Historic Boyhoods Part 18

The finest house in central New York State in 1801 was Otsego Hall. The owner of the house, a Mr. Cooper, fond of old English customs, lived much like a lord of the manor of the old country, and kept open house for his neighbors of the region. On a Sat.u.r.day afternoon in September of that year he was giving a great party, and all roads in the neighborhood of Cooperstown, which had been named in honor of this popular gentleman, led to Otsego Hall.

A gay stream flowed up to the great stone posts that flanked the entrance driveway. There were men in bright-hued, tight-fitting trousers with high s.h.i.+ning top-boots, brilliant plum and claret colored coats and fawn or scarlet waistcoats, with lace stocks at their throats, their hair well powdered, their tri-cornered hats matching their vivid coats.

They rode fine, spirited horses, and they knew how to ride, for most of them had seen service under General Was.h.i.+ngton. Some of the ladies also rode, but more of them came in open carriages. These latter wore flowered satins, and carried painted fans and sunshades. Some came across fields on foot, a young gallant swinging a light gold-headed cane, and paying lavish compliments to the fair girl whose dimples were heightened by small beauty patches cut in stars or crescents.

The gay throng wound up the long drive of Otsego Hall, themselves scarcely less brilliant than the flowers beside the path. At the top of the drive was the big, white colonial mansion, with its high storied porch and great white pillars. On the porch stood the genial host in a buff-colored suit with knee-breeches, his kindly face radiating welcome to each guest. The riders sprang from their saddles and threw the bridles to the waiting servants, the chaises and the chariots emptied their owners and were whisked away. All mounted the wide steps, greeted Mr. Cooper, and pa.s.sed across the porch into the polished hall.

Here stood a large round table with a huge punchbowl in the centre and a ring of s.h.i.+ning gla.s.ses about it. Each guest toasted the fair lady of the manor, and some particular lady of his own fancy, with such charming sentiments as his wit supplied. There was a great buzz of talk and laughter and neighborly greeting.

Presently three young men, all dressed in the height of fas.h.i.+on, came up the driveway and shook hands with Mr. Cooper. He was especially glad to see them, for they were sons of men he had known in war times. All three came of wealthy families living in the city of New York, and were now traveling north to learn something of the business possibilities of the young country. They stopped for a moment to chat with Mr. Cooper, and then two of them entered the hall. The third was looking at a small boy, who, dressed like Mr. Cooper in buff clothes, stood at one side of the porch.

"Who is the youngster?" asked the visitor.

Mr. Cooper turned about to see. "Oh, that's my son James." He beckoned to the boy. "Come here, son. I want you to meet Captain Philip Kent, one of father's old friends."

The boy, not at all abashed, put out his hand, and welcomed Captain Kent. "Have you ever fought Indians?" he asked solemnly.

Kent laughed and winked at Mr. Cooper. "Oh, yes. We've all fought Indians in our day. But, thank G.o.d, that day's pa.s.sed. What we want now is a chance to rest in quiet, and try our hands at writing, and singing, and painting, like other civilized people." He saw that some other guests were arriving, and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Come, James. You and I don't care to go salute the ladies just yet. Let's find a place in the garden and have a talk."

They went down a gravel path and turned in to the rose-garden. A bench invited them to rest. Captain Kent sat down, and drawing a gilded snuff-box from his waistcoat-pocket, offered it to the boy. "The very best rappee," he said.

James Cooper shook his head. "I don't like snuff, sir. I'd rather smoke a pipe."

Captain Kent took snuff and flicked the grains from his coat with his handkerchief. "Tut, tut, young man, if you're to be a man of fas.h.i.+on, and I mis...o...b.. your father's son could be ought else, you must like what the fas.h.i.+on likes. The gentlemen of St. James' Palace still take snuff, and never are seen smoking pipes, like some of our clumsy Dutchmen over here."

"But St. James' Palace is in London, and we're free from England now."

"Quite so, my good sir. But our fas.h.i.+ons still come from across the seas."

"And what is a man of fas.h.i.+on?" asked the boy.

Captain Kent smiled. "Ah, so you are concerned? Good! Well, I am a man of fas.h.i.+on, and so are those two friends of mine who just entered your hall. A man of fas.h.i.+on has a discriminating taste in wines and foods. He knows what colors go in harmony, how to draw his sword in any matter of honor, how to tread a minuet--oh, yes, and how to write verses to his lady's eyes."

The Captain put his hand in the pocket of his coat and drew out several folded sheets of paper. He spread them out on his knee. "Do you know Miss Betty Cosgrove?" he asked.

The boy nodded. "Yes, indeed. She lives very near us, and always gives me plum-cake when I go there with messages from mother."

"Ah, she does!" exclaimed Kent, as though greatly struck and charmed by the idea. "Well, Mr. James Cooper, I have written some verses in her honor, hoping I might offer them to her here this afternoon. I'll read them to you."

"She's indoors," said the boy. "I saw her come."

"Quite so. But I hope to lure her out here later, and I want to rehea.r.s.e the verses. What do you think of this?"

The young man held the paper before him, and read from it. Every few lines he would glance at the boy. James did not think much of the poetry. He heard a great deal about tresses, and eyes, and smiles, about G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses, but nothing about soldiers or Indians. He was surprised that the Captain should have become so red in the face and that his eyes should s.h.i.+ne so brightly.

"What do you think of it?" asked Captain Kent, when he had finished.

"I don't understand it," said James. Then he added frankly, "I don't think much of poetry."

"May Heaven grant she does!" exclaimed the Captain. "I think 'tis quite a fair performance for an humble poet." He folded the verses and put them away. "Some day you will be doing the same thing, Mr. Cooper."

"No," said the boy. "I'm to go to Yale College at New Haven next year and learn Greek."

"'Tis better to write verses than learn Greek," objected Kent. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "But there's better yet waiting to be done, boy. In London men write what they call novels; wonderful stories of the great world of fas.h.i.+on. There's one called 'Amelia,' by Henry Fielding, and another named 'Clarissa Harlowe,' by Richardson. Why should not some one write such tales of our country? Alas, I fancy because as yet we have so little fas.h.i.+on."

"But we've plenty of hunters and Indians and sailors," said the boy; "I wish I had a book about what's happened in those great woods back of Albany."

"Write it, lad, write it," said the Captain. "We've had our soldiers, you and your friends must be our poets and writers. I envy you. Now let us be going in to greet the ladies."

The lower floor of Otsego Hall was now filled with people. All the gentry of the countryside were gathered in the great hall, in the dining-room, and other apartments that opened into it. Captain Kent and his boy friend made their way through the crowd, and the Captain bent over the hand of Mrs. Cooper and congratulated her on having so fine a son. The boy liked his gallant friend and stayed near him, even when the Captain finally caught sight of Miss Betty Cosgrove talking with his two mates in a corner of the hall.

James watched the Captain advance and in his most polished manner bend over the lady's hand and touch it with his lips. Then the four of them started to laugh and talk rapidly as though they had a great many things to tell each other. The boy thought this very tiresome, and was about to make his way back to the porch and freedom when he heard a man who stood on the broad stairs call out, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you all a toast, our worthy friend and most gracious host, Mr. Cooper!"

Servants pa.s.sed gla.s.ses of punch to the guests and soon all held their gla.s.ses raised high.

"I pledge them," cried the man on the stairs, and the toast was drunk with a murmur of cheers.

"Another to our charming hostess!" some one cried, and this also was drunk.

Then Captain Kent clapped his hands for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen of Cooperstown," said he, "three of us here have journeyed from New York City to pay our duty to the fairest maid in all the thirteen states. We have none like her on Manhattan Island. I give you Mistress Betty Cosgrove!"

The three young men raised their gla.s.ses, the rest followed their example, and the toast was drunk. Miss Cosgrove blushed the color of the rose she wore.

One of the young men looked down to find a small boy pulling his sleeve.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Captain Kent's been writing verses to her too," said James Cooper. "He read them to me in the garden."

"Ho--ho," came the laughing answer. "Good enough." He turned about.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my friend Captain Kent is a poet. He has some verses in his pocket written to the adorable Mistress Betty. Shall we hear them?"

"Yes, yes," came a chorus of voices.

It was poor Kent's turn to blush. He looked very uncomfortable. Miss Cosgrove glanced at him with wide inquiring eyes. He had not expected to read his poetry in such a setting. He stepped forward, and seizing little James Cooper under the arms lifted him to a chair.

"Behold," he said, "I should be glad to read the verses, but this gentleman, Master Cooper, has told me they are poor, and he should know because he plans to be an author."

The Captain's diversion succeeded. The guests were looking at the boy.

"My son James an author!" exclaimed Mrs. Cooper. "It's the first I've heard of it!"

"I don't want to," said the boy, very uncomfortable now that he was the centre of notice. "I want to be a soldier."

"That's right," said his father, "and I hope you may be if ever the country needs you. Friends, I give you these United States!"

By the time that toast was drunk Captain Kent had drawn Miss Cosgrove into a little alcove under the stairs and James had stolen out of the great hall.

James Cooper was a very fortunate boy. His father's house stood in one of the loveliest reaches of country on the Atlantic coast. Cooperstown lay on the southeastern sh.o.r.e of Otsego Lake, where the Susquehanna rushes out through a fertile valley between high hills. Bays and points of woodland break the Lake's edge, and in the distance rise the clear blue slopes of mountains.