| | 1 | Author: | Thompson
Daniel P.
(Daniel Pierce)
1795-1868 | Add | | | Title: | The Green Mountain boys  | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | It seems to be universally conceded that the first
settlers of Vermont were men of an iron mould, and
of an indomitable spirit. And it is no less true, we
apprehend, that with corporeal frames, unusually
large and muscular, and constitutions peculiarly robust
and enduring, they possessed, also, intelligence
and mental energies, which, considering what might
naturally be expected of men of their condition in
life, and in their situation in a wilderness affording
none of the ordinary means of intellectual culture,
were equally remarkable. The proof of these assertions
is to be abundantly found, we think, in the unequalled
stand taken by them for their rights, in their
memorable controversy with New York, and in the
multiplied documents that grew out of it, in the
shape of resolves and decrees of conventions, addresses
to the people, memorials and remonstrances
to the governor of that province, and to the British
throne itself, all drawn up with great clearness and
cogency of reasoning, and evincing a knowledge of
natural and constitutional rights in a people, among
whom law as a profession was then entirely unknown,
which are generally to be found only in the
courts and councils of old and highly civilized countries.
And even were these testimonials to their
character wholly wanting, ample evidence, that they
were a generation of no ordinary men, may still be
seen in the scattered remnant of this noble band of
heroes yet lingering among us, like the few and aged
pines on their evergreen mountains, and, though
now bowed down by the weight of nearly a century
of years, exhibiting frames, which would almost
seem to indicate them as men belonging to another
race, and which are still animated by the light of
wisdom and intelligence, and warmed by the unconquerable
spirit of freedom yet burning unwasted
within them. “From my heart I thank you for your kind note.
All as yet remains undiscovered,—painful, painful
exigency! which compels concealment of so important
a step from an only parent! And yet I regret
not my troth; and whatever of sorrow it may cost
me, I will not repine at the fruit of a tree of my
own planting. Heaven preserve you, my very dear
friend, in the hour of peril, and crown with success
your efforts in the cause of freedom. “Your few lines, my dear sir, have been received,
and read, I know not how many times over, and
with an interest which I dare not acknowledge.
Your propositions, too, have been all candidly, and
even anxiously weighed. And it is with many, very
many regrets, my more than friend, that I am
forced to the conclusion that, at present, it were better,
that they be not complied with. You first propose
to come here openly, explain to my father the
reasons which compelled you to that course, which
he pretends so much to censure, and claim the privilege
of addressing me:—all the explanations, which
it may be needful to make, would, I am satisfied,
with my father's present feelings and impressions,
be better listened to from me than yourself. And
most assuredly they shall be made to him as soon as
his mood shall be such as shall warrant the belief
that they will be received, without passion or prejudice.
And before you take the step you propose, I
could wish also to see to some change in his views
relative to the match he has marked out for me. And
changed, believe me, they sooner or later will be.
Reason will at length resume her sway; and, to say
nothing of your character, the character of one of
whom I would not willingly speak my opinion, must
soon be better known to him. And he will see, and
feel, for himself, that his present requirements are
neither wise nor generous. But do not, for my sake,
for your own sake, beloved friend, attempt to accomplish
all this now, under circumstances so inauspicious:
for I feel it would be useless; and not only
so, but lead, probably, to the defeat of the objects,
and consequently the happiness of us both. No,
Warrington, be patient, trust in Heaven to expose
guilt, and reward inocence, and rely on the constancy
of her, who is resolved to bring about a state of
things when her lover can be received in her father's
house with the kindness and respect to which
he is entitled. `Be astonished, O, ye heavens! and Alma Hendee,
be you thunder struck! as I know you will be,
when you learn, that we are—every man of us,—the
Major and all, prisoners of war! Yes, I am a second
time a prisoner to Mr. Selden! What means
it, Alma? There is some strange fatality about it,
that passes my poor comprehension. O, for some
one deeply skilled in scanning the future—some one
gifted with the second sight, which is claimed by our
Highland seers in Scotland, to divine to me the portent
of this singular happening! How very surprised
*7
we all were when they landed—a body of
armed men—and marched up, taking possession of
the yard, and disarming our soldiers. “Major Warrington,—Our intimacy is forever
ended. As no explanations need be given, so none
will be received. I trust, therefore, that no further
communications on your part will be attempted. “Miss Hendee, I guess, will remember, how, a
year or two ago, a man came to your house and
mended the things; and how he made some statements
about Charles Warrington, the Colonel that
now is. Now, what I said at that time has worried
my feelings a great deal most ever since. Though
I then really thought what I said was justifiable, even
if it was not quite true, as I was made to believe it
to be for your good. But I soon after found out
what I told you was not so, for I didn't know myself,
and only said what I was asked to say. This
was the story of it. As I was going from house to
house, working at my trade there in your part of the
settlement, I fell in with a plausible sort of a man,—
I don't think I had best call him by name,—and we
after a while got to talking about Warrington, whom
I had seen often enough, though I knew nothing
about his private affairs. Well, he, in a smooth kind
of way, said there was one thing that hurt his feelings;
and that was, that Warrington was doing the
wrong thing by a relative of his, a very likely girl,
that he pretended to be courting for the sake of getting
her family on his side in the York quarrel, when
to his certain knowledge, he had a young wife that
he had deserted down country. He said it was a
great pity to have the girl so deceived, and he would
give two gold guineas to any one who would break
up the courtship. But he said it would do no kinder
good for her relations to try; and they were very
anxious some one else should undertake to do it.
He then told me his plan was, that he and I, if I
would agree to do it, should first kinder secretly tell
folks this story about the deserted wife, so that it
should get to her, and make her begin to believe it;
and then I should go there and pretend to come
from where Warrington used to live, and let drop
some how, before the girl, that I was knowing myself
to that business about his being married. Well,
he kinder drew me into this plan, and I being poor,
consented for the money to do as I did. But I soon
mistrusted that this man had some wrong design,
which I found out to be the case, and I feel very
sorry, and ask pardon for what happened; and shall
feel very bad if I done any mischief by it, as I think
Colonel Warrington a very likely man. I think I
shall feel easier now in my mind, but I guess, considering,
I shant sign my name, though I am not
ashamed of it, or at least I never was in any other
affair since I was born. It is one of the felicities of soldiership, and of the
gratifications of a commander, to award the meed of
approbation to fidelity in a common cause, and fealty
to a common sovereign. This meed, Sir, I deem
it no flattery to say is yours, speaking, as I do,
from personal acquaintance, and on the voucher of
Colonel Beverly Robinson, a Loyal American officer,
of worth, and zeal, and activity. “This may certify that David Remington, the
bearer hereof, is thought to be a true friend to the
States of America. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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