 | Western clearings |  |
A FOREST FÊTE.
A less common and natural accompaniment of our national
holiday is a party of pleasure, or some device to pass the day in
quiet amusement, instead of the noisy demonstrations which seem
to serve as a safety-valve for the exuberance of animal spirits
so habitually repressed throughout the United States during the remainder
of the year. Gunpowder in unpractised hands is the
cause of so much evil, and its natural friend and ally, whiskey,
so inimical to peace and good order, that it is an object of no
small solicitude to the soberer classes in the new country to devise
some mode of celebrating “Independence” that shall not end in
bloodshed and mortal quarrels. A Sunday school celebration—
one on a large scale, that should bring children and parents, from
far and near, to hear addresses, sing songs, and enjoy a rustic feast
under a long bower of fresh branches, was tried one year; but
the opposition of the powder party was so bitter that very little
was gained in the way of peace, although perhaps some broken
bones and blistered faces were saved. Even on that occasion,
however, I recollect that a son of one of our neighbours, attempting
to blow off some scattered grains of coarse powder from near
the touch-hole of the one-pounder that was fired all day by the
opposition, suddenly found the whole of it—the powder, not the
gun—firmly imbedded in his face, just beneath the skin; and although
his mother picked out many grains with her needle, and
others made their own way out by suppuration, he will still carry to
his grave such a curiously tattooed physiognomy as will serve to
remind him of the glorious Fourth, let his lot be cast where it may.
Another device for the more refined enjoyment of the day was a
pic-nic party, such as is here sketched under the title of a Forest
Fête. This sketch is not to be received as history any more than
but fancy and general recollections furnished the warp into which
such scraps of truth are woven—characteristic correctness being
the only aim.
If there be any feeling in the American bosom which may be
considered a substitute for that “loyalty” of which the renowned
Captain Hall so pathetically notices the lamentable lack, it is the
enthusiasm which is annually rekindled, even in the most utilitarian
and dollar-worshipping souls among us, by the return of “Independence
day.” The first sign of the dawning of this virtue is
discoverable in the penchant of our younglings for Chinese crackers,
and indeed gunpowder in any form, always evinced during
the last days of June and the opening ones of July; a season in
which he whose pockets will hold money, must be either more or
less than boy. And as “the child is father of the man,” the
passion for showing joy and gratitude through the medium of
gunpowder seems to increase and strengthen with every recurrence
of our national festival, till as much “villanous saltpetre”
is expended on a single celebration as would have sufficed our
revolutionary forefathers to win a pitched battle. The gentler
sex, partaking, by sympathy at least, in the excitement of the
time, yet exhibit their patriotism by less noisy demonstrations: by
immeasurable pink ribbons; by quadruple consumption of sugar
candy; by patient endurance of unmerciful spouting; by unwearied
running after the “trainers,” and shrill and pretty shrieking
at the popping; and sometimes, in primitive and unsophisticated
regions, by getting up parties of pleasure, with the aid of such
beaux as they can inveigle from amusements better suited to the
dignity of the sex, such as drinking, scrub-racing; firing salutes
from hollow logs, or blacksmiths' anvils; playing “fox-and-geese”
for sixpences; or shooting at a turkey tied to a post, at a
shilling the chance.
One particular Independence day not many years sinsyne is
memorable in our village annals. It was probably owing to the
fact that gunpowder was not very abundant, that some of the élite
of the settlement proposed a select pic-nic, to be held on the shore
of a beautiful, lonely sheet of water, which having nothing else
to do, reflects the flitting clouds at no great distance from our
would have been, but for an idea which sprang up among certain
of our rural exclusives, that it was ungenteel to appear pleased
with what delighted others. I say “sprang up,” because I feel
assured that our fashionables had never even read of the airs of
their thorough-bred prototypes; and from a retrospect of the
whole affair, I am convinced that the human mind has a natural
tendency toward exclusiveism. This effort at superior refinement,
with some slight mistakes and disappointments, clouded
somewhat the enjoyment of the occasion; but on the whole, the
affair went off at least as well as such preconcerted pleasures do
elsewhere. Mr. Towson and Mr. Turner, to be sure — But
let us begin at the beginning.
Nothing could have been more auspicious than our outset.
All the good stars seemed in conjunction for once, and their
kindly influence lent unwonted lustre to the eyes of the ladies
and the boots of the gentlemen. Every body felt confident that
every thing had been thought of; nobody could recollect any
body that was any body, who had not been included in the “very
select” circle of invitation. Plenty of “teams” had been engaged—for
who thinks of ploughing or haying on Independence
day?—all the whips were provided with red snappers, and cockades
and streamers of every hue decorated the tossing heads of
our gallant steeds. Indeed, to do them justice, the horses seemed
as much excited as any body. Provant in any quantity, from
roast-pig, (the peacock of all our feasts,) to custards, lemonade,
and green tea, had been duly packed and cared for. Music had
not been forgotten, for one of the party played the violin à merville,
to the extent of two country dances and half a quadrille,
while another beau was allowed to be a “splendid whistler,” and
a third, who had cut his ankle with a scythe, and could not
dance, had borrowed the little triangle from the hotel, which we
all agreed to look upon as a tambourine when it should mark the
time for the dancers, and a gong when employed in its more accustomed
office of calling the hungry to supper. So we were
unexceptionably provided for at all points.
