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SATANSTOE
or,
THE LITTLEPAGE MANUSCRIPTS
A TALE OF THE COLONY.
By J. Fenimore Cooper.
“The only amaranthine flower on earth
is virtue: the only treasure, truth.”--SPENSER
PREFACE.
Every chronicle of manners has a certain value. When customs are connected
with principles, in their origin, development, or end, such records have
a double importance; and it is because we think we see such a connection
between the facts and incidents of the Littlepage Manuscripts, and certain
important theories of our own time, that we give the former to the world.
It is perhaps a fault of your professed historian, to refer too much to
philosophical agencies, and too little to those that are humbler. The
foundations of great events, are often remotely laid in very capricious and
uncalculated passions, motives, or impulses. Chance has usually as much to
do with the fortunes of states, as with those of individuals; or, if there
be calculations connected with them at all, they are the calculations of a
power superior to any that exists in man.
We had been led to lay these Manuscripts before the world, partly by
considerations of the above nature, and partly on account of the manner
in which the two works we have named, “Satanstoe” and the “Chainbearer,”
relate directly to the great New York question of the day, ANTI-RENTISM;
which question will be found to be pretty fully laid bare, in the third
and last book of the series. These three works, which contain all the
Littlepage Manuscripts, do not form sequels to each other, in the sense of
personal histories, or as narratives; while they do in that of principles.
The reader will see that the early career, the attachment, the marriage,
&c. of Mr. Cornelius Littlepage are completely related in the present book,
for instance; while those of his son, Mr. Mordaunt Littlepage, will be just
as fully given in the “Chainbearer,” its successor. It is hoped that the
connection, which certainly does exist between these three works, will have
more tendency to increase the value of each, than to produce the ordinary
effect of what are properly called sequels, which are known to lessen the
interest a narrative might otherwise have with the reader. Each of these
three books has its own hero, its own heroine, and its own---picture--of
manners, complete; though the latter may be, and is, more or less thrown
into relief by its _pendants_.
We conceive no apology is necessary for treating the subject of
anti-rentism with the utmost frankness. Agreeably to our views of the
matter, the existence of true liberty among us, the perpetuity of the
institutions, and the safety of public morals, are all dependent on putting
down, wholly, absolutely, and unqualifiedly, the false and dishonest
theories and statements that have been boldly advanced in connection with
this subject. In our view, New York is at this moment, much the most
disgraced state in the Union, notwithstanding she has never failed to pay
the interest on her public debt; and her disgrace arises from the fact that
her laws are trampled underfoot, without any efforts, at all commensurate
with the object, being made to enforce them. If _words_ and _professions_
can save the character of a community, all may yet be well; but if states,
like individuals, are to be judged by their actions, and the “tree is to be
known by its fruit,” God help us!
For ourselves, we conceive that true patriotism consists in laying bare
everything like public vice, and in calling such things by their right
names. The great enemy of the race has made a deep inroad upon us, within
the last ten or a dozen years, under cover of a spurious delicacy on the
subject of exposing national ills; and it is time that they who have not
been afraid to praise, when praise was merited, should not shrink from the
office of censuring, when the want of timely warnings may be one cause of
the most fatal evils. The great practical defect of institutions like
ours, is the circumstance that “what is everybody's business, is nobody's
business;” a neglect that gives to the activity of the rogue a very
dangerous ascendency over the more dilatory correctives of the honest man.
CHAPTER I.
“Look you,
Who comes here: a young man, and an old, in solemn talk.”
_As You Like it_.
It is easy to foresee that this country is destined to undergo great and
rapid changes. Those that more properly belong to history, history will
doubtless attempt to record, and probably with the questionable veracity
and prejudice that are apt to influence the labours of that particular
muse; but there is little hope that any traces of American society, in
its more familiar aspects, will be preserved among us, through any of the
agencies usually employed for such purposes. Without a stage, in a national
point of view at least, with scarcely such a thing as a book of memoirs
that relates to a life passed within our own limits, and totally without
light literature, to give us simulated pictures of our manners, and the
opinions of the day, I see scarcely a mode by which the next generation can
preserve any memorials of the distinctive usages and thoughts of this.
