Afloat and Ashore (6 page)

Read Afloat and Ashore Online

Authors: James Fenimore Cooper

BOOK: Afloat and Ashore
3.38Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

We walked away from the house with heavy hearts, few leaving the
paternal roof for the first time, to enter upon the chances of the
world, without a deep sense of the dependence in which they had
hitherto lived. We walked fast and silently, and reached the wharf in
less than half an hour, a distance of near two miles. I was just on
the point of speaking to Neb, whose figure I could see in the boat,
when I caught a glimpse of two female forms within six feet of
me. There were Grace and Lucy, in tears, both waiting our arrival,
with a view to see us depart! I confess I was shocked and concerned at
seeing these two delicate girls so far from their home, at such an
hour; and my first impulse was to see them both safely back before I
would enter the boat; but to this neither would consent. All my
entreaties were thrown away, and I was obliged to submit.

I know not exactly how it happened, but of the fact I am certain; odd
as it may seem, at a moment like that, when about to separate, instead
of each youth's getting his own sister aside to make his last
speeches, and say his last say to, each of us got his friend's sister
aside. I do not mean that we were making love, or anything of the
sort; we were a little too young, perhaps, for that; but we obeyed an
impulse which, as Rupert would have said, "produced that result."

What passed between Grace and her companion, I do not know. As for
Lucy and myself, it was all plain-sailing and fair dealing. The
excellent creature forced on me six gold pieces, which I knew had come
to her as an heirloom from her mother, and which I had often heard her
declare she never meant to use, unless in the last extremity. She knew
I had but five dollars on earth, and that Rupert had not one; and she
offered me this gold. I told her Rupert had better take it; no,
I
had better take it. I should use it more prudently than
Rupert, and would use it for the good of both. "Besides, you are
rich," she said, smiling through her tears, "and can repay me—I
lend
them to you; to Rupert I should have to
give
them."
I could not refuse the generous girl, and took the money, all
half-joes, with a determination to repay them with interest. Then I
folded her to my heart, and kissed her six or eight times with
fervour, the first time I had done such a thing in two years, and tore
myself away. I do not think Rupert embraced Grace, but I confess I do
not know, although we were standing within three or four yards of each
other, the whole time.

"Write, Miles—write, Rupert," said the sobbing girls leaning forward
from the wharf, as we shoved off. It was not so dark but we could see
their dear forms for several minutes, or until a bend in the creek put
a dark mass of earth between us and them.

Such was the manner of my departure from Clawbonny, in the month of
September, 1797. I wanted a few days of being seventeen; Rupert was
six months older, and Neb was his senior, again, by near a
twelvemonth. Everything was in the boat but our hearts. Mine, I can
truly say, remained with the two beloved creatures we left on the
wharf; while Rupert's was betwixt and between, I fancy—seldom
absolutely deserting the dear tenement in which it was encased by
nature.

Chapter III
*

"There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity
That he from our lasses should wander awa';
For he's bonny and braw, weel-favoured witha',
And his hair has a natural buckle and a'.
His coat is the hue of his bonnet so blue;
His pocket is white as the new-driven snaw;
His hose they are blue, and his shoon like the slae,
And his clean siller buckles they dazzle us a'."
BURNS.

We had selected our time well, as respects the hour of departure. It
was young ebb, and the boat floated swiftly down the creek, though the
high banks of the latter would have prevented our feeling any wind,
even if there were a breeze on the river. Our boat was of some size,
sloop-rigged and half-decked; but Neb's vigorous arms made her move
through the water with some rapidity, and, to own the truth, the lad
sprang to his work like a true runaway negro. I was a skilful oarsman
myself, having received many lessons from my father in early boyhood,
and being in almost daily practice for seven mouths in the year. The
excitement of the adventure, its romance, or what for a short time
seemed to me to be romance, and the secret apprehension of being
detected, which I believe accompanies every clandestine undertaking,
soon set me in motion also. I took one of the oars, and, in less than
twenty minutes, the Grace & Lucy, for so the boat was called, emerged
from between two, high, steep banks, and entered on the broader bosom
of the Hudson.

Neb gave a half-suppressed, negro-like cry of exultation, as we shot
out from our cover, and ascertained that there was a pleasant and fair
breeze blowing. In three minutes we had the jib and mainsail on the
boat, the helm was up, the sheet was eased off, and we were gliding
down-stream at the rate of something like five miles an hour. I took
the helm, almost as a matter of course; Rupert being much too indolent
to do anything unnecessarily, while Neb was far too humble to aspire
to such an office while Master Miles was there, willing and ready. In
that day, indeed, it was so much a matter of course for the skipper of
a Hudson river craft to steer, that most of the people who lived on
the banks of the stream imagined that Sir John Jervis, Lord Anson, and
the other great English admirals of whom they had read and heard,
usually amused themselves with that employment, out on the ocean. I
remember the hearty laugh in which my unfortunate father indulged,
when Mr. Hardinge once asked him how he could manage to get any sleep,
on account of this very duty. But we were very green, up at Clawbonny,
in most things that related to the world.

