THENYMPH OF THE MOUNTAIN.
In a certain corner of the Bay State there once stood, and we hope will continue to nourish long and happily, a snug town, now promoted to be a city, the name of which is not material to our purpose. Here in a great shingle palace, which would have been a very comfortable edifice had it only been finished, lived a reputable widow, well to do in the world, and the happy mother of a promising lad, a wonderful clever boy, as might be expected. In fact, Shearjashub (that was his name) was no bad specimen of the country lad. He was hardy, abstemious, independent, and _cute_ withal; and before he was a man grown, made a great bargain once out of a travelling merchant, a Scotchman, who chanced that way. Besides this, he was a mechanical genius; and, though far from being lazy, delighted in the invention of labour-saving machines, some of which were odd enough. He peeled all his mother's pumpkins by water, and spun her flax with a windmill. Nay, it was reported of him, that he once invented a machine for digging graves upon speculation, by which he calculated he shouldcertainly have made his fortune, had not the people of the village all with one accord taken it into their heads to live for ever. The name of the family was Yankee, they having been the first that had intercourse with the Indians, who called them Yankee, because they could not say English.
The Widow Yankee was a right pious, meeting-going woman, who held it to be a great want of faith not to believe in everything; especially everything out of the way and impossible. She was a great amateur of demonology and witchcraft. Moreover, she was gifted with a reasonable share of curiosity, though it is recorded that once she came very near missing to get at the bottom of a secret. The story ran as follows:—
One day, as she was sitting at her window, which had a happy aspect for overlooking the affairs of the village, she saw a mysterious-looking man, with a stick in his hand and a pipe in his mouth, walking exactly three feet behind a white cow. The same thing happened precisely at the same hour in the same manner the next day, and so continued for some time. The first week the widow began to think it rather odd; the second she began to think it quite strange; the third it became altogether mysterious; and the fourth the poor woman took to her bed, of the disease of the man and the cow.
Doctor Calomel undertook the cure in a new and original manner, to wit, without the use of medicine. He wrought upon the mysterious cowdriverto come to the widow's house, and tell her the whole secret of the business. When he came into the room the sick woman raised herself up, and in a faint voice addressed him as follows:—
“Mysterious man! I conjure thee to tell me what under the sun makes thee always follow that cow about every day at the same hour, and at the same distance from her tail?”
“Because the cow always goes before me!” replied the mysterious man.
Upon which the widow jumped out of her sick bed, seized an old shoe, fired it at the mysterious man's head, and was miraculously cured from that moment. Doctor Calomel got into great practice thereupon.
Shearjashub inherited a considerable share of his mother's inquiring disposition, and was very inquisitive about the affairs of other people; but, to do him justice, he took pretty good care to keep his own to himself, like a discreet lad as he was. Having invented so many labour-saving machines, Jashub, as he was usually called by the neighbours, thought it was great nonsense to work himself; so he set his machines going, and took to the amusement of killing time, which, in a country village, is no such easy matter. It required a considerable share of ingenuity. His favourite mode of doing this was taking his gun on his shoulder, and sallying forth into the fields and woods, followed by a cur, whose genealogy was perfectly mysterious. Nobody could tell to what family he belonged;certain it was, that he was neither “mongrel, puppy, whelp, nor hound,” but a cur of low degree, whose delight was to bask in the sun when he was not out with his young master.
In this way Jashub would pass day after day, in what he called sporting; that is to say, toiling through tangled woods and rough bog meadows and swamps, that quivered like a jelly at every step, and returning home at night hungry as well as tired. Report said that he never was known to shoot anything; and thus far his time was spent innocently, if not improvingly.
One fast-day, early in the spring of 1776, Jashub went forth as usual, with his gun on his shoulder, and little Snap (such was the name of the dog) at his heels. The early May had put on all her charms; a thousand little patches of wild violets were peeping forth with deep blue eyes; a thousand, yea, tens of thousands of little buds were expanding into leaves apace; and crowds of chirping birds were singing a hymn to the jolly laughing spring. Jashub could not find it in his heart to fire at them; but if he had, there would have been no danger, except of frightening the little warblers, and arresting their song.