It is true, they will have traditions of certain leading features of the
colonial society, but scarcely any records; and, should the next twenty
years do as much as the last, towards substituting an entirely new race for
the descendants of our own immediate fathers, it is scarcely too much to
predict that even these traditions will be lost in the whirl and excitement
of a throng of strangers. Under all the circumstances, therefore, I have
come to a determination to make an effort, however feeble it may prove, to
preserve some vestiges of household life in New York, at least; while I
have endeavoured to stimulate certain friends in New Jersey, and farther
south, to undertake similar tasks in those sections of the country. What
success will attend these last applications, is more than I can say, but,
in order that the little I may do myself shall not be lost for want of
support, I have made a solemn request in my will, that those who come after
me will consent to continue this narrative, committing to paper their own
experience, as I have here committed mine, down as low at least as my
grandson, if I ever have one. Perhaps, by the end of the latter's career,
they will begin to publish books in America, and the fruits of our joint
family labours may be thought sufficiently matured to be laid before the
world.
It is possible that which I am now about to write will be thought too
homely, to relate to matters much too personal and private, to have
sufficient interest for the public eye; but it must be remembered that the
loftiest interests of man are made up of a collection of those that are
lowly; and, that he who makes a faithful picture of only a single important
scene in the events of single life, is doing something towards painting the
greatest historical piece of his day. As I have said before, the leading
events of my time will find their way into the pages of far more pretending
works than this of mine, in some form or other, with more or less of
fidelity to the truth, and real events, and real motives; while the humbler
matters it will be my office to record, will be entirely overlooked by
writers who aspire to enrol their names among the Tacituses of former ages.
It may be well to say here, however, I shall not attempt the historical
mood at all, but content myself with giving the feelings, incidents, and
interests of what is purely private life, connecting them no farther with
things that are of a more general nature, than is indispensable to render
the narrative intelligible and accurate. With these explanations, which are
made in order to prevent the person who may happen first to commence the
perusal of this manuscript from throwing it into the fire, as a silly
attempt to write a more silly fiction, I shall proceed at once to the
commencement of my proper task.
I was born on the 3d May, 1737, on a neck of land, called Satanstoe, in the
county of West Chester, and in the colony of New York; a part of the widely
extended empire that then owned the sway of His Sacred Majesty, George II.,
King of Great Britain, Ireland, and France; Defender of the Faith; and, I
may add, the shield and panoply of the Protestant Succession; God bless
him! Before I say anything of my parentage, I will first give the reader
some idea of the _locus in quo_, and a more precise notion of the spot on
which I happened first to see the light.
A “neck,” in West Chester and Long Island parlance, means something that
might be better termed a “head and shoulders,” if mere shape and dimensions
are kept in view. Peninsula would be the true word, were we describing
things on a geographical scale; but, as they are, I find it necessary to
adhere to the local term, which is not altogether peculiar to our county,
by the way. The “neck” or peninsula of Satanstoe, contains just four
hundred and sixty-three acres and a half of excellent West Chester land;
and that, when the stone is hauled and laid into wall, is saying as much in
its favour as need be said of any soil on earth. It has two miles of beach,
and collects a proportionate quantity of sea-weed for manure, besides
enjoying near a hundred acres of salt-meadow and sedges, that are not
included in the solid ground of the neck proper. As my father, Major
Evans Littlepage, was to inherit this estate from his father, Capt. Hugh
Littlepage, it might, even at the time of my birth, be considered old
family property, it having indeed, been acquired by my grandfather, through
his wife, about thirty years after the final cession of the colony to the
English by its original Dutch owners. Here we had lived, then, near half a
century, when I was born, in the direct line, and considerably longer if
we included maternal ancestors; here I now live, at the moment of writing
these lines, and here I trust my only son is to live after me.
Before I enter into a more minute description of Satanstoe, it may be well,
perhaps, to say a word concerning its somewhat peculiar name. The neck lies
in the vicinity of a well-known pass that is to be found in the narrow arm
of the sea that separates the island of Manhattan from its neighbour, Long
Island, and which is called Hell Gate. Now, there is a tradition, that I
confess is somewhat confined to the blacks of the neighbourhood, but
which says that the Father of Lies, on a particular occasion, when he was
violently expelled from certain roystering taverns in the New Netherlands,
made his exit by this well-known dangerous pass, and drawing his foot
somewhat hastily from among the lobster-pots that abound in those waters,
leaving behind him as a print of his passage by that route, the Hog's
Back, the Pot, and all the whirlpools and rocks that render navigation so
difficult in that celebrated strait, he placed it hurriedly upon the spot
where there now spreads a large bay to the southward and eastward of the
neck, just touching the latter with the ball of his great toe, as he passed
Down-East; from which part of the country some of our people used to
maintain he originally came. Some fancied resemblance to an inverted
toe (the devil being supposed to turn everything with which he meddles,
upside-down,) has been imagined to exist in the shape and swells of our
paternal acres; a fact that has probably had its influence in perpetuating
the name.
