Another night past in peace within the settlement of
the Hutted Knoll. The following morning was the Sabbath,
and it came forth, balmy, genial, and mild; worthy of the
great festival of the Christian world. On the subject of religion,
captain Willoughby was a little of a martinet; understanding
by liberty of conscience, the right of improving by
the instruction of those ministers who belonged to the church
of England. Several of his labourers had left him because
he refused to allow of any other ministrations on his estate;
his doctrine being that every man had a right to do as he
pleased in such matters; and as he did not choose to allow

[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]

of schism, within the sphere of his owh influence, if others
desired to be schismatics they were at liberty to go elsewhere,
in order to indulge their tastes. Joel Strides and
Jamie Allen were both disaffected to this sort of orthodoxy,
and they had frequent private discussions on its propriety;
the former in his usual wily and jesuitical mode of sneering
and insinuating, and the latter respectfully as related to his
master, but earnestly as it concerned his conscience. Others,
too, were dissentients, but with less repining; though occasionally
they would stay away from Mr. Wood's services.
Mike, alone, took an open and manly stand in the matter,
and he a little out-Heroded Herod; or, in other words, he
exceeded the captain himself in strictness of construction.
On the very morning we have just described, he was present
at a discussion between the Yankee overseer and the Scotch
mason, in which these two dissenters, the first a congregationalist,
and the last a seceder, were complaining of the
hardships of a ten years' abstinence, during which no spiritual
provender had been fed out to them from a proper source.
The Irishman broke out upon the complainants in a way
that will at once let the reader into the secret of the county
Leitrim-man's principles, if he has any desire to know
them.

“Bad luck to all sorts of religion but the right one!” cried
Mike, in a most tolerant spirit. “Who d'ye think will be
wishful of hearing mass and pr'aching that comes from any
of your heretick parsons? Ye're as dape in the mire yerselves,
as Mr. Woods is in the woods, and no one to lade
ye out of either, but an evil spirit that would rather see all
mankind br'iling in agony, than dancing at a fair.”

“Go to your confessional, Mike,” returned Joel, with a
sneer—“It's a month, or more, sin' you seen it, and the
priest will think you have forgotten him, and go away
offended.”

“Och! It's such a praist, as the likes of yees has no
nade of throubling! Yer conscience is aisy, Misther Straddle,
so that yer belly is filled, and yer wages is paid. Bad luck
to sich religion!”

The allusion of Joel related to a practice of Michael's that
is deserving of notice. It seems that the poor fellow, excluded
by his insulated position from any communication

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

with a priest of his own church, was in the habit of resorting
to a particular rock in the forest, where he would kneel
and acknowledge his sins, very much as he would have
done had the rock been a confessional containing one
authorized to grant him absolution. Accident revealed the
secret, and from that time Michael's devotion was a standing
jest among the dissenters of the valley. The county Leitrim-man
was certainly a little too much addicted to Santa Cruz,
and he was accused of always visiting his romantic chapel
after a debauch. Of course, he was but little pleased with
Joel's remark on the present occasion; and being, like a
modern newspaper, somewhat more vituperative than logical,
he broke out as related.

“Jamie,” continued Joel, too much accustomed to Mike's
violence to heed it, “it does seem to me a hardship to be
obliged to frequent a church of which a man's conscience
can't approve. Mr. Woods, though a native colonist, is an
Old England parson, and he has so many popish ways about
him, that I am under considerable concern of mind”—concern,
of itself, was not sufficiently emphatic for one of Joel's
sensitive feelings—“I am under considerable concern of
mind about the children. They sit under no other preaching;
and, though Lyddy and I do all we can to gainsay the
sermons, as soon as meetin' is out, some of it will stick.
You may worry the best Christian into idolatry and unbelief,
by parseverance and falsehood. Now that things look
so serious, too, in the colonies, we ought to be most careful.”

Jamie did not clearly understand the application of the
present state of the colonies, nor had he quite made up his
mind, touching the merits of the quarrel between parliament
and the Americans. As between the Stuarts and the House
of Hanover, he was for the former, and that mainly because
he thought them Scotch, and it was surely a good thing for
a Scotchman to govern England; but, as between the Old
countries and the New, he was rather inclined to think the
rights of the first ought to predominate; there being something
opposed to natural order, agreeably to his notions, in
permitting the reverse of this doctrine to prevail. As for
presbyterianism, however, even in the mitigated form of
New England church government, he deemed it to be so

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

much better than episcopacy, that he would have taken up
arms, old as he was, for the party that it could be made to
appear was fighting to uphold the last. We have no wish
to mislead the reader. Neither of the persons mentioned,
Mike included, actually knew anything of the points in dispute
between the different sects, or churches, mentioned;
but only fancied themselves in possession of the doctrines,
traditions, and authorities connected with the subject. These
fancies, however, served to keep alive a discussion that soon
had many listeners; and never before, since his first ministration
in the valley, did Mr. Woods meet as disaffected a
congregation, as on this day.

The church of the Hutted Knoll, or, as the clergyman
more modestly termed it, the chapel, stood in the centre of
the meadows, on a very low swell of their surface, where a
bit of solid dry ground had been discovered, fit for such a
purpose. The principal object had been to make it central;
though some attention had been paid also to the picturesque.
It was well shaded with young elms, just then opening into
leaf; and about a dozen graves, principally of very young
children, were memorials of the mortality of the settlement.
The building was of stone, the work of Jamie Allen's own
hands, but small, square, with a pointed roof, and totally
without tower, or belfry. The interior was of unpainted
cherry, and through a want of skill in the mechanics, had
a cold and raw look, little suited to the objects of the structure.
Still, the small altar, the desk and the pulpit, and the
large, square, curtained pew of the captain, the only one the
house contained, were all well ornamented with hangings,
or cloth, and gave the place somewhat of an air of clerical
comfort and propriety. The rest of the congregation sat on
benches, with kneeling-boards before them. The walls were
plastered, and, a proof that parsimony had no connection
with the simple character of the building, and a thing almost
as unusual in America at that period as it is to-day in parts
of Italy, the chapel was entirely finished.

It has been said that the morning of the particular Sabbath
at which we have now arrived, was mild and balmy.
The sun of the forty-third degree of latitude poured out its
genial rays upon the valley, gilding the tender leaves of the
surrounding forest with such touches of light as are best

[figure description] Page 126.[end figure description]

known to the painters of Italy. The fineness of the weather
brought nearly all the working people of the settlement to
the chapel quite an hour before the ringing of its little bell,
enabling the men to compare opinions afresh, on the subject
of the political troubles of the times, and the women to
gossip about their children.

On all such occasions, Joel was a principal spokesman,
nature having created him for a demagogue, in a small way;
an office for which education had in no degree unfitted him.
As had been usual with him, of late, he turned the discourse
on the importance of having correct information of what
was going on, in the inhabited parts of the country, and of
the expediency of sending some trustworthy person on such
an errand. He had frequently intimated his own readiness
to go, if his neighbours wished it.

“We're all in the dark here,” he remarked, “and might
stay so to the end of time, without some one to be relied on,
to tell us the news. Major Willoughby is a fine man”—
Joel meant morally, not physically—“but he's a king's
officer, and nat'rally feels inclined to make the best of things
for the rig'lars. The captain, too, was once a soldier, himself,
and his feelin's turn, as it might be, unav'idably, to the
side he has been most used to. We are like people on a
desart island, out here in the wilderness—and if ships won't
arrive to tell us how matters come on, we must send one
out to l'arn it for us. I'm the last man at the Dam”—so
the oi polloi called the valley—“to say anything hard of
either the captain or his son; but one is English born, and
the other is English bred; and each will make a difference
in a man's feelin's.”

To this proposition the miller, in particular, assented;
and, for the twentieth time, he made some suggestion about
the propriety of Joel's going himself, in order to ascertain
how the land lay.

“You can be back by hoeing,” he added, “and have
plenty of time to go as far as Boston, should you wish to.”

Now, while the great events were in progress, which led
to the subversion of British power in America, an undercurrent
of feeling, if not of incidents, was running in this
valley, which threatened to wash away the foundations of
the captain's authority. Joel and the miller, if not

[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]

downright conspirators, had hopes, calculations, and even projects
of their own, that never would have originated with men of
the same class, in another state of society; or, it might
almost be said, in another part of the world. The sagacity
of the overseer had long enabled him to foresee that the
issue of the present troubles would be insurrection; and a
sort of instinct which some men possess for the strongest
side, had pointed out to him the importance of being a patriot.
The captain, he little doubted, would take part with
the crown, and then no one knew what might be the consequences.
It is not probable that Joel's instinct for the
strongest side predicted the precise confiscations that subsequently
ensued, some of which had all the grasping lawlessness
of a gross abuse of power; but he could easily foresee
that if the owner of the estate should be driven off, the property
and its proceeds, probably for a series of years, would
be very apt to fall under his own control and management.
Many a patriot has been made by anticipations less brilliant
than these; and as Joel and the miller talked the matter
over between them, they had calculated all the possible
emolument of fattening beeves, and packing pork for hostile
armies, or isolated frontier posts, with a strong gusto for
the occupation. Should open war but fairly commence, and
could the captain only be induced to abandon the Knoll, and
take refuge within a British camp, everything might be made
to go smoothly, until settling day should follow a peace. At
that moment, non est inventus would be a sufficient answer
to a demand for any balance.

