Lawrence, for more than ten years, and then, indeed, could hardly
recognise, in the rapid settlement of the new states, those wide
forest-tracts which I had left; but I own I felt not all the
enthusiasm which filled one of our old historians, when he declares
that "the wilderness had been made to blossom as the rose." No, the
circumstances of its first settlement were too recent on my memory
for that, and I had too strong a sympathy for the outcast Indians.
Verily do I believe in that clause of the fourth commandment, as
applied to my countrymen, "the sins of the fathers shall be visited
on the children to the third and fourth generation;"--even now behold
its partial fulfilment in the troubles which have sprung up, and are
still gaining accumulated power, in the rapid increase of our slave
population: "as we have measured, so shall it be measured to us
again."
But, as I was telling you, I revisited Ohio. I hardly recognised
Marietta as I passed through it to revisit my former station; and
the first spot I sought with real interest, was the ancient mound in
the giant grove. My search was, at first, utterly vain:--at length I
thought I saw some traces of that which had once presented a scene
of grandeur and beauty, but I was doubtful long,--for the grand and
lofty trees "which spread their arms abroad so that all the birds
of the air might have found rest in their branches,"--the trees
were not there. No, not one had been spared of that whole sacred
grove. The mound, too, where was it?--the husbandman had passed over
it with his ploughshare,--the sower had strown the seed,--and the
fields were now ripe for the harvest. I turned away sorrowfully, and
my eye suddenly caught the figure of an Indian. The red son of the
forest could not be mistaken; he gazed, as I had done, on the place
where his ancestors of many generations had been laid with reverent
care; his look was proud, sorrowful, and often changing to one of
bitter hate. He did not see me, for his mind was absorbed in one deep
feeling of lofty desolation, if one may be allowed the use of such
a term. I cannot describe his countenance, for it varied with every
varying thought; but no one could have contemplated the wild warrior
as he stood erect and alone, his keen eye regarding what was, and his
thought reverting to what had been--none, I say, could have seen him
without a sentiment of respect, almost of homage. How few of the race
now retain their original grandeur and lofty character! Civilization
seems only to have weakened and degraded the Indian mind; his moral
state, at least, is now far more debased than when, with his tribe,
he roamed at will through the immense wilds of the American continent.
I approached the solitary chief and spoke, (though I own I felt it
an intrusion on his personal feelings;)--he looked on me at first
with marked disdain, but presently his countenance changed; a ray
of pleasure lightened his brow,--but soon an expression of the most
eloquent grief succeeded; it was evident that he recognized me,--and
I, too, knew Tecumsoit,--the Eagle of the West. His words were few
and brief, for his hitherto unsubdued spirit was bending beneath the
weight of wrong and sorrow, and it seemed as though he could not
speak to a white man, the fellow of those who had caused his wigwam
to be desolate, and the grove of his fathers polluted by sacrilege. I
understood the sentiment, and was silent also.
Presently Tecumsoit advanced, thrusting aside and trampling the
waving grain, till he stood at the foot of the mound: then slowly he
took, one by one, the articles of his dress, and laid them solemnly
on the very summit of the elevation:--first, his collar of eagle's
feathers,--then his robe of princely ermine and sable; to these were
added his deer-skin coat, painted with the rich juices of the pucoon,
and colours derived from plants by a process unknown to any save the
Indians themselves; and, lastly, his wampum belt, wrought all over
with the richly dyed quills of the porcupine. When these had been
thus, one by one, deposited, he wrapt about him the rough skin of a
panther, gave one long, long look at the sepulchre of his fathers,
and turned silently and abruptly away. The Eagle was soon lost to my
view behind a range of hills; he had departed for ever from the home
of his childhood; he had cast off the symbols of his rank, his power,
and tribe, and doubtless had gone to end his days of desolation in
some far off desert, where, though he could not forget his wrongs, he
would at least neither see nor be seen of the white men.
