 | CHAPTER XIV. The chainbearer, or, The Littlepage manuscripts |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
And smiling sleeps upon the mother's breast—
Tranquil, and with a patriarch's hope, he gave
His soul to heaven, his body to the grave.
Harte.
I saw that neither Chainbearer nor Dus looked at the revolting
object presented in the corpse of Thousandacres,
after that selfish and self-willed being ceased to live. I had
another hut prepared immediately for its reception, and the
body was removed to it without delay. Thither Prudence
accompanied the senseless body; and there she passed the
remainder of the day, and the whole of the succeeding
night, attended by Lowiny—with occasional offers of food
and assistance from the men of the posse. Two or three
of the latter, carpenters by trade, made a coffin of pine,
and the body was placed in it in the customary manner.
Others dug a grave in the centre of one of those rough
fields that the squatter had appropriated to his own uses,
thus making everything ready for the interment, as soon as
the coroner, who had been sent for, should have had his
sitting over the body.
The removal of the remains of Thousandacres left a sort
of holy calm in the cabin of Chainbearer. My old friend
was fast sinking; and he said but little. His consciousness
continued to the last, and Dus was often at prayer with him
in the course of that day. Frank and I aided in doing the
duty of nurses; and we prevailed on Ursula to retire to
the loft, and catch some rest, after her unwearying watchfulness.
It was near sunset that old Andries again addressed
side, Dus being then asleep.
“I shalt lif till mornin', I now fint, Mortaunt,” he said;
“put, let deat' come when it wilt, it ist sent py my Lort
ant Maker, ant it ist welcome. Deat' hast no fears for
me.”
“He never had, captain Coejemans, as the history of
your whole career in the army shows.”
“Yes, lat, t'ere wast a time when I shoult haf peen glat
to haf peen shot on t'e fielt, and to haf diet wit' Montgomery,
ant Laurens, ant Wooster, ant Warren, and sich like gallant
heroes; put t'at ist all gone, now. I 'm like a man t'at
hast peen walkin' over a wite plain, ant who hast come to
its tarmination, where he sees pefore him an entless apyss
into which he must next step. At sich a sight, lat, all t'e
trouples, ant lapours, ant tifficulties of t'e plain seem so
triflin', t'at t'ey pe forgotten. Mint, I do not wish to say
t'at eternity is an apyss to me in fears, ant pains, ant
tespair; for t'e gootness of Got hast enlightenet my mint
on t'at supject, ant hope, ant love, ant longin' for t'e presence
of my Maker, stant in t'eir places. Mortaunt, my lat,
pefore I quit you, I coult wish to say a coople of worts to
you on t'is sacret supject, if 't will gif no offence?”
“Say all, and what you please, dear Chainbearer. We
are friends of the camp and the field, and the advice of no
one could be more welcome to me than yours, given at a
moment as solemn and truthful as this.”
“T'ank ye, Mortaunt; t'ank ye wit' all my heart. You
know how it hast peen wit' me, since poyhoot; for often ant
often you ant I haf talket over t'ese t'ings in camp. I wast
t'rown young upon t'e worlt, ant wast left wit'out fat'er, or
mot'er, to pring myself up. An only chilt of my own
fat'er, for Dus comes from a half-sister you know, t'ere
wast no one to care for me in partic'lar, and I growet up in
great ignorance of t'e Lort of Hosts, ant my tuties to him,
ant to his plesset son, more ast anyt'ing else. Well, Mortaunt,
you know how it ist in t'e woots, ant in t'e army. A
man neet not pe fery pat, to pe far from pein' as goot as ist
expectet of him by t'e Almighty, who gafe him his soul,
ant who reteemet him from his sins, ant who holts out taily
t'e means of grace. When I come here, wit' Dus, a chilt
knewest. Put, t'at precious gal, t'rough Divine grace, hast
peen t'e means of pringin' an olt ant ignorant man to a
sense of his true contition, ant to petter hapits, t'an t'ose
you knowet in him. Once I lovet a frolick, Mortaunt, and
punch ant ot'er savoury liquors wast fery pleasant to me;
ay, ant even a'ter years might ant shoult haf teachet me
t'e folly of sich ways. Put you haf not seen t'e glass at
my lips t'is summer, lat, at unseemly moments, or in unseemly
numpers of times, ant t'at ist owin' to t'e confersations
I haf hat wit' Dus on t'e supject. It woult haf tone
your heart goot, Mortaunt, to haf seen t'e tear gal seated
on my knee, combin' my olt grey hairs wit' her telicate
white fingers, ant playin' wit my hart, ret cheeks, ast t'e
infant plays wit' t'e cheeks of t'e mot'er, whilst she talket
to me of t'e history of Christ, ant his sufferin's for us all—
ant tolt me t'e way to learn to know my safiour in trut' ant
sincerity! You t'ink Dus hantsome; ant pleasant to look
upon; ant pleasant to talk wit'—put you can nefer know t'e
gal in her colours of golt, Mortaunt, till she pegins to con
verse wit' you, unreservetly, apout Got ant retemption!”
