"OUT WEST."
What a train of conflicting ideas do those two words oftentimes
awaken, bringing up visions of _log-cabins_, ladder stairs, _wooden
latches_, fried hominy and maple sugar, to say nothing of the
hobgoblins in the shape of bears, rattlesnakes, wolves, and "folks
who don't know anything;" the latter being universally considered the
"staple production" of every place bearing the name of "out West."
Even western New York, with her hundreds of large and flourishing
villages, her well cultivated farms, her numerous schools, her
educated, intelligent people, and her vast wealth, is looked upon
with distrust by some of her eastern neighbors, because, forsooth,
her boundaries lie farther towards the setting sun, and because she
once bore the title of "way out west in the Genesees."
Of course I speak only from observation and personal experience; for
at Meadow Brook, ten years ago, many fears were expressed lest Anna
should miss the society to which she had been accustomed; and when
after the sale of the homestead, she wrote, asking me to come and
live with her, I hesitated, for to me it seemed much like burying
myself from the world, particularly as she chanced to mention that
the schoolhouse was a log one, and that there were in the
neighborhood several buildings of the same material. Never having
seen anything of the kind, I could not then understand that there is
often in a log house far more comfort and genuine happiness than in
the stateliest mansion which graces Fifth Avenue or Beacon Street;
and that the owners of said dwellings are frequently worth their
thousands, and only wait for a convenient opportunity to build a more
commodious and imposing residence.
At last, after many consultations with my parents, I concluded to go,
and about the middle of November I again bade adieu to Meadow Brook;
and in company with a friend of my father, who was going West, I
started for Rockland, N.Y., which is in the western part of Ontario
County, and about fourteen miles from Canandaigua, at which place
Herbert was to meet me. I had never before been west of Springfield,
and when about sunset I looked out upon the delightful prospect
around Albany, I felt a thrill of delight mingled with a feeling of
pain, for I began to have a vague impression that possibly
Massachusetts, with all her boasted privileges, could not outrival
the Empire State. It was dark, and the night lamps were already
lighted when we entered the cars at Albany; for we were to ride all
night. In front of us was an unoccupied seat, which I turned towards
me for the better accommodation of my band-box, which contained my
new bonnet; and I was about settling myself for a nap, when a
gentleman and lady came in, the latter of whom stopping near us,
said, "Here, Richard, is a vacant seat. These folks can't of course
expect to monopolize two;" at the same time she commenced turning the
seat back, to the great peril of my bonnet, which, as it was made in
Boston, I confidently expected would be the envy and fashion of all
Rockland!
I was sitting with my hand over my eyes, but at the sound of that
voice I started, and, looking up, saw before me Ada Montrose, and
with her the "dark gentleman" who had so much interested me at the
theater. Instantly throwing my veil over my face, for I had no wish
to be recognized, I watched him with a feeling akin to jealousy,
while he attended to the comfort of his companion, who demeaned
herself towards him much as she had done towards Herbert Langley.
All thoughts of sleep had left me, and throughout the entire night I
was awake, speculating upon the probable relation in which he stood
to her: and once when it suddenly occurred to me that possibly they
were married, the tears actually started to my eyes.
As the hours sped on, he said to her a few low spoken, words,
whereupon she laid her head upon his shoulder, as if that were its
natural resting-place, while he threw his arm around her, bidding her
"sleep if she could." Of course she was his wife, I said, and with
much of bitterness at my heart, I turned away and watched the
slowly-moving lights of the canal-boats, discernible on the opposite
side of the Mohawk, along whose banks we were passing. Whether Ada
liked her pillow or not, she clung to it pertinaciously until it
seemed to me that her neck must snap asunder, while with a martyr's
patience he supported her, dozing occasionally himself, and bending
his head so low that his glossy black hair occasionally touched the
white brow of the sleeping girl.
"Bride and groom," I heard a rough-looking man mutter, as he passed
them in quest of a seat, and as this confirmed my fears, I again
turned towards the window, which I opened, so that the night-air
might cool my burning cheeks.
That night I made up my mind to be an "old maid." Nobody would ever
want me I knew, I was so homely; and with calm resignation I thought
how much good I would do in the world, and how I would honor the
sisterhood! Very slowly the morning light came struggling in through
the dirty windows, rousing the weary passengers, who, rubbing their
red-rimmed eyes, looked around to sea who their companions were. It
was nearly noon when we reached Canandaigua, and so carefully had I
kept my face hidden from view that Ada had no suspicion whatever of
my presence. At Canandaigua I took leave of my companion, and
stepping out upon the platform in front of the dépôt, looked
anxiously around for Herbert, but he was not there. Thinking he
would soon be there, I found my way to the public parlor, which for a
few moments I occupied alone. I had just removed my dusty bonnet,
and was brushing my tangled hair, when the door opened, and I stood
face to face with Ada Montrose, who started back, and for a moment
evidently debated the propriety of recognizing me. Thinking she
might do just as she pleased, I simply nodded, as I would to any
stranger, and went on with my toilet, while throwing herself upon the
sofa, she exclaimed, "Dear me, how tired I am! Do you live here?"
