 | CHAPTER XIII. The chainbearer, or, The Littlepage manuscripts |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
The large great kyngdomes, and the dreadful raygne
Of Pluto in his trone where he dyd dwell,
The wyde waste places, and the hugye playne:
The waylings, shrykes, and sundry sortes of payne,
The syghes, and sobbes, the diep and deadly groane,
Earth, ayer, and all resounding playnt and moane.
Sackville.
In this manner did that memorable night wear away.
The two wounded men slumbered much of the time; nor
did their wants extend beyond occasional draughts of water,
to cool their feverish mouths, or the wetting of lips. I prevailed
on Dus to lie down on the bed of Lowiny, and try to
get a little rest; and I had the pleasure to hear her say that
she had slept sweetly for two or three hours, after the turn
of the night. Frank and I caught naps, also, after the
fashion of soldiers, and Lowiny slept in her chair, or leaning
on her father's bed. As for Prudence, I do not think her
watchfulness was lessened for a single instant. There she
sat the live-long night; silent, tearless, moody, and heart-stricken
by the great and sudden calamity that had befallen
the huge frame of her wounded partner. No complaint
escaped her; scarcely once did she turn to look at what
was going on around her, nor in any manner did she heed
aught but her husband. To him she seemed to be unerringly
true; and whatever she may, and must have thought
of his natural sternness, and occasional fits of severity towards
herself, all now seemed to be forgotten.
At length light returned, after hours of darkness that
seemed to me to be protracted to an unusual length. Then
it was, when Jaap and the Indian were ready to take our
places on the watch, that Frank and I went to one of the
huts and lay down for two or three hours; and that was the
time when Dus got her sweetest and most refreshing sleep.
Lowiny prepared our morning's meal for us; which we
three, that is, Dus, Frank and myself, took together in the
best way we could, in the dwelling of Tobit. As for squire
Newcome, he left the clearing in the course of the night, or
very early in the morning, doubtless exceedingly uneasy in
his conscience, but still uncertain whether his connection
with the squatters was, or was not known to me: the
excuse for this movement being the probable necessity of
summoning a jury; Mr. Jason Newcome filling in his own
person, or by deputy, the several offices and functions of
justice of the peace, one of the coroners of the county, supervisor
of the township of Ravensnest, merchant, shopkeeper,
miller, lumber-dealer, husbandman and innkeeper; to say
nothing of the fact that he wrote all the wills of the neighbourhood;
was a standing arbitrator when disputes were
`left out to men;' was a leading politician, a patriot by
trade, and a remarkable and steady advocate of the rights
of the people, even to minutiæ. Those who know mankind
will not be surprised, after this enumeration of his pursuits
and professions, to hear it added that he was a remarkable
rogue in the bargain.
There are two things I have lived long enough to receive
as truths established by my own experience, and they are
these: I never knew a man who made large professions of
a love for the people, and of his wish to serve them on all
occasions, whose aim was not to deceive them to his own
advantage; and the other is, that I never knew a man who
who at the same time was personally popular, who had anything
in him, at the bottom. But it is time to quit Jason Newcome
and his defects of character, in order to attend to the
interesting scene that awaited us in the dwelling of Thousandacres,
and to which we were now summoned by Jaap.
As the day advanced, both the chainbearer and the squatter
became aroused from the languor that had succeeded the
receiving of their respective hurts, and more or less alive to
what was passing around them. Life was ebbing fast in
both, yet each seemed, just at that moment, to turn his
thoughts backward on the world, in order, as it might be, to
take a last look at those scenes in which he had now been
an actor for the long period of three-score and ten years.
“Uncle Chainbearer is much revived, just now,” said Dus,
meeting Frank and myself at the door, “and he has asked
for you both; more especially for Mordaunt, whose name
he has mentioned three several times within the last five
minutes. `Send for Mordaunt, my child,' he has said to
me, `for I wish to speak with him before I quit you.' I am
fearful he has inward admonitions of his approaching end.”
“That is possible, dearest Ursula; for men can hardly
lose their hold of life without being aware of the approaches
of death. I will go at once to his bedside, that he may know
I am here. It is best to let his own feelings decide whether
he is able or not to converse.”
