THE HAWKS OF HAWK-HOLLOW.
A TRADITION OF PENNSYLVANIA.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "CALAVAR," AND "THE INFIDEL."
Where dwellest thou?----
Under the canopy,--i' the city of kites and crows.
_Coriolanus_.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
_Philadelphia_:
CAREY, LEA, & BLANCHARD.
1835.
Entered according to the act of Congress, in the year 1835, by CAREY,
LEA, & BLANCHARD, in the clerk's office of the district court for the
eastern district of Pennsylvania.
_I. Ashmead & Co. Printers_.
INTRODUCTION.
"Escúchame, y no me creas
Despues de haberme escuchado"--
"Hear me, but don't believe me, after you have heard"--says Calderon,
the Spanish dramatic poet, with a droll spirit of honesty, only
equalled by the English Burton, who concludes the tale of the
Prebend, in his Anatomy of Melancholy, by exclaiming, "You have heard
my tale; but, alas! it is but a tale,--a mere fiction: 'twas never
so, never like to be,--and so let it rest." We might imitate the
frankness of these ancient worthies, in regard to the degree of
credit which should be accorded to our tradition; but it would be at
an expense of greater space and tediousness than we care to bestow
upon the reader. We could not declare, in the same wholesale way,
that the following narrative is a mere fabrication, for such it is
not; while to let the reader into the secret, and point out the
different facts (for facts there are) that are interwoven with the
long gossamer web of fiction, would be a work of both time and
labour.
We have always held the Delaware to be the finest and noblest river
in the world,--not, indeed, that it _is_ so, but because that was a
cardinal item in our creed of childhood; and to all such points of
belief we hold as strongly as we can, philosophy and experience to
the contrary notwithstanding. They are holy and useful, though
flimsy, ties--little pieces of rose-coloured pack-thread that keep
sorted together whole bundles of pleasant reminiscences, and
therefore as precious in our esteem as shreds of gold and silver. In
consequence of this persuasion, we have learned to attach importance
to every little legend of adventure, in any way associated with the
Ganga of our affections; and of such it has been our custom, time out
of mind, to construct, at least in imagination, little fairy
edifices, in which golden blocks of truth were united with a cement
of fancy. A novel is, at best, a piece of Mosaic-work, of which the
materials have been scraped up here and there, sometimes in an
un-chronicled corner of the world itself, sometimes from the
forgotten tablets of a predecessor, sometimes from the decaying
pillars of history, sometimes from the little mine of precious stones
that is found in the human brain--at least as often as the pearl in
the toad's head, of which John Bunyan discourses so poetically, in
the Apology for his Pilgrim's Progress. Of some of the pebbles that
we have picked up along the banks of the Delaware, the following
story has been constructed; but at what precise place they were
gathered we do not think it needful to say. The torrent of
fashionable summer rustication has already sent off a few little
rills of visitation towards different corners of Pennsylvania, and
one has begun to flow up the channel of the Delaware. In a few
years----_Eheu! fugaces, Posthume, Posthume!_----this one will
increase to a flood, all of men, women, and children, rolling on
towards the Water-Gap; and _then_ some curious individual will
discover the nook into which we have been prying; and perhaps, if he
chooses, come off with prizes still more valuable. At all events, he
will discover--and that we hold to be something worth recording--that
his eyes have seldom looked upon a more enchanting series of
landscapes than stretches along this river, in one long and varied
line of beauty, from New Hope and the Nockamixon Rocks, almost to its
sources.
The story, such as it is, is rather a domestic tale, treating of
incidents and characters common to the whole world, than one of which
these components can be considered _peculiarly_ American. This is,
perhaps, unfortunate,--the tendency of the public taste seeming to
require of American authors that they should confine themselves to
what is, in subject, event, and character, indigenous to their own
hemisphere; although such a requisition would end in reducing their
materials to such a stock as might be carried about in a nut-shell.
America is a part of the great world, and, like other parts, has
little (that is, suited to the purposes of fiction) which it can call
exclusively its own; and how far that little has been already _used
up_, any one may tell, who is conversant with our domestic
literature. Some little, however, of that little yet remains; and, by
and by, we will perhaps ourselves join in the general scramble after
it.
To conclude our Prolegomena--we recommend to all Philadelphians, who
thirst for the breath of the mountains, and are willing to breathe it
within the limits of their own noble State, to repair to the Delaware
Water-Gap, sit them down in the porch of our friend Snyder, (or
Schneider--we forget whether he yet sticks to the _Vaterländisch_
orthography or not,) discourse with him concerning trout, deer, and
rattlesnakes, and make themselves at home with him for a week. They
will find themselves in one of the boldest mountain-passes in the
United States, in the heart of a scene comprising crags, forests, and
a river sprinkled with numerous islands, all striking, harmonious,
and romantic. There, indeed, is neither a Round-Top nor a Mount
Washington, with ladders on which to climb to heaven; but there are
certain mountain ridges hard by, from whose tops he who is hardy
enough to mount them, can well believe he _looks down_ on heaven, so
broad, so fair, so elysian are the prospects that stretch below.
There, also, our friends will find such lime-trees as will cause them
to rejoice that they have planted scions of the same noble and
fragrant race at their own doors; and such a glorious display of
rosebays, or _rhododendrons_, the noblest of American flowering
shrubs, as may perhaps teach them the wisdom of transferring a few to
their own gardens.
But we have not space to mention one-half the charms that await them
in the Gap. If they have eyes to distinguish between the flutter of
wings and loose hanging mosses, they may behold, at evening, the
national bald-eagle soaring among his native cliffs, and winging to
his perch on the far-up old hemlock, where they may see his reverend
white head gleaming like a snow-flake among the leaves, until the
wail of the whippoorwill calls the shadows of night over the whole
mountain. Besides all this, and the other charms too tedious to
mention, if they commend themselves to the favour of mine host, they
will be roused up in the morning by the roar of a waterfall under
their very pillows, and then, leaping into a boat, and rowing into
the river, they may survey it at their ease,--as lovely a sheet of
foam, rushing over a cliff an hundred and forty feet high, as was
ever stolen from its bed of beauty to drive----_'Eheu! eheu
conditionem hujus temporis!'_----the machinery of--a saw-mill.
THE HAWKS OF HAWK-HOLLOW.
CHAPTER I.
What man that sees the ever-whirling wheele
Of Change, the which all mortall thing doth sway,
But that thereby doth find, and plainly feele,
How Mutability in them doth play
Her cruel sports to many men's decay.
SPENSER--_Faerie Queene_.
America is especially the land of change. From the moment of
discovery, its history has been a record of convulsions, such as
necessarily attend a transition from barbarism to civilization; and
to the end of time, it will witness those revolutions in society,
which arise in a community unshackled by the restraints of
prerogative. As no law of primogeniture can ever entail the
distinctions meritoriously won, or the wealth painfully amassed, by a
single individual, upon a line of descendants, the mutations in the
condition of families will be perpetual. The Dives of to-day will be
the Diogenes of to-morrow; and the 'man of the tub' will often live
to see his children change place with those of the palace-builder. As
it has been, so will it be,--
"Now up, now doun, as boket in a well;"
and the honoured and admired of one generation will be forgotten
among the moth-lived luminaries of the next.
That American labours under a melancholy infatuation, who hopes, in
the persons of his progeny, to preserve the state and consideration
he has acquired for himself. He cannot bequeath, along with lands and
houses, the wisdom and good fortune which obtained them; nor can he
devise preventives against the natural consequences of folly and
waste. His edifice of pride must crumble to dust, when both
corner-stone and hypogeum are based upon the contingencies of
expectation; and the funeral-stone and the elm of his family
mausoleum will vanish, in course of time, before the axe and plough
of a new proprietor.
This is the ordinance of Nature, who, if she scatters her good gifts
of talents with a somewhat despotic capriciousness, is well content
that men should employ them in republican and equal rivalry.
In a little valley bordering upon the Delaware, there stood, fifty
years since, a fair dwelling, within an ample domain, which a few
years of vicissitude had seen transferred from its founder to a
stranger, although wealth and a family of seven sons, the boldest and
strongest in the land, might have seemed to insure its possession to
them during at least two generations. The vale lies upon the right
bank of the river, imbosomed among those swelling hills that skirt
the south-eastern foot of the Alleghanies, (using that term in the
broad, generic sense given it by geographers,) the principal ridge of
which,--the Ka-katch-la-na-min, or Kittatinny, or, as it is commonly
called, the Blue Mountain,--is so near at hand, that, upon a clear
day, the eye can count the pines bristling over its gray and hazy
crags. It stretches, indeed, like some military rampart of the
Titans, from the right hand to the left, farther than the eye can
reach, broken only by the gaps that, for the most part, give passage
to rivers; and but for these, it would be entirely impassable.
The original proprietor of the estate was an English emigrant of
humble degree, and, at first, of painfully contracted circumstances;
but having fallen heir to a considerable property in his own land,
and events of a very peculiar nature altering the resolution he had
formed to enjoy it within the limits of the chalk-cliffs of Albin, he
sat himself down in good earnest to improve the windfall at home. The
little farm which he had cultivated with his own hands, was speedily
swelled into an extensive manor; and deserting the hovel of logs
which had first contented his wants, he built a dwelling-house of
stone, so spacious, and of a style of structure so irregular and
fantastic, that it had, at a distance, the air rather of a hamlet
than a single villa, and indeed looked not unlike a nest of dove-cots
stuck together on the hill-side. Without possessing one single
feature of architectural elegance, it had yet a romantic appearance,
derived in part from the scenery around, from the beauty of the
groves and clumps of trees that environed it, and the vines and
trailing flowers that were made, in summer at least, to conceal many
of its deformities. It was exceedingly sequestered also; for except
the log hovel, into which Mr. Gilbert (for that was his name) had
inducted a poor widow, befriended out of gratitude for kindness shown
him, when their respective conditions were not so unequal, there was
not another habitation to be seen from his house, though it commanded
an extensive prospect even beyond the river. The highway to the
neighbouring Water-Gap, indeed, ran through the estate; the broad
river below often echoed to the cries of boatmen and raftsmen,
floating merrily onward to their market; and the village dignified
with the title of County-town, was not above seven or eight miles
distant; so that the valley was not always invested with a
Sabbath-day silence; and, besides, his protegée, the widow, had, with
Mr. Gilbert's consent, converted her hovel into a house of
entertainment, which sometimes seduced a wayfarer to sojourn for a
period in the valley. Mr. Gilbert himself did all he could to add
life and bustle to his possessions, by doing honour to such well
behaved villagers, or even strangers, as he could induce to ruralize
with him; for having built and planted, and torn down and
transplanted, until he knew not well what to do with himself, he hit
upon that expedient for driving away ennui which passes for
hospitality,--namely, converting into guests all proper, and indeed
improper, persons from whom he could derive amusement, and who could
assist him to kill time. To this shift he was driven, in great part,
by the undomestic character of his children; who, so soon as they
arrived at an age for handling the rifle, individually and infallibly
ran off into the woods, until, as the passion for hunting grew with
their growth, they might be said almost to live in them. It was this
wild propensity, acting upon a disposition unusually self-willed and
inflexible, in the case of his eldest boy, Oran, that defeated his
scheme of spending the remainder of his days in England. He actually
crossed the sea, with his whole family, and remained in the
neighbourhood of Bristol, his native town, for the space of a year;
but in that time, Oran, a boy only twelve years old, 'heartily sick,'
as he said, 'of a land where there were no woods, and no place where
he could get by himself,' finding remonstrance and entreaty fail to
move his father's heart to his purpose, took the desperate resolution
of returning to America alone; which he did, having concealed himself
in the hold of a vessel, until she was out of the Channel. His
sufferings were great, but he endured them with incredible fortitude;
and finally after many remarkable adventures, he found himself again
in his happy valley, in the charge or protection, if it could be so
called, of the good widow Bell,--for that was the name of the poor
woman befriended by his father. In a few months, his father followed
him, perhaps instigated by affection, (for Oran, being the worst, was
therefore the most favoured of his children,) by the murmurs of the
others, or by the discovery he undoubtedly made, that his wealth
would secure him, if not equal comfort, at least superior
consideration, in the New World.
Consideration indeed he obtained, and increase of wealth; but the
wild manners and habits of his children greatly afflicted him; and
having married a second wife, he was induced, in the hope of 'making
a gentleman,' as he called it, of the boy she bore him, (none of the
others having that ambition,) to commit him to the protection of a
sister, the widow of a Jamaica planter, who had divided with him the
bequest that had made his fortune, and being childless herself,
desired to adopt him as her heir.
Thus much of the early history of Mr. Gilbert was recollected with
certainty, so late as the year 1782, by the villagers of Hillborough,
the county-town already mentioned, who had so often shared his
hospitality; but long before that time, he had vanished, with all his
family, from the quiet, beautiful, and well-beloved valley. They were
wont to speak with satisfaction of the good dinners they had eaten,
the rare wines they had drunk, the merry frolics they had shared, in
the Hawk's Hollow,--for so they perversely insisted upon calling what
Mr. Gilbert, in right of possession, chose to designate as Avon-dale,
in memory, or in honour of his own buxom river of Somerset; they
related, too, to youthful listeners, the prophetic sagacity with
which they had predicted violent ends to the young Hawks of
Hawk-Hollow, (so they called the young Gilberts,) for their
disobedience to father and mother, and their unusual passion for a
life of adventure; and, finally, they shook their heads with
suspicion and regret, when they spoke of Jessie, Gilbert's only
daughter, of her early and mysterious death, and still more, to them,
unaccountable burial. All that could be gathered in relation to this
unhappy maiden, was dark and unsatisfactory: her death had seemingly,
in some way, produced the destruction of the family and the
alienation of the estate. It was an event of more than twenty years
back; and from that period, until the time of his own sudden flight,
Mr. Gilbert's doors were no longer open, and his sons were no more
seen associated with the young men of the county. The maiden had died
suddenly, and been interred in a private place on the estate.
In connexion with this event, some, more garrulous than others, were
wont to speak of Colonel Falconer, the present proprietor of
Hawk-Hollow, as having had some agency in the catastrophe; but what
it was, they either knew not, or they feared to speak. Evil
suspicions, however, gathered about this gentleman's name; and as he
was seldom, if ever, seen in Hawk-Hollow in person, but had committed
the stewardship of the property to the hands of a distant relative,
who resided on it, the young felt themselves at liberty to fill up
from imagination, the sketch left imperfect by the old; and
accordingly, the Colonel, in time, came to be considered by those who
had never seen him, as one of the darkest-hearted and most dangerous
of his species. He was very rich; the station he occupied in the eyes
of his country was lofty, and might have been esteemed noble; for he
had shed his blood in the great and fearful battle of rights that was
now approaching to a close; and after being disabled by severe and
honourable wounds, he had changed the sphere of his exertions, and
was now as ardent and devoted a patriot in the senate as he had been
before in the field. Yet in this distant quarter, these
recommendations to favour were forgotten; it was said, if he had done
good deeds, there were evil ones enough to bury them as in a
mountain, and if he had fought well for his country, he had struggled
still more devotedly to aggrandize himself. In a word, he was called
a hard, avaricious, rapacious man, whose chief business was to enrich
himself at the cost of the less patriotic, and who had got the
mastery of more sequestrated estates than an honest man could have
come by. It was a sin of an unpardonable nature, that he had
succeeded in getting possession of Hawk-Hollow, when there were so
many others in the county who had set their hearts upon it.
His representative on the estate was a certain Captain John Loring,
who, with all the patriotism of his connexion, and perhaps a great
deal more, had never been able to turn it to any account. On the
contrary, beginning the world with an ample patrimony, at the time
when Mr. Falconer commenced as an adventurer, he had descended in
fortune with a rapidity only to be compared with that of his friend's
exaltation. The love of glory had early driven him from his peaceful
farm on the Brandywine; and after distinguishing himself as a
volunteer in the Indo-Gallic wars of Western Pennsylvania, it was his
hard fate to bring his career of effective service to a close on what
he was always pleased to call the Fatal Field of Braddock. From that
bloody encounter he came off with more honour than profit, and with a
body so mangled and a constitution so shattered, that a quarter of a
century had scarce served to repair the dilapidation of his animal
man. But the Captain had lost neither his spirit nor his love of
glory. At the first trump of the Revolution, he donned the panoply of
valour; he snatched up the pistols he had taken from a dead Canadian
at the Fatal Field of Braddock, strapped upon his thigh the sword he
had received for his services in storming certain Indian forts on the
Alleghany river, clapped into his pocket the commission which the
colonial government had granted him in reward of that gallant
exploit, and reported himself, among a crowd of younger patriots, as
ready to do and die for his country. The Commissioners looked at his
gray hairs and shattered leg, (the latter of which had once been as
full of musket-bullets as was ever a cartouche-box,) commended his
virtue and enthusiasm, and divided the honours of command among those
who were better fitted to do the state service. The Captain retired
to his patrimonial estate, and there contented himself as well as he
could, until the current of conflict, diverted from one bloody
channel into another, came surging at last into the pastoral haunts
of the Brandywine. At that time, his home was blessed with two
children, a gallant boy of eighteen, and a merry little maiden of
twelve. But one morning, he heard a trumpet pealing over the hills
and a cannon roaring hard by, behind the woods. He looked at the face
of his son, and the eye of the boy reflected back the fire of his
father's spirit. Their horses were saddled in the stalls, and the
spurs were already on young Tom Loring's heels. It was enough--the
Captain carried his son to the grave.--But, to his own dying day, he
rejoiced over the young man's fall. On this subject, the Captain was
commonly considered by his neighbours to be crack-brained.
After this, came other misfortunes; and the Captain was a ruined man,
landless, homeless, and childless, save that his little Catherine was
still left to share his poverty, and, like a lamp in a cavern, to
exaggerate rather than enlighten the gloom of his desolation. At this
critical juncture, he found a firm and prudent friend in Colonel
Falconer, by whom he was installed into the privileges, if not the
actual possession of Hawk-Hollow, in the supervision and improvement
of which he seemed now likely to pass the remainder of his days. How
far the kindly feelings of relationship, or how far the influence of
his daughter's growing beauty, had contributed to secure him the
benevolence of this friend in need, was a question frequently
agitated by the curious villagers. It was settled among them, that
there was a wedding in the wind; but whether the young lady was to
share the lot of her distinguished patron, or to be given to his gay
and somewhat wild-brained son, was a point on which busy bodies were
long coming at a conclusion. The Captain, though frank enough in his
way, was not exactly the individual whom one would think of troubling
with impertinent questions; and Miss Loring, however hospitable and
courteous, had not yet selected a confidante from among the blooming
nymphs of Hillborough. She was, however, the theme of as much
admiration as curiosity; and being very beautiful, and of manners
always gentle, and at times irresistibly engaging, the village poet
immortalized her in rhyme, and the village belles forgave the
eulogium.
It remains but to say a word more of the Gilberts, as a necessary
introduction to a record, designed to rescue the story of their fate
from the uncertain and unfaithful lips of tradition. After mingling
in all the border wars, both Indian and civil, that, from the time of
Braddock's defeat to the dispersion of the Connecticut settlers,
distracted the unhappy Susquehanna settlements, they deserted the
cause of their countrymen at the beginning of the Revolution, and
appeared in the guise of destroying demons, at Wyoming, on that
occasion of massacre, which has given to the spot a celebrity so
mournful. In other words they were traitors and refugees; and however
dreadful the reputation they obtained as bold and successful
depredators, their fate was such as might have been, and perhaps was,
anticipated by themselves. One after another, they were cut off, some
by the rifle and tomahawk, one even by the halter, and all who did
perish, by deaths of violence. It was indeed, at the time we speak
of, confidently believed that Oran, the eldest of all, and the last
survivor, had fallen within the space of a year, at a conflict on the
banks of the Mohawk, along with other refugees of the neighbouring
commonwealth, with whom he had associated himself. Great were the
rejoicings in consequence with all who dwelt among the scenes of his
earlier exploits; though some professed to have their doubts on the
subject, and swore, that Oran Gilbert was not to be trusted, dead or
alive, until his scalp was seen nailed on the county court-house
door.
CHAPTER II.
Come here, my good hostess, pray how do you do?
Where is Cicely so cleanly, and Prudence, and Sue?
And where is the widow that dwelt here?----
PRIOR.