Often have I thought of Tecumsoit, as I first saw him, a young
boy, the pride of all the warriors, and the fearless asserter of
his rights. I was then his friend; he seemed to confide in my
honour, and he never had cause to doubt it. I remember him, too,
on the night when I arrived too late to save his family from the
death-shot,--fearlessly defending himself and them, when no resource
or hope was left. Well do I remember the mingled despair and pride of
his retreat; and I remember, too, the last time we met at the mound
which held the remains of his ancestors--the last look he gave--and
his last shadow on the hills.
Alas, for Tecumsoit!--his glory had departed, his people had passed
away, even as the dew beneath the sultry sun; he was left alone of
his race, and, like Logan, could exclaim--"Who is there to mourn for
Tecumsoit?--_not one!_"
THE LAUNCH OF THE FRIGATE.
Cornelia Camelford had just recovered from a long and dangerous
illness, and had not received the doctor's permission to go out, when
much interest was excited in Philadelphia by the expected launch of
the Guerrier, which was built at Kensington, during the last war, and
called after the first British frigate that surrendered to the flag
of America. Junius Camelford, who was a midshipman, and the eldest
of Cornelia's two brothers, was highly elated with the idea of the
approaching spectacle, and extremely impatient for the glorious day
(as he called it) to arrive. At last it came; and the children of
Mrs. Camelford could think and talk of nothing else.
Junius was one of the midshipmen appointed to the new frigate, and
every hour seemed to him an age until she should be fairly afloat
in her proper element. Boy as he was, he had been on board the
Constitution when she engaged and sunk the British Guerrier, and
had evinced on that memorable day the courage of a man. When he was
afterwards in Philadelphia, the progress of the new frigate became
the leading thought of his mind. He had taken his sisters to see
the keel the day after it was laid: and had furnished all the young
ladies he knew, with hearts and anchors which he cut out from chips
of the wood.
Mrs. Camelford had been a widow about two years, and since the death
of her husband she had felt an insurmountable repugnance to appearing
in public, or mixing in a crowd. Therefore she had no intention of
going herself to see the frigate launched, but she knew that her
children would take great pleasure in the sight, and she loved them
too much to deny them this gratification because she could not enjoy
it herself.
Cornelia was just getting over the same malady that two years before
had been fatal to her father: and Mrs. Camelford still felt the
greatest anxiety about her, as she was particularly susceptible of
cold, which was always very injurious to her; and the slightest
imprudent exposure might probably bring on a dangerous relapse.
For this reason, when Mrs. Camelford consented that her two sons and
her daughter Octavia should go to see the frigate launched, she did
not extend the same permission to the invalid. "And I, dear mother,"
said Cornelia, as she sat at the breakfast table the first time for
near three months, "am I not also to enjoy the sight?"
MRS. CAMELFORD.--My dearest Cornelia, I am sorry to refuse
you that or any other pleasure that your sister and brothers partake
of. But the air from the river may be cool. Remember that it was only
yesterday you left your chamber, after being confined to it more than
twelve weeks.
OCTAVIA.--Oh! indeed, dear mother, this is quite a warm day.
MRS. CAMELFORD.--To persons in health I know it is, but
though the air is clear and mild, it may be chilly to poor Cornelia,
who is enfeebled by sickness, and who has been so long shut up in her
room. She has suffered so much already, that I am sure she must dread
every thing that might cause a relapse.
ADRIAN.--But, dear mother, how will it be possible for
Cornelia to take cold if she is well wrapped up in her large shawl,
and if she wears her close bonnet?
MRS. CAMELFORD.--Indeed, I am afraid she ought not to
venture the slightest risk. Lieutenant Osbrook has politely offered
accommodation for the whole family, in one of the gun-boats at
Kensington, and I have accepted the invitation for Adrian and
Octavia, as Junius is to be on board the frigate. I believe my dear
Cornelia must content herself with hearing a description of the
launch from her brothers and sister. I cannot consent to her sitting
an hour or two on the deck of the gun-boat, in the open air, with the
breeze from the river blowing round her.
CORNELIA.--Indeed, mother, I am very sorry, I hoped to be
quite well and able to go any where, before the launch took place.
