University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

Thousandacres and the magistrate held their way directly
towards the store-house; and the log of the sentinel
offering a comfortable seat, that functionary was dismissed,
when the two worthies took his place, with their backs
turned towards my prison. Whether this disposition of
their persons was owing to a deep-laid plan of the squatter's,
or not, I never knew; but, let the cause have been what it
might, the effect was to render me an auditor of nearly all
that passed in the dialogue which succeeded. It will greatly
aid the reader in understanding the incidents about to be
recorded, if I spread on the record the language that passed
between my late agent and one who was obviously his confidant
in certain matters, if not in all that touched my interests
in that quarter of the world. As for listening, I have
no hesitation in avowing it, inasmuch as the circumstances
would have justified me in taking far greater liberties with
the customary obligations of society in its every-day aspect,
had I seen fit so to do. I was dealing with rogues, who had

me in their power, and there was no obligation to be particularly
scrupulous on the score of mere conventional propriety,
at least.

“As I was tellin' y'e, Thousandacres,” Newcome continued
the discourse by saying, and that with the familiarity
of one who well knew his companion, “the young man is
in this part of the country, and somewhere quite near you
at this moment”—I was much nearer than the 'squire, himself,
had any notion of at that instant — “yes, he 's out in
the woods of this very property, with Chainbearer and his
gang; and, for 'tinow [for aught I know], measuring out
farms within a mile or two of this very spot!”

“How many men be there?” asked the squatter, with
interest. “If no more than the usual set, 't will be an
onlucky day for them, should they stumble on my clearin'!”

“Perhaps they will, perhaps they wunt; a body never
knows. Surveyin's 's a sort o' work that leads a man here,
or it leads him there. One never knows where a line will
carry him, in the woods. That 's the reason I 've kept the
crittur's out of my own timber-land; for, to speak to you,
Thousandacres, as one neighbour can speak to another
without risk, there 's desp'rate large pine-trees on the unleased
hills both north and east of my lot. Sometimes it 's
handy to have lines about a mile, you know, sometimes 't isn't.

“A curse on all lines, in a free country, say I, 'squire,”
answered Thousandacres, who looked, as he bestowed this
characteristic benediction, as if he might better be named
Tenthousandacres; “they 're an invention of the devil.
I lived seven whull years, in Varmount State, as it 's now
called, the old Hampshire Grants, you know, next-door neighbour
to two families, one north and one south on me, and
we chopped away the whull time, jest as freely as we
pleased, and not a cross word or an angry look passed
atween us.”

“I rather conclude, friend Aaron, you had all sat down
under the same title?” put in the magistrate, with a sly
look at his companion. “When that is the case, it would
exceed all reason to quarrel.”

“Why, I 'll own that our titles was pretty much the
same;—possession and free axes. Then it was ag'in York
Colony landholders that our time was running. What 's

your candid opinion about law, on this p'int, 'Squire Newcome?—I
know you 're a man of edication, college l'arnt
some say; though, I s'pose, that 's no better l'arnin' than
any other, when a body has once got it—but what 's your
opinion about possession?—Will it hold good in twenty-one
years, without writin's, or not? Some say it will, and some
say it wunt.”

“It wunt. The law is settled; there must be a shadow
of title, or possession 's good for nothin'; no better than the
scrapin's of a flour-barrel.”

“I 've heer'n say the opposyte of that; and there 's reason
why possession should count ag'in everything. By possession,
however, I don't mean hangin' up a pair of saddle-bags
on a tree, as is sometimes done, but goin' honestly and
fairly in upon land, and cuttin' down trees, and buildin'
mills, and housen and barns, and cuttin', and slashin', and
sawin' right and left, like all creation. That 's what I
always doos myself, and that 's what I call sich a possession
as ought to stand in law—ay, and in gospel, too; for I 'm
not one of them that flies in the face of religion.”

“In that you 're quite right; keep the gospel on your
side whatever you do, neighbour Thousandacres. Our
Puritan fathers didn't cross the ocean, and encounter the
horrors of the wilderness, and step on the rock of Plymouth,
and undergo more than man could possibly bear, and that
all for nothin'!”