The year 1782 was distinguished on the western continent as the close
of the great contest, which obtained for America the name and
privileges of a free nation. The harbingers of peace came flitting
into the land, with the swallows of spring; and before the autumn had
withered into winter, so little doubt prevailed of a speedy
reconciliation taking place between Great Britain and the United
States, founded upon a full recognition by the former of all the
claims of the latter, that the Continental Congress passed a resolve
for the reduction of its army, to take effect on the first day of the
coming year. War was no longer waged upon any scale of magnitude;
such hostilities as continued, were conducted almost solely by the
desperate and lawless of both parties, and consisted of predatory
incursions, occasionally attempted in the wilder parts of the
country, by some skulking band of refugees, and of expeditions of
vengeance, planned and executed in a moment of wrath, by the excited
sufferers. At this period, the only portion of the States, north of
the Potomac, in the hands of the British, was the city of New York,
with its dependencies; and around these narrow possessions the lines
of the Continental army were drawn, extending from the Highlands of
New York to the plains of Monmouth in New Jersey. Military posts
therefore existed at no great distance from the Hawk's Valley; and
although the wild and mountainous country on either bank of the
Delaware offered the strongest retreats to men of desperate
character, it had been very long since the inhabitants had
apprehended any danger from the presence of enemies. In the earlier
part of the year, at least, they had no cause for alarm; and
accordingly they mingled, without alloy, their raptures at the
prospect of returning peace with their rejoicings over the death of
Oran Gilbert, the most dreaded and detested of the Hawks of
Hawk-Hollow.
One atrocity had indeed been committed, in a neighbouring state,
which, besides exciting the fiercest indignation, had taught the
occupants of the valley how little their security was owing to any
relenting of spirit, or want of military daring, on the part of the
refugees, whom the general success of the republican arms had driven
in great numbers into the city of New York. A certain Captain Joshua,
or Jonathan, Huddy, of the New Jersey state troops, having been
captured, after a gallant resistance, at one of the posts in Monmouth
county of that state, by a party of loyalists from New York, was for
a while immured in prison, then carried back to his native state, and
finally hanged by his captors, without trial, sentence, or any
authority whatever, except what was derived from the verbal orders of
a body of men calling themselves the Board of Directors of the
Associated Loyalists. The result of this wanton and brutal murder,
and of the failure of the British authorities to bring the chief
perpetrator to justice, was an instant order on the part of the
American Commander-in-chief, to retaliate upon a British prisoner of
equal rank; and before the month of May was over, young Asgill of the
British Guards, whose story is familiar to all readers of American
history, was conducted to the lines at Morristown, to await, in
painful uncertainty, the fate that now depended, or seemed to depend,
upon the movements of his countrymen in relation to the true
criminal.
Late in the spring of this year, Hawk-Hollow received a new addition
to its society, in the person of a stranger, who, one pleasant
evening, rode up to the hovel, which, as was before mentioned, Dame
Alice, or as she was more familiarly called, Elsie Bell, had, so many
years before, converted into a house of entertainment. But the credit
of the poor woman, now aged, infirm, and almost friendless, had long
since departed; and the tongues of the ignorant and foolish, in an
age when the most ridiculous superstitions were not wholly confined
to the brains of children, had invested her habitation with a
character which repelled alike the curious and the weary. Her age,
her poverty, her loneliness, her unsocial character, and perhaps also
her attachment to the memory of a family all others had learned to
detest, had brought her into bad odour; and some thoughtless or
malicious persons having persuaded themselves that a certain famous
mortality among their cattle could have been caused by nothing short
of witchcraft, it was soon determined that old Elsie had stronger
claims to the character of a broom-rider than any other person in the
county. It was fortunate for her that the imputation fell upon her in
a land, which once, in the case of an old woman brought before a jury
under the same charge, had rendered the wise and humane verdict, that
they found her "guilty, not of being a witch, but of being
_suspected_." It never once occurred to any individual to prosecute,
or even persecute, poor Elsie; nor is it supposed that any sane man
ever seriously believed a charge so cruel and absurd; yet the stain
rested upon the unfortunate creature, and was the cause of her losing
all the little custom of her house, and being, at one period, reduced
to great straits.
Her house had a very lonely appearance, especially dreadful, at
nightfall, in the eyes of the passing urchin. It was in a hollow
place on the road-side, the head of a gully, which, expanding into a
wide, though broken and winding ravine, ran down to the river, half a
mile distant, receiving, before it had yet reached it, the waters of
a foaming rivulet coming from another quarter. A little enclosure, or
yard, serving as an approach to the house, was surrounded by
oak-trees. Its surface was broken, and on one side was a rough and
jagged rock, almost a crag, sprinkled with sumach and other wild
plants, that hid one half of the lowly fabric, while the other peeped
insidiously from under the boughs of an antique, spectral-looking
sycamore, springing from the side of the ravine, which was, in part,
overlooked by the hovel. A little runnel crossed the road immediately
before the house; and flowing through the yard, and making its way
among the naked roots of the sycamore, it fell, with a gurgling
sound, into the ravine. The murmurs of this little cascade, affected
variously by drought and rain, and by the echoes of the hollow, sent
many a superstitious thrill to the heart of the countryman whom any
unlucky accident compelled to pass by the cabin at midnight.
Of a silent, reserved, and even saturnine temper, there was perhaps
enough in Elsie's cold welcome to repel visitation, even without the
addition of imputed witchcraft; and long before that heavy charge had
fallen upon her, it was esteemed a misfortune to be obliged to tarry
above an hour at the Traveller's Rest, as the inn had been called in
its days of credit. To crown all, about the time when men and boys
were beginning to talk ominously about the rot and murrain, a rival
establishment was set up, a few miles farther down the river, which
offered the attractions of good liquors, lounging idlers, and a
talkative host, who made it his business to be always well provided
with news from the market, the army, and Congress. The last resource
of the Traveller's Rest gave way before such a rival, and never more
(at least for many years) was there seen a guest quaffing his cider,
or smoking his pipe, in the shadow of Elsie's porch, except
occasionally, when some stranger passed by, who boldly disregarded,
or was entirely unacquainted with the popular superstition in
relation to the hostess.
The privations suffered by the poor old woman, in consequence of this
failure of her ordinary means of subsistence, were very
great,--greater, indeed, than was suspected; for she uttered no
complaint, and sought no relief. A few acres of ground had been added
to the hovel, given to her by the elder Gilbert. The title was not,
indeed, thought to be very strong, and as it lay in the very centre
of Colonel Falconer's domains, a true _regnum in regno_, it was
sometimes wondered he made no attempt to dispossess her, and thus
complete her ruin. From these worn-out fields, had she been able to
retain any one about her to cultivate them, she might have gleaned a
scanty yet sufficient subsistence. But neither son nor kinsman of any
degree, had the poor widow left in the wide world; and when men began
to doubt, suspect, and shun her, she was no longer able to procure
the assistance even of hirelings; and her fields lay fallow and
overgrown with brambles. Her situation grew hopelessly distressed and
desolate; in vain she exposed her slender stores of gingerbread in
the window, and her bottles of spruce-beer in the cool brook, to
tempt the wayfarer to turn aside for such refreshments. If the
stranger did feel for a moment urged to exchange the scorching road,
on a July day, for the shadowy porch, he cast his eye upon the
garden, at the road-side, now the last dependence of the miserable
widow, and beholding her uninviting and squalid appearance, passed
on, without thinking how much real charity might have been conferred
by the disbursement of a few pence at that abode of poverty.
Such was the condition of this poor solitary creature, when Captain
Loring was installed into the manor house; and such it might have
continued, had not his daughter, shocked at the discovery of her
distresses, and interested doubly when she found in her a tone of
mind and manners worthy of a better fate, came immediately, like an
angel, to her aid, and restored her again to a state of comfort. Not
satisfied with rendering this assistance, she rested not day or
night, until she had procured a labourer to till the neglected
fields, and had even obtained a little negro wench to dwell with
Elsie as a domestic; and perceiving how much her sufferings were
really owing to the ridiculous fears and prejudices of the country
people, she made it a point frequently to visit her house in person,
dragging along with her, when she could, the beaux and belles of the
village, in the hope that others would soon follow the example, and
thus restore the Traveller's Rest to its ancient reputation. She even
prevailed upon her father to honour the house with his patronage, at
least so far as to visit it, when riding by; and, though there was
nothing in the tempers of the two to make any intercourse between
them very friendly and agreeable, the Captain had humoured his
daughter so long in that way, that it grew to be one of his habits;
and he seldom passed by, without stopping for a moment, to bestow a
few civilities upon the widow. Notwithstanding all these benevolent
exertions of Miss Loring, however, the Traveller's Rest never
recovered its reputation or custom; and when the traveller spoken of
before, rode up to the porch, and announced his intention of
entering, and even sleeping, under her roof, the poor widow herself
regarded him with a species of amazement.
"How is it, good mother?" said he, observing her hesitation: "They
told me, in the village, you could give me both meat and lodging. Do
not fear I shall prove a fault-finder;--a crust of bread and a cup of
milk, or, if need be, of water, will satisfy me; and as for a bed,
why a sack of straw,--or the floor and my saddle-bags,--will be a
couch for a king. Can you not receive me?"
As he spoke, he took note of her countenance and appearance. The
former was withered and furrowed, for she was very old; her hairs
were gray and thin, and one of her hands shook with a paralytic
affection. Yet she bore her years bravely, and when she had shaken
off the abstraction of mind, which had become almost habitual from
her long life of solitude, and lifted her eyes, he saw that they
shone with any thing but the gleams of dotage. He observed, too, as
she rose from the wheel she had been plying on the porch, and
approached to its verge, that her step was firm, and even, as it
afterwards appeared, agile. Her dress was of the humblest texture,
and none of the newest, but studiously clean and neat, and the muslin
coif on her head was white as snow.
"If your wants be indeed so humble," she said, with a manner that
surprised him, and a voice almost without the quaver of age, "I can
receive you into my poor house, and bid you welcome. But, good young
sir, here have I no one to help you, and to take your horse. My man
Dancy, is in the field, and the girl Margery"----
"Say not a word about them," said the traveller, leaping from his
horse, "I am my own groom and lackey of the chamber; and with your
consent, I will find my way to the stable, which I see behind the
rock; and Long-legs here will follow me."
He was as good as his word, and stabled his steed without farther
preliminary; and thus, by showing himself ready to adapt his manners
to his circumstances, he won the good will of Elsie immediately.
Indeed, as if to convince her of his sincerity, he told her at once
his name, and his objects in coming to her house. His name, he said,
was Hunter,--Herman Hunter,--his country South Carolina; he was a
painter,--or so professed himself; and his only motive for intruding
upon the solitude of Hawk-Hollow, was to improve himself in his art,
by devoting some weeks to study, among the neighbouring cliffs and
mountains. It had been his intention, he avowed, to take up his
quarters some miles farther on, in the heart of the neighbouring
gorge; 'but he liked the neatness and privacy of the Traveller's Rest
so well, he thought he could do nothing better than remain where he
was; at least, he would remain a few days,--perhaps, he might stay
two or three weeks,--he did not know, but he thought Hawk-Hollow
exceedingly pretty.'
There were two circumstances which recommended him to the poor
widow's regard, even more strongly than his affable and conformable
behaviour. In the first place, it appeared that his name Herman, had
been borne by some deceased son or relative, and its familiar sound
brought a mournful pleasure to her ears,--in the second, his
appearance was highly prepossessing. He could not have been above
four or five and twenty years old; his figure, though somewhat
beneath the middle size, was good, and his limbs well knit and
active; his face was decidedly handsome, with a very dark
complexion,--his eyes black and sparkling, and his mouth, which
disclosed at every laugh, a set of the finest teeth in the world,
expressive of good-humour and a mirthful spirit. As for the ornaments
of his outward man, they consisted of under-clothes of some white
summer-stuff, a frock of blue cloth, a grass hat, short boots and
gloves; and to show that he was somewhat of a coxcomb withal, he wore
a laced scarlet vest, an embroidered neckcloth, and a huge gold ring
on his finger, glistering with a sapphire, or some cerulean
substitute. He had a good roan horse, too, and saddlebags of enviable
capacity; besides which, he made his first appearance with a carbine
slung to his back, and a leathern portfolio under his arm; so that he
looked like one who visited the retreat, with a resolution to make
the most of its advantages.
Having taken a second look around the hovel, he saw no reason to
abate his satisfaction. Though poverty was apparent on the naked
walls and uncarpeted floors, yet every thing was clean and well
ordered. The hands of the widow had eked out the lack of more costly
decorations, by sticking in the fire-place and windows, and over the
mantel and table-tops, green laurel boughs and sprigs of flowers,
such as abounded on the neighbouring hills, or were cultivated in her
little garden, and such as were pleasant enough at this season.
Besides, a grape-vine had been encouraged to trail over one corner of
the porch, and the other supported festoons of nasturtions and
morning-glories. His evening meal, though simple and humble enough,
he was pleased to commend; and if his bed was hard, and the sheets
somewhat coarser than were wont to encircle his limbs, a happy
temperament and a heart at ease made them endurable, and even
pleasant. If he found Dancy, the farmer, when he returned from the
fields, to be taciturn and even stupid, still he liked his honest
face; and the little negro wench, Margery, ugly, awkward, and a
thousand times more stupid than Dancy himself, he soon discovered,
would prove a source of unfailing amusement.
Being of this happy mood, and persuading himself that his quarters
were exactly to his desire, he prepared, the day after his arrival,
to approve his zeal and skill, by sketching some one or other of the
pretty prospects presented from the Traveller's Rest. He rose with
the dawn and trudged down the ravine, until he reached the river;
wherein, after looking about him with much satisfaction, at the hills
sleeping in morning mist, he plunged, and amused himself with a
bather's enthusiasm, now swimming luxuriously in the limpid and
serene flood of the Delaware, and now trying his strength against the
ruder current, that came dashing from the rivulet. This bore the
patronymical title of Hawk-Hollow Run. And here we may as well
observe, that upon a promontory at its mouth, he discovered the
origin of that name, which, notwithstanding the efforts of Mr.
Gilbert to christen it anew, his neighbours had so obstinately
continued to give the valley. Upon a tall and conspicuous oak-tree,
dead, barkless, and well nigh branchless, a pair of antique
fishing-hawks screamed over their eyry; and here they had preserved
it from immemorial ages. The dead tree and the nest of sticks being
conspicuous objects, even from a distance on the river, the earlier
navigators had soon learned to designate the whole valley after the
majestic birds that seemed its monarchs.
After this, he set himself to work with paper and pencil, but with no
good effect, not being in the mood, or because he discovered there
were divers obstacles in his way. First, the sun did not shine from
the right place, and secondly, it shone in the wrong one; then there
was no way of getting a rock converted into a chair, at the precise
place where he wanted it, though there were so many thousands where
he did not; and, in fine, he found himself, when all was ready,
waxing eager for breakfast.
After breakfast, he had as many difficulties to encounter; and in
short, after making divers essays, he beheld the afternoon sun sink
low towards the west, without having accomplished any thing worthy of
being deposited in the port-folio. "But never mind," said he, with a
philosophical disregard of his indolence and fickleness, "we shall
have the fit more strongly upon us on the morrow."
He sat down in the porch and cast his eyes towards the manor house,
which was commonly known by the title, so little flattering to the
founder's memory, of Gilbert's Folly. At this distance, and from this
spot, it had an impressive and even charming appearance. It lay upon
the slope of a hill, perhaps a mile or more from the Traveller's
Rest; and, as it faced very nearly towards the east, he had remarked
it, in the morning, when illuminated by the first beams of the
day-spring, shining, with a sort of aristocratic pomp and pride, at
its lowly neighbour, from the midst of green woods and airy hills. At
the present moment, the front being entirely in shade, it had a
somewhat sullen and melancholy look, resulting in part from the
sombre hue of the stone of which it was built; and though slanting
rays of sunshine, here and there striking on the sides of chimneys,
gables, and other elevations, gave it a picturesque relief, it still
preserved an air of soberness and gloom. It seemed to lie in the
heart of a mighty paddock, once, however, termed a park, that was
circumscribed by a line of pollards, sweeping over the hill-side, and
here and there broken by groves of unchecked growth. In one or two
places on the grounds, were rows of Italian poplars, stretching along
in military rank and file, and adding that peculiar _palisaded_
beauty to the landscape, which is seen to the greatest advantage in a
hilly country. Here, too, was another exotic stranger, the
weeping-willow, drooping in the moist hollow, and shaking its boughs
in the pool. The principal trees, however, were the natives of the
valley, most of them perhaps left standing in their original places,
when the grounds were laid out in the forest. The picture is
complete, when it is added that the slopes of the hills were carpeted
with the rich embellishments of agriculture: the wheat-fields and
maize-plantations, waving like lakes of verdure, in the breeze, were
certainly not the least of the charms of Hawk-Hollow, except perhaps,
at that moment, to the anti-utilitarian painter.
He regarded the prospect for a long time in silence, and then
muttered his thoughts aloud, half to himself, and half to his ancient
hostess, who had drawn her wheel up to her favourite seat on the
porch, and added its drowsy murmur to the sound of the oak-boughs,
rustling together in the breeze:
"This, then," he exclaimed, "is the little elysium, from which wrong,
and the revenge of wrong, drove a once happy and honoured family, to
wander exiles and outlaws in the land? And not one permitted even to
lay his bones in the loam of his birth-place! and no friend left to
avenge or lament! '_Quis sit laturus in aras thura?_'"
The wheel of Alice revolved with increased velocity, but she betrayed
no inclination to yield to the prattling infirmity of age; though
she, doubtless, of all persons in the country, was best informed on
the subject now uppermost in the mind of the painter. He was in the
mood, however, for extracting such information as he could; and after
a moment's silence, he resumed, with a direct question,
"That is Avondale Hall, is it not, good mother?"
"It is Gilbert's Folly," replied the hostess, drily. "We know no
other name.--There are some call it Falconer's Trump-card--but that
is nothing."
"Perhaps not," said the young man: "but who can tell better than
yourself? Good mother Elsie--you must forgive me for being so
familiar; but, in truth, I love the name--it was the name of my
nurse, the first I learned to utter:--I have a great curiosity about
these poor Gilberts; and, I was told, no one could inform me about
them so well as yourself."
"And why should you ask about them?" demanded the hostess, who, as
Herman had long since observed, conversed in language that would
scarce have been anticipated from her appearance. "They can have done
you no harm, and certainly they never did you good. You cannot fear
them, for they are dead; and you yourself said, they left none to
lament them."
"But they left many to curse," said Herman; "and it is this that
makes me curious to know the truth about them. I have not heard any
men pronounce the name, without accompanying it with maledictions;
which were just so many proofs that they were unsafe informants."
"It is better then that they should be forgotten," muttered Elsie:
"If they did wrong, bitterly have they been punished; if they
provoked men to curses, the curses have been heavy on their heads,
and are now even heaped upon their graves. Yet you speak of them not
like others--how comes it that _you_ pronounce their name without a
curse?"
"Simply because, never having received any hurt at their hands, and
having nothing of the hound about me, I feel no impulse to join in
the cry of the pack, until I know what beast they are baying. I saw,
in the village, an old man begging; I was told, his house had been
burned down, and his wife and children in it, by 'the accursed
Gilberts;' I saw also, a miserable idiot, or madman, I know not
which, dancing along the road-side, and inviting me to a wedding: I
asked about him, and was informed he dwelt of yore in the Wyoming
Valley, and was set upon by the Hawks of Hawk-Hollow, in the hour of
his marriage, and he alone saved of all the bridal party--I saw"----
"It is enough--God has judged them," said the old woman, with a voice
both solemn and reproachful. "All these things have they done, and
many more as dreadful and cruel. These are the fruits of civil war;
for men are then changed to beasts. I knew a man of Wyoming, who was
killed by his own brother--shot through the head, while he knelt
down, begging for quarter of his mother's son! God has judged these
acts, for they who did them are gone; and God will yet judge the men
that drove them into their madness."
"They had cause, then, for what they did?" asked Herman, with
interest. "It was not in cold blood, and upon deliberate choice, that
they sided with the tories against their countrymen?"
"Perhaps it was, perhaps it was not," said Mrs. Bell, mournfully. "A
plough-furrow on the hill-side may grow at last into the bed of a
torrent; and what is but a cause for light anger, may, in time, work
the brain into a frenzy. But ask me not of these things now: it was
in a season like this, twenty-four years since--but it is foolish to
remember me of it,--perhaps sinful. Some time, perhaps, I may speak
of these unhappy people to you; but I cannot now. Trust, at least,
that if the Hawks of Hawk-Hollow, as you called them, did much wrong,
they also endured it,--and that, too, when they had not provoked it."
Finding that his curiosity could obtain no farther gratification at
the present moment, Herman Hunter again cast his eyes upon the
mansion, and being greatly charmed by an effect made by the striking
of the sunshine on certain parts, while others lay in the broadest
and deepest shadow, he was seized with a fit of artist-like
enthusiasm, and arranging his drawing materials upon a little table,
which he drew into the porch for the purpose, he was straightway
immersed in the business of sketching. While he was dotting down
chimneys and windows with great haste and satisfaction, he was struck
with a new and unexpected effect in the picture. A scarlet mantle,
beside which glittered another of snowy white, suddenly blazed out
like a star from a clump of shadowy trees in the paddock, and he
became aware that two females on horseback were issuing from the
park, and riding down the road. But losing sight of them again, as
they ambled into a hollow, and being now really engrossed in his
employment, he thought no more of them, until they suddenly
re-appeared from behind a thicket no great distance off, galloping
forward with an impetuosity and violence that would have done honour
to veteran dragoons.
