CHAPTER IV
A LOOK AT OLD NEW YORK
On a Sunday toward the end of April, Stephen took his two sisters downto the Battery for a walk. It was very warm and springlike. Thecherry-tree in their yard had come out in bloom. Buds were swellingeverywhere, and the gray spots were all green and shining in the softgolden atmosphere. There was the wide, magnificent expanse of the bay,the edge of Brooklyn, the hazy outline of Staten Island, the vagueNarrows that seemed to lead to some unknown world. And there was thegreat round Castle Garden, the Castle Clinton of earlier times, where afew years later the little girl was to hear some of the world's mostfamous singers. And when she looked out of that weird, narrow waterwayand wondered just where Europe was, and how foreign countries must look,she could not by the most vivid stretch of imagination fancy herselfsailing out to that unknown country.
The short grass was so lovely and green, and the waves came lapping upwith a silvery melody. There were people lounging on the seats, ladieswith sunshades in their hands, mothers with some little children,fathers with a son or two, or a little girl like herself in pantaletsand white stockings and low shoes. The clothes she thought werebeautiful. The hats were full of flowers. She had a new straw gypsy witha wreath of buttercups, and soft yellow strings tied under her chin. Her_challi de laine_ had small blue flowers on a white ground, withyellow-brown centres, and there was a blue ribbon tied about her waist,with a bow at the back. She had a white cape of some soft cotton goodswith a satiny finish, warranted to wash as good as new. She would haveliked a sunshade, but she had so many new things.
She thought quite a good deal about her pretty clothes, and how glad sheshould be to learn more geography. Stephen was talking about Hudson'sexpedition up the river to which he gave his name, and a few monthslater when some hovels were built to shelter the sailors, the beginningof a settlement. And how in 1614 the Dutch erected a rude fort and gavethe place the name of New Amsterdam. Then the Dutch West India Companybought Manhattoes Island from the natives for goods of various kinds,amounting to sixty guilders.
"You see the Dutch were thrifty traders even then, more than two hundredyears ago," says Stephen with a pleasant laugh.
"How much are sixty guilders?" asks the little girl. It sounds animmense sum to her. And to buy a whole city!
"It was about twenty-four dollars at that time," replies Stephen.
The little girl's face is amusing in its surprise.
"Only twenty-four dollars! And father had three hundred a few days ago.Why, he could have bought"--well, the limitless area takes away herbreath.
"I don't believe we should have wanted to live in such a wilderness asit was then."
"But when Walter the Testy came--he was really here?" It is ratherchaotic in her mind.
"He was here. Wouter van Twiller was his real name. Then a line of Dutchgoverners, after which the island was ceded to the British. It becamequite a Royalist town until the Revolutionary War. We had a 'scrap'about tea, too," and Stephen laughs. "Old Castle Clinton was a famousspot. And when General Lafayette, who had helped us fight our battles,came over in 1824, he had a magnificent ovation as he sailed up the bay.It's a splendid old place."
Everybody seemed to think so then. The birds were singing in thesunshine, and the rural aspect was dear to the hearts of the olderpeople. They rose and walked about in the fragrant air. Now and thensome one bowed gravely to Stephen. There was a Sunday decorum over all.
They rambled up to the Bowling Green. Some quaintly attired elderlypeople who had the _entree_ of the place were sitting about enjoying theloveliness. One old Frenchman had a ruffled shirt-front and a very highcoat-collar that made him look like a picture, and knee-breeches.
Some one sprang up, and coming to the gate said: "Oh, Mr. Underhill, andMiss Margaret! Is this your little sister? Do walk in and chat with us.My sister Jane and I have come down to dine with the Morrises, and itwas so lovely out here. Isn't it a charming day?"
There was Miss Jane Barclay very fashionably attired, Miss Morris, andher brother, who was very attentive to Miss Barclay, and a littlefarther on Mrs. Morris, fat, fair, and matronly. She was reading "TheLady of the Manor," and when the little girl found it afterward in aSunday-school library, Mrs. Morris seemed curiously mixed up with it.Sunday papers at that period would have horrified most people.
