Sir, I do know you;
And dare, upon the warrant of my art,
Commend a dear thing to you.
King Lear.
At the precise time when the action of our piece commences, a fine and
fruitful season was drawing to a close. The harvests of the hay and of the
smaller corns had long been over, and the younger Heathcote with his
laborers had passed a day in depriving the luxuriant maize of its tops, in
order to secure the nutritious blades for fodder, and to admit the sun and
air to harden a grain, that is almost considered the staple production of
the region he inhabited. The veteran Mark had ridden among the workmen,
during their light toil, as well to enjoy a sight which promised abundance
to his flocks and herds, as to throw in, on occasion, some wholesome
spiritual precept, in which doctrinal subtlety was far more prominent than
the rules of practice. The hirelings of his son, for he had long since
yielded the management of the estate to Content, were, without an
exception, young men born in the country and long use and much training
had accustomed them to a blending of religious exercises with most of the
employments of life. They listened, therefore, with respect, nor did an
impious smile, or an impatient glance, escape the lightest-minded of their
number, during his exhortations, though the homilies of the old man were
neither very brief, nor particularly original. But devotion to the one
great cause of their existence, austere habits, and unrelaxed industry in
keeping alive a flame of zeal that had been kindled in the other
hemisphere, to burn longest and brightest in this, had interwoven the
practice mentioned with most of the opinions and pleasures of these
metaphysical, though simple minded people. The toil went on none the less
cheerily for the extraordinary accompaniment, and Content himself, by a
certain glimmering of superstition, which appears to be the concomitant of
excessive religious zeal, was fain to think that the sun shone more
brightly on their labors, and that the earth gave forth more of its
fruits, while these holy sentiments were flowing from the lips of a father
whom he piously loved and deeply reverenced.
But when the sun, usually at that season, in the climate of Connecticut, a
bright unshrouded orb, fell towards the tree-tops which bounded the
western horizon, the old man began to grow weary with his own well-doing.
He therefore finished his discourse with a wholesome admonition to the
youths to complete their tasks before they quitted the field; and, turning
the head of his horse, he rode slowly, and with a musing air, towards the
dwellings. It is probable that for some time the thoughts of Mark were
occupied with the intellectual matter he had just been handling with so
much power; but when his little nag stopped of itself on a small eminence,
which the crooked cow-path he was following crossed, his mind yielded to
the impression of more worldly and more sensible objects. As the scene,
that drew his contemplations from so many abstract theories to the
realities of life, was peculiar to the country, and is more or less
connected with the subject of our tale, we shall endeavor briefly to
describe it.
A small tributary of the Connecticut divided the view into two nearly
equal parts. The fertile flats that extended on each of its banks for more
than a mile, had been early stripped of their burthen of forest, and they
now lay in placid meadows, or in fields from which the grain of the season
had lately disappeared, and over which the plow had already left the marks
of recent tillage. The whole of the plain, which ascended gently from the
rivulet towards the forest, was subdivided in inclosures, by numberless
fences, constructed in the rude but substantial manner of the country.
Rails, in which lightness and economy of wood had been but little
consulted, lying in zigzag lines, like the approaches which the besieger
makes in his cautious advance to the hostile fortress, were piled on each
other, until barriers seven or eight feet in height, were interposed to
the inroads of vicious cattle. In one spot, a large square vacancy had
been cut into the forest, and, though numberless stumps of trees darkened
its surface, as indeed they did many of the fields on the flats
themselves, bright, green grain was sprouting forth, luxuriantly, from the
rich and virgin soil. High against the side of an adjacent hill, that
might aspire to be called a low rocky mountain, a similar invasion had
been made on the dominion of the trees; but caprice or convenience had
induced an abandonment of the clearing, after it had ill requited the toil
of felling the timber by a single crop. In this spot, straggling, girdled,
and consequently dead trees, piles of logs, and black and charred stubs,
were seen deforming the beauty of a field, that would, otherwise, have
been striking from its deep setting in the woods. Much of the surface of
this opening, too, was now concealed by bushes of what is termed the
second growth; though, here and there, places appeared, in which the
luxuriant white clover, natural to the country, had followed the close
grazing of the flocks. The eyes of Mark were bent, inquiringly, on this
clearing, which, by an air line, might have been half a mile from the
place where his horse had stopped, for the sounds of a dozen differently
toned cow-bells were brought, on the still air of the evening, to his
ears; from among its bushes.
The evidences of civilization were the least equivocal, however, on and
around a natural elevation in the land, which arose so suddenly on the
very bank of the stream, as to give to it the appearance of a work of art.
