University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

Thousandacres had been shot in his chair, by one of
the rifles first discharged that night. As it turned out, he
was the only one that we could ascertain was hurt; though
there was a report, to which many persons gave credence,
that Tobit had a leg broken, also, and that he remained a
cripple for life. I am inclined to believe this report may
have been true; for Jaap told me, after all was over, that
he let fly on a man who had just fired on himself, and who
certainly fell, and was borne off limping, by two of his
companions. It is quite probable that this hurt of Tobit's,
and the fate of his father, was the reason we received no

more annoyance that night from the squatters, who had all
vanished from the clearing so effectually, including most of
the females and all the children, that no traces of their place
of retreat were to be found next morning. Lowiny, however,
did not accompany the family, but remained near Dus,
rendering herself highly useful as an attendant in the melancholy
scene that followed. I may as well add, here, that
no evidence was ever obtained concerning the manner in
which Thousandacres received his death-wound. He was
shot through the open door, beyond all question, as he sat
in his chair; and necessarily in the early part of the fray,
for then only was a rifle discharged very near the house, or
from a point that admitted of the ball's hitting its victim.
For myself, I believed from the first that Susquesus sacrificed
the squatter to the manes of his friend, Chainbearer;
dealing out Indian justice, without hesitation or compunction.
Still, I could not be certain of the fact; and the Onondago
had either sufficient prudence or sufficient philosophy
to keep his own secret. It is true that a remark or two did
escape him, soon after the affair occurred, that tended to
sustain my suspicions; but, on the whole, he was remarkably
reserved on the subject—less from any apprehension
of consequences, than from self-respect and pride of character.
There was little to be apprehended, indeed; the previous
murder of Chainbearer, and the unlawful nature of all
the proceedings of the squatters, justifying a direct and sudden
attack on the part of the posse.

Just as Malbone and myself discovered the condition of
Thousandacres, this posse, with 'squire Newcome at its
head, began to collect around the house, which might now
be termed our hospital. As the party was large, and necessarily
a little tumultuous, I desired Frank to lead them off
to some of the other buildings, as soon as a bed had been
prepared for the squatter, who was placed in the same room
with Chainbearer, to die. No one, in the least acquainted
with injuries of that nature, could entertain any hope for
either; though a messenger was sent to the settlements for
the individual who was called “doctor,” and who was really
fast acquiring many useful notions about his profession, by
practising on the human system. They say that “an ounce
of experience is worth a pound of theory,” and this disciple

of Esculapius seemed to have set up in his art on this principle;
having little or none of the last, while he was really
obtaining a very respectable amount of the first, as he practised
right and left, as the pugilist is most apt to hit in his
rallies. Occasionally, however, he gave a knock-down blow.

As soon as the necessary arrangemenss were made in
our hospital, I told Dus that we would leave her and Lowiny
in attendance on the wounded, both of whom manifested
weariness and a disposition to doze, while all the rest of the
party would draw off, and take up their quarters for the
night in the adjacent buildings. Malbone was to remain,
as a sentinel, a little distance from the door, and I promised
to join him in the course of an hour.

“Lowiny can attend to the wants of her father, while
you will have the tenderest care of your uncle, I well know.
A little drink occasionally is all that can alleviate their sufferings—”

“Let me come in,” interrupted a hoarse female voice at
the door, as a woman forced her way through the opposing
arms of several of the posse. “I am Aaron's wife, and
they tell me he is hurt. God himself has ordered that a
woman should cleave unto her husband, and Thousandacres
is mine; and he is the father of my children, if he has murdered,
and been murdered in his turn.”

There was something so commanding in the natural emotions
of this woman, that the guard at the door gave way
immediately, when Prudence entered the room. The first
glance of the squatter's wife was at the bed of Chainbearer;
but nothing there held her gaze riveted. That gaze only
became fixed as her eyes fell on the large form of Thousandacres,
as he lay extended on his death-bed. It is probable
that this experienced matron, who had seen so many accidents
in the course of a long life, and had sat by so many
a bedside, understood the desperate nature of her husband's
situation as soon as her eyes fell on the fallen countenance;
for, turning to those near her, the first impulse was to revenge
the wrong which she conceived had been done to her
and hers. I will acknowledge that I felt awed, and that a
thrill passed through my frame as this rude and unnurtured
female, roused by her impulses, demanded authoritatively—

“Who has done this? Who has taken the breath from

my man before the time set by the Lord! Who has dared
to make my children fatherless, and me a widow, ag'in' law
and right? I left my man seated on that hearth, heart-stricken
and troubled at what had happened to another; and
they tell me he has been murdered in his chair. The Lord
will be on our side at last, and then we 'll see whom the
law will favour, and whom the law will condemn—!”

