 | CHAPTER XI.
A DUTCH WEDDING. 'Way down East, or, Portraitures of Yankee life |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
A DUTCH WEDDING.
“You can often get over the difficulty, when you
can't get over the river,” said my friend John Van
Ben Schoten.
“Why don't you begin your name with a Sam?”
said I; “it would give it more fulness and roundness;
a more musical sound. I do like a full, harmonious
name, I don't care what nation it belongs to. Only
see how much better it would sound—Sam John Van
Ben Schoten—I would make that little addition, if I
was you.”
“Why that is my boy's name,” said my friend
John Van Ben Schoten. “You Yankees are always
one generation ahead of us Hollanders. Wait till
my boy grows up, and he'll be just what you want.
“But don't let us be disputing about names”—
Our disputes were always of the good-natured
sort, and generally confined to the relative advantages
of Yankee enterprise and Dutch perseverance.
“Don't let us be disputing about names,” said he,
“when you ought to be planning how to pay that
note to-morrow. You say your draft has come back
protested, and you have no other means of raising
the money.”
This was too true; I had been in a perfect fever all
the morning; the return of the draft was most unexpected;
those, of whom I had been accustomed to
receive accomodations, were out of town, and the
note in question would do me much injury by lying
over. As a last resort I had applied to my friend
John Van Ben Schoten for advice in the matter.
“I tell you,” said John Van Ben Schoten, “you
can often get over the difficulty, when you can't get
over the river.”
“Yes,” said I, “but how? You can do most any
thing if you only know how.”
“Well,” said he, “go into my counting-room and
sit down a minute, and I'll tell you how.”
We went in, and took a seat in the shadiest corner,
near the window. John, before sitting down, reached
up over his desk and took down his long pipe. He
then opened a little drawer and filled his pipe with
fine dry tobacco, and pulling a lens out of his pocket
he stepped into the sunshine to light it.
“You don't need that glass,” said I, “you just hold
your pipe in the sun, and if it don't light in half a
minute without the glass, I'll engage to eat it.”
“There 'tis again,” said John Van Ben Schoten,
“you are always showing the Yankee. Our fathers
always lit their pipes with sun glasses, and now you
want to contrive some other way to do it. If I knew
I could light it in half the time without the glass, still
I would use the glass out of respect to my ancestors.”
“Well, come,” said I, “this is n't telling me how to
get over the difficulty.”
“Wait till I get my little steam-engine a-going,”
said John, still holding the glass in the sun.
“But have n't you any loco foco matches?” said I,
growing somewhat impatient.
“No,” said John, “I never allow those new-fangled
dangerous things to come into my counting room.”
“But how do you get a fire when the sun don't
shine?” said I.
“I use a flint and steel,” said he, “the safest and
surest way in the world.”
At last, his pipe began to burn, and John with the
utmost complacency sat down in his large arm-chair
and began to smoke.
“Well, now,” said I, “I suppose you are ready to
open your mind upon this matter, and tell me if you
can contrive any plan to help me over this difficulty.”
“Why, yes,” said John, “you can oftentimes get
over the difficulty, when you can't get over the river.
Did you ever know how Peter Van Horn got married?”
“No,” said I.
“Well, I'll tell you,” said John, taking the pipe
from his mouth and puffing out a cloud of smoke that
almost concealed his head from my view.
“Oh, now, don't stop for any of your long yarns,”
said I; “it is getting toward the close of business
hours, and it's very important that this business of
mine should be attended to.”
“You Yankees are always too impatient,” said
John; “there's never anything lost by taking time to
consider a matter. It is driving the steamboat too
fast, and trying to go ahead of somebody else, that
makes her burst her boiler.”
At that he put his pipe in his mouth and went to
smoking again.
“Well, come,” said I, “the sooner you begin to
tell how Peter Van Horn got married, the sooner
you'll get through with it.”
“I know it,” said he, “and if you won't interrupt
me, I'll go on.”
“Yes,” says I, “a Dutchman must always have
his own way; go ahead.”
“Well, then,” said John Van Ben Schoten, throwing
himself back into the chair, and leisurely blowing
the smoke in a long, steady, quiet roll from his mouth;
“about a hundred years ago, Peter Van Horn lived
at Schenectady, or near where Schenectady now is,
for it was a kind of wilderness place then. You've
been at Schenectady, have n't you?”
“No” said I, “I never have.”
“Well, it is about fifteen or twenty miles from
Albany; you've been at Albany, of course.”
“No, I have n't,” said I.
“Not been at Albany?” said John, staring at me
with rather an incredulous look; “then you have n't
seen much of the world yet.”
“Why, no,” said I, “perhaps not a great deal on
this side of it; though I have seen something of the
other side of it, and a little of both eends.”
