Chapter I: MUST now return to Albany, and to the projected expedition (3)

Sir Robert D. was the representative of an ancient English family, of which he was originally the sixth brother. At a certain time of life, somewhere betwixt twenty-five and thirty, each was, in turn, attacked with a hypochondriac disorder, which finally proved fatal. Sir Robert, in turn, succeeded to the estate and title, and to the dreadful apprehension of being visited by the same calamity. This was the more to be regretted, as he was a person of very good abilities, and an excellent disposition. The time now approached when he was to arrive at that period of life at which the fatal malady attacked his brothers. He felt, or imagined he felt, some symptoms of the approaching gloom. What should he do? Medicine had not availed. Should he travel? Alas! his brothers had travelled, but the blackest despair was their companion. Should he try a sea voyage, one of them commanded a ship, and fate overtook him in his own cabin. It occurred to him that, by living among a people who were utter strangers to this most dreadful of all visitations, and adopting their manner of life, he might escape its influence. He came over to America, where his younger brother served in a regiment then in Canada. He felt his melancholy daily increasing, and resolved immediately to put in execution his plan of entirely renouncing the European modes of life, and incorporating himself in some Indian tribe, hoping the novelty of the scene, and the hardships to which it would necessarily subject him, might give an entire new turn to his spirits. He communicated his intention to Sir William Johnson, who entirely approved of it, and advised him to go up to the great lake, among the Hurons, who were an intelligent and sensible race, and inhabited a very fine country, and among whom he would not be liable to meet his countrymen, or be tempted back to the mode of life he wished for a while entirely to forsake. This was no flight of caprice, but a project undertaken in the most deliberate manner, and with the most rational views. It completely succeeded. The Hurons were not a little flattered to think that an European of Sir Robert’s rank was going to live with them, and be their brother. He did not fail to conciliate them with presents, and still more by his ready adoption of their dress and manners. The steadiness he showed in adhering to a plan where he had not only severe hardships but numberless disgusts to encounter, showed him possessed of invincible patience and fortitude; while his letters to his friends, with whom he regularly corresponded, evinced much good sense and just observation. For two years he led this life, which habit made easy, and the enjoyment of equal spirits agreeable. Convinced that he had attained his desired end, and conquered the hereditary tendency so much dreaded, he prepared to return to society, intending, if his despondency should recur, to return once more to his Indian habit, and rejoin his Huron friends. When the intention was formed by Pondiac and his associates, of attacking the commodore’s vessel, Sir Robert, who wished now to be conveyed to some of the forts, discerned the British ship from the opposite shore of the great lake, and being willing to avail himself of that conveyance, embarked in a canoe with some of his own Indian friends, to go on board the commodore. Meanwhile, a very large canoe, containing as many of Pondiac’s followers as it could possibly hold, drew near the king’s ship, and made a pretext of coming in a friendly manner, while two or three others, filled with warriors, hovered at a distance.—They had fallen short of their usual policy; for they were painted red, and had about them some of those symbols of hostility, which are perfectly understood amongst each other. Some friendly Indians, who happened to be by accident on board the commodore’s vessel, discerned these, and warned him of the approaching danger. On their drawing near the vessel, they were ordered to keep off. Thinking they were discovered, and that things could be no worse, they attempted to spring on board, armed with their tomahawks and scalping-knives, but were very soon repulsed. The other canoes, seeing all was discovered, drew near to support their friends, but were soon repulsed by a discharge of the six-pounder. At this crisis, the canoe, containing Sir Robert, began to advance in another direction. The Indians who accompanied him, had not been apprised of the proposed attack; but being Hurons, the commodore never doubted of their hostility. Sir Robert sat in the end of the canoe, dressed in all the costume of a Huron, and wrapt up in his blanket. He ordered his companions to approach the ship immediately, not deterred by their calling to them to keep off, intending, directly, to make himself known; but in the confusion he was accidentally shot.

To describe the universal sorrow diffused over the province in consequence of this fatal accident, would be impossible. Nothing since the death of Lord Howe had excited such general regret. The Indians carried the body to Detroit, and delivered it up to the garrison for interment. He had kept a journal during his residence on the lakes, which was never recovered, and must certainly have contained (proceeding from such a mind so circumstanced) much curious matter. Sir Charles, his younger brother, then a captain in the 17th, succeeded him, but had no visitation of the depression of mind so fatal to his brothers.

Rumours, enlarged by distance, soon reached Albany of this unlooked-for attack of the Indians. Indeed, before they had any authentic details, they heard of it in the most alarming manner from the terrified back settlers, who fled from their incursions. Those who dwell in a land of security, where only the distant rumour of war can reach them, would know something of the value of safety could they be but one day transported to a region where this plague is let loose; where the timorous and the helpless are made to

“Die many times before their death,”

by restless rumour, cruel suspense, and anticipated misery. Many of the regiments employed in the conquest of Canada had returned home, or gone to the West-Indies. Had the Canadians had spirit and cohesion to rise in a body and join the Indians, ’tis hard to say what might have been the consequence. Madame, whose cautions were neglected in the day of prosperity, became now the public oracle, and was resorted to and consulted by all. Formerly she blamed their false security and neglect of that powerful chief, who, having been accustomed to flattery and gifts from all sides, was all at once made too sensible that it was from war he derived his importance. Now she equally blamed the universal trepidation, being confident in our resources, and well knowing what useful allies the Mohawks, ever hostile to the Canadian Indians, might prove.

