Chapter I: MUST now return to Albany, and to the projected expedition (2)

The last night of this eventful pilgrimage, of which I fear to tire my readers by a farther recital, was spent at fort Bruerton, then commanded by Captain Mungo Campbell,[19] whose warm and generous heart, whose enlightened and comprehensive mind, whose social qualities and public virtues I should delight tA commemorate did my limits permit; suffice it, that he is endeared to my recollection by being the first person who ever supposed me to have a mind capable of culture, and I was ever after distinguished by his partial notice. Here we were detained two days by a premature fall of snow. Very much disposed to be happy any where, I was here particularly so. Our last day’s journey, which brought us to lake Ontario and fort Oswego, our destined abode, was a very hard one; we had people going before, breaking the ice with paddles all the way.

Footnote 19:

Colonel Mungo Campbell was killed leading on the attack of fort St.
Anne, at the battle of White Plains, anno 1777.

All that I had foreboded of long tasks, confinement, &c. fell short of the reality. The very deep snow confined us all; and at any rate the rampart or the parade would have been no favourable scene of improvement for me. One great source of entertainment I discovered here, was no other than the Old Testament, which during my confinement I learned to read; till then having done so very imperfectly. It was an unspeakable treasure as a story book, before I learnt to make any better use of it, and became, by frequent perusal, indelibly imprinted on my memory. Wallace Wight, and Welwood’s memoirs of the history of England, were my next acquisitions. Enough of egotism, yet all these circumstances contributed to form that taste for solid reading, which first attracted the attention of my invaluable friend.

I cannot quit Ontario without giving a slight sketch of the manner in which it was occupied and governed while I was there and afterwards, were it but to give young soldiers a hint how they may best use their time and resources, so as to shun the indolence and ennui they are often liable to in such situations. The 55th had by this time acquired several English officers; but with regard to the men, it might be considered as a Scotch regiment, and was indeed originally such, being raised but a very few years before in the neighbourhood of Stirling. There were small detachments in other forts; but the greatest part were in this, commanded by Major (afterwards Colonel) Duncan, of Lundie, elder brother of the late Lord Duncan of Camperdown. He was an experienced officer, possessed of considerable military science, learned, humane, and judicious, yet obstinate, and somewhat of an humourist withal. Wherever he went, a respectable library went with him. Though not old, he was gouty and war-worn, and therefore allowably carried about many comforts and conveniences that others could not warrantably do. The fort was a large place, built entirely of earth and great logs: I mean the walls and ramparts, for the barracks were of wood, and cold and comfortless. The cutting down the vast quantity of wood used in this building had, however, cleared much of the fertile ground by which the fort was surrounded. The lake abounded with excellent fish and varieties of waterfowl, while deer and every kind of game were numerous in the surrounding woods. All these advantages, however, were now shut up by the rigours of winter. The officers were all very young men, brought from school or college to the army, and after the dreadful specimen of war which they had met with on their first outset, at the lines of Ticonderoga, they had gone through all possible hardships. After a march up the St. Lawrence, and then through Canada here, a march indeed, considering the season and the new road, worthy the hero of Pultowa, they were stationed in this new built garrison, far from every trace of civilization. These young soldiers were, however, excellent subjects for the forming hand of Major Duncan. As I have said on a former occasion of others, if they were not improved, they were not spoiled, and what little they knew was good.

The major, by the manner in which he treated them, seemed to consider them as his sons or pupils; only one might call him an austere parent, or a rigid instructor. But this semblance of severity was necessary to form his pupils to habitual veneration. Partaking every day of their convivial enjoyments, and showing every hour some proof of paternal care and kindness; all this was necessary to keep them within due limits. Out of regard to their own welfare he wanted no more of their love than was consistent with salutary fear; and yet made himself so necessary to them, that nothing could be so terrible to them as, by any neglect or imprudence, to alienate him. He messed with them, but lived in a house of his own. This was a very singular building divided into two apartments; one of which was a bed-room, in which many stores found place, the other, a breakfasting parlour, and, at the same time, a library. Here were globes, quadrants, mathematical instruments, flutes, dumb-bells, and chess-boards; here, in short, was a magazine of instruction and amusement for the colonel’s pupils, that is, for all the garrison. (Cornelius Cuyler, who had now joined the regiment, as youngest ensign, was included in this number.) This Scythian dwelling, for such it seemed, was made entirely of wood, and fixed upon wheels of the same material, so that it could be removed from one part of the parade to another, as it frequently was. So slight a tenement, where the winters were intensely cold, was ill calculated for a gouty patient; for this, however, he found a remedy; the boards, which formed the walls of his apartment, being covered with deer-skins, and a most ample bear-skin spread on the floor by way of a carpet. When once the winter set fully in, Oswego became a perfect Siberia; cut off even from all intelligence of what was passing in the world. But the major did not allow this interval to waste in sloth or vacancy: he seemed rather to take advantage of the exclusion of all exterior objects. His library was select and soldier like. It consisted of numerous treatises on the military art, ancient and modern history, biography, &c. besides the best authors in various sciences, of which I only recollect geography and the mathematics. All the young men were set to read such books as suited their different inclinations and capacities. The subalterns breakfasted with their commander in rotation every day, three or four at a time; after breakfast he kept them, perhaps two hours, examining them on the subject of their different studies. Once a week he had a supper party for such of the captains as were then in the fort; and once a week they entertained him in the same manner. To these parties such of the subalterns, as distinguished themselves by diligence and proficiency, were invited. Whoever was negligent, he made the subject of sarcasms so pointed at one time, and at another so ludicrous, that there was no enduring it. The dread of severe punishment could not operate more forcibly. Yet he was so just, so impartial, so free from fickleness and favouritism, and so attentive to their health, their amusements, and their economy, that every individual felt him necessary to his comfort, and looked up to him as his “guide, philosopher, and friend.”

