Capacity for Welfare Across Species

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Capacity for Welfare across Species
Capacity for Welfare
across Species
TAT JA NA V I Š A K
 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,
United Kingdom
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford.
It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship,
and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of
Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries
© Tatjana Višak 2022
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
First Edition published in 2022
Impression: 1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics
rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the
above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above
You must not circulate this work in any other form
and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press
198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Data available
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022941775
ISBN 978–0–19–288220–2
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192882202.001.0001
Printed and bound by
CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and
for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials
contained in any third party website referenced in this work.
To Miko
 Acknowledgements

Special thanks for helpful discussions and support throughout the years
goes to Roger Crisp, Jeff McMahan, and Peter Singer. I am also grateful to
everyone else—colleagues, friends, and my husband and kids—who showed
interest in me and this book project. Thank you, Verena, for going through
the whole manuscript and checking my English! The book profited from the
valuable feedback from two anonymous referees and the helpful suggestions
from my OUP editors. I dedicate this book to my dog Miko, who, familiar
and mysterious, has been present throughout the whole writing process and
has taught me a lot about the topic.
 Contents

1. Introduction 1
1.1 Comparisons of Welfare across Species 2
1.2 Assumptions 4
1.3 The Difference-View 8
1.4 The Equality-View 11
1.5 Theories of Welfare 13
1.6 What Ought We to Do? 16
1.7 Outline of the Book 19
2. The Difference-View 21
2.1 Kagan’s Objective List Account of Welfare 21
2.2 Singer’s Whole Life Preferentialism 28
2.3 Mill on Higher and Lower Pleasures 31
2.4 McMahan’s Notion of ‘Fortune’ 36
2.5 Wong on Experiential versus Absolute Welfare 40
2.6 Budolfson and Spear’s Formula 54
3. The Equality-View 60
3.1 Animal Welfare Science 60
3.2 Welfare as Self-Fulfilment 65
3.3 An Evolutionary Perspective 74
4. Welfare across Time 88
4.1 Harm of Death 88
4.2 The Relevance of Different Lifespans 96
4.3 An Application of the Total-Duration View 99
5. Practical Implications 112
5.1 Moral Status 113
5.2 Promoting Welfare by Creating Welfare Subjects? 130
5.3 (Dis-)Counting Animals 137

Bibliography 143
Index 151
 1
Introduction

Assessments and comparisons of individuals’ welfare are common in every-

day life. We answer questions about how we are doing. We enquire about
the welfare of others and do or do not believe the answers that we get. We
compare welfare across time. It might, for instance, worry me that, due to
some illness, my friend is worse off these days than she was last month.
I might, furthermore, wonder whether my dog is better off in my family
than he used to be when he was still living in the streets of Romania. We
also compare welfare across individuals. For instance, a father’s judgement
that his daughter is currently worse off than his son might motivate him to
give her some special attention. I might wonder whether my dog, with his
playful and carefree life, is better off than I am. The latter would be a
comparison of welfare not only across individuals of the same species but
across individuals of different species.
This book is mainly concerned with a central question related to cross-­
species comparisons of welfare. The book inquires whether welfare sub-
jects of different species have the same rather than a different capacity for
welfare. Without an answer to this question, welfare cannot be compared
across species. There is currently no agreement and only a little discussion
about the important question of cross-­species capacity for welfare. Before
I further introduce the issue of cross-­species capacity for welfare (sec-
tions 1.3 to 1.6) and present an outline of this book (section 1.7), I will
illustrate the practical relevance of comparisons of welfare across species
(section 1.1) and mention some assumptions that underly such compari-
sons (section 1.2).1

1 Parts of chapters 1.1 and 1.2 are reproduced with permission from Palgrave MacMillan
from Višak (2017).

Capacity for Welfare across Species. Tatjana Višak, Oxford University Press. © Tatjana Višak 2022.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192882202.003.0001
2 Capacity for Welfare across Species

1.1 Comparisons of Welfare across Species

Comparisons of welfare across species are of practical relevance. They may,

and often do, inform considerations of consumers, policymakers, activists,
and ethicists. Let me mention a few examples.
Policymakers formulate animal welfare considerations in species-­specific
rules. Since what one may or may not do to a member of an animal species
is supposed to be related to the impact on the welfare of the individual in
question, cross-­species comparisons seem to be necessary. For instance, in
the Netherlands it is legally permitted to take calves but not piglets from
their mother immediately after birth. Does this suggest that such a sep­ar­
ation is more harmful for piglets than it is for cows? Most probably, the rea-
son for this difference is the economic interest in milking the cow but not
the sow. But since such regulations are part of animal welfare legislation,
one might justify or question the difference in terms of the animals’ welfare
(Bracke 2006).
Likewise, the Dutch decision to ban mink farms on animal welfare
grounds may raise the question whether minks are worse off than, for
ex­ample, hens in cages. Again, other considerations may explain the ban on
mink farming, such as the public opinion that fur, as opposed to eggs, is a
luxury product. But if a certain treatment is forbidden for one species but
not for others in animal welfare legislation, one might justify or question
such rules by an appeal to cross-­species comparisons of welfare (Bracke 2006).
There are many examples of possible appeals to cross-­species compari-
sons of welfare: consumers, for instance, may decide which animal products
to consume or to boycott based on such assessments. One might, for
instance, reject the use of meat, but accept the use of wool based on a com-
parison of the welfare of the animals that are used for these products. Here
as well, other considerations, such as the availability of alternatives to the
products in question, may play an important role. Still, animal welfare con-
siderations may at least be part of such a decision.
Similarly, animal rights or animal welfare activists may prioritize their
campaigns based on cross-­species comparisons of welfare. For instance,
they may decide to campaign against the use of great apes in invasive bio-
medical research or they may campaign against the use of elephants in cir-
cuses, rather than against the use of other animal species that are expected
to suffer less in these practices. Again, other considerations may be relevant,
for instance the expected success of the campaign. I do not here want to
defend the correctness of any of these cross-­species comparisons of welfare.
The examples are just meant to illustrate their practical relevance.
 Introduction 3

Ethicists as well appeal to comparisons of welfare across species. For

instance, utilitarians aim at maximizing welfare. They need to know how to
make the best use of their resources, such as time and money. So, they need,
at least in principle, to compare the effects of various actions on welfare and
this often involves comparing welfare across species. The same holds for
effective altruists, who are not necessarily utilitarians, but who want to
make the greatest positive difference with the time and money that they
devote to charitable causes. Prioritarians, in turn, hold that the worst-­off
individuals deserve our special attention and thus they need to determine
how individuals fare as compared to each other. Egalitarians also care about
how welfare is distributed and strive for an equal distribution of welfare.
Thus, they cannot do without cross-­ species comparisons either. Other
moral theories as well are likely to encounter situations where such com-
parisons are asked for.
From a normative perspective, comparisons of welfare across species are
important just in case the welfare of individuals from different species is
morally relevant. That both human and non-­human animal welfare matters
for what we have reason to do is widely accepted among ethicists and ­people
in general. It is an assumption that I take for granted in this book. (In sec-
tion 5.1 I take up the question how much the welfare of various species of
animals matters.) However, the question about the capacity for welfare of
different species as well as the issue of cross-­species comparisons of welfare
can be considered interesting, independently of its relevance for what we
have reason to do.
Even though it is easy to see the practical relevance of cross-­species com-
parisons of welfare, surprisingly little has been said so far about how exactly
to compare welfare across species. Mark Budolfson and Dean Spears (2020,
606) characterize what they call ‘the challenge of interspecies comparisons’
of welfare:

Animal welfare is almost never included in policy analysis [. . .] increas-

ingly also because we do not currently have good methods for quantifying
animal wellbeing consequences and putting them on the same scale as
quantified human wellbeing consequences.

