Afloat and Ashore (Illustrated) E-Book

James Fenimore Cooper

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

James Fenimore Cooper (September 15, 1789 – September 14, 1851) was a prolific and popular American writer of the early 19th century. His historical romances of frontier and Indian life in the early American days created a unique form of American literature. He lived most of his life in Cooperstown, New York, which was established by his father William. Cooper was a lifelong member of the Episcopal Church and in his later years contributed generously to it. He attended Yale University for three years, where he was a member of the Linonian Society, but was expelled for misbehavior. Before embarking on his career as a writer he served in the U.S. Navy as a Midshipman which greatly influenced many of his novels and other writings. He is best remembered as a novelist who wrote numerous sea-stories and the historical novels known as the Leatherstocking Tales. Among naval historians Cooper's works on the early U.S. Navy have been well received, but they were sometimes criticized by his contemporaries. Among his most famous works is the Romantic novel The Last of the Mohicans, often regarded as his masterpiece.

Leseprobe

James Fenimore Cooper

Afloat and Ashore (Illustrated)

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

PREFACE.

The writer has published so much truth which the world has insisted was

fiction, and so much fiction which has been received as truth, that, in

the present instance, he is resolved to say nothing on the subject. Each

of his readers is at liberty to believe just as much, or as little,

of the matter here laid before him, or her, as may suit his, or her

notions, prejudices, knowledge of the world, or ignorance. If anybody

is disposed to swear he knows precisely where Clawbonny is, that he

was well acquainted with old Mr. Hardinge, nay, has often heard him

preach--let him make his affidavit, in welcome. Should he get a little

wide of the mark, it will not be the first document of that nature,

which has possessed the same weakness.

It is possible that certain captious persons may be disposed to inquire

into the cui bono? of such a book. The answer is this. Everything

which can convey to the human mind distinct and accurate impressions

of events, social facts, professional peculiarities, or past history,

whether of the higher or more familiar character, is of use. All that

is necessary is, that the pictures should be true to nature, if not

absolutely drawn from living sitters. The knowledge we gain by our

looser reading, often becomes serviceable in modes and manners little

anticipated in the moments when it is acquired.

Perhaps the greater portion of all our peculiar opinions have their

foundation in prejudices. These prejudices are produced in consequence

of its being out of the power of any one man to see, or know, every

thing. The most favoured mortal must receive far more than half of all

that he learns on his faith in others; and it may aid those who can

never be placed in positions to judge for themselves of certain phases

of men and things, to get pictures of the same, drawn in a way to give

them nearer views than they might otherwise obtain. This is the greatest

benefit of all light literature in general, it being possible to render

that which is purely fictitious even more useful than that which is

strictly true, by avoiding extravagancies, by pourtraying with fidelity,

and, as our friend Marble might say, by "generalizing" with discretion.

This country has undergone many important changes since the commencement

of the present century. Some of these changes have been for the better;

others, we think out of all question, for the worse. The last is a fact

that can be known to the generation which is coming into life, by report

only, and these pages may possibly throw some little light on both

points, in representing things as they were. The population of the

republic is probably something more than eighteen millions and a half

to-day; in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred, it was but a

little more than five millions. In 1800, the population of New-York was

somewhat less than six hundred thousand souls; to-day it is probably a

little less than two millions seven hundred thousand souls. In 1800,

the town of New-York had sixty thousand inhabitants, whereas, including

Brooklyn and Williamsburg, which then virtually had no existence,

it must have at this moment quite four hundred thousand. These are

prodigious numerical changes, that have produced changes of another

sort. Although an increase of numbers does not necessarily infer an

increase of high civilization, it reasonably leads to the expectation

of great melioration in the commoner comforts. Such has been the result,

and to those familiar with facts as they now exist, the difference will

probably be apparent in these pages.

Although the moral changes in American society have not kept even

pace with those that are purely physical, many that are essential have

nevertheless occurred. Of all the British possessions on this continent,

New-York, after its conquest from the Dutch, received most of the social

organization of the mother country. Under the Dutch, even, it had some

of these characteristic peculiarities, in its patroons; the lords of the

manor of the New Netherlands. Some of the southern colonies, it is true,

had their caciques and other semi-feudal, and semi-savage noblesse, but

the system was of short continuance; the peculiarities of that section

of the country, arising principally from the existence of domestic

slavery, on an extended scale. With New-York it was different. A

conquered colony, the mother country left the impression of its own

institutions more deeply engraved than on any of the settlements that

were commenced by grants to proprietors, or under charters from the

crown. It was strictly a royal colony, and so continued to be, down to

the hour of separation. The social consequences of this state of things

were to be traced in her habits unlit the current of immigration became

so strong, as to bring with it those that were conflicting, if not

absolutely antagonist. The influence of these two sources of thought is

still obvious to the reflecting, giving rise to a double set of social

opinions; one of which bears all the characteristics of its New England

and puritanical origin, while the other may be said to come of the

usages and notions of the Middle States, proper.

This is said in anticipation of certain strictures that will be likely

to follow some of the incidents of our story, it not being always

deemed an essential in an American critic, that he should understand

his subject. Too many of them, indeed, justify the retort of the man

who derided the claims to knowledge of life, set up by a neighbour,

that "had been to meetin' and had been to mill." We can all obtain some

notions of the portion of a subject that is placed immediately before

our eyes; the difficulty is to understand that which we have no means of

studying.

On the subject of the nautical incidents of this book, we have

endeavoured to be as exact as our authorities will allow. We are fully

aware of the importance of writing what the world thinks, rather than

what is true, and are not conscious of any very palpable errors of this

nature.

It is no more than fair to apprize the reader, that our tale is not

completed in the First Part, or the volumes that are now published.

This, the plan of the book would not permit: but we can promise those

who may feel any interest in the subject, that the season shall not

pass away, so far as it may depend on ourselves, without bringing the

narrative to a close. Poor Captain Wallingford is now in his sixty-fifth

year, and is naturally desirous of not being hung up long on the

tenter-hooks of expectation, so near the close of life. The old

gentleman having seen much and suffered much, is entitled to end his

days in peace. In this mutual frame of mind between the principal, and

his editors, the public shall have no cause to complain of unnecessary

delay, whatever may be its rights of the same nature on other subjects.