A movement and a groan, on the part of Thousandacres,
would seem first to have apprized Prudence that her husband
was not actually dead. Starting at this discovery,
this tiger's mate and tiger's dam, if not tigress herself, ceased
everything like appeal and complaint, and set herself about
those duties which naturally suggested themselves to one of
her experience, with the energy of a frontier woman—a
woodsman's wife, and the mother of a large brood of woodsman's
sons and daughters. She wiped the face of Thousandacres,
wet his lips, shifted his pillow, such as it was, placed
his limbs in postures she thought the easiest, and otherwise
manifested a sort of desperate energy in her care. The
whole time she was doing this, her tongue was muttering
prayers and menaces, strangely blended together, and quite
as strangely mixed up with epithets of endearment that were
thrown away on her still insensible and least unconscious
husband. She called him Aaron, and that, too, in a tone
that sounded as if Thousandacres had a strong hold on her
affections, and might at least have been kind and true to
her.

I felt convinced that Dus had nothing to fear from Prudence,
and I left the place as soon as the two nurses had
everything arranged for their respective patients, and the
house was quite free from the danger of intrusion. On
quitting her who now occupied most of my thoughts, I ventured
to whisper a request she would not forget the pledges
given me in the forest, and asked her to summon me to the
bedside of Chainbearer, should he rouse himself from the
slumber that had come over him, and manifest a desire to
converse. I feared he might renew the subject to which his
mind had already once adverted since receiving his wound,
and imbue his niece with some of his own set notions on
that subject. Ursula was kindness itself. Her affliction
had even softened her feelings towards me more than ever;

and, so far as she was concerned, I certainly had no ground
for uneasiness. In passing Frank, who stood on post some
twenty yards from the door of the house, he said `God bless
you, Littlepage,— fear nothing. I am too much in your
own situation, not to be warmly your friend.' I returned
his good wishes, and went my way, in one sense rejoicing.

The posse, as has been stated, were in possession of the
different deserted habitations of the family of Thousandacres.
The night being cool, fires were blazing on all the hearths,
and the place wore an air of cheerfulness that it had probably
never before known. Most of the men had crowded into
two of the dwellings, leaving a third for the convenience of
the magistrate, Frank Malbone, and myself, whenever we
might choose to repair to it. By the time I appeared, the
posse had supped, using the milk and bread, and other eatables
of the squatters, ad libitum, and were disposing of
themselves on the beds and on the floors, to take a little rest,
after their long and rapid march. But in my own quarters
I found 'squire Newcome, alone, unless the silent and motionless
Onondago, who occupied a chair in a corner of the
fire-place, could be called a companion. Jaap, too, in expectation
of my arrival, was lounging near the door; and
when I entered the house, he followed me in for orders.

It was easy for me, who knew of Newcome's relations
with the squatters, to discover the signs of confusion in his
countenance, as his eye first met mine. One who was not
acquainted with the circumstances, most probably would
have detected nothing out of the common way. It will be
remembered that the `'squire' had no positive knowledge
that I was acquainted with his previous visit to the mill;
and it will be easy to see that he must have felt an itching
and uneasy desire to ascertain that fact. A great deal depended
on that circumstance; nor was it long before I had
a specimen of his art in sounding round the truth, with a
view to relieve his mind.

“Who 'd 'a' thought of findin' major Littlepage in the
hands of the Philistines, in sich an out o' the way place as
this!” exclaimed Mr. Newcome, as soon as our salutations
had been exchanged. “I 've heern say there was squatters
down hereabouts; but sich things are so common, that I

never bethought me of givin' him a hint on the matter when
I last saw the major.”

