Books: Nature and Human Nature

T >> Thomas Chandler Haliburton >> Nature and Human Nature

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It was a subject on which her mind appeared to have been made up. She
seemed like a woman that has lost a child, who hears your advice, and
feels there is some truth in it, but the consolation reaches not her
heart.

"It can't be," she said, with a melancholy smile, as if she was
resigning something that was dear to her, "God or nature forbids it.
If there is one God for both Indian and white man, he forbids it. If
there are two great spirits, one for each, as my mother told me, then
both forbid it. The great spirit of the pale faces," she continued,
"is a wicked one, and the white man is wicked. Wherever he goes, he
brings death and destruction. The woods recede before him--the wild
fowl leave the shores--the fish desert their streams--the red man
disappears. He calls his deer and his beaver, and his game (for they
are all his, and were given to him for food and for clothing), and
travels far, far away, and leaves the graves and the bones of his
people behind him. But the white man pursues him, day and night, with
his gun, and his axe, and fire-water; and what he spares with the
rifle, rum, despair, and starvation destroy. See," she said, and she
plucked a withered red cone from a shumack that wept over the water,
"see that is dyed with the blood of the red man."

"That is prejudice," I said.

"No, it is the truth," she replied. "I know it. My people have removed
twice, if not three times, and the next move will be to the sea or the
grave."

"It is the effect of civilization, and arts, and the power of sciences
and learning, over untutored nature," I said.

"If learning makes men wicked, it is a bad thing," she observed; "for
the devil instructs men how to destroy. But rum ain't learning, it is
poison; nor is sin civilization, nor are diseases blessings, nor
madness reason."

"That don't alter things," I said, "if it is all true that you say,
and there is too much reality in it, I fear; but the pale faces are
not all bad, nor the red all good. It don't apply to your case."

"No," she said, "nature forbids the two races to mingle. That that is
wild, continues wild; and the tame remains tame. The dog watches his
sleeping master; and the wolf devours him. The wild-duck scorns
confinement; and the partridge dies if compelled to dwell with
domestic fowls. Look at those birds," she said, as she threw a chip
among a flock of geese that were floating down the lake, "if the
beautiful Indian wild bird consorts with one of them, the progeny die
out. They are mongrels, they have not the grace, the shape, or the
courage of either. Their doom is fixed. They soon disappear from the
face of the earth and the waters. They are despised by both breeds;"
and she shook her head, as if she scorned and loathed herself, and
burst into a passionate flood of tears.

"Jessie," said I, and I paused a moment, for I wanted to give her a
homoeopathic dose of common sense--and those little wee doses work
like charms, that's a fact. "Jessie," says I, and I smiled, for I
wanted her to shake off those voluntary trammels. "Jessie, the doctor
ain't quite quite tame, and you ain't quite wild. You are both six of
one, and half-a-dozen of the other, and just about as like as two
peas."

Well it's astonishing what that little sentence did. An ounce of
essence is worth a gallon of fluid. A wise saw is more valuable than a
whole book, and a plain truth is better than an argument. She had no
answer for that. She had been reasoning, without knowing it, as if in
fact she had been in reality an Indian. She had imbibed in childhood
the feelings of her mother, who had taken the first step and repented
it--of one who had deserted, but had not been adopted--who became an
exile and remained an alien--who had bartered her birthright for
degradation and death. It is natural that regret for the past and
despair for the future should have been the burden of the mournful
ditties of such a woman; that she who had mated without love, and
lived without affection, the slave, the drudge, but not the wife or
companion of her master, should die with imprecations on her lips for
a race who were the natural foes of her people, and who had reduced
her to be an object of scorn and contempt to both. It is no wonder
therefore poor Jessie had a repugnance to the union, when she
remembered her mother, and the sad lesson her unhappy life and fearful
death contained. It was a feeling difficult to overcome.

"Jessie," sais I, "nature, instead of forbiddin' it, approves of it;
for like takes to like. I don't say it to please you, but you are as
good as he is, or any white man in the world. Your forefathers on your
mother's side are a brave, manly, intelligent race; they are free men,
and have never been subdued or enslaved by any one: and if they have
degenerated at all, it is because they have contracted, as you say,
vices from the white man. You have reason to be proud of being
descended from a race of warriors. On the other hand, your father is a
Highlander, and they too have always been free, because they were
brave; they are the noblest fellows in Europe. As for the English,
there are none now, except in Wales, and they are called
Taffies--which means lunatics, for they are awful proud, and their
mountains are so high, every fellow says his ancestors were descended
from the man in the moon. But the present race are a mixture of
Taffies, French, Danes, Saxons, Scotch, and the Lord knows who all,
and to my mind are all the better of it."

