University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

As Dirck accompanied Miss Mordaunt to her father's
house in Crown Street,[1] I took an occasion to give Jason
the slip, being in no humour to listen to his lectures on the
proprieties of life, and left the Pinkster field as fast as I
could. Notwithstanding the size and importance of New
York, a holiday like this could not fail to draw great crowds

of persons to witness the sports. In 1757, James de Lancey
was at the head of the government of the province, as
indeed he had been, in effect, for much of his life; and I remember
to have met his chariot, carrying the younger children
of the family to the field, on my way into the town.
As the day advanced, carriages of one sort and another
made their appearance in Broadway, principally conveying
the children of their different owners. All these belonged
to people of the first mark; and I saw the Ship that denotes
the arms of Livingston, the Lance, of the de Lanceys, the
Burning Castle, of the Morrises, and other armorial bearings
that were well known in the province. Carriages, certainly,
were not as common in 1757 as they have since become;
but most of our distinguished people rode in their coaches,
chariots, or phaetons, or conveyances of some sort or other,
when there was occasion to go so far out of town as the
Common, which is the site of the present “Park.” The
roads on the island of Manhattan were very pretty and picturesque,
winding among rocks and through valleys, being
lined with groves and copses in a way to render all the
drives rural and retired. Here and there, one came to a
country-house, the residence of some person of importance,
which, by its comfort and snugness, gave all the indications
of wealth and of a prudent taste. Mr. Speaker Nicoll[2] had
occupied a dwelling of this sort for a long series of years,
that was about a league from town, and which is still standing,
as I pass it constantly in travelling between Satanstoe
and York. I never saw the Patentee myself, as he died
long before my birth; but his house near town still stands,
as I have said, a memorial of past ages!

The whole town seemed alive, and everybody had a desire
to get a glance at the sports of the Pinkster Field; though
the more dignified and cultivated had self-denial enough to
keep aloof, since it would hardly have comported with their
years and stations to be seen in such a place. The war had
brought many regiments into the province, however, and I
met at least twenty young officers, strolling out to the scene
of amusement, as I walked into town. I will confess I
gazed at these youths with admiration, and not entirely
without envy, as they passed me in pairs, laughing and
diverting themselves with the grotesque groups of blacks
that were occasionally met, coming in from their sports.
These young men I knew had enjoyed the advantages of
being educated at home, some of them, quite likely, in the
Universities, and all of them amid the high civilization and
taste of England. I say all of them, too hastily; as there
were young men of the colonies among them, who probably
had not enjoyed these advantages. The easy air, self-possession,
and quiet, what shall I call it? — insolence would
be too strong a word, and a term that I, the son and grandson
of old king's officers, would not like to apply, and yet
it comes nearest to what I mean as applicable to the covert
manner of these young men—but, whatever it was, that peculiar
air of metropolitan superiority over provincial ignorance
and provincial dependence, which certainly distinguished all
the younger men of this class, had an effect on me, I find it
difficult to describe. I was a loyal subject, loved the King,
—most particularly since he was so identified with the Protestant

succession,—loved all of the blood-royal, and wished
for nothing more than the honour and lustre of the English
crown. One thus disposed could not but feel amicably
towards the King's officers; yet, I will confess, there were
moments when this air of ill-concealed superiority, this
manner that so much resembled that of the master towards
the servant, the superior to the dependent, the patron to the
client, gave me deep offence, and feelings so bitter, that I
was obliged to struggle hard to suppress them. But this is
anticipating, and is interrupting the course of my narrative.
I am inclined to think there must always be a good deal of
this feeling, where the relation of principal and dependant
exists, as between distinct territories.

I was a good deal excited, and a little fatigued with the
walk and the incidents of the morning, and determined to
proceed at once to Duke Street, and share the cold dinner
of my aunt; for few private families in York, that depended
on regular cooks for their food, had anything served warm
on their tables, for that and the two succeeding days.
Here and there a white substitute was found, it is true, and
we had the benefit of such an assistant at half-past one. It
was the English servant of a Col. Mosely, an officer of the
army, who was intimate at my uncle's, and who had had
the civility to offer a man for this occasion. I afterwards
ascertained, that many officers manifested the same kind
spirit towards various other families in which they visited
on terms of friendship.

