University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

The sun was descending in the azure west, when the
carriage suddenly paused. It had reached the summit of
the Jenny Jump Mountain, in the southern part of Sussex
county.

“Why hast thou stopped, Patrick?” asked Mr. Schooley,
as he thrust his head out of the window, and to do which
it was necessary for him to remove the broad-brimmed hat
from his head.

“Plase yer honour, the horses had a dazziness in their
heads, and I was afraid they'd fall off the mountain. It's
so high, yer honour, it almost takes my breath.”

Mr. Schooley descended to the ground, and stood for
several moments gazing at the scene. There were no precipices
near, and the surface was almost level on the eminence
where the horses stood. But the surrounding
scenery was sublime, gilded by the golden tints of the declining
sun. Behind was the Musconetcong Mountain,
which they had passed several hours previously, and before
them rose the Blue Mountain, enclosing the intermediate
space, like the walls of an impregnable fortress. Far to
the left, but distinctly perceptible, a depression in the range
indicated the locality of the Delaware Gap, and seemed to
be the only outlet from the vast enclosure—the stupendous
battlements on either hand being some two thousand feet
in height.

Not many settlements now met the view. Some five or

six primitive farm-houses were all that could be discovered
in a diameter of several miles. But near the base of the
hill called the Jenny Jump Mountain, which attained an
elevation of some six or eight hundred feet, was a massive
stone structure, being the church edifice of a small colony
of Moravians, founded by the good Count Zinzendorf.

Even the stoicism of Thomas Schooley yielded for a
moment to the enthusiastic admiration inspired by the
landscape; and he turned to the carriage-door and beckoned
Julia, who had just awakened from a short slumber,
to join him. She did so with alacrity, and stood enraptured,
gazing at the spectacle. Then she uttered incessant
exclamations of delight, while the staid Mrs. Schooley and
the sober Richard listened with imperturbable gravity.

“Thee seems to be pleased with the features of the
country,” remarked Mr. Schooley, his rigid lips relaxing
almost into a smile.

“Oh, enchanted!”

“But if there were fewer hills and rocks, and more acres
of arable land, both thee and I would be the richer,” said
Mr. Schooley.

“And yet Mr. Green wrote us that there were many
arable slopes and valleys,” said Julia.

“True; Samuel did say so, and he is a good judge of
land. No doubt he made good selections for himself. That
is his house on the hill near the church.”

“Can we not see the house we are to occupy?”

“Thee can see it, but indistinctly, to the left of the village.”

“Where there is a forest of dead trees?”

“Yea; they stand in the largest field, and were girdled
by William Van Wiggens, our overseer.”

“Girdled? And did that kill the trees?”

“Thee must not think he belted them with gaudy ribbon,
as thee sometimes does thy frail waist. What is meant by
girdling is the cutting round the tree through the bark,
which prevents the sap from ascending, and the tree dieth,
just as the doctors say the habit of tightly belting the human
chest produces disease and death.”

“But, Thomas, why should William Van Wiggens kill
the poor trees?”

“He did it by my direction. In the autumn the storms

and the axe will remove the trunks, and then we will have
fields which may be cultivated with profit. To the right of
the opening, if thee will look steadily, thee may see the
roof of the house we are to dwell in.”

“I see it! A long, double, two-story log-house! And I
see the barn, and the orchard beyond, and cows grazing
within it. Oh, I am so impatient to be there! I shall be
delighted, Thomas, with our forest home. And it has a
southern aspect, sloping gently down to the meandering
ravine. Flowers will flourish there. And is there not a
brook of crystal water flowing through the ravine?”

“Yea; a beautiful stream, that empties into the Paulinskill.
It has many trout in it; but I have never taken any
of them, and Richard has no taste for idle sports.”

“Oh, let us be going! I am impatient to be at home in
the wilderness, and to explore every grove and rock and
cave and streamlet!”

