The Frontiersmen Part 2

"Well, perhaps _you_ mightn't do anything at it, Squire," replied Ichabod; "but somebody else might. Now, suppose somebody _should_ locate a business of that kind down here, I'll tell you how you could make a nice spec out of it, without laying out any capital at all--although it would be kind'er fair to lend a helping hand, jist to start, perhaps, seeing you could make so well out of it."

Barton looked at Ichabod, as if he began to doubt his sanity; but to Ralph, the earnestness of the one and the surprise of the other, was a matter of great amus.e.m.e.nt.

Ichabod continued, pleased at the surprised attention which Barton was giving to him:

"You see, Squire, s'pose that business should be started down here, jist opposite them flats, it would be necessary to bring in lots of people, and you could lay out them flats into building-lots, and realize something handsome out of it."

"Pshaw!" said Barton, "a city down here! Well, I'll tell you what I'll do, Mr. Jenkins. I'll give you the land for your factory, together with your water-privilege, and we'll divide the profits on the city lots;"

and the old gentleman laughed heartily at the suggestion.

"That's what I call fair," said Ichabod, slowly; "but _couldn't_ you, Squire, do a little something towards furnis.h.i.+ng the capital?"

"Furnis.h.i.+ng the capital!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Barton; "why, as to that, I haven't capital enough to furnish my own farm, small as it is. No: I think, Mr.

Jenkins, I have made you a very fair offer."

Just at this moment, Sambo announced their supper to be ready, and Ichabod was obliged to desist from the further prosecution of his project. But, extremely well satisfied with the progress already made, he began seriously to dream of the manufacturing firm of "Barton, Weston, Jenkins & Co."

CHAPTER IV.

_2d Fisherman_.--"Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea."

_1st Fisherman_.--"Why, as men do on land--the great ones eat up the little ones."--PERICLES.

Ralph was now fairly installed as a member of the family of Mr. Barton.

He had found an opportunity, in the course of the evening of his arrival, to exchange a few words of conversation with Ruth; and he was now satisfied that the partiality with which, in former days, she had regarded him, had not given place to indifference. The consciousness of this fact amply repaid him for long years of absence, and led him to look forward to such a future as only appears to the vision of those who reason from the heart. The future, cold, impa.s.sable, dark, and filled with mysterious dread, to him who has outlived the power of youthful pa.s.sion--to the young and the hopeful, is the unattained but attainable region, where exist all the charms and raptures which can be bodied forth by an ardent imagination. So different are the views of life which can be made by a few active, busy years.

On the morning of the day after their arrival, Ralph and Ichabod, accompanied by Barton, examined the farm and the improvements which had been made by the energy of the latter. Some fifteen acres of forest had already been cleared, and Sambo, on this morning, was engaged in still farther invading the domains of the wilderness; and with his bare and muscular arms was wielding the axe like a redoubtable soldier among a mult.i.tude of enemies.

There is something pleasant to the eye in beholding the struggle of man with the wilderness; to see old, mossy trees, that had stood for ages, faithful guardians of the soil, whose long, leafy boughs and bushy crowns, seemed to belong as much to the sky in which they waved and nodded, as to the earth which sustained them, bow down their heavy heads with a crash, that to the imaginative mind, seems, with its echoes, like a mournful wail issuing from the surviving forest. As the tree falls, the golden sunlight darts into a new and unexplored region, and the melancholy forest abode recedes, as if pursued by an implacable enemy.

But it is a rescue of the earth from the long slumber of past time, and an offering to the comforts and necessities of the future.

It is scarcely to be wondered at, that in earlier times, when the imaginations of men overruled their powers of reason, the sombre, melancholy forest abode was peopled with fanciful beings--children of the shadow and of the forest--Fairies, Dryads, and Satyrs, with Arcadian landscapes, and the good G.o.d Pan to preside over sylvan sports! But in these days of utility, the reed of the shepherd and the music of the sylvan G.o.ds are drowned in the clatter of saw-mills, and the hoa.r.s.e song of the woodchopper.

Ichabod, who had not forgotten the conversation of the previous evening, endeavored, two or three times, to revive the project which on that occasion he had proposed to Barton; but he was unsuccessful in his attempts to renew the discussion. After a few hours thus spent, the party returned to the cottage. Barton proposed, for the afternoon, a fis.h.i.+ng excursion upon the pond. "It is filled," said he, "with pickerel and perch--both very delicious fish, and they are taken with the utmost ease. This is just the season for them."

Ralph inquired if the streams contained any specimens of trout; and Barton answered, "that the river contained some very fine specimens, although they were not so numerous as in the smaller streams.

Occasionally we take pike, but they do not come so far up the river in very large quant.i.ties. But," he continued, with a zeal that showed he was not a stranger to the gentle art, "our brooks are filled--absolutely filled--with trout. There is a stream, about a mile and a half west of us, which comes from the northwest, through a wilderness, with which I am almost wholly unacquainted, where they can be taken in great numbers.

In an hour, we can catch as many as it will be convenient to carry. If you like, we will go over there to-morrow, or next day; but for to-day, I am anxious to show you sport nearer by."

It was arranged, that in the afternoon the suggestion of Barton should be followed; and hearing the latter giving some directions to Sambo, which it will be unnecessary here to repeat, Ralph and Ichabod proceeded leisurely towards the cottage.