The sound of Chainbearer's voice, speaking in a low but
distinct tone, caught our ears as we approached him, and
we all stopped to listen.
“I say, T'ousantacres,” repeated Andries, on a key a
little louder than before, “if you hear me, olt man, ant can
answer, I wish you to let me know it. You ant I pe apout
to start on a fery long journey, ant it ist unreasonable, as
well as wicket, to set out wit' pad feelin's at t'e heart. If
you hat hat a niece, now, like Dus t'ere, to tell you t'ese
matters, olt Aaron, it might pe petter for your soul in t'e
worlt into which we are poth apout to enter.”
“He knows it—I'm sure he knows it, and feels it, too,”
muttered Prudence, rocking her body as before. “He has
had pious forefathers, and cannot have fallen so far away
from grace, as to forget death and etarnity.”
“Look you, Prutence, Aaron nefer coult fall away from
what he nefer wast fastenet to. As for pious forefat'ers,
t'ey may do to talk apout in Fourt' of July orations, put
t'ey are of no great account in cleansin' a man from his
sins. I s'pose t'em pious forefat'ers of which you speak
wast t'e people t'at first steppet on t'e Rock town at Plymout';
put, let me telt you, Prutence, hat t'ere peen twice
as many of t'em, and hat t'ey all peen twice as goot as you
poast of t'eir hafin' peen, it wilt do no goot to your man,
untless he wilt repent, and pe sorry for all t'e unlawful ant
wicket t'ings he hast tone in t'is worlt, ant his treatment of
pountaries in jin'ral, ant of ot'ers men's lants in partic'lar.
Pious ancestors may pe pleasant to haf, put goot pehaviour
ist far petter as t'e last hour approaches.”
“Answer him, Aaron,” the wife rejoined—“answer him,
my man, in order that we may all on us know the frame
of mind in which you take your departure. Chainbearer
is a kind-hearted man at the bottom, and has never wilfully
done us any harm.”
For the first time since Andries received his wound, I
now heard the voice of Thousandacres. Previously to that
moment, the squatter. whether hurt or not, had sat in moody
silence, and I had supposed after he was wounded that he
was unable to use his tongue. To my surprise, however,
he now spoke with a depth and strength of voice that at
first misled me, by inducing me to think that the injury he
had received could not be fatal.
“If there wasn't no chainbearers,” growled Thousandacres,
“there wouldn't be no lines, or metes, and bounds, as
they call 'em; and where there 's no metes and bounds,
there can be no right but possession. If 't wasn't for your
writin' titles, I shouldn't be lyin' here, breathin' my last.”
“Forgive it all, my man; forgive it all, as behooves a
good christian,” Prudence returned to this characteristic
glance at the past, in which the squatter had so clearly
overlooked all his own delinquencies, and was anxious to
impute consequences altogether to others. “it is the law
of God to forgive your enemies, Aaron, and I want you to
forgive Chainbearer, and not go to the world of spirits with
gall in your heart.”
“'T woult pe much petter, Prutence, if T'ousantacres
“I am fery willin', ant happy to haf t'e forgifness of efery
man, ant it ist not unlikely t'at I may haf tone somet'ing,
or sait somet'ing t'at hast peen hart to t'e feelin's of your
huspant; for we are rough, and plain-speakin', and plainactin'
enough, in t'e woots; so I'm willin' to haf even
T'ousantacres' forgifness, I say, and wilt accept it wit' pleasure
if he wilt offer it, ant take mine in exchange.”
A deep groan struggled out of the broad, cavern-like
chest of the squatter. I took it as an admission that he
was the murderer of Andries.
“Yes,” resumed Chainbearer,—“Dus hast mate me
see—”
“Uncle!” exclaimed Ursula, who was intently listening,
and who now spoke because unable to restrain the impulse.
“Yes, yes, gal, it hast peen all your own toin's. Pefore
ast you come pack from school, ast we come into t'e woots,
all alone like, you haf nefer forgotten to teach an olt, forgetful
man his tuty—”
“Oh! uncle Chainbearer, it is not I, but God in his
mercy who has enlightened your understanding and touched
your heart.”
