



Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)









THE CHAINBEARER

OR

THE LITTLEPAGE MANUSCRIPTS

BY J. FENIMORE COOPER


    "O bid our vain endeavors cease,
    Revive the just designs of Greece;
    Return in all thy simple state,
    Confirm the tale her sons relate."

    COLLINS


    NEW YORK
    JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY
    150 Worth Street, corner Mission Place

    TROW'S
    PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,
    NEW YORK.


[Illustration: "She held up the trap, and I descended into the hole that
answered the purpose of a cellar."]




PREFACE.


The plot has thickened in the few short months that have intervened
since the appearance of the first portion of our Manuscripts, and
bloodshed has come to deepen the stain left on the country by the
wide-spread and bold assertion of false principles. This must long since
have been foreseen; and it is perhaps a subject of just felicitation,
that the violence which has occurred was limited to the loss of a single
life, when the chances were, and still are, that it will extend to civil
war. That portions of the community have behaved nobly under this sudden
outbreak of a lawless and unprincipled combination to rob, is
undeniable, and ought to be dwelt on with gratitude and an honest pride;
that the sense of right of much the larger portion of the country has
been deeply wounded, is equally true; that justice has been aroused, and
is at this moment speaking in tones of authority to the offenders, is
beyond contradiction; but, while all this is admitted, and admitted not
altogether without hope, yet are there grounds for fear, so reasonable
and strong, that no writer who is faithful to the real interests of his
country ought, for a single moment, to lose sight of them.

High authority, in one sense, or that of political power, has pronounced
the tenure of a durable lease to be opposed to the spirit of the
institutions! Yet these tenures existed when the institutions were
formed, and one of the provisions of the institutions themselves
guarantees the observance of the covenants under which the tenures
exist. It would have been far wiser, and much nearer to the truth, had
those who coveted their neighbors' goods been told that, in their
attempts to subvert and destroy the tenures in question, they were
opposing a solemn and fundamental provision of law, and in so much
opposing the institutions. The capital error is becoming prevalent,
which holds the pernicious doctrine that this is a government of men,
instead of one of principles. Whenever this error shall so far come to a
head as to get to be paramount in action, the well-disposed may sit down
and mourn over, not only the liberties of their country, but over its
justice and its morals, even should men be nominally so free as to do
just what they please.

As the Littlepage Manuscripts advance, we find them becoming more and
more suited to the times in which we live. There is an omission of one
generation, however, owing to the early death of Mr. Malbone Littlepage,
who left an only son to succeed him. This son has felt it to be a duty
to complete the series by an addition from his own pen. Without this
addition, we should never obtain views of Satanstoe, Lilacsbush,
Ravensnest, and Mooseridge, in their present aspect; while with it we
may possibly obtain glimpses that will prove not only amusing but
instructive.

There is one point on which, as editor of these Manuscripts, we desire
to say a word. It is thought by a portion of our readers, that the first
Mr. Littlepage who has written, Cornelius of that name, has manifested
an undue asperity on the subject of the New England character. Our reply
to this charge is as follows: In the first place, we do not pretend to
be answerable for all the opinions of those whose writings are submitted
to our supervision, any more than we should be answerable for all the
contradictory characters, impulses, and opinions that might be exhibited
in a representation of fictitious characters, purely of our own
creation. That the Littlepages entertained New York notions, and, if the
reader will, New York prejudices, may be true enough; but in pictures of
this sort, even prejudices become facts that ought not to be altogether
kept down. Then, New England has long since anticipated her revenge,
glorifying herself and underrating her neighbors in a way that, in our
opinion, fully justifies those who possess a little Dutch blood in
expressing their sentiments on the subject. Those who give so freely
should know how to take a little in return; and that more especially,
when there is nothing very direct or personal in the hits they receive.
For ourselves, we have not a drop of Dutch or New England blood in our
veins, and only appear as a bottle-holder to one of the parties in this
set-to. If we have recorded what the Dutchman says of the Yankee, we
have also recorded what the Yankee says, and that with no particular
hesitation, of the Dutchman. We know that these feelings are by-gones;
but our Manuscripts, thus far, have referred exclusively to the times in
which they certainly existed, and that, too, in a force quite as great
as they are here represented to be.

We go a little farther. In our judgment the false principles that are to
be found in a large portion of the educated classes, on the subject of
the relation between landlord and tenant, are to be traced to the
provincial notions of those who have received their impressions from a
state of society in which no such relations exist. The danger from the
anti-rent doctrines is most to be apprehended from these false
principles; the misguided and impotent beings who have taken the field
in the literal sense, not being a fourth part as formidable to the right
as those who have taken it in the moral. There is not a particle more of
reason in the argument which says that there should be no farmers, in
the strict meaning of the term, than there would be in that which said
there should be no journeymen connected with the crafts; though it would
not be easy to find a man to assert the latter doctrine. We dare say, if
there did happen to exist a portion of the country in which the
mechanics were all "bosses," it would strike those who dwelt in such a
state of society, that it would be singularly improper and
anti-republican for any man to undertake journeywork.

On this subject we shall only add one word. The column of society must
have its capital as well as its base. It is only perfect while each part
is entire, and discharges its proper duty. In New York the great
landholders long have, and do still, in a social sense, occupy the place
of the capital. On the supposition that this capital is broken and
hurled to the ground, of what material will be the capital that must be
pushed into its place! We know of none half so likely to succeed, as the
country extortioner and the country usurer! We would caution those who
now raise the cry of feudality and aristocracy, to have a care of what
they are about. In lieu of King Log, they may be devoured by King Stork.




THE CHAINBEARER.




CHAPTER I.

    "The steady brain, the sinewy limb,
    To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim:
    The iron frame, inured to bear
    Each dire inclemency of air;
    Nor less confirmed to undergo
    Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe."--_Rockeby._


My father was Cornelius Littlepage, of Satanstoe, in the County of
Westchester, and State of New York; and my mother was Anneke Mordaunt,
of Lilacsbush, a place long known by that name, which still stands near
Kingsbridge, but on the Island of Manhattan, and consequently in one of
the wards of New York, though quite eleven miles from town. I shall
suppose that _my_ readers know the difference between the Island of
Manhattan and Manhattan Island; though I _have_ found _soi-disant_
Manhattanese, of mature years, but of alien birth, who had to be taught
it. Lilacsbush, I repeat therefore, was on the Island of Manhattan,
eleven miles from town, though in the City of New York, and _not_ on
Manhattan Island.

Of my progenitors further back, I do not conceive it necessary to say
much. They were partly of English, and partly of Low Dutch extraction,
as is apt to be the case with those who come of New York families of any
standing in the colony. I retain tolerably distinct impressions of both
of my grandfathers, and of one of my grandmothers; my mother's mother
having died long before my own parents were married.

Of my maternal grandfather, I know very little, however, he having died
while I was quite young, and before I had seen much of him. He paid the
great debt of nature in England, whither he had gone on a visit to a
relative, a Sir Something Bulstrode, who had been in the colonies
himself, and who was a great favorite with Herman Mordaunt, as my
mother's parent was universally called in New York. My father often said
it was perhaps fortunate in one respect that his father-in-law died as
he did, since he had no doubt he would have certainly taken sides with
the crown in the quarrel that soon after occurred, in which case it is
probable his estates, or those which were my mother's, and are now mine,
would have shared the fate of those of the De Lanceys, of the Philipses,
of some of the Van Cortlandts, of the Floyds, of the Joneses, and of
various others of the heavy families, who remained loyal, as it was
called; meaning loyalty to a prince, and not loyalty to the land of
their nativity. It is hard to say which were right, in such a quarrel,
if we look at the opinions and prejudices of the times, though the
Littlepages to a man, which means only my father and grandfather, and
self, took sides with the country. In the way of self-interest, it ought
to be remarked, however, that the wealthy American who opposed the crown
showed much the most disinterestedness, inasmuch as the chances of being
subdued were for a long time very serious, while the certainty of
confiscation, not to say of being hanged, was sufficiently well
established, in the event of failure. But my paternal grandfather was
what was called a whig, of the high caste. He was made a brigadier in
the militia, in 1776, and was actively employed in the great campaign of
the succeeding year--that in which Burgoyne was captured, as indeed was
my father, who held the rank of lieutenant-colonel in the New York line.
There was also a Major Dirck Van Volkenburgh, or Follock, as he was
usually called, in the same regiment with my father, who was a sworn
friend. This Major Follock was an old bachelor, and he lived quite as
much in my father's house as he did in his own; his proper residence
being across the river, in Rockland. My mother had a friend, as well as
my father, in the person of Miss Mary Wallace; a single lady, well
turned of thirty at the commencement of the revolution. Miss Wallace was
quite at ease in her circumstances, but she lived altogether at
Lilacsbush, never having any other home, unless it might be at our house
in town.

We were very proud of the brigadier, both on account of his rank and on
account of his services. He actually commanded in one expedition against
the Indians during the revolution, a service in which he had some
experience, having been out on it, on various occasions, previously to
the great struggle for independence. It was in one of these early
expeditions of the latter war that he first distinguished himself, being
then under the orders of a Colonel Brom Follock, who was the father of
Major Dirck of the same name, and who was almost as great a friend of my
grandfather as the son was of my own parent. This Colonel Brom loved a
carouse, and I have heard it said that, getting among the High Dutch on
the Mohawk, he kept it up for a week, with little or no intermission,
under circumstances that involved much military negligence. The result
was, that a party of Canada Indians made an inroad on his command, and
the old colonel, who was as bold as a lion, and as drunk as a lord,
though why lords are supposed to be particularly inclined to drink I
never could tell, was both shot down and scalped early one morning as he
was returning from an adjacent tavern to his quarters in the "garrison,"
where he was stationed. My grandfather nobly revenged his death,
scattered to the four winds the invading party, and recovered the
mutilated body of his friend, though the scalp was irretrievably lost.

General Littlepage did not survive the war, though it was not his good
fortune to die on the field, thus identifying his name with the history
of his country. It happens in all wars, and most especially did it often
occur in our own great national struggle, that more soldiers lay down
their lives in the hospitals than on the field of battle, though the
shedding of blood seems an indispensable requisite to glory of this
nature; an ungrateful posterity taking little heed of the thousands who
pass into another state of being, the victims of exposure and camp
diseases, to sound the praises of the hundreds who are slain amid the
din of battle. Yet, it may be questioned if it do not require more true
courage to face death, when he approaches in the invisible form of
disease, than to meet him when openly arrayed under the armed hand. My
grandfather's conduct in remaining in camp, among hundreds of those who
had the small-pox, the loathsome malady of which he died, was
occasionally alluded to, it is true, but never in the manner the death
of an officer of his rank would have been mentioned, had he fallen in
battle. I could see that Major Follock had an honorable pride in the
fate of _his_ father, who was slain and scalped by the enemy in
returning from a drunken carouse, while my worthy parent ever referred
to the death of the brigadier as an event to be deplored, rather than
exulted in. For my own part, I think my grandfather's end was much the
most creditable of the two; but, as such, it will never be viewed by the
historian or the country. As for historians, it requires a man to be
singularly honest to write against a prejudice; and it is so much easier
to celebrate a deed as it is imagined than as it actually occurred, that
I question if we know the truth of a tenth part of the exploits about
which we vapor, and in which we fancy we glory. Well! we are taught to
believe that the time will come when all things are to be seen in their
true colors, and when men and deeds will be known as they actually were,
rather than as they have been recorded in the pages of history.

I was too young myself to take much part in the war of the revolution,
though accident made me an eye-witness of some of its most important
events, and that at the tender age of fifteen. At twelve--the American
intellect ever was and continues to be singularly precocious--I was sent
to Nassau Hall, Princeton, to be educated, and I remained there until I
finally got a degree, though it was not without several long and rude
interruptions of my studies. Although so early sent to college, I did
not actually graduate until I was nineteen, the troubled times requiring
nearly twice as long a servitude to make a Bachelor of Arts of me as
would have been necessary in the more halcyon days of peace. Thus I made
a fragment of a campaign when only a sophomore, and another the first
year I was junior. I say the _first_ year, because I was obliged to pass
two years in each of the two higher classes of the institution, in order
to make up for lost time. A youth cannot very well be campaigning and
studying Euclid in the academic bowers, at the same moment. Then I was
so young, that a year, more or less, was of no great moment.

My principal service in the war of the revolution was in 1777, or in the
campaign in which Burgoyne was met and captured. That important service
was performed by a force that was composed partly of regular troops, and
partly of militia. My grandfather commanded a brigade of the last, or
what was called a brigade, some six hundred men at most; while my father
led a regular battalion of one hundred and sixty troops of the New York
line into the German intrenchments, the memorable and bloody day the
last were stormed. How many he brought out I never heard him say. The
way in which I happened to be present in these important scenes is soon
told.

Lilacsbush being on the Island of Manhattan (not Manhattan Island, be it
always remembered), and our family being whig, we were driven from both
our town and country houses the moment Sir William Howe took possession
of New York. At first my mother was content with merely going to
Satanstoe, which was only a short distance from the enemy's lines; but
the political character of the Littlepages being too well established to
render this a safe residence, my grandmother and mother, always
accompanied by Miss Wallace, went up above the Highlands, where they
established themselves in the village of Fishkill for the remainder of
the war, on a farm that belonged to Miss Wallace in fee. Here it was
thought they were safe, being seventy miles from the capital, and quite
within the American lines. As this removal took place at the close of
the year 1776, and after independence had been declared, it was
understood that our return to our proper homes at all, depended on the
result of the war. At that time I was a sophomore, and at home in the
long vacation. It was in this visit that I made my fragment of a
campaign, accompanying my father through all the closing movements of
his regiment, while Washington and Howe were manoeuvring in
Westchester. My father's battalion happening to be posted in such a
manner as to be in the centre of the battle at White Plains, I had an
opportunity of seeing some pretty serious service on that occasion. Nor
did I quit the army and return to my studies, until after the brilliant
affairs at Trenton and Princeton, in both of which our regiment
participated.

This was a pretty early commencement with the things of active life for
a boy of fourteen. But in that war, lads of my age often carried
muskets, for the colonies covered a great extent of country, and had but
few people. They who read of the war of the American revolution, and
view its campaigns and battles as they would regard the conflicts of
older and more advanced nations, can form no just notion of the
disadvantages with which our people had to contend, or the great
superiority of the enemy in all the usual elements of military force.
Without experienced officers, with but few and indifferent arms, often
in want of ammunition, the rural and otherwise peaceful population of a
thinly peopled country were brought in conflict with the chosen warriors
of Europe; and this, too, with little or none of that great sinew of
war, money, to sustain them. Nevertheless the Americans, unaided by any
foreign skill or succor, were about as often successful as the reverse.
Bunker Hill, Bennington, Saratoga, Bhemis's Heights, Trenton, Princeton,
Monmouth, were all purely American battles; to say nothing of divers
others that occurred farther south: and though insignificant as to
numbers, compared with the conflicts of these later times, each is
worthy of a place in history, and one or two are almost without
parallels; as is seen when Bunker Hill be named. It sounds very well in
a dispatch, to swell out the list of an enemy's ranks; but admitting the
number itself not to be overrated, as so often occurred, of what avail
are men without arms and ammunition, and frequently without any other
military organization than a muster-roll!

I have said I made nearly the whole of the campaign in which Burgoyne
was taken. It happened in this wise. The service of the previous year
had a good deal indisposed me to study, and when again at home in the
autumn vacation, my dear mother sent me with clothing and supplies to my
father, who was with the army at the north. I reached the head-quarters
of General Gates a week before the affair of Bhemis's Heights, and was
with my father until the capitulation was completed. Owing to these
circumstances, though still a boy in years, I was an eye-witness, and in
some measure an actor in two or three of the most important events in
the whole war. Being well grown for my years, and of a somewhat manly
appearance, considering how young I really was, I passed very well as a
volunteer, being, I have reason to think, somewhat of a favorite in the
regiment. In the last battle, I had the honor to act as a sort of
_aide-de-camp_ to my grandfather, who sent me with orders and messages
two or three times into the midst of the fire. In this manner I made
myself a little known, and all so much the more from the circumstance of
my being in fact nothing but a college lad, away from his _alma mater_
during vacation.

It was but natural that a boy thus situated should attract some little
attention, and I _was_ noticed by officers, who, under other
circumstances, would hardly have felt it necessary to go out of their
way to speak to me. The Littlepages had stood well, I have reason to
think, in the colony, and their position in the new state was not likely
to be at all lowered by the part they were now playing in the
revolution. I am far from certain that General Littlepage was considered
a corner-post in the Temple of Freedom that the army was endeavoring to
rear, but he was quite respectable as a militia officer, while my father
was very generally admitted to be one of the best lieutenants-colonel in
the whole army.

I well remember to have been much struck with a captain in my father's
regiment, who certainly was a character, in his way. His origin was
Dutch, as was the case with a fair proportion of the officers, and he
bore the name of Andries Coejemans, though he was universally known by
the _sobriquet_ of the "Chainbearer." It was fortunate for him it was
so, else would the Yankees in the camp, who seem to have a mania to
pronounce every word as it is spelled, and having succeeded in this, to
change the spelling of the whole language to accommodate it to certain
sounds of their own inventing, would have given him a most
unpronounceable appellation. Heaven only knows what _they_ would have
called Captain Coejemans, but for this lucky nickname; but it may be as
well to let the uninitiated understand at once, that in New York
parlance, Coejemans is called Queemans. The Chainbearer was of a
respectable Dutch family, one that has even given its queer-looking name
to a place of some little note on the Hudson; but, as was very apt to be
the case with the _cadets_ of such houses, in the good old time of the
colony, his education was no great matter. His means had once been
respectable, but, as he always maintained, he was cheated out of his
substance by a Yankee before he was three-and-twenty, and he had
recourse to surveying for a living from that time. But Andries had no
head for mathematics, and after making one or two notable blunders in
the way of his new profession, he quietly sunk to the station of a
chainbearer, in which capacity he was known to all the leading men of
his craft in the colony. It is said that every man is suited to some
pursuit or other, in which he might acquire credit, would he only enter
on it and persevere. Thus it proved to be with Andries Coejemans. As a
chainbearer he had an unrivalled reputation. Humble as was the
occupation, it admitted of excellence in various particulars, as well as
another. In the first place, it required honesty, a quality in which
this class of men can fail, as well as all the rest of mankind. Neither
colony nor patentee, landlord nor tenant, buyer nor seller, need be
uneasy about being fairly dealt by so long as Andries Coejemans held the
forward end of the chain; a duty on which he was invariably placed by
one party or the other. Then, a practical eye was a great aid to
positive measurement; and while Andries never swerved to the right or to
the left of his course, having acquired a sort of instinct in his
calling, much time and labor were saved. In addition to these
advantages, the "Chainbearer" had acquired great skill in all the
subordinate matters of his calling. He was a capital woodman, generally;
had become a good hunter, and had acquired most of the habits that
pursuits like those in which he was engaged for so many years previously
to entering the army, would be likely to give a man. In the course of
time he took patents to survey, employing men with heads better than his
own to act as principals, while he still carried the chain.

At the commencement of the revolution, Andries, like most of those who
sympathized with the colonies, took up arms. When the regiment of which
my father was lieutenant-colonel was raised, they who could bring to its
colors so many men received commissions of a rank proportioned to their
services in this respect. Andries had presented himself early with a
considerable squad of chainbearers, hunters, trappers, runners, guides,
etc., numbering in the whole something like five-and-twenty hardy,
resolute sharpshooters. Their leader was made a lieutenant in
consequence, and being the oldest of his rank in the corps, he was
shortly after promoted to a captaincy, the station he was in when I made
his acquaintance, and above which he never rose.

Revolutions, more especially such as are of a popular character, are not
remarkable for bringing forward those who are highly educated, or
otherwise fitted for their new stations, unless it may be on the score
of zeal. It is true, service generally classes men, bringing out their
qualities, and necessity soon compels the preferment of those who are
the best qualified. Our own great national struggle, however, probably
did less of this than any similar event of modern times, a respectable
mediocrity having accordingly obtained an elevation that, as a rule, it
was enabled to keep to the close of the war. It is a singular fact that
not a solitary instance is to be found in our military annals of a young
soldier's rising to high command, by the force of his talents, in all
that struggle. This may have been, and in a measure probably _was_ owing
to the opinions of the people, and to the circumstance that the service
itself was one that demanded greater prudence and circumspection than
qualities of a more dazzling nature; or the qualifications of age and
experience, rather than those of youth and enterprise. It is probable
Andries Coejemans, on the score of original station, was rather above
than below the level of the social positions of a majority of the
subalterns of the different lines of the more northern colonies, when he
first joined the army. It is true, his education was not equal to his
birth; for, in that day, except in isolated instances and particular
families, the Dutch of New York, even in cases in which money was not
wanting, were any thing but scholars. In this particular, our neighbors
the Yankees had greatly the advantage of us. They sent everybody to
school, and, though their educations were principally those of
smatterers, it is an advantage to be even a smatterer among the very
ignorant. Andries had been no student either, and one may easily imagine
what indifferent cultivation will effect on a naturally thin soil. He
_could_ read and write, it is true, but it was the ciphering under which
he broke down, as a surveyor. I have often heard him say, that "if land
could be measured without figures, he would turn his back on no man in
the calling in all America, unless it might be 'His Excellency,' who, he
made no doubt, was not only the best, but the honestest surveyor mankind
had ever enjoyed."

The circumstance that Washington had practised the art of a surveyor for
a short time in his early youth, was a source of great exultation with
Andries Coejemans. He felt that it was an honor to be even a subordinate
in a pursuit, in which such a man was a principal. I remember, that long
after we were at Saratoga together, Captain Coejemans, while we were
before Yorktown, pointed to the commander-in-chief one day, as the
latter rode past our encampment, and cried out with emphasis--"T'ere,
Mortaunt, my poy--t'ere goes His Excellency!--It would be t'e happiest
tay of my life, coult I only carry chain while he survey't a pit of a
farm, in this neighborhoot."

Andries was more or less Dutch in his dialect, as he was more or less
interested. In general, he spoke English pretty well--colony English I
mean, not that of the schools; though he had not a single Yankeeism in
his vocabulary. On this last point he prided himself greatly, feeling an
honest pride, if he did occasionally use vulgarisms, a vicious
pronounciation, or make a mistake in the meaning of a word, a sin he was
a little apt to commit; and that his faults were all honest New York
mistakes and no "New England gipperish." In the course of the various
visits I paid to the camp, Andries and myself became quite intimate, his
peculiarities seizing my fancy; and doubtless, my obvious admiration
awakening his gratitude. In the course of our many conversations, he
gave me his whole history, commencing with the emigration of the
Coejemans from Holland, and ending with our actual situation, in the
camp at Saratoga. Andries had been often engaged, and, before the war
terminated, I could boast of having been at his side in no less than six
affairs myself, viz.. White Plains, Trenton, Princeton, Bhemis's
Heights, Monmouth, and Brandywine; for I had stolen away from college to
be present at the last affair. The circumstance that _our_ regiment was
both with Washington and Gates, was owing to the noble qualities of the
former, who sent off some of his best troops to reinforce his rival, as
things gathered to a head at the North. Then I was present throughout,
at the siege of Yorktown. But it is not my intention to enlarge on my
own military services.

While at Saratoga, I was much struck with the air, position and
deportment of a gentleman who appeared to command the respect, and to
obtain the ears of all the leaders in the American camp, while he held
no apparent official station. He wore no uniform, though he was
addressed by the title of general, and had much more of the character of
a real soldier than Gates who commanded. He must have been between forty
and fifty at that time, and in the full enjoyment of the vigor of his
mind and body. This was Philip Schuyler, so justly celebrated in our
annals for his wisdom, patriotism, integrity, and public services. His
connection with the great northern campaign is too well known to require
any explanations here. Its success, perhaps, was more owing to _his_
advice and preparations than to the influence of any one other mind, and
he is beginning already to take a place in history, in connection with
these great events, that has a singular resemblance to that he occupied
during their actual occurrence: in other words, he is to be seen in the
background of the great national picture, unobtrusive and modest, but
directing and controlling all, by the power of his intellect, and the
influence of his experience and character. Gates[1] was but a secondary
personage, in the real events of that memorable period. Schuyler was the
presiding spirit, though forced by popular prejudice to retire from the
apparent command of the army. Our written accounts ascribe the
difficulty that worked this injustice to Schuyler, to a prejudice which
existed among the eastern militia, and which is supposed to have had its
origin in the disasters of St. Clair, or the reverses which attended the
earlier movements of the campaign. My father, who had known General
Schuyler in the war of '56, when he acted as Bradstreet's right-hand
man, attributed the feeling to a different cause. According to his
notion of the alienation, it was owing to the difference in habits and
opinions which existed between Schuyler, as a New York gentleman, and
the yeomen of New England, who came out in 1777, imbued with all the
distinctive notions of their very peculiar state of society. There may
have been prejudices on both sides, but it is easy to see which party
exhibited most magnanimity and self-sacrifice. Possibly, the last was
inseparable from the preponderance of numbers, it not being an easy
thing to persuade masses of men that they _can_ be wrong, and a single
individual right. This is the great error of democracy, which fancies
truth is to be proved by counting noses; while aristocracy commits the
antagonist blunder of believing that excellence is inherited from male
to male, and that too in the order of primogeniture! It is not easy to
say where one is to look for truth in this life.

[Footnote 1: It may not be amiss to remark, in passing, that Horace
Walpole, in one of his recently published letters, speaks of a Horatio
Gates as his godson. Walpole was born in 1718, and Gates in 1728.]

As for General Schuyler, I have thought my father was right in ascribing
his unpopularity solely to the prejudices of provinces. The Muse of
History is the most ambitious of the whole sisterhood, and never thinks
she has done her duty unless all she says and records is said and
recorded with an air of profound philosophy; whereas, more than half of
the greatest events which affect human interest, are to be referred to
causes that have little connection with our boasted intelligence, in any
shape. Men feel far more than they reason, and a little feeling is very
apt to upset a great deal of philosophy.

It has been said that I passed six years at Princeton; nominally, if not
in fact; and that I graduated at nineteen. This happened the year
Cornwallis surrendered, and I actually served at the siege as the
youngest ensign in my father's battalion. I had also the happiness, for
such it was to me, to be attached to the company of Captain Coejeman's,
a circumstance which clinched the friendship I had formed for that
singular old man. I say old, for by this time Andries was every hour of
sixty-seven, though as hale, and hearty, and active, as any officer in
the corps. As for hardships, forty years of training, most of which had
been passed in the woods, placed him quite at our head, in the way of
endurance.

I loved my predecessors, grandfather and grandmother included, not only
as a matter of course, but with sincere filial attachment; and I loved
Miss Mary Wallace, or aunt Mary, as I had been taught to call her, quite
as much on account of her quiet, gentle, affectionate manner, as from
habit; and I loved Major Dirck Follock as a sort of hereditary friend,
as a distant relative, and a good and careful guardian of my own youth
and inexperience on a thousand occasions; and I loved my father's <DW64>
man, Jaap, as we all love faithful slaves, however unnurtured they may
be; but Andries was the man whom I loved without knowing why. He was
illiterate almost to greatness, having the drollest notions imaginable
of this earth and all it contained; was anything but refined in
deportment, though hearty and frank; had prejudices so crammed into his
moral system that there did not seem to be room for anything else; and
was ever so little addicted, moreover, to that species of Dutch
jollification, which had cost old Colonel Van Valkenburgh his life, and
a love for which was a good deal spread throughout the colony.
Nevertheless, I really loved this man, and when we were all disbanded at
the peace, or in 1783, by which time I had myself risen to the rank of
captain, I actually parted from old Andries with tears in my eyes. My
grandfather, General Littlepage, was then dead, but government giving to
most of us a step, by means of brevet rank, at the final breaking up of
the army, my father, who had been the full colonel of the regiment for
the last year, bore the title of brigadier for the remainder of his
days. It was pretty much all he got for seven years of dangers and
arduous services. But the country was poor, and we had fought more for
principles than for the hope of rewards. It must be admitted that
America ought to be full of philosophy, inasmuch as so much of her
system of rewards and even of punishments, is purely theoretical, and
addressed to the imagination, or to the qualities of the mind. Thus it
is that we contend with all our enemies on very unequal grounds. The
Englishman has his knighthood, his baronetcies, his peerages, his
orders, his higher ranks in the professions, his _batons_, and all the
other venial inducements of our corrupt nature to make him fight, while
the American is goaded on to glory by the abstract considerations of
virtue and patriotism. After all, we flog quite as often as we are
flogged, which is the main interest affected. While on this subject I
will remark that Andries Coejemans never assumed the empty title of
major, which was so graciously bestowed on him by the Congress of 1783,
but left the army a captain in name, without half-pay or anything but
his military lot, to find a niece whom he was bringing up, and to pursue
his old business of a "chainbearer."




CHAPTER II.

    "A trusty villain, sir; that very oft,
    When I am dull with care and melancholy,
    Lightens my humors with his many jests."
                        --_Dromio of Syracuse._


It will be seen that, while I got a degree, and what is called an
education, the latter was obtained by studies of a very desultory
character. There is no question that learning of all sorts fell off
sadly among us during the revolution and the twenty years that succeeded
it. While colonies, we possessed many excellent instructors who came
from Europe; but the supply ceased, in a great measure, as soon as the
troubles commenced; nor was it immediately renewed at the peace. I think
it will be admitted that the gentlemen of the country began to be less
well educated about the time I was sent to college, than had been the
case for the previous half-century, and that the defect has not yet been
repaired. What the country may do in the first half of the nineteenth
century remains to be seen.[2]

[Footnote 2: The reader will recollect that Mr. Mordaunt Littlepage must
have written his account of himself and his times about the close of the
last, or the beginning of this century. Since that time, education has
certainly advanced among us; sophomores, pursuing branches of learning
to-day that were sealed from seniors a few years since. Learning,
however, advances in this country on the great American principle of
imparting a little to a great many, instead of teaching a good deal to a
few.--EDITOR.]

My connection with the army aided materially in weaning me from home,
though few youths had as many temptations to return to the paternal roof
as myself. There were my beloved mother and my grandmother, in the first
place, both of whom doted on me as on an only son. Then aunt Mary almost
equally shared in my affections. But I had two sisters, one of whom was
older, and the other younger than myself. The eldest, who was called
Anneke, after our dear mother, was even six years my senior, and was
married early in the war to a gentleman of the name of Kettletas. Mr.
Kettletas was a person of very good estate, and made my sister perfectly
happy. They had several children, and resided in Dutchess, which was an
additional reason for my mother's choosing that county for her temporary
residence. I regarded Anneke, or Mrs. Kettletas, much as all youths
regard an elder sister, who is affectionate, feminine and respectable;
but little Katrinke, or Kate, was my pet. She again, was four years
younger than myself; and as I was just two-and-twenty when the army was
disbanded, she of course was only eighteen. This dear sister was a
little, jumping, laughing, never-quiet, merry thing, when I had taken my
leave of her, in 1781, to join the regiment as an ensign, as handsome
and sweet as a rose-bud, and quite as full of promise. I remember that
old Andries and I used to pass much of our time in camp in conversing
about our several pets; he of his niece, and I of my younger sister. Of
course, I never intended to marry, but Kate and I were to live together;
she as my housekeeper and companion, and I as her elder brother and
protector. The one great good of life with us all was peace, with
independence; which obtained, no one, in our regiment at least, was so
little of a patriot as to doubt of the future. It was laughable to see
with how much gusto and simplicity the old Chainbearer entered into all
these boyish schemes. His niece was an orphan, it would seem, the only
child of an only but a half-sister, and was absolutely dependent on him
for the bread she put into her mouth. It is true that this niece fared
somewhat better than such a support would seem to promise, having been
much cared for by a female friend of her mother's, who, being reduced
herself, kept a school, and had thus bestowed on her ward a far better
education than she could ever have got under her uncle's supervision,
had the last possessed the riches of the Van Rensselaers, or of the Van
Cortlandts. As has been substantially stated, old Andries's forte did
not lie in education, and they who do not enjoy the blessings of such a
character, seldom duly appreciate their advantages. It is with the
acquisitions of the mind, as with those of mere deportment and tastes;
we are apt to undervalue them all, until made familiarly acquainted with
their power to elevate and to enlarge. But the niece of Andries had been
particularly fortunate in falling into the hands she had; Mrs. Stratton
having the means and the inclination to do all for her, in the way of
instruction, that was then done for any young woman in New York, as long
as she lived. The death of this kind friend occurring, however, in 1783,
Andries was obliged to resume the care of his niece, who was now thrown
entirely on himself for support. It is true, the girl wished to do
something for herself, but this neither the pride nor the affection of
the old chainbearer would listen to.

"What _can_ the gal do?" Andries said to me significantly, one day that
he was recounting all these particulars. "She can't carry chain, though
I do believe, Morty, the chilt has head enough, and figures enough to
survey! It would do your heart good to read the account of her l'arnin'
t'at t'e olt woman used to send me; though she wrote so excellent a hant
herself, t'at it commonly took me a week to read one of her letters;
that is, from 'Respected Friend' to 'Humble Sarvent,' as you know them
'ere t'ings go."

"Excellent hand! Why, I should think, Andries, the better the hand, the
easier one could read a letter."

"All a mistake. When a man writes a scrawl himself, it's nat'ral he
shoult read scrawls easiest, in his own case. Now, Mrs. Stratton was
home-taught, and would be likely to get into ways t'at a plain man might
find difficult to get along wit'."

"Do you think, then, of making a surveyor of your niece?" I asked, a
little pointedly.

"Why, she is hartly strong enough to travel t'rough the woots, and, the
callin' is not suitaple to her sex, t'ough I woult risk her against t'e
oldest calculator in t'e province."

"We call New York a State, now, Captain Andries, you will recollect."

"Ay, t'at's true, and I peg the State's pardon. Well, t'ere'll be
scrambling enough for t'e land, as soon as the war is fairly over, and
chainbearing will be a sarviceable callin' once more. Do you know,
Morty, they talk of gifin' all of our line a quantity of land, privates
and officers, which will make me a landholter again, the very character
in which I started in life. You will inherit acres enough, and may not
care so much apout owning a few huntret, more or less, but I own the
idee is agreeaple enough to me."

"Do you propose to commence anew as a husbandman?"

"Not I; the pusiness never agreet wit' me, nor I wit' it. Put a man may
survey his own lot, I suppose, and no offence to greater scholars. If I
get t'e grant t'ey speak of, I shall set to work and run it out on my
own account, and t'en we shall see who understants figures, and who
don't! If other people won't trust me, it is no reason I shoult not
trust myself."

I knew that his having broken down in the more intellectual part of his
calling was a sore point with old Andries, and I avoided dwelling on
this part of the subject. In order to divert his mind to other objects,
indeed, I began to question him a little more closely than I had ever
done before, on the subject of his niece, in consequence of which
expedient I now learned many things that were new to me.

The name of the chainbearer's niece was Duss Malbone, or so he always
pronounced it. In the end I discovered that Duss was a sort of Dutch
diminutive for Ursula. Ursula Malbone had none of the Coejemans blood in
her, notwithstanding she was Andries's sister's daughter. It seemed that
old Mrs. Coejemans was twice married, her second husband being the
father of Duss's mother. Bob Malbone, as the chainbearer always called
the girl's father, was an eastern man of very good family, but was a
reckless spendthrift, who married Duss the senior, as well as I could
learn, for her property; all of which, as well as that he had inherited
himself, was cleverly gotten rid of within the first ten years of their
union, and a year or two after the girl was born. Both father and mother
died within a few months of each other, and in a very happy moment as
regards worldly means, leaving poor little Duss with no one to care for
her but her half-uncle, who was then living in the forest in his regular
pursuits, and the Mrs. Stratton I have mentioned. There was a
half-brother, Bob Malbone having married twice, but he was in the army,
and had some near female relation to support out of his pay. Between the
chainbearer and Mrs. Stratton, with an occasional offering from the
brother, the means of clothing, nourishing and educating the young woman
had been found until she reached her eighteenth year, when the death of
her female protector threw her nearly altogether on the care of her
uncle. The brother now did his share, Andries admitted; but it was not
much that he could do. A captain himself, his scanty pay barely sufficed
to meet his own wants.

I could easily see that old Andries loved Duss better than anything else
or any other person. When he was a little mellow, and that was usually
the extent of his debaucheries, he would prate about her to me until the
tears came into his eyes, and once he actually proposed that I should
marry her.

"You woult just suit each other," the old man added, in a very quaint,
but earnest manner, on that memorable occasion; "and as for property, I
know you care little for money, and will have enough for half-a-tozen. I
swear to you, Captain Littlepage"--for this dialogue took place only a
few months before we were disbanded, and after I had obtained a
company--"I swear to you, Captain Littlepage, t'e girl is laughing from
morning till night, and would make one of the merriest companions for an
olt soldier that ever promiset to 'honor and obey.' Try her once, lad,
and see if I teceive you."

"That may do well enough, friend Andries, for an _old_ soldier, whereas
you will remember I am but a boy in years----"

"Ay, in years; but olt as a soldier, Morty--olt as White Plains, or '76;
as I know from hafin seen you unter fire."

"Well, be it so; but it is the man, and not the soldier, who is to do
the marrying, and I am still a very young man."

"You might do worse, take my word for it, Mortaunt, my dear poy; for
Duss is fun itself, and I have often spoken of you to her in a way t'at
will make the courtship as easy as carrying a chain on t'e Jarmen
Flats."

I assured my friend Andries that I did not think of a wife yet, and that
my taste ran for a sentimental and melancholy young woman, rather than
for a laughing girl. The old chainbearer took this repulse
good-humoredly, though he renewed the attack at least a dozen times
before the regiment was disbanded, and we finally separated. I say
finally separated, though it was in reference to our companionship as
soldiers, rather than as to our future lives; for I had determined to
give Andries employment myself, should nothing better offer in his
behalf.

Nor was I altogether without the means of thus serving a friend, when
the inclination existed. My grandfather, Herman Mordaunt, had left me,
to come into possession at the age of twenty-one, a considerable estate
in what is now Washington County, a portion of our territory that lies
northeast from Albany, and at no great distance from the Hampshire
Grants. This property, of many thousands of acres in extent, had been
partially settled under leases by himself, previously to my birth, and
those leases having mostly expired, the tenants were remaining at will,
waiting for more quiet times to renew their engagements. As yet
Ravensnest, for so the estate was called, had given the family little
besides expense and trouble; but the land being good, and the
improvements considerable, it was time to look for some return for all
our outlays. This estate was now mine in fee, my father having formally
relinquished its possession in my favor the day I attained my majority.
Adjacent to this estate lay that of Mooseridge, which was the joint
property of my father and of his friend Major--or as he was styled in
virtue of the brevet rank granted at the peace--_Colonel_ Follock.
Mooseridge had been originally patented by my grandfather, the first
General Littlepage, and _old_ Colonel Follock, he who had been slain and
scalped early in the war; but on the descent of his moiety of the
tenantry in common to Dirck Follock, my grandfather conveyed his
interest to his own son, who ere long must become its owner, agreeably
to the laws of nature. This property had once been surveyed into large
lots, but owing to some adverse circumstances, and the approach of the
troubles, it had never been settled or surveyed into farms. All that its
owners ever got for it, therefore, was the privilege of paying the crown
its quit-rents; taxes, or reserved payments, of no great amount, it is
true, though far more than the estate had ever yet returned.

While on the subject of lands and tenements, I may as well finish my
opening explanations. My paternal grandfather was by no means as rich as
my father, though the senior, and of so much higher military rank. His
property, or neck, of Satanstoe, nevertheless, was quite valuable; more
for the quality of the land and its position than for its extent. In
addition to this, he had a few thousand pounds at interest; stocks,
banks, and moneyed corporations of all kinds being then nearly unknown
among us. His means were sufficient for his wants, however, and it was a
joyful day when he found himself enabled to take possession of his own
house again, in consequence of Sir Guy Carleton's calling in all of his
detachments from Westchester. The Morrises, distinguished whigs as they
were, did not get back to Morrisania until after the evacuation, which
took place November 25, 1783; nor did my father return to Lilacsbush
until after that important event. The very year my grandfather saw
Satanstoe, he took the small-pox in camp and died.

To own the truth, the peace found us all very poor, as was the case with
almost everybody in the country but a few contractors. It was not the
contractors for the American army that were rich; they fared worse than
most people; but the few who furnished supplies to the French _did_ get
silver in return for their advances. As for the army, it was disbanded
without any reward but promises, and payment in a currency that
depreciated so rapidly that men were glad to spend recklessly their
hard-earned stock, lest it should become perfectly valueless in their
hands. I have heard much in later years of the celebrated Newburgh
letters, and of the want of patriotism that could lead to their having
been written. It may not have been wise, considering the absolute want
of the country, to have contemplated the alternative toward which those
letters certainly cast an oblique glance, but there was nothing in
either their execution or their drift which was not perfectly natural
for the circumstances. It was quite right for Washington to act as he
did in that crisis, though it is highly probable that even Washington
would have felt and acted differently had he nothing but the keen sense
of his neglected services, poverty, and forgetfulness before him in the
perspective. As for the young officer who actually wrote the letters, it
is probable that justice will never be done to any part of his conduct,
but that which is connected with the elegance of his diction. It is very
well for those who do not suffer to prate about patriotism; but a
country is bound to be just, before it can lay a high moral claim to
this exclusive devotedness to the interests of the majority. Fine words
cost but little, and I acknowledge no great respect for those who
manifest their integrity principally in phrases. This is said not in the
way of personal apology, for our regiment did not happen to be at
Newburgh at the disbandment; if it had, I think my father's influence
would have kept us from joining the malcontents; but at the same time, I
fancy his and my own patriotism would have been much strengthened by the
knowledge that there were such places as Satanstoe, Lilacsbush,
Mooseridge, and Ravensnest. To return to the account of our property.

My grandfather Mordaunt, notwithstanding his handsome bequests to me,
left the bulk of his estate to my mother. This would have made the rest
of the family rich, had it not been for the dilapidations produced by
the war. But the houses and stores in town were without tenants who
paid, having been mainly occupied by the enemy; and interest on bonds
was hard to collect from those who lived within the British lines.

In a word, it is not easy to impress on the mind of one who witnesses
the present state of the country, its actual condition in that day. As
an incident that occurred to myself, after I had regularly joined the
army for duty, will afford a lively picture of the state of things, I
will relate it, and this the more willingly, as it will be the means of
introducing to the reader an old friend of the family, and one who was
intimately associated with divers events of my own life. I have spoken
of Jaaf, a slave of my father's, and one of about his own time of life.
At the time to which I allude, Jaaf was a middle-aged, gray-headed
<DW64>, with most of the faults, and with all the peculiar virtues of the
beings of his condition and race. So much reliance had my mother, in
particular, on his fidelity, that she insisted on his accompanying her
husband to the wars, an order that the black most willingly obeyed; not
only because he loved adventure, but because he especially hated an
Indian, and my father's earliest service was against that portion of our
foes. Although Jaaf acted as a body-servant, he carried a musket, and
even drilled with the men. Luckily, the Littlepage livery was blue
turned up with red, and of a very modest character; a circumstance that
almost put Jaaf in uniform, the fellow obstinately refusing to wear the
colors of any power but that of the family to which he regularly
belonged. In this manner, Jaaf had got to be a queer mixture of the
servant and the soldier, sometimes acting in the one capacity, and
sometimes in the other, having at the same time not a little of the
husbandman about him; for our slaves did all sorts of work.

My mother had made it a point that Jaaf should accompany me on all
occasions when I was sent to any distance from my father. She naturally
enough supposed I had the most need of the care of a faithful attendant,
and the black had consequently got to be about half transferred to me.
He evidently liked this change, both because it was always accompanied
by change of scene and the chances for new adventures, and because it
gave him an opportunity of relating many of the events of his youth;
events that had got to be worn threadbare, as narratives, with his "ole
masser," but which were still fresh with his "young."

On the occasion to which there is allusion, Jaaf and I were returning to
camp, from an excursion of some length, on which I had been sent by the
general of division. This was about the time the continental money made
its final fall to nothing, or next to nothing, it having long stood at
about a hundred dollars for one. I had provided myself with a little
silver, and very precious it was, and some thirty or forty thousand
dollars of "continental," to defray my travelling expenses; but my
silver was expended, and the paper reduced to two or three thousand
dollars, when it would require the whole stock of the latter to pay for
Jaaf's and my own dinner; nor were the inn-keepers very willing to give
their time and food for it at any price. This vacuum in my purse took
place when I had still two long days' ride before me, and in a part of
the country where I had no acquaintances whatever. Supper and rest were
needed for ourselves, and provender and stabling for our horses.
Everything of the sort was cheap enough, to be sure, but absolute want
of means rendered the smallest charge impracticable to persons in our
situation. As for appealing to the patriotism of those who lived by the
wayside, it was too late in the war; patriotism being a very evanescent
quality of the human heart, and particularly addicted to sneaking, like
compassion, behind some convenient cover, when it is to be maintained at
any pecuniary cost. It will do for a capital, in a revolution, or a war
for the first six months, perhaps; but gets to be as worthless as
continental money itself, by the end of that period. One militia draft
has exhausted the patriotism of thousands of as disinterested heroes as
ever shouldered muskets.

"Jaap," I asked of my companion, as we drew near to the hamlet where I
intended to pass the night, and the comforts of a warm supper on a sharp
frosty evening, began to haunt my imagination--"Jaap, how much money may
you have about you?"[3]

[Footnote 3: This man is indiscriminately called Yaf, or Yop--York Dutch
being far from severe.]

"I, Masser Mordaunt!--Golly! but dat a berry droll question, sah!"

"I ask, because my own stock is reduced to just one York shilling, which
goes by the name of only a ninepence in this part of the world."

"Dat berry little, to tell 'e truit', sah, for two gentleum, and two
large, hungry hosses. Berry little, indeed, sah! I wish he war' more."

"Yet, I have not a copper more. I gave one thousand two hundred dollars
for the dinner and baiting and oats, at noon."

"Yes, sah--but dat conternental, sah, I supposes--no great t'ing, a'ter
all."

"It's a great thing in sound, Jaap, but not much when it comes to the
teeth, as you perceive. Nevertheless, we must eat and drink, and our
nags must eat, too--I suppose _they_ may _drink_, without paying."

"Yes, sah--dat true 'nough, yah--yah--yah"--how easily that <DW64>
laughed!--"But 'e cider wonnerful good in dis part of 'e country, young
masser; just needer sweet nor sour--den he strong as 'e jackass."

"Well, Jaap, how are we to get any of this good cider, of which you
speak?"

"You t'ink, sah, dis part of 'e country been talk too much lately 'bout
Patty Rism and 'e country, sah?"

"I am afraid Patty has been overdone here, as well as in most other
counties."

I may observe here, that Jaap always imagined the beautiful creature he
had heard so much extolled and commended for her comeliness and virtue,
was a certain young woman of this name, with whom all Congress was
unaccountably in love at the same time.

"Well, den, sah, dere no hope but our wits. Let me be masser to-night,
and you mind ole Jaap, if he want good supper. Jest ride ahead, Masser
Mordaunt, and give he order like General Littlepage son, and leave it
all to old Jaap."

As there was not much to choose, I did ride on, and soon ceased to hear
the hoofs of the <DW64>'s horse at my heels. I reached the inn an hour
ere Jaap appeared, and was actually seated at a capital supper before he
rode up, as one belonging only to himself. Jaap had taken off the
Littlepage emblems, and had altogether a most independent air. His horse
was stabled alongside of mine, and I soon found that he himself was at
work on the remnants of my supper, as they retreated toward the kitchen.

A traveller of my appearance was accommodated with the best parlor, as a
matter of course; and having appeased my appetite, I sat down to read
some documents that were connected with the duty I was on. No one could
have imagined that I had only a York shilling, which is a Pennsylvania
"levy," or a Connecticut "ninepence," in my purse; for my air was that
of one who could pay for all he wanted, the certainty that, in the long
run, my host could not be a loser, giving me a proper degree of
confidence. I had just got through with the documents, and was thinking
how I should employ the hour or two that remained until it would be time
to go to bed, when I heard Jaap tuning his fiddle in the bar-room. Like
most <DW64>s, the fellow had an ear for music, and had been indulged in
his taste, until he played as well as half the country fiddlers that
were to be met.

The sound of a fiddle in a small hamlet, of a cool October evening, was
certain of its result. In half an hour the smiling landlady came to
invite me to join the company, with the grateful information I should
not want for a partner, the prettiest girl in the place having come in
late, and being still unprovided for. On entering the bar-room, I was
received with plenty of awkward bows and courtesies, but with much
simple and well-meaning hospitality. Jaap's own salutations were very
elaborate, and altogether of a character to prevent the suspicion of our
ever having met before.

The dancing continued for more than two hours, with spirit, when the
time admonished the village maidens of the necessity of retiring. Seeing
an indication of the approaching separation, Jaap held out his hat to
me, in a respectful manner, when I magnificently dropped my shilling
into it, in a way to attract attention, and passed it around among the
males of the party. One other gave a shilling, two clubbed and
actually produced a quarter, several threw in sixpences, or
fourpence-half-pennies, and coppers made up the balance. By way of
climax, the landlady, who was good-looking and loved dancing, publicly
announced that the fiddler and his horse should go scot-free, until he
left the place. By these ingenious means of Jaap's, I found in my purse
next morning seven-and-sixpence in silver, in addition to my own
shilling, besides coppers enough to keep a <DW64> in cider for a week.

I have often laughed over Jaap's management, though I would not permit
him to repeat it. Passing the house of a man of better condition than
common, I presented myself to its owner, though an entire stranger to
him, and told him my story. Without asking any other confirmation than
my word, this gentleman lent me five silver dollars, which answered all
my present purposes, and which, I trust, it is scarcely necessary to
say, were duly repaid.

It was a happy hour to me when I found myself a titular major, but
virtually a freeman, and at liberty to go where I pleased. The war had
offered so little of variety or adventure, since the capture of
Cornwallis and the pendency of the negotiations for peace, that I began
to tire of the army; and now that the country had triumphed, was ready
enough to quit it. The family, that is to say, my grandmother, mother,
aunt Mary and my youngest sister, took possession of Satanstoe in time
to enjoy some of its delicious fruits in the autumn of 1782; and early
in the following season, after the treaty was signed, but while the
British still remained in town, my mother was enabled to return to
Lilacsbush. As consequences of these early movements, my father and
myself, when we joined the two families, found things in a better state
than might otherwise have been the case. The Neck was planted, and had
enjoyed the advantage of a spring's husbandry, while the grounds of
Lilacsbush had been renovated and brought in good condition by the
matured and practised taste of my admirable mother. And she _was_
admirable, in all the relations of life! A lady in feeling and habits,
whatever she touched or controlled imbibed a portion of her delicacy and
sentiment. Even the inanimate things around her betrayed this feature of
their connection with one of her sex's best qualities. I remember that
Colonel Dirk Follock remarked to me one day that we had been examining
the offices together, something that was very applicable to this trait
in my mother's character, while it was perfectly just.

"No one can see Mrs. Littlepage's kitchen, even," he said, "alt'ough she
never seems to enter it, without perceiving"--or "perceifing," as he
pronounced the word--"that it is governed by a lady. There are plenty of
kitchens that are as clean, and as large, and as well furnished, but it
is not common to see a kitchen that gives the same ideas of good taste
in the table and about the household."

If this was true as to the more homely parts of the habitation, how much
truer was it when the distinction was carried into the superior
apartments! There, one saw my mother in person, and surrounded by those
appliances which denote refinement, without, however, any of that
elaborate luxury of which we read in older countries. In America we had
much fine china, and a good deal of massive plate, regular
dinner-services excepted, previously to the revolution, and my mother
had inherited more than was usual of both; but the country knew little
of that degree of domestic indulgence which is fast creeping in among
us, by means of its enormously increased commerce.

Although the fortunes of the country had undergone so much waste during
seven years of internal warfare, the elasticity of a young and vigorous
nation soon began to repair the evil. It is true that trade did not
fully revive, nor its connecting interests receive their great impulse,
until after the adoption of the Constitution, which brought the States
under a set of common custom-house regulations; nevertheless, one year
brought about a manifest and most beneficent change. There was now some
security in making shipments, and the country immediately felt the
consequences. The year 1784 was a sort of breathing-time for the nation,
though long ere it was past, the bone and sinew of the republic began to
make themselves apparent and felt. Then it was that, as a people, this
community first learned the immense advantage it had obtained by
controlling its own interests, and by treating them as secondary to
those of no other part of the world. This was the great gain of all our
labors.




CHAPTER III.

                  "He tells her something,
    That makes her blood look out; good sooth, she is
    The queen of curds and cream."--_Winter's Tale._


Happy, happy Lilacsbush! Never can I forget the delight with which I
roamed over its heights and glens, and how I rioted in the pleasure of
feeling I was again a sort of master in those scenes which had been the
haunts of my boyhood! It was in the spring of 1784 before I was folded
to the arms of my mother; and this, too, after a separation of near two
years. Kate laughed, and wept, and hugged me, just as she would have
done five years earlier, though she was now a lovely young woman, turned
of nineteen. As for aunt Mary, she shook hands, gave me a kind kiss or
two, and smiled on me affectionately, in her own quiet, gentle manner.
The house was in a tumult, for Jaap returned with me, his wool well
sprinkled with gray, and there were lots of little Satanstoes (for such
was his family name, notwithstanding Mrs. Jaap called herself Miss
Lilacsbush), children and grandchildren, to welcome him. To say the
truth, the house was not decently tranquil for the first twenty-four
hours.

At the end of that time I ordered my horse, to ride across the country
to Satanstoe, in order to visit my widowed grandmother, who had resisted
all attempts to persuade her to give up the cares of housekeeping, and
to come and live at Lilacsbush. The general, for so everybody now called
my father, did not accompany me, having been at Satanstoe a day or two
before; but my sister did. As the roads had been much neglected in the
war, we went in the saddle, Kate being one of the most spirited
horsewomen of my acquaintance. By this time, Jaap had got to be
privileged, doing just such work as suited his fancy; or, it might be
better to say, was not of much use except in the desultory employments
that had so long been his principal pursuits; and he was sent off an
hour or two before we started ourselves, to let Mrs. Littlepage, or his
"ole--ole missus," as the fellow always called my grandmother, know whom
she was to expect to dinner.

I have heard it said that there are portions of the world in which
people get to be so sophisticated, that the nearest of kin cannot take
such a liberty as this. The son will not presume to take a plate at the
table of the father without observing the ceremony of asking, or of
being asked! Heaven be praised! we have not yet reached this pass in
America. What parent, or grandparent, to the remotest living generation,
would receive a descendant with anything but a smile, or a welcome, let
him come when and how he will? If there be not room, or preparation, the
deficiencies must be made up in welcomes; or, when absolute
impossibilities interpose, if they are not overcome by means of a quick
invention, as most such "impossibilities" are, the truth is frankly
told, and the pleasure is deferred to a more fortunate moment. It is not
my intention to throw a vulgar and ignorant gibe into the face of an
advanced civilization, as is too apt to be the propensity of ignorance
and provincial habits; for I well know that most of the usages of those
highly improved conditions of society are founded in reason, and have
their justification in a cultivated common sense; but, after all, mother
nature has her rights, and they are not to be invaded too boldly,
without bringing with the acts themselves their merited punishments.

It was just nine, on a fine May morning, when Kate

Littlepage and myself rode through the outer gate of Lilacsbush, and
issued upon the old, well-known Kingsbridge road. _Kings_bridge! That
name still remains, as do those of the counties of Kings, and Queens,
and Duchess, to say nothing of quantities of Princes this and that in
other States; and I hope they always may remain, as so many landmarks in
our history. These names are all that now remain among us of the
monarchy; and yet have I heard my father say a hundred times, that when
a young man, his reverence for the British throne was second only to his
reverence for the Church. In how short a time has this feeling been
changed throughout an entire nation; or, if not absolutely changed, for
some still continue to reverence monarchy, how widely and irremediably
has it been impaired! Such are the things of the world, perishable and
temporary in their very natures; and they would do well to remember the
truth, who have much at stake in such changes.

We stopped at the door of the inn at Kingsbridge to say good morning to
old Mrs. Light, the landlady who had now kept the house half a century,
and who had known us, and our parents before us, from childhood. This
loquacious housewife had her good and bad points, but habit had given
her a sort of claim on our attentions, and I could not pass her door
without drawing the rein, if it were only for a moment. This was no
sooner done, than the landlady in person was on her threshold to greet
us.

"Ay, I dreamt this, Mr. Mordaunt," the old woman exclaimed, the instant
she saw me--"I dreamt this no later than last week! It is nonsense to
deny it; dreams _do_ often come true!"

"And what has been your dream this time, Mrs. Light?" I asked, well
knowing it was to come, and the sooner we got it the better.

"I dreamt the general had come home last fall, and he _had_ come home!
Now the only idee I had to help out that dream was a report that he
_was_ to be home that day; but you know, Mr. Mordaunt, or Major
Littlepage, they tell me I ought now to call you--but you know, Mr.
Mordaunt, how often reports turn out to be nothing. I count a report as
no great help to a dream. So, last week, I dreamed you would certainly
be home this week; and here you are, sure enough!"

"And all without any lying report to help you, my good landlady?"

"Why, no great matter; a few flying rumors, perhaps; but as I never
believe _them_ when awake, it's onreasonable to suppose a body would
believe 'em when asleep. Yes, Jaaf stopped a minute to water his horse
this morning, and I foresaw from that moment my dream would come to be
true, though I never exchanged a word with the <DW65>."

"That is a little remarkable, Mrs. Light, as I supposed you always
exchanged a few words with your guests."

"Not with the blacks, major; it's apt to make 'em sassy. Sassiness in a
<DW65> is a thing I can't abide, and therefore I keep 'em all at a
distance. Well, the times that I have seen, major, since you went off to
the wars! and the changes we have had! Our clergyman don't pray any
longer for the king and queen--no more than if there wasn't sich people
living."

"Not directly, perhaps, but as a part of the Church of God, I trust. We
all pray for Congress now."

"Well, I hope good will come out of it! I must say, major, that His
Majesty's officers spent more freely, and paid in better money, than the
continental gentlemen. I've had 'em both here by rijjiments, and that's
the character I _must_ give 'em, in honesty."

"You will remember they were richer, and had more money than our people.
It is easy for the rich to appear liberal."

"Yes, I know that, sir, and you ought, and _do_ know it, too. The
Littlepages are rich, and always have been, and they are liberal too.
Lord bless your smiling, pretty faces! I knowed your family long afore
you knowed it yourselves. I know'd old Captain Hugh Roger, your
great-grand'ther, and the _old_ general, your grand'ther, and now I know
the _young_ general, and you! Well, this will not be the last of you, I
dares to say, and there'll be light hearts and happy ones among the
Bayards, I'll answer for it, now the wars are over, and young Major
Littlepage has got back!"

This terminated the discourse; for by this time I had enough of it; and
making my bow, Kate and I rode on. Still, I could not but be struck with
the last speech of the old woman, and most of all with the manner in
which it was uttered. The name of Bayard was well known among us,
belonging to a family of which there were several branches spread
through the Middle States, as far south as Delaware; but I did not
happen to know a single individual of them all. What, then, could my
return have to do with the smiles or frowns of any of the name of
Bayard? It was natural enough, after ruminating a minute or two on the
subject, that I should utter some of my ideas, on such a subject, to my
companion.

"What could the old woman mean, Kate," I abruptly commenced, "by saying
there would now be light hearts and happy ones among the Bayards?"

"Poor Mrs. Light is a great gossip, Mordaunt, and it may be questioned
if she know her own meaning half the time. All the Bayards we know are
the family at the Hickories; and with them, you have doubtless heard, my
mother has long been intimate."

"I have heard nothing about it, child. All I know is, that there is a
place called the Hickories, up the river a few miles, and that it
belongs to some of the Bayards; but I never heard of any intimacy. On
the contrary, I remember to have heard that there was a lawsuit once,
between my grandfather Mordaunt and some old Bayard or other; and I
thought we were a sort of hereditary strangers."

"That is quite forgotten, and my mother says it all arose from a
mistake. We are decided friends now."

"I'm sure I am very glad to hear it; for, since it is peace, let us have
peace; though old enemies are not apt to make very decided friends."

"But we never were--that is, my grandfather never was an enemy of
anybody; and the whole matter was amicably settled just before he went
to Europe, on his unfortunate visit to Sir Harry Bulstrode. No--no--my
mother will tell you, Mordaunt, that the Littlepages and the Bayards now
regard each other as very decided friends."

Kate spoke with so much earnestness that I was disposed to take a look
at her. The face of the girl was flushed, and I fancy she had a secret
consciousness of the fact; for she turned it from me as if gazing at
some object in the opposite direction, thereby preventing me from seeing
much of it.

"I am very glad to learn all this," I answered, a little dryly. "As I am
a Littlepage, it would have been awkward not to have known it, had I
accidentally met with one of these Bayards. Does the peace include all
of the name, or only those of the Hickories?"

Kate laughed; then she was pleased to tell me that I was to consider
myself the friend of all of the name.

"And most especially of those of the name who dwell at the Hickories?"

"How many may there be of this especially peaceful breed? six, a dozen,
or twenty?"

"Only four; so your task will make no very heavy demand on your
affections. Your heart has room, I trust, for four more friends?"

"For a thousand, if I can find them, my dear. I can accept as many
friends as you please, but have places for none else. All the other
niches are occupied."

"Occupied!--I hope that is not true, Mordaunt. _One_ place, at least, is
vacant."

"True; I had forgotten a place must be reserved for the brother _you_
will one day give me. Well, name him, as soon as you please; I shall be
ready to love _him_, child."

"I may never make so heavy a draft on your affections. Anneke has given
you a brother already, and a very excellent one he is, and that ought to
satisfy a reasonable man."

"Ay, so all you young women say between fifteen and twenty, but you
usually change your mind in the end. The sooner you tell me who the
youth is, therefore, the sooner I shall begin to like him--is _he_ one
of the Bayards?--_un chevalier sans peur et sans reproche?_"

Kate had a brilliant complexion, in common; but, as I now turned my eyes
toward her inquiringly, more in mischief, however, than with the
expectation of learning anything new, I saw the roses of her cheeks
expand until they covered her temples. The little beaver she wore, and
which became her amazingly, did not suffice to conceal these blushes,
and I now really began to suspect I had hit on a vein that was
sensitive. But my sister was a girl of spirit, and though it was no
difficult thing to make her change color, it was by no means easy to
look her down.

"I trust your new brother, Mordaunt, should there ever be such a person,
will be a respectable man, if not absolutely without reproach," she
answered. "But, if there be a Tom Bayard, there is also a Pris Bayard,
his sister."

"So--so--this is all news to me, indeed! As to Mr. Thomas Bayard, I
shall ask no questions, my interest in _him_, if there is to be any,
being altogether _ex officio_, as one may say, and coming as a matter of
course; but you will excuse me if I am a little curious on the subject
of Miss Priscilla Bayard, a lady, you will remember, I never saw."

My eye was on Kate the whole time, and I fancied she looked gratified,
though she still looked confused.

"Ask what you will, brother--Priscilla Bayard can bear a very close
examination."

"In the first place, then, did that old gossip allude to Miss Priscilla,
by saying there would be light hearts and happy ones among the Bayards?"

"Nay, I cannot answer for poor Mrs. Light's conceits. Put your questions
in some other form."

"Is there much intimacy between the people of the 'Bush and those of the
Hickories?"

"Great--_we_ like them exceedingly; and I think they like _us_."

"Does this intimacy extend to the young folk, or is it confined to the
old?"

"That is somewhat personal," said Kate, laughing, "as I happen to be the
only 'young folk' at the 'Bush, to maintain the said intimacy. As there
is nothing to be ashamed of, however, but, on the contrary, much of
which one may be proud, I shall answer that it includes 'all ages and
both sexes;' everybody but yourself, in a word."

"And _you_ like old Mr. Bayard?"

"Amazingly."

"And old Mrs. Bayard?"

"She is a very agreeable person, and an excellent wife and mother."

"And you love Pris Bayard?"

"As the apple of mine eye," the girl answered with emphasis.

"And you like Tom Bayard, her brother?"

"As much as is decent and proper for one young woman to like the brother
of another young woman, whom she admits that she loves as the apple of
her eye."

Although it was not easy, at least not easy for _me_, to cause Kate
Littlepage to hold her tongue, it was not easy for her to cause the
tell-tale blood always to remain stationary. She was surprisingly
beautiful in her blushes, and as much like what I had often fancied my
dear mother might have been in her best days as possible, at the very
moment she was making these replies as steadily as if they gave her no
trouble.

"How is all this then, connected with rejoicings among the people of the
Hickories, at _my_ return? Are you the betrothed of Tom Bayard, and have
you been waiting for my return to give him your hand?"

"I am _not_ the betrothed of Tom Bayard, and have not been waiting for
your return to give him my hand," answered Kate, steadily. "As for Mrs.
Light's gossipings, you cannot expect _me_ to explain _them_. She gets
her reports from servants, and others of that class, and you know what
such reports are usually worth. But, as for my waiting for your
_return_, brother, in order to announce such an event, you little know
how much I love you, if you suppose I would do any such thing."

Kate said this with feeling, and I thanked her with my eyes, but could
not have spoken, and did not speak, until we had ridden some distance.
After this pause, I renewed the discourse with some of its original
spirit.

"On that subject, Katrinke, dear," I said, "I trust we understand each
other. Single or married, you will ever be very dear to me; and I own I
should be hurt to be one of the last to learn your engagement, whenever
that may happen. And now for this Priscilla Bayard--do you expect me to
like her?"

"Do I! It would be one of the happiest moments of my life, Mordaunt,
when I could hear you acknowledge that you _love_ her!"

This was uttered with great animation, and in a way to show that my
sister was very much in earnest. I felt some surprise when I put this
feeling in connection with the landlady's remarks, and began to suspect
there might be something behind the curtain worthy of my knowledge. In
order to make discoveries, however, it was necessary to pursue the
discourse.

"Of what age is Miss Bayard?" I demanded.

"She is two months my senior--very suitable, is it not?"

"I do not object to the difference, which will do very well. Is she
accomplished?"

"Not very. You know few of us girls who have been educated during the
revolution, can boast of much in that way; though Priscilla is better
than common."

"Than of her class, you mean, of course?"

"Certainly--better than most young ladies of our best families."

"Is she amiable?"

"As Anneke, herself!"

This was saying a great deal, our eldest sister, as often happens in
families, being its paragon in the way of all the virtues, and Anneke's
temper being really serenity itself.

"You give her a high character, and one few girls could sustain. Is she
sensible and well-informed?"

"Enough so as often to make me feel ashamed of myself. She has an
excellent mother, Mordaunt; and I have heard you say, often, that the
mother would have great influence with you in choosing a wife."

"That must have been when I was very young, child, before I went to the
army, where we look more at the young than at the old women. But, why a
wife? Is it all settled between the old people, that I am to propose to
this Priscilla Bayard, and are you a party to the scheme?"

Kate laughed with all her heart, but I fancied she looked conscious.

"You make no answer, young lady, and you must permit me to remind you
that there is an express compact between you and me to treat each other
frankly on all occasions. This is one on which I especially desire to
see the conditions of the treaty rigidly enforced. Does any such project
exist?"

"Not as a project, discussed and planned--no--certainly not. No, a
thousand times, no. But I shall run the risk of frustrating one of my
most cherished hopes, by saying, honestly, that you could not gratify my
dear mother, aunt Mary, and myself, more than by falling in love with
Pris Bayard. We all love her ourselves, and we wish you to be of the
party, knowing that _your_ love would probably lead to a connection we
should all like, more than I can express. There; you cannot complain of
a want of frankness, for I have heard it said, again and again, that the
wishes of friends, indiscreetly expressed, are very apt to set young men
against the very person it is desired to make them admire."

"Quite likely to be true as a rule, though in my case no effect, good or
bad, will be produced. But how do the Bayards feel in this matter?"

"How should I know! Of course, no allusion has ever been made to any of
the family on the subject; and, as none of them know you, it is im--that
is, no allusion--I mean--certainly not to more than _one_ of them. I
believe some vague remarks may have been ventured to one--but----"

"By yourself, and to your friend Pris?"

"_Never_"--said Kate, with emphasis. "Such a subject could never be
mentioned between us."

"Then it must have been between the old ladies--the two mothers,
probably?"

"I should think not. Mrs. Bayard is a woman of reserve, and mamma has an
extreme sense of propriety, as you know yourself, that would not be
likely to permit such a thing."

"Would the general think of contracting me, when my back was turned?"

"Not he--papa troubles himself very little about such things. Ever since
his return home, he has been courting mamma over again, he tells us."

"Surely, aunt Mary has not found words for such an allusion!"

"She, indeed! Poor, dear aunt Mary; it is little she meddles with any
one's concerns but her own. Do you know, Mordaunt, that mamma has told
me the whole of her story lately, and the reason why she has refused so
many excellent offers. I dare say, if you ask her, she will tell _you_."

"I know the whole story already, from the general, child. But, if this
matter has been alluded to, to one of the Bayards, and neither my
father, mother, nor aunt Mary, has made the allusion on our side, and
neither Mr. Bayard, his wife, nor daughter, has been the party to whom
the allusion has been made on the other, there remain only yourself and
Tom to hold the discourse. I beg you to explain this point with your
customary frankness."

Kate Littlepage's face was scarlet. She was fairly caught, though I
distrusted the truth from the moment she so stammered and hesitated in
correcting her first statement. I will own I enjoyed the girl's
confusion, it made her appear so supremely lovely; and I was almost as
proud of her, as I tenderly loved her. Dear, dear Kate; from my
childhood I had my own amusement with her, though I do not remember
anything like a harsh expression, or an unkind feeling, that has ever
passed, or indeed existed, between us. A finer study than the face of my
sister offered for the next minute, was never presented to the eye of
man; and I enjoyed it so much the more, from a strong conviction that,
while so deeply confused, she was not unhappy. Native ingenuousness,
maiden modesty, her habit of frank dealing with me, and a wish to
continue so to deal, were all struggling together in her fine
countenance, forming altogether one of the most winning pictures of
womanly feelings I had ever witnessed. At length, the love of
fair-dealing, and love of me, prevailed over a factitious shame; the
color settled back to those cheeks whence it had appeared to flash, as
it might be, remaining just enough heightened to be remarked, and Kate
looked toward me in a way that denoted all the sisterly confidence and
regard that she actually felt.

"I did not intend to be the one to communicate to you a fact, Mordaunt,
in which I know you will feel a deep interest, for I had supposed my
mother would save me the confusion of telling it to you; but, now, there
is no choice between resorting to equivocations that I do not like, and
using our old long-established frankness."

"The long and short of which, my dear sister, is to say that you are
engaged to Mr. Bayard?"

"No; not as strong as that, brother. Mr. Bayard has offered, and my
answer is deferred until you have met him. I would not engage myself,
Mordaunt, until you approved of my choice."

"I feel the compliment, Katrinke, and will be certain to repay it, in
kind. Depend on it, _you_ shall know, in proper season, when it is my
wish to marry, and shall be heard."

"There is a difference between the claims of an elder and an only
brother, and of a mere girl, who ought to place much dependence on the
advice of friends, in making her own selection."

"You will not be a 'mere girl' when that time comes, but a married woman
yourself, and competent to give good counsel from your own experience.
To return to Tom, however; he is the member of his family to whom the
allusion was made?"

"He was, Mordaunt," answered Kate, in a low voice.

"And you were the person who made it?"

"Very true--we were talking of you, one day; and I expressed a strong
hope that you would see Priscilla with the eyes with which, I can assure
you, all the rest of your family see her. That was all."

"And that was quite enough, child, to cause Tom Bayard to hang himself,
if he were a lover of the true temper."

"Hang himself, brother! I am sure I do not understand why?"

"Oh! merely at the palpable discouragement such a wish would naturally
convey to the brother of the young lady, since he must have seen you
were willing to connect the two families by means other than giving him
your own hand."

Kate laughed; but as she did not look much confused, or at all alarmed,
I was induced to believe that more important encouragement than could be
afforded by means of her wish of marrying _me_ to her suitor's sister
had been given Master Tom, and that my disapproval of the gentleman
would cause her more concern than she chose to avow. We rode on,
however, some little distance, without either's offering to renew the
discourse. At length, as became my sex, I spoke.

"When am I to see this paragon young man and paragon young woman, Kate,
since see both I must?"

"Not paragon young man, brother; I am certain I have called him by no
such name; Tom Bayard is a _good fellow_; but I do not know that he is
by any means a paragon."

"He is a good-_looking_ fellow in the bargain, I take it for granted?"

"Not so much so as you are yourself, if that will gratify your vanity."

"It ought to, coming from such a quarter; my question is still
unanswered, notwithstanding."

"To own the truth to you, Mordaunt, I expect we shall find Tom Bayard
and Pris at Satanstoe, to dine with my grandmother. She wrote me word, a
day or two since, that both are asked, and that she hoped both would
accept."

"The old lady is then in the plot, and intends to marry me, will ye,
nill ye? I had thought this visit altogether a scheme of my own."

Kate again laughed, and told me I might make my own observations on that
point, and judge for myself. As for the visit, I had only accidentally
favored a project of others. The conversation now changed, and for
several miles we rode along, conversing of the scenes of the war,
without adverting to the Bayards or to marriages.

We were within half a mile of the gate of the Neck, and within a mile of
the house, when we met Jaap returning to Lilacsbush, and carrying some
fruit to my mother, after having discharged his commission of an
_avant-courier_. From Kate's remark I had discovered we had been invited
by letter to take this excursion, though the ceremony of sending the
<DW64> across with his message had been observed for reasons that were
not very natural under the circumstances. I made no remark, however,
determining to see and judge for myself.

As a matter of course, we drew our reins, and stopped to exchange a few
words with the black.

"Well, Jaap, how did the Neck look, after so long an absence?" I
inquired.

"It look, sah, no means as well as ole Missus, who do look capital, for
such a lady! Dey do won'ers with 'e Neck, sah, if you just believe all
young <DW65> say. But what you t'ink, Masser Mordy, I hear at 'e tavern,
where I jist stop, sah, to water ole Dick?"

"And to get a sup of cider for old Jaap"--hereupon the <DW64> laughed
heartily, though he had the impudence neither to own nor to deny the
imputation, his weakness in favor of "wring-jaw" being a
well-established failing--"Well, what did you hear, while taking down
the usual mug?"

"I on'y get _half_ a mug, dis time, sah; ole, ole Missus nebber
forgettin' to give me jist as much as I want. Well, sah, while old Dick
drink, 'e new landlady, who come from Connetick, you know, sah, she say
to me, 'Where you go, ole color' gentleum?' Dat war' civil, anyhow."

"To which you answered----"

"I answer her, sah, and say I go to Satanstoe, whar' I come from, long
time 'go."

"Whereupon she made some observation or other--well, what was it?--You
keep Miss Littlepage waiting."

"Lor' bless her, sah--it my business to wait on Miss Katrinke, not her
business to wait on _me_--why you speak so droll, now, Masser Mordy?"

"Never mind all that, Jaap, what did the new Connecticut lady say, when
you told her you were going to Satanstoe, the place where you had come
from, a long time ago?"

"What she say, Masser Mordy, sah!--she say great foolishness, and make
me mad. 'What you call by dat awful name?' she say, making face like as
if she see a spook. 'You must mean Dibbleton,' she say--'dat 'e way all
'e people as is genteel call 'e Neck?' Did you ebber hear 'e like, sah?"

"Oh! yes; I heard the like of it, as soon as I was born; the attempt to
change the name of our old place having existed now, these thirty years.
Why, some people call Hellgate, Hurlgate; after that, one may expect
anything. Do you not know, Jaap, a Yankee is never satisfied, unless he
is effecting changes? One half his time he is altering the pronunciation
of his own names, and the other half he is altering ours. Let him call
the place what he will, you and I will stick to Satanstoe."

"Dat we _will_, sah--gib 'e debbil his due, sah; dat an ole sayin'. I'm
sure anybody as has eyes, can see where his toe hab turn up 'e sile, and
shape it he own way--no dibble dere, sah."

Thus saying, Jaap rode on, my sister and myself doing the same, pursuing
the discourse that had thus accidentally arisen among us.

"Is it not odd, brother, that strangers should have this itching to
alter the name of my grandmother's place?" said Kate, after we had
parted from the black. "It is a homely name, certainly; but it has been
used, now, a good deal more than a century, and time, at least, should
entitle it to be let alone."

"Ay, my dear; but you are not yet aware of the desires, and longings,
and efforts, and ambition of a 'little learning.' I have seen enough, in
my short career, to know there is a spirit up among us, that calls
itself by the pretending title of the 'spirit of improvement,' which is
likely to overturn more important things than the name of our poor Neck.
It is a spirit that assumes the respectable character of a love of
liberty; and under that mask, it gives play to malice, envy,
covetousness, rapacity, and all the lowest passions of our nature. Among
other things, it takes the provincial pretence of a mock-refinement, and
flatters an elegance of thought that is easiest attained by those who
have no perceptions of anything truly elevated, by substituting
sqeamishness and affectations for the simplicity of nature, and a good
tone of manners."




CHAPTER IV.

    _Beat._ "Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner."
    _Bene._ "Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains."
    _Beat._ "I took no more pains for these thanks, than
          You take pains to thank me; if it had been painful,
          I would not have come."--_Much Ado About Nothing._


In the porch of the house at Satanstoe stood my dear grandmother and the
notable Tom Bayard, to receive us. The first glance at the latter told
me that he was a "proper man;" and by the second, I got the pleasing
assurance that he had no eye, just then, but for Kate. This was pleasant
to know, as I never could have been happy in consenting to yield that
dear girl to any but a man who appreciated her worth, and fully admired
her beauty. As to my dear "ole, ole" grandmother, who was not so very
old neither, being still under seventy, her reception of us was just
what I had ever found it; warm, affectionate, and gentle. She called my
father, the general, Corny, even when she spoke to him in a room full of
company; though, for that matter, I have heard my mother, who was much
more of a woman of the world, having lived a great deal in society, do
the same thing, when she thought herself alone. I have read some
priggish book or other, written no doubt by one who knew men only
through pages like his own, decry such familiarities; but I have
generally found those the happiest families, and at the bottom, the best
toned, where it was Jack, and Tom, and Bob, and Dick, and Bess, and Di.
As for your Louisa Adelinas, and Robert Augustuses, and all such
elaborate respect, I frankly declare I have a contempt for it. Those are
the sort of people who would call Satanstoe, Dibbleton; Hellgate,
Hurlgate; and themselves accomplished. Thank heaven, we had no such
nonsense at Lilacsbush, or at the Neck. My father was Corny; my mother,
Anneke; Katrinke, Kate; and I was Mordy, or Mord; or, when there was no
hurry, Mordaunt.

Tom Bayard met my salutations frankly, and with a gentleman-like ease,
though there was a slight color on his cheek which said to me, "I mean
to get your sister." Yet I liked the fellow's manner. There was no
grasping of the hand, and coming forward to rush into an intimacy at the
first moment we met; but he returned my bow graciously and gracefully,
and his smile as he did so seemed to invite farther and better
acquaintance.

Now I have seen a man cross a whole room to shake hands at an
introduction to an utter stranger, and maintain a countenance the whole
time as sombre as if he were condoling with him on the loss of his wife.
This habit of shaking hands dolefully is growing among us, and is
imported from some of our sister States; for it is certainly not a New
York custom, except among intimates; and it is a bad usage in my
opinion, as it destroys one of the best means of graduating feelings,
and is especially ungraceful at an introduction. But alas! there are so
many such innovations, that one cannot pretend to predict where they are
to stop. I never shook hands at an introduction, unless it were under my
own roof, and when I wished to denote a decidedly hospitable feeling,
until after I was forty. It was thought vulgar in my younger days, and I
am not quite certain it is not thought so now.

In the little old-fashioned drawing-room, as of late years my good
grandmother had been persuaded to call what was once only the best
parlor, we found Miss Priscilla Bayard, who for some reason that was
unexplained, did not come to the porch to meet her friend. She was in
truth a charming girl, with fine dark eyes, glossy hair, a delicate and
lady-like form, and a grace of manner that denoted perfect familiarity
with the best company of the land. Kate and Pris embraced each other
with a warmth and sincerity that spoke in favor of each, and with
perfect nature. An affected American girl, by the way, is very uncommon;
and nothing strikes me sooner, when I see my own countrywomen placed at
the side of Europeans, than the difference in this respect; the one
seems so natural, while the other is so artificial!

My own reception by Miss Bayard was gracious, though I fancied it was
not entirely free from the consciousness of having, on some idle
occasion, heard her own name intimately connected with mine. Perhaps
Kate, in their confidential moments, may have said something to this
effect; or I may have been mistaken.

My grandmother soon announced that the whole party was to pass the night
at Satanstoe. As we were accustomed to such plans, neither Kate nor
myself raised the least objection, while the Bayards submitted to
orders, which I soon discovered even they were not unused to, with
perfect good will and submission. Thus brought together, in the
familiarity of a quiet and small party in a country house, we made great
progress in intimacy; and by the time dinner was over, or by four
o'clock, I felt like an old acquaintance with those who had so lately
been strangers to me, even by name. As for Bayard and my sister, they
were in the best of humors from the start, and I felt satisfied _their_
affair was a settled thing in their own minds; but Miss Priscilla was a
little under constraint for an hour or two, like a person who felt a
slight embarrassment. This wore off, however, and long before we left
the table she had become entirely herself; and a very charming self it
was, I was forced to admit. I say forced; for spite of all I had said,
and a certain amount of good sense, I hope, it was impossible to get rid
of the distrust which accompanied the notion that I was expected to fall
in love with the young lady. My poor grandmother contributed her share,
too, to keeping this feeling alive. The manner in which she looked from
one to the other, and the satisfied smile that passed over her
countenance whenever she observed Pris and myself conversing freely,
betrayed to me completely that she was in the secret, and had a hand in
what I chose to regard as a sort of plot.

I had heard that my grandmother had set her heart on the marriage of my
parents a year or two before matters came round, and that she always
fancied she had been very instrumental in forming a connection that had
been as happy as her own. The recollection, or the fancy of this success
most probably encouraged her to take a share in the present scheme; and
I have always supposed that she got us all together on that occasion in
order to help the great project along.

A walk on the Neck was proposed in the cool of the evening; for
Satanstoe had many a pleasant path, pretty vista, and broad view. Away
we went, then, the four of us, Kate leading the way, as the person most
familiar with the "capabilities." We were soon on the shore of the
Sound, and at a point where a firm, wide beach of sand had been left by
the receding waters, rocks fringing the inner boundary toward the main.
Here one could walk without confinement of any sort, there being room to
go in pairs, or all abreast, as we might choose. Miss Bayard seeming a
little coy, and manifesting a desire to keep near her friend, I
abandoned the intention of walking at her side, but fell behind a
little, and got into discourse with her brother. Nor was I sorry to have
this early opportunity of sounding the party who was likely soon to
become so nearly connected with me. After a few minutes, the
conversation turned on the late revolution, and the manner in which it
was likely to influence the future fortunes of the country. I knew that
a portion of the family of my companion had adhered to the crown, losing
their estates by the act of confiscation; but I also knew that a portion
did not, and I was left to infer that Tom's branch belonged to the
latter division of his name, inasmuch as his father was known to be very
easy in his circumstances, if not absolutely rich. It was not long,
however, before I ascertained that my new friend was a mild tory, and
that he would have been better pleased had the rights we had sought, and
which he was willing enough to admit had been violated, been secured
without a separation of the two countries. As the Littlepages had
actually been in arms against the crown, three generations of them, too,
at the same time, and the fact could be no secret, I was pleased with
the candor with which Tom Bayard expressed his opinions on these points;
for it spoke well of the truth and general sincerity of his character.

"Does it not strike you as a necessary consequence of the distance
between the two countries," I remarked in the course of the
conversation, "that a separation must, sooner or later, have occurred?
It is impossible that two countries should long have common rulers when
they are divided by an ocean. Admitting that _our_ separation has been a
little premature, a circumstance I should deny in a particular
discussion, it is an evil that every hour has a tendency to lessen."

"Separations in families are always painful, Major Littlepage; when
accompanied by discussions, doubly so."

"Quite true; yet they always happen. If not in this generation, in the
next."

"I _do_ think," said Tom Bayard, looking at me a little imploringly,
"that we might have got along with our difficulties without casting
aside our allegiance to the king."

"Ay, that has been the stumbling-block with thousands; and yet it is, in
truth, the very weakest part of the transatlantic side of the question.
Of what avail is allegiance to the king, if parliament uses its power in
a way to make American interests subservient to those of England? A
great deal may be said, that is reasonable, in favor of kingly power;
that I am ready enough to allow; but very little that renders one
_people_ subject to _another_. This thing called loyalty blinds men to
facts, and substitutes a fancied for a real power. The question has
been, whether England, by means of a parliament in which we have no
representative, is to make laws for us or not; and not whether George
III. is to be our sovereign, or whether we are to establish the
sovereignty of the people."[4]

[Footnote 4: [This short dialogue is given in the text, because it is
found in Mr. Mordaunt Littlepage's manuscript, and not because the state
of feeling in this country to-day has any connection with the opinions
expressed. The American nation, as a whole, is now as completely
emancipated from English political influence, as if the latter never had
an existence. The emancipation is too complete, indeed, the effect
having brought with it a reaction that is, on many points, running into
error in a contrary direction; the third of our manuscripts having
something to do with these excesses of opinion. But Mr. Mordaunt
Littlepage appears to have some near glimmerings of the principles which
lay at the root of the American revolution, though the principle itself
does not appear to have been openly recognized anywhere at the time. The
king of England was originally king of America, as he was king of
Ireland, and king of Scotland. It is true, there was no American flag,
the system excluding the colonies from any power on the ocean; then each
colony existed as independent of the others, except through their common
allegiance. The revolution of 1688 slowly brought parliament into the
ascendant; and by the time George III. ascended the throne, that
ascendancy had got to be almost undisputed. Now, America had no proper
connection with parliament, which, in that day, represented England and
Wales only; and this was a state of things which made one _country_
dependent on the _other_, a subserviency of interests that clearly could
last only so long as the party governed was too weak to take care of
itself.]]

Bayard bowed, civilly enough, to my remark, and he changed the subject.
Sufficient had been said, however, to satisfy me that there would be
little political sympathy between us, let the family tie be drawn as
close as it might. The girls joined us before we had got altogether into
another vein of discourse, and I was a little chagrined at finding that
Kate entered rather more into her admirer's views of such subjects than
comported with the true feelings, as I fancied, of a Littlepage, after
all that had passed. Still, as I should have liked the woman I loved to
agree with me in opinion as much as possible in everything, I was not
disposed to judge harshly of my sister on that account. On the other
hand, to my surprise, I found Miss Priscilla a zealous, and, to say the
truth, a somewhat blind patriot; condemning England, the king, and the
efforts of parliament with a warmth that was only equal to that with
which she defended everything, act, measure, principle, or policy, that
was purely American.

I cannot say I had as much tolerance for the patriotism of Miss Bayard
as I had for the petit treason of my sister. It seemed natural enough
that Kate should begin to look at things of this nature with the eyes of
the man she had made up her mind to marry; but it looked far more like
management in her friend, who belonged to a tory family, to volunteer so
freely the sentiments of one she could not yet love, inasmuch as until
that day she had never even seen him.

"Is it not so, Major Littlepage?" cried this lovely creature, for very
lovely she was, beyond all dispute; and feminine and delicate, and
lady-like, and all I could have wished her, had she only been a little
less of a whig, and a good deal more of a tory; her eyes sparkling and
flashing, at the same time, as if she felt all she was saying from the
very bottom of her heart--"Is it not so, Major Littlepage?--America has
come out of this war with imperishable glory; and her history, a
thousand years hence, will be the wonder and admiration of all who read
it!"

"That will somewhat depend on what her history may prove to be, between
that day and this. The early history of all _great_ nations fills us
with admiration and interest, while mightier deeds effected by an
insignificant people are usually forgotten."

"Still, this revolution has been one of which any nation might have been
proud!"

As it would not have been proper to deny this I bowed, and strayed a
little from the rest of the party, under the pretence of looking for
shells. My sister soon joined me, when the following short conversation
passed between us.

"You find Pris Bayard a stanch whig, Major Littlepage," commenced my
warm-hearted sister.

"Very much so; but I had supposed the Bayards excessively neutral, if
not absolutely the other way."

"Oh! that is true enough of most of them, but not with Pris, who has
long been a decided whig. There is Tom, now, rather moderate in his
opinions, while the father and mother are what you call excessively
neutral; but Pris has been a whig almost as long as I have known her."

"Almost as long! She was, then, a tory once?"

"Hardly; though certainly her opinions have undergone a very gradual
change. We are both young, you will remember; and girls at their first
coming out do very little of their own thinking. For the last three
years, certainly, or since she was seventeen, Pris has been getting to
be more and more of a whig, and less and less of a tory. Do you not find
her decidedly handsome, Mordaunt?"

"Very decidedly so, and very winning in all that belongs to her
sex--gentle, feminine, lady-like, lovely, and withal a whig."

"I knew you would admire her!" cried Kate, in triumph, "I shall live to
see my dearest wish accomplished!"

"I make no doubt you will, child; though it will not be by the marriage
of a _Mr._ Littlepage to a _Miss_ Bayard."

I got a laugh and a blush for this sally, but no sign of submission. On
the contrary, the positive girl shook her head, until her rich curls
were all in motion, and she laughed none the less. We immediately joined
our companions, and by one of those crossings over and figurings in,
that are so familiar to the young of the two sexes, we were soon walking
along the sands again, Tom at Kate's side, and I at that of Priscilla
Bayard's. What the other two talked about I never knew, though I fancy
one might guess; but the young lady with me pursued the subject of the
revolution.

"You have probably been a little surprised, Major Littlepage," she
commenced, "to hear me express myself so warmly in favor of this
country, as some of the branches of my family have been treated harshly
by the new government."

"You allude to the confiscations? I never justified them, and wish they
had not been made; for they fall heaviest on those who were quite
inoffensive, while most of our active enemies have escaped. Still it is
no more than is usual in civil wars, and what would surely have befallen
us, had it been our fortune to be the losing party."

"So I have been told; but, as no loss has fallen on any who are very
near to me, my public virtue has been able to resist private feeling. My
brother, as you may have seen, is less of an American than I am myself."

"I have supposed he is one of the 'extremely neutral;' and they, I have
thought, always incline a little in favor of the losing party."

"I hope, however, his political bias, which is very honest, though very
much in error, will not materially affect him in your good opinion. Too
much depends on that, for me not to be anxious on the subject; and being
the only decided whig in the family, I have thought I would venture to
speak in behalf of a very dearly beloved brother."

"Well," I said to myself, "this is being sufficiently managing; but I am
not quite so unpractised as to be the dupe of an artifice so little
concealed! The deuce is in the girl; yet she seems in earnest, looks at
me with the good faith and simplicity of a sister who feels even more
than she expresses, and is certainly one of the loveliest creatures I
ever laid eyes on! I must not let her see how much I am on my guard, but
must meet management with management. It will be singular, indeed, if I,
who have commanded a company of continentals with some credit, cannot
get along with a girl of twenty, though she were even handsomer, and
looked still more innocent than this Pris Bayard, which would be no easy
matter, by the way."

The reader will understand this was what I said to myself, and it was
soon uttered, for one talks surprisingly fast to himself; but that which
I said to my fair companion, after a moment's hesitation, was very
different in language and import.

"I do not understand in what way Mr. Bayard can be affected by my
opinion, let it be for or against him," I answered, with just as much
innocency of expression, according to my notion of the matter, as the
young lady herself had thrown into her own pretty countenance, thereby
doing myself infinite credit, in my own conceit; "though I am far from
judging any man severely, because he happens to differ from me in his
judgment of public things. The question was one of great delicacy, and
the most honest men have differed the widest on its merits."

"You do not know how glad I am to hear you say this, Mr. Littlepage,"
returned my companion, with one of the sweetest smiles woman ever
bestowed on man. "It will make Tom completely happy, for I know he has
been sadly afraid of you, on this very point."

I did not answer instantly; for I believe I was watching the traces of
that bewitching smile, and speculating against its influence with the
pertinacity of a man who was determined not to be taken in. That smile
haunted me for a week, and it was a long time before I fully
comprehended it. I decided, however, to come to the point at once, as
respects Bayard and my sister, and not be beating the bush with indirect
allusions.

"In what manner can my opinion influence your brother, Miss Bayard?" I
asked, as soon as I was ready to say anything. "To prevent
misconceptions, let me beg of you to be a little more explicit."

"You can hardly be ignorant of my meaning, I should think!" answered
Priscilla, with a little surprise. "One has only to look at the couple
before us, to comprehend how your opinion of the gentleman might have an
influence on himself, at least."

"The same might be said of us, Miss Bayard, so far as my inexperienced
eye can tell. They are a young couple, walking together; the gentleman
appearing to admire the lady, I will confess; and we are a young couple
walking together, the gentleman appearing to admire the lady, or he does
no credit to his taste or sensibility."

"There," said I to myself again, "that is giving her quite as good as I
received; let me see how you take _that_."

Pris took it very well; laughing, and blushing just enough to make her
appear the loveliest creature I had ever laid eyes on. She shook her
head very much as my sister had done not long before, and disclaimed the
analogy, first in her manner, and next with her tongue.

"The cases are very different, sir," she answered. "We are strangers to
each other, while Tom Bayard and Kate Littlepage are acquaintances of
years' standing. _We_ do not love each other in the least; not a bit,
though we are inclined to think very well of each other, on account of
the interest we take in the couple before us, and because I am the
intimate friend of your only sister, and because you are the only
brother of my intimate friend. _There_, however," and she now spoke with
emphasis, "our interest ceases, never to be increased beyond a friendly
regard, that I trust will grow up out of our respective merits and
respective discernment. It is very, _very_ different with the couple
before us;" here, again, the flexible girl spoke with extreme feeling;
every tone and cadence of her voice denoting lively sensibility. "They
have been long attached, not _admirers_ of each other, as you call it,
Major Littlepage, but _attached_; and your opinion of my brother just at
this moment, is of the last importance to him. I hope I have at last
made myself understood?"

"Perfectly; and I intend to be just as explicit. In the first place I
enter a solemn protest against all that you have said about the 'other
couple,' with the exception of the interest we each feel in the brother
or sister. Next, I proclaim Kate Littlepage to be her own mistress, so
far as her brother Mordaunt is concerned, and lastly, I announce that I
see or know nothing in the character, connections, fortune, person, or
position of her suitor, Thomas Bayard, of the Hickories, Esquire, that
is in the least below her pretensions or merits. I hope that is
sufficiently satisfactory?"

"Entirely so; and from the bottom of my heart I thank you for it. I will
own I have had some little apprehensions on the subject of Tom's
political opinions; but those removed, nothing else _can_ remain to
create the smallest uneasiness."

"How is it possible that any of you could consider my notions of so much
importance, when Kate has a father, a mother, and a grandmother living,
all of whom, as I understand things, approve of her choice?"

"Ah, Mr. Littlepage, you are not conscious of your importance in your
own family, I see. I know it better than you appear to know it yourself.
Father, mother, grandmother, and sister, all think and speak of Mordaunt
alike. To hear the general converse of the war, you would suppose that
_he_ had commanded a company, and Captain Littlepage the regiment. Mr.
Littlepage defers to Mordaunt's taste, and Mordaunt's opinions, and
Mordaunt's judgment, even in housekeeping and hemstitching. Kate is
forever saying, 'my brother says this,' 'my brother writes that,' 'my
brother does t'other;' and as for the old lady here at the 'Toe,' she
would hardly think her peaches and cherries could ripen, unless Mordaunt
Littlepage, the son of _her_ son Corny Littlepage--by no accident does
she ever call him 'general,'--were on the face of the earth to create an
eternal sunshine!"

Was there ever a girl like this! That speech was made too, in the
quietest, most gentle, lady-like manner possible. That the young lady
had spirit and humor enough, was very apparent; and for a moment I
doubted whether both were not accompanied by the most perfect simplicity
of character, and the most perfect good faith. Subsequent remarks and
occurrences, however, soon revived all my original distrusts.

"This is a vivid picture of family weaknesses, that you have so
graphically drawn, Miss Bayard," I answered; "and I shall not easily
forget it. What renders it the more lively and pointed, and the more
likely to be relished by the world, is the fact that Mordaunt so little
deserves the extreme partiality of the friends you have mentioned."

"The last feature forms no part of my picture, Major Littlepage, and I
disown it. As for the world, it will never know anything about it. You
and I are not the world, nor are we at all likely ever to be the world
to each other; I wish you particularly to understand _that_, which is
the reason I am so frank with you on so short an acquaintance. I tell
you your opinion is of the last importance to Tom; as your sister would
not marry him, did she believe you thought in the least ill of him."

"And she would, did I think well of him?"

"That is a question a lady must answer for herself. And now we will say
no more on the subject; for my mind is easy since I find you entertain
no political hostility to Tom."

"Men are much less apt to entertain such feelings, I fancy, after they
have fairly fought out a quarrel, than when they only talk over its
heads. Besides, the winning party is commonly the least rancorous, and
success will make us whigs forgiving. I give you my honor, no objection
will be raised against your brother, by me, on account of his opinions
of the revolution. My dear mother herself has been half a tory the whole
war; and Kate, I find, has imbibed all her charity."

A singular, and, as I found, a painful smile, crossed the sweet face of
Priscilla Bayard, as I made this remark; but she did not answer it. It
seemed to me she was now desirous of quitting the subject entirely, and
I immediately led the discourse to other things.

Kate and I remained at Satanstoe several days, and Tom Bayard was a
daily visitor; the distance between the Neck and the Hickories being no
great matter. I saw the young lady twice during the interval; once, by
riding over to her father's residence with that express object; and once
when she came across on horseback to see her friend. I confess I was
never more at a loss to understand a character than I was that of this
young woman. She was either profoundly managing, or as innocent and
simple as a child. It was easy to see that her brother, my sister, my
grandmother, and, as I fancied, the parents of the young lady herself,
were anxious that I should be on as good terms as possible with Pris, as
they all called her; though I could not fathom her own feelings on the
subject. It would have been unnatural not to have loved to gaze on her
exceeding beauty, or not to have admired her extremely graceful and
feminine manner, which was precisely all that one could wish it to be in
the way of ease and self-possession, without being in the least free or
forward; and I did gaze on the one, and admire the other, at the very
moment I was most disposed to distrust her sincerity, and to believe her
nature the very perfection of art. There were times when I was disposed
to fancy this Pris Bayard as profound and skilful an actor as one of her
sex, years, and condition in life could well become, without falling
altogether; and there were moments, too, when she seemed to be instinct
with all the sensitive and best qualities of her sex.

It is scarcely necessary to say I remained heart-whole, under such
circumstances, notwithstanding the obvious wishes of my friends, and the
young lady's great advantages! A man no more falls blindly in love when
he distrusts anything amiss, than he sees anything amiss when he is
blindly in love. It has often been a matter of surprise to me, how often
and how completely the wisest of the earthly races conspire to deceive
themselves. When suspicions are once excited, testimony is not needed;
condemnation following much as a logical induction, though founded on
nothing better than plausible distrusts; while, on the other hand, where
confidence exists, testimony is only too apt to be disregarded. Women,
in particular, are peculiarly apt to follow the bias of their
affections, rather than of their reasons, in all cases connected with
guilt. They are hard to be convinced of the unworthiness of those who
belong to them through the affections, because the affections are
usually stronger with them than their reasoning powers. How they cling
to their priests, for instance, when the cooler heads and greater
experience of men condemn, and that merely because their imaginations
choose to adorn the offenders with the graces of that religion which
they venerate, and on which they rely? He is a shrewd man who can draw
the line between the real and the false in these matters; but he is
truly a weak one who disregards evidence, when evidence is complete and
clear. That we all have our sins and our failings is true, but there are
certain marks of unworthiness which are infallible, and which ought
never to be disregarded, since they denote the existence of the want of
principle that taints a whole character.




CHAPTER V.

     "He were an excellent man that were made just in the midway
     between him and Benedick; the one is too like an image, and
     says nothing; and the other, too like my lady's eldest son,
     evermore tattling."--_Beatrice._


The very day my sister and I left Satanstoe, there was an interesting
interview between my grandmother and myself, that it may be well to
relate. It took place in the cool of the morning, before breakfast,
indeed, and previously to the appearance of any of the rest of the
party; for Tom Bayard and his sister had again ridden across the country
to pass the night and see us off. My grandmother had requested me to
meet her thus early, in a sort of little piazza, that modern
improvements had annexed to one end of the old buildings, and in which
we both appeared accordingly with the utmost punctuality. I saw by a
certain sort of importance that my good grandmother wore in her
countenance, that she had weighty matters on her mind, and took the
chair she had set for me with some little curiosity to learn what was to
follow. The chairs were placed side by side, or nearly so, but looking
different ways, and so close together that, when seated, we were quite
face to face. My grandmother had on her spectacles, and she gazed
wistfully through them at me, parting the curls on my forehead, as had
been her wont when I was a boy. I saw tears rolling out from behind the
glasses, and felt apprehensive I might have said or done something to
have wounded the spirit of that excellent and indulgent parent.

"For heaven's sake, grandmother, what can this mean?" I cried. "Have I
done anything amiss?"

"No, my child, no; but much to the contrary. You are, and ever have
been, a good and dutiful son, not only to your real parents, but to me.
But your name ought to have been Hugh--that I will maintain long as I
live. I told your father as much when you were born; but he was Mordaunt
mad then, as, indeed, he has remained pretty much ever since. Not that
Mordaunt is not a good name and a respectable name, and they say it is a
noble name in England, but it is a family name, and family names are not
for Christian names, at the best. Hugh should have been your name, if I
could have had my way; and, if not Hugh, Corny. Well, it is too late for
that now, as Mordaunt you are, and Mordaunt you must live and die. Did
any one ever tell you, my child, how very, _very_ like you are to your
honored grandfather?"

"My mother, frequently--I have seen the tears start into her eyes as she
gazed at me, and she has often told me my family name ought to have been
Mordaunt, so much do I resemble her father."

"_Her_ father!--Well, Anneke _does_ get some of the strangest conceits
into her head! A better woman, or a dearer, does not breathe--I love
your mother, my child, quite as much as if she had been born my own
daughter; but I must say she does get some of the strangest notions into
her head that mortal ever imagined. You like Herman Mordaunt! You are
the very image of your grandfather Littlepage, and no more like Herman
Mordaunt than you are like the king!"

The revolution was then, and is now, still too recent to prevent these
constant allusions to royalty, notwithstanding my grandfather had been
as warm a whig as there was in the colonies, from the commencement of
the struggle. As for the resemblance spoken of, I have always understood
I was a mingled repetition of the two families, as so often happens, a
circumstance that enables my different relatives to trace such
resemblances as best suit their respective fancies. This was quite
convenient, and may have been a reason, in addition to the fact of my
being an only son, that I was so great a favorite with the females of my
family. My dear old grandmother, who was then in her sixty-ninth year,
was so persuaded of my likeness to her late husband, the "old general,"
as he was now called, that she would not proceed in her communications
until she had wiped her eyes, and gratified her affections with another
long and wistful gaze.

"Oh, _those_ eyes!" she murmured--"and _that_ forehead!--The mouth, too,
and the nose, to say nothing of the smile, which is as much alike as one
pea is like another!"

This left very little for the Mordaunts, it must be owned; the chin and
ears being pretty much all that were not claimed for the direct line. It
is true my eyes were blue, and the "old general's" had been as black as
coals; my nose was Grecian, and his a most obtrusive Roman; and as for
the mouth, I can only say mine was as like that of my mother's as a
man's could well be like a woman's. The last I had heard my father say a
thousand times. But no matter; age, and affection, and the longings of
the parent, caused my grandmother to see things differently.

"Well, Mordaunt," the good old lady at length continued, "how do you
like this choice of your sister Kate's? Mr. Bayard is a charming young
man, is he not?"

"Is it then a choice, grandmother? Has Kate actually made up her mind?"

"Pshaw!" answered my grandmother, smiling as archly as if she were
sixteen herself--"that was done long ago--and papa approved, and mamma
was anxious, and I consented, and sister Anneke was delighted, and
everything was as smooth as the beach at the end of the Neck, but
waiting for your approbation. 'It would not be right, grandmother, for
me to engage myself while Mordaunt is away, and without his even knowing
the gentleman; so I will not answer until I get his approbation too,'
said Kate. That was very pretty in her, was it not, my child? All your
father's children _have_ a sense of propriety!"

"Indeed it was, and I shall not forget it soon. But suppose I had
disapproved, what would have followed, grandmother?"

"You should never ask unpleasant questions, saucy fellow; though I dare
to say Kate would at least have asked Mr. Bayard to wait until you had
changed your mind. Giving him up altogether would be out of the
question, and unreasonable; but she might have waited a few months or
so, until you changed your mind; and I would have advised her so to do.
But all that is unnecessary as matters are; for you have expressed your
approbation, and Kate is perfectly happy. The last letter from
Lilacsbush, which Jaap brought, gives the formal consent of your dear
parents--and what parents you have, my child!--so Kate wrote an
acceptance yesterday, and it was as prettily expressed a note as I have
seen in many a day. Your own mother could not have done better in her
young days; and Anneke Mordaunt worded a note as genteelly as any young
woman I ever knew."

"I am glad everything has gone right, and am sure no one can wish the
young couple more happiness than I do myself. Kate is a dear, good girl,
and I love her as much as a brother can love a sister."

"Is she not? and as thorough a Littlepage as ever was born! I _do_ hope
she will be happy. All the marriages in our family have proved so
hitherto, and it would be strange if this should turn out differently.
Well, now, Mordaunt, when Kate is married, you will be the only one
left."

"That is true, grandmother; and you must be glad to find there will be
one of us left to come and see you, without bringing nurses and children
at his heels."

"I!--I glad of anything of the sort! No, indeed, my child; I should be
sorry enough did I think for a moment, you would not marry as soon as is
prudent, now that the war is over. As for the children, I dote on them;
and I have ever thought it a misfortune that the Littlepages have had so
few, especially sons. Your grandfather, _my_ general, was an only son;
your father was an only son; and you are an only son; that is, so far as
coming to men's estates are, or were concerned. No, Mordaunt, my child,
it is the warmest wish of my heart to see you properly married, and to
hold the Littlepages of the next generation in my arms. Two of you I
have had there already, and I shall have lived the life of the blessed
to be able to hold the third."

"My dear, good grandmother!--what am I to understand by all this?"

"That I wish you to marry, my child, now that the war is ended; that
your father wishes you to marry; that your mother wishes you to marry;
and that your sister wishes you to marry."

"And all of you wish me to marry the same person? Is it not so?"

My grandmother smiled, but she fidgeted; fancying, as I suspected, that
she had been pushing matters a little too fast. It was not easy,
however, for one of her truth and simplicity of character to recede
after having gone so far; and she wisely determined to have no reserves
with me on the subject.

"I believe you are right, Mordaunt," she answered, after a short pause.
"We _do_ all wish you to fall in love as soon as you can; to propose as
soon as you are in love; and to marry Priscilla Bayard, the instant she
will consent to have you."

"This is honest, and like yourself, my dear grandmother; and now we both
know what is intended, and can speak plainly. In the first place, do you
not think one connection of this sort, between families, quite
sufficient? If Kate marry the brother, may I not be excused for
overlooking the attractions of the sister?"

"Priscilla Bayard is one of the loveliest girls in York Colony, Mordaunt
Littlepage!"

"We call this part of the world York _State_, now, dearest grandmother.
I am far from denying the truth of what you say;--Priscilla Bayard _is_
very lovely."

"I do not know what more you can wish, than to get such a girl."

"I shall not say that the time will not come when I may be glad to
obtain the consent of the young lady to become my wife; but that time
has not yet arrived. Then, I question the expediency, when friends
greatly desire any particular match, of saying too much about it."

My poor grandmother looked quite astounded, like one who felt she had
innocently done mischief; and she sat gazing fondly at me, with the
expression of a penitent child painted in her venerated countenance.

"Nevertheless, Mordaunt, I had a great share in bringing about the union
between your own dear parents," she at length answered; "and that has
been one of the happiest marriages I have ever known!"

I had often heard allusions of this nature, and I had several times
observed the quiet smile of my mother, as she listened to them; smiles
that seemed to contradict the opinion to which my grandmother's mistaken
notions of her own influence had given birth. On one occasion (I was
still quite a boy), I remember to have asked my mother how the fact was,
when the answer was, "I married your father through the influence of a
butcher's boy;" a reply that had some reference to a very early passage
in the lives of my parents. But I well know that Cornelius Littlepage,
nor Anneke Mordaunt, was a person to be _coaxed_ into matrimony; and I
resolved on the spot, their only son should manifest an equal
independence. I might have answered my grandmother to this effect, and
in language stronger than was my practice when addressing that reverend
parent, had not the two girls appeared on the piazza at that moment, and
broke up our private conference.

Sooth to say, Priscilla Bayard came forth upon me, that morning, with
something like the radiance of the rising sun. Both the girls had that
fresh, attractive look, that is apt to belong to the toilets of early
risers of their sex, and which probably renders them handsomer at that
hour, than at any other part of the day. My own sister was a very
charming girl, as any one would allow; but her friend was decidedly
beautiful. I confess I found it a little difficult not to give in on the
spot, and to whisper my anxious grandmother that I would pay proper
attention to the young lady, and make an offer at the suitable time, as
she advanced toward us, exchanging the morning salutations, with just
enough of ease to render her perfectly graceful, and yet with a modesty
and _retenue_ that were infinitely winning.

"Mordaunt is about to quit me, for the whole summer, Miss Bayard," said
my grandmother, who would be doing while there was a chance; "and I have
had him out here, to converse a little together, before we part. Kate I
shall see often during the pleasant season, I trust; but this is to be
the last of Mordaunt until the cold weather return."

"Is Mr. Littlepage going to travel?" inquired the young lady, with just
as much interest as good breeding demanded, and not a particle more;
"for Lilacsbush is not so distant, but he might ride over once a week,
at least, to inquire how you do."

"Oh, he is going a great, great distance, and to a part of the world I
dread to think of!"

Miss Bayard now looked really startled, and a good deal astonished,
questioning me with her very fine eyes, though she said nothing with her
tongue of Coejemans, who bears this appellation, and who has contracted
to get the necessary surveys made, though he fills the humble post of a
'chainbearer' himself, not being competent to make the calculations.

"How can a mere chainbearer contract for a full survey?" asked Tom
Bayard, who had joined the party, and had been listening to the
discourse. "The chainbearers, in general, are but common laborers, and
are perfectly irresponsible."

"That is true, as a rule; but my old friend forms an exception. He set
out for a surveyor, but having no head for sines, and co-sines, and
tangents, he was obliged to lower his pretensions to the humbler duty he
now discharges. Still, he has long contracted for jobs of this nature,
and gets as much as he can do, hiring surveyors himself, the owners of
property having the utmost confidence in his measurements. Let me tell
you, the man who carries chain is not the least important member of a
surveying party in the woods. Old Andries is as honest as noon-day, and
everybody has faith in him."

"His true name is Coejemans, I think you said, Major Littlepage?" asked
Priscilla, as it struck me _assuming_ an air of indifference.

"It is, Andries Coejemans; and his family is reputable, if not
absolutely of a high caste. But the old man is so inveterate a woodsman,
that nothing but patriotism, and his whig propensities, could have drawn
him out into the open country. After serving most gallantly through the
whole war, he has gone back to his chains; and many is the joke he has
about remaining still in chains, after fighting so long and so often in
the cause of liberty."

Priscilla appeared to hesitate--I thought her color increased a
little--then she asked the question that was apparently uppermost in her
thoughts, with surprising steadiness.

"Did you ever see the 'Chainbearer's niece, Dus Malbone?"

This question not a little surprised me; for, though I had never seen
Ursula, the uncle had talked so much to me of his ward, that I almost
fancied she was an intimate acquaintance. It often happens that we hear
so much of certain persons, that we think and speak of them as of those
we know; and had Miss Bayard questioned me of one of my late comrades in
the service, I should not have been a whit more startled than I was at
hearing her pronounce the familiar name of Dus Malbone.

"Where, in the name of all that is curious, did you ever hear of such a
person!" I exclaimed, a little inconsiderately, since the world was
certainly wide enough to admit of two young women's being acquainted,
without my consent; more especially as one of them I had never seen, and
the other I had met, for the first time, only a fortnight before. "Old
Andries was always speaking to me of his niece; but I could not suppose
she was an acquaintance of one of your position in life!"

"Notwithstanding, we were something more than school-fellows;--for we
were, and I trust _are_ still very, very good friends. I like Dus
exceedingly, though she is quite as singular, in _her_ way, as I have
heard her uncle described to be, in his."

"This is odd! Will you allow me to ask one question? You will think it
singular, perhaps, after what you have just told me--but curiosity will
get the better of my manners--is Dus Malbone a _lady_--the equal and
companion of such a person as Miss Priscilla Bayard?"

"That is a question not so easily answered, perhaps; since, in some
respects, she is greatly the superior of any young woman I know. Her
family, I have always heard, was very good on both sides; she is poor,
poor even to poverty, I fear now." Here Pris. paused; there was a tremor
in her voice, even, and I detected tears starting to her eyes. "Poor
Dus!" she continued--"she had much to support, in the way of poverty,
even while at school; where she was, indeed, as a dependent, rather than
as a boarder; but no one among us all, could presume to offer her
favors. I was afraid even to ask her to accept a ribbon, as I should not
hesitate to do to Kate here, or any other young lady with whom I was
intimate. I never knew a nobler-minded girl than Ursula Malbone, though
few persons understand her, I think."

"This is old Andries over again! He was poor enough, heaven knows; and I
have known him actually suffer, in order to do his duty by this girl,
and to make a proper appearance at the same time, as a captain in the
New York line; yet none of us, not even my father, could ever induce him
to borrow a single dollar. He would give, but he would not receive."

"I can believe this readily, it is so like Dus! If she has her
peculiarities, she has noble qualities enough to redeem of Coejemans,
who bears this appellation, and who has contracted to get the necessary
surveys made, though he fills the humble post of a 'chainbearer'
himself, not being competent to make the calculations."

"How can a mere chainbearer contract for a full survey?" asked Tom
Bayard, who had joined the party, and had been listening to the
discourse. "The chainbearers, in general, are but common laborers, and
are perfectly irresponsible."

"That is true, as a rule; but my old friend forms an exception. He set
out for a surveyor, but having no head for sines, and co-sines, and
tangents, he was obliged to lower his pretensions to the humbler duty he
now discharges. Still, he has long contracted for jobs of this nature,
and gets as much as he can do, hiring surveyors himself, the owners of
property having the utmost confidence in his measurements. Let me tell
you, the man who carries chain is not the least important member of a
surveying party in the woods. Old Andries is as honest as noon-day, and
everybody has faith in him."

"His true name is Coejemans, I think you said, Major Littlepage?" asked
Priscilla, as it struck me _assuming_ an air of indifference.

"It is, Andries Coejemans; and his family is reputable, if not
absolutely of a high caste. But the old man is so inveterate a woodsman,
that nothing but patriotism, and his whig propensities, could have drawn
him out into the open country. After serving most gallantly through the
whole war, he has gone back to his chains; and many is the joke he has
about remaining still in chains, after fighting so long and so often in
the cause of liberty."

Priscilla appeared to hesitate--I thought her color increased a
little--then she asked the question that was apparently uppermost in her
thoughts, with surprising steadiness.

"Did you ever see the 'Chainbearer's' niece, Dus Malbone?"

This question not a little surprised me; for, though I had never seen
Ursula, the uncle had talked so much to me of his ward, that I almost
fancied she was an intimate acquaintance. It often happens that we hear
so much of certain persons, that we think and speak of them as of those
we know; and had Miss Bayard questioned me of one of my late comrades in
the service, I should not have been a whit more startled than I was at
hearing her pronounce the familiar name of Dus Malbone.

"Where, in the name of all that is curious, did you ever hear of such a
person!" I exclaimed, a little inconsiderately, since the world was
certainly wide enough to admit of two young women's being acquainted,
without my consent; more especially as one of them I had never seen, and
the other I had met, for the first time, only a fortnight before. "Old
Andries was always speaking to me of his niece; but I could not suppose
she was an acquaintance of one of your position in life!"

"Notwithstanding, we were something more than school-fellows;--for we
were, and I trust _are_ still very, very good friends. I like Dus
exceedingly, though she is quite as singular, in _her_ way, as I have
heard her uncle described to be, in his."

"This is odd! Will you allow me to ask one question? You will think it
singular, perhaps, after what you have just told me--but curiosity will
get the better of my manners--is Dus Malbone a _lady_--the equal and
companion of such a person as Miss Priscilla Bayard?"

"That is a question not so easily answered, perhaps; since, in some
respects, she is greatly the superior of any young woman I know. Her
family, I have always heard, was very good on both sides; she is poor,
poor even to poverty, I fear now." Here Pris. paused; there was a tremor
in her voice, even, and I detected tears starting to her eyes. "Poor
Dus!" she continued--"she had much to support, in the way of poverty,
even while at school; where she was, indeed, as a dependent, rather than
as a boarder; but no one among us all, could presume to offer her
favors. I was afraid even to ask her to accept a ribbon, as I should not
hesitate to do to Kate here, or any other young lady with whom I was
intimate. I never knew a nobler-minded girl than Ursula Malbone, though
few persons understand her, I think."

"This is old Andries over again! He was poor enough, heaven knows; and I
have known him actually suffer, in order to do his duty by this girl,
and to make a proper appearance at the same time, as a captain in the
New York line; yet none of us, not even my father, could ever induce him
to borrow a single dollar. He would give, but he would not receive."

"I can believe this readily, it is so like Dus! If she has her
peculiarities, she has noble qualities enough to redeem a thousand
foibles. Still, I would not have you to think Ursula Malbone is not an
excellent creature in all respects, though she certainly has her
peculiarities."

"Which, doubtless, she has inherited from the Coejemans, as her uncle,
the Chainbearer, has _his_ peculiarities, too."

"The Malbones have none of the blood of the Coejemans," answered the
lady, quickly; "though it is respectable, and not to be ashamed of. Dus
Malbone's mother was only half-sister to Captain Coejemans, and they had
different fathers."

I thought Pris. looked a little confused, and as if she were sorry she
had said so much on the subject at all, the instant she had betrayed so
much intimacy with the Malbone genealogy; for she shrunk back, plucked a
rose, and walked away smelling the flower, like one who was indisposed
to say any more on the subject. A summons to breakfast, however, would
otherwise have interrupted us, and no more _was_ said about the
Chainbearer, and his marvellous niece, Dus Malbone. As soon as the meal
was ended, our horses were brought round, and Kate and I took our leave,
Jaap having preceded us as usual, an hour or more, with our luggage. The
reader is not to suppose that we always moved in the saddle, in that
day; on the contrary, my mother had a very neat chaise, in which she
used to drive about the country, with a mounted postilion; my father had
a phaeton, and in town we actually kept a chariot; for the union of the
Mordaunt and Littlepage properties had made us very comfortable, and
comfortably we lived. But young ladies liked the saddle twenty-five
years ago, more than they do to-day; and Kate, being a capital
horse-woman, like her mother, before her, we were often out together. It
was choice, then, and not necessity, a little aided by bad roads,
perhaps, that induced us to ride across to Satanstoe so often, when we
wished to visit our grandmother.

I kissed my dear old parent very affectionately at parting, for I was to
see her no more that summer; and I got her blessing in return. As for
Tom Bayard, a warm, brotherly shake of the hand sufficed, inasmuch as it
was pretty certain I should see _him_ at Lilacsbush before I left home.
Approaching his sister, who held out her hand to me, in a friendly
manner, I said as I took it--

"I hope this is not the last time I am to see you before I start for the
new countries, Miss Bayard. You owe my sister a visit, I believe, and I
shall trust to that debt for another opportunity of saying the
unpleasant word 'farewell.'"

"This is not the way to win a lady's heart, Mordaunt," cried Kate,
gayly. "It is only fifteen miles from your father's door to the
Hickories, you ought to know, sir; and you have a standing invitation to
darken its door with your military form."

"From both my father and brother"--put in Priscilla, a little hastily.
"They will always be happy to see Major Littlepage, most certainly."

"And why not from yourself, Miss Prude," added Kate, who seemed bent on
causing her friend some confusion. "We are not now such total strangers
to each other as to render that little grace improper."

"When I am mistress of a house of my own, should that day ever arrive, I
shall take care not to lose my reputation for hospitality," answered
Pris., determined not to be caught, "by neglecting to include all the
Littlepage family in my invitations. Until then, Tom's and papa's
welcomes must suffice."

The girl looked amazingly lovely all the time, and stood the smiles of
those around her with a self-possession that showed me she knew
perfectly well what she was about. I was never more at a loss how to
understand a young woman, and it is very possible, had I remained near
her for a month longer, the interest such uncertainty is apt to awaken
might have sent me away desperately in love. But Providence had
determined otherwise.

During our ride toward the 'Bush, my sister, with proper blushes and a
becoming hesitation, let me into the secret of her having accepted Tom
Bayard. They were not to be married until after my return from the
north, an event that was expected to take place in the ensuing autumn.

"Then I am to lose you, Kate, almost as soon as I find you," I said, a
little despondingly.

"Not lose me, brother; no, no, not _lose_ me, but _find_ me, more than
ever. I am to be transplanted into a family whither you will soon be
coming to seek a wife yourself."

"Were I to come, what reason have I for supposing it would be
successful?"

"That is a question you have no right to ask. Did I even know of any
particular reason for believing your reception would be favorable, you
cannot believe me sufficiently treacherous to betray my friend. Young
ladies are not of the facility of character you seem to suppose, sir;
and no method but the direct one will succeed. I have no other reason
for believing you would succeed than the facts that you are an
agreeable, good-looking youth, however, of unexceptionable family and
fortune, living quite near the Hickories, and of a suitable age, temper,
habits, character, etc., etc., etc. Are not these reasons sufficient to
encourage you to persevere, my brave major?"

"Perseverance implies commencement, and I have not yet commenced. I
scarcely know what to make of your friend, child; she is either the
perfection of nature and simplicity, or the perfection of art."

"Art! Pris. Bayard artful! Mordaunt, you never did a human being greater
injustice; a child cannot have greater truth and sincerity than Tom's
sister."

"Ay, that's just it; Tom's sister is _ex officio_ perfection; but, you
will please to remember that some children are very artful. All I can
say on the subject at present is, that I like Tom, and I like his
parents; but I do not know what to think of your friend."

Kate was a little offended, so she made me no answer. Her good humor
returned, however, before we had gone far, and the rest of our ride
passed pleasantly enough, no allusions being made to any of the name of
Bayard; though, I dare say, my companion thought a great deal of a
certain Tom, of that name, as I certainly did of his handsome and
inexplicable sister.

At the Kingsbridge Inn we had another short brush with that untiring
gossip, its landlady.

"A pleasant time it has been over at the 'Toe, I dares to say,"
exclaimed Mrs. Light, the instant she thrust her head out of the door;
"a most agreeable and amusing time both for the young gentleman and for
the young lady. Mr. Thomas Bayard and Miss Pris. Bayard have been with
you, days and days, and old Madam Littlepage is delighted. Oh! the 'Toe
has always been a happy house, and happy faces have I long been used to
see come out of it, and happy faces do I see to-day! Yes, yes; the 'Toe
has always sent happy, contented faces down the road; and a happy roof
it has been, by all accounts, these hundred years."

I dare say this was all true enough. I have always heard that the old
place contained contented hearts; and contented hearts make happy faces.
Kate's face was happiness itself, as she sat in the saddle listening to
the crone; and my countenance is not one of ill-nature. The "'Toe was
ever a happy house!" It recalls old times, to hear a house thus
familiarly spoken of; for a set is rising up among us which is vastly
too genteel to admit that any one--man, woman, child, or Satan, ever had
a member so homely as a 'Toe.




CHAPTER VI.

        "They love their land, because it is their own,
        And scorn to give aught other reason why;
        Would shake hands with a king upon his throne,
        And think it kindness to his majesty;
        A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none,
        Such are they nurtured, such they live and die;
        All but a few apostates, who are meddling
    With merchandise, pounds, shillings, pence and peddling."
                                               --Halleck.


A day or two after my return to Lilacsbush, was presented one of these
family scenes which are so common in the genial month of June, on the
shores of the glorious old Hudson. I call the river the _old_ Hudson,
for it is quite as old as the Tiber, though the world has not talked of
it as much, or as long. A thousand years hence, this stream will be
known over the whole earth; and men will speak of it as they now speak
of the Danube and the Rhine. As good wine may not be made on its banks
as is made on the acclivities of the latter river; but, even to-day,
better, both as to quality and variety, is actually drunk. On this last
point, all intelligent travellers agree.

There stands a noble linden on the lawn of Lilacsbush, at no great
distance from the house, and necessarily within a short distance of the
water. The tree had been planted there by my grandmother Mordaunt's
father, to whom the place once belonged; and was admirably placed for
the purposes of an afternoon's lounge. Beneath its shade we often took
our dessert and wine, in the warm months; and thither, since their
return from the army, General Littlepage and Colonel Dirck Follock used
to carry their pipes, and smoke over a campaign, or a bottle, as chance
directed the discourse. For that matter, no battle-field had ever been
so veiled in smoke, as would have been the case with the linden in
question, could there have been a concentration of all the vapor it had
seen.

The afternoon of the day just mentioned, the whole family were seated
beneath the tree, scattered round, as shade and inclination tempted;
though a small table, holding fruits and wine, showed that the usual
business of the hour had not been neglected. The wines were Madeira and
claret, those common beverages in the country; and the fruits were
strawberries, cherries, oranges and figs; the two last imported, of
course. It was a little too early for us to get pines from the islands,
a fruit which is so common in its season as to be readily purchased in
town at the rate of four of a good size for a dollar. But, the
abundance, and even luxury, of a better sort of the common American
tables, is no news; viands, liquors and fruits appearing on them, that
are only known to the very rich and very luxurious in the countries of
Europe. If the service were only as tasteful, and the cooking as good
with us, as both are in France, for instance, America would be the very
paradise of the epicure, let superficial travellers say what they please
to the contrary. I have been abroad in these later times, and speak of
what I know.

No one sat _at_ the table, though my father, Colonel

Dirck, and I were near enough to reach our glasses, at need. My mother
was next to me, and reasonably close; for I did not smoke, while aunt
Mary and Kate had taken post just without the influence of the tobacco.
On the shore was a large skiff, that contained a tolerably sized trunk
or two, and a sort of clothes-bag. In the first were a portion of my
clothes, while those of Jaap filled the bag. The <DW64> himself was
stretched on the grass, about half-way between the tree and the shore,
with two or three of his grandchildren rolling about, at his feet. In
the skiff was his son, seated in readiness to use the sculls, as soon as
ordered.

All this arrangement denoted my approaching departure for the north. The
wind was at the south, and sloops of various degrees of promise and
speed were appearing round the points, coming on one in the wake of
another, as each had been able to quit the wharves to profit by the
breeze. In that day, the river had not a tenth part of the craft it now
possesses; but still, it had enough to make a little fleet, so near
town, and at a moment when wind and tide both became favorable. At that
time, most of the craft on the Hudson belonged up the river, and they
partook largely of the taste of our Dutch ancestors. Notable travellers
before the gales, they did very little with foul winds, generally
requiring from a week to a fortnight to tide it down from Albany, with
the wind at all from the south. Nevertheless, few persons thought of
making the journey between the two largest towns of the state (York and
Albany), without having recourse to one of these sloops. I was at that
moment in waiting for the appearance of a certain "Eagle, of Albany,
Captain Bogert," which was to run in close to Lilacsbush, and receive me
on board, agreeably to an arrangement previously made in town. I was
induced to take a passage in this vessel from the circumstance that she
had a sort of after-cabin that was screened by an ample green curtain,
an advantage that all the vessels which then plied on the river did not
possess; though great improvements have been making ever since the
period of which I am now writing.

Of course, the interval thus passed in waiting for the appearance of the
Eagle was filled up, more or less, by discourse. Jaap, who was to
accompany me in my journey to Ravensnest, knew every vessel on the
river, as soon as he could see her, and we depended on him to let us
know when I was to embark, though the movements of the sloop herself
could not fail to give us timely notice of the necessity of taking
leave.

"I should like exceedingly to pay a visit to old Mrs. Vander Heyden, at
Kinderhook, Mordaunt," said my mother, after one of the frequent pauses
that occurred in the discourse. "She is a relation, and I feel a great
regard for her; so much the more, from the circumstance of her being
associated in my mind with that frightful night on the river, of which
you have heard me speak."

As my mother ceased speaking, she glanced affectionately toward the
general, who returned the look, as he returned all my mother's looks,
with one filled with manly tenderness. A more united couple than my
parents never existed. They seemed to me ordinarily to have but one mind
between them; and when there did occur any slight difference of opinion,
the question was not which should prevail, but which should yield. Of
the two, my mother may have had the most native intellect, though the
general was a fine, manly, sensible person, and was very universally
respected.

"It might be well, Anneke," said my father, "if the major were to pay a
visit to poor Guert's grave, and see if the stones are up, and that the
place is kept as it should be. I have not been there since the year '68,
when it looked as if a friendly eye might do some good at no distant
day."

This was said in a low voice, purposely to prevent aunt Mary from
hearing it; and, as she was a little deaf, it is probable the intention
was successful. Not so, however, with Colonel Dirck, who drew the pipe
from his mouth, and sat attentively listening, in the manner of one who
felt great interest in the subject. Another pause succeeded.

"T'en t'ere ist my Lort Howe, Corny," observed the colonel, "how is it
wit' his grave?"

"Oh! the colony took good care of that. They buried him in the main
aisle of St. Peter's, I believe; and no doubt all is right with him. As
for the other, major, it might be well to look at it."

"Great changes have taken place at Albany, since we were there as young
people!" observed my mother, thoughtfully. "The Cuylers are much broken
up by the revolution, while the Schuylers have grown greater than ever.
Poor aunt Schuyler, she is no longer living to welcome a son of ours!"

"Time will bring about such changes, my love; and we can only be
thankful that so many of us remain, after so long and bloody a war."

I saw my mother's lips move, and I knew she was murmuring a thanksgiving
to the power which had preserved her husband and son through the late
struggle.

"You will write as often as opportunities occur, Mordaunt," said that
dear parent, after a longer pause than usual. "Now there is peace, I can
hope to get your letters with some little regularity."

"They tell me, cousin Anneke"--for so the colonel always called my
mother when we were alone--"They tell me, cousin Anneke," said Colonel
Dirck, "t'at t'ey actually mean to have a mail t'ree times a week
petween Alpany and York! T'ere ist no knowing, general, what t'is
glorious revolution will not do for us!"

"If it bring me letters three times a week from those I love," rejoined
my mother, "I am sure my patriotism will be greatly increased. How will
letters get out from Ravensnest to the older parts of the colony--I
should say state, Mordaunt?"

"I must trust to the settlers for that. Hundreds of Yankees, they tell
me, are out looking for farms this summer. I may use some of them for
messengers."

"Don't trust 'em too much, or too many"--growled Colonel Dirck, who had
the old Dutch grudge against our eastern brethren. "See how they behav't
to Schuyler."

"Yes," said my father, replenishing his pipe, "they _might_ have
manifested more justice and less prejudice to wise Philip; but
prejudices will exist, all over the world. Even Washington has had his
share."

"T'at is a great man!" exclaimed Colonel Dirck, with emphasis, and in
the manner of one who felt certain of his point. "A _ferry_ great man!"

"No one will dispute with you, colonel, on that subject; but have you no
message to send to our old comrade, Andries Coejemans? He must have been
at Mooseridge, with his party of surveyors, now near a twelvemonth, and
I'll warrant you has thoroughly looked up the old boundaries, so as to
be ready for Mordaunt to start afresh as soon as the boy reaches the
patent."

"I hope he has not hiret a Yankee surveyor, Corny," put in the colonel,
in some little alarm. "If one of t'em animals gets upon the tract, he
will manage to carry off half of the lant in his compass-box! I hope olt
Andries knows petter."

"I dare say he'll manage to keep all the land, as well as to survey it.
It is a thousand pities the captain has no head for figures; for his
honesty would have made his fortune. But I have seen him tried, and know
it will not do. He was a week once making up an account of some stores
received from head-quarters, and the nearest he could get to the result
was twenty-five per cent. out of the way."

"I would sooner trust Andries Coejemans to survey my property, figures
or no figures," cried Colonel Dirck, positively, "than any dominie in
New England."

"Well, that is as one thinks," returned my father, tasting the Madeira.
"For my part, I shall be satisfied with the surveyor he may happen to
select, even though he should be a Yankee. Andries is shrewd, if he be
no calculator; and I dare to say he has engaged a suitable man. Having
taken the job at a liberal price, he is too honest a fellow not to hire
a proper person to do the head-work. As for all the rest, I would trust
him as soon as I would trust any man in America."

"T'at is gospel. Mordaunt will haf an eye on matters too, seein' he has
so great an interest in the estate. T'ere is one t'ing, major, you must
not forget. Five hundred goot acres must be surveyed off for sister
Anneke, and five hundred for pretty Kate, here. As soon as t'at is done,
the general and I will give each of the gals a deet."

"Thank you, Dirck," said my father, with feeling. "I'll not refuse the
land for the girls, who may be glad enough to own it some time or
other."

"It's no great matter now, Corny; put, as you say, it may be of use one
day. Suppose we make old Andries a present of a farm, in his pargain."

"With all my heart," cried my father, quickly. "A couple of hundred
acres might make him comfortable for the rest of his days. I thank you
for the hint, Dirck, and we will let Mordaunt choose the lot, and send
us the description, that we may prepare the deed."

"You forget, general, that the Chainbearer has, or will have his
military lot, as a captain," I ventured to remark. "Besides, land will
be of little use to him, unless it might be to measure it. I doubt if
the old man would not prefer going without his dinner, to hoeing a hill
of potatoes."

"Andries had three slaves while he was with us; a man, a woman, and
their daughter," returned my father. "He would not sell them, he said,
on any consideration; and I have known him actually suffering for money
when he was too proud to accept it from his friends, and too benevolent
to part with family slaves, in order to raise it. 'They were born
Coejemans,' he always said, 'as much as I was born one myself, and they
shall die Coejemans.' He doubtless has these people with him, at the
Ridge, where you will find them all encamped, near some spring, with
garden-stuff and other small things growing around him, if he can find
open land enough for such a purpose. He has permission to cut and till
at pleasure."

"This is agreeable news to me, general," I answered, "since it promises
a sort of home. If the Chainbearer has really these blacks with him, and
has hutted judiciously, I dare say we shall have quite as comfortable a
time as many of those we passed together in camp. Then, I shall carry my
flute with me; for Miss Priscilla Bayard has given me reason to expect a
very wonderful creature in Dus, the niece, of which old Andries used to
talk so much. You remember to have heard the Chainbearer speak of such a
person, I dare say, sir; for he was quite fond of mentioning her."

"Perfectly well; Dus Malbone was a sort of toast among the young men of
the regiment at one time, though no one of them all ever could get a
sight of her, by hook or by crook."

Happening to turn my head at that moment, I found my dear mother's eyes
turned curiously on me; brought there, I fancy, by the allusion to Tom's
sister.

"What does Priscilla Bayard know of this Chainbearer's niece?" that
beloved parent asked, as soon as she perceived that her look had
attracted my attention.

"A great deal, it would seem; since she tells me they are fast friends;
quite as great, I should judge from Miss Bayard's language and manner,
as Kate and herself."

"That can scarcely be," returned my mother, slightly smiling, "since
there the principal reason must be wanting. Then, this Dus can hardly be
Priscilla Bayard's equal."

"One never knows such a thing, mother, until he has had an opportunity
of making comparisons; though Miss Bayard herself says Dus is much her
superior in many things. I am sure her uncle is _my_ superior in some
respects; in carrying chain, particularly so."

"Ay, but scarcely in station, Mordaunt."

"He was the senior captain of the regiment."

"True; but revolutions are revolutions. What I mean is, that your
Chainbearer can hardly be a gentleman."

"That is a point not to be decided in a breath. He is, and he is not.
Old Andries is of a respectable family, though but indifferently
educated. Men vastly his inferiors in birth, in habits, in the general
notions of the caste, in the New England States, are greatly his
superiors in knowledge. Nevertheless, while we must all admit how
necessary a certain amount of education has become, at the present time,
to make a gentleman, I think every gentleman will allow hundreds among
us have degrees in their pockets with small claims to belong to the
class. Three or four centuries ago, I should have answered that old
Andries _was_ a gentleman, though he had to bite the wax with his teeth
and make a cross, for want of a better signature."

"And he what you call a chainbearer, Mordaunt!" exclaimed my sister.

"As well as late senior captain in your father's regiment, Miss
Littlepage. But, no matter, Andries and Dus are such as they are, and I
shall be glad to have them for companions this summer. Jaap is making
signals, and I must quit you all. Heigho! It is very pleasant here,
under this linden, and home begins to entwine its fibres around my
heart. Never mind; it will soon be autumn, and I shall see the whole of
you, I trust, as I leave you, well and happy in town."

My dear, dear mother had tears in her eyes, when she embraced me; so had
Kate, who, though she did love Tom Bayard most, loved me very warmly
too. Aunt Mary kissed me, in her quiet but affectionate way; and I shook
hands with the gentlemen, who accompanied me down to the boat. I could
see that my father was affected. Had the war still continued, he would
have thought nothing of the separation; but in that piping time of peace
it seemed to come unseasonably.

"Now don't forget the great lots for Anneke and Katrinke," said Colonel
Dirck, as we descended to the shore. "Let Andries pick out some of the
best of the lant, t'at is well watered and timbered, and we'll call the
lots after the gals; that is a goot idea, Corny."

"Excellent, my friend. Mordaunt, my son, if you come across any places
that look like graves, I wish you would set up marks by which they may
be known. It is true, a quarter of a century or more makes many changes
in the woods; and it is quite likely no such remains will be found."

"A quarter of a century in the American forests, sir," I answered, "is
somewhat like the same period in the wanderings of a comet; lost, in the
numberless years of its growth. A single tree will sometimes outlast the
generations of an entire nation."

"You wilt rememper, Mordaunt, that I wilt haf no Yankee tenants on _my_
estate. Your father may lease 'em one-half of a lot, if he please; but I
will not lease t'other."

"As you are tenants in common, gentlemen," I answered, smiling, "it will
not be easy to separate the interests in this manner. I believe I
understand you, however; I am to sell the lands of Mooseridge, or
covenant to sell, as your attorney, while I follow out my grandfather
Mordaunt's ideas, and lease those that are not yet leased, on my own
estate. This will at least give the settlers a choice, and those who do
not like one plan of obtaining their farms may adopt the other."

I now shook hands again with the gentlemen, and stepping into the skiff,
we pulled away from the shore. Jaap had made this movement in good
season, and we were compelled to row a quarter of a mile down the river
to meet the sloop. Although the wind was perfectly fair, it was not so
fresh as to induce Mr. Bogert to round-to; but throwing us a rope, it
was caught, when we were safely transferred, bag and baggage, to the
decks of the Eagle.

Captain Bogert was smoking at the helm, when he returned my salute.
Removing the pipe, after a puff or two, he pointed with the stem toward
the group on the shore, and inquired if I wished to say "good-by."

"_Allponny_"--so the Dutch were wont to pronounce the name of their town
in the last century--"is a long way off," he said, "and maype you woult
like to see the frients ag'in."

This business of waving hats and handkerchiefs is a regular thing on the
Hudson, and I expressed my willingness to comply with the usage, as a
matter of course.[5] In consequence, Mr. Bogert deliberately sheered in
toward the shore, and I saw the whole family collecting on a low rock,
near the water, to take the final look. In the background stood the
Satanstoes, a dark, woolly group, including Mrs. Jaap, and two
generations of descendants. The whites were weeping; that is to say, my
dear mother and Kate; and the blacks were laughing, though the old lady
kept her teeth to herself about as much as she exposed them. A sensation
almost invariably produces laughter with a <DW64>, the only exceptions
being on occasions of singular gravity.

[Footnote 5: Such were the notions of Mr. Mordaunt Littlepage, at the
commencement of this century, and such his feeling shortly after the
peace of 1783. Nothing of the sort more completely illustrates the
general change that has come over the land, in habits and material
things, than the difference between the movements of that day and those
of our own. Then, the departure of a sloop, or the embarkation of a
passenger along the shore, brought parties to the wharves, and wavings
of handkerchiefs, as if those who were left behind felt a lingering wish
to see the last of their friends. Now, literally thousands come and go
daily, passing about as many hours on the Hudson as their grandfathers
passed days; and the shaking of hands and leave-takings are usually done
at home. It would be a bold woman who would think now of waving a
handkerchief to a Hudson River steamboat!--EDITOR.]

I believe, if the truth were known, Mr. Bogert greatly exulted in the
stately movement of his sloop, as she brushed along the shore, at no
great distance from the rocks, with her main-boom guyed out to
starboard, and studding-sail boom to port. The flying-topsail, too, was
set; and the Eagle might be said to be moving in all her glory. She went
so near the rocks, too, as if she despised danger! Those were not the
days of close calculations that have succeeded. Then, an Albany skipper
did not mind losing a hundred or two feet of distance in making his run;
whereas, now, it would not be an easy matter to persuade a Liverpool
trader to turn as much aside in order to speak a stranger in the centre
of the Atlantic; unless, indeed, he happened to want to get the other's
longitude.

As the sloop swept past the rocks, I got bows, waving of hats and
handkerchiefs, and good wishes enough to last the whole voyage. Even
Jaap had his share; and "good-by, Jaap," came to my ears, from even the
sweet voice of Kate. Away we went, in stately Dutch movement, slow _but
sure_. In ten minutes Lilacsbush was behind us, and I was once more
alone in the world, for months to come.

There was now time to look about me, and to ascertain who were my
companions in this voyage. The skipper and crew were as usual the
masters; and the pilots, both whites, and both of Dutch extraction, an
old wrinkled <DW64>, who had passed his life on the Hudson as a foremast
hand, and two younger blacks, one of whom was what was dignified with
the name of cabin-steward. Then there were numerous passengers; some of
whom appeared to belong to the upper classes. They were of both sexes,
but all were strangers to me. On the main-deck were six or eight sturdy,
decent, quiet, respectable-looking laborers, who were evidently of the
class of husbandmen. Their packs were lying in a pile, near the foot of
the mast, and I did not fail to observe that there were as many axes as
there were packs.

The American axe! It has made more real and lasting conquests than the
sword of any warlike people that ever lived; but they have been
conquests that have left civilization in their train instead of havoc
and desolation. More than a million of square miles of territory[6] have
been opened up from the shades of the virgin forest, to admit the warmth
of the sun; and culture and abundance have been spread where the beast
of the forest so lately roamed, hunted by the savage. Most of this, too,
has been effected between the day when I went on board the Eagle, and
that on which I am now writing. A brief quarter of a century has seen
these wonderful changes wrought; and at the bottom of them all lies this
beautiful, well-prized, ready and efficient implement, the American axe!

[Footnote 6: More than two millions at the present day.]

It would not be easy to give the reader a clear notion of the manner in
which the young men and men of all ages of the older portions of the new
republic poured into the woods to commence the business of felling the
forests, and laying bare the secrets of nature, as soon as the nation
rose from beneath the pressure of war, to enjoy the freedom of peace.
The history of that day in New York, which State led the van in the
righteous strife of improvement, and has ever since so nobly maintained
its vantage-ground, has not yet been written. When it is properly
recorded names will be rescued from oblivion that better deserve statues
and niches in the temple of national glory, than those of many who have
merely got the start of them by means of the greater facility with which
the public mind is led away in the train of brilliant exploits, than it
is made sensible of the merits of those that are humane and useful.

It was not usual for settlers, as it has become the practice to term
those who first take up and establish themselves on new lands, to make
their journeys from the neighborhood of the sea to the interior, other
than by land; but a few passed out of Connecticut by the way of New
York, and thence up the river in sloops. Of this character were those
found on board the Eagle. In all, we had seven of these men, who got
into discourse with me the first day of our passage, and I was a little
surprised at discovering how much they already knew of me, and of my
movements. Jaap, however, soon suggested himself to my mind, as the
probable means of the intelligence they had gleaned; and, on inquiry,
such I ascertained was the fact.

The curiosity and the questioning propensities of the people of New
England, have been so generally admitted by writers and commentators on
American character, that I suppose one has a right to assume the truth
of these characteristics. I have heard various ways of accounting for
them; and among others, the circumstances of their disposition to
emigrate, which brings with it the necessity of inquiring after the
welfare of friends at a distance. It appears to me, however, this is
taking a very narrow view of the cause, which I attribute to the general
activity of mind among a people little restrained by the conventional
usages of more sophisticated conditions of society. The practice of
referring so much to the common mind, too, has a great influence on all
the opinions of this peculiar portion of the American population,
seeming to confer the right to inquire into matters that are elsewhere
protected by the sacred feeling of individual privacy.

Let this be as it might, my axe-men had contrived to get out of Jaap all
he knew about Ravensnest and Mooseridge, as well as my motives in making
the present journey. This information obtained, they were not slow in
introducing themselves to me, and of asking the questions that were
uppermost in their minds. Of course, I made such answers as were called
for by the case, and we established a sort of business acquaintance
between us, the very first day. The voyage lasting several days, by the
time we reached Albany, pretty much all that could be said on such a
subject had been uttered by one side or the other.

As respected Ravensnest, my own property, my grandfather had requested
in his will that the farms might be leased, having an eye to my
children's profit, rather than to mine. His request was a law to me, and
I had fully determined to offer the unoccupied lands of that estate, or
quite three-fourths of the whole patent, on leases similar in their
conditions to those which had already been granted. On the other hand,
it was the intention to part with the lots of Mooseridge in fee. These
conditions were made known to the axe-men, as my first essay in settling
a new country; and, contrary to what had been my expectation, I soon
discovered that these adventurers inclined more to the leases than to
the deeds. It is true, I expected a small payment down, in the case of
each absolute sale, while I was prepared to grant leases, for three
lives, at very low rents at the best; and in the cases of a large
proportion of the lots, those that were the least eligible by situation,
or through their quality, to grant them leases without any rent at all,
for the first few years of their occupation. These last advantages, and
the opportunity of possessing lands a goodly term of years, for rents
that were put as low as a shilling an acre, were strong inducements, as
I soon discovered, with those who carried all they were worth in their
packs, and who thus reserved the little money they possessed to supply
the wants of their future husbandry.

We talked these matters over during the week we were on board the sloop;
and by the time we came in sight of the steeples of Albany, my men's
minds were made up to follow me to the Nest. These steeples were then
two in number, viz.: that of the English church, that stood near the
margin of the town, against the hill; and that of the Dutch church,
which occupied an humbler site, on the low land, and could scarcely be
seen rising above the pointed roofs of the adjacent houses; though these
last, themselves were neither particularly high nor particularly
imposing.




CHAPTER VII.

    "Who is that graceful female here
    With yon red hunter of the deer?
    Of gentle mien and shape, she seems
      For civil halls design'd;
    Yet with the stately savage walks,
      As she were of his kind."--Pinckney.


I made little stay in Albany, but, giving the direction to the patent to
the axe-men, left it the very day of our arrival. There were very few
public conveyances in that early day, and I was obliged to hire a wagon
to transport Jaap and myself, with our effects, to Ravensnest. A sort of
dull calm had come over the country, after the struggles of the late
war; but one interest in it appearing to be alive and very active. That
interest, fortunately for me, appeared to be the business of
"land-hunting" and "settling." Of this I had sufficient proof in Albany
itself; it being difficult to enter the principal street of that town,
and not find in it more or less of those adventurers, the emblems of
whose pursuit were the pack and the axe. Nine out of ten came from the
Eastern or New England States; then the most peopled, while they were
not very fortunate in either soil or climate.

We were two days in reaching Ravensnest, a property which I had owned
for several years, but which I now saw for the first time. My
grandfather had left a sort of agent on the spot, a person of the name
of Jason Newcome, who was of my father the general's age, and who had
once been a school-master in the neighborhood of Satanstoe. This agent
had leased extensively himself, and was said to be the occupant of the
only mills of any moment on the property. With him a correspondence had
been maintained; and once or twice during the war my father had managed
to have an interview with this representative of his and my interests.
As for myself, I was now to see him for the first time. We knew each
other by reputation only; and certain passages in the agency had induced
me to give Mr. Newcome notice that it was my intention to make a change
in the management of the property.

Any one who is familiar with the aspect of things in what is called a
"new country" in America, must be well aware it is not very inviting.
The lovers of the picturesque can have little satisfaction in looking
even on the finest natural scenery at such moments; the labor that has
been effected usually having done so much to mar the beauties of nature,
without having yet had time to supply the deficiencies by those of art.
Piles of charred or half-burned logs: fields covered with stumps, or
ragged with _stubs_; fences of the rudest sorts, and filled with
brambles; buildings of the meanest character; deserted clearings; and
all the other signs of a state of things in which there is a manifest
and constant struggle between immediate necessity and future expediency,
are not calculated to satisfy either the hopes or the tastes.
Occasionally a different state of things, however, under circumstances
peculiarly favorable, does exist; and it may be well to allude to it,
lest the reader form but a single picture of this transition state of
American life. When the commerce of the country is active, and there is
a demand for the products of new lands, a settlement often presents a
scene of activity in which the elements of a thriving prosperity make
themselves apparent amid the smoke of fallows, and the rudeness of
border life. Neither, however, was the case at Ravensnest when I first
visited the place; though the last was, to a certain extent, its
condition two or three years later, or after the great European war
brought its wheat and ashes into active demand.

I found but few more signs of cultivation, between the point where I
left the great northern road and the bounds of the patent, than had been
found by my father, as he had described them to me in his first visit,
which took place a quarter of a century earlier than this of mine. There
was one log tavern, it is true, in the space mentioned; but it afforded
nothing to drink but rum, and nothing to eat but salted pork and
potatoes, the day I stopped there to dine. But there were times and
seasons when, by means of venison, wild-fowl and fish, a luxurious board
might have been spread. That this was not the opinion of my landlady,
nevertheless, was apparent from the remarks she made while I was at
table.

"You are lucky, Major Littlepage," she said, "in not having come among
us in one of what I call our 'starving times'--and awful times they be,
if a body may say what she thinks on 'em."

"Starvation is a serious matter at any time," I answered, "though I did
not know you were ever reduced to such difficulties in a country as rich
and abundant as this."

"Of what use is riches and abundance if a man will do nothing but fish
and shoot? I've seen the day when there wasn't a mouthful to eat in this
house, but a dozen or two of squabs, a string of brook trout, and maybe
a deer, or a salmon from one of the lakes."

"A little bread would have been a welcome addition to such a meal."

"Oh! as for bread, I count that for nothin'. We always have bread and
potatoes enough; but I hold a family to be in a desperate way, when the
mother can see the bottom of the pork barrel. Give me the children
that's raised on good sound pork, afore all the game in the country.
Game's good as a relish, and so's bread; but pork is the staff of life!
To have good pork, a body must have good corn; and good corn needs
hoeing; and a hoe isn't a fish-pole or a gun. No, my children I
calkerlate to bring up on pork, with just as much bread and butter as
they may want!"

This was American poverty as it existed in 1784. Bread, butter, and
potatoes, _ad libitum_; but little pork, and no tea. Game in abundance
in its season; but the poor man who lived on game was supposed to be
keeping just as poor an establishment as the epicure in town who gives a
dinner to his brethren, and is compelled to apologize for there being no
game in the market. Curious to learn more from this woman, I pursued the
discourse.

"There are countries, I have read," I continued, "in which the poor do
not taste meat of any sort, not even game, from the beginning of the
year to its end; and sometimes not even bread."

"Well, I'm no great hand for bread, as I said afore, and should eat no
great matter of it, so long as I could get pork," the woman answered,
evidently interested in what I had said; "but I shouldn't like to be
without it altogether; and the children, especially, do love to have it
with their butter. Living on potatoes alone must be a wild animal sort
of a life."

"Very tame animals do it, and that from dire necessity."

"Is there any law ag'in their using bread and meat?"

"No other law than the one which forbids their using that which is the
property of another."

"Good land!" This is a very common American expression among the
women--"Good land! Why don't they go to work and get in crops, so they
might live a little?"

"Simply because they have no land to till. The land belongs to others,
too."

"I should think they might hire, if they couldn't buy. It's about as
good to hire as it is to buy--some folks (folk) think it's better. Why
don't they take land on shares, and live?"

"Because land itself is not to be had. With us, land is abundant; we
have more of it than is necessary, or than will be necessary, for ages
to come; perhaps it would be better for our civilization were there less
of it, but, in the countries of which I speak, there are more people
than there is land."

"Well, land is a good thing, I admit, and it's right there should be an
owner to it; yet there are folks who would rather squat than buy or
hire, any day. Squatting comes nat'ral to 'em."

"Are there many squatters in this part of the country?"

The woman looked a little confused, and she did not answer me, until she
had taken time to reflect on what she should say.

"Some folks call _us_ squatters, I s'pose," was the reluctant answer,
"but _I_ do not. We have bought the betterments of a man who hadn't much
of a title, I think likely; but as _we_ bought his betterments fairly,
Mr. Tinkum"--that was the husband's name--"is of opinion that we live
under title, as it is called. What do you say to it, Major Littlepage?"

"I can only say that naught will produce naught; nothing, nothing. If
the man of whom you purchased owned nothing, he could sell nothing. The
betterments he called his, were not his; and in purchasing them, you
purchased what he did not own."

"Well, it's no great shakes, if he hadn't any right, sin' Tinkum only
gi'n an old saddle, that warn't worth two dollars, and part of a set of
single harness, that I'd defy a conjuror to make fit any mule, for the
whull right. One year's rent of this house is worth all put together,
and that twice over, if the truth must be said; and we've been in it,
now seven years. My four youngest were all born under this blessed roof,
such as it is!"

"In that case, you will not have much reason to complain, when the real
owner of the soil appears to claim it. The betterments came cheap, and
they will go as cheap."

"That's just it; though I don't call ourselves much of squatters, a'ter
all, seein' we _have_ paid suthin' for the betterments. They say an old
nail, paid in due form, will make a sort of title in the highest court
of the state. I'm sure the laws should be considerate of the poor."

"Not more so than of the rich. The laws should be equal and just; and
the poor are the last people who ought to wish them otherwise, since
they are certain to be the losers when any other principle governs. Rely
on it, my good woman, the man who is forever preaching the rights of the
poor is at bottom a rogue, and means to make that cry a stalking-horse
for his own benefit; since nothing can serve the poor but severe
justice. No class suffers so much by a departure from the rule, as the
rich have a thousand other means of attaining their ends, when the way
is left clear to them, by setting up any other master than the right."

