The village tower--'tis joy to me!--I cry, the Lord is here!
The village bells! They fill the soul with ecstasy sincere.
And thus, I sing, the light hath shined to lands in darkness hurled,
Their sound is now in all the earth, their words throughout the world.
Coxe.
Another night past in peace within the settlement of the Hutted Knoll.
The following morning was the Sabbath, and it came forth, balmy,
genial, and mild; worthy of the great festival of the Christian world.
On the subject of religion, captain Willoughby was a little of a
martinet; understanding by liberty of conscience, the right of
improving by the instruction of those ministers who belonged to the
church of England. Several of his labourers had left him because he
refused to allow of any other ministrations on his estate; his doctrine
being that every man had a right to do as he pleased in such matters;
and as he did not choose to allow of schism, within the sphere of his
own influence, if others desired to be schismatics they were at liberty
to go elsewhere, in order to indulge their tastes. Joel Strides and
Jamie Allen were both disaffected to this sort of orthodoxy, and they
had frequent private discussions on its propriety; the former in his
usual wily and jesuitical mode of sneering and insinuating, and the
latter respectfully as related to his master, but earnestly as it
concerned his conscience. Others, too, were dissentients, but with less
repining; though occasionally they would stay away from Mr. Wood's
services. Mike, alone, took an open and manly stand in the matter, and
he a little out-Heroded Herod; or, in other words, he exceeded the
captain himself in strictness of construction. On the very morning we
have just described, he was present at a discussion between the Yankee
overseer and the Scotch mason, in which these two dissenters, the first
a congregationalist, and the last a seceder, were complaining of the
hardships of a ten years' abstinence, during which no spiritual
provender had been fed out to them from a proper source. The Irishman
broke out upon the complainants in a way that will at once let the
reader into the secret of the county Leitrim-man's principles, if he
has any desire to know them.
"Bad luck to all sorts of religion but the right one!" cried Mike, in a
most tolerant spirit. "Who d'ye think will be wishful of hearing mass
and pr'aching that comes from _any_ of your heretick parsons?
Ye're as dape in the mire yerselves, as Mr. Woods is in the woods, and
no one to lade ye out of either, but an evil spirit that would rather
see all mankind br'iling in agony, than dancing at a fair."
"Go to your confessional, Mike," returned Joel, with a sneer--"It's a
month, or more, sin' you seen it, and the priest will think you have
forgotten him, and go away offended."
"Och! It's such a praist, as the likes of yees has no nade of
throubling! Yer conscience is aisy, Misther Straddle, so that yer belly
is filled, and yer wages is paid. Bad luck o sich religion!"
The allusion of Joel related to a practice of Michael's that is
deserving of notice. It seems that the poor fellow, excluded by his
insulated position from any communication with a priest of his own
church, was in the habit of resorting to a particular rock in the
forest, where he would kneel and acknowledge his sins, very much as he
would have done had the rock been a confessional containing one
authorized to grant him absolution. Accident revealed the secret, and
from that time Michael's devotion was a standing jest among the
dissenters of the valley. The county Leitrim-man was certainly a little
too much addicted to Santa Cruz, and he was accused of always visiting
his romantic chapel after a debauch. Of course, he was but little
pleased with Joel's remark on the present occasion; and being, like a
modern newspaper, somewhat more vituperative than logical, he broke out
as related.
"Jamie," continued Joel, too much accustomed to Mike's violence to heed
it, "it does seem to me a hardship to be obliged to frequent a church
of which a man's conscience can't approve. Mr. Woods, though a native
colonist, is an Old England parson, and he has so many popish ways
about him, that I am under considerable concern of _mind_"--
concern, of _itself_, was not sufficiently emphatic for one of
Joel's sensitive feelings--"I am under considerable _concern of
mind_ about the children. They _sit under_ no other preaching;
and, though Lyddy and I do all we can to gainsay the sermons, as soon
as meetin' is out, some of it _will_ stick. You may worry the best
Christian into idolatry and unbelief, by parseverance and falsehood.
Now that things look so serious, too, in the colonies, we ought to be
most careful."
