[Transcriber's note: It appears that the author _may have_ used '
and " interchangeably throughout this text to mean "minutes" whereas
traditionally, ' is used to mean minutes and " seconds. Not knowing
the author's intent, I have left these characters as they were in the
original.]
THE SEA LIONS;
or, The Lost Sealers.
By J. Fenimore Cooper.
Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb
Melt, and dispel, ye spectre doubts that roll
Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul
_Campbell._
_Complete in One Volume._
1860.
Preface.
If any thing connected with the hardness of the human heart could surprise
us, it surely would be the indifference with which men live on, engrossed
by their worldly objects, amid the sublime natural phenomena that so
eloquently and unceasingly speak to their imaginations, affections, and
judgments. So completely is the existence of the individual concentrated
in self, and so regardless does he get to be of all without that
contracted circle, that it does not probably happen to one man in ten,
that his thoughts are drawn aside from this intense study of his own
immediate wants, wishes, and plans, even once in the twenty-four hours, to
contemplate the majesty, mercy, truth, and justice, of the Divine Being
that has set him, as an atom, amid the myriads of the hosts of heaven and
earth.
The physical marvels of the universe produce little more reflection than
the profoundest moral truths. A million of eyes shall pass over the
firmament, on a cloudless night, and not a hundred minds shall be filled
with a proper sense of the power of the dread Being that created all that
is there--not a hundred hearts glow with the adoration that such an appeal
to the senses and understanding ought naturally to produce. This
indifference, in a great measure, comes of familiarity; the things that we
so constantly have before us, becoming as a part of the air we breathe,
and as little regarded.
One of the consequences of this disposition to disregard the Almighty
Hand, as it is so plainly visible in all around us, is that of
substituting our own powers in its stead. In this period of the world, in
enlightened countries, and in the absence of direct idolatry, few men are
so hardy as to deny the existence and might of a Supreme Being; but, this
fact admitted, how few really feel that profound reverence for him that
the nature of our relations justly demands! It is the want of a due sense
of humility, and a sad misconception of what we are, and for what we were
created, that misleads us in the due estimate of our own insignificance,
as Compared with the majesty of God.
Very few men attain enough of human knowledge to be fully aware how much
remains to be learned, and of that which they never can hope to acquire.
We hear a great deal of god-like minds, and of the far-reaching faculties
we possess; and it may all be worthy of our eulogiums, until we compare
ourselves in these, as in other particulars, with Him who produced them.
Then, indeed, the utter insignificance of our means becomes too apparent
to admit of a cavil. We know that we are born, and that we die; science
has been able to grapple with all the phenomena of these two great
physical facts, with the exception of the most material of all--those
which should tell us what is life, and what is death. Something that we
cannot comprehend lies at the root of every distinct division of natural
phenomena. Thus far shalt thou go and no farther, seems to be imprinted
on every great fact of creation. There is a point attained in each and all
of our acquisitions, where a mystery that no human mind can scan takes the
place of demonstration and conjecture. This point may lie more remote with
some intellects than with others; but it exists for all, arrests the
inductions of all, conceals all.
We are aware that the more learned among those who disbelieve in the
divinity of Christ suppose themselves to be sustained by written
authority, contending for errors of translation, mistakes and
misapprehensions in the ancient texts. Nevertheless, we are inclined to
think that nine-tenths of those who refuse the old and accept the new
opinion, do so for a motive no better than a disinclination to believe
that which they cannot comprehend. This pride of reason is one of the most
insinuating of our foibles, and is to be watched as a most potent enemy.
How completely and philosophically does the venerable Christian creed
embrace and modify all these workings of the heart! We say
philosophically, for it were not possible for mind to give a juster
analysis of the whole subject than St. Paul's most comprehensive but brief
definition of Faith. It is this Faith which forms the mighty feature of
the church on earth. It equalizes capacities, conditions, means, and ends,
holding out the same encouragement and hope to the least, as to the most
gifted of the race; counting gifts in their ordinary and more secular
points of view.
