Afloat and Ashore

by James Fenimore Cooper

  "Here I am, Miles, my boy," cried Marble, whom, off duty, I had earnestly begged to treat me with his old freedom, and who took me at my word—"Here I am, Miles, my boy, and farther from salt-water than I have been in five-and-twenty years. So this is the famous Clawbonny! I cannot say much for the port, which is somewhat crowded while it contains but one craft; though the river outside is pretty well, as rivers go. D'ye know, lad, that I've been in a fever, all the way up, lest we should get ashore, on one side or the other? your having land on both tacks at once is too much of a good thing. This coming up to Clawbonny has put me in mind of running them straits, though we have had rather better weather this passage, and a clearer horizon. What d'ye call that affair up against the hill-side, yonder, with the jig-a-merree, that is turning in the water?"

  "That's a mill, my friend, and the jig-a-merree is the very wheel on which you have heard me say my father was crushed."

  Marble looked sorrowfully at the wheel, squeezed my hand, as if to express sorrow for having reminded me of so painful an event, and then I heard him murmuring to himself—"Well, I never had a father to lose. No bloody mill could do me that injury."

  "That gentleman on the quarter-deck," I remarked, "is a physician for whom I sent to town, I suppose."

  "Ay, ay—he's some such matter, I do suppose; though I've been generalizing so much about this here river, and the manner of sailing a craft of that rig, I've had little to say to him. I'm always a better friend to the cook than to the surgeon. But, Miles, my lad, there's a rare 'un, in the ship's after-cabin, I can tell you!"

  "That must be Lucy!"—and I did not stop to pay my compliments to the strange gentleman, but almost leaped into the vessel's cabin.

  There was Lucy, sure enough, attended by a respectable-looking elderly black female, one of the half-dozen slaves that had become her's by the death of Mrs. Bradfort. Neither spoke, but we shook hands with frankness; and I understood by the anxious expression of my companion's eye, all she wished to know.

  "I really think she seems better, and certainly she is far more cheerful, within his last day or two," I answered to the appeal. "Yesterday she was twice at church, and this morning, for a novelty, she breakfasted with me."

  "God be praised!" Lucy exclaimed, with fervour. Then she sat down and relieved her feelings in tears. I told her to expect me again, in a few minutes, and joined the physician, who, by this time, was apprised of my presence. The calm, considerate manner of Post, gave me a confidence I had not felt for some days; and I really began to hope it might still be within the power of his art to save the sister I so dearly loved.

  Our dispositions for quitting the sloop were soon made, and we ascended the hill together, Lucy leaning on my arm. On its summit was the chaise, into which the Doctor and Marble were persuaded to enter, Lucy preferring to walk. The negress was to proceed in the vehicle that had been sent for the luggage, and Lucy and I set out, arm and arm, to walk rather more than a mile in company, and that too without the presence of a third person. Such an occurrence, under any other circumstances than those in which we were both placed, would have made me one of the happiest men on earth; but, in the actual situation in which I found myself, it rendered me silent and uncomfortable. Not so with Lucy; ever natural, and keeping truth incessantly before her eyes, the dear girl took my arm without the least embarrassment, and showed no sign of impatience, or of doubt. She was sad, but full of a gentle confidence in her own sincerity and motives.

  "This is dear Clawbonny, again!" she exclaimed, after we had walked in silence a short distance. "How beautiful are the fields, how fresh the woods, how sweet the flowers! Oh! Miles, a day in such a spot as this, is worth a year in town!"

  "Why, then, do you, who have now so much at your command, pass more than half your time between the heated bricks of Wall Street, when you know how happy we should all be to see you, here, among us, again?"

  "I have not been certain of this; that has been the sole reason, of my absence. Had I known I should be welcome, nothing would have induced me to suffer Grace to pass the last six sad, sad, months by herself."

  "Known that you should be welcome! Surely you have not supposed, Lucy, that I can ever regard you as anything but welcome, here?"

  "I had no allusion to you—thought not of you, Miles, at all"—answered Lucy, with the quiet manner of one who felt she was thinking, acting, and speaking no more than what was perfectly right—"My mind was dwelling altogether on Grace."

  "Is it possible you could doubt of Grace's willingness to see you, at all times and in all places, Lucy!"

  "I have doubted it—have thought I was acting prudently and well, in staying away, just at this time, though I now begin to fear the decision has been hasty and unwise."

  "May I ask why Lucy Hardinge has come to so singular and violent an opinion, as connected with her bosom friend, and almost sister, Grace Wallingford?"