"I don't know but it may be so; but I don't call ourselves squatters.
There is dreadful squatters about here, though, and on your lands too,
by the tell."

"On my lands? I am sorry to hear it, for I shall feel it a duty to get
rid of them. I very well know that the great abundance of land that we
have in the country, its little comparative value, and the distance at
which the owners generally reside from their estates, have united to
render the people careless of the rights of those who possess real
property; and I am prepared to view things as they are among ourselves,
rather than as they exist in older countries; but I shall not tolerate
squatters."

"Well, by all I hear, I think you'll call old Andries, the Chainbearer,
a squatter of the first class. They tell me the old chap has come back
from the army as fierce as a catamount, and that there is no speaking to
him, as one used to could, in old times."

"You are, then, an old acquaintance of the Chainbearer?"

"I should think I was! Tinkum and I have lived about, a good deal, in
our day; and old Andries is a desp'ate hand for the woods. He surveyed
out for us, once, or half-surveyed, another betterment; but he proved to
be a spiteful rogue afore he got through with the business; and we have
not set much store by him ever sin' that time."

"The Chainbearer a rogue! Andries Coejemans any thing but an honest man!
You are the first person, Mrs. Tinkum, I have ever heard call in
question his sterling integrity."

"Sterling money doesn't pass now, I conclude, sin' it's revolution
times. We all know which side your family was on in the war, Major
Littlepage; so it's no offence to you. A proper sharp lookout they had
of it here, when you quit college; for some said old Herman Mordaunt had
ordered in his will that you should uphold the king; and then, most of
the tenants concluded _they_ would get the lands altogether. It is a
sweet thing, major, for a tenant to get his farm without paying for it,
as you may judge! Some folks was desp'ate sorry when they heern tell
that the Littlepages went with the colonies."

"I hope there are few such knaves on the Ravensnest estate as to wish
anything of the sort. But, let me hear an explanation of your charge
against the Chainbearer. I have no great concern for my own rights in
the patent that I claim."

The woman had the audacity, or the frankness, to draw a long, regretful
sigh, as it might be, in my very face. That sigh expressed her regrets
that I had not taken part with the crown in the last struggle; in which
case, I do suppose, she and Tinkum would have contrived to squat on one
of the farms of Ravensnest. Having sighed, however, the landlady did not
disdain to answer.

"As for the Chainbearer, the simple truth is this," she said. "Tinkum
hired him to run a line between some betterments we had bought, and some
that had been bought by a neighbor of our'n. This was long afore the
war, and when titles were scarcer than they're gettin' to be now, some
of the landlords living across the water. Well, what do you think the
old fellow did, major? He first asked for our deeds, and we showed them
to him; as good and lawful warrantees as was ever printed and filled up
by a 'squire. He then set to work, all by himself, jobbing the whull
survey, as it might be, and a prettier line was never run, as far as he
went, which was about half-way. I thought it would make etarnel peace
atween us and our neighbor, for it had been etarnel war afore that, for
three whull years; sometimes with clubs, and sometimes with axes, and
once with scythes. But, somehow--I never know'd _how_--but _somehow_,
old Andries found out that the man who deeded to us had no deed to
himself, or no mortal right to the land, any more than that sucking pig
you see at the door there; when he gi'n right up, refusing to carry out
another link, or p'int another needle, he did! Warn't that being
cross-grained and wilful! No, there's no dependence to be put on the
Chainbearer."

"Wilful in the cause of right, as glorious old Andries always is! I love
and honor him all the better for it."

"La! Do you love and honor sich a one as him! Well, I should have
expected suthin' else from sich a gentleman as you! I'd no idee Major
Littlepage could honor an old, worn-out chainbearer, and he a man that
couldn't get up in the world, too, when he had hands and feet, all on
'em together on some of the very best rounds of the ladder! Why, I judge
that even Tinkum would have gone ahead, if he had been born with sich a
chance."

"Andries has been a captain in my own regiment, it is true, and was once
my superior officer; but he served for his country's sake, and not for
his own. Have you seen him lately?"

"That we have! He passed here about a twelvemonth ago, with his whull
party, on their way to squat on your own land, or I'm mistaken. There
was the Chainbearer himself, two helpers, Dus and young Malbone."

"Young who?" I asked, with an interest that induced the woman to turn
her keen, sunken, but sharp gray eyes, intently on me.

"Young Malbone, I said; Dus's brother, and the youngster who does all
old Andries's 'rithmetic. I suppose you know as well as I do, that the
Chainbearer can't calkerlate any more than a wild goose, and not half as
well as a crow. For that matter, I've known crows that, in plantin'
time, would measure a field in half the number of minutes that the state
surveyor would be hours at it."

"This young Malbone, then, is the Chainbearer's nephew? And he it is who
does the surveying?"

"He does the 'rithmetic part, and he is a brother of old Andries's
niece. I know'd the Coejemans when I was a gal, and I've known the
Malbones longer than I want to know them."

"Have you any fault to find with the family, that you speak thus of
them?"

"Nothin' but their desperate pride, which makes them think themselves so
much better than everybody else; yet, they tell me, Dus and all on 'em
are just as poor as I am myself."

"Perhaps you mistake their feeling, good woman; a thing I think the more
probable, as you seem to fancy money the source of their pride, at the
very moment you deny their having any. Money is a thing on which few
persons of cultivated minds pride themselves. The purse-proud are,
almost invariably, the vulgar and ignorant."

No doubt this was a moral thrown away with such an auditor; but I was
provoked; and when a man is provoked, he is not always wise. The answer
showed the effect it had produced.

"I don't pretend to know how that is; but if it isn't pride, what is it
that makes Dus Malbone so different from my da'ters? She'd no more think
of being like one on 'em, scouring about the lots, riding bare-backed,
and scampering through the neighborhood, than you'd think of cooking my
dinner--that she wouldn't."

Poor Mrs. Tinkum--or, as she would have been apt to call herself, _Miss_
Tinkum! She had betrayed one of the commonest weaknesses of human
nature, in thus imputing pride to the Chainbearer's niece because the
latter behaved differently from her and hers. How many persons in this
good republic of ours judge their neighbors on precisely the same
principle; inferring something unsuitable, because it _seems_ to reflect
on their own behavior! But by this time, I had got to hear the name of
Dus with some interest, and I felt disposed to push the subject further.

"Miss Malbone, then," I said, "does _not_ ride bare-back?"

"La! major, what in natur' puts it into your head to call the gal _Miss_
Malbone! There's no Miss Malbone living sin' her own mother died."

"Well, Dus Malbone, I mean; she is above riding bare-backed?"

"That she is; even a pillion would be hardly grand enough for her,
allowing her own brother to use the saddle."

"Her own brother! This young surveyor, then, _is_ Dus's brother?"

"Sort o', and sort o' not, like. They had the same father, but different
mothers."

"That explains it; I never heard the Chainbearer speak of any nephew,
and it seems the young man is not related to him at all--he is the
_half_-brother of his niece."

"Why can't that niece behave like other young women? that's the question
I ask. My girls hasn't as much pride as would be good for 'em, not they!
If a body wants to borrow an article over at the Nest, and that's seven
miles off, the whull way in the woods, just name it to Poll, and she'd
jump on an ox, if there warn't a hoss, and away she'd go a'ter it, with
no more bit of a saddle, and may be nothin' but a halter, like a deer!
Give me Poll, afore all the gals I know, for ar'nds?"

By this time, disrelish for vulgarity was getting the better of
curiosity; and my dinner of fried pork being done, I was willing to drop
the discourse. I had learned enough of Andries and his party to satisfy
my curiosity, and Jaap was patiently waiting to succeed me at the table.
Throwing down the amount of the bill, I took a fowling-piece, with which
we always travelled in those days, bade Mrs. Tinkum good-day, ordered
the black and the wagoner to follow with the team as soon as ready, and
went on toward my own property on foot.

In a very few minutes I was quite beyond the Tinkum betterments, and
fairly in the forest again. It happened that the title to a large tract
of land adjoining Ravensnest was in dispute, and no attempt at a serious
settlement had ever been made on it. Some one had "squatted" at this
spot, to enjoy the advantage of selling rum to those who went and came
between my own people and the inner country; and the place had changed
hands half a dozen times, by fraudulent, or at least, by worthless
sales, from one squatter to another. Around the house, by this time a
decaying pile of logs, time had done a part of the work of the settler,
and aided by that powerful servant but fearful master, fire, had given
to the small clearing somewhat of the air of civilized cultivation. The
moment these narrow limits were passed, however, the traveller entered
the virgin forest, with no other sign of man around him than what was
offered in the little worked and little travelled road. The highway was
not much indebted to the labors of man for any facilities it afforded
the traveller. The trees had been cut out of it, it is true, but their
roots had not been extracted, and time had done more toward destroying
them than the axe or the pick. Time _had_ done a good deal, however, and
the inequalities were getting to be smooth under the hoof and wheel. A
tolerably good bridle-path had long been made, and I found no difficulty
in walking in it, since that answered equally well for man and beast.

The virgin forest of America is usually no place for the ordinary
sportsman. The birds that are called game are but rarely found in it,
one or two excepted; and it is a well-known fact that while the
frontier-man is certain death with a rifle-bullet, knocking the head off
a squirrel or a wild turkey at his sixty or eighty yards, it is
necessary to go into the older parts of the country, and principally
among sportsmen of the better classes, in order to find those who knock
over the woodcock, snipe, quail, grouse, and plover, on the wing. I was
thought a good shot on the "plains," and over the heaths or commons of
the Island of Manhattan, and among the rocks of Westchester; but I saw
nothing to do up there, where I then was, surrounded by trees that had
stood there centuries. It would certainly have been easy enough for me
to kill a blue jay now and then, or a crow, or even a raven, or perhaps
an eagle, had I the proper shot; but as for anything that is ordinarily
thought to adorn a game-bag, not a feather could I see. For the want of
something better to do, then, if a young man of three or four and twenty
ought thus to express himself, I began to ruminate on the charms of Pris
Bayard, and on the singularities of Dus Malbone. In this mood I
proceeded, getting over the grounds at a rapid rate, leaving Miss
Tinkum, the clearing with its betterments, and the wagon, far behind me.

I had walked an hour alone, when the silence of the woods was suddenly
interrupted by the words of a song that came not from any of the
feathered race, though the nightingale itself could hardly have equalled
the sweetness of the notes, which were those of a female voice. The low
notes struck me as the fullest, richest, and most plaintive I had ever
heard; and I fancied they could not be equalled, until the strain
carried the singer's voice into a higher key, where it seemed equally at
home. I thought I knew the air, but the words were guttural, and in an
unknown tongue. French and Dutch were the only two foreign languages in
which one usually heard any music in our part of the woods at that day;
and even the first was by no means common. But with both these languages
I had a little acquaintance, and I was soon satisfied that the words I
heard belonged to neither. At length it flashed on my mind that the song
was Indian; not the music, but the words. The music was certainly
Scotch, or that altered Italian that time has attributed to the Scotch;
and there was a moment when I fancied some Highland girl was singing
near me one of the Celtic songs of the country of her childhood. But
closer attention satisfied me that the words were really Indian;
probably belonging to the Mohawk, or some other language that I had
often heard spoken.

The reader may be curious to know whence these sounds proceeded, and why
I did not see the being who gave birth to such delicious harmony. It was
owing to the fact that the song came from out of a thicket of young
pines, that grew on an ancient opening at a little distance from the
road, and which I supposed contained a hut of some sort or other. These
pines, however, completely concealed all within them. So long as the
song lasted, no tree of the forest was more stationary than myself; but
when it ended, I was about to advance toward the thicket, in order to
pry into its mysteries, when I heard a laugh that had scarcely less of
melody in it than the strains of the music itself. It was not a vulgar,
clamorous burst of girlish impulses, nor was it even loud; but it was
light-hearted, mirthful, indicating humor, if a mere laugh _can_ do so
much; and in a sense it was contagious. It arrested my movement, in
order to listen; and before any new impulse led me forward, the branches
of the pines opened, and a man passed out of the thicket into the road.
A single glance sufficed to let me know that the stranger was an Indian.

Notwithstanding I was apprised of the near vicinity of others, I was a
little startled with this sudden apparition. Not so with him who was
approaching; he could not have known of my being anywhere near him; yet
he manifested no emotion as his cold, undisturbed glance fell on my
form. Steadily advancing, he came to the centre of the road; and, as I
had turned involuntarily to pursue my own way, not sure it was prudent
to remain in that neighborhood alone, the red man fell in, with his
moccasined foot, at my elbow, and I found that we were thus strangely
pursuing our journey, in the same direction, side by side.

The Indian and myself walked in this manner, within a yard of each
other, in the midst of that forest, for two or three minutes without
speaking. I forbore to say anything, because I had heard that an Indian
respected those most who knew best how to repress their curiosity; which
habit, most probably, had its effect on my companion. At length, the red
man uttered, in the deep, guttural manner of his people, the common
conventional salutation of the frontier--

"Sa-a-go?"

This word, which has belonged to some Indian language once, passes
everywhere for Indian with the white man; and, quite likely for English,
with the Indian. A set of such terms has grown up between the two races,
including such words as "moccasin," "pappoose," "tomahawk," "squaw," and
many others. "Sa-a-go," means "how d'ye do?"

"Sa-a-go?"--I answered to my neighbor's civil salutation.

After this we walked along for a few minutes more, neither party
speaking. I took this opportunity to examine my red brother, an
employment that was all the easier from the circumstance that he did not
once look at me; the single glance sufficing to tell him all he wanted
to know. In the first place, I was soon satisfied that my companion did
not drink, a rare merit in a red man who lived near the whites. This was
evident from his countenance, gait, and general bearing, as I thought,
in addition to the fact that he possessed no bottle, or anything else
that would hold liquor. What I liked the least was the circumstance of
his being completely armed; carrying knife, tomahawk, and rifle, and
each seemingly excellent of its kind. He was not painted, however, and
he wore an ordinary calico shirt, as was then the usual garb of his
people in the warm season. The countenance had the stern severity that
is so common to a red warrior; and, as this man was turned of fifty, his
features began to show the usual signs of exposure and service. Still,
he was a vigorous, respectable-looking red man, and one who was
evidently accustomed to live much among civilized men. I had no serious
uneasiness, of course, at meeting such a person, although we were so
completely buried in the forest but, as a soldier, I could not help
reflecting how inferior my fowling-piece would necessarily prove to be
to his rifle should he see fit to turn aside, and pull upon me from
behind a tree, for the sake of plunder. Tradition said such things had
happened; though, on the whole, the red man of America has perhaps
proved to be the most honest of the two, as compared with those who have
supplanted him.

"How ole chief?" the Indian suddenly asked, without even raising his
eyes from the road.

"Old chief! Do you mean Washington, my friend?"

"Not so--mean ole chief, out here, at Nest. Mean fader."

"My father! Do you know General Littlepage?"

"Be sure, know him. Your fader--see"--holding up his two
forefingers--"just like--dat him; dis you."

"This is singular enough! And were you told that I was coming to this
place?"

"Hear dat, too. Always talk about chief."

"Is it long since you saw my father?"

"See him in war-time--nebber hear of ole Sureflint?"

I had heard the officers of our regiment speak of such an Indian, who
had served a good deal with the corps, and been exceedingly useful, in
the two great northern campaigns especially. He never happened to be
with the regiment after I joined it, though his name and services were a
good deal mixed up with the adventures of 1776 and 1777.

"Certainly," I answered, shaking the red man cordially by the hand.
"Certainly, have I heard of you, and something that is connected with
times before the war. Did you never meet my father before the war?"

"Sartain; meet in _ole_ war. Gin'ral young man, den--just like son."

"By what name were you then known, Oneida?"

"No Oneida--Onondago--sober tribe. Hab plenty name. Sometime one,
sometime anoder. Pale-face say 'Trackless,' cause he can't find his
trail--warrior call him 'Susquesus.'"




CHAPTER VIII.

    "With what free growth the elm and plane
      Fling their huge arms across my way;
    Gray, old, and cumber'd with a train
      Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray!
    Free stray the lucid streams, and find
      No taint in these fresh lawns and shades;
    Free spring the flowers that scent the wind,
      Where never scythe has swept the glades."--BRYANT.


I had heard enough of my father's early adventures to know that the man
mentioned in the last chapter had been a conspicuous actor in them, and
remembered that the latter enjoyed the fullest confidence of the former.
It was news to me, however, that Sureflint and the Trackless were the
same person; though, when I came to reflect on the past, I had some
faint recollection of having once before heard something of the sort. At
any rate, I was now with a friend, and no longer thought it necessary to
be on my guard. This was a great relief, in every point of view, as one
does not like to travel at the side of a stranger, with an impression,
however faint, that the latter may blow his brains out, the first time
he ventures to turn his own head aside.

Susquesus was drawing near to the decline of life. Had he been a white
man, I might have said he was in a "green old age;" but the term of
"_red_ old age" would suit him much better. His features were still
singularly fine; while the cheeks, without being very full, had that
indurated, solid look, that flesh and muscles get from use and exposure.
His form was as erect as in his best days, a red man's frame rarely
yielding in this way to any pressure but that of exceeding old age, and
that of rum. Susquesus never admitted the enemy into his mouth, and
consequently the citadel of his physical man was secure against every
invader but time. In-toed and yielding in his gait, the old warrior and
runner still passed over the ground with an easy movement; and when I
had occasion to see him increase his speed, as soon after occurred, I
did not fail to perceive that his sinews seemed strung to their utmost
force, and that every movement was free.

For a time, the Indian and I talked of the late war, and of the scenes
in which each of us had been an actor. If my own modesty was as obvious
as that of Sureflint, I had no reason to be dissatisfied with myself;
for the manner in which he alluded to events in which I knew he had been
somewhat prominent, was simple and entirely free from that boasting in
which the red man is prone to indulge; more especially when he wishes to
provoke his enemies. At length I changed the current of the discourse,
by saying abruptly:

"You were not alone in that pine thicket, Susquesus; that from which you
came when you joined me?"

"No--sartain; wasn't alone. Plenty people dere."

"Is there an encampment of your tribe among those bushes?"

A shade passed over the dark countenance of my companion, and I saw a
question had been asked that gave him pain. He paused some little time
before he answered; and when he did, it was in a way that seemed sad.

"Susquesus got tribe no longer. Quit Onondagos t'irty summer, now; don't
like Mohawk."

"I remember to have heard something of this from my father, who told me
at the same time, that the reason why you left your people was to your
credit. But you had music in the thicket?"

"Yes; gal sing--gal love sing; warrior like to listen."

"And the song? In what language were the words?"

"Onondago," answered the Indian, in a low tone.

"I had no idea the music of the red people was so sweet. It is many a
day since I have heard a song that went so near to my heart, though I
could not understand what was said."

"Bird, pretty bird--sing like wren."

"And is there much of this music in your family, Susquesus? If so, I
shall come often to listen."

"Why not come? Path got no briar; short path, too. Gal sing, when you
want."

"Then I shall certainly be your guest, some day, soon. Where do you
live, now? Are you Sureflint, or Trackless, to-day? I see you are armed,
but not painted."

"Hatchet buried berry deep, dis time. No dig him up, in great many year.
Mohawk make peace; Oneida make peace; Onondago make peace--all bury 'e
hatchet."

"Well, so much the better for us landholders. I have come to sell and
lease my lands; perhaps you can tell me if many young men are out
hunting for farms this summer?"

"Wood full. Plenty as pigeons. How you sell land?"

"That will depend on where it is, and how good it is. Do you wish to
buy, Trackless?"

"Injin own all land, for what he want now. I make wigwam where I want;
make him, too, when I want."

"I know very well that you Indians do claim such a right; and, so long
as the country remains in its present wild state, no one will be apt to
refuse it to you. But you cannot plant and gather, as most of your
people do in their own country."

"Got no squaw--got no papoose--little corn do for Susquesus. No
tribe--no squaw--no pappose!"

This was said in a low, deliberate voice, and with a species of manly
melancholy that I found very touching. Complaining men create very
little sympathy, and those who whine are apt to lose our respect; but I
know no spectacle more imposing than that of one of stern nature
smothering his sorrows beneath the mantle of manliness and self-command.

"You have friends, Susquesus," I answered, "if you have no wife nor
children."

"Fader, good friend; hope son friend, too. Grandfader great friend,
once; but he gone far away, and nebber come back. Know moder, know
fader--all good."

"Take what land you want, Trackless--till it, sell it--do what you wish
with it."

The Indian eyed me keenly, and I detected a slight smile of pleasure
stealing over his weather-worn face. It was not easy to throw him off
his habitual guard over his emotions, however; and the gleam of
illumination passed away, like a ray of sunshine in mid-winter. The
sternest white man might have grasped my hand, and something like a sign
of gratitude would probably have escaped him; but, the little trace of
emotion I have mentioned having disappeared, nothing remained on the
dark visage of my companion that in the least resembled an evidence of
yielding to any of the gentler feelings. Nevertheless, he was too
courteous, and had too much of the innate sentiment of a gentleman, not
to make some return for an offer that had so evidently and spontaneously
come from the heart.

"Good"--he said, after a long pause. "Berry good, dat; good, to come
from young warrior to ole warrior. T'ankee--bird plenty; fish plenty;
message plenty, now; and don't want land. Time come, maybe--s'pose he
must come--come to all old red men, hereabout; so s'pose _must_ come."

"What time do you mean, Trackless? Let it come when it may, you have a
friend in me. What time do you mean, my brave old Sureflint?"

The Trackless stopped, dropped the breech of his rifle on the ground,
and stood meditating a minute, motionless, and as grand as some fine
statue.

"Yes; time come, _do_ s'pose," he continued. "One time, ole warrior live
in wigwam, and tell young warrior of scalp, and council-fire, and hunt,
and war-path; _now_, make _broom_ and _basket_."

It was not easy to mistake this; and I do not remember ever to have felt
so lively an interest, on so short an acquaintance, as I began to feel
in this Onondago. Priscilla Bayard herself, however lovely, graceful,
winning, and feminine, had not created a feeling so strong and animated,
as that which was awakened within me in behalf of old Sureflint. But I
fully understood that this was to be shown in acts, and not in words.
Contenting myself for the present, after the fashion of the pale-faces,
by grasping and squeezing the sinewy hand of the warrior, we walked on
together, making no farther allusion to a subject that I can truly say
was as painful to me as it was to my companion.

"I have heard your name mentioned as one of those who were at the Nest
with my father when he was a young man, Susquesus," I resumed, "and when
the Canada Indians attempted to burn the house."

"Good--Susquesus dere--young Dutch chief kill dat time."

"Very true--his name was Guert Ten Eyke; and my father and mother, and
your old friend Colonel Follock, who was afterward major of our
regiment, you will remember, they love his memory to this day, as that
of a very dear friend."

"Dat all, love memory now?" asked the Indian, throwing one of his
keenest glances at me.

I understood the allusion, which was to aunt Mary, whom I had heard
spoken of as the betrothed, or at least as the beloved of the young
Albanian.

"Not all; for there is a lady who still mourns his loss, as if she had
been his widow."

"Good--do' squaw don't mourn fery long time. Sometime not always."

"Pray, Trueflint, do you happen to know any thing of a man called the
Chainbearer? He was in the regiment, too, and you must have seen him in
the war."

"Sartain--know Chainbearer--know him on war-path--know him when hatchet
buried. Knew Chainbearer afore ole French war. Live in wood wid him--one
of _us_. Chainbearer _my_ friend."

"I rejoice to hear this, for he is also mine; and I shall be glad to
come into the compact, as a friend of both."

"Good--Susquesus and young landlord friend of Chainbearer--good."

"It is good, and a league that shall not be forgotten easily by me. The
Chainbearer is as honest as light, and as certain as his own compass,
Trueflint--true, as yourself."

"'Fraid he make broom 'fore great while, too," said the Indian,
expressing the regret I have no doubt he felt, very obviously in his
countenance.

Poor old Andries! But for the warm and true friends he had in my father,
Colonel Dirck, and myself, there was some danger this might be the case,
indeed. The fact that he had served his country in a revolution would
prove of little avail, that country being too poor to provide for its
old servants, and possibly indisposed, had she the means.[7] I say this
without intending to reflect on either the people or the government; for
it is not easy to make the men of the present day understand the deep
depression, in a pecuniary sense, that rested on the land for a year or
two after peace was made. It recovered, as the child recovers from
indisposition, by the vigor of its constitution and the power of its
vitality; and one of the means by which it recovered, was by turning to
the soil, and wielding the sickle instead of the sword. To continue the
discourse:

[Footnote 7: This must pass for one of the hits the republic is exposed
to, partly because it deserves them, and partly because it is a
republic. One hears a great deal of this ingratitude of republics, but
few take the trouble of examining into the truth of the charge, or its
reason, if true. I suppose the charge to be true in part, and for the
obvious reason that a government founded on the popular will, is
necessarily impulsive in such matters, and feels no necessity to be
just, in order to be secure. Then, a democracy is always subject to the
influence of the cant of economy, which is next thing to the evil of
being exposed to the waste and cupidity of those who take because they
have the power. As respects the soldiers of the revolution, however,
America, under the impulsive feeling, rather than in obedience to a
calm, deliberate desire to be just, has, since the time of Mr. Mordaunt
Littlepage, made such a liberal provision for pensioning them,
as to include a good many of her enemies, as well as all her
friends.--EDITOR.]

"The Chainbearer is an honest man, and, like too many of his class,
poor," I answered; "but he has friends; and neither he nor you,
Sureflint, shall be reduced to that woman's work without your own
consent, so long as I have an unoccupied house, or a farm, at
Ravensnest."

Again the Indian manifested his sense of my friendship for him by that
passing gleam on his dark face; and again all signs of emotion passed
slowly away.

"How long since see him?" he asked me suddenly.

"See him--the Chainbearer, do you mean? I have not seen him, now, for
more than a twelvemonth; not since we parted when the regiment was
disbanded."

"Don't mean Chainbearer--mean _him_," pointing ahead--"house, tree,
farm, land, Nest."

"Oh! How long is it since I saw the patent? I never saw it, Sureflint;
this is my first visit."

"Dat queer! How you own land, when nebber see him?"

"Among the pale-faces we have such laws, that property passes from
parent to child; and I inherit mine in this neighborhood, from my
grandfather, Herman Mordaunt."

"What dat mean, 'herit? How man haf land, when he don't keep him?"

"We do keep it, if not by actually remaining on the spot, by means of
our laws and our titles. The pale-faces regulate all these things on
paper, Sureflint."

"T'ink dat good? Why no let man take land where he want him, _when_ he
want him? Plenty land. Got more land dan got people. 'Nough for
ebberybody."

"That fact makes our laws just; if there were not land enough for
everybody, these restrictions and divisions might seem to be, and in
fact be, unjust. Now, any man can have a farm, who will pay a very
moderate price for it. The state sells, and landlords sell; and those
who don't choose to buy of one can buy of the other."

"Dat true 'nough; but don't see need of dat paper. When he want to stay
on land, let him stay; when he want to go somewhere, let 'noder man
come. What good pay for betterment?"

"So as to have betterments. These are what we call the rights of
property, without which no man would aim at being anything more than
clad and fed. Who would hunt, if anybody that came along had a right to
pick up and skin his game?"

"See dat well 'nough--nebber do; no, nebber. Don't see why land go like
skin, when skin go wid warrior and hunter, and land stay where he be."

"That is because the riches of you red men are confined to movable
property, and to your wigwams, so long as you choose to live in them.
Thus far, you respect the rights of property as well as the pale-faces;
but you must see a great difference between your people and mine!
between the red man and the white man?"

"Be sure, differ; one strong, t'oder weak--one rich, t'oder poor--one
great, t'oder little--one drive 'way, t'oder haf to go--one get all,
t'oder keep nuttin'--one march large army, t'oder go Indian file, fifty
warrior, p'raps--_dat_ reason t'ing so."

"And why can the pale-faces march in large armies, with cannon, and
horses, and bayonets, and the red man not do the same?"

"Cause he no got 'em--no got warrior--no got gun--no got baggonet--no
got nuttin'."

"You have given the effect for the cause, Sureflint, or the consequences
of the reason for the reason itself. I hope I make you understand me.
Listen, and I will explain. You have lived much with the white men,
Susquesus, and can believe what I say. There are good, and there are
bad, among all people. Color makes no difference in this respect. Still,
all people are not alike. The white man is stronger than the red man,
and has taken away his country, because he _knows_ most."

"He most, too. Count army, den count war-trail; you see."

"It is true the pale-faces are the most numerous, now; but once they
were not. Do not your traditions tell you how few the Yangeese were,
when they first came across the salt lake?"

"Come in big canoe--two, t'ree full--no more."

"Why then did two or three shipfuls of white men become so strong as to
drive back from the sea all the red warriors, and become masters of the
land? Can you give a reason for that?"

"'Cause he bring fire-water wid him, and red man big fool to drink."

"Even that fire-water, which doubtless has proved a cruel gift to the
Indians, is one of the fruits of the white man's knowledge. No,
Susquesus; the redskin is as brave as the pale-face; as willing to
defend his rights, and as able-bodied; but he does not know as much. He
had no gunpowder until the white man gave it to him--no rifle--no hoe,
no knife, no tomahawk, but such as he made himself from stones. Now, all
the knowledge, and all the arts of life that the white man enjoys and
turns to his profit, come from the rights of property. No man would
build a wigwam to make rifles in, if he thought he could not keep it as
long as he wished, sell it when he pleased, and leave it to his son when
he went to the land of spirits. It is by encouraging man's love of
himself, in this manner, that he is got to do so much. Thus it is, too,
that the father gives to the son what he has learned, as well as what he
has built or bought; and so, in time, nations get to be powerful, as
they get to be what we called civilized. Without these rights of
property, no people could be civilized; for no people would do their
utmost, unless each man were permitted to be master of what he can
acquire, subject to the great and common laws that are necessary to
regulate such matters. I hope you understand my meaning, Trackless."

"Sartain--no like Trackless' moccasin--my young friend's tongue leave
trail. But you t'ink Great Spirit say who shall haf land; who no haf
him?"

"The Great Spirit has created man as he is, and the earth as it is; and
he has left the one to be master of the other. If it were not his
pleasure that man should not do as he has done, it would not be done.
Different laws and different feelings would then bring about different
ends. When the law places all men on a level, as to rights, it does as
much as can be expected of it. Now, this level does not consist in
pulling everything to pieces periodically, but in respecting certain
great principles that are just in themselves; but which, once started,
must be left to follow their own course. When the rights of property are
first established, they must be established fairly, on some admitted
rule; after which they are to remain inviolable--that is to say,
sacred."

"Understand--no live in clearin' for nuttin'. Mean, haf no head widout
haf farm."

"That is the meaning, substantially, Sureflint; though I might have
explained it a little differently. I wish to say pale-faces would be
like the red man without civilization; and without civilization if they
had no rights in their land. No one will work for another as he will
work for himself. We see that every day, in the simplest manner, when we
see that the desire to get good wages will not make the common laborer
do as much by the day as he will do by the job."

"Dat true," answered the Indian, smiling; for he seldom laughed; and
repeating a common saying of the country--"By--de--day--by--de--day--By
de job, job, job! Dat pale-face religion, young chief."

"I don't know that our religion has much to do with it; but I will own
it is our practice. I fancy it is the same with all races and colors. A
man must work for himself to do his most; and he cannot work for himself
unless he enjoy the fruits of his labor. Thus it is, that he must have a
right of property in land, either bought or hired, in order to make him
cause that land to produce all that nature intended it should produce.
On this necessity is founded the rights of property; the gain being
civilization; the loss ignorance, and poverty, and weakness. It is for
this reason, then, that we buy and sell land, as well as clothes and
arms, and beads."

"T'ink, understand. Great Spirit, den, say must have farm?"

"The Great Spirit has said we must have wants and wishes, that can be
met, or gratified only by having farms. To have farms we must have
owners; and owners cannot exist unless their rights in their lands are
protected. As soon as these are gone, the whole building would tumble
down about our ears, Susquesus."

"Well, s'pose him so. We see, some time. Young chief know where he is?"

"Not exactly; but I suppose we are drawing near to the lands of
Ravensnest."

"Well, queer 'nough, too! Own land, but don't know him. See--marked
tree--dat sign your land begin."

"Thank you, Sureflint--a parent would not know his own child, when he
saw him for the first time. If I am owner here, you will remember that
this is my first visit to the spot."

While conversing, the Trackless had led me from the highway into a
foot-path, which, as I afterward discovered, made a short-cut across
some hills, and saved us near two miles in the distance. In consequence
of this change in our course, Jaap could not have overtaken me, had he
moved faster than he did; but, owing to the badness of the road, our
gait on foot was somewhat faster than that of the jaded beasts who
dragged the wagon. My guide knew the way perfectly; and, as we ascended
a hill, he pointed out the remains of an old fire, near a spring, as a
spot where he was accustomed to "camp," when he wished to remain near,
but not _in_ the 'Nest.

"Too much rum in tavern," he said. "No good stay near rum."

This was extraordinary forbearance for an Indian; but Susquesus, I had
ever understood, was an extraordinary Indian. Even for an Onondago, he
was temperate and self-denying. The reason why he lived away from his
tribe was a secret from most persons; though I subsequently ascertained
it was known to the Chainbearer, as well as my father. Old Andries
always affirmed it was creditable to his friend; but he would never
betray the secret. Indeed, I found that the sympathy which existed
between these two men, each of whom was so singular in his way, was
cemented by some occurrences of their early lives, to which occasional,
but vague allusions were made, but which neither ever revealed to me, or
to any other person, so far as I could ascertain.

Soon after passing the spring, Sureflint led me out to a cleared spot on
the eminence, which commanded an extensive view of most of that part of
my possessions which was under lease and occupied. Here we halted,
seating ourselves on a fallen tree, for which one could never go amiss
in that region, and at that day; and I examined the view with the
interest which ownership is apt to create in us all. The earth is very
beautiful in itself; but it is most beautiful in the eye of those who
have the largest stake in it, I fear.

Although the property of Ravensnest had been settled fully thirty years
when I first saw it, none of those signs of rapid and energetic
improvement were visible that we have witnessed in the efforts of
similar undertakings since the Revolution. Previously to that great
event, the country filled up very slowly, and each colony seemed to
regard itself, in some measure, as a distinct country. Thus it was that
we in New York obtained very few immigrants from New England, that great
hive which has so often swarmed since, and the bees of which have
carried their industry and ingenuity over so much of the republic in our
own time. We of New York have our prejudices against the Yankees, and
have long looked upon them with eyes of distrust and disfavor. They have
repaid us in kind, perhaps; but their dislikes have not been strong
enough to prevent them from coming to take possession of our lands. For
my own part, while I certainly see much in the New England character
that I do not like (more in their manners and minor ways, perhaps, than
in essentials), I as certainly see a great deal to command my respect.
If the civilization that they carry with them is not of a very high
order, as is connected with the tastes, sentiments, and nicer feelings,
it is superior to that of any other country I have visited, in its
common-sense provisions, and in its care over the intellectual being,
considered in reference to the foundations of learning. More persons are
dragged from out the mire of profound ignorance under their system, than
under that of any other people; and a greater number of candidates are
brought forward for intellectual advancements. That so few of these
candidates rise very high in the scale of knowledge, is in part owing to
the circumstance that their lives are so purely practical; and,
possibly, in part to the fact that while so much attention has been paid
to the foundations of the social edifice, that little art or care has as
yet been expended on the superstructure. Nevertheless, the millions of
Yankees that are spreading themselves over the land, are producing, and
have already produced, a most salutary influence on its practical
knowledge, on its enterprise, on its improvements, and consequently on
its happiness. If they have not done much for its tastes, its manners,
and its higher principles, it is because no portion of the earth is
perfect. I am fully aware that this is conceding more than my own father
would have conceded in their favor, and twice as much as could have been
extracted from either of my grandfathers. But prejudice is wearing away,
and the Dutchman and the Yankee, in particular, find it possible to live
in proximity and charity. It is possible that my son may be willing to
concede even more. Our immigrant friends should remember one thing,
however, and it would render them much more agreeable as companions and
neighbors, which is this:--he who migrates is bound to respect the
habits and opinions of those whom he joins; it not being sufficient for
the perfection of everything under the canopy of heaven, that it should
come from our own little corner of the earth. Even the pumpkin-pies of
the Middle States are vastly better than those usually found in New
England. To return to Ravensnest.

The thirty years of the settlement of my patent, then, had not done much
for it, in the way of works of art. Time, it is true, had effected
something, and it was something in a manner that was a little peculiar,
and which might be oftener discovered in the country at the time of
which I am writing, than at the present day. The timber of the 'Nest,
with the exception of some mountain-land, was principally what, in
American parlance, is termed "hard wood." In other words, the trees were
not perennial, but deciduous; and the merest tyro in the woods knows
that the roots of the last decay in a fourth of the time that the roots
of the first endure, after the trunk is severed. As a consequence, the
stumps had nearly all disappeared from the fields; a fact that, of
itself, gave to the place the appearance of an old country, according to
our American notions. It is true, the virgin forest still flourished in
immediate contact with those fields, shorn, tilled, and smoothed as they
were, giving a wild and solemn setting to the rural picture the latter
presented. The contrast was sufficiently bold and striking, but it was
not without its soft and pleasant points. From the height whither the
Indian had led me, I had a foreground of open land, dotted with cottages
and barns, mostly of logs, beautified by flourishing orchards, and
garnished with broad meadows, or enriched by fields, in which the corn
was waving under the currents of a light summer air. Two or three roads
wound along the settlement, turning aside with friendly interest, to
visit every door; and at the southern termination of the open country
there was a hamlet, built of wood framed, which contained one house that
had little taste, but a good deal more of pretension than any of its
neighbors; another, that was an inn; a store, a blacksmith's-shop, a
school-house, and three or four other buildings, besides barns, sheds,
and hog-pens. Near the hamlet, or the "'Nest Village," as the place was
called, were the mills of the region. These were a grist-mill, a
saw-mill, a fulling-mill, and an oil-mill. All were of moderate
dimensions, and, most probably, of moderate receipts. Even the best
house was not painted, though it had some very ambitious attempts at
architecture, and enjoyed the benefits of no less than four exterior
doors, the uses of one of which, as it opened into the air from the
second story, it was not very easy to imagine. Doubtless some great but
unfinished project of the owner lay at the root of this invention. But
living out of doors, as it were, is rather a characteristic of a portion
of our people.

The background of this picture, to which a certain degree of rural
beauty was not wanting, was the "boundless woods." Woods stretched away,
north, and south, and east, far as eye could reach; woods crowned the
sides and summits of all the mountains in view; and woods rose up, with
their leafy carpeting, from out the ravines and dells. The war had
prevented any very recent attempts at clearing, and all the open ground
wore the same aspect of homely cultivation, while the dark shades of an
interminable forest were spread around, forming a sort of mysterious
void, that lay between this obscure and remote people, and the rest of
their kind. That forest, however, was not entirely savage. There were
other settlements springing up in its bosom; a few roads wound their way
through its depth; and, here and there, the hunter, the squatter, or the
red man, had raised his cabin, and dwelt amid the sullen but not
unpleasant abundance and magnificence of the wilderness.




CHAPTER IX.

    "O masters! if I were disposed to stir
    Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
    I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
    Who, you all know, are honorable men;
    I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
    To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
    Than I will wrong such honorable men."--SHAKSPEARE.


"This, then, is Ravensnest!" I exclaimed, after gazing on the scene for
several minutes in silence; "the estate left me by my grandfather, and
where events once occurred that are still spoken of in my family as some
of the most momentous in its history; events, Susquesus, in which you
were an actor."

The Indian made a low interjection, but it is not probable he fully
understood me. What was there so remarkable in a savage inroad, a house
besieged, men slain and scalps taken, that he should remember such
things for a quarter of a century!

"I do not see the 'Nest itself, Trueflint," I added; "the house in which
my grandfather once lived."

The Onondago did not speak, but he pointed with a finger in a
northeasterly direction, making the action distinct and impressive, as
is usual with his people. I knew the place by the descriptions I had
heard, though it was now mouldering, and had gone far into decay. Logs
piled up green, and confined in such a structure, will last some thirty
or forty years, according to the nature of the trees from which they
come, and the manner in which they have been covered. At that distance I
could not well distinguish how far, or how much, time had done its work;
but I fancied I knew enough of such matters to understand I was not to
expect in the 'Nest a very comfortable home. A family dwelt in the old
place, and I had seen some cheeses that had been made on the very fine
farm that was attached to it. There was a large and seemingly a
flourishing orchard, and the fields looked well; but as for the house,
at that distance it appeared sombre, dark, and was barely to be
distinguished by its form and chimneys, from any other pile of logs.

I was struck with the silent, dreamy, sabbath-like air of the fields,
far and near. With the exception of a few half-naked children who were
visible around the dwellings to which we were the closest, not a human
being could I discover. The fields were tenantless, so far as men were
concerned, though a good many horned cattle were to be seen grazing.

"My tenants are not without stock, I find, Trueflint," I remarked.
"There are plenty of cattle in the pastures."

"You see, all young," answered the Onondago. "War do dat. Kill ole one
for soldier."

"By the way, as this settlement escaped plunder, I should think its
people may have done something by selling supplies to the army.
Provisions of all kinds were very high and scarce, I remember, when we
met Burgoyne."

"Sartain. Your people sell both side--good trade, den. Feed
Yankees--feed Yengeese."

"Well, I make no doubt it was so; for the husbandman is not very apt to
hesitate when he can get a good price; and if he were, the conscience of
the drover would stand between him and treason. But where are all the
men of this country? I do not see a single man, far or near."

"No see him!--dere," answered the Indian, pointing in the direction of
the hamlet. "'Squire light council-fire to-day, s'pose, and make
speech."

"True enough--there they are, gathered about the school-house. But whom
do you mean by the 'squire, who is so fond of making speeches?"

"Ole school-master. Come from salt lake--great friend of grandfader."

"Oh! Mr. Newcome, my agent--true; I might have known that he was king of
the settlement. Well, Trueflint, let us go on; and when we reach the
tavern we shall be able to learn what the 'great council' is about. Say
nothing of my business; for it will be pleasant to look on a little,
before I speak myself."

The Indian arose, and led the way down the height, following a foot-path
with which he appeared to be familiar. In a few minutes we were in a
highway, and at no great distance from the hamlet. I had laid aside most
of the dress that it was the fashion of gentlemen to wear in 1784, and
put on a hunting-shirt and leggings, as more fitting for the woods;
consequently it would not have been easy for one who was not in the
secret to imagine that he who arrived on foot, in such a garb, carrying
his fowling-piece, and accompanied by an Indian, was the owner of the
estate. I had sent no recent notice of my intended arrival; and as we
went along, I took a fancy to get a faint glimpse of things _incognito_.
In order to do this it might be necessary to say a word more to the
Indian.

"Susquesus," I added, as we drew near the school-house, which stood
between us and the tavern, "I hope you have understood me--there is no
need of telling any one who I am. If asked, you can answer I am your
friend. That will be true, as you will find as long as you live."

"Good--young chief got eyes; want to look wid 'em himself.
Good--Susquesus know."

In another minute we stopped in the crowd, before the door of the
school-house. The Indian was so well known, and so often at the 'Nest,
that _his_ appearance excited no attention. Some important business
appeared on the carpet, for there was much caucusing, much private
conversation, many eager faces, and much putting together of heads.
While the public mind was thus agitated, few were disposed to take any
particular notice of me, though I had not stood long in the outer edge
of the crowd, which may have contained sixty or seventy men, besides
quite as many well-grown lads, before I overheard an interrogatory put
as to who I was, and whether I had "a right to a vote." My curiosity was
a good deal excited, and I was on the point of asking some explanation,
when a man appeared in the door of the school-house, who laid the whole
matter bare, in a speech. This person had a shrivelled, care-worn, but
keen look, and was somewhat better dressed than most around him, though
not particularly elegant, or even very neat, in his _toilette_. He was
gray-headed, of a small, thin figure, and might have been drawing hard
upon sixty. He spoke in a deliberate, self-possessed manner, as if long
accustomed to the sort of business in which he was engaged, but
in a very decided Connecticut accent. I say _Connecticut_, in
contradistinction to that of New England generally; for while the
Eastern States have many common peculiarities in this way, a nice and
practised ear can tell a Rhode-Islander from a Massachusetts man, and a
Connecticut man from either. As the orator opened his mouth to remove a
chew of tobacco previously to opening it to speak, a murmur near me
said--"Hist! there's the squire; now we shall get suthin'." This, then,
was Mr. Jason Newcome, my agent, and the principal resident in the
settlement.

"Fellow-citizens"--Mr. Newcome commenced--"you are assembled this day on
a most important, and, I may say, trying occasion; an occasion
calculated to exercise all our spirits. Your business is to decide on
the denomination of the church building that you are about to erect; and
the futur' welfare of your souls may, in one sense, be said to be
interested in your decision. Your deliberations have already been opened
by prayer; and now you are about to come to a final vote. Differences of
opinion have, and do exist among you; but differences of opinion exist
everywhere. They belong to liberty, the blessings of which are not to be
enj'yed without full and free differences of opinion. Religious liberty
demands differences of opinion, as a body might say; and without them
there would be no religious liberty. You all know the weighty reason
there is for coming to some conclusion speedily. The owner of the sile
will make his appearance this summer, and his family are all of a
desperate tendency toward an idolatrous church, which is unpleasant to
most of _you_. To prevent any consequences, therefore, from his
interference, we ought to decide at once, and not only have the house
raised, but ruffed in afore he arrives. Among ourselves, however, we
have been somewhat divided, and that is a different matter. On the
former votes it has stood twenty-six for Congregational to twenty-five
Presbytery, fourteen Methodist, nine Baptist, three Universal, and one
Episcopal. Now, nothin' is clearer than that the majority ought to rule,
and that it is the duty of the minority to submit. My first decision, as
moderator, was that the Congregationals have it by a majority of one,
but some being dissatisfied with that opinion, I have been ready to hear
reason, and to take the view that twenty-six is not a majority, but a
plurality, as it is called. As twenty-six, or twenty-five, however, is a
majority over nine, and over three, and over one, taking their numbers
singly or together, your committee report that the Baptists, Universals
and Episcopals ought to be dropped, and that the next vote, now to be
taken, shall be confined to the three highest numbers; that is to say,
to the Congregationals, the Presbyterians, and the Methodists. Everybody
has a right to vote for which he pleases, provided he vote for one of
them three. I suppose I am understood, and shall now put the question,
unless some gentleman has any remarks to make."

"Mr. Moderator," cried out a burly, hearty-looking yeoman, "is it in
order now to speak?"

"Quite so, sir--order, gentlemen, order--Major Hosmer is up."

Up we all were, if standing on one's feet be up; but the word was
parliamentary, and it appeared to be understood.

"Mr. Moderator, I am of the Baptist order, and I do not think the
decision just; sin' it compels us Baptists to vote for a denomination we
don't like, or not to vote at all."

"But you will allow that the majority ought to rule?" interrupted the
chair.

"Sartain--I agree to _that_; for _that_ is a part of my religion, too,"
returned the old yeoman heartily, and with an air of perfect good
faith--"the majority ought to rule; but I do not see that a majority is
in favor of the Congregationals any more than it is of the Baptists."

"We will put it to vote ag'in, major, just for your satisfaction,"
returned Mr. Newcome, with an air of great candor and moderation.
"Gentlemen, those of you who are in favor of the Baptists _not_ being
included in the next vote for denomination, will please to hold up your
hands."

As every man present who was not a Baptist voted "ay," there were
sixty-nine hands shown. The "no's" were then demanded in the same way,
and the Baptists got their nine own votes, as before. Major Hosmer
admitted he was satisfied, though he looked as if there might be
something wrong in the procedure, after all. As the Baptists were the
strongest of the three excluded sects, the other two made a merit of
necessity, and said nothing. It was understood they were in a minority;
and a minority, as it very often happens in America, has very few
rights.

"It now remains, gentlemen," resumed the moderator, who was a model of
submission to the public voice, "to put the vote, as between the
Congregationals, the Presbyterians, and the Methodists. I shall first
put the Congregationalists. Those who are in favor of that sect, the old
Connecticut standing order, will please to hold up their hands."

The tone of voice, the coaxing expression of the eye, and the words "old
Connecticut standing order," let me at once into the secret of the
moderator's wishes. At first but thirty-four hands appeared; but the
moderator having counted these, he looked round the crowd, until he
fairly looked up three more; after which he honestly enough announced
the vote to be thirty-seven for the Congregationalists. So eleven of the
thirteen of silenced sects, had most probably voted with the moderator.
The Presbyterians came next, and they got their own people, and two of
the Baptists, making twenty-seven in all, on a trial in their behalf.
The Methodists got only their own fourteen.

"It evidently appearing, gentleman," said the moderator, "that the
Methodists gain no strength, and being less than half the Congregational
vote, and much lower than the Presbyterian, I put it to their own
well-known Christian humility, whether they ought not to withdraw?"

"Put it openly to vote, as you did ag'in us," came out a Baptist.

"Is that your pleasure, gentlemen? Seeing that it is, I will now try the
vote. Those who are in favor of the Methodists withdrawing, will hold up
their hands."

Sixty-four hands were raised for, and fourteen against the withdrawal.

"It is impossible for any religion to flourish ag'in such a majority,"
said the moderator, with great apparent candor; "and though I regret it,
for I sincerely wish we were strong enough to build meetin'-houses for
every denomination in the world; but as we are not, we must take things
as they are, and so the Methodists must withdraw. Gentlemen, the
question is now narrowed down to the Congregationals and the
Presbyterians. There is not much difference between them, and it is a
thousand pities there should be _any_. Are you ready for the question,
gentlemen? No answer being given, I shall put the vote."

And the vote was put, the result being thirty-nine to thirty-nine, or a
tie. I could see that the moderator was disappointed, and supposed he
would claim a casting vote, in addition to the one he had already given;
but I did not know my man. Mr. Newcome avoided all appearances of
personal authority; majorities were his cardinal rule, and to majorities
alone he would defer. Whenever he chose to govern, it was by means of
majorities. The exercise of a power as accidentally bestowed as that of
presiding officer, might excite heart-burnings and envy; but he who went
with a majority was certain of having the weight of public sympathies on
his side. No--no--Mr. Newcome never had an opinion, as against numbers.

I am sorry to say that very mistaken notions of the power of majorities
are beginning to take root among us.

It is common to hear it asserted, as a political axiom, that the
majority _must_ rule! The axiom may be innocent enough, when its
application is properly made, which is simply to say that in the control
of those interests of which the decision is referred to majorities,
majorities must rule but, God forbid that the majorities should ever
rule in all things, in this republic or anywhere else! Such a state of
things would soon become intolerable, rendering the government that
admitted of its existence the most odious tyranny that has been known in
Christendom in modern times. The government of this country is the sway
of certain great and incontestable _principles_, that are just in
themselves, and which are set forth in the several constitutions, and
under which certain minor questions are periodically referred to local
majorities, or of necessity, out of the frequency of which appeals has
arisen a mistake that is getting to be dangerously general. God forbid,
I repeat, that a mere personal majority should assume the power which
alone belongs to principles.

Mr. Newcome avoided a decision, as from the chair; but three several
times did he take the vote, and each time was there a tie. I could now
perceive that he was seriously uneasy. Such steadiness denoted that men
had made up their minds, and that they would be apt to adhere to them,
since one side was apparently as strong as the other. The circumstance
called for a display of democratical tactics; and Mr. Newcome being very
expert in such matters, he could have little difficulty in getting along
with the simple people with whom he had to deal.

"You see how it is, fellow-citizens. The public has taken sides, and
formed itself into two parties. From this moment the affair must be
treated as a _party_ question, and be decided on _party_ principles;
though the majority must rule. Oh! here, neighbor Willis; will you just
step over to my house, and ask Miss Newcome (Anglice, _Mrs._ Newcome) to
hand you the last volume of the State Laws? Perhaps _they_ have a word
to say in the matter." Here neighbor Willis did as desired, and moved
out of the crowd. As I afterward discovered, he was a warm Presbyterian,
who happened, unfortunately for his sect, to stand so directly before
the moderator, as unavoidably to catch his eye. I suspected that Squire
Newcome would now call a vote on the main question. But I did not know
my man. This would have been too palpably a trick, and he carefully
avoided committing the blunder. There was plenty of time, since the
moderator knew his wife could not very readily find a book he had lent
to a magistrate in another settlement twenty miles off; so that he did
not hesitate to have a little private conversation with one or two of
his friends.

"Not to be losing time, Mr. Moderator," said one of 'Squire Newcome's
confidants, "I will move you that it is the sense of this meeting, that
the government of churches by means of a presbytery is anti-republican,
opposed to our glorious institutions, and at variance with the best
interests of the human family. I submit the question to the public
without debate, being content to know the unbiased sentiments of my
fellow-citizens on the subject."

The question was duly seconded and put, the result being thirty-nine
for, and thirty-eight against; or a majority of _one_, that Presbyterian
rule was anti-republican. This was a great _coup de maitre_. Having
settled that it was opposed to the institutions to have a presbytery, a
great deal was gained toward establishing another denomination in the
settlement. No religion can maintain itself against political sentiments
in this country, politics coming home daily to men's minds and pockets.

It is odd enough that, while all sects agree in saying that the
Christian religion comes from God, and that its dogmas are to be
received as the laws of Infinite Wisdom, men should be found
sufficiently illogical, or sufficiently presumptuous, to imagine that
any, the least of its rules, are to be impaired or strengthened by their
dissemblance or their conformity to any provisions of human
institutions. As well might it be admitted at once, that Christianity is
_not_ of divine origin, or the still more extravagant position be
assumed, that the polity which God himself has established can be
amended by any of the narrow and short-sighted devices of man.
Nevertheless, it is not to be concealed, that here, as elsewhere,
churches are fashioned to suit the institutions, and not the
institutions to suit the church.

Having achieved so much success, the moderator's confidant pushed his
advantage.

"Mr. Moderator," he continued, "as this question has altogether assumed
a party character, it is manifestly proper that the party which has the
majority should not be encumbered in its proceedings by the movements of
the minority. Presbytery has been denounced by this meeting, and its
friends stand in the light of a defeated party at a state election. They
can have nothin' to do with the government. I move, therefore, that
those who are opposed to presbytery go into caucus, in order to appoint
a committee to recommend to the majority a denomination which will be
acceptable to the people of Ravensnest. I hope the motion will be put
without debate. The subject is a religious one, and it is unwise to
awaken strife on anything at all connected with religion."

Alas! alas! How much injury has been done to the cause of Christianity,
how much wrong to the laws of God, and even to good morals, by appeals
of this nature, that are intended to smother inquiry, and force down on
the timid, the schemes of the designing and fraudulent! Integrity is
ever simple and frank; while the devil resorts to these plans of
plausible forbearance and seeming concessions, in order to veil his
nefarious devices.

The thing took, however; for popular bodies, once under control, are as
easily managed as the vessel that obeys her helm; the strength of the
current always giving additional power to that material portion of the
ship. The motion was accordingly seconded and put. As there was no
debate, which had been made to appear anti-religious, the result was
precisely the same as on the last question. In other words, there was
one majority for disfranchising just one-half the meeting, counting the
above man; and this, too, on the principle that the majority ought to
rule. After this the caucus people went into the school-house, where it
was understood a committee of twenty-six was appointed, to recommend a
denomination to the majority. This committee, so respectable in its
character, and of so much influence by its numbers, was not slow in
acting. As became its moral weight, it unanimously reported that the
Congregational polity was the one most acceptable to the people of
Ravensnest. This report was accepted by acclamation, and the caucus
adjourned _sine die_.

The moderator now called the whole meeting to order again.

"Mr. Moderator," said the confidant, "it is time that this community
should come to some conclusion in the premises. It has been agitated
long enough, in its religious feelings, and further delay might lead to
unpleasant and lasting divisions. I therefore move that it is the sense
of this meetin' that the people of Ravensnest ardently wish to see the
new meetin'-us, which is about to be raised, devoted and set apart for
the services of the Congregational church, and that a Congregational
church be organized, and a Congregational pastor duly called. I trust
this question, like all the others, will be passed in perfect harmony,
and without debate, as becomes the solemn business we are on."

The question was taken, and the old majority of _one_ was found to be in
its favor. Just as Mr. Moderator meekly announced the result, his
messenger appeared in the crowd, bawling out, "'Squire, Miss Newcome
says she can't noway find the volum', which she kind o' thinks you've
lent."

"Bless me! so I have!" exclaimed the surprised magistrate. "It's not in
the settlement, I declare; but it's of no importance now, as a majority
has fairly decided. Fellow-citizens, we have been dealing with the most
important interest that consarns man; his religious state, government,
and well-being. Unanimity is very desirable on such a question; and as
it is to be presumed no one will oppose the pop'lar will, I shall now
put the question to vote for the purpose of obtaining that unanimity.
Those who are in favor of the Congregationals, or who ardently wish that
denomination, will hold up their hands."

About three-fourths of the hands went up at once. Cries of
"unanimity--unanimity"--followed, until one hand after another went up,
and I counted seventy-three. The remaining voters continued recusant;
but as no question was taken on the other side, the vote may be said to
have been a very decided one, if not positively unanimous. The moderator
and two or three of his friends made short speeches, commending the
liberality of a part of the citizens, and congratulating all, when the
meeting was adjourned.

Such were the facts attending the establishment of the Congregational
church in the settlement of Ravensnest, on purely republican principles;
the question having been carried unanimously in favor of that
denomination, although fifty-two votes out of seventy-eight were pretty
evidently opposed to it. But republican principles were properly
maintained, and the matter was settled; the people having solemnly
decided that they ardently wished for a church that in truth they did
not desire at all.

No complaints were made, on the spot at least. The crowd dispersed, and
as Mr. Newcome walked through it, with the air of a beaten, rather than
of a successful man, I came under his observation for the first time. He
examined me keenly, and I saw a certain air of doubt and misgiving in
his manner. Just at that moment, however, and before he had time to put
a question, Jaap drove up in the wagon, and the <DW64> was an old
acquaintance, having often been at the Nest, and knowing the 'squire for
more than a quarter of a century. This explained the whole affair, a
certain mixed resemblance to both father and mother which I am said to
bear probably aiding in making the truth more apparent.

Mr. Newcome was startled--that was apparent in his countenance--but he
was, nevertheless, self-possessed. Approaching, he saluted me, and at
once let me know he understood who I was.

"This is Major Littlepage, I s'pose," he said "I can see a good deal of
the gin'ral in you, as I know'd your father when a young man; and
something of Herman Mordaunt, your mother's father. How long is it sin'
your arrival, Major Littlepage?"

"But a few minutes," I answered, evasively. "You see my wagon and
servant there, and we are fresh from Albany. My arrival has been
opportune, as all my tenants must be collected here at this moment."

"Why, yes, sir--yes; here are pretty much the whull of them. We have had
a little meetin' to-day, to decide on the natur' of our religion, as one
might say. I s'pose the major didn't get here until matters were coming
to a head?"

"You are quite right, Mr. Newcome, matters were coming to a head, as you
say, before I got on the ground."

The 'squire was a good deal relieved at this, for his conscience
doubtless pricked him a little on the subject of the allusion he had
made to me, and my own denomination. As for myself, I was not sorry to
have got so early behind the curtain as to the character of my agent. It
was pretty clear he was playing his own game as to some things, and it
might be necessary for me to see that this propensity did not extend
itself into other concerns. It is true, my mind was made up to change
him, but there were long and intricate accounts to settle.

"Yes, sir, religion is an interest of the greatest importance to man's
welfare, and it has b'en (Anglice, been) too long neglected among us,"
continued the late moderator. "You see yonder the frame of a meetin'-us,
the first that was ever commenced in this settlement, and it is our
intention to put it up this a'ternoon. The bents are all ready. The
pike-poles are placed, and all is waiting for the word to 'heave.'
You'll perceive, 'squire, it was judicious to go to a sartain p'int,
afore we concluded on the denomination. Up to _that_ p'int every man
would nat'rally work as if he was workin' for his own order, and we've
seen the benefit of such policy, as there you can see the clapboards
planed the sash made and glazed, stuff cut for pews, and everything
ready to put together. The very nails and paints are bought and paid
for. In a word, nothing remains to be done, but to put together, and
finish off, and preach."

"Why did you not erect the edifice, 'and finish off,' as you call it,
before you came to the test-vote, that I perceive you have just taken?"

"That would have been goin' a le-e-e-tle too far, major--a very
le-e-e-tle. If you give a man too tight a hold, he doesn't like to let
go, sometimes. We talked the matter over among us, and concluded to put
the question before we went any further. All has turned out happily, and
we have unanimously resolved to be Congregational. Unanimity in religion
is a blessed thing!"

"Do you apprehend no falling off in zeal, in consequence of this work?
no refusing to help pay the carpenters, and painters, and priest?"

"No much--a little, perhaps; but no great matter, I should judge. Your
own liberal example, major, has had its influence, and I make no doubt
will produce an effect."

"My example, sir! I do not understand you, Mr. Newcome, never having
heard of the church, until I heard your own allusions to it, as chairman
of this very meeting."

'Squire Newcome hemmed, cleared his throat, took an extra-sized chew of
tobacco, and then felt himself equal to attempting an answer.

"I call it _your_ example, sir; though the authority for what I have
done came from your honored father, General Littlepage, as long ago as
before the revolution. Wartimes, you know, major, is no time for
buildin' meetin'-uses; so we concluded to defer the matter until peace.
Peace we have, and our own eends are fast approaching; and I thought if
the work was ever to be done, so that this generation should get the
benefit of it, it should be done now. I was in hopes we should have had
preachin' in the house afore your arrival, and surprised you with the
cheerin' sight of a worshipping people on your lands. Here is your
father's letter, from which I read a paragraph to the people, half an
hour sin'."

"I trust the people have always been worshippers, though it may not have
been in a house built expressly for the purpose. With your permission, I
will read the letter."

This document bore the date of 1770, or fourteen years before the time
the building was erected, and five years before the battle of Lexington
was fought. I was a little surprised at this, but read on. Among other
things, I found that my father had given a general consent to credit his
tenants with five hundred dollars to aid in the erection of a place of
worship; reserving to himself, as my guardian, a voice in the choice of
the denomination. I may add, here, that on examining the leases, I found
credits had been given, in 1770, for the full amount; and that the
money, or what passed for money, the proceeds of work produce, cattle,
butter, cheese, &c., had been in Mr. Newcome's hands the whole of the
intervening time, no doubt to his great advantage. Thus, by a tardy
appropriation of my father's bounty, the agent was pretty certain of
being able to finish the job in hand, even admitting that some of the
people should prove restive under the recent decision.

"And the money thus appropriated has gone to its destination?" I asked,
on returning the letter.

"Every copper has thus gone, major, or will soon go. When the First
Congregational, of Ravensnest, is up, you can contemplate the house with
the satisfaction of knowing that your own money has largely aided in the
good work of its erection. What a delightful sentiment that must awaken!
It must be a great blessin' to landlords, to be able to remember how
much of their money goes for the good of their fellow-mortals."

"In my case, it certainly should, as I understand my father, and indeed
have myself seen, by the accounts rendered to me, that not one dollar of
rent has ever yet left the settlement, to go into the pocket of the
owner of the estate--nay, that the direct outlays of my grandfather were
considerable, in addition to the first cost of the patent."

"I do not deny it, major; I do not deny it. It is quite probable. But,
you will consider what the spirit of Public Improvement demands; and you
gentlemen-proprietors nat'rally look forward to futur' generations for
your reward--yes, sir, to futur' generations. Then will come the time
when these leased lands will turn to account, and you will enj'y the
fruits of your liberality."

I bowed, but made no answer. By this time the wagon had reached the inn,
and Jaap was getting out the trunk and other luggage. A rumor had gone
forth among the people that their landlord had arrived, and some of the
older tenants, those who had known "Herman Mordaunt," as they all called
my grandfather, crowded around me in a frank, hearty manner, in which
good feeling was blended with respect. They desired to take my hand. I
shook hands with all who came, and can truly say that I took no man's
palm into my own that day, without a sentiment that the relation of
landlord and tenant was one that should induce kind and confidential
feelings. The Ravensnest property was by no means necessary to my
comfortable subsistence; and I was really well enough disposed to look
forward, if not to "future generations," at least to a future day, for
the advantages that were to be reaped from it. I asked the crowd in,
ordered a tub of punch made, for, in that day, liquor was a necessary
accompaniment of every welcome, and endeavored to make myself acceptable
to my new friends. A throng of women, of whom I have not yet spoken,
were also in attendance; and I had to go through the ceremony of being
introduced to many of the wives and daughters of Ravensnest. On the
whole, the meeting was friendly, and my reception warm.




CHAPTER X.

    "Bear, through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
    In thy heart the dew of youth,
    On thy lips the smile of truth."--LONGFELLOW.


The ceremony of the introduction was not half through, when there was a
noisy summons to the pike-poles. This called away the crowd in a body; a
raising in the country being an incident of too much interest to be
overlooked. I profited by the occasion to issue a few orders that
related to my own comfort, when I went, myself, to the scene of present
toil and future Congregationalism.

Everybody in America, a few inveterate cockneys excepted, have seen a
"raising." Most people have seen hundreds; and, as for myself, I believe
I should be safe in saying I had, even at that day, seen a thousand. In
this particular instance, there were great felicitations among the
yeomen, because the frame "had come together well." I was congratulated
on this score, the hearty old Rhode Islander, my brother major, assuring
me that "he couldn't get the blade of his knife, and it's no great
matter of a knife either, into a single j'int. And, what is more,
'squire"--as the sturdy yeoman was a major himself, though only in the
militia, _that_ title would not have been honorable enough for his
landlord--"and, what is more, 'squire, they tell me not a piece was ever
tried, until we put the bents together, this a'ternoon, ourselves! Now,
down country, I never see'd sich a thing; but, up here, the carpenters
go by what they call the 'square-rule;' and quick work they make on't!"
This speech contained the substance of one of the contrivances by which
the "new countries" were endeavoring to catch up with the "old," as I
learned on further inquiries.

It may be well to describe the appearance of the place, when I reached
the site of the new "meetin'-us." The great body of the "people" had
just taken their stands at the first bent, ready for a lift, while
trusty men stood at the feet of the posts, armed with crowbars,
broad-axes, or such other suitable implements as offered, in readiness
to keep those essential uprights in their places; for, on the steadiness
of these persons, depended the limbs and lives of those who raised the
bent. As this structure was larger than common, the danger was
increased, and the necessity of having men that could be relied on was
obviously so much the greater. Of one post, in particular, for some
reason that I do not know, all the trusty men seemed shy; each declaring
that he thought some one else better suited to take charge of it, than
he was himself. The "boss"--that Manhattanese word having travelled up
to Ravensnest--called out for some one to take the delicate station, as
nothing detained the work but the want of a hand there; and one looked
at another, to see who would step forward, when a sudden cry arose of
"the Chainbearer!--the Chainbearer! Here's your man!"

Sure enough, there came old Andries Coejemans, hale, upright, vigorous,
and firm-treading, though he had actually seen his threescore years and
ten. My ancient comrade had thrown aside nearly every trace of his late
military, profession, though the marchings and drillings of eight years
were not to be worked out of a man's air and manner in a twelvemonth.
The only sign of the soldier, other than in his bearing, I could trace
about my brother captain, was the manner in which his queue was clubbed.
Andries wore his own hair; this his early pursuits in the forest
rendered necessary; but it had long been clubbed in a sort of military
fashion, and to that fashion he now adhered. In other respects he had
transformed himself entirely into a woodsman. He wore a hunting-shirt,
like myself; leggings, moccasons, and a cap of skins that had been
deprived of their furs. So far from lessening in any degree the fine
effect of his green old age, however, this attire served to increase it.
Andries Coejemans stood six feet, at seventy; was still as erect as he
had been at twenty; and so far from betraying the inroads of age on his
frame, the last appeared to be indurated and developed by what it had
borne. His head was as white as snow, while his face had the ruddy,
weather-beaten color of health and exposure. The face had always been
handsome, having a very unusual expression of candor and benevolence
impressed on features that were bold and manly.

The Chainbearer could not have seen me until he stepped upon the frame.
Then, indeed, there was no mistaking the expression of his countenance,
which denoted pleasure and friendly interest. Striding over the timber,
with the step of a man long accustomed to tread among dangers of all
sorts, he grasped my hand, and gave it such a squeeze as denoted the
good condition of his own muscles and sinews. I saw a tear twinkling in
his eye; for had I been his own son, I do not think he could have loved
me more.

"Mortaunt, my poy, you're heartily welcome," said my old comrade. "You
haf come upon t'ese people, I fancy, as t'e cat steals upon t'e mice;
but I had titings of your march, and have peen a few miles town t'e roat
to meet you. How, or where you got past me, is more t'an I know, for I
haf seen nuttin' of you or of your wagon."

"Yet here we both are, my excellent old friend, and most happy am I to
meet you again. If you will go with me to the tavern, we can talk more
at our ease."

"Enough, enough for t'e present, young comrate. Pusiness is standing
still a little, for t'e want of my hant; step off the frame, lat, and
let us get up t'ese pents, when I am your man for a week or a year."

Exchanging looks, and renewing the warm and friendly pressure of the
hand, we parted for the moment; I quitting the frame, while the
Chainbearer went at once to the foot of the important post, or to that
station no one else would assume. Then commenced, without further delay,
the serious toil of raising a bent. This work is seldom entirely free
from hazard; and on this particular occasion, when the force in men was
a little disproportioned to the weight of the timber, it was doubly
incumbent on every man to be true and steady. My attention was at once
attracted to the business in hand; and for several minutes I thought of
little else. The females had drawn as near the spot where their
husbands, brothers, and lovers were exerting every muscle and nerve, as
comported with prudence; and a profound and anxious quiet pervaded the
whole of a crowd that was gay with rustic finery, if not very remarkable
for taste or refinement. Still, the cluster of females had little in it
that was coarse or even unfeminine, if it had not much that would be so
apt to meet the eye, in the way of the attractive, in a similar crowd of
the present day. The improvement in the appearance and dress of the
wives and daughters of husbandmen has been very marked among us within
the last five-and-twenty years. Fully one-half of those collected on
this occasion were in short gowns, as they were called, a garb that has
almost entirely disappeared; and the pillions that were to be seen on
the bodies of nearly all the horses that were fastened to the adjacent
fences, showed the manner in which they had reached the ground. The
calicoes of that day were both dear and homely; and it required money to
enable a woman to appear in a dress that would be thought attractive to
the least practised eye. Nevertheless, there were many pretty girls in
that row of anxious faces, with black eyes and blue, light, black, and
brown hair, and of the various forms and hues in which female beauty
appears in the youthful.

I flatter myself that I was as comely as the generality of young men of
my age and class, and that, on ordinary occasions, I could not have
shown myself before that cluster of girls, without drawing to myself
some of their glances. Such was not the case, however, when I left the
frame, which now attracted all eyes. On that, and on those who
surrounded it, every eye and every anxious face was turned, my own
included. It was a moment of deep interest to all; and most so to those
who could only _feel_, and not act.

At the word, the men made a simultaneous effort; and they raised the
upper part of the bent from the timber on which it lay. It was easy to
see that the laborers, stout and willing as they were, had as much as
they could lift. Boys stood ready, however, with short pieces of
scantling to place upright beneath the bent; and the men had time to
breathe. I felt a little ashamed of having nothing to do at such a
moment; but, fearful of doing harm instead of good, I kept aloof, and
remained a mere spectator.

"Now, men," said the boss, who had taken his stand where he could
overlook the work, "we will make ready for another lift. All at once
makes light work--are you ready?--H-e-a-ve."

Heave, or lift, the stout fellows did; and with so much intelligence and
readiness, that the massive timber was carried up as high as their
heads. There it stopped, supported as before, by short pieces of
scantling.

The pike-poles next came in play. This is always the heaviest moment of
a lift of that sort, and the men made their dispositions accordingly.
Short poles were first got under the bent, by thrusting the unarmed ends
into the cavity of the foundation; and a few of the stoutest of the men
stood on blocks, prepared to apply their strength directly.

"Are you ready, men?" called out the boss. "This is our heaviest bent,
and we come to it fresh. Look out well to the foot of each
post--Chainbearer, I count on _you_--your post is the king-post of the
whole frame; if that goes, all goes. Make ready, men; heave
altogether--that's a lift. Heave again, men--h-e-a-ve--altogether
now--he-e-a-ve! Up she goes; he-e-a-ve--more pike-poles--stand to the
frame, boys--get along some studs--he-e-a-ve--in with your props--so,
catch a little breath, men."

It was time to take breath, of a certainty; for the effort had been
tremendously severe. The bent had risen, however, and now stood,
supported as before by props, at an angle of some fifteen degrees with
the plane of the building, which carried all but the posts beyond the
reach of hands. The pike-pole was to do the rest; and the next ten
degrees to be overcome would probably cause the greatest expenditure of
force. As yet, all had gone well, the only drawback being the certainty
which had been obtained, that the strength present was hardly sufficient
to get up so heavy a bent. Nevertheless there was no remedy, every
person on the ground who could be of use, but myself having his station.
A well-looking, semi-genteel young man, whose dress was two-thirds
forest and one-third town, had come from behind the row of females,
stepped upon the frame, and taken his post at a pike-pole. The
uninitiated reader will understand that those who raise a building
necessarily stand directly under the timber they are lifting; and that a
downfall would bring them beneath a fearful trap. Bents do sometimes
come down on the laborers; and the result is almost certain destruction
to those who are caught beneath the timber. Notwithstanding the danger
and the difficulty in the present case, good-humor prevailed, and a few
jokes were let off at the expense of the Congregationalists and the late
moderator.

"Agree, 'squire," called out the hearty old Rhode Islander, "to let in
some of the other denominations occasionally, and see how the bent will
go up. Presbytery is holding back desperately!"

"I hope no one supposes," answered Mr. Moderator, "that religious
liberty doesn't exist in this settlement. Sartainly--sartainly--other
denominations can always use this house, when it isn't wanted by the
right owners."

Those words "right owners" were unfortunate; the stronger the right, the
less the losing party liking to hear of it. Notwithstanding, there was
no disposition to skulk, or to abandon the work; and two or three of the
dissentients took their revenge on the spot, by hits at the moderator.
Fearful that there might be too much talk, the boss now renewed his call
for attention to the work.

"Let us all go together, men," he added. "We've got to the pinch, and
must stand to the work like well-broke cattle. If every man at the frame
will do his best for just one minute, the hardest will be over. You see
that upright stud there, with that boy, Tim Trimmer at it; just raise
the bent so that Timmy can get the eend of that stud under it, and all
will be safe. Look to the lower eend of the stud, Tim; is it firm and
well stopped?"

Tim declared it was; but two or three of the men went and examined it,
and after making a few alterations, they too assured the boss it could
not get away. A short speech was then made, in which every man was
exhorted to do his best; and everybody in particular, was reminded of
the necessity of standing to his work. After that speech, the men raised
the pike-poles, and placed themselves at their stations. Silent
expectation succeeded.

As yet, not a sign, look, or word, had intimated either wish or
expectation that I was to place myself in the ranks. I will confess to
an impulse to that effect; for who can look on and see their
fellow-creatures straining every muscle, and not submit to human
sympathy? But the recollection of military rank, and private position,
had not only their claims, but their feelings. I did go a step or two
nearer to the frame, but I did not put my foot on it.

"Get ready, men"--called the boss, "for a last time. Altogether at the
word--now's your time--he-e-a-ve--he-e-e-a-ve--he-e-e-e-ave!"

The poor fellows did heave, and it was only too evident that they were
staggering under the enormous pressure of the massive timber. I stepped
on the frame at the very centre, or at the most dangerous spot, and
applied all my strength to a pike-pole.

"Hurrah!" shouted the boss--"there comes the young landlord!--he-e-ave,
every man his best!--he-e-e-e-ave!"

We did heave our best, and we raised the bent several feet above its
former props, but not near enough to reach the new ones, by an inch or
two. Twenty voices now called on every man to stand to his work; for
everybody felt the importance of even a boy's strength. The boss rushed
forward like a man, to our aid; and then Tim, fancying his stud would
stand without his support, left it and flew to a pike-pole. At this
mistake the stud fell a little on one side, where it could be of no use.
My face was so placed that I saw this dangerous circumstance; and I felt
that the weight I upheld, individually, grew more like lead at each
instant. I knew by this time that our force was tottering under the
downward pressure of the enormous bent.

"He-e-e-ave, men--for your lives, he-eave!" exclaimed the boss, like one
in the agony.

The tones of his voice sounded to me like those of despair. Had a single
boy deserted us then, and we had twenty of them on the frame, the whole
mass of timber must have come down upon us. Talk of charging into a
battery? What is there in that to try men's nerves like the situation in
which we were placed? The yielding of a muscle, in all that straining,
lifting body, might have ruined us. A most fearful, frightful, twenty
seconds followed; and just as I had abandoned hope, a young female
darted out of the anxious, pale-faced crowd that was looking on in a
terror and agony that may be better conceived than described, and
seizing the stud, she placed it alongside of the post. But an inch was
wanted to gain its support; but how to obtain that inch! I now raised my
voice, and called on the fainting men to heave. They obeyed; and I saw
that spirited, true-eyed, firm-handed girl place the prop precisely
where it was wanted. All that end of the bent felt the relief instantly,
and man after man cautiously withdrew from under the frame, until none
remained but those who upheld the other side. We flew to the relief of
those, and soon had a number of props in their places, when all drew
back and looked on the danger from which they had escaped, breathless
and silent. For myself, I felt a deep sense of gratitude to God for the
escape.

This occurrence made a profound impression. Everybody was sensible of
the risk that had been run, and of the ruin that might have befallen the
settlement. I had caught a glimpse of the rare creature whose decision,
intelligence, and presence of mind had done so much for us all; and to
me she seemed to be the loveliest being of her sex my eyes had ever
lighted on! Her form, in particular, was perfection; being just the
medium between feminine delicacy and rude health; or just so much of the
last as could exist without a shade of coarseness; and the little I saw
of a countenance that was nearly concealed by a maze of curls that might
well be termed golden, appeared to me to correspond admirably with that
form. Nor was there anything masculine or unseemly in the deed she had
performed to subtract in any manner from the feminine character of her
appearance. It was decided, useful, and in one sense benevolent; but a
boy might have executed it so far as physical force was concerned. The
act required coolness, intelligence, and courage, rather than any
masculine power of body.

It is possible that, aware as I was of the jeopardy in which we were all
placed, my imagination may have heightened the effect of the fair
apparition that had come to save us, as it might be, like a messenger
from above. But, even there, where I stood panting from the effect of
exertions that I have never equalled in my own case most certainly,
exhausted, nearly breathless, and almost unable to stand, my mind's-eye
saw nothing but the flexible form, the elastic, ready step, the golden
tresses, the cheek suffused by excitement, the charming lips compressed
with resolution, and the whole air, attitude, and action characterized,
as was each and all, by the devotion, readiness, and loveliness of her
sex. When my pulses beat more regularly, and my heart ceased to throb, I
looked around in quest of that strange vision, but saw no one who could,
in the least, claim to be connected with it. The females had huddled
together, like a covey that was frightened, and were exclaiming, holding
up their hands, and indulging in the signs of alarm that are customary
with their sex and class. The "vision" was certainly not in that group,
but had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

At this juncture, the Chainbearer came forward, and took the command. I
could see he was agitated--affected might be a better word--but he was,
nevertheless, steady and authoritative. He was obeyed, too, in a manner
I was delighted to see. The order of the "boss" had produced no such
impressions as those which old Andries now issued; and I really felt an
impulse to obey them myself, as I would have done eighteen months
before, when he stood on the right of our regiment as its oldest
captain.

The carpenter yielded his command to the Chainbearer without a murmur.
Even 'Squire Newcome evidently felt that Andries was one who, in a
certain way, could influence the minds of the settlers more than he
could do it himself. In short, everybody listened, everybody seemed
pleased, and everybody obeyed. Nor did my old friend resort to any of
the coaxing that is so common in America, when men are to be controlled
in the country. In the towns, and wherever men are to be commanded in
bodies, authority is as well understood as it is in any other quarter of
the world; but, in the interior, and especially among the people of New
England habits, very few men carry sufficient command with them to say,
"John, do this," or "John, do that;" but it is "Johnny, _why won't you_
do this?" or "Johnny, _don't you think you'd better_ do that?" The
Chainbearer had none of this mystified nonsense about him. He called
things by their right names; and when he wanted a spade, he did not ask
for a hoe. As a consequence, he was obeyed, command being just as
indispensable to men, on a thousand occasions, as any other quality.

Everything was soon ready again, with the men stationed a little
differently from what they had previously been. This change was the
Chainbearer's, who understood mechanics practically; better, perhaps,
than if he had been a first-rate mathematician. The word was given to
heave, all of us being at the pike-poles; when up went the bent, as if
borne upon by a force that was irresistible. Such was the effect of old
Andries' habits of command, which not only caused every man to lift with
all his might, but the whole to lift together. A bent that is
perpendicular is easily secured; and then it was announced that the
heaviest of the work was over. The other bents were much lighter; and
one up, there were means of aiding in raising the rest that were at
first wanting.

"The Congregationals has got the best on't," cried out the old Rhode
Islander, laughing, as soon as the bent was stay-lathed, "by the help of
the Chainbearer and somebody else I wunt name! Well, our turn will come,
some day; for Ravensnest is a place in which the people wont be
satisfied with one religion. A country is badly on't, that has but one
religion in't; priests getting lazy, and professors dull!"

"You may be sure of t'at," answered the Chainbearer, who was evidently
making preparations to quit the frame. "Ravensnest will get as many
religions, in time, as t'ere are discontented spirits in it; and t'ey
will need many raisings, and more priests."

"Do you intend to leave us, Chainbearer? There's more posts to hold, and
more bents to lift?"

"The worst is over, and you've force enough wit'out me, for what remains
to be tone. I haf t'e lantlort to take care of. Go to your work, men;
and, if you can, rememper you haf a peing to worship in t'is house, t'at
is neit'er Congregational, nor Presbyterian, nor anything else of the
nature of your disputes and self-conceit. 'Squire Newcome wilt gif you a
leat in t'e way of l'arning, and t'e carpenter can act boss well enough
for t'e rest of t'e tay."

I was surprised at the coolness with which my old friend delivered
himself of sentiments that were not very likely to find favor in such a
company, and the deference that he received, while thus ungraciously
employed. But I afterward ascertained Andries commanded respect by means
of his known integrity; and his opinions carried weight because he was a
man who usually said "_come_, boys," and not one who issued his orders
in the words "go, boys." This had been his character in the army, where,
in his own little circle, he was known as one ever ready to lead in
person. Then Andries was a man of sterling truth; and such a man, when
he has the moral courage to act up to his native impulses, mingled with
discretion enough to keep him within the boundaries of common prudence,
insensibly acquires great influence over those with whom he is brought
in contact. Men never fail to respect such qualities, however little
they put them in practice in their own cases.

"Come Morty, my poy," said the Chainbearer, as soon as we were clear of
the crowd, "I will pe your guite, ant take you to a roof unter which you
will pe master."

"You surely do not mean the 'Nest?"

"T'at, and no ot'er. T'e olt place looks, like us olt soltiers, a little
rusty, and t'e worse for sarvice; put it is comfortaple, and I haf had
it put in order for you, poy. Your grantfat'er's furniture is still
t'ere; and Frank Malpone, Dus, and I, haf mate it head-quarters, since
we haf peen in t'is part of t'e country. You know I haf your orters for
t'at."

"Certainly, and to use anything else that is mine. But I had supposed
you fairly hutted in the woods of Mooseridge!"

"T'at hast peen tone too; sometimes we are at one place, and sometimes
at anot'er. My <DW65>s are at t'e hut; put Frank and Dus and I haf come
ofer to welcome you to t'e country."

"I have a wagoner here, and my own black--let me step to the inn, and
order them to get ready for us."

"Mortaunt, you and I haf peen uset to our feet. The soltier marches, and
countermarches, wit' no wagon to carry him; he leafs t'em to t'e
paggage, and t'e paggage-guart."

"Come on, old Andries; I will be your comrade, on foot or on horseback.
It can only be some three or four miles, and Jaap can follow with the
trunks at his leisure."

A word spoken to the <DW64> was all that was necessary; though the
meeting between him and the Chainbearer was that of old friends. Jaap
had gone through the whole war with the regiment, sometimes acting as my
father's servant, sometimes carrying a musket, sometimes driving a team;
and, at the close of his career, as my particular attendant. He
consequently regarded himself as a sort of soldier, and a very good one
had he proved himself to be, on a great many occasions.

"One word before we start, Chainbearer," I said, as old Andries and Jaap
concluded their greetings; "I fell in with the Indian you used to call
Sureflint, in the woods, and I wish to take him with us."

"He hast gone aheat, to let your visit pe known," answered my friend. "I
saw him going up t'e roat, at a quick trot, half an hour since. He is at
t'e 'Nest py t'is time."

No more remained to be said or done, and we went our way, leaving the
people busily engaged in getting up the remainder of the frame. I had
occasion to observe that my arrival produced much less sensation in the
settlement than it might have done had not the "meeting-house" been my
competitor in attracting attention. One was just as much of a novelty as
the other; just as much of a stranger. Although born in a Christian
land, and educated in Christian dogmas, very few of those who dwelt on
the estate of Ravensnest, and who were under the age of five-and-twenty,
had ever seen an edifice that was constructed for the purpose of
Christian worship at all. Such structures were rare indeed, in the year
1784, and in the interior of New York. Albany had but two, I believe;
the capital may have had a dozen; and most of the larger villages
possessed at least one; but with the exception of the old counties, and
here and there one on the Mohawk, the new State could not boast of many
of "those silent fingers pointing to the sky," rising among its trees,
so many monitors of a future world, and of the great end of life. As a
matter of course, all those who had never seen a church felt the
liveliest desire to judge of the form and proportions of this; and as
the Chainbearer and I passed the crowd of females, I heard several
good-looking girls expressing their impatience to see something of the
anticipated steeple, while scarce a glance was bestowed on myself.

"Well, my old friend, here we are together, again, marching on a public
highway," I remarked, "but with no intention of encamping in front of an
enemy."

"I hope not," returned Andries, dryly; "t'ough all is not golt t'at
glitters. We have fought a hard battle, Major Littlepage; I hope it will
turn out for a goot end."

I was a little surprised at this remark; but Andries was never very
sanguine in his anticipations of good. Like a true Dutchman, he
particularly distrusted the immigration from the Eastern States, which I
had heard him often say could bring no happy results.

"All will come round in the end, Chainbearer," I answered, "and we shall
get the benefits of our toil and dangers. But how do you come on at the
Ridge, and who is this surveyor of yours?"

"T'ings do well enough at t'e Ridge, Mortaunt; for _t'ere_ t'ere is not
a soul yet to make trouple. We have prought you a map of ten t'ousant
acres, laid off in huntret acre lots, which I will venture to say haf
peen as honestly and carefully measuret as any other ten t'ousant acres
in t'e State. We pegan next to t'is property, and you may pegin to
lease, on your fat'er's lant, just as soon as you please."

"And the Frank Malbone you have written about did the surveying?"

"He worket up _my_ measurements, lat, and closely tone t'ey are, I'll
answer for it. T'is Frank Malbone is t'e brot'er of Dus--t'at is to say,
her half-brot'er; peing no nephew of mine. Dus, you know, is only a
half-niece in bloot; but she is a full da'ter in lofe. As for Frank, he
is a goot fellow; and t'ough t'is is his first jop at surfeying, he may
be dependet on wit' as much confitence as any ot'er man going."

"No matter if a few mistakes are made, Andries; land is not diamonds in
this country; there is plenty for us all, and a great deal to spare. It
would be a different matter if there was a scarcity; but as it is, give
good measure to the tenant, or the purchaser. A first survey can only
produce a little loss or gain; whereas surveys between old farms are
full of trouble."

"Ant lawsuits"--put in the Chainbearer, nodding his head. "To tell you
my mint, Mortaunt, I would rat'er take a jop in a Dutch settlement, at
half-price, t'an run a line petween two Yankees for twice the money.
Among t'e Dutch, t'e owners light their pipes, and smoke whilst you are
at work; but the Yankees are the whole time trying to cut off a little
here, and to gain a little t'ere; so t'at it is as much as a man's
conscience is wort' to carry a chain fairly petween 'em."

As I knew his prejudice on this subject formed the weak point in the
Chainbearer, I gave the discourse a new turn, by leading it to political
events, of which I knew him to be fond. We walked on, conversing on
various topics connected with this theme, for near an hour, when I found
myself rather suddenly quite near to my own particular house. Near by,
the building had more of shape and substance than it had seemed to
possess when seen from the height; and I found the orchards and meadows
around it free from stumps and other eyesores, and in good order. Still,
the place on its exterior, had a sort of jail look, there being no
windows, nor any other outlet than the door. On reaching the latter,
which was a gate, rather than an ordinary entrance, we paused a moment
to look about us. While we stood there, gazing at the fields, a form
glided through the opening, and Sureflint stood by my side. He had
hardly got there, when there arose the strains of the same full, rich,
female voice, singing Indian words to a civilized melody, as I had heard
issuing from the thicket of pines, among the second growth of the
forest. From that moment I forgot my fields and orchards, forgot the
Chainbearer and Sureflint, and could think of nothing but the
extraordinary circumstance of a native girl's possessing such a
knowledge of our music. The Indian himself seemed entranced; never
moving until the song or verses were ended. Old Andries smiled, waited
until the last strain was finished, pronounced the word "Dus" with
emphasis, and beckoned for me to follow him into the building.




CHAPTER XI.

     "The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not woo'd in
     good time; if the prince be too important, tell him there is
     measure for every thing, and so dance out the
     answer."--_Beatrice._


"Dus!" I repeated to myself--"This, then, is Dus, and no Indian girl;
the Chainbearer's 'Dus;' Priscilla Bayard's 'Dus;' and Sureflint's
'wren'!"

Andries must have overheard me, in part; for he stopped just within the
court on which the gate opened, and said--

"Yes, t'at is Dus, my niece. The girl is like a mocking-pird, and
catches the songs of all languages and people. She is goot at Dutch, and
quite melts my heart, Mortaunt, when she opens her throat to sing one of
our melancholy Dutch songs; and she gives the English too, as if she
knowet no ot'er tongue."

"But that song was Indian--the words, at least, were Mohawk or Oneida."

"Onondago--t'ere is little or no tifference. Yes, you're right enough;
the worts are Indian, and they tell me t'e music is Scotch. Come from
where it will, it goes straight to the heart, poy."

"How came Dus--how came Miss Ursula--that is, your niece, to understand
an Indian dialect?"

"Didn't I tell you she is a perfect mocking-bird, and that she imitates
all she hears? Yes, Dus would make as goot a surveyor as her brot'er,
after a week's trial. You've heart me say how much I livet among the
tripes before t'e war, and Dus was t'en wit' me. In that manner she has
caught the language; and what she has once l'arnet she nefer forget. Dus
is half wilt from living so much in the woots, and you must make
allowances for her; put she is a capital gal, and t'e very prite of my
heart!"

"Tell me one thing before we enter the house--does any one else sing
Indian about here?--has Sureflint any women with him?"

"Not he!--t'e creatur' hast not'ing to do wit' squaws. As for any one
else's singing Intian, I can only tell you I never heart of such a
person."

"But, you told me you were down the road to meet me this morning--were
you alone!"

"Not at all--we all went; Sureflint, Frank, Dus, and I. I t'ought it due
to a lantlort, Mortaunt, to gif him a hearty welcome; t'ough Dus did
mutiny a little, and sait t'at, lantlort or no lantlort, it was not
proper for a young gal to go forth to meet a young man. I might have
t'ought so too, if it hadn't peen yourself, my poy; but, with you, I
couldn't play stranger, as one woult wit' a straggling Yankee. I wishet
to welcome you wit' the whole family; put I'll not conceal Dus's
unwillingness to be of t'e party."

"But Dus _was_ of your party! It is very odd we did not meet!"

"Now, you speak of it, I do pelief it wast all owin' to a scheme of t'at
cunnin' gal! You must know, Mortaunt, a'ter we had got a pit down t'e
roat, she persuatet us to enter a t'icket of pines, in order to eat a
mout'ful; and I do pelief the cunnin' hussy just did it t'at you might
slip past, and she safe her female dignity!"

"And from those pines Sureflint came, just after Dus, as you call her,
but Miss Ursula Malbone, as I ought to style her, had been singing this
very song?"

"Wast you near enough to know all t'is, poy, and we miss you! The gal dit
sing t'at ferry song; yes, I rememper it; and a sweet, goot song it is.
Call her Miss Ursula Malbone? Why shouldn't you call her Dus, as well as
Frank and I?"

"For the simple reason that you are uncle, and Frank her brother, while
I am a total stranger."

"Poh--poh--Morty; t'is is peing partic'lar. I am only a half-uncle, in
the first place; and Frank is only a half-brot'er; and I dares to say
you wilt pe her _whole_ frient. T'en, you are not a stranger to any of
t'e family, I can tell you, lat; for I have talket enough apout you to
make bot' t'e poy and t'e gal lofe you almost as much as I do myself."

Poor, simple-hearted, upright old Andries! What an unpleasant feeling
did he give me, by letting me into the secret that I was about to meet
persons who had been listening to his partial accounts for the last
twelve months. It is so difficult to equal expectations thus awakened;
and I will own that I had begun to be a little sensitive on the subject
of this Dus. The song had been ringing in my ears from the moment I
first heard it; and now that it became associated with Priscilla
Bayard's Ursula Malbone, the latter had really become a very formidable
person to my imagination. There was no retreating, however, had I wished
it; and a sign induced the Chainbearer to proceed. Face the young woman
I must, and the sooner it was done the better.

The 'Nest-house, as my homely residence was termed, had been a sort of
fortress, or "garrison," in its day, having been built around three
sides of a parallelogram, with all its windows and doors opening on the
court. On the fourth side were the remains of pickets, or palisades, but
they were mostly rotted away, being useless as a fence, from the
circumstance that the buildings stood on the verge of a low cliff that,
of itself, formed a complete barrier against the invasions of cattle,
and no insignificant defence against those of man.

The interior of the 'Nest-house was far more inviting than its exterior.
The windows gave the court an appearance of life and gayety, at once
converting that which was otherwise a pile of logs, thrown together in
the form of a building, into a habitable and inhabited dwelling. One
side of this court, however, was much neater, and had much more the air
of comfort than the other; and toward the first Andries led the way. I
was aware that my grandfather Mordaunt had caused a few rooms in this
building to be furnished for his own particular purposes, and that no
orders had ever been given to remove or to dispose of the articles thus
provided. I was not surprised, therefore, on entering the house, to find
myself in apartments which, while they could not be called in any manner
gayly or richly furnished, were nevertheless quite respectably supplied
with most of the articles that are thought necessary to a certain manner
of living.

"We shall fint Dus in here, I dare say," observed the Chainbearer,
throwing open a door, and signing for me to precede him. "Go in, and
shake t'e gal's hand, Mortaunt; she knows you well enough, name and
natur', as a poty may say."

I did go in, and found myself within a few feet of the fair,
golden-haired girl of the raising; she who had saved the frame from
falling on us all, by a decision of mind and readiness of exertion that
partook equally of courage and dexterity. She was in the same dress as
when first seen by me, though the difference in attitude and employment
certainly gave her air and expression a very different character. Ursula
Malbone was now quietly occupied in hemming one of those coarse checked
handkerchiefs that the poverty of her uncle compelled him, or at least
induced him to use, and of which I had seen one in his hands only a
minute before. On my entrance she rose, gravely but not discourteously
answering my bow with a profound courtesy. Neither spoke, though the
salutes were exchanged as between persons who felt no necessity for an
introduction in order to know each other.

"Well, now," put in Andries, in his strongest Dutch accent, "t'is wilt
never do, ast petween two such olt frients. Come hit'er, Dus, gal, and
gif your hant to Mortaunt Littlepage, who ist a sort of son of my own."

Dus obeyed, and I had the pleasure of holding her soft velvet-like hand
in mine for one moment. I felt a gratification I cannot describe in
finding the hand _was_ so soft, since the fact gave me the assurance
that necessity had not yet reduced her to any of the toil that is
unsuited to a gentlewoman. I knew that Andries had slaves, his only
possession, indeed, besides his compass, chains and sword, unless a few
arms and some rude articles of the household were excepted; and these
slaves, old and worn out as they must be by this time, were probably the
means of saving the niece from the performance of offices that were
menial.

Although I got the hand of Ursula Malbone, I could not catch her eye.
She did not avert her face, neither did she affect coldness; but she was
not at her ease. I could readily perceive that she would have been
better pleased had her uncle permitted the salutations to be limited to
the bows and courtesies. As I had never seen this girl before, and could
not have done anything to offend her, I ascribed the whole to _mauvaise
honte_, and the embarrassment that was natural enough to one who found
herself placed in a situation so different from that in which she had so
lately been. I bowed on the hand, possibly gave it a gentle pressure in
order to reassure its owner, and we separated.

"Well, now, Dus, haf you a cup of tea for the lantlort--to welcome him
to his own house wit'?" demanded Andries, perfectly satisfied with the
seemingly amicable relations he had established between us. "T'e major
hast hat a long march, for peaceable times, and woult be glat to git a
little refreshment."

"You call me major, Chainbearer, while you refuse to accept the same
title for yourself."

"Ay, t'ere ist reason enough for t'at. _You_ may lif to be a general;
_wilt_ probably be one before you're t'irty; but I am an olt man, now,
and shall never wear any ot'er uniform than this I have on again. I
pegan t'e worlt in this corps, Morty, and shall end it in the rank in
which I began."

"I thought you had been a surveyor originally, and that you fell back on
the chain because you had no taste for figures. I think I have heard as
much from yourself."

"Yes, t'at is t'e fact. Figures and I didn't agree; nor do I like 'em
any petter at seventy t'an I liket 'em at seventeen. Frank Malbone, now,
Dus's brother, t'ere, ist a lat that takes to 'em nat'rally, and he
works t'rough a sum ast your fat'er would carry a battalion t'rough a
ravine. Carrying chain I like; it gives sufficient occupation to t'e
mind; put honesty is the great quality for the chainbearer. They say
figures can't lie, Mortaunt; but 'tis not true wit' chains; sometimes
they do lie, desperately."

"Where is Mr. Francis Malbone? I should be pleased to make his
acquaintance."

"Frank remainet pehint to help 'em up with their timber. He is a stout
chap, like yourself, and can lent a hant; while, poor fellow! he has no
lantlort tignity to maintain."

I heard a gentle sigh from Dus, and involuntarily turned my head; for
she was occupied directly behind my chair. As if ashamed of the
weakness, the spirited girl , and for the first time in my life I
heard her voice, the two instances of the Indian songs excepted. I say
heard her voice; for it was an event to record. A pleasant voice, in
either sex, is a most pleasant gift from nature. But the sweet tones of
Ursula Malbone were all that the most fastidious ear could have desired;
being full, rich, melodious, yet on the precise key that best satisfies
the taste, bringing with it assurances of a feminine disposition and
regulated habits. I detest a shrill, high-keyed female voice, more than
that of a bawling man, while one feels a contempt for those who mumble
their words in order to appear to possess a refinement that the very act
itself contradicts. Plain, direct, but regulated utterance, is
indispensable to a man or woman of the world; anything else rendering
him or her mean or affected.

"I was in hopes," said Dus, "that evil-disposed frame was up and
secured, and that I should see Frank in a minute or two. I was surprised
to see you working so stoutly for the Presbyterians, uncle Chainbearer!"

"I might return t'e compliment, and say I wast surpriset to see _you_
doing the same t'ing, Miss Dus! Pesides, the tenomination is
Congregational and not Prespyterian; and one is apout as much to your
taste as t'e ot'er."

"The little I did was for you, and Frank, and--Mr. Littlepage, with all
the rest who stood under the frame."

"I am sure, Miss Ursula," I now put in, "we all ought, and I trust we
all _do_ feel truly grateful for your timely aid. Had that timber come
down, many of us must have been killed, and more maimed."

"It was not a very feminine exploit," answered the girl, smiling, as I
thought, a little bitterly. "But one gets accustomed to being _useful_
in the woods."

"Do you dislike living in the forest, then?" I ventured to ask.

"Certainly not. I like living anywhere that keeps me near uncle
Chainbearer, and Frank. They are all to me, now my excellent protectress
and adviser is no more; and their home is my home, their pleasure my
pleasure, their happiness mine."

This might have been said in a way to render it suspicious and
sentimental; but it was not. On the contrary, it was impulsive, and came
from the heart. I saw by the gratified look of Andries that he
understood his niece, and was fully aware how much he might rely on the
truthful character of the speaker. As for the girl herself, the moment
she had given utterance to what she felt, she shrunk back, like one
abashed at having laid bare feelings that ought to have been kept in the
privacy of her own bosom. Unwilling to distress her, I turned the
conversation in a way to leave her to herself.

"Mr. Newcome seems a skilful manager of the multitude," I remarked. "He
contrived very dexterously to give to the twenty-six Congregationalists
he had with him, the air of being a majority of the whole assembly;
while in truth, they were barely a third of those present."

"Let Jason Newcome alone for t'at?" exclaimed Andries. "He understants
mankint, he says, and sartainly he hast a way of marching and
countermarching just where he pleases wit' t'ese people, makin' 'em
t'ink t'e whole time t'ey are doing just what t'ey want to do. It ist an
art, major--it ist an art!"

"I should think it must be, and one worth possessing, if, indeed, it can
be exercised with credit."

"Ay, t'ere's the rub! Exerciset it is; but as for t'e credit, _t'at_ I
will not answer for. It sometimes makes me angry, and sometimes it makes
me laugh, when I look on, and see t'e manner in which Jason makes t'e
people rule t'emselves, and how _he_ wheels 'em apout, and faces 'em,
and t'rows them into line, and out of line, at t'eir own wort of
commant! His Excellency coult hartly do more wit' us, a'fer t'e Baron[8]
had given us his drill."

[Footnote 8: This allusion is evidently to a German officer, who
introduced the Prussian drill into the American army, Baron Steuben--or
_Stuy_ben, as I think he must have been called in Germany--Steu_ben_, as
he is universally termed in this country.--EDITOR.]

"There must be some talent necessary, in order to possess so much
influence over one's fellow-creatures."

"It is a talent you woult be ashamed to exercise, Mortaunt Littlepage,
t'ough you hat it in cart loats. No man can use such talent wit'out
peginning wit' lying and deceifing; and you must be greatly changet,
major, if you are the he't of your class, in such a school."

"I am sorry to see, Chainbearer, that you have no better opinion of my
agent; I must look into the matter a little, when this is the case."

"You wilt fint him law-honest enough; for he swears py t'e law, and lifs
py t'e law. No fear for your tollars, poy; t'ey pe all safe, unless,
inteet, t'ey haf all vanishet in t'e law."

As Andries was getting more and more Dutch, I knew he was growing more
and more warm, and I thought it might be well to defer the necessary
inquiries to a cooler moment. This peculiarity I have often observed in
most of those who speak English imperfectly, or with the accent of some
other tongue. They fall back, as respects language, to that nearest to
nature, at those moments when natural feeling is asserting its power
over them the least equivocally.

I now began to question the Chainbearer concerning the condition in
which he found the 'Nest-house and farm, over which I had given him full
authority, when he came to the place, by a special letter to the agent.
The people in possession were of very humble pretensions, and had been
content to occupy the kitchen and servants' rooms ever since my
grandfather's death, as indeed, they had done long before that event. It
was owing to this moderation, as well as to their perfect honesty, that
I found nothing embezzled, and most of the articles in good condition.
As for the farm, it had flourished, on the "let alone" principle. The
orchards had grown, as a matter of course; and if the fields had not
been improved by judicious culture, neither had they been exhausted by
covetous croppings. In these particulars, there was nothing of which to
complain. Things might have been better, Andries thought; but he also
thought it was exceedingly fortunate they were no worse. While we were
conversing on this theme, Dus moved about the room silently, but with
collected activity, having arranged the tea-table with her own hands.
When invited to take our seats at it--everybody drew near to a tea-table
in that day, unless when there was too large a party to be
accommodated--I was surprised to find everything so perfectly neat, and
some things rich. The plates, knives, etc., were of good quality, but
the tray was actually garnished with a set of old-fashioned silver, such
as was made when tea was first used, of small size, but very highly
chased. The handle of the spoons represented the stem of the tea-plant,
and there was a crest on each of them; while a full coat of arms was
engraved on the different vessels of the service, which were four in
all. I looked at the crest, in a vague, but surprised expectation of
finding my own. It was entirely new to me. Taking the cream-jug in my
hand, I could recall no arms resembling those that were engraved on it.

"I was surprised to find this plate here," I observed; "for, though my
grandfather possessed a great deal of it, for one of his means, I did
not think he had enough to be as prodigal of it as leaving it here would
infer. This is family plate, too, but those arms are neither Mordaunt
nor Littlepage. May I ask to whom they do belong?"

"The Malpones," answered the Chainbearer. "T'e t'ings are t'e property
of Dus."

"And you may add, uncle Chainbearer, that they are _all_ her
property"--added the girl, quickly.

"I feel much honored in being permitted to use them, Miss Ursula," I
remarked; "for a very pretty set they make."

"Necessity, and not vanity, has brought them out to-day. I broke the
only teapot of yours there was in the house this morning, and was in
hopes Frank would have brought up one from the store to supply its
place, before it would be wanted; but he does not come. As for spoons, I
can find none belonging to the house, and we use these constantly. As
the teapot was indispensable, I thought I might as well display all my
wealth at once. But this is the first time the things have been used in
many, many years!"

There was a plaintive melody in Dus's voice, spite of her desire and
effort to speak with unconcern, that I found exceedingly touching. While
few of us enter into the exultation of successful vulgarity, as it
rejoices in its too often random prosperity, it is in nature to
sympathize with a downward progress, and with the sentiments it leaves,
when it is connected with the fates of the innocent, the virtuous, and
the educated. That set of silver was all that remained to Ursula Malbone
of a physical character, and which marked the former condition of her
family; and doubtless she cherished it with no low feeling of morbid
pride, but as a melancholy monument of a condition to which all her
opinions, tastes, and early habits constantly reminded her she properly
belonged. In this last point of view, the sentiment was as respectable,
and as much entitled to reverence, as in the other case it would have
been unworthy, and meriting contempt.

There is a great deal of low misconception, as well as a good deal of
cant, beginning to prevail among us, on the subject of the qualities
that mark a gentleman, or a lady. The day has gone by, and I trust
forever, when the mere accidents of birth are to govern such a claim;
though the accidents of birth are very apt to supply the qualities that
may really form the caste. For my own part, I believe in the
exaggerations of neither of the two extremes that so stubbornly maintain
their theories on this subject; or, that a gentleman may not be formed
exclusively by birth on the one hand, and that the severe morality of
the Bible on the other is by no means indispensable to the character. A
man may be a very perfect gentleman, though by no means a perfect man,
or a Christian; and he may be a very good Christian, and very little of
a gentleman. It is true, there is a connection in manners, as a result,
between the Christian and the gentleman; but it is in the result, and
not in the motive. That Christianity has little necessary connection
with the character of a gentleman may be seen in the fact that the
dogmas of the first teach us to turn another cheek to him who smites;
while the promptings of the gentleman are--not to wipe out the indignity
in the blood of the offender, but--to show that rather than submit to it
he is ready to risk his own life.[9]

[Footnote 9: Mr. Mordaunt Littlepage would seem to have got hold of the
only plausible palliative for a custom that originated in those times
when abuses could only be corrected by the strong arm; and which, in our
own days, is degenerating into the merest system of chicanery and trick.
The duellist who, in his "practice," gets to be "certain death to a
shingle" and then misses his man, instead of illustrating his chivalry,
merely lets the world into the secret that his nerves are not equal to
his drill! There was something as respectable as anything _can_ be in
connection with a custom so silly, in the conduct of the Englishman who
called out to his adversary, a near-sighted man, "that if he wished to
shoot at _him_, he must turn his pistol in another direction."--EDITOR.]

But, I repeat, there is no _necessary_ connection between the Christian
and the gentleman, though the last who is the first attains the highest
condition of humanity. Christians, under the influence of their
educations and habits, often do things that the code of the gentleman
rejects; while it is certain that gentlemen constantly commit
unequivocal sins. The morality of the gentleman repudiates meannesses
and low vices, rather than it rigidly respects the laws of God; while
the morality of the Christian is unavoidably raised or depressed by the
influence of the received opinions of his social caste. I am not
maintaining that "the ten commandments were not given for the obedience
of people of quality," for their obligations are universal; but, simply,
that the qualities of a gentleman are the best qualities of man unaided
by God, while the graces of the Christian come directly from his mercy.

Nevertheless, there is that in the true character of a gentleman that is
very much to be respected. In addition to the great indispensables of
tastes, manners, and opinions, based on intelligence and cultivation,
and all those liberal qualities that mark his caste, he cannot and does
not stoop to meannesses of any sort. He is truthful out of self-respect,
and not in obedience to the will of God; free with his money, because
liberality is an essential feature of his habits, and not in imitation
of the self-sacrifice of Christ; superior to scandal and the vices of
the busybody, inasmuch as they are low and impair his pride of
character, rather than because he has been commanded not to bear false
witness against his neighbor. It is a great mistake to confound these
two characters, one of which is a mere human embellishment of the ways
of a wicked world, while the other draws near to the great end of human
existence. The last is a character I revere; while I am willing to
confess that I never meet with the first without feeling how vacant and
repulsive society would become without it; unless, indeed, the vacuum
could be filled by the great substance, of which, after all, the
gentleman is but the shadow.

Ursula Malbone lost nothing in my respect by betraying the emotion she
did, while thus speaking of this relic of old family plate. I was glad
to find, however, that she _could_ retain it; for, though dressed in no
degree in a style unbecoming her homely position as her uncle's
housekeeper, there were a neatness and taste in her attire that are not
often seen in remote parts of the country. On this subject, the reader
will indulge my weaknesses a little, if I pause to say a word. Ursula
had neither preserved in her dress the style of one of her sex and
condition in the world, nor yet entirely adopted that common to girls of
the class to which she now seemingly belonged. It struck me that some of
those former garments that were the simplest in fashion, and the most
appropriate in material, had been especially arranged for present use;
and sweetly becoming were they, to one of her style of countenance and
perfection of form. In that day, as every one knows, the different
classes of society--and, kingdom or republic, classes _do_ and ever
_will_ exist in this country, as an incident of civilization; a truth
every one can see as respects those _below_, though his vision may be
less perfect as respects those _above_ him--but every one knows that
great distinctions in dress existed, as between classes, all over the
Christian world, at the close of the American war, that are fast
disappearing, or have altogether disappeared. Now Ursula had preserved
just enough of the peculiar attire of her own class, to let one
understand that she, in truth, belonged to it without rendering the
distinction obtrusive. Indeed, the very character of that which she did
preserve, sufficiently told the story of her origin, since it was a
subdued, rather than an exaggerated imitation of that to which she had
been accustomed, as would have been the case with a mere copyist. I can
only add, that the effect was to render her sufficiently charming.

"Taste t'ese cakes," said old Andries, who, without the slightest
design, did love to exhibit the various merits of his niece--"Dus mate
t'em, and I'll engage Matam Washington herself couldn't make
pleasanter!"

"If Mrs. Washington was ever thus employed," I answered, "she might turn
pale with envy here. Better cakes of the sort I never ate."

"'Of the sort' is well added, Mr. Littlepage," the girl quietly
observed; "my protectress and friend made me rather skilful in this way,
but the ingredients are not to be had here as they were in her family."

"Which, being a boarding-school for young ladies, was doubtless better
supplied than common with the materials and knowledge necessary for good
cakes."

Dus laughed, and it startled me, so full of a wild but subdued melody
did that laugh seem to be.

"Young ladies have many foibles imputed to them, of which they are
altogether innocent," was her answer. "Cakes were almost forbidden fruit
in the school, and we were taught to make them in pity to the palates of
the men."

"Your future huspants, gal," cried the Chainbearer, rising to quit the
room.

"Our fathers, brothers, and _uncles_," returned his niece, laying an
emphasis on the last word.

"I believe, Miss Ursula," I resumed, as soon as Andries had left us
alone, "that I have been let behind the curtain as respects your late
school, having an acquaintance of a somewhat particular nature with one
of your old school-fellows."

My companion did not answer, but she fastened those fascinating blue
eyes of hers on me, in a way that asked a hundred questions in a moment.
I could not but see that they were suffused with tears; allusions to her
school often producing that effect.

"I mean Miss Priscilla Bayard, who would seem to be, or to have been, a
very good friend of yours," I added, observing that my companion was not
disposed to say anything.

"Pris Bayard!" Ursula now suffered to escape her, in her surprise--"and
_she_ an acquaintance of a somewhat particular nature!"

"My language has been incautious; not to say that of a coxcomb.
Certainly, I am not authorized to say more than that our _families_ are
very intimate, and that there are some particular reasons for that
intimacy. I beg you to read only as I have corrected the error."

"I do not see that the correction changes things much; and you will let
me say I am grieved, sadly grieved, to learn so much."

This was odd! That Dus really meant what she said was plain enough by a
face that had actually lost nearly all of its color, and which expressed
an emotion that was most extraordinary. Shall I own what a miserably
conceited coxcomb I was for a single moment? The truth must be said, and
I will confess it. The thought that crossed my mind was this: Ursula
Malbone was pained at the idea that the only man whom she had seen for a
year, and who could, by possibility, make any impression on one of her
education and tastes, was betrothed to another! Under ordinary
circumstances, this precocious preference might have caused me to revolt
at its exhibition; but there was far too much of nature in all of Dus's
emotions, acts, and language, to produce any other impression on me than
that of intense interest. I have always dated the powerful hold that
this girl so soon obtained on my heart, to the tumult of feeling
awakened in me at that singular moment. Love at first sight may be
ridiculous, but it is sometimes true. That a passion may be aroused by a
glance, or a smile, or any other of those secret means of conveying
sympathy with which nature has supplied us, I fully believe; though its
duration must depend on qualities of a higher and more permanent
influence. It is the imagination that is first excited; the heart coming
in for its share by later and less perceptible degrees.

My delusion, however, did not last long. Whether Ursula Malbone was
conscious of the misconstruction to which she was liable, I cannot say;
but I rather think not, as she was much too innocent to dread evil; or
whether she saw some other necessity for explaining herself, remains a
secret with me to this hour; but explain she did. How judiciously this
was done, and with how much of that female tact that taught her to
conceal the secrets of her friend, will appear to those who are
sufficiently interested in the subject to pursue it.




CHAPTER XII.

    "Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth--
    Joy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love
    Accompany your hearts!"--_Midsummer Night's Dream._


"I ought not to leave you in any doubts as to my meaning, Mr.
Littlepage," resumed Ursula, after a short pause. "Priscilla Bayard is
very dear to me, and is well worthy of all your love and admiration----"

"Admiration, if you please, and as much as you please, Miss Ursula; but
there is no such feeling as love, as yet certainly, between Miss Bayard
and myself."

The countenance of Dus brightened sensibly. Truth herself, she gave
immediate credit to what I said; and I could not but see that she was
greatly relieved from some unaccountable apprehension. Still, she smiled
a little archly, and perhaps a little sadly, as she continued--

"'As yet, certainly,' is very equivocal on your side, when a young woman
like Priscilla Bayard is concerned. It may at any moment be converted
into '_now_, certainly,' with that certainty the other way."

"I will not deny it. Miss Bayard is a charming creature--yet, I do not
know how it is--there seems to be a fate in these things. The peculiar
relation to which I alluded, and alluded so awkwardly, is nothing more
than the engagement of my youngest sister to her brother. There is no
secret in that engagement, so I shall not affect to conceal it."

"And it is just such an engagement as might lead to one between yourself
and Priscilla!" exclaimed Dus, certainly not without alarm.

"It might, or it might not, as the parties happen to view such things.
With certain temperaments it might prove an inducement; while with
others it would not."

"_My_ interest in the subject," continued Dus, "proceeds altogether from
the knowledge I have that another has sought Miss Bayard; and I will
own, with my hearty good wishes for his success. You struck me as a most
formidable rival; nor do you seem any the less so, now I know that your
families are to be connected."

"Have no fears on my account, for I am as heart-whole as the day I first
saw the lady."

A flash of intelligence--a most meaning flash it was--gleamed on the
handsome face of my companion; and it was followed by a mournful, though
I still thought not an entirely dissatisfied smile.

"These are matters about which one had better not say much," Dus added,
after a pause. "My sex has its 'peculiar rights,' and no woman should
disregard them. You have been fortunate in finding all your tenants
collected together, Mr. Littlepage, in a way to let you see them at a
single glance."

"I was fortunate in one sense, and a most delightful introduction I had
to the settlement--such an introduction as I would travel another
hundred miles to have repeated."

"Are you, then, so fond of raisings? or do you really love excitement to
such a degree as to wish to get under a trap, like one of the poor
rabbits my uncle sometimes takes?"

"I am not thinking of the raising, or of the frame; although your
courage and presence of mind might well indelibly impress both on my
mind"--Dus looked down and the color mounted to her temple--"but, I was
thinking of a certain song, an Indian song, sung to Scotch music, that I
heard a few miles from the clearings, and which was my real introduction
to the pleasant things one may both hear and see in this retired part of
the world."

"Which is not so retired after all that flattery cannot penetrate it, I
find. It is pleasant to hear one's songs extolled, even though they may
be Indian; but, it is not half so pleasant as to hear tidings of
Priscilla Bayard. If you wish truly to charm my ear, talk of _her_!"

"The attachment seems mutual, for I can assure you Miss Bayard
manifested just the same interest in you."

"In me! Priscilla then remembers a poor creature like me, in her
banishment from the world! Perhaps she remembers me so much the more,
because I _am_ banished. I hope she does not, _can_not think I regret my
condition--_that_ I could hardly forgive her."

"I rather think she does not; I know she gives you credit for more than
common excellencies."

"It is strange that Priscilla Bayard should speak of me to you! I have
been a little unguarded myself, Mr. Littlepage, and have said so much,
that I begin to feel the necessity of saying something more. There is
some excuse for my not feeling in your presence as in that of a
stranger, since uncle Chainbearer has your name in his mouth at least
one hundred times each day. Twelve different times in one hour did he
speak of you yesterday."

"Excellent old Andries! It is the pride of my life that so honest a man
loves me; and now for the explanation I am entitled to receive as his
friend by your own acknowledgment."

Dus smiled, a little saucily I thought--but saucily or not, that smile
made her look extremely lovely. She reflected a moment, like one who
thinks intensely, even bending her head under the painful mental effort;
then she drew her form to its usual attitude, and spoke.

"It is always best to be frank," she said, "and it can do no harm, while
it _may_ do good to be explicit with you. You will not forget, Mr.
Littlepage, that I believe myself to be conversing with my uncle's very
best friend?"

"I am too proud of the distinction to forget it, under any
circumstances; and least of all in _your_ presence."

"Well, then, I will be frank. Priscilla Bayard was for eight years my
associate and closest friend. Our affection for each other commenced
when we were mere children, and increased with time and knowledge. About
a year before the close of the war, my brother Frank, who is now here as
my uncle's surveyor, found opportunities to quit his regiment, and to
come to visit me quite frequently--indeed, his company was sent to
Albany, where he could see me as often as he desired. To see me, was to
see Priscilla, for we were inseparable; and to see Priscilla was, for
poor Frank at least, to love her. He made me his confidant, and my alarm
was nothing but natural concern lest he might have a rival as formidable
as you."

A flood of light was let in upon me by this brief explanation, though I
could not but wonder at the simplicity, or strength of character, that
induced so strange a confidence. When I got to know Dus better, the
whole became clear enough; but, at the moment, I was a little surprised.

"Be at ease on my account, Miss Malbone----"

"Why not call me Dus at once? You will do it in a week, like everyone
else here; and it is better to begin our acquaintance as I am sure it
will end. Uncle Chainbearer calls me Dus; Frank calls me Dus; most of
your settlers call me Dus, to my very face; and even our blacks call me
Miss Dus. You cannot wish to be singular."

"I will gladly venture so far as to call you Ursula; but Dus does not
please me."

"No! I have become so accustomed to be called Dus by all my friends,
that it sounds distant to be called by any other name. Do you not think
Dus a pretty diminutive?"

"I _did_ not, most certainly; though all these things depend on the
associations. Dus Malbone sounded sweetly enough in Priscilla Bayard's
mouth; but I fear it will not be so pleasant in mine."

"Do as you please--but do not call me _Miss_ Ursula, or _Miss_ Malbone.
It would have displeased me once, _not_ to have been so addressed by any
man; but it has an air of mockery, now that I know myself to be only the
companion and housekeeper of a poor chainbearer."

"And yet, the owner of that silver, the lady I see seated at this table,
in this room, is not so very inappropriately addressed as Miss Ursula!"

"You know the history of the silver, and the table and room are your
own. No--Mr. Littlepage, we are poor--very, _very_ poor--uncle
Chainbearer, Frank, and I--all alike, have nothing."

This was not said despairingly, but with a sincerity that I found
exceedingly touching.

"Frank, at least, should have something," I answered. "You tell me he
was in the army?"

"He was a captain at the last, but what did he receive for that? We do
not complain of the country, any of us; neither my uncle, my brother,
nor myself; for we know it is poor, like ourselves, and that its poverty
even is like our own, that of persons reduced. I was long a charge on my
friends, and there have been debts to pay. Could I have known it, such a
thing should not have happened. Now I can only repay those who have
discharged these obligations by coming into the wilderness with them. It
is a terrible thing for a woman to be in debt."

"But you have remained in this house; you surely have not been in the
hut, at Mooseridge?"

"I have gone wherever uncle Chainbearer has gone, and shall go with him,
so long as we both live. Nothing shall ever separate us again. His years
demand this, and gratitude is added to my love. Frank might possibly do
better than work for the little he receives; but _he_ will not quit us.
The poor love each other intensely!"

"But I have desired your uncle to use this house, and for your sake I
should think he would accept the offer."

"How could he, and carry chain twenty miles distant? We have been here,
occasionally, a few days at a time; but the work was to be done and it
must be done on the land itself."

"Of course, you merely gave your friends the pleasure of your company,
and looked a little to their comforts, on their return from a hard day's
work?"

Dus raised her eyes to mine; smiled; then she looked sad, her under-lip
quivering slightly; after which a smile that was not altogether without
humor succeeded. I watched these signs of varying feeling with an
interest I cannot describe; for the play of virtuous and ingenuous
emotion on a lovely female countenance is one of the rarest sights in
nature.

"I can carry chain," said the girl, at the close of this exhibition of
feeling.

"You _can_ carry chain, Ursula--Dus, or whatever I am to call you----"

"Call me Dus--I love that name best."

"You _can_ carry chain, I suppose, is true enough--but, you do not mean
that you _have_?"

The face of Dus flushed; but she looked me full in the eye, as she
nodded her head to express an affirmative; and she smiled as sweetly as
ever woman smiled.

"For amusement--to say you have done it--in jest!"

"To help my uncle and brother, who had not the means to hire a second
man."

"Good God! Miss Malbone--Ursula--Dus----"

"The last is the most proper name for a chainbear_ess_," rejoined the
girl, smiling; and actually taking my hand by an involuntary movement of
her sympathy in the shock I so evidently felt. "But, why should you look
upon that little toil as so shocking, when it is healthful and honest?
You are thinking of a sister reduced to what strikes you as man's proper
work."

Dus relinquished my hand almost as soon as she had touched it; and she
did it with a slight start, as if shocked at her own temerity.

"What _is_ man's work, and man's work, _only_."

"Yet woman can perform it; and, as uncle Chainbearer will tell you,
perform it _well_. I had no other concern, the month I was at work, than
the fear that my strength would not enable me to do as much as my uncle
and brother, and thus lessen the service they could render you each day.
They kept me on the dry land, so there were no wet feet, and your woods
are as clear of underbrush as an orchard. There is no use in attempting
to conceal the fact, for it is known to many, and would have reached
your ears sooner or later. Then concealment is always painful to me, and
never more so than when I hear you, and see you treating your hired
servant as an equal."

"Miss Malbone! For God's sake, let me hear no more of this--old Andries
judged rightly of me, in wishing to conceal this; for I should never
have allowed it to go on for a moment."

"And in what manner could you have prevented it, Major Littlepage? My
uncle has taken the business of you at so much the day, finding surveyor
and laborers--poor, dear Frank! He, at least, does not rank with the
laborers, and as for my uncle, he has long had an honest pride in being
the best chainbearer in the country--why need his niece scruple about
sharing in his well-earned reputation?"

"But you, Miss Malbone--dearest Dus--who have been so educated, who are
born a lady, who are loved by Priscilla Bayard, the sister of Frank, are
not in your proper sphere, while thus occupied."

"It is not so easy to say what is the proper sphere of a woman. I admit
it ought to be, in general, in the domestic circle and under the
domestic roof; but circumstances must control that. We hear of wives who
follow their husbands to the camp, and we hear of nuns who come out of
their convents to attend the sick and wounded in hospitals. It does not
strike me, then, as so bad in a girl who offers to aid her parent as I
have aided mine, when the alternative was to suffer by want."

"Gracious Providence! And Andries has kept me in ignorance of all this;
he knew my purse would have been his, and how could you have been in
want in the midst of the abundance that reigns in this settlement, which
is only fifteen or twenty miles from your hut, as I know from the
chainbearer's letters."

"Food is plenty, I allow, but we had no money; and when the question was
between beggary or exertion, we merely chose the last. My uncle did try
old Killian, the black, for a day; but you know how hard it is to make
one of those people understand anything that is a little intricate; and
then I offered my services. I am intelligent enough, I trust"--the girl
smiled a little proudly as she said this--"and you can have no notion
how active and strong I am for light work like this, and on my feet,
until you put me to the proof. Remember, carrying chain is neither
chopping wood nor piling logs; nor is it absolutely unfeminine."

"Nor raising churches"--I answered, smiling; for it was not easy to
resist the contagion of the girl's spirit--"at which business I have
been an eye-witness of your dexterity. However, there will now be an end
of this. It is fortunately in my power to offer such a situation and
such emoluments to Mr. Malbone, as will at once enable him to place his
sister in this house as its mistress, and under a roof that is at least
respectable."

"Bless you for that!" cried Dus, making a movement toward catching my
hand again; but checking it in time to render the deep blush that
instantly suffused her face, almost unnecessary. "Bless you for that!
Frank is willing to do anything that is honest, and capable of doing
anything that a gentleman should do. I am the great encumbrance on the
poor fellow; for, could he leave me, many situations must be open to him
in the towns. But I cannot quit my uncle, and Frank will not quit me. He
does not understand uncle Chainbearer."

"Frank must be a noble fellow, and I honor him for his attachment to
such a sister. This makes me only the more anxious to carry out my
intentions."

"Which are such, I hope, that there is no impropriety in his sister's
knowing them?"

This was said with such an expression of interest in the sweet, blue
eyes, and with so little of the air of common curiosity, that it
completely charmed me.

"Certainly there is none," I answered, promptly enough even for a young
man who was acting under the influence of so much ingenuous and strong
native feeling; "and I shall have great pleasure in telling you. We have
long been dissatisfied with our agent on this estate, and I had
determined to offer it to your uncle. The same difficulty would have to
be overcome in this case, as there was in making him a safe
surveyor--the want of skill in figures; now this difficulty will not
exist in the instance of your brother; and the whole family, Chainbearer
as well as the rest, will be benefited by giving the situation to
Frank."

"You call him Frank!" cried Dus, laughing, and evidently delighted with
what she heard. "That is a good omen; but if you raise me to the station
of an agent's sister, I do not know but I shall insist on being called
Ursula, at least, if not Miss Ursula."

I scarce knew what to make of this girl; there was so much of gayety,
and even fun, blended with a mine of as deep feeling as I ever saw
throwing up its signs to the human countenance. Her brother's prospects
had made her even gay; though she still looked as if anxious to hear
more.

"You may claim which you please, for Frank shall have his name put into
the new power of attorney within the hour. Mr. Newcome has had a hint,
by letter, of what is to come, and professes great happiness in getting
rid of a vast deal of unrequited trouble."

"I am afraid there is little emolument, if _he_ is glad to be rid of the
office."

"I do not say he is _glad_; I only say he _professes_ to be so. These
are different things with certain persons. As for the emolument, it will
not be much certainly; though it will be enough to prevent Frank's
sister from carrying chain, and leave her to exercise her talents and
industry in their proper sphere. In the first place, every lease on the
estate is to be renewed; and there being a hundred, and the tenant
bearing the expense, it will at once put a considerable sum at your
brother's disposition. I cannot say that the annual commissions will
amount to a very great deal, though they will exceed a hundred a year by
the terms on which the lands will be relet. The use of this house and
farm, however, I did intend to offer to your uncle; and, for the same
reason, I shall offer them to Frank."

"With this house and farm we shall be rich!" exclaimed Dus, clasping her
hands in delight. "I can gather a school of the better class of girls,
and no one will be useless--no one idle. If I teach your tenants'
daughters some of the ideas of their sex and station, Mr. Littlepage,
_you_ will reap the benefit in the end. That will be some slight return
for all your kindness."

"I wish all of your sex, and of the proper age, who are connected with
me, no better instructress. Teach them your own warmth of heart, your
own devotedness of feeling, your own truth, and your own frankness, and
I will come and dwell on my own estate, as the spot nearest to
paradise."

Dus looked a little alarmed, I thought, as if she feared she might have
uttered too much; or, perhaps, that _I_ was uttering too much. She rose,
thanked me hurriedly, but in a very lady-like manner, and set about
removing the breakfast service, with as much diligence as if she had
been a mere menial.

Such was my very first conversation with Ursula Malbone; her, with whom
I have since held so many, and those that have been very different! When
I rose to seek the Chainbearer, it was with a feeling of interest in my
late companion that was as strong as it was sudden. I shall not deny
that her beauty had its influence--it would be unnatural that it should
not--but it was less her exceeding beauty, and Ursula Malbone would have
passed for one of the fairest of her sex--but it was less her beauty
that attracted me than her directness, truth, and ingenuousness, so
closely blended as all were with the feelings and delicacy of her sex.
She had certainly done things which, had I merely _heard_ of them, would
have struck me unpleasantly, as even bold and forward, and which may now
so strike the reader; but this would be doing Dus injustice. No act, no
word of hers, not even the taking of my hand, seemed to me, at the time,
as in the least forward; the whole movement being so completely
qualified by that intensity of feeling which caused her to think only of
her brother. Nature and circumstances had combined to make her precisely
the character she was; and I will confess I did not wish her to be, in a
single particular, different from what I found her.

Talk of Pris Bayard in comparison with Ursula Malbone! Both had beauty,
it is true, though the last was far the handsomest; both had delicacy,
and sentiment, and virtue, and all that pertains to a well-educated
young woman, if you will; but Dus had a character of her own, and
principles, and an energy, and a decision, that made her the girl of ten
thousand. I do not think I could be said to be actually in love when I
left that room, for I do not wish to appear so very easy to receive
impressions as all that would come to; but I will own no female had ever
before interested me a tenth part as much, though I had known, and
possibly admired her, a twelvemonth.

In the court I found Andries measuring his chains. This he did
periodically; and it was as conscientiously as if he were weighing gold.
The old man manifested no consciousness of the length of the
_tete-a-tete_ I had held with his niece; but on the contrary, the first
words he uttered were to an effect that proved he fancied I had been
alone.

"I peg your parton, lat," he said, holding his measuring rod in his
mouth while he spoke. "I peg your parton, put this is very necessary
work. I do not wish to haf any of your Yankee settlers crying out
hereafter against the Chainpearer's surveys. Let 'em come a huntret or a
t'ousant years hence, if t'ey will, and measure t'e lant; I want olt
Andries' survey to stant."

"The variation of the compass will make some difference in the two
surveys, my good friend, unless the surveyors are better than one
commonly finds."

The old man dropped his rod and his chain, and looked despondingly at
me.

"True," he said, with emphasis. "You haf hit t'e nail on t'e heat,
Mortaunt--t'at fariation is t'e fery teffil to get along wit'! I haf
triet it t'is-a-way, and I haf triet it t'at-away, and never coult I
make heat or tail of it! I can see no goot of a fariation at all."

"What does your pretty assistant Dus think of it? Dus, the pretty
chainbearer? You will lose your old, hard-earned appellation, which will
be borne off by Miss Malbone."

"Ten Dus has peen telling you all apout it! A woman never can keep a
secret. No, natur' hast mate 'em talkatif, and t'e parrot will chatter."

"A woman likes variation, notwithstanding--did you consult Dus on that
difficulty?"

"No, no, poy; I sait not'ing to Dus, and I am sorry she has said
anyt'ing to you apout t'is little matter of t'e chain. It was sorely
against my will, Mortaunt, t'at t'e gal ever carriet it a rot; and was
it to do over ag'in, she shoult not carry it a rot--yet it woult have
tone your heart goot to see how prettily she did her work; and how quick
she wast, and how true; and how accurate she put down the marker; and
how sartain was her eye. Natur' made t'at fery gal for a chainpearer!"

"And a chainbearer she has been, and a chainbearer she ever will be,
until she throws her chains on some poor fellow, and binds him down for
life. Andries, you have an angel with you here, and not a woman."

Most men in the situation of the Chainbearer might have been alarmed at
hearing such language coming from a young man, and under all the
circumstances of the case. But Andries Coejemans never had any distrust
of mortal who possessed his ordinary confidence; and I question if he
ever entertained a doubt about myself on any point, the result of his
own, rather than of my character. Instead of manifesting uneasiness or
displeasure, he turned to me, his whole countenance illuminated with the
affection he felt for his niece, and said--

"T'e gal ist an excellent girl, Mortaunt, a capital creature! It woult
haf tone your heart goot, I tell you, to see her carry chain! Your
pocket is none t'e worse for t'e mont' she worked, t'ough I would not
haf you t'ink I charget for her ast a man--no--she is town at only
half-price, woman's work peing only woman's work; and yet I do pelieve,
on my conscience, t'at we went over more grount in t'at mont', t'an we
could haf tone wit' any man t'at wast to pe hiret in t'is part of t'e
worlt--I do, indeet!"

How strange all this sounded to me! Charged for work done by Ursula
Malbone, and charged at half-price! We are the creatures of convention,
and the slaves of opinions that come we know not whence. I had got the
notions of my caste, obtained in the silent, insinuating manner in which
all our characters are formed; and nothing short of absolute want could
have induced me to accept pecuniary compensation from an individual for
any personal service rendered. I had no profession, and it did not
comport with our usages for a gentleman to receive money for personal
service out of the line of a profession; an arbitrary rule, but one to
which most of us submit with implicit obedience. The idea that Dus had
been paid by myself for positive toil, therefore, was extremely
repugnant to me; and it was only after reflection that I came to view
the whole affair as I ought, and to pass to the credit of the
noble-minded girl, and this without any drawback, an act that did her so
much honor. I wish to represent myself as no better or no wiser, or more
rational than I was; and, I fancy, few young men of my age and habits
would hear with much delight, at first, that the girl he himself felt
impelled to love had been thus employed; while, on the other hand, few
would fail to arrive at the same conclusions, on reflection, as those I
reached myself.

The discourse with Andries Coejemans was interrupted by the sudden
entrance of Frank Malbone into the court. This was my first meeting with
my young surveyor, and the Chainbearer introduced us to each other in
his usual hearty and frank manner. In a minute we were acquainted; the
old man inquiring as to the success of the settlers in getting up their
"meetin'-us."

"I staid until they had begun to place the rafters," answered young
Malbone, cheerfully, "and then I left them. The festivities are to end
with a ball, I hear; but I was too anxious to learn how my sister
reached home--I ought to say reached the 'Nest--to remain. We have
little other home now, Mr. Littlepage, than the hut in the woods, and
the roof your hospitality offers."

"Brother soldiers, sir, and brother soldiers in _such a cause_, ought to
have no more scruples about accepting such hospitalities, as you call
them, than in offering them. I am glad, however, that you have adverted
to the subject, inasmuch as it opens the way to a proposition I have
intended to make; which, if accepted, will make me _your_ guest, and
which may as well be made now as a week later."

Both Andries and Frank look surprised; but I led them to a bench on the
open side of the court, and invited them to be seated, while I explained
myself. It may be well to say a word of that seat in passing. It stood
on the verge of a low cliff of rocks, on the side of the court which had
been defended by palisades, when the French held the Canadas, and the
remains of which were still to be seen. Here, as I was told before we
left the spot, Dus, _my_ pretty chainbearer, with a woman's instinct for
the graceful and the beautiful, had erected an arbor, principally with
her own hands, planted one of the swift-growing vines of our climate,
and caused a seat to be placed within. The spot commanded a pleasing
view of a wide expanse of meadows, and of a distant hill-side, that
still lay in the virgin forest. Andries told me that his niece had
passed much of her leisure time in that arbor, since the growth of the
plant, with the advance of the season, had brought the seat into the
shade.

Placing myself between the Chainbearer and Malbone, I communicated the
intention I had formed of making the latter my agent. As an inducement
to accept the situation, I offered the use of the 'Nest house and the
'Nest farm, reserving to myself the room or two that had been my
grandfather's, and that only at the times of my annual visits to the
property. As the farm was large, and of an excellent quality of land, it
would abundantly supply the wants of a family of modest habits, and even
admit of sales to produce the means of purchasing such articles of
foreign growth as might be necessary. In a word, I laid before the
listeners the whole of my plan, which was a good deal enlarged by a
secret wish to render Ursula comfortable, without saying anything about
the motive.

The reader is not to suppose I was exhibiting any extraordinary
liberality in doing that which I have related. It must not be forgotten
that land was a drug in the State of New York in the year 1784, as it is
to-day on the Miami, Ohio, Mississippi, and other inland streams. The
proprietors thought but little of their possessions as the means of
_present_ support, but rather maintained their settlements than their
settlements maintained them looking forward to another age, and to their
posterity, for the rewards of all their trouble and investments.[10]

[Footnote 10: The Manor of Rensselaerwick virtually extends forty-eight
miles east and west, and twenty-four north and south. It is situated in
the very heart of New York, with three incorporated cities within its
limits, built, in part, on small, older grants. Albany is a town of
near, if not of quite, 40,000 souls; and Troy must now contain near
28,000. Yet the late patroon, in the last conversation he ever held with
the writer, only a few months before he died, stated that _his_
grandfather was the first proprietor who ever reaped any material
advantage from the estate, and his father the first who received any
income of considerable amount. The home property, farms and mills,
furnished the income of the family for more than a century.--EDITOR.]

It is scarcely necessary to say my proposals were gladly accepted. Old
Andries squeezed my hand, and I understood the pressure as fully as if
he had spoken with the eloquence of Patrick Henry. Frank Malbone was
touched; and all parties were perfectly satisfied. The surveyor had his
field-inkstand with him, as a matter of course, and I had the power of
attorney in my pocket ready for the insertion of the Chainbearer's name,
would he accept the office of agent. That of Malbone was written in its
stead; I signed; Andries witnessed; and we left the seat together, Frank
Malbone, in effect, temporarily master of the house in which we were,
and his charming sister, as a necessary consequence, its mistress. It
was a delicious moment to me, when I saw Dus throw herself into her
brother's arms and weep on his bosom, as he communicated to her the
joyful intelligence.




CHAPTER XIII.

     "A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies
     your text?"--_Twelfth Night; or, What You Will._


A month glided swiftly by. During that interval, Frank Malbone was fully
installed, and Andries consented to suspend operations with his chain
until this necessary work was completed. Work it was; for every lease
granted by my grandfather having run out, the tenants had remained on
their farms by sufferance, or as occupants at will, holding from year to
year under parole agreements made with Mr. Newcome, who had authority to
go that far, but no farther.

It was seldom that a landlord, in that day, as I have already said, got
any income from his lands during the first few years of their
occupation. The great thing was to induce settlers to come; for, where
there was so much competition, sacrifices had to be made in order to
effect this preliminary object. In compliance with this policy, my
grandfather had let his wild lands for nominal rents in nearly every
instance, with here and there a farm of particular advantages excepted;
and, in most cases, the settler had enjoyed the use of the farm for
several years, for no rent at all. He paid the taxes, which were merely
nominal, and principally to support objects that were useful to the
immediate neighborhood; such as the construction of roads, bridges,
pounds, with other similar works, and the administration of justice. At
the expiration of this period of non-payment of rents, a small sum per
acre was agreed to be paid, rather than actually paid, not a dollar of
which had ever left the settlement. The landlord was expected to head
all subscriptions for everything that was beneficial, or which professed
to be beneficial to the estate; and the few hundreds a year, two or
three at most, that my rent-roll actually exhibited, were consumed among
the farms of the 'Nest. It was matter of record that not one shilling
had the owner of this property, as yet, been able to carry away with him
for his own private purposes. It is true, it had been in his power to
glean a little each year for such a purpose; but it was not considered
politic, and consequently it was not the practice of the country, in
regard to estates so situated and before the revolution; though isolated
cases to the contrary, in which the landlord was particularly
avaricious, or particularly necessitous, may have existed. Our New York
proprietors, in that day, were seldom of the class that needed money.
Extravagance had been little known to the province, and could not yet be
known to the State; consequently, few lost their property from their
expenditures, though some did from mismanagement. The trade of "puss in
the corner," or of shoving a man out of his property, in order to place
one's self in it, was little practised previously to the revolution; and
the community always looked upon the intruder into family property with
a cold eye, unless he came into possession by fair purchase, and for a
sufficient price. Legal speculations were then nearly unknown; and he
who got rich was expected to do so by manly exertions, openly exercised,
and not by the dark machinations of a sinister practice of the law.

In our case, not a shilling had we, as yet, been benefited by the
property of Ravensnest. All that had ever been received, and more too,
had been expended on the spot; but a time had now arrived when it was
just and reasonable that the farms should make some returns for all our
care and outlays.

Eleven thousand acres were under lease, divided among somewhat less than
a hundred tenants. Until the first day of the succeeding April, these
persons could hold their lands under the verbal contracts; but, after
that day, new leases became necessary. It is not usual for the American
landlord to be exacting. It is out of his power, indeed, for the simple
reason that land is so much more abundant than men; but, it is not the
practice of the country, a careless indulgence being usually the sin of
the caste; an indulgence that admits of an accumulation of arrears,
which, when pay-day does arrive, is apt to bring with it ill-blood and
discontent. It is an undeniable truth in morals, that, whatever may be
the feeling at the time, men are rarely grateful for a government that
allows their vices to have a free exercise. They invariably endeavor to
throw a portion of the odium of their own misdeeds on the shoulders of
those who should have controlled them. It is the same with debts; for,
however much we may beg for lenity at the time, accumulations of
interest wear a very hostile aspect when they present themselves in a
sum-total, at a moment it is inconvenient to balance the account. If
those who have been thus placed would only remember that there is a last
account that every man must be called on to settle, arrearages and all,
the experience of their worldly affairs might suggest a lesson that
would be infinitely useful. It is fortunate for us, without exception,
that there is a Mediator to aid us in the task.

The time had come when Ravensnest might be expected to produce
something. Guided by the surveys, and our own local knowledge, and
greatly aided by the Chainbearer's experience, Frank Malbone and I
passed one entire fortnight in classifying the farms; putting the lowest
into the shilling category; others into the eighteen pence; and a dozen
farms or so into the two shillings. The result was, that we placed six
thousand acres at a shilling a year rent; three thousand eight hundred
at eighteen pence the acre; and twelve hundred acres at two shillings.
The whole made a rental of fourteen thousand one hundred shillings, or a
fraction more than seventeen hundred and forty-two dollars per annum.
This sounded pretty well for the year 1784, and it was exclusively of
the 'Nest farm, of Jason Newcome's mills and timber-land, which he had
hitherto enjoyed for nothing, or for a mere nominal rent, and all the
wild lands.

I will confess I exulted greatly in the result of our calculations.
Previously to that day I placed no dependence on Ravensnest for income,
finding my support in the other property I had inherited from my
grandfather. On paper, my income was more than doubled, for I received
_then_ only some eleven hundred a year (I speak of dollars, not pounds)
from my other property. It is true, the last included a great many
town-lots that were totally unproductive, but which promised to be very
valuable, like Ravensnest itself, at some future day. Most things in
America looked to the future, then as now; though I trust the hour of
fruition is eventually to arrive. My town property has long since become
very valuable, and tolerably productive.

As soon as our scheme for reletting was matured, Frank summoned the
occupants of the farms, in bodies of ten, to present themselves at the
'Nest, in order to take their new leases. We had ridden round the
estate, and conversed with the tenantry, and had let my intentions be
known previously, so that little remained to be discussed. The farms
were all relet for three lives, and on my own plan, no one objecting to
the rent, which, it was admitted all round, was not only reasonable, but
low. Circumstances were then too recent to admit of the past's being
forgotten; and the day when the last lease was signed was one of general
satisfaction. I did think of giving a landlord's dinner, and of
collecting the whole settlement in a body, for the purpose of jovial and
friendly communion; but old Andries threw cold water on the project.

"T'at would do, Mortaunt," he said, "if you hat only raal New Yorkers,
or Middle States men to teal wit'; but more t'an half of t'ese people
are from t'e Eastern States, where t'ere are no such t'ings as lantlorts
and tenants, on a large scale you unterstant; and t'ere isn't a man
among 'em all t'at isn't looking forwart to own his farm one tay, by
hook or by crook. T'ey're as jealous of t'eir tignities as if each man
wast a full colonel, and will not t'ank you for a tinner at which t'ey
will seem to play secont fittle."

Although I knew the Chainbearer had his ancient Dutch prejudices against
our Eastern brethren, I also knew that there was a good deal of truth in
what he said. Frank Malbone, who was Rhode Island born, had the same
notions, I found on inquiry; and I was disposed to defer to his
opinions. Frank Malbone was a gentleman himself, and men of that class
are always superior to low jealousies; but Frank must know better how to
appreciate the feelings of those among whom he had been bred and born
than I could possibly know how to do it myself. The project of the
dinner was accordingly abandoned.

It remained to make a new arrangement and a final settlement with Mr.
Jason Newcome, who was much the most thriving man at Ravensnest;
appearing to engross in his single person all the business of the
settlement. He was magistrate, supervisor, deacon, according to the
Congregational plan, or whatever he is called, miller, store-keeper,
will-drawer, tavern-keeper by deputy, and adviser-general, for the
entire region. Everything seemed to pass through his hands; or, it would
be better to say, everything entered them, though little indeed came out
again. This man was one of those moneyed gluttons, on a small scale, who
live solely to accumulate; in my view, the most odious character on
earth; the accumulations having none of the legitimate objects of proper
industry and enterprise in view. So long as there was a man near him
whom he supposed to be richer than himself, Mr. Newcome would have been
unhappy; though he did not know what to do with the property he had
already acquired. One does not know whether to detest or to pity such
characters the most; since, while they are and must be repugnant to
every man of right feelings and generous mind, they carry in their own
bosoms the worm that never dies, to devour their own vitals.

Mr. Newcome had taken his removal from the agency in seeming good part,
affecting a wish to give it up from the moment he had reason to think it
was to be taken from him. On this score, therefore, all was amicable,
not a complaint being made on his side. On the contrary, he met Frank
Malbone with the most seeming cordiality, and we proceeded to business
with as much apparent good-will as had been manifested in any of the
previous bargains. Mr. Newcome did nothing directly; a circuitous path
being the one he had been accustomed to travel from childhood.

"You took the mill-lot and the use of five hundred acres of woodland
from my grandfather for three lives; or failing these, for a full term
of one-and-twenty years, I find, Mr. Newcome," I remarked, as soon as we
were seated at business, "and for a nominal rent; the mills to be kept
in repair, and to revert to the landlord at the termination of the
lease."

"Yes, Major Littlepage, that _was_ the bargain I will allow, though a
hard one has it proved to me. The war come on"--this man was what was
called liberally educated, but he habitually used bad grammar--"The war
come on, and with it hard times, and I didn't know but the major would
be willing to consider the circumstances, if we make a new bargain."

"The war cannot have had much effect to your prejudice, as grain of all
sorts bore a high price; and I should think the fact that large armies
were near by, to consume everything you had to sell, and that at high
prices, more than compensated for any disadvantage it might have
induced. You had the benefits of two wars, Mr. Newcome; that of 1775,
and a part of that of 1756."

My tenant made no answer to this, finding I had reflected on the
subject, and was prepared to answer him. After a pause, he turned to
more positive things.

"I suppose the major goes on the principle of supposing a legal right in
an old tenant to enj'y a new lease? I'm told he has admitted this much
in all his dealin's."

"Then you have been misinformed, sir. I am not weak enough to admit a
right that the lease itself, which, in the nature of things, must and
does form the tenant's only title, contradicts in terms. Your legal
interest in the property ceases altogether in a few days from this
time."

"Y-a-a-s--y-a-a-s--sir, I conclude it doose," said the 'squire, leaning
back in his chair, until his body was at an angle of some sixty or
seventy degrees with the floor--"I conclude it doose accordin' to the
covenants; but between man and man, there ought to be suthin' more
bindin'."

"I know of nothing more binding in a lease than its covenants, Mr.
Newcome."

"Wa-a-l"--how that man would 'wa-a-a-l' when he wished to circumvent a
fellow-creature; and with what a Jesuitical accent did he pronounce the
word! "Wa-a-a-l--that's accordin' to folk's idees. A covenant may be
_hard_; and then, in my judgment, it ought to go for nothin'. I'm ag'in
all hard covenants."

"Harkee, frient Jason," put in the Chainbearer, who was an old
acquaintance of Mr. Newcome's, and appeared thoroughly to understand his
character--"Harkee, frient Jason; do you gift back unexpected profits,
ven it so happens t'at more are mate on your own pargains t'an were look
for?"

"It's not of much use to convarse with you, Chainbearer, on such
subjects, for we'll never think alike," answered the 'squire, leaning
still farther back in his chair; "you're what I call a particular man,
in your notions, and we should never agree."

"Still, there is good sense in the Chainbearer's question," I added.
"Unless prepared to answer 'yes,' I do not see how you can apply your
own principle with any justice. But let this pass as it will, why are
covenants made, if they are not to be regarded?"

"Wa-a-l, now, accordin' to my notion, a covenant in a lease is pretty
much like a water-course in a map; not a thing to be partic'lar at all
about; but as water-courses look well on a map, so covenants read well
in a lease. Landlords like to have 'em, and tenants a'n't particular."

"You can hardly be serious in either case, I should hope, Mr. Newcome,
but are pleased to exercise your ingenuity on us for your own amusement.
There is nothing so particular in the covenants of your lease as to
require any case of conscience to decide on its points."

"There's this in it, major, that you get the whull property back ag'in,
if you choose to claim it."

"Claim it! the whole property has been mine, or my predecessors', ever
since it was granted to us by the crown. _All_ your rights come from
your _lease_; and when that terminates, your rights terminate."

"Not accordin' to my judgment, major; not accordin' to my judgment. I
built the mills at my own cost, you'll remember."

"I certainly know, sir, that you built the mills at what you call your
own cost; that is, you availed yourself of a natural mill-seat, used our
timber and other materials, and constructed the mills, such as they are,
looking for your reward in their use for the term of a quarter of a
century, for a mere nominal rent--having saw-logs at command as you
wanted them, and otherwise enjoying privileges under one of the most
liberal leases that was ever granted."

"Yes, sir, but that was in _the bargain_ I made with your grand'ther. It
was _agreed_ between us, at the time I took the place, that I was to cut
logs at will, and of course use the materials on the ground for
buildin'. You see, major, your grand'ther wanted the mills built
desperately; and so he gave them conditions accordin'ly. You'll find
every syllable on't in the lease."

"No doubt, Mr. Newcome; and you will also find a covenant in the same
lease, by which your interest in the property is to cease in a few
days."

"Wa-a-l, now, I don't understand leases in that way. Surely it was never
intended a man should erect mills, to lose all right in 'em at the end
of five-and-twenty years."

"That will depend on the bargain made at the time. Some persons erect
mills and houses that have no rights in them at all. They are paid for
their work as they build."

"Yes, yes--carpenters and millwrights, you mean. But I'm speakin' of no
such persons; I'm speakin' of honest, hard-workin', industrious folks,
that give their labor and time to build up a settlement; and not of your
mechanics who work for hire. Of course, they're to be paid for what they
do, and there's an eend on't."

"I am not aware that all honest persons are hard-working, any more than
that all hard-working persons are honest. I wish to be understood
_that_, in the first place, Mr. Newcome, phrases will procure no
concession from me. I agree with you, however, perfectly, in saying that
when a man is paid for his work, there will be what you call 'an end of
it.' Now twenty-three days from this moment, you will have been paid for
all you have done on my property according to your own agreement; and by
your own reasoning, there must be an end of your connection with that
property."

"The major doesn't mean to rob me of all my hard earnin's!"

"Mr. Newcome, _rob_ is a hard word, and one that I beg may not be again
used between you and me. I have no intention to rob you, or to let you
rob me. The pretence that you are not, and were not acquainted with the
conditions of this lease, comes rather late in the day, after a
possession of a quarter of a century. You know very well that my
grandfather would not sell, and that he would do no more than lease; if
it were your wish to purchase, why did you not go elsewhere, and get
land in fee? There were, and still are, thousands of acres to be sold,
all around you. I have lands to sell, myself, at Mooseridge, as the
agent of my father and Colonel Follock, within twenty miles of you, and
they tell me capital mill-seats in the bargain."

"Yes, major, but not so much to my notion as this--I kind o' wanted
this!"

"But, I kind o' want this, too; and, as it is mine, I think, in common
equity, I have the best claim to enjoy it."

"It's on equity I want to put this very matter, major--I know the law is
ag'in me--that is, some people say it is; but some think not, now we've
had a revolution--but, let the law go as it may, there's such a thing as
what I call _right_ between man and man."

"Certainly; and law is an invention to enforce it. It is right I should
do exactly what my grandfather agreed to do for me, five-and-twenty
years ago, in relation to these mills; and it is right you should do
what you agreed to do, for yourself."

"I _have_ done so. I agreed to build the mills, in a sartain form and
mode, and I done it. I'll defy mortal man to say otherwise. The saw-mill
was smashing away at the logs within two months a'ter I got the lease,
and we began to grind in four!"

"No doubt, sir, you were active and industrious--though, to be frank
with you, I will say that competent judges tell me neither mill is worth
much now."

"That's on account of the lease"--cried Mr. Newcome, a little too
hastily, possibly, for the credit of his discretion--"how did I know
when it would run out? Your gran'ther granted it for three lives, and
twenty-one years afterward, and I did all a man could to make it last as
long as I should myself; but here I am, in the prime of life, and in
danger of losing my property!"

