Part 27

SOON after this I witnessed, for the last time, the sublime spectacle of the ice breaking up on the river; an object that fills and elevates the mind with ideas of power, and grandeur, and, indeed, magnificence; before which all the triumphs of human art sink into insignificance. This noble object of animated greatness, for such it seemed, I witnessed; its approach being announced, like a loud and long peal of thunder, the whole population of Albany were down at the river side in a moment; and if it happened, as was often the case, in the morning, there could not be a more grotesque assemblage. No one who had a night-cap on waited to put it off; as for waiting for one’s cloak, or gloves, it was a thing out of the question; you caught the thing next you, that could wrap round you, and run. In the way you saw every door left open, and pails, baskets, &c. without number, set down in the street. It was a perfect saturnalia. People never dreamt of being obeyed by their slaves, till the ice was past. The houses were left quite empty: the meanest slave, the youngest child, all were to be found on the shore. Such as could walk, ran; and they that could not, were carried by those whose duty would have been to stay and attend them. When arrived at the show place, unlike the audience collected to witness any spectacle of human invention, the multitude, with their eyes all bent one way, stood immoveable, and silent as death, till the tumult ceased, and the mighty commotion was passed by; then every one tried to give vent to the vast conceptions with which his mind had been distended. Every child, and every negro, was sure to say, ‘Is not this like the day of judgment?’ and what they said every one else thought. Now to describe this is impossible; but I mean to account in some degree for it. The ice, which had been all winter very thick, instead of diminishing, as might be expected in spring, still increased, as the sunshine came, and the days lengthened. Much snow fell in February; which, melted by the heat of the sun, was stagnant, for a day, on the surface of the ice; and then by the night frosts, which were still severe, was added, as a new accession to the thickness of it, above the former surface. This was so often repeated, that in some years the ice gained two feet in thickness, after the heat of the sun became such, as one would have expected should have entirely dissolved it. So conscious were the natives of the safety this accumulation of ice afforded, that the sledges continued to drive on the ice, when the trees were budding and every thing looked like spring; nay, when there was so much melted on the surface that the horses were knee deep in water, while travelling on it; and portentous cracks, on every side, announced the approaching rupture. This could scarce have been produced by the mere influence of the sun, till midsummer. It was the swelling of the waters under the ice, increased by rivulets, enlarged by melted snows, that produced this catastrophe; for such the awful concussion made it appear. The prelude to the general bursting of this mighty mass was a fracture lengthwise, in the middle of the stream, produced by the effort of the imprisoned waters, now increased too much to be contained within their wonted bounds. Conceive a solid mass, from six to eight feet thick, bursting for many miles in one continued rupture, produced by a force inconceivably great, and, in a manner, inexpressibly sudden. Thunder is no adequate image of this awful explosion, which roused all the sleepers, within reach of the sound, as completely as the final convulsion of nature, and the solemn peal of the awakening trumpet might be supposed to do. The stream in summer was confined by a pebbly strand, overhung with high and steep banks, crowned with lofty trees, which were considered as a sacred barrier against the encroachments of this annual visitation. Never dryads dwelt in more security than those of the vine-clad elms, that extended their ample branches over this mighty stream. Their tangled nets laid bare by the impetuous torrents, formed caverns ever fresh and fragrant; where the most delicate plants flourished, unvisited by scorching suns or nipping blasts; and nothing could be more singular than the variety of plants and birds that were sheltered in these intricate and safe recesses. But when the bursting of the crystal surface set loose the many waters that had rushed down, swollen with the annual tribute of dissolving snow, the islands and low lands were all flooded in an instant; and the lofty banks, from which you were wont to overlook the stream, were now entirely filled by an impetuous torrent, bearing down, with incredible and tumultuous rage, immense shoals of ice; which, breaking every instant by the concussion of others, jammed together in some places, in others erecting themselves in gigantic heights for an instant in the air, and seeming to combat with their fellow-giants crowding on in all directions, and falling together with an inconceivable crash, formed a terrible moving picture, animated and various beyond conception; for it was not only the cerulean ice, whose broken edges combatting with the stream, refracted light into a thousand rainbows, that charmed your attention; lofty pines, large pieces of the bank torn off by the ice with all their early green and tender foliage, were driven on like travelling islands, amid the battle of breakers, for such it seemed. I am absurdly attempting to paint a scene, under which the powers of language sink. Suffice it, that this year its solemnity was increased by an unusual quantity of snow, which the last hard winter had accumulated, and the dissolution of which now threatened an inundation.