Nothing could surpass the deferential manner of this person
when he had an object to gain, it being quite common
with him to use the third person, in this way, when addressing
a superior; a practice that has almost become obsolete
in the English language, and which is seldom if ever used
in America, except by this particular class of men, who
defer before your face, and endeavour to undermine when
the back is turned. My humour was not to trifle with this
fellow, though I did not know that it was exactly prudent,
just then, to let him know that I had both seen and heard
him in his former visit, and was fully aware of all his practices.
It was not easy, however, to resist the opportunity
given by his own remarks, to put him a little way on the
tenter-hooks of conscience—that quality of the human mind
being one of the keenest allies an assailant can possess, in
cases of this sort.

“I had supposed, Mr. Newcome, that you were generally
charged with the care of the Mooseridge lands, as one of
the conditions annexed to the Ravensnest agency?” I somewhat
drily remarked.

“Sartain, sir; the colonel—or gin'ral, as he ought to be
called now, I do s'pose—gave me the superintendence of
both at the same time. But the major knows, I presume,
that Mooseridge was not on sale?”

“No, sir; it would seem to have been only on plunder.
One would think that an agent, entrusted with the care of
an estate, and who heard of squatters being in possession,
and stripping the land of its trees, would feel it to be his
duty at least to apprise the owners of the circumstance, that
they might look to the case, if he did not.”

“The major hasn't rightly understood me,” put in the
'squire, in a manner that was particularly deprecatory; “I
don't mean to say that I know'd, with anything like positiveness,
that there was squatters hereabouts; but that
rumours was stirrin' of some sich things. But squatters is
sich common objects in new countries, that a body scarce
turns aside to look at them!”

“So it would seem, in your case at least, Mr. Newcome.
This Thousandacres, however, they tell me, is a well-known

character, and has done little since his youth but lumber on
the property of other people. I should suppose you must
have met him, in the course of five-and-twenty years' residence
in this part of the world?”

“Lord bless the major! met Thousandacres? Why,
I 've met him a hundred times! We all know the old man
well enough; and many and many is the time I 've met him
at raisin's, and trainin's, and town meetin's, and political
meetin's, too. I 've even seen him in court, though Thousandacres
don't set much store by law, not half as much
as he and every other man ought to do; for law is excellent,
and society would be no better than a collection of wild
beasts, as I often tell Miss Newcome, if it hadn't law to
straighten it out, and to teach the misguided and evil-disposed
what 's right. I s'pose the major will coincide with
that idee?”

“I have no particular objection to the sentiment, sir, but
wish it was more general. As you have seen this person
Thousandacres so often, perhaps you can tell me something
of his character. My opportunities of knowing the man
have been none of the best; for, most of the time I was his
prisoner, he had me shut up in an out-building in which I
believe he has usually kept his salt, and grain, and spare
provisions.”

“Not the old store'-us'!” exclaimed the magistrate, looking
a little aghast, for the reader will doubtless recollect
that the confidential dialogue between him and the squatter,
on the subject of the lumber, had occurred so near that
building as to be overheard by me. “How long has the
major been in this clearin', I wonder?”

“Not a very great while in fact, though long enough to
make it appear a week. I was put into the store-house
soon after my seizure, and have passed at least half my
time there since.”

“I want to know! — Perhaps the major got in that hole
as 'arly as yesterday morn?”

“Perhaps I did, sir. But, Mr. Newcome, on looking
round at the quantity of lumber these men have made, and
recollecting the distance they are from Albany, I am at a
loss to imagine how they could hope to get their ill-gotten
gains to market without discovery. It would seem to me

that their movements must be known, and that the active
and honest agents of this part of the country would seize
their rafts in the water-courses; thus making the very objects
of the squatters' roguery the means of their punishment.
Is it not extraordinary that theft, in a moral sense at least,
can be systematically carried on, and that on so large a
scale, with such entire impunity?”

“Wa-a-l—I s'pose the major knows how things turn, in
this world. Nobody likes to meddle.”

“How, sir — not meddle! This is contrary to all my
experience of the habits of the country, and all I have heard
of it! Meddling, I have been given to understand, is the
great vice of our immigrant population, in particular, who
never think they have their just rights, unless they are privileged
to talk about, and sit in judgment on the affairs of
all within twenty miles of them; making two-thirds of their
facts as they do so, in order to reconcile their theories with
the wished-for results.”