"There is a charm, for me, about a life in the woods," said Ralph, "which I cannot explain. Mingled with the idea of a nearer approach to the Court of Nature, is that of separation from the pa.s.sions and vices of men in the world. One feels to exclaim with the Bard of Avon,

"Is not this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court?"

"I don't dispute the general idea," said Ichabod, "about the sweetness of a life in the woods. I have never tried it very much, but I always have a different sort of feeling from usual when I find myself in the forest; but I reckon that it can't be considered very patriotic for a Captain in the Revolutionary Army to be quoting Shakspeare, or any other British poet. What did _he_ know about _our_ woods? All the woods he ever saw were but a child's play-ground compared with the eternal, never-ending forests of America. As for me, if I've got any poetry to quote, I can find enough of our own manufacture. I believe in the home manufacture of _that_ article, just as much as I do in that of the other kind we were talking about last night."

Ralph smiled at Ichabod's literary bigotry. He answered:

"I do not know any reasonable objection to our admiring the men of genius of a foreign or hostile nation, or their writings. Men of genius are the property of the world. Whatever they may think or say that may delight and instruct one people, may equally delight and instruct all others. We are yet in the infancy of the poetic art, and have produced no poets capable of winning a world-wide reputation."

"That's precisely what the British say, Captain; and if I didn't know that your heart was true as steel to the American cause, I should be a little _jealous_ of you. No poets of reputation! Did you ever read Freneau, Captain? To my mind, he's got more poetry in his little finger than Shakspeare had in his whole body. Now, did Shakspeare ever write anything equal to Freneau's "Antiquity of America"?"

And Ichabod began reciting, in a loud voice--

"'America, to every climate known, Spreads her broad bosom to the burning zone; To either pole extends her vast domain, Where varying suns in different summers reign.'"

"That's the way the poem begins, and it fully keeps up its pitch all the way through."

Ralph had some knowledge of the poetical compositions of Freneau, who had really produced some poems, full of a fine, poetic feeling, and who was much beyond the ma.s.s of his poetical contemporaries in this country; yet, although he entertained a feeling of respect for the ability and services of the revolutionary poet, he could not share the high degree of admiration which Ichabod entertained for him.

"I'll grant," said Ralph, scarcely knowing how to reply to the irritated Ichabod, "that Shakespeare never _did_ write precisely such a poem; and I will admit that I do not believe he ever _could_ have written such an one."

"I knew you were right at heart, Captain," exclaimed Ichabod, highly elated over his equivocal victory. "Some of his verses have done as much towards bringing down the British, as whole regiments of Continentals could have done. But then, Freneau is only one of a whole circle of poets. The British boast about their old ballads; now, I'll take an even bet, that I can show 'em ballads, written here at home, that will make 'em ashamed. Why, we've had a woman that would eclipse 'em all, to my mind--Mrs. Bradstreet, of whom another poet said:

"'Her breast was a brave palace, a broad street, Where all heroic, ample thoughts did meet.'"

"Mrs. Bradstreet _did_ possess a sweetness of expression," said Ralph; "and, with a higher cultivation, she might have written some fine poetry."

"_Might_, Captain! Lord bless you, she did! Speaking of the Squire's fis.h.i.+ng expedition, what other poet ever said as fine things about _fish_, for instance, as she did?

"'Ye fish, which in this liquid region 'bide, That for each season have your habitation, Now salt, now fresh, where you think best to glide, To unknown coasts to give a visitation.

In lakes and ponds you leave your numerous fry: So Nature taught, and yet you know not why, You wat'ry folk that know not your felicity.'"

Ralph was much amused at the earnestness of Ichabod, and he did not wish to irritate him by any depreciating criticism upon verses which he considered so extraordinary; but remarked:

"An admiration of poetic productions depends very much upon the quality of our taste. I presume that I have very little taste for such things; but I do think that our ballad poetry has done us good service. Written in a popular style, and sung or recited by men who _felt_ the particular sentiments usually contained in them, these ballads have frequently proved effective in inspiring a proper, natural feeling."

"Them's my sentiments, Captain," said Ichabod; "and I'm glad to see that you're right on that p'int. We've got ballads on all sorts of subjects, from the time of King Philip's war down to these days. Did you ever read the ballad of 'Lovewell's Fight,' Captain? I call it a great poem. After speaking of the valiant Captain Lovewell, it goes on to say:

"'He and his valiant soldiers Did range the woods full wide, And hards.h.i.+ps they endured, To quell the Indian's pride.

""Twas nigh unto Pigwacket, Upon the eighth of May, They spied a rebel Indian Soon after break of day.

He on a bank was walking, Upon a neck of land Which leads into a pond, as We're made to understand.'

"It then goes on to describe the fight between the company and the Injins that laid in ambush, and winds up with telling who and how many were killed.

"'Our worthy Captain Lovewell Among them there did die; They killed Lieutenant Robbins, And wounded good young Frye,'

while the rest of the company started for home;

'And braving many dangers And hards.h.i.+p in the way, They safe arrived at Dunstable, The thirteenth day of May.'"

"Very good, Ichabod--very good! It is really quite American in style, as well as theme."

"But good as it is, Captain, it isn't a circ.u.mstance to some of 'em.