University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

Twelfth Night.

On the Sunday in question, Deacon Pratt went to meeting
as usual, the building in which divine service was held
that day, standing less than two miles from his residence;
but, instead of remaining for the afternoon's preaching, as
was his wont, he got into his one-horse chaise, the vehicle
then in universal use among the middle classes, though
now so seldom seen, and skirred away homeward as fast as
an active, well-fed and powerful switch-tailed mare could
draw him; the animal being accompanied in her rapid
progress by a colt of some three months' existence. The

residence of the deacon was unusually inviting for a man
of his narrow habits. It stood on the edge of a fine apple-orchard,
having a door-yard of nearly two acres in its front.
This door-yard, which had been twice mown that summer,
was prettily embellished with flowers, and was shaded by
four rows of noble cherry-trees. The house itself was of
wood, as is almost uniformly the case in Suffolk, where
little stone is to be found, and where brick constructions
are apt to be thought damp: but, it was a respectable edifice,
with five windows in front, and of two stories. The
siding was of unpainted cedar-shingles; and, although the
house had been erected long previously to the revolution,
the siding had been renewed but once, about ten years before
the opening of our tale, and the whole building was in
a perfect state of repair. The thrift of the deacon rendered
him careful, and he was thoroughly convinced of the truth
of the familiar adage which tells us that “a stitch in time,
saves nine.” All around the house and farm was in perfect
order, proving the application of the saying. As for the
view, it was sufficiently pleasant, the house having its front
towards the east, while its end windows looked, the one set
in the direction of the Sound, and the other in that of the
arm of the sea, which belongs properly to Peconic Bay,
we believe. All this water, some of which was visible
over points and among islands, together with a smiling and
fertile, though narrow stretch of foreground, could not fail
of making an agreeable landscape.

It was little, however, that Deacon Pratt thought of
views, or beauty of any sort, as the mare reached the open
gate of his own abode. Mary was standing in the stoop,
or porch of the house, and appeared to be anxiously awaiting
her uncle's return. The latter gave the reins to a
black, one who was no longer a slave, but who was a descendant
of some of the ancient slaves of the Pratts, and in
that character consented still to dawdle about the place,
working for half price. On alighting, the uncle approached
the niece with somewhat of interest in his manner.

“Well, Mary,” said the former, “how does he get on,
now?”

“Oh! my dear sir, he cannot possibly live, I think, and

I do most earnestly entreat that you will let me send across
to the Harbour for Dr. Sage.”

By the Harbour was meant Sag's, and the physician
named was one of merited celebrity in old Suffolk. So
healthy was the country in general, and so simple were the
habits of the people, that neither lawyer nor physician was
to be found in every hamlet, as is the case to-day. Both
were to be had at Riverhead, as well as at Sag Harbour;
but, if a man called out “Squire,” or “Doctor,” in the
highways of Suffolk, sixteen men did not turn round to
reply, as is said to be the case in other regions; one half
answering to the one appellation, and the second half to
the other. The deacon had two objections to yielding to
his niece's earnest request; the expense being one, though
it was not, in this instance, the greatest; there was another
reason that he kept to himself, but which will appear as
our narrative proceeds.

A few weeks previously to the Sunday in question, a
sea-going vessel, inward bound, had brought up in Gardiner's
Bay, which is a usual anchorage for all sorts of craft.
A worn-out and battered seaman had been put ashore on
Oyster Pond, by a boat from this vessel, which sailed to
the westward soon after, proceeding most probably to New
York. The stranger was not only well advanced in life,
but he was obviously wasting away with disease.

The account given of himself by this seaman was sufficiently
explicit. He was born on Martha's Vineyard, but, as
is customary with the boys of that island, he had left home
in his twelfth year, and had now been absent from the
place of his birth a little more than half a century. Conscious
of the decay which beset him, and fully convinced
that his days were few and numbered, the seaman, who
called himself Tom Daggett, had felt a desire to close his
eyes in the place where they had first been opened to the
light of day. He had persuaded the commander of the
craft mentioned, to bring him from the West Indies, and
to put him ashore as related, the Vineyard being only a
hundred miles or so to the eastward of Oyster Pond Point.
He trusted to luck to give him the necessary opportunity
of overcoming these last hundred miles.