When they resumed their seats, Paddy found no difficulty
in proceeding, as the horses seemed to be recovered from
their dizziness. And, as they descended from the summit
of the Jenny Jump, Mr. Schooley endeavoured to describe
to his family the condition of things they must be prepared
to encounter at their new home. Nor had the far-seeing
Quaker neglected to make the necessary preparations for
his removal to a place of supposed security. The preceding
year he had contracted with some of the numerous
family of Stouts, and Mr. Green, to have him a dwelling
and the usual out-houses completed by the ensuing spring;
and he had sent up Van Wiggens with several slaves (the
Quakers then were slaveholders) to girdle the trees for a
new field and to raise a crop of corn.

The site had once been the abode of a squatter, without
any title to the land, and the rude hut he had occupied was
now the hen-house. But there remained more than a hundred
noble fruit-trees of his planting, now in perfect maturity;
and there were several acres of well-cleared land
in the immediate vicinity, a portion of which had been enclosed
for a garden, and was to be under the special superintendence
of Paddy Pence, directed by the fair Julia.

Farming implements, articles of furniture, and other indispensable
household goods, had been sent up from time to
time in barges Van Wiggens had superintended every

thing. In his eyes the house was a palace and the lands
a princely estate; for he was descended from one of the
original Dutch families that lived and died on the broken
hills of the highlands on the Hudson. And now he was to
receive his reward. Fifty acres of good land at the foot
of a hill in the vicinity were to be his own, to be conveyed
to him and his heirs forever. Nor was this all. Thomas
Schooley was to furnish him with the implements of a
blacksmith-shop, William having learned the trade in a
Dutch smithy. The anvil, the bellows, &c. were already
on the way, and Van Wiggens ought to have been a happy
man and his wife a happy woman, for they had been recently
married.

At length the travellers were at the end of their journey,
and William Van Wiggens and his wife Joan stood at the
door to receive them. Julia bounded from the carriage,
and was the first to receive their greetings.

“Why, William,” said she, “you and Joan look as sedately
as an old married couple.” Joan was older than
her husband; but girls were not so abundant in those
days.

“Yes, miss, I'm dirty,” said Van Wiggens, who could
not easily pronounce the th, “and my vife is dirty-two.”

“He means thirty-two,” said Mrs. Van Wiggens.

Julia continued onward, laughing heartily, until she was
arrested by Rose,—a very black rose,—who had nursed her
when an infant, and who now attempted to lift her up in
her arms.

“My sweet mistress—my baby dear—come to lib wid
old Rose! I blesses de very arth you treads on! Why,
Julie, you are a woman now. Gor bless your happy little
heart!”

“I have a large heart, Rose, and it beats with true affection
for my kind, faithful nurse. Release me now. I must
see my room and gaze out of the window. There! That
is my sweet wood-robin in the pear-tree. Listen! It is a
song of welcome.”

“Oh, Miss Julie,” said Rose, following, “de trees are
full of 'em. Dey sing from morning to night. In de
night de owls come after 'em; but I knew you wouldn't
have 'em eaten up, and so I made Sambo shoot de big-headed
varmints.”

“Thank you, Rose,” said Julia, who had found her
chamber, and was now standing before a plain bureau,
upon which stood a small mirror, arranging her hair.

“Yes, Julie, and I made Sambo dig up all de pretty
flowers in de woods and plant 'em for you in de garden.”

“Thank you, thank you, Rose; but I hope he did not
dig quite all, as I am also fond of seeing them wild in the
forest.”

“Lor' bless your sweet life, I don't mean ebery one!
Goodness! dere's more flowers in de woods dan all de
niggers in Jarsey could dig up in a lifetime. But, Julie,
dere's some frightful-looking snakes in de woods, too.”

“No rose without its thorn, Rose.”

“Dat's edzactly what master used to say. But you can
tie some bark on your legs like de Deckers did, and den
dey can't hurt you.”

“I don't understand you, Rose.”

“Dey peel de bark off de young chestnut-trees and
wrap it round der legs, and de snakes can't bite through it.”

“Oh, I understand. But I will keep out of their reach.
Is there any one, Rose, in the neighbourhood, who can tell
long stories of winter evenings about the Indians and the
wild beasts?”