It is when health, or the usual means of success abandon us, that we are
made to feel how totally we are insufficient for the achievement of even
our own purposes, much less to qualify us to reason on the deep mysteries
that conceal the beginning and the end. It has often been said that the
most successful leaders of their fellow men have had the clearest views of
their own insufficiency to attain their own objects. If Napoleon ever
said, as has been attributed to him, "_Je propose et je dispose_," it must
have been in one of those fleeting moments in which success blinded him to
the fact of his own insufficiency. No man had a deeper reliance on
fortune, cast the result of great events on the decrees of fate, or more
anxiously watched the rising and setting of what he called his "star."
This was a faith that could lead to no good; but it clearly denoted how
far the boldest designs, the most ample means, and the most vaulting
ambition, fall short of giving that sublime consciousness of power and its
fruits that distinguish the reign of Omnipotence.
In this book the design has been to pourtray man on a novel field of
action, and to exhibit his dependence on the hand that does not suffer a
sparrow to fall unheeded. The recent attempts of science, which employed
the seamen of the four greatest maritime states of Christendom, made
discoveries that have rendered the polar circles much more familiar to
this age, than to any that has preceded it, so far as existing records
show. We say "existing records;" for there is much reason for believing
that the ancients had a knowledge of our hemisphere, though less for
supposing that they ever braved the dangers of the high latitudes. Many
are, just at this moment, much disposed to believe that "Ophir" was on
this continent; though for a reason no better than the circumstance of
the recent discoveries of much gold. Such savans should remember that
'peacocks' came from ancient Ophir. If this be in truth that land, the
adventurers of Israel caused it to be denuded of that bird of beautiful
plumage.
Such names as those of Parry, Sabine, Ross, Franklin, Wilkes, Hudson,
Ringgold, &c., &c., with those of divers gallant Frenchmen and Russians,
command our most profound respect; for no battles or victories can redound
more to the credit of seamen than the dangers they all encountered, and
the conquests they have all achieved. One of those named, a resolute and
experienced seaman, it is thought must, at this moment, be locked in the
frosts of the arctic circle, after having passed half a life in the
endeavour to push his discoveries into those remote and frozen regions. He
bears the name of the most distinguished of the philosophers of this
country; and nature has stamped on his features--by one of those secret
laws which just as much baffle our means of comprehension, as the greatest
of all our mysteries, the incarnation of the Son of God--a resemblance
that, of itself, would go to show that they are of the same race. Any one
who has ever seen this emprisoned navigator, and who is familiar with the
countenances of the men of the same name who are to be found in numbers
amongst ourselves, must be struck with a likeness that lies as much beyond
the grasp of that reason of which we are so proud, as the sublimest facts
taught by induction, science, or revelation. Parties are, at this moment,
out in search of him and his followers; and it is to be hoped that the
Providence which has so singularly attempered the different circles and
zones of our globe, placing this under a burning sun, and that beneath
enduring frosts, will have included in its divine forethought a sufficient
care for these bold wanderers to restore them, unharmed, to their friends
and country. In a contrary event, their names must be transmitted to
posterity as the victims to a laudable desire to enlarge the circle of
human knowledge, and with it, we trust, to increase the glory due to God.
The Sea Lions.
Chapter I.
----"When that's gone
He shall drink naught but brine."
_Tempest._
While there is less of that high polish in America that is obtained by
long intercourse with the great world, than is to be found in nearly every
European country, there is much less positive rusticity also. There, the
extremes of society are widely separated, repelling rather than attracting
each other; while among ourselves, the tendency is to gravitate towards a
common centre. Thus it is, that all things in America become subject to a
mean law that is productive of a mediocrity which is probably much above
the average of that of most nations; possibly of all, England excepted;
but which is only a mediocrity, after all. In this way, excellence in
nothing is justly appreciated, nor is it often recognised; and the
suffrages of the nation are pretty uniformly bestowed on qualities of a
secondary class. Numbers have sway, and it is as impossible to resist them
in deciding on merit, as it is to deny their power in the ballot-boxes;
time alone, with its great curative influence, supplying the remedy that
is to restore the public mind to a healthful state, and give equally to
the pretender and to him who is worthy of renown, his proper place in the
pages of history.
The activity of American life, the rapidity and cheapness of intercourse,
and the migratory habits both have induced, leave little of rusticity and
local character in any particular sections of the country. Distinctions,
that an acute observer may detect, do certainly exist between the eastern
and the western man, between the northerner and the southerner, the Yankee
and middle states' man; the Bostonian, Manhattanese and Philadelphian; the
Tuckahoe and the Cracker; the Buckeye or Wolverine, and the Jersey Blue.
