"Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam--
The season's difference."
AS YOU LIKE IT.
It was, then, in the early part of the month of October, 1783, that two
travelers might have been seen, leisurely wending their way, on foot,
southwardly, along a somewhat narrow valley, through which flowed a
rapid but attractive river. That part of the valley which was now in
their view, was not more than half a mile in breadth. On the west, the
hills were low, and presented no peculiar attraction to the eye. On the
east, however, they attained a loftier height, and, in the golden
sunshine which fell from the autumn sky, excited the surprise and
admiration of our travelers. From the position they occupied, they could
trace the course of the valley for some six or seven miles, among the
hills, which became bolder and loftier, until it was lost in a sudden
turn to the westward. The river, along whose banks they had traveled for
some ten or twelve miles, was here from four to six rods in width; and,
as we have before observed, was attractive by the rapidity of its
current and the frequent but graceful curves in which it pursued its
course. The Indian name, which this river now bears, implies "the
Pleasant River."
The forest about them exhibited much variety of vegetation; and among
the trees which they observed, they saw fine specimens of the pine,
which towered above the surrounding forest, in the graceful superiority
of foliage and beauty. The maple, hemlock, beech, birch, walnut, and
chestnut, were abundant. It was at just the season of the year when the
leaf of the maple wears its choicest hue of red; and the beech and
chestnut assume their "sere and yellow." Blending with these varieties,
the unfading richness of the evergreen, it would excite no wonder, that
the younger of our travelers, at least, beheld with admiration the
gorgeous drapery which, in this climate, the forest assumes, preparatory
to the desolation of winter.
The younger of the two persons to whom we have called the attention of
the reader, might have been twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age. Of
middle stature, he exhibited a frame of much symmetry and power; and it
was apparent that he had been inured to labors which had fully
developed health and strength. His face was somewhat embrowned by
exposure to the weather; but his active and intelligent eyes, the firm
compression of his lips, and the ready play of his countenance, as he
listened to or answered some remark of his companion, made it apparent
that he had at least bestowed some labor upon the cultivation of his
mind; for inward discipline and culture always have their effect upon
the outward bearing. Besides this, there was in his countenance an
evidence of sincerity of purpose, which if it pursues but one path to
attain its end, and that frequently an _uncomfortable_ one, always
triumphs over temporary difficulties. Ralph Weston--for that is the name
of the young traveler--was ever honorable and upright, even where
worldly "prudence" would have admitted of a slight departure from the
rigid rules of propriety. He was not of that modern school, which makes
_expediency_ the touchstone of morality of conduct; but he always
disclaimed the artifices to which men too frequently resort to hide the
practices which are well enough in themselves, but which happen to
contravene popular opinions or customs. But, with this serious turn of
mind, he possessed a romantic disposition, which frequently led him into
acts that excited the surprise of more sedate or less romantic
acquaintances; but with no art, save a frank disposition, and a heart of
sympathy and friendship, Ralph Weston always found "troops of friends"
to whom he was little less than what we propose to make of him--a hero.
Ralph Weston, then, as might be readily supposed, in the dark hours when
the Colonies were struggling for life, embarked his hopes and fortunes
in the cause of his country. At the age of eighteen, he volunteered as a
private soldier, and after serving a short time in this humble capacity,
he had risen in rank, until at the close of the war, he held the
commission of a captain. His maternal aunt (for he had neither father
nor mother, both having died in his infancy) always insisted that he
should have been a general, at least; and perhaps, if merit were always
the true test of advancement, he would have attained a much higher rank.
But while he was always foremost in danger, he was ever a laggard in the
ranks of those who press eagerly forward for the spoils of victory, or
the honors which are more often worn than deserved. But we will suffer
the reader to become more intimately acquainted with him as we proceed
in our history.
