A new property—Visionary plans.
MY father went up in summer with a retinue of Indians and disbanded
soldiers, &c. headed by a land surveyor. In that country, men of this
description formed an important and distinct profession. They were
provided with an apparatus of measuring-chains, tents, and provision. It
was, upon the whole, an expensive expedition; but this was the less to
be regretted, as the object proved fully adequate. Never was a location
more fertile or more valuable, nor the possessor of an estate more
elated with his acquisition. A beautiful stream passed through the midst
of the property; beyond its limits, on one side, rose a lofty eminence,
covered with tall cedar, which being included in no patent, would be a
common good, and offered an inexhaustible supply of timber and firing,
after the lands should be entirely cleared. This sylvan scene appeared,
even in its wild state, to possess singular advantages; it was dry lying
land, without the least particle of swamp; great part of it was covered
with chesnuts, the sure indication of good wheat land, and the rest with
white oak, the never-failing forerunner of good Indian corn and pasture.
The ground, at the time of the survey, was in a great measure covered
with strawberries, the sure sign of fertility; and better and better
still, there was, on a considerable stream which watered this region of
benediction, a beaver-dam, that was visibly of at least fifty years
standing. What particular addition our over-flowing felicity was to
derive from the neighbourhood of these sagacious builders, may not be
easily conjectured. It was not their society, for they were much too
wise to remain in our vicinity, nor yet their example, which, though a
very good one, we were scarce wise enough to follow. Why then did we so
much rejoice over the dwelling of these old settlers? Merely because
their industry had saved us much trouble; for in the course of their
labours, they had cleared above thirty acres of excellent hay land; work
which we should take a long time to execute, and not perform near so
well; the truth was, this industrious colony, by whose previous labour
we were thus to profit, were already extirpated, to my unspeakable
sorrow, who had been creating a beaver Utopia ever since I heard of the
circumstance. The protection I was to afford them, the acquaintance I
was to make with them, after conquering the first shyness, and the
delight I was to have in seeing them work, after convincing them of
their safety, occupied my whole attention, and helped to console me for
the drafting of the fifty-fifth, which I had been ever since lamenting.
How buoyant is the fancy of childhood! I was mortified to the utmost to
hear there were no beavers remaining; yet the charming, though simple
description my father gave us of this “vale of bliss,” which the beavers
had partly cleared, and the whole “township of Clarendon,” (so was the
new laid out territory called,) consoled me for all past
disappointments. It is to be observed, that the political and economical
regulations of the beavers, make their neighbourhood very desirable to
new settlers. They build houses and dams with unwearied industry, as
every one that has heard of them must needs know; but their
unconquerable attachment to a particular spot is not so well known; the
consequence is, that they work more, and of course clear more land in
some situations than in others. When they happen to pitch upon a stream
that overflows often in spring, it is apt lo carry away the dam, formed
of large trees laid across the stream, which it has cost them
unspeakable pains to cut down and bring there. Whenever these are
destroyed, they cut down more trees and construct another; and as they
live all winter on the tender twigs from the underwood and bark which
they strip from poplar and alder, they soon clear these also from the
vicinity. In the day-time they either mend their houses, lay up stores
in them, or fish, sitting upon their dams made for that purpose. The
night they employ in cutting down trees, which they always do so as to
make them fall towards the stream, or in dragging them to the dam.
Meanwhile they have always sentinels placed near to give the alarm, in
case of any intrusion. It is hard to say when these indefatigable
animals refresh themselves with sleep. I have seen those that have been
taken young and made very tame, so that they followed their owner about;
even in these the instinct which prompts their nocturnal labours was
apparent. When all was quiet, they began to work. Being discontented and
restless, if confined, it was usual to leave them in the yard. They
seemed in their civilized, or rather degraded state, to retain an idea
that it was necessary to convey materials for building to their wonted
habitation. The consequence was, that a single one would carry such
quantities of wood to the back door, that you would find your way
blocked up in the morning, to a degree almost incredible.