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CHAP. XLVI.

Benefit of select Reading—Hunting Excursion.

UNSPEAKABLE benefit and improvement was derived from the course of reading I have described, which, in the absence of other subjects, furnished daily topics of discussion, thus impressing it more forcibly on the mind.

The advantages of this course of social study, directed by a mentor so respected, were such, that I have often heard it asserted that these unformed youths derived more solid improvement from it than from all their former education. Reading is one thing; but they learned to think and to converse. The result of these acquirements served to impress on my mind what I formerly observed with regard to madame, that a promiscuous multitude of books always within reach retards the acquisition of useful knowledge. It is like having a great number of acquaintances and few friends; one of the consequences of the latter is to know much of exterior appearances, of modes and manners, but little of nature and genuine character. By running over numbers of books without selection, in a desultory manner, people, in the same way, get a general superficial idea of the varieties and nature of different styles, but do not comprehend or retain the matter with the same accuracy as those who have read a few books, by the best authors, over and over with diligent attention. I speak now of those one usually meets with; not of those commanding minds, whose intuitive research seizes on every thing worth retaining, and rejects the rest as naturally as one throws away the rind when possessed of the kernel.

Our young students got through the winter pretty well; and it is particularly to be observed that there was no such thing as a quarrel heard of among them. Their time was spent in a regular succession of useful pursuits, which prevented them from risking the dangers that often occur in such places; for in general, idleness and confinement to the same circle of society, produce such a fermentation in the mind, and such neglect of ceremonial observances, which are the barriers of civility, that quarrels and duels more readily occur in such situations than in any other. But when spring drew near, this paternal commander found it extremely difficult to rein in the impatience of the youths to plunge into the woods to hunt. There were such risks to encounter, of unknown morasses, wolves, and hostile Indians, that it was dangerous to indulge them. At last, when the days began to lengthen, in the end of February, a chosen party, on whose hardihood and endurance the major could depend, were permitted to go on a regular hunting excursion in the Indian fashion. This was become desirable on different accounts, the garrison having been, for some time before, entirely subsisting on salt provision. Sheep and cows were out of the question, there not being one of either within forty miles. A captain Hamilton, who was a practised wood ranger, commanded this party, who were clad almost like Indians, and armed in the same manner. They were accompanied by a detachment of ten men; some of whom, having been prisoners with the Indians, were more particularly qualified to engage in this adventure. They were allowed four or five days to stay, and provided with a competent supply of bear-skins, blankets, &c. to make their projected wigwams comfortable. The allotted time expired, and we all began to quarrel with our salt provisions, and to long for the promised venison. Another, and yet another day passed, when our longing was entirely absorbed in the apprehensions we began to entertain. Volunteers now presented themselves to go in search of the lost hunters; but those offers were, for good reasons, rejected; and every countenance began to lengthen with fears we were unwilling to express to each other. The major, conjecturing the hunters might have been bewildered in those endless woods, ordered the cannon to be fired at noon, and again at midnight, for their direction. On the eighth day, when suspense was wound up to the highest pitch, the party were seen approaching—and they entered in triumph, loaded with sylvan spoils, among which were many strange birds and beasts. I recollect, as the chief objects of my admiration, a prodigious swan, a wild turkey, and a young porcupine. Venison abounded, and the supply was both plentiful and seasonable.

“Spring returned with its showers,” and converted our Siberia, frozen and forlorn, and shut out from human intercourse, into an uncultured Eden, rich in all the majestic charms of sublime scenery, and primeval beauty and fertility. It is in her central retreat, amidst the mighty waters of the west, that nature seems in solitary grandeur, to have chosen her most favoured habitation, remote from the ocean, whose waves bear the restless sons of Europe on their voyages of discovery, invasion, and intrusion. The coasts of America are, indeed, comparatively poor, except merely on the banks of great rivers, though the universal veil of evergreens conceals much sterility from strangers. But it is in the depth of those forests, and around those sea-like lakes, that nature has been profusely kind, and discovers more charms the more her shady veil is withdrawn from her noble features. If ever the fond illusions of poets and philosophers—that Atalantis, that new Arcadia, that safe and serene Utopia, where ideal quiet and happiness have so often charmed in theory; if ever this dream of social bliss, in some new planted region, is to be realized, this unrivalled scene of grandeur and fertility bids fairest to be the place of its abode. Here the climate is serene and equal; the rigorous winters that brace the frame, and call forth the powers of mind and body to prepare for its approach, are succeeded by a spring so rapid, the exuberance of vernal bloom bursts forth so suddenly after the disappearance of those deep snows which cherish and fructify the earth, that the change seems like a magical delusion.

