OLD PITTSBURG
Spring came with a rush. Barbe Carrick glanced out of the south window
one morning and called her little girl.
"Look, Dilly, the daffodils are opening and they make the garden
fairly joyous. They are like the sun."
There was a long border of them. The green stalks stood up stiff like
guards and the yellow heads nodded as if they were laughing. Wild
hyacinths were showing color as well, but these were the first save a
few snowdrops and violets one found in woody nooks. Birds were singing
and flying to and fro in search of nesting places.
Pittsburg was not much of a town then, but its surroundings were
beautiful. The two rivers were rushing and foaming now in their wild
haste to pour their overflow into the Ohio. The houses had begun to
stretch out beyond the Fort. Colonel Campbell some years before had
laid out several streets, the nucleus of the coming city. Then Thomas
Hickory completed the plans and new houses were in the course of
erection. Still the great business of the time was in the hands of
the Indian traders that the French had found profitable. Beyond were
farms, and the great tract, afterward to be Allegheny City, lay in
fields and woods.
A post road had been ordered by the government between Philadelphia
and the town. And there were plans for a paper. For now most people
were convinced that the war was at an end, and the Southern cities had
been turned over to the Continental government.
There was a brisk, stirring air pervading the place. Business projects
were discussed. Iron had been discovered, in fact the whole land was
rich in minerals. The traders were bringing down their furs. It had
not been a specially cold winter and in this latitude the spring came
earlier.
"Oh, it's beautiful!" The child clapped her hands. "Can't I bring in
some of them?"
"Oh, yes. But pick only the largest ones. Leave the others on to
grow."
She came in with an apron full. "Some are for grandfather," she said.
"Yes, fill this bowl and put it on his table."
She had just finished when he came out. He was always immaculate, and
his hair had the silvery tint. His daughter saw that it was always
neatly brushed and the queue tied with a black ribbon. He was growing
a trifle thinner and weaker.
"Oh, little one," he cried, "did you get a posy for me? Is it your
birthday?" and he stooped to kiss the golden hair, then the rosy lips.
"Her birthday will not be until next week," said her mother.
"I had forgotten. I am almost a hundred. And she is----"
"Seven."
"And when I get to be a hundred I'll have a little table like yours,
and read out of the Bible, and we'll talk over things that happened
when we were children."
He laughed and patted her shoulder. "I shall not be here," he said
slowly.
"Oh, where are you going? I do not want you to go away," and she drew
an apprehensive breath.
"We do not always stay in one place. I came from France years and
years ago. And I shall go to another country, heaven. It is always
summer there."
"Can't you take me?" with an eager, upward look.
"Mother wants you. And you are to be a little old lady and sit in this
chair."
"And wear a cap like gran'mere? And have two little creases in my
forehead, so?"
She tried to make them but they were not much of a success, and the
smile returned. "Now let us read."
She took her seat on the arm of the chair. Gran'mere came in and
busied herself about breakfast. The reading was from one of the minor
prophets. Dilly did not understand it very well but she could converse
in the language quite fluently. Her mother had taught her to spell and
read English. Girls were not expected to have much education in those
days; indeed, here they grew up mostly like the flowers of the field.
While the little girls to the eastward were working samplers, sewing
long overhand seams, hemming, and doing beautiful darning, these
little girls ran about, romped, helped to take care of the next
younger baby, grew up and married, no one could have told just how.
After breakfast when the sun was warm and bright grandfather started
for his walk. He always felt stronger in the morning. Sometimes Barbe
went, often only Dilly. He liked the child's prattle. He liked, too,
the way the denizens of the woods came to her, and the birds. True she
always had some bread to crumble and she talked in her low sunny
voice. Now and then a squirrel would run up her shoulder, watch her
with beady eyes that almost laughed and whisk his feathery tail about.
"It does seem as if they ought to talk," she often said.
"They do in their language, only we can't understand them; at least we
do in part. Doesn't he say in his fashion, 'I'm glad to see you? Have
you any crumbs to-day.' And how one of them scolded when another ran
off with that piece you dropped."
"That was funny, wasn't it!" and she laughed. They were sitting on a
fallen log in the warm sunshine. Bees were out also, buzzing and no
doubt grumbling a little because there were not more sweet flowers in
bloom. And the birds sang and whistled in great glee.
