Home as Found - James Fenimore Cooper (ebook reader wifi txt) 📗

feeling a species of nervousness at the sight

of a cross, I came to love to see it; and I think you must have

undergone a similar change; for I have discovered no less than three

among the ornaments of the great window of the entrance tower, at the

Wigwam."

 

"You might have discovered one, also, in every door of the building,

whether great or small, young lady. Our pious ancestors, as Powis

calls them, much of whose piety, by the way, was any thing but

meliorated with spiritual humility or Christian charity, were such

ignoramuses as to set up crosses in every door they built, even while

they veiled their eyes in holy horror whenever the sacred symbol was

seen in a church."

 

"Every door!" exclaimed the Protestants of the party.

 

"Yes, literally every door, I might almost say certainly every

panelled door that was constructed twenty years since. I first

discovered the secret of our blunder, when visiting a castle in

France, that dated back from the time of the crusade. It was a

_chateau_ of the Montmorencies, that had passed into the hands of the

Conde family by marriage; and the courtly old domestic, who showed me

the curiosities, pointed out to me the stone _croix_ in the windows,

which has caused the latter to be called _croisees_, as a pious usage

of the crusaders. Turning to a door, I saw the same crosses in the

wooden stiles; and if you cast an eye on the first humble door that

you may pass in this village, you will detect the same symbol staring

you boldly in the face, in the very heart of a population that would

almost expire at the thoughts of placing such a sign of the beast on

their very thresholds."

 

The whole party expressed their surprise; but the first door they

passed corroborated this account, and proved the accuracy of John

Effingham's statements. Catholic zeal and ingenuity could not have

wrought more accurate symbols of this peculiar sign of the sect; and

yet, here they stood, staring every passenger in the face, as if

mocking the ignorant and exaggerated pretension which would lay undue

stress on the minor points of a religion, the essence of which was

faith and humility.

 

"And the Philadelphia church?" said Eve, quickly, so soon as her

curiosity was satisfied on the subject of the door; "I am now more

impatient than ever, to learn what silly blunder we have also

committed there."

 

"Impious would almost be a better term," Paul answered. "The only

church spire that existed for half a century, in that town, was

surmounted by a _mitre_, while the _cross_ was studiously rejected!"

 

A silence followed; for there is often more true argument in simply

presenting the facts of a case, than in all the rhetoric and logic

that could be urged, by way of auxiliaries. Every one saw the

egregious folly, not to say presumption, of the mistake; and at the

moment, every one wondered how a common-sense community could have

committed so indecent a blunder. We are mistaken. There was an

exception to the general feeling in the person of Sir George

Templemore. To his church-and-state notions, and anti-catholic

prejudices, which were quite as much political as religious, there

was every thing that was proper, and nothing that was wrong, in

rejecting a cross for a mitre.

 

"The church, no doubt, was Episcopal, Powis," he remarked, "and it

was not Roman. What better symbol than the mitre could be chosen?"

 

"Now I reflect, it is not so very strange," said Grace, eagerly, "for

you will remember, Mr. Effingham, that Protestants attach the idea of

idolatry to the cross, as it is used by Catholics."

 

"And of bishops, peers in parliament, church and state, to a mitre."

 

"Yes, but the church in question I have seen; and it was erected

before the war of the revolution. It was an English rather than an

American church."

 

"It was, indeed, an English church, rather than an American; and

Templemore is very right to defend it, mitre and all."

 

"I dare say, a bishop officiated at its altar?"

 

"I dare say--nay, I know, he did; and, I will add, he would rather

that the mitre were two hundred feet in the air, than down on his own

simple, white-haired, apostolical-looking head. But enough of

divinity for the morning; yonder is Tom with the boat, let us to our

oars."

 

The party were now on the little wharf that served as a village-

landing, and the boatman mentioned lay off, in waiting for the

arrival of his fare. Instead of using him, however, the man was

dismissed; the gentlemen preferring to handle the oars themselves.

Aquatic excursions were of constant occurrence in the warm months, on

that beautifully limpid sheet of water, and it was the practice to

dispense with the regular boatmen, whenever good oarsmen were to be

found among the company.

 

As soon as the light buoyant skiff was brought to the side of the

wharf, the whole party embarked; and Paul and the baronet taking the

oars, they soon urged the boat from the shore.

 

"The world is getting to be too confined for the adventurous spirit

of the age," said Sir George, as he and his companion pulled

leisurely along, taking the direction of the eastern shore, beneath

the forest-clad cliffs of which the ladies had expressed a wish to be

rowed; "here are Powis and myself actually rowing together on a

mountain lake of America, after having boated as companions on the

coast of Africa, and on the margin of the Great Desert. Polynesia,

and Terra Australis, may yet see us in company, as hardy cruisers."

 

"The spirit of the age is, indeed, working wonders in the way you

mean," said John Effingham. "Countries of which our fathers merely

read, are getting to be as familiar as our own homes to their sons;

and, with you, one can hardly foresee to what a pass of adventure the

generation or two that will follow us may not reach."

 

"_Vraiment, c'est fort extraordinaire de se trouver sur un lac

Americain_," exclaimed Mademoiselle Viefville.

 

"More extraordinary than to find one's self on a Swiss lake, think

you, my dear Mademoiselle Viefville?"

