Out of the Hurly-Burly; Or, Life in an Odd Corner

by Charles Heber Clark

  CHAPTER VII.

  THE BATTERY AND ITS PECULIARITIES--A LOVELY SCENE--SWEDE AND DUTCHMAN TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO--OLD NAMES OF THE RIVER--INDIAN NAMES GENERALLY--COOLEY'S BOY--HIS ADVENTURE IN CHURCH--THE LONG AND THE SHORT OF IT--MR. COOLEY'S DOG AND OUR TROUBLES WITH IT.

  The closing hours of the long summer afternoon can be spent in nopleasanter place than by the water's side. And after tea I like totake my little group of Adelers out from the hot streets over thegrassy way which leads to the river shore, and to find a comfortableloitering-place upon the Battery. That spot is adorned with a long rowof rugged old trees whose trunks are gashed and scarred by the penknivesof idlers. Their branches interlock overhead and form one great mass oftender green foliage, here sweeping down almost to the earth, and therehanging far out over the water, trembling and rustling in the breeze.Beneath, there is a succession of hewn logs, suggesting the existenceof some sort of a wharf in the remote past, but now serving nicely forseats for those who come here to spend a quiet hour. Around there is asod which grows lush and verdant, excepting where the tread of many feethas worn a pathway backward to the village.

  In front is as lovely a scene as any the eye can rest upon in thisportion of the world. Below us the rising and the ebbing tides hurl thetiny ripples upon the pebbly beach, and the perpetual wash of the wavesmakes that gentle and constant music which is among the most grateful ofthe sounds of nature.

  Away to the southward sweeps the Delaware shore line in a mighty curvewhich gives the river here the breadth and magnificence of a great lake,and at the end of the chord of the arc the steeples and the masts atDelaware City rise in indistinct outline from the waves. To the left,farther in the distance, old Fort Delaware lifts its battlements abovethe surface of the stream. And see! A puff of white smoke rises closeby the flag-staff. And now a dull thud comes with softened cadenceacross the wide interval. It is the sunset gun. Far, far beyond, a sailglimmers with rosy light caught from the brilliant hues of the cloudswhich make the western heavens glorious with their crimson drapery; andwhile here as we gaze straight out through the bay there is naught inthe perspective but water and sky, to the right the low-lying land belowthe island fortress seems, somehow, to be queerly suspended betweenriver and heaven, until as it recedes it grows more and more shadowy,and at last melts away into the mist that creeps in from the ocean. Itis pure happiness to sit here beneath the trees and to look upon thescene while the cool air pours in from the water and lifts into theupper atmosphere the oppressive heat that has mantled the earth duringthe day.

  THE BATTERY]

  I do not know why the place is called "the Battery." Perhaps a coupleof centuries ago the Swedes may have built here a breastwork with whichto menace their hated Dutch rivals who held the fort just below usthere upon the river bank. (We will walk over to the spot some day, Mrs.Adeler.) And who can tell what strange old Northmen in jerkin and helmethave marched up and down this very stretch of level sward, carryinghuge fire-lock muskets and swearing mighty oaths as they watched theintruding Dutchman in his stronghold, caring little for the placidloveliness of the view which the rolling tide of the majestic river everoffered to their eyes!

  But some of those people could appreciate this beautiful panorama.Some of them did not forget the grandeur of nature while their littlepassions raged against the Dutchmen. It was Jasper Dankers who came herefrom Sweden in 1676, and looked out from this Battery; returning home,he wrote in his diary in this fashion:

  "The town is situated upon a point which extends out with a sandy beach,affording a good landing-place. It lies a little above the bay where theriver bends and runs south from there, so that you can see down theriver southwardly. The greater portion of it presents a beautiful viewin perspective, and enables you to see from a distance the ships comeout from the great bay and sail up the river."

  The sandy beach is gone, and the ships which float upward from the bayare not such craft as Dankers saw; but the stream has its ancientmajesty, and the wooded banks, I like to think, present to our eyesnearly the same sweet picture that touched the soul of that old Swedetwo long centuries ago.