“I can believe anything in favour of Ursula Malbone,
my dear Chainbearer; and no music could be sweeter, to
my ears, than thus to hear you pronouncing her praise.”
The death of Chainbearer occurred, as he had himself
prognosticated, about the time of the return of light on the
succeeding morning. A more tranquil end I never witnessed.
He ceased to suffer pain hours before he drew his
last breath; but he had whispered to me, in the course of that
day, that he endured agony at moments. He wished me to
conceal the fact from Dus, however, lest it should increase
her grief. “So long ast t'e tear gal ist in ignorance of my
sufferin's,” the excellent old man added in his whisper,
“she cannot feel so much for me; since she must have confitence
in t'e value of her own goot work, ant s'pose me to
pe only trawin' nearer to happiness. Put, you ant I know,
Mortaunt, t'at men are not often shot t'rough t'e poty wit'out
feelin' much pain; ant I haf hat my share—yes, I haf
hat my share!” Nevertheless, it would have been difficult
for one who was not in the secret to detect the smallest sign
that the sufferer endured a tithe of the agony he actually
ignorant how much her uncle endured. But, as I have said,
this pain ceased altogether about nine o'clock, and Andries
even slumbered for many minutes at a time. Not long
before the light returned, however, he became aroused, and
never slumbered again until he fell into the long, last sleep
of death. His niece prayed with him about five; after
which he seemed to consider himself as ready for the final
march.
It might have been owing to the age of the patient; but,
in this instance, death announced his near approach by a
rapid loss of the senses. At first came a difficulty of hearing;
and then the quick decay of the sense of sight. The
first was made known to us by a repetition of questions that
had already been more than once answered; while the
painful fact that sight, if not absolutely gone, was going,
was brought home to us by the circumstance that, while
Dus was actually hovering over him like a guardian angel,
he inquired anxiously where she was.
“I am here, uncle Chainbearer,” answered the dear girl,
in tremulous tones—“here, before you, and am about to wet
your lips.”
“I want t'e gal—t'at ist—I wish her to pe near when t'e
spirit mounts to Heafen. — Haf her callet, Frank or Mortaunt.”
“Dear—dearest uncle, I am here, now—here before you
—closest to you of all—almost in your arms,” answered
Dus, speaking loud enough to make herself heard, by an
effort that cost her a great deal. “Do not think I can ever
desert you, until I know that your spirit has gone to the
mercy-seat of God!”
“I knowet it,” said Chainbearer, endeavouring to raise
his arms to feel for his niece, who met the effort by receiving
his feeble and clammy hand in both her own. — “Remember
my wishes apout Mortaunt, gal — yet, shoult t'e
family agree, marry him wit' my plessin'—yes, my pest
plessin'.—Kiss me, Duss.—Wast t'em your lips?—t'ey felt
colt; ant you are nefer colt of hant or heart.—Mortaunt—
kiss me, too, lat—t'at wast warmer, ant hat more feelin' in
it.—Frank, gif me your hant—I owe you money—t'ere ist
a stockin' half full of tollars.—Your sister wilt pay my tebts.
me goot will.—I pray Got to pless him—ant to pless Matam
Littlepage—ant olt Matam Littlepage, t'at I nefer did see—
ant t'e major, or colonel, ast he is now callet—ant all our
rijiment—ant your rijiment, too, Frank, which wast a fery
goot rijiment.—Farewell, Frank—Dus—sister—precious—
Christ-Jesus, receive my—”
These words came with difficulty, and were whispered,
rather than uttered aloud. They came at intervals, too,
especially towards the last, in a way to announce the near
approach of the state of which they were the more immediate
precursors. The last syllable I have recorded was no
sooner uttered, than the breath temporarily ceased. I removed
Dus by gentle force, placing her in the arms of her
brother, and turned to note the final respiration. That final
breath, in which the spirit appears to be exhaled, was calm,
placid, and as easy as comports with the separation of soul
and body; leaving the hard, aged, wrinkled, but benevolent
countenance of the deceased, with an expression of happy
repose on it, such as the friends of the dead love to look
upon. Of all the deaths I had then witnessed, this was the
most tranquil, and the best calculated to renew the hopes
of the Christian. As for myself, it added a profound respect
for the character and moral qualities of Ursula Malbone,
to the love and admiration I bore her already, the
fruits of her beauty, wit, heart, and other attractions.
