University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

It would too long detach me from the thread of my
narrative, if I were to go minutely into the relation of
the causes which brought such a family, as that of Mr.
Mason's, from the condition of a New-England minister's
place and duties, to the forests of the lower Mississippi,
and a society, for which they were evidently so little
assorted. Few of my readers would comprehend the
peculiar trials of a minister in such a place, or would
be able to understand the complication of minute difficulties
and vexations, which, during a ministry of sixteen
years, in a country village, had broken down his health
and spirits, and finally induced him to ask a dismission
from his people, and to move to this distant and unknown
country. His parish comprehended every shade of
opinion in religion and politics. Embittered parties
and eternal disputations were the consequence. In
attempting to keep clear of all, the pastor became embroiled
with all. Both himself and his wife had been
reared delicately. The salary was small, and the family
increasing. He became poor, and obnoxious both to
the religious and political parties; and after sixteen
years of the prime of his life spent among them, admitting,
the while, that he was exemplary, of good feelings,
learned and eloquent, they refused him, in town-meeting,
a request to add something to his salary. In
disgust he asked a dismission, and it was granted.

To account for his thoughts taking this direction, as
a place where to fix himself and family, it would be
necessary to explain something of the peculiar texture
of his mind and his thoughts. In the progress of his
vexations in his parish, he had become, perhaps I ought

to say, unreasonably disgusted with the condition of a
minister in that country. His health and spirits had
failed, and while his lady earnestly wished him to make
the experiment of trying to settle again, he had become
determined never to be resettled in the ministry.
While she would have preferred his trying any other
expedient for a livelihood than agriculture, a pursuit
for which he was so little fitted, he had been accustomed
for years to allow his thoughts to expatiate in fabricating
the romance of pastoral enjoyments and pursuits.
By accident the romances of Imlay and Chateaubriand,
and other writers equally historical, presenting such
illusive pictures of the southern and western country,
had fallen into his hands. During the long winter
evenings,
this romance of freedom from the vexations of a minister's
life, and the miseries of political and religious altercation
in a populous village, and escape from the inclement
climate, to a country where he might find health, freedom,
solitude, rich land, and independence, formed in
his imagination. Once formed there, all his reading
and reasonings, all the opposing arguments, all the remonstrances
of his friends, and each renewed vexation,
embellished his romance, and confirmed his purpose.
His wife, at first, argued gently against the plan; but
she loved her husband, and his often repeated, and eloquently
painted views of his romance, finally presented
it to her mind as a reality.

I need not describe the departure of this family from
their New-England home. As he was leaving them,
the villagers, some of them at least, seemed to relent,
and to understand and feel their loss. Many tears were
shed upon all sides. Mr. Mason himself found it was
a different thing from his imaginings, to break away
from such a place, where he had so long identified his
feelings with the joys and sorrows of the people; where

he had prayed with so many sick, and followed so many
dead to their long home. His fair and loved wife, pale,
shrinking, and in tears, kissed her mother. The children
kissed their schoolmates. Old people said, “Good
bye, Mr. Mason; pray for us; we shall never see you
again.” The children, their eyes red and swoller with
weeping, were packed along with Mrs. Mason, with the
dilapidated but bulky baggage, into a two-horse wagon.
Young George sat forward, as driver. Amidst suppressed
weeping, and almost inaudible farewells, with his
hat drawn over his eyes, George started his team. The
family dog saw that matters went wrong, and whined
piteously, as he followed the lingering steps of his
master, who walked behind the wagon, to indulge in
the sad luxury of the last look at his church-spire glittering
in the sun-beams of a bright morning in autumn.