“They tell me,” said Joel, in an aside to the miller, “that
law is as good as done with in the Bay colony, already; and
you know if the law has run out there, it will quickly come
to an end, here. York never had much character for law.”

“That's true, Joel; then you know the captain himself
is the only magistrate hereabout; and, when he is away,
we shall have to be governed by a committee of safety, or
something of that natur'.”

“A committee of safety will be the thing!”

“What is a committee of safety, Joel?” demanded the
miller, who had made far less progress in the arts of the
demagogue than his friend, and who, in fact, had much less

[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]

native fitness for the vocation; “I have heer'n tell of them
regulations, but do not rightly understand 'em, a'ter all.”

“You know what a committee is?” asked Joel, glancing
inquiringly at his friend.

“I s'pose I do—it means men's takin' on themselves the
trouble and care of public business.”

“That's it—now a committee of safety means a few of
us, for instance, having the charge of the affairs of this
settlement, in order to see that no harm shall come to anything,
especially to the people.”

“It would be a good thing to have one, here. The carpenter,
and you, and I might be members, Joel.”

“We'll talk about it, another time. The corn is just
planted, you know; and it has got to be hoed twice, and
topped, before it can be gathered. Let us wait and see how
things come on at Boston.”

While this incipient plot was thus slowly coming to a
head, and the congregation was gradually collecting at the
chapel, a very different scene was enacting in the Hut.
Breakfast was no sooner through, than Mrs. Willoughby
retired to her own sitting-room, whither her son was shortly
summoned to join her. Expecting some of the inquiries
which maternal affection might prompt, the major proceeded
to the place named with alacrity; but, on entering the room,
to his great surprise he found Maud with his mother. The
latter seemed grave and concerned, while the former was
not entirely free from alarm. The young man glanced inquiringly
at the young lady, and he fancied he saw tears
struggling to break out of her eyes.

“Come hither, Robert”—said Mrs. Willoughby, pointing
to a chair at her side—with a gravity that struck her son as
unusual—“I have brought you here to listen to one of the
old-fashioned lectures, of which you got so many when a
boy.”

“Your advice, my dear mother—or even your reproofs—
would be listened to with far more reverence and respect,
now, than I fear they were then,” returned the major, seating
himself by the side of Mrs. Willoughby, and taking one
of her hands, affectionately, in both his own. “It is only
in after-life that we learn to appreciate the tenderness and
care of such a parent as you have been; though what I

[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]

have done lately, to bring me in danger of the guard-house,
I cannot imagine. Surely you cannot blame me for adhering
to the crown, at a moment like this!”

“I shall not interfere with your conscience in this matter,
Robert; and my own feelings, American as I am by birth
and family, rather incline me to think as you think. I have
wished to see you, my son, on a different business.”

“Do not keep me in suspense, mother; I feel like a prisoner
who is waiting to hear his charges read. What have
I done?”

“Nay, it is rather for you to tell me what you have done.
You cannot have forgotten, Robert, how very anxious I have
been to awaken and keep alive family affection, among my
children; how very important both your father and I have
always deemed it; and how strongly we have endeavoured
to impress this importance on all your minds. The tie of
family, and the love it ought to produce, is one of the sweetest
of all our earthly duties. Perhaps we old people see its value
more than you young; but, to us, the weakening of it seems
like a disaster only a little less to be deplored than death.”

“Dearest—dearest mother! What can you—what do
you mean?—What can I—what can Maud have to do with
this?”

“Do not your consciences tell you, both? Has there not
been some misunderstanding—perhaps a quarrel—certainly
a coldness between you? A mother has a quick and a jealous
eye; and I have seen, for some time, that there is not
the old confidence, the free natural manner, in either of
you, that there used to be, and which always gave your
father and me so much genuine happiness. Speak, then,
and let me make peace between you.”

Robert Willoughby would not have looked at Maud, at
that moment, to have been given a regiment; as for Maud,
herself, she was utterly incapable of raising her eyes from
the floor. The former coloured to the temples, a proof of
consciousness, his mother fancied; while the latter's face
resembled ivory, as much as flesh and blood.

“If you think, Robert,” continued Mrs. Willoughby,
“that Maud has forgotten you, or shown pique for any little
former misunderstanding, during your last absence, you do
her injustice. No one has done as much for you, in the

[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]

way of memorial; that beautiful sash being all her own
work, and made of materials purchased with her own pocketmoney.
Maud loves you truly, too; for, whatever may be
the airs she gives herself, while you are together, when
absent, no one seems to care more for your wishes and
happiness, than that very wilful and capricious girl.”

“Mother!—mother!” murmured Maud, burying her face
in both her hands.

Mrs. Willoughby was woman in all her feelings, habits
and nature. No one would have been more keenly alive
to the peculiar sensibilities of her sex, under ordinary circumstances,
than herself; but she was now acting and
thinking altogether in her character of a mother; and so
long and intimately had she regarded the two beings before
her, in that common and sacred light, that it would have
been like the dawn of a new existence for her, just then, to
look upon them as not really akin to each other.

“I shall not, nor can I treat either of you as a child,”
she continued, “and must therefore appeal only to your
own good sense, to make a peace. I know it can be nothing
serious; but, it is painful to me to see even an affected coldness
among my children. Think, Maud, that we are on the
point of a war, and how bitterly you would regret it, should
any accident befall your brother, and your memory not be
able to recall the time passed among us, in his last visit, with
entire satisfaction.”

The mother's voice trembled; but tears no longer struggled
about the eyelids of Maud. Her face was pale as
death, and it seemed as if every ordinary fountain of sorrow
were dried up.

“Dear Bob, this is too much!” she said eagerly, though
in husky tones. “Here is my hand—nay, here are both.
Mother must not think this cruel charge is—can be true.”

The major arose, approached his sister, and impressed a
kiss on her cold cheek. Mrs. Willoughby smiled at these
tokens of amity, and the conversation continued in a less
earnest manner.

“This is right, my children,” said the single-hearted
Mrs. Willoughby, whose sensitive maternal love saw nothing
but the dreaded consequences of weakened domestic
affections; “and I shall be all the happier for having

[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]

witnessed it. Young soldiers, Maud, who are sent early from
their homes, have too many inducements to forget them and
those they contain; and we women are so dependent on the
love of our male friends, that it is wisdom in us to keep
alive all the earlier ties as long and as much as possible.”

“I am sure, dearest mother,” murmured Maud, though
in a voice that was scarcely audible, “I shall be the last to
wish to weaken this family tie. No one can feel a warmer—
a more proper—a more sisterly affection for Robert, than I
do—he was always so kind to me when a child—and so
ready to assist me—and so manly—and so everything that
he ought to be — it is surprising you should have fancied
there was any coldness between us!”

Major Willoughby even bent forward to listen, so intense
was his curiosity to hear what Maud said; a circumstance
which, had she seen it, would probably have closed her lips.
But her eyes were riveted on the floor, her cheeks were
bloodless, and her voice so low, that nothing but the breathless
stillness he observed, would have allowed the young
man to hear it, where he sat.

“You forget, mother”—rejoined the major, satisfied that
the last murmur had died on his ears—“that Maud will
probably be transplanted into another family, one of these
days, where we, who know her so well, and have reason to
love her so much, can only foresee that she will form new,
and even stronger ties than any that accident may have
formed for her here.”

“Never—never”—exclaimed Maud, fervently—“I can
never love any as well as I love those who are in this
house.”

The relief she wanted stopped her voice, and, bursting
into tears, she threw herself into Mrs. Willoughby's arms,
and sobbed like a child. The mother now motioned to her
son to quit the room, while she remained herself to soothe
the weeping girl, as she so often had done before, when
overcome by her infantile, or youthful griefs. Throughout
this interview, habit and single-heartedness so exercised
their influence, that the excellent matron did not, in the most
remote manner, recollect that her son and Maud were not
natural relatives. Accustomed herself to see the latter every
day, and to think of her, as she had from the moment when

[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

she was placed in her arms, an infant of a few weeks old,
the effect that separation might produce on others, never
presented itself to her mind. Major Willoughby, a boy of
eight when Maud was received in the family, had known
from the first her precise position; and it was perhaps morally
impossible that he should not recall the circumstance in
their subsequent intercourse; more especially as school,
college, and the army, had given him so much leisure to
reflect on such things, apart from the influence of family
habits; while it was to be expected that a consequence of his
own peculiar mode of thinking on this subject, would be to
produce something like a sympathetic sentiment in the bosom
of Maud. Until within the last few years, however, she had
been so much of a child herself, and had been treated so
much like a child by the young soldier, that it was only
through a change in him, that was perceptible only to herself,
and which occurred when he first met her grown into
womanhood, that she alone admitted any feelings that were
not strictly to be referred to sisterly regard. All this, nevertheless,
was a profound mystery to every member of the
family, but the two who were its subjects; no other thoughts
than the simplest and most obvious, ever suggesting themselves
to the minds of the others.