Thus, Budolfson and Spears suggest that even if we wanted, for example, to
assess the harm of climate change for both humans and non-­humans, we
are lacking any principled guideline for how to do it. Not merely are we
unsure about certain details, but we may have no clue about how to com-
pare welfare across species even in principle. According to Budolfson and
4 Capacity for Welfare across Species

Spears (2020, 606), it is possible and relatively easy for animal welfare scien-
tists to find out how well off an individual human or non-­human welfare
subject is relative to its potential or capacity for welfare. Even lay people may
be able to assess, for example, whether a particular dog is leading a good or
a bad life for a dog. They can make up their minds about the question to
what extent the dog fulfils his potential for welfare. The much harder ques-
tion, according to Budolfson and Spears (2020, 606), is getting grip on the
relative potential or capacity for welfare of different species:

[. . .] the most difficult problem that needs to be solved in connection with

interspecies comparisons, [. . .] is how to estimate the wellbeing capacity
(wellbeing potential) of members of a non-­human species relative to the
wellbeing capacity of humans.

One may add that not only do we need to know how another species’ poten-
tial for welfare relates to that of humans, but we also need to compare the
welfare potential of various non-­human species with each other.
We need a grip on capacity for welfare across species if we are to count
the welfare of different species on the same scale. This book aims at address-
ing this challenge and thus at illuminating what the relative capacity or
potential for welfare of individuals from different species is. Comparisons
of welfare will differ enormously, depending on what answer to the question
about cross-­species capacity for welfare one gives. Before I introduce the
main positions about cross-­species capacity for welfare, I will pause to make
explicit some assumptions behind comparisons of welfare across species.

1.2 Assumptions

Comparisons of welfare across species are based on various assumptions.

First, it is assumed that animals of different species have a welfare level.
This does not mean that all animals are subjects of welfare. Whether any ani-
mal is a subject of welfare depends on which theory of welfare is correct as
well as on empirical facts about the animal in question. For instance, accord-
ing to hedonism the amount of pleasure—­usually understood broadly as
enjoyment minus suffering—­in an individual’s life determines how well off
the individual is. According to this account of welfare, only those who can
experience enjoyment and/or suffering are subjects of welfare. It is an empir-
ical question what animals are capable of enjoyment and suffering. According
 Introduction 5

to most accounts of welfare, non-­sentient animals are not welfare subjects. If

any of these accounts of welfare is correct, we need to know which animals
are sentient if we are to determine who qualifies as a subject of welfare. This
is a question that empirical scientists need to answer, keeping in mind,
though, that the information that scientists provide (e.g. about observable
behaviour or brain structures) and the one that ethicists require (e.g. about
subjective experiences) does not always fit together in a straightforward way.
Scientists who work on demarcating the boarders of sentience often
focus on the detection of pain. Pain needs to be distinguished from mere
nociception, which is ‘the non-­ conscious detection of tissue damage’
(Browning 2019, 11). It is controversial how to distinguish the capacity of
feeling pain from the capacity for nociception. Scientists propose different
criteria (e.g. Sneddon et al. 2014).
There is a broad consensus among scientists that at least all mammals
and birds are sentient. These animals possess a similar nervous system and
brain structure as can be found in humans and show similar reactions to
stimuli (Low et al. 2012, 2; Proctor 2012). Several scientists argue in favour
of sentience in fish, based on alleged behavioural evidence (Proctor 2012;
Braithwaite 2010). Others are unconvinced and point out that fish lack the
allegedly required brain structures and connectivity (Key 2016; Cabanac
2009, 1998). Fish may process pain in a structurally different way than
mammals (Sneddon et al. 2014). The issue is unsettled, and different capaci-
ties may be available to different fishes (Allan 2011). However, there seems
to be a growing consensus in favour of fish sentience and even in favour of
sentience for some invertebrates, such as cephalopods and decapods (Birch
et al. 2021). Whether animals such as snails, earthworms, or insects may be
sentient is more doubtful. These animals also lack the structures that prod­
uce sentience in mammals (Proctor 2012). Nevertheless, some scientists
hold that the function of sentience does not necessarily require these struc-
tures and that the animals in question seem to meet some behavioural or
physiological criteria for sentience (Sneddon et al. 2014; Jones 2013;
Ginsburg & Jablonka 2019, 351). On the other hand, which criteria they
meet, if any, is still controversial and meeting only some criteria may not be
enough. Currently, we do not have strong evidence for the sentience of
these animals and the scientific consensus in favour of the possession of
certain ethically relevant properties can be expected to be weaker than ethi-
cists make it seem (Allen 2006). Since most animals are in fact insects,
which might not be sentient, most animals may not be subjects of welfare.
But nevertheless, many of them—­and certainly mammals and birds—­are.
6 Capacity for Welfare across Species

A second assumption behind cross-­species comparisons of welfare is that

an animal’s welfare level can in principle be measured on a (semi-) quantita-
tive scale. Thus, we can at least rank an individual’s welfare level as low,
medium, or high (Bracke 2006). It seems that we can describe welfare levels
as negative, neutral, or positive and we can even provide estimates of wel-
fare scores, such as 8 out of 10.
A third assumption is that the welfare of different animals, including ani-
mals from different species, can be measured, and compared on a single
scale. This means that we are talking about the same thing, welfare, in case
of both humans and non-­human animals (Bracke 2006).
Are these assumptions warranted? It seems that they are. After all, lay-
persons and experts alike have been found to compare welfare across spe-
cies without hesitation, apparently using a common scale across species
(Bracke 2006, 63). Even legislation, for instance about animal experimenta-
tion, requires weighing the discomfort of different species on a common
scale. Furthermore, we use one word, ‘welfare’, for different species. Lastly,
as we saw, many moral theories require cross-­species comparisons. These
metaphysical, psychological, linguistic as well as political and ethical per-
spectives suggest that it is plausible to assume that these comparisons make
sense in principle (Sandøe 1996).
There is some controversy about the possibility of cross-­species compari-
sons of welfare based on preferentialism, which is a specific theory of what
welfare consists in (Broome 1998; Scanlon 1991). But this discussion con-
cerns possible difficulties for this theory of welfare, and not the impossibil-
ity of these comparisons in general. Nevertheless, if preferentialism were
the correct theory of welfare and couldn’t account for cross-­species com-
parisons of welfare, the latter would not be possible. But this can be con­
sidered an implausible implication of preferentialism and thus an argument
against the plausibility of this account of welfare rather than an argument
against the possibility of comparing welfare across species. I am inclined to
think that these comparisons are possible, even based on preferentialism. I
will not discuss the alleged problem of preferentialism with cross-­species
comparisons of welfare in this book. Instead, I go along with the widely
accepted view among ethicists today, according to which these comparisons
face no principled objections.
Even though I assume that there is no principled objection to compari-
sons of welfare, there can, of course, be practical challenges. Welfare cannot
be directly measured. To measure welfare, we first need to settle on a theory
of welfare that tells us what welfare is. (Section 1.5 introduces theories of
 Introduction 7

welfare.) Whatever welfare consists in is likely to be something that cannot

be directly measured either. For example, assume that welfare consists in
having pleasant mental states. We cannot directly measure how pleasant a
mental state of an individual is, since we do not have direct access to other
individuals’ experiences. In some cases, we may be able to ask the in­di­vid­
uals about their amount of felt pleasure and take their responses as indica-
tors of their felt pleasure and thus of their welfare. In addition, or
alternatively, we may find other indicators, such as behaviour, heart rate, or
brain activity. Whatever indicators we chose, we can never be sure whether
the same score of two individuals regarding the indicator really goes
together with the same subjective experience.
Assume that I offer two dogs the same treat and that they show different
behavioural and physiological reactions. Does the one with the faster heart
rate and tail wagging enjoy the treat more? Or is this animal merely show-
ing a stronger reaction to the same subjective experience? How can we tell?
As Browning (2019, 138) points out:

Within-­species differences in individual behavioral and physiological

responses to positive and negative stimuli are common [. . .] and it is diffi-
cult in these cases to determine whether or not results imply a welfare
difference.

