IN THE VALLEY ***
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In the Valley
By
Harold Frederic
Copyright 1890
Dedication.
_When, after years of preparation, the pleasant task of writing this tale was begun, I had my chief delight in the hope that the completed book would gratify a venerable friend, to whose inspiration my first idea of the work was due, and that I might be allowed to place his honored name upon this page. The ambition was at once lofty and intelligible. While he was the foremost citizen of New York State, we of the Mohawk Valley thought of him as peculiarly our own. Although born elsewhere, his whole adult life was spent among us, and he led all others in his love for the Valley, his pride in its noble history, and his broad aspirations for the welfare and progress in wise and good ways of its people. His approval ef this book would have been the highest honor it could possibly have won. Long before it was finished, he had been laid in his last sleep upon the bosom of the hills that watch over our beautiful river. With reverent affection the volume is brought now to lay as a wreath upon his grave--dedicated to the memory of Horatio Seymour._
London, _September 11_, 1890
Contents.
Chapter I. "The French Are in the Valley!" Chapter II. Setting Forth How the Girl Child Was Brought to Us. Chapter III. Master Philip Makes His Bow--And Behaves Badly Chapter IV. In Which I Become the Son of the House. Chapter V. How a Stately Name Was Shortened and Sweetened. Chapter VI. Within Sound of the Shouting Waters. Chapter VII. Through Happy Youth to Man's Estate. Chapter VIII. Enter My Lady Berenicia Cross. Chapter IX. I See My Sweet Sister Dressed in Strange Attire. Chapter X. The Masquerade Brings Me Nothing but Pain. Chapter XI. As I Make My Adieux Mr. Philip Comes In. Chapter XII. Old-Time Politics Pondered under the Starlight. Chapter XIII. To the Far Lake Country and Home Again. Chapter XIV. How I Seem to Feel a Wanting Note in the Chorus of Welcome. Chapter XV. The Rude Awakening from My Dream. Chapter XVI. Tulp Gets a Broken Head to Match My Heart. Chapter XVII. I Perforce Say Farewell to My Old Home. Chapter XVIII. The Fair Beginning of a New Life in Ancient Albany. Chapter XIX. I Go to a Famous Gathering at the Patroon's Manor House. Chapter XX. A Foolish and Vexatious Quarrel Is Thrust upon Me. Chapter XXI. Containing Other News Besides that from Bunker Hill. Chapter XXII. The Master and Mistress of Cairncross. Chapter XXIII. How Philip in Wrath, Daisy in Anguish, Fly Their Home. Chapter XXIV. The Night Attack Upon Quebec--And My Share in It. Chapter XXV. A Crestfallen Return to Albany. Chapter XXVI. I See Daisy and the Old Home Once More. Chapter XXVII. The Arrest of Poor Lady Johnson. Chapter XXVIII. An Old Acquaintance Turns Up in Manacles. Chapter XXIX. The Message Sent Ahead from the Invading Army. Chapter XXX. From the Scythe and Reaper to the Musket. Chapter XXXI. The Rendezvous of Fighting Men at Fort Dayton. Chapter XXXII. "The Blood Be on Your Heads." Chapter XXXIII. The Fearsome Death-Struggle in the Forest. Chapter XXXIV. Alone at Last with My Enemy. Chapter XXXV. The Strange Uses to Which Revenge May Be Put. Chapter XXXVI. A Final Scene in the Gulf which My Eyes Are Mercifully Spared. Chapter XXXVII. The Peaceful Ending of It All.
In The Valley
Chapter I.
"The French Are in the Valley!"
It may easily be that, during the many years which have come and gone since the eventful time of my childhood, Memory has played tricks upon me to the prejudice of Truth. I am indeed admonished of this by study of my son, for whose children in turn this tale is indited, and who is now able to remember many incidents of his youth--chiefly beatings and like parental cruelties--which I know very well never happened at all. He is good enough to forgive me these mythical stripes and bufferings, but he nurses their memory with ostentatious and increasingly succinct recollection, whereas for my own part, and for his mother's, our enduring fear was lest we had spoiled him through weak fondness. By good fortune the reverse has been true. He is grown into a man of whom any parents might be proud--tall, well-featured, strong, tolerably learned, honorable, and of influence among his fellows. His affection for us, too, is very great. Yet in the fashion of this new generation, which speaks without waiting to be addressed, and does not scruple to instruct on all subjects its elders, he will have it that he feared me when a lad--and with cause! If fancy can so distort impressions within such short span, it does not become me to be too set about events which come back slowly through the mist and darkness of nearly threescore years.
