 | CHAPTER VI. Nix's mate |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
Here is a man—but 'tis before his face—
I will be silent.
Shak. Troilus and Cressid.
Ultima Cumæi venit jam carminis ætas.
Virg. Pollio.
As soon as Fitzvassal arrived at the pier in Boston,
after leaving the Dolphin well under-weigh for
Nahant, he proceeded immediately to the house of
Mr. Temple, which occupied a beautiful position in
the western part of the town. On inquiry for him
he was promptly introduced into an elegant apartment,
which Mr. Temple occupied as a study.
The instant Fitzvassal cast his eyes on that venerable
man, there was a recognition between them, and
his surprise may be imagined when he discovered in
the person of the gentleman to whom he had rendered
such signal service, a man who occupied a distinguished
part in the public affairs of the day, and
pressing business.
After the interchange of such courtesies as naturally
arose from their meeting for the first time
since the memorable event mentioned in the first
chapter, Mr. Temple begged his visitor to be seated:
at the same time Fitzvassal presented him with a
packet which he had brought with him.
Mr. Temple cast his eyes on the envelope, and immediately
rose from his chair.
“I am indebted, then, to Captain Nix, for his kindness
in bringing this packet?” courteously demanded
the venerable man.
Fitzvassal bowed, and replied:
“I have the honor, Sir, of bringing you those despatches
from Sir William Temple.”
“Really,” said Mr. Temple, “I very little suspected
under how great an obligation I was to the gallant
Captain Nix, the other day, when he was instrumental
in saving the life of my young friend Seymour,
and my own. You are very welcome, Captain,
very.”
“I was but too happy,” replied the pretended Captain,
“in doing any service to my fellow-men.”
“Thank you,” responded Mr. Temple; “will you
permit me to glance at these papers? Any news
from England, you may readily believe, must excite
our earnest curiosity.”
Fitzvassal entreated him to use no manner of ceremony,
The first paper he opened was a letter from his
kinsman, the baronet, which ran as follows:
“Herewith I send very important papers for the
instruction of our friends in Massachusetts. The
bearer, Captain Nix, is a gentleman in every respect
worthy of your confidence. Treat him as he deserves—I
am much afflicted with the gout, and keep
entirely out of public business. The Prince of
Orange was never so popular as now—but you understand
how little I can engage in the events of the
day. I am afraid that his majesty's persecution of
the bishops will subject him to inconvenience.
“Your kinsman,
“Temple.”
“My cousin is a profound statesman and a prudent
politician,” thought Mr. Temple; “but if he
thinks that men will give him credit for all that he
has promised to the king, I incline to fear he will be
mistaken.”
“My kinsman,” said he, raising his eyes from the
paper, and resting them on the supposed Captain Nix,
“alludes to the persecution of the bishops. The
other papers may contain an account of that affair,
but I'm at present wholly in the dark about it. I perceive
by Sir William's letter that you are a good Whig,
slightest reserve. What is this affair of the bishops?”
Fitzvassal having been in London at the time,
was fortunately enabled to give an account of that
irritating transaction, which he proceeded to do as
follows:
“The king, it seems, had published a second declaration
of indulgence, by which the Catholics were
to reap too many advantages, and this was ordered
to be read in all the churches. Some half dozen of
the most influential among the bishops, thinking that
they would act contrary to the law if they complied
with this order, petitioned the king to rescind it: but
his majesty, instead of yielding to their request, had
them all sent to the Tower”—
“To the Tower!” exclaimed the astonished Mr.
Temple; “is it possible?”
“Such is the simple truth,” replied Fitzvassal; “but
you would have been much more surprised if you
had observed the people when they saw the ecclesiastics
in the boats on their way thither.”
“And what did the people do?” inquired Mr.
Temple.
“Why, Sir, they seemed as if they would go mad.
The whole line of the shore was stowed as close as
possible. Men and women, and even boys and girls,
sent up the most frantic shouts and screams, and even
ran into the water, begging for their blessing, and
calling down the wrath of heaven on their persecutor.
live, I believe one half of England is republican at
this hour.”
“You are wrong there, my good Sir; republicanism
can never flourish in England, at least for a very
long time. The moral soil that is necessary for the
sustenance of republicanism is worn out there.
This is the only country where it can ever truly
flourish, you may depend on it.”
“But the psuedo-captain Nix could not understand
why republicanism should not thrive as well in
England as in America, and he seemed to think that
what he had himself witnessed there was a positive
proof that it could.