“Wa-a-l, to my notion, the `horrors of the wilderness,'
as you call 'em, is no great matter; though, as for crossin'
the ocean, I can easily imagine that must be suthin' to try
a man's patience and endurance. I never could take to the
water. They tell me there isn't a single tree growin' the
whull distance atween Ameriky and England! Floatin'
saw-logs be sometimes met with, I 've heer'n say, but not a
standin' crittur' of a tree from Massachusetts bay to London
town!”

“It 's all water and of course trees be scarce, Thousandacres;
but let 's come a little clusser to the p'int. As I was
tellin' you, the whelp is in, and he 'll growl as loud as the
old bear himself, should he hear of all them boards you 've
got in the creek—to say nothin' of the piles up here that
you haven't even begun to put into the water.”

“Let him growl,” returned the old squatter, glancing
surlily towards my prison; “like a good many other crittur's
that I 've met with, 't will turn out that his bark is worse
than his bite.”

“I don't know that, neighbour Thousandacres, I don't by
any means know that. Major Littlepage is a gentleman of
spirit and decision, as is to be seen by his having taken his
agency from me, who have held it so long, and gi'n it to a
young chap who has no other claim than bein' a tolerable
surveyor; but who hasn't been in the settlement more than
a twelvemonth.”

“Gi'n it to a surveyor! Is he one of Chainbearer's
measurin' devils?”

“Just so; 't is the very young fellow Chainbearer has
has had with him this year or so, runnin' lines and measurin'
land on this very property.”

“That old fellow, Chainbearer, had best look to himself!
He's thwarted me now three times in the course of his life,
and he's gettin' to be desp'rate old; I 'm afread he won't
live long!”

I could now see that Squire Newcome felt uneasy. Although
a colleague of the squatter's in what is only too apt
to be considered a venial roguery in a new country, or in
the stealing of timber, it did not at all comport with the scale
of his rascality to menace a man's life. He would connive
at stealing timber by purchasing the lumber at sufficiently
low prices, so long as the danger of being detected was kept
within reasonable limits, but he did not like to be connected
with any transaction that did not, in the case of necessity,
admit of a tolerably safe retreat from all pains and penalties.
Men become very much what—not their laws—but what the
administration of their laws makes them. In countries in
which it is prompt, sure, and sufficiently severe, crimes are
mainly the fruits of temptation and necessity; but such a
state of society may exist, in which Justice falls into contempt
by her own impotency, and men are led to offend
merely to brave her. Thus we have long laboured under
the great disadvantage of living under laws that, in a great
degree, were framed for another set of circumstances. By
the common law it was only trespass to cut down a tree in
England; for trees were seldom or never stolen, and the

law did not wish to annex the penalties of felony to the
simple offence of cutting a twig in a wood. With us, however,
entire new classes of offences have sprung up under
our own novel circumstances; and we probably owe a portion
of the vast amount of timber-stealing that has now
long existed among us, quite as much to the mistaken lenity
of the laws, as to the fact that this particular description of
property is so much exposed. Many a man would commit
a trespass of the gravest sort, who would shrink from the
commission of a felony of the lowest. Such was the case
with Newcome. He had a certain sort of law-honesty
about him, that enabled him in a degree to preserve appearances.
It is true he connived at the unlawful cutting of
timber by purchasing the sawed lumber, but he took good
care, at the same time, not to have any such direct connection
with the strictly illegal part of the transaction, as to
involve him in the penalties of the law. Had timber-stealing
been felony, he would have often been an accessory before
the act; but, in a case of misdemeanour, the law knows no
such offence. Purchasing the sawed lumber, too, if done
with proper precaution, owing to the glorious subterfuges
permitted by “the perfection of reason,” was an affair of no
personal hazard in a criminal point of view, and even admitted
of so many expedients as to leave the question of
property a very open one, after the boards were fully in his
own possession. The object of his present visit to the clearing
of Thousandacres, as the reader will most probably
have anticipated, was to profit by my supposed proximity,
and to frighten the squatter into a sale on such terms as
should leave larger profits than common in the hands of the
purchaser. Unfortunately for the success of this upright
project, my proximity was so much greater than even Squire
Newcome supposed, as to put it in danger by the very excess
of the thing that was to produce the result desired.
Little did that honest magistrate suppose that I was, the
whole time, within twenty feet of him, and that I heard all
that passed.

