Wyandotte - James Fenimore Cooper
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"I do not know, sir, that it is quite wise to pray so very willingly
for the Royal Family," he said. "We may wish them worldly happiness,
and spiritual consolation, as part of the human race; but political and
specific prayers, in times like these, are to be used with caution. Men
attach more than the common religious notion, just now, to prayers for
the king, which some interpret into direct petitions against the United
Colonies."
"Well," rejoined the captain, "I cannot agree to this, myself. If there
were a prayer to confound parliament and its counsels, I should be very
apt to join in it cordially; but I am not yet ready to throw aside
king, queen, princes and princesses, all in a lump, on account of a few
taxes, and a tittle tea."
"I am sorry to hear this from you, sir," answered Evert. "When your
opinions were canvassed lately at Albany, I gave a sort of pledge that
you were certainly more with us than against us."
"Well then, I think, Beekman, you drew me in my true outlines. In the
main, I think the colonies right, though I am still willing to pray for
the king."
"I am one of those, captain Willoughby, who look forward to the most
serious times. The feeling throughout the colonies is tremendous, and
the disposition on the part of the royal officers is to meet the crisis
with force."
"You have a brother a captain of foot in one of the regiments of the
crown, colonel Beekman--what are his views in this serious state of
affairs?"
"He has already thrown up his commission--refusing even to sell out, a
privilege that was afforded him. His name is now before congress for a
majority in one of the new regiments that are to be raised."
The captain looked grave; Mrs. Willoughby anxious; Beulah interested;
and Maud thoughtful.
"This has a serious aspect, truly," observed the first. "When men
abandon all their early hopes, to assume new duties, there must be a
deep and engrossing cause. I had not thought it like to come to this!"
"We have had hopes major Willoughby might do the same; I know that a
regiment is at his disposal, if he be disposed to join us. No one would
be more gladly received. We are to have Gates, Montgomery, Lee, and
many other old officers, from regular corps, on our side."
"Will colonel Lee be put at the head of the American forces?"
"I think not, sir. He has a high reputation, and a good deal of
experience, but he is a humourist; and what is something, though you
will pardon it, he is not an American born."
"It is quite right to consult such considerations, Beekman; were I in
congress, they would influence _me_, Englishman as I am, and in
many things must always remain."
"I am glad to hear you say that, Willoughby," exclaimed the chaplain--"
right down rejoiced to hear you say so! A man is bound to stand by his
birth-place, through thick and thin."
"How do you, then, reconcile your opinions, in this matter, to _your_
birth-place, Woods?" asked the laughing captain.
To own the truth, the chaplain was a little confused. He had entered
into the controversy with so much zeal, of late, as to have imbibed the
feelings of a thorough partisan; and, as is usual, with such
philosophers, was beginning to overlook everything that made against
his opinions, and to exaggerate everything that sustained them.
"How?"--he cried, with zeal, if not with consistency--"Why, well
enough. I am an Englishman too, in the general view of the case, though
born in Massachusetts. Of English descent, and an English subject."
"Umph!--Then Beekman, here, who is of Dutch descent, is not bound by
the same principles as we are ourselves?"
"Not by the same _feelings_ possibly; but, surely, by the same
principles. Colonel Beekman is an Englishman by construction, and you
are by birth. Yes, I'm what may be called a _constructive_
Englishman."
Even Mrs. Willoughby and Beulah laughed at this, though not a smile had
crossed Maud's face, since her eye had lost Robert Willoughby from
view. The captain's ideas seemed to take a new direction, and he was
silent some little time before he spoke.
"Under the circumstances in which we are now placed, as respects each
other, Mr. Beekman," he said, "it is proper that there should be no
concealments on grave points. Had you arrived an hour or two earlier,
you would have met a face well known to you, in that of my son, major
Willoughby."
"Major Willoughby, my dear sir!" exclaimed Beekman, with a start of
unpleasant surprise; "I had supposed him with the royal army, in
Boston. You say he has left the Knoll--I sincerely hope not for
Albany."
"No--I wished him to go in that direction, at first, and to see you, in
particular; but his representations of the state of the country induced
me to change my mind; he travels by a private way, avoiding all the
towns of note, or size."
"In that he has done well, sir. Near to me as a brother of Beulah's
must always seem, I should be sorry to see Bob, just at this moment. If
there be no hope of getting him to join us, the farther we are
separated the better."