Daggett was poor, as he admitted, as well as friendless

and unknown. He had with him, nevertheless, a substantial
sea-chest, one of those that the sailors of that day uniformly
used in merchant-vessels, a man-of-war compelling
them to carry their clothes in bags, for the convenience of
compact stowage. The chest of Daggett, however, was a
regular inmate of the forecastle, and, from its appearance,
had made almost as many voyages as its owner. The last,
indeed, was heard to say that he had succeeded in saving
it from no less than three shipwrecks. It was a reasonably
heavy chest, though its contents, when opened, did not
seem to be of any very great value.

A few hours after landing, this man had made a bargain
with a middle-aged widow, in very humble circumstances,
and who dwelt quite near to the residence of Deacon Pratt,
to receive him as a temporary inmate; or, until he could get
a “chance across to the Vineyard.” At first, Daggett
kept about, and was much in the open air. While able to
walk, he met the deacon, and singular, nay, unaccountable
as it seemed to the niece, the uncle soon contracted a species
of friendship for, not to say intimacy with, this stranger.
In the first place, the deacon was a little particular
in not having intimates among the necessitous, and the
Widow White soon let it be known that her guest had not
even a “red cent.” He had chattels, however, that were
of some estimation among seamen; and Roswell Gardiner,
or “Gar'ner,” as he was called, the young seaman par excellence
of the Point, one who had been not only a whaling,
but who had also been a sealing, and who at that moment
was on board the deacon's schooner, in the capacity of
master, had been applied to for advice and assistance. By
the agency of Mr. Gar'ner, as the young mate was then
termed, sundry palms, sets of sail-needles, a fid or two,
and various other similar articles, that obviously could no
longer be of any use to Daggett, were sent across to the
`Harbour,' and disposed of there, to advantage, among the
many seamen of the port. By these means the stranger
was, for a few weeks, enabled to pay his way, the board
he got being both poor and cheap.

A much better result attended this intercourse with
Gardiner, than that of raising the worn-out seaman's immediate
ways and means. Between Mary Pratt and Roswell

Gardiner there existed an intimacy of long standing
for their years, as well as of some peculiar features, to
which there will be occasion to advert hereafter. Mary
was the very soul of charity in all its significations, and
this Gardiner knew. When, therefore, Daggett became
really necessitous, in the way of comforts that even money
could not command beneath the roof of the Widow White,
the young man let the fact be known to the deacon's niece,
who immediately provided sundry delicacies that were acceptable
to the palate of even disease. As for her uncle,
nothing was at first said to him on the subject. Although
his intimacy with Daggett went on increasing, and they
were daily more and more together, in long and secret
conference, not a suggestion was ever made by the deacon
in the way of contributing to his new friend's comforts.
To own the truth, to give was the last idea that ever
occurred to this man's thoughts.

Mary Pratt was observant, and of a mind so constituted,
that its observations usually led her to safe and accurate
deductions. Great was the surprise of all on the Point
when it became known that Deacon Pratt had purchased
and put into the water, the new sea-going craft that was
building on speculation, at Southold. Not only had he
done this, but he had actually bought some half-worn copper,
and had it placed on the schooner's bottom, as high
as the bends, ere he had her launched. While the whole
neighbourhood was “exercised” with conjectures on the
motive which could induce the deacon to become a ship-owner
in his age, Mary did not fail to impute it to some
secret but powerful influence, that the sick stranger had
obtained over him. He now spent nearly half his time in
private communications with Daggett; and, on more than
one occasion, when the niece had taken some light article
of food over for the use of the last, she found him and her
uncle examining one or two dirty and well-worn charts of
the ocean. As she entered, the conversation invariably
was changed; nor was Mrs. White ever permitted to be
present at one of these secret conferences.

Not only was the schooner purchased, and coppered,
and launched, and preparations made to fit her for sea,
but “Young Gar'ner” was appointed to command her!