Satanstoe has the place been called, therefore, from time immemorial; as
time is immemorial in a country in which civilized time commenced not a
century and a half ago: and Satanstoe it is called to-day. I confess I am
not fond of unnecessary changes, and I sincerely hope this neck of land
will continue to go by its old appellation, as long as the House of Hanover
shall sit on the throne of these realms; or as long as water shall run
and grass shall grow. There has been an attempt made to persuade the
neighbourhood, quite lately, that the name is irreligious and unworthy of
an enlightened people, like this of West Chester; but it has met with no
great success. It has come from a Connecticut man, whose father they say is
a clergyman of the “_standing_ order;” so called, I believe, because they
stand up at prayers; and who came among us himself in the character of a
schoolmaster. This young man, I understand, has endeavoured to persuade the
neighbourhood that Satanstoe is a corruption introduced by the Dutch, from
Devil's Town; which, in its turn, was a corruption from Dibbleston; the
family from which my grandfather's father-in-law purchased having been,
as he says, of the name of Dibblee. He has got half-a-dozen of the more
sentimental part of our society to call the neck Dibbleton; but the attempt
is not likely to succeed in the long run, as we are not a people much given
to altering the language, any more than the customs of our ancestors.
Besides, my Dutch ancestors did not purchase from any Dibblee, no such
family ever owning the place, that being a bold assumption of the Yankee to
make out his case the more readily.
Satanstoe, as it is little more than a good farm in extent, so it is little
more than a particularly good farm in cultivation and embellishment.
All the buildings are of stone, even to the hog-sties and sheds, with
well-pointed joints, and field walls that would do credit to a fortified
place. The house is generally esteemed one of the best in the Colony, with
the exception of a few of the new school. It is of only a story and a half
in elevation, I admit; but the rooms under the roof are as good as any of
that description with which I am acquainted, and their finish is such as
would do no discredit to the upper rooms of even a York dwelling. The
building is in the shape of an L, or two sides of a parallelogram, one
of which shows a front of seventy-five, and the other of fifty feet.
Twenty-six feet make the depth, from outside to outside of the walls. The
best room had a carpet, that covered two-thirds of the entire dimensions
of the floor, even in my boyhood, and there were oil-cloths in most of the
better passages. The buffet in the dining-room, or smallest parlour, was
particularly admired; and I question if there be, at this hour, a handsomer
in the county. The rooms were well-sized, and of fair dimensions, the
larger parlours embracing the whole depth of the house, with proportionate
widths, while the ceilings were higher than common, being eleven feet, if
we except the places occupied by the larger beams of the chamber floors.
As there was money in the family, besides the Neck, and the Littlepages had
held the king's commissions, my father having once been an ensign, and my
grandfather a captain, in the regular army, each in the earlier portion of
his life, we always ranked among the gentry of the county. We happened to
be in a part of Westchester in which were none of the very large estates,
and Satanstoe passed for property of a certain degree of importance. It is
true, the Morrises were at Morrisania, and the Felipses, or Philipses, as
these Bohemian counts were then called, had a manor on the Hudson, that
extended within a dozen miles of us, and a younger branch of the de Lanceys
had established itself even much nearer, while the Van Cortlandts, or a
branch of them, too, dwelt near Kingsbridge; but these were all people who
were at the head of the Colony, and with whom none of the minor gentry
attempted to vie. As it was, therefore, the Littlepages held a very
respectable position between the higher class of the yeomanry and those
who, by their estates, education, connections, official rank, and
hereditary consideration, formed what might be justly called the
aristocracy of the Colony. Both my father and grandfather had sat in the
Assembly, in their time, and, as I have heard elderly people say, with
credit, too. As for my father, on one occasion, he made a speech that
occupied eleven minutes in the delivery,--a proof that he had something to
say, and which was a source of great, but, I trust, humble felicitation in
the family, down to the day of his death, and even afterwards.
