University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
MY GRAND UNCLE.

My grand uncle Edward Hazard, the father of
Walter, was, from all accounts, a man of an active,
speculating turn. He was always busy in schemes
to improve his estate, and, it is said, threw away a
great deal of money by way of bettering his fortune.
He was a gentleman who had spent a considerable
portion of his life in England, and when he settled
himself, at last, in possession of his patrimony at
Swallow Barn, he was filled with magnificent projects,
which, tradition says, to hear him explain, would
have satisfied any man, to a mathematical demonstration,
that with the expenditure of a few thousand
pounds, Swallow Barn would have risen one hundred
per cent in value. He was a very authoritative
man, also, in the province; belonged frequently
to the House of Burgesses; and was, more than
once, in the privy council. The family now look
up to my grand uncle Edward, as one of the most
distinguished individuals of the stock, and take a
great deal of pride in his importance: they say he
was a most astonishing rake in London, and a wonderful
speaker in the provincial legislature.

Connected with these two developments of his
character, there are two portraits of him at Swallow
Barn. One represents him in an embroidered coat
without a cape, a highly worked cravat, tied tight
enough round his neck to choke him, which makes
his eyes seem to start from their sockets; an inordinately
bedizened waistcoat, satin small-clothes, silk
stockings, and large buckles in his shoes. His complexion
is of the most effeminate delicacy, and his
wig seems to form a white downy cushion for a
small fringed cocked-hat. By the portrait, he could
not have been much above twenty years of age; and
his air is prodigiously conceited. The second picture
exhibits only his bust. It presents a gentleman
with a fine, bluff, and somewhat waggish face, past
the meridian of life, arrayed in brown, with the oratorical
expression of one about to make a speech.

Now it must be made known, that the tract of
land, called the Brakes, belonging to the Tracy
family, lies adjacent to Swallow Barn. In old times
the two estates were divided by a small stream that
emptied into the James River, and that is still known
by the name of the Apple-pie Branch. This rivulet
traverses a range of low grounds for some miles, occasionally
spreading itself out into morasses, which
were formerly, and in some places are now, overgrown
with thickets of arrow-wood, nine-bark, and
various other shrubs, the growth of this region. The
main channel of the stream through these tangled
masses, was generally distinct enough to be traced
as a boundary line, although the marsh extended

some distance from each bank. In the course of
this stream there is one point where the higher ground
of the country stretches in upon the bed of the marsh,
from either side, so as to leave a gorge of about a
hundred yards in width, from both of which eminences
the spectator may look back upon the low
lands of the swamp for nearly a mile.

Just at that period of the life of my grand uncle
when his fever of improvement had risen to its
crisis, and when he was daily creating immense
fortunes,—in his dreams,—it struck him, upon looking
at the gorge I have described, that with very little
trouble and expense, he might throw a stout
breastwork from one side to the other, and have as
fine a mill-dam as any man could possibly desire.
It was so simple an operation that he was surprised
it had never occurred to him before. And then a
flour mill might be erected a short distance below,
—which would cost but a trifle,—and the inevitable
result would be, that this unprofitable tract of waste
land would thereupon become the most valuable
part of the estate.

I am told that it belonged to the character of my
grand uncle to fall absolutely in love with every new
project. He turned this one over in his mind for
two or three nights; and it became as clear to him as
daylight, that he was to work wonders with his mill.

So, reflecting that he had but sixteen irons in the
fire at this time, he went to work without a moment's
delay. The first thing he did was to send an

ordr to Bristol, (for he never had any opinion of
the mechanics at home,) for a complete set of mill
machinery; and the second, to put up a house of
pine weather-boards, for the mill. Contemporaneously
with this last operation, he set about the
dam; and, in the course of one summer, he had a
huge breastwork of logs thrown across the path of
the modest, diminutive Apple-pie, which would have
terrified the stream even if it had been a giant.

As soon as this structure was completed, the waters
began to gather. My grand uncle came down
every day to look at them, and as he saw them gradually
encroaching upon the different little mounds
of the swamp, it is said he smiled, and remarked to
his son Walter, whom he frequently took with him,
“that it was strange to see what results were produced
by human art.” And it is also told of him,
that he made his way, during this rising of the waters,
to a tree in the bed of the dam, to notch with
his penknife a point to which the flood would ultimately
tend; that, while stooping to take a level
with the breast of the dam, he lost his balance, and
was upset into a pool, formed by the encroaching
element; and that, when Walter expected to see
him in a passion at this mishap, he rose laughing,
and observed, “that the bed of the dam was a
damned bad bed;” which is said to be the only pun
that ever was made in the Hazard family, and therefore
I have put it on record.

In a few days, with the help of one or two rains,

the dam was completely full; and, to the infinite
pleasure of my grand uncle, a thin thread of water
streamed over one corner of the dam,—the most
beautiful little cascade in the world; it looked like a
glossy streamer of delicate white ribbon. My grand
uncle was delighted. “There, my boy,” said he to
Walter, “there is Tivoli for you! We shall have our
mill a-going in a week.”

