 | CHAPTER IX. The chainbearer, or, The Littlepage manuscripts |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
And other loves are fair, and so is mine;
An air divine discloses whence he sprung;
He is my love who boasts that air divine.”
Shenstone.
A more rude and violent interruption of a scene in which
the more gentle qualities love to show themselves, never occurred.
I, who knew the whole of the past, saw at once
that we had very serious prospects before us; but Dus at
first felt only the consciousness and embarrassment of a
woman, who has betrayed her most sacred secret to vulgar
eyes. That very passion, which a month later, and after
the exchange of the marriage vows, it would have been her
glory to exhibit in face of the whole community, on the occurrence
of any event of moment to myself, she now shrunk
from revealing; and I do believe that maiden bashfulness
gave her more pain, when thus arrested, than any other
cause. As for the squatters, she probably had no very clear
conceptions of their true characters; and it was one of her
liveliest wishes to be able to join her uncle. But, Thousandacres
soon gave us both cause to comprehend how much he
was now in earnest.
“So, my young major, you 're catched in the same nest,
be you! You 've your ch'ise to walk peaceably back where
you belong, or to be tied and carried there like a buck that
has been killed a little out in the woods. You never know'd
Thousandacres and his race, if you raally thought to slip
away from him, and that with twenty miles of woods around
you!”
I intimated a wish not to be tied, and professed a perfect
willingness to accompany my captors back to their dwellings;
for, nothing would have tempted me to desert Dus, under
the circumstances. The squatters might have declared the
road open to me, but the needle does not point more unerringly
though at liberty.
Little more was said until we had quitted the woods, and
had reached the open fields of the clearing. I was permitted
to assist my companion through the bushes, and in climbing
a fence or two; the squatters, who were armed to a man,
forming a circle around us, at a distance that enabled me to
whisper a few words to Dus, in the way of encouragement.
She had great natural intrepidity for a woman, and I believe
I ought to escape the imputation of vanity, if I add
that we both felt so happy at the explanations which had so
lately been had, that this new calamity could not entirely
depress us, so long as we were not separated.
“Be not downhearted, dearest Dus,” I whispered, as we
approached the store-house; “after all, these wretches will
not dare to transgress against the law, very far.”
“I have few fears, with you and uncle Chainbearer so
near me, Mordaunt,” was her smiling answer. “It cannot
be long before we hear from Frank, who is gone, as you
must have been told, to Ravensnest, for authority and assistance.
He left our huts at the same time we left them to
come here, and must be on his return long before this.”
I squeezed the hand of the dear girl, receiving a gentle
pressure in return, and prepared myself to be separated
from her, as I took it for granted that Prudence and her
daughters would hold watch and ward over the female prisoner.
I had hesitated, ever since quitting the woods, about
giving her notice of the trial that probably awaited her; but,
as no attempt to coerce a marriage could be made until the
magistrate arrived, I thought it would be rendering her unnecessarily
unhappy. The trial, if it did come at all, would
come soon enough of itself; and I had no apprehension that
one of Dus's spirit and character, and who had so recently
and frankly admitted that her whole heart was mine, could
be frightened into a concession that would give Zephaniah
any claim to her. To own the truth, a mountain had been
removed from my own breast, and I was too happy on this
particular account, to be rendered very miserable on any
other, just at that time. I do believe Dus was a little sustained
by some similar sentiment.
Dus and I parted at the door of the first house, she being
was well bestowed on her brutal and selfish husband. No
violence was used, however, towards the prisoner, who was
permitted to go at large; though I observed that one or two
of the females attached themselves to her person immediately,
no doubt as her keepers.
In consequence of our having approached the dwelling of
the squatters by a new path, Chainbearer knew nothing of
the arrest of his niece, until the fact was communicated by
me. He was not even aware of my being retaken, until he
saw me about to enter the prison again; though he probably
anticipated that such might be my fate. As for Susquesus,
he seldom manifested surprise or emotion of any sort, let
what would occur.