Never was our good aunt more consulted and more respected. Sir Jeffery Amherst planned at Albany an expedition to be commanded by General Bradstreet, for which both New-York and New-England raised corps of provincials.

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CHAP. LI.

Death of Captain Dalziel—Sudden Decease of an Indian Chief—Madame—Her
protégées.

MEANTIME an express arrived with the afflicting news of the loss of a captain and twenty men of the 55th regiment. The name of this lamented officer was Dalziel, of the Carnwath family. Colonel Beckwith had sent for a reinforcement. This Major Duncan hesitated to send, till better informed as to the mode of conveyance. Captain Dalziel volunteered going. I cannot exactly say how they proceeded; but, after having penetrated through the woods till they were in sight of Detroit, they were discovered and attacked by a party of Indians, and made their way with the utmost difficulty, after the loss of their commander and the third part of their number.

Major Duncan’s comprehensive mind took in every thing that had any tendency to advance the general good, and cement old alliances. He saw none of the Hurons, whose territories lay far above Ontario, but those tribes whose course of hunting or fishing led them to his boundaries, were always kindly treated. He often made them presents of ammunition or provision, and did every thing in his power to conciliate them. Upon hearing of the outrage which the Hurons[21] had been guilty of, the heads of the tribe, with whom the major had cultivated the greatest intimacy, came to assure him of their good wishes, and hearty co-operation. He invited them to come with their tribe to celebrate the birth-day of their new king (his present majesty) which occurred a few days after, and there solemnly renew, with the usual ceremonies, the league offensive and defensive made between their fathers and the late king. They came accordingly in their best arms and dresses, and assisted at a review, and at a kind of feast given on the occasion, on the outside of the fort. The chief and his brother, who were two fine noble looking men, were invited to dine with the major and officers. When they arrived, and were seated, the major called for a glass of wine to drink his sovereign’s health; this was no sooner done, than the sachem’s brother fell lifeless on the floor. They thought it was a fainting fit, and made use of the usual applications to recover him, which, to their extreme surprise, proved ineffectual. His brother looked steadily on while all those means were using; but when convinced of their inefficacy, sat down, drew his mantle over his face, sobbed aloud, and burst into tears. This was an additional wonder. Through the traces of Indian recollection no person had been known to fall suddenly dead without any visible cause, nor any warrior to shed tears. After a pause of deep silence, which no one felt inclined to break, the sachem rose with a collected and dignified air, and thus addressed the witnesses of this affecting incident: “Generous English, misjudge me not; though you have seen me for once a child, in the day of battle you will see a man, who will make the Hurons weep blood. I was never thus before. But to me my brother was all. Had he died in battle, no look of mine would change. His nation would honour him, but his foes should lament him. I see sorrow in your countenances; and I know you were not the cause of my brother’s death. Why, indeed, should you take away a life that was devoted to you? Generous English, ye mourn for my brother, and I will fight your battles.” This assurance of his confidence was very necessary to quiet the minds of his friends; and the concern of the officers was much aggravated by the suspicious circumstances attending his death so immediately after the drinking of the wine they had given him. The major ordered this lamented warrior to be interred with great ceremony. A solemn procession, mournful music, the firing of cannon, and all other military honours, evinced his sympathy for the living, and his respect for the dead; and the result of this sad event, in the end, rather tended to strengthen the attachment of those Indians to the British cause.

Footnote 21:

The author, perhaps, uses the term Huron, where that of Algonquin
would have been more correct. She does not recollect the distinctive
terms exactly, but applies the epithet, in general, to the Indians who
then occupied the banks of the Huron Lake, and the adjacent country.

I have given this singular occurrence a place in these memoirs, as it serves to illustrate the calm good sense and steady confidence which made a part of the Indian character, and added value to their friendship, when once it was fairly attained.

The fifty-fifth, which had been under orders to return home, felt a severe disappointment in being, for two years more, confined to their sylvan fortresses. These, however, they embellished, and rendered comfortable, with gardens and farm grounds, that, to reside in them, could no longer be accounted a penance. Yet, during the Indian war, they were, from motives of necessary caution, confined to very narrow limits; which, to those accustomed to pursue their sports with all that wild liberty and wide excursion peculiar to savage hunters, was a hardship of which we can have no idea. Restrained from this unbounded license, fishing became their next favourite pursuit, to which the lakes and rivers on which these forts were built, afforded great facility. Tempted by the abundance and excellence of the productions of these copious waters, they were led to endanger their health by their assiduity in this amusement. Agues, the disease of all new establishments, became frequent among them, and were aggravated by the home sickness. To this they were more peculiarly liable, as the regiment, just newly raised before they embarked for America, had quitted the bosom of their families, without passing through the gradation of boarding-schools and academies, as is usual in other countries.