JUNIUS.--Still, I think there can be no danger. Her delight
at the spectacle will set her blood in a glow, as it has mine
already, and that will prevent her taking cold.
MRS. CAMELFORD.--My dear children, do not urge me any
farther. The sight will no doubt be highly interesting, but it will
be dearly purchased by the return of Cornelia's late illness.
Cornelia did not reply, but she kissed her mother in token of
acquiescence, and seated herself in a corner of the sofa with her
sewing. In a few minutes her brother Adrian brought her in a new and
entertaining book, which he had just purchased with the hope that it
would divert her mind from dwelling on her disappointment. Cornelia
took the book very gratefully, but though it was extremely amusing,
her thoughts still wandered, at times, to Kensington and the new
frigate.
In the course of the morning Mrs. Camelford had a visit from her
friend, Mrs. Dimsdale, who expressed great pleasure at finding
Cornelia down stairs, and hoped she was well enough to go to see the
ship launched.
Mrs. Camelford explained that she had refused Cornelia her permission
to join the little party in the gun-boat, being afraid of her taking
cold if exposed to the air of the river. "Oh! if that is all," said
Mrs. Dimsdale, "the difficulty, I hope, can be easily obviated. Mr.
Dimsdale and myself are going to take the children up to Kensington
in one of the steam-boats. You know the boats are all put in
requisition for the accommodation of persons that wish to see the
show. If you will permit Cornelia to accompany our family, she can
stay all the time in the cabin, and have an excellent view from the
stern windows, without any exposure at all."
Cornelia's eyes turned upon her mother, with a look of entreaty.
Mrs. Camelford hesitated a few moments, and Octavia ventured again
to supplicate in behalf of her sister. At last, Cornelia obtained
permission to go with the Dimsdales: and it was arranged that Mrs.
Camelford's carriage was to take them down to the steam-boat, after
which it was to return immediately and convey the other party to
Kensington.
When Adrian came home from school, and Junius from the ship-yard,
(where he had almost lived for several days,) the boys were delighted
to find that Cornelia was, at last, allowed an opportunity of seeing
the launch. They had an early dinner, of which Lieutenant and Mrs.
Osbrook had been invited to partake, and in a short time after the
carriage was at the door. Cornelia was carefully wrapped in her
large shawl, and Mrs. Camelford said to her, "Now, my dear, you must
promise me that you will remain all the time in the cabin of the
boat, and not allow yourself to be tempted to go on deck, even for
a few moments." "Certainly, dear mother," replied Cornelia, "I will
cheerfully make that promise, for I am thankful that you will allow
me to see the frigate on any terms." Mrs. Camelford kissed Cornelia,
and her brothers put her into the carriage, which, on its way down
to the wharf, stopped to take up Mr. and Mrs. Dimsdale and their two
children.
Cornelia felt very happy at finding herself once more riding through
the streets, after so long a confinement to her chamber. Every well
known store and house seemed to interest her as she passed, and all
the people she saw appeared to her to look unusually well. She soon
found herself seated in the after-cabin of the steam-boat, which was
crowded with females, and so warm that Cornelia had no occasion to
wear her shawl: her mother having told her that she might take it
off, if she found it oppressive.
The carriage having returned, Mr. and Mrs. Osbrook, with Adrian and
Octavia, got into it and rode to Kensington; Junius, in a new suit
of uniform, and with a new cockade in his hat, having long before
set out on foot, as he despised riding when it was practicable to
walk, and the distance from his mother's house to the ship-yard now
seemed almost nothing, having been so often traversed by him. In a
very short time, he was on the deck of the frigate, with a number of
officers and other gentlemen, beside the shipwrights.
That afternoon, almost all the stores in Philadelphia were shut
up, and few of the inhabitants remained in their houses. Till near
three o'clock, the whole population of the city seemed to be pouring
toward the Northern Liberties: all the streets in the direction of
Kensington being crowded with people.