“Well, Mortaunt, my lat, I knowet you had vanishet, py
hook or py crook, ant nopoty knowet how; put I t'ought
you woult fint it hart to t'row t'ese rascally squatters off
your trail,” cried Andries, giving me a hearty shake of the
hand as I entered the prison. “Here we are, all t'ree of
us, ag'in; ant it 's lucky we 're such goot frients, as our
quarters are none of t'e largest or pest. The Injin fount I
was alone, so he took pack his parole, ant ist a close prisoner
like t'e rest of us, put in one sense a free man. You
can tig up t'e hatchet ag'in t'ese squatters whenever you
please now; is it not so, Sureflint?”
“Sartain—truce done—Susquesus prisoner like everybody.
Give T'ousandacres p'role back ag'in — Injin free
man, now.”
I understood the Onondago's meaning well enough, though
his freedom was of a somewhat questionable character. He
merely wished to say that, having given himself up to the
squatters, he was released from the conditions of his parole,
and was at liberty to make his escape, or to wage war on his
captors in any manner he saw fit. Luckily Jaap had escaped,
for I could see no signs of even his presence being
known to Thousandacres or to his sons. It was something
to have so practised a woodsman and so true a friend still
at large, and near us; and the information he could impart,
should he fall in with Frank Malbone, with the constable and
the posse, might be of the utmost service to us. All these
points Chainbearer and I discussed at large, the Indian sitting
opinion that Malbone could not now be very far distant with
succour. What would be the effect of an attack on the
squatters it was not easy to predict, since the last might
make battle; and, small as was their force, it would be likely
to prove very available in a struggle of that nature. The
females of such a family were little less efficient than the
males, when posted behind logs; and there were a hundred
things in which their habits, experience, and boldness might
be made to tell, should matters be pushed to extremities.
“Got knows—Got only knows, Mortaunt, what will come
of it all,” rejoined Chainbearer to one of my remarks, puffing
coolly at his pipe at intervals, in order to secure the fire
he had just applied to it. “Nut'in is more unsartain t'an
war, as Sus, here, fery well knows py long exper'ence, ant
as you ought to know yourself, my poy, hafin seen sarfice,
ant warm sarfice, too. Shoult Frank Malpone make a
charge on t'is settlement, as, pein an olt soltier, he will pe
fery likely to do, we must make efery effort to fall in on one
of his flanks, in orter to cover t'e atvance or t'e retreat, as
may happen to pe t'e movement at t'e time.”
“I trust it will be the advance, as Malbone does not strike
me as a man likely to retreat very easily. But, are we
certain 'Squire Newcome will grant the warrant he will ask
for, being in such close communion himself with these
squatters?”
“I haf t'ought of all t'at, too, Mortaunt, ant t'ere is goot
sense in it. I t'ink he will at least sent wort to T'ousantacres,
to let him know what is comin', ant make as many
telays as possiple. T'e law is a lazy sarfant when it wishes
to pe slow; ant many is t'e rogue t'at hast outrun it, when
t'e race hast peen to safe a pack or a fine. Nefert'eless,
Mortaunt, t'e man who is right fights wit' great otts in his
fafor, ant is fery apt to come out pest in t'e long run. It is
a great atvantage to pe always right; a trut' I 've known
ant felt from poyhoot, put which hast peen mate more ant
more clear to me since t'e peace, ant I haf come pack to lif
wit' Dus. T'at gal hast teachet me much on all such matters;
ant it woult do your heart goot to see her alone wit'
an olt ignorant man in t'e woots, of a Suntay, a tryin' to
teach him his piple, ant how he ought to lofe ant fear Got!”
“Does Dus do this for you, my old friend?—Does that
admirable creature really take on herself this solemn office
of duty and love! Much as I admired and esteemed her
before, for her reverence and affection for you, Chainbearer,
I now admire and esteem her the more, for this proof of her
most true and deep-seated interest in your welfare.”