“Ah! I don't mean meddlin' in that sense, of which there
is enough, as all must allow. But folks don't like to meddle
with things that don't belong to them in such serious matters
as this.”

“I understand you — the man who will pass days in discussing
his neighbour's private affairs, about which he absolutely
knows nothing but what has been obtained from
the least responsible and most vulgar sources, will stand by
and see that neighbour robbed and say nothing, under the
influence of a sentiment so delicate, that it forbids his meddling
with what don't belong to him!”

Lest the reader should think I was unduly severe upon
'squire Newcome, let me appeal to his own experience, and
inquire if he never knew, not only individuals, but whole
neighbourhoods, which were sorely addicted to prying into
every man's affairs, and to inventing when facts did not exactly
sustain theories; in a word, convulsing themselves
with that with which they have no real concern, draw themselves
up in dignified reserve, as the witnesses of wrongs of
all sorts, that every honest man is bound to oppose? I will
go further, and ask if a man does happen to step forth to
vindicate the right, to assert truth, to defend the weak and
to punish the wrong-doer, if that man be not usually the

one who meddles least in the more ordinary and minor
transactions of life — the man who troubles his neighbours
least, and has the least to say about their private affairs?
Does it not happen that the very individual who will stand
by and see his neighbour wronged, on account of his indisposition
to meddle with that which does not belong to him,
will occupy a large portion of his own time in discussing,
throwing out hints, and otherwise commenting on the private
affairs of that very neighbour?

Mr. Newcome was shrewd, and he understood me well
enough, though he probably found it a relief to his apprehensions
to see the conversation inclining towards these
generalities, instead of sticking to the store-house. Nevertheless,
`boards' must have been uppermost in his conscience;
and, after a pause, he made an invasion into the
career of Thousandacres, by way of diverting me from
pushing matters too directly.

“This old squatter was a desperate man, major Littlepage,”
he answered, “and it may be fortinate for the country
that he is done with. I hear the old fellow is killed,
and that all the rest of the family has absconded.”

“It is not quite so bad as that. Thousandacres is hurt
—mortally, perhaps—and all his sons have disappeared;
but his wife and one of his daughters are still here, in attendance
on the husband and father.”

“Prudence is here, then!” exclaimed Mr. Newcome, a
little indiscreetly as I thought.

“She is—but you seem to know the family well for a
magistrate, 'squire, seeing their ordinary occupation — so
well, as to call the woman by her name.”

“Prudence, I think Thousandacres used to call his
woman. Yes, the major is very right; we magistrates do
get to know the neighbourhood pretty gin'rally; what between
summonses, and warrants, and bailings-out. But the
major hasn't yet said when he first fell into the hands of
these folks?”

“I first entered this clearing yesterday morning, not a
long time after the sun rose, since which time, sir, I have
been detained here, either by force or by circumstances.”

A long pause succeeded this announcement. The 'squire
fidgeted, and seemed uncertain how to act; for, while my

announcement must have given rise, in his mind, to the
strong probability of my knowing of his connection with
the squatters, it did not absolutely say as much. I could
see that he was debating with himself on the expediency of
coming out with some tale invented for the occasion, and I
turned towards the Indian and the negro, both of whom I
knew to be thoroughly honest—after the Indian and the
negro fashions — in order to say a friendly word to each in
turn.

Susquesus was in one of his quiescent moods, and had
lighted a pipe, which he was calmly smoking. No one, to
look at him, would suppose that he had so lately been engaged
in a scene like that through which he had actually
gone; but, rather, that he was some thoughtful philosopher,
who habitually passed his time in reflection and study.

As this was one of the occasions on which the Onondago
came nearest to admitting his own agency in procuring the
death of the squatter, I shall relate the little that passed
between us.

“Good evening, Sureflint,” I commenced, extending a
hand, which the other courteously took in compliance with
our customs. “I am glad to see you at large, and no
longer a prisoner in that store-house.”

“Store-'us' poor gaol. Jaap snap off bolt like pipe-stem.
Won'er T'ousandacres didn't t'ink of d'at.”

“Thousandacres has had too much to think of this evening,
to remember such a trifle. He has now to think of his
end.”

