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AFLOAT AND ASHORE
New York took sides with the crown. It is true, that the portion
of this gentry which might almost be called baronial – it was
strictly manorial – was pretty equally divided, carrying with
them their collaterals; but the larger portions of this entire
class of the elite of society took sides with the crown; and the
peace of ‘83 found no small part of them in possession of their
old social stations; the confiscations affecting few beyond the
most important, and the richest of the delinquents. I can give
an instance, within my own immediate knowledge, of the sort
of justice of these confiscations. The head of one of the most
important of all the colonial families, was a man of indolent
habits, and was much indisposed to any active pursuits. This
gentleman was enormously rich, and his estates were confiscated and sold. Now this attainted traitor had a younger brother who was actually serving in the British army in America, his
regiment sharing in the battles of Bunker Hill, Brandywine,
Monmouth, &c. But the Major was a younger son; and, in virtue
of that republican merit, he escaped the consequences of his
adhesion to the service of the crown; and after the revolution,
the cadet returned to his native country, took quiet possession
of a property of no inconsiderable amount, while his senior
passed his days in exile, paying the bitter penalty of being rich
in a revolution. It was a consequence of the peculiarities first
mentioned, that the Manhattanese society set so high a value
on English connection. They still admired, as the provincial
only can admire; and they worshipped, as the provincial worships; or, at a safe distance. The strange medley of truth, cant,
selfishness, sophistry and good faith, that founded the political
hostility to the movements of the French revolution, had as
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
ardent believers in this country, as it had in England itself; and
this contributed to sustain the sort of feeling I have described.
Of the fact, there can be no doubt, as any one will testify who
knew New York society forty years ago.
No wonder then, that Major Merton and Emily fared well,
on their sudden arrival in the country. Some romance, moreover, was attached to their adventures; and I had no great
reason to give myself any anxiety on their account. There was
little doubt of their soon being much more at home, than I
could hope to be, though in my native land.
Neb soon reported himself ready for shore-duty, and I
ordered him to follow me. It was my intention to proceed to
the counting-house of the owners, to receive some letters that
awaited me, and, after writing short answers, to despatch the
black at once to Clawbonny, with the intelligence of my return. In 1802, the Battery was the court-end of the town, and
it was a good deal frequented by the better classes, particularly
at the hour at which I was now about to cross it. I have never
returned from a voyage, especially to Europe, without being
particularly struck with two things in the great Western Emporium – since the common councils and the editors insist on
the word – viz., the provincial appearance of everything that
meets the eye, and the beauty of the younger females; meaning, however, by the last, the true, native, portion of the population, and not the throng from Ireland and Germany, who
now crowd the streets; and who, certainly, as a body, are not
in the least remarkable for personal charms. But an American
can tell an American, man or woman, as soon as he lays eyes on
either; and there were few besides native girls on the Battery at
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AFLOAT AND ASHORE
the time of which I am writing. As there were many children
taking their evening walk, and black servants were far more
common than now, Neb had his share of delights, too, and I
heard him exclaim “Golly!” twice, before we reached the centre of the Battery. This exclamation escaped him on passing as
many sable Venuses, each of whom bridled up at the fellow’s
admiration, and doubtless was as much offended as the sex is
apt to be on such occasions.
I must have passed twenty young women, that evening,
either of whom would induce a youth to turn round to look
again; and, for the moment, I forgot my errand. Neither Neb
nor I was in any hurry. We were strolling along, in this manner, gazing right and left, when a party approached, under the
trees, that drew all my attention to itself. In front walked a
young man and young woman, who were dressed simply, but
with a taste that denoted persons of the better class. The former was remarkable for nothing, unless it might be a rattling
vivacity, of which large doses were administered to his fair
companion, who, seemingly, swallowed it less reluctantly than
doses of another sort are so often received. At least, I thought
so, while the two were at a distance, by the beautiful glistening
teeth that were shining like my own spotless pearls, between
lips of coral. The air, beauty, figure, and, indeed, all connected
with this singularly lovely young creature, struck my imagination at once. It was not so much her beauty, though that was
decided and attractive, as the admixture of feminine delicacy
with blooming health; the walk, so natural and yet so full of
lightness and grace; the laugh, so joyous and still so quiet and
suited to her sex; and the entire air and manner, which de-
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
noted equally, buoyant health and happiness, the gracefulness
of one who thought not of herself, and the refinement which
is quite as much the gift of native sentiment, as the fruit of
art and association. I could not tell what her companion was
saying; but, as they approached, I fancied them acknowledged
lovers, on whom fortune, friends, and circumstances smiled
alike. A glance aside told me that even Neb was struck by the
being before him, and that he had ceased looking at the sable
Venuses, to gaze at this.
