University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
MORE NEW CHARACTERS.

During the vacation, George resided at his
uncle's as his father had proposed; but was no
longer the solitaire that his volatile cousin represented
him. He left his books at Cambridge,
and cheerfully joined in every innocent scheme of
pleasure and amusement that was proposed, while
Ellen congratulated him on his progress towards
a state of civilization, and gravely undertook to
instruct him in the important mysteries of etiquette
and the beau monde. He goodnaturedly humored
her in all her directions, consented to take private
lessons of Turner in the sublime science of dancing,
and soon became expert at the small sword,
under the tuition of Haussey.

But notwithstanding the charming frivolity
of Ellen Cushing, and her affected aversion to
“books and bookworms,” she was herself a good
English scholar, could read and speak the French
language fluently, and spent considerable time in
her library.

In one part of her playful proposition to
George, she was serious, and that was to become
his pupil on the harp, for which purpose the instrument
had been actually procured; but being
already a proficient on the piano, and not possessing
all that patient perseverance which is
necessary to acquire a difficult art, she soon abandoned

the design, returned to her piano, and
relinquished the “outlandish instrument” to her
tutor, who neither felt nor expressed any regret
at the arrangement.

With all Ellen's affected cheerfulness, however,
she was not happy. Cupid had inflicted a deep
and incurable wound in her bosom, which rankled
there without hope, and without relief. I am
here imparting to the reader a secret with which
the dearest friend of Ellen was unacquainted.

The object of her affection, was her father's
chief clerk, William Orville, a young gentleman
deservedly beloved by all who knew him.
Brought up almost from infancy together, Ellen
and William had ever felt the purest friendship
for each other, which had gradually ripened into
a more tender passion in the breast of the gentle
fair one. William was a poor orphan boy, and
jealously sensible of his dependent situation, set
a strict guard over his affections as soon as he
felt any symptoms of their aspiring to a mark
which he thought so far beyond his reach. He
was now twenty-three years of age, and had just
returned from England, where he had been employed
above two years as Cushing's commercial
agent.

When he and Ellen again met, more than ever
he felt the necessity of watching his heart, for she
now burst upon his dazzled view in a blaze of
finished beauty, and he could have almost worshipped
her as a deity. But his unassuming disposition
dared not admit the idea to cross his
mind, that Ellen was within his reach. “Such
happiness is not for Orville,” he would sometimes
exclaim; “the rich alone can reasonably hope
to obtain such a prize. Were I to presume so far

as to speak to her of love, her friendship, with
which I am now blest, would be forfeited for ever.
Down! down! presumptuous heart! be content
with friendship, and look lower for love.”

Poor Orville! Even while he was indulging
such melancholy suggestions, Ellen was only restrained
by that self-respect which so properly
belongs to the sex, from throwing herself into his
arms.

Indeed, rumor had whispered to her ear, that
Orville was actually lavishing his attentions on
Harriet Palmer, a young lady to whom the reader
has already been introduced; but this, like many
other tales of that loquacious deity, was entirely
destitute of foundation, for Harriet's heart had
long taken up its abode in the manly breast of
Ellen's cousin Aylwin, and throbbed for him alone.
This young gentleman commanded one of his
uncle's ships in the London trade, and as he was
daily expected home, it may not be improper to
make the reader acquainted with him before he
arrives.

John Cushing Aylwin was the son of Thomas
Aylwin, esq. and nephew of the Hon. William
Cushing, one of the judges of the supreme court
of the United States.[1] His father, previous to
the revolution, was a merchant in Boston, and,
at the time of the siege of that town, retired to
Quebec with his wife, to whom he had been then
recently married. It was in this city, at the close