In half an hour, Mrs. Willoughby had quieted all Maud's
present troubles, and the whole family left the house to repair
to the chapel. Michael, though he had no great reverence
for Mr. Wood's ministrations, had constituted himself sexton,
an office which had devolved on him in consequence of his
skill with the spade. Once initiated into one branch of this
duty, he had insisted on performing all the others; and it
was sometimes a curious spectacle to see the honest fellow,
busy about the interior of the building, during service, literally
stopping one of his ears with a thumb, with a view,
while he acquitted himself of what he conceived to be temporal
obligations, to exclude as much heresy as possible.
One of his rules was to refuse to commence tolling the bell,
until he saw Mrs. Willoughby and her daughter, within a
reasonable distance of the place of worship; a rule that had
brought about more than one lively discussion between himself
and the leveling-minded, if not heavenly-minded Joel

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

Strides. On the present occasion, this simple process did
not pass altogether without a dispute.

“Come, Mike; it's half-past ten; the people have been
waiting about the meetin' 'us, some time; you should open
the doors, and toll the bell. People can't wait, for ever,
for anybody; not even for your church.”

“Then let 'em just go home, ag'in, and come when
they 're called. Because, the ould women, and the young
women, and the childer, and the likes o' them, wishes to
scandalize their fellow cr'atures, Christians I will not call
'em, let 'em mate in the mill, or the school-house, and not
come forenent a church on sich a business as that. Is it
toll the bell, will I, afore the Missus is in sight?—No—not
for a whole gineration of ye, Joel; and every one o' them,
too, a much likelier man than ye bees yerself.”

“Religion is no respecter of persons”—returned the philosophical
Joel. “Them that likes masters and mistresses
may have them, for all me; but it riles me to meet with
meanness.”

“It does!” cried Mike, looking up at his companion, with
a very startling expression of wonder. “If that be true, ye
must be in a mighty throubled state, most of the live-long
day, ye must!”

“I tell you, Michael O'Hearn, religion is no respecter of
persons. The Lord cares jist as much for me, as he does
for captain Willoughby, or his wife, or his son, or his darters,
or anything that is his.”

“Divil burn me, now, Joel, if I believe that!” again cried
Mike, in his dogmatic manner. “Then that understands
knows the difference between mankind, and I'm sure it can
be no great sacret to the Lord, when it is so well known to
a poor fellow like myself. There's a plenthy of fellowcr'atures
that has a mighty good notion of their own excellence,
but when it comes to r'ason and thruth, it's no very
great figure ye all make, in proving what ye say. This
chapel is the master's, if chapel the heretical box can be
called, and yonder bell was bought wid his money; and the
rope is his; and the hands that mane to pull it, is his; and
so there's little use in talking ag'in rocks, and ag'in minds
that's made up even harder than rocks, and to spare.”

This settled the matter. The bell was not tolled until

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

Mrs. Willoughby, and her daughters, had got fairly through
the still unprotected gateway of the stockade, although the
recent discussion of political questions had so far substituted
discontent for subordination in the settlement, that more
than half of those who were of New England descent, had
openly expressed their dissatisfaction at the delay. Mike,
however, was as unmoved as the little chapel itself, refusing
to open the door until the proper moment had arrived, according
to his own notion of the fitness of things. He then
proceeded to the elm, against which the little bell was hung,
and commenced tolling it with as much seriousness as if the
conveyer of sounds had been duly consecrated.

When the family from the Hut entered the chapel, all the
rest of the congregation were in their customary seats. This
arrival, however, added materially to the audience, Great
Smash and Little Smash, the two Plinys, and some five or
six coloured children, between the ages of six and twelve,
following in the train of their master. For the blacks, a
small gallery had been built, where they could sit apart, a
proscribed, if not a persecuted race. Little did the Plinys
or the Smashes, notwithstanding, think of this. Habit had
rendered their situation more than tolerable, for it had
created notions and usages that would have rendered them
uncomfortable, in closer contact with the whites. In that
day, the two colours never the together, by any accident;
the eastern castes being scarcely more rigid in the observance
of their rules, than the people of America were on this
great point. The men who would toil together, joke together,
and pass their days in familiar intercourse, would not
sit down at the same board. There seemed to be a sort of
contamination, according to the opinions of one of these
castes, in breaking bread with the other. This prejudice often
gave rise to singular scenes, more especially in the households
of those who habitually laboured in company with
their slaves. In such families, it not unfrequently happened
that a black led the councils of the farm. He might be seen
seated by the fire, uttering his opinions dogmatically, reasoning
warmly against his own master, and dealing out his
wisdom ex cathedra, even while he waited, with patient
humility, when he might approach, and satisfy his hunger,
after all of the other colour had quitted the table.

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

Mr. Woods was not fortunate in the selection of his subject,
on the occasion of which we are writing. There had
been so much personal activity, and so much political discussion
during the past week, as to prevent him from writing
a new sermon, and of course he was compelled to fall back
on the other end of the barrel. The recent arguments inclined
him to maintain his own opinions, and he chose a
discourse that he had delivered to the garrison of which he
had last been chaplain. To this choice he had been enticed
by the text, which was, “Render unto Cæsar the things
that are Cæsar's,” a mandate that would be far more palatable
to an audience composed of royal troops, than to one
which had become a good deal disaffected by the arts and
arguments of Joel Strides and the miller. Still, as the sermon
contained a proper amount of theological truisms, and
had a sufficiency of general orthodoxy to cover a portion
of its political bearing, it gave far more dissatisfaction to a
few of the knowing, than to the multitude. To own the
truth, the worthy priest was so much addicted to continuing
his regimental and garrison course of religious instruction,
that his ordinary listeners would scarcely observe this tendency
to loyalty; though it was far different with those who
were eagerly looking for causes of suspicion and denunciation,
in the higher quarters.

“Well,” said Joel, as he and the miller, followed by their
respective families, proceeded towards the mill, where the
household of the Strides' were to pass the remainder of the
day, “well, this is a bold sermon for a minister to preach
in times like these! I kind o' guess, if Mr. Woods was down
in the Bay, `render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsars,'
wouldn't be doctrine to be so quietly received by every congregation.
What's your notion about that, Miss Strides?”

Miss Strides thought exactly as her husband thought,
and the miller and his wife were not long in chiming in
with her, accordingly. The sermon furnished material for
conversation throughout the remainder of the day, at the
mill, and divers conclusions were drawn from it, that were
ominous to the preacher's future comfort and security.

Nor did the well-meaning parson entirely escape comment
in the higher quarters.

“I wish, Woods, you had made choice of some other

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

subject,” observed the captain, as he and his friend walked
the lawn together, in waiting for a summons to dinner,
“In times like these, one cannot be too careful of the political
notions he throws out; and to own the truth to you, I
am more than half inclined to think that Cæsar is exercising
quite as much authority, in these colonies, as justly falls to
his share.”

“Why, my dear captain, you have heard this very sermon
three or four times already, and you have more than
once mentioned it with commendation!”

“Ay, but that was in garrison, where one is obliged to
teach subordination. I remember the sermon quite well,
and a very good one it was, twenty years since, when you
first preached it; but—”

“I apprehend, captain Willoughby, that `tempora mutantur,
et, nos mutamus in illis.' That the mandates and
maxims of the Saviour are far beyond the mutations and
erring passions of mortality. His sayings are intended for
all times.”

“Certainly, as respects their general principles and governing
truths. But no text is to be interpreted without
some reference to circumstances. All I mean is, that the
preaching which might be very suitable to a battalion of
His Majesty's Fortieth might be very unsuitable for the
labourers of the Hutted Knoll; more especially so soon
after what I find is called the Battle of Lexington.”

The summons to dinner cut short the discourse, and probably
prevented a long, warm, but friendly argument.

That afternoon and evening, captain Willoughby and his
son had a private and confidential discourse. The former
advised the major to rejoin his regiment without delay,
unless he were prepared to throw up his commission and
take sides with the colonists, altogether. To this the young
soldier would not listen, returning to the charge, in the hope
of rekindling the dormant flame of his father's loyalty.

The reader is not to suppose that captain Willoughby's
own mind was absolutely made up to fly into open rebellion.
Far from it. He had his doubts and misgivings on the
subjects of both principles and prudence, but he inclined
strongly to the equity of the demands of the Americans.
Independance, or separation, if thought of at all in 1775,

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

entered into the projects of but very few; the warmest wish
of the most ardent of the whigs of the colonies being directed
toward compromise, and a distinct recognition of their political
franchises. The events that followed so thickly were
merely the consequences of causes which, once set in motion,
soon attained an impetus that defied ordinary human
control. It was doubtless one of the leading incidents of
the great and mysterious scheme of Divine Providence for
the government of the future destinies of man, that political
separation should commence, in this hemisphere, at that
particular juncture, to be carried out, ere the end of a century,
to its final and natural conclusion.