I trust there are few readers who cannot fill out the picture
of the feelings, trials, and accidents of such a family,
in their journey to the western hills. They can imagine,
how often the horses gave out, the harness broke, and the
carriage escaped upsetting. They can imagine, how often
the children cried with fatigue and sleepiness at night;
and how fresh, alert, and gay they were, when setting out,
after a full breakfast, on a bright sunny morning; how
often they were brought in contact with rough and unfeeling
people; how often, in their tavern bills, and bills
for repairs, they dealt with harpies, eager to wrest from
them an unjust claim upon their scanty pittance. But
if they met with many painful occurrences on this long
route, there were many pleasant ones too. If the gullied
road, or the rain-washed precipices rendered the
way almost impassable to their wagon, in other places
they found many miles in succession of pleasant travelling.
On the whole, there were many more fair days
than stormy ones. George proved himself, for a boy
of his years, a firm and an admirable driver. While
he was whistling on the front of the wagon, and cheering
his horses, and the children were asleep among the

baggage, the husband and wife walked many a pleasant
mile, seating themselves occasionally for rest on the
breezy side of a hill or a mountain, and tracing back as
on a map, the dusty road, the river, the villages, spires,
mansions and groves, by which they had passed. Nor
will the feeling and experienced traveller in this emigrating
march, fail to add to the picture the dog, reposing
at their feet, whenever they rested. There is a
charm in the evershifting mountain and valley scenery,
on such a long route, that Mr. Mason felt in all its delight.

In due time, and with the common experience of the
mixture of bitter and pleasant things, they had labored
over the last of the Alleghany hills; had descended to
the Ohio; had sold, if sale it might be called, their wagon
and team; had purchased a flat boat, and were
floating down the beautiful Ohio, which happened this
Autumn to be in an uncommonly fine stage for boating.
They had been wafted down that beautiful river, had
admired the forests, the vallies and bluffs, and the incipient
towns and villages, as they alternated on its long
course; had encountered the sweeping and turbid
current of the Mississippi; had debarked at the Iron
Banks, and had hired a wagon to carry them out to
the settlement, where, as we have seen, Mr. Mason had
purchased the cabin and clearing, which he now inhabited.

Mr. Pindall and Mr. Garvin, from their wealth, the
number of their slaves, and from their possessing, along
with a drove of horses, four-wheeled carriages, which
were called coaches, were by estimation the distinguished
inhabitants of the settlement. Illiterate and rude as
they were, they perceived, and felt the character of their
new neighbours. An unpleasant sense of mental inferiority
at first awed them to a respectful kindness of
manner towards them; and they evinced no little
pride in showing the new family, with their comparatively
polished manners, and their bright and beautiful

faces, as their guests. They gave them dinners, in
which there was no want of substantial good cheer;
nor any deficiency of custards, delicious sweet potatoe
pies, and various wild fruits. Aware, that whiskey
would not be the beverage of Mr. Mason's choice, even
generous foreign wines were spread on the board. All
this was painful to the family; for they were conscious
that it was not in their power to return the invitations
in kind, and that they could not expect long to preserve
the respect of such people, in this visible manifestation
of inferiority, in a point, which they would deem of so
much importance. It is, in fact, an unfortunate trait in
the character of people of that class, that they are unduly
delighted with every thing that is new; and caress
recent emigrants for a while. As soon as they become
thoroughly acquainted with them, they discover
something, which awakens envy, or comparison, and
begin to find fault with them; circulate unfavorable
reports of them, and especially, if they are poor, combine
to keep them down, and prevent their emerging
from their humiliation and poverty.

This view of the character of the settlers about them
soon began to disclose itself, and convince them that
there were babbling and disagreeable people else where,
than in New England. But their general circumstances
were so pleasant, and the romance of their condition
still so fresh, during the winter that succeeded
their arrival, that Mr. Mason pronounced himself quite
as well satisfied with his new condition, as he had anticipated.
Young George became at once a hunter of
considerable expertness. It is true, neither he nor his
father, in the phrase of the country, were “quite up”
to the mystery of hunting bears and deer. But, during
this winter, whatever the neighbours said of them
in private, they were externally kind, and sent them, in
presents, more venison and bear's-meat, than they could
consume. Whenever they chose, by rambling a few
hours, they could at any time bring home, for variety in

their fare, wild ducks, squirrels, opossums, and rabbits.
The tea, coffee, and sugar, which they had brought with
them, it is true, were soon exhausted, and it did not suit
their scanty resources to replenish these articles. The
want at first, from the power of habit, was felt as a trying
and painful privation. As a substitute, the milk of
a couple of cows, which they had purchased, and which
fed in the rich range near the house, furnished a beverage
more healthful and nutritive, if not so pleasant, as
that which they were compelled to renounce.