Jamie did not clearly understand the application of the present state
of the colonies, nor had he quite made up his mind, touching the merits
of the quarrel between parliament and the Americans. As between the
Stuarts and the House of Hanover, he was for the former, and that
mainly because he thought them Scotch, and it was surely a good thing
for a Scotchman to govern England; but, as between the _Old_
countries and the _New_, he was rather inclined to think the
rights of the first ought to predominate; there being something opposed
to natural order, agreeably to his notions, in permitting the reverse
of this doctrine to prevail. As for presbyterianism, however, even in
the mitigated form of New England church government, he deemed it to be
so much better than episcopacy, that he would have taken up arms, old
as he was, for the party that it could be made to appear was fighting
to uphold the last. We have no wish to mislead the reader. Neither of
the persons mentioned, Mike included, actually _knew_ anything of
the points in dispute between the different sects, or churches,
mentioned; but only _fancied_ themselves in possession of the
doctrines, traditions, and authorities connected with the subject.
These fancies, however, served to keep alive a discussion that soon had
many listeners; and never before, since his first ministration in the
valley, did Mr. Woods meet as disaffected a congregation, as on this
day.
The church of the Hutted Knoll, or, as the clergyman more modestly
termed it, the chapel, stood in the centre of the meadows, on a very
low swell of their surface, where a bit of solid dry ground had been
discovered, fit for such a purpose. The principal object had been to
make it central; though some attention had been paid also to the
picturesque. It was well shaded with young elms, just then opening into
leaf; and about a dozen graves, principally of very young children,
were memorials of the mortality of the settlement. The building was of
stone, the work of Jamie Allen's own hands, but small, square, with a
pointed roof, and totally without tower, or belfry. The interior was of
unpainted cherry, and through a want of skill in the mechanics, had a
cold and raw look, little suited to the objects of the structure.
Still, the small altar, the desk and the pulpit, and the large, square,
curtained pew of the captain, the only one the house contained, were
all well ornamented with hangings, or cloth, and gave the place
somewhat of an air of clerical comfort and propriety. The rest of the
congregation sat on benches, with kneeling-boards before them. The
walls were plastered, and, a proof that parsimony had no connection
with the simple character of the building, and a thing almost as
unusual in America at that period as it is to-day in parts of Italy,
the chapel was entirely finished.
It has been said that the morning of the particular Sabbath at which we
have now arrived, was mild and balmy. The sun of the forty-third degree
of latitude poured out its genial rays upon the valley, gilding the
tender leaves of the surrounding forest with such touches of light as
are best known to the painters of Italy. The fineness of the weather
brought nearly all the working people of the settlement to the chapel
quite an hour before the ringing of its little bell, enabling the men
to compare opinions afresh, on the subject of the political troubles of
the times, and the women to gossip about their children.
On all such occasions, Joel was a principal spokesman, nature having
created him for a demagogue, in a small way; an office for which
education had in no degree unfitted him. As had been usual with him, of
late, he turned the discourse on the importance of having correct
information of what was going on, in the inhabited parts of the
country, and of the expediency of sending some trustworthy person on
such an errand. He had frequently intimated his own readiness to go, if
his neighbours wished it.
"We're all in the dark here," he remarked, "and might stay so to the
end of time, without some one to be relied on, to tell us the news.
Major Willoughby is a fine man"--Joel meant _morally_, not
_physically_--"but he's a king's officer, and nat'rally feels
inclined to make the best of things for the rig'lars. The captain, too,
was once a soldier, himself, and his feelin's turn, as it might be,
unav'idably, to the side he has been most used to. We are like people
on a desart island, out here in the wilderness--and if ships won't
arrive to tell us how matters come on, we must send one out to l'arn it
for us. I'm the last man at the Dam"--so the _oi polloi_ called
the valley--"to say anything hard of either the captain or his son; but
one is English born, and the other is English bred; and each will make
a difference in a man's feelin's."
To this proposition the miller, in particular, assented; and, for the
twentieth time, he made some suggestion about the propriety of Joel's
going himself, in order to ascertain how the land lay.
"You can be back by hoeing," he added, "and have plenty of time to go
as far as Boston, should you wish to."