This was said gravely, and it caused all who heard it fully to
appreciate the serious character of a quarrel that threatened to arm
brother against brother. As if by common consent, the discourse
changed, all appearing anxious, at a moment otherwise so happy, to
obliterate impressions so unpleasant from their thoughts.
The captain, his wife, Beulah and the colonel, had several long and
private communications in the course of the evening. Maud was not sorry
to be left to herself, and the chaplain devoted his time to the
entertainment of the friend of Beekman, who was in truth a surveyor,
brought along partly to preserve appearances, and partly for service.
The chain-bearers, hunters, &c., had been distributed in the different
cabins of the settlement, immediately on the arrival of the party.
That night, when the sisters retired, Maud perceived that Beulah had
something to communicate, out of the common way. Still, she did not
know whether it would be proper for her to make any inquiries, and
things were permitted to take their natural course. At length Beulah,
in her gentle way, remarked--"It is a fearful thing, Maud, for a woman
to take upon herself the new duties, obligations and ties of a wife."
"She should _not_ do it, Beulah, unless she feels a love for the
man of her choice, that will sustain her in them. You, who have
_real_ parents living, ought to feel this fully, as I doubt not you
do."
"_Real_ parents! Maud, you frighten me! Are not _my_ parents
_yours?_--Is not all our love common?"
"I am ashamed of myself, Beulah. Dearer and better parents than mine,
no girl ever had. I am ashamed of my words, and beg you will forget
them."
"That I shall be very ready to do. It was a great consolation to think
that should I be compelled to quit home, as compelled I must be in the
end, I should leave with my father and mother a child as dutiful, and
one that loves them as sincerely as yourself, Maud."
"You have thought right, Beulah. I do love them to my heart's core!
Then you are right in another sense; for I shall _never_ marry. My
mind is made up to _that_"
"Well, dear, many are happy that never marry--many women are happier
than those that do. Evert has a kind, manly, affectionate heart, and I
know will do all he can to prevent my regretting home; but we can never
have more than _one_ mother, Maud!"
Maud did not answer, though she looked surprised that Beulah should say
this to _her_.
"Evert has reasoned and talked so much to my father and mother,"
continued the _fiancee_, blushing, "that they have thought we had
better be married at once. Do you know, Maud, that it has been settled
this evening, that the ceremony is to take place to-morrow!"
"This is sudden, indeed, Beulah! Why have they determined on so
unexpected a thing?"
"It is all owing to the state of the country. I know not how he has
done it--but Evert has persuaded my father, that the sooner I am his
wife, the more secure we shall _all_ be, here at the Knoll."
"I hope you love Evert Beekman, dearest, dearest Beulah?"
"What a question, Maud! Do you suppose I could stand up before a
minister of God, and plight my faith to a man I did not love?--Why have
you seemed to doubt it?"
"I do not doubt it--I am very foolish, for I know you are conscientious
as the saints in heaven--and yet, Beulah, I think _I_ could scarce
be so tranquil about one I loved."
The gentle Beulah smiled, but she no longer felt uneasiness. She
understood the impulses and sentiments of her own pure but tranquil
nature too well, to distrust herself; and she could easily imagine that
Maud would not be as composed under similar circumstances.
"Perhaps it is well, sister of mine," she answered laughing, though
blushing, "that you are so resolved to remain single; for one hardly
knows where to find a suitor sufficiently devoted and ethereal for your
taste. No one pleased you last winter, though the least encouragement
would have Brought a dozen to your feet; and here there is no one you
can possibly have, unless it be dear, good, old Mr. Woods."
Maud compressed her lips, and really looked stern, so determined was
she to command herself; then she answered somewhat in her sister's
vein--
"It is very true," she said, "there is no hero for me to accept, unless
it be dear Mr. Woods; and he, poor man, has had one wife that cured him
of any desire to possess another, they say."
"Mr. Woods! I never knew that he was married. Who can have told you
this, Maud?"
"I got it from Robert"--answered the other, hesitating a little. "He
was talking one day of such things."
"What things, dear?"
"Why--of getting married--I believe it was about marrying relatives--or
connections--or, some such thing; for Mr. Woods married a cousin-
german, it would seem--and so he told me all about it. Bob was old
enough to know his wife, when she died. Poor man, she led him a hard
life--he must be far from the Knoll, by this time, Beulah!"
"Mr. Woods!--I left him with papa, a few minutes since, talking over
the ceremony for to-morrow!"