But the present interview was less to debate the merits
of any disputed question, than to consult on the means of
future intercourse, and to determine on what was best to be
done at the present moment. After discussing the matter,
pro and con, it was decided that the major should quit the
Knoll the next day, and return to Boston, avoiding Albany
and those points of the country in which he would be most
exposed to detection. So many persons were joining the
American forces that were collecting about the besieged
town, that his journeying on the proper road would excite
no suspicion; and once in the American camp, nothing
would be easier than to find his way into the peninsula. All
this young Willoughby felt no difficulty in being able to
accomplish, provided he could get into the settlements without
being followed by information of his real character.
The period of spies, and of the severe exercise of martial-law,
was not yet reached; and all that was apprehended
was detention. Of the last, however, there was great danger;
positive certainly, indeed, in the event of discovery;
and major Willoughby had gleaned enough during his visit,
to feel some apprehensions of being betrayed. He regretted
having brought his servant with him; for the man was a
European, and by his dulness and speech might easily get
them both into difficulties. So serious, indeed, was this last
danger deemed by the father, that he insisted on Robert's
starting without the man, leaving the last to follow, on the
first suitable occasion.

As soon as this point was settled, there arose the question
of the proper guide. Although he distrusted the Tuscarora,

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

captain Willoughby, after much reflection, came to the
opinion that it would be safer to make an ally of him, than
to give him an opportunity of being employed by the other
side. Nick was sent for, and questioned. He promised to
take the major to the Hudson, at a point between Lunenburg
and Kinderhook, where he would be likely to cross the river
without awakening suspicion; his own reward to depend on
his coming back to the Hutted Knoll with a letter from the
major, authorizing the father to pay him for his services.
This plan, it was conceived, would keep Nick true to his
faith, for the time being, at least.

Many other points were discussed between the father and
son, the latter promising if anything of importance occurred,
to find the means of communicating it to his friends at the
Knoll, while Farrel was to follow his master, at the end of
six weeks or two months, with letters from the family.
Many of the captain's old army-friends were now in situations
of authority and command, and he sent to them messages
of prudence, and admonitions to be moderate in their
views, which subsequent events proved were little regarded.
To general Gage he even wrote, using the precaution not to
sign the letter, though its sentiments were so much in favour
of the colonies, that had it been intercepted, it is most probable
the Americans would have forwarded the missive to
its direction.

These matters arranged, the father and son parted for the
night, some time after the house-clock had struck the hour
of twelve.

CHAPTER IX.

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

The intention of the major to quit the Knoll that day,
was announced to the family at breakfast, on the following
morning. His mother and Beulah heard this intelligence,
with a natural and affectionate concern, that they had no
scruples in avowing; but Maud seemed to have so schooled
her feelings, that the grief she really felt was under a prudent
control. To her, it appeared as if her secret were
constantly on the point of exposure, and she believed that
would cause her instant death. To survive its shame was
impossible in her eyes, and all the energies of her nature
were aroused, with the determination of burying her weakness
in her own bosom. She had been so near revealing it
to Beulah, that even now she trembled as she thought of the
precipice over which she had been impending, strengthening
her resolution by the recollection of the danger she had
run.

As a matter of necessary caution, the intended movements
of the young man were kept a profound secret from all in
the settlement. Nick had disappeared in the course of the
night, carrying with him the major's pack, having repaired
to a designated point on the stream, where he was to be
joined by his fellow-traveller at an hour named. There
were several forest-paths which led to the larger settlements.

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

That usually travelled was in the direction of old Fort Stanwix,
first proceeding north, and then taking a south-eastern
direction, along the shores of the Mohawk. This was the
route by which the major had come. Another struck the
Otsego, and joined the Mohawk at the point more than once
mentioned in our opening chapters. As these were the two
ordinary paths—if paths they could be called, where few or
no traces of footsteps were visible—it was more than probable
any plan to arrest the traveller would be laid in reference
to their courses. The major had consequently
resolved to avoid them both, and to strike boldly into the
mountains, until he should reach the Susquehanna, cross
that stream on its flood-wood, and finding one of its tributaries
that flowed in from the eastward, by following its banks
to the high land, which divides the waters of the Mohawk
from this latter river, place himself on a route that would
obliquely traverse the water-courses, which, in this quarter
of the country, have all a general north or south direction.
Avoiding Schenectady and Albany, he might incline towards
the old establishments of the descendants of the emigrants
from the Palatinate, on the Schoharie, and reach the
Hudson at a point deemed safe for his purposes, through
some of the passes of the mountains in their vicinity. He
was to travel in the character of a land-owner who had
been visiting his patent, and his father supplied him with a
map and an old field-book, which would serve to corroborate
his assumed character, in the event of suspicion, or arrest.
Not much danger was apprehended, however, the quarrel
being yet too recent to admit of the organization and distrust
that subsequently produced so much vigilance and activity.

“You will contrive to let us hear of your safe arrival in
Boston, Bob,” observed the father, as he sat stirring his tea,
in a thoughtful way—“I hope to God the matter will go no
farther, and that our apprehensions, after all, have given
this dark appearance to what has already happened.”

“Ah, my dear father; you little know the state of the
country, through which I have so lately travelled!” answered
the major, shaking his head. “An alarm of fire,
in an American town, would scarce create more movement,
and not so much excitement. The colonies are alive, particularly
those of New England, and a civil war is

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

inevitable; though I trust the power of England will render it
short.”

“Then, Robert, do not trust yourself among the people
of New England”—cried the anxious mother. “Go rather
to New York, where we have so many friends, and so much
influence. It will be far easier to reach New York than to
reach Boston.”

“That may be true, mother, but it will scarcely be as
creditable. My regiment is in Boston, and its enemies are
before Boston; an old soldier like captain Willoughby will
tell you that the major is a very necessary officer to a corps.
No—no—my best course is to fall into the current of adventurers
who are pushing towards Boston, and appear like
one of their number, until I can get an opportunity of stealing
away from them, and join my own people.”

“Have a care, Bob, that you do not commit a military
crime. Perhaps these provincial officers may take it into
their heads to treat you as a spy, should you fall into their
hands!”

“Little fear of that, sir; at present it is a sort of colonial
scramble for what they fancy liberty. That they will fight,
in their zeal, I know; for I have seen it; but matters have
not at all gone as far as you appear to apprehend. I question
if they would even stop Gage, himself, from going through
their camp, were he outside, and did he express a desire to
return.”

“And yet you tell me, arms and ammunition are seized
all over the land; that several old half-pay officers of the
king have been arrested, and put under a sort of parole!”

“Such things were talked of, certainly, though I question
if they have yet been done. Luckily for yourself, under
your present opinions at least, you are not on half-pay,
even.”

“It is fortunate, Bob, though you mention it with a smile.
With my present feelings, I should indeed be sorry to be on
half-pay, or quarter-pay, were there such a thing. I now
feel myself my own master, at liberty to follow the dictates
of my conscience, and the suggestions of my judgment.”

“Well, sir, you are a little fortunate, it must be acknowledged.
I cannot see how any man can be at liberty to

[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]

throw off the allegiance he owes his natural sovereign.
What think you, Maud?”

This was said half in bitterness, half in jest, though the
appeal at its close was uttered in a serious manner, and a
little anxiously. Maud hesitated, as if to muster her thoughts,
ere she replied.

“My feelings are against rebellion,” she said, at length;
“though I fear my reason tells me there is no such thing
as a natural sovereign. If the parliament had not given us
the present family, a century since, by what rule of nature
would it be our princes, Bob?”

“Ah! these are some of the flights of your rich imagination,
my dear—Maud; it is parliament that has made them
our princes, and parliament, at least, is our legal, constitutional
master.”

“That is just the point in dispute. Parliament may be
the rightful governors of England, but are they the rightful
governors of America?”

“Enough,” said the captain, rising from table — “We
will not discuss such a question, just as we are about to separate.
Go, my son; a duty that is to be performed, cannot
be done too soon. Your fowling-piece and ammunition are
ready for you, and I shall take care to circulate the report
that you have gone to pass an hour in the woods, in search
of pigeons. God bless you, Bob; however we may differ
in this matter — you are my son — my only son — my dear
and well-beloved boy — God for ever bless you!”

A profound stillness succeeded this burst of nature, and
then the young man took his leave of his mother and the
girls. Mrs. Willoughby kissed her child. She did not even
weep, until she was in her room; then, indeed, she went to
her knees, her tears, and her prayers. Beulah, all heart
and truth as she was, wept freely on her brother's neck;
but Maud, though pale and trembling, received his kiss
without returning it; though she could not help saying with
a meaning that the young man had in his mind all that day,
ay, and for many succeeding days—“be careful of yourself,
and run into no unnecessary dangers; God bless you,
dear, dear Bob.”

Maud alone followed the movements of the gentlemen
with her eyes. The peculiar construction of the Hut

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

prevented external view from the south windows; but there was
a loop in a small painting-room of the garret that was especially
under her charge. Thither, then, she flew, to ease
her nearly bursting heart with tears, and to watch the retiring
footsteps of Robert. She saw him, accompanied by
his father and the chaplain, stroll leisurely down the lawn,
conversing and affecting an indifferent manner, with a wish
to conceal his intent to depart. The glass of the loop was
open, to admit the air, and Maud strained her sense of hearing,
in the desire to catch, if possible, another tone of his
voice. In this she was unsuccessful; though he stopped
and gazed back at the Hut, as if to take a parting look.
Her father and Mr. Woods did not turn, and Maud thrust
her hand through the opening and waved her handkerchief.
“He will think it Beulah or I,” she thought, “and it may
prove a consolation to him to know how much we love him.”
The major saw the signal, and returned it. His father unexpectedly
turned, and caught a glimpse of the retiring
hand, as it was disappearing within the loop. “That is
our precious Maud,” he said, without other thought than of
her sisterly affection. “It is her painting-room; Beulah's
is on the other side of the gate-way; but the window does
not seem to be open.”