The major saw every one enraptured, like people suddenly let out of prison; and the whole garrison seemed ripe for running wild through the woods, in pursuit of innumerable birds of passage, which had come on the wings of the genial south to resume their wonted abodes by the great lakes, where they hatch among swamps and islands without number.

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CHAP. XLVII.

Gardening and Agriculture—Return of the Author to Albany.

The major rejoiced in their joy without having the least intention of indulging them either in the gay idleness, or the wild sports which the season inspired. He had been their mentor all winter, and was now about to commence their agricola.

When giving an account of the garrison I should have mentioned a company or two, I do not remember which, of engineers, the officers of which, from their superior intelligence, were a great acquisition to the society. To these friendly coadjutors the major communicated his plans, which they readily adopted. Among his concealed stores were Indian corn, peas, and beans in abundance, and all kinds of garden seeds. Before the season opened he had arranged with these engineers the plan of a large garden, bowling green, and enclosed field, for the use of these and all succeeding troops. This was a bold attempt when one considers you might as well look for a horse in Venice as in Oswego. No such animal had ever penetrated so far. A single cow, belonging to the suttler, was the only tame creature, dogs and cats excepted, to be seen here. But there was a great stock of palisadoes, which had been cut for the garrison, lying ready; and their pioneers and workmen still remaining there, the new erection being scarce complete. The new project was received with “curses not loud but deep.” Were they to go all out to plod and drudge for others, who would neither pay nor thank them; for, the most, they argued they should stay only a year, and reap very little indeed of the fruit of their labours.

The major’s plans, however, were deep laid; matters wore a peaceable aspect; and there was no knowing how long they might remain there. Except shooting in the woods, or fishing, they were without business, pleasures, or varied society. He feared the men would degenerate into savage wildness, and their officers into that sordid indifference, which is, too often, the consequence of being, at the early season of life, without an aim or a pursuit. He wished to promote a common interest, and habits social and domestic. He wished, too, that they might make some advantage of this temporary banishment, to lay by a little store to eke out their pittance when they returned to more expensive places; in short, he wished to give them habits of regular economy, which should be useful to them ever after. He showed them his plans; gave each of them a department in overseeing the execution of them; and, for that purpose, each had so many men allotted to his command. He made it obvious to them, that as the summer was merely to be occupied in gardening and the chase, the parade of military dress was both expensive and unnecessary. In the store was a great surplus of soldiers’ coats. These had been sent from Europe to supply the regiment, which had been greatly diminished in number by the fatal lines, and succeeding hard march. The major ordered the regimental tailor to fit these as a kind of short undress frock to the officers, to whom correspondent little round hats, very different from the regimental ones, were allotted. Thus equipped, and animated by the spirit of him who ruled their minds with unconscious yet unlimited sway, these young Cincinnati set out, nothing loth, on their horticultural enterprise. All difficulties soon vanished before them; and, in a very few days, they became enthusiastic in the pursuit of this new object. That large and fertile portion of ground, which had been cleared of the timber with which the garrison was built, was given in charge to a sagacious old serjeant, who knew something of husbandry, and who very soon had it enclosed in a palisade, dug up and planted with beans, peas, and Indian corn, the food of future pigs and poultry. To the officers more interesting tasks were allotted. There was more than one gardener found in the regiment; and here the engineers and pioneers were particularly useful. The major who had predestined a favourite spot for his ample garden, had it partially cleared, by cutting the winter firing of the garrison from it. Where a mulberry, a wild plum, or cherry tree was peculiarly well shaped or large, he marked to remain, as well as some lofty planes and chesnuts; and when the shrubs were grubbed up in spring, he left many beautiful ones peculiar to the country. To see the sudden creation of this garden, one would think the genius of the place obeyed the wand of an enchanter; but it is not every gardener who can employ some hundred men. A summer house in a tree, a fish-pond, and a gravel-walk, were finished before the end of May, besides having committed to the earth great quantities of every vegetable production known in our best gardens. These vegetables throve beyond belief or example. The size of the cabbages, the cucumbers, and melons, produced here, was incredible. They used, in the following years, to send them down to astonish us at Albany. On the continent they were not equalled, except in another military garden, which emulation had produced at Niagara. The major’s economical views were fully answered. Pigs and poultry in abundance were procured, and supported by their Indian corn crop; they even procured cows, and made hay in the islands to feed them. The provisions allowed them by the public afforded a sufficiency of flour, butter, and salt meat, as also rice. The lake afforded quantities of excellent fish, much of which the soldiers dried for winter consumption; and fruit and vegetables they had in profusion from their gardens. In short, they all lived in a kind of rough luxury, and were enabled to save much of their pay. The example spread to all the line of forts; such is the power of one active liberal mind pursuing its object with undeviating steadiness.

