University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

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
neighbourhood; such as the construction of roads,
bridges, pounds, with other similar works, and the administration
of justice. At the expiration of this period of nonpayment
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
oneself 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 payday
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 endeavour 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 debt; 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 great 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 had placed no dependence
on Revensnest 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 re-letting 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
re-let 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 purposes 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 wood-land 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 he did pronounce the word!—“Wa-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 gif pack unexpected profits, ven it so happens t'at
more are mate on your own pargains t'an were looket 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 partic'lar man, in your notions, and we should
never agree.”

“Still, there is good sense in 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 partic'lar.”

“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 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-ll, 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 mill-wrights, you mean. But
I 'm speakin' of no such persons; I 'm speakin' of honest,
hard-workin', industrious folks, that give their labour 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 end on 't.”

“I am not aware that all honest persons are hard-working,
and 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 doosn't ra-a-lly mean to rob me of all my
hard earnin's!”

“Mr. Newcome, rob is a hard word, and one I beg that
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
are still, 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 afterwards,
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 favours 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 re-let for an
additional term of twenty-one years, wood-lands, 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 endeavouring 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 endeavouring to unsettle the only conditions on
which civilized society can exist. If landlords will exhibit
this weakness, they must blame themselves for the consequences.

I got rid of Mr. Newcome by the grant of the lease, his
whole manœuvring 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 emi

grants. 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.[1] 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 labourer 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-labourer. The addit on 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 labour 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, towards 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.

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 neighbours 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 building, tools, chains, transportation,
provisions, &c., 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-labourer, content to toil for eight or ten 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, that run over the present park-like fields, in order to
raise wheat for 37½ cents per bushel, have no ashes at any
price, and sell their pork at two dollars the hundred!