Chapter 1 - Page 2

historical piece of his day. As I have said before, the leading
events of my time will find their way into the pages of far more pretending
works than this of mine, in some form or other, with more or less of
fidelity to the truth, and real events, and real motives; while the humbler
matters it will be my office to record, will be entirely overlooked by
writers who aspire to enrol their names among the Tacituses of former ages.
It may be well to say here, however, I shall not attempt the historical
mood at all, but content myself with giving the feelings, incidents, and
interests of what is purely private life, connecting them no farther with
things that are of a more general nature, than is indispensable to render
the narrative intelligible and accurate. With these explanations, which are
made in order to prevent the person who may happen first to commence the
perusal of this manuscript from throwing it into the fire, as a silly
attempt to write a more silly fiction, I shall proceed at once to the
commencement of my proper task.

I was born on the 3d May, 1737, on a neck of land, called Satanstoe, in the
county of West Chester, and in the colony of New York; a part of the widely
extended empire that then owned the sway of His Sacred Majesty, George II.,
King of Great Britain, Ireland, and France; Defender of the Faith; and, I
may add, the shield and panoply of the Protestant Succession; God bless
him! Before I say anything of my parentage, I will first give the reader
some idea of the _locus in quo_, and a more precise notion of the spot on
which I happened first to see the light.

A "neck," in West Chester and Long Island parlance, means something that
might be better termed a "head and shoulders," if mere shape and dimensions
are kept in view. Peninsula would be the true word, were we describing
things on a geographical scale; but, as they are, I find it necessary to
adhere to the local term, which is not altogether peculiar to our county,
by the way. The "neck" or peninsula of Satanstoe, contains just four
hundred and sixty-three acres and a half of excellent West Chester land;
and that, when the stone is hauled and laid into wall, is saying as much in
its favour as need be said of any soil on earth. It has two miles of beach,
and collects a proportionate quantity of sea-weed for manure, besides
enjoying near a hundred acres of salt-meadow and sedges, that are not
included in the solid ground of the neck proper. As my father, Major
Evans Littlepage, was to inherit this estate from his father, Capt. Hugh
Littlepage, it might, even at the time of my birth, be considered old
family property, it having indeed, been acquired by my grandfather, through
his wife, about thirty years