I could not keep my gaze off the face of this lovely creature,
who did not let me get a good look of her dark-blue eyes, however, until I was quite near, when they were naturally turned
towards the form that approached. For a few seconds, while
in the very act of passing, we looked intently at each other,
and the charm said to be possessed by certain animals, was not
more powerful than was our mutual gaze. In this manner we
had actually passed each other, and I was still in a sort of mystified prance, when I heard suddenly, in a voice and tone that
caused every nerve to thrill within me, the single word –
“Miles!”
Turning, and taking another look, it was impossible any
longer to mistake. Lucy Hardinge stood before me, trembling,
uncertain, her face now pale as death, now flushed to scarlet,
her hands clasped, her look doubting, eager, shrinking, equally denoting hope and fear, and all so blended, as to render her
the most perfect picture of female truth, feeling, diffidence,
and natural modesty, I had ever beheld.
“Lucy – is it – can it be possible! – It is then you, I thought
so gloriously beautiful, and that without knowing you, too.”
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AFLOAT AND ASHORE
I take it for granted, had I studied a week, I should not have
composed a more grateful salutation than this, which burst
forth in a way that set all the usual restraints of manners at
defiance. Of course, I felt bound to go through with the matter as prosperously as I had commenced, and in spite of the
publicity of the place, in spite of half a dozen persons, who
heard what passed, and had turned, smiling, to see what would
come next, in spite of the grave-looking gentleman who had
so lately been all vivacity and gaiety, I advanced, folded the
dear girl to my heart, and gave her such a kiss, as I’ll take upon
myself to say, she had never before received. Sailors, usually,
do not perform such things by halves, and I never was more in
earnest in my life. Such a salutation, from a young fellow who
stood rather more than six feet in his stockings, had a pair of
whiskers that had come all the way from the Pacific with very
little trimming, and who possessed a manliness about him
of which mere walking up and down Broadway would have
robbed a young Hercules, had the effect to cover poor Lucy
with blushes and confusion.
“There – that will do, Miles,” she said, struggling to get
free – “a truce, I pray you. See, yonder are Grace and my father,
and Rupert.”
There they all were, sure enough, the whole family having
come out, to take an evening walk, in company with a certain
Mr. Andrew Drewett, a young gentleman who was a fellowstudent of Rupert’s, and who, as I afterwards ascertained, was
a pretty open admirer of Rupert’s sister. There was a marked
difference in the manner in which I was received by Grace
and Lucy. The first exclaimed “Miles!” precisely as the last had
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
exclaimed; her colour heightened, and tears forced themselves
into her eyes, but she could not be said to blush. Instead of first
manifesting an eagerness to meet my salute, and then shrinking sensitively from it, she flung her delicate arms round my
neck, without the slightest reserve, both arms too, kissed me
six or eight times without stopping, and then began to sob, as
if her heart would break. The spectators, who saw in all this
the plain, honest, natural, undisguised affection of a sister,
had the good taste to walk on, though I could see that their
countenances sympathised with so happy a family meeting.
I had but a moment to press Grace to my heart, before Mr.
Hardinge’s voice drew my attention to him. The good old man
forgot that I was two inches taller than he was himself; that I
could, with ease, have lifted him from the earth, and carried
him in my arms, as if he were an infant; that I was bronzed by
a long voyage, and had Pacific Ocean whiskers; for he caressed
me as if I had been a child, kissed me quite as often as Grace
had done, blessed me aloud, and then gave way to his tears, as
freely as both the girls. But for this burst of feeling on the part
of a grey-headed old clergyman, I am afraid our scene would
not altogether have escaped ridicule. As it was, however, this
saved us. Clergymen were far more respected in America, forty
years ago, than they are to-day, though I think they have still
as much consideration here as in most other countries; and
the general respect felt for the class would have insured us
from any manifestations of the sort, without the nature and
emotion which came in its aid. As for myself, I was glad to
take refuge in Rupert’s hearty but less sentimental shake of
the hand. After this, we all sought a seat, in a less public spot,
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AFLOAT AND ASHORE
and were soon sufficiently composed to converse. As for the
gentleman named Drewett, he waited long enough to inquire
of Lucy who I was, and then he had sufficient tact to wish us all
good evening. I overheard the little dialogue which produced
this explanation.
“A close friend, if not a near relation, Miss Hardinge?” he
observed, inquiringly.
“Oh, yes,” answered the smiling, weeping girl, with the undisguised truth of her honest nature – “both friend and relative.”
“May I presume to ask the name?”
“The name, Mr. Drewett! – Why it is Miles – dear Miles –
you surely have heard us speak of Miles – but I forget; you
never were at Clawbonny – is it not a most joyful surprise,
dearest, dearest Grace!”
Mr. Andrew Drewett waited, I thought, with most commendable patience for Grace to squeeze Lucy’s hand, and to
murmur her own felicitations, when he ventured to add –
“You were about to say something, Miss Hardinge?”