The author--perhaps editor would be the better word--does not feel

himself responsible for all the notions advanced by the hero of this

tale, and it may be as well to say as much. That one born in the

Revolution should think differently from the men of the present day, in

a hundred things, is to be expected. It is in just this difference of

opinion, that the lessons of the book are to be found.

AFLOAT AND ASHORE.

CHAPTER I.

"And I--my joy of life is fled,

My spirit's power, my bosom's glow;

The raven locks that grac'd my head,

Wave in a wreath of snow!

And where the star of youth arose,

I deem'd life's lingering ray should close,

And those lov'd trees my tomb o'ershade,

Beneath whose arching bowers my childhood play'd."

MRS. HEMANS.

I was born in a valley not very remote from the sea. My father had been

a sailor in youth, and some of my earliest recollections are connected

with the history of his adventures, and the recollections they excited.

He had been a boy in the war of the revolution, and had seen some

service in the shipping of that period. Among other scenes he witnessed,

he had been on board the Trumbull, in her action with the Watt--the

hardest-fought naval combat of that war--and he particularly delighted

in relating its incidents. He had been wounded in the battle, and bore

the marks of the injury, in a scar that slightly disfigured a face,

that, without this blemish, would have been singularly handsome. My

mother, after my poor father's death, always spoke of even this scar

as a beauty spot. Agreeably to my own recollections, the mark scarcely

deserved that commendation, as it gave one side of the face a grim and

fierce appearance, particularly when its owner was displeased.

My father died on the farm on which he was born, and which descended to

him from his great-grandfather, an English emigrant that had purchased

it of the Dutch colonist who had originally cleared it from the woods.

The place was called Clawbonny, which some said was good Dutch others

bad Dutch; and, now and then, a person ventured a conjecture that it

might be Indian. Bonny it was, in one sense at least, for a lovelier

farm there is not on the whole of the wide surface of the Empire State.

What does not always happen in this wicked, world, it was as good as

it was handsome. It consisted of three hundred and seventy-two acres of

first-rate land, either arable, or of rich river bottom in meadows, and

of more than a hundred of rocky mountain side, that was very tolerably

covered with wood. The first of our family who owned the place had built

a substantial one-story stone house, that bears the date of 1707 on one

of its gables; and to which each of his successors had added a little,

until the whole structure got to resemble a cluster of cottages thrown

together without the least attention to order or regularity. There were

a porch, a front door, and a lawn, however; the latter containing half a

dozen acres of a soil as black as one's hat, and nourishing eight or

ten elms that were scattered about, as if their seeds had been sown

broad-cast. In addition to the trees, and a suitable garniture of

shrubbery, this lawn was coated with a sward that, in the proper

seasons, rivalled all I have read, or imagined, of the emerald and shorn

slopes of the Swiss valleys.

Clawbonny, while it had all the appearance of being the residence of an

affluent agriculturist, had none of the pretension of these later times.

The house had an air of substantial comfort without, an appearance that

its interior in no manner contradicted. The ceilings, were low, it is

true, nor were the rooms particularly large; but the latter were warm

in winter, cool in summer and tidy, neat and respectable all the year

round. Both the parlours had carpets, as had the passages and all the

better bed-rooms; and there were an old-fashioned chintz settee, well

stuffed and cushioned, and curtains in the "big parlour," as we called

the best apartment,--the pretending name of drawing-room not having

reached our valley as far back as the year 1796, or that in which my

recollections of the place, as it then existed, are the most vivid and

distinct.

We had orchards, meadows, and ploughed fields all around us; while the

barns, granaries, styes, and other buildings of the farm, were of solid

stone, like the dwelling, and all in capital condition. In addition to

the place, which he inherited from my grandfather, quite without any

encumbrance, well stocked and supplied with utensils of all sorts, my

father had managed to bring with him from sea some fourteen or fifteen

thousand dollars, which he carefully invested in mortgages in the

county. He got twenty-seven hundred pounds currency with my mother,

similarly bestowed; and, two or three great landed proprietors, and

as many retired merchants from York, excepted, Captain Wallingford was

generally supposed to be one of the stiffest men in Ulster county. I do

not know exactly how true was this report; though I never saw anything

but the abundance of a better sort of American farm under the paternal

roof, and I know that the poor were never sent away empty-handed. It as

true that our wine was made of currants; but it was delicious, and there

was always a sufficient stock in the cellar to enable us to drink

it three or four years old. My father, however, had a small private

collection of his own, out of which he would occasionally produce

a bottle; and I remember to have heard Governor George Clinton,

afterwards, Vice President, who was an Ulster county man, and who

sometimes stopped at Clawbonny in passing, say that it was excellent

East India Madeira. As for clarets, burgundy, hock and champagne, they

were wines then unknown in America, except on the tables of some of

the principal merchants, and, here and there, on that of some travelled

gentleman of an estate larger than common. When I say that Governor

George Clinton used to stop occasionally, and taste my father's Madeira,

I do not wish to boast of being classed with those who then composed

the gentry of the state. To this, in that day, we could hardly aspire,

though the substantial hereditary property of my family gave us a local

consideration that placed us a good deal above the station of ordinary

yeomen. Had we lived in one of the large towns, our association would

unquestionably have been with those who are usually considered to be one

or two degrees beneath the highest class. These distinctions were much

more marked, immediately after the war of the revolution, than they are

to-day; and they are more marked to-day, even, than all but the most

lucky, or the most meritorious, whichever fortune dignifies, are willing

to allow.

The courtship between my parents occurred while my father was at home,

to be cured of the wounds he had received in the engagement between the

Trumbull and the Watt. I have always supposed this was the moving cause

why my mother fancied that the grim-looking scar on the left side of

my father's face was so particularly becoming. The battle was fought in

June 1780, and my parents were married in the autumn of the same year.

My father did not go to sea again until after my birth, which took place

the very day that Cornwallis capitulated at Yorktown. These combined

events set the young sailor in motion, for he felt he had a family to

provide for, and he wished to make one more mark on the enemy in

return for the beauty-spot his wife so gloried in. He accordingly got a

commission in a privateer, made two or three fortunate cruises, and was

able at the peace to purchase a prize-brig, which he sailed, as master

and owner, until the year 1790, when he was recalled to the paternal

roof by the death of my grandfather. Being an only son, the captain, as

my father was uniformly called, inherited the land, stock, utensils and

crops, as already mentioned; while the six thousand pounds currency

that were "at use," went to my two aunts, who were thought to be well

married, to men in their own class of life, in adjacent counties.