What an unspeakable blessing to the inhabitants were the parish schools of the north, and how much humble worth and laborious diligence has been found among their teachers. In those lowly seminaries, boys not only attained the rudiments of learning, but the principles of loyalty and genuine religion, with the abatement of a small tincture of idolatry, of which their household gods were the only objects. Never, surely, was a mode of education so calculated to cherish attachment to those tutelar deities. Even the laird’s son had often a mile or two to walk to his day school; a neighbouring tenant’s son carried the basket which contained his simple dinner; and still as they went along they were joined by other fellow travellers in the paths of learning. How cordial were those intimacies, formed in the early period of life, and of the day while nature smiled around in dewy freshness! How gladdening to the kind and artless heart were these early walks through the wild varieties of a romantic country, and among the peaceful cottages of simple peasants, from whence the incense of praise, “in sounds by distance made more sweet,” rose on the morning breeze![22] How cheering was the mid-day sport, amid their native burns and braes, without the confinement of a formal play-ground! How delightful the evening walk homeward, animated by the consciousness of being about to meet all that was dearest to the artless and affectionate mind! Thus the constitution was improved with the understanding; and they carried abroad into active life, the rigid fibre of the robust and hardy frame, and the warm and fond affections of the heart, uncorrupted and true to its first attachments. Never sure were youth’s first glowing feelings more alive than in the minds of those young soldiers. From school they were hurried into the greatest fatigues and hardships, and the horrors of the most sanguinary war; and from thence transported to the depth of those central forests, where they formed to themselves a little world, whose greatest charm was the cherished recollection of the simple and endeared scenes of their childhood, and of the beloved relations whom they had left behind, and to whom they languished to return. They had not gone through the ordeal of the world, and could not cheer their exile by retracing its ways, its fashions, or its amusements. It is this domestic education, that unbroken series of home joys and tender remembrances, that render the natives of the north so faithful to their filial and fraternal duties and so attached to a bleak and rugged region, excelled in genial warmth of climate and fertility of soil, in every country to which the spirit of adventure leads them.

Footnote 22:

The Scottish peasants, when they return to breakfast from their early
labours, read a portion of scripture, sing some part of a psalm, and
pray. This practice is too general, either to diminish cheerfulness,
or convey the idea of superior sanctity; while the effect of vocal
music, rising at once from so many separate dwellings, is very
impressive.

I was now restored to my niche at Aunt Schuyler’s and not a little delighted with the importance which, in this eventful crisis, seemed to attach to her opinions. The times were too agitated to admit of her paying much attention to me; but I, who took the deepest interest in what was going on, and heard of nothing, abroad or at home, but Indians, and sieges, and campaigns, was doubly awake to all the conversation I heard at home.

The expedition proceeded under General Bradstreet, while my father, recommended to his attention by madame, held some temporary employment about mustering the troops. My friend had now the satisfaction of seeing her plans succeed in different instances.

Philip, since known by the title of General Schuyler, whom I have repeatedly mentioned, had now, in pursuance of the mode she pointed out to him, attained to wealth and power, both of which were rapidly increasing. His brother Cortlandt, (the handsome savage,) who had, by her advice, gone into the army, had returned from Ireland, the commander of a company, and married to a very pleasing and estimable woman, whose perpetual vivacity and good humour threw a ray of light over the habitual reserve of her husband, who was amiable in domestic life, though cold and distant in his manner. They settled near the general, and paid a degree of attention to madame, that showed the filial tie remained in full force.

The colonel, as he was then called, had built a house near Albany, in the English taste, comparatively magnificent, where his family resided, and where he carried on the business of his department. Thirty miles or more above Albany, in the direction of the Flats, and near the far-famed Saratoga, which was to be the scene of his future triumph, he had another establishment. It was here that the colonel’s political and economical genius had full scope. He had always the command of a great number of those workmen who were employed in public buildings, &c. Those were always in constant pay—it being necessary to engage them in that manner; and were, from the change of seasons, the shutting of the ice, and other circumstances, months unemployed. All these seasons, when public business was interrupted, the workmen were employed in constructing squares of buildings in the nature of barracks, for the purpose of lodging artisans and labourers of all kinds. Having previously obtained a large tract of very fertile lands from the crown, on which he built a spacious and convenient house; he constructed those barracks at a distance, not only as a nursery for the arts which he meant to encourage, but as the materials of a future colony, which he meant to plant out around him. He had here a number of negroes well acquainted with felling of trees and managing saw-mills, of which he erected several. And while these were employed in carrying on a very advantageous trade of deals and lumber, which were floated down on rafts to New-York, they were at the same time clearing the ground for the colony the colonel was preparing to establish.

