See winter comes to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad with all his rising train
Vapors and clouds and storms.
THOMSON'S SEASONS.
The charming poet depicted truthfully, doubtless, as well as
poetically, the English winter, but such is not the character of the
season in New England. Clouds and storms, indeed, herald his advent
and attend his march; capricious too his humor; but he is neither
"sullen" nor "sad." No brighter skies than his, whether the sun
with rays of mitigated warmth but of intenser light, sparkles o'er
boundless fields of snow, or whether the moon, a faded sun, leading
her festal train of stars, listens to the merry sleigh-bells and the
laugh of girls and boys, ever glorified a land. What though sometimes
his trumpet sounds tremendous and frowns o'erspread his face!
Transient is his anger, and even then from his white beard he shakes
a blessing, to protect with fleecy covering the little seeds in hope
entrusted to the earth, and to contribute to the mirth and sports of
man.
A few days have passed since the occurrences last detailed. The
weather had gradually become colder; the ground was as hard as a
stone; there had been a heavy fall of snow, and the streets were
musical with bells. The snow had fallen before the intense cold
commenced, so that the glassy surface of the ice that bridged the
rivers and lakes was undimmed, and presented unusual attractions to
the skaters.
It was on the afternoon of a fine day that the smooth Severn, hardened
into diamond, was covered, just where the Yaupáae and the Wootúppocut
unite, to give it form and an independent being, with a gay throng
of the people of the village of both sexes. They were mostly young
persons, consisting principally of boys from school (for it was
Saturday afternoon) with their sisters. Besides these were some young
men and women, with here and there one more advanced in years.
It was a scene of gaiety and exuberant enjoyment. The children let
loose from school, where they had been confined all the week, put no
bounds to the loud and hilarious expression of their delight, which
the seniors showed no disposition to check--remembering they once were
children--and the banks of the stream rung with shouts and answering
cries and laughter. Here, flying round in graceful curves, a dexterous
skater cut his name in the ice; there, bands of noisy boys were
playing tag, and on the ringing steel pursuing the chase; while every
once in a while down would tumble some lubberly urchin, or unskillful
performer, or new beginner, coming into harder contact with the frozen
element than was pleasant, and seeing stars in the daytime, while
bursts of laughter and ironical invitations to try it again, greeted
his misfortune. In another place were girls on small sleighs or sleds,
capable of holding two or three, whirled along by half-a-dozen skaters
with great rapidity; while, holding on to handkerchiefs, were others
drawn upon their feet at less hazardous speed. Dispersed among the
crowd were little boys with flat, tin boxes suspended by a strap
from their necks, containing molasses candy, whose brittle sweetness
appeared to possess great attraction. All was fun and jest, and laugh
and merriment.
Among others, allured by the beauty of the day, which though clear was
not so cold as to be uncomfortable, to witness the sports, were Faith
Armstrong and Anne Bernard, escorted by Pownal and young Bernard. The
cheeks of the ladies were crimsoned by the wholesome cold, and their
eyes shone with a brighter lustre than usual, and many were the looks
of envy or of admiration cast upon them as they passed, greeting their
acquaintances and joining in the revel.
At the time when the little party arrived there happened to be a
circle gathered around one of the most accomplished performers to
witness an exhibition of his skill, and surely nothing could be more
graceful. Without sensible effort, and as if by mere volition, he
seemed to glide over the glossy surface, now forwards, now backwards,
now sideways, now swiftly, now slowly, whirling like an eagle in rapid
or dilatory curves, describing all the lines that Euclid ever drew or
imagined, and cutting such initials of the names of the spectators
as were desired. The performance, though hailed with very
general expressions of admiration, did not seem to give universal
satisfaction.
"He does pretty well," said an elderly man, with a woollen scarf or
muffler about his neck and a fox-skin cap on his head, "He does it
pretty well; but, Captain, did you ever see Sam Allen?"
"You mean," answered the person addressed, who was a man of about the
same number of years, "Allen who married old Peter's daughter, and
afterwards run away. Yes; it didn't go with him as slick with her as
on the ice."