Then the military services of the family stood us in for a great deal, in
that day it was something to be an ensign even in the militia, and a far
greater thing to have the same rank in a regular regiment. It is true,
neither of my predecessors served very long with the King's troops, my
father in particular selling out at the end of his second campaign; but
the military experience, and I may add the military glory each acquired
in youth, did them good service for all the rest of their days. Both were
commissioned in the militia, and my father actually rose as high as major
in that branch of the service, that being the rank he held, and the title
he bore, for the last fifteen years of his life.
My mother was of Dutch extraction on both sides, her father having been a
Blauvelt, and her mother a Van Busser. I have heard it said that there was
even a relationship between the Stuyvesants and the Van Cortlandts, and the
Van Bussers; but I am not able to point out the actual degree and precise
nature of the affinity. I presume it was not very near, or my information
would have been more minute. I have always understood that my mother
brought my father thirteen hundred pounds for dowry (currency, not
sterling), which, it must be confessed, was a very genteel fortune for
a young woman in 1733. Now, I very well know that six, eight, and ten
thousand pounds sometimes fall in, in this manner, and even much more in
the high families; but no one need be ashamed, who looks back fifty years,
and finds that his mother brought a thousand pounds to her husband.
I was neither an only child, nor the eldest-born. There was a son who
preceded me, and two daughters succeeded, but they all died in infancy,
leaving me in effect the only offspring for my parents to cherish and
educate. My little brother monopolised the name of Evans, and living
for some time after I was christened, I got the Dutch appellation of my
maternal grandfather, for my share of the family nomenclature, which
happened to be Cornelius--Corny was consequently the diminutive by which I
was known to all the whites of my acquaintance, for the first sixteen or
eighteen years of my life, and to my parents as long as they lived. Corny
Littlepage is not a bad name, in itself, and I trust they who do me the
favour to read this manuscript, will lay it down with the feeling that the
name is none the worse for the use I have made of it.
I have said that both my father and grandfather, each in his day, sat in
the assembly; my father twice, and my grandfather only once. Although we
lived so near the borough of West Chester, it was not for that place they
sat, but for the county, the de Lanceys and the Morrises contending for the
control of the borough, in a way that left little chance for the smaller
fishes to swim in the troubled water they were so certain to create.
Nevertheless, this political elevation brought my father out, as it
might be, before the world, and was the means of giving him a personal
consideration he might not have otherwise enjoyed. The benefits, and
possibly some of the evils of thus being drawn out from the more regular
routine of our usually peaceable lives, may be made to appear in the course
of this narrative.
I have ever considered myself fortunate in not having been born in the
earlier and infant days of the colony, when the interests at stake, and the
events by which they were influenced, were not of a magnitude to give the
mind and the hopes the excitement and enlargement that attend the periods
of a more advanced civilization, and of more important incidents. In this
respect, my own appearance in this world was most happily timed, as any one
will see who will consider the state and importance of the colony in the
middle of the present century. New York could not have contained many less
than seventy thousand souls, including both colours, at the time of my
birth, for it is supposed to contain quite a hundred thousand this day on
which I am now writing. In such a community, a man has not only the room,
but the materials on which to figure; whereas, as I have often heard him
say, my father, when he was born, was one of less than half of the smallest
number I have just named. I have been grateful for this advantage, and I
trust it will appear, by evidence that will be here afforded, that I have
not lived in a quarter of the world, or in an age, when and where, and to
which great events have been altogether strangers.
My earliest recollections, as a matter of course, are of Satanstoe and the
domestic fireside. In my childhood and youth, I heard a great deal said of
the Protestant Succession, the House of Hanover, and King George II.; all
mixed up with such names as those of George Clinton, Gen. Monckton, Sir
Charles Hardy, James de Lancey, and Sir Danvers Osborne, his official
representatives in the colony. Every age has its _old_ and its _last_ wars,
and I can well remember that which occurred between the French in the
Canadas and ourselves, in 1744. I was then seven years old, and it was an
event to make an impression on a child of that tender age. My honoured
grandfather was then living, as he was long afterwards, and he took a
strong interest in the military movements of the period, as was natural for
an old soldier. New York had no connection with the celebrated expedition
that captured Louisbourg, then the Gibraltar of America, in 1745; but this
could not prevent an old soldier like Capt. Littlepage from entering into
the affair with all his heart, though forbidden to use his hand. As the
reader may not be aware of all the secret springs that set public events
in motion, it may be well here to throw in a few words in the way of
explanation.
