SAMUEL DICKSON GIVES ADVICE TO HIS BROTHER.
On the same day on which the _Patriot_ anchored in the Bay of
Massachusetts an interesting event took place between seven and eight
in the morning in a pretty village named Northampton, at no great
distance from Boston.
Everybody was excited. A crowd of men, women, and children pressed
around a number of waggons, each drawn by six horses. They stood in
front of a brick house, the only inn of the village. Four magnificent
saddle horses, with very handsome harness, were held by a young
intelligent-looking Negro, who at the same time smoked a short pipe.
The crowd was very excited, but very decorous and quiet--as a New
England crowd always is--waiting simply for an explanation.
Suddenly the sharp trot of a horse was heard at the entrance of the
street. This served to create a new sensation in the crowd.
"Samuel Dickson!" cried the people; "At last he has come. Now he will
make them listen to reason."
The new arrival was a man of middle age, with a pleasant countenance,
delicate and intelligent features, clothed in the dress of a rich
farmer, and in those parts was looked up to as a most important
individual.
He made his way carefully through the crowd, bowing on either hand, and
rather puzzled at the ovation he was receiving.
"Ah! Ah! That is you, massa," said a Negro, with a chuckle, as he
approached the inn door.
"Sandy, is that you? Then I suppose the others are inside," he
remarked, as he dismounted and handed him the bridle.
"Yes, Massa Samuel, dem all dere."
"I am glad of it," he replied, "for I have come a long way to see them.
Look after my horse, he is rather fresh."
Then, bowing once more to the crowd, Samuel Dickson entered the inn,
closing the door behind him.
In a large and comfortable room six persons, two women and four men,
were seated at one of those copious breakfasts which are never seen
to such perfection as in America. Upon benches round the room sat
about twenty persons in a humbler station in life, amongst others two
coloured young women, who were eating from bowls and plates placed on
their knees.
Those at the table were the members of the family--father, mother,
daughter, and three sons. Those around were the servants.
Joshua Dickson, the head of the family, was in reality a man of
fifty-five, not, however, looking more than forty. He was a man of
rude manners, but frank, honest expression. He was six feet high, as
powerful as Hercules, a true type of those hardy pioneers who opened
up the forests of the New World, drove back the Indians, and founded
stations in the desert, which in time became rich and flourishing towns.
His sons were named Harry, Sam, and Jack, aged respectively thirty,
twenty-eight, and twenty-six. They were all three as tall as their
father, and about as Herculean--true Americans, with no thought of the
past, only looking to the future.
Susan Dickson, the mother of this trio of giants, was a woman of about
fifty--small, elegant, but extremely active, with delicate features
and a pre-possessing physiognomy. She looked much younger than she
really was--thanks to her really admirable complexion and the singular
brightness of her eyes. She must have been rarely beautiful in her
youth.
Diana, the child of her old age, as she loved to call her, was
scarcely sixteen, was the idol of the family, the guardian angel of
the fireside; her father and brothers actually worshipped her. It
was something wonderful to see their rude natures bending like reeds
before the slightest wish of this delicate child, and obeying her most
fantastic orders without a murmur.
Diana was a charming brunette, with blue and dreamy eyes, slight and
flexible form; she was pale; a look of profound melancholy was to be
remarked on her countenance, giving to her physiognomy that angelic
expression rarely found except in the Madonnas of Titien. This sadness,
which all the family saw with sorrow, had only been in existence a few
days. When questioned on the subject, even by her mother, she had no
answer to give.
"It is nothing at all," she said, "only a slight feeling of sickness,
which will soon pass away."
Hearing this, all had ceased to question her, though all felt uneasy,
and slightly annoyed at her reticence. Still, as she was the spoiled
child of the family, no one had the heart to blame her or pester her
with questions. They had seduced her to govern them unquestioned that
it appeared hard now to want to curb her will.
The entrance of the stranger into the hall where the emigrants were
breakfasting like persons who knew the value of time, caused no small
stir; they ceased eating, and, glancing at one another, whispered
amongst themselves. The stranger, leaning on his riding whip, looked at
them with an odd kind of smile.
The chief of the family, though himself somewhat surprised, was the
first to recover himself. He rose, held out his hand, and spoke in what
he intended should be a jovial tone. The attempt was a failure.
"My good brother," he said, "this is indeed a surprise. I really did
not expect to see you; but sit down beside my wife and have some
breakfast."
"Thank you; I am not hungry."
"Then excuse me if I finish my meal," continued the emigrant.
"Brother," presently said Samuel, "for a man of your age you are acting
in an extraordinary manner."
"I don't think so," replied the other.
"Let me ask you where are you going?"
"Northward, to the great lakes."
"What is the meaning of this?"
"My friend, I am told there is good land to be had but for the taking."
"May I ask who put this silly idea in your head?"
"No one. It is a splendid country, with splendid forests, water in
abundance, a delicious climate, though rather cold, and land for
nothing."
"Have you seen this beautiful country?"
"No; but I know all about it."
"Do you?" sneered the other; "Well, beware of the creeks."
"Never you fear. Wherever there is water there are bridges."
"Of course; and now may I ask, what have you done with your magnificent
southern property?" the other asked.
"I have sold it, slaves and all, keeping only such as were willing to
follow me. I brought away all that could travel--my wife, my sons, my
daughter, my furniture, my horses, all I wanted."