“Yes, tarlin'; yes, Dus, my tear, I comprehent t'at too;
but Got in his mercy sent an angel to pe his minister on
'art' wit' a poor ignorant Tutchman, who hast not t'e l'arnin'
ant t'e grace he might ant ought to have hat, wit'out
your ait, and so hast t'e happy change come apout. No—
no—T'ousantacres, I wilt not tespise even your forgifness,
little as you may haf to forgif; for it lightens a man's
heart of heafy loats, when his time is short, to know he
leafs no enemies pehint him. T'ey say it ist pest to haf
t'e goot wishes of a tog, ant how much petter ist it to haf t'e
goot wishes of one who hast a soul t'at only wants purifyin',
to twell in t'e Almighty's presence t'roughout eternity!”
“I hope and believe,” again growled Thousandacres,
“that in the world we 're goin' to, there 'll be no law, and
no attorneys.”
“In t'at, t'en, Aaron, you pe greatly mistaken. T'at lant
is all law, ant justice, ant right; t'ough, Got forgif me if I
two mortals so near t'eir ents, I do not pelieve, myself, t'at
t'ere wilt pe a great many attorneys to trouple t'em t'at are
receivet into t'e courts of t'e Almighty, himself. T'eir
practices on 'arth does not suit t'em for practice in heafen.”
“If you 'd always held them rational notions, Chainbearer,
no harm might have come to you, and my life and
your'n been spared. But this is a state of being in which
short-sightedness prevails ag'in the best calkerlations. I
never felt more sure of gittin' lumber to market than I felt,
three days ago, of gittin' this that 's in the creek, safe to
Albany; and, now, you see how it is! the b'ys are disparsed,
and may never see this spot ag'in; the gals are in
the woods, runnin' with the deer of the forest; the lumber
has fallen into the hands of the law; and that, too, by the
aid of a man that was bound in honesty to protect me, and
I 'm dyin' here!”
“Think no more of the lumber, my man, think no more
of the lumber,” said Prudence, earnestly; “time is desp'rate
short at the best, and yours is shorter than common, even
for a man of seventy, while etarnity has no eend. Forgit
the boards, and forgit the b'ys, and forgit the gals, forgit
'arth and all it holds!—”
“You wouldn't have me forgit you, Prudence,” interrupted
Thousandacres, “that 's been my wife, now, forty long
years, and whom I tuck when she was young and comely,
and that 's borne me so many children, and has always been
a faithful and hard-working woman—you wouldn't have me
forget you!”
This singular appeal, coming as it did from such a being,
and almost in his agony, sounded strangely and solemnly,
amid the wild and semi-savage appliances of a scene I can
never forget. The effect on Ursula was still more apparent;
she left the bed-side of her uncle, and with strong womanly
sympathy manifested in her countenance, approached that
of this aged couple, now about to be separated for a short
time, at least, where she stood gazing wistfully at the very
man who was probably that uncle's murderer, as if she
could gladly administer to his moral ailings. Even Chainbearer
attempted to raise his head, and looked with interest
towards the other group. No one spoke, however, for all
so situated, were too sacred for interruption. The discourse
went on, without any hiatus, between them.
“Not I, not I, Aaron, my man,” answered Prudence,
with strong emotion struggling in her voice; “there can be
no law, or call for that. We are one flesh, and what God
has j'ined, God will not keep asunder long. I cannot tarry
long behind you, my man, and when we meet together
ag'in, I hope 'twill be where no boards, or trees, or acres,
can ever make more trouble for us!”
“I 've been hardly treated about that lumber, a'ter all,”
muttered the squatter, who was now apparently more aroused
to consciousness than he had been, and who could not but
keep harping on what had been the one great business of his
life, even as that life was crumbling beneath his feet—
“hardly dealt by, do I consider myself, about that lumber,
Prudence. Make the most of the Littlepage rights, it was
only trees that they could any way claim, in reason; while
the b'ys and I, as you well know, have convarted them trees
into as pretty and noble a lot of han'some boards and
planks, as man ever rafted to market!”