The major started, kissed his hand fervently, five or six
times, and then he walked on. As if to change the conversation,
he said hastily, and with a little want of connection
with what had just passed—

“Yes, sir, that gate, sure enough—have it hung, at once,
I do entreat of you. I shall not be easy until I hear that
both the gates are hung—that in the stockade, and that in
the house, itself.”

“It was my intention to commence to-day,” returned the
father, “but your departure has prevented it. I will wait a
day or two, to let your mother and sisters tranquillize their
minds a little, before we besiege them with the noise and
clamour of the workmen.”

“Better besiege them with that, my dear sir, than leave
them exposed to an Indian, or even a rebel attack.”

The major then went on to give some of his more modern
military notions, touching the art of defence. As one of the
old school, he believed his father a miracle of skill; but

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

what young man, who had enjoyed the advantages of ten
or fifteen years of the most recent training in any branch
of knowledge, ever believed the educations of those who
went before him beyond the attacks of criticism. The captain
listened patiently, and with an old man's tolerance for
inexperience, glad to have any diversion to unhappy
thoughts.

All this time Maud watched their movements from the
loop, with eyes streaming with tears. She saw Robert pause,
and look back, again and again; and, once more, she thrust
out the handkerchief. It was plain, however, he did not see
it; for he turned and proceeded, without any answering
signal.

“He never can know whether it was Beulah or I,”
thought Maud; “yet, he may fancy we are both here.”

On the rocks, that overhung the mills, the gentlemen
paused, and conversed for quite a quarter of an hour. The
distance prevented Maud from discerning their countenances;
but she could perceive the thoughtful, and as she fancied
melancholy, attitude of the major, as, leaning on his fowling-piece,
his face was turned towards the Knoll, and his eyes
were really riveted on the loop. At the end of the time
mentioned, the young soldier shook hands hastily and covertly
with his companions, hurried towards the path, and
descended out of sight, following the course of the stream.
Maud saw him no more, though her father and Mr. Woods
stood on the rocks quite half an hour longer, catching occasional
glimpses of his form, as it came out of the shadows
of the forest, into the open space of the little river; and, indeed,
until the major was within a short distance of the
spot where he was to meet the Indian. Then they heard
the reports of both barrels of his fowling-piece, fired in quick
succession, the signals that he had joined his guide. This
welcome news received, the two gentlemen returned slowly
towards the house.

Such was the commencement of a day, which, while it
brought forth nothing alarming to the family of the Hutted
Knoll, was still pregnant with important consequences.
Major Willoughby disappeared from the sight of his father
about ten in the morning; and before twelve, the settlement
was alive with the rumours of a fresh arrival. Joel knew

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

not whether to rejoice or to despair, as he saw a party of
eight or ten armed men rising above the rock, and holding
their course across the flats towards the house. He entertained
no doubt of its being a party sent by the provincial
authorities to arrest the captain, and he foresaw the probability
of another's being put into the lucrative station of
receiver of the estate, during the struggle which was in
perspective. It is surprising how many, and sometimes how
pure patriots are produced by just such hopes as those of
Joel's. At this day, there is scarce an instance of a confiscated
estate, during the American revolution, connected
with which racy traditions are not to be found, that tell of
treachery very similar to this contemplated by the overseer;
in some instances of treachery effected by means of kinsmen
and false friends.

Joel had actually got on his Sunday coat, and was making
his way towards the Knoll, in order to be present, at least,
at the anticipated scene, when, to his amazement, and somewhat
to his disappointment, he saw the captain and chaplain
moving down the lawn, in a manner to show that these unexpected
arrivals brought not unwelcome guests. This
caused him to pause; and when he perceived that the only
two among the strangers who had the air of gentlemen,
were met with cordial shakes of the hand, he turned back
towards his own tenement, a half-dissatisfied, and yet half-contented
man.

The visit which the captain had come out to receive, instead
of producing any uneasiness in his family, was, in
truth, highly agreeable, and very opportune. It was Evert
Beekman, with an old friend, attended by a party of chain-bearers,
hunters, &c., on his way from the “Patent” he
owned in the neighbourhood — that is to say, within fifty
miles—and halting at the Hutted Knoll, under the courteous
pretence of paying his respects to the family, but, in reality,
to bring the suit he had now been making to Beulah for
quite a twelvemonth, to a successful termination.

The attachment between Evert Beekman and Beulah
Willoughby was of a character so simple, so sincere, and
so natural, as scarce to furnish materials for a brief episode.
The young man had not made his addresses without leave
obtained from the parents; he had been acceptable to the

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

daughter from the commencement of their acquaintance;
and she had only asked time to reflect, ere she gave her
answer, when he proposed, a day or two before the family
left New York.

To own the truth, Beulah was a little surprised that her
suitor had delayed his appearance till near the close of May,
when she had expected to see him at the beginning of the
month. A letter, however, was out of the question, since
there was no mode of transmitting it, unless the messenger
were sent expressly; and the young man had now come in
person, to make his own apologies.

Beulah received Evert Beekman naturally, and without
the least exaggeration of manner, though a quiet happiness
beamed in her handsome face, that said as much as lover
could reasonably desire. Her parents welcomed him cordially,
and the suitor must have been dull indeed, not to
anticipate all he hoped. Nor was it long before every
doubt was removed. The truthful, conscientious Beulah,
had well consulted her heart; and, while she blushed at her
own temerity, she owned her attachment to her admirer.
The very day of his arrival they became formally betrothed.
As our tale, however, has but a secondary connection with
this little episode, we shall not dwell on it more than is necessary
to the principal object. It was a busy morning,
altogether; and, though there were many tears, there were
also many smiles. By the time it was usual, at that bland
season, for the family to assemble on the lawn, everything,
even to the day, was settled between Beulah and her lover,
and there was a little leisure to think of other things. It
was while the younger Pliny and one of the Smashes were
preparing the tea, that the following conversation was held,
being introduced by Mr. Woods, in the way of digressing
from feelings in which he was not quite as much interested
as some of the rest of the party.

“Do you bring us anything new from Boston?” demanded
the chaplain. “I have been dying to ask the question
these two hours—ever since dinner, in fact; but, somehow,
Mr. Beekman, I have not been able to edge in an inquiry.”

This was said good-naturedly, but quite innocently; eliciting
smiles, blushes, and meaning glances in return. Evert
Beekman, however, looked grave before he made his reply.

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

“To own the truth, Mr. Woods,” he said, “things are
getting to be very serious. Boston is surrounded by thousands
of our people; and we hope, not only to keep the
king's forces in the Peninsula, but, in the end, to drive them
out of the colony.”

“This is a bold measure, Mr. Beekman!—a very bold
step to take against Cæsar!”

“Woods preached about the rights of Cæsar, no later than
yesterday, you ought to know, Beekman,” put in the laughing
captain; “and I am afraid he will be publicly praying
for the success of the British arms, before long.”

“I did pray for the Royal Family,” said the chaplain,
with spirit, “and hope I shall ever continue to do so.”

“My dear fellow, I do not object to that. Pray for all
conditions of men, enemies and friends alike; and, particularly,
pray for our princes; but pray also to turn the hearts
of their advisers.”

Beekman seemed uneasy. He belonged to a decidedly
whig family, and was himself, at the very moment, spoken
of as the colonel of one of the regiments about to be raised
in the colony of New York. He held that rank in the
militia, as it was; and no one doubted his disposition to resist
the British forces, at the proper moment. He had even
stolen away from what he conceived to be very imperative
duties, to secure the woman of his heart before he went into
the field. His answer, in accordance, partook essentially
of the bias of his mind.

“I do not know, sir, that it is quite wise to pray so very
willingly for the Royal Family,” he said. “We may wish
them worldly happiness, and spiritual consolation, as part of
the human race; but political and specific prayers, in times
like these, are to be used with caution. Men attach more
than the common religious notion, just now, to prayers for
the king, which some interpret into direct petitions against
the United Colonies.”

“Well,” rejoined the captain, “I cannot agree to this,
myself. If there were a prayer to confound parliament and
its counsels, I should be very apt to join in it cordially; but
I am not yet ready to throw aside king, queen, princes and
princesses, all in a lump, on account of a few taxes, and a
little tea.”

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

“I am sorry to hear this from you, sir,” answered Evert.
“When your opinions were canvassed lately at Albany, I
gave a sort of pledge that you were certainly more with us
than against us.”

“Well then, I think, Beekman, you drew me in my true
outlines. In the main, I think the colonies right, though I
am still willing to pray for the king.”

“I am one of those, captain Willoughby, who look forward
to the most serious times. The feeling throughout the
colonies is tremendous, and the disposition on the part of
the royal officers is to meet the crisis with force.”

“You have a brother a captain of foot in one of the regiments
of the crown, colonel Beekman—what are his views
in this serious state of affairs?”