Marriages between young English officers and our pretty,
delicate York belles, were of frequent occurrence, and I
had felt a twinge or two, on the subject of Anneke, that
morning, as I passed the youths of the 55th, 60th, or Loyal
Americans, 17th, and other regiments that were then in the
province.

My aunt was descending from the drawing-room, in dinner
dress—for that no lady ever neglects, even though she
dines on a cold dumpling. As I opened the street-door,
Mrs. Legge was not coming down alone to take her seat at
table, but, having some extra duty to perform in consequence
of the absence of most of her household, she was
engaged in that service. Seeing me, however, she stopped
on the landing of the stairs, and beckoned me to approach.

“Corny,” she said, “what have you been doing, my
child, to have drawn this honour upon you?”

“Honour!—I am ignorant of having even received any.
What can you mean, my dear aunt?”

“Here is Herman Mordaunt waiting to see you, in the
drawing-room. He asked particularly for you;—wishes to
see you — expresses his regrets that you are not in, and
talks only of you!”

“In which case, I ought to hasten up stairs in order to
receive him, as soon as possible. I will tell you all about
it at dinner, aunt;—excuse me now.”

Away I went, with a beating heart, to receive a visit
from Anneke's father. I can scarcely give a reason why
this gentleman was usually called, when he was spoken of,
and sometimes when he was spoken to, Herman Mordaunt;
unless, indeed, it were, that being in part of Dutch extraction,
the name which denoted the circumstance (Hermanus
—pronounced by the Hollanders, Hermaanus,) was used by
a portion of the population in token of the fact, and adopted
by others in pure compliance. But Herman Mordaunt was
he usually styled; and this, too, in the way of respect, and
not as coarse-minded persons affect to speak of their superiors,
or in a way to boast of their own familiarity. I
should have thought it an honour, at my time of life, to
receive a visit from Herman Mordaunt; but my heart fairly
beat, as I have said, as I went hastily up stairs, to meet
Anneke's father.

My uncle was not in, and I found my visiter waiting for
me, alone, in the drawing-room. Aware of the state of the
family, and of all families, indeed, during Pinkster, he had
insisted on my aunt's quitting him, while he looked over
some new books that had recently been received from home;
among which was a new and very handsome edition of the
Spectator, a work that enjoys a just celebrity throughout
the colonies.

Mr. Mordaunt advanced to receive me with studied politeness,
yet a warmth that could not well be counterfeited,
the instant I approached. Nevertheless, his manner was
easy and natural; and to me he appeared to be the highestbred
man I had ever seen.

“I am thankful that the debt of gratitude I owe you, my

young friend,” he said, at once, and without preface of any
sort, unless that of manner be so received, “is due to the
son of a gentleman I so much esteem as Evans Littlepage.
A loyal subject, an honest man, and a well-connected and
well-descended gentleman, like him, may well be the parent
of a brave youth, who does not hesitate to face even lions,
in defence of the weaker sex.”

“I cannot affect to misunderstand you, sir,” I answered;
“and I sincerely congratulate you that matters are no worse;
though you greatly overrate the danger. I doubt if even a
lion would have the heart to hurt Miss Mordaunt, were she
in his power.”

I think this was a very pretty speech, for a youth of
twenty; and I confess I look back upon it, even now, with
complacency. If I occasionally betray weakness of this
character, I beg the reader to recollect that I am acting in
the part of an honest historian, and that it is my aim to
conceal nothing that ought to be known.

Herman Mordaunt did not resume his seat, on account
of the lateness of the hour, (half-past one); but he made
me professions of friendship, and named Friday, the first
moment when he could command the services of his domestics,
when I should dine with him. The army had introduced
later hours than was usual; and this invitation was
given for three o'clock; it being said, at the time, as I well
remember, that persons of fashion in London sat down to
table even later than this. After remaining with me five
minutes, Herman Mordaunt took his leave. Of course, I
accompanied him to the door, where we parted with many
bows.

At dinner, I told my uncle and aunt all that had occurred,
and was glad to hear them both speak so favourably of my
new acquaintances.

“Herman Mordaunt might be a much more considerable
man than he is,” observed my uncle, “were he disposed to
enter into public life. He has talents, a good education, a
very handsome estate, and is well-connected in the colony,
certainly; some say at home, also.”

“And Anneke is a sweet young thing,” added my aunt;
“and, since Corny was to assist any young lady, I am
heartily glad it was Anneke. She is an excellent creature,

and her mother was one of my most intimate friends, as
she was of my sister Littlepage, too. You must go and
inquire after her health, this evening, Corny. Such an attention
is due, after what has passed all round.”