“It 's convarsion of another natur' that you want now,
Aaron, my man; another sort of convarsion is the thing
needful. We must all be convarted once in our lives; at
least all such as be the children of Puritan parents and a
godly ancestry; and it must be owned, takin' into account
our years, and the importance of example in sich a family
as our'n, that you and I have put it off long enough. Come
it must, or suthin' worse; and time and etarnity in your
case, Aaron, is pretty much the same thing.”
“I should die easier in mind, Prudence, if Chainbearer
would only admit that the man who chops, and hauls, and
saws, and rafts a tree, doos get some sort of a right, nat'ral
or legal, to the lumber.”
“I 'm sorry, T'ousantacres,” put in Andries, “t'at you
feel any such atmission from me necessary to you at t'is
awful moment, since I nefer can make it ast an honest man.
You hat petter listen to your wife, ant get confarted if you
can, ant as soon ast you can. You ant I haf put a few
hours to lif; I am an olt soltier, T'ousantacres, ant haf seen
more t'an t'ree t'ousant men shot town in my own ranks, to
a man comes to know a little apout wounts ant
t'eir tarminations. I gif it ast my chugement, t'erefore, t'at
neit'er of us can haf t'e smallest hope to lif t'rough t'e next
night. So get t'at confarsion as hastily ant ast well ast you
can, for t'ere ist little time to lose, ant you a squatter! T'is
ist t'e moment of all ot'ers, T'ousantacres, to proofe t'e true
falue of professions, ant trates, ant callin's, as well ast of
t'e manner in which t'eir tuties haf peen fulfillet. It may
pe more honouraple ant more profitaple to pe a calculating
surfeyor, ant to unterstant arit'metic, ant to pe talket of in
t'e worlt for work tone on a large scale; put efen His Excellency
himself, when he comes to t'e last moment, may pe
glat t'at t'e temptations of such l'arnin', ant his pein' so t'oroughly
an honest man, toes not make him enfy t'e state of
a poor chainpearer; who, if he titn't know much, ant coultn't
do much, at least measuret t'e lant wit' fitelity, ant tid his
work ast well ast he knew how. Yes, yes, olt Aaron; get
confartet, I tell you; ant shoult Prutence not know enough
of religion ant her piple, ant of prayin' to Got to haf marcy
on your soul, t'ere ist Dus Malpone, my niece, who unterstants,
ant what ist far petter, who feels t'ese matters, quite
as well ast most tominies, ant petter t'an some lazy ant selfish
ones t'at I know, who treat t'eir flocks as if t'e Lort
meant t'ey wast to pe shearet only, ant who wast too lazy
to do much more t'an to keep cryin' out—not in t'e worts
of t'e inspiret writer,—`watchman, what of t'e night?'—
`watchman, what of t'e night?'—put, `my pelovet, ant most
christian, ant gotly-mintet people, pay, pay, pay!' Yes,
t'ere ist too much of such afarice ant selfishness in t'e worlt,
ant it toes harm to t'e cause of t'e Safiour; put trut' is so
clear ant peautiful an opject, my poor Aaron, t'at efen lies,
ant fice, ant all manner of wicketnesses cannot long sully
it. Take my atvice, ant talk to Dus; ant t'ough you wilt
touptless continue to grow worse in poty, you wilt grow
petter in spirit.”
Thousandacres turned his grim visage round, and gazed
intently and wistfully towards Ursula. I saw the struggle
that was going on within, through the clear mirror of the
sweet, ingenuous face of my beloved, and I saw the propriety
we left the house together, closing the door behind us.