“Lor' bless you, Mr. Green will set in de chimley-corner
and talk all night if anybody'll listen. And he'll make
your blood run cold wid his frightful tales. And de Indians
does come sometimes; but dey're friendly. Den dere's
bears, and painters, and catamounds!—I'm afraid your little
heart'll be frightened out ob you.”

“Not it! You know, Rose, I was never a fearful girl.
I am sure I shall be charmed. I like the wild woods—
though I would have no objection to a few neighbours of the
right sort. I suppose there are some agreeable people
living near—I mean within three or four miles,—besides
the Stouts and Mr. Green?”

“Precious few, I tell you. Dere's one man living at
de Jenny Jump cliff, in a kind ob crow's-nest ob a house.
But I neber saw anybody who had been in it, 'cept Hugh
MacSwine, his agent, and he's as sour as a green persimmon,
and dey tink de master's as surly's de man.”

“What is his name, Rose?”

“Dey call him Cameron.”

“That will do, Rose. You had better go to Mrs. Schooley
now. She may require your services, and I can take care
of myself.”

Left alone, Julia pondered in silence over the discovery
she had made. She was not really in love with Charles,
but she admired him, and she had reason to believe the
friendly feeling was reciprocal. She had heard much and
read much of the magic influence of love; but she could
not believe she was then in imminent danger of being
swayed by its mysterious fascinations. She felt not the
slightest alarm, and perhaps she could not have been made
sensible of her peril.

During the first day after their arrival, the Burlington
family were engaged in explorations within and without the
house. The dwelling was quite spacious in dimensions, and,
although neither plastered nor papered, the fireplaces
seemed sufficiently ample to heat the apartments in winter,
and there would certainly be no scarcity of fuel. And the
rooms seemed to be furnished with every thing needful for
the substantial comfort of the occupants. Indeed, but few
articles of fancy were to be found in the parlours of the
most wealthy city Quakers.

Mrs. Schooley was pleased—at least uncomplaining,—and
Julia seemed really delighted. The climbers—Cocculus
Carolinus and Vitus rotundifolia—which had been sent up
were living where they had been planted, on each side of
the main entrance. Then there was the garden,—an acre,
at least,—and it had been enclosed with rude palings. There
were rose-bushes (mainly the beautiful and fragrant damask)
and lilacs at the corners of the borders. The fruit-trees
were in blossom, and the birds in full song.

The lowing cows came up from the wild pasture to be
milked, the pigs squealed in the pen for their food, and the
fowls cackled in the barnyard. All was freshness and
novelty, and Julia ran from one object of admiration to
another like a gleesome school-girl. And Richard did his
utmost to please her. He worked all day in the field with
the slaves, and at eve brought in such blossoms as he could
find among the bushes in the woods, mostly white and
purple—the Cercis Canadensis and Cornus Florida.

Julia was thankful for every thing and to every one, and
always happy. A large black Newfoundland dog on the

place became attached to her, and was her inseparable
companion whenever she emerged from the house. This
was a great satisfaction, as it would not have been prudent
for her to venture on the extensive rambles she meditated,
without some sort of a protector. Richard was too industrious
to lose any time in that way, and the corn was yet
unplanted. But Solo was a sufficient guard and companion.

During the first week of her sojourn at her forest-home,
Julia had been visited by Charles; and they laughed heartily
over the subject of his picture and flower-writing, which
had been so mysterious or unmeaning a thing to Richard
and his unsophisticated parents.

But, if there were mysteries hidden from the old folks,
they likewise possessed their secret, of which the young
people had never dreamed. Charles and Julia had been
aware of the frequent conferences held with Mr. Green, the
surveyor, but could never have supposed the discussion
referred to themselves or could in the slightest degree
affect their interests.

They were not, however, to remain long in ignorance.
The time appointed for the “shadows of coming events” to
cross their path was at hand. A few hours more, and new
subjects of meditation would be presented to them; but
the short interval before the announcement was passed in
almost perfect bliss, which is so often succeeded in this
world by unhappiness.