I knew all the facts of the case perfectly, and had intended to deal
liberally with Mr. Newcome from the first. In his greediness for gain he
had placed his lives on three infants, although my grandfather had
advised him to place at least one on himself; but, no--Mr. Newcome had
fancied the life of an infant better than that of a man; and in three or
four years after the signature of the lease, his twenty-one years had
begun to run, and were now near expiring. Even under this certainly
unlooked-for state of things, the lease had been a very advantageous one
for the tenant; and, had one of his lives lasted a century, the landlord
would have looked in vain for any concession on that account; landlords
never asking for, or expecting favors of that sort; indeed most
landlords would be ashamed to receive them; nevertheless, I was disposed
to consider the circumstances, to overlook the fact that the mills and
all the other buildings on the property were indifferently built, and to
relet, for an additional term of twenty-one years, woodlands, farms,
buildings, and other privileges, for about one-third of the money that
Mr. Newcome himself would have been apt to ask, had he the letting
instead of myself. Unwilling to prolong a discussion with a man who, by
his very nature, was unequal to seeing more than one side of a subject,
I cut the matter short by telling him my terms without further delay.

Notwithstanding all his acting and false feeling, the 'squire was so
rejoiced to learn my moderation that he could not but openly express his
feelings; a thing he would not have done did he not possess the moral
certainty I would not depart from my word. I felt it necessary, however,
to explain myself.

"Before I give you this new lease, Mr. Newcome," I added, holding the
instrument signed in my hand, "I wish to be understood. It is not
granted under the notion that you have any right to ask it, beyond the
allowance that is always made by a liberal landlord to a reasonably
_good_ tenant; which is simply a preference over others on the same
terms. As for the early loss of your lives, it was your own fault. Had
the infants you named, or had one of them, passed the state of
childhood, it might have lived to be eighty, in which case my
timber-land would have been stripped without any return to its true
owner, but your children died, and the lease was brought within
reasonable limits. Now the only inducement I have for offering the terms
I do, is the liberality that is usual with landlords, what is conceded
is conceded as no right, but as an act of liberality."

This was presenting to my tenant the most incomprehensible of all
reasons for doing anything. A close and sordid calculator himself, he
was not accustomed to give any man credit for generosity; and, from the
doubting, distrustful manner in which he received the paper, I suspected
at the moment that he was afraid there was some project for taking him
in. A rogue is always distrustful, and as often betrays his character to
honest men by that as by any other failing. I was not to regulate my own
conduct, however, by the weaknesses of Jason Newcome, and the lease was
granted.

I could wish here to make one remark. There ought certainly to be the
same principle of good fellowship existing between the relations of
landlord and tenant that exist in the other relations of life, and which
creates a moral tie between parties that have much connection in their
ordinary interests, and that to a degree to produce preferences and
various privileges of a similar character. This I am far from calling in
question; and, on the whole, I think, of all that class of relations,
the one in question is to be set down as among the most binding and
sacred. Still, the mere moral rights of the tenant must depend on the
rigid maintenance of all the rights of the landlord; the legal and moral
united; and the man who calls in question either of the latter, surely
violates every claim to have his own pretensions allowed, beyond those
which the strict letter of the law will yield to him. _The landlord who
will grant a new lease to the individual who is endeavoring to undermine
his rights, by either direct or indirect means, commits the weakness of
arming an enemy with the knife by which he is himself to be assaulted,
in addition to the error of granting power to a man who, under the
character of a spurious liberty, is endeavoring to unsettle the only
conditions on which civilized society can exist._ If landlords will
exhibit the weakness, they must blame themselves for the consequences.

I got rid of Mr. Newcome by the grant of the lease, his whole
manoeuvring having been attempted solely to lower the rent; for _he_
was much too shrewd to believe in the truth of his own doctrines on the
subject of right and wrong. That same day my axe-men appeared at the
'Nest, having passed the intermediate time in looking at various tracts
of land that were in the market, and which they had not found so
eligible, in the way of situation, quality, or terms, as those I
offered. By this time, the surveyed lots of Mooseridge were ready, and I
offered to sell them to these emigrants. The price was only a dollar an
acre, with a credit of ten years; the interest to be paid annually. One
would have thought that the lowness of the price would have induced men
to prefer lands in fee to lands on lease; but these persons, to a man,
found it more to their interests to take farms on three-lives leases,
being rent-free for the first five years, and at nominal rents for the
remainder of the term, than to pay seven dollars a year of interest, and
a hundred dollars in money, at the expiration of the credit.[11] This
fact, of itself, goes to show how closely these men calculated their
means, and the effect their decisions might have on their interests. Nor
were their decisions always wrong. Those who can remember the start the
country took shortly after the peace of '83, the prices that the
settlers on new lands obtained for their wheat, ashes, and pork; three
dollars a bushel often for the first, three hundred dollars a ton for
the second, and eight or ten dollars a hundred for the last, will at
once understand that the occupant of new lands at that period obtained
enormous wages for a laborer by means of the rich unexhausted lands he
was thus permitted to occupy. No doubt he would have been in a better
situation had he owned his farm in fee at the end of his lease; so would
the merchant who builds a ship and clears her cost by her first freight,
have been a richer man had he cleared the cost of two ships instead of
one; but he has done well, notwithstanding; and it is not to be
forgotten that the man who commences life with an axe and a little
household furniture, is in the situation of a mere day-laborer. The
addition to his means of the use of land is the very circumstance that
enables him to rise above his humble position, and to profit by the
cultivation of the soil. At the close of the last century, and at the
commencement of the present, the country was so placed as to render
every stroke of the axe directly profitable, the very labor that was
expended in clearing away the trees meeting with a return so liberal by
the sale of the ashes manufactured, as to induce even speculators to
engage in the occupation. It may one day be a subject of curious inquiry
to ascertain how so much was done as is known to have been done at that
period, toward converting the wilderness into a garden; and I will here
record, for the benefit of posterity, a brief sketch of one of the
processes of getting to be comfortable, if not rich, that was much used
in that day.

[Footnote 11: The fact here stated by Mr. Littlepage should never be
forgotten; inasmuch as it colors the entire nature of the pretension now
set up as to the exactions of leases. No man in New York need ever have
_leased_ a farm for the want of an opportunity of _purchasing_, there
never having been a time when land for farms in fee has not been openly
on sale within the bounds of the State; and land every way as eligible
as that leased. In few cases have two adjoining estates been leased; and
where such has been the fact, the husbandman might always have found a
farm in fee, at the cost of half a day's travelling. The benefits to the
landlord have usually been so remote on the estate leased, that by far
the greater proportion of the proprietors have preferred selling at
once, to waiting for the tardy operations of time.--EDITOR.]

It was a season's work for a skilful axe-man to chop, log, burn, clear,
and sow ten acres of forest land. The ashes he manufactured. For the
heavier portions of the work, such as the logging, he called on his
neighbors for aid, rendering similar assistance by way of payment. One
yoke of oxen frequently sufficed for two or three farms, and
"logging-bees" have given rise to a familiar expression among us, that
is known as legislative "log-rolling;" a process by which, as is well
known, one set of members supports the project of another set, on the
principle of reciprocity.

Now ten acres of land, cropped for the first time, might very well yield
a hundred and fifty bushels of merchantable wheat, which would bring
three hundred dollars in the Albany market. They would also make a ton
of pot-ashes, which would sell for at least two hundred dollars. This is
giving five hundred dollars for a single year's work. Allowing for all
the drawbacks of buildings, tools, chains, transportation, provisions,
etc., and one-half of this money might very fairly be set down as clear
profit; very large returns to one who, before he got his farm, was in
the situation of a mere day-laborer, content to toil for eight or nine
dollars the month.

That such was the history, in its outlines, of the rise of thousands of
the yeomen who now dwell in New York, is undeniable; and it goes to show
that if the settler in a new country has to encounter toil and
privations, they are not always without their quick rewards. In these
later times, men go on the open prairies, and apply the plough to an
ancient sward; but I question if they would not rather encounter the
virgin forests of 1790, with the prices of that day, than run over the
present park-like fields, in order to raise wheat for 37-1/2 cents per
bushel, have no ashes at any price, and sell their pork at two dollars
the hundred!




CHAPTER XIV.

    "Intent to blend her with his lot,
    Fate formed her all that he was not;
    And, as by mere unlikeness thought,
      Associate we see,
    Their hearts, from very difference, caught
      A perfect sympathy."--PINCKNEY.


All this time I saw Ursula Malbone daily, and at all hours of the day.
Inmates of the same dwelling, we met constantly, and many were the
interviews and conversations which took place between us. Had Dus been
the most finished coquette in existence, her practised ingenuity could
not have devised more happy expedients to awaken interest in me than
those which were really put in use by this singular girl, without the
slightest intention of bringing about any such result. Indeed, it was
the nature, the total absence of art, that formed one of the brightest
attractions of her character, and gave so keen a zest to her cleverness
and beauty. In that day, females, while busied in the affairs of their
household, appeared in "short gown and petticoat," as it was termed, a
species of livery that even ladies often assumed of a morning. The
_toilette_ was of far wider range in 1784 than it is now, the
distinctions between morning and evening dress being much broader then
than at present. As soon as she was placed really at the head of her
brother's house, Ursula Malbone set about the duties of her new station
quietly and without the slightest fuss, but actively and with interest.
She seemed to me to possess, in a high degree, that particular merit of
carrying on the details of her office in a silent, unobtrusive manner,
while they were performed most effectually, and entirely to the comfort
of those for whose benefit her care was exercised. I am not one of those
domestic canters who fancy a woman, in order to make a good wife, needs
be a drudge, and possess the knowledge of a cook or a laundress; but it
is certainly of great importance that she have the faculty of presiding
over her family with intelligence, and an attention that is suited to
her means of expenditure. Most of all it is important that she know how
to govern without being seen or heard.

The wife of an educated man should be an educated woman: one fit to be
his associate, qualified to mingle her tastes with his own, to exchange
ideas, and otherwise to be his companion, in an intellectual sense.
These are the higher requisites; a gentleman accepting the minor
qualifications as so many extra advantages, if kept within their proper
limits; but as positive disadvantages if they interfere with, or in any
manner mar the manners, temper, or mental improvement of the woman whom
he has chosen as his wife, and not as his domestic. Some sacrifices may
be necessary in those cases in which cultivation exists without a
sufficiency of means; but even then, it is seldom indeed that a woman of
the proper qualities may not be prevented from sinking to the level of a
menial. As for the cant of the newspapers on such subjects, it usually
comes from those whose homes are mere places for "board and lodging."

The address with which Dus discharged all the functions of her new
station, while she avoided those that were unseemly and out of place,
charmed me almost as much as her spirit, character, and beauty. The
<DW64>s removed all necessity for her descending to absolute toil; and
with what pretty, feminine dexterity did she perform the duties that
properly belonged to her station! Always cheerful, frequently singing,
not in a noisy, milkmaid mood, but at those moments when she might fancy
herself unheard, and in sweet, plaintive songs that seemed to recall the
scenes of other days. Always cheerful, however, is saying a little too
much; for occasionally, Dus was sad. I found her in tears three or four
times, but did not dare inquire into their cause. There was scarce,
time, indeed; for the instant I appeared, she dried her eyes, and
received me with smiles.

It is scarcely necessary to say that to me the time passed pleasantly,
and amazingly fast. Chainbearer remained at the 'Nest by my orders, for
he would not yield to requests; and I do not remember a more delightful
month than that proved to be. I made a very general acquaintance with my
tenants, and found many of them as straightforward, honest, hard-working
yeomen as one could wish to meet. My brother major, in particular, was a
hearty old fellow, and often came to see me, living on the farm that
adjoined my own. He growled a little about the sect that had got
possession of the "meetin'-us," but did it in a way to show there was
not much gall in his own temperament.

"I don't rightly understand these majority matters," said the old
fellow, one day that we were talking the matter over, "though I very
well know Newcome always manages to get one, let the folks think as they
will. I've known the 'squire contrive to cut a majority out of about a
fourth of all present, and he does it in a way that is desp'ret
ingen'ous, I will allow, though I'm afeard it's neither law nor gospel."

"He certainly managed, in the affair of the denomination, to make a
plurality of one appear in the end to be a very handsome majority over
all."

"Ay, there's twists and turns in these things that's beyond my l'arnin',
though I s'pose all's right. It don't matter much in the long run, a'ter
all, where a man worships, provided he worships; or who preaches, so
that he listens."

I think this liberality--if that be the proper word--in religious
matters, is fast increasing among us; though liberality may be but
another term for indifference. As for us Episcopalians, I wonder there
are any left in the country, though we are largely on the increase.
There we were, a church that insisted on Episcopal ministrations--on
confirmation in particular--left for a century without a bishop, and
unable to conform to practices that it was insisted on were essential,
and this solely because it did not suit the policy of the mother country
to grant us prelates of our own, or to send us, occasionally even, one
of hers! How miserable do human expedients often appear when they are
tried by the tests of common sense! A church of God, insisting on
certain spiritual essentials that it denies to a portion of its people,
in order to conciliate worldly interests! It is not the Church of
England, however, nor the Government of England, that is justly
obnoxious to such an accusation; something equally bad and just as
inconsistent, attaching itself to the ecclesiastical influence of every
other system in Christendom under which the state is tied to religion by
means of human provisions. The mistake is in connecting the things of
the world with the things that are of God.

Alas! alas! When you sever that pernicious tie, is the matter much
benefited? How is it among ourselves? Are not sects, and shades of
sects, springing up among us on every side, until the struggle between
parsons is getting to be not who shall aid in making most Christians,
but who shall gather into his fold most sectarians? As for the people
themselves, instead of regarding churches, even after they have
established them, and that too very much on their own authority, they
first consider their own tastes, enmities, and predilections, respecting
the priest far more than the altar, and set themselves up as a sort of
religious constituencies, who are to be _represented_ directly in the
government of Christ's followers on earth. Half of a parish will fly off
in a passion to another denomination if they happen to fall into a
minority. Truly, a large portion of our people is beginning to act in
this matter as if they had a sense of "giving their support" to the
Deity, patronizing him in this temple or the other, as may suit the
feeling or the interest of the moment.[12]

[Footnote 12: If Mr. Littlepage wrote thus, thirty or forty years since,
how would he have written to-day, when we have had loud protestations
flourishing around us in the public journals, that this or that
sectarian polity was most in unison with a republican form of
government? What renders this assumption as absurd as it is presuming,
is the well-known fact that it comes from those who have ever been
loudest in their declamations of a union between church and state!]

But I am not writing homilies, and will return to the 'Nest and my
friends. A day or two after Mr. Newcome received his new lease,
Chainbearer, Frank, Dus and I were in the little arbor that overlooked
the meadows, when we saw Sureflint, moving at an Indian's pace, along a
path that came out of the forest, and which was known to lead toward
Mooseridge. The Onondago carried his rifle as usual, and bore on his
back a large bunch of something that we supposed to be game, though the
distance prevented our discerning its precise character. In half a
minute he disappeared behind a projection of the cliffs, trotting toward
the buildings.

"My friend the Trackless has been absent from us now a longer time than
usual," Ursula remarked, as she turned her head from following the
Indian's movements, as long as he remained in sight; "but he reappears
loaded with something for our benefit."

"He has passed most of his time of late with your uncle, I believe," I
answered, following Dus's fine eyes with my own, the pleasantest pursuit
I could discover in that remote quarter of the world. "I have written
this to my father, who will be glad to hear tidings of his old friend."

"He is much with my uncle as you say, being greatly attached to him. Ah!
here he comes, with such a load on his shoulders as an Indian does not
love to bear; though even a chief will condescend to carry game."

As Dus ceased speaking, Sureflint threw a large bunch of pigeons, some
two or three dozen birds, at her feet, turning away quietly, like one
who had done his part of the work, and who left the remainder to be
managed by the squaws.

"Thank you, Trackless," said the pretty housekeeper--"thank'ee kindly.
Those are beautiful birds, and as fat as butter. We shall have them
cleaned, and cooked in all manner of ways."

"All squab--just go to fly--take him ebbery one in nest," answered the
Indian.

"Nests must be plenty, then, and I should like to visit them," I cried,
remembering to have heard strange marvels of the multitudes of pigeons
that were frequently found in their "roosts," as the encampments they
made in the woods were often termed in the parlance of the country. "Can
we not go in a body and visit this roost?"

"It might pe tone," answered the Chainbearer; "it might pe tone, and it
is time we wast moving in t'eir tirection, if more lant is to pe
surveyet, ant t'ese pirts came from t'e hill I suppose t'ey do.
Mooseridge promiset to have plenty of pigeons t'is season."

"Just so," answered Sureflint. "Million, t'ousan', hundred--more too.
Nebber see more; nebber see so many. Great Spirit don't forget poor
Injin; sometime give him deer--sometime salmon--sometime pigeon--plenty
for ebberybody; only t'ink so."

"Ay, Sureflint; only t'ink so, inteet, and t'ere is enough for us all,
and plenty to spare. Got is pountiful to us, put we ton't often know how
to use his pounty," answered Chainbearer, who had been examining the
birds. "Finer squaps arn't often met wit'; and I too shoult like
amazingly to see one more roost pefore I go to roost myself."

"As for the visit to the roost," cried I, "that is settled for
to-morrow. But a man who has just come out of a war like the last, into
peaceable times, has no occasion to speak of his end, Chainbearer. Your
are old in years, but young in mind, as well as body."

"Bot' nearly wore out--bot' nearly wore out! It is well to tell an olt
fool t'e contrary, put I know petter. T'ree-score and ten is man's time,
and I haf fillet up t'e numper of my tays. Got knows pest, when it wilt
pe his own pleasure to call me away; put, let it come when it will, I
shall now tie happy, comparet wit' what I shoult haf tone a mont' ago."

"You surprise me, my dear friend! What has happened to make this
difference in your feelings? It cannot be that you are changed in any
essential."

"T'e tifference is in Dus's prospects. Now Frank has a goot place, my
gal will not pe forsaken."

"Forsaken! Dus--Ursula--Miss Malbone forsaken! _That_ could never
happen, Andries, Frank or no Frank."

"I hope not--I hope not, lat--put t'e gal pegins to weep, and we'll talk
no more apout it. Harkee, Susquesus; my olt frient, can you guite us to
t'is roost?"

"Why no do it, eh? Path wide--open whole way. Plain as river."

"Well, t'en, we wilt all pe off for t'e place in t'e morning. My new
assistant is near, and it is high time Frank and I hat gone into t'e
woots ag'in."

I heard this arrangement made, though my eyes were following Dus, who
had started from her seat, and rushed into the house, endeavoring to
hide emotions that were not to be hushed. A minute later I saw her at
the window of her own room, smiling, though the cloud had not yet
entirely dispersed.

Next morning early our whole party left the 'Nest for the hut at
Mooseride, and the pigeon-roosts. Dus and the black female servant
travelled on horseback, there being no want of cattle at the 'Nest,
where, as I now learned, my grandfather had left a quarter of a century
before, among a variety of other articles, several side-saddles. The
rest of us proceeded on foot, though we had no less than three sumpter
beasts to carry our food, instruments, clothes, etc. Each man was armed,
almost as a matter of course in that day, though I carried a
double-barrelled fowling-piece, instead of a rifle. Susquesus acted as
our guide.

We were quite an hour before we reached the limits of the settled farms
on my own property; after which, we entered the virgin forest. In
consequence of the late war, which had brought everything like the
settlement of the country to a dead stand, a new district had then
little of the straggling, suburb-like clearings, which are apt now to
encircle the older portions of a region that is in the state of
transition. On the contrary, the last well-fenced and reasonably
well-cultivated farm passed, we plunged into the boundless woods, and
took a complete leave of nearly every vestige of civilized life, as one
enters the fields on quitting a town in France. There was a path, it is
true, following the line of blazed trees; but it was scarcely beaten,
and was almost as illegible as a bad hand. Still, one accustomed to the
forest had little difficulty in following it; and Susquesus would have
had none in finding his way, had there been no path at all. As for the
Chainbearer, he moved forward too, with the utmost precision and
confidence, the habit of running straight lines amid trees having given
his eye an accuracy that almost equalled the species of instinct that
was manifested by the Trackless himself, on such subjects.

This was a pleasant little journey, the depths of the forest rendering
the heats of the season as agreeable as was possible. We were four hours
in reaching the foot of the little mountain on which the birds had built
their nests, where we halted to take some refreshments.

Little time is lost at meals in the forest, and we were soon ready to
ascend the hill. The horses were left with the blacks, Dus accompanying
us on foot. As we left the spring where we had halted, I offered her an
arm to aid in the ascent; but she declined it, apparently much amused
that it should have been offered.

"What I, a chainbearess!" she cried, laughing--"I, who have fairly
wearied out Frank, and even made my uncle _feel_ tired, though he would
never _own_ it--I accept an arm to help me up a hill! You forget, Major
Littlepage, that the first ten years of my life were passed in a forest,
and that a year's practice has brought back all my old habits, and made
me a girl of the woods again."

"I scarce know what to make of you, for you seem fitted for any
situation in which you may happen to be thrown." I answered, profiting
by the circumstance that we were out of the hearing of our companions,
who had all moved ahead, to utter more than I otherwise might venture to
say--"at one time I fancy you the daughter of one of my own tenants, at
another, the heiress of some ancient patroon."

Dus laughed again; then she blushed; and for the remainder of the short
ascent, she remained silent. Short the ascent was, and we were soon on
the summit of the hill. So far from needing my assistance, Dus actually
left me behind, exerting herself in a way that brought her up at the
side of the Trackless, who led our van. Whether this was done in order
to prove how completely she was a forest girl, or whether my words had
aroused those feelings that are apt to render a female impulsive, is
more than I can say even now; though I suspected at the time that the
latter sensations had quite as much to do with this extraordinary
activity as the former. I was not far behind, however, and when our
party came fairly upon the roost, the Trackless, Dus, and myself were
all close together.

I scarce know how to describe that remarkable scene. As we drew near to
the summit of the hill, pigeons began to be seen fluttering among the
branches over our heads, as individuals are met along the roads that
lead into the suburbs of a large town. We had probably seen a thousand
birds glancing around among the trees, before we came in view of the
roost itself. The numbers increased as we drew nearer, and presently the
forest was alive with them. The fluttering was incessant, and often
startling as we passed ahead, our march producing a movement in the
living crowd that really became confounding. Every tree was literally
covered with nests, many having at least a thousand of these frail
tenements on their branches, and shaded by the leaves. They often
touched each other, a wonderful degree of order prevailing among the
hundreds of thousands of families that were here assembled. The place
had the odor of a fowl-house, and squabs just fledged sufficiently to
trust themselves in short flights, were fluttering around us in all
directions in tens of thousands. To these were to be added the parents
of the young race endeavoring to protect them, and guide them in a way
to escape harm. Although the birds rose as we approached, and the woods
just around us seemed fairly alive with pigeons, our presence produced
no general commotion; every one of the feathered throng appearing to be
so much occupied with its own concerns, as to take little heed of the
visit of a party of strangers, though of a race usually so formidable to
their own. The masses moved before us precisely as a crowd of human
beings yields to a pressure or a danger on any given point; the vacuum
created by its passage filling in its rear, as the water of the ocean
flows into the track of the keel.

The effect on most of us was confounding, and I can only compare the
sensation produced on myself by the extraordinary tumult to that a man
experiences at finding himself suddenly placed in the midst of an
excited throng of human beings. The unnatural disregard of our persons
manifested by the birds greatly heightened the effect, and caused me to
feel as if some unearthly influence reigned in the place. It was
strange, indeed, to be in a mob of the feathered race that scarce
exhibited a consciousness of one's presence. The pigeons seemed a world
of themselves, and too much occupied with their own concerns to take
heed of matters that lay beyond them.

Not one of our party spoke for several minutes. Astonishment seemed to
hold us all tongue-tied, and we moved slowly forward into the fluttering
throng, silent, absorbed, and full of admiration of the works of the
Creator. It was not easy to hear each others' voices when we did speak,
the incessant fluttering of wings filling the air. Nor were the birds
silent in other respects. The pigeon is not a noisy creature, but a
million crowded together on the summit of one hill, occupying a space of
less than a mile square, did not leave the forest in its ordinary
impressive stillness. As we advanced, I offered my arm, almost
unconsciously, again to Dus, and she took it with the same abstracted
manner as that in which it had been held forth for her acceptance. In
this relation to each other we continued to follow the grave-looking
Onondago as he moved, still deeper and deeper, into the midst of the
fluttering tumult.

At this instant there occurred an interruption that, I am ready enough
to confess, caused the blood to rush toward my own heart in a flood. As
for Dus, she clung to me, as woman will cling to man, when he possesses
her confidence, and she feels that she is insufficient for her own
support. Both hands were on my arm, and I felt that, unconsciously, her
form was pressing closer to mine, in a manner she would have carefully
avoided in a moment of perfect self-possession. Nevertheless, I cannot
say that Dus was afraid. Her color was heightened, her charming eyes
were filled with a wonder that was not unmixed with curiosity, but her
air was spirited in spite of a scene that might try the nerves of the
boldest man. Sureflint and Chainbearer were alone totally unmoved; for
they had been at pigeons' roosts before, and knew what to expect. To
them the wonders of the woods were no longer novel. Each stood leaning
on his rifle and smiling at our evident astonishment. I am wrong; the
Indian did not even smile: for that would have been an unusual
indication of feeling for him to manifest; but he _did_ betray a sort of
covert consciousness that the scene must be astounding to us. But I will
endeavor to explain what it was that so largely increased the first
effect of our visit.

While standing wondering at the extraordinary scene around us, a noise
was heard rising above that of the incessant fluttering, which I can
only liken to that of the trampling of thousands of horses on a beaten
road. This noise at first sounded distant, but it increased rapidly in
proximity and power, until it came rolling in upon us, among the
tree-tops, like a crash of thunder. The air was suddenly darkened, and
the place where we stood as sombre as a dusky twilight. At the same
instant, all the pigeons near us, that had been on their nests, appeared
to fall out of them, and the space immediately above our heads was at
once filled with birds. Chaos itself could hardly have represented
greater confusion, or a greater uproar. As for the birds, they now
seemed to disregard our presence entirely; possibly they could not see
us on account of their own numbers; for they fluttered in between Dus
and myself, hitting us with their wings, and at times appearing as if
about to bury us in avalanches of pigeons. Each of us caught one at
least in our hands, while Chainbearer and the Indian took them in some
numbers, letting one prisoner go as another was taken. In a word, we
seemed to be in a world of pigeons. This part of the scene may have
lasted a minute, when the space around us was suddenly cleared, the
birds glancing upward among the branches of the trees, disappearing
among the foliage. All this was the effect produced by the return of the
female birds, which had been off at a distance, some twenty miles at
least, to feed on beechnuts, and which now assumed the places of the
males on the nests; the latter taking a flight to get their meal in
their turn.

I have since had the curiosity to make a sort of an estimate of the
number of the birds that must have come in upon the roost, in that, to
us, memorable minute. Such a calculation, as a matter of course, must be
very vague, though one may get certain principles by estimating the size
of a flock by the known rapidity of the flight, and other similar means;
and I remember that Frank Malbone and myself supposed that a million of
birds must have come in on that return, and as many departed! As the
pigeon is a very voracious bird, the question is apt to present itself,
where food is obtained for so many mouths; but, when we remember the
vast extent of the American forests, this difficulty is at once met.
Admitting that the colony we visited contained many millions of birds,
and, counting old and young, I have no doubt it did, there was probably
a fruit-bearing tree for each, within an hour's flight from that very
spot!

Such is the scale on which nature labors in the wilderness! I have seen
insects fluttering in the air at particular seasons, and at particular
places, until they formed little clouds; a sight every one must have
witnessed on many occasions; and as those insects appear, on their
diminished scale, so did the pigeons appear to us at the roost of
Mooseridge. We passed an hour in the town of birds, finding our tongues
and our other faculties, as we became accustomed to our situation. In a
short time, even Dus grew as composed as at all comported with the
excitement natural to one in such a place; and we studied the habits of
the pretty animals with a zest that I found so much the greater for
studying them in her company. At the end of the hour we left the hill,
our departure producing no more sensation in that countless tribe of
pigeons than our arrival.

"It is a proof that numbers can change our natures," said Dus, as we
descended the little mountain. "Here have we been almost in contact with
pigeons which would not have suffered us to come within a hundred feet
of them, had they been in ordinary flocks, or as single birds. Is it
that numbers give them courage?"

"Confidence, rather. It is just so with men; who will exhibit an
indifference in crowds that they rarely possess when alone. The sights,
interruptions, and even dangers that will draw all our attention when
with a few, often seem indifferent to us when in the tumult of a throng
of fellow-creatures."

"What is meant by a panic in an army, then?"

"It is following the same law, making man subject to the impulses of
those around him. If the impulse be onward, onward we go; if for
retreat, we run like sheep. If occupied with ourselves as a body, we
disregard trifling interruptions, as these pigeons have just done in our
own case. Large bodies of animals, whether human or not, seem to become
subject to certain general laws that increase the power of the whole
over the acts and feelings of any one or any few of their number."

"According to that rule, our new republican form of government ought to
be a very strong one; though I have heard many express their fears it
will be no government at all."

"Unless a miracle be wrought in our behalf, it will be the strongest
government in the world for certain purposes, and the weakest for
others. It professes a principle of self-preservation that is not
enjoyed by other systems, since the people must revolt against
themselves to overturn it; but, on the other hand, it will want the
active living principle of steady, consistent justice, since there will
be no independent power whose duty and whose interest it will be to see
it administered. The wisest man I ever knew has prophesied to me that
this is the point on which our system will break down; rendering the
character, the person, and the property of the citizen insecure, and
consequently the institutions odious to those who once have loved them."

"I trust there is no danger of that!" said Dus, quickly.

"There is danger from everything that man controls. We have those among
us who preach the possible perfection of the human race, maintaining the
gross delusion that men are what they are known to be, merely because
they have been ill-governed; and a more dangerous theory, in my poor
judgment, cannot be broached."

"You think, then, that the theory is false?"

"Beyond a question; governments are oftener spoiled by men, than men by
governments; though the last certainly have a marked influence on
character. The best government of which we know anything is that of the
universe; and it is so, merely because it proceeds from a single will,
that will being without blemish."

"Your despotic governments are said to be the very worst in the world."

"They are good or bad as they happen to be administered. The necessity
of maintaining such governments by force renders them often oppressive;
but a government of numbers may become more despotic than that of an
individual; since the people will, in some mode or other, always sustain
the oppressed as against the despot, but rarely, or never, as against
themselves. You saw that those pigeons lost their instinct, under the
impulse given them by numbers. God forever protect me against the
tyranny of numbers."

"But everybody says our system is admirable, and the best in the world;
and even a despot's government is the government of a man."

"It is one of the effects of numbers that men shrink from speaking the
truth, when they find themselves opposed to large majorities. As
respects self-rule, the colonies were ever freer than the mother
country; and we are, as yet, merely pursuing our ancient practices,
substituting allegiance to the confederation for allegiance to the king.
The difference is not sufficiently material to produce early changes. We
are to wait until that which there is of new principles in our present
system shall have time to work radical changes, when we shall begin to
ascertain how much better we really are than our neighbors."[13]

[Footnote 13: At the time of which Mr. Mordaunt Littlepage is here
speaking, it was far less the fashion to extol the institutions than it
is to-day. Men then openly wrote and spoke against them, while few dare,
at the present time, point out faults that every person of intelligence
knows and feels to be defects. A few years since, when Jackson was
placed in the White House, it was the fashion of Europe to predict that
we had elevated a soldier to power, and that the government of the
bayonet was at hand. This every intelligent American knew to be rank
nonsense. The approach of the government of the bayonet among us, if it
is ever to come, may be foreseen by the magnitude of popular abuses,
against which force is the only remedy. Every well-wisher of the freedom
this country has hitherto enjoyed, should now look upon the popular
tendencies with distrust, as, whenever it is taken away, it will go as
their direct consequence; it being an inherent principle in the corrupt
nature of man to misuse all his privileges; even those connected with
religion itself. If history proves anything, it proves this.--EDITOR.]

Dus and I continued to converse on this subject until she got again into
the saddle. I was delighted with her good sense and intelligence, which
were made apparent more in the pertinacity of her questions than by any
positive knowledge she had on such subjects, which usually have very few
attractions for young women. Nevertheless, Dus had an activity of mind
and a readiness of perception that supplied many of the deficiencies of
education on these points; and I do not remember to have ever been
engaged in a political discussion from which I derived so much
satisfaction. I must own, however, it is possible that the golden hair
flying about a face that was just as ruddy as comported with the
delicacy of the sex, the rich mouth, the brilliant teeth, and the
spirited and yet tender blue eyes, may have increased a wisdom that I
found so remarkable.




CHAPTER XV.

    "Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear,
      As one with treasure laden, hemmed with thieves,
    Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
      Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves."
                                         --_Venus and Adonis._


The hut, or huts of Chainbearer, had far more comfort in and around
them, than I was prepared to find. They were three in number, one having
been erected as a kitchen, and a place to contain the male slaves;
another for the special accommodation of Ursula and the female black;
and the third to receive men. The eating-room was attached to the
kitchen; and all these buildings, which had now stood the entire year,
were constructed of logs, and were covered with bark. They were roughly
made, as usual; but that appropriated to Dus was so much superior to the
others in its arrangements, internal and external, as at once to denote
the presence and the influence of woman. It may have some interest with
the reader briefly to describe the place.

Quite as a matter of course, a spring had been found, as the first
consideration in "locating," as it is called by that portion of our
people who get upon their conversational stilts. The spring burst out of
the side of a declivity, the land stretching away for more than a mile
from its foot, in an inclined plane that was densely covered with some
of the noblest elms, beeches, maples, and black birches, I have ever
seen. This spot, the Chainbearer early assured me, was the most valuable
of all the lands of Mooseridge. He had selected it because it was
central, and particularly clear from underbrush; besides having no
stagnant water near it. In other respects, it was like any other point
in that vast forest; being dark, shaded, and surrounded by the
magnificence of a bountiful vegetation.

Here Chainbearer had erected his hut, a low, solid structure of pine
logs, that were picturesque in appearance, and not without their rude
comforts, in their several ways. These buildings were irregularly
placed, though the spring was in their control. The kitchen and
eating-room were nearest the water; at no great distance from these was
the habitation of the men; while the smaller structure, which Frank
Malbone laughingly termed the "harem," stood a little apart, on a slight
spur of land, but within fifty yards of Andries's own lodgings. Boards
had been cut by hand, for the floors and doors of these huts, though no
building but the "harem" had any window that was glazed. This last had
two such windows, and Frank had even taken care to provide for his
sister's dwelling rude but strong window shutters.

As for defences against an enemy, they were no longer thought of within
the limits of New York. Block-houses, and otherwise fortified dwellings,
had been necessary so long as the French possessed Canada; but after the
capture of that colony, few had deemed any such precautions called for,
until the war of the revolution brought a savage foe once more among the
frontier settlements; frontier, as to civilization, if not as to
territory. With the termination of that war had ceased this, the latest
demand for provisions of that nature; and the Chainbearer had not
thought of using any care to meet the emergencies of violence, in
"making his pitch."

Nevertheless, each hut would have been a reasonably strong post, on an
emergency; the logs being bullet-proof, and still remaining undecayed
and compact. Palisades were not thought of now, nor was there any
covered means of communicating between one hut and another. In a word,
whatever there might be in the way of security in these structures, was
the result of the solidity of their material, and of the fashion of
building that was then, and is still customary everywhere in the forest.
As against wild beasts there was entire protection, and other enemies
were no longer dreaded. Around the huts there were no enclosures of any
sort, nor any other cleared land, than a spot of about half an acre in
extent, off of which had been cut the small pines that furnished the
logs of which they were built. A few vegetables had been put into the
ground at the most open point; but a fence being unnecessary, none had
been built. As for the huts, they stood completely shaded by the forest,
the pines having been cut on an eminence a hundred yards distant. This
spot, however, small as it was, brought enough of the commoner sort of
plants to furnish a frugal table.

Such was the spot that was then known in all that region by the name of
the "Chainbearer's Huts." This name has been retained and the huts are
still standing, circumstances having rendered them memorable in my
personal history, and caused me to direct their preservation, at least
as long as I shall live. As the place had been inhabited a considerable
time that spring and summer, it bore some of the other signs of the
presence of man; but on the whole, its character as a residence was that
of deep forest seclusion. In point of fact, it stood buried in the
woods, distant fully fifteen miles from the nearest known habitation,
and in so much removed from the comfort, succor, and outward
communications of civilized life. These isolated abodes, however, are by
no means uncommon in the State, even at the present hour; and it is
probable that some of them will be found during the whole of this
century. It is true, that the western, middle, southern, southwestern,
northwestern and northeastern counties of New York, all of which were
wild, or nearly so, at the time of which I am writing, are already well
settled, or are fast filling up, but there is a high mountainous region,
in middle-northern New York, which will remain virtually a wilderness, I
should think, for quite a century, if not longer. I have travelled
through this district of wilderness very lately, and have found it
picturesque and well suited for the sportsman, abounding in deer, fish
and forest birds, but not so much suited to the commoner wants of man,
as to bring it very soon into demand for the ordinary purposes of the
husbandman. If this quarter of the country do not fall into the hands of
lawless squatters and plunderers of one sort and another, of which there
is always some danger in a country of so great extent, it will become a
very pleasant resort of the sportsman, who is likely soon to lose his
haunts in the other quarters of the State.

Jaap had brought over some horses of mine from the 'Nest as
sumpter-beasts, and these being sent back for want of provender, the
<DW64> himself remained at the "Huts" as a general assistant, and as a
sort of hunter. A Westchester <DW64> is pretty certain to be a shot,
especially if he happen to belong to the proprietor of a Neck; for there
is no jealousy of trusting arms in the hands of our New York slaves. But
Jaap having served, in a manner, was entitled to burn as much gunpowder
as he pleased. By means of one of his warlike exploits, the old fellow
had become possessed of a very capital fowling-piece, plunder obtained
from some slain English officer, I always supposed; and this arm he
invariably kept near his person, as a trophy of his own success. The
shooting of Westchester, however and that of the forest, were very
different branches of the same art. Jaap belonged to the school of the
former, in which the pointer and the setter were used. The game was "put
up," and "marked down," and the bird was invariably shot on the wing. My
attention was early called to this distinction, by overhearing a
conversation between the <DW64> and the Indian, that took place within a
few minutes after our arrival, and a portion of which I shall now
proceed to relate.

Jaap and Sureflint were, in point of fact, very old acquaintances, and
fast friends. They had been actors in certain memorable scenes, on those
very lands of Mooseridge, some time before my birth, and had often met
and served as comrades during the last war. The known antipathy between
the races of the red and black man did not exist as between them, though
the <DW64> regarded the Indian with some of that self-sufficiency which
the domestic servant would be apt to entertain for a savage roamer of
the forest; while the Onondago could not but look on my fellow as one of
the freest of the free would naturally feel disposed to look on one who
was content to live in bondage. These feelings were rather mitigated
than extinguished by their friendship, and often made themselves
manifest in the course of their daily communion with each other.

A bag filled with squabs had been brought from the roost, and Jaap had
emptied it of its contents on the ground near the kitchen, to commence
the necessary operations of picking and cleaning, preparatory to handing
the birds over to the cook. As for the Onondago, he took his seat near
by on a log very coolly, a spectator of his companion's labors, but
disdaining to enter in person on such woman's work, now that he was
neither on a message nor on a war-path. Necessity alone could induce him
to submit to any menial labor, nor do I believe he would have offered to
assist, had he seen the fair hand of Dus herself plucking these pigeons.
To him it would have been perfectly suitable that a "squaw" should do
the work of a "squaw," while a warrior maintained his dignified
idleness. Systematic and intelligent industry are the attendants of
civilization, the wants created by which can only be supplied by the
unremitted care of those who live by their existence.

"Dere, old Sus," exclaimed the <DW64>, shaking the last of the dead birds
from the bag--"dere, now, Injin; I s'pose you t'inks 'em ere's game!"

"What _you_ call him, eh?" demanded the Onondago, eyeing the <DW64>
sharply.

"I doesn't call 'em game a bit, redskin. Dem's not varmint, n'oder; but
den, dem isn't game. Game's game, I s'pose you does know, Sus?"

"Game, game--good. T'at true--who say no?"

"Yes, it's easy enough to _say_ a t'ing, but it not so berry easy to
understan'. Can any Injin in York State, now, tell me why pigeon isn't
game?"

"Pigeon game--good game, too. Eat sweet--many time want more."

"Now, I do s'pose, Trackless"--Jaap loved to run through the whole
vocabulary of the Onondago's names--"Now, I do s'pose, Trackless, you
t'ink _tame_ pigeon just as good as wild?"

"Don't know--nebber eat tame--s'pose him good, too."

"Well, den, you s'poses berry wrong. Tame pigeons poor stuff; but no
pigeon be game. Nuttin' game, Sureflint, dat a dog won't p'int, or set.
Masser Mordaunt h'an't got no dog at de Bush or de Toe, and he keeps
dogs enough at bot', dat would p'int a pigeon."

"P'int deer, eh?"

"Well, I doesn't know. P'raps he will, p'raps he won't. Dere isn't no
deer in Westchester for us to try de dogs on, so a body can't tell. You
remem'er 'e day, Sus, when we fit your redskins out here, 'long time
ago, wit' Masser Corny and Masser Ten Eyck, and ole Masser Herman
Mordaunt, and Miss Anneke, and Miss Mary, an' your frin' Jumper? You
remem'er _dat_, ha! Onondago?"

"Sartain--no forget--Injin nebber forget. Don't forget friend--don't
forget enemy."

Here Jaap raised one of his shouting <DW64> laughs, in which all the
joyousness of his nature seemed to enter with as much zest as if he were
subjected to a sort of mental tickling; then he let the character of his
merriment be seen by his answer.

"Sartain 'nough--you remem'er dat feller, Muss, Trackless? He get heself
in a muss by habbing too much mem'ry. Good to hab mem'ry when you told
to do work; but sometime mem'ry bad 'nough. Berry bad to hab so much
mem'ry dat he can't forget small floggin'."

"No true," answered the Onondago, a little sternly, though a _very_
little; for, while he and Jaap disputed daily, they never quarrelled.
"No true, so. Flog bad for back."

"Well, dat because you redskin--a color' man don't mind him as much as
dis squab. Get use to him in little while; den he nuttin' to speak of."

Sureflint made no answer, but he looked as if he pitied the ignorance,
humility, and condition of his friend.

"What you t'ink of dis worl', Susquesus?" suddenly demanded the <DW64>,
tossing a squab that he had cleaned into a pail, and taking another.
"How you t'ink white man come?--how you t'ink red man come?--how you
t'ink color' gentl'em come, eh?"

"Great Spirit say so--t'en all come. Fill Injin full of blood--t'at make
him red--fill <DW65> wit' ink--t'at make him black--pale-face pale
'cause he live in sun, and color dry out."

Here Jaap laughed so loud that he drew all three of Chainbearer's blacks
to the door, who joined in the fun out of pure sympathy, though they
could not have known its cause. Those blacks! They may be very miserable
as slaves; but it is certain no other class in America laugh so often,
or so easily, or one-half as heartily.

"Harkee, Injin," resumed Jaap, as soon as he had laughed as much as he
wished to do at that particular moment--"Harkee, Injin--you t'ink 'arth
round, or 'arth flat?"

"How do you mean--'arth up and down--no round--no flat."

"Dat not what I mean. Bot' up and down in one sens', but no up and down
in 'noder. Masser Mordaunt, now, and Masser Corny too, bot' say 'arth
round like an apple, and dat he'd stand one way in day-time, an' 'noder
way in night-time. Now, what you t'ink of dat, Injin?"

The Trackless listened gravely, but he expressed neither assent or
dissent. I knew he had a respect for both my father and myself; but it
was asking a great deal of him to credit that the world was round; nor
did he understand how one could be turned over in the manner Jaap
pretended.

"S'pose it so," he remarked, after a pause of reflection--"S'pose it so,
den man stand upside down? Man stand on foot; no stand on head."

"Worl' turn round, Injin; dat a reason why you stand on he head one
time; on he foot 'noder."

"Who tell t'at tradition, Jaap? Nebber heard him afore."

"Masser Corny tell me dat, long time ago; when I war' little boy. Ask
Masser Mordaunt one day, and he tell you a same story. Ebberybody say
_dat_ but Masser Dirck Follock; and he say to me, one time, 'it true,
Jaap, t'e book do say so--and your Masser Corny believe him; but I want
to _see_ t'e worl' turn round, afore I b'lieve it.' Dat what Colonel
Follock say, Trackless; you know he berry honest."

"Good--honest man, colonel--brave warrior--true friend--b'lieve all he
tell, when he _know_; but don't know ebberyt'ing. Gen'ral know
more--major young, but know more."

Perhaps my modesty ought to cause me to hesitate about recording that
which the partiality of so good a friend as Susquesus might induce him
to say; but it is my wish to be particular, and to relate all that
passed on this occasion. Jaap could not object to the Indian's
proposition, for he had too much love and attachment for his two masters
not to admit at once that they knew more than Colonel Follock; no very
extravagant assumption, by the way.

"Yes, he good 'nough," answered the black, "but he don't know half as
much as Masser Corny, or Masser Mordaunt. He say worl' isn't round; now,
I t'ink he look round."

"What Chainbearer say?" asked the Indian, suddenly, as if he had
determined that his own opinion should be governed by that of a man whom
he so well loved. "Chainbearer nebber lie."

"Nor do Masser Corny, nor Masser Mordaunt?" exclaimed Jaap, a little
indignantly. "You t'ink, Trackless, e'der of _my_ massers lie!"

That was an accusation that Susquesus never intended to make; though his
greater intimacy with, and greater reliance on old Andries had,
naturally enough, induced him to ask the question he had put.

"No say eeder lie," answered the Onondago; "but many forked tongue
about, and maybe hear so, and t'ink so. Chainbearer stop ear; nebber
listen to crooked tongue."

"Well, here come Chainbearer he self, Sus; so, jist for graterfercashun,
you shall hear what 'e ole man say. It berry true, Chainbearer honest
man, and I like to know he opinion myself, sin' it isn't easy,
Trackless, to understan' how a mortal being _can_ stan' up, head down!"

"What 'mortal being' mean, eh?"

"Why, it mean mortality, Injin--you, mortality--I, mortality--Masser
Corny, mortality--Masser Mordaunt, mortality--Miss Anneke,
mortality--ebberybody, mortality; but ebberybody not 'e same sort of
mortality!--Understan' now, Sus?"

The Indian shook his head, and looked perplexed; but the Chainbearer
coming up at that moment, that branch of the matter in discussion was
pursued no farther. After exchanging a few remarks about the pigeons,
Jaap did not scruple to redeem the pledge he had given his red friend,
by plunging at once into the main subject with the Chainbearer.

"You know how it be wid Injin, Masser Chainbearer," said Jaap--"'Ey is
always poor missedercated creatur's, and knows nuttin' but what come by
chance--now here be Sureflint, he can no way t'ink dis worl' round; and
dat it _turn_ round, too; and so he want me to ask what you got to say
about _dat_ matter?"

Chainbearer was no scholar. Whatever may be said of Leyden, and of the
many, very many learned Dutchmen it had sent forth into the world, few
of them ever reached America. Our brethren of the eastern colonies, now
states, had long been remarkable, as a whole, for that "dangerous
thing," a "little learning;" but I cannot say that the Dutch of New
York, also viewed as a whole, incurred any of those risks. To own the
truth, it was not a very easy matter to be more profoundly ignorant, on
all things connected with science, than were the mass of the uneducated
Dutch of New York, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred
and eighty-four. It made little difference as to condition in life,
unless one rose as high as the old colonial aristocracy of that stock,
and an occasional exception in favor of a family that intended to rear,
or had reared in its bosom a minister of the gospel. Such was the
strength of the prejudice among these people, that they distrusted the
English schools, and few permitted their children to enter them; while
those they possessed of their own were ordinarily of a very low
character. These feelings were giving way before the influence of time,
it is true; but it was very slowly; and it was pretty safe to infer that
every man of low Dutch extraction in the colony was virtually
uneducated, with the exception of here and there an individual of the
higher social castes, or one that had been especially favored by
association and circumstances. As for that flippant knowledge, of which
our eastern neighbors possessed so large an amount, the New York Dutch
appeared to view it with peculiar dislike, disdaining to know anything,
if it were not of the very best quality. Still, there were a few to whom
this quality was by no means a stranger. In these isolated cases, the
unwearied application, painstaking industry, cautious appreciation of
facts, and solid judgment of the parties, had produced a few men who
only required a theatre for its exhibition, in order to cause their
information to command the profound respect of the learned, let them
live where they might. What they did acquire was thoroughly got, though
seldom paraded for the purposes of mere show.

Old Andries, however, was not of the class just named. He belonged to
the rule, and not to its exception. Beyond a question, he had heard all
the more familiar truths of science alluded to in discourse, or had seen
them in the pages of books; but they entered into no part of his real
opinions; for he was not sufficiently familiar with the different
subjects to feel their truths in a way to incorporate them with his
mind.

"You know t'is sait, Jaap," Chainbearer answered, "t'at bot' are true.
Eferypoty wilt tell you so; and all t'e folks I haf seen holt t'e same
opinions."

"T'ink him true, Chainbearer?" the Onondago somewhat abruptly demanded.

"I s'pose I _must_, Sureflint, since all say it. T'e pale-faces, you
know, reat a great many pooks, and get to pe much wiser t'an ret men."

"How you make man stand on head, eh?"

Chainbearer now looked over one shoulder, then over the other; and
fancying no one was near but the two in his front, he was probably a
little more communicative than might otherwise have been the case.
Drawing a little nearer, like one who is about to deal with a secret,
the honest old man made his reply.

"To pe frank wit' you, Sureflint," he answered, "t'at ist a question not
easily answered. Eferypoty says 'tis so, ant, t'erefore, I s'pose it
_must_ pe so; put I have often asked myself if t'is worlt pe truly
turned upsite town at night, how is it, old Chainpearer, t'at you ton't
roll out of pet? T'ere's t'ings in natur' t'at are incomprehensiple,
Trackless; quite incomprehensiple!"

The Indian listened gravely, and it seemed to satisfy his longings on
the subject, to know that there were things in nature that are
incomprehensible. As for the Chainbearer, I thought that he changed the
discourse a little suddenly on account of these very incomprehensible
things in nature; for it is certain he broke off on another theme, in a
way to alter all the ideas of his companions, let them be on their heads
or their heels.

"Is it not true, Jaap, t'at you ant t'e Onondago, here, wast pot'
present at t'e Injin massacre t'at took place in t'ese parts, pefore t'e
revolution, in t'e olt French war? I mean t'e time when one Traverse, a
surveyor, ant a fery _goot_ surveyor he was, was kil't, wit'all his
chainpearers ant axe-men?"

"True as gospel, Masser Andries," returned the <DW64>, looking up
seriously, and shaking his head--"I was here, and so was Sus. Dat was de
fuss time we smell gunpowder togedder. De French Injins was out in
droves, and dey cut off Masser Traverse and all his party, no leaving
half a scalp on a single head. Yes, sah; I remembers _dat_, as if t'was
last night."

"Ant what was tone wit' t'e poties? You puriet t'e poties, surely?"

"Sartain--Pete, Masser Ten Eyck's man, was put into a hole, near Masser
Corny's hut, which must be out here, four or five miles off; while
masser surveyor and his men were buried by a spring, somewhere off
yonder. Am I right, Injin?"

The Onondago shook his head; then he pointed to the true direction to
each spot that had been mentioned, showing that Jaap was very much out
of the way. I had heard of certain adventures in which my father had
been concerned when a young man, and in which, indeed, my mother had
been in a degree an actor, but I did not know enough of the events fully
to comprehend the discourse which succeeded. It seemed that the
Chainbearer knew the occurrences by report only, not having been present
at the scenes connected with them; but he felt a strong desire to visit
the graves of the sufferers. As yet, he had not even visited the hut of
Mr. Traverse, the surveyor who had been killed; for, the work on which
he had been employed being one of detail, or that of subdividing the
great lots laid down before the revolution, into smaller lots, for
present sale, it had not taken him as yet from the central point where
it had commenced. His new assistant chainbearer was not expected to join
us for a day or two; and, after talking the matter over with his two
companions for a few minutes, he announced a determination to go in
quest of all the graves the succeeding morning, with the intention of
having suitable memorials of their existence placed over them.

The evening of that day was calm and delightful. As the sun was setting
I paid Dus a visit, and found her alone in what she playfully called the
drawing-room of her "harem." Luckily there were no mutes to prevent my
entrance, the usual black guardian, of whom there _was_ one, being still
in her kitchen at work. I was received without embarrassment, and taking
a seat on the threshold of the door, I sat conversing, while the
mistress of the place plied her needle on a low chair within. For a time
we talked of the pigeons and of our little journey in the woods; after
which the conversation insensibly took a direction toward our present
situation, the past, and the future. I had adverted to the Chainbearer's
resolution to search for the graves; and, at this point, I shall begin
to record what was said, _as_ it was said.

"I have heard allusions to those melancholy events, rather than their
history," I added. "For some cause, neither of my parents like to speak
of them; though I know not the reason."

"Their history is well known at Ravensnest," answered Dus; "and it is
often related there; at least, as marvels are usually related in country
settlements. I suppose there is a grain of truth mixed up with a pound
of error."

"I see no reason for misrepresenting in an affair of that sort."

"There is no other than the universal love of the marvellous, which
causes most people to insist on having it introduced into a story, if it
do not happen to come in legitimately. Your true country gossip is never
satisfied with fact. He (or _she_ would be the better word) insists on
exercising a dull imagination at invention. In this case, however, from
all that I can learn, more fact and less invention has been used than
common."

We then spoke of the outlines of the story each had heard, and we found
that, in the main, our tales agreed. In making the comparison, however,
I found that I was disposed to dwell most on the horrible features of
the incidents, while Dus, gently and almost insensibly, yet infallibly,
inclined to those that were gentler, and which had more connection with
the affections.

"Your account is much as mine, and both must be true in the main, as you
got yours from the principal actors," she said; "but _our_ gossips
relate certain points connected with love and marriage, about which you
have been silent."

"Let me hear them, then," I cried; "for I never was in a better mood to
converse of love and _marriage_," laying a strong emphasis on the last
word, "than at this moment!"

The girl started, blushed, compressed her lips, and continued silent for
half a minute. I could see that her hand trembled, but she was too much
accustomed to extraordinary situations easily to lose her self-command.
It was nearly dusk, too, and the obscurity in which she sat within the
hut, which was itself beneath the shade of tall trees, most probably
aided her efforts to seem unconscious. Yet, I had spoken warmly, and as
I soon saw, in a manner that demanded explanation, though at the moment
quite without plan, and scarcely with the consciousness of what I was
doing. I decided not to retreat, but to go on, in doing which I should
merely obey an impulse that was getting to be too strong for much
further restraint; that was not the precise moment, nevertheless, in
which I was resolved to speak, but I waited rather for the natural
course of things. In the mean time, after the short silence mentioned,
the discourse continued.

"All I meant," resumed Dus, "was the tradition which is related among
your tenants, that your parents were united in consequence of the manner
in which your father defended Herman Mordaunt's dwelling, his daughter
included--though Herman Mordaunt himself preferred some English lord for
his son-in-law, and--but I ought to repeat no more of this silly tale."

"Let me hear it all, though it be the loves of my own parents."

"I dare say it is not true; for what vulgar report of private feelings
and private acts ever _is_ so? My tradition added that Miss Mordaunt
was, at first, captivated by the brilliant qualities of the young lord,
though she much preferred General Littlepage in the end; and that her
marriage has been most happy."

"Your tradition, then, has not done my mother justice, but is faulty in
many things. Your young lord was merely a baronet's heir; and I know
from my dear grandmother that my mother's attachment to my father
commenced when she was a mere child, and was the consequence of his
resenting an insult she received at the time from some other boy."

"I am glad of that!" exclaimed Dus, with an emphasis so marked that I
was surprised at the earnestness of her manner. "Second attachments in
woman to me always seem misplaced. There was another vein to my
tradition, which tells of a lady who lost her betrothed the night the
'Nest was assailed, and who has ever since lived unmarried, true to his
memory. That is a part of the story I have ever loved."

"Was her name Wallace?" I asked, eagerly.

"It was; Mary Wallace--and I have honored the name ever since I heard
the circumstances. In my eyes, Mr. Littlepage, there can be no picture
more respectable than that of a female remaining true to her first
attachments, under _all_ circumstances; in _death_ as well as in
_life_."

"Or in mine, beloved Ursula!" I cried--but I will not make a fool of
myself by attempting to record what I said next. The fact was, that Dus
had been winding herself round my heart for the last few weeks in a way
that would have defied any attempts of mine to extricate it from the net
into which it had fallen, had I the wish to do so. But I had considered
the matter, and saw no reason to desire freedom from the dominion of
Ursula Malbone. To me she appeared all that man could wish, and I saw no
impediment to a union in the circumstance of her poverty. Her family and
education were quite equal to my own; and these very important
considerations admitted, I had fortune enough for both. It was material
that we should have the habits, opinions, prejudices if you will, of the
same social caste; but beyond this, worldly considerations, in my view
of the matter, ought to have no influence.

Under such notions, therefore, and guided by the strong impulse of a
generous and manly passion, I poured out my whole soul to Dus. I dare
say I spoke a quarter of an hour without once being interrupted. I did
not wish to hear my companion's voice; for I had the humility which is
said to be the inseparable attendant of a true love, and was fearful
that the answer might not be such as I could wish to hear. I could
perceive, spite of the increasing obscurity, that Dus was strongly
agitated; and will confess a lively hope was created within me by this
circumstance. Thus encouraged, it was natural to lose my fears in the
wish to be more assured; and I now pressed for a reply. After a brief
pause, I obtained it in the following words, which were uttered with a
tremor and sensibility that gave them tenfold weight.

"For this unexpected, and I believe _sincere_ declaration, Mr.
Littlepage, I thank you from the bottom of my heart," the precious
creature commenced. "There are a frankness, an honorable sincerity and a
noble generosity in such a declaration, coming from _you_ to _me_, that
can never be forgotten. But, I am not my own mistress--my faith is
plighted to another--my affections are with my faith; and I cannot
accept offers which, so truly generous, so truly noble, demand the most
explicit reply----"

I heard no more; for, springing from the floor, and an attitude that was
very nearly that of being on my knees, I rushed from the hut and plunged
into the forest.




CHAPTER XVI.

    DANS. "Ye boys who pluck the flowers, and spoil the spring,
                    Beware the secret snake that shoots a sting."
                                               --_Dryden's Eclogues._


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 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 burdened 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 daylight; or, such a daylight 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 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 was
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 '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 d'ough--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, favored the idea of the proximity of a mill. 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 favorable 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 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
favorable 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--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 toward 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
manufacturer 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 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 reacting 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 favorable to their floating downward. 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 saw-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 mingled with my
thoughts, all this time. She was never absolutely out of them, though
the repulse I had met in my affections gave 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_ t'ink 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 gray 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 they give 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 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 ebberyt'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 toward 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 afterward 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 anything unpleasant appearing in the 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 its only you, Trackless," exclaimed Thousand Acres, or
Thousandacres, as I shall in future spell the name--"I didn't know but
it might be a sheriff. Sitch critturs 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've 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 labor 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?"

"_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, 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 redskins. But Chainbearer is at work hard by, is he,
Trackless?"

"Sartain. He measure General Littlepage farm out. Who _your_ landlord,
eh?"

"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 honored and honorable 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
caluminate. 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 neighborhood, 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, Beekman, 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,
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 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 XVII.

    "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
cultivation. Stubs and stumps abounded, and the fences were of logs,
showing that the occupancy was still of recent date. In fact, as I
afterward 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 makeshift 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 of the little
stream, after the fall rains, 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 depth 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."

The last part of the 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, gray-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 afterward 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 her 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 imitated 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
everything 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.[14] 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 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.

[Footnote 14: 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 the English counties are from that of
London. One of the peculiarities of the former, is to pronounce the
final of a word like y; calling America, Ameriky; Utica, Utiky; Ithaca,
Ithaky. Thus, Lavinia would be very apt to be pronounced Lavinny,
Lav_y_ny, 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.]

"Have you asked these folks about Chainbearer?" said Prudence abruptly,
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."

"Near 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 keer 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."

"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' labor 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 labor be in them boards; and it's as good as sap, anyday.
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 neighbor'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 labors; not I. You've honestly toiled and
wrought at 'em logs, in a way I never seed human beings outdo; and
'twould 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 'tisn't 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 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 labors. 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 guarantee 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, 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' agin' 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 neighborhood 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 certainly come
to an eend afore it."

"The calculation was a pretty safe one; the war must have truly made a
dull time to you; nor do I see how you well got along during the period
it lasted."

"Bad enough; though war-times has their windfalls 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. 'Twas in a woody country, as you may
spose, or I wouldn't have been there; and, as I know'd all the byroads,
I watched my chance, and got out of the line without being seen, and
druv' as straight 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 favorite one 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 favor 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
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 lawsuits, 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."

"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 toward 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 lands 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, 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, in all 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 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 atween 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 such
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 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, women's 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'nd down here, in my betterments, and beneath my ruff?"

"My errand, as you call it, Thousandacres, is to look after the property
that is intrusted to my care. I am the son of General Littlepage, one of
the owners of this spot, and the attorney of both."

"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, Lowiny, 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.




CHAPTER XVIII.

    "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 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 well-tried 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 redskin? 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 way in it, as was now apparent; for in less than two
minutes after Aaron had issued his decree, those namesakes of the
prophets and law-givers 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 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 critturs 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 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 jail 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 punishment 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 intended 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 movables does not give the most unanswerable of all commentaries
on this capital misstep. One whipping-post, discreetly used, will do
more toward reforming a neighborhood than a hundred jails, with their
twenty and thirty days' imprisonment.[15] 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 first place, after which, try as many experiments in
philanthropy as you please.

[Footnote 15: 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.]

I am sorry to see how far the disposition to economize 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
their prompt, exact, and well-considered administration of
justice--including the cases both in 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. 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 afterward, for sometime.

"A _power_ of attorney, 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 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 doesn'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 it's
owner, if he's only a common tenant?"

The reader is not to be surprised at Thousandacre's 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 doesn't come out second best. Wa-a-l, we've heerd 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 jail."

"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 ag'in Burg'yne myself, with Tobit and Moses, and
Nathaniel and Jedediah--with every male crittur' of the family, in
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, honor, 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 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 toward 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
favors from a squatter.

The jail to which I was "permitted" by Thousandacres was a storehouse,
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 jail. 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.

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 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
opening 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 favor 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, 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 toward 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 jail 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 labor. 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 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
labors (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 labor 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 unbiased 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 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 the property of Mooseridge, could
not be less than five-and-twenty miles, the arrival of this visitor 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 visitor 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 his 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, toward 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 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.




CHAPTER XIX.

    "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 toward the
storehouse; 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 toward 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 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' ye, 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, 'twill be an onlucky day for _them_, should they
stumble on my clearin'!"

"Perhaps they will, perhaps they wunt; a body never knows. Surveyin' '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 neighbor _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 mill, 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 _Ten_thousandacres; "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
neighbor to two families, one north and one south on me, and we chopped
away the whull time, just 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 were pretty much the same;--possession
and free axes. Then it was ag'in York colony landholders that our time
was running. What's 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 for 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, neighbor 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 begun to put into the water."

"Let him growl," returned the old squatter, glancing surlily toward my
prison; "like a good many other crittur's that I've met with, 'twill
turn out that his bark is worse than his bite."

"I don't know that, neighbor 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 surveyer! Is he one of Chainbearer's measurin' devils?"

"Just so; 'tis the very young fellow Chainbearer has had with him this
year or so, runnin' lines an' 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 afeard 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 venal 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 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 labored 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 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 misdemeanor,
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 the 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
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 neighborhood. 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 neighbors. 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
reconcilable breed, minding our own business, and having a respect for
that of other people. Now, here am I, in my seventy-fourth 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
extremely tenacious of this title, though they have no more right to it
than any one else--but Jason Newcome, Esq.,[16] did not carry his
notions of the rights of 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.

[Footnote 16: 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 honor, standing next
in degree below that of knight. On the continent of Europe the "ecuyer"
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-armor. 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 honor were abolished at the
revolution, and it is a singular contradiction, in substance, to hold
that the principle 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, or ought to be interpreted both would
come within the proscribed category, as set forth in art. 7th, sect.
9th, and art. 1st, sect. 10th, 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.]

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 storehouse.

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 settlement?"

"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 certainty; and it is no other than Susquesus, the Onondago. The
fellow is cluss-mouthed, like most redskins; 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 visitor, I never
knew; but they must have been altogether alone for a few minutes. When
the former reappeared, 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 recognized 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 favor 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 favors 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 redskin'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 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. Everything
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 hopes
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 Thousandacres'
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 moccason 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--somet'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.

"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 he 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 <DW65>. Look for young master--ebberybody 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 him
squatter's boys catch me, by what you call s'prise; yes, 'e pale-faces
s'prise red man 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 <DW64>, had artfully allowed himself to be
recaptured, 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 <DW64>, 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 rejoining 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 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 succor, 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 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.




CHAPTER XX.

          "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 imbru'd:
    He fell, and groaning grasp'd in agony the ground."
                                                  --WARTON.


In this manner passed that long and weary 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 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 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 sap-cider 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 supply,
Mr. Littlepage; and for fear you hadn't, I've brought you and the
redskin a pitcher of milk and a bowl of hasty-pudding--_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 sentiment. "It's
awful to be forever fighting ag'in law!"

"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, nowadays. 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' 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 calico. 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 that 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 lease or buy; but
you know how it is with women, Mr. Littlepage; when their fr'nds act,
it's all the same as a law to them to try to think that they act right.
Mother never says anything 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 anything, 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, 'twould 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 maybe 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'rate
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
anything 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 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 toward
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 daylight, and I
hear 'em stirring 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 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 storehouse 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 background. 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 afterward 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 toward the storehouse, 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
visitor who approached. At the next minute, Andries was at his side.

"So, T'ousandacres, 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
pisiness 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, T'ousandacres, after knowin' each other for fifty years."

"Yes, we _do_ know each other for fifty years; and seein' that them
years hav'nt 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
arrested, 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 dare't 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 is'nt 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 and yours.
Ye've sown t'e win't, and ye'll reap t'e whirl-wints, 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 to 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 labors?"

"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 and
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
day 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 direction, 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 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 any 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 immovable, and
seemingly as unmoved as a rock.

Andries Coejemans, old as he was, and it will be remembered he too had
seen his threescore 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 vigor 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 neighboring 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 clinks. "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 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
storehouse, and made an effort to force it open. That was not easy,
however; for, opening outward, 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 crowbar. This he soon found, and he was on his way to the
storehouse, 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 toward him, he did not bestow the least attention on them. He
was actually busied with endeavoring 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 afterward 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 so rapidly were things conducted, for 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 storehouse 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 Thousandacres," said Chainbearer, heartily. "He is
tough, and he 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."

"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 anyt'ing
of t'at sort. One can reat of such t'ings in pooks, put woman is
respectet and 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 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
<DW64> 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 favorable 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 the Chainbearer's, as it had been before.




CHAPTER XXI.

    "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.


Dus was then near me--in sight of the storehouse, 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'ousandacres' 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 apout 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
shouldn't t'e poy haf his feelin's ast well ast anot'er, if he pe a
squatter? Squatters haf feelin's, t'ough t'ey hafn'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,
whereast 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, and 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
straight 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, as the sense of its own worth. As "coming events cast 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 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
door of the storehouse.

"Well, you wilt own, Zeph," continued the old man, "we didn't cage you
like a wilt peast, or a rogue t'at hast been mettlin' wit' what tidn't
pelong to him, when you wast out among us. T'ere is 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; and you'll be
none the 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 is'nt as large as his
excellency's, t'ough his excellency's hant was'nt particularly pig
neit'er."

I could scarcely 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 honored 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 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 is
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 favored youth of Ursula Malbone, he received his
letter, as I fancied, with an awkward surprise, and lounged round the
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 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
     <DW64> 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 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 forever; 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 as 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.

"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 believe, 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 favor 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 recapture,
depend on it. Do us that favor, and I will give you fifty acres of land,
on which you can settle down and become an honest man. Remember, it will
be something honorable 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 over 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, bull-dog fashion. Then, I
allow, its 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
forever getting licks around the forehead and eyes."

"And, as your father comes to, what seems to be his disposition toward
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!"

"Do you suppose he meditates any serious harm to his prisoners?"

"A man doesn'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 doesn'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 to be 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's most afeared on. We can stand up ag'in almost
anything better 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 toward 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 storehouse, 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, seem' that
father has called the b'ys around him. Whenever he does 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 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 friends--_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
was here I did not mean here in the storehouse, but here in the woods.
She accompanied her uncle as far as the edge of the clearing--look
round, more toward the east. Do you see the black stub, in the
cornfield, 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 see a large
chestnut, in the edge of the woods behind it--the chestnut, I mean, that
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 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
. 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
understand that my feelings toward 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 storehouse, received the
note in exchange, and hurried away toward 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 toward 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
reappearing 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
storehouse. 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 redskin to be shut up like a 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 to 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 in to 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."

"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, 'twill 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 concession in favor 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 honor 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'd
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 is welcome to his opinion," answered Andries, coolly.
"He'll get no parole of me, nor do I want any favors of him. We are at
swords' 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_, 'twill be 'hardes 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 favors 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 Susquesus kept loitering around the storehouse, 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 further 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 XXII.

    "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.

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 coldness 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 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 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 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 neighbors, 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 honored, 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
endeavored 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, and I ton't 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 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 getting 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 be
venerated, ant honoret, ant worshippet; 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 every o'ter wort, ant turn up your eyes,
ant look so temure of Suntays, ant ten go ant squat yourselfs town on a
Tutchman's lant on 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 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 religious 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 propose 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.

"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 labor, 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
title, the Lord's title."[17]

[Footnote 17: Lest the reader should suppose Mr. Mordaunt Littlepage is
here recording uselessly the silly sayings 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.]

"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 neighpor. 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 pusy how long? For a
tay, or a week, or a life, or a great numper of lifes? You must tell me
t'at, Tousantacres, 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 aweary 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 you 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 determined 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, ant 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, 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
neighpors, T'ousandacres; 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 maybe it isn't
all wilderness, though it once was. One chooses to buy out betterments,
and he does 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 dryly; "ant s'pose one of
your men _ton't_ want to puy petterments, put follows t'ot'er, and 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 spryest chap have
the land. Possession's everything in settling land titles."

"Well, t'en, to please you, T'ousandacres, we'll let one get aheat of
t'other, 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, and
wishes to make _his_ pitch alongsite of his olt neighpor, where is t'e
pountary petween 'em to be fount?"

"Let 'em agree on't! They must be dreadful poor neighbors, 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 compasses, say I! They're an
invention of the devil, to make ill blood in a neighborhood, and to keep
strife awake, when our Bibles tell us to live in peace with all mankind.

"Yes, yes, I understand all t'at," returned Chainbearer, a little
disdainfully. "A Yankee piple ist a fery convenient pook. T'ere's
aut'ority in it for all sort of toctrines ant worshipin', ant prayin',
ant preachin', ant so forth. It's what I call a so-forth piple,
Mortaunt, and 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 toesn't settle out 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, and 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."

"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 (field-books): 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 truit' 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 labors, 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 were 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
shoult haf peen so mot'erate, 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 what 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 eferyt'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 moccasons 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 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 toward the storehouse, 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 clamor 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 movement 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 stones, and nearly empty, though it did contain a meat-barrel 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
afterward 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, 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
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
around 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 clamor succeeded. I
now felt there were really some chances of my finally effecting an
escape, and glad enough was I to think so.




CHAPTER XXIII.

                "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.


That was a somewhat breathless moment. The intensity with which I had
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 toward 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 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 favorable 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 bordermen 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 everything 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 were 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 lookout, at
the points most favorable 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 toward 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 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 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'n 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
labor, 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 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 hand; 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
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 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 perverted 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
endeavored 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 anybody can come by askin', you will 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 nohow
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."

"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, maybe, 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."

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, favored Lowiny on this occasion; it being impossible that she
should be suspected of 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 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, 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--

"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 anything 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 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.

"'Twould 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 roused, 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 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 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.

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 toward 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 storehouse, 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 heavy footstep, and looking
cautiously around, saw Jaaf, or Jaap as we commonly called him,
advancing toward 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 gunpowder. But, where you come 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 Massar, 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 <DW64> 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 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 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 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.




CHAPTER XXIV.

    "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 that boasts that air divine."--SHENSTONE.


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 really
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
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
storehouse; "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 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, toward 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 would find 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; and 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, and 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?"

"Sartin--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 sitting
by, an attentive but a silent listener. It was our joint opinion that
Malbone could not now be very far distant with succor. 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 Malbone 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 has 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 advantage 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 has 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 Sunday, a tryin' to teach
him his piple, and how he ought to lofe ant fear Got!"

"Does Dus do this for you, my old friend?--Does that admirable creature
really take on herself the 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 childlike 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, and see her smilin'
face, and hear her 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, and piety,
in t'e pottom of her soul. One tay you'll tink 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 favor, 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 favorite 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 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 was for my pains. I wast t'en in t'e army, and we
wast captains alike; ant I wast t'e senior captain, and might orter you
apout, ant _tid_ orter you apout; ant I wore an epaulette, like any
ot'er captain, and hat my grandfat'er's swort at my site, ant t'ought we
wast equals, ant t'at it wast an honor to marry my niece; put all t'is
was 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'ough 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 toward me and continued the discourse.
"You wilt see, Mortaunt, poy, t'ese here are t'e fery facts ant trut' of
t'e case. When I came first from camp, ant I wast full of t'e prite, ant
aut'ority, ant feelin's of a soltier, I pegan to talk to Dus apout you,
as I hat peen accustomed 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 wast 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, and proken-hearted virgins.
Sometimes she woult look sorrowful, ant I coult fint tears startin' in
her eyes; ant t'en I pecome as soft ant 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 ant 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 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
gentleman, uncle Chainpearer, you wast Captain Coejemans, of t'e New
York State line, ant his senior officer, ant it was 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 fat'er 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 is 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
hef he'rt you call it, and 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, ant 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 her my hand, and----"

"Ant what?"

"Why, she does not answer _me_ as you say she answered _you_."

"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, and peen
much wit' you, ant talket wit' you, ant sung wit' you, ant laughet wit'
you; ant I s'pose, a'ter all, _t'at_ will make a tifference in her
judgment of you. I'm a patchelor, 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, ant is cheerful, why t'en my pein' a
chainbearer, and Dus pein' so poor ant forsaken like, will not pe so
likely to be rememperet hereafter, and bring 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, and 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, Mortaunt; put t'ere ist tanger t'at it might not pe exactly an uncle
and nephew's love in t'e long run. I am only a poor Tutchman, when all
is sait, wit'out much etication, ant wit' no money, ant not much more
manners; while you've peen to college, and pe college l'arn't, ant 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
sensible of his ignorance, ant pat etication, and 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 of New Englant. No, no--I'm a poor
Tutchman, I know; ant a poty may say as much to a frient, when he woult
tie pefore he woult own t'ere wast any t'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 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 toward 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 me walked an armed man, and
Chainbearer was honored 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 storehouse and the dwelling of
Thousandacres, toward 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 jail, 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 storehouse, 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 fireplace,[18] and is used for all the purposes of kitchen
and sitting-room, while the rest of the building is partitioned into
three several subdivisions. One of these subdivisions is commonly a
small bedroom; 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.

[Footnote 18: At the present day, the cooking-stove has nearly
superseded the open fireplace.]

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 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 the 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 toward 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 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
you, Chainbearer, as a man much like myself, reasonable, exper'enced,
and willin' to accommodate. I see no 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
nuttin' 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 sacrifices ant worship of his creatures in t'e forest, as
to t'e worship and sacrifices 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 would 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
pelieve!" Chainbearer exclaimed, for he really believed that the family
of the squatter was taken suddenly with a "religious turn," and that
something like a 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!"




CHAPTER XXV.

    "Yes, 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 the 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 circumstances
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 color 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 favored 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 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 fullness, 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 to 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
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 depents 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 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 used 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 sichlike 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 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
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 is 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 is 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 shadow; ant t'at comes, let me telt you, from not
lifing in 'peace and harmony,' as you call it, yourself, wit' t'e law. A
man hast a conscience, whet'er he pe a skinner or a cowboy, or efen a
squatter; and he hast it, pecause Got has gifen it to him, and 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, old squatter, put he hast been a
soltier, like myself, ant in my own regiment, which wast his fat'er's,
ant a prave young man he ist ant wast, ant one t'at has 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 as he has need on, and no more, keepin' the rest
for them that's in the same situation. 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."[19]

[Footnote 19: 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 favorite 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.]

"Why are you so moterate, T'ousantacres? why are you so unreasonaply
moterate? Why not say t'at efery man hast a right to efery t'hing he
hast need of, and 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 going. 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 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, and 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 straightforward
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. Governors be but men a'ter all, and must hold doctrines
that satisfy men's wants, or they won't be governors long.[20] 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
neighborhood, sin' city-bred folks can't know nothin' of the toil and
labor of choppin', and loggin', and ashin', and gettin' in, and croppin'
new lands."

[Footnote 20: Thousandacres speaks here like a veritable
prophet.--EDITOR.]

"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, 'twill 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 anybody 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 'twill 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 better, T'ousantacres; yes, so much t'e better," answered
old Andries, somewhat mollified by the conciliatory temper in which the
squatter now delivered himself. "When work ist to pe performet, it
_must_ pe performet; ant, as I'm hiret to surfey and chain t'e whole
estate, t'e whole estate _must_ be chainet ant surfeyet. Well, what else
haf you to say?"

"I am 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 onaccommodatin', and
that my offers isn't to be listened to, in the spirit in which they're
made?" demanded Thousandacres, somewhat dryly.

"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."

"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?"

"Any t'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 'twas 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 fee-simples, and
possessions, and the "accommodatin' spirit," to matrimony; but
Chainbearer did not. He only looked his 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 neighbors, as I am in settlin' all
other difficulties. Anything for peace and a good neighborhood 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 unterstant 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," Thousandacres resumed,
"we'll get no weddin' out of _you_. Three-score-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 a 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, Zephaniah, I must
s'pose, T'ousantacres!" answered Andries, innocently.

The laugh, this time, was neither as loud or 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 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 forever, 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 are 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 anything of the
sort, I'll engage no one of my family, in all futur' time, shall ever
squat on any lands he may 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
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 begin 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 have 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 pehavior, 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 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 was left me py an
only sister on her tyin' pet, ant may God 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, and 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' can't and
won't bear everything."

"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 brod'er who is apout to safe his sister's da'ghter
from pecoming 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."

By this time the clamor 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.




CHAPTER XXVI.

    "Ye midnight shades, o'er nature spread!
      Dumb silence of the dreary hour!
    In honor 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 the 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 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. Afterward 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 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 hear. "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 succor 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 sat, 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 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 gunshot 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 downward; 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 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 forever 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,
ant 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, and 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'reescore 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 has 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 pe 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 pe 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 haf
peen willing to haf tolt 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 wound is mortal, ant t'at my time must soon come.
Nefert'eless, it doesn't gif me pain to talk; ant, 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 tell to a son all t'e kintness ant fri'ntship I
haf receifet 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 Coejemans 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 anyt'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'ers kintness to me. Fintin' out how
impossible it was 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 was toget'er, seven
long years ant more, Colonel Littlepage mate out t'e reports of
Coejemans' company. Capital goot reports was t'ey, too, ant t'e
atmiration of all t'at see t'em; ant 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, and look into my own t'oughts a little, for I may not tie
for some hours yet."

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 toward the door,
that there was even a sublimity in their steadiness in guilt. I ought,
however, in some slight degree to exempt 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.

"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 recognize 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 the 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 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 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 the 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 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. <DW65> 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 building, 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 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
conscience-stricken 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
bedside of her uncle, but her countenance was veiled from 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 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 recognized the voice of Tobit, as he
advanced toward 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
humor 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 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."

"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
toward 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 succor, then, had arrived, and I was no longer
a captive.

"God be praised! you at least are safe," cried Malbone. "But my dear
sister?"

"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 doorway 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 falling countenance, as he looked toward 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 like me, who hast seen his t'reescore 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 beside 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 and
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 instructed 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 as it ist, Frank--yes, it ist pest as 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 toward him, he grasped it and gave it a most cordial
pressure. "Now, Mortaunt woult pe an excellent match for Dus--a most
capital match, for he ist young ant goot lookin', ant prave, ant
honoraple, ant sensiple, ant rich, all of which pe fery goot t'ings in
matrimony; put, on t'e ot'er hant, he has 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 anyt'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 honor 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
favorable 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 toward 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 XXVII.

    "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 <DW36> 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 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 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 arrangements 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 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 favor, and whom the law
will condemn--!"

A movement and a groan, on the part of Thousandacres, would seem first
to have apprised 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 woodman's
wife, and the mother of a large brood of woodman'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 averted 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
toward me more than ever; 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 fireplace,
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 such things are so common, that
I 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 endeavor to undermine when the back is turned. My
humor 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 dryly 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, intrusted 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 rumors 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 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 storehouse 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 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
neighbor'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 neighbor 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 neighborhoods, 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 one who
meddles least in the more ordinary and minor transactions of life--the
man who troubles his neighbors 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 neighbor 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
neighbor?

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 toward these generalities, instead of sticking to the
storehouse. 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 neighborhood 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 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 toward the
Indian and the <DW64>, both of whom I knew to be thoroughly honest--after
the Indian and the <DW64> 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 storehouse."

"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.

"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 toward 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 redskin law, and warrior be his 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 evil-doers 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 rough'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 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! massar
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 squatters, 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, anyway!"

"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 <DW64>
followed me, and I questioned him as to the manner of the attack, and
the direction of the 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 rumors reached
us, in the course of time, from some of the more western counties, that
Tobit had been seen there, a <DW36>, 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
bedside, 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 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 <DW64>, 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 dispatch his letter by a special messenger, with
orders to him to push on to 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 favor. 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, posthaste 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 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 relation 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 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 forever
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 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 doorway; 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 XXVIII.

     "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, and 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 livelong night; silent, tearless, moody, and heart-stricken by the
great and sudden calamity that had befallen 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 toward 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 neighborhood; 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 minutiae. 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 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 threescore-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 about to start on a fery long journey, ant it ist
unreasonaple, 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
eternity."

"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
was 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, unless he wilt repent, and pe sorry for all t'e
unlawful ant wicket t'ings he hast tone in t'is worlt, and his treatment
of pountaries in jin'ral, ant of ot'er men's lants in partic'lar. Pious
ancestors may pe pleasant to haf, put goot pehavior 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 of 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 of possession. If
'twasn'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."

"'Twoult pe much petter, Prutence, if T'ousantacres 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 plain-actin'
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,
and 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 pehind 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 do any man an injury;
put to pe frank wit' you, as pecomes two mortals so near t'eir ents, I
do not pelief, myself, t'at t'ere wilt pe a great many attorneys to
trouble 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 gettin' lumber to market than I
felt three days ago, of gettin' 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 again; 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 bedside 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 toward
the other group. No one spoke, however, for all 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 emotions
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 such 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, does 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
admission 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, and
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 solder, T'ousantacres, ant haf seen more
t'an t'ree t'ousant men shot town in my own ranks, to 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 chugment,
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, and trates, ant callin's, as well ast of t'e manner in
which t'eir tuties haf peen fulfillet. It may pe more honoraple ant more
profitaple to pe a calculating surveyor, ant to unterstant arit'metic,
and 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 moments, may pe
glat t'at t'e temptations of such larnin', 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, and 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 understants, 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 sheart 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, and most Christian, ant gotly-mintet
people, pay, pay, pay!' Yes, t'ere ist too much of such afarice ant
selfishness in t'e worlt, and 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 toward 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 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; or 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.

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 e'er 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. "These 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 nohow 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 the 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; and, when you marry some great lady
down at York, sich a one as your own mother was, for I know'd her and
honored 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 (Anglice, 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 it 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 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 tremor 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; and 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, Ursula, or Dus, my niece, confesses ant
acknowledges t'at she lofes, ant esteems, ant hast a strong regart for
Mortaunt, ant ist willin' to pecome his wife. All t'is is 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 py t'e one or t'e ot'er of t'e parties. You
know, my chiltren, t'at my affection for you is 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 honoraple 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's 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
goot-naturet, ant many persons was quite captivated py 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 as his pat. Put, t'e Malpones
pe gentlemen, as ist seen py Frank, Dus's 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--ant t'e gal is a
gentlewoman py pirt'. No one can deny t'at; put ploot won't do
eferyt'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, and 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' Dus Malpone, a
chainpearer's niece, ant a gal t'at hast peen chainpearer herself, for
which I honor 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 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 was
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. Howsefer, 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 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 flashed 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 endeavored 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, howsefer, 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 honor my Maker. 'Twould 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 her own family; and I feared that she might have some of the tenacity
of old age in maintaining her opinions. Dus endeavored 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 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 XXIX.

    "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 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 and 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, ant to haf diet with Montgomery, ant Laurens, ant
Wooster, ant Warren, and sichlike 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 lapors, 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 'twill 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, and 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, and 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, and who holts out taily t'e means of grace.
When I come here, wit' Dus, a chilt knewest almost as much of t'e real
natur' of religion ast I knewest. Put, t'at precious gal, t'rough Divine
grace, hast been 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
knowest in him. Once I lovet a frolic, Mortaunt, and punch ant ot'er
savory liquors wast fery pleasant to me; ay, ant even a'ter years might
and 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 the 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
gray hairs wit' her telicate white fingers, ant playin' with 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 colors of
golt, Mortaunt, till she pegins to converse wit' you, unreservetly,
apout Got ant retemption!"

"I can believe anything in favor 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 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, endeavoring 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, Dus.--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. 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 toward the last,
in the way to announce the near approach of the state of which they were
the more immediate percursors. 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 a 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 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
neighbors, 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 toward 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 dwelling."

"What's the houses to me, now! Aaron is gone, the b'ys be fled, and
their wives and children, and _my_ children, be 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 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 he 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 afterward; 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 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 favor. 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 honor 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 had told his story so that our visitors 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 afterward 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 a 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 other emblems of his
calling.

We made no halt, but passing the crowd collected on the lawn, we went
through the gateway, 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 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 honor 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 my 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
afterward 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 Susquesus and Jaap had been conspicuous actors. Thither,
then, we proceeded in funeral order, and with funeral 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 a clergyman officiates; 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 the 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 parlor, 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.

A portion of the embraces, however, occurred after we had entered the
parlor, 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 favorite 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 the 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."

"There are rogues of New York birth and extraction, Colonel Follock, as
well as of New England," answered my father, dryly; "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 hands,
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 eyebrows,
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 the crimes and
vices on our neighbors, 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 the person in the least influenced
by our conventional notions of honor and integrity. What is called 'law
honest,' I _have_ believed him to be; but it would seem, in that I have
been 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
excellences 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 excellences 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 Englandman
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 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
<DW44>s the growth and lessens the wealth of any district in which it
may prevail."

"That it does not <DW44> 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.




CHAPTER XXX.

    "_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.


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 toward 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 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 neighborhood, 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 labor 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  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 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 declamation,
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 favor;
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.

"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 toward 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's exquisite Indian hymns, I might almost call them, set, as was
usual with her, to a plaintive Scotch melody. On looking toward 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 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 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 in arm, and so engrossed in conversation that they did not
see who were 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 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 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 we have no right
to complain of Miss Bayard's conduct toward us. Had she dropped the
remotest hint of her being engaged to this Malbone, I would never have
endeavored 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 toward 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 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 neatly-arranged and tasteful half-mourning; with which her
golden hair, rosy cheeks, and bright eyes contrasted admirably. The
cheeks of Dus, too, had recovered their color, 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
bed-ridden 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 courtesied gracefully as a queen; while she returned the
compliments she received with the self-possession 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 among us now. My mother was delighted; for, as
she afterward assured me, her mind was already made up to receive Ursula
as a daughter; since she thought it due to honor 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. 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 arbor 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 he 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
<DW64> did return to Lilacsbush and Satanstoe to assemble his family, and
to pay occasional visits.

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 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 honored 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
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 vigor. 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 <DW64>
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 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 dependent 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 favorite
recipient of public favors 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 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 on
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 endeavors to
struggle through the world by the aid of falsehood, chicanery, and
trick.

THE END.




THE REDSKINS

OR

INDIAN AND INJIN

BEING THE CONCLUSION OF

_THE LITTLEPAGE MANUSCRIPTS_

BY J. FENIMORE COOPER

    "In every work regard the writer's end
    None e'er can compass more than they intend"
                                             --POPE

[Illustration: "All of the girls but Mary Warren had entered the
house.... She remained at the side of my grandmother."]



PREFACE.


This book closes the series of the Littlepage Manuscripts, which have
been given to the world, as containing a fair account of the comparative
sacrifices of time, money, and labor, made respectively by the landlord
and the tenants, on a New York estate; together with the manner in which
usages and opinions are changing among us; as well as certain of the
reasons of these changes. The discriminating reader will probably be
able to trace in these narratives the progress of those innovations on
the great laws of morals which are becoming so very manifest in
connection with this interest, setting at naught the plainest principles
that God has transmitted to man for the government of his conduct, and
all under the extraordinary pretence of favoring liberty! In this
downward course, our picture embraces some of the proofs of that
looseness of views on the subject of certain species of property which
is, in a degree perhaps, inseparable from the semi-barbarous condition
of a new settlement; the gradation of the squatter, from him who merely
makes his pitch to crop a few fields in passing, to him who carries on
the business by wholesale; and last, though not least in this catalogue
of marauders, the anti-renter.

It would be idle to deny that the great principle which lies at the
bottom of anti-rentism, if principle it can be called, is the assumption
of a claim that the interests and wishes of numbers are to be respected,
though done at a sacrifice of the clearest rights of the few. That this
is not liberty, but tyranny in its worst form, every right-thinking and
right-feeling man must be fully aware. Every one who knows much of the
history of the past, and of the influence of classes, must understand,
that whenever the educated, the affluent, and the practised choose to
unite their means of combination and money to control the political
destiny of a country, they become irresistible; making the most
subservient tools of those very masses who vainly imagine _they_ are the
true guardians of their own liberties. The well-known election of 1840
is a memorable instance of the power of such a combination; though that
was a combination formed mostly for the mere purposes of faction,
sustained perhaps by the desperate designs of the insolvents of the
country. Such a combination was necessarily wanting in union among the
affluent; it had not the high support of principles to give it sanctity,
and it affords little more than the proof of the power of money and
leisure, when applied in a very doubtful cause, in wielding the masses
of a great nation, to be the instruments of their own subjection. No
well-intentioned American legislator, consequently, ought ever to lose
sight of the fact, that each invasion of the right which he sanctions is
a blow struck against liberty itself, which, in a country like this, has
no auxiliary so certain or so powerful as justice.

The State of New York contains about 43,000 square miles of land; or
something like 27,000,000 of acres. In 1783, its population must have
been about 200,000 souls. With such a proportion between people and
surface it is unnecessary to prove that the husbandman was not quite as
dependent on the landholder, as the landholder was dependent on the
husbandman. This would have been true, had the State been an island; but
we all know it was surrounded by many other communities similarly
situated, and that nothing else was so abundant as land. All notions of
exactions and monopolies, therefore, must be untrue, as applied to those
two interests at that day.

In 1786-7, the State of New York, then in possession of all powers on
the subject, abolished entails, and otherwise brought its law of real
estate in harmony with the institutions. At that time, hundreds, perhaps
thousands, of the leases which have since become so obnoxious, were in
existence. With the attention of the State drawn directly to the main
subject, no one saw anything incompatible with the institutions in them.
_It was felt that the landlords had bought the tenants to occupy their
lands by the liberality of their concessions_, and that the latter were
the obliged parties. Had the landlords of that day endeavored to lease
for one year, or for ten years, no tenants could have been found for
wild lands; but it became a different thing, when the owner of the soil
agreed to part with it forever, in consideration of a very low rent,
granting six or eight years free from any charge whatever, and
consenting to receive the product of the soil itself in lieu of money.
Then, indeed, men were not only willing to come into the terms, but
eager; the best evidence of which is the fact, that the same tenants
might have bought land, out and out, in every direction around them, had
they not preferred the easier terms of the leases. Now that these same
men, or their successors, have become rich enough to care more to be rid
of the encumbrance of the rent than to keep their money, the rights of
the parties certainly are not altered.

In 1789, the Constitution of the United States went into operation; New
York being a party to its creation and conditions. By that Constitution,
the State deliberately deprived itself of the power to touch the
covenants of these leases, without conceding the power to any other
government; unless it might be through a change of the Constitution
itself. As a necessary consequence, these leases, in a legal sense,
belong to the institutions of New York, instead of being opposed to
them. Not only is the spirit of the institutions in harmony with these
leases, but so is the letter also. Men must draw a distinction between
the "spirit of the institutions" and their own "spirits;" the latter
being often nothing more than a stomach that is not easily satisfied. It
would be just as true to affirm that domestic slavery is opposed to the
institutions of the United States, as to say the same of these leases.
It would be just as rational to maintain, because A does not choose to
make an associate of B, that he is acting in opposition to the "spirit
of the institutions," inasmuch as the Declaration of Independence
advances the dogma that men are born equal, as it is to say it is
opposed to the same spirit, for B to pay rent to A according to his
covenant.

It is pretended that the durable leases are feudal in their nature. We
do not conceive this to be true; but, admitting it to be so, it would
only prove that feudality, to this extent, is a part of the institutions
of the State. What is more, it would become a part over which the State
itself has conceded all power of control, beyond that which it may
remotely possess as one, out of twenty-eight communities. As respects
this feudal feature, it is not easy to say where it must be looked for.
It is not to be found in the simple fact of paying rent, for that is so
general as to render the whole country feudal, could it be true; it
cannot be in the circumstance that the rent is to be paid "in kind," as
it is called, and in labor, for that is an advantage to the tenant, by
affording him the option, since the penalty of a failure leaves the
alternative of paying in money. It must be, therefore, that these leases
are feudal because they run forever! Now the length of the lease is
clearly a concession to the tenant, and was so regarded when received;
and there is not probably a single tenant, under lives, who would not
gladly exchange his term of possession for that of one of these
detestable durable leases!

Among the absurdities that have been circulated on this subject of
feudality, it has been pretended that the well-known English statute of
_quia emptores_ has prohibited fines for alienation; or that the
quarter-sales, fifth-sales, sixth-sales, etc., of our own leases were
contrary to the law of the realm, when made. Under the common law, in
certain cases of feudal tenures, the fines for alienation were an
incident of the tenure. The statute of _quia emptores_ abolished that
general principle, but it in no manner forbade parties _to enter into
covenants of the nature of quarter-sales_, did they see fit. The common
law gives all the real estate to the eldest son. Our statute divides the
real estate among the nearest of kin, without regard even to sex. It
might just as well be pretended that the father cannot devise all his
lands to his eldest son, under our statute, as to say that the law of
Edward I. prevents parties from _bargaining_ for quarter-sales. Altering
a provision of the common law does not preclude parties from making
covenants similar to its ancient provisions.

Feudal tenures were originally divided into two great classes; those
which were called the military tenures, or knight's service, and
_soccage_. The first tenure was that which became oppressive in the
progress of society. Soccage was of two kinds; free and villain. The
first has an affinity to our own system, as connected with these leases;
the last never existed among us at all. When the knight's service, or
military tenures of England, were converted into free soccage, in the
reign of Charles II., the concession was considered of a character so
favorable to liberty as to be classed among the great measures of the
time; one of which was the _habeas corpus_ act!

The only feature of our own leases, in the least approaching "villain
soccage," is that of the "days' works." But every one acquainted with
the habits of American life, will understand that husbandmen, in
general, throughout the northern States, would regard it as an advantage
to be able to pay their debts in this way; and the law gives them an
option, since a failure to pay "in kind," or "in work," merely incurs
the forfeiture of paying what the particular thing is worth, in money.
In point of fact, money has always been received for these "days'
works," and at a stipulated price.

But, it is pretended, whatever may be the equity of these leasehold
contracts, they are offensive to the tenants, and ought to be abrogated,
for the peace of the State. The State is bound to make all classes of
men respect its laws, and in nothing more so than in the fulfilment of
their legal contracts. The greater the number of the offenders, the
higher the obligation to act with decision and efficiency. To say that
these disorganizers _ought_ not to be put down, is to say that crime is
to obtain impunity by its own extent; and to say that they _cannot_ be
put down "under our form of government," is a direct admission that the
government is unequal to the discharge of one of the plainest and
commonest obligations of all civilized society. If this be really so,
the sooner we get rid of the present form of government the better. The
notion of remedying _such_ an evil by concession is as puerile as it is
dishonest. The larger the concessions become, the greater will be the
exactions of a cormorant cupidity. As soon as quiet is obtained by these
means, in reference to the leasehold tenures, it will be demanded by
some fresh combination to attain some other end.

When Lee told Washington, at Monmouth, "Sir, your troops will not stand
against British grenadiers," Washington is said to have answered, "Sir,
you have never tried them." The same reply might be given to those
miserable traducers of this republic, who, in order to obtain votes,
affect to think there is not sufficient energy in its government to put
down so barefaced an attempt as this of the anti-renters to alter the
conditions of their own leases to suit their own convenience. The county
of Delaware has, of itself, nobly given the lie to the assertion, the
honest portion of its inhabitants scattering the knaves to the four
winds, the moment there was a fair occasion made for them to act. A
single, energetic proclamation from Albany, calling a "spade a spade,"
and not affecting to gloss over the disguised robbery of these
anti-renters, and laying just principles fairly before the public mind,
would of itself have crushed the evil in its germ. The people of New
York, in their general capacity, are not the knaves their servants
evidently suppose.

The Assembly of New York, in its memorable session of 1846, has taxed
the rents on long leases; thus, not only taxing the same property twice,
but imposing the worst sort of income-tax, or one aimed at a few
individuals. It has "thimble-rigged" in its legislation, as Mr. Hugh
Littlepage not unaptly terms it; endeavoring to do that indirectly,
which the Constitution will not permit it to do directly. In other
words, as it can pass no direct law "impairing the obligation of
contracts," while it _can_ regulate descents, it has enacted, so far as
one body of the legislature has power to enact anything, that on the
_death_ of a landlord the tenant may convert his lease into a mortgage,
on discharging which he shall hold his land in fee!

We deem the first of these measures far more tyrannical than the attempt
of Great Britain to tax her colonies, which brought about the
Revolution. It is of the same general character, that of unjust
taxation: while it is attended by circumstances of aggravation that were
altogether wanting in the policy of the mother country. This is not a
tax for revenue, which is not needed; but a tax to "choke off"
landlords, to use a common American phrase. It is clearly taxing
_nothing_, or it is taxing the same property twice. It is done to
conciliate three or four thousand voters, who are now in the market, at
the expense of three or four hundred who, it is known, are not to be
bought. It is unjust in its motives, its means and its end. The measure
is discreditable to civilization, and an outrage on liberty.

But, the other law mentioned is an atrocity so grave as to alarm every
man of common principle in the State, were it not so feeble in its
devices to cheat the Constitution as to excite contempt. This
extraordinary power is exercised because the legislature _can_ control
the law of descents, though it cannot "impair the obligation of
contracts!" Had the law said at once that on the death of a landlord
each of his tenants should _own_ his farm in fee, the _ensemble_ of the
fraud would have been preserved, since the "law of descents" would have
been so far regulated as to substitute one heir for another; but
changing the _nature_ of a contract, with a party who has nothing to do
with the succession at all, is not so very clearly altering, or
amending, the law of descents! It is scarcely necessary to say that
every reputable court in the country, whether state or federal, would
brand such a law with the disgrace it merits.

But the worst feature of this law, or attempted law, remains to be
noticed. It would have been a premium on murder. Murder _has_ already
been committed by these anti-renters, and that obviously to effect their
ends; and they are to be told that whenever you shoot a landlord, as
some have already often shot _at_ them, you can convert your leasehold
tenures into tenures in fee! The mode of valuation is so obvious, too,
as to deserve a remark. A master was to settle the valuation on
testimony. The witnesses of course would be "the neighbors," and a whole
patent could swear for each other!

As democrats we protest most solemnly against such barefaced frauds,
such palpable cupidity and covetousness, being termed anything but what
they are. If they come of any party at all, it is the party of the
devil. Democracy is a lofty and noble sentiment. It does not rob the
poor to make the rich richer, nor the rich to favor the poor. It is
just, and treats all men alike. It does not "impair the obligations of
contracts." It is not the friend of a canting legislation, but, meaning
right, dare act directly. There is no greater delusion than to suppose
that true democracy has anything in common with injustice or roguery.

Nor is it an apology for anti-rentism, in any of its aspects, to say
that leasehold tenures are inexpedient. The most expedient thing in
existence is to do right. Were there no other objection to this
anti-rent movement than its corrupting influence, that alone should set
every wise man in the community firmly against it. We have seen too much
of this earth to be so easily convinced that there is any disadvantage,
nay, that there is not a positive advantage, in the existence of large
leasehold estates, when they carry with them no political power, as is
the fact here. The commonplace argument against them, that they defeat
the civilization of a country, is not sustained by fact. The most
civilized countries on earth are under this system; and this system,
too, not entirely free from grave objections which do not exist among
ourselves. That a poorer class of citizens have originally leased than
have purchased lands in New York is probably true; and it is equally
probable that the effects of this poverty, and even of the tenure in the
infancy of a country, are to be traced on the estates. But this is
taking a very one-sided view of the matter. The men who became tenants
in moderate but comfortable circumstances, would have been mostly
laborers on the farms of others, but for these leasehold tenures. That
is the benefit of the system in a new country, and the ultra friend of
humanity, who decries the condition of a tenant, should remember that if
he had not been in this very condition, he might have been in a worse.
It is, indeed, one of the proofs of the insincerity of those who are
decrying leases, on account of their aristocratic tendencies, that their
destruction will necessarily condemn a numerous class of agriculturists,
either to fall back into the ranks of the peasant or day-laborer, or to
migrate, as is the case with so many of the same class in New England.
In point of fact, the relation of landlord and tenant is one entirely
natural and salutary, in a wealthy community, and one that is so much in
accordance with the necessities of men, that no legislation can long
prevent it. A state of things which will not encourage the rich to hold
real estate would not be desirable, since it would be diverting their
money, knowledge, liberality, feelings and leisure, from the improvement
of the soil, to objects neither so useful nor so praiseworthy.

The notion that every husbandman is to be a freeholder, is as Utopian in
practice, as it would be to expect that all men were to be on the same
level in fortune, condition, education, and habits. As such a state of
things as the last never yet did exist, it was probably never designed
by divine wisdom that it should exist. The whole structure of society
must be changed, even in this country, ere it could exist among
ourselves, and the change would not have been made a month before the
utter impracticability of such a social fusion would make itself felt by
all.

We have elsewhere imputed much of the anti-rent feeling to provincial
education and habits. This term has given the deepest offence to those
who were most obnoxious to the charge. Nevertheless, our opinion is
unchanged. We know that the distance between the cataract at Niagara and
the Massachusetts line is a large hundred leagues, and that it is as
great between Sandy Hook and the 45th parallel of latitude. Many
excellent things, moral and physical, are to be found within these
limits, beyond a question; but we happen to know by an experience that
has extended to other quarters of the world, for a term now exceeding
forty years, that more are to found beyond them. If "honorable
gentlemen" at Albany fancy the reverse, they must still permit us to
believe they are too much under the influence of provincial notions.




THE REDSKINS.




CHAPTER I.

    "Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
    She said--thou wert my daughter; and thy father
    Was duke of Milan; and his only heir
    A princess;--no worse issued."--_Tempest._


My uncle Ro and myself had been travelling together in the East, and had
been absent from home fully five years when we reached Paris. For
eighteen months neither of us had seen a line from America, when we
drove through the barriers, on our way from Egypt, _via_ Algiers,
Marseilles, and Lyons. Not once, in all that time, had we crossed our
own track, in a way to enable us to pick up a straggling letter; and all
our previous precautions to have the epistles meet us at different
bankers in Italy, Turkey, and Malta were thrown away.

My uncle was an old traveller--I might almost say, an old resident--in
Europe; for he had passed no less than twenty years of his fifty-nine
off the American continent. A bachelor, with nothing to do but to take
care of a very ample estate, which was rapidly increasing in value by
the enormous growth of the town of New York, and with tastes early
formed by travelling, it was natural he should seek those regions where
he most enjoyed himself. Hugh Roger Littlepage was born in 1786--the
second son of my grandfather, Mordaunt Littlepage, and of Ursula
Malbone, his wife. My own father, Malbone Littlepage, was the eldest
child of that connection; and he would have inherited the property of
Ravensnest, in virtue of his birthright, had he survived his own
parents; but, dying young, I stepped into what would otherwise have been
his succession, in my eighteenth year. My uncle Ro, however, had got
both Satanstoe and Lilacsbush; two country-houses and farms, which,
while they did not aspire to the dignity of being estates, were likely
to prove more valuable, in the long run, than the broad acres which were
intended for the patrimony of the elder brother. My grandfather was
affluent; for not only had the fortune of the Littlepages centred in
him, but so did that of the Mordaunts, the wealthier family of the two,
together with some exceedingly liberal bequests from a certain Colonel
Dirck Follock, or Van Valkenburgh; who, though only a very distant
connection, chose to make my great-grandmother's, or Anneke Mordaunt's
descendants his heirs. We all had enough; my aunts having handsome
legacies, in the way of bonds and mortgages on an estate called
Mooseridge, in addition to some lots in town; while my own sister,
Martha, had a clear fifty thousand dollars in money. I had town lots,
also, which were becoming productive; and a special minority of seven
years had made an accumulation of cash that was well vested in New York
State stock, and which promised well for the future. I say a "special"
minority; for both my father and grandfather, in placing, the one,
myself and a portion of the property, and the other, the remainder of my
estate, under the guardianship and ward of my uncle, had made a
provision that I was not to come into possession until I had completed
my twenty-fifth year.

I left college at twenty; and my uncle Ro, for so Martha and myself
always called him, and so he was always called by some twenty cousins,
the offspring of our three aunts;--but my uncle Ro, when I was done with
college, proposed to finish my education by travelling. As this was only
too agreeable to a young man, away we went, just after the pressure of
the great panic of 1836-7 was over, and our "lots" were in tolerable
security, and our stocks safe. In America it requires almost as much
vigilance to _take care_ of property, as it does industry to acquire it.

Mr. Hugh Roger Littlepage--by the way, I bore the same name, though I
was always called Hugh, while my uncle went by the different
appellations of Roger, Ro, and Hodge, among his familiars, as
circumstances had rendered the associations sentimental, affectionate,
or manly--Mr. Hugh Roger Littlepage, senior, then, had a system of his
own in the way of aiding the scales to fall from American eyes, by means
of seeing more clearly than one does, or can, at home, let him belong
where he may, and in clearing the specks of provincialism from off the
diamond of republican water. He had already seen enough to ascertain
that while "our country," as this blessed nation is very apt on all
occasions, appropriate or not, to be called by all who belong to it, as
well as by a good many who do not, could teach a great deal to the old
world, there was a possibility--just a _possibility_, remark, is my
word--that it might also learn a little. With a view, therefore, of
acquiring knowledge _seriatim_, as it might be, he was for beginning
with the hornbook, and going on regularly up to the _belles-lettres_ and
mathematics. The manner in which this was effected deserves a notice.

Most American travellers land in England, the country farthest advanced
in material civilization; then proceed to Italy, and perhaps to Greece,
leaving Germany, and the less attractive regions of the north, to come
in at the end of the chapter. My uncle's theory was, to follow the order
of time, and to begin with the ancients and end with the moderns;
though, in adopting such a rule, he admitted he somewhat lessened the
pleasure of the novice; since an American, fresh from the fresher fields
of the western continent, might very well find delight in memorials of
the past, more especially in England, which pall on his taste, and
appear insignificant, after he has become familiar with the Temple of
Neptune, the Parthenon, or what is left of it, and the Coliseum. I make
no doubt that I lost a great deal of passing happiness in this way, by
beginning at the beginning, in Italy, and travelling north.

Such was our course, however; and, landing at Leghorn, we did the
peninsula effectually in a twelvemonth; thence passed through Spain up
to Paris, and proceeded on to Moscow and the Baltic, reaching England
from Hamburg. When we had got through with the British isles, the
antiquities of which seemed flat and uninteresting to me, after having
seen those that were so much more _antique_, we returned to Paris, in
order that I might become a man of the world, if possible, by rubbing
off the provincial specks that had unavoidably adhered to the American
diamond while in its obscurity.

My uncle Ro was fond of Paris, and he had actually become the owner of a
small hotel in the faubourg, in which he retained a handsome furnished
apartment for his own use. The remainder of the house was let to
permanent tenants; but the whole of the first floor, and of the
_entresol_, remained in his hands. As a special favor, he would allow
some American family to occupy even his own apartment--or rather
_appartement_, for the words are not exactly synonymous--when he
intended to be absent for a term exceeding six months, using the money
thus obtained in keeping the furniture in repair, and his handsome suite
of rooms, including a _salon_, _salle a manger_, _antichambre cabinet_,
several _chambres a coucher_, and a _boudoir_--yes, a male _boudoir_!
for so he affected to call it--in a condition to please even his
fastidiousness.

On our arrival from England, we remained an entire season at Paris, all
that time rubbing the specks off the diamond, when my uncle suddenly
took it into his head that we ought to see the East. He had never been
further than Greece, himself; and he now took a fancy to be my companion
in such an excursion. We were gone two years and a half, visiting
Greece, Constantinople, Asia Minor, the Holy Land, Petra, the Red Sea,
Egypt quite to the second cataracts, and nearly the whole of Barbary.
The latter region we threw in, by way of seeing something out of the
common track. But so many hats and travelling-caps are to be met with,
nowadays, among the turbans, that a well-mannered Christian may get
along almost anywhere without being spit upon. This is a great
inducement for travelling generally, and ought to be so especially to an
American, who, on the whole, incurs rather more risk now of suffering
this humiliation at home, than he would even in Algiers. But the animus
is everything in morals.

We had, then, been absent two years and a half from Paris and had not
seen a paper or received a letter from America in eighteen months, when
we drove through the barrier. Even the letters and papers received or
seen previously to this last term, were of a private nature, and
contained nothing of a general character. The "twenty millions"--it was
only the other day they were called the "twelve millions"--but, the
"twenty millions," we knew, had been looking up amazingly after the
temporary depression of the moneyed crisis it had gone through; and the
bankers had paid our drafts with confidence, and without extra charges,
during the whole time we had been absent. It is true, uncle Ro, as an
experienced traveller, went well fortified in the way of credit--a
precaution by no means unnecessary with America, after the cry that had
been raised against us in the old world.

And here I wish to say one thing plainly, before I write another line.
As for falling into the narrow, self-adulatory, provincial feeling of
the American who has never left his mother's apron-string, and which
causes him to swallow, open-mouthed, all the nonsense that is uttered to
the world in the columns of newspapers, or in the pages of your yearling
travellers, who go on "excursions" before they are half instructed in
the social usages and the distinctive features of their own country, I
hope I shall be just as far removed from such a weakness, in any passing
remark that may flow from my pen, as from the crime of confounding
principles, and denying facts, in a way to do discredit to the land of
my birth and that of my ancestors. I have lived long enough in the
"world," not meaning thereby the southeast corner of the northwest
township of Connecticut, to understand that we are a vast way behind
older nations, in _thought_ as well as deed, in many things; while, on
the opposite hand, they are a vast way behind us in others. I see no
patriotism in concealing a wholesome truth; and least of all shall I be
influenced by the puerility of a desire to hide anything of this nature,
because I cannot communicate it to my countrymen, without communicating
it to the rest of the world. If England or France had acted on this
narrow principle, where would have been their Shakespeares, their
Sheridans, their Beaumonts and Fletchers, and their Molieres! No, no!
great national truths are not to be treated as the gossiping surmises of
village crones. He who reads what I _write_, therefore, must expect to
find what I _think_ of matters and things, and not exactly what he may
happen to think on the same subject. Any one is at liberty to compare
opinions with me; but I ask the privilege of possessing some small
liberty of conscience in what is, far and near, proclaimed to be the
_only_ free country on the earth. By "far and near," I mean from the St.
Croix to the Rio Grande, and from Cape Cod to the entrance of St. Juan
de Fuca, and a pretty farm it makes, the "interval" that lies between
these limits! One may call it "far and near" without the imputation of
obscurity, or that of vanity.

Our tour was completed, in spite of all annoyances; and here we were
again, within the walls of magnificent Paris! The postilions had been
told to drive to the hotel, in the Rue St. Dominique; and we sat down to
dinner, an hour after our arrival, under our own roof. My uncle's tenant
had left the apartment a month before, according to agreement; and the
porter and his wife had engaged a cook, set the rooms in order, and
prepared everything for our arrival.

"It must be owned, Hugh," said my uncle, as he finished his soup that
day, "one _may_ live quite comfortably in Paris, if he possess the
_savoir vivre_. Nevertheless, I have a strong desire to get a taste of
native air. One may say and think what he pleases about the Paris
pleasures, and the Paris _cuisine_, and all that sort of thing: but
'home is home, be it ever so homely.' A '_d'Inde aux truffes_' is
capital eating; so is a turkey with cranberry sauce. I sometimes think I
could fancy even a pumpkin pie, though there is not a fragment of the
rock of Plymouth in the granite of my frame."

"I have always told you, sir, that America is a capital eating and
drinking country, let it want civilization in other matters, as much as
it may."

"Capital for eating and drinking, Hugh, if you can keep clear of the
grease, in the first place, and find a real cook, in the second. There
is as much difference between the cookery of New England, for instance,
and that of the Middle States, barring the Dutch, as there is between
that of England and Germany. The cookery of the Middle States, and of
the Southern States, too, though that savors a little of the West
Indies--but the cookery of the Middle States is English, in its best
sense; meaning the hearty, substantial, savory dishes of the English in
their true domestic life, with their roast-beef underdone, their
beefsteaks done to a turn, their chops full of gravy, their
mutton-broth, legs-of-mutton, _et id omne genus_. We have some capital
things of our own, too; such as canvas-backs, reedbirds, sheepshead,
shad, and blackfish. The difference between New England and the Middle
States is still quite observable, though in my younger days it was
_patent_. I suppose the cause has been the more provincial origin, and
the more provincial habits of our neighbors. By George! Hugh, one could
fancy clam-soup just now, eh!"

"Clam-soup, sir, well made, is one of the most delicious soups in the
world. If the cooks of Paris could get hold of the dish, it would set
them up for a whole season."

"What is '_creme de Baviere_,' and all such nicknacks, boy, to a good
plateful of clam-soup? Well made, as you say,--made as a cook of
Jennings's used to make it, thirty years since. Did I ever mention that
fellow's soup to you before, Hugh?"

"Often, sir. I have tasted very excellent clam-soup, however, that he
never saw. Of course, you mean soup just flavored by the little
hard-clam--none of your vulgar _potage a la_ soft-clam?"

"Soft-clams be hanged! they are not made for gentlemen to eat. Of course
I mean the hard-clam, and the small clam,

    "Here's your fine clams,
    As white as snow;
    On Rockaway
    These clams do grow."

The cries of New York are quite going out, like everything else at home
that is twenty years old. Shall I send you some of this eternal _poulet
a la Marengo_? I wish it were honest American boiled fowl, with a
delicate bit of shoat-pork alongside of it. I feel amazingly _homeish_
this evening, Hugh!"

"It is quite natural, my dear uncle Ro; and I own to the 'soft
impeachment' myself. Here have we both been absent from our native land
five years, and half that time almost without hearing from it. We know
that Jacob"--this was a free <DW64> who served my uncle, a relic of the
old domestic system of the colonies, whose name would have been Jaaf, or
Yop, thirty years before--"has gone to our banker's for letters and
papers; and that naturally draws our thoughts to the other side of the
Atlantic. I dare say we shall both feel relieved at breakfast to-morrow,
when we shall have read our respective dispatches."

"Come, let us take a glass of wine together, in the good old York
fashion, Hugh. Your father and I, when boys, never thought of wetting
our lips with the half-glass of Madeira that fell to our share, without
saying, 'Good health, Mall!' 'Good health, Hodge!'"

"With all my heart, uncle Ro. The custom was getting to be a little
obsolete even before I left home; but it is almost an American custom,
by sticking to us longer than to most people."

"Henri!"

This was my uncle's _maitre d' hotel_, whom he had kept at board-wages
the whole time of our absence, in order to make sure of his ease, quiet,
taste, skill, and honesty, on his return.

"Monsieur!"

"I dare say"--my uncle spoke French exceedingly well for a foreigner;
but it is better to translate what he said as we go--"I dare say this
glass of _vin de Bourgogne_ is very good; it _looks_ good, and it came
from a wine-merchant on whom I can rely; but Monsieur Hugh and I are
going to drink together, _a l'Americaine_, and I dare say you will let
us have a glass of Madeira, though it is somewhat late in the dinner to
take it."

"Tres volontiers, Messieurs--it is my happiness to oblige you."

Uncle Ro and I took the Madeira together; but I cannot say much in favor
of its quality.

"What a capital thing is a good Newtown pippin!" exclaimed my uncle,
after eating a while in silence. "They talk a great deal about their
_poire beurree_, here at Paris; but, to my fancy, it will not compare
with the Newtowners we grow at Satanstoe, where, by the way, the fruit
is rather better, I think, than that one finds across the river, at
Newtown itself."

"They are capital apples, sir; and your orchard at Satanstoe is one of
the best I know, or rather what is left of it; for I believe a portion
of your trees are in what is now a suburb of Dibbletonborough?"

"Yes, blast that place! I wish I had never parted with a foot of the old
neck, though I did rather make money by the sale. But money is no
compensation for the affections."

"_Rather_ make money, my dear sir! Pray, may I ask what Satanstoe was
valued at, when you got it from my grandfather?"

"Pretty well up, Hugh; for it was, and indeed _is_, a first-rate farm.
Including sedges and salt-meadows, you will remember that there are
quite five hundred acres of it, altogether."

"Which you inherited in 1829?"

"Of course; that was the year of my father's death. Why, the place was
thought to be worth about thirty thousand dollars at that time; but land
was rather low in Westchester in 1829."

"And you sold two hundred acres, including the point, the harbor, and a
good deal of the sedges, for the moderate modicum of one hundred and ten
thousand, cash. A tolerable sale, sir!"

"No, not cash. I got only eighty thousand down, while thirty thousand
were secured by mortgage."

"Which mortgage you hold yet, I dare say, if the truth were told,
covering the whole city of Dibbletonborough. A city ought to be good
security for thirty thousand dollars?"

"It is not, nevertheless, in this case. The speculators who bought of me
in 1835 laid out their town, built a hotel, a wharf, and a warehouse,
and then had an auction. They sold four hundred lots, each twenty-five
feet by a hundred, regulation size, you see, at an average of two
hundred and fifty dollars, receiving one-half, or fifty thousand dollars
down, and leaving the balance on mortgage. Soon after this, the bubble
burst, and the best lot at Dibbletonborough would not bring, under the
hammer, twenty dollars. The hotel and the warehouse stand alone in their
glory, and will thus stand until they fall, which will not be a thousand
years hence, I rather think."

"And what is the condition of the town-plot?"

"Bad enough. The landmarks are disappearing, and it would cost any man
who should attempt it, the value of his lot, to hire a surveyor to find
his twenty-five by a hundred."

"But your mortgage is good?"

"Ay, good in one sense; but it would puzzle a Philadelphia lawyer to
foreclose it. Why, the equitable interests in that town-plot people the
place of themselves. I ordered my agent to commence buying up the
rights, as the shortest process of getting rid of them; and he told me
in the very last letter I received, that he had succeeded in purchasing
the titles to three hundred and seventeen of the lots, at an average
price of ten dollars. The remainder, I suppose, will have to be
absorbed."

"Absorbed! That is a process I never heard of, as applied to land."

"There is a good deal of it done, notwithstanding, in America. It is
merely including within your own possession, adjacent land for which no
claimant appears. What can I do? No owners are to be found; and then my
mortgage is always a title. A possession of twenty years under a
mortgage is as good as a deed in fee-simple, with full covenants of
warranty, barring minors and _femes covert_."

"You did better by Lilacsbush?"

"Ah, _that_ was a clean transaction, and has left no drawbacks.
Lilacsbush being on the island of Manhattan, one is sure there will be a
town there, some day or other. It is true, the property lies quite eight
miles from City Hall; nevertheless, it has a value, and can always be
sold at something near it. Then the plan of New York is made and
recorded, and one can find his lots. Nor can any man say when the town
will not reach Kingsbridge."

"You got a round price for the bush, too, I have heard, sir?"

"I got three hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars, in hard cash. I
would give no credit, and have every dollar of the money, at this
moment, in good six per cent. stock of the States of New York and Ohio."

"Which some persons in this part of the world would fancy to be no very
secure investment."

"More fools they. America is a glorious country, after all, Hugh; and it
is a pride and a satisfaction to belong to it. Look back at it, as I can
remember it, a nation spit upon by all the rest of Christendom----"

"You must at least own, my dear sir," I put in, somewhat pertly,
perhaps, "the example might tempt other people; for, if ever there was a
nation that is assiduously spitting on itself, it is our own beloved
land."

"True, it has that nasty custom in excess, and it grows worse instead of
better, as the influence of the better mannered and better educated
diminishes; but this is a spot on the sun--a mere flaw in the diamond,
that friction will take out. But what a country--what a glorious
country, in truth, it is! You have now done the civilized parts of the
old world pretty thoroughly, my dear boy, and must be persuaded,
yourself, of the superiority of your native land."

"I remember you have always used this language, uncle Ro; yet have you
passed nearly one-half of your time _out_ of that glorious country,
since you have reached man's estate."

"The mere consequence of accidents and tastes. I do not mean that
America is a country for a bachelor to begin with; the means of
amusement for those who have no domestic hearths, are too limited for
the bachelor. Nor do I mean that society in America, in its ordinary
meaning, is in any way as well-ordered, as tasteful, as well-mannered,
as agreeable, or as instructive and useful, as society in almost any
European country I know. I have never supposed that the man of leisure,
apart from the affections, could ever enjoy himself half as much at
home, as he may enjoy himself in this part of the world; and I am
willing to admit that, intellectually, most gentlemen in a great
European capital live as much in one day, as they would live in a week
in such places as New York, and Philadelphia, and Baltimore."

"You do not include Boston, I perceive, sir."

"Of Boston I say nothing. They take the mind hard there, and we had
better let such a state of things alone. But as respects a man or woman
of leisure, a man or woman of taste, or man or woman of refinement
generally, I am willing enough to admit that, _caeteris paribus_, each
can find far more enjoyment in Europe than in America. But the
philosopher, the philanthropist, the political economist--in a word, the
patriot, may well exult in such elements of profound national
superiority as may be found in America."

"I hope these elements are not so profound but they can be dug up at
need, uncle Ro?"

"There will be little difficulty in doing that, my boy. Look at the
equality of the laws, to begin with. They are made on the principles of
natural justice, and are intended for the benefit of society--for the
poor as well as the rich."

"Are they also intended for the rich as well as the poor?"

"Well, I will grant you, a slight blemish is beginning to appear, in
that particular. It is a failing incidental to humanity, and we must not
expect perfection. There is certainly a slight disposition to legislate
for numbers, in order to obtain support at the polls, which has made the
relation of debtor and creditor a little insecure, possibly; but
prudence can easily get along with that. It is erring on the right side,
is it not, to favor the poor instead of the rich, if either is to be
preferred?"

"Justice would favor neither, but treat all alike. I have always heard
that the tyranny of numbers was the worst tyranny in the world."

"Perhaps it is, where there is actually tyranny, and for a very obvious
reason. One tyrant is sooner satisfied than a million, and has even a
greater sense of responsibility. I can easily conceive that the Czar
himself, if disposed to be a tyrant, which I am far from thinking to be
the case with Nicholas, might hesitate about doing that, under his
undivided responsibility, which one of our majorities would do, without
even being conscious of the oppression it exercised, or caring at all
about it. But, on the whole, we do little of the last, and not in the
least enough to counterbalance the immense advantages of the system."

"I have heard very discreet men say that the worst symptom of our system
is the gradual decay of justice among us. The judges have lost most of
their influence, and the jurors are getting to be law-makers, as well as
law-breakers."

"There is a good deal of truth in that, I will acknowledge, also; and
you hear it asked constantly, in a case of any interest, not which party
is in the right, but _who_ is on the jury. But I contend for no
perfection; all I say is, that the country is a glorious country, and
that you and I have every reason to be proud that old Hugh Roger, our
predecessor and namesake, saw fit to transplant himself into it, a
century and a half since."

"I dare say now, uncle Ro, it would strike most Europeans as
singular that a man should be proud of having been born an
American--Manhattanese, as you and I both were."

"All that may be true, for there have been calculated attempts to bring
us into discredit of late, by harping on the failure of certain States
to pay the interest on their debts. But all that is easily answered, and
more so by you and me as New Yorkers. There is not a nation in Europe
that would pay its interest, if those who are taxed to do so had the
control of these taxes, and the power to say whether they were to be
levied or not."

"I do not see how that mends the matter. These countries tell us that
such is the effect of your _system_ there, while we are too honest to
allow such a system to _exist_ in this part of the world."

"Pooh! all gammon, that. They prevent the existence of our system for
very different reasons, and they coerce the payment of the interest on
their debts that they may borrow more. This business of repudiation, as
it is called, however, has been miserably misrepresented; and there is
no answering a falsehood by an argument. No American State has
repudiated its debt, that I know of, though several have been unable to
meet their engagements as they have fallen due."

"_Unable_, uncle Ro?"

"Yes, _unable_--that is the precise word. Take Pennsylvania, for
instance; that is one of the richest communities in the civilized world;
its coal and iron alone would make any country affluent, and a portion
of its agricultural population is one of the most affluent I know of.
Nevertheless, Pennsylvania, owing to a concurrence of events, _could_
not pay the interest on her debt for two years and a half, though she is
doing it now, and will doubtless continue to do it. The sudden breaking
down of that colossal moneyed institution, the _soi-disant_ Bank of the
United States, after it ceased to be in reality a bank of the
government, brought about such a state of the circulation as rendered
payment, by any of the ordinary means known to government, _impossible_.
I know what I say, and repeat _impossible_. It is well known that many
persons, accustomed to affluence, had to carry their plate to the mint,
in order to obtain money to go to market. Then something may be
attributed to the institutions, without disparaging a people's honesty.
Our institutions are popular, just as those of France are the reverse;
and the people, they who were on the spot--the home creditor, with his
account unpaid, and with his friends and relatives in the legislature,
and present to aid him, contended for his own money, before any should
be sent abroad."

"Was that exactly right, sir?"

"Certainly not; it was exactly wrong, but very particularly natural. Do
you suppose the king of France would not take the money for his civil
list, if circumstances should compel the country to suspend on the debt
for a year or two, or the ministers their salaries? My word for it, each
and all of them would prefer themselves as creditors, and act
accordingly. Every one of these countries has suspended in some form or
other, and in many instances balanced the account with the sponge. Their
clamor against us is altogether calculated with a view to political
effect."

"Still, I wish Pennsylvania, for instance, had continued to pay, at
every hazard."

"It is well enough to wish, Hugh: but it is wishing for an
impossibility. Then you and I, as New Yorkers, have nothing to do with
the debt of Pennsylvania, no more than London would have to do with the
debt of Dublin or Quebec. _We_ have always paid _our_ interest, and,
what is more, paid it more honestly, if honesty be the point, than even
England has paid hers. When _our_ banks suspended, the State paid its
interest in as much paper as would buy the specie in open market;
whereas England made paper legal tender, and paid the interest on her
debt in it for something like five-and-twenty years, and that, too, when
her paper was at a large discount. I knew of one American who held near
a million of dollars in the English debt, on which he had to take
unconvertible paper for the interest for a long series of years. No, no!
this is all gammon, Hugh, and is not to be regarded as making us a whit
worse than our neighbors. The equality of our laws is the fact in which
I glory!"

"If the rich stood as fair a chance as the poor, Uncle Ro."

"There _is_ a screw loose there, I must confess; but it amounts to no
great matter."

"Then the late bankrupt law?"

"Ay, that was an infernal procedure--that much I will acknowledge, too.
It was special legislation enacted to pay particular debts, and the law
was repealed as soon as it had done its duty. That is a much darker spot
in our history than what is called repudiation, though perfectly honest
men voted for it."

"Did you ever hear of a farce they got up about it at New York, just
after we sailed?"

"Never; what was it, Hugh? though American plays are pretty much all
farces."

"This was a little better than common, and, on the whole, really clever.
It is the old story of Faust, in which a young spendthrift sells
himself, soul and body, to the devil. On a certain evening, as he is
making merry with a set of wild companions, his creditor arrives, and,
insisting on seeing the master, is admitted by the servant. He comes on,
club-footed and behorned, as usual, and betailed, too, I believe; but
Tom is not to be scared by trifles. He insists on his guest being
seated, on his taking a glass of wine, and then on Dick's finishing his
song. But, though the rest of the company had signed no bonds to Satan,
they had certain outstanding book-debts, which made them excessively
uncomfortable; and the odor of brimstone being rather strong, Tom arose,
approached his guest, and desired to know the nature of the particular
business he had mentioned to his servant. 'This bond, sir,' said Satan,
significantly. 'This bond? what of it, pray? It seems all right.' 'Is
not that your signature?' 'I admit it.' 'Signed in your blood?' 'A
conceit of your own; I told you at the time that ink was just as good in
law.' 'It is past due, seven minutes and fourteen seconds.' 'So it is, I
declare! but what of that?' 'I demand payment.' 'Nonsense! no one thinks
of paying nowadays. Why, even Pennsylvania and Maryland don't pay.' 'I
insist on payment' 'Oh! you do, do you?' Tom draws a paper from his
pocket, and adds, magnificently, 'There, then, if you're so
urgent--there is a discharge under the new bankrupt law, signed Smith
Thompson.' This knocked the devil into a cocked-hat at once."

My uncle laughed heartily at my story; but, instead of taking the matter
as I had fancied he might, it made him think better of the country than
ever.

"Well, Hugh, we have wit among us, it must be confessed," he cried, with
the tears running down his cheeks, "if we have some rascally laws, and
some rascals to administer them. But here comes Jacob with his letters
and papers--I declare, the fellow has a large basketful."

Jacob, a highly respectable black, and the great-grandson of an old
<DW64> named Jaaf, or Yop, who was then living on my own estate at
Ravensnest, had just then entered, with the porter and himself lugging
in the basket in question. There were several hundred newspapers, and
quite a hundred letters. The sight brought home and America clearly and
vividly before us; and having nearly finished the dessert, we rose to
look at the packages. It was no small task to sort our mail, there being
so many letters and packages to be divided.

"Here are some newspapers I never saw before," said my uncle, as he
tumbled over the pile; "_The Guardian of the Soil_--that must have
something to do with Oregon."

"I dare say it has, sir. Here are at least a dozen letters from my
sister."

"Ay, _your_ sister is single, and can still think of her brother; but
mine are married, and one letter a year would be a great deal. This is
my dear old mother's hand, however; that is something. Ursula Malbone
would never forget her child. Well, _bon soir_, Hugh. Each of us has
enough to do for one evening."

"_Au revoir_, sir. We shall meet at ten to-morrow, when we can compare
our news, and exchange gossip."




CHAPTER II.

    "Why droops my lord, like over-ripened corn,
    Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?"
                                          --_King Henry VI._


I did not get into my bed that night until two, nor was I out of it
until half-past nine. It was near eleven when Jacob came to tell me his
master was in the _salle a manger_, and ready to eat his breakfast. I
hastened up stairs, sleeping in the _entresol_, and was at table with my
uncle in three minutes. I observed, on entering, that he was very grave,
and I now perceived that a couple of letters, and several American
newspapers, lay near him. His "Good-morrow, Hugh," was kind and
affectionate as usual, but I fancied it sad.

"No bad news from home, I hope, sir?" I exclaimed, under the first
impulse of feeling. "Martha's last letter is of quite recent date, and
she writes very cheerfully. I _know_ that my grandmother was perfectly
well six weeks since."

"I know the same, Hugh, for I have a letter from herself, written with
her own blessed hand. My mother is in excellent health for a woman of
fourscore; but she naturally wishes to see us, and you in particular.
Grandchildren are ever the pets with grandmothers."

"I am glad to hear all this, sir; for I was really afraid, on entering
the room, that you had received some unpleasant news."

"And is all your news pleasant, after so long a silence?"

"Nothing that is disagreeable, I do assure you. Patt writes in charming
spirits, and I dare say is in blooming beauty by this time, though she
tells me that she is generally thought rather plain. _That_ is
impossible; for you know when we left her, at fifteen, she had every
promise of great beauty."

"As you say, it is impossible that Martha Littlepage should be anything
but handsome; for fifteen is an age when, in America, one may safely
predict the woman's appearance. Your sister is preparing for you an
agreeable surprise. I have heard old persons say that she was very like
my mother at the same time of life; and Dus Malbone was a sort of toast
once in the forest."

"I dare say it is all as you think; more especially as there are several
allusions to a certain Harry Beekman in her letters, at which I should
feel flattered, were I in Mr. Harry's place. Do you happen to know
anything of such a family as the Beekmans, sir?"

My uncle looked up in a little surprise at this question. A thorough New
Yorker by birth, associations, alliances and feelings, he held all the
old names of the colony and State in profound respect; and I had often
heard him sneer at the manner in which the new-comers of my day, who had
appeared among us to blossom like the rose, scattered their odors
through the land. It was but a natural thing that a community which had
grown in population, in half a century, from half a million to two
millions and a half, and that as much by immigration from adjoining
communities as by natural increase, should undergo some change of
feeling in this respect; but, on the other hand, it was just as natural
that the true New Yorker should not.

"Of course you know, Hugh, that it is an ancient and respected name
among us," answered my uncle, after he had given me the look of surprise
I have already mentioned. "There is a branch of the Beekmans, or
Bakemans, as we used to call them, settled near Satanstoe; and I dare
say that your sister, in her frequent visits to my mother, has met with
them. The association would be but natural; and the other feeling to
which you allude is, I dare say, but natural to the association, though
I cannot say I ever experienced it."

"You will still adhere to your asseverations of never having been the
victim of Cupid, I find, sir."

"Hugh, Hugh! let us trifle no more. There is news from home that has
almost broken my heart."

I sat gazing at my uncle in wonder and alarm, while he placed both his
hands on his face, as if to exclude this wicked world, and all it
contained, from his sight. I did not speak, for I saw that the old
gentleman was really affected, but waited his pleasure to communicate
more. My impatience was soon relieved, however, as the hands were
removed, and I once more caught a view of my uncle's handsome, but
clouded countenance.

"May I ask the nature of this news?" I then ventured to inquire.

"You may, and I shall now tell you. It is proper, indeed, that you
should hear all, and understand it all; for you have a direct interest
in the matter, and a large portion of your property is dependent on the
result. Had not the manor troubles, as they were called, been spoken of
before we left home?"

"Certainly, though not to any great extent. We saw something of it in
the papers, I remember, just before we went to Russia; and I recollect
you mentioned it as a discreditable affair to the State, though likely
to lead to no very important result."

"So I then thought; but that hope has been delusive. There were some
reasons why a population like ours should chafe under the situation of
the estate of the late Patroon that I thought natural, though
unjustifiable; for it is unhappily too much a law of humanity to do that
which is wrong, more especially in matters connected with the pocket."

"I do not exactly understand your allusions, sir."

"It is easily explained. The Van Rensselaer property is, in the first
place, of great extent--the manor, as it is still called and once was,
spreading east and west eight-and-forty miles, and north and south
twenty-four. With a few immaterial exceptions, including the sites of
three or four towns, three of which are cities containing respectively
six, twenty, and forty thousand souls, this large surface was the
property of a single individual. Since his death, it has become the
property of two, subject to the conditions of the leases, of which by
far the greater portion are what are called durable."

"I have heard all this, of course, sir, and know something of it myself.
But what is a durable lease? for I believe we have none of that nature
at Ravensnest."

"No; your leases are all for three lives, and most of them renewals at
that. There are two sorts of 'durable leases,' as we term them, in use
among the landlords of New York. Both give the tenant a permanent
interest, being leases forever, reserving annual rent, with the right to
distrain and covenants of re-entry. But one class of these leases gives
the tenant a right at any time to demand a deed in fee-simple, on the
payment of a stipulated sum; while the other gives him no such
privilege. Thus one class of these leases is called 'a durable lease
with a clause of redemption,' while the other is a simple 'durable
lease.'"

"And are there any new difficulties in relation to the manor rents?"

"Far worse than that; the contagion has spread, until the greatest ills
that have been predicted from democratic institutions, by their worst
enemies, seriously menace the country. I am afraid, Hugh, I shall not be
able to call New York, any longer, an exception to the evil example of a
neighborhood, or the country itself a glorious country."

"This is so serious, sir, that, were it not that your looks denote the
contrary, I might be disposed to doubt your words."

"I fear my words are only too true. Dunning has written me a long
account of his own, made out with the precision of a lawyer; and, in
addition, he has sent me divers papers, some of which openly contend for
what is substantially a new division of property, and what in effect
would be agrarian laws."

"Surely, my dear uncle, you cannot seriously apprehend anything of that
nature from our order-loving, law-loving, property-loving Americans?"

"Your last description may contain the secret of the whole movement. The
love of property may be so strong as to induce them to do a great many
things they ought not to do. I certainly do not apprehend that any
direct attempt is about to be made in New York, to divide its property;
nor do I fear any open, declared agrarian statute; for what I apprehend
is to come through indirect and gradual innovations on the right, that
will be made to assume the delusive aspect of justice and equal rights,
and thus undermine the principles of the people, before they are aware
of the dangers themselves. In order that you may not only understand me,
but may understand facts that are of the last importance to your own
pockets, I will first tell you what has been done, and then tell you
what I fear is to follow. The first difficulty--or, rather, the first
difficulty of recent occurrence--arose at the death of the late Patroon.
I say of recent occurrence, since Dunning writes me that, during the
administration of John Jay, an attempt to resist the payment of rent was
made on the manor of the Livingstons; but _he_ put it down _instanter_."

"Yes, I should rather think that roguery would not be apt to prosper,
while the execution of the laws was intrusted to such a man. The age of
such politicians, however, seems to have ended among us."

"It did not prosper. Governor Jay met the pretension as we all know such
a man would meet it; and the matter died away, and has been nearly
forgotten. It is worthy of remark, that _he_ PUT THE EVIL DOWN. But this
is not the age of John Jays. To proceed to my narrative: When the late
Patroon died, there was due to him a sum of something like two hundred
thousand dollars of back-rents, and of which he had made a special
disposition in his will, vesting the money in trustees for a certain
purpose. It was the attempt to collect this money which first gave rise
to dissatisfaction. Those who had been debtors so long were reluctant to
pay. In casting round for the means to escape from the payment of their
just debts, these men, feeling the power that numbers ever give over
right in America, combined to resist with others who again had in view a
project to get rid of the rents altogether. Out of this combination grew
what have been called the 'manor troubles.' Men appeared in a sort of
mock-Indian dress, calico shirts thrown over their other clothes, and
with a species of calico masks on their faces, who resisted the
bailiffs' processes, and completely prevented the collection of rents.
These men were armed, mostly with rifles; and it was finally found
necessary to call out a strong body of the militia, in order to protect
the civil officers in the execution of their duties."

"All this occurred before we went to the East. I had supposed _those_
anti-renters, as they were called, had been effectually put down."

"In appearance they were. But the very governor who called the militia
into the field, referred the subject of the '_griefs_' of the tenants to
the legislature, as if they were actually aggrieved citizens, when in
truth it was the landlords, or the Rensselaers--for at that time the
'troubles' were confined to their property--who were the aggrieved
parties. This false step has done an incalculable amount of mischief, if
it do not prove the entering wedge to rive asunder the institutions of
the State."

"It is extraordinary, when such things occur, that any man can mistake
his duty. Why were the tenants thus spoken of, while nothing was said
beyond what the law compelled in favor of the landlords?"

"I can see no reason but the fact that the Rensselaers were only two,
and that the disaffected tenants were probably two thousand. With all
the cry of aristocracy, and feudality, and nobility, neither of the
Rensselaers, by the letter of the law, has one particle more of
political power, or political right, than his own coachman or footman,
if the last be a white man; while, in practice, he is in many things
getting to be less protected."

"Then you think, sir, that this matter has gained force from the
circumstance that so many votes depend on it?"

"Out of all question. Its success depends on the violations of
principles that we have been so long taught to hold sacred, that nothing
short of the overruling and corrupting influence of politics would dare
to assail them. If there were a landlord to each farm, as well as a
tenant, universal indifference would prevail as to the griefs of the
tenants; and if two to one tenant, universal indignation at their
impudence."

"Of what particular griefs do the tenants complain?"

"You mean the Rensselaer tenants, I suppose? Why, they _complain_ of
such covenants as they can, though their deepest affliction is to be
found in the fact that they do not own other men's lands. The Patroon
had quarter-sales on many of his farms--those that were let in the last
century."

"Well, what of that? A bargain to allow of quarter-sales is just as fair
as any other bargain."

"It is fairer, in fact, than most bargains, when you come to analyze it,
since there is a very good reason why it should accompany a perpetual
lease. Is it to be supposed that a landlord has no interest in the
character and habits of his tenants? He has the closest interest in it
possible, and no prudent man should let his lands without holding some
sort of control over the assignment of leases. Now, there are but two
modes of doing this; either by holding over the tenant a power through
his interests, or a direct veto dependent solely on the landlord's
will."

"The last would be apt to raise a pretty cry of tyranny and feudality in
America!"

"Pretty cries on such subjects are very easily raised in America. More
people join in them than understand what they mean. Nevertheless, it is
quite as just, when two men bargain, that he who owns every right in the
land before the bargain is made, should retain this right over his
property, which he consents to part with only with limitations, as that
he should grant it to another. These men, in their clamor, forget that,
until their leases were obtained, they had no right in their lands at
all, and that what they have got is through those very leases of which
they complain; take away the leases, and they would have no rights
remaining. Now on what principle can honest men pretend that they have
rights beyond the leases? On the supposition, even, that the bargains
are hard, what have governors and legislators to do with thrusting
themselves in between parties so situated, as special umpires? I should
object to such umpires, moreover, on the general and controlling
principle that must govern all righteous arbitration--your governors and
legislators are not _impartial_; they are political or party men, one
may say, without exception; and such umpires, when votes are in the
question, are to be sorely distrusted. I would as soon trust my
interests to the decision of feed counsel, as trust them to such
judges."

"I wonder the really impartial and upright portion of the community do
not rise in their might, and put this thing down--rip it up, root and
branch, and cast it away, at once."

"That is the weak point of our system, which has a hundred strong
points, while it has this besetting vice. Our laws are not only made,
but they are administered, on the supposition that there are both
honesty and intelligence enough in the body of the community to see them
_well_ made, and _well_ administered. But the sad reality shows that
good men are commonly passive, until abuses become intolerable; it being
the designing rogue and manager who is usually the most active. Vigilant
philanthropists _do_ exist, I will allow; but it is in such small
numbers as to effect little on the whole, and nothing at all when
opposed by the zeal of a mercenary opposition. No, no--little is ever to
be expected, in a political sense, from the activity of virtue; while a
great deal may be looked for from the activity of vice."

"You do not take a very favorable view of humanity, sir."

"I speak of the world as I have found it in both hemispheres, or, as
your neighbor the magistrate 'Squire Newcome has it, the 'four
hemispheres.' Our representation is, at the best, but an average of the
qualities of the whole community, somewhat lessened by the fact that men
of real merit have taken a disgust at a state of things that is not very
tempting to their habits or tastes. As for a quarter-sale, I can see no
more hardship in it than there is in paying the rent itself; and, by
giving the landlord this check on the transfer of his lands, he compels
a compromise that maintains what is just. The tenant is not obliged to
sell, and he makes his conditions accordingly, when he has a good tenant
to offer in his stead. When he offers a bad tenant, he ought to pay for
it."

"Many persons with us would think it very aristocratic," I cried,
laughingly, "that a landlord should have it in his power to say, I will
not accept this or that substitute for yourself."

"It is just as aristocratic, and no more so, than it would be to put it
in the power of the tenant to say to the landlord, you _shall_ accept
this or that tenant at my hands. The covenant of the quarter-sale gives
each party a control in the matter; and the result has ever been a
compromise that is perfectly fair, as it is hardly possible that the
circumstance should have been overlooked in making the bargain; and he
who knows anything of such matters, knows that every exaction of this
sort is always considered in the rent. As for feudality, so long as the
power to alienate exists at all in the tenant, he does not hold by a
feudal tenure. He has bought himself from all such tenures by his
covenant of quarter-sale; and it only remains to say whether, having
agreed to such a bargain in order to obtain this advantage, he should
pay the stipulated price or not."

"I understand you, sir. It is easy to come at the equity of this matter,
if one will only go back to the original facts which color it. The
tenant had no rights at all until he got his lease, and can have no
rights which that lease does not confer."

"Then the cry is raised of feudal privileges, because some of the
Rensselaer tenants are obliged to find so many days' work with their
teams, or substitutes, to the landlord, and even because they have to
pay annually a pair of fat fowls! _We_ have seen enough of America,
Hugh, to know that most husbandmen would be delighted to have the
privilege of paying their debt in chickens and work, instead of in
money, which renders the cry only so much the more wicked. But what is
there more feudal in a tenant's thus paying his landlord, than in a
butcher's contracting to furnish so much meat for a series of years, or
a mail contractor's agreeing to carry the mail in a four-horse coach for
a term of years, eh? No one objects to the rent in wheat, and why should
they object to the rent in chickens? Is it because our republican
farmers have got to be so _aristocratic_ themselves, that they do not
like to be thought poulterers? This is being aristocratic on the other
side. These dignitaries should remember that if it be plebeian to
furnish fowls, it is plebeian to receive them; and if the tenant has to
find an individual who has to submit to the degradation of tendering a
pair of fat fowls, the landlord has to find an individual who has to
submit to the degradation of taking them, and of putting them away in
the larder. It seems to me that one is an offset to the other."

"But if I remember rightly, uncle Ro, these little matters were always
commuted for in money."

"They always must lie at the option of the tenant, unless the covenants
went to forfeiture, which I never heard that they did; for the failure
to pay in kind at the time stipulated, would only involve a payment in
money afterward. The most surprising part of this whole transaction is,
that men among us hold the doctrine that these leasehold estates are
opposed to our institutions, when, being guaranteed _by_ the
institutions, they in truth form a part of them. Were it not for these
very institutions, to which they are said to be opposed, and of which
they virtually form a part, we should soon have a pretty kettle of fish
between landlord and tenant."

"How do you make it out that they form a part of the institutions, sir?"

"Simply because the institutions have a solemn profession of protecting
property. There is such a parade of this, that all our constitutions
declare that property shall never be taken without due form of law; and
to read one of them, you would think the property of the citizen is held
quite as sacred as his person. Now, some of these very tenures existed
when the State institutions were framed; and, not satisfied with this,
we of New York, in common with our sister States, solemnly prohibited
ourselves, in the Constitution of the United States, from ever meddling
with them; nevertheless, men are found hardy enough to assert that a
thing which in fact belongs to the institutions, is opposed to them."

"Perhaps they mean, sir, to their spirit, or to their tendency."

"Ah! there may be some sense in that, though much less than the
declaimers fancy. The spirit of institutions is their legitimate object;
and it would be hard to prove that a leasehold tenure, with any
conditions of mere pecuniary indebtedness whatever, is opposed to any
institutions that recognize the full rights of property. The obligation
to pay rent no more creates political dependency, than to give credit
from an ordinary shop; not so much, indeed, more especially under such
leases as those of the Rensselaers; for the debtor on a book-debt can be
sued at any moment, whereas the tenant knows precisely when he has to
pay. There is the great absurdity of those who decry the system as
feudal and aristocratic; for they do not see that those very leases are
more favorable to the tenant than any other."

"I shall have to ask you to explain this to me, sir, being too ignorant
to comprehend it."

"Why, these leases are perpetual, and the tenant cannot be dispossessed.
The longer a lease is, other things being equal, the better it is for
the tenant, all the world over. Let us suppose two farms, the one leased
for five years, and the other forever. Which tenant is most independent
of the political influence of his landlord, to say nothing of the
impossibility of controlling votes in this way in America, from a
variety of causes? Certainly he who has a lease forever. He is just as
independent of his landlord as his landlord can be of him, with the
exception that he has rent to pay. In the latter case, he is precisely
like any other debtor--like the poor man who contracts debts with the
same store-keeper for a series of years. As for the possession of the
farm, which we are to suppose is a desirable thing for the tenant, he of
the long lease is clearly most independent, since the other may be
ejected at the end of each five years. Nor is there the least difference
as to acquiring the property in fee, since the landlord may sell equally
in either case, if so disposed; and if NOT DISPOSED, NO HONEST MAN,
UNDER ANY SYSTEM, OUGHT TO DO ANYTHING TO COMPEL HIM SO TO DO, directly
or indirectly; AND NO TRULY HONEST MAN WOULD."

I put some of the words of my uncle Ro in small capitals, as the spirit
of the _times_, not of the _institutions_, renders such hints necessary.
But, to continue our dialogue:

"I understand you now, sir, though the distinction you make between the
_spirit_ of the institutions and their _tendencies_ is what I do not
exactly comprehend."

"It is very easily explained. The spirit of the institutions is their
_intention_; their tendencies are the natural direction they take under
the impulses of human motives, which are always corrupt and corrupting.
The 'spirit' refers to what things _ought_ to be; the 'tendencies,' to
what they _are_, or are _becoming_. The 'spirit' of all political
institutions is to place a check on the natural propensities of men, to
restrain them, and keep them within due bounds; while the tendencies
_follow_ those propensities, and are, quite often, in direct opposition
to the spirit. That this outcry against leasehold tenures in America is
following the tendencies of our institutions, I am afraid is only too
true; but that it is in any manner in compliance with their _spirit_, I
utterly deny."

"You will allow that institutions have their spirit, which ought always
to be respected, in order to preserve harmony?"

"Out of all question. The first great requisite of a political system is
the means of protecting itself; the second, to check its tendencies at
the point required by justice, wisdom, and good faith. In a despotism,
for instance, the spirit of the system is, to maintain that one man, who
is elevated above the necessities and temptations of a nation--who is
solemnly set apart for the sole purpose of government, fortified by
dignity, and rendered impartial by position--will rule in the manner
most conducive to the true interests of his subjects. It is just as much
the theory of Russia and Prussia that their monarchs reign not for their
own good, but for the good of those over whom they are placed, as it is
the theory in regard to the President of the United States. We all know
that the tendencies of a despotism are to abuses of a particular
character; and it is just as certain that the tendencies of a republic,
or rather of a democratic republic--for republic of itself means but
little, many republics having had kings--but it is just as certain that
the tendencies of a democracy are to abuses of another character.
Whatever man touches, he infallibly abuses; and this more in connection
with the exercise of political power, perhaps, than in the management of
any one interest of life, though he abuses all, even to religion. Less
depends on the nominal character of institutions, perhaps, than on their
ability to arrest their own tendencies at the point required by
everything that is just and right. Hitherto, surprisingly few _grave_
abuses have followed from our institutions; but this matter looks
frightfully serious; for I have not told you half, Hugh."

"Indeed, sir! I beg you will believe me quite equal to hearing the
worst."

"It is true, anti-rentism did commence on the estate of the Rensselaers,
and with complaints of feudal tenures, and of days' works, and fat
fowls, backed by the extravagantly aristocratic pretension that a
'manor' tenant was so much a privileged being that it was beneath his
dignity, as a free man, to do that which is daily done by
mail-contractors, stage-coach owners, victuallers, and even by
themselves, in their passing bargains to deliver potatoes, onions,
turkeys, and pork, although they had solemnly covenanted with their
landlords to pay the fat fowls, and to give the days' works. The feudal
system has been found to extend much further, and 'troubles,' as they
are called, have broken out in other parts of the State. Resistance to
process, and a cessation of the payment of rents, have occurred on the
Livingston property, in Hardenberg--in short, in eight or ten counties
of the State. Even among the _bona fide_ purchasers on the Holland
Purchase, this resistance has been organized, and a species of troops
raised, who appear disguised and armed wherever a levy is to be made.
Several men have already been murdered, and there is the strong
probability of a civil war."

"In the name of what is sacred and right, what has the government of the
State been doing all this time?"

"In my poor judgment, a great deal that it ought not to have done, and
very little that it ought. You know the state of politics at home, Hugh;
how important New York is in all national questions, and how nearly tied
is her vote--less than ten thousand majority in a canvass of near a half
million of votes. When this is the case, the least-principled part of
the voters attain an undue importance--a truth that has been abundantly
illustrated in this question. The natural course would have been to
raise an armed constabulary force, and to have kept it in motion, as the
anti-renters have kept their 'Injins' in motion, which would have soon
tired out the rebels, for rebels they are, who would thus have had to
support one army in part, and the other altogether. Such a movement on
the part of the State, well and energetically managed, would have drawn
half the 'Injins' at once from the ranks of disaffection to those of
authority; for all that most of these men want is to live easy, and to
have a parade of military movements. Instead of that, the legislature
substantially did nothing, until blood was spilt, and the grievance had
got to be not only profoundly disgraceful for such a State and such a
country, but utterly intolerable to the well-affected of the revolted
counties, as well as to those who were kept out of the enjoyment of
their property. Then, indeed, it passed the law which ought to have been
passed the first year of the 'Injin' system--a law which renders it
felony to appear armed and disguised; but Dunning writes me this law is
openly disregarded in Delaware and Schoharie, in particular, and that
bodies of 'Injins,' in full costume and armed, of a thousand men, have
appeared to prevent levies or sales. Where it will end Heaven knows!"

"Do you apprehend any serious civil war?"

"It is impossible to say where false principles may lead, when they are
permitted to make head and to become widely disseminated, in a country
like ours. Still, the disturbances, as such, are utterly contemptible,
and could and would be put down by an energetic executive in ten days
after he had time to collect a force to do it with. In some particulars,
the present incumbent has behaved perfectly well; while in others, in my
judgment, he has inflicted injuries on the right that it will require
years to repair, if, indeed, they are ever repaired."

"You surprise me, sir; and this the more especially, as I know you are
generally of the same way of thinking, on political subjects, with the
party that is now in power."

"Did you ever know me to support what I conceived to be wrong, Hugh, on
account of my political affinities?" asked my uncle, a little
reproachfully as to manner. "But let me tell you the harm that I
conceive has been done by all the governors who have had anything to do
with the subject; and that includes one of a party to which I am
opposed, and two that are not. In the first place, they have all treated
the matter as if the tenants had really some cause of complaint; when in
truth all their griefs arise from the fact that other men will not let
them have their property just as they may want it, and in some respects
on their own terms."