The two expected deaths had now taken place, and it only
remained to dispose of the legal questions connected with
the events which had caused them, inter the bodies, and
return to the Nest. I saw that one of the cabins was prepared
for the reception of Ursula and Lowiny, the latter still
clinging to us, while the body of Chainbearer was laid out
in a coffin that had been made by the same hands, and at
the same time, as that of Thousandacres. About noon, the
coroner arrived, not 'Squire Newcome, but another, for
whom he had himself sent; and a jury was immediately
collected from among the members of the posse. The proceedings
were of no great length. I told my story, or as
much of it as was necessary, from beginning to end, and
others gave their testimony as to the proceedings at different
periods in the events. The finding was, in the case of
and in that of Thousandacres, “accidental death.”
The first was right, unquestionably; as to the last, I conceive,
there was as little of “accident” as ever occurred,
when a man was shot through the body by a steady hand,
and an unerring eye. But such was the verdict, and I had
nothing but conjectures for my opinion as to the agency of
the Indian in killing the squatter.
That evening, and a cool autumnal night it was, we buried
Thousandacres, in the centre of the field I have mentioned.
Of all his numerous family, Prudence and Lowiny
alone were present. The service was short, and the man
of violence descended to mingle with the clods of the earth,
without a common prayer, a verse from Holy Writ, or any
religious rite whatever. The men who had borne the body,
and the few spectators present, filled the grave, rounded it
handsomely, and covered it with sods, and were turning
away in silence, to retrace their steps to the dwellings, when
the profound stillness which had reigned throughout the
whole of the brief ceremony, was suddenly broken by the
clear, full voice of Prudence, who spoke in a tone and manner
that arrested every step.
“Men and brethren,” said this extraordinary woman, who
had so many of the vices of her condition, relieved by so
many of the virtues of her sex and origin. “Men and
brethren,” she said, “for I cannot call ye neighbours, and
will not call you foes, I thank ye for this act of decent
regard to the wants of both the departed and the living, and
that ye have thus come to assist in burying my dead out of
my sight.”
Some such address, even a portion of these very words,
were customary; but as no one had expected anything of
the sort at that moment, they startled as much as they surprised
us. As the rest of the party recovered from its
wonder, however, it proceeded towards the huts, leaving me
alone with Prudence, who stood, swinging her body as
usual, by the side of the grave.
“The night threatens to be cool,” I said, “and you had
better return with me to the dwellings.”
“What's the houses to me, now! Aaron is gone, the b'ys
be fled, and their wives and children, and my children, be
more to your'n in feelin', than to me and mine, and the body
that lies beneath the clods! There 's property in the housen,
that I do s'pose even the law would give us, and maybe
some one may want it. Give me that, Major Littlepage, to
help to clothe and feed my young, and I 'll never trouble
this place ag'in. They 'll not call Aaron a squatter for
takin' up that small piece of 'arth; and one day, perhaps,
you 'll not grudge to me as much more by its side. It 's
little more squattin' that I can do, and the next pitch I make,
will be the last.”
“There is no wish on my part, good woman, to injure
you. Your effects can be taken away from this place whenever
you please, and I will even help you to do it,” I answered,
“in such a way as to put it in the power of your
sons to receive the goods without risk to themselves. I remember
to have seen a batteau of some size in the stream
below the mill; can you tell me whether it remains there,
or not?”
“Why shouldn't it? The b'ys built it two years ago, to
transport things in, and it 's not likely to go off of itself.”
“Well, then, I will use that boat to get your effects off
with safety to yourself. To-morrow, everything of any value
that can be found about this place, and to which you can
have any right, shall be put in that batteau, and I will send
the boat, when loaded, down the stream, by means of my
own black and the Indian, who shall abandon it a mile or
two below, where those you may send to look for it, can
take possession and carry the effects to any place you may
choose.”
