A Little Girl of Long Ago; Or, Hannah Ann

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER XII

  UP-TOWN

  There had been so many delightful things in First Street, the littlegirl thought at first it would almost break her heart to go away. Herfather, with the inertia of coming years, hated to be disturbed.

  "I hoped, when we did make any change, we would build on the old place,"he said. "I'd like country life again. But I am getting too old to farm;and none of the boys care about it. If George had stayed at home," andFather Underhill sighed.

  George had not yet found his bonanza. There was gold in plenty in thatwonderful country. There were hardships, too. He kept those to tell ofin after years. It was a wild, rough, marvellous life; and every man ofthem was waiting for a run of luck, that he might go East with his pile.Meanwhile cities were begun.

  Mrs. Underhill sighed a little also, in an undecided fashion. All thechildren were here, and surely they could not go away and leave thembehind. The attractive, rural aspect of Yonkers had changed, or was itthat she had changed? Some of her old friends had gone to new homessome had died. Then she had grown so accustomed to the stirring life ofthe city.

  "No, we should not want to go alone," she said.

  "Steve's a bright business-man. John's long-headed, if he isn't quite sobrilliant. Ben will be all for books and travel. And Jim--well, it'sodd, but there won't be a farmer among them."

  "No," returned their mother, not knowing whether to be glad or sorry.

  "Then farming is changing. And the near-by places are turning intotowns. What the next half of the century will bring--"

  Since there was no prospect of the homestead, they allowed themselves tobe persuaded to join the migration. Foreigners were crowding them alittle. There was a finer, freer air up-town.

  The Deans suited themselves, and Mr. Reed and Charles went with them.Charles was now a tall, fair young fellow, rather grave from the shockof the loss of his mother, intensified perhaps by his sympathy with Mrs.Dean and Josie. It was a great comfort to keep together.

  John looked up a new home; but Cleanthe, with her arms around Mrs.Underhill's neck, said, in a broken sort of tone:--

  "Oh, you must be somewhere near us! I don't feel as if I could live, ifI did not see you every day. I have no mother but you."

  Twentieth Street seemed a long way up, to be sure. But there was an odd,rather oldish house, with a two-story ell that seemed to have been addedas an after-thought. There was a stable and quite a garden. It had beenconsidered rather a country house in its inception.

  Joe insisted that it was just the thing. He could have an office and alibrary, and a sleeping-room overhead, without disturbing the family.

  Mrs. Underhill declared there was twice too much room; and if any of theother boys should marry and go away--

  "There's only Ben. I am a fixture; and it will be years before Jimreaches that tempting period. Oh, I think you need not worry!" comfortedthe Doctor.

  Hanny was glad to go with everybody else. They had one sad sweet time atthe Deans, talking over old days and the tea in the back-yard, whenthere had been Nora and the pussy, and the one who was not. It wasrather sad to outgrow childhood. Ah, how merry they had been! What asimple idyllic memory this was to be for all her later years! Mrs. Reedalways lived in First Street to her; and Tudie Dean used to go up anddown the street, a blessed, beautiful ghost. The little girl was quitesure she would not be afraid to clasp her white hand, if she should meether wandering about those sacred precincts. She could not have put heridea into Longfellow's beautiful lines; but it haunted her in the sameshape of remembrance.

  "All houses wherein men have lived and died Are haunted houses."

  They went down to the Jasper house also. There had been a family ofchildren to tramp over the flower-beds and leave debris about. Therewas no pretty striped awning, no wheeling-chair, no slim, picturesquenegro lad, and no ladies in light lawns sitting about. It lookedcommon-place.

  "We can write Ichabod on it," said Charles, half regretfully.

  Hanny asked Joe why they should; and he showed her the verse, "Thy gloryhas departed."

  "The glory has departed from the whole street," she said, glancingaround. The new-comers were of a different class. No one swept thedebris up to the crown of the street any more; and the citystreet-sweepers were infrequent visitors.

  "It will be beginning all over again," Dr. Hoffman said to hisbrother-in-law. "It seems a pity to waste so much endeavour. Yet if you_can_ wait, the practice will be better worth while."

  "It wouldn't be the fair thing to crowd in on young Dr. Fitch. He didsuggest a partnership, but I thought I would rather strike out formyself. And I prefer having all my interests at home. Mother begins tomiss the children that have gone out; and there were so many of us."

  When Mrs. Underhill looked back, she always thought those early years inFirst Street were among the happiest of her life. They were broader andricher than the first wedded years. They could not keep together always.She wanted her children to know the sweetness of life and love. Steveand Margaret were very happy. John and his wife had supped of sorrow;but they were young and had each other; and children would come torestore beauty for ashes, and the oil of joy for mourning.

