Wyandotte - James Fenimore Cooper
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Nick was not to be found either. He had been last seen dressing his
wounds, with Indian patience, and Indian skill, preparing to apply
herbs and roots, in quest of which he went into the forest about
midnight. As he did not return Willoughby feared that he might be
suffering alone, and determined to have a search made, as soon as he
had performed the last sad offices for the dead.
Two days occurred, however, before this melancholy duty was discharged.
The bodies of all the savages who had fallen were interred the morning
after the assault; but that of Jamie Allen, with those of the principal
persons of the family, were kept for the pious purposes of affection,
until the time mentioned.
The funeral was a touching sight. The captain, his wife, and daughter,
were laid, side by side, near the chapel; the first and last of their
race that ever reposed in the wilds of America. Mr. Woods read the
funeral service, summoning all his spiritual powers to sustain him, as
he discharged this solemn office of the church. Willoughby's arm was
around the waist of Maud, who endeavoured to reward his tender
assiduities by a smile, but could not. Colonel Beekman held little
Evert in his arms, and stood over the grave with the countenance of a
resolute man stricken with grief--one of the most touching spectacles
of our nature.
"_I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord_," sounded in
the stillness of that valley like a voice from heaven, pouring out
consolation on the bruised spirits of the mourners. Maud raised her
face from Willoughby's shoulder, and lifted her blue eyes to the
cloudless vault above her; soliciting mercy, and offering resignation
in the look. The line of troops in the back-ground moved, as by a
common impulse, and then a breathless silence showed the desire of
these rude beings not to lose a syllable.
A round red spot formed on each of the cheeks of Mr. Woods as he
proceeded, and his voice gathered strength, until its lowest
intonations came clear and distinct on every ear. Just as the bodies
were about to be lowered into their two receptacles, the captain, his
wife and daughter being laid in the same grave, Nick came with his
noiseless step near the little group of mourners. He had issued from
the forest only a few minutes before, and understanding the intention
of the ceremony, he approached the spot as fast as weakness and wounds
would allow. Even he listened with profound attention to the chaplain,
never changing his eye from his face, unless to glance at the coffins
as they lay in their final resting-place.
"_I heard a voice from Heaven, saying unto me, write, From henceforth
blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; even so saith the Spirit, for
they rest from their labours_," continued the chaplain, his voice
beginning to betray a tremor; then the gaze of the Tuscarora became
keen as the panther's glance at his discovered victim. Tears followed,
and, for a moment, the voice was choked.
"Why you woman?" demanded Nick, fiercely. "Save all 'e scalp!"
This strange interruption failed to produce any effect. First Beekman
yielded; Maud and Willoughby followed; until Mr. Woods, himself, unable
to resist the double assaults of the power of sympathy and his own
affection, closed the book and wept like a child.
It required minutes for the mourners to recover their self-command.
When the latter returned, however, all knelt on the grass, the line of
soldiers included, and the closing prayers were raised to the throne of
God.
This act of devotion enabled the mourners to maintain an appearance of
greater tranquillity until the graves were filled. The troops advanced,
and fired three volleys over the captain's grave, when all retired
towards the Hut. Maud had caught little Evert from the arms of his
father, and, pressing him to her bosom, the motherless babe seemed
disposed to slumber there. In this manner she walked away, attended
closely by the father, who now cherished his boy as an only treasure.
Willoughby lingered the last at the grave, Nick alone remaining near
him. The Indian had been struck by the exhibition of deep sorrow that
he had witnessed, and he felt an uneasiness that was a little
unaccountable to himself. It was one of the caprices of this strange
nature of ours, that he should feel a desire to console those whom he
had so deeply injured himself. He drew near to Robert Willoughby,
therefore, and, laying a hand on the latter's arm, drew his look in the
direction of his own red and speaking face.
"Why so sorry, major?" he said. "Warrior nebber die but once--
_must_ die sometime."
"There lie my father, my mother, and my only sister, Indian--is not
that enough to make the stoutest heart bend? You knew them, too, Nick--
did you ever know better?"
"Squaw good--both squaw good--Nick see no pale-face squaw he like so
much."
"I thank you, Nick! This rude tribute to the virtues of my mother and
sister, is far more grateful to me than the calculating and regulated
condolence of the world."