Somewhat astonished at such an unexpected display of spirit, he
dropped his pencil, and for an instant supposed that their ponies
were running away with these damsels errant. They were not attired
for the saddle, and seemed rather to have sprung upon their palfreys
from some sudden whim and spirit of frolic than with a purpose of
leaving the park, in which he had first caught sight of them. They
were arrayed merely in simple walking-dresses of white, over which
one had flung a light scarlet shawl; and instead of caps or round
hats, they had low and broad-brimmed hats of thin felt, without
veils, much better fitted for rambling in, over sunny meads, than for
displaying to the winds on horseback.
His suspicion that their ponies had taken the matter into their own
hands,--or rather the bits into their own teeth, was of short
duration; and as they advanced with increased rapidity, he saw
plainly, by the mirthful rivalry displayed in all their actions and
gestures, that they were positively running a race, the scarlet
mantle being the winner,--or, so far, at least, as a full length
would go, in full prospect of winning.
Not a little diverted at the spectacle, and the merry cries with
which they encouraged their steeds, he rose from the table, to take a
better view of the fair jockeys, as they should brush by; when, to
his great surprise, no sooner had they reached the little oak-yard
that conducted to the Traveller's Rest, than they made a rapid wheel,
and came dashing up to the porch in a style worthy of a race-course.
It happened, either because he was in part concealed by the veil of
nasturtions that grew near to where he had placed his table, or
because they were too much engaged in their frolic to raise their
eyes, that the young painter was seen by neither of the ladies, until
they were within six yards of the porch; when the headmost, suddenly
observing him, drew up in such confusion that she had well nigh
jerked her pony over on his back. He perceived at once, that _his_
appearance at the Traveller's Rest was wholly unexpected, and was any
thing but welcome to the adventurous pair. Indeed, it was manifest
that the consciousness of having been detected by a stranger engaged
in such jockey-like amusement, had greatly disconcerted them both.
All this the young man observed in a moment, and could scarce
suppress the smile that gathered over his visage, even when he saw
that the confusion of the foremost damsel had discomposed her
palfrey. However, as he looked into her face, florid at once with
exercise and shame, he beheld a pair of such radiant black eyes,
flashing with mingled mirth and vexation, and withal a countenance of
such haughty and decidedly aristocratic character, as instantly put
him upon his best behaviour. He took off his hat, like a well-bred
gentleman, and advancing from the porch, would have taken her pony by
the rein, had she not instantly recovered herself, and turned the
animal aside, with an empress-like "I thank you, sir!" He thought the
refusal of assistance, so respectfully offered, was somewhat
ungrateful, and even rude; but she looked so beautiful, he could do
nothing less than testify his admiration by another bow.
Meanwhile the second maiden, whose confusion seemed, at first, even
greater than her companion's, and who blushed at the sight of him
with even painful embarrassment, recovering herself more quickly,
(for her filly was not so restiff as the other,) rode up to the
porch, and saluting the ancient widow, who had risen to receive her,
exclaimed, though with a flurried voice,
"You must pardon us, good Elsie--we came to visit you--but we knew
not you had guests with you." Then turning to Herman, just as her
friend had rejected his proffered assistance, she said, with the
sweetest voice in the world, as if to make amends for the rudeness,
"We are much obliged to you, sir--but the horses are very gentle."
She then turned again to Dame Bell, and, as if resolved to explain
away as much of the cause of visitation as possible, said,
"We are looking for my father, Elsie; and we thought, that, instead
of waiting for him in the park, we would ride by your house, and ask
you how you did. We will not intrude upon you longer.--Good by, my
dear Mrs. Bell."
With these hurried expressions, and having inclined her head
courteously to the painter, she rode out of the yard, followed by her
companion; when having hesitated a moment, as if uncertain whether to
continue upon the road or not, they suddenly came to a decision, and
rode back towards the paddock, though at a much more moderate pace
than before.
So great was the admiration with which Herman Hunter regarded the
beauty of the red shawl, that he had scarce bestowed two glances upon
her friend. He had noticed indeed, that a profusion of gold-shadowed
locks and eyes of extreme gentleness and sweetness, gave a very
agreeable expression to a countenance at least two years younger than
the other's; but as there was none of the spirit of fire breaking out
at a glance from those loop-holes of the soul, to make an instant
impression on his imagination, as had been the case with the other,
he lost the opportunity of satisfying himself by another look, how
well her charms might endure a comparison with those of her
companion. His admiration was doubly unfortunate; since, little as it
deserved such a return, it laid the foundation for a spirit of
hostility, little short of absolute hatred, in the bosom of the lady,
as will be seen in the sequel of this tradition.
As the gay but disconcerted pair rode away together, he could scarce
content himself until they got beyond earshot, before he exclaimed,
with the most emphatic delight,
"I vow to heaven, my dear mother Elsie, she is the most beautiful
creature I ever laid my eyes on!"
Alice responded with a faint sigh and a yet fainter smile; but her
countenance immediately darkened, while she muttered,
"I pity her, poor child. The storm is coming upon her that she dreams
not of; the curse will swallow up all that are, and shall be, of his
house; and she in whom there is no wrong, and who was born no child
of an unjust father, will share the penalty with his children. Yes,
yes," she added, straining her eyes, after the maidens, "I shall see
_her_ bright eyes dimmed with tears, and then closed,--_her_ yellow
locks parted over a forehead of stone and death,--and perhaps help to
lay her in the earth out of men's sight, as I have helped with one
who was as young and as fair!"
"I vow, mother Elsie," said the young man, surprised at the prophetic
sadness and emphasis of her speech, but still more at the mention of
"yellow locks," while his own thoughts were musing upon ringlets of
raven. "I vow, you have mistaken me altogether. I meant the other
lady, the black-eyed, angelic creature, who tossed her head at me
with such disdain,--and, hang it, incivility, too; for it cannot be
denied, she was uncivil."
"I thought you were speaking of the Captain's daughter," said the
widow, coldly.
"I know no more about the Captain's daughter than my grandmother,"
said the youth, irreverently; "nor do I care half so much. But tell
me Elsie,--who is that black-eyed creature? I never beheld any body
to compare with her!"
"She is the daughter of Colonel Richard Falconer," said the hostess,
resuming her labours at the wheel, yet apparently disposed to reply
to any farther interrogatories the young man might propose. But the
painter seemed satisfied with what he had heard. He exclaimed at
once, with a look of strong disgust,
"Why then may the fiends seize the fancy, and my fool's head along
with it! Hark'e, good dame Bell, did you ever hear of the old heathen
_Lamiæ_? the _Lemures_, as they were sometimes called?"
"I have heard of some such beasts of Peru," said the complaisant
hostess; "and I believe they are a kind of camels."
"Oh, that's the _llama_, the pretty little llama," said the young
man, with the good-humour that became an instructor. "The Lamiæ were
monsters and sorceresses of Africa, with the face and bust of women,
and the body of a serpent,--a sort of land mermaids. (By the by, do
you know, I saw a mermaid once? Some time, I will tell you all about
her; but, just now, all I can say is, that she was monstrous ugly.)
These Lamiæ often bewitched men, who looked them in the face: if you
looked there first, you were so blinded, you could not perceive their
true deformity, until assisted by the counter-spell of some
benevolent magician. Now, Elsie, this is my thought: I hold Miss
Falconer to be a Lamia; and the sound of her father's name was the
spell that opened my eyes to her true ugliness. Pho!" continued the
youth, observing the incredulity and wonder of his auditor; "the
image is a bad one after all, for it conveys an improper impression.
I should say, that _I_ am like the Lamia's lover, not Miss Falconer
like the Lamia. To tell you the truth, I have heard so many ill
things said of the father, that I feel myself heartily inclined to
hate the daughter. A vixen, I warrant me!"
The old woman regarded him earnestly, and then replied,
"Little cause have I to love Colonel Falconer, or to speak well of
him and his; yet why should a stranger like you, assume the post of
the judge, and visit the father's faults upon the head of his
offspring? But you do not speak seriously. I know no evil of Miss
Falconer, and I have heard none. This is the first time I have ever
seen her so near to my threshold: and I know not what strange fancy
could have brought her hither. As for Miss Catherine, the Captain's
daughter, she often comes to inquire about me. Poor child! she fears
not the 'old witch,' for she has done no harm to me nor to any other
mortal; she does not hate 'wicked old Elsie,' for hatred dwells not
in her nature; but she looks with respect and pity upon the miseries
of age and penury. And many a good deed she has done me, when others
passed me by with scorn and hate. Would that I might go down to the
grave in her place! were it but in memory of her goodness. But when
the bolt is aimed at the little willow, even the withered old oak
cannot arrest it."
With such expressions as these the old woman, if she did not
re-inspire Herman Hunter with admiration for Miss Falconer, succeeded
at least in awakening some interest for the younger lady; which was
greatly increased, when he came to suspect, from some expressions
Elsie let fall, that the miseries she seemed so confidently to
predict as being in store for the maiden, were predicated upon the
knowledge of a contemplated union between her and the brother of her
friend. It was plain, from what Elsie said, that this was to be a
marriage of convenience, in which Catherine's affections were to be
sacrificed, or disregarded. It is true, that Elsie did not directly
affirm this to be the case; but the inference from her expressions
was consequential and inevitable; and Herman only wondered that the
young lady, whom he now pictured to himself as dying of a broken
heart, should have looked so rosy and happy.
In the meanwhile, the maidens rode on, returning towards the park,
until they reached the grove in the hollow, where they were sheltered
from view. Here they paused, and the Captain's daughter gave at once
the flattest contradiction to all Elsie's piteous allusions to the
state of her feelings, by looking archly into her companion's face,
and then bursting into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
"Well, what now, dear Hal?" she cried, while tears of genuine
merriment swam in her eyes and rolled on her cheeks; "what do you
think of your race _now_? Shall we try it over again?"
"Upon my word, Miss Loring"----
"Kate! call me Kate, or never look to see me laugh more," exclaimed
the Captain's daughter. "Now pray, cousin Hal, do you not think we
have exhibited our horsemanship somewhat too advantageously to-day?
Fy, Harriet, I will never forgive you! To think we should go
galloping in this manner, almost into the arms of a young fellow with
a scarlet waistcoat! It is _too_ ridiculous!"
"So much for dragging me along after you, to the old witch's!" said
Miss Falconer, pettishly.
"_After_ me?" cried the other, with increased mirth; "why, you were
leading--you had beaten me by full a length and a half, as the
jockeys call it:--so much for not starting fair! And as for dragging
you there, Harriet, pray do me justice; you know it was your own
wicked suggestion altogether that carried you thither, and my frailty
that made me follow. It is all a punishment on you, for breaking the
commandment, and running after the forbidden fruit. Oh, curiosity!
curiosity! when shall we poor women shuffle the little tempter from
our bosoms? But pray, cousin, what made you treat the young man so
rudely? Sure, he was very handsome and well-behaved; and sure, young
gentlemen, handsome and well-behaved, are not so plentiful in
Hawk-Hollow! I think we will get pa to invite him to dinner."
"Well, Catherine," said the other, "you are merry to-day; but it
happens so seldom, and I am so glad of it, that I pardon you,
although your mirth is all at my expense."
"You are angry with me, Harriet?" said the Captain's daughter, riding
up to her friend, and stretching forth her hand. Her frolicsome
spirits vanished in a moment, and the change on her countenance and
in her whole manner, from extreme gayety to impetuous emotion, was
inexpressibly striking and touching.
"Angry? by no means," said Miss Falconer, as Catherine flung her arm
round her neck and kissed her. "Poor wayward Kate! I would you could
laugh at me for ever. Why do you cry, mouse? You are certainly the
most extraordinary mad creature in the world!"
"Yes, I am," said Miss Loring, smiling through her tears; "I can't
abide being talked stiffly to. But what shall we do? Shall we ride up
to the park? Shall we sit down here, and play long-straws for
sweethearts? Shall we take heart of grace, and ride on in search of
papa? Or shall we play termagant again, whip, cut and spur, whoop and
halloo, and call Monsieur Red-Jacket to stand up for umpire? Any
thing, dear Hal, to kill time, and find you amusement."
"Was Monsieur Red-Jacket so handsome, after all?" demanded Miss
Falconer.
"I don't know," said Catherine: "He kept his eyes so fixed upon your
own face, I could not half see him. But, really, he seemed to admire
you very much--I suppose, because you were first in! I don't see how
you could have the heart to treat him so uncivilly, when his
admiration was so manifest, and his bearing so respectful?"
"Was it, indeed?" said the other, shaking her head, as if
regretfully. "Young, handsome, well bred, and an admirer--and yet, I
know, I shall never abide the sight of him. What! see me riding in
full race, with whoop and halloo, and all that, as you say, like a
grazier's daughter!--poh, it is intolerable: it can never be
forgiven!"
"Why, he saw me, too," said Miss Loring; "and I am sure, _I_ forgive
him! And it is no such great matter, after all."
"No great matter, to be sure; but small ones govern the world. No one
can forgive being made ridiculous, especially a woman of spirit.
Come, we will gallop back to the park, and leave the Captain to find
his own way."
With these words, they returned to the paddock.
In the confession of a weak and capricious prepossession, which was
perhaps more than half serious, Miss Falconer showed an almost
prophetic sense of what would be the future temper of her mind
towards the unlucky Herman. Neither the manifest folly nor injustice
of the sentiment, even when gratitude should have expelled it from
her bosom for ever, could prevent it ripening into jealousy and final
dislike; and unfortunately circumstances of an accidental nature soon
arose to give a double impulse to these unamiable feelings.
CHAPTER III.
A man of blood, being brought up in the wars
And cruel executions.
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
------A very foolish, fond old man,
Four-score and upwards; and, to deal plainly,
I fear, he is not in his proper mind.
KING LEAR.
The painter, still keeping his eyes upon the pair, pondered over that
propensity of our nature, which urges even the coldest and demurest
of mortals into acts of extravagance, when removed a moment from
artificial restraints. The whole system of social federation is a
state of enthrallment and captivity, although undoubtedly a wholesome
one; and he who publicly rejects its fetters, though he may
personally enjoy his independence, violates that compact which
separates the refined from the primitive and uncivilized states of
existence, and encourages others to rush back upon the savage freedom
of the latter. The preservation of a certain share of dignity is
incumbent upon men, not merely as a means of holding caste, but of
preventing a downslide in manners and mind. The hero may properly
play at bo-peep with his children, though not at the head of his
army; and, by the same rule, a fair lady may shoot and drive, play
the fiddle, and race horses, to her heart's content, so long as the
amusement is confined to the proper circle. For our own part, we
think there is no more delightful spectacle in the world than is
afforded by a troop of grown-up hoydens, released from the heavy
trammels of etiquette, and yielding, in all the confidence of
privacy, to the wild extravagancies of freedom; though a public
display of the kind would, undoubtedly, be any thing but agreeable.
Such were the sentiments of the painter; and however much the young
ladies may have been mortified at an introduction made in a way so
boisterous and masculine, it is questionable whether any other could
have caused them to produce a stronger, or even more favourable,
impression on his imagination. Being of a joyous temperament himself,
he rejoiced at the manifestation of similar spirit in others; and
only regretted that the parentage of the most admired (for his
prejudice against the name of Falconer had been strongly avowed,)
should have so soon driven away the visions of amusement and delight,
that, at the glance of her brilliant eyes, came rushing through his
brain.
He had scarce lost sight of them in the park, before the road again
echoed with the sound of hoofs; and looking round, he beheld three
young men, very genteely dressed, ride by, and make their way to the
park gate. As they passed the cottage, they turned their faces
towards it, saluting the widow by name, and acknowledging the
presence of the stranger by courteous nods. He perceived, however,
that they were somewhat surprised, and not a little diverted, by his
appearance at such a place; for they exchanged smiles, and by and by,
when they had got a little beyond the brook, they were heard laughing
together.
"Well done, ye vagabonds," muttered the good-humoured youth to
himself: "never trust me, if I do not make you more in love with my
lodgings than your own empty skulls, before we are many days older.
There _is_ some life in Hawk-Hollow, after all."
He had just succeeded in recalling his attention to his unfinished
sketch, when it was distracted for the third time by the sudden
appearance of a carriage, somewhat old-fashioned and grim, that
rolled up to the inn at an unusual speed, and was in the act of
passing it, when an old gentleman, whose head was thrust from the
window, caught sight of Herman, and immediately diverted it from its
course, by roaring out to the coachman, a venerable negro,--
"Holla, you Dick! right about wheel,--turn,--halt!" and the coach,
guided with ready skill, stopped at the porch-step, almost before the
last word had been pronounced.
Open flew the door, for it was evident the old gentleman was too
impatient to await the tardy assistance of his servant, and out flew
the steps, unfolding at a kick of his foot, which immediately
followed them. As he thrust himself thus hurriedly from the vehicle,
Herman observed, that besides his aged appearance, he had another
claim to such duties as a young man could render, in a second foot,
which, instead of displaying any of the strength and agility of the
former, was battered out of shape by some ancient injury, and was
pendent to a leg unquestionably infirm and halt. Seeing this, the
young painter instantly stepped forward, and assisted him to descend;
a courtesy that was acknowledged by a hearty gripe of the hand, and
the exclamation,
"Surrender, you dog, or I'll blow your brains out!"--And to complete
the astonishment of the young man, he perceived, at the same moment,
a great horse-pistol, which the old gentleman had whipped out of the
vehicle, presented within three inches of his ear.
Astounded at such an unexpected mode of salutation, the painter could
do little more than express his alarm and confusion, by echoing the
word, "Surrender?" when Elsie interfered in his behalf, crying out,
"For Heaven's sake, Captain Loring! what are you doing? Do the young
gentleman no harm!"
"_Gentleman!_" cried the Captain, somewhat staggered himself.
"Adzooks! do you say so?--a gentleman? What! and no cut-throat
Gilbert, hah? By the lord, I thought I had him! Why, you vagabond
young fellow, give an account of yourself.--Who are you? what are
you? and how did you come here? You are a gentleman, hah? and you
have not killed Colonel Falconer, hah? and you profess yourself to be
an honest man, hah! Why, what will the world come to!"
As he spoke, in these abrupt and startling phrases, Herman had
leisure, notwithstanding his surprise, to observe that he was a
comely, eccentric-looking old man, with a bottle-shaped nose, gray
eyes, and huge beetle-brows, his whole countenance puckered into
wrinkles, that seemed to begin at the tip of his nose, or on his
upper lip, as a common centre, and radiate thence to all parts of his
visage, though they appeared in the greatest luxuriance on the chin
and forehead. His hair was clubbed, queued, and powdered; and,
although he was evidently battered by time and hard service, and
limped withal very uncouthly on his wounded leg, a three-cornered
hat, and a half-and-half old military dress, gave him a somewhat
heroic appearance. His coat was blue, his breeches buff; and he had a
boot on one leg, and a shoe on the other,--or,--to speak more
strictly, on the foot thereof, _that_ being incapable of the more
manly decoration. But at the present moment, it was scarce possible
to obtain a just idea of his appearance or character, had Herman been
cool enough for the attempt. The violence of his attack upon one in
the act of rendering him a humane courtesy, indicated that he was
somewhat beside himself; and it was equally plain, from the medley of
expressions on his visage, agitated at once by suspicion, anxiety,
indignation, fury, triumph, and doubt, that he was in a condition to
be replied to rather with softness than anger. In truth, there was
something so ridiculous in his appearance, as well as in the
circumstance of his own unexpected arrest, that Herman was no sooner
relieved of the fear of death, by the dropping of the pistol, which
the gallant soldier removed at the remonstrance of Elsie, than he
burst into a laugh, and would have indulged it freely, had not the
Captain cut him short by exclaiming,
"Hark ye, ye grinning cub! is it a thing to laugh at, when a man's
murdered, and you arrested on suspicion?"
"Murdered, Captain!" cried the widow, whom some of his previous
ejaculations seemed to have turned into stone:--"Murdered, Captain,
did you say?" she exclaimed, seizing the soldier by the arm, and
wholly disregarding the presence of the painter,--"Richard Falconer
murdered at last? and by a Gilbert, when all that bore the name are
in the grave? Impossible!"
"Murdered, I tell you, and given over by the doctors," roared the
Captain, "and by one of the cursed Hawk-Hollow Gilberts, if there's
any believing words out of his own mouth: I have it by express. And
hark ye, you old beldam, if you have given shelter to the villain,
never trust me if I don't burn you at a stake. Adzooks! was there
ever such a thing dreamed of?--Hark ye, sir, I arrest you on
suspicion."
"What, sir! on suspicion of murder!" cried Hunter, who had by this
time recovered his gravity, and now spoke with as much dignity as
boldness: "If you have any authority to apprehend me, I am your
prisoner, and will accompany you to the nearest magistrate.--This is
the most extraordinary circumstance in the world; and let me tell
you, sir,"--but he was interrupted by the widow; who, still grasping
the Captain's arm, although he strove to cast her off, exclaimed,
"Do no rash folly with the young man. Look at him--does _he_ look
like a Gilbert? You are mad to think it, Captain Loring!"