My father never went to sea after he inherited Clawbonny. From that

time down to the day of his death, he remained on his farm, with

the exception of a single winter passed in Albany as one of the

representatives of the county. In his day, it was a credit to a man to

represent a county, and to hold office under the State; though the abuse

of the elective principle, not to say of the appointing power, has

since brought about so great a change. Then, a member of congress was

somebody; now, he is only--a member of congress.

We were but two surviving children, three of the family dying infants,

leaving only my sister Grace and myself to console our mother in her

widowhood. The dire accident which placed her in this, the saddest of

all conditions for a woman who had been a happy wife, occurred in the

year 1794, when I was in my thirteenth year, and Grace was turned of

eleven. It may be well to relate the particulars.

There was a mill, just where the stream that runs through our valley

tumbles down to a level below that on which the farm lies, and empties

itself into a small tributary of the Hudson. This mill was on our

property, and was a source of great convenience and of some profit to

my father. There he ground all the grain that was consumed for domestic

purposes, for several miles around; and the tolls enabled him to fatten

his porkers and beeves, in a way to give both a sort of established

character. In a word, the mill was the concentrating point for all the

products of the farm, there being a little landing on the margin of

the creek that put up from the Hudson, whence a sloop sailed weekly

for town. My father passed half his time about the mill and landing,

superintending his workmen, and particularly giving directions about the

fitting of the sloop, which was his property also, and about the gear

of the mill. He was clever, certainly, and had made several useful

suggestions to the millwright who occasionally came to examine and

repair the works; but he was by no means so accurate a mechanic as he

fancied himself to be. He had invented some new mode of arresting the

movement, and of setting the machinery in motion when necessary; what

it was, I never knew, for it was not named at Clawbonny after the fatal

accident occurred. One day, however, in order to convince the millwright

of the excellence of this improvement, my father caused the machinery

to be stopped, and then placed his own weight upon the large wheel, in

order to manifest the sense he felt in the security of his invention.

He was in the very act of laughing exultingly at the manner in which the

millwright shook his head at the risk he ran, when the arresting power

lost its control of the machinery, the heavy head of water burst into

the buckets, and the wheel whirled round carrying my unfortunate father

with it. I was an eye-witness of the whole, and saw the face of my

parent, as the wheel turned it from me, still expanded in mirth. There

was but one revolution made, when the wright succeeded in stopping

the works. This brought the great wheel back nearly to its original

position, and I fairly shouted with hysterical delight when I saw my

father standing in his tracks, as it might be, seemingly unhurt. Unhurt

he would have been, though he must have passed a fearful keel-hauling,

but for one circumstance. He had held on to the wheel with the tenacity

of a seaman, since letting go his hold would have thrown him down a

cliff of near a hundred feet in depth, and he actually passed between

the wheel and the planking beneath it unharmed, although there was only

an inch or two to spare; but in rising from this fearful strait, his

head had been driven between a projecting beam and one of the buckets,

in a way to crush one temple in upon the brain. So swift and sudden had

been the whole thing, that, on turning the wheel, his lifeless body

was still inclining on its periphery, retained erect, I believe, in

consequence of some part of his coat getting attached, to the head of

a nail. This was the first serious sorrow of my life. I had always

regarded my father as one of the fixtures of the world; as a part of the

great system of the universe; and had never contemplated his death as

a possible thing. That another revolution might occur, and carry the

country back under the dominion of the British crown, would have seemed

to me far more possible than that my father could die. Bitter truth now

convinced me of the fallacy of such notions.

It was months and months before I ceased to dream of this frightful

scene. At my age, all the feelings were fresh and plastic, and grief

took strong hold of my heart. Grace and I used to look at each other

without speaking, long after the event, the tears starting to my eyes,

and rolling down her cheeks, our emotions being the only communications

between us, but communications that no uttered words could have made so

plain. Even now, I allude to my mother's anguish with trembling. She

was sent for to the house of the miller, where the body lay, and arrived

unapprised of the extent of the evil. Never can I--never shall I forget

the outbreakings of her sorrow, when she learned the whole of the

dreadful truth. She was in fainting fits for hours, one succeeding

another, and then her grief found tongue. There was no term of

endearment that the heart of woman could dictate to her speech, that was

not lavished on the lifeless clay. She called the dead "her Miles," "her

beloved Miles," "her husband," "her own darling husband," and by such

other endearing epithets. Once she seemed as if resolute to arouse

the sleeper from his endless trance, and she said, solemnly,

"Father--dear, dearest father!" appealing as it might be to the

parent of her children, the tenderest and most comprehensive of all

woman's terms of endearment--"Father--dear, dearest father! open your

eyes and look upon your babes--your precious girl, and noble boy! Do not

thus shut out their sight for ever!"

But it was in vain. There lay the lifeless corpse, as insensible as

if the spirit of God had never had a dwelling within it. The principal

injury had been received on that much-prized scar; and again and again

did my poor mother kiss both, as if her caresses might yet restore

her husband to life. All would not do. The same evening, the body

was carried to the dwelling, and three days later it was laid in the

church-yard, by the side of three generations of forefathers, at a

distance of only a mile from Clawbonny. That funeral service, too, made

a deep impression on my memory. We had some Church of England people

in the valley; and old Miles Wallingford, the first of the name, a

substantial English franklin, had been influenced in his choice of a

purchase by the fact that one of Queen Anne's churches stood so near

the farm. To that little church, a tiny edifice of stone, with a

high, pointed roof, without steeple, bell, or vestry-room, had three

generations of us been taken to be christened, and three, including

my father, had been taken to be buried. Excellent, kind-hearted,

just-minded Mr. Hardinge read the funeral service over the man whom

his own father had, in the same humble edifice, christened. Our

neighbourhood has much altered of late years; but, then, few higher than

mere labourers dwelt among us, who had not some sort of hereditary claim

to be beloved. So it was with our clergyman, whose father had been

his predecessor, having actually married my grand-parents. The son had

united my father and mother, and now he was called on to officiate at

the funeral obsequies of the first. Grace and I sobbed as if our

hearts would break, the whole time we were in the church; and my poor,

sensitive, nervous little sister actually shrieked as she heard the

sound of the first clod that fell upon the coffin. Our mother was spared

that trying scene, finding it impossible to support it. She remained at

home, on her knees, most of the day on which the funeral occurred.