As respects Roswell Gardiner, or “Gar'ner,” as it would
be almost thought a breach of decorum, in Suffolk, not to
call him, there was no mystery. Six-and-twenty years before
the opening of our legend, he had been born on Oyster
Pond itself, and of one of its best families. Indeed, he
was known to be a descendant of Lyon Gardiner, that engineer
who had been sent to the settlement of the lords
Saye and Seal, and Brook, since called Saybrook, near
two centuries before, to lay out a town and a fort. This
Lyon Gardiner had purchased of the Indians the island in
that neighbourhood, which still bears his name. This establishment
on the island was made in 1639; and now, at
an interval of two hundred and nine years, it is in possession
of its ninth owner, all having been of the name and
blood of its original patentee. This is great antiquity for
America, which, while it has produced many families of
greater wealth, and renown, and importance, than that of
the Gardiners, has seldom produced any of more permanent
local respectability. This is a feature in society that we
so much love to see, and which is so much endangered by
the uncertain and migratory habits of the people, that we
pause a moment to record this instance of stability, so
pleasing and so commendable, in an age and country of
changes.

The descendants of any family of two centuries standing,
will, as a matter of course, be numerous. There are exceptions,
certainly; but such is the rule. Thus is it with
Lyon Gardiner, and his progeny, who are now to be numbered
in scores, including persons in all classes of life,
though it carries with it a stamp of caste to be known in
Suffolk as having come direct from the lions of old Lyon
Gardiner. Roswell, of that name, if not of that Ilk, the
island then being the sole property of David Johnson Gardiner,
the predecessor and brother of its present proprietor,
was allowed to have this claim, though it would exceed our
genealogical knowledge to point out the precise line by
which this descent was claimed. Young Roswell was of
respectable blood on both sides, without being very brilliantly
connected, or rich. On the contrary, early left an
orphan, fatherless and motherless, as was the case with
Mary Pratt, he had been taken from a country academy

when only fifteen, and sent to sea, that he might make his
own way in the world. Hitherto, his success had not been
of a very flattering character. He had risen, notwithstanding,
to be the chief mate of a whaler, and bore an excellent
reputation among the people of Suffolk. Had it only been
a year or two later, when speculation took hold of the
whaling business in a larger way, he would not have had
the least difficulty in obtaining a ship. As it was, however,
great was his delight when Deacon Pratt engaged him as
master of the new schooner, which had been already
named the “Sea Lion” — or “Sea Lyon,” as Roswell
sometimes affected to spell the word, in honour of his old
progenitor, the engineer.

Mary Pratt had noted all these proceedings, partly with
pain, partly with pleasure, but always with great interest.
It pained her to find her uncle, in the decline of life, engaging
in a business about which he knew nothing. It
pained her, still more, to see one whom she loved from
habit, if not from moral sympathies, wasting the few hours
that remained for preparing for the last great change, in
attempts to increase possessions that were already much
more than sufficient for his wants. This consideration, in
particular, deeply grieved Mary Pratt; for she was profoundly
pious, with a conscience that was so sensitive as
materially to interfere with her happiness, as will presently
be shown, while her uncle was merely a deacon. It is one
thing to be a deacon, and another to be devoted to the love
of God, and to that love of our species which we are told
is the consequence of a love of the Deity. The two are not
incompatible; neither are they identical. This Mary had
been made to see, in spite of all her wishes to be blind as
respects the particular subject from whom she had learned
the unpleasant lesson. The pleasure felt by our heroine,
for such we now announce Mary Pratt to be, was derived
from the preferment bestowed on Roswell Gardiner. She
had many a palpitation of the heart when she heard of his
good conduct as a seaman, as she always did whenever she
heard his professional career alluded to at all. On this
point, Roswell was without spot, as all Suffolk knew and
confessed. On Oyster Pond, he was regarded as a species
of sea lion himself, so numerous and so exciting were the

incidents that were related of his prowess among the whales.
But, there was a dark cloud before all these glories, in the
eyes of Mary Pratt, which for two years had disinclined
her to listen to the young man's tale of love, which had
induced her to decline accepting a hand that had now been
offered to her, with a seaman's ardour, a seaman's frankness,
and a seaman's sincerity, some twenty times at least,
which had induced her to struggle severely with her own
heart, which she had long found to be a powerful ally of
her suitor. That cloud came from a species of infidelity
that is getting to be so widely spread in America as no
longer to work in secret, but which lifts its head boldly
among us, claiming openly to belong to one of the numerous
sects of the land. Mary had reason to think that Roswell
Gardiner denied the divinity of Christ, while he professed
to honour and defer to him as a man far elevated
above all other men, and as one whose blood had purchased
the redemption of his race!