They returned from their walk presently through the woods, where she
gathered some curious wild flowers. Then they came out by the river,
foaming and tumbling about as if it longed to overflow its banks. Now
and then a rough kind of boat came down laden with stores of some
kind, but there was no hurry visible anywhere.
About sixteen years before the Indians had ceded all the lands about
Pittsburg to the Colonies. The six nations assembled with their
principal chiefs and warriors and gave the strongest assurance of
treaty keeping, which after all were not well kept, as usual. But they
had retreated to better hunting grounds and for some time had made
little trouble, though many friendly Indians remained.
The wanderers came out to the town proper. Streets were being
surveyed, straightened, new ones laid out. There were about a hundred
houses ranged round the Fort, but they had begun to spread outside.
The disputes with the Pitt family, who had held the charter of
Pennsylvania, had been mostly settled and grants of land given to many
of the returned soldiers in lieu of the money the Colonial government
could not pay. Pittsburg now belonged to the State, and a project had
been broached to make it the county seat.
Grandfather looked very tired and pale as he came in and went straight
to his chair. His daughter took his hat and cane.
"I did not mean to go so far. I wanted to look at the spot where I had
buried my money;" with a little hollow laugh.
"Did you bury some money?" asked Daffodil, with eager curiosity.
"Can't you dig it up again?"
"No, dear; it has to stay there for years. It may be dug up in your
time, but I shall not need it."
She looked puzzled.
"You must have a cup of tea," said Mrs. Bradin, and immediately she
set about it. Grandfather leaned back in his chair and closed his
eyes. Dilly espied her mother in the adjoining room and went thither
to exploit the splendid time with the squirrels and show the flowers
she had gathered. Then she stood rather wistfully.
"Well?" said her mother in a tone of inquiry.
"Grandfather went to look at the money he had buried, but he couldn't
find it. Do you suppose some one has taken it away?"
"Buried?" She seemed mystified a moment, then smiled. "It wasn't as we
bury things. A long time ago when the French held the Fort and seemed
likely to keep a good part of the country grandfather bought a large
tract of land. Then the French were driven out by the English and they
in their turn by the Colonists. But the land is there and some day the
money may come out of it. Grandad thinks he might as well have thrown
it into the river. But he has never wanted for anything, and it would
likely have been spent for something else. It's odd grandfather should
have said that to-day. He seldom mentions it. He was quite troubled
over it at first--when _I_ was a little girl."
"Oh," returned Daffodil, relieved, though she did not understand the
matter.
"Go and put your flowers in water;" said her mother.
Grandfather was soundly asleep and did not wake until dinner was on
the table. Then he scarcely tasted it.
"You must not take such long walks," his daughter said. "You cannot
stand it any more."
"No, I am getting old," rather sadly. "When your mother died I felt
that I didn't want to live, and now I am content to go on in this
lovely world until the Lord calls me home. I thought once I should
round out the century. There have been many changes in the hundred
years."
And though he had been on exile for his faith's sake, though he had
seen the blunders and sins of his country's rulers, he could not help
reverting to the grand old dream of the magnificent empire of New
France that would never come to pass now. How they had let all the
advantages slip through their fingers that had grasped only at the
wildest pleasures and dissipations.
Barbe went out in the sunshine to garden a little. She was so fond of
growing and blooming things. And they yielded such a beautiful return.
She sang snatches of songs, sometimes in French, sometimes the gay or
sad Scotch ditties. Dilly went over to see Norah, all the men were out
now at the spring work. Norah was spinning on the big wheel, but she
could raise her voice above its whir and to-day she was full of merry
legends. Dilly had brought the cat and Judy never objected to being
held.
"I'm going to be seven years old," she said in a pause. "And when will
I be almost a hundred like great-grandfather?"
"Oh, you've gone only a little bit toward it," laughed Norah. "Why I'm
not half way there myself. And I don't want to be. I'd like never to
grow any older. But you shouldn't stop at seven. You haven't come to
the cream of life. There's more fun at seventeen and that's ten years
away. But you're big enough to have a party."
"What is a party like?"
"Oh, you little innocent! A party is a lot of people together who
laugh and tell stories and have a good time and something to eat and
drink. And you must have a cake with seven candles around it."
"What are the candles for?"
