The Pioneers (18 page)

“Good luck to ye, and a wilcome home, Jooge!” cried the female, with a strong Irish accent; “and I'm sure it's to me that ye'r always wilcome. Sure! and there's Miss 'Lizzy, and a fine young woman is she grown. What a heartach would she be giving the young men now, if there was sich a thing as a rigiment in the town! Och! but it's idle to talk of sich vanities, while the bell is calling us to mateing, jist as we shall be call'd away unexpictedly, some day, when we are the laist calkilating. Good even, Major; will I make the bowl of gin toddy the night? or it's likely ye'll stay at the big house the Christmas Eve, and the very night of ye'r getting there?”

“I am glad to see you, Mrs. Hollister,” returned Elizabeth. “I have been trying to find a face that I knew since we left the door of the mansion house; but none have I seen except your own. Your house, too, is unaltered; while all the others are so changed, that, but for the places where they stand, they would be utter strangers. I observe you also keep the dear sign that I saw cousin Richard paint; and even the name at the bottom, about which, you may remember, you had the disagreement.”

“It is the bould dragoon ye mane? And what name would he have, who niver was known by any other, as my husband here, the Captain, can testify. He was a pleasure to wait upon, and was ever the foremost in need. Och! but he had a sudden end! But it's to be hoped that he was justified by the cause. And it's not Parson Grant there who'll gainsay that same. Yes, yes; the Squire would paint, and so I thought that we might have
his
face up there, who had so often shared good and evil wid us. The eyes is no so large nor so fiery as the Captain's own; but the whiskers and the cap is as like as two paes. Well, well, I'll not keep ye in the cowld, talking, but will drop in the morrow after sarvice, and ask ye how ye do. It's our bounden duty to make the most of this present, and to go to the house which is open to all; so God bless ye, and keep ye from evil! Will I make the gin twist the night, or no, Major?”

To this question the German replied, very sententiously, in the affirmative; and, after a few words had passed between the husband of this fiery-faced hostess and the Judge, the sleigh moved on. It soon reached the door of the academy, where the party alighted and entered the building.

In the meantime, Mr. Jones and his two companions, having a much shorter distance to journey, had arrived before the appointed place several minutes sooner than the party in the sleigh. Instead of hastening into the room, in order to enjoy the astonishment of the settlers, Richard placed a hand in either pocket of his surtout and affected to walk about, in front of the academy, like one to whom the ceremonies were familiar.

The villagers proceeded uniformly into the building, with a decorum and gravity that nothing could move, on such occasions; but with a haste that was probably a little heightened by curiosity. Those who came in from the adjacent country spent some little time in placing certain blue and white blankets over their horses before they proceeded to indulge their desire to view the interior of the house. Most of these men Richard approached, and inquired after the health and condition of their families. The readiness with which he mentioned the names of even the children showed how very familiarly acquainted he was with their circumstances; and the nature of the answers he received proved that he was a general favorite.

