.
“Nefer mint — nefer mint, darlint; your promise is
enough. So long as you pe true, what matters it w'et'er
Mortaunt is heatstrong or not? Ant now, children, ast I
wish to talk no more of t'e matters of t'is worlt, put to gif
all my metitations ant language to t'e t'ings of Got, I wilt
utter my partin' worts to you. W'et'er you marry or not,
I pray Almighty Got to gif you his pest plessin's in t'is life,
ant in t'at which ist to come. Lif in sich a way, my tear
chiltren, as to pe aple to meet t'is awful moment, in which
you see me placed, wit' hope ant joy, so t'at we may all
meet hereafter in t'e courts of Heafen. Amen.”
A short, solemn pause succeeded this benediction, when
it was interrupted by a fearful groan, that struggled out of
the broad chest of Thousandacres. All eyes were turned
on the other bed, which presented a most impressive contrast
to the calm scene that surrounded the parting soul of
him about whom we had been gathered. I alone advanced
to the assistance of Prudence, who, woman-like, clung to
her husband to the last; `bone of his bone, and flesh of his
flesh.' I must own, however, that horror paralyzed my
limbs; and that when I got as far as the foot of the squatter's
bed, I stood riveted to the place like a rooted tree.
Thousandacres had been raised, by means of quilts, until
half his body lay almost in a sitting position; a change he
had ordered during the previous scene. His eyes were
open; ghastly, wandering, hopeless. As the lips contracted
with the convulsive twitchings of death, they gave to his
grim visage a species of sardonic grin that rendered it
doubly terrific. At this moment a sullen calm came over
the countenance, and all was still. I knew that the last
breath remained to be drawn, and waited for it as the
charmed bird gazes at the basilisk-eye of the snake. It came,
drawing aside the lips so as to show every tooth, and not
one was missing in that iron frame; when, finding the sight
too frightful for even my nerves, I veiled my eyes. When
my hand was removed, I caught one glimpse of that dark
-- 196 --
[figure description] Page 196.[end figure description]
tenement in which the spirit of the murderer and squatter
had so long dwelt, Prudence being in the act of closing the
glary, but still fiery eyes. I never before had looked upon
so revolting a corpse; and never wish to see its equal again.
CHAPTER XIV.
“Mild as a babe reclines himself to rest,
And smiling sleeps upon the mother's breast—
Tranquil, and with a patriarch's hope, he gave
His soul to heaven, his body to the grave.
Harte.
I saw that neither Chainbearer nor Dus looked at the revolting
object presented in the corpse of Thousandacres,
after that selfish and self-willed being ceased to live. I had
another hut prepared immediately for its reception, and the
body was removed to it without delay. Thither Prudence
accompanied the senseless body; and there she passed the
remainder of the day, and the whole of the succeeding
night, attended by Lowiny—with occasional offers of food
and assistance from the men of the posse. Two or three
of the latter, carpenters by trade, made a coffin of pine,
and the body was placed in it in the customary manner.
Others dug a grave in the centre of one of those rough
fields that the squatter had appropriated to his own uses,
thus making everything ready for the interment, as soon as
the coroner, who had been sent for, should have had his
sitting over the body.
The removal of the remains of Thousandacres left a sort
of holy calm in the cabin of Chainbearer. My old friend
was fast sinking; and he said but little. His consciousness
continued to the last, and Dus was often at prayer with him
in the course of that day. Frank and I aided in doing the
duty of nurses; and we prevailed on Ursula to retire to
the loft, and catch some rest, after her unwearying watchfulness.
It was near sunset that old Andries again
-- 197 --
[figure description] Page 197.[end figure description]
addressed himself particularly to me, who was sitting at his
side, Dus being then asleep.
“I shalt lif till mornin', I now fint, Mortaunt,” he said;
“put, let deat' come when it wilt, it ist sent py my Lort
ant Maker, ant it ist welcome. Deat' hast no fears for
me.”
“He never had, captain Coejemans, as the history of
your whole career in the army shows.”
“Yes, lat, t'ere wast a time when I shoult haf peen glat
to haf peen shot on t'e fielt, and to haf diet wit' Montgomery,
ant Laurens, ant Wooster, ant Warren, and sich like gallant
heroes; put t'at ist all gone, now. I 'm like a man t'at
hast peen walkin' over a wite plain, ant who hast come to
its tarmination, where he sees pefore him an entless apyss
into which he must next step. At sich a sight, lat, all t'e
trouples, ant lapours, ant tifficulties of t'e plain seem so
triflin', t'at t'ey pe forgotten. Mint, I do not wish to say
t'at eternity is an apyss to me in fears, ant pains, ant
tespair; for t'e gootness of Got hast enlightenet my mint
on t'at supject, ant hope, ant love, ant longin' for t'e presence
of my Maker, stant in t'eir places. Mortaunt, my lat,
pefore I quit you, I coult wish to say a coople of worts to
you on t'is sacret supject, if 't will gif no offence?”
“Say all, and what you please, dear Chainbearer. We
are friends of the camp and the field, and the advice of no
one could be more welcome to me than yours, given at a
moment as solemn and truthful as this.”
“T'ank ye, Mortaunt; t'ank ye wit' all my heart. You
know how it hast peen wit' me, since poyhoot; for often ant
often you ant I haf talket over t'ese t'ings in camp. I wast
t'rown young upon t'e worlt, ant wast left wit'out fat'er, or
mot'er, to pring myself up. An only chilt of my own
fat'er, for Dus comes from a half-sister you know, t'ere
wast no one to care for me in partic'lar, and I growet up in
great ignorance of t'e Lort of Hosts, ant my tuties to him,
ant to his plesset son, more ast anyt'ing else. Well, Mortaunt,
you know how it ist in t'e woots, ant in t'e army. A
man neet not pe fery pat, to pe far from pein' as goot as ist
expectet of him by t'e Almighty, who gafe him his soul,
ant who reteemet him from his sins, ant who holts out taily
t'e means of grace. When I come here, wit' Dus, a chilt
-- 198 --
[figure description] Page 198.[end figure description]
knewest almost as much of t'e real natur' of religion ast I
knewest. Put, t'at precious gal, t'rough Divine grace, hast
peen t'e means of pringin' an olt ant ignorant man to a
sense of his true contition, ant to petter hapits, t'an t'ose
you knowet in him. Once I lovet a frolick, Mortaunt, and
punch ant ot'er savoury liquors wast fery pleasant to me;
ay, ant even a'ter years might ant shoult haf teachet me
t'e folly of sich ways. Put you haf not seen t'e glass at
my lips t'is summer, lat, at unseemly moments, or in unseemly
numpers of times, ant t'at ist owin' to t'e confersations
I haf hat wit' Dus on t'e supject. It woult haf tone
your heart goot, Mortaunt, to haf seen t'e tear gal seated
on my knee, combin' my olt grey hairs wit' her telicate
white fingers, ant playin' wit my hart, ret cheeks, ast t'e
infant plays wit' t'e cheeks of t'e mot'er, whilst she talket
to me of t'e history of Christ, ant his sufferin's for us all—
ant tolt me t'e way to learn to know my safiour in trut' ant
sincerity! You t'ink Dus hantsome; ant pleasant to look
upon; ant pleasant to talk wit'—put you can nefer know t'e
gal in her colours of golt, Mortaunt, till she pegins to con
verse wit' you, unreservetly, apout Got ant retemption!”
“I can believe anything in favour of Ursula Malbone,
my dear Chainbearer; and no music could be sweeter, to
my ears, than thus to hear you pronouncing her praise.”
The death of Chainbearer occurred, as he had himself
prognosticated, about the time of the return of light on the
succeeding morning. A more tranquil end I never witnessed.