This new settlement was an asylum for every one who wanted bread and a home: from the variety of employments regularly distributed, every artisan and every labourer found here lodging and occupation; some hundreds of people, indeed, were employed at once. Those who were in winter engaged at the saw-mills, were in summer equally busied at a large and productive fishery. The artisans got lodging and firing for two or three years, at first, besides being well paid for every thing they did. Flax was raised and dressed, and finally spun and made into linen there; and as artisans were very scarce in the country, every one sent linen to weave, flax to dress, &c. to the colonel’s colony. He paid them liberally; and having always abundance of money in his hands, could afford to be the loser at first, to be amply repaid in the end. It is inconceivable what dexterity, address, and deep policy were exhibited in the management of this new settlement; the growth of which was rapid beyond belief. Every mechanic ended in being a farmer, that is, a profitable tenant to the owner of the soil; and new recruits of artisans from the north of Ireland chiefly supplied their place, nourished with the golden dews which this sagacious projector could so easily command. The rapid increase and advantageous result of this establishment were astonishing. It is impossible for my imperfect recollection to do justice to the capacity displayed in these regulations. But I have thus endeavoured to trace to its original source that wealth and power which became, afterwards, the means of supporting an aggression so formidable.

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CHAP. LII.

Madame’s popularity—Exchange of Prisoners.

IN the front of Madame’s house was a portico, towards the street. To this she was supported, in fine evenings, when the whole town were enjoying themselves on their respective seats of one kind or other. To hers there were a few steps of ascent, on which we used humbly to seat ourselves; while a succession of the “elders of that city” paid their respects to madame, and conversed with her by turns. Never was levee better attended. “Aunt Schuyler is come out,” was a talismanic sentence that produced pleasure in every countenance, and set every one in motion who hoped to be well received; for, as I have formerly observed, aunt knew the value of time much too well to devote it to every one. We lived all this time next door to her, and were often of these evening parties.

The Indian war was now drawing to a close, after occasioning great disquiet, boundless expense, and some bloodshed. Even when we had the advantage which our tactics and artillery in some instances gave, it was a warfare of the most precarious and perplexing kind. It was something like hunting in a forest at best; could you but have supposed the animals you pursued armed with missile weapons, and ever ready to start out of some unlooked-for place. Our faithful Indian confederates, as far as I can recollect, were more useful to us on this occasion than all the dear-bought apparatus which we collected for the purpose of destroying an enemy too wise and too swift to permit us to come in sight of them; or, if determined to attack us, sufficiently dexterous to make us feel before we saw them. We said, however, that we conquered Pondiac, at which, no doubt, he smiled; for the truth of the matter was, the conduct of this war resembled a protracted game of chess. He was as little able to take our forts without cannon, as we were able without the feet, the eyes, and the instinctive sagacity of Indians, to trace them to their retreats. After delighting ourselves for a long while with the manner in which we were to punish Pondiac’s presumption, “could we but once catch him,” all ended in our making a treaty, very honourable for him, and not very disadvantageous to ourselves. We gave both presents and promises, and Pondiac gave permission to the mothers of those children who had been taken away from the frontier settlements, to receive them back again, on condition of delivering up the Indian prisoners.

The joyful day when the congress was held for concluding peace I never shall forget. Another memorable day is engraven in indelible characters upon my memory. Madame being deeply interested in the projected exchange, brought about a scheme for having it take place at Albany, which was more central than any other place, and where her influence among the Mohawks could be of use in getting intelligence about the children, and sending messages to those who had adopted them, and who, by this time, were very unwilling to part with them. In the first place, because they were grown very fond of them; and again, because they thought the children would not be so happy in our manner of life, which appeared to them both constrained and effeminate. This exchange had a large retrospect. For ten years back there had been every now and then, while these Indians were in the French interest, ravages upon the frontiers of the different provinces. In many instances, these children had been snatched away while their parents were working in the fields, or after they were killed. A certain day was appointed, on which all who had lost their children, or sought those of their relations were to come to Albany in search of them; where, on that day, all Indians possessed of white children, were to present them. Poor women, who had travelled some hundred miles from the back settlements of Pennsylvania and New-England, appeared here, with anxious looks and aching hearts, not knowing whether their children were alive, or how exactly to identify them if they should meet them. I observed these apprehensive and tender mothers were, though poor people, all dressed with peculiar neatness and attention, each wishing the first impression her child should receive of her might be a favourable one. On a gentle slope near the fort, stood a row of temporary huts, built by retainers to the troops: the green before these buildings was the scene of these pathetic recognitions, which I did not fail to attend. The joy of even the happy mothers was overpowering, and found vent in tears; but not like the bitter tears of those who, after long travel, found not what they sought. It was affecting to see the deep and silent sorrow of the Indian women, and of the children, who knew no other mother, and clung fondly to their bosoms, from whence they were not torn without the most piercing shrieks; while their own fond mothers were distressed beyond measure at the shyness and aversion with which these long-lost objects of their love received their caresses. I shall never forget the grotesque figures and wild looks of these young savages; nor the trembling haste with which their mothers arrayed them in the new clothes they had brought for them, as hoping that with the Indian dress, they would throw off their habits and attachments. It was, in short, a scene impossible to describe, but most affecting to behold. Never was my good friend’s considerate liberality and useful sympathy more fully exerted than on this occasion, which brought so many poor travellers from their distant homes on this pilgrimage to the shrine of nature. How many traders did she persuade to take them gratis in their boats! How many did she feed and lodge! and in what various ways did she serve or make others serve them all. No one, indeed, knew how to refuse a request of aunt Schuyler, who never made one for herself.