Time soothed our sorrows, though my mother, a woman of more than common

sensibility, or, it were better to say of uncommon affections, never

entirely recovered from the effects of her irreparable loss. She had

loved too well, too devotedly, too engrossingly, ever to think of a

second marriage, and lived only to care for the interests of Miles

Wallingford's children. I firmly believe we were more beloved because

we stood in this relation to the deceased, than because we were her own

natural offspring. Her health became gradually undermined, and, three

years after the accident of the mill, Mr. Hardinge laid her at my

father's side. I was now sixteen, and can better describe what passed

during the last days of her existence, than what took place at the

death of her husband. Grace and I were apprised of what was so likely to

occur, quite a month before the fatal moment arrived; and we were not

so much overwhelmed with sudden grief as we had been on the first great

occasion of family sorrow, though we both felt our loss keenly, and my

sister, I think I may almost say, inextinguishably. Mr. Hardinge had

us both brought to the bed-side, to listen to the parting advice of our

dying parent, and to be impressed with a scene that is always healthful,

if rightly improved. "You baptized these two dear children, good Mr.

Hardinge," she said, in a voice that was already enfeebled by physical

decay, "and you signed them with the sign of the cross, in token of

Christ's death for them; and I now ask of your friendship and pastoral

care to see that they are not neglected at the most critical period of

their lives--that when impressions are the deepest, and yet the most

easily made. God will reward all your kindness to the orphan children

of your friends." The excellent divine, a man who lived more for others

than for himself, made the required promises, and the soul of my mother

took its flight in peace.

Neither my sister nor myself grieved as deeply for the loss of this last

of our parents, as we did for that of the first. We had both seen so

many instances of her devout goodness, had been witnesses of so great a

triumph of her faith as to feel an intimate, though silent, persuasion

that her death was merely a passage to a better state of existence--that

it seemed selfish to regret. Still, we wept and mourned, even while,

in one sense, I think we rejoiced. She was relieved from, much bodily

suffering, and I remember, when I went to take a last look at her

beloved face, that I gazed on its calm serenity with a feeling akin to

exultation, as I recollected that pain could no longer exercise dominion

over her frame, and that her spirit was then dwelling in bliss. Bitter

regrets came later, it is true, and these were fully shared--nay, more

than shared--by Grace.

After the death of my father, I had never bethought me of the manner

in which he had disposed of his property. I heard something said of his

will, and gleaned a little, accidentally, of the forms that had been

gone through in proving the instrument, and of obtaining its probate.

Shortly after my mother's death, however, Mr. Hardinge had a free

conversation with both me and Grace on the subject, when we learned,

for the first time, the disposition that had been made. My father had

bequeathed to me the farm, mill, landing, sloop, stock, utensils, crops,

&c. &c., in full property; subject, however, to my mother's use of

the whole until I attained my majority; after which I was to give her

complete possession of a comfortable wing of the house, which had every

convenience for a small family within itself, certain privileges in the

fields, dairy, styes, orchards, meadows, granaries, &c., and to pay

her three hundred pounds currency, per annum, in money. Grace had four

thousand pounds that were "at use," and I had all the remainder of the

personal property, which yielded about five hundred dollars a-year. As

the farm, sloop, mill, landing, &c., produced a net annual income of

rather more than a thousand dollars, besides all that was consumed in

housekeeping, I was very well off, in the way of temporal things, for

one who had been trained in habits as simple as those which reigned at

Clawbonny.

My father had left Mr. Hardinge the executor, and my mother an executrix

of his will, with survivorship. He had also made the same provision

as respected the guardians. Thus Grace and I became the wards of the

clergyman alone on the death of our last remaining parent. This was

grateful to us both, for we both truly loved this good man, and,

what was more, we loved his children. Of these there were two of ages

corresponding very nearly with our own; Rupert Hardinge being not quite

a year older than I was myself, and Lucy, his sister, about six months

younger than Grace. We were all four strongly attached to each other,

and had been so from infancy, Mr. Hardinge having had charge of my

education as soon as I was taken from a woman's school.

I cannot say, however, that Rupert Hardinge was ever a boy to give his

father the delight that a studious, well-conducted, considerate and

industrious child, has it so much in his power to yield to his parent.

Of the two, I was much the best scholar, and had been pronounced by

Mr. Hardinge fit to enter college, a twelvemonth before my mother died;

though she declined sending me to Yale, the institution selected by my

father, until my school-fellow was similarly prepared, it having been

her intention to give the clergyman's son a thorough education, in

furtherance of his father's views of bringing him up to the church. This

delay, so well and kindly meant, had the effect of changing the whole

course of my subsequent life.

My father, it seems, wished to make a lawyer of me, with the natural

desire of seeing me advanced to some honourable position in the State.

But I was averse to anything like serious mental labour, and was

greatly delighted when my mother determined to keep me out of college a

twelvemonth in order that my friend Rupert might be my classmate. It is

true I learned quick, and was fond of reading; but the first I could not

very well help, while the reading I liked was that which amused, rather

than that which instructed me. As for Rupert, though not absolutely

dull, but, on the other hand, absolutely clever in certain things,

he disliked mental labour even more than myself, while he liked

self-restraint of any sort far less. His father was sincerely pious, and

regarded his sacred office with too much reverence to think of bringing

up a "cosset-priest," though he prayed and hoped that his son's

inclinations, under the guidance of Providence, would take that

direction. He seldom spoke on the subject himself, but I ascertained his

wishes through my confidential dialogues with his children. Lucy seemed

delighted with the idea, looking forward to the time when her brother

would officiate in the same desk where her father and grandfather had

now conducted the worship of God for more than half a century; a period

of time that, to us young people, seemed to lead us back to the dark

ages of the country. And all this the dear girl wished for her brother,

in connection with his spiritual rather than his temporal interests,

inasmuch as the living was worth only a badly-paid salary of one

hundred and fifty pounds currency per annum, together with a small

but comfortable rectory, and a glebe of five-and-twenty acres of very

tolerable land, which it was thought no sin, in that day, for the

clergyman to work by means of two male slaves, whom, with as many

females, he had inherited as part of the chattels of his mother.