“Chainbearer is about seventy,” returned Newcome,
after musing a moment on the character of his companion's
last remark. “Yes, about seventy, I should judge from
what I 've heerd, and what I know of the man. It 's a

good old age, but folks often live years and years beyond
it. You must be suthin' like that yourself, Thousandacres?”

“Seventy-three, every day and hour on 't, 'squire; and
days and hours well drawn out, too. If you count by
old style, I b'lieve I 'm a month or so older. But, I 'm not
Chainbearer. No man can say of me, that I ever made
myself troublesome to a neighbourhood. No man can p'int
to the time when I ever disturbed his lines. No man can
tell of the day when I ever went into court to be a witness
on such a small matter as the length or breadth of lots, to
breed quarrels atween neighbours. No, 'squire Newcome,
I set store by my character, which will bear comparison
with that of any other inhabitant of the woods I ever met
with. And what I say of myself I can say of my sons
and da'ghters, too—from Tobit down to Sampson, from Nab
to Jeruthy. We 're what I call a reasonable and reconcileable
breed, minding our own business, and having a respect
for that of other people. Now, here am I, in my seventy-fourth
year, and the father of twelve living children, and
I 've made, in my time, many and many a pitch on't, but
never was I known to pitch on land that another man had
in possession:—and I carry my idees of possession farther
than most folks, too, for I call it possession to have said
openly, and afore witnesses, that a man intends to pitch on
any partic'lar spot afore next ploughin' or droppin' time, as
the case may be. No, I respect possession, which ought to
be the only lawful title to property, in a free country.
When a man wants a clearin', or wants to make one, my
doctrine is, let him look about him, and make his pitch on
calcerlation; and when he 's tired of the spot, and wants a
change, let him sell his betterments, if he lights of a chap,
and if he doos'nt, let him leave 'em open, and clear off all
incumbrances, for the next comer.”

It is probable that Jason Newcome, Esq.—magistrates in
America are exceedingly tenacious of this title, though they
have no more right to it than any one else—but Jason
Newcome, Esq.,[1] did not carry his notions of the rights of

squatters, and of the sacred character of possession, quite
as far as did his friend Thousandacres. Newcome was an
exceedingly selfish, but, withal, an exceedingly shrewd man.
I do not know that the term clever, in its broadest signification,
would fitly apply to him, for, in that sense, I conceive
it means quickness and intelligence enough to do what is
right; but, he was fully entitled to receive it, under that
qualification by which we say a man is `a clever rogue.'
In a word, Mr. Newcome understood himself, and his relations
to the community in which he lived, too well to fall
into very serious mistakes by a direct dereliction from his
duties, though he lived in a never-ceasing condition of small
divergencies that might at any time lead him into serious
difficulties. Nevertheless, it was easy enough to see he
had no relish for Thousandacres' allusions to the termination
of the days of my excellent old friend, Chainbearer;
nor can I say that they gave me any particular concern,
for, while I knew how desperate the squatters sometimes
became, I had a notion that this old fellow's bark would
prove worse than his bite, as he had just observed of
myself.

It would hardly repay the trouble, were I to attempt recording
all that passed next between our two colloquists;
although it was a sufficiently amusing exhibition of wily
management to frighten the squatter to part with his lumber
at a low price, on one side, and of sullen security on the
other. The security proceeded from the fact that Thousandacres
had me, at that very moment, a prisoner in his
store-house.

A bargain conducted on such terms was not likely soon
to come to a happy termination. After a great deal of
chaffering and discussing, the conference broke up, nothing
having been decided, by the magistrate's saying —

“Well, Thousandacres, I hope you'll have no reason to
repent; but I kind o' fear you will.”

“The loss will be mine and the b'ys, if I do,” was the
squatter's answer. “I know I can get all the boards into
the creek; and, for that matter, into the river, afore young
Littlepage can do me any harm; though there is one circumstance
that may yet turn my mind—”

Here the squatter came to a pause; and Newcome, who
had risen, turned short round, eagerly, to press the doubt
that he saw was working in the other's mind.