When the party from Mrs. Camelford's arrived at the river-side,
the vast concourse far exceeded their expectations, though Junius
had told them that the crowd had begun to assemble as early as
twelve o'clock. They were soon seated on chairs, on the deck of the
gun-boat, and Lieutenant Osbrook left the ladies under the care of
another gentlemen, while he went on board the frigate.
The river was covered with boats of every description, filled with
people. The roofs, as well as the windows of the houses and stores
that commanded a view of the water, were crowded with spectators; and
so also were the trees. Scaffolds, which had been erected for the
purpose, were lined with tiers of occupants, one row above another.
All the ships, then in port, had gone up to Kensington, and their
decks were covered with ladies and gentlemen; the sailors taking
their stations in the rigging. In two or three vessels were bands of
military music, and a third band was playing in the frigate that was
the object of so much interest. All the officers then in the city
(and many had come thither on purpose) were present: and all, both
of army and navy, were in full uniform. Nothing could be more gay
and animated than the whole scene. Every one was attired to the best
advantage, and the white dresses and green parasols of the ladies
added much to the picturesque effect of the scene. The steam-boats
came up filled with passengers, and were anchored at a convenient
distance.
The gentlemen took out their watches frequently, as the time
approached when the tide was to turn; for the frigate was to be
launched on the top of high water. As the moment drew near, every eye
was fixed on the noble vessel, and there was a breathless anxiety
of the most intense interest. The carpenters stood with their arms
raised, ready to knock away the blocks that held her. The signal was
given, and it was done. The frigate began to move--every hat was
simultaneously taken off--the guns from all the armed vessels fired a
salute--the music struck up, "The Tars of Columbia"--and loud huzzas
resounded from thousands of voices. The frigate glided gracefully
and rapidly along, amidst repeated shouts of acclamation, with the
colours of her country flying at her stern: and, when she plunged
into the water, (which she threw up tremendously about her,) the
violent agitation of the river, for a considerable distance round,
announced that she had reached the element which she was never more
to leave. On her bowsprit stood the boatswain, who christened her
by breaking a bottle of liquor over her head, and shouting, "Hurra
for the Guerrier!" And the shout was repeated by every man present:
thousands of hats waving round from the river and from the shore.
The moment "the gallant Guerrier" was afloat, she turned round
majestically with the tide, and an anchor, for the first time,
descended from her bow, mooring her, for the present, in the place
where she had entered the water. The music continued for some time to
play the favourite national airs, and at length the vast concourse of
spectators began to turn their steps toward home. Adrian and Octavia
could talk of nothing in the carriage but the scene they had just
witnessed, and they gave their mother a most animated account of
it. Mr. and Mrs. Osbrook took their leave and returned to their own
residence: and soon after Junius came home in a state of the highest
excitement, his eyes sparkling, his cheeks glowing, and full of the
honour and glory, as he called it, of having been on board of the new
Guerrier when she was launched. He inquired almost immediately for
Cornelia. The carriage had been sent down to the steam-boat to bring
her home, and in a short time she arrived, but looking very pale.
"Well, my dear Cornelia," said Junius, as he led her to the sofa,
"was it not a glorious sight? Was it not a show worth looking at?
I never was so delighted in all my life, except when we heard the
lee-gun of the _British_ Guerrier, as a signal of surrender, after
her colours had been shot away."
"Tell me, dearest girl," said Adrian, "were not your expectations
more than realized? Did you ever see any thing so interesting as the
launch of the frigate?"
Cornelia's eyes filled with tears, and her lips trembled, as she
replied, in a faltering voice, "I did not see it at all."
"Not see it!" was the general exclamation.
"Indeed, I did not," repeated Cornelia.
JUNIUS.--What! _nothing_ of it! _nothing_.
CORNELIA.--Nothing whatever.
JUNIUS.--Oh! Cornelia, you are certainly jesting. What! go
on purpose to see the launch, and still _not_ see it!
MRS. CAMELFORD.--My beloved Cornelia, you alarm me. I hope
you have not been ill.