At length one of the pedestrians from the village stopped also, and fixed an earnest gaze at a new brick edifice that was throwing a long shadow across the fields of snow, as it rose, with a beautiful gradation of light and shade, under the rays of a full moon. In front of the academy was a vacant piece of ground that was intended for a public square. On the side opposite to Mr. Jones, the new and as yet unfinished Church of St. Paul's was erected. This edifice had been reared during the preceding summer, by the aid of what was called a subscription; though all, or nearly all, of the money came from the pocket of the landlord. It had been built under a strong conviction of the necessity of a more seemly place of worship than “the long room of the academy,” and under an implied agreement that, after its completion, the question should be fairly put to the people, that they might decide to what denomination it should belong. Of course, this expectation kept alive a strong excitement in some few of the sectaries who were interested in its decision; though but little was said openly on the subject. Had Judge Temple espoused the cause of any particular sect, the question would have been immediately put at rest, for his influence was too powerful to be opposed, but he declined interference in the matter, positively refusing to lend even the weight of his name on the side of Richard, who had secretly given an assurance to his diocesan, that both the building and the congregation would cheerfully come within the pale of the Protestant Episcopal Church. But when the neutrality of the Judge was clearly ascertained, Mr. Jones discovered that he had to contend with a stiff-necked people. His first measure was to go among them and commence a course of reasoning in order to bring them round to his own way of thinking. They all heard him patiently, and not a man uttered a word in reply, in the way of argument; and Richard thought, by the time that he had gone through the settlement, the point was conclusively decided in his favor. Willing to strike while the iron was hot, he called a meeting, through the newspaper, with a view to decide the question by a vote, at once. Not a soul attended; and one of the most anxious afternoons that he had ever known was spent by Richard in a vain discussion with Mrs. Hollister, who strongly contended that the Methodist (her own) church was the best entitled to, and most deserving of, the possession of the new tabernacle. Richard now perceived that he had been too sanguine and had fallen into the error of all those who ignorantly deal with that wary and sagacious people. He assumed a disguise himself—that is, as well as he knew how—and proceeded step by step to advance his purpose.

The task of erecting the building had been unanimously transferred to Mr. Jones and Hiram Doolittle. Together they had built the mansion house, the academy, and the jail; and they alone knew how to plan and rear such a structure as was now required. Early in the day, these architects had made an equitable division of their duties. To the former was assigned the duty of making all the plans, and to the latter, the labor of superintending the execution.

Availing himself of this advantage, Richard silently determined that the window should have the Roman arch, the first positive step in effecting his wishes. As the building was made of bricks, he was enabled to conceal his design until the moment arrived for placing the frames, then, indeed, it became necessary to act. He communicated his wishes to Hiram with great caution; and, without in the least adverting to the spiritual part of his project, he pressed the point a little warmly, on the score of architectural beauty. Hiram heard him patiently and without contradiction, but still Richard was unable to discover the views of his coadjutor on this interesting subject. As the right to plan was duly delegated to Mr. Jones, no direct objection was made in words, but numberless unexpected difficulties arose in the execution. At first there was a scarcity in the right kind of material necessary to form the frames; but this objection was instantly silenced by Richard running his pencil through two feet of their length at one stroke. Then the expense was mentioned; but Richard reminded Hiram that his cousin paid, and that
he
was his treasurer. This last intimation had great weight, and after a silent and protracted, but fruitless opposition, the work was suffered to proceed on the original plan.

The next difficulty occurred in the steeple, which Richard had modeled after one of the smaller of those spires that adorn the great London cathedral. The imitation was somewhat lame, it is true, the proportions being but indifferently observed; but, after much difficulty, Mr. Jones had the satisfaction of seeing an object reared that bore, in its outlines, a striking resemblance to a vinegar cruet. There was less opposition to this model than to the windows, for the settlers were fond of novelty, and their steeple was without a precedent.

Here the labor ceased for the season, and the difficult question of the interior remained for further deliberation. Richard well knew that when he came to propose a reading desk and a chancel, he must unmask; for these were arrangements known to no church in the country but his own. Presuming, however, on the advantages he had already obtained, he boldly styled the building St. Paul's, and Hiram prudently acquiesced in this appellation, making, however, the slight addition of calling it “
New
St. Paul's,” feeling less aversion to a name taken from the English cathedral than from the saint.

The pedestrian whom we have already mentioned, as pausing to contemplate this edifice, was no other than the gentleman so frequently named as Mr., or Squire, Doolittle. He was of a tall, gaunt formation, with rather sharp features, and a face that expressed formal propriety, mingled with low cunning. Richard approached him, followed by Monsieur Le Quoi and the major-domo.

“Good evening, Squire,” said Richard, bobbing his head, but without moving his hands from his pockets.

“Good evening, Squire,” echoed Hiram, turning his body in order to turn his head also.

“A cold night, Mr. Doolittle, a cold night, sir.”

“Coolish; a tedious spell on't.”

