Complete Prose Works
full Americanized specimen than Major Cornelius Van Velsor.
TWO OLD FAMILY INTERIORS
Of the domestic and inside life of the middle of Long Island, at and
just before that time, here are two samples:
"The Whitmans, at the beginning of the present century, lived in a long
story-and-a-half farm-house, hugely timber'd, which is still standing.
A great smoke-canopied kitchen, with vast hearth and chimney, form'd one
end of the house. The existence of slavery in New York at that time, and
the possession by the family of some twelve or fifteen slaves, house and
field servants, gave things quite a patriarchial look. The very young
darkies could be seen, a swarm of them, toward sundown, in this kitchen,
squatted in a circle on the floor, eating their supper of Indian pudding
and milk. In the house, and in food and furniture, all was rude, but
substantial. No carpets or stoves were known, and no coffee, and tea or
sugar only for the women. Rousing wood fires gave both warmth and light
on winter nights. Pork, poultry, beef, and all the ordinary vegetables
and grains were plentiful. Cider was the men's common drink, and used at
meals. The clothes were mainly homespun. Journeys were made by both men
and women on horseback. Both sexes labor'd with their own hands-the men
on the farm--the women in the house and around it. Books were scarce.
The annual copy of the almanac was a treat, and was pored over through
the long winter evenings. I must not forget to mention that both these
families were near enough to the sea to behold it from the high places,
and to hear in still hours the roar of the surf; the latter, after
a storm, giving a peculiar sound at night. Then all hands, male and
female, went down frequently on beach and bathing parties, and the men
on practical expeditions for cutting salt hay, and for clamming and
fishing."--_John Burroughs's_ NOTES.
"The ancestors of Walt Whitman, on both the paternal and maternal
sides, kept a good table, sustained the hospitalities, decorums, and an
excellent social reputation in the county, and they were often of mark'd
individuality. If space permitted, I should consider some of the men
worthy special description; and still more some of the women. His
great-grandmother on the paternal side, for instance, was a large
swarthy woman, who lived to a very old age. She smoked tobacco, rode on
horseback like a man, managed the most vicious horse, and, becoming
a widow in later life, went forth every day over her farm-lands,
frequently in the saddle, directing the labor of her slaves, in
language in which, on exciting occasions, oaths were not spared. The
two immediate grandmothers were, in the best sense, superior women. The
maternal one (Amy Williams before marriage) was a Friend, or Quakeress,
of sweet, sensible character, house-wifely proclivities, and deeply
intuitive and spiritual. The other (Hannah Brush,) was an equally noble,
perhaps stronger character, lived to be very old, had quite a family of
sons, was a natural lady, was in early life a school-mistress, and had
great solidity of mind. W. W. himself makes much of the women of his
ancestry."--_The Same_.
Out from these arrieres of persons and scenes, I was born May 31,
1819. And now to dwell awhile on the locality itself--as the successive
growth-stages of my infancy, childhood, youth and manhood were all
pass'd on Long Island, which I sometimes feel as if I had incorporated.
I roam'd, as boy and man, and have lived in nearly all parts, from
Brooklyn to Montauk point.
PAUMANOK, AND MY LIFE ON IT AS CHILD AND YOUNG MAN
Worth fully and particularly investigating indeed this Paumanok, (to
give the spot its aboriginal name[3],) stretching east through Kings,
Queens and Suffolk counties, 120 miles altogether--on the north Long
Island sound, a beautiful, varied and picturesque series of inlets,
"necks" and sea-like expansions, for a hundred miles to Orient point.
On the ocean side the great south bay dotted with countless hummocks,
mostly small, some quite large, occasionally long bars of sand out two
hundred rods to a mile-and-a-half from the shore. While now and then,
as at Rockaway and far east along the Hamptons, the beach makes right
on the island, the sea dashing up without intervention. Several
light-houses on the shores east; a long history of wrecks tragedies,
some even of late years. As a youngster, I was in the atmosphere and
traditions of many of these wrecks--of one or two almost an observer.
Off Hempstead beach for example, was the loss of the ship "Mexico" in
1840, (alluded to in "the Sleepers" in L. of G.) And at Hampton, some
years later, the destruction of the brig "Elizabeth," a fearful affair,
in one of the worst winter gales, where Margaret Fuller went down, with
her husband and child.
Inside the outer bars or beach this south bay is everywhere
comparatively shallow; of cold winters all thick ice on the surface.
As a boy I often went forth with a chum or two, on those frozen fields,
with hand-sled, axe and eel-spear, after messes of eels. We would cut
holes in the ice, sometimes striking quite an eel-bonanza, and filling
our baskets with great, fat, sweet, white-meated fellows. The scenes,
the ice, drawing the hand-sled, cutting holes, spearing the eels, &c.,
were of course just such fun as is dearest to boyhood. The shores of
this bay, winter and summer, and my doings there in early life, are
woven all through L. of G. One sport I was very fond of was to go on
a bay-party in summer to gather sea-gull's eggs. (The gulls lay two or
three eggs, more than half the size of hen's eggs, right on the sand,
and leave the sun's heat to hatch them.)
The eastern end of Long Island, the Peconic bay region, I knew quite
well too--sail'd more than once around Shelter island, and down to
Montauk--spent many an hour on Turtle hill by the old light-house, on
the extreme point, looking out over the ceaseless roll of the Atlantic.