“He has already thrown up his commission — refusing
even to sell out, a privilege that was afforded him. His
name is now before congress for a majority in one of the
new regiments that are to be raised.”

The captain looked grave; Mrs. Willoughby anxious;
Beulah interested; and Maud thoughtful.

“This has a serious aspect, truly,” observed the first.
“When men abandon all their early hopes, to assume new
duties, there must be a deep and engrossing cause. I had
not thought it like to come to this!”

“We have had hopes major Willoughby might do the
same; I know that a regiment is at his disposal, if he be
disposed to join us. No one would be more gladly received.
We are to have Gates, Montgomery, Lee, and many other
old officers, from regular corps, on our side.”

“Will colonel Lee be put at the head of the American
forces?”

“I think not, sir. He has a high reputation, and a good
deal of experience, but he is a humourist; and what is something,
though you will pardon it, he is not an American
born.”

“It is quite right to consult such considerations, Beekman;
were I in congress, they would influence me, Englishman
as I am, and in many things must always remain.”

“I am glad to hear you say that, Willoughby,” exclaimed
the chaplain—“right down rejoiced to hear you say so! A

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

man is bound to stand by his birth-place, through thick and
thin.”

“How do you, then, reconcile your opinions, in this
matter, to your birth-place, Woods?” asked the laughing
captain.

To own the truth, the chaplain was a little confused. He
had entered into the controversy with so much zeal, of late,
as to have imbibed the feelings of a thorough partisan; and,
as is usual with such philosophers, was beginning to over-look
everything that made against his opinions, and to
exaggerate everything that sustained them.

“How?”—he cried, with zeal, if not with consistency —
“Why, well enough. I am an Englishman too, in the
general view of the case, though born in Massachusetts. Of
English descent, and an English subject.”

“Umph!—Then Beekman, here, who is of Dutch descent,
is not bound by the same principles as we are ourselves?”

“Not by the same feelings, possibly; but, surely, by
the same principles. Colonel Beekman is an Englishman
by construction, and you are by birth. Yes, I'm what may
be called a constructive Englishman.”

Even Mrs. Willoughby and Beulah laughed at this, though
not a smile had crossed Maud's face, since her eye had lost
Robert Willoughby from view. The captain's ideas seemed
to take a new direction, and he was silent some little time
before he spoke.

“Under the circumstances in which we are now placed,
as respects each other, Mr. Beekman,” he said, “it is proper
that there should be no concealments on grave points.
Had you arrived an hour or two earlier, you would have
met a face well known to you, in that of my son, major
Willoughby.”

“Major Willoughby, my dear sir!” exclaimed Beekman,
with a start of unpleasant surprise; “I had supposed him
with the royal army, in Boston. You say he has left the
Knoll—I sincerely hope not for Albany.”

“No—I wished him to go in that direction, at first, and
to see you, in particular; but his representations of the state
of the country induced me to change my mind; he travels
by a private way, avoiding all the towns of note, or size.”

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

“In that he has done well, sir. Near to me as a brother
of Beulah's must always seem, I should be sorry to see Bob,
just at this moment. If there be no hope of getting him to
join us, the farther we are separated the better.”

This was said gravely, and it caused all who heard it
fully to appreciate the serious character of a quarrel that
threatened to arm brother against brother. As if by common
consent, the discourse changed, all appearing anxious,
at a moment otherwise so happy, to obliterate impressions
so unpleasant from their thoughts.

The captain, his wife, Beulah and the colonel, had several
long and private communications in the course of the evening.
Maud was not sorry to be left to herself, and the
chaplain devoted his time to the entertainment of the friend
of Beekman, who was in truth a surveyor, brought along
partly to preserve appearances, and partly for service. The
chain-bearers, hunters, &c., had been distributed in the
different cabins of the settlement, immediately on the arrival
of the party.

That night, when the sisters retired, Maud perceived that
Beulah had something to communicate, out of the common
way. Still, she did not know whether it would be proper
for her to make any inquiries, and things were permitted to
take their natural course. At length Beulah, in her gentle
way, remarked—

“It is a fearful thing, Maud, for a woman to take upon
herself the new duties, obligations and ties of a wife.”

“She should not do it, Beulah, unless she feels a love for
the man of her choice, that will sustain her in them. You,
who have real parents living, ought to feel this fully, as I
doubt not you do.”

“Real parents! Maud, you frighten me! Are not my
parents yours?—Is not all our love common?”

“I am ashamed of myself, Beulah. Dearer and better
parents than mine, no girl ever had. I am ashamed of my
words, and beg you will forget them.”

“That I shall be very ready to do. It was a great consolation
to think that should I be compelled to quit home,
as compelled I must be in the end, I should leave with my
father and mother a child as dutiful, and one that loves
them as sincerely as yourself, Maud.”

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

“You have thought right, Beulah. I do love them to my
heart's core! Then you are right in another sense; for I
shall never marry. My mind is made up to that.”

“Well, dear, many are happy that never marry—many
women are happier than those that do. Evert has a kind,
manly, affectionate heart, and I know will do all he can to
prevent my regretting home; but we can never have more
than one mother, Maud!”

Maud did not answer, though she looked surprised that
Beulah should say this to her.

“Evert has reasoned and talked so much to my father
and mother,” continued the fiancée, blushing, “that they
have thought we had better be married at once. Do you
know, Maud, that it has been settled this evening, that the
ceremony is to take place to-morrow!”

“This is sudden, indeed, Beulah! Why have they determined
on so unexpected a thing?”

“It is all owing to the state of the country. I know not
how he has done it — but Evert has persuaded my father,
that the sooner I am his wife, the more secure we shall all
be, here at the Knoll.”

“I hope you love Evert Beekman, dearest, dearest Beulah?”

“What a question, Maud! Do you suppose I could stand
up before a minister of God, and plight my faith to a man
I did not love?—Why have you seemed to doubt it?”

“I do not doubt it — I am very foolish, for I know you
are conscientious as the saints in heaven—and yet, Beulah,
I think I could scarce be so tranquil about one I loved.”

The gentle Beulah smiled, but she no longer felt uneasiness.
She understood the impulses and sentiments of her
own pure but tranquil nature too well, to distrust herself;
and she could easily imagine that Maud would not be as
composed under similar circumstances.

“Perhaps it is well, sister of mine,” she answered laughing,
though blushing, “that you are so resolved to remain
single; for one hardly knows where to find a suitor sufficiently
devoted and ethereal for your taste. No one pleased
you last winter, though the least encouragement would have
brought a dozen to your feet; and here there is no one you
can possibly have, unless it be dear, good, old Mr. Woods.”

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

Maud compressed her lips, and really looked stern, so
determined was she to command herself; then she answered
somewhat in her sister's vein—

“It is very true,” she said, “there is no hero for me to
accept, unless it be dear Mr. Woods; and he, poor man, has
had one wife that cured him of any desire to possess another,
they say.”

“Mr. Woods! I never knew that he was married. Who
can have told you this, Maud?”

“I got it from Robert”—answered the other, hesitating a
little. “He was talking one day of such things.”

“What things, dear?”

“Why—of getting married—I believe it was about marrying
relatives—or connections—or, some such thing; for
Mr. Woods married a cousin-german, it would seem—and
so he told me all about it. Bob was old enough to know
his wife, when she died. Poor man, she led him a hard
life—he must be far from the Knoll, by this time, Beulah!”

“Mr. Woods!—I left him with papa, a few minutes since,
talking over the ceremony for to-morrow!”

“I meant Bob—”

Here the sisters caught each other's eyes, and both blushed,
consciousness presenting to them, at the same instant,
the images that were uppermost in their respective minds.
But, no more was said. They continued their employments
in silence, and soon each was kneeling in prayer.

The following day, Evert Beekman and Beulah Willoughby
were married. The ceremony took place, immediately
after breakfast, in the little chapel; no one being present
but the relatives, and Michael O'Hearn, who quieted his
conscience for not worshipping with the rest of the people,
by acting as their sexton. The honest county Leitrim-man
was let into the secret—as a great secret, however—at early
dawn; and he had the place swept and in order in good
season, appearing in his Sunday attire to do honour to the
occasion, as he thought became him.

A mother as tender as Mrs. Willoughby, could not resign
the first claim on her child, without indulging her tears.
Maud wept, too; but it was as much in sympathy for Beulah's
happiness, as from any other cause. The marriage,
in other respects, was simple, and without any ostentatious

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

manifestations of feeling. It was, in truth, one of those
rational and wise connections, which promise to wear well,
there being a perfect fitness, in station, wealth, connections,
years, manners and habits, between the parties. Violence
was done to nothing, in bringing this discreet and well-principled
couple together. Evert was as worthy of Beulah,
as she was worthy of him. There was confidence in the
future, on every side; and not a doubt, or a misgiving of
any sort, mingled with the regrets, if regrets they could be
called, that were, in some measure, inseparable from the
solemn ceremony.

The marriage was completed, the affectionate father had
held the weeping but smiling bride on his bosom, the tender
mother had folded her to her heart, Maud had pressed her
in her arms in a fervent embrace, and the chaplain had
claimed his kiss, when the well-meaning sexton approached.