Then, as if satisfied that such argument was sufficient to acquit her
lodger of all suspicion, she again renewed her questions; and Herman,
giving ear to the Captain, gathered from his broken and impetuous
expressions, that assassination had been committed, or rather
attempted, (for it did not appear that the victim was dead,) upon the
body of Colonel Falconer, who had been so lately the subject of his
thoughts and conversation,--that the outrage had been perpetrated at,
or near, the metropolis of the State,--that suspicion had fallen upon
a man long esteemed defunct,--and that Captain Loring, in the fervour
of his indignation and zeal to bring the assassin to justice, being
never very notorious for the wisdom of his actions, had resolved to
seize upon all suspicious persons,--that is to say, all
strangers,--he might light on, without much question of his right to
do so, until he had caught the true offender, who, he doubted not,
being a refugee and a Gilbert, would be found lurking about the
Hawk's Hollow. It seemed, that the suddenness of the intelligence had
overpowered the veteran's brain, and left him as incapable of
distinguishing the appearances of innocence from those of guilt, as
of understanding the illegal character of his proceedings; yet, being
a man of impulses, excitable both in head and heart, his suspicions
were as easily diverted as inflamed; and, accordingly, after having
come within an ace of shooting a pistol through the painter's head,
his next act was to seize upon him in the most affectionate manner in
the world, crying out by way of apology,
"Harkee, younker,--adzooks, no ill blood betwixt us? When my blood's
up, I'm an old fool, d'ye see. Didn't mean to insult you; and as for
shooting, that's neither here nor there. But when we're after a
deserter, spy, refugee, murderer, or such dogs, why quick's the word,
and 'Fall in, friend,' the order of the day. Must catch the villain,
and take account of all skulking fellows without the counter-sign.
Here's bloody murder in the wind. The old woman says you are a
gentleman: so, gentleman, as you were! Adzooks, you look no more like
a Gilbert than a mud-terrapin; but all honest men answer to their
names--what's _yours_?"
"Hunter,--Herman Hunter," replied the young man; "and, if need be, I
can easily convince you that I am no object of suspicion."
"Don't doubt it; you've an excellent phys'nomy,--very much like my
poor son Tom's," cried the soldier, now as much struck with the open
and agreeable countenance of the stranger, as he had been before
blinded by his own impetuosity. "I like you! You're a soldier, hah?
Where do you come from?"
"From South Carolina," said Hunter, exchanging the serious mood in
which he first submitted to examination, for one more characteristic
of his humorous temper. He began to understand and even relish the
oddities of the inquisitor; and as the Captain's questions were now
put in a tone indicative of good will and admiration, and it was
evident his turbulent feelings were giving way rapidly before others
of a new character, he seemed disposed not only to endure but to
encourage the ordeal.
"From South Carolina?" cried the Captain. "Too many tories there by
half! But then you have some men there; yes, sir, some men, whom I
call men! Sumpter, sir, and Marion, sir,--why I call such fellows
_men_, sir! I like this swamp-fighting, too; I was brought up to
it,--took my first lesson among red Delawares, and ended with Mingoes
and Shawnees. A good tussle at Eutaw, too, sir, it was, by the lord!"
exclaimed Captain Loring, warming into such a blaze of military
ardour at the recollection, that he quite forgot the object of his
delay, and the assassination of his kinsman into the bargain;--"a
good tussle, (without saying any thing of my friend Morgan's
rub-a-dub-dub at the Cowpens,)--a good tussle! And such glorious
weather, too, when a man could fight and keep cool! Now I remember,
that, at the fatal field of Braddock, ninth July, '55, it was the
hottest work, what with the weather, what with the savages, what with
the stupid cockney red-coats, that man ever saw,--an oven above, and
a furnace all round; it was all blood and sweat, sir!--the wounded
were boiled in their own gore. It was a day, sir, to make a man a
man, sir,--it taught me to smell gun-powder! It was there, sir, I
first looked in the face of George Washington,--a poor colonial
buck-skin colonel then, but now, adzooks, the greatest man the world
ever saw! Harkee, sir, have you served? have you smelt powder? have
you heard a trumpet? have you ever fought a battle?"
"Certainly, sir," replied the young man, with humour; "I have
inflicted bloody-noses, and received them. I was quite a Hector at
school; and, so long as you stop short of killing, I am a Hector yet.
But I never could find any appetite in me for bullets and
broad-swords; and as for a bayonet, I think it the most inhuman
weapon in the world. Noble Captain, I am a non-combatant, a man of
peace."
"Hah!" cried the Captain, indignantly; "and how comes that? An
able-bodied man, with your bleeding country calling on you, and no
fight in you? Sir, let me tell you, sir, such a pair of legs should
have been devoted to the service of your country, sir! Look you, sir,
my son Tom Loring was only eighteen years old, when he fought his
battle on the Brandywine; and a whole year before, he was ripe for a
rub, as he often told me. How comes it, sir, you have grown out of
your teens, and never faced an enemy? Zounds, sir, I was beginning to
have a good opinion of you!"
"There is no accounting for it, Captain, except"----
"Hark ye, Mr. What-d'ye-call-it," said the soldier, the good feelings
with which he was beginning to regard the youth, giving place at once
to contempt and indignation, "there is every thing in having the
right sort of blood for these things, and you have no blood at all. I
despise you, sir, and, adzooks, I believe you are some suspicious
person after all, and very contemptible, for all of your red
jacket.--Holloa, Dick, there! help me into the carriage."
And thus venting his disgust, and preparing to put the seal to his
displeasure by instant departure, the young man was on the point of
losing a friend so suddenly won, when, fortunately for him, the
Captain's eye fell upon the little table with the drawing materials,
which he had not before observed, and walking up to it, he began,
without a moment's hesitation, to examine the unfinished sketch. The
effect was instantaneous; the spectacle of his own dwelling,
transferred, with not a little skill, to paper, though only in light
lead marks, and so accurately that he instantly detected (as appeared
to him wonderful enough) the windows of his own sleeping apartment,
threw him into such transports, that he seemed on the point of
dancing for joy, as he would perhaps have done, had it not been for
the infirmity of his extremity.
"Lord bless us!" said he, "here's the Folly! the identical old Folly,
with the grape-vine, the stables, the negro-houses, the locust grove,
the three tulip-trees, the pot in the chimney, and the old
martin-house on a pole! And here's my two negroes, Dick and Sam, at
the gate, driving the cows out of the park"----
"No, Captain," said Herman, with a painter's dignity; "those are the
two young ladies; and I flatter myself, when I have done a little
more to them"----
"My girls?" cried the Captain, in a rapture; "why, so they are! And
_you_ did this? and you're a painter, hah?"
"A sort of one, as you see, Captain," replied the youth, with an air.
"A painter!" cried the Captain, grasping his hand, with delight. "Can
you paint a soldier, hah?"
"Ay," replied the youth, "if he'll hold still long enough."
"And cannon, and horses, and smoke, and trees, and a dreadful
splutter of blood and dead men, hah? Then, by the lord, you shall
paint me the Fatal Field of Braddock, with the red-coats and the
continentals, the savages and the Frenchmen,--and Braddock, lugged
off on men's shoulders,--and George Washington rallying the
colony-boys for another charge on the red-skins! What a picture that
will make!--I'll tell you what, Mr. Harkem What-d'-ye-call-it, you
shall come to my house, drink and be merry, and then you shall paint
me that picture. You shall paint me the battle of Brandywine, too,
with my poor Tom Loring bleeding to death, like a hero, as he was:
and hark ye, you may bring _me_ in, too, holding him on my knee,--for
I did it,--and telling him to die like a man,--for an old fool, as I
was, to think he could die like any thing else! And stick in my girl,
too, if you can, weeping and wringing her hands, when I carried Tom
Loring home that day. And remember the bugles and trumpets, blasting
up for the charge of cavalry; you should have heard them sweeping by,
just as Tom was dying.--It was the finest sound in nature!" continued
the Captain, vehemently, and as he spoke, dashing a tear from his
eye; "the finest music ever heard; as Tom acknowledged himself:
'Father!' said he, as he bled in my arms, 'it is not hard to die to
such music, for I hear our own trumpets among the others!' And so
died Tom Loring; he went to heaven amid thunder and trumpets; and if
I had seven sons more, I should wish nothing better for them, than
that they might go to heaven the same way,--I would, by the lord! For
why? there's no way that's better!"
There was something in this eccentric burst of ardour, which, however
ludicrous it seemed, touched some of the finer feelings of the
painter, and checked the laugh which he could scarce repress, when
the Captain began his energetic instructions. Not being disposed to
accept a commission so capriciously proffered, or to undertake a
composition, in which, it was evident, if he hoped to please his
employer, he must mingle together as many different scenes and
actions as would furnish subjects for a whole gallery, and desiring
to temper his refusal to the peculiarities of his patron, he was
puzzling himself in what way to express it, when his good-fortune
sent him aid in the person of another stranger, who, as the
capricious stars would have it, designed, like himself, to make trial
of the accommodations of the Traveller's Rest.
CHAPTER IV.
_1st Friar_. No doubt, brother, but this proceedeth of the Spirit?
_2d Friar_. Ay, and of a moving spirit, too; but come,
Let us intreat he may be entertain'd.
MARLOW--_The Jew of Malta_.
As the Captain concluded his eccentric oration, rather from want of
breath than because he lacked the will to continue it, a sonorous
voice, very manly and agreeable, save that it had a strong nasal
twang, was heard pronouncing hard by, with solemn emphasis, the words
from the Apocalypse,--
"'And I looked, and behold, a pale horse: and his name that sat on
him was Death, and hell followed with him. And power was given unto
them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with the sword, and
with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.'"
Startled at an interruption so unexpected, both looked round at the
first sound of the voice, and even Elsie Bell woke from the trance
into which the Captain's news had plunged her, to gaze as eagerly as
the others after the cause. As they directed their eyes towards the
entrance of the little oak-shaded yard, they saw, turning into it
from the road, and slowly riding towards them, an apparition that
might almost have been supposed by a profane imagination to imbody
the conception of the grisly terror. It was a tall man in black
raiment, riding an old gray horse, very meager and raw-boned, which
moved with a step so slow and drowsy, as to oppose no obstruction to
the meditations of the rider, who held a book in his hand, from which
he read the words that followed so ominously after the burst of the
Captain. He seemed so inwrapt in his study as to be unconscious of
the presence of strangers, having apparently yielded up the guidance
of his course to the animal he bestrode; and as he drew nigh to the
porch, still pronouncing the words, the first one of which had
attracted their attention, all had an opportunity of gazing on him at
leisure. He was a tall man, as has been said, being somewhat gaunt
and thin in the lower part of his body, though his shoulders were
broad and square. His joints were large and bony, and his hands and
feet were any thing in the world but fairy-like. His neck was long
and scraggy, his face of a cadaverous hue and lantern-jawed, and long
locks of straight black hair, a little grizzled, fell from beneath an
old cocked-hat, the brim of which was inclined to go slouching along
with them, towards his shoulders. His coat was of black velvet, worn
and soiled, and indeed extremely shabby, and so long, that, as he
rode, the wide skirts almost concealed his saddle-bags and flapped
about his heels; the collar was straight and short, and its place was
supplied by a red bandanna handkerchief, which was twisted round his
throat in a thong like a cable.
He continued to read aloud, until his horse suddenly paused before
the porch; then lifting up his eyes, and closing the book, he
bestowed a gracious stare upon the party, that had well nigh
converted the painter's admiration into merriment, it was so
extravagantly grave and sanctimonious. It dispelled also some of the
reverence with which the soldier was beginning to regard him; and
recurring suddenly to the objects which had brought him to the
Traveller's Rest, Captain Loring hobbled up to the saintly
apparition, advanced his hand to seize upon the bridle rein, and was
just saluting him with a "Harkee, Mister, whoever you are,--being a
stranger, you must give an account of yourself,"--when the worthy
personage, rolling his eyes once more over the party, and then
directing them to heaven, opened his mouth, and again lifted up his
voice.
"Fellow sinners!" said he, with as much zeal as emphasis, seeming to
consider that he had found a congregation in great need of his
exhortations, "you have heard the words of the book: 'And I looked,
and behold, a pale horse; and his name that sat on him was Death, and
hell followed with him.' Death comes on the pale horse, and hell
follows at his heels! Listen to what I have to say, and let your
souls that are a-hungering, open their mouths and be satisfied. He
that has ears to hear"----
"Is an ass!" cried Captain Loring, interrupting him without ceremony.
"Come, you fanatical fool, none of your babble and sermonizing here
of a week-day; but answer my questions."
"Will you rail upon the Lord's anointed? will you do violence to my
holy vocation?" cried the preacher, hotly. "Get thee behind me,
Satan! If thou wilt not profit by the unction of truth, shut thy
mouth and get thee away, that others may not backslide after thee.
Anathema upon thee! anathema baranathema! If thou stoppest the flood
of the sweet waters that are ready to fall upon the thirsty-spirited,
I say to thee, Anathema! Lo and behold! I am sent upon a mission, and
the spirit waxes strong within me, so that I will wrestle with thee
and prevail. Am not I he that is sent to scatter the good seed by the
way-side? and art thou not a bush of thorns, that chokes up the grain
ere it reaches the soil, or the rock that has no soil to receive it?
I will preach the devil out of thee, I warrant thee, thou most
antique sinner; for what says the word"----
"Harkee, friend methodist, or whatever you are," said Captain Loring,
not a whit abashed by the violent zeal with which the fanatic
prolonged this remonstrance, "it is not in my way to insult the
cloth, all chaplains being non-combatants. But, hark ye, sir,
adzooks, I don't believe you are a preacher at all, but a rogue in
another man's feathers; and if you don't satisfy my mind, I will
arrest you on suspicion of being a rascal, I will by the lord! and
that's as true as any Scripture. And do you, you Harper
What-d'ye-call-it," (turning to the painter,) "hand me my pistol, and
hold him by the leg; and you, Dick! club your whip, and stand by to
knock him off his horse; and you, Elsie, come forward for a witness;
for I believe the dog's a Gilbert. Surrender, you villain, and give
an account of yourself!"
Great was the confusion of the exhorting stranger, at finding he had
lighted upon a zealot, of fire so much superior to his own, and a
congregation so little disposed to bow down to his ministry; and
great was the inclination of Herman Hunter to enjoy a rencounter
betwixt two such antagonists, and even to add to its absurdities, by
taking part with the Captain against a man who, whatever was his
apparent sanctity, he was persuaded, was nothing more than a low and
vulgar hypocrite. However, perceiving that the latter worthy, besides
being greatly alarmed, was clubbing his bible as if weighing the
propriety of employing all its arguments and exhortations together,
in one fell swoop against the head of his irreligious captor, his
humanity and love of peace drove the young man betwixt the eccentric
pair, as a moderator and umpire.
"Stop, Captain," said he; "this mode of questioning is against the
law; and you, reverend stranger, hearken to me. Being a man of
religion and peace, and doubtless good sense and good manners, you
can do nothing more than answer a civil question; which will save you
the trouble of a ride, or drive, according to circumstances, to the
nearest magistrate."
"Magistrate!" cried the preacher, blankly, "what have the servants of
truth to do with a magistrate?"
"Yes, magistrate," blustered the soldier; "and then, adzooks, perhaps
to the hangman afterwards."
"In a word, sir," said Herman, "there has been a murder attempted;
though where, when, and how, I do not pretend to know; and this being
a land where suspicion is somewhat capricious and even whimsical, you
will see the necessity of doing as I myself have done but a moment
before you;--that is, of declaring your name and business to this
gentleman."
"Name, gentlemen! business, gentlemen!--Certainly,
gentlemen,--certainly, fellow christians and sinners!" cried the
preacher, recovering his equanimity, which had somewhat deserted him,
and becoming ten times more nasal and sanctified than before. "I am a
poor servant of the word, an expounder of the book, Nehemiah by
name,--which is to say, Nehemiah Poke,--an humble labourer in the
vineyard of sin--that is to say, of righteousness--and a warner and
crier-out on the way-side, by the side of the great road that leadeth
to the place of despair, and of wailing, and of gnashing of teeth.
You put your scorns upon me, men of the world, and sons of a
stiff-necked generation; you spit in my face, you strike me over the
mouth, and you take me by the beard, crying, 'Get up, you bald-head.'
But _he_ will reckon with you, who goeth about like a roaring lion,
seeking whom he may devour. Open therefore your ears, and repent you,
lest he who comes on the pale horse, with hell after him, shall fall
upon you in your pride, and twist your necks, as you twist off a quid
of tobacco from the roll. I come to the house of the good widow, for
such, say the men of the world, is the widow Bell. I design to eat
and refresh me with sleep; and then crossing over the river that lies
in my path, wend my way to the scorners of truth, that are thick
among the men of blood in the army; for among them, Death on the pale
horse is ever ramping and roaring. But I see, that wickedness is
here, even here, in this 'desert idle,' as it is written: I will
therefore tarry awhile, and expound to you the words of comfort, and
that before I eat and sleep, lest you fall and perish before the
morning. Rest a moment then, irreverent and headstrong old man, and I
will wrestle with the devil that is in thee. For I forgive thee, and
will arouse thee with an exhortation, strong and fiery, 'fierce as
ten furies, terrible as night,' according to the expression. Listen,
therefore, to the words of my text: 'And I looked, and behold.'--And
behold! the sinner rolleth away in his pride, rejecting the word! But
he of the pale horse runneth after, even in the dust of his chariot
wheels, shaking destruction from his shoulders, even as 'dew-drops
from the lion's mane,' as it is written. Young man, give me thy hand,
that I may descend; and widow, peace be to thy house, and comfort in
the midst of thy poverty. He who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,
as the word has it, and marks even when a sparrow falls to the
ground, will not turn from thine humble tenement, when its door is
open to the weary pilgrim, and its porch resounds with the cry of
prayer and thanksgiving."
"Mr. Nehemiah Poke," said Herman, who gave his hand, as required, to
the pilgrim, and assisted him to descend, "you perceive, that your
exhortations have driven away one-third of the
congregation."--Captain Loring had been fully satisfied with the
explanations of Mr. Poke, or alarmed at the prospect of a sermon; and
while the preacher was kindling into fervour, had suddenly slipped
into the carriage, and in a moment rumbled furiously away.--"You
perceive that your sanctity has driven away one auditor, and
confounded another,--Mrs. Bell here being in a maze. Now know,
likewise, that I, the remaining third, have no need of your edifying
discourses, and request you to put an end to them."
This was said with a good-natured smile, and a knowing nod, which
somewhat disconcerted the preacher. However, after staring at the
youth awhile, he lifted up his eyes, hands, and voice together,
saying,
"Are you a scorner of the word, then, in your early and tender youth?
and will you shut your ears and harden your heart against the grace
that is offered, even by my unworthy lips!"
"Even against all that can come from your unworthy lips, as you very
properly term them," said the painter, with the most significant
countenance in the world: "and to make you easy on that score, do me
the favour to believe that I have studied Milton, Shakspeare, Sterne,
and the Bible, so much more closely than yourself, that I never
jumble them together, nor fail to perceive when another man does so.
Do you understand me?"
"Truly not," said the preacher, with a somewhat humorous stare; "but
out of the mouths of babes and sucklings we are sometimes wisely
admonished. I perceive, that I have fallen among thieves--that is to
say, among sinners; and that they are none the better, but much the
worse, for any comfortable wisdom that is offered them. Therefore, I
will hold my peace, lest the devil should be aggravated in your
bosom; hoping that a better hour may be shown me, in which to warn
you of the wickedness of your ways, and so pluck you as a brand out
of the burning. Good woman," he continued, turning to Elsie, and
speaking much better sense than before, "know, that by reason of thy
poverty and widowhood, I have brought me lucre of silver and
paper--that is to say, dollars both hard and soft--to reward thee for
thy hospitality; and that I come, not like a thief and a man of war,
to prey upon thy substance, and leave thee nothing in return; but as
a guest, in the worldly sense, who will pay scot and lot, as the word
is, without grumbling."
"Such as I have, you shall share," said Elsie, coldly, "whether you
have gold or not, provided you will take the young gentleman's
advice, and exhort no longer in my house."
"Woman," said Nehemiah, "let me not think that a devil has seized
upon you, as well as the others. Shall wisdom cry aloud, not in the
streets but at your house-door, and you regard it no more than the
scoffers? I tell you, and I charge you to hear"----
"Softly, Mr. Poke," said Herman. "Remember your promise to hold your
peace. That scrap from Sir John, though it smacks of a better origin,
is of as clear an one as the others. Read your Bible, man, for a day
or two more, and learn your trade better."