He ceased to suffer pain hours before he drew his
last breath; but he had whispered to me, in the course of that
day, that he endured agony at moments. He wished me to
conceal the fact from Dus, however, lest it should increase
her grief. “So long ast t'e tear gal ist in ignorance of my
sufferin's,” the excellent old man added in his whisper,
“she cannot feel so much for me; since she must have confitence
in t'e value of her own goot work, ant s'pose me to
pe only trawin' nearer to happiness. Put, you ant I know,
Mortaunt, t'at men are not often shot t'rough t'e poty wit'out
feelin' much pain; ant I haf hat my share—yes, I haf
hat my share!” Nevertheless, it would have been difficult
for one who was not in the secret to detect the smallest sign
that the sufferer endured a tithe of the agony he actually
-- 199 --
[figure description] Page 199.[end figure description]
underwent. Ursula was deceived; and to this hour she is
ignorant how much her uncle endured. But, as I have said,
this pain ceased altogether about nine o'clock, and Andries
even slumbered for many minutes at a time. Not long
before the light returned, however, he became aroused, and
never slumbered again until he fell into the long, last sleep
of death. His niece prayed with him about five; after
which he seemed to consider himself as ready for the final
march.
It might have been owing to the age of the patient; but,
in this instance, death announced his near approach by a
rapid loss of the senses. At first came a difficulty of hearing;
and then the quick decay of the sense of sight. The
first was made known to us by a repetition of questions that
had already been more than once answered; while the
painful fact that sight, if not absolutely gone, was going,
was brought home to us by the circumstance that, while
Dus was actually hovering over him like a guardian angel,
he inquired anxiously where she was.
“I am here, uncle Chainbearer,” answered the dear girl,
in tremulous tones—“here, before you, and am about to wet
your lips.”
“I want t'e gal—t'at ist—I wish her to pe near when t'e
spirit mounts to Heafen. — Haf her callet, Frank or Mortaunt.”
“Dear—dearest uncle, I am here, now—here before you—
closest to you of all—almost in your arms,” answered
Dus, speaking loud enough to make herself heard, by an
effort that cost her a great deal. “Do not think I can ever
desert you, until I know that your spirit has gone to the
mercy-seat of God!”
“I knowet it,” said Chainbearer, endeavouring to raise
his arms to feel for his niece, who met the effort by receiving
his feeble and clammy hand in both her own. — “Remember
my wishes apout Mortaunt, gal — yet, shoult t'e
family agree, marry him wit' my plessin'—yes, my pest
plessin'.—Kiss me, Duss.—Wast t'em your lips?—t'ey felt
colt; ant you are nefer colt of hant or heart.—Mortaunt—
kiss me, too, lat—t'at wast warmer, ant hat more feelin' in
it.—Frank, gif me your hant—I owe you money—t'ere ist
a stockin' half full of tollars.—Your sister wilt pay my tebts.
-- 200 --
[figure description] Page 200.[end figure description]
Ant General Littlepage owes me money—put most he owest
me goot will.—I pray Got to pless him—ant to pless Matam
Littlepage—ant olt Matam Littlepage, t'at I nefer did see—
ant t'e major, or colonel, ast he is now callet—ant all our
rijiment—ant your rijiment, too, Frank, which wast a fery
goot rijiment.—Farewell, Frank—Dus—sister—precious—
Christ-Jesus, receive my—”
These words came with difficulty, and were whispered,
rather than uttered aloud. They came at intervals, too,
especially towards the last, in a way to announce the near
approach of the state of which they were the more immediate
precursors. The last syllable I have recorded was no
sooner uttered, than the breath temporarily ceased. I removed
Dus by gentle force, placing her in the arms of her
brother, and turned to note the final respiration. That final
breath, in which the spirit appears to be exhaled, was calm,
placid, and as easy as comports with the separation of soul
and body; leaving the hard, aged, wrinkled, but benevolent
countenance of the deceased, with an expression of happy
repose on it, such as the friends of the dead love to look
upon. Of all the deaths I had then witnessed, this was the
most tranquil, and the best calculated to renew the hopes
of the Christian. As for myself, it added a profound respect
for the character and moral qualities of Ursula Malbone,
to the love and admiration I bore her already, the
fruits of her beauty, wit, heart, and other attractions.
The two expected deaths had now taken place, and it only
remained to dispose of the legal questions connected with
the events which had caused them, inter the bodies, and
return to the Nest. I saw that one of the cabins was prepared
for the reception of Ursula and Lowiny, the latter still
clinging to us, while the body of Chainbearer was laid out
in a coffin that had been made by the same hands, and at
the same time, as that of Thousandacres. About noon, the
coroner arrived, not 'Squire Newcome, but another, for
whom he had himself sent; and a jury was immediately
collected from among the members of the posse. The proceedings
were of no great length. I told my story, or as
much of it as was necessary, from beginning to end, and
others gave their testimony as to the proceedings at different
periods in the events. The finding was, in the case of
-- 201 --
[figure description] Page 201.[end figure description]
Chainbearer, “murder by the hand of some person unknown;”
and in that of Thousandacres, “accidental death.”
The first was right, unquestionably; as to the last, I conceive,
there was as little of “accident” as ever occurred,
when a man was shot through the body by a steady hand,
and an unerring eye. But such was the verdict, and I had
nothing but conjectures for my opinion as to the agency of
the Indian in killing the squatter.
That evening, and a cool autumnal night it was, we buried
Thousandacres, in the centre of the field I have mentioned.
Of all his numerous family, Prudence and Lowiny
alone were present. The service was short, and the man
of violence descended to mingle with the clods of the earth,
without a common prayer, a verse from Holy Writ, or any
religious rite whatever. The men who had borne the body,
and the few spectators present, filled the grave, rounded it
handsomely, and covered it with sods, and were turning
away in silence, to retrace their steps to the dwellings, when
the profound stillness which had reigned throughout the
whole of the brief ceremony, was suddenly broken by the
clear, full voice of Prudence, who spoke in a tone and manner
that arrested every step.
“Men and brethren,” said this extraordinary woman, who
had so many of the vices of her condition, relieved by so
many of the virtues of her sex and origin. “Men and
brethren,” she said, “for I cannot call ye neighbours, and
will not call you foes, I thank ye for this act of decent
regard to the wants of both the departed and the living, and
that ye have thus come to assist in burying my dead out of
my sight.”
Some such address, even a portion of these very words,
were customary; but as no one had expected anything of
the sort at that moment, they startled as much as they surprised
us. As the rest of the party recovered from its
wonder, however, it proceeded towards the huts, leaving me
alone with Prudence, who stood, swinging her body as
usual, by the side of the grave.
“The night threatens to be cool,” I said, “and you had
better return with me to the dwellings.”
“What's the houses to me, now! Aaron is gone, the b'ys
be fled, and their wives and children, and my children, be
-- 202 --
[figure description] Page 202.[end figure description]
fled, leaving none in this clearin' but Lowiny, who belongs
more to your'n in feelin', than to me and mine, and the body
that lies beneath the clods! There 's property in the housen,
that I do s'pose even the law would give us, and maybe
some one may want it. Give me that, Major Littlepage, to
help to clothe and feed my young, and I 'll never trouble
this place ag'in. They 'll not call Aaron a squatter for
takin' up that small piece of 'arth; and one day, perhaps,
you 'll not grudge to me as much more by its side. It 's
little more squattin' that I can do, and the next pitch I make,
will be the last.”
“There is no wish on my part, good woman, to injure
you. Your effects can be taken away from this place whenever
you please, and I will even help you to do it,” I answered,
“in such a way as to put it in the power of your
sons to receive the goods without risk to themselves. I remember
to have seen a batteau of some size in the stream
below the mill; can you tell me whether it remains there,
or not?”
“Why shouldn't it? The b'ys built it two years ago, to
transport things in, and it 's not likely to go off of itself.”
“Well, then, I will use that boat to get your effects off
with safety to yourself. To-morrow, everything of any value
that can be found about this place, and to which you can
have any right, shall be put in that batteau, and I will send
the boat, when loaded, down the stream, by means of my
own black and the Indian, who shall abandon it a mile or
two below, where those you may send to look for it, can
take possession and carry the effects to any place you may
choose.”
The woman seemed surprised, and even affected by this
proposal, though she a little distrusted my motives.
“Can I depend on this, Major Littlepage?” she asked,
doubtingly.“Tobit and his brethren would be desp'rate, if
any scheme to take 'em should be set on foot under sich a
disguise.”
“Tobit and his brethren have nothing to fear from
treachery of mine. Has the word of a gentleman no value
in your eyes?”