“Is it the likes of yees I wish well to!” said Mike—“Ye
may well say that; and to yer husband, and childer, and
all that will go before, and all that have come afther ye! I
know'd ye, when ye was mighty little, and that was years
agone; and niver have I seen a cross look on yer pretthy
face. I've app'inted to myself, many's the time, a consait
to tell ye all this, by wor-r-d of mouth; but the likes of
yees, and of the Missus, and of Miss Maud there—och!
isn't she a swate one! and many's the pity, there's no sich
tall, handsome jontleman to take her, in the bargain, bad
luck to him for staying away; and so God bless ye, all,
praist in the bargain, though he's no praist at all; and
there's my good wishes said and done.”

CHAPTER X.

[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]

The succeeding fortnight, or three weeks, brought no
material changes, beyond those connected with the progress
of the season. Vegetation was out in its richest luxuriance,
the rows of corn and potatoes, freshly hoed, were ornamenting
the flats, the wheat and other grains were throwing up
their heads, and the meadows were beginning to exchange
their flowers for the seed. As for the forest, it had now
veiled its mysteries beneath broad curtains of a green so
bright and lively, that one can only meet it, beneath a generous
sun, tempered by genial rains, and a mountain air.
The chain-bearers, and other companions of Beekman,
quitted the valley the day after the wedding, leaving no one
of their party behind but its principal.

The absence of the major was not noted by Joel and
his set, in the excitement of receiving so many guests, and
in the movement of the wedding. But, as soon as the fact
was ascertained, the overseer and miller made the pretence
of a `slack-time' in their work, and obtained permission to
go to the Mohawk, on private concerns of their own. Such
journeys were sufficiently common to obviate suspicion;
and, the leave had, the two conspirators started off, in company,
the morning of the second day, or forty-eight hours
after the major and Nick had disappeared. As the latter
was known to have come in by the Fort Stanwix route, it
was naturally enough supposed that he had returned by the
same; and Joel determined to head him on the Mohawk, at
some point near Schenectady, where he might make a merit
of his own patriotism, by betraying the son of his master.

[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]

The reader is not to suppose Joel intended to do all this
openly; so far from it, his plan was to keep himself in the
back-ground, while he attracted attention to the supposed
toryism of the captain, and illustrated his own attachment
to the colonies.

It is scarcely necessary to say that this plan failed, in
consequence of the new path taken by Nick. At the very
moment when Joel and the miller were lounging about a
Dutch inn, some fifteen or twenty miles above Schenectady,
in waiting for the travellers to descent the valley of the
Mohawk, Robert Willoughby and his guide were actually
crossing the Hudson, in momentary security at least. After
remaining at his post until satisfied his intended prey had
escaped him, Joel, with his friend, returned to the settlement.
Still, the opportunity had been improved, to make
himself better acquainted with the real state of the country;
to open communications with certain patriots of a moral
calibre about equal to his own, but of greater influence; to
throw out divers injurious hints, and secret insinuations concerning
the captain; and to speculate on the propriety of
leaving so important a person to work his will, at a time so
critical. But the pear was not yet ripe, and all that could
now be done was to clear the way a little for something important
in future.

In the meantime, Evert Beekman having secured his
gentle and true-hearted wife, began, though with a heavy
heart, to bethink him of his great political duties. It was
well understood that he was to have a regiment of the new
levies, and Beulah had schooled her affectionate heart to a
degree that permitted her to part with him, in such a cause,
with seeming resignation. It was, sooth to say, a curious
spectacle, to see how these two sisters bent all their thoughts
and wishes, in matters of a public nature, to favour the engrossing
sentiments of their sex and natures; Maud being
strongly disposed to sustain the royal cause, and the bride
to support that in which her husband had enlisted, heart
and hand.

As for captain Willoughby, he said little on the subject
of politics; but the marriage of Beulah had a powerful influence
in confirming his mind in the direction it had taken
after the memorable argument with the chaplain. Colonel

[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]

Beekman was a man of strong good sense, though without
the least brilliancy; and his arguments were all so clear
and practical, as to carry with them far more weight than
was usual in the violent partisan discussions of the period.
Beulah fancied him a Solon in sagacity, and a Bacon in
wisdom. Her father, without proceeding quite as far as this,
was well pleased with his cool discriminating judgment, and
much disposed to defer to his opinions. The chaplain was
left out of the discussions as incorrigible.

The middle of June was passed, at the time colonel Beekman
began to think of tearing himself from his wife, in
order to return into the active scenes of preparation he had
quitted, to make this visit. As usual, the family frequented
the lawn, at the close of the day, the circumstance of most
of the windows of the Hut looking on the court, rendering
this resort to the open air more agreeable than might otherwise
have been the case. Evert was undecided whether to
go the following morning, or to remain a day longer, when
the lawn was thus occupied, on the evening of the 25th of
the month, Mrs. Willoughby making the tea, as usual, her
daughters sitting near her, sewing, and the gentlemen at
hand, discussing the virtues of different sorts of seed-corn.

“There is a stranger!” suddenly exclaimed the chaplain,
looking towards the rocks near the mill, the point at which
all arrivals in the valley were first seen from the Hut. “He
comes, too, like a man in haste, whatever may be his errand.”

“God be praised,” returned the captain rising; “it is
Nick, on his usual trot, and this is about the time he should
be back, the bearer of good news. A week earlier might
have augured better; but this will do. The fellow moves
over the ground as if he really had something to communicate!”

Mrs. Willoughby and her daughters suspended their avocations,
and the gentlemen stood, in silent expectation,
watching the long, loping strides of the Tuscarora, as he
came rapidly across the plain. In a few minutes the Indian
came upon the lawn, perfectly in wind, moving with deliberation
and gravity, as he drew nearer to the party. Captain
Willoughby, knowing his man, waited quite another

[figure description] Page 157.[end figure description]

minute, after the red-man was leaning against an apple-tree,
before he questioned him.

“Welcome back, Nick,” he then said. “Where did you
leave my son?”

“He tell dere,” answered the Indian, presenting a note,
which the captain read.

“This is all right, Nick; and it shows you have been a
true man. Your wages shall be paid to-night. But, this
letter has been written on the eastern bank of the Hudson,
and is quite three weeks old—why have we not seen you,
sooner?”

“Can't see, when he don't come.”

“That is plain enough; but why have you not come back
sooner? That is my question.”

“Want to look at country—went to shore of Great Salt
Lake.”

“Oh!—Curiosity, then, has been at the bottom of your
absence?”

“Nick warrior—no squaw—got no cur'osity.”

“No, no—I beg your pardon, Nick; I did not mean to
accuse you of so womanish a feeling. Far from it; I know
you are a man. Tell us, however, how far, and whither
you went?”

“Bos'on,” answered Nick, sententiously.

“Boston! That has been a journey, indeed. Surely my
son did not allow you to travel in his company through
Massachusetts?”

“Nick go alone. Two path; one for major; one for
Tuscarora. Nick got dere first.”

“That I can believe, if you were in earnest. Were you
not questioned by the way?”

“Yes. Tell 'em I'm Stockbridge—pale-face know no
better. T'ink he fox; more like wood-chuck.”

“Thank you, Nick, for the compliment. Had my son
reached Boston before you came away?”

“Here he be”—answered the Indian, producing another
missive, from the folds of his calico shirt.

The captain received the note which he read with extreme
gravity, and some surprise.

“This is in Bob's hand-writing,” he said, “and is dated

[figure description] Page 158.[end figure description]

`Boston, June 18th, 1775;' but it is without signature, and
is not only Bob, but Bob Short.”

“Read, dear Willoughby,” exclaimed the anxious mother.
“News from him, concerns us all.”

“News, Wilhelmina!—They may call this news in Boston,
but one is very little the better for it at the Hutted Knoll.
However, such as it is, there is no reason for keeping it a
secret, while there is one reason, at least, why it should be
known. This is all. `My dearest sir—Thank God I am
unharmed; but we have had much to make us reflect; you
know what duty requires—my best and endless love to my
mother, and Beulah—and dear, laughing, capricious, pretty
Maud. Nick was present, and can tell you all. I do not
think he will “extenuate, or aught set down in malice.”'
And this without direction, or signature; with nothing, in
fact, but place and date. What say you to all this, Nick?”

“He very good—major dere; he know. Nick dere—hot
time—a t'ousand scalp—coat red as blood.”

“There has been another battle!” exclaimed the captain;
“that is too plain to admit of dispute. Speak out at once,
Nick—which gained the day; the British or the Americans?”

“Hard to tell—one fight, t'other fight. Red-coat take de
ground; Yankee kill. If Yankee could take scalp of all he
kill, he whip. But, poor warriors at takin' scalp. No know
how.”

“Upon my word, Woods, there does seem to be something
in all this! It can hardly be possible that the Americans
would dare to attack Boston, defended as it is, by a
strong army of British regulars.”

“That would they not,” cried the chaplain, with emphasis.
“This has been only another skirmish.”

“What you call skirmge?” asked Nick, pointedly. “It
skirmge to take t'ousand scalp, ha?”

“Tell us what has happened, Tuscarora?” said the captain,
motioning his friend to be silent.