This is what Browning (2019, 136) calls ‘the comparison problem’.

Browning’s challenge does not concern the principled, theoretical, issue
of comparisons of welfare across species. It concerns the identification of
indicators for doing so. Those who are pondering the question whether the
different heart rates of the two dogs upon receiving my treat indicate real
differences in felt pleasure or merely different physiological reactions based
on the same amount of felt pleasure, are already assuming that the dogs feel
pleasure and that their felt pleasure, whatever it is, grounds their welfare. They
are, thus, not casting doubt on the principled comparability of welfare.
They are only pondering how we can practically do it. I say ‘only’ from a
philosopher’s perspective here. For animal welfare scientists, the practical
question of how to do the comparisons and what indicators to rely on is, of
course, a major issue. This practical challenge concerns comparisons within
species and even more so between species. This practical challenge of what
indicators to rely on will not be addressed in this book (see Browning 2019).
In one of the classical contributions to the philosophical discussion
about welfare, Wayne Sumner (1996, 14) introduced what he called the
8 Capacity for Welfare across Species

‘four cardinal virtues’ for theories of welfare. One of them, the virtue of
generality, says that a theory of welfare should be applicable to all beings
with welfare:

We make welfare assessments [. . .] concerning a wide variety of subjects.

Besides the paradigm case of adult human persons, our welfare vocabu-
lary applies just as readily to children and infants, and to many non-­
human beings. It is perfectly natural for me to say that my cat is doing
well, that having an ear infection is bad for her, that she has benefited from
a change of diet, and so on. In making these judgments it certainly seems
to me that I am applying exactly the same concept of welfare to my cat that
I habitually apply to my friends. A theory of welfare will therefore [. . .] be
incomplete if it covers only them and ignores her. (Sumner 1996, 14)

I will take it for granted in this book that comparing welfare across species
is possible in principle. Indeed, theories of welfare should be able to handle
such comparisons. If we are to determine how to compare welfare across
species, we cannot avoid the issue of cross-­species capacity for welfare, to
which I will turn in the remainder of this book.

1.3 The Difference-­View

Before getting into the philosophical details and controversies concerning

capacity for welfare across species, it is worth asking what a common-­sense
approach to the issue would be. Shelly Kagan describes and defends a view,
which he thinks is widely accepted. According to this view,

people are generally better off than animals (and chimpanzees, than mos-
quitos); they have lives of higher quality, providing greater benefits to the
individuals whose lives they are. Putting the point in slightly different
terms, by virtue of the tremendous differences in their capacities for wel-
fare and flourishing a person generally has a significantly higher level of
well-­being than a dog, say, or a cow; and a dog, in turn, has a significantly
higher level of well-­being than a snake or a fish. It is because of facts like
these that a loss of life, for example, harms a person more than it harms a
mouse. The person would normally be incomparably better off than the
mouse; so what she stands to lose is incomparably greater as well.
(Kagan 2019, 46)
 Introduction 9

‘People’ or ‘persons’, as Kagan uses the term, are individuals with certain
higher cognitive capacities, no matter of which species. Normal human
adults are people in that sense. In Kagan’s terminology, very young humans
are not people yet and some humans with severe cognitive disabilities may
never be people. Meanwhile, some non-­humans, such as, perhaps, great
apes or cetaceans may well be people. Thus, when Kagan contrasts people to
animals in the above quotation (and in other passages that I will quote),
‘animals’ refers to non-­human animals that lack the capacities that are
required for personhood. It is an empirical question what capacities par-
ticular animals have.
Kagan’s view implies that animals with lower cognitive capacities are gen-
erally worse off than people. Kagan somewhat confusingly says that people
are ‘incomparably’ better off, but this is not to say that their welfare cannot
be compared on the same scale. Kagan assumes that the welfare of in­di­vid­
uals from different species can be compared on the same scale. It’s just that,
according to this view, people are capable of, and generally have, much
more welfare than dogs, which, in turn, are capable of, and generally have,
much more welfare than mice.
Kagan (2019, 46) assumes that ‘most people’ would find this view ‘uncon-
troversial’. Indeed, Kagan is not its only proponent. Even though I doubt his
claims about the wide agreement with this view among the public, it is a
prominent and perhaps the dominant view among philosophers who are
writing on the issue. For example, Kagan (2019, 47) approvingly quotes
Kitcher (2015, 298), who claims that

a fly’s life doesn’t amount to a lot, even at the best of times.

Furthermore, Kagan (2019, 47) approvingly quotes Frey (1996, 13), who claims:

The fullest mouse life there has ever been, so science would seem at the
moment to suggest, does not approach the full life of a human; the differ-
ence in capacities, and what these additional capacities make pos­sible by
way of further dimensions to human existence, is just too great.

John Stuart Mill (1963/2002, 13) famously exclaimed that ‘it is better to
be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied, better to be Socrates
dissatisfied than a fool satisfied’. According to this common philosophical
view different welfare subjects have different capacities for welfare, based on
different cognitive capacities.
10 Capacity for Welfare across Species

Some authors focus on emotional, rather than cognitive, differences

between species. They may refer to the capacity for having more complex
emotions, or more intense pleasures and pains. Typically, those who focus
on emotional differences, or on hedonic differences, relate them to cogni-
tive differences. Thus, they may believe that the complexity of one’s emo-
tional life is linked to one’s cognitive complexity or that a greater number
of brain neurons allows for a broader range of enjoyment and suffering.
However, in principle, cognitive and emotional capacities may come apart.
For example, individuals may have a certain complexity of neural affective
pathways or concentrations of neurotransmitters without having complex
cognitive capacities. (I will discuss hedonic capacity in detail in sections
2.5, 2.6, and 3.3.)
I will call the view, according to which different cognitive or emotional
capacities are the basis for different capacities for welfare among welfare
subjects the ‘difference-­view’ about capacity for welfare across species, DIF
for short.

DIF: Welfare subjects, such as humans, dogs, and mice, have fundamentally
different capacities for welfare, due to their different cognitive or emotional
capacities.

Kagan (2019, 46) considers an objection to DIF. According to this objection,

the view expresses a mere prejudice that humans tend to have in favour of
the value of their own lives. If we asked a dog or a squirrel, each of them
would possibly rank the lives of its own species as the best. To this objection
Kagan replies that if those animals could contemplate comparisons of wel-
fare across species, they too would be people. Kagan also claims that the
mere fact that only humans express the above-­mentioned view about the
value of lives doesn’t disqualify it as prejudiced. I agree with both observa-
tions. Nevertheless, as Kagan admits, humans should take care to avoid
prejudice and parochialism and should be open to new and developing
empirical insights about the lives and capacities of non-­humans. Kagan
(2019, 47) considers it ‘extremely unlikely’, though, that we will discover any
empirical facts about the lives of animals that make us abandon the judge-
ment that our lives are more valuable than theirs. I also do not expect that
new insights about the capacities of animals will be likely to cause that
change of mind. Yet, I seriously doubt the line of reasoning that leads Kagan
to conclude that people are generally better off than dogs and that dogs are
generally better off than mice. The problem with DIF, as I see it, is not the
underlying assumptions about different cognitive or emotional capacities of
 Introduction 11

different species of animals. I am happy to grant that people have a range of

cognitive and emotional capacities that dogs and mice lack. However, I
doubt their relevance for welfare. I hope that the philosophical investigation
along with some empirical findings that I present in this book will show
that DIF is on weaker ground than Kagan and likeminded authors make
it seem.