Being very much inclined to be happy, and abundant in resources, the
simple felicity which was at some future period to prevail among the
amiable and innocent tenants we were to have at Clarendon, filled my
whole mind. Before this flattering vision, all painful recollections,
and even all the violent love which I had persuaded myself to feel for
my native Britain, entirely vanished.
The only thing that disturbed me, was aunt Schuyler’s age, and the
thoughts of outliving her, which sometimes obtruded among my day dreams
of more than mortal happiness. I thought all this could scarce admit of
addition; yet a new source of joy was opened, when I found that we were
actually going to live at the Flats. That spot, rendered sacred by the
residence of aunt, where I should trace her steps wherever I moved,
dwell under the shadow of her trees, and, in short, find her in every
thing I saw. We did not aspire to serious farming, reserving that effort
for our own estate, of which we talked very magnificently, and indeed
had some reason, it being as valuable as so much land could be: and from
its situation in a part of the country which was hourly acquiring fresh
inhabitants, its value daily increased, which consideration induced my
father to refuse several offers for it; resolved either to people it
with Highland emigrants, or retain it in his own hands till he should
get his price.
Sir Henry Moore, the last British governor of New-York that I remember,
came up this summer to see Albany, and the ornament of Albany—aunt
Schuyler; he brought Lady Moore and his daughter with him. They resided
for some time at General Schuyler’s, I call him so by anticipation; for
sure I am, had any gifted seer foretold then what was to happen, he
would have been ready to answer, “Is thy servant a dog, that he should
do this thing?” Sir Harry, like many of his predecessors, was a mere
show governor, and old Cadwallader Colden, the lieutenant governor,
continued to do the business, and enjoy the power in its most essential
branches, such as giving patents for lands, &c. Sir Harry, in the
meantime, had never thought of business in his life: he was honourable,
as far as a man could be so, who always spent more than he had; he was,
however, gay, good natured, and well bred, affable and courteous in a
very high degree, and if the business of a governor was merely to keep
the governed in good humour, no one was fitter for that office than he,
the more so, as he had sense enough to know two things of great
importance to be known: one was, that a person of tried wisdom and good
experience like Colden, was fitter to transact the business of the
province, than any dependent of his own; the other, that he was totally
unfit to manage it himself. The government house was the scene of
frequent festivities and weekly concerts, Sir Henry being very musical,
and Lady Moore peculiarly fitted for doing the honours of a drawing-room
or entertainment. They were too fashionable, and too much hurried to
find time for particular friendships, and too good natured and well bred
to make invidious distinctions, so that, without gaining very much
either of esteem or affection, they pleased every one in the circle
around them; and this general civility of theirs, in the storm which was
about to arise, had its use. In the beginning, before the tempest broke
loose in all its fury, it was like oil poured on agitated waters, which
produces a temporary calm immediately round the ship. As yet the storm
only muttered at a distance, but madame was disturbed by anxious
presages. In her case,
“Old experience actually did attain
To something like prophetic strain.”
But it was not new to her to prophecy in vain. I, for my part, was
charmed with the manners of these exalted visitors of aunt’s, and not a
little proud of their attention to her, not knowing that they showed
pretty much the same attention to every one.