"Young man," said the preacher, again somewhat abashed, but with a
stern voice, "you talk like one of the ignorant"----
"Groundlings!" said the other, laying a ludicrous stress upon the
word. "'Thy face is valanced since I saw thee last!'--Does that come
out of Habakkuk? If you will preach, why here fate sends you another
auditor, in the form of another patron to the Traveller's Rest! As
for myself, I am tired not only of your homilies, but your company;
and I pray you, for our own two sakes, that you cross the river
before supper. The sooner the better, I assure you; for though at
present the 'rack' may 'stand still,' 'the bold wind' be
'Speechless, and the orb below
As hush as death; anon the dreadful thunder
Will rend the region,'
and scatter jackdaws, along with the owls and pigeons. Fare you well,
'Sir Topas, the Curate!'--'I am one of those gentle ones that will
use the devil himself with courtesy'--I leave you to the pedler
there, who may be of a better temper for conversation. '_Bonos dies_,
Sir Topas!'"
And with these words, and laughing heartily, as at some jest
perfectly well understood by Nehemiah, he left the porch, only
looking once behind him, as the preacher stood regarding him with
uplifted hands, and bursting into a second peal as he looked. He
raised his eyes, nodding courteously to the new comer, whom he had
justly characterized as a pedler--for so he seemed, having a pack
strapped to his back, though riding a strong black horse. "Good luck
for poor Elsie to-day!" he muttered to himself, as if even diverted
by so slight a circumstance as the unusual windfall of patronage. "I
thought I could not be mistaken in the rogue's lantern-jaws and huge
hands; and I doubt me, his religion is a mere cloak, put on for a
purpose; though I _have_ heard of such conversions before. However,
honest or not, a fool or a scoundrel, a saint or a hypocrite, it is
certain he can do me no mischief; and I'll see he does none to Elsie.
As for others, they must take their chances."
Thus reflecting, and amusing himself with his cogitations, he made
his way, though apparently without design or object, along the road,
until he had passed the park-gate of Gilbert's Folly, and reached the
rivulet described before, as emptying into the river at the mouth of
the ravine, on which the Traveller's Rest was built. Although shallow
and of a smooth bottom, where it crossed the road, there were rocks
lying in its bed both above and below; and he could hear a murmuring
noise among the trees that overshadowed it above, as if it made a
cascade at no great distance in that direction. He had no doubt that,
by leaving the road, he was trespassing upon the manor; but having no
fear of intruding upon the haunts of any of its habitants, and being
moved by a painter's curiosity, he did not hesitate to clamber over
the rude stone wall, and dive at once into the shadowy grove
bordering the stream.
CHAPTER V.
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke,
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
IL PENSEROSO.
Meanwhile, the fair jockeys, after being repulsed from the highway,
had betaken themselves to the park, where they galloped about for
awhile, expecting the Captain. As they looked back ever and anon upon
the road, they caught sight of the three young men, whom Hunter had
seen pass the Traveller's Rest but a short time after the ladies
themselves.
"Was ever any thing more provoking!" cried Miss Falconer. "Those
three rural coxcombs, the doctor and the two lawyers! Will no one
have the humanity to break a leg, or his neighbour's bones, so as to
afford _them_ some employment, and _us_ a little peace and quiet?
Must we be ever afflicted with their admiration and homage? It is
more than a misfortune to be a fine woman in the country, where
merit, as the old villanous poet says of female attraction in
general,
'In its narrow circle gathers,
Nothing but chaff, and straw, and feathers.'
But we will escape them, if it be only for an hour. Down, Kate! down,
ere they have seen you! Whip your filly, and I warrant me, she will
find her way to the stable. We will hide in the woods, as I think we
have done before from the same fellows."
Laughing heartily at a device that spoke so little in favour of the
attractive qualities of the village beaux, the Captain's daughter
leaped lightly from her palfrey, as Miss Falconer had done before
her; and both flourishing their whips at the same time, the liberated
animals fled towards the buildings, whilst their riders lost not a
moment in burying themselves from sight, by plunging into a grove,
from which they continued to ramble, until they had reached a little
brook, as wild and merry as themselves, that gushed over a remote
corner of the park, and then hid its gleaming waters in a hollow,
overgrown with forest-trees.
Into this dell they made their way, following the brook, until it
fell into a larger streamlet, which was indeed no other than
Hawk-Hollow Run, so often mentioned before. Its banks were strown
with huge masses of rock, gray and mossy, through which the waters,
swollen by late rains, rushed with impetuous speed, and sometimes
with great noise and fury, while its murmurs were rendered yet more
impressively sonorous by the hollow reverberations of the forest.
Proceeding farther, the woods, which now invested the hills on either
bank, and the rocks, assumed a sterner character of wildness and
grandeur. Hemlocks, and other gloomy trees, with here a rugged maple,
or ghostly beech, and there a gibbous oak, springing from interstices
of the rocks, seemed, with their knotted and contorted roots, to bind
the fragments together; while their thick and arched boughs flung
over these ruins of nature a chilly and everlasting gloom. Aloft, on
the hill, the grape-vine swung its massy locks from the oak, and, in
the lower depths of the ravine, for such it was, the
swamp-honeysuckle shook its fragrant clusters, and green dodders rose
on the stump of the decaying birch. When their path had conducted the
fair wanderers beyond the immediate vicinity of the falls and rapids,
these exchanged their murmurs for other sounds not less agreeable.
The chattering of jays, the lonely-sounding whistle of the
wood-robin, the cry of a startled dove, and now and then the sudden
whir of a pheasant, starting from his lair under a fallen trunk, and
bustling noisily out of sight,--the small uproar of young rabbits,
bouncing out of a brier or a bush of ferns, and galloping away up the
hill,--the dropping of half-eaten nuts from the paw of the retreating
squirrel, and a dozen other such noises as invade the solitude of the
forest, here added a double loneliness and charm to a scene long
since a favourite with the maidens.
"Now are we safe," cried Miss Falconer, with exultation; "for no one
having seen us take this course, our admirers, were they even
spirited enough to pursue, would think of twenty more reasonable
places to seek us in than this. But let us make assurance doubly
sure. Don't tell me you are tired--what business has a country-wench
to be tired? We will go down to the sycamore, and then rest us
awhile, till the sun peeps red in the hollow. I will bring you to
your confession; for, having failed in my precious designs upon the
old witch there, (may Monsieur Red-jacket sleep harder to-night than
he ever did before, for a Marplot!) and my curiosity being so much
the more inflammable, I am resolved to learn what I can, and that
without ceremony. So come along, Kate,--
'Kate of my consolation,
'Kate of Kate-hall, my super-dainty Kate,'
as the bear of Verona said of your amiable namesake; all that you
have now to do, is to be, like her, 'Kate conformable.'"
Thus whiling away the fatigue of climbing over rocks and creeping
through thickets, with a gay rattle of discourse, the black-eyed
maiden dragged her companion along, until they reached a place where
the stream was contracted by the projection, on the one bank, of a
huge mass of slaty rock, and, on the other, by the protrusion of the
roots of a gigantic plane-tree,--the sycamore, or buttonwood, of
vulgar speech. Above them, and beyond the crag, the channel of the
rivulet widened into a pool; and there was a plot of green turf
betwixt the water and the hill, on the farther bank, whereon fairies,
if such had ever made their way to the World of Twilight, might have
loved to gambol under the light of the moon. A hill shut up the glen
at its upper extremity; and it was hemmed in, on the left, by the
rocky and wooded declivity, over which the maidens had already
passed. Over this, and just behind a black rounded shoulder that it
thrust into the glen, a broad ray from the evening sun shot across
the stream, and fell, in a rich yellow flood, over the vacant plot.
There was something almost Arcadian in this little solitude; and if,
instead of two well-bred maidens perched upon the roots of the
sycamore, on seats chosen with a due regard to the claims of their
dresses, there had been a batch of country girls romping in the
water, a passing Actæon might have dreamed of the piny Gargaphy, its
running well,--_fons tenui perlucidus unda_,--and the bright
creatures of the mythic day, that once animated the waters of that
solitary grot. But the fairy and the wood-nymph are alike unknown in
America. Poetic illusion has not yet consecrated her glens and
fountains; her forests nod in uninvaded gloom, her rivers roll in
unsanctified silence, and even her ridgy mountains lift up their blue
tops in unphantomed solitude. Association sleeps, or it reverts only
to the vague mysteries of speculation. Perhaps
"A restless Indian queen,
Pale Marian with the braided hair,"
may wander at night by some highly-favoured spring; perhaps some tall
and tawny hunter,
"In vestments for the chase array'd,"
may yet hunt the hart over certain distinguished ridges, or urge his
barken canoe over some cypress-fringed pool; but all other places are
left to the fancies of the utilitarian. A Greek would have invented a
god, to dwell under the watery arch of Niagara; an American is
satisfied with a paper-mill, clapped just above it.
The fair ladies of Hawk-Hollow were no more troubled with the absence
of poetic association in their lovely retreat, than any of their
countrymen would have been; as was plainly shown by the first words
pronounced by Miss Falconer, after taking possession of a sort of
arm-chair among the sycamore roots.
"This is a place, my mannikin," said she, bending her head
majestically towards her kinswoman, whose seat was not so
elevated,--"this is a place where one may think comfortably of
murdering, whooping, scalping, and such sort of matters; and its
solemnity will therefore give a degree of point to the story. Come,
begin; I am all ears--that is, metaphorically speaking; though a
viler metaphor, to come from men of rational imagination, could not
have been invented. I tell you, Kate, I am dying with curiosity about
these terrible Hawks; and as I know, you know _something_, I am
determined you shall resuscitate me, in lack of a better physician,
with such information as you have. No excuses--I know them all by
heart, you have repeated them over so often. I declare upon my
jockey-like word, that here I sit, as fixed as the very roots around
me, and as immoveable; and here I _will_ sit, until you surrender
your scruples, and open your mouth, though I should remain until
washed away by the next fresh. I am positive; my will is as
inflexible as the laws of the Medes and Persians."
"You have mistaken me, Harriet," said the other, bending her eyes
upon the stream; "I know nothing of the matter.--That I have heard
many idle whispers, hints, and innuendoes, is true; but there is
neither wisdom nor propriety in repeating them, particularly to
_you_.--But is not this the most charming place in the world? Do you
know, I have determined upon the spot I am to be buried in? It is
further up the river, where three lime-trees grow together; behind
them is a rock, covered with laurels, wild roses, and columbines; and
there is such an array of azaleas below, with blood-roots, and
wind-flowers, and dogwood, as has half-turned my brain. Can you tell
me, Hal, why I should be ever thinking of a grave, when I stumble
upon such pretty places? It is always the first thought."
As Catherine spoke, she turned her eyes with much simplicity and
earnestness of expression, upon her companion's face; and though it
was evident, she had introduced the subject, for the purpose of
diverting the conversation from the channel in which Miss Falconer
desired to have it flow, it was equally plain, that it had already
taken hold upon her imagination, and now occupied her mind alone. As
she looked up, with such a thought at her bosom, it imparted a
character of melancholy to her countenance, which, although not her
natural and original expression, circumstances had made, of late,
much more common than any other. Her face was the sweetest oval in
the world, her features very regular and pretty, the hue of her
complexion less brilliant than might have been expected in one with
such light locks, but of a pleasant healthy tone, and her eyes,
without being bright or striking, were so singularly earnest of
expression, with a certain vague anxiety, or imploringness, mingled
up with every look, as to seldom fail of interesting the feelings of
the beholder in her favour. Besides, her brow, from which the hair
was parted in the simplest and easiest manner, was particularly
smooth and beautiful; and whatever might have been the depth of her
melancholy, this noble feature lost nothing of its serenity. Indeed,
when sadness dwelt upon her spirit, it seldom produced a change in
any part of the countenance except the eyes; and it was in these
alone, at the present moment, that emotion was betrayed by the change
from the merry brightness which the events of the afternoon had
thrown into them, to that appealing, anxious expression, already
described. It must be added to this description that her voice was,
if possible, even more strikingly expressive than her eyes. It was
with her as with the Faerie Queene; always,
"When she spake,
Sweete wordes, like dropping honny, she did shed;
And 'twixt the perles and rubins softly brake
A silver sound:"
every exertion was characterized by some appropriate and harmonious
change; her joyous spirits broke out with such sweet and jocund
sounds as come from tinkling bells; and when sadness was at her
heart, her accents were such murmurs of subdued and contagious
melancholy as the wood-pigeon breathes from the depths of the forest.
"Do I know _why_?" said Miss Falconer, looking down upon her with a
mischievous air, and humming instantly,
"'The poor soul sat sying by a sycamore-tree,
Sing all a green willow;
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow.'
But pr'ythee, be comforted; this is the way with all young ladies who
have hair-brained sweethearts. But I assure you, he we wot of is the
best, truest, and most amiable creature in the world; and if he be a
little wild, why all men are so, you know."
At these allusions, which were evidently unexpected, Miss Loring
blushed, then turned very pale; and finally, while Harriet drew
breath, as if to continue the subject, she said, recurring abruptly
to the original topic of discourse, and in a hurried manner,
"If you insist I should tell you what I have heard, I must obey. The
story is singular and melancholy,--melancholy under every aspect, but
doubly so, if that be true which I know you are most anxious to
learn. But, Harriet, I cannot tell you _all_. What concerns the
Gilberts alone I am ready to relate; but that which involves the
connexion between,--that is to say--Harriet!" cried the young lady,
after pausing with embarrassment, "it does not become a daughter to
listen to aspersions cast upon the good name of a parent!"
"It does not," said Miss Falconer, gravely, "when they are breathed
by the lips of an enemy. But fear not, I will not eat you. I do not
ask you to repeat slanders, but to inform me what slanders are
repeated by others. You might have added, it did not become me to pry
into my father's secrets; but as his child, his daughter--I would to
heaven I could say his son!--it is fitting I should at least know
from what to defend him. I tell you, Kate, I have this thing much at
heart. Fear not to shock me by your relations; for, not being
disposed to believe them, I shall not be grieved, except at
discovering how extensive may be the malignity of our foes. I shall
rest more sweetly on my pillow to-night, if I go not to sleep on
suspicion. Begin, therefore, Kate, and scruple not to speak boldly."
CHAPTER VI.
For us, we do approve the Roman maxim,
To save one citizen is a greater prize,
Than to have killed, in war, ten enemies.
MASSINGER--_The Guardian_.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude.----
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh,
As benefits forgot.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
"You know then, I presume," said Catherine, beginning her narrative,
ominously, with a sigh,--"you know, I suppose, all about old Mr.
Gilbert, and his"----
"My dear creature," said Miss Falconer, "I know no more of Mr.
Gilbert than the Grand Turk; and all that I can boast of knowledge in
relation to his cut-throat children, is that they were the Hawks of
Hawk-Hollow; but whether they were real kites, with claws and
feathers, or only the philosopher's two-legged birds, human
chanticleers, I could never yet determine. My father is not always so
communicative as might be expected in a dutiful parent; and, once or
twice, when I have been curious to come at some of his early exploits
on the frontiers, (for they say he was a great Indian-fighter,) he
has not hesitated to assume a severe countenance, and scold me in the
most paternal manner imaginable. Nay, my dear, he once assured me
that, as it became a woman rather to garnish the outside of her head
than the interior, I would do well never to trouble myself by
searching after information that could not make me a whit more
handsome. I bowed my head at the reproof, and ran straightway to my
brother. But Harry, poor fellow, knew no more about these matters
than he cared,--that is, nothing. Ah! he is a jewel of a man, and
will make the best husband in the world, having nothing of the
meddler about him. I have often thought, if pa were to commit a
murder, or even break his neck, Harry would not trouble himself with
either wonder or lamentation; and this, not from any want of
affection, but simply because he would consider the thing his
father's affair, not his. A good easy temper is an excellent thing in
men,--as excellent indeed as the 'voice soft, gentle, and low,' in
woman. So, now, you perceive the necessity of beginning just where
your story begins. Take up the father,--the grandfather, if you
choose,--of this savage brood; give me their genealogy, if they have
any, and if it be german to the matter; draw all sorts of parallels,
make all kinds of reflections, and, in fine, do and say any thing you
may think proper,--only conceal nothing. My curiosity is as capacious
of appetite as the Moor's revenge, (so much for ruralizing, when one
must kill time with Shakspeare!) and demands that its gratification
should be as complete."
Thus adjured and instructed, Miss Loring began the narration of
Gilbert's story, and the description of his family, as they have been
already recorded; into both which, however, she entered in greater
detail than it was thought necessary to attempt.
The first part of the history, which was without melancholy, and
related chiefly to the dilemmas into which the founder of Hawk-Hollow
Hall was thrown by the sudden accession of wealth, and his vain
struggles to refine the character of his children, long since
determined by early habits upon rude and adventurous lives, Miss
Loring, naturally a merry and waggish maiden, with strong talents for
mimicry, delivered in a manner that soon became humorous, and, at
last, highly diverting; so that the hollow forest began to peal with
the approving merriment of her companion. Her benevolence to the poor
widow had so opened Elsie's heart, that she had cast aside most of
the reserve with which she was accustomed to speak of the Gilberts;
and, in consequence, Catherine was provided with an ample store of
anecdotes, illustrative of their characters and habits, with which
she now amused her friend. She related with what surprise the good
Elsie, one autumn evening, (while Mr. Gilbert was yet in England with
his whole family,) beheld the adventurous Oran, in ragged attire, and
with a bundle at his back, come trudging up to the Traveller's Rest,
looking as bold and resolute, to use her own whimsical illustrations,
as a soldier marching up to the mouth of an empty cannon, or a
militia-man returning from a campaign without battles; and she even
mimicked, with voice, gesture, and looks, the appearance and bearing
of the two friends, in the dialogue that followed as soon as the
truant was recognized by the widow.
"'Heaven bless us!' said Elsie, with uplifted hands, 'is that _you_,
Oran Gilbert?'"--Thus her story went on: "'What a foolish question!'
muttered the hero of two lustres and a half, who had never affected
much of the dulcet submissiveness of a child to any one, either in
word or action; 'what a foolish question for you, goody Elsie! Here I
am in Pennsylvany, and hungry, I reckon!' and with that, without
waiting for invitation, he plumped himself down at the table, already
set out for the widow's evening meal, and straightway fell to work
with a zeal and industry that showed he had not mistaken the
condition of his appetite. The widow regarded him with undiminished
astonishment, crying out, for she feared lest some dreadful accident,
by shipwreck or otherwise, had destroyed the rest, 'But your father
and brothers, Oran,--where are _they_?' 'In Bristol,' mumbled the
boy, scowling at her over a bone, but still making the most of
it,--'in Bristol,--that is, the big English Bristol, and not our
Pennsylvany town, down the river.' 'In Bristol,' echoed Elsie Bell;
'and what are you doing here without them?' 'Why, eating my supper,
don't you see?' replied the juvenal. 'And how did you get here?'
demanded Elsie. 'I came in a big ship to Philadelphy,' replied the
boy, scarce intermitting his agreeable employment for a moment, 'and
then, to be sure, I footed it.' 'You have run away from your father,
Oran?' said Elsie. 'Yes, I have,' said the boy, grumly; 'let me eat
my supper, and I'll tell you all about it.'
"The widow held her peace for awhile, until the lad had satisfied his
ravenous appetite; and then, assuming a friendly and coaxing air, for
well she knew nothing else would have any effect on that singular
young reprobate, she drew from him a confession of his whole
adventure, and the causes that led to it.
"It appeared, that, besides an extraordinary attachment to his native
home among the wild woods, Oran had another cause to be discontented
with his residence in England; and this he discovered in the public
school, to which he was sent with his brother next in age, called
Hyland. 'He sent me,' said Oran, expatiating upon the barbarity of
his father, 'to a school, to learn grammar, and Latin, and reading
and writing, and all that sort of thing!'--For you must know," said
Catherine, speaking to her friend, "that the want of a teacher, or
perhaps hard poverty, had prevented Gilbert sending his children to
any school, before he fell heir to his fortune; which was the reason
perhaps, that they got such wild notions and propensities among them
as could never after be eradicated. 'Yes,' the urchin went on, 'he
sent me to school, and Hy, too; for he has been a sort of crazy man
ever since he came to his money. Well, the boys at school called me
an Indian papoose, and I thumped 'em; and the man that was master he
thumped _me_, and Hy also; for Hy came to help me. So, when school
was out, I took Hyland along; and we went to a corner, and got a
great heap of stones; and when the master came out, we pelted him!'
'You did?' cried Elsie, in alarm: 'I hit him one polt on the shin,'
said Oran, warming with the recollection,--'I hit him one polt--it
was what I call a sogdolloger,--that made him dance like a ducked
cat; and just as he stooped down to scratch it, we blazed away again,
me and Hy; and if you ever heard two hailstones rattle on a
well-bucket, you may tell how his head sounded, I reckon!'
