COLLEGE OF AGRICULTURE 
 DAVIS, CALIFORNIA 
 
THE 
 
 0L CREEK LETTERS, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER CORRESPONDENCE, 
 
 BY W. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 PUBLISHED BY BAKER & SCRIBNER, 
 
 145 NASSAU STREET AND 36 PARK ROW. 
 
 1848, 
 
 UWVERSTTY OF CAUFORMA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 COLLEGE Of AGRICULTURE 
 
S. W. BENEDICT, Printer, 
 16 Spruce Street. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 LETTER I. Page. 
 
 NIGHT ON THE RIVER BANK, 9 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 THE FOREST BEAUTY, 17 
 
 LETTER III. 
 THE NIGHT HUNT, 23 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 THE RIVER AND THE CABIN, 32 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 A FOREST FUNERAL, 41 
 
 & 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 THE CABIN AT NIGHT, 50 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 NIGHT IN THE WOODS, 59 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 THE LEGEND or THE HAUNTED ROCK, 68 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 THE THUNDER STORM, 79 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 THE MOURNER, - 88 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 LETTER XI. Page. 
 
 THE OCEAN, 94 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 STONINGTON POINT, 10i 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 A LEGEND or MONT AUK, 106 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 BLOCK ISLAND, 114 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 THE FIRE-SHIP, - 124 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 THE SOUND, 133 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 A MEMORY o*' THE OLD CONGRESS, 142 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 THE DESERTED CHURCHES, 150 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 THE DOVE OF THE MOHAWKS, 159 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 THE RAIL-ROAD AND THE GRAVE- YARD, - 169 
 
 LETTER XXII- 
 FACES, 180 
 
 LETTER XXI11. 
 THE COTTAGE, - - - 192 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 MY DEAR L : 
 
 These letters, which were commenced without 
 any idea that ihey would be continued beyond the 
 month in which the first one was written, have at 
 length become a long series, and are now gathered 
 between covers for your benefit, whose they have 
 been in their origin and continuation. 
 
 And you will permit me, in laying a copy of them 
 on your table, to say again and yet again, that it 
 shall always be, as it has always been, my duty as 
 well as my happiness, to contribute in every method 
 in my power to your gratification, however slight my 
 ability may be. 
 
 These letters which have met your eye regularly, 
 as they have from time to time appeared in the 
 Journal of Commerce, are no elaborate paintings. 
 They profess to be entirely the contrary. Many of 
 them, in fact the larger portion, were written under 
 circumstances that rendered it impossible to refine a 
 sketch or shade an outline With folio resting on 
 
VI INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 a gnarled branch of the fallen tree on the river bank, 
 or on the unsteady deck of the Phantom, or on my 
 knee in a rail-car, by the sunlight, by the twilight, 
 by the fitful glare of the pine knots on the cabin 
 table ; at morning, evening, and midnight, from 
 every place, every situation ; these sketches have 
 been sent without revision, without even a second 
 reading after being once written, and while they 
 lack the polish which a careful elaboration might 
 have given them, they will be more valuable to you 
 as the unschooled, unwhipt fancies, and the matter- 
 of-fact experiences of your friend. 
 
 They were sent originally to be read by the deni 
 zens of our great city, and thus published in the 
 columns of a commercial paper. It may be sup 
 posed that they contain much that would scarcely 
 interest such readers ; and I may have failed to at 
 tract their attention to my thoughts in my many 
 rovings. Yet I have never hesitated in overstepping 
 the ordinary line of demarkation, nor did I ever fear 
 that allusions to the deeper feelings, the finer sensi 
 bilities, the holier affections of the heart, would fail 
 to meet a welcome in any soul which has been 
 thoughtful while it has lived. On the contrary, I 
 have found none so ready to sit and talk with me 
 as I most love to talk in the more serious hours of 
 
INTRODUCTORY. Vll 
 
 my day, as are those very persons who are at other 
 times occupied with the weary duties of business- 
 life. 
 
 That heart was originally callous and has not been 
 made so by contact with the world, which refuses to 
 grow glad when the springs of youth gush forth 
 again. Believe me, there are very few persons who 
 can look at the days of youth in any other light than 
 as a holy memory. To you, to them, to me, the past 
 is a memory of vigils on earth, by the wreck of 
 many earthly hopes, the grave of many earthly 
 loves. A memory of green fields we once walked 
 through, and pure springs we once drank of, such 
 fields as we may never walk through again, such 
 springs as we may never kneel beside again, until 
 the voices that died away here break once more me 
 lodiously on our ears, and we find rest in the green 
 fields by the still waters of the better land. 
 
 I need not point you to the refuge from such a 
 saddening memory. When visions of faded fancies, 
 of eyes that are dim, and forms that are dust, thus 
 haunt you, when songs long hushed fall faintly on 
 your ears as echoes from the blue arch of heaven 
 mingling somewhat of its sounds with their own 
 remembered tones, you will go as I have gone, out 
 into the starlight, and bowing reverently awhile, lift 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 your longing and expectant gaze to the God who is 
 more immutable than the stars or than their laws, 
 and bethink you of the land which is beyond them. 
 Thus, whatever might be thought of these letters 
 by others, I have been always sure that they met a 
 welcome in one seat, by one fireside, knowing that 
 your heart answered mine in every emotion of plea 
 sure or of pain. And while I give them now to the 
 public in a new form, you will permit me to say that 
 I should not do so, were I not well assured that you 
 would place some value on them, above what yan 
 stranger to me might estimate them at, and that while 
 I remain a stranger to others, you will find no diffi 
 culty in recognising the familiar initial of your old 
 friend, W. 
 
 OWL CREEK CABIN, Jan. 1848. 
 
THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 NIGHT ON THE RIVER BANK. 
 
 OWL CREEK CABIN, Nov., 1846. 
 
 IN the grand old forest ! Weariness is gone 
 and all care and sadness, and we rejoice 
 under the calm blue sky with perfect joy. 
 As the stars began to shine (Monday 
 evening it was), we came out from the 
 wood, on the bank of the river, and met 
 Nora and Echo Good dogs ! How glad 
 they were to see us again. Nora is a know 
 ing animal, and as she came and stood 
 before me, and put her paws on rny shoul 
 der and looked wistfully in my face, I knew 
 as well as if she had spoken, that she 
 wanted to know how they all were at home, 
 
 and especially how one was . Ah 
 
 Nora, you think as much of your gentle 
 
 mistress as your master does. " She's well, 
 2 
 
10 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 good dog," said I, " and they're all improv 
 ing," and Nora was satisfied; and straightway 
 she arid Echo began to raise the greatest 
 racket of joy you can imagine, and that 
 brought Black and Willis out of the cabin ; 
 and then we had a welcome as warm as 
 ever welcome was in our luxurious city, and 
 proceeded to enlighten them with reference 
 to matters and things in the world from 
 which we had come ; and when midnight 
 came, it found us sitting in front of the 
 hearthfire still. 
 
 In the matter of sociability we lack no 
 thing now. Willis, J., and myself, are friends 
 by no common bond. Long talks have we 
 now of college days, and of scenes in our 
 lives, not long but weary enough. We have 
 had joys together, and have wept together. 
 Yes, we call ourselves men, and yet we 
 three have wept over the graves of the good 
 and well beloved. So joying and sorrowing 
 together, we go on loving and loved, and 
 we three are left to one another now, alone, 
 of all the young and manly and fair that sat 
 
 
NIGHT ON THE RIVER BANK. 11 
 
 together a few years ago in a quiet home on 
 the banks of the Hudson. 
 
 And that reminds me of our last expedi 
 tion, of which I must tell you. The day 
 before yesterday, we had started for the Wil- 
 lahanna, but were led to the North by an 
 expectation of better game. The truth was, 
 we had an idea that an old bear, with at 
 least one cub, had crossed the country above 
 us, and we hoped for the good luck of meet 
 ing them. It was just at sunset that we 
 reached the foot of the highest hill in the 
 country, and resolved to see the sun go 
 down from its top. The sides were covered 
 with hemlock and cedar and scrub-oak, 
 strangely mixed, but the peak was open, 
 and a large rock rose in the centre like a 
 monument. Willis reached the summit 
 first, and called my attention to a hickory 
 tree, in the bark of which he had found my 
 mark. I made it there four years ago, when 
 alone on a hunt, but the point of especial 
 interest was a mark underneath it, which 
 Willis did not know. T knew it well, and 
 
12 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 as the sun went down in the sky, I looked 
 in the gathering glory of the West, and 
 wondered if the spirit of my friend were 
 with me there. 
 
 How wildly we are driven about by the 
 tempests of life. Years had passed since 
 we met last, but he had crossed my track 
 here in the lone forest, on this mountain 
 summit, and had made a note in the bark 
 that said to me in his own tone of voice, so 
 well remembered, "Friend I have come 
 where thou hast been, and I remember." 
 Hs is dead now ! He died in the strength 
 of manhood, with his clear eye fixed on 
 Heaven. Afar off in the East, our eyes 
 saw the last sun-ray gleaming on a blue 
 mountain peak. At the foot of that moun 
 tain is a grave-yard, and in that grave-yard 
 is a mound, marked by a plain white stone, 
 whereon is the name of the noblest spirit of 
 the class of . That is the grave of hopes, 
 golden hopes ; the grave of love a holy 
 heavenly love, that weeps even now over 
 the fallen. 
 
NIGHT ON THE RIVER BANK. 1 3 
 
 As I named his name to Willis and J , 
 an expression of sadness stole over their 
 faces, Yind we sat on the rock, and watched 
 the fading light, and spoke of him forget 
 ting entirely the necessary preparations for 
 the night. As darkness enveloped us, we 
 concluded to make our bivouac at the foot 
 of the rock, and so kindling a fire we piled 
 on all the broken branches and wood we 
 could collect, swept or kicked together into 
 a niche of the rock as many leaves as lay 
 about, lit our cigars and sat down. J 's 
 pocket furnished a partridge, and mine some 
 dried venison, salt, &c., and Willis added 
 some cold corn cake. The partridge soon 
 swung over the fire by a green vine branch, 
 and the appetites of the three added what 
 was wanting, if anything. 
 
 As we sat here disposing of the edibles 
 as fast as possible, J pointed out a light 
 in the forest, or rather over the top of it, at 
 a distance of perhaps two miles, which he 
 thought was smoke from some one's camp 
 fire. We had expected to meet Black the 
 
14 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 next day on the Willahanna, but it occurred 
 to me that he might have taken the same 
 course we had, and I know that if k were 
 he, Nora's voice would reach him. 
 
 The dog has a way of speaking, I can't 
 * call it howling, when she hears a mournful 
 sound, and I had before taken advantage of 
 this peculiarity. I therefore called her to 
 me, and commenced as piteous a howl my 
 self as I could get up. She took the idea, 
 and sent a mournful sound over the silent 
 and solemn forest, that must have scared the 
 very ghosts of the Indians that haunt them. 
 I never heard so wild a cry as that, save 
 once when I heard a drowning horse in the 
 Scioto. 
 
 Her voice rang and echoed among the 
 trees at the foot of the hill, until it seemed 
 as if the fiends themselves were wailing 
 there, and one calling to another, and the 
 other answering again, and all together 
 shrieking, till the sounds died away in the 
 dim old arches. Willis and J , who had 
 added their voices in screams of laughter 
 
NIGHT ON THE RIVER BANK. 15 
 
 to my howl and Nora's wail, had ceased, 
 and were leaning forward and listening as 
 intently as I, when a rifle rang in the woods, 
 and the light blazed suddenly as if an arm 
 ful of leaves had been thrown on it. We 
 answered by three shots, that Black, if it 
 were he, might recognise our number. The 
 next moment the light disappeared, by 
 which we knew that the fire was scattered, 
 and whoever the party was, he or they 
 would be with us soon. In half an hour, 
 Black came up the hill, and we exchanged 
 notes, talked till midnight, and then slept 
 till morning. As I woke the day was 
 breaking in the east, and when the sun rose 
 we were on our way. As for the bear afore 
 said, we haven't seen her yet. At noon 
 yesterday, we learned that she was dead ; 
 killed two days before. So we changed our 
 march, spent last night in a cabin in the 
 forest, and this morning reached the bank 
 of the Willahanna. The information which 
 we got there was such as induced us to 
 return to our cabin to-day, and we reached 
 
16 THE OWL gREEK LETTERS. 
 
 home this evening. The amount of game 
 killed in the three days is small, and we 
 are rather ashamed of our deeds. A fox 
 which J shot this morning, and a wild 
 duck of Willis's killing, is the sum total- 
 But we have had a pleasant walk, and some 
 fun, and not a little excitement, and so our 
 lives pass here. My visit to the city has 
 been productive of one good, if no more, in 
 adding J to our Company. But beside, it 
 has made me know how happy I actually 
 am in the forest. We grow proud and ego 
 tistical here, fancying all the glories of na 
 ture made for our especial benefit. We at 
 least learn to feel our own importance, and 
 gain in that sort of self respect which is no 
 hurt to a man. " We learn to battle with 
 giant thoughts," said Willis. " None of that 
 Joe, that's Byronic," said J ; " Byron was 
 always battling with strong thoughts, and 
 they generally beat him." It is late as I 
 write, and I have just looked out at the sky. 
 The head of Taurus, with the bright star of 
 the Wanderer, is past the zenith, and I 
 know it must be midnight. 
 
LETTER II. 
 
 THE FOREST BEAUTY. 
 
 NEW YORK CITY, Feb., 1847. 
 
 ON a bright winter morning we emerged 
 from the forest, and found ourselves standing 
 once more in the broad and civilized world. 
 The first sight of life that greeted our eyes 
 was a mill, and as we stooped to drink of 
 the water, we found it filled with sawdust, 
 and our lips, that had been gladly wet 
 where frogs and lizards were swimming 
 with the water-snake unmolested, refused to 
 touch that stream wherein the evidences of 
 our fellow man's existence and presence 
 and work of destruction were visible. It 
 was a long journey and a wearisome one 
 (for we were leaving the homes of our 
 hearts) that brought us to the city, and as 
 we stepped from the boat on the wharf, we 
 looked at each other and sighed, and (was 
 
18 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 it weakness ?) were sick of humanity, and 
 would gladly have been back again. We 
 grasped each other's hands, and looking 
 sadly at the river once, buttoned our coats, 
 looked at one another again, sighed once or 
 twice, and " Carriage, Sir ?" we were in 
 N. York. 
 
 What do you think of us when I tell you 
 that on Christmas morning Willis and my 
 self were again in the forest ? So it was. 
 We had grown so weary already, and so 
 heartily sickened was I of living the life of 
 hypocrisy that I needs must live if among 
 men, that I shouldered my rifle, gave Willis 
 notice, and found him at my side ready for 
 one and but one more hunt. 
 
 It was a night hunt for deer on the Willa- 
 hanna. We reached the lake bank that 
 morning. The sun was warm and clear, 
 but before dark it had become cloudy, and 
 at eight o'clock the gloom was impenetra 
 ble. We had appointed a rendezvous at the 
 outlet, and reached it ourselves just at dark, 
 
THE FOREST BEAUTY. 19 
 
 but the remainder of our party (our old 
 friend Black and another backwoodsman) 
 did not arrive till nine. 
 
 By way of episode I may as well tell a 
 story here. Joe and myself were seated in 
 the Log Cabin of Farmer S. (at the outlet) 
 which is the most extensive and comfortable 
 log cabin I have ever seen ; the fire was 
 blazing so as to render candles useless, and 
 I was composing myself to a quiet doze in 
 my chair, when a lady entered a side door, 
 bowed quietly, and said, " Good evening, 
 gentlemen. You are welcome. What 
 news do you bring us from the great city?" 
 
 In every sense she was queenly. Her 
 voice was as musical as a waterfall in a 
 moony night. (Water always sounds 
 sweeter by night than by day.) Willis, who 
 is a staid fellow and never thrown off his 
 balance, replied with a bow : " News of 
 wars and rumors of wars, madam ; not so 
 pleasant as you doubtless bring from fairy 
 land, for you must have come from there to 
 
20 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 this wild place." " Oh no, no, I came from 
 P " said the lady laughing, and the con 
 versation ran on merrily awhile, and I 
 gathered, in my listening, her history. I 
 talked little, for Joe monopolized all, and 
 besides I am a confirmed old bachelor, 
 having had miserable success in such 
 affairs. She was the daughter of farmer 
 
 S , educated in the city, and with 
 
 wealthy and aristocratic relatives, with 
 every inducement to remain in the gay life 
 of the world. But no she clung tq, her 
 mother and her home, and when her years 
 of study were over, she went gladly and 
 hastily to that forest home, to live, and (if 
 she could find nothing but nature, that 
 would do) to love and die. I assure you it 
 was strange to meet such a vision of love 
 liness there, and hear her talk as earnestly 
 as she did of all the beautiful and glorious 
 works of God. She sang songs of Scotland. 
 How her voice did swell with the mournful 
 melody of "Jeannie Morrison!" Willis 
 
THE FOREST BEAUTY. 21 
 
 (the baby) cried outright, and I the truth 
 is when she sang " I'm wearing awa' Jeen," 
 I was thinking a sad thought and looked 
 another way ; and when she sang to an old 
 air, which she had arranged for the words 
 herself, Moir's 
 
 " Fare thee well, our last and fairest, 
 Dear wee Willie, fare thee well," 
 
 I moved out of the fire-light. I have written 
 more of this than I intended, but it is a 
 forest incident. One thing rest assured of, 
 namely, that if Joe ever writes you a letter 
 from that part of the country, it will be dated 
 "Bank of the Willahanna," and requesting 
 you to publish a notice for him, not under 
 the head of " Deaths." All that night we 
 hunted, and yet when I rose after a short 
 sleep the next morning, I found him stand 
 ing by Miss C. on the bank of the lake, 
 teaching her the use of his rifle, and as I 
 approached them, I heard something about 
 the most fatal wound being in the heart ; it 
 annoyed him somewhat that I took up the 
 gauntlet just there, and assured her most 
 
22 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 seriously that Joe was mistaken, practically, 
 as a deer often carries a ball in his heart 
 some distance, and it was always safer to 
 shoot at the shoulder. " Break his fore 
 leg," said I, " and you are sure of him." 
 
 Blessings on that fair girl. She came 
 to us as a vision from a fair and holy 
 country, and I thanked God that He made 
 some such to be on His earth. 
 
LETTER III. 
 
 .THE NIGHT HUNT. 
 
 NEW YORK CITY, Feb. 1847. 
 
 IT was ten o'clock nearly when Black ar 
 rived with Smith, and interrupted our con 
 versation by the fireside. It would be no 
 more than the truth, if I acknowledged that 
 'we were ready to give up the hunt entirely, 
 and stay where we were. The night was, 
 as I have said, very dark and very cold, and 
 the Lake, which had not yet been frozen, 
 gave promise of being closed over in the 
 morning, if the wind should fall. When 
 we went out to look at it, it was like taking 
 a cold bath. We shivered and our teeth 
 chattered merrily. But we nerved our cour 
 age, and Willis's suggesting that our forest 
 friend, Miss C., would not admire a back- 
 out, decidedly warmed us. 
 
 The lake is shaped like a figure 8. At 
 the end of the larger part is the outlet. The 
 
24 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 narrower part is formed by two mountains 
 which frown across the water, on whose 
 peaks and sides gigantic hemlocks nod 
 solemnly to one another, and in a windy 
 night moan and wail in the desolation of 
 solitude. The whole lake (3 miles long by 
 an average of l\ broad) is surrounded to 
 the very shore by hills covered densely with 
 forest, in which we have hunted in past 
 years every four footed beast that is in our 
 forests, from bear to fox. 
 
 The grandeur of a night scene on the lake 
 I have never seen surpassed. Our canoe 
 shall I describe that ; I forget that I write 
 for citizens who imagine these implements 
 of ' venerie' to be such as they have read of 
 in magazines, whose contributors sit by their 
 comfortable tables and write of things they 
 have evidently seen little and know nothing 
 of. It would amuse you to see the actual dif 
 ference between hunting, and that which is 
 called hunting in magazine tales. A hunting 
 coat is in the city a decidedly dashing coat, 
 fit to wear in Broadway. My hunting coat 
 
THE NIGHT HUNT. 25 
 
 is v the most respectable one that has been 
 seen on the lake in years, and consists of a 
 Scotch plaid loose roundabout, hanging like 
 a bag to my waist, and tied in front with 
 black strings. There is not a button on it, 
 nor should there be. 
 
 Let me describe Joe Willis in full dress, 
 and you will know how a city bred, fashion 
 able man looks in the forest when he looks 
 as he should and be sure when you hear 
 of handsome hunting coats (or see them 
 either), hunting boots, and silver breeched 
 rifles, that those rifles in the hands of such 
 men wouldn't throw a ball into a barn door 
 across a barn yard. 
 
 Joe is a good looking fellow (he'll blush 
 at reading that, for he is modest too), but his 
 Bleecker St. friends wouldn't recognise him 
 in this dress. To begin : Head covered with 
 a tight skull cap without front no collar 
 nor cravat (we never dream of colds), a 
 roundabout like mine, only made of darker 
 plaid, and tied with bright red strings, a loose 
 pair of dark pants, and as light shoes as can 
 
26 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 be made strong. Boots are never used in 
 hunting. No man can run or jump well in 
 boots. His powder is in a very small flask 
 in his coat pocket, on the left side, where, 
 also, are balls. His rifle is a plain swivel 
 breech, and his eye is so used to it that his 
 ball never varies an inch in three hundred 
 yards. But I was to speak of that canoe. It 
 is a simple " dug-out," about thirty five feet 
 long and less than three wide. Sharp, and 
 slightly turned up at each end, and as un 
 pleasant a craft to sail in, for one not used to 
 it, as could well be invented ; but when well 
 balanced, with four good paddlers, I have no 
 idea of anything swifter in the small boat 
 line. 
 
 I took the bow paddle and Willis the last 
 one. Black and Smith were between us, 
 and with slow stroke standing all of us ; 
 we sent her out into the night. I had often 
 left the same spot in the same canoe, on the 
 same errand, but never felt as I felt that night, 
 and (I can't tell the reason, nor could he), 
 as we left the shore Willis commenced a 
 
THE NIGHT HUNT. 27 
 
 low chant which we had learned from an 
 Indian long ago, and as I listened, I found 
 he had adapted it to the celebrated 
 
 " Dies irse, dies ilia, 
 Solvet ccelum in favilla, 
 Teste David cum Sibylla." 
 
 and I joined it. Black and Smith who had 
 heard the Indians when we heard them, 
 joined us, only varying in the use of words ; 
 for while we sang the Latin hymn they sang 
 the Indian words, or what it sounded like 
 when the old Indians sat by their fire and 
 chanted till they slept : 
 
 " Che-o-wan-na ! Che-o-wan-na." 
 
 And so we swept along, and I verily be 
 lieve if you had met us out on that lake that 
 night, and seen us pass you, timing our pad 
 dles to the solemn chant, you would have 
 only doubted whether you had seen the 
 ghosts of dead Christians or Savages. 
 
