I Must Defer Thanking You As I
Ought, Until I See You Again.
Before that time comes, I may perhaps
entertain you with more curious anecdotes than this letter affords.-
-Farewell.
I - - N AL - - Z.
LETTER XII
DISTRESSES OF A FRONTIER MAN
I wish for a change of place; the hour is come at last, that I must
fly from my house and abandon my farm! But what course shall I
steer, inclosed as I am? The climate best adapted to my present
situation and humour would be the polar regions, where six months
day and six months night divide the dull year: nay, a simple Aurora
Borealis would suffice me, and greatly refresh my eyes, fatigued now
by so many disagreeable objects. The severity of those climates,
that great gloom, where melancholy dwells, would be perfectly
analogous to the turn of my mind. Oh, could I remove my plantation
to the shores of the Oby, willingly would I dwell in the hut of a
Samoyede; with cheerfulness would I go and bury myself in the cavern
of a Laplander. Could I but carry my family along with me, I would
winter at Pello, or Tobolsky, in order to enjoy the peace and
innocence of that country. But let me arrive under the pole, or
reach the antipodes, I never can leave behind me the remembrance of
the dreadful scenes to which I have been a witness; therefore never
can I be happy! Happy, why would I mention that sweet, that
enchanting word? Once happiness was our portion; now it is gone from
us, and I am afraid not to be enjoyed again by the present
generation! Whichever way I look, nothing but the most frightful
precipices present themselves to my view, in which hundreds of my
friends and acquaintances have already perished: of all animals that
live on the surface of this planet, what is man when no longer
connected with society; or when he finds himself surrounded by a
convulsed and a half dissolved one? He cannot live in solitude, he
must belong to some community bound by some ties, however imperfect.
Men mutually support and add to the boldness and confidence of each
other; the weakness of each is strengthened by the force of the
whole. I had never before these calamitous times formed any such
ideas; I lived on, laboured and prospered, without having ever
studied on what the security of my life and the foundation of my
prosperity were established: I perceived them just as they left me.
Never was a situation so singularly terrible as mine, in every
possible respect, as a member of an extensive society, as a citizen
of an inferior division of the same society, as a husband, as a
father, as a man who exquisitely feels for the miseries of others as
well as for his own! But alas! so much is everything now subverted
among us, that the very word misery, with which we were hardly
acquainted before, no longer conveys the same ideas; or rather tired
with feeling for the miseries of others, every one feels now for
himself alone. When I consider myself as connected in all these
characters, as bound by so many cords, all uniting in my heart, I am
seized with a fever of the mind, I am transported beyond that degree
of calmness which is necessary to delineate our thoughts. I feel as
if my reason wanted to leave me, as if it would burst its poor weak
tenement: again I try to compose myself, I grow cool, and
preconceiving the dreadful loss, I endeavour to retain the useful
guest.
You know the position of our settlement; I need not therefore
describe it. To the west it is inclosed by a chain of mountains,
reaching to - - ; to the east, the country is as yet but thinly
inhabited; we are almost insulated, and the houses are at a
considerable distance from each other. From the mountains we have
but too much reason to expect our dreadful enemy; the wilderness is
a harbour where it is impossible to find them. It is a door through
which they can enter our country whenever they please; and, as they
seem determined to destroy the whole chain of frontiers, our fate
cannot be far distant: from Lake Champlain, almost all has been
conflagrated one after another. What renders these incursions still
more terrible is, that they most commonly take place in the dead of
the night; we never go to our fields but we are seized with an
involuntary fear, which lessens our strength and weakens our labour.
No other subject of conversation intervenes between the different
accounts, which spread through the country, of successive acts of
devastation; and these told in chimney-corners, swell themselves in
our affrighted imaginations into the most terrific ideas! We never
sit down either to dinner or supper, but the least noise immediately
spreads a general alarm and prevents us from enjoying the comfort of
our meals. The very appetite proceeding from labour and peace of
mind is gone; we eat just enough to keep us alive: our sleep is
disturbed by the most frightful dreams; sometimes I start awake, as
if the great hour of danger was come; at other times the howling of
our dogs seems to announce the arrival of the enemy: we leap out of
bed and run to arms; my poor wife with panting bosom and silent
tears, takes leave of me, as if we were to see each other no more;
she snatches the youngest children from their beds, who, suddenly
awakened, increase by their innocent questions the horror of the
dreadful moment. She tries to hide them in the cellar, as if our
cellar was inaccessible to the fire. I place all my servants at the
windows, and myself at the door, where I am determined to perish.
Fear industriously increases every sound; we all listen; each
communicates to the other his ideas and conjectures.
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