Are ye fantastical, or that indeedWhich outwardly ye show?”
—Banquo
As I have said already, the adventure on the river made a good deal of noise, in that simple community; and it had the effect to render Guert and myself a sort of heroes, in a small way; bringing me much more into notice, than would otherwise have been the case. I thought that Guert, in particular, would be likely to reap its benefit; for, various elderly persons, who were in the habit of frowning, whenever his name was mentioned, I was given to understand, could now smile; and two or three of the most severe among the Albany moralists, were heard to say that, “after all, there was some good about that Guert Ten Eyck.” The reader will not require to be told, that a high-school moralist, in a place as retired and insulated as Albany, must necessarily be a being that became subject to a very severe code. Morality, as I understand the matter, has a good deal of convention about it. There is town-morality and country-morality, all over the world, as they tell me. But, in America, our morals were, and long have been, separated into three great and very distinct classes; viz.—New England, or puritan-morals; middle colonies, or liberal morals; and southern colonies, or latitudinarian morals. I shall not pretend to point out all the shades of difference in these several schools; though that in which I had myself been taught, was necessarily the most in conformity with my own tastes. There were minor shades to be found in the same school; Guert and myself belonging to different classes. His morals were of the Dutch class; while mine more properly belonged to the English. The great characteristic of the Dutch school, was the tendency to excess that prevailed, when indulgences were sought. With them, it did not rain often; but, when it did rain, it was pretty certain to pour. Old Col. Follock was a case in point, on this scare; nor was his son Dirck, young and diffident as he was, altogether an exception to the rule. There was not a more respectable man in the colony, in the main, than Col. Van Valkenburgh. He was well connected; had a handsome unencumbered estate; and money at interest;—was a principal prop, in the church of his neighbourhood; was esteemed as a good husband; a good father; a true friend; a kind neighbour; an excellent, and loyal subject, and a thoroughly honest man. Nevertheless, Col. Van Valkenburgh had his weak times and seasons. He would have a frolic; and the Dominie was obliged to wink at this propensity. Mr. Worden often nicknamed him Col. Frolic. His frolics might be divided into two classes; viz. the moderate and immoderate. Of the first, he had two or three turns a year; and these were the occasions on which he commonly visited Satanstoe or had my father with him at Rockrockarock, as his own place, in Rockland, was called. On these visits, whether to or from, there was a large consumption of tobacco, beer, cider, wine, rum, lemons, sugar, and the other ingredients of punch, toddy and flip; but no outrageously durable excesses. There was much laughing, a great deal of good feeling, many stories, and regular repetitions of old adventures, in the way of traditional narrations; but nothing that could be called decided excesses. It is true, that my grand father, and my father, and the Rev. Mr. Worden, and Col. Follock, were much in the habit of retiring to their beds a little confused in their brains, the consequence of so much tobacco-smoke, as Mr. Worden always maintained; but everything was decent, and in order. The parson, for instance, invariably pulled up on a Friday; and did not take his place in the circle until Monday evening, again; which gave him fully twenty-four hours, to cool off in, before he ascended the pulpit. I will say this, for Mr. Worden, that he was very systematic and methodical in the observance of all his duties; and I have known him, when he happened to be late at dinner, on discovering that my father had omitted to say grace, insist on everybody’s laying down their knives and forks, while he asked a blessing; even though it were after the fish was actually eaten. No, no; Mr. Worden was a particular person, about all such things; and it was generally admitted, that he had been the means of causing grace to be introduced into several families, in Westchester; in which it had never been the practice to have it, before his examples and precepts were known to them.
I had not been acquainted with Guert Ten Eyck a fortnight, before I saw he had a tendency to the same sort of excesses as those to which Col. Van Valkenburgh was addicted. There was an old French Huguenot living near Satanstoe—or rather, the son of one, who still spoke his father’s language—and who used to call Col. Follock’s frolics his “grands couchers” and his “petit couchers;” 27 inasmuch as he usually got to bed at the last, without assistance; while at the first, it was indispensable that some aid should be proffered. It was these “grands couchers” at which my father never assisted. On these occasions, the colonel invariably held his orgies over in Rockland, in the society of men of purely Dutch extraction; there being something exclusive in the enjoyment. I have heard it said that these last frolics sometimes lasted a week, on really important occasions; during the whole of which time the colonel and all near him were as happy as lords. These “grands couchers” however, occurred but rarely—coming round, as it might be, like leap-years, just to regulate the calendar, and adjust the time.
As for my new friend, Guert, he made no manifestation towards a “grand coucher” during the time I remained at Albany—this his attachment to Mary Wallace forbade—but, I discovered by means of hints and allusions, that he had been engaged in one or two such affairs, and that there was still a longing for them in his bones. It was owing to her consciousness of the existence of such weaknesses, and her own strong aversion to anything of the sort, that, I am persuaded, Mary Wallace was alone induced to hesitate about accepting Guert’s weekly offer of his hand. The tenderness she evidently felt for him, now shone too obviously in her eyes, to leave any doubt in my mind of Guert’s final success; for what woman ever refused long to surrender, when the image of the besieger had taken its place in the citadel of her heart! Even Anneke received Guert with much favour, after his excellent behaviour on the river; and I fancied that everything was going on most flatteringly for my friend, while it seemed to me that I made no advances in my own suit. Such, at least, were my notions on the subject, at the very moment when my new friend, as it appeared, was nearly driven to desperation.
It was near the end of April, or about a month after our perilous adventure on the ice, that Guert came to seek me, one fine spring morning, with something very like despair depicted in his fine, manly face. During the whole of that month, it ought to be premised, I had not dared to speak of love to Anneke. My attentions and visits were incessant and pointed, but my tongue had been silent. The diffidence of real admiration had held me tongue-tied; and I foolishly fancied there would be something like presuming on the services I had so lately rendered, in urging my suit so soon after the occurrence of the events I have described. I had even the romance to think it might be taking an undue advantage of Bulstrode, to wish to press my claims at a moment when the common object of our suit might be supposed to feel the influence of a lively gratitude. These were the notions and sentiments of a very young man, it must be confessed; but I do not know that I ought to feel ashamed of them. At all events, they existed; and they had produced the effect I have mentioned, leaving me to fall, each day, more desperately in love, while I made no sensible advances in preferring my suit. Guert was very much in the same situation, with this difference, however; he made it a point to offer himself, distinctly, each Monday morning, invariably receiving for an answer “no;” if the lady were to be pressed for a definite reply; but leaving some glimmering of hope, should time be given for her to make up her mind. The visit of Guert’s, to which I have just alluded, was after one of the customary offers, and usual replies; the offer direct, and the “no,” tempered by the doubting and thoughtful brow, the affectionate smile, and the tearful eye.
“Corny,” said my friend, throwing down his hat with a most rueful aspect; for, winter having departed, and spring come, we had all laid aside our fur-caps—“Corny, I have just been refused again! That word, ‘no,’ has got to be so common with Mary Wallace, that I am afraid her tongue will never know how to utter a ‘yes!’ Do you know, Corny, I have a great mind to consult Mother Doortje!”
“Mother who?—You do not mean Mr. Mayor’s cook, surely!”
“No; Mother Doortje. She is said to be the best fortune teller that has ever lived in Albany. But, perhaps, you do not believe in fortune-tellers; some people I know