The woman seemed surprised, and even affected by this
proposal, though she a little distrusted my motives.
“Can I depend on this, Major Littlepage?” she asked,
doubtingly.“Tobit and his brethren would be desp'rate, if
any scheme to take 'em should be set on foot under sich a
disguise.”
“Tobit and his brethren have nothing to fear from
treachery of mine. Has the word of a gentleman no value
in your eyes?”
“I know that gentlemen gin'rally do as they promise;
and so I 've often told Aaron, as a reason for not bein' hard
Major Littlepage, I 'll put faith in you, and will look for the
batteau at the place you 've mentioned. God bless you for
this, and may be prosper you in that which is nearest your
heart! We shall never see each other ag'in—farewell.”
You surely will return to the house, and pass the night
comfortably under a roof!”
“No; I 'll quit you here. The housen have little in 'em
now that I love, and I shall be happier in the woods.”
“But the night is cool, and, ere it be morning it will become
even chilling and cold.”
“It's colder in that grave,” answered the woman, pointing
mournfully with her long, skinny finger to the mound
which covered the remains of her husband. “I 'm used to
the forest, and go to look for my children. The mother
that looks for her children is not to be kept back by winds
and frost. Farewell ag'in, Major Littlepage. May God
remember what you have done, and will do, for me and
mine!”
“But you forget your daughter. What is to become of
your daughter?”
“Lowiny has taken desp'rately to Dus Malbone, and
wishes to stay with her while Dus wishes to have her stay.
If they get tired of each other, my da'ghter can easily find
us. No gal of mine will be long put out in sich a s'arch.”
As all this sounded probable and well enough, I had no
further objections to urge. Prudence waved her hand in
adieu, and away she went across the dreary-looking fields
with the strides of a man, burying her tall, gaunt figure in
the shadow of the wood, with as little hesitation as another
would have entered the well-known avenues of some town.
I never saw her afterwards; though one or two messages
from her did reach me through Lowiny.
As I was returning from the grave, Jaap and the Trackless
came in from their scout. The report they made was
perfectly satisfactory. By the trail, which they followed
for miles, the squatters had actually absconded, pushing for
some distant point, and nothing more was to be feared from
them in that part of the country. I now gave my orders
as respected the goods and chattels of the family, which
were neither very numerous nor very valuable; and it may
day, strictly according to promise. The first of the messages
that I received from Prudence came within a month,
acknowledging the receipt of her effects, even to the gear of
the mill, and expressing her deep gratitude for the favour.
I have reason to think, too, that nearly half the lumber
fell into the hands of these squatters, quite that portion of
it being in the stream at the time we removed from the spot,
and floating off with the rains that soon set in. What was
found at a later day was sold, and the proceeds were appropriated
to meet the expenses of, and to make presents to the
posse, as an encouragement to such persons to see the
majesty of the laws maintained.
Early next morning we made our preparations to quit the
deserted mill. Ten of the posse arranged themselves into
a party to see the body of Chainbearer transported to the
Nest. This was done by making a rude bier, that was carried
by two horses, one preceding the other, and having the
corpse suspended between them. I remained with the body;
but Dus, attended by Lowiny, and protected by her brother,
preceded us, halting at Chainbearer's huts for our arrival.
At this point we passed the first night of our journey, Dus
and Frank again preceding us, always on foot, to the Nest.
At this place, the final halt of poor Andries, the brother and
sister arrived at an hour before dinner, while we did not
get in with the body until the sun was just setting.
As our little procession drew near the house, I saw a
number of wagons and horses in the orchard that spread
around it, which, at first, I mistook for a collection of the
tenants, met to do honour to the manes of Chainbearer. A
second look, however, let me into the true secret of the case.
As we drew slowly near, the whole procession on foot, I
discovered the persons of my own dear parents, that of colonel
Follock, those of Kate, Pris. Bayard, Tom Bayard, and
even of my sister Kettletas, in the group. Last of all, I
saw, pressing forward to meet me, yet a little repelled by
the appearance of the coffin, my dear and venerable old
grandmother, herself!
Here, then, were assembled nearly all of the house of
Littlepage, with two or three near friends, who did not belong
to it! Frank Malbone was among them, and doubtless
at our appearance. On the other hand, I was at no loss to
understand how all this had been brought about. Frank's
express had found the party at Fishkill, had communicated
his intelligence, set everybody in motion on the wings of
anxiety and love, and here they were. The journey had
not been particularly rapid either, plenty of time having
elapsed between the time when my seizure by the squatters
was first made known to my friends, and the present moment,
to have got a message to Lilacsbush, and to have received
its answer.