CORNELIA.--No, my dear mother, not at all. But, indeed, I
have been very much disappointed.
OCTAVIA.--Oh! pray tell us how.
CORNELIA.--Mrs. Dimsdale sat with me in the ladies' cabin
of the steam-boat, till her husband, who had been on deck with the
children, came to conduct her up stairs, as the time for the frigate
to go off was drawing very near. She then tried to persuade me that
no harm could possibly arise from my going on deck for a few minutes,
and, to own the truth, I thought so myself. But I told her that I
had obtained permission to go in the steam-boat, only upon condition
of remaining all the time in the cabin, and I could, on no account,
break my promise and disobey my mother. She then complimented me by
saying that I was the most obedient and conscientious child she had
ever known, and expressing her regret that I could not accompany her,
she ran hastily on deck with Mr. Dimsdale, lest she should be too
late.
OCTAVIA.--But could you have no view from the cabin?
CORNELIA.--I had anticipated no difficulty, but when I rose
to look out, I found the windows entirely blocked up with women
and babies, of whom there are always so many in steam-boats. The
shelves or high seats at the stern were covered with them, crowded
so closely that they seemed almost wedged into a mass. I climbed
up and tried to get a peep between their heads, but all in vain,
for they were pressing on each other's shoulders. For a moment, I
was tempted to go on deck; but I remembered my promise. Suddenly, I
heard an exclamation of "There she goes," and I knew by the shouts,
the firing, and the music, that the frigate was moving. In vain I
stretched my neck and strained my eyes, to catch a glimpse between
the heads and bonnets; all the windows were entirely filled, and I
had not the smallest chance of seeing any thing. I soon gave up all
hope; I sat down in a chair, and I acknowledge that I could not help
crying a little, though I took care to conceal my tears as much as I
could. And perhaps I would not have cried, only that my long illness
had weakened my spirits.
JUNIUS.--(Taking her hand)--Oh! yes, my poor Cornelia, you
would have cried all the same, even if you had not been weak and ill.
I am certain you would, for it was a disappointment worth crying for.
Mrs. Camelford was so much affected that it was some time before she
could speak, and then embracing Cornelia most tenderly, she said,
"You are a dear good girl, and from this instance of obedience and
self-denial, at so early an age, I anticipate the most happy results
when you are older. If the pleasure of knowing how much gratification
your conduct has afforded your mother, and how much more than ever
she loves you, can compensate for your disappointment, you may now
enjoy that reward." Cornelia threw herself into her mother's arms,
and kissing her affectionately, wept in silence while Octavia sobbed
aloud, tears dropped on the cheeks of Adrian, and Junius drew his
hand across his eyes.
"Oh!" said Octavia, "how little did we think, when we were all
enjoying the sight from the gun-boat, with ample room and an
uninterrupted view, that our poor sister, after being three months
shut up in her chamber, was seeing nothing at all."
ADRIAN.--Yes, and when we were riding home,
I wished that Cornelia were with us, that she might tell us what she
thought of it; supposing, of course, that she had seen all that we
did.
JUNIUS.--Well, dear Cornelia, be comforted. There is no
danger of your having taken cold, since you so scrupulously kept
your promise and obeyed your mother; and, as you will now, no doubt,
continue well, I hope you will yet be able to see the frigate before
she sails on her first cruise, though you _have_ missed the launch,
which was certainly one of the finest sights ever seen in the whole
world. Do not smile, Octavia. You are not, as I am, one of the "Tars
of Columbia."
ADRIAN.--No, indeed. And if she was a sailor, I hope she
would feel like one upon such occasions.
Cornelia continued every day to improve in health, and when the
frigate was completely fitted up and ready for sea, Lieutenant
Osbrook came to invite the Camelford family on board, and Mrs.
Camelford herself was prevailed upon to be one of the party. Junius,
taking Cornelia's hand, led her carefully through the vessel,
explaining to her its different parts and their uses, and replying,
kindly and satisfactorily, to all the various questions which she
would not have ventured to ask, except of her brother.
E. L.