We will take this occasion to say that our legend is not
polemical in any sense, and that we have no intention to
enter into discussions or arguments connected with this
subject, beyond those that we may conceive to be necessary
to illustrate the picture which it is our real aim to
draw — that of a confiding, affectionate, nay, devoted woman's
heart, in conflict with a deep sense of religious
duty.

Still, Mary rejoiced that Roswell Gardiner was to command
the Sea Lion. Whither this little vessel, a schooner
of about one hundred and forty tons measurement, was to
sail, she had not the slightest notion; but, go where it
might, her thoughts and prayers were certain to accompany
it. These are woman's means of exerting influence, and
who shall presume to say that they are without results, and
useless? On the contrary, we believe them to be most
efficacious; and thrice happy is the man who, as he treads
the mazes and wiles of the world, goes accompanied by
the petitions of such gentle and pure-minded beings at
home, as seldom think of approaching the throne of Grace
without also thinking of him and of his necessities. The
Romanists say, and say it rightly too, could one only believe
in their efficacy, that the prayers they offer up in behalf

of departed friends, are of the most endearing nature;
but it would be difficult to prove that petitions for the souls
of the dead can demonstrate greater interest, or bind the
parties more closely together in the unity of love, than
those that are constantly offered up in behalf of the living.

The interest that Mary Pratt felt in Roswell's success
needs little explanation. In all things he was most agreeable
to her, but in the one just mentioned. Their ages,
their social positions, their habits, their orphan condition,
even their prejudices—and who that dwells aside from the
world is without them, when most of those who encounter
its collisions still cherish them so strongly?—all united to
render them of interest to each other. Nor was Deacon
Pratt at all opposed to the connection; on the contrary, he
appeared rather to favour it.

The objections came solely from Mary, whose heart was
nearly ready to break each time that she was required to
urge them. As for the uncle, it is not easy to say what
could induce him to acquiesce in, to favour indeed, the addresses
to his niece and nearest relative, of one who was
known not to possess five hundred dollars in the world. As
his opinions on this subject were well known to all on
Oyster Pond, they had excited a good deal of speculation;
“exercising” the whole neighbourhood, as was very apt to
be the case whenever anything occurred in the least out
of the ordinary track. The several modes of reasoning
were something like these:—

Some were of opinion that the deacon foresaw a successful
career to, and eventual prosperity in the habits and
enterprise of, the young mate, and that he was willing to
commit to his keeping, not only his niece, but the three
farms, his “money at use,” and certain shares he was
known to own in a whaler and no less than three coasters,
as well as an interest in a store at Southold; that is to say,
to commit them all to the keeping of “young Gar'ner” when
he was himself dead; for no one believed he would part
with more than Mary, in his own lifetime.

Others fancied he was desirous of getting the orphan off
his hands, in the easiest possible way, that he might make
a bequest of his whole estate to the Theological Institution
that had been conquetting with him now, for several years,

through its recognised agents, and to which he had already
made the liberal donation of one hundred dollars. It was
well ascertained that the agents of that Institution openly
talked of getting Deacon Pratt to sit for his portrait, in order
that it might be suspended among those of others of its
benefactors.

A third set reasoned differently from both the foregoing.
The “Gar'ners” were a better family than the Pratts, and
the deacon being so “well to do,” it was believed by these
persons that he was disposed to unite money with name,
and thus give to his family consideration, from a source
that was somewhat novel in its history. This class of reasoners
was quite small, however, and mainly consisted of
those who had rarely been off of Oyster Pond, and who
passed their days with “Gar'ner's Island” directly before
their eyes. A few of the gossips of this class pretended to
say that their own young sailor stood next in succession
after the immediate family actually in possession should run
out, of which there was then some prospect; and that the
deacon, sly fellow, knew all about it! For this surmise,
to prevent useless expectations in the reader, it may be well
to say at once, there was no foundation whatever, Roswell's
connection with the owner of the island being much too
remote to give him any chance of succeeding to that estate,
or to anything else that belonged to him.

