Satanstoe; Or, the Littlepage Manuscripts. A Tale of the ColonyCooper, James Fenimore
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Satanstoe; Or, the Littlepage Manuscripts. A Tale of the Colony
Cooper, James Fenimore
Antirent War, N.Y., 1839-1846 -- Fiction
The whole town seemed alive, and everybody had a desire to get a glance at
the sports of the Pinkster Field; though the more dignified and cultivated
had self-denial enough to keep aloof, since it would hardly have comported
with their years and stations to be seen in such a place. The war had
brought many regiments into the province, however, and I met at least
twenty young officers, strolling out to the scene of amusement, as I walked
into town. I will confess I gazed at these youths with admiration, and not
entirely without envy, as they passed me in pairs, laughing and diverting
themselves with the grotesque groups of blacks that were occasionally
met, coming in from their sports. These young men I knew had enjoyed the
advantages of being educated at home, some of them, quite likely, in the
Universities, and all of them amid the high civilization and taste of
England. I say all of them, too hastily; as there were young men of the
colonies among them, who probably had not enjoyed these advantages. The
easy air, self-possession, and quiet, what shall I call it?--insolence
would be too strong a word, and a term that I, the son and grandson of old
king's officers, would not like to apply, and yet it comes nearest to what
I mean as applicable to the covert manner of these young men--but, whatever
it was, that peculiar air of metropolitan superiority over provincial
ignorance and provincial dependence, which certainly distinguished all the
younger men of this class, had an effect on me, I find it difficult to
describe. I was a loyal subject, loved the King,--most particularly since
he was so identified with the Protestant succession,--loved all of the
blood-royal, and wished for nothing more than the honour and lustre of the
English crown. One thus disposed could not but feel amicably towards the
King's officers; yet, I will confess, there were moments when this air of
ill-concealed superiority, this manner that so much resembled that of the
master towards the servant, the superior to the dependent, the patron
to the client, gave me deep offence, and feelings so bitter, that I was
obliged to struggle hard to suppress them. But this is Anticipating, and is
interrupting the course of my narrative. I am inclined to think there must
always be a good deal of this feeling, where the relation of principal and
dependant exists, as between distinct territories.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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