Solemn, indeed, it was to me, as the memento of my approaching journey, which was to take place whenever the ice broke, which is here a kind of epoch. The parting with all that I loved at the Flats was such an affliction, as it is even yet a renewal of sorrows to recollect. I loved the very barn and the swamp I have described so much that I could not see them for the last time without a pang. As for the island and the bank of the river, I know not how I should have parted with them, if I had thought the parting final. The good kind neighbours, and my faithful and most affectionate Marian, to whom of all others, this separation was most wounding, grieved me not a little. I was always sanguine in the extreme, and would hope against hope; but Marian, who was older, and had more common sense, knew too well how little likelihood there was of my ever returning. Often with streaming eyes and bursting sobs, she begged to know if the soul of a person dying in America could find its way over the vast ocean to join that of those who rose to the abodes of future bliss from Europe; her hope of a reunion being now entirely referred to that in a better world. There was no truth I found it so difficult to impress upon her mind as the possibility of spirits being instantaneously transported from one distant place to another; a doctrine which seemed to her very comfortable. Her agony at the final parting I do not like to think of. When I used to obtain permission to pass a little time in town, I was transported with the thoughts of the enjoyments that awaited me in the society of my patroness, and the young friends I most loved.

CHAP. LXII.

Departure from Albany—Origin of the state of Vermont.

AFTER quitting the Flats we were to stay some days at madame’s, till we should make a circular visit, and take leave. Having lulled my disappointment with regard to Clarendon, and filled all my dreams with images of Clydesdale and Tweedale, and every other vale or dale that were the haunts of the pastoral muse in Scotland, I grew pretty well reconciled to my approaching journey, thinking I should meet piety and literature in every cottage, and poetry and music in every recess, among the sublime scenery of my native mountains. At any rate, I was sure I should hear the larks sing, and see the early primrose deck the woods, and daisies enamel the meadows; on all which privileges I had been taught to set the due value; yet I wondered very much how it was that I could enjoy nothing with such gay visions opening before me: my heart, I supposed, was honester than my imagination, for it refused to take pleasure in any thing, which was a state of mind so new to me that I could not understand it. Every where I was caressed, and none of these caresses gave me pleasure; at length the sad day came that I was to take the last farewell of my first best friend, who had often in vain urged my parents to leave me till they should decide whether to stay or return. About this they did not hesitate; nor, though they had, could I have divested myself of the desire now waked in my mind, of seeing once more my native land, which I merely loved upon trust, not having the faintest recollection of it.

Madame embraced me tenderly with many tears, at parting; and I felt a kind of prelusive anguish, as if I had anticipated the sorrows that awaited: I do not mean now the painful vicissitudes of after life, but merely the cruel disappointment that I felt in finding the scenery and its inhabitants so different from the Elysian vales and Arcadian swains that I had imagined.

When we came away, by an odd coincidence, aunt’s nephew Peter was just about to be married to a very fine young creature, whom his relations did not, for some reason that I do not remember, think suitable; while, at the very same time, her niece, Miss W. had captivated the son of a rich but avaricious man, who would not consent to his marrying her, unless aunt gave a fortune with her; which being an unusual demand, she did not choose to comply with. I was the proud and happy confidant of both these lovers; and before we left New-York we heard that each had married without waiting for the withheld consent. And thus for once madame was left without a protégée, but still she had her sister W., and soon acquired a new set of children, the orphan sons of her nephew, Cortlandt Schuyler, who continued under her care for the remainder of her life.

My voyage down the river, which was, by contrary winds, protracted to a whole week, would have been very pleasant, could any thing have pleased me. I was at least soothed by the extreme beauty of many scenes on the banks of this fine stream, which I was fated never more to behold.

Nothing could exceed the soft grateful verdure that met the eye on every side as we approached New-York. It was in the beginning of May; the great orchards which rose on every slope were all in bloom, and the woods of poplar beyond them, had their sprouting foliage tinged with a lighter shade of the freshest green. Staten Island rose gradual from the sea, in which it seemed to float, and was so covered with innumerable fruit-trees in full blossom, that it looked like some enchanted forest. I shall not attempt to describe a place so well known as New-York, but merely content myself with saying that I was charmed with the air of easy gaiety and social kindness that seemed to prevail every where among the people, and the cheerful animated appearance of the place altogether. Here I fed the painful longings of my mind, which already began to turn impatiently towards madame, by conversing with young people whom I had met at her house on their summer excursions. These were most desirous to please and amuse me; and, though I knew little of good breeding, I had good nature enough to try to seem pleased, but, in fact, I enjoyed nothing, though I saw there was much to enjoy, had my mind been tuned as usual to social delight. Fatigued with the kindness of others, and my own simulation, I tried to forget my sorrows in sleep; but night, that was wont to bring peace and silence in her train, had no such companions here. The spirit of discord had broken loose. The fermentation was begun that was not yet ended. And at midnight, bands of intoxicated electors, who were then choosing a member for the assembly, came thundering to the doors, demanding a vote for their favoured candidate. An hour after, another party equally vociferous, and not more sober, alarmed us, by insisting on our giving our votes for their favourite competitor. This was mere play; but before we embarked, there was a kind of prelusive skirmish, that strongly marked the spirit of the times. These new patriots had taken it in their heads that Lieutenant Governor Colden sent home intelligence of their proceedings, or in some other way betrayed them, as they thought, to government. In one of these fits of excess and fury, which are so often the result of popular elections, they went to his house, drew out his coach, and set fire to it. This was the night before we embarked, after a week’s stay in New-York.