  "That almost sister! Oh! Miles, what is there I possess which I would not give, that there might be perfect confidence, again, between you and me, on this subject; such confidence as existed when we were boy and girl-children, I might say."

  "And what prevents it? Certain I am the alienation does not, cannot come from me. You have only to speak, Lucy, to have an attentive listener; to ask, to receive the truest answers. What can, then, prevent the confidence you wish?"

  "There is one obstacle—surely, Miles, you can readily imagine what I mean?"

  'Can it be possible Lucy is alluding to Andrew Drewett!'—I thought to myself. 'Has she discovered my attachment, and does she, will she, can she regret her own engagement?' A lover who thought thus, would not be apt to leave the question long in doubt.

  "Deal plainly with me, I implore of you, Lucy," I said solemnly. "One word uttered with your old sincerity and frankness may close a chasm that has now been widening between us for the last year or two. What is the obstacle you mean?"

  "I have seen and felt the alienation to which you allude quite as sensibly as you can have done so yourself, Miles," the dear girl answered in her natural, simple manner, "and I will trust all to your generosity. Need I say more, to explain what I mean, than mention the name of Rupert?"

  "What of him, Lucy!—be explicit; vague allusions may be worse than nothing."

  Lucy's little hand was on my arm, and she had drawn its glove on account of the heat. I felt it press me, almost convulsively, as she added—"I do, I must think you have too much affection and gratitude for my dear father, too much regard for me, ever to forget that you and Rupert once lived together as brothers?"

  "Grace has my promise already, on that subject. I shall never take the world's course with Rupert, in this affair."

  I heard Lucy's involuntary sob, as if she gasped for breath; and, turning, I saw her sweet eyes bent on my face with an expression of thankfulness that could not be mistaken.

  "I would have given the same pledge to you, Lucy, and purely on your own account. It would be too much to cause you to mourn for your brother's—"

  I did not name the offence, lest my feelings should tempt me to use too strong a term.

  "This is all I ask—all I desire, Miles; bless you—bless you! for having so freely given me this assurance. Now my heart is relieved from this burthen, I am ready to speak frankly to you; still, had I seen Grace—"

  "Have no scruples on account of your regard for womanly feeling—I know everything, and shall not attempt to conceal from you, that disappointed love for Rupert has brought my sister to the state she is in. This might not have happened, had either of us been with her; but, buried as she has been alone in this place, her wounded sensibilities have proved too strong for a frame that is so delicate."

  There was a pause of a minute, after I ended.

  "I have long feared that some such calamity would befall us," Lucy answered, in a low, measured tone. "I think you do not understand Grace as well as I do, Miles. Her mind and feelings have a stronger influence than common over her body; and I fear no society of ours, or of o
thers, could have saved her this trial. Still, we must not despair, It is a trial—that is just the word; and by means of tenderness, the most sedulous care, good advice, and all that we two can do to aid, there must yet be hope. Now there is a skilful physician here, he must be dealt fairly by, and should know the whole."

  "I intended to consult you on this subject—one has such a reluctance to expose Grace's most sacred feelings!"

  "Surely it need not go quite as far as that," returned Lucy, with sensitive quickness, "something—much—must be left to conjecture; but Dr. Post must know that the mind is at the bottom of the evil; though I fear that young ladies can seldom admit the existence of such a complaint, without having it attributed to a weakness of this nature."

  "That proceeds from the certainty that your sex has so much heart, Lucy; your very existence being bound up in others."

  "Grace is one of peculiar strength of affections—but, Miles, we will talk no further of this at present. I scarce know how to speak of my brother's affairs, and you must give me time to reflect. Now we are at Clawbonny again, we cannot long continue strangers to each other."

  This was said so sweetly, I could have knelt and kissed her shoe-ties; and yet so simply, as not to induce misinterpretation. It served to change the discourse, however, and the remainder of the way we talked of the past. Lucy spoke of her cousin's death, relating various little incidents to show how much Mrs. Bradfort was attached to her, and how good a woman she was; but not a syllable was said of the will. I was required, in my turn, to finish the narrative of my last voyage, which had not been completed at the theatre. When Lucy learned that the rough seaman who had come in the sloop was Marble, she manifested great interest in him, declaring, had she known it during the passage, that she would have introduced herself. All this time, Rupert's name was not mentioned between us; and I reached the house, feeling that something like the interest I had formerly possessed there, had been awakened in the bosom of my companion. She was, at least, firmly and confidingly my friend.