“You may observe all the possible difference,
Captain Nix,” continued Mr. Temple, “between the
republicanism which springs up in the midst of a
court and aristocratic influence, and that which is
generated in the uncontrolled bosom of man. The
plant is an exotic in England, and is only warmed
by a hot-bed; here it is indigenous, and is at home
in the open air.”
“It may be so,” said the young man deferentially;
“I have never paid much attention to these subjects
—but one can't help being something of a politician
in England, where they seem to talk of nothing else
but Dutch wars and state alliances; Whig, Tory,
and Church influence. I never was so tired of any
thing in my life as of the everlasting gabble that
and taverns; but the Prince of Orange, after
all, is uppermost in every man's mind.”
“And what do they say about the Prince, now-a-days?”
“On that subject there are as many opinions,”
said Fitzvassal, “as upon any other.—He is certainly
exceeding popular, though.”
“But we, some of us, know more on that head
than the people do;” said Mr. Temple, looking at
the supposed Captain Nix, confidentially.
“Yes, indeed!” replied the other, with a mysterirous
smile, that was intended to disguise the fact
that he did not understand at what the venerable
gentleman was driving; “I presume those papers
contain the substance of every thing.”
“No doubt—no doubt,” returned Mr. Temple;
“but I hope matters will not be precipitated in England.
I believe that if things are prudently
managed, James may be compelled to abdicate, and
William of Orange be placed on the throne.”
In an instant Fitzvassal's mind was illuminated
upon the whole matter in hand, and he discovered
at a glance the actual posture of public affairs; he
therefore promptly replied:
“You may depend on our prudence, Mr. Temple,
we are well persuaded that it is absolutely necessary
to act with the utmost caution.”
Mr. Temple now proceeded to examine the documents
in England, and among others he found a communication
from the Massachusetts agents, lamenting
that, though they had used every endeavor,
and applied every argument to persuade the king to
restore the charter, he peremptorily refused to do so;
so that there remained but little hope of its final accomplishment.
The old gentleman's countenance fell when he received
this intelligence, and he turned to the other
mournfully, saying;
“So then, it seems that the king has refused to restore
our charter! Can this be possible?” he added,
musing; “can James be so infatuated as to suppose
that the people of this colony can much longer submit
to these arbitrary encroachments? Captain
Nix! I hope that you will not find it necessary
to return immediately to England. I can see a
storm brewing in the political horizon, in which it
will require all the stout hands we can pipe to quarters
to keep the ship afloat. We may require your
services.”
“And you shall most assuredly have them,” replied
Fitzvassal, a thought suddenly flashing across his
mind that an opportunity might now offer itself to
further his suit with Grace Wilmer, who occupied
so large a share of his mind and nearly all his affection.
“You shall most assuredly have them, Mr.
will be ever ready at a moment's warning.”
“Thank you, thank you heartily, Captain Nix;
and if, in the mean time, you are in want of stores,
ammunition, or even money, you will find no difficulty
in procuring them. You shall be amply provided.
Where is your vessel?”
“Fearing that Sir Edmund Andros would find
these papers, and discover my relation to the malcontents,
I thought it prudent for my officers to keep
her down the bay, out of sight;—for, to tell you
the truth, Sir, just such an emergency as that you
have suggested, presented itself to my mind from the
first.”
“It was wisely thought,” said Mr. Temple.
“This now is a great relief to my mind; are you in
want of any thing?”
“I am most liberally provided,” replied Fitzvassal,
“it is not probable that either I or my vessel will require
any thing during our stay.”
“It would be desirable for you, if you could make
it convenient, to reside in the town,” urged Mr. Temple;
“for if you find it necessary to be absent, it
would not be an easy matter to communicate with
you.”
“I can readily manage that,” replied Fitzvassal;
“but it may be necessary first to absent myself for a
day or two, in order to make suitable arrangements.”
“I must introduce you,” said Mr. Temple, “to the
members of the Committee of Safety, which is hardly
known to exist. Only the leading men in Boston
are in the secret. You are aware that I hold a conspicuous
station;—it is as chairman of that committee
that I do so. Of course you know nothing
about it when away.”
“I think I comprehend you fully,” returned the
other, “and it would give me great pleasure to meet
with your associates.”
“It will be necessary for you to conduct yourself
with great circumspection while you remain in
town,” said Mr. Temple, “the officers of Sir Edmund
Andros are extremely vigilant; and if it were
suspected that you are the agent of the English
Whigs, there is no calculating with what severity
they would treat you.”