"No squaw _so_ good as ole one--she, all heart--love every body,
but self."
This was so characteristic of his mother, that Willoughby was startled
by the sagacity of the savage, though reflection told him so long an
acquaintance with the family must have made a dog familiar with this
beautiful trait in his mother.
"And my father, Nick!" exclaimed the major, with feeling--"my noble,
just, liberal, gallant father!--He, too, you knew well, and must have
loved."
"No so good as squaw," answered the Tuscarora, sententiously, and not
altogether without disgust in his manner.
"We are seldom as good as our wives, and mothers, and sisters, Nick,
else should we be angels on earth. But, allowing for the infirmities of
us men, my father was just and gocd."
"Too much flog"--answered the savage, sternly--"make Injin's back
sore."
This extraordinary speech struck the major less, at the time, than it
did, years afterwards, when he came to reflect on all the events and
dialogues of this teeming week. Such was also the case as to what
followed.
"You are no flatterer, Tuscarora, as I have always found in our
intercourse. If my father ever punished you with severity, you will
allow, me, at least, to imagine it was merited."
"Too much flog, I say," interrupted the savage, fiercely. "No
difference, chief or not. Touch ole sore too rough. Good, some; bad,
some. Like weather--now shine; now storm."
"This is no time to discuss these points, Nick. You have fought nobly
for us, and I thank you. Without your aid, these beloved ones would
have been mutilated, as well as slain; and Maud--my own blessed Maud--
might now have been sleeping at their sides."
Nick's face was now all softness again, and he returned the pressure of
Willoughby's hand with honest fervor. Here they separated. The major
hastened to the side of Maud, to fold her to his heart, and console her
with his love. Nick passed into the forest, returning no more to the
Hut. His path led him near the grave. On the side where lay the body of
Mrs. Willoughby, he threw a flower he had plucked in the meadow; while
he shook his finger menacingly at the other, which hid the person of
his enemy. In this, he was true to his nature, which taught him never
to forget a favour, or forgive an injury.
Chapter XXX.
"I shall go on through all eternity,
Thank God, I only am an embryo still:
The small beginning of a glorious soul,
An atom that shall fill immensity."
Coxe.
A fortnight elapsed ere Willoughby and his party could tear themselves
from a scene that had witnessed so much domestic happiness; but on
which had fallen the blight of death. During that time, the future
arrangements of the survivors were completed. Beekman was made
acquainted with the state of feeling that existed between his brother-
in-law and Maud, and he advised an immediate union.
"Be happy while you can," he said, with bitter emphasis. "We live in
troubled times, and heaven knows when we shall see better. Maud has not
a blood-relation in all America, unless there may happen to be some in
the British army. Though we should all be happy to protect and cherish
the dear girl, she herself would probably, prefer to be near those whom
nature has appointed her friends. To me, she will always seem a sister,
as you must ever be a brother. By uniting yourselves at once, all
appearances of impropriety will be avoided; and in time, God averting
evil, you can introduce your wife to her English connections."
"You forget, Beekman, that you are giving this advice to one who is a
prisoner on parole, and one who may possibly be treated as a spy."
"No--that is impossible. Schuyler, our noble commander, is both just
and a gentleman. He will tolerate nothing of the sort. Your exchange
can easily be effected, and, beyond your present difficulties, I can
pledge myself to be able to protect you."
Willoughby was not averse to following this advice; and he urged it
upon Maud, as the safest and most prudent course they could pursue. Our
heroine, however, was so reluctant even to assuming the appearance of
happiness, so recently after the losses she had experienced, that the
lover's task of persuasion was by no means easy. Maud was totally free
from affectation, while she possessed the keenest sense of womanly
propriety. Her intercourse with Robert Willoughby had been of the
tenderest and most confidential nature, above every pretence of
concealment, and was rendered sacred by the scenes through which they
had passed. Her love, her passionate, engrossing attachment, she did
not scruple to avow; but she could not become a bride while the stains
of blood seemed so recent on the very hearth around which they were
sitting. She still saw the forms of the dead, in their customary
places, heard their laughs, the tones of their affectionate voices, the
maternal whisper, the playful, paternal reproof, or Beulah's gentle
call.
