The Swamp—A discovery.
THIS adventure made me cautious of sitting out of doors, yet I daily
braved a danger of the same nature, in the woods behind the house, which
were my favourite haunts, and where I frequently saw snakes, yet was
never pursued or annoyed by them. In this wood, half a mile from the
house, was a swamp, which afforded a scene so totally unlike any thing
else, that a description of it may amuse those who have never seen
nature in that primitive state.
This swamp then, was in the midst of a pine wood, and was surrounded on
two sides by little hills, some of which were covered with cedar, and
others with the silver fir, very picturesque, and finely varied with
shrubs, and every gradation of green. The swamp sunk into a hollow, like
a large basin, exactly circular; round half of it, was a border of
maple, the other half was edged with poplar. No creature ever entered
this place in summer; its extreme softness kept it sacred from every
human foot, for no one could go without the risk of being swallowed up.
Different aquatic plants grew with great luxuriance in this quagmire,
particularly bullrushes, and several beautiful species of the Iris, and
the alder and willow; much of it, however, was open, and in different
places the water seemed to form stagnant pools; in many places large
trees had fallen of old, which were now covered with moss, and afforded
a home to numberless wild animals. In the midst of this aquatic retreat,
were two small islands of inconceivable beauty, that rose high above the
rest, like the oasis of the deserts, and were dry and safe, though
unapproachable. On one of these, I remember, grew three apple trees, an
occurrence not rare here; for if a squirrel, for instance, happens to
drop the seeds of an apple in a spot at once sheltered and fertile, at a
lucky season they grow and bear, though with less vigour and beauty than
those which are cultivated. That beautiful fruit, the wild plum, was
also abundant on these little sanctuaries, as they might be called, for,
conscious of impunity, every creature that flies the pursuit of man,
gamboled in safety here, and would allow one to gaze at them from the
brink of this natural fortress. One would think a congress of birds and
animals had assembled here; never was a spot more animated and cheerful.
There was nothing like it in the great forests; creatures here, aware of
their general enemy, man, had chosen it as their last retreat. The
black, the large silver grey, the little striped, and nimble flying
squirrel, were all at home here, and all visible in a thousand fantastic
attitudes. Pheasants and woodpeckers in countless numbers, displayed
their glowing plumage, and the songsters of the forest, equally
conscious of their immunity, made the marsh resound with their blended
music, while the fox, here a small auburn coloured creature, the martin,
and racoons occasionally appeared and vanished through the foliage.
Often, on pretence of bringing home the cows in the morning, (when in
their own leisurely way they were coming themselves,) I used to go,
accompanied by my faithful Marian, to admire this swamp, at once a
menagerie and aviary, and might truly say with Burns,
“My heart rejoic’d in nature’s joy.”
Not content, however, with the contemplation of animated nature, I began
to entertain a fancy, which almost grew into a passion, for explaining
“Every herb that sips the dew.”
The ordinary plants of that country differ very much from those most
frequent here; and this thirst for herbalizing, for I must dignify my
humble researches with the name of botanical ones,) was a pleasing
occupation. I made some progress in discovering the names and natures of
these plants, I mean their properties; but unfortunately they were only
Indian or Dutch names. This kind of knowledge, in that degree, is easily
acquired there, because every one possesses it in some measure. Nothing
surprised me so much, when I came to Britain, as to see young people so
incurious about nature.
The woods behind our dwelling had been thinned to procure firing, and
were more open and accessible than such places generally are. Walking
one fine summer’s evening, with my usual attendant, a little further
into the wood than usual, but far from any known inhabitant, I heard
peals of laughter, not joyous only, but triumphant, issue from the
bottom, as it seemed, of a large pine. Silence succeeded, and we looked
at each other with a mixture of fear and wonder, for it grew darkish. At
last we made a whispered agreement to glide nearer among the bushes, and
explore the source of all this merriment. Twilight, solemn every where,
is awful in these forests; our awe was presently increased by the
appearance of a light that glimmered and disappeared by turns. Loud
laughter was again reiterated, and at length a voice cried, “How pretty
he is!” while another answered in softer accents, “See how the dear
creature runs!” We crept on, cheered by these sounds, and saw a handsome
good natured looking man, in a ragged provincial uniform, sitting on the
stump of a tree. Opposite, on the ground, sat a pretty little brunette
woman, neatly, though meanly clad, with sparkling black eyes, and a
countenance all vivacity and delight. A very little, very fair boy, with
his mother’s brilliant black eyes contrasting his flaxen hair, and soft
infantine complexion, went with tottering steps, that showed this was
his first essay, from one to the other, and loud laughter gratulated his
safe arrival in the arms of either parent. We had now pretty clearly
ascertained the family, the next thing was to discover the house; this
point was more difficult to establish; at last, we found it was barely a
place to sleep in, partly excavated from the ground, and partly covered
with a slight roof of bark and branches: never was poverty so complete
or so cheerful. In that country, every white person had inferiors, and
therefore being merely white, claimed a degree of respect, and being
very rich, or very fine, entitled you to very little more. Simplicity
would be a charming thing, if one could strain it from grossness, but
that, I believe, is no easy operation. We now with much consideration
and civility, presented ourselves; I thought the cows would afford a
happy opening for conversation. “Don’t be afraid of noise, we are
driving our three cows home; have you any cows?” “Och no, my dare child,
not one, young miss,” said the soldier. “O, but then mamma will give
milk to the child, for we have plenty, and no child.” “O dear, pretty
miss, don’t mind that at all, at all.” “Come,” said the mistress of the
hovel, “we have got fine buttermilk here from Stephen’s; come in and
take a drink.” I civilly declined this invitation, being wholly intent
on the child, who appeared to me like a smiling love, and at once seized
on my affection. Patrick Coonie, for such was the name of our new
neighbour, gave us his history in a very few words. He had married Kate
in Pennsylvania, who, young as she looked, had three children, from ten
to fourteen, or thereabouts; he had some trade which had not thriven, he
listed in the provincials, spent what he had on his family, hired again,
served another campaign, came down pennyless, and here they had come for
a temporary shelter, to get work among their neighbours. The excavation
existed before, Patrick happily discovered it, and added the ingenious
roof which now covered it. I asked for their other children—they were in
some mean service. I was all anxiety for Patrick, so was not he; the
lilies of the field did not look gayer, or more thoughtless of
to-morrow, and Kate seemed equally unconcerned.