"That is certainly a grief not to be maintained by reason in a civilized
country, and in a Christian community."

"Umph! Christianity, like liberty, suffers fearfully in human hands; one
is sometimes at a loss to recognize either. I have seen ministers of the
gospel just as dogged, just as regardless of general morality, and just
as indiffer-to the right, in upholding _their_ parties, as I ever saw
laymen; and I have seen laymen manifesting tempers, in this respect,
that properly belong to devils. But our governors have certainly treated
this matter as if the tenants actually had griefs; when in truth their
sole oppression is in being obliged to to pay rents that are merely
nominal, and in not being able to buy other men's property contrary to
their wishes, and very much at their own prices. One governor has even
been so generous as to volunteer a mode of settling disputes with which,
by the way, he has no concern, there being courts to discharge that
office, that is singularly presuming on his part, to say the least, and
which looks a confounded sight more like aristocracy, or monarchy, than
anything connected with leasehold tenure."

"Why, what can the man have done?"

"He has kindly taken on himself the office of doing that for which I
fancy he can find no authority in the institutions, or in their
spirit--no less than advising citizens how they may conveniently manage
their own affairs so as to get over difficulties that he himself
substantially admits, while giving this very advice, are difficulties
that the law sanctions."

"This is a very extraordinary interference in a public functionary;
because one of the parties to a contract that is solemnly guaranteed by
the law, chooses to complain of its _nature_, rather than of its
_conditions_, to pretend to throw the weight of his even assumed
authority into the scales on either side of the question!"

"And that is a popular government, Hugh, in which it tells so strongly
against a man to render him unpopular, that not one man in a million has
the moral courage to resist public opinion, even when he is right. You
have hit the nail on the head, boy; it is in the last degree presuming,
and what would be denounced as tyrannical in any monarch in Europe. But
he has lived in vain who has not learned that they who make the the
loudest professions of a love of liberty, have little knowledge of the
quality, beyond submission to the demands of numbers. Our executive has
carried his fatherly care even beyond this; he has actually suggested
the terms of a bargain by which he thinks the difficulty can be settled,
which, in addition to the gross assumption of having a voice in a matter
that in no manner belongs to him, has the palpable demerit of
recommending a pecuniary compromise that is flagrantly wrong as a mere
pecuniary compromise."

"You astonish me, sir! What is the precise nature of his
recommendation?"

"That the Rensselaers should receive such a sum from each tenant as
would produce an interest equal to the value of the present rent. Now,
in the first place, here is a citizen who has got as much property as he
wants, and who wishes to live for other purposes than to accumulate.
This property is not only invested to his entire satisfaction, as
regards convenience, security, and returns, but also in a way that is
connected with some of the best sentiments of his nature. It is property
that has descended to him through ancestors for two centuries; property
that is historically connected with his name--on which he was born, on
which he has lived, and on which he has hoped to die; property, in a
word, that is associated with all the higher feelings of humanity.
Because some interloper, perhaps, who has purchased an interest in one
of his farms six months before, feels an _aristocratic_ desire not to
have a landlord, and wishes to own a farm in fee, that in fact he has no
other right to than he gets through his lease, the Governor of the great
State of New York throws the weight of his official position against the
old hereditary owner of the soil, by solemnly suggesting, in an official
document that is intended to produce an effect on public opinion, that
he should sell that which he does not wish to sell, but wishes to keep,
and that at a price which I conceive is much below its true pecuniary
value. We have liberty with a vengeance, if these are some of its
antics!"

"What makes the matter worse, is the fact that each of the Rensselaers
has a house on his estate, so placed as to be convenient to look after
his interest; which interests he is to be at the trouble of changing,
leaving him his house on his hands, because, forsooth, one of the
parties to a plain and equitable bargain wishes to make better
conditions than he covenanted for. I wonder what his excellency proposes
that the landlords shall do with their money when they get it? Buy new
estates, and build new houses, of which to be dispossessed when a new
set of tenants may choose to cry out against aristocracy, and
demonstrate their own love for democracy by wishing to pull others down
in order to shove themselves into their places?"

"You are right again, Hugh; but it is a besetting vice of America to
regard life as all means, and as having no end, in a worldly point of
view. I dare say men may be found among us who regard it as highly
presuming in any man to build himself an ample residence, and to
announce by his mode of living that he is content with his present
means, and does not wish to increase them, at the very moment they view
the suggestions of the governor as the pink of modesty, and excessively
favorable to equal rights! I like that thought of yours about the house,
too; in order to suit the 'spirit' of the New York institutions, it
would seem that a New York landlord should build on wheels, that he may
move his abode to a new State, when it suits the pleasure of his tenants
to buy him out."

"Do you suppose the Rensselaers would take their money, the principal of
the rent at seven per cent., and buy land with it, after their
experience of the uncertainty of such possessions among us?"

"Not they," said my uncle Ro, laughing. "No, no! they would sell the
Manor-House, and the Beverwyck, for taverns; and then any one might live
in them who would pay the principal sum of the cost of a dinner; bag
their dollars, and proceed forthwith to Wall Street, and commence the
shaving of notes--that occupation having been decided, as I see by the
late arrivals, to be highly honorable and praiseworthy. Hitherto they
have been nothing but drones; but, by the time they can go to the quick
with their dollars, they will become useful members of society, and be
honored and esteemed accordingly."

What next might have been said I do not know, for just then we were
interrupted by a visit from our common banker, and the discourse was
necessarily changed.




CHAPTER III.

    "Oh, when shall I visit the land of my birth,
    The loveliest land on the face of the earth?
    When shall I those scenes of affection explore,
          Our forests, our fountains,
          Our hamlets, our mountains,
    With the pride of our mountains, the maid I adore?"
                                            --MONTGOMERY.


It was truly news for an American, who had been so long cut off from
intelligence from home, thus suddenly to be told that some of the scenes
of the middle ages--scenes connected with real wrongs and gross abuses
of human rights--were about to be enacted in his own land; that country
which boasted itself, not only to be the asylum of the oppressed, but
the conservator of the right. I was grieved at what I had heard, for,
during my travels, I had cherished a much-loved image of justice and
political excellence, that I now began to fear must be abandoned. My
uncle and myself decided at once to return home, a step that indeed was
required by prudence. I was now of an age to enter into the full
possession of my own property (so far as "new laws and new lords" would
permit); and the letters received by my late guardian, as well as
certain newspapers, communicated the unpleasant fact that a great many
of the tenants of Ravensnest had joined the association, paid tribute
for the support of "Injins," and were getting to be as bad as any of the
rest of them, so far as designs and schemes to plunder were concerned,
though they still paid their rents. The latter circumstance was ascribed
by our agent to the fact that many leases were about to fall in, and it
would be in my power to substitute more honest and better-disposed
successors for the present occupants of the several farms. Measures were
taken accordingly for quitting Paris as soon as possible, so that we
might reach home late in the month of May.

"If we had time, I would certainly throw in a memorial or two to the
legislature," observed my uncle, a day or two before we proceeded to
Havre to join the packet. "I have a strong desire to protest against the
invasion of my rights as a freeman that is connected with some of their
contemplated laws. I do not at all like the idea of being abridged of
the power of hiring a farm for the longest time I can obtain it, which
is one of the projects of some of the ultra reformers of free and equal
New York. It is wonderful, Hugh, into what follies men precipitate
themselves as soon as they begin to run into exaggerations, whether of
politics, religion, or tastes. Here are half of the exquisite
philanthropists who see a great evil affecting the rights of human
nature in one man's hiring a farm from another for as long a term as he
can obtain it, who are at the very extreme in their opinion on free
trade! So free-trade are some of the journals which think it a capital
thing to prevent landlords and tenants from making their own bargains,
that they have actually derided the idea of having established fares for
hackney-coaches, but that it would be better to let the parties stand in
the rain and higgle about the price, on the free-trade principle. Some
of these men are either active agents in stimulating the legislature to
rob the citizen of this very simple control of his property, or passive
lookers-on while others do it."

"Votes, sir, votes."

"It is indeed votes, sir, votes; nothing short of votes could reconcile
these men to their own inconsistencies. As for yourself, Hugh, it might
be well to get rid of that canopied pew----"

"Of what canopied pew? I am sure I do not understand you."

"Do you forget that the family-pew in St. Andrew's Church, at
Ravensnest, has a wooden canopy over it--a relic of our colonial
opinions and usages?"

"Now you mention it, I do remember a very clumsy, and, to own the truth,
a very ugly thing, that I have always supposed was placed there, by
those who built the church, by way of ornament."

"That ugly thing, by way of ornament, was intended for a sort of canopy,
and was by no means an uncommon distinction in the State and colony, as
recently as the close of the last century. The church was built at the
expense of my grandfather, General Littlepage, and his bosom friend and
kinsman, Colonel Dirck Follock, both good Whigs and gallant defenders of
the liberty of their country. They thought it proper that the
Littlepages should have a canopied pew, and that is the state in which
they caused the building to be presented to my father. The old work
still stands; and Dunning writes me that, among the other arguments used
against your interests, is the fact that your pew is thus distinguished
from those of the rest of the congregation."

"It is a distinction no man would envy me, could it be known that I have
ever thought the clumsy, ill-shaped thing a nuisance, and detestable as
an ornament. I have never even associated it in my mind with personal
distinction, but have always supposed it was erected with a view to
embellish the building, and placed over our pew as the spot where such
an excrescence would excite the least envy."

"In all that, with one exception, you have judged quite naturally. Forty
years ago such a thing might have been done, and the majority of the
parishioners would have seen in it nothing out of place. But that day
has gone by; and you will discover that, on your own estate, and in the
very things created by your family and yourself, you will actually have
fewer rights of any sort, beyond those your money will purchase, than
any man around you. The simple fact that St. Andrew's Church was built
by your great-grandfather, and by him presented to the congregation,
will diminish your claim to have a voice in its affairs, with many of
the congregation."

"This is so extraordinary, that I must ask the reason."

"The reason is connected with a principle so obviously belonging to
human nature generally, and to American nature in particular, that I
wonder you ask it. It is envy. Did that pew belong to the Newcomes, for
instance, no one would think anything of it."

"Nevertheless, the Newcomes would make themselves ridiculous by sitting
in a pew that was distinguished from those of their neighbors. The
absurdity of the contrast would strike every one."

"And it is precisely because the absurdity does not exist in your case,
that your seat is envied. No one envies absurdity. However, you will
readily admit, Hugh, that a church and a church-yard are the two last
places in which human distinction ought to be exhibited. All are equal
in the eyes of Him we go to the one to worship, and all are equal in the
grave. I have ever been averse to everything like worldly distinction in
a congregation, and admire the usage of the Romish Church in even
dispensing with pews altogether. Monuments speak to the world, and have
a general connection with history, so that they be tolerated to a
certain point, though notorious liars."

"I agree with you, sir, as to the unfitness of a church for all
distinction, and shall be happy on every account to get rid of my
canopy, though that has an historical connection, also. I am quite
innocent of any feeling of pride while sitting under it, though I will
confess to some of shame at its quizzical shape, when I see it has
attracted the eyes of intelligent strangers."

"It is but natural that you should feel thus; for, while we may miss
distinctions and luxuries to which we have ever been accustomed, they
rarely excite pride in the possessor, even while they awaken envy in the
looker-on."

"Nevertheless, I cannot see what the old pew has to do with the rents or
my legal rights."

"When a cause is bad, everything is pressed into it that it is believed
may serve a turn. No man who had a good legal claim for property, would
ever think of urging any other; nor would any legislator who had sound
and sufficient reasons for his measures--reasons that could properly
justify him before God and man, for his laws--have recourse to slang to
sustain him. If these anti-renters were right, they would have no need
of secret combinations or disguises, blood-and-thunder names, and
special agents in the legislature of the land. The right requires no
false aid to make it appear the right; but the wrong must get such
support as it can press into its service. Your pew is called
aristocratic, though it confers no political power; it is called a
patent of nobility, though it neither gives nor takes away, and it is
hated, and you with it, for the very reason that you can sit in it and
not make yourself ridiculous. I suppose you have not examined very
closely the papers I gave you to read?"

"Enough so to ascertain that they are filled with trash."

"Worse than trash, Hugh; with some of the loosest principles, and most
atrocious feelings, that degrade poor human nature. Some of the
reformers propose that no man shall hold more than a thousand acres of
land, while others lay down the very intelligible and distinct principle
that no man ought to hold more than he can use. Even petitions to that
effect, I have been told, have been sent to the legislature."

"Which has taken care not to allude to their purport, either in debate
or otherwise, as I see nothing to that effect in the reports."

"Ay, I dare say the slang-whangers of those honorable bodies will
studiously keep all such enormities out of sight, as some of them
doubtless hope to step into the shoes of the present landlords, as soon
as they can get the feet out of them which are now in. But these are the
projects and the petitions in the columns of the journals, and they
speak for themselves. Among other things, they say it is nobility to be
a landlord."

"I see by the letter of Mr. Dunning, that they have petitioned the
legislature to order an inquiry into my title. Now, we hold from the
crown----"

"So much the worse, Hugh. Faugh! hold from a crown in a republican
country! I am amazed you are not ashamed to own it. Do you not know,
boy, that it has been gravely contended in a court of justice that, in
obtaining our national independence from the King of Great Britain, the
people conquered all his previous grants, which ought to be declared
void and of none effect?"

"That is an absurdity of which I had not heard," I answered, laughing;
"why, the people of New York, who held all their lands under the crown,
would in that case have been conquering them for other persons! My good
grandfather and great-grandfather, both of whom actually fought and bled
in the revolution, must have been very silly thus to expose themselves
to take away their own estates, in order to give them to a set of
immigrants from New England and other parts of the world."

"Quite justly said, Hugh," added my uncle, joining in the laugh. "Nor is
this half of the argument. The State, too, in its corporate character,
has been playing the swindler all this time. You may not know the fact,
but I as your guardian do know, that the quit-rents reserved by the
crown when it granted the lands of Mooseridge and Ravensnest, were
claimed by the State; and that, wanting money to save the people from
taxes, it commuted with us, receiving a certain gross sum in
satisfaction of all future claims."

"Ay, _that_ I did not know. Can the fact be shown?"

"Certainly--it is well known to all old fellows like myself, for it was
a very general measure, and very generally entered into by all the
landholders. In our case, the receipts are still to be found among the
family papers. In the cases of the older estates, such as those of the
Van Rensselaers, the equity is still stronger in their favor, since the
conditions to hold the land included an obligation to bring so many
settlers from Europe within a given time; conditions that were fulfilled
at great cost, as you may suppose, and on which, in truth, the colony
had its foundation."

"How much it tells against a people's honesty to wish to forget such
facts, in a case like this!"

"There is nothing forgotten, for the facts were probably never known to
those who prate about the conquered rights from the crown. As you say,
however, the civilization of a community is to be measured by its
consciousness of the existence of all principles of justice, and a
familiarity with its own history. The great bulk of the population of
New York have no active desire to invade what is right in this anti-rent
struggle, having no direct interests at stake; _their_ crime is a
passive inactivity, which allows those who are either working for
political advancement, or those who are working to obtain other men's
property, to make use of them, through their own laws."

"But is it not an embarrassment to such a region as that directly around
Albany, to have such tenures to the land, and for so large a body of
people to be compelled to pay rent, in the very heart of the State, as
it might be, and in situations that render it desirable to leave
enterprise as unshackled as possible?"

"I am not prepared to admit this much, even, as a general principle. One
argument used by these anti-renters is, for instance, that the patroons,
in their leases, reserved the mill-seats. Now, what if they did? Some
one must own the mill-seats; and why not the patroon as well as another?
To give the argument any weight, not as law, not as morals, but as mere
expediency, it must be shown that the patroons would not let these
mill-seats at as low rents as any one else; and my opinion is, that they
would let them at rents of not half the amount that would be asked, were
they the property of so many individuals scattered up and down the
country. But, admitting that so large an estate of this particular sort
has some inconveniences in that particular spot, can there be two
opinions among men of integrity about the mode of getting rid of it?
Every thing has its price, and, in a business sense, everything is
entitled to its price. No people acknowledge this more than the
Americans, or practise on it so extensively. Let the Rensselaers be
tempted by such offers as will induce them to sell, but do not let them
be invaded by that most infernal of all acts of oppression, special
legislation, in order to bully or frighten them from the enjoyment of
what is rightfully their own. If the State think such a description of
property injurious in its heart, let the State imitate England in her
conduct toward the slaveholders--_buy_ them out; not _tax_ them out, and
_wrong_ them out, and _annoy_ them out. But, Hugh, enough of this at
present; we shall have much more than we want of it when we get home.
Among my letters, I have one from each of my other wards."

"'Still harping on my daughter,' sir!" I answered, laughing. "I hope
that the vivacious Miss Henrietta Coldbrooke, and the meek Miss Anne
Marston, are both perfectly well!"

"Both in excellent health, and both write charmingly. I must really let
you see the letter of Henrietta, as I do think it is quite creditable to
her; I will step into my room and get it."

I ought to let the reader into a secret here that will have some
connection with what is to follow. A dead-set had been made at me,
previously to leaving home, to induce me to marry either of three young
ladies--Miss Henrietta Coldbrooke, Miss Anne Marston, and Miss
Opportunity Newcome. The advances in the case of Miss Henrietta
Coldbrooke and Miss Anne Marston came from my uncle Ro, who, as their
guardian, had a natural interest in their making what he was pleased to
think might be a good connection for either; while the advances on
account of Miss Opportunity Newcome came from herself. Under such
circumstances, it may be well to say who these young ladies actually
were.

Miss Henrietta Coldbrooke was the daughter of an Englishman of good
family, and some estate, who had emigrated to America and married, under
the impulse of certain theories in politics which induced him to imagine
that this was the promised land. I remember him as a disappointed and
dissatisfied widower, who was thought to be daily growing poorer under
the consequences of indiscreet investments, and who at last got to be so
very English in his wishes and longings, as to assert that the common
Muscovy was a better bird than the canvas-back! He died, however, in
time to leave his only child an estate which, under my uncle's excellent
management, was known by me to be rather more than one hundred and
seventy-nine thousand dollars, and which produced a net eight thousand a
year. This made Miss Henrietta a belle at once; but, having a prudent
friend in my grandmother, as yet she had not married a beggar. I knew
that uncle Ro went quite as far as was proper, in his letters, in the
way of hints touching myself; and my dear, excellent, honest-hearted,
straightforward old grandmother had once let fall an expression, in one
of her letters to myself, which induced me to think that these hints had
actually awakened as much interest in the young lady's bosom, as could
well be connected with what was necessarily nothing but curiosity.

Miss Anne Marston was also an heiress, but on a very diminished scale.
She had rather more than three thousand a year in buildings in town, and
a pretty little sum of about sixteen thousand dollars laid by out of its
savings. She was not an only child, however, having two brothers, each
of whom had already received as much as the sister, and each of whom, as
is very apt to be the case with the heirs of New York merchants, was
already in a fair way of getting rid of his portion in riotous living.
Nothing does a young American so much good, under such circumstances, as
to induce him to travel. It makes or breaks at once. If a downright
fool, he is plucked by European adventurers in so short a time, that the
agony is soon over. If only vain and frivolous, because young and
ill-educated, the latter being a New York endemic, but with some
foundation of native mind, he lets his whiskers grow, becomes fuzzy
about the chin, dresses better, gets to be much better mannered, soon
loses his taste for the low and vulgar indulgences of his youth, and
comes out such a gentleman as one can only make who has entirely thrown
away the precious moments of youth. If tolerably educated in boyhood,
with capacity to build on, the chances are that the scales will fall
from his eyes very fast on landing in the old world--that his ideas and
tastes will take a new turn--that he will become what nature intended
him for, an intellectual man; and that he will finally return home,
conscious alike of the evils and blessings, the advantages and
disadvantages, of his own system and country--a wiser, and it is to be
hoped a better man. How the experiment had succeeded with the Marstons,
neither myself nor my uncle knew; for they had paid their visit while we
were in the East, and had already returned to America. As for Miss Anne,
she had a mother to take care of her mind and person, though I had
learned she was pretty, sensible and discreet.

Miss Opportunity Newcome was a belle of Ravensnest, a village on my own
property; a rural beauty, and of rural education, virtues, manners and
habits. As Ravensnest was not particularly advanced in civilization, or,
to make use of the common language of the country, was not a very
"aristocratic place," I shall not dwell on her accomplishments, which
did well enough for Ravensnest, but would not essentially ornament my
manuscript.

Opportunity was the daughter of Ovid, who was the son of Jason, of the
house of Newcome. In using the term "house," I adopt it understandingly;
for the family had dwelt in the same tenement, a leasehold property of
which the fee was in myself, and the dwelling had been associated with
the name of Newcome from time immemorial; that is, for about eighty
years. All that time had a Newcome been the tenant of the mill, tavern,
store, and farm, that lay nearest the village of Ravensnest, or Little
Nest, as it was commonly called; and it may not be impertinent to the
moral of my narrative if I add that, for all that time, and for
something longer, had I and my ancestors been the landlords. I beg the
reader to bear this last fact in mind, as there will soon be occasion to
show that there was a strong disposition in certain persons to forget
it.

As I have said, Opportunity was the daughter of Ovid. There was also a
brother, who was named Seneca, or Seneky, as he always pronounced it
himself, the son of Ovid, the son of Jason, the first of the name at
Ravensnest. This Seneca was a lawyer, in the sense of a license granted
by the Justices of the Supreme Court, as well as by the Court of Common
Pleas, in and for the county of Washington. As there had been a sort of
hereditary education among the Newcomes for three generations, beginning
with Jason, and ending with Seneca; and as the latter was at the bar, I
had occasionally been thrown into the society of both brother and
sister. The latter, indeed, used to be fond of visiting the Nest, as my
house was familiarly called, Ravensnest being its true name, whence
those of the "patent" and village; and as Opportunity had early
manifested a partiality for my dear old grandmother, and not less dear
young sister, who occasionally passed a few weeks with me during the
vacations, more especially in the autumns, I had many occasions of being
brought within the influence of her charms--opportunities that I feel
bound to state, Opportunity did not neglect. I have understood that her
mother, who bore the same name, had taught Ovid the art of love by a
very similar demonstration, and had triumphed. That lady was still
living, and may be termed Opportunity the Great, while the daughter can
be styled Opportunity the Less. There was very little difference between
my own years and those of the young lady; and, as I had last passed
through the fiery ordeal at the sinister age of twenty, there was not
much danger in encountering the risk anew, now I was five years older.
But I must return to my uncle and the letter of Miss Henrietta
Coldbrooke.

"Here it is, Hugh," cried my guardian, gayly; "and a capital letter it
is! I wish I could read the whole of it to you; but the two girls made
me promise never to show their letters to any one, which could mean only
you, before they would promise to write anything to me beyond
commonplaces. Now, I get their sentiments freely and naturally, and the
correspondence is a source of much pleasure to me. I think, however, I
might venture just to give you one extract."

"You had better not, sir; there would be a sort of treachery in it, that
I confess I would rather not be accessory to. If Miss Coldbrooke does
not wish me to read what she writes, she can hardly wish that you should
read any of it to me."

Uncle Ro glanced at me, and I fancied he seemed dissatisfied with my
_nonchalance_. He read the letter through to himself, however, laughing
here, smiling there, then muttering "capital!" "good!" "charming girl!"
"worthy of Hannah More!" etc., etc., as if just to provoke my curiosity.
But I had no desire to read "Hannah More," as any young fellow of
five-and-twenty can very well imagine, and I stood it all with the
indifference of a stoic. My guardian had to knock under, and put the
letters in his writing desk.

"Well, the girls will be glad to see us," he said, after a moment of
reflection, "and not a little surprised. In my very last letter to my
mother, I sent them word that we should not be home until October; and
now we shall see them as early as June, at least."

"Patt will be delighted, I make no doubt. As for the other two young
ladies, they have so many friends and relations to care for, that I
fancy our movements give them no great concern."

"Then you do both injustice, as their letters would prove. They take the
liveliest interest in our proceedings, and speak of my return as if they
look for it with the greatest expectation and joy."

I made my uncle Ro a somewhat saucy answer; but fair dealing compels me
to record it.

"I dare say they do, sir," was my reply; "but what young lady does not
look with '_expectation_ and joy' for the return of a friend, who is
known to have a long purse, from Paris?"

"Well, Hugh, you deserve neither of those dear girls; and, if I can help
it, you shall have neither."

"Thank'ee, sir!"

"Poh! this is worse than silly--it is rude. I dare say neither would
accept you, were you to offer to-morrow."

"I trust not, sir, for her own sake. It would be a singularly palpable
demonstration were either to accept a man she barely knew, and whom she
had not seen since she was fifteen."

Uncle Ro laughed, but I could see he was confoundedly vexed; and, as I
loved him with all my heart, though I did not love match-making, I
turned the discourse, in a pleasant way, on our approaching departure.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Hugh," cried my uncle, who was a good deal
of a boy in some things, for the reason, I suppose, that he was an old
bachelor; "I'll just have wrong names entered on board the packet, and
we'll surprise all our friends. Neither Jacob nor your man will betray
us, we know; and, for that matter, we can send them both home by the way
of England. Each of us has trunks in London to be looked after, and let
the two fellows go by the way of Liverpool. That is a good thought, and
occurred most happily."

"With all my heart, sir. My fellow is of no more use to me at sea than
an automaton would be, and I shall be glad to get rid of his rueful
countenance. He is a capital servant on _terra firma_, but a perfect
Niobe on the briny main."

The thing was agreed on; and, a day or two afterward, both our
body-servants, that is to say, Jacob the black and Hubert the German,
were on their way to England. My uncle let his apartment again, for he
always maintained I should wish to bring my bride to pass a winter in
it; and we proceeded to Havre in a sort of incognito. There was little
danger of our being known on board the packet, and we had previously
ascertained that there was not an acquaintance of either in the ship.
There was a strong family resemblance between my uncle and myself, and
we passed for father and son in the ship, as old Mr. Davidson and young
Mr. Davidson, of Maryland--or Myr-r-land, as it is Doric to call that
State. We had no concern in this part of the deception, unless
abstaining from calling my supposed father "uncle," as one would
naturally do in strange society, can be so considered.

The passage itself--by the way, I wish all landsmen would be as accurate
as I am here, and understand that a "voyage" means "out" and "home," or
"thence" and "back again," while a "passage" means from place to
place--but our passage was pregnant with no events worth recording. We
had the usual amount of good and bad weather, the usual amount of eating
and drinking, and the usual amount of ennui. The latter circumstance,
perhaps, contributed to the digesting of a further scheme of my uncle's,
which it is now necessary to state.

A reperusal of his letters and papers had induced him to think the
anti-rent movement a thing of more gravity, even, than he had at first
supposed. The combination on the part of the tenants, we learned also
from an intelligent New Yorker who was a fellow-passenger, extended much
further than our accounts had given us reason to believe; and it was
deemed decidedly dangerous for landlords, in many cases, to be seen on
their own estates. Insult, personal degradation, or injury, and even
death, it was thought, might be the consequences in many cases. The
blood actually spilled had had the effect to check the more violent
demonstrations, it is true; but the latent determination to achieve
their purposes was easily to be traced among the tenants, in the face of
all their tardy professions of moderation, and a desire for nothing but
what was right. In this case, what was right was the letter and spirit
of the contracts; and nothing was plainer than the fact that these were
not what was wanted.

Professions pass for nothing, with the experienced, when connected with
a practice that flatly contradicts them. It was only too apparent to all
who chose to look into the matter, and that by evidence which could not
mislead, that the great body of the tenants in various counties of New
York were bent on obtaining interests in their farms that were not
conveyed by their leases, without the consent of their landlords, and
insomuch that they were bent on doing that which should be
discountenanced by every honest man in the community. The very fact that
they supported, or in any manner connived at, the so-called "Injin"
system, spoke all that was necessary as to their motives; and, when we
come to consider that these "Injins" had already proceeded to the
extremity of shedding blood, it was sufficiently plain that things must
soon reach a crisis.

My uncle Roger and myself reflected on all these matters calmly, and
decided on our course, I trust, with prudence. As that decision has
proved to be pregnant with consequences that are likely to affect my
future life, I shall now briefly give an outline of what induced us to
adopt it.

It was all-important for us to visit Ravensnest in person, while it
might be hazardous to do so openly. The Nest house stood in the very
centre of the estate, and, ignorant as we were of the temper of the
tenants, it might be indiscreet to let our presence be known; and
circumstances favored our projects of concealment. We were not expected
to reach the country at all until autumn, or "fall," as that season of
the year is poetically called in America; and this gave us the means of
reaching the property unexpectedly, and, as we hoped, undetected. Our
arrangement, then, was very simple, and will be best related in the
course of the narrative.

The packet had a reasonably short passage, as we were twenty-nine days
from land to land. It was on a pleasant afternoon in May when the
hummock-like heights of Nevesink were first seen from the deck; and an
hour later we came in sight of the tower-resembling sails of the
coasters which were congregating in the neighborhood of the low point of
land that is so very appropriately called _Sandy_ Hook. The light-houses
rose out of the water soon after, and objects on the shore of New Jersey
next came gradually out of the misty background, until we got near
enough to be boarded, first by the pilot, and next by the news-boat; the
first preceding the last, for a wonder, news usually being far more
active, in this good republic, than watchfulness to prevent evil. My
uncle Ro gave the crew of this news-boat a thorough scrutiny, and,
finding no one on board her whom he had ever before seen, he bargained
for a passage up to town.

We put our feet on the Battery just as the clocks of New York were
striking eight. A custom-house officer had examined our carpet-bags and
permitted them to pass, and we had disburdened ourselves of the effects
in the ship, by desiring the captain to attend to them. Each of us had a
town-house, but neither would go near his dwelling; mine being only kept
up in winter, for the use of my sister and aunt, who kindly took charge
of her during the season, while my uncle's was opened principally for
his mother. At that season, we had reason to think neither was tenanted
but by one or two old family servants; and it was our cue also to avoid
them. But "Jack Dunning," as my uncle always called him, was rather more
of a friend than of an agent; and he had a bachelor establishment in
Chambers Street that was precisely the place we wanted. Thither, then,
we proceeded, taking the route of Greenwich Street, fearful of meeting
some one in Broadway by whom we might be recognized.




CHAPTER IV.

    _Cit._ "Speak, speak."
    _I Cit._ "You are all resolved rather to die than to famish?"
    _Cit._ "Resolved, resolved."
    _I Cit._ "First you know, Caius Marcus is chief enemy to the people."
    _Cit._ "We know't, we know't."
    _I Cit._ "Let's kill him, and we'll have corn at our price.
                  Is't a verdict?"--_Coriolanus._


The most inveterate Manhattanese, if he be anything of a man of the
world, must confess that New York is, after all, but a rag-fair sort of
a place, so far as the eye is concerned. I was particularly struck with
this fact, even at that hour, as we went stumbling along over an
atrociously bad sidewalk, my eyes never at rest, as any one can imagine,
after five years of absence. I could not help noting the incongruities;
the dwellings of marble in close proximity with miserable, low
constructions in wood; the wretched pavements; and, above all, the
country air of a town of near four hundred thousand souls: I very well
know that many of the defects are to be ascribed to the rapid growth of
the place, which gives it a sort of hobble-de-hoy look; but, being a
Manhattanese by birth, I thought I might just as well own it all at
once, if it were only for the information of a particular portion of my
townsmen, who may have been under a certain delusion on the subject. As
for comparing the bay of New York with that of Naples on the score of
beauty, I shall no more be guilty of any such folly, to gratify the
cockney feelings of Broadway and Bond Street, than I should be guilty of
the folly of comparing the commerce of the ancient Parthenope with that
of _old_ New York, in order to excite complacency in the bosom of some
bottegajo in the Toledo, or on the Chiaja. Our fast-growing Manhattan is
a great town in its way--a wonderful place--without a parallel, I do
believe, on earth, as a proof of enterprise and of the accumulation of
business; and it is not easy to make such a town appear ridiculous by
any jibes and innuendoes that relate to the positive things of this
world, though nothing is easier than to do it for itself by setting up
to belong to the sisterhood of such places as London, Paris, Vienna, and
St. Petersburg. There is too much of the American notion of the
omnipotence of numbers among us Manhattanese, which induces us to think
that the higher rank in the scale of places is to be obtained by
majorities. No, no; let us remember the familiar axiom of "_ne sutor
ultra crepidum_." New York is just the queen of "business," but not yet
the queen of the world. Every man who travels ought to bring back
something to the common stock of knowledge; and I shall give a hint to
my townsmen, by which I really think they may be able to tell for
themselves, as by feeling a sort of moral pulse, when the town is rising
to the level of a capital. When simplicity takes the place of
pretension, is one good rule; but, as it may require a good deal of
practice, or native taste, to ascertain this fact, I will give another
that is obvious to the senses, which will at least be strongly
symptomatic; and that is this: when _squares_ cease to be called
_parks_; when horse-bazaars and fashionable streets are not called
Tattersalls and Bond Street; when _Washington_ market is rechristened
_Bear_ market, and Franklin and Fulton, and other great philosophers and
inventors, are plucked of the unmerited honors of having shambles named
after them; when _commercial_ is not used as a prefix to emporium; when
people can return from abroad without being asked "if they are
reconciled to their country?" and strangers are not interrogated at the
second question, "how do you like _our city_?" then may it be believed
that the town is beginning to go alone, and that it may set up for
itself.

Although New York is, out of all question, decidedly provincial,
laboring under the peculiar vices of provincial habits and provincial
modes of thinking, it contains many a man of the world, and some, too,
who have never quitted their own fireside. Of this very number was the
Jack Dunning, as my uncle Ro called him, to whose house in Chambers
Street we were now proceeding.

"If we were going anywhere but to Dunning's," said my uncle, as we
turned out of Greenwich Street, "I should have no fear of being
recognized by the servants; for no one here thinks of keeping a man six
months. Dunning, however, is of the old school, and does not like new
faces; so he will have no Irishman at his door, as is the case with two
out of three of the houses at which one calls nowadays."

In another minute we were at the bottom of Mr. Dunning's "stoup"--what
an infernal contrivance it is to get in and out at the door by, in a
hotty-cold climate like ours!--but there we were, and I observed that my
uncle hesitated.

"_Parlez au_ SUISSE," said I; "ten to one he is fresh from some
Bally-this, or Bally-that."

"No, no; it must be old Garry, the <DW65>"--my uncle Ro was of the old
school himself, and _would_ say "<DW65>"--"Jack can never have parted
with Garry."

"Garry" was the diminutive of Garret, a somewhat common Dutch Christian
name among us.

We rang, and the door opened--in about five minutes. Although the terms
"aristocrat" and "aristocracy" are much in men's mouths in America just
now, as well as those of "feudal" and the "middle ages," and this, too,
as applied to modes of living as well as to leasehold tenures, there is
but one porter in the whole country; and he belongs to the White House,
at Washington. I am afraid even that personage, royal porter as he is,
is often out of the way; and the reception he gives when he _is_ there,
is not of the most brilliant and princely character. When we had waited
three minutes, my uncle Ro said:

"I am afraid Garry is taking a nap by the kitchen fire; I'll try him
again."

Uncle Ro did try again, and, two minutes later, the door opened.

"What is your pleasure?" demanded the _Suisse_, with a strong brogue.

My uncle started back as if he had met a sprite; but he asked if Mr.
Dunning was at home.

"He is, indeed, sir."

"Is he alone, or is he with company?"

"He is, indeed."

"But _what_ is he indeed?"

"He is _that_."

"Can you take the trouble to explain which _that_ it is? Has he company,
or is he alone?"

"Just _that_, sir. Walk in, and he'll be charmed to see you. A fine
gentleman is his honor, and pleasure it is to live with him, I'm sure!"

"How long is it since you left Ireland, my friend?"

"Isn't it a mighty bit, now, yer honor!" answered Barney, closing the
door. "T'irteen weeks, if it's one day."

"Well, go ahead, and show us the way. This is a bad omen, Hugh, to find
that Jack Dunning, of all men in the country, should have changed his
servant--good, quiet, lazy, respectable, old, gray-headed Garry, the
<DW65>--for such a bog-trotter as that fellow, who climbs those stairs
as if accustomed only to ladders."

Dunning was in his library on the second floor, where he passed most of
his evenings. His surprise was equal to that which my uncle had just
experienced, when he saw us two standing before him. A significant
gesture, however, caused him to grasp his friend and client's hand in
silence; and nothing was said until the _Swiss_ had left the room,
although the fellow stood with the door in his hand a most inconvenient
time, just to listen to what might pass between the host and his guests.
At length we got rid of him, honest, well-meaning fellow that he was
after all; and the door was closed.

"My last letters have brought you home, Roger?" said Jack, the moment he
_could_ speak; for feeling, as well as caution, had something to do with
his silence.

"They have, indeed. A great change must have come over the country, by
what I hear; and one of the very worst symptoms is that you have turned
away Garry, and got an Irishman in his place."

"Ah! old men must die, as well as old principles, I find. My poor fellow
went off in a fit, last week, and I took that Irishman as a _pis aller_.
After losing poor Garry who was born a slave in my father's house, I
became indifferent, and accepted the first comer from the intelligence
office."

"We must be careful, Dunning, not to give up too soon. But hear my
story, and then to other matters."

My uncle then explained his wish to be incognito, and his motive.
Dunning listened attentively, but seemed uncertain whether to dissent or
approve. The matter was discussed briefly, and then it was postponed for
further consideration.

"But how comes on this great moral dereliction, called anti-rentism? Is
it on the wane, or the increase?"

"On the wane to the eye, perhaps; but on the increase so far as
principles, the rights, and facts, are concerned. The necessity of
propitiating votes is tempting politicians of all sides to lend
themselves to it; and there is imminent danger now that atrocious wrongs
will be committed under the form of law."

"In what way _can_ the law touch an existing contract? The Supreme Court
of the United States will set that right."

"That is the only hope of the honest, let me tell you. It is folly to
expect that a body composed of such men as usually are sent to the State
Legislature can resist the temptation to gain power by conciliating
numbers. _That is out of the question._ Individuals of these bodies may
resist; but the tendency there will be as against the few, and in favor
of the many, bolstering their theories by clap-traps and slang political
phrases. The scheme to tax the rents, under the name of quit-rents, will
be resorted to, in the first place."

"That will be a most iniquitous proceeding, and would justify resistance
just as much as our ancestors were justified in resisting the taxation
of Great Britain."

"It would more so, for here we have a written covenant to render
taxation equal. The landlord already pays one tax on each of these
farms--a full and complete tax, that is reserved from the rent in the
original bargain with the tenant; and now the wish is to tax the rents
themselves; and this not to raise revenue, for that is confessedly not
wanted, but most clearly with a design to increase the inducements for
the landlords to part with their property. If that can be done, the
sales will be made on the principle that none but the tenant must be, as
indeed no one else _can_ be, the purchaser; and then we shall see a
queer exhibition--men parting with their property under the pressure of
a clamor that is backed by as much law as can be pressed into its
service, with a monopoly of price on the side of the purchaser, and all
in a country professing the most sensitive love of liberty, and where
the prevailing class of politicians are free-trade men?"

"There is no end of these inconsistencies among politicians."

"There is no end of knavery when men submit to 'noses,' instead of
principles. Call things by their right names, Ro, as they deserve to be.
This matter is so plain, that he who runs can read."

"But will this scheme of taxation succeed? It does not affect us, for
instance, as our leases are for three lives."

"Oh! that is nothing; for you they contemplate a law that will forbid
the letting of land, for the future, for a period longer than five
years. Hugh's leases will soon be falling in, and then he can't make a
slave of any man for a longer period than five years."

"Surely no one is so silly as to think of passing such a law, with a
view to put down aristocracy, and to benefit the tenant!" I cried,
laughing.

"Ay, you may laugh, young sir," resumed Jack Dunning; "but such _is_ the
intention. I know very well what will be your course of reasoning; you
will say, the longer the lease the better for the tenant, if the bargain
be reasonably good; and landlords cannot ask more for the use of their
lands than they are really worth in this country, there happening to be
more land than there are men to work it. No, no; landlords rather get
less for their lands than they are worth, instead of more, for that
plain reason. To compel the tenant to take a lease, therefore, for a
term as short as five years, is to injure him, you think; to place him
more at the control of his landlord, through the little interest
connected with the cost and trouble of moving, and through the natural
desire he may possess to cut the meadows he has seeded, and to get the
full benefit of manure he has made and carted. I see how you reason,
young sir; but you are behind the age--you are sadly behind the age."

"The age is a queer one, if I am! All over the world it is believed that
long leases are favors, or advantages, to tenants; and nothing can make
it otherwise, _caeteris paribus_. Then what good will the tax do, after
violating right and moral justice, if not positive law, to lay it? On a
hundred dollars of rent, I should have to pay some fifty-five cents of
taxes, as I am assessed on other things at Ravensnest; and does anybody
suppose I will give up an estate that has passed through five
generations of my family, on account of a tribute like that!"

"Mighty well, sir--mighty well, sir! This is fine talk; but I would
advise you not to speak of _your_ ancestors at all. Landlords can't name
_their_ ancestors with impunity just now."

"I name mine only as showing a reason for a natural regard for my
paternal acres."

"That you might do, if you were a tenant; but not as a landlord. In a
landlord it is aristocratic and intolerable pride, and to the last
degree offensive--as Dogberry says, 'tolerable and not to be endured.'"

"But it is a _fact_, and it is natural one should have some feelings
connected with it."

"The more it is a fact, the less it will be liked. People associate
social position with wealth and _estates_, but not with farms; and the
longer one has such things in a family, the worse for them!"

"I do believe, Jack," put in my uncle Ro, "that the rule which prevails
all over the rest of the world is reversed here, and that with us it is
thought a family's claim is lessened, and not increased, by time."

"To be sure it is!" answered Dunning, without giving me a chance to
speak. "Do you know that you wrote me a very silly letter once, from
Switzerland, about a family called De Blonay, that had been seated on
the same rock, in a little castle, some six or eight hundred years, and
the sort of respect and veneration the circumstance awakened! Well, all
that was very foolish, as you will find when you pay your incognito
visit to Ravensnest. I will not anticipate the result of your schooling;
but, go to school."

"As the Rensselaers and other great landlords, who have estates on
durable leases, will not be very likely to give them up, except on terms
that will suit themselves, for a tax as insignificant as that mentioned
by Hugh," said my uncle, "what does the Legislature anticipate from
passing the law?"

"That its members will be called the friends of the people, and not the
friends of the landlords. Would any man tax his friends, if he could
help it?"

"But what will that portion of the people who compose the anti-renters
gain by such a measure?"

"Nothing; and their complaints will be just as loud, and their longings
as active, as ever. Nothing that can have any effect on what they wish
will be accomplished by any legislation in the matter. One committee of
the Assembly has actually reported, you may remember, that the State
might assume the lands, and sell them to the tenants, or some one else;
or something of the sort."

"The Constitution of the United States must be Hugh's aegis."

"And that alone will protect him, let me tell you. But for that noble
provision of the Constitution of the Federal Government, his estate
would infallibly go for one-half of its true value. There is no use in
mincing things, or in affecting to believe men more honest than they
are--AN INFERNAL FEELING OF SELFISHNESS IS SO MUCH TALKED OF, AND CITED,
AND REFERRED TO, ON ALL OCCASIONS, IN THIS COUNTRY, THAT A MAN ALMOST
RENDERS HIMSELF RIDICULOUS WHO APPEARS TO REST ON PRINCIPLE."

"Have you heard what the tenants of Ravensnest aim at, in particular?"

"They want to get Hugh's lands, that's all; nothing more, I can assure
you."

"On what conditions, pray?" demanded I.

"As you 'light of chaps,' to use a saying of their own. Some even
profess a willingness to pay a fair price."

"But I do not wish to sell for even a fair price. I have no desire to
part with property that is endeared to me by family feeling and
association. I have an expensive house and establishment on my estate,
which obtains its principal value from the circumstance that it is so
placed that I can look after my interests with the least inconvenience
to myself. What can I do with the money but buy another estate? and I
prefer this that I have."

"Poh! boy, you can shave notes, you'll recollect," said Uncle Ro, dryly.
"The calling is decided to be honorable by the highest tribunal; and no
man should be above his business."

"You have no right, sir, in a free country," returned the caustic Jack
Dunning, "to prefer one estate to another, more especially when other
people want it. Your lands are leased to honest, hard-working tenants,
who can eat their dinners without silver forks, and whose ancestors----"

"Stop!" I cried, laughing; "I bar all ancestry. No man has a right to
ancestry in a free country, you'll remember!"

"That means landlord ancestry; as for tenant ancestry, one can have a
pedigree as long as the Maison de Levis. No, sir; every tenant you have
has every right to demand that his sentiment of family feeling should be
respected. His father planted that orchard, and he loves the apples
better than any other apples in the world----"

"And my father procured the grafts, and made him a present of them."

"His grandfather cleared that field, and converted its ashes into pots
and pearls----"

"And _my_ grandfather received that year ten shillings of rent, for land
off which his received two hundred and fifty dollars for his ashes."

"His great-grandfather, honest and excellent man--nay, superhonest and
confiding creature--first 'took up' the land when a wilderness, and with
his own hands felled the timber, and sowed the wheat."

"And got his pay twenty-fold for it all, or he would not have been fool
enough to do it. I had a great-grandfather, too; and I hope it will not
be considered aristocratic if I venture to hint as much. He--a
dishonest, pestilent knave, no doubt--leased that very lot for six years
without any rent at all, in order that the 'poor confiding creature'
might make himself comfortable, before he commenced paying his sixpence
or shilling an acre rent for the remainder of three lives, with a moral
certainty of getting a renewal on the most liberal terms known to a new
country; and who knew, the whole time, he could buy land in fee, within
ten miles of his door, but who thought _this_ a better bargain than
_that_."

"Enough of this folly," cried Uncle Ro, joining in the laugh; "we all
know that in our excellent America, he who has the highest claims to
anything must affect to have the least, to stifle the monster envy; and
being of one mind as to principles, let us come to facts. What of the
girls, Jack, and of my honored mother?"

"She, noble heroic woman! she is at Ravensnest at this moment; and as
the girls would not permit her to go alone, they are all with her."

"And did you, Jack Dunning, suffer them to go unattended into a part of
the country that is in open rebellion?" demanded my uncle,
reproachfully.

"Come, come! Hodge Littlepage, this is very sublime as a theory, but not
so clear when reduced to practice. I did not go with Mrs. Littlepage and
her young fry, for the good and substantial reason that I did not wish
to be 'tarred and feathered.'"

"So you leave them to run the risk of being 'tarred and feathered' in
your stead?"

"Say what you will about the cant of freedom that is becoming so common
among us, and from which we were once so free; say what you will, Ro, of
the inconsistency of those who raise the cry of 'feudality,' and
'aristocracy,' and 'nobility,' at the very moment they are manifesting a
desire for exclusive rights and privileges in their own persons; say
what you will of dishonesty, envy, that prominent American vice,
knavery, covetousness, and selfishness, and I will echo all you can
utter; but do not say that a woman can be in serious danger among any
material body of Americans, even if anti-renters and mock-redskins in
the bargain."

"I believe you are right there, Jack, on reflection. Pardon my warmth;
but I have lately been living in the Old World, and in a country in
which women were not long since carried to the scaffold on account of
their politics."

"Because they meddled with politics. Your mother is in no serious
danger, though it needs nerve in a woman to be able to think so. There
are few women in the State, and fewer of her time of life anywhere, that
would do what she has done; and I give the girls great credit for
sticking by her. Half the young men in town are desperate at the thought
of three such charming creatures thus exposing themselves to insult.
Your mother has only been sued."

"Sued! Whom does she owe, or what can she have done to have brought this
indignity on her?"

"You know, or ought to know, how it is in this country, Littlepage; we
must have a little law, even when most bent on breaking it. A downright,
straightforward rascal, who openly sets law at defiance, is a wonder.
Then we have a great talk of liberty, when plotting to give it the
deepest stab; and religion even gets to share in no small portion of our
vices. Thus it is that the anti-renters have dragged in the law in aid
of their designs. I understand one of the Rensselaers has been sued for
money borrowed in a ferryboat to help him across a river under his own
door, and for potatoes bought by his wife in the streets of Albany!"

"But neither of the Rensselaers need borrow money to cross the ferry, as
the ferrymen would trust him; and no lady of the Rensselaer family ever
bought potatoes in the streets of Albany, I'll answer for it."

"You have brought back some knowledge from your travels, I find!" said
Jack Dunning, with comic gravity. "Your mother writes me that _she_ has
been sued for twenty-seven pairs of shoes furnished her by a shoemaker
whom she never saw, or heard of, until she received the summons!"

"This, then, is one of the species of annoyances that has been adopted
to bully the landlords out of their property?"

"It is; and if the landlords have recourse even to the covenants of
their leases, solemnly and deliberately made, and as solemnly guaranteed
by a fundamental law, the cry is raised of 'aristocracy' and
'oppression' by these very men, and echoed by many of the creatures who
get seats in high places among us--or what _would_ be high places, if
filled with men worthy of their trusts."

"I see you do not mince your words, Jack."

"Why should I? Words are all that is left me. I am of no more weight in
the government of this State than that Irishman who let you in just now
will be five years hence--less, for he will vote to suit a majority; and
as I shall vote understandingly, my vote will probably do no one any
good."

Dunning belonged to a school that mingles a good deal of speculative and
impracticable theory with a great deal of sound and just principles; but
who render themselves useless because they will admit of no compromises.
He did not belong to the class of American _doctrinaires_, however, or
to those who contend--no, not _contend_, for no one does _that_ any
longer in this country, whatever may be his opinion on the subject--but
those who _think_ that political power, as in the last resort, should be
the property of the few, for he was willing New York should have a very
broad constituency. Nevertheless, he was opposed to the universal
suffrage, in its wide extent, that does actually exist; as I suppose
quite three-fourths of the whole population are opposed to it, in their
hearts, though no political man of influence, now existing, has the
moral calibre necessary to take the lead in putting it down. Dunning
deferred to principles, and not to men. He well knew that an infallible
whole was not to be composed of fallible parts; and while he thought
majorities ought to determine many things, that there are rights and
principles that are superior to even such _unanimity_ as man can
manifest, and much more to their majorities. But Dunning had no selfish
views connected with his political notions, wanting no office, and
feeling no motive to affect that which he neither thought nor wished. He
never had quitted home, or it is highly probable his views of the
comparative abuses of the different systems that prevail in the world
would have been essentially modified. Those he saw had unavoidably a
democratic source, there being neither monarch nor aristocrat to produce
any other; and, under such circumstances, as abuses certainly abound, it
is not at all surprising that he sometimes a little distorted facts and
magnified evils.

"And my noble, high-spirited, and venerable mother has actually gone to
the Nest to face the enemy!" exclaimed my uncle, after a thoughtful
pause.

"She has, indeed; and the noble, high-spirited, though not venerable,
young ladies have gone with her," returned Mr. Dunning, in his caustic
way.

"All three, do you mean?"

"Every one of them--Martha, Henrietta, and Anne."

"I am surprised that the last should have done so. Anne Marston is such
a meek, quiet, peace-loving person, that I should think _she_ would have
preferred remaining, as she naturally might have done, without exciting
remark, with her own mother."

"She has not, nevertheless. Mrs. Littlepage _would_ brave the
anti-renters, and the three maidens _would_ be her companions. I dare
say, Ro, you know how it is with the gentle sex, when they make up their
minds?"

"My girls are all good girls, and have given me very little trouble,"
answered my uncle, complacently.

"Yes, I dare say that may be true. You have only been absent from home
five years this trip."

"An attentive guardian, notwithstanding, since I left you as a
substitute. Has my mother written to you since her arrival among the
hosts of the Philistines?"

"She has, indeed, Littlepage," answered Dunning, gravely; "I have heard
from her three times, for she writes to urge my not appearing on the
estate. I did intend to pay her a visit; but she tells me that it might
lead to a violent scene, and can do no good. As the rents will not be
due until autumn, and Master Hugh is now of age, and was to be here to
look after his own affairs, I have seen no motive for incurring the risk
of the tarring and feathering. We American lawyers, young gentleman,
wear no wigs."

"Does my mother write herself, or employ another?" inquired my uncle,
with interest.

"She honors me with her own hand. Your mother writes much better than
you do yourself, Roger."

"That is owing to her once having carried chain, as she would say
herself. Has Martha written to you?"

"Of course. Sweet little Patty and I are bosom friends, as you know."

"And does she say anything of the Indian and the <DW64>?"

"Jaaf and Susquesus? To be sure she does. Both are living still, and
both are well. I saw them myself, and even ate of their venison, so
lately as last winter."

"Those old fellows must have each lived a great deal more than his
century, Jack. They were with my grandfather in the old French war, as
active, useful men--older than _my_ grandfather!"

"Ay! a <DW65> or a redskin, before all others, for holding on to life,
when they have been temperate. Let me see--that expedition of
Abercrombie's was about eighty years since; why, these fellows must be
well turned of their hundred, though Jaap is rather the oldest, judging
from appearances."

"I believe no one knows the age of either. A hundred each has been
thought now for many years. Susquesus was surprisingly active, too, when
I last saw him--like a healthy man of eighty."

"He has failed of late, though he actually shot a deer, as I told you,
last winter. Both the old fellows stray down to the Nest, Martha writes
me; and the Indian is highly scandalized at the miserable imitations of
his race that are now abroad. I have even heard that he and Yop have
actually contemplated taking the field against them. Seneca Newcome is
their especial aversion."

"How is Opportunity?" I inquired. "Does she take any part in this
movement?"

"A decided one, I hear. She is anti-rent, while she wishes to keep on
good terms with her landlord; and that is endeavoring to serve God and
Mammon. She is not the first, however, by a thousand, that wears two
faces in this business."

"Hugh has a deep admiration of Opportunity," observed my uncle, "and you
had needs be tender in your strictures. The modern Seneca, I take it, is
dead against us?"

"Seneky wishes to go to the legislature, and of course he is on the side
of votes. Then his brother is a tenant at the mill, and naturally wishes
to be the landlord. He is also interested in the land himself. One thing
has struck me in this controversy as highly worthy of notice; and it is
the _naivete_ with which men reconcile the obvious longing of
covetousness with what they are pleased to fancy the principles of
liberty! When a man has worked a farm a certain number of years, he
boldly sets up the doctrine that the fact itself gives him a high moral
claim to possess it forever. A moment's examination will expose the
fallacy by which these sophists apply the flattering unction to their
souls. They work their farms under a lease, and in virtue of its
covenants. Now, in a moral sense, all that time can do in such a case,
is to render these covenants the more sacred, and consequently more
binding; but these worthies, whose morality is all on one side, imagine
that these time-honored covenants give them a right to fly from their
own conditions during their existence, and to raise pretensions far
exceeding anything they themselves confer, the moment they cease."

"Poh, poh! Jack; there is no need of refining at all, to come at the
merits of such a question. This is a civilized country, or it is not. If
it be a civilized country, it will respect the rights of property, and
its own laws; and if the reverse, it will not respect them. As for
setting up the doctrine, at this late day, when millions and millions
are invested in this particular species of property, that the leasehold
tenure is opposed to the _spirit_ of institutions of which it has
substantially formed a part, ever since those institutions have
themselves had an existence, it requires a bold front, and more capacity
than any man at Albany possesses, to make the doctrines go down. Men may
run off with the notion that the _tendencies_ to certain abuses, which
mark every system, form their spirit; but this is a fallacy that a very
little thought will correct. Is it true that proposals have actually
been made, by these pretenders to liberty, to appoint commissioners to
act as arbitrators between the landlords and tenants, and to decide
points that no one has any right to raise?"

"True as Holy Writ; and a regular 'Star Chamber' tribunal it would be!
It is wonderful, after all, how extremes do meet!"

"That is as certain as the return of the sun after night. But let us now
talk of our project, Jack, and of the means of getting among these
self-deluded men--deluded by their own covetousness--without being
discovered; for I am determined to see them, and to judge of their
motives and conduct for myself."

"Take care of the tar-barrel, and of the pillow-case of feathers,
Roger!"

"I shall endeavor so to do."

We then discussed the matter before us at length and leisurely. I shall
not relate all that was said, as it would be going over the same ground
twice, but refer the reader to the regular narrative. At the usual hour,
we retired to our beds, retaining the name of Davidson, as convenient
and prudent. Next day Mr. John Dunning busied himself in our behalf, and
made himself exceedingly useful to us. In his character of an old
bachelor, he had many acquaintances at the theatre; and through his
friends of the greenroom he supplied each of us with a wig. Both my
uncle and myself spoke German reasonably well, and our original plan was
to travel in the character of immigrant trinket and essence pedlers. But
I had a fancy for a hand-organ and a monkey; and it was finally agreed
that Mr. Hugh Roger Littlepage, senior, was to undertake this adventure
with a box of cheap watches and gilded trinkets; while Mr. Hugh Roger
Littlepage, junior, was to commence his travels at home, in the
character of a music-grinder. Modesty will not permit me to say all I
might, in favor of my own skill in music in general; but I sang well for
an amateur, and played both on the violin and flute, far better than is
common.

Everything was arranged in the course of the following day, our wigs of
themselves completely effecting all the disguises that were necessary.
As for my uncle, he was nearly bald, and a wig was no great encumbrance;
but my shaggy locks gave me some trouble. A little clipping, however,
answered the turn; and I had a hearty laugh at myself, in costume, that
afternoon, before Dunning's dressing-room glass. We got round the felony
law, about being armed and disguised, by carrying no weapons but our
tools in the way of trade.




CHAPTER V.

    "And she hath smiles to earth unknown--
    Smiles, that with motion of their own
    Do spread, and sink, and rise:
    That come and go with endless play
    And ever, as they pass away,
    Are hidden in her eyes."--WORDSWORTH.


I was early in costume the following morning. I question if my own
mother could have known me, had she lived long enough to see the
whiskers sprout on my cheeks, and to contemplate my countenance as a
man. I went into Dunning's library, drew the little hurdy-gurdy from its
hiding-place, slung it, and began to play "St. Patrick's Day in the
Morning," with spirit, and, I trust I may add, with execution. I was in
the height of the air, when the door opened, and Barney thrust his
high-cheeked-bone face into the room, his mouth as wide open as that of
a frozen porker.

"Where the divil did ye come from!" demanded the new footman, with the
muscles of that vast aperture of his working from grin to grim, and grim
to grin again. "Yee's wilcome to the tchune; but how comes ye here?"

"I coomes vrom Halle, in Preussen. Vat isht your vaterland?"

"Bee yees a Jew?"

"Nein--I isht a goot Christian. Vilt you haf Yankee Tootle?"

"Yankee T'under! Ye'll wake up the masther, and he'll be displaise'd,
else ye might work on that tchune till the end of time. That I should
hear it here, in my own liberary, and ould Ireland t'ree thousand
laigues away!"

A laugh from Dunning interrupted the dialogue, when Barney vanished, no
doubt anticipating some species of American punishment for a presumed
delinquency. Whether the blundering, well-meaning, honest fellow really
ascertained who we were that breakfasted with his master, I do not know;
but we got the meal and left the house without seeing his face again,
Dunning having a young yellow fellow to do the service of the table.

I need scarcely say that I felt a little awkward at finding myself in
the streets of New York in such a guise; but the gravity and
self-possession of my uncle were a constant source of amusement to me.
He actually sold a watch on the wharf before the boat left it, though I
imputed his success to the circumstance that his price was what a
brother dealer, who happened to be trading in the same neighborhood,
pronounced "onconscionably low." We took a comfortable state-room
between us, under the pretence of locking up our property, and strolled
about the boat, gaping and looking curious, as became our class.

"Here are at least a dozen people that I know," said my uncle, as we
were lounging around--loafing around is the modern Doric--about the time
that the boat was paddling past Fort Washington; "I have reconnoitred in
all quarters, and find quite a dozen. I have been conversing with an old
school-fellow, and one with whom I have ever lived in tolerable
intimacy, for the last ten minutes, and find my broken English and
disguise are perfect. I am confident my dear mother herself would not
recognize me."

"We can then amuse ourselves with my grandmother and the young ladies,"
I answered, "when we reach the Nest. For my part, it strikes me that we
had better keep our own secret to the last moment."

"Hush! As I live, there is Seneca Newcome this moment! He is coming this
way, and we must be Germans again."

Sure enough, there was 'Squire Seneky, as the honest farmers around the
Nest call him; though many of them must change their practices, or it
will shortly become so absurd to apply the term "honest" to them, that
no one will have the hardihood to use it. Newcome came slowly toward the
forecastle, on which we were standing; and my uncle determined to get
into conversation with him, as a means of further proving the virtue of
our disguises, as well as possibly of opening the way to some
communications that might facilitate our visit to the Nest. With this
view, the pretended pedler drew a watch from his pocket, and offering it
meekly to the inspection of the quasi lawyer, he said--

"Puy a vatch, shentlemans?"

"Hey! what? Oh a watch," returned Seneca, in that high, condescending,
vulgar key, with which the salt of the earth usually affect to treat
those they evidently think much beneath them in intellect, station, or
some other great essential, at the very moment they are bursting with
envy, and denouncing as aristocrats all who are above them. "Hey! a
watch is it? What countryman are you, friend?"

"A Charmans--ein Teutscher."

"A German--ine Tycher is the place you come from, I s'pose?"

"Nein--ein Teutscher isht a Charman."

"Oh, yes! I understand. How long have you been in Ameriky?"

"Twelf moont's."

"Why, that's most long enough to make you citizens. Where do you live?"

"Nowhere; I lifs jest asht it happens--soometimes here, ant soometimes
dere."

"Ay, ay! I understand--no legal domicile, but lead a wandering life.
Have you many of these watches for sale?"

"Yees--I haf asht many as twenty. Dey are as sheep as dirt, and go like
pig clocks."

"And what may be your price for this?"

"Dat you can haf for only eight tollars. Effery poty wilt say it is
golt, dat doesn't know petter."

"Oh! it isn't gold then--I swan!"--what this oath meant I never exactly
knew, though I suppose it to be a Puritan mode of saying "I swear!" the
attempts to cheat the devil in this way being very common among their
pious descendants, though even "Smith Thompson" himself can do no man
any good in such a case of conscience--"I swan! you come plaguy near
taking even me in! Will you come down from that price any?"

"If you wilt gif me some atfice, perhaps I may. You look like a goot
shentlemans, and one dat woultn't sheat a poor Charmans; ant effery poty
wants so much to sheat de poor Charmans, dat I will take six, if you
will drow in some atfice."

"Advice? You have come to the right man for that? Walk a little this
way, where we shall be alone. What is the natur' of the matter--action
on the case, or a tort?"

"Nein, nein! it isht not law dat I wants, put atfice."

"Well, but advice leads to law, ninety-nine times in a hundred."

"Ya, ya," answered the pedler, laughing; "dat may be so; put it isht not
vat I vants--I vants to know vere a Charman can trafel wit' his goots in
de country, and not in de pig towns."

"I understand you--six dollars, hey! That sounds high for such a looking
watch"--he had just before mistaken it for gold--"but I'm always the
poor man's friend, and despise aristocracy"--what Seneca hated with the
strongest hate he ever fancied he _despised_ the most, and by
aristocracy he merely understood gentlemen and ladies, in the true
signification of the words--"why, I'm always ready to help along the
honest citizen. If you could make up your mind, now, to part with this
one watch for nawthin', I think I could tell you a part of the country
where you might sell the other nineteen in a week."

"Goot!" exclaimed my uncle, cheerfully. "Take him--he ist your broberty,
and wilcome. Only show me de town where I canst sell de nineteen
udders."

Had my uncle Ro been a true son of peddling, he would have charged a
dollar extra on each of the nineteen, and made eleven dollars by his
present liberality.

"It is no town at all--only a township," returned the liberal Seneca.
"Did you expect it would be a city?"

"Vat cares I? I woult radder sell my vatches to goot, honest country
men, dan asht to de best burghers in de land."

"You're my man! The right spirit is in you. I hope you're no patroon--no
aristocrat?"

"I don't know vat isht badroon, or vat isht arishtocrat."

"No! You are a happy man in your ignorance. A patroon is a nobleman who
owns another man's land; and an aristocrat is a body that thinks himself
better than his neighbors, friend."

"Well, den, I isht no badroon, for I don't own no land at all, not even
mine own; and I ishn't petter asht no poty at all."

"Yes, you be; you've only to think so, and you'll be the greatest
gentleman of 'em all."

"Well, den, I will dry and dink so, and pe petter asht de greatest
shentlemans of dem all. But dat won't do, nudder, as dat vilt make me
petter dan you; for you are one of de greatest of dem all, shentlemans."

"Oh! as for me, let me alone. I scorn being on their level. I go for
'down with the rents!' and so'll you, too, afore you've been a week in
our part of the country."

"Vat isht de rent dat you vants to git down?"

"It's a thing that's opposed to the spirit of the institutions, as you
can see by my feelin's at this very moment. But no matter? I'll keep the
watch, if you say so, and show you the way into that part of the
country, as your pay."

"Agreed, shentlemans. Vat I vants is atfice, and vat you vants is a
watch."

Here uncle Ro laughed so much like himself, when he ought clearly to
have laughed in broken English, that I was very much afraid he might
give the alarm to our companion; but he did not. From that time the best
relation existed between us and Seneca, who, in the course of the day,
recognized us by sundry smiles and winks, though I could plainly see he
did not like the anti-aristocratic principle sufficiently to wish to
seem too intimate with us. Before we reached the islands, however, he
gave us directions where to meet him in the morning, and we parted, when
the boat stopped alongside of the pier at Albany that afternoon, the
best friends in the world.

"Albany! dear, good old Albany!" exclaimed my uncle Ro, as we stopped on
the draw of the bridge to look at the busy scene in the basin, where
literally hundreds of canal-boats were either lying to discharge or to
load, or were coming and going, to say nothing of other craft: "dear,
good old Albany! you are a town to which I ever return with pleasure,
for you at least never disappoint me. A first-rate country-place you
are; and, though I miss your quaint old Dutch church, and your
rustic-looking old _English_ church from the centre of your principal
street, almost every change _you_ make is respectable. I know nothing
that tells so much against you as changing the name of Market Street by
the paltry imitation of Broadway; but, considering that a horde of
Yankees have come down upon you since the commencement of the present
century, you are lucky that the street was not called the Appian Way.
But, excellent old Albany! whom even the corruptions of politics cannot
change in the core, lying against the hill-side, and surrounded with thy
picturesque scenery, there is an air of respectability about thee that I
admire, and a quiet prosperity that I love. Yet, how changed since my
boyhood! Thy simple stoops have all vanished; thy gables are
disappearing; marble and granite are rising in thy streets, too, but
they take honest shapes, and are free from the ambition of mounting on
stilts; thy basin has changed the whole character of thy once
semi-sylvan, semi-commercial river; but it gives to thy young manhood an
appearance of abundance and thrift that promise well for thy age!"

The reader may depend on it that I laughed heartily at this rhapsody;
for I could hardly enter into my uncle's feelings. Albany is certainly a
very good sort of a place, and relatively a more respectable-looking
town than the "_commercial_ emporium," which, after all, externally, is
a mere huge expansion of a very marked mediocrity, with the pretension
of a capital in its estimate of itself. But Albany lays no claim to be
anything more than a provincial town, and in that class it is highly
placed. By the way, there is nothing in which "_our_ people," to speak
idiomatically, more deceive themselves, than in their estimate of what
composes a capital. It would be ridiculous to suppose that the
representatives of such a government as this could impart to any place
the tone, opinions, habits and manners of a capital, for, if they did,
they would impart it on the novel principle of communicating that which
they do not possess in their own persons. Congress itself, though
tolerably free from most shackles, including those of the Constitution,
is not up to that. In my opinion, a man accustomed to the world might be
placed blindfolded in the most finished quarter of New York, and the
place has new quarters in which the incongruities I have already
mentioned do not exist, and, my life on it, he could pronounce, as soon
as the bandage was removed, that he was not in a town were the tone of a
capital exists. The last thing to make a capital is trade. Indeed, the
man who hears the words "business" and "the merchants" ringing in his
ears, may safely conclude, _de facto_, that he is not in a capital. Now
a New York village is often much less rustic than the villages of the
most advanced country of Europe; but a New York town is many degrees
below any capital of a large state in the old world.

Will New York ever be a capital? Yes--out of all question, yes. But the
day will not come until after the sudden changes of condition which
immediately and so naturally succeeded the Revolution, have ceased to
influence ordinary society, and those above again impart to those below
more than they receive. This restoration to the natural state of things
must take place as soon as society gets settled; and there will be
nothing to prevent a town living under our own institutions--spirit,
_tendencies_ and all--from obtaining the highest tone that ever yet
prevailed in a capital. The folly is in anticipating the natural course
of events. Nothing will more hasten these events, however, than a
literature that is controlled, not by the lower, but by the higher
opinion of the country; which literature is yet, in a great degree, to
be created.

I had dispensed with the monkey, after trying to get along with the
creature for an hour or two, and went around only with my music. I would
rather manage an army of anti-renters than one monkey. With the
hurdy-gurdy slung around my neck, therefore, I followed my uncle, who
actually sold another watch before we reached a tavern. Of course we did
not presume to go to Congress Hall, or the Eagle, for we knew we should
not be admitted. This was the toughest part of our adventures. I am of
opinion my uncle made a mistake; for he ventured to a second-class
house, under the impression that one of the sort usually frequented by
men of our supposed stamp might prove too coarse for us altogether. I
think we should have been better satisfied with the coarse fare of a
coarse tavern, than with the shabby-genteel of the house we blundered
into. In the former, everything would have reminded us, in a way we
expected to be reminded, that we were out of the common track; and we
might have been amused with the change, though it is one singularly hard
to be endured. I remember to have heard a young man, accustomed from
childhood to the better habits of the country, but who went to sea, a
lad before the mast, declare that the coarseness of his shipmates--and
there is no vulgarity about a true sailor, even when coarsest--gave him
more trouble to overcome, than all the gales, physical sufferings,
labor, exposures and dangers, put together. I must confess, I have found
it so, too, in my little experience. While acting as a strolling
musician, I could get along with anything better than the coarse habits
which I encountered at the table. Your silver-forkisms, and your purely
conventional customs, as a matter of course, no man of the world
attaches any serious importance to; but there are conventionalities that
belong to the fundamental principles of civilized society, which become
second nature, and with which it gets to be hard, indeed, to dispense. I
shall say as little as possible of the disagreeables of my new trade,
therefore, but stick to the essentials.

The morning of the day which succeeded that of our arrival at Albany, my
uncle Ro and I took our seats in the train, intending to go to Saratoga,
_via_ Troy. I wonder the Trojan who first thought of playing this
travestie on Homer, did not think of calling the place Troyville, or
Troyborough! That would have been semi-American, at least, whereas the
present appellation is so purely classical! It is impossible to walk
through the streets of this neat and flourishing town, which already
counts its twenty thousand souls, and not have the images of Achilles
and Hector, and Priam, and Hecuba, pressing on the imagination a little
Uncomfortably. Had the place been called Try, the name would have been a
sensible one; for it is trying all it can to get the better of Albany;
and, much as I love the latter venerable old town, I hope Troy may
succeed in its trying to prevent the Hudson from being bridged. By the
way, I will here remark, for the benefit of those who have never seen
any country but their own, that there is a view on the road between
Schenectady and this Grecian place, just where the heights give the
first full appearance of the valley of the Hudson, including glimpses of
Waterford, Lansingburg and Albany, with a full view of both Troys, which
gives one a better idea of the affluence of European scenery than almost
any other spot I can recall in America. To my hurdy-gurdy:

I made my first essay as a musician in public beneath the windows of the
principal inn of Troy. I cannot say much in favor of the instrument,
though I trust the playing itself was somewhat respectable. This I know
full well, that I soon brought a dozen fair faces to the windows of the
inn, and that each was decorated with a smile. Then it was that I
regretted the monkey. Such an opening could not but awaken the dormant
ambition of even a "patriot" of the purest water, and I will own I was
gratified.

Among the curious who thus appeared, were two whom I at once supposed to
be father and daughter. The former was a clergyman, and, as I fancied by
something in his air of "_the_ Church," begging pardon of those who take
offence at this exclusive title, and to whom I will just give a hint in
passing. Any one at all acquainted with mankind, will at once understand
that no man who is certain of possessing any particular advantage, ever
manifests much sensibility because another lays claim to it also. In the
constant struggles of the jealous, for instance, on the subject of that
universal source of jealous feeling, social position, that man or woman
who is conscious of claims never troubles himself or herself about them.
For them the obvious fact is sufficient. If it be answered to this that
the pretension of "_the_ Church" is exclusive, I shall admit it is, and
"conclusive" too. It is not exclusive, however, in the sense urged,
since no one denies that there are many branches to "the Church,"
although those branches do not embrace everything. I would advise those
who take offence at "our" styling "ourselves" "_the_ Church," to style
themselves "_the_ Church," just as they call all their parsons bishops,
and see who will care about it. That is a touchstone which will soon
separate the true metal from the alloy.

My parson, I could easily see, was a _Church_ clergyman--not a
_meeting_-house clergyman. How I ascertained that fact at a glance, I
shall not reveal; but I also saw in his countenance some of that
curiosity which marks simplicity of character: it was not a vulgar
feeling, but one which induced him to beckon me to approach a little
nearer. I did so, when he invited me in. It was a little awkward, at
first, I must acknowledge, to be beckoned about in this manner; but
there was something in the air and countenance of the daughter that
induced me not to hesitate about complying. I cannot say that her beauty
was so _very_ striking, though she was decidedly pretty; but the
expression of her face, eyes, smile, and all put together, was so
singularly sweet and feminine, that I felt impelled by a sympathy I
shall not attempt to explain, to enter the house, and ascend to the door
of a parlor that I saw at once was public, though it then contained no
one but my proper hosts.

"Walk in, young man," said the father in a benevolent tone of voice. "I
am curious to see that instrument; and my daughter here, who has a taste
for music, wishes it as much as I do myself. What do you call it."

"Hurty-gurty," I answered.

"From what part of the world do you come, my young friend?" continued
the clergyman, raising his meek eyes to mine still more curiously, "Vrom
Charmany; vrom Preussen, vere did reign so late de good Koenig Wilhelm."

"What does he say, Molly?"

So the pretty creature bore the name of Mary. I liked the Molly, too; it
was a good sign, as none but the truly respectable dare use such
familiar appellations in these ambitious times. Molly sounded as if
these people had the _aplomb_ of position and conscious breeding. Had
they been vulgar, it would have been Mollissa.

"It is not difficult to translate, father," answered one of the sweetest
voices that had ever poured its melody on my ear, and which was rendered
still more musical by the slight laugh that mingled with it. "He says he
is from Germany--from Prussia, where the good King William lately
reigned."

I liked the "father," too--that sounded refreshing, after passing a
night among a tribe of foul-nosed adventurers in humanity, every one of
whom had done his or her share toward caricaturing the once pretty
appellatives of "pa" and "ma." A young lady may still say "papa," or
even "mamma," though it were far better that she said "father" and
"mother;" but as for "pa" and "ma," they are now done with in
respectable life. They will not even do for the nursery.

"And this instrument is a hurdy-gurdy?" continued the clergyman. "What
have we here--the name spelt on it?"

"Dat isht de maker's name--_Hochstiel fecit_."

"Fecit?" repeated the clergyman; "is that German?"

"Nein--dat isht Latin; _facio_, _feci_, _factum_, _facere--feci_,
_fecisti_, FECIT. It means make, I suppose you know."

The parson looked at me and at my dress and figure with open surprise,
and smiled as his eye glanced at his daughter. If asked why I made this
silly display of lower-form learning, I can only say that I chafed at
being fancied a mere every-day street musician, that had left his monkey
at home, by the charming girl who stood gracefully bending over her
father's elbow, as the latter examined the inscription that was stamped
on a small piece of ivory which had been let into the instrument. I
could see that Mary shrunk back a little under the sensitive feeling, so
natural to her sex, that she was manifesting too much freedom of manner
for the presence of a youth who was nearer to her own class than she
could have supposed it possible for a player on the hurdy-gurdy to be. A
blush succeeded; but the glance of the soft blue eye that instantly
followed, seemed to set all at rest, and she leaned over her father's
elbow again.

"You understand Latin, then?" demanded the parent, examining me over his
spectacles from head to foot.

"A leetle, sir--just a ferry leetle. In my coontry, efery mans isht
obliget to be a soldier some time, and them t'at knows Latin can be made
sergeants and corporals."

"That is Prussia, is it?"

"Ya--Preussen, vere so late did reign de goot Koenig Wilhelm."

"And is Latin much understood among you? I have heard that, in Hungary,
most well-informed persons even speak the tongue."

"In Charmany it isht not so. We all l'arnts somet'ing, but not all dost
l'arn eferyt'ing."

I could see a smile struggling around the sweet lips of that dear girl,
after I had thus delivered myself, as I fancied, with a most accurate
inaccuracy; but she succeeded in repressing it, though those provoking
eyes of hers continued to laugh, much of the time our interview lasted.

"Oh! I very well know that in Prussia the schools are quite good, and
that your government pays great attention to the wants of all classes,"
rejoined the clergyman; "but I confess some surprise that _you_ should
understand anything of Latin. Now, even in this country, where we boast
so much----"

"Ye-e-s," I could not refrain from drawling out, "dey does poast a great
teal in dis coontry!"

Mary actually laughed; whether it was at my words, or at the somewhat
comical manner I had assumed--a manner in which simplicity was _tant
soit peu_ blended with irony--I shall not pretend to say. As for the
father, his simplicity was of proof; and, after civilly waiting until my
interruption was done, he resumed what he had been on the point of
saying.

"I was about to add," continued the clergyman, "that even in this
country, where we boast so much"--the little minx of a daughter passed
her hand over her eyes, and fairly  with the effort she made not
to laugh again--"of the common schools, and of their influence on the
public mind, it is not usual to find persons of your condition who
understand the dead languages."

"Ye-e-e-s," I replied; "it isht my condition dat misleats you, sir. Mine
fat'er wast a shentlemans, and he gifet me as goot an etication as de
Koenig did gif to de Kron Prinz."

Here, my desire to appear well in the eyes of Mary caused me to run into
another silly indiscretion. How I was to explain the circumstance of the
son of a Prussian gentleman, whose father had given him an education as
good as that which the king of his country had given to its crown
prince, being in the streets of Troy, playing on a hurdy-gurdy, was a
difficulty I did not reflect on for a moment. The idea of being thought
by that sweet girl a mere uneducated boor, was intolerable to me; and I
threw it off by this desperate falsehood--false in its accessories, but
true in its main facts--as one would resent an insult. Fortune favored
me, however, far more than I had any right to expect.

There is a singular disposition in the American character to believe
every well-mannered European at least a count. I do not mean that those
who have seen the world are not like other persons in this respect; but
a very great proportion of the country never has seen any other world
than a world of "business." The credulity on this subject surpasseth
belief; and, were I to relate facts of this nature that might be
established in a court of justice, the very parties connected with them
would be ready to swear that they are caricatures. Now, well-mannered I
trust I am, and, though plainly dressed and thoroughly disguised,
neither my air nor attire was absolutely mean. As my clothes were new, I
was neat in my appearance; and there were possibly some incongruities
about the last, that might have struck eyes more penetrating than those
of my companions. I could see that both father and daughter felt a
lively interest in me, the instant I gave them reason to believe I was
one of better fortunes. So many crude notions exist among us on the
subject of convulsions and revolutions in Europe, that I dare say, had I
told any improbable tale of the political condition of Prussia, it would
have gone down; for nothing so much resembles the ignorance that
prevails in America, generally, concerning the true state of things in
Europe, as the ignorance that prevails in Europe, generally, concerning
the true state of things in America. As for Mary, her soft eyes seemed
to me to be imbued with thrice their customary gentleness and
compassion, as she recoiled a step in native modesty, and gazed at me,
when I had made my revelation.

"If such is the case, my young friend," returned the clergyman, with
benevolent interest, "you ought, and might easily be placed in a better
position than this you are now in. Have you any knowledge of Greek?"

"Certainly--Greek is moch study in Charmany."

"In for a penny, in for a pound," I thought.

"And the modern languages--do you understand any of them?"

"I speaks de five great tongues of Europe, more ast less well; and I
read dem all, easily."

"The _five_ tongues!" said the clergyman, counting on his fingers; "what
can they be, Mary?"

"French, and German, and Spanish, and Italian, I suppose, sir."

"These make but four. What can be the fifth, my dear?"

"De yoong laty forgets de Englisch. De Englisch is das funf."

"Oh! yes, the English!" exclaimed the pretty creature, pressing her lips
together to prevent laughing in my face.

"True--I had forgotten the English, not being accustomed to think of it
as a mere European tongue. I suppose, young man, you naturally speak the
English less fluently than any other of your five languages?"

"Ya!"

Again the smile struggled to the lips of Mary.

"I feel a deep interest in you as a stranger, and am sorry we have only
met to part so soon. Which way shall you be likely to direct your steps,
my Prussian young friend?"

"I go to a place which is callet Ravensnest--goot place to sell vatch,
dey tells me."

"Ravensnest!" exclaimed the father.

"Ravensnest!" repeated the daughter, and that in tones which put the
hurdy-gurdy to shame.

"Why, Ravensnest is the place where I live, and the parish of which I am
the clergyman--the Protestant Episcopal clergyman, I mean."

This, then, was the Rev. Mr. Warren, the divine who had been called to
our church the very summer I left home, and who had been there ever
since! My sister Martha had written me much concerning these people, and
I felt as if I had known them for years. Mr. Warren was a man of good
connections, and some education, but of no fortune whatever, who had
gone into _the_ Church--it was the church of his ancestors, one of whom
had actually been an English bishop, a century or two ago--from choice,
and contrary to the wishes of his friends. As a preacher, his success
had never been great; but for the discharge of his duties no man stood
higher, and no man was more respected. The living of St. Andrew's,
Ravensnest, would have been poor enough, had it depended on the
contributions of the parishioners. These last gave about one hundred and
fifty dollars a year, for their share of the support of a priest. I gave
another hundred, as regularly as clock-work, and had been made to do so
throughout a long minority; and my grandmother and sister made up
another fifty between them. But there was a glebe of fifty acres of
capital land, a wood-lot, and a fund of two thousand dollars at
interest; the whole proceeding from endowments made by my grandfather,
during his lifetime. Altogether, the living may have been worth a clear
five hundred dollars a year, in addition to a comfortable house, hay,
wood, vegetables, pasture, and some advantages in the way of small
crops. Few country clergymen were better off than the rector of St.
Andrew's, Ravensnest, and all as a consequence of the feudal and
aristocratic habits of the Littlepages, though I say it, perhaps, who
might better not, in times like these.

My letters had told me that the Rev. Mr. Warren was a widower; that Mary
was his only child; that he was a _truly_ pious, not a _sham_-pious, and
really zealous clergyman; a man of purest truth, whose word was
gospel--of great simplicity and integrity of mind and character; that he
never spoke evil of others, and that a complaint of this world and its
hardships seldom crossed his lips. He loved his fellow-creatures, both
naturally and on principle; mourned over the state of the diocese, and
greatly preferred piety even to high-churchism. High-churchman he was,
nevertheless; though it was not a high-churchmanship that outweighed the
loftier considerations of his Christian duties, and left him equally
without opinions of his own in matters of morals, and without a proper
respect, in practice, for those that he had solemnly vowed to maintain.

His daughter was described as a sweet-tempered, arch, modest, sensible,
and well-bred girl, that had received a far better education than her
father's means would have permitted him to bestow, through the
liberality and affection of a widowed sister of her mother's, who was
affluent, and had caused her to attend the same school as that to which
she had sent her own daughters. In a word, she was a most charming
neighbor; and her presence at Ravensnest had rendered Martha's annual
visits to the "old house" (built in 1785) not only less irksome, but
actually pleasant. Such had been my sister's account of the Warrens and
their qualities, throughout a correspondence of five years. I have even
fancied that she loved this Mary Warren better than she loved any of her
uncle's wards, herself of course excepted.

The foregoing flashed through my mind, the instant the clergyman
announced himself; but the coincidence of our being on the way to the
same part of the country, seemed to strike him as forcibly as it did
myself. What Mary thought of the matter, I had no means of ascertaining.

"This is singular enough," resumed Mr. Warren. "What has directed your
steps toward Ravensnest?"

"Dey tell mine ooncle 'tis goot place to sell moch vatch."

"You have an uncle, then? Ah! I see him there in the street, showing a
watch at this moment to a gentleman. Is your uncle a linguist, too, and
has he been as well educated as you seem to be yourself?"

"Certain--he moch more of a shentleman dan ast de shentleman to whom he
now sell vatch."

"These must be the very persons," put in Mary, a little eagerly, "of
whom Mr. Newcome spoke, as the"--the dear girl did not like to say
pedlers, after what I had told them of my origin; so she added--"dealers
in watches and trinkets, who intended to visit our part of the country."

"You are right, my dear, and the whole matter is now clear. Mr. Newcome
said he expected them to join us at Troy, when we should proceed in the
train together as far as Saratoga. But here comes Opportunity herself,
and her brother cannot be far off."

At that moment, sure enough, my old acquaintance, Opportunity Newcome,
came into the room, a public parlor, with an air of great
self-satisfaction, and a _nonchalance_ of manner that was not a little
more peculiar to herself than it is to most of her caste. I trembled for
my disguise, since, to be quite frank on a very delicate subject,
Opportunity had made so very dead a set at me--"setting a cap" is but a
pitiful phrase to express the assault I had to withstand--as scarcely to
leave a hope that her feminine instinct, increased and stimulated with
the wish to be mistress of the Nest house, could possibly overlook the
thousand and one personal peculiarities that must still remain about one
whose personal peculiarities she had made her particular study.




CHAPTER VI.

    "Oh, sic a geek she gave her head,
    And sic a toss she gave her feather;
    Man, saw ye ne'er a bonnier lass
    Before, among the blooming heather?"
                              --ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.


"Ah! here are some charming French _vignettes_!" cried Opportunity,
running up to a table where lay some inferior  engravings, that
were intended to represent the cardinal virtues, under the forms of
tawdry female beauties. The workmanship was French, as were the
inscriptions. Now, Opportunity knew just enough French to translate
these inscriptions, simple and school-girl as they were, as wrong as
they could possibly be translated, under the circumstances.

"_La Vertue_," cried Opportunity, in a high, decided way, as if to make
sure of an audience, "_The_ Virtue; _La Solitude_," pronouncing the last
word in a desperately English accent, "_The_ Solitude; _La Charite_,
_The_ Charity. It is really delightful, Mary, as 'Sarah Soothings' would
say, to meet with these glimmerings of taste in this wilderness of the
world."

I wondered who the deuce "Sarah Soothings" could be, but afterward
learned this was the _nom-de-guerre_ of a female contributor to the
magazines, who, I dare say, silly as she might be, was never silly
enough to record the sentiments Opportunity had just professed to
repeat. As for _The la Charite_, and _The la Vertue_, they did not in
the least surprise me; for Martha, the hussy, often made herself merry
by recording that young lady's _tours de force_ in French. On one
occasion I remember she wrote me, that when Opportunity wished to say,
_On est venu me chercher_, instead of saying "I am come for," in homely
English, which would have been the best of all, she had flown off in the
high flight of "_Je suis venue pour_."

Mary smiled, for she comprehended perfectly the difference between _la
Solitude_ and _the_ Solitude; but she said nothing. I must acknowledge
that I was so indiscreet as to smile also, though Opportunity's back
being turned toward us, these mutual signs of intelligence that escaped
us both through the eyes, opened a species of communication that, to me
at least, was infinitely agreeable.

Opportunity, having shown the owner of the strange figure at which she
had just glanced on entering the room, that she had studied French, now
turned to take a better look at him. I have reason to think my
appearance did not make a very happy impression on her; for she tossed
her head, drew a chair, seated herself in the manner most opposed to the
descent of down, and opened her budget of news, without the least regard
to my presence, and apparently with as little attention to the wishes
and tastes of her companions. Her accent, and jumping, hitching mode of
speaking, with the high key in which she uttered her sentiments, too,
all grated on my ears, which had become a little accustomed to different
habits, in young ladies in particular, in the other hemisphere. I
confess myself to be one of those who regard an even, quiet, graceful
mode of utterance, as even a greater charm in a woman than beauty. Its
effect is more lasting, and seems to be directly connected with the
character. Mary Warren not only pronounced like one accustomed to good
society; but the modulations of her voice, which was singularly sweet by
nature, were even and agreeable, as is usual with well-bred women, and
as far as possible from the jerking, fluttering, now rapid, now drawling
manner of Opportunity. Perhaps, in this age of "loose attire," loose
habits, and free-and-easy deportment, the speech denotes the gentleman,
or the lady, more accurately than any other off-hand test.

"Sen is enough to wear out anybody's patience!" exclaimed Opportunity.
"We must quit Troy in half an hour; and I have visits that I ought to
pay to Miss Jones, and Miss White, and Miss Black, and Miss Green, and
Miss Brown, and three or four others; and I can't get him to come near
me."

"Why not go alone?" asked Mary, quietly. "It is but a step to two or
three of the houses, and you cannot possibly lose your way. I will go
with you, if you desire it."

"Oh! lose my way? no, indeed! I know it too well for that. I wasn't
educated in Troy, not to know something of the streets. But it looks so,
to see a young lady walking in the streets without a beau! I never wish
to cross a room in company without a beau: much less to cross a street.
No; if Sen don't come in soon, I shall miss seeing every one of my
friends, and that will be a desperate disappointment to us all; but it
can't be helped; walk without a beau I _will not_, if I never see one of
them again."

"Will you accept of me, Miss Opportunity?" asked Mr. Warren. "It will
afford me pleasure to be of service to you."

"Lord! Mr. Warren, you don't think of setting up for a beau at your time
of life, do you? Everybody would see that you're a clergyman, and I
might just as well go alone. No, if Sen don't come in at once, I must
lose my visits; and the young ladies will be _so_ put about it, I know!
Araminta Maria wrote me, in the most particular manner, never to go
through Troy without stopping to see _her_, if I didn't see another
mortal; and Kathe_rine_ Clotilda has as much as said she would never
forgive me if I passed her door. But Seneca cares no more for the
friendship of young ladies, than he does"--Miss Newcome pronounced this
word "doos," notwithstanding her education, as she did "been," "ben,"
and fifty others just as much out of the common way--"But Seneca cares
no more for the friendship of young ladies, than he does for the young
patroon. I declare, Mr. Warren, I believe Sen will go crazy unless the
anti-renters soon get the best of it; he does nothing but think and talk
of 'rents,' and 'aristocracy,' and 'poodle usages,' from morning till
night."

We all smiled at the little mistake of Miss Opportunity, but it was of
no great consequence; and I dare say she knew what she meant as well as
most others who use the same term, though they spell it more accurately.
"Poodle usages" are quite as applicable to anything now existing in
America, as "feudal usages."

"Your brother is, then, occupied with a matter of the last importance to
the community of which he is a member," answered the clergyman, gravely.
"On the termination of this anti-rent question hangs, in my judgment, a
vast amount of the future character, and much of the future destiny, of
New York."

"I wonder, now? I'm surprised to hear you say this, Mr. Warren, for
generally you're thought to be unfriendly to the movement. Sen says,
however, that everything looks well, and that _he_ believes the tenants
will get their lands throughout the State before they've done with it.
He tells me we shall have Injins enough this summer at Ravensnest. The
visit of old Mrs. Littlepage has raised a spirit that will not easily be
put down, he says."

"And why should the visit of Mrs. Littlepage to the house of her
grandson, and to the house built by her own husband, and in which she
passed the happiest days of her life, 'raise a spirit,' as you call it,
in any one in that part of the country?"

"Oh! you're Episcopal, Mr. Warren; and we all know how the Episcopals
feel about such matters. But, for my part, I don't think the Littlepages
are a bit better than the Newcomes, though I won't liken them to some I
could name at Ravensnest; but I don't think they are any better than
you, yourself; and why should they ask so much more of the law than
other folks?"

"I am not aware that they do ask more of the law than others; and, if
they do, I'm sure they obtain less. The law in this country is virtually
administered by jurors, who take good care to graduate justice, so far
as they can, by a scale suited to their own opinions, and, quite often,
to their prejudices. As the last are so universally opposed to persons
in Mrs. Littlepage's class in life, if there be a chance to make her
suffer, it is pretty certain it will be improved."

"Sen says he can't see why he should pay rent to a Littlepage, any more
than a Littlepage should pay rent to him."

"I am sorry to hear it, since there is a very sufficient reason for the
former, and no reason at all for the latter. Your brother uses the land
of Mr. Littlepage, and that is the reason why he should pay him rent. If
the case were reversed, then, indeed, Mr. Littlepage should pay rent to
your brother."

"But what reason is there that these Littlepages should go on from
father to son, from generation to generation, as our landlords, when
we're just as good as they? It's time there was some change. Besides,
only think, we've been at the mills, now, hard upon eighty years,
grandpa having first settled there; and we have had them very mills,
now, for three generations among us."

"High time, therefore, Opportunity, that there should be some change,"
put in Mary, with a demure smile.

"Oh! you're so intimate with Marthy Littlepage, I'm not surprised at
anything _you_ think or say. But reason is reason for all that. I
haven't the least grudge in the world against young Hugh Littlepage; if
foreign lands haven't spoilt him, as they say they're desperate apt to
do, he's an agreeable young gentleman, and I can't say that _he_ used to
think himself any better than other folks."

"I should say none of the family are justly liable to the charge of so
doing," returned Mary.

"Well, I'm amazed to hear you say _that_, Mary Warren. To my taste,
Marthy Littlepage is as disagreeable as she can be. If the anti-rent
cause had nobody better than she is to oppose it, it would soon
triumph."

"May I ask, Miss Newcome, what particular reason you have for so
thinking?" asked Mr. Warren, who had kept his eye on the young lady the
whole time she had been thus running on, with an interest that struck me
as somewhat exaggerated, when one remembered the character of the
speaker, and the value of her remarks.

"I think so, Mr. Warren, because everybody says so," was the answer. "If
Marthy Littlepage don't think herself better than other folks, why don't
she _act_ like other folks? Nothing is good enough for her in her own
conceit."

Poor little Patt, who was the very _beau ideal_ of nature and
simplicity, as nature and simplicity manifest themselves under the
influence of refinement and good-breeding, was here accused of fancying
herself better than this ambitious young lady, for no other reason than
the fact of the little distinctive peculiarities of her air and
deportment, which Opportunity had found utterly unattainable, after one
or two efforts to compass them. In this very fact is the secret of a
thousand of the absurdities and vices that are going up and down the
land at this moment, like raging lions, seeking whom they may devour.
Men often turn to their statute-books and constitution to find the
sources of obvious evils, that, in truth, have their origin in some of
the lowest passions of human nature. The entrance of Seneca at that
moment, however, gave a new turn to the discourse, though it continued
substantially the same. I remarked that Seneca entered with his hat on,
and that he kept his head covered during most of the interview that
succeeded, notwithstanding the presence of the two young ladies and the
divine. As for myself, I had been so free as to remove my cap, though
many might suppose it was giving myself airs, while others would have
imagined it was manifesting a degree of respect to human beings that was
altogether unworthy of freemen. It is getting to be a thing so
particular and aristocratic to take off the hat on entering a house,
that few of the humbler democrats of America now ever think of it!

As a matter of course, Opportunity upbraided her delinquent brother for
not appearing sooner to act as her beau; after which, she permitted him
to say a word for himself. That Seneca was in high good-humor was easily
enough to be seen; he even rubbed his hands together in the excess of
his delight.

"Something has happened to please Sen," cried the sister, her own mouth
on a broad grin, in her expectation of coming in for a share of the
gratification. "I wish you would get him to tell us what it is, Mary;
he'll tell _you_ anything."

I cannot describe how harshly this remark grated on my nerves. The
thought that Mary Warren could consent to exercise even the most distant
influence over such a man as Seneca Newcome was to the last degree
unpleasant to me, and I could have wished that she would openly and
indignantly repel the notion. But Mary Warren treated the whole matter
very much as a person who was accustomed to such remarks would be apt to
do. I cannot say that she manifested either pleasure or displeasure; but
a cold indifference was, if anything, uppermost in her manner. Possibly,
I should have been content with this; but I found it very difficult to
be so. Seneca, however, did not wait for Miss Warren to exert her
influence to induce him to talk, but appeared well enough disposed to do
it of his own accord.

"Something _has_ happened to please me, I must own," he answered; "and I
would as lief Mr. Warren should know what it is, as not. Things go ahead
finely among us anti-renters, and we shall carry all our p'ints before
long!"

"I wish I were certain no points would be carried but those that ought
to be carried, Mr. Newcome," was the answer. "But what has happened,
lately, to give a new aspect to the affair?"

"We're gaining strength among the politicians. Both sides are beginning
to court us, and the 'spirit of the institutions' will shortly make
itself respected."

"I am delighted to hear that! It is in the intention of the institutions
to repress covetousness, and uncharitableness, and all frauds, and to do
nothing but what is right," observed Mr. Warren.

"Ah! here comes my friend the travelling jeweller," said Seneca,
interrupting the clergyman, in order to salute my uncle, who at that
instant showed himself in the door of the room, cap in hand. "Walk in,
Mr. Dafidson, since that is your name. Rev. Mr. Warren--Miss Mary
Warren--Miss Opportunity Newcome, my sister, who will be glad to look at
your wares. The cars will be detained on some special business, and we
have plenty of time before us."

All this was done with a coolness and indifference of manner which went
to show that Seneca had no scruples whatever on the subject of whom he
introduced to any one. As for my uncle, accustomed to these free and
easy manners, and probably not absolutely conscious of the figure he cut
in his disguise, he bowed rather too much like a gentleman for one of
his present calling, though my previous explanation of our own
connection and fallen fortunes had luckily prepared the way for this
deportment.

"Come in, Mr. Dafidson, and open your box--my sister may fancy some of
your trinkets; I never knew a girl that didn't."

The imaginary pedler entered, and placed his box on a table near which I
was standing, the whole party immediately gathering around it. My
presence had attracted no particular attention from either Seneca or his
sister, the room being public, and my connection with the vender of
trinkets known. In the meantime, Seneca was too full of his good news to
let the subject drop; while the watches, rings, chains, brooches,
bracelets, etc., were passed under examination.

"Yes, Mr. Warren, I trust we are about to have a complete development of
the spirit of our institutions, and that in futur' there will be no
privileged classes in New York, at least."

"The last will certainly be a great gain, sir," the divine coldly
answered. "Hitherto, those who have most suppressed the truth, and who
have most contributed to the circulation of flattering falsehoods, have
had undue advantages in America."

Seneca, obviously enough, did not like this sentiment; but I thought, by
his manner, that he was somewhat accustomed to meeting with such rebuffs
from Mr. Warren.

"I suppose you will admit there _are_ privileged classes now among us,
Mr. Warren?"

"I am ready enough to allow that, sir; it is too plain to be denied."

"Wa-all, I should like to hear _you_ p'int 'em out; that I might see if
we agree in our sentiments."

"Demagogues are a highly privileged class. The editors of newspapers are
another highly privileged class; doing things, daily and hourly, which
set all law and justice at defiance, and invading, with perfect impunity
the most precious rights of their fellow-citizens. The power of both is
enormous; and, as in all cases of great and irresponsible power, both
enormously abuse it."

"Wa-all, that's not my way of thinking at all. In my judgment, the
privileged classes in this country are your patroons and your landlords;
men that's not satisfied with a reasonable quantity of land, but who
wish to hold more than the rest of their fellow-creatur's."

"I am not aware of a single privilege that any patroon--of whom, by the
way, there no longer exists one, except in name--or any landlord,
possesses over any one of his fellow-citizens."

"Do you call it no privilege for a man to hold all the land that may
happen to be in a township? I call that a great privilege; and such as
no man should have in a free country. Other people want land as well as
your Van Rensselaers and Littlepages; and other people mean to have it,
too."

"On that principle, every man who owns more of any one thing than his
neighbor is privileged. Even I, poor as I am, and am believed to be, am
privileged over you, Mr. Newcome. I own a cassock, and have two gowns,
one old and one new, and various other things of the sort, of which you
have not one. What is more, I am privileged in another sense; since I
can _wear_ my cassock and gown, and bands, and _do_ wear them often;
whereas you cannot wear one of them at all without making yourself
laughed at."

"Oh! but them are not privileges I care anything about; if I did I would
put on the things, as the law does not prohibit it."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Newcome; the law does prohibit you from wearing
_my_ cassock and gown contrary to my wishes."

"Wa-all, wa-all, Mr. Warren; we never shall quarrel about that; I don't
desire to wear your cassock and gown."

"I understand you, then; it is only the things that you _desire_ to use
that you deem it a privilege for the law to leave me."

"I am afraid we shall never agree, Mr. Warren, about this anti-rent
business; and I'm very sorry for it, as I wish particularly to think as
you do," glancing his eye most profanely toward Mary as he spoke. "I am
for the movement-principle, while you are too much for the stand-still
doctrine."

"I am certainly for remaining stationary, Mr. Newcome, if progress mean
taking away the property of old and long-established families in the
country, to give it to those whose names are not to be found in our
history; or, indeed, to give it to any but those to whom it rightfully
belongs."

"We shall never agree, my dear sir, we shall never agree;" then, turning
toward my uncle with the air of superiority that the vulgar so easily
assume--"What do _you_ say to all this, friend Dafidson--are you up-rent
or down-rent?"

"Ja, mynheer," was the quiet answer; "I always downs mit der rent vens I
leave a house or a garten. It is goot to pay de debts; ja, it ist herr
goot."

This answer caused the clergyman and his daughter to smile, while
Opportunity laughed outright.

"You won't make much of your Dutch friend, Sen," cried this buoyant
young lady; "he says you ought to keep on paying rent!"

"I apprehend Mr. Dafidson does not exactly understand the case,"
answered Seneca, who was a good deal disconcerted, but was bent on
maintaining his point. "I have understood you to say that you are a man
of liberal principles, Mr. Dafidson, and that you've come to America to
enjoy the light of intelligence and the benefits of a free government."

"Ja; ven I might coome to America, I say, vell, dat 'tis a goot coontry,
vhere an honest man might haf vhat he 'arns, ant keep it, too. Ja, ja!
dat ist vhat I say, and vhat I dinks."

"I understand you, sir; you come from a part of the world where the
nobles eat up the fat of the land, taking the poor man's share as well
as their own, to live in a country where the law is, or soon will be, so
equal that no citizen will dare to talk about his _estates_, and hurt
the feelin's of such as haven't got any."

My uncle so well affected an innocent perplexity at the drift of this
remark as to make me smile, in spite of an effort to conceal it. Mary
Warren saw that smile, and another glance of intelligence was exchanged
between us; though the young lady immediately withdrew her look, a
little consciously and with a slight blush.

"I say that you like equal laws and equal privileges, friend Dafidson,"
continued Seneca, with emphasis; "and that you have seen too much of the
evils of nobility and of feudal oppression in the Old World, to wish to
fall in with them in the New."

"Der noples ant der feudal privileges ist no goot," answered the
trinket-pedler, shaking his head with an appearance of great distaste.

"Ay, I knew it would be so; you see, Mr. Warren, no man who has ever
lived under a feudal system can ever feel otherwise."

"But what have we to do with feudal systems, Mr. Newcome? and what is
there in common between the landlords of New York and the nobles of
Europe, and between their leases and feudal tenures?"

"What is there? A vast deal too much, sir, take my word for it. Do not
our very governors, even while ruthlessly calling on one citizen to
murder another----"

"Nay, nay, Mr. Newcome," interrupted Mary Warren, laughing, "the
governors call on the citizens _not_ to murder each other."

"I understand you, Miss Mary; but we shall make anti-renters of you both
before we are done. Surely, sir, there is a great deal too much
resemblance between the nobles of Europe and our landlords, when the
honest and freeborn tenants of the last are obliged to pay tribute for
permission to live on the very land that they till, and which they cause
to bring forth its increase."

"But men who are not noble let their lands in Europe; nay, the very
serfs, as they become free and obtain riches, buy lands and let them, in
some parts of the old world, as I have heard and read."

"All feudal, sir. The whole system is pernicious and feudal, serf or no
serf."

"But, Mr. Newcome," said Mary Warren, quietly, though with a sort of
demure irony in her manner that said she was not without humor and
understood herself very well, "even you let your land--land that you
lease, too, and which you do not own, except as you hire it from Mr.
Littlepage."

Seneca gave a hem, and was evidently disconcerted; but he had too much
of the game of the true progressive movement--which merely means to
_lead_ in changes, though they may lead to the devil--to give the matter
up. Repeating the hem, more to clear his brain than to clear his throat,
he hit upon his answer, and brought it out with something very like
triumph.

"That is one of the evils of the present system, Miss Mary. Did I own
the two or three fields you mean, and to attend to which I have no
leisure, I might _sell_ them; but now it is impossible, since I can give
no deed. The instant my poor uncle dies--and he can't survive a week,
being, as you must know, nearly gone--the whole property, mills,
taverns, farms, timber-lot and all, fall in to young Hugh Littlepage,
who is off frolicking in Europe, doing no good to himself or others,
I'll venture to say, if the truth were known. That is another of the
hardships of the feudal system; it enables one man to travel in
idleness, wasting his substance in foreign lands, while it keeps another
at home, at the plough-handles and the cart-tail."

"And why do you suppose Mr. Hugh Littlepage wastes his substance, and is
doing himself and country no good, in foreign lands, Mr. Newcome? That
is not at all the character I hear of him, nor is it the result that I
expect to see from his travels."

"The money he spends in Europe might do a vast deal of good at
Ravensnest, sir."

"For my part, my dear sir," put in Mary again, in her quiet but pungent
way, "I think it remarkable that neither of our late governors has seen
fit to enumerate the facts just mentioned by Mr. Newcome among those
that are opposed to the spirit of the institutions. It is, indeed, a
great hardship that Mr. Seneca Newcome cannot sell Mr. Hugh Littlepage's
land."

"I complain less of that," cried Seneca, a little hastily, "than of the
circumstance that all my rights in the property must go with the death
of my uncle. _That_, at least, even you, Miss Mary, must admit is a
great hardship."

"If your uncle were unexpectedly to revive, and live twenty years, Mr.
Newcome----"

"No, no, Miss Mary," answered Seneca, shaking his head in a melancholy
manner; "_that_ is absolutely impossible. It would not surprise me to
find him dead and buried on our return."

"But, admit that you may be mistaken, and that your lease should
continue--you would still have a rent to pay?"

"Of that I wouldn't complain in the least. If Mr. Dunning, Littlepage's
agent, will just promise, in as much as half a sentence, that we can get
a new lease on the old terms, I'd not say a syllable about it."

"Well, here is one proof that the system has its advantages!" exclaimed
Mr. Warren, cheerfully. "I'm delighted to hear you say this; for it is
something to have a class of men among us whose simple promises, in a
matter of money, have so much value! It is to be hoped that their
example will not be lost."

"Mr. Newcome has made an admission I am also glad to hear," added Mary,
as soon as her father had done speaking. "His willingness to accept a
new lease on the old terms is a proof that he has been living under a
good bargain for himself hitherto, and that down to the present moment
he has been the obliged party."

This was very simply said, but it bothered Seneca amazingly. As for
myself, I was delighted with it, and could have kissed the pretty, arch
creature who had just uttered the remark; though I will own that as much
might have been done without any great reluctance, had she even held her
tongue. As for Seneca, he did what most men are apt to do when they have
the consciousness of not appearing particularly well in a given point of
view; he endeavored to present himself to the eyes of his companions in
another.

"There is one thing, Mr. Warren, that I think you will admit ought not
to be," he cried, exulting, "whatever Miss Mary thinks about it; and
that is, that the Littlepage pew in your church ought to come down."

"I will not say that much, Mr. Newcome, though I rather think my
daughter will. I believe, my dear, you are of Mr. Newcome's way of
thinking in respect to this canopied pew, and also in respect to the old
hatchments?"

"I wish neither was in the church," answered Mary, in a low voice.

From that moment I was fully resolved neither should be, as soon as I
got into a situation to control the matter.

"In that I agree with you entirely, my child," resumed the clergyman;
"and were it not for this movement connected with the rents, and the
false principles that have been so boldly announced of late years, I
might have taken on myself the authority, as rector, to remove the
hatchments. Even according to the laws connected with the use of such
things, they should have been taken away a generation or two back. As to
the pew, it is a different matter. It is private property; was
constructed with the church, which was built itself by the joint
liberality of the Littlepages and mother Trinity; and it would be a most
ungracious act to undertake to destroy it under such circumstances, and
more especially in the absence of its owner."

"You agree, however, that it ought not to be there?" asked Seneca, with
exultation.

"I wish with all my heart it were not. I dislike everything like worldly
distinction in the house of God; and heraldic emblems, in particular,
seem to be very much out of place where the cross is seen to be in its
proper place."

"Wa-all now, Mr. Warren, I can't say I much fancy crosses about churches
either. What's the use in raising vain distinctions of any sort. A
church is but a house, after all, and ought so to be regarded."

"True," said Mary, firmly; "but the house of God."

"Yes, yes, we all know, Miss Mary, that you Episcopalians look more at
outward things, and more respect outward things, than most of the other
denominations of the country."

"Do you call leases 'outward things,' Mr. Newcome?" asked Mary, archly;
"and contracts, and bargains, and promises, and the rights of property,
and the obligation to 'do as you would be done by?'"

"Law! good folks," cried Opportunity, who had been all this time
tumbling over the trinkets, "I wish it was 'down with the rent' for
ever, with all my heart; and that not another word might ever be said on
the subject. Here is one of the prettiest pencils, Mary, I ever did see;
and its price is only four dollars. I wish, Sen, you'd let the rent
alone, and make me a present of this very pencil."

As this was an act of which Seneca had not the least intention of being
guilty, he merely shifted his hat from one side of his head to the
other, began to whistle, and then he coolly left the room. My uncle Ro
profited by the occasion to beg Miss Opportunity would do him the honor
to accept the pencil as an offering from himself.

"You an't surely in earnest!" exclaimed Opportunity, flushing up with
surprise and pleasure. "Why, you told me the price was four dollars, and
even that seems to me desperate little!"

"Dat ist de price to anudder," said the gallant trinket-dealer; "but dat
ist not de price to you, Miss Opportunity. Ve shall trafel togedder; ant
vhen ve gets to your coontry you vill dell me de best houses vhere I
might go mit my vatches ant drinkets."

"That I will; and get you in at the Nest house, in the bargain," cried
Opportunity, pocketing the pencil without further parley.

In the meantime my uncle selected a very neat seal, the handsomest he
had, being of pure metal, and having a real topaz in it, and offered it
to Mary Warren, with his best bow. I watched the clergyman's daughter
with anxiety, as I witnessed the progress of this _galanterie_, doubting
and hoping at each change of the ingenuous and beautiful countenance of
her to whom the offering was made. Mary , smiled, seemed
embarrassed, and, as I feared, for a single moment doubting; but I must
have been mistaken, as she drew back, and, in the sweetest manner
possible, declined to accept the present. I saw that Opportunity's
having just adopted a different course added very much to her
embarrassment, as otherwise she might have said something to lessen the
seeming ungraciousness of the refusal. Luckily for herself, however, she
had a gentleman to deal with, instead of one in the station that my
uncle Ro had voluntarily assumed. When this offering was made, the
pretended pedler was ignorant altogether of the true characters of the
clergyman and his daughter, not even knowing that he saw the rector of
St. Andrew's, Ravensnest. But the manner of Mary at once disabused him
of an error into which he had fallen through her association with
Opportunity, and he now drew back himself with perfect tact, bowing and
apologizing in a way that I thought must certainly betray his disguise.
It did not, however; for Mr. Warren, with a smile that denoted equally
satisfaction at his daughter's conduct and a grateful sense of the
other's intended liberality, but with a simplicity that was of proof,
turned to me and begged a tune on the flute, which I had drawn from my
pocket and was holding in my hand, as expecting some such invitation.

If I have any accomplishment, it is connected with music; and
particularly with the management of the flute. On this occasion I was
not at all backward about showing off, and I executed two or three airs,
from the best masters, with as much care as if I had been playing to a
salon in one of the best quarters of Paris. I could see that Mary and
her father were both surprised at the execution, and that the first was
delighted. We had a most agreeable quarter of an hour together; and
might have had two, had not Opportunity--who was certainly well named,
being apropos of everything--begun of her own accord to sing, though not
without inviting Mary to join her. As the latter declined this public
exhibition, as well as my uncle Ro's offering, Seneca's sister had it
all to herself; and she sang no less than three songs, in quick
succession, and altogether unasked. I shall not stop to characterize the
music or the words of these songs, any further than to say they were
all, more or less, of the Jim Crow school, and executed in a way that
did them ample justice.

As it was understood that we were all to travel in the same train, the
interview lasted until we were ready to proceed; nor did it absolutely
terminate then. As Mary and Opportunity sat together, Mr. Warren asked
me to share his seat, regardless of the hurdy-gurdy; though my attire,
in addition to its being perfectly new and neat, was by no means of the
mean character that it is usual to see adorning street-music in general.
On the whole, so long as the instrument was not _en evidence_, I might
not have seemed very much out of place seated at Mr. Warren's side. In
this manner we proceeded to Saratoga, my uncle keeping up a private
discourse the whole way, with Seneca, on matters connected with the rent
movement.

As for the divine and myself, we had also much interesting talk
together. I was questioned about Europe in general, and Germany in
particular; and had reason to think my answers gave surprise as well as
satisfaction. It was not an easy matter to preserve the Doric of my
assumed dialect, though practice and fear contributed their share to
render me content to resort to it. I made many mistakes, of course, but
my listeners were not the persons to discover them. I say my listeners,
for I soon ascertained that Mary Warren, who sat on the seat directly
before us, was a profoundly attentive listener to all that passed. This
circumstance did not render me the less communicative, though it did
increase the desire I felt to render what I said worthy of such a
listener. As for Opportunity, she read a newspaper a little while,
munched an apple a very little while, and slept the rest of the way. But
the journey between modern Troy and Saratoga is not a long one, and was
soon accomplished.




CHAPTER VII.

                            "I will tell you;
    If you'll bestow a small (of what you have little),
    Patience, a while, you'll hear the belly's answer."
                                            --_Menenius Agrippa._


At the springs we parted, Mr. Warren and his friends finding a
conveyance, with their own horses, in readiness to carry them the
remainder of the distance. As for my uncle and myself, it was understood
that we were to get on in the best manner we could, it being expected
that we should reach Ravensnest in the course of a day or two. According
to the theory of our new business, we ought to travel on foot, but we
had a reservation _in petto_ that promised us also the relief of a
comfortable wagon of some sort or other.

"Well," said my uncle, the moment we had got far enough from our new
acquaintance to be out of ear-shot, "I must say one thing in behalf of
Mr. Seneky, as he calls himself, or Sen, as his elegant sister calls
him, and that is, that I believe him to be one of the biggest scoundrels
the State holds."

"This is not drawing his character _en beau_," I answered, laughing.
"But why do you come out so decidedly upon him at this particular
moment?"

"Because this particular moment happens to be the first in which I have
had an opportunity to say anything since I have known the rascal. You
must have remarked that the fellow held me in discourse from the time we
left Troy until we stopped here."

"Certainly; I could see that his tongue was in motion unceasingly; what
he said, I have to conjecture."

"He said enough to lay bare his whole character. Our subject was
anti-rent, which he commenced with a view to explain it to a foreigner;
but I managed to lead him on, step by step, until he let me into all his
notions and expectations on the subject. Why, Hugh, the villain actually
proposed that you and I should enlist, and turn ourselves into two of
the rascally mock redskins."

"Enlist! Do they still persevere so far as to keep up that organization,
in the very teeth of the late law?"

"The law! What do two or three thousand voters care for any penal law,
in a country like this? Who is to enforce the law against them? Did they
commit murder, and were they even convicted, as _might_ happen under the
excitement of such a crime, they very well know nobody would be hanged.
Honesty is always too passive in matters that do not immediately press
on its direct interests. It is for the interest of every honest man in
the State to set his face against this anti-rent movement, and to do all
he can, by his vote and influence, to put it down into the dirt, out of
which it sprang, and into which it should be crushed; but not one in a
hundred, even of those who condemn it _toto coelo_, will go a foot out
of their way even to impede its progress. All depends on those who have
the power; and they will exert that power so as to conciliate the active
rogue, rather than protect the honest man. You are to remember that the
laws are executed here on the principle that 'what is everybody's
business is nobody's business.'"

"You surely do not believe that the authorities will wink at an open
violation of the laws!"

"That will depend on the characters of individuals; most will, but some
will not. You and I would be punished soon enough, were there a chance,
but the mass would escape. Oh! we have had some precious disclosures in
our corner of the car! The two or three men who joined Newcome are from
anti-rent districts, and, seeing me with their friend, little reserve
has been practised. One of those men is an anti-rent lecturer; and,
being somewhat didactic, he favored me with some of his arguments,
_seriatim_."

"How! Have they got to lectures? I should have supposed the newspapers
would have been the means of circulating their ideas."

"Oh, the newspapers, like hogs swimming too freely, have cut their own
throats; and it seems to be fashionable, just at this moment, not to
believe them. Lecturing is the great moral lever of the nation at
present."

"But a man can lie in a lecture, as well as in a newspaper."

"Out of all question; and if many of the lecturers are of the school of
this Mr. Holmes--'Lecturer Holmes,' as Seneca called him--but, if many
are of _his_ school, a pretty set of liberty-takers with the truth must
they be."

"You detected him, then, in some of these liberties?"

"In a hundred: nothing was easier than for a man in my situation to do
that; knowing, as I did, so much of the history of the land-titles of
the State. One of his arguments partakes so largely of the weak side of
our system, that I must give it to you. He spoke of the gravity of the
disturbances--of the importance to the peace and character of the State
of putting an end to them; and then, by way of corollary to his
proposition, produced a scheme for changing the titles, IN ORDER TO
SATISFY THE PEOPLE!"

"The people, of course, meaning the tenants; the landlords and _their_
rights passing for nothing."

"That is one beautiful feature of the morality--an eye, or a cheek, if
you will--but here is the _nose_, and highly Roman it is. A certain
portion of the community wish to get rid of the obligations of their
contracts; and finding it cannot be done by law, they resort to means
that are opposed to all law in order to effect their purposes. Public
law-breakers, violators of the public peace, they make use of their own
wrong as an argument for perpetuating another that can be perpetuated in
no other way. I have been looking over some of the papers containing
proclamations, etc., and find that both law-makers and law-breakers are
of one mind as to this charming policy. Without a single manly effort to
put down the atrocious wrong that is meditated, the existence of the
wrong itself is made an argument for meeting it with concessions, and
thus sustaining it. Instead of using the means the institutions have
provided for putting down all such unjust and illegal combinations, the
combinations are a sufficient reason of themselves why the laws should
be altered, and wrong be done to a few, in order that many may be
propitiated, and their votes secured."

"This is reasoning that can be used only where real grievances exist.
But there are no real grievances in the case of the tenants. They may
mystify weak heads in the instance of the manor leases, with their
quarter-sales, fat hens, loads of wood, and days' works; but my leases
are all on three lives, with rent payable in money, and with none of the
conditions that are called feudal, though no more feudal than any other
bargain to pay articles in kind. One might just as well call a bargain
made by a butcher, to deliver pork for a series of years, feudal.
However, feudal or not, my leases, and those of most other landlords,
are running on lives; and yet, by what I can learn, the discontent is
general; and the men who have solemnly bargained to give up their farms
at the expiration of their lives are just as warm for the 'down rent'
and titles in fee as the manor tenants themselves! They say that the
obligations given for actual purchases are beginning to be discredited."

"You are quite right; and there is one of the frauds practised on the
world at large. In the public documents only the manor leases, with
their pretended feudal covenants, and their perpetuity, are kept in
view, while the combination goes to _all_ leases, or nearly all, and
certainly to all _sorts_ of leases, where the estates are of sufficient
extent to allow of the tenants to make head against the landlords. I
dare say there are hundreds of tenants, even on the property of the
Rensselaers, who are honest enough to be willing to comply with their
contracts if the conspirators would let them; but the rapacious spirit
is abroad among the occupants of other lands, as well as among the
occupants of theirs, and the government considers its existence a proof
that concessions should be made. The discontented must be appeased,
right or not!"

"Did Seneca say anything on the subject of his own interests?"

"He did; not so much in conversation with me as in the discourse he held
with 'Lecturer Holmes.' I listened attentively, happening to be
familiar, through tradition and through personal knowledge, with all the
leading facts of the case. As you will soon be called on to act in that
matter for yourself, I may as well relate them to you. They will serve,
also, as guides to the moral merits of the occupation of half the farms
on your estate. These are things, moreover, you would never know by
public statements, since all the good bargains are smothered in silence,
while those that may possibly have been a little unfavorable to the
tenant are proclaimed far and near. It is quite possible that, among the
many thousands of leased farms that are to be found in the State, some
bad bargains may have been made by the tenants; but what sort of a
government is that which should undertake to redress evils of this
nature? If either of the Rensselaers, or you yourself, were to venture
to send a memorial to the Legislature setting forth the grievances _you_
labor under in connection with this very 'mill-lot'--and serious losses
do they bring to you, let me tell you, though grievances, in the proper
sense of the term, they are not--you and your memorial would be met with
a general and merited shout of ridicule and derision. _One_ man has no
rights, as opposed to a dozen."

"So much difference is there between '_de la Rochefoucauld et de la
Rochefoucauld_.'"

"All the difference in the world; but let me give you the facts, for
they will serve as a rule by which to judge of many others. In the first
place, my great-grandfather Mordaunt, the 'patentee,' as he was called,
first let the mill-lot to the grandfather of this Seneca, the tenant
then being quite a young man. In order to obtain settlers, in that early
day, it was necessary to give them great advantages, for there was
vastly more land than there were people to work it. The first lease,
therefore, was granted on highly advantageous terms to that Jason
Newcome, whom I can just remember. He had two characters; the one, and
the true, which set him down as a covetous, envious, narrow-minded
provincial, who was full of cant and roguery. Some traditions exist
among us of his having been detected in stealing timber, and in various
other frauds. In public he is one of those virtuous and hard-working
pioneers who have transmitted to their descendants all their claims,
those that are supposed to be moral, as well as those that are known to
be legal. This flummery may do for elderly ladies, who affect snuff and
bohea, and for some men who have minds of the same calibre, but they are
not circumstances to influence such legislators and executives as are
fit to be legislators and executives. Not a great while before my
father's marriage, the said Jason still living and in possession, the
lease expired, and a new one was granted for three lives, or twenty-one
years certain, of which one of the lives is still running. That lease
was granted, on terms highly favorable to the tenant, sixty years since;
old Newcome, luckily for himself and his posterity, having named this
long-lived son as one of his three lives. Now Seneky, God bless him! is
known to lease a few of the lots that have fallen to his share of the
property for more money than is required to meet all your rent on the
whole. Such, in effect, has been the fact with that mill-lot for the
last thirty years, or even longer; and the circumstance of the great
length of time so excellent a bargain has existed, is used as an
argument why the Newcomes ought to have a deed of the property for a
nominal price; or, indeed, for no price at all, if the tenants could
have their wishes."

"I am afraid there is nothing unnatural in thus perverting principles;
half mankind appear to me really to get a great many of their notions
_dessus dessous_."

"Half is a small proportion; as you will find, my boy, when you grow
older. But was it not an impudent proposal of Seneca, when he wished you
and me to join the corps of 'Injins?'"

"What answer did you make? Though I suppose it would hardly do for us to
go disguised and armed, now that the law makes it a felony, even while
our motive at the bottom might be to aid the law."

"Catch me at that act of folly! Why, Hugh, could they prove such a crime
on either of _us_, or any one connected with an old landed family, we
should be the certain victims. No governor would dare pardon _us_. No,
no; clemency is a word reserved for the obvious and confirmed rogues."

"We might get a little favor on the score of belonging to a very
powerful body of offenders."

"True, I forgot that circumstance. The more numerous the crimes and the
criminals, the greater the probability of impunity; and this, too, not
on the general principle that power cannot be resisted, but on the
particular principle that a thousand or two votes are of vast
importance, where three thousand can turn an election. God only knows
where this thing is to end!"

We now approached one of the humbler taverns of the place, where it was
necessary for those of our apparent pretensions to seek lodgings, and
the discourse was dropped. It was several weeks too early in the season
for the springs to be frequented, and we found only a few of those in
the place who drank the waters because they really required them. My
uncle had been an old stager at Saratoga--a beau of the "purest water,"
as he laughingly described himself--and he was enabled to explain all
that was necessary for me to know. An American watering-place, however,
is so very much inferior to most of those in Europe, as to furnish very
little, in their best moments, beyond the human beings they contain, to
attract the attention of the traveller.

In the course of the afternoon we availed ourselves of the opportunity
of a return vehicle to go as far as Sandy Hill, where we passed the
night. The next morning, bright and early, we got into a hired wagon and
drove across the country until near night, when we paid for our passage,
sent the vehicle back, and sought a tavern. At this house, where we
passed the night, we heard a good deal of the "Injins" having made their
appearance on the Littlepage lands, and many conjectures as to the
probable result. We were in a township, or rather on a property, that
was called Mooseridge, and which had once belonged to us, but which,
having been sold, and in a great measure paid for by the occupants, no
one thought of impairing the force of the covenants under which the
parties held. The most trivial observer will soon discover that it is
only when something is to be gained that the aggrieved citizen wishes to
disturb a covenant. Now, I never heard anyone say a syllable against
either of the covenants of his lease under which he held his farm, let
him be ever so loud against those which would shortly compel him to give
it up! Had I complained of the fact--and such facts abounded--that my
predecessors had incautiously let farms at such low prices that the
lessees had been enabled to pay the rents for half a century by
subletting small portions of them, as my uncle Ro had intimated, I
should be pointed at as a fool. "Stick to your bond" would have been the
cry, and "Shylock" would have been forgotten. I do not say that there is
not a vast difference between the means of acquiring intelligence, the
cultivation, the manners, the social conditions, and, in some
senses, the social obligations of an affluent landlord and a
really hard-working, honest, well-intentioned husbandman, his
tenant--differences that should dispose the liberal and cultivated
gentleman to bear in mind the advantages he has perhaps inherited, and
not acquired by his own means, in such a way as to render him, in a
certain degree, the repository of the interests of those who hold him;
but, while I admit all this, and say that the community which does not
possess such a class of men is to be pitied, as it loses one of the most
certain means of liberalizing and enlarging its notions, and of
improving its civilization, I am far from thinking that the men of this
class are to have their real superiority of position, with its
consequences, thrown into their faces only when they are expected to
give, while they are grudgingly denied it on all other occasions! There
is nothing so likely to advance the habits, opinions, and true interests
of a rural population, as to have them all directed by the intelligence
and combined interests that ought to mark the connection between
landlord and tenant. It may do for one class of political economists to
prate about a state of things which supposes every husbandman a
freeholder, and rich enough to maintain his level among the other
freeholders of the State. But we all know that as many minute gradations
in means must and do exist in a community, as there exist gradations in
characters. A majority soon will, in the nature of things, be below the
level of the freeholder, and by destroying the system of having
landlords and tenants two great evils are created--the one preventing
men of large fortunes from investing in lands, as no man will place his
money where it will be insecure or profitless, thereby cutting off real
estate generally from the benefits that might be and would be conferred
by their capital, as well as cutting it off from the benefits of the
increased price which arise from having such buyers in the market; and
the other is, to prevent any man from being a husbandman who has not the
money necessary to purchase a farm. But they who want farms _now_, and
they who will want votes next November, do not look quite so far ahead
as that; while shouting "equal rights," they are, in fact, for
preventing the poor husbandman from being anything but a day-laborer.

We obtained tolerably decent lodging at our inn, though the profoundest
patriot America possesses, if he know anything of other countries, or of
the best materials of his own, cannot say much in favor of the sleeping
arrangements of an ordinary country inn. The same money and the same
trouble would render that which is now the very _beau ideal_ of
discomfort, at least tolerable, and in many instances good. But who is
to produce this reform? According to the opinions circulated among us,
the humblest hamlet we have has already attained the highest point of
civilization; and as for the people, without distinction of classes, it
is universally admitted that they are the best educated, the acutest,
and the most intelligent in Christendom;--no, I must correct myself;
they are all this, except when they are in the act of leasing lands, and
then the innocent and illiterate husbandmen are the victims of the arts
of designing landlords, the wretches![21]

[Footnote 21: Mr. Hugh Littlepage writes a little sharply, but there is
truth in all he says, at the bottom. His tone is probably produced by
the fact that there is so serious an attempt to deprive him of his old
paternal estate, an attempt which is receiving support in high quarters.
In addition to this provocation, the Littlepages, as the manuscript
shows farther on, are traduced, as one means of effecting the objects of
the anti-renters; no man, in any community in which it is necessary to
work on public sentiment in order to accomplish such a purpose, ever
being wronged without being calumniated. As respects the inns, truth
compels me, as an old traveller, to say that Mr. Littlepage has much
reason for what he says. I have met with a better bed in the lowest
French tavern I ever was compelled to use, and in one instance I slept
in an inn frequented by carters, than in the best purely country inn in
America. In the way of neatness, however, more is usually to be found in
our New York village taverns than in the public hotels of Paris itself.
As for the hit touching the intelligence of the people, it is merited;
for I have myself heard subtle distinctions drawn to show that the
"people" of a former generation were not as knowing as the "people" of
this, and imputing the covenants of the older leases to that
circumstance, instead of imputing them to their true cause, the opinions
and practices of the times. Half a century's experience would induce me
to say that the "people" were never particularly dull in making a
bargain.--EDITOR.]

We passed an hour on the piazza, after eating our supper, and there
being a collection of men assembled there, inhabitants of the hamlet, we
had an opportunity to get into communication with them. My uncle sold a
watch, and I played on the hurdy-gurdy, by way of making myself popular.
After this beginning, the discourse turned on the engrossing subject of
the day, anti-rentism. The principal speaker was a young man about
six-and-twenty, of a sort of shabby-genteel air and appearance, whom I
soon discovered to be the attorney of the neighborhood. His name was
Hubbard, while that of the other principal speaker was Hall. The last
was a mechanic, as I ascertained, and was a plain-looking working-man of
middle age. Each of these persons seated himself on a common "kitchen
chair," leaning back against the side of the house, and, of course,
resting on the two hind-legs of the rickety support, while he placed his
own feet on the rounds in front. The attitudes were neither graceful nor
picturesque, but they were so entirely common as to excite no surprise.
As for Hall, he appeared perfectly contented with his situation, after
fidgeting a little to get the two supporting legs of his chair just
where he wanted them; but Hubbard's eye was restless, uneasy, and even
menacing, for more than a minute. He drew a knife from his pocket--a
small, neat penknife only, it is true--gazed a little wildly about him,
and just as I thought he intended to abandon his nicely poised chair,
and to make an assault on one of the pillars that upheld the roof of the
piazza, the innkeeper advanced, holding in his hand several narrow slips
of pine board, one of which he offered at once to 'Squire Hubbard. This
relieved the attorney, who took the wood, and was soon deeply plunged
in, to me, the unknown delights of whittling. I cannot explain the
mysterious pleasure that so many find in whittling, though the
prevalence of the custom is so well known. But I cannot explain the
pleasure so many find in chewing tobacco, or in smoking. The precaution
of the landlord was far from being unnecessary, and appeared to be taken
in good part by all to whom he offered "whittling-pieces," some six or
eight in the whole. The state of the piazza, indeed, proved that the
precaution was absolutely indispensable, if he did not wish to see the
house come tumbling down about his head. In order that those who have
never seen such things may understand their use, I will go a little out
of the way to explain.

The inn was of wood, a hemlock frame with a "siding" of clapboards. In
this there was nothing remarkable, many countries of Europe, even, still
building principally of wood. Houses of lath and plaster were quite
common, until within a few years, even in large towns. I remember to
have seen some of these constructions while in London, in close
connection with the justly celebrated Westminster Hall; and of such
materials is the much-talked of miniature castle of Horace Walpole, at
Strawberry Hill. But the inn of Mooseridge had some pretensions to
architecture, besides being three or four times larger than any other
house in the place. A piazza it enjoyed, of course; it must be a pitiful
village inn that does not; and building, accessories and all, rejoiced
in several coats of a spurious white lead. The columns of this piazza,
as well as the clapboards of the house itself, however, exhibited the
proofs of the danger of abandoning your true whittler to his own
instincts. Spread-eagles, five-points, American flags, huzzas for Polk!
the initials of names, and names at full length, with various other
similar conceits, records, and ebullitions of patriotic or party-otic
feelings, were scattered up and down with an affluence that said volumes
in favor of the mint in which they had been coined. But the most
remarkable memorial of the industry of the guests was to be found on one
of the columns; and it was one at a corner, too, and consequently of
double importance to the superstructure--unless, indeed, the house were
built on that well-known principle of American architecture of the last
century, which made the architrave uphold the pillar, instead of the
pillar the architrave. The column in question was of white pine, as
usual--though latterly, in brick edifices, bricks and stucco are much
resorted to--and, at a convenient height for the whittlers, it was
literally cut two-thirds in two. The gash was very neatly made--that
much must be said for it--indicating skill and attention; and the
surfaces of the wound were smoothed in a manner to prove that
appearances were not neglected.

"Vat do das?" I asked of the landlord, pointing to this gaping wound in
the main column of his piazza.

"That! Oh! That's only the whittlers," answered the host, with a
good-natured smile.

Assuredly the Americans _are_ the best-natured people on earth! Here was
a man whose house was nearly tumbling down about his ears--always bating
the principle in architecture just named--and he could smile as Nero may
be supposed to have done when fiddling over the conflagration of Rome.

"But vhy might de vhittler vhittle down your house?"

"Oh! this is a free country, you know, and folks do pretty much as they
like in it," returned the still smiling host. "I let 'em cut away as
long as I dared, but it was high time to get out 'whittling-pieces,' I
believe you must own. It's best always to keep a ruff (roof) over a
man's head, to be ready for bad weather. A week longer would have had
the column in two."

"Vell, I dinks I might not bear dat! Vhat ist mein house ist mein house,
ant dey shall not so moch vittles."

"By letting 'em so much vittles there, they so much vittles in the
kitchen; so you see there is policy in having your underpinnin' knocked
away sometimes, if it's done by the right sort of folks."

"You're a stranger in these parts, friend?" observed Hubbard,
complacently, for by this time his "whittling-piece" was reduced to a
shape, and he could go on reducing it, according to some law of the art
of whittling with which I am not acquainted. "We are not so particular
in such matters as in some of your countries in the old world."

"Ja--das I can see. But does not woot ant column cost money in America,
someding?"

"To be sure it does. There is not a man in the country who would
undertake to replace that pillar with a new one, paint and all, for less
than ten dollars."

This was an opening for a discussion on the probable cost of putting a
new pillar into the place of the one that was injured. Opinions
differed, and quite a dozen spoke on the subject; some placing the
expense as high as fifteen dollars, and others bringing it down as low
as five. I was struck with the quiet and self-possession with which each
man delivered his opinion, as well as with the language used. The accent
was uniformly provincial, that of Hubbard included, having a strong and
unpleasant taint of the dialect of New England in it; and some of the
expressions savored a little of the stilts of the newspapers; but, on
the whole, the language was sufficiently accurate and surprisingly good,
considering the class in life of the speakers. The conjectures, too,
manifested great shrewdness and familiarity with practical things, as
well as, in a few instances, some reading. Hall, however, actually
surprised me. He spoke with a precision and knowledge of mechanics that
would have done credit to a scholar, and with a simplicity that added to
the influence of what he said. Some casual remark induced me to put
in--"Vell, I might s'pose an Injin voult cut so das column, but I might
not s'pose a vhite man could." This opinion gave the discourse a
direction toward anti-rentism, and in a few minutes it caught all the
attention of my uncle Ro and myself.

"This business is going ahead after all!" observed Hubbard, evasively,
after others had had their say.

"More's the pity," put in Hall. "It might have been put an end to in a
month, at any time, and ought to be put an end to in a civilized land."

"You will own, neighbor Hall, notwithstanding, it would be a great
improvement in the condition of the tenants all over the State, could
they change their tenures into freeholds."

"No doubt 'twould; and so it would be a great improvement in the
condition of my journeyman in my shop if he could get to be the boss.
But that is not the question here; the question is, What right has the
State to say any man shall sell his property unless he wishes to sell
it? A pretty sort of liberty we should have if we all held our houses
and gardens under such laws as that supposes!"

"But do we not all hold our houses and gardens, and farms, too, by some
such law?" rejoined the attorney, who evidently respected his
antagonist, and advanced his own opinions cautiously. "If the public
wants land to use, it can take it by paying for it."

"Yes, to _use_; but use is everything. I've read that old report of the
committee of the house, and don't subscribe to its doctrines at all.
Public 'policy,' in that sense, doesn't at all mean public 'use.' If
land is wanted for a road, or a fort, or a canal, it must be taken,
under a law, by appraisement, or the thing could not be had at all; but
to pretend, because one side to a contract wishes to alter it, that the
State has a right to interfere, on the ground that the discontented can
be bought off in this way easier and cheaper than they can be made to
obey the laws, is but a poor way of supporting the right. The same
principle, carried out, might prove it would be easier to buy off
pickpockets by compromising than to punish them. Or it would be easy to
get round all sorts of contracts in this way."

"But all governments use this power when it becomes necessary, neighbor
Hall."

"That word _necessary_ covers a great deal of ground, 'Squire Hubbard.
The most that can be made of the necessity here is to say it is cheaper,
and may help along parties to their objects better. No man doubts that
the State of New York can put down these anti-renters; and, I trust,
_will_ put them down so far as force is concerned. There is, then, no
other necessity in the case, to begin with, than the necessity which
demagogues always feel, of getting as many votes as they can."

"After all, neighbor Hall, these votes are pretty powerful weapons in a
popular government."

"I'll not deny that; and now they talk of a convention to alter the
constitution, it is a favorable moment to teach such managers they shall
not abuse the right of suffrage in this way."

"How is it to be prevented? You are a universal suffrage man, I know?"

"Yes, I'm for universal suffrage among honest folks; but do not wish to
have my rulers chosen by them that are never satisfied without having
their hands in their neighbors' pockets. Let 'em put a clause into the
constitution providing that no town, or village, or county, shall hold a
poll within a given time after the execution of process has been openly
resisted in it. That would take the conceit out of all such law-breakers
in very short order."

It was plain that this idea struck the listeners, and several even
avowed their approbation of the scheme aloud. Hubbard received it as a
new thought, but was more reluctant to admit its practicability. As
might be expected from a lawyer accustomed to practice in a small way,
his objections savored more of narrow views than of the notions of a
statesman.

"How would you determine the extent of the district to be
disfranchised?" he asked.

"Take the legal limits as they stand. If process be resisted openly by a
combination strong enough to look down the agents of the law in a town,
disfranchise that town for a given period; if in more than one town,
disfranchise the offending towns; if a county, disfranchise the whole
county."

"But in that way you would punish the innocent with the guilty."

"It would be for the good of all; besides, you punish the innocent for
the guilty, or _with_ the guilty rather, in a thousand ways. You and I
are taxed to keep drunkards from starving, because it is better to do
that than to offend humanity by seeing men die of hunger, or tempting
them to steal. When you declare martial law you punish the innocent with
the guilty, in one sense; and so you do in a hundred cases. All we have
to ask is, if it be not wiser and better to disarm demagogues, and those
disturbers of the public peace who wish to pervert their right of
suffrage to so wicked an end, by so simple a process, than to suffer
them to effect their purposes by the most flagrant abuse of their
political privileges?"

"How would you determine _when_ a town should lose the right of voting?"

"By evidence given in open court. The judges would be the proper
authority to decide in such a case; and they would decide, beyond all
question, nineteen times in twenty, right. It is the interest of every
man who is desirous of exercising the suffrage on right principles, to
give him some such protection against them that wish to exercise the
suffrage on wrong. A peace-officer can call on the _posse comitatus_ or
on the people to aid him; if enough appear to put down the rebels, well
and good; but if enough do not appear, let it be taken as proof that the
district is not worthy of giving the votes of freemen. They who abuse
such a liberty as man enjoys in this country are the least entitled to
our sympathies. As for the mode, that could easily be determined, as
soon as you settle the principle."

The discourse went on for an hour, neighbor Hall giving his opinions
still more at large. I listened equally with pleasure and surprise.
"These, then, after all," I said to myself, "are the real bone and sinew
of the country. There are tens of thousands of this sort of men in the
State, and why should they be domineered over, and made to submit to a
legislation and to practices that are so often without principle, by the
agents of the worst part of the community? Will the honest forever be so
passive, while the corrupt and dishonest continue so active?" On my
mentioning these notions to my uncle, he answered:

"Yes, it ever has been so, and, I fear, ever will be so. _There_ is the
curse of this country," pointing to a table covered with newspapers, the
invariable companion of an American inn of any size. "So long as men
believe what they find _there_, they can be nothing but dupes or
knaves."

"But there is good in newspapers."

"That adds to the curse. If they were nothing but lies, the world would
soon reject them; but how few are able to separate the true from the
false! Now, how few of these pages speak the truth about this very
anti-rentism! Occasionally an honest man in the corps does come out; but
where one does this, ten affect to think what they do not believe, in
order to secure votes--votes, votes, votes. In that simple word lies all
the mystery of the matter."

"Jefferson said, if he were to choose between a government without
newspapers, or newspapers without a government, he would take the last."

"Ay, Jefferson did not mean newspapers as they are now. I am old enough
to see the change that has taken place. In his day, three or four fairly
convicted lies would damn any editor; now, there are men that stand up
under a thousand. I'll tell you what, Hugh, this country is jogging on
under two of the most antagonist systems possible--Christianity and the
newspapers. The first is daily hammering into every man that he is a
miserable, frail, good-for-nothing being, while the last is eternally
proclaiming the perfection of the people and the virtues of
self-government."

"Perhaps too much stress ought not to be laid on either."

"The first is certainly true, under limitations that we all understand;
but as to the last, I will own I want more evidence than a newspaper
eulogy to believe it."

After all, my uncle Ro is sometimes mistaken; though candor compels me
to acknowledge that he is very often right.




CHAPTER VIII.

                "I see thee still,
    Remembrance, faithful to her trust,
    Calls thee in beauty from the dust;
    Thou comest in the morning light,
    Thou'rt with me through the gloomy night;
    In dreams I meet thee as of old:
    Then thy soft arms my neck enfold,
    And thy sweet voice is in my ear:
    In every sense to memory dear
                I see thee still."--SPRAGUE.


It was just ten in the morning of the succeeding day when my uncle Ro
and myself came in sight of the old house at the Nest. I call it _old_,
for a dwelling that has stood more than half a century acquires a touch
of the venerable, in a country like America. To me it was truly old, the
building having stood there, where I then saw it, for a period more than
twice as long as that of my own existence, and was associated with all
my early ideas. From childhood I had regarded that place as my future
home, as it had been the home of my parents and grandparents, and, in
one sense, of those who had gone before them for two generations more.
The whole of the land in sight--the rich bottoms, then waving with
grass--the side-hills, the woods, the distant mountains--the orchards,
dwellings, barns, and all the other accessories of rural life that
appertained to the soil, were mine, and had thus become without a single
act of injustice to any human being, so far as I knew and believed. Even
the red man had been fairly bought by Herman Mordaunt, the patentee, and
so Susquesus, the Redskin of Ravensnest, as our old Onondago was often
called, had ever admitted the fact to be. It was natural that I should
love an estate thus inherited and thus situated. NO CIVILIZED MAN, NO
MAN, INDEED, SAVAGE OR NOT, HAD EVER BEEN THE OWNER OF THOSE BROAD
ACRES, BUT THOSE WHO WERE OF MY OWN BLOOD. This is what few besides
Americans _can_ say; and when it can be said truly, in parts of the
country where the arts of life have spread, and amid the blessings of
civilization, it becomes the foundation of a sentiment so profound, that
I do not wonder those adventurers-errant who are flying about the face
of the country, thrusting their hands into every man's mess, have not
been able to find it among their other superficial discoveries. Nothing
can be less like the ordinary cravings of avarice than the feeling that
is thus engendered; and I am certain that the general tendency of such
an influence is to elevate the feelings of him who experiences it.

And there were men among us, high in political station--high as such men
ever can get, for the consequence of having such men in power is to draw
down station itself nearer to their own natural level--but men in power
had actually laid down propositions in political economy which, if
carried out, would cause me to sell all that estate, reserving, perhaps,
a single farm for my own use, and reinvest the money in such a way as
that the interest I obtained might equal my present income! It is true,
this theory was not directly applied to me, as my farms were to fall in
by the covenants of their leases, but it had been directly applied to
Stephen and William Van Rensselaer, and, by implication, to others; and
my turn might come next. What business had the Rensselaers, or the
Livingstons, or the Hunters, or the Littlepages, or the Morgans, or the
Verplancks, or the Wadsworths, or five hundred others similarly placed,
to entertain "sentiments" that interfered with "business," or that
interfered with the wishes of any straggling Yankee who had found his
way out of New England, and wanted a particular farm on his own terms?
It is aristocratic to put sentiment in opposition to trade; and TRADE
ITSELF IS NOT TO BE TRADE ANY LONGER THAN ALL THE PROFIT IS TO BE FOUND
ON THE SIDE OF NUMBERS. Even the principles of holy trade are to be
governed by majorities!

Even my uncle Ro, who never owned a foot of the property, could not look
at it without emotion. He too had been born there--had passed his
childhood there--and loved the spot without a particle of the grovelling
feeling of avarice. He took pleasure in remembering that our race had
been the only owners of the soil on which he stood, and had that very
justifiable pride which belongs to enduring respectability and social
station.

"Well, Hugh," he cried, after both of us had stood gazing at the gray
walls of the good and substantial, but certainly not very beautiful
dwelling, "here we are, and we now may determine on what is next to be
done. Shall we march down to the village, which is four miles distant,
you will remember, and get our breakfasts there? shall we try one of
your tenants? or shall we plunge at once _in medias res_, and ask
hospitality of my mother and your sister?"

"The last might excite suspicion, I fear, sir. Tar and feathers would be
our mildest fate did we fall into the hands of the Injins."

"Injins! Why not go at once to the wigwam of Susquesus, and get out of
him and Yop the history of the state of things. I heard them speaking of
the Onondago at our tavern last night, and while they said he was
generally thought to be much more than a hundred, that he was still like
a man of eighty. That Indian is full of observation, and may let us into
some of the secrets of his brethren."

"They can at least give us the news from the family; and though it might
seem in the course of things for pedlers to visit the Nest house, it
will be just as much so for them to halt at the wigwam."

This consideration decided the matter, and away we went toward the
ravine or glen, on the side of which stood the primitive-looking hut
that went by the name of the "wigwam." The house was a small cabin of
logs, neat and warm, or cool, as the season demanded. As it was kept up,
and was whitewashed, and occasionally furnished anew by the
landlord--the odious creature! he who paid for so many similar things in
the neighborhood--it was never unfit to be seen, though never of a very
alluring, cottage-like character. There was a garden, and it had been
properly made that very season, the <DW64> picking and pecking about it,
during the summer, in a way to coax the vegetables and fruits on a
little, though I well knew that the regular weedings came from an
assistant at the Nest, who was ordered to give it an eye and an
occasional half-day. On one side of the hut there was a hog-pen and a
small stable for a cow; but on the other the trees of the virgin forest,
which had never been disturbed in that glen, overshadowed the roof. This
somewhat poetical arrangement was actually the consequence of a
compromise between the tenants of the cabin, the <DW64> insisting on the
accessories of his rude civilization, while the Indian required the
shades of the woods to reconcile him to his position. Here had these two
singularly associated beings--the one deriving his descent from the
debased races of Africa, and the other from the fierce but lofty-minded
aboriginal inhabitant of this continent--dwelt for nearly the whole
period of an ordinary human life. The cabin itself began to look really
ancient, while those who dwelt in it had little altered within the
memory of man! Such instances of longevity, whatever theorists may say
on the subject, are not unfrequent among either the blacks or the
"natives," though probably less so among the last than among the first,
and still less so among the first of the northern than of the southern
sections of the republic. It is common to say that the great age so
often attributed to the people of these two races is owing to ignorance
of the periods of their births, and that they do not live longer than
the whites. This may be true, in the main, for a white man is known to
have died at no great distance from Ravensnest, within the last
five-and-twenty years, who numbered more than his six-score of years;
but aged <DW64>s and aged Indians are nevertheless so common, when the
smallness of their whole numbers is remembered, as to render the fact
apparent to most of those who have seen much of their respective people.

There was no highway in the vicinity of the wigwam, for so the cabin was
generally called, though wigwam, in the strict meaning of the word, it
was not. As the little building stood in the grounds of the Nest house,
which contain two hundred acres, a bit of virgin forest included, and
exclusively of the fields that belonged to the adjacent farm, it was
approached only by foot-paths, of which several led to and from it, and
by one narrow, winding carriage-road, which, in passing for miles
through the grounds, had been led near the hut, in order to enable my
grandmother and sister, and, I dare say, my dear departed mother, while
she lived, to make their calls in their frequent airings. By this
sweeping road we approached the cabin.

"There are the two old fellows, sunning themselves this fine day!"
exclaimed my uncle, with something like a tremor in his voice, as we
drew near enough to the hut to distinguish objects. "Hugh, I never see
these men without a feeling of awe, as well as of affection. They were
the friends, and one was the slave of my grandfather; and as long as I
can remember, have they been aged men! They seem to be set up here as
monuments of the past, to connect the generations that are gone with
those that are to come."

"If so, sir, they will soon be all there is of their sort. It really
seems to me that, if things continue much longer in their present
direction, men will begin to grow jealous and envious of history itself,
because its actors have left descendants to participate in any little
credit they may have gained."

"Beyond all contradiction, boy, there is a strange perversion of the old
and natural sentiments on this head among us. But you must bear in mind
the fact, that of the two millions and a half the State contains, not
half a million, probably, possess any of the true York blood, and can
consequently feel any of the sentiments connected with the birthplace
and the older traditions of the very society in which they live. A great
deal must be attributed to the facts of our condition; though I admit
those facts need not, and ought not to unsettle principles. But look at
those two old fellows! There they are, true to the feelings and habits
of their races, even after passing so long a time together in this hut.
There squats Susquesus on a stone, idle and disdaining work, with his
rifle leaning against the apple-tree; while Jaaf--or Yop, as I believe
it is better to call him--is pecking about in the garden, still a slave
at his work, in fancy at least."

"And which is the happiest, sir--the industrious old man or the idler?"

"Probably each finds most happiness in indulging his own early habits.
The Onondago never _would_ work, however, and I have heard my father
say, great was his happiness when he found he was to pass the remainder
of his day in _otium cum dignitate_, and without the necessity of making
baskets."

"Yop is looking at us; had we not better go up at once and speak to
them?"

"Yop may stare the most openly, but my life on it the Indian _sees_
twice as much. His faculties are the best, to begin with; and he is a
man of extraordinary and characteristic observation. In his best days
nothing ever escaped him. As you say, we will approach."

My uncle and myself then consulted on the expediency of using broken
English with these two old men, of which, at first, we saw no necessity;
but when we remembered that others might join us, and that our
communication with the two might be frequent for the next few days, we
changed our minds, and determined rigidly to observe our incognitos.

As we came up to the door of the hut, Jaaf slowly left his little garden
and joined the Indian, who remained immovable and unmoved on the stone
which served him for a seat. We could see but little change in either
during the five years of our absence, each being a perfect picture, in
his way, of extreme but not decrepit old age in the men of his race. Of
the two, the black--if black he could now be called, his color being a
muddy gray--was the most altered, though that seemed scarcely possible
when I saw him last. As for the Trackless, or Susquesus, as he was
commonly called, his temperance throughout a long life did him good
service, and his half-naked limbs and skeleton-like body, for he wore
the summer-dress of his people, appeared to be made of a leather long
steeped in a tannin of the purest quality. His sinews, too, though much
stiffened, seemed yet to be of whipcord, and his whole frame a species
of indurated mummy that retained its vitality. The color of the skin was
less red than formerly, and more closely approached to that of the
<DW64>, as the latter now was, though perceptibly different.

"Sago--sago," cried my uncle, as we came quite near, seeing no risk in
using that familiar semi-Indian salutation.[22] "Sago, sago, dis
charmin' mornin'; in my tongue, dat might be _guten tag_."

[Footnote 22: The editor has often had occasion to explain the meaning
of terms of this nature. The colonists caught a great many words from
the Indians they first knew, and used them to all other Indians, though
not belonging to their language; and these other tribes using them as
English, a sort of limited _lingua franca_ has grown up in the country
that everybody understands. It is believed that "moccason," "squaw,"
"pappoose," "sago," "tomahawk," "wigwam," etc., etc., all belong to this
class of words. There can be little doubt that the _sobriquet_ of
"Yankees" is derived from "Yengees," the manner in which the tribes
nearest to New England pronounced the word "English." It is to this hour
a provincialism of that part of the country to pronounce this word
"_Eng_-lish" instead of "_Ing_-lish," its conventional sound. The change
from "_Eng_-lish" to "_Yen_gees" is very trifling.--EDITOR.]

"Sago," returned the Trackless, in his deep, guttural voice, while old
Yop brought two lips together that resembled thick pieces of overdone
beefsteak, fastened his red-encircled gummy eyes on each of us in turn,
pouted once more, working his jaws as if proud of the excellent teeth
they still held, and said nothing. As the slave of a Littlepage, he held
pedlers as inferior beings; for the ancient <DW64>s of New York ever
identified themselves, more or less, with the families to which they
belonged, and in which they so often were born. "Sago," repeated the
Indian slowly, courteously, and with emphasis, after he had looked a
moment longer at my uncle, as if he saw something about him to command
respect.

"Dis ist charmin' day, frients," said uncle Ro, placing himself coolly
on a log of wood that had been hauled for the stove, and wiping his
brow. "Vat might you calls dis coontry?"

"Dis here?" answered Yop, not without a little contempt. "Dis is York
colony; where you come from to ask sich a question?"

"Charmany. Dat ist far off, but a goot country; ant dis ist goot
country, too."

"Why you leab him, den, if he be good country, eh?"

"Vhy you leaf Africa, canst you dell me dat?" retorted uncle Ro,
somewhat coolly.

"Nebber was dere," growled old Yop, bringing his blubber lips together
somewhat in the manner the boar works his jaws when it is prudent to get
out of his way. "I'm York-<DW65> born, and nebber seen no Africa; and
nebber want to see him, nudder."

It is scarcely necessary to say that Jaaf belonged to a school by which
the term of "<DW52> gentleman" was never used. The men of his time and
stamp called themselves "<DW65>s;" and ladies and gentlemen of that age
took them at their word, and called them "<DW65>s," too; a word that no
one of the race ever uses now, except in the way of reproach, and which,
by one of the singular workings of our very wayward and common nature,
he is more apt to use than any other, when reproach is intended.