  Chloe met Lucy at the door with a message—Miss Grace wanted to see Miss Lucy, alone. I dreaded this interview, and looked forward to being present at it; but Lucy begged me to confide in her, and I felt bound to comply. While the dear girl was gone to my sister's room, I sought the physician, with whom I had a brief but explicit conference. I told this gentleman how much Grace had been alone, permitting sorrow to wear upon her frame, and gave him to understand that the seat of my sister's malady was mental suffering. Post was a cool, discriminating man, and he ventured no remark until he had seen his patient; though I could perceive, by the keen manner in which his piercing eye was fixed on mine, that all I said was fully noted.

  It was more than an hour before Lucy reappeared. It was obvious at a glance that she had been dreadfully agitated, and cruelly surprised at the condition in which she had found Grace. It was not that disease, in any of its known forms, was so very apparent; but that my sister resembled already a being of another world, in the beaming of her countenance—in the bright, unearthly expression of her eyes—and in the slightness and delicacy of the hold she seemed, generally, to have on life. Grace had always something of this about her—much, I might better have said; but it now appeared to be left nearly alone, as her thoughts and strength gradually receded from the means of existence.

  The physician returned with Lucy to my sister's room, where he passed more than an hour; as long a time, indeed, he afterwards told me himself, as he thought could be done without fatiguing his patient. The advice he gave me was cautious and discreet. Certain tonics were prescribed; we were told to endeavour to divert the mind of our precious charge from her sources of uneasiness, by gentle means and prudent expedients. Change of scene was advised also, could it be done without producing too much fatigue. I suggested the Wallingford, as soon as this project was mentioned. She was a small sloop, it is true, but had two very comfortable cabins; my father having had one of them constructed especially in reference to my mother's occasional visits to town. The vessel did little, at that season of the year, besides transporting flour to market, and bringing back wheat. In the autumn, she carried wood, and the products of the neighbourhood. A holiday might be granted her, and no harm come of it. Dr. Post approved the idea, saying frankly there was no objection but the expense; if I could bear that, a better plan could not possibly be adopted.

  That night we discussed the matter in the family circle, Mr. Hardinge having come from the Rectory to join us. Everybody approved of the scheme, it was so much better than leaving: Grace to pine away by herself in the solitude of Clawbonny.

  "I have a patient at the Springs," said Dr. Post, "who is very anxious to see me; and, to own the truth, I am a little desirous of drinking the waters myself, for a week. Carry me to Albany, and land me; after which you can descend the river, and continue your voyage to as many places, and for as long a time, as the strength of Miss Wallingford, and your own inclinations, shall dictate."

  This project seemed excellent in all our eyes; even Grace heard it with a smile, placing herself entirely in our hands. It was decided to put it in practice.

  Chapter XXX

  *

  "And she sits and gazes at me,

  With those deep and tender eyes,...

  Like the stars, so still and saint-like,

  Looking downward from the skies."

  LONGFELLOW.

  The next morning I set about the measures necessary for carrying out our plan. Marble was invited to be of the party, the arrangements concerning the ship, allowing of his absence for a few days; Once engaged, he was of infinite service, entering into the plan as my mate. The regular skipper was glad to have a furlough; and I retained on board no one of the proper crew but the river-pilot; a man who could not be dispensed with; By this arrangement, we cleared the cabin from company that was not desirable for the circumstances. Neb, and three of the Clawbonny blacks, were delighted to go on such an excursion, and all were more or less familiar with the little duty that would be required of them. Indeed, Marble, Neb and myself, were every way able to take care of the vessel. But we chose to have plenty of physical force; and a cook was indispensable. Clawbonny supplied the latter, in the person of old Dido of that ilk.

  By noon, the whole party were ready to embark. Grace was driven to the wharf, and she walked on board the sloop, supported by Lucy and myself; more, however, from solicitude than from absolute necessity. Every precaution, however, was taken by order of the physician to prevent anything like excitement; the blacks, in particular, who would have followed "Miss Grace" to the water's edge, being ordered to remain at home. Chloe, to her manifest satisfaction, was permitted to accompany her "young mistress," and great was her delight. How often that day, did the exclamation of "de feller," escape her, as she witnessed Neb's exploits in different parts of the sloop. It was some little time before I could account for the black's superfluous activity, imputing it to zeal in my sister's service; but, in the end, I discovered Grace had to share the glory with Chloe.