We have seen, that from ill health and discouragement
Mr. Mason, when he left New England, had determined
finally to renounce the public duties of his
profession. While he was still fresh in the acquaintance
and respect of the people in his new residence, in their
zeal to hear a new preacher, they wearied him with
solicitations to preach, until finally he consented. A
“preaching,” as it is called, that creates any excitement,
is there not unlike an ordination in New England.
There is a simultaneous rush from all quarters, within
ten miles, to the spectacle. Mrs. Mason, who perceived
from the excitement, what a show it was like to
prove, was compelled, poor woman, to task her utmost
powers, to fit up the sabbath dresses for the dear children,
so as to enable them to make any tolerable appearance,
beside those of her rich neighbours. Eliza
would have been the pride of any mother. It went to
the heart of this mother to find, that, do all she could,
in the way of turning and mending, and contriving, the
sweet child of her pride and her heart would show a
beautiful face and form under the disadvantage of a mean
and faded dress. Mr. Mason had comprehended the
tone of public feeling, and wished not to distinguish
himself by a dress for this occasion different from the
common one. In this single respect Mrs. Mason showed,
that she felt on this subject, as a woman. Forth came
the gorgeous and flowing silk cassock and surplice, and
about his neck were the large and well starched bands.

The important Sabbath dawned at length, and the people
were seen, some on horseback, some on foot, some
in dearborns, and some in carriages, emerging from the
deep woods, in every direction, where an alley had
been opened through them. Mr. Mason and every
member of his family made their way on foot to the
place of worship, distant two miles and a half. It was
a large log building, on the verge of a gentle bluff,
whence issued two or three springs, which were enclosed
in unheaded casks, and amply provided with
gourd shells for drinking vessels. The building within
was rough and capacious, and had an aspect, which I
should describe to no purpose to one, who has not seen
such a church. I shall only mention one peculiarity of
the structure. It was so contrived that in the cold
weather of winter, logs, sixteen feet in length, could be
drawn, or, as it is technically phrased, snaked into
church and placed parallel to the mud-daubed wall, and
a fire kindled along the whole length.

The church was full to overflowing, and the display
of scarlet and coquelico dresses and artificial wreaths
and roses, contrasted their barbaric splendor strangely
with the huge logs in their native forms and dimensions,
that composed the walls; and, in the mind of Mrs. Mason,
with the cotton jackets of her boys, patched until
the original cloth could hardly be distinguished. But
had she been able to fathom the hearts of the collected
multitude, she would have discovered, that display of
dress is no passport to the hearts, if it is to the admiration
of beholders. She would have discovered, that her
idolized little girl, in her plain and faded calico robe,
shrinking with modesty, and blushing like the morn,
was a hundred times more an object of interest, than
she would have been in all the glaring finery of the
rest. The uncommon beauty of the children, so habited,
excited no envy, and made itself more conspicuous
by contrast. The brawny bosoms of Hercules Pindall
and Jethro Garvin, Sabbath though it was, were