My uncle paused a moment to reflect before he continued a discourse that
had not appeared to commence under very flattering auspices.

"Who might lif in dat big stone house?" asked uncle Ro, as soon as he
thought the <DW64> had had time to cool a little.

"Anybody can see you no Yorker, by dat werry speech," answered Yop, not
at all mollified by such a question. "Who _should_ lib dere but Gin'ral
Littlepage!"

"Vell, I dought he wast dead, long ago."

"What if he be? It is his house, and he lib in it; and ole _young_
missus lib dere too."

Now, there had been three generations of generals among the Littlepages,
counting from father to son. First, there had been Brigadier-General
Evans Littlepage, who held that rank in the militia, and died in service
during the revolution. The next was Brigadier-General Cornelius
Littlepage, who got his rank by brevet, at the close of the same war, in
which he had actually figured as a colonel of the New York line. Third,
and last, was my own grandfather, Major-General Mordaunt Littlepage: he
had been a captain in his father's regiment at the close of the same
struggle, got the brevet of major at its termination, and rose to be a
major-general of the militia, the station he held for many years before
he died. As soon as the privates had the power to elect their own
officers, the position of a major-general in the militia ceased to be
respectable, and few gentlemen could be induced to serve. As might have
been foreseen, the militia itself fell into general contempt, where it
now is, and where it will ever remain until a different class of
officers shall be chosen. The people can do a great deal, no doubt, but
they cannot make a "silk purse out of a sow's ear." As soon as officers
from the old classes shall be appointed, the militia will come up; for
in no interest in life is it so material to have men of certain habits,
and notions, and education, in authority, as in those connected with the
military service. A great many fine speeches may be made, and much
patriotic eulogy expended on the intrinsic virtue and intelligence of
the people, and divers projects entertained to make "citizen-soldiers,"
as they are called; but citizens never can be, and never will be turned
into soldiers at all, good or bad, until proper officers are placed over
them. To return to Yop--

"Bray vhat might be de age of das laty dat you callet _olt_ young
missus?" asked my uncle.

"Gosh! she nutten but gal--born some time just a'ter old French war.
Remember her well 'nough when she Miss Dus Malbone. Young masser
Mordaunt take fancy to her, and make her he wife."

"Vell, I hopes you hafn't any objection to der match?"

"Not I; she clebber young lady den, and she werry clebber young lady
now."

And this of my venerable grandmother, who had fairly seen her fourscore
years!

"Who might be der master of das big house now?"

"Gin'ral Littlepage, doesn't I tell ye! Masser Mordaunt's name, _my_
young master. Sus, dere, only Injin; he nebber so lucky as hab a good
master. <DW65>s gettin' scarce, dey tells me, nowadays, in dis world!"

"Injins, too, I dinks; dere ist no more redskins might be blenty."

The manner in which the Onondago raised his figure, and the look he
fastened on my uncle, were both fine and startling. As yet he had said
nothing beyond the salutation; but I could see he now intended to speak.

"New tribe," he said, after regarding us for half a minute intently:
"what you call him--where he come from?"

"Ja, ja--das ist der anti-rent redskins. Haf you seen 'em, Trackless?"

"Sartain; come to see me--face in bag--behave like squaw; poor
Injin--poor warrior!"

"Yees, I believe dat ist true enough. I can't bear soch Injin--might not
be soch Injin in the world. Vhat you call 'em, eh?"

Susquesus shook his head slowly, and with dignity. Then he gazed
intently at my uncle; after which he fastened his eyes in a similar
manner on me. In this manner his looks turned from one to the other for
some little time, when he again dropped them to the earth, calmly and in
silence. I took out the hurdy-gurdy, and began to play a lively air--one
that was very popular among the American blacks, and which, I am sorry
to say, is getting to be not less so among the whites. No visible effect
was produced on Susquesus, unless a slight shade of contempt was visible
on his dark features. With Jaaf, however, it was very different. Old as
he was, I could see a certain nervous twitching of the lower limbs,
which indicated that the old fellow actually felt some disposition to
dance. It soon passed away, though his grim, hard, wrinkled, dusky-gray
countenance continued to gleam with a sort of dull pleasure for some
time. There was nothing surprising in this, the indifference of the
Indian to melody being almost as marked as the <DW64>'s sensitiveness to
its power.

It was not to be expected that men so aged would be disposed to talk
much. The Onondago had ever been a silent man: dignity and gravity of
character uniting with prudence to render him so. But Jaaf was
constitutionally garrulous, though length of days had necessarily much
diminished the propensity. At that moment a fit of thoughtful and
melancholy silence came over my uncle, too, and all four of us continued
brooding on our own reflections for two or three minutes after I had
ceased to play. Presently the even, smooth approach of carriage-wheels
was heard, and a light summer vehicle that was an old acquaintance, came
whirling round the stable, and drew up within ten feet of the spot where
we were all seated.

My heart was in my mouth at this unexpected interruption, and I could
perceive that my uncle was scarcely less affected. Amid the flowing and
pretty drapery of summer shawls, and the other ornaments of the female
toilet, were four youthful and sunny faces, and one venerable with
years. In a word, my grandmother, my sister, and my uncle's two other
wards, and Mary Warren were in the carriage; yes, the pretty, gentle,
timid, yet spirited and intelligent daughter of the rector was of the
party, and seemingly quite at home and at her ease, as one among
friends. She was the first to speak even, though it was in a low, quiet
voice, addressed to my sister, and in words that appeared extorted by
surprise.

"There are the very two pedlers of whom I told you, Martha," she said,
"and now you may hear the flute well played."

"I doubt if he can play better than Hugh," was my dear sister's answer.
"But we'll have some of his music, if it be only to remind us of him who
is so far away."

"The music we can and will have, my child," cried my grandmother,
cheerfully; "though _that_ is not wanted to remind us of our absent boy.
Good-morrow, Susquesus; I hope this fine day agrees with you."

"Sago," returned the Indian, making a dignified and even graceful
forward gesture with one arm, though he did not rise. "Weadder
good--Great Spirit good, dat reason. How squaws do?"

"We are all well, I thank you, Trackless. Good-morrow, Jaaf; how do
_you_ do, this fine morning?"

Yop, or Jaap, or Jaaf, rose tottering, made a low obeisance, and then
answered in the semi-respectful, semi-familiar manner of an old,
confidential family servant, as the last existed among our fathers:

"Tank 'ee, Miss Dus, wid all my heart," he answered. "Pretty well
to-day; but old Sus, he fail, and grow ol'er and ol'er desp'ate fast!"

Now, of the two, the Indian was much the finest relic of human powers,
though he was less uneasy and more stationary than the black. But the
propensity to see the mote in the eye of his friend, while he forgot the
beam in his own, was a long-established and well-known weakness of Jaaf,
and its present exhibition caused everybody to smile. I was delighted
with the beaming, laughing eyes of Mary Warren in particular, though she
said nothing.

"I cannot say I agree with you, Jaaf," returned my smiling grandmother.
"The Trackless bears his years surprisingly; and I think I have not seem
him look better this many a day than he is looking this morning. We are
none of us as young as we were when we first became acquainted,
Jaaf--which is now near, if not quite, threescore of years ago."

"You nuthin' but gal, nudder," growled the <DW64>. "Ole Sus be raal ole
fellow; but Miss Dus and Masser Mordaunt, dey get married only tudder
day. Why _dat_ was a'ter the revylooshen!"

"It was, indeed," replied the venerable woman, with a touch of
melancholy in her tones; "but the revolution took place many, many a
long year since!"

"Well, now, I be surprise, Miss Dus! How you call _dat_ so long, when he
only be tudder day?" retorted the pertinacious <DW64>, who began to grow
crusty, and to speak in a short, spiteful way, as if displeased by
hearing that to which he could not assent. "Masser Corny was little ole,
p'r'aps, if he lib, but all de rest ob you nuttin' but children. Tell me
one t'ing, Miss Dus, be it true dey's got a town at Satanstoe?"

"An attempt was made, a few years since, to turn the whole country into
towns, and, among other places, the Neck; but I believe it will never be
anything more than a capital farm."

"So besser. _Dat_ good land, I tell you! One acre down der wort' more
than twenty acre up here."

"My grandson would not be pleased to hear you say that, Jaaf."

"Who your grandson, Miss Dus. Remember you had little baby tudder day;
but baby can't hab baby."

"Ah, Jaaf, my old friend, my babies have long since been men and women,
and are drawing on to old age. One, and he was my first-born, is gone
before us to a better world, and _his_ boy is now your young master.
This young lady, that is seated opposite to me, is the sister of that
young master, and she would be grieved to think you had forgotten her."

Jaaf labored under the difficulty so common to old age, he was forgetful
of things of more recent date, while he remembered those which had
occurred a century ago! The memory is a tablet that partakes of the
peculiarity of all our opinions and habits. In youth it is easily
impressed, and the images then engraved on it are distinct, deep, and
lasting, while those that succeed become crowded, and take less root,
from the circumstance of finding the ground already occupied. In the
present instance, the age was so great that the change was really
startling, the old <DW64>'s recollections occasionally coming on the mind
like a voice from the grave. As for the Indian, as I afterward
ascertained, he was better preserved in all respects than the black; his
great temperance in youth, freedom from labor, exercise in the open air,
united to the comforts and abundance of semi-civilized habits, that had
now lasted for nearly a century, contributed to preserve both mind and
body. As I now looked at him, I remembered what I had heard in my
boyhood of his history.

There had ever been a mystery about the life of the Onondago. If any one
of our set had ever been acquainted with the facts, it was Andries
Coejemans, a half-uncle of my dear grandmother, a person who has been
known among us by the _sobriquet_ of the Chainbearer. My grandmother had
told me that "uncle Chainbearer," as we all called the old relative,
_did_ know about Susquesus, in his time--the reason why he had left his
tribe, and become a hunter, and warrior, and runner among the
pale-faces--and that he had always said the particulars did his red
friend great credit, but that he would reveal it no further. So great,
however, was uncle Chainbearer's reputation for integrity, that such an
opinion was sufficient to procure for the Onondago the fullest
confidence of the whole connection, and the experience of fourscore
years and ten had proved that this confidence was well placed. Some
imputed the sort of exile in which the old man had so long lived to
love, others to war, and others, again, to the consequences of those
fierce personal feuds that are known to occur among men in the savage
state. But all was just as much a mystery and matter of conjecture, now
we were drawing near the middle of the nineteenth century, as it had
been when our forefathers were receding from the middle of the
eighteenth! To return to the <DW64>.

Although Jaaf had momentarily forgotten me, and quite forgotten my
parents, he remembered my sister, who was in the habit of seeing him so
often. In what manner he connected her with the family, it is not easy
to say; but he knew her not only by sight, but by name, and, as one
might say, by blood.

"Yes, yes," cried the old fellow, a little eagerly, "_champing_" his
thick lips together, somewhat as an alligator snaps his jaws, "yes, I
knows Miss Patty, of course. Miss Patty is werry han'some, and grows
han'somer and han'somer ebbery time I sees her--yah, yah, yah!" The
laugh of that old <DW64> sounded startling and unnatural, yet there was
something of the joyous in it, after all, like every <DW64>'s laugh.
"Yah, yah, yah! Yes, Miss Patty won'erful han'some, and werry like Miss
Dus. I s'pose, now, Miss Patty was born about 'e time dat Gin'ral
Washington die."

As this was a good deal more than doubling my sister's age, it produced
a common laugh among the light-hearted girls in the carriage. A gleam of
intelligence that almost amounted to a smile also shot athwart the
countenance of the Onondago, while the muscles of his face worked, but
he said nothing. I had reason to know afterward that the tablet of his
memory retained its records better.

"What friends have you with you to-day, Jaaf?" inquired my grandmother,
inclining her head toward us pedlers graciously, at the same time; a
salutation that my uncle Ro and myself rose hastily to acknowledge.

As for myself, I own honestly that I could have jumped into the vehicle
and kissed my dear grandmother's still good-looking, but colorless
cheeks, and hugged Patt, and possibly some of the others, to my heart.
Uncle Ro had more command of himself, though I could see that the sound
of his venerable parent's voice, in which the tremor was barely
perceptible, was near overcoming him.

"Dese be pedler, ma'am, I do s'pose," answered the black. "Dey's got box
wid somet'in' in him, and dey's got new kind of fiddle. Come, young man,
gib Miss Dus a tune--a libely one; sich as make an ole <DW65> dance."

I drew round the hurdy-gurdy, and was beginning to flourish away, when a
gentle sweet voice, raised a little louder than usual by eagerness,
interrupted me.

"Oh! not that thing, not that; the flute, the flute!" exclaimed Mary
Warren, blushing to the eyes at her own boldness, the instant she saw
that she was heard, and that I was about to comply.

It is hardly necessary to say that I bowed respectfully, laid down the
hurdy-gurdy, drew the flute from my pocket, and, after a few flourishes,
commenced playing one of the newest airs, or melodies, from a favorite
opera. I saw the color rush into Martha's cheeks the moment I had got
through a bar or two, and the start she gave satisfied me that the dear
girl remembered her brother's flute. I had played on that very
instrument ever since I was sixteen, but I had made an immense progress
in the art during the five years just passed in Europe. Masters at
Naples, Paris, Vienna, and London had done a great deal for me; and I
trust I shall not be thought vain if I add, that nature had done
something too. My excellent grandmother listened in profound attention,
and all four of the girls were enchanted.

"That music is worthy of being heard in a room," observed the former, as
soon as I concluded the air; "and we shall hope to hear it this evening,
at the Nest House, if you remain anywhere near us. In the meantime, we
must pursue our airing."

As my grandmother spoke she leaned forward, and extended her hand to me,
with a benevolent smile. I advanced, received the dollar that was
offered, and, unable to command my feelings, raised the hand to my lips,
respectfully but with fervor. Had Martha's face been near me, it would
have suffered also. I suppose there was nothing in this respectful
salutation that struck the spectators as very much out of the way,
foreigners having foreign customs, but I saw a flush in my venerable
grandmother's cheek, as the carriage moved off. _She_ had noted the
warmth of the manner. My uncle had turned away, I dare say to conceal
the tears that started to his eyes, and Jaaf followed toward the door of
the hut, whither my uncle moved, in order to do the honors of the place.
This left me quite alone with the Indian.

"Why no kiss _face_ of grandmodder?" asked the Onondago, coolly and
quietly.

Had a clap of thunder broken over my head, I could not have been more
astonished! The disguise that had deceived my nearest relations--that
had baffled Seneca Newcome, and had set at naught even his sister
Opportunity--had failed to conceal me from that Indian, whose faculties
might be supposed to have been numbed with age!

"Is it possible that you know me, Susquesus!" I exclaimed, signing
toward the <DW64> at the same time, by way of caution; "that you remember
me at all! I should have thought this wig, these clothes, would have
concealed me."

"Sartain," answered the aged Indian, calmly. "Know young chief
soon as see him; know fader--know mudder; know gran'fader,
gran'mudder--great-gran'fader; _his_ fader, too; know all. Why forget
young chief?"

"Did you know me before I kissed my grandmother's hand, or only by that
act?"

"Know as soon as see him. What eyes good for, if don't know? Know uncle,
dere, sartain; welcome home!"

"But you will not let others know us, too, Trackless? We have always
been friends, I hope?"

"Be sure, friends. Why ole eagle, wid white head, strike young pigeon?
Nebber hatchet in 'e path between Susquesus and any of de tribe of
Ravensnest. Too ole to dig him up now."

"There are good reasons why my uncle and myself should not be known for
a few days. Perhaps you have heard something of the trouble that has
grown up between the landlords and the tenants, in the land?"

"What dat trouble?"

"The tenants are tired of paying rent, and wish to make a new bargain,
by which they can become owners of the farms on which they live."

A grim light played upon the swarthy countenance of the Indian: his lips
moved, but he uttered nothing aloud.

"Have you heard anything of this, Susquesus?"

"Little bird sing sich song in my ear--didn't like to hear it."

"And of Indians who are moving up and down the country, armed with
rifles and dressed in calico?"

"What tribe, dem Injin," asked the Trackless, with a quickness and a
fire I did not think it possible for him to retain. "What 'ey do,
marchin' 'bout?--on war-path, eh?"

"In one sense they may be said to be so. They belong to the anti-rent
tribe; do you know such a nation?"

"Poor Injin dat, b'lieve. Why come so late?--why no come when 'e foot of
Susquesus light as feather of bird!--why stay away till pale-faces
plentier dan leaf on tree, or snow in air? Hundred year ago, when dat
oak little, sich Injin might be good; now, he good for nuttin'."

"But you will keep our secret, Sus?--will not even tell the <DW64> who we
are?"

The Trackless simply nodded his head in assent. After this he seemed to
me to sink back in a sort of brooding lethargy, as if indisposed to
pursue the subject. I left him to go to my uncle, in order to relate
what had just passed. Mr. Roger Littlepage was as much astonished as I
had been myself, at hearing that one so aged should have detected us
through disguises that had deceived our nearest of kin. But the quiet
penetration and close observation of the man had long been remarkable.
As his good faith was of proof, however, neither felt any serious
apprehension of being betrayed, as soon as he had a moment for
reflection.




CHAPTER IX.

    "He saw a cottage with a double coach-house,
      A cottage of gentility;
    And the devil did grin, for his darling sin
      Is the pride that apes humility."--_Devil's Thoughts_.


It was now necessary to determine what course we ought next to pursue.
It might appear presuming in men of our pursuits to go to the Nest
before the appointed time; and did we proceed on to the village, we
should have the distance between the two places to walk over twice,
carrying our instruments and jewel-box. After a short consultation, it
was decided to visit the nearest dwellings, and to remain as near my own
house as was practicable, making an arrangement to sleep somewhere in
its immediate vicinity. Could we trust any one with our secret, our fare
would probably be all the better; but my uncle thought it most prudent
to maintain a strict incognito until he had ascertained the true state
of things in the town.

We took leave of the Indian and the <DW64>, therefore, promising to visit
them again in the course of that or the succeeding day, and followed the
path that led to the farm-house. It was our opinion that we might, at
least, expect to meet with friends in the occupants of the home farm.
The same family had been retained in possession there for three
generations, and being hired to manage the husbandry and to take care of
the dairy, there was not the same reason for the disaffection, that was
said so generally to exist among the tenantry, prevailing among them.
The name of this family was Miller, and it consisted of the two heads
and some six or seven children, most of the latter being still quite
young.

"Tom Miller was a trusty lad, when I knew much of him," said my uncle,
as we drew near to the barn, in which we saw the party mentioned, at
work; "and he is said to have behaved well in one or two alarms they
have had at the Nest, this summer; still, it may be wiser not to let
even him into our secret as yet."

"I am quite of your mind, sir," I answered; "for who knows that he has
not just as strong a desire as any of them to own the farm on which he
lives? He is the grandson of the man who cleared it from the forest, and
has much the same title as the rest of them."

"Very true; and why should not that give him just as good a right to
claim an interest in the farm, beyond that he has got under his contract
to work it, as if he held a lease? He who holds a lease gets no right
beyond his bargain; nor does this man. The one is paid for his labor by
the excess of his receipts over the amount of his annual rent, while the
other is paid partly in what he raises, and partly in wages. In
principle there is no difference whatever, not a particle; yet I
question if the veriest demagogue in the State would venture to say that
the man, or the family, which works the farm for hire, even for a
hundred years, gets the smallest right to say he shall not quit it, if
its owner please, as soon as his term of service is up!"

"'The love of money is the root of all evil;' and when that feeling is
uppermost, one can never tell what a man will do. The bribe of a good
farm, obtained for nothing, or for an insignificant price, is sufficient
to upset the morality of even Tom Miller."

"You are right, Hugh; and here is one of the points in which our
political men betray the cloven foot. They write, and proclaim, and make
speeches, as if the anti-rent troubles grew out of the durable lease
system solely, whereas we all know that it is extended to all
descriptions of obligations given for the occupancy of land--life
leases, leases for a term of years, articles for deeds, and bonds and
mortgages. It is a wide-spread, though not yet universal attempt of
those who have the least claim to the possession of real estate, to
obtain the entire right, and that by agencies that neither the law nor
good morals will justify. It is no new expedient for partisans to place
_en evidence_ no more of their principles and intentions than suits
their purposes. But, here we are within ear-shot, and must resort to the
High Dutch. _Guten tag, guten tag_," continued uncle Ro, dropping easily
into the broken English of our masquerade, as we walked into the barn,
where Miller, two of his older boys, and a couple of hired men were at
work, grinding scythes and preparing for the approaching hay-harvest.
"It might be warm day, dis fine mornin'."

"Good-day, good-day," cried Miller, hastily, and glancing his eye a
little curiously at our equipments. "What have you got in your
box--essences?"

"Nein; vatches and drinkets;" setting down the box and opening it at
once, for the inspection of all present. "Von't you burchase a goot
vatch, dis bleasant mornin'?"

"Be they ra-al gold?" asked Miller, a little doubtingly. "And all them
chains and rings, be they gold too?"

"Not true golt; nein, I might not say dat. But goot enough golt for
blain folks, like you and me."

"Them things would never do for the grand quality over at the big
house!" cried one of the laborers, who was unknown to me, but whose name
I soon ascertained was Joshua Brigham, and who spoke with a sort of
malicious sneer that at once betrayed _he_ was no friend. "You mean 'em
for poor folks, I s'pose?"

"I means dem for any bodies dat vill pay deir money for 'em," answered
my uncle. "Vould you like a vatch?"

"That would I; and a farm, too, if I could get 'em cheap," answered
Brigham, with a sneer he did not attempt to conceal. "How do you sell
farms to-day?"

"I haf got no farms; I sells drinkets and vatches, but I doesn't sell
farms. Vhat I haf got I vill sell, but I cannot sells vhat I haf not
got."

"Oh! you'll get all you want if you'll stay long enough in this country!
This is a free land, and just the place for a poor man; or it will be,
as soon as we get all the lords and aristocrats out of it."

This was the first time I had ever heard this political blarney with my
own ears, though I had understood it was often used by those who wish to
give to their own particular envy and covetousness a grand and sounding
air.

"Vell, I haf heards dat in America dere might not be any noples ant
aristocrats," put in my uncle, with an appearance of beautiful
simplicity; "and dat dere ist not ein graaf in der whole coontry."

"Oh! there's all sorts of folks here, just as they are to be found
elsewhere," cried Miller, seating himself coolly on the end of the
grindstone-frame, to open and look into the mysteries of one of the
watches. "Now, Joseph Brigham, here, calls all that's above him in the
world aristocrats, but lie doesn't call all that's below him his
equals."

I liked that speech; and I liked the cool, decided way in which it was
uttered. It denoted, in its spirit, a man who saw things as they are,
and who was not afraid to say what he thought about them. My uncle Ro
was surprised, and that agreeably, too, and he turned to Miller to
pursue the discourse.

"Den dere might not be any nopility in America, after all?" he asked,
inquiringly.

"Yes, there's plenty of such lords as Josh here, who want to be
uppermost so plaguily that they don't stop to touch all the rounds of
the ladder. I tell him, friend, he wants to get on too fast, and that he
mustn't set up for a gentleman before he knows how to behave himself."

Josh looked a little abashed at a rebuke that came from one of his own
class, and which he must have felt, in secret, was merited. But the
demon was at work in him, and he had persuaded himself that he was the
champion of a quality as sacred as liberty, when, in fact, he was simply
and obviously doing neither more nor less than breaking the tenth
commandment. He did not like to give up, while he skirmished with
Miller, as the dog that has been beaten already two or three times
growls over a bone at the approach of his conqueror.

"Well, thank heaven," he cried, "_I_ have got some spirit in my body."

"That's very true, Joshua," answered Miller, laying down one watch and
taking up another; "but it happens to be an evil spirit."

"Now, here's them Littlepages; what makes them better than other folks?"

"You had better let the Littlepages alone, Joshua, seein' they're a
family that you know nothing at all about."

"I don't want to know them; though I _do_ happen to know all I want to
know. I despise 'em."

"No, you don't, Joshy, my boy; nobody despises folks they talk so
spitefully about. What's the price of this here watch, friend?"

"Four dollars," said my uncle, eagerly, falling lower than was prudent,
in his desire to reward Miller for his good feeling and sound
sentiments. "Ja, ja--you might haf das vatch for four dollars."

"I'm afraid it isn't good for anything," returned Miller, feeling the
distrust that was natural at hearing a price so low. "Let's have another
look at its inside."

No man, probably, ever bought a watch without looking into its works
with an air of great intelligence, though none but a mechanician is any
wiser for his survey. Tom Miller acted on this principle, for the good
looks of the machine he held in his hand, and the four dollars, tempted
him sorely. It had its effect, too, on the turbulent and envious Joshua,
who seemed to understand himself very well in a bargain. Neither of the
men had supposed the watches to be of gold, for though the metal that is
in a watch does not amount to a great deal, it is usually of more value
than all that was asked for the "article" now under examination. In
point of fact, my uncle had this very watch "invoiced to him" at twice
the price he now put it at.

"And what do you ask for this?" demanded Joshua, taking up another watch
of very similar looks and of equal value to the one that Miller still
retained open in his hand. "Won't you let this go for three dollars?"

"No; der brice of dat is effery cent of forty dollars," answered Uncle
Ro, stubbornly.

The two men now looked at the pedler in surprise. Miller took the watch
from his hired man, examined it attentively, compared it with the other,
and then demanded its price anew.

"_You_ might haf eider of dem vatches for four dollars," returned my
uncle, as I thought, incautiously.

This occasioned a new surprise, though Brigham fortunately referred the
difference to a mistake.

"Oh!" he said, "I understood you to say _forty_ dollars. Four dollars is
a different matter."

"Josh," interrupted the more observant and cooler-headed Miller, "it is
high time, now, you and Peter go and look a'ter them sheep. The conch
will soon be blowing for dinner. If you want a trade, you can have one
when you get back."

Notwithstanding the plainness of his appearance and language, Tom Miller
was captain of his own company. He gave this order quietly, and in his
usual familiar way, but it was obviously to be obeyed without a
remonstrance. In a minute the two hired men were off in company, leaving
no one behind in the barn but Miller, his sons, and us two. I could see
there was a motive for all this, but did not understand it.

"Now _he's_ gone," continued Tom, quietly, but laying an emphasis that
sufficiently explained his meaning, "perhaps you'll let me know the true
price of this watch. I've a mind for it, and maybe we can agree."

"Four dollars," answered my uncle, distinctly. "I haf said you might haf
it for dat money, and vhat I haf said once might always be."

"I will take it, then. I almost wish you had asked eight, though four
dollars saved is suthin' for a poor man. It's so plaguy cheap I'm a
little afraid on't; but I'll ventur'. There; there's your money, and in
hard cash."

"Dank you, sir. Won't das ladies choose to look at my drinkets?"

"Oh! if you want to deal with ladies who buy chains and rings, the Nest
house is the place. My woman wouldn't know what to do with sich things,
and don't set herself up for a fine lady at all. That chap who has just
gone for the sheep is the only great man we have about this farm."

"Ja, ja; he ist a nople in a dirty shirt, ja, ja; why hast he dem pig
feelin's?"

"I believe you have named them just as they ought to be, _pig's_
feelin's. It's because he wishes to thrust his own snout all over the
trough, and is mad when he finds anybody else's in the way. We're
getting to have plenty of such fellows up and down the country, and an
uncomfortable time they give us. Boys, I _do_ believe it will turn out
a'ter all, that Josh is an Injin!"

"I _know_ he is," answered the oldest of the two sons, a lad of
nineteen; "where else should he be so much of nights and Sundays, but at
their trainin's?--and what was the meanin' of the calico bundle I saw
under his arm a month ago, as I told you on at the time?"

"If I find it out to be as you say, Harry, he shall tramp off of this
farm. I'll have no Injins here!"

"Vell, I dought I dit see an olt Injin in a hut up yonder ast by der
woots!" put in my uncle, innocently.

"Oh! that is Susquesus, an Onondago; he is a true Injin, and a
gentleman; but we have a parcel of the mock gentry about, who are a pest
and an eyesore to every honest man in the country. Half on 'em are
nothing but thieves in mock Injin dresses. The law is ag'in 'em, right
is ag'in 'em, and every true friend of liberty in the country ought to
be ag'in 'em."

"Vhat ist der matter in dis coontry? I hear in Europe how America ist a
free lant, ant how efery man hast his rights; but since I got here dey
do nothin' but talk of barons, and noples, and tenants, and arisdograts,
and all der bat dings I might leaf behint me in der Olt Worlt."

"The plain matter is, friend, that they who have got little, envy them
that's got much; and the struggle is, to see which is the strongest. On
the one side is the law, and right, and bargains, and contracts; and on
the other thousands--not of dollars, but of men. Thousands of voters;
d'ye understand?"

"Ja, ja--I oonderstands; dat ist easy enough. But vhy do dey dalk so
much of noples and arisdograts?--ist der noples and arisdograts in
America?"

"Well, I don't much understand the natur' of sich things; there
sartainly is a difference in men, and a difference in their fortun's,
and edications, and such sort of things."

"Und der law, den, favors der rich man at der cost of der poor, in
America, too, does it? Und you haf arisdograts who might not pay taxes,
and who holt all der offices, and get all der pooblic money, and who ist
petter pefore de law, in all dings, dan ast dem dat be not arisdograts?
Is it so?"

Miller laughed outright, and shook his head at this question, continuing
to examine the trinkets the whole time.

"No, no, my friend, we've not much of _that_, in this part of the world,
either. Rich men get very few offices, to begin with; for it's an
argooment in favor of a man for an office, that he's poor, and _wants_
it. Folks don't so much ask who the office wants, as who wants the
office. Then, as for taxes, there isn't much respect paid to the rich on
that score. Young 'Squire Littlepage pays the tax on this farm directly
himself, and it's assessed half as high ag'in, all things considered, as
any other farm on his estate."

"But dat is not right."

"Right! Who says it is?--or who thinks there is anything right about
assessments, anywhere? I have heard assessors, with my own ears, use
such words as these:--'Sich a man is rich, and can afford to pay,' and
'sich a man is poor, and it will come hard on him.' Oh! they kiver up
dishonesty, nowadays, under all sorts of argooments."

"But der law; der rich might haf der law on deir side, surely!"

"In what way, I should like to know? Juries be everything, and juries
will go accordin' to their feelin's, as well as other men. I've seen the
things with my own eyes. The country pays just enough a day to make poor
men like to be on juries, and they never fail to attend, while them that
can pay their fines stay away, and so leave the law pretty much in the
hands of one party. No rich man gains his cause, unless his case is so
strong it can't be helped."

I had heard this before, there being a very general complaint throughout
the country of the practical abuses connected with the jury system. I
have heard intelligent lawyers complain, that whenever a cause of any
interest is to be tried, the first question asked is not "what are the
merits?" "which has the law and the facts on his side?" but "who is
likely to be on the jury?"--thus obviously placing the composition of
the jury before either law or evidence. Systems may have a very fair
appearance on paper and as theories, that are execrable in practice. As
for juries, I believe the better opinion of the intelligent of all
countries is, that while they are a capital contrivance to resist the
abuse of power in narrow governments, in governments of a broad
constituency they have the effect, which might easily be seen, of
placing the control of the law in the hands of those who would be most
apt to abuse it; since it is adding to, instead of withstanding and
resisting the controlling authority of the State, from which, in a
popular government, most of the abuses must unavoidably proceed.

As for my uncle Ro, he was disposed to pursue the subject with Miller,
who turned out to be a discreet and conscientious man. After a very
short pause, as if to reflect on what had been said, he resumed the
discourse.

"Vhat, den, makes arisdograts in dis coontry?" asked my uncle.

"Wa-a-l"--no man but an American of New England descent, as was the case
with Miller, can give this word its Attic sound--"Wa-a-l, it's hard to
say. I hear a great deal about aristocrats, and I read a great deal
about aristocrats, in this country and I know that most folks look upon
them as hateful, but I'm by no means sartain I know what an aristocrat
is. Do you happen to know anything about it, friend?"

"Ja, ja; an arisdograt ist one of a few men dat hast all de power of de
government in deir own hands."

"King! That isn't what we think an aristocrat in this part of the world.
Why, we call them critters here DIMIGOGUES! Now, young 'Squire
Littlepage, who owns the Nest house, over yonder, and who is owner of
all this estate, far and near, is what _we_ call an aristocrat, and he
hasn't power enough to be named town-clerk, much less to anything
considerable, or what is worth having."

"How can he be an arisdograt, den?"

"How, sure enough, if your account be true! I tell you 'tis the
dimigogues that be the aristocrats of America. Why, Josh Brigham, who
has just gone for the sheep, can get more votes for any office in the
country than young Littlepage!"

"Berhaps dis young Littlebage ist a pat yoong man?"

"Not he; he's as good as any on 'em, and better than most. Besides, if
he was as wicked as Lucifer, the folks of the country don't know
anything about it, sin' he's be'n away ever sin' he has be'n a man."

"Vhy, den, gan't he haf as many votes as dat poor, ignorant fellow might
haf?--das ist ott."

"It is odd, but it's true as gospel. _Why_, it may not be so easy to
tell. Many men, many minds, you know. Some folks don't like him because
he lives in a big house; some hate him because they think he is better
off than they are themselves; others mistrust him because he wears a
fine coat; and some pretend to laugh at him because he got his property
from his father, and grand'ther, and so on, and didn't make it himself.
Accordin' to some folks' notions, nowadays, a man ought to enj'y only
the property he heaps together himself."

"If dis be so, your Herr Littlebage ist no arisdograt."

"Wa-a-l, that isn't the idee, hereaway. We have had a great many
meetin's, latterly, about the right of the people to their farms; and
there has been a good deal of talk at them meetin's consarnin'
aristocracy and feudal tenors; do you know what a feudal tenor is?"

"Ja; dere ist moch of dat in Teutchland--in mine coontry. It ist not
ferry easy to explain it in a few vords, but der brincipal ding ist dat
der vassal owes a serfice to hist lort. In de olten dimes dis serfice
vast military, und dere ist someding of dat now. It ist de noples who
owe der feudal serfice, brincipally, in mine coontry, and dey owes it to
the kings and brinces."

"And don't you call giving a chicken for rent feudal service, in
Germany?"

Uncle Ro and I laughed, in spite of our efforts to the contrary, there
being a bathos in this question that was supremely ridiculous. Curbing
his merriment, however, as soon as he could, my uncle answered the
question.

"If der landlort has a right to coome and dake as many chickens as he
bleases, und ast often ast he bleases, den dat wouldt look like a feudal
right; but if de lease says dat so many chickens moost be paid a year,
for der rent, vhy dat ist all der same as baying so much moneys; und it
might be easier for der tenant to bay in chicken ast it might be to bay
in der silver. Vhen a man canst bay his debts in vhat he makes himself,
he ist ferry interpentent."

"It does seem so, I vow! Yet there's folks about here and some at
Albany, that call it feudal for a man to have to carry a pair of fowls
to the landlord's office, and the landlord an aristocrat for asking it!"

"But der man canst sent a poy, or a gal, or a <DW65> wid his fowls, if
he bleases?"

"Sartain; all that is asked is that the fowls should come."

"Und vhen der batroon might owe hist tailor, or hist shoemaker, must he
not go to hist shop, or find him and bay him vhat he owes, or be suet
for der debt?"

"That's true, too; boys, put me in mind of telling that to Josh, this
evening. Yes, the greatest landlord in the land must hunt up his
creditor, or be sued, all the same as the lowest tenant."

"Und he most bay in a partic'lar ding; he most bay in golt or silver?"

"True; lawful tender is as good for one as 'tis for t'other."

"Und if your Herr Littlebage signs a baper agreein' to gif der apples
from dat orchart to somebody on his landts, most he send or carry der
apples, too?"

"To be sure; that would be the bargain."

"Und he most carry der ferry apples dat grows on dem ferry drees, might
it not be so?"

"All true as gospel. If a man contracts to sell the apples of one
orchard, he can't put off the purchaser with the apples of another."

"Und der law ist der same for one ast for anudder, in dese t'ings?"

"There is no difference; and there should be none."

"Und der batroons und der landlordts wants to haf der law changet, so
dat dey may be excuset from baying der debts accordin' to der bargains,
und to gif dem atfantages over der poor tenants?"

"I never heard anything of the sort, and don't believe they want any
such change."

"Of vhat, den, dost der beople complain?"

"Of having to pay rent at all; they think the landlords ought to be made
to sell their farms, or give them away. Some stand out for the last."

"But der landlordts don't vant to sell deir farms; und dey might not be
made to sell vhat ist deir own, und vhat dey don't vant to sell, any
more dan der tenants might be made to sell deir hogs and deir sheep,
vhen dey don't vant to sell dem."

"It does seem so, boys, as I've told the neighbors, all along. But I'll
tell this Dutchman all about it, Some folks want the State to look a'ter
the title of young Littlepage, pretending he has no title."

"But der State wilt do dat widout asking for it particularly, vill it
not?"

"I never heard that it would."

"If anybody hast a claim to der broperty, vilt not der courts try it?"

"Yes, yes--in that way; but a tenant can't set up a title ag'n his
landlord."

"Vhy should he? He canst haf no title but his landlort's, and it vould
be roguery and cheatery to let a man get into der bossession of a farm
under der pretence of hiring it, und den come out und claim it as owner.
If any tenant dinks he hast a better right dan his landlort, he can put
der farm vhere it vast before he might be a tenant, und den der State
wilt examine into der title, I fancy."

"Yes, yes--in that way; but these men want it another way. What they
want is, for the State to set up a legal examination, and turn the
landlords off altogether, if they can, and then let themselves have the
farms in their stead."

"But dat would not be honest to dem dat hafen't nothing to do wid der
farms. If der State owns der farms, it ought to get as moch as it can
for dem, and so safe _all_ der people from baying taxes. It looks like
roguery, all roundt."

"I believe it is that, and nothing else! As you say, the State will
examine into the title as it is, and there is no need of any laws about
it."

"Would der State, dink you, pass a law dat might inquire into de demands
dat are made against der batroons, vhen der tratesman sent in deir
bills?"

"I should like to see any patroon ask sich a thing! He would be laughed
at from York to Buffalo."

"Und he would desarf if. By vhat I see, frient, your denants be der
arisdograts, und der landlordts der vassals."

"Why, you see--what may your name be?--as we're likely to become
acquainted, I should like to know your name."

"My name is Greisenbach, und I comes from Preussen."

"Well, Mr. Greisenbach, the difficulty about aristocracy is this: Hugh
Littlepage is rich, and his money gives him advantages that other men
can't enj'y. Now, that sticks in some folks' crops."

"Oh! den it ist meant to divite broperty in dis coontry; und to say no
man might haf more ast anudder!"

"Folks don't go quite as far as that, yet; though some of their talk
does squint that-a-way, I must own. Now, there are folks about here that
complain that old Madam Littlepage and her young ladies don't visit the
poor."

"Vell, if deys be hard-hearted, und hast no feelin's for der poor and
miseraple----"

"No, no; that is not what I mean, neither. As for that sort of poor,
everybody allows they do more for _them_ than anybody else about here.
But they don't visit the poor that isn't in want."

"Vell, it ist a ferry coomfortable sort of poor dat ist not in any vant.
Berhaps you mean dey don't associate wid 'em, as equals?"

"That's it. Now, on that head, I must say there is some truth in the
charge, for the gals over at the Nest never come here to visit my gal,
and Kitty is as nice a young thing as there is about."

"Und Gitty goes to visit the gal of the man who lives over yonter, in de
house on der hill?" pointing to a residence of a man of the very
humblest class in the town.

"Hardly! Kitty's by no means proud, but I shouldn't like her to be too
thick there."

"Oh! you're an arisdograt, den, after all; else might your daughter
visit dat man's daughter."

"I tell you, Grunzebach, or whatever your name may be," returned Miller,
a little angrily, though a particularly good-natured man in the main,
"that _my_ gal shall _not_ visit old Steven's da'ghters."

"Vell, I'm sure she might do as she bleases; but I dinks der
Mademoiselles Littlepage might do ast dey pleases, too."

"There is but one Littlepage gal; if you saw them out this morning in
the carriage, you saw two York gals and parson Warren's da'ghter with
her."

"Und dis parson Warren might be rich, too?"

"Not he; he hasn't a sixpence on 'arth but what he gets from the parish.
Why, he is so poor his friends had to edicate his da'ghter, I have heern
say, over and over!"

"Und das Littlepage gal und de Warren gal might be goot friends?"

"They are the thickest together of any two young women in this part of
the world. I've never seen two gals more intimate. Now, there's a young
lady in the town, one Opportunity Newcome, who, one might think, would
stand before Mary Warren at the big house, any day in the week, but she
doesn't! Mary takes all the shine out on her."

"Which ist der richest, Obbordunity or Mary?"

"By all accounts Mary Warren has nothing, while Opportunity is thought
to come next to Matty herself, as to property, of all the young gals
about here. But Opportunity is no favorite at the Nest."

"Den it would seem, after all, dat dis Miss Littlebage does not choose
her friends on account of riches. She likes Mary Warren, who ist boor,
und she does not like Obbordunity, who ist vell to do in de vorlt.
Berhaps der Littlepages be not as big arisdograts as you supposes."

Miller was bothered, while I felt a disposition to laugh. One of the
commonest errors of those who, from position and habits, are unable to
appreciate the links which connect cultivated society together, is to
refer everything to riches. Riches, in a certain sense, as a means and
through their consequences, may be a principal agent in dividing society
into classes; but, long after riches have taken wings, their fruits
remain, when good use has been made of their presence. So untrue is the
vulgar opinion--or it might be better to say the opinion of the
vulgar--that money is the one tie which unites polished society, that it
is a fact which all must know who have access to the better circles, of
even our own commercial towns, that those circles, loosely and
accidentally constructed as they are receive with reluctance, nay, often
sternly exclude, vulgar wealth from their associations, while the door
is open to the cultivated who have nothing. The young, in particular,
seldom think much of money, while family connections, early
communications, similarity of opinions, and, most of all, of tastes,
bring sets together, and often keep them together long after the golden
band has been broken.

But men have great difficulty in comprehending things that lie beyond
their reach; and money being apparent to the senses, while refinement,
through its infinite gradations, is visible principally, and in some
cases exclusively, to its possessors, it is not surprising that common
minds should refer a tie that, to them, would otherwise be mysterious,
to the more glittering influence, and not to the less obvious. Infinite,
indeed, are the gradations of cultivated habits; nor are as many of them
the fruits of caprice and self-indulgence as men usually suppose. There
is a common sense, nay, a certain degree of wisdom, in the laws of even
etiquette, while they are confined to equals, that bespeak the respect
of those who understand them. As for the influence of associations on
men's manners, on their exteriors, and even on their opinions, my uncle
Ro has long maintained that it is so apparent, that one of his time of
life could detect the man of the world, at such a place as Saratoga
even, by an intercourse of five minutes; and what is more, that he could
tell the class in life from which he originally emerged. He tried it,
the last summer, on our return from Ravensnest, and I was amused with
his success, though he made a few mistakes, it must be admitted.

"That young man comes from the better circles, but he has never
travelled," he said, alluding to one of a group which still remained at
table; "while he who is next him _has_ travelled, but commenced badly."
This may seem a very nice distinction, but I think it is easily made.
"There are two brothers, of an excellent family in Pennsylvania," he
continued, "as one might know from the name; the eldest has travelled,
the youngest has not." This was a still harder distinction to make, but
one who knew the world as well as my uncle Ro could do it. He went on
amusing me by his decisions--all of which were respectable, and some
surprisingly accurate--in this way for several minutes. Now, like has an
affinity to like, and in this natural attraction is to be found the
secret of the ordinary construction of society. You shall put two men of
superior minds in a room full of company, and they will find each other
out directly, and enjoy the accident. The same is true as to the mere
modes of thinking that characterize social castes; and it is truer in
this country, perhaps, than most others, from the mixed character of our
associations. Of the two, I am really of opinion that the man of high
intellect, who meets with one of moderate capacity, but of manners and
social opinions on a level with his own, has more pleasure in the
communication than with one of equal mind, but of inferior habits.

That Patt should cling to one like Mary Warren seemed to me quite as
natural as that she should be averse to much association with
Opportunity Newcome. The money of the latter, had my sister been in the
least liable to such an influence, was so much below what she had been
accustomed, all her life, to consider affluence, that it would have had
no effect, even had she been subject to so low a consideration in
regulating her intercourse with others. But this poor Tom Miller could
not understand. He could "only reason from what he knew," and he knew
little of the comparative notions of wealth, and less of the powers of
cultivation on the mind and manners. He was struck, however, with a fact
that did come completely within the circle of his own knowledge, and
that was the circumstance that Mary Warren, while admitted to be poor,
was the bosom friend of her whom he was pleased to call, sometimes, the
"Littlepage gal." It was easy to see he felt the force of this
circumstance; and it is to be hoped that, as he was certainly a wiser,
he also became a better man, on one of the most common of the weaknesses
of human frailty.

"Wa-a-l," he replied to my uncle's last remark, after fully a minute of
silent reflection, "I don't know! It would seem so, I vow; and yet it
hasn't been my wife's notion, nor is it Kitty's. You're quite upsetting
my idees about aristocrats; for though I like the Littlepages, I've
always set 'em down as desp'rate aristocrats."

"Nein, nein; dem as vat you calls dimigogues be der American
arisdograts. Dey gets all der money of der pooblic, und haf all der
power, but dey gets a little mads because dey might not force demselves
on der gentlemen and laties of der coontry, as well as on der lands und
der offices!"

"I swan! I don't know but this may be true! A'ter all, I don't know what
right anybody has to complain of the Littlepages."

"Does dey dreat beoples vell, as might coome to see dem?"

"Yes, indeed! if folks treat _them_ well, as sometimes doesn't happen.
I've seen hogs here"--Tom was a little Saxon in his figures, but their
nature will prove their justification--"I've seen hogs about here, bolt
right in before old Madam Littlepage, and draw their chairs up to her
fire, and squirt about the tobacco, and never think of even taking off
their hats. Them folks be always huffy about their own importance,
though they never think of other people's feelin's."

We were interrupted by the sound of wheels, and looking round, we
perceived that the carriage of my grandmother had driven up to the
farm-house door, on its return home. Miller conceived it to be no more
than proper to go and see if he were wanted, and we followed him slowly,
it being the intention of my uncle to offer his mother a watch, by way
of ascertaining if she could penetrate his disguise.




CHAPTER X.

    "Will you buy any tape,
    Or lace for your cape?--

    Come to the peddler,
    Money's a meddler
    That doth utter all men's ware-a."--_Winter's Tale._


There they sat, those four young creatures, a perfect galaxy of bright
and beaming eyes. There was not a plain face among them; and I was
struck with the circumstance of how rare it was to meet with a youthful
and positively ugly American female. Kitty, too, was at the door by the
time we reached the carriage, and she also was a blooming and
attractive-looking girl. It was a thousand pities that she spoke,
however; the vulgarity of her utterance, tone of voice, cadences, and
accents, the latter a sort of singing whine, being in striking contrast
to a sort of healthful and vigorous delicacy that marked her appearance.
All the bright eyes grew brighter as I drew nearer, carrying the flute
in my hand; but neither of the young ladies spoke.

"Buy a vatch, ma'ams," said uncle Ro, approaching his mother, cap in
hand, with his box open.

"I thank you, friend; but I believe all here are provided with watches
already."

"Mine ist ferry sheaps."

"I dare say they may be," returned dear grandmother, smiling; "though
cheap watches are not usually the best. Is that very pretty pencil
gold?"

"Yes, ma'ams; it ist of goot gold. If it might not be I might not say
so."

I saw suppressed smiles among the girls; all of whom, however, were too
well-bred to betray to common observers the sense of the ridiculous that
each felt at the equivoque that suggested itself in my uncle's words.

"What is the price of this pencil?" asked my grandmother.

Uncle Roger had too much tact to think of inducing his mother to take a
purchase as he had influenced Miller, and he mentioned something near
the true value of the "article," which was fifteen dollars.

"I will take it," returned my grandmother, dropping three half-eagles
into the box; when, turning to Mary Warren, she begged her acceptance of
the pencil, with as much respect in her manner as if she solicited
instead of conferred a favor.

Mary Warren's handsome face was covered with blushes; she looked
pleased, and she accepted the offering, though I thought she hesitated
one moment about the propriety of so doing, most probably on account of
its value. My sister asked to look at this little present, and after
admiring it, it passed from hand to hand, each praising its shape and
ornaments. All my uncle's wares, indeed, were in perfect good taste, the
purchase having been made of an importer of character, and paid for at
some cost. The watches, it is true, were, with one or two exceptions,
cheap, as were most of the trinkets; but my uncle had about his person a
watch or two, and some fine jewelry, that he had brought from Europe
himself, expressly to bestow in presents, among which had been the
pencil in question, and which he had dropped into the box but a moment
before it was sold.

"Wa-a-l, Madam Littlepage," cried Miller, who used the familiarity of
one born on the estate, "this is the queerest watch-pedler I've met with
yet. He asks fifteen dollars for that pencil, and only four for this
watch!" showing his own purchase as he concluded.

My grandmother took the watch in her hand, and examined it attentively.

"It strikes me as singularly cheap!" she remarked, glancing a little
distrustfully, as I fancied, at her son, as if she thought he might be
selling his brushes cheaper than those who only stole the materials,
because he stole them ready made. "I know that these watches are made
for very little in the cheap countries of Europe, but one can hardly see
how this machinery was put together for so small a sum."

"I has 'em, matam, at all brices," put in my uncle.

"I have a strong desire to purchase a _good_ lady's watch, but should a
little fear buying of any but a known and regular dealer."

"You needn't fear us, ma'am," I ventured to say. "If we might sheat
anypodies, we shouldn't sheat so goot a laty."

I do not know whether my voice struck Patt's ear pleasantly, or a wish
to see the project of her grandmother carried out at once induced my
sister to interfere; but interfere she did, and that by urging her aged
parent to put confidence in us. Years had taught my grandmother caution,
and she hesitated.

"But all these watches are of base metal, and I want one of good gold
and handsome finish," observed my grandmother.

My uncle immediately produced a watch that he had bought of Blondel, in
Paris, for five hundred francs, and which was a beautiful little
ornament for a lady's belt. He gave it to my grandmother, who read the
name of the manufacturer with some little surprise. The watch itself was
then examined attentively, and was applauded by all.

"And what may be the price of this?" demanded my grandmother.

"One hoondred dollars, matam: and sheaps at dat."

Tom Miller looked at the bit of tinsel in his own hand, and at the
smaller, but exquisitely-shaped "article" that my grandmother held up to
look at, suspended by its bit of ribbon, and was quite as much puzzled
as he had evidently been a little while before, in his distinctions
between the rich and the poor. Tom was not able to distinguish the base
from the true; that was all.

My grandmother did not appear at all alarmed at the price, though she
cast another distrustful glance or two over her spectacles at the
imaginary pedler. At length the beauty of the watch overcame her.

"If you will bring this watch to yonder large dwelling, I will pay you
the hundred dollars for it," she said; "I have not as much money with me
here."

"Ja, ja--ferry goot; you might keep das vatch, laty, und I will coome
for der money after I haf got some dinners of somebodys."

My grandmother had no scruple about accepting of the credit, of course,
and she was about to put the watch in her pocket, when Patt laid her
little gloved hand on it, and cried--

"Now, dearest grandmother, let it be done at once--there is no one but
us three present, you know!"

"Such is the impatience of a child!" exclaimed the elder lady, laughing.
"Well, you shall be indulged. I gave you that pencil for a keepsake,
Mary, only _en attendant_, it having been my intention to offer a watch,
as soon as a suitable one could be found, as a memorial of the sense I
entertain of the spirit you showed during that dark week in which the
anti-renters were so menacing. Here, then, is such a watch as I might
presume to ask you to have the goodness to accept."

Mary Warren seemed astounded! The color mounted to her temples; then she
became suddenly pale. I had never seen so pretty a picture of gentle
female distress--a distress that arose from conflicting, but creditable
feelings.

"Oh! Mrs. Littlepage!" she exclaimed, after looking in astonishment at
the offering for a moment, and in silence. "You cannot have intended
that beautiful watch for me!"

"For you, my dear; the beautiful watch is not a whit too good for my
beautiful Mary."

"But, dear, _dear_ Mrs. Littlepage, it is altogether too handsome for my
station--for my means."

"A lady can very well wear such a watch; and you are a lady in every
sense of the word, and so you need have no scruples on that account. As
for the means, you will not misunderstand me if I remind you that it
will be bought with my means, and there can be no extravagance in the
purchase."

"But we are so poor, and that watch has so rich an appearance! It
scarcely seems right."

"I respect your feelings and sentiments, my dear girl, and can
appreciate them. I suppose you know I was once as poor, nay, much poorer
than you are yourself."

"You, Mrs. Littlepage! No, that can hardly be. You are of an affluent
and very respectable family, I know."

"It is quite true, nevertheless, my dear. I shall not affect extreme
humility, and deny that the Malbones did and do belong to the gentry of
the land, but my brother and myself were once so much reduced as to toil
with the surveyors, in the woods, quite near this property. We had then
no claim superior to yours, and in many respects were reduced much
lower. Besides, the daughter of an educated and well-connected clergyman
has claims that, in a worldly point of view alone, entitle her to a
certain consideration. You will do me the favor to accept my offering?"

"Dear Mrs. Littlepage! I do not know how to refuse _you_, or how to
accept so rich a gift! You will let me consult my father, first?"

"That will be no more than proper, my dear," returned my beloved
grandmother, quietly putting the watch into her own pocket; "Mr. Warren,
luckily, dines with us, and the matter can be settled before we sit down
to table."

This ended the discussion, which had commenced under an impulse of
feeling that left us all its auditors. As for my uncle and myself, it is
scarcely necessary to say we were delighted with the little scene. The
benevolent wish to gratify, on the one side, with the natural scruples
on the other, about receiving, made a perfect picture for our
contemplation. The three girls, who were witnesses of what passed, too
much respected Mary's feelings to interfere, though Patt restrained
herself with difficulty. As to Tom Miller and Kitty, they doubtless
wondered why "Warren's gal" was such a fool as to hesitate about
accepting a watch that was worth a hundred dollars. This was another
point they did not understand.

"You spoke of dinner," continued my grandmother, looking at my uncle.
"If you and your companion will follow us to the house, I will pay you
for the watch, and order you a dinner in the bargain."

We were right down glad to accept this offer, making our bows and
expressing our thanks, as the carriage whirled off. We remained a
moment, to take our leave of Miller.

"When you've got through at the Nest," said that semi-worthy fellow,
"give us another call here. I should like my woman and Kitty to have a
look at your finery, before you go down to the village with it."

With a promise to return to the farm-house, we proceeded on our way to
the building which, in the familiar parlance of the country, was called
the Nest, or the Nest house, from Ravensnest, its true name, and which
Tom Miller, in his country dialect, called the "Neest." The distance
between the two buildings was less than half a mile, the grounds of the
family residence lying partly between them. Many persons would have
called the extensive lawns which surrounded my paternal abode a park,
but it never bore that name with us. They were too large for a paddock,
and might very well have come under the former appellation; but, as
deer, or animals of any sort, except those that are domestic, had never
been kept within it, the name had not been used. We called them the
grounds--a term which applies equally to large and small enclosures of
this nature--while the broad expanse of verdure which lies directly
under the windows goes by the name of the lawn. Notwithstanding the
cheapness of land among us, there has been very little progress made in
the art of landscape gardening; and if we have anything like park
scenery, it is far more owing to the gifts of a bountiful nature than to
any of the suggestions of art. Thanks to the cultivated taste of
Downing, as well as to his well-directed labors, this reproach is likely
to be soon removed, and country life will acquire this pleasure, among
the many others that are so peculiarly its own. After lying for more
than twenty years--a stigma on the national taste--disfigured by ravines
or gullies, and otherwise in a rude and discreditable condition, the
grounds of the White House have been brought into a condition to denote
that they are the property of a civilized country. The Americans are as
apt at imitation as the Chinese, with a far greater disposition to admit
of change; and little beyond good models is required to set them on the
right track. But it is certain that, as a nation, we have yet to acquire
nearly all that belongs to the art I have mentioned that lies beyond
avenues of trees, with an occasional tuft of shrubbery. The abundance of
the latter, that forms the wilderness of sweets, the _masses_ of flowers
that spot the surface of Europe, the beauty of curved lines, and the
whole finesse of surprises, reliefs, backgrounds and vistas, are things
so little known among us as to be almost "arisdogratic," as my uncle Ro
would call the word.

Little else had been done at Ravensnest than to profit by the native
growth of the trees, and to take advantage of the favorable
circumstances in the formation of the grounds. Most travellers imagine
that it might be an easy thing to lay out a park in the virgin forest,
as the axe might spare the thickets, and copses, and woods, that
elsewhere are the fruits of time and planting. This is all a mistake,
however, as the rule; though modified exceptions may and do exist. The
tree of the American forest shoots upward toward the light, growing so
tall and slender as to be unsightly; and even when time has given its
trunk a due size, the top is rarely of a breadth to ornament a park or a
lawn, while its roots, seeking their nourishment in the rich alluvium
formed by the decayed leaves of a thousand years, lie too near the
surface to afford sufficient support after losing the shelter of its
neighbors. It is owing to reasons like these that the ornamental grounds
of an American country-house have usually to be commenced _ab origine_,
and that natural causes so little aid in furnishing them.

My predecessors had done a little toward assisting nature, at the Nest,
and what was of almost equal importance, in the state of knowledge on
this subject as it existed in the country sixty years since, they had
done little to mar her efforts. The results were, that the grounds of
Ravensnest possess a breadth that is the fruit of the breadth of our
lands, and a rural beauty which, without being much aided by art, was
still attractive. The herbage was kept short by sheep, of which one
thousand, of the fine wool, were feeding on the lawns, along the <DW72>s,
and particularly on the distant heights, as we crossed the grounds on
our way to the doors.

The Nest house was a respectable New York country dwelling, as such
buildings were constructed among us in the last quarter of the past
century, a little improved and enlarged by the second and third
generations of its owners. The material was of stone, the low cliff on
which it stood supplying enough of an excellent quality; and the shape
of the main _corps de batiment_ as near a square as might be. Each face
of this part of the constructions offered five windows to view, this
being almost the prescribed number for a country residence in that day,
as three have since got to be in towns. These windows, however, had some
size, the main building being just sixty feet square, which was about
ten feet in each direction larger than was common so soon after the
revolution. But wings had been added to the original building, and that
on a plan which conformed to the shape of a structure in square logs,
that had been its predecessor on its immediate site. These wings were
only of a story and a half each, and doubling on each side of the main
edifice just far enough to form a sufficient communication, they ran
back to the very verge of a cliff some forty feet in height,
overlooking, at their respective ends, a meandering rivulet, and a wide
expanse of very productive flats, that annually filled my barns with hay
and my cribs with corn. Of this level and fertile bottomland there was
near a thousand acres, stretching in three directions, of which two
hundred belonged to what was called the Nest farm. The remainder was
divided among the farms of the adjacent tenantry. This little
circumstance, among the thousand-and-one other atrocities that were
charged upon me, had been made a ground of accusation, to which I shall
presently have occasion to advert. I shall do this the more readily,
because the fact has not yet reached the ears and set in motion the
tongues of legislators--heaven bless us, how words do get corrupted by
too much use!--in their enumeration of the griefs of the tenants of the
State.

Everything about the Nest was kept in perfect order, and in a condition
to do credit to the energy and taste of my grandmother, who had ordered
all these things for the last few years, or since the death of my
grandfather. This circumstance, connected with the fact that the
building was larger and more costly than those of most of the other
citizens of the country, had, of late years, caused Ravensnest to be
termed an "aristocratic residence." This word "aristocratic," I find
since my return home, has got to be a term of expansive signification,
its meaning depending on the particular habits and opinions of the
person who happens to use it. Thus, he who chews tobacco thinks it
aristocratic in him who deems the practice nasty not to do the same; the
man who stoops accuses him who is straight in the back of having
aristocratic shoulders; and I have actually met with one individual who
maintained that it was excessively aristocratic to pretend not to blow
one's nose with his fingers. It will soon be aristocratic to maintain
the truth of the familiar Latin axiom of "_de gustibus non disputandum
est_."

As we approached the door of the Nest house, which opened on the piazza
that stretched along three sides of the main building, and the outer
ends of both wings, the coachman was walking his horses away from it, on
the road that led to the stables. The party of ladies had made a
considerable circuit after quitting the farm, and had arrived but a
minute before us. All the girls but Mary Warren had entered the house,
careless on the subject of the approach of two pedlers; she remained,
however, at the side of my grandmother, to receive us.

"I believe in my soul," whispered uncle Ro, "that my dear old mother has
a secret presentiment who we are, by her manifesting so much respect.
T'ousand t'anks, matam, t'ousand t'anks," he continued, dropping into
his half-accurate, half-blundering broken English, "for dis great honor,
such as we might not expect das laty of das house to wait for us at her
door."

"This young lady tells me that she has seen you before, and that she
understands you are both persons of education and good manners, who have
been driven from your native country by political troubles. Such being
the case, I cannot regard you as common pedlers. I have known what it
was to be reduced in fortune"--my dear grandmother's voice trembled a
little--"and can feel for those who thus suffer."

"Matam, dere might be moch trut' in some of dis," answered my uncle,
taking off his cap, and bowing very much like a gentleman, an act in
which I imitated him immediately. "We _haf_ seen petter tays; und my
son, dere, hast peen edicated at an university. But we are now poor
pedlers of vatches, und dem dat might make moosic in der streets."

My grandmother looked as a lady would look under such circumstances,
neither too free to forget present appearances, nor coldly neglectful of
the past. She knew that something was due to her own household, and to
the example she ought to set it, while she felt that far more was due to
the sentiment that unites the cultivated. We were asked into the house,
were told a table was preparing for us, and were treated with a generous
and considerate hospitality that involved no descent from her own
character, or that of the sex; the last being committed to the keeping
of every lady.

In the meantime, business proceeded with my uncle. He was paid his
hundred dollars; and all his stores of value, including rings, brooches,
earrings, chains, bracelets, and other trinkets that he had intended as
presents to his wards, were produced from his pockets, and laid before
the bright eyes of the three girls--Mary Warren keeping in the
background, as one who ought not to look on things unsuited to her
fortune. Her father had arrived, however, had been consulted, and the
pretty watch was already attached to the girdle of the prettier waist. I
fancied the tear of gratitude that still floated in her serene eyes was
a jewel of a far higher price than any my uncle could exhibit.

We had been shown into the library, a room that was in the front of the
house, and of which the windows all opened on the piazza. I was at first
a little overcome at thus finding myself, and unrecognized, under the
paternal roof, and in a dwelling that was my own, after so many years of
absence. Shall I confess it! Everything appeared diminutive and mean,
after the buildings to which I had been accustomed in the old world. I
am not now drawing comparisons with the palaces of princes and the
abodes of the great, as the American is apt to fancy, whenever anything
is named that is superior to the things to which he is accustomed; but
to the style, dwellings, and appliances of domestic life that pertain to
those of other countries who have not a claim in anything to be
accounted my superiors--scarcely my equals. In a word, American
aristocracy, or that which it is getting to be the fashion to stigmatize
as aristocratic, would be deemed very democratic in most of the nations
of Europe. Our Swiss brethren have their chateaux and their habits, that
are a hundred times more aristocratic than anything about Ravensnest,
without giving offence to liberty; and I feel persuaded, were the
proudest establishment in all America pointed out to a European as an
aristocratic abode, he would be very apt to laugh at it, in his sleeve.
The secret of this charge among ourselves is the innate dislike which is
growing up in the country to see any man distinguished from the mass
around him in anything, even though it should be in merit. It is nothing
but the expansion of the principle which gave rise to the traditionary
feud between the "plebeians and patricians" of Albany at the
commencement of this century, and which has now descended so much
farther than was then contemplated by the _soi-disant_ "plebeians" of
that day, as to become quite disagreeable to their own descendants. But
to return to myself--

I will own that, so far from finding any grounds of exultation in my own
aristocratical splendor, when I came to view my possessions at home, I
felt mortified and disappointed. The things that I had fancied really
respectable, and even fine, from recollection, now appeared very
commonplace, and in many particulars mean. "Really," I found myself
saying, _sotto voce_, "all this is scarcely worthy of being the cause of
deserting the right, setting sound principles at defiance, and of
forgetting God and his commandments!" Perhaps I was too inexperienced to
comprehend how capacious is the maw of the covetous man, and how
microscopic the eye of envy.

"You are welcome to Ravensnest," said Mr. Warren, approaching and
offering his hand in a friendly way, much as he would address any other
young friend; "we arrived a little before you, and I have had my ears
and eyes open ever since, in the hope of hearing your flute, and of
seeing your form in the highway, near the parsonage, where you promised
to visit me."

Mary was standing at her father's elbow, as when I first saw her, and
she gazed wistfully at my flute, as she would not have done had she seen
me in my proper attire, assuming my proper character.

"I danks you, sir," was my answer. "We might haf plenty of times for a
little moosic, vhen das laties shall be pleaset to say so. I canst blay
'Yankee Doodle,' 'Hail Coloombias,' and der 'Star Spangled Banner,' und
all dem airs, as dey so moch likes at der taverns and on der road."

Mr. Warren laughed, and he took the flute from my hand, and began to
examine it. I now trembled for the incognito! The instrument had been
mine for many years, and was a very capital one, with silver keys,
stops, and ornaments. What if Patt--what if my dear grandmother should
recognize it! I would have given the handsomest trinket in my uncle's
collection to get the flute back again into my own hands; but, before an
opportunity offered for that, it went from hand to hand, as the
instrument that had produced the charming sounds heard that morning,
until it reached those of Martha. The dear girl was thinking of the
jewelry, which, it will be remembered, was rich, and intended in part
for herself, and she passed the instrument on, saying, hurriedly:

"See, dear grandmother, this is the flute which you pronounced the
sweetest-toned of any you had ever heard!"

My grandmother took the flute, started, put her spectacles closer to her
eyes, examined the instrument, and turned pale--for her cheeks still
retained a little of the color of their youth--and then cast a glance
hurriedly and anxiously at me. I could see that she was pondering on
something profoundly in her most secret mind, for a minute or two.
Luckily the others were too much occupied with the box of the pedler to
heed her movements. She walked slowly out of the door, almost brushing
me as she passed, and went into the hall. Here she turned, and, catching
my eye, she signed for me to join her. Obeying this signal, I followed,
until I was led into a little room, in one of the wings, that I well
remembered as a sort of private parlor attached to my grandmother's own
bedroom. To call it a _boudoir_ would be to caricature things, its
furniture being just that of the sort of room I have mentioned, or of a
plain, neat, comfortable, country parlor. Here my grandmother took her
seat on a sofa, for she trembled so she could not stand, and then she
turned to gaze at me wistfully, and with an anxiety it would be
difficult for me to describe.

"Do not keep me in suspense!" she said, almost awfully in tone and
manner, "am I right in my conjecture?"

"Dearest grandmother, you are!" I answered in my natural voice.

No more was needed: we hung on each other's necks, as had been my wont
in boyhood.

"But who is that pedler, Hugh?" demanded my grandmother, after a time.
"Can it possibly be Roger, my son?"

"It is no other; we have come to visit you, incog."

"And why this disguise?--Is it connected with the troubles?"

"Certainly; we have wished to take a near view with our own eyes, and
supposed it might be unwise to come openly, in our proper characters."

"In this you have done well; yet I hardly know how to welcome you, in
your present characters. On no account must your real names be revealed.
The demons of tar and feathers, the sons of liberty and equality, who
illustrate their principles as they do their courage, by attacking the
few with the many, would be stirring, fancying themselves heroes and
martyrs in the cause of justice, did they learn you were here. Ten armed
and resolute men might drive a hundred of them, I do believe; for they
have all the cowardice of thieves, but they are heroes with the unarmed
and feeble. Are you safe yourselves, appearing thus disguised, under the
new law?"

"We are not armed, not having so much as a pistol; and that will protect
us."

"I am sorry to say, Hugh, that this country is no longer what I once
knew it. Its justice, if not wholly departed, is taking to itself wings,
and its blindness, not in a disregard of persons, but in a faculty of
seeing only the stronger side. A landlord, in my opinion, would have but
little hope, with jury, judge, or executive, for doing that which
thousands of the tenants have done, still do, and will continue to do,
with perfect impunity, unless some dire catastrophe stimulate the public
functionaries to their duties, by awakening public indignation."

"This is a miserable state of things, dearest grandmother; and what
makes it worse is the cool indifference with which most persons regard
it. A better illustration of the utter selfishness of human nature
cannot be given, than in the manner in which the body of the people look
on, and see wrong thus done to a few of their number."

"Such persons as Mr. Seneca Newcome would answer, that the public
sympathizes with the poor, who are oppressed by the rich, because the
last do not wish to let the first rob them of their estates! We hear a
great deal of the strong robbing the weak, all over the world, but few
among ourselves, I am afraid, are sufficiently clear-sighted to see how
vivid an instance of the truth now exists among ourselves."

"Calling the tenants the strong, and the landlords the weak?"

"Certainly; numbers make strength in this country, in which all power in
practice, and most of it in theory, rests with the majority. Were there
as many landlords as there are tenants, my life on it, no one would see
the least injustice in the present state of things."

"So says my uncle; but I hear the light steps of the girls--we must be
on our guard."

At that instant Martha entered, followed by all three of the girls,
holding in her hand a very beautiful Manilla chain that my uncle had
picked up in his travels, and had purchased as a present to my future
wife, whomsoever she might turn out to be, and which he had had the
indiscretion to show to his ward. A look of surprise was cast by each
girl in succession, as she entered the room, on me, but neither said,
and I fancy neither thought much of my being shut up there with an old
lady of eighty, after the first moment. Other thoughts were uppermost at
the moment.

"Look at this, dearest grandmamma!" cried Patt, holding up the chain as
she entered the room. "Here is just the most exquisite chain that was
ever wrought, and of the purest gold; but the pedler refuses to part
with it!"

"Perhaps you do not offer enough, my child; it is, indeed, very, very
beautiful; pray what does he say is its value?"

"One hundred dollars, he says; and I can readily believe it, for its
weight is near half the money. I do wish Hugh were at home; I am certain
he would contrive to get it, and make it a present to me!"

"Nein, nein, young lady," put in the pedler, who, a little
unceremoniously, had followed the girls into the room, though he knew,
of course, precisely where he was coming; "dat might not be. Dat chain
is der broperty of my son, t'ere, und I haf sworn it shalt only be gifen
to his wife."

Patt  a little, and she pouted a good deal; then she laughed
outright.

"If it is only to be had on those conditions, I am afraid I shall never
own it," she said, saucily, though it was intended to be uttered so low
as not to reach my ears. "I will pay the hundred dollars out of my own
pocket-money, however, if that will buy it. Do say a good word for me,
grandmamma?"

How prettily the hussy uttered that word of endearment, so different
from the "paw" and "maw" one hears among the dirty-noses that are to be
found in the mud-puddles! But our grandparent was puzzled, for she knew
with whom she had to deal, and of course saw that money would do
nothing. Nevertheless, the state of the game rendered it necessary to
say and do something that might have an appearance of complying with
Patty's request.

"Can I have more success in persuading you to change your mind, sir?"
she said, looking at her son in a way that let him know at once, or at
least made him suspect at once, that she was in his secret. "It would
give me great pleasure to be able to gratify my granddaughter, by making
her a present of so beautiful a chain."

My uncle Ro advanced to his mother, took the hand she had extended with
the chain in it, in order the better to admire the trinket, and he
kissed it with a profound respect, but in such a manner as to make it
seem to the lookers-on an act of European usage, rather than what it
was, the tempered salute of a child to his parent.

"Laty," he then said, with emphasis, "if anyboty might make me change a
resolution long since made, it would be one as fenerable, und gracious,
und goot as I am sartain you most be. But I haf vowet to gif dat chain
to das wife of mine son, vhen he might marry, one day, some bretty young
American; und it might not be."

Dear grandmother smiled; but now she understood that it was really
intended the chain was to be an offering to my wife, she no longer
wished to change its destination. She examined the bauble a few moments,
and said to me:

"Do you wish this, as well as your un--father, I should say? It is a
rich present for a poor man to make."

"Ja, ja, laty, it ist so; but vhen der heart goes, golt might be t'ought
sheap to go wid it."

The old lady was half ready to laugh in my face, at hearing this attempt
at Germanic English; but the kindness, and delight, and benevolent
tenderness of her still fine eyes made me wish to throw myself in her
arms again, and kiss her. Patt continued to _bouder_ for a moment or two
longer, but her excellent nature soon gave in, and the smiles returned
to her countenance as the sun issues from behind a cloud in May.

"Well, the disappointment may and must be borne," she said,
good-naturedly; "though it is much the most lovely chain I have ever
seen."

"I dare say the right person will one day find one quite as lovely to
present to you!" said Henrietta Coldbrooke, a little pointedly.

I did not like this speech. It was an allusion that a well-bred young
woman ought not to have made, at least before others, even pedlers; and
it was one that a young woman of a proper tone of feeling would not be
apt to make. I determined from that instant the chain should never
belong to Miss Henrietta, though she was a fine, showy girl, and though
such a decision would disappoint my uncle sadly. I was a little
surprised to see a slight blush on Patt's cheeks, and then I remembered
something of the name of the traveller, Beekman. Turning toward Mary
Warren, I saw plain enough that she was disappointed because my sister
was disappointed, and for no other reason in the world.

"Your grandmother will meet with another chain, when she goes to town,
that will make you forget this," she whispered, affectionately, close at
my sister's ears.

Patt smiled, and kissed her friend with a warmth of manner that
satisfied me these two charming young creatures loved each other
sincerely. But my dear old grandmother's curiosity had been awakened,
and she felt a necessity for having it appeased. She still held the
chain, and as she returned it to me, who happened to be nearest to her,
she said:

"And so, sir, your mind is sincerely made up to offer this chain to your
future wife?"

"Yes, laty; or what might be better, to das young frau, before we might
be marriet."

"And is your choice made?" glancing round at the girls, who were grouped
together, looking at some other trinkets of my uncle's. "Have you chosen
the young woman who is to possess so handsome a chain?"

"Nein, nein," I answered, returning the smile, and glancing also at the
group; "dere ist so many peautiful laties in America, one needn't be in
a hurry. In goot time I shalt find her dat ist intended for me."

"Well, grandmamma," interrupted Patt, "since nobody can have the chain,
unless on certain conditions, here are the three other things that we
have chosen for Ann, Henrietta, and myself, and they are a ring, a pair
of bracelets, and a pair of earrings. The cost, altogether, will be two
hundred dollars; can you approve of that?"

My grandmother, now she knew who was the pedler, understood the whole
matter, and had no scruples. The bargain was soon made, when she sent us
all out of the room, under the pretence we should disturb her while
settling with the watchseller. Her real object, however, was to be alone
with her son, not a dollar passing between them, of course.




CHAPTER XI.

    "Our life was changed. Another love
      In this lone woof began to twine;
    But oh! the golden thread was wove
      Between my sister's heart and mine."--WILLIS.


Half an hour later, Uncle Ro and myself were seated at table, eating our
dinners as quietly as if we were in an inn. The footman who had set the
table was an old family servant, one who had performed the same sort of
duty in that very house for a quarter of a century. Of course he was not
an American, no _man_ of American birth ever remained so long a time in
an inferior station, or in any station so low as that of a
house-servant. If he has good qualities enough to render it desirable to
keep him he is almost certain to go up in the world; if not, one does
not care particularly about having him. But Europeans are less elastic
and less ambitious, and it is no uncommon thing to find one of such an
origin remaining a long time in the same service. Such had been the fact
with this man, who had followed my own parents from Europe, when they
returned from their marriage tour, and had been in the house on the
occasion of my birth. From that time he had continued at the Nest, never
marrying, nor ever manifesting the smallest wish for any change. He was
an Englishman by birth; and what is very unusual in a servant of that
country, when transferred to America, the "letting-up," which is certain
to attend such a change from the depression of the original condition to
that in which he is so suddenly placed, had not made him saucy. An
American is seldom what is called impudent, under any circumstances; he
is careless, nay ignorant, of forms; pays little or no purely
conventional respect; does not understand half the social distinctions
which exist among the higher classes of even his own countrymen, and
fancies there are equalities in things about which, in truth, there is
great inequality between himself and others, merely because he has been
taught that all men are equal in rights; but he is so unconscious of any
pressure as seldom to feel a disposition to revenge himself by
impudence.

But, while John was not impudent either, he had a footman's feeling
toward those whom he fancied no better than himself. He had set the
table with his customary neatness and method, and he served the soup
with as much regularity as he would have done had we sat there in our
proper characters, but then he withdrew. He probably remembered that the
landlord, or upper servant of an English hotel, is apt to make his
appearance with the soup, and to disappear as that disappears. So it was
with John; after removing the soup, he put a dumb-waiter near my uncle,
touched a carving-knife or two, as much as to say "help yourselves," and
quitted the room. As a matter of course, our dinner was not a very
elaborate one, it wanting two or three hours to the regular time of
dining, though my grandmother had ordered, in my hearing, one or two
delicacies to be placed on the table that had surprised Patt. Among the
extraordinary things for such guests was wine. The singularity, however,
was a little explained by the quality commanded, which was Rhenish.

My uncle Ro was a little surprised at the disappearance of John; for,
seated in that room, he was so accustomed to his face, that it appeared
as if he were not half at home without him.

"Let the fellow go," he said, withdrawing his hand from the bell-cord,
which he had already touched to order him back again; "we can talk more
freely without him. Well, Hugh, here you are, under your own roof,
eating a charitable dinner, and treated as hospitably as if you did not
own all you can see for a circle of five miles around you. It was a
lucky idea of the old lady's, by the way, to think of ordering this
Rudesheimer, in our character of Dutchmen! How amazingly well she is
looking, boy!"

"Indeed she is; and I am delighted to see it. I do not know why my
grandmother may not live these twenty years; for even that would not
make her near as old as Sus, who, I have often heard her say, was a
middle-aged man when she was born."

"True; she seems like an elder sister to me, rather than as a mother;
and is altogether a most delightful old woman. But, if we had so
charming an old woman to receive us, so are there also some very
charming _young_ women--hey, Hugh?"

"I am quite of your way of thinking, sir; and must say I have not, in
many a day, seen two as charming creatures as I have met with here."

"_Two_!--umph; a body would think _one_ might suffice. Pray, which may
be the two, Master Padishah?"

"Patt and Mary Warren, of course. The other two are well enough, but
these two are excellent."

My uncle Ro looked grum, but he said nothing for some time. Eating is
always an excuse for a broken conversation, and he ate away as if
resolute not to betray his disappointment. But it is a hard matter for a
gentleman to do nothing but eat at table, and so he was obliged to talk.

"Everything looks well here, after all, Hugh," observed my uncle. "These
anti-renters may have done an infinite deal of harm in the way of
abusing principles, but they do not seem to have yet destroyed any
material things."

"It is not their cue, sir. The crops are their own; and as they hope to
own the farms, it would be scarcely wise to injure what, no doubt, they
begin to look on as their own property, too. As for the Nest house,
grounds, farm, etc., I dare say they will be very willing to leave me
them for a while longer, provided they can get everything else away from
me."

"For a time longer, at least; though that is the folly of those who
expect to get along by concessions; as if men were ever satisfied with
the yielding of a part, when they ask that which is wrong in itself,
without sooner or later expecting to get the whole. As well might one
expect the pickpocket who had abstracted a dollar to put back
two-and-sixpence change. But things really look well around the place."

"So much the better for us. Though, to my judgment and taste, Miss Mary
Warren looks better than anything else I have yet seen in America."

Another "umph" expressed my uncle's dissatisfaction--displeasure would
be too strong a word--and he continued eating.

"You have really some good Rhenish in your cellar, Hugh," resumed Uncle
Ro, after tossing off one of the knowing green glasses full--though I
never could understand why any man should wish to drink his wine out of
green, when he might do it out of crystal. "It must have been a purchase
of mine, made when we were last in Germany, and for the use of my
mother."

"As you please, sir; it neither adds nor subtracts from the beauty of
Martha and her friend."

"Since you are disposed to make these boyish allusions, be frank with
me, and say, at once, how you like my wards."

"Meaning, of course, sir, my own sister exclusively. I will be as
sincere as possible, and say that, as to Miss Marston, I have no opinion
at all; and as to Miss Coldbrooke, she is what, in Europe, would be
called a 'fine' woman."

"You can say nothing as to her mind, Hugh, for you have had no
opportunity for forming an opinion."

"Not much of a one, I will own. Nevertheless, I should have liked her
better had she spared the allusion to the 'proper person' who is one day
to forge a chain for my sister, to begin with."

"Poh, poh! that is the mere squeamishness of a boy. I do not think her
in the least pert or forward, and your construction would be _tant soi
peu_ vulgar."

"Put your own construction on it, _mon oncle_; _I_ do not like it."

"I do not wonder young men remain unmarried; they are getting to be so
ultra in their tastes and notions."

A stranger might have retorted on an old bachelor, for such a speech, by
some allusion to his own example; but I well knew that my uncle Ro had
once been engaged, and that he lost the object of his passion by death,
and too much respected his constancy and true sentiments ever to joke on
such subjects. I believe he felt the delicacy of my forbearance rather
more than common, for he immediately manifested a disposition to relent,
and to prove it by changing the subject.

"We can never stay here to-night," he said. "It would be at once to
proclaim our names--our name, I might say--a name that was once so
honored and beloved in this town, and which is now so hated!"

"No, no; not as bad as that. We have done nothing to merit hatred."

"_Raison de plus_ for hating us so much the more heartily. When men are
wronged, who have done nothing to deserve it, the evil-doer seeks to
justify his wickedness to himself by striving all he can to calumniate
the injured party; and the more difficulty he finds in doing that to his
mind, the more profound is his hatred. Rely on it, we are most sincerely
disliked here on the spot where we were once both much beloved. Such is
human nature."

At that moment John returned to the room, to see how we were getting on,
and to count his forks and spoons, for I saw the fellow actually doing
it. My uncle, somewhat indiscreetly, I fancied, but by merely following
the chain of thought then uppermost in his mind, detained him in
conversation.

"Dis broperty," he said, inquiringly, "is de broperty of one Yeneral
Littlepage, I hears say?"

"Not of the General, who was Madam Littlepage's husband, and who has
long been dead, but of his grandson, Mr. Hugh."

"Und vhere might he be, dis Mr. Hugh?--might he be at hand, or might he
not?"

"No; he's in Europe; that is to say, in Hengland." John thought England
covered most of Europe, though he had long gotten over his wish to
return. "Mr. Hugh and Mr. Roger be both habsent from the country, just
now."

"Dat ist unfortunate, for dey dells me dere might be moch troobles
hereabouts, and Injin-acting."

"There is, indeed; and a wicked thing it is, that there should be
anything of the sort."

"Und vhat might be der reason of so moch troobles?--and vhere ist der
blame?"

"Well, that is pretty plain, I fancy," returned John, who in consequence
of being a favored servant at head-quarters, fancied himself a sort of
cabinet minister, and had much pleasure in letting his knowledge be
seen. "The tenants on this estate wants to be landlords; and as they
can't be so, so long as Mr. Hugh lives and won't let 'em, why they just
tries all sorts of schemes and plans to frighten people out of their
property. I never go down to the village but I has a talk with some of
them, and that in a way that might do them some good, if anything can."

"Und vhat dost you say?--and vid whom dost you talk, as might do dem
moch goot?"

"Why, you see, I talks more with one 'Squire Newcome, as they calls him,
though he's no more of a real 'squire than you be--only a sort of an
attorney, like, such as they has in this country. You come from the old
countries, I believe?"

"Ja, ja--dat ist, yes--we comes from Charmany; so you can say vhat you
pleases."

"They has queer 'squires in this part of the world, if truth must be
said. But that's neither here nor there, though I give this Mr. Seneca
Newcome as good as he sends. What is it you wants? I says to him--you
can't all be landlords--somebody must be tenants; and if you didn't want
to be tenants, how come you to be so? Land is plenty in this country,
and cheap, too; and why didn't you buy your land at first, instead of
coming to rent of Mr. Hugh; and now when you _have_ rented, to be
quarrelling about the very thing you did of your own accord?"

"Dere you didst dell 'em a goot t'ing; and vhat might der 'squire say to
dat?"

"Oh! he was quite dumfounded, at first; then he said that in old times,
when people first rented these lands, they didn't _know_ as much as they
do now, or they never would have done it."

"Und you could answer dat; or vast it your durn to be dumfounded?"

"I pitched it into him, as they says; I did. Says I, how's this, says
I--you are forever boasting how much you Americans know--and how the
people knows everything that ought to be done, about politics and
religion--and you proclaim far and near that your yeomen are the salt of
the earth--and yet you don't know how to bargain for your leases! A
pretty sort of wisdom is this, says I! I had him there; for the people
round about here is only too sharp at a trade."

"Did he own that you vast right, and dat he vast wrong, dis Herr 'Squire
Newcome?"

"Not he; he will never own anything that makes against his own doctrine,
unless he does it ignorantly. But I haven't told you half of it. I told
him, says I, how is it you talk of one of the Littlepage family cheating
you, when, as you knows yourselves, you had rather have the word of one
of the family than have each other's bonds, says I. You know, sir, it
must be a poor landlord that a tenant can't and won't take his word: and
this they all know to be true; for a gentleman as has a fine estate is
raised above temptation, like, and has a pride in him to do what is
honorable and fair; and, in my opinion, it is good to have a few such
people in a country, if it be only to keep the wicked one from getting
it altogether in his own keeping."

"Und did you say dat moch to der 'squire?"

"No; that I just say to you two, seeing that we are here, talking
together in a friendly way; but a man needn't be ashamed to say it
anywhere, for it's a religious truth. But I says to him, Newcome, says
I, you, who has been living so long on the property of the Littlepages,
ought to be ashamed to wish to strip them of it; but you're not
satisfied with keeping gentlemen down quite as much out of sight as you
can, by holding all the offices yourselves, and taking all the money of
the public you can lay your hands on for your own use, but you wants to
trample them under your feet, I says, and so take your revenge for being
what you be, says I."

"Vell, my friend," said my uncle, "you vast a bolt man to dell all dis
to der beoples of dis coontry, vhere, I have heard, a man may say just
vhat he hast a mind to say, so dat he dost not speak too moch trut!"

"That's it--that's it; you have been a quick scholar, I find. I told
this Mr. Newcome, says I, you're bold enough in railing at kings and
nobles, for you very well know, says I, that they are three thousand
miles away from you, and can do you no harm; but you would no more dare
get up before your masters, the people, here, and say what you really
think about 'em, and what I have heard you say of them in private, than
you would dare put your head before a cannon, as the gunner touched it
off. Oh! I gave him a lesson, you may be sure!"

Although there was a good deal of the English footman in John's logic
and feeling, there was also a good deal of truth in what he said. The
part where he accused Newcome of holding one set of opinions in private,
concerning _his_ masters, and another in public, is true to the life.
There is not, at this moment, within the wide reach of the American
borders, one demagogue to be found who might not, with justice, be
accused of precisely the same deception. There is not one demagogue in
the whole country, who, if he lived in a monarchy, would not be the
humblest advocate of men in power, ready to kneel at the feet of those
who stood in the sovereign's presence. There is not, at this instant, a
man in power among us, a senator or a legislator, who is now the seeming
advocate of what he wishes to call the rights of the tenants, and who is
for overlooking principles and destroying law and right, in order to
pacify the anti-renters by extraordinary concessions, that would not be
among the foremost, under a monarchial system, to recommend and support
the freest application of the sword and the bayonet to suppress what
would then be viewed, ay, and be termed, "the rapacious longings of the
disaffected to enjoy the property of others without paying for it." All
this is certain; for it depends on a law of morals that is infallible.
Any one who wishes to obtain a clear index to the true characters of the
public men he is required to support, or oppose, has now the
opportunity; for each stands before a mirror that reflects him in his
just proportions, and in which the dullest eye has only to cast a
glance, in order to view him from head to foot.

The entrance of my grandmother put a stop to John's discourse. He was
sent out of the room on a message, and then I learned the object of this
visit. My sister had been let into the secret of our true characters,
and was dying to embrace me. My dear grandmother, rightly enough, had
decided it would be to the last degree unkind to keep her in ignorance
of our presence; and, the fact known, nature had longings which must be
appeased. I had myself been tempted twenty times that morning to snatch
Patt to my heart and kiss her, as I used to do just after my beard began
to grow, and she was so much of a child as to complain. The principal
thing to be arranged, then, was to obtain an interview for me without
awakening suspicion in the observers. My grandmother's plan was
arranged, however, and she now communicated it to us.

There was a neat little dressing-room annexed to Martha's bedroom; in
that the meeting was to take place.

"She and Mary Warren are now there, waiting for your appearance,
Hugh----"

"Mary Warren!--Does she, then, know who I am?"

"Not in the least; she has no other idea than that you are a young
German, of good connections and well educated, who has been driven from
his own country by political troubles, and who is reduced to turn his
musical taste and acquisitions to account, in the way you seem to do,
until he can find some better employment. All this she had told us
before we met you, and you are not to be vain, Hugh, if I add, that your
supposed misfortunes, and great skill with the flute, and good behavior,
have made a friend of one of the best and most true-hearted girls I ever
had the good fortune to know. I say good _behavior_, for little, just
now, can be ascribed to good _looks_."

"I hope I am not in the least revolting in appearance, in this disguise.
For my sister's sake----"

The hearty laugh of my dear old grandmother brought me up, and I said no
more; coloring, I believe, a little, at my own folly. Even Uncle Ro
joined in the mirth, though I could see he wished Mary Warren even
safely translated along with her father, and that the latter was
Archbishop of Canterbury. I must acknowledge that I felt a good deal
ashamed of the weakness I had betrayed.

"You are very well, Hugh, darling," continued my grandmother; "though I
must think you would be more interesting in your own hair, which is
curling, than in that long wig. Still, one can see enough of your face
to recognize it, if one has the clew; and I told Martha, at the first,
that I was struck with a certain expression of the eyes and smile that
reminded me of her brother. But, there they are, Mary and Martha, in the
drawing-room, waiting for your appearance. The first is so fond of
music, and, indeed, is so practised in it, as to have been delighted
with your flute; and she has talked so much of your skill as to justify
us in seeming to wish for a further exhibition of your skill. Henrietta
and Ann, having less taste that way, have gone together to select
bouquets, in the greenhouse, and there is now an excellent opportunity
to gratify your sister. I am to draw Mary out of the room, after a
little while, when you and Martha may say a word to each other in your
proper characters. As for you, Roger, you are to open your box again,
and I will answer for it _that_ will serve to amuse your other wards,
should they return too soon from their visit to the gardener."

Everything being thus explained, and our dinner ended, all parties
proceeded to the execution of the plan, each in his or her designated
mode. When my grandmother and I reached the dressing-room, however,
Martha was not there, though Mary Warren was, her bright but serene eyes
full of happiness and expectation. Martha had retired to the inner room
for a moment, whither my grandmother, suspecting the truth, followed
her. As I afterward ascertained, my sister, fearful of not being able to
suppress her tears on my entrance, had withdrawn, in order to struggle
for self-command without betraying our secret. I was told to commence an
air, without waiting for the absent young lady, as the strain could
easily be heard through the open door.

I might have played ten minutes before my sister and grandmother came
out again. Both had been in tears, though the intense manner in which
Mary Warren was occupied with the harmony of my flute, probably
prevented her from observing it. To me, however, it was plain enough;
and glad was I to find that my sister had succeeded in commanding her
feelings. In a minute or two my grandmother profited by a pause to rise
and carry away with her Mary Warren, though the last left the room with
a reluctance that was very manifest. The pretence was a promise to meet
the divine in the library, on some business connected with the
Sunday-schools.

"You can keep the young man for another air, Martha," observed my
grandmother, "and I will send Jane to you, as I pass her room."

Jane was my sister's own maid, and her room was close at hand, and I
dare say dear grandmother gave her the order, in Mary Warren's presence,
as soon as she quitted the room, else might Mary Warren well be
surprised at the singularity of the whole procedure; but Jane did not
make her appearance, nevertheless. As for myself, I continued to play as
long as I thought any ear was near enough to hear me; then I laid aside
my flute. In the next instant Patt was in my arms, where she lay some
time weeping, but looking inexpressibly happy.

"Oh! Hugh, what a disguise was this to visit your own house in!" she
said, as soon as composed enough to speak.

"Would it have done to come here otherwise? You know the state of the
country, and the precious fruits our boasted tree of liberty is bringing
forth. The owner of the land can only visit his property at the risk of
his life!"

Martha pressed me in her arms in a way to show how conscious she was of
the danger I incurred in even thus visiting her; after which we seated
ourselves, side by side, on a little divan, and began to speak of those
things that were most natural to a brother and sister who so much loved
each other, and who had not met for five years. My grandmother had
managed so well as to prevent all interruption for an hour, if we saw
fit to remain together, while to others it should seem as if Patt had
dismissed me in a few minutes.

"Not one of the other girls suspects, in the least, who you are," said
Martha, smiling, when we had got through with the questions and answers
so natural to our situation. "I am surprised that Henrietta has not, for
_she_ prides herself on her penetration. She is as much in the dark as
the others, however."

"And Miss Mary Warren--the young lady who has just left the room--has
she not some _small_ notion that I am not a common Dutch music-grinder?"

Patt laughed, and that so merrily as to cause the tones of her sweet
voice to fill me with delight, as I remembered what she had been in
childhood and girlhood five years before, and she shook her bright
tresses off her cheeks ere she would answer.

"No, Hugh," she replied, "she fancies you an _uncommon_ Dutch
music-grinder; an _artiste_ that not only grinds, but who dresses up his
harmonies in such a way as to be palatable to the most refined taste.
How came Mary to think you and my uncle two reduced German gentlemen?"

"And does the dear girl believe--that is, does Miss Mary Warren do us so
much honor, as to imagine that?"

"Indeed she does, for she told us as much as soon as she got home; and
Henrietta and Ann have made themselves very merry with their
speculations on the subject of Miss Warren's great incognito. They call
you Herzog von Geige."

"Thank them for that." I am afraid I answered a little too pointedly,
for I saw that Patt seemed surprised. "But your American towns are just
such half-way things as to spoil young women; making them neither
refined and polished as they might be in real capitals, while they are
not left the simplicity and nature of the country."

"Well, Master Hugh, this is being very cross about a very little, and
not particularly complimentary to your own sister. And why not _your_
American towns, as well as _ours_?--are you no longer one of us?"

"Certainly; one of _yours_, always, my dearest Patt, though not one of
every chattering girl who may set up for a _belle_, with her Dukes of
Fiddle! But, enough of this;--you like the Warrens?"

"Very much so; father and daughter. The first is just what a clergyman
should be; of a cultivation and intelligence to fit him to be any man's
companion, and a simplicity like that of a child. Your remember his
predecessor--so dissatisfied, so selfish, so lazy, so censorious, so
unjust to every person and thing around him, and yet so exacting; and,
at the same time, so----"

"What? Thus far you have drawn his character well: I should like to hear
the remainder."

"I have said more than I ought already; for one has an idea that, by
bringing a clergyman into disrepute, it brings religion and the Church
into discredit, too. A priest must be a _very_ bad man to have injurious
things said of him, in this country, Hugh."

"That is, perhaps, true. But you like Mr. Warren better than him who has
left you?"

"A thousand times, and in all things. In addition to having a most pious
and sincere pastor, _we_ have an agreeable and well-bred neighbor, from
whose mouth, in the five years that he has dwelt here, I have not heard
a syllable at the expense of a single fellow-creature. You know how it
is apt to be with the other clergy and ours, in the country--forever at
swords' points; and if not actually quarrelling, keeping up a hollow
peace."

"That is only too true--or used to be true, before I went abroad."

"And it is so now elsewhere, I'll answer for it, though it be so no
longer here. Mr. Warren and Mr. Peck seem to live on perfectly amicable
terms, though as little alike at bottom as fire and water."

"By the way, how do the clergy of the different sects, up and down the
country, behave on the subject of anti-rent?"

"I can answer only from what I hear, with the exception of Mr. Warren's
course. _He_ has preached two or three plain and severe sermons on the
duty of honesty in our worldly transactions, one of which was from the
tenth commandment. Of course he said nothing of the particular trouble,
but everybody must have made the necessary application of the
home-truths he uttered. I question if another voice has been raised, far
and near, on the subject, although I have heard Mr. Warren say the
movement threatens more to demoralize New York than anything that has
happened in his time."

"And the man down at the village?"

"Oh, he goes, of course, with the majority. When was one of that sect
known to oppose his parish, in anything?"

"And Mary is as sound and as high-principled as her father?"

"Quite so; though there has been a good deal said about the necessity of
Mr. Warren's removing, and giving up St. Andrew's, since he preached
against covetousness. All the anti-renters say, I hear, that they know
he meant _them_, and that they won't put up with it."

"I dare say; each one fancying he was almost called out by name; that is
the way, when conscience works."

"I should be very, very sorry to part with Mary; and almost as much so
to part with her father. There is one thing, however, that Mr. Warren
himself thinks we had better have done, Hugh; and that is to take down
the canopy from over our pew. You can have no notion of the noise that
foolish canopy is making up and down the country."

"I shall _not_ take it down. It is my property, and there it shall
remain. As for the canopy, it was a wrong distinction to place in a
church, I am willing to allow; but it never gave offence until it has
been thought that a cry against it would help to rob me of my lands at
half-price, or at no price at all, as it may happen."

"All that may be true; but if improper for a church, why keep it?"

"Because I do not choose to be bullied out of what is my own, even
though I care nothing about it. There might have been a time when the
canopy was unsuited to the house of God, and that was when those who saw
it might fancy it canopied the head of a fellow-creature who had higher
claims than themselves to divine favor; but in times like these, when
men estimate merit by beginning at the other end of the social scale,
there is little danger of any one's falling into the mistake. The canopy
shall stand, little as I care about it; now, I would actually prefer it
should come down, and I can fully see the impropriety of making any
distinctions in the temple; but it shall stand until concessions cease
to be dangerous. It is a right of property, and as such I will maintain
it. If others dislike it, let them put canopies over their pews, too.
The best test, in such a matter, is to see who could bear it. A pretty
figure Seneca Newcome would cut, for instance, seated in a canopied pew!
Even his own set would laugh at him, which, I fancy, is more than they
yet do at me."

Martha was disappointed; but she changed the subject. We next talked of
our own little private affairs, as they were connected with smaller
matters.

"For whom is that beautiful chain intended, Hugh?" asked Patt,
laughingly. "I can now believe the pedler when he says it is reserved
for your future wife. But who is that wife to be? Will her name be
Henrietta or Ann?"

"Why not ask, also, if it will be Mary?--why exclude one of your
companions, while you include the other two?"

Patt started--seemed surprised; her cheeks flushed, and then I saw that
pleasure was the feeling predominant.

"Am I too late to secure that jewel, as a pendant to my chain?" I asked,
half in jest, half seriously.

"Too soon, at least, to attract it by the richness and beauty of the
bawble. A more natural and disinterested girl than Mary Warren does not
exist in the country."

"Be frank with me, Martha, and say at once; has she a favored suitor?"

"Why, this seems really serious!" exclaimed my sister, laughing. "But,
to put you out of your pain, I will answer, I know of but one. One she
has certainly, or female sagacity is at fault."

"But is he one that is favored? You can never know how much depends on
your answer."

"Of that you can judge for yourself. It is 'Squire Seneky Newcome, as he
is called hereabouts--the brother of the charming Opportunity, who still
reserves herself for you."

"And they are as rank anti-renters as any male and female in the
country."

"They are rank Newcomites; and that means that each is for himself.
Would you believe it, but Opportunity really gives herself airs with
Mary Warren!"

"And how does Mary Warren take such an assumption?"

"As a young person should--quietly and without manifesting any feeling.
But there is something quite intolerable in one like Opportunity
Newcome's assuming a superiority over any true lady! Mary is as well
educated and as well connected as any of us, and is quite as much
accustomed to good company; while Opportunity--" here Patt laughed, and
then added, hurriedly, "but you know Opportunity as well as I do."

"Oh! yes; she is _la_ vertue, or _the_ virtue, and _je suis venue
pour_."

The latter allusion Patt understood well enough, having laughed over the
story a dozen times; and she laughed again when I explained the affair
of "_the_ solitude."

Then came a fit of sisterly feeling. Patt insisted on taking off my wig,
and seeing my face in its natural dress. I consented to gratify her,
when the girl really behaved like a simpleton. First she pushed about my
curls until they were arranged to suit the silly creature, when she ran
back several steps, clapped her hands in delight, then rushed into "my
arms and kissed my forehead and eyes, and called me her brother"--her
"only brother"--her "dear, _dear_ Hugh," and by a number of other such
epithets, until she worked herself, and me too, into such an excess of
feeling that we sat down, side by side, and each had a hearty fit of
crying. Perhaps some such burst as this was necessary to relieve our
minds, and we submitted to it wisely.

My sister wept the longest, as a matter of course; but, as soon as she
had dried her eyes, she replaced the wig, and completely restored my
disguise, trembling the whole time lest some one might enter and detect
me.

"You have been very imprudent, Hugh, in coming here at all," she said,
while thus busy. "You can form no notion of the miserable state of the
country, or how far the anti-rent poison has extended, or the malignant
nature of its feeling. The annoyances they have attempted with dear
grandmother are odious; _you_ they would scarcely leave alive."

"The country and the people must have strangely altered, then, in five
years. Our New York population has hitherto had very little of the
assassin-like character. Tar and feathers are the blackguards', and have
been the petty tyrants' weapons, from time immemorial, in this country;
but not the knife."

"And can anything sooner or more effectually alter a people than
longings for the property of others? Is not the 'love of money the root
of all evil?'--and what right have we to suppose our Ravensnest
population is better than another, when that sordid feeling is
thoroughly aroused? You know you have written one yourself, that all the
American can or does live for is money."

"I have written you, dear, that the country, in its present condition,
leaves no other incentive to exertion, and therein it is cursed.
Military fame, military rank, even, are unattainable, under our system;
the arts, letters, and science bring little or no reward; and there
being no political rank that a man of refinement would care for, men
must live for money, or live altogether for another state of being. But
I have told you, at the same time, Martha, that, notwithstanding all
this, I believe the American a less mercenary being, in the ordinary
sense of the word, than the European; that two men might be bought, for
instance, in any European country, for one here. This last I suppose to
be the result of the facility of making a living, and the habits it
produces."

"Never mind causes; Mr. Warren says there is a desperate intention to
rob existing among these people, and that they are dangerous. As yet
they do a little respect women, but how long they will do that one
cannot know."

"It may all be so. It _must_ be so, respecting what I have heard and
read; yet this vale looks as smiling and as sweet, at this very moment,
as if an evil passion never sullied it! But depend on my prudence, which
tells me that we ought now to part. I shall see you again and again
before I quit the estate, and you will, of course, join us somewhere--at
the Springs, perhaps--as soon as we find it necessary or expedient to
decamp."

Martha promised this, of course, and I kissed her, previously to
separating. No one crossed my way as I descended to the piazza, which
was easily done, since I was literally at home. I lounged about on the
lawn a few minutes, and then, showing myself in front of the library
windows, I was summoned to the room, as I had expected.

Uncle Ro had disposed of every article of the fine jewelry that he had
brought home as presents for his wards. The pay was a matter to be
arranged with Mrs. Littlepage, which meant no pay at all; and, as the
donor afterward told me, he liked this mode of distributing the various
ornaments better than presenting them himself, as he was now certain
each girl had consulted her own fancy.

As the hour of the regular dinner was approaching, we took our leave
soon after, not without receiving kind and pressing invitations to visit
the Nest again ere we left the township. Of course we promised all that
was required, intending most faithfully to comply. On quitting the house
we returned toward the farm, though not without pausing on the lawn to
gaze around us on a scene so dear to both, from recollection,
association, and interest. But I forget, this is aristocratical; the
landlord has no right to sentiments of this nature, which are feelings
that the sublimated liberty of the law is beginning to hold in reserve
solely for the benefit of the tenant!




CHAPTER XII.

     "There shall be, in England, seven half penny loaves sold for a
     penny; the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops; and I will
     make it felony to drink small beer; all the realm shall be in
     common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass."--_Jack
     Cade._


"I do not see, sir," I remarked, as we moved on from the last of these
pauses, "why the governors and the legislators, and writers on this
subject of anti-rentism, talk so much of feudality, and chickens, and
days' works, and durable leases, when we have none of these, while we
have all the disaffection they are said to produce."

"You will understand that better as you come to know more of men. No
party alludes to its weak points. It is just as you say; but the
proceedings of your tenants, for instance, give the lie to the theories
of the philanthropists, and must be kept in the background. It is true
that the disaffection has not yet extended to one-half, or to one-fourth
of the leased estates in the country, perhaps not to one-tenth, if you
take the number of the landlords as the standard, instead of the extent
of their possessions, but it certainly _will_, should the authorities
tamper with the rebels much longer."

"If they tax the incomes of the landlords under the durable rent system,
why would not the parties aggrieved have the same right to take up arms
to resist such an act of oppression as our fathers had in 1776?"

"Their cause would be better; for that was only a constructive right,
and one dependent on general principles, whereas this is an attempt at a
most mean evasion of a written law, the meanness of the attempt being
quite as culpable as its fraud. Every human being knows that such a tax,
so far as it has any object beyond that of an election-sop, is to choke
off the landlords from the maintenance of their covenants, which is a
thing that no State _can_ do directly, without running the risk of
having its law pronounced unconstitutional by the courts of the United
States, if, indeed, not by its own courts."

"The Court of Errors, think you?"

"The Court of Errors is doomed, by its own abuses. Catiline never abused
the patience of Rome more than that mongrel assembly has abused the
patience of every sound lawyer in the State. '_Fiat justitia, ruat
coelum_,' is interpreted, now, into 'Let justice be done, and the
court fall.' No one wishes to see it continued, and the approaching
convention will send it to the Capulets, if it do nothing else to be
commended. It was a pitiful imitation of the House of Lords system, with
this striking difference; the English lords are men of education, and
men with a vast deal at stake, and their knowledge and interests teach
them to leave the settlement of appeals to the legal men of their body,
of whom there are always a respectable number, in addition to those in
possession of the woolsack and the bench; whereas our Senate is a court
composed of small lawyers, country doctors, merchants, farmers, with
occasionally a man of really liberal attainments. Under the direction of
an acute and honest judge, as most of our true judges actually are, the
Court of Errors would hardly form such a jury as would allow a
creditable person to be tried by his peers, in a case affecting
character, for instance, and here we have it set up as a court of the
last resort, to settle points of law!"

"I see it has just made a decision in a libel suit, at which the
profession sneers."

"It has, indeed. Now look at that very decision, for instance, as the
measure of its knowledge. An editor of a newspaper holds up a literary
man to the world as one anxious to obtain a small sum of money, in order
to put it into Wall Street, for 'shaving purposes.' Now, the only
material question raised was the true signification of the word
'shaving.' If to say a man is a 'shaver,' in the sense in which it is
applied to the use of money, be bringing him into discredit, then was
the plaintiff's declaration sufficient; if not, it was insufficient,
being wanting in what is called an 'innuendo.' The dictionaries, and men
in general, understand by 'shaving,' 'extortion,' and nothing else. To
call a man a 'shaver' is to say he is an 'extortioner,' without going
into details. But, in Wall Street, and among money-dealers, certain
transactions that, in their eyes, and by the courts, are not deemed
discreditable, have of late been brought within the category of
'shaving.' Thus it is technically, or by convention among bankers,
termed 'shaving' if a man buy a note at less than its face, which is a
legal transaction. On the strength of this last circumstance, _as is set
forth in the published opinions_, the highest Court of Appeals in New
York has decided that it does not bring a man into discredit to say he
is a 'shaver!'--thus making a conventional signification of the brokers
of Wall Street higher authority for the use of the English tongue than
the standard lexicographers, and all the rest of those who use the
language! On the same principle, if a set of pickpockets at the Five
Points, should choose to mystify their trade a little by including in
the term 'to filch' the literal _borrowing_ of a pocket-handkerchief, it
would not be a libel to accuse a citizen of 'filching his neighbor's
handkerchief!'"

"But the libel was uttered to the _world_, and not to the brokers of
Wall Street only, who might possibly understand their own terms."

"Very true; and was uttered in a newspaper that carried the falsehood to
Europe; for the writer of the charge, when brought up for it, publicly
admitted that he had no ground for suspecting the literary man of any
such practices. _He_ called it a '_joke_.' Every line of the context,
however, showed it was a malicious charge. The decision is very much as
if a man who is sued for accusing another of 'stealing' should set up a
defence that he meant 'stealing' hearts, for the word is sometimes used
in _that_ sense. When men use epithets that convey discredit in their
general meaning, it is their business to give them a special
signification in their own contexts, if such be their real intention.
But I much question if there be a respectable money-dealer, even in Wall
Street, who would not swear, if called on in a court of justice so to
do, that _he_ thought the general charge of 'shaving' discreditable to
any man."

"And you think the landlords whose rents were taxed, sir, would have a
moral right to resist?"

"Beyond all question; as it would be an income-tax on them only of all
in the country. What is more, I am fully persuaded that two thousand men
embodied to resist such tyranny would look down the whole available
authority of the State; inasmuch as I do not believe citizens could be
found to take up arms to enforce a law so flagrantly unjust. Men will
look on passively and see wrongs inflicted, that would never come out to
support them by their own acts. But we are approaching the farm, and
there are Tom Miller and his hired men waiting our arrival."

It is unnecessary to repeat, in detail, all that passed in this our
second visit to the farm-house. Miller received us in a friendly manner,
and offered us a bed, if we would pass the night with him. This business
of _a_ bed had given us more difficulty than anything else in the course
of our peregrinations. New York has long got over the "two-man" and
"three-man bed" system, as regards its best inns. At no respectable New
York inn is a gentleman now asked to share even his room, without an
apology and a special necessity, with another, much less his bed; but
the rule does not hold good as respects pedlers and music-grinders. We
had ascertained that we were not only expected to share the same bed,
but to occupy that bed in a room filled with other beds. There are
certain things that get to be second nature, and that no masquerading
will cause to go down; and, among others, one gets to dislike sharing
his room and his tooth-brush. This little difficulty gave us more
trouble that night at Tom Miller's than anything we had yet encountered.
At the taverns, bribes had answered our purpose; but this would not do
so well at a farm residence. At length the matter was got along with by
putting me in the garret, where I was favored with a straw bed under my
own roof, the decent Mrs. Miller making many apologies for not having a
feather-smootherer, into which to "squash" me. I did not tell the good
woman that I never used feathers, summer or winter; for, had I done so,
she would have set me down as a poor creature from "oppressed" Germany,
where the "folks" did not know how to live. Nor would she have been so
much out of the way _quoad_ the beds, for in all my journeyings I never
met with such uncomfortable sleeping as one finds in Germany, off the
Rhine and out of the large towns.[23]

[Footnote 23: As the "honorable gentleman from Albany" does not seem to
understand the precise signification of "provincial," I can tell him
that one sign of such a character is to admire a bed at an American
country inn.--EDITOR.]

While the negotiation was in progress I observed that Josh Brigham, as
the anti-rent disposed hireling of Miller's was called, kept a watchful
eye and an open ear on what was done and said. Of all men on earth, the
American of that class is the most "distrustful," as he calls it
himself, and has his suspicions the soonest awakened. The Indian on the
war-path--the sentinel who is posted in a fog, near his enemy, an hour
before the dawn of day--the husband that is jealous, or the priest that
has become a partisan, is not a whit more apt to fancy, conjecture, or
assert, than the American of that class who has become "distrustful."
This fellow, Brigham, was the very _beau ideal_ of the suspicious
school, being envious and malignant, as well as shrewd, observant, and
covetous. The very fact that he was connected with the "Injins," as
turned out to be the case, added to his natural propensities the
consciousness of guilt, and rendered him doubly dangerous. The whole
time my uncle and myself were crossing over and figuring in, in order to
procure for each a room, though it were only a closet, his watchful,
distrustful looks denoted how much he saw in our movements to awaken
curiosity, if not downright suspicion. When all was over, he followed me
to the little lawn in front of the house, whither I had gone to look at
the familiar scene by the light of the setting sun, and began to betray
the nature of his own suspicions by his language.

"The old man" (meaning my uncle Ro) "must have plenty of gold watches
about him," he said, "to be so plaguy partic'lar consarnin' his bed.
Peddlin' sich matters is a ticklish trade, I guess, in some parts?"

"Ja; it ist dangerous somevhere, but it might not be so in dis goot
coontry."

"Why did the old fellow, then, try so hard to get that little room all
to himself, and shove you off into the garret? We hired men don't like
the garret, which is a hot place in summer."

"In Charmany one man hast ever one bed," I answered, anxious to get rid
of the subject.

I bounced a little, as "one has one-half of a bed" would be nearer to
the truth, though the other half might be in another room.

"Oh! that's it, is't? Wa-a-l, every country has its ways, I s'pose.
Jarmany is a desp'ate aristocratic land, I take it."

"Ja; dere ist moch of de old feudal law, and feudal coostum still
remaining in Charmany."

"Landlords a plenty, I guess, if the truth was known. Leases as long as
my arm, I calkerlate?"

"Vell, dey do dink, in Charmany, dat de longer might be de lease, de
better it might be for de denant."

As that was purely a German sentiment, or at least not an American
sentiment, according to the notions broached by statesmen among
ourselves, I made it as Dutch as possible by garnishing it well with
d's.

"That's a droll idee! Now, we think, here, that a lease is a bad thing;
and the less you have of a bad thing, the better."

"Vell, dat _ist_ queer, so queer as I don't know! Vhat vill dey do as
might help it?"

"Oh! the legislature will set it all right. They mean to pass a law to
prevent any more leases at all."

"Und vill de beople stand dat? Dis ist a free country, efferybody dells
me, and vilt der beoples agree not to hire lands if dey vants to?"

"Oh! you see we wish to choke the landlords off from their present
leases; and, by and by, when _that_ is done, the law can let up again."

"But ist dat right? Der law should be joost, und not hold down und let
oop, as you calls it."

"You don't understand us yet, I see. Why that's the prettiest and the
neatest legislation on airth! That's just what the bankrupt law did."

"Vhat did her bankroopt law do, bray? Vhat might you mean now?--I don't
know."

"Do! why, it did wonders for some on us, I can tell you! It paid our
debts, and let us up when we was down; and that's no trifle, I can tell
you. I took 'the benefit,' as it is called, myself."

"You!--you might take der benefit of a bankrupt law! You, lifing here
ast a hiret man, on dis farm!"

"Sartain; why not? All a man wanted under _that_ law was about $60 to
carry him through the mill; and if he could rake and scrape that much
together, he might wipe off as long a score as he pleased. I had been
dealin' in speckylation, and that's a make or break business, I can tell
you. Well, I got to be about $423.22 wuss than nothin'; but, having
about $90 in hand, I went through the mill without getting cogged the
smallest morsel! A man doos a good business, to my notion, when he can
make twenty cents pay a whull dollar of debt."

"Und you did dat goot business?"

"You may say that; and now I means to make anti-rentism get me a farm
cheap--what _I_ call cheap; and that an't none of your $30 or $40 an
acre, I can tell you!"

It was quite clear that Mr. Joshua Brigham regarded these transactions
as so many Pragmatic Sanctions, that were to clear the moral and legal
atmospheres of any atoms of difficulty that might exist in the forms of
old opinions, to his getting easily out of debt, in the one case, and
suddenly rich in the other. I dare say I looked bewildered, but I
certainly felt so, at thus finding myself face to face with a low knave,
who had a deliberate intention, as I now found, to rob me of a farm. It
is certain that Joshua so imagined, for, inviting me to walk down the
road with him a short distance, he endeavored to clear up any moral
difficulties that might beset me, by pursuing the subject.

"You see," resumed Joshua, "I will tell you how it is. These Littlepages
have had this land long enough, and it's time to give poor folks a
chance. The young spark that pretends to own all the farms you see, far
and near, never _did_ anything for 'em in his life; only to be his
father's son. Now, to my notion, a man should do suthin' for his land,
and not be obligated for it to mere natur'. This is a free country, and
what right has one man to land more than another?"

"Or do his shirt, or do his dobacco, or do his coat, or do anyding
else."

"Well, I don't go as far as that. A man has a right to his clothes, and
maybe to a horse, or a cow, but he has no right to all the land in
creation. The law gives a right to a cow as ag'in' execution."

"Und doesn't der law gif a right to der landt, too? You must not depend
on der law, if you might succeed."

"We like to get as much law as we can on our side. Americans like law:
now, you'll read in all the books--_our_ books, I mean, them that's
printed here--that the Americans be the most lawful people on airth, and
that they'll do more for the law than any other folks known!"

"Vell, dat isn't vhat dey says of der Americans in Europe; nein, nein,
dey might not say dat."

"Why, don't you think it is so? Don't you think this the greatest
country on airth, and the most lawful?"

"Vell, I don'ts know. Das coontry ist das coontry, und it ist vhat it
ist, you might see."

"Yes; I thought you would be of my way of thinking, when we got to
understand each other." Nothing is easier than to mislead an American on
the estimate foreigners place on them: in this respect they are the most
deluded people living, though, in other matters, certainly among the
shrewdest. "That's the way with acquaintances, at first; they don't
always understand one another: and then you talk a little thick, like.
But now, friend, I'll come to the p'int--but first swear you'll not
betray me."

"Ja, ja--I oonderstandst; I most schwear I won't bedray you: das ist
goot."

"But, hold up your hand. Stop; of what religion be you?"

"Gristian, to be sure. I might not be a Chew. Nein, nein; I am a ferry
vat Gristian."

"We are all bad enough, for that matter; but I lay no stress on _that_.
A little of the devil in a man helps him along, in this business of
ourn. But you must be suthin' more than a Christian, I s'pose, as we
don't call _that_ bein' of any religion at all, in this country. Of what
_supportin_' religion be you?"

"Soobortin'; vell, I might not oonderstands dat. Vhat is soobortin'
religion? Coomes dat vrom Melanchton und Luther?--or coomes it vrom der
Pope? Vhat ist dat soobortin' religion?"

"Why, what religion do you _patronize_? Do you patronize the standin'
order, or the kneelin' order?--or do you patronize neither? Some folks
thinks its best to lie down at prayer, as the least likely to divart the
thoughts."

"I might not oonderstand. But nefer mindt der religion, und coome to der
p'int dat you mentioned."

"Well, that p'int is this. You're a Jarman, and can't like aristocrats,
and so I'll trust you; though, if you do betray me, you'll never play on
another bit of music in this country, or any other! If you want to be an
Injin, as good an opportunity will offer to-morrow as ever fell in a
man's way?"

"An Injin! Vhat goot vill it do to be an Injin? I dought it might be
better to be a vhite man, in America?"

"Oh! I mean only an anti-rent Injin. We've got matters so nicely fixed
now, that a chap can be an Injin without any paint at all, or any
washin' or scrubbin', but can convart himself into himself ag'in, at any
time, in two minutes. The wages is good and the work light; then we have
rare chances in the stores, and round about among the farms. The law is,
that an Injin must have what he wants, and no grumblin', and we take
care to want enough. If you'll be at the meetin', I'll tell you how
you'll know me."

"Ja, ja--dat ist goot; I vill be at der meetin', sartainly. Vhere might
it be?"

"Down at the village. The word came up this a'ternoon, and we shall all
be on the ground by ten o'clock."

"Vilt der be a fight, dat you meet so bunctually, and wid so moch
spirit?"

"Fight! Lord, no; who is there to fight, I should like to know? We are
pretty much all ag'in the Littlepages, and there's none of them on the
ground but two or three women. I'll tell you how it's all settled. The
meetin' is called on the deliberative and liberty-supportin' plan. I
s'pose you know we've all sorts of meetin's in this country?"

"Nein; I dought dere might be meetin's for bolitics, vhen der beople
might coome, but I don't know vhat else."

"Is't possible! What, have you no 'indignation meetin's' in Jarmany? We
count a great deal on our indignation meetin's, and both sides have 'em
in abundance, when things get to be warm. Our meetin' to-morrow is for
deliberation and liberty-principles generally. We may pass some
indignation resolutions about aristocrats, for nobody can bear them
critturs in this part of the country, I can tell you."

Lest this manuscript should get into the hands of some of those who do
not understand the real condition of New York society, it may be well to
explain that "aristocrat" means, in the parlance of the country, no
other than a man of gentleman-like tastes, habits, opinions, and
associations. There are gradations among the aristocracy of the State,
as well as among other men. Thus he who is an aristocrat in a hamlet,
would be very democratic in a village; and he of the village might be no
aristocrat in the town, at all; though, in the towns generally, indeed
always, when their population has the least of a town character, the
distinction ceases altogether, men quietly dropping into the traces of
civilized society, and talking or thinking very little about it. To see
the crying evils of American aristocracy, then, one must go into the
country. There, indeed, a plenty of cases exist. Thus, if there happen
to be a man whose property is assessed at twenty-five per cent. above
that of all his neighbors--who must have right on his side bright as a
cloudless sun to get a verdict, if obliged to appeal to the laws--who
pays fifty per cent. more for everything he buys, and receives fifty per
cent. less for everything he sells, than any other person near him--who
is surrounded by rancorous enemies, in the midst of a seeming state of
peace--who has everything he says and does perverted, and added to, and
lied about--who is traduced because his dinner-hour is later than that
of "other folks"--who don't stoop, but is straight in the back--who
presumes to doubt that this country in general, and his own township in
particular, is the focus of civilization--who hesitates about signing
his name to any flagrant instance of ignorance, bad taste, or worse
morals, that his neighbors may get up in the shape of a petition,
remonstrance, or resolution--depend on it that man is a prodigious
aristocrat, and one who, for his many offences and manner of lording it
over mankind, deserves to be banished. I ask the reader's pardon for so
abruptly breaking in upon Joshua's speech, but such very different
notions exist about aristocrats, in different parts of the world, that
some such explanation was necessary in order to prevent mistakes. I have
forgotten one mark of the tribe that is, perhaps, more material than all
the rest, which must not be omitted, and is this:--if he happen to be a
man who prefers his own pursuits to public life, and is regardless of
"popularity," he is just guilty of the unpardonable sin. The "people"
will forgive anything sooner than this; though there are "folks" who
fancy it as infallible a sign of an aristocrat not to chew tobacco. But,
unless I return to Joshua, the reader will complain that I cause him to
stand still.

"No, no," continued Mr. Brigham; anything but an aristocrat for me. I
hate the very name of the sarpents, and wish there warn't one in the
land. To-morrow we are to have a great anti-rent lecturer out----"

"A vhat?"

"A lecturer; one that lectur's, you understand, on anti-rentism,
temperance, aristocracy, government, or any other grievance that may
happen to be uppermost. Have you no lecturers in Jarmany?"

"Ja, ja; dere ist lecturers in das universities--blenty of dem."

"Well, we have 'em universal and partic'lar, as we happen to want 'em.
To-morrow we're to have one, they tell me, the smartest man that has
appeared in the cause. He goes it strong, and the Injins mean to back
him up with all sorts of shrieks and whoopin's. Your hurdy-gurdy, there,
makes no sort of music to what our tribe can make when we fairly open
our throats."

"Vell, dis ist queer! I vast told dat der Americans vast all
philosophers, und dat all dey didt vast didt in a t'oughtful and sober
manner; und now you dells me dey screams deir arguments like Injins!"

"That we do! I wish you'd been here in the hard-cider and log-cabin
times, and you'd a seen reason and philosophy, as you call it! I was a
whig that summer, though I went democrat last season. There's about five
hundred on us in this country that makes the most of things, I can tell
you. What's the use of a vote, if a body gets nothin' by it? But
to-morrow you'll see the business done up, and matters detarmined for
this part of the world, in fine style. We know what we're about, and we
mean to carry things through quite to the end."

"Und vhat do you means to do?"

"Well, seein' that you seem to be of the right sort, and be so likely to
put on the Injin shirt, I'll tell you all about it. We mean to get good
and old farms at favorable rates. That's what we mean to do. The
people's up and in 'arnest, and what the people want they'll have! This
time they want farms, and farms they must have. What's the use of havin'
a government of the people, if the people's obliged to want farms? We've
begun ag'in' the Rensselaers, and the durables, and the quarter-sales,
and the chickens; but we don't, by no manner of means, think of eending
there. What should we get by that? A man wants to get suthin' when he
puts his foot into a matter of this natur'. We know who's our fri'nds
and who's our inimies! Could we have some men I could name for
governors, all would go clear enough the first winter. We would tax the
landlords out, and law 'em about in one way and another, so as to make
'em right down glad to sell the last rod of their lands, and that cheap,
too!"

"Und who might own these farms, all oop and down der coontry, dat I
see?"

"As the law now stands, Littlepage owns 'em; but if we alter the law
enough, he wun't. If we can only work the legislature up to the stickin'
p'int, we shall get all we want. Would you believe it, the man wun't
sell a single farm, they say; but wishes to keep every one on 'em for
himself! Is that to be borne in a free country? They'd hardly stand that
in Jarmany, I'm thinkin'. A man that is such an aristocrat as to refuse
to sell anything, I despise."

"Vell, dey stand to der laws in Charmany, and broperty is respected in
most coontries. You vouldn't do away wid der rights of broperty, if you
mights, I hopes?"

"Not I. If a man owns a watch, or a horse, or a cow, I'm for having the
law such that a poor man can keep 'em, even ag'in execution. We're
getting the laws pretty straight on them p'ints, in old York, I can tell
you; a poor man, let him be ever so much in debt, can hold on to a
mighty smart lot of things, nowadays, and laugh at the law right in its
face! I've known chaps that owed as much as $200, hold on to as good as
$300; though most of their debts was for the very things they held on
to!"

What a picture is this, yet is it not true? A state of society in which
a man can contract a debt for a cow, or his household goods, and laugh
at his creditor when he seeks his pay, on the one hand; and on the
other, legislators and executives lending themselves to the chicanery of
another set, that are striving to deprive a particular class of its
rights of property, directly in the face of written contracts! This is
straining at the gnat and swallowing the camel, with a vengeance; and
all for votes! Does any one really expect a community can long exist,
favored by a wise and justice-dispensing Providence, in which such
things are coolly attempted--ay, and coolly done? It is time that the
American began to see things as they are, and not as they are _said_ to
be, in the speeches of governors, Fourth-of-July orations, and
electioneering addresses. I write warmly, I know, but I feel warmly; and
I write like a man who sees that a most flagitious attempt to rob him is
tampered with by some in power, instead of being met, as the boasted
morals and intelligence of the country would require, by the stern
opposition of all in authority. Curses--deep, deep curses--ere long,
will fall on all who shrink from their duty in such a crisis. Even the
very men who succeed, if succeed they should, will, in the end, curse
the instruments of their own success.[24]

[Footnote 24: That Mr. Hugh Littlepage does not feel or express himself
too strongly on the state of things that has now existed among us for
long, long years, the following case, but one that illustrates the
melancholy truth among many, will show. At a time when the tenants of an
extensive landlord, to whom tens of thousands were owing for rent, were
openly resisting the law, and defeating every attempt to distrain,
though two ordinary companies of even armed constables would have put
them down, the sheriff entered the house of that very landlord, and
levied on his furniture for debt. Had that gentleman, on the just and
pervading principle that he owed no allegiance to an authority that did
not protect him, resisted the sheriff's officer, _he_ would have gone to
the State's prison; and there he might have staid until his last hour of
service was expended.--EDITOR.]

"A first-rate lecturer on feudal tenors" (Joshua was not in the least
particular in his language, but, in the substance, he knew what he was
talking about as well as some who are in high places), "chickens and
days' works. We expect a great deal from this man, who is paid well for
coming."

"Und who might bay him?--der State?"

"No--we haven't got to that _yet_; though some think the State will
_have_ to do it, in the long run. At present the tenants are taxed so
much on the dollar, accordin' to rent, or so much an acre, and that way
the needful money is raised. But one of our lecturers told us, a time
back, that it was money put out at use, and every man ought to keep an
account of what he give, for the time was not far off when he would get
it back, with double interest. 'It is paid now for a reform,' he said,
'and when the reform is obtained, no doubt the State would feel itself
so much indebted to us all, that it would tax the late landlords until
we got all our money back again, and more too.'"

"Dat vould pe a bretty speculation; ja, dat might be most bootiful!"

"Why, yes, it wouldn't be a bad operation, living on the inimy, as a
body might say. But you'll not catch our folks livin' on themselves, I
can tell you. That they might do without societies. No, we've an object;
and when folks has an object, they commonly look sharp a'ter it. We
don't let on all we want and mean openly; and you'll find folks among us
that'll stoutly deny that anti-renters has anything to do with the Injin
system; but folks an't obliged to believe the moon is _all_ cheese,
unless they've a mind to. Some among us maintain that no man ought to
hold more than a thousand acres of land, while others think natur' has
laid down the law on that p'int, and that a man shouldn't hold more than
he has need on."

"Und vich side dost you favor?--vich of dese obinions might not be
yours?"

"I'm not partic'lar, so I get a good farm. I should like one with
comfortable buildin's on't, and one that hasn't been worked to death.
For them two principles I think I'd stand out; but, whether there be
four hundred acres, or four hundred and fifty, or even five hundred, I'm
no way onaccommodatin'. I expect there'll be trouble in the eend, when
we come to the division, but I'm not the man to make it. I s'pose I
shall get my turn at the town offices, and other chances, and, givin' me
my rights to them, I'll take up with almost any farm young Littlepage
has, though I should rather have one in the main valley here, than one
more out of the way; still, I don't set myself down as at all
partic'lar."

"Und vhat do you expect to bay Mr. Littlepage for der farm, ast you
might choose?"

"That depends on circumstances. The Injins mainly expect to come in
cheap. Some folks think it's best to pay suthin', as it might stand
ag'in law better, should it come to that; while other some see no great
use in paying anything. Them that's willing to pay, mainly hold out for
paying the principal of the first rents."

"I doesn't oonderstandt vhat you means by der brincipal of der first
rents."

"It's plain enough, when you get the lay on't. You see, these lands were
let pretty low, when they were first taken up from the forest, in order
to get folks to live here. That's the way we're obliged to do in
America, or people won't come. Many tenants paid no rent at all for six,
eight, or ten years; and a'ter that, until their three lives run out, as
it is called, they paid only sixpence an acre, or six dollars and a
quarter on the hundred acres. That was done, you see, to buy men to come
here at all; and you can see by the price that was paid, how hard a time
they must have had on't. Now, some of our folks hold that the whull time
ought to be counted--that which was rent free, and that which was
not--in a way that I'll explain to you; for I'd have you to know I
haven't entered into this business without looking to the right and the
wrong on't."

"Exblain, exblain; I might hear you exblain, and you most exblain."

"Why, you're in a hurry, friend Griezenbach, or whatever your name be.
But I'll explain, if you wish it. S'pose, now, a lease run thirty
years--ten on nothin', and twenty on sixpences. Well, a hundred
sixpences makes fifty shillings, and twenty times fifty makes a
thousand, as all the rent paid in thirty years. If you divide a thousand
by thirty, it leaves thirty-three shillings and a fraction"--Joshua
calculated like an American of his class, accurately and with
rapidity--"for the average rent of the thirty years. Calling
thirty-three shillings four dollars, and it's plaguey little more, we
have that for the interest, which, at seven per cent., will make a
principal of rather more than fifty dollars, though not as much as
sixty. As sich matters ought to be done on liberal principles, they say
Littlepage ought to take fifty dollars, and give a deed for the hundred
acres."

"Und vhat might be der rent of a hoondred acres now:--he might get more
dan sixpence to-day?"

"That he does. Most all of the farms are running out on second, and some
on third leases. Four shilling an acre is about the average of the
rents, accordin' to circumstances."

"Den you dinks der landlort ought to accept one year's rent for der
farms?"

"I don't look on it in that light. He ought to take fifty dollars for a
hundred acres. You forget the tenants have paid for their farms, over
and over again, in rent. They _feel_ as if they have paid enough, and
that it was time to stop."

Extraordinary as this reasoning may seem in most men's minds, I have
since found it is a very favorite sentiment among anti-renters. "Are we
to go on, and pay rent forever?" they ask, with logical and virtuous
indignation!

"Und vhat may be der aferage value of a hoondred acre farm, in dis part
of de coontry?" I inquired.

"From two thousand five hundred to three thousand dollars. It would be
more, but tenants won't put good buildings on farms, you know, seein'
that they don't own them. I heard one of our leaders lamentin' that he
didn't foresee what times were comin' to, when he repaired his old
house, or he would have built a new one. But a man can't foretell
everything. I dare say many has the same feelin's, now."

"Den you dinks Herr Littlebage ought to accept $50 for vhat is worth
$2,500? Das seems fery little."

"You forget the back rent that has been paid, and the work the tenant
has done. What would the farm be good for without the work that has been
done on it?"

"Ja, ja--I oonderstandst; und vhat vould der work be goot for vidout der
landt on which it vast done?"

This was rather an incautious question to put to a man as distrustful
and roguish as Joshua Brigham. The fellow cast a lowering and
distrustful look at me; but ere there was time to answer, Miller, of
whom he stood in healthful awe, called him away to look after the cows.

Here, then, I had enjoyed an opportunity of hearing the opinions of one
of my own hirelings on the interesting subject of my right to my own
estate. I have since ascertained that, while these sentiments are
sedulously kept out of view in the proceedings of the government, which
deals with the whole matter as if the tenants were nothing but martyrs
to hard bargains, and the landlords their taskmasters, of greater or
less lenity, they are extensively circulated in the "infected
districts," and are held to be very sound doctrines by a large number of
the "bone and sinew of the land." Of course the reasoning is varied a
little, to suit circumstances, and to make it meet the facts. But of
this school is a great deal, and a very great deal, of the reasoning
that circulates on the leased property; and, from what I have seen and
heard already, I make no doubt that there are _quasi_ legislators among
us, who, instead of holding the manly and only safe doctrine which ought
to be held on such a subject, and saying that these deluded men should
be taught better, are ready to cite the very fact that such notions do
exist as a reason for the necessity of making concessions, in order to
keep the peace at the cheaper rate. That profound principle of
legislation, which concedes the right in order to maintain quiet, is
admirably adapted to forming sinners; and, if carried out in favor of
all who may happen to covet their neighbors' goods, would, in a short
time, render this community the very paradise of knaves.

As for Joshua Brigham, I saw no more of him that night; for he quitted
the farm on leave, just as it got to be dark. Where he went I do not
know; but the errand on which he left us could no longer be a secret to
me. As the family retired early, and we ourselves were a good deal
fatigued, everybody was in bed by nine o'clock, and, judging from
myself, soon asleep. Previously to saying "good-night," however, Miller
told us of the meeting of the next day, and of his intention to attend
it.




CHAPTER XIII.

    "He knows the game; how true he keeps the wind!
    Silence."--_King Henry VI._


After an early breakfast, next morning, the signs of preparation for a
start became very apparent in the family. Not only Miller, but his wife
and daughter, intended to go down to "Little Neest," as the hamlet was
almost invariably called in that fragment of the universe, in
contradistinction to the "Neest" proper. I found afterward that this
very circumstance was cited against me in the controversy, it being
thought _lese-majeste_ for a private residence to monopolize the major
of the proposition, while a hamlet had to put up with the minor; the
latter, moreover, including two taverns, which are exclusively the
property of the public, there being exclusiveness with the public as
well as with aristocrats--more especially in all things that pertain to
power or profit. As to the two last, even Joshua Brigham was much more
of an aristocrat than I was myself. It must be admitted that the
Americans are a humane population, for they are the only people who deem
that bankruptcy gives a claim to public favor.[25]

[Footnote 25: Absurd as this may seem, it is nevertheless true, and for
a reason that is creditable, rather than the reverse--a wish to help
along the unfortunate. It is a great mistake, however, as a rule, to
admit of any other motive for selecting for public trusts, than
qualification.--EDITOR.]

As respects the two "Nests," had not so much more serious matter been in
agitation, the precedence of the names might actually have been taken up
as a question of moment. I have heard of a lawsuit in France, touching a
name that has been illustrious in that country for a period so long as
to extend beyond the reach of man--as, indeed, was apparent by the
matter in controversy--and which name has obtained for itself a high
place in the annals of even our own republic. I allude to the house of
Grasse, which was seated, prior to the revolution, and may be still, at
a place called Grasse, in the southern part of the kingdom, the town
being almost as famous for the manufacture of pleasant things as the
family for its exploits in arms. About a century since, the Marquis de
Grasse is said to have had a _proces_ with his neighbors of the place,
to establish the fact whether the family gave its name to the town, or
the town gave its name to the family. The marquis prevailed in the
struggle, but greatly impaired his fortune in achieving that new
victory. As my house, or its predecessor, was certainly erected and
named while the site of Little Nest was still in the virgin forest, one
would think its claims to the priority of possession beyond dispute; but
such might not prove to be the case on a trial. There are two histories
among us, as relates to both public and private things; the one being as
nearly true as is usual, while the other is invariably the fruits of the
human imagination. Everything depending so much on majorities, that soon
gets to be the most authentic tradition which has the most believers;
for, under the system of numbers, little regard is paid to superior
advantages, knowledge, or investigation, all depending on three as
against two, which makes one majority. I find a great deal of this
spurious history is getting to be mixed up with the anti-rent
controversy, facts coming out daily that long have lain dormant in the
graves of the past. These facts affect the whole structure of the
historical picture of the State and colony, leaving touches of black
where the pencil had originally put in white, and placing the high
lights where the shadows have before always been understood to be. In a
word, men are telling the stories as best agrees with their present
views, and not at all as they agree with the fact.

It was the intention of Tom Miller to give my uncle Ro and me a dearborn
to ourselves, while he drove his wife, Kitty and a _help_, as far as the
"Little Neest," in a two-horse vehicle that was better adapted to such a
freight. Thus disposed of, then, we all left the place in company, just
as the clock in the farm-house entry struck nine. I drove our horse
myself; and _mine_ he was, in fact, every hoof, vehicle and farming
utensil on the Nest farm, being as much my property, under the _old_
laws, as the hat on my head. It is true, the Millers had now been fifty
years or more, nay, nearly sixty, in possession, and by the _new_ mode
of construction it is possible some may fancy that we had paid them
wages so long for working the land, and for using the cattle and
utensils, that the title, in a moral sense, had passed out of me, in
order to pass into Tom Miller. If use begets a right, why not to a wagon
and horse, as well as to a farm.

As we left the place I gazed wistfully toward the Nest House, in the
hope of seeing the form of some one that I loved, at a window, on the
lawn, or in the piazza. Not a soul appeared, however, and we trotted
down the road a short distance in the rear of the other wagon,
conversing on such things as came uppermost in our minds. The distance
we had to go was about four miles, and the hour named for the
commencement of the lecture, which was to be the great affair of the
day, had been named at eleven. This caused us to be in no hurry, and I
rather preferred to coincide with the animal I drove, and move very
slowly, than hurry on, and arrive an hour or two sooner than was
required. In consequence of this feeling on our part, Miller and his
family were soon out of sight, it being their wish to obtain as much of
the marvels of the day as was possible.

The road, of course, was perfectly well known to my uncle and myself;
but, had it not been, there was no danger of missing our way, as we had
only to follow the general direction of the broad valley through which
it ran. Then Miller had considerately told us that we must pass two
churches, or a church and a "meetin'-'us'," the spires of both of which
were visible most of the way, answering for beacons. Referring to this
term of "meeting-house," does it not furnish conclusive evidence, of
itself, of the inconsistent folly of that wisest of all earthly beings,
man? It was adopted in contradistinction from, and in direct opposition
to, the supposed idolatrous association connected with the use of the
word "church," at a time when certain sects would feel offended at
hearing their places of worship thus styled; whereas, at the present
day, those very sectarians are a little disposed to resent this
exclusive appropriation of the proscribed word by the sects who have
always adhered to it as offensively presuming, and, in a slight degree,
"arisdogradic!" I am a little afraid that your out-and-outers in
politics, religion, love of liberty, and other human excellences, are
somewhat apt to make these circuits in their eccentric orbits, and to
come out somewhere quite near the places from which they started.

The road between the Nest House and Little Nest, the hamlet, is rural,
and quite as agreeable as is usually found in a part of the country that
is without water-views or mountain scenery. Our New York landscapes are
rarely, nay, never grand, as compared with the noble views one finds in
Italy, Switzerland, Spain, and the finer parts of Europe; but we have a
vast many that want nothing but a finish to their artificial accessories
to render them singularly agreeable. Such is the case with the principal
vale of Ravensnest, which, at the very moment we were driving through
it, struck my uncle and myself as presenting a picture of rural
abundance, mingled with rural comfort, that one seldom sees in the old
world, where the absence of enclosures, and the concentration of the
dwellings in villages, leave the fields naked and with a desolate
appearance, in spite of their high tillage and crops.

"This is an estate worth contending for, now," said my uncle, as we
trotted slowly on, "although it has not hitherto been very productive to
its owner. The first half-century of an American property of this sort
rarely brings much to its proprietor beyond trouble and vexation."

"And after that time the tenant is to have it, pretty much at his own
price, as a reward for his own labor!"

"What evidences are to be found, wherever the eye rests, of the
selfishness of man, and his unfitness to be left to the unlimited
control of his own affairs! In England they are quarrelling with the
landlords, who _do_ compose a real aristocracy, and make the laws, about
the manner in which they protect themselves and the products of their
estates; while here the true owner of the soil is struggling against the
power of numbers, with the people, who are the only aristocrats we
possess, in order to maintain his right of property in the simplest and
most naked form! A common vice is at the bottom of both wrongs, and that
is the vice of selfishness."

"But how are abuses like those of which we complain here--abuses of the
most formidable character of any that can exist, since the oppressors
are so many, and so totally irresponsible by their numbers--to be
avoided, if you give the people the right of self-government?"

"God help the nation where self-government, in its literal sense,
exists, Hugh! The term is conventional, and, properly viewed, means a
government in which the source of authority is the body of the nation,
and does not come from any other sovereign. When a people that has been
properly educated by experience calmly selects its agents, and coolly
sets to work to adopt a set of principles to form its fundamental law or
constitution, the machine is on the right track, and will work well
enough so long as it is kept there; but this running off, and altering
the fundamental principles every time a political faction has need of
recruits, is introducing tyranny in its worst form--a tyranny that is
just as dangerous to real liberty as hypocrisy is to religion!"

We were now approaching St. Andrew's church and the rectory, with its
glebe, the latter lying contiguous to the church-yard, or, as it is an
Americanism to say, the "graveyard." There had been an evident
improvement around the rectory since I had last seen it. Shrubbery had
been planted, care was taken of the fences, the garden was neatly and
well worked, the fields looked smooth, and everything denoted that it
was "new lords and new laws." The last incumbent had been a whining,
complaining, narrow-minded, selfish and lazy priest, the least estimable
of all human characters, short of the commission of the actual and
higher crimes; but his successor had the reputation of being a devout
and real Christian--one who took delight in the duties of his holy
office, and who served God because he loved him. I am fully aware how
laborious is the life of a country priest, and how contracted and mean
is the pittance he in common receives, and how much more he merits than
he gets, if his reward were to be graduated by things here. But this
picture, like every other, has its different sides, and occasionally men
do certainly enter the church from motives as little as possible
connected with those that ought to influence them.

"There is the wagon of Mr. Warren, at his door," observed my uncle, as
we passed the rectory. "Can it be that he intends visiting the village
also, on an occasion like this?"

"Nothing more probable, sir, if the character Patt has given of him be
true," I answered. "She tells me he has been active in endeavoring to
put down the covetous spirit that is getting uppermost in the town, and
has even preached boldly, though generally, against the principles
involved in the question. The other man, they say, goes for popularity,
and preaches and prays with the anti-renters."

No more was said, but on we went, soon entering a large bit of wood, a
part of the virgin forest. This wood, exceeding a thousand acres in
extent, stretched down from the hills along some broken and otherwise
little valuable land, and had been reserved from the axe to meet the
wants of some future day. It was mine, therefore, in the fullest sense
of the word; and, singular as it may seem, one of the grounds of
accusation brought against me and my predecessors was that we had
_declined leasing it_! Thus, on the one hand, we were abused for having
leased our land, and, on the other, for not having leased it. The fact
is, we, in common with other extensive landlords, are expected to use
our property as much as possible for the particular benefit of other
people, while those other people are expected to use _their_ property as
much as possible for their own particular benefit.

There was near a mile of forest to pass before we came out again in the
open country, at about a mile and a half's distance from the hamlet. On
our left this little forest did not extend more than a hundred rods,
terminating at the edge of the rivulet--or _creek_, as the stream is
erroneously called, and for no visible reason but the fact that it was
only a hundred feet wide--which swept close under the broken ground
mentioned at this point. On our right, however, the forest stretched
away for more than a mile, until, indeed, it became lost and confounded
with other portions of wood that had been reserved for the farms on
which they grew. As is very usual in America, in cases where roads pass
through a forest, a second growth had shot up on each side of this
highway, which was fringed for the whole distance with large bushes of
pine, hemlock, chestnut, and maple. In some places these bushes almost
touched the track, while in others a large space was given. We were
winding our way through this wood, and had nearly reached its centre, at
a point where no house was visible--and no house, indeed, stood within
half a mile of us--with the view in front and in rear limited to some
six or eight rods in each direction by the young trees, when our ears
were startled by a low, shrill, banditti-like whistle. I must confess
that my feelings were anything but comfortable at that interruption, for
I remembered the conversation of the previous night. I thought by the
sudden jump of my uncle, and the manner he instinctively felt where he
ought to have had a pistol, to meet such a crisis, that he believed
himself already in the hands of the Philistines.

A half minute sufficed to tell us the truth. I had hardly stopped the
horse, in order to look around me, when a line of men, all armed and
disguised, issued in single file from the bushes, and drew up in the
road, at right angles to its course. There were six of these "Injins,"
as they are called, and, indeed, call themselves, each carrying a rifle,
horn, and pouch, and otherwise equipped for the field. The disguises
were very simple, consisting of a sort of loose calico hunting-shirt and
trowsers that completely concealed the person. The head was covered by a
species of hood or mask, equally of calico, that was fitted with holes
for the eyes, nose, and mouth, and which completed the disguise. There
were no means of recognizing a man thus equipped, unless it might be by
the stature, in cases in which the party was either unusually tall or
unusually short. A middle-sized man was perfectly safe from recognition,
so long as he did not speak and could keep his equipments. Those who did
speak altered their voices, as we soon found, using a jargon that was
intended to imitate the imperfect English of the native owners of the
soil. Although neither of us had ever seen one of the gang before, we
knew these disturbers of the public peace to be what in truth they were,
the instant our eyes fell on them. One could not well be mistaken,
indeed, under the circumstances in which we were placed; but the
tomahawks that one or two carried, the manner of their march, and other
pieces of mummery that they exhibited, would have told us the fact, had
we met them even in another place.

My first impulse was to turn the wagon, and to endeavor to lash the lazy
beast I drove into a run. Fortunately, before the attempt was made, I
turned my head to see if there was room for such an exploit, and saw six
others of these "Injins" drawn across the road behind us. It was now so
obviously the wisest course to put the best face on the matter, that we
walked the horse boldly up to the party in front, until he was stopped
by one of the gang taking him by the bridle.

"Sago, sago," cried one who seemed to act as a chief, and whom I shall
thus designate, speaking in his natural voice, though affecting an
Indian pronunciation. "How do, how do?--where come from, eh?--where go,
eh? What you say, too--up rent or down rent, eh?"

"Ve ist two Charmans," returned Uncle Ro, in his most desperate dialect,
the absurdity of men who spoke the same language resorting to such
similar means of deception tempting me sorely to laugh in the fellows'
faces; "Ve ist two Charmans dat ist goin' to hear a man's sbeak about
bayin rent, und to sell vatches. Might you buy a vatch, goot
shentlemans?"

Although the fellows doubtless knew who we were, so far as our assumed
characters went, and had probably been advised of our approach, this
bait took, and there was a general jumping up and down, and a common
pow-wowing among them, indicative of the pleasure such a proposal gave.
In a minute the whole party were around us, with some eight or ten more,
who appeared from the nearest bushes. We were helped out of the wagon
with a gentle violence that denoted their impatience. As a matter of
course, I expected that all the trinkets and watches, which were of
little value, fortunately, would immediately disappear; for who could
doubt that men engaged in attempting to rob on so large a scale as these
fellows were engaged in, would hesitate about doing a job on one a
little more diminutive. I was mistaken, however; some sort of
imperceptible discipline keeping those who were thus disposed, of whom
there must have been some in such a party, in temporary order. The horse
was left standing in the middle of the highway, right glad to take his
rest, while we were shown the trunk of a fallen tree, near by, on which
to place our box of wares. A dozen watches were presently in the hands
of as many of these seeming savages, who manifested a good deal of
admiration at their shining appearance. While this scene, which was half
mummery and half nature, was in the course of enactment, the chief
beckoned me to a seat on the further end of the tree, and, attended by
one or two of his companions, he began to question me as follows:

"Mind, tell truth," he said, making no very expert actor in the way of
imitation. "Dis 'Streak o' Lightning,'" laying his hand on his own
breast, that I might not misconceive the person of the warrior who bore
so eminent a title--"no good lie to him--know ebbery t'ing afore he ask,
only ask for fun--what do here, eh?"

"Ve coomes to see der Injins und der beoples at der village, dat ve
might sell our vatches."

"Dat all; sartain?--can call 'down rent,' eh?"

"Dat ist ferry easy; 'down rent, eh?'"

"Sartain Jarman, eh?--you no spy?--you no sent here by gubbernor,
eh?--landlord no pay you, eh?"

"Vhat might I spy? Dere ist nothin' to spy, but mans vid calico faces.
Vhy been you afraid of der governor?--I dinks der governors be ferry
goot frients of der anti-rents."

"Not when we act this way. Send horse, send foot a'ter us, den. T'ink
good friend, too, when he dare."

"He be d--d!" bawled out one of the tribe, in as good, homely, rustic
English as ever came out of the mouth of a clown. "If he's our friend,
why did he send the artillery and horse down to Hudson?--and why has he
had Big Thunder up afore his infarnal courts? He be d--d!"

There was no mistaking this outpouring of the feelings; and so "Streak
o' Lightning" seemed to think too, for he whispered one of the tribe,
who took the plain-speaking Injin by the arm and led him away, grumbling
and growling, as the thunder mutters in the horizon after the storm has
passed on. For myself, I made several profitable reflections concerning
the inevitable fate of those who attempt to "serve God and Mammon." This
anti-rentism is a question in which, so far as a governor is concerned,
there is but one course to pursue, and that is to enforce the laws by
suppressing violence, and leaving the parties to the covenants of leases
to settle their differences in the courts, like the parties to any other
contracts. It is a poor rule that will not work both ways. Many a
landlord has made a hard bargain for himself; and I happen to know of
one case in particular, in which a family has long been, and is still,
kept out of the enjoyment of a very valuable estate, as to any benefit
of importance, purely by the circumstance that a weak-minded possessor
of the property fancied he was securing souls for paradise by letting
his farms on leases for ninety-nine years, at nominal rents, with a
covenant that the tenant should go twice to a particular church! Now,
nothing is plainer than that it is a greater hardship to the citizen who
is the owner of many farms so situated, than to the citizen who is the
lessee of only one with a hard covenant; and, on general principles, the
landlord in question would be most entitled to relief, since one man who
suffers a good deal is more an object of true commiseration than many
who suffer each a little. What would a governor be apt to say if my
landlord should go with his complaints to the foot of the executive
chair, and tell him that the very covenant which had led his predecessor
into the mistake of thus wasting his means was openly disregarded; that
farms worth many thousands of dollars had now been enjoyed by the
tenants for near a century for mere nominal rents, and that the owner of
the land in fee had occasion for his property, etc., etc.? Would the
governor recommend legislative action in that case? Would the _length_
of _such_ leases induce him to recommend that no lease should exceed
five years in duration? Would the landlords who should get up a corps of
Injins to worry their tenants into an abandonment of their farms be the
objects of commiseration?--and would the law slumber for years over
_their_ rebellions and depredations, until two or three murders aroused
public indignation? Let them answer that know. As a landlord, I should
be sorry to incur the ridicule that would attend even a public complaint
of the hardships of such a case. A common sneer would send me to the
courts for my remedy, if I had one, and the whole difference between the
"if and ifs" of the two cases would be that a landlord gives but one
vote, while his tenants may be legion.[26]

[Footnote 26: This is no invented statement, but strictly one that is
true, the writer having himself a small interest in a property so
situated; though he has not yet bethought him of applying to the
legislature for relief.--EDITOR.]

"He be d----d," muttered the plain-speaking Injin, as long as I could
hear him. As soon as released from his presence, Streak o' Lightning
continued his examination, though a little vexed at the undramatical
character of the interruption.

"Sartain no spy, eh?--sartain gubbernor no send him, eh?--sartain come
to sell watch, eh?"

"I coomes, as I tell ye, to see if vatches might be solt, und not for
der gobbernor; I neffer might see der mans."

As all this was true, my conscience felt pretty easy on the score of
whatever there might be equivocal about it.

"What folks think of Injin down below, eh?--what folks say of anti-rent,
eh?--hear him talk about much?"

"Vell, soome does dink anti-rent ist goot, and soome does dink anti-rent
ist bad. Dey dinks as they wishes."

Here a low whistle came down the road, or rather down the bushes, when
every Injin started up; each man very fairly gave back the watch he was
examining, and in less than half a minute we were alone on the log. This
movement was so sudden that it left us in a little doubt as to the
proper mode of proceeding. My uncle, however, coolly set about replacing
his treasures in their box, while I went to the horse, which had shaken
off his head-stall, and was quietly grazing along the road-side. A
minute or two might have been thus occupied, when the trotting of a
horse and the sound of wheels announced the near approach of one of
those vehicles which have got to be almost national--a dearborn, or a
one-horse wagon. As it came out from behind a screen of bushes formed by
a curvature in the road, I saw that it contained the Rev. Mr. Warren and
his sweet daughter.

The road being narrow, and our vehicle in its centre, it was not
possible for the new-comers to proceed until we got out of the way, and
the divine pulled up as soon as he reached the spot where we stood.

"Good morning, _gentlemen_," said Mr. Warren, cordially, and using a
word that, in _his_ mouth, I felt meant all it expressed. "Good morning,
_gentlemen_. Are you playing Handel to the wood-nymphs, or reciting
eclogues?"

"Neider, neider, Herr Pastor; we meet wid coostomers here, and dey has
joost left us," answered uncle Ro, who certainly enacted his part with
perfect _aplomb_, and the most admirable mimicry as to manner. "_Guten
tag, guten tag._ Might der Herr Pastor been going to der village?"