"Well, she didn't break her heart about it. She got married agin as
soon as the law allowed. I was in court when Judge Trumbull granted
the divorce. 'Twas for three years willful desartion and total neglect
of duty."
"No, I guess she didn't. She was published the very next Lord's Day,
and got married in the evening. She was a mighty pretty cretur. Well,
I never see such a skater as Sam. This fellow is nothing at all to
him. He don't kind o' turn his letters so nice. Now, there's that
v, you might mistake it for a w. I like to see a man parfect in his
business."
"I've hearn tell," said the Captain, "though I never see it myself,
that Sam could write Jarman text as well as Roman."
"I never see it," said the Fox-skin cap, "but guess it's so. There
wasn't nothing Sam couldn't do on skates."
"Do you recollect whether he used smooth irons or hollow?" inquired
the Captain.
"Oh, smooth; they ain't so easy for beginners, but when a fellow gits
the knack of 'em they're a great deal better."
Very different from the remarks of these _laudatores temporis acti_,
were those of the rising generation.
"How beautiful!" exclaimed Anne. "What wonderful skill! Can anything
be more graceful?"
"It is, indeed, graceful," said Faith; "and it must require
considerable boldness as well as skill to venture on some of those
evolutions. The least mistake would cause a violent fall."
"Dear Faith, why did you mention it?" said Anne. "I was not thinking
of the possibility of falls."
"Have no fear," said Pownal; "he is too completely master of the
science to hurt himself."
"In Holland the ladies are said to skate as well as the gentlemen,"
said Bernard.
"That is a poor compliment, William," said Anne. "If I cannot skate
better without practice, than half of this awkward squad, I will never
bind skates on my feet a second time."
"I know of nothing you cannot do," said her brother.
"Come here, Andrew," cried Pownal, to a boy standing opposite in the
circle, and holding a pair of skates in his hand. "Come here and lend
me your skates. Here, Miss Bernard," said he, presenting them to her,
"here is a fine pair. Allow me to buckle them on. And then like a
winged Mercury to fly."
"Please to compare me to no heathen gods, Mr. Pownal, or you may make
these old Puritans burn me for a witch. Let me see if they fit. No,
they are too large, I could never do myself justice on them. Here, my
little fellow is a ninepence for you; away with you."
The boy took the little piece of silver with a grin, tied the rejected
skates upon his feet, and was soon lost among his companions.
"I say," said an urchin, who was looking on with admiring eyes, "I
say, Bill, that beats all natur. Did you ever see such shindys?"
"They ain't so bad," returned Bill; "but I guess I can do some of 'em
myself."
"Which ones?" inquired the other.
"Why," answered Bill, "when he throws himself right about face, and
then goes sculling backwards."
"I'll bet you can't do it the first time."
"What will you bet?" cried Bill.
"I don't care; say a stick o' candy."
"Agreed!" cried Bill. "You see I've done it afore."
"You ought to told us that," said his companion.
"A bet's a bet," said Bill. "You don't want to back out, do ye?"
"Go ahead," cried the other, with some spirit. "I'll risk it. Let's
see what you can do."
Thus exhorted and defied, Bill commenced preparations. He first
stooped down on one knee and then on the other, and tightened the
straps of the skates; next he took a handkerchief from his pocket, and
fastened it tightly around his waist, and lastly, moved slowly about
as if to determine whether all things were as they should be.
The spectators who had overheard the conversation between the boys,
and were ready for any kind of fun, now began to express interest in
the trial, and various were the words of encouragement addressed to
Bill, as well as the mutterings of doubt over the result. The skater
who, until now, had attracted the most attention, ceased his
diagrams and approached Bill, in order to give him instructions,
notwithstanding the remonstrances of his companion, who loudly
vociferated it wasn't fair.
"Hold your yaup," cried another boy, standing by; "if you don't like
your bet, Hen Billings, I'll take it off your hands."