 Five minutes or less brought us under 
 the precipice of the Willawan, and we rest 
 ed. A pan of pine knots soon blazed on the 
 prow of the canoe, prevented from shining 
 
28 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 on us, but casting a broad light over the wa 
 ter. "We then entered the smallest part of the 
 lake, and I guided the canoe to the mouth 
 of a small brook. We went now very slow 
 ly, and as we neared the shore we laid our 
 paddles down and waited a few moments 
 for the game; then paddled slowly along 
 the shore till Black's ear caught the sound 
 of a tread in the forest. 
 
 At the next instant I saw the fire-light in 
 two eyes that glared wildly at us from the 
 shore, and aiming at the place I supposed 
 the ear of the deer to be I shot. He jump 
 ed forward and fell in the water. After he 
 fell we were about to pull up to him, when 
 Willis called suddenly " Stop," and the next 
 moment his rifle cracked " What was it ?" 
 " I don't know what. I saw a pair of bright 
 eyes up yonder in the dark. Is there a 
 bank up there ?" " No nothing but trees. 
 It must have been a panther.'' " There they 
 are again ; steadily now," said I, and swing 
 ing the breech of my gun over, I guessed 
 from the eyes where the neck must be, and 
 shot for that. One of the wildest screams 
 
THE NIGHT HUNT. 29 
 
 that ever entered my ears filled the air and 
 rang across the lake. They heard it dis 
 tinctly at the outlet, three miles off. " Put 
 out the light," shouted Willis. I dashed the 
 fire into the lake, and our eyes no longer 
 dazzled by it, began to distinguish trees, and 
 finally saw the animal clinging to a branch 
 of a tree, not fifty yards from us. Black took 
 a cool, calm sight over his barrel, and shot. 
 The huge cat dropped stone-like and dead, 
 and we pushed inshore to take our game. 
 Willis's ball was in his breast, and he claim 
 ed and held the skin by hunter's law. " Be 
 quick," said Black, " or the mate will be 
 here ;" and so, throwing deer and panther 
 across our canoe, we pushed out into the 
 lake and waited awhile, hoping the other 
 would come. But she came not, and we 
 turned homeward. As we passed the nar 
 row part of the lake, we heard the cry of 
 the female off on the mountain, and waited 
 again, but in vain. Our rifle shots had scared 
 her away. 
 
 We pulled slowly along the shore for 
 awhile, with our fire rekindled, but saw no 
 
30 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 more game; and at midnight the clouds 
 broke away and the stars shone out. Ex 
 citement had kept us warm, and I now sat 
 down, or rather lay down on my back, and 
 looked up, and thought of it would do you 
 no good if I should say what, and I might 
 have been better occupied. But it was a 
 glorious night, and the wind had gone down, 
 and the solemn trees, stood sentinel-like 
 above, and farther up in the deep sky, and 
 away down in the deep water, gleamed the 
 watch-towers of heaven, and we seemed 
 floating in the midst of them on air rather 
 than on water. If however any such idea 
 were in our minds, it would have been dis 
 pelled by the concluding incidents of the 
 night's adventures. I had not noticed that 
 Joe had dropped his paddle, and lay in the 
 other end of the canoe, just as I was lying 
 in my end, while Smith and Black did all 
 the paddling. After awhile Joe seemed to 
 have been thinking deeply, for he called out 
 to me, (my head by the way was resting on 
 the panther and Joe's on the deer), " Will, 
 do you believe the evidence of the senses 
 
THE NIGHT HUNT. 31 
 
 always? Now look up yonder and see 
 those stars, and you have only ocular evi 
 dence that they are there. How do you 
 know they are not down below also ? For 
 just look over the side into the water. I had 
 been looking so for ten minutes, and as Joe 
 saw fit to look over the same side, we all 
 started on an expedition to find some other 
 than ocular demonstration of the existence 
 of stars down below. In a twinkling we 
 were all in the water, Smith, Black, Joe, 
 and myself, swimming among paddles, pan* 
 ther and deer, and each man holding his 
 rifle instinctively. It Avas odd that we lost 
 nothing ; but we swam around and reversed 
 the canoe, baled her out and picked up the 
 game the best way we could. Black pushed 
 the canoe ashore, and Joe and myself swam 
 to it, about fifty yards off. Think of that ye 
 city men in your overcoats ! a bath on Christ 
 mas night at 12 o'clock ! 
 
 So ended the season. I am again among 
 brick walls and weary. When I am again 
 on the Willahanna or in my cabin, you may 
 hear of me. 
 
LETTER IV. 
 
 THE RIVER AND THE CABTN. 
 
 NEW YORK, MARCH, 1847. 
 
 I PROMISED that you should hear from me 
 again when I reached my cabin : but I have 
 had, ever since I wrote my last, an increas 
 ing desire to tell you of some other incidents 
 of forest life, and finding a tempting sheet 
 of paper lying before me, and seeing withal a 
 tremulous motion in my pen in yonder stand, 
 and sitting as I happen to sit at this moment 
 underneath the antlers of the largest buck 
 I ever shot, I cannot resist the invitation the 
 pen gives me. Consider then my promise 
 of silence unmade, and let me write on. 
 
 It is night, and darkness lies over the 
 mighty city. A darkness of deeper black 
 ness than night alone can make, up out of 
 which ascend the mingled voices of strug 
 gling, joying, agonizing, dying humanity. 
 
THE RIVER AND THE CABIN. 33 
 
 And I bethink me of the solemn night times 
 in the forest, when the holy stars looked 
 peacefully down through the hemlock 
 branches, and the moonlight fell as if angels 
 poured it over the lake and on the water 
 falls. If you had been there, you would not 
 wonder at the frequent comparisons I draw 
 between the woods and civilization. I went 
 there first when in college, years ago, and I 
 still retain most vividly the impressions I 
 first received, as Willis and myself came out 
 on the bank of the river, some two miles 
 above the cabin which has since been our 
 starting point in all hunts, and the place from 
 which we hail. 
 
 Our day's walk had been long and weari 
 some, and we saw the sun set from the hill 
 top just before we descended to the bank of 
 the stream. Being then wholly unac 
 quainted with that section of country, and 
 not knowing of a settlement or cabin, we 
 made our preparations for a comfortable 
 night's sleep on a rock near the water, 
 which was overhung by higher rocks, and 
 
 3 
 
34 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 shaded by masses of Rhododendra. Drift 
 wood from the shore made our fire blaze 
 merrily, and as twilight settled we disposed 
 of a wild duck and some crackers, which 
 constituted the sum total of our larder, and 
 being well satisfied with that, stretched our 
 selves on our backs and talked till mid 
 night. One by one the glorious assembly 
 appeared above us, and we who had learn 
 ed, by long experience, to sleep thus, recog 
 nised and welcomed the companions of our 
 magnificent bed chamber in a hundred 
 such scenes. For we had learned to regard 
 them as. our truest and most holy visible 
 friends. They never failed to keep ap 
 pointments, but whenever and wherever 
 we lay down to rest they were there ! 
 
 The rushing of the rapids lulled us to 
 sleep, and I dreamed all manner of strange 
 dreams, until a slight touch on my foot 
 awoke me. Willis was lying on his face at 
 full length, with his rifle in his hand, and his 
 head slightly raised, as he looked over the 
 water at some object in the moonlight which 
 
THE RIVER AND THE CABIN. 35 
 
 1 could not distinctly see. His foot had 
 touched mine. I managed, without rising, 
 to screw (that's the word) myself along to 
 his side, and ask what was in the wind, or 
 rather in the water. He replied that he had 
 woke, and was lying on his side looking 
 up the stream, when he heard, as he sup 
 posed, the leap of some large animal into 
 the water, and thought also that he saw the 
 plash about a half mile up on the opposite 
 side. The distance at which a sound caq. be 
 heard over the water in a calm night, is as 
 tonishing ; but no ear which was not re 
 markably acute, could distinguish between 
 such a sound and the continual rush of the 
 river, which was not loud, although the cur 
 rent was deep and strong. Well assured, 
 however, that Joe would not mistake in such 
 a matter,. I waited, with him, the event ; for 
 we judged that the swift stream would bring 
 any large animal as far down as our position 
 in a few minutes, especially if it were deer, 
 who can swim with astonishing swiftness 
 across still water (astonishing when we con- 
 
36 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 sider the size of their feet and legs), but can 
 make no headway against the current. Joe's 
 usual accuracy had not failed him, for all 
 that I have related had occupied but a short 
 space of time, and before he had finished 
 the answer to my question, his rifle was at 
 his shoulder and his sight taken on a small 
 black spot that came floating down in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 A deer swims with nothing above water 
 but about one-half his head. The whole 
 body and the head, up to a line across un 
 der the eye, are immersed. It was there 
 fore not difficult for a practised eye to re 
 cognise the object on which he had sight, as 
 the head of a buck slowly nearing our shore, 
 but sweeping down with the current. 
 Without a motion more than was necesary 
 to keep the mark covered, Willis followed 
 the game with his eye and rifle, until the 
 moonlight fell on it just as he wished, and 
 then shot. For an instant after the crack 
 of his rifle, a perfect stillness fell over every 
 thing, for by contrast our ears were rendered 
 
THE RIVER AND THE CABIN. 87 
 
 deaf to the ripple of the water. The Mlence 
 was almost fearful. The next moment 
 changed it into a succession of the strangest 
 and most startling echoes I ever heard. 
 The river bed rang as with a hundred rifles. 
 From the opposite shore, from the rocks 
 above, and from the bend below, came back 
 the sharp sound, and echoed and re-echoed 
 more and more faintly till it almost ceased, 
 and then, from away up the river came 
 back a single heavy, half suppressed report. 
 The buck was hit A plunge which threw 
 his fore feet out of the water showed it, and 
 then he vanished altogether. By this we 
 knew that he was dead ; for in death the 
 weight of the antlers carries the head below 
 water. 
 
 Leaving our rock, we sprang down to the 
 edge of the water, and in a moment caught 
 sight of the body as it went over a ripple. 
 
 The night was cold enough to make the 
 idea of a swim uncomfortable, and we 
 therefore followed the stream down, watch 
 ing the deer, and hoping he would float 
 
38 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 reach of the shore. But for two 
 
 miles he tept the middle of the river, which 
 then widened and flowed slowly. It was 
 with no small gratification that we found a 
 canoe lying here, and pushed out for our 
 game. On returning to the shore, we found 
 ourselves at the mouth of a creek, into 
 which we paddled, and drawing canoe and 
 deer on the bank, we cut the throat of the 
 latter, and looked about for the owner of the 
 former. We soon saw a cabin or log house, 
 but the sky told us that morning was not 
 far off, and the hoot of the owls, which grew 
 more and more melancholy, corroborated 
 the idea ; so we concluded not to wake the 
 occupants. We therefore sat down on the 
 bank, and commenced a conversation, 
 which I have not yet forgotten. 
 
 It was and is the great pleasure of our 
 forest life, that we are by no means shut out 
 from the conversation and the thoughts of the 
 more civilized world ; and I have learned 
 many lessons from Willis, Russell, and 
 others, while we thus sat alone and talked 
 
THE RIVER AND THE CABIN. 39 
 
 of the spiritual or the ideal. It may seern 
 strange that we should mix up so much of 
 the mental with the physical as we do ; but 
 we never spend three hours in hunting, 
 without discussing one or another subject, 
 far distant from the scenes we are in, and 
 relating usually to philosophy, either natu 
 ral or mental. I remember that at that 
 time, Willis spoke first of Plato's idea that 
 the noblest occupation of man was the 
 study of the gods, and remarked that it was 
 but natural that a heathen philosopher 
 should so think if he studied the stars, but 
 expressed also the wonder that so few so 
 thought. As the first dim sons of night 
 began to disappear, we grew silent, and 
 looking up watched the fading of our com 
 panion-stars. One by one they sank into 
 the sky, as babes into their mothers' arms. 
 The most dead silence conceivable reigned 
 (as it always does) when the dimmest of 
 of them vanished, and we looked up and 
 fixed our eyes on one brighter than any 
 other, until it flickered like a far beacon 
 
40 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 light in the sea wind, and the blue deep 
 closed over it What a marvellous depth 
 the sky heS, when the sun rays are stream 
 ing over it before they touch our hill tops ! 
 The tall dead hemlock on the peak of the 
 opposite mountain had not yet been gilded 
 by the first sunbeam, when a man came 
 from the cabin and gave us a woodland in 
 vitation to breakfast. Such was our intro 
 duction to Black and our Owl Creek 
 Cabin. 
 
^, # 
 
 L E T T E R V. 
 
 A FOREST FUNERAL. 
 
 NEW YORK, MARCH, 1847. 
 
 I HAVE been several times on the point of 
 writing you about Sunday in the forest, but 
 have each time forgotten my intention, or 
 had something else to say. There have 
 been many scenes of worship in which I 
 have taken part, or which I have witnessed. 
 I have seen the ignorant worshipper of 
 senseless images, and the formal worship 
 pers of the pretended real body of The Cru 
 cified, present in the bread of the Host. I 
 have heard the solemn cathedral chant 
 when thousands knelt and prayed, and I 
 have heard the miserere in the solemn Pas 
 sion night thrill through the soul of count 
 less waiting worshippers. But I never felt 
 so near to God and so near to Heaven as 
 
 3* 
 
42 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 on the bank of the river on a calm Sunday 
 morning, when the thousand voices of the 
 forest were united in a hymn of joy. There 
 is a melody in running water that is never 
 imitated or equalled by any art ; and there 
 is a strange harmony between the sounds 
 of running water and rushing wind and sing 
 ing birds and the voices of the various wood 
 animals, that altogether make up the morn 
 ing song of the forest when it wakes to praise 
 the Infinite. 
 
 How slowly and silently the dead leaves 
 drop one by one into the water from the 
 listless branches. The branches themselves 
 bend and sway up and down and back and 
 forth as if with life ; for it does not seem 
 that any wind is blowing, but the trees lean 
 over as if to see their own shades a thou 
 sand times repeated in the rippling river, 
 and reach their arms down toward the glit 
 tering surface, as if longing to lie in 
 the cool clear bed. 
 
 Some of them have fallen. Yonder is one 
 
A FOREST FUNERAL 43 
 
 that has lain for four, yes, six years, to my 
 knowledge in that same position and every 
 year, at the same time, I come and sit 
 here and watch that long branch swaying 
 backward and forward in the swift current. 
 Once, while Willis and,T sat here, he saw 
 a mink's head rise above the water in the 
 eddy below the trunk, arid his rifle ball, true 
 to his unerring aim, cracked the small skull 
 at this distance, and it is not less than a 
 hundred and twenty yards. 
 
 We had one long and weary and some 
 what unsucessful expedition last fall. We 
 made our calculations to go through the 
 whole hunting district in the course of six 
 days, and reach the river ten miles below 
 our cabin on Saturday, so that we might at 
 tend churchor rather hear preaching, in 
 a log school house, from a clergyman who 
 once a month visited the small settlement. 
 We worked hard during the week, and we 
 were not sorry at dusk on Saturday to sit 
 down in the comfortable frame house of 
 
44 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 Colonel , who is the owner of some 
 
 thousands of acres in that immedate vicini 
 ty. The school house in which services 
 were to be held is beautifully situated in a 
 grove of oaks on a point around which the 
 river bends and runs rapidly with a lulling 
 sound. Did you ever notice how different 
 the voice of a river is in passing different 
 scenes ? Up in the gorge above, it is wild, 
 and rages as if angry with the rocks it meets, 
 and its voice is like the voice of a roused 
 warrior. But here it goes slowly and se 
 dately by the little " oak school house," as 
 it is called, and would seem to linger as if 
 loving the quiet scene. 
 
 It was nearly midnight of Saturday night 
 that a messenger came to Col. , request 
 ing him to go to the cabin of a settler some 
 three miles down the river, and see his 
 daughter, a girl of fourteen who was sup 
 posed to be dying. Col. awoke and 
 
 asked me to accompany him, and I con 
 sented, taking with me the small package 
 
A FOREST FUNERAL. 45 
 
 of medicines which I always carried in the 
 forest. But I learned soon that there was 
 no need of these for her disease was past 
 cure. 
 
 Leaving the house, we descended to the 
 bank of the river, and stepped into a canoe 
 that lay in an eddy, and seizing a pole, 
 
 flattened at one end for a paddle, Col. 
 
 pushed the slight vessel out into the current, 
 and we shot swiftly down. You may ima 
 gine the scene if you choose, as I lay in the 
 bottom of the canoe, and he used now his 
 pole, and now his paddle, to guide the bark 
 in the rapids. 
 
 " She is a strange child," said the Colo 
 nel, " her father is as strange a man. They 
 live together alone on the bank of the river. 
 They came here three years ago, and no 
 one kno'ws whence or why. He has 
 money, and is a keen shot. The child has 
 been wasting away for a year past. I have 
 seen her often, and she seems gifted with a 
 marvellous intellect. She speaks some- 
 
46 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 times as if inspired ; and she seems to be 
 the only hope of her father." 
 
 We reached the hut of the settler in less 
 than half an hour, and entered it reverently. 
 The scene was one that cannot easily be 
 forgotten. There were books and evidences 
 of luxury and taste lying on the rude table 
 in the centre. A guitar lay on a bench near 
 the small window, and the bed furniture, on 
 which the dying girl lay, was as soft as the 
 covering of a dying queen. [ was, of course, 
 startled, never having heard of these people 
 before ; but knowing it to be no uncommon 
 thing for misanthropes to go into the woods 
 to live and die, I was content to ask no ex 
 planations, more especially as the death 
 hour was evidently near. 
 
 She was a fair child, with masses of long 
 black hair lying over her pillow. Her eye 
 was dark and piercing and as it met mine, 
 she started slightly, but smiled and looked 
 upward, I spoke a few words to her father, 
 and turning to her asked her if she knew 
 her condition. 
 
A FOREST FUNERAL. 47 
 
 " I know that my Redeemer liveth," said 
 she, in a voice whose melody was like the 
 sweetest strain of an Eolian. You may 
 imagine that the answer startled me, and 
 with a few words of like import 1 turned 
 from her. A half hour passed, and she spoke 
 in that same deep, richly melodious voice : 
 
 " Father, I am cold, lie down beside me" 
 and the old lay down by his dying child, 
 and she twined her emaciated arms around 
 his neck, and murmured in a dreamy voice, 
 " Dear father, dear father." 
 
 " My child," said the old man, Doth the 
 flood seem deep to thee ?" 
 
 " Nay, father, for my soul is strong." 
 
 " Seest thou the thither shore ?" 
 
 " I see it, father, and its banks are green 
 with immortal verdure." 
 
 " Hearest thou the voices of its inhabi 
 tants?" 
 
 " I hear them, father, as the voices of an 
 gels falling from afar in the still and solemn 
 night-time, and they call me. Her voice 
 too ; father, Oh, I heard it then !" 
 
48 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 " Doth she speak to thee ?" 
 
 " She speaketh in tones most heavenly !" 
 
 Doth she smile ?" 
 
 " An angel smile ! But a cold calm smile. 
 But I am cold cold ! Father, there's a 
 mist in the room, You'll be lonely, lonely, 
 lonely. Is this death, father ?" 
 
 " It is death, my Mary." 
 
 " Thank God." 
 
 And she knelt before him ! 
 
 I stepped out in the night, and stood long 
 and silently looking at the rushing river. 
 The wife of a settler arrived soon after, and 
 then the Colonel's excellent lady and her 
 daughter, and we left the cabin. 
 
 The Sabbath morning broke over the 
 Eastern hills before we reached the school 
 house again. But never came Sabbath light 
 so solemnly before. The morning service in 
 the school house I have not room to de 
 scribe now, for I have taken more time and 
 space than I had any idea of. 
 
 As evening approached, a slow and sad 
 procession came through the forest to the 
 
A FOREST FUNERAL. 49 
 
 little school-house. There with simple rites 
 the good clergyman performed his duty, and 
 we went to the grave. It was in the inclo- 
 sure where two of Col. : 's children lie, a 
 lovely spot. The sun was setting as we en 
 tered the grove. The procession was short. 
 They were hardy men and rough, in shoot 
 ing jackets, and some with rifles on their 
 shoulders. But their warm hearts gave 
 beauty to their unshaven faces, as they stood 
 in reverent silence by the grave. The river 
 murmured, and the birds sang, and so we 
 buried her. 
 
 I lingered and saw the sun go down from 
 the same spot, and the stars were bright be 
 fore I left it for I have always had an idea 
 that a graveyard was the nearest place to 
 heaven on this earth: and with old Sir 
 Thomas Browne, I love to see a church in 
 a graveyard, for " even as we pass through 
 the place of graves to the temple of God on 
 earth, so we must pass through the grave 
 to the temple of God on high." 
 
LETTER VI. 
 
 THE CABIN AT NIGHT. 
 
 NEW YORK, MARCH, 1847. 
 
 THE story I was without forethought led 
 to tell you in my last, has reminded me of 
 one scene in forest life which I have not 
 given you any description of. I mean the 
 cabin hearth-side at night. The persons 
 who meet in the wilderness are a varied set, 
 and it is not uncommon for those who have 
 similar tastes and feelings, to be thrown to 
 gether in the most unexpected manner. 
 
 I remember one night, when the wind 
 roared outside, as the surf roars on an ocean 
 beach in a March wind, that we were gather 
 ed around a blazing fire in the broad stone 
 chimney of the cabin, to rest after a weary 
 day's hunt. Willis, Russell, Black, and my 
 self, were the company, and we had been 
 eating, but had grown somewhat silent. I 
 can't tell what others were thinking of, but 
 
THE CABIN AT NIGHT. 51 
 
 I was far away in thoughts. The sound of 
 that wind carried me to a distant home, and 
 the faces of the loving and the loved were 
 present to me, and and and a thousand 
 other things which I omit. Echo lay at 
 Willis's side, and Nora was looking up in 
 my face as if to hear me speak. The dog I 
 doubt not, thought some of the same thoughts 
 that I did ; for I whispered a name that we 
 both knew, and she sprang to the door to 
 welcome one she thought must be near. 
 
 At that moment the voice of the wind 
 grew louder, and I heard the limbs of the 
 giant oak over the cabin creaking and moan 
 ing, and seemingly pleading with the tem 
 pest to have more respect for their venerable 
 age. The winds of four hundred winters had 
 battled with the stout old tree, and it stood 
 firm and strong. Anon, the wind seemed to 
 answer the appeal of the old father of the 
 forest ; and an animated discussion began. 
 '* I am old," moaned the tree, " I am old, 
 and four hundred years have dried the life 
 
52 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 blood out of my veins." But the wind only 
 laughed, and the tree went on. " I am stiff, 
 and easy to break; have pity!" But the 
 wind said something I couldn't exactly catch, 
 about bending or breaking. Then the oak 
 pleaded its acquaintance with the olden 
 time: "I have seen the nations passing 
 away, and have grown strong on the blood 
 of the fallen. I have seen four hundred 
 suns pass to the North, and four hundred 
 times my leaves have covered the graves of 
 the forgotten. We have been good friends 
 long, O mountain wind. You have borne 
 me news of far lands, till I have become a 
 historian of the centuries. I have heard of 
 crumbling thrones, of empires falling and 
 rising, and dynasties created and swept 
 away ; I have seen a nation born, and have 
 heard from afar carried on your wings the 
 wail of nations dying. They are gone, and 
 I stand as in the olden time. Spare me, O . 
 wind." But the wind laughed a wild laugh, 
 and it seemed for a moment as if a dozen 
 
THE CABIN AT NIGHT. 53 
 
 winds had met, and the old tree cracked and 
 crashed as a large limb swept off and fell, 
 and then the tempest hushed like a frighten 
 ed child that has done mischief. A faint 
 halloo reached our ears at this moment, and 
 we sprang to the door. It was clear and 
 light, for the moon was near its full, and we 
 saw on the other side of the river three men, 
 who were beckoning for a boat. Black and 
 myself jumped into the long canoe, forty 
 feet by three, and pushed out. The wind 
 rose again, arid it was with extreme difficul 
 ty that we kept the slight thing right side up 
 as we paddled across, took in our load, and 
 returned. What this load was, will appear. 
 " It blows some," shouted one of them in 
 my ear, as we paddled back, " A few," 
 answered I, adopting the slang of the com 
 pany I was in. Satisfied with my answer, 
 he tried to sit down in the canoe ; but that 
 was not so easy a matter as may be ima 
 gined. To do it properly, required a series 
 of scientific calculations and movements. 
 