My little story being no longer blended with the memoirs of my benefactress, I shall not trouble the reader with the account of our melancholy and perilous voyage. Here, too, with regret, I must close the account of what I knew of aunt Schuyler; I heard very little of her till the breaking out of that disastrous war which every one, whatever side they may have taken at the time, must look back on with disgust and horror.

To tell her history during the years that her life was prolonged to witness scenes abhorrent to her feelings and her principles, would be a painful task indeed; though I were better informed than I am, or wish to be, of the transactions of those perturbed times. Of her private history I only know, that, on the accidental death formerly mentioned, of her nephew, Captain Cortlandt Schuyler, she took home his two eldest sons, and kept them with her till her own death, which happened in 1778 or 1779. I know, too, that like the Roman Atticus, she kept free from the violence and bigotry of party, and like him too, kindly and liberally assisted those of each side, who, as the tide of success ran different ways, were considered as unfortunate. On this subject I do not choose to enlarge, but shall merely observe, that all the colonel’s relations were on the republican side, while every one of her own nephews adhered to the royal cause, to their very great loss and detriment; though some of them have now found a home in Upper Canada, where, if they are alienated from their native province, they have at least the consolation of meeting many other deserving people, whom the fury of party had driven there for refuge.[24]

Footnote 24:

Since writing the above, the author of this narrative has heard many particulars of the latter years of her good friend, by which it appears, that to the last her loyalty and public spirit burned with a clear and steady flame. She was by that time too venerable as well as respectable, to be insulted for her principles; and her opinions were always delivered in a manner firm and calm, like her own mind, which was too well regulated to admit the rancour of party, and too dignified to stoop to disguise of any kind. She died full of years, and honoured by all who could or could not appreciate her worth; for not to esteem aunt Schuyler, was to forfeit all pretensions to estimation.

Though unwilling to obtrude upon my reader any further particulars irrelevant to the main story I have endeavoured to detail, he may, perhaps, be desirous to know how the township of Clarendon was at length disposed of. My father’s friend, Captain Munro, was engaged for himself and his military friends, in a litigation, or I should rather say, the provinces of New-York and Connecticut continued to dispute the right to the boundary within the twenty mile line, till a dispute still more serious gave spirit to the new settlers from Connecticut to rise in arms, and expel the unfortunate loyalists from that district, which was bounded on one side by the Green Mountain, since distinguished, like Rome in its infancy, as a place of refuge to all the lawless and uncontrollable spirits who had banished themselves from general society.

It was a great mortification to speculative romance and vanity, for me to consider that the very spot which I had been used fondly to contemplate as the future abode of peace, innocence, and all the social virtues, that this very spot should be singled out from all others as a refuge for the vagabonds and banditti of the continent. They were, however, distinguished by a kind of desperate bravery and unconquerable obstinacy. They, at one time, set the States and the mother country equally at defiance, and set up for an independence of their own; on this occasion they were so troublesome, and the others so tame, that the last mentioned were fain to purchase their nominal submission by a most disgraceful concession. There was a kind of provision made for all the British subjects who possessed property in the alienated provinces, provided that they had not borne arms against the Americans; these were permitted to sell their lands, though not for their full value, but at a limited price. My father came precisely under this description; but the Green Mountain boys, as the irregular inhabitants of the disputed boundaries were then called, conscious that all the lands they had forcibly usurped were liable to this kind of claim, set up the standard of independence. They, indeed, positively refused to confederate with the rest, or consent to the proposed peace, unless the robbery they had committed should be sanctioned by a law, giving them a full right to retain, unquestioned, this violent acquisition.

It is doubtful, of three parties, who were most to blame on this occasion. The depredators, who, in defiance of even natural equity, seized and erected this little petulant state. The mean concession of the other provinces, who, after permitting this one to set their authority at defiance, soothed them into submission by a gift of what was not theirs to bestow; or the tame acquiescence of the then ministry, in an arrangement which deprived faithful subjects, who were at the same time war-worn veterans, of the reward assigned them for their services.