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CHAP. LIII.

Return of the fifty-fifth regiment to Europe—Privates sent to Pensacola.

THE fifty-fifth now left their calm abodes amidst their lakes and forests, with the joy of children breaking up from their school; little aware that they were bidding adieu to quiet, plenty, and freedom, and utter strangers to the world into which they were about to plunge. They all came down to Albany. Captain Mungo Campbell was charmed to find me so familiar with his Milton; while I was equally charmed to find him a favourite with aunt Schuyler, which was with me the criterion of merit. Colonel Duncan, for such he was now, marched proudly at the head of his pupils, whom he had carried up raw youths, but brought back with all the manly and soldierly openness of manner and character that could be wished, and with minds greatly improved. Meanwhile, madame’s counsels had so much influence on my father, that he began seriously to think of settling in America. To part with his beloved fifty-fifth was very trying; yet his prospects of advantage in remaining among a people by whom he was esteemed, and to whom he had really become attached, were very flattering; for by the aid of aunt and the old inhabitants, and friendly Indians, who were at her powerful bidding, he could expect to get advantageously some lands which he, in common with other officers who served in America, was entitled to. He having a right to apply for the allotted quantity wherever he found it vacant, that is, in odd unoccupied places, between different patents, which it required much local knowledge of the country to discover, had greatly the advantage of strangers; because he could get information of those secluded spots here and there, that were truly valuable; whereas other officers belonging to regiments disbanded in the country, either did not find it convenient to go to the expense of taking out a patent, and surveying the lands, and so sold their rights for a trifle to others; or else half a dozen went together, and made a choice, generally an injudicious one, of some large tract of ground, which would not have been so long unsolicited had it been of real value. My father bought the rights of two young officers who were in a hurry to go to Europe, and had not, perhaps, wherewithal to go through the necessary forms used to appropriate a particular spot, the expense of that process being considerable. Accordingly, he became a consequential landholder, and had half his pay to boot.

The fifty-fifth were now preparing to embark for that home which they regarded with enthusiasm; this extended to the lowest ranks, who were absolutely home-sick. They had, too, from the highest to the lowest, been enabled, from their unexpensive mode of living, to lay up some money. Never was there a body of men more uncorrupted and more attached to each other. Military men contract a love of variety in their wandering manner of life, and always imagine they are to find some enjoyment in the next quarters that they have not had in this; so that the order for march is generally a joyful summons to the younger officers at least. To these novices, who, when they thought the world of variety, glory, and preferment was open before them, were ordered up into the depth of unexplored forests, to be kept stationary for years together, without even the amusement of a battle, it was sufficiently disappointing. Yet afterwards I have been told that, in all the changes to which this hapless regiment was subjected, they looked back on the years spent on the lakes as the happiest of their lives.

My father parted with them with extreme regret, but he had passed the rubicon—that is to say, taken out his patent, and stay he must. He went, however, to New-York with them, and here a very unexpected scene opened. Many of the soldiers who had saved little sums, had deposited them in my father’s hands, and, when he gave every one his own at New-York, he had great pleasure in seeing their exultation, and the purchases they were making. When, all of a sudden, a thunderbolt burst among these poor fellows, in the shape of an order to draft the greatest part of them to Pensacola, to renew regiments who, placed on a bar of burning sand, with a salt marsh before and a swamp behind, were lingering out a wretched and precarious existence, daily cut short by disease in some new instance. Words are very inadequate to give an idea of the horror that pervaded this band of veterans. When this order was most unexpectedly read at the head of the regiment, it was worse to most of them than a sentence of immediate death. They were going to a dismal and detested quarter, and they were going to become part of a regiment of no repute; whom they themselves had held in the utmost contempt when they had formerly served together. The officers were not a little affected by this cruel order; to part with brave well-disciplined men, who, by their singular good conduct, and by the habits of sharing with their officers in the chase, and in their agricultural amusements, fishing parties, &c. had acquired a kindly nearness to them, not usually subsisting between those who command and they who must implicitly obey. What ties were broken! what hopes were blasted by this fatal order! These sad exiles embarked for Pensacola at the same time that their comrades set out for Ireland. My father returned, sunk in the deepest sadness, which was increased by our place of abode; for we had removed to the forsaken fort, where there was no creature but ourselves and three or four soldiers, who chose to stay in the country, and for whom my father had procured their discharge.