I had a dozen slaves also; negroes who, as a race, had been in the

family almost as long as Clawbonny. About half of these blacks were

singularly laborious and useful, viz., four males and three of the

females; but several of the remainder were enjoying otium, and not

altogether without dignitate, as heir-looms to be fed, clothed and

lodged, for the good, or evil, they had done. There were some small-fry

in our kitchens, too, that used to roll about on the grass, and

munch fruit in the summer, ad libitum; and stand so close in the

chimney-corners in cold weather, that I have often fancied they must

have been, as a legal wit of New York once pronounced certain eastern

coal-mines to be, incombustible. These negroes all went by the

patronymic of Clawbonny, there being among them Hector Clawbonny, Venus

Clawbonny, Caesar Clawbonny, Rose Clawbonny--who was as black as a

crow--Romeo Clawbonny, and Julietta, commonly called Julee, Clawbonny;

who were, with Pharaoh, Potiphar, Sampson and Nebuchadnezzar, all

Clawbonnys in the last resort. Neb, as the namesake of the herbiferous

king of Babylon was called, was about my own age, and had been a sort of

humble playfellow from infancy; and even now, when it was thought proper

to set him about the more serious toil which was to mark his humble

career, I often interfered to call him away to be my companion with

the rod, the fowling-piece, or in the boat, of which we had one that

frequently descended the creek, and navigated the Hudson for miles at a

time, under my command. The lad, by such means, and through an off-hand

friendliness of manner that I rather think was characteristic of my

habits at that day, got to love me as a brother or comrade. It is not

easy to describe the affection of an attached slave, which has blended

with it the pride of a partisan, the solicitude of a parent, and the

blindness of a lover. I do think Neb had more gratification in believing

himself particularly belonging to Master Miles, than I ever had in any

quality or thing I could call my own. Neb, moreover liked a vagrant

life, and greatly encouraged Rupert and myself in idleness, and a

desultory manner of misspending hours that could never be recalled.

The first time I ever played truant was under the patronage of Neb,

who decoyed me away from my books to go nutting on the mountain stoutly

maintaining that chestnuts were just as good as the spelling-book, or

any primer that could be bought in York.

I have forgotten to mention that the death of my mother, which occurred

in the autumn, brought about an immediate change in the condition of our

domestic economy. Grace was too young, being only fourteen, to preside

over such a household, and I could be of little use, either in the way

of directing or advising. Mr. Hardinge, who had received a letter to

that effect from the dying saint, that was only put into his hand the

day after the funeral, with a view to give her request the greater

weight, rented the rectory, and came to Clawbonny to live, bringing with

him both his children. My mother knew that his presence would be of the

greatest service to the orphans she left behind her; while the money

saved from his own household expenses might enable this single-minded

minister of the altar to lay by a hundred or two for Lucy, who, at his

demise, might otherwise be left without a penny, as it was then said,

cents not having yet come much into fashion.

This removal gave Grace and me much pleasure, for she was as fond of

Lucy as I was of Rupert, and, to tell the truth, so was I, too. Four

happier young people were not to be found in the State than we thus

became, each and all of us finding in the arrangement exactly the

association which was most agreeable to our feelings. Previously, we

only saw each other every day; now, we saw each other all day. At night

we separated at an early hour, it is true, each having his or her room;

but it was to meet at a still earlier hour the next morning, and to

resume our amusements in company. From study, all of us were relieved

for a month or two, and we wandered through the fields; nutted, gathered

fruit, or saw others gather it as well as the crops, taking as much

exercise as possible in the open air, equally for the good of our

bodies, and the lightening of our spirits.

I do not think vanity, or any feeling connected with self-love, misleads

me, when I say it would have been difficult to find four young people

more likely to attract the attention of a passer-by, than we four were,

in the fall of 1797. As for Rupert Hardinge, he resembled his mother,

and was singularly handsome in face, as well as graceful in movements.

He had a native gentility of air, of which he knew how to make the most,

and a readiness of tongue and a flow of spirits that rendered him an

agreeable, if not a very instructive companion. I was not ill-looking,

myself, though far from possessing the striking countenance of my

young associate. In manliness, strength and activity, however, I had

essentially the advantage over him, few youths of my age surpassing me

in masculine qualities of this nature, after I had passed my twelfth

year. My hair was a dark auburn, and it was the only thing about my

face, perhaps, that would cause a stranger to notice it; but this hung

about my temples and down my neck in rich ringlets, until frequent

applications of the scissors brought it into something like subjection.

It never lost its beauty entirely, and though now white as snow, it

is still admired. But Grace was the one of the party whose personal

appearance would be most likely to attract attention. Her face beamed

with sensibility and feeling, being one of those countenances on which

nature sometimes delights to impress the mingled radiance, sweetness,

truth and sentiment, that men ascribe to angels. Her hair was lighter

than mine; her eyes of a heavenly blue, all softness and tenderness;

her cheeks just of the tint of the palest of the coloured roses; and her

smile so full of gentleness and feeling, that, again and again, it

has controlled my ruder and more violent emotions, when they were fast

getting the mastery. In form, some persons might have thought Grace, in

a slight degree, too fragile, though her limbs would have been delicate

models for the study of a sculptor.

Lucy, too, had certainly great perfection, particularly in figure;

though in the crowd of beauty that has been so profusely lavished on the

youthful in this country, she would not have been at all remarked in

a large assembly of young American girls. Her face was pleasing

nevertheless; and there was a piquant contrast between the raven

blackness of her hair the deep blue of her eyes, and the dazzling

whiteness of her skin. Her colour, too, was high, and changeful with

her emotions. As for teeth, she had a set that one might have travelled

weeks to meet with their equals; and, though she seemed totally

unconscious of the advantage, she had a natural manner of showing them,

that would have made a far less interesting face altogether agreeable.

Her voice and laugh, too, when happy and free from care, were joyousness

itself.