"'But your father, Oran?' said Elsie,--'you have not told me what
made you leave your father?' 'Father chose to take the master's
part,' said Oran, sulkily; 'he said as how I must learn to be a
gentleman, now I was in England, and never behave like a young savage
no more, because I was never more to come home, meaning to
Pennsylvany; and so I must go back to the master, and be thumped
again; for nobody could be a gentleman, without having it thumped
into him. Well, Goody, you see, I couldn't stand that; I was not
going to a school to be called papoose, and trounced too; and I was
mighty sick of England, which is just like a big garden,--you can't
turn out of the road, without treading on somebody's
strawberry-patch, and having 'em holla after you with dogs, and men,
and such things; and I got into a great pickle once, for killing a
thumping big rabbit that I saw in a stubble. They called it a hare; I
killed it with a stone; they made father pay money about it. Well, I
made up my mind to come home, without making any more words about it.
So I went down to the river among the docks, and there I saw a ship
that was going to sail to Philadelphy next day. I told Hy about it,
and he agreed we should go over. I went to the captain, and I said,
"Captain, I want to go to Philadelphy," but he called me hard names,
and swore at me--there was no getting any thing out of him. I looked
about, and saw them putting boxes, and barrels and baskets, and all
sorts of things, into the big hole below. I went ashore, and laid out
the shilling father gave me to go back to school, in gingerbread. But
Hy's heart failed him: I never thought he would come to much, he's
too much of a coward; he began to cry, and said he would go home to
father. I gave him a thumping for being such a fool; but that only
made him cry harder. So I gave him half my gingerbread, and told him
to go, letting him know, if he told on me, I would give him another
banging. Then I clomb into the ship again, and slipped into the hole
among the boxes. But before I went down, I looked back to Hy, and
there he was on the wharf, eating his gingerbread and crying. I shook
my fist at him, as much as to say, "If you tell, mind you!" and then
I went below, and after awhile they fastened me up.'
"'It was as dark down there as the dickens,' said Oran, in reply to
the piteous ejaculations of the widow; 'but there was plenty of
rats--I tell you what, they scared me! They stole my gingerbread, and
whenever I got to nodding, they seized me by the nose and fingers,
and I thought I should have been nibbled up, like an ear of corn. But
I knew I must stand 'em as long as I could; or it would be all up
with me.--Well, after awhile they came to a place, I don't know where
it was; but there was a great clatter on the deck, and swearing and
trampling, and they opened the trap-doors, as I saw by the great
flash of light. Then there was a heap of voices, and father's among
them, and Hyland's too. The great villain Hy, was telling on me, for
all I gave him half the gingerbread! When I catch him, I'll pay him
up, I will, Goody, if I wait ten years!'--And here the young
scape-gallows, as he revolved the treachery of his fellow truant,
clenched his fist, and looked as fierce and savage as a young bantam
in his first fit of valour.
"'Then,' continued this hopeful junior to the astonished widow,
'there was father, saying his son Oran was hid in the ship, and he
would have him out, or bring the captain to the gallows for
kidnapping him, meaning _me_; and there was Hy, the villain, telling
him how I was to hide among the boxes; and there was the captain and
the other folks, swearing that father was crazy, and ought to stay at
home; though to make him easy, they had opened the traps, or the
hatches, as they call them, and he might see for himself. Then father
came down, and bawled out after me, and so did Hy; and Hy said, if I
would come out, father would not send me to the grammar school, to be
thumped no more; but he said nothing about father sending me back to
Pennsylvany! no, not so much as a word! I was not to be caught by any
such talking; so I laid snug and as mum as a rabbit. Then father took
on as though I was dead, squeezed to pieces among the boxes, because
I would not answer him--as if I was such a fool! Then he wanted the
captain to take out the boxes, and the captain would not; then he
went after constables; and when he was gone, they clapped down the
hatches, and sailed away with all their might, and I never heard any
thing more of father.'
"'Poor fellow!' said Elsie, her sympathy for the anticipated
sufferings of her young protegé driving from her mind all
disapprobation of the hard-hearted perverseness that caused them,
'did they keep you long in that dismal, dreadful place?' 'You may say
so,' replied the boy; 'they kept me down there till I was more tired
of it than ever I had been of the grammar-school. I don't know how
long it was, but I was mighty tired of it. Dickens, goody, but I was
dry! I was in such a hurry to get down, that I forgot I should want
water as well as gingerbread: I eat up all my gingerbread, but I was
as dry as ever. Goody, you don't know what it is to be dry! I was
always thinking and dreaming of springs, and wells, and pumps, and
the big Delaware there, and even the ditches and gutters. But I held
out as well as I could, till I thought we were clear of that hateful
old England; and then I hollaed to 'em to let me out; but they did
not hear me at all. There was a power of big baskets, that were
rolled all about me; for you must know, a ship never holds still a
minute at a time, but is always pitching and tumbling, now up and now
down, like a cart in a corn-field; so the baskets rolled all over me;
I thought they would have squeezed the life out of me, and I could
not get out from among them. So there I pulled and hollaed, till I
was tired of it, or fell asleep; but no good came of it. I tell you
what, goody, I would have taken a thumping for a drink of water! but
there was no coming at it. I bawled out, "Water! water!" and "Fire!
fire!" but it was no good; nobody heard me; and it set me to crying,
to think what a hard time I had of it. Well, I reckon!--I was
scraping about among the baskets, and some gave way, they were so
rotten. I scraped among the willow twigs, and got my hand among the
straw, without so much as thinking what I was about, when, all of a
sudden, I found I had hold of a glass bottle. "Oho!" said I; it was a
great long-necked thing, with wax over the cork. I did not mind that;
I knocked the neck off against the basket, and, good dickens! such a
fizzing and spluttering as it made! It foamed all over my face, and
some fell on my lips, and it tasted good, like cider--you may be sure
I drained it.' 'It was wine!' cried Elsie. 'I reckon,' said the
juvenal; 'and I reckon it made my head sing, too!' he exclaimed,
smacking his lips over the grateful recollection; 'such stuff as that
I never tasted before. It made me feel good,--all comical, and merry,
and ticklish-like,--I don't know how, but all as if I was rolling up
hill and down hill,--huzzy-buzzy, sleek, and grand! Then I seemed as
if I was dreaming, but such merry dreams, and talking, and roaring,
and laughing; and then some of them opened the traps, and dragged me
out; and then I had a tussle with some of them, for I felt big enough
to fight them all; and then somehow I fell fast asleep.'
"'When I came to, the captain said I was drunk, and he beat me: it
was worse than the grammar-man. First, he thumped me for stealing
into the ship, then for putting him to a bother, and then for
drinking his cider, or champagne, as he called it.' 'He beat you, the
villain!' cried Elsie; 'and you the son of Thomas Gilbert!' 'He did,'
said the boy, with edifying coolness; 'he treated me like a dog, and
he thumped me every day. I suppose the grammar-man could not have
been harder on me than the captain of that big ship--they called her
the Prince of Whales, for, you must know, a whale is a very big fish;
but I could never get a peep at one. Goody! I never was so mauled in
my life! If I crawled about the quarter-deck, as they call it,
(because that's a place where the ship-boys never get any quarter,)
why the captain cuffed me off; and it was pretty much the same with
the mates, for they cuffed too, and every now and then, some one or
other beat me with a rope's end, because I would not go up the ropes,
or do any thing else to make myself useful. I never did believe a
Christian man's son could be treated so! but that's the way they
treat boys on board a ship, only that the regular ship-boys were not
handled so hard. They all beat me, captain, sailors, and all; the
cook boxed my ears when I went to the caboose;--and if I hid on the
forecastle, as they call it, the sailors run me up a rope and plumped
me into the sea; and even the ship-boys tried their hands at me, but
I reckon _they_ got as much as they gave. They all beat me but Jackey
Jones, an old fellow that had but one eye; and if it had not been for
him, I believe they would have killed, or starved, or drowned me
among them. One night he was washed overboard: and after that I was
beat worse than ever. It was a great storm, goody; I reckon you don't
know what a storm is, ashore, even when the trees are snapping; I
tell you what, the sea was boiling up, just like a big pot, and the
ship danced about just like an apple-dumpling; all the difference
was, the water was not hot. They were all big cowards, for all they
had been so big with me; and down they went on their knees, crying
and praying, like methodist preachers. The captain was white all over
the mouth, the chief mate got drunk, and Big George, a sailor that
used to be hard on me, came to ask my pardon for treating me so
badly. I told him, we should have a reckoning about that some other
time; and that night he was washed overboard, along with Jackey
Jones, and we saw them no more. I tell you what, goody! it was the
happiest time I had aboard that ship; for I supposed it would sink,
and drown 'em all; which was a great satisfaction for me to think on.
However, it cleared up again next day; and if we had not soon reached
Philadelphy, I don't know what would have become of me; for they were
all worse than ever, especially the captain.' 'And that wretch,'
cried Elsie; 'did no one punish him for his cruel and barbarous
oppression of a poor, friendless boy?' 'You shall hear,' replied the
urchin, with a grin that might have adorned the visage of an Indian
coming out of battle, with a sack full of scalps; 'he was for
fastening me up when we came to the wharf at Philadelphy, to see his
merchant, and learn what was to be done with me. But I sneaked away,
when he was gone, and hid among some barrels, till he came back. Then
I watched him come out of the ship again, and ran to a corner, where
there was a bundle of green hoop-poles, at a cooper's shop. Well,
goody, I took one of the hoop-poles; and when he passed by, down it
went, and down went the captain, too, like a butchered ox, with a
great yell like a school-boy, that brought the people up. However, I
gave him two more, for as long as I had time; and then I had to
scurry for it.' 'Good heavens!' cried Elsie, 'perhaps you killed
him!' 'Well, if I didn't, I'm sure it was all the fault of the people
that ran up so fast, so that I had not time. As for the rest of them,
if I ever catch any of them up here among the hills, you may reckon
what will come of it.' And as he spoke, he raised his eyes to an old
musket, hanging on the wall, and nodded his head significantly.
"This," said the merry narrator, "is the very story I had from
Elsie's lips, only that she spoiled it in telling; and I leave you to
judge whether there was ever a more exquisite young savage in the
whole world, than that same Oran Gilbert."
"Never, truly," said Miss Falconer, upon whom perhaps the unusual,
yet natural, vivacity of her friend, had produced a still more
pleasant impression than the story itself. "This Oran must have been
the Paladin, the Orlando, the very Tom Thumb, of Hawk-Hollow;
'Though small his body,
Yet was his soul like any mountain big;'
and verily, if the other Hawks, callow or full fledged, were of the
same colour and quality, you have begun the most diverting story in
all your budget. Pr'ythee go on; there is a magic in the whole
affair; for, while you speak it, it makes the teller herself again.
Methinks you are now the same merry Kate I knew a year ago,--the
bright Kate, no longer 'kerchieft in a cloud,' as Milton says,--the
gay Kate, the madcap Kate, the Brandywine Kate"----
"Not a word about Brandywine, if you will have me play the fool
longer," said Miss Loring, hurriedly. "And after all, there is
nothing more to tell--that is, nothing more funny; and, after all,
too, there _was_ nothing funny in the sufferings of that poor,
headstrong, vindictive boy; absurdity enough, I grant you, there was;
but it was my wicked and hard heart that made me travesty an anecdote
that poor Elsie considered serious enough."
She then went on to speak of the return of the boy's father, the
building of the manor-house, the second marriage of Mr. Gilbert, and
the exploits of his children. The peculiar temper of Oran soon
determined the course of his life. While yet a boy of sixteen, he had
extended his rambles over the mountains into the Wyoming valley, then
occupied by two clans of Shawnee and Delaware Indians, who were often
at feud together. "Among these barbarians," said the lady, "the young
white Indian, for such he must be esteemed, fought his first battle,
and took his first scalp. It was in the Grasshopper War"----
"The what?" cried Miss Falconer.
"Why, Hal, the Grasshopper War _I_ call it," said Catherine, "out of
tenderness to our sex; but all others call it the Squaw War. It was
waged between those rival tribes I spoke of. The women of the two
clans met together in a strawberry field, where they gathered fruit
in company, very pacifically I doubt not, except a little scolding at
one another. The children employed themselves, in the meanwhile,
chasing grasshoppers; when, unfortunately, two boys belonging to
different tribes pounced together upon a magnificent insect, that was
perhaps the emperor of the field, and contended for the possession of
the prize. Up ran the mother of the Delaware, and boxed the young
Shawnee's ears; the Shawnee parent ran to avenge her child; and
others immediately taking part, in a few moments the whole field was
in an uproar: such scratching, scolding, and pulling of caps, were
perhaps never heard of before. Out ran the men from their villages to
help their wives, and to it they went pell-mell; and the war, thus
begun, did not end until hundreds had been slain on both sides, and
the Shawnees entirely driven from the valley. The less we say of this
war, the better; for I heard it instanced as one small proof out of a
thousand better, that men never fall by the ears, without the women
being at the bottom of the contention. The Delawares, with whom Oran
fought, made much of him, gave him a name which signifies the Boy
Warrior, and formally adopted him into their tribe. As his brothers
grew up around him, he enticed them one by one into the woods, and
made them as wild as himself; and by and by, when those dreadful
Indian wars, that followed after the defeat of General Braddock,
extended over the whole western country, and even east of the
Susquehanna, he acquired a singular reputation as a bold and
successful scalp-hunter. I don't know what else to call him; he was
not a soldier, for he never could be prevailed upon to go out with
any body of soldiers, under the command of regular governmental
officers. He went with his brothers, and seldom allowed even a
neighbour to join his little party, though this was an object with
all who knew him; for none of the Gilberts having ever been seriously
wounded in any of their mad enterprises, the people had a
superstitious belief that good luck and safety went with them.
"In the meanwhile, Mr. Gilbert had taken a second wife; and being
wealthy, he was able to choose one of gentler manners and character
than her predecessor, who, they say, was a fierce, masculine woman,
though devotedly attached to her children. It is said, he married her
in the hope that her kindness and gentleness might wean his boys from
their barbarous career; but the expedient only served to confirm them
in their habits. They conceived a violent dislike to their
step-mother; and the only bond of union between them--I should say,
perhaps, the only moderator and protector of the poor woman, was the
girl, Jessie, whom they all adored, rough as they were, and
who--while she lived, at least--caused them to treat the unfortunate
lady with some show of respect. I may say, since you are in the
poetical mood, and have already quoted one of Milton's clouds to me,
that Jessie was, betwixt the timidity of the step-mother and the
rudeness of her brothers,
'A shelter, and a kind of shading, cool,
Interposition, as a summer's cloud;'--
(I found that out myself!)--and, according to Elsie, she was one of
the sweetest and warmest-hearted creatures in the world. They had a
rich relation, an aunt, in the West Indies, who desired to adopt the
maiden; but Mr. Gilbert refused to part with her. In her place he
sent his youngest boy, an infant,--the child, and only one, of his
second wife; I think Elsie told me, she died in giving it birth; but
I am not certain as to that. This part of the story I never could
understand perfectly; for whenever the poor widow speaks of it, she
becomes dreadfully agitated. But certainly, it was most unhappy for
all, that he did not send the girl."
"And why,--why unhappy, Catherine?" demanded Miss Falconer, losing
somewhat of her serene self-possession, as she heard her friend's
voice falter over the words.
"According to Elsie," muttered Miss Loring, with downcast eyes, "the
misfortunes which crushed and ruined the whole family, might have
been thus averted.--But, Harriet," she continued, "let us speak of
these things to-morrow. What follows is dark, gloomy, dreadful; and I
cannot speak it without giving you offence."
"I pledge you pardon and immunity beforehand," said Miss Falconer.
"The ice is broken, and now I must dare the flood, though it be of
gall and poison. Dreadful, indeed? What can be more dreadful than the
state of a daughter, blindfold at the side of a parent whom all men
are shooting at with the arrows of malice, which she hears hissing
around her, yet knows not how to arrest? Speak then, Catherine, for
you have placed me on a rack: nothing can be more painful than
suspicion."
"Promise not to be offended with me then, dear Harriet," said Miss
Loring, taking her hand, and looking deprecatingly into her face;
"and do not think"----here her voice quivered a little, and
her eyes again fell to the ground,----"do not think, because I tell
you these things as I have heard them, that I necessarily believe
them--or, at least, _all_ of them."
"Certainly, my love," said the other, with a slight tinge of
asperity. "As you will, one day, have a duty, like myself, imposed
upon you, to repel all calumnies against my father, the sooner you
become incredulous, the better."
Catherine smiled faintly, then blushed, and, as had happened before,
at a similar allusion, the glow of embarrassment was again followed
by paleness.
"I presume," she said, after a moment's pause, "that the Colonel has
often spoken to you of the dreadful peril at the Moravian
settlements, from which he was rescued by Oran Gilbert and his two
brothers?"
"Never," replied Harriet, in a sort of dismay. "My father rescued
from peril! and by the Hawks of Hawk-Hollow? Why, here is a drama
opening upon us indeed! But it is not true, Kate!"
"This, Harriet," replied the other, "is a circumstance well known in
the neighbourhood; and I wonder you have never heard it before."
"On all subjects connected with the family of the Gilberts," said
Miss Falconer, "my father is reserved and silent--at least to me;
and, Catherine, I confess with shame, this very circumstance has
often filled my mind with the most painful misgivings. I know nothing
about the Moravian settlements, either. You must therefore tell your
story to ignorance itself. I know that my father was, in his youth,
an officer in the colonial war establishment, and that he did duty
somewhere on the frontiers, and came off with scars; but that is all.
Speak, therefore, without reserve."
"The country west of yonder blue cliffs, (how sweetly they peep
through the hollow of that hill, and over the yellow tree-tops!) has
always been the theatre of the most bloody contentions," said
Catherine. "That same Wyoming, of which I have said so much, has
never been entirely at peace since that redoubtable war of the
grasshopper set its inhabitants by the ears. It was settled by
certain Yankees from Connecticut, who claimed, and claim yet, to
erect a jurisdiction independent of Pennsylvania, and to this day the
partisans of the two powers are quarrelling rancorously with one
another, often shedding blood. When the inhabitants are driven away
by enemies, they are obliged to cross a great swamp, to reach the
Delaware. This has been crossed so often, and so many miserable
wounded, and starving, and fainting wretches, have fallen down in the
retreat and perished among its bogs, that it is yet called the Shades
of Death. The wars that produced such suffering have commonly been
waged in another county; but they have sometimes reached our
own--(_Our own!_ You see, I am making myself at home here!) The fall
and winter of the year when Braddock was defeated in the extreme
south-western frontier, were marked by many bloody incursions of the
Indians, even in this county; and you may judge how terrible was
their ferocity, when you hear that their enmity fell as heavily upon
their friends as their foes. The poor Moravians, who, with a holy and
unworldly zeal, had devoted their lives to the purpose of instructing
and reclaiming them from barbarism, were among the first of their
victims. The outer settlement of these poor missionaries was beyond
the mountain, on one of the springs of the Lechaw, or Lehigh, as we
now call it. It was beset, late in November, by the savages, and
destroyed, together with many of the brothers. The next settlement
was that called Gnadenhutten, where was much valuable property, and
great stores of grain; and when the Moravians fled even from this in
affright, the colonial government thought it of so much importance,
that they directed it to be immediately garrisoned by a company of
rangers. This was done; a fort was constructed in the neighbourhood,
across the river, which was made the head-quarters of the company;
while a detachment occupied the Moravian village. This detachment was
commanded by your father, then holding the rank of lieutenant. And
now, Harriet, I must tell you, that your father had enemies in these
wild lands, even at that early day. I will not repeat what I have
heard said, as the causes of enmity; for I doubt not they are mere
scandals. I mention them only because some, I am told, yet declare
that the barbarous attempt on his life was made by disguised white
men, and not by Indians.
"Although from the time of the massacre of the over-hill Moravians,
in November, until the end of the year, Indians were ever prowling in
the woods, and occasionally carrying the tomahawk and flames to some
lonely settlement, yet it was supposed that the presence of the
soldiers at Gnadenhutten and the fort, would prevent their making any
serious attempts this side the mountain. This induced a false and
fatal security; and when the Indians did appear, the detachment and
village of Gnadenhutten were completely surprised. It was upon
New-year's day, and all the white men were amusing themselves on the
frozen river, without arms, and of course they fell an easy prey to
the savage assailants. Many were butchered, the village was fired,
your father captured in the vain attempt to escape, and carried off
to the woods.
"During all this scene of terror," continued the Captain's daughter,
"there were no scalp-hunters among the white men so busy, bold, and
famous, as the three Gilberts. Elsie Bell says, that Oran was then
only nineteen, and the youngest two years short of that; but, it
seems, men grow old fast in the woods, when Indians are nigh--(it is
well the _women_ don't.) They were upon an excursion, fighting for
themselves, at the very time of this calamity; and it was their fate
to encounter the party that bore your father away a captive. It seems
that the savages, after completing the destruction of the village,
retreated in small bands to distract and avoid pursuit, for there
were many companies of armed men in the county, ready to march at a
moment's warning. Some took charge of the prisoners, and others were
to strike at small and retired settlements. Your father, who had been
severely, but not desperately wounded, was left in charge of one
little division, six in number, and was carried off by a path so
remote from those followed by others, that, I suppose, it was this
circumstance which caused evil-minded persons to affirm he was
captured by private enemies and white men. Their course was at least
very singular, for it carried them rather to the north-east, along
the foot of the mountain, than to the north and west. They dragged
their prisoner on till after midnight, which has been mentioned as an
unusual circumstance, at least with Indians; and, at dawn, they tied
him to a tree, and piled around him dead boughs and pine-knots,
intending, as he now saw, to torture him alive."