Two, to me, long and anxious hours succeeded, during
most of which time my companion and myself walked about
the clearing, questioning the men who composed the posse,
and hearing their reports. These men were in earnest in
what they were doing; for a respect for law is a distinguishing
trait in the American character, and perhaps more so in
New England, whence most of these people came, than in
any other part of the country; the rascality of 'Squire
Newcome to the contrary, notwithstanding. Some observers
pretend that this respect for law is gradually decreasing
among us, and that in its place is sensibly growing up a
disposition to substitute the opinions, wishes, and interests
of local majorities, making the country subject to men instead
of principles. The last are eternal and immutable;
and, coming of God, men, however unanimous in sentiment,
have no more right to attempt to change them, than to blaspheme
His holy name. All that the most exalted and largest
political liberty can ever beneficially effect is, to apply these
principles to the good of the human race, in the management
of their daily affairs; but, when they attempt to substitute
for these pure and just rules of right, laws conceived in
selfishness and executed by the power of numbers, they
merely exhibit tyranny in its popular form, instead of in its
old aspect of kingly or aristocratic abuses. It is a fatal
mistake to fancy, that freedom is gained by the mere achievement
of a right in the people to govern, unless the manner
in which that right is to be both understood and practised,
is closely incorporated with all the popular notions of what
has been obtained. That right to govern means no more,
than the right of the people to avail themselves of the power
thus acquired, to apply the great principles of justice to
their own benefit, and from the possession of which they had
hitherto been excluded. It confers no power to do that
which is inherently wrong, under any pretence whatever;
nor would anything have been gained, had America, as soon
as she relieved herself from a sway that diverted so many
of her energies to the increase of the wealth and influence
of a distant people, gone to work to frame a new polity
which should inflict similar wrongs within her own bosom.
My old acquaintance, the hearty Rhode Islander, was one
of the posse; and I had a short conversation with him,
while thus kept out of the house, which may serve to let the
reader somewhat into the secret of the state of things at the
clearing. We met near the mill, when my acquaintance,
whose name was Hosmer, commenced as follows:
“A good day to you, major, and a hearty welcome to the
open air!” cried the sturdy yeoman, frankly but respectfully,
offering his hand. “You fell into a pit here, or into a den
among thieves; and it 's downright providential you ever
saw and breathed the clear air ag'in! Wa-a-l, I've been
trailin' a little this mornin', along with the Injin; and no
hound has a more sartain scent than he has. We went
into the hollow along the creek; and a desp'rate sight of
boards them varmints have got into the water, I can tell you!
If the lot 's worth forty pounds York, it must be worth every
shilling of five hundred. They 'd a made their fortin's,
every blackguard among 'em. I don't know but I 'd fit
myself to save so many boards, and sich beautiful boards,
whether wrongfully or rightfully lumbered!”
Here the hearty old fellow stopped to laugh, which he did
exactly in the full-mouthed, contented way in which he spoke
and did everything else. I profited by the occasion to put
in a word in reply.
“You are too honest a man, major, to think of ever making
your boards out of another man's trees,” I answered.
“This people have lived by dishonest practices all their
lives, and any one can see what it has come to.”
“Yes, I hope I am, 'squire Littlepage—I do hope I am.
Hard work and I an't no how afeard of each other; and
so long as a man can work, and will work, Satan don't
get a full grip on him. But, as I was sayin', the Trackless
struck the trail down the creek, though it was along a
somewhat beaten path; but that Injin would make no
more of findin' it in a highway, than you and I would of
findin' our places in the Bible on Sabba'day, where we had
left off the Sabba'day that was gone. I always mark mine
with a string the old woman braided for me on purpose, and
a right down good method it is; for, while you 're s'archin'
for your specs with one hand, nothin' is easier than to open
the Bible with t'other. Them 's handy things to have, major;
a one as your own mother was, for I know'd her and honoured
her, as we all did hereaway—but, when you get
married, ask your wife to braid a string for you, to find the
place in the Bible with, and all will go right, take an old
man's word for it.”
“I thank you, friend, and will remember the advice,
even though I might happen to marry a lady in this part
of the world, and not down in York.”
“This part of the world? No, we 've got nobody our
way, that 's good enough for you. Let me see; Newcome
has a da'ghter that 's old enough, but she 's desp'rate humbly
(Anglise, homely — the people of New England reserve
`ugly' for moral qualities) and wouldn't suit, no how. I
don't think the Littlepages would overmuch like being warp
and fillin' with the Newcomes.”
“No! My father was an old friend — or, an old acquaintance
at least, of Mr. Newcome's, and must know and appreciate
his merits.”