“I know that gentlemen gin'rally do as they promise;
and so I 've often told Aaron, as a reason for not bein' hard
-- 203 --
[figure description] Page 203.[end figure description]
on their property, but he never would hear to it. Waal,
Major Littlepage, I 'll put faith in you, and will look for the
batteau at the place you 've mentioned. God bless you for
this, and may be prosper you in that which is nearest your
heart! We shall never see each other ag'in—farewell.”
You surely will return to the house, and pass the night
comfortably under a roof!”
“No; I 'll quit you here. The housen have little in 'em
now that I love, and I shall be happier in the woods.”
“But the night is cool, and, ere it be morning it will become
even chilling and cold.”
“It's colder in that grave,” answered the woman, pointing
mournfully with her long, skinny finger to the mound
which covered the remains of her husband. “I 'm used to
the forest, and go to look for my children. The mother
that looks for her children is not to be kept back by winds
and frost. Farewell ag'in, Major Littlepage. May God
remember what you have done, and will do, for me and
mine!”
“But you forget your daughter. What is to become of
your daughter?”
“Lowiny has taken desp'rately to Dus Malbone, and
wishes to stay with her while Dus wishes to have her stay.
If they get tired of each other, my da'ghter can easily find
us. No gal of mine will be long put out in sich a s'arch.”
As all this sounded probable and well enough, I had no
further objections to urge. Prudence waved her hand in
adieu, and away she went across the dreary-looking fields
with the strides of a man, burying her tall, gaunt figure in
the shadow of the wood, with as little hesitation as another
would have entered the well-known avenues of some town.
I never saw her afterwards; though one or two messages
from her did reach me through Lowiny.
As I was returning from the grave, Jaap and the Trackless
came in from their scout. The report they made was
perfectly satisfactory. By the trail, which they followed
for miles, the squatters had actually absconded, pushing for
some distant point, and nothing more was to be feared from
them in that part of the country. I now gave my orders
as respected the goods and chattels of the family, which
were neither very numerous nor very valuable; and it may
-- 204 --
[figure description] Page 204.[end figure description]
as well be said here as later, that everything was done next
day, strictly according to promise. The first of the messages
that I received from Prudence came within a month,
acknowledging the receipt of her effects, even to the gear of
the mill, and expressing her deep gratitude for the favour.
I have reason to think, too, that nearly half the lumber
fell into the hands of these squatters, quite that portion of
it being in the stream at the time we removed from the spot,
and floating off with the rains that soon set in. What was
found at a later day was sold, and the proceeds were appropriated
to meet the expenses of, and to make presents to the
posse, as an encouragement to such persons to see the
majesty of the laws maintained.
Early next morning we made our preparations to quit the
deserted mill. Ten of the posse arranged themselves into
a party to see the body of Chainbearer transported to the
Nest. This was done by making a rude bier, that was carried
by two horses, one preceding the other, and having the
corpse suspended between them. I remained with the body;
but Dus, attended by Lowiny, and protected by her brother,
preceded us, halting at Chainbearer's huts for our arrival.
At this point we passed the first night of our journey, Dus
and Frank again preceding us, always on foot, to the Nest.
At this place, the final halt of poor Andries, the brother and
sister arrived at an hour before dinner, while we did not
get in with the body until the sun was just setting.
As our little procession drew near the house, I saw a
number of wagons and horses in the orchard that spread
around it, which, at first, I mistook for a collection of the
tenants, met to do honour to the manes of Chainbearer. A
second look, however, let me into the true secret of the case.
As we drew slowly near, the whole procession on foot, I
discovered the persons of my own dear parents, that of colonel
Follock, those of Kate, Pris. Bayard, Tom Bayard, and
even of my sister Kettletas, in the group. Last of all, I
saw, pressing forward to meet me, yet a little repelled by
the appearance of the coffin, my dear and venerable old
grandmother, herself!
Here, then, were assembled nearly all of the house of
Littlepage, with two or three near friends, who did not belong
to it! Frank Malbone was among them, and doubtless
-- 205 --
[figure description] Page 205.[end figure description]
had told his story, so that our visiters could not be surprised
at our appearance. On the other hand, I was at no loss to
understand how all this had been brought about. Frank's
express had found the party at Fishkill, had communicated
his intelligence, set everybody in motion on the wings of
anxiety and love, and here they were. The journey had
not been particularly rapid either, plenty of time having
elapsed between the time when my seizure by the squatters
was first made known to my friends, and the present moment,
to have got a message to Lilacsbush, and to have received
its answer.
Kate afterwards told me we made an imposing and solemn
appearance, as we came up to the gate of Ravensnest,
bearing the body of Chainbearer. In advance marched Susquesus
and Jaap, each armed, and the latter carrying an
axe, acting, as occasion required, in the character of a
pioneer. The bearers and attendants came next, two and
two, armed as part of the posse, and carrying packs; next
succeeded the horses with the bier, each led by a keeper; I
was the principal mourner, though armed like the rest, while
Chainbearer's poor slaves, now the property of Dus, brought
up the rear, carrying his compass, chains, and the other
emblems of his calling.
We made no halt, but passing the crowd collected on the
lawn, we went through the gate-way, and only came to a
stand when we had reached the centre of the court. As all
the arrangements had been previously made, the next step
was to inter the body. I knew that general Littlepage had
often officiated on such occasions, and a request to that effect
was made to him, through Tom Bayard. As for myself,
I said not a word to any of my own family, begging them
to excuse me until I had seen the last offices performed to
the remains of my friend. In half an hour all was ready, and
again the solemn procession was resumed. As before, Susquesus
and Jaap led the way, the latter now carrying a
shovel, and acting in the capacity of a sexton. The Indian
bore a flaming torch of pine, the darkness having so far advanced
as to render artificial light necessary. Others of
the party had these natural flambeaux, also, which added
greatly to the solemnity and impressiveness of the scene.
General Littlepage preceded the corpse, carrying a
-- 206 --
[figure description] Page 206.[end figure description]
prayer-book. Then followed the bearers, with the coffin, the horses
being now dismissed. Dus, veiled in black from head to
foot, and, leaning on Frank, appeared as chief mourner.
Though this was not strictly in conformity with real New
York habits, yet no one thought the occasion one on which
to manifest the customary reserve of the sex. Everybody
in or near the Nest, females as well as males, appeared to
do honour to the memory of Chainbearer, and Dus came
forth as the chief mourner. Priscilla Bayard, leaning on
the arm of her brother Tom, edged herself in next to her
friend, though they had not as yet exchanged a syllable together;
and, after all was over, Pris. told me it was the first
funeral she had ever attended, or the first time she had ever
been at a grave. The same was true of my grandmother,
my mother, and both my sisters. I mention this lest some
antiquarian, a thousand years hence, might light on this
manuscript, and mistake our customs. Of late years, the
New Englanders are introducing an innovation on the old
usage of the colony; but, among the upper real New York
families, women do not even now attend funerals. In this
respect, I apprehend, we follow the habits of England, where
females of the humbler classes, as I have heard, do, while
their superiors do not appear on such occasions. The reason
of the difference between the two is very easily appreciated,
though I limit my statements to what I conceive to
be the facts, without affecting to philosophize on them.
But, all our ladies attended the funeral of Chainbearer. I
came next to Tom and Priscilla, Kate pressing up to my
side, and placing her arm in mine, without speaking. As
she did this, however, the dear girl laid her little hand on
mine, and gave the latter a warm pressure, as much as to
say how greatly she was rejoiced at finding me safe, and out
of the hands of the Philistines. The rest of the party fell in
behind, and, as soon as the Indian saw that everybody was
placed, he moved slowly forward, holding his flaming torch
so high as to light the footsteps of those near him.
Directions had been sent to the 'Nest to dig a grave for
Andries, in the orchard, and at no great distance from the
verge of the rocks. As I afterwards ascertained, it was at
the very spot where one of the most remarkable events in
the life of the general had occurred; an event in which both
-- 207 --
[figure description] Page 207.[end figure description]
Susquesus and Jaap had been conspicuous actors. Thither,
then, we proceeded, in funereal order, and with funereal
tread, the torches throwing their wild and appropriate light
over the nearer accessories of the scene. Never did the
service sound more solemnly to me, there being a pathos
and richness in my father's voice that were admirably adapted
to the occasion. Then he felt what he was reading,
which does not always happen even when clergymen officiate;
for not only was general Littlepage a close friend of
the deceased, but he was a devout christian. I felt a throb
at the heart, as I heard the fall of the first clods on the coffin
of Chainbearer; but reflection brought its calm, and from
that moment Dus became, as it might be, doubly dear to me.