Whether these mounds once existed everywhere on the face of the earth, and
have disappeared before long tillage and labor, we shall not presume to
conjecture; but we have reason to think that they occur much more
frequently in certain parts of our own country, than in any other
familiarly known to ordinary travellers; unless perhaps it may be in some
of the valleys of Switzerland. The practised veteran had chosen the summit
of this flattened cone, for the establishment of that species of military
defence, which the situation of the country, and the character of the
enemy he had to guard against, rendered advisable, as well as customary.
The dwelling was of wood, and constructed of the ordinary frame-work,
with its thin covering of boards. It was long, low, and irregular;
bearing marks of having been reared at different periods, as the wants of
an increasing family had required additional accommodation. It stood near
the verge of the natural declivity, and on that side of the hill where
its base was washed by the rivulet, a rude piazza stretching along the
whole of its front and overhanging the stream. Several large, irregular,
and clumsy chimneys, rose out of different parts of the roofs, another
proof that comfort, rather than taste, had been consulted in the
disposition of the buildings. There were also two or three detached
offices on the summit of the hill, placed near the dwelling, and at
points most convenient for their several uses. A stranger might have
remarked that they were so disposed as to form, far as they went, the
different sides of a hollow square. Notwithstanding the great length of
the principal building, and the disposition of the more minute and
detached parts, this desirable formation would not, however, have been
obtained, were it not that two rows of rude constructions in logs, from
which the bark had not even been stripped, served to eke out the parts
that were deficient. These primeval edifices were used to contain various
domestic articles, no less than provisions; and they also furnished
numerous lodging-rooms for the laborers and the inferior dependants of
the farm: By the aid of a few strong and high gates of hewn timber, those
parts of the buildings which had not been made to unite in the original
construction, were sufficiently connected to oppose so many barriers
against admission into the inner court.
But the building which was most conspicuous by its position, no less than
by the singularity of its construction, stood on a low, artificial mound,
in the centre of the quadrangle. It was high, hexagonal in shape, and
crowned with a roof that came to a point, and from whose peak rose a
towering flagstaff. The foundation was of stone; but, at the height of a
man above the earth, the sides were made of massive, squared logs, firmly
united by an ingenious combination of their ends, as well as by
perpendicular supporters pinned closely into their sides. In this
citadel, or block-house, as from its materials it was technically called,
there were two different tiers of long, narrow loop-holes, but no regular
windows. The rays of the setting sun, however, glittered on one or two
small openings in the roof, in which glass had been set, furnishing
evidence that the summit of the building was sometimes used for other
purposes than those of defence.
About half-way up the sides of the eminence, on which the dwelling stood,
was an unbroken line of high palisadoes, made of the bodies of young
trees, firmly knit together by braces and horizontal pieces of timber, and
evidently kept in a state of jealous and complete repair. The air of the
whole of this frontier fortress was neat and comfortable, and, considering
that the use of artillery was unknown to those forests, not unmilitary.
At no great distance from the base of the hill, stood the barns and the
stables. They were surrounded by a vast range of rude but warm sheds,
beneath which sheep and horned cattle were usually sheltered from the
storms of the rigorous winters of the climate. The surfaces of the
meadows, immediately around the out-buildings, were of a smoother and
richer sward, than those in the distance, and the fences were on a far
more artificial, and perhaps durable, though scarcely on a more
serviceable plan. A large orchard of some ten or fifteen years' growth,
too, added greatly to the air of improvement, which put this smiling
valley in such strong and pleasing contrast to the endless and
nearly-untenanted woods by which it was environed.
Of the interminable forest, it is not necessary to speak. With the
solitary exception on the mountain-side, and of here and there a wind-row,
along which the trees had been uprooted, by the furious blasts that
sometimes sweep off acres of our trees in a minute, the eye could find no
other object to study in the vast setting of this quiet rural picture, but
the seemingly endless maze of wilderness. The broken surface of the land,
however, limited the view to an horizon of no great extent, though the art
of man could scarcely devise colors so vivid, or so gay, as those which
were afforded by the brilliant hues of the foliage. The keen, biting
frosts, known at the close of a New-England autumn, had already touched
the broad and fringed leaves of the maples, and the sudden and secret
process had been wrought upon all the other varieties of the forest,
producing that magical effect, which can be nowhere seen, except in
regions in which nature is so bountiful and luxuriant in summer, and so
sudden and so stern in the change of the seasons.
Over this picture of prosperity and peace, the eye of old Mark Heathcote
wandered with a keen degree of worldly prudence. The melancholy sounds of
the various toned bells, ringing hollow and plaintively among the arches
of the woods, gave him reason to believe that the herds of the family were
returning, voluntarily, from their unlimited forest pasturage. His
grandson, a fine spirited boy of some fourteen years, was approaching
through the fields. The youngster drove before him a small flock, which
domestic necessity compelled the family to keep at great occasional loss,
and at a heavy expense of time and trouble; both of which could alone
protect them from the ravages of the beasts of prey. A species of
half-witted serving-lad, whom charity had induced the old man to harbor
among his dependants was seen issuing from the woods, nearly in a line
with the neglected clearing on the mountain-side. The latter advanced,
shouting and urging before him a drove of colts, as shaggy, as wayward,
and nearly as untamed as himself.