"Of course not," I answered; "I am on my way to visit my sister Anna,
whom you perhaps remember."
She turned very red, and replied by asking if I were in the train
which had just passed.
"Yes," I answered; "I occupied the seat directly behind you
and----your _husband_--is it not?"
I felt that I must know the truth, and hence the rather impertinent
question, which, however, did not seem to displease her in the least.
Affecting to be a little embarrassed, she said, "Not my husband--yet.
He came on to Boston to accompany me home, and wishing to see a
friend of his, who lives here, we have stopped over one train."
I know not why it was, but her words gave me comfort; while at the
same time the state of single-blessedness appeared to me far less
attractive than it had a few hours before! I was on the point of
asking her about my aunt, when the door again opened and there stood
before us a slovenly-looking man, attired in a slouched hat, muddy
pantaloons, gray coat, and huge cow-hide boots. So complete was the
metamorphosis that neither of us recognized him, until he had
exclaimed, as his eye fell upon Ada, "Good Heavens, Ade! How came
you here?"
Then we knew it was Herbert Langley!
So astonished was I that it was some time ere I found voice to return
his rather noisy greeting. Try as he would, he could not conceal the
fact that he was rather disconcerted at being seen by Ada in such a
plight, and after a little he stammered out an apology, saying he was
a farmer now, and lived in the country, and of course could not be
expected to dress as he used in the city. This, I knew, was no
excuse, and I trembled lest he might be changed in more points than
one.
"How is your wife, Mrs. Langley?" asked Ada, in a mocking,
deferential tone.
Instantly the whole expression of Herbert's face was changed, and
there was a look of tenderness and pride in his eyes as he advanced
towards Ada, and whispered in her ear something which I did not
understand. Whatever it was, it made her blush, as she replied
rather sneeringly, "Of course I congratulate you."
It has always been my misfortune to be rather stupid in some matters,
and I had not the least idea what either of them meant, or why
Herbert was to be congratulated. Possibly I might have asked an
explanation, but just then the town clock struck the hour of one, and
turning towards me, he said it was time we were on our way, for the
fall rains had made the roads almost impassable, and he was afraid we
should not reach home before dark. "So put on your things quick," he
added. "The _carriage_ is all ready."
This last he said laughingly, for the carriage proved to be a long
lumber wagon, such as is seldom found in Massachusetts, or at least,
_I_ had never seen one like it before, and it became a serious
question in my mind as to how I was expected to enter it, there being
no possible way of doing so, save by climbing over the _wheels_ which
were reeking with mud. Herbert seemed to enjoy my embarrassment, for
he asked me if "I didn't think I could step from the ground into the
box," a distance of several feet? I was soon relieved from my
difficulty by the porter, who placed before me some wooden steps, on
which I mounted safely, and seated myself in the large armchair,
which, with its warm buffalo-robes, was really more comfortable than
the old-fashioned one-horse wagons of New England, though I did not
think so then; and when the spirited horses, at a crack from
Herbert's whip, sprang forward, while I, losing my balance, pitched
over backward, I began to cry, wishing in my heart that I was back in
Meadow Brook.
It was a cold, raw, autumnal day. The roads, as Herbert had said,
were horrible; and as we plowed through the thick mud, which, in some
places was up to the wheel hubs, I took, I believe, my first lesson
in genuine homesickness, which, in my opinion, is about as hard to
bear as love-sickness! Indeed, I think they _feel_ much alike--the
latter being, perhaps, a very little the worse of the two! It was in
vain that Herbert pointed out to me the many handsome farmhouses
which we passed, expatiating upon the richness and fertility of the
soil, and telling me how greatly superior in everything New York was
to New England. I scarcely heard him, for even though in all
Massachusetts there was naught save the rocky hills, and sterile
plains, it was _my home_, and from that spot the heart cannot easily
be weaned.
Rockland is a large, wealthy town, embracing within its limits more
than the prescribed rule of six miles square, while scattered through
it are two or three little villages; each bearing a distinct name, by
which they are known abroad. First, there was Laurel Hill, famed as
the residence of certain families who were styled _proud_ and
_aristocratic_--to say nothing of their being _Episcopalians_, which
last fact was by some regarded as the main cause of their
haughtiness. Next came the "Center," with its group of red houses,
and its single spire, so tall, so straight, and so square, that it
scarce needed the lettering over the entrance to tell to the stranger
that _Presbyterians_ worshiped there. Lastly came Flattville, by far
the largest village in Rockland, and the home of all the _isms_ in
the known world. To the south of Flattville is a small lake,
renowned for its quiet beauty, and the picturesque wildness of its
shores. Bounded on three sides by high hills, its waters sleep
calmly in the sunlight of summer, or dash angrily upon the sandy
beach, when moved by the chill breath of winter.