We are now about to leave Ontario; but perhaps the reader is not willing to take a final farewell of Colonel Duncan. The Indian war then, which broke out after the peace of 1762, occasioned the detention of the regiment in America till 1765; and during all that time this paternal commander continued with six companies of the regiment at Ontario, improving both the soil and the inhabitants. He then returned with the regiment, of which he was become lieutenant-colonel, to Ireland. Soon after he retired from the army, and took up his residence on the family estate of Lundie, having previously married the woman of his heart, who had engaged his early affections, and corresponded with him during his long absence. Here he was as happy as a shattered invalid could be, highly respected by the neighbourhood, and frequently visited by his old pupils, who still regarded him with warm attachment. He died childless, and was succeeded by the admiral, on whose merit it is needless to expatiate; for who has forgotten the victor of Camperdown?

A company of the 55th was this summer ordered to occupy the fort at Albany. This was commanded by a sagacious veteran called Winepress. My father did not exactly belong to this company, but he wished to return to Albany, where he was known and liked; and the colonel thought, from his steadiness and experience, he would be particularly useful in paying the detached parties, and purchasing for the regiment such stores as they might have occasion for. We set out in our bateaux; and I consoled myself for not only leaving Oswego, but what was nearer my heart, a tame partridge, and six pigeons, by the hopes of wandering through Woodcreek, and sleeping in the woods. In both these particulars I was disappointed. Our boats being lighter, made better way, and we were received in new settlements a little distance from the river. The most important occurrence to me, happened the first day. On that evening we returned to fort Bruerton; I found Capt. Campbell delighted with my reading, my memory, and my profound admiration of the friendship betwixt David and Jonathan. We staid most of the next day. I was much captivated with the copperplates in an edition of Paradise Lost, which, on that account, he had given me to admire. When I was coming away, he said to me, “keep that book, my dear child; I foretell that the time will come when you will take pleasure in it.” Never did a present produce such joy and gratitude. I thought I was dreaming, and looked at it a hundred times, before I could believe any thing so fine was really my own. I tried to read it; and almost cried with vexation when I found I could not understand it. At length I quitted it in despair; yet always said to myself I shall be wiser next year.

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CHAP. XLVIII.

Madame’s Family and Society described.

THE next year (1762) came, and found me at Albany; if not wiser, more knowing. Again I was shut up in a fort, solemn and solitary; I had no companion, and was never allowed to go out, except with my mother, and that was very seldom, indeed. All the fine forenoons I sat and sewed; and when others went to play in the evening, I was very often sent up to a large waste room, to get a long task by heart of something very grave and repulsive. In this waste room, however, lay an old tattered dictionary, Bailey’s I think, which proved a treasure to me; the very few books we had, being all religious or military. I had returned to my Milton, which I conned so industriously, that I got it almost by heart, as far as I went; yet took care to go no further than I understood. To make out this point, when any one encouraged me by speaking kindly to me, I was sure to ask the meaning of some word or phrase; and when I found people were not at all willing or able to gratify me, I at length had recourse to my waste room and tattered dictionary, which I found a perpetual fountain of knowledge. Consequently the waste room, formerly a gloomy prison, which I thought of with horror, became now the scene of all my enjoyments; and the moment I was dismissed from my task, I flew to it with anticipated delight; for there were my treasures, Milton and the ragged dictionary, which had become the light of my eyes. I studied the dictionary with indefatigable diligence; which I began now to consider as very entertaining. I was extremely sorry for the fallen angels, deeply interested in their speeches, and so well acquainted with their names, that I could have called the roll of them with all the ease imaginable. Time run on, I was eight years old, and quite uneducated, except reading and plain-work; when company came I was considered as in the way, and sent up to my waste room; but here lay my whole pleasure, for I had neither companions nor amusement. It was, however, talked of, that I should go to a convent, at Trois Rivières], in Canada, where several officers had sent their daughters to be educated.

The fame of Aunt Schuyler every now and then reached my ears, and sunk deep in my mind. To see her I thought was a happiness too great for me; and I was continually drawing pictures of her to myself. Meanwhile the 17th regiment arrived; and a party of them took possession of the fort. During this interim, peace had been proclaimed; and the 55th regiment were under orders for Britain.