"I meant Bob----"
Here the sisters caught each other's eyes, and both blushed,
consciousness presenting to them, at the same instant, the images that
were uppermost in their respective minds. But, no more was said. They
continued their employments in silence, and soon each was kneeling in
prayer.
The following day, Evert Beekman and Beulah Willoughby were married.
The ceremony took place, immediately after breakfast, in the little
chapel; no one being present but the relatives, and Michael O'Hearn,
who quieted his conscience for not worshipping with the rest of the
people, by acting as their sexton. The honest county Leitrim man was
let into the secret--as a great secret, however--at early dawn; and he
had the place swept and in order in good season, appearing in his
Sunday attire to do honour to the occasion, as he thought became him.
A mother as tender as Mrs. Willoughby, could not resign the first claim
on her child, without indulging her tears, Maud wept, too; but it was
as much in sympathy for Beulah's happiness, as from any other cause.
The marriage in other respects, was simple, and without any
ostentatious manifestations of feeling. It was, in truth, one of those
rational and wise connections, which promise to wear well, there being
a perfect fitness, in station, wealth, connections, years, manners and
habits, between the parties. Violence was done to nothing, in bringing
this discreet and well-principled couple together. Evert was as worthy
of Beulah, as she was worthy of him. There was confidence in the
future, on every side; and not a doubt, or a misgiving of any sort,
mingled with the regrets, if regrets they could be called, that were,
in some measure, inseparable from the solemn ceremony.
The marriage was completed, the affectionate father had held the
weeping but smiling bride on his bosom, the tender mother had folded
her to her heart, Maud had pressed her in her arms in a fervent
embrace, and the chaplain had claimed his kiss, when the well-meaning
sexton approached.
"Is it the likes of yees I wish well to!" said Mike--"Ye may well say
_that_; and to yer husband, and childer, and all that will go
before, and all that have come after ye! I know'd ye, when ye was
mighty little, and that was years agone; and niver have I seen a cross
look on yer pretthy face. I've app'inted to myself, many's the time, a
consait to tell ye all this, by wor-r-d of mouth; but the likes of
yees, and of the Missus, and of Miss Maud there--och! isn't she a swate
one! and many's the pity, there's no sich tall, handsome jontleman to
take _her_, in the bargain, bad luck to him for staying away; and
so God bless ye, all, praist in the bargain, though he's no praist at
all; and here's my good wishes said and done."
Chapter X.
Ho! Princes of Jacob! the strength and the stay
Of the daughters of Zion;--now up, and away;
Lo, the hunters have struck her, and bleeding alone
Like a pard in the desert she maketh her moan:
Up with war-horse and banner, with spear and with sword,
On the spoiler go down in the might of the Lord!
Lunt.
The succeeding fortnight, or three weeks, brought no material changes,
beyond those connected with the progress of the season. Vegetation was
out in its richest luxuriance, the rows of corn and potatoes, freshly
hoed, were ornamenting the flats, the wheat and other grains were
throwing up their heads, and the meadows were beginning to exchange
their flowers for the seed. As for the forest, it had now veiled its
mysteries beneath broad curtains of a green so bright and lively, that
one can only meet it, beneath a generous sun, tempered by genial rains,
and a mountain air. The chain-bearers, and other companions of Beekman,
quitted the valley the day after the wedding, leaving no one of their
party behind but its principal.
The absence of the major was not noted by Joel and his set, in the
excitement of receiving so many guests, and in the movement of the
wedding. But, as soon as the fact was ascertained, the overseer and
miller made the pretence of a 'slack-time' in their work, and obtained
permission to go to the Mohawk, on private concerns of their own. Such
journeys were sufficiently common to obviate suspicion; and, the leave
had, the two conspirators started off, in company, the morning of the
second day, or forty-eight hours after the major and Nick had
disappeared. As the latter was known to have come in by the Fort
Stanwix route, it was naturally enough supposed that he had returned by
the same; and Joel determined to head him on the Mohawk, at some point
near Schenectady, where he might make a merit of his own patriotism, by
betraying the son of his master. The reader is not to suppose Joel
intended to do all this openly; so far from it, his plan was to keep
himself in the back-ground, while he attracted attention to the
supposed toryism of the captain, and illustrated his own attachment to
the colonies.