“What, looking at our church, ha! It looks well, by moonlight; how the tin of the cupola glistens! I warrant you the dome of the other St. Paul's never shines so in the smoke of London.”

“It is a pretty meetinghouse to look on,” returned Hiram, “and I believe that Monshure Ler Quow and Mr. Penguillan will allow it.”

“Sairtainlee!” exclaimed the complaisant Frenchman, “It ees ver fine.”

“I thought the Monshure would say so. The last molasses that we had was excellent good. It isn't likely that you have any more of it on hand?”

“Ah! oui; ees, sair,” returned Monsieur Le Quoi, with a slight shrug of his shoulder, and a trifling grimace. “Dere is more. I feel ver happi dat you love eet. I hope dat Madame Doleet' is in good 'ealth.”

“Why, so as to be stirring,” said Hiram. “The Squire hasn't finished the plans for the inside of the meetinghouse yet?”

“No—no—no,” returned Richard, speaking quickly, but making a significant pause between each negative. “It requires reflection. There is a great deal of room to fill up, and I am afraid we shall not know how to dispose of it to advantage. There will be a large vacant spot around the pulpit, which I do not mean to place against the wall, like a sentry box stuck up on the side of a fort.”

“It is rulable to put the deacon's box under the pulpit,” said Hiram; and then, as if he had ventured too much, he added, “but there's different fashions in different countries.”

“That there is,” cried Benjamin. “Now, in running down the coast of Spain and Portingall, you may see a nunnery stuck out on every headland, with more steeples and outriggers, such as dogvanes and weathercocks, than you'll find aboard of a three-masted schooner. If so be that a well-built church is wanting, Old England, after all, is the country to go to after your models and fashion pieces. As to Paul's, thof I've never seen it, being that it's a long way up town from Radcliffe highway and the docks, yet everybody knows that it's the grandest place in the world. Now, I've no opinion but this here church over there is as like one end of it as a grampus is to a whale, and that's only a small difference in bulk. Mounsheer Ler Quaw, here, has been in foreign parts; and thof that is not the same as having been at home, yet he must have seen churches in France, too, and can form a small idee of what a church should be; now, I ask the Mounsheer to his face, if it is not a clever little thing, taking it by and large?”

“It ees ver apropos of saircumstance,” said the Frenchman—“ver judgment—but it is in de Catholique country dat dey build de—vat you call—ah a ah-ha—la grande cathédrale—de big church. St. Paul, Londre, is ver fine; ver belle; ver grand—vat you call beeg; but, Monsieur Ben, pardonnez moi, it is no vort so much as Notre Dame.”

“Ha! Mounsheer, what is that you say?” cried Benjamin. “St. Paul's Church not worth so much as a damn! Mayhap you may be thinking, too, that the Royal Billy isn't so good a ship as the Billy de Paris; but she would have licked two of her, any day, and in all weathers.”

As Benjamin had assumed a very threatening kind of attitude, flourishing an arm, with a bunch at the end of it that was half as big as Monsieur Le Quoi's head, Richard thought it time to interpose his authority.

“Hush, Benjamin, hush,” he said; “you both misunderstand Monsieur Le Quoi, and forget yourself. But here comes Mr. Grant, and the service will commence. Let us go in.”

The Frenchman, who received Benjamin's reply with a well-bred good humor that would not admit of any feeling but pity for the other's ignorance, bowed in acquiescence, and followed his companion.

Hiram and the major-domo brought up the rear, the latter grumbling, as he entered the building:

“If so be that the King of France had so much as a house to live in that would lay alongside of Paul's, one might put up with their jaw. It's more than flesh and blood can bear, to hear a Frenchman run down an English church in this manner. Why, Squire Doolittle, I've been at the whipping of two of them in one day—clean-built, snug frigates, with standing royals, and them new-fashioned cannonades on their quarters—such as, if they had only Englishmen aboard of them, would have fout the devil.”

With this ominous word in his mouth, Benjamin entered the church.

GOLDSMITH