It appeared to me as if all her uncle's love and care had
been transferred to myself, and that, henceforth, I was to be
his representative with his much-beloved niece. I did not
hear a sob from Ursula during the whole ceremony. I knew
that she wept, and wept bitterly: but her self-command was
so great as to prevent any undue obtrusion of her griefs on
others. We all remained at the grave until Jaap had rounded
it with his utmost skill, and had replaced the last sod.
Then the procession formed anew, and we accompanied
Frank and Dus to the door of the house, when she entered
and left us without. Priscilla Bayard, however, glided in
after her friend, and I saw them locked in each other's arms,
through the window of the parlour, by the light of the fire
within. At the next moment, they retired together to the
little room that Dus had appropriated to her own particular
use.
Now it was that I embraced and was embraced by my
friends. My mother held me long in her arms, called me
her “dear, dear boy,” and left tears on my face. Kate did
pretty much the same, though she said nothing. As for
Anneke, my dear sister Kettletas, her embrace was like
herself, gentle, sincere, and warm-hearted. Nor must my
dear old grandmother be forgotten; for though she came
last of the females, she held me longest in her arms, and,
after “thanking God” devoutly for my late escape, she protested
that “I grew every hour more and more like the
Littlepages.” Aunt Mary kissed me with her customary
affection.
-- 208 --
[figure description] Page 208.[end figure description]
A portion of these embraces, however, occurred after we
had entered the parlour, which Frank, imitating Dus, had
delicately, as well as considerately, left to ourselves. Colonel
Follock, nevertheless, gave me his salutations and congratulations
before we left the court; and they were as cordial
and hearty as if he had been a second father.
“How atmiraply the general reats, Mortaunt,” our old
friend added, becoming very Dutch as he got to be excited.
“I haf always sayet t'at Corny Littlepage woult make as
goot a tominie as any rector t'ey ever hat in olt Trinity.
Put he mate as goot a soltier, too. Corny ist an extraordinary
man, Mortaunt, ant one tay he wilt pe gofernor.”
This was a favourite theory of colonel Van Valkenburgh's.
For himself, he was totally without ambition, whereas he
thought nothing good enough for his friend, Corny Littlepage.
Scarce a year passed that he did not allude to the
propriety of elevating `t'e general' to some high office or
other; nor am I certain that his allusions of this nature may
not have had their effect; since my father was elected to
Congress as soon as the new constitution was formed, and
continued to sit as long as his health and comfort would
permit.
Supper was prepared for both parties of travellers, of
course, and in due time we all took our seats at table. I
say all; but that was not literally exact, inasmuch as
neither Frank, Dus, nor Priscilla Bayard, appeared among
us again that evening. I presume each had something to eat,
though all took the meal apart from the rest of the family.
After supper I was requested to relate, seriatim, all the
recent events connected with my visit to the 'Nest, my arrest
and liberation. This I did, of course, seated at my grandmother's
side, the old lady holding one of my hands the
whole time I was speaking. The most profound attention
was lent by all the party; and a thoughtful silence succeeded
my narration, which ended only with the history of
our departure from the mills.
“Ay,” exclaimed colonel Follock, who was first to speak
after I had terminated my own account. “So much for
Yankee religion! I 'll warrant you now, Corny, t'at t'e
fellow, T'ousantacres, coult preach ant pray just like all t'e
rest of our Pilgrim Fat'ers.”
-- 209 --
[figure description] Page 209.[end figure description]
“There are rogues of New York birth and extraction, Colonel
Follock, as well as of New England,” answered my father,
drily; “and the practice of squatting is incidental to the
condition of the country; as men are certain to make free
with the property that is least protected and watched. Squatters
are made by circumstances, and not by any peculiar
disposition of a particular portion of the population to appropriate
the land of others to their own uses. It would be the
same with our hogs and our horses, were they equally exposed
to the depredations of lawless men, let the latter come
from Connecticut or Long Island.”
“Let me catch one of t'ese gentry among my horses!”
answered the colonel, with a menacing shake of his head,
for, Dutchman-like, he had a wonderful love for the species—
“I woult crop him wit' my own hants, wit'out chudge or
chury.”
“That might lead to evils almost as great as those produced
by squatting, Dirck,” returned my father.
“By the way, sir,” I put in, knowing that Colonel Follock
sometimes uttered extravagances on such subjects, though as
honest and well-meaning a man as ever breathed—“I have
forgotten to mention a circumstance that may have some
interest, as 'squire Newcome is an old acquaintance of yours.”
I then recounted all the facts connected with the first visit
of Mr. Jason Newcome to the clearing of Thousandacres,
and the substance of the conversation I had overheard between
the squatter and that upright magistrate. General
Littlepage listened with profound attention; and as for colonel
Follock, he raised his eye-brows, grunted, laughed as well
as a man could with his lips compressing a pipe, and uttered
in the best way he was able, under the circumstances, and
with sufficient sententiousness, the single word `Danpury!”'
“No—no—Dirck,” answered my father, “we must not
put all these crimes and vices on our neighbours, for many
of them grow, from the seedling to the tree bearing fruit, in
our own soil: I know this man, Jason Newcome, reasonably
well; and, while I have confided in him more than I
ought, perhaps, I have never supposed he was a person in
the least influenced by our conventional notions of honour
and integrity. What is called “Law Honest,” I have believed
him to be; but it would seem, in that I have been
-- 210 --
[figure description] Page 210.[end figure description]
mistaken. Still, I am not prepared to admit that the place
of his birth, or his education, is the sole cause of his backslidings.”
“Own t'e trut', Corny, like a man ast you pe, ant confess
it ist all our pilgrim fat'ers' ant Tanpury itees. What use
ist t'ere in misleetin' your own son, who wilt come, sooner
or later, to see t'e whole trut'?”
“I should be sorry, Dirck, to teach my son any narrow
prejudices. The last war has thrown me much among
officers from New England, and the intercourse has taught
me to esteem that portion of our fellow-citizens more than
was our custom previously to the Revolution.”
“Tush for `intercourse,' ant `esteem,' ant `teachin',
Corny! T'e whole t'ing of squattin' hast crosset t'e Byram
rifer, ant unless we look to it, t'e Yankees wilt get all our
lants away from us!”
“Jason Newcome, when I knew him best, and I may say
first,” continued my father, without appearing to pay much
attention to the observations of his friend, the colonel, “was
an exceedingly unfledged, narrow-minded provincial, with a
most overweening notion, certainly, of the high excellencies
of the particular state of society from which he had not
long before emerged. He had just as great a contempt for
New York, and New York wit, and New York usages, and
especially for New York religion and morals, as Dirck here
seems to have for all those excellencies as they are exhibited
in New England. In a word, the Yankee despised the
Dutchman, and the Dutchman abominated the Yankee. In
all this, there is nothing new, and I fancy the supercilious
feeling of the New England-man can very easily be traced
to his origin in the mother country. But, differences do
exist, I admit, and I consider the feeling with which every
New Englander comes among us, to be, by habit, adverse
to our state of society in many particulars—some good and
some bad—and this merely because he is not accustomed to
them. Among other things, as a whole, the population of
these states do not relish the tenures by which our large
estates are held. There are plenty of men, from that
quarter of the country, who are too well taught, and whose
honesty is too much of proof, not to wish to oppose anything
that is wrong in connection with this subject; still, the
-- 211 --
[figure description] Page 211.[end figure description]
prejudices of nearly all who come from the east are opposed
to the relation of landlord and tenant, and this because they
do not wish to see large landlords among them, not being
large landlords themselves. I never found any gentleman,
or man of education from New England, who saw any harm
in a man's leasing a single farm to a single tenant, or half-a-dozen
farms to half-a-dozen tenants; proof that it is not
the tenure itself with which they quarrel, but with a class
of men who are, or seem to be, their superiors.”
“I have heard the argument used against the leasehold
system, that it retards the growth and lessens the wealth of
any district in which it may prevail.”