The hour that succeeded was one of the most painful I ever passed in
my life. I recalled my father, his manly frankness, his liberal
bequests in my favour, and his precepts of respect and obedience; all
of which, it now seemed to me, I had openly dishonoured. Then came the
image of my mother, with her love and sufferings, her prayers, and her
mild but earnest exhortations to be good. I thought I could see both
these parents regarding me with sorrowful, though not with reproachful
countenances. They appeared to be soliciting my return, with a species
of silent, but not the less eloquent, warnings of the consequences.
Grace and Lucy, and their sobs, and admonitions, and entreaties to
abandon my scheme, and to write, and not to remain away long, and all
that tender interest had induced two warm-hearted girls to utter at
our parting, came fresh and vividly to my mind. The recollection
proved nearly too much for me. Nor did I forget Mr. Hardinge, and the
distress he would certainly feel, when he discovered that he had not
only lost his ward, but his only son. Then Clawbonny itself, the
house, the orchards, the meadows, the garden, the mill, and all that
belonged to the farm, began to have a double value in my eyes, and to
serve as so many cords attached to my heart-strings, and to remind me
that the rover

"Drags at each remove a lengthening chain.'"

I marvelled at Rupert's tranquility. I did not then understand his
character as thoroughly as I subsequently got to know it. All that he
most prized was with him in the boat, in fact, and this lessened his
grief at parting from less beloved objects. Where Rupert was, there
was his paradise. As for Neb, I do believe his head was over his
shoulder, for he affected to sit with his face down-stream, so long as
the hills that lay in the rear of Clawbonny could be at all
distinguished. This must have proceeded from tradition, or instinct,
or some latent negro quality; for I do not think the fellow fancied
he
was running away. He knew that his two young masters were;
but he was fully aware he was my property, and no doubt thought, as
long as he staid in my company, he was in the line of his legitimate
duty. Then it was
my
plan that he should return with the boat,
and perhaps these backward glances were no more than the shadows of
coming events, cast, in his case,
behind
.

Rupert was indisposed to converse, for, to tell the truth, he had
eaten a hearty supper, and began to feel drowsy; and I was too much
wrapped up in my own busy thoughts to solicit any communications. I
found a sort of saddened pleasure in setting a watch for the night,
therefore, which had an air of seaman-like duty about it, that in a
slight degree revived my old taste for the profession. It was
midnight, and I took the first watch myself, bidding my two companions
to crawl under the half-deck, and go to sleep. This they both did
without any parley, Rupert occupying an inner place, while Neb lay
with his legs exposed to the night air.

The breeze freshened, and for some time I thought it might be
necessary to reef, though we were running dead before the wind. I
succeeded in holding on, however, and I found the Grace & Lucy was
doing wonders in my watch. When I gave Rupert his call at four
o'clock, the boat was just approaching two frowning mountains, where
the river was narrowed to a third or fourth of its former width; and,
by the appearance of the shores, and the dim glimpses I had caught of
a village of no great size on the right bank, I knew we were in what
is called Newburgh Bay. This was the extent of our former journeyings
south, all three of us having once before, and only once, been as low
as Fishkill Landing, which lies opposite to the place that gives this
part of the river its name.

Rupert now took the helm, and I went to sleep. The wind still
continued fresh and fair, and I felt no uneasiness on account of the
boat. It is true, there were two parts of the navigation before us of
which I had thought a little seriously, but not sufficiently so to
keep me awake. These were the Race, a passage in the Highlands, and
Tappan Sea; both points on the Hudson of which the navigators of that
classical stream were fond of relating the marvels. The first I knew
was formidable only later in the autumn, and, as for the last, I hoped
to enjoy some of its wonders in the morning. In this very justifiable
expectation, I fell asleep.

Neb did not call me until ten o'clock. I afterwards discovered that
Rupert kept the helm for only an hour, and then, calculating that from
five until nine were four hours, he thought it a pity the negro should
not have his share of the glory of that night. When I was awakened, it
was merely to let me know that it was time to eat something—Neb
would have starved before he would precede his young master in that
necessary occupation—and I found Rupert in a deep and pleasant sleep
at my side.