There was a fourth and last set, among those who speculated
on the deacon's favour towards “young Gar'ner,”
and these were they who fancied that the old man had
opened his heart towards the young couple, and was disposed
to render a deserving youth and a beloved niece
happy. This was the smallest class of all; and, what is a
little remarkable, it contained only the most reckless and
least virtuous of all those who dwelt on Oyster Pond. The
parson of the parish, or the Pastor as he was usually termed,
belonged to the second category, that good man being
firmly impressed that most, if not all of Deacon Pratt's
worldly effects would eventually go to help propagate the
gospel.

Such was the state of things when the deacon returned
from meeting, as related in the opening chapter. At his
niece's suggestion of sending to the Harbour for Dr. Sage,

he had demurred, not only on account of the expense, but
for a still more cogent reason. To tell the truth, he was
exceedingly distrustful of any one's being admitted to a
communication with Daggett, who had revealed to him
matters that he deemed to be of great importance, but who
still retained the key to his most material mystery. Nevertheless,
decency, to say nothing of the influence of what
“folks would say,” the Archimedean lever of all society of
puritanical origin, exhorted him to consent to his niece's
proposal.

“It is such a round-about road to get to the Harbour,
Mary,” the uncle slowly objected, after a pause.

“Boats often go there, and return in a few hours.”

“Yes, yes — boats; but I'm not certain it is lawful to
work boats of a Sabbath, child.”

“I believe, sir, it was deemed lawful to do good on the
Lord's day.”

“Yes, if a body was certain it would do any good. To
be sure, Sage is a capital doctor—as good as any going in
these parts — but, half the time, money paid for doctor's
stuff is thrown away.”

“Still, I think it our duty to try to serve a fellow-creature
that is in distress; and Daggett, I fear, will not go
through the week, if indeed he go through the night.”

“I should be sorry to have him die!” exclaimed the
deacon, looking really distressed at this intelligence.
“Right sorry should I be, to have him die—just yet.”

The last two words were uttered unconsciously, and in
a way to cause the niece to regret that they had been uttered
at all. But they had come, notwithstanding, and the
deacon saw that he had been too frank. The fault could
not now be remedied, and he was fain to allow his words
to produce their own effect.

“Die he will, I fear, uncle,” returned Mary, after a short
pause; “and sorry should I be to have it so without our
feeling the consolation of knowing we had done all in our
power to save him, or to serve him.”

“It is so far to the Harbour, that no good might come
of a messenger; and the money paid him would be thrown
away, too.”

“I dare say Roswell Gar'ner would be glad to go to

help a fellow-creature who is suffering. He would not
think of demanding any pay.”

“Yes, that is true. I will say this for Gar'ner, that he
is as reasonable a young man, when he does an odd job, as
any one I know. I like to employ him.”

Mary understood this very well. It amounted to neither
more nor less, than the deacon's perfect consciousness that
the youth had, again and again, given him his time and
his services gratuitously; and that too, more than once,
under circumstances when it would have been quite proper
that he should look for a remuneration. A slight colour
stole over the face of the niece, as memory recalled to her
mind these different occasions. Was that sensitive blush
owing to her perceiving the besetting weakness of one who
stood in the light of a parent to her, and towards whom
she endeavoured to feel the affection of a child? We shall
not gainsay this, so far as a portion of the feeling which
produced that blush was concerned; but, certain it is, that
the thought that Roswell had exerted himself to oblige her
uncle, obtruded itself somewhat vividly among her other
recollections.

“Well, sir,” the niece resumed, after another brief
pause, “we can send for Roswell, if you think it best, and
ask him to do the poor man this act of kindness.”

“Your messengers after doctors are always in such a
hurry! I dare say, Gar'ner would think it necessary to
hire a horse to cross Shelter Island, and then perhaps a
boat to get across to the Harbour. If no boat was to be
found, it might be another horse to gallop away round the
head of the Bay. Why, five dollars would scarce meet the
cost of such a race!”

“If five dollars were needed, Roswell would pay them
out of his own pocket, rather than ask another to assist
him in doing an act of charity. But, no horse will be necessary;
the whale-boat is at the wharf, and is ready for
use, at any moment.”