  She was delighted with Joe's decision. That night, when Joe had comehome a very ghost of himself, and dropped down on Hanny's bed, becausehe hadn't strength to go up another pair of stairs, and she had claspedher arms about him and cried, in her terror: "Oh, Joe, my dear son, isit cholera?" had been an awful moment for her.

  "No, mother dear; but if I can't have a few hours' rest, I shall die offatigue. Just let me sleep, but watch me well."

  She had sat beside him the rest of the night, from midnight to morning,counting his pulse now and then, which showed no indication of collapse.Other mothers had their sons snatched from them,--mothers who weretender and worthy, and who loved as fervently as she did.

  When he awoke at the next noon, she felt as if he had been given back toher out of a great danger. And she was glad now to have him plan for thehome-interest, glad there would be several years before she was calledupon to share him with any other woman.

  So they said good-bye to the old house again, and placed their householdgods in a new home. They had gone farther than any of the others, thoughthey were nearer Margaret and Dolly. The Deans were lower down and onSecond Avenue. Up above them were great open spaces. They had two lots,which gave them a grassy space beside the drive. The lot being deeperthan usual, they could have a little garden where the fruit-trees didnot shade. There was a tall, gnarled old pear-tree, and they found itbore excellent fruit. Right by the porch, in a lovely southern exposure,was a delicious nectarine.

  The little girl was deeply interested in Joe's house, as she began tocall it. A door opened from the main hall, and one quite outside fromthe flagged path. That would be the patients' entrance, when they beganto come. Joe went up to Yonkers and exhumed some old furniture. Therewas a queer, brass-studded, leather-covered sofa, with high roll arms,and a roll at the back that suggested a pillow. There were two smallspindle-legged tables; some high-backed, oaken chairs, rudely carved,and almost black with age; and a curious old _escritoire_ that was saidto have come from France with the French grandmother who had landed withthe emigrants at New Rochelle.

  His office was plainly appointed, with an oil-cloth on the floor, a rowof shelves for jars of medicines; for even then many doctors compoundedtheir own prescriptions. There was a plain business-desk, a table, andsome chairs, and a small book-case. All the odd old things were to go inhis sitting-room.

  Across one end, he had it filled in with book-shelves. One corner wasfor the little girl. And there was to be a special chair for her, so shecould come in and study her lessons, or read or talk to her dear DoctorJoe.

  Mrs. French made a splendid addition to the room in a large Oriental rugthat Doctor Joe valued more highly as the years went on. For then wewere getting bright-hued carpets from French and English looms, andthese dull old things were not in any great favour. Only it
was so thickand soft, the little girl said it was good enough for a bed.

  Joe laughed. "I daresay I shall take many a nap on it. You must make mea nice pillow-cushion, out of some of your bits of silk."

  People made real sensible patchwork then, or worked a cover in worsted,with perhaps a pretty bunch of flowers.

  The house had a basement-kitchen at the back, and a dumb-waiter likeMargaret's. Mrs. Underhill thought at first she shouldn't like it. Therewas a spacious area, which made Hanny think of Mrs. Dean's in FirstStreet, where they used to play tea.

  It took a long while to get settled, somehow. Ben thought it a great wayup-town; and he often went to the Whitneys to tea, when he wanted hisevening. Jim grumbled a little, too; there were no nice fellows around.Joe insisted that he had better not hunt up any, but pay strictattention to his studies, for he was falling dreadfully behind. But whenJim had to work or study, he went at it with all his might and main, andgenerally managed to catch up.

  The little girl and her father were perhaps the best pleased. He likedthe little garden spot. He was not confining himself very closely tobusiness now. There were so many pretty walks around, for it was stillquite rural, and you could find a few wild flowers. There was anothervery amusing feature farther up-town, and that was the "squatters," withtheir pigs and goats and geese, and their rich, wonderful brogue, theirodd attire, which was in the same style as when they landed. Connemaracloaks had not then attracted the fashionable eye; but the women seemedto wear them to keep out both heat and cold. Red, green, and plaidedseemed the favourites. The wide cap-ruffles caught the breeze, for onealways found a breeze in this vicinity.

  The little girl's happiness was rendered complete by the gift of abeautiful Maltese kitten about half-grown. It had a black nose, andblack pads to its feet, and a fashion of pricking up its small ears likea dog. There was a great discussion about a name; and Joe suggested"Major," as she was still fond of military heroes.