Kate afterwards told me we made an imposing and solemn
appearance, as we came up to the gate of Ravensnest,
bearing the body of Chainbearer. In advance marched Susquesus
and Jaap, each armed, and the latter carrying an
axe, acting, as occasion required, in the character of a
pioneer. The bearers and attendants came next, two and
two, armed as part of the posse, and carrying packs; next
succeeded the horses with the bier, each led by a keeper; I
was the principal mourner, though armed like the rest, while
Chainbearer's poor slaves, now the property of Dus, brought
up the rear, carrying his compass, chains, and the other
emblems of his calling.
We made no halt, but passing the crowd collected on the
lawn, we went through the gate-way, and only came to a
stand when we had reached the centre of the court. As all
the arrangements had been previously made, the next step
was to inter the body. I knew that general Littlepage had
often officiated on such occasions, and a request to that effect
was made to him, through Tom Bayard. As for myself,
I said not a word to any of my own family, begging them
to excuse me until I had seen the last offices performed to
the remains of my friend. In half an hour all was ready, and
again the solemn procession was resumed. As before, Susquesus
and Jaap led the way, the latter now carrying a
shovel, and acting in the capacity of a sexton. The Indian
bore a flaming torch of pine, the darkness having so far advanced
as to render artificial light necessary. Others of
the party had these natural flambeaux, also, which added
greatly to the solemnity and impressiveness of the scene.
General Littlepage preceded the corpse, carrying a prayer-book.
being now dismissed. Dus, veiled in black from head to
foot, and, leaning on Frank, appeared as chief mourner.
Though this was not strictly in conformity with real New
York habits, yet no one thought the occasion one on which
to manifest the customary reserve of the sex. Everybody
in or near the Nest, females as well as males, appeared to
do honour to the memory of Chainbearer, and Dus came
forth as the chief mourner. Priscilla Bayard, leaning on
the arm of her brother Tom, edged herself in next to her
friend, though they had not as yet exchanged a syllable together;
and, after all was over, Pris. told me it was the first
funeral she had ever attended, or the first time she had ever
been at a grave. The same was true of my grandmother,
my mother, and both my sisters. I mention this lest some
antiquarian, a thousand years hence, might light on this
manuscript, and mistake our customs. Of late years, the
New Englanders are introducing an innovation on the old
usage of the colony; but, among the upper real New York
families, women do not even now attend funerals. In this
respect, I apprehend, we follow the habits of England, where
females of the humbler classes, as I have heard, do, while
their superiors do not appear on such occasions. The reason
of the difference between the two is very easily appreciated,
though I limit my statements to what I conceive to
be the facts, without affecting to philosophize on them.
But, all our ladies attended the funeral of Chainbearer. I
came next to Tom and Priscilla, Kate pressing up to my
side, and placing her arm in mine, without speaking. As
she did this, however, the dear girl laid her little hand on
mine, and gave the latter a warm pressure, as much as to
say how greatly she was rejoiced at finding me safe, and out
of the hands of the Philistines. The rest of the party fell in
behind, and, as soon as the Indian saw that everybody was
placed, he moved slowly forward, holding his flaming torch
so high as to light the footsteps of those near him.
Directions had been sent to the 'Nest to dig a grave for
Andries, in the orchard, and at no great distance from the
verge of the rocks. As I afterwards ascertained, it was at
the very spot where one of the most remarkable events in
the life of the general had occurred; an event in which both
then, we proceeded, in funereal order, and with funereal
tread, the torches throwing their wild and appropriate light
over the nearer accessories of the scene. Never did the
service sound more solemnly to me, there being a pathos
and richness in my father's voice that were admirably adapted
to the occasion. Then he felt what he was reading,
which does not always happen even when clergymen officiate;
for not only was general Littlepage a close friend of
the deceased, but he was a devout christian. I felt a throb
at the heart, as I heard the fall of the first clods on the coffin
of Chainbearer; but reflection brought its calm, and from
that moment Dus became, as it might be, doubly dear to me.