“It appears to me,” replied Fitzvassal, “from all
that I can discover, that you are enduring a more humiliating
tyranny in America than in England.
Usurpation seems to have gone greater lengths here
than there, and it would appear that this country had
been selected on purpose to ascertain to what extent
unbridled ambition might impose on
human patience.”
“And you will find, when you come to know the
people better,” said the venerable Temple, “that, in
proportion to the patience and fortitude with which
they endure such tyranny while there is hope of its
resisting it when it becomes no longer a virtue to
endure. The people in the country towns are already
on the eve of rebellion, and it is with the greatest
difficulty that their indignation can be restrained.
The government, who now are in the city, are on
the brink of a volcano. It has been our endeavor
to suppress any outbreak, so confident have we
been that his majesty would not refuse that justice
which we claim. Even now, when it seems to be
peremptorily denied us, if the committee will follow
my advice, it will keep back the communication of
our agents from the people, in the humble trust that
something, which we know to be in preparation, may
yet mature for our relief.”
“Yet it may be advantageous for the people of
these colonies,” said Fitzvassal, after a long pause,
during which he seemed to be reflecting on the observations
of Mr. Temple, “that they should have such
a seasonable taste of tyranny, in order that they may
be able fully to realize its odious character.”
“There is much good sense in that suggestion,”
replied Mr. Temple; “and for that very reason the
tyranny which is here suffered, is more deeply felt,
and may be the more readily thrown off. The very
contrast of their condition now, with what it was but
six or seven years ago, before they were robbed of
their charter, will only operate to endear to them
those rights of which no earthly power can deprive
people do not recognize any deprivation of their
rights, or any actual extinction of their charter,—they
are perfectly conscious of their situation, and they
know well enough that they have been called upon to
endure a trial of their faith; this trial they are passing
through, and the time is near at hand for their
deliverance. Observe the result, and then tell me
whether the people of Massachusetts are not true to
that best blood that ever flowed in the veins of man.”
While Mr. Temple spoke, his fine face glowed
with the enthusiasm of a seer, and Fitzvassal gazed
on him with admiration.
“Young man,” resumed the sage, who seemed to
represent the embodied truths which actuated the
great men who first colonized North America, and
now appeared to be endeavoring to transmit their
spirit to posterity in the individual personation before
him, “young man, they singularly misjudge
who regard this land merely as an unexhausted field,
where money may be more readily gamed than in
the older hemisphere. The facility for acquiring
wealth is undoubtedly greater than in England or
anywhere else, and that facility will in after-times,
even more than now, stimulate the avarice of men,
and lead them away to pioneer in wildernesses yet
unexplored, and thus lay the foundation for that edifice
which is destined to astonish and delight the
Fitzvassal betrayed, by the expression of his
countenance, that he did not understand the drift of
this discourse.
“I perceive,” resumed Mr. Temple, “that I am speaking
too much in parables; but when I reflect on the
high destinies of this part of the American continent,
I have no language to express my thoughts,
which flow in upon my mind like realities. Every
valuable plant that has survived in the nurseries of
European civilization will hereafter be transplanted
in this garden of established truth.
“Do not believe what men will tell you hereafter,
that the form of government which must inevitably
arise here, and be carried into full effect, is only an
experiment, which haply may fail in the end. Point
such men to the grandeur of those confederacies
which could never have decayed under the invigorating
influences of America; tell them that the experiment
of self-government, and of many governments
under one, has been tried over and over again,
and that the object and end of every experiment was
to show future generations in America how far the
civil liberty and greatness of a nation might be elevated,
if they would at once take an example and a
warning from the past; and while you point with
one hand to that past, be careful to direct the other
to the future;—that while you show them the principles
they may learn to see through their apparent destiny
the more substantial glories that await them.
“Every thing,” continued the seer, “is progressive;
but there never has been a complete antitype
of that progress which I see sketched out before me
in the great future, when the people of America, like
one immense heart, shall give vitality to the vast territory
that stretches between the two oceans, and from
the lakes to the Gulf of Mexico.”
Fitzvassal now gazed on the speaker with more
amazement than ever—and it did not escape the eye
of Mr. Temple.
“Your astonishment may increase,” resumed he,
“if you will contemplate a population of four hundred
millions of men actuated by one paramount object,
and speaking one common language.”
“I must confess,” said Fitzvassal, “that my imagination
is not large enough to grasp so comprehensive
a picture. To my mind, such a future
is too full of impossibilities. It can never be.