  One evening Ben said: "Jim, the Whitneys are going over into Jersey onan exploring expedition, to view some curious old places, Cockloft Hallamong them. Don't you want to go?"

  Jim glanced up lazily. The boys were to play ball, as they often did, onSaturday afternoon.

  "Oh, that's the place where the Salmagundi Club used to meet," criedHanny, with eager interest. "It is in Newark."

  "Yes; and there's another queer nest on the Passaic where a greatsportsman lives, Henry William Herbert, the Frank Forrester of somestirring adventures. Mr. Whitney is to see him. And there are some otherold haunts; Delia was looking them up,--the Kearny house, and an oldplace that was once used as a sort of fort."

  "Dele Whitney goes round just like a boy!" said Jim, disdainfully.

  "Well, why shouldn't she go with her brother?"

  "Oh, Ben, can't I go with you?" pleaded Hanny.

  "Jersey's a queer sort of State," said Jim, teasingly. "The Blue Lawsare still in operation. You are not allowed to stay out after dark."

  "Are they printed in blue? And you don't mean to stay out after dark, doyou, Ben?"

  Hanny's expression was so simply honest they all laughed, which ratherdisconcerted her.

  "It is because you feel pretty blue when you have to obey them; andJersey is out of the United States."

  "It just isn't, Mr. Jim!" cried Hanny, indignantly. "It's one of theMiddle States."

  It was quite the fashion then to laugh at New Jersey, in spite of thegeography; though even at that remote date New Jersey peaches were heldin high esteem.

  "But if you went with Dele Whitney, we shouldn't know when to look foryou--hardly where," and Jim winked.

  That was an allusion to an old visit at the Museum, when they stayed allthe evening, for the same admittance.

  "I've half suspected you were the ringleader of that scheme, Jim," saidhis doctor-brother. "I have a mind to go. One good thing about theWhitneys is that you can invite yourself, and no one takes umbrage."

  "Oh, do go!" said Ben; and Hanny came around to give his hand a tender,persuasive squeeze. "I haven't explored the State very much, but it hassome curious features. The magnolia and many Southern flowers growthere. I believe almost every kind of mineral, even to gold, is found inthe State. And it is rich in historic lore."

  "There was Valley Forge," said Hanny, softly.

  "Yes, the Delaware River is beautiful. And the Passaic winds half aroundthe State. It is twenty-seven miles by water,--a delightful sail we musttake some time, Hanny."

  "We shouldn't have time for that now. We are to start at one. Delia'llbe glad enough to have you go, Hanny."

  "Then you may count on us," returned Joe.

  "Well, I'll take the ball game," said Jim.

  Mrs. Underhill had been settling on a final negative. She had a littlefeeling about Delia Whitney; she could not quite approve of grown girlsrunning about so much with boys. And she thought if she was going to setup for a genius, she ought to be delicate and refined. But Joe alwayscarried the day, and she could trust her darling with him.

  It was Margaret's Saturday, so Hanny ran around in the morning to tellher of the new arrangements. They were to meet the Whitneys atCourtlandt Street, so they had an early lunch, and started in good time.Hanny was so interested in everything that she was a charming companion.

  It seemed queer that Mr. Whitney could remember when there was norailroad, and you travelled mostly by stage-coaches. It had cost almosta quarter then, with the ferriage and toll-gates, if you walked toNewark. And now you could go through to Washington on the train.

  She thought it quite a fearful thing to go through the Harlem tunnel;but here there was a road cut through great, high, frowning rocks thatmade you feel as if you were in a dungeon. Then a long, level stretch ofsalt meadows with ditches cut across them, that suggested a vague ideaof Holland. We did not know the world quite so well then.

  Newark, in those days, was a sort of country town with country roads inall directions. At intervals, a stage went up Broad Street, which washandsome and wide and lined with stately trees. They thought it best towait awhile for this, lest Hanny should get too tired.

  "But you can't half see," declared Delia.

  "When we come to the curiosities, we will get out," said Mr. Whitney."We can't afford to miss them."

  They passed a pretty park full of magnificent elms, with an old greystone church standing in it, one of the oldest churches in the State.There were a number of stores, interspersed with private dwellings, andeverything wore a sort of leisurely aspect. A little farther up wasanother park,--commons, they were called then. The modest old houses andlarge gardens and fields gave it a still more complete country aspect.

  The stage stopped at a tavern where some people were waiting. The signwas "The Black Horse Tavern."

  "We will get out and begin our adventures," said Mr. Whitney, smilingly."This little sort of creek was called First River. I dare say in pastdays it came rushing over the hill in quite a wild way."