“I thought you would think better of it,” he said; “for,
it's out of doubt, should major Littlepage l'arn your pitch,
that he'd uproot you, as the winds uproot the fallin' tree.”

“No, 'squire, my mind's made up,” Thousandacres
coolly rejoined. “I'll sell, and gladly; but not on the
tarms you have named. Two pounds eight the thousand foot,
board measure, and taking it all round, clear stuff and refuse,
without any store-pay, will carry off the lumber.”

“Too much, Thousandacres; altogether too much, when
you consider the risks I run. I'm not sartain that I could
hold the lumber, even after I got it into the river; for a
replevy is a formidable thing in law, I can tell you. One
pound sixteen, one-third store-pay, is the utmost farthin' I
can offer.”

In that day all our calculations were in pounds, shillings
and pence.

“Then the bargain's off.—I s'pose, squire, you've the
old avarsion to being seen in my settlements?”

“Sartain — sartain,” answered Newcome, in haste.
“There's no danger of that, I hope. You cannot well
have strangers among you!”

“I wunt answer for that. I see some of the b'ys coming
out of the woods, yonder; and it seems to me there is a
fourth man with them. There is, of a sartainty; and it is
no other than Susquesus, the Onondago. The fellow is
cluss-mouthed, like most red-skins; but you can say best
whether you'd like to be seen by him, or not. I hear he's
a great fri'nd of Chainbearer's.”

It was very evident that the magistrate decided, at once,
in the negative. With a good deal of decent haste he
dodged round a pile of logs, and I saw no more of him until
I caught a distant view of his person in the skirts of the
woods, at the point whence he had issued into the clearing,
two hours before, and where he now received his horse from
the hands of the youngest of Thousandacre's sons, who led
the animal to the spot for his especial accommodation. Mr.
Newcome was no sooner in possession of his beast, again,
than he mounted and rode away into the depths of the forest.
So adroitly was this retreat conducted, that no person of
ordinary observation could possibly have detected it, unless
indeed his attention had been previously drawn to the movement.

What passed, at parting, between Thousandacres and his
visiter, I never knew; but they must have been altogether
alone, for a few minutes. When the former re-appeared,
he came out from behind the logs, his whole attention seemingly
fastened on the approaching party, composed of his
sons and Susquesus. Those resolute and practised men had,
indeed, overtaken and captured the Onondago, and were
now bringing him, a prisoner, unarmed, in their midst, to
receive the commands of their father! Notwithstanding
all that I knew of this man, and of his character, there was
something imposing in the manner in which he now waited
for the arrival of his sons and their prisoner. Accustomed
to exercise an almost absolute sway in his own family, the
old man had acquired some of the dignity of authority; and
as for his posterity, old and young, male and female, not
excepting Prudence, they had gained very little in the way
of freedom, by throwing aside the trammels of regular and

recognised law, to live under the rule of their patriarch.
In this respect they might be likened to the masses, who, in
a blind pursuit of liberty, impatiently cast away the legal
and healthful restraints of society, to submit to the arbitrary,
selfish, and ever unjust dictation of demagogues. Whatever
difference there might be between the two governments,
was in favour of that of the squatter, who possessed the
feelings of nature in behalf of his own flesh and blood, and
was consequently often indulgent.

It is so difficult to read an Indian's mind in his manner,
that I did not expect to ascertain the state of the Onondago's
feelings by the countenance he wore, on drawing near. In
exterior, this man was as calm and unmoved as if just
arrived on a friendly visit. His captors had bound him,
fearful he might elude them, in some of the thickets they
had been compelled to pass; but the thongs seemed to give
him neither mental nor bodily concern. Old Thousandacres
was stern in aspect; but he had too much experience in
Indian character—knew too well the unforgiving nature of
the Indians' dispositions, or the enduring memories that forgot
neither favours nor injuries, to wantonly increase the
feeling that must naturally have been awakened between him
and his prisoner.

“Trackless,” he said, considerately, “you're an old
warrior, and must know that in troubled times every man
must look out for himself. I'm glad the b'ys warn't driven
to do you any harm; but it would never have done to let
you carry the tidings of what has happened here, this morning,
to Chainbearer and his gang. How long I may have
to keep you, is more than I know myself; but your treatment
shall be good, and your wilcome warm, so long as
you give no trouble. I know what a red-skin's word is;
and maybe, a'ter thinkin' on it a little, I may let you out to
wander about the clearin', provided you'd give your parole
not to go off. I'll think on't, and let you know to-morrow;
but to-day I must put you in the store'us' along with the
young chap that you travelled here with.”

