It must be sweet to breathe again the open air of freedom, and such air as blows over Mamacock; purest breezes from river and from sea, fragrant with the breath of piney woods, of pastures filled with flowers and herbs, and of fields of new-mown hay, mingled with the wholesome odor of seaweed cast by the tide upon Mamacock shore.
Not far from the house, towards the river, in a broad hollow in the greensward, bordered on the north by a wooded cliff and commanding a view of the river and craggy Mamacock peninsula, is a clear, running stream and pool of spring water. Here yet (1698) the Indians come as of old, with free leave of the owner, to eat clams, as also on Mamacock peninsula, at both of which places the powdered white shells in the soil will verify the tradition for more than two hundred years to come. In this river are fish to tempt the palate of an epicure, and trout abound in the neighboring streams. A strong-built, white-sailed boat is a part of this lovely scene, and such a boat will still be found here for many years to come. (See “Hempstead Diary” for mention of boat.)
1699.
If after the perilous trials, hardships and irritations of the past four years, this man has a mind to enjoy life, as it comes to him at Mamacock, it is not strange.
Nor is it strange that, among his house servants, he soon particularly notices a young woman, lately arrived from the old country, whose services he has bought for so long as will reimburse him for payment of her passage. Perhaps the chief cause of his interest is in the fact that she herself has taken a liking to the half-saddened man who is her master. Surely he who could so attach to himself a native Indian like William Wright, has traits to win even the favor of a young woman. He is evidently genial and indulgent with his servants, rather than haughty and censorious.
For twenty-five years he has been a widower, except that the grave has not covered the wife of his youth. Through all these years, the bitterest of his calumniators have not raised so much as a whisper questioning his perfect fidelity to Elizabeth, who, since the divorce, has been the wife of two other men and yet ever by this man has been considered as rightfully his own. Such being the case, well may his son wonder that he is becoming interested in this young housemaid, Mary Ransford, even to showing some marked attentions, which she receives with favor. She is a comely young woman, no doubt, as well as lively and spirited. Her master will not object to her having a mind of her own, especially when she displays due indignation regarding the wholesale method of gathering the minister’s and church rates. But when she goes so far as to “threaten”[[88]] to pour scalding water on the head of the collector of rates, as he appears at the front door upon that ever fruitless errand, this master must give her a little lesson in the doctrine of non-resistance, although his eyes may twinkle with covert humor at her zeal. As for the rates, they must be taken out of the pasture.
Evidently this attractive girl, Mary, is willing to assent to anything this indulgent master believes to be right, taking as kindly to his doctrines as to himself. A man of soundest constitution, as proven from first to last, and of great recuperative energy, he is not old at fifty-two, despite imprisonments, stripes and ceaseless confiscations.
It soon becomes plain to John the younger that this is no ordinary partiality for an attractive and devoted maid, but that his father will ask this young woman to become his wife. For the first time, there is a marked difference of opinion between father and son. Mary is perfectly willing to pledge herself to this man, even under the conditions desired. As for him, why should he longer remain single, seeing there is no possible hope of reclaiming the wife whom he still tenderly loves. There are arguments enough upon the other side. John, Jr., presents them very forcibly, and especially in regard to the inconsistency of putting any woman in his mother’s place, so long as his father continues to declare that Elizabeth is still, in reality, his wife.
To this latter and chief argument, the father replies that he shall not put Mary in his first wife’s place, since that marriage has never been annulled, by any law of God or of man. Did not God, in the olden times, allow two kinds of wives, both truly wives, yet one higher than the other? Under the singular circumstances of this case, being still bound to Elizabeth by the law of God, yet separated from her by the will of men, he will marry Mary, yet not as he married Elizabeth Griswold. He will openly and honorably marry her, yet put no woman in the place of his first wife. To this Mary agrees.
It is but another outcome of this man’s character. He fears God and God alone. He takes very little thought as to what man may think or do concerning him. Yet not by a hair’s breadth will he, if he knows it, transgress any scriptural law. (In his after treatise “On Divorce,” how well can be read between the lines the meditations and conclusions of this period, and chiefly the fact that, in deciding upon a second marriage, he in no wise admitted that Elizabeth Griswold was not still his wife, although so held from him that he might lawfully take another, although under the circumstances a lesser, wife.[[89]])