"But the colour," said she.

"As to colour!" said I, "nations differ in every shade, from black up
to chalk white. The Portuguese, Italians, and Turks are darker than
the Indian if anything; Spaniards and Greeks about the same."

"And do they intermarry?"

"I guess they do," said I; "the difference of language only stops
them,--for it's hard to make love when you can't understand each
other,--but colour never."

"Is that now really true?" she said; "for I am ignorant of the world."

"True as preachin'," said I, "and as plain as poverty."

She paused awhile, and said slowly:

"Well, I suppose if all the world says and does differently, I must be
wrong, for I am unacquainted with everything but my own feelings; and
my mother taught me this, and bade me never to trust a white man. I am
glad I was wrong, for if I feel I am right, I am sure I shall be
happy."

"Well," sais I, "I am sure you will be so, and this is just the place,
above all others in the world, that will suit you, and make you so.
Now," sais I, "Jessie, I will tell you a story;" and I told her the
whole tale of Pocahontas; how she saved Captain Smith's life in the
early settlement of Virginia, and afterwards married Mr Rolfe, and
visited the court of England, where all the nobles sought her society.
And then I gave her all the particulars of her life, illness, and
death, and informed her that her son, who stood in the same
relationship to the whites as she did, became a wealthy planter in
Virginia, and that one of his descendants, lately deceased, was one of
the most eloquent as well as one of the most distinguished men in the
United States. It interested her uncommonly, and I have no doubt
greatly contributed to confirm her in the decision she had come to. I
will not trouble you, Squire, with the story, for it is so romantic, I
believe everybody has heard of it. I promised to give her a book
containing all the details.

The bugle now sounded our recall, and in a few minutes we were seated
on the grass, and enjoying our meal with an appetite that exercise,
excitement, and forest air never fail to give. Songs, trout-fishing,
and stories agreeably occupied the afternoon; and when the sun began
to cast long shadows from the mountain, we reëmbarked with our traps,
and landed at the cove near the clump of trees where we started in the
morning. While preparations were making for tea in the house, I lit my
cigar to take a stroll with Cutler, and talk over our arrangements for
an early start in the morrow, and proceeding immediately to sea. In
the mean time, I briefly stated to the doctor that he would now find
no further obstacle to his wishes, and counselled him to lose no time,
while the impression was favourable, to bring his long-pending
negotiation to a conclusion.

"Slick," said he, laughing, "your government ought to have prevailed
upon you to remain in the diplomatic service. You are such a capital
negotiator."

"Well," said I, "I believe I would have succeeded in that line; but do
you know how?"

"By a plentiful use of soft sawder," said he.

"No, Doctor, I knew you would say that; and it ain't to be despised
neither, I can tell you. No, it's because you go coolly to work, for
you are negotiatin' for another. If you don't succeed, it's the fault
of the mission, of course, and defeat won't break your heart; if you
do carry your point, why, in the natur of things, it is all your own
skill. I have done famously for you; but I made a bungling piece of
business for myself, I assure you. What my brother, the lawyer, used
to say is very true: 'A man who pleads his own cause has a fool for
his client.' You can't praise yourself unless it's a bit of brag, and
that I can do as well as any one, I do suppose; but you can't lay the
whitewash on handily no more than you can brush the back of your own
coat when it is on. Cutler and I will take a stroll, and do you invite
Jessie out, to see the moon on the lake."

In about an hour, Peter, who had found his pipes to his infinite
delight, intimated supper was ready; and the dispersed groups
returned, and sat down to a meal which, in addition to the tea and
coffee and its usual accompaniments at country-houses, had some
substantial viands for those, like myself, who had done more talking
than eating at dinner. In a short time, the girls retired for the
night, and we arranged for a peep of day return.

"Mr Slick," said the doctor, "I have ordered the boy to take the moose
down to the village as my share of the sea-stores. Will you give me
leave to go a part of the cruise with you?"

"With great pleasure," said I; "it's just what I was going to ask the
favour of you to do. It's the very identical thing."

"Come, Peter," said he, "I will show you where to turn in;" and
returning, in a few minutes, with Jackson, desired him to attend the
captain.

When we were alone, he said:

"Come this way, Mr Slick. Put your hat on--I want you to take a turn
with me."