There was and is little sympathy, in the way of national feeling, between
the colonies of New England and those which lie farther south. We are all
loyal, those of the east as well as those of the south-west and south; but
there is, and ever has been, so wide a difference in our customs, origins,
religious opinions, and histories, as to cause a broad moral line, in the
way of feeling, to be drawn between the colony of New York and those
that lie east of the Byram river. I have heard it said that most of the
emigrants to the New England states came from the west of England where
many of their social peculiarities and much of their language are still to
be traced, while the colonies farther south have received their population
from the more central counties, and those sections of the island that are
supposed to be less provincial and peculiar. I do not affirm that such is
literally the fact, though it is well known that we of New York have long
been accustomed to regard our neighbours of New England as very different
from ourselves, whilst, I dare say, our neighbours of New England have
regarded us as different from themselves, and insomuch removed from
perfection.
Let all this be as it may, it is certain New England is a portion of the
empire that is set apart from the rest, for good or for evil. It got its
name from the circumstance that the English possessions were met, on its
western boundary by those of the Dutch, who were thus separated from the
other colonies of purely Anglo-Saxon origin, by a wide district that was
much larger in surface than the mother country itself. I am afraid there is
something in the character of these Anglo-Saxons that predisposes them to
laugh and turn up their noses at other races; for I have remarked that
their natives of the parent land itself, who come among us, show this
disposition even as it respects us of New York and those of New England,
while the people of the latter region manifest a feeling towards us, their
neighbours, that partakes of anything but the humility that is thought
to grace that Christian character to which they are particularly fond of
laying claim.
My grandfather was a native of the old country, however, and he entered but
little into the colonial jealousies. He had lived from boyhood, and had
married in New York, and was not apt to betray any of the overweening
notions of superiority that we sometimes encountered in native-born
Englishmen, though I can remember instances in which he would point out the
defects in our civilization, and others in which he dwelt with pleasure on
the grandeur and power his own island. I dare say this was all right, for
few among us have ever been disposed to dispute the just supremacy of
England in all things that are desirable, and which form the basis of human
excellence.
I well remember a journey Capt. Hugh Littlepage made to Boston, in 1745,
in order to look at the preparations that were making for the great
expedition. Although his own colony had no connection with this enterprise,
in a military point of view, his previous service rendered him an object of
interest to the military men then assembled along the coast of New England.
It has been said the expedition against Louisbourg, then the strongest
place in America, was planned by a lawyer, led by a merchant, and executed
by husbandmen and mechanics; but this, though true as a whole, was a rule
that had its exceptions. There were many old soldiers who had seen the
service of this continent in the previous wars, and among them were several
of my grandfather's former acquaintances. With these he passed many a
cheerful hour, previously to the day of sailing, and I have often thought
since, that my presence alone prevented him from making one in the fleet.
The reader will think, I was young, perhaps, to be so far from home on such
an occasion, but it happened in this wise: My excellent mother thought I
had come out of the small-pox with some symptoms that might be benefited by
a journey, and she prevailed on her father-in-law to let me be of the party
when he left home to visit Boston in the winter of 1744-5. At that early
day moving about was not always convenient in these colonies, and my
grandfather travelling in a sleigh that was proceeding east with some
private stores that had been collected for the expedition, it presented a
favourable opportunity to send me along with my venerable progenitor, who
very good-naturedly consented to let me commence my travels under his own
immediate auspices.
The things I saw on this occasion have had a material influence on my
future life. I got a love of adventure, and particularly of military parade
and grandeur, that has since led me into more than one difficulty. Capt.
Hugh Littlepage, my grandfather, was delighted with all he saw until after
the expedition had sailed, when he began to grumble on the subject of the
religious observances that the piety of the Puritans blended with most
of their other movements. On the score of religion there was a marked
difference; I may say there _is_ still a marked difference between New
England and New York. The people of New England certainly did, and possibly
may still, look upon us of New York as little better than heathens; while
we of New York assuredly did, and for anything I know to the contrary may
yet, regard them as canters, and by necessary connection, hypocrites. I
shall not take it on myself to say which party is right; though it has
often occurred to my mind that it would be better had New England a little
less self-righteousness, and New York a little more righteousness, without
the self. Still, in the way of pounds, shillings and pence, we will not
turn our backs upon them any day, being on the whole rather the most
trustworthy of the two as respects money; more especially in all such cases
in which our neighbour's goods can be appropriated without having recourse
to absolutely direct means. Such, at any rate, is the New York opinion, let
them think as they please about it on the other side of Byram.