My father, not being satisfied with the single apartment allotted to him by the new comers, removed to the town; where a friend of his, a Scotch merchant, gave him a lodging in his own house, next to that very Madame Schuyler who had been so long my daily thoughts and nightly dreams. We had not been long there when aunt heard that my father was a good, plain, upright man, without pretensions, but very well principled. She sent a married lady, the wife of her favourite nephew, who resided with her at the time, to ask us to spend the evening with her. I think I have not been on any occasion more astonished, than when, with no little awe and agitation, I came into the presence of madame. She was sitting; and filled a great chair, from which she seldom moved. Her aspect was composed, and her manner, such as was at first more calculated to inspire respect, than conciliate affection. Not having the smallest solicitude about what people thought of her, and having her mind generally occupied with matters of weighty concern, the first expression of her kindness seemed rather a lofty courtesy, than attractive affability: but she shone out by degrees; and she was sure eventually to please every one worth pleasing, her conversation was so rich, so varied, so informing; every thing she said bore such a stamp of reality: her character had such a grasp in it. Her expressions, not from art and study, but from the clear perceptions of her sound and strong mind, were powerful, distinct, and exactly adapted to the occasion. You saw her thoughts as they occurred to her mind, without the usual bias rising from either a fear to offend, or a wish to please. This was one of the secrets in which lay the singular power of her conversation. When ordinary people speak to you, your mind wanders in search of the motives that prompt their discourse, or the views and prejudices which bias it; when those who excite (and perhaps solicit) admiration talk, you are secretly asking yourself whether they mean to inform, or dazzle you. All this interior canvass vanished before the evident truth and unstudied ease of aunt’s discourse. On a nearer knowledge, too, you found she was much more intent to serve, than please you, and too much engrossed by her endeavours to do so, to stop and look round for your gratitude, which she heeded just as little as your admiration. In short, she informed, enlightened, and served you, without levying on you any tribute whatever, except the information you could give in return. I describe her appearance as it then struck me; and, once for all, her manners and conversation, as I thought of them when I was older and knew better how to distinguish and appreciate. Every thing about her was calculated to increase the impression of respect and admiration; which, from the earliest dawn of reflection, I had been taught to entertain for her. Her house was the most spacious and best furnished I had ever entered. The family pictures, and scripture paintings, were to me particularly awful and impressive. I compared them to the models which had before existed in my imagination, and was delighted or mortified, as I found they did or did not resemble them.

The family with which she was then surrounded, awakened a more than common interest. Her favourite nephew, the eldest son of her much beloved sister, had, by his father’s desire, entered into partnership in a great commercial house in New-York. Smitten with the uncommon beauty of a young lady of seventeen, from Rhode-Island, he had married her without waiting for the consent of his relations. Had he lived in Albany, and connected himself with one of his fellow citizens, bred up in frugal simplicity, this step might have been easily got over. But an expensive and elegant style of living begun already to take place in New-York; which was, from the residence of the governor and commander in chief, become the seat of a little court. The lady, whom Philip had married, was of a family originally Scotch; and derived her descent at no great distance from one of the noblest families in that country.[20] Gay, witty, and very engaging, beloved and indulged, beyond measure, by a fond husband, who was generous and good natured to excess, this young beauty became “the glass of fashion, and the mould of form.” And the house of this amiable couple was the resort of all that was gay and elegant, and the centre of attraction to strangers. The mayor, who was a person singularly judicious, and most impartial in the affection which he distributed amongst his large family, saw clearly that the young people trusted too much to the wealth he was known to possess, and had got into a very expensive style of living; which, on examining their affairs, he did not think likely to be long supported by the profits of the business in which his son was engaged. The probable consequence of a failure, he saw, would so far involve him as to injure his own family: this he prevented. Peace was daily expected; and the very existence of the business in which he was engaged, depended on the army; which his house was wont to furnish with every thing necessary. He clearly foresaw the withdrawing of this army; and that the habits of open hospitality and expensive living would remain, when the sources of their present supplies were dried up. He insisted on his son entirely quitting this line, and retiring to Albany. He loaded a ship on his own account for the West-Indies, and sent the young man as supercargo, to dispose of the lading. As house-keeping was given up in New-York, and not yet resumed in Albany, this young creature had only the option of returning to the large family she had left, or going to her father-in-law’s. Aunt Schuyler, ever generous and considerate, had every allowance to make for the high spirit and fine feelings of this inexperienced young creature; and invited her, with her little daughter, to remain with her till her husband’s return. Nothing could be more pleasing than to witness the maternal tenderness and delicate confidence, which appeared in the behaviour of madame to this new inmate; whose fine countenance seemed animated with the liveliest gratitude, and the utmost solicitude to please her revered benefactress. The child was a creature not to be seen with indifference. The beauty and understanding that appeared full blown in her mother, seemed budding with the loveliest promise in the young Catalina; a child, whom to this day, I cannot recollect without an emotion of tenderness. She was then about three years old. Besides these interesting strangers, there was a grand niece whom she had brought up. Such was her family when I first knew it. In the course of the evening, dreams began to be talked of; and every one in turn gave their opinion with regard to that wonderful mode, in which the mind acts independent of the senses, asserting its immaterial nature in a manner the most conclusive. I mused and listened, till at length the spirit of quotation (which very early began to haunt me) moved me to repeat, from Paradise Lost,

Footnote 20:

Earl of Crawford’s.