"To light your way;" laughing. "No, to tell how many years you have
lived. I'll make the cake, and the candles too. They'll have to be
dips for I haven't any small mould. Don't you remember how your mother
and gran'mere made candles last fall? And I haven't a bit of wax
myrtle. Oh, I can melt up two or three of mine. They are more fragrant
than tallow. Yes, you shall have a party. I'll talk to your mother
about it."
Dilly was all interest and excitement. Her mother agreed at once. A
modern little girl would have refused such a party. For there would be
all grown people. Barbe Carrick had been a little exclusive with her
child and she had not felt the need of playmates. Then they were
rather out of the range of the Fort people as the somewhat crowded
settlement was called. There were no schools nor Sunday-schools for
little folks. Sunday was not very strictly kept. The schoolmaster read
prayers, the litany, and a sermon from some volume on Sunday morning
and the rest of the day was given over to social life. There were a
few Friends who held their meeting in each other's houses; some of the
Acadians had found their way thither, and now and then a priest came
who took in the more devout of the Irish population. But there was a
large liberty of opinion.
Norah would have the house decorated with blossoming shrubs and she
made a wreath for the little girl to wear, for a few neighbors were
asked in. James Langdale had been in Bernard's company, and Mrs.
Langdale and Barbe had exchanged many a fear and a few hopes. There
were two Langdale boys, but of course they were not eligible for a
girl's party.
They had some idea of the fitness of things even then. Barbe and
Bernard Carrick were at the head of the table with Daffodil on her
mother's side and great-grandfather on the other. At the foot were
grandfather and grandmother Bradin and on one side grandfather Carrick
and Norah, fresh and smiling and full of gayety in the pretty lavender
crêpe she had worn at her own wedding and that she saved now for high
occasions, with her sapphire earrings and brooch that had come down to
her through several generations and had been worn at Court and danced
with royalty.
It was what we would call a high tea, a bountiful spread, and there
was much jesting and joking. I think they didn't mind the little girl
very much. She was perched up higher than usual and wore a white robe
that was kept as a sort of heirloom when she outgrew it, for it was
lace and needlework of her mother's making.
Jetty, a half Indian woman, waited on the table, and when the meats
were taken out and the dessert brought in there was Daffodil's
beautiful cake with the seven candles all alight. She thrilled with
the pleasure. They passed around other cakes and home-made wine and
drank great-grandfather's health and wished him many more years.
Grandfather Carrick drank to Daffodil's future, wishing her long life
and a happy marriage with great prosperity.
Then her mother helped her up on her feet. She felt very bashful with
everybody's eyes upon her and almost forgot the little speech Norah
had taught her, but her mother prompted and she replied amid great
applause. The toasting went all around, then her candles were put out
and she had to cut the cake, which she did with a silver knife that
had a Louis stamp upon it. The cake was declared excellent.
"I'm going to take my piece home to the boys," declared Mrs. Langdale.
"Husband, give me a taste of yours."
After that there was more merriment. Then Jetty took off the things,
the tables were pushed back, and Norah and grandfather Carrick danced
a jig. And it _was_ dancing such as you seldom see nowadays. Norah
could have made her fortune on a modern stage.
After Daffodil's party broke up the men went over to grandfather
Carrick's, where they made a night of it, as was the fashion of the
times. But Dilly and great-grandfather wanted to go to bed.
"A party is just beautiful!" declared Dilly. "Couldn't I have another
sometime!"
"Oh, you are getting spoiled," laughed her mother. "Let me see--when
you are ten, maybe."
So many new thoughts came to Daffodil that she was surprised at
herself. Of course it was being seven years old. She began to sew a
little and knit and make lace over a cushion. Very simple at first,
and oh, the mistakes! Then there was gardening. How curious to plant a
dainty little seed and have it poke a green head out of the ground.
But funniest of all were the beans coming up with their shells on
their heads; she was sure at first they must be upside down.
The men were very busy about the new town and sometimes they almost
quarreled over the improvements. It was taking on quite a changed
aspect. They were giving names to the streets and building much better
houses of hewn logs, making plaster walls. But glass was very dear and
for a long while they could only put in a few windows. The rest were
openings, closed by shutters at night or in a storm.
The paper was a great source of interest, the Pittsburg _Gazette_.
What they did without any telegraph and depending only on post horses
puzzles us now. And the General Government had a hard task on its
hands reconciling the different states and trying ways of getting
money.