What conceivable ground is there for so magnificent
an anticipation?”
“Do you imagine,” resumed Mr. Temple, “that
the immeasurable past has been the theatre of
unmeaning events; that innumerable millions of
men have been born, matured into thinking beings,
and then changed into non-apparent forms; that
kingdoms and empires have arisen and fallen; that
destroyed; that the relations of man, in all their vast
extent, have been explored, the rational and affective
faculties analyzed and arranged; that the physical
regions of the universe have been investigated from
suns and their systems, to the smallest animalcules
that float in a cup of water; that in the midst of the
great elaboration of wonders, light should at certain
intervals dawn on the darkness of man's apprehension,
and give him a brighter intelligence; and,
what is more, can you imagine that there should be
given to man that sublime and transcendant logic,
which, taking the mighty past and the present for
the terms of a universal syllogism, he is enabled to
be the prophet of the future;—can you imagine, I say,
that all this has been in vain and without an object?
When there is nothing so humble in nature, but that
its use is readily determined, who can be so irrational
as to suppose that the aggregate of all things is
for no determinate object?”
“I must admit,” said Fitzvassal, “that you speak
according to reason; yet I cannot discover any thing
in the past, as far as my exceedingly limited knowledge
extends, to favor the gigantic anticipations
which you entertain with respect to America.”
“Nevertheless you may rely on their accuracy,”
replied Mr. Temple, with a glow of enthusiasm;
“and I adduce my authority from the very nature of
of heaven.”
“You think, then, that this country is destined to
be great,” said Fitzvassal, venturing another objection
to the religio-philosophic scheme of Mr. Temple;
“if destiny has any thing to do with it, what
becomes of that boasted liberty which is to flourish
here?”
“What men call destiny is only another name for
order,” replied Mr. Temple: “but from a habit of
associating order with nothing that is not beauful
and pleasing, they do not recognize the relation
of end, cause, and effect, in apparently discordant
phenomena: but the truth is, that every moral
as well as physical manifestation is dependent on
spiritual causes. I do not know whether you fully
understand me,” continued he, “but you must acknowledge
that when a man is about to commit any
act, he has an inseparable object in view; as, for instance,
pleasure or the gratification of the mind.”
“Certainly,” admitted Fitzvassal.
“Of course, then, he wills to do the thing designed,”
said Mr. Temple.
“I cannot understand that this follows of course,”
objected Fitzvassal; “for I believe that a man often
wills one thing and does another, and now I think of
it, I recollect hearing my mother read something just
like that out of the Bible.”
“There is such a passage in Paul's letter to the
in his religious letters, that he spake after the
manner of men; and when he expressed the natural
feeling we have described, he only meant to
say that he willed to do that which he had learned
to be contrary to right, and that he did not will to do
that which he knew to be according to goodness; or,
in plainer language, he lamented that his sense of duty
and his fondness for the same, were in opposition to
each other.”
“I think I understand you then to say,” said Fitzvassal,
“that whatever a man does, however repugnant
it may be to his taste or inclination, he must do
it voluntarily.”
“Precisely,” added the philosopher; “for, without
the will, we cannot move a finger, and as we will,
so we act. In every act, therefore, man proposes
some end as the result of the action, and this end
may be good or it may be bad. Man must then be
in a state of equilibrium between good and evil, and
his will to do one or the other determines his character.
Recollect now the distinction between an
inclination to do, and a will not to do; for, however
much a man may be tempted to commit an act by a
strong inclination that way,—if from a sense of duty
he does refrain from so doing, his will has triumphed,
and his freedom brings joy, because it is in the right.”
“I wish,” ejaculated Fitzvassal, “that I could
have had the privilege of knowing you before.”
“I thank you,” replied Mr. Temple, gratified but
not flattered by this involuntary tribute to truth, “I
thank you; or rather, I ought to say that it gives
me pleasure to find a man whose daily pursuits more
or less lead him away from such reflections as these
we are now indulging, taking any pleasure in them;
—for it is the truth, and not its medium, with which
you are captivated; and I am glad that it is so. But
do not let us lose sight of our present object; you
understand now that there is no such power as
destiny; do you not?”
“Yes; if you mean,” said the pupil, “that all
human conduct must, when we examine it closely,
be regarded as voluntary.”
“That is all I mean;” resumed Mr. Temple; “for
if all actions of men are voluntary, liberty is only
another name for their inseparable condition; but
this moral liberty is distinct from civil liberty, for the
former is vital and the latter accidental.”