"May I without offence ask you this question: Were you not very well
where you were? Did you not find the land excellent?"
"I was well off, and the land was excellent."
"Were you unable to sell your produce?"
"I had an admirable market," was the answer.
"Then," cried Samuel, angrily, "what in the devil's name do you mean by
giving it up and going to a land where you will find nothing but wild
beasts, brutal savages, and a hard and rigorous climate?"
The bold adventurer, driven into his last intrenchment, made no reply,
only scratching his head in search of a reply. His wife here interfered.
"What is the use," she said, smiling, "asking for reasons which do
not exist? Joshua is going for the love of change--nothing more. All
our lives, as you well know, we have been roaming hither and thither.
As soon as we are once comfortably settled anywhere, then we begin to
think it time to be off."
"Yes! Yes! I know my brother's vagabond habits. But when he is in one
of his mad fits, why do you not interfere?" he cried, impetuously.
"Brother, you don't know what it is to be married to a wanderer," she
said.
"Good!" cried Joshua, laughing.
"But if you don't find this beautiful country?" asked Samuel.
"I will embark on one of the rivers."
"And where will you land?"
"I have not the slightest idea. But there, do not be uneasy, I shall
find a place."
"Then," said Samuel, gazing at him with perfect amazement in his looks,
"you are determined?"
"I am determined."
"Then, as we shall never meet again, come and spend a few days at my
house," urged Samuel.
"I am very sorry to decline, but I cannot go back. If I were to waste a
day, it would be a serious loss of time and money. I must reach my new
settlement in time for the sowing."
Samuel Dickson, putting his hands behind his back, walked across the
room with great strides, backwards and forwards, watching his niece
curiously under his eyes.
He several times struck the ground with his riding whip, muttering to
himself all the time. Diana sat with her hands crossed on her knees,
the teardrops falling from her eyes.
Suddenly the farmer appeared to have made up his mind. Turning round,
he laid his heavy hand on his brother's shoulder.
"Joshua!" he said, "It is clear to me that you are mad, and that I
alone in the family possess any common sense; never, God forgive you,
did more crooked notion enter the head of an honest man. You won't come
to my house? Very good. I will then ask you one thing, which, if you
refuse, I shall never forgive you."
"You know how much I love you."
"I know you say so; but this is the favour I ask: don't start until you
see me again."
"Hem! But--"
"I must get home on important business at once. My house is but twenty
miles distant; I shall soon be back."
"But when?" cautiously asked the emigrant.
"Tomorrow, or the next day at the latest."
"That is a long delay," continued Joshua.
"I do not deny it. But as your paradise, your El Dorado, your beautiful
country will not probably run away, you are bound to reach it sooner
or later. Besides," urged Samuel, "it is important, very important, we
should meet again."
"As you will, my brother," sighed Joshua; "I give you my word to wait
until the day after tomorrow at seven o'clock in the morning--no later."
"That will suit me admirably," cried the farmer; "so good-bye for the
present."
And with a bow to all, and a smile to Diana, he hurried out of the room.
The crowd still patiently surrounded the inn and received him with a
loud shout. He, however, took no notice, but rode off.
"We could not very well refuse, Susan," said the farmer to his wife.
"He is your brother," she replied.
"Our only relative," murmured Diana.
"True. Diana is right. Children, unharness the animals: we will stop
here tonight."
And, to the great surprise of the gaping crowd, who hung about after
the fashion of idlers, the horses of the emigrants were unyoked and
taken to a shed, the waggons placed under cover, without the curious
knowing the reason why.
On the morning of the second day Joshua Dickson, shortly after sunrise,
was overlooking the horses being fed by his sons and servants, when a
great noise was heard in the street, as of many waggons, and then there
was a sharp knocking at the door of the inn.
Joshua hastily left the stables and took his way to the great room of
the hotel.
He came face to face with Samuel Dickson, who had just been admitted by
the sleepy innkeeper.
"Hilloa!" cried Joshua, "Is that you, my brother?"
"Who else do you suppose it is?" cried Samuel.
"Well, but I did not expect you so early."
"Well," said Samuel, drily, "I was afraid you might give me the slip,
so I came early."
"An excellent idea, brother," said Mrs. Dickson, who now entered.
"And knowing how anxious my brother is to reach the promised land, I
would not keep him waiting."
"Quite right," coolly replied Joshua; "and now about this important
business?"
"Look out of window," drily answered Samuel.
Joshua obeyed, and saw five heavily-laden waggons, drawn each by
horses, with about twelve hired men.
"Well," coolly observed Joshua, "what may be the meaning of all this?"
"It means," answered the farmer, "that as you have found yourself such
a fool, it becomes my duty, as your elder brother, to come and look
after you. I have sold up everything, and invested part, as you see."
"Oh, my brother!" cried Joshua, with tears in his eyes.
"Am I not your only relative? Wherever you go, I shall go--only there
will now be two fools, but I am the bigger of the two. I talk like a
wise man and act like a foolish child."
Uncle Samuel was adored by all the family, everyone was delighted,
while Diana was radiant.
"Oh, my good uncle," she said, warmly embracing him, "it is for me you
do this."
"Do you think," he whispered, "I ever meant to desert my niece?"
Two hours later the double caravan started on its way.