The Onondago was clearing the bowl of his pipe of its
superfluous ashes as I said this, and he deliberately effected
his purpose ere he answered—

“Sartain—s'pose he kill dis time.”

“I fear his hurt is mortal, and greatly regret that it has
happened. The blood of our tried friend, Chainbearer,
was enough to be shed in so miserable an affair as this.”

“Yes, 'fair pretty mis'rable; t'ink so, too. If squatter
shoot surveyor, must t'ink surveyor's fri'nd will shoot
squatter.”

“That may be Indian law, Sureflint, but it is not the law
of the Pale Face, in the time of peace and quiet.”

Susquesus continued to smoke, making no answer.

“It was a very wicked thing to murder Chainbearer, and
Thousandacres should have been handed over to the magistrates,
for punishment, if he had a hand in it; not shot,
like a dog.”

The Onondago drew his pipe from his mouth, looked
round towards the 'squire, who had gone to the door in
order to breathe the fresh air—then, turning his eyes most
significantly on me, he answered—

“Who magistrate go to, eh?—What use good law wit'
poor magistrate? Better have red-skin law, and warrior be
he own magistrate—own gallows, too.”

The pipe was replaced, and Sureflint appeared to be
satisfied with what had passed; for he turned away, and
seemed to be lost, again, in his own reflections.

After all, the strong native intellect of this barbarian had
let him into one of the greatest secrets connected with our
social ills. Good laws, badly administered, are no better
than an absence of all law, since they only encourage evildoers
by the protection they afford through the power conferred
on improper agents. Those who have studied the
defects of the American system, with a view to ascertain
truth, say that the want of a great moving power to set justice
in motion lies at the root of its feebleness. According
to theory, the public virtue is to constitute this power; but
public virtue is never one-half as active as private vice.
Crime is only to be put down by the strong hand, and that
hand must belong to the public in truth, not in name only;
whereas, the individual wronged is fast getting to be the
only moving power, and in very many cases local parties
are formed, and the rogue goes to the bar sustained by an
authority that has quite as much practical control as the
law itself. Juries and grand juries are no longer to be relied
on, and the bench is slowly, but steadily, losing its influence.
When the day shall come—as come it must, if present
tendencies continue—that verdicts are rendered directly
in the teeth of law and evidence, and jurors fancy themselves
legislators, then may the just man fancy himself approaching
truly evil times, and the patriot begin to despair.
It will be the commencement of the rogue's paradise! Nothing
is easier, I am willing to admit, than to over-govern
men; but it ought not to be forgotten, that the political vice

that comes next in the scale of facility, is to govern them
too little.

Jaap, or Jaaf, had been humbly waiting for his turn to
be noticed. There existed perfect confidence, as between
him and myself, but there were also bounds, in the way of
respect, that the slave never presumed to pass, without direct
encouragement from the master. Had I not seen fit to
speak to the black that night, he would not have commenced
a conversation, which, begun by me, he entered into with
the utmost frankness and freedom from restraint.

“You seem to have managed your part of this affair,
Jaap,” I said, “with discretion and spirit. I have every
reason to be satisfied with you; more especially for liberating
the Indian, and for the manner in which you guided
the posse down into the clearing, from the woods.”

“Yes, sah; s'pose you would t'ink dat was pretty well.
As for Sus, t'ought it best to let him out, for he be won'erful
sartain wid he rifle. We should do much better, masser
Mordy, but 'e 'squire so werry backward about lettin 'e men
shoot 'em 'ere squatter! Gosh! masser Mordy, if he only
say `fire' when I want him, I don't t'ink so much as half a
one get off.”

“It is best as it is, Jaap. We are at peace, and in the
bosom of our country; and bloodshed is to be avoided.”

“Yes, sah; but Chainbearer! If 'ey don't like bloodshed,
why 'ey shoot him, sah?”

“There is a feeling of justice in what you say, Jaap, but
the community cannot get on in anything like safety unless
we let the law rule. Our business was to take those squattors,
and to hand them over to the law.”

“Werry true, sah. Nobody can't deny dat, masser Mordy,
but he nodder seize nor shot, now! Sartain, it best to
do one or t'odder with sich rascal. Well, I t'ink dat Tobit,
as dey calls him, will remember Jaap Satanstoe long as he
live. Dat a good t'ing, any way!”