It appeared to me as if all her uncle's love and care had
been transferred to myself, and that, henceforth, I was to be
his representative with his much-beloved niece. I did not
hear a sob from Ursula during the whole ceremony. I knew
that she wept, and wept bitterly: but her self-command was
so great as to prevent any undue obtrusion of her griefs on
others. We all remained at the grave until Jaap had rounded
it with his utmost skill, and had replaced the last sod.
Then the procession formed anew, and we accompanied
Frank and Dus to the door of the house, when she entered
and left us without. Priscilla Bayard, however, glided in
after her friend, and I saw them locked in each other's arms,
through the window of the parlour, by the light of the fire
within. At the next moment, they retired together to the
little room that Dus had appropriated to her own particular
use.
Now it was that I embraced and was embraced by my
friends. My mother held me long in her arms, called me
her “dear, dear boy,” and left tears on my face. Kate did
pretty much the same, though she said nothing. As for
Anneke, my dear sister Kettletas, her embrace was like
herself, gentle, sincere, and warm-hearted. Nor must my
dear old grandmother be forgotten; for though she came
last of the females, she held me longest in her arms, and,
after “thanking God” devoutly for my late escape, she protested
that “I grew every hour more and more like the
Littlepages.” Aunt Mary kissed me with her customary
affection.
A portion of these embraces, however, occurred after we
had entered the parlour, which Frank, imitating Dus, had
delicately, as well as considerately, left to ourselves. Colonel
Follock, nevertheless, gave me his salutations and congratulations
before we left the court; and they were as cordial
and hearty as if he had been a second father.
“How atmiraply the general reats, Mortaunt,” our old
friend added, becoming very Dutch as he got to be excited.
“I haf always sayet t'at Corny Littlepage woult make as
goot a tominie as any rector t'ey ever hat in olt Trinity.
Put he mate as goot a soltier, too. Corny ist an extraordinary
man, Mortaunt, ant one tay he wilt pe gofernor.”
This was a favourite theory of colonel Van Valkenburgh's.
For himself, he was totally without ambition, whereas he
thought nothing good enough for his friend, Corny Littlepage.
Scarce a year passed that he did not allude to the
propriety of elevating `t'e general' to some high office or
other; nor am I certain that his allusions of this nature may
not have had their effect; since my father was elected to
Congress as soon as the new constitution was formed, and
continued to sit as long as his health and comfort would
permit.
Supper was prepared for both parties of travellers, of
course, and in due time we all took our seats at table. I
say all; but that was not literally exact, inasmuch as
neither Frank, Dus, nor Priscilla Bayard, appeared among
us again that evening. I presume each had something to eat,
though all took the meal apart from the rest of the family.
After supper I was requested to relate, seriatim, all the
recent events connected with my visit to the 'Nest, my arrest
and liberation. This I did, of course, seated at my grandmother's
side, the old lady holding one of my hands the
whole time I was speaking. The most profound attention
was lent by all the party; and a thoughtful silence succeeded
my narration, which ended only with the history of
our departure from the mills.
“Ay,” exclaimed colonel Follock, who was first to speak
after I had terminated my own account. “So much for
Yankee religion! I 'll warrant you now, Corny, t'at t'e
fellow, T'ousantacres, coult preach ant pray just like all t'e
rest of our Pilgrim Fat'ers.”
“There are rogues of New York birth and extraction, Colonel
Follock, as well as of New England,” answered my father,
drily; “and the practice of squatting is incidental to the
condition of the country; as men are certain to make free
with the property that is least protected and watched. Squatters
are made by circumstances, and not by any peculiar
disposition of a particular portion of the population to appropriate
the land of others to their own uses. It would be the
same with our hogs and our horses, were they equally exposed
to the depredations of lawless men, let the latter come
from Connecticut or Long Island.”
“Let me catch one of t'ese gentry among my horses!”
answered the colonel, with a menacing shake of his head,
for, Dutchman-like, he had a wonderful love for the species
—“I woult crop him wit' my own hants, wit'out chudge or
chury.”
“That might lead to evils almost as great as those produced
by squatting, Dirck,” returned my father.
“By the way, sir,” I put in, knowing that Colonel Follock
sometimes uttered extravagances on such subjects, though as
honest and well-meaning a man as ever breathed—“I have
forgotten to mention a circumstance that may have some
interest, as 'squire Newcome is an old acquaintance of yours.”