On the brow of one of the high hills which overlook the Honeoye, and
so near to it that the sweep of the waves can be distinctly heard in
a clear, still night, stood the home of my sister. It was a huge,
wooden building, containing rooms innumerable, while even the
basement was large enough to accommodate one or more families. Being
the first frame house erected in the town, it was of course looked
upon with considerable interest, and as if to make it still more
notorious, it bore the reputation of being _haunted_, and by some of
the neighbors was called the "Haunted Castle."
Years before, when the country was new, it was a sort of
public-house, and a young girl was said to have been murdered there,
and buried in the cellar, from whence she was afterwards removed and
thrown into the lake. For the truth of this story there was no
proof, save the fact, that in the dark cellar there was a slight
excavation, supposed to have been the grave of the ill-fated lady.
All this Herbert very kindly told me, as we rode leisurely along,
saying, when I asked if he believed it, "Believe it! No! Of course
not. To be sure, it's the squeakiest old rattle-trap of a house that
I ever saw; and were I at all superstitious, I could readily believe
it haunted. But you are not frightened; are you?" he asked, looking
in my face, which was very pale.
I hold that there is in every human breast a dread of the
supernatural, and though I do not by any means believe in ghosts, I
would certainly prefer not to live in a house where they are supposed
to dwell. Still, I dared not tell Herbert so, and, consequently, I
only laughed at the idea of a haunted house, saying it was very
romantic. It was after sunset when we at last turned into the long
avenue, shaded on either side by forest maples, which the first
proprietor of the place had suffered to remain; and as my eyes fell
upon the large, dark building, which Herbert said was his house, I
involuntarily shuddered, for to me it seemed the very spot of all
others which goblins would choose for their nightly revels. The wind
was blowing from the west, and as I followed Herbert up to the door,
my ear caught a dull, moaning sound, which caused me to quicken my
footsteps, while I asked, in some trepidation, what it was.
"That? Oh, that's the roar of the lake. Don't you see how near it
is to us, directly at the foot of the hill?" and he pointed out to me
the broad sheet of water, just discernible in the gathering darkness.
A sudden gust of wind swept past me, and again I caught the low
murmur. There was something human in the tone, and though for three
years I almost daily heard that sound, I could never fully rid myself
of the impression that it was the spirit of the murdered maiden which
thus, to the swelling waves, complained of the crime long unpunished.
"Come this way, Rose," said Herbert, as I entered the narrow "entry"
so common in old-fashioned houses; and following him, I was soon
ushered into a large square room, where a bright wood fire was
blazing, casting a somewhat cheerful aspect over the somber,
wainscoted walls of ancient make.
In one corner of the room was a bed, and on it lay Anna, who, the
moment she saw me, uttered a cry of joy.
"Have you told her?" she asked of Herbert, when the first pleasure of
our meeting was over.
He replied in the negative, whereupon she brought up from under a
pile of pillows, coverlets, blankets and sheets, a little tiny,
red-faced, wrinkled thing, to which she said I was _Aunt_! I knew,
then, why Ada congratulated Herbert, and mentally chiding myself for
my stupidity, I took the bundle of cambric and flannel in my arms,
while Anna said, "We call him Jamie Lee, and we think he looks like
you. Isn't he a beauty?"
He _did_ look like me, and knowing that, I wondered at Anna's
question; but where is the young mother who thinks her first born
baby homely?--though his nose be flat--his forehead low--and his
mouth extend from ear to ear! Not Anna, most certainly. He was
_her_ baby and Herbert's, and to her partial eyes he was beautiful,
even though he did resemble me, whom but one person had ever called
pretty. As for myself, I hardly knew whether to be pleased with my
new relative or not. Babies, particularly little tiny ones, had
never been my special delight, but on this occasion, feeling that
some demonstration was expected from me, I kissed my little nephew,
who returning my greeting with a wry face, and an outcry so loud that
Anna, in great alarm lest he was "going into a fit," summoned from
the kitchen, where she was enjoying a _quiet smoke_, Aunty Matson,
who boasted of having washed and dressed two hundred and fifty
babies, and who confidently expected to do the same service for two
hundred and fifty more ere her life's sun was set.
Wearied with my ride, I asked permission to retire early; whereupon
Dame Matson volunteered to show me the way to my room. Up the narrow
stairs, which creaked at every step, and on through one gloomy room
after another, she led me until, at last, we came to a chamber,
lighter and more airy, which, she said, my sister had papered,
painted, and fitted up for me; adding, as she set the candle upon the
table and closed the window. "You ain't afraid of spooks nor
nothin'?"