  Another thing has changed--yes, it has changed many times. The Indians,Mrs. A., called the bay Poutaxat and the river Lenape Wihittuck. Thestream, too, was named the Arasapha, and also Mackerish Kitton--a titlepretty enough in its way, but oddly suggestive of mackerel and kittens.But the Swedes came, and with that passion which burned in the bosoms ofall the early European immigrants for prefixing the word "new" to thenames of natural objects, they entitled the river New Swedeland Stream.Then the Dutch obtained the mastery here, and it became the South River,the Hudson being the North River, and finally the English obtainedpossession, and called it Delaware.

  What a pity it is that they didn't suffer one of the original titles toremain! The Lenape would have been a beautiful name for the river--farbetter than the Gallic compound that it bears now. The men who settledthis country seem to have had for Indian names the same intense dislikethat they entertained for the savages themselves, and as a rule theyrejected with scorn the soft, sweet syllables with which mountain andforest and stream were crowned, substituting too often most barbarouswords therefor. Even Penn and his Quakers disdained the Indian names.How much better Pennsylvania would have been treated if that grand oldState had been called Susquehanna or Juniata or Allegheny! And would itnot have been wiser if the city, instead of bringing its name from Asia,had sought it among its own surroundings, and had grown to greatness asWissahickon or Wingohocking? The Indian names that still remain here andthere to designate a stream, a district or a town are the few distinctlyAmerican words in existence. We have thrown away the others, althoughthey were a very precious part of the legacy which we received from therace we have supplanted. One such word as Wyoming is worth an entirevolume of such names as New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Maryland andthe like; and I have always wondered at the blundering folly of the manwho, with such musical syllables at hand ready to be used, dubbed thetown of Wilkes Barre with that particularly poor name.

  While we were sitting by the river discussing these and other matters,Cooley's boy, a thoroughly disagreeable urchin, who had been playingwith some other boys upon the wharf near by, tumbled into the water.There was a terrible screaming among his companions, and a crowd quicklygathered upon the pier. For a few moments it seemed as if the boy woulddrown, for no one was disposed to leap in after him, and there was not aboat within saving distance. But fortunately the current swept himaround to the front of the Battery, where the water is shallow, andbefore he was seriously hurt he was safely landed in the mud thatstretches below the low-water mark. Then the excitement, which had beenso great as to attract about half the population of the village, diedaway, and people who had just been filled with horror at the prospect ofa tragedy began to feel a sense of disappointment because their fearshad not been realized. I cannot of course say that I was sorry to seethe youngster once more upon dry land; but if fate had robbed us of him,we should have accepted the dispensation without grievous complaint.

  We did not leave all the nuisances behind us in the city. Cooley's dogand his boy are two very sore afflictions which make life even here verymuch sadder than it ought to be in a place that pretends to be somethingin the nature of an earthly paradise. The boy not only preys upon mymelon-patch and fruit trees and upon those of my neighbors, but he hasan extraordinary aptitude for creating a disturbance in whatever spothe happens to be. Only last Sunday he caused such a terrible commotionin church that the services had to be suspended for several minutesuntil he could be removed. The interior of the edifice was painted andvarnished recently, and I suppose one of the workmen must have left aclot of varnish upon the back of Cooley's pew, which is directly acrossthe aisle from mine. Cooley's boy was the only representative of thefamily at church upon that day, and he amused himself during the earlierportions of the service by kneeling upon the seat and communing with Dr.Jones's boy, who occupied the pew immediately in the rear. Sometimes,w
hen young Cooley would resume a proper position, Jones's boy would stirhim up afresh by slyly pulling his hair, whereupon Cooley would wheelabout and menace Jones with his fist in a manner which betrayed utterindifference to the proprieties of the place and the occasion, as wellas to the presence of the congregation. When Cooley finally sank into acondition of repose, he placed his head, most unfortunately, directlyagainst the lump of undried varnish, while he amused himself by readingthe commandments and the other scriptural texts upon the wall behind thepulpit.

  In a few moments he attempted to move, but the varnish had mingled withhis hair, and it held him securely. After making one or two desperatebut ineffectual efforts to release himself, he became very angry; andsupposing that Jones's boy was holding him, he shouted:

  "Leg go o' my hair! Leg go o' my hair, I tell you!"