54 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. . 
 
 So he began by looking sharply at the prow 
 of the boat, knelt on one knee, and but 
 just then she turned a little on one side, and 
 he, to prevent an overturn, threw his weight 
 suddenly on the other, which sent her 
 quickly over that way, and the consequence 
 was a series of saltatory movements on our 
 part to recover the balance of the canoe, 
 which were not a little ludicrous. We 
 reached the shore safely, and were soon 
 seated again in the cabin. 
 
 The addition thus made to our company 
 consisted of three as varied characters as 
 can be found in any company of the same 
 size anywhere. The principal and most in 
 teresting man of the three, was a hunter in 
 outward appearance, but a man of refined 
 taste and extraordinary conversational 
 powers. I had heard of him often before I 
 met him, and after an acquaintance of some 
 years, I had not yet fathomed the depths of 
 his mind. He always seemed especially in 
 terested when I spoke of a particular part 
 
THE CABIN AT NIGHT. 55 
 
 of the country, and when the soul was the 
 matter of conversation, I found him dispos 
 ed to entertain some doubtful metaphysical 
 ideas. Farther than this, I only knew him 
 as a man of fine talents and far-reaching 
 intellect. He never asked nor took any 
 interest in news from the world, but spent 
 his time in hunting, fishing, and taking care 
 of a cabin on the bank of the creek, three 
 miles back from the river. 
 
 Of the other two who were his compan 
 ions, one (Smith) was a full bred hunter in 
 manner and character ; a woodsman in 
 every sense. The other was a singular 
 specimen of "a green un," as Smith called 
 him in a whisper to me. They made them 
 selves, as they evidently felt, entirely at 
 home, and as they were made. The wind 
 was wild again, and as it roared without, 
 we sat by the blazing fire and talked. 
 
 It is this scene that I would, if I could, 
 introduce you to. Tales of past years, of 
 toils in the chase, and other tales of distant 
 scenes filled up the time. 
 
56 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 Willis lay on the floor with his feet 
 toward the fire, and looked straight up at 
 the bark covering of the hut. Smith and 
 Black sat on opposite sides of the fire, each 
 on the floor, with his feet to the blaze ; 
 Johnson and the aforesaid "green un," yclept 
 Barnes, sat on the only stools of which our 
 furniture boasted ; and I lay on a bear skin 
 which I had drawn to the middle of the 
 cabin, and raised my head on my elbow to 
 listen to Johnson who was speaking. 
 
 He told a sad story of the woodland. How 
 a hunter had a wife and child in a little 
 cabin near where we then were, and how 
 he loved that wife and that child with an 
 earnest love that they returned in kind. 
 He kissed them both one sunny winter 
 morning, and told them he should not be 
 back that night, perhaps not the next, nor 
 the. next; and so left them. Yet he turned 
 back and looked wistfully at the cabin door 
 wherein she stood holding their boy up to 
 see his father go, and so he went back and 
 
THE CABIN AT NIGHT. 57 
 
 kissed them again and again, and plunged 
 into the forest. 
 
 Long and mournful was her waiting for 
 his footstep. But he came no more. The 
 third day a heavy snow storm covered the 
 ground deep with the white mantle of win 
 ter, and no footprint was visible to or from 
 the door of his hut. The fifth, the sixth 
 day passed, and she started out to the cabin 
 of the next settler, some four miles away, 
 carrying her boy. But she heard no news of 
 the lost one. Spring came, and the sunshine 
 melted away the snow. With weary heart 
 and aching brain she sought her old home 
 to droop and die. The cabin was deserted ; 
 the underbrush grew thickly in the clearing ; 
 and " as I passed one day six years ago," 
 Johnson went on to say, " I shot a wolf in 
 the very doorway of the cabin at whose 
 hearth I had so often received a welcome 
 and been happy. Not a year after the 
 morning on which Williams left his cabin 
 to return no more, a man found on the 
 
 4 
 
m 
 
 58 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 west side of the deep gulley of the Willawan, 
 a skeleton and a rifle. I saw the rifle, it 
 was Williams's. It was empty, and the jaw 
 and skull of the skeleton were shattered. 
 His death had been easy and sudden." 
 
 A half dozen stories of different sorts 
 were told as the night passed on. I have 
 written enough of this for the present. At 
 an hour after midnight I was lying in a 
 blanket, and looked around at "five men 
 sleeping as sound a sleep on the hard floor 
 as was ever slept on down or feathers. 
 
LETTER VII. 
 
 NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 
 
 OWL CREEK CABIN, April, 1847. 
 
 I DATE again, unexpectedly to myself, from 
 the forest. Tired of the dull routine of Doe 
 vs. Roe, and yet more tired of living alone 
 in the midst of a crowd, and hearing that 
 the trout were fine in the creek, and plenty, 
 and as I heard it fixing my eye on a certain 
 rod that has been the means of landing some 
 pounds of the finest fish that ever swam in 
 fresh water, I left the city a week ago to-day, 
 and am here alone. Alone, yet not alone. 
 Never happier never in better health or 
 spirits. I spent the first day in looking 
 around, greeting my old friends, and resting 
 after a walk of some forty miles, which was 
 necessary to reach my present position and 
 old home. The snow has been off for some 
 weeks past, although all the neighborhood is 
 
60 . THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 still covered. By neighborhood, I mean 
 nothing within twenty miles of my cabin. 
 I have had means within the past few 
 weeks of judging of all the various kinds of 
 travelling. It is not a fortnight since I came 
 through the Sound on a magnificent 
 steamer, and here I have reached my cabin 
 by weary foot-toil over mountains and across 
 streams, and sleeping one night under the 
 cold calm stars. And I hardly need say to 
 you who know my tastes so well, that I en 
 joyed the foot travelling above the other 
 all save the fact that with the one I had the 
 loving and the loved for company, and with 
 the other was alone with the forest trees. 
 
 That one night's sleep on my way hither, 
 under the holy starlight, was so novel as 
 compared with the luxurious life I have 
 been leading in my city home, that I cannot 
 forbear telling you how it happened. IP 
 truth it was against my own will. I had no 
 blanket, and my fishing-rod and rifle were 
 weights that had wearied me, and made me 
 
NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 61 
 
 long for a good bed. The rifle would have 
 been as nothing, but the rod I was not so 
 well used to, and it annoyed me. It is a 
 great mistake to suppose that a poor bed is 
 any more welcome to a weary man than 
 one that is not. A tired man can sleep any 
 where ; but a tired man on a rough bed 
 dreams horrible dreams, and wakes usually 
 more tired than when he slept. I had ex 
 pected to reach the Willahana before dark, 
 but it was five miles ahead of me when it 
 grew so black that I could not tell tree tops 
 from clouds, and so I concluded to make the 
 best of it and sleep. 
 
 I knew my ground right well. There was 
 a wet, swampy place about there, in which 
 I was assured I then was. North-west of 
 the spot in which I judged myself to be, 
 was a dry, rocky hill side, and it therefore 
 remained for me to find it. The bark of the 
 trees soon told me which was north, and I 
 took my direction accordingly, and found 
 myself, in ten minutes, on a platform of 
 
62 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 rock something like forty feet long by 
 twenty-five or thirty broad, on which 
 masses of granite had fallen from the hill 
 above. Dried leaves and branches were 
 soon gathered into a pile and a cheerful 
 light spreading around, showed me logs and 
 large broken branches that I heaped on and 
 made a glorious fire. 
 
 I was outrageously hungry. I had eaten 
 nothing since six o'clock in the morning, 
 and had nothing in my pocket but one bird 
 and one trout and some crackers. That 
 bird, by the way, was a wild pigeon, which 
 I had hit with my rifle at a distance of a 
 hundred yards, on the wing. I so seldom 
 make a good shot, that I put that on record. 
 I heated some flat stones in the fire to a 
 proper heat, and had broiled fish in a short 
 time. I then cut a stick, and sticking the 
 pigeon on the end of it, sat down and held 
 it in the fire ,till it was done to a turn. It 
 would have amused you to see me sitting 
 there with my back against a rock, quiet- 
 
NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 63 
 
 ly holding the pigeon in the flame, and 
 slowly turning him round and round, and 
 looking up at the clouds and peering into 
 the forest, and listening intently for every 
 sound of life that was heard in the still 
 night. I was not lonely though alone. 
 Nora (I beg the dog's pardon for not men 
 tioning her before) lay quietly by the fire, 
 looking up into my face. I had given her 
 a squirrel some time before, and she had 
 finished her supper on that, and with that 
 dog I felt as secure as if I had bolts and 
 bars between me and the forest air. The 
 pigeon cooked, my pocket supplied salt and 
 crackers, and I feasted. I did not even make 
 a hunting knife supply the place of an or 
 dinary one, but my fingers and teeth were 
 knife and fork enough, and I had a grand 
 meal. Nora cleaned off the table, and fin 
 ished washing dishes by effectually licking 
 off the stone I had used for a platter, and I 
 started off to find some water. I remem 
 bered a brook that ran down the hill side not 
 
64 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 far from me, and I had heard its dashing 
 while I was sitting by my fire. I found it 
 without difficulty, but as I approached it, 
 heard the step of an animal, and instantly 
 threw myself on the ground. Hearing no 
 thing now, and as the wind was rising, I 
 moved slowly toward the brook. When 
 within twenty yards of it, I saw two points 
 of light which I knew to be the eyes of an 
 animal. With great caution I succeeded in 
 approaching within a few yards. A large 
 doe stood glaring at the fire as fixed as a 
 statue, and by her side was a fawn, slight 
 and beautifully shaped, looking with equal 
 intentness on the strange sight. I paused, 
 looked at them, and admired them for some 
 time ; then gave a low short whistle to alarm 
 them but not frighten them away. The 
 mother sprang back and turned and looked 
 again, the fawn keeping by her side. It 
 was a single, graceful bound. I imitated as 
 well as I was able, the bleat of the fawn. 
 It replied immediately, and the mother ad- 
 
NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 65 
 
 vanced toward where I lay on the ground. 
 But Nora, whom I had left by the fire, heard 
 the bleat, and I heard her voice in an in 
 stant after, as she walked around the fire, 
 which she dared not leave till I gave her 
 permission. At the first sound of the dog's 
 voice, the doe threw her beautiful head into 
 the air, then turned and sprang away, and 
 the fawn kept by her side. I would not 
 have harmed one of them for a hundred 
 like her. 
 
 I rose and* went on to the stream, and 
 drank of the cool rich water. As I looked 
 around me, a sight met my eyes that I 
 would go a hundred miles to see again. The 
 brook, which was not very large, fell from 
 a rock more than thirty feet high, into a 
 dark pool. The fall was a sheet of foam, 
 but in my fire light, which, although several 
 hundred yards distant, was bright and clear, 
 it seemed to be a falling shower of dia 
 monds and gems of every hue. I saw 
 a thousand fairy forms flitting in it up and 
 
66 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 down among the gorgeous drops, arid 
 seeming to struggle up against the current, 
 for awhile successfully, then at last borne 
 down and falling into the black deep pool 
 below. I sat once at the mouth of the 
 Cave of Winds at Niagara, when the moon 
 was shining down on it, and it looked as 
 beautifully ; but I never saw another scene 
 that at all compared with it. I will stand 
 by that waterfall with you some night, dear 
 .* * *, and tell you what I thought that 
 night, as I looked at it alone. 
 
 An idea occurred to me that there might 
 be trout in the pool, and I went back for 
 my line. I brought a coal of fire, and 
 gathering some leaves and small sticks, 
 placed them on a rock that stood on the 
 edge of the water, and set fire to them. 
 The pool was about thirty feet broad, and 
 somewhat longer ; and this rock was near 
 the fall, and as I afterward found, the water 
 at the side of the rock was about eight feet 
 deep. At the instant that my fire blazed 
 
NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 67 
 
 up, I dropped my hook into the water, and 
 as it went down felt the vigorous pull of a 
 large fish. With no little trouble I suc 
 ceeded in drowning him, and landed him at 
 last on the bank of the outlet of the stream. 
 He was a noble salmon trout, and weighed 
 not less than four pounds. I did not stop 
 to take more, for I had no means of pre 
 serving them, and having secured a break 
 fast for the morning, I was satisfied. I 
 amused myself for half an hour in scratch 
 ing an outline of the fish, size of life, on the 
 rock, then stretched myself out between two 
 pieces of granite, with my feet toward the t 
 fire, and I have an indistinct recollection 
 of feeling Nora as she laid her head on my 
 feet. I knew nothing, however, till morn 
 ing. The sun caught me there, and when 
 I woke I saw him through the smoke at 
 my feet, just rising as I rose too. 
 
LETTER VIII 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE HAUNTED ROCK. 
 
 OWL CREEK CABIN, MAY 1st, 1847. 
 
 IT is positively the month of May ! And 
 here am I seated by a rousing fire, and 
 looking out at the dreariest sky that it 
 ever entered into the head of man to con 
 ceive of! The clouds have a desperate 
 look, as if threatening snow, and it's of no 
 use to coax trout to jump in such a season 
 *as this. They wont touch bait, and I 
 have'nt been able to persuade one to look 
 at a fly since last Tuesday. I shouldn't 
 wonder if the creek were covered with ice 
 in the morning. And it's May day ! I think 
 of you in the city to-day, ye rovers. What 
 a pleasant conglomeration of beds and 
 boxes and bundles, and chairs and china 
 and children, are to be seen in the streets, 
 and how naturally every one makes up 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE HAUNTED ROCK. 69 
 
 his mind to be as uncomfortable as cir 
 cumstances will permit, and as cross as 
 he can make himself consistently with 
 his own convenience. Don't you envy 
 me my seat by this broad chimney, and 
 my feet comfortably covered with a pair 
 of the softest slippers that your fairy hands 
 ever traced embroidery over, my gentle 
 
 ? By the way it would amuse you, 
 
 to see how beautifully your handiwork 
 looks at this instant, half buried as they are 
 in a magnificent bear-skin. Slippers are the 
 only luxury I allow myself here, (books 
 are necessities not luxuries.) 
 
 If you'll sit down by me here, my 
 friend, (I have a box at your service, or you 
 may lie on the bear-skin and toast your 
 feet,) I'll tell you a story of these same hills, 
 and this river, that may be worth listening 
 to- It is a legend I heard from an old In 
 dian, long ago, who has since gone to the 
 distant hunting grounds of his fathers. I 
 like to preserve these tales of the past, 
 
70 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 which may or may not have their founda 
 tions in fact, for they must in time be the 
 material for our national poetry, when our 
 nation finds time to write or read poetry. 
 You must let me tell the story in my own 
 way. 
 
 About a mile above here, on the opposite 
 side of the river, is a precipice, two hundred 
 feet high, overhanging the stream. The 
 ascent from the land side is gradual and 
 comparatively easy, but from the river there 
 is no reaching it. About forty feet from the 
 top is a ledge of the rock, or a shelf, some 
 six feet wide, on which grow a few cedar 
 bushes, sending their roots into the thin 
 soil which has collected from decaying 
 leaves, and clinging with wonderful tenaci 
 ty to the rock. Thus much by way of pre 
 mise, and now to my story. 
 
 The gern of her tribe, and the fairest 
 child of the forest that ever the good spirit 
 gave to the red man to tend his lodge and 
 smile on him, was (1 am not sure of the In- 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE HAUNTED ROCK. 71 
 
 dian name, it is so tong since I heard it) 
 Lota wanna, " The dawn of day," and there 
 was but one opinion of that matter in all 
 the red nations of the North. Her fame 
 had gone out among them, and many a 
 warrior brought her scalps and bears' claws 
 as delicate expressions of his regard. But 
 as far as my experience goes, there never 
 was a beauty that was not 'spoken for' 
 long before the world knew her beauty, 
 and so it was with Lota. Syosuk had by 
 some means won the heart of the maiden, 
 and she had in so many words promised to 
 be Mrs. Syosuk. But, as in more modern 
 and civilized affiancing, the consent of some 
 one else was necessary, and they went 
 most dutifully to consult Papa. The man 
 ner in which such matters are now-a-days 
 conducted, was no guide then, I imagine. I 
 can see the trembling hesitating air of my 
 
 friend B , when he asked Mr. M 
 
 if he would trust his priceless Ellen to other 
 hands than his own. How he stammered 
 
72 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 and paused, and finally bolted out his ques 
 tion in just the way he did'nt mean to, and 
 then waited (as a boy waits for a thrashing) 
 to hear the reply. 
 
 Not so Syosuk. He enters the old man's 
 lodge, and with maidenly modesty the fair 
 Lota retires. He sits down and smokes in 
 cold calm silence. At length he pushes the 
 blanket from his shoulder, and leaning for 
 ward, with his finger on a broad scar 
 speaks : 
 
 " The Mohawk's hatchet struck deep in 
 Syosuk's shoulder, when he was on the far 
 war track." 
 
 " Syosuk is brave." 
 
 " He has slain these enemies." And he 
 threw a suspicious bundle of hair locks at 
 tached to parchment looking appendages, 
 which the'old man knew as so many scalps 
 from the heads of the enemies aforesaid. 
 " He has a lodge, and it has no keeper. Syo 
 suk wants Lota." 
 
 This was coming to the point, and the old 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE HAUNTED ROCK. 73 
 
 fellow without a moment's hesitation re 
 plies : 
 
 " When the scalp locks are twice as many, 
 Lota will be in the lodge of Syosuk." 
 
 There was of course no appeal from this 
 quiet decision ; and Syosuk, as in duty 
 bound, starts in search of heads from which 
 he may obtain the necessaries. A queer 
 currency this, especially in bargaining for a 
 wife. 
 
 While he is absent, times change on the 
 river bank. The Chief of the Mohawks 
 comes from his distant lodge, and demands 
 Lota. He is refused, and instantly begins 
 an exterminating war. She in her maiden 
 beauty is regarded as the Indians seldom re 
 garded woman, as something holy, and they 
 said she had communion with the unseen 
 world. It was not strange that such sur 
 passing loveliness should seem a thing of 
 heaven. 
 
 It was the night of the first spring moon. 
 That moon went down a little later than 
 
74 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 the sun, and as the night wore away toward 
 its noon the red man slept. 
 
 Suddenly Lota rushed to her father and 
 awoke him, and with clear voice cried for 
 the tribe to come to the council lodge. They 
 gathered in haste, and with torches glaring on 
 their fierce faces, the scene must have been 
 wild indeed. Lota stood in the centre of the 
 circle of warrior chiefs none else was in 
 the lodge. " I have seen Manitou !" They 
 started as if an angel spoke. " The Mo 
 hawks are here. They will be in our lodges 
 ere the morning dawn. The good Spirit 
 bade me warn you to watch for their 
 coming." 
 
 So they armed themselves ; and when the 
 Mohawks came, although outnumbering 
 them two to one, they met a fiercer resist 
 ance than ever foe gave foe. It was a fear 
 ful night. In the deep darkness men grap 
 pled with men, and the hot blood gurgled 
 out of its natural channels, and covered the 
 slippery ground. Long and fierce was the 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE HAUNTED ROCK. 75 
 
 fight Hand to hand in that inhuman butche 
 ry they stood, and when the daylight dawn 
 ed, there were but six left to the battle with 
 but eight. And these lay awhile on the 
 ground and gathered strength, then sprang 
 like wild cats at each other's throats, and 
 with breast held to breast fell in the embrace 
 of death, all but two Mohawks. These 
 were left to look on the field of slaughter, 
 and when they looked around they saw no 
 sign of life, but only red rich blood. They 
 entered the lodge of old Kinnyunk, and 
 found the chief stretched dead; his head lay 
 in the lap of Lota. 
 
 Seizing the girl who was stupified with 
 grief, the Mohawk chief (it was he) took her 
 and the scalp of her father, and went swiftly 
 to the Northward. Syosuk and one com 
 panion returned an hour after he had left, 
 and followed on his trail. They overtook 
 him near the precipice I have spoken of. 
 They were two to two ; but the Mohawks 
 had Lota with them, and retreated toward 
 
76 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 the brow of the hill, hoping to secure a safe 
 position from their pursuers, whom they had 
 seen far in the rear. Here they met, and 
 Lota lay senseless on a rock, while they 
 fought a fiercer fight than any of the night 
 before. The two who were not chiefs fell 
 first. Then, hand to hand, the other two 
 stood and struck blows at one another till 
 their arms were weary. Syosuk drove the 
 other back till they stood across the body of 
 Lota. Then he made a firm stand, and 
 three hours they made manful battle, and 
 she moved not. Then with fiercer strokes 
 than before Syosuk pressed the Mohawk to 
 ward the precipice, step by step backward 
 and backward, till a blow struck his hatchet 
 from his hand, and the next would have 
 cloven him to the ground, but he sprang 
 back with a long bound, and his feet touch 
 ing the edge of the rock, he made one grasp 
 at nothingness, and fell backward over the 
 precipice ! 
 
 Syosuk v turned to Lota. She was dead. 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE HAUNTED ROCK. 77 
 
 For the first time his voice was heard, and 
 it rang in the forest as the scream of a 
 wounded eagle. He took her in his arms, 
 and chafed her forehead and her hands, and 
 called her name. But she spoke not, nor 
 moved, nor looked as she had looked in 
 days gone by into his face ; and when the 
 sun had set, he sat silently holding her in 
 his arms and chanting the solemn death 
 song. In the morning they were gone, and 
 the Indians believe that Manitou took them 
 together to the hunting grounds of the 
 blessed In that bright dream-land of the 
 Red man, Lota sits all day in the door of 
 her lodge, looking for the coming of Syosuk 
 at the sunset. She is fairer there than all 
 earthly dreams of beauty, and her eye is in 
 tensely bright with the love light of the spirit 
 home. The shade of the Mohawk shut out 
 from those broad fields, wanders restlessly 
 on earth, and especially haunts the rock of 
 his last struggle. He may be seen at times, 
 in a starry night, sitting on the ledge of the 
 
78 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 rock, with his 'head bowed down on his 
 knees, and the wail of his God -forsaken 
 spirit is like the wail of Lucifer falling from 
 his throne. 
 
 I can't say that I ever heard it. 
 