The narrator here paused, and looked upon her friend, who, after a
slight shudder, very composedly said,
"Poor pa! he must have been horribly frightened! I should like to
know how he looked, the moment he made the discovery!"
Catherine heard her with unconcealed amazement, but appreciated her
philosophy, when she added, with an affected laugh,
"Why, my dear Kate, as, after all, he was _not_ tortured, it would be
but folly to fall into hysterics. I never grieve over misfortunes
that were never happening. But come; how got he out of this doleful
dilemma? You said something about the three Hawks--Ah! you spoiled
the dramatic point of the story, by enabling me to forestall a
discovery. And so the three Hawks discovered the six buzzards, and
fell upon them, and took their lambkin from them? They are no true
fishing-hawks, after all; for it is the part of these ravagers, not
so much to rob, as to be robbed. They should have been called Eagles,
for it is these birds that take such little liberties with the
feathered Isaac Waltons, as I have once or twice seen with my own
eyes. But these were heroical kites, I must acknowledge."
"They were, certainly," said Miss Loring, not well pleased with the
levity of her kinswoman; "and, methinks, you should do them the
justice to consider that it was no child's play for three men--three
boys we may call them, to assail six stout Indians, vanquish them,
and rescue a poor doomed prisoner out of their hands. If you will not
do justice to their courage, acknowledge at least, the dreadful cost
at which they exercised their humanity. Hyland Gilbert, the second
son, the best beloved of all, as Elsie assured me, was shot dead,
while he was cutting your father loose from the tree."----
"Good heavens!" cried Miss Falconer, with an emotion, that seemed,
however, to be rather horror than grief, "was this so indeed? Did one
of them fall?"
"He did," replied Catherine, "and his poor brothers buried him where
he fell. According to Elsie's superstitious belief, they were
punished by the genius of their fate, for exercising their humanity
on an undeserving object. You know _she_, at least, holds on to her
angry prejudices. She said, that from that moment, which was the
first unlucky one to them, the Gilberts never more prospered in their
undertakings; every thing that came after was mischance and disaster;
death followed death, sorrow succeeded sorrow, and now not one
remains alive of the whole family, unless it may be the youngest son,
who was sent to the Islands in his infancy, and of whom Elsie knows
nothing whatever, although they have a report in the village that he
also is dead."
"I am much obliged to Elsie," said Miss Falconer, sullenly; "after
eating my father's bread, she might have the grace to abate her
malevolence a little."
"Alas, Harriet," said Miss Loring, "do not call it malevolence; but
the prejudice, the absurd and unjust prejudice of weak, dreamy old
age, if you will. And you know, that she is ignorant from whom I
derived the power to relieve her wants. I did but hint once that your
father would befriend her, when she exclaimed, not in the heat of
frenzy, but with a cold, iron-like determination, that she would gnaw
the flints on the way-side for food, rather than receive a morsel of
bread from the hands of Colonel Falconer. Indeed, your father himself
directed me to conceal his agency in the benefaction."
"Peace to the silly old woman!" said Harriet, "and let us speak of
her no more. Resume your story: I see, by your looks, that the worst
is yet to come. But fear not: I am not so much shocked as I was,
since the thing comes from that bitter old bundle of--oh, prejudice,
my dear. Well, the two survivors saved my father's life--what then?"
"Then," said Catherine, "they bore him on a litter of boughs to their
father's house; for, before they fled, the murderers had assailed him
with their axes, and left him almost dying. The journey was very
laborious; for to avoid the war-parties, now swarming through the
country, they were obliged to steal along by circuitous paths,--and
it was several days before they could procure assistance. They got
him safe, however, to their father's house, and then played the good
Samaritan with him. If you would like, I will show you the room where
he lay, while recovering,--it is the chamber over the armoury, as you
call it,--that is, my father's study, where he takes his afternoon's
nap. Elsie told me there was a pane of glass on which he had cut his
name with a diamond ring; but the sashes were changed, before she
told me this, and I know not what has become of them. But, if you
like, we will inquire about them.--He did not recover entirely before
the autumn, and then he left the valley. I am told that there is an
oak-tree on the lawn, at which he used to shoot pistols."----
"Catherine!" said Miss Falconer, with a piercing look, "you flutter
about the subject, like a bird over the jaws of a serpent, unable to
retreat and yet afraid to descend. Is there any thing so horrible to
come?"
"There is indeed!" said Catherine, trembling; "but it is not true,
cousin,--you must not believe it is true! It is about Jessie--they
say she was very good and handsome--a kind nurse, simple-hearted, of
an affectionate disposition, and"----
"Hold! hold!" cried Miss Falconer, vehemently, starting to her feet,
with a pale face, and lips ashy and trembling, "this would be to make
out my father a fiend! Saints of heaven! this is too much! Come,--let
us proceed."
And thus muttering out her oppressive emotion, she darted down the
stream, followed hastily by her friend.
Tall trees still overarched the rivulet; but its bank became smoother
as they advanced. A few rods below, the channel was again contracted,
but not by impending crags. A huge sycamore, ancient and
thunder-scarred, but still flourishing, had been tumbled over the
stream by some forgotten tempest; but so tightly were its roots
twisted in the rocky soil of the one bank, and so tenacious was the
hold of its gnarled and elbowed boughs upon the sward of the other,
that it maintained its place despite the floods, which, it was
evident, often washed over it, and thus afforded a bridge, rustic
enough, but secure, though by no means easy of passage.
Upon this Harriet, still perturbed and driven onward by painful
emotion, was about to place her foot, when she was restrained by the
trembling grasp of her companion.
"What means the child?" she exclaimed, with a feverish accent: "there
are no savages here."
"But," said Catherine, with a faint voice, "it was over there, by the
rock, they dug the poor girl's grave!"
Miss Falconer recoiled for a moment, and then saying, with a firm
voice, "It matters not--let us visit it," she sprang upon the bridge,
followed by Catherine, and made her way across. About thirty paces
below, the stream darted over a rock, making a cascade ten or twelve
feet high; and it was the roar of this fall, borne downwards by the
breeze, which had attracted the painter's curiosity, as he paused for
a moment on the road side. It possessed no very striking beauty, nor
was the body of water that leaped over the rock of any extraordinary
magnitude; yet it had a violent and even impressive look, and the
waters hurrying impetuously towards it from above, shot under the
sycamore with an appearance of fury that might have tried the nerves
of any over-timid person, crossing by so precarious a bridge.
CHAPTER VII.
Dull grave--thou spoil'st the dance of youthful blood,
Strik'st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth,
And every smirking feature from the face,
Branding our laughter with the name of madness.
Where are the jesters now?----
--------Ah! sullen now,
And dumb as the green turf that covers them.
BLAIR--_The Grave_.
The spot which the maidens now reached, after crossing the rivulet,
was wild and gloomy, yet exceedingly romantic. A little ascent led
them up to a sort of platform, or shelf, of earth, the highest
portion of the table-land, from which the torrent leaped downwards,
making its way, in a series of foaming rapids, to the parent river.
It therefore overlooked the sweeping hillocks and rustling forests
below, and commanded a prospect of the river and the southern portion
of the valley, both extensive and beautiful; and, indeed, a more
charming nook could not have been imagined for one, who, though
preferring personally to be surrounded by solitude, yet loved to send
back his spirit to the world, and survey it from that distance which
lends it the sweetest enchantment. On the summit of the platform lay
two huge masses of rock, that approached each other in one place so
nigh as scarce to permit a passage between them; towards the rivulet,
however, the intervening space was wider, and covered with a grassy
turf; and a sort of wall, composed of smaller fragments, ran from the
one crag to the other, yet so rudely, that it was difficult to say
whether the irregular barrier had been piled up by the hands of
nature or man. Besides a majestic growth of trees behind and around
the rocks, there was one tall beech flourishing within the enclosure;
and from its roots there gushed a cool fountain, that went dripping
and leaking through green mosses, until it yielded its meager tribute
to the streamlet. Both the crags were overgrown with lichens and
ferns; and under the larger one, which, in the afternoon, cast its
shadow over the whole nook, there flourished a luxuriant array of
arums, mandrakes, violets, and other plants that delight in cool and
moist situations. On the face, and at the foot, of the eastern rock,
where the sunshine lingered longer, were dusky columbines,
rock-daisies, and other plants, now in bloom, and, in the summer,
their places would have been supplied by the aster and the
golden-rod; and at the foot of the rock, among a heap of brambles,
that seemed to have almost choked it, there grew a rose-bush, the
only remarkable thing present, being obviously of an exotic species.
It bore a single flower, visible among the green leaves and white
blossoms of the blackberry, and it immediately attracted the notice
of the maidens.
"Elsie told me," whispered Catherine, with a voice of fear, "that the
poor old father planted a rose-bush on the grave,--it is strange it
should live so long.--She said there was a grave-stone too--ah! there
it is!--Let us go away."
As Harriet, bolder than her friend, or affecting to be so, reached
forward, to remove the brier from the more lovely plant, in hopes
that the rude and thorny veil might conceal other flowers, it yielded
to her grasp, and revealed a hollow or sunken place in the ground, at
one extremity of which was a rude stone, entirely shapeless and
undressed, yet so placed as to mark undeniably the couch of some
human clod of the valley. No name, letter, or device of any kind,--no
inscription to record the virtues of the dead, no legend to
perpetuate the grief of the living,--appeared on the rude monument;
and, indeed, however expressive the shape and appearance of the
hollow place to those already aware that a grave had been dug in this
unsanctified nook, it is scarce probable that a stranger, stumbling
upon it by chance, could have believed that in that coarse and
dishonoured fragment, his foot pressed upon a funeral stone. It was a
singular grave--it was a singular cemetery; and the maidens regarded
the brambled pit and the solitary flower with awe, the one because
her spirit was especially susceptible of impressions from melancholy
objects, and the other because the legend of her companion had
invested the place with an interest personal, it might be said, to
herself.
How little reflection is expended upon,--yet how much is called for,
by the grave,--by the lowliest hillock that is piled over the icy
bosom, by the grassiest hollow that has sunk with the mouldering
bones of a fellow creature! And in this narrow haven rots the bark
that has ploughed the surges of the great vital ocean! in this little
den, that the thistle can overshadow in a day's growth, and the
molewarp undermine in an hour of labour, is crushed the spirit that
could enthrall a world, and dare even a contest with destiny! How
little it speaks for the value of the existence, which man endures so
many evils to prolong; how much it reduces the significance of both
the pomp and wretchedness of being, reducing all its vicissitudes
into the indistinguishable identity which infinite distance gives to
the stars,--a point without parallax, a speck, an atom! Such is
life,--the gasp of a child that inspires the air of existence but
once,--a single breath breathed from eternity. But the destiny that
comes behind us,--oblivion! It is not enough that we moralize upon
the equality of the sepulchre; that the rich man, whose soul is in
the ostentation of a marble palace, and his heart in the splendour of
the feast, should consider how small a pit must content him, or that
the proud, who boast their 'pre-eminence above the beasts,' should
know that the shaggy carcass and the lawn-shrouded corse must fatten
the earth together. We should teach our vanity the lesson of
humiliation that is afforded by the grave; neglecting the mighty
mausoleums of those marvellous spirits which fame has rendered
immortal, we should turn to the nameless tombs of the million, and in
their deserted obscurity, discover the feeble hold which we ourselves
must have upon earth and the memory of men. Friendship forgets what
the devouring earth has claimed; and even enmity ceases at last to
remember the resting place of a foe. Love ourselves as we may, devote
our affections to others as we can, yet must our memory perish with
us in the grave; and all the immortality we leave to be cherished
among friends, is expressed in the distich of a poet, whom the
anticipation of enduring renown could not blind to the transitoriness
of real remembrance:
Poor Pope will grieve a month, and Gay
A week, and Arbuthnot a day.[1]
[Footnote 1: SWIFT--_On the Death of Dr. Swift_.]
But there were other thoughts necessarily associated, and other
feelings excited by this lonely sepulchre; and while Miss Falconer
preserved a moody and painful silence upon its brink, Catherine bent
over it, scarce conscious that she bedewed the rose-bush with a tear,
or that her own shadow had descended, as it were, into the pit, with
an ominous readiness.
It was a delightful evening; the air was full of balmy freshness, the
landscape resplendently verdant, and the sky cloudless, save in the
west, where the sun was sinking among curtains of gold and pillars of
flame; and the solitude and quiet of the whole scene, broken by no
sounds, except the ceaseless turmoil of the water-fall, and the
plaintive scream of the fishing-eagles, which had deserted their gray
perch, to bathe in the pure floods of sunset, that beautified the
upper air,--the solitude, quiet, and beauty of every thing around and
nigh, were additional arguments for silence.
But silence, long continued, was not consonant to the restless and
impatient temper of Miss Falconer; and notwithstanding the indignant
incredulity with which she had interrupted her friend's narrative,
the same curiosity which compelled the commencement of it, still
thirsted for the conclusion. The presence of the dead, however, in so
wild, so forlorn, so unblest a spot, where, as it would seem, the
shame of proud but humbled hearts had dug the neglected grave, worked
powerfully on her feelings; and it was with a hesitating and
quivering, though an abrupt voice, that she demanded, after gazing
for a long time on the grave,
"Did others,--did any beside this bitter-tongued woman, accuse my
father of this thing?"
"I know not," replied Catherine, with accents still more unsteady;
"all that I have gathered was from Elsie; and when she speaks of
these things, as I mentioned before, she becomes fearfully agitated,
so that I have sometimes thought her wits quite unsettled. She never
pretended to tell me the whole story; nor indeed would I have been
disposed to ask or listen, knowing it would be improper to do so. All
these things have come in broken hints and exclamations. What others
in the neighbourhood may say or think, I know not, never encouraging
any to speak to me on the subject. The step-mother soon followed the
daughter,--Elsie says, heart-broken; you may see her tomb in the
village church-yard. The old father, too, became another man, gloomy,
solitary, and indifferent to his friends, so that the neighbours
ceased to visit him. His sons no longer hunted with the young men of
the country, but went, as in their war-expeditions, alone; and when
others thrust themselves into their company, they quarrelled with
them, so that they began to be universally feared and detested. To
crown all, as soon as the Revolution burst out, they went over to the
enemy; and being distributed among the wild and murderous bands of
savages forming on the north-western frontiers, they soon obtained a
dreadful notoriety for their deeds of daring and cruelty. Of course,
this remarkable defection of the sons caused the unlucky father to be
suspected and watched. He was accused, at last, of aiding and
abetting them in their treasonable practices; and soon, either from
timidity or a consciousness of guilt, he fled, seeking refuge within
the royal lines. This was sufficient for his ruin; for after the
usual legal preliminaries, he was formally outlawed, as his sons had
been before, and his property confiscated. He died soon afterward,
either at New York, or in Jamaica, where he had gone to seek his
youngest son--the lad he had sent away as a substitute for the
daughter."
"And this son?" demanded Miss Falconer; "did you not say that he was
dead?"
"Of him," said Catherine, "Elsie knows nothing; but if we can receive
a belief that prevails in the village on the subject, it would seem
as if the vials of wrath had been poured to the uttermost on the poor
devoted family. They say, that the young man, just raised to wealth
and distinction by the death of his munificent kinswoman, was one of
the many victims to that dreadful tornado which ravaged the island of
Jamaica two years ago. But I never heard how this intelligence was
obtained."
"And the other sons? the rest of this brood of traitors!" demanded
Miss Falconer, who strove to merge the unpleasant feelings that had
possession of her bosom, in patriotic detestation of the unfortunate
family.
"They met the fate they must have anticipated," said the Captain's
daughter. "They perished, one by one, in different bloody conflicts;
one fell at Wyoming, another at Tioga Point, where the combined
forces of savages and refugees were routed by General Sullivan; Oran
himself, with a fourth brother, was killed at the battle of
Johnstown, near the Mohawk river, where another refugee leader,
Walter Butler, not less blood-thirsty and famous, met a similar fate.
Their death was terrible; they cried for quarter, being wounded and
helpless; but the victors bade them 'Remember Wyoming, and
Cherry-Valley,' two prominent objects of their cruelty, and killed
them without mercy. Another, I have heard, was somewhere hanged as a
spy; and these, with Hyland, killed as I mentioned before, and the
youngest, deceased, if indeed he be deceased, in Jamaica, made up the
whole seven sons, all of whom therefore died violent deaths. The
eighth child,--the poor daughter,--undoubtedly sleeps under this
rock; and there are none left to mourn her. The destruction of the
family was dreadful and complete."
CHAPTER VIII.
Run! run! run!
Quickly for a surgeon!
Call watch, constable! raise the hue and cry!
What's to be done?
Why the devil don't you stir, John?
This way, that way, every body fly!
DON GIOVANNI.
Thus ended the sketch of a story, imperfect, perhaps tedious and
unsatisfactory, but still a necessary preliminary to the series of
events that completes the tradition. A mere womanly curiosity was
perhaps at the bottom of the nobler feeling with which Miss Falconer
sought to excuse to herself the impropriety of urging the relation.
From the first to the last, it was meted out to her reluctantly; and
nothing but the command she had long since obtained over a character
less firm and decided than her own, could have persuaded the
Captain's daughter to breathe a syllable of it into ears, which, she
could not but feel, ought not to be opened to it. Miss Falconer had,
moreover, overrated her powers of scepticism; she had provoked the
story, as men commonly provoke an argument,--that is, with a
resolution not to be convinced; but like the logician, in many
instances, when the discussion is over, her incredulity was sorely,
though secretly, shaken, and nothing but her pride and strength of
character checked the humiliating avowal. Some circumstances a
delicate consideration for the feelings of her friend, and an
unconquerable repugnance to speak more on the subject than could not
be avoided, had prevented the Captain's daughter from relating. These
would have thrown a still darker stain upon the character of Colonel
Falconer. There was enough, however, said, to force one disagreeable
conviction upon Harriet's mind; and this was, that, if her parent
were even as guiltless of ingratitude and wrong as her fondest wishes
would have him, calumny had, at least in one secluded corner of the
world, sealed him with the opprobrium of a villain. It was a sore
addition also to her discomfort, that her penetrating mind discovered
how deeply her kinswoman was affected by the hateful history: if she
doubted, she did not doubt strongly. Vexed, humbled, displeased with
herself and with Catherine, she rose from the rocky shelf, on which
both had seated themselves when Catherine resumed the story, and
prepared to leave the scene, equally mournful and unpleasant, when an
incident occurred, which at once gave a new turn to her feelings.
The Captain's daughter had observed the look of dissatisfaction, and
anticipated the movement, by rising herself, to lead the way to the
bridge. As she started up hastily, her hat, which she had loosened
from her forehead, to enjoy the evening breeze, now puffing among the
flowers, fell from her head, and her beautiful countenance and golden
ringlets were fully exposed. She raised her hands, naturally enough,
to catch the falling hat, and thus assumed an attitude, of which she
was herself unconscious, but which, to one spectator at least, had a
character apparently menacing and forbidding. This spectator was no
less a person than the young painter, who had rambled up the stream,
and was now making his way across the sycamore, to obtain a view of
the cascade, entirely ignorant of the presence of such visiters; for
while they maintained their seats, their persons were concealed
behind the low wall, and their voices drowned by the murmur of the
water-fall.
A sudden exclamation, loud enough to be heard over this lulling din,
drew Catherine's attention to the bridge; and there, to her extreme
surprise, she beheld the young stranger struggling among the
branches, as if he had lost his footing, while all the time, his
eyes, instead of being employed in the more needful duty of looking
to himself, were fixed upon her with an air of the most unaccountable
wonder and alarm. The next instant, she beheld him, to her own
infinite horror, fall from the tree, just as Harriet, starting up
after her friend, had also caught sight of the strange spectacle.
Both beheld the unlucky youth drop through the boughs, and both at
once anticipated the most dreadful termination to such a
misadventure; for a pitch over the cascade among the savage rocks
below, could scarcely be less than fatal. The very instant she saw
that the young man had lost his footing, Catherine uttered a loud
scream, and then, driven onwards by an irresistible impulse, darted
towards the river, to render him what aid she could. As for Miss
Falconer, the shock had deprived her of her self-possession, and her
tongue clove to her mouth with terror. She neither screamed nor
rushed forwards to give aid, until her lethargy was dispelled by a
distant voice, that suddenly echoed the scream of Catherine:
"Hark ye, Kate, you jade! hark ye, Kate, my dear Kate! my beloved
Kate! what's the matter? I'm coming! I'll murder the villain! I'm
coming, Kate!"