"We are. I understand there is to be a meeting there of the misguided
men called anti-renters, and that several of my parishioners are likely
to be present. On such an occasion I conceive it to be my duty to go
among my own particular people, and whisper a word of advice. Nothing
can be farther from my notions of propriety than for a clergyman to be
mingling and mixing himself up with political concerns in general, but
this is a matter that touches morality, and the minister of God is
neglectful of his duty who keeps aloof when a word of admonition might
aid in preventing some wavering brother from the commission of a
grievous sin. This last consideration has brought me out to a scene I
could otherwise most heartily avoid."

This might be well enough, I said to myself, but what has your daughter
to do in such a scene? Is the mind of Mary Warren then, after all, no
better than vulgar minds in general?--and can she find a pleasure in the
excitement of lectures of this cast, and in that of public meetings? No
surer test can be found of cultivation, than the manner in which it
almost intuitively shrinks from communion unnecessarily with tastes and
principles below its own level; yet here was the girl with whom I was
already half in love--and that was saying as little as could be said,
too--actually going down to the "Little Nest" to hear an itinerant
lecturer on political economy utter his crudities, and to see and be
seen! I was grievously disappointed, and would at the moment have
cheerfully yielded the best farm on my estate to have had the thing
otherwise. My uncle must have had some similar notion, by the remark he
made.

"Und doost das _jung frau_ go to see the Injins, too; to bersuade 'em
dey ist fery vicked?"

Mary's face had been a little pale for her, I thought, as the wagon drew
up; but it immediately became scarlet. She even suffered her head to
droop a little, and then I perceived that she cast an anxious and tender
glance at her father. I cannot say whether this look were or were not
intended for a silent appeal, unconsciously made; but the father,
without even seeing it, acted as if he fancied it might be.

"No, no," he said, hurriedly; "this dear girl is doing violence to all
her feelings but one, in venturing to such a place. Her filial piety has
proved stronger than her fears and her tastes, and when she found that
go I would, no argument of mine could persuade her to remain at home. I
hope she will not repent it."

The color did not quit Mary's face, but she looked grateful at finding
her true motives appreciated; and she even smiled, though she said
nothing. My own feelings underwent another sudden revulsion. There was
no want of those tastes and inclinations that can alone render a young
woman attractive to any man of sentiment, but there was high moral
feeling and natural affection enough to overcome them in a case in which
she thought duty demanded the sacrifice! It was very little probable
that anything would or could occur that day to render the presence of
Mary Warren in the least necessary or useful; but it was very pleasant
to me and very lovely in her to think otherwise, under the strong
impulses of her filial attachment.

Another idea, however, and one far less pleasant, suggested itself to
the minds of my uncle and myself, and almost at the same instant; it was
this: the conversation was carried on in a high key, or loud enough to
be heard at some little distance, the horse and part of the wagon
interposing between the speakers; and there was the physical certainty
that some of those whom we knew to be close at hand, in the bushes, must
hear all that was said, and might take serious offense at it. Under this
apprehension, therefore, my uncle directed me to remove our own vehicle
as fast as possible, in order that the clergyman might pass. Mr. Warren,
however, was in no hurry to do this, for he was utterly ignorant of the
audience he had, and entertained that feeling toward us that men of
liberal acquirements are apt to feel when they see others of similar
educations reduced by fortune below their proper level. He was
consequently desirous of manifesting his sympathy with us, and would not
proceed, even after I had opened the way for him.

"It is a painful thing," continued Mr. Warren, "to find men mistaking
their own cupidity for the workings of a love of liberty. To me nothing
is more palpable than that this anti-rent movement is covetousness
incited by the father of evil; yet you will find men among us who fancy
they are aiding the cause of free institutions by joining in it, when,
in truth, they are doing all they can to bring them into discredit, and
to insure their certain downfall, in the end."

This was sufficiently awkward; for, by going near enough to give a
warning in a low voice, and have that warning followed by a change in
the discourse, we should be betraying ourselves, and might fall into
serious danger. At the very moment the clergyman was thus speaking I saw
the masked head of Streak o' Lightning appearing through an opening in
some small pines that grew a little in the rear of the wagon, a position
that enabled him to hear every syllable that was uttered. I was afraid
to act myself, and trusted to the greater experience of my uncle.

Whether the last also saw the pretended chief was more than I knew, but
he decided to let the conversation go on, rather leaning to the
anti-rent side of the question, as the course that could do no serious
evil, while it might secure our own safety. It is scarcely necessary to
say all these considerations glanced through our minds so swiftly as to
cause no very awkward or suspicious pause in the discourse.

"B'rhaps dey doosn't like to bay rent?" put in my uncle, with a
roughness of manner that was in accordance with the roughness of the
sentiment "Beoples might radder haf deir landts for nuttin', dan bay
rents for dem."

"In that case, then, let them go and buy lands for themselves; if they
do not wish to pay rent, why did they agree to pay rent?"

"May be dey changes deir minds. Vhat is goot to-day doosn't always seem
goot to-morrow."

"That may be true; but we have no right to make others suffer for our
own fickleness. I dare say, now, that it might be better for the whole
community that so large a tract of land as that included in the Manor of
Rensselaerwyck, for instance, and lying as it does in the very heart of
the State, should be altogether in the hands of the occupants, than have
it subject to the divided interest that actually exists; but it does not
follow that a change is to be made by violence, or by fraudulent means.
In either of the latter cases the injury done the community would be
greater than if the present tenures were to exist a thousand years. I
dare say much the larger portion of those farms can be bought off at a
moderate advance on their actual money-value; and that is the way to get
rid of the difficulty; not by bullying owners out of their property. If
the State finds a political consideration of so much importance for
getting rid of the tenures, let the State tax itself to do so, and make
a liberal offer, in addition to what the tenants will offer, and I'll
answer for it the landlords will not stand so much in their own way as
to decline good prices."

"But maybes dey won't sell all der landts; dey may wants to keep some of
dem."

"They have a right to say yes or no, while we have no right to juggle or
legislate them out of their property. The Legislature of this State has
quite lately been exhibiting one of the most pitiable sights the world
has seen in my day. It has been struggling for months to find a way to
get round the positive provisions of laws and constitutions, in order to
make a sacrifice of the rights of a few, to secure the votes of the
many."

"Votes ist a goot ding, at election dimes--haw, haw, haw!" exclaimed my
uncle.

Mr. Warren looked both surprised and offended. The coarseness of manner
that my uncle had assumed effected its object with the Injins, but it
almost destroyed the divine's previous good opinion of our characters,
and quite upset his notions of our refinement and principles. There was
no time for explanations, however; for, just as my uncle's broad and
well-acted "haw, haw, haw" was ended, a shrill whistle was heard in the
bushes, and some forty or fifty of the Injins came whooping and leaping
out from their cover, filling the road in all directions, immediately
around the wagons.

Mary Warren uttered a little scream at this startling scene, and I saw
her arm clinging to that of her father, by a sort of involuntary
movement, as if she would protect him at all hazards. Then she seemed to
rally, and from that instant her character assumed an energy, an
earnestness, a spirit and an intrepidity that I had least expected in
one so mild in aspect, and so really sweet in disposition.

All this was unnoticed by the Injins. They had their impulses, too, and
the first thing they did was to assist Mr. Warren and his daughter to
alight from the wagon. This was done not without decorum of manner, and
certainly not without some regard to the holy office of one of the
parties, and to the sex of the other. Nevertheless, it was done neatly
and expeditiously, leaving us all, Mr. Warren and Mary, my uncle and
myself, with a cluster of some fifty Injins around us, standing in the
centre of the highway.




CHAPTER XIV.

    "No toil in despair,
      No tyrant, no slave,
    No bread-tax is there,
      With a maw like the grave."


All this was so suddenly done as scarce to leave us time to think. There
was one instant, notwithstanding, while two Injins were assisting Mary
Warren to jump from the wagon, when my incognito was in great danger.
Perceiving that the young lady was treated with no particular
disrespect, I so far overcame the feeling as to remain quiet, though I
silently changed my position sufficiently to get near her elbow, where I
could and did whisper a word or two of encouragement. But Mary thought
only of her father, and had no fears for herself. She saw none but him,
trembled only for him, dreaded and hoped for him alone.

As for Mr. Warren himself, he betrayed no discomposure. Had he been
about to enter the desk, his manner could not have been more calm. He
gazed around him, to ascertain if it were possible to recognize any of
his captors, but suddenly turned his head away, as if struck with the
expediency of not learning their names, even though it had been
possible. He might be put on the stand as a witness against some
misguided neighbor, did he know his person. All this was so apparent in
his benevolent countenance, that I think it struck some among the
Injins, and still believe it may have had a little influence on their
treatment of him. A pot of tar and a bag of feathers had been brought
into the road when the gang poured out of the bushes, but whether this
were merely accidental, or it had originally been intended to use them
on Mr. Warren, I cannot say. The offensive materials soon and silently
disappeared, and with them every sign of any intention to offer personal
injury.

"What have I done that I am thus arrested in the public highway, by men
armed and disguised, contrary to law?" demanded the divine, as soon as
the general pause which succeeded the first movement invited him to
speak. "This is a rash and illegal step, that may yet bring repentance."

"No preachee now," answered Streak o' Lightning; "preachee for meetin',
no good for road."

Mr. Warren afterward admitted to me that he was much relieved by this
reply, the substitution of the word "meeting" for "church" giving him
the grateful assurance that _this_ individual, at least, was not one of
his own people.

"Admonition and remonstrance may always be useful when crime is
meditated. You are now committing a felony, for which the State's Prison
is the punishment prescribed by the laws of the land, and the duties of
my holy office direct me to warn you of the consequences. The earth
itself is but one of God's temples, and his ministers need never
hesitate to proclaim his laws on any part of it."

It was evident that the calm severity of the divine, aided, no doubt, by
his known character, produced an impression on the gang, for the two who
had still hold of his arms released them, and a little circle was now
formed, in the centre of which he stood.

"If you will enlarge this circle, my friends," continued Mr. Warren,
"and give room, I will address you here, where we stand, and let you
know my reasons why I think your conduct ought to be----"

"No, no--no preachee here," suddenly interrupted Streak o' Lightning;
"go to village, go to meetin'-'us'--preachee there--Two preacher,
den.--Bring wagon and put him in. March, march; path open."

Although this was but an "Injin" imitation of Indian sententiousness,
and somewhat of a caricature, everybody understood well enough what was
meant. Mr. Warren offered no resistance, but suffered himself to be
placed in Miller's wagon, with my uncle at his side, without opposition.
Then it was, however, that he bethought himself of his daughter, though
his daughter had never ceased to think of him. I had some little
difficulty in keeping her from rushing into the crowd and clinging to
his side. Mr. Warren rose, and, giving her an encouraging smile, bade
her be calm, told her he had nothing to fear, and requested that she
would enter his own wagon again and return home, promising to rejoin her
as soon as his duties at the village were discharged.

"Here is no one to drive the horse, my child, but our young German
acquaintance. The distance is very short, and if he will thus oblige me
he can come down to the village with the wagon, as soon as he has seen
you safe at our own door."

Mary Warren was accustomed to defer to her father's opinions, and she so
far submitted, now, as to permit me to assist her into the wagon, and to
place myself at her side, whip in hand, proud of and pleased with the
precious charge thus committed to my care. These arrangements made, the
Injins commenced their march, about half of them preceding, and the
remainder following the wagon that contained their prisoner. Four,
however, walked on each side of the vehicle, thus preventing the
possibility of escape. No noise was made, and little was said; the
orders being given by signs and signals, rather than by words.

Our wagon continued stationary until the party had got at least a
hundred yards from us, no one giving any heed to our movements. I had
waited thus long for the double purpose of noting the manner of the
proceedings among the Injins, and to obtain room to turn at a spot in
the road a short distance in advance of us, and which was wider than
common. To this spot I now walked the horse, and was in the act of
turning the animal's head in the required direction, when I saw Mary
Warren's little gloved hand laid hurriedly on the reins. She endeavored
to keep the head of the horse in the road.

"No, no," said the charming girl, speaking earnestly, as if she would
not be denied, "we will follow my father to the village. I may not, must
not, _cannot_ quit him."

The time and place were every way propitious, and I determined to let
Mary Warren know who I was. By doing it I might give her confidence in
me at a moment when she was in distress, and encourage her with the hope
that I might also befriend her father. At any rate, I was determined to
pass for an itinerant Dutch music-grinder with _her_ no longer.

"Miss Mary, Miss Warren," I commenced, cautiously, and with quite as
much hesitation and diffidence of feeling as of manner, "I am not what I
seem--that is, I am no music-grinder."

The start, the look, and the alarm of my companion, were all eloquent
and natural. Her hand was still on the reins, and she now drew on them
so hard as actually to stop the horse. I thought she intended to jump
out of the vehicle, as a place no longer fit for her.

"Be not alarmed, Miss Warren," I said, eagerly, and, I trust, so
earnestly as to inspire a little confidence. "You will not think the
worse of me at finding I am your countryman instead of a foreigner, and
a gentleman instead of a music-grinder. I shall do all you ask, and will
protect you with my life."

"This is so extraordinary!--so unusual. The whole country appears
unsettled! Pray, sir, if you are not the person whom you have
represented yourself to be, who are you?"

"One who admires your filial love and courage--who honors you for them
both. I am the brother of your friend, Martha--I am Hugh Littlepage!"

The little hand now abandoned the reins, and the dear girl turned half
round on the cushion of the seat, gazing at me in mute astonishment! I
had been cursing in my heart the lank locks of the miserable wig I was
compelled to wear, ever since I had met with Mary Warren, as
unnecessarily deforming and ugly, for one might have as well a becoming
as a horridly unbecoming disguise. Off went my cap, therefore, and off
went the wig after it, leaving my own shaggy curls for the sole setting
of my face.

Mary made a slight exclamation as she gazed at me, and the deadly
paleness of her countenance was succeeded by a slight blush. A smile,
too, parted her lips, and I fancied she was less alarmed.

"Am I forgiven, Miss Warren," I asked; "and will you recognize me for
the brother of your friend?"

"Does Martha--does Mrs. Littlepage know of this?" the charming girl at
length asked.

"Both; I have had the happiness of being embraced by both my grandmother
and my sister. You were taken out of the room yesterday by the first,
that I might be left alone with the last, for that very purpose!"

"I see it all now; yes, I thought it singular then, though I felt there
could be no impropriety in any of Mrs. Littlepage's acts. Dearest
Martha! how well she played her part, and how admirably she has kept
your secret!"

"It is very necessary. You see the condition of the country, and will
understand that it would be imprudent in me to appear openly, even on my
own estate. I have a written covenant authorizing me to visit every farm
near us, to look after my own interests; yet it may be questioned if it
would be safe to visit one among them all, now that the spirits of
misrule and covetousness are up and doing."

"Replace your disguise at once, Mr. Littlepage" said Mary, eagerly;
"do--do not delay an instant."

I did as desired, Mary watching the process with interested and, at the
same time, amused eyes. I thought she looked as sorry as I felt myself
when that lank, villanous wig was again performing its office.

"Am I as well arranged as when we first met, Miss Warren? Do I appear
again the music-grinder?"

"I see no difference," returned the dear girl, laughing. How musical and
cheering to me were the sounds of her voice in that little burst of
sweet, feminine merriment. "Indeed, indeed, I do not think even Martha
could know you _now_, for the person you the moment before seemed."

"My disguise is, then, perfect. I was in hopes it left a little that my
friends might recognize, while it effectually concealed me from my
enemies."

"It does--oh! it does. Now I know who you are, I find no difficulty in
tracing in your features the resemblance to your portrait in the family
gallery, at the Nest. The eyes, too, cannot be altered without
artificial brows, and those you have not."

This was consoling; but all that time Mr. Warren and the party in front
had been forgotten. Perhaps it was excusable in two young persons thus
situated, and who had now known each other a week, to think more of what
was just then passing in the wagon, than to recollect the tribe that was
marching down the road, and the errand they were on. I felt the
necessity, however, of next consulting my companion as to our future
movements. Mary heard me in evident anxiety, and her purpose seemed
unsettled, for she changed color under each new impulse of her feelings.

"If it were not for one thing," she answered, after a thoughtful pause,
"I should insist on following my father."

"And what may be the reason of this change of purpose?"

"Would it be altogether safe for _you_, Mr. Littlepage, to venture again
among those misguided men?"

"Never think of me, Miss Warren. You see I have been among them already
undetected, and it is my intention to join them again, even should I
first have to take you home. Decide for yourself."

"I will, then, follow my father. My presence may be the means of saving
him from some indignity."

I was rejoiced at this decision, on two accounts; of which one might
have been creditable enough to me, while the other, I am sorry to say,
was rather selfish. I delighted in the dear girl's devotion to her
parent, and I was glad to have her company as long as possible that
morning. Without entering into a very close analysis of motives,
however, I drove down the road, keeping the horse on a very slow gait,
being in no particular hurry to quit my present fair companion.

Mary and I had now a free, and in some sense, a confidential dialogue.
Her manner toward me had entirely changed; for while it maintained the
modesty and _retenue_ of her sex and station, it displayed much of that
frankness which was the natural consequence of her great intimacy at the
Nest, and, as I have since ascertained, of her own ingenuous nature. The
circumstance, too, that she now felt she was with one of her own class,
who had opinions, habits, tastes, and thoughts like her own, removed a
mountain of restraint, and made her communications natural and easy. I
was near an hour, I do believe, in driving the two miles that lay
between the point where the Injins had met and the village, and in that
hour Mary Warren and I became better acquainted than would have been the
case, under ordinary circumstances, in a year.

In the first place, I explained the reasons and manners of my early and
unexpected return home, and the motives by which I had been governed in
thus coming in disguise on my own property. Then I said a little of my
future intentions, and of my disposition to hold out to the last against
every attempt on my rights, whether they might come from the open
violence and unprincipled designs of those below, or the equally
unprincipled schemes of those above. A spurious liberty and political
cant were things that I despised, as every intelligent and independent
man must; and I did not intend to be persuaded I was an aristocrat,
merely because I had the habits of a gentleman, at the very moment when
I had less political influence than the hired laborers in my own
service.

Mary Warren manifested a spirit and an intelligence that surprised me.
She expressed her own belief that the proscribed classes of the country
had only to be true to themselves to be restored to their just rights,
and that on the very principle by which they were so fast losing them.
The opinions she thus expressed are worthy of being recorded.

"Everything that is done in that way," said this gentle, but admirable
creature, "has hitherto been done on a principle that is quite as false
and vicious as that by which they are now oppressed. We have had a great
deal written and said, lately, about uniting people of property, but it
has been so evidently with an intention to make money rule, and that in
its most vulgar and vicious manner, that persons of right feelings would
not unite in such an effort; but it does seem to me, Mr. Littlepage,
that if the gentlemen of New York would form themselves into an
association in defence of their rights, and for nothing else, and let it
be known that they would _not_ be robbed with impunity, they are
numerous enough and powerful enough to put down this anti-rent project
by the mere force of numbers. Thousands would join them for the sake of
principles, and the country might be left to the enjoyment of the fruits
of liberty, without getting any of the fruits of its cant."

This is a capital idea, and might easily be carried out. It requires
nothing but a little self-denial, with the conviction of the necessity
of doing something, if the downward tendency is to be ever checked short
of civil war, and a revolution that is to let in despotism in its more
direct form; despotism, in the indirect, is fast appearing among us, as
it is.

"I have heard of a proposition for the legislature to appoint special
commissioners, who are to settle all the difficulties between the
landlords and the tenants," I remarked, "a scheme in the result of which
some people profess to have a faith. I regard it as only one of the many
projects that have been devised to evade the laws and institutions of
the country, as they now exist."

Mary Warren seemed thoughtful for a moment; then her eye and face
brightened as if she were struck with some thought suddenly; after which
the color deepened on her cheek, and she turned to me as if half
doubting, and yet half desirous of giving utterance to the idea that was
uppermost.

"You wish to say something, Miss Warren?"

"I dare say it will be very silly--and I hope you won't think it
pedantic in a girl, but really it does look so to me--what difference
would there be between such a commission and the Star-Chamber judges of
the Stuarts, Mr. Littlepage?"

"Not much in general principles, certainly, as both would be the
instruments of tyrants; but a very important one in a great essential.
The Star-Chamber courts were legal, whereas this commission would be
flagrantly illegal; the adoption of a special tribunal to effect certain
purposes that could exist only in the very teeth of the constitution,
both in its spirit and its letter. Yet this project comes from men who
prate about the 'spirit of the institutions,' which they clearly
understand to be their own spirit, let that be what it may."

"Providence, I trust, will not smile on such desperate efforts to do
wrong!" said Mary Warren, solemnly.

"One hardly dare look into the inscrutable ways of a Power that has its
motives so high beyond our reach. Providence permits much evil to be
done, and is very apt to be, as Frederick of Prussia expressed it, on
the side of strong battalions, so far as human vision can penetrate. Of
one thing, however, I feel certain, and that is, that they who are now
the most eager to overturn everything to effect present purposes, will
be made to repent of it bitterly, either in their own persons, or in
those of their descendants."

"That is what is meant, my father says, by visiting 'the sins of the
fathers upon the children, unto the third and fourth generations.' But
there is the party, with their prisoners, just entering the village. Who
is your companion, Mr. Littlepage?--One hired to act as an assistant?"

"It is my uncle himself. You have often heard, I should think, of Mr.
Roger Littlepage?"

Mary gave a little exclamation at hearing this, and she almost laughed.
After a short pause she blushed brightly, and turned to me as she said--

"And my father and I have supposed you, the one a pedler, and the other
a street-musician!"

"But beddlars and moosic-grinders of goot etications, as might be
panished for deir bolitics."

Now, indeed, she laughed out, for the long and frank dialogue we had
held together made this change to broken English seem as if a third
person had joined us. I profited by the occasion to exhort the dear girl
to be calm, and not to feel any apprehension on the subject of her
father. I pointed out how little probable it was that violence would be
offered to a minister of the gospel, and showed her, by the number of
persons that had collected in the village, that it was impossible he
should not have many warm and devoted friends present. I also gave her
permission to, nay, requested she would, tell Mr. Warren the fact of my
uncle's and my own presence, and the reasons of our disguises, trusting
altogether to the very obvious interest the dear girl took in our
safety, that she would add, of her own accord, the necessary warning on
the subject of secrecy. Just as this conversation ended we drove into
the hamlet, and I helped my fair companion to alight.

Mary Warren now hastened to seek her father, while I was left to take
care of the horse. This I did by fastening him to the rails of a fence,
that was lined for a long distance by horses and wagons drawn up by the
wayside. Surprisingly few persons in the country, at this day, are seen
on horseback. Notwithstanding the vast difference in the amount of the
population, ten horsemen were to be met with forty years ago, by all
accounts, on the highways of the State, for one to-day. The well-known
vehicle, called a dearborn, with its four light wheels and mere shell of
a box, is in such general use as to have superseded almost every other
species of conveyance. Coaches and chariots are no longer met with,
except in the towns; and even the coachee, the English sociable, which
was once so common, has very generally given way to a sort of
carriage-wagon, that seems a very general favorite. My grandmother, who
did use the stately-looking and elegant chariot in town, had nothing but
this carriage-wagon in the country; and I question if one-half of the
population of the State would know what to call the former vehicle, if
they should see it.

As a matter of course, the collection of people assembled at Little Nest
on this occasion had been brought together in dearborns, of which there
must have been between two and three hundred lining the fences and
crowding the horse-sheds of the two inns. The American countryman, in
the true sense of the word, is still quite rustic in many of his
notions; though, on the whole, less marked in this particular than his
European counterpart. As a rule, he has yet to learn that the little
liberties which are tolerated in a thinly peopled district, and which
are of no great moment when put in practice under such circumstances,
become oppressive and offensive when reverted to in places of much
resort. The habits of popular control, too, come to aid in making them
fancy that what everybody does in their part of the country can have no
great harm in it. It was in conformity with this _tendency_ of the
institutions, perhaps, that very many of the vehicles I have named were
thrust into improper places, stopping up the footways, impeding the
entrances to doors, here and there letting down bars without permission,
and garnishing orchards and pastures with one-horse wagons. Nothing was
meant by all these liberties beyond a desire to dispose of the horses
and vehicles in the manner easiest to their owners. Nevertheless, there
was some connection between the institutions and these little liberties
which some statesmen might fancy existed in the _spirit_ of the former.
This, however, was a capital mistake, inasmuch as the _spirit_ of the
institutions is to be found in the laws, which prohibit and punish all
sorts of trespasses, and which are enacted expressly to curb the
_tendencies_ of human nature! No, no, as my uncle Ro says, nothing can
be less alike, sometimes, than the _spirit_ of institutions and their
_tendencies_.

I was surprised to find nearly as many females as men had collected at
the Little Nest on this occasion. As for the Injins, after escorting Mr.
Warren as far as the village, as if significantly to admonish him of
their presence, they had quietly released him, permitting him to go
where he pleased. Mary had no difficulty in finding him, and I saw her
at his side, apparently in conversation with Opportunity and her
brother, Seneca, as soon as I moved down the road, after securing the
horses. The Injins themselves kept a little aloof, having my uncle in
their very centre; not as a prisoner, for it was clear no one suspected
his character, but as a pedler. The watches were out again, and near
half of the whole gang seemed busy in trading, though I thought that
some among them were anxious and distrustful.

It was a singular spectacle to see men who were raising the cry of
"aristocracy" against those who happened to be richer than themselves,
while they did not possess a single privilege or power that,
substantially, was not equally shared by every other man in the country,
thus openly arrayed in defiance of law, and thus violently trampling the
law under their feet. What made the spectacle more painful was the
certainty that was obtained by their very actions on the ground, that no
small portion of these Injins were mere boys, led on by artful and
knavish men, and who considered the whole thing as a joke. When the laws
fall so much into disrepute as to be the subjects of jokes of this sort,
it is time to inquire into their mode of administration. Does any one
believe that fifty landlords could have thus flown into the face of a
recent enactment, and committed felony openly, and under circumstances
that had rendered their intentions no secret, for a time long enough to
enable the authorities to collect a force sufficient to repress them? My
own opinion is, that had Mr. Stephen Rensselaer, and Mr. William
Rensselaer, and Mr. Harry Livingston, and Mr. John Hunter, and Mr.
Daniel Livingston, and Mr. Hugh Littlepage, and fifty more that I could
name, been caught armed and disguised, in order to _defend_ the rights
of property that are solemnly guaranteed in these institutions, of which
it would seem to be the notion of some that it is the "spirit" to
dispossess them, we should all of us have been the inmates of States'
prisons, without legislators troubling themselves to pass laws for our
liberation! This is another of the extraordinary features of American
aristocracy, which almost deprives the noble of the every-day use and
benefit of the law. It would be worth our while to lose a moment in
inquiring into the process by which such strange results are brought
about, but it is fortunately rendered unnecessary by the circumstance
that the principle will be amply developed in the course of the
narrative.

A stranger could hardly have felt the real character of this meeting by
noting the air and manner of those who had come to attend it. The "armed
and disguised" kept themselves in a body, it is true, and maintained, in
a slight degree, the appearance of distinctness from "the people," but
many of the latter stopped to speak to these men, and were apparently on
good terms with them. Not a few of the gentler sex, even, appeared to
have acquaintances in the gang; and it would have struck a political
philosopher from the other hemisphere with some surprise, to have seen
the "people" thus tolerating fellows who were openly trampling on a law
that the "people" themselves had just enacted! A political philosopher
from among ourselves, however, might have explained the seeming
contradiction by referring it to the "spirit of the institutions." If
one were to ask Hugh Littlepage to solve the difficulty, he would have
been very apt to answer that the "people" of Ravensnest wanted to compel
him to sell lands which he did not wish to sell, and that not a few of
them were anxious to add to the compulsory bargains conditions as to
price that would rob him of about one-half of his estate; and that what
the Albany philosophers called the "spirit of the institutions," was, in
fact, a "spirit of the devil," which the institutions were expressly
designed to hold in subjection!

There was a good deal of out-door management going on, as might be seen
by the private discussions that were held between pairs, under what is
called the "horse-shedding" process. This "horse-shedding" process, I
understand, is well known among us, and extends not only to politics,
but to the administration of justice. Your regular "horse-shedder" is
employed to frequent taverns where jurors stay, and drop hints before
them touching the merits of causes known to be on the calendars;
possibly contrives to get into a room with six or eight beds, in which
there may accidentally be a juror, or even two, in a bed, when he drops
into a natural conversation on the merits of some matter at issue,
praises one of the parties, while he drops dark hints to the prejudice
of the other, and makes his own representations of the facts in a way to
scatter the seed where he is morally certain it will take root and grow.
All this time he is not conversing with a juror, not he; he is only
assuming the office of the judge by anticipation, and dissecting
evidence before it has been given, in the ear of a particular friend. It
is true there is a law against doing anything of the sort; it is true
there is law to punish the editor of a newspaper who shall publish
anything to prejudice the interests of litigants; it is true the
"horse-shedding process" is flagrantly wicked, and intended to destroy
most of the benefits of the jury system; but, notwithstanding all this,
the "spirit of the institutions" carries everything before it, and men
regard all these laws and provisions, as well as the eternal principles
of right, precisely as if they had no existence at all, or as if a
freeman were above the law. He makes the law, and why should he not
break it? Here is another effect of the "spirit of the institutions."

At length the bell rang, and the crowd began to move toward the
"meetin'-'us'." This building was not that which had been originally
constructed, and at the raising of which I have heard it said, my dear
old grandmother, then a lovely and spirited girl of nineteen, had been
conspicuous for her coolness and judgment, but a far more pretending
successor. The old building had been constructed on the true model of
the highest dissenting spirit--a spirit that induced its advocates to
quarrel with good taste as well as religious dogmas, in order to make
the chasm as wide as possible--while in this, some concessions had been
made to the temper of the times. I very well remember the old
"meetin'-'us'," at the "Little Nest," for it was pulled down to give
place to its more pretending successor after I had attained my sixteenth
year. A description of both may let the reader into the secret of our
rural church architecture.

The "old Neest meetin'-'us'," like its successor, was of a hemlock
frame, covered with pine clapboards, and painted white. Of late years,
the paint had been of a most fleeting quality, the oil seeming to
evaporate, instead of striking in and setting, leaving the coloring
matter in a somewhat decomposed condition, to rub off by friction and
wash away in the rains. The house was a stiff, formal parallelogram,
resembling a man with high shoulders, appearing to be "stuck up." It had
two rows of formal, short and ungraceful windows, _that_ being a point
in orthodoxy at the period of its erection. It had a tower, uncouth, and
in some respects too large and others too small, if one can reconcile
the contradiction; but there are anomalies of this sort in art, as well
as in nature. On top of this tower stood a long-legged belfry, which had
got a very dangerous, though a very common, propensity in ecclesiastical
matters; in other words, it had begun to "cant." It was this diversion
from the perpendicular which had suggested the necessity of erecting a
new edifice, and the building in which the "lecture" on feudal tenures
and aristocracy was now to be delivered.

The new meeting-house at Little Nest was a much more pretending edifice
than its predecessor. It was also of wood, but a bold diverging from
"first principles" had been ventured on, not only in the physical, but
in the moral church. The last was "new-school;" as, indeed, was the
first. What "new-school" means, in a spiritual sense, I do not exactly
know, but I suppose it to be some improvement on some other improvement
of the more ancient and venerable dogmas of the sect to which it
belongs. These improvements on improvements are rather common among us,
and are favorably viewed by a great number under the name of progress;
though he who stands at a little distance can, half the time, discover
that the parties in progress very often come out at the precise spot
from which they started.

For my part, I find so much wisdom in the Bible--so profound a knowledge
of human nature, and of its tendencies--counsel so comprehensive and so
safe, and this solely in reference to the things of this life, that I do
not believe everything is progress in the right direction because it
sets us in motion on paths that are not two thousand years old! I
believe that we have quite as much that ought to be kept, as of that
which ought to be thrown away; and while I admit the vast number of
abuses that have grown up in the old world, under the "spirit of _their_
institutions," as our philosophers would say, I can see a goodly number
that are also growing up here, certainly not under the same "spirit,"
unless we refer them both, as a truly wise man would, to our common and
miserable nature.

The main departure from first principles, in the sense of material
things, was in the fact that the new meeting-house had only _one_ row of
windows, and that the windows of that row had the pointed arch. The time
has been when this circumstance would have created a schism in the
theological world; and I hope that my youth and inexperience will be
pardoned, if I respectfully suggest that a pointed arch, or any other
arch in _wood_, ought to create another in the world of taste.

But in we went, men, women and children; uncle Ro, Mr. Warren, Mary,
Seneca, Opportunity, and all, the Injins excepted. For some reason
connected with their policy, those savages remained outside, until the
whole audience had assembled in grave silence. The orator was in, or on,
a sort of stage, which was made, under the new-light system in
architecture, to supersede the old, inconvenient, and ugly pulpit,
supported on each side by two divines, of what denomination I shall not
take on myself to say. It will be sufficient if I add, Mr. Warren was
not one of them. He and Mary had taken their seats quite near the door,
and under the gallery. I saw that the rector was uneasy the moment the
lecturer and his two supporters entered the pulpit and appeared on the
stage; and at length he arose, and, followed by Mary, he suddenly left
the building. In an instant I was at their side, for it struck me
indisposition was the cause of so strange a movement. Fortunately, at
this moment, the whole audience rose in a body, and one of the ministers
commenced an extempore prayer.

At that instant, the Injins had drawn themselves up around the building,
close to its sides, and under the open windows, in a position that
enabled them to hear all that passed. As I afterward learned, this
arrangement was made with an understanding with those within, one of the
ministers having positively refused to address the throne of grace so
long as any of the tribe were present. Well has it been said, that man
often strains at a gnat, and swallows a camel!




CHAPTER XV.

     "I tell thee, Jack Cade, the clothier means to dress the
     commonwealth, and turn it, and put a new nap upon it."--_King
     Henry VI._


As I knew Mary must have communicated to her father my real name, I did
not hesitate, as I ought to have done in my actual dress and in my
assumed character, about following them, in order to inquire if I could
be of any service. I never saw distress more strongly painted in any
man's countenance than it was in that of Mr. Warren, when I approached.
So very obvious, indeed, was his emotion, that I did not venture to
obtrude myself on him, but followed in silence; and he and Mary slowly
walked, side by side, across the street to the stoop of a house, of
which all the usual inmates had probably gone in the other direction.
Here Mr. Warren took a seat, Mary still at his side, while I drew near,
standing before him.

"I thank you, Mr. Littlepage," the divine at length said, with a smile
so painful it was almost haggard, "for, so Mary tells me you should be
called--I thank you for this attention, sir--but, it will be over in
another minute--I feel better now, and shall be able to command myself."

No more was then said, concerning the reason of this distress; but Mary
has since explained to me its cause. When her father went into the
meeting-house, he had not the smallest idea that anything like a
religious service would be dragged into the ceremonies of such a day.
The two ministers on the stage first gave him the alarm; when a most
painful struggle occurred in his mind, whether or not he should remain,
and be a party to the mockery of addressing God in prayer, in an
assembly collected to set at naught one of the plainest of his
laws--nay, with banded felons drawn up around the building, as principal
actors in the whole mummery. The alternative was for him, a minister of
the altar, to seem to quit those who were about to join in prayer, and
to do this moreover under circumstances which might appear to others as
if he rejected all worship but that which was in accordance with his own
views of right, a notion that would be certain to spread far and near,
greatly to the prejudice of his own people. But the first, as he viewed
the matter, involved a species of blasphemy; and yielding to his
feelings, he took the decided step he had, intending to remain out of
the building, until the more regular business of the day commenced.

It is certain Mr. Warren, who acted under the best impulse of Christian
feeling, a reverence for God, and a profound wish not to be a party in
offending him with the mockery of worship under such circumstances, has
lost much influence, and made many enemies, by the step he then took.
The very same feeling which has raised the cry of aristocracy against
every gentleman who dwells in sufficiently near contact with the masses
to distinguish his habits from those around him; which induces the
eastern emigrant, who comes from a state of society where there are no
landlords, to fancy those he finds here ought to be pulled down, because
he is not a landlord himself; which enables the legislator to stand up
in his place, and unblushingly talk about feudal usages, at the very
instant he is demonstrating that equal rights are denied to those he
would fain stigmatize as feudal lords, has extended to religion, and the
Church of which Mr. Warren was a minister, is very generally accused of
being aristocratic, too! This charge is brought because it has claims
which other Churches affect to renounce and reject as forming no part of
the faith; but the last cannot remain easy under their own decision; and
while they shout, and sing that they have found "a Church without a
bishop," they hate the Church that has a bishop, because it has
something they do not possess themselves, instead of pitying its deluded
members, if they believe them wrong. This will not be admitted
generally, but it is nevertheless true; and betrays itself in a hundred
ways. It is seen in the attempt to _call_ their own priests bishops, in
the feeling so manifest whenever a cry can be raised against their
existence, and in the _general_ character of these theological rallies,
whenever they do occur.

For one, I see a close analogy between my own Church, as it exists in
this country, and comparing it with that from which it sprung, and to
those which surround it, and the true political circumstances of the two
hemispheres. In discarding a vast amount of surplusage, in reducing the
orders of the ministry, in practice as well as in theory, to their
primitive number, three, and in rejecting all connection with the state,
the American branch of the Episcopal Church has assumed the position it
was desirous to fill; restoring, as near as may be, the simplicity of
the apostolical ages, while it does not disregard the precepts and
practices of the apostles themselves. It has not set itself above
antiquity and authority, but merely endeavored to sustain them, without
the encumbrances of more modern abuses. Thus, too, has it been in
political things. No attempt has been made to create new organic social
distinctions in this country, but solely to disencumber those that are
inseparable from the existence of all civilized society, of the clumsy
machinery with which the expedients of military oppressors had invested
them. The real sages of this country, in founding its institutions, no
more thought of getting rid of the landlords of the country, than the
Church thought of getting rid of its bishops. The first knew that the
gradations of property were an inevitable incident of civilization; that
it would not be wise, if it were possible, to prevent the affluent from
making large investments in the soil; and that this could not be done in
practice, without leaving the relation of landlord and tenant. Because
landlords, in other parts of the world, possessed privileges that were
not necessary to the natural or simple existence of the character, was
no reason for destroying the character itself; any more than the fact
that the bishops of England possess an authority the apostles knew
nothing of, rendered it proper for the American branch of the Church to
do away with an office that came from the apostles. But envy and
jealousy do not pause to reflect on such things; it is enough for
_them_, in the one case, that you and yours have estates and occupy
social positions, that I and mine do not, and cannot easily, occupy and
possess; _therefore_ I will oppose you, and join my voice to the cry of
those who wish to get their farms for nothing; and in the other, that
you have bishops when we can have none, without abandoning our present
organization and doctrines.

I dwell on these points at some little length, because the movement of
Mr. Warren and myself, at that moment, had a direct influence on the
circumstances that will soon be related. It is probable that fully
one-half of those collected in the Little Nest meeting-house, that
morning, as they stood up, and lent a sort of one-sided and listless
attention to the prayer, were thinking of the scandalous and
aristocratical conduct of Mr. Warren, in "goin' out o' meetin' just as
meetin' went to prayers!" Few, indeed, were they who would be likely to
ascribe any charitable motive for the act; and probably not one of those
present thought of the true and conscientious feeling that had induced
it. So the world wags! It is certain that a malignant and bitter feeling
was got up against the worthy rector on that occasion, and for that act,
which has not yet abated, and which will not abate in many hundreds,
until the near approach of death shall lay bare to them the true
character of so many of their own feelings.

It was some minutes before Mr. Warren entirely regained his composure.
At length he spoke to me, in his usual benevolent and mild way, saying a
few words that were complimentary, on the subject of my return, while he
expressed his fears that my uncle Ro and myself had been imprudent in
thus placing ourselves, as it might be, in the lion's jaws.

"You have certainly made your disguises so complete," he added, smiling,
"as to have escaped wonderfully well so far. That you should deceive
Mary and myself is no great matter, since neither of us ever saw you
before; but, the manner in which your nearest relatives have been
misled, is surprising. Nevertheless, you have every inducement to be
cautious, for hatred and jealousy have a penetration that does not
belong even to love."

"We think we are safe, sir," I answered, "for we are certainly within
the statute. We are too well aware of our miserable aristocratical
condition to place ourselves within the grasp of the law, for such are
our eminent privileges as a landed nobility, that we are morally certain
either of us would not only be sent to the State's prison were he to be
guilty of the felony those Injins are committing, and will commit, with
a perfect impunity, but that he would be kept there, as long as a single
tear of anguish could be wrung from one of those who are classed with
the aristocracy. Democracy alone finds any sympathy in the ordinary
administration of American justice."

"I am afraid that your irony has only too much truth in it. But the
movement around the building would seem to say that the real business of
the day is about to commence, and we had better return to the church."

"Those men in disguise are watching us, in a most unpleasant and
alarming manner," said Mary Warren, delighting me far more by the
vigilance she thus manifested in my behalf, than alarming me by the
fact.

That we were watched, however, became obviously apparent, as we walked
toward the building, by the actions of some of the Injins. They had left
the side of the church where they had posted themselves during the
prayer, and head was going to head, among those nearest to us; or, it
would be nearer to appearances, were I to say bunch of calico was going
to bunch of calico, for nothing in the form of a head was visible among
them. Nothing was said to Mr. Warren and Mary, however, who were
permitted to go into the meeting-house, unmolested; but two of these
disguised gentry placed themselves before me, laying their rifles across
my path, and completely intercepting my advance.

"Who you?" abruptly demanded one of the two;--"where go--where come
from?"

The answer was ready, and I trust was sufficiently steady.

"I coomes from Charmany, und I goes into der kerch, as dey say in mine
coontry; what might be callet a meetin'-'us, here."

What might have followed, it is not easy to say, had not the loud,
declamatory voice of the lecturer just then been heard, as he commenced
his address. This appeared to be a signal for the tribe to make some
movement, for the two fellows who had stopped me, walked silently away,
though bag of calico went to bag of calico, as they trotted off
together, seemingly communicating to each other their suspicions. I took
advantage of the opening, and passed into the church, where I worked my
way through the throng, and got a seat at my uncle's side.

I have neither time, room, nor inclination to give anything like an
analysis of the lecture. The speaker was fluent, inflated, and anything
but logical. Not only did he contradict himself, but he contradicted the
laws of nature. The intelligent reader will not require to be reminded
of the general character of a speech that was addressed to the passions
and interests of such an audience, rather than to their reason. He
commented, at first, on the particular covenants of the leases on the
old estates of the colony, alluding to the quarter-sales, chickens,
days' work, and durable tenures, in the customary way. The reservation
of the mines, too, was mentioned as a tyrannical covenant, precisely as
if a landlord were obliged to convey any more of the rights that were
vested in him, than he saw fit; or the tenant could justly claim more
than he had hired! This man treated all these branches of the subject,
as if the tenants had acquired certain mysterious interests by time and
occupation, overlooking the fact that the one party got just as good a
title as the other by this process; the lease being the instrument
between them, that was getting to be venerable. If one party grew old as
a tenant, so did the other as a landlord. I thought that this lecturer
would have been glad to confine himself to the Manor leases, that being
the particular branch of the subject he had been accustomed to treat;
but, such was not the precise nature of the job he was now employed to
execute. At Ravensnest, he could not flourish the feudal grievance of
the quarter-sales, the "four fat fowls," the "days' works," and the
_length_ of the leases. Here it was clearly his cue to say nothing of
the three first, and to complain of the _shortness_ of the leases, as
mine were about to fall in, in considerable numbers. Finding it was
necessary to take new ground, he determined it should be bold ground,
and such as would give him the least trouble to get along with.

As soon as the lecturer had got through with his general heads, and felt
the necessity of coming down to particulars, he opened upon the family
of Littlepage, in a very declamatory way. What had _they_ ever done for
the country, he demanded, that they should be lords in the land? By some
process known to himself, he had converted landlords into lords in the
land, and was now aiming to make the tenants occupy the latter
station--nay, both stations. Of course, some services of a public
character, of which the Littlepages might boast, were not touched upon
at all, everything of that nature being compressed into what the
lecturer and his audience deemed serving the people, by helping to
indulge them in all their desires, however rapacious or wicked. As
everybody who knows anything of the actual state of matters among us,
must be aware how rarely the "people" hear the truth, when their own
power and interests are in question, it is not surprising that a very
shallow reasoner was enabled to draw wool over the eyes of the audience
of Ravensnest on that particular subject.

But my interest was most awakened when this man came to speak of myself.
It is not often that a man enjoys the same opportunity as that I then
possessed to hear his own character delineated, and his most private
motives analyzed. In the first place, the audience were told that this
"young Hugh Littlepage had never done anything for the land that he
proudly, and like a great European noble, calls his 'estate.' Most of
you, fellow-citizens, can show your hard hands, and recall the burning
suns under which you have opened the swath, through those then lovely
meadows yonder, as _your_ titles to these farms. But Hugh Littlepage
never did a day's work in his life"--ten minutes before he had been
complaining of the "days' work" in the Manor leases as indignities that
a freeman ought not to submit to--"no, fellow-citizens, he never had
that honor, and never will have it, until by a just division of his
property, or what he now _calls_ his property, you reduce him to the
necessity of laboring to raise the crops he wants to consume."

"Where is this Hugh Littlepage at this very moment? In Paris,
squandering _your_ hard earnings in riotous living, according to the
best standards of aristocracy. He lives in the midst of abundance,
dresses richly and fares richly, while _you_ and _yours_ are eating the
sweat of your brows. He is no man for a pewter spoon and two-pronged
fork! No, my countrymen! He must have a _gold_ spoon for some of his
dishes, and you will find it hard to believe--plain, unpretending,
republican farmers as you are, but it is not the less true--he must have
forks of _silver_! Fellow-citizens, Hugh Littlepage would not put his
knife into his mouth, as you and I do, in eating--as all plain,
unpretending republicans do--for the world. It would choke him; no, he
keeps _silver_ forks to touch his anointed lips!" Here there was an
attempt to get up something like applause, but it totally failed. The
men of Ravensnest had been accustomed all their lives to see the
Littlepages in the social station they occupied; and, after all, it did
not seem so very extraordinary that we should have silver forks, any
more than that others should have silver spoons. The lecturer had the
tact to see that he had failed on this point and he turned to another.

The next onset was made against our title. Whence did it come? demanded
the lecturer. From the King of England; and the people had conquered the
country from that sovereign, and put themselves in his place. Now, is it
not a good principle in politics, that to the victors belong the spoils?
He believed it was; and that in conquering America, he was of opinion
that the people of America had conquered the land, and that they had a
right to take the land, and to keep it. Titles from kings he did not
respect much; and he believed the American people, generally, did not
think much of them. If Hugh Littlepage wished an "estate," as he called
it, let him come to the people and "starve _them_" and see what sort of
an estate _they_ would give him.

But there was one portion of his speech which was so remarkable, that I
must attempt to give it as it was uttered. It was while the lecturer was
expatiating on this subject of titles, that he broke out in the
following language:--"Don't talk to me," he bellowed--for by this
time his voice had risen to the pitch of a Methodist's in a
camp-meeting--"Don't talk to me of antiquity, and time, and length of
possession, as things to be respected. They're nawthin'--jest nawthin'
at all. Possession's good in law, I'll admit; and I contind that's jest
what the tenants has. They've got the lawful possession of this very
property, that layeth (not eggs, but) up and down, far and near, and all
around; a rich and goodly heritage, when divided up among hard-working
and honest folks; but too much, by tens of thousands of acres, for a
young chap, who is wasting his substance in foreign lands, to hold. I
contind that the tenants has this very precise, lawful possession, at
this blessed moment, only the law won't let 'em enj'y it. It's all owing
to that accursed law, that the tenant can't set up a title ag'in his
landlord. You see by this one fact, fellow-citizens, that they are a
privileged class, and ought to be brought down to the level of gin'ral
humanity. You can set up title ag'in anybody else, but you shan't set up
title ag'in a landlord. I know what is said in the primisis," shaking
his head, in derision of any arguments on the other side of this
particular point; "I know that circumstances alter cases. I can see the
hardship of one neighbor's coming to another, and asking to borrow or
hire his horse for a day, and then pretendin' to hold him on some other
ketch. But horses isn't land; you must all allow _that_. No, if horses
_was_ land, the case would be altered. Land is an element, and so is
fire, and so is water, and so is air. Now who will say that a freeman
hasn't a right to air, hasn't a right to water, and, on the same
process, hasn't a right to land? He _has_, fellow-citizens--he _has_.
These are what are called in philosophy elementary rights; which is the
same thing as a right to the elements, of which land is one, and a
principal one. I say a principal one; for, if there was no land to stand
on, we should drop away from air, and couldn't enj'y _that_; we should
lose all our water in vapor, and couldn't put it to millin' and
manafacterin' purposes; and where could we build our fires? No; land is
the _first_ elementary right, and connected with it comes the first and
most sacred right to the elements.

"I do not altogether disregard antiquity, neither. No; I respect and
revere pre-emption rights; for they fortify and sustain the right to the
elements. Now I do not condemn squattin' as some does. It's actin'
accordin' to natur', and natur' is right. I respect and venerate a
squatter's possession; for it's held under the sacred principle of
usefulness. It says, 'Go and make the wilderness blossom as the rose,'
and means 'progress.' That's an antiquity I respect. I respect the
antiquity of your possessions here, _as tenants_; for it is a
hard-working and useful antiquity--an antiquity that increases and
multiplies. If it be said that Hugh Littlepage's ancestors--your noble
has his 'ancestors,' while us 'common folks' are satisfied with
forefathers"--[this hit took with a great many present, raising a very
general laugh]--"but if this Hugh's ancestors did pay anything for the
land, if I was you, fellow-citizens, I'd be gin'rous, and let him have
it back ag'in. Perhaps his forefathers gave a cent an acre to the
king--may be two; or say sixpence, if you will. I'd let him have his
sixpence an acre back again, by way of shutting his mouth. No; I'm for
nawthin' that's ungin'rous.

"Fellow-citizens, I profess to be what is called a democrat. I know that
many of you be what is called whigs; but I apprehend there isn't much
difference between us on the subject of this system of leasing land. We
are all republicans, and leasing farms is anti-republican. Then, I wish
to be liberal even to them I commonly oppose at elections, and I will
freely admit, then, on the whull, the whigs have rather outdone us
democrats, on the subject of this anti-rentism. I am sorry to be obliged
to own in it, but it must be confessed that, while in the way of
governors there hasn't been much difference--yes, put 'em in a bag, and
shake 'em up, and you'd hardly know which would come out first--which
has done himself the most immortal honor, which has shown himself the
most comprehensive, profound, and safe statesman; I know that some of
our people complain of the governors for ordering out troops ag'in the
Injins, but they could not _help_ that--they wouldn't have done it, in
my judgment, had there been any way of getting round it; but the law was
too strong for them, so they druv' in the Injins, and now they join us
in putting down aristocracy, and in raising up gin'ral humanity. No; I
don't go ag'in the governors, though many does.

"But I profess to be a democrat, and I'll give an outline of my
principles, that all may see why they can't, and don't, and never will
agree with aristocracy or nobility, in any form or shape. I believe one
man is as good as another in all things. Neither birth, nor law, nor
edication, nor riches, nor poverty, nor anything else, can ever make any
difference in this principle, which is sacred and fundamental, and is
the chief stone of the corner in true democracy. One man is as good as
another, I say, and has just the same right to the enj'yment of 'arth
and its privileges, as any other man. I think the majority ought to rule
in all things, and that it is the duty of the minority to submit. Now
I've had this here sentiment thrown back upon me, in some places where I
have spoken, and been asked, 'how is this--the majority must rule, and
the minority must submit--in that case, the minority isn't as good as
the majority in practice, and hasn't the same right. They are made to
own what they think ought not to be done?' The answer to this is so
plain, I wonder a sensible man can ask the question, for all the
minority has to do, is to join the majority, to have things as they want
'em. The road is free, and it is this open road that makes true liberty.
Any man can fall in with the majority, and sensible folks commonly do,
when they can find it, and that makes a person not only a man, as the
saying is, but a FREEMAN, a still more honorable title.

"Fellow-citizens, a great movement is in progress. 'Go ahead!' is the
cry, and the march is onward; our thoughts already fly about on the
wings of the lightning, and our bodies move but little slower, on the
vapor of steam--soon our principles will rush ahead of all, and let in
the radiance of a glorious day of universal reform, and loveliness, and
virtue and charity, when the odious sound of _rent_ will never be heard,
when every man will sit down under his own apple, or cherry tree, if not
under his own fig-tree.

"I am a democrat--yes, a democrat. Glorious appellation! I delight in
it! It is my pride, my boast, my very virtue. Let but the people truly
rule, and all must come well. The people has no temptation to do wrong.
If they hurt the State, they hurt themselves, for they are the State. Is
a man likely to hurt himself? Equality is my axiom. Nor, by equality, do
I mean your narrow pitiful equality before the law, as it is sometimes
tarmed, for that may be no equality at all; but I mean an equality that
is substantial, and which must be restored, when the working of the law
has deranged it. Fellow-citizens, do you know what leap-year means? I
dare say some of you don't, the ladies in partic'lar not giving much
attention to astronomy. Well, I have inquired, and it is this: The 'arth
revolves around the sun in a year, as we all know. And we count three
hundred and sixty-five days in a year, we all know. But the 'arth is a
few hours longer than three hundred and sixty-five days in making its
circuit--nearly six hours longer. Now everybody knows that four times
six makes twenty-four, and so a twenty-ninth day is put into February,
every fourth year, to restore the lost time; another change being to be
made a long distance ahead to settle the fractions. Thus will it be with
democracy. Human natur' can't devise laws yet, that will keep all things
on an exactly equal footing, and political leap-years must be introduced
into the political calendar, to restore the equilibrium. In astronomy we
must divide up anew the hours and minutes; in humanity, we must, from
time to time, divide up the land."

But I cannot follow this inflated fool any longer; for he was quite as
much of fool as of knave, though partaking largely of the latter
character. It was plain that he carried many of his notions much further
than a good portion of his audience carried theirs; though, whenever he
touched upon anti-rentism, he hit a chord that vibrated through the
whole assembly. That the tenants ought to own their farms, and pay no
more rents, AND POCKET ALL THE BENEFITS OF THEIR OWN PREVIOUS LABORS,
THOUGH THESE LABORS HAD BEEN CONSIDERED IN THE EARLIER RENTS, AND WERE,
INDEED, STILL CONSIDERED IN THE LOW RATES AT WHICH THE LANDS WERE LET,
was a doctrine all could understand; and few were they, I am sorry to
say, who did not betray how much self-love and self-interest had
obscured the sense of right.

The lecture, such as it was, lasted more than two hours; and when it was
done, an individual rose, in the character of a chairman--when did three
Americans ever get together to discuss anything, that they had not a
chairman and secretary, and all the parliamentary forms?--and invited
any one present, who might entertain views different from the speaker,
to give his opinion. Never before did I feel so tempted to speak in
public. My first impulse was to throw away the wig, and come out in my
own person, and expose the shallow trash that had just been uttered. I
believe even I, unaccustomed as I was to public speaking, could easily
have done this, and I whispered as much to my uncle, who was actually on
his feet, to perform the office for me, when the sound of "Mr.
Chairman," from a different part of the church, anticipated him. Looking
round, I recognized at once the face of the intelligent mechanic, named
Hall, whom we had met at Mooseridge, on our way to the Nest. I took my
seat at once, perfectly satisfied that the subject was in good hands.

This speaker commenced with great moderation, both of manner and tone,
and, indeed, he preserved them throughout. His utterance, accent, and
language, of course, were all tinctured by his habits and associations;
but his good sense and his good principles were equally gifts from
above. More of the "true image of his Maker" was to be found in that one
individual than existed in fifty common men. He saw clearly, spoke
clearly, and demonstrated effectively. As he was well known in that
vicinity and generally respected, he was listened to with profound
attention, and spoke like a man who stood in no dread of tar and
feathers. Had the same sentiments been delivered by one in a fine coat,
and a stranger, or even by myself, who had so much at stake, very many
of them would have been incontinently set down as aristocratic, and not
to be tolerated, the most sublimated lover of equality occasionally
falling into these little contradictions.

Hall commenced by reminding the audience that they all knew him, and
knew he was no landlord. He was a mechanic, and a laboring man, like
most of themselves, and had no interest that could be separated from the
general good of society. This opening was a little homage to prejudice,
since reason is reason, and right right, let them come whence they will.
"I, too, am a democrat," he went on to say, "but I do not understand
democracy to mean anything like that which has been described by the
last speaker. I tell that gentleman plainly, that if he is a democrat, I
am none, and if I am a democrat, he is none. By democracy I understand a
government in which the sovereign power resides in the body of the
nation; and not in a few, or in one. But this principle no more gives
the body of the people authority to act wrong, than in a monarchy, in
which the sovereign power resides in one man, that one man has a right
to act wrong. By equality, I do not understand anything more than
equality before the law--now if the law had said that when the late
Malbone Littlepage died, his farms should go not to his next of kin, or
to his devisee, but to his neighbors, then that would have been the law
to be obeyed, although it would be a law destructive of civilization,
since men would never accumulate property to go to the public. Something
nearer home is necessary to make men work, and deny themselves what they
like.

"The gentleman has told us of a sort of a political leap-year that is to
regulate the social calendar. I understand him to mean that when
property has got to be unequal, it must be divided up, in order that men
may make a new start. I fear he will have to dispense with leap-years,
and come to leap-months, or leap-weeks, ay, or even to leap-days; for,
was the property of this township divided up this very morning, and in
this meetin'-'us, it would get to be unequal before night. Some folks
can't keep money when they have it; and others can't keep their hands
off it.

"Then, again, if Hugh Littlepage's property is to be divided, the
property of all of Hugh Littlepage's neighbors ought to be divided too,
to make even an _appearance_ of equality; though it would be but an
_appearance_ of equality, admitting that were done, since Hugh
Littlepage has more than all the rest of the town put together. Yes,
fellow-citizens, Hugh Littlepage pays, at this moment, one-twentieth of
the taxes of this whole county. That is about the proportion of
Ravensnest; and that tax, in reality, comes out of his pockets, as much
as the greater part of the taxes of Rensselaer and Albany Counties, if
you will except the cities they contain, are paid by the Rensselaers. It
wun't do to tell me the tenants pay the taxes, for I know better. We all
know that the probable amount of the taxes is estimated in the original
bargain, and is so much deducted from the rent, and comes out of the
landlord if it comes out of anybody. There is a good reason why the
tenant should pay it, and a reason that is altogether in his interest;
because the law would make his oxen, and horses, and carts liable for
the taxes, should the landlord neglect to pay the taxes. The collector
always sells personals for a tax if he can find them on the property;
and by deducting it from the rent, and paying it himself, the tenant
makes himself secure against that loss. To say that a tenant don't take
any account of the taxes he will be likely to pay, in making his
bargain, is as if one should say he is _non com._, and not fit to be
trusted with his own affairs. There are men in this community, I am
sorry to say, who wish a law passed to tax the rents on durable leases,
or on all leases, in order to choke the landlords off from their claims,
but such men are true friends to neither justice nor their country. Such
a law would be a tax on the incomes of a particular class of society,
and on no other. It is a law that would justify the aggrieved parties in
taking up arms to resist it, unless the law would give 'em relief, as I
rather think it would. By removing into another State, however, they
would escape the tax completely, laugh at those who framed it, who would
incur the odium of doing an impotent wrong, and get laughed at as well
as despised, besides injuring the State by drawing away its money to be
spent out of its limits. Think, for one moment, of the impression that
would be made of New York justice, if a hundred citizens of note and
standing were to be found living in Philadelphia or Paris, and
circulating to the world the report that they were exiles to escape a
special taxation! The more the matter was inquired into, the worse it
must appear; for men may say what they please, to be ready ag'in
election time, as there is but one piece or parcel of property to tax,
it is an income tax, and nothing else. What makes the matter still worse
is, that every man of sense will know that it is taxing the same person
twice, substantially for the same thing, since the landlord has the
direct land-tax deducted from the rent in the original bargain.

"As for all this cry about aristocracy, I don't understand it. Hugh
Littlepage has just as good a right to his ways as I have to mine. The
gentleman says he needs gold spoons and silver forks to eat with. Well,
what of that? I dare say the gentleman himself finds a steel knife and
fork useful, and has no objection to silver, or, at least, to a pewter
spoon. Now, there are folks that use wooden forks, or no forks, and who
are glad to get horn spoons; and _they_ might call that gentleman
himself an aristocrat. This setting of ourselves up as the standard in
all things is anything but liberty. If I don't like to eat my dinner
with a man who uses a silver fork, no man in this country can compel me.
On the other hand, if young Mr. Littlepage don't like a companion who
chews tobacco, as I do, he ought to be left to follow his own
inclination.

"Then, this doctrine that one man's as good as another has got two sides
to it. One man ought to have the same general rights as another, I am
ready to allow; but if one man is as _good_ as another, why do we have
the trouble and cost of elections? We might draw lots, as we do for
jurors, and save a good deal of time and money. We all know there is
ch'ice in men, and I think that so long as the people have their ch'ice
in sayin' who shall and who shall not be their agents, they've got all
they have any right to. So long as this is done, the rest of the world
may be left to follow their own ways, provided they obey the laws.

"Then, I am no great admirer of them that are always telling the people
they're parfect. I know this county pretty well, as well as most in it;
and if there be a parfect man in Washington County, I have not yet
fallen in with him. Ten millions of imparfect men won't make one parfect
man, and so I don't look for parfection in the people any more than I do
in princes. All I look for in democracy is to keep the reins in so many
hands as to prevent a few from turning everything to their own account;
still, we must'nt forget that when a great many do go wrong, it is much
worse than when a few go wrong.

"If my son didn't inherit the property of Malbone Littlepage, neither
will Malbone Littlepage's son inherit mine. We are on a footing in that
respect. As to paying rent, which some persons think so hard, what would
they do if they had no house to live in, or farm to work? If folks wish
to purchase houses and farms, no one can prevent them if they have money
to do it with; and if they have not, is it expected other people have to
provide them with such things out of their own----"

Here the speaker was interrupted by a sudden whooping, and the Injins
came pressing into the house, in a way to drive all in the aisles before
them. Men, women and children leaped from the windows, the distance
being trifling, while others made their escape by the two side-doors,
the Injins coming in only by the main entrance. In less time than it
takes to record the fact, the audience had nearly all dispersed.




CHAPTER XVI.

     "And yet it is said--Labor in thy vocation; which is as much as
     to say--let the magistrates be laboring men; and therefore
     should we be magistrates."--_King Henry VI._


In a minute or two the tumult ceased, and a singular scene presented
itself. The church had four separate groups or parties left in it,
beside the Injins, who crowded the main aisle. The chairman, secretary,
two ministers, and lecturer, remained perfectly tranquil in their seats,
probably understanding quite well _they_ had nothing to fear from the
intruders. Mr. Warren and Mary were in another corner, under the
gallery, he having disdained flight, and prudently kept his daughter at
his side. My uncle and myself were the _pendants_ of the two last named,
occupying the opposite corner, also under the gallery. Mr. Hall, and two
or three friends who stuck by him, were in a pew near the wall, but
about half-way down the church, the former erect on a seat, where he had
placed himself to speak.

"Proceed with your remarks, sir," coolly observed the chairman, who was
one of those paradoxical anti-renters who had nothing to do with the
Injins, though he knew all about them, and, as I have been told, was
actually foremost in collecting and disbursing their pay. At this
instant, Seneca Newcome sneaked in at the side door, keeping as far as
possible from the "disguised and armed," but curious to ascertain what
would come next.

As for Hall, he behaved with admirable self-possession. He probably knew
that his former auditors were collecting under the windows, and by
raising his voice he would be easily heard. At all events, he did
elevate his voice, and went on as if nothing had happened.

"I was about to say a word, Mr. Chairman, on the natur' of the two
qualities that have, to me at least, seemed uppermost in the lecturer's
argooment"--yes, this sensible, well-principled man, actually used that
detestable sound, just as I have written it, calling "argument"
"argooment"--what a pity it is that so little attention is paid to the
very first principles of speaking the language well in this country, the
common schools probably doing more harm than they do good in this
respect--"that have, to me at least, seemed uppermost in the lecturer's
argooment, and they are both those that God himself has viewed as of so
great importance to our nature as to give his express commandments about
them. He has commanded us not to steal, and he has commanded us not to
covet our neighbor's goods; proof sufficient that the possession of
property is sanctioned by divine authority, and that it is endowed with
a certain sanctity of privilege. Now for the application.

"You can do nothing as to leases in existence, because the State can't
impair a contract. A great deal is said about this government's being
one of the people, and that the people ought to do as they please. Now,
I'm a plain man, and am talking to plain men, and mean to talk plainly.
That this is a government of the people, being a democracy, or because
the sovereign power, in the last resort, resides in the body of the
people, is true; but that this is a government of the people, in the
common signification, or as too many of the people themselves understand
it, is not true. This very interest about which there is so much
commotion, or the right to interfere with contracts, is put beyond the
people of the State by a clause in the Constitution of the United
States. Now, the Constitution of the United States might be altered,
making another provision, saying that 'no State shall ever pass any law
to do away with the existence of durable leases,' and every man, woman,
and child in New York be opposed to such a change, but they would have
to swallow it. Come, let us see what figures will do. There are
twenty-seven States in actual existence, and soon will be thirty. I
don't care on which number you calculate; say thirty, if you please, as
that is likely to be the number before the Constitution could be
altered. Well, twenty-three of these States can put a clause into the
Constitution, saying you shan't meddle with leases. This might leave the
seven most populous States, with every voter, opposed to the change.
I've made a calculation, and find what the seven most populous States
had in 1840, and I find that more than half of all the population of the
country is contained in them seven States, which can be made to submit
to a minority. Nor is this all; the alteration may be carried by only
one vote in each of the twenty-three States, and, deducting these from
the electors in the seven dissenting States, you might have a
Constitutional change made in the country against a majority of say two
millions! It follows that the people, in the common meaning, are not as
omnipotent as some suppose. There's something stronger than the people,
after all, and that's principles, and if we go to work to tear to pieces
our own----"

It was impossible to hear another word that the speaker said. The idea
that the people are not omnipotent was one little likely to find favor
among any portion of the population that fancy themselves to be
peculiarly the people. So much accustomed to consider themselves
invested with the exercise of a power which, in any case, can be
rightfully exercised by only the whole people, have local assemblages
got to be, that they often run into illegal excesses, fancying even
their little fragment of the body politic infallible, as well as
omnipotent, in such matters at least. To have it openly denied,
therefore, that the popular fabric of American institutions is so put
together as to leave it in the power of a decided minority to change the
organic law, as is unquestionably the fact in theory, however little
likely to occur in practice, sounded in the ears of Mr. Hall's auditors
like political blasphemy. Those under the windows groaned, while the
gang in the aisle whooped and yelled, and that in a fashion that had all
the exaggeration of a caricature. It was very apparent that there was an
end of all the deliberative part of the proceedings of the day.

Hall seemed neither surprised nor uneasy. He wiped his face very coolly,
and then took his seat, leaving the Injins to dance about the church,
flourishing their rifles and knives, in a way that might have frightened
one less steady. As for Mr. Warren, he led Mary out, though there was a
movement that threatened to stop him. My uncle and myself followed, the
whooping and screaming being really unpleasant to the ear. As to the
chairman, the secretary, and the two ministers of the gospel, they kept
their stations on the stage, entirely self-possessed and unmolested. No
one went near them, a forbearance that must have been owing to the often
alleged fact that the real anti-renters, the oppressed tenantry of New
York, and these vile masqueraders, had nothing to do with each other!

One of the astounding circumstances of the times, is the general
prevalence of falsehood among us, and the almost total suppression of
truth. No matter what amount of evidence there may be to contradict a
statement, or how often it has been disproved, it is reaffirmed, with
just as much assurance, as if the matter had never been investigated;
ay, and believed, as if its substance were uncontradicted. I am
persuaded there is no part of the world, in which it is more difficult
to get a truth into the public mind, when there is a motive to suppress
it, than among ourselves. This may seem singular, when it is remembered
how many journals there are, which are uttered with the avowed purpose
to circulate information. Alas! the machinery which can be used to give
currency to truth, is equally efficient in giving currency to falsehood.
There are so many modes, too, of diluting truth, in addition to the
downright lies which are told, that I greatly question, if one alleged
fact out of twenty, that goes the rounds of the public prints, those of
the commoner sort excepted, is true in all its essentials. It requires
so much integrity of purpose, so much discrimination, such a
sensitiveness of conscience, and often so large a degree of
self-sacrifice, in men, to speak nothing but truth, that one is not to
expect that their more vulgar and irresponsible agents are to possess a
quality that is so very rare among the very best of the principals.

If I was glad to get out of the church myself, the reader may depend on
it, I was rejoiced when I saw Mr. Warren leading Mary toward the place
where I had left his wagon, as if about to quit a scene that now
promised nothing but clamor and wrangling, if not something more
serious. Uncle Ro desired me to bring out the wagon in which we had left
the farm; and, in the midst of a species of general panic, in which the
women, in particular, went flying about in all directions, I proceeded
to comply. It was at this moment that a general pause to all movements
was produced by the gang of Injins pouring out of the church, bringing
in their centre the late speaker, Mr. Hall. As the chairman, secretary,
lecturer, and the two "ministers of the gospel" followed, it was
conclusive as to the termination of anything like further discussion.

My uncle called me back, and I thought was disposed to assist Hall, who,
manfully supported by the two or three friends that had stood by him the
whole day, was now moving toward us, surrounded by a cluster of
wrangling and menacing Injins; the whole party bearing no little
resemblance to a pack of village curs that set upon the strange dog that
has ventured in among them.

Oaths and threats filled the air; and poor Hall's ears were offended by
an imputation that, I dare say, they then heard for the first time. He
was called a "d----d aristocrat," and a hireling is the pay of "d----d
aristocrats." To all this, however, the sturdy and right-thinking
blacksmith was very indifferent; well knowing there was not a fact
connected with his existence, or a sentiment of his moral being, that
would justify any such charge. It was in answer to this deadly
imputation, that I first heard him speak again, after he had been
interrupted in the church.

"Call me what you please," he cried, in his clear full voice; "I don't
mind hard names. There isn't a man among you who thinks I'm an
aristocrat, or the hireling of any one; but I hope I am not yet so great
a knave as to wish to rob a neighbor because he happens to be richer
than I am myself."

"Who gave Hugh Littlepage his land?" demanded one in the midst of the
gang, speaking without the affectation of mimicry, though the covering
to his head sufficiently changed his voice. "You know yourself it came
from the king."

"He never worked for an acre of it!" bawled another. "If he was a
hard-working, honest man, like yourself, Tim Hall, we might bear it; but
you know he is not. He's a spendthrift and an aristocrat."

"I know that hard hands don't make a man honest, any more than soft
hands make him a rogue," answered Tim Hall, with spirit. "As for the
Littlepages, they are gentlemen in every sense of the word, and always
have been. Their word will pass even now, when the bond of many a man
who sets himself up ag'in them wouldn't be looked at."

I was grateful and touched with this proof that a character, which I
fully believed to be merited, was not lost on one of the most
intelligent men of his class, in that part of the country. Envy, and
covetousness, and malignancy, may lie as they will, but the upright
recognize the upright; the truly poor know who most assuage their
sorrows and relieve their wants; and the real lover of liberty
understands that its privileges are not to be interpreted altogether in
his own favor. I did not like the idea of such a man's being ill-treated
by a gang of disguised blackguards--fellows who added to the crime of
violating a positive law, the high moral offence of prostituting the
sacred principles of liberty, by professing to drag them into the
service of a cause, which wanted very little, in its range, to include
all the pickpockets and thieves in the land.

"They will do that noble fellow some injury, I fear," I whispered to my
uncle.

"If it were not for the mortification of admitting our disguise, I would
go forward at once, and attempt to bring him out of the crowd," was the
answer. "But that will not do, under the circumstances. Let us be
patient, and observe what is to follow."

"Tar and feathers!" shouted some one among the Injins; "Tar and feather
him!" "Crop him, and send him home!" answered others. "Tim Hall has gone
over to the enemy," added the Injin who asked whence I had my lands.

I fancied I knew that voice, and when its tones had been repeated two or
three times, it struck me it was that of Seneca Newcome. That Seneca was
an anti-renter, was no secret; but that he, a lawyer, would be guilty of
the great indiscretion of committing felony, was a matter about which
one might well entertain a doubt. To urge others to be guilty was a
different matter, but to commit himself seemed unlikely. With a view to
keep an eye on the figure I distrusted, I looked out for some mode by
which he might be known. A patch, or rather gore in the calico, answered
admirably, for on looking at others, I saw that this gore was
accidental, and peculiar to that particular dress, most probably owing
to a deficiency in the material originally supplied.

All this time, which indeed was but a minute or two, the tumult
continued. The Injins seemed undetermined what to do; equally afraid to
carry out their menaces against Hall, and unwilling to let him go. At
the very instant when we were looking for something serious, the storm
abated, and an unexpected calm settled on the scene. How this was
effected, I never knew; though it is reasonable to suppose an order had
been communicated to the Injins, by some signal that was known only to
themselves. Of the result there was no doubt; the crowd around Hall
opened, and that sturdy and uncompromising freeman came out of it,
wiping his face, looking heated and a little angry. He did not yield,
however, remaining near the spot, still supported by the two or three
friends who had accompanied him from Mooseridge.

My uncle Ro, on reflection, conceived it wisest not to seem in a hurry
to quit the village, and as soon as I had ascertained that Mr. Warren
had come to a similar decision, and had actually taken refuge in the
house of a parishioner, I "was agreeable," as the English say. While the
pedler, therefore, made a new display of his watches, I strolled round
among the crowd, Injins and others intermixed, to see what could be
seen, and to glean intelligence. In the course of my wanderings, chance
brought me close to the side of the masker in the dress with the gore.
Tickling him gently on the elbow, I induced him to step a little aside
with me, where our conversation would not be overheard.

"Why might you be Injin--gentleman as you be?" I asked, with as much of
an air of simplicity as I could assume.

The start with which this question was met convinced me I was right; and
I scarce needed farther confirmation of the justice of my suspicion. If
I had, however, it was afforded.

"Why ask Injin dat?" returned the man with the gore.

"Vell, dat might do, and it might not do, 'Squire Newcome; but it might
not do wid one as knows you as vell as I know you. So dell me; vy might
you be Injin?"

"Harkee," said Seneca, in his natural speech, and evidently much
disturbed by my discovery: "you must, on no account, let it be known who
I am. You see, this Injin business is ticklish work, and the law
might--that is--_you_ could get nothing by mentioning what you know, but
as you have said, as I'm a gentleman, and an attorney at law, it
wouldn't sound well to have it said that I was caught dressed up in this
manner, playing Injin."

"Ja--ja--I oonderstants--gentlemans might not do sich dings, und not be
laughed at--dat's all."

"Ye-e-e-s--that's all, as you say, so be careful what you say or hint
about it. Well, since you have found me out, it's my treat. What shall't
be?"

This was not very elegant for a "gentleman," and "an attorney at law,"
certainly, but, as it belonged to the school of Mr. Newcome, it struck
me it might not be prudent for me to betray that I belonged to one of a
different sort. Affecting contentment, therefore, I told him, what he
pleased, and he led me to a store of all business, that was kept by his
brother, and in which, as I afterward found, he himself was a partner.
Here he generously treated me to a glass of fiery whiskey, which I
managed to spill in a way that prevented my being choked. This was
adroitly enough effected, as a refusal to drink would have been taken as
a most suspicious circumstance in a German. As respects Americans of my
assumed class, I am happy to say it is now more possible for one to
refuse a glass than to accept it. It says a good deal in favor of the
population of a country, when even the coachman declines his whet.
Nevertheless, a nation may become perfectly sober, and fall away with
fearful rapidity on other great essentials. On the subject of sobriety,
I agree altogether with my uncle, in thinking that the Americans drink
much less than most, if not less than any European nation; the common
notion that long prevailed to the contrary in the country, being no more
than the fruits of the general disposition, in other people, to decry
democracy, aided somewhat, perhaps, by the exaggerations that are so
common in all the published statistics of morals.

I remarked that very few even of the Injins drank, though they now began
to circulate freely among the crowd, and in the stores. Seneca left me
as soon as he fancied he had clinched my discretion with a treat, and I
stood looking round at the manner in which the "armed and disguised"
conducted themselves. One fellow, in particular, attracted my attention;
and his deportment may be taken as a specimen of that of many of his
comrades.

I was soon struck by the fact that Orson Newcome, Seneca's brother and
partner, was obviously desirous of having as little to do with any of
the Injins as possible. As soon as one entered his store, he appeared
uneasy, and whenever one left it, he seemed glad. At first, I was
inclined to think that Orson--what names will not the great
Eastern family adopt, before they have got through with their
catalogue?--really, they seem to select their appellations as they do so
many other things, or to prove that they'll do as they please; but
Orson, I fancied at first, was influenced by principle, and did not care
to conceal the disgust he felt at such audacious and illegal
proceedings. But I soon discovered my mistake, by ascertaining the true
cause of his distaste for the presence of an Injin.

"Injin want calico, for shirt"--said one of these worthies,
significantly, to Orson, who at first affected not to hear him.

The demand was repeated, however, with additional significance, when the
cloth was reluctantly thrown on the counter.

"Good," said the Injin, after examining the quality; "cut Injin twenty
yard--_good_ measure, hear?"

The calico was cut, with a sort of desperate submission; the twenty
yards were folded, enveloped, and handed to the customer, who coolly put
the bundle under his arm, saying, as he turned to leave the
store--"Charge it to Down Rent."

The mystery of Orson's sullenness was now explained. As invariably
follows the abandonment of principle, the fomenters of wrong were
suffering smartly through the encroachments of their own agents. I
ascertained afterward that these very Injins, who had been embodied in
hundreds, with a view to look down law, and right, and the sacred
character of contracts, had begun to carry out their main principle, and
were making all sorts of demands on the pockets and property of their
very employers, under one pretence or another, but with very obvious
tendencies toward their own benefit. The "spirit of anti-rentism" was
beginning to develop itself in this form, under the system of violence;
as, under that of legislative usurpation, and legislative truckling to
numbers, which is most to be feared from the character of our
representatives, it will as certainly be developed, unless suppressed in
the bud, by such further demands on its complaisant ministers, as will
either compel them to repent of their first false step, will drive the
State to civil war, or will drive all the honest men out of it.

I did not remain long in the store. After quitting it, I went in quest
of Mr. Warren and Mary, anxious to know if I could be of any service to
them. The father thanked me for this attention, and let me know that he
was now about to quit the village, as he saw others beginning to go
away, among whom was Hall, who was an old and much valued acquaintance
of his, and whom he had invited to stop at the rectory to dine. He
advised us to imitate the example, as there were strangers among the
Injins, who might be addicted to drinking.

On this information I hunted up my uncle, who had actually sold most of
his trinkets, and all his watches but one, the secret of his great
success being the smallness of his prices. He sold for what he had
bought, and in some instances for even less, quitting the place with the
reputation of being the _most reasonable_ jewel-pedler who had ever
appeared in it.

The road was beginning to be lined with vehicles carrying home the
people who had collected to hear the lecture. As this was the first
occasion which offered for witnessing such an exhibition since my
return, I examined the different parties we passed, with a view to
comparison. There is a certain air of rusticity, even in the large towns
of America, which one does not meet with in the capitals of the old
world. But the American country is less rustic than any part of the
world with which I am acquainted, England alone excepted. Of course, in
making such a remark, no allusion is intended to the immediate environs
of very large towns; though I am far from certain that the population of
St. Ouen, the Runnymede of France, and which stands within a league of
the walls of Paris, would not have offered a more decidedly rustic
spectacle than that which we then saw. As respects females, this was
very strikingly true; scarce one being visible who had that air of
coarseness, and ignorance, and vulgarity, which denotes a degraded
condition and a life of hardships. There was little apparent that marked
a peasantry in the moral sense of the word; but the whole population
seemed to be at their ease, using neat and well-kept vehicles; solid,
active horses; and being themselves reasonably well, though not very
tastefully clad. Yet, all this was on a leased estate, under the dire
oppression of a landlord, and beneath the shadow of aristocracy! A short
dialogue which took place between my uncle and two sturdy weather-beaten
husbandmen, who drove their horses to a short distance on a walk at the
side of ours, made the impression produced by such facts deeper than it
might otherwise have been. I will relate it.

"You are Jarmans, I b'lieve," commenced the oldest of the two men, a
gray-headed tenant of my own, of the name of Holmes, who was well known
to us both--"Jarmans, from the old countries, I hear?"

"Ja--we bees from der olt coontries; und dat is a great vay off."

"Ye-e-es, I s'pose it is--I've heern tell of them coontries, often. Does
the landlord system exist there?"

"Ja--dere ist lantlordts all ofer dis worlt, I do dinks; und tenants,
doo."

"Well, and how is the plan liked there; or be folks thinking of getting
red (rid) on't?"

"Nein--how might dey gets red of it? It ist der law, you might see, and
vhat ist der law moost be done."

This answer puzzled old Holmes a good deal. He passed a hand over his
face, and turned to his companion, one Tubbs, also a tenant on my
estate, as if to ask assistance. Tubbs was one of the new school; a
school that makes more laws than it respects, and belongs to the
movement. He is a man that fancies the world never knew anything of
principles, facts, or tendencies, until the commencement of this
century.

"What sort of a goverment had you, in your own country?" demanded Tubbs.

"Bretty goot. Mein coontry was Preussen; und dat might be t'ought a
bretty goot gofernment."

"Yes, but it's a kingly government, I take it;--it seems to me, I have
heern tell of kings in that land."

"Ja, ja--dere ist ein koenig--one king. De last might be der goot koenig
Vilhelm, und now dere ist his son, who ist a goot koenig, too, as I
might dink. Ja, ja--dere ist a king."

"That explains it all," cried Tubbs, with a sort of triumph. "You see,
they have a king, and so they have tenants; but, here we have no king,
and we have no need of landlords. Every man, in a free country, should
be his own landlord; that's my doctrine, and to that I'll stick."

"There is some reason in that, fri'nd; isn't that your idee?" asked
Holmes.

"Vell, I might not oonderstandt. Dost der shentlemans object to
landlordts, in his coontry, because dere might be landlordts in dem
coontries as might haf kings."

"That's it! That's just the reason on't, and the true principle!"
answered Tubbs. "Kings and liberty can't go together, and landlords and
liberty can't go together."

"But might not der law in this coontry be to haf landlordts, too? I hear
dat it ist so."

"Yes, that is the law, as it stands; but we mean to alter it all. We
have got so many votes now, as to be sure to have both parties with us
at the gin'ral election; and give us the Governor on our side, with the
sartainty of votes enough to turn an election, and we're pretty
confident of success. Votes is all that is wanting, in a truly free
country, for men to have things pretty much in their own way."

"Und dost you mean to haf not'in dat might be in de coontries ast haf
kings?"

"To be sure not. What do we want of any of your lordly contrivances, to
make the rich richer, and the poor poorer."

"Vell, you moost alter de law of nature, if de rich vilt not get riches,
und de poor vill not feel dey be poor. De Piple dells us dat de misery
of de poor ist deir poverty."

"Ay, ay, Bible talk don't go for much in politics. Sabba' days are set
aside for the Bible, and week-days for public and private matters. Now,
here is Hugh Littlepage, of the same flesh and blood as my neighbor
Holmes and myself be--no better and no worse; yes, I'm willing to allow
he's no worse, in the main, though in some things I do think we might
claim the preference; but I'll allow he's no worse, for the sake of
argooment. Each on us rents a farm of this Littlepage, of a hundred
acres good. Wa-al, this land we till, and crop, and labor, with our own
hands, and the hands of our sons, and hired help, perhaps; and yet we
have to pay fifty dollars apiece, annually, to that youngster, Hugh
Littlepage, for rent; which money he takes and squanders where he
pleases, in riotous livin', for't we know. Now, is that right, I ask;
and isn't it an onsuitable state of things for a republican country?"

"Und you dinks yoong Littlebage might spend his money in riotous lifin'
in foreign landts?"

"Sartain--that's the tale hereabouts; and I have seen a man who knows
another, that has an acquaintance who has been in Paris, and who tells
the people of his neighborhood that he stood at the door of the king's
palace one day, and actually saw both the Littlepages going in to pay
'tribute unto Caesar,' as it is called--I suppose you know; and they tell
me that all that goes to see a king, has to kneel and kiss his
hand--some say his toe. Do you happen to know how it is in the old
countries?"

"It ist not so; I haf seen more kings as half a dozen, und dey dost not
kneel down and kiss deir hants, except on sartain business. Dey might
not allvays hear what is true, in dis country."

"Wa-a-l, I don't know, I never was there to see," answered Tubbs, in
that peculiar manner, which, whenever it is used by an American, may
safely be interpreted to mean, "I'll not contradict you, but I'll
believe what I please." "That is what I've heern say. But, why should we
pay rent to young Littlepage to spend in riotous living?"

"I might not know, oonless you haf hiret his landt, und agree't to pay
him rent; in which case you might do as you agree't."

"But when the bargain's of a kingly natur', I say no. Every country has
its natur', and every government has its natur', and all things should
be in conformity with natur'. Now it's ag'in natur' to pay rent in a
republican country. We want nothing here, that's in common with lords
and kings."

"Vell, den, you most alter your whole coontry. You might not haf wifes
und children; you might not lif in houses; and plough de landt; you
might not eat und drink; and you might not wear any shirt."

Tubbs looked a little astonished. Like the _Bourgeois Gentilhomme_, he
was amazed to find he had been talking prose all his life without
knowing it. There is no question that laws unsuitable to the
institutions of a republic might exist in a kingdom, but it is equally
certain that the law which compels the tenant to pay for the use of his
house or farm is not one of the number. Tubbs, however, had been so
thoroughly persuaded, by dint of talking, there was something
exceedingly anti-republican in one man's paying rent to another, that he
was not disposed to give the matter up so easily.

"Ay, ay," he answered, "we have many things in common with kingdoms as
_men_, I must allow; but why should we have anything in common of this
aristocratic natur'? A free country should contain freemen, and how
_can_ a man be free if he doesn't own the land out of which he makes his
living?"

"Und if he makes his lifin' out of anoder man's land, he might be honest
enough to pay for its use, I dinks."

"But, we hold it _ought_ not to be another man's land, but the land of
him who works it."

"Dell me dis--dost you efer let out a field to a poor neighbor on
shares?"

"Sartain; we will do that, both to accommodate folks, and to get crops
when we are crowded with work ourselves."

"Und why might not all dat crop pelong to him dat works de field?"

"Oh! that's doin' business on a small scale, and can't do anybody harm.
But the American institutions never intended that there should be a
great privileged class among us, like the lords in Europe."

"Did you efer haf any difficulty in getting your hire for a field dat
might be so let out?"

"Sartain. There's miserable neighbors as well as them that isn't. I had
to sue the very last chap I had such dealin's with."

"Und dit das law let you haf your money?"

"To be sure it did! What would law be good for, if it didn't help a body
to his rights?"

"Und dost den tenants of dis broperty let Hugh Littlebage haf his rents,
as might be due?"

"That's a different thing, I tell you. Hugh Littlepage has more than he
wants, and spends his money in riotous livin' in foreign parts."

"Vell, und sooppose your neighpors might vants to ask you what you do
wit' your tollars after you shall sell your pork and beef, to see you
mate goot use of it--might dat be liperty?"

"That! Why, who do you think would trouble himself about my 'arnin's.
It's the big fish only that folks talk about, and care about, in such
matters."

"Den folks make Hugh Littlebage a big fish, by dair own mettlin', und
enfy, und cofetousness--is it not so?"

"Harkee, fri'nd, I some think you're leanin' yourself to kingly ways,
and to the idees in which you was brought up. Take my advice, and
abandon all these notions as soon as you can, for they'll never be
popular in this part of the world."

Popular! How broad has the signification of this word got to be! In the
eyes of two-thirds of the population it already means, "what is right."
_Vox populi, vox dei!_ To what an extent is this little word made to
entwine itself around all the interests of life! When it is deemed
expedient to inculcate certain notions in the minds of the people, the
first argument used is to endeavor to persuade the inhabitants of New
York that the inhabitants of Pennsylvania are already of that mind. A
simulated public opinion is the strongest argument used, indeed, on
every occasion of the public discussion of any disputed point. He that
can count the most voices is a better man than he who can give the most
reasons; numbers carrying more weight with them than facts or law. It is
evident, that, while in some things, such a system may work well, there
are others, and those of overshadowing importance, in which its tendency
is direct and fearful toward corruption.

As soon as Tubbs had given his admonition, he applied the whip to his
horse, and trotted on, leaving us to follow at the best gait we could
extort from Tom Miller's hack.




CHAPTER XVII.

    "If he were with me, King of Tuscarora,
      Gazing as I upon thy portrait now,
    In all its medalled, fringed, and bearded glory,
      Its eyes' dark beauty, and its thoughtful brow--

    "Its brow, half martial, half diplomatic;
      Its eye, upsoaring, like an eagle's wings;
    Well might he boast that we, the democratic,
      Outrival Europe--even in our kings."--_Red Jacket._


My uncle Ro said nothing when the two tenants left us; though I saw, by
his countenance, that he felt all the absurdity of the stuff we had just
been listening to. We had got within half a mile of the woods, when
eight Injins came galloping up to a wagon that was directly behind us,
which contained another of my tenants, with his eldest son, a lad of
sixteen, whom he had brought with him as a scholar, in having his sense
of right unsettled by the selfish mystification that was going on in the
land; a species of fatherly care that was of very questionable merit. I
said there were eight of these Injins, but there were only four horses,
each beast carrying double. No sooner did the leaders of the party reach
the wagon I have mentioned, than it was stopped, and its owner was
commanded to alight. The man was a decided down-renter, but he obeyed
the order with a very ill-grace; and did not obey at all, indeed, until
he was helped out of the wagon, by a little gentle violence of this
fragment of his own _corps d'armee_. The boy was soon put into the
highway, when two of the "disguised and armed" leaped into the vacant
places, and drove on, passing us at a furious pace, making a parting nod
to the owner of the vehicle, and consoling him for its temporary loss by
calling out, "Injin want him--Injin good fellow, you know."

Whether the discomfited farmer _knew_ or not, we could not tell; but he
_looked_ as if he wished the Injins anywhere but in their "happy hunting
grounds." We drove on laughing, for it was in human nature to be amused
at such an exhibition of the compulsory system, or of "liberty and
equality carried out;" and more particularly so, when I was certain that
the "honest, hard-working, horny-handed tiller of the soil," wanted to
cheat me out of a farm; or to put his case in the most favorable point
of view, wanted to compel me to sell him one at his own price. Nor did
our amusement stop here. Before we reached the woods, we found Holmes
and Tubbs in the highway, too; the other two worthies who had been
mounted _en croupe_ having dispossessed them of their wagon also, and
told them to "charge it to Injin." We afterward learned that this
practice was very general; the owner recovering his horse and team, in
the course of a few days, by hearing it had been left secretly at some
tavern within a few miles of his residence. As for old Holmes, he was in
an honest indignation, when we came up with him, while even Tubbs looked
soured and discontented, or as if he thought friends were entitled to
better treatment.

"Vhat ist der matter?" cried out uncle Ro, who could hardly keep from
laughing the whole time; "vhat ist der matter now? Vhere might be your
hantsome vaggin and your gay horse?"

"It's too bad!--yes, it's eeny most too bad!" grunted Holmes. "Here am
I, past threescore-and-ten, which is the full time of man, the Bible
says--and what the Bible says _must_ be true, you know?--here have they
trundled me into the highway, as they would a sack of potatoes, and left
me to walk every step of four miles to reach my own door! It's too
bad--it's eeny most too bad!"

"Oh! dat might be a trifle, compared to vhat it vould be to haf peen
drundelled out of your farm."

"I know't!--I know't!--I understand it!--it's all meant for the good
cause--to put down aristocracy, and make men raa'ly equal as the law
intends them to be--but this I say is eeny most too bad!"

"Und you so olt!"

"Seventy-six, if I'm a day. My time can't be long, and my legs is weak,
they be. Yes, the Bible says a man's time is limited pretty much to
threescore-and-ten--and I'll never stand out ag'in the Bible."

"Und vhat might der Piple say apout vanting to haf your neighpors'
goots?"

"It cries that down dreadfully! Yes, there's plenty of that in the good
book, I know from havin' heard it read--ay, and havin' read it myself,
these threescore years; it _doos_ cry it down, the most awfully. I shall
tell the Injins this, the next time they want my wagon. There's Bible
ag'in all sich practices."

"Der Piple ist a good pook."

"That it is--that it is--and great is the consolation and hope that I
have known drawn from its pages. I'm glad to find that they set store by
the Bible in Jarmany. I was pretty much of the notion, we had most of
the religion that's goin', in Ameriky, and it's pleasant to find there
_is_ some in Jarmany."

All this time old Holmes was puffing along on foot, my uncle Ro walking
his horse, in order to enjoy his discourse.

"Oh! ja--ja, ja--dere might be _some_ religion left in der olt worlt--de
Puritans, as you might call dem, did not pring it all away."

"Desp'rate good people them! We got all our best sarcumstances from our
Puritan forefathers. Some folks say that all America has got, is owing
to them very saints!"

"Ja--und if it bees not so, nefer mind; for dey will be sartain to get
all Ameriky."

Holmes was mystified, but he kept tugging on, casting wistful glances at
our wagon, as he endeavored to keep up with it. Fearful we might trot on
and leave him, the old man continued the discourse. "Yes," he said, "our
authority for everything must come from the Bible, a'ter all. It tells
us we hadn't ought to bear malice, and that's a rule I endivor to act up
to; for an old man, you see, can't indulge his sinful natur' if he
would. Now I've been down to Little Neest to attend a Down-Rent
meetin',--but I bear no more malice ag'in Hugh Littlepage, not I, no
more than if he weren't a bit of my landlord! All I want of him is my
farm, on such a lay as I can live by, and the b'ys a'ter me. I look on
it as dreadful hard and oppressive that the Littlepages should refuse to
let us have the place, seein' that I have worked it now for the tarm of
three whull lives."

"Und dey agreet dat dey might sell you de farm, when dem dree lifes wast
up?"

"No, not in downright language they didn't, as I must allow. In the way
of bargain, I must own the advantage is altogether on the side of
Littlepage. That was his grand'ther's act; and if you wun't drive quite
so fast, as I'm getting a little out of wind, I'll tell you all about
it. That is just what we complain on; the bargain being so much in his
favor. Now my lives _have_ hung on desp'rately, haven't they,
Shabbakuk?" appealing to Tubbs. "It's every hour of forty-five years
sin' I tuck that lease, and one life, that of my old woman, is still in
bein', as they call it, though it's a sort of bein' that a body might as
well not have as have. She can't stand it a great while longer, and then
that farm that I set so much store by, out of which I've made my
livelihood most of my life, and on which I've brought up fourteen
children, will go out of my hands to enrich Hugh Littlepage, who's got
so much now he can't spend it at hum like honest folks, but must go
abroad, to waste it in riotous living, as they tell us. Yes, onless the
Governor and the Legislature helps me out of my difficulty, I don't see
but Hugh Littlepage must get it all, making the 'rich richer, and the
poor poorer.'"

"Und vhy must dis cruel ding come to pass? Vhy might not mans keep his
own in Ameriky?"

"That's jest it, you see. It isn't my own, in law, only by natur', like,
and the 'speret of the institutions,' as they call it. I'm sure I don't
kear much how I get it, so it only comes. If the Governor can only make
the landlords sell, or even give away, he may sartainly count on my
support providin' they don't put the prices too high. I hate high
prices, which is onsuitable to a free country."

"Fery drue. I sooppose your lease might gif you dat farm quite
reasonaple, as it might be mate so long ago?"

"Only two shillings the acre," answered the old fellow, with a knowing
look, which as much as boasted of the capital bargain he had in the
affair, "or twenty-five dollars a year for a hundred acres. That's no
great matter, I'm ready to allow; but my lives havin' held on so
desp'rately, until land's got up to forty dollars an acre about here, I
can't no more expect sich another lay than I can expect to go to
Congress. I can rent that place, to-morrow mornin', for $150 of as good
money as any man can pay."

"Und how much might you expect 'Squire Littlepage woult ask on a new
lease?"

"Some think as much as $62.50; though other some think he would let it
go to _me_ for $50, for three lives longer. The old gin'ral told me when
he signed the lease that I was gettin' a bargain, 'but, niver mind,'
said he, 'if I give you good tarms, you'll make the better tenant, and I
look to posterity and their benefit as much as I do to my own. If I
don't get the advantage I might,' says he, 'my children, or my
children's children, will. A man musn't altogether live for himself in
this world, especially if he has children.' Them was good idees, wasn't
they?"

"You might not dink differently. Und, how moch woult you love to bay for
a deet of de farm?"

"Wa-a-l, there's differences of opinion on that subject. The most
approved notion is, that Hugh Littlepage ought to be made to give
warrantees, with full covenants, as it's called; and covenants is all in
all, in a deed, you know----"

"But might not be in a lease?" put in uncle Ro, somewhat dryly.

"That depinds--but some say them deeds ought to be given, if the tenants
allow the landlords the worth of the land when the patentee got it, and
interest down to the present day. It does not seem a desp'rate price to
pay for land, to give principal and interest, and to throw in all that
has been paid beside?"

"Haf you made a calculation, to see vhat it might come to?"

"Shabbakuk has; tell the gentleman, Shabbakuk, how much you made it come
to, the acre."

Shabbakuk was a far deeper rogue than his neighbor, Holmes. The last was
merely a man of selfish and narrow views, who, from passing a long life
with no other object before him than that of scraping together property,
had got his mind completely ensnared in the meshes of this world's net;
whereas, his companion took the _initiative_, as the French have it, in
knavery, and not only carried out, but invented the schemes of the
wicked. He clearly did not like this appeal to his arithmetic, but
having no suspicion to whom he was talking, and fancying every man in
the lower conditions of life must be an ally in a plan to make the "rich
poorer, and the poor richer," he was a little more communicative than
might otherwise have been the case. After reflecting a moment, he gave
us his answer, reading from a paper in his hand, on which the whole sum
had been elaborately worked for the occasion of the late meeting.

"The land was worth ten cents an acre, maybe, when the first Littlepage
got it, and that is a liberal price. Now that was eighty years since,
for we don't count old Herman Mordaunt's time as anything; seeing that
the land was worth next to nothin' in his time. The interest on ten
cents at seven per cent, is seven mills a year, or five hundred and
sixty mills for eighty years. This is without compound; compound being
unlawful, and nothin' agin law should be taken into the account. Add the
ten cents to the five hundred and sixty mills, and you get six hundred
and sixty mills, or sixty-six cents. Now this sum, or a sum calculated
on the same principles, all the tenants are willing to pay for their
farms,[27] and if justice prevails they will get 'em."

[Footnote 27: In order that the reader may understand Mr. Hugh
Littlepage is not inventing, I will add that propositions still more
extravagant than these, have been openly circulated among the
anti-renters, up and down the country.--EDITOR.]

"Dat seems but little to bay for landt dat might now rent for a dollar
an acre each year."

"You forgit that the Littlepages have had the rent these eighty years,
the whull time."

"Und de denants haf hat de farms dese eighty years, de whole time, too."

"Oh! we put the land ag'in the work. If my neighbor, Holmes, here, has
had his farm forty-five years, so the farm has had his work forty-five
years, as an offset. You may depind on't, the Governor and the
Legislature understand all that."

"If dey does," answered Uncle Ro, whipping his horse into a trot, "dey
must be fit for deir high stations. It is goot for a country to haf
great governors, and great legisladors. _Guten Tag._"

Away he went, leaving neighbor Holmes, Shabbakuk Tubbs, the Governor and
Legislature, with their joint morals, wisdom, logic, and philosophy, in
the highway together. My uncle Ro shook his head, and then he laughed,
as the absurdity of what had just passed forced itself on his
imagination.

I dare say many may be found, who have openly professed principles and
opinions identical, in substance, with what has just been related here,
who will be disposed to deny them, when they are thrown into their
faces. There is nothing unusual in men's refusing to recognize their own
children, when they are ashamed of the circumstances that brought them
into being. But, in the course of this controversy, I have often heard
arguments in discourse, and have often read them in the journals, as
they have been put into the mouths of men in authority, and that, too,
in their public communications, which, stripped of their very thin
coverings, are pretty much on the level with those of Holmes and Tubbs.
I am aware that no governor has, _as yet_; alluded to the _hardships_ of
the tenants, under the limited leases, but it would be idle to deny that
the door has been opened to principles, or want of principles, that must
sweep away all such property in the current of reckless popular clamor,
unless the evil be soon arrested. I say _evil_, for it must prove a
curse to any community to break down the securities of property, as it
is held in what has hitherto been thought its most secure form, and,
what is of still more importance in a moral point of view, all to
appease the cravings of cupidity, as they are exhibited in the masses.

We were soon out of sight of Holmes and Tubbs, and in the woods. I
confess that I expected each instant to overtake Hall in the hands of
the Injins; for the movement among that class of persons had appeared to
me as one directed particularly against him. We saw nothing of the sort,
however, and had nearly reached the northern limits of the bit of
forest, when we came in sight of the two wagons which had been so
cavalierly taken possession of, and of the two horses ridden by the
mounted men. The whole were drawn up on one side of the highway, under
the charge of a single Injin, in a manner to announce that we were
approaching a point of some interest.

My uncle and myself fully expected to be again stopped, as we drove up
to the place just mentioned; not only was the track of the road left
clear, however, but we were suffered to pass without a question. All the
horses had been in a lather, as if driven very hard; though, otherwise,
there was nothing to indicate trouble, if we except the presence of the
solitary sentinel. From this fellow neither signs nor order molested us;
but on we went at Tom Miller's horse's favorite amble, until we were so
near the verge of the wood, as to get a view into the open fields
beyond. Here, indeed, we obtained a sight of certain movements that, I
confess, gave me some little concern.

Among the bushes that lined the highway, and which have been already
mentioned, I got a glimpse of several of the "disguised and armed," who
were evidently lying in ambush. Their number might have been twenty in
all, and it was now sufficiently apparent that those who had pressed the
wagons had been hurrying forward to re-enforce their party. At this
point, I felt quite certain we should be stopped; but we were not. We
were suffered to pass without question, as we had just passed the wagons
and horses, though it must have been known to the party that we were
fully aware of their presence at that particular spot. But on we went,
and were soon, unmolested, in the open country.

It was not long, however, before the mystery was explained. A road
descended from the higher ground, which lay to the westward of us, a
little on our left, and a party of men was coming down it, at a quick
walk, which, at the first glance, I mistook for a detachment of the
Injins, but which, at a second look, I ascertained to be composed of
Indians, or real red men. The difference between the two is very great,
as every American will at once admit, though many who read this
manuscript will be obliged to me for an explanation. There is "Indian"
and "Injin." The Injin is a white man, who, bent on an unworthy and
illegal purpose, is obliged to hide his face, and to perform his task in
disguise. The Indian is a red man, who is neither afraid nor ashamed to
show his countenance, equally to friend or enemy. The first is the agent
of designing demagogues, the hireling of a discontented and grasping
spirit, who mocks at truth and right by calling himself one who labors
to carry out "the spirit of those institutions" which he dishonors and
is afraid to trust; while the other serves himself only, and is afraid
of nothing. One is skulking from, and shirking the duties of
civilization, while the other, though a savage, is, at least, true to
his own professions.

There they were, sure enough, a party of some sixteen or eighteen of the
real aborigines. It is not an uncommon thing to meet with an Indian or
two, strolling about the country selling baskets--formerly it was brooms
of birch, but the march of improvement has nearly banished so rude a
manufacture from the country--with a squaw or two in company; but it is
now very unusual to meet a true Indian warrior in the heart of the
State, carrying his rifle and tomahawk, as was the case with all those
who were so swiftly descending the road. My uncle Ro was quite as much
astonished as I was myself; and he pulled up at the junction of the two
highways, in order to await the arrival of the strangers.

"These are real redskins, Hugh--and of a noble tribe," cried my uncle,
as a still nearer approach gave him a better and better view. "Warriors
of the West, out of all question, with one white man in attendance--what
can such a party possibly want at Ravensnest!"

"Perhaps the anti-renters intend to enlarge their plans, and have a
scheme to come out upon us, with an alliance formed with the true sons
of the forest--may they not intend intimidation?"

"Whom could they thus intimidate, but their own wives and children? But,
here they come, in a noble body, and we can speak to them."

There they did come, indeed; seventeen of the finer specimens of the
Redskins, as they are now sometimes seen passing among us in bodies,
moving to or from their distant prairies; for the white man has already
forced the Indian, with the bears, and the elk, and the moose, out of
the forests of America, upon those vast plains.

What is to be the end of the increase of this nation is one of the
mysteries of Divine Providence. If faithful to the right, if _just_, not
in the sense of yielding to the clamors of the many, but in the sense of
good laws, if true to themselves, the people of this republic may laugh
at European interference and European power, when brought to bear on
their home interests, as so much of the lumbering policy of ages no
longer suited to the facts and feelings of our own times, and push on to
the fulfilment of a destiny, which, if carried out on the apparent
designs of the Ruler of the earth, will leave that of all other states
which have preceded us, as much in the shade, as the mountain leaves the
valley. But, it must not be forgotten that the brightest dawns often
usher in the darkest days; that the most brilliant youths frequently
precede manhoods of disappointment and baffled wishes; that even the
professed man of God can fall away from his vows and his faith, and
finish a career that was commenced in virtue and hope, in profligacy and
sin. Nations are no more safe from the influence of temptation than
individuals, and this has a weakness peculiarly its own. Instead of
falling back on its popular principle, in extremities, as its infallible
safeguard, it is precisely in the irresponsible and grasping character
of that principle that its danger is to be apprehended. That principle,
which, kept within the limits of right, is so admirably adapted to
restraining the ordinary workings of cupidity and selfishness, as they
are familiarly seen in narrow governments, when permitted to overrun the
boundaries placed for its control, becomes a torrent that has broken out
of its icy bed, in the spring, and completely defaces all that is
beneficial or lovely, in either nature or art, that may happen to lie in
its course. As yet, the experience of two centuries has offered nothing
so menacing to the future prosperity of this country, as the social
fermentation which is at this moment at work in the State of New York.
On the result of this depends the solution of the all-important
question, whether principles are to rule this republic, or men; and
these last, too, viewed in their most vulgar and repulsive qualities, or
as the mere creatures of self, instead of being the guardians and agents
of that which ought to be. It is owing to this state of things, that we
have already seen a Legislature occupied with discussing the modes of
evading the provisions of its own laws, and men who ought to stand
before the world, stern and uncompromising in their public morals,
manifesting a most pernicious ingenuity in endeavoring to master and
overreach each other in wielding the arts of the demagogue.

As the Indians entered the north and south road, or that in which we had
stopped, the whole party came to a halt, with characteristic courtesy,
as if to meet our wish to speak to them. The foremost of the band, who
was also the oldest, being a man of sixty, if not older, nodded his
head, and uttered the usual conventional salutation of "Sago, sago."

"Sago," said my uncle, and "Sago" put in I.

"How do?" continued the Indian, who we now discovered spoke English.
"What call this country?"

"This is Ravensnest. The village of Little Nest is about a mile and a
half on the other side of that wood."

The Indian now turned, and in his deep guttural tones communicated this
intelligence to his fellows. The information obviously was well
received, which was as much as saying that they had reached the end of
their journey. Some conversation next succeeded, delivered in brief,
sententious remarks, when the old chief again turned to us. I call him
chief, though it was evident that the whole party was composed of
chiefs. This was apparent by their medals, their fine appearance
generally, and by their quiet, dignified, not so say lofty bearing. Each
of them was in a light summer attire, wearing the moccason and leggings,
etc.; the calico shirt, or a thin blanket, that was cast around the
upper part of the person, much as the Roman may be supposed to have worn
his toga; all carrying the rifle, the bright, well-scoured tomahawk, and
the sheathed knife. Each, too, had his horn and his bullet-pouch, and
some of the more youthful were a little elaborate in their ornaments, in
the way of feathers, and such presents as they had received on their
long journey. Not one of them all, however, was painted.

"This Raven-nest, eh?" continued the old chief, speaking directly, but
with sufficient courtesy.

"As I have said. The village lies on the other side of that wood; the
house from which the name is taken is a mile and a half in the other
direction."

This, too, was translated, and a low, but general expression of pleasure
was given.

"Any Injins 'bout here, eh?" demanded the chief, looking so earnestly at
the same time as to surprise us both.

"Yes," answered my uncle. "There _are_ Injins--a party is in the edge of
the woods, there, within thirty rods of you at this moment."

With great rapidity this fact was communicated to the eager listeners,
and there was a sensation in the party, though it was a sensation
betrayed as such feelings are only betrayed among the aborigines of this
part of the world; quietly, reservedly, and with a coldness amounting
nearly to indifference. We were amused, however, at noting how much more
interest this news awakened than would probably have been excited had
these red-men been told a town like London was on the other side of the
wood. As children are known to feel most interest in children, so did
these children of the forest seem to be most alive to an interest in
these unexpected neighbors, brethren of the same habits and race, as
they unquestionably imagined. After some earnest discourse among
themselves, the old chief, whose named turned out to be Prairiefire,
once more addressed himself to us.

"What tribe, eh? Know tribe?"

"They are called Anti rent Injins--a new tribe in this part of the
country, and are not much esteemed."

"Bad Injin, eh?"

"I am afraid so. They are not honest enough to go in paint, but wear
shirts over their faces."

Another long and wondering conference succeeded. It is to be supposed
that such a _tribe_ as that of the Anti-renters was hitherto unknown
among the American savages. The first intelligence of the existence of
such a people would naturally awaken great interest, and we were soon
requested to show them the way to the spot where this unheard of tribe
might be found. This was going somewhat further than my uncle had
anticipated, but he was not a man to beat a retreat when he had once
undertaken an enterprise. After a short deliberation with himself, he
signified his assent; and alighting from our wagon, we fastened Tom
Miller's horse to a stake of one of the fences, and set off, on foot, as
guides to our new brethren, in seeking the great tribe of the
Anti-renters! We had not gone half the distance to the woods before we
met Holmes and Tubbs, who, getting a cast in another wagon, until they
reached the place where their own vehicle was stationed, had recovered
that, and were now on their way home, apprehensive that some new freak
of their great allies might throw them out into the highway again. This
wagon, our own excepted, was the only one that had yet emerged from the
wood, the owners of some twenty others preferring to remain in the
background until the development of the meeting between the tribes
should occur.

"What, in natur', does all this mean?" exclaimed old Holmes, as we
approached him, reining in his horse, for the purposes of a conference.
"Is the governor sending out ra-al Injins ag'in' us, in order to favor
the landlords?"

This was taking a harsh and most uncharitable view of the course of the
governor, for an anti-renter; but that functionary having made the
capital blunder of serving, altogether, neither "God nor Mammon" in this
great question, must expect to take it right and left, as neither God
nor Mammon will be very likely to approve of his course.

"Vell, I don't know," was my uncle's answer. "Dese ist ra-al red-men,
und dem younder ist ra-al Injins, dat's all. Vhat might bring dese
warriors here, joost now, you must ask of demselves, if you wants to
l'arn."

"There can be no harm in asking; I'm no way skeary about redskins,
having seen 'em often, and my father fit 'em in his day, as I've heern
him tell. Sago, sago."

"Sago," answered Prairiefire, with his customary courtesy.

"Where, in natur', do you red-men all come _from_, and where _can_ ye be
goin'?"

It was apparent that Holmes belonged to a school that never hesitated
about putting any question; and that would have an answer, if an answer
was to be got. The old chief had probably met with such pale-faces
before, the untrained American being certainly among the most diligent
of all the human beings of that class. But, on the other hand, the
red-man regards the indulgence of a too eager curiosity as womanish, and
unworthy of the self-command and dignity of a warrior. The betraying of
surprise, and the indulgence of a curiosity fit only for squaws, were
two things that Prairiefire had doubtless been early told were unworthy
of his sex; for to some such in-and-in breeding alone could be referred
the explanation of the circumstance that neither Holmes's manner,
address, nor language, caused in him the least expression of emotion. He
answered the questions, however, and that with a coldness that seemed of
proof.

"Come from setting sun--been to see Great Father, at Washington--go
home," was the sententious reply.

"But how come ye to pass by Ravensnest?--I'm afeared the governor, and
them chaps at Albany, must have a hand in this, Shabbakuk."

What Shabbakuk thought of the "governor, and them chaps at Albany" is
not known, as he did not see fit to make any reply. His ordinary
propensity to meddle was probably awed by the appearance of these real
redskins.

"I say, _why_ do ye come this-a-way?" Holmes continued, repeating his
question. "If you've been to Washington, and found him to hum (Anglice,
'at home'), why didn't ye go back by the way ye come?"

"Come here to find Injin; got no Injin here, eh?"

"Injin? why, of one sort we've got more of the critturs than a body can
very well git along with. Of what color be the Injins you want to find?
Be they of the pale-face natur', or be they red like yourselves?"

"Want to find red-man. He ole, now; like top of dead hemlock, wind blow
t'rough his branches till leaf all fall off."

"By George, Hugh," whispered my uncle, "these redskins are in search of
old Susquesus!" Then entirely forgetting the necessity of maintaining
his broken English in the presence of his two Ravensnest listeners,
Shabbakuk Tubbs in particular, he turned, somewhat inconsiderately for
one of his years, to the Prairiefire, and hastily remarked--

"I can help you in your search. You are looking for a warrior of the
Onondagoes; one who left his tribe a hundred summers ago, a red-man of
great renown for finding his path in the forest, and who would never
taste fire-water. His name is Susquesus."

Until this moment, the only white man who was in company with this
strange party--strange at least in our portion of the State of New York,
though common enough, perhaps, on the great thoroughfares of the
country--broke silence. This man was an ordinary interpreter, who had
been sent with the party in case of necessity; but being little more
acquainted with the ways of civilization than those whom he was to
guide, he had prudently held his tongue until he saw that he might be of
some use. We afterward learned that the subagent who had accompanied the
chiefs to Washington, had profited by the wish of the Indians to pay
their passing homage to the "Withered Hemlock, that still stands," as
they poetically called Susquesus in their own dialects--for Indians of
several tribes were present--to pay a visit to his own relatives in
Massachusetts, his presence not being deemed necessary in such a purely
pious pilgrimage.

"You're right," observed the interpreter. "These chiefs have not come to
look up any _tribe_, but there are two of the ancient Onondagoes among
them, and their traditions tell of a chief, called Susquesus, that has
outlived everything but tradition; who left his own people long, long
ago, and who left a great name behind him for vartue, and that is a
thing a redskin never forgets."

"And all these warriors have come fifty miles out of their way, to pay
this homage to Susquesus?"

"Such has been their wish, and I asked permission of the Bureau at
Washington, to permit them to come. It costs Uncle Sam $50 or a $100
more than it otherwise might, but such a visit will do all the warriors
of the West a million of dollars of good; no men honor right and justice
more than redskins, though it's in their own fashion."

"I am sure Uncle Sam has acted no more than righteously, as I hope he
always may act as respects these people. Susquesus is an old friend of
mine, and I will lead you to him."

"And who in natur' be _you_?" demanded Holmes, his curiosity starting
off on a new track.

"Who am I?--You shall know who I am," answered uncle Ro, removing his
wig, an action that I imitated on the spot--"I am Roger Littlepage, the
late trustee of this estate, and this is Hugh Littlepage, its owner."
Old Holmes was good pluck in most matters; of far better stuff at the
bottom, than the sneaking, snivelling, prating demagogue at his side;
but by this discovery he was dumfounded! He looked at my uncle, then he
looked at me; after which, he fastened a distressed and inquiring gaze
on Shabbakuk. As for the Indians, notwithstanding their habitual
self-command, a common "hugh!" was uttered among them, when they saw two
men, as it might be, thus scalping themselves. Uncle Ro was excited, and
his manner was, in the last degree, theatrical, as with one hand he
removed his cap, and with the other his wig; holding the last, with an
extended arm, in the direction of the Indians. As a red-man is rarely
guilty of any act of rudeness, unless he means to play the brute in good
earnest, it is possible that the Chippewa toward whom the hand which
held the wig was extended, mistook the attitude for an invitation to
examine that curious article, for himself. It is certain he gently
forced it from my uncle's grasp, and, in the twinkling of an eye, all
the savages were gathered round it, uttering many but low and guarded
expressions of surprise. Those men were all chiefs, and they restrained
their astonishment at this point. Had there been any of the ignoble
vulgar among them, there is little doubt that the wig would have passed
from hand to hand, and been fitted to a dozen heads, already shaved to
receive it.




CHAPTER XVIII.

    "The Gordon is gude in a hurry,
      An' Campbell is steel to the bane,
    An' Grant, an' Mackenzie, an' Murray,
      An' Cameron will truckle to name."--HOGG.


The interruption of this scene came from old Holmes, who cried to his
companion, on the high key in which it was usual for him to speak:

"This is downright bad, Shabbakuk--we'll never get our leases a'ter
this!"

"Nobody can say"--answered Tubbs, giving a loud hem, as if determined to
brazen the matter out. "Maybe the gentleman will be glad to compromise
the matter. It's ag'in law, I believe, for anyone to appear on the
highway disguised--and both the 'Squire Littlepages, you'll notice,
neighbor Holmes, be in the very _middle_ of the road, and both was
disguised, only a minute ago."

"That's true. D'ye think anything can be got out o' that? I want
profitable proceedin's."

Shabbakuk gave another hem, looked behind him, as if to ascertain what
had become of the Injins, for he clearly did not fancy the real
"article" before him, and then he answered:

"We may get our farms, neighbor Holmes, if you'll agree as I'm willin'
to do, to be reasonable about this matter, so long as 'Squire Littlepage
wishes to hearken to his own interests."

My uncle did not deign to make any answer, but, knowing we had done
nothing to bring us within the view of the late statute, he turned
toward the Indians, renewing his offer to them to be their guide.

"The chiefs want very much to know who you are, and how you two came by
double scalps," said the interpreter, smiling like one who understood,
for his own part, the nature of a wig very well.

"Tell them that this young gentleman is Hugh Littlepage, and that I am
his uncle. Hugh Littlepage is the owner of the land that you see on
every side of you."

The answer was communicated, and we waited for its effect on the
Indians. To our surprise, several of them soon gathered around,
evidently regarding us both with interest and respect.

"The claims of a landlord seem to be better understood among these
untutored savages, than among your own tenants, Hugh," said my uncle.
"But there goes old Holmes, the inbred rogue, and his friend Shabbakuk,
back to the woods; we may have an affair on hand with _his_ Injins."

"I think not, sir. It does not appear to me that there is valor enough
in that tribe, to face this. In general, the white man is fully a match
for the redskin; but it may be doubted whether chiefs like these would
not prove too much for twice their number of varlets, of the breed of
yonder skulking scoundrels."

"Why do the chiefs manifest so much interest in us?" asked my uncle, of
the interpreter. "Is it possible that they pay so much respect to us, on
account of our connection with this estate?"

"Not at all--not at all. They know the difference between a chief and a
common man well enough, it is true," was the answer; "and twenty times,
as we have come down through the country, have they expressed their
surprise to me, that so many common men should be chiefs, among the
pale-faces; but they care nothing for riches. He is the greatest man
among them, who is best on a war-path, and at a council-fire; though
they _do_ honor them that has had great and useful ancestors."

"But, they seem to betray some unusual and extraordinary interest in us,
too; perhaps they are surprised at seeing gentlemen in such dresses?"

"Lord, sir, what do men care for dresses, that are used to see the heads
of factories and forts half the time dressed in skins? They know that
there be holidays and workin'-days; times for every-day wear, and times
for feathers and paint. No--no--they look at you both, with so much
interest, on account of their traditions."

"Their traditions! What can these have to do with us? We have never had
anything to do with Indians."

"That's true of you, and may be true of your fathers; but it's not true
of some of your ancestors. Yesterday, after we had got to our night's
stopping-place, two of the chiefs, this smallish man with the double
plate on his breast, and that elderly warrior, who has been once
scalped, as you can see by his crown, began to tell of some of the
treacheries of their own tribe, which was once a Canada people. The
elderly chief related the adventures of a war-path, that led out of
Canada, across the large waters, down to a settlement where they
expected to get a great many scalps, but where in the end they lost more
scalps than they found; and where they met Susquesus, the upright
Onondago, as they call him in that tongue, as well as the Yengeese owner
of the land, at this very spot, whom they called by a name something
like your own, who was a warrior of great courage and skill by their
traditions. They suppose you to be the descendants of the last, and
honor you accordingly; that's all."

"And, is it possible that these untutored beings have traditions as
reliable as this?"

"Lord, if you could hear what they say among themselves, about the lies
that are read to them out of the pale-face prints, you would l'arn how
much store they set by truth! In my day, I have travelled through a
hundred miles of wilderness, by a path that was no better, nor any
worse, than an Indian tradition of its manner of running; and a
tradition that must have been at least a hundred summers old. They know
all about your forefathers, and they know something about you, too, if
you be the gentleman that finds the upright Onondago, or the Withered
Hemlock, in his old age, with a wigwam, and keeps it filled with food
and fuel."

"Is this possible! And all this is spoken of, and known among the
savages of the Far West?"

"If you call these chiefs savages," returned the interpreter, a little
offended at hearing such a term applied to his best friends and constant
associates. "To be sure they have their ways, and so have the
pale-faces; but Injin ways be not so very savage, when a body gets a
little used to them. Now, I remember it was a long time before I could
get reconciled to seeing a warrior scalp his enemy; but as I reasoned on
it, and entered into the spirit of the practice, I began to feel it was
all right."

I was walking just in front of my uncle, for we were in motion again on
our way to the wood, but could not help turning and saying to him with a
smile--

"So it would seem that this matter of the 'spirit' is to be found in
other places beside the legislature. There is the 'spirit of scalping,'
as well as the 'spirit of the institutions!'"

"Ay, Hugh; and the 'spirit of fleecing,' as a consequence of what is
profanely termed the last. But it may be well to go no nearer to the
wood than this spot. The Injins I have told you of are in these bushes
in front, and they are armed; I leave you to communicate with them in
any manner you please. They are about twenty in number."

The interpreter informed his chiefs of what had been said, who spoke
together in earnest consultation for a moment. Then Prairiefire himself
plucked a branch off the nearest bush, and holding it up he advanced
close to the cover, and called out aloud in some one, or in many of the
different dialects with which he was acquainted. I saw, by the moving of
the branches, that men were in the bushes; but no answer of any sort was
made. There was one savage in our band, who betrayed manifest impatience
at these proceedings. He was a large, athletic Iowa chief, called in
English Flintyheart, and, as we subsequently learned, of great renown
for martial exploits. It was always difficult to hold him in when there
was a prospect of scalps, and he was now less restrained than common,
from the circumstance of his having no superior of his own particular
tribe present. After Prairiefire had called two or three times in vain
to the party in the cover, Flintyheart stepped out, spoke a few words
with energy and spirit, terminating his appeal by a most effective, not
to say appalling, whoop. That sound was echoed back by most of the band,
when they all broke off, right and left, stealing more like snakes than
bipeds to the fences, under cover of which they glanced forward to the
wood, in which every man of them buried himself in the twinkling of an
eye. In vain had the interpreter called to them, to remind them where
they were, and to tell them that they might displease their great
father, at Washington, and Prairiefire stood his ground, exposed to any
shot the supposed foe might send at him; on they went, like so many
hounds that have struck a scent too strong to be held in restraint by
any whipper-in.

"They expect to find Injins," said the interpreter, in a sort of
despair; "and there's no holdin' 'em back. There can be no enemies of
their'n down hereaway, and the agent will be awfully angry if blood is
drawn; though I shouldn't mind it a bit if the party was some of them
scoundrels, the Sacs and Foxes, whom it's often a marcy to kill. It's
different down here, however, and I must say I wish this hadn't
happened."

My uncle and myself just waited long enough to hear this when we rushed
forward, along the highway, and entered the wood, joined by Prairiefire,
who, fancying by our movement that all was right, now raised such a
whoop himself as to demonstrate it was not for want of "knowing how"
that he had hitherto been silent. The road made a curve at the very
point where it penetrated the forest, and being fringed with the bushes
already mentioned, the two circumstances shut out the view of what was
passing behind the scenes, until we reached the turn, where a common
halt of the wagons had been made, when the whole view burst upon us at
once in all its magnificence.

A rout of a "grand army" could scarcely have been more picturesque! The
road was lined with vehicles in full retreat, to use a military term,
or, to speak in the more common parlance, scampering off. Every whip was
in active use, every horse was on the run, while half the faces were
turned behind their owners, the women sending back screams to the whoops
of the savages. As for the Injins, they had instinctively abandoned the
woods, and poured down into the highway--speed like theirs demanding
open ground for its finest display. Some had leaped into wagons, piling
themselves up among those virtuous wives and daughters of that portion
of the honest yeomanry who had collected to devise the means of cheating
me out of my property. But, why dwell on this scene, since the exploits
of these Indians, for the last six years, have amply proved that the
only thing in which they excel, is in running away? They are heroes when
a dozen can get round a single man to tar and feather him; valiant, as a
hundred against five or six, and occasionally murderers, when each
victim can be destroyed by five or six bullets, to make sure of him. The
very cowardice of the scoundrels should render them loathsome to the
whole community; the dog that has spirit only to hunt in packs being cur
at the bottom.

I must add one other object to the view, however. Holmes and Shabbakuk
brought up the rear, and both were flogging their devoted beast as if
his employers--I dare not call them "masters," as I might be accused of
aristocracy for using so offensive a term in this age of common-sense
liberty, while "employers" is a very significant expression for the
particular occasion--as if his "employers," then, had left something
behind them, at "Little Neest," and were hurrying back to obtain it
before it fell into other hands. Old Holmes kept looking behind, as if
chased by the covenants of forty leases, while the "spirit of the
institutions," headed by two governors, and "the honorable gentleman
from Albany," was in full pursuit. If the "spirit of the institutions"
was really there, it was quite alone; for I looked in vain for the
exhibition of any other spirit. In much less time than it has taken me
to write this account, the road was cleared, leaving my uncle, myself,
and Prairiefire, in quiet possession; the latter uttering a very
significant "hugh!" as the last wagon went out of sight in a cloud of
dust.

It was but a moment, however, before our own tribe, or _tribes_ would be
more accurate, came down upon us, collecting in the road at the very
spot where we stood. The victory had been bloodless, but it was
complete. Not only had the savage Indians completely routed the virtuous
and much-oppressed-by-aristocracy Injins, but they had captured two
specimens of virtue and depression in the persons of as many of the
band. So very significant and expressive was the manner of the
captives, that Flintyheart, into whose hands they had fallen, not only
seemed to hold their scalps in contempt, but actually had disdained to
disarm them. There they stood, bundles of calico, resembling children in
swaddling-clothes, with nothing partaking of that natural freedom of
which their party love to boast, but their legs, which were left at
perfect liberty, by way of a _dernier resort_. My uncle now assumed a
little authority, and commanded these fellows to take off their
disguises. He might as well have ordered one of the oaks, or maples, to
lay down its leaves before the season came round; for neither would
obey.

The interpreter, however, whose name was Manytongues, rendered into
English from the Indian dialects, was a man of surprisingly few words,
considering his calling, on an occasion like this. Walking up to one of
the prisoners, he first disarmed him, and then removed his calico hood,
exposing the discomfited countenance of Brigham, Tom Miller's envious
laborer. The "hughs!" that escaped the Indians were very expressive, on
finding that not only did a pale-face countenance appear from beneath
the covering, but one that might be said to be somewhat paler than
common. Manytongues had a good deal of frontier waggery about him, and,
by this time he began to comprehend how the land lay. Passing his hand
over Josh's head, he coolly remarked--

"That scalp would be thought more of, in Iowa, than it's ra-ally worth,
I'm thinking, if truth was said. But let us see who we have here."

Suiting the action to the words, as it is termed, the interpreter laid
hold of the hood of the other captive, but did not succeed in removing
it without a sharp struggle. He effected his purpose, assisted by two of
the younger chiefs, who stepped forward to aid him. I anticipated the
result, for I had early recognized the gore; but great was the surprise;
of my uncle when he saw Seneca Newcome's well-known face developed by
the change!

Seneca--or, it might be better now to use his own favorite orthoepy, and
call him Sene_ky_, at once, for he had a particularly sneaking look as
he emerged from under the calico, and this would be suiting the sound to
appearances--Seneky, then, was in a "mingled tumult," as it is called,
of rage and shame. The first predominated, however, and, as is only too
common in cases of military disasters, instead of attributing his
capture to circumstances, the prowess of his enemies, or any fault of
his own, he sought to mitigate his own disgrace by heaping disgrace on
his comrade. Indeed, the manner in which these men went at each other,
as soon as unsacked, reminded me of two game-cocks that are let out of
their bags within three feet of each other, with this exception--neither
crowed.

"This is all your fault, you cowardly dog," said Seneky, almost
fiercely, for shame had filled his face with blood. "Had you kept on
your feet, and not run me down, in your haste to get off, I might have
retreated, and got clear with the rest of them."

This assault was too much for Joshua, who gained spirit to answer by its
rudeness and violence, not to say injustice; for, as we afterward
ascertained, Newcome had actually fallen in his eagerness to retreat;
and Brigham, so far from being the cause of his coming down, had only
prevented his getting up, by falling on top of him. In this prostrate
condition they had further fallen into the hands of their enemies.

"I want nothin' from you, 'Squire Newcome," answered Joshua quite
decidedly as to tone and manner; "_your_ character is well known, all up
and down the country."

"What of my character? What have _you_ got to say ag'in' me or my
character?" demanded the attorney-at-law, in a tone of high defiance. "I
want to see the man who can say anything ag'in' my character."

This was pretty well, considering that the fellow had actually been
detected in the commission of a felony; though I suppose that difficulty
would have been gotten over, in a moral sense, by the claim of being
taken while struggling in defence of human rights, and the "spirit of
the institutions." The defiance was too much for Brigham's patience, and
being fully assured, by this time, that he was not in much danger of
being scalped, he turned upon Seneca, and cried, with something more
than spirit, with downright rancor:

"You're a pretty fri'nd of the poor man, and of the people, if truth
must be said, an't you? Everybody in the county that's in want of money
knows what _you_ be, you d----d shaver."

As the last words came out, Seneky's fist went in upon Brigham's nose,
causing the blood to flow freely. My uncle Ro now thought it time to
interfere, and he rebuked the irritated lawyer with dignity.

"Why did he call me a d----d shaver, then?" retorted Seneky, still angry
and red. "I'll stand _that_ from no man."

"Why, what harm can there be in such a charge, Mr. Newcome? You are a
member of the bar, and ought to understand the laws of your country, and
cannot stand in need of being told that it has been decided by the
highest tribunal of your State that it is no reproach to be called a
shaver! Some of the honorable members of that learned body, indeed, seem
to think, on the contrary, that it is matter of commendation and
congratulation. I am ashamed of you, Mr. Newcome--I'm quite ashamed of
you."

Seneky muttered something, in which I fancied I understood the words
"the Court of Errors be d----d," or "the Court of Errors" might go to
some very bad place, which I will not name; but I will not take on
myself that any man of decency could really use such irreverent language
about a body so truly eminent, though a person in a passion is sometimes
disposed to forget propriety. My uncle now thought it time to put an end
to this scene; and, without deigning to enter into any explanation, he
signified to Manytongues his readiness to lead his chiefs to the point
where they desired to go.

"As to these two Injins," he added, "their capture will do us no honor;
and now we know who they are, they can be taken at any time by the
deputy sheriffs or constables. It is hardly worth while to encumber your
march with such fellows."

The chiefs assented to this proposal, too, and we quitted the woods in a
body, leaving Seneky and Joshua on the ground. As we subsequently
learned, our backs were no sooner turned, than the last pitched into the
first, and pounded him not only until he owned he was "a shaver," but
that he was "a d----d shaver" in the bargain. Such was the man, and such
the class, that the deluded anti-renters of New York wish to substitute,
in a social sense, for the ancient landlords of the country? A pretty
top-sheaf they would make to the stack of the community, and admirably
would the grain be kept that was protected by their covering! One would
like to see fellows of this moral calibre interpreting _their_
covenants; and it would be a useful, though a painful lesson, to see the
change effected for a twelvemonth, in order to ascertain, after things
had got back into the old natural channel, how many would _then_ wish to
"return, like the dog to his vomit, or the sow to her wallowing in the
mire."

After giving some directions to Manytongues, my uncle and I got into our
wagon and drove up the road, leaving the Indians to follow. The
rendezvous was at the Nest, whither we had now determined to proceed at
once and assume our proper characters. In passing the rectory, we found
time to stop and run in, to inquire after the welfare of Mr. and Miss
Warren. Great was my joy at learning they had gone on to the Nest, where
they were all to dine. This intelligence did not tend to lessen the
speed of Miller's horse, or my horse, it would be better to say, for I
am the real owner of everything on the Nest farm, and shall probably so
remain, unless the "spirit of the institutions" gets at my property
there, as well as in other places. In the course of half an hour we
drove on the lawn, and stopped at the door. It will be recollected that
the Indians had our wigs, which had been left by my uncle and myself in
their hands, as things of no further use to us. Notwithstanding our
dresses, the instant we presented ourselves without these instruments of
disguise we were recognized, and the cry went through the house and
grounds that "Mr. Hugh had come home!" I confess I was touched with some
signs of interest and feeling that escaped the domestics, as well as
those who belonged out of doors, when they saw me again standing before
them in health, if not in good looks. My uncle, too, was welcome; and
there were a few minutes during which I forgot all my grounds for
vexation, and was truly happy.

Although my grandmother, and sister, and Mary Warren all knew what the
cry of "Mr. Hugh has got home" meant, it brought everybody out upon the
piazza. Mr. Warren had related the events of the day, as far as he was
acquainted with them; but even those who were in the secret, were
surprised at our thus returning unwigged, and in our proper characters.
As for myself I could not but note the manner in which the four girls
came out to meet me. Martha flew into my embrace, cast her arms around
my neck, kissing me six or eight times without stopping. Then Miss
Colebrooke came next, with Ann Marston leaning on her arm, both smiling,
though greatly surprised, and both bright, and pretty, and lady-like.
They were glad to see me, and met my salutations frankly and like old
friends; though I could see they did not fancy my dress in the least.
Mary Warren was behind them all, smiling, blushing, and shy; but it did
not require two looks from me to make certain that _her_ welcome was as
sincere as that of my older friends. Mr. Warren was glad to have it in
his power to greet us openly, and to form an acquaintance with those to
whose return he had now been looking, with anxiety and hope, for three
or four years.

A few minutes sufficed for the necessary explanations, a part of which,
indeed, had already been made by those who were previously in the
secret; when my dear grandmother and Patt insisted on our going up to
our old room, and of dressing ourselves in attire more suitable to our
stations. A plenty of summer clothes had been left behind us, and our
wardrobes had been examined that morning in anticipation of our soon
having need of them, so that no great time was necessary to make the
change. I was a little fuller than when I left home, but the clothes
being loose, there was no difficulty in equipping myself. I found a
handsome blue dress-coat that did very well, and vests and pantaloons
_ad libitum_. Clothing is so much cheaper in Europe than at home, that
Americans who are well supplied do not often carry much with them when
they go abroad; and this had been a rule with my uncle all his life.
Each of us, moreover, habitually kept a supply of country attire at the
Nest, which we did not think of removing. In consequence of these little
domestic circumstances, as has been said, there was no want of the means
of putting my uncle and myself on a level with others of our class, as
respects outward appearance, in that retired part of the country, at
least.

The apartments of my uncle and myself were quite near each other, in the
north wing of the house, or that which looked in the direction of a part
of the meadows under the cliff, the wooded ravine, and the wigwam, or
cabin of the "Upright Onondago." The last was very plainly in view from
the window of my dressing-room; and I was standing at the latter,
contemplating the figures of the two old fellows, as they sat basking in
the sun, as was their practice of an afternoon, when a tap at the door
proved to be the announcement of the entrance of John.

"Well, John, my good fellow," I said, laughingly; "I find a wig makes a
great difference with your means of recognizing an old friend. I must
thank you, nevertheless, for the good treatment you gave me in my
character of a music-grinder."

"I am sure, Mr. Hugh, you are heartily welcome to my services, come as
you may to ask them. It was a most surprisingest deception, sir, as I
shall ever hadmit; but I thought the whole time you wasn't exactly what
you seemed to be, as I told Kitty as soon as I went down stairs:
'Kitty,' says I, 'them two pedlers is just the two genteelest pedlers as
hever I see in this country, and I shouldn't wonder if they had known
better days.' But, now you have been to see the hanti-renters with your
own eyes, Mr. Hugh, what do you think of them, if I may be so bold as to
ask the question?"

"Very much as I thought, before I had been to see them. They are a set
of fellows who are canting about liberty, at the very moment when they
are doing all they can to discredit its laws, and who mistake
selfishness for patriotism; just as their backers in the State
government are doing, by using the same cant, when their object is
nothing but votes. If no tenant had a vote, this question would never
have been raised, or dreamt of--but I see those two old fellows, Jaaf
and Sus, seem to enjoy themselves still."

"Indeed they do, sir, in the most surprisingest manner! They was both
antiquities, as we says in Hengland, when I came to this country,
sir--and that was before you was born, Mr. Hugh--an age agone. But there
they sits, sir, day in and day out, looking like monumentals of past
times. The <DW65>"--John had been long enough in the country to catch
the vernacular--"The <DW65> grows uglier and uglier every year, and that
is most of a change I can see in _him_; while I do think, sir, that the
Indian grows 'andsomer and 'andsomer. He's the 'andsomest old gentleman,
sir, as I know of, far and near!"

"Old _gentleman_!" What an expressive term that was, in this case! No
human being would ever think of calling Jaaf an "old gentleman," even in
these "aristrocratic" days, when "gentlemen" are plentier than
blackberries; while any one might feel disposed thus to describe
Susquesus. The Onondago _was_ a gentleman, in the best meaning of the
word; though he may, and certainly did, want a great deal in the way of
mere conventional usages. As for John, he never would have used the word
to me, except in a case in which he felt the party had a claim to the
appellation.

"Susquesus is a magnificent sight, with his gray or white head, fiery
eyes, composed features, and impressive air," I answered; "and Jaaf is
no beauty. How do the old men get on together?"

"Why, sir, they quarrel a good deal--that is, the <DW65> quarrels;
though the Indian is too much above him to mind what he says. Nor will I
say that Yop actually quarrels, sir, for he has the greatest possible
regard for his friend; but he aggravates in the most surprisingest
manner--just like a <DW65>, howsever, I do suppose."

"They have wanted for nothing, I trust, during my absence. Their table
and other comforts have been seen to carefully, I hope?"

"No fear of that, sir, so long as Mrs. Littlepage lives! She has the
affection of a child for the old men, and has everything provided for
them that they can possibly want. Betty Smith, sir--you remember Betty,
the widow of the old coachman, that died when you was at college,
sir--well, Betty has done nothing, these four years, but look after them
two old men. She keeps everything tidy in their hut, and washes it out
twice a week, and washes their clothes for them, and darns, and sews,
and cooks, and looks after all their comforts. She lives hard by, in the
other cottage, sir, and has everything handy."

"I am glad of that. Does either of the old men ever stray over as far as
the Nest House now, John? Before I went abroad, we had a visit from
each, daily."

"That custom has fallen away a little, sir; though the <DW65> comes much
the oftenest. He is sure to be here once or twice a week, in good
weather. Then he walks into the kitchen, where he will sit sometimes for
a whole morning telling the hardest stories, sir--ha, ha, ha!--yes, sir,
just the hardest stories one ever heard!"

"Why, what can he have to say of that nature, that it seems to amuse you
so?"

"According to his notion, sir, everything in the country is falling
away, and is inferior like to what it may have been in his young days.
The turkeys arn't so large, sir; and the fowls is poorer, sir; and the
mutton isn't so fat, sir; and sich sort of enormities."

Here John laughed very heartily, though it was plain enough he did not
much fancy the comparisons.

"And Susquesus," I said, "he does not share in his friend's criticism?"

"Sus never enters the kitchen, sir, at all. He knows that all the
quality and upper class come to the great door of the house, and is too
much of a gentleman to come in at any other entrance. No, sir, I never
saw Sus in the kitchen or hoffices, at all; nor does Mrs. Littlepage
'ave his table set anywhere but in the hupper rooms, or on the piazza,
when she wishes to treat him to anything nice. The old gentleman has
what he calls his traditions, sir, and can tell a great many stories of
old times; but they ar'n't about turkeys, and 'orses, and garden-stuff,
and such things as Yop dwells on so much, and so uncomfortably."

I now dismissed John, after again thanking him for his civilities to one
of my late appearance, and joined my uncle. When we entered the little
drawing-room, where the whole party was waiting to meet us, previously
to going to the table, a common exclamation of pleasure escaped them
all. Martha again kissed me, declaring I was now Hugh; that I looked as
she had expected to see Hugh; that she would now know me for Hugh, and
many other similar things; while my dear grandmother stood and parted my
hair, and gazed into my face with tears in her eyes, for I reminded her
of her first-born, who had died so young! As for the other ladies, the
two heiress-wards of Uncle Ro seemed smiling and friendly, and willing
to renew our ancient amicable relations; but Mary Warren still kept
herself in the background, though I thought by her modest and
half-averted eye, and flushed cheeks, that she sympathized as deeply in
her friend Patt's present happiness as any of the others; possibly more
deeply.

Before we went to the table I sent a servant to the top of the house,
with orders to look down the road, in order to ascertain when my red
friends might be expected. This man reported that they were advancing
along the highway, and would probably reach the door in the course of
half an hour. They had stopped; and he thought that he could perceive,
by means of his glass, that they were painting their faces, and
otherwise arranging their toilets, in preparation for the anticipated
interview. On receiving this information we took our seats at table,
expecting to be ready to receive the chiefs, as soon as they should
arrive.

Ours was a happy dinner. For the moment, the condition of the country
and the schemes of my tenants were forgotten, and we chatted of those
nearer interests and feelings that naturally presented themselves to our
minds at such a time. At length dear grandmother pleasantly
remarked--"You must have an instinct for the discovery of discretion,
Hugh, for no one could have made a better choice of a confidant than you
did, while going to the village this morning."

Mary blushed like an Italian sky at eventide, and looked down, to
conceal her confusion.

"I do not know whether it was discretion or vanity, grandmother," was my
answer, "for I am conscious of feeling an unconquerable reluctance to
passing for a common music-grinder in Miss Warren's eyes."

"Nay, Hugh," put in the saucy Patt, "I had told you before that you
passed for a very _un_common music-grinder in her eyes. As for the
grinding, she said but little; for it was of the flute, and of the
manner in which it was played, that Miss Warren spoke the most
eloquently."

The "Martha!" of Mary Warren, lowly, but half reproachfully uttered,
showed that the charming girl was beginning to be really distressed, and
my observant parent changed the discourse by a gentle and adroit
expedient such as a woman alone knows thoroughly how to put in practice.
It was simply handing Mr. Warren a plate of greengages; but the act was
so performed as to change the discourse.

During the whole of that meal I felt certain there was a secret,
mysterious communication between me and Mary Warren, which, while it
probably did escape the notice of others, was perfectly evident to
ourselves. This fact I _felt_ to be true; while there was a
consciousness betrayed in Mary's blushes, and even in her averted eyes,
that I found extremely eloquent on the same subject.




CHAPTER XIX.

    "With look, like patient Job's, eschewing evil;
      With motions graceful as a bird's in air;
    Thou art, in sober truth, the veriest devil
      That e'er clinched fingers in a captive's hair."
                                                  --_Red Jacket._


Although an immense progress has been made in liberating this country
from the domination of England, in the way of opinion and usages, a good
deal remains to be done yet. Still, he who can look back forty years
must see the great changes that have occurred in very many things; and
it is to be hoped that he who lives forty years hence will find very few
remaining that have no better reasons for their existence among
ourselves than the example of a people so remote, with a different
climate, different social organization, and different wants. I am for no
more condemning a usage, however, simply because it is English, than I
am for approving it simply because it is English. I wish everything to
stand on its own merits, and feel certain that no nation ever can become
great, in the higher signification of the term, until it ceases to
imitate, because it is imitation of a certain fixed model. One of the
very greatest evils of this imitative spirit is even now developing
itself in what is called the "progress" of the country, which is
assailing principles that are as old as the existence of man, and which
may almost be said to be eternal as social truths, at the very moment
that notions derived from our ancestors are submitted to in the highest
places, the Senate of the United States for example, that are founded in
facts which not only have no existence among ourselves, but which are
positively antagonistic to such as have. So much easier is it to join in
the hurrah! of a "progress," than to ascertain whether it is making in
the right direction, or whether it be progress at all. But, to return
from things of moment to those of less concern.

Among other customs to be condemned that we have derived from England,
is the practice of the men sitting at table after the women have left
it. Much as I may wish to see this every-way offensive custom done away
with, and the more polished and humanizing usage of all the rest of
Christendom adopted in its stead, I should feel ashamed at finding, as I
make no doubt I should find it, that our custom would be abandoned
within a twelvemonth after it might be understood it was abandoned in
England. My uncle had long endeavored to introduce into our own
immediate circle the practice of retaining the ladies at table for a
reasonable time, and of then quitting it with them at the expiration of
that time; but it is hard to "kick against the pricks." Men who fancy it
"society" to meet at each other's houses to drink wine, and taste wine,
and talk about wine, and to outdo each other in giving their guests the
most costly wines, are not to be diverted easily from their objects. The
hard-drinking days are past, but the hard "talking days" are in their
vigor. If it could be understood, generally, that even in England it is
deemed vulgar to descant on the liquor that is put upon the table,
perhaps we might get rid of the practice too. Vulgar in England! It is
even deemed vulgar here, by the right sort, as I am ready to maintain,
and indeed know of my own observation. That one or two friends who are
participating in the benefits of some particularly benevolent bottle,
should say a word in commendation of its merits, is natural enough, and
well enough; no one can reasonably find any fault with such a sign of
grateful feeling; but I know of nothing more revolting than to see
twenty grave faces arrayed around a table, employed as so many tasters
at a Rhenish wine sale, while the cheeks of their host look like those
of Boreas, owing to the process of sucking syphons.

When my dear grandmother rose, imitated by the four bright-faced girls,
who did as she set the example, and said, as was customary with the old
school, "Well, gentlemen, I leave you to your wine; but you will
recollect that you will be most welcome guests in the drawing-room," my
uncle caught her hand, and insisted she should not quit us. There was
something exceedingly touching, to my eyes, in the sort of intercourse,
and in the affection, which existed between my uncle Ro and his mother.
A bachelor himself, while she was a widow, they were particularly fond
of each other; and many is the time that I have seen him go up to her,
when we were alone, and pat her cheeks, and then kiss them, as one might
do to a much-beloved sister. My grandmother always received these little
liberties with perfect good humor, and with evident affection. In her
turn, I have frequently known her to approach "Roger," as she always
called him, and kiss his bald head in a way that denoted she vividly
remembered the time when he was an infant in her arms. On this occasion
she yielded to his request, and resumed her seat, the girls imitating
her, nothing loath, as they had done in rising. The conversation then,
naturally enough, reverted to the state of the country.

"It has much surprised me, that the men in authority among us have
confined all their remarks and statements to the facts of the Rensselaer
and Livingston estates," observed my grandmother, "when there are
difficulties existing in so many others."

"The explanation is very simple, my good mother," answered Uncle Ro.
"The Rensselaer estates have the quarter-sales, and chickens, and days'
works; and there is much of the _ad captandum_ argument about such
things, that does very well to work up for political effect; whereas, on
the other estates, these great auxiliaries must be laid aside. It is
just as certain, as it is that the sun has risen this day, that an
extensive and concerted plan exists to transfer the freehold rights of
the landlords, on nearly every property in the State, to the tenants;
and that, too, on conditions unjustly favorable to the last; but you
will find nothing of the sort in the messages of governors, or speeches
of legislators, who seem to think all is said, when they have dwelt on
the expediency of appeasing the complaints of the tenants, as a high
political duty, without stopping to inquire whether those complaints are
founded in right or not. The injury that will be done to the republic,
by showing men how much can be effected by clamor, is of itself
incalculable. It would take a generation to do away the evil
consequences of the example, were the anti-rent combination to be
utterly defeated to-morrow."

"I find that the general argument against the landlords is a want of
title, in those cases in which nothing better can be found," observed
Mr. Warren. "The lecturer, to-day, seemed to condemn any title that was
derived from the king, as defeated by the conquest over that monarch, by
the war of the revolution."

"A most charming consummation that would have been for the heroic deeds
of the Littlepages! There were my father, grandfather, and
great-grandfather, all in arms, in that war; the two first as general
officers, and the last as a major; and the result of all their hardships
and dangers is to be to rob themselves of their own property! I am aware
that this silly pretence has been urged, even in a court of justice; but
folly, and wrong, and madness, are not yet quite ripe enough among us,
to carry such a doctrine down. As 'coming events cast their shadows
before,' it is possible we are to take this very movement, however, as
the dawn of the approaching day of American reason, and not as a
twilight left by the departed rays of a sun of a period of mental
darkness."

"You surely do not apprehend, Uncle Ro, that these people can really get
Hugh's lands away from him!" exclaimed Patt, reddening with anxiety and
anger.

"No one can say, my dear; for, certainly, no one is safe when opinions
and acts, like those which have been circulated and attempted among us
of late years, can be acted on without awakening very general
indignation. Look to the moneyed classes at this very moment, agonized
and excited on the subject of a war about Oregon--a thing very little
likely to occur, though certainly possible; while they manifest the
utmost indifference to this anti-rentism, though the positive existence
of everything connected with just social organization is directly
involved in its fate. One is a bare possibility, but it convulses the
class I have named; while the other is connected with the existence of
civilized society itself; yet it has ceased to attract attention, and is
nearly forgotten! Every man in the community, whose means raise him at
all above the common level, has a direct interest in facing this danger,
and in endeavoring to put it down; but scarcely any one appears to be
conscious of the importance of the crisis. We have only one or two more
steps to make, in order to become like Turkey; a country in which the
wealthy are obliged to conceal their means, in order to protect it from
the grasp of the government; but no one seems to care at all about it!"

"Some recent travellers among us have said that we have nearly reached
that pass already, as our rich affect great simplicity and plainness in
public, while they fill their houses in private with all the usual
evidences of wealth and luxury. I think De Tocqueville, among others,
makes that remark."

"Ay, that is merely one of the ordinarily sagacious remarks of the
Europeans, who, by not understanding the American history, confound
causes and make mistakes. The plainness of things in public is no more
than an ancient habit of the country, while the elegance and luxury in
private are a very simple and natural consequence of the tastes of women
who live in a state of society in which they are limited to the very
minimum of refined habits and intellectual pleasures. The writer who
made this mistake is a very clever man, and has exceeding merit,
considering his means of ascertaining truth; but he has made very many
similar blunders."

"Nevertheless, Mr. Littlepage," resumed the rector, who was a gentleman,
in all the senses of the word, and knew the world, and the best part of
it, too, even while he had preserved an admirable simplicity of
character, "changes _have_ certainly taken place among us, of the nature
alluded to by M. de Tocqueville."

"That is quite true, sir; but they have also taken place elsewhere. When
I was a boy, I can well remember to have seen coaches-and-six in this
country, and almost every man of fortune drove his coach-and-four;
whereas, now such a thing is of the rarest occurrence possible. But the
same is true all over Christendom; for when I first went to Europe,
coaches-and-six, with outriders, and all that sort of state, was an
every-day thing; whereas, it is now never, or at least very seldom,
seen. Improved roads, steamboats, and railroads, can produce such
changes, without having recourse to the oppression of the masses."

"I am sure," put in Patt, laughing, "if publicity be what Mons. De
Tocqueville requires, there is publicity enough in New York! All the
new-fashioned houses are so constructed, with their low balconies and
lower windows, that anybody can see in at their windows. If what I have
read and heard of a Paris house be true, standing between _cour et
jardin_, there is infinitely more of privacy there than here; and one
might just as well say that the Parisians bury themselves behind _porte
cocheres_, and among trees, to escape the attacks of the Faubourg St.
Antoine, as to say we retreat into our houses to be fine, lest the
mobocracy would not tolerate us."

"The girl has profited by your letters, I see, Hugh," said my uncle,
nodding his head in approbation; "and what is more, she makes a suitable
application of her tuition, or rather of yours. No, no, all that is a
mistake; and, as Martha says, no houses are so much in the street as
those of the new style in our own towns. It would be far more just to
say that, instead of retiring within doors to be fine, as Patt calls it,
unseen by envious neighbors, the Manhattanese, in particular, turn their
dwellings wrong side out, lest their neighbors should take offence at
not being permitted to see all that is going on within. But neither is
true. The house is the more showy because it is most under woman's
control; and it would be just as near the truth to say that the reason
why the American men appear abroad in plain blue, and black, and brown
clothes, while their wives and daughters are at home in silks and
satins--ay, even in modern brocades--is an apprehension of the masses,
as to ascribe the plainness of street life, compared to that within
doors, to the same cause. There is a good deal of difference between a
_salon_ in the Faubourg, or the Chaussee d'Antin, and even on the
Boulevard des Italiens. But, John is craning with his neck, out there on
the piazza, as if our red brethren were at hand."

So it was, in point of fact, and everybody now rose from table, without
ceremony, and went forth to meet our guests. We had barely time to reach
the lawn, the ladies having run for their hats in the meantime, before
Prairiefire, Flintyheart, Manytongues, and all the rest of them, came
up, on the sort of half-trot that distinguishes an Indian's march.

Notwithstanding the change in our dresses, my uncle and myself were
instantly recognized, and courteously saluted by the principal chiefs.
Then our wigs were gravely offered to us by two of the younger men; but
we declined receiving them, begging the gentlemen who had them in
keeping to do us the honor to accept them as tokens of our particular
regard. This was done with great good-will, and with a pleasure that was
much too obvious to be concealed. Half an hour later, I observed that
each of the young forest dandies had a wig on his otherwise naked head,
with a peacock's feather stuck quite knowingly in the lank hair. The
effect was somewhat ludicrous; particularly on the young ladies; but I
saw that each of the warriors himself looked round, as if to ask for the
admiration that he felt his appearance ought to awaken!

No sooner were the salutations exchanged than the red-men began to
examine the house--the cliff on which it stood--the meadows beneath, and
the surrounding ground. At first we supposed that they were struck with
the extent and solidity of the buildings, together with a certain air of
finish and neatness that is not everywhere seen in America, even in the
vicinity of its better-class houses; but Manytongues soon undeceived us.
My uncle asked him why all the red-men had broken off, and scattered
themselves around the buildings, some looking here, others pointing
there, and all manifestly earnest and much engaged with something;
though it was not easy to understand what that something was; intimating
his supposition that they might be struck with the buildings.