Beguiled by the beauties of Nature and her charming music, Jashub almost unconsciously wandered on until he came to the opening of a deep glen in the mountain, which rose at some miles distance, west of the village. It was formed by the passage of a pure crystal stream, which, in the course ofages, or perhaps by a single effort, had divided the mountain about the space of twenty yards, ten of which were occupied by the brook, which silently wound its way along the edge of steep and rocky precipices several hundred feet high, that formed the barriers of the glen on either side. These towering perpendicular masses of gray eternity were here and there green with the adventurous laurel, which, fastening its roots in the crevices, nodded over the mighty steep in fearful dizziness. Here and there a little spring gushed forth high up among the graybeard rocks, and trickled down their sides in silvery brightness. In other places patches of isinglass appeared, sparkling against the sober masses, and communicating a singularly lustrous character to the scene, which had otherwise been all gloomy solitude.
Jashub gazed a while in apprehensive wonder, as he stood at the entrance of these everlasting gates. Curiosity prompted him to enter, and explore the recesses within, while a certain vague unwillingness deterred him. At length curiosity, or perhaps fate, which had decreed that he should become the instrument of her great designs, prevailed against all opposition, and he entered the gates of this majestic palace of nature. He slowly advanced, sometimes arrested by a certain feeling of mysterious awe; at others driven on by the power which had assumed the direction of his conduct, until he arrived at the centre of the hallowed solitude. Not a living thing breathed around him,except his little dog, and his gun trembled in his hand. All was gloom, silence, solitude, deep and profound. The brook poured forth no murmurs, the birds and insects seemed to have shunned the unsunned region, where everlasting twilight reigned; and the scream of the hawks, pursuing their way across the deep chasm, was hushed as they passed.
Jashub was arrested by the melancholy grandeur of the scene, and his dog looked wistfully in his face, as if he wanted to go home. As he stood thus lingering, leaning on his gun, a merry strain broke forth upon the terrible silence, and echoed through the glen. The sound made him suddenly start, in doing which his foot somehow or other caught in the lock of his gun, which he had forgot to uncock, as was usual with him, and caused it to go off. The explosion rang through the recesses of the glen in a hundred repetitions, which were answered by the howlings of the little dog. As the echoes gradually subsided, and the smoke cleared away, the music again commenced. It was a careless, lively air, such as suited the taste of the young man, and he forgot his fears in his love of music.
As he stood thus entranced he heard a voice, sweet, yet animating as the clear sound of the trumpet, exclaim,
“Shearjashub! Shearjashub!”
Jashub's heart bounded into his throat, and prevented his answering. He loaded his gun, and stood on the defensive.
In a moment after the same trumpet voice repeated the same words,
“Shearjashub! Shearjashub!”
“What d'ye want, you tarnal kritter?” at length the young man answered, with a degree of courage that afterwards astonished him.
“Listen—and look!”
He listened and looked, but saw nothing, until a little flourish of the same sprightly tune directed his attention to the spot whence it came.
High on the summit of the highest perpendicular cliff, which shone gorgeously with sparkling isinglass, seated under the shade of a tuft of laurels, he beheld a female figure, holding a little flageolet, and playing the sprightly air which he had just heard. Her height, notwithstanding the distance, appeared majestic; the flash of her bright beaming eye illumined the depths of the gloom, and her air seemed that of a goddess. She was dressed in simple robes of virgin white, and on her head she wore a cap, such as has since been consecrated to Liberty by my gallant countrymen.
Shearjashub looked, trembled, and was silent. In a few minutes, however, his recollection returned.
“Shearjashub!” exclaimed the lady of the rock, “listen!”
But Shearjashub had given leg bail. Both he and his faithful squire, little Snap, had left the haunted glen as fast as their feet would carry them.
He told the story when he got home, with somelittle exaggeration. Nobody believed him except the widow, his honoured mother, who had faith to swallow a camel. All the rest laughed at him, and the wicked damsels of the village were always joking about his mountain sweetheart.