Nevertheless, the World cannot probably produce another instance of a
people who are derived from so many different races, and who occupy so
large an extent of country, who are so homogeneous in appearance,
characters and opinions. There is no question that the institutions have
had a material influence in producing this uniformity, while they have
unquestionably lowered the standard to which opinion is submitted, by
referring the decisions to the many, instead of making the appeal to the
few, as is elsewhere done. Still, the direction is onward, and though it
may take time to carve on the social column of America that graceful and
ornamental capital which it forms the just boast of Europe to possess,
when the task shall be achieved, the work will stand on a base so broad as
to secure its upright attitude for ages.
Notwithstanding the general character of identity and homogenity that so
strongly marks the picture of American society, exceptions are to be met
with, in particular districts, that are not only distinct and
incontrovertible, but which are so peculiar as to be worthy of more than a
passing remark in our delineations of national customs. Our present
purpose leads us into one of these secluded districts, and it may be well
to commence the narrative of certain deeply interesting incidents that it
is our intention to attempt to portray, by first referring to the place
and people where and from whom the principal actors in our legend had
their origin.
Every one at all familiar with the map of America knows the position and
general form of the two islands that shelter the well-known harbour of the
great emporium of the commerce of the country. These islands obtained
their names from the Dutch, who called them Nassau and Staten; but the
English, with little respect for the ancient house whence the first of
these appellations is derived, and consulting only the homely taste which
leads them to a practical rather then to a poetical nomenclature in all
things, have since virtually dropped the name of Nassau, altogether
substituting that of Long Island in its stead.
Long Island, or the island of Nassau, extends from the mouth of the Hudson
to the eastern line of Connecticut; forming a sort of sea-wall to protect
the whole coast of the latter little territory against the waves of the
broad Atlantic. Three of the oldest New York counties, as their names
would imply, Kings, Queens, and Suffolk, are on this island. Kings was
originally peopled by the Dutch, and still possesses as many names derived
from Holland as from England, if its towns, which are of recent origin, be
taken from the account, Queens is more of a mixture, having been early
invaded and occupied by adventurers from the other side of the Sound; but
Suffolk, which contains nearly, if not quite, two-thirds of the surface of
the whole island, is and ever has been in possession of a people derived
originally from the puritans of New England. Of these three counties,
Kings is much the smallest, though next to New York itself, the most
populous county in the state; a circumstance that is owing to the fact
that two suburban offsets of the great emporium, Brooklyn and
Williamsburg, happen to stand, within its limits, on the waters of what is
improperly called the East River; an arm of the sea that has obtained this
appellation, in contradistinction to the Hudson, which, as all
Manhattanese well know, is as often called the North River, as by its
proper name. In consequence of these two towns, or suburbs of New York,
one of which contains nearly a hundred thousand souls, while the other
must be drawing on towards twenty thousand, Kings county has lost all it
ever had of peculiar, or local character. The same is true of Queens,
though in a diminished degree; but Suffolk remains Suffolk still, and it
is with Suffolk alone that our present legend requires us to deal. Of
Suffolk, then, we purpose to say a few words by way of preparatory
explanation.
Although it has actually more sea-coast than all the rest of New York
united, Suffolk has but one sea-port that is ever mentioned beyond the
limits of the county itself. Nor is this port one of general commerce, its
shipping being principally employed in the hardy and manly occupation of
whaling. As a whaling town, Sag Harbour is the third or fourth port in the
country, and maintains something like that rank in importance. A whaling
haven is nothing without a whaling community. Without the last, it is
almost hopeless to look for success. New York can, and has often fitted
whalers for sea, having sought officers in the regular whaling ports; but
it has been seldom that the enterprises have been rewarded with such
returns as to induce a second voyage by the same parties.