“I 'll tell you what, poy—Dus is petter ast twenty tominies
to call a stupporn olt fellow, t'at has got a conscience
toughenet ant hartenet by lifin' t'reescore years ant ten in
t'e worlt, pack from his wicketness into t'e ways of gotliness
and peace. You 're young, Mortaunt, and haf not yet got
out of t'e gristle of sin into t'e pone, ant can hartly know
how strong ist t'e holt t'at hapit and t'e worlt gets of an olt
man; put I hope you may lif long enough to see it all, ant
to feel it all,” I did not even smile, for the child-like
earnestness, and the sincere simplicity with which Andries
delivered himself of this wish, concealed its absurdity behind
a veil of truth and feeling too respectable to admit of a
single disrespectful impulse.—“Ant t'at is t'e worst wish I
can wish you, my tear poy. You know how it hast peen
wit' me, Mortaunt; a chainpearer's callin' is none of t'e pest
to teach religion; which toes not seem to flourish in t'e
woots; t'ough why I cannot tell; since, as Dus has ag'in
ant ag'in shown to me, Got is in t'e trees, ant on t'e mountains,
ant along t'e valleys, ant is to pe hearet in t'e prooks
ant t'e rifers, as much if not more t'an he ist to pe hearet
ant seen in t'e clearin's ant t'e towns. Put my life was not
a religious life afore t'e war, ant war is not a pusiness to
make a man t'ink of deat' as he ought; t'ough he hast it
tay and night, as it might pe, afore his eyes.”
“And Dus, the excellent, frank, buoyant, sincere, womanly
and charming Dus, adds these admirable qualities to
other merits, does she! I knew she had a profound sentiment
on the subject of religion, Chainbearer, though I did
not know she took so very lively an interest in the welfare
of those she loves, in connection with that all-important
interest.”
“You may well call t'e gal py all t'em fine worts, Mortaunt,
for she desarfs efery one of t'em, ant more too. No
—no—Dus isn't known in a tay. A poty may lif in t'e
same house wit' her, ant see her smilin' face, ant hear her
of gotliness, ant meekness, ant virtue, ant love, ant piety, in
t'e pottom of her soul. One tay you 'll t'ink well of Dus,
Mortaunt Littlepage.”
“I!—Tell me that I shall think well of Ursula Malbone,
the girl that I almost worship!—Think well of her whom I
now love with an intensity that I did not imagine was possible,
three months since!—Think well of her who fills all
my waking, and not a few of my sleeping thoughts—of
whom I dream—to whom I am betrothed—who has heard
my vows with favour, and has cheerfully promised, all
parties that are interested consenting, to become at some
early day my wife!”
Old Andries heard my energetic exclamation with astonishment;
and even the Indian turned his head to look on
me with a gratified attention. Perceiving that I had gone so
far, under an impulse I had found irresistible, I felt the necessity
of being still more explicit, and of communicating all
I had to say on the subject.
“Yes,” I added, grasping old Andries by the hand—
“Yes, Chainbearer, I shall comply with your often-expressed
wishes. Again and again have you recommended your
lovely niece to me as a wife, and I come now to take you
at your word, and to say that nothing will make me so
happy as to be able to call you uncle.”
To my surprise, Chainbearer expressed no delight at this
announcement. I remarked that he had said nothing to me
on his favourite old subject of my marrying his niece, since
my arrival at the Nest; and now, when I was not only so
ready, but so anxious to meet his wishes, I could plainly
see that he drew back from my proposals, and wished they
had not been made. Amazed, I waited for him to speak
with a disappointment and uneasiness I cannot express.
“Mortaunt! Mortaunt!” at length broke out of the old
man's very heart—“I wish to Heafen you hat nefer sait
t'is! I lofe you, poy, almost as much as I lofe Dus, herself;
put it griefs me—it griefs me to hear you talk of marryin'
t'e gal!”