At last he got out of patience, and one day demanded of those who were bantering him what proof they would have of the truth of his story.
“Why,” said old Deacon Mayhew, “I guess I should be considerably particular satisfied if you would bring us hum that same fife you heard the gal play on so finely.”
“And I,” said another, “will believe the young squire if he'll play the same tune on it he heard yonder in the mountain.”
Shearjashub was so pestered and provoked at last, that he determined to put his courage to the proof, and see whether it would bear him out in another visit to the chasm in the mountain. He thought he might as well be dead as have no comfort of his life.
“I'll be darned if I don't go,” said he, and away he went, with no other company than his little dog. It was on the fourth day of July, 1776, that Shearjashub wrought himself up to a second visit.
“I'm just come of age this very day,” said he, “and I'll show the kritters I'm not made a man for nothing.”
He certainly felt, as he afterwards confessed, a little skittish on this occasion, and his dog seemed not much to relish the excursion. Shearjashub hadhis gun, but had not the heart to fire at any of the birds that flitted about, and seemed as if they were not afraid of coming nigh him. His mind ran upon other matters entirely. He was a long while getting to the chasm in the mountain. Sometimes he would stop to rest, as he said to himself, though he was not in the least tired; sometimes he found himself standing still, admiring nothing; and once or twice actually detected his feet moving on their way home, instead of towards the mountain.
On arriving at the vast gates that, as it were, guarded the entrance to the glen, he halted to consider the matter. All was silence, repose, gloom, and sublimity. His spirit at first sunk under the majesty of nature, but at length became gradually inspired by the scene before him with something of a kindred dignity. He marched forward with a vigorous step and firm heart, rendered the more firm by hearing and seeing nothing of the white nymph of the rock or her sprightly music. He hardly knew whether he wished to see her or not, if she appeared he might be inspired to run away again; and if she did not, the deacon and the girls would laugh at him worse than ever.
With these conflicting thoughts he arrived at the very centre of the gloomy solitude, where he stood a few moments, expecting to hear the music. All was loneliness; Repose lay sleeping on his bed of rocks, and Silence reigned alone in her chosen retreat.
“Is it possible that I was dreaming the otherday, when I was here, as these tarnal kritters twit me I was?” asked the young man of himself.
He was answered by the voice of the white girl of the mountain, exclaiming, in the same sweet yet clear, animating, trumpet tones,
“Shearjashub! Shearjashub! listen.”
Jashub's legs felt some little inclination to run away; but this time he kept his ground like a brave fellow.
Again the same sprightly air echoed through the silence of the deep profound, in strains of animating yet simple, careless vivacity. Shearjashub began to feel himself inspired. He bobbed his head from side to side to suit the air, and was once or twice on the point of cutting a caper.
He felt his bosom thrill with unwonted energies, and a new vigour animated his frame as he contemplated the glorious figure of the mountain nymph, and listened to her sprightly flageolet.
“Shearjashub!” cried the nymph, after finishing her strain of music, “listen!”
“Speak—I hear,” said the young man.
“My name is Liberty; dost thou know me?”
“I have heard my father and grandfather speak of thee, and say they came to the New World to seek thee.”
“Well, I am found at last. Listen to me.”
“Speak on.”
“Your country has just devoted herself forever to me and my glory. Your countrymen have this day pronounced themselves freemen, and they shallbe what they have willed, in spite of fate or fortune. But my blessings are never thrown away on cowards; they are to be gained by toil, suffering, hunger, wounds, and death; by courage and perseverance; by virtue and patriotism. The wrath and the mighty energies of the oppressor are now directed against your people; hunger assails them; force overmatches them, and their spirits begin to fail. Take this pipe,” and she flung him the little flageolet, which he caught in his hand. “Canst thou play on it? Try.”
He put it to his lips, and to his surprise, produced the same animating strain he had heard from the nymph of the mountain.