It would be saying too much, perhaps, to assert that any human being was

ever totally indifferent to his or her personal appearance. Still, I do

not think either of our party, Rupert alone excepted, ever thought on

the subject, unless as it related to others, down to the period Of which

I am now writing. I knew, and saw, and felt that my sister was far more

beautiful than any of the young girls of her age and condition that I

had seen in her society; and I had pleasure and pride in the fact. I

knew that I resembled her in some respects, but I was never coxcomb

enough to imagine I had half her good-looks, even allowing for

difference of sex. My own conceit, so far as I then had any--plenty of

it came, a year or two later--but my own conceit, in 1797, rather ran

in the direction of my athletic properties, physical force, which was

unusually great for sixteen, and stature. As for Rupert, I would not

have exchanged these manly qualities for twenty times his good looks,

and a thought of envy never crossed my mind on the subject. I fancied

it might be well enough for a parson to be a little delicate, and a good

deal handsome; but for one who intended to knock about the world as I

had it already in contemplation to do, strength, health, vigour, courage

and activity, were much more to be desired than beauty.

Lucy I never thought of as handsome at all. I saw she was pleasing;

fancied she was even more so to me than to any one else; and I never

looked upon her sunny, cheerful and yet perfectly feminine face, without

a feeling of security and happiness. As for her honest eyes, they

invariably met my own with an open frankness that said, as plainly as

eyes could say anything, there was nothing to be concealed.

CHAPTER II.

"Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus;

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits;--

I rather would entreat thy company

To see the wonders of the world abroad."

Two Gentlemen of--Clawbonny.

During the year that succeeded after I was prepared for Yale, Mr.

Hardinge had pursued a very judicious course with my education. Instead

of pushing me into books that were to be read in the regular course of

that institution, with the idea of lightening my future labours, which

would only have been providing excuses for future idleness, we went back

to the elementary works, until even he was satisfied that nothing more

remained to be done in that direction. I had my two grammars literally

by heart, notes and all. Then we revised as thoroughly as possible,

reading everything anew, and leaving no passage unexplained. I learned

to scan, too, a fact that was sufficient to make a reputation for a

scholar, in America, half a century since. {*] After this, we turned our

attention to mathematics, a science Mr. Hardinge rightly enough

thought there was no danger of my acquiring too thoroughly. We mastered

arithmetic, of which I had a good deal of previous knowledge, in a

few weeks, and then I went through trigonometry, with some of the more

useful problems in geometry. This was the point at which I had arrived

when my mother's death occurred.

{Footnote *: The writer's master taught him to scan Virgil in 1801.

This gentleman was a graduate of Oxford. In 1803, the class to which the

writer then belonged in Yale, was the first that ever attempted to

scan in that institution. The quantities were in sad discredit in this

country, years after this, though Columbia and Harvard were a little in

advance of Yale. All that was ever done in the last college, during the

writer's time, was to scan the ordinary hexameter of Homer and Virgil.]

As for myself, I frankly admit a strong disinclination to be learned.

The law I might be forced to study, but practising it was a thing

my mind had long been made up never to do. There was a small vein of

obstinacy in my disposition that would have been very likely to carry

me through in such a determination, even had my mother lived, though

deference to her wishes would certainly have carried me as far as the

license. Even now she was no more, I was anxious to ascertain whether

she had left any directions or requests on the subject, either of which

would have been laws to me. I talked with Rupert on this matter, and

was a little shocked with the levity with which he treated it. "What

difference can it make to your parents, now," he said, with an

emphasis that grated on my nerves, "whether you become a lawyer, or a

merchant, or a doctor, or stay here on your farm, and be a farmer, like

your father?"

"My father had been a sailor," I answered, quick as lightning.

"True; and a noble, manly, gentleman-like calling it is! I never see a

sailor that I do not envy him his advantages. Why, Miles, neither of us

has ever been in town even, while your mother's boatmen, or your own, as

they are now, go there regularly once a-week. I would give the world to

be a sailor."

"You, Rupert! Why, you know that your father in tends, or, rather,

wishes that you should become a clergyman."

"A pretty appearance a young man of my figure would make in the pulpit,

Miles, or wearing a surplice. No, no; there have been two Hardinges

in the church in this century, and I have a fancy also to the sea. I

suppose you know that my great-grandfather was a captain in the navy,

and he brought his son up a parson; now, turn about is fair play,

and the parson ought to give a son back to a man-of-war. I've been

reading the lives of naval men, and it's surprising how many clergymen's

sons, in England, go into the navy, and how many sailors' sons get to be

priests."

"But there is no navy in this country now--not even a single

ship-of-war, I believe."

"That is the worst of it. Congress did pass a law, two or three years

since, to build some frigates, but they have never been launched.

Now Washington has gone out of office, I suppose we shall never have

anything good in the country."

I revered the name of Washington, in common with the whole country, but

I did not see the sequitur. Rupert, however, cared little for logical

inferences, usually asserting such things as he wished, and wishing such

as he asserted. After a short pause, he continued the discourse.

"You are now substantially your own master," he said, "and can do as you

please. Should you go to sea and not like it, you have only to come back

to this place, where you will be just as much the master as if you had

remained here superintending cattle, cutting hay, and fattening pork,

the whole time."

"I am not my own master, Rupert, any more than you are yourself. I am

your father's ward, and must so remain for more than five years to come.

I am just as much under his control as you, yourself."

Rupert laughed at this, and tried to persuade me it would be a good

thing to relieve his worthy fether of all responsibility in the affair,

if I had seriously determined never to go to Yale, or to be a lawyer,

by going off to sea clandestinely, and returning when I was ready. If I

ever was to make a sailor, no time was to be lost; for all with whom he

had conversed assured him the period of life when such things were best

learned, was between sixteen and twenty. This I thought probable enough,

and I parted from my friend with a promise of conversing further with

him on the subject at an early opportunity.

I am almost ashamed to confess that Rupert's artful sophism nearly

blinded my eyes to the true distinction between right and wrong. If Mr.

Hardinge really felt himself bound by my father's wishes to educate me

for the bar, and my own repugnance to the profession was unconquerable,

why should I not relieve him from the responsibility at once by assuming

the right to judge for myself, and act accordingly? So far as Mr.

Hardinge was concerned, I had little difficulty in coming to a

conclusion, though the profound deference I still felt for my father's

wishes, and more especially for those of my sainted mother, had a hold

on my heart, and an influence on my conduct, that was not so easily

disposed of. I determined to have a frank conversation with Mr.

Hardinge, therefore, in order to ascertain how far either of my parents

had expressed anything that might be considered obligatory on me. My

plan went as far as to reveal my own desire to be a sailor, and to see

the world, but not to let it be known that I might go off without his

knowledge, as this would not be so absolutely relieving the excellent

divine "from all responsibility in the premises," as was contemplated in

the scheme of his own son.