Hastily were the cows driven home that night, and to prevent reproaches
for delay, I flew to communicate my discovery; eager to say how ill off
we often were for an occasional hand to assist with our jobs, and how
well we could spare a certain neglected log-house on our premises, &c.
This was treated as very chimerical at first, but when Patrick’s family
had undergone a survey, and Kate’s accomplishments of spinning, &c. were
taken into consideration, to my unspeakable joy, the family were
accommodated as I wished, and their several talents made known to our
neighbours, who kept them in constant business. Kate spun and sung like
a lark; little Paddy was mostly with us, for I taught every one in the
house to be fond of him.
I was at the utmost loss for something to cherish and caress, when this
most amusing creature, who inherited all the gaiety and good temper of
his parents, came in my way, as the first of possible play-things.
Patrick was, of all beings, the most handy and obliging; he could do
every thing, but then he could drink too, and the extreme cheapness of
liquor was a great snare to poor creatures addicted to it. Patrick,
however, had long lucid intervals, and I had the joy of seeing them
comparatively happy. To this was added, that of seeing my father recover
his spirits, and renew his usual sports, and moreover, I was permitted
to return to aunt Schuyler’s. I did not fail to entertain her with the
history of my discovery, and its consequences, and my tale was not told
in vain. Aunt weighed and balanced all things in her mind, and drew some
good out of every thing.
White servants, whom very few people had, were very expensive here; but
there was a mode of meliorating things. Poor people, who came
adventurers from other countries, and found a settlement a slower
process than they were aware of, had got into a mode of apprenticing
their children. No risk attended this in Albany; custom is all-powerful;
and lenity to servants was so much the custom, that to ill-use a
defenceless creature in your power was reckoned infamous, and was,
indeed, unheard of. Aunt recommended the young Coonies, who were fine,
well looking children, for apprentices to some of the best families in
town, where they were well bred and well treated, and we all contributed
decent clothing for them to go home in. I deeply felt this obligation,
and little thought how soon I was to be deprived of all the happiness I
owed to the friendship of my dear benefactress. This accession occupied
and pleased me exceedingly; my attachment to the little boy grew hourly,
and I indulged it to a degree I certainly would not have done, if I had
not set him down for one of the future inhabitants of Clarendon; that
region of fancied felicity, where I was building log-houses in the air
perpetually, and filling them with an imaginary population, innocent and
intelligent beyond all comparison. These visions, however, were soon
destined to give way to sad realities. The greatest immediate
tribulation I was liable to, was Patrick’s coming home, now and then,
gay beyond his wonted gaiety; which grieved me both on Kate’s account
and that of little Paddy. But in the fertile plains of Clarendon,
remedies were to be found for every passing evil; and I had not the
least doubt of having influence enough to prevent the admission of
spirituous liquors into that “region of calm delights.” Such were the
dreams from which I was awakened, (on returning from a long visit to
aunt,) by my father’s avowing his fixed intention to return home.
A very worthy Argyleshire friend of his, in the mean time, came and paid
him a visit of a month, which month was occupied in the most endearing
recollections of Lochawside, and the hills of Morven. When I returned, I
heard of nothing but the alpine scenes of Scotland, of which I had not
the smallest recollection, but which I loved with borrowed enthusiasm;
so well, that they at times balanced with Clarendon. My next source of
comfort was, that I was to return to the land of light and freedom, and
mingle, as I flattered myself I should, with such as those whom I had
admired in their immortal works. Determined to be happy, with the
sanguine eagerness of youth, the very opposite materials served for
constructing another ideal fabric.
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