Wyandotte - James Fenimore Cooper
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Leaving Mrs. Willoughby in deep consultation with Mari' on the subject
of this feast, we will next look after the two sweet girls whom we so
abruptly deserted in the last chapter. When Maud's glowing cheeks were
first visible that morning, signs of tears might have been discovered
on them, as the traces of the dew are found on the leaf of the rose;
but they completely vanished under the duties of the toilet, and she
came forth from her chamber, bright and cloudless as the glorious May-
morning, which had returned to cheer the solitude of the manor. Beulah
followed, tranquil, bland and mild as the day itself, the living image
of the purity of soul, and deep affections, of her honest nature.
The sisters went into the breakfast-room, where they had little lady-
like offices of their own to discharge, too, in honour of the guest;
each employing herself in decorating the table, and in seeing that it
wanted nothing in the proprieties As their pleasing tasks were
fulfilled, the discourse did not flag between them. Nothing, however,
had been said, that made the smallest allusion to the conversation of
the past night. Neither felt any wish to revive that subject; and, as
for Maud, bitterly did she regret ever having broached it. At times,
her cheeks burned with blushes, as she recalled her words; and yet she
scarce knew the reason why. The feeling of Beulah was different. She
wondered her sister could ever think she was a Meredith, and not a
Willoughby. At times she feared some unfortunate oversight of her own,
some careless allusion, or indiscreet act, might have served to remind
Maud of the circumstances of her real birth. Yet there was nothing in
the last likely to awaken unpleasant reflections, apart from the
circumstance that she was not truly a child of the family into which
she had been transplanted. The Merediths were, at least, as nonourable
a family as the Willoughbys, in the ordinary worldly view of the
matter; nor was Maud, by any means, a dependant, in the way of money.
Five thousand pounds, in the English funds, had been settled on her, by
the marriage articles of her parents; and twenty years of careful
husbandry, during which every shilling had been scrupulously devoted to
accumulation, had quite doubled the original amount. So far from being
penniless, therefore, Maud's fortune was often alluded to by the
captain, in a jocular way, as if purposely to remind her that she had
the means of independence, and duties connected with it. It is true,
Maud, herself, had no suspicion that she had been educated altogether
by her "father," and that her own money had not been used for this
purpose. To own the truth, she thought little about it; knew little
about it, beyond the fact, that she had a fortune of her own, into the
possession of which she must step, when she attained her majority. How
she came by it, even, was a question she never asked though there were
moments when tender regrets and affectionate melancholy would come over
her heart, as she thought of her natural parents, and of their early
deaths. Still, Maud implicitly reposed on the captain and Mrs.
Willoughby, as on a father and mother; and it was not owing to _them_,
or anything connected with their love, treatment, words, or
thoughts, that she was reminded that they were not so in very fact, as
well as in tenderness.
"Bob will think _you_ made these plum sweetmeats, Beulah," said
Maud, with a saucy smile, as she placed a glass plate on the table--"He
never thinks I _can_ make anything of this sort; and, as he is so
fond of plums, he will be certain to taste them; then _you_ will
come in for the praise!"
"You appear to think, that _praise_ he must. Perhaps he may not
fancy them good."
"If I thought so, I would take them away this instant," cried Maud,
standing in the attitude of one in doubt. "Bob does _not_ think
much of such things in girls, for he says ladies need not be cooks; and
yet when one _does_ make a thing of this sort, one would certainly
like to have it _well_ made."
"Set your heart at ease, Maud; the plums are delicious--much the best
we ever had, and we are rather famous for them, you know. I'll answer
for it, Bob will pronounce them the best he has ever tasted."
"And if he shouldn't, why should I care--that is, not _very
much_--about it. You know they are the first I ever made, and one
may be permitted to fail on a first effort. Besides, a man _may_
go to England, and see fine sights, and live in great houses, and all
that, and not understand when he has good plum sweetmeats before him,
and when bad. I dare say there are many _colonels_ in the army,
who are ignorant on this point."
Beulah laughed, and admitted the truth of the remark; though, in her
secret mind, she had almost persuaded herself that Bob knew everything.
"Do you not think our brother improved in appearance, Maud," she asked,
after a short pause. "The visit to England has done him that service,
at least."
"I don't see it, Beulah--I see no change. To me, Bob is just the same
to-day, that he has ever been; that is, ever since he grew to be a
man--with boys, of course, it is different. Ever since he was made a
captain, I mean."