Tea was just over. Richard had departed to the field,
accompanied by the slaves, to labour for an hour in the
night, and Mr. Green, as usual, had come to talk away the
evening with the old people. Charles and Julia sallied
forth, accompanied by the faithful Solo, to witness a spectacle
which Richard had promised them,—an idea originated
by Richard himself, and inspired, as he said, by the desire
to exhibit something that would be magnificent in Julia's
eyes. But it would be impossible for him to attend her
during the evening. His time and labour would be required
in the field. Charles, no doubt, would be willing to accompany
her.

It was truly to be a spectacle of great grandeur and
sublimity. For days the fallen boughs of the dead trees
had been piled around the bases of the standing trunks;

and now, as the darkest hues of night were descending on
the wild landscape, the heaps of dry wood were to be
simultaneously ignited by the torches flitting between
them.

Charles and Julia stood upon a knoll a few hundred
yards distant from the scene, and Solo lay at their feet.
During the hush that prevailed in the moment of expectation,
a whippoorwill, frightened from the field, perched upon
a rock in their immediate vicinity and uttered his monotonous
wail. Ever and anon a panic-stricken hare bounded
past, which Solo would pursue no farther than he could see
it by starlight.

Ere long a deep red glare appeared on the dense woods
which surrounded the field, and it was faintly visible on
the faces of the young couple, while Solo's eyes resembled
balls of fire. Some forty piles of dry boughs sent
up their startling flames, roaring like an approaching
hurricane.

“Beautiful! See the tall pines!” exclaimed Julia, releasing
Charles's arm, and clapping her hands together.
But, in the movement, the mantle which had enveloped her
fell to the ground. Charles lifted it up and replaced it,
gently encircling her form with his arm

The trunks of the gigantic trees, charged with inflammable
resin, soon presented great columns of fire, rising
high in the air. The illumination revealed the dusky
forms of distant mountains, appearing like huge monsters
reposing in the night; and, as the flames leaped upward,
the whirling sparks seemed to mingle with the stars. Solo
looked at the face of his mistress, and uttered a piteous
whine.

“Poor Solo!” said she; “he seems to think we are in
danger.”

“And really, Julia,” said Charles, gazing at her delicate
features, “you are very pale.”

“It is the contrast between the light and shade. The
reflection on one side of your face makes the other seem
like marble. I never felt less fear in my life. And, pray,
what is there to frighten me?”

“Nothing, that I am aware of; and I am sure no injury
can result from the magnificent conflagration before us.
And yet, I confess, there is a singular weight oppressing

me,—a sort of indescribable pain which is sometimes the
premonition of a dreadful event.”

“Dreadful event? And what could that be?”

“I know not, Julia, unless it be a separation from thee,
and being forced into the scene of strife which may follow
the unhappy differences between the parent country and
the colonies.”

“And that would be a dreadful event?'

“Undoubtedly.”

“It would indeed be terrible to see the fires of civil
war, and of a war of invasion, lighting the hills and valleys
with the destruction of happy homes, while the red
glare of the conflagrations would rest upon the faces of
thousands of miserable outcasts, as the reflection of these
flames is resting upon ours. Perhaps your depression may
be the result of some such apprehension as that.”

“It may be—certainly must be—in part. But to think
of the blood that must be spilled, the great guns and
gleaming swords of the civilized nations, and the whoop
and scalping-knife of the impetuous savages!—Julia, what
would become of thee? In such a contest neither sex, age,
or condition, would be respected.”

“Me? Oh, I should not have a particle of fear. I do
not think any one could harbour a purpose of harming me.
I have never injured any one.”

“You know not what would happen.”

“No. Nor would I desire to know beforehand. But I
think I should meet my fate with a brave heart. Mercy
on us!” she exclaimed, starting back and clinging involuntarily
to Charles.

The largest tree in the field, which had been for some
time completely enveloped in curling flames, fell, with a
thundering sound, and with its top toward the young
couple.

“Ha! ha! Julia,” said Charles, “it is a full quarter of
a mile distant.”

“It seemed as if it would reach us. Let us return.
Why, Solo!” she continued, as her dog sprang up and
barked fiercely at some object, apparently but a short
distance from them, in the almost impenetrable thicket
behind.