An opportunity soon occurred, when I broached the subject by asking Mr.

Hardinge whether my father, in his will, had ordered that I should be

sent to Yale, and there be educated for the bar. He had done nothing of

the sort. Had he left any particular request, writing, or message on the

subject, at all? Not that Mr. Hardinge knew. It is true, the last had

heard his friend, once or twice, make some general remark which would

lead one to suppose that Captain Wallingford had some vague expectations

I might go to the bar, but nothing further. My mind felt vastly relieved

by these admissions, for I knew my mother's tenderness too well to

anticipate that she would dream of absolutely dictating in a matter

that was so clearly connected with my own happiness and tastes. When

questioned on this last point, Mr. Hardinge did not hesitate to say that

my mother had conversed with him several times concerning her views, as

related to my career in life. She wished me to go to Yale, and then

to read law, even though I did not practise. As soon as this, much was

said, the conscientious servant of God paused, to note the effect on

me. Reading disappointment in my countenance, I presume, he immediately

added, "But your mother, Miles, laid no restraint on you; for she knew

it was you who was to follow the career, and not herself. 'I should as

soon think of commanding whom he was to marry, as to think of forcing, a

profession on him,' she added. 'He is the one who is to decide this, and

he only. We may try to guide and influence him, but not go beyond this.

I leave you, dear sir, to do all you think best in this matter, certain

that your own wisdom will be aided by the providence of a kind Master.'"

I now plainly told Mr. Hardinge my desire to see the world, and to be a

sailor. The divine was astounded at this declaration, and I saw that he

was grieved. I believe some religious objections were connected with

his reluctance to consent to my following the sea, as a calling. At any

rate, it was easy to discover that these objections were lasting

and profound. In that day, few Americans travelled, by way of an

accomplishment, at all; and those few belonged to a class in society so

much superior to mine, as to render it absurd to think of sending,

me abroad with similar views. Nor would my fortune justify such

an expenditure. I was well enough off to be a comfortable and free

housekeeper, and as independent as a king on my own farm; living in

abundance, nay, in superfluity, so far as all the ordinary wants were

concerned; but men hesitated a little about setting up for gentlemen at

large, in the year 1797. The country was fast getting rich, it is true,

under the advantages of its neutral position; but it had not yet been

long enough emancipated from its embarrassments to think of playing the

nabob on eight hundred pounds currency a-year. The interview terminated

with a strong exhortation from my guardian not to think of abandoning my

books for any project as visionary and useless as the hope of seeing the

world in the character of a common sailor.

I related all this to Rupert, who, I now perceived for the first

time, did not hesitate to laugh at some of his father's notions, as

puritanical and exaggerated. He maintained that every one was the best

judge of what he liked, and that the sea had produced quite as fair a

proportion of saints as the land. He was not certain, considering the

great difference there was in numbers, that more good men might not be

traced in connection with the ocean, than in connection with any other

pursuit.

"Take the lawyers now, for instance, Miles," he said, "and what can you

make out of them, in the way of religion, I should like to know? They

hire their consciences out at so much per diem, and talk and reason

just as zealously for the wrong, as they do for the right."

"By George, that is true enough, Rupert. There is old David Dockett, I

remember to have heard Mr. Hardinge say always did double duty for his

fee, usually acting as witness, as well as advocate. They tell me he

will talk by the hour of facts that he and his clients get up between

them, and look the whole time as if he believed all he said to be true."

Rupert laughed at this sally, and pushed the advantage it gave him by

giving several other examples to prove how much his father was mistaken

by supposing that a man was to save his soul from perdition simply

by getting admitted to the bar. After discussing the matter a little

longer, to my astonishment Rupert came out with a plain proposal that

he and I should elope, go to New York, and ship as foremastlads in some

Indiaman, of which there were then many sailing, at the proper season,

from that port. I did not dislike the idea, so far as I was myself

concerned; but the thought of accompanying Rupert in such an adventure,

startled me. I knew I was sufficiently secure of the future to be able

to risk a little at the present moment; but such was not the case with

my friend. If I made a false step at so early an age, I had only to

return to Clawbonny, where I was certain to find competence and a home;

but, with Rupert, it was very different. Of the moral hazards I ran,

I then knew nothing, and of course they gave me no concern. Like all

inexperienced persons, I supposed myself too strong in virtue to be

in any danger of contamination; and this portion of the adventure was

regarded with the self-complacency with which the untried are apt

to regard their own powers of endurance. I thought myself morally

invulnerable.

But Rupert might find it difficult to retrace any serious error made

at his time of life. This consideration would have put an end to the

scheme, so far as my companion was concerned, had not the thought

suggested itself that I should always have it in my own power to aid my

friend. Letting something of this sort escape me, Rupert was not slow in

enlarging on it, though this was done with great tact and discretion. He

proved that, by the time we both came of age, he would be qualified to

command a ship, and that, doubtless, I would naturally desire to invest

some of my spare cash in a vessel. The accumulations of my estate alone

would do this much, within the next five years, and then a career of

wealth and prosperity would lie open before us both.

"It is a good thing, Miles, no doubt," continued this tempting sophist,

"to have money at use, and a large farm, and a mill, and such things;

but many a ship nets more money, in a single voyage, than your whole

estate would sell for. Those that begin with nothing, too, they tell me,

are the most apt to succeed; and, if we go off with our clothes only, we

shall begin with nothing, too. Success may be said to be certain. I like

the notion of beginning with nothing, it is so American!"

It is, in truth, rather a besetting weakness of America to suppose

that men who have never had any means for qualifying themselves for

particular pursuits, are the most likely to succeed in them; and

especially to fancy that those who "begin poor" are in a much better way

for acquiring wealth than they who commence with some means; and I was

disposed to lean to this latter doctrine myself, though I confess I

cannot recall an instance in which any person of my acquaintance has

given away his capital, however large and embarrassing it may have been,

in order to start fair with his poorer competitors. Nevertheless, there

was something taking, to my imagination, in the notion of being the

fabricator of my own fortune. In that day, it was easy to enumerate

every dwelling on the banks of the Hudson that aspired to be called a

seat, and I had often heard them named by those who were familiar with

the river. I liked the thought of erecting a house on the Clawbonny

property that might aspire to equal claims, and to be the owner of a

seat; though only after I had acquired the means, myself, to carry out

such a project. At present, I owned only a house; my ambition was, to

own a seat.