But little Billings seemed to think he had made a good bet, and
although loth to concede to Bill any advantage that did not of strict
right belong to him, was far from being disposed to relinquish it. "Go
your length, Bill," he said, "I ain't afeard of the expense."
The space being now cleared, Bill began to circle round preparatory to
the trial. It was evident he was not very skillful, and the opinion of
the bystanders, who amused themselves with criticising his preliminary
performances, was about equally divided respecting his ability to
perform the undertaking. After a few turns Bill cried out:
"Now, Hen, look out." With that he darted forward, until he supposed
he had attained the required momentum, when suddenly making a twisting
motion with his feet, he threw himself round. But unfortunately he had
made some miscalculation or slip, for instead of alighting square upon
the skates, his heels flew up, and with a tremendous thump, down came
poor Bill upon his back.
"Hurrah!" cried Hen Billings; "there you go, candy and all. I hope you
ain't hurt you," he said, good naturedly. "I'd rather lose my bet than
have you hurt."
"No," whined Bill, squirming round his body, and rubbing the back of
his head, "not much. What are you grinning at, you monkey? Did you
never see a man fall before?" cried he, shaking his fist at another
boy, whose face it seems did not wear an expression of condolence to
suit him. "I vow if I don't try that again," he added, after having
recovered a little from the effects of his fall.
Thereupon space being again allowed, Bill, with genuine pluck, tried
the experiment once more, and this time with better fortune.
His success was greeted with shouts of congratulation, and with
expressions of "true grit," "stuffy little fellow," &c., and
he presently disappeared with his friend, Hen, in search of the
candy-merchant.
Faith and Anne, with the two young men, had witnessed the whole scene
with some interest, and the different manner in which the girls were
affected was characteristic. Faith betrayed a lively sensibility when
the boy fell, and was hardly restrained from condoling with him; while
Anne took but little notice of it, but exhibited exquisite delight at
his courage and final success. But something else now attracted their
attention. A shout was raised, and exclamations were heard of "There
comes the ice-boat; there comes Grant's ice-boat."
Turning round, they beheld what had the appearance of a boat under
sail, flying round the promontory of Okommakemisit. A slight breeze
was drawing up the stream, and before its favoring breath, the little
vessel, or whatever else it might be called, advanced with great
rapidity. In a few moments it had reached them, and with a sharp
grating sound as of iron cutting into ice, came suddenly to a stop,
and the persons gathering round had an opportunity to examine it. It
was the work of a village genius, and consisted of some boards, cut
in an elliptical form (as, perhaps, the most convenient), supported by
two pieces of iron, parallel to each other, to which the boards were
fastened, and running the whole length from bow to stern. In the
forward part was rigged a mast, to which was attached a sail, like the
mainsail of a sloop, and the whole was controlled by a piece of sharp
iron, fixed on the stern in such a manner as to turn like a rudder,
and to cut with any required degree of pressure, by means of a lever,
into the ice. With this simple regulator it was made perfectly safe,
being stopped as readily, and on the same principle, as a skater
arrests his course.
Grant, to whom Pownal and Bernard were both known, invited the little
party to take a sail with him, assuring them there was no danger. The
invitation was at once accepted by Miss Bernard, though the more timid
Faith hesitated, and the four took their seats. The group of persons,
as before observed, were at the head of the Severn, and the wind was
drawing up the river, it was, therefore, necessary, to beat against
the wind at starting. To the surprise, in particular of the ladies,
this was done with the most perfect ease, the vessel, on her sharp
runners, making but little lee-way, and obeying her helm more readily
than any boat in water. Indeed, obedience was instantaneous. She
whirled round as quickly as one could turn one's hand, requiring
promptness and presence of mind in the steersman. Thus, like a
bird, with smooth and equable motion, she flew with her delighted
passengers, in many a zig-zag, down the Severn, until they had gone
as far as desired, when round she spun, and before the breeze, houses,
and men, and trees, gliding by as in a race, dashed up to the starting
point.