"Yet, Robert," said Maud, for she could now call him by that name, and
drop the desperate familiarity of 'Bob,'--"yet, Robert, there would be
a melancholy satisfaction in making our vows at the altar of the little
chapel, where we have so often worshipped together--the loved ones who
are gone and we who alone remain."
"True, dearest Maud; and there is another reason why we should quit
this place only as man and wife. Beekman has owned that a question will
probably be raised among the authorities at Albany concerning the
nature of my visit here. It might relieve him from an appeal to more
influence than would be altogether pleasant, did I appear as a
bridegroom rather than as a spy."
The word "spy" settled the matter. All ordinary considerations were
lost sight of, under the apprehensions it created, and Maud frankly
consented to become a wife that very day. The ceremony was performed by
Mr. Woods accordingly, and the little chapel witnessed tears of bitter
recollections mingling with the smiles with which the bride received
the warm embrace of her husband, after the benediction was pronounced.
Still, all felt that, under the circumstances, delay would have been
unwise. Maud saw a species of holy solemnity in a ceremony so closely
connected with scenes so sad.
A day or two after the marriage, all that remained of those who had so
lately crowded the Hut, left the valley together. The valuables were
packed and transported to boats lying in the stream below the mills.
All the cattle, hogs, &c., were collected and driven towards the
settlements; and horses were prepared for Maud and the females, who
were to thread the path that led to Fort Stanwix. In a word, the Knoll
was to be abandoned, as a spot unfit to be occupied in such a war. None
but labourers, indeed, could, or would remain, and Beekman thought it
wisest to leave the spot entirely to nature, for the few succeeding
years.
There had been some rumours of confiscations by the new state, and
Willoughby had come to the conclusion that it would be safer to
transfer this property to one who would be certain to escape such an
infliction, than to retain it in his own hands. Little Evert was
entitled to receive a portion of the captain's estate by justice, if
not by law. No will had been found, and the son succeeded as heir-at-
law. A deed was accordingly drawn up by Mr. Woods, who understood such
matters, and being duly executed, the Beaver Dam property was vested in
fee in the child. His own thirty thousand pounds, the personals he
inherited from his mother, and Maud's fortune, to say nothing of the
major's commission, formed an ample support for the new-married pair.
When all was settled, and made productive, indeed, Willoughby found
himself the master of between three and four thousand sterling a year,
exclusively of his allowances from the British government, an ample
fortune for that day. In looking over the accounts of Maud's fortune,
he had reason to admire the rigid justice, and free-handed liberality
with which his father had managed her affairs. Every farthing of her
income had been transferred to capital, a long minority nearly doubling
the original investment. Unknown to himself, he had married one of the
largest heiresses then to be found in the American colonies. This was
unknown to Maud, also; though it gave her great delight on her
husband's account, when she came to learn the truth.
Albany was reached in due time, though not without encountering the
usual difficulties. Here the party separated. The remaining Plinys and
Smashes were all liberated, handsome provisions made for their little
wants, and good places found for them, in the connection of the family
to which they had originally belonged. Mike announced his determination
to enter a corps that was intended expressly to fight the Indians. He
had a long score to settle, and having no wife or children, he thought
he might amuse himself in this way, during a revolution, as well as in
any other.
"If yer honour was going anywhere near the county Leitrim," he said, in
answer to Willoughby's offer to keep him near himself, "I might travel
in company; seein' that a man likes to look on ould faces, now and
then. Many thanks for this bag of gold, which will sarve to buy scalps
wid'; for divil bur-r-n me, if I don't carry on _that_ trade, for
some time to come. T'ree cuts wid a knife, half a dozen pokes in the
side, and a bullet scraping; the head, makes a man mindful of what has
happened; to say nothing of the captain, and Madam Willoughby, and Miss
Beuly--God for ever bless and presarve 'em all t'ree--and, if there was
such a thing as a bit of a church in this counthry, wouldn't I use this
gould for masses?--_dat_ I would, and let the scalps go to the
divil!"
This was an epitome of the views of Michael O'Hearn. No arguments of
Willoughby's could change his resolution; but he set forth, determined
to illustrate his career by procuring as many Indian scalps, as an
atonement for the wrongs done "Madam Willoughby and Miss Beuly," as
came within his reach.