of the war, that young Aylwin was born. The
first years of his boyhood displayed a generous
spirit, a contempt of danger, and those ardent
feelings, which, though not uncommon at that age,
add much to worth, and generally characterized
the subsequent stages of life. He received there
the rudiments of his education, which, however,
was not further extended than to the first principles
of mathematics, an elementary knowledge
of the Latin, and a perfect acquaintance with the
French language. His father destined him to a
naval life, and while yet a child, had him borne
on the books of a frigate which captain Coffin,
(afterwards Admiral Sir Isaac Coffin Greenly)
then commanded. The intentions of his father
were, however, not long after, frustrated by an
occurence that young Aylwin witnessed in the
streets of Quebec. The horror excited in his
breast at seeing a lad whom he had known, torn
from the bosom of his parents by a pressgang,
caused an invincible disgust to the British naval
service; he could never again be brought to think
of entering it. His attachment, notwithstanding,
to a sea life was not lessened; and he became
urgent with his parents to send him to their relatives
in New England, that he might enter the
American service. While arrangements were
making to carry his wishes into effect, he was
suddenly left an orphan by the death of his parents,
within the short space of two months of
each other.

This loss was in some degree alleviated by the
kind attentions of a paternal uncle, who finding it
impracticable to procure a suitable situation for
his nephew in his favorite profession, endeavored
to dissuade him from a life of danger, and turn his

attention to mercantile pursuits. An effort was
made to comply with the intreaties of his uncle,
but it was ineffectual. He was then bound apprentice
to a captain in the London trade upon
most favorable terms; it being agreed that on
their arrival in England, he should be permitted
to remain at a naval academy for at least six
months, and that he should be advanced to the
grade of mate as soon as he acquired the requisite
experience. As the captain had determined
not to return to Quebec, he little regarded the
stipulations into which he had so readily entered,
and, on his arrival at London, put his vessel into
the West-India trade.

Two voyages were made by our youth, and
such was the progress he made in his profession,
that hardly had he passed his fifteenth year when
he was made a mate in the ship. This pleasing
dawn, (which in some degree compensated for
the violation of the agreement) was soon overcast,
for on the homeward voyage a dispute arose
between him and his captain, which so enraged
the latter, that on coming to anchor, he caused
him to be kidnapped by a pressgang. He was
immediately sent on board a receiving ship in the
Thames, where he found himself surrounded by
six or seven hundred individuals, the scourings of
a vicious metropolis. All communication with
friends was denied him; letters which he wrote
were suppressed; hope itself was almost excluded
from his breast. From this receptacle of
wretchedness he was in a few weeks transferred
to a gun brig. Here he was narrowly watched,
and endured all the rigor exercised in the English
service towards their impressed men, to induce
them to enter as voluntary seamen. The
great antipathy, however, which he had conceived

for their service, would not permit him to subscribe
to that which he considered would be his
own infamy. Threats were unavailing; he had
a mind that could not be subdued.

After cruising in the north sea, the brig was
ordered up the Miditerranean, and at the time of
the invasion of Egypt by the French, was stationed
on that coast. From thence the vessel was
ordered to the East Indies; two years he passed
on board of her in the Red Sea; and three more
in different parts of the Indian Ocean. His constitution
having become almost a sacrifice to the
climate, he was there invalided, and permitted to
return to his relatives and friends, by whom even
his existence was unknown.

In the course of the above service he was in
several engagements, and distinguished himself
particularly in one, by lashing to their brig the
bowsprit of a French corvette, and then boarding.
A warrant was offered him on the occasion,
and promises were constantly held out to him of
promotion, if he would but enter. These he always
withstood, and though few indeed could he
find among his messmates to commune with, yet
he preferred his station of captain of the foretop
to any office that could be bestowed on him in that
service. While in the Mediterranean and the
Red Sea, almost his sole resource for amusement
and instruction, was his bible. In identifying the
positions of places distinguished in the sacred
volume, and in tracing in the manners of the
modern those of the ancient inhabitants of the
surrounding countries, he would often forget the
loss of his liberty and the evils of his situation.
Although the inmate of the forecastle for more
than six years, yet he remained untainted by the
surrounding contagion.

A short residence with his friends in Boston reestablished
his health, and having become by
adoption, what he almost considered himself by
birth, a citizen of the United States, he immediately
obtained from his uncle that employment in
the merchant service which a thorough knowledge
of seamanship entitled him to anticipate. Such
was the noble youth for whom Harriet Palmer in
secret sighed.