"They'll see, an' a sorry time they'll have of it," predicted Sandy
Carrick. "It's settin' up housekeeping for yourself on nothing. Th'
ould country's paid our bills and sent us what we needed an' they'll
be glad to go back, mark my words now."
Bernard took his father's talk in good part. His knowledge was so much
wider. There would be hard times, but there were brave men to meet it.
Sometimes he wished they could go to a big city, but it would be cruel
to tear Barbe away from the household when she was its light.
Daffodil had another wonderful pleasure. The old English people kept
up some of their customs and they had a gay time over the Maypole. It
was like a grand picnic. They had a smooth grassy place at the edge of
the woods and the pole was a young tree that was denuded of its limbs
as it stood in just the right place. They could not get ribbon, but
strips of dyed muslin answered for the streamers. There were two
fiddlers, there were gay choruses. One song grandad sang with great
gusto. Captious as he could be when people did not agree with him, he
had a fund of Irish drollery.
"Come, lasses and lads, get leave of your dads
And away to the Maypole hie;
For every fair has a sweetheart there,
And the fiddlers standing by,
Then trip it, trip it, up and down."
And grandad did trip it merrily. It was fortunate for Norah that she
was not jealous, but she enjoyed a bit of fun, and her arch smile, the
merry flash of her eyes, with the color coming and going, made her
very attractive. Dilly wished she was big enough to dance--her little
feet kept patting the turf and keeping time with the fiddle.
"You're Daffodil Carrick, aren't you?" said a boyish voice almost in
her ear.
She turned, startled, and her eyes were so lovely they fairly
transfixed him, and she stared unconsciously.
She did not speak but nodded.
"I'm Ned Langdale. My mother was at your party and brought us home a
piece of your birthday cake. She said you were seven and as pretty as
a fairy, and I'm fourteen, just twice as old."
"Oh," she said, "that's funny. And will you always be twice as old."
"Why--no. You can never be that but just once in your life--I mean
with that special person. And when you were twenty I wouldn't like to
be forty."
"Is that so very old? Great-grandfather is ninety-seven."
"Whew! That is old! But you see now I am seven years older than you
and that is the way it will be all our lives. Do you go to school?
There's a lady in Water Street who takes little girls, though she's
only just begun."
"No; but I can spell, and read, and do little sums. And read in
French."
"Oh, that's great! I'm studying Latin, but it's awful tough. Isn't it
gay here? Can you dance?"
"I never tried with music."
"I can, just a little. Oh, say, it's splendid! If I knew just how I'd
ask you to try it with me. It seems so easy when you look at them.
It's so and so----" moving his hands. "Yes, do try. You whirl
round----"
And without any real intention they started. It was like floating.
Yes, she had done it when she thought of the little people dancing on
the green.
"Oh," with a soft laugh of protest, and all out of breath.
"It's--delicious! I didn't think I could do it for fair. I sometimes
make believe. I'll get Norry to teach me."
"Norry? Who?"
"Why----" she flushed daintily. "That's grandad's wife."
"Then she's your grandmother."
"Oh, no, she isn't. You see the other wife died; she was father's
mother and he married Norah. We all call her Norry."
"She doesn't look old enough to be any one's grandmother. And isn't
she gay? She has such a merry face, pretty too."
"And she sings such gay songs. She knows all about the fairies, too,
and she's seen them at home, that's Ireland. Why don't they come to
America?"
"Maybe the witches drive them away. Witches are just awful! Come; let
us try again."
He placed his arm around her and they whirled off to the fascinating
music. Is there anything like a fiddle to put the spirit of delight in
one's feet? Other couples were floating round or doing jigs with fancy
steps and laughter. Now and then a bright, mirthful young lad ran off
with some girl and left the first partner in the lurch, at which there
was a shout.
"Oh, I wish you were my sister! Wouldn't we have fun! I have only one
brother, Archie, and he's stupid as an owl--well, I mean he hasn't any
fun in him, and he'd dance about like a cow. Oh, there's your--well,
it would be queer to call her grandmother."
They both laughed at that.
"I wondered where you were, Daffodil. Isn't this Ned Langdale? I know
your mother. Dilly, I think I had better take you home. I promised
your mother I wouldn't keep you very long."
"Oh, no; let me stay just a little while. It's all so gay and they
dance so--so--isn't it like a fairy ring?"
Norah laughed. "Well, I'll take another round, then we must go. You
keep her just about here, then I shall know where to find you. Aren't
you tired, though?"
