The ways of the hour

by James Fenimore Cooper

“Yet, the common opinion is that such must be the final test of our institutions.”

“Jack has just been talking nonsense on this subject, and now you must come to aid him. But, what has your business with me, this morning, to do with the general depreciation in morals?”

“A great deal, as you will allow, when you come to hear my story.”

Dr. McBrain then proceeded forthwith to deliver himself of the matter which weighed so heavily on his mind. He was the owner of a small place in an adjoining county, where it was his custom to pass as much time, during the pleasant months, as a very extensive practice in town would allow. This was not much, it is true, though the worthy physician so contrived matters, that his visits to Timbully, as the place was called, if not long, were tolerably numerous. A kind-hearted, as well as a reasonably-affluent man, he never denied his professional services to his country neighbours, who eagerly asked his advice whenever there was need of it. This portion of the doctor’s practice flourished on two accounts,—one being his known skill, and the other his known generosity. In a word, Dr. McBrain never received any compensation for his advice, from any in the immediate neighbourhood of his country residence. This rendered him exceedingly popular; and he might have been sent to Albany, but for a little cold water that was thrown on the project by a shrewd patriot, who suggested that while the physician was attending to affairs of state, he could not be administering to the ailings of his Timbully neighbours. This may have checked the doctor’s advancement, but it did not impair his popularity.

Now, it happened that the bridegroom-expectant had been out to Timbully, a distance of less than fifteen miles from his house in Bleecker street, with a view to order matters for the reception of the bride, it being the intention of the couple that were soon to be united to pass a few days there, immediately after the ceremony was performed. It was while at his place, attending to this most important duty, that an express came from the county town, requiring his presence before the coroner, where he was expected to give his evidence as a medical man. It seems that a house had been burned, and its owners, an aged couple, had been burnt in it. The remains of the bodies had been found, and an inquest was about to be held on them. This was pretty much all that the messenger could tell, though he rather thought that it was suspected the house had been set on fire, and the old people, consequently, murdered.

As a matter of course, Dr. McBrain obeyed the summons. A county town, in America, is often little more than a hamlet, though in New York they are usually places of some greater pretensions. The state has now near a dozen incorporated cities, with their mayors and aldermen, and with one exception, we believe these are all county towns. Then come the incorporated villages, in which New York is fast getting to be rich, places containing from one to six or seven thousand souls, and which, as a rule, are steadily growing into respectable provincial towns. The largest of these usually contain “the county buildings,” as it is the custom to express it. But, in the older counties, immediately around the great commercial capital of the entire republic, these large villages do not always exist; or when they do exist, are not sufficiently central to meet the transcendental justice of democratic equality—a quality that is sometimes of as exacting pretension, as of real imbecility; as witness the remarks of Mr Dunscomb, in our opening chapter.

The county buildings of —— happen to stand in a small village, or what is considered a small village, in the lower part of the state. As the events of this tale are so recent, and the localities so familiar to many persons, we choose to call this village “Biberry,” and the county “Dukes.” Such was once the name of a New York county, though the appellation has been dropped, and this not from any particular distaste for the strawberry leaves; “Kings,” “Queens,” and “Duchess” having been wisely retained—wisely, as names should be as rarely changed as public convenience will allow.

Dr. McBrain found the village of Biberry in a high state of excitement; one, indeed, of so intense a nature as to be far from favourable to the judicial enquiry that was then going on in the court-house. The old couple who were the sufferers in this affair had been much respected by all who knew them; he as a common-place, well-meaning man, of no particular capacity, and she as a managing, discreet, pious woman, whose greatest failing was a neatness that was carried somewhat too near to ferocity. Nevertheless, Mrs. Goodwin was, generally, even more respected than her husband, for she had the most mind, transacted most of the business of the family, and was habitually kind and attentive to every one who entered her dwelling; provided, always, that they wiped their feet on her mats, of which it was necessary to pass no less than six, before the little parlour was reached, and did not spit on her carpet, or did not want any of her money. This popularity added greatly to the excitement; men, and women also, commonly feeling a stronger desire to investigate wrongs done to those they esteem, than to investigate wrongs done to those concerning whom they are indifferent.

Doctor McBrain found the charred remains of this unfortunate couple laid on a table in the court-house, the coroner in attendance, and a jury empanelled. Much of the evidence concerning the discovery of the fire had been gone through with, and was of a very simple character. Some one who was stirring earlier than common had seen the house in a bright blaze, had given the alarm, and had preceded the crowd from the village, on the road to the burning dwelling. The Goodwins had resided in a neat, retired cottage, at the distance of near two miles from Biberry, though in sight from the village; and by the time the first man from the latter reached the spot, the roof had fallen in, and the materials were mostly consumed. A dozen, or more, of the nearest neighbours were collected around the ruins, and some articles of household furniture had been saved; but, on the whole, it was regarded as one of the most sudden and destructive fires ever known in that part of the country. When the engine arrived from the village, it played briskly on the fire, and was the means of soon reducing all within the outer walls, which were of stone, to a pile of blackened and smouldering wood. It was owing to this circumstance that any portion of the remains of the late owners of the house had been found, as was done in the manner thus described, in his testimony, by Peter Bacon, the person who had first given the alarm in Biberry.

“As soon as ever I seed it was Peter Goodwin’s house that made the light,” continued this intelligent witness, in the course of his examination,—“I guv’ the alarm, and started off on the run, to see what I could do. By the time I got to the top of Brudler’s Hill, I was fairly out of breath, I can tell you, Mr. Coroner and Gentlemen of the Jury, and so I was obliged to pull up a bit. This guv’ the fire a so much better sweep, and when I reached the spot, there was little chance for doing much good. We got out a chest of drawers, and the young woman who boarded with the Goodwins was helped down out of the window, and most of her clothes, I b’lieve, was saved, so far as I know.”