“It is a fox, perhaps, or a cat. I could soon ascertain.

Yet it is hardly necessary,” said Charles, yielding to Julia's
inclination to depart. “But,” he continued, somewhat
sadly, as they proceeded slowly toward the house, “the
horrors of both a civilized and a savage warfare may be in
fearful proximity, and we should be prepared for the worst.
You are the only friend I possess, Julia—I mean among
the white people,—and I shall be very unhappy if any evil
befalls you.”

“Do you really think there is danger here?” she asked,
quickly.

`Not more than there would be elsewhere. My father
says the battles will be fought between the cities of New
York and Philadelphia. The oldest settlements will be
the scenes of the greatest carnage. He deems the conflict
inevitable, and I believe in his prescience. No doubt
roving bands of Indians will descend from the lakes—”

“And will they join the British?”

“Yes, too many of them. But they have a superstitious
reverence for the Moravians, and for their founder,
Zinzendorf. With them, if danger assails thee, thou
mayest, perhaps, find safety.”

“I will remember. But thy father? Why has he not
been to see us?”

“He sees no one, for reasons he will not explain. Suffice
it that he is experienced in war, and has led thousands
to the conflict. His counsel is to be respected. But he
will never draw his own sword again. He desires to live
and die in the solitude of his chosen seclusion. You will
see him some day, I trust; and he will please you and
be pleased, I am sure. You will find he has been accustomed
to associate with princes; but do not mention this,
Julia.”

“I will not; but why not?”

“No matter, now. Here is your guardian and Mr.
Green coming to meet us. Mr. Schooley beckons me
away. Mr. Green will conduct you in. Adieu—if we
should not meet again to-night.”

They were approaching the huge stile in front of the
house, when Mr. Schooley called the young man aside.

“Thou hast been witnessing a grand scene, Charles. The
ashes will be good manure, and there will be a larger space
for the plough. But it seemed like a pity to destroy so

much wood, which would have been very valuable in some
places.”

“It was a fine sight for Julia,” said Charles; “but I
have witnessed larger conflagrations.”

“When thee dwelt among the Indians, thee, no doubt,
saw whole forests in flames.”

“Yes, and vast plains, one sheet of roaring fire.”

“What destruction of vegetation! and by those, too, incapable
of appreciating its uses and value! But I desired
to speak with thee, Charles, in relation to thy father.”

“My father, sir!”

“Thee need not be surprised. He is my neighbour;
and thee knows the Bible says, `Thou shalt love thy
neighbour as thyself.' And how may that be done where
neighbours never meet and do not see each other? According
to the custom of the country, thy father should
have paid me the first visit; but thee knows I am no
respecter of etiquette, and I am willing to make the first
visit to thy father.”

“I will signify your wish, sir,” said Charles, somewhat
gravely; “but you must be aware that my father never
goes into company, and, consequently, that he cannot be
desirous of receiving visitors.”

“Very true. But thee may say that I wish to see him
on business.”

“Business? Oh, I will say so, sir. The nature of the
business it will not be necessary for me to announce to
him.”

“Thee may do so. It is in regard to the lines of our
land,—a tract held jointly by thy acquaintance Julia and
myself, which runs in the immediate neighbourhood of thy
father's house. Mr. Green, the surveyor, is of opinion
that the house is on our land. And, if it be so, thee knows
thy father should be informed of it, as there might be a
gold-mine involved in it.”

“I will repeat your words, sir,” was the careless reply
of the young man, upon whom the Quaker had supposed
the announcement would produce a very different effect.

In short, the frequent conferences between Mr. Green
and Mr. Schooley had reference to the whispered rumour
that gold existed in vast quantities in the cliff, at the base
of which the hut of Mr. Cameron was situated; and it

was believed that the white-haired Scotchman had found
access to it. Else why did he persist in maintaining so
strict a seclusion? And how else could he have obtained
the means of bestowing a collegiate education on his son?
His man, McSwine, had been sent twice a year to New
York, from whom, of course, nothing could be learned;
but it was inferred that he carried the precious metal with
him to exchange for coin, with which the expenses of
Charles, at Princeton, were defrayed.