Thousandacres then demanded of his sons an account of
the manner in which they had taken their captive; which
it is unnecessary to relate here, as I shall have occasion to
give it directly in the language of the Indian himself. As

soon as satisfied on this head, the door of my prison was
opened, and the Onondago entered it, unbound, without
manifesting the smallest shade of regret, or any resistance.
Everthing was done in a very lock-up sort of manner; the
new prisoner being no sooner `permitted,' than the door was
secured, and I was left alone with Sureflint; one of the
younger girls now remaining near the building as a sentinel.
I waited a moment, to make certain we were alone, when I
opened the communications with my friend.

“I am very sorry for this, Sureflint,” I commenced, “for
I had hoped your knowledge of the woods, and practice on
trails, would have enabled you to throw off your pursuers,
that you might have carried the news of my imprisonment
to our friends. This is a sore disappointment to me;
having made sure you would let Chainbearer know where I
am.”

“W'y t'ink different, now, eh? S'pose, 'cause Injin prisoner,
can't help himself?”

“You surely do not mean that you are here with your
own consent?”

“Sartain.—S'pose no want to come; am no come. You
t'ink Thousandacre's b'ys catch Susquesus in woods, and
he don't want to? Be sure, winter come, and summer
come. Be sure, gray hair come a little. Be sure, Trackless
get ole, by-'m-bye; but he moccasin leave no trail
yet!”

“As I cannot understand why you should first escape,
and then wish to come back, I must beg you to explain
yourself. Let me know all that has passed, Sureflint—how
it has passed, and why it has passed. Tell it in your own
way, but tell it fully.”

“Sartain — Why no tell? No harm; all good — some
t'ing capital! Nebber hab better luck.”

“You excite my curiosity, Sureflint; tell the whole story
at once, beginning at the time when you slipped off, and
carrying it down to the moment of your arrival here.”

Hereupon, Susquesus turned on me a significant look,
drew his pipe from his belt, filled and lighted it, and began
to smoke with a composure that was not easily disturbed.
As soon as assured that his pipe was in a proper state, however,
the Indian quietly began his story.

“Now listen, you hear,” he said. “Run away, 'cause
no good to stay here, and be prisoner—dat why.”

“But you are a prisoner, as it is, as well as myself; and,
by your statement, a prisoner with your own consent.”

“Sartain — nebber hab been prisoner, won't be prisoner,
if don't want to. S'pose shot, den can't help him; but in
woods, Injin nebber prisoner, 'less lazy, or drunk. Rum
make great many prisoner.”

“I can believe all this—but tell me the story. Why did
you go off at first?”

“S'pose don't want Chainbearer know where be, eh?
T'ink T'ousandacre ebber let you go while board in stream?
When board go, he go; not afore. Stay all summer; want
to live in store-'us' all summer, eh?”

“Certainly not — Well, you left me, in order to let our
friends know where I was, that they might cast about for
the means of getting me free. All this I understand; what
next?”

“Next, go off in wood. Easy 'nough to slip off when
T'ousandacre no look. Well, went about two mile; leave
no trail — bird make as much in air. What s'pose meet,
eh?”

“I wait for you to tell me.”

“Meet Jaap—yes—meet nigger. Look for young master
—ebbery body in trouble, and won'er where young chief
be. Some look here—some look out yonder—all look somewhere—Jaap
look just dere.”

“And you told Jaap the whole story, and sent him back
to the huts with it!”

“Sartain — just so. Make good guess dat time. Den
t'ink what do, next. Want to come back and help young
pale-face frien'; so t'ought get take prisoner one time. Like
to know how he feel to be prisoner one time. No feel so
bad as s'pose. Squatter no hard master for prisoner.”

“But how did all this happen, and in what manner have
you misled the young men?”