“That it does not retard the growth, is proved by the
fact that farms can be leased always, when it often requires
years to sell them. This estate is half filled now, and will
be entirely occupied, long ere Mooseridge will be a third
sold. That the latter may be the richest and the best tilled
district, in the end, is quite probable; and this for the
simple reasons that richer men buy than rent, to begin with,
and the owner usually takes better care of his farm than
the mere tenant. Some of the richest, best cultivated, and
most civilized regions on earth, however, are those in which
the tenures of the actual occupants are, and ever have been,
merely leasehold. It is easy to talk, and to feel, in these
matters, but not quite so easy to come to just conclusions as
some imagine. There are portions of England, for instance—
Norfolk in particular — where the improvements are
almost entirely owing to the resources and enterprise of the
large proprietors. As a question of political economy,
Mordaunt, depend on it, this is one that has two sides to it;
as a question of mere stomach, each man will be apt to
view it as his gorge is up or down.”
Shortly after this was said, the ladies complained of fatigue,
a feeling in which we all participated; and the party
broke up for the night. It seems the General had sent back
word by the express, of the accommodations he should
require; which enabled the good people of the Nest to make
such arrangements as rendered everybody reasonably
comfortable.
-- 212 --
CHAPTER XV.
“Lid.
—The victory is yours, sir.”
“King.
—It is a glorious one, and well sets off
Our scene of mercy; to the dead we tender
Our sorrow; to the living, ample wishes
Of future happiness.”
Beaumont and Fletcher.
[figure description] Page 212.[end figure description]
Fatigue kept me in bed next morning until it was late.
On quitting the house I passed through the gateway, then
always left open—defence being no longer thought of—and
walked musingly towards the grave of Chainbearer. Previously
to doing this, I went as far as each corner of the
building, however, to cast an eye over the fields. On one
side of the house I saw my father and mother, arm in arm,
gazing around them; while on the other, Aunt Mary stood
by herself, looking wistfully in the direction of a wooded
ravine, which had been the scene of some important event
in the early history of the country. When she turned to
re enter the building, I found her face bathed in tears. This
respectable woman, who was now well turned of forty, had
lost her betrothed in battle, on that very spot, a quarter of a
century before, and was now gazing on the sad scene for
the first time since the occurrence of the event.
Something almost as interesting, though not of so sad a
nature, also drew my parents to the other side of the house.
When I joined them, an expression of grateful happiness, a
little saddened perhaps by incidental recollections, was on
the countenance of each. My dear mother kissed me
affectionately as I drew near, and the general cordially
gave me his hand while wishing me good-morning.
“We were talking of you,” observed the last, “at the
very moment you appeared. Ravensnest is now becoming
a valuable property; and its income, added to the products
of this large, and very excellent farm that you have in your
own hands, should keep a country-house, not only in abundance,
but with something more. You will naturally think of
-- 213 --
[figure description] Page 213.[end figure description]
marrying ere long, and your mother and I were just saying
that you ought to build a good, substantial stone dwelling
on this very spot, and settle down on your own property.
Nothing contributes so much to the civilization of a country
as to dot it with a gentry, and you will both give and receive
advantages by adopting such a course. It is impossible
for those who have never been witnesses of the result,
to appreciate the effect produced by one gentleman's family
in a neighbourhood, in the way of manners, tastes, general
intelligence, and civilization at large.”
“I am very willing to do my duty, sir, in this, as in
other particulars; but a good stone country-house, such as
a landlord ought to build on his property, will cost money,
and I have no sum in hand to use for such a purpose.”
“The house will cost far less than you suppose. Materials
are cheap, and so is labour just now. Your mother
and myself will manage to let you have a few extra thousands,
for our town property is beginning to tell again, and
fear nothing on that score. Make your selection of a spot,
and lay the foundation of the house this autumn; order the
lumber sawed, the lime burned, and other preparations
made—and arrange matters so that you can eat your Christmas
dinner, in the year 1785, in the new residence of Ravensnest.
By that time you will be ready to get married,
and we may all come up to the house-warming.”
“Has anything occurred in particular, sir, to induce you
to imagine I am in any haste to marry? You seem to couple
matrimony and the new house together, in a way to
make me think there has.”
I caught the general there, and, while my mother turned
her head aside and smiled, I saw that my father coloured a
little, though he made out to laugh. After a moment of
embarrassment, however, he answered with spirit — my
good, old grandmother coming up and linking her arm at
his vacant side as he did so.
“Why, Mord, my boy, you can have very little of the
sensibility of the Littlepages in you,” he said, “if you can
be a daily spectator of such female loveliness as is now
near you, and not lose your heart.”
Grandmother fidgeted, and so did my mother; for I could
see that both thought the general had made too bold a
-- 214 --
[figure description] Page 214.[end figure description]
demonstration. With the tact of their sex, they would have been
more on their guard. I reflected a moment, and then determined
to be frank; the present being as good a time as
any other, to reveal my secret.
“I do not intend to be insincere with you, my dear sir,”
I answered, “for I know how much better it is to be open
on matters that are of a common interest in a family, than
to affect mysteriousness. I am a true Littlepage on the
score of sensibility to the charms of the sex, and have not
lived in daily familiar intercourse with female loveliness,
without experiencing so much of its influence as to be a
warm advocate for matrimony. It is my wish to marry,
and that, too, before this new abode of Ravensnest can be
completed.”
The common exclamation of delight that followed this
declaration, sounded in my ears like a knell, for I knew it
must be succeeded by a disappointment exactly proportioned
to the present hopes. But I had gone too far to retreat, and
felt bound to explain myself.
“I 'm afraid, my dear parents, and my beloved grandmother,”
I continued, as soon as I could speak, conscious
of the necessity of being as prompt as possible, “that you
have misunderstood me.”
“Not at all, my dear boy—not at all,” interrupted my
father. “You admire Priscilla Bayard, but have not yet so
far presumed on your reception as to offer. But what of
that? Your modesty is in your favour; though I will acknowledge
that, in my judgment, a gentleman is bound to
let his mistress know, as soon as his own mind is made up,
that he is a suitor for her hand, and that it is ungenerous
and unmanly to wait until certain of success. Remember
that, Mordaunt, my boy; modesty may be carried to a fault
in a matter of this sort.”
“You still misunderstand me, sir. I have nothing to reproach
myself with on the score of manliness, though I may
have gone too far in another way without consulting my
friends. Beyond sincere good-will and friendship, Priscilla
Bayard is nothing to me, and I am nothing to Priscilla
Bayard.”
“Mordaunt!” exclaimed a voice, that I never heard without
its exciting filial tenderness.
-- 215 --
[figure description] Page 215.[end figure description]
“I have said but truth, dearest mother, and truth that
ought to have been sooner said. Miss Bayard would refuse
me to-morrow, were I to offer.”
“You don't know that, Mordaunt—You can't know it
until you try,” interrupted my grandmother, somewhat
eagerly. “The minds of young women are not to be judged
by the same rules as those of young men. Such an offer
will not come every day, I can tell her; and she 's much
too discreet and right-judging to do anything so silly. To
be sure, I have no authority to say how Priscilla feels towards
you; but, if her heart is her own, and Mordy Littlepage
be not the youth that has stolen it, I am no judge of
my own sex.”
“But, you forget, dearest grandmother, that were your
flattering opinions in my behalf all true—as I have good
reason to believe they are not—but were they true, I could
only regret it should be so; for I love another.”
This time the sensation was so profound as to produce a
common silence. Just at that moment an interruption occurred,
of a nature both so sweet and singular, as greatly
to relieve me at least, and to preclude the necessity of my
giving any immediate account of my meaning. I will explain
how it occurred.
The reader may remember that there were, originally,
loops in the exterior walls of the house at Ravensnest, placed
there for the purposes of defence, and which were used as
small windows in these peaceable times. We were standing
beneath one of those loops, not near enough, however, to be
seen or heard by one at the loop, unless we raised our voices
above the tone in which we were actually conversing. Out
of this loop, at that precise instant, issued the low, sweet
strains of one of Dus' exquisite Indian hymns, I might almost
call them, set, as was usual with her, to a plaintive Scotch
melody. On looking towards the grave of Chainbearer, I
saw Susquesus standing over it, and I at once understood
the impulse which led Ursula to sing this song. The words
had been explained to me, and I knew that they alluded to a
warrior's grave.