LETTER IX. 
 
 THE THUNDER STORM. 
 
 OWL CREEK CABIN, June, 1847. 
 
 THERE was a tempest in the mountains last 
 night, and my ears and eyes have not yet 
 done with the roar of the thunder and the 
 glare of the ligntning. The sun went down 
 as calmly in the evening as ever sun went 
 down from shining on this sin-stricken 
 world, and the twilight was as pure and 
 holy a twilight as ever angel basked in. I 
 was lazily inclined all day, and had been 
 doing little more than mend rods and lines ; 
 and when the sun approached the horizon, 
 I was seated on a fallen tree with my feet 
 in the river, and I sat there till the last ray 
 of daylight shrank back into the far blue of 
 the summer evening sky. Almost imper 
 ceptibly darkness stole on, and the moon 
 was watching rne before I had begun to 
 think of her presence. The sounds of the 
 

 80 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 x 
 
 forest fell peacefully on my ear, the rush 
 of the water, the chirp of the insects, the 
 hoot of the owls, the faint far cry in the fo 
 rest that came occasionally and inexplicably, 
 which might have been the scream of a 
 panther or the wail of a night bird, and the 
 low lulling rustle of the leaves as they whis 
 pered one to another, that now was the 
 time to rest. With these sounds and scenes 
 came that deep calm feeling of repose which 
 is to be known by none who frequent the 
 haunts of men, a feeling of direct and im 
 mediate connexion with the invisible world, 
 of total separation from all bodily care and 
 all earthly presence, and a sense of com 
 panionship with the holy, the happy, the 
 sainted. The soul seemed bathing in a 
 serener, a diviner element, and breathing 
 the air of immortality with full, free respira 
 tions. Slowly my head fell backward against 
 a supporting branch of the tree, and with 
 out knowing it, I gave up all control over 
 body or mind, and lay looking upward, 
 nothing noting the swift streams below me 
 
THE THUNDER STORM. / 81 
 
 Anon the sounds of the forest and the 
 night, assumed new tones, and assimilated 
 themselves to the half dream which had 
 taken possession of me. The low song of 
 the insect became a voice of praise the 
 creature beginning its evening praises to the 
 Creator. The river's gushing and- the soft 
 mild tone of the .wind in the hemlock 
 branches, was the distant anthem of the 
 blessed. And ever and again there came 
 above the other tones a wind voice of pecu 
 liar richness and sweetness, that trembled 
 fitfully a moment, then passed into the an 
 them again, and to my world- wearied ear it 
 was a note flung down to me from a ser 
 aph's harp, a note wherewith was joined the 
 tone of a remembered voice whose melody 
 I loved in the olden time, but whose warb- 
 lings have long ago died away in the far off 
 harmonies of the better land. Oh ye who 
 deem and dream that to worship God with 
 solemn soul ye must sit in Gothic gloom, 
 and listen to the organ's triumphant tones, 
 
 5 
 
82 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 go out into the night, and while all is hushed 
 save the humble anthem of the humblest of 
 God's creatures, kneel and look up at the 
 watchers on high, the holy stars that shone 
 in the bright fountains of Eden, and will 
 shine on the wreck of this (when it shall be 
 a God-forsaken) world, and learn at that 
 hour and in that company to worship in 
 spirit and in truth, T do verily believe that 
 half of you in Athenian ignorance bow down 
 to an unknown God. But I am no preacher. 
 If you have mistaken me for one, please 
 correct the error. 
 
 The rough shaking of the tree in whose 
 branches I was lying, roused me, and I saw 
 Black stepping toward me with the idea, 
 clearly, that I was asleep, and he could 
 throw me from my seat into the river. I 
 therefore lay quietly till he had nearly reach 
 ed me, and as he was walking erect on 
 the tree, balancing himself without touching 
 the branches at either side of him, I had no 
 difficulty in giving so sudden a shake of the 
 
THE THUNDER STORM. 83 
 
 tree as to cause him, after numerous inef 
 fectual gesticulations toward the stars I had 
 been gazing at, to regard it as the best plan 
 to take to the water. Accordingly he made 
 a long leap into the air, and falling feet fore 
 most into the eddy below the tree, swam 
 quietly toward me, and when I did reach 
 the bank, which was with unsteady steps, I 
 was thoroughly soaked by water, which he 
 applied unmercifully. 
 
 Sleeping on my bear-skin as usual, I 
 dreamed all manner of strange dreams till I 
 was startled by the sound of far off thunder, 
 a low muttering among the distant hills. 
 Rising from my bed (or floor) I went to the 
 cabin door, and opening it looked out. The 
 scene was of surpassing beauty, and I sat 
 on a fallen tree some fifty yards from the 
 cabin, and watched the dark thunder heads 
 that were rising in the West, and had nearly 
 reached the zenith. Slowly sweeping up 
 ward, they soon covered the moon, and for 
 awhile a silver edge was given to the cloud, 
 
84 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 that, by its calm beauty, mocked the fierce 
 flashes that lit with incessant glare^the cen 
 tral portions. Soon all was gloom the last 
 faint streak of blue in the East, in which had 
 rested a bright star, peaceful and serene, as 
 if opposing with its incessant purity the 
 coming tempest now wholly passed away, 
 and the wild glare of the lightning was un 
 remittingly bright. It was a strange revel 
 of the elements. The far off summit of the 
 Haunted Rock gleamed, white and stern, in 
 the North- West, and the mountain ridge 
 across the river stood boldly out against the 
 sky. The trees, the old forest trees, bending 
 and nodding and wagging their branches, 
 seemed, in that magical light, to be dancing 
 a wild dance to the grand music of the tem 
 pest and the thunder. The cl'ouds were 
 fairly spiritual, flying with mad speed, whirl 
 ing in mazy waltzes and gallops, twining 
 their arms around each other, and flinging 
 their golden tresses out on the air ; now 
 stooping earthward, now hastening heaven- 
 
THE THUNDER STORM. 85 
 
 ward, now keeping time to the roar and 
 crash of the thunder, now rushing heedless 
 of time or figure away .across the heavens, 
 and vanishing wholly in the misty East. 
 
 That roar of the thunder surpassed all 
 sounds of earth in its solemnity. It were 
 vain to try to describe it. It appeared to 
 shake the foundations whereon the very 
 arch of heaven rested, and the earth did not 
 seem to quake or tremble, but to sway back 
 and forth as a leaf on a tree-top. The artil 
 lery of the angels fighting the battle for 
 heaven against Lucifer, must have been like 
 it. It did not sound like the voice of God, 
 for by some strange mental process it seem 
 ed to convey an idea of God that rendered 
 all conception of his voice or his presence 
 impossible ; and terrible as was that thunder, 
 it seemed more like the voice of one of His 
 servants, than like His voice whose eye-light 
 no lightning-flash ever equalled. 
 
 I have said nothing about rain as yet, but 
 you may well suppose it rained some (as 
 
86 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 Black expressed it). I had a glorious shower 
 bath of course, and not the first one I have 
 thus taken, by some scores. 
 
 Slowly and painfully the storm went 
 toiling along, an din about half an hour the 
 rain had ceased, and all was dark and still. 
 But I saw in the West occasional flashes 
 that foretold another shower, and did not go 
 in. It came up swiftly. The lightning was 
 not frequent, but the thunder was severe, 
 and the roar seemed to be of peculiarly long 
 continuance. At length the rain began to 
 fall in large drops, and then to pour in tor 
 rents. By this time my interest began to 
 flag, and I was about to go into the cabin, 
 when a wild flash, followed at an interval 
 of scarcely two seconds, by a crash of thun 
 der, arrested me. I saw the fire of Heaven 
 fall on the side of the opposite mountain, 
 and instantly a gigantic tree blazed up in 
 the midst of the forest, as if a torch were lit 
 in the hands of some Cyclopean monster. 
 The few surrounding trees bowed their heads 
 
THE THUNDER STORM. 87 
 
 and waited in silence by the pyre of their 
 brother, and the lurid blaze shot up into the 
 dark sky awhile, then suddenly disappear 
 ed, and all was silence, solemn, deep, and 
 dark ; no voice of earth or air or forest ; no 
 sound of wind or whispering leaf or falling 
 rain or bird or man. Even the river was 
 apparently hushed to perfect stillness, save 
 once it rippled loudly over a rock, one mu 
 sical ripple, but then as if it had forgotten 
 itself, it was still, and the hush of deepest, 
 calmest repose fell over nature. 
 
LETTER X. 
 
 THE MOURNER. 
 
 NEW YORK, JULY, 1847. 
 
 IT was a golden morning, that of the last 
 day on the river, and Nora and I had been 
 rejoiced the night before by letters from 
 home and from as dear ones elsewhere, 
 (Nora always seemed to know when good 
 news came, and joined me in all the glad 
 ness it occasioned). As the sun rose, I was 
 standing on the branch of the fallen tree I 
 have told you of, that lies in the river, and, 
 after watching the round red day-god rise 
 slowly from his forest bed on the hill top, I 
 sprang into the air and fell into the river, 
 with a delicious sense of cool happiness that 
 you must know before you can imagine. 
 Black had trout for breakfast, and well 
 cooked as usual. We ate with woodland 
 appetites, and arranging for some future 
 
THE MOURNER. 89 
 
 plans with my kind friend, I called Nora, 
 swung my rifle and rod on my back, with 
 my small pack, and trudged slowly into the 
 forest. 
 
 The sunshine scarcely reached the ground 
 in that magnificent temple. Long dim 
 arches, wherein giants might have wor 
 shipped with reverential awe, stretched 
 away before me, and I became involunta 
 rily impressed with a deep sense of solemni 
 ty as I looked up at the leafy covering. It 
 was strangely still. The very birds seemed 
 to be keeping a Sabbath-silence. After a 
 walk of perhaps two hours, I came to the 
 bank of a large creek, at a point where it 
 widened into a broad pond : out in which, 
 nodding lazily to the ripples, lay the beauti 
 ful lotus flowers. Did you ever lie and 
 watch them? You can't do it without 
 growing sleepy. I threw myself down 
 under a large tree, and began repeating to 
 Nora Tennyson's Ulysses, and as I went on 
 with it, line after line, I gradually forgot the 
 
90 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 place and the poetry, the sunshine and the 
 
 creek, and I was woke an hour later 
 
 with Nora's low growl, and starting up saw 
 a man approaching me. Nora, noble dog, 
 lay at my head looking angrily at him and 
 growling, offering decided objections to any 
 one disturbing my quiet sleep. I recog 
 nised the new comer instantly, as the father 
 of the fair child whose death and burial I 
 told you of some time ago, and he knew me 
 also as the stranger who was present when 
 God took his earth idol from him. I had 
 not seen him since, but he sat down by me, 
 and I was astonished at the calm dignity 
 and great intellect of the hunter. He spoke 
 of oldentimes as of the present, and when I 
 mentioned my employment an hour before, 
 namely, the repetition of Tennyson, he took 
 it up and seemed familiar with poets and 
 historians and dramatists, of every age and 
 nation, quoting with equal fluency from Ho 
 mer, Persius, Dante, Corneille and Shak- 
 speare. Proctor would have been delighted 
 
THE MOURNER. 91 
 
 at the enthusiasm with which he quoted 
 " Golden Tressed Adelaide." But that re 
 minded him of his chid, and the strong man 
 was bowed down with grief. His soul 
 struggled with overwhelming agony, and to 
 call off his attention from the subject, I sent 
 Nora into the water to bring me a lily. 
 
 As I took it in my hand, he stood and 
 looked at, and said mournfully, " She loved 
 flowers." 
 
 " Aye," said I, " And now she gathers 
 them in a land where they bloom in immor 
 tal radiance ! Think you there are not 
 fairer flowers than the Lotus blossom, in 
 the waters of the river of Life ?" His eye 
 lit with a glow of enthusiasm as I spoke, 
 and his head was raised, and his hair, long 
 and gray, already streamed out on the 
 summer wind as he looked up into the far 
 deep sky, as if to catch a sound, one faint 
 far sound, if but a single note from his 
 seraph-daughter's golden harp, falling into 
 the holy sunlight ! 
 
92 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 Then his head drooped on his breast, his 
 eye dimmed with tears (manly tears ! were 
 they not?) and I saw his lip moving convul 
 sively, "phe is not here,'j he thought 
 " my cabin is desolate, and the door stone 
 will be deserted when I go home to-night !" 
 No, no, old man! she is not here. Her 
 white arms are not around your neck, her 
 kiss falls not now on your wrinkled cheek ! 
 Her voice has died away in solemn stillness, 
 and death has set his seal on her eloquent s 
 lip! 
 
 And he wanders thus alone, ever think 
 ing of her in the -forest or the cabin, by day 
 or by night Lonely and sorrowful he 
 waiteth for the hour when the voice of God 
 (to him how welcome !) shall call him to 
 join her yonder. At times, as he sits in the 
 night in his desolate cabin, he hears her 
 voice. He hears it as of old in all the melo 
 dy of her girlish love. The white locks are 
 softly and gently pushed back from his fore 
 head, and a kiss falls on it as a drop of balm 
 
THE MOURNER. 93 
 
 might fall from heaven ! He looks up and 
 a glorious eye gazes down on him through 
 the gloom, and a white hand beckons to him 
 from the Sabbath-shore. His heart keeps 
 vigil like the angel watchers at the sepul 
 chre, with earnest eye fixed on the place 
 where the object of his adoration lay. 
 
 I left him. He went toward his lonely 
 cabin some miles westward I eastward 
 toward the road. I fear me much (I almost 
 said I hoped) when I am again at riiy 
 cabin he will be sleeping by her side in the 
 little grave-yard. What a happy meeting 
 theirs will be ! 
 
LETTER XI. 
 
 THE OCEAN. 
 
 MONTAUK, bearing South 40,' West 5 miles, j 
 July 20th, 1847. j 
 
 WHEN I wrote you last, I was uncertain 
 where another week might find me. It 
 found me at Long Branch, sunning myself 
 on the shore, and occasionally fishing in a 
 surf boat. The next, to my own surprise as 
 much as to any one's else, I was on the 
 way to my cabin. But loitering along, I 
 was overtaken by a letter, which called me 
 back after about a week in the forest. I 
 did not reach the river, and scarcely used 
 my rifle or rod. 
 
 I am now rocking quietly and lazily on 
 the ocean, in a small but comfortable and 
 beautiful craft, with company of the plea- 
 santest kind. We have been out two days 
 only, fishing, reading, and sleeping. The 
 
THE OCEAN 95 
 
 chief object with all of us is, to keep off 
 shore until the weather shall prove more 
 tolerable there. Just now, you cannot 
 imagine a more dellicious air than this 
 which comes to us from the South- West. 
 It crosses Montauk, but it receives no scents 
 of the land there. It is a pure ocean wind, 
 and the life-like boat rises and falls on the 
 waves, as if it too enjoyed the breeze, even 
 as we. The sun is but now going down 
 over the North point of the Island, which 
 lies almost out of sight under the water, 
 some twenty miles Westward. Mancho- 
 nock, or Gardener's Island, is nearer by a 
 few miles. A flood of golden glory is over 
 them. What sunsets they have on the 
 East end of Long Island! I remember 
 them years ago, as impressing me, when a 
 boy, with their incomparable beauty. 
 Slowly the sun goes down, lower lower 
 but half its bright disk above the horizon 
 now a single line, a point of light now the 
 whole West is flooding with the yellow 
 
96 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 beams, as if the portals of heaven were 
 opening there, and one small cloud is almost 
 as golden as was the sun ; and now that 
 floats upward, and grows fainter and fainter, 
 and another takes its place, and yet another, 
 and the smile of God seems verily to be 
 over the world. 
 
 I have been resting on my elbow, gazing 
 over the taffrail at that scene, until I forgot 
 entirely to write or speak, or do aught else 
 than look and look and think. It always 
 appears to me at such times, as if the rays 
 of light came through a different medium 
 from the atmosphere. They fall so holily 
 and gently, not on the eye but on the soul. 
 They seem to be spiritual rays. Who dare 
 say that they come not through hosts of un 
 seen watchers, angels, or spirits of the saint 
 ed? I for one am very confident that 
 there are those with us whom we see not, 
 but whose presence we may learn to know. 
 I learned, as do all students in the meta 
 physics of books, that all ideas are derived 
 
THE OCEAN. 97 
 
 from two sources, sensation and reflection. 
 I have since learned to add spiritual sugges 
 tion. Do you not believe it ? Else whence 
 came that voice to me last night, as I lay 
 on deck looking up into the holy sky, that 
 voice of the buried unforgotten ? I had not 
 been thinking of the past ; I had not been 
 dreaming of the future. I was simply won 
 dering whether or not I could again go over 
 the calculation of the distance of Alpha 
 Lyra?, as I once did in days of mathemati 
 cal inclinations. And as I lay thus think 
 ing, a voice seemed to say to me, in those 
 clear tones of the long lost and loved, ' Do 
 you remember that morning on the bank of 
 the Hudson ?' l Aye, do I, thou well-be 
 loved one.' And for an hour we talked 
 of the days of boyhood and boyish affec 
 tions. 
 
 I am interrupted by a call to eat a call I 
 never hesitate to answer here, however often 
 repeated. Bill of fare : Coffee (good), sea 
 biscuit, &c., cold ham, blue-fish broiled. 
 
98 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 sword-fish (a la Block Island), &c., &c, 
 Four gentlemen already seated call me to 
 hurry. 
 
 July 23d, 9 o'clock P. M. 
 
 I am lying on deck writing by a lantern. 
 The roll of the boat prevents my scrawl being 
 quite as intelligible as it otherwise might 
 be. The night is beyond description beau 
 tiful. The moon hangs overhead with pale 
 and solemn face, and the stars keep no re 
 luctant vigil, if their sparkling purity be any 
 indication. 
 
 The stars and the ocean have always 
 seemed to me to have connexion. They 
 have been so long companions, unchanged, 
 unchanging. Night after night, from the 
 morning they sang together in the rejoicing 
 anthem of creation until now, the sea has 
 answered their song from afar, and with un 
 ceasing music praised the God of the 
 Waters, j Night after night they have looked 
 down from their diamond thrones on the 
 bright waves, and caressed them as they 
 leaped up to meet the star-beam's kiss. 
 
THE OCEAN. 99 
 
 Tried companions are they. The stars 
 saw the ocean when it smiled in the first 
 twilight ; they were above when it burst its 
 bonds and baptized the world, sweeping an 
 apostate race to perdition. They heard 
 the last agonizing cry of mortality as it 
 rang over the sullen waters, and then 
 beheld the floods shrinking calmly back 
 to their deep repose. They, with the 
 waves, are chroniclers of the centuries, and 
 you can read of the ages past as well in the 
 starlight as on the ocean sand. They are 
 alike sublime. Sublimity consists in the 
 approach to Infinity. Whatever is Infi 
 nite is necessarily sublime. The view 
 across the ocean, the horizon of water, the 
 unceasing roll of the surf on the sand, day 
 after day, year after year, century after cen 
 tury, impresses the mind with a sense of 
 vastness which it cannot fully grasp, even 
 as when we look up into the illimitable 
 sky, we are lost in the idea of immensity. 
 
 We are running in toward Sag Harbor, 
 
100 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 which is still some thirty miles distant. We 
 shall scarcely reach there before midnight, 
 and merely wait to mail packages of let 
 ters. The beacon lights of the Island and 
 Sound are all around us Montauk to the 
 south, Gull Island, Plum Island, and -the 
 other lights to enter Greenport and Sag 
 Harbor, to the west and I fancy at times I 
 can see Watch Hill away in the north. 
 
LETTER XII. 
 
 STONINGTON POINT. 
 
 1 STON IN GTON, \CONN., Aug. 2d, 1847. 
 
 WE have at length left the water, and are 
 quietly ensconsed in this coolest of all 
 cool places in summer. After the first 
 three days out, I grew tired of fishing, and 
 spent all the time in reading or sleeping, ex 
 cept when B hooked a shark, as he did 
 
 in three or four instances, and then I help 
 ed kill him with right good will. This 
 shark-catching is exciting amusement. 
 Hooks and lines for the purpose being al 
 ways on board, when he saw one, B 
 
 baited with a small blue-fish, and throwing 
 it over as far astern as possible, took a turn 
 around the taffrel, and if he didn't bite, pulled 
 in and threw again. The second or third 
 throw usually showed the white side of the 
 fish as he seized the bait on the top of the 
 
102 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 water, and then, "all hands to pull in a 
 shark !" and all hands mshed eagerly and 
 pulled heartily till he came under the stem, 
 where a spear soon quieted him. After in 
 specting him awhile, he is allowed to float 
 away, food for his unscrupulous brethren. 
 
 But more than the sea, I have enjoyed 
 the land as we ran by it. Here an island, 
 there a head-land. Here the long, low sand 
 bar, covered at high water ; there the rock- 
 guarded point, dark with forests. These 
 waters are all more or less familiar to me, 
 but the land is all over covered with scenes 
 that wake a thousand memories. 
 
 I have been this evening seated on a rock 
 at the extremity of the Point, watching the 
 sun-set, and looking over the water as far 
 as my eye can reach. I had company 
 (pleasant company !) and we talked of the 
 scene till our minds became so full of the 
 beauty, and finally with the solemnity of it, 
 that, as was remarked, silence became the 
 most pleasant conversation. I fixed my eye 
 
STONINGTON POINT. 103 
 
 on the faint blue streak on the southern hori 
 zon, the bluffs of Montauk. The surf broke 
 in measured time around the rock on which 
 we sat. (The surf here, by the way, is not 
 heavy, except in a very high wind : Fisher's 
 Island and Watch Hill break it considera 
 bly before it reached us). The sun had 
 gathered round him a host of glorious clouds 
 to watch his calm descent into the water of 
 the Sound. In the South, as far as I could 
 see, was the unchanged, unchanging ocean, 
 and the horizon was formed by that narrow 
 blue strip, scarcely distinguishable from the 
 waves. For an instant a sail flashed ouUri 
 the beams of the red sun, as if a flame were 
 playing on the ocean, a marine will-o'-the- 
 wisp (do you see the Irishism in that sen 
 tence ?) but it passed into a dull gray again, 
 and was no longer visible. The lighthouse 
 at Watch Hill, tinted with the same bright 
 rays, stood in the East, and between it and 
 our seat a dozen sail of small boats, freighted 
 with light hearts and merriness, or lobsters 
 
104 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 and clams, as the case might be, hung idly 
 in the motionless air. * 
 
 Anon the sun went down, and all grew 
 cold and gray, and a stillness which did not 
 seem broken even by the surf, settled over 
 the sea. A fisherman, with a small boy 
 seated in the stem of his boat on a pile of 
 nets, pulled slowly around the Point, and 
 set the nets, and then returned homeward. 
 Neither he nor the boy spoke a word 
 all was silent. The surf almost entirely 
 ceased. The waves came in at long inter 
 vals, and then fell with a half hushed sound 
 on the rocks, as if they too felt the beauty 
 of the night's approach. " Is it not like a 
 glorious death, this sun-set arid the coming 
 night?" said my companion. " Aye," thought 
 and said I, " a glorious death passing into a 
 night not starless, but lit with beacon lights, 
 gleaming clearly and with heaven's own 
 lustre through the gloom of the grave. I 
 never saw sun-set like that yonder, that did 
 not make me think of heaven." 
 