“I never thought of the distinction before,” said
Fitzvassal, “but I perceive that it is so.”
“The highest degree of liberty, therefore, which
a man can enjoy, is the liberty of freedom, or the unrestrained
permission of co-operating with the infinite
will in the completion of all good works.”
“I begin now to perceive the application of your
philosophy to the matter in hand,” said Fitzvassal.
“For you will find,” continued the philosopher,
“that the infinite will proposes great moral ends, and
effects. The operations of external nature and
the conduct of men are the effects from these causes
and ends.”
“It would seem then,” objected Fitzvassal,” that
bad actions are means of divine operation; for we
find even more bad than good actions in all ages.”
“You are partly mistaken,” replied his teacher,
“yet are partly right. As the divine providence proposes
the good of man, it wills that man may be
good; but since man is at liberty to do as he loves
to do, it is plain there is only one possible way
in which such a co-operation can be effected, and
that is, by a man shunning evil as sin; for, so long
as he indulges even an affection for sin, it is impossible
for his will, which is his love, to co-act with the
divine will for his benefit. Evil is of many degrees
of enormity, and sometimes less evil is permitted to
prevent the appearance of greater. In this sense
evil may sometimes be considered as according to
the providence of God.”
“The conduct of an individual, then,” suggested
Fitzvassal, “is not only important as it regards himself,but
as it must affect the whole society of mankind.”
“Not only so,” said Mr. Temple, “but as a stone
thrown from the hand effects a change in the balance
of the whole Solar System, so the smallest activity
of man's has its influence through the immeasurable
all of intellect and of affection.”
“Still,” replied Fitzvassal, “I cannot understand
the necessity of evil.”
“The word necessity,” said the philosopher, “ought
to be expunged from the vocabulary of man, because
it has no meaning. In common discourse it implies
the absence of a cause, when in fact it was intended
to admit one, though it be inconceivable. It is more
rational to say that evil abounds, because man being
free to choose, voluntarily does that which he erroneously
supposes to be good when it is not so; or
voluntarily does that which he knows to be evil. If
man were perfect, he could not be progressive, and
he is progressive, because he is constantly separating
evil from good; and thus, by preferring the latter, assimilating
his own will to that which is infinite.”
“There must be yet a deeper reason for the existence
of evil than that you have stated,” suggested
Fitzvassal.
“And there is a deeper reason for it,” replied the
sage; “the state of perfection is a state of innocence.
A departure from this state is a state of conscious
nakedness, an idea which implies a knowledge
of good only through its opposite, evil. So long as
a man is inclined to evil, through the gratification
arising from its imagination, and yet refrains from
committing it, not on account of its wickedness, but
for some mere worldly consideration,—he deceives
himself if he supposes that he is a moral man and
is free from contamination: such a man would
were removed from him; and therefore he
is at heart very far from pure. It is on this account
that where man is inclined to evil, and deceives
himself, he is permitted to do overtly what he inwardly
desires; and thus he is no longer deceived
as respects himself, but may now renounce what he
knows and experiences to be bad.”
Fitzvassal admitted the cogency of this argument.
“You have opened,” said he to his instructor, “an
entirely new field for my mind to labor in, and I
thank you for it. In recognizing the idea of progress,
I can readily understand how all the by-gone transactions
of mankind are directed with a view to their
final development: and how the spiritual character
of man is the real creation which IS TO BE HEREAFTER,
and which is fore-shadowed in existing nature
.”
“You will find no difficulty then,” resumed Mr.
Temple, “in comprehending the destiny (for we
may now use the word without danger,) the destiny,
I repeat it, of this North American continent. And
do not for a moment imagine that the tyranny or
ambition of all the kings on earth can quench the
spirit which at this moment burns within the bosoms
of Americans. That spirit is not a mere emotion,
which has been suddenly kindled in young and
energetic bosoms; but it is, so to speak, the very
flower and fragrance of all human thought, action,
majestic dwelling-places of untutored man, that it
may not be polluted by the malaria of privileged orders,
but that it may expand itself to the broad light
of the immortal sun, and grow in the warm effulgence
of heaven.”
The clock now struck eleven, and warned our adventurer
to depart; but before he went, he accepted
the invitation of Mr. Temple to stay at his house, and
regard it as entirely his home whenever he could
complete his arrangements to make Boston his temporary
abode.
| CHAPTER VI. Nix's mate | |