“You grieve, as much as you astonish me, Chainbearer,
by making such a remark! How often have you, yourself,
expressed to me the wish that I might become acquainted
I have seen her—when I have become acquainted with her
—when I love her to my heart's core, and wish to make her
my wife, you meet my proposals as if they were unworthy
of you and yours!”
“Not so, lat—not so. Nut'in' would make me so happy
as to see you t'e huspant of Dus, supposin' it coult come to
pass, ant wrong pe tone to no one; put it cannot pe so. I
tid talk as you say, ant a foolish, selfish, conceitet olt man
I wast for my pains. I wast t'en in t'e army, ant we wast
captains alike; ant I wast t'e senior captain, and might
orter you apout, and tid orter you apout; ant I wore an
epaulette, like any ot'er captain, and hat my grantfat'er's
swort at my site, ant t'ought we wast equals, ant t'at it wast
an honour to marry my niece; put all t'is wast changet, lat,
when I came into t'e woots ag'in, ant took up my chain, ant
pegan to lif, ant to work, ant to feel poor, ant to see myself
as I am. No— no — Mortaunt Littlepage, t'e owner of
Ravensnest, ant t'e heir of Mooseritge, ant of Satanstoe, ant
of Lilacsbush, ant of all t'e fine houses, ant stores, ant farms
t'at are in York ant up ant town t'e country, is not a suitaple
match for Dus Malbone!”
“This is so extraordinary a notion for you to take up,
Chainbearer, and so totally opposed to all I have ever before
heard from you on the subject, that I must be permitted to
ask where you got it?”
“From Dus Malbone, herself—yes, from her own mout',
ant in her own pretty manner of speech.”
“Has, then, the probability of my ever offering to your
niece been a subject of conversation between you?”
“T'at hast it—t'at hast it, ant time ant ag'in, too. Sit
town on t'at log of woot, ant listen to what I haf to say, ant
I will tell you t'e whole story. Susquesus, you neetn't go
off into t'at corner, like a gentleman as you pe; t'ought it is
only an Injin gentleman; for I haf no secrets from such a
frient as yourself. Come pack, t'en, Injin, ant take your
olt place, close at my site, where you haf so often peen
when t'e inemy wast chargin' us poltly in front.”—Sureflint
quietly did as desired, while Chainbearer turned towards me
and continued the discourse.—“You wilt see, Mortaunt,
poy, t'ese here are t'e fery facts ant trut' of t'e of t'e case. When
aut'ority, ant feelin's of a soltier, I pegan to talk to Dus
apout you, as I hat peen accustomet to talk to you apout
Dus. Ant I tolt her what a fine, bolt, hantsome, generous,
well-principlet young fellow you wast,”—the reader will
overlook my repeating that to which the partiality of the
Chainbearer so readily gave utterance—“ant I tolt her of
your sarfice in t'e wars, ant of your wit, ant how you mate
us all laugh, t'ough we might pe marchin' into pattle, ant
what a fat'er you hat, ant what a grantfat'er, ant all t'at a
goot ant a warm frient ought to say of anot'er, when it wast
true, ant when it was tolt to a hantsome ant heart-whole
young woman t'at he wishet to fall in love wit' t'at fery
same frient. Well, I tolt t'is to Dus, not once, Mortaunt;
nor twice; put twenty times, you may depent on it.”
“Which makes me the more curious to hear what Dus
could, or did say in reply.”
“It's t'at reply, lat, t'at makes all t'e present tifficulty
petween us. For a long time Dus sait little or not'in'.
Sometimes she woult look saucy ant laugh—ant you know,
lat, t'e gal can do bot' of t'em t'ings as well as most young
women. Sometimes she woult pegin to sing a song, all
about fait'less young men, perhaps, ant proken-hearted virgins.