"Oh, not a bit."
Her eyes shone like stars and there was a most delicious color in her
cheeks like the dainty first ripeness of a peach.
"There's a tree over there--go and sit down. I won't be long."
The great tree had been cut down and there were no end of chips lying
about.
"Now, if I was home I'd get a basket and gather them up," said Ned.
"Mother thinks they make such a splendid fire. It's odd that our
fathers were out in the war together, and are real good friends. I
mean to be a soldier."
"But if there isn't any war?"
"There'll be Indian wars until they are all cleared out. They're a
treacherous lot and never keep their word. And governments need an
army all the time."
"But it's dreadful to fight and kill each other."
"Still you have to. History is full of wars. And there were so many in
the Bible times. The children of Israel had to fight so many people to
get the land of Canaan that the Lord promised them. And we've been
fighting for a country--that is, our fathers have--and now we've
gained it. Oh, wasn't it splendid when Cornwallis surrendered. Did you
hear Kirsty that morning? I thought the place was on fire."
That brought grandad's face before her and she laughed.
"I didn't know what it meant nor who Cornwallis was. I'm only a little
girl----"
"But you're awful smart to read French. Can you talk it?"
"Oh, yes. Grandmother Bradin was French. They went to Ireland and then
came to America, and since father has been away they have talked it a
great deal more, so you see I know both."
"Mother said your party was so nice. And the old grandfather was like
a picture. When they drank your health you had to reply."
Daffodil's face was scarlet.
"I almost forgot. Norry made me say it over and over, but mother
whispered and then I remembered."
"Oh, I wish I could have seen you. And you are so little and pretty.
I'd like to see your French grandfather. Could I come some time?"
"Why, yes. And you'd like Norry so much."
"Do they live with you?"
"Oh, no; but it's only a little way off----"
Norah came flying back. "Come," she said hurriedly. "Grandad's had a
fit about you because I did not have you tucked under my wing. Why, I
should have dropped you while I was dancing. Glad you've taken such
good care of her;" and Norah nodded to him as she took the child by
the hand. "Don't say a word about the lad, or grandad will show his
claws and scratch all round."
He was waiting where a path turned off.
"Well, Yellow-top," he began, "so you're not lost. Had a good time?"
"I was watching them dance. And they were so merry. Oh it was fine!"
"No place for a little youngster like you. Norry was crazy to think of
it."
"I saw some other little children----"
"Yes, rabble;" and the nose went up.
"Grandad, don't be cross. I had such a nice time;" and she slipped her
small hand in his.
"You're 'most a witch, you cunning little thing;" and he gave her a
squeeze. "Now, Norry, take her to her mother's arms before you let her
go."
They turned off, and grandad, who had not had his fun out, went back.
"It was all splendid, Norry. I want you to show me how to dance and
teach me some songs--some of those gay and pretty ones."
"Well, well! you _are_ getting along. Daffodil Carrick, you'll break
hearts some day;" and Norah laughed.
She had so much to tell them at home and she spoke of Ned Langdale,
but she did not quite like to tell about the dancing, wondering if
there had been anything wrong in it, and she did not want to have
Norah blamed. She liked the gayety so much. It was rather grave at
home, with all grown people. And her mother was not _all_ hers now.
Father was very fond of her. And she was coming to like him very much.
He was pleased that she had such a nice time. He wondered if it would
not be well to send her to this school for small children that had
lately been opened. But her mother objected decidedly.
Oh, how beautiful the summer was with its flowers, and then its
fruits. One Sunday afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Langdale came up with their
son Edward, and Daffodil was glad to see him again. He was a nice,
well-behaved lad, and very deferential to great-grandfather. The two
soldiers talked over their battles and the state of the country. The
preliminaries of peace were under way, but the settlement seemed to
drag along. France still stood our friend.
Daffodil took him out to see the squirrels that came at her call and
inspected him with such curious, inquiring eyes that he laughed about
it.
"You see they are not used to boys," she explained.
The quails were very much at their ease as well, and robins flew and
fluttered. Judy never tried to catch them, though sometimes she hunted
out in the woods.
"Ned Langdale is a nice boy," said Dilly's father. "I don't wonder
they are proud of him. His heart is set on being a soldier."
"I'm glad he isn't my son if that is his bent," Barbe said. "And I
hope we'll hear no more of war."