"And you, Joyce," said the major, in an interview he had with the
serjeant, shortly after reaching Albany; "I trust _we_ are not to
part. Thanks to Colonel Beekman's influence and zeal, I am already
exchanged, and shall repair to New York next week. You are a soldier;
and these are times in which a _good_ soldier is of some account.
I think I can safely promise you a commission in one of the new
provincial regiments, about to be raised."
"I thank your honour, but do not feel at liberty to accept the offer. I
took service with Captain Willoughby for life; had he lived, I would
have followed wherever he led. But that enlistment has expired; and I
am now like a recruit before he takes the bounty. In such cases, a man
has always a right to pick his corps. Politics I do not much
understand; but when the question comes up of pulling a trigger
_for_ or _against_ his country, an _unengaged_ man has a
right to choose. Between the two, meaning no reproach to yourself,
Major Willoughby, who had regularly taken service with the other side,
before the war began--but, between the two, I would rather fight an
Englishman, than an American."
"You may possibly be right, Joyce; though, as you say, my service is
taken. I hope you follow the dictates of conscience, as I am certain I
do myself. We shall never meet in arms, however, if I can prevent it.
There is a negotiation for a lieutenant-colonelcy going on, which, if
it succeed, will carry me to England. I shall never serve an hour
longer against these colonies, if it be in my power to avoid it."
"_States_, with your permission, Major Willoughby," answered the
serjeant, a little stiffly. "I am glad to hear it, sir; for, though I
wish my enemies good soldiers, I would rather not have the son of my
old captain among them. Colonel Beekman has offered to make me
serjeant-major of his own regiment; and we both of us join next week."
Joyce was as good as his word. He became serjeant-major, and, in the
end, lieutenant and adjutant of the regiment he had mentioned. He
fought in most of the principal battles of the war, and retired at the
peace, with an excellent character. Ten years later, he fell, in one of
the murderous Indian affairs, that occurred during the first
oresidential term, a grey-headed captain of foot. The manner of his
death was not to be regretted, perhaps, as it was what he had always
wished might happen; but, it was a singular fact, that Mike stood over
his body, and protected it from mutilation; the County Leitrim-man
having turned soldier by trade, re-enlisting regularly, as soon as at
liberty, and laying up scalps on all suitable occasions.
Blodget, too, had followed Joyce to the wars. The readiness and
intelligence of this young man, united to a courage of proof, soon
brought him forward, and he actually came out of the revolution a
captain. His mind, manners and information advancing with himself, he
ended his career, not many years since, a prominent politician in one
of the new states; a general in the militia--no great preferment, by
the way, for one who had been a corporal at the Hut--and a legislator.
Worse men have often acted in all these capacities among us; and it was
said, with truth, at the funeral of General Blodget, an accident that
does not always occur on such occasions, that "another revolutionary
hero is gone." Beekman was never seen to smile, from the moment he
first beheld the dead body of Beulah, lying with little Evert in her
arms. He served faithfully until near the close of the war, falling in
battle only a few months previously to the peace. His boy preceded him
to the grave, leaving, as confiscations had gone out of fashion by that
time, his uncle heir-at-law, again, to the same property that he had
conferred on himself.
As for Willoughby and Maud, they were safely conveyed to New York,
where the former rejoined his regiment. Our heroine here met her great-
uncle, General Meredith, the first of her own blood relations whom she
had seen since infancy. Her reception was grateful to her feelings;
and, there being a resemblance in years, appearance and manners, she
transferred much of that affection which she had thought interred for
ever in the grave of her reputed father, to this revered relative. He
became much attached to his lovely niece, himself; and, ten years
later, Willoughby found his income quite doubled, by his decease.
At the expiration of six months, the gazette that arrived from England,
announced the promotion of "Sir Robert Willoughby, Bart., late major in
the ---th, to be lieutenant colonel, by purchase, in His Majesty's
---th regiment of foot." This enabled Willoughby to quit America; to
which quarter of the world he had no occasion to be sent during the
remainder of the war.