  "Is there a Second River?" asked Delia, mirthfully.

  "Indeed there is, at Belleville. There used to be an old millhereabouts, and this was the mill brook. Once or twice, in a freshet,the stream has risen so that it swept the bridge away."

  "It's meek enough now," said Ben. "Black Horse Tavern! That ought to bein a book."

  It was a small one-story building, looking very old even then. Overopposite, a pretty house stood on a slight elevation, that dated back to1820, with its sloping lawn and green fields, its churn and brightmilkpans standing out in the sunshine.

  "We shall have to go round, as the frogs advise," said Mr. Whitney,looking about him with an air of consideration. "We might get throughsome of these driveways; but there seems to be no regular street."

  "And if we go round?" commented Delia, questioningly.

  "We go straight up this road until we come to a winding path called theGully, then down to the river, where we shall find Herbert's, thencedown the river to Cockloft Hall. But we will return by the upperrailroad, as we shall be near tha
t."

  "Come on, then," said Dele, laughingly, when her brother had ended hisexplanations, "if you _can_ go straight on a crooked road; and if Hannygets tired, Ben and I will make a chair and carry her."

  Joe smiled down at his little sister. He had linked his arm within hers.Ben and Delia were fond of falling behind. They were so merry, thatHanny was a little curious to know what they found to laugh about. Itdoes not take much to amuse healthy young people before their tastesbecome complicated.

  The old road wound a little, and had the curves that prove no one horseor man ever walks in a straight line. But, oh, how beautiful it was withthe fruit-trees and shrubbery in bloom, wild flowers, and stretches ofmeadow, where cows were pastured, and here and there a small flock ofsheep! Up above, on the brow of a hill, a wooded background gave it astill more picturesque appearance.

  They passed an old stone house on the west side that was really aRevolutionary relic. The stone ran up to the eaves; but the two gableswere of timber. It was on quite a bit of hill then, and had broken stonesteps up to the first terrace, where great clumps of brownish yellowlilies were in bloom. When strolling parties of British soldiery wentmarauding about, the residents of this vicinity used to flee to the oldPlum house as a place of refuge. The heavy double doors and woodenshutters could not well be battered down, though bullet-marks could betraced here and there.

  A Captain Alden lived in it now, who was himself quite a character. Hehad been in the British navy, with Admiral Nelson's command. When histime in the service ended, he had shipped with what he understood was amerchant vessel, but on learning it was a slaver, bound for Africa togather up a human cargo, he sprang overboard, when he saw a vesselpassing that halted for his signal. Several shots were fired at him,which he escaped. Later on, he was impressed in the naval service again,but at the first opportunity came to America. A hale, hearty old man,rather short in stature, but lithe and active, and with a merry look onhis weather-beaten face, he was still proud of his schooner that lay atStone Dock, at the launching of which, in the early part of the century,the Jersey Blues had turned out, and Major Stevens had christened it the"Northern Liberties." It had been all built of Essex County lumber, andconstructed on the Passaic. But the river had been quite a famous streamin those days. There were no factories using up its volume of water.

  They sat on the stone coping and listened to the Captain's stories,indeed, could have spent all the afternoon, so entertaining did heprove. Then he took them through the old house with its ample hall andspacious rooms on one side. They concluded it must have been able tostand quite a siege, judging from its present solidity. And Mrs. Aldentreated them to a pitcher of freshly churned buttermilk, and a slice ofexcellent rye bread, which they found delightful.

  "I shall have to come over again, and get some material for a story,"declared Delia, when they were fairly started, tearing themselves awaywith quite a struggle. "That experience on the 'Slaver' was verygraphic."

  "If you want to hear something that will make your hair stand on end,"said Doctor Joe, "come up and talk to father. When I was a little lad,we had a farm-hand working for us who had gone through with it all, beento Africa for a cargo, and come to the States with what was left of it.He never spoke of it when sober; and though he was in the main steady,once in a while he drank enough to start him going, and he alwaysrehearsed this horrible experience. I remember father used to lock himin the barn to sober up; because he did not want us children to hear theterrible story."

  "Were the slaves brought that way?" asked Hanny, with a shudder.

  "Most every civilised country condemns that part of the awful practice,"answered Ben. "But it is a fact that the native tribes in Africa sellprisoners to one another, or whoever will buy them. Do you supposeAfrica will ever be explored?" and Ben looked up at Mr. Whitney.

  We did not know much about Africa even then. But Ben was afterward tosee the great explorer Stanley, whose journey across that country was awonderful romance. And although the question of slavery was seethingeven then, he could not have dreamed, this lovely afternoon when all wasat peace, that one day he should be in the thick of the battle himself,with many another brave soul, when his country was nearly rent in twain.

