Part 23

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.

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.

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.

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.