As major Willoughby had reached that rank the day he was one-and-
twenty, the reader can understand the precise date when Maud began to
take her present views of his appearance and character.
"I am surprised to hear you say so, Maud! Papa says he is better 'set
up,' as he calls it, by his English drill, and that he looks altogether
more like a soldier than he did."
"Bob has always had a martial look!" cried Maud, quickly--"He got that
in garrison, when a boy."
"If so, I hope he may never lose it!" said the subject of the remark,
himself, who had entered the room unperceived, and overheard this
speech. "Being a soldier, one would wish to look like what he is, my
little critic."
The kiss that followed, and that given to Beulah, were no more than the
usual morning salutations of a brother to his sisters, slight touches
of rosy cheeks; and yet Maud blushed; for, as she said to herself, she
had been taken by surprise.
"They say listeners never hear good of themselves," answered Maud, with
a vivacity that betokened confusion. "Had you come a minute sooner,
master Bob, it might have been an advantage."
"Oh! Beulah's remarks I do not fear; so long as I get off unscathed
from yours, Miss Maud, I shall think myself a lucky fellow. But what
has brought me and my training into discussion, this morning?"
"It is natural for sisters to speak about their brother after so
long----"
"Tell him nothing about it, Beulah," interrupted Maud. "Let him listen,
and eaves-drop, and find out as he may, if he would learn our secrets.
There, major Willoughby, I hope that is a promise of a breakfast, which
will satisfy even your military appetite!"
"It looks well, indeed, Maud--and there, I perceive, are some of
Beulah's excellent plums, of which I am so fond--know they were made
especially for me, and I must kiss you, sister, for this proof of
remembrance."
Beulah, to whose simple mind it seemed injustice to appropriate credit
that belonged to another, was about to tell the truth; but an imploring
gesture from her sister induced her to smile, and receive the salute in
silence.
"Has any one seen captain Willoughby and parson Woods this morning?"
inquired the major. "I left them desperately engaged in discussion, and
I really feel some apprehension as to the remains left on the field of
battle."
"Here they both come," cried Maud, glad to find the discourse taking so
complete a change; "and there is mamma, followed by Pliny, to tell
Beulah to take her station at the coffee, while I go to the chocolate,
leaving the tea to the only hand that can make it so that my father
will drink it."
The parties mentioned entered the room, in the order named; the usual
salutations followed, and all took their seats at table. Captain
Willoughby was silent and thoughtful at first, leaving his son to
rattle on, in a way that betokened care, in his view of the matter,
quite as much as it betokened light-heartedness in those of his mother
and sisters. The chaplain was rather more communicative than his
friend; but he, too, seemed restless, and desirous of arriving at some
point that was not likely to come uppermost, in such a family party. At
length, the impulses of Mr. Woods got the better of his discretion,
even, and he could conceal his thoughts no longer.
"Captain Willoughby," he said, in a sort of apologetic, and yet simple
and natural manner, "I have done little since we parted, seven hours
since, but think of the matter under discussion."
"If you have, my dear Woods, there has been a strong sympathy between
us; I have scarcely slept. I may say I have thought of nothing else,
myself, and am glad you have broached the subject, again."
"I was about to say, my worthy sir, that reflection, and my pillow, and
your sound and admirable arguments, have produced an entire change in
my sentiments. I think, now, altogether with you."
"The devil you do, Woods!" cried the captain, looking up from his bit
of dry toast, in astonishment. "Why, my dear fellow--this is odd--
excessively odd, if the truth must be said.--To own the real state of
the case, chaplain, you have won _me_ over, and I was just about
to make proper acknowledgments of your victory!"
It need scarcely be added that the rest of the company were not a
little amazed at these cross-concessions, while Maud was exceedingly
amused. As for Mrs. Willoughby, nothing laughable ever occurred in
connection with her husband; and then she would as soon think of
assailing the church itself, as to ridicule one of its ministers.
Beulah could see nothing but what was right in her father, at least;
and, as for the major, he felt too much concerned at this unexpected
admission of his father's, to perceive anything but the error.
"Have you not overlooked the injunction of scripture, my excellent
friend?" rejoined the chaplain. "Have you left to the rights of Caesar,
all their weight and authority? 'The king's name is a tower of
strength.'"