Did I wish to comply with this advice? Out of all question;
and yet I was too young, and too little at my ease, to
undertake this ceremony, without many misgivings. Luckily,
Dirck came in, in the evening; and my aunt repeating her
opinion before my friend, he at once deciared it was altogether
proper, and that he thought Anneke would have a
right to expect it. As he offered to be my companion, we
were soon on our way to Crown Street, in which Mr. Mordaunt
owned and inhabited a very excellent house. We
were admitted by Mr. Mordaunt himself, not one of his
blacks having yet returned from the Pinkster field.

Dirck appeared to be on the best terms, not only with
Herman Mordaunt, but with his charming daughter. I had
observed that the latter always called him “cousin Dirck,”
and I hardly knew whether to interpret this as a sign of particular
or of family regard. That Dirck was fonder of Anneke
Mordaunt than of any other human being, I could easily
see; and I confess that the discovery already began to cause
uneasiness. I loved Dirck, and wished he loved any one
else but the very being I feared he did.

Herman Mordaunt showed me the way, up the noble,
wide, mahogany-garnished staircase of his dwelling, and
ushered us into a very handsome, though not very large,
but well-lighted drawing-room. There sat Anneke, his
daughter, in the loveliness of her maiden charms, a little
more dressed than usual, perhaps, for she had three or four
young and lovely girls with her, and five or six young men;
among whom were no less than three scarlet coats.

I shall not attempt to conceal my weakness. Only twenty,
inexperienced and unaccustomed to town society, I felt awkward
and unpleasantly the instant I entered the room; nor
did the feeling subside during the first half-hour. Anneke
came forward, one or two steps, to meet me; and I could
see, she was almost as much confused, as I was myself.
She blushed, as she thanked me for the service I had rendered,
and expressed her satisfaction that her father had
been fortunate enough to find me at home, and had had an

opportunity of saying a little of what he felt, on the occasion.
She then invited me to be seated, naming me to the
company, and telling me who two or three of the young
ladies were. From these last I received sundry approving
smiles; which I took as so many thanks for serving their
friend; while I could not help seeing that I was an object
of examination to most of the men present. The three
officers, in particular, looked at me the most intently, and
the longest.

“I trust, your little accident, which could have been of no
great moment, in itself, since you escaped so well, did not
have the effect to prevent you from enjoying the rare fun
of this Pinkster affair?” said one of the scarlet coats, as
soon as the movement caused by my reception had subsided.

“You call it a `little accident,' Mr. Bulstrode,” returned
Anneke, with a reproachful shake of her pretty head, “but,
I can assure you, it is not a trifle, to a young lady, to find
herself in the paws of a lion.”

“Serious accident, then; since, I see, you are resolved to
consider yourself a victim;” rejoined the other; “but, not
serious enough, I trust, to deprive you of the fun?”

“Pinkster fields, and Pinkster frolics, are no novelties to
us, sir, as they occur every season; and I am just old enough
not to have missed one of them all, for the last twelve
years.”

“We heard you had been `out,” put in another red-coat,
whom I had heard called Billings, “accompanied by a little
army, of what Bulstrode called, the Light Infantry.”

Here three or four of the other young ladies joined in the
discourse, at once, protesting against Mr. Bulstrode's placing
their younger sisters in the army, in so cavalier a manner;
an accusation that Mr. Bulstrode endeavoured to parry, by
declaring his hopes of having them all, not only in the
army, but in his own regiment, one day or other. At this,
there was a certain amount of mirth, and various protestations
of an unwillingness to enlist; in which, I was glad to
see, that neither Anneke, nor her most intimate friend, Mary
Wallace, saw fit to join. I liked their reserve of manner,
far better than the girlish trifling of their companions; and,
I could see, that all the men respected them the more for it.
There was a good deal of general and disjointed conversation

that succeeded; which I shall not pretend to follow or
relate, but confine myself to such observations as had a
bearing on matters that were connected with myself.