"How now, weak one," said the Puritan, with a severe eye, as the two lads
approached him, with their several charges, from different directions, and
nearly at the same instant; "how now, sirrah! dost worry the cattle in
this gait, when the eyes of the prudent are turned from thee? Do as thou
wouldst be done by, is a just and healthful admonition, that the learned,
and the simple, the weak and the strong of mind, should alike recall to
their thoughts and their practice. I do not know that an over-driven colt
will be at all more apt to make a gentle and useful beast in its prime,
than one treated with kindness and care."
"I believe the evil one has got into all the kine, no less than into the
foals," sullenly returned the lad; "I've called to them in anger, and I've
spoken to them as if they had been my natural kin, and yet neither fair
word nor foul tongue will bring them to hearken to advice. There is
something frightful in the woods this very sun-down, master; or colts that
I have driven the summer through, would not be apt to give this unfair
treatment to one they ought to know to be their friend."
"Thy sheep are counted, Mark?" resumed the grandfather, turning towards
his descendant with a less austere, but always an authoritative brow; "thy
mother hath need of every fleece, to provide covering for thee and others
like thee; thou knowest, child, that the creatures are few, and our
winters weary and cold."
"My mother's loom shall never be idle from carelessness of mine," returned
the confident boy; "but counting and wishing cannot make seven-and-thirty
fleeces, where there are only six-and-thirty backs to carry them. I have
been an hour among the briars and bushes of the hill logging, looking for
the lost wether, and yet neither lock, hoof, hide, nor horn, is there to
say what hath befallen the animal."
"Thou hast lost a sheep!--this carelessness will cause thy mother
to grieve."
"Grandfather, I have been no idler. Since the last hunt, the flock hath
been allowed to browse the woods; for no man, in all that week, saw wolf,
panther, or bear, though the country was up, from the great river to the
outer settlements of the colony. The biggest four-footed animal, that lost
its hide in the muster, was a thin-ribbed deer, and the stoutest battle
given, was between wild Whittal Ring, here, and a wood-chuck that kept him
at arm's-length, for the better part of an afternoon."
"Thy tale may be true, but it neither finds that which is lost, nor
completeth the number of thy mother's flock. Hast thou ridden carefully
throughout the clearing? It is not long, since I saw the animals grazing
in that quarter. What hast thou twisting in thy fingers, in that wasteful
and unthankful manner, Whittal?"
"What would make a winter blanket, if there was enough of it! wool! and
wool, too, that came from the thigh of old Straight-Horns; else have I
forgotten a leg, that gives the longest and coarsest hair at the
shearing."
"That truly seemeth a lock from the animal that is wanting," exclaimed the
other boy. "There is no other creature in the flock, with fleece so coarse
and shaggy. Where found you the handful, Whittal Ring?"
"Growing on the branch of a thorn. Queer fruit this, masters, to be seen
where young plums ought to ripen!"
"Go, go," interrupted the old man; "thou idlest, and misspendest the time
in vain talk. Go, fold thy flock, Mark; and do thou, weak-one, house thy
charge with less uproar than is wont. We should remember that the voice is
given to man, firstly, that he may improve the blessing in thanksgivings
and petitions; secondly, to communicate such gifts as may be imparted to
himself, and which it is his bounden duty to attempt to impart to others;
and then, thirdly, to declare his natural wants and inclinations."
With this admonition, which probably proceeded from a secret consciousness
in the Puritan that he had permitted a momentary cloud of selfishness to
obscure the brightness of his faith, the party separated. The grandson and
the hireling took their several ways to the folds, while old Mark himself
slowly continued his course towards the dwellings. It was near enough to
the hours of darkness, to render the preparations we have mentioned
prudent; still, no urgency called for particular haste, in the return of
the veteran to the shelter and protection of his own comfortable and
secure abode. He therefore loitered along the path, occasionally stopping
to look into the prospects of the young crops, that were beginning to
spring up in readiness for the coming year, and at times bending his gaze
around the whole of his limited horizon, like one who had the habit of
exceeding and unremitted care.
One of these numerous pauses promised to be much longer than usual.
Instead of keeping his understanding eye on the grain, the look of the old
man appeared fastened, as by a charm, on some distant and obscure object.
Doubt and uncertainty, for many minutes, seemed to mingle in his gaze. But
all hesitation had apparently disappeared, as his lips severed, and he
spoke, perhaps unconsciously to himself, aloud.