The raised finger, the delighted expression of the eye, the
attitude of intense listening which my beloved mother assumed,
each and all denoted the pleasure and emotion she
-- 216 --
[figure description] Page 216.[end figure description]
experienced. When, however, the singer suddenly changed the
language to English, after the last guttural words of the
Onondago had died on our ears, and commenced to the same
strain a solemn English hymn, that was short in itself, but
full of piety and hope, the tears started out of my mother's
and grandmother's eyes, and even General Littlepage sought
an occasion to blow his nose in a very suspicious manner.
Presently, the sounds died away, and that exquisite melody
ceased.
“In the name of wonder, Mordaunt, who can this nightingale
be?” demanded my father, for neither of the ladies
could speak.
“That is the person, sir, who has my plighted faith—the
woman I must marry, or remain single.”
“This, then, must be the Dus Malbone, or Ursula Malbone,
of whom I have heard so much from Priscilla Bayard,
within the last day or two,” said my mother, in the tone and
with the manner of one who is suddenly enlightened on any
subject that has much interest with him, or her; “I ought
to have expected something of the sort, if half the praises
of Priscilla be true.”
No one had a better mother than myself. Thoroughly a
lady in all that pertains to the character, she was also an
humble and pious Christian. Nevertheless, humility and
piety are, in some respects, particularly the first, matters
of convention. The fitness of things had great merit in the
eyes of both my parents, and I cannot say that it is entirely
without it in mine. In nothing is this fitness of things more
appropriate than in equalizing marriages; and few things
are less likely to be overlooked by a discreet parent, than
to have all proper care that the child connects itself prudently;
and that, too, as much in reference to station, habits,
opinions, breeding in particular, and the general way of
thinking, as to fortune. Principles are inferred among people
of principle, as a matter of course; but subordinate to
these, worldly position is ever of great importance in the
eyes of parents. My parents could not be very different
from those of other people, and I could see that both now
thought that Ursula Malbone, the Chainbearer's niece, one
who had actually carried chain herself, for I had lightly
mentioned that circumstance in one of my letters, was
-- 217 --
[figure description] Page 217.[end figure description]
scarcely a suitable match for the only son of General Littlepage.
Neither said much, however; though my father did
put one or two questions that were somewhat to the point,
ere we separated.
“Am I to understand, Mordaunt,” he asked, with a little
of the gravity a parent might be expected to exhibit on hearing
so unpleasant an announcement—“Am I to understand,
Mordaunt, that you are actually engaged to this young—
eh-eh-eh—this young person?”
“Do not hesitate, my dear sir, to call Ursula Malbone a
lady. She is a lady by both birth and education. The
last, most certainly, or she never could have stood in the
relation she does to your family.”
“And what relation is that, sir?”
“It is just this, my dear father. I have offered to Ursula—
indiscreetly, hastily, if you will, as I ought to have waited
to consult you and my mother—but we do not always follow
the dictates of propriety in a matter of so much feeling.
I dare say, sir, you did better”—here I saw a slight smile
on the pretty mouth of my mother, and I began to suspect
that the general had been no more dutiful than myself in
this particular—“but I hope my forgetfulness will be excused,
on account of the influence of a passion which we all
find so hard to resist.”
“But, what is the relation this young—lady—bears to
my family, Mordaunt? You are not already married?”
“Far from it, sir; I should not so far have failed in respect
to you three—or even to Anneke and Katrinke. I
have offered, and have been conditionally accepted.”
“Which condition is—”
“The consent of you three; the perfect approbation of
my whole near connection. I believe that Dus, dear Dus;
does love me, and that she would cheerfully give me her
hand, were she certain of its being agreeable to you, but
that no persuasion of mine will ever induce her so to do,
under other circumstances.”
“This is something, for it shows the girl has principle,”
answered my father. “Why, who goes there?”
“Who went there?” sure enough. There went Frank
Malbone and Priscilla Bayard, arm and arm, and so engrossed
in conversation that they did not see who were
-- 218 --
[figure description] Page 218.[end figure description]
observing them. I dare say they fancied they were in the
woods, quite sheltered from curious eyes, and at liberty to
saunter about, as much occupied with each other as they
pleased; or, what is more probable, that they thought of
nothing, just then, but of themselves. They came out of
the court, and walked off swiftly into the orchard, appearing
to tread on air, and seemingly as happy as the birds
that were carolling on the surrounding trees.
“There, sir,” I said, significantly—“There, my dear
mother, is the proof that Miss Priscilla Bayard will not
break her heart on my account.”
“This is very extraordinary, indeed!” exclaimed my
much disappointed grandmother — “Is not that the young
man who we were told acted as Chainbearer's surveyor,
Corny?”
“It is, my good mother, and a very proper and agreeable
youth he is, as I know by a conversation held with him last
night. It is very plain we have all been mistaken”—added
the general; “though I do not know that we ought to say
that we have any of us been deceived.”
“Here comes Kate, with a face which announces that she
is fully mistress of the secret,” I put in, perceiving my sister
coming round our angle of the building, with a countenance
which I knew betokened that her mind and heart were full.
She joined us, took my arm without speaking, and followed
my father who led his wife and mother to a rude bench that
had been placed at the foot of a tree, where we all took seats,
each waiting for some other to speak. My grandmother
broke the silence.
“Do you see Pris. Bayard yonder, walking with that Mr.
Frank Chainbearer, or Surveyor, or whatever his name is,
Katrinke dear?” asked the good old lady.
“I do, grandmamma,” answered the good young lady, in
a voice so pitched as to be hardly audible.
“And can you explain what it means, darling?”
“I believe I can, ma'am — if — if — Mordaunt wishes to
hear.”
“Don't mind me, Kate,” returned I, smiling—“My heart
will never be broken by Miss Priscilla Bayard.”
The look of sisterly solicitude that I received from that
honest-hearted girl, ought to have made me feel very
-- 219 --
[figure description] Page 219.[end figure description]
grateful; and it did make me feel grateful, for a sister's affection
is a sweet thing. I believe the calmness of my countenance
and its smiling expression encouraged the dear creature, for
she now began to tell her story as fast as was at all in rule.
“The meaning, then, is this,” said Kate. “That gentleman
is Mr. Francis Malbone, and he is the engaged suitor
of Priscilla. I have had all the facts from her own mouth.”
“Will you, then, let us hear as many of them as it is
proper we should know?” said the general, gravely.
“There is no wish on the part of Priscilla to conceal anything.
She has known Mr. Malbone several years, and they
have been attached all that time. Nothing impeded the affair
but his poverty. Old Mr. Bayard objected to that, of course
you know, as fathers will, and Priscilla would not engage
herself. But — do you not remember to have heard of the
death of an old Mrs. Hazleton, at Bath in England, this summer,
mamma? The Bayards are in half-mourning for her,
now.”
“Certainly, my dear—Mrs. Hazleton was Mr. Bayard's
aunt; I knew her well once, before she became a refugee—
her husband was a half-pay Colonel Hazleton of the royal
artillery; and they were tories of course. The aunt was
named Priscilla, and was godmother to our Pris.”
“Just so — Well, this lady has left Pris, ten thousand
pounds in the English funds, and the Bayards now consent
to her marrying Mr. Malbone. They say, too, but I don't
think that can have had any influence, for Mr. Bayard and
his wife are particularly disinterested people, as indeed are
all the family”—added Kate, hesitatingly and looking down:
“but they say that the death of some young man will probably
leave Mr. Malbone the heir of an aged cousin of his
late father's.”
“And now, my dear father and mother, you will perceive
that Miss Bayard will not break her heart because I happen
to love Dus Malbone. I see by your look, Katrinke, that
you have had some hint of this backsliding also.”
“I have; and what is more, I have seen the young lady,
and can hardly wonder at it. Anneke and I have been
passing two hours with her this morning; and, since you
cannot get Pris., I know no other, Mordaunt who will so
-- 220 --
[figure description] Page 220.[end figure description]
thoroughly supply her place. Anneke is in love with her
also!”