After a rather embarrassing pause, caused by the surprise
of Mr. Schooley, Charles departed for the humble
residence of his father.

And in the mean time Mr. Green had improved the opportunity
to impart to Julia the fact that a portion of the
land occupied by Mr. Cameron belonged, in all probability,
to herself; and, furthermore, that it might be the repository
of the precious metal so long believed to be hidden in
the vicinity.

“If this be so,” said Julia, with seriousness, “it would
be a pity to deprive him of it.”

“Thee must be very generous,” said Mrs. Schooley,
“not to take what is thine own, for fear of depriving a
stranger of it, and one who has no title to it.”

“Oh, madam,” said Julia, “thou knowest I leave the
management of all business matters to Thomas. But, still,
I cannot help thinking how great a disappointment it
would be for another to relinquish an estate after long
supposing it to be fairly his own.'

“But paid for it with thy gold, perhaps: thee must not
forget that,” said Mary, rising, and going out in obedience
to a signal from Thomas, who appeared at the door.

Mr. Green, being left alone with Julia, did not hesitate
to touch upon another matter, which he was well assured
would not be displeasing to Mr. and Mrs. Schooley, or their
thirfty and industrious son.

“In all such matters, Miss Lane,” resumed Mr. Green,
who really spoke without disingenuousness, “I can have
no other object than to promote the interest of my friends.
Whatever may be the result of the discovery which we
think has been made, I can neither sustain any injury or
derive any benefit.”

“Of course not, Mr. Green,” said Julia; “and you must

not suppose me capable of being offended at any part you
may take in the proceeding.”

“Oh, I am under obligations to your late respected
father and to Mr. Schooley. And, if I might be so bold
as to utter a particular wish I have long indulged, regarding
the crowning of your happiness—of the happiness of
both families—”

“Pray, speak on, Mr. Green,” said Julia, smiling.
“You have permission to speak plainly.”

“Then it is this: that all the lands may descend to the
heirs without division. I mean, as the lands are undivided,
that the heirs may be united.”

“Oh, in marriage!”

“That is it! And Master Richard, I believe, sighs for
such a union.”

“Mr. Green, I am sure you must be mistaken. He has
never said so himself.”

“He is diffident. But you may rely upon it.”

“But then it would be impracticable, because we belong
to different churches.”

“You can thee and thou as well as the rest of them;
and I supposed you attended their meetings.”

“I have gone to them, but came away no wiser than
before, because the Spirit did not move them to speak.
No, indeed; I am an Episcopalian.”

“I am a Baptist, and would be the last person to advise
any one to give up the church of his choice. Still, I think
the obstacle could be removed. But pardon me—I will
not pursue the subject. Where there is a will there is a
way.”

Mr. and Mrs. Schooley then entered, and the subject of
the impending war became the topic of conversation.

Julia repeated the opinion of the elder Cameron as it
had been expressed by Charles.

“Then he seems to take some interest in the world
beyond the cliff,” said Mr. Schooley.

“Oh, yes,” continued Julia, “and he has much experience,
no doubt, in wars—and—or—I mean—from his great
age I should think so,” she added, checking herself.

“Did Charles tell thee so?” asked Mr. Schooley.

“He said he had faith in his father's judgment,” replied
the startled girl. “And Charles is decidedly of the

opinion that the Indians will generally espouse the royal
side.”

“And Charles's opinion is correct,” said Mr. Green.
“Although they do not know which side I will take, I
have already had a message from King Shingas, of the
Northern Delawares, and Brandt, of the Mohawks, to be
prepared for flight. I have rendered some services to
several of the great chiefs, and therefore am I warned
by them. Yet I do not think there is any immediate
danger.”

“But I shall take neither side,” said Thomas. “That
is, I will commit no violence on either side, although I shall
be rejoiced when the rebellion is put down, as I have no
doubt it will be. And if the Indians fight for the king,
they will hardly molest me—a loyal subject.”

After relating to Julia the manner in which he had obtained
the friendship of the Indians, Mr. Green withdrew,
promising to attend Mr. Schooley during his interview
with the elder Cameron.