James Fenimore Cooper's Five Novels

by James Fenimore Cooper

  “My grandmother has long been expecting this pleasure, major Lincoln,” she said, “and your arrival has been at a most auspicious moment. The state of the country grows each day so very alarming, that I have indeed long urged her to visit our relatives in England, until the disputes shall have terminated.”

  The tones of an extremely soft and melodious voice, and a pronunciation quite as exact as if the speaker had acquired the sounds in the English court, and which was entirely free from the slight vernacular peculiarity which had offended his ear, in the few words that fell from Agnes Danforth, certainly aided a native attraction of manner, which it seemed impossible for the young lady to cast entirely aside.

  “You, who are so much of an English woman, would find great pleasure in the exchange,” he answered; “and if half what I have heard from a fellow passenger, of the state of the country be true, I shall be foremost in seconding your request. Both Ravenscliffe and the house in Soho, would be entirely at the service of Mrs. Lechmere.”

  “It was my wish that she would accept the pressing invitations of my father’s relative, Lord Cardonnel, who has long urged me to pass a few years in his own family. A separation would be painful to us both, but should my grandmother, in such an event, determine to take her residence in the dwellings of her ancestors, I could not be censured for adopting a resolution to abide under the roofs of mine.”

  The piercing eye of major Lincoln fell full upon her own, as she delivered this intention, and as it dropped on the floor, the slight smile that played round his lip, was produced by the passing thought, that the provincial beauty had inherited so much of her grandmother’s pride of genealogy, as to be willing to impress on his mind that the niece of a viscount was superior to the heir of a baronetcy. But the quick, burning flush that instantly passed across the features of Cecil Dynevor, might have taught him, that she was acting under the impulse of much deeper feelings than such an unworthy purpose would indicate. The effect, however, was such as to make the young man glad to see Mrs. Lechmere re-enter the room, leaning on the arm of her niece.

  “I perceive, cousin Lionel,” said the lady, as she moved with a feeble step toward the settee, “that you and Cecil have found each other out, without the necessity of any other introduction than the affinity between you. I surely do not mean the affinity of blood altogether, you know, for that cannot be said to amount to any thing; but I believe there exist certain features of the mind that are transmitted through families quite as distinctly as any which belong to the countenance.”

  “Could I flatter myself with possessing the slightest resemblance to Miss Dynevor, in either of those particulars, I should be doubly proud of the connexion,” returned Lionel, while he assisted the good lady to a seat, with a coolness that sufficiently denoted how little he cared about the matter.

  “But I am not disposed to have my right to claim near kindred with cousin Lionel, at all disputed,” cried the young lady, with sudden animation. “It has pleased our fore-fathers to order such—”

  “Nay, nay, my child,” interrupted her grandmother, “you forget that the term cousin can only be used in cases of near consanguinity, and where familiar situations will excuse it. But major Lincoln knows, that we in the colonies are apt to make the most of the language, and count our cousins almost as far as if we were members of the Scottish clans. Speaking of the clans, reminds me of the rebellion of ’45. It is not thought in England, that our infatuated colonists will ever be so fool-hardy as to assume their arms in earnest?”

  “There are various opinions on that subject,” said Lionel. “Most military men scout the idea; though I find, occasionally, an officer that has served on this continent, who thinks not only that the appeal will be made, but that the struggle will be bloody.”

  “Why should they not!” said Agnes Danforth, abruptly; “they are men, and the English are no more!”

  Lionel turned his looks, in a little surprise, on the speaker, to whose countenance an almost imperceptible cast in one eye, imparted a look of arch good nature that her manner would seem to contradict.

  “Why should they not, indeed! I know no other reasons than that it would be both a mad and an unlawful act. I can assure you that I am not one of those who affect to undervalue my countrymen; for you will remember that I too am an American.”

  “I have heard it said that such of our volunteers as wear uniforms at all,” said Agnes, “appear in blue, and not in scarlet.”

  “’Tis his majesty’s pleasure that his 47th foot should wear this gaudy colour,” returned the young man, laughing; “though, for myself, I am quite willing to resign it to the use of the ladies, and to adopt another, could it well be.”

  “It might be done, sir.”

  “In what manner?”

  “By resigning your commission with the coat.”

  Mrs. Lechmere had evidently permitted her niece to proceed thus far, without interruption, to serve some purpose of her own; but perceiving that her guest by no means exhibited that air of pique which the British officers were often weak enough to betray, when the women took into their hands the defence of their country’s honour, she rang the bell.

  “Bold language, major Lincoln!” she observed; “bold language for a young lady under twenty. But Miss Danforth is privileged to speak her mind freely, for some of her father’s family are but too deeply implicated in the unlawful proceedings of these evil times. We have kept Cecil, however, more to her allegiance.”

  “And yet even Cecil has been known to refuse the favour of her countenance to the entertainments given by the British officers!” said Agnes, a little piquantly.