  No sooner was everybody on board than we cast off. The jib was soon up; and under this short sail, we moved slowly out of the creek, with a pleasant southerly breeze. As we passed the point, there stood the whole household arrayed in a line, from the tottering grey-headed and muddy-looking negro of seventy, down to the glistening, jet-black toddling things of two and three. The distance was so small, it was easy to trace even the expressions of the different countenances, which varied according to the experience, forebodings, and characters of the different individuals. Notwithstanding the sort of reverential attachment all felt for "Miss Grace," and the uncertainty some among these unsophisticated creatures must have experienced on the subject of her health, it was not in nature for such a cluster of "niggers" to exhibit unhappiness, at a moment when there were so many grounds of excitement. The people of this race know nothing of the word, perhaps; but they delight in the thing, quite as much as if they did nothing but electioneer all their lives. Most pliant inst
ruments would their untutored feelings make in the hands of your demagogue; and, possibly, it may have some little influence on the white American to understand, how strong is his resemblance to the "nigger," when he gives himself up to the mastery of this much approved mental power. The day was glorious; a brighter sun never shining in Italy, or on the Grecian islands; the air balmy; the vessel was gay to the eye, having been painted about a month before, and every one seemed bent on a holiday; circumstances sufficient in themselves, to make this light-hearted race smiling and happy. As the sloop went slowly past, the whole line doffed their hats, or curtsied, showing at the same time a row of ivory that shone like so many gay windows in their sable faces. I could see that Grace was touched by this manifestation of interest; such a field-day in the Clawbonny corps not having occurred since the first time my mother went to town, after the death of my father. Fortunately, everything else was soothing to my sister's spirits; and, so long as she could sit on the deck, holding Lucy's hand, and enjoy the changing landscape, with her brother within call, it was not possible she should be altogether without happiness.

  Rounding the point, as we entered the river, the Wallingford eased-off sheet, set a studding-sail and flying-top-sail, and began to breast the Hudson, on her way towards its sources.

  In 1803, the celebrated river we were navigating, though it had all the natural features it possesses to-day, was by no means the same picture of moving life. The steam-boat did not appear on its surface until four years later; and the journeys up and down its waters, were frequently a week in length. In that day, the passenger did not hurry on board, just as a bell was disturbing the neighbourhood, hustling his way through a rude throng of porters, cart-men, orange-women, and news-boys, to save his distance by just a minute and a half, but his luggage was often sent to the vessel the day before; he passed his morning in saying adieu, and when he repaired to the vessel, it was with gentleman-like leisure, often to pass hours on board previously to sailing, and not unfrequently to hear the unwelcome tidings that this event was deferred until the next day. How different, too, was the passage, from one in a steam-boat! There was no jostling of each other, no scrambling for places at table, no bolting of food, no impertinence manifested, no swearing about missing the eastern or southern boats, or Schenectady, or Saratoga, or Boston trains, on account of a screw being loose, nor—any other unseemly manifestation that anybody was in a hurry. On the contrary, wine and fruit were provided, as if the travellers intended to enjoy themselves; and a journey in that day was a festa. No more embarked than could be accommodated; and the company being selected, the cabin was taken to the exclusion of all unwelcome intruders. Now, the man who should order a bottle of wine to be placed at the side of his plate, would be stared at as a fool; and not without reason altogether, for, did it escape the claws of his convives and the waiters, he would probably reach the end of his journey before he could drink it. In 1803, not only did the dinner pass in peace, and with gentleman-like deliberation; not only were the cooler and the fruit taken on deck, and the one sipped and the other eaten at leisure, in the course of an afternoon, but in the course of many afternoons. Passages were certainly made in twenty-four hours in the sloops; but these were the exceptions, a week being much more likely to be the time passed in the enjoyment of the beautiful scenery of the river. The vessel usually got aground, once at least, and frequently several times in a trip; and often a day, or two, were thus delightfully lost, giving the stranger an opportunity of visiting the surrounding country. The necessity of anchoring, with a foul wind, on every opposing tide, too, increased these occasions, thus lending to the excursion something of the character of an exploring expedition. No—no—a man would learn more in one passage, up or down the Hudson, forty years since, than can be obtained by a dozen at the present time. I have a true seaman's dislike for a steam-boat, and sometimes wish they were struck out of existence; though I know it is contrary to all the principles of political economy, and opposed to what is called the march of improvement. Of one thing, however, I feel quite certain; that these inventions, coupled with the gregarious manner of living that has sprung up in the large taverns, is, as one of our writers expresses it, "doing wonders for the manners of the people;" though, in my view of the matter, the wonder is, that they have any left.