John laughed, and went on with his story.
“Peter Van Horn lived near Schenectady, on one
of the little streams that empty into the Mohawk.
His father was one of the first settlers in that region;
fine set of hardy, industrious fellows; every one of
them as steady as a mill horse: no wild oats—they
were men before they were boys. The consequence
was, they picked up the money and always had a
comfortable share of this world's goods.
“Well, Peter, he grew up to be a smart young
man, and at last he got it into his head, that he
wanted to be married. You know how 'tis; young
men now-a-days are apt to get such notions into their
heads, and it was just so in old times. I don't know
as Peter was to blame for that; for there was living
a little ways up the hill, above his father's, Betsey Van
Heyden, a round, rosy-cheeked, blue eyed girl, as neat
as a new pin, and as smart as a steel-trap. Every
time Peter saw her, his feelings became more interested
in her. Somehow, he could not seem to keep
his mind off of her. Sometimes, when he was hoeing
corn in the field, the first thing he would know, his
father would call out to him, `Peter, what do you
stand there leaning over your hoe-handle for?' And
then he would start, and color up to the eyes, and go
to work. He knew he had been thinking of Betsey
Van Heyden, but how long he had been standing still
he could n't tell.
“At last things grew worse and worse, and he
found he could n't live without Betsey Van Heyden
no how; so he went and popped the question to her;
and Betsy said she was willing if mother was—gals
in them days were remarkably well brought up, in
comparison of what they are now-a-days—so after a
while Peter mustered up courage enough to go and
ask the old folks, and the old folks, after taking two
days to consider of it, said yes; for, why should n't
they? Peter was one of the most industrious young
men in the whole valley of the Mohawk.
“And now that the road was all open and plain
before him, Peter was for hurrying ahead; he did n't
see any use at all in waiting.
“Betsey was for putting it off two months, till she
could get another web out of the loom; but Peter
said no, he did n't care a snap about another web;
they'd be married first and make the cloth afterward.
Betsey at last yielded the point; she said she did want
to make up a few articles before they were married,
but she supposed they might get along without them.
So they finally fixed on Thursday of the following
week for the wedding. The work of preparation was
soon commenced, and carried out in a liberal style.
Everything requisite for a grand feast was collected,
were all invited, and Parson Van Brunt was engaged
to be there precisely at three o'clock, in order that
they might get through the business, and have supper
out of the way in season for all to get home before
dark.
“Thus far, up to the evening before the wedding day,
everything looked fair and promising. Peter retired
to bed early, in the hope of getting a good night's
rest; but somehow or other he never was so restless
in his life. He shut his eyes with all his might, and
tried to think of sheep jumping over a wall; but do
all he could, sleep would n't come. Before midnight
the doors and windows began to rattle with a heavy
wind. Peter got up and looked out; it was dark and
cloudy. Presently flashes of lightning were seen,
and heavy thunder came rolling from the clouds and
echoing among the hills. In half an hour more a
heavy torrent of rain was beating upon the house.
`It will be soon over,' thought Peter, `and the air
will be beautiful to-morrow, as sweet as a rose; what
a fine day we shall have.'
“Hour after hour passed away, and the rain still
came down in a flood. Peter could not sleep a wink
all night. He got up and walked the floor till day-light,
the fields the water was standing in every hollow and
running down the hillsides in rivulets. Nine, ten,
and eleven o'clock passed, and still it rained. Peter
had been up to Mr. Van Heyden's twice through
the rain to see how affairs went on there; the family
looked rather sad, but Betsey said she had faith to
believe that it would hold up before three o'clock;
and sure enough about twelve o'clock, while the
families were at dinner, it did hold up, and the clouds
began to clear away.
“About two o'clock the wedding guests began to
assemble at Mr. Van Heyden's, and the faces of all
began to grow shorter and brighter. All this time it
had not entered Peter's head, or the heads of any of
the rest of the company, that there might be any
difficulty in the way of Parson Van Brunt's coming
to their aid in completing the marriage ceremony.
They had all this time forgotten that they were on
one side of the Tomhenick stream and Parson Van
Brunt on the other; that there was no bridge over
the stream, and that it was now so swollen by the
flood, and the current was so rapid, that it was almost
as much as a man's life was worth to attempt to cross
it at the usual fording-place, or swim it on horseback.
“At last, about half-past two o'clock, Parson Van
Brunt, true to his promise, was seen riding down the
hill on the opposite side of the river and approaching
the ford.
“There he is,” said old Mrs. Van Heyden, who
had been upon the lookout for the last half hour,
“there's the dear good man; now let us all take our
seats and be quiet before he comes in.”