It is as indispensable that a whaler should possess a certain _esprit de
corps_, as that a regiment, or a ship of war, should be animated by its
proper spirit. In the whaling communities, this spirit exists to an
extent, and in a degree that is wonderful, when one remembers the great
expansion of this particular branch of trade within the last
five-and-twenty years. It may be a little lessened of late, but at the
time of which we are writing, or about the year 1820, there was scarcely
an individual who followed this particular calling out of the port of Sag
Harbour, whose general standing on board ship was not as well known to all
the women and girls of the place, as it was to his shipmates. Success in
taking the whale was a thing that made itself felt in every fibre of the
prosperity of the town; and it was just as natural that the single-minded
population of that part of Suffolk should regard the bold and skilful
harpooner, or lancer, with favour, as it is for the belle at a
watering-place to bestow her smiles on one of the young heroes of
Contreras or Churubusco. His peculiar merit, whether with the oar, lance,
or harpoon, is bruited about, as well as the number of whales he may have
succeeded in "making fast to," or those which he caused to "spout blood."
It is true, that the great extension of the trade within the last twenty
years, by drawing so many from a distance into its pursuits, has in a
degree lessened this local interest and local knowledge of character; but
at the time of which we are about to write, both were at their height, and
Nantucket itself had not more of this "intelligence office" propensity, or
more of the true whaling _esprit de corps_, than were to be found in the
district of country that surrounded Sag Harbour.
Long Island forks at its eastern end, and may be said to have two
extremities. One of these, which is much the shortest of the two legs thus
formed, goes by the name of Oyster Pond Point; while the other, that
stretches much farther in the direction of Blok Island, is the well-known
cape called Montauk. Within the fork lies Shelter Island, so named from
the snug berth it occupies. Between Shelter Island and the longest or
southern prong of the fork, are the waters which compose the haven of Sag
Harbour, an estuary of some extent; while a narrow but deep arm of the sea
separates this island from the northern prong, that terminates at Oyster
Pond.
The name of Oyster Pond Point was formerly applied to a long, low, fertile
and pleasant reach of land, that extended several miles from the point
itself, westward, towards the spot where the two prongs of the fork
united. It was not easy, during the first quarter of the present century,
to find a more secluded spot on the whole island, than Oyster Pond. Recent
enterprises have since converted it into the terminus of a railroad; and
Green Port, once called Sterling, is a name well known to travellers
between New York and Boston; but in the earlier part of the present
century it seemed just as likely that the _Santa Casa_ of Loretto should
take a new flight and descend on the point, as that the improvement that
has actually been made should in truth occur at that out-of-the-way place.
It required, indeed, the keen eye of a railroad projector to bring this
spot in connection with anything; nor could it be done without having
recourse to the water by which it is almost surrounded. Using the last, it
is true, means have been found to place it in a line between two of the
great marts of the country, and thus to put an end to all its seclusion,
its simplicity, its peculiarities, and we had almost said, its happiness.
It is to us ever a painful sight to see the rustic virtues rudely thrown
aside by the intrusion of what are termed improvements. A railroad is
certainly a capital invention for the traveller, but it may be questioned
if it is of any other benefit than that of pecuniary convenience to the
places through which it passes. How many delightful hamlets, pleasant
villages, and even tranquil county towns, are losing their primitive
characters for simplicity and contentment, by the passage of these fiery
trains, that drag after them a sort of bastard elegance, a pretension that
is destructive of peace of mind, and an uneasy desire in all who dwell by
the way-side, to pry into the mysteries of the whole length and breadth of
the region it traverses!
We are writing of the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and
nineteen. In that day, Oyster Pond was, in one of the best acceptations of
the word, a rural district. It is true that its inhabitants were
accustomed to the water, and to the sight of vessels, from the two-decker
to the little shabby-looking craft that brought ashes from town, to
meliorate the sandy lands of Suffolk. Only five years before, an English
squadron had lain in Gardiner's Bay, here pronounced 'Gar'ner's,' watching
the Race, or eastern outlet of the Sound, with a view to cut off the trade
and annoy their enemy. That game is up, for ever. No hostile squadron,
English, French, Dutch, or all united, will ever again blockade an
American port for any serious length of time, the young Hercules passing
too rapidly from the gristle into the bone, any longer to suffer antics of
this nature to be played in front of his cradle. But such was not his
condition in the war of 1812, and the good people of Oyster Pond had
become familiar with the checkered sides of two-deck ships, and the
venerable and beautiful ensign of Old England, as it floated above them.