His traveling companion, however, cannot be dismissed without notice;
for Ichabod Jenkins (familiarly called "Ike," by his too-presuming
acquaintances) had no small idea of his own importance. At the time when
he appears before us, he cannot be less than forty-seven or eight years
of age; when standing erect, he is full six feet two in stockings; but
as he generally appears in locomotion, you would make his height at
about five feet ten. His frame was not, apparently, robust, and a
stranger would have been surprised at any great indication of strength
on his part; yet few in the neighborhood of his residence, on any public
occasion, when feats of agility or strength were undertaken, would have
dared to match him in any game where these qualities were necessary. Yet
this was the least of Ichabod's merits, if his own judgment could be
trusted.
In his earlier days, a long struggle had taken place in his mind between
the love of wealth and literary pursuits. He recognized the distinctive
antipathy between these two mistresses; yet neither of them had ever
acquired a complete victory over the other; so he had compromised
between them by uniting a course of such reading as could then be
attained in general literature, with a strong speculative disposition,
which desired to leap at once, and by one bound, from rags into purple.
Now, it must be confessed, that Ichabod had succeeded about as well in
one pursuit as in the other--and to which of his mistresses to attribute
his ill success, he did not know. He had read Mrs. Bradstreet's poems,
who, in her day, was styled "the mirror of her age and the glory of her
sex"--he had much admired the poetry of George Wolcott, but he was
completely intoxicated with the "Simple Cobbler of Agawam," by Nathanial
Ward, although he did not adopt its fanatical sentiments; the
Revolutionary poets he had by heart, and for the reputation of Freneau,
he would have abandoned the fame of Shakespeare, had he possessed the
power of choice. He had at one time secluded himself from all of his
acquaintances for a month or two; and at last, when he emerged from his
solitude, he was seen with a quantity of manuscript, which he read to
his most intimate friends with exceedingly rhapsodical gestures. It was
even thought that this manuscript had been offered to some publisher,
but as its contents whatever they were, never appeared in print, it was
well understood that it had been rejected. It is certain, that from this
time he abandoned all ideas of winning a literary reputation, and set
earnestly to work to win the fortune of which he had so long been
dreaming. But Ichabod, with an innate love for the jingle of rhyme,
could, even at this day, repeat enough of the lyrical poetry of the
country to endanger the patience and temper of his warmest friend.
After attempting, at Boston, many schemes for the sudden acquisition of
wealth, which had all resulted in failure, he had, some time previous to
the war, shaken off the dust of the (to him) unprosperous city, and
traveled westward in search of a more congenial spot, where the
resources of his mind could be developed.
He had _finally located_ at one of the frontier settlements in the State
of New York--a small, but growing place--and unencumbered by wife or
family, he fancied himself certain of success at last. He had at one
time taken a trip to the shores of Long Island Sound, for the purpose
of making inquiry as to the prospect of realizing anything from the
buried money of Capt. Kidd; but he returned somewhat poorer than he
left. One time, while wandering on the shore of a small creek, in his
own neighborhood, devising means for the expenditure of his wealth when
it should be obtained, he was suddenly arrested by the glitter of some
fine, shining particles, in the sand. Certain that he had at length
discovered a gold mine, the land was purchased by him on contract, at an
extravagant price, by turning out what little money and few valuables he
possessed. His mysterious appearance and conduct, attracted towards him
the attention of the whole settlement; it was whispered that he was
always out of his boarding-house at night, and that he invariably slept
a portion of the day. He had been heard, too, to hint, in a solemn
manner, of his taking up his residence at Boston or New York, and of
building half a dozen blocks of brick buildings, and living in a style
of splendor that should astonish his early acquaintances, who had always
enviously predicted that he would never amount to anything. The
consequence was, that after much managing and prying, Ichabod's mine was
discovered, and the whole settlement rushed--men, women and children--to
share his good fortune. Trespass suits followed thick and fast, and at
length it was discovered that the glittering particles which had been
gathered so eagerly, were worth just as much as the sand in which they
were imbedded, and no more. The result of this speculation was, that
Ichabod lost both his gold and his land, and the little money he had
previously possessed.
But nothing disheartened, other schemes filled his mind; and he was
always the surest of success, just as he was the most certain to be
unsuccessful. Ichabod was altogether too busy in his financial
operations to volunteer as a soldier during the Revolutionary War,
although he had cast around earnestly to ascertain if there was any way
by which he could make his business and patriotism harmonize together.