Sure enough, that day week, off went the mill.
All the corn of the farm was brought down to this
place; and, for an hour or two that morning, the
mill clattered away as if it had been filled with a
thousand iron-shod devils, all dancing a Scotch reel.
My grand uncle thumped his cane upon the floor
with a look of triumph, whilst his eyes started from
his head, (so as to produce a wonderful resemblance
to his youthful picture,) as he frequently exclaimed to
the people about him, “I told you so; this comes of
energy and foresight; this shows the use of man's
faculties, my boy!”

It was about an hour and a half, or perhaps two
hours,—as my authority affirms,—after the commencement
of this racket and clatter in the mill, that
my grand uncle, and all the others who were intent
upon the operation, were a little surprised to discover
that the millstone began to slacken in its speed;
the bolting cloth was manifestly moving lazily, and
the wheels were getting tired. Presently, a dismal
screech was heard, that sounded like all the trumpets
of Pandemonium blown at once; it was a prolonged,

agonizing, diabolical note that went to the
very soul.

“In the name of all the imps of Tartarus, and
blackguard fiends of Acheron!—(a famous interjection
of my grand uncle,) what is that?” “It's only
the big wheel stopped as chock as a tombstone,”
said the miller, “and it naturally screeches, because,
you see, the gudgeon is new, and wants grease.”
Hereupon a court of inquiry was instituted; and,
leading the van, followed by the whole troop, out
went my grand uncle to look at the head-gate.
Well, not a thing was to be seen there but a large
solitary bull-frog, squatted on his hams at the bottom
of the race, and looking up at his visiters with
the most piteous and imploring countenance, as much
as to say, “I assure you, gentlemen, I am exceedingly
astonished at this extraordinary convulsion, which
has left me, as you perceive, naked and dry.” Then
the court proceeded upon their investigation towards
the dam, to observe how that came on.

I can readily imagine how my grand uncle looked,
when the scene here first presented itself to his view.
It must have been just such a look as Sir Peter Teazle
is made to put on, when the screen falls: a look
of droll, waggish, solemn, silent wonder, which, for
the time, leaves it a matter of perfect doubt whether
it is to terminate in a laugh or a cry. In the first
place, the beautiful ribbon cascade was clean gone.
In the second, there were all the little tussocks of the
swamp, showing their small green heads above the

surface of the water, which would hardly have covered
one's shoe-top; and there were all the native shrubs
of the marsh, bending forwards, in scattered groups,
like a set of rose bushes that had been visited by a
shower; dripping wet, and having their slender stalks
tangled with weeds; and there was, towards the
middle, a little line of rivulet meandering down to
the edge of the dam, and then holding its unambitious
course parallel with the breastwork, deploying
to the left, where it entered the race, and tripping
along gently, down to the very seat of the bull-frog.
“Hoity, toity,” cried my grand uncle, after he had
paused long enough to find speech, “here is some
mistake in this matter!”

Now, it is a principle of physics, that an exhausted
receiver is the worst thing in the world to make a
draught upon. The mill-dam was like a bank that
had paid out all its specie; and, consequently, could
not bear the run made upon it by the big wheel,
which, in turn, having lost its credit, stopped payment
with that hideous yell that wrought such a
shock upon the nerves of my grand uncle.

In vain did the old gentleman ransack the stores
of his philosophy, to come at this principle. He
studied the case for half an hour, examined the dam
in every part, and was exceedingly perplexed.
“Those rascals of muskrats have been at work,”
said he. So, the examination was conducted to this
point; but not a hole could be found. “The soil is
a porous, open, filtrating kind of soil,” said the old
gentleman.

“It seems to me, master,” said an arch looking
negro, who was gaping over the flood-gate upon the
muddy waste, “that the mill's run out of water.”

“Who asked you for your opinion, you scoundrel?”
said my grand uncle in a great fury,—for he
was now beginning to fret,—“get out of my sight,
and hold your tongue!”

“The fellow is right,” said the miller, “we have
worked out the water, that's clear!”

“It's a two-hour-mill,” added the negro, in a voice
scarcely audible, taking the risk of my grand uncle's
displeasure, and grinning saucily but goodhumouredly,
as he spoke.

It is said that my grand uncle looked up at the
black with the most awful face he ever put on in his
life. It was blood-red with anger. But, bethinking
himself for a moment, he remained silent, as if to
subdue his temper.

There was something, however, in the simple observation
of the negro, that responded exactly to my
grand uncle's secret thoughts; and some such conviction
rising upon his mind, gradually lent its aid to
smother his wrath. How could he beat the poor fellow
for speaking the truth! It was,—and he now saw
it written in characters that could no tbe mistaken,—
it was, after all his trouble, and expense, and fond anticipations,
“a two-hour-mill.”

“Stop the mill,” said my grand uncle, turning
round, and speaking in the mildest voice to the miller,
“stop the mill; we shall discontinue our work
to-day.”

“'Squire,” replied the miller, “the mill has been as
silent as a church for the last hour.”

“True,” said my grand uncle, recollecting himself;
“come Walter, we will mount our horses, and
think over this matter when we get home. It is very
extraordinary! Why did'nt I foresee this? Never
mind, we will have water enough there to-morrow,
my boy!”

He slowly went to the fence corner, and untied
his horse, and got up into his saddle as leisurely as if
he had been at a funeral. Walter mounted his,
and they both rode homeward at a walk; my grand
uncle whistling Malbrouk all the way, in an under
key, and swinging his cane round and round by the
tassel.