“When nature rests,
Oft in her absence mimic fancy wakes, to imitate her;
But misjoining shapes, wild work produces oft.”

I sat silent when my bolt was shot; but so did not madame. Astonished to hear her favourite author quoted readily, by so mere a child, she attached much more importance to the circumstance than it deserved. So much, indeed, that long after she used to repeat it to strangers in my presence, by way of accounting for the great fancy she had taken to me. These partial repetitions of hers fixed this lucky quotation indelibly in my mind. Any person who has ever been in love, and has unexpectedly heard that sweetest of all music, the praise of his beloved, may judge of my sensations when madame began to talk with enthusiasm of Milton. The bard of Paradise was indeed “the dweller of my secret soul;” and it never was my fortune before to meet with any one who understood or relished him. I knew very well that the divine spirit was his Urania. But I took his invocation quite literally, and had not the smallest doubt of his being as much inspired as ever Isaiah was. This was a very hopeful opening; yet I was much too simple and humble to expect that I should excite the attention of madame. My ambition aimed at nothing higher than winning the heart of the sweet Catalina; and I thought if heaven had given me such another little sister, and enabled me to teach her, in due time, to relish Milton, I should have nothing left to ask.

Time went on; we were neighbours, and became intimate in the family. I was beloved by Catalina, caressed by her charming mother, and frequently noticed by aunt, whom I very much inclined to love, were it not that it seemed to me as if, in so doing, I should aspire too high. Yet, in my visits to her, where I had now a particular low chair in a corner assigned me, I had great enjoyment of various kinds. First, I met there with all those strangers or inhabitants who were particularly respectable for their character or conversation. Then I was witness to a thousand acts of beneficence that charmed me, I could not well say why, not having learned to analyze my feelings. Then I met with the Spectator and a few other suitable books, which I read over and over with unwearied diligence, not having the least idea of treating a book as a plaything, to be thrown away when the charm of novelty was past. I was by degrees getting into favour with aunt Schuyler, when a new arrival for awhile suspended the growing intimacy. I allude to the colonel of my father’s regiment, who had removed from Crown Point to Albany.

The colonel was a married man, whose wife, like himself, had passed her early days in a course of frivolous gaiety. They were now approaching the decline of life, and finding nothing pleasing in the retrospect nor flattering in prospect, time hung on their hands. Where nothing round them was congenial to their habits, they took a fancy to have me frequently with them as matter of amusement. They had had children, and when they died, their mutual affection died with them. They had had a fortune, and when it was spent, all their pleasures were exhausted. They were by this time drawing out the vapid dregs of a tasteless existence, without energy to make themselves feared, or those gentle and amiable qualities which attract love; yet they were not stained with gross vices, and were people of character, as the world goes.

What a new world was I entered into! from the quiet simplicity of my home, where I heard nothing but truth, and saw nothing but innocence; and from my good friend’s respectable mansion, where knowledge reflected light upon virtue, and where the hours were too few for their occupation; to be a daily witness of the manner in which these listless ghosts of departed fashion and gaiety drank up the bitter lees of misused time, fortune, and capacity. Never was lesson more impressive; and young as I was, I did not fail to mark the contrast, and draw the obvious inference. From this hopeful school I was set free the following summer (when I had entered on my ninth year) by the colonel’s return to England. They were indeed, kind to me; but the gratitude I could not but feel was a sentiment independent of attachment, and early taught me how difficult it is, nay, how painful, to disjoin esteem from gratitude.

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CHAP. XLIX.

Sir Jeffery Amherst—Mutiny—Indian War.

AT this time (1765) peace had been for some time established in Europe; but the ferment and agitation which even the lees and sediments of war kept up in the northern colonies, and the many regulations requisite to establish quiet and security in the new acquired Canadian territory, required all the care and prudence of the commander in chief, and no little time. At this crisis, for such it proved, Sir Jeffery, afterwards Lord Amherst, came up to Albany. A mutiny had broke out among the troops on account of withholding the provisions they used to receive in time of actual war; and this discontent was much aggravated by their finding themselves treated with a coldness, amounting to aversion, by the people of the country; who now forgot past services, and showed in all transactions a spirit of dislike bordering on hostility to their protectors, on whom they no longer felt themselves dependent.