  The clergyman paused just as he was entering upon consideration of"secondly," and the congregation looked around in amazement, in time toperceive young Cooley, with his head against the back of the pew, aimingdreadful blows over his shoulder with his fist at some unseen personbehind him. And with every thrust he exclaimed:

  "I'll smash yer nose after church! I'll go for you, Bill Jones, when Iketch you alone! Leg go o' my hair, I tell you, or I'll knock thestuffin' out o' yer," etc., etc.

  Meanwhile, Jones's boy sat up at the very end of his pew, far away fromCooley, and looked as solemn as if the sermon had made a deep impressionupon him. Then the sexton came running up, with the idea that the boyhad fallen asleep and had nightmare, while Mrs. Dr. Magruder sallied outfrom her pew and over to Cooley's, convinced that he had a fit. When thecause of the disturbance was ascertained, the sexton took out hisknife, and after sawing off enough of Cooley's hair to release him,dragged him out of church. The victim retreated unwillingly, glancingaround at Jones's boy and shaking his fist at that urchin as if toindicate that he cherished a deadly purpose against Jones.

  Then the sermon proceeded. I suppose a contest between the two boys hasbeen averted, for only yesterday I saw Jones and Cooley, the younger,playing hop-scotch together in the street in apparent forgetfulness ofthe sorrows of the sanctuary.

  Judge Pitman tells me that one of the reasons why Cooley and his wifedisagree is that there is such a difference in their height. Cooley istall, and Mrs. Cooley is small. Mrs. Cooley told Mrs. Pitman, if thejudge is to be believed, that Cooley continually growled because shecould not keep step with him. They always start wrong, somehow, whenthey go out together, and then, while he tries to catch step with her,she endeavors to get in with him. After both have been shuffling aboutover the pavement for several minutes in a perfectly absurd manner, theygo ahead out of step just as before.

  When Cooley tried to take short steps like hers, his gait was soridiculous as to excite remark; while if she tried to make such longstrides as his, people stopped and looked at her as if they thought shewas insane. Then she would strive to take two steps to his one, but shefound that two and a half of hers were equal to one of his; and when sheundertook to make that fractional number in order to keep up with him,he would frown at her and say,

  "Mrs. Cooley, if you are going to dance the polka mazourka upon thepublic highway, I'm going home."

  I do not receive this statement with implicit confidence in itstruthfulness. Pitman's imagination sometimes glows with unnatural heat,and he may have embellished the original narrative of Mrs. Cooley.

  I shall probably never receive from any member of the Cooley family acorrect account of the causes of the unpleasant differences existingtherein, for we are on worse terms than ever with Cooley. His dog becamesuch an intolerable nuisance because of his nocturnal vociferation thatsome practical humanitarian in the neighborhood poisoned him. Cooleyapparently cherished the conviction that I had killed the animal, and heflung the carcass over the fence into my yard. I threw it back. Cooleyreturned it. Both of us remained at home that day, and spent the morninghanding the inanimate brute to each other across the fence. At noon Icalled my man to take my place, and Cooley hired a colored person torelieve him. They kept it up until nightfall, by which time I supposethe corpse must have worn away to a great extent, for at sundown my manburied the tail by my rose-bush and came in the house, while Cooley'srepresentative resigned and went home.

  The departed brute left behind him but one pleasant recollection; andwhen I recall it, I feel that he fully avenged my wrongs upon hismaster. Cooley went out a week or two ago to swim in the creek, and hetook the dog with him to watch his clothing. While Cooley bathed the dogslept; but when Cooley emerged from the water, the dog did not recognizehim in his nude condition, and it refused to let him come near hisgarments. Whenever Cooley would attempt to seize a boot or a stockingor a shirt, the dog flew at him with such ferocity that he dared notattempt to dress himself. So he stood in the sun until he was almostbroiled; then he went into the water and remained there, dodging up anddown for the purpose of avoiding the people who passed occasionallyalong the road. At last the dog went to sleep again, and Cooley,creeping softly behind the brute, caught it suddenly by the tail andflung it across the stream. Before the dog could recover its senses andswim back, Cooley succeeded in getting some of his clothing on him, andthen the dog came sidling up to him looking as if it expected to berewarded for its extraordinary vigilance. The manner in which Cooleykicked the faithful animal is said to have been simply dreadful.

  I should have entertained a positive affection for that dog if it hadnot barked at night. But I am glad it is gone. We came here to havequietness, and that was unattainable while Cooley's dog remained withinview of the moon.