My grandfather met an old fellow-campaigner, at Boston, of the name of
Hight, Major Hight, as he was called, who had come to see the preparations,
too; and the old soldiers passed most of the time together. The Major was
a Jerseyman, and had been somewhat of a free-liver in his time, retaining
some of the propensities of his youth in old age, as is apt to be the case
with those who cultivate a vice as if it were a hot-house plant. The Major
was fond of his bottle, drinking heavily of Madeira, of which there was
then a good stock in Boston, for he brought some on himself; and I can
remember various scenes that occurred between him and my grandfather, after
dinner, as they sat discoursing in the tavern on the progress of things,
and the prospects for the future. Had these two old soldiers been of the
troops of the province in which they were, it would have been “Major” and
“Captain” at every breath; for no part of the earth is fonder of titles
than our eastern brethren; [1] whereas, I must think we had some claims to
more true simplicity of character and habits, notwithstanding New York has
ever been thought the most aristocratical of all the northern colonies.
Having been intimate from early youth, my two old soldiers familiarly
called each other Joey and Hodge, the latter being the abbreviation of
one of my grandfather's names, Roger, when plain Hugh was not used, as
sometimes happened between them. Hugh Roger Littlepage, I ought to have
said, was my grandfather's name.
“I should like these Yankees better, if they prayed less, my old friend,”
said the Major, one day, after they had been discussing the appearances of
things, and speaking between the puffs of his pipe. “I can see no great use
in losing so much time, by making these halts to pray, when the campaign is
fairly opened.”
“It was always their way, Joey,” my grandfather answered, taking his time,
as is customary with smokers. “I remember when we were out together, in the
year '17, that the New England troops always had their parsons, who acted
as a sort of second colonels. They tell me His Excellency has ordered a
weekly fast, for public prayers, during the whole of this campaign.”
“Ay, Master Hodge, praying and plundering; so they go on,” returned the
Major, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, preparatory to filling it anew;
an employment that gave him an opportunity to give vent to his feelings,
without pausing to puff.--“Ay, Master Hodge, praying and plundering; so
they go on. Now, do you remember old Watson, who was in the Massachusetts
Levies, in the year '12?--old Tom Watson; he that was a sub under Barnwell,
in our Tuscarora expedition?”
My grandfather nodded his head in assent, that being the only reply the
avocation of smoking rendered convenient, just at that moment, unless a
sort of affirmatory grunt could be construed into an auxiliary.
“Well, he has a son going in this affair; and old Tom, or Colonel Watson,
as he is now very particular to be called, is down here with his wife and
two daughters, to see the ensign off. I went to pay the old fellow a visit,
Hodge; and found him, and the mother and sisters, all as busy as bees
in getting young Tom's baggage ready for a march. There lay his whole
equipment before my eyes, and I had a favourable occasion to examine it at
my leisure.”
“Which you did with all your might, or you're not the Joe Hight of the
year '10,” said my grandfather, taking his turn with the ashes and the
tobacco-box.
Old Hight was now puffing away like a blacksmith who is striving to obtain
a white heat, and it was some time before he could get out the proper reply
to this half-assertion, half-interrogatory sort of remark.
“You may be sure of that,” he at length ejaculated; when, certain of his
light, he proceeded to tell the whole story, stopping occasionally to puff,
lest he should lose the “vantage ground” he had just obtained. “What d'ye
think of half-a-dozen strings of red onions, for one item in a subaltern's
stores!”
My grandfather grunted again, in a way that might very well pass for a
laugh.
“You're certain they were red, Joey?” he finally asked.
“As red as his regimentals. Then there was a jug, filled with molasses,
that is as big as yonder demijohn;” glancing at the vessel which contained
his own private stores. “But I should have thought nothing of these, a
large empty sack attracting much of my attention. I could not imagine what
young Tom could want of such a sack; but, on broaching the subject to the
Major, he very frankly gave me to understand that Louisbourg was thought to
be a rich town, and there was no telling what luck, or Providence--yes, by
George!--he called it _Providence!_--might throw in his son Tommy's way.