While I was dancing on air with the thoughts of going to live at the
Flats, of the beauties of Clarendon, and many other delights which I had
created to myself, an event took place that plunged us all in sorrow; it
was the death of the lovely child Catalina, who was the object of much
fondness to us all, for my parents, bating the allowance to be made for
enthusiasm, were as fond of her as I was. Madame had set her heart very
much on this engaging creature; she mustered up all her fortitude to
support the parents of her departed favourite, but suffered much
notwithstanding. Here began my acquaintance with sorrow. We went,
however, to the Flats in autumn. Our family consisted of a negro girl,
and a soldier, who had followed my father’s fortunes from Scotland, and
stuck to him through every change. We did not mean to farm, but had
merely the garden, orchard, and enclosure for hay, two cows, a horse for
my father, and a colt, which, to my great delight, was given me as a
present. Many sources of comfort and amusement were now cut off from
madame; her nephew and his lively and accomplished wife had left her;
Dr. Ogilvie was removed to New-York, and had a successor no way
calculated to supply his place. This year she had lost her
brother-in-law Cornelius Cuyler,[23] whose sound sense and intelligence
made his society of consequence to her, independent of the great esteem
and affection she had for him. The army, among whom she always found
persons of information and good breeding, in whose conversation she
could take pleasure which might be truly called such, were gone. Nothing
could compensate, in her opinion, for the privation of that enjoyment;
she read, but then the people about her had so little taste for reading,
that she had not her wonted pleasure in that, for want of some one with
whom she could discuss the topics suggested by her studies. It was in
this poverty of society, such as she was accustomed to enjoy, that she
took a fancy to converse much with me, to regret my want of education,
and to take a particular interest in my employments and mental
improvement. That I might more entirely profit by her attention, she
requested my parents to let me pass the winter with her: this invitation
they gladly complied with.
Footnote 23:
This estimable character had for the space of forty years (which
included very important and critical conjunctures) been chief
magistrate of Albany, and its district. A situation calculated to
demand the utmost integrity and impartiality, and to exercise all the
powers of a mind acute, vigilant, and comprehensive. The less he was
amenable to the control and direction of his superiors, the more
liable was he to the animadversions of his fellow citizens, had he in
the least departed from that rectitude which made him the object of
their confidence and veneration. He administered justice, not so much
in conformity to written laws, as to that rule of equity within his
own breast, the application of which was directed by sound sense,
improved by experience. I do by no means insinuate, that he either
neglected or disobeyed those laws, by which in all doubtful cases, he
was certainly guided; but that the uncorrupted state of public morals,
and the entire confidence which his fellow citizens reposed in his
probity, rendered appeals to the law for the most part superfluous. I
have heard that the family of the Cuylers was originally a German one
of high rank. Whether this can or cannot be ascertained, is of little
consequence. The sterling worth of their immediate ancestor, and his
long and faithful services to the public, reflect more honour on his
descendants than any length of pedigree.
The winter at the Flats was sufficiently melancholy, and rendered less
agreeable by some unpleasant neighbours we had. These were a family from
New-England, who had been preparing to occupy lands near those occupied
by my father. They had been the summer before recommended to aunt’s
generous humanity, as honest people, who merely wanted a shelter in a
room in her empty house, till they should build a temporary hut on those
new lands which they were about to inhabit. When we came, the time
permitted to them had long elapsed, but my father, who was exceedingly
humane, indulged them with a fortnight more after our arrival, on the
pretence of the sickness of a child; and there they sat, and would not
remove for the winter, unless coercion had been used for that purpose.
We lived on the road side. There was at that time a perpetual emigration
going on from the provinces of New England to our back settlements. Our
acquaintance with the family who kept possession beside us, and with
many of even the better sort, who came to bargain with my father about
his lands, gave us more insight than we wished into the prevalent
character of those people, whom we found conceited, litigious, and
selfish beyond measure. My father was told that the only safe way to
avoid being overreached by them in a bargain, was to give them a kind of
tacit permission to sit down on his lands, and take his chance of
settling with them when they were brought into some degree of
cultivation; for if one did bargain with them, the custom was to have it
three years free for clearing, at the end of which, the rents or
purchase money was paid. By that time, any person who had expended much
labour on land, would rather pay a reasonable price or rent for it, than
be removed.
In the progress of his intercourse with these very vulgar, insolent, and
truly disagreeable people, my father began to disrelish the thoughts of
going up to live among them. They flocked indeed so fast, to every
unoccupied spot, that their malignant and envious spirit, their hatred
of subordination, and their indifference to the mother country, began to
spread like a taint of infection.
These illiberal opinions, which produced manners equally illiberal, were
particularly wounding to disbanded officers, and to the real patriots,
who had consulted in former times the happiness of the country, by
giving their zealous co-operation to the troops sent to protect it.