“Was I – I declare I have forgotten what it was. Such a
surprise – such a joyful, blessed surprise – I beg pardon, Mr.
Drewett – ah. I remember now; I was about to say that this is
Mr. Miles Wallingford, of Clawbonny, the gentleman who is
my father’s ward – Grace’s brother, you know.”
“And how related to yourself, Miss Hardinge?” the gentleman continued, a little perseveringly.
“To me! Oh! very, very near – that is – I forget so much this
evening – why, not at all.”
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
It was at this moment Mr. Drewett saw fit to make his parting salutations with studied decorum, and to take his leave in
a manner so polite, that, though tempted, I could not, just at
the moment, stop the current of my feelings, to admire. No
one seemed to miss him, however, and we five, who remained,
were soon seated in the spot I have mentioned, and as much
abstracted from the scene around us, as if we had been on the
rustic bench, under the old elm, on the lawn – if I dare use so
fine a word, for so unpretending a place – at Clawbonny. I had
my station between Mr. Hardinge and Grace, while Lucy sat
next her father, and Rupert next to my sister. My friend could
see me, without difficulty, owing to his stature, while I saw the
glistening eyes of Lucy, riveted on my face, as leaning on her
father’s knee, she bent her graceful form forward, in absorbed
attention.
“We expected you; we have not been taken altogether by
surprise!” exclaimed good Mr. Hardinge, clapping his hand on
my shoulder, as if to say he could now begin to treat me like a
man. “I consented to come down, just at this moment, because
the last Canton ship that arrived brought the intelligence that
the Crisis was to sail in ten days.”
“And you may judge of our surprise,” said Rupert, “when
we read the report in the papers, ‘The Crisis, Captain Walling-
ford.’”
“I supposed my letters from the island had prepared you
for this,” I observed.
“In them, you spoke of Mr. Marble, and I naturally concluded, when it came to the pinch, the man would resume the
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AFLOAT AND ASHORE
command, and bring the ship home. Duty to the owners would
be apt to induce him.”
“He did not,” I answered, a little proudly perhaps, forgetting poor Marble’s probable situation, for an instant, in my
own vanity. “Mr. Marble understood well, that if I knew nothing else, I knew how to take care of a ship.”
“So it seems, my dear boy, indeed, so it doth seem!” said Mr.
Hardinge, kindly. “I hear from all quarters, you conduct commended; and the recovery of the vessel from the French, was
really worthy of Truxtun himself.”
At that day, Truxtun was the great gun of American naval
idolatry, and had as much local reputation, as Nelson himself
enjoyed in England. The allusion was a sore assault on my
modesty; but I got along with it, as well as I could.
“I endeavoured to do my duty, sir,” I answered, trying not
to look at Lucy, and seem meek; “and it would have been a terrible disgrace to have come home, and been obliged to say the
French got the ship from us, when we were all asleep.”
“But you took a ship from the French, in that manner, and
kept her too!” said a soft voice, every intonation of which was
music to me.
I looked round and saw the speaking eyes of Lucy, just clear
of the grey coat of her father, behind which she instinctively
shrank, the instant she caught my glance.
“Yes,” I answered, “we did something of that sort, and were
a little more fortunate than our enemies. But, you will recollect
we were much favoured by the complaisance of poor Monsieur
Le Compte, in leaving us a schooner to work our mischief in.”
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
“I have always thought that part of your story, Miles, a little
extraordinary,” observed Mr. Hardinge; “though I suppose this
Frenchman’s liberality was, in some measure, a matter of necessity, out there, in the middle of the Pacific.”
“I hardly think you do Captain Le Compte justice, sir. He
was a chivalrous fellow, and every way a gallant seaman. It is
possible, he was rather more in a hurry than he might have
been, but for his passengers – that is all – at least, I have always
suspected that the wish to have Miss Merton all to himself,
induced him to get rid of us as soon as possible. He evidently
admired her, and could have been jealous of a dead-eye.”
“Miss Merton!” exclaimed Grace. “Jealous!”
“Miss Merton!” put in Rupert, leaning forward, curiously.
“Miss Merton! And jealous of dead-eyes, and wishing to get
rid of us!” said Mr. Hardinge, smiling. “Pray who is Miss Merton? and who are the us? and what are the dead-eyes?”
Lucy was silent.
“Why, sir, I thought I wrote you all about the Mertons.
How we met them in London, and then found them prisoners
to Monsieur Le Compte; and that I intended to carry them to
Canton, in the Crisis!”
“You told us some of this, certainly; but, though you may
have written ‘all about’ a Major Merton, you forgot to tell us
‘about all the Mertons. This is the first syllable I have ever had
about a Miss Merton. How is it, girls – did Miles speak of any
one but the Major, in his letter?”
“Not a syllable to me, sir, of any young lady, I can assure
you,” replied Grace, laughing. “How was it to you, Lucy?”
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