“Soon tell—soon done. Yankee on hill; reg'lar in canoe.
Hundred, t'ousand, fifty canoe—full of red-coat. Great
chief, dere!—ten—six—two—all go togeder. Come ashore—
parade, pale-face manner — march — booh — booh -- dem
cannon; pop, pop—dem gun. Wah! how he run”

[figure description] Page 159.[end figure description]

“Run! — who ran, Nick? — Though I suppose it must
have been the poor Americans, of course.”

“Red-coat run,” answered the Indian, quietly.

This reply produced a general sensation, even the ladies
starting, and gazing at each other.

“Red-coat run”—repeated the captain, slowly. “Go on
with your history, Nick—where was this battle fought?”

“T'other Bos'on—over river—go in canoe to fight, like
Injin from Canada.”

“That must have been in Charlestown, Woods—you may
remember Boston is on one peninsula, and Charlestown on
another. Still, I do not recollect that the Americans were
in the latter, Beekman—you told me nothing of that?”

“They were not so near the royal forces, certainly, when
I left Albany, sir,” returned the colonel. “A few direct
questions to the Indian, however, would bring out the whole
truth.”

“We must proceed more methodically. How many
Yankees were in this fight, Nick?—Calculate as we used
to, in the French war.”

“Reach from here to mill—t'ree, two deep, cap'in. All
farmer; no sodger. Carry gun, but no carry baggonet;
no carry knapsack. No wear red-coat. Look like town-meetin';
fight like devils.”

“A line as long as from this to the mill, three deep, would
contain about two thousand men, Beekman. Is that what
you wish to say, Nick?”

“That about him—pretty near—just so.”

“Well, then, there were about two thousand Yankees on
this hill—how many king's troops crossed in the canoes, to
go against them?”

“Two time — one time, so many; t'other time, half so
many. Nick close by; count him.”

“That would make three thousand in all! By George,
this does look like work. Did they all go together, Nick?”

“No; one time go first; fight, run away. Den two time
go, fight good deal—run away, too. Den try harder—set
fire to wigwam—go up hill; Yankee run away.”

“This is plain enough, and quite graphical. Wigwam on
fire? Charlestown is not burnt, Nick?”

“Dat he — Look like old Council Fire, gone out. Big

[figure description] Page 160.[end figure description]

canoe fire—booh—booh—Nick nebber see such war before—
wah! Dead man plenty as leaves on tree; blood run
like creek!”

“Were you in this battle, Nick? How came you to learn
so much about it?”

“Don't want to be in it — better out — no scalp taken.
Red-man not'in' to do, dere. How know about him?—See
him — dat all. Got eye; why no see him, behind stone
wall. Good see, behind stone wall.”

“Were you across the water yourself, or did you remain
in Boston, and see from a distance?”

“Across in canoe — tell red-coat, general send letter by
Nick—major say, he my friend—let Nick go.”

“My son was in this bloody battle, then!” said Mrs.
Willoughby. “He writes, Hugh, that he is safe?”

“He does, dearest Wilhelmina; and Bob knows us too
well, to attempt deception, in such a matter.”

“Did you see the major in the field, Nick — after you
crossed the water, I mean?”

“See him, all. Six—two—seven t'ousand. Close by;
why not see major stand up like pine—no dodge he head,
dere. Kill all round him—no hurt him! Fool to stay dere—
tell him so; but he no come away. Save he scalp, too.”

“And how many slain do you suppose there might have
been left on the ground—or, did you not remain to see?”

“Did see—stay to get gun—knapsack—oder good t'ing—
plenty about; pick him up, fast as want him.” Here Nick
coolly opened a small bundle, and exhibited an epaulette,
several rings, a watch, five or six pairs of silver buckles,
and divers other articles of plunder, of which he had managed
to strip the dead. “All good t'ing—plenty as stone—
have him widout askin'.”

“So I see, Master Nick—and is this the plunder of Englishmen,
or of Americans?”

“Red-coat nearest—got most t'ing, too. Go farder, fare
worse; as pale-face say.”

“Quite satisfactory. Were there more red-coats left on
the ground, or more Americans?”

“Red-coat so,” said Nick, holding up four fingers —
“Yankee, so;” holding up one. Take big grave to hold
red-coat. Small grave won't hold Yankee. Hear what he

[figure description] Page 161.[end figure description]

count; most red-coat. More than t'ousand warrior! British
groan, like squaw dat lose her hunter.”

Such was Saucy Nick's description of the celebrated,
and, in some particulars, unrivalled combat of Bunker Hill,
of which he had actually been an eye-witness, on the ground,
though using the precaution to keep his body well covered.
He did not think it necessary to state the fact that he had
given the coup-de-grace, himself, to the owner of the epaulette,
nor did he deem it essential to furnish all the particulars
of his mode of obtaining so many buckles. In other
respects, his account was fair enough, “nothing extenuating,
or setting down aught in malice.” The auditors had listened
with intense feeling; and Maud, when the allusion was made
to Robert Willoughby, buried her pallid face in her hands,
and wept. As for Beulah, time and again, she glanced
anxiously at her husband, and bethought her of the danger
to which he might so soon be exposed.

The receipt of this important intelligence confirmed Beekman
in the intention to depart. The very next morning he
tore himself away from Beulah, and proceeded to Albany.
The appointment of Washington, and a long list of other
officers, soon succeeded, including his own as a colonel;
and the war may be said to have commenced systematically.
Its distant din occasionally reached the Hutted Knoll; but
the summer passed away, bringing with it no event to affect
the tranquillity of that settlement. Even Joel's schemes were
thwarted for a time, and he was fain to continue to wear the
mask, and to gather that harvest for another, which he had
hoped to reap for his own benefit.

Beulah had all a young wife's fears for her husband; but,
as month succeeded month, and one affair followed another,
without bringing him harm, she began to submit to the
anxieties inseparable from her situation, with less of self-torment,
and more of reason. Her mother and Maud were
invaluable friends to her, in this novel and trying situation,
though each had her own engrossing cares on account of
Robert Willoughby. As no other great battle, however
occurred in the course of the year '75, Beekman remained
in safety with the troops that invested Boston, and the major
with the army within it. Neither was much exposed, and

[figure description] Page 162.[end figure description]

glad enough were these gentle affectionate hearts, when they
learned that the sea separated the combatants.

This did not occur, however, until another winter was
passed. In November, the family left the Hut, as had been
its practice of late years, and went out into the more inhabited
districts to pass the winter. This time it came only to
Albany, where colonel Beekman joined it, passing a few
happy weeks with his well-beloved Beulah. The ancient
town mentioned was not gay at a moment like that; but it
had many young officers in it, on the American side of the
question, who were willing enough to make themselves acceptable
to Maud. The captain was not sorry to see several
of these youths manifesting assiduity about her he had so
long been accustomed to consider as his youngest daughter;
for, by this time, his opinions had taken so strong a bias in
favour of the rights of the colonies, that Beekman himself
scarce rejoiced more whenever he heard of any little success
alighting on the American arms.

“It will all come right in the end,” the worthy captain
used to assure his friend the chaplain. “They will open
their eyes at home, ere long, and the injustice of taxing the
colonies will be admitted. Then all will come round again;
the king will be as much beloved as ever, and England and
America will be all the better friends for having a mutual
respect. I know my countrymen well; they mean right,
and will do right, as soon as their stomachs are a little
lowered, and they come to look at the truth, coolly. I'll
answer for it, the Battle of Bunker's Hill made us”—the
captain had spoken in this way, now, for some months—
“made us a thousand advocates, where we had one before.
This is the nature of John Bull; give him reason to respect
you, and he will soon do you justice; but give him reason
to feel otherwise, and he becomes a careless, if not a hard
master.”

Such were the opinions captain Willoughby entertained
of his native land; a land he had not seen in thirty years,
and one in which he had so recently inherited unexpected
honours, without awakening a desire to return and enjoy
them. His opinions were right in part, certainly; for they
depended on a law of nature, while it is not improbable they
were wrong in all that was connected with the notions of

[figure description] Page 163.[end figure description]

any peculiarly manly quality, in any particular part of
christendom. No maxim is truer than that which teaches
us “like causes produce like effects;” and as human beings
are governed by very similar laws all over the face of this
round world of ours, nothing is more certain than the similarity
of their propensities.

Maud had no smiles, beyond those extracted by her naturally
sweet disposition, and a very prevalent desire to oblige,
for any of the young soldiers, or young civilians, who
crowded about her chair, during the Albany winter mentioned.
Two or three of colonel Beekman's military friends,
in particular, would very gladly have become connected
with an officer so much respected, through means so exceedingly
agreeable; but no encouragement emboldened
either to go beyond the attention and assiduities of a marked
politeness.

“I know not how it is,” observed Mrs. Willoughby, one
day, in a tête-à-tête with her husband; “Maud seems to
take less pleasure than is usual with girls of her years, in the
attentions of your sex. That her heart is affectionate —
warm—even tender, I am very certain; and yet no sign of
preference, partiality, or weakness, in favour of any of these
fine young men, of whom we see so many, can I discover
in the child. They all seem alike to her!”

“Her time will come, as it happened to her mother before
her,” answered the captain. “Whooping-cough and measles
are not more certain to befall children, than love to befall a
young woman. You were all made for it, my dear Willy,
and no fear but the girl will catch the disease, one of these
days; and that, too, without any inoculation.”