"_Spooks_" was to me a new word, and in some surprise I asked what
she meant.
"Now, du tell," she replied, seating herself upon the foot of the
bed. "Now, du tell a body where you was brought up, that you don't
know what a _spook_ is! Why, it's a _sperrit_--a ghost--and this
house, they say, is full on 'em. But I don't b'lieve a word on't.
S'posin' a gal was murdered near forty years ago, 'tain't likely she
haunts the place yet, and then, too, she warn't none of the best of
girls, I guess, from what I've heard my mother say."
The wind was blowing hard, and as Dame Matson uttered these last
words, the door, which she had left ajar, came together with a bang,
while from the lake I heard again the wailing cry, which, this time,
had in it an angry tone, as if the maiden were indignant at the wrong
done her by the old dame, whose eyes seemed to expand and grow
blacker at the sound. Overcome as I was with fatigue, I could not
sleep; and for hours I lay awake, listening to the rain as it fell
upon the roof, and to the howling wind, which, indeed, produced the
most unearthly noises I had ever heard. At last, however, nature
could no longer endure, and I fell into a deep slumber, from which I
did not awake until the sun was high up in the heavens, and
preparations were going forward in the kitchen for dinner, which was
served exactly at twelve. Greatly refreshed, I was ready to laugh at
my fears of the night previous; and with childish joy, I explored
every nook and corner of the old castle; finding many a rat-hole,
which threw some light on the sounds over my head, which I had
likened to the trampling of horses.
It took but a few days for me to discover that Herbert was
exceedingly popular at Breeze Hill, as the neighborhood in which he
lived was called. His free, social manners had won for him many
friends, and made him almost too much of a favorite. At least, I
used to think so, during the long winter evenings, when Anna sat with
her baby upon her lap, listening for the footsteps of her husband,
who, at some neighbor's fireside, was cracking the merry joke, and
quaffing the sparkling cider; which, at Breeze Hill, was considered
essential to hospitality. Gradually, too, as the winter wore on, my
sister's eye took the anxious expression I had so often seen in my
Aunt Charlotte; and sometimes, when he stayed from her longer than
usual, she would steal down to the foot of the long Avenue, and
there, alone, would wait and listen for her husband's coming; while
the spirit from the lake would whisper sadly in her ear of the
darkness and desolation hovering near. And all this time Herbert
professed to be strictly temperate; and when, about the middle of
March, a traveling lecturer held forth in the old log schoolhouse,
thundering his anathemas against the use of all spirituous liquors,
Herbert was the most zealous of all his listeners, and at the close
of the lecture, arose himself and addressed the assembly, pouring out
such a tide of eloquence as astonished the audience, who rent the air
with shouts of "Langley forever!"
Knowing this, I was greatly surprised, after our return home, to see
the young orator go up to the sideboard and drink off, at one
draught, a goblet of the _porter_ which had been ordered for Anna!
_She_ saw it, too, and for an instant her face was pressed against
that of her sleeping boy; and when next the lamplight fell upon it, I
saw there traces of tears, while a faint smile played around her
mouth, as she said, "I am afraid, Herbert, your audience would hardly
think your theory and practise agree, could they see you now."
The words were ill-timed; for they awoke the young man's resentment,
and with a flushed brow he retorted angrily, that "if porter were
good for her, it was for him; he saw no difference between a drinking
woman and a drinking man; except, indeed, that the former was the
most despicable."
The next morning, the bottles of porter were gone from the sideboard;
but out in the orchard, where the grass of an early spring was just
starting into life, they lay shattered in a hundred pieces. Would,
oh, would that she, the wife of little more than a year, could thus
easily have broken the habits of him she loved better than her life.
But it could not be; and all through the bright spring days she
drooped, and faded, and struggled hard to keep from me the fatal
truth; and when the warm breath of summer was over all the land; when
the robins' song was heard in the maple trees; and the roses
blossomed by the open door, they brought no gladness to her heart; no
love-light to her eye, save when she looked upon her baby; now a
playful, handsome child, the pet and idol of the house.
At last, Aunt Charlotte wrote to me, asking to be assured of her
son's safety; and then poor Anna begged me not to tell that the
wine-cup was his companion at morn; his solace at noon, and his
comfort at night. Yielding to her entreaties, I answered evasively;
and thus the shock, when it came to that mother's heart, was harder
far to bear, from the perfect security she had felt. At Meadow
Brook, too, they little dreamed how their absent daughter wept and
prayed over her fallen husband, who, day after day, made rapid
strides down the road to death; for, on her bended knees, Anna
implored me to keep her shame a secret yet a little longer; and with
this request I also complied, doing whatever I could to smooth the
thorny pathway she was treading.