The day was such as we often have during the warm months
—the most delicious that can be imagined. From the first
sunset, no cloud was any where but where it should have been,
to enhance the intensity of a blue that was truly “Heaven's
own”—inimitable, unapproachable by any effort of human art.
A light crisping breeze ruffled the surface of the lake, whose
shaded borders furnished many a swelling sofa of verdant turf for
the loungers, as well as a wide and smooth area for the exertions
of the nimble-footed. Here we alighted; here were our shining
steeds tethered among the oak bushes to browse, to their very
great satisfaction; our flags were planted, and, to omit nothing
appropriate to the occasion, our salute was fired, with the aid of
what a young lady who went into becoming hysterics declared to
be a six-pounder, but which proved on inquiry to be only a horse-pistol;
our belle refusing to be convinced, however, on the ground
that she had heard a six-pounder go off at Detroit, and certainly
ought to know. “Quelle imagination!”—as a French gentleman
of our acquaintance used to exclaim admiringly, when his
children perpetrated the most elaborate and immeasurable fibs—
“quelle imagination!”
When this was over, Mr. Towson, a very tall and slender
young gentleman, who is considered (and I believe not without
reason,) a promising youth, proposed reading the Declaration of
Independence, and had drawn out his pocket-handkerchief for the
purpose, observing very appositely that if it had not been for that
declaration we should never have been keeping Independence on
the shores of Onion Lake, when he was voted down; every body
talking at once, to make it clear that a sail on the said lake ought
to precede the reading. Mr. Towson assented with the best grace
he could muster, to a decision that reduced him, for the present
at least, to a place in the ranks, and offering his arm to Miss
Weatherwax, an imaginative young lady, a belle from a rival
village, he attempted with a very gallant air to lead the way to
the larger of the two boats provided for our accommodation.
Now it so happened that this said large boat, having a red handkerchief
displayed aloft, had been by common consent styled
“the Commodore;” and these advantages being considered, it
may readily be inferred that each and every individual who
meant to “tempt the waves” had secretly resolved to secure a
forward, another, who had been deeply engaged with two of our
own belles in the discussion of a paper of sweeties, observing a
movement toward the beach, was on the alert in an instant, and
with a lady on each arm, made first way to the Commodore; all
scattering sugar-plums as they went, to serve as a clue to those
who might choose to follow in their wake. Not among these was
the spirited Mr. Towson. He declared that the other boat would
be far pleasanter, and Miss Weatherwax being quite of his opinion,
he led her to the best (i. e. the driest) seat in it, and procured
a large green branch, which he held over her by way of parasol,
or rather awning. The company in general now followed, taking
seats, since the ton was thus divided, in either boat, as choice
or convenience dictated. All seemed very well, though this was
in fact the beginning of an unfortunate split, which from that moment
divided our company into parties; the largest, viz., that
which took possession of “the Commodore,” claiming of course
to be the orthodox, or regular line, while the other was considered
only an upstart, or opposition concern. The latter, as usual,
monopolized the wit. They amused themselves by calling the
exclusives “squatters,” “prëemptioners,” &c., and reiterated
so frequently their self-congratulations upon having obtained seats
in the smaller craft, that it might be shrewdly guessed they wished
themselves any where else.
The sail was long and hot, especially to the excluded; for the
Commodore having made at once for a narrow part of the lake,
shaded by overhanging trees, and enjoying the advantage of a
breeze from the south, dignity required that the other boat should
take an opposite course. It accordingly meandered about under
the broiling sun, until the reflection from the water had baked the
ladies' faces into a near resemblance to that of the rising harvest
moon; these very ladies, with the heroic self-devotion of martyrs,
declaring they never had so pleasant a sail in their lives.
Meanwhile, those of us whom advanced years or soberer taste
disposed rather to tea and talk than to songs and sailing, were
busily engaged in arranging to the best advantage the variety of
good things provided for the refreshment of the company. This
proved by no means so easy a task as the uninitiated may suppose.
had swelled by degrees to something like forty persons, by the
usual process of adding, for various good reasons, people who
were at first voted out. No agreement having been entered into
as to the classification of the articles to be furnished by each, it
proved, on unpacking the baskets, that there had been an inconvenient
unanimity of taste in the selection. At least one dozen
good housewives had thought it like enough every body would
forget butter; so that we had enough of a fluid article so called,
to have smoothed the lake in case of a tempest. Then we had
dozens and dozens of extra knives and forks, and scarce a single
spoon; acres of pie with very few plates to eat it from; tea-kettles
and tea-pots, but no cups and saucers. The young men with
a never-to-be-sufficiently-commended gallantry, had provided
good store of lemons, which do not grow in the oak-openings; but
alas! though sugar was reasonably abundant, we searched in
vain for any thing which would answer to hold our sherbet, and
all the baskets turned out afforded but six tumblers.