"Have not you, Woods, forgotten the superior claims of reason and
right, over those of accident and birth--that man is to be considered
as a reasoning being, to be governed by principles and ever-varying
facts, and not a mere animal left to the control of an instinct that
perishes with its usefulness?"
"What _can_ they mean, mother?" whispered Maud, scarce able to
repress the laughter that came so easily to one with a keen sense of
the ludicrous.
"They have been arguing about the right of parliament to tax the
colonies, I believe, my dear, and _over-persuaded_ each other,
that's all. It _is_ odd, Robert, that Mr. Woods should convert
your father."
"No, my dearest mother, it is something even more serious than that."
By this time, the disputants, who sat opposite each other, were fairly
launched into the discussion, again, and heeded nothing that
passed--"No, dearest mother, it is far worse than even _that_.
Pliny, tell my man to brush the hunting-jacket--and, see he has his
breakfast, in good style--he is a grumbling rascal, and will give the
house a bad character, else--you need not come back, until we ring for
you--yes, mother, yes dearest girls, this is a far more serious matter
than you suppose, though it ought not to be mentioned idly, among the
people. God knows now they may take it--and bad news flies swift
enough, of itself."
"Merciful Providence!" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby-"What _can_ you
mean, my son?"
"I mean, mother, that civil war has actually commenced in the colonies,
and that the people of your blood and race are, in open arms, against
the people of my father's native country--in a word, against me."
"How can that be, Robert? Who would _dare_ to strike a blow
against the king?"
"When men get excited, and their passions are once inflamed, they will
do much, my mother, that they might not dream of, else."
"This must be a mistake! Some evil-disposed person has told you this,
Robert, knowing your attachment to the crown."
"I wish it were so, dear madam; but my own eyes have seen--I may say my
own flesh has felt, the contrary."
The major then related what had happened, letting his auditors into the
secret of the true state of the country. It is scarcely necessary to
allude to the degree of consternation and pain, with which he was
heard, or to the grief which succeeded.
"You spoke of yourself, dear Bob," said Maud, naturally, and with
strong feeling--"_You_ were not hurt, in this cruel, cruel
battle."
"I ought not to have mentioned it, although I did certainly receive a
smart contusion--nothing more, I assure you--here in the shoulder, and
it now scarcely inconveniences me."
By this time all were listening, curiosity and interest having silenced
even the disputants, especially as this was the first they had heard of
the major's casualty. Then neither felt the zeal which had warmed him
in the previous contest, but was better disposed to turn aside from its
pursuit.
"I hope it did not send you to the rear, Bob?" anxiously inquired the
father.
"I _was_ in the rear, sir, when I got the hurt," answered the
major, laughing. "The rear is the post of honour, on a retreat, you
know, my dear father; and I believe our march scarce deserves another
name."
"That is hard, too, on king's troops! What sort of fellows had you to
oppose, my son?"
"A rather intrusive set, sir. Their object was to persuade us to go
into Boston, as fast as possible; and, it was a little difficult, at
times, not to listen to their arguments. If my Lord Percy had not come
out, with a strong party, and two pieces of artillery, we might not
have stood it much longer. Our men were fagged like hunted deer, and
the day proved oppressively hot."
"Artillery, too!" exclaimed the captain, his military pride reviving a
little, to unsettle his last convictions of duty. "Did you open your
columns, and charge your enemies, in line?"
"It would have been charging air. No sooner did we halt, than our foes
dispersed; or, no sooner did we renew the march, than every line of
wall, along our route, became a line of hostile muskets. I trust you
will do us justice, sir--you know the regiments, and can scarce think
they misbehaved."
"British troops seldom do that; although I have known it happen. No
men, however, are usually more steady, and then these provincials are
formidable as skirmishers. In that character, I know _them_, too.
What has been the effect of all this on the country, Bob?--You told us
something of it last night; complete the history."
"The provinces are in a tumult. As for New England, a flame of fire
could scarce be more devastating; though I think this colony is less
excited. Still, here, men are arming in thousands."
"Dear me--dear me"--ejaculated the peacefully-inclined chaplain--"that
human beings can thus be inclined to self destruction!"
"Is Tryon active?--What do the royal authorities, all this time?"
"Of course they neglect nothing feasible; but, they must principally
rely on the loyalty and influence of the gentry, until succour can
arrive from Europe. If _that_ fail them, their difficulties will
be much increased."