1.4 The Equality-­View

Even though DIF is a possible view about cross-­species capacity for welfare
and apparently prominent among philosophers, not everyone seems to
agree with it. It is particularly remarkable, I think, that animal welfare scien-
tists hold views that may be incompatible with DIF. This is not to say that
animal welfare scientists take an explicit stance on cross-­species capacity for
welfare. They don’t. But what they have to say about animal welfare seems to
be in tension with DIF. Animal welfare science is concerned with the scien-
tific study of the welfare of animals in different settings, such as in zoos, in
laboratories, on farms, as pets and in the wild. The world’s first professor-
ship in this discipline was appointed by Cambridge University (UK) in
1986. Animal welfare science aims at investigating animal welfare using
rigorous scientific methods. Nevertheless, in their conceptualizations and
theories of welfare, animal welfare scientists enter the field of philosophy,
specifically value theory. After all, to know what to measure and compare
scientifically, they first need to settle on what welfare is. (I will have more to
say about the views of animal welfare scientists in section 3.1.)
Here is an example of an animal welfare scientist’s assessment of welfare.
Mark Bracke (2006) compares the welfare of different species of animals
that are kept in different husbandry systems. Among others, he compares
the welfare of laying hens in battery cages and dairy cows on pasture. As
depicted in Table 1.1, Bracke provides a list of needs—­such as food, water,
and rest—­that the animals have. (Bracke adds many other needs that are not
shown here.) He uses a ranking scale from 1 (worst) to 4 (best) that indi-
cates to what extent each need is fulfilled for the animal in question. In
Table 1.1, we see that the need for food and water is maximally fulfilled for
both species in both systems. The need for rest is not entirely fulfilled in
case of battery hens, since they have no perch and only a wire floor, which is
not what they need to rest appropriately. Adding the scores for all needs
gives us an animal’s welfare score. To refine the assessment, one can give
more weight to more important needs, as Bracke (2006) points out.
12 Capacity for Welfare across Species

Table 1.1 Fulfilment of needs as indicator of welfare.

Need Laying hens in battery cages Dairy cows at pasture

Food 4, ad libitum 4, ad libitum

Water 4, clean nipple, easy to reach 4, clean trough in pasture
Rest 2, no perch; wire floor 4, proper surface, pasture
… … …

This results in a welfare score for dairy cows on pasture and for laying
hens, which is the average score of the overall need fulfilment for each ani-
mal. These welfare scores can be directly compared. In case of cows on pas-
ture the average score, based on all relevant needs that Bracke included (and
that are not all shown here), was 3.19. In case of battery hens, it was 2.16.
Bracke concludes, among other things, that dairy cows at pasture are better
off then battery hens and he can explain why this is the case: they can fulfil
their needs to a greater extent.
Something along these lines seems to be a common way of comparing
welfare across species among the public, even if it is not always done as
explicitly as Bracke does it here. I assume that Bracke would have used the
same procedure in comparisons of welfare between mice, dogs, great apes,
and all other welfare subjects. This view on comparing welfare across spe-
cies implies that welfare subjects have an equal capacity for welfare, despite
different cognitive or emotional capacities. I will therefore call it the
‘equality-­view’ about capacity for welfare, EQU for short.

EQU: Welfare subjects have fundamentally equal capacities for welfare,

despite their different cognitive or emotional capacities.