"What a dear little girl!" said Mrs. Morris. "Come here and tell me yourname. Why, you look like a lily astray in a bed of buttercups. Is itpossible Mr. Stephen Underhill is your brother?"
"The eldest and the youngest," explained Stephen. "And this is mysister, Miss Underhill."
Mrs. Morris bowed and shook hands. Then she made room on the settee forthe child.
"You haven't told me your name, my dear."
Mrs. Morris' voice was so soft, almost pleading. The little girl glancedup and colored, and if the bank could have broken and let her money downin the ocean, or some one could have stolen it and bought a newManhattan Island in the South Seas,--so that she could have had a newname, she wouldn't have minded a bit. But she said with brave sweetness:
"Hannah Ann. I was named after both grandmothers."
"That's a long name for such a little girl. I believe I should call youNannie or Nansie. And Mr. Morris would call you Nan at once. I neverknew such a man for short names. We've always called our Elizabeth Bess,and half the time her father calls her Bet, to save one letter."
The little girl laughed. The economy of the thing seemed funny.
"What does your father call you?"
"'Little girl,' most always. Margaret was grown into quite a big girlwhen I was born, so I was the little girl."
"Well--that's pretty, too. And where are you living?"
"In First Street."
"Why, that's way up-town! And--let me see--you did live at Yonkers? I'venever been there. Is it a town?"
"We lived on a great big farm. And oh, the Croton water pipe came rightacross one corner of it."
"Ah, you should have seen the celebration! Such a wonderful,indescribable thing!"
"Margaret came down and most of the boys. Mother said I would be crushedto death."
"And she couldn't spare her little girl! Well, I don't blame her. Do yougo to school?"
"No, ma'am, not yet." All the children but the very rough ones said "no,ma'am," and "yes, ma'am," in those days. "But I did go at Yonkers."
"And what did you learn."
She was quite astonished at the little girl's attainments, and hersimplicity she thought charming. When Stephen came for her, Mrs. Morrissaid:
"I have really fallen in love with your little sister. You must bringher down again. _We_ think there's nothing to compare with our BowlingGreen and the Battery."
They bade each other a pleasant adieu. It was time to go home, indeed.The little girl felt very happy and joyous, and she thought her prettyclothes had helped. Perhaps they had.
She sat on her father's knee that night telling him about Mrs. Morris.And she suddenly said:
"Father, what was the Reign of Terror?"
"The Reign of Terror? Oh, it was a horrible time of war in France. Wheredid you pick up that?"
"There was an old man in the Green who had on a queer sort ofdress--knee-breeches and buckles on his shoes like those ofgrandfather's. And ruffles all down his shirt-bosom and long, curly,white hair. And Mrs. Morris said he was in prison in the Reign ofTerror, and then came to America with his daughter, and that his mindhad something the matter with it. Do you suppose he got awfullyfrightened?"
"I dare say he did, my dear. When you are a big girl you will learn allabout it in history. But you needn't hurry. There are a great manypleasanter things to learn."
She leaned her head down on her father's shoulder and thought how sad itmust be to lose one's mind. Was that the part of you always thinking?How curious it was to always think of something! Your feet didn't alwayswalk, your hands didn't always work, but that strange thing inside ofyou never stopped. Oh, yes, it had to when you were asleep. But
then yousometimes dreamed. And the little girl fell fast asleep over psychologythat she didn't know a word about.
Early in the next week Mrs. Underhill took the little girl and went upto Yonkers. She said she was homesick to see the boys. And oh, how gladthey were to see her! Aunt Crete was laid up with the _tic douloureux_.Retty was full of work and house-cleaning, and her lover had come on. Hewas a Vermonter by birth, and an uncle in the Mohawk valley had broughthim up. Then he had gone West, but not taken especial root anywhere. Hewas tall and thin, with reddish hair and beard, but the kindliest blueeyes and a pleasant voice. He and George had struck up a friendshipalready. And Retty confided to Aunt Margaret "that she was going to bemarried without any fuss, and Bart was goin' to turn in and help run thefarm."