And leading me down to the verge of the woods, where I saw a light, we
entered a large bark wigwam, where he said he often slept during the
hot weather.

It was not made in the usual conical form, but resembled a square
tent, which among Indians generally indicates there is a large family,
and that they propose to occupy the same spot for some time. In fact,
it was half wigwam, half summer-house, resembling the former in
appearance, construction, and material; but was floored on account of
the damp ground, and contained a small table, two chairs, and a couple
of rustic seats large enough to sleep upon, which, on the present
occasion, had hunters' beds on them. The tent, or more properly camp,
as it is generally called here, was so contrived as to admit of the
door being shifted according to the wind. On the present occasion, the
opening was towards the lake, on which the moon was casting its silver
light.

Here we sat till a late hour, discoursing, over our cigars, on a
variety of subjects, the first and last of which topic was Jessie, who
had, it appeared, at last accepted the Bachelor Beaver. Altogether, it
was a charming visit; and left a most agreeable recollection of the
enjoyment that is to be found in "a day and a night in the woods."

CHAPTER XII.

THE BETROTHAL.

Early the following morning, just as the first dawn of day was
streaking the eastern sky, Jackson's bugle sounded the reveillé, and
we were all soon on foot and in motion. The moose was lifted into the
cart, and the boy despatched with it to the harbour, so as to have it
in readiness for putting on board as soon as we should arrive, and a
cup of coffee was prepared for us by Betty, as she said, to keep the
cold out of our stomach while travelling. The doctor had some few
arrangements to make for his voyage, and Cutler and I set out in
advance, on foot. It was agreed that Ovey, Peter, and his daughters,
should follow, as soon as possible, in the waggons, and breakfast with
us on board of the Black Hawk.

"Mr Jackson," said I, as I saw him standing at the door.

"Yes, Sir," and he was at my side in a minute, and honoured me with
one of his most gracious smiles, and respectful military salutes.

There is great magic in that word "Mr," when used to men of low
degree, and in "Squire" for those just a notch higher. Servitude, at
best, is but a hard lot. To surrender your will to another, to come
and go at his bidding, and to answer a bell as a dog does a whistle,
ain't just the lot one would choose, if a better one offered. A master
may forget this, a servant never does. The great art, as well as one
of the great Christian duties, therefore, is not to make him feel it.
Bidding is one thing, and commanding is another. If you put him on
good terms with himself, he is on good terms with you, and affection
is a stronger tie than duty. The vanity of mankind is such, that you
always have the ingratitude of helps dinned into your ears, from one
year's end to another, and yet these folk never heard of the
ingratitude of employers, and wouldn't believe there was such a thing
in the world, if you were to tell them. Ungrateful, eh! Why, didn't I
pay him his wages? wasn't he well boarded? and didn't I now and then
let him go to a frolic? Yes, he wouldn't have worked without pay. He
couldn't have lived if he hadn't been fed, and he wouldn't have stayed
if you hadn't given him recreation now and then. It's a poor heart
that don't rejoice sometimes. So much thanks he owes you. Do you pray
that it may always rain at night or on Sundays? Do you think the Lord
is the Lord of masters only? But he has been faithful as well as
diligent, and careful as well as laborious, he has saved you more than
his wages came to--are there no thanks for this? Pooh! you remind me
of my poor old mother. Father used to say she was the most
unreasonable woman in the world--for when she hired a gall she
expected perfection, for two dollars and a half a month.

Mr Jackson! didn't that make him feel good all over? Why shouldn't he
be called Mr, as well as that selfish conceited M'Clure, Captain? Yes,
there is a great charm in that are word, "Mr." It was a wrinkle I
picked up by accident, very early in life. We had to our farm to
Slickville, an Irish servant, called Paddy Monaghan--as hard-working a
critter as ever I see, but none of the boys could get him to do a
blessed thing for them. He'd do his plowin' or reapin', or whatever it
was, but the deuce a bit would he leave it to oblige Sally or the
boys, or any one else, but father; he had to mind him, in course, or
put his three great coats on, the way he came, one atop of the other,
to cover the holes of the inner ones, and walk. But, as for me, he'd
do anythin' I wanted. He'd drop his spade, and help me catch a horse,
or he'd do my chores for me, and let me go and attend my mink and
musquash traps, or he'd throw down his hoe and go and fetch the cows
from pasture, that I might slick up for a party--in short, he'd do
anything in the world for me.