So, we’ve got two opposed views: DIF and EQU. Even though I have pre-
sented only rough sketches of these views so far, it should be clear that they
may have wildly different implications. According to DIF, even a barely
happy human may be much better off than the happiest of pigs. Meanwhile,
EQU implies that a barely happy human is probably worse off than the hap-
piest of pigs. The barely happy human may have many unmet needs, while
the very happy pig may be completely satisfied.
Throughout this book, I will have much more to say about each of these
approaches to find out which of them is more plausible. I will ultimately
reject DIF and defend EQU. My rejection of DIF will not be restricted to
Kagan’s version of it, but I will also discuss and reject other defences of such
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“Yes, yes, I am coming, Franky. Mamma, dearest mamma! I do so
dislike to leave you alone to-night—it seems so cruel. We are all
going but you. Everybody on the island, black and white, can go
abroad but you. Mamma, why is it? Why do you never leave the
island, dearest mamma?” inquired Margaret, fixing her earnest,
tender eyes wistfully upon her mother’s face.
“Because I do not will to do so, my dear; there, go and enjoy
yourself, love. See, your father and Forrest are already in the other
boat, and Franky is waiting to put my pearl in his shell. Good-night,
sweet!” said Mrs. Helmstedt, kissing her daughter, with a smile so
bright that it cheered the maiden, and sent her tripping to join her
companion.
The Nereide, containing Mr. Helmstedt and his man, had already left
the shore. Franky handed Margaret into the dainty boat, that was so
perfectly clean as not to endanger the spotless purity of her gala
dress. When she was seated, and Franky had taken his place at the
oars and pushed a little way from the shore, he said:
“This boat is yours, you know, dear Margaret; my parting gift; I had it
built on purpose, and painted it myself, and named it for you.
‘Margaret,’ you know, means ‘pearl,’ and this boat that carries you is
a pearl shell; I colored it as near like one as I could. I should like to
have the pleasure of rowing you about in it, but”—with a deep sigh
—“I can’t! However, you will not want attention, Margaret, for my
brother Ralph will be home, where I am sure he will stay; for they say
that we are on the eve of war with England, in which case it will not
be expedient for him to go to Europe—so, of course, he will stay
home, and equally, of course, if he is a great Don, he will supply my
place to you, Margaret! You have not answered one word that I have
said to you—why, what is the matter?”
Margaret, with her thoughts and affections still lingering with her
mother left behind, had turned to give her a last look, and in doing so
had started and grown pale to see her still standing there, her black
dress strongly marked against the drear, white beach, alone,
desolate, in an attitude and with an expression of utter despair.
Margaret had never before surprised that look of heartbroken
hopelessness upon her mother’s well-guarded countenance, and
now having seen it, she never afterward in life forgot it.
“You do not speak, Margaret; you do not like my boat?”
“Oh, indeed I do, Franky! And you are very kind; but I am thinking of
mamma; I am afraid she will be lonesome to-night, and, indeed, I
wish to return to her.”
“Nonsense, my dear Margaret. She would send you off again;
besides, what would your father say?”
“But do, then, look at her, Franky, where she stands alone.”
The youth turned around; but Mrs. Helmstedt saw them watching
her, smiled her bright, delusive smile, waved them adieu, and turned
away.
Margaret sighed.
And Franky pulled rapidly for the Bluff, which they reached just after
sunset.
“Is not that a fine sight, Margaret?” asked her companion, as they left
the boat and climbed the bluff, pointing to the illuminated front of the
mansion that cast a long stream of red light across the darkening
water.
“Yes,” said Margaret, absently; for she saw in her “mind’s eye,” not
the twenty festive lights before her, but her mother’s solitary figure
left behind on the beach.
They soon arrived at the house, where the young girl was met by
Mrs. Houston, who conducted her to the dressing-room, where
Grace Wellworth, Clare Hartley, and half a dozen other young ladies
were arranging their toilets. Very enthusiastic was the greeting
between Margaret and her young friends, whom she had not met
since their return.
“Why, what exquisite taste is displayed in your toilet, Madge, you
little rustic; one would think a city milliner had arranged it—who
dressed you?” inquired Clare Hartley.
“A more delicate hand—my dearest mamma,” said Margaret, her
thoughts again reverting to the mournful figure left standing alone on
the beach.
When they were all ready, they descended to the dancing-room—
two large parlors thrown into one, brilliantly lighted, and half filled
with a company of young, middle-aged and elderly persons, for there
was not youth enough in that neighborhood to make a considerable
assembly of themselves. A temporary platform at one end of the
room accommodated four sable musicians, with a large and small
violin, a tambourine and banjo, which they were tuning up with great
zeal.
Franky “opened the ball” by leading Margaret out; other couples
instantly followed, and the dancing commenced, but through the
liveliest strains of the music Margaret heard only her lonely mother’s
fond “good-night,” and with flying feet and beaming smiles around
her, saw only her mother’s solitary figure and mournful brow.
Ah! Marguerite Helmstedt! How could you presume to say: “The sins
of her parents shall not be visited upon this child.”
About nine o’clock the supper was served, and, while the company
were crowding in to the supper table, Margaret called Franky aside
and said:
“Franky, the moonlight is bright upon the water; if you love me, dear
Franky, take me home to mamma.”
“Why, you do astound me, dear Margaret! What would the company
say? Mother would never let you go.”
“I must steal away unobserved, for, Franky, I am sick to return to
mamma. Something draws me so strongly that I must and will go,
even, if need be, alone—do you understand?”
“I understand, dear Madge, that you inherit firmness from both sides
of your house, and that it is of very little use to oppose your will;
therefore, Margaret, I am at your orders.”
“Thank you, dear Franky—now go and see that the boat is ready,
while I run and put on my other shoes and shawl. We can go away
quite unobserved, and when you return you can make my apologies
and adieus to Mrs. Houston.”
Franky obeyed her.
And ten minutes after the youth and maiden were in The Pearl Shell,
skimming over the moonlit waters toward the isle.
Meanwhile Mrs. Helmstedt, when she had waved adieu to the young
people on their way to the party and turned from them, did not go
immediately home, but rambled up toward the north end of the
island, and here she walked up and down the sands, watching
absently the monotonous in-coming of the tide, or the leap and dip of
the fish, or the slow sailing of some laggard water fowl through the
evening air. As far as her eye could reach not a sail was visible in
any direction; land and water was a scene of unbroken solitude for
hours while she walked there. The sunset threw into deep shadow
the long line of the opposite western shore, the sky grew dark, and
still the sad recluse pursued her lonely monotonous walk. After
awhile the full moon rose and changed the darkened bay into a sea
of fluid silver, and shining full against the blackened western shore,
changed it into a line of diamond light. Then Marguerite was aware
of a sail making down the bay and bearing full upon the island. There
was no reason for the feeling, but the approach of this packet filled
the lady’s mind with a strange anxiety, alike impossible to explain or
expel. The vessel anchored near the isle and sent out a boat,
manned by two sailors, and containing a third person, apparently a
passenger.
The boat rowed rapidly toward the very spot upon which the lady
stood watching. In five minutes it touched the sands, and the
passenger, a gentleman of about fifty years of age, stepped ashore,
and, walking up to Marguerite, bowed respectfully and inquired:
“Will you be so good as to inform me, madam, whether Mrs.
Helmstedt is at present at home.”
But as the stranger approached, Marguerite had grown pale, and
now, leaning against a pine tree for support, exclaimed in a faint
tone:
“My God, has it come at last?”
“I fear, madam, that I have alarmed you by my sudden approach;
reassure yourself, dear lady!” said the visitor, politely.
But Marguerite, dropping her hands from before her agonized
countenance, exclaimed:
“Braunton! am I so changed, then, that you do not know me? I am
Marguerite Helmstedt, whom you seek. But in the name of Heaven,
then, what fatality has brought you here?”
“A fatality indeed, madam,” answered the stranger, in a sad tone.
“Come up to the house! by a merciful chance I am alone this
evening,” said the lady, struggling to sustain herself against the
agony of mind that was written in characters of iron on her
corrugated brow. The stranger gave her his arm as an indispensable
support, and the two proceeded toward the mansion.
 CHAPTER VIII.
LOVE, WAR AND BETROTHAL.
“Her mother smiled upon her bed,
As at its side we knelt to wed,
And the bride rose from her knee;
And she kissed the lips of her mother dead
Or ever she kissed me.”
—E. B. Browning.