As none of the young soldiers were addressed by their
military titles, such things never occurring in the better
circles, as I now discovered, and, least of all, in those connected
with the army, I was not able, at the time, to ascertain
the rank of the three red-coats; though I afterwards
ascertained, that the youngest was an ensign, of the name
of Harris; a mere boy, and the younger son of a member
of Parliament. The next oldest, Billings, was a captain,
and was said to be a natural son of a nobleman; while
Bulstrode was actually the oldest son of a baronet, of three
or four thousand a year, and had already bought his way
up as high as a Majority, though only four-and-twenty.
This last was a handsome fellow, too; nor had I been an
hour in his company, before I saw, plainly enough, that he
was a strong admirer of Anneke Mordaunt. The other two
evidently admired themselves too much, to have any very
lively feelings on the subject of other persons. As for Dirck,
younger than myself, and diffident, as well as slow by
nature, he kept himself altogether in the back-ground, conversing,
most of the time, with Herman Mordaunt, on the
subject of farming.

We had been together an hour, and I had acquired sufficient
ease to change my seat, and to look at a picture or
two, which adorned the walls, and which were said to be
originals, from the Old World; for, to own the truth, the
art of painting has not made much progress in the colonies.
We have painters, it is true, and one or two are said to be
men of rare merit, the ladies being very fond of sitting to
them for their portraits; but these are exceptions. At a
future day, when critics shall have immortalized the names
of a Smybert, and a Watson, and a Blackburn, the people
of these provinces will become aware of the talents they
once possessed among them; and the grandchildren of those
who neglected these men of genius, in their day—ay, their
descendants to the latest generations — will revenge the
wrongs of merit and talent, to the end of civilized time. It
is a failing of colonies to be diffident of their own opinions;
but I have heard gentlemen, who were educated at home,

and who possessed cultivated and refined tastes, affirm that
the painters of Europe, when visiting this hemisphere, have
retained all their excellence; and have painted as freely and
as well, under an American, as under a European sun. As
for a sister art, the Thespian muse had actually made her
appearance among us, five years before the time of my visit
to town in 1757, or in 1752; a theatre having actually been
built and opened in Nassau Street in 1753, with a company
under the care of the celebrated Hallam, and his family.
This theatre I had been dying to visit, while it stood, for as
yet I had never witnessed a theatrical performance; but my
mother's injunctions prevented me from entering it while at
college. “When you are old enough, Corny,” she used to
say, “you shall have my permission to go as often as is
proper; but you are now of an age, when Shakspeare and
Rowe might unsettle your Latin and Greek.” My task of
obedience had not been very difficult, inasmuch as the building
in Nassau Street, the second regular theatre ever erected
in British America, was taken down, and a church erected
in its place.[3] The comedians went to the islands, and had
not re-appeared on the continent down to the period of which
I am now writing; nor did their return occur until the following
year. That they were expected, however, and that
a new house had been built for them, in another part of the
town, I was aware, though month after month passed away,
and the much-expected company did not appear. I had
understood, however, that the large military force collecting
in the colony, would be likely to bring them back soon; and
the conversation soon took a turn, that proved how much
interest the young, the gay, and the fair, felt in the result.
I was still looking at a picture, when Mr. Bulstrode approached
me, and entered into conversation. It will be
remembered, that this gentleman was four years my senior;
that he had been at one of the universities; was the heir to
a baronetcy; knew the world; had risen to a Majority in
the army, and was by nature, as well as training, agreeable,
when he had a mind to be, and genteel. These circumstances,
I could not but feel, gave him a vast advantage over
me; and I heartily wished that we stood anywhere but in
the presence of Anneke Mordaunt, as he thus saw fit to
single me out for invidious comparison, by a sort of tête-à-tête,
or aside. Still, I could not complain of his manner,
which was both polite and respectful; though I could scarce
divest myself of the idea, that he was covertly amusing himself,
the whole time.

“You are a fortunate man, Mr. Littlepage,” he commenced,
“in having had it in your power to do so important
a service to Miss Mordaunt. We all envy you your
luck, while we admire your spirit, and I feel certain the
men of our regiment will take some proper notice of it.
Miss Anneke is in possession of half our hearts, and we
should be still more heartless to overlook such a service.”

I muttered some half-intelligible answer to this compliment,
and my new acquaintance proceeded.

“I am almost surprised, Mr. Littlepage,” he added, “that
a man of your spirit does not come among us in times as
stirring as these. They tell me both your father and grandfather
served, and that you are quite at your ease. You
will find a great many men of merit and fashion among us,
and I make no doubt they would contribute to make your
time pass agreeably enough. Large reinforcements are
expected, and if you are inclined for a pair of colours, I
think I know a battalion in which there are a vacancy or
two, and which will certainly serve in the colonies. It
would afford me great pleasure to help to further your views,
should you be disposed to turn them towards the army.”