Sometimes she woult look sorrowful, ant I coult fint
tears startin' in her eyes; ant t'en I pecome as soft and
feeple-hearted as a gal, myself, to see one who smiles so
easily mate to shet tears.”
“But, how did all this end? What can possibly have
occurred, to cause this great change in your own wishes?”
“'Tis not so much my wishes t'at be changet, Mortaunt,
ast my opinion. If a poty coult haf t'ings just as he wishet,
lat, Dus ant you shoult pe man and wife, so far as it tepentet
on me, pefore t'e week ist out. Put, we are not our own
masters, nor t'e masters of what ist to happen to our nephews
and nieces, any more t'an we are masters of what
ist to happen to ourselves. Put, I wilt tell you just how it
happenet. One tay, as I wast talking to t'e gal in t'e olt
way, she listenet to all I hat to say more seriously t'an ast
common, ant when she answeret, it wast much in t'is manner:—`I
t'ank you from t'e pottom of my heart, uncle
Chainpearer,' she sait, `not only for all t'at you haf tone for
in my pehalf. I perceive t'at t'is itee of my marryin' your
young frient, Mr. Mortaunt Littlepage, hast a strong holt on
your feelin's, ant it ist time to talk seriously on t'at supject.
When you associatet with t'at young gen leman, uncle Chainpearer,
you wast captain Coejemans, of t'e New York state
line, ant his senior officer, ant it wast nat'ral to s'pose your
niece fit to pecome his wife. Put it ist our tuty to look at
what we now are, ant are likely to remain. Major Littlepage
hast a fa'ter ant a mot'er, I haf he'rt you say, uncle
Chainpearer, ant sisters, too; now marriage ist a most serious
t'ing. It ist to last for life, ant no one shoult form sich
a connection wit'out reflectin' on all its pearin's. It ist
hartly possiple t'at people in t'e prosperity ant happiness of
t'ese Littlepages woult wish to see an only son, ant t'e heir
of t'eir name ant estates, takin' for a wife a gal out of t'e
woots; one t'at ist not only a chainpearer's niece, put who
hast peen a chainpearer herself, ant who can pring into t'eir
family no one t'ing to compensate 'em for t'e sacrifice.”
“And you had the heart to be quiet, Andries, and let
Ursula say all this!”
“Ah! lat, how coult I help it? You woult have tone it
yourself, Mortaunt, coult you haf he'rt how prettily she
turnet her periots, as I haf he'rt you call it, ant how efery
syllaple she sait come from t'e heart. T'en t'e face of t'e
gal wast enough to convince me t'at she wast right; she
looket so 'arnest, ant sat, and peautiful, Mortaunt! No,
no; when an itee comes into t'e mint, wit' t'e ait of sich
worts and looks, my poy, 'tis not an easy matter to get rit
of it.”
“You do not seriously mean to say, Chainbearer, that
you will refuse me Dus?”
“Dus will do t'at herself, lat; for she ist still a chainpearer's
niece, ant you are still general Littlepage's son ant
heir. Try her, ant see what she wilt say.”
“But I have tried her, as you call it; have told her of
my love; have offered my hand, and—”
“Ant what?”
“Why she does not answer me as you say she answered
you.”
“Hast t'e gal sait she woult haf you, Mortaunt? Hast
she said yes?”
“Conditionally she has. If my grandmother cheerfully
consent, and my parents do the same; and my sister Kettletas
and her husband, and my laughing, merry Kate, then
Dus will accept me.”
“T'is ist strange! Ah! I see how it is; t'e gal has seen
you, ant peen much wit' you, ant talket wit' you, ant sung
wit' you, ant laughet wit' you; ant I do s'pose, a'ter all, t'at
will make a tifference in her judgment of you. I 'm a pachelor,
Mortaunt, ant haf no wife, nor any sweetheart, put it
ist easy enough to comprehent how all t'ese matters must
make a fery great tifference. I 'm glat, howsefer, t'at t'e
tifference is not so great as to make t'e gal forget all your
frients; for if efery poty consents, and ist cheerful, why
t'en my pein' a chainbearer, and Dus' pein' so poor ant forsaken
like, will not pe so likely to pe rememperet hereafter,
and pring you pitter t'oughts.”