“Good!” exclaimed the Onondago, with energy.

I saw it was useless, then, to discuss abstract principles
with men so purely practical as my two companions, and I
left the house to reconnoitre, ere I returned to our hospital
for the night. The negro followed me, and I questioned
him as to the manner of the attack, and the direction of the

retreat of the squatters, in order to ascertain what danger
there might be during the hours of darkness. Jaap gave
me to understand that the men of Thousandacres' family
had retired by the way of the stream, profiting by the declivity
to place themselves under cover as soon as possible.
As respects the women and children, they must have got
into the woods at some other point, and it was probable the
whole had sought some place of retreat that would naturally
have been previously appointed by those who knew that
they lived in the constant danger of requiring one. Jaap
was very certain we should see no more of the men, and in
that he was perfectly right. No more was ever seen of any
one of them all in that part of the country, though rumours
reached us, in the course of time, from some of the more
western counties, that Tobit had been seen there, a cripple,
as I have already stated, but maintaining his old character
for lawlessness and disregard of the rights of others.

I next returned to Frank Malbone, who still stood on post
at no great distance from the door, through which we could
both see the form and features of his beautiful and beloved
sister. Dus sat by her uncle's bed-side, while Prudence had
stationed herself by that of her husband. Frank and I advanced
near the door, and looked in upon the solemn and
singular sight that room afforded. It was indeed a strange
and sad spectacle, to see those two aged men, each with his
thin locks whitened by seventy years, drawing near their
ends, the victims of lawless violence; for, while the death
of Thousandacres was enveloped in a certain mystery, and
might by some eyes be viewed as merited and legal, there
could be no doubt that it was a direct consequence of the
previous murder of Chainbearer. It is in this way that
wrong extends and sometimes perpetuates its influence,
proving the necessity of taking time by the forelock, and
resorting to prevention in the earliest stages of the evil,
instead of cure.

There lay the two victims of the false principles that the
physical condition of the country, connected with its passive
endurance of encroachments on the right, had gradually
permitted to grow up among us. Squatting was a consequence
of the thinness of the population and of the abundance
of land, the two very circumstances that rendered it the

less justifiable in a moral point of view; but which, by
rendering the one side careless of its rights, and the other
proportionably encroaching, had gradually led, not only to
this violation of law, but to the adoption of notions that are
adverse to the supremacy of law in any case. It is this
gradual undermining of just opinions that forms the imminent
danger of our social system; a spurious philanthropy
on the subject of punishments, false notions on that of personal
rights, and the substitution of numbers for principles,
bidding fair to produce much the most important revolution
that has ever yet taken place on the American continent.
The lover of real liberty, under such circumstances, should
never forget that the road to despotism lies along the borders
of the slough of licentiousness, even when it escapes wallowing
in its depths.

When Malbone and myself drew back from gazing on
the scene within the house, he related to me in detail all that
was connected with his own proceedings. The reader knows
that it was by means of a meeting in the forest, between
the Indian and the negro, that my friends first became acquainted
with my arrest, and the probable danger in which
I was placed. Chainbearer, Dus, and Jaap instantly repaired
to the clearing of Thousandacres; while Malbone hastened
on to Ravensnest, in pursuit of legal aid, and of a force to
render my rescue certain. Meditating on all the facts of
the case, and entertaining most probably an exaggerated
notion of the malignant character of Thousandacres, by the
time he reached the Nest, my new friend was in a most
feverish state of excitement. His first act was, to write a
brief statement of the facts to my father, and to despatch
his letter by a special messenger, with orders to him to push
on for Fishkill, all the family being there at the time, on a
visit to the Kettletases; proceeding by land or by water, as
the wind might favour. I was startled at this information,
foreseeing at once that it would bring not only the general
himself, but my dear mother and Kate, with Tom Bayard
quite likely in her train, post haste to Ravensnest. It might
even cause my excellent old grandmother to venture so far
from home; for my last letters had apprised me that they
were all on the point of visiting my sister Anneke, which

was the way Frank had learned where the family was to be
found.