These and similar matters were still under discussion, and much
ingenuity had been evinced in the suggestion of substitutes, when
one of the boating parties announced its return by the discharge
of the same piece of ordnance which had frightened Miss Weatherwax
from her propriety, on our arrival. We now hastened our
preparation for the repast, and some of the gentlemen having procured
some deliciously cool water from a spring at a little distance,
and borrowed a large tin pail and sundry other conveniences
from a lady whose log-house showed picturesquely from the
depths of the wood, the lemonade was prepared, and all things declared
ready. But the other boat, the opposition line, as it was
denominated in somewhat pettish fun, still kept its distance.
Handkerchiefs were waved; the six-pounder horse-pistol went off
with our last charge of powder; but the “spunky” craft still continued
veering about, determined neither to see nor hear our signals.
It was now proposed that we should proceed without the
seceders, but to this desperate measure the more prudent part of the
company made strenuous objection. So we waited with grumbling
politeness till it suited the left branch of our troop to rejoin us,
which gave time to warm the lemonade and cool the tea. We
on whose unpliant brows frowns left their trace, though smiles
shone faint below. The late arrival laughed a good deal; quite
boisterously, we thought, and boasted what a charming time they
had.
“Had you any music?” asked Mr. Towson of Mr. Turner, the
hero of the Commodore's crew, with an air of friendly interest.
“No,” said the respondent, taken by surprise.
“Ah! there now! what a pity! I wish you had been near us,
that you might have had the benefit of ours! The ladies sang
`Bonnie Doon,' and every thing; and `I see them on their winding
way;' and — it went like ile, Sir.”
“ `Winding way!' you might have seen yourselves on your
winding way, if you'd been where we was!” said the rival beau,
with an air of deep scorn. “What made you go wheeling about
in the sun so?”
“Fishing, Sir—the ladies were a-fishing, Sir!”
“Fishing! Did you catch any thing?”
“No, Sir! we did not catch any thing! We did not wish to
catch any thing! We were fishing for amusement, Sir!”
“Oh!—ah! fishing for amusement, eh!”
But here the call to the banquet came just in time to stop the
fermentation before it reached the acetous stage, and brows and
pocket-kerchiefs were smoothed as we disposed ourselves in every
variety of Roman attitude, and some that Rome in all her glory
never knew, reclining round the long-drawn array of table-cloths
upon whose undulating surface our multitudinous refreshment
was deployed. Shawls, cloaks, and buffalo-robes formed our
couches—giant oaks our pillared roof. We had tin pails and
cups to match, instead of vases of marble and goblets of burning
gold. But nobody missed these imaginary advantages. Talk
flagged not, as it is apt to do amid scenes of cumbrous splendour,
and the merry laugh of the young and happy rang far through
the greenwood, unrestrained by the fear of reproof or ridicule. Exclusiveism
and all its concomitants were forgotten during tea-time.
When the repast was finished, the sun was far on his downward
way, and the esplanade which had been selected as the ball-room
was well shaded by a clump of trees on its western border.
hasty steps, and Mr. Kittering's violin might be heard in various
squeaks and groans, giving token of the onset. But we listened
in vain for farther demonstrations. No “Morning Star”—no
“Mony-Musk”—no “Poule,” or “Trenise” delighted the attendant
echoes. Debate, warm and rapid, if not loud and angry,
seemed to leave no chance for sweeter sounds. The morning's
feud between Towson and Turner had broken out with fresh acrimony,
when places were to be claimed for the dance. Hard
things were said, and harder ones looked, on both sides; and in
conclusion, Mr. Towson again marched magnanimously off the
field, and contented himself with the sober glory of reading the
Declaration to a select audience; while the Commodore's crew,
victorious as before, through superior coolness, got up a dance,
and had the violin and triangle all to themselves.
The moon rose full and ruddy before we were packed in our
wagons to return. The tinkling of bells through the wood, the
ceaseless note of the whip-poor-will, the moaning of the evening
wind, the chill of a heavy dew, all fraught with associations of
repose, gradually quieted the livelier members of the party, and
put the duller or the more fatigued fairly asleep. Some of the
jokers remained untameable for awhile. The young ladies kept
up a little whispering and a great deal of giggling among themselves,
and the word “Commodore” was so frequently audible,
that one might have thought they were talking of the last war.
Mr. Turner drove so closely upon the vehicle in which Mr. Towson
occupied the back seat, as to bring his horses' heads unpleasantly
near the new hat of that gentleman.
“Hallo! Turner! your horses will be biting me next!” said
Mr. Towson, rather querulously.
“Don't be afraid; they don't like such lean meat.”
“I should think by their looks they'd be glad of any thing to
eat!” said Towson.
“Oh! you mus'n't judge them by yourself,” replied Turner,
coolly; “they get plenty to eat, every day.”
Even this sharp shooting subsided after a while, and before we
alighted, unbroken silence had settled upon the entire cortêge.
But the pic-nic afforded conversation for a month, and every body
agreed in thinking we had had a charming “Independence.”
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