“Andries Coejemans, I swear to you, I would rather
become your nephew at this moment, than become the son-in-law
of Washington himself, had he a daughter.”
“T'at means you 'd rat'er haf Dus, t'an any ot'er gal of
your acquaintance. T'at's nat'ral enough, and may make
me look like His Excellency, for a time, in your eyes; put
when you come to t'ink and feel more coolly, my tear poy,
t'ere ist t'e tanger t'at you wilt see some tifference petween
t'e captain-general and commanter-in-chief of all t'e American
armies, ant a poor chainpearer, who in his pest tays
was nut'in' more t'an a captain in t'e New York line. I
know you lofe me, Mordaunt; put t'ere ist tanger t'at it
might not pe exactly an uncle and nephew's lofe in t'e long
run. I am only a poor Tutchman, when all is sait, wit'out
much etication, and wit' no money, and not much more
manners; while you 've peen to college, and pe college
l'arn't, and pe as gay ant gallant a spark as can pe fount in
t'e States, as we call t'e olt colonies now. Wast you a
Yankee, Mortaunt, I 'd see you marriet and unmarriet
twenty times, pefore I 'd own as much as t'is; put a man
may pe sensiple of his ignorance, ant pat etication, ant
weaknesses, wit'out wishin' to pe tolt of it to his face, and
laughed at apout it, py efery A B C scholar t'at comes out
and a potty may say as much to a frient, when he woult tie
pefore he woult own t'ere wast anyt'ing poor apout it to an
inimy.”
“I would gladly pursue this discourse, Andries, and bring
it to a happy termination,” I answered; “but here come the
squatters in a body, and I suppose some movement or proposal
from them is in the wind. We will defer our matter,
then; you remembering that I agree to none of your opinions
or decisions. Dus is to be mine, if indeed we can
protect her against the grasp of these wretches. I have
something to say on that subject, too; but this is not the
moment to utter it.”
Chainbearer seized my hand, and gave it a friendly
pressure, which terminated the discourse. On the subject
of the intentions of Thousandacres towards Dus, I was now
not altogether free from uneasiness; though the tumult
of rapturous feeling through which I had just passed,
drove it temporarily from my mind. I had no apprehensions
that Ursula Malbone would ever be induced, by ordinary
means, to become the wife of Zephaniah; but I trembled
as to what might be the influence of menaces against
her uncle and myself. Nor was I altogether easy on the
score of the carrying out of those menaces. It often happens
with crime, as in the commission of ordinary sins, that
men are impelled by circumstances, which drive them to
deeds from which they would have recoiled in horror, had
the consummation been directly presented to their minds,
without the intervention of any mediate causes. But the
crisis was evidently approaching, and I waited with as much
calmness as I could assume for its development. As for
Chainbearer, being still ignorant of the conversation I had
overheard in the mill, he had no apprehensions of evil from
the source of my greatest dread.
The day had advanced, all this time, and the sun had
set, and night was close upon us, as Tobit and his brethren
came to the door of our prison, and called upon Chainbearer
and myself to come forth, leaving Susquesus behind. We
obeyed with alacrity; for there was a species of liberty in
being outside of those logs, with my limbs unfettered, though
a vigilant watch was kept over us both. On each side of
with a similar guard. For all this, old Andries cared but
little. He knew and I knew that the time could not be very
distant when we might expect to hear from Frank Malbone;
and every minute that went by added to our confidence in
this respect.