I used to like to go down there and fraternize with the blue-fishers,
or the annual squads of sea-bass takers. Sometimes, along Montauk
peninsula, (it is some 15 miles long, and good grazing,) met the
strange, unkempt, half-barbarous herdsmen, at that time living there
entirely aloof from society or civilization, in charge, on those rich
pasturages, of vast droves of horses, kine or sheep, own'd by farmers
of the eastern towns. Sometimes, too, the few remaining Indians, or
half-breeds, at that period left on Montauk peninsula, but now I believe
altogether extinct.
More in the middle of the island were the spreading Hempstead plains,
then (1830-'40) quite prairie-like, open, uninhabited, rather sterile,
cover'd with kill-calf and huckleberry bushes, yet plenty of fair
pasture for the cattle, mostly milch-cows, who fed there by hundreds,
even thousands, and at evening, (the plains too were own'd by the towns,
and this was the use of them in common,) might be seen taking their way
home, branching off regularly in the right places. I have often been out
on the edges of these plains toward sundown, and can yet recall in
fancy the interminable cow-processions, and hear the music of the tin or
copper bells clanking far or near, and breathe the cool of the sweet and
slightly aromatic evening air, and note the sunset.
Through the same region of the island, but further east, extended wide
central tracts of pine and scrub-oak, (charcoal was largely made here,)
monotonous and sterile. But many a good day or half-day did I have,
wandering through those solitary crossroads, inhaling the peculiar
and wild aroma. Here, and all along the island and its shores, I spent
intervals many years, all seasons, sometimes riding, sometimes boating,
but generally afoot, (I was always then a good walker,) absorbing
fields, shores, marine incidents, characters, the bay-men, farmers,
pilots-always had a plentiful acquaintance with the latter, and with
fishermen--went every summer on sailing trips--always liked the bare
sea-beach, south side, and have some of my happiest hours on it to this
day.
As I write, the whole experience comes back to me after the lapse of
forty and more years--the soothing rustle of the waves, and the saline
smell--boyhood's times, the clam-digging, bare-foot, and with trowsers
roll'd up--hauling down the creek--the perfume of the sedge-meadows--the
hay-boat, and the chowder and fishing excursions;--or, of later years,
little voyages down and out New York bay, in the pilot boats. Those same
later years, also, while living in Brooklyn, (1836-'50) I went regularly
every week in the mild seasons down to Coney Island, at that time a
long, bare unfrequented shore, which I had all to myself, and where I
loved, after bathing, to race up and down the hard sand, and declaim
Homer or Shakspere to the surf and sea gulls by the hour. But I am
getting ahead too rapidly, and must keep more in my traces.
Note:
[3] "Paumanok, (or Paumanake, or Paumanack, the Indian name of Long
Island,) over a hundred miles long; shaped like a fish--plenty of sea
shore, sandy, stormy, uninviting, the horizon boundless, the air too
strong for invalids, the bays a wonderful resort for aquatic birds,
the south-side meadows cover'd with salt hay, the soil of the island
generally tough, but good for the locust-tree, the apple orchard, and
the blackberry, and with numberless springs of the sweetest water in the
world. Years ago, among the bay-men--a strong, wild race, now extinct,
or rather entirely changed--a native of Long Island was called a
_Paumanacker_, or _Creole-'Paumanacker_."--_John Burroughs_.
MY FIRST READING--LAFAYETTE
From 1824 to '28 our family lived in Brooklyn in Front, Cranberry and
Johnson streets. In the latter my father built a nice house for a home,
and afterwards another in Tillary street. We occupied them, one after
the other, but they were mortgaged, and we lost them. I yet remember
Lafayette's visit.[4] Most of these years I went to the public schools.
It must have been about 1829 or '30 that I went with my father and
mother to hear Elias Hicks preach in a ball-room on Brooklyn heights. At
about the same time employ'd as a boy in an office, lawyers', father and
two sons, Clarke's, Fulton street, near Orange. I had a nice desk and
window-nook to myself; Edward C. kindly help'd me at my handwriting
and composition, and, (the signal event of my life up to that time,)
subscribed for me to a big circulating library. For a time I now revel'd
in romance-reading of all kinds; first, the "Arabian Nights," all
the volumes, an amazing treat. Then, with sorties in very many other
directions, took in Walter Scott's novels, one after another, and his
poetry, (and continue to enjoy novels and poetry to this day.)
Note:
[4] "On the visit of General Lafayette to this country, in 1824, he came
over to Brooklyn in state, and rode through the city. The children of
the schools turn'd out to join in the welcome. An edifice for a free
public library for youths was just then commencing, and Lafayette
consented to stop on his way and lay the corner-stone. Numerous children
arriving on the ground, where a huge irregular excavation for the
building was already dug, surrounded with heaps of rough stone, several
gentlemen assisted in lifting the children to safe or convenient
spots to see the ceremony. Among the rest, Lafayette, also helping the
children, took up the five-year-old Walt Whitman, and pressing the child
a moment to his breast, and giving him a kiss, handed him down to a safe
spot in the excavation."--John Burroughs.
PRINTING OFFICE--OLD BROOKLYN
After about two years went to work in a weekly newspaper and printing
office, to learn the trade. The paper was the "Long Island Patriot,"
owned by S. E. Clements, who was also postmaster. An old printer in