“While they were still lingering at the doors and
windows, and watching the parson as he came slowly
down the hill, he reached the bank of the river and
stopped. He sat upon his horse some minutes, looking
first up the stream and then down the stream, and
then he rode his horse a few rods up and down the
bank, and returned again to the ford.
“`What can he be waiting there for?' said Peter;
`sure he has seen the river often enough before, that
he need n't stand there so long to look at it.'
“`I can tell you what the difficulty is,' said old Mr.
Van Heyden, `the river is so high he can't get across.'
“The truth now fell like a flash upon the minds of
the whole company.
“`Do you think so?' said Mr. Van Horn.
“`I know so,' said Mr. Van Heyden; `you can
see from here the water is up the bank two rods
ten feet deep over the ford just now.'
“`What shall we do?' said old Mrs. Van Heyden;
`the things will all be spoilt if we don't have the
wedding to-day.'
“Betsey began to turn a little pale. Peter took his
hat and started off upon a quick walk toward the
river; and presently all the men folks followed him.
The women folks waited a little while, and seeing
Parson Van Brunt still sitting on his horse upon the
other side of the river without any attempt to cross,
they all put on their bonnets and followed the men.
When they got to the bank, the reason of the parson's
delay was as clear as preaching. The little river was
swollen to a mighty torrent, and was rushing along
its banks with the force and rapidity of a cataract.
The water had never been so high before since the
neighborhood had been settled, and it was still rising.
To ford the river was impossible, and to attempt to
swim it on horseback was highly dangerous.
“`What shall we do?' said Peter, calling to the
parson across the river.
“`Well, I think you will have to put it off two or
three days, till the river goes down,' said Parson
Van Brunt.
“`Tell him we can't put it off,' said old Mrs. Van
Heyden, touching Peter by the elbow: `for the pies
and cakes and things will all be spoilt.'
“`Ask him if he don't think his horse can swim
over,' said Betsey in a half whisper, standing the other
side of Peter.
“Peter again called to the parson; told him what
a disappointment it would be if he did n't get over,
and that it was the general opinion his horse could
swim over with him if he would only try. Parson Van
Brunt was devoted to the duties of his profession, and
ready to do anything, even at the risk of his life, for
the good of his flock. So he reined up his horse
tightly, gave him the whip, and plunged into the
stream. The current was too rapid and powerful for
the animal; the horse and rider were carried down
stream with fearful speed for a about a dozen rods,
when they made out to land again on the same side
from which they started. All were now satisfied
that the parson could not get over the river. The
experiment already made was attended with such
fearful hazard as to preclude all thought of its repetition.
“`Oh dear, what shall we do?' said Mrs. Van Heyden;
`was there ever anything so unlucky?
“Betsey sighed, and Peter bit his lips with vexation.
Peter's mother all this while had not uttered a syllable.
She was a woman that never talked, but she did
up a great deal of deep thinking. At last, very much
to the surprise of the whole company, she spoke out
loud, and said:
“`It seems to me, if Parson Van Brunt can't get
over the river, he might get over the difficulty somehow
or other.'
“`Well, how in the world can he do it?' said Peter.
“`Why, you jest take hold of Betsey's hand,' said
his mother, `and stand up here, and let the parson
marry you across the river.'
“This idea struck them all very favorably; they
did n't see why it could n't be done. Peter again
called to Parson Van Brunt, and stated to him the
proposition, and asked him if he thought there was
anything in the law or in the Bible that could go
against the match if it was done in that way. Parson
Van Brunt sat in a deep study about five minutes,
and then said he could n't see anything in the way,
and told them they might stand up and take hold of
hands. When they had taken their proper positions,
and old Mrs. Van Heyden had put her handkerchief to
her face to hide the tears that began to start from her
the marriage ceremony, and pronounced them man
and wife.
“Peter then threw a couple of silver dollars across
the river, which Parson Van Brunt gathered up and
put in his pocket, and then mounted his horse and
started for home, while the company upon the other
side of the river returned to the house of Mr. Van
Heyden to enjoy the wedding feast.”
By this time John Van Ben Schoten's pipe had
gone out, and he started to the window again with
his lens to re-light it.
“Well,” said I, “I understand, now, how Peter
Van Horn got over his difficulty, but I'll be hanged
if I can see any clearer how I am to get over mine.”
“None so blind as them that won't see,” said John,
turning to his desk and pulling out his old rusty yellow
pocket book. He opened it, and counted out the
sum of money which I lacked.
“There,” said he, “go and pay your note, and
remember you can sometimes get over the difficulty,
when you can't get over the river.”
| CHAPTER XI.
A DUTCH WEDDING. 'Way down East, or, Portraitures of Yankee life | |