But while he had refused to sacrifice his chances of a fortune by taking
up arms as a soldier, to his credit be it said, that in the frequent
Indian incursions which had been made on the frontier settlements of New
York, he had zealously engaged in the plans of defense, and had won an
enviable notoriety as an Indian fighter. Always cool and calculating, he
never suffered himself to be surprised; and he came at last to be
dreaded by the Indians, as bearing a charmed life, which could not be
taken. More than one Seneca, who had escaped from his rifle, bore the
marks of his bullets; and his name was never mentioned by them but with
a look of hatred. This feeling was cordially reciprocated; and even a
lucky chance at a fortune could scarcely have deterred him from an
attack, even in a time of peace, upon an Onondaga, Cayuga, or Seneca.
But with the return of peace, all ideas of war had vanished, and he now
felt that it was necessary to make a desperate effort for the fortune
which had been so long delayed. But it was necessary to possess some
little capital; and with the view of laying the foundation for the
capital desired, he had embraced the opportunity of guiding Ralph Weston
on his journey, which was now nearly completed. He also had an idea
about a speculation which he wished to look after; but of that
hereafter.
Armed with a rifle, which had been his constant companion in his
encounters with the Indians, and with a hunting-knife which he wore in a
leathern belt, it would have been difficult for a stranger to have
pronounced his vocation. There was little in his figure or appearance
which would have indicated the habits of a borderer of the period, yet
one would scarcely have ventured to guess at any other calling or
profession.
His hair, which was long and straight, and originally of a brownish
color, had become grizzly, and flowed from under his cap without order
or regularity. His face was embrowned by long exposure to the extremes
of weather, while its expression had a rigidity that was scarcely ever
discomposed. His eyes were of a grayish cast, and seemed always to be on
the alert, to detect dangers that might threaten either his person, or
the mental treasures which were just ready to be coined.
The travelers journeyed in a sort of path, which had evidently been made
some time before, but which had been little used. Occasionally, a tree
that could not be avoided had been felled, and the stump wholly or
partially removed; and often the path was obstructed by the trunk of a
decayed tree, which had fallen from old age, or had been overthrown by
the violence of the winds.
"Well, Ichabod," said Ralph, after the travelers had paused a while to
survey the valley which now opened upon their view, "we must be near our
journey's end. From the indications you gave me, we cannot be more than
a mile distant, at farthest."
"I should say not, Captain," replied Ichabod; "I was never hereabouts
but once before, and then I reckon we made something of a spec in the
way of Injins. The varmints! but they are a long way off now, I reckon."
"I have never heard," said Ralph, "that any battles of consequence were
fought in this section of the State. This region is too distant from the
settlements, and too much of a wilderness, to have been the scene of any
important conflict."
"I can't say, Captain, how important it may or mayn't have been to the
country at large; but this I _do_ calculate, that it was mighty
important to them that had the fighting on't. Three Injins to one man,
sartin; and they fought like devils, as they were, confound 'em! Why,
Captain, if you'll believe it, one of them red rascals and I ra'ally had
a pitched battle for the ownership of this here companion of mine,"
pointing to his rifle; "but we taught the cussed red-skins better
manners. We don't part company so easy;" and Ichabod grasped his rifle
with a still firmer hand; and then half said and half sung, from the old
ballad of "Lovewell's fight,"
"'For, as we are informed,
So thick and fast they fell,
Scarce twenty of their number
At night did get home well.'"
"I supposed," said Ralph, "that this country, through which we are now
traveling, was in the possession of the friendly Oneidas and
Tuscaroras?"
"Yes, it was in their possession," answered Ichabod, "except when it was
overrun by those devils of Senecas or Onondagas and that was pretty
tolerably often. They got lots of scalps, sometimes, and sometimes they
lost their own. The Tryon County boys, when they had a fair chance at
'em, always paid 'em off with interest. As the poet said:
"'Come all you Tryon County men,
And never be dismayed;
But trust sincerely in the Lord,
And He will be your aid.'"