We were in the centre of Tappan, and the Highlands had been passed in
safety. Neb expatiated a little on the difficulties of the navigation,
the river having many windings, besides being bounded by high
mountains; but, after all, he admitted that there was water enough,
wind enough, and a road that was plain enough. From this moment,
excitement kept us wide awake. Everything was new, and everything
seemed delightful. The day was pleasant, the wind continued fair, and
nothing occurred to mar our joy. I had a little map, one neither
particularly accurate, nor very well engraved; and I remember the
importance with which, after having ascertained the fact myself, I
pointed out to my two companions the rocky precipices on the western
bank, as New Jersey! Even-Rupert was struck with this important
circumstance. As for Neb, he was actually in ecstasies, rolling his
large black eyes, and showing his white teeth, until he suddenly
closed his truly coral and plump lips, to demand what New Jersey
meant? Of course I gratified this laudable desire to obtain knowledge,
and Neb seemed still more pleased than ever, now he had ascertained
that New Jersey was a State. Travelling was not as much of an
every-day occupation, at that time, as it is now; and it was, in
truth, something for three American lads, all under nineteen, to be
able to say that they had seen a State, other than their own.

Notwithstanding the rapid progress we had made for the first few hours
of our undertaking, the voyage was far from being ended. About noon
the wind came out light from the southward, and, having a flood-tide,
we were compelled to anchor. This made us all uneasy, for, while we
were stationary, we did not seem to be running away. The ebb came
again, at length, however, and then we made sail, and began to turn
down with the tide. It was near sunset before we got a view of the two
or three spires that then piloted strangers to the town. New York was
not the "commercial emporium" in 1796; so high-sounding a title,
indeed, scarce belonging to the simple English of the period, it
requiring a very great collection of half-educated men to venture on
so ambitious an appellation—the only emporium that existed in
America, during the last century, being a slop-shop in Water street,
and on the island of Manhattan.
Commercial
emporium was a
flight of fancy, indeed, that must have required a whole board of
aldermen, and an extra supply of turtle, to sanction. What is meant by
a
literary
emporium, I leave those editors who are "native and
to the
manor
born," to explain.

We first saw the State Prison, which was then new, and a most imposing
edifice, according to our notions, as we drew near the town. Like the
gallows first seen by a traveller in entering a strange country, it
was a pledge of civilization. Neb shook his head, as he gazed at it,
with a moralizing air, and said it had a "wicked look." For myself, I
own I did not regard it altogether without dread. On Rupert it made
less impression than on any of the three. He was always somewhat
obtuse on the subject of morals.
[2]

New York, in that day, and on the Hudson side of the town, commenced a
short distance above Duane street. Between Greenwich, as the little
hamlet around the State Prison was called, and the town proper, was an
interval of a mile and a half of open fields, dotted here and there
with country-houses. Much of this space was in broken hills, and a few
piles of lumber lay along the shores. St. John's church had no
existence, and most of the ground in its vicinity was in low swamp. As
we glided along the wharves, we caught sight of the first market I had
then ever seen—such proofs of an advanced civilization not having yet
made their way into the villages of the interior. It was called "The
Bear," from the circumstance that the first meat ever exposed for sale
in it was of that animal; but the appellation has disappeared before
the intellectual refinement of these later times—the name of the
soldier and statesman, Washington, having fairly supplanted that of
the bear! Whether this great moral improvement was brought about by
the Philosophical Society, or the Historical Society, or "The
Merchants," or the Aldermen of New York, I have never ascertained. If
the latter, one cannot but admire their disinterested modesty in
conferring this notable honour on the Father of his country, inasmuch
as all can see that there never has been a period when their own board
has not possessed distinguished members, every way qualified to act as
god-fathers to the most illustrious markets of the republic. But
Manhattan, in the way of taste, has never had justice done it. So
profound is its admiration for all the higher qualities, that Franklin
and Fulton have each a market to himself, in addition to this bestowed
on Washington. Doubtless there would have been Newton Market, and
Socrates Market, and Solomon Market, but for the patriotism of the
town, which has forbidden it from going out of the hemisphere, in
quest of names to illustrate. Bacon Market would doubtless have been
too equivocal to be tolerated, under any circumstances. Then Bacon was
a rogue, though a philosopher, and markets are always appropriated to
honest people. At all events, I am rejoiced the reproach of having a
market called "The Bear" has been taken away, as it was tacitly
admitting our living near, if not absolutely in, the woods.

Other books

Private Dancer by Nevea Lane
Kiss of Heat by Leigh, Lora
Ice Dreams Part 3 by Johns, Melissa
Big Bad Easy by Whistler, Ursula
Annie Dunne by Sebastian Barry
Wild Fever by Donna Grant
Foreign Correspondence by Geraldine Brooks
The Christmas List by Richard Paul Evans