Proud of the resemblance which their origin bore to that of ancient Rome, they latinized the common appellation of their territory, and made wholesome laws for its regulation. Thus begun the petty state of Vermont, and thus ends the _history of an heiress_.

CHAP. LXIII.

General reflections.

I HOPE my readers will share the satisfaction I feel, in contemplating, at this distance, the growing prosperity of Albany, which is, I am told, greatly increased in size and consequence, far superior, indeed, to any inland town on the continent, and so important from its centrical situation, that it has been proposed as the seat of congress, which, should the party attached to Britain ever gain the ascendency over the southern states, would, very probably, be the case. The morality, simple manners, and consistent opinions of the inhabitants, still bearing evident traces of that integrity and simplicity which once distinguished them. The reflections which must result from the knowledge of these circumstances are so obvious, that it is needless to point them out.

A reader that has patience to proceed thus far, in a narration too careless and desultory for the grave, and too heavy and perplexed for the gay; too minute for the busy, and too serious for the idle: such a reader must have been led on by an interest in the virtues of the leading characters, and will be sufficiently awake to their remaining defects.

Very different, however, must be the reflections that arise from a more general view of the present state of our ancient colonies.

“O for that warning voice, which he who saw Th’ Apocalypse, heard cry, that a voice, like The deep and dreadful organ-pipe of heaven,”

would speak terror to those whose delight is in change and agitation; to those who wantonly light up the torch of discord, which many waters will not extinguish. Even when peace succeeds to the breathless fury of such a contest, it comes too late to restore the virtues, the hopes, the affections that have perished in it. The gangrene of the land is not healed, and the prophets vainly cry, “peace! peace!” where there is no peace.

However upright the intentions may be of the first leaders of popular insurrections, it may be truly said of them, in the end, instruments of cruelty are in their habitations; nay, must be, for when they have proceeded a certain length, conciliation or lenity would be cruelty to their followers, who are gone too far to return to the place from which they set out. Rectitude, hitherto upheld by laws, by custom, and by fear, now walks alone, in unaccustomed paths, and like a tottering infant, falls at the first assault, or first obstacle it meets; but falls to rise no more. Let any one who has mixed much with mankind, say what would be the consequence if restraint were withdrawn, and impunity offered to all those whose probity is not fixed on the basis of real piety, or supported by singular fortitude, and that sound sense which, discerning remote consequences, preserves integrity as armour of proof against the worst that can happen.

True it is, that amidst these convulsions of the moral world, exigencies bring out some characters that sweep across the gloom like meteors in a tempestuous night, which would not have been distinguished in the sunshine of prosperity. It is in the swell of the turbulent ocean that the mightiest living handiworks of the author of nature are to be met with. Great minds, no doubt, are called out by exigencies, and put forth all their powers. Though Hercules slew the Hydra, and cleansed the Augæan stable, all but poets and heroes must have regretted that any such monsters existed. Seriously, beside the rancour, the treachery, and the dereliction of every generous sentiment and upright motive, which are the rank production of the blood-manured field of civil discord, after the froth and feculence of its cauldron have boiled over, still the deleterious dregs remain. Truth is the first victim to fear and policy; when matters arrive at that crisis, every one finds a separate interest; mutual confidence, which cannot outlive sincerity, dies next, and all the kindred virtues drop in succession. It becomes a man’s interest that his brothers and his father should join the opposite party, that some may be applauded for steadiness or enriched by confiscations. To such temptations the mind, fermenting with party hatred, yields with less resistance than could be imagined by those who have never witnessed such scenes of horror, darkened by duplicity. After so deep a plunge in depravity, how difficult, how near to impossible is a return to the paths of rectitude! This is but a single instance of the manner in which moral feeling is undermined in both parties. But as our nature, destined to suffer and to mourn, and to have the heart made better by affliction, finds adversity a less dangerous trial than prosperity, especially where it is great and sudden, in all civil conflicts, the triumphant party may, with moral truth, be said to be the greatest sufferers. Intoxicated as they often are with power and affluence, purchased with the blood and tears of their friends and countrymen, the hard task remains to them of chaining up and reducing to submission the many-headed monster, whom they have been forced to let loose and gorge with the spoils of the vanquished. Then, too, comes on the difficulty of dividing power where no one has a right, and every one a claim: of ruling those whom they have taught to despise authority; and of reviving that sentiment of patriotism, and that love of glory, which faction and self-interest have extinguished.