I was, in the mean time, more intimate than ever at aunt Schuyler’s; attracted not only by her kindness, but my admiration for Mrs. Cuyler, and attachment for her lovely little girl. The husband of the former was now returned from his West-India voyage, and they retired to a house of their own, meaning to succeed to that business which the mayor, now wealthy and infirm, was quitting. Cortlandt Schuyler, the general’s brother, and his sprightly agreeable wife, were now, as well as the couple formerly mentioned, frequent visitors at aunt’s, and made a very pleasing addition to her familiar circle. I began to be considered as almost a child of the family, and madame took much pains in instructing me, hoping that I would continue attached to her, and knowing that my parents were much flattered by her kindness, and fully conscious of the advantages I derived from it. With her aid, my father’s plan of proceeding was fully digested. He was to survey and locate his lands, (that was the phrase used for such transactions,) and at leisure, (as the price of lands was daily rising,) to let them out on lease. He was to reserve a good farm for himself, but not to reside upon it till the lands around it were cultivated, and so many settlers gone up as would make the district, in a degree, civilized and populous; a change which was like to take place very rapidly, as there were daily emigrations to that neighbourhood, which was become a favourite rallying point, on account of a flourishing and singularly well-conducted settlement which I have already mentioned, under the auspices of Colonel Schuyler in this quarter.

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CHAP. LIV.

A new property—Visionary plans.

MY father went up in summer with a retinue of Indians and disbanded soldiers, &c. headed by a land surveyor. In that country, men of this description formed an important and distinct profession. They were provided with an apparatus of measuring-chains, tents, and provision. It was, upon the whole, an expensive expedition; but this was the less to be regretted, as the object proved fully adequate. Never was a location more fertile or more valuable, nor the possessor of an estate more elated with his acquisition. A beautiful stream passed through the midst of the property; beyond its limits, on one side, rose a lofty eminence, covered with tall cedar, which being included in no patent, would be a common good, and offered an inexhaustible supply of timber and firing, after the lands should be entirely cleared. This sylvan scene appeared, even in its wild state, to possess singular advantages; it was dry lying land, without the least particle of swamp; great part of it was covered with chesnuts, the sure indication of good wheat land, and the rest with white oak, the never-failing forerunner of good Indian corn and pasture. The ground, at the time of the survey, was in a great measure covered with strawberries, the sure sign of fertility; and better and better still, there was, on a considerable stream which watered this region of benediction, a beaver-dam, that was visibly of at least fifty years standing. What particular addition our over-flowing felicity was to derive from the neighbourhood of these sagacious builders, may not be easily conjectured. It was not their society, for they were much too wise to remain in our vicinity, nor yet their example, which, though a very good one, we were scarce wise enough to follow. Why then did we so much rejoice over the dwelling of these old settlers? Merely because their industry had saved us much trouble; for in the course of their labours, they had cleared above thirty acres of excellent hay land; work which we should take a long time to execute, and not perform near so well; the truth was, this industrious colony, by whose previous labour we were thus to profit, were already extirpated, to my unspeakable sorrow, who had been creating a beaver Utopia ever since I heard of the circumstance. The protection I was to afford them, the acquaintance I was to make with them, after conquering the first shyness, and the delight I was to have in seeing them work, after convincing them of their safety, occupied my whole attention, and helped to console me for the drafting of the fifty-fifth, which I had been ever since lamenting. How buoyant is the fancy of childhood! I was mortified to the utmost to hear there were no beavers remaining; yet the charming, though simple description my father gave us of this “vale of bliss,” which the beavers had partly cleared, and the whole “township of Clarendon,” (so was the new laid out territory called,) consoled me for all past disappointments. It is to be observed, that the political and economical regulations of the beavers, make their neighbourhood very desirable to new settlers. They build houses and dams with unwearied industry, as every one that has heard of them must needs know; but their unconquerable attachment to a particular spot is not so well known; the consequence is, that they work more, and of course clear more land in some situations than in others. When they happen to pitch upon a stream that overflows often in spring, it is apt lo carry away the dam, formed of large trees laid across the stream, which it has cost them unspeakable pains to cut down and bring there. Whenever these are destroyed, they cut down more trees and construct another; and as they live all winter on the tender twigs from the underwood and bark which they strip from poplar and alder, they soon clear these also from the vicinity. In the day-time they either mend their houses, lay up stores in them, or fish, sitting upon their dams made for that purpose. The night they employ in cutting down trees, which they always do so as to make them fall towards the stream, or in dragging them to the dam. Meanwhile they have always sentinels placed near to give the alarm, in case of any intrusion. It is hard to say when these indefatigable animals refresh themselves with sleep. I have seen those that have been taken young and made very tame, so that they followed their owner about; even in these the instinct which prompts their nocturnal labours was apparent. When all was quiet, they began to work. Being discontented and restless, if confined, it was usual to leave them in the yard. They seemed in their civilized, or rather degraded state, to retain an idea that it was necessary to convey materials for building to their wonted habitation. The consequence was, that a single one would carry such quantities of wood to the back door, that you would find your way blocked up in the morning, to a degree almost incredible.