None ever knew what passed between Mrs. Helmstedt and the gray-
haired stranger who was closeted with her, in her favorite parlor, for
several hours, that evening. No one was in the house, in fact, at the
time, except the lady, her venerable guest, and her two confidential
servants, Hildreth and Forrest, who had, of late years, grown into the
habit of silence in regard to everything concerning their unhappy
mistress. Once in the wane of that evening, Forrest rapped at the
door for orders, and had caught a glimpse of his mistress’s blanched
and haggard face, as she directed him to retire and wait until he
should hear her bell. And after waiting in the dining-room opposite,
for some hours, Forrest heard the departure of the visitor, but
listened in vain for Mrs. Helmstedt’s bell.
Meanwhile, The Pearl Shell, containing Margaret and Franky, glided
swiftly over the moonlit waters. As they neared the island, they saw
another boat, containing a pair of oarsmen and a single passenger,
push off from the beach and row rapidly toward a schooner,
anchored some quarter of a mile off. But as it was not an unusual
occurrence for passing vessels to send out boats to the isle for
water, wood or provisions, purchased from the negroes, the sight of
this one leaving its shores occasioned no remark.
“Now row swiftly home, dear Franky, or they will wonder what has
become of us,” said Margaret, as soon as she had sprung upon the
shore. But Franky refused to leave her until at least he had seen her
safely housed. So he took her hand, and they ran on up the sandy
barren, through the long timothy field, through the orchard, and
through the garden, until they reached the front piazza, where
Margaret insisted upon dismissing her boy lover, who reluctantly left
her.
And Margaret ran into the hall door, and thence into her mother’s
favorite parlor, on the threshold of which she stood appalled!
The two wax candles upon the mantelpiece were burning dimly, and
their pale light fell ominously upon the figure of Mrs. Helmstedt,
sitting on the short sofa, with her hands clasped rigidly together on
her lap, her eyes fixed and strained outward, and her face blanched
and frozen as if the hand of death had just passed over it.
One instant Margaret stood panic-stricken, and the next she was at
her mother’s side, speaking to her, kissing her, stroking her
forehead, and trying to unclasp and rub her rigidly-locked hands. For
some minutes these efforts were all in vain; and then a deep
shuddering sigh, that shook her whole form like the passage of an
inward storm, dissolved the spell that had bound her, and she grew
conscious of the presence of her child.
“Mamma, what shall I bring you? I had better call Hildreth,” said
Margaret, softly stealing away. But the hand that she had been
rubbing now closed on hers with a tight, restraining clasp, and a
deep, hollow, cavernous voice, that she scarcely recognized as her
mother’s answered:
“No—no—call no one, my child—stay with me.”
Margaret dropped upon the sofa, beside her mother, with a look of
mute wonder and devoted love, and seemed to await her further
commands.
“My child,” spoke the same hollow, cavernous, awful voice, “speak to
no living soul of what you have seen to-night.”
“I will not, dear mamma; but tell me what I can do for you.”
“Nothing, nothing, Margaret.”
“Can I not help you somehow?”
“I am beyond help, Margaret.”
“Mother, mother, trust in your loving child, the child of your heart,
who would give you back her life if she could give you happiness
with it, mother,” murmured Margaret, most tenderly, as she caressed
and fondled the rigid form of that dark, sorrowful woman—“trust in
your loving child, mother, your child that heard your heart calling her
to-night over the moonlit waters, and through all the music and
laughter came hurrying to your side.”
“Ah! so you did, my love, so you did; and I, so absorbed in my own
thoughts, did not even ask you whence you came, or how, or why.”
“Franky brought me at my earnest request. Now trust in me, dear
mother, trust in your faithful child.”
“If ever I be driven to lay the burden of my grief upon any human
heart, Margaret, it must be on yours—only on yours! for little
Margaret, in my life, I have loved many and worshiped one, but I fully
trust only you.”
“Trust me ever, mother! trust me fully, trust me even unto death; for I
would be faithful unto death,” said the maiden, earnestly, fervently,
solemnly.
“I know it, and I do trust you perfectly. Yet not now, not just now,
need I shift this weight from my heart to yours—’tis enough that one
living heart should bear that burthen at a time. I may leave it to you
as a legacy, my Margaret.”
“A legacy—a legacy—oh! mother, what mean you?” inquired the
maiden, as the sudden paleness of a deadly terror overspread her
sweet face.
“Nothing, nothing, my dove, that should alarm you. It is the order of
nature, is it not, that parents should die before their children? But
who talks of dying now? Your soft touches, my child, have given me
new life and strength. Lend me your arm; I will retire.”
“Let me sleep with you to-night, dear mother,” pleaded the maiden,
from whose earnest face the paleness of fear had not yet vanished.
An affectionate pressure of the hand was her only answer. And
Margaret assisted Mrs. Helmstedt to gain her chamber. That night, in
her prayers, Margaret earnestly thanked God that she had been led
to come home so opportunely to her lonely mother’s help.
And from that night the close union between the mother and
daughter seemed even more firmly cemented.
The next day Mr. Helmstedt returned. He had spent the night at
Heathville, and called in the morning at Buzzard’s Bluff for Margaret,
and hearing that she had grown anxious upon account of her mother
left alone on the island, and had returned, he simply approved the
step and dropped the subject.
Later in the same week, Franky Houston, boy as he was, took a
tearful leave of Margaret, turning back many times to assure her that
Ralph, when he came, would not leave her to mope in loneliness, but
would certainly, to the best of his ability, supply his (Franky’s) place.
And so the candid, open-hearted boy left.
And Margaret, who had grown to understand how dear she was to
Franky, felt her heart stricken with compunction to know how glad
she was that his place would soon be supplied by Ralph.
Grace Wellworth and Clare Hartley had also returned to their city
school. And “Island Mag” was left again companionless.
Not for a long time.
With the warm days of early summer came Ralph Houston, as he
said, for a short visit home, before he should sail for Europe to make
the grand tour.
But this month of June, 1812, was a month big with the fate of
nations as well as of individuals. The bitter disputes between the
young Republic and the “Mother Country,” like all family quarrels, did
not tend toward reconciliation, but on the contrary, month by month,
and year by year, had grown more acrid and exasperating, until at
length a war could no longer be warded off, and thus, without the
least preparation, either military or naval, Congress on the
eighteenth of June, 1812, declared war against Great Britain. Never
had Young America before, and never since, taken so rash and
impetuous a step. Never had an unfortunate country plunged
headlong into an unequal and perilous war under more forbidding
circumstances; with two formidable antagonists, and without either
army or navy in readiness to meet them. Yet no sooner had the
tocsin sounded through the land, than “the spirit of ’76” was aroused,
and an army arose. Simultaneously, all over the country, volunteer
companies were formed and marched toward the principal points of
gathering.
Among the first who started into action at the country’s call, was
Philip Helmstedt, who set about raising a company of volunteers in
his own neighborhood, and at his own expense. This enterprise took
him frequently from home, and kept him absent for many days at a
time. At last, about the middle of July, he had formed and equipped
his troop of one hundred men, and was prepared to march them to
obtain his commission from Mr. Madison.
Mrs. Helmstedt had watched his preparations for departure with the
mournful resignation of one whom sorrow had accustomed to
submission. He was to join his men at Belleview, and take one of the
larger packets bound up the Potomac River to the capital.
On the morning of his departure, Mrs. Helmstedt had risen early to
superintend the final arrangements for his comfort. And they
breakfasted alone at an early hour. Their child had not left her
chamber, her father having taken leave of her on the evening
previous. When breakfast was over, and the servants had withdrawn
from the room by their master’s order, Mr. Helmstedt approached his
wife, and seating himself beside her on the sofa, said:
“Marguerite! we are about to part. God knows for how long. It may be
years before we meet, if, indeed, we ever meet again, Marguerite!”
“I know how long it will be—until we meet in the spirit world!” thought
Mrs. Helmstedt; but she spoke not, only looked lovingly, mournfully
in the face of her departing husband.
“Marguerite, shall not this painful feud of years come to an end
between us?”
“There is not, there never has been, there never can be a feud
between us, dearest Philip. It was my bitter misfortune not to be able
to comply with your just requirements. In view of that, you fixed my
fate and I accepted it. There is no feud, dearest husband.”
“Marguerite, I cannot endure the thought of leaving you for so long a
time, restricted to the narrow confines of this island, and yet I cannot
do otherwise unless——”
“Dearest Philip, I have grown accustomed to confinement on this
island, and do not——” She paused abruptly.
“Marguerite, you were about to say that you do not care about it; but
you never uttered an untruth in your life, and could not be betrayed