"Well, they all wondered how under the sun Paddy had taken such a
shindy to me, when nobody else could get him to budge an inch for
them. At last, one day, mother asked me how on airth it was--for
nothin' strange goes on long, but a woman likes to get at the bottom
of it.

"Well," sais I, "mother, if you won't whisper a syllable to anybody
about it, I'll tell you."

"Who, me," sais she, "Sammy?" She always called me Sammy when she
wanted to come over me. "Me tell? A person who can keep her own
secrets can keep yours, Sammy. There are some things I never told your
father."

"Such as what?" sais I.

"A-hem," said she. "A-hem--such as he oughtn't to know, dear. Why,
Sam, I am as secret as the grave! How is it, dear?"

"Well," sais I, "I will tell you. This is the way: I drop Pat and
Paddy altogether, and I call him Mr Monaghan, and never say a word
about the priest."

"Why, Sammy," said she, "where in the world did you pick up all your
cuteness? I do declare you are as sharp as a needle. Well, I never.
How you do take after me! boys are mothers' sons. It's only galls who
take after their father."

It's cheap coin, is civility, and kindness is a nice bank to fund it
in, Squire: for it comes back with compound interest. He used to call
Josiah, Jo, and brother Eldad, Dad, and then yoke 'em both together,
as "spalpeens," or "rapscallions," and he'd vex them by calling
mother, when he spoke to them of her, the "ould woman," and Sally,
"that young cratur, Sal." But he'd show the difference when he
mentioned me; it was always "the young master," and when I was with
him, it was "your Honour." Lord, I shall never forget wunst, when I
was a practisin' of ball-shooting at a target, Pat brought out one of
my muskits, and sais he: "Would your Honour just let me take a crack
at it. You only make a little round hole in it, about the size of a
fly's eye; but, by the piper that played before Moses, I'll knock it
all to smithereens."

"Yes," sais I, "Mr Monaghan; fire and welcome."

Well, up he comes to the toe-line, and puts himself into attitude,
scientific like. First he throws his left leg out, and then braces
back the right one well behind him, and then he shuts his left eye to,
and makes an awful wry face, as if he was determined to keep every bit
of light out of it, and then he brought his gun up to the shoulder
with a duce of a flourish, and took a long, steady aim. All at once he
lowered the piece.

"I think I'll do it better knalin', your Honour," said he, "the way I
did when I fired at Lord Blarney's land-agent, from behind the hedge,
for lettin' a farm to a Belfast heretic. Oh! didn't I riddle him, your
Honour." He paused a moment, his tongue had run away with him. "His
coat, I main," said he. "I cut the skirts off as nait as a tailor
could. It scared him entirely, so, when he see the feathers flyin'
that way, he took to flight, and I never sot eyes on him no more. I
shouldn't wonder if he is runnin' yet."

So he put down one knee on the ground, and adjusting himself said, "I
won't leave so much as a hair of that target, to tell where it stood."
He took a fresh aim, and fired, and away he went, heels over head, the
matter of three or four times, and the gun flew away behind him, ever
so far.

"Oh!" sais he, "I am kilt entirely. I am a dead man, Master Sam. By
the holy poker, but my arm is broke."

"I am afraid my gun is broke," said I, and off I set in search of it.

"Stop, yer Honour," said he, "for the love of Heaven, stop, or she'll
be the death of you."

"What?" sais I.

"There are five more shots in her yet, Sir. I put in six cartridges,
so as to make sure of that paper kite, and only one of them is gone
off yet. Oh! my shoulder is out, Master Sam. Don't say a word of it,
Sir, to the ould cratur, and--"

"To who?" said I.

"To her ladyship, the mistress," said he, "and I'll sarve you by day
and by night."

Poor Pat! you were a good-hearted creature naturally, as most of your
countrymen are, if repealers, patriots, and demagogues of all sorts
and sizes, would only let you alone. Yes, there is a great charm in
that word "Mr."

So, sais I, "Mr Jackson!"

"Yes, Sir," said he.

"Let me look at your bugle."

"Here it is, your Honour."

"What a curious lookin' thing it is," sais I, "and what's all them
little button-like things on it with long shanks?"

"Keys, Sir," said he.

"Exactly," sais I, "they unlock the music, I suppose, don't they, and
let it out? Let me see if I could blow it."

"Try the pipes, Mr Slick," said Peter. "Tat is nothin' but a prass
cow-horn as compared to the pagpipes."

"No, thank you," sais I, "it's only a Highlander can make music out of
that."

"She never said a wiser word tan tat," he replied, much gratified.