These two classes of people began now to be branded as the slaves of
arbitrary power, and all tendencies to elegance or refinement were
despised as leading to aristocracy. The consequence of all this was,
such an opposition of opinions, as led people of the former description
to seek each other’s society exclusively. Winter was the only time that
distant friends met there, and to avoid the chagrin resulting from this
distempered state of society, veterans settled in the country were too
apt to devote themselves to shooting and fishing, taking refuge from
languor in these solitary amusements.
We had one brave and royal neighbour, however, who saw us often, and was
“every inch a gentleman;” this was Pedrom, aunt’s brother-in-law, in
whom lived the spirit of the Schuylers, and who was our next neighbour
and cordial friend. He was now old, detached from the world, and too
hard of hearing to be an easy companion; yet he had much various
information, and was endeared to us by similarity of principle.
Matters were beginning to be in this state the first winter I went to
live with aunt. Her friends were much dispersed; all conversation was
tainted with politics, Cromwellian politics too, which of all things,
she disliked. Her nephew, Courtlandt Schuyler, who had been a great
Nimrod ever since he could carry a gun, and who was a man of strict
honour and nice feelings, took such a melancholy view of things, and so
little relished that Stamp Act, which was the exclusive subject of all
conversation, that he devoted himself more and more to the chase, and
seemed entirely to renounce a society which he had never greatly loved.
As I shall not refer to him again, I shall only mention here, that this
estimable person was taken away from the evil to come two years after,
by a premature death, being killed by a fall from his horse in hunting.
What sorrows were hid from his eyes by this timely escape from scenes
which would have been to him peculiarly wounding!
If madame’s comforts in society were diminished, her domestic
satisfactions were not less so. By the time I came to live with her,
Mariamat and Dianamat were almost superannuated, and had lost, in a
great measure, the restraining power they used to exercise over their
respective offspring. Their woolly heads were snow white, and they were
become so feeble, that they sat each in her great chair, at the opposite
side of the fire; their wonted jealousy was now embittered to rancour,
and their love of tobacco greater than ever. They were arrived at that
happy period of ease and indolence, which left them at full liberty to
smoke and scold the whole day long; this they did with such unwearied
perseverance, and in a manner so ludicrous, that to us young people they
were a perpetual comedy.
Sorely now did aunt lament the promise she had kept so faithfully, never
to sell any of the Colonel’s negroes. There was so little to do for
fourteen persons, except the business they created for each other, and
it was so impossible to keep them from too freely sharing the plenty of
her liberal house, that idleness and abundance literally began to
corrupt them.
All these privations and uneasinesses will in some measure account for
such a person as madame taking such pleasure in the society of an
overgrown child. But then she was glad to escape from dark prospects and
cross politics, to the amusement derived from the innocent cheerfulness
natural to that time of life. A passion for reading, and a very
comprehensive memory too, had furnished my mind with more variety of
knowledge, than fell to the lot of those, who, living in large families,
and sharing the amusements of childhood, were not, like me, driven to
that only resource. All this will help to account for a degree of
confidence and favour daily increasing, which ended in my being admitted
to sleep in a little bed beside her, which never happened to any other.
In the winter nights, our conversation often encroached on the earlier
hours of morning. The future appeared to her dubious and cheerless,
which was one reason, I suppose, that her active mind turned solely on
retrospection. She saw that I listened with delighted attention to the
tales of other times, which no one could recount so well. These, too,
were doubly interesting, as, like the sociable angel’s conversation with
our first father, they related to the origin and formation of all I saw
around me; they afforded food for reflection, to which I was very early
addicted, and hourly increased my veneration for her whom I already
considered as my polar star. The great love I had for her first gave
interest to her details; and again, the nature of these details
increased my esteem for the narrator. Thus passed this winter of
felicity, which so much enlarged my stock of ideas, that in looking back
upon it, I thought I had lived three years in one.
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