"Lord bless ye, no, sir," answered the interpreter; "they don't care a
straw about the house, or any house. There's Flintyheart, in particular;
he's a chief that you can no more move with riches and large housen, and
sichlike matters, than you can make the Mississippi run up stream. When
we went to Uncle Sam's house, at Washington, he scarce condescended to
look at it; and the Capital had no more effect on any on 'em, than if it
had been a better sort of wigwam; not so much, for that matter, as
Injins be curious in wigwams. What's put 'em up on a trail like, just
now, is the knowledge that this is the spot where a battle was fit,
something like ninety seasons ago, in which the Upright Onondago was
consarned, as well as some of their own people on t'other side--that's
what's put 'em in commotion."

"And why does Flintyheart talk to those around him with so much energy;
and point to the flats, and the cliff, and the ravine yonder, that lies
beyond the wigwam of Susquesus?"

"Ah! is that, then, the wigwam of the Upright Onondago?" exclaimed the
interpreter, betraying some such interest as one might manifest on
unexpectedly being told that he saw Mount Vernon or Monticello for the
first time in his life. "Well, it's something to have seen _that_;
though it will be more to see the man himself; for all the tribes on the
upper prairies, are full of his story and his behavior. No Injin, since
the time of Tamenund himself, has made as much talk, of late years, as
Susquesus, the Upright Onondago, unless it might be Tecumthe, perhaps.
But what occupies Flintyheart, just at this moment, is an account of the
battle, in which his father's grandfather lost his life, though he did
not lose his scalp. That disgrace, he is now telling on 'em, he escaped,
and glad enough is his descendant that it was so. It's no great matter
to an Injin to be killed; but he'd rather escape losing his scalp, or
being struck at all by the inimy, if it can possibly made to turn out
so. Now he's talking of some young pale-face that was killed, whom he
calls Lover of Fun--and now he's got on some <DW65>, who he says fit
like a devil."

"All these persons are known to us, by _our_ traditions, also!"
exclaimed my uncle, with more interest than I had known him to manifest
for many a day. "But I'm amazed to find that the Indians retain so
accurate an account of such small matters for so long a time."

"It isn't a small matter to them. Their battles is seldom on a very
great scale, and they make great account of any skrimmage in which noted
warriors have fallen." Here Manytongues paused for a minute, and
listened attentively to the discourse of the chiefs, after which he
resumed his explanations. "They have met with a great difficulty in the
house," he continued, "while everything else is right. They understand
the cliff of rocks, the position of the buildings themselves, that
ravine thereaway, and all the rest of the things hereabouts, except the
house."

"What may be the difficulty with the house? Does it not stand in the
place it ought to occupy?"

"That's just their difficulty. It _does_ stand where it ought to stand,
but it isn't the right sort of house, though they say the shape agrees
well enough--one side out to the fields, like; two sides running back to
the cliff, and the cliff itself for the other. But their traditions say
that their warriors indivor'd to burn out your forefathers, and that
they built a fire ag'in the side of the buildin', which they never would
have done had it been built of stone, as this house is built. _That's_
what partic'larly puzzles them."

"Then their traditions are surprisingly minute and accurate! The house
which then stood on, or near this spot, and which did resemble the
present building in the ground plan, _was_ of squared logs, and might
have been set on fire, and an attempt was actually made to do so, but
was successfully resisted. Your chiefs have had a true account; but
changes have been made here. The house of logs stood near fifty years,
when it was replaced by this dwelling, which was originally erected
about sixty years ago, and has been added to since, on the old design.
No, no--the traditions are surprisingly accurate."

This gave the Indians great satisfaction, as soon as the fact was
communicated to them; and from that instant all their doubts and
uncertainty were ended. Their own knowledge of the progress of things in
a settlement gave them the means of comprehending any other changes;
though the shape of this building having so nearly corresponded with
that of which their traditions spoke, they had become embarrassed by the
difference in the material. While they were still continuing their
examinations, and ascertaining localities to their own satisfaction, my
uncle and myself continued the discourse with Manytongues.

"I am curious to know," said my uncle, "what may be the history of
Susquesus, that a party of chiefs like these should travel so far out of
their way to pay him the homage of a visit. Is his great age the cause?"

"That is one reason, sartainly; though there is another, that is of more
account, but which is known only to themselves. I have often tried to
get the history out of them, but never could succeed. As long as I can
remember, the Onondagoes, and Tuscaroras, and the Injins of the old New
York tribes, that have found their way up to the prairies, have talked
of the Upright Onondago, who must have been an old man when I was born.
Of late years they have talked more and more of him; and so good an
opportunity offering to come and see him, there would have been great
disappointment out West had it been neglected. His age is, no doubt, one
principal cause; but there is another, though I have never been able to
discover what it is."

"This Indian has been in communication, and connected with my immediate
family, now near, if not quite ninety years. He was with my grandfather,
Cornelius Littlepage, in the attack on Ty, that was made by Abercrombie,
in 1758; and here we are within twelve or thirteen years of a century
from that event. I believe my great-grandfather, Herman Mordaunt, had
even some previous knowledge of him. As long as I can remember, he has
been a gray-headed old man; and we suppose both he and the <DW64> who
lives with him to have seen fully a hundred and twenty years, if not
more."

"Something of importance happened to Susquesus, or the Trackless, as he
was then called, about ninety-three winters ago; that much I've gathered
from what has fallen from the chiefs at different times; but what that
something was, it has exceeded my means to discover. At any rate, it has
quite as much to do with this visit, as the Withered Hemlock's great
age. Injins respect years; and they respect wisdom highly; but they
respect courage and justice most of all. The tarm 'Upright' has its
meaning, depend on't."

We were greatly interested by all this, as indeed were my grandmother
and her sweet companions. Mary Warren, in particular, manifested a
lively interest in Susquesus's history, as was betrayed in a brief
dialogue I now had with her, walking to and fro in front of the piazza,
while the rest of the party were curiously watching the movements of the
still excited savages.

"My father and I have often visited the two old men, and have been
deeply interested in them," observed this intelligent, yet simple-minded
girl--"with the Indian, in particular, we have felt a strong sympathy,
for nothing is plainer than the keenness with which he still feels on
the subject of his own people. We have been told that he is often
visited by red-men--or, at least, as often as any come near him; and
they are said ever to exhibit a great reverence for his years, and
respect for his character."

"This I know to be true, for I have frequently seen those who have come
to pay him visits. But they have usually been merely your basket-making,
half-and-half sort of savages, who have possessed the characteristics of
neither race, entirely. This is the first instance in which I have heard
of so marked a demonstration of respect--how is that, dear grandmother?
can you recall any other instance of Susquesus's receiving such a
decided mark of homage from his own people as this?"

"This is the third within my recollection, Hugh. Shortly after my
marriage, which was not long after the Revolution, as you may know,
there was a party here on a visit to Susquesus. It remained ten days.
The chiefs it contained were said to be Onondagoes altogether, or
warriors of his own particular people; and something like a
misunderstanding was reported to have been made up; though what it was,
I confess I was too thoughtless then to inquire. Both my father-in-law,
and my uncle Chainbearer, it was always believed, knew the whole of the
Trackless's story, though neither ever related it to me. I do not
believe your grandfather knew it," added the venerable speaker, with a
sort of tender regret, "or I think I should have heard it. But that
first visit was soon after Susquesus and Jaaf took possession of their
house, and it was reported, at the time, that the strangers remained so
long, in the hope of inducing Sus to rejoin his tribe. If such was their
wish, however, it failed; for there he is now, and there he has ever
been since he first went to the hut."

"And the second visit, grandmother--you mentioned that there were
three."

"Oh! tell us of them all, Mrs. Littlepage," added Mary earnestly,
blushing up to the eyes the moment after at her own eagerness. My dear
grandmother smiled benevolently on both, and I thought she looked a
little archly at us, as old ladies sometimes will, when the images of
their own youth recur to their minds.

"You appear to have a common sympathy in these red-men, my children,"
she answered, Mary fairly blushing scarlet at hearing herself thus
coupled with me in the term "children,"--"and I have great pleasure in
gratifying your curiosity. The second great visit that Susquesus
received from Indians occurred the very year you were born, Hugh, and
then we really felt afraid we might lose the old man; so earnest were
his own people in their entreaties that he would go away with them. But
he would not. Here he has remained ever since, and a few weeks ago he
told me that here he should die. If these Indians hope to prevail any
better, I am sure they will be disappointed."

"So he told my father, also," added Mary Warren, "who has often spoken
to him of death, and has hoped to open his eyes to the truths of the
gospel."

"With what success, Miss Warren? That is a consummation which would
terminate the old man's career most worthily."

"With little, I fear," answered the charming girl, in a low, melancholy
tone. "At least, I know that my father has been disappointed. Sus
listens to him attentively, but he manifests no feeling beyond respect
for the speaker. Attempts have been made to induce him to enter the
church before, but----"

"You were about to add something, Miss Warren, which still remains to be
said."

"I can add it for her," resumed my grandmother, "for certain I am that
Mary Warren will never add it herself. The fact is, as you must know,
Hugh, from your own observation, that Mr. Warren's predecessor was an
unfaithful and selfish servant of the Church--one who did little good to
any, not even himself. In this country it takes a good deal in a
clergyman to wear out the patience of a people; but it can be done; and
when they once get to look at him through the same medium as that with
which other men are viewed, a reaction follows, under which he is
certain to suffer. We could all wish to throw a veil over the conduct of
the late incumbent of St. Andrew's, but it requires one so much thicker
and larger than common, that the task is not easy. Mary has merely meant
that better instruction, and a closer attention to duty, might have done
more for Trackless twenty years ago, than they can do to-day."

"How much injury, after all, faithless ministers can do to the Church of
God! One such bad example unsettles more minds than twenty good examples
keep steady."

"I do not know that, Hugh; but of one thing I am certain--that more evil
is done by pretending to struggle for the honor of the Church, by
attempting to sustain its unworthy ministers, than could be done by at
once admitting their offences, in cases that are clear. We all know that
the ministers of the altar are but men, and as such are to be expected
to fall--certain to do so without Divine aid--but if we cannot make its
ministers pure, we ought to do all we can to keep the altar itself from
contamination."

"Yes, yes, grandmother--but the day has gone by for _ex officio_
religion in the American branch of the Church"--here Mary Warren joined
the other girls--"at least. And it is so best. Suspicions may be base
and unworthy, but a blind credulity is contemptible. If I see a chestnut
forming on yonder branch, it would be an act of exceeding folly in me to
suppose that the tree was a walnut, though all the nursery-men in the
country were ready to swear to it."

My grandmother smiled, but she also walked away, when I joined my uncle
again.

"The interpreter tells me, Hugh," said the last, "that the chiefs wish
to pay their first visit to the hut this evening. Luckily, the old
farm-house is empty just now, since Miller has taken possession of the
new one; and I have directed Mr. Manytongues to establish himself there,
while he and his party remain here. There is a kitchen, all ready for
their use, and it is only to send over a few cooking utensils, that is
to say, a pot or two, and fifty bundles of straw, to set them up in
housekeeping. For all this I have just given orders, not wishing to
disturb you, or possibly unwilling to lay down a guardian's authority;
and there is the straw already loading up in yonder barn-yard. In half
an hour they may rank themselves among the pot-wallopers of Ravensnest."

"Shall we go with them to the house before or after they have paid their
visit to Susquesus?"

"Before, certainly. John has volunteered to go over and let the Onondago
know the honor that is intended him, and to assist him in making his
toilet; for the red-man would not like to be taken in undress any more
than another. While this is doing, we can install our guests in their
new abode, and see the preparations commenced for their supper. As for
the "_Injins_" there is little to apprehend from them, I fancy, so long
as we have a strong party of the real Simon Pures within call."

After this, we invited the interpreter to lead his chiefs toward the
dwelling they were to occupy, preceding the party ourselves, and leaving
the ladies on the lawn. At that season, the days were at the longest,
and it would be pleasanter to pay the visit to the hut in the cool of
the evening than to go at an earlier hour. My grandmother ordered her
covered wagon before we left her, intending to be present at an
interview which everybody felt must be most interesting.

The empty building which was thus appropriated to the use of the Indians
was quite a century old, having been erected by my ancestor, Herman
Mordaunt, as the original farm-house on his own particular farm. For a
long time it had been used in its original character; and when it was
found convenient to erect another, in a more eligible spot, and of more
convenient form, this old structure had been preserved as a relic, and
from year to year its removal had been talked of, but not effected. It
remained, therefore, for me to decide on its fate, unless, indeed, the
"spirit of the institutions" should happen to get hold of it, and take
its control out of my hands, along with that of the rest of my property,
by way of demonstrating to mankind how thoroughly the great State of New
York is imbued with a love of rational liberty!

As we walked toward the "old farm-house," Miller came from the other
building to meet us. He had learned that his friends, the pedlers, were
his--what I shall call myself? "Master" would be the _legal_ term, and
it would be good English; but it would give the "honorable gentleman"
and his friends mortal offence, and I am not now to learn that there are
those among us who deny facts that are as plain as the noses on their
faces, and who fly right into the face of the law whenever it is
convenient. I shall not, however, call myself a "boss" to please even
these eminent statesmen, and therefore must be content with using a term
that, if the moving spirits of the day can prevail, will soon be
sufficiently close in its signification, and call myself Tom
Miller's--nothing.

It was enough to see that Miller was a good deal embarrassed with the
dilemma in which he was placed. For a great many years he and his family
had been in the employment of me and mine, receiving ample pay, as all
such men ever do--when they are so unfortunate as to serve a malignant
aristocrat--much higher pay than they would get in the service of your
Newcomes, your Holmeses and Tubbses, besides far better treatment in all
essentials; and now he had only to carry out the principles of the
anti-renters to claim the farm he and they had so long worked, as of
right. Yes, the same principles would just as soon give this hireling my
home and farm as it would give any tenant on my estate that which he
worked. It is true, one party received wages, while the other paid rent;
but these facts do not affect the principle at all; since he who
received the wages got no other benefit from his toil, while he who paid
the rent was master of all the crops--I beg pardon, the _boss_ of all
the crops. The common title of both--if any title at all exist--is the
circumstance that each had expended his labor on a particular farm, and
consequently had a right to own it for all future time.

Miller made some awkward apologies for not recognizing me, and
endeavored to explain away one or two little things that he must have
felt put him in rather an awkward position, but to which neither my
uncle nor myself attached any moment. We knew that poor Tom was human,
and that the easiest of all transgressions for a man to fall into were
those connected with his self-love; and that the temptation to a man who
has the consciousness of not being anywhere near the summit of the
social ladder, is a strong inducement to err when he thinks there is a
chance of getting up a round or two; failing of success in which it
requires higher feelings, and perhaps a higher station, than that of Tom
Miller's, not to leave him open to a certain demoniacal gratification
which so many experience at the prospect of beholding others dragged
down to their own level. We heard Tom's excuses kindly, but did not
commit ourselves by promises or declarations of any sort.




CHAPTER XX.

    "Two hundred years! two hundred years!
      How much of human power and pride,
    What glorious hopes, what gloomy fears,
      Have sunk beneath their noiseless tide!"--PIERPONT.


It wanted about an hour to sunset--or sun-_down_, to use our common
Americanism--when we all left the new quarters of our red brethren, in
order to visit the huts. As the moment approached, it was easy to trace
in the Indians the evidence of strong interest; mingled, as we fancied,
with a little awe. Several of the chiefs had improved the intervening
time, to retouch the wild conceits that they had previously painted on
their visages, rendering their countenances still more appalling.
Flintyheart, in particular, was conspicuous in his grim embellishments;
though Prairiefire had not laid any veil between the eye and his natural
hue.

As the course of my narrative will now render it necessary to relate
conversations that occurred in languages and dialects of which I know
literally nothing, it may be well to say here, once for all, that I got
as close a translation of everything that passed, as it was possible to
obtain, from Manytongues; and wrote it all down, either on the spot, or
immediately after returning to the Nest. This explanation may be
necessary in order to prevent some of those who may read this
manuscript, from fancying that I am inventing.

The carriage of my grandmother had left the door, filled with its
smiling freight, several minutes before we took up our line of march.
This last, however, was not done without a little ceremony, and some
attention to order. As Indians rarely march except in what is called
"Indian file," or singly, each man following in the footsteps of his
leader, such was the mode of advancing adopted on the present occasion.
The Prairiefire led the line, as the oldest chief, and the one most
distinguished in council. Flintyheart was second, while the others were
arranged by some rule of precedency that was known to themselves. As
soon as the line had formed, it commenced its march; my uncle, the
interpreter, and myself walking at the side of Prairiefire, while
Miller, followed by half-a-dozen of the curious from the Nest House and
the farm, followed in the rear.

It will be remembered that John had been sent to the hut to announce the
intended visit. His stay had been much longer than was anticipated; but
when the procession had gone about half the distance it was to march, it
was met by this faithful domestic, on his return. The worthy fellow
wheeled into line, on my flank, and communicated what he had to say
while keeping up with the column.

"To own the truth, Mr. Hugh," he said, "the old man was more moved by
hearing that about fifty Indians had come a long distance to see
him----"

"Seventeen--you should have said seventeen, John; that being the exact
number."

"Is it, sir? Well, I declared that I thought there might be fifty--I
once thought of calling 'em forty, sir, but it then occurred to me that
it might not be enough." All this time John was looking over his
shoulder to count the grave-looking warriors who followed in a line; and
satisfied of his mistake, one of the commonest in the world for men of
his class, that of exaggeration, he resumed his report. "Well, sir, I
_do_ believe you are right, and I have been a little hout. But old Sus
was quite moved, sir, when I told him of the intended visit, and so I
stayed to help the old gentleman to dress and paint; for that <DW65>,
Yop, is of no more use now, you know, sir, than if he had never lived in
a gentleman's family at all. It must have been hawful times, sir, when
the gentry of York had nothing but <DW65>s to serve 'em, sir."

"We did pretty well, John, notwithstanding," answered my uncle, who had
a strong attachment to the old black race, that once so generally filled
all the menial stations of the country, as is apt to be the case with
all gentlemen of fifty; "we did pretty well, notwithstanding; Jaaf,
however, never acted strictly as a body-servant, though he was my
grandfather's own man."

"Well, sir, if there had been nobody but Yop at the hut, Sus would never
have been decently dressed and painted for this occasion. As it is, I
hope that you will be satisfied, sir, for the old gentleman looks
remarkably well;--Indian fashion, you know, sir."

"Did the Onondago ask any questions?"

"Why, you know how it is with him in that particular, Mr. Hugh. He's a
very silent person, is Susquesus; most remarkable so when he 'as any one
has can entertain him with conversation. _I_ talked most of the time
myself, sir, has I commonly does when I pays him a visit. Indians is
remarkably silent, in general, I believe, sir."

"And whose idea was it to paint and dress--yours, or the Onondago's?"

"Why, sir, I supposes the hidear to be Indian, by origin, though in this
case it was my suggestion. Yes, sir, I suggested the thought; though I
will not take it on myself to say Sus had not some hinclination that
way, even before I 'inted my hopinion."

"Did you think of the paint!" put in uncle Ro. "I do not remember to
have seen the Trackless in his paint these thirty years. I once asked
him to paint and dress on a Fourth of July; it was about the time you
were born, Hugh--and I remember the old fellow's answer as well as if it
were given yesterday. 'When the tree ceases to bear fruit,' was the
substance of his reply, 'blossoms only remind the observer of its
uselessness.'"

"I have heard that Susquesus was once considered very eloquent, even for
an Indian."

"I remember him to have had some such reputation, though I will not
answer for its justice. Occasionally, I have heard strong expressions in
his brief, clipping manner of speaking English--but in common, he has
been content to be simple and taciturn. I remember to have heard my
father say that when he first made the acquaintance of Susquesus, and
that must have been quite sixty years since, the old man had great
apprehension of being reduced to mortifying necessity of making baskets
and brooms; but, his dread on that subject once removed, he had ever
after seemed satisfied and without care."

"Without care is the condition of those who have least, I believe, sir.
It would not be an easy matter for the government of New York to devise
ways and means to deprive Sus of _his_ farms, either by instituting
suits for title, destroying quarter-sales, laying taxes, or resorting to
any other of the ingenious expedients known to the Albany politics."

My uncle did not answer for quite a minute; when he did, it was
thoughtfully and with great deliberation of manner.

"Your term of 'Albany politics' has recalled to my mind," he said, "a
consideration that has often forced itself upon my reflections. There is
doubtless an advantage--nay, there may be a necessity for cutting up the
local affairs of this country; by intrusting their management to so many
local governments; but there is, out of all question, one great evil
consequent on it. When legislators have the great affairs of state on
their hands, the making of war and peace, the maintaining of armies, and
the control of all those interests which connect one country with
another, the mind gets to be enlarged, and with it the character and
disposition of the man. But, bring men together, who _must_ act, or
appear incapable of acting, and set them at work upon the smaller
concerns of legislation, and it's ten to one but they betray the
narrowness of their education by the narrowness of their views. This is
the reason of the vast difference that every intelligent man knows to
exist between Albany and Washington."

"Do you then think our legislators so much inferior to those of Europe?"

"Only as they are provincial; which nine in ten necessarily are, since
nine Americans in ten, even among the educated classes, are decidedly
provincial. This term 'provincial' covers quite one-half of the
distinctive sins of the country, though many laugh at a deficiency, of
which, in the nature of things, they can have no notion, as purely a
matter of the imagination. The active communications of the Americans
certainly render them surprisingly little obnoxious to such a charge,
for their age and geographical position. These last disadvantages
produce effects, nevertheless, that are perhaps unavoidable. When you
have had an opportunity of seeing something of the society of the towns,
for instance, after your intercourse with the world of Europe, you will
understand what I mean, for it is a difference much more readily _felt_
than _described_. Provincialism, however, may be defined as a general
tendency to the narrow views which mark a contracted association, and an
ignorance of the great world--not in the sense of station solely, but in
the sense of liberality, intelligence, and a knowledge of all the varied
interests of life. But, here we are, at the hut."

There we were sure enough. The evening was delightful. Susquesus had
seated himself on a stool, on the green sward that extended for some
distance around the door of his habitation, and where he was a little in
shade, protected from the strong rays of a setting, but June, sun. A
tree cast its shadow over his person. Jaaf was posted on one side, as no
doubt, he himself thought best became his color and character. It is
another trait of human nature, that while the <DW64> affects a great
contempt and aversion for the red-man, the Indian feels his own mental
superiority to the domestic slave. I had never seen Susquesus in so
grand costume, as that in which he appeared this evening. Habitually he
wore his Indian vestments; the leggings, moccason, breech-piece, blanket
or calico shirt, according to the season; but I had never before seen
him in his ornaments and paint. The first consisted of two medals which
bore the images, the one of George III., the other of his
grandfather--of two more, bestowed by the agents of the republic; of
large rings in his ears, that dropped nearly to his shoulders, and of
bracelets formed of the teeth of some animal, that, at first, I was
afraid was a man. A tomahawk that was kept as bright as friction could
make it, and a sheathed knife, were in his girdle, while his well-tried
rifle stood leaning against a tree; weapons that were now exhibited as
emblems of the past, since their owner could scarcely render either very
effective. The old man had used the paint with unusual judgment for an
Indian, merely tingeing his cheeks with a color that served to give
brightness to eyes that had once been keen as intense expression could
render them, but which were now somewhat dimmed by age. In other
respects, nothing was changed in the customary neat simplicity that
reigned in and around the cabin, though Jaaf had brought out, as if to
sun, an old livery coat of his own, that he had formerly worn, and a
cocked hat, in which I have been told he was wont actually to exhibit
himself of Sundays, and holidays; reminders of the superiority of a
"<DW65>" over an "Injin."

Three or four rude benches, which belonged to the establishment of the
hut, were placed at a short distance in front of Susquesus, in a sort of
semicircle, for the reception of his guests. Toward these benches, then,
Prairiefire led the way, followed by all the chiefs. Although they soon
ranged themselves in the circle, not one took his seat for fully a
minute. That time they all stood gazing intently, but reverently, toward
the aged man before them, who returned their look as steadily and
intently as it was given. Then, at a signal from their leader, who on
this occasion was Prairiefire, every man seated himself. This change of
position, however, did not cause the silence to be broken; but there
they all sat, for quite ten minutes, gazing at the Upright Onondago,
who, in his turn, kept his look steadily fastened on his visitors. It
was during this interval of silence that the carriage of my grandmother
drove up, and stopped just without the circle of grave, attentive
Indians, not one of whom even turned his head to ascertain who or what
caused the interruption. No one spoke; my dear grandmother being a
profoundly attentive observer of the scene, while all the bright faces
around her were so many eloquent pictures of curiosity, blended with
some gentler and better feelings, exhibited in the most pleasing form of
which humanity is susceptible.

At length Susquesus himself arose, which he did with great dignity of
manner, and without any visible bodily effort, and spoke. His voice was
a little tremulous, I thought, though more through feeling than age;
but, on the whole, he was calm, and surprisingly connected and clear,
considering his great age. Of course, I was indebted to Manytongues for
the interpretation of all that passed.

"Brethren," commenced Susquesus, "you are welcome. You have travelled on
a long, and crooked, and thorny path, to find an old chief, whose tribe
ought ninety summers ago to have looked upon him as among the departed.
I am sorry no better sight will meet your eyes at the end of so long a
journey. I would make the path back toward the setting sun broader and
straighter if I knew how. But I do not know how. I am old. The pine in
the woods is scarce older; the villages of the pale-faces, through so
many of which you have journeyed, are not half so old; I was born when
the white race were like the moose on the hills; here and there one; now
they are like the pigeons after they have hatched their young. When I
was a boy my young legs could never run out of the woods into a
clearing; now, my old legs cannot carry me into the woods, they are so
far off. Everything is changed in the land, but the red-man's heart.
_That_ is like the rock which never alters. My children, you are
welcome."

That speech, pronounced in the deep husky tones of extreme old age, yet
relieved by the fire of a spirit that was smothered rather than extinct,
produced a profound impression. A low murmur of admiration passed among
the guests, though neither rose to answer, until a sufficient time had
seemed to pass, in which the wisdom that they had just been listeners to
might make its proper impression. When this pause was thought to be
sufficiently long to have produced its effect, Prairiefire, a chief more
celebrated in council even than in the field, arose to answer. His
speech, freely translated, was in the following words.

"Father: your words are always wise--they are always true. The path
between your wigwam and our village _is_ a long one--it is a crooked
path, and many thorns and stones have been found on it. But all
difficulties may be overcome. Two moons ago we were at one end of it;
now we are at the other end. We have come with two notches on our
sticks. One notch told us to go to the great Council House of the
pale-face, to see our great pale-face father--the other notch told us to
come here, to see our great red father. We have been to the great
Council House of the pale-faces; we have seen Uncle Sam. His arm is very
long; it reaches from the salt lake, the water of which we tried to
drink, but it is too salt, to our own lakes, near the setting sun, of
which the water is sweet. We never tasted water that was salt before,
and we do not find it pleasant. We shall never taste it again; it is not
worth while to come so far to drink water that is salt.

"Uncle Sam is a wise chief. He has many counsellors. The council at his
council-fire must be a great council--it has much to say. Its words
ought to have some good in them, they are so many. We thought of our red
father while listening to them, and wanted to come here. We _have_ come
here. We are glad to find our red father still alive and well. The Great
Spirit loves a just Indian, and takes care of him. A hundred winters, in
his eyes, are like a single winter. We are thankful to him for having
led us by the crooked and long path, at the end of which we have found
the Trackless--the Upright of the Onondagoes. I have spoken."

A gleam of happiness shot into the swarthy lineaments of Susquesus, as
he heard, in his own language, a well-merited appellation that had not
greeted his ears for a period as long as the ordinary life of man. It
was a title, a cognomen that told the story of his connection with his
tribe; and neither years, nor distance, nor new scenes, nor new ties,
nor wars, nor strifes had caused him to forget the smallest incident
connected with that tale. I gazed at the old man with awe, as his
countenance became illuminated by the flood of recollections that was
rushing into it, through the channel of his memory, and the expressive
glance my uncle threw at me, said how much he was impressed also. One of
the faculties of Manytongues was to be able to interpret _pari passu_
with the speaker; and, standing between us and the carriage, he kept up,
sentence by sentence, a low accompaniment of each speech, so that none
of us lost a syllable of what was said.

As soon as Prairiefire resumed his seat, another silence succeeded. It
lasted several minutes, during which the only audible sounds were
various discontented grunts, accompanied by suppressed mutterings on the
part of old Jaaf, who never could tolerate any Indian but his companion.
That the <DW64> was dissatisfied with this extraordinary visit was
sufficiently apparent to us, but not one of all the red-men took heed of
his deportment. Sus, who was nearest to him, must have heard his low
grumbling, but it did not induce him to change his look from the
countenances of those in his front for a single moment. On the other
hand, the visitors themselves seemed totally unconscious of the <DW64>'s
presence, though in fact they were not, as subsequently appeared. In a
word, the Upright Onondago was the centre of attraction for them, all
other things being apparently forgotten for the time.

At length there was a slight movement among the redskins, and another
arose. This man was positively the least well-looking of the whole
party. His stature was lower than that of the rest of the Indians; his
form was meagre and ungraceful--the last at least, while his mind was in
a state of rest; and his appearance, generally, was wanting in that
nobleness of exterior which so singularly marked that of every one of
his companions. As I afterward learned, the name of this Indian was
Eaglesflight, being so called from the soaring character of the
eloquence in which he had been known to indulge. On the present
occasion, though his manner was serious and his countenance interested,
the spirit within was not heaving with any of its extraordinary throes.
Still, such a man could not rise to speak and avoid creating some slight
sensation among his expectant auditors. Guarded as are the red-men in
general on the subject of betraying their emotions, we could detect
something like a suppressed movement among his friends when Eaglesflight
stood erect. The orator commenced in a low, but solemn manner, his tones
changing from the deep, impressive guttural to the gentle and pathetic,
in a way to constitute eloquence of itself. As I listened, I fancied
that never before did the human voice seem to possess so much winning
power. The utterance was slow and impressive, as is usually the case
with true orators.

"The Great Spirit makes men differently," commenced Eaglesflight. "Some
are like willows, that bend with the breeze, and are broken in the
storm. Some are pines, with slender trunks, few branches, and a soft
wood. Now and then there is an oak among them, which grows on the
prairie, stretching its branches a great way, and making a pleasant
shade. This wood is hard; it lasts a long time. Why has the Great Spirit
made this difference in trees?--why does the Great Spirit make this
difference in men? There is a reason for it. _He_ knows it, though we
may not. What he does is always right!

"I have heard orators at our council-fires complain that things should
be as they are. They say that the land, and the lakes, and the rivers,
and the hunting-grounds, belong to the red-man only, and that no other
color ought ever to be seen there. The Great Spirit has thought
otherwise, and what he thinks happens. Men are of many colors. Some are
red, which is the color of my father. Some are pale, which is the color
of my friends. Some are black, which is the color of my father's friend.
He is black, though old age is changing his skin. All this is right; it
comes from the Great Spirit, and we must not complain.

"My father says he is very old--that the pine in the woods is scarce
older. We know it. That is one reason why we have come so far to see
him, though there is another reason. My father knows what that other
reason is; so do we. For a hundred winters and summers, that reason has
not gone out of our minds. The old men have told it to the young men;
and the young men, when they have grown older, have told it to their
sons. In this way it has reached our ears. How may bad Indians have
lived in that time, have died, and are forgotten! It is the good Indian
that lives longest in our memories. We wish to forget that the wicked
ever were in our tribes. We never forget the good.

"I have seen many changes. I am but a child, compared with my father;
but I feel the cold of sixty winters in my bones. During all that time,
the red-men have been travelling toward the setting sun. I sometimes
think I shall live to reach it! It must be a great way off, but the man
who never stops goes far. Let us go there, pale-faces will follow. Why
all this is, I do not know. My father is wiser than his son, and he may
be able to tell us. I sit down to hear his answer."

Although Eaglesflight had spoken so quietly, and concluded in a manner
so different from what I had expected, there was a deep interest in what
was now going on. The particular reason why these red-men had come so
far out of their way to visit Susquesus had not yet been revealed, as we
all hoped would be the case; but the profound reverence that these
strangers, from the wilds of the far west, manifested for our aged
friend, gave every assurance that when we did learn it, there would be
no reason for disappointment. As usual, a pause succeeded the brief
address of the last speaker; after which, Susquesus once more arose and
spoke.

"My children," he said, "I am very old. Fifty autumns ago, when the
leaves fell, I thought it was time for me to pass on to the happy
hunting-grounds of my people, and be a redskin again. But my name was
not called. I have been left alone here, in the midst of the pale-face
fields, and houses, and villages, without a single being of my own color
and race to speak to. My head was almost grown white. Still, as years
came on my head, the spirit turned more toward my youth. I began to
forget the battles, and hunts, and journeys of middle life, and to think
of the things seen when a young chief among the Onondagoes. My day is
now a dream, in which I dream of the past. Why is the eye of Susquesus
so far-seeing, after a hundred winters and more? Can any one tell? I
think not. We do not understand the Great Spirit, and we do not
understand his doings. Here I am, where I have been for half my days.
That big wigwam is the wigwam of my best friends. Though their faces are
pale, and mine is red, our hearts have the same color. I never forget
_them_--no, not one of them. I see them all, from the oldest to the
youngest. They seem to be of my blood. This comes from friendship, and
many kindnesses. These are all the pale-faces I now see. Red-men stand
before my eyes in all other places. My mind is with them.

"My children, you are young. Seventy winters are a great many for one of
you. It is not so with me. Why I have been left standing alone here near
the hunting-grounds of our fathers, is more than I can say. So it is,
and it is right. A withered hemlock is sometimes seen standing by itself
in the fields of the pale-faces. I am such a tree. It is not cut down,
because the wood is of no use, and even the squaws do not like it to
cook by. When the winds blow, they seem to blow around it. It is tired
of standing there alone, but it cannot fall. That tree wishes for the
axe, but no man puts the axe to its root. Its time has not come. So it
is with me--my time has not come.

"Children, my days now are dreams of my tribe. I see the wigwam of my
father. It was the best in the village. He was a chief, and venison was
never scarce in his lodge. I see him come off the war-path with many
scalps on his pole. He had plenty of wampum, and wore many medals. The
scalps on his pole were sometimes from red-men, sometimes from
pale-faces. He took them all himself. I see my mother, too. She loved me
as the she-bear loves her cubs. I had brothers and sisters, and I see
them, too. They laugh and play, and seem happy. There is the spring
where we dipped up water in our gourds, and here is the hill where we
lay waiting for the warriors to come in from the war-paths and the hunt.
Everything looks pleasant to me. That was a village of the Onondagoes,
my own people, and I loved them a hundred and twenty winters ago. I love
them now, as if the time were but one winter and one summer. The mind
does not feel time. For fifty seasons I thought but little of my own
people. My thoughts were on the hunt and the war-path, and on the
quarrels of the pale-faces, with whom I lived. Now, I say again, I think
most of the past, and of my young days. It is a great mystery why we can
see things that are so far off so plainly, and cannot see things that
are so near by. Still, it is so.

"Children, you ask why the red-men keep moving toward the setting sun,
and why the pale-faces follow? You ask if the place where the sun sets
will ever be reached, and if pale-men will go there to plough and to
build, and to cut down the trees. He that has seen what _has_ happened,
ought to know what _will_ happen again. I am very old, but I see nothing
new. One day is like another. The same fruits come each summer, and the
winters are alike. The bird builds in the same tree many times.

"My children, I have lived long among the pale-faces. Still, my heart is
of the same color as my face. I have never forgotten that I am a
red-man; never forgotten the Onondagoes. When I was young, beautiful
woods covered these fields. Far and near the buck and the moose leaped
among the trees. Nothing but the hunter stopped them. It is all changed!
The plough has frightened away the deer. The moose will not stay near
the sound of the church-bell. He does not know what it means. The deer
goes first. The red-man keeps on his trail, and the pale-face is never
far behind. So it has been since the big canoes of the stranger first
came into our waters; so it will be until another salt lake is reached
beneath the setting sun. When that other lake is seen, the red-man must
stop, and die in the open fields, where rum, and tobacco, and bread are
plenty, or march on into the great salt lake of the west and be drowned.
_Why_ this is so, I cannot tell. That it has been so, I know; that it
_will_ be so, I believe. There is a reason for it; none can tell what
that reason is but the Great Spirit."

Susquesus had spoken calmly and clearly, and Manytongues translated as
he proceeded, sentence by sentence. So profound was the attention of the
savage listeners that I heard their suppressed breathings. We white men
are so occupied with ourselves, and our own passing concerns, look on
all other races of human beings as so much our inferiors, that it is
seldom we have time or inclination to reflect on the consequences of our
own acts. Like the wheel that rolls along the highway, however, many is
the inferior creature that we heedlessly crush in our path. Thus has it
been with the red-man, and, as the Trackless had said, thus will it
continue to be. He will be driven to the salt lake of the far west,
where he must plunge in and be drowned, or turn and die in the midst of
abundance.

My uncle Ro knew more of the Indians, and of their habits, than any one
else of our party, unless it might be my grandmother. She, indeed, had
seen a good deal of them in early life; and when quite a young girl,
dwelling with that uncle of her own who went by the _sobriquet_ of the
"Chainbearer," she had even dwelt in the woods, near the tribe of
Susquesus, and had often heard him named there as an Indian in high
repute, although he was even at that distant day an exile from his
people. When our old friend resumed his seat, she beckoned her son and
myself to the side of the carriage, and spoke to us on the subject of
what had just been been uttered, the translation of Manytongues having
been loud enough to let the whole party hear what he said.

"This is not a visit of business, but one of ceremony only," she said.
"To-morrow, probably, the real object of the strangers will be made
known. All that has passed, as yet, has been complimentary, mixed with a
little desire to hear the wisdom of the sage. The red-man is never in a
hurry, impatience being a failing that he is apt to impute to us women.
Well, though we are females, we can wait. In the meantime, some of us
can weep, as you see is particularly the case with Miss Mary Warren."

This was true enough; the fine eyes of all four of the girls glistening
with tears, while the cheeks of the person named were quite wet with
those that had streamed down them. At this allusion to such an excess of
sympathy, the young lady dried her eyes, and the color heightened so
much in her face, that I thought it best to avert my looks. While this
by-play was going on, Prairiefire arose again, and concluded the
proceedings of that preliminary visit, by making another short speech:

"Father," he said, "we thank you. What we have heard will not be
forgotten. All red-men are afraid of that great salt lake, under the
setting sun, and in which some say it dips every night. What you have
told us, will make us think more of it. We have come a great distance,
and are tired. We will now go to our wigwam, and eat, and sleep.
To-morrow, when the sun is up here," pointing to a part of the heavens
that would indicate something like nine o'clock, "we will come again,
and open our ears. The Great Spirit who has spared you so long, will
spare you until then, and we shall not forget to come. It is too
pleasant to us to be near you, for us to forget. Farewell."

The Indians now rose in a body, and stood regarding Susquesus fully a
minute, in profound silence, when they filed off at a quick pace, and
followed their leader toward their quarters for the night. As the train
noiselessly wound its way from before him, a shade passed athwart the
dark countenance of the Trackless, and he smiled no more that day.

All this time the <DW64>, the contemporary of the Indian, kept muttering
his discontent at seeing so many redskins in his presence, unheeded and
indeed unheard by his friend.

"What you do wid dem Injin," he growled, as the party disappeared. "No
good ebber come of sich as dem. How many time dey work debbletry in a
wood, and you and I not werry far off, Sus. How ole you got, redskin;
and forgetful! Nobody can hold out wid color' man. Gosh! I do b'lieve I
lib for ebber, sometime! It won'erful to think of, how long I stay on
dis werry 'arth!"

Such exclamations were not uncommon with the aged Jaaf, and no one noted
them. He did not seem to expect any answer himself, nor did any one
appear to deem it at all necessary to make one. As for the Trackless, he
arose with a saddened countenance, and moved into his hut like one who
wished to be left alone with his thoughts. My grandmother ordered the
carriage to move on, and the rest of us returned to the house on foot.




CHAPTER XXI.

    "With all thy rural echoes come,
      Sweet comrade of the rosy day,
    Wafting the wild bee's gentle hum,
      Or cuckoo's plaintive roundelay."--CAMPBELL.


That night was passed under my own roof, in the family circle. Although
my presence on the estate was now generally known, to all who were
interested in it, I cannot say that I thought much of the anti-renters,
or of any risks incurred by the discovery. The craven spirit manifested
by the "Injins" in presence of the Indians, the assumed before the real,
had not a tendency to awaken much respect for the disaffected, and quite
likely disposed me to be more indifferent to their proceedings than I
might otherwise have been. At all events, I was happy with Patt and
Mary, and my uncle's wards, and did not give the disorganizers a
thought, until quite at the close of the evening. The manner in which
John went about to barricade the doors and windows, after the ladies had
retired, struck me unpleasantly, however, and it did not fail to produce
the same effect on my uncle. This seemingly important duty was done,
when my faithful _maitre-d'hotel_, for such, in a measure, was the
Englishman's station, came to me and my uncle, who were waiting for his
appearance in the library, armed like Robinson Crusoe. He brought us
each a revolving pistol, and a rifle, with a proper allowance of
ammunition.

"Missus," so John persevered in calling my grandmother, though it was
very unlike an English servant to do so, after he had been in the
country three months--"Missus 'as hordered harms to be laid in, in
quantities, Mr. Hugh, and hall of us has our rifles and pistols, just
like these. She keeps some for herself and Miss Martha, in her own room
still, but as she supposes you can make better use of these than the
maids, I had her orders to bring them down out of the maids' room, and
hoffer them to yourselves, gentlemen. They are hall loaded, and smart
weapons be they."

"Surely there has been no occasion as yet, for using such things as
these!" exclaimed my uncle.

"One doesn't know, Mr. Roger, when the hinimy may come. We have had only
three alarms since the ladies arrived, and most luckily no blood was
shed; though we fired at the hinimy, and the hinimy fired at us. When I
says no blood was spilt, I should add, on our side; for there was no way
to know how much the anti's suffered, and they hadn't good stone walls
to cover them, as we 'ad on our side."

"Gracious Providence! I had no notion of this! Hugh, the country is in a
worse state than I had supposed, and we ought not to leave the ladies
here an hour after to-morrow!"

As the ladies who came within my uncle's category, did not include Mary
Warren, I did not take exactly the same view of the subject as he did
himself. Nothing further was said on the subject, however; and shortly
after each shouldered his rifle, and retired to his own room.

It was past midnight when I reached my apartment, but I felt no
inclination for sleep. That had been an important day to me, one full of
excitement, and I was still too much under the influence of its
circumstances to think of my bed. There was soon a profound silence in
the house, the closing of doors and the sound of footsteps having
ceased, and I went to a window, to gaze on the scene without. There was
a three-quarters' moon, which gave light enough to render all the nearer
objects of the landscape distinctly visible. The view had nothing
remarkable in it, but it was always rural and pretty. The little river,
and the broad meadows, were not to be seen from my side of the house,
which commanded the carriage road that wound through the lawn--the
farm-house--the distant church--the neat and pretty rectory--the
dwelling of Mary, and a long reach of farms, that lay along the valley,
and on the broad breast of the rising ground to the westward.

Everything, far and near, seemed buried in the quiet of deep night. Even
the cattle in the fields had lain down to sleep; for, like men, they
love to follow the law of nature, and divide the hours by light and
darkness. John had placed the candles in my dressing-room, and closed
the inner shutters; but I had taken a seat by a window of the bedroom
and sat in no other light but that which came from the moon, which was
now near setting. I might have been ruminating on the events of the day
half an hour or more, when I fancied some object was in motion on a path
that led toward the village, but which was quite distinct from the
ordinary highway. This path was private, indeed, running fully a mile
through my own farm and grounds, bounded for a considerable distance by
high fences on each side of it, and running among the copses and
thickets of the lawn, as soon as it emerged from the fields. It had been
made in order to enable my grandfather to ride to his fields,
uninterrupted by gates or bars; and issuing into the bit of forest
already described, it passed through that by a short cut, and enabled us
to reach the hamlet by a road that saved nearly a mile in the whole
distance. This path was often used by those who left the Nest, or who
came to it, in the saddle, but rarely by any but those who belonged to
the family. Though old as the place itself, it was little known by
others, not suiting the general taste for publicity, there not being a
solitary dwelling on it between the Nest House itself and the point
where it emerged into the highway, beyond the wood, which was quite near
to the village.

I could see the whole line of this private path, with the exception,
here and there, of intervals that were hid by trees and thickets, from
the point where it terminated until it entered the wood. There could be
no mistake. Late as was the hour, some one mounted was galloping along
that path, winding his or _her_ way among the rails of the fences; now
plainly visible, then lost to view. I had caught a glimpse of this
phantom (for at that unusual hour, and by that delusive light, it
required no great effort of the imagination thus to fancy the
equestrian), just as it emerged from the wood, and could not well be
mistaken as to the accuracy of my discovery. The path led through a
pretty wooded ravine in the lawn, and no sooner did I lose sight of this
strange object than I turned my eyes eagerly to the spot where it ought
to reappear, on emerging from its cover.

The path lay in shadow for twenty rods on quitting the ravine, after
which it wound across the lawn to the door, for about twice that
distance in full moonlight. At the termination of the shadow there was a
noble oak, which stood alone, and beneath its wide branches was a seat
much frequented by the ladies in the heats of summer. My eye kept moving
from this point, where the light became strong, to that where the path
issued from the ravine. At the latter it was just possible to
distinguish a moving object, and, sure enough, there I got my next view
of the person I was watching. The horse came up the ascent on a
gallop--a pace that was continued until its rider drew the rein beneath
the oak. Here, to my surprise, a female sprang from the saddle with
great alacrity, and secured her steed within the shadow of the tree.
This was no sooner done than she moved on toward the house, in much
apparent haste. Fearful of disturbing the family, I now left my room on
tiptoe, and without a candle, the light of the moon penetrating the
passages in sufficient quantity to serve my purpose, descending as fast
as possible to the lower floor. Swift and prompt as had been my own
movement, it had been anticipated by another. To my great surprise, on
reaching the little side door to which the path led, and where the
ladies had long been accustomed to get into the saddle, when they used
it, I found a female figure, with her hand on the massive lock, as if
ready to turn its key at some expected summons. To my great
astonishment, on drawing nearer, I recognized, by the faint light that
penetrated through a little window over the door, the person of Mary
Warren!

I certainly started at this unexpected discovery, but, if she who caused
that start in me submitted to any similar emotion, I did not discover
it. She may have heard my step, however, descending the stairs, and have
been prepared for the meeting.

"You have seen her, too, have you, Mr. Littlepage!" exclaimed Mary,
though she used the precaution to speak in a suppressed tone. "What
_can_ have brought her here at this late hour?"

"You know who it is, then, Miss Warren?" I answered, feeling an
indescribable pleasure succeed my surprise, as I remembered the dear
girl, who was fully dressed, just as she had left the drawing-room an
hour before, must have been gazing out upon the moonlight view as well
as myself; a species of romance that proved something like a similiarity
of tastes, if not a secret sympathy between us.

"Certainly," returned Mary steadily. "I cannot well be mistaken in the
person, I think. It is Opportunity Newcome."

My hand was on the key, and I turned it in the lock. A bar remained, and
this I also removed, when we opened the door. Sure enough, there came
the person just named, within ten feet of the steps, which she doubtless
intended to ascend. She manifested surprise on ascertaining who were her
porters, but hastened into the house, looking anxiously behind her, as
if distrustful of pursuit or observation. I led the way to the library,
lighted its lamp, and then returned to my two silent companions, looking
a request for explanation.

Opportunity was a young woman, in her twenty-sixth year, and was not
without considerable personal charms. The exercise and excitement
through which she had just gone had heightened the color in her cheeks,
and rendered her appearance unusually pleasing. Nevertheless,
Opportunity was not a woman to awaken anything like the passion of love
in me, though I had long been aware such was her purpose. I suspected
that her present business was connected with this scheme, I will own,
and was prepared to listen to her communication with distrust. As for
Opportunity herself, she hesitated about making her disclosures, and the
very first words she uttered were anything but delicate or feminine.

"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Opportunity, "I did not expect to find you
two alone at this time of night!"

I could have given her tongue a twitch to cure it of its propensity to
speak evil, but concern for Mary Warren induced me to turn anxiously
toward her. Never did the steady self-possession of perfect innocence
better assert itself than in the dear girl at this rude assault; the
innocence which can leave no latent intention, or wish, to alarm the
feelings.

"We had all retired," answered the pure-minded girl, "and everybody on
my side of the house is in bed and asleep, I believe; but I did not feel
any drowsiness, and was sitting at a window, looking out upon the view
by this lovely moonlight, when I saw you ride out of the woods, and
follow the lane. As you came up to the oak I knew who it was,
Opportunity, and ran down to admit you; for I was certain something
extraordinary must bring you here at this late hour."

"Oh! nothing extraordinary, at all!" cried Miss Opportunity, in a
careless way. "I love moonlight as well as yourself, Mary, and am a
desperate horse-woman, as you know. I thought it would be romantic to
gallop over to the Nest, and go back between one and two in the morning.
Nothing more, I can assure you."

The coolness with which this was said amazed me not a little, though I
was not so silly as to believe a syllable of it. Opportunity had a great
deal of vulgar sentimentalism about her, it is true--such as some girls
are apt to mistake for refinement; but she was not quite so bad as to
travel that lane, at midnight, and alone, without some special object.
It occurred to me that this object might be connected with her brother,
and that she would naturally wish to make her communications privately.
We had all taken seats at a table which occupied the centre of the room,
Mary and myself quite near each other, and Opportunity at a distant
angle. I wrote on a slip of paper a short request for Mary to leave me
alone with our visitor, and laid it under her eyes, without exciting
Opportunity's suspicion; talking to her, the whole time, about the
night, and the weather, and her ride. While we were thus engaged, Miss
Warren rose, and quietly glided out of the room. So silently was this
done, that I do not believe my remaining companion was conscious of it
at the moment.

"You have driven Mary Warren away, Miss Opportunity," I remarked, "by
the hint about our being alone together."

"Lord! there's no great harm in that! I am used to being alone with
gentlemen, and think nothing of it. But, are we really alone, Mr. Hugh,
and quite by ourselves?"

"Quite, as you see. Our two selves and Mary Warren I believe to be the
only persons in the house out of our beds. She has left us, a little
hurt, perhaps, and we are quite alone."

"Oh! As for Mary Warren's feelings, I don't mind them much, Mr. Hugh.
She's a good critter"--yes, this elegant young lady actually used that
extraordinary word--"and as forgiving as religion. Besides, she's only
the Episcopal clergyman's daughter; and, take your family away, that's a
denomination that would not stand long at Ravensnest, I can tell you."

"I am very glad, then, my family is not away, for it is a denomination I
both honor and love. So long as the grasping and innovating spirit of
the times leaves the Littlepages anything, a fair portion of their means
shall be given to support that congregation. As for Miss Warren, I am
pleased to hear that her temperament is so forgiving."

"I know that well, and did not speak in the hope of making any change in
your views, Mr. Hugh. Mary Warren, however, will not think much of my
remark to-morrow; I do not believe she thought half as much about it
to-night as I should have done, had it been made to _me_."

I fancy this was quite true; Mary Warren having listened to the
insinuation as the guileless and innocent hear innuendos that bring no
consciousness with them, while Opportunity's spirit would have been very
apt to buckle on the armor which practice had rendered well-fitting.

"You have not taken this long ride merely to admire the moon, Miss
Opportunity," I now carelessly remarked, willing to bring things to a
head. "If you would favor me with its real object, I should be pleased
to learn it."

"What if Mary should be standing at the keyhole, listening?" said this
elegant "critter," with the suspicion of a vulgar mind. "I wouldn't have
her hear what I've got to tell you, for a mint of money."

"I do not think there is much danger of that," I answered, rising
notwithstanding, and throwing open the door. "You perceive there is no
one here, and we can converse in safety."

Opportunity was not so easily satisfied. Of a gossiping, craving
disposition herself, in all things that pertain to curiosity, it was not
easy for her to imagine another could be less guided by that feeling
than herself. Rising, therefore, she went on tiptoe to the passage, and
examined it for herself. Satisfied, at length, that we were not watched,
she returned to the room, closed the door softly, motioned for me to be
seated, placed herself quite near me, and then appeared disposed to
proceed to business.

"This has been a dreadful day, Mr. Hugh," the young woman now commenced,
actually looking sorrowful, as I make little doubt she really felt. "Who
could have thought that the street-musician was you, and that old German
pedler of watches, Mr. Roger! I declare, the world seems to be getting
upside-down, and folks don't know when they're in their right places!"

"It was a foolish adventure, perhaps; but it has let us into some most
important secrets."

"That's just the difficulty. I defend you all I can, and tell my
brothers that you've not done anything they wouldn't do in a minute, if
only half a farm depended on it, while, in your case, it may be more
than a hundred."

"Your brothers, then, complain of my having appeared among the
anti-renters in disguise?"

"They do, desperately, Mr. Hugh, and seem quite put out about it. They
say it was ungenerous to come in that way into your own country, and
steal their secrets from them! I say all I can in your favor, but words
won't pass for much with men in such a taking. You know, Mr. Hugh, I've
always been your friend, even from our childish days, having got myself
into more than one scrape to get you out of them."

As Opportunity made this declaration, one a little loose as to facts, by
the way, she sighed gently, dropped her eyes, and looked as conscious
and confused as I believe it was at all in her nature to appear. It was
not my cue to betray undue bashfulness at such a moment, and as for any
scruples on the subject of misleading a confiding heart, I should as
soon have thought of feeding an anaconda or a boa constrictor with
angle-worms. I took the young lady's hand, therefore, squeezed it with
as sentimental a pressure as I knew now to use, and looked green enough
about the eyes, I dare say.

"You are only too good, Opportunity," I answered. "Yes, I have ever
relied on you as a friend, and have never doubted you would defend me,
when I was not present to defend myself."

Here I released the hand, a little apprehensive I might have the young
lady sobbing on my shoulder, unless some little moderation were
observed. Opportunity manifested a reluctance to let go her hold, but
what could a young woman do, when the gentleman himself exhibited so
much discretion?

"Yes, Seneky, in particular, is in a dreadful taking," she resumed, "and
to pacify him, I consented to ride over myself, at this time of night,
to let you know what is threatened."

"That is most kind of you, Opportunity; and, as it is so late, had you
not better tell your story at once, and then go to a room and rest
yourself, after so sharp a ride?"

"Tell my tale I will, for it's high time you heard it; but, as for rest,
I must jump on my horse and gallop back the moment the moon sets; sleep
I must in my own bed this night. Of course you and Mary Warren will both
be silent as to my visit, since it has been made for your good."

I promised for myself and Mary, and then pressed my companion to delay
no longer in imparting the information she had ridden so far to bring.
The story was soon told and proved to be sufficiently alarming. One
portion of the facts I got directly from Opportunity herself, while
another has been subsequently gleaned from various sources, all being
certain. The particular circumstances were these:

When Seneca followed the band of "Injins" and his co-anti-renters, in
their precipitate retreat on the hamlet, his revelations produced a
general consternation. It then became known that the young Paris
spendthrift was on his own estate, that he had actually been among the
disaffected that day, had learned many of their secrets, and had
probably made black marks against certain of the tenants, whose leases
were nearly expired. Bad as this was, of itself, it was not the worst of
the matter. Nothing was more certain than the fact that this young
landlord knew a few of those who had committed felony, and might have
sundry highly probable suspicions as to others. The guilty lay at his
mercy, as a matter of course; and there was a sufficiency of common
sense left among these conspirators, to understand that a man, who must
feel that attempts were making to rob him of his estate, would be very
likely to turn the tables on his assailants, did an occasion offer. When
men embark in an undertaking as innately nefarious as that of
anti-rentism certainly is, when it is stripped of its pretentions and
stands in its naked deformity, they are not apt to stop at trifles. To
this desperate character of its mischief, the country owes the general
depression of truth that has accompanied its career, its false and
dangerous principles, its confusion between right and wrong, and finally
its murders. It has been the miserable prerogative of demagogues alone,
to defend its career and its demoralization. Thus has it happened that
the country has seen the same quasi legislators--legislators by the vote
of a party and the courtesy of the country, if by no other
tenure--supporting with an air of high pretension, the very doubtful
policy of attempting to make men moral by statute law, on the one side,
while they go the full length of these property depredators, on the
other! In such a state of society, it is not surprising that any
expedient should be adopted to intimidate and bully me into silence. It
was consequently determined, in a conclave of the chiefs, that a
complaint should be made against my uncle and myself, before an
anti-rent justice of the peace, for felony under the recent statute, in
appearing "disguised and armed," as a means of preventing our complaints
against real offenders. It is true, we were not in masks, but our
disguises, nevertheless, were so effectual as possibly to meet the
contingency contemplated by the law, had we been armed. As to weapons,
however, we had been totally and intentionally without anything of the
sort; but oaths cost villains, like those engaged in this plot, very
little. Those oaths had been taken, and warrants were actually signed by
the magistrate, of which the service was suspended at Seneca's
solicitation, merely to enable the last to effect a compromise. It was
not thought sufficient, however, to menace my uncle and myself with a
prosecution of this nature; intimidation of another sort was to be put
in requisition, to enforce the dread of the legal proceedings; a measure
which should let us see that our assailants were in downright earnest.
Opportunity had ascertained that something serious was to be attempted,
and she believed that very night, though what it was precisely was more
than she knew; or knowing, was willing to communicate.

The object of this late visit, then, was to make terms for her brother,
or brothers; to apprise me of some unknown but pressing danger, and to
obtain all that influence in my breast that might fairly be anticipated
from services so material. Beyond a question, I was fortunate in having
such a friend in the enemy's camp, though past experience had taught me
to be wary how I trusted my miserable and sensitive heart within the
meshes of a net that had been so often cast.

"I am very sensible of the importance of your services, Miss
Opportunity," I said, when the voluble young lady had told her tale,
"and shall not fail to bear it in mind. As for making any direct
arrangement with your brother Seneca, that is out of the question, since
it would be compromising felony, and subject me to punishment; but I can
be passive, if I see fit, and your wishes will have great weight with
me. The attempt to arrest my uncle and myself, should it ever be made,
will only subject its instigators to action for malicious prosecutions,
and gives me no concern. It is very doubtful how far we were disguised,
in the sense of the statute, and it is certain we were not armed, in any
sense. Without perjury therefore, such a prosecution must fail----"

"Folks take desperate oaths in anti-rent times!" interrupted
Opportunity, with a significant look.

"I am quite aware of that. Human testimony, at the best, is very frail,
and often to be distrusted; but in seasons of excitement, and passion,
and cupidity, it is common to find it corrupt. The most material thing,
at present, is to know precisely the nature of the evil they meditate
against us."

Opportunity's eye did not turn away, as mine was fastened on her while
she answered this question, but retained all the steadiness of
sincerity.

"I wish I could tell you, Mr. Hugh," she said; "but I can say no more
than I have. Some injury will be attempted this night, I feel certain;
but what that injury will be, is more than I know myself. I must now go
home; for the moon will be nearly down, and it will never do for me to
be seen by any of the antis. The little I _have_ said in favor of the
Littlepages has made me enemies, as it is; but I never should be
forgiven, was this ride to be known."

Opportunity now rose, and smiling on me, as any other rover might be
supposed to fire a parting broadside, in order to render the
recollection of her presence as memorable as possible, she hurried away.
I accompanied her to the oak, as a matter of course, and assisted her
into her saddle. Sundry little passages of country coquetry occurred
during these movements, and the young lady manifested a reluctance to
depart, even when all was ready, though she was in so great a hurry. Her
game was certainly as desperate as that of the anti-renters themselves,
but it was a game she was determined to play out. The moon was not yet
quite down, and that circumstance served as a pretence for delay, while
I fancied that she might still have something in reserve to communicate.

"This has been so kind in you, dear Opportunity," I said, laying my hand
gently on the one of hers which held the bridle--"so like old times--so
like yourself, indeed--that I scarce know how to thank you. But we shall
live to have old-fashioned times again, when the former communications
can be opened among us. Those were happy days, when we all went
galloping over the hills together; mere boys and girls, it is true, but
delighted boys and girls I hope you will allow."

"That they was"--Opportunity's education and graces did not extend to
good grammar, in her ordinary discourse, which many persons among us
seem to fancy is anti-republican--"That they was! And I should like to
live 'em over again. Never mind, Hugh; you'll live to put down these
people, and then you'll settle and marry. You mean to marry, of course?"

This was a pretty plain demonstration; but I was used to it, as what
young man of fortune is not?--and a danger known is a danger avoided. I
pressed the hand I held gently, relinquished it, and then observed, in a
somewhat disappointed tone----

"Well, I ought not to ask again, what is the particular injury I am to
expect to-night. A brother is nearer than a friend, I know; and I can
appreciate your difficulties."

Opportunity had actually given the spirited beast she rode the rein, and
was on the point of galloping off, when these last words touched her
heart. Leaning forward, and bending her head down, so as to bring our
faces within a foot of each other, she said, in a low voice----

"_Fire_ is a good servant, but a hard master. A teakettle of water
thrown on it, at first, would have put out the last great conflagration
in York."

These words were no sooner uttered than the bold young woman struck her
horse a smart blow, and away she went galloping over the turf with an
almost noiseless hoof. I watched her for a moment, and saw her descend
into the ravine; when, left quite alone, there was abundant opportunity
for reflection, though no longer any Opportunity to look at.

"Fire!"--That _was_ an ominous word. It is the instrument of the low
villain, and is an injury against which it is difficult, indeed, to
guard. It had been used in these anti-rent troubles, though less,
perhaps, than would have been the case in almost any other country; the
institutions of this, even if they have introduced so many false and
exaggerated notions of liberty, having had a most beneficial effect in
lessening some of the other evils of humanity. Still, fire _had_ been
resorted to, and the term of "barn-burner" had got to be common among
us; far more common, I rejoice to say, than the practice which gave it
birth. Nevertheless, it was clearly of the last importance to certain
persons at Ravensnest to frighten me from complaining, since their
crimes could only lead them to the State's prison, were justice done. I
determined, therefore, not to lay my head on a pillow that night, until
assured that the danger was past.

The moon had now set, but the stars shed their twinkling rays on the
dusky landscape. I was not sorry for the change, as it enabled me to
move about with less risk of being seen. The first thing was to seek
some auxiliaries to aid me in watching, and I at once decided to look
for them among my guests, the Indians. If "fire will fight fire,"
"Indian" ought to be a match for "Injin" any day. There is just the
difference between these two classes of men, that their names would
imply. The one is natural, dignified, polished in his way--nay,
gentleman-like; while the other is a sneaking scoundrel, and as vulgar
as his own appellation. No one would think of calling these last
masquerading rogues "Indians;" by common consent, even the most
particular purist in language terms them "Injins." "_Il y a chapeau et
chapeau_," and there are "Indian" and "Injin."

Without returning to the house, I took my way at once toward the
quarters of my red guests. Familiar with every object around me, I kept
so much within the shadows, and moved across the lawn and fields by a
route so hidden, that there was not much risk of my being seen, even had
there been enemies on the lookout. The distance was not great, and I
soon stood at the foot of the little knoll on which the old farm-house
stood, sheltered in a manner by a dark row of aged currants, which lined
the bottom of an old and half-deserted garden. Here I paused to look
about me, and to reflect a moment, before I proceeded any further.

There stood the good old substantial residence of my fathers, in shadowy
outline, looming large and massive in its form and aspect. It might be
fired, certainly, but not with much facility, on its exterior. With the
exception of its roof, its piazza, and its outside doors, little wood
was exposed to an incendiary without; and a slight degree of
watchfulness might suffice against such a danger. Then the law punished
arson of an inhabited dwelling with death, as it should do, and your
sneaking scoundrels seldom brave such a penalty in this country. Much is
said about the impotency of the punishment of the gallows, but no man
can tell how many thousand times it has stayed the hand and caused the
heart to quail. Until some one can appear among us, who is able to
reveal this important secret, it is idle to talk about the few cases in
which it is known that the risk of death has been insufficient to
prevent crime. One thing we all know; other punishments exist, and crime
is perpetrated directly in _their_ face, daily and hourly; and I cannot
see why such a circumstance should not be just as much of an argument
against the punishment of the penitentiary, as against punishment by the
gallows. For one, I am clearly for keeping in existence the knowledge
that there is a power in the country, potent to sweep away the offender,
when cases of sufficient gravity occur to render the warning wholesome.




CHAPTER XXII.

    "O, time and death! with certain pace
    Though still unequal, hurrying on,
    O'erturning, in your awful race,
    The cot, the palace, and the throne!

    "Not always in the storm of war,
    Nor by the pestilence that sweeps
    From the plague-smitten realms afar,
    Beyond the old and solemn deeps."--SANDS.


Besides the house with its walls of stone, however, there were numerous
out-buildings. The carriage-house, stables, and home-barn were all of
stone also; but a brand thrown into a hay-mow would easily produce a
conflagration. The barns, hay-ricks, etc., on the flats, and near the
dwelling of Miller, were all of wood, according to the custom of the
country, and it was not death to set fire to a barn. The "disguised and
armed" who should commit this last offence would incur no other risk
than that which had already been incurred in carrying out his desperate
plans. I thought of these things for a moment, when I opened a passage
through the currant bushes, intending to pass by a breach in the decayed
fence into the garden, and thus by a private way to the house. To my
astonishment, and in a slight degree to my alarm, a man stood before me
the instant I emerged from the thicket.

"Who be--where go--what want?" demanded one of the real redskins,
significantly; this being a sentinal of the party, whose vigilance even
my guarded approach had not eluded.

I told him who I was, and that I came to seek the interpreter,
Manytongues. No sooner was I recognized, than my red friend offered me
his hand to shake, American fashion, and seemed satisfied. He asked no
question, manifested no curiosity at this visit at an hour so unusual,
and took it all as one in ordinary life would receive a call in a
morning between the permitted hours of twelve and three. _Something_ had
brought me there, he must have known; but what that something was,
appeared to give him no concern. This man accompanied me to the house,
and pointed to the spot where I should find the person I sought, snoring
on his well-shaken bundles of straw.

At the first touch of my finger, Manytongues awoke, and stood erect. He
recognized me in an instant, dark as was the room, and touching my arm
as a signal to follow, led the way into the open air. After moving out
of ear-shot, he stopped and proceeded to business himself, like one
accustomed to such interruptions.

"Anything stirring to-night?" demanded this frontier-man, with the
coolness of one who was ever ready. "Am I to call my redskins, or is it
only a notice that is to be given?"

"Of that you shall judge for yourself. You doubtless know the condition
of this part of the country, and the troubles that exist on the subject
of the rents paid for the use of the farms. What you saw to-day is a
specimen of the scenes that are now constantly acted among us."

"Colonel, I can't say I do rightly understand the state of things down
hereaway," drawled out the interpreter, after yawning like a hound, and
giving me the most favorite title of the frontiers. "It seems to be
neither one thing nor t'other; nuther tomahawk nor law. I can understand
both of _them_, but this half-and-half sort of thing bothers me, and
puts me out. You ought to have law, or you hadn't ought; but what you
have should be stuck to."

"You mean that you do not find this part of the country either civilized
or savage. Not submitting to the laws, nor yet permitting the natural
appeal to force?"

"Something of that sort. The agent told me, when I came on with this
party of redskins, that I was comin' down into a quarter of the country
where there was justices of the peace, and that no man, red or pale,
could or should right himself. So we've all on us indivor'd to go by
that rule; and I can qualify that not a critter has been shot or scalped
since we crossed the Mississippi. Some sich law was necessary among us,
as we came from different and hostile tribes, and nothing would be
easier than to breed a quarrel among ourselves, if a body was so
disposed. But, I must say, that I'm not only disapp'inted myself, but
most of my chiefs be dreadfully disapp'inted likewise."

"In what particular have you been most disappointed?"

"In many matters. The first thing that set me athinkin' was to hear
folks read them newspapers. The way men talk of each other, in them
things, is wonderful, and to me it's a surprise any's left, at the end
of the year, to begin the same game the next. Why, Colonel
Littlepage----"

"I am no colonel--not even an ensign--you must be confounding me with
some other of my family."

"You _ought_ to be, sir, and I shall not do you the injustice to call
you by any lower title. I've known gentlemen of not one-quarter your
pretensions tarmed gin'rals, out west. I've hunted on the prer-ies these
twenty-five years, and have now crossed the upper lakes six times, and
know what is due to a gentleman as well as any man. And so, as I was
sayin', Colonel Littlepage, was men to _talk_ of each other out on the
prer-ies as they _print_ of each other down here among the
meetin'-'uses, scalps would be so plenty as to fall considerable in
valie. I'm not at all spiteful, but my feelin's has been r'iled at only
just _hearin_' 'em things _read_, for, as for reading myself, that's a
thing I never condescended to. This somewhat prepared me for findin'
things different as I got deeper into the settlement, and I've not been
disapp'inted so far as them expectations went--it's the old idee that's
been crossed."

"I am not astonished to hear this, and agree with you entirely in
thinking that the nations which can withstand a press of which the
general character is as degraded as that of this country, must be
composed of beings of a higher order than man. But, to come to business;
you must have some notions of these mock savages, and of the people
called anti-renters?"

"Sort o', and sort o' not. I can't understand when a man has agreed to
pay rent, why he should not pay it. A bargain is a bargain, and the word
of a gentleman is as good as his bond."

"These opinions would surprise some among us, a few legislators
included. _They_ appear to think that the moral test of every engagement
is whether the parties like it or not."

"One word, if you please, colonel. Do they give in as much to complaints
of the owners of the sile as to the complaints of them that hire the
land in order to work it?"

"Not at all. The complaints of the landlords would not find a single
sympathetic chord in the breast of the softest-hearted politician in
America, let them be ever so well-founded. Surely, _you_, who are a
rover on the prairies, can have no great respect for land titles?"

"The prer-ie is the prer-ie, colonel, and men live and act by prer-ie
law on prer-ie ground. But right is right, too, colonel, as well as
prer-ie is prer-ie; and I like to see it prevail. I do not think you
will find a redskin among all the chiefs who are asleep under that roof
who will not give his voice again flying from the tarms of a solemn
bargain. A man must be well steeped in the ways of the law, I should
judge, to bring his mind to such an act."

"Do these red-men, then, know anything of the nature of the difficulties
that exist here?"

"They have heard on 'em, and have talked a good deal together on the
subject. It's opposyte to the very natur' of an Indian, like, to agree
to one thing, and to do another. But, here is a Chippewa, who is on the
lookout. I will ask him a question, and you shall hear his answer."

Manytongues now spoke to the sentinel, who was sauntering near. After a
brief exchange of questions and answers in the tongue of the latter, the
interpreter communicated what had passed.

"This Chippewa has heard somewhere," he said, "that there are folks in
this part of the world who get into wigwams, by agreeing to pay rent for
them, and, when once in possession, they want to fly from their
agreements, and make the man they got it from prove his right to it. Is
that true, colonel?"

"It is true, out of all question, and not only do the tenants wish to
enact this treachery, but they have found others, that call themselves
legislators, who are willing to sustain them in the fraud. It is much as
if you should borrow, or hire a rifle for a day's sporting, and when the
man who let you have it, came to claim it at night, you should tell him
to prove he was the right owner."

"What's that to me? I got the rifle of him; have no right but such as he
had; and am bound to stand by my bargain. No, no, colonel; not a redskin
on the prer-ies but would revolutionize at that! But what may have
brought you here, at this time o' night? Them that sleep in beds, don't
like to quit them till mornin' comes to tell 'em to rise."

I then gave Manytongues an account of the visit I had received, without
mentioning the name of Opportunity, however, and related the nature of
the warning I had heard. The interpreter was in nowise disturbed at this
prospect of a collision with the Injins, against whom he had a grudge,
not only on account of the little affair of the preceding day, but
mainly in consequence of their having brought real savages into
discredit, by the craven and clumsy manner in which they had carried out
their imitation.

"Nothin' better is to be expected from such critturs," he observed,
after we had discussed the matter together, at some little length,
"though fire is held to be lawful warfare, even on the prer-ies. For my
part, I'm not at all sorry there is something to do; nor will my chiefs
be melancholy on this account, for it is dull work to be doing nothing,
for months and months at a time, but smoking at councils, making
speeches to folks who live by talking, and eating and drinking. Activity
is the natur' of a prer-ie man, and he's always glad to pick his flint,
after a spell of considerable quiet. I'll tell the Chippewa to step in
and bring out the redskins, a'ter which you can give your orders."

"I could wish watchfulness rather than violence. The men can lie in
watch, near the principal buildings, and it might be well to have some
water ready, to extinguish any flames that may be lighted, before they
get too far ahead."

"Just as you say, colonel, for you are my captain-general. But I can
tell you how I did once, out on the prer-ies, when I caught a rascal of
a Sioux blowing a fire he had kindled at one of my own lodges. I just
laid him on the flames, and let him put them out himself by bleeding on
them."

"We must have no violence, unless it become indispensable to save the
buildings. The law will not justify us in using our arms, except in the
least extremity. Prisoners I wish you to take; for they may serve as
hostages, besides furnishing examples to intimidate other offenders. I
rely on you to give due warning to our red friends on this subject."

The interpreter gave a sort of grunt, but he said nothing. The
conversation went no farther, however, just then; for, by this time, the
Indians came stealing out of the house, every man of them armed, looking
dusky, prepared and full of wariness. Manytongues did not keep them
long, but soon told his story. After this, his authority appeared, in a
great measure, to cease. Flintyheart was now the most prominent of the
party, though Prairiefire, and another warrior, were also connected with
the orders given to the rest. I observed that Eaglesflight had no part
in these arrangements, which were peculiarly military, though he
appeared armed and ready, and went forth on the sudden call, like the
rest. In five minutes, the Indians were all off, principally in pairs,
leaving the interpreter and myself still standing together, in front of
the deserted house.

It was, by this time, past one o'clock, and I thought it probable my
enemies would soon appear, if they came that night. Accompanied by the
interpreter, I took the way toward the Nest House, it occurring to me
that arms might be wanted, in the course of the morning. On quitting my
room, the rifle and pistol provided by John had been left there, and I
thought of stealing into the house again, obtaining those weapons,
extinguish my light, and rejoin my present companion, without giving
alarm to any of the sleepers.

This plan was successfully executed, so far as ascending to my room and
descending to the door were concerned, but there it met with an
interruption. While in the very act of closing the little postern, as we
used to call it, by way of pleasantry, I felt a small soft hand laid on
the one of my own which was drawing-to the door after me. In an instant
I had turned, and was at the side of Mary Warren. I expressed my
surprise at finding her still up, and concern lest she might suffer in
health, in consequence of so much unusual watchfulness.

"I could not sleep after what has passed to-night," she answered,
"without knowing the meaning of all these movements. I have been looking
from my window, and saw you assist Opportunity to get on her horse, and
afterward walk toward the old farm-house, where the Indians are lodged.
Tell me, frankly, Mr. Littlepage, is there any danger to be
apprehended?"

"I shall be frank with you, Mary"--how easy and pleasant it was to me to
use this gentle familiarity, which might now be assumed without
appearing to be presumptuous, under all the circumstances of our
intercourse; "I shall be frank with you, Mary; for I know that your
prudence and self-command will prevent any unnecessary alarm, while your
watchfulness may be of use. There is some reason to fear the brand."

"The brand!"

"So Opportunity has given me reason to suppose; and I do not think she
would have ridden the distance she did at such an hour, unless her
business were serious. The brand is the proper instrument of the
anti-renter, and renders his disguise convenient. I have got all the
red-men on the lookout, however; and I do not think that mischief can be
done to-night, without its being detected. To-morrow, we can appeal to
the authorities for protection."

"I will not sleep this night!" exclaimed Mary, drawing the light shawl
she wore, as a protection against the air of that summer-night, more
closely around her person, as a sterner being might be supposed to gird
on his armor in a moment of peril. "I care not for rest. They ought not,
they _shall_ not, Mr. Littlepage, do you this wrong. Have you
apprehensions for this house?"

"One never knows. This house is not easily set fire to from without, and
I scarcely think there can be any enemy within. The domestics are old
and tried, and I do not believe that either of them could be bought. I
feel little apprehension, therefore, from any within, while I confess to
a good deal from those without. Fire is such a dreadful foe, and one is
usually so helpless against its ravages in the country! I will not ask
you to retire, for I know you will not--nay, cannot sleep; but, by
passing from window to window, for the next hour, or until I rejoin you,
your mind will be occupied, and possibly some injury might be prevented.
An unseen observer from a window might detect an attempt that would
escape those on the watch without."

"I will do so," said Mary, eagerly; "and should I discover anything, I
will open a leaf of the shutter of my own room. You can then see the
light of the candle within, and by coming at once to this door, you will
find me here, ready to let you know my discovery."

With this understanding they parted, but not until I had shaken hands
affectionately with this gentle-looking, but really resolute and
clear-headed girl. I rejoined Manytongues, who stood in the shadows of
the piazza, where there was no possibility of his being seen, except by
one quite near his person. After a brief explanation, we parted, one
taking the north side of the buildings, and the other the south, in
order to make certain no incendiary was at work on either of the wings.

The Nest House was much less exposed to attempts like those we
apprehended, than most American dwellings. The structure being of stone,
left but little inflammable material accessible; and the doors, on the
exterior, were only two--those already mentioned. There was a great
gate, it is true; one large enough to admit a cart into the inner court,
on the southern face of the wing, beneath the arch of which an
incendiary might, indeed, make his attempt, though a practised rogue
would at once see the difficulties. Little wood was even there, beyond
that of the massive gate itself, which, once burnt, would leave no
further fuel for flames. I examined the place, notwithstanding; and
finding all safe on my side of the building, I went to rejoin the
interpreter, who was to meet me at the foot of a fine beech, which
spread its broad arms over the lawn, at the distance of about a hundred
yards from the house, and so nearly in its front, as to afford us, in
all respects, the most eligible position for sentinels on duty like
ours, far or near.

At the foot of that beech I found Manytongues, and the deep obscurity in
which his form was embedded, was, of itself, a high recommendation of
the position. I did not see him until almost near enough to touch him.
He was seated on a bench, and seemed entirely at his ease, like one
accustomed to ambushes, vigilance, and midnight assaults. We exchanged
reports, ascertained all was well, and then I took my seat at the
interpreter's side, willing to beguile the time by such discourse as
occurred to my mind.

"That was a most interesting scene, last evening," I remarked; "the
interview between Old Trackless and your red companions! I own a lively
curiosity to know what particular claim our aged friend has on those
distant tribes, that chiefs of note have come so far to see him?"

"They have not come all the way from the prer-ies, to this spot, on any
such ar'n'd, though I do not question their readiness to do so. In the
first place, old age, when accompanied by wisdom, and sobriety, and a
good character, goes a great way with savages, in gin'ral. But there is
something partic'lar about the acts of Susquesus that I do not know,
which raises him higher than common in redskin eyes. I intend to l'arn
what it is before we quit this country."

A pause succeeded; then I spoke of the "prer-ies," as almost all western
men pronounce the word. I drew such an outline of the life as I supposed
my companion passed there, thinking it might be agreeable to hear his
own habits and enjoyments extolled.

"I'll tell you how it is, colonel," returned the interpreter, with a
little show of feeling; much more than he had previously manifested on
any occasion during our short acquaintance; "yes, I'll jist tell you how
it is. Prer-ie life is delightsome to them that loves freedom and
justice."

"Freedom I can understand," said I, interrupting him, in my
surprise--"but as for justice, I should think that laws are absolutely
necessary."

"Ay, that's a settlement idee, I know, but it's not as true as some
supposes. There is no court and jury like _this_, colonel," slapping the
breech of his rifle with energy, "and eastern powder conspired with
Galena lead makes the best of attorneys. I've tried both, and speak on
sartainty. Law druv' me out on the prer-ies, and love for them keeps me
there. Down this-a-way, you're neither one thing nor tuther--law nor
rifle; for, if you _had_ law, as law _ought_ to be, you and I wouldn't
be sitting here, at this time of night, to prevent your mock Injins from
setting fire to your houses and barns."

There was only too much truth in this last position of the
straightforward interpreter to be gainsaid. After making some proper
allowances for the difficulties of the case, and the unexpected
circumstances, no impartial man could deny that the laws had been
trifled with, or things never would have reached the pass they had: as
Manytongues affirmed, we had neither the protection of the law, nor the
use of the rifle. It ought to be written in letters of brass in all the
highways and places of resort in the country, that A STATE OF SOCIETY
WHICH PRETENDS TO THE PROTECTION THAT BELONGS TO CIVILIZATION, AND FAILS
TO GIVE IT, ONLY MAKES THE CONDITION OF THE HONEST PORTION OF THE
COMMUNITY SO MUCH THE WORSE, BY DEPRIVING IT OF THE PROTECTION CONFERRED
BY NATURE, WITHOUT SUPPLYING THE SUBSTITUTE. I dare say the interpreter
and I sat an hour under that tree, conversing in low voices, on such
matters and things as came uppermost in our minds. There was a good deal
of true prer-ie philosophy in the opinions of my companion, which is
much as if one should say his notions were a mixture of clear natural
justice and strong local prejudices. The last sentiment he uttered was
so very characteristic as to merit particular notice.

"I'll tell you how it is, colonel," he said, "right is right, and
nonsense is nonsense. If so be, we should happen to catch one of these
mocking rascals firing your house or barn, it would be a smart chance at
justice to settle things on the spot. If I had _my_ way, I should just
tie the fellow, hands and feet, and toss him into the flames to help him
along with his own work. A rascal makes the best of kindling wood!"

Just at that instant I saw an upper leaf of the inside shutter of Mary
Warren's room open, for my eye was resting on the window at that very
moment. The light had been brought so near the opening as plainly to
show the change, leaving no doubt that my fair sentinel within had made
some important discovery. At such a summons I could not hesitate; but,
telling Manytongues to continue his watchfulness, I went across the lawn
with the steps of youth and haste. In two minutes my hand was on the
latch of the little door; and in two seconds more it was open, and I
found myself standing in front of Mary Warren. A gesture from her hand
induced me to be cautious, and closing the door silently, I asked an
explanation.

"Speak not too loud," whispered the anxious girl, preserving a wonderful
self-command, nevertheless, for the extraordinary circumstances in which
she was placed. "I have discovered them; they are here!"

"Here!--not in the house, surely?"

"In the house itself!--in the kitchen, where they are kindling a fire on
the floor at this instant. Come quickly--there is not a moment to lose."

It may be well to explain here the arrangement of the kitchen and
offices, in order to render what is to follow the more intelligible. The
gateway mentioned cut the southern wing of the house into two equal
parts, the chambers, however, extending the whole length, and of course
passing over it. On the western side of this gateway were certain
offices connected with the eating-rooms, and those eating-rooms
themselves. On the eastern side were the kitchen, servants' hall,
scullery, etc., and a flight of narrow stairs that led to the chambers
occupied by the domestics. The outside door to this latter portion of
the building was beneath the arch of the gateway, one corresponding to
it opening on its opposite side, and by means of which the service was
ordinarily made. There was a court, environed on three of its sides by
the main edifice, and by two long, low wings that have been so often
mentioned, while it was open on the fourth to the cliff. This cliff was
low land, while it was nearly perpendicular, it was possible for an
active man to ascend, or even to descend it, by clinging to the rocks,
which were sufficiently ragged to admit of such an adventure. When a boy
I had done both fifty times, and it was a somewhat common experiment
among the male domestics and hirelings of the household. It occurred to
me at once that the incendiaries had most probably entered the house by
ascending the cliff, the kitchen of itself furnishing all the materials
to light a conflagration.

The reader will be assured that, after receiving the startling
communication of Mary Warren, I did not stop to discuss all these
matters with her. My first impulse was to desire her to run to the
beech, and bid Manytongues join me, but she refused to quit my side.

"No--no--no. You must not go to the kitchen alone," she said, hurriedly.
"There are _two_ of them, and desperate looking wretches are they, with
their faces blackened, and they have muskets. No--no--no. Come, _I_ will
accompany you."

I hesitated no longer, but moved forward, Mary keeping close at my side.
Fortunately, I had brought the rifle with me, and the revolving pistol
was in my pocket. We went by the eating-rooms and offices, the course
taken by Mary herself on her watch; and who, in looking through a small
window of one of the last, that opened beneath the gateway, had
discovered what was going on, by means of a similar window in the
kitchen. As we went, the noble girl told me that she had kept moving
through the lower rooms of the whole house during the time I had been on
watch out of doors, and attracted by the light that gleamed through
these windows, she had distinctly seen two men, with blackened faces,
kindling a fire in a corner of the kitchen, where the flames must soon
communicate with the stairs, by means of which they would speedily reach
the attics and the wood-work of the roof. Fortunately, the floors of all
that part of the house were made of bricks; that of the servants' hall
excepted, which was a room beyond the narrow passage that contained the
stairs. As soon as apprised of the danger, Mary Warren had flown to the
window of her own room to make the signal to me, and then to the door to
meet me. But three or four minutes had elapsed between the time when she
became apprised of the danger and that when we were walking hurriedly to
the window beneath the gateway.

A bright light, which shone through the opposite window, announced the
progress made by the incendiaries. Requesting Mary to remain where she
was, I passed through the door, and descended to the pavement of the
gateway. The little window beneath the arch was too high for my
purposes, when on that level, but there was a row of low windows that
opened on the court. To one of these I moved swiftly, and got a clear
view of all that was passing within.

"There they are!" exclaimed Mary, who, neglectful of my request, still
kept close at my side. "Two men with blackened faces, and the wood of
which they have made their fire is blazing brightly."

The fire, now I saw it, did not confirm the dread I felt when I had it
before me only in imagination. The stairway had an open place beneath
it, and on the brick floor below had the incendiaries built their pile.
It was constructed at the bottom of some of the common wood that was
found there, in readiness for the wants of the cook in the morning,
lighted by coals taken from the fireplace. A considerable pile had been
made with the wood, which was now burning pretty freely, and the two
rascals were busy piling on the chairs when I first saw them. They had
made a good beginning, and in ten or fifteen minutes longer there is no
doubt that all that portion of the house would have been in flames.

"You said they had muskets," I whispered to Mary. "Do you see them now?"

"No: when I saw them, each held his musket in one hand, and worked with
the other."

I could have shot the villains without difficulty or risk to myself, but
felt deeply averse to taking human life. Still, there was the prospect
of a serious struggle before me, and I saw the necessity of obtaining
assistance.

"Will you go to my uncle's room, Mary, and tell him to rise immediately.
Then to the front door of the house, and call out 'Manytongues, come
here as fast as possible.' It will take but two minutes to do both, and
I will watch these rascals in the meantime."

"I dread leaving you here alone with the wretches, Mr. Littlepage,"
whispered Mary, gently.

An earnest entreaty on my part, however, induced her to comply; and, no
sooner did the dear girl set about the accomplishment of the task, then
she flew rather than ran. It did not seem to me a minute ere I heard her
call to the interpreter. The night was so still, that, sweet as were
those tones, and busy as were the incendiaries, they heard them too; or
fancied they heard something which alarmed them. They spoke to each
other, looked intently at their infernal work for a single instant,
sought their arms, which were standing in the corner of the kitchen, and
were evidently preparing to depart.

The crisis was near. There was not time to receive assistance before the
two fellows would be out, and I must either meet them in conflict, or
suffer them to escape. My first impression was to shoot down the leading
man, and grapple with the other ere he had time to prepare his arms. But
a timely thought prevented this hazardous step. The incendiaries were
retiring, and I had a doubt of the legality of killing a retreating
felon. I believed that _my_ chances before a jury would be far less than
those of an ordinary pickpocket, or highway robber, and had heard and
read enough to be certain there were thousands around me who would fancy
it a sufficient moral provocation for all which had passed, that I held
the fee of farms that other men desired to possess.

A majority of my countrymen will scout this idea as forced and
improbable. But, majorities are far from being infallible in their
judgments. Let any discreet and observant man take a near view of that
which is daily going on around him. If he do not find in men this
disposition to distort principles, to pervert justice, and to attain
their ends regardless of the means, then will I admit I do not
understand human nature, as human nature exhibits its deformity in this
blessed republic of ours.

There was no time to lose, however; and the course I actually decided to
take will be soonest told by relating things as they occurred. I heard
the door open, and was ready for action. Whether the incendiaries
intended to retreat by the cliff, or to open the gate, which was barred
within, I could not tell; but I was ready for either alternative.

No sooner did I hear a step on the pavement of the gateway than I
discharged my rifle in the air. This was done as an alarm-signal.
Clubbing the piece, I sprang forward, and felled the foremost of the two
with a sharp blow on his hat. The fellow came down on the pavement like
an ox under the axe of the slaughter-house. Dropping the rifle, I
bounded over his body, and grappled with his companion. All this was
done so rapidly as to take the rascals completely by surprise. So
sudden, indeed, was my assault on the fellow who stood erect, that he
was under the necessity of dropping his rifle, and at it we went,
clinched like bears in the death-hug. I was young and active, but my
antagonist was the stronger man of the two. He had also the advantage of
being practised in wrestling, and I soon went down, my enemy falling on
top of me. Luckily, I fell on the body of the other incendiary, who was
just beginning to discover signs of consciousness after the crushing
blow he had received. My chance would now have been small but for
assistance. The incendiary had caught my neck-handkerchief, and was
twisting it to choke me, when I felt a sudden relief. The light of the
fire shone through the kitchen doors, rendering everything distinct
beneath the arch. Mary came flying back just in time to rescue me. With
a resolution that did her honor, she caught up the rifle I had dropped,
and passed its small end between the bent arms of my antagonist and his
own back, raising it at the same time like a lever. In the brief
interval of breathing this ready expedient gave me, I rallied my force,
caught my enemy by the throat, made a desperate effort, threw him off,
and over on his side, and was on my feet in an instant. Drawing the
pistol, I ordered the rascal to yield, or to take the consequences. The
sight of this weapon secured the victory, the black-faced villain
shrinking back into a corner, begging piteously not to be shot. At the
next moment, the interpreter appeared under the arch, followed by a
stream of redskins, which had been turned in this direction by the alarm
given by my rifle.




CHAPTER XXIII.

     "Ye say they all have passed away, That noble race and brave:
     That their light canoes have vanished From off the crested
     wave: That 'mid the forests where they roamed There rings no
     hunter's shout: But their name is on your waters, Ye may not
     wash it out."--Mrs. Sigourney.


Directing Manytongues to secure the two incendiaries, I sprang into the
kitchen to extinguish the flames. It was high time, though Mary Warren
had already anticipated me here, too. She had actually thrown several
dippers of water upon the fire, which was beginning to crackle through
the pile of chairs, and had already succeeded in lessening the flames, I
knew that a hydrant stood in the kitchen itself, which gave a full
stream of water. Filling a pail, I threw the contents on the flames; and
repeating the application, in half a minute the room was filled with
vapor, and to the bright light succeeded a darkness that was so deep as
to suggest the necessity of finding lamps and candles.

The tumult produced by the scene just described soon brought all in the
house to the spot. The domestics, male and female, came tumbling down
the stairs, under which the fire had been lighted, and presently candles
were seen glancing about the house, in all directions.

"I declare, Mr. Hugh," cried John, the moment he had taken a survey of
the state of the kitchen, "this is worse than Hireland, sir! The
Hamericans affect to laugh at the poor Hirish, and calls their country
savage, and hunfit to be in'abited, but nothing worse passes in it than
is beginning to pass 'ere. Them stairs would have been all in flames in
a few minutes, and them stairs once on fire, not one of hus, up in the
hattics, could 'ave escaped death! Don't talk of Hireland, after this!"

Poor John! his prejudices are those of an Englishman of his class, and
that is saying as much in favor of their strength as _can_ be well said
of any prejudices. But how much truth was there in his remark! The quiet
manner in which we assume superiority, in morals, order, justice, and
virtue, over all other nations, really contains an instructive lesson,
if one will only regard things as they really are. I have no wish to
exaggerate the faults of my own country, but certainly I shall not
remorselessly conceal them, when the most dangerous consequences are
connected with such a mistake. As a whole, the disorders, disturbances,
and convulsions of America have certainly been much fewer than those of
most, perhaps of all other Christian nations, comparing numbers, and
including the time since the great experiment commenced. But such
_ought_ to have been the result of our facts, quite independently of
national character. The institutions leave nothing for the masses to
struggle for, and famine is unknown among us. But what does the other
side of the picture exhibit? Can any man point to a country in Europe in
which a great political movement has commenced on a principle as
barefacedly knavish as that of transferring property from one class of
men to another. That such a project does exist here, is beyond all just
contradiction; and it is equally certain that it has carried its devices
into legislation, and is fast corrupting the government in its most
efficient agents. John was right in saying we ought not to turn up our
noses at the ebullitions of abused and trodden-on "Hireland," while our
own skirts are to be cleared of such sins against the plainest dictates
of right.

The fire was extinguished, and the house was safe. The kitchen was soon
cleared of the steam and smoke, and in their places appeared a cloud of
redskins. Prairiefire, Eaglesflight, and Flintyheart, were all there,
examining the effects of the fire, with stern and interesting
countenances. I looked round for Mary Warren; but that gentle and
singularly feminine girl, after manifesting a presence of mind and
decision that would have done honor to a young man of her own age, had
shrunk back with sensitive consciousness, and now concealed herself
among the others of her sex. Her duty, so eminently useful and
protective, had been performed, and she was only anxious to have it all
forgotten. This I discovered only next day, however.

Manytongues had secured the incendiaries, and they were now in the
kitchen, also, with their hands tied together, and arms bound behind
their backs, at the elbows.

As their faces remained black, it was out of my power to recognize
either. The rascal who had been felled by the blow of the rifle was yet
confused in manner, and I ordered the domestics to wash him, in the
double expectation of bringing him more completely to his senses, and of
ascertaining who he might be.

The work was soon done, and both objects were attained. The cook used a
dishcloth with so much dexterity, that the blackamoor came out a white
man, at the first application, and he was soon as clean as a child that
is about to be sent to school, fresh from the hands of its nurse. The
removal of the disguise brought out the abashed and frightened
physiognomy of Joshua Brigham, Miller's hired man--or _my_ hired man, in
effect, as I paid him his wages.

Yes! such was one of the effects of the pernicious opinions that had
been so widely circulated in the land, during the profound moral mania
that was working its ravages among us, with a fatality and danger that
greatly exceed those which accompanied the cholera. A fellow, who was
almost an inmate of my family, had not only conspired with others to rob
me of my property, on a large scale, but he had actually carried his
plot so far as to resort to the brand and the rifle, as two of the
agents to be employed in carrying out his virtuous objects. Nor was this
the result of the vulgar disposition to steal; it was purely a
consequence of a widely-extended system, that is fast becoming
incorporated with the politics of the land, and which men, relying on
the efficacy of majorities, are bold enough to stand up, in legislative
halls, to defend.[28]

[Footnote 28: In order that the reader who is not familiar with what is
passing in New York may not suppose that exaggerated terms are here
used, the writer will state a single expedient of the anti-renters in
the Legislature to obtain their ends. It is generally known that the
Constitution of the United States prevents the separate States from
passing laws impairing the obligations of contracts. But for this
provision of the Federal Constitution, it is probable, numbers would
have succeeded, long ago, in obtaining the property of the few on their
own terms, amid shouts in honor of liberty! This provision, however, has
proved a stubborn obstacle, until the world, near the middle of the
nineteenth century, has been favored with the following notable scheme
to effect the ends of those who "want farms and must have them." The
State _can_ regulate, by statute, the laws of descents. It has,
accordingly, been solemnly proposed in the Legislature of New York, that
the statute of descents should be so far altered, that when a landlord,
holding lands subject to certain leasehold tenures, dies, or a descent
is cast, that it shall be lawful for the tenants, on application to the
chancellor, to convert these leasehold tenures into mortgages, and to
obtain the fee-simple of the estates in payment of the debt! In other
words, A leases a farm to B forever, reserving a ground-rent, with
covenants of re-entry, etc., etc. B wishes a deed, but will not pay A's
price. The United States says the contract shall not be impaired, and
the Legislature of New York is illustrated by the expedient we have
named, to get over the provision of the Constitution!

Since writing the foregoing, this law has actually passed the Assembly,
though it has not been adopted by the Senate. The provision included all
leased property, when the leases were for more than twenty-one years, or
were on lives.--EDITOR.]

I confess that the discovery of the person of Joshua Brigham rendered me
a little curious to ascertain that of his companion. Hester, the cook,
was directed to take the other child in hand, as soon as she had well
wiped the countenance of the one first unmasked. Nothing loath, the good
housewife set about her task, and the first dab of water she applied
revealed the astounding fact that I had again captured Seneca Newcome!
It will be remembered, that the last time I saw these two men together,
I left them fighting in the highway.

I admit that this discovery shocked me. There never had been a being of
the Newcome tribe, from the grandfather, who was its root at Ravensnest,
down to Opportunity, who had ever been esteemed or respected among us.
Trick--trick--trick--low cunning, and overreaching management, had been
the family trait, from the day Jason, of that name, had rented the mill
lot, down to the present hour. This I had heard from my grandfather, my
grandmother, my own father, my uncle, my aunts and all, older than
myself, who belonged to me. Still, _there_ they had been, and habit had
created a sort of feeling for them. There had, also, been a species of
pretension about the family, which brought them more before us, than
most of the families of the tenantry. The grandfather had received a
sort of an education, and this practice had been continued, after a
manner, down to the unfortunate wretch who now stood a prisoner taken
_flagrante delictu_, and for a capital crime. Seneca could never have
made a gentleman, as the term is understood among gentlemen; but he
belonged to a profession which ought to raise a man materially above the
level of the vulgar. Opportunity, too, had received her _quasi_
education, a far more pretending one than that of my own Patt, but
nothing had been well taught to her; not even reading, inasmuch as she
had a decided provincial pronunciation, which sometimes grated on my
nerves. But, Opportunity had feelings, and could not have anticipated
her own brother's intentions, when she communicated the important
information she had. Opportunity, moreover, had more refinement than
Seneca, in consequence of having a more limited association, and she
might fall into despair, at this unexpected result of her own acts!

I was still reflecting on these things, when summoned to my grandmother.
She was in her own dressing-room, surrounded by the four girls; just so
many pictures of alarm, interest, and female loveliness. Mary Warren
alone, was in regular _toilette_; but the others, with instinctive
coquetry, had contrived to wrap themselves up, in a way to render them
handsomer than ever. As for my dear grandmother herself, she had been
told that the house was safe, but felt that vague desire to see me, that
was perhaps natural to the circumstances.

"The state of the country is frightful," she said, when I had answered a
few of her questions, and had told her who the prisoners really were;
"and we can hardly remain here, in safety. Think of one of the
Newcomes--and of Seneca, in particular, with his profession and
education, being engaged in such a crime!"

"Nay, grandmother," put in Patt, a little archly, "I never yet heard you
speak well of the Newcomes; you barely tolerated Opportunity, in the
hope of improving her."

"It is true that the race is a bad one, and the circumstances show what
injury a set of false notions, transmitted from father to son, for
generations, may do in a family. We cannot think of keeping these dear
girls here, one hour after to-morrow, Hugh. To-morrow, or to-day, for it
is now past two o'clock, I see;--to-day is Sunday, and we can go to
church; to-night we will be watchful, and Monday morning your uncle
shall start for Satanstoe, with all three of the girls."

"I shall not leave my dear grandmother," rejoined Patt--"nor do I think
it would be very kind to leave Mary Warren behind us, in a place like
this."

"I cannot quit my father," said Mary herself, quietly, but very firmly.
"It is his duty to remain with his parishioners, and more so, now that
so many of them are misguided, than at any other time; and it is always
my duty and my pleasure to remain with _him_."

Was that acting? Was that Pharisaical! Or was it genuine nature; pure
filial affection and filial piety? Beyond all question, it was the last;
and, had not the simple tone, the earnest manner, and the almost alarmed
eagerness, with which the dear girl spoke, proclaimed as much, no one
could have looked in at that serene and guileless eye and doubted. My
grandmother smiled on the lovely earnest speaker, in her kindest manner,
took her hand, and charmingly observed--

"Mary and I will remain together. Her father is in no danger, for even
anti-renters will respect a minister of the gospel, and can be made to
understand it is his duty to rebuke even their sins. As for the other
girls, I think it is our duty to insist that your uncle's wards, at
least, should no longer be exposed to dangers like those we have gone
through to-night."

The two young ladies, however, protested in the prettiest manner
possible, their determination not to quit "grandmamma," as they
affectionately termed their guardian's mother; and while they were thus
employed, my uncle Ro entered the room, having just paid a visit to the
kitchen.

"Here's a charming affair!" exclaimed the old bachelor, as soon as in
our midst. "Arson, anti-rentism, attempts at murder, and all sorts of
enormities, going hand in hand, in the very heart of the wisest and best
community that earth ever knew; and the laws as profoundly asleep the
whole time, as if such gentle acts were considered meritorious. This
outdoes repudiation twenty-fold, Hugh."

"Ay, my dear sir, but it will not make a tithe of the talk. Look at the
newspapers that will be put into your hands to-morrow morning, fresh
from Wall and Pine and Ann Streets. They will be in convulsions, if some
unfortunate wight of a senator speak of adding an extra corporal to a
regiment of foot, as an alarming war-demonstration, or quote the fall of
a fancy stock that has not one cent of intrinsic value, as if it
betokened the downfall of a nation; while they doze over this volcano,
which is raging and gathering strength beneath the whole community,
menacing destruction to the nation itself, which is the father of
stocks."

"The intense selfishness that is uppermost is a bad symptom, certainly;
and no one can say to what it will lead. One thing is sure; it causes
men to limit all their calculations to the present moment; and, to abate
a nuisance that presses on our existing interests, they will jeopard
everything that belongs to the future. But what are we to do with Seneca
Newcome, and his co-rascal, the other incendiary?"

"I had thought of referring that to your discretion, sir. They have been
guilty of arson, I suppose, and must take their chances, like every-day
criminals."

"Their chances will be very good ones, Hugh. Had _you_ been caught in
Seneca Newcome's kitchen, setting fire to his house, condign and
merciless punishment would have been _your_ lot, beyond all controversy;
but _their_ cases will be very different. I'll bet you a hundred that
they'll not be convicted; and a thousand that they are pardoned, if
convicted."

"Acquitted, sir, will be out of the question--Miss Warren and I saw them
both, in the very act of building their fire; and there is plenty of
testimony, as to their identity."

This indiscreet speech drew every eye on my late companion; all the
ladies, old and young, repeating the name of "Mary!" in the pretty
manner in which the sex express surprise. As for Mary, herself, the poor
blushing girl shrunk back abashed, ashamed of she knew not what, unless
it might be in connection with some secret consciousness, at finding
herself so strangely associated with me.

"Miss Warren is, indeed, in her evening dress," said my grandmother, a
little gravely, "and cannot have been in bed this night. How has this
happened, my dear?".

Thus called on, Mary Warren was of too guileless and pure a mind, to
hesitate in telling her tale. Every incident, with which she had been
connected, was simply and clearly related, though she suppressed the
name of our midnight visitor, out of tenderness to Opportunity. All
present were too discreet to ask the name, and, I may add, all present
heard the narrative with a marked and approving interest. When Mary had
done, my grandmother kissed her, and Patt, the generous creature,
encircled her waist, with the tenderness and affection of a sister, who
felt for all the trials the other had endured.

"It seems, then, we owe our safety to Mary, after all!" exclaimed my
good grandmother; "without her care and watchfulness, Hugh might, most
probably _would_, have remained on the lawn, until it was too late to
save the house, or us."

"That is not all," added uncle Ro. "Any one could have cried 'fire,' or
given a _senseless_ alarm, but it is evident from Miss Warren's account,
unpremeditated and artless as it is, that, but for the cool and discreet
manner in which she played her part, not one-half of that which has been
done, would have been effected, and that the house might have been lost.
Nay, had these fellows surprised Hugh, instead of Hugh's surprising
them, we might have been called on to deplore his loss."

I saw a common shudder in Patt and Mary, as they stood encircling each
other with their arms; but the last was evidently so pained, that I
interfered for her relief.

"I do not see any possibility of escape for these incendiaries,"

I said, turning to my uncle, "under the testimony that can be offered,
and am surprised to hear you suggest a doubt of the result of the
trial."

"You feel and reason like a very young man, Hugh; one who fancies things
are much nearer what they ought to be than facts will sustain. Justice
is blind, nowadays, not as a proof of impartiality, but as a proof that
she too often sees only one side of a question. How will they escape?
Perhaps the jury may fancy setting fire to a pile of wood and certain
chairs, is not setting fire to a house, let the _animus_ be as plain as
the noses on their faces. Mark me, Hugh Littlepage; one month will not
go by, before the events of this very night will be tortured into an
argument in favor of anti-rentism."

A common exclamation, in which even my grandmother joined, expressed the
general dissent from this opinion.

"It is all very well, ladies," answered my uncle Ro, coolly--"all well
enough, Master Hugh; but let the issue tell its own story. I have heard
already _other_ abuses of the anti-renters urged as a reason why the
laws should be changed, in order that men may not be tempted beyond
their strength; and why not use the same reasoning in favor of this
crime when it has been used already, in cases of murder? 'The leasehold
tenures make men commit murder,' it is said, 'and they ought to be
destroyed themselves.' 'The leasehold tenures make men commit arson,' it
will now be said, 'and who desires to retain laws that induce men to
commit arson?'"

"On the same principle it might be pretended there should be no such
thing as personals, as they tempt men, beyond what they can bear, to
commit petty larceny."

"No doubt it could, and no doubt it _would_, if political supremacy were
to be the reward. There is nothing--no fallacy, no moral sophism, that
would not be used to attain such an end. But it is late, and we ought to
bethink us of disposing of the prisoners for the night--what means this
light? The house is not on fire, after all?"

Sure enough, notwithstanding the close shutters, and drawn curtains of
my grandmother's dressing-room, an unusual light had penetrated to the
place, filling us with sudden and intense alarm. I opened the door and
found the passages illuminated, though all within appeared tranquil and
safe. There was a clamor in the court, however, and presently the
fearful warwhoop of the savages rose on the night air. The cries came
from without, as I fancied, and rushing to the little door, I was on the
lawn in a moment, when the mystery was solved. An extensive hay-barn,
one well filled with the remainder of the last year's crops, was on
fire, sending its forged and waving tongues of flame at least a hundred
feet into the air. It was merely a new argument against the leasehold
tenures, and in favor of the "spirit of the institutions," a little
vividly pressed on the human senses. Next year, it may figure in the
message of a governor, or the philanthropical efforts of some Albany
orator, if the same "spirit" prevail in the "institutions," as would
seem to prevail this! Is a contract to be tolerated which induces
freemen to set barns on fire?

The barn that had been set on fire stood on the flats, below the cliff,
and fully half a mile away from the Nest. The conflagration made a most
brilliant blaze, and, as a matter of course, produced an intense light.
The loss to myself did not exceed a few hundred dollars; and, while this
particular argument in favor of anti-rentism was not entirely agreeable,
it was not so grave as it might have been, had it been urged on other
buildings, and in the same mode. In other words, I was not so much
distressed with my loss as not to be able to see the beauty of the
scene; particularly as my uncle Ro whispered that Dunning had caused an
insurance to be effected in the Saratoga Mutual Assurance, which would
probably place a considerable portion of the tenants in the unlooked-for
category of those who were to pay for their own frolic.

As it was too late to think of saving the barn and ricks, and Miller,
with his people, had already descended to the spot to look after the
fences, and any other object that might be endangered by the flying
embers, there was nothing for us to do but to remain passive spectators.
Truly, the scene was one worthy of being viewed, and is not altogether
unfit for description.

The light of that burning barn extended for a great distance, shining
like what it was, an "_evil_ deed in a naughty world;" for,
notwithstanding the high authority of Shakespeare, it is your "evil
deeds," after all, that produce the brightest blazes, and which throw
their beams the farthest, in this state of probation in which we live.

The most remarkable objects in that remarkable scene were the true and
the false redskins--the "Indians" and the "Injins"--both of whom were in
motion on the meadows, and both of whom were distinctly visible to us
where we stood, on the cliffs (the ladies being at their chamber
windows), though I dare say they were not quite so obvious to each
other.

The Indians had formed themselves into a very open order, and were
advancing toward the other party in a stealthy manner, by creeping on
all-fours, or crouching like catamounts to the earth, and availing
themselves of everything like a cover that offered. The burning barn was
between the two parties, and was a principal reason that the "Injins"
were not sooner aware of the risk they ran. The last were a whooping,
shouting, dancing, leaping band, of some forty or fifty of the
"disguised and armed," who were quite near enough to the conflagration
to enjoy it, without being so near as to be necessarily connected with
it. We understood their presence and antics to be intended as so many
intimations of the secret agency they had had in the depredations of the
night, and as so many warnings how I withstood the "spirit of the
institutions."

Manytongues, who had certain vague notions of the necessity of his
keeping on the windy side of the law, did not accompany his red
brethren, but came through the gateway and joined my uncle and myself,
as we stood beneath the cover of a noble chestnut, on the verge of the
cliff, watching the course of things on the meadow. I expressed my
surprise at seeing him there, and inquired if his presence might not be
needed by Flintyheart or Prairiefire.

"Not at all, not at all, colonel," he answered with perfect coolness.
"The savages have no great need of an intarpreter in the business they
are on; and if harm comes of the meetin', it's perhaps best that the two
parties should not understand each other, in which case it might all be
looked on as an accident. I hope they'll not be particular about
scalps--for I told Flintyheart, as he was leaving us, the people of this
part of the world did not like to be scalped."

This was the only encouragement we received from the interpreter, who
appeared to think that matters were now in the right train, and that
every difficulty would soon be disposed of, _secundum artem_. The
Injins, however, viewed the affair differently, having no wish for a
serious brush with any one; much less with enemies of the known
character of redskins. How they ascertained the presence of their foe I
cannot say, though it is probable some one saw them stealing along the
meadows, in spite of all their care, and gave the alarm. Alarm it was,
sure enough; the party of the previous day scarce retreating through the
woods with greater haste than the "disguised and armed" now vanished.

Such has been the fact, as respects these men, in every instance in
which they have been brought in contact with armed bodies, though much
inferior to their own in numbers. Fierce enough, and even brutal, on a
variety of occasions in which individuals have become subject to their
power, in all cases in which armed parties, however small, have been
sent against them, they have betrayed timidity and a dread of making
that very appeal to force, which, by their own previous acts, they had
insolently invited. Is it then true, that these soi-disant "Injins" have
not the ordinary courage of their race, and that they are less than
Americans with arms in their hands, and below the level of all around
them in spirit? Such is not the case. The consciousness of guilt has
made them cowards; they have found "that the king's name is a tower of
strength," and have shrunk from conflicts, in which the secret warnings
that come from on high have told them that they were embodied in a
wicked cause, and contending for the attainment of wrong ends by
unjustifiable means. Their conduct proves how easy it would have been to
suppress their depredations at the earliest day, by a judicious
application of the power of the State, and how much _they_ have to
answer for who have neglected their duty in this particular.

As soon as Flintyheart and his followers ascertained that the "disguised
and armed" were actually off again, and that they were not to pass the
morning in a skirmish, as no doubt each man among them had hoped would
be the case, they set up such whoops and cries as had not been heard on
those meadows during the last eighty years. The period went beyond the
memory of man since Indian warfare had existed at Ravensnest, a few
false alarms in the Revolution excepted. The effect of these yells was
to hasten the retreat, as was quite apparent to us on the cliffs; but
the sagacious warriors of the prairies knew too much to expose their
persons by approaching nearer to the blazing barn than might be prudent.
On the contrary, seemingly satisfied that nothing was to be done, and
disdaining a parade of service where no service was to be effected, they
slowly retired from the meadows, regaining the cliffs by means known to
themselves.

This military demonstration, on the part of our red brethren, was not
without its useful consequences. It gave the "Injins" an intimation of
watchfulness, and of a readiness to meet them that prevented any new
alarm that night, and satisfied everybody at the Nest that our immediate
danger had come to an end. Not only was this the feeling of my uncle and
myself, but it was also the feeling of the females, as we found on
returning to the house, who had witnessed all that passed from the upper
windows. After a short interview with my grandmother, she consented to
retire, and preparations were made for setting a lookout, and dismissing
everybody to their beds again. Manytongues took charge of the watch,
though he laughed at the probability of there being any further
disturbance that night.

"As for the redskins," he said, "they would as soon sleep out under the
trees, at this season of the year, as sleep under a roof; and as for
waking--cats a'nt their equals. No--no--colonel; leave it all to me, and
I'll carry you through the night as quietly as if we were on the
prer-ies and living under good wholesome prer-ie law."

"As quietly, as if we were on the prairies!" We had then reached that
pass in New York, that after one burning, a citizen might really hope to
pass the remainder of his night as quietly as if he were on the
prairies! And there was that frothy, lumbering, useless machine, called
a government, at Albany, within fifty miles of us, as placid, as
self-satisfied, as much convinced that this was the greatest people on
earth, and itself their illustrious representatives, as if the disturbed
counties were so many gardens of Eden, before sin and transgression had
become known to it! If it was doing anything in the premises, it was
probably calculating the minimum the tenant should pay for the
landlord's land, when the latter might be sufficiently worried to part
with his estate. Perhaps it was illustrating its notions of liberty, by
naming the precise sum that one citizen ought to accept, in order that
the covetous longings of another should be satisfied!

I was about to retire to my bed, for the first time that night, when my
uncle Ro remarked it might be well to see one of our prisoners at least.
Orders had been given to unbind the wretched men, and to keep them in an
empty store-room which had no available outlet but the door. Thither we
then repaired, and of course were admitted by the sentinels, without a
question. Seneca Newcome was startled at my appearance, and I confess I
was myself embarrassed how to address him, from a wish to say nothing
that might appear like exultation on one side, or concession on the
other. My uncle, however, had no such scruples, probably from better
knowing his man; accordingly, he came to the point at once.

"The evil spirit must have got great ascendency in the country, Seneca
Newcome, when men of your knowledge dip so deeply into his designs,"
said Mr. Littlepage, sternly. "What has my nephew ever done to incite
you to come into his house, as an incendiary, like a thief in the
night?"

"Ask me no questions, Mr. Littlepage," surlily replied the attorney,
"for I shall answer none."

"And this miserable misguided creature who has been your companion. The
last we saw of these two men, Hugh, they were quarrelling in the
highway, like cat and dog, and there are signs about their faces that
the interview became still more hostile than it had been, after we left
them."

"And here we find them together, companions in an enterprise of life and
death!"

"It is ever thus with rogues. They will push their quarrels to
extremities, and make them up in an hour, when the demon of rapine
points to an object for common plunder. You see the same spirit in
politics, ay, and even in religion. Men that have lived in hostility for
half their lives, contending for selfish objects, will suddenly combine
their powers to attain a common end, and work together like the most
true-hearted friends, so long as they see a chance of effecting their
wishes. If honesty were only one-half as active as roguery, it would
fare better than it does. But the honest man has his scruples; his
self-respect; his consistency, and, most of all, his principles, to mark
out his course, and he cannot turn aside at each new impulse, like your
pure knave, to convert enemies into friends, and friends into enemies.
And you," turning to Josh Brigham, who was looking surlily on--"who have
actually been eating Hugh Littlepage's bread, what has he done, that you
should come at midnight, to burn him up like a caterpillar in the
spring?"

"He has had his farm long enough"--muttered the fellow--"It's time that
poor folks had some chance."

My uncle shrugged his shoulders; then, as if he suddenly recollected
himself, he lifted his hat, bowed like a thoroughbred gentleman as he
was, when he chose to be, wished Seneca good-night, and walked away. As
we retired, he expressed his conviction of the uselessness of
remonstrance, in this case, and of the necessity of suffering the law to
take its own course. It might be unpleasant to see a Newcome actually
hanged, but nothing short of that operation, he felt persuaded, would
ever fetch up the breed in its evil courses. Wearied with all that had
passed, I now went to bed, and slept soundly for the succeeding seven
hours. As the house was kept quiet by orders, everybody repaired the
lost time, the Nest being as quiet as in those days in which the law
ruled in the republic.




CHAPTER XXIV.

    "Well may we sing her beauties
      This pleasant land of ours,
    Her sunny smiles, her golden fruits,
      And all her world of flowers.
    And well would they persuade us now,
      In moments all too dear,
    That, sinful though our hearts may be,
      We have our Eden here."--SIMMS.


The following day was Sunday. I did not rise until nine, and when I
withdrew the curtains and opened the shutters of my window, and looked
out upon the lawn, and the fields beyond it, and the blue void that
canopied all, I thought a lovelier day, or one more in harmony with the
tranquil character of the whole scene, never shone from the heavens. I
threw up the sash, and breathed the morning air which filled my
dressing-room, pregnant with the balms and odors of the hundred
sweet-smelling flowers and plants that embellished the shrubberies. The
repose of the Sabbath seemed to rest on man and beast; the bees and
humming-birds that buzzed about the flowers, even at their usual
pursuits, seemed as if conscious of the sanctity of the day. I think no
one can be insensible to the difference there is between a Sabbath in
the country and any other day of the week. Most of this, doubtless, is
the simple consequence of abstaining from labor; but, connected with the
history of the festival, its usual observances, and the holy calm that
appears to reign around, it is so very obvious and impressive, that a
Sunday in a mild day in June is to me ever a delicious resting-place, as
a mere poetical pause in the bustling and turmoil of this world's time.
Such a day was that which succeeded the night through which we had just
passed, and it came most opportunely to soothe the spirits, tranquillize
the apprehensions, and afford a moment for sober reflection.

There lay the smouldering ruins of the barn, it is true; a blackened
monument of a wicked deed; but the mood which had produced this waste
and wrong appeared to have passed away; and in all other respects, far
and near, the farms of Ravensnest had never spread themselves before the
eye in colors more in consonance with the general benevolence of a
bountiful nature. For a moment, as I gazed on the broad view, I felt all
my earlier interests in it revive, and am not ashamed to own that a
profound feeling of gratitude to God came over me, when I recollected it
was by his Providence I was born the heir to such a scene, instead of
having my lot cast among the serfs and dependents of other regions.

After standing at the window a minute, in contemplation of that pleasing
view, I drew back, suddenly and painfully conscious of the character and
extent of the combination that existed to rob me of my rights in it.
America no longer seemed America to my eyes; but in place of its ancient
submission to the law, its quick distinction between right and wrong,
its sober and discriminating liberty, which equally avoided submission
to the injustice of power, and the excesses of popular delusions, there
had been substituted the rapacity of the plunderer, rendered formidable
by the insidious manner in which it was interwoven with political
machinery, and the truckling of the wretches intrusted with authority;
men who were playing into the hands of demagogues, solely in order to
secure majorities to perpetuate their own influence. Was, then, the
State really so corrupt as to lend itself to projects as base as those
openly maintained by the anti-renters? Far from it: four men out of
five, if not a larger proportion, must be, and indeed are, sensible of
the ills that their success would entail on the community, and would
lift up heart and hand to-morrow to put them down totally and without
pity; but they have made themselves slaves of the lamp; have enlisted in
the ranks of _party_, and _dare_ not oppose their leaders, who wield
them as Napoleon wielded his masses, to further private views,
apostrophizing and affecting an homage to liberty all the while! Such is
the history of man!

When the family met in the breakfast-room, a singular tranquillity
prevailed among us. As for my grandmother, I knew her spirit and early
experience, and was not so much surprised to find her calm and
reasonable; but these qualities seemed imparted to her four young
companions also. Patt could laugh, and yield to her buoyant spirits,
just the same as if nothing had occurred, while my uncle's other wards
maintained a lady-like quiet, that denoted anything but apprehension.
Mary Warren, however, surprised me by her air and deportment. There she
sat, in her place at the table, looking, if possible, the most feminine,
gentle, and timid of the four. I could scarcely believe that the
blushing, retiring, modest, pretty daughter of the rector could be the
prompt, decided, and clear-headed young girl who had been of so much
service to me the past night, and to whose coolness and discretion,
indeed, we were all indebted for the roof that was over our heads, and
some of us, most probably, for our lives.

Notwithstanding this air of tranquillity, the breakfast was a silent and
thoughtful meal. Most of the conversation was between my uncle and
grandmother, and a portion of it related to the disposal of the
prisoners. There was no magistrate within several miles of the Nest, but
those who were tainted with anti-rentism; and to carry Seneca and his
companion before a justice of the peace of this character, would be, in
effect, to let them go at large. Nominal bail would be taken, and it is
more than probable the constable employed would have suffered a rescue,
did they even deem it necessary to go through this parade of performing
their duties. My uncle, consequently, adopted the following plan. He had
caused the two incendiaries to be transferred to the old farm-house,
which happened to contain a perfectly dry and empty cellar, and which
had much of the security of a dungeon, without the usual defects of
obscurity and dampness. The red-men had assumed the office of sentinels,
one having his station at the door, while another watched near a window
which admitted the light, while it was scarcely large enough to permit
the human body to squeeze through it. The interpreter had received
instructions from the agent to respect the Christian Sabbath; and no
movement being contemplated for the day, this little duty just suited
their lounging, idle habits, when in a state of rest. Food and water, of
course, had not been forgotten; and there my uncle Ro had left that
portion of the business, intending to have the delinquents carried to a
distant magistrate, one of the judges of the county, early on Monday
morning. As for the disturbers of the past night, no signs of them were
any longer visible; and there being little extensive cover near the
Nest, no apprehension was felt of any surprise.

We were still at breakfast, when the tone of St. Andrew's bell came
floating, plaintively, through the air, as a summons to prepare
ourselves for the services of the day. It was little more than a mile to
the church, and the younger ladies expressed a desire to walk. My
grandmother, attended by her son, therefore, alone used the carriage,
while we young people went off in a body, on foot, half an hour before
the ringing of the second bell. Considering the state of the country,
and the history of the past night, I was astonished at my own
indifference on this occasion, no less than at that of my charming
companions; nor was it long before I gave utterance to the feeling.

"This America of ours is a queer place, it must be admitted," I cried,
as we crossed the lawn to take a foot-path that would lead us, by
pleasant pastures, quite to the church-door, without entering the
highway, except to cross it once; "here we have the whole neighborhood
as tranquil as if crime never disturbed it, though it is not yet a dozen
hours since riot, arson, and perhaps murder, were in the contemplation
of hundreds of those who live on every side of us. The change is
wonderful!"

"But, you will remember it is Sunday, Hugh," put in Patt. "All summer,
when Sunday has come, we have had a respite from disturbances and fears.
In this part of the country, the people are too religious to think of
desecrating the Sabbath by violence and armed bands. The anti-renters
would lose more than they would gain by pursuing a different course."

I had little or no difficulty in believing this, it being no unusual
thing, among us, to find observances of this nature clinging to the
habits of thousands, long after the devout feeling which had first
instilled it into the race has become extinct. Something very like it
prevails in other countries, and among even higher and more intellectual
classes, where it is no unusual thing to find the most profound outward
respect manifested toward the altar and its rites, by men who live in
the hourly neglect of the first and plainest commands of the decalogue.
We are not alone, therefore, in this pharisaical spirit, which exists,
in some mode or other, wherever man himself is to be found.

But this equivocal piety was certainly manifested to a striking degree,
that day, at Ravensnest. The very men who were almost desperate in their
covetous longings appeared at church, and went through the service with
as much seeming devotion as if conscious of no evil; and a general truce
appeared to prevail in the country, notwithstanding there must have been
much bitterness of feeling among the discomfited. Nevertheless, I could
detect in the countenances of many of the old tenants of the family, an
altered expression, and a coldness of the eye, which bespoke anything
but the ancient friendly feeling which had so long existed between us.
The solution was very simple; demagogues had stirred up the spirit--not
of the institutions, but--of covetousness, in their breasts; and so long
as that evil tendency predominated, there was little room for better
feelings.

"Now I shall have another look at the canopied pew," I cried, as we
entered the last field, on our way to the church. "That offensive, but
unoffending object, had almost gone out of my mind's eye, until my uncle
recollected it, by intimating that Jack Dunning, as he calls his friend
and council, had written him it _must_ come down."

"I agree with Mr. Dunning altogether," answered Martha, quickly. "I wish
with all my heart, Hugh, you would order that hideous-looking thing to
be taken away this very week."

"Why this earnestness, my dear Patt? There has the hideous thing been
ever since the church was built, which is now these threescore years,
and no harm has come of it, as I know."

"It is harm to be so ugly. It disfigures the church; and then I do not
think distinctions of that sort are proper for the house of God. I know
this ever has been my grandmother's opinion; but finding her
father-in-law and husband desirous of such an _ornament_, she consented
in silence, during their lives."

"What do _you_ say to all this, Miss Warren," I asked, turning to my
companion, for by some secret influence I was walking at her side. "Are
you 'up canopy' or 'down canopy'?"

"'Down canopy,'" answered Mary, firmly. "I am of Mrs. Littlepage's
opinion, that churches ought to contain as little as possible to mark
worldly distinctions. Such distinctions are inseparable from life, I
know; but it is to prepare for death that we enter such buildings."

"And your father, Miss Warren--have you ever heard him speak of my
unfortunate pew?"

Mary hesitated an instant, changed color, then looked up into my face
with a countenance so ingenuous and lovely, that I would have forgiven
her even a severe comment on some act of folly of my own.

"My father is an advocate for doing away with pews altogether," she
answered, "and, of course, can have no particular wish to preserve
yours. He tells me, that in the churches of the Romanists, the
congregation sit, stand, or kneel, promiscuously before the altar, or
crowd around the pulpit, without any distinction of rank or persons.
Surely, that is better than bringing into the very temple the most
pitiful of all worldly classifications, that of mere money."

"It _is_ better, Miss Warren; and I wish, with all my heart, the custom
could be adopted here. But the church that might best dispense with the
support obtained from pews, and which by its size and architecture, is
best fitted to set the example of a new mode, has gone on in the old
way, I understand, and has its pews as well as another."

"Do we get our custom from England, Hugh!" demanded Martha.

"Assuredly; as we do most others, good, bad and indifferent. The
property-notion would be very likely to prevail in a country like
England; and then it is not absolutely true that everybody sits in
common, even in the churches of the continent of the old world. The
seigneur, under the old regime, in France, had _his_ pew, usually; and
high dignitaries of the State in no country are found mingling with the
mass of worshippers, unless it be in good company. It is true, a
_duchesse_ will kneel in the crowd, in most Romish churches, in the
towns, for there are too many such persons to accommodate all with
privileged seats, and such honors are reserved for the very great; but
in the country, there are commonly pews, in by-places, for the great
personages of the neighborhood. We are not quite so bad as we fancy
ourselves, in this particular, though we might be better."

"But you will allow that a canopied pew is unsuited to this country,
brother?"

"Not more to this than to any other. I agree that it is unsuited to all
places of worship, where the petty differences between men, which are
created by their own usages, should sink into insignificance, in the
direct presence, as it might be, of the power of God. But, in this
country, I find a spirit rising, which some persons would call the
'spirit of the institutions,' that is forever denying men rewards, and
honors, and credit exactly in the degree in which they deserve them. The
moment a citizen's head is seen above the crowd of faces around him, it
becomes the mark of rotten eggs, as if he were raised in the pillory,
and his fellow-creatures would not tolerate any difference in moral
stature."

"How do you reconcile that with the great number of Catos, and Brutuses,
not to say of the Gracchi, that are to be found among us?" asked Mary
Warren, slyly.

"Oh! these are the mere creatures of party--great men for the nonce.
They are used to serve the purposes of factions, and are be-greated for
the occasion. Thus it is, that nine-tenths of the Catos you mention are
forgotten, even by name, every political _lustrum_. But let a man rise,
_independently of the people_, by his own merit, and see how the people
will tolerate him. Thus it is with my pew--it is a _great_ pew, and
become great without any agency of the 'folks;' and the 'folks' don't
like it."

The girls laughed at this sally, as light-hearted, happy girls will
laugh at anything of the sort; and Patt put in her retort, in her own
direct, spirited manner.

"It is a _great_ ugly thing, if that concession will flatter your
vanity," she said, "and I do entreat it may come down _greatly_, this
present week. Really, you can have no notion, Hugh, how much talk it has
made of late."

"I do not doubt it, my dear. The talk is all aimed at the leases;
everything that can be thought of, being dragged into the account
against us poor landlords, in order to render our cause unpopular, and
thus increase the chances of robbing us with impunity. _The good people
of this State little imagine that the very evils that the enemies of the
institutions have long predicted, and which their friends have as warmly
repudiated, are now actively at work among us, and that the great
experiment is in imminent danger of failing, at the very moment the
people are loudly exulting in its success. Let this attempt on property
succeed, ever so indirectly, AND IT WILL BE FOLLOWED UP BY OTHERS,
WHICH WILL AS INEVITABLY DRIVE US INTO DESPOTISM, AS A REFUGE AGAINST
ANARCHY, AS EFFECT SUCCEEDS TO CAUSE_. The danger exists, now, in its
very worst form--that of political demagogueism--and must be met, face
to face, and put down manfully, and on true principles, or, in my poor
judgment, we are gone. Cant is a prevailing vice of the nation, more
especially political and religious cant, and cant can never be appeased
by concessions. My canopy _shall_ stand, so long as anti-rentism exists
at Ravensnest, or be torn down by violence; when men return to their
senses, and begin to see the just distinctions between _meum_ and
_tuum_, the cook may have it for oven-wood, any day in the week."

As we were now about to cross the stile that communicated with the
highway, directly in front of the church, the conversation ceased, as
unsuited to the place and the occasion. The congregation of St. Andrew's
was small, as is usually the case with country congregations of its
sect, which are commonly regarded with distrust by the descendants of
the Puritans in particular, and not unfrequently with strong aversion.
The rowdy religion--half-cant, half-blasphemy--that Cromwell and his
associates entailed on so many Englishmen, but which was not without a
degree of ferocious, narrow-minded sincerity about it, after all, has
probably been transmitted to this country, with more of its original
peculiarities than exist, at the present day, in any other part of the
world. Much of the narrow-mindedness remains; but, unhappily, when
liberality does begin to show itself in these sects, it is apt to take
the character of latitudinarianism. In a word, the exaggerations and
false principles that were so common among the religious fanatics of the
American colonies in the seventeenth century, which burnt witches,
hanged Quakers, and denounced all but the elect few, are now running
their natural race, with the goal of infidelity in open view before
them. Thus will it be, also, with the abuses of political liberty, which
must as certainly terminate in despotism, unless checked in season; such
being not the "_spirit_ of the institutions," but the tendency of human
nature, as connected with everything in which the right is abandoned to
sustain the wrong.

Mr. Warren, I found, was a popular preacher, notwithstanding the
disfavor with which his sect was generally regarded. A prejudiced and
provincial people were naturally disposed to look at everything that
differed from their own opinions and habits with dislike; and the simple
circumstance that he belonged to a church that possessed bishops, was of
itself tortured into a proof that his sect favored aristocracy and
privileged classes. It is true that nearly every other sect in the
country had orders in the church, under the names of ministers, elders,
and deacons, and was just as liable to the same criticism; but then they
did not possess _bishops_, and having that which we do not happen to
have ourselves, usually constitutes the _gist_ of an offence, in cases
of this sort. Notwithstanding these obstacles to popularity, Mr. Warren
commanded the respect of all around him; and, strange as it may seem,
none the less because, of all the clergy in that vicinity, he alone had
dared to rebuke the spirit of covetousness that was abroad, and which it
suits the morals of some among us to style the "spirit of the
institutions;" a duty he had discharged on more than one occasion, and
with great distinctness and force, though temperately and under the full
influence of a profound feeling of Christian charity. This conscientious
course had given rise to menaces and anonymous letters, the usual
recourse of the mean and cowardly; but it had also increased the weight
of his character, and extorted the secret deference of many who would
gladly have entertained a different feeling toward him, had it been in
their power.

My grandmother and uncle were already seated in the canopied pew when we
pedestrians entered the church. Mary Warren turned into another aisle,
and proceeded to the pew reserved for the rector, accompanied by my
sister, while the other two ladies passed up to the chancel, and took
their customary places. I followed, and for the first time in my life
was seated beneath the offensive canopy, vested with all the rights of
ownership. By the term "canopy," however, the reader is not to imagine
anything like festooned drapery--crimson colors and gilded laces; our
ambition had never soared so high. The amount of the distinction between
this pew and any other in the church was simply this: it was larger and
more convenient than those around it, an advantage which any other might
have equally enjoyed who saw fit to pay for it, as had been the case
with us, and it was canopied with a heavy, clumsy, ill-shaped sort of a
roof, that was a perfect caricature of the celebrated _baldachino_ of
St. Peter's in Rome. The first of these advantages probably excited no
particular envy, for it came within the common rule of the country, of
"play and pay;" but as for the canopy, that was aristocratic, and was
not to be tolerated. Like the leasehold tenure, it was opposed to the
"spirit of the institutions." It is true, it did no real harm, as an
existing thing; it is true, it had a certain use, as a memorial of past
opinions and customs; it is true, it was property, and could not be
touched without interfering with its privileges; it is true, that every
person who saw it secretly felt there was nothing, after all, so very
inappropriate in such a pew's belonging to a Littlepage; and, most of
all, it was true that they who sat in it never fancied for a moment that
it made them any better or any worse than the rest of their
fellow-creatures. There it was, however; and, next to the feudal
character of a lease, it was the most offensive object then existing in
Ravensnest. It may be questioned if the cross, which occupied the place
that, according to provincial orthodoxy, a weathercock should have
adorned, or Mr. Warren's surplice, was one-half as offensive.

When I raised my head, after the private devotions which are customary
with us semi-papishes, on entering a place of worship, and looking
around me, I found that the building was crowded nearly to overflowing.
A second glance told me that nearly every eye was fastened on myself. At
first, the canopy having been uppermost so lately in my mind, I fancied
that the looks were directed at _that_; but I soon became satisfied that
I, in my own unworthy person, was their object. I shall not stop to
relate most of the idle and silly reports that had got abroad, in
connection with the manner and reason of my disguised appearance in the
hamlet the preceding day, or in connection with anything else, though
one of those reports was so very characteristic, and so entirely
peculiar to the subject in hand, that I cannot omit it. That report was
simply a rumor that I had caused one of my own barns to be set on fire,
the second night of my arrival, in order to throw the odium of the act
on those "virtuous and hard-working husbandmen," who only maintained an
illegal and armed body on foot, just to bully and worry me out of my
property. Yes, there I sat; altogether unconscious of the honor done me;
regarded by quite half that congregation as the respected and
just-minded youth who had devised and carried out precisely such a
rascally scheme. Now no one who has not had the opportunity to compare,
can form any idea how much more potent and formidable is the American
"folks say," than the vulgar reports of any other state of society. The
French _on dit_ is a poor, pitiful report, placed by the side of this
vast lever, which, like that of Archimedes, only wants a stand for its
fulcrum, to move the world. The American "folks say" has a certain
omnipotence, so long as it lasts, which arises from, not the spirit, but
the _character_ of the institutions themselves. In a country in which
the people rule, "folks" are resolved that their "say" shall not pass
for nothing. So few doubt the justice of the popular decision, that holy
writ itself has not, in practical effect, one-half the power that really
belongs to one of these reports, so long as it suits the common mind to
entertain it. Few dare resist it; fewer still call in question its
accuracy; though, in sober truth, it is hardly ever right. It makes and
unmakes reputation, for the time being _bien entendu_; it even makes and
unmakes patriots themselves. In short, though never quite truth, and not
often very much like the truth, paradoxical as it may appear, it is
truth, and nothing but the truth, _pro hac vice_. Everybody knows,
nevertheless, that there is no permanency to what "folks say" about
anything; and that "folks" frequently, nay, almost invariably, "unsay"
what has been said six months before; yet, all submit to the authority
of its _dicta_, so long as "folks" choose to "say." The only exception
to this rule, and it merely proves it, is in the case of political
parties, when there are always two "folks say" which flatly contradict
each other; and sometimes there are half-a-dozen, no two of which are
ever precisely alike!

There I sat, as I afterward learned, "the observed of all observers,"
merely because it suited the purposes of those who wished to get away my
estate to raise various reports to my prejudice--not one of which, I am
happy to have it in my power to say, was in any manner true. The first
good look that I took at the congregation satisfied me that very much
the larger part of it consisted of those who did not belong to St.
Andrew's Church. Curiosity, or some worse feeling, had trebled the
number of Mr. Warren's hearers that day--or, it might be more correct to
say, of my observers.

There was no other interruption to the services than that which was
produced by the awkwardness of so many who were strangers to the ritual.
The habitual respect paid to religious rites kept every one in order;
and, in the midst of a feeling that was as malignant and selfish as well
could exist under circumstances of so little provocation, I was safe
from violence, and even from insult. As for myself, little was or could
be known of my character and propensities at Ravensnest. School,
college, and travelling, with winter residences in town, had made me a
sort of stranger in my own domain, and I was regarded through the
covenants of my leases, rather than through any known facts. The same
was true, though in a less degree, with my uncle, who had lived so much
abroad as to be considered a sort of half foreigner, and one who
preferred other countries to his own. This is an offence that is rarely
forgiven by the masses in America, though it is probably the most venial
sin that one who has had the opportunities of comparing can commit. Old
nations offer so many more inducements than young nations to tempt men
of leisure and cultivation to reside in them, that it is not surprising
the travelled American should prefer Europe to his own quarter of the
world; but the jealousy of a provincial people is not apt to forgive
this preference. For myself, I have heard it said, and I believe it to
be true, to a certain extent, that countries on the decline, supposing
them to have been once at the summit of civilization, make pleasanter
abodes for the idler than nations on the advance. This is one of the
reasons why Italy attracts so many more visitors than England, though
climate must pass for something in such a comparison. But these long
absences, and supposed preferences for foreign life, had made my uncle
Ro, in one sense, unpopular with the mass, which has been taught to
believe, by means of interested and fulsome eulogies on their own state
of society, that it implies something more than a want of taste, almost
a want of principle, to prefer any other. This want of popularity,
however, was a good deal relieved by a wide and deep conviction of my
uncle's probity, as well as of his liberality, his purse having no more
string to it than General Harrison's door was thought to have a latch.
But the case was very different with my grandmother. The early part of
her life had been spent at the Nest, and it was impossible so excellent
a woman could be anything but respected. She had, in truth, been a sore
impediment with the anti-renters; more especially in carrying out that
part of their schemes which is connected with traduction, and its
legitimate offspring, prejudice. It would hardly do to traduce this
noble-minded, charitable, spirited, and just woman; yet, hazardous as
the experiment must and did seem, it was attempted, and not altogether
without success. She was accused of an aristocratic preference of her
own family to the families of other people. Patt and I, it was urged,
were only her grandchildren, and had ample provision made for us in
other estates besides this--and a woman of Mrs. Littlepage's time of
life, it was said, who had one foot in the grave, ought to have too much
general philanthropy to give a preference to the interests of mere
grandchildren, over the interests of the children of men who had paid
her husband and sons rent, now, for quite sixty years. This attack had
come from the pulpit, too, or the top of a molasses hogshead, which was
made a substitute for a pulpit, by an itinerant preacher, who had taken
a bit of job-work, in which the promulgation of the tenets of the gospel
and those of anti-rentism was the great end in view.

As I have said, my good grandmother suffered somewhat in public
estimation, in consequence of this assault. It is true, had any one
openly charged the circulators of this silly calumny with their offence,
they would have stoutly denied it; but it was none the less certain that
this charge, among a hundred others, varying from it only in degree, and
not at all in character, was industriously circulated in order to render
the Littlepages unpopular; unpopularity being among us the sin that is
apt to entail all the evil consequences of every other offence.

The reader who is not acquainted with the interior of our social habits,
must not suppose that I am coloring for effect. So far from this, I am
quite conscious of having kept the tone of the picture down, it being an
undeniable truth that nothing of much interest, nowadays, is left to the
simple decision of principles and laws, in this part of the country at
least. The supremacy of numbers is so great, that scarce a private suit
of magnitude is committed to a jury, without attempts, more or less
direct, to influence the common mind in favor of one side or the other,
in the hope that the jurors will be induced to think as the majority
thinks. In Europe, it is known that judges were, nay, _are_, visited and
solicited by the parties; but here, it is the public that must be
treated in the same way. I am far from wishing to blazon the defects of
my own country, and I know from observation, that corresponding evils,
differing in their exterior aspects, and in their mode of acting, exist
elsewhere; but these are the forms in which some of our defects present
themselves, and he is neither a friend to his country, nor an honest
man, who wishes them to be bundled up and cloaked, instead of being
exposed, understood, and corrected. This notion of "_nil nisi bene_" has
done an infinite degree of harm to the country; and, through the
country, to freedom.

I do not think the worship of the temple amounted to any great matter
that day in St. Andrew's Church, Ravensnest. Quite half the congregation
was blundering through the liturgy, and every man who lost his place in
the prayer-book, or who could not find it at all, seemed to fancy it was
quite sufficient for the ritual of us semi-<DW7>s if he kept his eye on
_me_ and my canopied pew. How many pharisees were present, who actually
believed that I had caused my own barn to be burned, in order to throw
opprobrium on the "virtuous," "honest," and "hard-working" tenants, and
who gave credit to the stories affecting my title, and all the rest of
the stuff that calculating cupidity had set afloat in the country, I
have no way of knowing; but subsequent circumstances have given me
reason to suppose they were not a few. A great many men left the house
of God that morning, I make no doubt, whose whole souls were wrapped up
in effecting an act of the grossest injustice, professing to themselves
to thank God that they were not as wicked as the being whom they desired
to injure.

I stopped to say a word to Mr. Warren, in the vestry-room, after the
people were dismissed, for he had not passed the night with us at the
Nest, though his daughter had. After we had said a word about the
occurrence of the morning, the good rector having heard a rumor of the
arrest of certain incendiaries, without knowing who they were, I made a
more general remark or two previously to quitting the place.

"Your congregation was unusually large this morning, sir," I said,
smiling, "though not altogether as attentive as it might have been."

"I owe it to your return, Mr. Littlepage, aided by the events of the
past day or two. At one moment I was afraid that some secret project was
on foot, and that the day and place might be desecrated by some scene of
disgraceful violence. All has gone off well in that respect, however,
and I trust that no harm will come of this crowd. We Americans _have_ a
respect for sacred things, which will ordinarily protect the temple."

"Did you, then, think St. Andrew's ran any risk to-day, sir?"

Mr. Warren  a little, and he hesitated an instant before he
answered.

"You doubtless know, young sir," he said, "the nature of the feeling
that is now abroad in the country. With a view to obtain its ends,
anti-rentism drags every auxiliary it can find into its ranks, and,
among other things, it has assailed your canopied pew. I own, that, at
first, I apprehended some assault might be contemplated on _that_."

"Let it come, sir; the pew shall be altered on a general and right
principle, but not until it is let alone by envy, malice, and
covetousness. It would be worse to make a concession to these than to
let the pew stand another half century."

With these words in my mouth, I took my leave, hastening on to overtake
the girls in the fields.




CHAPTER XXV.

    "There is a pure republic--wild, yet strong--
      A 'fierce democracie,' where all are true
    To what themselves have voted--right or wrong--
      And to their laws denominated blue;
    (If red, they might to Draco's code belong.)"--HALLECK.


Such was my haste in quitting the church, that I did not turn to the
right or the left. I saw the light, but well-rounded form of Mary Warren
loitering along with the rest of the party, seemingly in waiting for me
to join them; and crossing the road, I sprang upon the stile, and thence
to the ground, coming up with the girls at the next instant.

"What is the meaning of the crowd, Hugh?" asked my sister, pointing down
the road with the stick of her parasol, as she put the question.

"Crowd! I have seen no crowd. Everybody had left the church before I
quitted it, and all has gone off peaceably. Ha! sure enough, that does
look like a crowd yonder in the highway. It seems an organized meeting,
by George! Yes, there is the chairman, seated on the upper rail of the
fence, and the fellow with a bit of paper in his hand is doubtless the
secretary. Very American, and regular, all that! Some vile project is
hatching, I'll answer for it, under the aspect of an expression of
public opinion. See, there is a chap speaking, and gesticulating
manfully!"

We all stopped, for a moment, and stood looking at the crowd, which
really had all the signs of a public meeting about it. There it had
been, the girls told me, ever since they had quitted the church, and
seemingly engaged much as it was at that moment. The spectacle was
curious, and the day being fine, while time did not press, we lingered
in the fields, occasionally stopping to look behind us, and note what
was passing on in the highway.

In this manner, we might have walked half the distance to the Nest,
when, on turning to take another look, we perceived that the crowd had
dispersed; some driving off in the ever-recurring one-horse wagon, some
on horseback and others on foot. Three men, however, were walking fast
in our direction, as if desirous of overtaking us. They had already
crossed the stile, and were on the path in the field, a route rarely or
never taken by any but those who desired to come to the house. Under the
circumstances, I determined at once to stop and wait for them. First
feeling in my pocket, and making sure of the "revolver," which is
getting to be an important weapon, now that private battles are fought
not only "yard-arm and yard-arm," but by regular "broadsides," starboard
and larboard, I intimated my intention to the girls.

"As these men are evidently coming in quest of me," I remarked, "it may
be as well, ladies, for you to continue your walk toward home, while I
wait for them on this stile."

"Very true," answered Patt. "They can have little to say that we shall
wish to hear, and you will soon overtake us. Remember, we dine at two on
Sundays, Hugh; the evening service commencing at four, in this month."

"No, no," said Mary Warren, hurriedly, "we ought not, _cannot_, quit Mr.
Littlepage. These men may do him some harm."

I was delighted with this simple, natural manifestation of interest, as
well as with the air of decision with which it was made. Mary herself
 at her own interest, but did not the less maintain the ground
she had taken.

"Why, of what use can we be to Hugh, dear, even admitting what you say
to be true?" answered Patt; "it were better for us to hurry on to the
house, and send those here who can assist him in such a case, than stand
by idle and useless."

As if profiting by this hint, Miss Coldbrooke and Miss Marston, who were
already some little distance in advance, went off almost on a run,
doubtless intending to put my sister's project into execution. But Mary
Warren stood firm, and Patt would not desert her friend, whatever might
have been her disposition to treat me with less consideration.

"It is true, we may not be able to assist Mr. Littlepage, should
violence be attempted," the first remarked; "but violence is, perhaps,
what is least to be apprehended. These wretched people so little regard
truth, and they will be three to one, if your brother be left alone;
that it is better we stay and _hear_ what is said, in order that we may
assert what the facts really were, should these persons see fit to
pervert them, as too often happens."

Both Patt and myself were struck with the prudence and sagacity of this
suggestion; and the former now came quite near to the stile, on which I
was still standing, with an air as steady and resolute as that of Mary
Warren herself. Just then the three men approached. Two of them I knew
by name, though scarcely in person, while the third was a total
stranger. The two of whom I had some knowledge, were named Bunce and
Mowatt, and were both tenants of my own; and, as I have since learned,
warm anti-renters. The stranger was a travelling demagogue, who had been
at the bottom of the whole affair connected with the late meeting, and
who had made his two companions his tools. The three came up to the
stile, with an air of great importance, nor could the dignity of their
demeanor have been greater had they been ambassadors extraordinary from
the Emperor of China.

"Mr. Littlepage," commenced Mr. Bunce, with a particularly important
physiognomy, "there has been a meeting of the public, this morning, at
which these resolutions was passed. We have been appointed a committee
to deliver a copy of them to you, and our duty is now performed by
handing you this paper."

"Not unless I see fit to accept it, I presume, sir," was my answer.

"I should think no man, in a free country, would refuse to receive a set
of resolutions that has been passed by a meeting of his
fellow-citizens."

"That might depend on circumstances; the character of the resolutions,
in particular. The freedom of the country it is, precisely, which gives
one man the same right to say he cares nothing about your resolutions,
as it does you to pass them."

"But you have not looked at the resolutions, sir, and until you do, you
cannot know how you may like them."

"That is very true; but I have looked at their bearers, have seen their
manner, and do not quite like the assumption of power which says any
body of men can send me resolutions, whether I like to receive them or
not."

This declaration seemed to strike the committee aghast! The idea that
_one_ man should hesitate to submit himself to a yoke imposed by a
_hundred_, was so new and inconceivable to those who deem majorities all
in all, that they hardly knew how to take it.[29] At first there was an
obvious disposition to resent the insult; then came reflection, which
probably told them that such a course might not prove so well, the whole
terminating in the more philosophical determination of getting along
easily.

[Footnote 29: The prevalence of the notion of the omnipotence of
majorities, in America, is so wide-spread and deep, among the people in
general, as to form a distinctive trait in the national character. It is
doing an infinity of mischief, by being mistaken for the governing
principle of the institutions, when in fact it is merely a necessary
expedient to decide certain questions which must be decided by somebody,
and in some mode or other. Kept in its proper sphere, the use of
majorities is replete with justice, so far as justice _can_ be exercised
among men; abused, it opens the highway to the most intolerable tyranny.
As a matter of course, the errors connected with this subject vary
through all the gradations of intellect and selfishness. The following
anecdote will give the reader some notion how the feeling impressed a
stranger shortly after his arrival in this country.

A year or two since the writer had in his service an Irishman who had
been only two years in the country. It was a part of this man's duty to
look after the welfare of certain pigs, of which one occupied the
position of a "runt." "Has your honor looked at the pigs lately?" said
the honest fellow, one day. "No, not lately, Pat; is there any change?"
"That there is, indeed, sir, and a great change. The little fellow is
getting the _majority_ of the rest, and will make the best hog of 'em
all!"--EDITOR.]

"Am I to understand, Mr. Littlepage, that you refuse to accept the
resolutions of a public meeting?"

"Yes; of half a dozen public meetings put together, if those resolutions
are offensive, or are offered offensively."

"As to the resolutions, you can know nothing, having never seen them. Of
the right of any number of the people to pass such resolutions as they
may think proper, I presume there can be no question."

"Of that right, sir, there is a very great question, as has been settled
within the last few years, in our own courts. But, even if the right
existed, and in as broad a way as you seem to think, it would not form a
right to force these resolutions on me."

"I am, then, to tell the people you refuse even to read their
resolutions, 'Squire Littlepage?"

"You can tell them what you please, sir. I know of no people, except in
a legal sense, and under the limited powers that they exercise by law.
As for this new power, which is rising up in the country, and has the
impudence to call itself the people, though composed of little knots of
men got together by management, and practised on by falsehood, it has
neither my respect nor dread; and as I hold it in contempt, I shall
treat it with contempt whenever it comes in my way."

"I am, then, to tell the people of Ravensnest you hold them in contempt,
sir?"

"I authorize you tell the people of Ravensnest nothing, as coming from
me, for I do not know that the people of Ravensnest have employed you.
If you will ask me, respectfully, as if you were soliciting a favor
instead of demanding a right, to read the contents of the paper you hold
in your hand, I may be willing to comply. What I object to is a handful
of men getting together, setting themselves up as the people, pretending
to authority in that capacity, and claiming a right to _force_ their
notions on other folks."

The three committee-men now drew back a few paces, and consulted
together apart for two or three minutes. While they were thus employed,
I heard the sweet gentle voice of Mary Warren say at my elbow--"Take
their resolutions, Mr. Littlepage, and get rid of them. I dare say they
are very silly, but you will get rid of them all the sooner by receiving
the paper." This was woman's advice, which is a little apt to err on the
side of concession, when her apprehensions are aroused; but I was spared
the pain of not complying with it, by the altered tone of the trio, who
now came up to the stile again, having apparently come to a final
decision in the premises.

"Mr. Hugh Roger Littlepage, junior," said Bunce, in a solemn voice, and
in a manner as precise as if he were making some legal tender that was
of the last importance, and which required set phrases, "I now ask you,
in a most respectful manner, if you will consent to receive this paper.
It contains certain resolutions, passed with great unanimity by the
people of Ravensnest, and which may be found to affect you. I am
directed respectfully to ask you, if you will accept this copy of the
said resolutions."

I cut the rest of the speech short by receiving the proffered paper, and
I thought all three of the worthy ambassadors looked disappointed at my
having done so. This gave a new turn to my ideas, and had they now
demanded their resolutions back again, they should not have had them, so
long as the revolvers could do their duty. For a moment, I do believe
Bunce was for trying the experiment. He and his companions would have
been delighted to have it in their power to run up and down the country
crying out that the aristocrat-landlord, young Littlepage, held the
people in contempt, and had refused even to accept the resolutions they
had deigned, in their majesty, to pass. As it was, however, I had
sufficiently rebuked the presumption of these pretenders to liberty,
avoided all the consequences of their clamor in that behalf, and had an
opportunity to gratify a curiosity to know what the leaders of the
meeting had been about, and to read their resolutions. I say, the
leaders of the meeting, for it is very certain the meetings themselves,
on all such occasions, have no more to do with the forming or
entertaining the opinions that are thus expressed, than if they had been
in Kamtschatka the whole time. Folding the paper, therefore, and putting
it in my pocket, I bowed to the committee, saying, as I descended the
stile on the other side of the fence--

"It is well, gentlemen; if the resolutions require any notice, they'll
be sure to receive it. Public meetings held of a Sunday are so unusual
in this part of the world, that this may have interest with that small
portion of the State which does not dwell at Ravensnest."

I thought the committee was a little abashed; but the stranger, or the
travelling demagogue, caught at my words, and answered as I walked away,
in company with Patt and Mary Warren--

"The better day, the better deed. The matter related to the Sabbath, and
no time so suitable as the Sabbath to act on it."

I will own I was dying of curiosity to read the resolutions, but dignity
prevented any such thing until we had reached a spot where the path led
through a copse, that concealed us from observation. Once under that
cover, however, I eagerly drew out the paper, the two girls drawing near
to listen, with as lively an interest as that I felt myself in the
result.

"Here you may see at a glance," I cried, shaking open the folds of the
paper, "the manner in which the _people_ so often pass their
resolutions! All this writing has a very school-master air, and has been
done with care and a deliberation, whereas there was certainly no
opportunity to make a copy as fair as this of anything out in the
highway where the meeting was actually held. This proves that matters
had been cut and dried for the sovereign people, who, like other
monarchs, are saved a great deal of trouble by their confidential
servants."

"I dare say," said Patt, "two or three men down at the village prepared
everything, and then brought their work up to the meeting to be read and
approved, and to go forth as public sentiment."

"If it were only honesty approved by even those who heard it read, it
would be another matter; but two-thirds of every meeting are nothing but
dough-faces, that are moulded to look whichever way the skilful manager
may choose. But let us see what these notable resolutions are; we may
like them, possibly, after having read them."

"It is so extraordinary to have a public meeting of a Sunday in this
part of the world!"