"But, as I ginerally found, they had to trust a good deal to their
rifles."
"I had heard of the sufferings of the people at the settlements," said
Ralph, "and knew the fact that many sharp battles, which are little
known in the general history of the war, occurred; but I supposed they
were confined to the immediate neighborhood of the settlements."
"Why, you see, Captain, if we got the start of 'em at the settlements,
we weren't such fools as to let 'em go without a taste of our pluck; and
it was on one of them occasions that I was down here. But I say,
Captain," exclaimed he, as he approached a sudden bend in the river,
where there was a much more than usual current, "what d'ye think of the
chance of setting up a woolen factory down here, on this creek?"
Amused with the turn Ichabod had given to the conversation, Ralph
suggested that it might possibly be a profitable investment, provided he
could induce the Indians to become customers to his establishment, and
provided the requisite staples for the manufacture could be obtained.
Nothing daunted by the suggestion of obstacles, Ichabod proceeded to
explain to Ralph how a rapid fortune, in that line, could be
accumulated.
"Now s'pose, Captain, that we buy of these Oneidas and Tuscaroras a
water-privilege. Well, that's done. Then we'll put up a building. Plenty
of materials, you see, all around here; and we can get the machinery at
New York, or send for a good hand, and make it ourselves. Then, as you
say, we shall have to get the wool; and after it's manufactured, we
shall have to sell it. But why can't we raise sheep here? We can get a
small stock at the settlement, and what with them and the increase, we
shan't have any lack of wool: and for a market, haven't we got the whole
country? But you'll say, Captain, that the foreign importations will
ruins us? Well, that _is_ a difficulty; but it can't last, Captain; it
won't last. We'll conquer them foreign fellows in that business, yet, as
we did in the other. But I think we can, any way, get up a good-enough
home market among these Injins. I'll have a talk with 'em about it." And
we shall see that he did, on a subsequent occasion, faithfully perform
his promise.
But we will not follow the worthy Ichabod in his calculations upon the
profits of his speculation. He had scarcely reached the middle of his
figurings upon the profits to be realized from a thousand sheep, when
Ralph, who was wearied, yet amused, by the earnestness of his companion,
exclaimed:
"Arrived at last!"
They had now approached near the northeastern shore of a small lake or
pond, which lay buried in the valley, completely surrounded by the
forest. Its eastern shore was about fifty rods from the river; and so
far as they could observe, it had neither inlet nor outlet. It was of an
almost perfect oval form, having on the eastern and a portion of the
southern shore a bluff of fifteen or twenty feet in height; but on the
southwest, the land gradually receded in an upward slope, into a hill of
fifty or sixty feet in height, while, towards the northwest, the land
rose sharply from the water's edge to an elevation of eighty or a
hundred feet. The northern shore seemed to be flat and marshy, and had
the appearance of having, at one time, been covered with the waters of
the pond. As we have said, it was of nearly an oval form, and was about
one hundred rods across, from east to west, while from north to south
the distance was still greater. The water was calm and clear, and
reflected, with the brightness and truthfulness of a mirror, the forms
of the trees which stood upon its western shore. Even Ichabod awoke from
his speculative dreams, and admired, with Ralph, the still and quiet
beauty of the scene.
Upon the brow of the hill which we have described on the southwestern
shore of the pond, in a clearing of few acres in extent, stood a
cottage, not much different from the general style of cottages, as they
were then built by the pioneers of the wilderness. Yet, in the distance
which intervened between it and our travelers, and in the calmness and
clearness of the day, which had now nearly reached its close, the
cottage possessed charms, in their eyes, which its intrinsic beauties,
either in situation or construction, did not perhaps merit. So far as
Ralph was concerned, perhaps, there were other reasons to lend it a
charm, beyond the beauty of the landscape or the golden rays thrown upon
it by the setting sun.
While they were yet observing it, with very different emotions, it was
apparent from an unwonted excitement among its inhabitants, that their
arrival had been observed, and the figure of a stout-looking elderly
man, followed by a negro, could be seen advancing towards them. But we
must leave the meeting to be recorded in the next chapter.