CHAP. VIII.

MEMOIR OF MY LIFE

ON THE BANKS OF THE OCCOQUAN.

Description of Occoquan Settlement.-Evening at Occoquan, an Ode.-Morning at Occoquan, an Ode. A Party of Indians visit Occoquan.Speech of a Warrior.-A War-Dance, and Scene of riotous Intoxication.-A Disquisition of the moral Character of the Indians.-Story of Captain Smith and Pocahontas-The Dispute between Buffon and Jefferson on the Subject of Beards satisfactorily decided.-The Midnight Orgies of the White-Man of America dramatized, &c.

Lo! the moon its lustre lends,
Gilding every wood and lawn;
And the Miller's heart distends
On the banks of Occoquan!

IN the Bull-Run Mountains rises a river, which retains the Indian name of Occoquan, and after a course of sixty miles falls into the Potomac, near the little town of Colchester. In America there are few or no rivers without falls; and at those of Occoquan, are erected a couple of mills, which by the easy and safe navigation of the Potomac, the richness of the adjacent country, and the healthfulness of the climate, induced the Proprietor to project the plan of a city, and invite stran

gers to build on it; but his visions were never realized, and Occoquan consists only of a house built on a rock, three others on the riverside, and half a dozen log-huts scattered at some distance.

Yet no place can be more romantic than the view of Occoquan to a stranger, after crossing the rustic bridge, which has been constructed by the inhabitants across the stream. He contemplates the river urging its course along mountains that lose themselves among the clouds; he beholds vessels taking on board flour under the foam of the mills, and others deeply laden expanding their sails to the breeze; while every face wears contentment, every gale wafts health, and echo from the rocks multiplies the voices of the waggoners calling to their teams.

It is pleasant, says Juvenal, to be master of a house, though it stand not on more ground than a lizard would occupy. The schoolhouse at Occoquan was entirely my own. It was a little brick structure, situated about three hundred yards from the house on the rock. The front casements looked upon the Occoquan river, and commanded the variegated prospect of hill and dale.

It is so seldom an author gets a house that it should excite no wonder if he loves to describe it. Pliny has described his house so minutely in one of his elaborate epistles, that

he appears to be putting it up for sale; and Pope luxuriates in the strain that treats of his thickets being pierced, his grotto entered, his chariot stopped, and his barge boarded; that posterity may not be ignorant of the extent of his possessions.

I mingled seldom with the people of Occoquan, but, shut up in my profound habitation, sought an oblivion of care in writing, reading, and tobacco. Often when the moon-light slept upon the mountain near my dwelling, have I walked before my door, and gazed in silent rapture upon the orb of night, whose beams trembled on the stream that gave motion to the mill; while the tall bark was seen dancing on the waves at a distance, and the mocking-bird in a saddened strain was heard from the woods. It was during one of these nights, that recalling the images of the evening, I combined them in an Ode:

EVENING AT OCCOQUAN.

AN ODE.

SLOW the solemn sun descends,
Ev'ning's eye comes rolling on;
Glad the weary stranger bends
To the Banks of Occoquan!

Now the cricket on the hearth,
Chirping, tells his merry tale;
Now the owlet ventures forth
Moping to the silent gale.

Still the busy mill goes round,
While the miller plies his care;
And the rocks send back the sound,
Wafted by the midnight* air.

Lo! the moon with lustre bright,
In the stream beholds her face;
Shedding glory o'er the night,
As she runs her lofty race.

See! the bark along the shore,
Larger to the prospect grow;
While the sea-boy bending o'er
Chides the talking waves below.

Now the mocking-songster's strain
Fills the pauses of her brood;
And her plaints the ear detain,
Echoing from the distant wood.

Hanging o'er the mountain's brow,
Lo! the cattle herbage find;
While in slumber sweet below,
Peaceful rests the village hind.

Now the student seeks his cell,
Nor regrets the day is gone;
But with silence loves to dwell,
On the Banks of Occoquon.

I was never one of those who sleep well at night. All hours are of equal value, and the tranquillity of the night invites to study. Hence, I have been frequently compelled to change my lodgings where the good woman of

[*From the author's Errata: 'for midnight r. balmy.']

the house was in fear that her curtains might catch fire, and set the dwelling in a blaze.

But the houses in Virginia are not very superb. The people were never under any solicitude for the habitation I occupied; and had it been burnt to the ground, a few boards and a proportionate number of shingles would soon have constructed another. I never yet occupied a house that was not exempt from taxes; it was always valued by the tax-gatherers below a hundred dollars (about 20l. sterling), and, by an act of Assembly, for a house not worth a hundred dollars there is no tax to pay.

From the platform of my house at Occoquan, there was a subterraneous passage which led to a kind of kitchen. In this underground apartment dwelt Rachel, a negro-woman, who was left a widow with eleven children; but her numerous offspring were all provided for. Mr. Carter, to whom the whole family belonged, had taken upon him this benevolent office; for he had sold one to Mr. A, another to Mr. B, a third to Mr. C, a fourth

[* Cf. Isaac Weld, Travels through the States of North America. 3rd ed. London. 1800, Vol. I, p. 156-" Though many of the houses in the Northern Neck are built, as I have said, of brick and stone, in the style of the old English manor houses, yet the greater number there, and throughout Virginia, are of wood; amongst which are all those that have been built of late years. This is chiefly owing to the prevailing, though absurd opinion, that wooden houses are the healthiest."]