STONINGTON POINT. 105 
 
 " It was right yonder, in the sun's wake, 
 that the Atlantic was wrecked." 
 
 " Then verily that sunset may well remind 
 us of the land whereunto the sainted are 
 gone, for that was the path which at least 
 one trod thitherward." 
 
 " Yes, I knew him well. Who knew him 
 that did not love him ?" 
 
 And so the stars came out, and we sat 
 talking of the departed until my companion 
 suddenly pointed to the South, and I saw 
 Montauk light just on the water's edge ap 
 parently. 
 
 " How it would have frightened Wyan- 
 dannee, had he seen that beacon in his time?" 
 
 At the name of Wyandannee I started, 
 and straightway we spoke of the Indian 
 legends of old Montauk. If you have never 
 heard the story of the chief, it is worth hear 
 ing. I will tell it briefly when I next write. 
 We left the point an hour ago. The surf 
 roar has increased with a strong South wind, 
 and is in my ears as I write. We propose to 
 morrow to leave for Blocklsland and seaward. 
 
LETTER XIV. 
 
 A LEGEND OF MONTAUK. 
 
 STONINGTON, Aug. 5th. 1847. 
 
 IN my last I promised a legend of the Point 
 which like a long finger points seaward 
 from Long Island. It is a holy place with 
 the red man, and the few of the once noble 
 Montauks who now remain, in. the inter 
 vals of reason which they have and of sober 
 reflection, turn sad, and, I have thought at 
 times, longing looks toward the graves of 
 their valiant tribe, and sometimes watch the 
 setting sun and dream of beholding the 
 hunting grounds of their fathers and the fair 
 maidens that were the pride of the Island. 
 I saw the dull eye of the only one now left 
 who has anything of the nobility of the tribe, 
 flash with the eagle glance of pride as I stood 
 by him on the beach, and pointing into the 
 far blue sky above him asked him if he ever 
 
A LEGEND OF MONTAUK. 107 
 
 hoped to hunt with Wyandannee in the 
 spirit-land. He rose from the sand and 
 straightened his tall form, and looking into 
 my face, with a strong grasp on my shoul 
 der, pointed westward with a sudden and 
 convulsive motion of his hand. His lips 
 trembled an instant as if laboring to convey 
 some words of fierce eloquence, then he be 
 came calm again, his eye dull, his form bent, 
 and he sank back on the sand, a pitiable 
 representation of the lords of the soil. Look 
 ing on him, you would have dreamed it pos 
 sible *hat he was the descendant of the Eagle 
 of the North. But to the legend. 
 
 It was three hundred years ago. In the 
 tempests of three centuries the red man has 
 been swept away, and the storms of a few 
 more hundred years will sweep away his 
 memory. Let us strive to keep their valor 
 and their nobleness before the living age, 
 and teach our children tales of the Indian 
 warriors. A holy embalmment is that of a 
 memory when it passes into household le 
 gends and fireside tales. 
 
108 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 Wyandanriee was the great chief of the 
 Montauks. (A later chief of this name was 
 the protege of Gardiner, the original settler 
 of Gardiner's Island.) He was the son of a 
 chief bearing the same name. His father 
 died on Shelter Island, and was borne in 
 solemn state to the great burial ground on 
 Montauk. It appears that shortly after this, 
 the chief of the Manhasset tribe offered 
 an indignity to the grave of the old chief, 
 and hence arose a deadly strife that resulted 
 in the fierce fight I am about to relate, as I 
 have recently heard it repeated. As usual 
 in Indian legends, a prophet maiden must 
 enter. Saka warned Wyandannee on the 
 shore one moony night, that he must not 
 leave the land. They stood in the shade of 
 a rock some three miles from what is now 
 called Sag Harbor, and she begged him not 
 to enter his canoe which lay on the beach. 
 He laughed at her fears, and parting from 
 her with a promise of a return with a load 
 of fish and game for their lodge, pushed 
 gaily out into the moonlight. Then leaning 
 
A LEGEND OF MOflTAUK. 109 
 
 steadily to his paddle, the bark shot swiftly 
 across toward the shore of Manchonock, 
 (now Gardiner's Island.) As he* passed a 
 point of the island, he heard the twang of a 
 bow-string, and an arrow flew over his head. 
 But he did not look up, nor cease his steady 
 stroke with the paddle. Perhaps had an eye 
 seen his face, a smile of derision might have 
 been found on it. As he passed on, a canoe 
 shot out from the point, and the moon 
 showed in it five of the Manhasset warriors. 
 Wyandannee saw them without raising his 
 head or turning his body, save as he bent 
 low to his paddle. There was no apparent 
 increase of speed or anxiety on his part, but 
 had you been with him you might have 
 seen that smile grow strangely settled on 
 his face, and perhaps a steadier arm and 
 longer stroke as he turned shoreward. 
 Scarcely five minutes passed, and a heavy 
 surge completely overturned the pursuing 
 bark. Their arrows and bows floated all 
 over the waves, and a half hour was lost 
 
110 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 in gathering them, during which Wyandan- 
 nee, having seen the accident, had turned 
 his course Eastward, and keeping close to 
 the shore pulled steadily out toward the sea. 
 Two hours later he saw the canoe of the 
 Manhassets some miles behind him, and 
 then pushed swiftly on. He thought to meet 
 his chosen warriors on the point, and so 
 kept on until they gained on him so nearly 
 as to be just out of bow-shot. Then every 
 nerve was strained, and his life-like boat 
 danced from wave to wave like a bird. The 
 yells of the pursuers did not move him. 
 Once and only once he raised his head and 
 listened for the peculiar surf roar which he 
 knew was the voice of the ocean to old and 
 hoary Montauk, and so plying on reached 
 the shore precisely where now the sand had 
 been thrown up into a jutting point some 
 rods from the Eastward point. Then his 
 yell rang over the ocean and the land. But 
 no answer came from either. No friend 
 was near. The frightened sea-gull alone 
 
A LEGEND OF MONTAUK. Ill 
 
 replied with a wild scream as she rose from 
 her sleep on the wave. The Manhassets 
 were behind him, but he sprang to a rock 
 and fixing his foot firmly on it, with his 
 back to another, waited their coming. 
 
 I have heard the story varied here. Some 
 saying that another Montauk warrior came 
 to the chieftain's aid, others that he met the 
 foe alone. As in all such cases I have been 
 in the habit of preferring the most incredi 
 ble story, as being most desirable for a good 
 legend, I shall do so in this. 
 
 In that moment of expectation the Mon 
 tauk warrior looked to heaven and thought 
 of Saka and her" prophecy, and the long, 
 long waiting of the dove-eyed girl at the 
 door of the lodge. It nerved his arm, and 
 the first wolf of the foe that came within the 
 sweep of his hatchet, went down under that 
 fierce blow and lay motionless and dead be 
 fore him. Another and another fell voice 
 less and unmoving, and he , stood behind 
 their bodies untouched and fearless. The 
 
THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 moon never looked down on such a scene 
 before nor since, on old Montauk. It was 
 a fierce struggle of rage and blood. No words 
 were spoken, no sound was heard but the 
 thunder of the surf. Across the pile of slain 
 the unwounded Montauk's eye flashed 
 fiercely on the two remaining foes. A mo 
 ment passed, and one of them sprang over 
 the ghastly barrier, and staggering under a 
 blow that fell deep into his left shoulder, 
 wound his right arm around the legs of the 
 Montauk and brought him almost to the 
 ground. As he staggered, an arrow from 
 the last of the enemy entered his breast. 
 He leaped forward across the men he had 
 slain, hurled his hatchet with giant force 
 deep into the skull of the Manhasset chief, 
 and then, as his last foe fell dead, his trium 
 phant cry again woke the sea-gull and went 
 floating away over the rolling sea. 
 
 But the arrow of the Manhasset was steal 
 ing away his life. He felt that death was 
 near. The moon was never so calm and 
 holy in his eves, the surf was never more 
 
A LEGEND OF MONTAUK. 113 
 
 melodious. (The sounds of life are always 
 sweeter to the dying) . He sat down on the 
 sand, and sang his death song. Its burden 
 was the story of his battle-fields, and wounds 
 in fight (for though young he was all over 
 scarred) ; and then he chaunted the praises 
 of the beloved Saka : " In the broad forests 
 of the spirit-land, when holier moonbeams 
 fall on more melodious waves, on the green 
 banks of bluer brighter seas, we shall love 
 on with spirit love, my dark-eyed bride." 
 
 The rnoon went down, and the stars were 
 left to watch the scene. As the bright Alde- 
 baran rose from the ocean, the death song 
 ceased. Wyandannee had met his fathers. 
 
 There is a foot print in the rock, which 
 the Indians said was the print of his foot in 
 that fierce fight, and a fountain bubbles up 
 over the spot where he died. Another story 
 is, that the foot print is that of Manitou, when 
 he came down to visit his Red children. 
 You may believe just which of the two you 
 prefer. I trust my story has not weaned you. 
 
LETTER XV. 
 
 BLOCK ISLAND. 
 
 STONINGTON, Aug. 10, 1847. 
 
 I HAVE preferred this time to wait until I 
 could sit down quietly on shore and write 
 to you. It is somewhat pleasanter to use 
 one's pen seated by a table that stands se 
 curely on four legs, than to scrawl on a 
 sheet of paper laid on a deck which varies 
 its angle with the horizon from 45 to 50 
 with every passing wave. My writing, none 
 the best at any time, becomes then a suc 
 cession of such characters as no well-bred 
 spider would leave on the paper, had he 
 been dipped in rny ink and allowed to 
 travel across it 
 
 I was to tell you of Block Island. 
 If you have been there, you'll appreciate 
 the richness of a sail to it. If not, then by 
 all means go. 
 
BLOCK ISLAND. 115 
 
 Go, if but to see the Ocean in all its 
 glory. You may enjoy it from a ship's deck, 
 or the shore, or in the surf. All these I 
 know. But to be acquainted with the Ocean, 
 to claim a sort of friendship with the waves, 
 trust yourself to a boat that will feel every 
 wind and roll gaily to every billow, and dash 
 the cool delicious spray over you, and bound 
 with all the life of a sea-bird across the wa 
 ter. A life of voyages across the Ocean 
 will not make a man so perfectly at home 
 on the water as a few summers spent in the 
 way that we are now spending this. 
 
 The wind blew freshly from the south 
 west as we left the Breakwater at day-light, 
 and the sky was bluer than usual after the 
 shower in the night. Watch Hill seemed 
 to be winking his bright eye slowly, and I 
 thought kept it shut longer than usual, as if 
 he was terribly tired of his night's duty, and 
 half asleep already. (What a life-like ap 
 pearance a revolving light has when you 
 observe it closely.) In an hour we were 
 
116 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 fairly at sea. Are you tired of hearing me 
 speak of the Ocean ? I never tire of look 
 ing at it, or rolling on or in it. Men speak 
 of " our mother the earth." But I never 
 could appreciate the metaphor. A hard 
 mother is old Terra. She refuses us food 
 save when compelled by hard struggling 
 with her, and then yields it reluctantly. She 
 deceives us too often and finally takes us, 
 when worn and weary, to her bosom, only 
 by the difficult digging of a grave. 
 
 But the ocean is mother-like, singing) 
 songs to us continually, and telling a thou 
 sand legends to our baby ears. She casts 
 up toys for us on every shore, bright shells 
 and pebbles. (What else do we live for ?) ) 
 True, maniac as she is, she sometimes raves 
 madly and hurls her children from her arms, 
 but see how instantly she clasps them again 
 close, close to her heaving bosom, and how 
 calmly and quietly arid holily they sleep 
 there as she sings to them, nor wake again 
 to sorrow ! 
 
BLOCK ISLAND. 117 
 
 The breeze freshened in a few hours con 
 siderably. We loitered away the forenoon 
 in fishing, taking some seven and eight 
 pound blue-fish, and a quantity of a size a 
 little smaller. All of our fish that day ave 
 raged five pounds. 
 
 In the afternoon we had made some forty 
 miles offing, and as the weather looked 
 squally, we drew in our lines and ran up 
 for Block Island. 
 
 To imagine our pleasure, you should 
 know each and all of our company. I de 
 posited myself in the lee scuppers with 
 
 Festus in my hand. J had a, rare old 
 
 copy of Grotius' poems. Willis (Joe is 
 here ; what would I do without him ?) who 
 has a passion for the more modern, had the 
 last edition of Carlyle's ' Past and Present :' 
 
 S had Schiller, and the Doctor had the 
 
 rudder. But little reading did we. It seems 
 to me, if those waves are running yet (and 
 they must be off Labrador by this time), 
 they are still echoing our loud laughter. 
 
118 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 Especially when the spray soaked the ' Past 
 and Present' in Joe's hands as he was 
 reading, " Coped with the star galaxies ; 
 paved with the green mosaic of earth and 
 sea ." It was just then the water blinded 
 him, and when he looked at his book it was 
 as salt as a mackerel. 
 
 We made the island before sunset and 
 anchored in the offing. Leaving two of 
 our party on board for the night in case it 
 should blow on shore (when it would be 
 necessary to slip the cable and run out to 
 sea or to get to leeward of the land), J. and 
 Willis and myself went ashore. Our first 
 operation was to clean and salt the fish we 
 had taken, which we did with the help of 
 the islanders ; and then climbing the bank 
 or steep hill rising almost directly from the 
 shore made our way to Card's tavern, a 
 snug old fashioned and quite comfortable 
 house, where we ate ! How we did eat ! 
 They were good cooks. We had the dain 
 ties of the season, viz. : blue-fish just out of 
 
BLOCK ISLAND. 119 
 
 water, and broiled secundtim artem, with 
 plenty of sweet butter and fresh eggs, which 
 are certainly better laid by the Block Island 
 hens than by any other gallinaceous femi- 
 nines in the world. (Why they are better 
 I don't know, but it's a fact. Connoisseurs 
 in eggs can readily distinguish them from 
 any others in this meridian.) Add to this 
 bill of fare the unfailing " ash-loaf" of corn 
 bread, raked up in the embers of the tug to 
 bake slowly during the night (delicious for 
 breakfast), and you have a table fit for Api- 
 cius. 
 
 This " tug," a species of peat found on the 
 island, is almost their only fuel, for there are 
 no trees of any size, and anthracite is yet 
 unknown. It burns with a disagreeable 
 odor, imparting its fragrance to the dress 
 and persons of islanders, who can be as 
 readily distinguished by the nose as by the 
 eye ; or the ear either for that matter, for 
 their peculiar nasal twang is strikingly cha 
 racteristic. 
 
120 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 As you may imagine, the inhabitants of 
 Block Island are " of their own kind." You 
 must see them to know them. Within the 
 past few years they have vastly changed. 
 Ten years ago a Block Islander was a pro 
 verb for a drunkard. Now they are all tem 
 perance men (at least in name, for I confess 
 to overhearing a suspicious request from a 
 boat-load of fishermen that hailed us in the 
 offing). 
 
 They have no wharves, for there is no 
 bay nor place for a wharf on the island. 
 The everlasting thunder of the Atlantic 
 shakes the foundation of the land. It rolls 
 on shore from Europe and Africa, unbroken 
 till it breaks here. Those three great waves 
 that told of the earthquake at Lisbon, which 
 it was said bore the tidings of that fearful 
 scene across the ocean, must have shaken 
 the island to its base. 
 
 Strange that men born and living thus on 
 the shore of God's vast sea, should not be 
 worshippers by nature ! 
 
BLOCK ISLAND. 121 
 
 They have no boats here which may not 
 be drawn up on shore out of the reach of 
 storm or tide. What craft they have, are 
 admirably adapted to living in bad weather, 
 having great breadth of beam with high 
 weather boards, and being very deep, 
 schooner rigged, usually without a jib, the 
 foremast being stepped quite forward, or " in 
 the eyes" of the 'boat. 
 
 As evening closed in, the weather began 
 to thicken, and it now blew a gale. We 
 walked to the beach, and looked at the little 
 Phantom as she rode half a mile off. She 
 was gaily dancing on the water, ever and 
 anon throwing up a shower of white foam 
 from under her bow, and we pitied the Doc 
 tor and S , as we saw a fair prospect of 
 
 their having a run out to sea. The scene 
 had become grand indeed. The surf roar 
 was terrific, and the waves went leaping 
 along as far as we could see out in the offing, 
 like a host of monsters chasing each other. 
 I remembered an exclamation of a friend, 
 
122 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 made some weeks ago at Long Branch, as 
 we looked, one beautiful, sunshiny morning, 
 at the waves. " See," said he, pointing to a 
 white crest far out at sea ; " see that foam 
 cap ! Do you remember Eschylus calls it 
 yelaa;^ the laughter of the wave ?" But it was 
 wild laughter now. The laughter of fiends. I 
 trembled for the Phantom. While we were 
 watching her, I saw a lantern in her rigging, 
 and guessed that the Doctor was making all 
 ready for a run. 
 
 Directly I saw the sail rise a little way. 
 He had four reefs in it. A moment more 
 and the beautiful thing raised her head on 
 a wave, and turning swiftly around, shot 
 into the gloom, to leeward. A half hour later 
 I thought I saw a light in the offing as if she 
 was beating up again ; but a dense mist and 
 rain drove me from the beach. 
 
 Shall I tell you where I found J when 
 
 I returned? Sitting in the old kitchen at 
 Card's sedately and dignifiedly stirring cof 
 fee in a large pan, and looking demurely 
 into one of the prettiest faces you or he 
 
BLOCK ISLAND. 123 
 
 ever dreamed of, while a pleasant voice sang 
 a plaintive song that perfectly delighted us 
 all. It was apropos too ; " The Sailor boy's 
 grave." And a merry party we made in that 
 
 old kitchen. J -'s coffee was admirable, 
 
 as we voted the next morning. You should 
 know him to enjoy the oddity of his appear 
 ance over that tug fire and coffee pan. How 
 he winked his bright eye as the smoke filled 
 it ! Tears followed : but whether the song 
 (it was indeed a sweet one from a sweet 
 voice) or the smoke caused them, I can't 
 say. I slept too sound that night to dream 
 of . the PhantomJ The gale moaned and 
 shrieked all night. Now, as fitfully as a sick 
 child wailing, and now as mournfully as the 
 weeping of a mother over her first-born. 
 The surf thundered on the shore, and surf- 
 roar and tempest united, made it a fearful 
 night. And yet I slept. 
 
LETTER XVI. 
 
 THE FIRE-SHIP. 
 
 STONINGTON, Aug. 10th, 1847. 
 
 THE wind went down toward morning, 
 but the weather continued thick and we 
 saw nothing of the Phantom. Still we had 
 no fear of her safety, for the Doctor often 
 rode out worse gales in her than this. By 
 noon the clouds broke away and we had a 
 gleam of sunshine, but it afterwards settled 
 into a sort of autumn day, cloudy and 
 squally. About one o'clock the Phantom 
 hove in sight, and ran up to her old anchor 
 age. We went out to her toward evening, 
 although the surf ran tremendously. But 
 we thought it no more than fair to relieve 
 
 the Doctor and S , whom we found in 
 
 excellent health and spirits, but outrageous 
 ly hungry. Having been unable to cook 
 anything they had confined their eating to 
 biscuit and cold ham, which S thought 
 
THE FIRE-SHIP. 125 
 
 hard fare. His round face had a look of 
 gloom on it wh&h went to my heart. I 
 avoided any mention of the blue-fish and 
 eggs and ash-loaf, but commending him to 
 Card's good care and declining Willis's 
 company, J and myself drew in the an 
 chor, and the Phantom dashed merrily out 
 to sea. We had taken the precaution to 
 supply our larder as well as possible before 
 coming out, and therefore had little care for 
 the night on that score. 
 
 It was a lonely and yet a pleasant even 
 ing that which we passed on the sea to 
 gether. Lonely, because we two were cut 
 off from all the world, but we lacked no 
 company. The clouds and the wind and 
 the swift waves were company, and our 
 hearts leaped merrily, for we were positively 
 
 happy. J has escaped from the weight 
 
 of office duties, and I had been waiting for 
 just such a time to talk with him of matters 
 of deep interest to both of us. The sea be 
 came more quiet and the wind lulled, so 
 
126 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 that at about ten o'clock we ran back to our 
 anchorage, and our boat* lay slowly rising 
 and falling and rolling on the waves. 
 
 We then lay across the deck for awhile 
 and peered into the gloom to seaward, 
 vainly striving to catch a glimpse of the 
 Fire Ship. 
 
 This Fire Ship is a part of the creed of a 
 Block Islander, and (the truth is to be ac 
 knowledged) there is something very odd 
 about her. Others than the islanders have 
 believed in it. Dr. Mitchell once visited 
 the island for the sake of examining and re 
 porting on the apparition, and if I mistake 
 not did so do, and his account is published 
 in the transactions of some Society in New 
 York. 
 
 Some severity years ago a ship appeared 
 in the offing of Block Island. (I give the 
 story now as I heard it first. It has a vari 
 ety of shades, as all such legends have, and 
 is told in fifty ways.) She was a noble 
 vessel, with sky scrapers set, and the island- 
 
THE FIRE-SHIP. 127 
 
 ers watched her till she disappeared in the 
 gloom of night. She was then but a few 
 miles distant, hove to, the wind blowing 
 fresh from the west. As night thickened, 
 they saw her lights gleaming on the water, 
 but before midnight all was dark save one 
 bright light in her rigging. 
 
 An islander sat on the beach watching 
 that light. He heard a voice, even at that 
 distance, and the shrill whistle of the boat 
 swain, but even as he heard it a dark cloud 
 swept with the sea wind across the horizon 
 and a dense mist hid the light from his 
 view. Fifteen minutes might have passed 
 and again the light was visible. At the in 
 stant that his eye caught it a sheet of flame 
 rose from the deck of the vessel and every 
 spar and rope gleamed against the cloud. 
 In a moment the watcher started from the 
 beach and alarmed the inhabitants, and 
 they gathered on the shore and watched 
 the flames as they leaped along the spars of 
 the noble ship. A half hour passed and 
 
128 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 the crew of the burning vessel, doubtless 
 had by this time taken to their boats. The 
 wind had entirely lulled, and when the tall 
 thin spire of flame caught the sail which had 
 been fluttering on the main royal, there was 
 not air enough moving to break off the spar, 
 but burned it to a thin line of fire, and then 
 crumbled and fell in a shower of coals. At 
 this moment the eye of an islander saw a 
 strange commotion in the clouds which 
 were lit up by the blaze of the burning ship, 
 and beyond her, out in the offing the 
 foam leaped from the crests of the wave, 
 showing that a squall was coming. 
 