  “And would you have Cecil Dynevor frequent balls and entertainments unaccompanied by a proper chaperon,” returned Mrs. Lechmere; “or is it expected that, at seventy, I can venture in public to maintain the credit of our family. But we keep major Lincoln from his refreshments with our idle disputes. Cato, we wait your movements.”

  Mrs. Lechmere delivered her concluding intimation to the black, in attendance, with an air that partook somewhat of mystery. The old domestic, who, probably from long practice, understood, more by the expression of her eye than by any words she had uttered, the wishes of his mistress, proceeded to close the outer shutters of the windows, and to draw the curtains with the most exact care. When this duty was performed, he raised a small oval table from its regular position among the flowing folds of the drapery that shrouded the deep apertures for light, and placed it in front of Miss Dynevor. A salver of massive silver, containing an equipage of the finest Dresden, followed, and in a few minutes a hissing urn of the same precious metal garnished the polished surface of the mahogany. During these arrangements, Mrs. Lechmere and her guest maintained a general discourse, touching chiefly on the welfare and condition of certain individuals of their alliance, in England. Notwithstanding the demand thus made on his attention, Lionel was able to discover a certain appearance of mystery and caution in each movement of the black as he proceeded leisurely in his duty. Miss Dynevor permitted the disposition of the tea-table to be made before her, passively, and her cousin Agnes Danforth threw herself back on one of the settees, with a look that indicated cool displeasure. When the usual compound was made in two little fluted cups, over whose pure white a few red and green sprigs were sparingly scattered, the black presented one containing the grateful beverage to his mistress, and the other to the stranger.

  “Pardon me, Miss Danforth,” said Lionel, recollecting himself after he had accepted the offering; “I have suffered my sea-breeding to obtain the advantage.”

  “Enjoy your error, sir, if you can find any gratification in the indulgence,” returned the young lady.

  “But I shall enjoy it the more, could I see you participating in the luxury.”

  “You have termed the idle indulgence well; ’tis nothing but a luxury, and such a one as can be easily dispensed with: I thank you, sir, I do not drink tea.�
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  “Surely no lady can forswear her Bohea! be persuaded.”

  “I know not how the subtle poison may operate on your English ladies, major Lincoln, but it is no difficult matter for an American girl to decline the use of a detestable herb, which is one, among many other, of the causes that is likely to involve her country and kindred in danger and strife.”

  The young man, who had really intended no more than the common civilities due from his sex to the other, bowed in silence, though, as he turned from her, he could not forbear looking toward the table to see whether the principles of the other young American were quite as rigid. Cecil sat bending over the salver, playing idly with a curiously wrought spoon, made to represent a sprig of the plant whose fragrance had been thus put in requisition to contribute to his indulgence, while the steam from the vessel before her was wreathing in a faint mist around her brow.

  “You at least, Miss Dynevor,” said Lionel, “appear to have no dislike to the herb, you breathe its vapour so freely.”

  Cecil cast a glance at him which changed the demure and somewhat proud composure of her countenance into a look of sudden, joyous humour, that was infinitely more natural, as she answered laughingly—

  “I own a woman’s weakness.—I must believe it was tea that tempted our common mother in Paradise!”

  “It would show that the cunning of the serpent has been transmitted to a later day, could that be proved,” said Agnes, “though the instrument of temptation has lost some of its virtue.”

  “How is that known?” asked Lionel, anxious to pursue the trifling, in order to remove the evident distance which had existed between them; “had Eve shut her ears as rigidly as you close your mouth against the offering, we might yet have enjoyed the first gift to our parents.”

  “Oh, sir, ’tis no such stranger to me as you may imagine from the indifference I have assumed on the present occasion; as Job Pray says, Boston harbour is nothing but a ‘big tea-pot!’”†

  “You know Job Pray, Miss Danforth!” said Lionel, not a little amused with her spirit.

  “Certainly; Boston is so small, and Job so useful, that every body knows the simpleton.”

  “He belongs to a distinguished family, then, for I have his own assurance that every body knows his perturbed mother, Abigail.”

  “You!” exclaimed Cecil, in that natural voice that had before startled her auditor; “what can you know of poor Job, and his almost equally unfortunate mother!”

  “Now, young ladies, I have you in my snares!” cried Lionel; “you may possibly resist the steams of tea, but what woman can withstand the impulse of curiosity! not to be cruel with my kinswomen on so short an acquaintance, however, I will go so far as to acknowledge that I have already had an interview with Mrs. Pray.”

  The reply which Agnes was about to deliver was interrupted by a slight crash, and on turning, they beheld the fragments of a piece of the splendid set of Dresden, lying at the feet of Mrs. Lechmere.

  “My dear grand-mama is ill!” cried Cecil, springing to the assistance of the old lady. “Hasten, Cato—major Lincoln, you are more active—for heaven’s sake a glass of water—Agnes, your salts.”