 

"_Non, non, mais tout aussi extraordinaire pour une Parisienne._"

 

"I am now about to introduce you, Mr. John Effingham and Miss Van

Cortlandt excepted," Eve continued, "to the wonders and curiosities

of this lake and region. There, near the small house that is erected

over a spring of delicious water, stood the hut of Natty Bumppo, once

known throughout all these mountains as a renowned hunter; a man who

had the simplicity of a woodsman, the heroism of a savage, the faith

of a Christian, and the feelings of a poet. A better than he, after

his fashion, seldom lived."

 

"We have all heard of him," said the baronet, looking round

curiously; "and must all feel an interest in what concerns so brave

and just a man. I would I could see his counterpart."

 

"Alas!" said John Effingham, "the days of the 'Leather-stockings'

have passed away. He preceded me in life, and I see few remains of

his character in a region where speculation is more rife than

moralizing, and emigrants are plentier than hunters. Natty probably

chose that spot for his hut on account of the vicinity of the spring:

is it not so. Miss Effingham?"

 

"He did; and yonder little fountain that you see gushing from the

thicket, and which comes glancing like diamonds into the lake, is

called the 'Fairy Spring,' by some flight of poetry that, like so

many of our feelings, must have been imported; for I see no

connection between the name and the character of the country, fairies

having never been known, even by tradition, in Otsego."

 

The boat now came under a shore where the trees fringed the very

water, frequently overhanging the element that mirrored their

fantastic forms. At this point, a light skiff was moving leisurely

along in their own direction, but a short distance in advance. On a

hint from John Effingham, a few vigorous strokes of the oars brought

the two boats near each other.

 

"This is the flag-ship," half whispered John Effingham, as they came

near the other skiff, "containing no less a man than the 'commodore.'

Formerly, the chief of the lake was an admiral, but that was in times

when, living nearer to the monarchy, we retained some of the European

terms; now, no man rises higher than a commodore in America, whether

it be on the ocean or on the Otsego, whatever may be his merits or

his services. A charming day, commodore; I rejoice to see you still

afloat, in your glory."

 

The commodore, a tail, thin, athletic man of seventy, with a white

head, and movements that were quick as those of a boy, had not

glanced aside at the approaching boat, until he was thus saluted in

the well-known voice of John Effingham. He then turned his head,

however, and scanning the whole party through his spectacles, he

smiled good-naturedly made a flourish with one hand, while he

continued paddling with the other, for he stood erect and straight in

the stern of his skiff, and answered heartily--

 

"A fine morning, Mr. John, and the right time of the moon for

boating. This is not a real scientific day for the fish, perhaps; but

I have just come out to see that all the points and bays are in their

right places."

 

"How is it, commodore, that the water near the village is less limpid

than common, and that even up here, we see so many specks floating on

its surface?"

 

"What a question for Mr. John Effingham to ask on his native water!

So much for travelling in far countries, where a man forgets quite as

much as he learns, I fear." Here the commodore turned entirely round,

and raising an open hand in an oratorical manner, he added,--"You

must know, ladies and gentlemen, that the lake is in blow."

 

"In blow, commodore! I did not know that the lake bore its blossoms."

 

"It does, sir, nevertheless. Ay, Mr. John, and its fruits, too; but

the last must be dug for, like potatoes. There have been no

miraculous draughts of the fishes, of late years, in the Otsego,

ladies and gentlemen; but it needs the scientific touch, and the

knowledge of baits, to get a fin of any of your true game above the

water, now-a-days. Well, I have had the head of the sogdollager

thrice in the open air, in my time; though I am told the admiral

actually got hold of him once with his hand."

 

"The sogdollager," said Eve, much amused with the singularities of

the man, whom she perfectly remembered to have been commander of the

lake, even in her own infancy; "we must be indebted to you for an

explanation of that term, as well as for the meaning of your allusion

to the head and the open air."

 

"A sogdollager, young lady, is the perfection of a thing. I know Mr.

Grant used to say there was no such word in the dictionary; but then

there are many words that ought to be in the dictionaries that have

been forgotten by the printers. In the way of salmon trout, the

sogdollager is their commodore. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I should

not like to tell you all I know about the patriarch of this lake, for

you would scarcely believe me; but if he would not weigh a hundred

when cleaned, there is not an ox in the county that will weigh a

pound when slaughtered."

 

"You say you had his head above water?" said John Effingham.

 

"Thrice, Mr. John. The first time was thirty years ago; and I confess

I lost him, on that occasion, by want of science; for the art is not

learned in a day, and I had then followed the business but ten years.

The second time was five years later: and I had then been fishing

expressly for the old gentleman, about a month. For near a minute, it

was a matter of dispute between us, whether he should come out of the

lake or I go into it; but I actually got his gills in plain sight.

That was a glorious haul! Washington did not feel better the night

Cornwallis surrendered, than I felt on that great occasion!"

 

"One never knows the feelings of another, it seems. I should have

thought disappointment at the loss would have been the prevailing

sentiment on that great occasion, as you so justly term it."

 

"So it would have been, Mr. John, with an unscientific fisherman; but

we experienced hands know better. Glory is to be measured by quality,

and not by quantity, ladies and gentlemen; and I look on it as a

greater feather in a man's cap, to see the sogdollager's head above

water, for half a minute, than to bring home a skiff filled with

pickerel. The last time I got a look at the old gentleman, I did not

try to get