In a word, Rupert and I canvassed this matter in every possible way

for a month, now leaning to one scheme, and now to another, until I

determined to lay the whole affair before the two girls, under a solemn

pledge of secrecy. As we passed hours in company daily, opportunities

were not wanting to effect this purpose. I thought my friend was a

little shy on this project; but I had so much affection for Grace, and

so much confidence in Lucy's sound judgment, that I was not to be turned

aside from the completion of my purpose. It is now more than forty years

since the interview took place in which this confidence was bestowed;

but every minute occurrence connected with it is as fresh in my mind as

if the whole had taken place only yesterday.

We were all four of us seated on a rude bench that my mother had caused

to be placed under the shade of an enormous oak that stood on the most

picturesque spot, perhaps, on the whole farm, and which commanded a

distant view of one of the loveliest reaches of the Hudson. Our side of

the river, in general, does not possess as fine views as the eastern,

for the reason that all our own broken, and in some instances

magnificent back-ground of mountains, fills up the landscape for our

neighbours, while we are obliged to receive the picture as it is set in

a humbler frame; but there are exquisite bits to be found on the western

bank, and this was one of the very best of them. The water was as placid

as molten silver, and the sails of every vessel in sight were hanging

in listless idleness from their several spars, representing commerce

asleep. Grace had a deep feeling for natural scenery, and she had a

better mode of expressing her thoughts, on such occasions, than is usual

with girls of fourteen. She first drew our attention to the view by one

of her strong, eloquent bursts of eulogium; and Lucy met the remark

with a truthful, simple answer, that showed abundant sympathy with

the sentiment, though with less of exaggeration of manner and feeling,

perhaps. I seized the moment as favourable for my purpose, and spoke

out.

"If you admire a vessel so much, Grace," I said, "you will probably be

glad to hear that I think of becoming a sailor."

A silence of near two minutes succeeded, during which time I affected to

be gazing at the distant sloops, and then I ventured to steal a glance

at my companions. I found Grace's mild eyes earnestly riveted on

my face; and, turning from their anxious expression with a little

uneasiness, I encountered those of Lucy looking at me as intently as if

she doubted whether her ears had not deceived her.

"A sailor, Miles!"--my sister now slowly repeated--"I thought it settled

you were to study law."

"As far from that as we are from England; I've fully made up my mind to

see the world if I can, and Rupert, here--"

"What of Rupert, here?" Grace asked, a sudden change again coming over

her sweet countenance, though I was altogether too inexperienced to

understand its meaning. "He is certainly to be a clergyman--his dear

father's assistant, and, a long, long, very long time hence, his

successor!"

I could see that Rupert was whistling on a low key, and affecting to

look cool; but my sister's solemn, earnest, astonished manner had more

effect on us both, I believe, than either would have been willing to

own.

"Come, girls," I said at length, putting the best face on the matter,

"there is no use in keeping secrets from you--but remember that what

I am about to tell you is a secret, and on no account is to be

betrayed."

"To no one but Mr. Hardinge," answered Grace. "If you intend to be a

sailor, he ought to know it."

"That comes from looking at our duties superficially," I had caught this

phrase from my friend, "and not distinguishing properly between their

shadows and their substance."

"Duties superficially! I do not understand you, Miles. Certainly Mr.

Hardinge ought to be told what profession you mean to follow. Remember,

brother, he now fills the place of a parent to you."

"He is not more my parent than Rupert's--I fancy you will admit that

much!"

"Rupert, again! What has Rupert to do with your going to sea?"

"Promise me, then, to keep my secret, and you shall know all; both you

and Lucy must give me your words. I know you will not break them, when

once given."

"Promise him, Grace," said Lucy, in a low tone, and a voice that, even

at that age, I could perceive was tremulous. "If we promise, we shall

learn everything, and then may have some effect on these headstrong boys

by our advice."

"Boys! You cannot mean, Lucy, that Rupert is not to be a

clergyman--your father's assistant; that Rupert means to be a sailor,

too?"

"One never knows what boys will do. Let us promise them, dear; then we

can better judge."

"I do" promise you, Miles, "said my sister, in a voice so solemn as

almost to frighten me.

"And I, Miles," added Lucy; but it was so low, I had to lean forward to

catch the syllables.

"This is honest and right,"--it was honest, perhaps, but very

wrong,--"and it convinces me that you are both reasonable, and will be

of use to us. Rupert and I have both made up our minds, and intend to be

sailors."

Exclamations followed from both girls, and another long silence

succeeded.

"As for the law, hang all law!" I continued, hemming, and determined to

speak like a man. "I never heard of a Wallingford who was a lawyer."

"But you have both heard of Hardinges who were clergymen," said Grace,

endeavouring to smile, though the expression of her countenance was so

painful that even now I dislike to recall it.

"And sailors, too," put in Rupert, a little more stoutly than I thought

possible. "My father's grandfather was an officer in the navy."

"And my father was a sailor himself--in the navy, too."

"But there is no navy in this country now, Miles," returned Lucy, in an

expostulating tone.

"What of that? There are plenty of ships. The ocean is just as big, and

the world just as wide, as if we had a navy to cover the first. I see no

great objection on that account--do you, Ru?"

"Certainly not. What we want is to go to sea, and that can be done in an

Indiaman, as well as in a man-of-war."

"Yes," said I, stretching myself with a little importance. "I fancy an

Indiaman, a vessel that goes all the way to Calcutta, round the Cape

of Good Hope, in the track of Vasquez de Gama, isn't exactly an Albany

sloop."

"Who is Vasquez de Gama?" demanded Lucy, with so much quickness as to

surprise me.

"Why, a noble Portuguese, who discovered the Cape of Good Hope, and

first sailed round it, and then went to the Indies. You see, girls, even

nobles are sailors, and why should not Rupert and I be sailors?"

"It is not that, Miles," my sister answered; "every honest calling

is respectable. Have you and Rupert spoken to Mr. Hardinge on this

subject?"

"Not exactly--not spoken--hinted only--that is, blindly--not so as to be

understood, perhaps."

"He will never consent, boys!" and this was uttered with something

very like an air of triumph.