I now set about reading the contents of the paper, which, at a glance, I
saw had been very carefully prepared for publication, and no doubt would
soon figure in some of the journals. Fortunately, this business has been
so much overdone, and so many meetings are held that flatly contradict
each other, though all represent public sentiment, fire is made so
effectually to fight fire, that the whole procedure is falling into
contempt, and the public is actually losing the great advantage which,
under a more temperate use of its power, it might possess, by making
known from time to time, as serious occasions offered, its true opinions
and wishes. As things actually are, every man of intelligence is fully
aware that simulated public opinions are much the most noisy and active
in the country, and he regards nothing of the sort of which he hears or
reads, unless he happen to know something of the authority. It is the
same with the newspaper press generally; into such deep discredit has it
fallen, that not only is its power to do evil much curtailed, but it has
nearly lost all power to do good; for, by indulging in licentiousness,
and running into the habit of crying "wolf," nobody is disposed to
believe, were the beast actually committing its ravages in the flocks of
the nation. There are but two ways for a man to regain a position from
which he has departed; the one is by manfully retracing his steps, and
the other is by making a circuit so complete that all who choose to
watch him may see and understand all sides of him, and estimate him
accordingly. The last is likely to be the career of demagogueism and the
press; both of which have already gone so far as to render retreat next
to impossible, and who can only regain any portion of public confidence
by being satisfied with completing their circuit, and falling in the
rear of the nation, content to follow those whom it has been their
craving ambition to lead.

"At a meeting of the citizens of Ravensnest," I began to read aloud,
"spontaneously convened, June 22d, 1845, in the public highway, after
attending divine service in the Episcopal meeting-house, according to
the forms of the established denomination of England, on the church and
state system, Onesiphoras Hayden, Esquire, was called to the chair, and
Pulaski Todd, Esquire, was appointed secretary. After a luminous and
eloquent exposition of the objects of the meeting, and some most pungent
strictures on aristocracy and the rights of man, from Demosthenes
Hewlett and John Smith, Esquires, the following expression of public
sentiment was sustained by an undivided unanimity:--_Resolved_, That a
temperate expression of public opinion is useful to the rights of
freemen, and is one of the most precious privileges of freedom, as the
last has been transmitted to us in a free country by our ancestors, who
fought and bled for free and equal institutions on free and equal
grounds.

"_Resolved_, That we prize this privilege, and shall ever watch over its
exercise with vigilance, the price of liberty.

"_Resolved_, That, as all men are equal in the eyes of the law, so are
they much more so in the eyes of God.

"_Resolved_, That meeting-houses are places constructed for the
convenience of the people, and that nothing ought to be admitted into
them that is opposed to public sentiment, or which can possibly offend
it.

"_Resolved_, That, in our judgment, the seat that is good enough for one
man is good enough for another; that we know no differences in families
and races, and that pews ought to be constructed on the principles of
equality, as well as laws.

"_Resolved_, That canopies are royal distinctions, and quite unsuited to
republicans; and most of all, to republican meeting-houses.

"_Resolved_, That religion should be adapted to the institutions of a
country, and that a republican form of government is entitled to a
republican form of religion; and that we do not see the principles of
freedom in privileged seats in the house of God."

"That resolution has been got up as a commentary on what has been
circulated so much, of late, in the newspapers," cried Mary Warren,
quickly; "in which it has been advanced, as a recommendation of certain
sects, that their dogmas and church-government are more in harmony with
republicanism than certain others, our own Church included."

"One would think," I answered, "if this conformity be a recommendation,
that it would be the duty of men to make their institutions conform to
the Church, instead of the Church's conforming to the institutions."

"Yes; but it is not the fashion to reason in this way, nowadays.
Prejudice is just as much appealed to in matters connected with
religion, as with anything else."

"_Resolved_," I continued to read, "That in placing a canopy over his
pew, in St. Andrew's meeting-house, Ravensnest, General Cornelius
Littlepage conformed to the spirit of a past age, rather than to the
spirit of the present time, and that we regard its continuance there as
an aristocratical assumption of a superiority that is opposed to the
character of the government, offensive to liberty, and dangerous as an
example."

"Really that is too bad!" exclaimed Patt, vexed at heart, even while she
laughed at the outrageous silliness of the resolutions, and all
connected with them. "Dear, liberal-minded grandpapa, who fought and
bled for that very liberty about which these people cant so much, and
who was actively concerned in framing the very institutions that they do
not understand, and are constantly violating, is accused to being false
to what were notoriously his own principles!"

"Never mind that, my dear; there only remain three more resolutions: let
us hear them. _Resolved_, That we see an obvious connection between
crowned heads, patents of nobility, canopied pews, personal
distinctions, leasehold tenures, land-LORDS, days' works, fat fowls,
quarter-sales, three-lives leases, and RENT.

"_Resolved_, That we are of opinion that, when the owners of barns wish
them destroyed, for any purpose whatever, there is a mode less alarming
to a neighborhood than by setting them on fire, and thus giving rise to
a thousand reports and accusations that are wanting in the great merit
of truth.

"_Resolved_, That a fair draft be made of these resolutions, and a copy
of them delivered to one Hugh Roger Littlepage, a citizen of Ravensnest,
in the county of Washington; and that Peter Bunce, Esq., John Mowatt,
Esq., and Hezekiah Trott, Esq., be a commitee to see that this act be
performed.

"Whereupon the meeting adjourned, _sine die_. Onesiphoras Hayden,
chairman; Pulaski Todd, secretary."

"Whe-e-e-w!" I whistled, "here's gunpowder enough for another Waterloo!"

"What means that last resolution, Mr. Littlepage?" asked Mary Warren,
anxiously. "That about the barn."

"Sure enough; there is a latent meaning there which has its sting. Can
the scoundrels intend to insinuate that I caused that barn to be set on
fire!"

"If they should, it is scarcely more than they have attempted to do with
every landlord they have endeavored to rob," said Patt, with spirit.
"Calumny seems a natural weapon of those who get their power by
appealing to numbers."

"That is natural enough, my dear sister; since prejudice and passion are
quite as active agents as reasons and facts, in the common mind. But
this is a slander that shall be looked to. If I find that these men
really wish to circulate a report that I caused my own barn to be set on
fire--pshaw! nonsense, after all; have we not Newcome, and that other
rascal in confinement, at this moment, for attempting to set fire to my
_house_?"

"Be not too confident, Mr. Littlepage," said Mary, with an anxiety so
pointed that I could not but feel its flattery--"my dear father tells me
he has lost most of his confidence in innocence, except as One above all
weaknesses shall be the judge: this very story may be got up expressly
to throw distrust on your accusations against the two incendiaries you
have taken in the act. Remember how much of the facts will depend on
your own testimony."

"I shall have _you_ to sustain me, Miss Warren, and the juror is not
living, who would hesitate to believe that to which you will testify.
But here we are approaching the house; we will talk no more on the
subject, lest it distress my grandmother."

We found all quiet at the Nest, no report of any sort having come from
the red-men. Sunday was like any other day to them, with the exception
that they so far deferred to our habits as to respect it, to a certain
extent, while in our presence. Some writers have imagined that the
aborigines of America are of the lost tribes of Israel; but it seems to
me that such a people could never have existed apart, uninfluenced by
foreign association, and preserved no tradition, no memorial of the
Jewish Sabbath. Let this be as it may, John, who met us at the door,
which we reached just after my uncle and grandmother, reported all
quiet, so far as he knew anything of the state of the farm-buildings.

"They got enough last night, I'se thinking, Mr. Hugh, and has found out
by this time, that it's better to light a fire in one of their own
cook-stoves, than come to light it on the floor of a gentleman's
kitchen. I never heard it said, sir, that the Hamericans was as much
Hirish as they be Henglish, but to me they seems to grow every day more
like the wild Hirishers, of whom we used to hear so much in Lun'un. Your
honored father, sir, would never have believed that his own dwelling
would be entered, at night, by men who are his very neighbors, and who
act like burglariouses, as if they were so many Newgate birds--no. Why,
Mr. Hugh, this 'Squire Newcome, as they call him, is an hattorney, and
has often dined here at the Nest. I have 'anded him his soup, and fish,
and wine, fifty times, just as if he was a gentleman, and to his sister,
Miss Hopportunity, too; and they to come to set fire to the house, at
midnight!"

"You do Miss Opportunity injustice, John; for _she_ has not had the
least connection with the matter."

"Well, sir, nobody knows anything nowaday--I declare, my eyes be getting
weak, or there is the young lady, at this very instant!"

"Young lady! where?--you do not mean Opportunity Newcome, surely?"

"I does though, sir, and it's she, sure enough. If that isn't Miss
Hopportunity, the prisoner that the savages has got up in the cellar of
the old farm-house, isn't her brother."

John was quite right; there was Opportunity standing in the very path,
and at the very spot where I had last seen her disappear from my sight,
the past night. That spot was just where the path plunged into the
wooded ravine, and so far was her person concealed by the descent, that
we could only perceive the head, and the upper part of the body. The
girl had shown herself just that much, in order to attract my attention,
in which she had no sooner succeeded, than, by moving downward a few
paces, she was entirely hid from sight. Cautioning John to say nothing
of what had passed, I sprang down the steps, and walked in the direction
of the ravine, perfectly satisfied I was expected, and far from certain
that this visit did not portend further evil.

The distance was so short that I was soon at the verge of the ravine,
but when I reached it Opportunity had disappeared. Owing to the thicket,
her concealment was easily obtained, while she might be within a few
yards from me, and I plunged downward, bent only on ascertaining her
object. One gleam of distrust shot across my mind, I will own, as I
strided down the declivity; but it was soon lost in the expectation and
curiosity that were awakened by the appearance of the girl.

I believe it has already been explained, that in this part of the lawn a
deep, narrow ravine had been left in wood, and that the bridle-path that
leads to the hamlet had been carried directly through it, for effect.
This patch of wood may be three or four acres in extent, following the
course of the ravine until it reaches the meadows, and it contains three
or four rustic seats, intended to be used in the warmer months. As
Opportunity was accustomed to all the windings and turnings of the
place, she had posted herself near one of these seats, which stood in a
dense thicket, but so near the main path as to enable her to let me know
where she was to be found, by a low utterance of my name, as my tread
announced my approach. Springing up the by-path, I was at her side in an
instant. I do believe that, now she had so far succeeded, the girl sunk
upon the seat from inability to stand.

"Oh! Mr. Hugh!" she exclaimed, looking at me with a degree of nature and
concern in her countenance that it was not usual to see there--"Sen--my
poor brother Sen--what _have_ I done?--what _have_ I done?"

"Will you answer me one or two questions, Miss Opportunity, with
frankness, under the pledge that the replies never shall be used to
injure you or yours? This is a very serious affair, and should be
treated with perfect frankness."

"I will answer anything to _you_--any question you can put me, though I
might blush to do so--but," laying her hand familiarly, not to say
tenderly, on my arm--"why should we be _Mr._ Hugh and _Miss_ Opportunity
to each other, when we were so long Hugh and Op? Call me Op again, and I
shall feel that the credit of my family and the happiness of my poor Sen
are, after all, in the keeping of a true friend."

"No one can be more willing to do this than myself, my dear Op, and I am
willing to be Hugh again. But, you know all that has passed."

"I do--yes, the dreadful news has reached us, and mother wouldn't leave
me a moment's peace till I stole out again to see you."

"Again? Was your mother, then, acquainted with the visit of last night?"

"Yes, yes--she knew it all, and advised it all."

"Your mother is a most thoughtful and prudent parent," I answered,
biting my lip, "and I shall know hereafter how much I am indebted to
her. To _you_, Opportunity, I owe the preservation of my house, and
possibly the lives of all who are most dear to me."

"Well, that's something, any how. There's no grief that hasn't its
relief. But, you must know, Hugh, that I never could or did suppose that
Sen himself would be so weak as to come in his own person on such an
errand! I didn't want telling to understand that, in anti-rent times,
fire and sword are the law--but, take him in general, Sen is altogether
prudent and cautious. I'd a bit my tongue off before I'd got my own
brother into so cruel a scrape. No, no--don't think so ill of me as to
suppose I came to tell of Sen."

"It is enough for me that I know how much trouble you took to warn me of
danger. It is unnecessary for me to think of _you_ in any other light
than that of a friend."

"Ah, Hugh! how happy and merry we all of us used to be a few years
since! That was before your Miss Coldbrookes, and Miss Marstons, and
Mary Warrens ever saw the country. _Then_ we _did_ enjoy ourselves, and
I hope such times will return. If Miss Martha would only stick to old
friends, instead of running after new ones, Ravensnest would be
Ravensnest again."

"You are not to censure my sister for loving her own closest associates
best. She is several years our junior, you will remember, and was
scarcely of an age to be _our_ companion six years ago."

Opportunity had the grace to color a little, for she had only used Patt
as a cloak to make her assaults on me, and she knew as well as I did
that my sister was good seven years younger than herself. This feeling,
however, was but momentary, and she next turned to the real object of
this visit.

"What am I to tell mother, Hugh? You will let Sen off, I know?"

I reflected, for the first time, on the hardships of the case; but felt
a strong reluctance to allow incendiaries to escape.

"The facts must be known, soon, all over the town," I remarked.

"No fear of that; they are pretty much known already. News _does_ fly
_fast_ at Ravensnest, all must admit."

"Ay, if it would only fly _true_. But your brother can hardly remain
here, after such an occurrence."

"Lord! How you talk! If the law will only let him alone, who'd trouble
him for this? You haven't been home long enough to learn that folks
don't think half as much of setting fire to a house, in anti-rent times,
as they'd think of a trespass under the old-fashioned law. Anti-rent
alters the whole spirit."

How true was this! And we have lads among us, who have passed from their
tenth to their eighteenth and twentieth years, in a condition of society
that is almost hopelessly abandoned to the most corrupting influence of
all the temptations that beset human beings. It is not surprising that
men begin to regard arson as a venial offence, when the moral feeling of
the community is thus unhinged, and boys are suffered to grow into
manhood in the midst of notions so fatal to everything that is just and
safe.

"But the law itself will not be quite as complaisant as the 'folks.' It
will scarcely allow incendiaries to escape; and your brother would be
compelled to flee the land."

"What of that? How many go off, and stay off for a time; and that's
better than going up north to work at the new prison. I'm not a bit
afraid of Sen's being hanged, for these an't hanging times, in this
country; but it is _some_ disgrace to a family to have a member in the
State's prison. As for any punishment that is lasting, you can see how
it is, as well as I. There've been men murdered about anti-rentism, but,
Lord! the Senators and Assemblymen will raise such a rumpus, if you go
to punish them, that it won't be long, if things go on as they have,
before it will be thought more honorable to be put in jail for shooting
a peace-officer, than to stay out of it for not having done it. Talk's
all; and if folks have a mind to make anything honorable, they've only
to say so often enough to make it out."

Such were the notions of Miss Opportunity Newcome, on the subject of
modern morals, and how far was she from the truth? I could not but smile
at the manner in which she treated things, though there was a homely and
practical common sense in her way of thinking that was probably of more
efficiency than would have been the case with a more refined and nicer
code. She looked at things as they are, and that is always something
toward success.

As for myself, I was well enough disposed to consider Opportunity, in
this unfortunate affair of the fire, for it Would have been a cruel
thing to suffer the girl to imagine she had been an instrument in
destroying her brother. It is true, there is no great danger of a
rogue's being hanged, nowadays, and Seneca was not sufficiently a
gentleman, though very tenacious of the title, to endanger his neck. Had
he been a landlord, and caught lighting a fire on the kitchen-floor of
one of the tenants, the State would not grow hemp enough for his
execution; but it was a very different thing to catch a tenant at that
work. I could not but ask myself, how many of the "honorable gentlemen"
at Albany would interfere in _my_ behalf, had matters been reversed? for
this is the true mode of arriving at the "spirit of the institutions;"
or, rather, I have just as good a right to affirm such is their
"spirit," as any one has to assert that the leasehold tenure is opposed
to them; the laws and institutions themselves being equally antagonist
to both.

The results of the interview I had with Opportunity were: firstly, I
kept my heart just where it was at its commencement, though I am not
certain that it was in my own custody; secondly, the young lady left me
much encouraged on the subject of the credit of the Newcomes, though I
took very good care not to put myself in her power by promising to
compromise felony; thirdly, I invited the sister to come openly to the
Nest, that evening, as one of the means to be employed in attaining her
ends--as respects Seneca, be it remembered, not as respects _me_; and
lastly, we parted just as good friends as we ever had been, and
entertaining exactly the same views as regards each other. What those
views were it may not be modest in me to record.




CHAPTER XXVI.

     "If men desire the rights of property, they must take their
     consequences; distinction in social classes. Without the rights
     of property civilization can hardly exist, while the highest
     class of improvements is probably the result of the very social
     distinctions that so many decry. The great political problem to
     be solved is to ascertain if the social distinctions that are
     inseparable from civilization can really exist with perfect
     equality in political rights. We are of opinion they can; and
     as much condemn him who vainly contends for a visionary and
     impracticable social equality, as we do him who would deny to
     men equal opportunities for advancement."--_Political Essay._


My interview with Opportunity Newcome remained a secret between those
who first knew of it. The evening service in St. Andrew's was attended
only by the usual congregation, all the curiosity of the multitude
seeming to have been allayed by the visit in the morning. The remainder
of the day passed as usual, and after enjoying a pleasant eventide, and
the earlier hours of the night in the company of the girls, I retired
early to bed, and slept profoundly until morning. My Uncle Ro partook of
my own philosophical temper, and we encouraged each other in it by a
short conversation that occurred in his room before we respectively
retired to rest.

"I agree with you, Hugh," said my uncle, in reply to a remark of my own;
"there is little use in making ourselves unhappy about evils that _we_
cannot help. If we are to be burnt up and stripped of our property, we
_shall_ be burnt up and stripped of our property. I have a competency
secured in Europe, and we can all live on _that_, with economy, should
the worst come to the worst."

"It is a strange thing to hear an American talk of seeking a refuge of
any sort in the Old World!"

"If matters proceed in the lively manner they have for the last ten
years, you'll hear of it often. Hitherto, the rich of Europe have been
in the habit of laying by a penny in America against an evil day, but
the time will soon come, unless there is a great change, when the rich
of America will return the compliment in kind. We are worse off than if
we were in a state of nature, in many respects; having _our_ hands tied
by the responsibility that belongs to our position and means, while
those who choose to assail us are under a mere nominal restraint. They
make the magistrates, who are altogether in their interests; and they
elect the sheriffs who are to see the laws executed. The theory is, that
the people are sufficiently virtuous to perform all these duties well;
but no provision has been made for the case in which the people
themselves happen to go astray, _en masse_."

"We have our governors and masters at Albany, sir."

"Yes, we _have_ our governors and servants at Albany, and there they
are! There has not been the time, probably, since this infernal spirit
first had its rise among us, that a clear, manly, energetic and
well-principled proclamation alone, issued by the governor of this
State, would not have aroused all the better feelings of the community
and put this thing down; but, small as would have been that tribute to
the right, it has never been paid, and, until we drop double-distilled
patriots, and have recourse again to the old-fashioned, high-principled
gentlemen for offices of mark, it never will be done. Heaven preserve me
from extra-virtuous, patriotic, and enlightened citizens; no good ever
comes of them."

"I believe the wisest way, sir, is to make up our minds that we have
reached the point of reaction in the institutions, and be ready to
submit to the worst. I keep the 'revolver' well primed, and hope to
escape being burnt up at least."

After a little more such discourse, we parted and sought our pillows,
and I can say that I never slept more soundly in my life. If I did lose
my estate, it was what other men had suffered and survived, and why
might not I as well as another? It is true, those other men were, in the
main, the victims of what are called tyrants; but others, again, had
certainly been wronged by the masses. Thousands have been impoverished
in France, for instance, by the political confiscations of the
multitude, and thousands enriched by ill-gotten gains, profiting by the
calamities of those around them; and what has happened there might
happen here. Big words ought to pass for nothing. No man was ever a whit
more free because he was the whole time boasting of his liberty, and I
was not now to learn that when numbers did inflict a wrong, it was
always of the most intolerable character. Ordinarily, they were not much
disposed to this species of crime; but men in masses were no more
infallible than individuals. In this philosophic mood I slept.

I was awoke next morning by John's appearing at my bedside, after having
opened the shutter of my window.

"I declare to you, Mr. Hugh," began this well-meaning, but sometimes
officious servant, "I don't know what will come next at Ravensnest, now
the evil spirit has got uppermost among the inhabitants!"

"Tut, tut, John--what you call the evil spirit is only the 'spirit of
the institutions;' and is to be honored, instead of disliked."

"Well, sir, I don't know what they calls it, for they talks so much
about the hinstitutions in this country, I never can find out what they
would be at. There was a hinstitution near where I lived in my last
place, at the West End, in Lun'on, and there they taught young masters
to speak and write Latin and Greek. But hinstitutions in Hamerica must
mean something, for them as doesn't know any more Latin than I do seems
to be quite hintimate with these Hamerican hinstitutions. But, Mr. Hugh,
would you, _could_ you, believe the people committed parricide last
night?"

"I am not at all surprised at it, for to me they have seemed to be bent
on matricide for some time, calling the country their mother."

"It's hawful, sir--it's truly hawful, when a whole people commits such a
crime as parricide! I know'd you would be shocked to hear it, Mr. Hugh,
and so I just came in to let you know it."

"I am infinitely obliged to you for this attention, my good fellow, and
shall be still more so when you tell me all about it."

"Yes, sir, most willingly; and most unwillingly, too. But there's no use
in 'iding the fact; it's gone, Mr. Hugh!"

"What is gone, John? Speak out, my good fellow; I can bear it."

"The pew, sir--or, rather that beautiful canopy that covered it and made
it look so much like the lord mayor's seat in Guildhall. I 'ave hadmired
and honored that canopy, sir, as the most helegant hobject in this
country, sir."

"So they have destroyed it at last, have they? Encouraged and sustained
by an expression of public sentiment, as proclaimed in a meeting that
had a chairman and secretary, they have actually cut it down, I
suppose?"

"They have, sir; and a pretty job they've made of it. There it stands,
up at Miller's, hover his pig-pen!"

This was not a very heroic termination of the career of the obnoxious
canopy; but it was one that made me laugh heartily. John was a little
offended at this levity, and he soon left me to finish my toilet myself.
I dare say, many of the honest folk of Ravensnest would have been as
much surprised as John himself, at the indifference I manifested at the
fate of this dignified pew. But, certainly, so far as my own social
elevation, or social depression, was concerned, I cared nothing about
it. It left me just where I was--neither greater nor otherwise; and as
for any monuments to let the world know who my predecessors had been, or
who I was at that moment, the country itself, or the part of it in which
we dwelt, was sufficient. Its history must be forgotten, or changed,
before our position could be mistaken; though I dare say the time will
come when some extremely sublimated friend of equality will wish to
extinguish all the lights of the past, in order that there may not exist
that very offensive distinction of one man's name being illustrated,
while another man's name is not. The pride of family is justly deemed
the most offensive of all pride, since a man may value himself on a
possession to which he has not the smallest claim in the way of personal
merit, while those of the highest personal claims are altogether
deprived of an advantage, to the enjoyment of which ancestors alone have
created the right. Now, the institutions, both in their letter and their
spirit, _do_ favor justice in this particular, as far as they can;
though even they are obliged to sustain one of the most potent agents to
such distinctions, by declaring, through the laws, that the child shall
succeed to the estate of the father. When we shall get everything
straight, and as it ought to be, in this progressive country, heaven
only knows; for I find my tenants laying stress on the fact that _their_
fathers have leased my lands for generations, while they are quite
willing to forget that _my_ fathers were the lessors all the while.

I found all four of the girls on the piazza, breathing the air of as
balmy a summer morning as a bountiful nature ever bestowed. They had
heard of the fate of the canopy, which affected them differently, and
somewhat according to temperament. Henrietta Coldbrooke laughed at it
violently, and in a way I did not like; your laughing young lady rarely
having much beyond merriment in her. I make all allowance for youthful
spirits, and a natural disposition to turn things into fun; but it was
too much to laugh at this exploit of the anti-renters for quite half an
hour together. I liked Anne Marston's manner of regarding it better. She
smiled a good deal, and laughed just enough to show that she was not
insensible to the effect of an absurdity; and then she looked as if she
felt that a wrong had been done. As for Patt, she was quite indignant at
the insult; nor was she very backward in letting her opinions be known.
But Mary Warren's manner of viewing the affair pleased me best, as
indeed was fast getting to be the fact with most of her notions and
conceits. She manifested neither levity nor resentment. Once or twice,
when a droll remark escaped Henrietta, she laughed a little; a very
little, and involuntarily, as it might be--just enough to prove that
there was fun in her--when she would make some sensible observation, to
the effect that the evil temper that was up in the country was the true
part of the transaction that deserved attention; and that she _felt_
this as well as saw it. Nobody seemed to care for the canopy--not even
my excellent grandmother, in whose youth the church had been built, when
distinctions of this sort were more in accordance with the temper and
habits of the times than they are to-day. I had been on the piazza just
long enough to note this difference in the manner of the girls, when my
grandmother joined us.

"Oh! grandmother, have you heard what those wretches of 'Injins,' as
they are rightly named, have been doing with the canopy of the pew?"
cried Patt, who had been at the bedside of our venerable parent and
kissed her an hour before; "they have torn it down, and placed it over
the pen of the pigs!"

A common laugh, in which Patt herself now joined, interrupted the answer
for a moment, old Mrs. Littlepage herself manifesting a slight
disposition to make one of the amused.

"I have heard it all, my dear," returned my grandmother, "and, on the
whole, think the thing is well enough gotten rid of. I do not believe it
would have done for Hugh to have had it taken down under a menace, while
it is perhaps better that it should no longer stand."

"Were such things common in your youth, Mrs. Littlepage?" asked Mary
Warren.

"Far from uncommon; though less so in country than in town churches. You
will remember that we were but recently separated from England when St.
Andrew's was built, and that most of the old colonial ideas prevailed
among us. People in that day had very different notions of social
station from those which now exist; and New York was, in a certain
sense, one of the most, perhaps _the_ most, aristocratic colony in the
country. It was somewhat so under the Dutch, republicans as they were,
with its patroons; but when the colony was transferred to the English,
it became a royal colony at once, and English notions were introduced as
a matter of course. In no other colony were there as many manors,
perhaps; the slavery of the South introducing quite a different system
there, while the policy of Penn and New England generally was more
democratic. I apprehend, Roger, that we owe this anti-rent struggle, and
particularly the feebleness with which it is resisted, to the difference
of opinion that prevails among the people of New England, who have sent
so many immigrants among us, and our own purely New York notions."

"You are quite right, my dear mother," answered my uncle, "though New
Yorkers, by descent, are not wanting among the tenants to sustain the
innovation. The last act either from direct cupidity, or to gain
popularity with a set, whereas, as I view the matter, the first are
influenced by the notions of the state of society from which either they
themselves, or their parents, were directly derived. A very large
proportion of the present population of New York is of New England
origin. Perhaps one-third have this extraction, either as born there, or
as the sons or grandsons of those who were. Now, in New England
generally, great equality of condition exists, more especially when you
rise above the lower classes; there being very few, out of the large
trading towns, who would be deemed rich in New York, and scarcely such a
thing as a large landholder at all. The relation of landlord and tenant,
as connected with what we should term estates, is virtually unknown to
New England; though Maine may afford some exceptions. This circumstance
is owing to the peculiar origin of the people, and to the fact that
emigration has so long carried off the surplus population; the bulk of
those who remain being able to possess freeholds. There is a natural
antipathy in men who have been educated in such a state of society to
anything that seems to place others in positions they do not and cannot
occupy themselves. Now, while the population of New York may be
one-third, perhaps, of New England descent, and consequently more or
less of New England notions, a much larger proportion of the lawyers,
editors of newspapers, physicians, and active politicians, are of that
class. We think little, and talk little of these circumstances; for no
nation inquires into its moral influences, and what I may call its
political statistics, less than the Americans; but they produce large
consequences."

"Am I to understand you, sir, to say that anti-rentism is of New England
origin?"

"Perhaps not. Its origin was probably more directly derived from the
devil, who has tempted the tenants as he is known once to have tempted
the Saviour. The outbreak was originally among the descendants of the
Dutch, for they happened to be the tenants, and, as for the theories
that have been broached, they savor more of the reaction of European
abuses than of anything American at all; and least of all of anything
from New England, where there is generally a great respect for the
rights of property, and unusual reverence for the law. Still, I think we
owe our greatest danger to the opinions and habits of those of New
England descent among us."

"This seems a little paradoxical, uncle Ro, and I confess I should like
to hear it explained."

"I will endeavor so to do, and in as few words as possible. The real
danger is among those who influence legislation. Now, you will find
hundreds of men among us who feel the vast importance of respecting
contracts, who perceive much of the danger of anti-rentism, and who wish
to see it defeated in its violent and most offensive forms, but who lean
against the great landlords, on account of those secret jealousies which
cause most men to dislike advantages in which they do not share, and who
would gladly enough see all leases abolished, if it could be done
without a too violent conflict with justice. When you talk with these
men, they will make you the commonplace but unmeaning profession of
wishing to see every husbandman the owner in fee of his farm, instead of
a tenant, and that it is a _hardship_ to pay rent, and quantities of
such twaddle. Henry the Fourth, in a much better spirit, is said to have
wished that each of his subjects had "_une poule dans son pot_," but
that wish did not put it there. So it is with this idle profession of
wishing to see every American husbandman a freeholder. We all know such
a state of society never did exist, and probably never will; and it is
merely placing a vapid pretension to philanthropy in the foreground of a
picture that should rigidly represent things as they are. For my part, I
am one of those who do not believe that this or any other country would
be any the better for dispensing with landlords and tenants."

"Mr. Littlepage!" exclaimed Mary Warren, "you surely do not mean that
competency widely diffused is not better than wealth in a few hands and
poverty in a great many!"

"No, I shall not go as far as that; but I do say, that what this country
most wants just now is precisely the class that is connected with the
independence of character and station, the leisure, with its attendant
cultivation and refinement, and the _principles_ as well as taste that
are connected with all."

"Principles! Mr. Littlepage!" added my uncle's sweet interlocutor; "my
father would hardly uphold _that_, though he agrees with you in so much
of what you say."

"I do not know that. I repeat the word _principles_; for when you have a
class of men who are removed from a large range of temptations, without
being placed above public opinion, you get precisely those who are most
likely to uphold that sort of secondary, but highly useful morals which
are not directly derived from purely religious duties. Against the last
I shall not say one word, as it comes from the grace, which is of the
power of God, and is happily as accessible to the poor as to the rich,
and more too; but, of men as they are, not one in a hundred regulates
his life by a standard created under such impulses; and even when they
do, the standard itself is, in some degree, qualified by the ordinary
notions I apprehend. The Christian morality of an East Indian is not
identical with that of a Puritan, or that of a man of highly cultivated
mind with that of one who has enjoyed fewer advantages. There is one
class of principles, embracing all those that are adverse to the
littlenesses of daily practice, which is much the more extended among
the liberal-minded and educated, and it is to that set of principles I
refer. Now we want a due proportion of that class of men, as our society
is getting to be organized; of those who are superior to meannesses."

"All this would be deemed atrociously aristocratic, were it told in
Gath!" exclaimed Patt, laughing.

"It is atrociously common sense, notwithstanding," answered my uncle,
who was not to be laughed out of anything he felt to be true; "and the
facts will show it. New England early established a system of common
schools, and no part of the world, perhaps, has a population that is
better grounded in intelligence. This has been the case so long as to
put the people of Connecticut and Massachusetts, for instance, as a
whole, materially in advance of the people of any other State, New York
included; although, by taking the system from our eastern brethren, we
are now doing pretty well. Notwithstanding, who will say that New
England is as far advanced, in many material things, as the Middle
States. To begin with the kitchen--her best cookery is much below that
of even the humbler classes of the true Middle States' families; take
her language for another test, it is provincial and vulgar; and there is
no exaggeration in saying that the laboring classes of the Middle
States, if not of New England origin, use better English than thousands
of educated men in New England itself. Both of these peculiarities, as I
conceive, come from the fact that in one part of the country there has
been a class to give a tone that does not exist in the other. The
gentlemen of the larger towns in the East have an influence where they
live, no doubt; but in the interior, as no one leads, all these matters
are left to the common mind to get along with as well as it can."

"Aristocratic, sir--rank aristocracy!"

"If it be, has aristocracy, as you call it, which in this instance must
only mean decided social position, no advantages? Is not even a wealthy
idler of some use in a nation? He contributes his full share to the
higher civilization that is connected with the tastes and refinements,
and, in fact, he forms it. In Europe they will tell you that a court is
necessary to such civilization; but facts contradict the theory. Social
classes, no doubt, are; but they can exist independently of courts, as
they can, have, do, and ever will in the face of democracy. Now, connect
this class with the landed interest, and see how much your chances for
material improvement are increased. Coke, of Norfolk, probably conferred
more benefit on the husbandry of England than all the mere operatives
that existed in his time. It is from such men, indeed, from their
enterprise and their means, that nearly all the greater benefits come.
The fine wool of America is mainly owing to Livingston's connection with
land; and if you drive such men out of existence, you must drive the
benefits they confer with them. A body of intelligent, well-educated,
liberalized landlords, scattered through New York, would have more
effect in advancing the highest interests of the community than all the
'small potato' lawyers and governors you can name in a twelvemonth. What
is more, this is just the state of society in which to reap all the
benefits of such a class, without the evils of a real aristocracy. They
are and would be without any particular political power, and there is no
danger of corn-laws and exclusive legislation for their benefit. Rich
and poor we _must_ have; and let any fair-minded man say whether he wish
a state of things in which the first shall have no inducement to take an
extended interest in real estate, and the last no chance to become
agriculturists, except as hired laborers?"

"You do not mince matters, uncle Ro," put in Patt, "and will never go to
Congress."

"That may be, my dear, but I shall retain my own self-respect by fair
dealing. What I say I _mean_, while many who take the other side do not.
I say, that in a country like this, in which land is so abundant as to
render the evils of a general monopoly impossible, a landed gentry is
precisely what is most needed for the higher order of civilization,
including manners, tastes, and the minor principles, and is the very
class which, if reasonably maintained and properly regarded, would do
the most good at the least risk of any social caste known. They _have_
always existed in New York, though with a lessening influence, and are
the reason, in my judgment, why we are so much before New England in
particular things, while certainly behind that quarter of the country in
many others that are dependent on ordinary schooling."

"I like to hear a person maintain his opinion frankly and manfully,"
said my grandmother; "and this have you done, Roger, from boyhood. My
own family, on my father's side, was from New England, and I subscribe
to a great deal that you say; and particularly to the part that relates
to the apathy of the public to this great wrong. It is now time,
however, to go to the breakfast-table, as John has been bowing in the
door yonder for the last minute or two."

To breakfast we went; and, notwithstanding incendiaries, anti-rentism,
and canopies of pig-pens, a merry time we had of it. Henrietta
Coldbrooke and Anne Marston never came out with more spirit, though in
their several ways, than each did that morning. I believe I looked a
little surprised, for I observed that my uncle stole occasional glances
at me, that seemed to say, "There, my fine fellow, what do you think of
that, now?" whenever either of his wards uttered anything that he
fancied cleverer than common.

"Have you heard, ma'am," asked my uncle Ro of my grandmother, "that we
are to have old Sus and Jaaf here at the Nest, shortly, and both in
grand costume? It seems the red men are about to depart, and there is to
be smoking of pipes and a great council, which the Trackless fancies
will be more dignified if held in front of the house of his pale-face
friends than if held at his own hut."

"How did you ascertain that, Roger?"

"I have been at the wigwam this morning, and have the fact directly from
the Onondago, as well as from the interpreter, whom I met there. By the
way, Hugh, we must shortly decide what is to be done with the prisoners,
or we shall have writs of habeas corpus served on us, to know why we
detain them."

"Is it possible, uncle Ro," for so his wards called him habitually--"to
rescue a gentleman from the gallows by marrying him?" asked Henrietta
Coldbrooke, demurely.

"That is so strange a question, that as a guardian I feel curious to
hear its meaning."

"Tell--tell at once, Henrietta," said the other ward, urging her
companion to speak. "I will save your blushes, and act as your
interpreter. Miss Coldbrooke was honored by Mr. Seneca Newcome with this
letter, within the last twenty-four hours; and, it being a family
matter, I think it ought to be referred to a family council."

"Nay, Anne," said the blushing Henrietta, "this is hardly fair--nor am I
sure that it would be quite lady-like in me to suffer that letter to be
generally known--_particularly_ known to you it certainly is already."

"Perhaps your reluctance to have it read does not extend to me,
Henrietta?" said my uncle.

"Certainly not, sir; nor to my dear Mrs. Littlepage, nor to
Martha--though I confess that I cannot see what interest Mr. Hugh can
have in the subject. Here it is; take it and read it when you please."

My uncle was pleased to read it on the spot. As he proceeded a frown
collected on his brow, and he bit his lip like one provoked as well as
vexed. Then he laughed, and threw the letter on the table, where no one
presumed to molest it. As Henrietta Coldbrooke was blushing all this
time, though she laughed and seemed provoked, our curiosity was so great
and manifest that my grandmother felt an inclination to interfere.

"May not that letter be read aloud, for the benefit of all?" she asked.

"There can be no particular reason for concealing it," answered uncle
Ro, spitefully. "The more it is known, the more the fellow will be
laughed at, as he deserves to be."

"Will that be right, uncle Ro?" exclaimed Miss Coldbrooke, hastily.
"Will it be treating a gentleman as he----"

"Pshaw!--it will not be treating a gentleman at all. The fellow is, at
this moment, a prisoner for attempting to set an inhabited house on
fire, in the middle of the night."

Henrietta said no more; and my grandmother took the letter, and read it
for the common benefit. I shall not copy the effusion of Seneca, which
was more cunning than philosophical; but it contained a strong
profession of love, urged in a somewhat business manner, and a generous
offer of his hand to the heiress of eight thousand a year. And this
proposal was made only a day or two before the fellow was "taken in the
act," and at the very time he was the most deeply engaged in his schemes
of anti-rentism.

"There is a class of men among us," said my uncle, after everybody had
laughed at this magnificent offer, "who do not seem to entertain a
single idea of the proprieties. How is it possible, or where could the
chap have been bred, to fancy for an instant that a young woman of
fortune and station would marry _him_, and that, too, almost without an
acquaintance. I dare say Henrietta never spoke to him ten times in her
life."

"Not five, sir, and scarcely anything was said at either of those five."

"And you answered the letter, my dear?" asked my grandmother. "An
_answer_ ought not to have been forgotten, though it might have properly
come, in this case, from your guardian."

"I answered it myself, ma'm, not wishing to be laughed at for my part of
the affair. I declined the honor of Mr. Seneca Newcome's hand."

"Well, if the truth _must_ be said," put in Patt, dryly, "_I_ did the
same thing, only three weeks since."

"And I so lately as last week," added Anne Marston, demurely.

I do not know that I ever saw my uncle Ro so strangely affected. While
everybody around him was laughing heartily, he looked grave, not to say
fierce. Then he turned suddenly to me, and said:

"We must let him be hanged, Hugh. Were he to live a thousand years he
would never learn the fitness of things."

"You'll think better of this, sir, and become more merciful. The man has
only nobly dared. But I confess a strong desire to ascertain if Miss
Warren alone has escaped his assaults."

Mary--pretty Mary--she blushed scarlet, but shook her head, and refused
to give any answer. We all saw that her feelings were not enlisted in
the affair in any way; but there was evidently something of a more
serious nature connected with Seneca's addresses to her than in
connection with his addresses to either of the others. As I have since
ascertained, he really had a sort of affection for Mary; and I have been
ready to pardon him the unprincipled and impudent manner in which he
cast his flies toward the other fish, in consideration of his taste in
this particular. But Mary herself would tell us nothing.

"You are not to think so much of this, Mr. Littlepage," she cried, so
soon as a little recovered from her confusion, "since it is only acting
on the great anti-rent principle, after all. In the one case, it is only
a wish to get good farms cheap--and in the other, good wives."

"In the one case, other men's farms--and in the other, other men's
wives."

"Other men's wives, certainly, if wives at all," said Patt, pointedly.
"There is no Mr. _Seneky_ Newcome there."

"We must let the law have its way, and the fellow be hanged!" rejoined
my uncle. "I could overlook the attempt to burn the Nest House, but I
cannot overlook this. Fellows of this class get everything _dessus
dessous_, and I do not wonder there is anti-rentism in the land. Such a
matrimonial experiment could never have been attempted, as between such
parties, in any region but one tainted with anti-rentism, or deluded by
the devil."

"An Irishman would have included my grandmother in his cast of the net;
that's the only difference, sir."

"Sure enough, why have you escaped, my dearest mother? You, who have a
fair widow's portion, too."

"Because the suitor was not an Irishman, as Hugh intimated--I know no
other reason, Hodge. But a person so devoted to the ladies must not
suffer in the cruel way you speak of. The wretch must be permitted to
get off."

All the girls now joined with my grandmother in prefering this, to them,
very natural petition; and, for a few minutes, we heard of nothing but
regrets and solicitations that Seneca might not be given up to the law.
"Tender mercies of the law" might not be an unapt way to express the
idea, as it is now almost certain that the bigger the rogue, the greater
is the chance of escape.

"All this is very well, ladies; mighty humane and feminine and quite in
character," answered my uncle; "but, in the first place, there is such a
thing as compounding felony, and its consequences are not altogether
agreeable; then, one is bound to consider the effect on society in
general. Here is a fellow who first endeavors to raise a flame in the
hearts of no less than four young ladies: failing of which, he takes
refuge in lighting a fire in Hugh's kitchen. Do you know, I am almost as
much disposed to punish him for the first of these offences as for the
last?"

"There's a grand movement as is making among all the redskins, ma'am,"
said John, standing in the door of the breakfast parlor, "and I didn't
know but the ladies, and Mr. Littlepage, and Mr. Hugh, would like to see
it. Old Sus is on his way here, followed by Yop, who comes grumbling
along after him, as if he didn't like the amusement any way at all."

"Have any arrangements been made for the proper reception of our guests
this morning, Roger?"

"Yes, ma'am. At least, I gave orders to have benches brought and placed
under the trees, and plenty of tobacco provided. Smoking is a great part
of a council, I believe, and we shall be ready to commence at that as
soon as they meet."

"Yes, sir, all is ready for 'em," resumed John. "Miller has sent an
'orse cart to bring the benches, and we've provided as much 'baccy as
they can use. The servants 'opes, ma'am, they can have permission to
witness the ceremony. It isn't often that civilized people _can_ get a
sight at real savages."

My grandmother gave an assent, and there was a general movement,
preparatory to going on the lawn to witness the parting interview
between the Trackless and his visitors.

"You have been very considerate, Miss Warren," I whispered Mary, as I
helped her to put on her shawl, "in not betraying what I fancy is the
most important of all Seneca's love secrets."

"I confess these letters have surprised me," the dear girl said
thoughtfully, and with a look that seemed perplexed. "No one would be
apt to think very favorably of Mr. Newcome; yet it was by no means
necessary to complete his character, that one should think as ill as
this."

I said no more--but these few words, which appeared to escape Mary
unconsciously and involuntarily, satisfied me that Seneca had been
seriously endeavoring to obtain an interest in _her_ heart
notwithstanding her poverty.




CHAPTER XXVII.

    "And underneath that face like summer's dreams,
    Its lips as moveless, and its cheek as clear,
    Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions,
    Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow--all save fear."
                                                --HALLECK.


The only singularity connected with the great age of the Indian and the
<DW64>, was the fact that they should have been associates for near a
century, and so long intimately united in adventures and friendship. I
say friendship, for the term was not at all unsuited to the feeling that
connected these old men together, though they had so little in common in
the way of character. While the Indian possessed all the manly and high
qualities of a warrior of the woods, of a chief, and of one who had
never acknowledged a superior, the other was necessarily distinguished
by many of the wickednesses of a state of servitude; the bitter
consequences of a degraded caste. Fortunately both were temperate, by no
means an every-day virtue among the red-men who dwelt with the whites,
though much more so with the blacks. But Susquesus was born at Onondago,
a tribe remarkable for its sobriety, and at no period of his long life
would he taste any intoxicating drink, while Jaaf was essentially a
sober man, though he had a thorough "<DW65>" relish for hard cider.
There can be little doubt that these two aged memorials of past ages,
and almost forgotten generations, owed their health and strength to
their temperance, fortifying natural predispositions to tenacity of
life.

It was always thought that Jaaf was a little the senior of the Indian,
though the difference in their ages could not be great. It is certain
that the red-man retained much the most of his bodily powers, though,
for fifty years, he had taxed them the least. Susquesus never worked;
never would work in the ordinary meaning of the term. He deemed it to be
beneath his dignity as a warrior, and, I have heard it said, that
nothing but necessity could have induced him to plant, or hoe, even when
in his prime. So long as the boundless forest furnished the deer, the
moose, the beaver, the bear, and the other animals that it is usual for
the red-man to convert into food, he had cared little for the fruits of
the earth, beyond those that were found growing in their native state.
His hunts were the last regular occupation that the old man abandoned.
He carried the rifle, and threaded the woods with considerable vigor
after he had seen a hundred winters; but the game deserted him, under
the never-dying process of clearing acre after acre, until little of the
native forest was left, with the exception of the reservation of my own,
already named, and the pieces of woodland that are almost invariably
attached to every American farm, lending to the landscape a relief and
beauty that are usually wanting to the views of older countries. It is
this peculiarity which gives to so many of the views of the republic,
nay, it may be said to all of them, so much of the character of
park-scenery when seen at a distance, that excludes the blemishes of a
want of finish, and the coarser appliances of husbandry.

With Jaaf, though he had imbibed a strong relish for the forest, and for
forest-life, it was different in many respects. Accustomed to labor from
childhood, _he_ could not be kept from work, even by his extreme old
age. He had the hoe, or the axe, or the spade in his hand daily, many
years after he could wield either to any material advantage. The little
he did in this way, now, was not done to kill thought, for he never had
any to kill; it was purely the effect of habit, and of a craving desire
to be Jaaf still, and to act his life over again.

I am sorry to say that neither of these men had any essential knowledge,
or any visible feeling for the truths of Christianity. A hundred years
ago, little spiritual care was extended to the black, and the difficulty
of making an impression in this way on the Indian has become matter of
history. Perhaps success best attends such efforts when the pious
missionary can penetrate to the retired village, and disseminate his
doctrines far from the miserable illustration of their effects, that is
to be hourly traced, by the most casual observer, amid the haunts of
civilized men. That Christianity does produce a deep and benign
influence on our social condition cannot be doubted; but he who is only
superficially acquainted with Christian nations, as they are called, and
sets about tracing the effects of this influence, meets with so many
proofs of a contrary nature, as to feel a strong disposition to doubt
the truth of dogmas that seem so impotent. It is quite likely such was
the case with Susquesus, who had passed all the earlier years of his
exclusive association with the pale-faces, on the flanks of armies, or
among hunters, surveyors, runners, and scouts; situations that were not
very likely to produce any high notions of moral culture. Nevertheless,
many earnest and long-continued efforts had been made to awaken in this
aged Indian some notions of the future state of a pale-face, and to
persuade him to be baptized. My grandmother, in particular, had kept
this end in view for quite half a century, but with no success. The
different clergy, of all denominations, had paid more or less attention
to this Indian, with the same object, though no visible results had
followed their efforts. Among others, Mr. Warren had not overlooked this
part of his duty, but he had met with no more success than those who had
been before him. Singular as it seemed to some, though I saw nothing
strange in it, Mary Warren had joined in this benevolent project with a
gentle zeal, and affectionate and tender interest, that promised to
achieve more than had been even hoped for these many years by her
predecessors in the same kind office. Her visits to the hut had been
frequent, and I learned that morning from Patt, that, "though Mary
herself never spoke on the subject, enough has been seen by others to
leave no doubt that her gentle offices and prayers had, at last,
touched, in some slight degree, the marble-like heart of the Trackless."

As for Jaaf, it is possible that it was his misfortune to be a slave in
a family that belonged to the Episcopal Church, a sect that is so
tempered and chastened in its religious rites, and so far removed from
exaggeration, as often to seem cold to those who seek excitement, and
fancy quiet and self-control incompatible with a lively faith. "Your
priests are unsuited to make converts among the people," said an
enthusiastic clergyman of another denomination to me, quite lately.
"They cannot go among the brambles and thorns without tearing their
gowns and surplices." There may be a certain degree of truth in this,
though the obstacle exists rather with the convert than with the
missionary. The vulgar love coarse excitement, and fancy that a profound
spiritual sensibility must needs awaken a powerful physical sympathy. To
such, groans, and sighs, and lamentations must be not only audible to
exist at all, but audible in a dramatic and striking form with men, in
order to be groans, and sighs, and lamentations acceptable with God. It
is certain, at any rate, that the practices which reason, education, a
good taste, and a sound comprehension of Christian obligations condemn,
are, if not _most_ effective, still effective with the ignorant and
coarse-minded. Thus may it have been with Jaaf, who had not fallen into
the hands of the exaggerated during that period of life when he was most
likely to be aroused by their practices, and who now really seemed to
have lived beyond everything but the recollections connected with the
persons and things he loved in youth.

As men, in the higher meaning of the term, the reader will remember that
Susquesus was ever vastly the superior of the black. Jaaf's intellect
had suffered under the blight which seems to have so generally caused
the African mind to wither, as we know that mind among ourselves; while
that of his associate had ever possessed much of the loftiness of a
grand nature, left to its native workings by the impetus of an
unrestrained, though savage liberty.

Such were the characters of the two extraordinary men whom we now went
forth to meet. By the time we reached the lawn, they were walking slowly
toward the piazza, having got within the range of the shrubbery that
immediately surrounds, and sheds its perfume on the house. The Indian
led, as seemed to become his character and rank. But Jaaf had never
presumed on his years and indulgences so far as to forget his condition.
A slave he had been born, a slave had he lived, and a slave he would
die. This, too, in spite of the law of emancipation, which had, in fact,
liberated him long ere he had reached his hundredth year. I have been
told that when my father announced to Jaaf the fact that he and all his
progeny, the latter of which was very numerous, were free and at liberty
to go and do as they pleased, the old black was greatly dissatisfied.
"What good dat all do, Masser Malbone," he growled. "Why 'ey won't let
well alone? <DW65> be <DW65>, and white gentle'em be white gentle'em. I
'speck, now, nuttin' but disgrace and poverty come on my breed! We
always _hab_ been gentle'em's <DW65>, and why can't 'ey let us be
gentle'em's <DW65> as long as we like? Ole Sus hab liberty all he life,
and what good he get? Nuttin' but poor red sabbage, for all dat, and
never be anyt'ing more. If he could be gentle'em's sabbage, I tell him,
_dat_ war' somet'ing; but, no, he too proud for dat! Gosh! so he only he
own sabbage!"

The Onondago was in high costume; much higher even than when he first
received the visit of the prairie Indians. The paint he used gave new
fire to eyes that age had certainly dimmed, though they had not
extinguished their light; and fierce and savage as was the conceit, it
unquestionably relieved the furrows of time. That red should be as much
the favorite color of the redskin is, perhaps, as natural as that our
ladies should use cosmetics to imitate the lilies and roses that are
wanting. A grim fierceness, however, was the aim of the Onondago; it
being his ambition, at that moment, to stand before his guests in the
colors of a warrior. Of the medals and wampum, and feathers, and
blankets, and moccasons, gay with the quills of the porcupine, tinged
half a dozen hues, and the tomahawk polished to the brightness of
silver, it is not necessary to say anything. So much has been said, and
written, and seen, of late, on such subjects, that almost every one now
knows how the North American warrior appears when he comes forth in his
robes.

Nor had Jaaf neglected to do honor to a festival that was so peculiarly
in honor of his friend. Grumble he would and did, throughout the whole
of that day; but he was not the less mindful of the credit and honor of
Susquesus. It is the fashion of the times to lament the disappearance of
the red-men from among us; but, for my part, I feel much more disposed
to mourn over the disappearance of the "<DW65>." I use the Doric, in
place of the more modern and mincing term of "<DW52> man;" for the
Doric alone will convey to the American the meaning in which I wish to
be understood. I regret the "<DW65>;" the old-fashioned, careless,
light-hearted, laborious, idle, roguish, honest, faithful, fraudulent,
grumbling, dogmatical slave; who was at times good for nothing, and,
again, the stay and support of many a family. But him I regret in
particular is the domestic slave, who identified himself with the
interests, and most of all with the _credit_ of those he served, and who
always played the part of an humble privy counsellor, and sometimes that
of a prime minister. It is true, I had never seen Jaaf acting in the
latter capacity, among us; nor is it probable he ever did exactly
discharge such functions with any of his old masters; but he was a much
indulged servant always, and had become so completely associated with
us, by not only long services, but by playing his part well and manfully
in divers of the wild adventures that are apt to characterize the
settlement of a new country, that we all of us thought of him rather as
an humble and distant relative, than as a slave. Slave, indeed, he had
not been for more than fourscore years, his manumission-papers having
been signed and regularly recorded as far back as that, though they
remained a perfect dead letter, so far as the <DW64> himself was
concerned.

The costume of Yop Littlepage, as this black was familiarly called by
all who knew anything of his existence, and his great age, as well as
that of Susquesus, had gotten into more than one newspaper, was of what
might be termed the old school of the "<DW65>!" The coat was scarlet,
with buttons of mother-of-pearl, each as large as a half-dollar; his
breeches were sky blue; the vest was green; the stockings striped blue
and white, and the legs had no other peculiarities about them than the
facts that all that remained of the calves was on the shins, and that
they were stepped nearer than is quite common to the centre of the foot;
the heel-part of the latter being about half as long as the part
connected with the toes. The shoes, indeed, were somewhat conspicuous
portions of the dress, having a length, and breadth, and proportions
that might almost justify a naturalist in supposing that they were never
intended for a human being. But the head and hat, according to Jaaf's
own notion, contained the real glories of his toilet and person. As for
the last, it was actually laced, having formed a part of my grandfather
General Cornelius Littlepage's uniform in the field, and the wool
beneath it was as white as the snow of the hills. This style of dress
has long disappeared from among the black race, as well as from among
the whites; but vestiges of it were to be traced, my uncle tells me, in
his boyhood; particularly at the pinkster holidays, that peculiar
festival of the <DW64>. Notwithstanding the incongruities of his attire,
Yop Littlepage made a very respectable figure on this occasion, the
great age of both him and the Onondago being the circumstances that
accorded least with their magnificence.

Notwithstanding the habitual grumbling of the <DW64>, the Indian always
led when they made a movement. He had led in the forest, on the early
hunts and on the war-paths; he had led in their later excursions on the
neighboring hills; he always led when it was their wont to stroll to the
hamlet together, to witness the militia musters and other similar
striking events; he even was foremost when they paid their daily visits
to the Nest; and, now, he came a little in advance, slow in movement,
quiet, with lips compressed, eye roving and watchful, and far from dim,
and his whole features wonderfully composed and noble, considering the
great number of years he had seen. Jaaf followed at the same gait, but a
very different man in demeanor and aspect. _His_ face scarce seemed
human, even the color of his skin, once so glistening and black, having
changed to a dirty gray, all its gloss having disappeared, while his
lips were, perhaps, the most prominent feature. These, too, were in
incessant motion, the old man working his jaws, in a sort of second
childhood; or as the infant bites its gums to feel its nearly developed
teeth, even when he was not keeping up the almost unceasing
accompaniment of his grumbles.

As the old man walked toward us, and the men of the prairies had not yet
shown themselves, we all advanced to meet the former. Every one of our
party, the girls included, shook hands with Susquesus, and wished him a
good morning. He knew my grandmother, and betrayed some strong feeling,
when he shook _her_ hand. He knew Patt, and nodded kindly in answer to
her good wishes. He knew Mary Warren, too, and held her hand a little
time in his own, gazing at her wistfully the while. My uncle Ro and I
were also recognized, his look at me being earnest and long. The two
other girls were courteously received, but his feelings were little
interested in them. A chair was placed for Susquesus on the lawn, and he
took his seat. As for Jaaf, he walked slowly up to the party, took off
his fine cocked hat, but respectfully refused the seat he too was
offered. Happening thus to be the last saluted, he was the first with
whom my grandmother opened the discourse.

"It is a pleasant sight, Jaaf, to see you, and our old friend Susquesus,
once more on the lawn of the old house."

"Not so berry ole house, Miss Duss, a'ter all," answered the <DW64>, in
his grumbling way. "Remem'er him well 'nough; only built tudder day."

"It has been built threescore years, if you call that the other day. I
was then young myself; a bride--happy and blessed far beyond my deserts.
Alas! how changed have things become since that time!"

"Yes, you won'erful changed--must say _dat_ for you, Miss Duss. I
sometime surprise myself so young a lady get change so berry soon."

"Ah! Jaaf, though it may seem a short time to you, who are so much my
senior, fourscore years are a heavy load to carry. I enjoy excellent
health and spirits for my years: but age will assert its power."

"Remem'er you, Miss Duss, like dat young lady dere," pointing at
Patt--"now you _do_ seem won'erful change. Ole Sus, too, berry much
alter of late--can't hole out much longer, I do t'ink. But Injin nebber
hab much raal grit in 'em."

"And you, my friend," continued my grandmother, turning to Susquesus,
who had sat motionless while she was speaking to Jaaf--"do you also see
this great change in me? I have known you much longer than I have known
Jaaf; and _your_ recollection of me must go back nearly to childhood--to
the time when I first lived in the woods, as a companion of my dear,
excellent old uncle, Chainbearer."

"Why should Susquesus forget little wren? Hear song now in his ear. No
change at all in little wren, in Susquesus's eye."

"This is at least gallant, and worthy of an Onondago chief. But, my
worthy friend, age will make its mark even on the trees; and we cannot
hope to escape it forever!"

"No; bark smooth on young tree--rough on ole tree. Nebber forget
Chainbearer. He's same age as Susquesus--little ole'er, too. Brave
warrior--good man. Know him when young hunter--he dere when _dat_
happen."

"When _what_ happened, Susquesus? I have long wished to know what drove
you from your people; and why you, a red man in your heart and habits,
to the last, should have so long lived among us pale-faces, away from
your own tribe. I can understand why you like _us_, and wish to pass the
remainder of your days with this family; for I know all that we have
gone through together, and your early connection with my father-in-law,
and _his_ father-in-law, too; but the reason why you left your own
people so young, and have now lived near a hundred years away from them,
is what I could wish to hear, before the angel of death summons one of
us away."

While my grandmother was thus coming to the point, for the first time in
her life, on this subject, as she afterward told me, the Onondago's eye
was never off her own. I thought he seemed surprised; then his look
changed to sadness; and bowing his head a little, he sat a long time,
apparently musing on the past. The subject had evidently aroused the
strongest of the remaining feelings of the old man, and the allusion to
it had brought back images of things long gone by, that were probably
reviewed not altogether without pain. I think his head must have been
bowed, and his face riveted on the ground, for quite a minute.

"Chainbearer nebber say why?" the old man suddenly asked, raising his
face again to look at my grandmother. "Ole chief, too--he know; nebber
talk of it, eh?"

"Never. I have heard both my uncle and my father-in-law say that they
knew the reason why you left your people, so many long, long, years ago,
and that it did you credit; but neither ever said more. It is reported
here, that these red-men, who have come so far to see you, also know it,
and that it is one reason of their coming so much out of their way to
pay you a visit."

Susquesus listened attentively, though no portion of his person
manifested emotion but his eyes. All the rest of the man seemed to be
made of some material that was totally without sensibility; but those
restless, keen, still penetrating eyes, opened a communication with the
being within, and proved that the spirit was far younger than the
tenement in which it dwelt. Still, he made no revelation; and our
curiosity, which was getting to be intense, was completely baffled. It
was even some little time before the Indian said anything more at all.
When he did speak, it was merely to say--

"Good. Chainbearer wise chief--Gin'ral wise, too. Good in camp--good at
council-fire. Know _when_ to talk--know _what_ to talk."

How much further my dear grandmother might have been disposed to push
the subject, I cannot say, for just then we saw the redskins coming out
of their quarters, evidently about to cross from the old farm to the
lawn, this being their last visit to the Trackless, preparatory to
departing on their long journey to the prairies. Aware of all this, she
fell back, and my uncle led Susquesus to the tree where the benches were
placed for the guests, I carrying the chair in the rear. Everybody
followed, even to all the domestics who could be spared from the
ordinary occupations of the household.

The Indian and the <DW64> were both seated; and chairs having been
brought out for the members of the family, we took our places near by,
though so much in the back ground as not to appear obtrusive.

The Indians of the prairies arrived in their customary marching order,
or in single files. Manytongues led, followed by Prairiefire;
Flintyheart and Eaglesflight came next, and the rest succeeded in a
nameless but perfect order. To our surprise, however, they brought the
two prisoners with them, secured with savage ingenuity, and in a way to
render escape nearly impossible.

It is unnecessary to dwell on the deportment of these strangers, as they
took their allotted places on the benches, it being essentially the same
as that described in their first visit. The same interest, however, was
betrayed in their manner, nor did their curiosity or veneration appear
to be in the least appeased by having passed a day or two in the
immediate vicinity of their subject. That this curiosity and veneration
proceeded, in some measure, from the great age and the extended
experience of the Trackless was probable enough, but I could not divest
myself of the idea that there lay something unusual behind all, which
tradition had made familiar to these sons of the soil, but which had
become lost to us.

The American savage enjoys one great advantage over the civilized man of
the same quarter of the world. His traditions ordinarily are true,
whereas, the multipled means of imparting intelligence among ourselves
has induced so many pretenders to throw themselves into the ranks of the
wise and learned, that blessed, thrice blessed is he, whose mind escapes
the contamination of falsehood and prejudice. Well would it be for men
if they oftener remembered that the very facilities that exist to
circulate the truth, are just so many facilities for circulating
falsehood; and that he who believes even one-half of that which meets
his eyes, in his daily inquiries into passing events, is most apt to
throw away quite a moiety of even that much credulity, on facts that
either never had an existence at all, or, which have been so mutilated
in the relation, that their eye-witnesses would be the last to recognize
them.

The customary silence succeeded the arrival of the visitors; then
Eaglesflight struck fire with a flint, touched the tobacco with the
flame, and puffed at a very curiously carved pipe, made of some soft
stone of the interior, until he had lighted it beyond any risk of its
soon becoming extinguished. This done, he rose, advanced with profound
reverence in his air, and presented it to Susquesus, who took it and
smoked for a few seconds, after which he returned it to him from whom it
had been received. This was a signal for other pipes to be lighted, and
one was offered to my uncle and myself, each of us making a puff or two;
and even John and the other male domestics were not neglected.
Prairiefire himself paid the compliment to Jaaf. The <DW64> had noted
what was passing, and was much disgusted with the niggardliness which
required the pipe to be so soon returned. This he did not care to
conceal, as was obvious by the crusty observation he made when the pipe
was offered to him. Cider and tobacco had from time immemorial been the
two great blessings of this black's existence, and he felt at seeing one
standing to receive his pipe, after a puff or two, much as he might have
felt had one pulled the mug from his mouth, after the second or third
swallow.

"No need wait here"--grumbled old Jaaf--"when I done, gib you de pipe,
ag'in; nebber fear. Masser Corny, or Masser Malborne, or Masser
Hugh--dear me, I nebber knows which be libbin' and which be dead, I get
so ole, nowaday! But nebber mind if he be ole; can smoke yet, and don't
lub Injin fashion of gibbin' t'ings; and dat is gib him and den take
away ag'in. <DW65> is <DW65>, and Injin is Injin; and <DW65> best. Lord!
how many years I _do_ see--I do see--most get tire of libbin' so long.
Don't wait, Injin; when I done, you get pipe again, I say. Best not make
ole Jaaf _too_ mad, or he dreadful!"

Although it is probable that Prairiefire did not understand one-half of
the <DW64>'s words, he comprehended his wish to finish the tobacco,
before he relinquished the pipe. This was against all rule, and a
species of slight on Indian usages, but the red-man overlooked all, with
a courtesy of one trained in high society, and walked away as composedly
as if everything were right. In these particulars the high-breeding of
an Indian is always made apparent. No one ever sees in his deportment, a
shrug or a half-concealed smile, or a look of intelligence; a wink or a
nod, or any other of that class of signs, or communications, which it is
usually deemed underbred to resort to in company. In all things, he is
dignified and quiet, whether it be the effect of coldness, or the result
of character.

The smoking now became general, but only as a ceremony; no one but Jaaf
setting to with regularity to finish his pipe. As for the black, his
opinion of the superiority of his own race over that of the red-man, was
as fixed as his consciousness of his inferiority to the white, and he
would have thought the circumstance that the present mode of using
tobacco was an Indian custom, a sufficient reason why he himself should
not adopt it. The smoking did not last long, but was succeeded by a
silent pause. Then Prairiefire arose and spoke.

"Father," he commenced, "we are about to quit you. Our squaws and
pappooses, on the prairies, wish to see us; it is time for us to go.
They are looking toward the great salt lake for us; we are looking
toward the great fresh-water lakes for them. There the sun sets--here it
rises; the distance is great, and many strange tribes of pale-faces live
along the path. Our journey has been one of peace. We have not hunted;
we have taken no scalps; but we have seen our great father, uncle Sam,
and we have seen our great father Susquesus; we shall travel toward the
setting sun satisfied. Father, our traditions are true; they never lie.
A lying tradition is worse than a lying Indian. What a lying Indian
says, deceives his friends, his wife, his children; what a lying
tradition says, deceives a tribe. Our traditions are true; they speak of
the Upright Onondago. All the tribes on the prairies have heard this
tradition, and are very glad. It is good to hear of justice; it is bad
to hear of injustice. Without justice an Indian is no better than a
wolf. No; there is not a tongue spoken on the prairies which does not
tell of that pleasant tradition. We could not pass the wigwam of our
father without turning aside to look at him. Our squaws and pappooses
wish to see us, but they would have told us to come back, and turn aside
to look upon our father, had we forgotten to do so. Why has my father
seen so many winters? It is the will of the Manitou. The Great Spirit
wants to keep him here a little longer. He is like stones piled together
to tell the hunters where the pleasant path is to be found. All the
red-men who see him think of what is right. No; the Great Spirit cannot
yet spare my father from the earth, lest red-men forget what is right.
He is stones piled together."

Here Prairiefire ceased, sitting down amid a low murmur of applause. He
had expressed the common feeling, and met with the success usual to such
efforts. Susquesus had heard and understood all that was said, and I
could perceive that he felt it, though he betrayed less emotion on this
occasion than he had done on the occasion of the previous interview.
Then, the novelty of the scene, no doubt, contributed to influence his
feelings. A pause followed this opening speech, and we were anxiously
waiting for the renowned orator Eaglesflight, to rise, when a singular
and somewhat ludicrous interruption of the solemn dignity of the scene
occurred. In the place of Eaglesflight whom Manytongues had given us
reason to expect would now come forth with energy and power, a much
younger warrior arose and spoke, commanding the attention of his
listeners in a way to show that he possessed their respect. We were told
that the young warrior's name, rendered into English, was Deersfoot, an
appellation obtained on account of his speed, and which we were assured
he well merited. Much to our surprise, however, he addressed himself to
Jaaf, Indian courtesy requiring that something should be said to the
constant friend and tried associate of the Trackless. The reader may be
certain we were all much amused at this bit of homage, though every one
of us felt some little concern on the subject of the answer it might
elicit. Deersfoot delivered himself, substantially, as follows:--

"The Great Spirit sees all things; he makes all things. In his eyes,
color is nothing. Although he made children that he loved of a red
color, he made children that he loved with pale faces, too. He did not
stop there. No; he said, 'I wish to see warriors and men with faces
darker than the skin of the bear. I will have warriors who shall
frighten their enemies by their countenances.' He made black men. My
father is black; his skin is neither red, like the skin of Susquesus,
nor white, like the skin of the young chief of Ravensnest. It is now
gray, with having had the sun shine on it so many summers; but it was
once the color of the crow. Then it must have been pleasant to look at.
My black father is very old. They tell me he is even older than the
Upright Onondago. The Manitou must be well pleased with him, not to have
called him away sooner. He has left him in his wigwam, that all the
black men may see whom their Great Spirit loves. This is the tradition
told to us by our fathers. The pale men come from the rising sun, and
were born before the heat burned their skins. The black men came from
under the sun at noon-day, and their faces were darkened by looking up
above their heads to admire the warmth that ripened their fruits. The
red men were born under the setting sun, and their faces were  by
the hues of the evening skies. The red man was born here; the pale man
was born across the salt lake; the black man came from a country of his
own, where the sun is always above his head. What of that? We are
brothers. The Thicklips (this was the name by which the strangers
designated Jaaf, as we afterward learned) is the friend of Susquesus.
They have lived in the same wigwam, now, so many winters, that their
venison and bear's-meat have the same taste. They love one another.
Whomsoever Susquesus loves and honors, all just Indians love and honor.
I have no more to say."

It is very certain that Jaaf would not have understood a syllable that
was uttered in this address, had not Manytongues first given him to
understand that Deersfoot was talking to him in particular, and then
translated the speaker's language, word for word, and with great
deliberation, as each sentence was finished. Even this care might not
have sufficed to make the <DW64> sensible of what was going on, had not
Patt gone to him, and told him, in a manner and voice to which he was
accustomed, to attend to what was said, and to endeavor, as soon as
Deersfoot sat down, to say something in reply. Jaaf was so accustomed to
my sister, and was so deeply impressed with the necessity of obeying
her, as one of his many "y'ung missuses"--_which_ he scarcely knew
himself--that she succeeded in perfectly arousing him; and he astonished
us all with the intelligence of his very characteristic answer, which he
did not fail to deliver exactly as he had been directed to do.
Previously to beginning to speak, the <DW64> champed his toothless gums
together, like a vexed swine; but "y'ung missus" had told him he _must_
answer, and answer he _did_. It is probable, also, that the old fellow
had some sort of recollection of such scenes, having been present, in
his younger days, at various councils held by the different tribes of
New York; among whom my grandfather, General Mordaunt Littlepage, had
more than once been a commissioner.

"Well," Jaaf began, in a short, snappish manner, "s'pose <DW65> _must_
say somet'in'. No berry great talker, 'cause I no Injin. <DW65> had too
much work to do, to talk all 'e time. What you say 'bout where <DW65>
come from, isn't true. He come from Africa, as I hear 'em say, 'long
time ago. Ahs, me! how ole I do get! Sometimes I t'ink poor ole black
man be nebber to lie down and rest himself. It _do_ seem dat ebberybody
take his rest but old Sus and me. I berry strong, yet; and git stronger
and stronger, dough won'erful tired; but Sus, he git weaker and weaker
ebbery day. Can't last long, now, poor Sus! Ebbery body _must_ die some
time. Ole, ole, ole masser and missus, fust dey die. Den Masser Corny
go; putty well adwanced, too. Den come Masser Mordaunt's turn, and
Masser Malbone, and now dere anudder Masser Hugh. Well, dey putty much
all de same to me. I lubs 'em all and all on 'em lubs me. Den Miss Duss
count for somet'in', but she be libbin', yet. Most time she die, too,
but don't seem to go. Ahs, me! how ole I _do_ git! Ha! dere come dem
debbils of Injins, ag'in, and dis time we _must_ clean 'em out! Get your
rifle, Sus; get your rifle, boy, and mind dat ole Jaaf be at your
elbow."

Sure enough, there the Injins _did_ come; but I must reserve an account
of what followed for the commencement of the next chapter.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

    "Hope--that thy wrongs will be by the Great Spirit
    Remembered and revenged when thou art gone;
    Sorrow--that none are left thee to inherit
    Thy name, thy fame, thy passions, and thy throne."
                                                  --_Red Jacket._


It was a little remarkable that one as old and blear-eyed as the <DW64>,
should be the first among us to discover the approach of a large body of
the Injins, who could not be less than two hundred in number. The
circumstance was probably owing to the fact that, while every other eye
was riveted on the speaker, his eyes were fastened on nothing. There the
Injins did come, however, in force; and this time apparently without
fear. The white American meets the red-man with much confidence, when he
is prepared for the struggle; and the result has shown that, when thrown
upon his resources in the wilderness, and after he has been allowed time
to gain a little experience, he is usually the most formidable enemy.
But a dozen Indians, of the stamp of those who had here come to visit
us, armed and painted, and placed in the centre of one of our largest
peopled counties, would be sufficient to throw that county into a
paroxysm of fear. Until time were given for thought, and the opinions of
the judicious superseded the effects of rumor, nothing but panic would
prevail. Mothers would clasp their children to their bosoms, fathers
would hold back their sons from the slaughter, and even the heroes of
the militia would momentarily forget their ardor in the suggestions of
prudence and forethought.

Such, in fact, had been the state of things in and about Ravensnest,
when Flintyheart so unexpectedly led his companions into the forest, and
dispersed the virtuous and oppressed tenants of my estate on their
return from a meeting held with but one virtuous object; viz., that of
transferring the fee of the farms they occupied from me to themselves.
No one doubted, at the moment, that in addition to the other enormities
committed by me and mine, I had obtained a body of savages from the far
west to meet the forces already levied by the tenants, on a principle
that it would not do to examine very clearly. If I _had_ done so, I am
far from certain that I should not have been perfectly justified in
morals; for an evil of that nature, that might at any time be put down
in a month, and which is suffered to exist for years, through the
selfish indifference of the community, restores to every man his natural
rights of self-defence; though I make no doubt had I resorted to such
means, I should have been hanged, without benefit of philanthropists;
the "clergy" in this country not being included in the class, so far as
suspension by the neck is concerned.

But the panic had disappeared, as soon as the truth became known
concerning the true object of the visit of the redskins. The courage of
the "virtuous and honest" revived, and one of the first exhibitions of
this renewed spirit was the attempt to set fire to my house and barns.
So serious a demonstration, it was thought, would convince me of the
real power of the people, and satisfy us all that their wishes are not
to be resisted with impunity. As no one likes to have his house and
barns burned, it must be a singular being who could withstand the
influence of such a manifestation of the "spirit of the institutions;"
for it is just as reasonable to suppose that the attempts of the
incendiaries came within their political category, as it is to suppose
that the attempt of the tenants to get a title beyond what was bestowed
in their leases, was owing to this cause.

That habit of deferring to externals, which is so general in a certain
class of our citizens, and which endures in matters of religion long
after the vital principle is forgotten, prevented any serious outbreak
on the next day, which was the Sunday mentioned; though the occasion was
improved to coerce by intimidation, the meeting and resolutions having
been regularly digested in secret conclave among the local leaders of
anti-rentism, and carried out, as has been described. Then followed the
destruction of the canopy, another demonstration of the "spirit of the
institutions," and as good an argument as any that has yet been offered,
in favor of the dogmas of the new political faith. Public opinion is
entitled to some relief, surely, when it betrays so much excitement as
to desecrate churches and to destroy private property. This circumstance
of the canopy had been much dwelt on, as a favorable anti-rent argument,
and it might now be considered that the subject was carried out to
demonstration.

By the time all this was effected, so completely had the "Injins" got
over their dread of the Indians, that it was with difficulty the leaders
of the former could prevent the most heroic portion of their corps from
following their blow at the canopy by a _coup de main_ against the old
farm-house and its occupants. Had not the discretion of the leaders been
greater than that of their subordinates, it is very probable blood would
have been shed between these quasi belligerents. But the warriors of the
prairies were the guests of Uncle Sam, and the old gentleman, after all,
has a long arm, and can extend it from Washington to Ravensnest without
much effort. He was not to be offended heedlessly, therefore; for his
power was especially to be dreaded in this matter of the covenants,
without which Injins and agitation would be altogether unnecessary to
attaining the great object, the Albany politicians being so well
disposed to do all they can for the "virtuous and honest." Uncle Sam's
Indians, consequently, were held a good deal more in respect than the
laws of the State, and they consequently escaped being murdered in their
sleep.

When Jaaf first drew our attention to the Injins, they were advancing in
a long line, by the highway, and at a moderate pace; leaving us time to
shift our own position, did we deem it necessary. My uncle was of
opinion it would never do to remain out on the lawn, exposed to so great
a superiority of force, and he took his measures accordingly. In the
first place, the females, mistresses and maids--and there were eight or
ten of the last--were requested to retire, at once, to the house. The
latter, with John at their head, were directed to close all the lower
outside shutters of the building, and secure them within. This done, and
the gate and two outer doors fastened, it would not be altogether
without hazard to make an assault on our fortress. As no one required a
second request to move, this part of the precaution was soon effected,
and the house placed in a species of temporary security.

While the foregoing was in the course of execution, Susquesus and Jaaf
were induced to change their positions, by transferring themselves to
the piazza. That change was made, and the two old fellows were
comfortably seated in their chairs again before a single man of the
redskins moved a foot. There they all remained, motionless as so many
statues, with the exception that Flintyheart seemed to be reconnoitring
with his eyes the thicket that fringed the neighboring ravine, and which
formed a bit of dense cover, as already described, of some considerable
extent.

"Do you wish the redskins in the house, colonel?" asked the interpreter,
coolly, when matters had reached to this pass; "if you do, it's time to
speak, or they'll soon be off, like a flock of pigeons, into that cover.
There'll be a fight as sartain as they move, for there's no more joke
and making of faces about them critturs than there is about a
mile-stone. So it's best to speak in time."

No delay occurred after this hint was given. The request of my uncle Ro
that the chiefs would follow the Upright Onondago was just in time to
prevent a flight; in the sense of Manytongues, I mean, for it was not
very likely these warriors would literally run away. It is probable that
they would have preferred the cover of the woods as more natural and
familiar to them--but I remarked, as the whole party came on the piazza,
that Flintyheart, in particular, cast a quick, scrutinizing glance at
the house, which said in pretty plain language that he was examining its
capabilities as a work of defence. The movement, however, was made with
perfect steadiness; and, what most surprised us all, was the fact that
not one of the chiefs appeared to pay the slightest attention to their
advancing foes; or men whom it was reasonable for them to suppose so
considered themselves to be. We imputed this extraordinary reserve to
force of character, and a desire to maintain a calm and dignified
deportment in the presence of Susquesus. If it were really the latter
motive that so completely restrained every exhibition of impatience,
apprehension, or disquietude, they had every reason to congratulate
themselves on the entire success of their characteristic restraint on
their feelings.

The Injins were just appearing on the lawn as our arrangements were
completed. John had come to report every shutter secure, and the gate
and little door barred. He also informed us that all the men and boys
who could be mustered, including gardeners, laborers, and stable people,
to the number of five or six, were in the little passage, armed; where
rifles were ready also for ourselves. In short, the preparations that
had been made by my grandmother, immediately after her arrival, were now
of use, and enabled us to make much more formidable resistance,
sustained as we were by the party from the prairies, than I could have
ever hoped for on so sudden an emergency.

Our arrangement was very simple. The ladies were seated near the great
door, in order that they might be placed under cover the first, in the
event of necessity; Susquesus and Jaaf had their chairs a little on one
side, but quite near this group, and the men from the far west occupied
the opposite end of the piazza, whither the benches had been removed,
for their accommodation. Manytongues stood between the two divisions of
our company, ready to interpret for either; while my uncle, myself,
John, and two or three of the other servants took position behind our
aged friends. Seneca and his fellow-incendiary were in the midst of the
chiefs.

It was just as the Injins had got fairly on the lawn that we heard the
clattering of hoofs, and every eye was turned in the direction whence
the sound proceeded. This was on the side of the ravine, and to me it
seemed from the first that some one was approaching us through that
dell. So it proved, truly; for soon Opportunity came galloping up the
path, and appeared in sight. She did not check her horse until under the
tree, where she alighted, by a single bound, and hitching the animal to
a hook in the tree, she moved swiftly toward the house. My sister Patt
advanced to the steps of the piazza to receive this unexpected guest,
and I was just behind her to make my bow. But the salutations of
Opportunity were hasty and far from being very composed. She glanced
around her, ascertained the precise condition of her brother--and,
taking my arm, she led me into the library with very little, or, indeed,
with no ceremony; for, to give this young woman her due, she was a
person of great energy when there was anything serious to be done. The
only sign of deviating, in the slightest degree, from the object in
view, was pausing, one instant, in passing, to make her compliments to
my grandmother.

"What, in the name of wonder, do you mean to do with Sen?" demanded this
active young lady, looking at me intently, with an expression
half-hostile, half-tender. "You are standing over an earthquake, Mr.
Hugh, if you did but know it."

Opportunity had confounded the effect with the cause, but that was of
little moment on an occasion so interesting. She was much in earnest,
and I had learned by experience that her hints and advice might be of
great service to us at the Nest.

"To what particular danger do you allude, my dear Opportunity?"

"Ah, Hugh! if things was only as they used to be, how happy might we all
be together here at Ravensnest! But, there is no time to talk of such
things; for, as Sarah Soothings says, 'the heart is most monopolized
when grief is the profoundest, and it is only when our sentiments rise
freely to the surface of the imagination, that the mind escapes the
shackles of thraldom.' But I haven't a minute for Sarah Soothings, even,
just now. Don't you see the Injins?"

"Quite plainly, and they probably see my 'Indians.'"

"Oh! they don't regard them now the least in the world. At first, when
they thought you might have hired a set of desperate wretches to scalp
the folks, there was some misgivings; but the whole story is now known,
and nobody cares a straw about them. If anybody's scalp is taken, 'twill
be their own. Why, the whole country is up, and the report has gone
forth, far and near, that you have brought in with you a set of
blood-thirsty savages from the prairies to cut the throats of women and
children, and drive off the tenants, that you may get all the farms into
your own hands before the lives fall in. Some folks say, these savages
have had a list of all the lives named in your leases given to them, and
that they are to make way with all such people first, that you may have
the law as much as possible on your side. You stand on an earthquake,
Mr. Hugh; you do, indeed!"

"My dear Opportunity," I answered, laughing, "I am infinitely obliged to
you for all this attention to my interests, and freely own that on
Saturday night you were of great service to me; but I must now think
that you magnify the danger--that you color the picture too high."

"Not in the least, I do protest, you stand on an earthquake; and as your
friend, I have ridden over here to tell you as much, while there is yet
time."

"To get off it, I suppose you mean. But how can all these evil and
blood-thirsty reports be abroad, when the characters of the Western
Indians are, as you own yourself, understood, and the dread of them that
did exist in the town has entirely vanished? There is a contradiction in
this."

"Why, you know how it is, in anti-rent times. When an excitement is
needed, folks don't stick at facts very closely, but repeat things, and
make things, just as it happens to be convenient."

"True; I can understand this, and have no difficulty in believing you
now. But have you come here this morning simply to let me know the
danger which besets me from this quarter?"

"I believe I'm always only too ready to gallop over to the Nest! But
everybody has some weakness or other, and I suppose I am to be no
exception to the rule," returned Opportunity, who doubtless fancied the
moment propitious to throw in a volley toward achieving her great
conquest, and who reinforced that volley of words with such a glance of
the eye, as none but a most practised picaroon on the sea of flirtation
could have thrown. "But, Hugh--I call you Hugh, Mr. Littlepage, for you
seem more like Hugh to me, than like the proud, evil-minded aristocrat,
and hard-hearted landlord, that folks want to make you out to be--but I
never could have told you what I did last night, had I supposed it would
bring Sen into this difficulty."

"I can very well understand how unpleasantly you are situated as
respects your brother, Opportunity, and your friendly services will not
be forgotten in the management of his affairs."

"If you are of this mind, why won't you suffer these Injins to get him
out of the hands of your real savages," returned Opportunity, coaxingly.
"I'll promise for him that Sen will go off, and stay off for some
months, if you insist on't; when all is forgotten, he can come back
again."

"Is the release of your brother, then, the object of this visit from the
Injins?"

"Partly so--they're bent on having him. He's in all the secrets of the
anti-renters, and they're afraid for their very lives, so long as he's
in your hands. Should he get a little scared, and give up only
one-quarter of what he knows, there'd be no peace in the county for a
twelvemonth."

At this instant, and before there was time to make an answer, I was
summoned to the piazza, the Injins approaching so near as to induce my
uncle to step to the door and call my name in a loud voice. I was
compelled to quit Opportunity, who did not deem it prudent to show
herself among us, though her presence in the house, as an intercessor
for her brother, could excite neither surprise nor resentment.

When I reached the piazza, the Injins had advanced as far as the tree
where we had first been posted, and there they had halted, seemingly for
a conference. In their rear, Mr. Warren was walking hurriedly toward us,
keeping the direct line, regardless of those whom we well knew to be
inimical to him, and intent only on reaching the house before it could
be gained by the "disguised and armed." This little circumstance gave
rise to an incident of touching interest, and which I cannot refrain
from relating, though it may interrupt the narration of matters that
others may possibly think of more moment.

Mr. Warren did not pass directly through the crowd of rioters--for such
those people were, in effect, unless the epithet should be changed to
the still more serious one of rebels--but he made a little detour, in
order to prevent a collision that was unnecessary. When about half-way
between the tree and the piazza, however, the Injins gave a discordant
yell, and many of them sprang forward, as if in haste to overtake, and
probably to arrest him. Just as we all involuntarily arose, under a
common feeling of interest in the fate of the good rector, Mary darted
from the piazza, was at her father's side and in his arms so quickly, as
to seem to have flown there. Clinging to his side, she appeared to urge
him toward us. But Mr. Warren adopted a course much wiser than that of
flight would have been. Conscious of having said or done no more than
his duty, he stopped and faced his pursuers. The act of Mary Warren had
produced a check to the intended proceedings of these lawless men, and
the calm, dignified aspect of the divine completed his conquest. The
leaders of the Injins paused, conferred together, when all who had
issued from the main body returned to their companions beneath the tree,
leaving Mr. Warren and his charming daughter at liberty to join us
unmolested, and with decorum.

The instant Mary Warren left the piazza on her pious errand, I sprang
forward to follow her with an impulse I could not control. Although my
own power over this impulsive movement was so small, that of my uncle
and grandmother was greater. The former seized the skirt of my frock,
and held me back by main strength, while the light touch of the latter
had even greater power. Both remonstrated, and with so much obvious
justice, that I saw the folly of what I was about in an instant, and
abandoned my design. Had _I_ fallen into the hands of the anti-renters,
their momentary triumph, at least, would have been complete.

Mr. Warren ascended the steps of the piazza with a mien as unaltered,
and an air as undisturbed, as if about to enter his own church. The good
old gentleman had so schooled his feelings, and was so much accustomed
to view himself as especially protected, or as so ready to suffer, when
in the discharge of any serious duty, that I have had occasions to
ascertain fear was unknown to him. As for Mary, never had she appeared
so truly lovely, as she ascended the steps, still clinging fondly and
confidingly to his arm. The excitement of such a scene had brought more
than the usual quantity of blood into her face, and the brilliancy of
her eyes was augmented by that circumstance, perhaps; but I fancied that
a more charming picture of feminine softness, blended with the
self-devotion of the child, could not have been imagined by the mind of
man.

Patt, dear, generous girl, sprang forward to embrace her friend, which
she did with warmth and honest fervor, and my venerable grandmother
kissed her on both cheeks, while the other two girls were not backward
in giving the customary signs of the sympathy of their sex. My uncle Ro
even went so far as gallantly to kiss her hand, causing the poor girl's
face to be suffused with blushes, while poor Hugh was obliged to keep in
the background, and content himself with looking his admiration. I got
one glance, however, from the sweet creature, that was replete with
consolation, since it assured me that my forbearance was understood, and
attributed to its right motive.

In that singular scene, the men of the prairies alone appeared to be
unmoved. Even the domestics and workmen had betrayed a powerful interest
in this generous act of Mary Warren's, the females all screaming in
chorus, very much as a matter of course. But, not an Indian moved.
Scarce one turned his eyes from the countenance of Susquesus, though all
must have been conscious that something of interest was going on so near
them, by the concern we betrayed; and all certainly knew that their
enemies were hard by. As respects the last, I have supposed the
unconcern, or seeming unconcern of these western warriors, ought to be
ascribed to the circumstance of the presence of the ladies, and an
impression that there could be no very imminent risk of hostilities
while the company then present remained together. The apathy of the
chiefs seemed to be extended to the interpreter, who was coolly lighting
his pipe at the very moment when the whole affair of the Warren episode
occurred; an occupation that was not interrupted by the clamor and
confusion among ourselves.

As there was a delay in the nearer approach of the Injins, there was
leisure to confer together for a moment. Mr. Warren told us, therefore,
that he had seen the "disguised and armed" pass the rectory, and had
followed in order to act as a mediator between us and any contemplated
harm.

"The destruction of the canopy of Hugh's pew must have given you a
serious intimation that things were coming to a head," observed my
grandmother.

Mr. Warren had not heard of the affair of the canopy, at all. Although
living quite within sound of a hammer used in the church, everything had
been conducted with so much management, that the canopy had been taken
down, and removed bodily, without any one in the rectory's knowing the
fact. The latter had become known at the Nest, solely by the
circumstance that the object which had so lately canopied aristocracy in
St. Andrew's, Ravensrest, was now canopying pigs up at the farm house.
The good divine expressed his surprise a little strongly, and, as I
thought, his regrets a little indifferently. He was not one to
countenance illegality and violence, and least of all that peculiarly
American vice, envy; but, on the other hand, he was not one to look with
favor on the empty distinctions, as set up between men equally sinners
and in need of grace to redeem them from a common condemnation, in the
house of God. As the grave is known to be the great leveller of the
human race, so ought the church to be used as a preparatory step in
descending to the plain all must occupy, in spirit at least, before they
can hope to be elevated to any, even of the meanest places, among the
many mansions of our Father's bosom!

There was but a short breathing time given us, however, before the
Injins again advanced. It was soon evident they did not mean to remain
mere idle spectators of the scene that was in the course of enactment on
the piazza, but that it was their intention to become actors, in some
mode or other. Forming themselves into a line, that savored a great deal
more of the militia of this great republic than of the warriors of the
West, they came on tramping, with the design of striking terror into our
souls. Our arrangements were made, however, and on our part everything
was conducted just as one could have wished. The ladies, influenced by
my grandmother, retained their seats, near the door; the men of the
household were standing, but continued stationary, while not an Indian
stirred. As for Susquesus, he had lived far beyond surprises and all
emotions of the lower class, and the men of the prairies appeared to
take their cues from him. So long as he continued immovable, they seemed
disposed to remain immovable also.

The distance between the tree and the piazza, did not much exceed a
hundred yards, and little time was necessary to march across it. I
remarked, however, that, contrary to the laws of attraction, the nearer
the Injins' line got to its goal, the slower and more unsteady its
movement became. It also lost its formation, bending into curves, though
its tramps became louder and louder, as if those who were in it, wished
to keep alive their own courage by noise. When within fifty feet of the
steps, they ceased to advance at all merely, stamping with their feet,
as if hoping to frighten us into flight. I thought this a favorable
moment to do that which it had been decided between my uncle and myself
ought to be done by me, as owner of the property these lawless men had
thus invaded. Stepping to the front of the piazza, I made a sign for
attention. The tramping ceased all at once, and I had a profound silence
for my speech.

"You know me, all of you," I said, quietly I know, and I trust firmly;
"and you know, therefore, that I am the owner of this house and these
lands. As such owner, I order every man among you to quit the place, and
to go into the highway, or upon the property of some other person.
Whoever remains, after this notice, will be a trespasser, and the evil
done by a trespasser is doubly serious in the eyes of the law."

I uttered these words loud enough to be heard by everybody present, but
I cannot pretend that they were attended by much success. The calico
bundles turned toward each other, and there was an appearance of a sort
of commotion, but the leaders composed the people, the omnipotent people
in this instance, as they do in most others. The sovereignty of the mass
is a capital thing as a principle, and once in a long while it evinces a
great good in practice; in a certain sense, it is always working good,
by holding a particular class of most odious and intolerable abuses in
check; but as for the practice of every-day political management, their
imperial majesties, the sovereigns of America, of whom I happen to be
one, have quite as little connection with the measures they are made to
seem to demand, and to sustain, as the Nawab of Oude; if the English,
who are so disinterested as to feel a generous concern for the rights of
mankind, whenever the great republic adds a few acres to the small
paternal homestead, have left any such potentate in existence.

So it was with the decision of the "disguised and armed," on the
occasion I am describing. They decided that no other notice should be
taken of my summons to quit, than a contemptuous yell, though they had
to ascertain from their leaders what they had decided before they knew
themselves. The shout was pretty general, notwithstanding, and it had
one good effect; that of satisfying the Injins themselves, that they had
made a clear demonstration of their contempt of my authority, which they
fancied victory sufficient for the moment; nevertheless, the
demonstration did not end exactly here. Certain cries, and a brief
dialogue, succeeded, which it may be well to record.

"_King_ Littlepage," called out one, from among the "disguised and
armed," "what has become of your throne? St. Andrew's meeting-'us' has
lost its monarch's throne!"

"His pigs have set up for great aristocrats of late; presently they'll
want to be patroons."

"Hugh Littlepage, be a man; come down to a level with your
fellow-citizens, and don't think yourself any better than other folks.
You're but flesh and blood, a'ter all."

"Why don't you invite me to come and dine with you as well as priest
Warren? I can eat, as well as any man in the country, and as much."

"Yes, and he'll _drink_, too, Hugh Littlepage; so provide your best
liquor the day he's to be invited."

All this passed for wit among the Injins, and among that portion of the
"virtuous and honest and hard-working," who not only kept them on foot,
but on this occasion kept them company also; it having since been
ascertained that about one-half of that band was actually composed of
the tenants of the Ravensnest farms. I endeavored to keep myself cool,
and succeeded pretty well, considering the inducements there were to be
angry. Argument with such men was out of the question--and knowing their
numbers and physical superiority, they held my legal rights in contempt.

What was probably worse than all, they knew that the law itself was
administered by the people, and that they had little to apprehend, and
did apprehend virtually nothing from any of the pains and penalties it
might undertake to inflict, should recourse be had to it at any future
day. Ten or a dozen wily agents sent through the country to circulate
lies, and to visit the county town previously to, and during a trial, in
order to raise a party that will act more or less directly on the minds
of the jurors, with a newspaper or two to scatter untruths and
prejudices, would at least be as effective, at the critical moment, as
the law, the evidence, and the right. As for the judges, and their
charges, they have lost most of their influence, under the operation of
this nefarious system, and count but for very little in the
administration of justice either at Nisi Prius or at Oyer Terminer.
These are melancholy truths, that any man who quits his theories and
descends into the arena of practice will soon ascertain to be such, to
his wonder and alarm, if he be a novice and an honest man. A portion of
this unhappy state of things is a consequence of the legislative
tinkering that has destroyed one of the most healthful provisions of the
common law, in prohibiting the judges to punish for contempt, unless for
outrages committed in open court. The press, in particular, now profits
by this impunity, and influences the decision of nearly every case that
can at all enlist public feeling. All these things men feel, and few who
are wrong care for the law; for those who are right, it is true, there
is still some danger. My uncle Ro says America is no more like what
America was in this respect twenty years since, than Kamtschatka is like
Italy. For myself, I wish to state the truth; exaggerating nothing, nor
yet taking refuge in a dastardly concealment.

Unwilling to be browbeaten on the threshold of my own door, I determined
to say something ere I returned to my place. Men like these before me
can never understand that silence proceeds from contempt; and I fancied
it best to make some sort of a reply to the speeches I have recorded,
and to twenty more of the same moral calibre. Motioning for silence, I
again obtained it.

"I have ordered you to quit my lawn, in the character of its owner," I
said, "and, by remaining, you make yourselves trespassers. As for what
you have done to my pew, I should thank you for it, had it not been done
in violation of the right; for it was fully my intention to have that
canopy removed as soon as the feeling about it had subsided. I am as
much opposed to distinctions of any sort in the house of God as any of
you can be, and desire them not for myself, or any belonging to me. I
ask for nothing but equal rights with all my fellow-citizens; that _my_
property should be as much protected as _theirs_, but not more so. But I
do not conceive that you or any man has a right to ask to share in my
world's goods any more than I have a right to ask to share in his; that
you can more justly claim a portion of my lands than I can claim a share
in your cattle and crops. It is a poor rule that does not work both
ways."

"You're an aristocrat," cried one from among the Injins, "or you'd be
willing to let other men have as much land as you've got yourself.
You're a patroon; and all patroons are aristocrats and hateful."

"An aristocrat," I answered, "is one of a few who wield political power.
The highest birth, the largest fortune, the most exclusive association
would not make an aristocrat, without the addition of a narrow political
power. In this country there are no aristocrats, because there is no
narrow political power. There is, however, a spurious aristocracy which
you do not recognize, merely because it does not happen to be in the
hands of gentlemen. Demagogues and editors are your privileged classes,
and consequently your aristocrats, and none others. As for your landlord
aristocrats, listen to a true tale, which will satisfy you how far they
deserve to be called an aristocracy. Mark! what I now tell you is
religious truth, and it deserves to be known far and near, wherever your
cry of aristocracy reaches. There is a landlord in this State, a man of
large means, who became liable for the debts of another to a
considerable amount. At the very moment when _his_ rents could not be
collected, owing to _your_ interference and the remissness of those in
authority to enforce the laws, the sheriff entered _his_ house and sold
its contents, in order to satisfy an execution against _him_! There is
American aristocracy for you, and, I am sorry to add, American justice,
as justice has got to be administered among us."

I was not disappointed in the effect of this narration of what is a
sober truth. Wherever I have told it, it has confounded even the most
brawling demagogue, and momentarily revived in his breast some of those
principles of right which God originally planted there. American
aristocracy, in sooth! Fortunate is the gentleman that can obtain even a
reluctant and meagre justice.




CHAPTER XXIX.

    "How far that little candle throws his beams,
    So shines a good deed in a naughty world."
                                        --SHAKESPEARE.


I have said that my narrative of the manner in which justice is
sometimes meted out among us was not without its effect on even that
rude band of selfish and envious rioters: rude, because setting at
naught reason and the law; and selfish, because induced so to do by
covetousness, and the desire to substitute the tenants for those whom
they fancied to be better off in the world than they were themselves. A
profound stillness succeeded; and after the bundles of calico had
whispered one with another for a moment or two, they remained quiet,
seemingly indisposed, just then at least, to molest us any farther. I
thought the moment favorable, and fell back to my old station,
determined to let things take their own course. This change, and the
profound stillness that succeeded, brought matters back to the visit of
the Indians, and its object.

During the whole time occupied by the advance of the "Injins," the men
of the prairies and Susquesus had continued nearly as motionless as so
many statues. It is true that the eyes of Flintyheart were on the
invaders, but he managed to take good heed of them without betraying any
undue uneasiness or care. Beyond this, I do affirm that I scarce noted a
single sign of even vigilance among these extraordinary beings; though
Manytongues afterward gave me to understand that they knew very well
what they were about; and then I could not be watching the red-men the
whole time. Now that there was a pause, however, everybody and thing
seemed to revert to the original visit, as naturally as if no
interruption had occurred. Manytongues, by the way of securing
attention, called on the Injins, in an authoritative voice, to offer no
interruption to the proceedings of the chiefs, which had a species of
religious sanctity, and were not to be too much interfered with, with
impunity.

"So long as you keep quiet, my warriors will not molest you," he added;
"but if any man amongst you has ever been on the prer-ies, he must
understand enough of the nature of a redskin to know that when he's in
'airnest he _is_ in 'airnest. Men who are on a journey three thousand
miles in length, don't turn aside for trifles, which is a sign that
serious business has brought these chiefs here."

Whether it was that this admonition produced an effect, or that
curiosity influenced the "disguised and armed," or that they did not
choose to proceed to extremities, or that all three considerations had
their weight, is more than I can say; but it is certain the whole band
remained stationary, quiet and interested observers of what now
occurred, until an interruption took place, which will be related in
proper time. Manytongues, who had posted himself near the centre of the
piazza, to interpret, now signified to the chiefs that they might pursue
their own purposes in tranquillity. After a decent pause, the same young
warrior who had "called up" Jaaf, in the first instance, now rose again,
and with a refinement in politeness that would be looked for in vain in
most of the deliberative bodies of civilized men, adverted to the
circumstance that the <DW64> had not finished his address, and might have
matter on his mind of which he wished to be delivered. This was said
simply, but distinctly; and it was explained to the <DW64> by
Manytongues, who assured him not one among all the chiefs would say a
word until the last person "on his legs" had an opportunity of finishing
his address. This reserve marks the deportment of those whom we call
savages; men that have their own fierce, and even ruthless customs,
beyond all controversy, but who possess certain other excellent
qualities that do not appear to flourish in the civilized state.

It was with a good deal of difficulty that we got old Jaaf up again;
for, though a famous grumbler, he was not much of an orator. As it was
understood that no chief would speak, however, until the black had
exhausted his right, my dear Patt had to go, and laying one of her
ivory-looking hands on the shoulder of the grim old <DW64>, persuade him
to rise and finish his speech. He knew her, and she succeeded; it being
worthy of remark, that while this aged black scarce remembered for an
hour what occurred, confounding dates fearfully, often speaking of my
grandmother as Miss Dus, and as if she were still a girl, he knew every
one of the family then living, and honored and loved us accordingly, at
the very moments he would fancy we had been present at scenes that
occurred when our great-grandparents were young people. But to the
speech--

"What all them fellow want, bundle up in calico, like so many squaw?"
growled out Jaaf, as soon as on his legs, and looking intently at the
Injins, ranged as they were in a line four deep, quite near the piazza.
"Why you let 'em come, Masser Hugh, Masser Hodge, Masser Malbone, Masser
Mordaunt--which you be here, now, I don't know, dere so many, and it so
hard to 'member ebberyt'ing? Oh! I _so_ ole!--I do won'er when my time
come! Dere Sus, too, _he_ good for nuttin' at all. Once he great
walker--great warrior--great hunter--pretty good fellow for redskin; but
he quite wore out. Don't see much use why he lib any longer. Injin good
for nuttin' when he can't hunt. Sometime he make basket and broom; but
they uses better broom now, and Injin lose _dat_ business. What dem
calico debbil want here, eh, Miss Patty? Dere redskin, too--two, t'ree,
four--all come to see Sus. Won'er <DW65> don't come to see _me_! Ole
black good as ole red-man. Where dem fellow get all dat calico, and put
over deir faces? Masser Hodge, what all dat mean?"

"These are anti-renters, Jaaf," my uncle coldly answered. "Men that wish
to own your Master Hugh's farms, and relieve him from the trouble of
receiving any more rent. They cover their faces, I presume, to conceal
their blushes, the modesty of their nature sinking under the sense of
their own generosity."

Although it is not very probable that Jaaf understood the whole of the
speech, he comprehended a part; for, so thoroughly had his feelings been
aroused on this subject, a year or two earlier, when his mind was not
quite so much dimmed as at present, that the impression made was
indelible. The effect of what my uncle said, nevertheless, was most
apparent among the Injins, who barely escaped an outbreak. My uncle has
been blamed for imprudence, in having resorted to irony on such an
occasion; but, after all, I am far from sure good did not come of it. Of
one thing I am certain; nothing is ever gained by temporizing on the
subject of principles; that which is right, had better always be freely
said, since it is from the sacrifices that are made of the truth, as
concession to expediency, that error obtains one half its power. Policy,
or fear, or some other motive, kept the rising ire of the Injins under,
however, and no interruption occurred, in consequence of this speech.

"What you want here, fellow?" demanded Jaaf, roughly, and speaking as a
scold would break out on some intrusive boy. "Home wid ye!--get out! Oh!
I _do_ grow so ole!--I wish I was as I was when young for your sake, you
varmint! What you want wid Masser Hugh's land?--why dat you t'ink to get
gentle'em's property, eh? 'Member 'e time when your fadder come creepin'
and beggin' to Masser Morder, to ask just little farm to lib on, and be
he tenant, and try to do a little for he family, like; and now come, in
calico bundle, to tell _my_ Masser Hugh dat he shan't be masser of he
own land. Who _you_, I want to knew, to come and talk to gentle'em in
dis poor fashion? Go home--get out--off wid you, or you hear what you
don't like."

Now, while there was a good deal of "<DW65>" in this argument, it was
quite as good as that which was sometimes advanced in support of the
"spirit of the institutions," more especially that part of the latter
which is connected with "aristocracy" and "poodle usages." The <DW64> had
an idea that all his "massers," old and young, were better than the rest
of the human race; while the advocates of the modern improvement seem to
think that every right is concentrated in the lower half of the great
"republican family." Every gentleman is no gentleman; and every
blackguard, a gentleman, for one postulate of their great social
proposition; and, what is more, every man in the least elevated _above_
the mass, unless so elevated by the mass, who consequently retain the
power to pull him down again, has no rights at all, when put in
opposition to the cravings of numbers. So that, after all, the <DW64> was
not much more out of the way, in his fashion of viewing things, than the
philosophers of industrious honesty! Happily, neither the reasoning of
one of these parties, nor that of the other, has much influence on the
actual state of things. Facts are facts, and the flounderings of envy
and covetousness can no more shut men's eyes to their existence, and
prove that black is white, than Jaaf's long-enduring and besetting
notion that the Littlepages are the great of the earth, can make us more
than what we certainly are. I have recorded the <DW64>'s speech, simply
to show some, who listen only to the misstatements and opinions of those
who wish to become owners of other men's farms, that there are two sides
to the question; and, in the way of argument, I do not see but one is
quite as good as the other.

One could hardly refrain from smiling, notwithstanding the seriousness
of the circumstances in which we were placed, at the gravity of the
Indians during the continuance of this queer episode. Not one of them
all rose, turned round, or manifested the least impatience, or even
curiosity. The presence of two hundred armed men, bagged in calico, did
not induce them to look about them, though their previous experience
with this gallant corps may possibly have led them to hold it somewhat
cheap.

The time had now come for the Indians to carry out the main design of
their visit to Ravensnest, and Prairiefire slowly arose to speak. The
reader will understand that Manytongues translated, sentence by
sentence, all that passed, he being expert in the different dialects of
the tribes, some of which had carried that of the Onondagoes to the
prairies. In this particular, the interpreter was a somewhat remarkable
man, not only rendering what was said readily and without hesitation,
but energetically and with considerable power. It may be well to add,
however, that in writing out the language I may have used English
expressions that are a little more choice, in some instances, than those
given by this uneducated person.

"Father," commenced Prairefire, solemnly, and with a dignity that it is
not usual to find connected with modern oratory; the gestures he used
being few, but of singular force and significance--"Father, the minds of
your children are heavy. They have travelled over a long and thorny
path, with moccasons worn out, and feet that were getting sore; but
their minds were light. They hoped to look at the face of the Upright
Onondago, when they got to the end of the path. They have come to the
end of that path, and they see him. He looks as they expected he would
look. He is like an oak that lightning may burn, and the snows cover
with moss, but which a thousand storms and a hundred winters cannot
strip of its leaves. He looks like the oldest oak in the forest. He is
very grand. It is pleasant to look on him. When we see him, we see a
chief who knew our fathers' fathers, and _their_ fathers' fathers. That
is a long time ago. He is a tradition, and knows all things. There is
only one thing about him, that ought not to be. He was born a red-man,
but has lived so long with the pale-faces, that when he does go away to
the happy hunting-grounds, we are afraid the good spirits will mistake
him for a pale-face, and point out the wrong path. Should this happen,
the red-men would lose the Upright of the Onondagoes, forever. It should
not be. My father does not wish it to be. He will think better. He will
come back among his children, and leave his wisdom and advice among the
people of his own color. I ask him to do this.

"It is a long path, now, to the wigwams of red-men. It was not so once,
but the path has been stretched. It is a very long path. Our young men
travel it often, to visit the graves of their fathers, and they know how
long it is. My tongue is not crooked, but it is straight; it will not
sing a false song--it tells my father the truth. The path is very long.
But the pale-faces are wonderful! What have they not done? What will
they not do? They have made canoes and sledges that fly swift as the
birds. The deer could not catch them. They have wings of fire, and never
weary. They go when men sleep. The path is long, but it is soon
travelled with such wings. My father can make the journey, and not think
of weariness. Let him try it. His children will take good care of him.
Uncle Sam will give him venison, and he will want nothing. Then, when he
starts for the happy hunting-grounds, he will not mistake the path, and
will live with red-men forever."

A long, solemn pause succeeded this speech, which was delivered with
great dignity and emphasis. I could see that Susquesus was touched with
this request, and at the homage paid his character, by having tribes
from the prairies--tribes of which he had never even heard through
traditions in his younger days--come so far to do justice to his
character; to request him to go and die in their midst. It is true, he
must have known that the fragments of the old New York tribes had mostly
found their way to those distant regions; nevertheless, it could not but
be soothing to learn that even they had succeeded in making so strong an
impression in his favor, by means of their representations. Most men of
his great age would have been insensible to feelings of this sort. Such,
in a great degree, was the fact with Jaaf; but such was not the case
with the Onondago. As he said in his former speech to his visitors, his
mind dwelt more on the scenes of his youth, and native emotions came
fresher to his spirit, now, than they had done even in middle age. All
that remained of his youthful fire seemed to be awakened, and he did not
appear that morning, except when compelled to walk and in his outward
person, to be a man who had seen much more than his threescore years and
ten.

As a matter of course, now that the chiefs from the prairies had so
distinctly made known the great object of their visit, and so vividly
portrayed their desire to receive back, into the bosom of their
communities, one of their color and race, it remained for the Onondago
to let the manner in which he viewed this proposition be known. The
profound stillness that reigned around him must have assured the old
Indian how anxiously his reply was expected. It extended even to the
"disguised and armed," who, by this time, seemed to be as much absorbed
in the interest of this curious scene as any of us who occupied the
piazza. I do believe that anti-rentism was momentarily forgotten by all
parties--tenants as well as landlords, Landlords as well as tenants. I
dare say, Prairiefire had taken his seat three minutes ere Susquesus
arose; during all which time, the deep stillness, of which I have
spoken, prevailed.

"My children," answered the Onondago, whose voice possessed just enough
of the hollow tremulousness of age to render it profoundly impressive,
but who spoke so distinctly as to be heard by all present--"My children,
we do not know what will happen when we are young--all is young, too,
that we see. It is when we grow old, that all grows old with us. Youth
is full of hope; but age is full of eyes, it sees things as they are. I
have lived in my wigwam alone, since the Great Spirit called out the
name of my mother, and she hurried away to the happy hunting-grounds to
cook venison for my father, who was called first. My father was a great
warrior. You did not know him. He was killed by the Delawares, more than
a hundred winters ago.

"I have told you the truth. When my mother went to cook venison for her
husband, I was left alone in my wigwam."

Here a long pause succeeded, during which Susquesus appeared to be
struggling with his own feelings, though he continued erect, like a tree
firmly rooted. As for the chiefs, most of them inclined their bodies
forward to listen, so intense was their interest; here and there one of
their number explaining in soft guttural tones, certain passages in the
speech to some other Indians, who did not fully comprehend the dialect
in which they were uttered. After a time, Susquesus proceeded: "Yes, I
lived alone. A young squaw _was_ to have entered my wigwam and staid
there. She never came. She wished to enter it, but she did not. Another
warrior had her promise, and it was right that she should keep her word.
Her mind was heavy at first, but she lived to feel that it is good to be
just. No squaw has ever lived in any wigwam of mine. I do not think ever
to be a father: but see how different it has turned out! I am now the
father of all red-men! Every Indian warrior is my son. _You_ are my
children! I will own you when we meet on the pleasant paths beyond the
hunts you make to-day. You will call me father, and I will call you
sons.

"That will be enough. You ask me to go on the long path with you, and
leave my bones on the prairies. I have heard of those hunting-grounds.
Our ancient traditions told us of them. 'Toward the rising sun,' they
said, 'is a great salt lake, and toward the setting sun, great lakes of
sweet water. Across the great salt lake is a distant country, filled
with pale-faces, who live in large villages, and in the midst of cleared
fields. Toward the setting sun were large cleared fields, too, but no
pale-faces, and few villages.' Some of our wise men thought these fields
were the fields of red-men following the pale-faces round after the sun;
some thought they were fields in which the pale-faces were following
them. I think this was the truth. The red-man cannot hide himself in any
corner where the pale-faces will not find him. The Great Spirit will
have it so. It is his will; the red-man must submit.

"My sons, the journey you ask me to make is too long for old age. I have
lived with the pale-faces, until one-half of my heart is white; though
the other half is red. One-half is filled with the traditions of my
fathers, the other half is filled with the wisdom of the stranger. I
cannot cut my heart in two pieces. I must all go with you, or all stay
here. The body must stay with the heart, and both must remain where they
have now dwelt so long. I thank you, my children, but what you wish can
never come to pass.

"You see a very old man, but you see a very unsettled mind. There are
red traditions and pale-face traditions. Both speak of the Great Spirit,
but only one speak of his Son. A soft voice has been whispering in my
ear, lately, much of the Son of God. Do they speak to you in that way on
the prairies? I know not what to think. I wish to think what is right;
but it is not easy to understand."

Here Susquesus paused; then he took his seat, with the air of one who is
at a loss how to explain his own feelings. Prairiefire waited a
respectful time for him to continue his address, but perceiving that he
rose not, he stood up himself, to request a further explanation.

"My father has spoken wisdom," he said, "and his children have listened.
They have not heard enough; they wish to hear more. If my father is
tired of standing, he can sit; his children do not ask him to stand.
They ask to know where that soft voice came from, and what it said?"

Susquesus did not rise, now, but he prepared for a reply. Mr. Warren was
standing quite near him, and Mary was leaning on his arm. He signed for
the father to advance a step or two, in complying with which, the parent
brought forth the unconscious child also.

"See, my children," resumed Susquesus. "This is a great medicine of the
pale-faces. He talks always of the Great Spirit, and of his goodness to
men. It is his business to talk of the happy hunting-ground, and of good
and bad pale-faces. I cannot tell you whether he does any good or not.
Many such talk of these things constantly among the whites, but I can
see little change, and I have lived among them, now, more than eighty
winters and summers--yes, near ninety. The land is changed so much that
I hardly know it; but the people do not alter. See, there; here are
men--pale-faces in calico bags. Why do they run about, and dishonor the
red-man by calling themselves Injins? I will tell you."

There was now a decided movement among the "virtuous and industrious,"
though a strong desire to hear the old man out, prevented any violent
interruption at that time. I question if ever men listened more
intently, than we all lent our faculties now, to ascertain what the
Upright of the Onondagoes thought of anti-rentism. I received the
opinions he expressed with the greater alacrity, because I knew he was a
living witness of most of what he related, and because I was clearly of
opinion that he knew quite as much of the subject as many who rose in
the legislative halls to discuss the subject.

"These men are not warriors," continued Susquesus. "They hide their
faces and they carry rifles, but they frighten none but the squaws and
pappooses. When they take a scalp, it is because they are a hundred, and
their enemies one. They are not braves. Why do they come at all? What do
they want? They want the land of this young chief. My children, all the
land, far and near, was ours. The pale-faces came with their papers, and
made laws, and said 'It is well! We want this land. There is plenty
farther west for you red-men. Go there, and hunt, and fish, and plant
your corn, and leave us this land.' Our red brethren did as they were
asked to do. The pale-faces had it as they wished. They made laws, and
sold the land, as the red-men sell the skins of beavers. When the money
was paid, each pale-face got a deed, and thought he owned all that he
had paid for. But the wicked spirit that drove out the red-man is now
about to drive off the pale-face chiefs. It is the same devil, and it is
no other. He wanted land then, and he wants land now. There is one
difference, and it is this. When the pale-face drove off the red-man
there was no treaty between them. They had not smoked together, and
given wampum, and signed a paper. If they had, it was to agree that the
red-man should go away, and the pale-face stay. When the pale-face
drives off the pale-face, there is a treaty; they have smoked together,
and given wampum, and signed a paper. This is the difference. Indian
will keep his word with Indian; pale-face will not keep his word with
pale-face."

Susquesus stopped speaking, and the eye of every chief was immediately,
and for the first time that morning, turned on the "disguised and
armed"--the "virtuous and hard-working." A slight movement occurred in
the band, but no outbreak took place; and, in the midst of the sensation
that existed, Eaglesflight slowly arose. The native dignity and ease of
his manner more than compensated for his personal appearance, and he now
seemed to us all one of those by no means unusual instances of the power
of the mind to overshadow, and even to obliterate, the imperfections of
the body. Before the effect of what Susquesus had just said was lost,
this eloquent and much-practised orator began his address. His utterance
was highly impressive, being so deliberate, with pauses so well
adjusted, as to permit Manytongues to give full effect to each syllable
he translated.

"My brethren," said Eaglesflight, addressing the Injins and the other
auditors, rather than any one else, "you have heard the words of age.
They are the words of wisdom. They are the words of truth. The Upright
of the Onondagoes cannot lie. He never could. The Great Spirit made him
a just Indian; and, as the Great Spirit makes an Indian, so he is. My
brethren, I will tell you his story; it will be good for _you_ to hear
it. We have heard your story; first from the interpreter, now from
Susquesus. It is a bad story. We were made sorrowful when we heard it.
What is right, should be done; what is wrong, should not be done. There
are bad red-men, and good red-men; there are bad pale-faces, and good
pale-faces. The good red-men and good pale-faces do what is right; the
bad, what is wrong. It is the same with both. The Great Spirit of the
Indian and the Great Spirit of the white man are alike; so are the
wicked spirits. There is no difference in this.

"My brethren, a red-man knows in his heart when he does what is right,
and when he does what is wrong. He does not want to be told. He tells
himself. His face is red, and he cannot change color. The paint is too
thick. When he tells himself how much wrong he has done, he goes into
the bushes, and is sorry. When he comes out he is a better man.

"My brethren, it is different with a pale-face. He is white, and uses no
stones for paint. When he tells himself that he has done wrong, his face
can paint itself. Everybody can see that he is ashamed. He does not go
into the bushes; it would do no good. He paints himself so quickly that
there is no time. He hides his face in a calico bag. This is not good,
but it is better than to be pointed at with the finger.

"My brethren, the Upright of the Onondagoes has never run into the
bushes because he was ashamed. There has been no need of it. He has not
told himself he was wicked. He has not put his face in a calico bag; he
cannot paint himself, like a pale-face.

"My brethren, listen; I will tell you a story. A long time ago
everything was very different here. The clearings were small, and the
woods large. Then the red-men were many, and the pale-faces few. Now it
is different. You know how it is, to-day.

"My brethren, I am talking of what was a hundred winters since. We were
not born, then. Susquesus was then young, and strong, and active. He
could run with the deer, and battle with the bear. He was a chief,
because his fathers were chiefs before him. The Onondagoes knew him and
loved him. Not a war-path was opened that he was not the first to go on
it. No other warrior could count so many scalps. No young chief had so
many listeners at the council-fire. The Onondagoes were proud that they
had so great a chief, and one so young. They thought he would live a
long time, and they should see him, and be proud of him for fifty
winters more.

"My brethren, Susquesus has lived twice fifty winters longer; but he has
not lived them with his own people. No; he has been a stranger among the
Onondagoes all that time. The warriors he knew are dead. The wigwams
that he went into have fallen to the earth with time; the graves have
crumbled, and the sons' sons of his companions walk heavily with old
age. Susquesus is there; you see him; he sees you. He can walk; he
speaks; he sees: he is a living tradition! Why is this so? The Great
Spirit has not called him away. He is a just Indian, and it is good that
he be kept here, that all red-men may know how much he is loved. So long
as he stays no red-men need want a calico bag.

"My brethren, the younger days of Susquesus, the Trackless, were happy.
When he had seen twenty winters, he was talked of in all the neighboring
tribes. The scalp notches were a great many. When he had seen thirty
winters, no chief of the Onondagoes had more honor, or more power. He
was first among the Onondagoes. There was but one fault in him. He did
not take a squaw into his wigwam. Death comes when he is not looked for;
so does marriage. At length my father became like other men, and wished
for a squaw. It happened in this way.

"My brethren, red-men have laws, as well as the pale-faces. If there is
a difference, it is in keeping those laws. A law of the red-men gives
every warrior his prisoners. If he bring off a warrior, he is his; if a
squaw, she is his. This is right. He can take the scalp of the warrior;
he can take the squaw into his wigwam, if it be empty. A warrior named
Waterfowl, brought in a captive girl of the Delawares. She was called
Ouithwith, and was handsomer than the humming-bird. The Waterfowl had
his ears open, and heard how beautiful she was. He watched long to take
her, and he did take her. She was his, and he thought to take her into
his wigwam when it was empty. Three moons passed, before that could be.
In the meantime, Susquesus saw Ouithwith, and Ouithwith saw Susquesus.
Their eyes were never off each other. He was the noblest moose of the
woods, in her eyes; she was the spotted fawn, in his. He wished to ask
her to his wigwam; she wished to go.

"My brethren, Susquesus was a great chief; the Waterfowl was only a
warrior. One had power and authority, the other had neither. But there
is authority among red-men beyond that of the chief. It is the red-man's
law. Ouithwith belonged to the Waterfowl, and she did not belong to
Susquesus. A great council was held, and men differed. Some said that so
useful a chief, so renowned a warrior as Susquesus, ought to be the
husband of Ouithwith, some said her husband ought to be the Waterfowl,
for he had brought her out from among the Delawares. A great difficulty
arose on this question, and the whole six nations took part in it. Many
warriors were for the law, but most were for Susquesus. They loved him,
and thought he would make the best husband for the Delaware girl. For
six moons the quarrel thickened, and a dark cloud gathered over the path
that led among the tribes. Warriors who had taken scalps in company,
looked at each other, as the panther looks at the deer. Some were ready
to dig up the hatchet for the law; some for the pride of the Onondagoes,
and the humming-bird of the Delawares. The squaws took sides with
Susquesus. Far and near, they met to talk together, and they even
threatened to light a council-fire, and smoke around it, like warriors
and chiefs.

"Brethren, things could not stand so another moon. Ouithwith must go
into the wigwam of the Waterfowl, or into the wigwam of Susquesus. The
squaws said she should go into the wigwam of Susquesus; and they met
together, and led her to his door. As she went along that path,
Ouithwith looked at her feet with her eyes, but her heart leaped like
the bounding fawn, when playing in the sun. She did not go in at the
door. The Waterfowl was there, and forbade it. He had come alone; his
friends were but few, while the heads and arms of the friends of
Susquesus were as plenty as the berries on the bush.

"My brethren, that command of the Waterfowl's was like a wall of rock
before the door of the Trackless's wigwam. Ouithwith could not go in.
The eyes of Susquesus said 'no,' while his heart said 'yes.' He offered
the Waterfowl his rifle, his powder, all his skins, his wigwam; but
Waterfowl would rather have his prisoner, and answered, 'no.' 'Take my
scalp,' he said; 'you are strong and can do it; but do not take my
prisoner.'

"My brethren, Susquesus then stood up, in the midst of the tribe, and
opened his mind. 'The Waterfowl is right,' he said. 'She is his, by our
laws; and what the laws of the red-man say, the red-man must do. When
the warrior is about to be tormented, and he asks for time to go home
and see his friends, does he not come back at the day and hour agreed
on? Shall I, Susquesus, the first chief of the Onondagoes, be stronger
than the law? No--my face would be forever hid in the bushes, did that
come to pass. It should not be--it _shall_ not be. Take her, Waterfowl;
she is yours. Deal kindly by her, for she is as tender as the wren when
it first quits the nest. I must go into the woods for awhile. When my
mind is at peace, Susquesus will return.'

"Brethren, the stillness in that tribe, while Susquesus was getting his
rifle, and his horn, and his best moccasons, and his tomahawk, was like
that which comes in the darkness. Men saw him go, but none dare follow.
He left no trail, and he was called the Trackless. His mind was never at
peace, for he never came back. Summer and winter came and went often
before the Onondagoes heard of him among the pale-faces. All that time
the Waterfowl lived with Ouithwith in his wigwam, and she bore him
children. The chief was gone, but the law remained. Go you, men of the
pale-faces, who hide your shame in calico bags, and do the same. Follow
the example of an Indian--be honest, like the Upright of the
Onondagoes!"

While this simple narrative was drawing to a close, I could detect the
signs of great uneasiness among the leaders of the "calico bags." The
biting comparison between themselves and their own course, and an Indian
and his justice, was intolerable to them, for nothing has more conduced
to the abuses connected with anti-rentism than the wide-spread delusion
that prevails in the land concerning the omnipotency of the masses. The
error is deeply rooted which persuades men that fallible parts can make
an infallible whole. It was offensive to their self-conceit, and
menacing to their success. A murmur ran through the assembly, and a
shout followed. The Injins rattled their rifles, most relying on
intimidation to effect their purpose; but a few seemed influenced by a
worse intention, and I have never doubted that blood would have been
shed in the next minute, the Indians now standing to their arms, had not
the sheriff of the county suddenly appeared on the piazza, with Jack
Dunning at his elbow. This unexpected apparition produced a pause,
during which the "disguised and armed" fell back some twenty yards, and
the ladies rushed into the house. As for my uncle and myself, we were as
much astonished as any there at this interruption.




CHAPTER XXX.

    "Strong sense, deep feeling, passions strong,
      A hate of tyrant and of knave,

    A love of right, a scorn of wrong,
      Of coward and of slave."
                        --_Halleck's Wild Rose of Alloway._


Although experience has shown that the appearance of a sheriff is by no
means a pledge of the appearance of a friend of the law in this
anti-rent movement, in our instance the fact happened to be so. It was
known to the "disguised and armed" that this functionary was disposed to
do his duty.[30] One of the rank absurdities into which democracy has
fallen, and democracy is no more infallible than individual democrats,
has been to make the officers of the militia and the sheriffs of
counties elective. The consequences are, that the militia is converted
into a farce, and the execution of the laws in a particular county is
very much dependent on the pleasure of that county to have them executed
or not. The last is a capital arrangement for the resident debtor, for
instance, though absent creditors are somewhat disposed to find fault.
But all this is of no great moment, since the theories for laws and
governments in vogue just now are of such a character as would render
laws and governments quite unnecessary at all, were they founded in
truth. Restraints of all kinds can only be injurious when they are
imposed on perfection!

[Footnote 30: The editor may as well say here, that, for obvious
reasons, the _name_s, counties, etc., used in these manuscripts are
feigned, the real localities being close enough to those mentioned for
the double purposes of truth and fiction. As one of the "honorable
gentlemen" of the Legislature has quoted our references to
"_provincial_" feelings and notions, with a magnificence that proves how
thoroughly he is a man of the world himself, we will tell all the rest
of the human race, who may happen to read this book, that we have made
this explanation lest that comprehensive view of things, which has
hitherto been so eager, because a street and a house are named in the
pages of a fiction, to suppose that everybody is to believe they know
the very individual who dwelt in it, should fancy that our allusions are
to this or that particular functionary.--EDITOR.]

The instant the commotion commenced, and the ladies fled, I took Seneca
and his fellow-prisoner by the arm, and led them into the library. This
I did, conceiving it to be unfair to keep prisoners in a situation of
danger. This I did, too, without reflecting in the least on anything but
the character of the act. Returning to the piazza immediately, I was not
missed, and was a witness of all that passed.

As has been intimated, this particular sheriff was known to be
unfavorable to the anti-rent movement, and, no one supposing he would
appear in the midst unsupported, in such a scene, the Injins fell back,
thus arresting the danger of an immediate collision. It has since been
privately intimated to me, that some among them, after hearing the
narrative of Eaglesflight, really felt ashamed that a redskin should
have a more lively sense of justice than a white man. Whatever may be
said of the hardships of the tenants, and of "poodle-usages," and of
"aristocracy," and "fat hens," by the leaders in this matter, it by no
means follows that those leaders believe in their own theories and
arguments. On the contrary, it is generally the case with such men, that
they keep themselves quite free from the excitement that it is their
business to awaken in others, resembling the celebrated John Wilkes, who
gravely said to George III., in describing the character of a former
co-operator in agitation, "_He_ was a Wilkesite, sir; _I_ never was."

The unexpected appearance of Dunning, the offending agent, too, was not
without its effect--for they who were behind the curtains found it
difficult to believe that he would dare to show himself at Ravensnest
without sufficient support. Those who thought thus, however, did not
know Jack Dunning. He had a natural and judicious aversion to being
tarred and feathered, it is true; but, when it was necessary to expose
himself, no man did it more freely. The explanation of his unlooked-for
arrival is simply this.

Uneasy at our manner of visiting Ravensnest, this trustworthy friend,
after the delay of a day or two, determined to follow us. On reaching
the county he heard of the firing of the barn, and of the attempt on the
house, and went in quest of the sheriff without a moment's delay. As the
object of Dunning was to get the ladies out of the lion's den, he did
not wait for the summoning of the _posse comitatus_; but, hiring a dozen
resolute fellows, they were armed, and all set out in a body for the
Nest. When within a mile or two of the house, the rumor reached the
party that we were besieged; and it became expedient to have recourse to
some manoeuvring, in order to throw succor into the garrison. Dunning
was familiar with all the windings and turnings of the place, having
passed many a month at the Nest with my uncle and father, both as man
and boy, and he knew the exact situation of the cliff, court, and of the
various peculiar features of the place. Among other arrangements that
had been made of late years, a door had been opened at the end of the
long gallery which led through one of the wings, and a flight of steps
been built against the rocks, by means of which certain paths and walks
that meandered through the meadows and followed the windings of the
stream might be reached. Dunning determined to attempt an ascent from
this quarter, trusting to make himself heard by some one within, should
he find the door fastened. Everything succeeded to his wishes--the cook
alone, of all the household, being at her post in the other wing, and
seeing him the instant he presented himself on the upper part of the
steps. Jack Dunning's face was so well known at the Nest, that the good
woman did not hesitate a moment about admitting him, and he thus
penetrated into the building, followed by all his party. The last he
kept concealed by sending them into the chambers, while he and the
sheriff drew near the door, and heard most of the speech of
Eaglesflight, the attention of everybody being given to the narrative.
The reader knows the rest.

I might as well say at once, however, that Opportunity, who, by her
position, had seen the entrance of Dunning and his party, no sooner
found herself alone with the prisoners, than she unbound them, and
showed them the means of flight, by the same passage, door and steps. At
least, such has been my supposition, for the sister has never been
questioned on the subject. Seneca and his co-rascal vanished, and have
not since been seen in our part of the country. In consequence of the
flight, no one has ever complained of either for arson. The murder of
Steele, the deputy-sheriff of Delaware, has given a check to the "Injin"
system, and awakened a feeling in the country that was not to be
resisted, in that form at least, by men engaged in a scheme so utterly
opposed to the first principles of honesty as anti-rentism.

When I regained the piazza, after thrusting Seneca into the library, the
Injins had fallen back to the distance of twenty or thirty yards from
the piazza in evident confusion; while the Indians, cool and collected,
stood to their arms, watchful as crouching panthers, but held in hand by
the calmness with which their leaders watched the progress of events.
The sheriff now required the first to disperse, as violators of the law;
with the penalties of which he menaced them in a voice sufficiently
clear and distinct to make itself audible. There was a moment during
which the Injins seemed undecided. They had come with the full intent to
inflict on my uncle and myself the punishment of the tar-bucket, with
the hope of frightening us into some sort of a compromise; the cowardly
expedient of a hundred men attacking and annoying one being particularly
in favor with a certain class of those ultra-friends of liberty, who
fancy that they alone possess all the public virtue of the nation, which
public virtue justifies any of their acts. All of a sudden, the entire
body of these virtuous citizens, who found it necessary to hide their
blushes beneath calico, fell rapidly back; observing a little order at
first, which soon degenerated, however, into confusion, and shortly
after into a downright scampering flight. The fact was, that Dunning's
men began to show themselves at the windows of the chambers, thrusting
muskets and rifles out before them, and the "disguised and armed," as
has invariably been the case in the anti-rent disturbances, exhibited a
surprising facility at the retreat. If he is "thrice-armed who hath his
quarrel just," ten times is he a coward who hath his quarrel unjust.
This is the simple solution of the cowardice that has been so generally
shown by those who have been engaged in this "Injin" warfare; causing
twenty to chase one, secret attempts on the lives of sentinels, and all
the other violations of manly feeling that have disgraced the
proceedings of the heroes.

As soon as released from all immediate apprehension on the score of the
Injins, we had time to attend to the Indians. The warriors gazed after
those who were caricaturing their habits, and most of all their spirit,
with silent contempt; and Prairiefire, who spoke a little English, said
to me with emphasis, "Poor Injin--poor tribe--run away from own whoop!"
This was positively every syllable the men of the prairies deigned to
bestow on these disturbers of the public peace, the agents of
covetousness, who prowl about at night, like wolves, ready to seize the
stray lamb, but are quick to sneak off at the growl of the mastiff. One
cannot express himself in terms too harsh of such wretches, who in no
instance have manifested a solitary spark of the true spirit of freemen;
having invariably quailed before authority when that authority has
assumed in the least the aspect of its power, and as invariably trampled
it underfoot, whenever numbers put danger out of the question.

Old Susquesus had been a quiet observer of all that passed. He knew the
nature of the disturbance, and understood everything material that was
connected with the outbreaks. As soon as order was restored on the
piazza, he rose once more to address his guests.

"My children," he said, solemnly, "you hear my voice for the last time.
Even the wren cannot sing forever. The very eagle's wing gets tired in
time. I shall soon cease to speak. When I reach the happy
hunting-grounds of the Onondagoes, I will tell the warriors I meet there
of your visit. Your fathers shall know that their sons still love
justice. Let the pale-faces sign papers, and laugh at them afterward.
The promise of a red-man is his law. If he is made a prisoner, and his
conquerors wish to torment him, they are too generous to do so without
letting him go to his tribe to take leave of his friends. When the time
is reached, he comes back. If he promises skins, he brings them, though
no law can follow into the woods to force him to do so. His promise goes
with him; his promise is stronger than chains--it brings him back.

"My children, never forget this. You are not pale-faces, to say one
thing and do another. What you say, you do. When you make a law, you
keep it. That is right. No red-man wants another's wigwam. If he wants a
wigwam, he builds one himself. It is not so with the pale-faces. The man
who has no wigwam tries to get away his neighbor's. While he does this,
he reads in his Bible and goes to his church. I have sometimes thought,
the more he reads and prays, the more he tries to get into his
neighbor's wigwam. So it seems to an Indian, but it may not be so.

"My children, the red-man is his own master. He goes and comes as he
pleases. If the young men strike the war-path, he can strike it too. He
can go on the war-path, or the hunt, or he can stay in his wigwam. All
he has to do is to keep his promise, not steal, and not to go into
another red-man's wigwam unasked. He is his own master. He does not
_say_ so; he _is_ so. How is it with the pale-faces? They say they are
free when the sun rises; they say they are free when the sun is over
their heads; they say they are free when the sun goes down behind the
hills. They never stop talking of their being their own masters. They
talk of _that_ more than they read their Bibles. I have lived near a
hundred winters among them, and know what they are. They do that; then
they take away another's wigwam. They talk of liberty; then they say you
shall have this farm, and you shan't have that. They talk of liberty,
and call to one another to put on calico bags, that fifty men may tar
and feather one. They talk of liberty, and want everything their own
way.

"My children, these pale-faces might go back with you to the prairies,
and learn to do what is right. I do not wonder they hide their faces in
bags. They feel ashamed; they ought to feel ashamed.

"My children, this is the last time you will hear my voice. The tongue
of an old man cannot move forever. This is my counsel: do what is right.
The Great Spirit will tell you what that is. Let it be done. What my son
said of me is true. It was hard to do; the feelings yearned to do
otherwise, but it was not done. In a little time peace came on my
spirit, and I was glad. I could not go back to live among my people, for
I was afraid of doing what was wrong. I stayed among the pale-faces, and
made friends here. My children, farewell; do what is right, and you will
be happier than the richest pale-face who does what is wrong."

Susquesus took his seat, and at the same time each of the redskins
advanced and shook his hand. The Indians make few professions, but let
their acts speak for them. Not a syllable was uttered by one of those
rude warriors as he took his leave of Susquesus. Each man had willingly
paid this tribute to one whose justice and self-denial were celebrated
in their traditions, and having paid it, he went his way satisfied, if
not altogether happy. Each man shook hands, too, with all on the piazza,
and to us they expressed their thanks for their kind treatment. My uncle
Ro had distributed the remains of his trinkets among them, and they left
us with the most amicable feelings. Still there was nothing dramatic in
their departure. It was simple as their arrival. They had come to see
the Upright of the Onondagoes, had fulfilled their mission, and were
ready to depart. Depart they did, and as I saw their line winding along
the highway, the episode of such a visit appeared to us all more like a
dream than reality.

No interruption occurred to the return of these men, and half an hour
after they had left the piazza we saw them winding their way up the
hill, descending which we had first seen them.

"Well, Hugh," said Jack Dunning, two or three hours later, "what is your
decision; will you remain here, or will you go to your own place in
Westchester?"

"I will remain here until it is our pleasure to depart; then we will
endeavor to be as free as Indians, and go where we please, provided
always we do not go into our neighbor's wigwam against his will."

Jack Dunning smiled, and he paced the library once or twice before he
resumed.

"They told me, as soon as I got into the county, that you, and all
belonging to you, were preparing to retreat the morning after the
attempt to fire your house."

"One of those amiable perversions of the truth that so much embellish
the morality of the whole affair. What men wish, they fancy, and what
they fancy, they say. The girls, even, protest they would not quit the
house while it has a roof to cover their heads. But, Jack, whence comes
this spirit?"

"I should think that was the last question a reasonably informed man
need ask," answered Dunning laughing. "It is very plain where it comes
from. It comes from the devil and has every one of the characteristics
of his handiwork. In the first place, love of money, or covetousness, is
at its root. Then lies are its agents. Its first and most pretending lie
is that of liberty, every principle of which it tramples underfoot. Then
come in the fifty auxiliaries in the way of smaller inventions, denying
the facts of the original settlement of the country, fabricating
statements concerning its progress, and asserting directly in the teeth
of truth, such statements as it is supposed will serve a turn.[31] There
can be no mistaking the origin of such contrivance, or all that has been
taught us of good and evil is a fiction. Really, Hodge, I am astonished
that so sensible a man should have asked the question."

[Footnote 31: The frightful propensity to effect its purposes by lying
has come to such a head in the country, as seriously to threaten the
subversion of all justice. Without adverting to general facts, two
circumstances directly connected with this anti-rent question force
themselves on my attention. They refer to large estates that were
inherited by an Englishman, who passed half of a long life in the
country. In public legislative documents it has been pretended that the
question of his title to his estates is still open, when the published
reports of the highest court of the country show that a decision was
made in his favor thirty years since; and, in reference to his heir, it
has been officially stated that he has invariably refused to give any
leases but such as run on lives. Now it is of little moment whether this
be true or not, since the law allows every man to do as he may please in
this respect. But the fact, as I understand from the agent who draws the
leases, is precisely the reverse of that which has been openly stated in
this legislative document; THE PRESENT POSSESSOR OF THE ESTATE IN
QUESTION HAVING BEEN EARNESTLY SOLICITED BY THE TENANTS TO GRANT NEW
LEASES ON LIVES AND ABSOLUTELY REFUSED TO COMPLY! In this instance the
Legislature, doubtless, have been deceived by the interested
representations of anti-renters.--EDITOR.]

"Perhaps you are right, Jack; but to what will it lead?"

"Aye, that is not so easily answered. The recent events in Delaware have
aroused the better feelings of the country, and there is no telling what
it may do. One thing, however, I hold to be certain; the spirit
connected with this affair must be put down, thoroughly, effectually,
completely, or we are lost. Let it once be understood, in the country,
that men can control their own indebtedness, and fashion contracts to
suit their own purposes, by combinations and numbers, and pandemonium
would soon be a paradise compared to New York. There is not a single
just ground of complaint in the nature of any of these leases, whatever
hardships may exist in particular cases; but, admitting that there were
false principles of social life, embodied in the relation of landlord
and tenant, as it exists among us, _it would be a far greater evil to
attempt a reform under such a combination_, _than to endure the original
wrong_."

"I suppose these gentry fancy themselves strong enough to thrust their
interests into politics, and hope to succeed by that process. But
anti-masonry, and various other schemes of that sort have failed,
hitherto, and this may fail along with it. That is a redeeming feature
of the institutions, Jack; you may humbug for a time, but the humbuggery
is not apt to last forever. It is only to be regretted that the really
upright portion of the community are so long in making themselves felt;
would they only be one-half as active as the miscreants, we should get
along well enough."

"The result is unknown. The thing _may_ be put down, totally,
effectually, and in a way to kill the snake, not scotch it; or it may be
met with only half-way measures; in which case it will remain like a
disease in the human system, always existing, always menacing relapses,
quite possibly to be the agent of the final destruction of the body."

My uncle, nevertheless, was as good as his word, and did remain in the
country, where he is yet. Our establishment has received another
reinforcement, however, and a change occurred, shortly after our visit
from the Injins, in the policy of the anti-renters, the two giving us a
feeling of security that might otherwise have been wanting. The
reinforcement came from certain young men, who have found their way
across from the springs, and become guests at the Nest. They are all old
acquaintances of mine, most of them school-fellows, and also admirers of
the young ladies. Each of my uncle's wards, the Coldbrooke and the
Marston, has an accepted lover, as we now discovered, circumstances that
have left me unobstructed in pursuing my suit with Mary Warren. I have
found Patt a capital ally, for she loves the dear girl almost as I do
myself, and has been of great service in the affair. I am conditionally
accepted, though Mr. Warren's consent has not been asked. Indeed, I much
question if the good rector has the least suspicion of what is in the
wind. As for my uncle Ro, he knew all about it, though I have never
breathed a syllable to him on the subject. Fortunately, he is well
satisfied with the choice made by his two wards, and this has somewhat
mitigated the disappointment.

My uncle Ro is not in the least mercenary; and the circumstance that
Mary Warren has not a cent gives him no concern. He is, indeed, so rich
himself that he knows it is in his power to make any reasonable addition
to my means, and, if necessary, to place me above the dangers of
anti-rentism. The following is a specimen of his humor, and of his
manner of doing things when the humor takes him. We were in the library
one morning, about a week after the Injins were shamed out of the field
by the Indians, for that was the secret of their final disappearance
from our part of the country; but, one morning, about a week after their
last visit, my grandmother, my uncle, Patt, and I were seated in the
library, chatting over matters and things, when my uncle suddenly
exclaimed--

"By the way, Hugh, I have a piece of important news to communicate to
you; news affecting your interests to the tune of fifty thousand
dollars."

"No more anti-rent dangers, I hope, Roger?" said my grandmother
anxiously.

"Hugh has little to apprehend from that source, just now. The Supreme
Court of the United States is his buckler, and it is broad enough to
cover his whole body. As for his future leases, if he will take my
advice, he will not grant one for a term longer than five years, and
then his tenants will become clamorous petitioners to the Legislature to
allow them to make their own bargains. Shame will probably bring your
free-trade men round, and the time will come when your double-distilled
friends of liberty will begin to see it is a very indifferent sort of
freedom which will not permit a wealthy landlord to part with his farms
for a long period, or a poor husbandman to make the best bargain in his
power. No, no; Hugh has nothing serious to apprehend, just now at least,
from that source, whatever may come of it hereafter. The loss to which I
allude is much more certain, and to the tune of fifty thousand dollars,
I repeat."

"That is a good deal of money for me to lose, sir," I answered, but
little disturbed by the intelligence; "and it might embarrass me to
raise so large a sum in a hurry. Nevertheless, I confess to no very
great concern on the subject, notwithstanding your announcement. I have
no debts, and the title to all I possess is indisputable, unless it
shall be decided that a _royal_ grant is not to be tolerated by
republicans."

"All very fine, Master Hugh, but you forget that you are the natural
heir of my estate. Patt knows that she is to have a slice of it when she
marries, and I am now about to make a settlement of just as much more on
another young lady, by way of marriage portion."

"Roger!" exclaimed my grandmother, "surely you do not mean what you say!
Of as much more!"

"Of precisely that money, my dear mother. I have taken a fancy to a
young lady, and as I cannot marry her myself, I am determined to make
her a good match, so far as money is concerned, for some one else."

"But why not marry her yourself?" I asked. "Older men than yourself
marry every day."

"Ay, widowers, I grant you; _they_ will marry until they are a thousand;
but it is not so with us bachelors. Let a man once get fairly past
forty, and it is no easy matter to bring him to the sacrifice. No, Jack
Dunning's being here is the most fortunate thing in the world, and so I
have set him at work to draw up a settlement on the young lady to whom I
refer, without any rights to her future husband, let him turn out to be
whom he may."

"It is Mary Warren!" exclaimed my sister, in a tone of delight.

My uncle smiled, and he tried to look demure; but I cannot say that he
succeeded particularly well.

"It is--it is--it is Mary Warren, and uncle Ro means to give her a
fortune!" added Patt, bounding across the floor like a young deer,
throwing herself into her guardian's lap, hugging and kissing him as if
she were nothing but a child, though a fine young woman of nineteen.
"Yes, it is Mary Warren, and uncle Hodge is a delightful old
gentleman--no, a delightful young gentleman, and were he only thirty
years younger he should have his own heiress for a wife himself. Good,
dear, generous, sensible uncle Ro. This is so like him, after all his
disappointment; for I know, Hugh, his heart was set on your marrying
Henrietta."

"And what has my marrying, or not marrying Henrietta, to do with this
settlement of fifty thousand dollars on Miss Warren? The young ladies
are not even connected, I believe."

"Oh! you know how all such things are managed," said Patt, blushing and
laughing at the passing allusion to matrimony, even in another: "Mary
Warren will not be Mary Warren always."

"Who will she be, then?" demanded uncle Ro, quickly.

But Patt was too true to the rights and privileges of her sex to say
anything directly that might seem to commit her friend. She patted her
uncle's cheek, therefore, like a saucy minx as she was,  still
higher, looked archly at me, then averted her eyes consciously, as if
betraying a secret, and returned to her seat as demurely as if the
subject had been one of the gravest character.

"But are you serious in what you have told us, Roger?" asked my
grandmother, with more interest than I supposed the dear old lady would
be apt to feel on such a subject. "Is not this settlement a matter of
fancy?"

"True as the gospel, my dear mother."

"And is Martha right? Is Mary Warren really the favored young lady?"

"For a novelty, Patt is right."

"Does Mary Warren know of your intention, or has her father been
consulted in the matter?"

"Both know of it; we had it all over together, last evening, and Mr.
Warren _consents_."

"To what?" I cried, springing to my feet, the emphasis on the last word
being too significant to be overlooked.

"To receive Hugh Roger Littlepage, which is my own name, recollect, for
a son-in-law; and what is more, the young lady 'is agreeable.'"

"We all know that she is more than agreeable," put in Patt; "she is
delightful, excellent; agreeable is no word to apply to Mary Warren."

"Pshaw, girl! If you had travelled, now, you would know that this
expression is cockney English for agreeing to a thing. Mary Warren
agrees to become the wife of Hugh Roger Littlepage, and I settle fifty
thousand dollars on her in consideration of matrimony."

"This Hugh Roger Littlepage," cried Patt, throwing an arm around my
neck; "not that Hugh Roger Littlepage. Do but add that, dearest uncle,
and I will kiss you for an hour."

"Excuse me, my child; a fourth of that time would be as much as I could
reasonably expect. I believe you are right, however, as I do not
remember that _this_ Hugh Roger had any connection with the affair,
unless it were to give his money. I shall deny none of your
imputations."

Just as this was said, the door of the library was slowly opened, and
Mary Warren appeared. The moment she saw who composed our party, she
would have drawn back, but my grandmother kindly bade her "come in."

"I was afraid of disturbing a family party, ma'am," Mary timidly
answered.

Patt darted forward, threw her arm around Mary's waist, and drew her
into the room, closing and locking the door. All this was done in a way
to attract attention, and as if the young lady wished to attract
attention. We all smiled but Mary, who seemed half pleased, half
frightened.

"It _is_ a family party," cried Patt, kissing her affianced sister, "and
no one else shall be admitted to it, unless good Mr. Warren come to
claim his place. Uncle Ro has told us all about it, and we know all."

Mary hid her face in Patt's bosom, but it was soon drawn out by my dear
grandmother to kiss it; then my uncle had his turn, and Patt hers. After
this, the whole party, except Mary and I, slid out of the room,
and--yes, and then it was _my_ turn.

We are not yet married, but the day is named. The same is true with
respect to the wards, and even Patt blushes, and my grandmother smiles,
occasionally, when gentlemen who are travelling in Egypt just now, are
named. The last letters from young Beekman, they tell me, say that he
was then there. The three marriages are to take place in St. Andrew's
church, Mr. Warren being engaged to officiate.

The reader will be surprised to hear two things. My engagement with the
daughter of a poor clergyman has produced great scandal among the
anti-renters, they who so loudly decry aristocracy! The objection is
that the match is not equal! That equality which is the consequence of
social position, connections, education and similarity of habits,
thoughts, and, if you will, prejudices, is all thrown away on these
persons. They have no notion of its existence; but they can very well
understand that the owner of an unencumbered and handsome estate is
richer than the heiress of a poor divine, who can just make the year
meet on $500 per annum. I let them grumble, as I know they must and will
find fault with something connected with myself, until they have got
away my land, or are satisfied it is not to be had. As for Opportunity,
I have been assured that she threatens to sue me for a "breach of
promise;" nor should I be at all surprised were she actually to make the
attempt. It is by no means unusual, when a person sets his or her whole
soul on a particular object, to imagine circumstances favorable to his
or her views, which never had an existence; and Opportunity may fancy
that what I have heard has been "the buzzing in her own ear." Then the
quackery of Legislatures has set the ladies at work in earnest, and he
will soon be a fortunate youth who can pass through his days of celibacy
without some desperate assault, legal or moral, from the other sex.
Besides, nothing can be out of the way, when it is found that the more
popular and most numerous branch of the Legislature of New York really
believes it can evade that solemn provision of the Constitution of the
United States, which says "no State shall pass any law impairing the
obligations of contracts," by enacting, as they can regulate the statute
of descent, that whenever a landlord dies, the tenant, by applying to
the chancellor, can have his leasehold tenure converted into a mortgage,
on discharging which the land will be his, unencumbered! We have heard
of a "thimble-rig administration" in England, and really that
industrious nation seems to have exported the breed to this country. How
many of those who voted for such a law will like to see the ayes and
noes on the journals of the Assembly ten years hence? If there should be
one such man left in the State, he will be an object of humane
commiseration. We have had many efforts at legislative chicanery, and
some that have been tolerably clever, but this is a palpable experiment
in the same way, made for a reason that everybody understands, that has
not even the negative merit of ingenuity. Our own courts will probably
disregard it, should the Senate even concur; and as for those of the
United States, they will, out of all doubt, treat it as it ought to be
treated, and brand it with ignominy. The next step will be to pass a law
regulating descents, as it is called, under the provisions of which the
debtors of the deceased can meet his obligations with a coin technically
called "puppies."

Jaaf drivels away. The black occasionally mumbles out his sentiments
concerning past events and the state of the country. An anti-renter he
regards as he would a thief, and makes no bones of saying so. Sometimes
he blunders on a very good remark in connection with the subject, and
one he made no later than yesterday is worthy of notice.

"What dem feller want, Masser Hugh?" he demanded. "Dey's got one half of
deir farms, and now dey wants tudder half. S'pose I own a cow, or a
sheep, in par'nership, what right I got to say I will have him all?
Gosh! dere no sich law in ole time. Den, who ebber see sich poor Injins!
Redskins mis'rubble enough, make 'e bess of him, but dis Injin so
mis'rubble dat I doesn't won'er you can't bear him. Oh! how ole I do
git--I _do_ t'ink ole Sus can't last much longer, too!"

Old Susquesus still survives, but an object of great hatred to all the
anti-renters, far and near. The "Injin" system has been broken up,
temporarily at least, but the spirit which brought it into existence
survives under the hypocritical aspect of "human rights." The Upright of
the Onondagoes is insensible of the bad feeling which is so active
against him, nor is it probable that most of those who entertain this
enmity are conscious of the reason; which is simply the fact that he is
a man who respected laws to the making of which he was a party, and
preferred to suffer rather than be guilty of an act of injustice.




NOTE BY THE EDITOR.


Here the manuscript of Mr. Hugh Roger Littlepage, jun., terminates. That
gentleman's feelings have probably forbidden his relating events so
recent as those which have since occurred. It remains, therefore, for us
to add a few words.

Jaaf died about ten days since, railing at the redskins to the last, and
talking about his young massers and missuses as long as he had breath.
As for his own descendants, he had not been heard to name _them_, for
the last forty years.

Susquesus still survives, but the "Injins" are all defunct. Public
opinion has, at last, struck that tribe out of existence, and it is
hoped that their calico bags have been transmitted to certain
politicians among us, who, as certain as the sun rises and sets, will
find them useful to conceal their own countenances, when contrition and
shame come, as contrition and shame will be sure to succeed such conduct
as theirs.

It may be well to add a word on the subject of the tone of this book. It
is the language of a man who feels that he has been grievously injured,
and who writes with the ardor of youth increased by a sense of wrong. As
editors, we have nothing more to do with that than to see, while calling
things by their right names, that language too strong for the public
taste should not be introduced into our pages. As to the moral and
political principles connected with this matter, we are wholly of the
side of the Messrs. Littlepage, though we do not think it necessary to
adopt all their phrases--phrases that may be natural to men of their
situations, but which would be out of place, perhaps, in the mouths of
those who act solely in the capacity of essayists and historians.

To conclude,--Mr. Littlepage and Mary Warren were married, in St.
Andrew's Church, a very few days since. We met the young gentleman, on
his wedding tour, no later than yesterday, and he assured us that,
provided with such a companion, he was ready to change his domicile to
any other part of the Union, and that he had selected Washington, for
the express purpose of being favorably situated for trying the validity
of the laws of the United States, as opposed to the "thimble-rigging" of
the New York Legislature. It is his intention to have every question
connected with the covenants of his leases clearly settled, that of
taxing the landlord for property on which the tenant has covenanted to
pay all taxes; that of distress for rent, when distress must precede the
re-entry stipulated for by the leases; and that of any other trick or
device which the brains of your "small-potato" Legislature may invent in
order to wrong him out of his property. As for ourselves, we can only
say, God give him success! for we are most deeply impressed that the
more valuable parts of the institutions of this country can be preserved
only by crushing into the dust this nefarious spirit of cupidity, which
threatens the destruction of all moral feeling and every sense of right
that remains among us.

In our view, Oregon, Mexico and Europe, united against us, do not
threaten this nation with one-half as much real danger as that which
menaces at this moment, from an enemy that is now in possession of many
of its strongholds, and which is incessantly working its evil under the
cry of liberty, while laying deeper the foundation of a most atrocious
tyranny.

I forgot to add, Mr. Littlepage significantly remarked at parting, that
should Washington fail him, he has the refuge of Florence open, where he
can reside among the other victims of oppression, with the advantage of
being admired as a refugee from republican tyranny.


THE END.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Chainbearer, by J. Fenimore Cooper

*** 