Being very much inclined to be happy, and abundant in resources, the simple felicity which was at some future period to prevail among the amiable and innocent tenants we were to have at Clarendon, filled my whole mind. Before this flattering vision, all painful recollections, and even all the violent love which I had persuaded myself to feel for my native Britain, entirely vanished.

The only thing that disturbed me, was aunt Schuyler’s age, and the thoughts of outliving her, which sometimes obtruded among my day dreams of more than mortal happiness. I thought all this could scarce admit of addition; yet a new source of joy was opened, when I found that we were actually going to live at the Flats. That spot, rendered sacred by the residence of aunt, where I should trace her steps wherever I moved, dwell under the shadow of her trees, and, in short, find her in every thing I saw. We did not aspire to serious farming, reserving that effort for our own estate, of which we talked very magnificently, and indeed had some reason, it being as valuable as so much land could be: and from its situation in a part of the country which was hourly acquiring fresh inhabitants, its value daily increased, which consideration induced my father to refuse several offers for it; resolved either to people it with Highland emigrants, or retain it in his own hands till he should get his price.

Sir Henry Moore, the last British governor of New-York that I remember, came up this summer to see Albany, and the ornament of Albany—aunt Schuyler; he brought Lady Moore and his daughter with him. They resided for some time at General Schuyler’s, I call him so by anticipation; for sure I am, had any gifted seer foretold then what was to happen, he would have been ready to answer, “Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?” Sir Harry, like many of his predecessors, was a mere show governor, and old Cadwallader Colden, the lieutenant governor, continued to do the business, and enjoy the power in its most essential branches, such as giving patents for lands, &c. Sir Harry, in the meantime, had never thought of business in his life: he was honourable, as far as a man could be so, who always spent more than he had; he was, however, gay, good natured, and well bred, affable and courteous in a very high degree, and if the business of a governor was merely to keep the governed in good humour, no one was fitter for that office than he, the more so, as he had sense enough to know two things of great importance to be known: one was, that a person of tried wisdom and good experience like Colden, was fitter to transact the business of the province, than any dependent of his own; the other, that he was totally unfit to manage it himself. The government house was the scene of frequent festivities and weekly concerts, Sir Henry being very musical, and Lady Moore peculiarly fitted for doing the honours of a drawing-room or entertainment. They were too fashionable, and too much hurried to find time for particular friendships, and too good natured and well bred to make invidious distinctions, so that, without gaining very much either of esteem or affection, they pleased every one in the circle around them; and this general civility of theirs, in the storm which was about to arise, had its use. In the beginning, before the tempest broke loose in all its fury, it was like oil poured on agitated waters, which produces a temporary calm immediately round the ship. As yet the storm only muttered at a distance, but madame was disturbed by anxious presages. In her case,

“Old experience actually did attain
To something like prophetic strain.”

But it was not new to her to prophecy in vain. I, for my part, was charmed with the manners of these exalted visitors of aunt’s, and not a little proud of their attention to her, not knowing that they showed pretty much the same attention to every one.

While I was dancing on air with the thoughts of going to live at the Flats, of the beauties of Clarendon, and many other delights which I had created to myself, an event took place that plunged us all in sorrow; it was the death of the lovely child Catalina, who was the object of much fondness to us all, for my parents, bating the allowance to be made for enthusiasm, were as fond of her as I was. Madame had set her heart very much on this engaging creature; she mustered up all her fortitude to support the parents of her departed favourite, but suffered much notwithstanding. Here began my acquaintance with sorrow. We went, however, to the Flats in autumn. Our family consisted of a negro girl, and a soldier, who had followed my father’s fortunes from Scotland, and stuck to him through every change. We did not mean to farm, but had merely the garden, orchard, and enclosure for hay, two cows, a horse for my father, and a colt, which, to my great delight, was given me as a present. Many sources of comfort and amusement were now cut off from madame; her nephew and his lively and accomplished wife had left her; Dr. Ogilvie was removed to New-York, and had a successor no way calculated to supply his place. This year she had lost her brother-in-law Cornelius Cuyler,[23] whose sound sense and intelligence made his society of consequence to her, independent of the great esteem and affection she had for him. The army, among whom she always found persons of information and good breeding, in whose conversation she could take pleasure which might be truly called such, were gone. Nothing could compensate, in her opinion, for the privation of that enjoyment; she read, but then the people about her had so little taste for reading, that she had not her wonted pleasure in that, for want of some one with whom she could discuss the topics suggested by her studies. It was in this poverty of society, such as she was accustomed to enjoy, that she took a fancy to converse much with me, to regret my want of education, and to take a particular interest in my employments and mental improvement. That I might more entirely profit by her attention, she requested my parents to let me pass the winter with her: this invitation they gladly complied with.