Nor was it only by these distant views, and by means of hostilities, that
the good folk on Oyster Pond were acquainted with vessels. New York is
necessary to all on the coast, both as a market and as a place to procure
supplies; and every creek, or inlet, or basin, of any sort, within a
hundred leagues of it, is sure to possess one or more craft that ply
between the favourite haven and the particular spot in question. Thus was
it with Oyster Pond. There is scarce a better harbour on the whole
American coast, than that which the narrow arm of the sea that divides the
Point from Shelter Island presents; and even in the simple times of which
we are writing, Sterling had its two or three coasters, such as they were.
But the true maritime character of Oyster Pond, as well as that of all
Suffolk, was derived from the whalers, and its proper nucleus was across
the estuary, at Sag Harbour. Thither the youths of the whole region
resorted for employment, and to advance their fortunes, and generally with
such success as is apt to attend enterprise, industry and daring, when
exercised with energy in a pursuit of moderate gains. None became rich, in
the strict signification of the term, though a few got to be in reasonably
affluent circumstances; many were placed altogether at their ease, and
more were made humbly comfortable. A farm in America is well enough for
the foundation of family support, but it rarely suffices for all the
growing wants of these days of indulgence, and of a desire to enjoy so
much of that which was formerly left to the undisputed possession of the
unquestionably rich. A farm, with a few hundreds _per annum,_ derived from
other sources, makes a good base of comfort and if the hundreds are
converted into thousands, your farmer, or agriculturalist, becomes a man
not only at his ease, but a proprietor of some importance. The farms on
Oyster Pond were neither very extensive, nor had they owners of large
incomes to support them; on the contrary, most of them were made to
support their owners; a thing that is possible, even in America, with
industry, frugality and judgment. In order, however, that the names of
places we may have occasion to use shall be understood, it may be well to
be a little more particular in our preliminary explanations.
The reader knows that we are now writing of Suffolk County, Long Island,
New York. He also knows that our opening scene is to be on the shorter, or
most northern of the two prongs of that fork, which divides the eastern
end of this island, giving it what are properly two capes. The smallest
territorial division that is known to the laws of New York, in rural
districts, is the 'township,' as it is called. These townships are usually
larger than the English parish, corresponding more properly with the
French canton. They vary, however, greatly in size, some containing as
much as a hundred square miles, which is the largest size, while others do
not contain more than a tenth of that surface.
The township in which the northern prong, or point of Long Island, lies,
is named Southold, and includes not only all of the long, low, narrow
land that then went by the common names of Oyster Pond, Sterling, &c., but
several islands, also, which stretch off in the Sound, as well as a
broader piece of territory, near Riverhead. Oyster Pond, which is the
portion of the township that lies on the 'point,' is, or _was_, for we
write of a remote period in the galloping history of the state, only a
part of Southold, and probably was not then a name known in the laws, at
all.
We have a wish, also, that this name should be pronounced properly. It is
not called Oyster _Pond_, as the uninitiated would be very apt to get it,
but _Oyster_ Pùnd, the last word having a sound similar to that of the
cockney's 'pound,' in his "two pùnd two." This discrepancy between the
spelling and the pronunciation of proper names is agreeable to us, for it
shows that a people are not put in leading strings by pedagogues, and that
they make use of their own, in their own way. We remember how great was
our satisfaction once, on entering Holmes' Hole, a well-known bay in this
very vicinity, in our youth, to hear a boatman call the port, 'Hum'ses
Hull.' It is getting to be so rare to meet with an American, below the
higher classes, who will consent to cast this species of veil before his
school-day acquisitions, that we acknowledge it gives us pleasure to hear
such good, homely, old-fashioned English as "Gar'ner's Island," "Hum'ses
Hull," and "Oyster Pund."
This plainness of speech was not the only proof of the simplicity of
former days that was to be found in Suffolk, in the first quarter of the
century. The eastern end of Long Island lies so much out of the track of
the rest of the world, that even the new railroad cannot make much
impression on its inhabitants, who get their pigs and poultry, butter and
eggs, a little earlier to market, than in the days of the stage-wagons, it
is true, but they fortunately, as yet, bring little back except it be the
dross that sets every thing in motion, whether it be by rail, or through
the sands, in the former toilsome mode.