into doing so now. Marguerite, you do care; you care bitterly about
the restraint that is placed upon your motions. Dear Marguerite, you
know the conditions of peace and freedom. Will you not, even at this
late day, accept them?”
“Oh, Mr. Helmstedt, had it been possible for me to have accepted
these conditions, I should have done so, not for my own advantage,
but for your satisfaction, thirteen years ago! Since that time nothing
has happened to render the impossible possible.”
“Then I am to understand, Marguerite, that you still hold out in your
resistance?” said Mr. Helmstedt, more gloomily than angrily.
She did not reply at first, except by a steady, mute, appealing look
from her dark, mournful eyes. But as Mr. Helmstedt still looked for a
reply, she said:
“Dear Philip, as you remarked, we are just about to part, and Heaven
only knows if ever we shall meet again on earth. Let us not have
hard feelings toward each other.”
“Good-by Marguerite,” he said, suddenly rising and taking his hat
and gloves.
“Good-by—not yet. Philip turn: let me look at you!” She clung tightly
to the hand he had given her, and held him fast while she fixed a
long, deep gaze upon his face—a gaze so strange, so wistful, so
embarrassing, that Mr. Helmstedt cut it short by saying, gently:
“Farewell, dearest! let me be gone.”
“Not yet! oh, not yet! a moment more!” her bosom swelled and
heaved, her lips quivered, but no tear dimmed her brilliant, feverish
eyes, that were still fixed in a riveting gaze upon his face.
Mr. Helmstedt felt himself strongly moved.
“Marguerite, why Marguerite, dearest, this is not like you! You are in
soul a Spartan woman! You will receive my parting kiss now and bid
me go,” he said, and opened his arms and pressed her to his heart a
moment and then with another whispered, “Farewell,” released her.
“God bless you, Philip Helmstedt,” she said.
The next instant he was gone. She watched him from the door,
where he was joined by his groom and valet, down to the beach and
into the boat; and then she went upstairs to the balcony over the bay
window and watched the boat out of sight.
“There! That is the last! I shall never see his face again,” she
murmured, in heartbroken tones, and might have cast herself upon
the ground in her desolation, but that two gentle arms were wound
about her, and a loving voice said,
“Dearest mother.”
No more than just that—so little, yet so much.
“He is gone, Margaret, your father is gone,” said Mrs. Helmstedt,
passing her arm over the head of the maiden and drawing it down to
her bosom—“he is gone—gone!”
“I know it, dear mother, I know it; but so also is every good and true
American gone, on the same path.”
“True, my dove, true,” said Mrs. Helmstedt; but she did not say, what
farther she felt to be true, namely, that from her he had gone forever.
That afternoon following the departure, Ralph Houston, with
affectionate thoughtfulness, came over to cheer the lonely ladies.
He had accompanied Mr. Helmstedt from the Bluff to Belleview, and
witnessed the embarkation of himself and his company, on board the
schooner Kingfisher, bound for Alexandria and Washington, and
after thus seeing them off, he had ridden back as fast as possible,
and crossed to the isle. Mr. Houston spent the evening, planned
some amusement for the next afternoon, and took leave.
Ten days of weary waiting passed, and then Mrs. Helmstedt received
a letter from her husband, announcing that they had reached
Washington; that he had received a captain’s commission; had
reported himself and his company ready for service; and that they
were then waiting orders.
“Has my father any idea where he will be sent, mamma?” inquired
Margaret, after this letter had been read aloud.
“No, my dear; at least he has hinted so; we must wait to hear.”
Ten, fifteen, twenty more anxious days passed, heavily, and then
came a second letter from Mr., now Captain, Helmstedt, postmarked
New York, and bringing the intelligence that upon the next day
succeeding the writing of the first letter, he had received orders to
depart immediately with his troops to join General Van Rennselaer
on the Canadian frontier; that the suddenness of the departure and
the rapidity of the journey had prevented him, until now, from writing
a line home; but that they were now delayed in New York, for a day
or two, waiting for a reinforcement from the State militia.
This was the last letter that Mrs. Helmstedt received for many
months; but she sent on and ordered the principal Northern papers,
that she might be kept advised of the progress of the campaign.
Alas! little but continuous disaster signalized this opening of the war;
repeated rebuffs, varied by small successes, and climaxing in the
defeat of Hull, and the loss of Detroit, with all Michigan territory.
These calamities, while they shocked, aroused the temperate blood
of all those laggards at home, who, until now, had looked on
philosophically, while others went forth to fight.
Colonel Houston applied for orders, and old Colonel Compton sat in
his leathern armchair, and swore at the gouty limb that unfitted him
for service. At length the news of the disastrous defeat of Van
Rennselaer, on the fourth of October, followed by his resignation of
the command reached them. And when General Smythe, of Virginia,
was appointed to fill his post, Colonel Houston received orders to
join the latter, and proceed with him to the Northern frontier.
Ralph Houston was most anxious to enter upon the service; but at
the earnest entreaty of his father, reluctantly consented to remain, for
awhile, at the Bluff, for the protection of the family left behind.
Mrs. Houston accompanied her husband as far as Buffalo, where
she remained to be in easy reach of him.
At the Bluff were left old Colonel and Mrs. Compton (“a comfortable
couple,” who were always, and especially now, in their quiet old age,
company enough for each other), and Ralph Houston as a caretaker.
At the lonely isle were left Mrs. Helmstedt and her daughter. And
very desolate would the lady have been, only for the presence of her
“dove.” Very monotonously passed the winter days on the sea-girt
isle. No visitors came, and the mail, bringing newspapers and an
occasional letter from Captain Helmstedt, Mrs. Houston, or Franky,
arrived only once a week; and not always then. But for the frequent
society of Ralph Houston, who was almost an inmate of the family,
the dreary life would have been almost insupportable to the mother
and child. While they sat at needlework in Mrs. Helmstedt’s private
room, he read to them through all the forenoon; or, if the sun was
warm and the air balmy, as often happens in our Southern winters,
he invited them out to walk over the isle; or when, in addition to
warm sun and balmy air, there was still water, he prepared the little
Pearl Shell, the gift of Franky to Margaret, and took the maiden
across to the Bluff to visit the old people there. But as no persuasion
would ever induce Mrs. Helmstedt to join them in these water trips,
they were at last relinquished, or at least very seldom indulged in.
“Dear Margaret, I think your mother has a natural antipathy to water,
has she not?” asked Ralph Houston, one day, of the girl.
“No, it is to leaving the isle; if my dear mamma was a Catholic, I
should think she had taken a vow never to leave Helmstedt’s Isle. As
it is, I am at a loss to know why she ever remains here, Mr.
Houston.”
“I never remember to have seen her off the isle, since she came
here. There must be a cause for her seclusion greater than any that
appears,” thought Ralph Houston, as he handed Margaret into the
little skiff, and threw his glance up to the house, where from the
balcony of her chamber window Mrs. Helmstedt watched their
departure from the shore. For this was upon one of those very rare
occasions when they took a little water trip, leaving the lady alone on
the isle. As he glanced up, Ralph thought Mrs. Helmstedt’s thin face
more sunken, and her eyes more brilliant, than he had ever noticed
them before; and for the first time the thought that death, speedy
death, was awaiting that once glorious woman, smote him to the
heart. They were not out long; even Mr. Houston now no longer
pleaded with Margaret to remain out upon the water to see the wintry
sunset; but followed her first hint to return. The winter evenings at
the isle were pleasant with Ralph Houston for a guest. He read to the
mother and daughter, while they sewed or sketched; and sometimes
the three formed a little concert among themselves, Mrs. Helmstedt
playing on the harp, Margaret on the piano, and Ralph Houston on
the flute; and sometimes, that is to say, once a week, or seldomer,
the mail came in, bringing its keen excitement; it always reached the
isle on the evening of Saturday, when Ralph Houston was sure to
remain to hear the latest news of the absent. Always there were
newspapers, bringing fresh and startling news from the Canadian
frontier, the Indian settlements, or from the ocean, where our infant
navy, like young Hercules in his cradle, was strangling the serpents
of wrong and oppression, and winning more glorious laurels than
were lost upon the land. Sometimes, there came intelligence of a
disastrous loss on the Northern frontier—sometimes, of a glorious
victory at sea; but whether were the news of triumph or defeat, it
ever roused Ralph Houston’s blood almost beyond the power of his
control. He chafed and fretted like Marmion in Tantallon Hold.
“A most unworthy task, dear Margaret, to be left at home to take care
of two old people, who do not need either my company or protection,
while the struggling country cries aloud for every man capable of
bearing arms to come to her help! A most unworthy post is mine!”
They were standing alone within the bay window of the parlor, on
Sunday morning, after having read in the papers, that had come the
evening before, of the repulse of Smythe at Niagara.