Dear, good, sober-minded, judicious Anneke; — she had
penetrated into the true character of Dus, in a single interview;
a circumstance that I ascribed to the impression left
by the recent death of Chainbearer. Ordinarily, that spirited
young woman would not have permitted a sufficiently near
approach in a first interview, to permit a discovery of so
many of her sterling qualities; but now her heart was softened,
and her spirit so much subdued, one of Anneke's
habitual gentleness would be very apt to win on her sympathies,
and draw the two close to each other. The reader is
not to suppose that Dus had opened her mind like a vulgar
school-girl, and made my sister a confidant of the relation
in which she and I stood to one another. She had not said,
or hinted, a syllable on the subject. The information Kate
possessed had come from Priscilla Bayard, who obtained it
from Frank, as a matter of course; and my sister subsequently
admitted to me that her friend's happiness was augmented
by the knowledge that I should not be a sufferer by
her earlier preference for Malbone, and that she was likely
to have me for a brother-in-law. All this I gleaned from
Kate, in our subsequent conferences.
“This is extraordinary!” exclaimed the general—“very
extraordinary; and to me quite unexpected.”
“We can have no right to control Miss Bayard's choice,”
observed my discreet and high-principled mother. “She is
her own mistress, so far as we are concerned; and if her
own parents approve of her choice, the less we say about
it the better. As respects this connection of Mordaunt's, I
hope he, himself, will admit of our right to have opinions.”
“Perfectly so, my dearest mother. All I ask of you is
to express no opinion, however, until you have seen Ursula—
have become acquainted with her, and are qualified to
judge of her fitness to be not only mine, but any man's wife.
I ask but this of your justice.”
“It is just; and I shall act on the suggestion,” observed
my father. “You have a right to demand this of us, Mordaunt,
and I can promise for your mother, as well as myself.”
“After all, Anneke,” put in grandmother, “I am not sure
-- 221 --
[figure description] Page 221.[end figure description]
we have no right to complain of Miss Bayard's conduct
towards us. Had she dropped the remotest hint of her being
engaged to this Malbrook, I would never have endeavoured
to lead my grandson to think of her seriously for one moment.”
“Your grandson never has thought of her seriously for
one moment, or for half a moment, dearest grandmother,”
I cried; “so give your mind no concern on that subject.
Nothing of the sort could make me happier than to know
that Priscilla Bayard is to marry Frank Malbone; unless it
were to be certain I am myself to marry the latter's half-sister.”
“How can this be? — How could such a thing possibly
come to pass, my child! I do not remember ever to have
heard of this person—much less to have spoken to you on
the subject of such a connection.”
“Oh! dearest grandmother, we truant children sometimes
get conceits of this nature into our heads and hearts, without
stopping to consult our relatives as we ought to do.”
But it is useless to repeat all that was said in the long and
desultory conversation that followed. I had no reason to
be dissatisfied with my parents, who ever manifested towards
me not only great discretion, but great indulgence. I confess,
when a domestic came to say that Miss Dus was at the
breakfast-table, waiting for us alone, I trembled a little for
the effect that might be produced on her appearance by the
scenes she had lately gone through. She had wept a great
deal in the course of the last week; and when I last saw
her, which was the glimpse caught at the funeral, she was
pale and dejected in aspect. A lover is so jealous of even
the impression that his mistress will make on those he
wishes to admire her, that I felt particularly uncomfortable
as we entered first the court, then the house, and last the
eating-room.
A spacious and ample board had been spread for the accommodation
of our large party. Anneke, Priscilla, Frank
Malbone, Aunt Mary, and Ursula, were already seated when
we entered, Dus occupying the head of the table. No one
had commenced the meal, nor had the young mistress of
the board even begun to pour out the tea and coffee (for my
presence had brought abundance into the house), but there
-- 222 --
[figure description] Page 222.[end figure description]
she sat, respectfully waiting for those to approach who
might be properly considered the principal guests. I thought
Dus had never appeared more lovely. Her dress was a neatlyarranged
and tasteful half-mourning; with which her golden
hair, rosy cheeks, and bright eyes, contrasted admirably.
The cheeks of Dus, too, had recovered their colour, and her
eyes their brightness. The fact was, that the news of her
brother's improved fortunes had even been better than we
were just told. Frank found letters for him at the 'Nest,
announcing the death of his kinsman, with a pressing invitation
to join the bereaved parent, then an aged and bedridden
invalid, as his adopted son. He was urged to bring
Dus with him; and he received a handsome remittance to
enable him so to do without inconvenience to himself. This
alone would have brought happiness back to the countenance
of the poor and dependent. Dus mourned her uncle in sincerity,
and she long continued to mourn for him; but her
mourning was that of the Christian who hoped. Chainbearer's
hurt had occurred several days before; and the first
feeling of sorrow had become lessened by time and reflection.
His end had been happy; and he was now believed
to be enjoying the fruition of his penitence through the
sacrifice of the Son of God.
It was easy to detect the surprise that appeared in the
countenances of all my parents, as Miss Malbone rose, like
one who was now confident of her position and claims to
give and to receive the salutations that were proper for the
occasion. Never did any young woman acquit herself
better than Dus, who curtsied gracefully as a queen; while
she returned the compliments she received with the selfpossession
of one bred in courts. To this she was largely
indebted to nature; though her schooling had been good.
Many of the first young women of the colony had been her
companions for years; and in that day, manner was far
more attended to than it is getting to be amongst us now. My
mother was delighted; for, as she afterwards assured me,
her mind was already made up to receive Ursula as a daughter;
since she thought it due to honour to redeem my
plighted faith. General Littlepage might not have been so
very scrupulous; though even he admitted the right of the
obligations I had incurred; but Dus fairly carried him by storm.
-- 223 --
[figure description] Page 223.[end figure description]
The tempered sadness of her mien gave an exquisite finish
to her beauty, rendering all she said, did, and looked, that
morning, perfect. In a word, everybody was wondering;
but everybody was pleased. An hour or two later, and after
the ladies had been alone together, my excellent grandmother
came to me and desired to have a little conversation
with me apart. We found a seat in the arbour of the court;
and my venerable parent commenced as follows:—
“Well, Mordaunt, my dear, it is time that you should
think of marrying and of settling in life. As Miss Bayard
is happily engaged, I do not see that you can do better than
to offer to Miss Malbone. Never have I seen so beautiful a
creature; and the generous-minded Pris. tells me she is as
good, and virtuous, and wise, as she is lovely. She is well
born and well educated; and may have a good fortune in
the bargain, if that old Mr. Malbone is as rich as they tell
me is, and has conscience enough to make a just will.
Take my advice, my dear son, and marry Ursula Malbone.”
Dear grandmother! I did take her advice; and I am
persuaded that, to her dying day, she was all the more happy
under the impression that she had materially aided in bringing
about the connection.
As General Littlepage and Colonel Follock had come so
far, they chose to remain a month or two, in order to look
after their lands, and to revisit some scenes in that part of
the world in which both felt a deep interest. My mother,
and Aunt Mary, too, seemed content to remain; for they
remembered events which the adjacent country recalled to
their minds with a melancholy pleasure. In the meanwhile
Frank went to meet his cousin, and had time to return, ere
our party was disposed to break up. During his absence
everything was arranged for my marriage with his sister.
This event took place just two months, to a day, from that
of the funeral of Chainbearer. A clergyman was obtained
from Albany to perform the ceremony, as neither party
belonged to the Congregational order; and, an hour after
we were united, everybody left us alone at the 'Nest, on their
return south. I say everybody, though Jaap and Susquesus
were exceptions. These two remained, and remain to this
hour; though the negro did return to Lilacsbush and Satanstoe
to assemble his family, and to pay occasional visits.
-- 224 --
[figure description] Page 224.[end figure description]
There was much profound feeling, but little parade at the
wedding. My mother had got to love Ursula as if she were
her own child; and I had not only the pleasure, but the
triumph of seeing the manner in which my betrothed rendered
herself from day to day, and this without any other
means than the most artless and natural, more and more
acceptable to my friends.
“This is perfect happiness,” said Dus to me, one lovely
afternoon that we were strolling in company along the cliff
near the Nest—and a few minutes after she had left my
mother's arms, who had embraced and blessed her, as a
pious parent does both to a well-beloved child—“This is
perfect happiness, Mordaunt, to be the chosen of you, and
the accepted of your parents! I never knew, until now,
what it is to have a parent. Uncle Chainbearer did all he
could for me, and I shall cherish his memory to my latest
breath—but uncle Chainbearer could never supply the place
of a mother. How blessed, how undeservedly blessed does
my lot promise to become! You will give me not only
parents, and parents I can love as well as if they were
those granted by nature, but you will give me also two such
sisters as few others possess!”