The season, at the precise moment when we desire to take the reader with
us to Oyster Pond, was in the delightful month of September, when the
earlier promises of the year are fast maturing into performance. Although
Suffolk, as a whole, can scarcely be deemed a productive county, being
generally of a thin, light soil, and still covered with a growth of small
wood, it possesses, nevertheless, spots of exceeding fertility. A
considerable portion of the northern prong of the fork has this latter
character, and Oyster Pond is a sort of garden compared with much of the
sterility that prevails around it. Plain, but respectable dwellings, with
numerous out-buildings, orchards and fruit-trees, fences carefully
preserved, a pains-taking tillage, good roads, and here and there a
"meeting-house," gave the fork an air of rural and moral beauty that,
aided by the water by which it was so nearly surrounded, contributed
greatly to relieve the monotony of so dead a level. There were heights in
view, on Shelter Island, and bluffs towards Riverhead, which, if they
would not attract much attention in Switzerland, were by no means
overlooked in Suffolk. In a word, both the season and the place were
charming, though most of the flowers had already faded; and the apple, and
the pear, and the peach, were taking the places of the inviting cherry.
Fruit abounded, notwithstanding the close vicinity of the district to salt
water, the airs from the sea being broken, or somewhat tempered, by the
land that lay to the southward.
We have spoken of the coasters that ply between the emporium and all the
creeks and bays of the Sound, as well as of the numberless rivers that
find an outlet for their waters between Sandy Hook and Rockaway. Wharves
were constructed, at favourable points, _inside_ the prong, and
occasionally a sloop was seen at them loading its truck, or discharging
its ashes or street manure, the latter being a very common return cargo
for a Long Island coaster. At one wharf, however, now lay a vessel of a
different mould, and one which, though of no great size, was manifastly
intended to go _outside_. This was a schooner that had been recently
launched, and which had advanced no farther in its first equipment than to
get in its two principal spars, the rigging of which hung suspended over
the mast-heads, in readiness to be "set up" for the first time. The day
being Sunday, work was suspended, and this so much the more, because the
owner of the vessel was a certain Deacon Pratt, who dwelt in a house
within half a mile of the wharf, and who was also the proprietor of three
several parcels of land in that neighbourhood, each of which had its own
buildings and conveniences, and was properly enough dignified with the
name of a farm. To be sure, neither of these farms was very large, their
acres united amounting to but little more than two hundred; but, owing to
their condition, the native richness of the soil, and the mode of turning
them to account, they had made Deacon Pratt a warm man, for Suffolk.
There are two great species of deacons; for we suppose they must all be
referred to the same _genera_. One species belong to the priesthood, and
become priests and bishops; passing away, as priests and bishops are apt
to do, with more or less of the savour of godliness. The other species are
purely laymen, and are _sui generis_. They are, _ex officio,_ the most
pious men in a neighbourhood, as they sometimes are, as it would seem to
us, _ex officio_, also the most grasping and mercenary. As we are not in
the secrets of the sects to which these lay deacons belong, we shall not
presume to pronounce whether the individual is elevated to the deaconate
because he is prosperous, in a worldly sense, or whether the prosperity is
a consequence of the deaconate; but, that the two usually go together is
quite certain: which being the cause, and which the effect, we leave to
wiser heads to determine.
Deacon Pratt was no exception to the rule. A tighter fisted sinner did not
exist in the county than this pious soul, who certainly not only wore, but
wore out the "form of godliness," while he was devoted, heart and hand, to
the daily increase of worldly gear. No one spoke disparagingly of the
deacon, notwithstanding. So completely had he got to be interwoven with
the church--'meeting,' we ought to say--in that vicinity, that speaking
disparagingly of him would have appeared like assailing Christianity. It
is true, that many an unfortunate fellow-citizen in Suffolk had been made
to feel how close was the gripe of his hand, when he found himself in its
grasp; but there is a way of practising the most ruthless extortion, that
serves not only to deceive the world, but which would really seem to
mislead the extortioner himself. Phrases take the place of deeds,
sentiments those of facts, and grimaces those of benevolent looks, so
ingeniously and so impudently, that the wronged often fancy that they are
the victims of a severe dispensation of Providence, when the truth would
have shown that they were simply robbed.