We were about half-way between the store-house and the
dwelling of Thousandacres, towards which our steps were
directed, when Andries suddenly stopped, and asked leave
to say a word to me in private. Tobit was at a loss how
to take this request; but, there being an evident desire to
keep on reasonably good terms with Chainbearer, after a
short pause he consented to form an extended ring with his
brothers, leaving me and my old friend in its centre.
“I'll tell you what I t'ink atvisaple in t'is matter,” commenced
Andries, in a sort of whisper. “It cannot pe long
afore Malpone will be pack wit' t'e posse ant constaples, ant
so fort'; now, if we tell t'ese rapscallions t'at we want taylight
to meet our inimies in, ant t'at we haf no stomach for
nightwork, perhaps t'ey'll carry us pack to gaol, ant so gif
more time to Frank to get here.”
“It will be much better, Chainbearer, to prolong our interview
with these squatters, so that you and I may be at
large, or at least not shut up in the store-house, when Malbone
makes his appearance. In the confusion we may even
escape and join our friends, which will be a thousand times
better than to be found within four walls.”
Andries nodded his head, in sign of acquiescence, and
thenceforth he seemed to aim at drawing things out, in order
to gain time, instead of bringing them to a speedy conclusion.
As soon as our discourse was ended, the young
men closed round us again, and we moved on in a body.
Darkness being so close upon us, Thousandacres had determined
to hold his court, this time, within the house, having
a care to a sufficient watchfulness about the door. There is
little variation in the internal distribution of the room of
what may be called an American cottage. About two-thirds
of the space is given to the principal apartment, which
contains the fire-place,[1]
and is used for all the purposes of
partitioned into three several subdivisions. One of these
subdivisions is commonly a small bed-room; another is the
buttery, and the third holds the stairs, or ladders, by which
to ascend to the loft, or to descend to the cellar. Such was
the arrangement of the dwelling of Thousandacres, and such
is the arrangement in thousands of other similar buildings
throughout the land. The thriving husbandman is seldom
long contented, however, with such narrow and humble accommodations;
but the framed house, of two stories in
height, and with five windows in front, usually soon succeeds
this cottage, in his case. It is rare, indeed, that any
American private edifice has more than five windows in
front, the few exceptions which do exist to the rule being
residences of mark, and the supernumerary windows are
generally to be found in wings. Some of our old, solid,
substantial, stone country houses occasionally stretch themselves
out to eight or nine apertures of this sort, but they
are rare. I cannot gossip here, however, about country
houses and windows, when I have matters so grave before
me to relate.
In the forest, and especially in the newer portions of New
York, the evenings are apt to be cool, even in the warm
months. That memorable night, I well remember, had a
sharpness about it that threatened even a frost, and Prudence
had lighted a fire on the yawning hearth of her rude
chimney. By the cheerful blaze of that fire, which was
renewed from time to time by dried brush, the American
frontier substitute for the fagot, were the scenes I am about
to mention enacted.
We found all the males, and several of the females, assembled
in the large apartment of the building I have described,
when Chainbearer and myself entered. The wife
of Tobit, with one or two of the sisterhood, however, were
absent; doubtless in attendance on Dus. Lowiny, I remarked,
stood quite near the fire, and the countenance of
the girl seemed to me to be saddened and thoughtful. I
trust I shall not be accused of being a coxcomb if I add,
that the idea crossed my mind, that the appearance and
manners of a youth, so much superior to those with whom
she was accustomed to associate, had made a slight impression
would be the better word—and had awakened sympathies
that manifested themselves in her previous conduct; while
the shade that was now cast across her brow came quite as
much from the scene she had witnessed between myself and
Dus, near the rock, as from seeing me again a prisoner.
The friendship of this girl might still be of importance to
me, and still more so to Ursula, and I will acknowledge that
the apprehension of losing it was far from pleasant. I could
only wait for the developments of time, however, in order
to reach any certainty on this, as well as on other most interesting
topics.