Of that war, itself, there is little occasion to speak. Its progress
and termination have long been matters of history. The independence of
America was acknowledged by England in 1783; and, immediately after,
the republicans commenced the conquest of their wide-spread domains, by
means of the arts of peace. In 1785, the first great assaults were made
on the wilderness, in that mountainous region which has been the
principal scene of our tale. The Indians had been driven off, in a
great measure, by the events of the revolution; and the owners of
estates, granted under the crown, began to search for their lands in
the untenanted woods. Such isolated families, too, as had taken refuge
in the settlements, now began to return to their deserted possessions;
and soon the smokes of clearings were obscuring the sun. Whitestown,
Utica, on the site of old Fort Stanwix, Cooperstown, for years the seat
of justice for several thousand square miles of territory, all sprang
into existence between the years 1785 and 1790. Such places as Oxford,
Binghamton, Norwich, Sherburne, Hamilton, and twenty more, that now dot
the region of which we have been writing, did not then exist, even in
name; for, in that day, the appellation and maps came after the place;
whereas, now, the former precede the last.
The ten years that elapsed between 1785 and 1795, did wonders for all
this mountain district. More favourable lands lay spread in the great
west, but the want of roads, and remoteness from the markets, prevented
their occupation. For several years, therefore, the current of
emigration which started out of the eastern states, the instant peace
was proclaimed, poured its tide into the counties mentioned in our
opening chapter--_counties_ as they are to-day; _county_ ay,
and fragment of a county, too, as they were then.
The New York Gazette, a journal that frequently related facts that
actually occurred, announced in its number of June 11th, 1795, "His
Majesty's Packet that has just arrived"--it required half a century to
teach the journalists of this country the propriety of saying "His
_Britannic_ Majesty's Packet," instead of "His Majesty's," a bit of
good taste, and of good sense, that many of them have yet to
learn--"has brought _out_," _home_ would have been better
"among her passengers, Lieutenant-General Sir Robert Willoughby, and
his lady, both of whom are natives of this state. We welcome them back
to their land of nativity where we can assure them they will be
cordially received notwithstanding old quarrels. _Major_
Willoughby's kindness to American prisoners is gratefully remembered;
nor is it forgotten that he desired to exchange to another regiment in
order to avoid further service in this country."
It will be conceded, this was a very respectable puff for the year
1795, when something like moderation, truth, and propriety were
observed upon such occasions. The effect was to bring the English
general's name into the mouths of the whole state; a baronet causing a
greater sensation then, in America, than a duke would produce to-day.
It had the effect, however, of bringing around General Willoughby many
of his father's, and his own old friends, and he was as well received
in New York, twelve years after the termination of the conflict, as if
he had fought on the other side. The occurrence of the French
revolution, and the spread of doctrines that were termed Jacobinical,
early removed all the dissensions between a large portion of the whigs
of America and the tories of England, on this side of the water at
least; and Providence only can tell what might have been the
consequences, had this feeling been thoroughly understood on the other.
Passing over all political questions, however, our narrative calls us
to the relation of its closing scene. The visit of Sir Robert and Lady
Willoughby to the land of their birth was, in part, owing to feeling;
in part, to a proper regard for the future provision of their children.
The baronet had bought the ancient paternal estate of his family in
England, and having two daughters, besides an only son, it occurred to
him that the American property, called the Hutted Knoll, might prove a
timely addition to the ready money he had been able to lay up from his
income. Then, both he and his wife had a deep desire to revisit those
scenes where they had first learned to love each other, and which still
held the remains of so many who were dear to them.
The cabin of a suitable sloop was therefore engaged, and the party,
consisting of Sir Robert, his wife, a man and woman servant, and a sort
of American courier, engaged for the trip, embarked on the morning of
the 25th of July. On the afternoon of the 30th, the sloop arrived in
safety at Albany, where a carriage was hired to proceed the remainder
of the way by land. The route by old Fort Stanwix, as Utica was still
generally called, was taken. Our travellers reached it on the evening
of the third day; the 'Sands, which are now traversed in less than an
hour, then occupying more than half of the first day. When at Fort
Stanwix, a passable country road was found, by which the travellers
journeyed until they reached a tavern that united many of the comforts
of a coarse civilisation, with frontier simplicity. Here they were
given to understand they had only a dozen miles to go, in order to
reach the Knoll.