As Malbone's messenger had left the Nest early the preceding
night, and the wind had been all day fresh at north,
it came quite within the bounds of possibility that he might
be at Fishkill at the very moment I was listening to the
history of his message. The distance was about a hundred
and forty miles, and nearly one hundred of it could be made
by water. Such a messenger would care but little for the
accommodations of his craft; and, on the supposition that
he reached Albany that morning, and found a sloop ready
to profit by the breeze, as would be likely to occur, it would
be quite in rule to reach the landing at Fishkill in the course
of the evening aided by the little gale that had been blowing.
I knew General Littlepage too well, to doubt either his affection
or his promptitude. Albany could be reached in a day
by land, and Ravensnest in another. I made my account,
therefore, to see a part if not all of the family at the Nest,
as soon as I should reach it myself; an event not likely to
occur, however, for some little time, on account of the condition
of Chainbearer.

I shall not deny that this new state of things, with the
expectations connected with it, gave me sufficient food for
reflection. I could not and did not blame Frank Malbone
for what he had done, since it was natural and proper.
Notwithstanding, it would precipitate matters as regarded
my relations to Dus a little faster than I could have wished.
I desired time to sound my family on the important subject
of my marriage—to let the three or four letters I had already
written, and in which she had been mentioned in a marked
manner, produce their effect; and I counted largely on the
support I was to receive through the friendship and representations
of Miss Bayard. I felt certain that deep disappointment
on the subject of Pris. would be felt by the whole
family; and it was my wish not to introduce Ursula to their
acquaintance until time had a little lessened its feeling. But
things must now take their course; and my determination
was settled to deal as sincerely and simply as possible with
my parents on the subject. I knew their deep affection for
me, and relied strongly on that natural support.

I had half an hour's conversation with Dus while walking

in front of the hospital that night, Frank taking his sister's
place by the side of Chainbearer's bed. Then it was that I
again spoke of my hopes, and explained the probabilities of
our seeing all of my immediate family so shortly at Ravensnest.
My arm was round the waist of the dear girl as I
communicated these facts; and I felt her tremble, as if she
dreaded the trial she was to undergo.

“This is very sudden and unexpected, Mordaunt,” Dus
remarked, after she had had a little time to recover her
recollection; “and I have so much reason to fear the judgment
of your respectable parents—of your charming sister,
of whom I have heard so often through Priscilla Bayard—
and indeed of all who have lived, as they have done, amid
the elegancies of a refined state of society; I, Dus Malbone
—a chainbearer's niece, and a chainbearer myself!”

“You have never borne any chain, love, that is as lasting
or as strong as that which you have entwined around my
heart, and which will for ever bind me to you, let the rest
of the world regard us both as it may. But you can have
nothing to fear from any, and least of all from my friends.
My father is not worldly-minded; and as for my dear, dear
mother, Anneke Mordaunt, as the general even now often
affectionately calls her, as if the name itself reminded him
of the days of her maiden loveliness and pride—as for that
beloved mother, Ursula, I do firmly believe that, when she
comes to know you, she will even prefer you to her son.”

“That is a picture of your blinded partiality, Mordaunt,”
answered the gratified girl, for gratified I could see she was,
“and must not be too fondly relied on. But this is no time
to talk of our own future happiness, when the eternal happiness
or misery of those two aged men is suspended, as it
might be, by a thread. I have read prayers once already
with my dear uncle; and that strange woman, in whom
there is so much of her sex mingled with a species of ferocity
like that of a she-bear, has muttered a hope that her
own `dying man,' as she calls him, is not to be forgotten.
I have promised he should not be, and it is time to attend to
that duty next.”

What a scene followed! Dus placed the light on a chest
near the bed of Thousandacres, and, with the prayer-book
in her hand, she knelt beside it. Prudence stationed herself

in such a posture that her head was buried in one of her
own garments, that was suspended from a peg; and there
she stood, while the melodious voice of Ursula Malbone
poured out the petitions contained in the offices for the
dying, in humble but fervent piety. I say stood, for neither
Prudence nor Lowiny knelt. The captious temper of self-righteousness
which had led their ancestors to reject kneeling
at prayers as the act of formalists, had descended to
them; and there they stood, praying doubtless in their
hearts, but ungracious formalists themselves in their zeal
against forms. Frank and I knelt in the door-way; and I
can truly affirm that never did prayers sound so sweetly in
my ears, as those which then issued from the lips of Ursula
Malbone.