Everything wore a different aspect even in this brief while. Mrs.Underhill had some things to pack up, that she was going to leave, awhile at least, in the garret. Her sister-in-law was very glad to takeanything she wanted to dispose of, since they had sold their furnitureat the West.
Oh, how wonderful the world was to the little girl! The trees werecoming out in bloom, there were great bunches of yellow daffodils, andthe May pinks were full of buds. And then the chickens, the ducks' nestsfull of eggs, the pretty little dark-eyed calf that the boys had tamedalready! And the children at school! Everybody was wild over Hanny andglad to get her back.
But it was queer she should miss her father so much when it came night.She went out on the old stoop and felt strangely lonesome. Then the boyscame round, having done up their share of the chores.
"Do you _reely_ like it, Hanny?" asked Jim.
She knew he meant the city.
"Well--father and Steve and Joe and John are there"--yet her tone was alittle uncertain.
"Are there any boys about?"
"I don't know any. I haven't had time to find any girls. But there is abig public school round in Houston Street, and I guess there's athousand children. You should see them coming out of the gate."
"Hm'n! I don't believe there's a thousand children in all New York.That's ten hundred, Miss Hanny!"
Hanny was sobered by the immensity of her statement, for she was a verytruthful little girl.
"What have you been doing all this time?" Jim asked impatiently.
"Well--there was the house to get to rights. And we had to have some newclothes made. A girl laughed at me one day and said I looked queer."
"If I'd been there I'd punched her head. Yes--I see you're mighty fine.Would _I_ look queer?"
"Oh, boys always look alike," returned Hanny reflectively. "We had abeautiful walk one Sunday on the Battery, and I think," hesitatingly,"that all the boys had on roundabouts."
"Are you sure they didn't have on overcoats?"
"Don't plague her, Jim. Tell us about the Battery, Hanny."
Hanny could describe that quite vividly. Jim soon became interested.When she paused he said, "What else?" She told them of her ride up toHarlem, and a walk down the Bowery to Chatham Square.
"But there ain't any real bowers in it any more, only stores and suchthings."
"What a pity," commented Benny Frank.
"Well, I think I'd like to go as soon as mammy can get ready. It isn'tas much fun here without you all."
"Oh, Jim, don't say mammy. They don't do it in the city," said thelittle girl beseechingly.
"If you think I'm going to put on French airs, you're much mistaken,Miss Hanny! I'll say pop and mammy when I like. I'm not going to dressup in Sunday best manners because you wear ruffled pantalets. It makesyou look like a feather-legged chicken!"
"Don't mind him, Hanny," said Ben tenderly. "I wish I had seen that oldman at the Bowling Green----"
"Do they make bowls there?" interrupted teasing Jim.
"Because I've been reading about France and the Reign of Terror," BennyFrank went on, not heeding his brother. "It was in about 1794.Robespierre was at the head of it. And there was a dreadful prison intowhich they threw everybody they suspected, and only brought them out forexecution. It must have been terrible! And the poor old man must havebeen quite young then. I should think he would have lost his mind."
"Bother about such stuff! You'd rather be in New York, wouldn't you,Hanny? And mother said we might come as soon as she was settled. I'm notgoing to stay here and be ordered about by this Finch fellow. Retty'ssoft as mush over him. Say, Ben, you _would_ like to go, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, I think I would," answered Ben slowly. "There would be such asplendid chance to learn about everything."
Their mother had been walking around the familiar paths with George, whohad developed some ideas of his own in this brief space. And his motherhad not realized before how tall and stout he was getting.
"I'd like to see father and Steve and make some plans. I'd like to workpart of father's ground on shares or some way. I'm glad Dave Andrews isstaying on. I don't altogether like Uncle Faid's ideas, and oh, mother,'tisn't any such jolly home as you had. Poor Aunt Crete is so miserable.But you see if I really had some interest of my own I'd be learning allthe time."
"I'm sure your father will consent." His mother felt so proud, leaningon his arm. And some time _they_ would come back. So they talked thematter over with eager interest, and she quite forgot about the littlegirl's bedtime. Retty had joined them and was rehearsing some of herWestern experiences, and the little girl sat with wide-open eyes,looking at Retty in the moon-light, thinking what a great wonderfulworld it was to have so many places and all so different. Did you havetwo organs of thought? She was so puzzled about thought, anyhow. Forwith one side of her that didn't see Retty, she could see her father soplainly in this very corner, and she was in his arms, and with thefaculty that wasn't listening to her cousin she could hear her father'svoice. You see, she wasn't old enough to know about dual consciousness.
When Hanny went up-stairs with her mother the boys went also.
"Say, Ben," and his brother gave him a dig in the ribs with his elbow;"say, Ben, don't you want to go back to New York with mother? If we justpush with all our might and main, together we can."
"Well, don't push me through the side of the house."
"You want to be pushed all the while. You're as slow as 'lasses inwinter time. Ben, you take after Uncle Faid. It takes him 'most all dayto make up his mind. Now I can look at a thing and tell in a minute."
"You seem ready enough to tell." Ben laughed a little provokingly.
"Well, you can go or not as you like. 'Taint half the fun here that itused to be. I didn't think I cared so much for Hanny."
"Is it Hanny?" in a tone that irritated.
"It's Hanny and mother and John and father and New York, and just amillion things rolled into a bundle. And if you don't care I'll fight myway through. There, Benjamin Franklin! You'd sit on a stone in themiddle of a field and fly your kite forever!"
Jim was losing his temper.
"Yes, I _think_ I'd like to go. There would be so much to see andlearn."
"Oh, hang it all! Simply go!"
Ben was thinking of the old man--he must have been quite young then--whowas in prison through that awful Reign of Terror. He undressed slowly.He was not such a fly-away as Jim. But Jim was asleep before he wasready for bed.
Mrs. Underhill had not really meant to take the boys home with her. Shewas quite sure the city was a bad place for boys. And the country was somuch healthier in the summer. But they coaxed. And somehow, the old home_had_ changed already. The air of brisk cheerfulness was gone. AuntCrete had her face tied up most of the time, or a little shawl over herhead. Retty was undeniably careless. Barton Finch played cards with thehired man. Uncle Faid had some queer ideas about farming.
"I'd like wonderful well to have the boys stay," he said. "They're worththeir keep. A boy 'round's mighty handy. I'd have to hire one."
Somehow she wasn't quite willing to have her boys put in the place of ahired one, or one bound out from the county house. And Jim had been herbaby for so long. The little girl pleaded also. She told them
finallythey might come down and try. But if they were the least bit bad ordisobedient they would be sent back at once.
Mrs. Underhill was half-cured of her homesickness. She had thought shecould never be content in New York; why, she was almost contentalready.
She and Hanny took a walk the last day of their stay up on the knollwhere the new house was to be built.
"When all the children are married and father and I get to be oldpeople, we will come back here. I shall want you, Hanny," and she heldthe little girl's hand in a tight clasp.
Hanny wondered if she would be stout and have full red cheeks and looklike Retty? And oh, she did hope her mother wouldn't have _ticdouloureux_ and wear shawls over her head. When all the children weremarried--oh, how lonesome it would be!
But she had been quite a little heroine and gone to school one day tosee the girls and boys. And one girl said: "I s'pose it's city fashionto wear pantalets that way, but my! doesn't it look queer!"
She was very glad to get back to her father. The country was beautifulwith all its bloom and fragrance, but First Street had such a clean,tidy look with its flagged sidewalks and the dirt all swept up to themiddle of the street, leaving the round faces of the cobble-stonesfairly shining. It was quite delightful to show the boys all over thehouse and then go through the yard to the stables and greet Dobbin andPrince. And Battle, the dog, called so because he had been such afighter, but commonly known as Bat, wagged his whole body with delightat sight of the boys.