In the summer of 1812, when the good people of Connecticut were feeling
uncommonly bitter about the declaration of war against England, and were
abusing Mr. Madison in the roundest terms, there lived in the town of
Canterbury a fiery old gentleman, of nearly sixty years, and a sterling
Democrat, who took up the cudgels bravely for the Administration, and
stoutly belabored Governor Roger Griswold for his tardy obedience to the
President in calling out the militia, and for what he called his absurd
pretensions in regard to State sovereignty. He was a man, too, who meant
all that he said, and gave the best proof of it by offering his military
services,--first to the Governor, and then to the United States General
commanding the Department.
Nor was he wholly unfitted: he was erect, stanch, well knit together,
and had served with immense credit in the local militia, in which he
wore the title of Major. It does not appear that his offer was
immediately accepted; but the following season he was invested with the
command of a company, and was ordered back and forth to various
threatened points along the seaboard. His home affairs, meantime, were
left in charge of his son, a quiet young man of four-and-twenty, who for
three years had been stumbling with a very reluctant spirit through the
law-books in the Major's office, and who shared neither his father's
ardor of temperament nor his political opinions. Eliza, a daughter of
twenty summers, acted as mistress of the house, and stood in place of
mother to a black-eyed little girl of thirteen,--the Major's daughter by
a second wife, who had died only a few years before.
Notwithstanding the lack of political sympathy, there was yet a strong
attachment between father and son. The latter admired immensely the
energy and full-souled ardor of the old gentleman; and the father, in
turn, was proud of the calm, meditative habit of mind which the son had
inherited from his mother. "There is metal in the boy to make a judge
of," the major used to say. And when Benjamin, shortly after his
graduation at one of the lesser New England colleges, had given hint of
his possible study of theology, the Major answered with a "Pooh! pooh!"
which disturbed the son,--possibly weighed with him,--more than the
longest opposing argument could have done. The manner of the father had
conveyed, unwittingly enough, a notion of absurdity as attaching to the
lad's engaging in such sacred studies, which overwhelmed him with a
sense of his own unworthiness.
The Major, like all sound Democrats, had always been an ardent admirer
of Mr. Jefferson and of the French political school. Benjamin had a
wholesome horror of both,--not so much from any intimate knowledge of
their theories, as by reason of a strong religious instinct, which had
been developed under his mother's counsels into a rigid and exacting
Puritanism.
The first wife of the Major had left behind her the reputation of "a
saint." It was not undeserved: her quiet, constant charities,--her
kindliness of look and manner, which were in themselves the best of
charities,--a gentle, Christian way she had of dealing with all the
vagrant humors of her husband,--and the constancy of her devotion to all
duties, whether religious or domestic, gave her better claim to the
saintly title than most who wear it. The Major knew this, and was proud
to say it. "If," he was accustomed to say, "I am the most godless man in
the parish, my wife is the most godly woman." Yet his godlessness was,
after all, rather outside than real: it was a kind of effrontery,
provoked into noisy display by the extravagant bigotries of those about
him. He did not believe in monopolies of opinion, but in good average
dispersion of all sorts of thinking. On one occasion he had horrified
his poor wife by bringing home a full set of Voltaire's Works; but
having reasoned her--or fancying he had--into a belief in the entire
harmlessness of the offending books, he gratified her immensely by
placing them out of all sight and reach of the boy Benjamin.
He never interfered with the severe home course of religious instruction
entered upon by the mother. On the contrary, he said, "The boy will need
it all as an offset to the bedevilments that will overtake him in our
profession." The Major had a very considerable country practice, and had
been twice a member of the Legislature.
His second wife, a frivolous, indolent person, who had brought him a
handsome dot, and left him the pretty black-eyed Mabel, never held equal
position with the first. It was observed, however, with some surprise,
that under the sway of the latter he was more punctilious and regular in
religious observances than before,--a fact which the shrewd ones
explained by his old doctrine of adjusting averages.
Benjamin, Eliza, and Mabel,--each in their way,--waited news from the
military campaign of the Major with great anxiety; all the more because
he was understood to be a severe disciplinarian, and it had been rumored
in the parish that two or three of his company, of rank Federal
opinions, had vowed they would sooner shoot the captain than any foreign
enemy of the State. The Major, however, heard no guns in either front or
rear up to the time of the British attack upon the borough of
Stonington, in midsummer of 1814. In the defence here he was very
active, in connection with a certain artillery force that had come down
the river from Norwich; and although the attack of the British Admiral
was a mere feint, yet for a while there was a very lively sprinkling of
shot. The people of the little borough were duly frightened, the
"Ramilies" seventy-four gun-ship of his Majesty enjoyed an excellent
opportunity for long-range practice, and the militia gave an honest
airing to their patriotism. The Major was wholly himself. "If the
rascals would only attempt a landing!" said he; and as he spoke, a
fragment of shell struck his sword-arm at the elbow. The wound was a
grievous one, and the surgeon in attendance declared amputation to be
necessary. The Major combated the decision for a while, but loss of
blood weakened his firmness, and the operation was gone through with
very bunglingly. Next morning a country wagon was procured to transport
him home. The drive was an exceeding rough one, and the stump fell to
bleeding. Most men would have lain by for a day or two, but the Major
insisted upon pushing on for Canterbury, where he arrived late at night,
very much exhausted.
The country physician declared, on examination next morning, that some
readjustment of the amputated limb was necessary, which was submitted to
by the Major in a very irritable humor. Friends and enemies of the
wounded man were all kind and full of sympathy. Miss Eliza was in a
flutter of dreary apprehension that rendered her incapable of doing
anything effectively. Benjamin was as tender and as devoted as a woman.
The wound healed in due time, but the Major did not rally. The drain
upon his vitality had been too great; he fell into a general decline,
which within a fortnight gave promise of fatal results. The Major met
the truth like a veteran; he arranged his affairs, by the aid of his
son, with a great show of method,--closed all in due time; and when he
felt his breath growing short, called Benjamin, and like a good officer
gave his last orders.
"Mabel," said he, "is provided for; it is but just that her mother's
property should be settled on her; I have done so. For yourself and
Eliza, you will have need of a close economy. I don't think you'll do
much at law; you once thought of preaching; if you think so now, preach,
Benjamin; there's something in it; at least it's better than
Fed--Federalism."
A fit of coughing seized him here, from which he never fairly rallied.
Benjamin took his hand when he grew quiet, and prayed silently, while
the Major slipped off the roll militant forever.