transfixed with the first look of this sweet girl of twelve
years, now just expanding like an opening rose-bud,
into the mature splendor of beauty. Well had it been
for Mr. Mason, too, if his ill fated cassock, surplice,
and bands had never been seen in that church. The
naughty woman of Babylon, in all her meretricious
trappings, could not have excited a more general and
unpleasant revulsion of feeling. The sermon, in fact,
was settled before hand. The audience, it is true, said
nothing on the spot; but they looked with all their
eyes, and like the parrot, “thought the more.” Mr.
Mason was, what we consider, a charming preacher.
He had voice, gesture, manner, tone, pathos, unction,
and deep thought. His heart was full in his discourses,
and a strain of solemn and earnest tenderness ran
through them, that deeply affects my heart in such an
exercise. The sermon, which he now delivered, was
one of his best. But he fought with the air, and afforded
a proof, that what is good and delightful in one
place, may be an abomination in another. The audience
expected, that before the close of his discourse, he
would have made the woods echo. They expected
some of those strong, coarse, and vehement appeals to
their feelings, interlarded with figures and colloquial
phrases and allusions, that were familiar to them, and
their peculiar ways of life. Mr. Mason was himself
affected with his own earnestness, and his eye moistened,
but none of his audience caught the infectious feeling.
They heard him patiently to the end, and dispersed,
with their thoughts and words on a kind of
grumbling key. I am not sure that it would subserve
the cause of criticism, if I were able to relate all the
judgments that were passed upon the services, as the
people made their way home. Some said, that every
thing in the sermon was mixed up, like mush and milk.
Others said, that if that was college-learning preaching,
give them, for their money, old Mr. Dawson, emphatically
denominated, “Thunderlungs.” Some said, there
were too many long words, or, as they called them,
“Booktionary” words in it. Others said, that it was
not a searching discourse, and had no heart religion in it.
Others, and they were the most numerous class of critics,
said, it was a “mighty proud” sermon; and one
and all agreed, that the cassock, and gown, &c.
were right Roman concerns, and most of them concluded,
that he was a Roman Catholic. In short, every one
found fault with it in some way. An itinerant preacher
had been of the audience, too, and had most faithfully
espied out, and reported the nakedness of the land.

Mr. Mason was but a man, and as such, had expected,
no doubt, a very different result from this labored
effort. The real judgment of the audience made its
way slowly, but effectually, to him. He saw it in the
manifest coolness of the people, whom he met in the
ensuing week. A shrewd free mulatto woman, who
knew every body, and heard all that was going, called
upon Mrs. Mason, affecting some slight errand, but
really to undo the budget, and let her know the whole
amount of the comments upon her husband's preaching.
The mind of Mr. Mason was fixed at once, in regard
to his duty. He had been wearied into the effort by
solicitation. He had done his best; and he determined
never to expose himself and his cause to the same
humiliation again. A few books and a favorite work,
which he was preparing for the press, afforded sufficient
occupation for all his leisure hours within, when the
weather, or other circumstances, forbade his working
abroad.

In his own family, as a substitute for public worship
on the Sabbath, he adopted a private course of worship,
blending interest and amusement with religious instruction;
associating the highest exercises of the understanding
and the best affections of the heart, with
the tranquillizing and elevating pleasures of religion.
Prayers, instructions, select readings from the scriptures,
tales calculated to excite moral reflection, and to

foster tender and benevolent feelings, were read first by
the father, then the mother, and the children in succession.
Their understandings were exercised by questions.
The hearts were improved by representations
of the baseness and self-torment of pride, envy, and the
bad passions in general. One grand aim, in this worship,
was to represent the Almighty in that amiable
character, in which He shows himself in his word, and
in his works, and sedulously to shield their minds from
any associations with his being and providence, but
those of love, mercy, justice, goodness, and truth. It
closed with a kind of court of inquest, in which the parents
were judges, and the children witnesses. The
general tenor of the children's deportment, words, and
actions, during the past week, underwent a solemn review.
The facts were proved. The character and
tendency of the actions pointed out; the source whence
they had arisen, explained; and if matter of reprehension
existed, what ought to have been said or done, in
the case, declared; and, finally, praise and blame
were distributed, according to the merits of the actions.
None but those who have tested this discipline know its
admirable effects.