“Yes — yes — I 'll warrant ye the gin'ral knows him.
Wa-a-l! Human natur' is human natur'; and I do s'pose,
if truth must be spoken, none on us be half as good as we
ought to be. We read about faithful stewards in the good
book, and about onfaithful ones too, squire” — here, the old
yeoman stopped to indulge in one of his hearty laughs, rendering
it manifest he felt the full application of his words.
“Wa-a-l, all must allow the bible's a good book. I never
open it, without l'arnin' suthin', and what I l'arn, I strive
not to forgit. But there 's a messenger for you, major, from
Thousandacres' hut, and I fancy 't will turn out that he or
Chainbearer is drawing near his eend.”
Lowiny was coming to summon us to the house, sure
enough, and I took my leave of my brother major for the
moment. It was plain to me that this honest-minded yeoman,
a good specimen of his class, saw through Newcome
and his tricks, and was not unwilling to advert to them.
Nevertheless, this man had a fault, and one very characteristic
of his “order.” He could not speak directly, but
would hint round a subject, instead of coming out at once,
and telling what he had to say; beating the bush to start
his game, when he might have put it up at once, by going
that Susquesus and my fellow, Jaap, had gone on in
pursuit of the retreating squatters, intending to follow their
trail several miles, in order to make sure that Tobit and his
gang were not hanging around the clearing to watch their
property, ready to strike a blow when it might be least expected.
Dus met me at the door of the cabin, tearful and sad, but
with such a holy calm reigning in her generally brilliant
countenance, as denoted the nature of the solemn business
in which she had just been engaged. She extended both
hands to meet mine, and whispered, “Uncle Chainbearer is
anxious to speak to us—on the subject of our engagement, I
think it is.” A tremour passed through the frame of Ursula;
but she made an effort, smiled sadly, and continued: “Hear
him patiently, dear Mordaunt, and remember that he is my
father, in one sense, and as fully entitled to my obedience
and respect as if I were really his daughter.”
As I entered the room, I could see that Dus had been at
prayer. Prudence looked comforted, but Thousandacres,
himself, had a wild and uncertain expression of countenance,
as if doubts had begun to beset him, at the very moment
when they must have been the most tormenting. I observed
that his anxious eye followed the form of Dus, and that he
gazed on her as one would be apt to regard the being who
had just been the instrument of awakening within him the
consciousness of his critical state. But my attention was
soon drawn to the other bed.
“Come near me, Mortaunt, lat; ant come hit'er, Dus, my
tearest ta'ghter ant niece. I haf a few worts of importance
to say to you, pefore I go, ant if t'ey pe not sait now, t'ey
nefer may pe sait at all. It 's always pest to `take time py
t'e forelock,' t'ey say; ant surely I cannot pe callet in haste
to speak, when not only one foot, put pot' feet and half my
poty, in t'e pargain, may well pe sait to pe in t'e grafe.
Now listen to an olt man's atfice, ant do not stop my worts
until all haf peen spoken, for I grow weak fast, ant haf not
strength enough to t'row away any of it in argument.
“Mortaunt hast sait ast much, in my hearin', ast to atmit
t'at he lofes ant atmires my gal, ant t'at he wishes, ant
hopes, ant expects to make her his wife. On t'e ot'er hant,
she lofes, ant esteems, ant hast a strong regart for Mortaunt,
ant ist willing to pecome his wife. All t'is ist nat'ral, ant
t'ere wast a time when it woult haf mate me ast happy ast
t'e tay ist long to hear as much sait by t'e one or t'e ot'er
of t'e parties. You know, my chiltren, t'at my affection for
you ist equal, ant t'at I consiter you, in all respects put t'at
of worltly contition, to pe as well suitet to pecome man ant
wife ast any young couple in America. Put tuty is tuty,
ant it must pe tischarget. General Littlepage wast my olt
colonel; ant, an honest ant an honouraple man himself, he
hast efery right to expect t'at efery one of his former captains,
in partic'lar, woult do unto him as t'ey woult haf him
do unto t'em. Now, t'ough heafen ist heafen, t'is worlt
must pe regartet as t'is worlt, ant t'e rules for its gofernment
are to pe respectet in t'eir place. T'e Malpones pe a
respectaple family, I know; ant t'ough Dus' own fat'er wast
a little wilt, ant t'oughtless, ant extrafagant—”
“Uncle Chainbearer!”