 On it came, tearing up the sea before it, 
 whirling the clouds into all fantastic shapes 
 and driving the spray like a white wall of 
 water on, till it reached the blazing ship. 
 Away to leeward flew flakes of fire and 
 streams of flame, and burning rigging and 
 bright gleaming spars. An instant the gal 
 lant vessel staggered and bowed to the tem 
 pest, then flew like a wild bird swiftly to- 
 
THE FIRE-SHIP. 129 
 
 ward the shore. It was a fearful sight, that 
 mass of fire and flame bounding over the 
 ocean. An awe fell on all that saw it, and 
 the watchers on the surf-beaten shore sat 
 silently side by side, and fixed their affright 
 ed gaze on the phantom-like ship that 
 swept shoreward in such magnificent array. 
 No thought now of the spoils of the week, 
 no thoughts of the lives of gallant men, no 
 thought of anything but that frightful vision 
 that seemed to be a curse of God, a bolt 
 from his hand flying on toward the Island. 
 Five, ten minutes might she have been 
 driving thus before the gale, and had neared 
 the Island within but a short distance, when 
 suddenly she stopped, or seemed to stop in 
 her wild flight. There was a flash, blind 
 ing and fierce as the lightning of heaven, 
 a thousand brilliant spars and burning tim 
 bers filled the air, and deep darkness, the 
 very blackness of darkness settled on the 
 sea. Ten times had the heart of the 
 watcher on the rock sent the blood through 
 
 7 
 
130 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 his trembling body, when a sound came 
 over the sea that shook the Island as it 
 never shook in the surf-thunder. 
 
 From that day to this the Block Islanders 
 have believed that they see the spectral 
 fire ship in stormy nights, and that its com 
 ing foretells some disaster. One and all 
 believe it as they believe there is an ocean, 
 and I have seen many of them, young and 
 old, who say they have seen it. Indeed I 
 never saw an islander who had not, and the 
 young lady whose song I had told you of 
 
 in my last, told J as he sat stirring that 
 
 coffer that she had twice seen it with her 
 own blue eyes. I was especially amused by 
 
 the earnest manner in which J said " I 
 
 don't doubt it." I have become satisfied 
 myself that they do see something strange 
 in the mist. Persons from the main land 
 who have come off here to make an exami 
 nation, say that they saw it distinctly, and 
 if you wish to forfeit all respect of a Block 
 Islander, express a doubt of the truth of the 
 
THE FIRE-SHIP. 131 
 
 apparition, and you are set down as unwor 
 thy of attention. Whether the vision be a 
 strange conformation of the mists, owing to 
 peculiar currents of air or not, and if so, 
 what the cause of these currrents can be, I 
 leave you to imagine. I heard an old man 
 say he had seen it often, every spar and rope 
 and timber being distinct and bright, and 
 that he had watched it a half hour at a time 
 as it lay rolling in the offing. 
 
 But I left my running account of the day 
 and night to tell this story. J- and my 
 self lay on deck and watched for the fire 
 ship, but it did not come. We talked 
 earnestly, for we had earnest matters to talk 
 of; our own plans for the future, the plans 
 of others, and finally we dropped into our 
 accustomed vein of discussion and talked 
 of metaphysics till the hands of our watches 
 stood together at 12. I then went below 
 (our boat has a beautiful cabin, being as 
 pleasant a yacht as you can imagine) and 
 set some eatables on the table. J. came 
 down and we ate heartily and went on 
 
132 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 deck again with cloaks and blankets,; and 
 were soon rocked to sleep by our ocean 
 mother. 
 
 The gale continued to blow on Saturday, 
 rendering it impossible for us to reach 
 Stonington again. We therefore passed 
 Sunday as quietly as possible on our boat. 
 We had the best of reading for the day, and 
 after dinner we set Willis to reading a ser 
 mon or two from Tupper's Proverbial Phi 
 losophy. Monday was clear and glorious. 
 We left the Island at daylight, fished 
 all day, arid lay to off the North East 
 point of Gardener's Island at night. On 
 Tuesday we ran with a fresh wind into 
 Stonington again. 
 
LETTER XVII. 
 
 THE SOUND. 
 
 NEW YORK, August, 1847. 
 
 I could not sleep the night that I came 
 through the Sound, although I was weary 
 enough, and anxious to forget myself if it 
 were possible. So I strolled up and down 
 the deck almost all night, reading occasion 
 ally for a half hour, and then walking 
 another half hour. 
 
 I know of no pleasanter employment than 
 looking in faces and (avoiding the imperti 
 nence of staring) trying to guess out the 
 meaning of lines that we see on them. 
 I have especially been thus interested in 
 going through the Sound. No line of boats, 
 as far as my experience goes, in the United 
 States, carries as intelligent and respectable 
 passengers in the cabin as the Stonington 
 line, unless I except the Fall River line, of 
 
134 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 which I know but little. Among these I 
 never failed to find those who were remarka 
 ble for some expression of face, perhaps of 
 happiness, more likely of sorrow, for the sor 
 row of life seems by far to overbalance the 
 joy. I heard a gentleman remark to Willis, 
 " The boats ought not to make the attempt to 
 run through the Sound in storms or fogs. It 
 is a risk of which there is no need, and they 
 should never leave the wharf except in per 
 fectly safe weather." 
 
 " My dear Sir," said Willis, " there are on 
 this boat to-night more than two hundred 
 cabin passengers. If you knew the object 
 which each of these passengers has in going 
 through the Sound to-night, I will venture 
 to say you would find more than fifty who 
 would give five hundred dollars each to be 
 taken through, fog or storm, rock or wave 
 notwithstanding. ^How many do you sup 
 pose are hastening to death-beds, to catch 
 the last words of some beloved one? How 
 many are carrying the fortunes of their 
 families, the actual pecuniary fortunes of 
 
THE SOUND. 
 
 135 
 
 themselves or others ? Rest assured, Sir, 
 there is anxiety enough on this boat, actual 
 agony at this delay, to warrant officers in 
 running great risks, and the officers feel 
 their responsibility to both classes of passen 
 gers.'^ The remark is worth thinking of. 
 
 As 1 stood in the car-house at Stoning- 
 ton while the Boston passengers were going 
 from cars to boat, I saw a gentleman and 
 lady supporting between them a young lady, 
 whose pale, calm face told of a soul fixed in 
 its contemplation on a quiet rest, the rest of 
 death. A half hour later I saw them seated 
 in the Saloon, and I passed them repeatedly 
 as I walked up and down, looking, when I 
 had opportunity, into their faces. There was 
 a something familiar to me in all of them, yet 
 I could not make out what it was. At length 
 it flashed across rny mind. 
 
 Two years ago I was coming down the 
 lakes in one of the magnificent steamers 
 which ply on those waters. I had my horse 
 with me, a tried companion, who had car 
 ried me three hundred miles in five days 
 
136 THE OWL, CKEEK LETTERS. 
 
 previous, resting over one Sunday (hot 
 weather it was too), swimming and fording 
 over twenty rivers or large creeks, and at 
 length resting himself, in good condition, on 
 the forward deck of the boat. I was stand 
 ing on the upper deck, looking down at 
 him, when I heard an exclamation of de 
 light at my side. " Father, come and look 
 at this horse. Does^nt he look like our 
 Jack?" 
 
 I turned and saw the face of a young lady, 
 remarkable for an expression of overflowing 
 joy, a face such as Dr. Cummings of Scot 
 land called in one of his great speeches, " a 
 love letter to the whole human family." 
 
 As she continued to converse with her 
 father, I learned that they were from the 
 East, travelling on her account. The idea 
 of disease being concealed under that joy 
 ous face was almost too strange to be credi 
 ble. I met her repeatedly on the boat, and 
 always with the bounding step and free 
 light motion of gay, happy, life-loving 
 youth. 
 
THE SOUND. 137 
 
 At length the boat touched at Erie, in. 
 Pennsylvania, a*nd lay an hour or more. I 
 walked up into the town, and being given 
 to the admiration of flowers and fruits, 
 stopped in front of a fine garden and ad 
 mired its appearance. A gentleman politely 
 asked me to walk in, and I did so ; he 
 showed me his place, and then cut a num 
 ber of flowers and handed them to me, with 
 which I returned to the boat. It was a glo 
 rious summer evening as we left the wharf. 
 The sun had not yet set, but before we 
 were out of the harbor, it went down ; and 
 [ was standing watching the sky when a 
 lady stepped toward me and begged to be 
 allowed to examine the flowers I held in 
 my hand. 1 handed them to her of course, 
 and then saw that she was the mother of 
 the young lady I had seen so often. After 
 they had examined them, they returned 
 them to me. I took them, and making the 
 politest bow in my power, begged the mo 
 ther to allow me to present them to her 
 
138 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 daughter, who received them with a smile 
 of thanks, and I turned away to see to the 
 comfort of Iran. 
 
 A few moments aftejrward, the father of 
 the lady, who stood near me on the upper 
 deck forward, addressed a remark to me 
 about my horse, and a conversation follow 
 ed, an exchange of names, a discovery that 
 we knew some of the same people in New 
 England, and an introduction to his family. 
 
 Perhaps I have been too particular in de 
 scribing the manner of my introduction to 
 them, but every incident remained deeply 
 impressed on my mind, and our last meet 
 ing was so unexpected, that I remember 
 them now vividly. The next morning we 
 were in Buffalo, and I did not see them. 
 The next afternoon I was watching the sun 
 set from the tower at Niagara, when the 
 same party came unexpectedly up the 
 winding stair, I could do no otherwise than 
 join them. It was Sunday evening. A 
 holy place is Niagara to spend a Sabbath. 
 How the 'torrent worships God ! 
 
THE SOUND. 139 
 
 They were New Englanders, and (almost 
 of course), religious people. (I don't like 
 that word religious, let me say Christian.) I 
 had a host of friends there, but none with 
 whom I could pass as pleasant a Sabbath 
 evening as with them. We talked of the 
 majesty of God, as we listened to the thun 
 der of the Fall. I was deeply interested in 
 the pure and perfect faith which I found in 
 the mind of the young lady of whom I am 
 particularly writing. 
 
 / " I should like to die here," said she ; > 
 7 Heaven can't be far from such a scene or> 
 s power." 
 
 I saw a shade fall over the mother's face 
 as she overheard this remark, but I smiled 
 and spoke of the beauty of our belief 
 that Heaven was never far off. 
 
 The next morning I was about mounting 
 Iran, when I heard a merry voice, and turn 
 ing saw that my friends were about leaving 
 in the morning train. We parted with 
 smiles and hopes of meeting again. We 
 met next on the Vanderbilt, as I have told 
 
 God' 
 
 f -r 
 
140 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 you in the commencement of this letter. In 
 the former meeting I was bronzed by long 
 exposure to the sun, and my beard was 
 heavy, and only shaveii from the upper and 
 under lip. I had now a clean face, and 
 was not much tanned. It was not strange 
 they did not recognise me. If their eyes 
 meet this letter, I am well assured they will 
 pardon the liberty I take in recalling the 
 pleasure of our meeting at Niagara, and on 
 the Lakes. 
 
 They are still travelling, the world over, 
 in search of health. God grant they may 
 find a life-giving air somewhere for that 
 fair girl. The smile was gone from her 
 face. Her eye seemed, as I have said, to be 
 fixed on the far off land, whereunto her 
 weary feet are even now, I fear, tending. Yet 
 if her faith be as it was when we stood to 
 gether on the frail bridge over the Fall, and 
 looked first down into the deep, then up to 
 Heaven : if she looks still with yearning 
 gaze into the blue sky as to her holier 
 home, the home of hope and love and God : 
 
THE SOUND. 141 
 
 if still her foot is firm in the path she then 
 trod joyously with songs and smiles, though 
 now with saddened expectation, then am I 
 sure that wherever God's voice reaches her, 
 on land or sea, in America or in a far 
 country, it will be to her a voice of wel 
 come, and she will press her feverish lip on 
 her mother's forehead, .and unclasping the 
 arm I saw wound around her father's neck, 
 bathe those lips in the river of life, open her 
 blue eye on bluer skies, and her sweet voice 
 be loud and clear among the Seraphim ! 
 God go with you, friends ! {&* - 
 
LETTER XVIII 
 
 A MEMORY OF THE OLD CONGRESS. 
 
 SARATOGA, Aug. 16th, 1847. 
 
 I HAD almost determined not to write to 
 you from this section of country at all; for 
 the ordinary subject matter of letters is so 
 much the same old story of amusements 
 and time-murdering, that I imagine your 
 readers could not be much interested in 
 what I might say. But the notes of a 
 looker-on may be worth as much, if not 
 more than those of one who joins the whirl 
 of gaiety. 
 
 And after some days of gazing at the 
 thousands who are around me, my usual 
 morning ride being ended, with no compan 
 ion but my horse, my old and tried com 
 panion of whom I spoke to you in my last, 
 and who is now rusticating with me, I am 
 at a loss for employment for an hour, and 
 will even write to you. 
 
A MEMORY OF THE OLD CONGRESS. 143 
 
 Do not expect to hear of the gaieties of 
 Saratoga. I am not here to enjoy them. 
 It is a long while since I sickened of them ; 
 and although every summer finds me here 
 more or less, it is with reluctance that I 
 come, and only to meet those whom I could 
 not otherwise see. For sketches of balls 
 and hops (the standing amusements of those 
 who are at loss for brains to kill time other 
 wise) I refer you to others. I am decidedly 
 an advocate for dancing. It seems to me a 
 harmless way of making a fool of one's self, 
 when that is the object (and it is the object 
 of most pleasure-seekers of the day) . It is so 
 much easier to use one's heels than one's 
 head, that people desirous of escaping all ex 
 ertion may well be excused for avoiding men 
 tal labor, though at the expense of bodily 
 fatigue. Did you ever pass the windows of 
 a room in which there was dancing, and 
 watch the figures when you could not hear 
 the music ? Try it sometimes, and if the 
 graceful movements of the dance do not 
 
144 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 become positively ludicrous, then I am no 
 judge. Do you ask how I would pass time 
 more pleasantly? Come with me, rny 
 friend, and let us stroll up and down this 
 long piazza of the Congress, and talk awhile 
 of the past and the present. 
 
 I have a love for this same old colonnade. 
 A thousand memories linger here. The 
 young, the lovely, the light hearted of many 
 years have walked this same round, and lis 
 tened and spoken the words of faith and 
 hope that are spoken now so lightly, and so 
 easily forgotten by the gay haunters of yon 
 der brick hotel. It seems to me that a very 
 few years have effected a great change in the 
 character of the visitors at Saratoga. It is 
 now of a lighter, gayer sort. Even the dance 
 seems to have become more airy and less 
 solemn than it used to be. iWhen I first 
 frequented Saratoga, " flirtations" were less 
 frequent, love was a serious matter, and 
 many a happy life of affection began, where 
 we now stand. \ The old Congress is a sa- 
 
A MEMORY OF THE OLD CONGRESS. 145 
 
 cred place with me, and I prefer it still, for 
 the sake of these associations. Stand with 
 me by this pillar, and I'll tell you a love 
 story. 
 
 It will be ten years next month, since I 
 stood here, as we now stand, with two 
 friends. How well I loved them ! The one 
 was a young man, my friend: a senior in 
 Princeton, passing his vacation before com 
 mencement, at the Springs. The other was 
 a gentle girl. There is none here like her, 
 none half so lovely. I should incur the 
 severe condemnation of some fifty ladies, 
 to whom I bow each day, did they know 
 that I am the writer of this letter, when I 
 say that I never saw as little beauty at Sara 
 toga as this summer. Out of some hundreds 
 of ladies, there are not twenty that bear 
 looking at twice. But, perhaps, my taste 
 has left me, and I am no judge. Certainly, 
 
 I have seen none to compare with L . 
 
 She was a fairy child of seventeen. Her 
 eye was blue as heaven, and had in it a 
 
146 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 winning earnestness, that made her ten 
 times more lovely. She was the worship of 
 a host of admirers. Her seat in the drawing 
 room was always surrounded by a crowd, 
 and she never lacked for a word or a smile 
 where it was deserved, or a cold bow where 
 that was desirable. 
 
 I have said she was a fairy in form. Her 
 foot fell as lightly on the carpet (as Long 
 fellow said of Preciosa), "as a sunbeam on 
 the water." Every movement was grace, 
 every laugh a thrill of melody. Her song 
 was a gush of such overflowing sweetness 
 as I never heard surpassed ; no, nor equalled. 
 That song haunts this spot on which we 
 stand. I linger here in the night to listen 
 to it. It is this that makes me love the Old 
 Congress ! 
 
 We stood together that night, having es 
 caped the crowded ball room, and by this 
 
 very pillar, my friend and L exchanged 
 
 the words of parting which are apt to be ex 
 changed between those who love. It was 
 
A MEMORY OF THE OLD CONGRESS. 147 
 
 an ordinary parting. No tears, nothing but 
 smiles. He was to return to Princeton, at 
 tend commencement, return to the Springs, 
 and they were to go to Niagara together. 
 Her father, a man of great wealth, and de 
 voted to his daughter, stood yonder watch 
 ing us. I remember the scene well, how 
 well ! 
 
 " Do not let them make you forget me," 
 said Fred, with a srnile. " A week is a long 
 time to be away, and you may be wooed 
 and won by some one in that time. You 
 remember the girl who was wooed, won, 
 arid married in a day !" 
 
 "Don't speak so, Fred," said she; "I 
 don't like to speak of forgetting even in that 
 way." 
 
 "Well, I will not then. Expect me on 
 Saturday. Good bye ! and he passed his 
 manly arm around her, and pressed his lips 
 to hers, and saying "Take good care of her, 
 W ," sprang on his horse and rode swift 
 ly away. 
 
 " Give me your arm," said L , "and 
 
148 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 let us walk here a while. I can't go back 
 to that room again." 
 
 So we walked till midnight, talking of 
 
 Fred, for L would listen by the hour 
 
 while I praised my friend. She loved him 
 with a holy love. It is a blessed thing to 
 meet such love in this world. Such love is 
 like a smile of God among the rough scenes 
 of life. She was hopeful, trustful, I need 
 not say faithful. But Fred, and L. never 
 met again. He died, alone, in a lonely 
 place. Saturday came and he came not 
 She was disappointed and sad. All day Sun 
 day I devised excuses for him. Monday 
 and no Fred. Tuesday, Wednesday passed, 
 and at length Saturday brought me a letter 
 from a strange hand. " I write you, Sir," 
 said the letter, " as directed by Mr. Frederick 
 
 G , who died at my house last night." I 
 
 need not attempt to describe my feelings as 
 I went on to read the particulars of his sud 
 den death, his last words to me, his message 
 to L. They were written out by a stranger, 
 taken down from his lips. How full of 
 
A MEMORY OF THE OLD CONGRESS. 149 
 
 warnfth, of love, of agony. " Tell him to 
 tell her. He will know who I mean. She 
 must not weep. She may, I wish she could, 
 forget me." 
 
 I broke the news to her as well as I could, 
 standing again just at the same place. She 
 stood statue-like and listened then fell like 
 a dead person into my arms. Since then, 
 she too has fallen asleep ! Her blue eye is 
 closed. Her glorious hair is under the coffin- 
 lid. Her voice has learned a new, a purer 
 melody ! I stand here now and think of her 
 while the sounds of revelry come faintly to 
 my ear. I grow purer myself in communion 
 with the dead. Should not this be a sacred 
 place to me ? 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE DESERTED CHURCHES. 
 
 BALLSTON, N. Y., Aug. 13, 1847. 
 
 THIS is far pleasanter than Saratoga. The 
 old Sans Souci is quiet and comfortable. 
 There is no crowd, no noise, all is delight 
 fully still and pleasant. 
 
 I am quietly and pleasantly situated with 
 my friends, and we shall spend the next 
 week here, then perhaps go back to Sarato 
 ga, and then to the city again. 
 
 We rode again yesterday toward the 
 Lake, and around the head of it to the Sul 
 phur Spring. This has been our favorite 
 ride, although the road is outrageous on the 
 shore of the lake. As we were returning, 
 we passed a grave-yard, the country-grave 
 yard, where the stout arms that tilled the 
 soil lie nerveless under it, and the fathers of 
 the living generation are sleeping after their 
 
THE DESERTED CHURCHES. 151 
 
 labors. As we passed on, we saw a grave 
 stone leaning against the fence, and I read 
 the name across the top of the stone which 
 alone was visible, thus, 
 MARY. 
 
 And I was struck with the singularity of a 
 coincidence which I will explain. 
 
 A few weeks ago I was riding on horse 
 back by the side of a fair and thoughtful 
 friend over the hills of Connecticut It was 
 twilight, arid as we passed a grave-yard, 1 
 fancied I could read on a stone, to which I 
 called my friend's attention, the same name, 
 " Mary." " Let us stop here," said she, 
 drawing her rein and looking with earnest 
 eye at it. 
 
 " How many stones I have seen in grave 
 yards bearing that name, ' a tear,' or ' bit 
 terness,' and how many hearts, think you, 
 W - , are in bitterness for that girl's memo 
 ry ? She was a girl, you see, by the size 
 of the stone. They always make the size of 
 grave-stones correspond with the ages of the 
 
152 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 dead in the country. She must have been 
 about seventeen. I wonder whether she 
 was not happier than I am. She must 
 have been. I wonder if she loved, and 
 whom she loved, and whose embrace she 
 has exchanged for that bed under the long 
 grass. 
 
 Had she a father ? Had she a mother ? 
 
 liad she a sister ? Had she a brother ? 
 
 Or was there a nearer one still, and a dearer one 
 
 Yet than all other ?' 
 
 I can imagine a sad scene when she died. 
 How they loved her ! And how she bade 
 them not to weep for her, but to lay her 
 gently in the old hill-side grave-yard under 
 the oak tree yonder. Then there was ago 
 ny, the agony of the warm country heart. 
 Oh, how different from our schooled grief and 
 weeping by conventional law ! The old 
 father stands choking with his manly sor 
 row by her side ; the mother holds her dear 
 
 
 girl's head in her faithful arms. (She held 
 her in her babyhodd thus ! Who so fit to 
 hold her now ?) The little sister has thrown 
 herself across the foot of the bed, and cries 
 
THE DESERTED CHURCHES. 153 
 
 bitterly. The one, the dearer one than all 
 others, stands for awhile with pale face by 
 the foot of the bed, silently gazing into the 
 eye of the dying girl, until he sees a smile 
 flitting across that face like a dream of hea 
 ven, and she reaches out both hands to him, 
 and he springs toward her, and in that last 
 long kiss she ceases to breathe, dying just 
 where she always wished, on his breast. 
 
 " There ! have I not made, a scene for 
 you? Now be so kind as to repeat that pas 
 sage from old Sir Thomas Overbury, that 
 you read to me almost a year ago, in 
 N ." 
 
 I had been looking into her saddened face 
 while she spoke, and could do no less than 
 obey her, quoting as nearly as I could from >| K 
 memory, the conclusion of the beautiful and 
 quaint description of a " Faire and Happy 
 Milk-Maid/' 
 
 " She dares go alone and unfold sheep in 
 the night, and fears no manner of ill, for she 
 means none. She is never alone, to say 
 
 8 
 
154 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 truth, for she is always accompanied with 
 old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers; 
 short ones, but they have their efficacy! 
 Her dreams are so chaste that she dare tell 
 them, only a ^Friday's dream is her super 
 stition ; that she conceals. Thus lives she, 
 and her only care is that she may die in 
 Spring-time, to have store of flowers stuck 
 upon her winding sheet." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," said my com 
 panion, " and now let us ride on." " Not 
 till I look a little nearer at that stone," said 
 I. Riding to the fence, and leaning over, I 
 read aloud : 
 
 "Mary, wife of , died April 9th, 
 
 1847, aged 71 years, &c., &c. (I couldn't 
 read a word on the stone, but I wished to 
 see the effect of such a dash of cold water on 
 the romance of my friend, and so continued 
 as if reading), " A woman of great worth, 
 a pattern for industry, for love of her family 
 and her home, and universally beloved by 
 all who knew her. An aged husband and 
 
THE DESERTED CHURCHES. 155 
 
 a large number of descendants of two gene 
 rations weep at her grave." 
 