Upon leaving the ice-boat, the eyes of Pownal discovered the tall form
of Holden, in the midst of a group of persons whom he appeared to be
addressing; and upon his mentioning the circumstance to the others,
it was proposed to join him. Accordingly, they added themselves to his
audience. Several large baskets were lying near him on the ice, and so
engaged was he in his subject that he took no notice of the approach
of his four young friends. The address was not without a burst or two
of eloquence, springing out of the intense conviction of the speaker,
and was listened to respectfully enough. Not that a convert was made;
not that there was a person present who did not regard his notions
as the hallucinations of a disturbed intellect, but a part of the
bystanders esteemed and respected him as a man of noble and generous
disposition, lavish of his small means towards those whom he
considered poorer than himself, and never faltering in any act of
kindness on account of hardship or privation; while the rest, as
already intimated, felt a sort of awe in his presence from the mystery
that surrounded him. Among the spectators was our old friend, Tom
Gladding, leisurely engaged in whittling out a chain from a pine
block, some twelve inches in length, from which he had succeeded in
obtaining three or four links that dangled at its end, and listening
with a comical expression, as if he were anticipating some fun.
The Enthusiast had hardly concluded his exhortation before Basset, who
stood on the outside of the ring during its delivery, stepped forward,
and placing his hand on Holden's shoulder, informed him he was his
prisoner. Holden made no resistance, but drawing himself up to his
full height, and fastening his eyes sternly on the constable, he
demanded:
"What art thou?"
"My name is Barnabas Basset," answered the constable, a little
embarrassed.
"I care not for thy name," said Holden, "but by what authority darest
thou to lay thy hand on a free man?"
"By authority of the State of Connecticut," replied the constable,
recovering from his momentary confusion, and feeling quite safe in
the crowd. "It's true, I hain't got my staff, but everybody's bound,
according to law, to know the constable."
"And, therefore, is an innocent man to be treated as a malefactor?"
"I don't know about the innocence," said Basset, "and it's none of my
business. You must talk to the justice about that. All I've got to do
is to execute my warrant according to law."
"It is written, resist not evil," said Holden, musingly. "Behold, I am
in thy hands; do with me what thou willest."
But some of the spectators appeared indisposed to be so passive.
Pownal and Bernard walked up to the constable, and demanded to know
the meaning of the outrage.
"You may just call it what you please, Mr. Pownal," answered Basset,
indignant at being interfered with, as he called it, in the discharge
of his duty, "and I advise you not to git your fingers catched in the
law; but if you must know, the justice, I guess, will tell you."
"Keep your advice until it is asked for," said Pownal; "but before
what justice are you taking him?"
"If you come with us, you'll find out," answered Basset, whose ill
nature seemed to increase.
"That I certainly will. I must leave you," said Pownal, turning to the
ladies, "to see that this brutal fellow behaves himself."
"Do," cried Faith; "do not let them insult him."
"Let us go with him," said the impulsive Anne.
"You would make a fine appearance in a justice court," said her
brother "No, I will see you home, and afterwards join Pownal."
But an occurrence now happened which made any such arrangement
unnecessary. Tom Gladding, who all this while had been quietly
whittling out his chain and listening to the conversation, here
interposed:
"Basset," he said, "you hain't showed your warrant."
"It's all safe enough," cried the constable, striking his hand on his
pocket.
"Well, if that's the case you're safe enough, too," said Tom, as if
not disposed to press an inquiry.
But the hint had answered its purpose, and several voices demanded the
exhibition of the warrant, to which the constable replied, that it was
none of their business; he knew what he was about.
Contrary, however, to what might have been expected from his former
submission, the prisoner required to see the written authority by
which he was to be consigned to bonds, and refused to move until
it had been shown, in which determination he was sustained by
the bystanders. Thus unexpectedly resisted, the constable had no
alternative but to release Holden or produce the instrument. He,
therefore, put his hand into his pocket, and pulling out a number of
papers, sought for the document. It was in vain; no warrant was to be
found; and, after repeatedly shuffling the papers, he exclaimed: "I
declare I must have lost it."