We do not mean, however, that Deacon Pratt was a robber. He was merely a
hard man in the management of his affairs; never cheating, in a direct
sense, but seldom conceding a cent to generous impulses, or to the duties
of kind. He was a widower, and childless, circumstances that rendered his
love of gain still less pardonable; for many a man who is indifferent to
money on his own account, will toil and save to lay up hoards for those
who are to come after him. The deacon had only a niece to inherit his
effects, unless he might choose to step beyond that degree of
consanguinity, and bestow a portion of his means on cousins. The
church--or, to be more literal, the 'meeting'--had an eye on his
resources, however; and it was whispered it had actually succeeded, by
means known to itself, in squeezing out of his tight grasp no less a sum
than one hundred dollars, as a donation to a certain theological college.
It was conjectured by some persons that this was only the beginning of a
religious liberality, and that the excellent and godly-minded deacon would
bestow most of his property in a similar way, when the moment should come
that it could be no longer of any use to himself. This opinion was much in
favour with divers devout females of the deacon's congregation, who had
daughters of their own, and who seldom failed to conclude their
observations on this interesting subject with some such remark as, "Well,
in _that_ case, and it seems to me that every thing points that way, Mary
Pratt will get no more than any other poor man's daughter."
Little did Mary, the only child of Israel Pratt, an elder brother of the
deacon, think of all this. She had been left an orphan in her tenth year,
both parents dying within a few months of each other, and had lived
beneath her uncle's roof for nearly ten more years, until use, and natural
affection, and the customs of the country, had made her feel absolutely at
home there. A less interested, or less selfish being than Mary Pratt,
never existed. In this respect she was the very antipodes of her uncle,
who often stealthily rebuked her for her charities and acts of
neighbourly kindness, which he was wont to term waste. But Mary kept the
even tenor of her way, seemingly not hearing such remarks, and doing her
duty quietly, and in all humility.
Suffolk was settled originally by emigrants from New England, and the
character of its people is, to this hour, of modified New England habits
and notions. Now, one of the marked peculiarities of Connecticut is an
indisposition to part with anything without a _quid pro quo_. Those little
services, offerings, and conveniences that are elsewhere parted with
without a thought of remuneration, go regularly upon the day-book, and
often reappear on a 'settlement,' years after they have been forgotten by
those who received the favours. Even the man who keeps a carriage will let
it out for hire; and the manner in which money is accepted, and even asked
for by persons in easy circumstances, and for things that would be
gratuitous in the Middle States, often causes disappointment, and
sometimes disgust. In this particular, Scottish and Swiss thrift, both
notorious, and the latter particularly so, are nearly equalled by New
England thrift; more especially in the close estimate of the value of
services rendered. So marked, indeed, is this practice of looking for
requitals, that even the language is infected with it. Thus, should a
person pass a few months by invitation with a friend, his visit is termed
'boarding;' it being regarded as a matter of course that he pays his way.
It would scarcely be safe, indeed, without the precaution of "passing
receipts" on quitting, for one to stay any time in a New England dwelling,
unless prepared to pay for his board. The free and frank habits that
prevail among relatives and friends elsewhere, are nearly unknown there,
every service having its price. These customs are exceedingly repugnant to
all who have been educated in different notions; yet are they not without
their redeeming qualities, that might be pointed out to advantage, though
our limits will not permit us, at this moment, so to do.
Little did Mary Pratt suspect the truth; but habit, or covetousness, or
some vague expectation that the girl might yet contract a marriage that
would enable him to claim all his advances, had induced the deacon never
to bestow a cent on her education, or dress, or pleasures of any sort,
that the money was not regularly charged against her, in that nefarious
work that he called his "day-book." As for the self-respect, and the
feelings of caste, which prevent a gentleman from practising any of these
tradesmen's tricks, the deacon knew nothing of them. He would have set the
man down as a fool who deferred to any notions so unprofitable. With him,
not only every _man_, but every _thing_ "had its price," and usually it
was a good price, too. At the very moment when our tale opens there stood
charged in his book, against his unsuspecting and affectionate niece,
items in the way of schooling, dress, board, and pocket-money, that
amounted to the considerable sum of one thousand dollars, money fairly
expended. The deacon was only intensely mean and avaricious, while he was
as honest as the day. Not a cent was overcharged; and to own the truth,
Mary was so great a favourite with him, that most of his charges against
_her_ were rather of a reasonable rate than otherwise.