"Now," sais I, "let me blow this, does it take much wind?"

"No," said Jackson, "not much, try it, Sir."

"Well, I put it to my lips, and played a well-known air on it. "It's
not hard to play, after all, is it, Jackson?"

"No, Sir," said he, looking delighted, "nothing is ard to a man as
knows how, as you do."

"Tom," sais Betty, "don't that do'ee good? Oh, Sir, I ain't eard that
since I left the hold country, it's what the guards has used to be
played in the mail-coaches has was. Oh, Sir, when they comed to the
town, it used to sound pretty; many's the time I have run to the
window to listen to it. Oh, the coaches was a pretty sight, Sir. But
them times is all gone," and she wiped a tear from her eye with the
corner of her apron, a tear that the recollection of early days had
called up from the fountain of her heart.

Oh, what a volume does one stray thought of the past contain within
itself. It is like a rocket thrown up in the night. It suddenly
expands into a brilliant light, and sheds a thousand sparkling
meteors, that scatter in all directions, as if inviting attention each
to its own train. Yes, that one thought is the centre of many, and
awakens them all to painful sensibility. Perhaps it is more like a
vivid flash of lightning, it discloses with intense brightness the
whole landscape, and exhibits, in their minutest form and outline, the
very leaves and flowers that lie hid in the darkness of night.

"Jessie," said I, "will you imitate it?"

I stopt to gaze on her for a moment--she stood in the doorway--a
perfect model for a sculptor. But oh, what chisel could do justice to
that face--it was a study for a painter. Her whole soul was filled
with those clear beautiful notes, that vibrated through the frame, and
attuned every nerve, till it was in harmony with it. She was so wrapt
in admiration, she didn't notice what I observed, for I try in a
general way that nothing shall escape me; but as they were behind us
all, I just caught a glimpse of the doctor (as I turned my head
suddenly) withdrawing his arm from her waist. She didn't know it, of
course, she was so absorbed in the music. It ain't likely she felt
him, and if she had, it ain't probable she would have objected to it.
It was natural he should like to press the heart she had given him;
wasn't it now his? and wasn't it reasonable he should like to know how
it beat? He was a doctor, and doctors like to feel pulses, it comes
sorter habitual to them, they can't help it. They touch your wrist
without knowing it, and if it is a woman's, why their hand, like
brother Josiah's cases that went on all fours, crawls up on its
fingers, till it gets to where the best pulse of all is. Ah, Doctor,
there is Highland blood in that heart, and it will beat warmly towards
you, I know. I wonder what Peter would have said, if he had seen what
I did. But then he didn't know nothin' about pulses.

"Jessie," said I, "imitate that for me, dear. It is the last exercise
of that extraordinary power I shall ever hear."

"Play it again," she said, "that I may catch the air."

"Is it possible," said I to myself, "you didn't hear it after all? It
is the first time your little heart was ever pressed before, perhaps
it beat so loud you couldn't distinguish the bugle notes. Was it the
new emotion or the new music that absorbed you so? Oh, Jessie, don't
ask me again what natur is."

Well, I played it again for her, and instantly she gave the repetition
with a clearness, sweetness, and accuracy, that was perfectly amazing.
Cutler and I then took leave for the present, and proceeded on our way
to the shore.

"Ah, Sir!" said Jackson, who accompanied us to the bars, "it's a long
while ago since I eard that hair. Warn't them mail-coaches pretty
things, Sir? Hon the hold King's birthday, Sir, when they all turned
out with new arness and coaches fresh painted, and coachman and guard
in new toggery, and four as beautiful bits of blood to each on 'em as
was to be found in England, warn't it a sight to behold, Sir? The
world could show nothin' like it, Sir. And to think they are past and
gone, it makes one's eart hache. They tells me the coachman now, Sir,
has a dirty black face, and rides on a fender before a large grate,
and flourishes a red ot poker instead of a whip. The guard, Sir, they
tells me, is no--"

"Good bye, Mr Jackson;" and I shook hands with him.

"Isn't that too bad, Sir, now?" he said. "Why, here is Betty again,
Sir, with that d--d hat, and a lecture about the stroke. Good bye,
your Honour," said he.

When we came to the bridge where the road curved into the woods, I
turned and took a last look at the place where I had spent such an
agreeable day.

I don't envy you it, Doctor, but I wish I had such a lovely place at
Slickville as that. What do you think, Sophy, eh? I have an idea you
and I could be very happy there, don't you?

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