“And I give you all, dearest Dus, encumbered with such
a husband that I am almost afraid you will fancy the other
gifts too dearly purchased, when you come to know him
better.”
The ingenuous, grateful look, the conscious blush, and
the thoughtful, pensive smile, each and all said that my
pleased and partial listener had no concern on that score.
Had I then understood the sex as well as I now do, I might
have foreseen that a wife's affection augments, instead of
diminishing; that the love the pure and devoted matron
bears her husband increases with time, and gets to be a part
and parcel of her moral existence. I am no advocate of
what are called, strictly, “marriages of reason”—I think
the solemn and enduring knot should be tied by the hands
of warm-hearted, impulsive affection, increased and strengthened
by knowledge and confidential minglings of thought
and feeling; but, I have lived long enough to understand
that, lively as are the passions of youth, they produce no
-- 225 --
[figure description] Page 225.[end figure description]
delights like those which spring from the tried and deep
affections of a happy married life.
And we were married! The ceremony took place before
breakfast, in order to enable our friends to reach the great
highway ere night should overtake them. The meal that
succeeded was silent and thoughtful. Then my dear, dear
mother took Dus in her arms, and kissed and blessed her
again and again. My honoured father did the same, bidding
my weeping, but happy bride remember that she was
now his daughter. “Mordaunt is a good fellow, at the bottom,
dear, and will love and cherish you, as he has promised,”
added the general, blowing his nose to conceal his
emotion; “but, should he ever forget any part of his vows,
come to me, and I will visit him with a father's displeasure.”
“No fear of Mordaunt—no fear of Mordaunt,” put in
my worthy grandmother, who succeeded in the temporary
leave-taking—“he is a Littlepage, and all the Littlepages
make excellent husbands. The boy is as like what his
grandfather was, at his time of life, as one pea is like another.
God bless you, daughter—You will visit me at
Satanstoe this fall, when I shall have great pleasure in
showing you my general's picture.”
Anneke, and Kate, and Pris. Bayard hugged Dus in such
a way that I was afraid they would eat her up, while Frank
took his leave of his sister with the manly tenderness he
always showed her. The fellow was too happy himself,
however, to be shedding many tears, though Dus actually
sobbed on his bosom. The dear creature was doubtless running
over the past, in her mind, and putting it in contrast
with the blessed present.
At the end of the honey-moon, I loved Dus twice as
much as I had loved her the hour we were married. Had
any one told me this was possible, I should have derided the
thought; but thus it was, and, I may truly add, thus has it
ever continued to be. At the end of that month, we left
Ravensnest for Lilacsbush, when I had the pleasure of seeing
my bride duly introduced to that portion of what is
called the world, to which she properly belonged. Previously
to quitting the Patent, however, all my plans were
made, and contracts were signed, preparatory to the
-- 226 --
[figure description] Page 226.[end figure description]
construction of the house that my father had mentioned. The
foundation was laid that same season, and we did keep our
Christmas holidays in it, the following year, by which time
Dus had made me the father of a noble boy.
It is scarcely necessary to say that Frank and Pris. were
married, as were Tom and Kate, at no great distance of
time after ourselves. Both of those matches have turned
out to be perfectly happy. Old Mr. Malbone did not survive
the winter, and he left the whole of a very sufficient estate
to his kinsman. Frank was desirous of making his sister
a sharer in his good fortune, but I would not hear of it.
Dus was treasure enough of herself, and wanted not money
to enhance her value in my eyes. I thought so in 1785,
and I think so to-day. We got some plate and presents,
that were well enough, but never would accept any portion
of the property. The rapid growth of New York brought
our vacant lots in that thriving town into the market, and
we soon became richer than was necessary to happiness. I
hope the gifts of Providence have never been abused. Of
one thing I am certain; Dus has ever been far more prized
by me than any other of my possessions.
I ought to say a word of Jaap and the Indian. Both are
still living, and both dwell at the Nest. For the Indian I
caused a habitation to be erected in a certain ravine at no
great distance from the house, and which had been the
scene of one of his early exploits in that part of the country.
Here he lives, and has lived for the last twenty years, and
here he hopes to die. He gets his food, blankets, and whatever
else is necessary to supply his few wants, at the Nest,
coming and going at will. He is now drawing fast on old
age, but retains his elastic step, upright movement, and
vigour. I do not see but he may live to be a hundred.
The same is true of Jaap. The old fellow holds on, and
enjoys life like a true descendant of the Africans. He and
Sus are inseparable, and often stray off into the forest on
long hunts, even in the winter, returning with loads of venison,
wild turkeys, and other game. The negro dwells at
the Nest, but half his time he sleeps in the wigwam, as we
call the dwelling of Sus. The two old fellows dispute frequently,
and occasionally they quarrel; but, as neither drinks, the
quarrels are never very long or very serious. They generally
-- 227 --
[figure description] Page 227.[end figure description]
grow out of differences of opinion on moral philosophy, as
connected with their respective views of the past and the
future.
Lowiny remained with us as a maid until she made a
very suitable marriage with one of my own tenants. For
a little while after my marriage I thought she was melancholy,
probably through regret for her absent and dispersed
family; but this feeling soon disappeared, and she became
contented and happy. Her good looks improved under the
influence of civilization, and I have the satisfaction of adding
that she never has had any reason to regret having attached
herself to us. To this moment she is an out-door
dependant and humble friend of my wife, and we find her
particularly useful in cases of illness among our children.
What shall I say of 'squire Newcome? He lived to a
good old age, dying quite recently; and, with many who
knew, or, rather, who did not know him, he passed for a
portion of the salt of the earth. I never proceeded against
him on account of his connection with the squatters, and he
lived his time in a sort of lingering uncertainty as to my
knowledge of his tricks. That man became a sort of a deacon
in his church, was more than once a member of the
Assembly, and continued to be a favourite recipient of public
favours down to his last moment; and this simply because
his habits brought him near to the mass, and because
he took the most elaborate care never to tell them a truth
that was unpleasant. He once had the temerity to run
against me for Congress, but that experiment proved to be
a failure. Had it been attempted forty years later, it might
have succeeded better. Jason died poor and in debt, after
all his knavery and schemes. Avidity for gold had overreached
itself in his case, as it does in those of so many
others. His descendants, notwithstanding, remain with us;
and, while they have succeeded to very little in the way of
property, they are the legitimate heritors of their ancestor's
vulgarity of mind and manners—of his tricks, his dissimulations,
and his frauds. This is the way in which Providence
“visits the sins of the fathers upon the children, unto
the third and fourth generations.”
Little more remains to be said. The owners of Mooseridge
have succeeded in selling all the lots they wished to
-- 228 --
[figure description] Page 228.[end figure description]
put into the market, and large sums stand secured on them,
in the way of bonds and mortgages. Anneke and Kate
have received fair portions of this property, including much
that belonged to Colonel Follock, who now lives altogether
with my parents. Aunt Mary, I regret to say, died a few
years since, a victim to small-pox. She never married, of
course, and left her handsome property between my sisters
and a certain lady of the name of Ten Eyck, who needed
it, and whose principal claim consisted in her being a third
cousin of her former lover, I believe. My mother mourned
the death of her friend sincerely, as did we all; but we had
the consolation of believing her happy with the angels.
I caused to be erected, in the extensive grounds that were
laid out around the new dwelling at the Nest, a suitable
monument over the grave of Chainbearer. It bore a simple
inscription, and one that my children now often read and
comment on with pleasure. We all speak of him as “Uncle
Chainbearer” to this hour, and his grave is never mentioned
in other terms than those of “Uncle Chainbearer's grave.”
Excellent old man! That he was not superior to the failings
of human nature, need not be said; but, so long as he
lived, he lived a proof of how much more respectable and
estimable is the man who takes simplicity, and honesty, and
principle, and truth for his guide, than he who endeavours
to struggle through the world by the aid of falsehood, chicanery,
and trick.
THE END OF CHAINBEARER.
|