Whether he discovered the loss then for the first time, or what is far
more probable, did not anticipate its demand from one so flighty as
Holden, and meant to procure one afterwards, is not certainly known,
but the fact is certain, he had no written authority to arrest.
"You never had one. Is this the way you treat a free American? You
desarve a ducking; you had better make tracks," exclaimed several
indignant voices from the crowd, with whom a constable cannot be a
popular character.
"It's my opinion," said the man in the fox skin cap, "Basset has made
himself liable for assault and battery. What do you think, Captain?"
"I ain't clear on that point," returned his cautious companion, "but
free trade and sailors' rights, I say, and I've no notion of a man's
being took without law. I'm clear so far."
The discomfited constable not venturing to proceed, and, indeed,
unable to conceive how, without Holden's assent, he could take him
before the justice, now relinquished his prey, and endeavored to make
his way out of the circle. Hereupon an agitation arose, none could
say how, the persons composing it began to be swayed backwards and
forwards in a strange manner, and somehow or other poor Basset's heels
got tripped up, and before he could rise, several men and boys fell
over him and crushed him with their weight, so that when he became
visible in the heap, he presented a most pitiable appearance. His coat
was torn, his neckerchief twisted so tight about his neck, that he
was half choked, and his hat jammed out of all shape. It is doubtful
whether he would have escaped so cheaply, had it not been for
Gladding, who, after he thought Basset had suffered sufficiently, came
to his assistance.
"I always stand by the law," said Tom, helping him to his feet, "but
I admire your imprudence, Basset, in trying to take up a man without a
warrant."
Basset's faculties were too confused to enter into a discussion of
the subject then, and with many threats of taking the law against his
tormentors, and, attended by Tom, he limped off the ice.
Loud and boisterous were the congratulations with which the crowd had
greeted Holden on his escape from the clutches of the constable, but
he waved them off with a dignity which repressed their advances, and
gave some offence.
"If I'd known the old fellow was so proud," said one, "I guess Basset
might have taken him for all I cared."
"I sort o' sprained my wrist in that last jam agin the constable,"
said another, laughing, "and it's een about as good as thrown away."
"Perhaps," cried a third, "when he's took agin, I'll be there to help,
and perhaps I won't."
While these various speeches were being made, the young men with
the ladies, had gathered around Holden, and were expressing their
mortification at the annoyance he had experienced, and their pleasure
at his escape.
"Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?" cried
the enthusiast. "Surely their devices shall be brought to naught,
and their counsels to no effect. He that sitteth on the circle of the
heavens shall laugh them to scorn, and spurn them in His displeasure.
Because for Thy sake, I have borne reproach; shame hath covered my
face. I am become a stranger unto my brethren, and an alien unto my
mother's children."
He waited for no remark; he looked at no one; but taking up the pile
of baskets which were tied together, threw them upon his back, and
stalked over the ice in the direction of his cabin.
On their way home the young people discussed the events of the
afternoon, dwelling on the meeting with Holden as on that which most
occupied their minds.
"It is with a painful interest," said Pownal, "that I meet the old
man, nor can I think of him without a feeling of more than common
regard. I am sure it is not merely because he was lately of so great
service to me, that I cannot listen to the tones of his voice without
emotion. There is in them a wild melancholy, like the sighing of the
wind through pine trees, that affects me more than I can describe."
"I know the feeling," said Faith. "There is to me also a strange
pathos in his voice that brings the tears sometimes into my eyes
before I am aware. What is the cause, I do not know. I never heard
it spoken of till now, and did not suppose there was another affected
like myself."
"You are a couple of romantic, silly things," cried Anne. "I flatter
myself there is some poetry in me, but it takes a different shape.
Now, when I see Father Holden, I begin to think of Jeremiah and
Zachariah, and all the old prophets, but with no disposition to cry."
"Tears were never meant to dim those blue eyes, dear Anne," said
Faith.