Now that the sack was empty, and had an easy time of it, the girls would
put his bible and hymn-book in it, as a place where the young man would be
likely to look for them. I dare say, Hodge, you never had either bible or
hymn-book, in any of your numerous campaigns?”
“No, nor a plunder-sack, nor a molasses-jug, nor strings of red onions,”
growled my grandfather in reply.
How well I remember that evening! A vast deal of colonial prejudice and
neighbourly antipathy made themselves apparent in the conversation of
the two veterans; who seemed to entertain a strange sort of contemptuous
respect for their fellow-subjects of New England; who, in their turn,
I make not the smallest doubt, paid them off in kind--with all the
superciliousness and reproach, and with many grains less of the respect.
That night, Major Hight and Capt. Hugh Roger Littlepage, both got a little
how-come-you-so, drinking bumpers to the success of what they called “the
Yankee expedition,” even at the moment they were indulging in constant side
hits at the failings and habits of the people. These marks of neighbourly
infirmity are not peculiar to the people of the adjacent provinces of New
York and of New England. I have often remarked that the English think and
talk very much of the French, as the Yankees speak of us; while the French,
so far as I have been able to understand their somewhat unintelligible
language--which seems never to have a beginning nor an end--treat the
English as the Puritans of the Old World. As I have already intimated, we
were not very remarkable for religion in New York, in my younger days;
while it would be just the word, were I to say that religion was
_conspicuous_ among our eastern neighbours. I remember to have heard
my grandfather say, he was once acquainted with a Col. Heathcote, an
Englishman, like himself, by birth, and a brother of a certain Sir Gilbert
Heathcote, who was formerly a leading man in the Bank of England. This Col.
Heathcote came among us young, and married here, leaving his posterity
behind him, and was lord of the manor of Scarsdale and Mamaroneck, in our
county of West Chester. Well, this Col. Heathcote told my grandfather,
speaking on the subject of religion, that he had been much shocked, on
arriving in this country, at discovering the neglected condition of
religion in the colony; more especially on Long Island, where the people
lived in a sort of heathenish condition. Being a man of mark, and connected
with the government, The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in
Foreign Parts, applied to him to aid it in spreading the truths of the
bible in the colony. The Colonel was glad enough to comply; and I remember
my grandfather said, his friend told him of the answer he returned to these
good persons in England. “I was so struck with the heathenish condition of
the people, on my arriving here,” he wrote to them, “that, commanding the
militia of the colony, I ordered the captains of the different companies to
call their men together, each Sunday at sunrise, and to drill them until
sunset; unless they would consent to repair to some convenient place, and
listen to morning and evening prayer, and to two wholesome sermons read by
some suitable person, in which case the men were to be excused from drill.”
[2] I do not think this would be found necessary in New England at least,
where many of the people would be likely to prefer drilling to preaching.
But all this gossip about the moral condition of the adjacent colonies of
New York and New England is leading me from the narrative, and does not
promise much for the connection and interest of the remainder of the
manuscript.
[Footnote 1: It will be remembered Mr. Littlepage wrote more than seventy
years ago, when this distinction might exclusively belong to the _East_;
but the _West_ has now some claim to it, also.]
[Footnote 2: On the subject of this story, the editor can say he has seen a
published letter from Col. Heathcote, who died more than a century since,
at Mamaroneck, West Chester Co., in which that gentleman gives the Society
for the propagation of the gospel an account of his proceedings, that
agrees almost _verbatim_ with the account of the matter that is here given
by Mr. Cornelius Littlepage. The house in which Col. Heathcote dwelt was
destroyed by fire, a short time before the revolution; but the property
on which it stood, and the present building, belong at this moment to his
great-grandson, the Rt. Rev. Wm. _Heathcote_ de Lancey, the Bishop of
Western New York. On the subject of the _plunder_, the editor will remark,
that a near connection, whose grandfather was a Major at the taking of
Louisbourg, and who was subsequently one of the first Brigadiers appointed
in 1775, has lately shown him a letter written to that officer, during the
expedition, by _his_ father; in which, blended with a great deal of pious
counsel, and some really excellent religious exhortation, is an earnest
inquiry after the _plunder_.--EDITOR.]