Now, while the great events were in progress, which led to the
subversion of British power in America, an under-current of feeling, if
not of incidents, was running in this valley, which threatened to wash
away the foundations of the captain's authority. Joel and the miller,
if not downright conspirators, had hopes, calculations, and even
projects of their own, that never would have originated with men of the
same class, in another state of society; or, it might almost be said,
in another part of the world. The sagacity of the overseer had long
enabled him to foresee that the issue of the present troubles would be
insurrection; and a sort of instinct which some men possess for the
strongest side, had pointed out to him the importance of being a
patriot. The captain, he little doubted, would take part with the
crown, and then no one knew what might be the consequences. It is not
probable that Joel's instinct for the strongest side predicted the
precise confiscations that subsequently ensued, some of which had all
the grasping lawlessness of a gross abuse of power; but he could easily
foresee that if the owner of the estate should be driven off, the
property and its proceeds, probably for a series of years, would be
very apt to fall under his own control and management. Many a patriot
has been made by anticipations less brilliant than these; and as Joel
and the miller talked the matter over between them, they had calculated
all the possible emolument of fattening beeves, and packing pork for
hostile armies, or isolated frontier posts, with a strong gusto for the
occupation. Should open war but fairly commence, and could the captain
only be induced to abandon the Knoll, and take refuge within a British
camp, everything might be made to go smoothly, until settling day
should follow a peace. At that moment, _non est inventus_ would be
a sufficient answer to a demand for any balance.
"They tell me," said Joel, in an aside to the miller, "that law is as
good as done with in the Bay colony, already; and you know if the law
has run out _there_, it will quickly come to an end, here. York
never had much character for law."
"That's true, Joel; then you know the captain himself is the only
magistrate hereabout; and, when he is away, we shall have to be
governed by a committee of safety, or something of that natur'."
"A committee of safety will be the thing!"
"What is a committee of safety, Joel?" demanded the miller, who had
made far less progress in the arts of the demagogue than his friend,
and who, in fact, had much less native fitness for the vocation; "I
have heer'n tell of them regulations, but do not rightly understand
'em, a'ter all."
"You know what a committee is?" asked Joel, glancing inquiringly at his
friend.
"I s'pose I do--it means men's takin' on themselves the trouble and
care of public business."
"That's it--now a committee of safety means a few of us, for instance,
having the charge of the affairs of this settlement, in order to see
that no harm shall come to anything, especially to the people."
"It would be a good thing to have one, here. The carpenter, and you,
and I might be members, Joel."
"We'll talk about it, another time. The corn is just planted, you know;
and it has got to be hoed _twice_, and topped, before it can be
gathered. Let us wait and see how things come on at Boston."
While this incipient plot was thus slowly coming to a head, and the
congregation was gradually collecting at the chapel, a very different
scene was enacting in the Hut. Breakfast was no sooner through, than
Mrs. Willoughby retired to her own sitting-room, whither her son was
shortly summoned to join her. Expecting some of the inquiries which
maternal affection might prompt, the major proceeded to the place named
with alacrity; but, on entering the room, to his great surprise he
found Maud with his mother. The latter seemed grave and concerned,
while the former was not entirely free from alarm. The young man
glanced inquiringly at the young lady, and he fancied he saw tears
struggling to break out of her eyes.
"Come hither, Robert"--said Mrs. Willoughby, pointing to a chair at her
side--with a gravity that struck her son as unusual--"I have brought
you here to listen to one of the old-fashioned lectures, of which you
got so many when a boy."
"Your advice, my dear mother--or even your reproofs--would be listened
to with far more reverence and respect, now, than I fear they were
then," returned the major, seating himself by the side of Mrs.
Willoughby, and taking one of her hands, affectionately, in both his
own. "It is only in after-life that we learn to appreciate the
tenderness and care of such a parent as you have been; though what I
have done lately, to bring me in danger of the guard-house, I cannot
imagine. Surely _you_ cannot blame me for adhering to the crown,
at a moment like this!"
"I shall not interfere with your conscience in this matter, Robert; and
my own feelings, American as I am by birth and family, rather incline
me to think as you think. I have wished to see you, my son, on a
different business."
"Do not keep me in suspense, mother; I feel like a prisoner who is
waiting to hear his charges read. What have I done?"
"Nay, it is rather for _you_ to tell _me_ what you have done.
You cannot have forgotten, Robert, how very anxious I have been to
awaken and keep alive family affection, among my children; how very
important both your father and I have always deemed it; and how
strongly we have endeavoured to impress this importance on all your
minds. The tie of family, and the love it ought to produce, is one of
the sweetest of all our earthly duties. Perhaps we old people see its
value more than you young; but, to us, the weakening of it seems like a
disaster only a little less to be deplored than death."