Footnote 23:

This estimable character had for the space of forty years (which
included very important and critical conjunctures) been chief
magistrate of Albany, and its district. A situation calculated to
demand the utmost integrity and impartiality, and to exercise all the
powers of a mind acute, vigilant, and comprehensive. The less he was
amenable to the control and direction of his superiors, the more
liable was he to the animadversions of his fellow citizens, had he in
the least departed from that rectitude which made him the object of
their confidence and veneration. He administered justice, not so much
in conformity to written laws, as to that rule of equity within his
own breast, the application of which was directed by sound sense,
improved by experience. I do by no means insinuate, that he either
neglected or disobeyed those laws, by which in all doubtful cases, he
was certainly guided; but that the uncorrupted state of public morals,
and the entire confidence which his fellow citizens reposed in his
probity, rendered appeals to the law for the most part superfluous. I
have heard that the family of the Cuylers was originally a German one
of high rank. Whether this can or cannot be ascertained, is of little
consequence. The sterling worth of their immediate ancestor, and his
long and faithful services to the public, reflect more honour on his
descendants than any length of pedigree.

The winter at the Flats was sufficiently melancholy, and rendered less agreeable by some unpleasant neighbours we had. These were a family from New-England, who had been preparing to occupy lands near those occupied by my father. They had been the summer before recommended to aunt’s generous humanity, as honest people, who merely wanted a shelter in a room in her empty house, till they should build a temporary hut on those new lands which they were about to inhabit. When we came, the time permitted to them had long elapsed, but my father, who was exceedingly humane, indulged them with a fortnight more after our arrival, on the pretence of the sickness of a child; and there they sat, and would not remove for the winter, unless coercion had been used for that purpose. We lived on the road side. There was at that time a perpetual emigration going on from the provinces of New England to our back settlements. Our acquaintance with the family who kept possession beside us, and with many of even the better sort, who came to bargain with my father about his lands, gave us more insight than we wished into the prevalent character of those people, whom we found conceited, litigious, and selfish beyond measure. My father was told that the only safe way to avoid being overreached by them in a bargain, was to give them a kind of tacit permission to sit down on his lands, and take his chance of settling with them when they were brought into some degree of cultivation; for if one did bargain with them, the custom was to have it three years free for clearing, at the end of which, the rents or purchase money was paid. By that time, any person who had expended much labour on land, would rather pay a reasonable price or rent for it, than be removed.

In the progress of his intercourse with these very vulgar, insolent, and truly disagreeable people, my father began to disrelish the thoughts of going up to live among them. They flocked indeed so fast, to every unoccupied spot, that their malignant and envious spirit, their hatred of subordination, and their indifference to the mother country, began to spread like a taint of infection.

These illiberal opinions, which produced manners equally illiberal, were particularly wounding to disbanded officers, and to the real patriots, who had consulted in former times the happiness of the country, by giving their zealous co-operation to the troops sent to protect it. These two classes of people began now to be branded as the slaves of arbitrary power, and all tendencies to elegance or refinement were despised as leading to aristocracy. The consequence of all this was, such an opposition of opinions, as led people of the former description to seek each other’s society exclusively. Winter was the only time that distant friends met there, and to avoid the chagrin resulting from this distempered state of society, veterans settled in the country were too apt to devote themselves to shooting and fishing, taking refuge from languor in these solitary amusements.

We had one brave and royal neighbour, however, who saw us often, and was “every inch a gentleman;” this was Pedrom, aunt’s brother-in-law, in whom lived the spirit of the Schuylers, and who was our next neighbour and cordial friend. He was now old, detached from the world, and too hard of hearing to be an easy companion; yet he had much various information, and was endeared to us by similarity of principle.

Matters were beginning to be in this state the first winter I went to live with aunt. Her friends were much dispersed; all conversation was tainted with politics, Cromwellian politics too, which of all things, she disliked. Her nephew, Courtlandt Schuyler, who had been a great Nimrod ever since he could carry a gun, and who was a man of strict honour and nice feelings, took such a melancholy view of things, and so little relished that Stamp Act, which was the exclusive subject of all conversation, that he devoted himself more and more to the chase, and seemed entirely to renounce a society which he had never greatly loved. As I shall not refer to him again, I shall only mention here, that this estimable person was taken away from the evil to come two years after, by a premature death, being killed by a fall from his horse in hunting. What sorrows were hid from his eyes by this timely escape from scenes which would have been to him peculiarly wounding!

If madame’s comforts in society were diminished, her domestic satisfactions were not less so. By the time I came to live with her, Mariamat and Dianamat were almost superannuated, and had lost, in a great measure, the restraining power they used to exercise over their respective offspring. Their woolly heads were snow white, and they were become so feeble, that they sat each in her great chair, at the opposite side of the fire; their wonted jealousy was now embittered to rancour, and their love of tobacco greater than ever. They were arrived at that happy period of ease and indolence, which left them at full liberty to smoke and scold the whole day long; this they did with such unwearied perseverance, and in a manner so ludicrous, that to us young people they were a perpetual comedy.

Sorely now did aunt lament the promise she had kept so faithfully, never to sell any of the Colonel’s negroes. There was so little to do for fourteen persons, except the business they created for each other, and it was so impossible to keep them from too freely sharing the plenty of her liberal house, that idleness and abundance literally began to corrupt them.