WYNADOTTÉ (Unabridged). Джеймс Фенимор Купер

Tryon active?—What do the royal authorities, all this time?”

      “Of course they neglect nothing feasible; but, they must principally rely on the loyalty and influence of the gentry, until succour can arrive from Europe. If that fail them, their difficulties will be much increased.”

      Captain Willoughby understood his son; he glanced towards his unconscious wife, as if to see how far she felt with him.

      “Our own families are divided, of course, much as they have been in the previous discussions,” he added. “The De Lanceys, Van Cortlandts, Philipses, Bayards, and most of that town connection, with a large portion of the Long Island families, I should think, are with the crown; while the Livingstons, Morrises, Schuylers, Rensselaers, and their friends, go with the colony. Is not this the manner in which they are divided?”

      “With some limitations, sir. All the De Lanceys, with most of their strong connections and influence, are with us—with the king, I mean—while all the Livingstons and Morrises are against us. The other families are divided—as with the Cortlandts, Schuylers, and Rensselaers. It is fortunate for the Patroon, that he is a boy.”

      “Why so, Bob?” asked the captain, looking inquiringly up, at his son.

      “Simply, sir, that his great estate may not be confiscated. So many of his near connections are against us, that he could hardly escape the contamination; and the consequences would be inevitable.”

      “Do you consider that so certain, sir? As there are two sides to the question, may there not be two results to the war?”

      “I think not, sir. England is no power to be defied by colonies insignificant as these.”

      “This is well enough for a king’s officer, major Willoughby; but all large bodies of men are formidable when they are right, and nations—these colonies are a nation, in extent and number—are not so easily put down, when the spirit of liberty is up and doing among them.”

      The major listened to his father with pain and wonder. The captain spoke earnestly, and there was a flush about his fine countenance, that gave it sternness and authority. Unused to debate with his father, especially when the latter was in such a mood, the son remained silent, though his mother, who was thoroughly loyal in her heart—meaning loyal as applied to a sovereign—and who had the utmost confidence in her husband’s tenderness and consideration for herself, was not so scrupulous.

      “Why, Willoughby,” she cried, “you really incline to rebellion! I, even I, who was born in the colonies, think them very wrong to resist their anointed king, and sovereign prince.”

      “Ah, Wilhelmina,” answered the captain, more mildly, “you have a true colonist’s admiration of home. But I was old enough, when I left England, to appreciate what I saw and knew, and cannot feel all this provincial admiration.”

      “But surely, my dear captain, England is a very great country,” interrupted the chaplain—“a prodigious country; one that can claim all our respect and love. Look at the church, now, the purified continuation of the ancient visible authority of Christ on earth! It is the consideration of this church that has subdued my natural love of birth-place, and altered my sentiments.”

      “All very true, and all very well, in your mouth, chaplain; yet even the visible church may err. This doctrine of divine right would have kept the Stuarts on the throne, and it is not even English doctrine; much less, then, need it be American. I am no Cromwellian, no republican, that wishes to oppose the throne, in order to destroy it. A good king is a good thing, and a prodigious blessing to a country; still, a people needs look to its political privileges if it wish to preserve them. You and I will discuss this matter another time, parson. There will be plenty of opportunities,” he added, rising, and smiling good-humouredly; “I must, now, call my people together, and let them know this news. It is not fair to conceal a civil war.”

      “My dear sir!” exclaimed the major, in concern—“are you not wrong?—precipitate, I mean—Is it not better to preserve the secret, to give yourself time for reflection—to await events?—I can discover no necessity for this haste. Should you see things differently, hereafter, an incautious word uttered at this moment might bring much motive for regret.”

      “I have thought of all this, Bob, during the night—for hardly did I close my eyes—and you cannot change my purpose. It is honest to let my people know how matters stand; and, so far from being hazardous, as you seem to think, I consider it wise. God knows what time will bring forth; but, in every, or any event, fair-dealing can scarcely injure him who practises it. I have already sent directions to have the whole settlement collected on the lawn, at the ringing of the bell, and I expect every moment we shall hear the summons.”

      Against this decision there was no appeal. Mild and indulgent as the captain habitually was, his authority was not to be disputed, when he chose to exercise it. Some doubts arose, and the father participated in them, for a moment, as to what might be the effect on the major’s fortunes; for, should a very patriotic spirit arise among the men, two-thirds of whom were native Americans, and what was more, from the eastern colonies, he might be detained; or, at least, betrayed on his return, and delivered into the hands of the revolted authorities. This was a very serious consideration, and it detained the captain in the house, some time after the people were assembled, debating the chances, in the bosom of his own family.

      “We exaggerate the danger,” the captain, at length, exclaimed. “Most of these men have been with me for years, and I know not one among them who I think would wish to injure me, or even you, my son, in this way. There is far more danger in attempting to deceive them, than in making them confidants. I will go out and tell the truth; then we shall, at least, have the security of self-approbation. If you escape the danger of being sold by Nick, my son, I think you have little to fear from any other.”

      “By Nick!” repeated half-a-dozen voices, in surprise—Surely, father—surely, Willoughby—surely, my dear captain, you cannot suspect as old and tried a follower, as the Tuscarora!”

      “Ay, he is an old follower, certainly, and he has been punished often enough, if he has not been tried. I have never suffered my distrust of that fellow to go to sleep—it is unsafe, with an Indian, unless you have a strong hold on his gratitude.”

      “But, Willoughby, he it was who found this manor for us,” rejoined the wife. “Without him, we should never have been the owners of this lovely place, this beaver-dam, and all else that we so much enjoy.”

      “True, my dear; and without good golden guineas, we should not have had Nick.”

      “But, sir, I pay as liberally as he can wish,” observed the major. “If bribes will buy him, mine are as good as another’s.”

      “We shall see—under actual circumstances, I think we shall be, in every respect, safer, by keeping nothing back, than by telling all to the people.”

      The captain now put on his hat, and issued through the undefended gateway, followed by every individual of his family. As the summons had been general, when the Willoughbys and the chaplain appeared on the lawn, every living soul of that isolated settlement, even to infants in the arms, was collected there. The captain commanded the profound respect of all his dependants, though a few among them did not love him. The fault was not his, however, but was inherent rather in the untoward characters of the disaffected themselves. His habits of authority were unsuited to their habits of a presuming equality, perhaps; and it is impossible for the comparatively powerful and affluent to escape the envy and repinings of men, who, unable to draw the real distinctions that separate the gentleman from the low-minded and grovelling, impute their advantages to accidents and money. But, even the few who permitted this malign and corrupting tendency to influence their feelings, could not deny that their master was just and benevolent, though he did not always exhibit this justice and benevolence precisely in the way best calculated to soothe their own craving self-love, and exaggerated notions of assumed natural claims. In a word, captain Willoughby, in the eyes of a few unquiet and bloated imaginations among his people, was obnoxious to