  The amiable anxiety of her grand-child was not, however, so necessary as first appearances would have indicated, and Mrs. Lechmere gently put aside the salts, though she did not decline the glass, which Lionel offered for the second time in so short a period.

  “I fear you will mistake me for a sad invalid, cousin Lionel,” said the old lady, when she had become a little composed; “but I believe it is this very tea, of which so much has been said, and which I drink to excess, from pure loyalty, that unsettles my nerves—I must refrain, like the girls, though from a very different motive. We are a people of early hours, major Lincoln, but you are at home here, and will pursue your pleasure; I must, however, claim an indulgence for threescore-and-ten, and be permitted to wish you a good rest after your voyage. Cato has his orders to contribute all he can to your comfort.”

  Leaning on her two assistants, the old lady withdrew, leaving Lionel to the full possession of the apartment. As the hour was getting late, and from the compliments they had exchanged, he did not expect the return of the younger ladies, he called for a candle, and was shown to his own room. When the few indispensables, which rendered a valet necessary to a gentleman of that period, were observed, he dismissed Meriton, and throwing himself in the bed, courted the sweets of the pillow.

  Many incidents, however, had occurred during the day, that induced a train of thoughts, which prevented his attaining the natural rest he sought. After indulging in long and uneasy reflections on certain events, too closely connected with his personal feelings to be lightly remembered, the young man began to muse on his reception, and on the individuals who had been, as it were, for the first time, introduced to him.

  It was quite apparent that both Mrs. Lechmere, and her grand-daughter were acting their several parts, though whether in concert or not, remained to be discovered. But in Agnes Danforth, with all his subtlety, he could perceive nothing but the plain and direct, though a little blunt, peculiarities of her nature and education. Like most very young men, who had just been made acquainted with two youthful females, both of them much superior to the generality of the sex in personal charms, he fell asleep musing on their characters. Nor, considering the circumstances, will it be at all surprising when we add, that before morning, he was dreaming of the Avon, of Bristol, on board which stout vessel he even thought that he was discussing a chowder on the Banks of Newfoundland, which had been unaccountably prepared by the fair hands of Miss Danforth, and which was strangely flavoured with tea; while the Hebe-looking countenance of Cecil Dynevor was laughing at his perplexities with undisguised good-humour, and with all the vivacity of girlish merriment.

  * The people of New England give the hard sound of oo to the letter u, while those of the extreme south give it the sound of the Irish. Lord Bute, who was prime minister of England, at the commencement of the American troubles, was always pronounced, in New England, Lord Boot, and so thoroughly was this sound familiarised to the eastern ear, that a droll practical bull was the consequence. The people of Boston suspended a boot, when they wished to hang the offensive minister in effigy! [1832]

  † It will be remembered that the Americans threw several cargoes of tea into the port of Boston. [1832]

  Chapter IV

  “A good portly man, i’faith, and a corpulent.”

  King Henry IV.

  * * *

  THE SUN WAS just stirring the heavy bank of fog, which had rested on the waters during the night, as Lionel toiled his way up the side of Beacon-Hill, anxious to catch a glimpse of his native scenery while it was yet glowing with the first touch of day. The islands raised their green heads above the mist, and the wide amphitheatre of hills that encircled the bay was still visible, though the vapour was creeping in places along the vallies—now concealing the entrance to some beautiful glen, and now wreathing itself fantastically around a tall spire that told the site of a suburban village. Though the people of the town were awake and up, yet the sacred character of the day, and the state of the times, contributed to suppress those sounds which usually distinguish populous places. The cool nights and warm days of April, had generated a fog more than usually dense, which was deserting its watery bed, and stealing insidiously along the land, to unite with the vapours of the rivers and brooks, spreading a wider curtain before the placid view. As Lionel stood on the brow of the platform that crowned the eminence, the glimpses of houses and hills, of towers and ships, of places known and places forgotten, passed before his vision, through the openings in the mist, like phantoms of the imagination. The whole scene, animated and in motion as it seemed by its changes, appeared to his excited feelings like a fanciful panorama, exhibited for his eye alone, when his enjoyment was interrupted by a voice apparently at no great distance. It was a man singing to a
common English air, fragments of some ballad, with a peculiarly vile nasal cadency. Through the frequent pauses, he was enabled to comprehend a few words, which, by their recurrence, were evidently intended for a chorus to the rest of the production. The reader will understand the character of the whole from these lines, which ran as follows:

  And they that would be free,

  Out they go;

  While the slaves, as you may see,

  Stay, to drink their p’ison tea,

  Down below!

  Lionel, after listening to this ditty for a moment, followed the direction of the sounds until he encountered Job Pray, who was seated on one of the flights of steps which aided the ascent to the platform, cracking a few walnuts on the boards, while he employed those intervals, when his mouth could find no better employment, in uttering the strains above mentioned.