 I turned away with a serious face, and 
 rode along by the side of my companion. 
 She rode with her eyes on the ground 
 awhile, then looked up with a sigh, and 
 said as if musing, S Poor old man ! how 
 lonely his hearth will be next winter;-' And 
 then tightening her rein, her horse sprang 
 forward, while I enjoyed my laugh at her 
 incorrigible imagination. 
 
 But to return to Ballston. We rode yester 
 day afternoon out on the old middle road to 
 Milton, and looked at the deserted churches 
 there One was Episcopal, the other Pres 
 byterian. . They are both now in utter ruin. 
 I pushed open the door of one of them, and 
 found the porch occupied by a loom for 
 weaving which a farmer's wife had placed 
 there to have a cool place to work. Cool ? 
 It was frigid ! No glass in the windows ; 
 the walls were crumbling away. I went 
 up into the little round pulpit by a winding 
 
156 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 stair. It had a sounding board over it, ex 
 actly like an umbrella, supported by a single 
 pillar. How odd it looked. I stood there 
 and read above the pulpit, sounding board 
 and all, on a black half-moon in the wall, 
 " How amiable are thy tabernacles, Oh, Lord 
 of Hosts." It was a solemn mockery ! Years 
 ago the last sermon was preached from this 
 desk, the last song of praise echoed in this 
 temple. The preacher sleeps in the grave 
 yard yonder; the voices of the village choir 
 are feeble and tremulous with age, or silent 
 ly wait to take up the new song. The grave 
 yard has grown eloquent! I spoke aloud. 
 My voice scared me. I attempted to laugh, 
 but could not. I dared not laugh there. 
 
 I should like to go into that church some 
 moonlight night, and sit down in the little 
 seat under the pulpit. If the dead ever 
 come back to earth, that is the place. They 
 would come across the street from their 
 present homes, and take their old seats in 
 the square pews. What a solemn looking 
 
THE DESERTED CHURCHES. 157 
 
 procession that would be, as one by one the 
 old men and their old wives come tottering 
 across to the church door, while laughing 
 maidens by the side of strong and ruddy 
 farmer boys, go tripping into the gallery! 
 Then the preacher ascends the pulpit stairs, 
 and looks down on his solemn audience. 
 They sing ! what voices ! the voices of the 
 buried generation. I heard some sounds 
 while there yesterday, that startled me, as if 
 I had heard the songs of the forgotten. The 
 preacher opens his Bible, and again his 
 voice rings in the ears of his people, as he 
 pleads with them earnestly. He speaks of 
 hope, of Heaven, of God. A tall thin man 
 in the front pew starts up and shrieks " Top 
 kite! TooJateJ Lost MLostJ" and the phan 
 tom congregation vanish. The old church 
 is deserted again and silent. The dead 
 sleep in the old grave yard. I had such 
 thoughts as I stood in that old pulpit. 
 
 The other ruin is used now only for fune 
 rals. When they bury their dead, they 
 
158 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 gather again in the old meeting-house, but 
 never save then. It is a fit time to enter its 
 portals ; fitting to bear the dead from the old 
 church aisle to the old country grave-yard. 
 
 I am writing you an odd letter from the 
 Springs, all about graves and grave-yards. 
 I am well interrupted by overhearing Willis's 
 laugh. I must join him and our company. 
 
LETTER XX. 
 
 THE DOVE OF THE MOHAWKS. 
 
 BALLSTON, Aug. 20th, 1847. 
 
 THE temptation was too strong and I yield 
 ed to it. It happened this way. I was sit 
 ting quietly enough with Willis at the 
 window, talking about the probabilities for 
 and against Gen. Scott being in Mexico, 
 when a man walked by with a reed pole on 
 his shoulder and a string of fish in his hand. 
 " Where did you get those ?" said Joe. " In 
 Saratoga Lake," was the reply. " Too far 
 by half for my laziness," said Willis, drop 
 ping contentedly into his chair again. " Joe," 
 said I, about five minutes later. " Well." 
 " There are trout in the Kayderoceros. We 
 used to take them there." " Well." " Well ? 
 don't you see the inference? We must 
 take them out." " Too much trouble 
 W , altogether too much." " So I thought 
 
160 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 until about two minutes and a half ago, but 
 I'm now convinced its easy enough. I'm 
 off instantly : come." " No, no, I'll take care 
 of the ladies. They may be able to spare 
 you elderly people, but not me ahem. 
 Ask Mr. T. to go with you." So having set 
 tled it in my own mind, I proceeded to 
 make an examination and exploration for 
 rods and lines, &c., to manufacture some 
 flies. The forenoon was used up in this 
 way, and after dinner, I put Festus into my 
 pocket in case of dull sport, and strolled 
 away over the Rail Road bridge. Then 
 turned into the woods, and walking up the 
 stream about a half a mile, came down to 
 the water and prepared my tackle for use. 
 But the wind had lulled since I started, and 
 the sun had come out from clouds, and its 
 rays fell hot and bright on the water. I 
 coaxed and coaxed the trout, offering them 
 every fly I had, and especially tempting 
 their lazy appetites with the green fly of Au 
 gust. But if they were there, they lay still in 
 
THE DOVE OF THE MOHAWKS. 161 
 
 their holes, and I changed my hooks and tried 
 bait. There was one place where the creek 
 fell over rocks into a deep broad basin, and 
 ran under overhanging banks. It might 
 have been some eighty feet across it above 
 the fall, and it widened to a hundred or 
 more, below. Here I tried my worms, and 
 took out a dozen good sized wind fish, 
 weighing perhaps three quarters of a pound 
 each. But still no trout. So I replaced my 
 flies, tried one and another and another, 
 and then gave it up, and walked slowly 
 down the stream till I came to the Lover's 
 Leap, where I threw myself on the ground, 
 and taking out my book began to read. 
 
 It is a magnificent place for repose. I 
 was on a greensward, which sloped gently 
 down to the water, the stream here being 
 about fifty or sixty feet wide. Behind me 
 was a dense forest of Hemlock and Pine. I 
 lay under a noble Elm. Before me rolled 
 the Kayderoceros, deep and dark, under a 
 precipice of black rock a hundred feet above 
 
162 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 the water, on whose peak gigantic Pines 
 stood in solemn grandeur, almost a hundred 
 feet higher. At my right the river rushed 
 with wild fury down a channel of rocks, un 
 til it struck the base of the hill, then sudden 
 ly grew calm and even sluggish, and turning 
 around the little green spot on which I was, 
 went slowly eastward, till it reached its 
 next fall. 
 
 That greensward where I lay is seldom 
 reached by sunbeam. It is a calm deep 
 solitude there, a place to go on a quiet sum 
 mer's day and sit with one friend, and tell the 
 story of Nunilla, the dove of the Mohawks. 
 
 You will tire of my legends if I tell you 
 any more of them. But I confess to a de 
 votion to Indian stories. I would rather sit 
 down in such a place and hear a story of 
 three hundred years ago, than be in the 
 merriest company you could give me. I 
 shall therefore make no apology for my tales 
 of the olden time. 
 
 This tale of Nunilla I have somewhere, 
 but not here, and I therefore must premise 
 
THE DOVE OF THE MOHAWKS. 163 
 
 my brief recountal of it, by saying that I tell 
 it from a memory of ten years at least. I 
 have not seen nor heard it in that time, un 
 til I told it to Willis an hour ago. 
 
 It was in the days when the Mohawks 
 were lords, from the great river of the North 
 to the thunder of the cataract. And Nunil- 
 Ja was the idol of the tribe, the daughter of 
 the proudest warrior chief. I need not write 
 all this out ; it is of course a part of the le 
 gend as of all others, and you can imagine 
 too the firm foot and bright eye and strong 
 arm of the Hawk, the warrior who loved 
 her. Fill out the description to suit your 
 self. 
 
 The lodge of the Hawk was ready for 
 Nunilla, and the dove was to rest in the 
 nest of the falcon. (Now some infidel will 
 say, as he reads this, that that singular con 
 junction of names, the dove and the Hawk, 
 makes the story seem apocryphal. To any 
 such I would suggest this idea. It's a great 
 deal easier, and will save you lots of trouble, if 
 you'll only be a little more credulous. It is 
 
164 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 my principle to doubt nothing ; or, if I do 
 doubt, to say nothing about my skepticism.) 
 
 The love of an Indian girl must be a love 
 worth possessing. So natural, pure, and 
 holy, gushing fountain-like from a glad guile 
 less heart, and enriching its object with a 
 wealth that civilization never dreams of If 
 I were as young as I once was, and could 
 meet with a second Nunilla, I would be in 
 clined to lead a forest life and believe in the 
 hunting grounds of the blessed. 
 
 The Hawk went on a war-track and fell 
 overpowered by numbers. , He fought va 
 liantly, and his hatchet was red with the 
 blood of his enemies. The Mohawks were 
 victorious, but brought him home in their 
 arms, wounded and dying. Nunilla met 
 them. She watched him till he died, and 
 then the fond girl's eye grew dim with long, 
 long weeping. At length she ceased to 
 weep, but the unnatural lustre in her eye 
 was the gleam of madness. Poor girl ! Her 
 love was more faithful than the love of white 
 maidens. 0*1 
 
THE DOVE OF THE MOHAWKS. 1 65 
 
 One sunny afternoon she sought the dark 
 forest, on the summit of the rock I have de 
 scribed, and seating herself on the edge of 
 the precipice, sang songs to the wind, and 
 plucking wild flowers, flung them into the 
 stream far below. As the sun neared the 
 horizon her song grew wilder and more 
 sweet. An Indian passing on the other side 
 fancied he heard a voice from the land of 
 the brave dead, and raising his eyes saw the 
 fair girl seated on a rock and looking up in 
 to the far off sky. When the sun had set 
 she began her death song. It floated out 
 in the twilight, and the river hushed to listen 
 to the wild melody. And as she sang she 
 disrobed herself, laying her dress and orna 
 ments one by one on the rock, recounting 
 the story of her love and her lover's gifts. 
 At length she stood up in the last rays of 
 the day light with no covering on her grace 
 ful limbs and fairy body, save the long black 
 hair that hung over them, and raising her 
 hands to heaven, called aloud the name of 
 
166 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 her lost love, and sprang into the air. The 
 deep dark water opened to receive and 
 closed above her. 
 
 In the hunting grounds of the spirit-land 
 when the Hawk Chief came back from the 
 chase to his lodge that night, the soft arms 
 of Nunilla were flung around his neck, and 
 her melodious voice syllabled his name. 
 
 Just as the dawn appeared the next morn 
 ing, the canoe of a young Indian going out to 
 fish on the lake, passed near the outlet of the 
 Kayderoceros. The solitary fisherman looked 
 over the side of his boat, and started as he 
 saw on the bottom of the clear water the 
 form of a girl, and diving, brought it to the 
 surface and laid it in the prow of his canoe. 
 Then he recognised the matchless form and 
 features of the dove of the Mohawks. A 
 smile so holy and heavenly was on her face, 
 that as the young warrior laid her body on 
 the green turf of the shore, he knelt and 
 gazed, and looking up to heaven, vowed to 
 love no Indian girl till he should meet Nu- 
 
THE DOVE OF THE MOHAWKS. 167 
 
 nilla in the land of spirits. They buried 
 her under the very turf on which T lay read 
 ing, and for many a year the Indian maidens 
 brought flowers and laid them reverently on 
 the grave. Even I, searching diligently for 
 some mark which might indicate the pre 
 cise spot of her sleep, threw a handful of 
 flowers over her, and turning back to my 
 book, read till the last sunbeam lit the top 
 of the pine tree that tapered far up into the 
 air above me. 
 
 I was reading just at the parting of Elissa 
 and Lucifer 
 
 LUCIFER. Now Jet us part or I shall die of wrath, 
 Be my estrangement perfect as my love. 
 
 ELISSA. Part then. 
 
 LUCIFER. Thank God, it is for eternity. 
 
 ELISSA. I do ; away ! 
 
 LUCIFER. Festus, I wait for thee. 
 
 FESTUS. Come, thou art not the first deceived in love. 
 Yet love is not so much love as a dream 
 Which hath it seems like guerdon with the thing 
 The staring madness when we wake and find 
 That what we have loved, must love, is not that 
 We meant to love. 
 
 Plash ! a trout jumped ! I was on my feet 
 
168 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 in an instant, and the gray fly on my line 
 went dancing over the ripples. A leap I 
 had him. He pulled gallantly straight 
 down the stream with fifteen fathoms of 
 line before I could turn him. Then up 
 again like a flash. I used my reel, but had 
 to give him twenty fathoms as he went up. 
 Then he turned and dashed under a bank, 
 where he lay till I teased him out. Up 
 stream again ! and now I gave him line and 
 followed, for the water was not so deep 
 above. So we struggled for fifteen minutes, 
 when at last I drowned him, and landed 
 him a good three pounder. Rather small 
 to have given me so much trouble, but I 
 had a light rod, and. could not trust it. He 
 was grand for breakfast. 
 
LETTER XXI. 
 
 THE RAIL-ROAD AND THE GRAVE-YARD. 
 
 SARATOGA, Aug. 24th, 1847. 
 
 As you perceive, T date again from the head 
 quarters of all that is gay. Never mind 
 why I am here. If you should guess that 
 I came back for the same reasons I was 
 here before, you wouldn't be far from guess 
 ing right. It is stiller than it was ; there 
 are decidedly fewer persons here, and water 
 and tables are much more easily got at than 
 they were last week. I looked in at the 
 United States a moment last Saturday, but 
 went back to Ballston again the same 
 evening. I'll tell you how it was. 
 
 By the kindness of a friend we had a 
 horse car placed at our service after the last 
 train up in the afternoon, and with a plea 
 sant load of laughers we started for Sara 
 toga. Our horse being a rail-rood animal, 
 
170 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 we made a little better time than the loco 
 motives usually do, and our car (the super 
 intendent's rubble-car with which he drives 
 over and examines the road), was just the 
 thing for comfortable talking and laughing. 
 " I shall ask you to bring back two pas 
 sengers with you when you return," said the 
 agent, "a workman and his wife who 
 missed the last train down." " Certainly," 
 said we, our car being " capacious of all 
 things," as Sheridan (wasn't it?) said of Hy- 
 der Ali's mind. But we didn't bargain for 
 the rest of the man's family. The moon 
 was eminently beautiful as we left Saratoga 
 with the merriest, happiest load you could 
 imagine, and for forward deck passengers, 
 the family aforesaid, including three genu 
 ine young Hibernians, who were practising 
 apparently the various intonations of 
 " Faugh-a-ballah." They kept it up deli- 
 ciously. The boy I pitied extremely, and 
 
 at length Miss T 's sympathy became 
 
 so great, that she seized the little fellow and 
 
THE RAIL ROAD AND THE GRAVE- YARD. 171 
 
 X 
 
 placed him on the seat between her and 
 myself, and there he was for a time more 
 contented, with his head lying against her 
 arm. (If I was only a younger man now, 
 I would add something about any one being 
 contented in such a position. But I dare 
 not.) 
 
 " W , do you remember the twilight 
 
 at S the other day ? Was it not much 
 like this ?" " It was, in truth, beautiful in 
 the " Bah ah ah " from the Hiber 
 nian number three, with " Bu hu hu " 
 
 from number two, and an occasional ejacu- 
 latory sob from number one between Miss 
 T. and myself. 
 
 " Mrs. H , will you not sing that beau 
 tiful thing I heard you singing this morn 
 ing ?" " Certainly, Mr. Willis. What was it 
 that you mean?" "I don't know the name 
 of it, it was a plaintive air, that I have heard 
 years ago, I am sure ; perhaps when I was 
 in college. At least, it reminded me of 
 those days." " A plaintive air ? Reminded 
 
172 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 you of college days ? What could it have 
 been ? Ah, yes ! I remember." Attention 
 
 all, while Mrs. H , in a bird-like voice 
 
 with a saddened face, begins : " Come, land 
 lord fill, &c." The allusion to Joe's college 
 life is palpable, and before the first line is 
 finished a burst of merriment, in which 
 Willis joins heartily, interrupted the singer. 
 
 " Mr. W , you are still. What's the 
 
 matter ?" " Giving all my attention to this 
 animal, madam. I'm afraid hell have us 
 off the track, or that this frightful velocity 
 will end in a snake head." " Apropos of 
 snake heads, W , please sing Spring 
 field Mountain." " Your will is my law, 
 
 my dear M , and I have the call after 
 
 the song." Of course." 
 
 Your humble servant therefore sings the 
 celebrated " Pison Sarpent " song, and calls 
 on Miss B - for " Oh, promise me to sing, 
 love," which was sung in a sweet voice 
 and beautifully (accompaniment on the bag 
 pipes by Miss T 's protege, and two 
 
THE RAIL ROAD AND THE GRAVE- YARD. 173 
 
 exquisite trebles from Numbers two and 
 
 three ; the trill on the repeat <: O o o 
 
 oh promise, &c." being timed by the num 
 ber of spike heads we passed over in the 
 strap rail, arid the song being stopped by a 
 loud laugh from the whole company, led off 
 by the fair singer herself.) t 
 
 " Mrs. H , will you not sing me that 
 
 song?" "Anything to oblige you, Mr. 
 Willis. But it can't be a song you heard 
 years ago, unless, as I have suspected my 
 self, the air is an old one ;" and Mrs. H 
 sang. " Are we almost there ?" So plea 
 santly we rode along, and, stopping for 
 awhile at the Ellis Spring to drink, passed 
 forest and farm and reached Ballston at no 
 late hour. 
 
 On Sunday we attended the Presbyterian 
 church in Ballston. The congregation is a 
 fine-looking one, composed of visitors, villa 
 gers, and farmers from the country around. 
 They come on foot, in carriages, wagons, 
 and occasionally a gentlemen and lady on 
 
174 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 horseback. The attention in church is emi 
 nently solemn ; the men, one and all, fix 
 ing their eyes on the pulpit, and appearing 
 to lose not a word of the sermon. After 
 church in the afternoon, I walked up to the 
 
 
 
 graveyard with a friend from the city, who 
 was many years ago the pastor of this 
 church. He went to look up numbers of 
 his congregation whom he had missed from 
 their pews. He found most of them in 
 the solemn congregation of the dead. 
 
 Among the graves were many of those 
 who died while seeking from these waters 
 the life that was ebbing away. Some from 
 far lands sleep the long sleep on this hill ; 
 many who were eminent in their day whose 
 graves are now forgotten. Here was the 
 bed of an old man who was weary and 
 glad to rest. As I entered the yard I observ 
 ed a mother leaning over a grave which I 
 knew to be that of her son, and at length 
 kneeling beside it with her head bowed 
 over it. Poor woman ! She was praying 
 for the peace of his soul. 
 
THE RAIL ROAD AND THE GRAVE- YARD. 175 
 
 "Here," said my reverend companion, 
 "Here is one whom I remember. Her's 
 was a troubled pilgrimage. ' After life's fit 
 ful fever she sleeps well.' Here is another. 
 He was a proud man " and I heard him in 
 a low tone quoting the Roman Flaccus, 
 " Mors equo pede, &c." " This is the grave 
 
 of . I was with her when she died. It 
 
 was a startling incident. She was sick, dy 
 ing with consumption, and earnestly wished 
 to make a public profession of faith in the 
 Savior, and to partake of the communion. 
 At length I took some members of my ses 
 sion with me to see her, and we examined 
 and admitted her to the church. I made a 
 public announcement of it at her request 
 from the pulpit the next Sabbath, and pro 
 posed, if she still insisted on it, to adminis 
 ter the Sacrament of the Supper by her bed 
 side during the next week. That evening 
 I visited her and sat down by her side. She 
 had a large black eye, full of light ; a speak 
 ing eye, by which I knew her thoughts when 
 
176 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 she could with difficulty articulate words. 
 She looked up at me as I took my seat, and 
 fixed her eyes on mine as she always did, 
 and listened with an intent look of interest 
 until I ceased speaking. She was dead ! 
 How long I had been speaking to the ear of 
 death, neither I nor any who were present 
 knew. There had been no sigh, no motion 
 of hand or lip or eye she was calmly and 
 placidly dead." 
 
 With such converse as this we passed an 
 hour in the church-yard (I like that phrase 
 " church-yard"), and read over the marbles. 
 It is a pleasant walk on a Sunday afternoon, 
 in a village grave-yard. There is something 
 in my mind peculiarly pleasant in having 
 the grave-yard near the church, so that every 
 sabbath-day the congregation all meet, the 
 living and the dead, in the presence of God. 
 And then at noon, the farmers with their 
 families, who have brought their dinners, to 
 stay until afternoon service, walk out into 
 the burying-ground, and, sitting down on 
 graves, talk of the dead, and tell their chil- 
 
THE RAIL ROAD AND THE GRAVE- YARD. 177 
 
 dren stories of their own far gone but unfor- 
 gotten childhood. And you may see some 
 sitting with tear-dimmed eyes. Holy tears 
 are those! Next in holiness, I think, to 
 tears of penitence. They come into the place 
 of graves, mothers and sisters (sometimes 
 fathers and brothers, but not so often), and 
 bowing their heads over the dust of the belov 
 ed, weep because the dead are separate from 
 them ; but then remembering how the minis 
 ter, when he laid them down in the ground, 
 lifted his hat from his head and said in so 
 lemn tones, " I am the resurrection and the 
 life ; he that belie veth in rne, though he were 
 dead, yet shall he live," they look up into 
 one another's faces somewhat more cheer 
 fully, and then pulling the weeds and dead 
 grass from the sod, turn back to their seats 
 by the window in the old church, where 
 they can look out at the stone whose record 
 they know all by heart, and listen to the af 
 ternoon service with earnest attention. 
 Then they ride home in their long wagons, 
 
 9 
 
178 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 all the family together, better and wiser than 
 they were in the morning, as well for the 
 teachings of the grave as for the words of 
 the clergyman. 
 
 I cannot express to you how much these 
 scenes of my long gone boyhood affect me 
 now. I am a child again on a Sunday 
 morning in the country. I walk reverently 
 to the church, and listen to the village choir, 
 and remember. } What a depth there is in 
 that word remember !\ 
 
 I think of my own changed person ; my 
 bent body, my cheeks already marked with 
 life's lines. I remember the careless, 
 thoughtless, happy boy, I knew myself to 
 be, and when I compare that boy with the 
 man, schooled to hypocrisy, well learned in 
 the lessons of life, I may well grow sad. 
 There are other- and more sorrowful 
 thoughts. The time between that child 
 hood and the present is filled with the ex 
 perience of living. It took me just as long 
 as it takes every one, to learn that there 
 were others in the world beside myself who 
 
THE RAIL ROAD AND THE GRAVE- YARD. 179 
 
 were hypocrites, and just as long after that, 
 to learn that after all it was a pleasant 
 world, and full of happiness and truth, for 
 all who would look on the bright side of it. 
 You, at least, will give me credit for extract 
 ing as much of the good out of it, for enjoy 
 ing it as keenly, and quarreling with it as 
 little, as most persons". I sat in that church 
 last Sunday, and was sad as I thought of 
 one I once sat there with. We rode toge 
 ther from Saratoga to Ballston to church 
 one bright morning long ago. She has 
 passed hence to holier Sabbaths ! I saw her 
 coffined. 
 