Sir Jeffery, however, was received like a prince at Albany, respect for his private character conquering the anti-military prejudices. The commander in chief was in those days a great man on the continent, having, on account of the distance from the seat of government, much discretionary power entrusted to him. Never was it more safely lodged than in the hands of this judicious veteran, whose comprehension of mind, impartiality, steadiness, and close application to business, peculiarly fitted him for his important station. At his table all strangers were entertained with the utmost liberality; while his own singular temperance, early hours, and strict morals, were peculiarly calculated to render him popular among the old inhabitants. Here I witnessed an impressive spectacle: the guard-house was in the middle of the street, opposite to madame’s; there was a guard extraordinary mounted in honour of Sir Jeffery; at the hour of changing it all the soldiery in the fort assembled there, and laid down their arms, refusing to take them up again. I shall never forget the pale and agitated countenances of the officers; they being too well assured that it was a thing pre-concerted; which was actually the case, for at Crown Point and Quebec the same thing was done on the same day. Sir Jeffery came down, and made a calm dispassionate speech to them, promising them a continuance of their privileges till further orders from home, and offering pardon to the whole, with the exception of a few ringleaders, whose lives, however, were spared. This gentle dealing had its due effect; but at Quebec the mutiny assumed a most alarming aspect, and had more serious consequences, though it was in the end quelled. All this time Sir Jeffery’s visits to madame had been frequent, both out of respect to her character and conversation, and to reap the benefit of her local knowledge on an approaching emergency. This was a spirit of disaffection, then only suspected, among the Indians on the Upper Lakes, which soon after broke suddenly out into open hostility. In consequence of her opinion he summoned Sir W. Johnson to concert some conciliatory measures. But the commencement of the war at this very crisis, detained him longer to arrange with General Bradstreet and Sir William, the operations of the ensuing campaign.

This war broke out very opportunely in some respects. It afforded a pretext for granting those indulgences to the troops which it would otherwise have been impolitic to give and unsafe to withhold. It furnished occupation for an army too large to lie idle so far from the source of authority; which could not yet be safely withdrawn till matters were on a more stable footing; and it made the inhabitants once more sensible of their protection. Madame had predicted this event, knowing better than any one how the affections of these tribes might be lost or won. She well knew the probable consequences of the negligence with which they were treated, since the subjection of Canada made us consider them as no longer capable of giving us trouble. Pontiac, chief of those nations who inhabited the borders of the great lakes, possessed one of those minds which break through all disadvantages to assert their innate superiority.

The rise and conduct of this war, were I able to narrate them distinctly, the reader would perhaps scarce have patience to attend to; indistinct as they must appear retraced from my broken recollections. Could I however do justice to the bravery, the conduct, and magnanimity in some instances, and the singular address and stratagem in others, which this extraordinary person displayed in the course of it, the power of untutored intellect would appear incredible to those who never saw man but in an artificial or degraded state, exalted by science, or debased by conscious ignorance and inferiority. During the late war, Pondiac occupied a central situation, bounded on each side by the French and English territories. His uncommon sagacity taught him to make the most of his local advantages, and of that knowledge of the European character which resulted from this neighbourhood. He had that sort of consequence which in the last century raised the able and politic princes of the house of Savoy to the throne they have since enjoyed. Pondiac held a petty balance between two great contending powers. Even the privilege of passing through his territories was purchased with presents, promises, and flatteries. While the court which was paid to this wily warrior, to secure his alliance, or at least his neutrality, made him too sensible of his own consequence, as it gave him a near view of our policy and modes of life. He often passed some time, on various pretexts, by turns at Montreal and in the English camp. The subjection of Canada proved fatal to his power, and he could no longer play the skilful game between both nations which had been so long carried on. The general advantage of his tribe is always the uppermost thought with an Indian. The liberal presents which he had received from both parties, afforded him the means of confederating with distant nations, of whose alliance he thought to profit in his meditated hostilities.

There were at that time many tribes, then unknown to Europeans, on the banks of lake Superior, to whom fire-arms and other British goods were captivating novelties. When the French insidiously built the fort at Detroit, and the still more detached one at Michilimackinac, on bounds hitherto undefined, they did it on the footing of having secure places of trade, not to overawe the natives, but to protect themselves from the English. They amply rewarded them for permission to erect these fortresses, and purchased at any expense that friendship from them without which it would have been impossible to have maintained their ground in these remote regions. All this liberality and flattery, though merely founded on self-interest, had its effect; and the French, who are ever versatile and accommodating, who wore the Huron dress, and spoke the Huron language when they had any purpose to serve, were without doubt the favoured nation. We, too apt to despise all foreigners, and not over complaisant even when we have a purpose to serve, came with a high hand to occupy those forts which we considered as our right after the conquest of Canada, but which had been always held by the more crafty French as an indulgence. These troops without ceremony, appropriated, and, following major Duncan’s example, cultivated all the fertile lands around Detroit, as far as fancy or convenience led them. The lands round Ontario were in a different predicament, being regularly purchased by Sir William Johnson. In consequence of the peace which had taken place the year before, all the garrisons were considered as in a state of perfect security.