Now all this was said with an air of great apparent
frankness and sincerity, which I fancied was only the more
visible from the circumstance that Anneke was so seated
as unavoidably to hear every word of what was said. I
observed that she even turned her eyes on me as I made
my answer, though I did not dare so far to observe her in
turn as to note their expression.

“I am very sensible, Mr. Bulstrode, of the liberality and
kindness of your intentions,” I answered steadily enough,
for pride came to my assistance, “though I fear it will not
be in my power to profit by it at once, if ever. My grandfather
is still living, and he has much influence over me and
my fortune, and I know it is his wish that I should remain
at Satanstoe.”

“Where?” demanded Bulstrode, with more quickness

and curiosity than strictly comported with good-breeding
perhaps.

“Satanstoe; I do not wonder you smile, for it has an
odd sound, but it is the name my grandfather has given the
family place in Westchester. Given, I have said, though
translated would be better, as I understand the present
appellation is pretty literally rendered into English from
the Dutch.”

“I like the name exceedingly, Mr. Littlepage, and I feel
certain I should like your good, old, honest, Anglo-Saxon
grandfather. But, pardon me, it is his wish you should
remain at Satansfoot?”

“Satanstoe, sir; we do not aspire to the whole foot. It
is my grandfather's wish that I remain at home until of
age, which will not be now for some months.”

“By way of keeping you out of Satan's footsteps, I suppose.
Well, these old gentlemen are often right. Should
you alter your views, however, my dear Littlepage, do not
forget me, but remember you can count on one who has
some little influence, and who will ever be ready to exert it
in the behalf of one who has proved so serviceable to Miss
Mordaunt. Sir Harry is a martyr to the gout, and talks
of letting me stand in his place at the dissolution. In that
case my wishes will naturally carry more weight. I like
that name of Satanstoe amazingly!”

“I am infinitely obliged to you, Mr. Bulstrode, though I
will confess I have never looked forward to rising in the
world by taxing my friends. One may own that he has
had some hopes founded on merit and honesty—”

“Poh! poh! — my dear Littlepage, honesty is a very
pretty thing to talk about, but I suppose you remember
what Juvenal says on that interesting subject — “probitas
laudatur et alget.” I dare say you are fresh enough from
college to remember that comprehensive sentiment.”

“I have never read Juvenal, Mr. Bulstrode, and never
wish to, if such be the tendency of what he teaches—”

“Juvenal was a satirist, you know,” interrupted Bulstrode
a little hastily, for by this time he too had ascertained that
Anneke was listening, and he betrayed some eagerness to
get rid of so flagitious a sentiment; “and satirists speak of
things as they are, rather than as they ought to be. I dare

say Rome deserved all she got, for the moralists give a very
sad account of her condition. Of all the large capitals of
which we have any account, London is the only town of
even tolerable manners.”

What young Bulstrode would have ventured to say next,
it is out of my power to guess; for a certain Miss Warren,
who was of the company, and who particularly affected the
youth, luckily called out at this critical instant—

“Your attention one moment, if you please, Mr. Bulstrode;
is it true that the gentlemen of the army have been getting
the new theatre in preparation, and that they intend to favour
us with some representations? A secret something like this
has just leaked out, from Mr. Harris, who even goes so far
as to add that you can tell us all about it.”

“Mr. Harris must be put under an arrest for this, though
I hear the colonel let the cat out of the bag, at the Lt. Governor's
table, as early as last week.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Bulstrode,” Anneke observed
calmly, “that I have heard rumours to this effect for quite
a fortnight. You must not blame Mr. Harris solely, for
your whole regiment has been hinting to the same purpose
far and near.”

“Then the delinquent will escape, this time. I confess
the charge; we have hired the new theatre, and do intend
to solicit the honour of the ladies coming to hear me murder
Cato, and Scrub; a pretty climax of characters, you will
admit, Miss Mordaunt?”

“I know nothing of Scrub, though I have read Mr. Addison's
play, and think you have no need of being ashamed
of the character of Cato. When is the theatre to open?”