 '* Thy lip was ruddy and calm, Lassie, 
 
 Thy lip was ruddy and calm, 
 But gone was the holy breath of Heaven 
 That sang the evening psalm." 
 
LETTER XXII. 
 
 FACES. 
 U. S. HOTEL, SARATOGA, August 25th. 
 
 AMONG the thousand visitors here, it 
 would be strange if there were not some 
 marked characters, whose very faces bear 
 the impress of a life of strange experience. 
 Such a person I passed on the piazza last 
 evening, and meeting him repeatedly in my 
 walk, a companion who was leaning on rny 
 arm at length observed that his face indicat 
 ed a life of thoughtlessness, and yet there 
 was in his appearance an evidence of some 
 one great sorrow. " Not more than one, I 
 should think," continued my friend. 
 " There is always a different look on the 
 face of a person broken down by some pre 
 eminent grief, from that expression which 
 indicates a life of trial. That man has been 
 a dissipated man, a roue in every sense of 
 the word ; and yet see how sedately he 
 
FACES. 181 
 
 walks now ; how appealingly he looks to 
 every face he meets, as if at last he had 
 learned the necessity of sympathy." 
 
 " You are right/' said Willis, joining us at 
 the moment ; " I have just heard his history 
 from one who knows it. He is young, and 
 yet old. His body is young, but his soul is 
 weighed down with years that only became 
 heavy in a single instant of agony." " How 
 was it, Mr. Willis ? Will you not tell me ?" 
 " Assuredly, Madam. It is a short history. 
 He is a native of Louisiana, wealtfiy, and 
 of good family. He plunged into all man 
 ner of dissipation, from which he was res 
 cued by a lady whom he then loved better 
 than his companions, and who married him. 
 But two years passed, and he was deeper 
 than before in drunkenness, gambling, and 
 all the means of destruction which New 
 Orleans affords. His beautiful wife was 
 treated with coldness, contempt, and final 
 cruelty. She pined away under such treat 
 ment, until one evening when she begged 
 
182 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 him not to leave her bed-side, for she felt 
 that death was near, he, in his insanity, 
 called her by names more opprobrious than 
 he had ever before used, and with an oath 
 left her. An hour later, while he was in 
 the drinking room of the Hotel, 
 already drunk, a messenger came to tell him 
 that his wife was dead. From that hour to 
 this he has been a sober man. He never 
 knew till then how well he loved her ; and 
 now he cannot forget her nor his last words 
 to her* 1 *j He will remember those words 
 in the judgment morning j" said my com 
 panion, with an earnestness which startled 
 me. 
 
 This is here, as elsewhere, the most in 
 teresting as well as profitable amusement 
 of the day or evening, the study of physiog 
 nomy, the reading of life-histories on faces. 
 A little experience prevents the possibility 
 of mistake. The language is one easily 
 learned ; the imprint is legible, and the im 
 primatur is from God ; so that the book is 
 
FACES. 183 
 
 always to be depended upon as* just what it 
 professes to be, a record of the soul. Even 
 as we were looking at that world- worn man, 
 he raised his hat from his head, and bowed 
 low to a lady who came out from the draw 
 ing-room to the piazza, and joining her in 
 her promenade, seemed to be the mere po 
 lished gentleman, who had for a time thrown 
 aside his business to talk and while away a 
 week at the Springs. But as he passed me, 
 I could see underneath that smile a sneer, 
 that I am sure was the effect of a compari 
 son of his companion with his buried wife. 
 That companion was a confirmed belle. 
 Every step was by rule ; her smile heavy (a 
 settled smile), her voice clear and musical, 
 but toned according to the occasion. Per 
 haps she knew that her companion was a 
 widower, worth half a million. Whatever 
 she knew, I saw that he knew her. His 
 smile flitted across his face, now bright, now 
 calm, now verging into an actual laugh, and 
 again settling into that cool, mocking sneer. 
 
184 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 And I compared the two, while Willis re 
 lieved me of my companion, and leaning 
 against a pillar thought of the difference be 
 tween them. The one was an old man in 
 his youth, and like a noble vessel, dismasted 
 and rudderless from one wild storm, was 
 drifting heedlessly to destruction. The 
 other was a strange compound of thought 
 ful thoughtlessness. There is no paradox 
 in that expression. Many an hour of every 
 day she passed in deep reflection, on the 
 progress she had made the day before, or the 
 probable success of plans for to-day. Even 
 while I was looking at her she was flinging 
 idle words to the wind, yet deeply pondering 
 all that time on the effect those words were 
 producing. Both of them were talking of 
 one thing, and thinking of another. She, as 
 I have said, talking words that had effect on 
 the air and nowhere else, yet wondering 
 how deeply they sank into the heart of her 
 companion, which heart, she little dreamed, 
 was adamant now ; while he, carelessly ut- 
 
FACES. 185 
 
 tering sentences of vague meaning, thought 
 and cared nothing for them after they had 
 left his lips, but was dreaming a long day 
 dream of the wealth of love he had squan 
 dered, and perhaps longing for another life 
 to fill with that same holy affection the cof 
 fers of his impoverished soul. 
 
 Other characters entered the scene as I 
 stood there ; the dandy who would be a 
 drinking man and a roue, if it were not that 
 he has no brains to be stolen away by " put 
 ting the thief into his mouth." The sedate, 
 gentlemanly citizen, whose family are out 
 in the carriage while he amuses himself 
 with his cigar on the colonnade ; the lawyer 
 who has exerted himself in the chancellor's 
 Court, and is now cooling his bare head in 
 the evening breeze ; the returned soldier, 
 between two ladies who are determined to 
 extract from him, what he seems equally 
 determined to conceal (perhaps from a true 
 sense of modesty), the story of Buena Vista 
 or Cerro Gordo. 
 
 9* 
 
186 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 But let us return to the piazza. Perhaps 
 no position in the United States (I mean 
 the country not this Hotel), could be select 
 ed, so well adapted to the employment I arn 
 now speaking of, as the one which we have 
 taken by this pillar. Here comes a party 
 up the steps, returning from their ride. They 
 are the family of the citizen before named. 
 The mother is a fair specimen of the digni 
 fied matron, the mistress of a fine establish 
 ment. Her daughter is a black eyed, merry 
 girl of seventeen, full of life and fond of fun. 
 You see it sparkling in her eye now, as she 
 declines the proffered assistance of that 
 good-looking fellow who stands by the ba 
 rouche door. There is something of child 
 ishness and innocence in her ways, but far 
 more maturity than seventeen summers 
 should have developed. Why is it ? Be 
 cause city children grow old faster than 
 they do in the country. There is a daily 
 experience there, which initiates the young 
 mind in the world (so called) with frightful 
 
FACES. 187 
 
 rapidity. The " fair and happy milk maid," 
 or even a village girl, knows nothing of this. 
 That happy face has been already in the 
 saloons of New York by winter, and has 
 become familiar to Saratoga visitors in sum 
 mer. The world, to her, is " the city and 
 the springs." Her brother by her side, is an 
 undergraduate in one of our Eastern col 
 leges.' A pleasant, warm-hearted sopho 
 more. He strolls around here, amusing 
 himself, and the favorite of all that know 
 him. Observe the smiles and bows that 
 greet him as he approaches us. * There was 
 something strangely formal in the manner in 
 which he took off his hat to that elderly 
 gentleman standing with his back toward 
 us, talking with that pale-faced man. If 
 you could see the face which belongs to 
 that well-shaped head, I will answer for it 
 
 you would recognise the President of A . 
 
 " Who is the pale man he is talking with ?" 
 I 'can't tell you, there are several such men 
 here, and I like to look on those men better 
 than any others in the town. 
 
188 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 They are the men that live for immortali 
 ty. They are seekers after no bauble. 
 What do they here ? They are worn with 
 study, and the toil that wastes the body 
 while it feeds the soul. They have been 
 kneeling long by the fountain of knowledge, 
 and now seek waters for bodily health, 
 while for a little they let the spiritual rest. 
 Some of them are passing away very fast. 
 Yet death to such is not an unwelcome 
 visitor. He opens a door to deeper, loftier 
 study They look to Heaven! No mid 
 night lamp there ! No weary poring over 
 musty books ; no crucible or alembic. Li 
 berty, large souled liberty, and study by the 
 light of God's presence everywhere ! The 
 fountain of knowledge flows not far fromj 
 the waters of the river of life. 
 
 Did it never strike you as strange, that 
 while the professed object of visitors at the 
 Springs is to regain health, they so seldom 
 think of death ; the death so many of them are 
 shunning? It would seem as if among a 
 
FACES. 189 
 
 crowd of thousands who are here to strength 
 en their hold on life, and beat off the attacks 
 of disease, some preachers would be found 
 every day standing by the Congress, and 
 crying aloud to the throng. But I beg you'll 
 not mistake me for one. I know I'm given 
 to preaching occasionally, and can only beg 
 pardon, and step out of the pulpit I have no 
 right to be in. 
 
 Willis has passed us some half dozen 
 times with his fair armful, and appears now 
 to be calling her attention to a boy who is 
 selling candy or peaches to a gentleman on 
 the steps. The contrast between the seller's 
 rags and the buyers exquisite dress, is no 
 ticeable. But it bears no comparison with 
 a contrast I saw a few weeks ago in your 
 city. I was walking in South-street, and 
 met a man and woman. She was tall, and 
 had you met her in a palace, you would 
 have said she was queenly. But such an 
 expression of desolation I never saw on hu 
 man faces as was on those two. He had 
 
190 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 his arm around her, as if to support her 
 feeble steps (remembering, perhaps, how 
 he once supported them when they were 
 young and strong, in dear old Ireland), but 
 he was too weak with starvation, and so 
 they tottered along side by side, toward the 
 grave. They did not look up for any sound, 
 but fixing their eyes on the stones of the 
 pavement, which they thought, I doubt not, 
 not half so hard as the hearts of men, they 
 walked on. I cannot forget that look of set 
 tled agony! No smile, no shadow, no. evi 
 dence of thought passed over their counte 
 nances, which were marbled into despair. I 
 thought of that home across the water, the 
 girlhood of that woman ; their happy, holy 
 love, their hopes and joys. They lived long 
 together in Ireland. Then came the change. 
 The crops failed, the rent was due, and they 
 barely paid it, and had enough to come 
 across the ocean. Then there was the long, 
 long crossing of the sea. The children died 
 one by one, till the youngest, her bright boy, 
 
FACES. 191 
 
 was let down into the deep water, and she 
 was desolate ! I cannot pretend to sum up 
 the volume I read in the instant that I was 
 passing them in the street ; and almost the 
 next man I met was one whom I knew as 
 a millionaire. Was not the contrast fearful ? 
 Those two wanderers have long ere this 
 been buried in the pauper's grave. Death 
 was in their faces ! those faces that left such 
 an impression on my mind that I am think 
 ing and writing of them here among the gay 
 scenes of Saratoga. 
 
LETTER XXIII. 
 
 THE COTTAGE. 
 
 * 
 
 U. S. HOTEL, SARATOGA, Aug. 28th. 
 
 " How do we manage to kill the time here," 
 did you ask ? Reasonably well. Our com 
 pany is far from a dull one, and the day 
 passed in riding or walking furnishes mate 
 rial for a pleasant evening, when we collect 
 our small forces in the corner of the parlor, 
 and talk the hours away. They fly swiftly 
 enough, I assure you. We have a sort of 
 understanding that it is the duty of each one 
 to seize on every anecdote, and especially 
 every local incident he or she can find, for 
 the benefit of the company. We have by 
 this means amassed a quantity of matter in 
 the way of legends and stories of Saratoga 
 and its neighborhood, sufficient to stock a 
 volume. I very much fear to weary you 
 with any of these, for my letters have al- 
 
THE COTTAGE. 193 
 
 ready proved too dull for Saratoga corre 
 spondence. But I will trust to your excel 
 lent judgment, my most sagacious friend, to 
 read or not as may seem best to you ; and so 
 I will let my pen run on. 
 
 Has it struck you that every good -story 
 you ever came across, whether truth or fic 
 tion, was a love-story? I hesitate when 
 about to write out a legend or a tale of life, 
 lest some crusty reader shall exclaim with 
 a sneer, " Pshaw ! a love-story ;" and throw 
 the paper down. But I argue with myself 
 that such readers are worthless. I pity the 
 man who finds only nonsense or (what he 
 esteems its equivalent) romance in the true 
 history of an affection. He is los't to the 
 finer feelings of the nature God gave him. 
 Something has seared his heart, making it 
 callous where it should be most sensitive. 
 For myself I rejoice when I meet with or 
 hear of such a love. I rejoice that some 
 thing of Eden is left on earth ; that a gleam 
 of heaven does fall through a rift in the 
 
194 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 clouds of sensuality which darken our sky. 
 That a smile of God is here and there to be 
 met with on my pathway, and though I 
 may have done with sunning myself in such 
 smiles, I can remember when I did, and 
 would to God others older than I would re 
 member days when they loved. 
 
 In one of the pleasantest rides we have 
 had about Saratoga, we found one day a 
 cottage whose appearance, under a noble 
 elm, and by the side of a brook whose prat 
 tling was for ever musical, led me instantly 
 to suppose that it was worth visiting; more 
 especially as it was evidently very old, and 
 had about it the look of the eighteenth cen 
 tury. I took a couple of hours the other day 
 to visit it, and having made up my mind 
 that it had a story connected with it, I ques 
 tioned the old man whom I found in it so 
 closely, that I at length gathered a tale of 
 the life of man, that I thought 'well worth 
 repeating to the coterie aforesaid, and which 
 may be worth writing here. ^ 
 
THE COTTAGE 195 
 
 The widow Johnson occupied that cot 
 tage sixty-five years ago, and with her lived 
 her son, a noble boy of fifteen, who was the 
 pride of the country around. None was so 
 well beloved as he, except his adopted sister 
 Kate Harden. She was indeed a fairy. Her 
 golden hair seemed to be akin to the, winds 
 on which it floated so freely, and her eyes 
 had won their deep hue from the sky into 
 which she was so often found gazing. 
 " Why gazed she thus ?"l She had a mother 
 beyond the blue above her ! A mother who 
 dying had MUbeir-^4k&-re^l5Irs. John- 
 son, and.until her voice failed, charged her 
 to meet her in Heaven. J Nay, after she had 
 ceased to speak, she held her daughter to 
 her breast with her left arm, and pointing up 
 with her thin, white finger, smiled a holy 
 smile, and sought her home. ^ I 
 
 Mrs. Johnson was not rich in the world's 
 goods. The few acres which she rented, 
 afforded a mere subsistence, and Kate and 
 Edward assisted her in her labors. It was 
 
196 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 not strange that those two children, when 
 the one was sixteen and the other was 
 seventeen, should love one another. Kate 
 was a strange child. They said she talked 
 with those whom others could not see and 
 I do not doubt it. I have no doubt she held 
 high gommunion with her sainted mother. 
 At all events her voice fell on her ear in 
 dreams of day as well as of night, until she 
 could no longer resist its earnest call. 
 
 She faded. One by one the bonds that 
 held her to her cottage home were loosened ; 
 one by one her gay girlish affections were 
 mastered and suppressed until one only re 
 mained, and then she was ready. That one 
 love was the mightiest of all. She did not 
 crush that, for she was thoughtful enough 
 to know that that might live when death 
 was passed ; for there are affections strong 
 enough to reach from earth to heaven. 
 
 The morning of her departure came, with 
 its sweet spring flowers and atmosphere 
 laden with the odors of the country. All 
 things seemed to be strangely solemn. The 
 
THE GOTTAGE. 197 
 
 sun peered curiously in at the little lat 
 tice, and fell across the foot of the bed on 
 which the slender form of the dying girl lay. 
 Her bird sang doubtfully in its cage, and 
 the very cat by the hearth looked up and 
 seemed to feel that there was something 
 sad going on. 
 
 The moment of agony at length came. 
 She had parted with all but him, and now 
 she held his hand between her two, and 
 smiled on his pale face (as pale as hers), 
 and spoke in a low sweet tone of all the 
 past and future. " You will miss me when 
 you go after the cow in the evening, Ned, 
 and the lane will be lonely, will it not? 
 And when you sit down here by the hearth 
 with mother, and my chair is empty you'll 
 miss me then too, brother. You'll sit at the 
 table with her, and have no one at the side 
 of it ;" and her voice, broken and faint as it 
 was, fell to a lower tone as she continued . 
 " Go out in the twilight sometimes, Ned, 
 and sit down under the tree by the spring 
 
THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 on the red seat. I'll come there if I can." 
 A moment passed in silence as he leaned 
 over toward her ; then suddenly throwing 
 her arms around his neck she said, " I love 
 you, love you, love you, brother Ned ;" and 
 drawing his head down, pressed her lips to 
 his, in the last long kiss of life, and laying 
 his cheek close against hers, smiled a smile 
 of serene and joyful hope, and - Kate was 
 an angel ! 
 
 " Is that all your story ?" did you ask ? 
 Not by considerable, my dear friend. There's 
 more love to come yet. " What ! another 
 love after his promised tryst with Kate on 
 the green bank yonder by the spring?" 
 Yes, another ; but not such a one as you 
 imagine. Don't you suppose a man can ' 
 love anything else but a woman a year or 
 two his junior ? Remember that Edward 
 has a mother, and now be patient, and I'll 
 tell you what became of her. 
 
 Mrs. Johnson and Ned had a lonely life 
 after they had laid their darling Kate in the 
 
THE COTTAGE. 199 
 
 graveyard over by the churches at Milton ; 
 and as misfortunes are said to come in 
 crowds, so in their case. That very year 
 the crops failed, the cow died, and a dozen 
 other troubles followed: and the result 
 was, that Mrs. J. gave up the cottage and 
 accepted the offer of a home with a kind 
 neighbor, while Edward was to "go and 
 seek his fortune." 
 
 He went to New York, to a brother of his 
 father, who was a sea captain, and who took 
 him across the Atlantic. After his first voy 
 age and two years' absence from home, he 
 returned to his mothers side, "and," said 
 the old man, my informant, " I saw him 
 the first night he was at home, sitting under 
 the elm tree out there where you see that 
 green bank, and I heard that before dark 
 that afternoon he had been over to the 
 churches and the grave-yard." 
 
 A few days only, and he left home again. 
 His mother, gladdened by his return, was, 
 nevertheless, much more reluctant to have 
 
200 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 him go than when he first went. This re 
 luctance increased as the day approached. 
 Then she begged him, if it were possible, to 
 stay with her ; but he had promised his un 
 cle, and would not forfeit his word, nor 
 would she have him. " I shall see you 
 again, soon, very soon mother. Why do 
 you feel so badly ? This voyage is not to 
 be a long one, and if my uncle does all he 
 promises, I will buy you the cottage when 
 I come back. We shall meet again, very 
 soon, mother." We shall meet again, when 
 your father and you, and Kate and I meet 
 yonder, my son," said the mother. " Why 
 mother ! What makes you speak so ? It 
 will not be a year before I shall kiss you, 
 standing just here." " Never again, my son. 
 I know that this will be the last kiss your lips 
 will press on mine until the Resurrection." 
 
 And so that mother and son parted. They 
 met again five years ago in heaven ; not till 
 then. He was older than she, as we count 
 years here on earth, and his hair silvered and 
 
THE COTTAGE. 201 
 
 thin, when he lay down to die among the 
 sounds of the mighty metropolis. Every 
 year, year after year, a pilgrim came in the 
 early spring when the first flowers bloomed, 
 and stayed for a few days in the cottage 
 here. The afternoons he used to pass in 
 the graveyard, but the twilight always found 
 him seated on the bank by the spring. He 
 grew rich until his coffers overflowed. He 
 bought the cottage, but did not come to live in 
 it. He seemed to have conceived an attach 
 ment for business and the city. His annual 
 pilgrimage was the only relief he had from 
 his counting room. He grew old, older, un 
 til he carried the weight of three score years 
 and ten to keep that solemn tryst of his boy 
 hood. One winter day he had been too un 
 well to go from his lordly mansion, and as 
 evening came on, he lay on his bed and 
 looked into the grate, listening to the roar 
 of carriages in the street without. A young 
 man from his office entered and conversed 
 with him in regard to the day's business, 
 10 
 
202 THE OWL CREEK LETTERS. 
 
 and left him lying thus alone. He had 
 sent his housekeeper and servants out him 
 self. 
 
 Who shall say what were the thoughts 
 that filled the mind of the weary old man 
 that night, or what communion he had with 
 the past the far, but unforgotten past ! Did 
 he hear the wind rustling the leaves of the 
 old elm tree ? Did the gurgle of the springs, 
 the fall of the brook, the song of the birds, 
 fill his ear with their old music ? Did his 
 mother's hand press coolly on his forehead, 
 and her voice woo him to sleep with one of 
 her old mountain songs ? What fairy form 
 was that ? Did his angel Kate hover around 
 his bed, and did her lips press his, and was her 
 kiss now on his brow ? Were those her arms 
 around his neck once more in the embrace 
 of girlhood, and was that melodious voice 
 hers again murmuring in his ear, j' I Jove 
 you, love you, love you, brother Ned ? And 
 did her cheek, her velvet cheek, lie warm 
 ly close to his, and did she draw him 
 
THE COTTAGE. 203 
 
 closer, closer to her in that holy clasp, 
 and was all this a dream of earth, or was 
 it Heaven ?/ 
 
 It was Heaven, for he was there. / 
 
NOTE. 
 
 This volume has been printed during the absence of its author 
 from the city, and has not had the benefit of a careful revision 
 in the proof. Before it reached the hands of the binder, the 
 sheets were submitted to him and among many unimportant 
 errors he has detected the following, which he deems it necessary 
 to correct. 
 
 Page 21, 
 27, 
 
 Line 2d for 
 
 " 5th 
 91, last line but one 
 
 95, Line 4th 
 
 101, " Uth " 
 
 103, " Itk " 
 
 129, " 8th " 
 
 Jeen 
 
 ccelum 
 
 into 
 
 dellicious 
 
 taffrel 
 
 reached 
 
 week 
 
 read Jean. 
 " saeclum. 
 " in. 
 
 delicious, 
 taffrail. 
 reaches, 
 wreek. 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $I.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 LIBRARY, COLLEGE OF AGRICULTURE, DAVIS 
 UNIVERSITY OP CALIFORNIA 
 
 Book Slip-10m-8,'49(B5851s4)458 
 
M 
 P 
 
 89985 
 
 
 P32664 1 
 
 Prime, W.C. 
 
 
 PA ^ 
 
 The Owl C 
 
 -eek letters 
 
 7f5 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 -> ; ^ 
 
 P4 
 Z5 
 
&'~&