  A few lanes led up to places, the outline of streets, and lostthemselves in the fields. Cottages had been built to face nearly everyway. Here and there was an old colonial house of greater pretensions,some of them at the end of a long driveway lined with stately trees.Here also were the remnants of orchards, meadows where cows werepasturing, thickets of shrubbery with bread-and-butter vine running overthem, showing glossy green leaves.

  Mr. Whitney paused at a queer, long, one-story house with a high-peakedroof in which were set three small dormer windows. There was a littledooryard in front, a Dutch hall door with an iron knocker, a well nearby with the old oaken bucket General Morris had immortalised, and backof the house a picturesque ravine through which ran a clear stream ofwater that presently found its way out to the Passaic. Willows bent overit, elms and maples stood, tall and handsome, like guardian sentinels.

  A little old woman sat sewing by the window.

  "We haven't time to stop," said Mr. Whitney. "Hanny, that lady is yourhero's grandmother, and the mother of General Watts Kearny. He not onlydistinguished himself in the Mexican War, but also in the War of 1812.Then he was Governor of Vera Cruz and the City of Mexico."

  "And the hero of no end of stories," added Ben. "Jim and I were wildover them a few years ago. Why do people keep saying we have no romancein our own country, because we have no ruined old castles? Why, Mexicoitself is a land of historical romance!"

  "What a lovely cool dell!" exclaimed Dele. "Just the place to take yourbook on a hot summer day."

  "I believe your young hero Philip was born in New York. But this is theold home, one of the landmarks."

  Opposite was a rather pretty place,--a rambling brick house with sharp,pointed roofs, and a long stretch of evergreens. It was beautiful inthis soft atmosphere. The birds made a swift dazzle now and then, andfilled the air with melody.

  "Up here is a hedge of hawthorn that was brought over from England by aYorkshireman living up above. It is out of bloom now; but another yearyou can come over early in May and see the 'hawthorn blossoms white'that poets never tire of praising."

  Dele broke off a sprig for herself, and one for Hanny. The spaces werelarger, the houses farther apart. On the west side was a tree-nurseryand garden, and two quaint old frame-houses that hardly looked largeenough for any one to live in; but there were children playing about;and on the other side a cemetery. All this tract was known as MountPleasant.

  At the north of the cemetery, they plunged down a stony way called aroad, mostly by courtesy, though it was the only way of getting up fromthe river. Great trees overhung it on one side, and gave it a weird,darkened aspect.

  "It might be a ghost-walk, at night," exclaimed Delia. "Edgar A. Poecould have put a story here. I like the tragic; but I'm not so fond ofthe horrible."

  Another turn showed them the river and the opposite shore crowned withgreen glittering in the afternoon sunshine. They all paused, it was sucha wonderful outlook.

  And when they reached it, and glanced up and down, it was a pictureindeed. The river made little bends, and wound around tiny points, edgedwith the greenest of sedge grass in some places, then grey stones withmossy sea-growth, or willows dipping their branches in the lightlyruffled water. Not a soul to be seen anywhere, not a sound save thevoices of birds; but while they looked, a flock of geese came floatinggrandly down.

  "On thy fair bosom, silver lake, The white swan spreads her snowy sail,"

  quoted Delia.

  "It is not the first time swans have proved geese," said Mr. Theodore,with a smile. "But for the sake of the picturesque we will let it pass."

  "I wonder if the Wye or the Severn would be so enchanting to us if poetshad not lived there and immortalised them?"

  "When we are an old country, we will, no doubt, sigh for
relics. In1666, this was called 'Neworke or Pesayak towne;' and a little more thana hundred years ago this Gully was made the dividing line between thetowns. There are many historic spots in Belleville, and an old coppermine that once made a great addition to her prosperity. But my questends here. I don't know as I have a hero exactly, Miss Hanny, yet myfriend, Frank Forrester, has had a varied and eventful life. This way."

  Mr. Whitney led them up a path mostly over-grown with pale, spindlinggrass that had no chance for sunshine, so close and tall were the trees.It was undeniably gloomy, hidden away here. A little old brown,weather-beaten house hung with vines, that even stretched up into thetrees; small, narrow windows, with diamond-shaped panes that could notlet in much light, it would seem.

  "It's a horrid place," cried Dele. "Hanny, we shall surely see a ghost.The idea of living at the very foot of a burying-ground!"

  Hanny held tight to Joe's hand. She was beginning to have what MissCynthia called the "creeps."