The anniversary of Ellen's birth and her parent's
marriage, both occurred on the sixth day of
November, and had always been religiously observed
by the family as a day of festivity and joy.
The approaching celebration of these two events
was to be more than usually brilliant, for Ellen
was determined to treat her friends in the evening,
to a masked ball! A fete of this kind was
almost unknown on this side the Atlantic, and was
a direct violation of one of the municipal regulations
of the good citizens of Boston. But Ellen
was so earnest in her request, and her parents so
unwilling to refuse her any indulgence that would
contribute to her happiness on this occasion, that
they finally consented, on condition that the company
should he select, few, and such as so romantic
a design could be safely confided to; that no
one should enter the ball-room without first unmasking
to some one of the family who knew
them; and that every one in coming and departing
should wear over their dress a dark domino
of a fashion not calculated to attract the attention
and curiosity of that inquisitive class of citizens
who too often neglect their own concerns to pry
into those of their neighbours. To all this Ellen
readily agreed, and the proper instructions were
added to every card.

Among the numerous visitants who frequented
this hospitable mansion, was general Dearborn, a
veteran of the revolution, and a friend of major
Willoughby. He was now collector of customs
for the port of Boston, having recently resigned
the arduous duties of secretary of war. This
gallant officer discovered in George Willoughby
all that noble enthusiasm and genuine honor,
which had so eminently distinguished his father
and secured him the friendship of Washington.
He took every occasion of inflaming his youthful
ardor by recounting the events attending his own
campaigns, and particularly the desperate but
unsuccessful attack on Quebec, in which he was
engaged with Montgomery, Arnold, and Morgan,
and their little band of veterans. Dearborn was
attached to the corps under Arnold, who was
wounded early in the action and carried from the
field. Morgan succeeded to the command, and
“with a voice louder than the tempest” animated
the troops as they stormed the first barrier, and
entered the town. Montgomery had already bled
on immortal ground, and his division being repulsed,
the corps under Morgan was exposed to
a sanguinary but unavailing contest. From the
windows of the store-houses, each a castle, and
from the tops of the parapets, a destructive fire
was poured upon the assailants. In vain was the
second barrier gained by scaling ladders; double
ranks of soldiers presented a forest of bayonets
below, and threatened inevitable destruction to
any one who should leap from the walls. Dearborn
maintained for a long time this desperate
warfare, until at last he and the remnant of his
company, overpowered by a sortie of two hundred
men with field pieces who attacked him in

front and rear in a short street, were compelled
to surrender. He was now put into rigid confinement,
with a number of other officers, who
were not allowed to converse with each other,
unless in the presence of the officer of the guard.
While in prison he was urgently solicited by the
English officers to join the British: was promised
a colonel's commission if he would accept it, and
was assured, if he refused, that he would be sent
out to England in the spring and inevitably hanged
as a rebel. The only reply he made to their
solicitations or menaces was, that he had taken
up arms in defence of the liberties and rights of
his country; that he never would disgrace himself
nor dishonor his profession by receiving any
appointment under Great Britain, but was ready
to meet death in any shape rather than relinquish
the glorious cause he had espoused. He was
paroled in the following May.

In the hard-fought battle which decided the
fate of Burgoyne's army, Dearborn was ordered
to pass the enemy's right wing, and take possession
of eight heavy cannon which played over
the British into the American lines. In executing
this order, he was charged by a corps of light
infantry, which he repulsed with fixed bayonets,
gained the eminence, took the cannon and corps
of artillery attached to them, and having disposed
of them, made a rapid movement into the rear of
the British lines, and gave a full fire before his
approach was discovered. The British were
soon after forced into a precipitate retreat, and
Dearborn assisted in storming their works through
the whole extent, under a tremendous fire of grape
and musketry.[2]

To a recital of these events, George would
listen with an attention as greedy as that of Desdemona
while her gallant lover recounted his
perilous deeds and hair-breadth escapes. George
could never hear of wars, but

In dreaming of future glory, playing on his
harp, writing poetry, and playing with the small-sword,
his hours flitted rapidly away, until the
termination of the College recess recalled him
to Cambridge.