It is scarcely necessary to say that this plan failed, in consequence
of the new path taken by Nick. At the very moment when Joel and the
miller were lounging about a Dutch inn, some fifteen or twenty miles
above Schenectady, in waiting for the travellers to descend the valley
of the Mohawk, Robert Willoughby and his guide were actually crossing
the Hudson, in momentary security at least. After remaining at his post
until satisfied his intended prey had escaped him, Joel, with his
friend, returned to the settlement. Still, the opportunity had been
improved, to make himself better acquainted with the real state of the
country; to open communications with certain patriots of a moral
calibre about equal to his own, but of greater influence; to throw out
divers injurious hints, and secret insinuations concerning the captain;
and to speculate on the propriety of leaving so important a person to
work his will, at a time so critical. But the pear was not yet ripe,
and all that could now be done was to clear the way a little for
something important in future.
In the meantime, Evert Beekman having secured his gentle and true-
hearted wife, began, though with a heavy heart, to bethink him of his
great political duties. It was well understood that he was to have a
regiment of the new levies, and Beulah had schooled her affectionate
heart to a degree that permitted her to part with him, in such a cause,
with seeming resignation. It was, sooth to say, a curious spectacle, to
see how these two sisters bent all their thoughts and wishes, in
matters of a public nature, to favour the engrossing sentiments of
their sex and natures; Maud being strongly disposed to sustain the
royal cause, and the bride to support that in which her husband had
enlisted, heart and hand.
As for captain Willoughby, he said little on the subject of politics;
but the marriage of Beulah had a powerful influence in confirming his
mind in the direction it had taken after the memorable argument with
the chaplain. Colonel Beekman was a man of strong good sense, though
without the least brilliancy; and his arguments were all so clear and
practical, as to carry with them far more weight than was usual in the
violent partisan discussions of the period. Beulah fancied him a Solon
in sagacity, and a Bacon in wisdom. Her father, without proceeding
quite as far as this, was well pleased with his cool discriminating
judgment, and much disposed to defer to his opinions. The chaplain was
left out of the discussions as incorrigible.
The middle of June was passed, at the time colonel Beekman began to
think of tearing himself from his wife, in order to return into the
active scenes of preparation he had quitted, to make this visit. As
usual, the family frequented the lawn, at the close of the day, the
circumstance of most of the windows of the Hut looking on the court,
rendering this resort to the open air more agreeable than might
otherwise have been the case. Evert was undecided whether to go the
following morning, or to remain a day longer, when the lawn was thus
occupied, on the evening of the 25th of the month, Mrs. Willoughby
making the tea, as usual, her daughters sitting near her, sewing, and
the gentlemen at hand, discussing the virtues of different sorts of
seed-corn.
"There is a stranger!" suddenly exclaimed the chaplain, looking towards
the rocks near the mill, the point at which all arrivals in the valley
were first seen from the Hut. "He comes, too, like a man in haste,
whatever may be his errand."
"God be praised," returned the captain rising; "it is Nick, on his
usual trot, and this is about the time he should be back, the bearer of
good news. A week earlier might have augured better; but this will do.
The fellow moves over the ground as if he really had something to
communicate!"
Mrs. Willoughby and her daughters suspended their avocations, and the
gentlemen stood, in silent expectation, watching the long, loping
strides of the Tuscarora, as he came rapidly across the plain. In a few
minutes the Indian came upon the lawn, perfectly in wind, moving with
deliberation and gravity, as he drew nearer to the party. Captain
Willoughby, knowing his man, waited quite another minute, after the
red-man was leaning against an apple-tree, before he questioned him.
"Welcome back, Nick," he then said. "Where did you leave my son?"
"He tell dere," answered the Indian, presenting a note, which the
captain read.
"This is all right, Nick; and it shows you have been a true man. Your
wages shall be paid to-night. But, this letter has been written on the
eastern bank of the Hudson, and is quite three weeks old--why have we
not seen you, sooner?"
"Can't see, when he don't come."
"That is plain enough; but why have you not come back sooner? That is
my question."
"Want to look at country--went to shore of Great Salt Lake."
"Oh!--Curiosity, then, has been at the bottom of your absence?"
"Nick warrior--no squaw--got no cur'osity."
"No, no--I beg your pardon, Nick; I did not mean to accuse you of so
womanish a feeling. Far from it; I know you are a man. Tell us,
however, how far, and whither you went?"
"Bos'on," answered Nick, sententiously.
"Boston! That has been a journey, indeed. Surely my son did not allow
you to travel in his company through Massachusetts?"
"Nick go alone. Two path; one for major; one for Tuscarora. Nick got
dere first."
"That I can believe, if you were in earnest. Were you not questioned by
the way?"