"Dearest--dearest mother! What _can_ you--what _do_ you
mean?--What can _I_--what can _Maud_ have to do with this?"
"Do not your consciences tell you, both? Has there not been some
misunderstanding--perhaps a quarrel--certainly a coldness between you?
A mother has a quick and a jealous eye; and I have seen, for some time,
that there is not the old confidence, the free natural manner, in
either of you, that there used to be, and which always gave your father
and me so much genuine happiness. Speak, then, and let me make peace
between you."
Robert Willoughby would not have looked at Maud, at that moment, to
have been given a regiment; as for Maud, herself, she was utterly
incapable of raising her eyes from the floor. The former coloured to
the temples, a proof of consciousness, his mother fancied; while the
latter's face resembled ivory, as much as flesh and blood.
"If you think, Robert," continued Mrs. Willoughby, "that Maud has
forgotten you, or shown pique for any little former misunderstanding,
during your last absence, you do her injustice. No one has done as much
for you, in the way of memorial; that beautiful sash being all her own
work, and made of materials purchased with her own pocket-money. Maud
loves you truly, too; for, whatever may be the airs she gives herself,
while you are together, when absent, no one seems to care more for your
wishes and happiness, than that very wilful and capricious girl."
"Mother!--mother!" murmured Maud, burying her face in both her hands.
Mrs. Willoughby was woman in all her feelings, habits and nature. No
one would have been more keenly alive to the peculiar sensibilities of
her sex, under ordinary circumstances, than herself; but she was now
acting and thinking altogether in her character of a mother; and so
long and intimately had she regarded the two beings before her, in that
common and sacred light, that it would have been like the dawn of a new
existence for her, just then, to look upon them as not really akin to
each other.
"I shall not, nor can I treat either of you as a child," she continued,
"and must therefore appeal only to your own good sense, to make a
peace. I know it can be nothing serious; but, it is painful to me to
see even an affected coldness among my children. Think, Maud, that we
are on the point of a war, and how bitterly you would regret it, should
any accident befall your brother, and your memory not be able to recall
the time passed among us, in his last visit, with entire satisfaction."
The mother's voice trembled; but tears no longer struggled about the
eyelids of Maud. Her face was pale as death, and it seemed as if every
ordinary fountain of sorrow were dried up.
"Dear Bob, this is too much!" she said eagerly, though in husky tones.
"Here is my hand--nay, here are _both_. Mother must not think this
cruel charge is--_can_ be true."
The major arose, approached his sister, and impressed a kiss on her
cold cheek. Mrs. Willoughby smiled at these tokens of amity, and the
conversation continued in a less earnest manner.
"This is right, my children," said the single-hearted Mrs. Willoughby,
whose sensitive maternal love saw nothing but the dreaded consequences
of weakened domestic affections; "and I shall be all the happier for
having witnessed it. Young soldiers, Maud, who are sent early from
their homes, have too many inducements to forget them and those they
contain; and we women are so dependent on the love of our male friends,
that it is wisdom in _us_ to keep alive all the earlier ties as
long and as much as possible."
"I am sure, dearest mother," murmured Maud, though in a voice that was
scarcely audible, "_I_ shall be the last to wish to weaken this
family tie. No one can feel a warmer--more proper--a more _sisterly_
affection for Robert, than I do--he was always so kind to
me when a child--and so ready to assist me--and so manly--and so
everything that he ought to be--it is surprising you should have
fancied there was any coldness between us!"
Major Willoughby even bent forward to listen, so intense was his
curiosity to hear what Maud said; a circumstance which, had she seen
it, would probably have closed her lips. But her eyes were riveted on
the floor, her cheeks were bloodless, and her voice so low, that
nothing but the breathless stillness he observed, would have allowed
the young man to hear it, where he sat.
"You forget, mother"--rejoined the major, satisfied that the last
murmur had died on his ears--"that Maud will probably be transplanted
into another family, one of these days, where we, who know her so well,
and have reason to love her so much, can only foresee that she will
form new, and even stronger ties than any that accident may have formed
for her here."
"Never--never"--exclaimed Maud, fervently--"I can never love any as
well as I love those who are in this house."
The relief she wanted stopped her voice, and, bursting into tears, she
threw-herself into Mrs. Willoughby's arms, and sobbed like a child. The
mother now motioned to her son to quit the room, while she remained
herself to soothe the weeping girl, as she so often had done before,
when overcome by her infantile, or youthful griefs. Throughout this
interview, habit and single-heartedness so exercised their influence,
that the excellent matron did not, in the most remote manner, recollect
that her son and Maud were not natural relatives. Accustomed herself to
see the latter every day, and to think of her, as she had from the
moment when she was placed in her arms, an infant of a few weeks old
the effect that separation might produce on others, never presented
itself to her mind. Major Willoughby, a boy of eight when Maud was
received in the family, had known from the first her precise position;
and it was perhaps morally impossible that _he_ should not recall
the circumstance in their subsequent intercourse; more especially as
school, college, and the army, had given him so much leisure to reflect
on such things, apart from the influence of family habits; while it was
to be expected that a consequence of his own peculiar mode of thinking
on this subject, would be to produce something like a sympathetic
sentiment in the bosom of Maud. Until within the last few years,
however, she had been so much of a child herself, and had been treated
so much like a child by the young soldier, that it was only through a
change in him, that was perceptible only to herself, and which occurred
when he first met her grown into womanhood, that she alone admitted any
feelings that were not strictly to be referred to sisterly regard. All
this, nevertheless, was a profound mystery to every member of the
family, but the two who were its subjects; no other thoughts than the
simplest and most obvious, ever suggesting themselves to the minds of
the others.
In half an hour, Mrs. Willoughby had quieted all Maud's present
troubles, and the whole family left the house to repair to the chapel.
Michael, though he had no great reverence for Mr. Wood's ministrations,
had constituted himself sexton, an office which had devolved on him in
consequence of his skill with the spade. Once initiated into one branch
of this duty, he had insisted on performing all the others; and it was
sometimes a curious spectacle to see the honest fellow, busy about the
interior of the building, during service, literally stopping one of his
ears with a thumb, with a view, while he acquitted himself of what he
conceived to be temporal obligations, to exclude as much heresy as
possible. One of his rules was to refuse to commence tolling the bell,
until he saw Mrs. Willoughby and her daughter, within a reasonable
distance of the place of worship; a rule that had brought about more
than one lively discussion between himself and the levelling-minded, if
not heavenly-minded Joel Strides. On the present occasion, this simple
process did not pass altogether without a dispute.
"Come, Mike; it's half-past ten; the people have been waiting about the
meetin' 'us, some time; you should open the doors and toll the bell.
People can't wait, for ever for anybody; not even for your church."
"Then let 'em just go home, ag'in, and come when they're called.
Because, the ould women, and the young women, and the childer, and the
likes o' them, wishes to scandalize their fellow cr'atures, Christians
I will not call 'em, let 'em mate in the mill, or the school-house, and
not come forenent a church on sich a business as that. Is it toll the
bell, will I, afore the Missus is in sight?--No--not for a whole
gineration of ye, Joel; and every one o' them, too, a much likelier man
than ye bees yerself."
"Religion is no respecter of persons"--returned the philosophical Joel.
"Them that likes masters and mistresses may have them, for all me; but
it riles me to meet with meanness."
"It does!" cried Mike, looking up at his companion, with a very
startling expression of wonder. "If that be true, ye must be in a
mighty throubled state, most of the live-long day, ye must!"
"I tell you, Michael O'Hearn, religion is no respecter of persons. The
Lord cares jist as much for _me_, as he does for captain
Willoughby, or his wife, or his son, or his darters, or anything that
is his."
"Divil burn me, now, Joel, if I believe _that_!" again cried Mike,
in his dogmatic manner. "Them that understands knows the difference
between mankind, and I'm sure it can be no great sacret to the Lord,
when it is so well known to a poor fellow like myself. There's a
plenthy of fellow-cr'atures that has a mighty good notion of their own
excellence, but when it comes to r'ason and thruth, it's no very great
figure ye all make, in proving what ye say. This chapel is the
master's, if chapel the heretical box can be called, and yonder bell
was bought wid his money; and the rope is his; and the hands that mane
to pull it, is his; and so there's little use in talking ag'in rocks,
and ag'in minds that's made up even harder than rocks, and to spare."
This settled the matter. The bell was not tolled until Mrs. Willoughby,
and her daughters, had got fairly through the still unprotected gateway
of the stockade, although the recent discussion of political questions
had so far substituted discontent for subordination in the settlement,
that more than half of those who were of New England descent, had
openly expressed their dissatisfaction at the delay. Mike, however, was
as unmoved as the little chapel itself, refusing to open the door until
the proper moment had arrived, according to his own notion of the
fitness of things. He then proceeded to the elm, against which the
little bell was hung, and commenced tolling it with as much seriousness
as if the conveyer of sounds had been duly consecrated.
When the family from the Hut entered the chapel, all the rest of the
congregation were in their customary seats. This arrival, however,
added materially to the audience, Great Smash and Little Smash, the two
Plinys, and some five or six coloured children, between the ages of six
and twelve, following in the train of their master. For the blacks, a
small gallery had been built, where they could sit apart, a proscribed,
if not a persecuted race. Little did the Plinys or the Smashes,
notwithstanding, think of this. Habit had rendered their situation more
than tolerable, for it had created notions and usages that would have
rendered them uncomfortable, in closer contact with the whites. In that
day, the two colours never ate together, by any accident; the eastern
castes being scarcely more rigid in the observance of their rules, than
the people of America were on this great point. The men who would toil
together, joke together, and pass their days in familiar intercourse,
would not sit down at the same board. There seemed to be a sort of
contamination, according to the opinions of one of these castes, in
breaking bread with the other. This prejudice often gave rise to
singular scenes, more especially in the households of those who
habitually laboured in company with their slaves. In such families, it
not unfrequently happened that a black led the councils of the farm. He
might be seen seated by the fire, uttering his opinions dogmatically,
reasoning warmly against his own master, and dealing out his wisdom
_ex cathedra_, even while he waited, with patient humility, when he
might approach, and satisfy his hunger, after all of the other colour
had quitted the table.
Mr. Woods was not fortunate in the selection of his subject, on the
occasion of which we are writing. There had been so much personal
activity, and so much political discussion during the past week, as to
prevent him from writing a new sermon, and of course he was compelled
to fail back on the other end of the barrel. The recent arguments
inclined him to maintain his own opinions, and he chose a discourse
that he had delivered to the garrison of which he had last been
chaplain. To this choice he had been enticed by the text, which was,
"Render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's," a mandate that would
be far more palatable to an audience composed of royal troops, than to
one which had become a good deal disaffected by the arts and arguments
of Joel Strides and the miller. Still, as the sermon contained a proper
amount of theological truisms, and had a sufficiency of general
orthodoxy to cover a portion of its political bearing, it gave far more
dissatisfaction to a few of the knowing, than to the multitude. To own
the truth, the worthy priest was so much addicted to continuing his
regimental and garrison course of religious instruction, that his
ordinary listeners would scarcely observe this tendency to loyalty;
though it was far different with those who were eagerly looking for
causes of suspicion and denunciation, in the higher quarters.
"Well," said Joel, as he and the miller, followed by their respective
families, proceeded towards the mill, where the household of the
Strides' were to pass the remainder of the day, "well, this is a bold
sermon for a minister to preach in times like these! I kind o' guess,
if Mr. Woods was down in the Bay, 'render unto Cæsar the things that
are Cæsars,' wouldn't be doctrine to be so quietly received by every
congregation. What's your notion about that, Miss Strides?"
_Miss_ Strides thought exactly as her husband thought, and the
miller and his wife were not long in chiming in with her, accordingly.
The sermon furnished material for conversation throughout the remainder
of the day, at the mill, and divers conclusions were drawn from it,
that were ominous to the preacher's future comfort and security.
Nor did the well-meaning parson entirely escape comment in the higher
quarters.
"I wish, Woods, you had made choice of some other subject," observed
the captain, as he and his friend walked the lawn together, in waiting
for a summons to dinner.
"In times like these, one cannot be too careful of the political
notions he throws out; and to own the truth to you, I am more than half
inclined to think that Cæsar is exercising quite as much authority, in
these colonies, as justly falls to his share."
"Why, my dear captain, you have heard this very sermon three or four
times already, and you have more than once mentioned it with
commendation!"
"Ay, but that was in garrison, where one is obliged to teach
subordination. I remember the sermon quite well, and a very good one it
was, twenty years since, when you first preached it; but--"
"I apprehend, captain Willoughby, that '_tempora mutantur, et, nos
mutamus in illis.'_ That the mandates and maxims of the Saviour are
far beyond the mutations and erring passions of mortality. His sayings
are intended for all times."
"Certainly, as respects their general principles and governing truths.
But no text is to be interpreted without some reference to
circumstances. All I mean is, that the preaching which might be very
suitable to a battalion of His Majesty's Fortieth might be very
unsuitable for the labourers of the Hutted Knoll; more especially so
soon after what I find is called the Battle of Lexington."
The summons to dinner cut short the discourse; and probably prevented a
long, warm, but friendly argument.
That afternoon and evening, captain Willoughby and his son had a
private and confidential discourse. The former advised the major to
rejoin his regiment without delay, unless he were prepared to throw up
his commission and take sides with the colonists, altogether. To this
the young soldier would not listen, returning to the charge, in the
hope of rekindling the dormant flame of his father's loyalty.
The reader is not to suppose that captain Willoughby's own mind was
absolutely made up to fly into open rebellion. Far from it. He had his
doubts and misgivings on the subjects of both principles and prudence,
but he inclined strongly to the equity of the demands of the Americans.
Independence, or separation, if thought of at all in 1775 entered into
the projects of but very few; the warmest wish of the most ardent of
the whigs of the colonies being directed toward compromise, and a
distinct recognition of their political franchises. The events that
followed so thickly were merely the consequences of causes which, once
set in motion, soon attained an impetus that defied ordinary human
control. It was doubtless one of the leading incidents of the great and
mysterious scheme of Divine Providence for the government of the future
destinies of man, that political separation should commence, in this
hemisphere, at that particular juncture, to be carried out, ere the end
of a century, to its final and natural conclusion.
But the present interview was less to debate the merits of any disputed
question, than to consult on the means of future intercourse, and to
determine on what was best to be done at the present moment. After
discussing the matter, pro and con, it was decided that the major
should quit the Knoll the next day, and return to Boston, avoiding
Albany and those points of the country in which he would be most
exposed to detection. So many persons were joining the American forces
that were collecting about the besieged town, that his journeying on
the proper road would excite no suspicion; and once in the American
camp, nothing would be easier than to find his way into the peninsula.
All this young Willoughby felt no difficulty in being able to
accomplish, provided he could get into the settlements without being
followed by information of his real character. The period of spies, and
of the severe exercise of martial-law, was not yet reached; and all
that was apprehended was detention. Of the last, however, there was
great danger; positive certainty, indeed, in the event of discovery;
and major Willoughby had gleaned enough during his visit, to feel some
apprehensions of being betrayed. He regretted having brought his
servant with him; for the man was a European, and by his dulness and
speech might easily get them both into difficulties. So serious,
indeed, was this last danger deemed by the father, that he insisted on
Robert's starting without the man, leaving the last to follow, on the
first suitable occasion.
As soon as this point was settled, there arose the question of the
proper guide. Although he distrusted the Tuscarora, captain Willoughby,
after much reflection, came to the opinion that it would be safer to
make an ally of him, than to give him an opportunity of being employed
by the other side. Nick was sent for, and questioned. He promised to
take the major to the Hudson, at a point between Lunenburg and
Kinderhook, where he would be likely to cross the river without
awakening suspicion; his own reward to depend on his coming back to the
Hutted Knoll with a letter from the major, authorizing the father to
pay him for his services. This plan, it was conceived, would keep Nick
true to his faith, for the time being, at least.
Many other points were discussed between the father and son, the latter
promising if anything of importance occurred, to find the means of
communicating it to his friends at the Knoll, while Parrel was to
follow his master, at the end of six weeks or two months, with letters
from the family. Many of the captain's old army-friends were now in
situations of authority and command, and he sent to them messages of
prudence, and admonitions to be moderate in their views, which
subsequent events proved were little regarded. To general Gage he even
wrote, using the precaution not to sign the letter, though its
sentiments were so much in favour of the colonies, that had it been
intercepted, it is most probable the Americans would have forwarded the
missive to its direction.
These matters arranged, the father and son parted for the night, some
time after the house-clock had struck the hour of twelve.