“No hard to do at all. All he want is know how. A'ter
Jaap get his ar'n'd, and go off, made trail plain 'nough for
squaw to find. Travel to a spring — sit down and put rifle
away off, so no need shoot, and let squatter's boys catch

me, by what you call s'prise; yes, 'e pale-faces s'prise redman
dat time! Warrant he brag on 't, well!”

Here, then, was the simple explanation of it all! Susquesus
had stolen away, in order to apprise my friends of my
situation; he had fallen in with Jaap, or Jaaf, in search of
his lost master; and, communicating all the circumstances
to the negro, had artfully allowed himself to be re-captured,
carefully avoiding a struggle, and had been brought back
and placed by my side. No explanations were necessary
to point out the advantages. By communicating with the
negro, who had been familiar for years with the clipped
manner of the Indian's mode of speaking English, everything
would be made known to Chainbearer; by suffering
himself to be taken, the squatters were led by Sureflint to
suppose our capture and their “pitch” remained secrets;
while, by re-joining me, I should have the presence, counsel
and assistance of a most tried friend of my father's and
Chainbearer's, in the event of necessity.

This brief summary of his reasoning shows the admirable
sagacity of the Onondago, who had kept in view every
requisite of his situation, and failed in nothing.

I was delighted with the address of Sureflint, as well as
touched by his fidelity. In the course of our conversation,
he gave me to understand that my disappearance and absence
for an entire night had produced great consternation
in the huts, and that everybody was out in quest of me and
himself, at the time when he so opportunely fell in with
Jaap.

“Gal out, too” — added the Onondago, significantly.
“S'pose good reason for dat.”

This startled me a little, for I had a vague suspicion that
Susquesus must have been an unseen observer of my interview
with Ursula Malbone; and noticing my manner on
rushing from her cabin, had been induced to follow me, as
has been related. The reader is not to suppose that my late
adventures had driven Dus from my mind. So far from
this, I thought of her incessantly; and the knowledge that
she took so much interest in me as to roam the woods in
the search, had no tendency to lessen the steadiness or intensity
of my reflections. Nevertheless, common humanity
might induce one of her energy and activity to do as much

as this; and had I not her own declaration that she was
plighted to another!

After getting his whole story, I consulted the Indian on
the subject of our future proceedings. He was of opinion
that we had better wait the movements of our friends, from
whom we must hear in some mode or other, in the course
of the approaching night, or of the succeeding day. What
course Chainbearer might see fit to pursue, neither of us
could conjecture, though both felt assured he never would
remain quiet with two as fast friends as ourselves in durance.
My great concern was that he might resort at once to force;
for old Andries had a fiery spirit, though one that was eminently
just; and he had been accustomed to see gunpowder
burned from his youth upward. Should he, on the other
hand, resort to legal means, and apply to Mr. Newcome for
warrants to arrest my captors, as men guilty of illegal personal
violence, a course it struck me Frank Malbone would
be very apt to advise, what might I not expect from the
collusion of the magistrate, in the way of frauds, delays
and private machinations? In such a case, there would be
time to send me to some other place of concealment, and
the forest must have a hundred such that were accessible to
my new masters, while their friend Newcome would scarcely
fail to let them have timely notice of the necessity of some
such step. Men acting in conformity with the rules of right,
fulfilling the requirements of the law, and practising virtue,
might be so remiss as not to send information of such an
impending danger; for such persons are only too apt to rely
on the integrity of their own characters, and to put their
trust on the laws of Providence; but rogues, certain that
they can have no such succour, depend mainly on themselves,
recognizing the well-known principle of Frederick
the Great, who thought it a safe rule to suppose that “Providence
was usually on the side of strong battalions.” I
felt certain, therefore, that squire Newcome would let his
friends at the “clearing” know all that was plotting against
them, as soon as he knew it himself.

The squatters were not unkind to us prisoners in the way
of general treatment. Certainly I had every right to complain
of the particular wrong they did me; but, otherwise,
they were sufficiently considerate and liberal throughout that

day. Our fare was their own. We had water brought in
fresh by Lowiny no fewer than five several times; and so
attentive to my supposed wants was this girl, that she actually
brought me every book that was to be found in all the libraries
of the family. These were but three—a fragment of a
bible, Pilgrim's Progress, and an almanac that was four
years old.