Captain Willoughby understood his son; he glanced towards his
unconscious wife, as if to see how far she felt with him.
"Our own families are divided, of course, much as they have been in the
previous discussions," he added. "The De Lanceys, Van Cortlandts,
Philipses, Bayards, and most of that town connection, with a large
portion of the Long Island families, I should think, are with the
crown; while the Livingstons, Morrises, Schuylers, Rensselaers, and
their friends, go with the colony. Is not this the manner in which they
are divided?"
"With some limitations, sir. All the De Lanceys, with most of their
strong connections and influence, are with _us_--with the _king_,
I mean--while all the Livingstons and Morrises are against
us. The other families are divided--as with the Cortlandts, Schuylers,
and Rensselaers. It is fortunate for the Patroon, that he is a boy."
"Why so, Bob?" asked the captain, looking inquiringly up, at his son.
"Simply, sir, that his great estate may not be confiscated. So many of
his near connections are against us, that he could hardly escape the
contamination; and the consequences would be inevitable."
"Do you consider that so certain, sir? As there are two sides to the
question, may there not be two results to the war?"
"I think not, sir. England is no power to be defied by colonies
insignificant as these."
"This is well enough for a king's officer, major Willoughby; but all
large bodies of men are formidable when they are right, and nations--
these colonies are a nation, in extent and number--are not so easily
put down, when the spirit of liberty is up and doing among them."
The major listened to his father with pain and wonder. The captain
spoke earnestly, and there was a flush about his fine countenance, that
gave it sternness and authority. Unused to debate with his father,
especially when the latter was in such a mood, the son remained silent,
though his mother, who was thoroughly loyal in her heart--meaning loyal
as applied to a sovereign--and who had the utmost confidence in her
husband's tenderness and consideration for herself, was not so
scrupulous.
"Why, Willoughby," she cried, "you really incline to rebellion! I, even
I, who was born in the colonies, think them very wrong to resist their
anointed king, and sovereign prince."
"Ah, Wilhelmina," answered the captain, more mildly, "you have a true
colonist's admiration of _home_. But I was old enough, when I left
England, to appreciate what I saw and knew, and cannot feel all this
provincial admiration."
"But surely, my dear captain, England is a very great country,"
interrupted the chaplain--"a prodigious country; one that can claim all
our respect and love. Look at the church, now, the purified
continuation of the ancient visible authority of Christ on earth! It is
the consideration of this church that has subdued my natural love of
birth-place, and altered my sentiments."
"All very true, and all very well, in _your_ mouth, chaplain; yet
even the visible church may err. This doctrine of divine right would
have kept the Stuarts on the throne, and it is not even English
doctrine; much less, then, need it be American. I am no Cromwellian, no
republican, that wishes to oppose the throne, in order to destroy it. A
good king is a good thing, and a prodigious blessing to a country;
still, a people needs look to its political privileges if it wish to
preserve them. You and I will discuss this matter another time, parson.
There will be plenty of opportunities," he added, rising, and smiling
good-humouredly; "I must, now, call my people together, and let them
know this news. It is not fair to conceal a civil war."
"My dear sir!" exclaimed the major, in concern--"are you not wrong?--
precipitate, I mean--Is it not better to preserve the secret, to give
yourself time for reflection--to await events?--I can discover no
necessity for this haste. Should you see things differently, hereafter,
an incautious word uttered at this moment might bring much motive for
regret."
"I have thought of all this, Bob, during the night--for hardly did I
close my eyes--and you cannot change my purpose. It is honest to let my
people know how matters stand; and, so far from being hazardous, as you
seem to think, I consider it wise. God knows what time will bring
forth; but, in every, or any event, fair-dealing can scarcely injure
him who practises it. I have already sent directions to have the whole
settlement collected on the lawn, at the ringing of the bell, and I
expect every moment we shall hear the summons."
Against this decision there was no appeal. Mild and indulgent as the
captain habitually was, his authority was not to be disputed, when he
chose to exercise it. Some doubts arose, and the father participated in
them, for a moment, as to what might be the effect on the major's
fortunes; for, should a very patriotic spirit arise among the men, two-
thirds of whom were native Americans, and what was more, from the
eastern colonies, he might be detained; or, at least, betrayed on his
return, and delivered into the hands of the revolted authorities. This
was a very serious consideration, and it detained the captain in the
house, some time after the people were assembled, debating the chances,
in the bosom of his own family.