"Yes. Tell 'em I'm Stockbridge--pale-face know no better. T'ink he fox;
more like wood-chuck."
"Thank you, Nick, for the compliment. Had my son reached Boston before
you came away?"
"Here he be"--answered the Indian, producing another missive, from the
folds of his calico shirt.
The captain received the note which he read with extreme gravity, and
some surprise.
"This is in Bob's handwriting," he said, "and is dated 'Boston, June
18th, 1775;' but it is without signature, and is not only Bob, but Bob
Short."
"Read, dear Willoughby," exclaimed the anxious mother. "News from
_him_, concerns us all."
"News, Wilhelmina!--They may call this news in Boston, but one is very
little the better for it at the Hutted Knoll. However, such as it is,
there is no reason for keeping it a secret, while there is _one_
reason, at least, why it should be known. This is all. 'My dearest
sir--Thank God I am unharmed; but we have had much to make us reflect;
you know what duty requires--my best and endless love to my mother, and
Beulah--and dear, laughing, capricious, _pretty_ Maud. Nick was
present, and can tell you all. I do not think he will extenuate, or
aught set down in malice."' And this without direction, or signature;
with nothing, in fact, but place and date. What say _you_ to all
this, Nick?"
"He very good--major dere; he know. Nick dere--hot time--a t'ousand
scalp--coat red as blood."
"There has been another battle!" exclaimed the captain; "that is too
plain to admit of dispute. Speak out at once, Nick--which gained the
day; the British or the Americans?"
"Hard to tell--one fight, t'other fight. Red-coat take de ground;
Yankee kill. If Yankee could take scalp of all he kill, he whip. But,
poor warriors at takin' scalp. No know how."
"Upon my word, Woods, there does seem to be something in all this! It
can hardly be possible that the Americans would dare to attack Boston,
defended as it is, by a strong army of British regulars."
"That would they not," cried the chaplain, with emphasis. "This has
been only another skirmish."
"What you call skirmge?" asked Nick, pointedly. "It skirmge to take
t'ousand scalp, ha?"
"Tell us what _has_ happened, Tuscarora?" said the captain,
motioning his friend to be silent.
"Soon tell--soon done. Yankee on hill; reg'lar in canoe. Hundred,
t'ousand, fifty canoe--full of red-coat. Great chief, dere!--ten--six--
two--all go togeder. Come ashore--parade, pale-face manner--march--
booh--booh--dem cannon; pop, pop--dem gun. Wah! how he run!"
"Run!--who ran, Nick?--Though I suppose it must have been the poor
Americans, of course."
"Red-coat run," answered the Indian, quietly.
This reply produced a general sensation, even the ladies starting, and
gazing at each other.
"Red-coat run"--repeated the captain, slowly. "Go on with your history,
Nick--where was this battle fought?"
"T'other Bos'on--over river--go in canoe to fight, like Injin from
Canada."
"That must have been in Charlestown, Woods--you may remember Boston is
on one peninsula, and Charlestown on another. Still, I do not recollect
that the Americans were in the latter, Beekman--you told me nothing of
that?"
"They were not so near the royal forces, certainly, when I left Albany,
sir," returned the colonel. "A few direct questions to the Indian,
however, would bring out the whole truth."
"We must proceed more methodically. How many Yankees were in this
fight, Nick?--Calculate as we used to, in the French war."
"Reach from here to mill--t'ree, two deep, cap'in. All farmer; no
sodger. Carry gun, but no carry baggonet; no carry knapsack. No wear
red-coat. _Look_ like town-meetin'; _fight_ like devils."
"A line as long as from this to the mill, three deep, would contain
about two thousand men, Beekman. Is that what you wish to say, Nick?"
"That about him--pretty near--just so."
"Well, then, there were about two thousand Yankees on this hill--how
many king's troops crossed in the canoes, to go against them?"
"Two time--one time, so many; t'other time, half so many. Nick close
by; count _him_."
"That would make three thousand in all! By George, this does look like
work. Did they all go together, Nick?"
"No; one time go first; fight, run away. Den two time go, fight good
deal--run away, too. Den try harder--set fire to wigwam--go up hill;
Yankee run away."
"This is plain enough, and quite graphical. Wigwam on fire? Charlestown
is not burnt, Nick?"
"Dat he--Look like old Council Fire, gone out. Big canoe fire--booh--
booh--Nick nebber see such war before--wah! Dead man plenty as leaves
on tree; blood run like creek!"