Ralph spoke as bitterly as he felt, the enforced inaction of his life.
“A most unmanly part to play!”
“‘They also serve who only stand and wait,’” said Margaret, gently.
His stern face softened instantly, and he looked on her with a smile,
full of deep tenderness and beauty, as he answered:
“True, sweet Margaret, yet, nevertheless, the only circumstance that
renders this standing and waiting endurable is—do you know what,
dear maiden? Your sweet society, and the thought that I may be
useful in making the days pass less heavily to you and to her who is
dearer to you.”
A swift, burning blush crimsoned the neck and face of the young girl.
And just at this juncture Mrs. Helmstedt entered the room. Always
her first glance was directed in search of her daughter; and now, she
started and pressed her hand to her heart, at the tableau that was
presented to her. Within the crimson-draped recess of the bay
window the pair were standing. Ralph stood, resting one elbow upon
the frame of the harp, and clasping Margaret’s hand, and bending
over her half-averted and deeply-blushing face. Both were too
absorbed in their own emotions to perceive her gentle entrance, and
she stood for a minute, unobserved, gazing upon them. To Mrs.
Helmstedt, her young daughter, had, up to this hour, seemed an
unconscious child, and now she stood revealed to her a young
maiden, awakening to the consciousness of loving and being loved.
Yet though this revelation was unexpected, it was not quite
unacceptable. More than in any other man, Mrs. Helmstedt confided
in Ralph Houston for the wisdom, goodness and power, inherent in
his soul, and including in themselves every other virtue. And, after a
few years, should she live to pass them, and should he have the
patience and constancy to wait—with less reluctance than to any
other man, would she entrust the life-happiness of her only and
cherished daughter, to the charge of Ralph Houston. All this passed,
in an instant, through the mind of the mother, as she crossed the
room and bade them “Good-morning.”
Margaret started; the blush deepened on her face. But Mr. Houston,
still holding her hand, and leading her from the recess, greeted Mrs.
Helmstedt affectionately, and said, frankly, as one who would not
conceal his disposition:
“I was just telling Margaret that nothing but her sweet society, and
the hope of being useful to herself and her mother, could reconcile
me, at this time, to the unworthy inactivity of my life.”
“We should indeed be very badly off without you, Mr. Houston; but I
do not see what compensation for a dull life you can find in the
company of a little island rustic.”
“‘A little island rustic,’ my dear lady. I have lived in the great world
where there are more false jewels than real ones, and I know how to
prize a real pearl that I find amid the sea!”
“Do not waste poetry on my little girl, Ralph Houston.”
“Again! ‘little girl!’ Well, I suppose she is a little girl, scarce fourteen
years of age, just in her dawn of existence! Yet the dawn is very
beautiful! and we, who are up early enough, love to watch it warm
and brighten to the perfect day,” he said, bending a grave, sweet
look upon the downcast face of Margaret.
To break up this conversation and relieve her little daughter’s
embarrassment, Mrs. Helmstedt touched the bell and ordered
breakfast to be served directly in that parlor; and it was speedily
brought thither.
Spring at length opened, and the recluse family of the island were
once more in communication with the outside world.
Old Colonel and Mrs. Compton paid a visit of a day and night to Mrs.
Helmstedt, and again, although they knew it to be a mere form,
renewed their oft-repeated entreaties that their hostess would return
their visit.
The Wellworths came and spent a couple of days, and carried off
Margaret to pass a week at the parsonage. And during the absence
of the young girl, it should be observed, that Ralph Houston did not
slacken in the least degree his visits to the island, and his friendly
attentions to the solitary lady there.
Soon after Margaret returned home, the doctor and Mrs. Hartley
came to the isle to spend a day, and when they departed took the
maiden with them to Plover’s Point to spend a fortnight. Truth to tell,
the young girl did not like to leave her mother; but Mrs. Helmstedt,
ever fearful of the effect of too much isolation and solitude upon the
sensitive nature of her daughter, firmly insisted upon her going.
Ralph Houston was ubiquitous. He did not fail in daily visits to the
island, and yet two or three times a week he contrived to be twenty
miles up the river at Plover’s Point. There are no secrets in a country
neighborhood. The attachment of Ralph Houston, the heir of
Buzzard’s Bluff, to the little island maiden was no secret, though a
great mystery to all.
“What can a man of twenty-five see in a child of fourteen?” asked
one gossip.
“Money,” quoth the other—“money; Miss Helmstedt is the richest
heiress in the whole South, as she will inherit both her mother’s and
her father’s large property.”
“Humph! I guess Mr. Houston will have to wait a long time for that
property; Mr. and Mrs. Helmstedt look as if they might be the elder
brother and sister, rather than the parents of Miss Helmstedt.”
“It is true they are a very youthful-looking and handsome pair; but at
last their daughter will inherit their property, if she lives; and
meantime, when she marries, no doubt her parents will dower her
handsomely; and that is what Mr. Houston knows. Ah! he sees
what’s what, and takes time by the forelock, and wins her heart
before any one else dreams of laying siege to it.”
“But her parents will never permit her to marry so young.”
“Of course not; but what matter to Mr. Houston, if he can secure her
heart and her promise. He understands perfectly well what he is
doing.”
Thus, with their usual perspicacity and charity, the quidnuncs of the
county settled the matter.
Meantime the news from the Canadian frontier was of the most
disheartening character. The defeat and capture of General
Winchester, at Frenchtown, was followed speedily by that of
Generals Greene and Clay at Fort Meigs, and Generals Winder and
Chandler at Burlington Heights.
Colonel Houston had been dangerously wounded, and after lying ill
two months in camp, was sent home to recuperate. He arrived at the
Bluff, in charge of Nellie, who had grown to be quite a campaigner,
and attended by his faithful servant, Lemuel. Nellie could not leave
her wounded soldier, but she dispatched a note announcing her
arrival, and explaining her position to Mrs. Helmstedt, and praying
that lady to come to her at once without ceremony.
This was perhaps the severest trial to which Mrs. Helmstedt’s fidelity
had been put. She did not hesitate a moment, however; but wrote a
reply, pleading to be excused, upon the score of her shattered
health. This answer of course displeased little Mrs. Houston, who, in
a few days, just as soon as she could leave her invalid, went over to
the island with the intention of relieving her heart by upbraiding her
cold friend. But as soon as she met Mrs. Helmstedt and saw her
changed face, Nellie burst into tears, and cast her arms about
Marguerite’s neck, and had no word of reproach for the suffering
woman.
As Colonel Houston recovered from the fatigue of his journey, and
convalesced under the genial influences of his quiet home and
native air, Nellie often left him to spend a day with Mrs. Helmstedt.
And as often as otherwise she found Ralph Houston there before
her.
“That is right, Ralph,” she one day said, approvingly, “I shall be sure
to tell Franky, when I write, what care you take of his little
sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart?” repeated Ralph, with a grave, displeased look.
“Yes, sweetheart, or ladylove, if you like it better. Didn’t you know
that my Franky and little Margaret were cut out for each other?”
“Really, no, nor do I know it now.”
“Well, I inform you; so don’t go too far, my fine fellow.”
Ralph was silent. These remarks affected him despite his reason,
and raised into importance many trifling incidents until now
unnoticed, such as the raillery of Margaret upon the subject of
Franky by Dr. Hartley; the favorite keepsakes of Margaret, all gifts of
Franky; and finally, the frequent correspondence between the young
collegian and the island maiden. Then Frank was handsome, gay,
near the age of the young girl, and had been her intimate companion
for years. All this looked very illy ominous to the hopes of Ralph, but
he generously resolved to investigate the case, and if he found an
incipient attachment existing between the youth and maiden, to
withdraw at once from the rivalship, at whatever cost to his own
feelings. This conversation with Mrs. Houston had occurred one
Saturday afternoon, as he was taking that lady from Helmstedt’s
Island to the Bluff. So anxious became Ralph Houston upon this
subject, that after seeing his stepmother safe home, he turned about
and rowed swiftly to the island, and entered the parlor just as Mrs.
Helmstedt had received the weekly mail.
“I felt sure you would return and join us in discussing the news
brought by this post; and it is glorious, at last. This paper contains an
account of the repulse of Proctor from before Fort Stevenson, by the
gallant Croghan! Do read it,” said Mrs. Helmstedt, passing the paper
to Mr. Houston.
“And here I am yet!” impatiently exclaimed Ralph, as he took the
paper and sat down to assure himself of the contents. But frequently,
in the course of his perusal, he glanced over the edge of the sheet at
Margaret, who sat absorbed in the letter she was reading—now
smiling, now looking grave, and anon with eyes swimming in tears.
“Yes, it was a brilliant action, and Lieutenant Croghan is a true hero,”
he said, as he finished the perusal and laid the paper aside. But his
eyes were fixed on the maiden. Mrs. Helmstedt noticed this and said: