CHAPTER VIII.
"With what free growth the elm and plane Fling their huge arms across my way; Gray, old, and cumber'd with a train Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray! Free stray the lucid streams, and find No taint in these fresh lawns and shades; Free spring the flowers that scent the wind, Where never scythe has swept the glades."--BRYANT.
I had heard enough of my father's early adventures to know that the manmentioned in the last chapter had been a conspicuous actor in them, andremembered that the latter enjoyed the fullest confidence of the former.It was news to me, however, that Sureflint and the Trackless were thesame person; though, when I came to reflect on the past, I had somefaint recollection of having once before heard something of the sort. Atany rate, I was now with a friend, and no longer thought it necessary tobe on my guard. This was a great relief, in every point of view, as onedoes not like to travel at the side of a stranger, with an impression,however faint, that the latter may blow his brains out, the first timehe ventures to turn his own head aside.
Susquesus was drawing near to the decline of life. Had he been a whiteman, I might have said he was in a "green old age;" but the term of"_red_ old age" would suit him much better. His features were stillsingularly fine; while the cheeks, without being very full, had thatindurated, solid look, that flesh and muscles get from use and exposure.His form was as erect as in his best days, a red man's frame rarelyyielding in this way to any pressure but that of exceeding old age, andthat of rum. Susquesus never admitted the enemy into his mouth, andconsequently the citadel of his physical man was secure against everyinvader but time. In-toed and yielding in his gait, the old warrior andrunner still passed over the ground with an easy movement; and when Ihad occasion to see him increase his speed, as soon after occurred, Idid not fail to perceive that his sinews seemed strung to their utmostforce, and that every movement was free.
For a time, the Indian and I talked of the late war, and of the scenesin which each of us had been an actor. If my own modesty was as obviousas that of Sureflint, I had no reason to be dissatisfied with myself;for the manner in which he alluded to events in which I knew he had beensomewhat prominent, was simple and entirely free from that boasting inwhich the red man is prone to indulge; more especially when he wishes toprovoke his enemies. At length I changed the current of the discourse,by saying abruptly:
"You were not alone in that pine thicket, Susquesus; that from which youcame when you joined me?"
"No--sartain; wasn't alone. Plenty people dere."
"Is there an encampment of your tribe among those bushes?"
A shade passed over the dark countenance of my companion, and I saw aquestion had been asked that gave him pain. He paused some little timebefore he answered; and when he did, it was in a way that seemed sad.
"Susquesus got tribe no longer. Quit Onondagos t'irty summer, now; don'tlike Mohawk."
"I remember to have heard something of this from my father, who told meat the same time, that the reason why you left your people was to yourcredit. But you had music in the thicket?"
"Yes; gal sing--gal love sing; warrior like to listen."
"And the song? In what language were the words?"
"Onondago," answered the Indian, in a low tone.
"I had no idea the music of the red people was so sweet. It is many aday since I have heard a song that went so near to my heart, though Icould not understand what was said."
"Bird, pretty bird--sing like wren."
"And is there much of this music in your family, Susquesus? If so, Ishall come often to listen."
"Why not come? Path got no briar; short path, too. Gal sing, when youwant."
"Then I shall certainly be your guest, some day, soon. Where do youlive, now? Are you Sureflint, or Trackless, to-day? I see you are armed,but not painted."
"Hatchet buried berry deep, dis time. No dig him up, in great many year.Mohawk make peace; Oneida make peace; Onondago make peace--all bury 'ehatchet."
"Well, so much the better for us landholders. I have come to sell andlease my lands; perhaps you can tell me if many young men are outhunting for farms this summer?"
"Wood full. Plenty as pigeons. How you sell land?"
"That will depend on where it is, and how good it is. Do you wish tobuy, Trackless?"
"Injin own all land, for what he want now. I make wigwam where I want;make him, too, when I want."
"I know very well that you Indians do claim such a right; and, so longas the country remains in its present wild state, no one will be apt torefuse it to you. But you cannot plant and gather, as most of yourpeople do in their own country."
"Got no squaw--got no papoose--little corn do for Susquesus. Notribe--no squaw--no pappose!"
This was said in a low, deliberate voice, and with a species of manlymelancholy that I found very touching. Complaining men create verylittle sympathy, and those who whine are apt to lose our respect; but Iknow no spectacle more imposing than that of one of stern naturesmothering his sorrows beneath the mantle of manliness and self-command.
"You have friends, Susquesus," I answered, "if you have no wife norchildren."
"Fader, good friend; hope son friend, too. Grandfader great friend,once; but he gone far away, and nebber come back. Know moder, knowfader--all good."
"Take what land you want, Trackless--till it, sell it--do what you wishwith it."
The Indian eyed me keenly, and I detected a slight smile of pleasurestealing over his weather-worn face. It was not easy to throw him offhis habitual guard over his emotions, however; and the gleam ofillumination passed away, like a ray of sunshine in mid-winter. Thesternest white man might have grasped my hand, and something like a signof gratitude would probably have escaped him; but, the little trace ofemotion I have mentioned having disappeared, nothing remained on thedark visage of my companion that in the least resembled an evidence ofyielding to any of the gentler feelings. Nevertheless, he was toocourteous, and had too much of the innate sentiment of a gentleman, notto make some return for an offer that had so evidently and spontaneouslycome from the heart.
"Good"--he said, after a long pause. "Berry good, dat; good, to comefrom young warrior to ole warrior. T'ankee--bird plenty; fish plenty;message plenty, now; and don't want land. Time come, maybe--s'pose hemust come--come to all old red men, hereabout; so s'pose _must_ come."
"What time do you mean, Trackless? Let it come when it may, you have afriend in me. What time do you mean, my brave old Sureflint?"
The Trackless stopped, dropped the breech of his rifle on the ground,and stood meditating a minute, motionless, and as grand as some finestatue.
"Yes; time come, _do_ s'pose," he continued. "One time, ole warrior livein wigwam, and tell young warrior of scalp, and council-fire, and hunt,and war-path; _now_, make _broom_ and _basket_."
It was not easy to mistake this; and I do not remember ever to have feltso lively an interest, on so short an acquaintance, as I began to feelin this Onondago. Priscilla Bayard herself, however lovely, graceful,winning, and feminine, had not created a feeling so strong and animated,as that which was awakened within me in behalf of old Sureflint. But Ifully understood that this was to be shown in acts, and not in words.Contenting myself for the present, after the fashion of the pale-faces,by grasping and squeezing the sinewy hand of the warrior, we walked ontogether, making no farther allusion to a subject that I can truly saywas as painful to me as it was to my companion.
"I have heard your name mentioned as one of those who were at the Nestwith my father when he was a young man, Susquesus," I resumed, "and whenthe Canada Indians attempted to burn the house."
"Good--Susquesus dere--young Dutch chief kill dat time."
"Very true--his name was Guert Ten Eyke; and my father and mother, andyour old friend Colonel Follock, who was afterward major of ourregiment, you will remember, they love his memory to this day, as thatof a very dear friend."
"Dat all, love memory now?" asked the Indian, throwing one of hiskee
nest glances at me.
I understood the allusion, which was to aunt Mary, whom I had heardspoken of as the betrothed, or at least as the beloved of the youngAlbanian.
"Not all; for there is a lady who still mourns his loss, as if she hadbeen his widow."
"Good--do' squaw don't mourn fery long time. Sometime not always."
"Pray, Trueflint, do you happen to know any thing of a man called theChainbearer? He was in the regiment, too, and you must have seen him inthe war."
"Sartain--know Chainbearer--know him on war-path--know him when hatchetburied. Knew Chainbearer afore ole French war. Live in wood wid him--oneof _us_. Chainbearer _my_ friend."
"I rejoice to hear this, for he is also mine; and I shall be glad tocome into the compact, as a friend of both."
"Good--Susquesus and young landlord friend of Chainbearer--good."
"It is good, and a league that shall not be forgotten easily by me. TheChainbearer is as honest as light, and as certain as his own compass,Trueflint--true, as yourself."
"'Fraid he make broom 'fore great while, too," said the Indian,expressing the regret I have no doubt he felt, very obviously in hiscountenance.
Poor old Andries! But for the warm and true friends he had in my father,Colonel Dirck, and myself, there was some danger this might be the case,indeed. The fact that he had served his country in a revolution wouldprove of little avail, that country being too poor to provide for itsold servants, and possibly indisposed, had she the means.[7] I say thiswithout intending to reflect on either the people or the government; forit is not easy to make the men of the present day understand the deepdepression, in a pecuniary sense, that rested on the land for a year ortwo after peace was made. It recovered, as the child recovers fromindisposition, by the vigor of its constitution and the power of itsvitality; and one of the means by which it recovered, was by turning tothe soil, and wielding the sickle instead of the sword. To continue thediscourse:
[Footnote 7: This must pass for one of the hits the republic is exposedto, partly because it deserves them, and partly because it is arepublic. One hears a great deal of this ingratitude of republics, butfew take the trouble of examining into the truth of the charge, or itsreason, if true. I suppose the charge to be true in part, and for theobvious reason that a government founded on the popular will, isnecessarily impulsive in such matters, and feels no necessity to bejust, in order to be secure. Then, a democracy is always subject to theinfluence of the cant of economy, which is next thing to the evil ofbeing exposed to the waste and cupidity of those who take because theyhave the power. As respects the soldiers of the revolution, however,America, under the impulsive feeling, rather than in obedience to acalm, deliberate desire to be just, has, since the time of Mr. MordauntLittlepage, made such a liberal provision for pensioning them,as to include a good many of her enemies, as well as all herfriends.--EDITOR.]
"The Chainbearer is an honest man, and, like too many of his class,poor," I answered; "but he has friends; and neither he nor you,Sureflint, shall be reduced to that woman's work without your ownconsent, so long as I have an unoccupied house, or a farm, atRavensnest."
Again the Indian manifested his sense of my friendship for him by thatpassing gleam on his dark face; and again all signs of emotion passedslowly away.
"How long since see him?" he asked me suddenly.
"See him--the Chainbearer, do you mean? I have not seen him, now, formore than a twelvemonth; not since we parted when the regiment wasdisbanded."
"Don't mean Chainbearer--mean _him_," pointing ahead--"house, tree,farm, land, Nest."
"Oh! How long is it since I saw the patent? I never saw it, Sureflint;this is my first visit."
"Dat queer! How you own land, when nebber see him?"
"Among the pale-faces we have such laws, that property passes fromparent to child; and I inherit mine in this neighborhood, from mygrandfather, Herman Mordaunt."
"What dat mean, 'herit? How man haf land, when he don't keep him?"
"We do keep it, if not by actually remaining on the spot, by means ofour laws and our titles. The pale-faces regulate all these things onpaper, Sureflint."
"T'ink dat good? Why no let man take land where he want him, _when_ hewant him? Plenty land. Got more land dan got people. 'Nough forebberybody."
"That fact makes our laws just; if there were not land enough foreverybody, these restrictions and divisions might seem to be, and infact be, unjust. Now, any man can have a farm, who will pay a verymoderate price for it. The state sells, and landlords sell; and thosewho don't choose to buy of one can buy of the other."
"Dat true 'nough; but don't see need of dat paper. When he want to stayon land, let him stay; when he want to go somewhere, let 'noder mancome. What good pay for betterment?"
"So as to have betterments. These are what we call the rights ofproperty, without which no man would aim at being anything more thanclad and fed. Who would hunt, if anybody that came along had a right topick up and skin his game?"
"See dat well 'nough--nebber do; no, nebber. Don't see why land go likeskin, when skin go wid warrior and hunter, and land stay where he be."
"That is because the riches of you red men are confined to movableproperty, and to your wigwams, so long as you choose to live in them.Thus far, you respect the rights of property as well as the pale-faces;but you must see a great difference between your people and mine!between the red man and the white man?"
"Be sure, differ; one strong, t'oder weak--one rich, t'oder poor--onegreat, t'oder little--one drive 'way, t'oder haf to go--one get all,t'oder keep nuttin'--one march large army, t'oder go Indian file, fiftywarrior, p'raps--_dat_ reason t'ing so."
"And why can the pale-faces march in large armies, with cannon, andhorses, and bayonets, and the red man not do the same?"
"Cause he no got 'em--no got warrior--no got gun--no got baggonet--nogot nuttin'."
"You have given the effect for the cause, Sureflint, or the consequencesof the reason for the reason itself. I hope I make you understand me.Listen, and I will explain. You have lived much with the white men,Susquesus, and can believe what I say. There are good, and there arebad, among all people. Color makes no difference in this respect. Still,all people are not alike. The white man is stronger than the red man,and has taken away his country, because he _knows_ most."
"He most, too. Count army, den count war-trail; you see."
"It is true the pale-faces are the most numerous, now; but once theywere not. Do not your traditions tell you how few the Yangeese were,when they first came across the salt lake?"
"Come in big canoe--two, t'ree full--no more."
"Why then did two or three shipfuls of white men become so strong as todrive back from the sea all the red warriors, and become masters of theland? Can you give a reason for that?"
"'Cause he bring fire-water wid him, and red man big fool to drink."
"Even that fire-water, which doubtless has proved a cruel gift to theIndians, is one of the fruits of the white man's knowledge. No,Susquesus; the redskin is as brave as the pale-face; as willing todefend his rights, and as able-bodied; but he does not know as much. Hehad no gunpowder until the white man gave it to him--no rifle--no hoe,no knife, no tomahawk, but such as he made himself from stones. Now, allthe knowledge, and all the arts of life that the white man enjoys andturns to his profit, come from the rights of property. No man wouldbuild a wigwam to make rifles in, if he thought he could not keep it aslong as he wished, sell it when he pleased, and leave it to his son whenhe went to the land of spirits. It is by encouraging man's love ofhimself, in this manner, that he is got to do so much. Thus it is, too,that the father gives to the son what he has learned, as well as what hehas built or bought; and so, in time, nations get to be powerful, asthey get to be what we called civilized. Without these rights ofproperty, no people could be civilized; for no people would do theirutmost, unless each man were permitted to be master of what he canacquire, subject to the great and common laws that are necessary toregulate such mat
ters. I hope you understand my meaning, Trackless."
"Sartain--no like Trackless' moccasin--my young friend's tongue leavetrail. But you t'ink Great Spirit say who shall haf land; who no hafhim?"
"The Great Spirit has created man as he is, and the earth as it is; andhe has left the one to be master of the other. If it were not hispleasure that man should not do as he has done, it would not be done.Different laws and different feelings would then bring about differentends. When the law places all men on a level, as to rights, it does asmuch as can be expected of it. Now, this level does not consist inpulling everything to pieces periodically, but in respecting certaingreat principles that are just in themselves; but which, once started,must be left to follow their own course. When the rights of property arefirst established, they must be established fairly, on some admittedrule; after which they are to remain inviolable--that is to say,sacred."
"Understand--no live in clearin' for nuttin'. Mean, haf no head widouthaf farm."
"That is the meaning, substantially, Sureflint; though I might haveexplained it a little differently. I wish to say pale-faces would belike the red man without civilization; and without civilization if theyhad no rights in their land. No one will work for another as he willwork for himself. We see that every day, in the simplest manner, when wesee that the desire to get good wages will not make the common laborerdo as much by the day as he will do by the job."
"Dat true," answered the Indian, smiling; for he seldom laughed; andrepeating a common saying of the country--"By--de--day--by--de--day--Byde job, job, job! Dat pale-face religion, young chief."
"I don't know that our religion has much to do with it; but I will ownit is our practice. I fancy it is the same with all races and colors. Aman must work for himself to do his most; and he cannot work for himselfunless he enjoy the fruits of his labor. Thus it is, that he must have aright of property in land, either bought or hired, in order to make himcause that land to produce all that nature intended it should produce.On this necessity is founded the rights of property; the gain beingcivilization; the loss ignorance, and poverty, and weakness. It is forthis reason, then, that we buy and sell land, as well as clothes andarms, and beads."
"T'ink, understand. Great Spirit, den, say must have farm?"
"The Great Spirit has said we must have wants and wishes, that can bemet, or gratified only by having farms. To have farms we must haveowners; and owners cannot exist unless their rights in their lands areprotected. As soon as these are gone, the whole building would tumbledown about our ears, Susquesus."
"Well, s'pose him so. We see, some time. Young chief know where he is?"
"Not exactly; but I suppose we are drawing near to the lands ofRavensnest."
"Well, queer 'nough, too! Own land, but don't know him. See--markedtree--dat sign your land begin."
"Thank you, Sureflint--a parent would not know his own child, when hesaw him for the first time. If I am owner here, you will remember thatthis is my first visit to the spot."
While conversing, the Trackless had led me from the highway into afoot-path, which, as I afterward discovered, made a short-cut acrosssome hills, and saved us near two miles in the distance. In consequenceof this change in our course, Jaap could not have overtaken me, had hemoved faster than he did; but, owing to the badness of the road, ourgait on foot was somewhat faster than that of the jaded beasts whodragged the wagon. My guide knew the way perfectly; and, as we ascendeda hill, he pointed out the remains of an old fire, near a spring, as aspot where he was accustomed to "camp," when he wished to remain near,but not _in_ the 'Nest.
"Too much rum in tavern," he said. "No good stay near rum."
This was extraordinary forbearance for an Indian; but Susquesus, I hadever understood, was an extraordinary Indian. Even for an Onondago, hewas temperate and self-denying. The reason why he lived away from histribe was a secret from most persons; though I subsequently ascertainedit was known to the Chainbearer, as well as my father. Old Andriesalways affirmed it was creditable to his friend; but he would neverbetray the secret. Indeed, I found that the sympathy which existedbetween these two men, each of whom was so singular in his way, wascemented by some occurrences of their early lives, to which occasional,but vague allusions were made, but which neither ever revealed to me, orto any other person, so far as I could ascertain.
Soon after passing the spring, Sureflint led me out to a cleared spot onthe eminence, which commanded an extensive view of most of that part ofmy possessions which was under lease and occupied. Here we halted,seating ourselves on a fallen tree, for which one could never go amissin that region, and at that day; and I examined the view with theinterest which ownership is apt to create in us all. The earth is verybeautiful in itself; but it is most beautiful in the eye of those whohave the largest stake in it, I fear.
Although the property of Ravensnest had been settled fully thirty yearswhen I first saw it, none of those signs of rapid and energeticimprovement were visible that we have witnessed in the efforts ofsimilar undertakings since the Revolution. Previously to that greatevent, the country filled up very slowly, and each colony seemed toregard itself, in some measure, as a distinct country. Thus it was thatwe in New York obtained very few immigrants from New England, that greathive which has so often swarmed since, and the bees of which havecarried their industry and ingenuity over so much of the republic in ourown time. We of New York have our prejudices against the Yankees, andhave long looked upon them with eyes of distrust and disfavor. They haverepaid us in kind, perhaps; but their dislikes have not been strongenough to prevent them from coming to take possession of our lands. Formy own part, while I certainly see much in the New England characterthat I do not like (more in their manners and minor ways, perhaps, thanin essentials), I as certainly see a great deal to command my respect.If the civilization that they carry with them is not of a very highorder, as is connected with the tastes, sentiments, and nicer feelings,it is superior to that of any other country I have visited, in itscommon-sense provisions, and in its care over the intellectual being,considered in reference to the foundations of learning. More persons aredragged from out the mire of profound ignorance under their system, thanunder that of any other people; and a greater number of candidates arebrought forward for intellectual advancements. That so few of thesecandidates rise very high in the scale of knowledge, is in part owing tothe circumstance that their lives are so purely practical; and,possibly, in part to the fact that while so much attention has been paidto the foundations of the social edifice, that little art or care has asyet been expended on the superstructure. Nevertheless, the millions ofYankees that are spreading themselves over the land, are producing, andhave already produced, a most salutary influence on its practicalknowledge, on its enterprise, on its improvements, and consequently onits happiness. If they have not done much for its tastes, its manners,and its higher principles, it is because no portion of the earth isperfect. I am fully aware that this is conceding more than my own fatherwould have conceded in their favor, and twice as much as could have beenextracted from either of my grandfathers. But prejudice is wearing away,and the Dutchman and the Yankee, in particular, find it possible to livein proximity and charity. It is possible that my son may be willing toconcede even more. Our immigrant friends should remember one thing,however, and it would render them much more agreeable as companions andneighbors, which is this:--he who migrates is bound to respect thehabits and opinions of those whom he joins; it not being sufficient forthe perfection of everything under the canopy of heaven, that it shouldcome from our own little corner of the earth. Even the pumpkin-pies ofthe Middle States are vastly better than those usually found in NewEngland. To return to Ravensnest.
The thirty years of the settlement of my patent, then, had not done muchfor it, in the way of works of art. Time, it is true, had effectedsomething, and it was something in a manner that was a little peculiar,and which might be oftener discovered in the country at the time ofwhich I am writing, than at the present day. The timber of
the 'Nest,with the exception of some mountain-land, was principally what, inAmerican parlance, is termed "hard wood." In other words, the trees werenot perennial, but deciduous; and the merest tyro in the woods knowsthat the roots of the last decay in a fourth of the time that the rootsof the first endure, after the trunk is severed. As a consequence, thestumps had nearly all disappeared from the fields; a fact that, ofitself, gave to the place the appearance of an old country, according toour American notions. It is true, the virgin forest still flourished inimmediate contact with those fields, shorn, tilled, and smoothed as theywere, giving a wild and solemn setting to the rural picture the latterpresented. The contrast was sufficiently bold and striking, but it wasnot without its soft and pleasant points. From the height whither theIndian had led me, I had a foreground of open land, dotted with cottagesand barns, mostly of logs, beautified by flourishing orchards, andgarnished with broad meadows, or enriched by fields, in which the cornwas waving under the currents of a light summer air. Two or three roadswound along the settlement, turning aside with friendly interest, tovisit every door; and at the southern termination of the open countrythere was a hamlet, built of wood framed, which contained one house thathad little taste, but a good deal more of pretension than any of itsneighbors; another, that was an inn; a store, a blacksmith's-shop, aschool-house, and three or four other buildings, besides barns, sheds,and hog-pens. Near the hamlet, or the "'Nest Village," as the place wascalled, were the mills of the region. These were a grist-mill, asaw-mill, a fulling-mill, and an oil-mill. All were of moderatedimensions, and, most probably, of moderate receipts. Even the besthouse was not painted, though it had some very ambitious attempts atarchitecture, and enjoyed the benefits of no less than four exteriordoors, the uses of one of which, as it opened into the air from thesecond story, it was not very easy to imagine. Doubtless some great butunfinished project of the owner lay at the root of this invention. Butliving out of doors, as it were, is rather a characteristic of a portionof our people.
The background of this picture, to which a certain degree of ruralbeauty was not wanting, was the "boundless woods." Woods stretched away,north, and south, and east, far as eye could reach; woods crowned thesides and summits of all the mountains in view; and woods rose up, withtheir leafy carpeting, from out the ravines and dells. The war hadprevented any very recent attempts at clearing, and all the open groundwore the same aspect of homely cultivation, while the dark shades of aninterminable forest were spread around, forming a sort of mysteriousvoid, that lay between this obscure and remote people, and the rest oftheir kind. That forest, however, was not entirely savage. There wereother settlements springing up in its bosom; a few roads wound their waythrough its depth; and, here and there, the hunter, the squatter, or thered man, had raised his cabin, and dwelt amid the sullen but notunpleasant abundance and magnificence of the wilderness.