“True, I had forgotten the whale-boat. If that is home,
the doctor might be brought across at a reasonable rate;
especially if Gar'ner will volunteer. I dare say Daggett's
effects will pay the bill for attendance, since they have answered,
as yet, to meet the Widow White's charges. As

I live, here comes Gar'ner, at this moment, and just as we
want him.”

“I knew of no other to ask to cross the bays, sir, and
sent for Roswell before you returned. Had you not got
back, as you did, I should have taken on myself the duty
of sending for the doctor.”

“In which case, girl, you would have made yourself
liable. I have too many demands on my means, to be
scattering dollars broadcast. But, here is Gar'ner, and I
dare say all will be made right.”

Gardiner now joined the uncle and niece, who had held
this conversation in the porch, having hastened up from
the schooner the instant he received Mary's summons. He
was rewarded by a kind look and a friendly shake of the
hand, each of which was slightly more cordial than those
that prudent and thoughtful young woman was accustomed
to bestow on him. He saw that Mary was a little earnest
in her manner, and looked curious, as well as interested,
to learn why he had been summoned at all. Sunday was
kept so rigidly at the deacon's, that the young man did not
dare visit the house until after the sun had set; the New
England practice of commencing the Sabbath of a Saturday
evening, and bringing it to a close at the succeeding
sunset, prevailing among most of the people of Suffolk, the
Episcopalians forming nearly all the exceptions to the usage.
Sunday evening, consequently, was in great request for
visits, it being the favourite time for the young people to
meet, as they were not only certain to be unemployed, but
to be in their best. Roswell Gardiner was in the practice
of visiting Mary Pratt on Sunday evenings; but he would
almost as soon think of desecrating a church, as think of
entering the deacon's abode, on the Sabbath, until after
sunset, or “sundown,” to use the familiar Americanism
that is commonly applied to this hour of the day. Here
he was, now, however, wondering, and anxious to learn
why he had been sent for.

“Roswell,” said Mary, earnestly, slightly colouring again
as she spoke, “we have a great favour to ask. You know
the poor old sailor who has been staying at the Widow
White's, this month or more—he is now very low; so low,
we think he ought to have better advice than can be found

on Oyster Pond, and we wish to get Dr. Sage over from
the Harbour. How to do it has been the question, when
I thought of you. If you could take the whale-boat and
go across, the poor man might have the benefit of the doctor's
advice in the course of a few hours.”

“Yes,” put in the uncle, “and I shall charge nothing
for the use of the boat; so that, if you volunteer, Gar'ner,
it will leave so much towards settling up the man's accounts,
when settling day comes.”

Roswell Gardiner understood both uncle and niece perfectly.
The intense selfishness of the first was no more a
secret to him than was the entire disinterestedness of the
last. He gazed a moment, in fervent admiration, at Mary;
then he turned to the deacon, and professed his readiness
to “volunteer.” Knowing the man so well, he took care
distinctly to express the word, so as to put the mind of this
votary of Mammon at ease.

“Gar'ner will volunteer, then,” rejoined the uncle, “and
I shall charge nothing for the use of the boat. This is
`doing as we would be done by,' and is all right, considering
that Daggett is sick and among strangers. The wind
is fair, or nearly fair, to go and to come back, and you'll
make a short trip of it. Yes, it will cost nothing, and may
do the poor man good.”

“Now, go at once, Roswell,” said Mary, in an entreating
manner; “and show the same skill in managing the
boat that you did the day you won the race against the
Harbour oarsmen.”

“I will do all a man can, to oblige you, Mary, as well
as to serve the sick. If Dr. Sage should not be at home,
am I to look for another physician, Mr. Pratt?”

“Sage must be at home—we can employ no other. Your
old, long-established physicians understand how to consider
practice, and don't make mistakes—by the way, Gar'ner,
you needn't mention my name in the business, at all. Just
say that a sick man, at the Widow White's, needs his services,
and that you had volunteered to take him across.
That will bring him—I know the man.”

Again Gardiner understood what the deacon meant.
He was just as desirous of not paying the physician as of
not paying the messenger. Mary understood him, too;

and, with a face still more sad than anxiety had previously
made it, she walked into the house, leaving her uncle and
lover in the porch. After a few more injunctions from the
former, in the way of prudent precaution, the latter departed,
hurrying down to the water-side, in order to take
to the boat.