Yes, Mr. Burgoyne felt bad and ashamed, I haint a doubt of it. His poet soul could suffer as well as enjoy—and then I didn’t feel like sayin’ too much aginst Mr. Burgoyne, havin’ meditated so lately in the treachery of Arnold, one of our own men doin’ a act that ort to keep us sort a humble-minded to this day.
And then there wuz the killin’ and buryin’ of Frazier both impressive. He wuz a gallant officer and a brave man. And then there wuz General Schuyler (a good creeter) a turnin’ over his command to Gates. And I methought to myself as I looked on it, that human nater wuz jest about the same then; it capered jest about as it duz now in public affairs and offices. Then there wuz the surrender of Burgoyne to Gates. A sight impressive enough to furnish one with stiddy emotions for weeks and weeks. A thinkin’ of all he surrendered to him that day, and all that wuz took.
The monument is dretful high. Up, up, up, it soars as if it wuz bound to reach up into the very heavens, and carry up there these idees of ourn about Free Rights, and National Liberty. It don’t go clear up, though. I wish it did. If it had, I should have gone up the high ladder clear to the top. But I desisted from the enterprise for 2 reasons, one wuz, that it didn’t go, as I say, clear up, and the other wuz that the stairs wuzn’t finished.
Josiah proposed that he should go up as he clim up our well, with one foot on each side on’t. He said he wuz tempted to, for he wanted dretfully to look out of them windows on the top. And he said it would probable be expected of him. And I told him that I guessed that the monument wouldn’t feel hurt if he didn’t go up; I guessed it would stand it. I discouraged the enterprise.
And anon we went down out of the monument, and crossed over to the good-lookin’ house where the man lives who takes care of the monument, and shows off its good traits, a kind of a guardian to it. And we got a first-rate dinner there, though such is not their practice. And then he took us in a likely buggy with 2 seats, and a horse to draw it, and we sot out to see what the march of 100 years has left us of the doin’s of them days.
Time has trampled out a good many of ’em, but we found some. We found the old Schuyler mansion, a settin’ back amongst the trees, with the old knocker on it, that had been pulled by so many a old 4 father, carryin’ tidin’s of disappointment, and hope, and triumph, and encouragement, and everything. We went over the threshold wore down by the steps that had fell there for a hundred years, some light, some heavy steps.
We went into the clean, good-lookin’ old kitchen, with the platters, and shinin’ dressers and trays; the old-fashioned settee, half-table and half-seat. And we see the cup General Washington drinked tea out of, good old creeter. I hope the water biled and it wuz good tea, and most probable it wuz. And we see lots of arms that had been carried in the war, and cannon balls, and shells, and tommy-hawks, and hatchets, and arrows, and etc., etc. And down in one room all full of other curiosities and relicts, wuz the skull of a traitor. I should judge from the looks on’t that besides bein’ mean, he wuz a hombly man. Somebody said folks had made efforts to steal it. But Josiah whispered to me, that there wuzn’t no danger from him, for he would rather be shet right up in the Tombs than to own it, in any way.
And I felt some like him. Some of his teeth had been stole, so they said. Good land! what did they want with his teeth! But it wuz a dretful interestin’ spot. And I thought as I went through the big square, roomy rooms that I wouldn’t swap this good old house for dozens of Queen Anns, or any other of the fashionable, furbelowed houses of to-day. The orniments of this house wuz more on the inside, and I couldn’t help thinkin’ that this house, compared with the modern ornimental cottages, wuz a good deal like one of our good old-fashioned foremothers in her plain gown, compared with some of the grandma’s of to-day, all paint, and furbelows, and false hair.
The old 4 mothers orniments wuz on the inside, and the others wuz more up on the roof, scalloped off and gingerbreaded, and criss-crossed.
The old house wuz full of rooms fixed off beautiful. It wuz quite a treat to walk throngh’em. But the old fireplaces, and mantle tray shelves spoke to our hearts of the generations that had poked them fires, and leaned up against them mantle trays. They went ahead on us through the old rooms; I couldn’t see ’em, but I felt their presence, as I follered ’em over the old thresholts their feet had worn down a hundred years ago. Their feet didn’t make no sound, their petticoats and short gowns didn’t rustle against the old door ways and stair cases.