“True, gal, true; he wast your fat'er, ant t'e chilt shoult
respect its parent. I atmit t'at, ant wilt say no more t'an
ist apsolutely necessary; pesites, if Malpone hat his pat
qualities, he hat his goot. A hantsomer man coult not pe
fount, far ant near, ast my poor sister felt, I dares to say;
ant he wast prave as a pull-dog, ant generous, ant gootnaturet,
ant many persons was quite captivatet by all t'ese
showy atfantages, ant t'ought him petter ast he really wast.
Yes, yes, Dus, my chilt, he hat his goot qualities, as well
ast his pat. Put, t'e Malpones pe gentlemen, as ist seen py
Frank, Dus' prother, ant py ot'er mempers of t'e family.
T'en my mot'er's family, py which I am relatet to Dus,
wast very goot—even petter t'an t'e Coejemans—and t'e
gal is a gentlewoman py pirt'. No one can deny t'at; put
ploot won't do efery t'ing. Chiltren must pe fet, and clot'et;
ant money ist necessary, a'ter all, for t'e harmony ant comfort
of families. I know Matam Littlepage, in partic'lar.
She ist a da'ter of olt Harman Mortaunt, who wast a grant
gentleman in t'e lant, ant t'e owner of Ravensnest, ast well
ast of ot'er estates, ant who kept t'e highest company in t'e
profince. Now Matam Littlepage, who hast peen t'us born,
ant etucatet, ant associatet, may not like t'e itee of hafin'
chainpearer herself, for which I honour ant lofe her so much
t'e more, Mortaunt, lat; put for which an ill-chutgin' worlt
wilt despise her—”
“My mother—my noble-hearted, right-judging and right-feeling
mother—never!” I exclaimed, in a burst of feeling
I found it impossible to control.
My words, manner and earnestness produced a profound
impression on my auditors. A gleam of pained delight shot
into and out of the countenance of Ursula, like the passage
of the electric spark. Chainbearer gazed on me intently,
and it was easy to trace, in the expression of his face, the
deep interest he felt in my words, and the importance he attached
to them. As for Frank Malbone, he fairly turned
away to conceal the tears that forced themselves from his
eyes.
“If I coult t'ink ast much—if I coult hope ast much, Mortaunt,”
resumed Chainbearer, “it woult pe a plesset relief
to my partin' spirit, for I know general Littlepage well
enough to pe sartain t'at he ist a just ant a right-mintet man,
ant t'at, in t'e long run, he woult see matters ast he ought
to see t'em. Wit' Matam Littlepage I fearet it wast tifferent;
for I haf always hearet t'at t'e Mortaunts was tifferent
people, ant felt ast toppin' people commonly do feel. T'is
makes some change in my itees, ant some change in my
plans. Howesefer, my young frients, I haf now to ask of
you each a promise—a solemn promise mate to a tyin' man—
ant it ist t'is—”
“First hear me, Chainbearer,” I interposed eagerly, “before
you involve Ursula heedlessly, and I had almost said
cruelly, in any incautious promise, that may make both our
lives miserable hereafter. You, yourself, first invited, tempted,
courted me to love her; and now, when I know and
confess her worth, you throw ice on my flame, and command
me to do that of which it is too late to think.”
“I own it, I own it, lat, ant hope t'e Lort, in his great
marcy, wilt forgif ant parton t'e great mistake I mate. We
haf talket of t'is pefore, Mortaunt, ant you may rememper
I tolt you it was Dus, herself, who first mate me see t'e trut'
in t'e matter, ant how much petter ant more pecomin' it wast
How comes it, my tear gal, t'at you haf forgot all t'is, ant
now seem to wish me to do t'e fery t'ing you atviset me not
to do?”
Ursula's face became pale as death; then it flushed to the
brightness of a summer sunset, and she sank on her knees,
concealing her countenance in the coarse quilt of the bed,
as her truthful and ingenuous nature poured out her answer.