I then recounted all the facts connected with the first visit
of Mr. Jason Newcome to the clearing of Thousandacres,
and the substance of the conversation I had overheard between
the squatter and that upright magistrate. General
Littlepage listened with profound attention; and as for colonel
Follock, he raised his eye-brows, grunted, laughed as well
as a man could with his lips compressing a pipe, and uttered
in the best way he was able, under the circumstances, and
with sufficient sententiousness, the single word `Danpury!”'
“No—no—Dirck,” answered my father, “we must not
put all these crimes and vices on our neighbours, for many
of them grow, from the seedling to the tree bearing fruit, in
our own soil: I know this man, Jason Newcome, reasonably
well; and, while I have confided in him more than I
ought, perhaps, I have never supposed he was a person in
the least influenced by our conventional notions of honour
and integrity. What is called “Law Honest,” I have believed
him to be; but it would seem, in that I have been
of his birth, or his education, is the sole cause of his backslidings.”
“Own t'e trut', Corny, like a man ast you pe, ant confess
it ist all our pilgrim fat'ers' ant Tanpury itees. What use
ist t'ere in misleetin' your own son, who wilt come, sooner
or later, to see t'e whole trut'?”
“I should be sorry, Dirck, to teach my son any narrow
prejudices. The last war has thrown me much among
officers from New England, and the intercourse has taught
me to esteem that portion of our fellow-citizens more than
was our custom previously to the Revolution.”
“Tush for `intercourse,' ant `esteem,' ant `teachin',
Corny! T'e whole t'ing of squattin' hast crosset t'e Byram
rifer, ant unless we look to it, t'e Yankees wilt get all our
lants away from us!”
“Jason Newcome, when I knew him best, and I may say
first,” continued my father, without appearing to pay much
attention to the observations of his friend, the colonel, “was
an exceedingly unfledged, narrow-minded provincial, with a
most overweening notion, certainly, of the high excellencies
of the particular state of society from which he had not
long before emerged. He had just as great a contempt for
New York, and New York wit, and New York usages, and
especially for New York religion and morals, as Dirck here
seems to have for all those excellencies as they are exhibited
in New England. In a word, the Yankee despised the
Dutchman, and the Dutchman abominated the Yankee. In
all this, there is nothing new, and I fancy the supercilious
feeling of the New England-man can very easily be traced
to his origin in the mother country. But, differences do
exist, I admit, and I consider the feeling with which every
New Englander comes among us, to be, by habit, adverse
to our state of society in many particulars—some good and
some bad—and this merely because he is not accustomed to
them. Among other things, as a whole, the population of
these states do not relish the tenures by which our large
estates are held. There are plenty of men, from that
quarter of the country, who are too well taught, and whose
honesty is too much of proof, not to wish to oppose anything
that is wrong in connection with this subject; still, the
to the relation of landlord and tenant, and this because they
do not wish to see large landlords among them, not being
large landlords themselves. I never found any gentleman,
or man of education from New England, who saw any harm
in a man's leasing a single farm to a single tenant, or half-a-dozen
farms to half-a-dozen tenants; proof that it is not
the tenure itself with which they quarrel, but with a class
of men who are, or seem to be, their superiors.”
“I have heard the argument used against the leasehold
system, that it retards the growth and lessens the wealth of
any district in which it may prevail.”
“That it does not retard the growth, is proved by the
fact that farms can be leased always, when it often requires
years to sell them. This estate is half filled now, and will
be entirely occupied, long ere Mooseridge will be a third
sold. That the latter may be the richest and the best tilled
district, in the end, is quite probable; and this for the
simple reasons that richer men buy than rent, to begin with,
and the owner usually takes better care of his farm than
the mere tenant. Some of the richest, best cultivated, and
most civilized regions on earth, however, are those in which
the tenures of the actual occupants are, and ever have been,
merely leasehold. It is easy to talk, and to feel, in these
matters, but not quite so easy to come to just conclusions as
some imagine. There are portions of England, for instance
— Norfolk in particular — where the improvements are
almost entirely owing to the resources and enterprise of the
large proprietors. As a question of political economy,
Mordaunt, depend on it, this is one that has two sides to it;
as a question of mere stomach, each man will be apt to
view it as his gorge is up or down.”
Shortly after this was said, the ladies complained of fatigue,
a feeling in which we all participated; and the party
broke up for the night. It seems the General had sent back
word by the express, of the accommodations he should
require; which enabled the good people of the Nest to make
such arrangements as rendered everybody reasonably
comfortable.
| CHAPTER XIV. The chainbearer, or, The Littlepage manuscripts | |