Pondiac, in the meantime, conducted himself with the utmost address, concealing the indignation which brooded in his mind under the semblance of the greatest frankness and good humour. Master of various languages, and most completely master of his temper and countenance, he was at home every where, and paid frequent friendly visits to Detroit, near which, in the finest country imaginable, was his abode. He frequently dined with the mess, and sent them fish and venison. Unlike other Indians, his manner appeared frank and communicative, which opened the minds of others and favoured his deep designs. He was soon master, through their careless conversation, of all he wished to know relative to the stores, resources, and intentions of the troops. Madame, who well knew the Indian character in general, and was no stranger to the genius and abilities of Pondiac, could not be satisfied with the manner in which he was neglected on the one hand, nor his easy admission to the garrison on the other. She always said they should either make him their friend, or know him to be their foe.

In the meantime no one could be more busy than this politic warrior. While the Indians were in strict alliance with the French, they had their wigwams and their Indian corn within sight of the fort, lived in a considerable kind of village on the border of the lake, and had a daily intercourse of traffic and civility with the troops. There was a large esplanade before the garrison, where the Indians and soldiers sometimes socially played at ball together. Pondiac had a double view in his intended hostility. The Canadian priests, with the wonted restless intriguing spirit of their nation, fomented the discontents of the Indians. They persuaded them, and perhaps flattered themselves, that if they (the Indians) would seize the chain of forts, the Grand Monarchy would send a fleet to re-conquer Canada, and guarantee all the forts he should take to Pondiac. Upon this he did not altogether depend: yet he thought if he could surprise Detroit, and seize a vessel which was expected up from Oswego with ammunition and stores, he might easily take the other small vessels, and so command the lake. This would be shut up by ice for the winter, and it would take no little time to build on its banks another fleet, the only means by which an army could again approach the place. I will not attempt to lead my reader through all the intricacies of an Indian war (entirely such), and therefore of all wars the most incomprehensible in its progress, and most difficult in its terms. The result of two master-strokes of stratagem, with which it opened, are such as are curious enough, however, to find a place in this detail.

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CHAP. L.

Pondiac—Sir Robert D.

ALL the distant tribes were to join on hearing Pondiac was in possession of the fort. Many of those nearest, in the meanwhile, were to lie in the neighbouring woods, armed and ready to rush out on the discharge of a cannon, on that day which was meant to be fatal to the garrison. Out of the intended massacre, however, the artillery were to be spared that they might work the guns. Near the fort lived a much admired Indian beauty, who was known in the garrison by the name, or title rather, of the Queen of Hearts. She not only spoke French, but dressed not inelegantly in the European manner, and being sprightly and captivating, was encouraged by Pondiac to go into the garrison on various pretexts. The advantage the Indian chief meant to derive from this stratagem was, that she might be a kind of spy in the fort, and that by her influence over the commander, the wonted caution with regard to Indians might be relaxed, and the soldiers permitted to go out unarmed and mingle in their diversions. This plan in some degree succeeded. There was at length a day fixed, on which a great match of foot-ball was to be decided between two parties of Indians, and all the garrison were invited to be spectators. It was to be played on the esplanade opposite the fort. At a given signal the ball was to be driven over the wall of the fort, which, as there was no likelihood of its ever being attacked by cannon, was merely a palisade and earthen breast-work. The Indians were to run hastily in, on pretence of recovering the ball, and shut the gates against the soldiers, whom Pondiac and his people were to tomahawk immediately.

Pondiac, jealous of the Queen of Hearts, gave orders, after she was let into the secret of this stratagem, that she should go no more into the fort. Whether she was offended with this want of confidence; whether her humanity revolted at the intended massacre, or whether she felt a particular attachment prevailing over her fidelity to her countrymen, so it was; her affection got the better of her patriotism. A soldier’s wife who carried out to her the day before some article of dress she had made for her, was the medium she made use of to convey a hint of the intended treachery. The colonel was unwilling, from the dark hint conveyed, to have recourse to any violent measures; and was, indeed, doubtful of the fact. To kindle the flames of war wantonly, surrounded as he was, by hostile nations, who would carry their vengeance into the defenceless new settlements, was a dreadful expedient. Without betraying his informer, he resolved to convince himself. The men were ordered to go out to see the ball played, but to keep under shelter of the fort; and if they saw the ball driven in, immediately to return and shut the gates. I cannot distinctly remember the exact mode in which this manœuvre was managed, but the consequence I know was, first, the repulsing of the Indians from the gate, and then the commencing of open hostilities on their side, while the garrison was for some time in a state of blockade.

Meantime the Indians had concerted another stratagem, to seize a vessel loaded with stores, which was daily expected from Niagara. Commodore Grant, a younger brother of the Glenmoriston family in Invernesshire, was, and I believe still is, commander of the lakes; an office which has now greatly risen in importance. At that time his own vessel and two or three smaller were employed in that navigation. This little squadron was very interesting on a double account. It carried stores, troops, &c. which could not otherwise be transported, there being no way of proceeding by land; and again, the size of the vessels and a few swivels or small cannon they carried enabled them to command even a fleet of canoes, should the Indians be disposed to attack them. Of this there was at the time not the least apprehension; and here I must stop to give some account of the first victim to this unlooked for attack.