"We exaggerate the danger," the captain, at length, exclaimed. "Most of
these men have been with me for years, and I know not one among them
who I think would wish to injure me, or even you, my son, in this way.
There is far more danger in attempting to deceive them, than in making
them confidants. I will go out and tell the truth; then we shall, at
least, have the security of self-approbation. If you escape the danger
of being sold by Nick, my son, I think you have little to fear from any
other."
"By Nick!" repeated half-a-dozen voices, in surprise--Surely, father--
surely, Willoughby--surely, my dear captain, you cannot suspect as old
and tried a follower, as the Tuscarora!"
"Ay, he is an _old_ follower, certainly, and he has been
_punished_ often enough, if he has not been _tried_. I have
never suffered my distrust of that fellow to go to sleep--it is unsafe,
with an Indian, unless you have a strong hold on his gratitude."
"But, Willoughby, he it was who found this manor for us," rejoined the
wife. "Without him, we should never have been the owners of this lovely
place, this beaver-dam, and all else that we so much enjoy."
"True, my dear; and without good golden guineas, we should not have had
Nick."
"But, sir, I pay as liberally as he can wish," observed the major. "If
bribes will buy him, mine are as good as another's."
"We shall see--under actual circumstances, I think we shall be, in
every respect, safer, by keeping nothing back, than by telling all to
the people."
The captain now put on his hat, and issued through the undefended
gateway, followed by every individual of his family. As the summons had
been general, when the Willoughbys and the chaplain appeared on the
lawn, every living soul of that isolated settlement, even to infants in
the arms, was collected there. The captain commanded the profound
respect of all his dependants, though a few among them did not love
him. The fault was not his, however, but was inherent rather in the
untoward characters of the disaffected themselves. His habits of
authority were unsuited to their habits of a presuming equality,
perhaps; and it is impossible for the comparatively powerful and
affluent to escape the envy and repinings of men, who, unable to draw
the real distinctions that separate the gentleman from the low-minded
and grovelling, impute their advantages to accidents and money. But,
even the few who permitted this malign and corrupting tendency to
influence their feelings, could not deny that their master was just and
benevolent, though he did not always exhibit this justice and
benevolence precisely in the way best calculated to soothe their own
craving self-love, and exaggerated notions of assumed natural claims.
In a word, captain Willoughby, in the eyes of a few unquiet and bloated
imaginations among his people, was obnoxious to the imputation of
pride; and this because he saw and felt the consequences of education,
habits, manners, opinions and sentiments that were hidden from those
who not only had no perception of their existence, but who had no
knowledge whatever of the qualities that brought them into being.
Pope's familiar line of "what can we reason but from what we know?" is
peculiarly applicable to persons of this class; who are ever for
dragging all things down to standards created by their own ignorance;
and who, slaves of the basest and meanest passions, reason as if they
were possessors of all the knowledge, sensibilities and refinements of
their own country and times. Of this class of men, comes the ordinary
demagogue, a wretch equally incapable of setting an example of any of
the higher qualities, in his own person or practice, and of
appreciating it when exhibited by others. Such men abound under all
systems where human liberty is highly privileged, being the moral
_fungi_ of freedom, as the rankest weeds are known to be the
troublesome and baneful productions of the richest soils.
It was no unusual thing for the people of the Hutted Knoll to be
collected, in the manner we have described. We are writing of a period,
that the present enlightened generation is apt to confound with the
darker ages of American knowledge, in much that relates to social
usages at least, though it escaped the long-buried wisdom of the Mormon
bible, and Miller's interpretations of the prophecies. In that day, men
were not so silly as to attempt to appear always wise; but some of the
fetes and festivals of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors were still tolerated
among us; the all-absorbing and all-_swallowing_ jubilee of
"Independence-day" not having yet overshadowed everything else in the
shape of a holiday. Now, captain Willoughby had brought with him to the
colonies the love of festivals that is so much more prevalent in the
old world than in the new; and it was by no means an uncommon thing for
him to call his people together, to make merry on a birth-day, or the
anniversary of some battle in which he had been one of the victors.
When he appeared on the lawn, on the present occasion, therefore, it
was expected he was about to meet them with some such announcement.