“Now go forth among the people and their armies, and inspire them for battle. Wherever thou goest with thy pipe, and whenever thou playest that air, I will be with thee and thy countrymen. Go, fear not; those who deserve me shall always win me. Farewell—we shall meet again.” So saying, she vanished behind the tuft of laurels.
Shearjashub marched straight home with his pipe, and somehow or other felt he did not quite know how; he felt as if he could eat gunpowder, and snap his fingers at the deacon.
“What the dickens has got in the kritter?” said the deacon, when he saw him strutting along like a captain of militia.
“I declare, Jashub looks like a continental,” exclaimed the girls.
Just then Shearjashub put his pipe to his mouth,and played the tune he had learned, as if by magic, from the mountain nymph; whereat Deacon Mayhew made for the little white meeting house, whither all the villagers followed him, and preached a sermon, calling on the people to rise and fight for liberty, in such stirring strains that forthwith all the men, young and old, took their muskets and went out in defence of their country, under the command of Shearjashub. Wherever he came he played the magic tune on his pipe, and the men, like those of his native village, took to their arms, and went forth to meet the oppressor, like little David against Goliath, armed with a sling and a stone.
They joined the army of Liberty, which they found dispirited with defeat, and weak with suffering and want. They scarcely dared hope for success to their cause, and a general gloom depressed the hearts of all the true friends of freedom. In this state the enemy attacked them, and threw them into confusion, when Shearjashub came on at the head of his troops, playing his inspiring music with might and main. Wherever he went the sounds seemed to awaken the spirit of heroism in every breast. Those who were retreating rallied; and those who stood their ground maintained it more stoutly than ever. The victory remained with the sons of Liberty, and Shearjashub celebrated it with a tune on his pipe, which echoed through the whole land, and wakened it to new triumphs.
After a hard and bloody struggle, in which the pipe of Shearjashub animated the very clods of thevalley wherever he went, the promise of the nymph of the mountain was fulfilled. The countrymen of Shearjashub were free and independent. They were about to repose under the laurels they had reaped, and to wear what they had so dearly won.
Shearjashub also departed for his native village with his pipe, which had so materially assisted in the attainment of the blessings of freedom. His way lay through the chasm in the mountain, where he first encountered the nymph with the cap and snow-white robe. He was anticipating the happiness of seeing his aged mother, who had lived through the long war, principally on the excitement of news, and the still more near and dear happiness of taking to his bosom the girl of his heart, Miss Prudence Worthy, as fair a maid as ever raised a sigh in the bosom of lusty youth.
He had got to the centre of the glen when he was roused from his sweet anticipations by the well-remembered voice of the nymph of the mountain, who sat on the same inaccessible rock, under the same tuft of laurel, where he had first seen her, with an eagle at her side.
“Shearjashub!” cried she, in a voice which made the echoes of the rocks mad with ecstasy—“Shearjashub! thou hast done well, and deserved nobly of thy country. The thought of that is, in itself, a glorious reward for toil, danger, and suffering. But thou shalt have one as dear, if not dearer than even this. Look where it comes.”
Shearjashub looked, and beheld afar off a figureall in white coming towards him, at the entrance of the glen. It approached nearer, and it was a woman; nearer yet, and it was a young woman; still nearer, and Shearjashub rushed towards it, and kissed its blushing cheek. It was the girl of his heart, Miss Prudence Worthy.
“This is thy other blessing,” exclaimed the mountain nymph, the sight of whom made Miss Prudence a little jealous; “a richer reward for noble exertions than a virtuous woman I know not of. Live free, live virtuous, and then thou wilt be happy. I shall be with thee an invisible witness, an invisible protector; but, in the mean while, should the spirit of the people ever flag, and their hearts fail them in time of peril, go forth among them as thou didst before, and rouse them with thy pipe and thy music. Farewell, and be happy!”
The nymph disappeared, and the little jealous pang felt by Miss Prudence melted away in measureless confidence and love. The tune of the mountain nymph was played over and over again at Shearjashub's wedding, and ever afterwards became known by the name of YANKEE DOODLE.