“We follow the sable gentry. As soon as St. Pinkster
has received his proper share of attention, we shall introduce
Dom-Cato and Mr. Scrub to your acquaintance.”

All the young ladies, but Anneke and her friend Mary
Wallace, laughed, two or three repeating the words `St.
Pinkster,' as if they contained something much cleverer
than it was usual to hear. A general burst of exclamations,
expressions of pleasure, and of questions and answers followed,
in which two or three voices were heard at the same
moment, during which time Anneke turned to me, who was

standing near her, at the spot occupied by Bulstrode a
minute before, and seemed anxious to say something.

“Do you seriously think of the army, Mr. Littlepage?”
she asked, changing colour at the freedom of her own
question.

“In a war like this, no one can say when he may be
called on to go out,” I answered. “But, only as a defender
of the soil, if at all.”

I thought Anneke Mordaunt seemed pleased with this
answer. After a short pause, she resumed the dialogue.

“Of course you understand Latin, Mr. Littlepage, although
you have not been at the universities?”

“As it is taught in our own colleges, Miss Mordaunt.”

“And that is sufficient to tell me what Mr. Bulstrode's
quotation means—if it be proper for me to hear.”

“He would hardly presume to use even a Latin saying
in your presence, that is unfit for your ear. The maxim
which Mr. Bulstrode attributes to Juvenal, simply means
`that honesty is praised and starves.”'

I thought that something like displeasure settled on the
fair, polished, brow of Miss Mordaunt, who, I could soon
see, possessed much character and high principles for one
of her tender years. She said nothing, however, though
she exchanged a very meaning glance with her friend Mary
Wallace. Her lips were moved, and I fancied I could trace
the formation of the sounds “honesty is praised and
starves!”

“And you are to be Cato I hear, Mr. Bulstrode,” cried
one of the young ladies, who thought more of a scarlet
coat, I fancy, than was for her own good. “How very
charming! Will you play the character in regimentals or
in mohair—in a modern or in an ancient dress?”

“In my robe de chambre, a little altered for the occasion,
unless St. Pinkster and his sports should suggest some
more appropriate costume,” answered the young man
lightly.

“Are you quite aware what feast Pinkster is?” asked
Anneke, a little gravely.

Bulstrode actually changed colour, for it had never
crossed his mind to inquire into the character of the holiday;
and, to own the truth, the manner in which it is kept

by the negroes of New York, never would enlighten him
much on the subject.

“That is information for which I perceive I am now
about to be indebted to Miss Mordaunt.”

“Then you shall not be disappointed, Mr. Bulstrode;
Pinkster is neither more nor less than the Festival of Whitsunday,
or the Feast of Pentecost. I suppose we shall now
hear no more of your saint.”

Bulstrode took this little punishment, which was very
sweetly but quite steadily uttered, with perfect good-humour,
and with a manner so rebuked as to prove that Anneke
possessed great control over him. He bowed in submission,
and she smiled so kindly, that I wished the occasion for the
little pantomime had not occurred.

“Our ancestors, Miss Mordaunt, never heard of any
Pinkster, you will remember, and that must explain my
ignorance,” he said meekly.

“But some of mine have long understood it, and observed
the festival,” answered Anneke.

“Ay, on the side of Holland — but when I presume to
speak of our ancestors, I mean those which I can claim the
honour of boasting as belonging to me in common with
yourself.”

“Are you and Mr. Bulstrode, then, related?” I asked, as
it might be involuntarily and almost too abruptly.

Anneke replied, however, in a way to show that she
thought the question natural for the circumstances, and not
in the least out of place.

“My grandfather's mother, and Mr. Bulstrode's grandfather,
were brother and sister,” was the quiet answer.
“This makes us a sort of cousins, according to those Dutch
notions which he so much despises, though I fancy it would
not count for much at home.”

Bulstrode protested to the contrary, stating that he knew
his father valued his relationship to Mr. Mordaunt, by the
earnest manner in which he had commanded him to cultivate
the acquaintance of the family the instant he reached
New York. I saw by this, the footing on which the formidable
Major was placed in the family, everybody seeming
to be related to Anneke Mordaunt but myself. I took an
occasion, that very evening, to question the dear girl on the

subject of her Dutch connections, giving her a clue to mine;
but with all our industry, and some assistance from Herman
Mordaunt, who took an interest in such a subject, as it
might be ex officio, we could make out no affinity worth
mentioning.