When these services were concluded, instead of
holding the children in durance, as a penal expiation to
the sanctity of the Sabbath, and weaving in their young
minds associations with it of austerity and gloom, as
soon as the ardors of the sun were quenched by his descent
behind the forests, they walked together into the
woods. Every object in these walks was at once a
source of amusement and instruction, and a theme,
whence Mr. Mason did not fail to deduce new proofs
of the wisdom, mercy, and power of Him, who has
formed every thing by weight and by measure. The
moss, or the evergreen at the foot of the sycamore, the
parroquets settling on their branches to feed, the partridge
flitting from their path, the eagle screaming in
the blue far above the summits of the trees, the carrion

vultures, sailing round, and at times to the eye
seeming to lie still in the air, as they scented intensely,
in the heights of the firmament, for their appropriate
food; the squirrels skipping, and displaying themselves
in gambols, or evincing the impotent sauciness of their
pride; the rabbit, starting from the cane-brake; the variety
of trees and shrubs in the wide forest; the prodigious
grape-vines, that climbed to their highest tops; the
violets, even now at the commencement of winter,
starting into bloom; the diversified seed capsules of
flowers, that had already come to maturity; the various
starry forms of the gossamer down of seeds, sailing
slowly in the breeze; in fine, every object, with which
they met, was sufficient to arrest the attention and interest
of the family, and furnish a theme for a lecture
on natural history, or a warm and home-felt sermon on
the goodness and wisdom of the Almighty. The dissipated
people of fashionable life do not await the return
of their nightly gaieties with more earnest expectation
than did this humble and lonely family their Sabbath
evening's walk in the woods. It is thus that minds
rightly constituted and trained, find everywhere amusement
and instruction.

Though they had delightful Sabbath walks in the
woods; though it was a source of constant amusement
to the parents to answer the thousand questions of their
children, raised by the novelty of the objects in their
walks; though the illusive veil, which imagination
spreads over an unexplored region, still rested upon the
country, we must not infer that they were all the time
happy, and had not an abundant mixture of bitter with
their pleasant things. It belongs to earth to have this
mixture, and they were not exempt from the portion of
man everywhere under the sun. On their return from
this evening walk, there was no tea, no coffee, to exhilarate
their evening conversations, and to satisfy the
cravings of long habit. The family often visited their
neighbours by invitation. The rustic abundance and

the varied comforts, which were seen there, the result
of a rich soil, and the labor of slaves, contrasted but
unfavourably with their own stinted resources. Mrs.
Mason was herself still young and pretty, and her fading
dress showed to greater disadvantage, beside the gaudy
expensiveness of the appearance of their host. Eliza,
now beginning to feel conscious upon these points, was
dragged to these visits as to a sacrifice. Her very heart
ached to introduce her barefooted little ones among the
creole children, who instinctively held up their red morocco
shoes to provoke a comparison. It was now palpable,
too, that if there were parties and divisions and
heart-burnings in New-England from one cause, there
were here the same evils in a different and more aggravated
form. The same innate seeds of evil temper
produced the same kind of trials, the more galling, because
they were not yet broken to them as they had
been to the other.

In this climate, every one has remarked the human
form, intellect, and passions develope more early than in
the north. Vacant lands of the greatest fertility can
be had at pleasure. All that is necessary for the commencement
of a new married couple is, teams, implements
of agriculture, and a few servants. To build the
houses, quarters, and stables of the establishment, is but
the work of a few days, and the foundation is laid for
rustic opulence and indolence. The amusements of
the husbands are hunting, shooting at a mark, horse-racing,
elections, cards, and drinking; and of the wives,
dances, parties, and tracasserie. Education and mental
discipline, so far from being necessary or in request,
are in the few cases, where they occur, matters to excite
envy and ridicule. Of course, having nothing to
learn, and little to acquire, they marry early. I have,
more than once, seen mothers of fourteen. It need not,
therefore, be matter of surprise, that Hercules Pindall
did not conceal his fondness for Eliza Mason, considered
by her parents no more than a child. Nor will those

who know the ways of the country, admire, that this
young giant completely ruled his father, who ruled the
settlement. It soon came to the ears of Mrs. Mason
that this enamoured Cyclops would make proposals for
her daughter. This supposed good fortune was matter of
envy to the other mothers and daughters, nor did it occur
to them that she would be disposed, or even dare
to reject this alliance, should it be proposed. The
prospect that it would be, was a source of serious apprehension
to them.