"It is no deception," were the low words, "but a living and an accountable
creature of the Lord's. Many a day has passed since such a sight hath been
witnessed in this vale; but my eye greatly deceives me, or yonder cometh
one ready to ask for hospitality, and, peradventure, for Christian and
brotherly communion."
The sight of the aged emigrant had not deceived him. One, who appeared
a wayworn and weary traveller, had indeed ridden out of the forest, at a
point where a path, that was easier to be traced by the blazed trees
that lay along its route, than by any marks on the earth itself, issued
into the cleared land. The progress of the stranger had, at first, been
so wary and slow, as to bear the manner of exceeding and mysterious
caution. The blind road, along which he must have ridden not only far
but hard, or night had certainly overtaken him in the woods, led to one
of the distant settlements that lay near to the fertile banks of the
Connecticut. Few ever followed its windings, but they who had especial
affairs, or extraordinary communion, in the way of religious
friendships, with the proprietors of the Wish-Ton-Wish, as, in
commemoration of the first bird that had been seen by the emigrants, the
valley of the Heathcotes was called.
Once fairly in view, any doubt or apprehension, that the stranger might at
first have entertained, disappeared. He rode boldly and steadily forward,
until he drew a rein that his impoverished and weary beast gladly obeyed,
within a few feet of the proprietor of the valley, whose gaze had never
ceased to watch his movements, from the instant when the other first came
within view. Before speaking, the stranger, a man whose head was getting
gray, apparently as much with hardship as with time, and one whose great
weight would have proved a grievous burthen, in a long ride, to even a
better-conditioned beast than the ill-favored provincial hack he had
ridden, dismounted, and threw the bridle loose upon the drooping neck of
the animal. The latter, without a moment's delay, and with a greediness
that denoted long abstinence, profited by its liberty, to crop the herbage
where it stood.
"I cannot be mistaken, when I suppose that I have at length reached the
valley of the Wish-Ton Wish," the visiter said, touching a soiled and
slouched beaver that more than half concealed his features. The question
was put in an English that bespoke a descent from those who dwell in the
midland counties of the mother country, rather than in that intonation
which is still to be traced, equally in the western portions of England
and in the eastern states of the Union. Notwithstanding the purity of his
accent, there was enough in the form of his speech to denote a severe
compliance with the fashion of the religionists of the times. He used that
measured and methodical tone, which was, singularly enough, believed to
distinguish an entire absence of affectation in language.
"Thou hast reached the dwelling of him thou seekest; one who is a
submissive sojourner in the wilderness of the world, and an humble
servitor in the outer temple."
"This then is Mark Heathcote!" repeated the stranger in tones of interest,
regarding the other with a look of long, and, possibly, of suspicious
investigation.
"Such is the name I bear. A fitting confidence in him who knows so well
how to change the wilds into the haunts of men, and much suffering, have
made me the master of what thou seest. Whether thou comest to tarry a
night, a week, a month, or even for a still longer season, as a brother in
care, and I doubt not one who striveth for the right, I bid thee welcome."
The stranger thanked his host, by a slow inclination of the head; but the
gaze, which began to partake a little of the look of recognition, was
still too earnest and engrossing to admit of verbal reply. On the other
hand, though the old man had scanned the broad and rusty beaver, the
coarse and well-worn doublet, the heavy boots and, in short, the whole
attire of his visiter, in which he saw no vain conformity to idle
fashions to condemn, it was evident that personal recollection had not the
smallest influence in quickening his hospitality.
"Thou hast arrived happily," continued the Puritan: "had night
overtaken thee in the forest, unless much practised in the shifts of
our young woodsmen, hunger, frost, and a supperless bed of brush, would
have given thee motive to think more of the body than is either
profitable or seemly."
The stranger might possibly have known the embarrassment of these several
hardships; for the quick and unconscious glance he threw over his soiled
dress, should have betrayed some familiarity already, with the privations
to which his host alluded. As neither of them, however, seemed disposed to
waste further time on matters of such light moment, the traveller put an
arm through the bridle of his horse, and, in obedience to an invitation
from the owner of the dwelling, they took their way towards the fortified
edifice on the natural mound.
The task of furnishing litter and provender to the jaded beast was
performed by Whittal Ring under the inspection, and, at times, under the
instructions, of its owner and his host, both of whom appeared to take a
kind and commendable interest in the comfort of a faithful hack, that had
evidently suffered long and much in the service of its master. When this
duty was discharged, the old man and his unknown guest entered the house
together; the frank and unpretending hospitality of a country like that
they were in, rendering suspicion or hesitation qualities that were
unknown to the reception of a man of white blood; more especially if he
spoke the language of the island, which was then first sending out its
swarms, to subdue and possess so large a portion of a continent that
nearly divides the earth in moieties.