Thousandacres had the civility to order us chairs, and we
took our seats accordingly. On looking round that grave
and attentive circle, I could trace no new signs of hostility;
but, on the contrary, the countenances of all seemed more
pacific than they were when we parted. I considered this
as an omen that I and my friend should receive some propositions
that tended towards peace. In this I was not mistaken;
the first words that were uttered having that character.
“It's time this matter atween us, Chainbearer,” commenced
Thousandacres, himself, “should be brought to
suthin' like an eend. It keeps the b'ys from their lumberin',
and upsets my whull family. I call myself a reasonable
man; and be as ready to settle a difficulty on as accommodatin'
tarms as any parson you 'll find by lookin' up and
down the land. Many is the difficulty that I 've settled in
my day; and I 'm not too old to settle 'em now. Sometimes
I 've fit it out, when I 've fell in with an obstinate
fellow; sometimes I 've left it out to men; and sometimes
I 've settled matters myself. No man can say he ever
know'd me refuse to hearken to reason, or know'd me to
gi'n up a just cause, so long as there was a morsel of a
chance to defend it. When overpowered by numbers, and
look'd down by your accursed law, as you call it, I 'll own
that, once or twice in my time, when young and inexper'enced,
I did get the worst of it; and so was obliged to sort
o' run away. But use makes parfect. I 've seen so much,
by seventy odd, as to have l'arnt to take time by the forelock,
and don't practyse delays in business. I look upon
exper'ne'd, and willin' to accommodate. I see not great
difficulty, therefore, in settlin' this matter on the spot, so as to
have no more hard feelin's or hot words atween us. Sich
be my notions; and I should like to hear your'n.”
“Since you speak to me, T'ousantacres, in so polite and
civil a manner, I 'm reaty to hear you, ant to answer in t'e
same temper,” returned old Andries, his countenance losing
much of the determined and angry expression with which
he had taken his seat in the circle. “T'ere ist nutin' t'at
more pecomes a man, t'an moteration; ant an olt man in
partic'lar. I do not t'ink, however, t'at t'ere ist much resemplance
petween you ant me, T'ousantacres, in any one
t'ing, except it pe in olt age. We're pot' of us pretty well
atvancet, ant haf reachet a time of life when it pehooves a
man to examine ant reflect on t'e great trut's t'at are to pe
fount in his piple. T'e piple ist a pook, Aaron, t'at ist not
enough re't in t'e woots; t'ough Almighty Got hast all t'e
same rights to t'e sarfices ant worship of his creatures in t'e
forest, as to t'e worship and sarfices of his creatures in t'e
settlements. I 'm not a tellin' you t'is, T'ousantacres, py
way of showin' off my own l'arnin'; for all I know on the
supject, myself, I haf got from Dus, my niece, who ist as
goot, ant as willin', ant as hanty in explainin' sich matters,
as any tominie I ever talket wit'. I wish you woult listen
to her, yourself; you and Prutence; when I t'ink you
woult allow t'at her tiscourse ist fery etifyin' ant improfin'.
Now you seem in t'e right temper, ist a goot time to pe
penefitet in t'at way; for t'ey tell me my niece ist here, ant
at hant.”
“She is; and I rej'ice that you have brought her name
into the discourse so 'arly; as it was my design to mention
it myself. I see we think alike about the young woman,
Chainbearer, and trust and believe she 'll be the means of
reconciling all parties, and of making us good fri'nds. I 've
sent for the gal; and she 'll soon be coming along, with
Tobit's wife, who sets by her wonderfully already.”
“Well, talkin' of wonterful t'ings, wonters wilt never
cease, I do pelieve!” Chainbearer exclaimed, for he really
believed that the family of the squatter was taken suddenly
with a `religious turn,' and that something like a conversion
wit' wonters when we least expect 'em; and t'at it is t'at
makes wonters so wonterful!”
| CHAPTER IX. The chainbearer, or, The Littlepage manuscripts | |