“Uncle Chainbearer,” she said, “when we first talked on
this subject I had never seen Mordaunt.”
I knelt at the side of Ursula, folded her to my bosom, and
endeavoured to express the profound sentiment of gratitude
that I felt at hearing this ingenuous explanation, by such
caresses as nature and feeling dictated. Dus, however,
gently extricated herself from my arms, and rising, we both
stood waiting the effect of what had just been seen and heard
on Chainbearer.
“I see t'at natur' is stronger t'an reason, ant opinion, ant
custom,” the old man resumed, after a long, meditative
pause—“I haf put little time to spent in t'is matter, housefer,
my chiltren, ant must pring it to a close. Promise
me, pot' of you, t'at you will nefer marry wit'out t'e free
consent of General Littlepage, ant t'at of olt Matam Littlepage,
ant young Matam Littlepage, each or all pein' lifin'.”
“I do promise you, uncle Chainbearer,” said Dus, with a
promptitude that I could hardly pardon — “I do promise
you, and will keep my promise, as I love you and fear and
honour my Maker. 'T would be misery, to me, to enter a
family that was not willing to receive me—”
“Ursula!—Dearest—dearest Ursula—do you reflect!—
Am I, then, nothing in your eyes?”
“It would also be misery to live without you, Mordaunt—
but in one case I should be supported by a sense of having
discharged my duty; while in the other, all that went wrong
would appear a punishment for my own errors.”
I would not promise; for, to own the truth, while I never
distrusted my father or mother for a single instant, I did
distrust my dear and venerable grandmother. I knew that
she had not only set her heart on my marrying Priscilla
Bayard; but that she had a passion for making matches in
the tenacity of old age in maintaining her opinions. Dus
endeavoured to prevail on me to promise; but I evaded the
pledge; and all solicitations were abandoned in consequence,
of a remark that was soon after made by Chainbearer.
“Nefer mint — nefer mint, darlint; your promise is
enough. So long as you pe true, what matters it w'et'er
Mortaunt is heatstrong or not? Ant now, children, ast I
wish to talk no more of t'e matters of t'is worlt, put to gif
all my metitations ant language to t'e t'ings of Got, I wilt
utter my partin' worts to you. W'et'er you marry or not,
I pray Almighty Got to gif you his pest plessin's in t'is life,
ant in t'at which ist to come. Lif in sich a way, my tear
chiltren, as to pe aple to meet t'is awful moment, in which
you see me placed, wit' hope ant joy, so t'at we may all
meet hereafter in t'e courts of Heafen. Amen.”
A short, solemn pause succeeded this benediction, when
it was interrupted by a fearful groan, that struggled out of
the broad chest of Thousandacres. All eyes were turned
on the other bed, which presented a most impressive contrast
to the calm scene that surrounded the parting soul of
him about whom we had been gathered. I alone advanced
to the assistance of Prudence, who, woman-like, clung to
her husband to the last; `bone of his bone, and flesh of his
flesh.' I must own, however, that horror paralyzed my
limbs; and that when I got as far as the foot of the squatter's
bed, I stood riveted to the place like a rooted tree.
Thousandacres had been raised, by means of quilts, until
half his body lay almost in a sitting position; a change he
had ordered during the previous scene. His eyes were
open; ghastly, wandering, hopeless. As the lips contracted
with the convulsive twitchings of death, they gave to his
grim visage a species of sardonic grin that rendered it
doubly terrific. At this moment a sullen calm came over
the countenance, and all was still. I knew that the last
breath remained to be drawn, and waited for it as the
charmed bird gazes at the basilisk-eye of the snake. It came,
drawing aside the lips so as to show every tooth, and not
one was missing in that iron frame; when, finding the sight
too frightful for even my nerves, I veiled my eyes. When
my hand was removed, I caught one glimpse of that dark
had so long dwelt, Prudence being in the act of closing the
glary, but still fiery eyes. I never before had looked upon
so revolting a corpse; and never wish to see its equal again.
| CHAPTER XIII. The chainbearer, or, The Littlepage manuscripts | |