There was no mistaking the tones of Captain Loring, even altered as
they were by anxiety and vociferation; and Miss Falconer recognising
them, screamed out, "Quick, uncle, quick! for heaven's sake, quick!"
and ran to the side of her friend.
The torrent, leaping along like a mill-race for the little distance
that intervened betwixt the treacherous bridge and the fall, had
immediately swept the young man from his feet; and as Catherine
bounded to the verge, flinging out, with as much daring as presence
of mind, the scarf of Harriet, which she had instinctively snatched
up, in hope that he might seize it, she saw him swept by her like a
feather in a whirlwind, and instantly hurried over the falls. The
spectacle was really terrific; and as Miss Falconer caught sight of
the dreary figure--the outstretched arm and the despairing
countenance, revealed for one moment, as some rocky obstruction on
the very brink of the cascade lifted the body half from the flood,
and then instantly plunged it out of view--she lost what little
courage remained, and was no longer capable of yielding the slightest
assistance. If such was her overpowering terror, it might have been
supposed that the Captain's daughter, who, whatever the vivacity and
quickness of her mind, possessed little of the boldness of spirit
that characterized her friend, would have been reduced to a state of
imbecility still more benumbing and helpless. But this youthful girl
concealed within the cells of a heart all of feeble flesh, a
principle of feeling that could upon occasions, though she knew it
not herself, nerve the throbbing organ into steel; and, at such
times, if her brain was confounded, impulse governed her actions with
an influence more useful, because more instant of operation.
Dreadful, therefore, as was the spectacle of the youth dashed down
the abyss under her eyes, and almost in reach of her arm, she did not
pause, like Harriet, to scream after the Captain, who was undoubtedly
drawing nigh, and at an unusual pace; but leaving this to be done by
her companion, she ran down the rocks that led to the base of the
fall, and the next moment Harriet beheld her rush boldly into the
water. The instant she reached the basin at the foot of the cascade,
which was broken by rocks, black and slippery from the eternal spray,
she caught sight of the body--for such it seemed--rolling in the
flood where it boiled over a ridgy mole in a sheet of foam. It was
scarce two paces from the bank, and though the torrent gushed over
the rock with great impetuosity, it was shallow, at least in the
nearer portion; and, unless too rash and daring, there was little
danger she could be herself swept over the ledge among the deep and
dangerous eddies below. She stepped therefore upon the rock as far as
she durst, and stretching out her hand, succeeded in grasping the
insensible figure, as it was whirling over at a deeper place and in a
fiercer current. All her strength, however, availed nothing further
than to arrest the body where it was; and she must have speedily
released her hold, or been swept with it herself from the ledge, when
a new auxiliary, attracted by the same cries that had alarmed Captain
Loring, came unexpectedly to her assistance, crackling through the
bushes, and bounding over the rocks on the opposite side of the pool,
which was a wilderness of rock and swamp. No sooner had this
personage beheld her situation, than he ran a little lower down,
where the stream was again contracted, sprang across from rock to
rock, and immediately darted to her side. With one hand he
dragged--or, to speak more strictly, he flung her, (for his actions
were none of the gentlest,)--out of the water; and with the other, he
lifted the unlucky painter from the torrent, and bore him to the
bank, saying, as he laid him at the maiden's feet, in a voice none of
the mildest in the world,
"Why, here's fine sport for a May-day, and a rough end to a fool's
frolic! How many more of you must I fish up?"
By this time the gallant Captain Loring, urged by anxiety for his
daughter, (not knowing that the danger concerned another,) into a
speed that he had not attempted for twenty-five years, made his
appearance at the top of the fall, and seeing her stand shivering
with fright over what she esteemed a dead body,--for the painter
showed not a single sign of life,--with a stranger of questionable
appearance at her side, he burst into a roar of passion, crying,
"Hark ye, you vagabond villain! if you touch my girl"--when his rage
was put to flight by Miss Falconer suddenly finding tongue, and
exclaiming, "He has saved the poor youth's life;--that is, Kate saved
him, and this man helped her. I never was more frightened in my life!
Let us go down, uncle--I fear the young man is hurt."
Meanwhile, Catherine, whose courage and presence of mind had almost
deserted her, so soon as she beheld the young man safe ashore, being
roused by the rough accents of the stranger, and the death-like
appearance of the youth, exclaimed, in tones of entreaty, for the man
had turned away, as if to depart,
"Do not go.--Alas! you came too late! Help us yet a little, or the
poor youth will die where he is. Pray, hold up his head--indeed, he
is very much hurt!"
"Hurt! To be sure he is," cried the stranger, with infinite coolness,
bordering upon a sort of savage contempt, or at least disregard, of
the miserable spectacle, "knocked as clean on the head as if a
refugee had been at him. So, d'ye hear, my young madam, there's no
great need of troubling yourself more about him; and here come enough
of your good folk to groan over him. As for me, I have no time for
moaning. If you want help, just scream over again; and, I reckon,
you'll have the whole road at your elbow."
Catherine had herself performed the office of humanity she had so
vainly asked of the stranger; she stooped down, and beckoning to her
father and Harriet, who were descending the rocks, to hasten their
steps, she raised up the painter's head, and endeavoured, with a
faltering hand, to loosen the neckcloth from his throat. Struck by
expressions so rude and unfeeling, she looked up for a moment, and
for the first time took hasty note of the person and lineaments of
her preserver. He was a man of middle age,--perhaps forty or more,
with a long shirt or frock of coarse linen thrown over his other
garments, and a broad-brimmed, round-crowned, slouching hat, like the
favourite _sombrero_ of the Spanish islands, which was, however,
painted of a fiery red, and varnished, so as to resist the rain. His
stature was not considerable, nor was his appearance very muscular,
yet he had given proof of no mean strength in the ease with which he
dragged the painter and herself from the water. His countenance,
without being coarse or ugly, had yet a repulsive character, derived
in part from several scars, the marks of violent blows from sabres or
other weapons, one of which seemed to have destroyed his right eye,
for it was bound round with a handkerchief; but perhaps the forbidden
air was rather given by the savage fire that glimmered in the other,
and the perpetual frown that contracted his brows. His hair was
grizzled, and fell in a long lock over either dark and bony cheek.
His mouth was particularly stern, grim, menacing, and even malevolent
of character,--or so the Captain's daughter thought. All these things
Catherine observed in a moment; yet, however unfavourably impressed
by them, she could not refrain from again imploring his assistance,
saying, with the most earnest accents,
"If you be a Christian man, do not leave us. We are none here but two
feeble women, and an infirm old man; and before we can procure
assistance, the young gentleman may perish. We will thank you,--we
will reward"----
"Good heavens!" cried Miss Falconer, who had now reached the foot of
the rocks, and beheld the pale and bleeding visage that Catherine so
falteringly supported, "he is dying!"
"Dying! Who's dying?" echoed the Captain, limping up to the group;
"Adzooks; what! my painter? my handsome young dog, that was to paint
me my son Tom Loring? my Harman What-d'ye-call-it from Elsie Bell's?
Hark ye, Mr. Red-hat, or whatever your name is, I intended to arrest
you on suspicion----Adzooks, I believe the young dog's dead! He looks
amazingly like my son Tom. Hark ye, Mr. Harmer What-d'ye-call-it, how
do you feel? Why, adzooks, he's clean gone!--Hark ye, Mister
Red-head, fetch him up the rocks----We'll carry him to the Folly."
While the Captain thus poured forth his mingled wonder and
lamentation, a surprising change came over the visage of the
stranger. He no sooner understood from the mention of the
lodging-place and profession of the young man, that he did not belong
to the party before him, and had therefore no greater claim upon
their humanity than on his, than he at once dropped his rude and
disregardful air, saying, as he released the others from the care of
supporting the wounded unfortunate,
"I am neither stock nor stone; but I thought you had idlers enough to
bury your own dead. And so the younker is a stranger to you? a bird
of old Elsie's, and none of your own roost? And this young lady was
trying to save his life? I beg your pardon, if I have been rough with
you, young madam."--He pronounced these words with a tone mild, and
almost regretful; then turning to the Captain, he resumed, "Well,
Captain Loring, for I believe that's your name,--what shall we do
with this broken-headed fool? You see, here's an arm broke, and a
gash on the head that might do credit to a tomahawk! How shall we get
him to Elsie Bell's? I can carry him, sure enough--but 'tis a long
mile off.----And then for a doctor? Here's a shoulder slipped,
Captain. The fool! that must tumble down this dog-hole water-fall!
Captain, you have servants and horses--you must send for a
doctor.--Poor boy, how he groans!"
"Hark ye, Mr. Red-head," said Captain Loring, "we will carry him to
the Folly, and cure him like a Christian. Just get him up these rocks
here, and I'll give a lift myself; and hark ye, Mr. Read-head"----
"But the doctor, Captain? the doctor?" cried the stranger.
"He is at the house!" cried Catherine, eagerly. "We saw him ride
there ourselves!"
"Adzooks! to be sure he is! so Sam told me! What a fool I was to
forget it!" exclaimed the Captain. "Come along, up the rocks,
double-quick step--march!"
The eyes of the stranger sparkled at the announcement of surgical
assistance being so unexpectedly close at hand; for he seemed to have
conceived as sudden a liking to the luckless painter as had the
Captain himself. He raised him tenderly, and with singular ease, from
the ground, and without a moment's delay, clambered up the rocky path
that led to the platform. Then striding rapidly to the treacherous
bridge, though encumbered by a burthen at once so inconvenient and
piteous, he crossed it with a better fate than had distinguished the
attempt of the painter, and, almost before the others had reached the
deserted grave, was making his way over the shaded path at a pace
that soon promised to carry him out of sight.
"Haste, father, dear father!" cried Catherine, to whom the terrible
scene of peril and suffering she had witnessed and almost shared, had
given a new energy, and, indeed, a new nature; "haste, or the man
will miss the path, and the young gentleman die. Or stay--I will
climb the hill here, and run to the house for assistance, and Harriet
will walk faster, and point out the way."
"The path is broad, the wild fellow pursues it," cried Miss Falconer,
giving the veteran the impulse of her own activity. "What could have
brought the young man to the brook? What could have brought this wild
barbarian? Nay, uncle, what could have brought yourself?"
"Sam told me," muttered Captain Loring; and of a thousand broken and
confused expressions that now fell from his lips, all that the
maidens could understand, as they hurried him along, was that he had
met one of his labourers at the park-gate, who had seen them take
refuge in the wood, and was then engaged catching their ponies, which
were running wildly about,--that he had instantly left his carriage,
and was seeking them along the stream, when he heard the shriek of
his daughter. Something else of much more importance, he seemed
labouring to give utterance to; and this being nothing less than the
fearful intelligence in relation to Colonel Falconer, which he knew
not how to impart, his mind became so confounded betwixt fear of its
effect upon the lady, indignation at the outrage, and the thousand
other emotions which were distracting his breast, that the more he
essayed to speak, the more mysterious became his expressions; so that
the whole group had reached the door of the mansion, before a single
suspicion of his object had entered the mind of either Miss Falconer
or her friend. He mingled the oft-repeated name of her father with
that of the dreaded Gilberts, and this again with Tom Loring's, and
the painter's; now he burst into a frenzy of apprehension lest
Catherine, whose garments were dripping with wet, and, in one or two
places, spotted with blood from the wounds of Herman, should have
suffered as many hurts as the youth himself, and now he fell into
lamentations over the loss of 'that grand picture of Tom Loring
dying!' which, it seemed not altogether improbable, death might
prevent the poor painter ever attempting.
But if the Captain brought confusion with him to the mansion, it was
evident, at the first glance Miss Falconer had of it, that the
deranging fiend had been there before him, and still kept possession.
The sun was then setting--a multitude of persons, old and young,
sallow and sable, were bustling about in the shadows of the porch,
some running to and fro with burthens in their hands, others shouting
and screaming, or staring about them in speechless wonder; the
carriage stood at the door, the ancient charioteer sitting whip in
hand, as if expecting orders to start at a moment's warning, while a
smart mulatto in livery was engaged strapping a portmanteau behind
it. Horses, saddled and bridled, were hitched to trees, or held by
servants; dogs were barking; pigeons flying about; and in a word, it
seemed as if the inhabitants of the Folly, male and female, human and
animal, were one and all preparing, in some ecstasy of confusion, to
desert its troubled walls.
"In the name of heaven, uncle! what means all this?" cried Miss
Falconer, recognising in the livery-servant a personal attendant of
her own father, and in the portmanteau which he was fastening to the
carriage, one of the repositories of her own womanly vanities.
Before the Captain could answer a word, the confusion was doubly
confounded by the clatter of hoofs, and in an instant two horsemen in
military apparel, came thundering up the avenue, as if the lives of a
community depended upon their speed.
"My brother Henry, as I live!" cried the lady, starting forward.
"Captain, what _is_ the matter? Brother! heavens, brother! what can
all this mean?"
At this, one half of the human elements of the chaos lifted up their
voices, and groaned aloud, "Oh, the Gilberts! the bloody Gilberts!"
"Sister!" cried the foremost of the young soldiers, flinging himself
from his steed, catching Miss Falconer in his arms, and speaking with
a manner strangely compounded of horror and merriment,--"they have
been at dad again! but don't fall into a fit--there's no murder this
time! no, egad, only a few scratches. Don't be alarmed.--Ah, Miss
Loring! my dear Miss Catherine!--you look dreadful pale--don't be
frightened--beg pardon for coming in such a condition. Heard of it,
Harry?--(my friend, Brooks,--Lieutenant Brooks, of the troop)--knew
they'd send for you,--bent out of course--deflected, made a _detour_,
as we say,--to fetch you. Not a moment to lose--must be in town by
sunrise, if horse-flesh can carry us.--How d'ye do, Captain? All
ready for marching?"
"Yes, all ready," said the Captain, recovering his tongue. "Don't be
afraid, Harriet, my dear--Kate, bid your cousin good-bye. No great
harm done,--only a little flesh wound that you can stitch up with
your needle--by the lord, that's all! Must send you away--father sent
a message after you--must have you to nurse him. Be a good girl,
don't cry; 't an't all bad wounds do damage; saw many
tomahawk-slashes at the fatal field of Braddock, and some got well.
Tell the Colonel I'll be down to see him, and hope to fetch the
assassin along."
"The assassin, Captain?" cried the young officer, as he leaped upon
his horse, his sister having been already, almost without any
exercise of her own will, thrust into the carriage, and the door
secured. "Quick, Phil, you scoundrel, will you never have done
strapping?--The assassin, Captain! oh yes, the assassin!--Remember
the description--tall man, lantern-jawed, white horse, with a dappled
near fore-leg, a black coat, and preaches!"
"Hah!" cried Captain Loring, with a shout of triumph, "saw the
rascal, and meant to arrest him, but couldn't stand his sermons! I
couldn't, by the lord!--Your horse, Phil! your horse! doctor, I'll
take yours!--Whoop, Harry, you dog! down to the old witch's, and
we'll nab him yet!"
While the Captain gave utterance to these expressions, he seized upon
the nearest horse, and mounted him--a feat, that nothing but the
frenzy of his enthusiasm could have urged him to attempt; for his
infirmity had almost altogether incapacitated him from riding, save
at the gentlest pace. But the recollection of the zealous Nehemiah,
the assassin of his friend, now sheltered under a roof that he
fancied, in the ardour of the moment, he could almost touch with his
hand--and that holy impostor a villain so notorious and redoubted as
the chief Hawk of the Hollow!--the fiery conception scattered his
years and infirmities to the winds, and in an instant he was astride
the beast of mettle, galloping over the park at full speed, followed
by the two soldiers, as soon as they comprehended the meaning of his
words--by the coach, which the venerable Richard set in motion upon
an impulse of his own--and by some half a dozen of the male loungers,
some on foot, some on horse, and all fired with the prospect of
capturing a foe so famous and so deeply abhorred.
The pale gibbering ghosts, that start in affright at the magical
alarum of the early chanticleer, could not have vanished from their
doleful divan with a more impetuous haste, than did full two-thirds
of those human beings from the mansion, who had given such life to it
a moment before. In an instant, as it seemed, the hall was left to
solitude; and the rough stranger, who still sustained the mangled
frame of the painter, and had stood staring in astonishment at a
scene so unexpected and confounding, had some reason to fear he was
left to relieve the sufferings of his charge as he could, and to
relieve them alone. A dark frown gathered over his visage, as he
beheld the crowd rush away almost without bestowing a look upon his
piteous burthen, or upon him; and he was about to mutter his
indignation aloud, when it was pacified by a husky voice exclaiming
in his ear,
"Hum, hah! bless my soul! what, drowned, eh? is the gentleman
drowned? a case of suspended animation?--Hillo, Jingleum, stop! Come
back, Pepperel! 'Pon my soul, 'tis the identical red-jacket we saw at
the Rest! Why, what the devil's all this?--Beg pardon, Miss
Loring!--Bless my soul, I hope you ain't hurt? Blood about your
sleeve, and look very pale and nervous! A little wine, with"----
"Think not of me, doctor," replied Catherine. "Attend to the young
gentleman. This dreadful surprise and the hurry of my father--it will
explain all, and excuse all. Aunt Rachel will show you a chamber:
command every thing--every thing shall be done that you order.
Hasten, doctor, pray hasten, and relieve the young gentleman's
sufferings. Gentlemen, pray give your assistance to this good man,
and heaven--yes, heaven will crown your exertions with success!"
With these hurried expressions, and still more earnest gestures, the
young lady gave an impulse to the group now gathered about the
wounded man, and he was immediately carried into the house and out of
her sight.
"Oh, Miss Katy,--beg pardon--that's to say, Miss Catherine," cried a
buxom, blubbering damsel, whose quavering treble had borne a
distinguished part in the late din of voices, and who had no sooner
laid eyes on the young lady, which she did as soon as the tumult was
over, than she ran bustling hysterically to her side,--"never saw you
in such a pucker! hope we shan't all be murdered. Such dreadful
contractions were never heard of--great big hole in your sleeve--the
Gilberts all come to life again, and will murder us as sure as we
live!"
"Be quiet, Phoebe--come with me to my chamber--I don't think he will
die!"
"Hope not, Miss Katy,--that's Miss Catherine; but they shot him right
through the head with a blunderbush, and slashed him to pieces with a
baggonet. Oh, the cruel murderers! And Philip, the yellow boy,
says----Lor' 'a' mercy! Miss Katy, what's the matter?"
"I am sick, Phoebe, very sick--it will be over directly. Don't call
your mother--don't disturb any one; let them stay with the young
gentleman."
With great difficulty, assisted by the girl, whose station in the
house, without being altogether so exalted as that of an humble
companion, was yet, at least in her own estimation, far removed from
that of a menial--the young lady made her way to her apartment; when
the impulse that had supported her energies through a scene of
distress for so long a time, passed away, and was succeeded by
prostration both of mind and body--by shuddering chills and assaults
of partial insensibility, that terminated in fits of weeping, and
these again in deep dejection of spirits, such as of late years had
been a more prevailing characteristic than any other.
CHAPTER IX.
Whither shall I go now? O Lucian!--to thy ridiculous purgatory,--to
find Alexander the Great cobbling shoes, Pompey tagging points, and
Julius Cæsar making hair-buttons, Hannibal selling blacking, Augustus
crying garlic, Charlemagne selling lists by the dozen, and King Pepin
crying apples in a cart drawn with one horse?----
Then here's an end of me; farewell, daylight;
And, oh! contemptible physic!----
WEBSTER--_Vittoria Corombona_.
Conducted by the old woman, an heir-loom dependant in the Captain's
family, whom Miss Loring had designated by the familiar and somewhat
endearing title of Aunt Rachel, the grim-faced stranger bore the
young painter to a chamber, where he was laid upon a couch, breathing
forth occasional groans, but still insensible. His bearer, having
thus finished what might have been considered his peculiar charge,
lifted up his eyes, and looked around him, not however with any
intention of departing. On the contrary, his rude indifference seemed
gradually to have melted away, and been succeeded by an anxious wish
to render further services to the youth, or at least to be assured
they should be rendered by others as capable as himself. He fixed his
eyes upon the physician, as if to determine the amount of his
professional ability by such outward manifestations of wisdom as
might be traced in his visage and person; and the result was so
little to his satisfaction that he resolved to remain in the
apartment, to give the physician the benefit of his own counsels.
The man of science, who bore the undignified name of Merribody, was a
youth of twenty-five or six, though the gravity of his countenance
was worthy a practitioner of fifty. His frame was short, and roundest
in the middle, and his limbs and neck of conformable brevity and
dumpiness. His face corresponded with his body, being round as a
melon, with features all highly insignificant, except his nose, which
had a short and delicate pug that gave it some importance. His
complexion had been originally fair, and his locks flaxen; but a few
years' exposure to sun and sleet had communicated a certain foxy
swarthiness to both, so that his eyes, which were of a light gray,
were now entirely visible. His eye-brows had maintained their
original creamy hue; and being the only part of the countenance
possessing any great mobility, their motions up and down, and to and
fro, were always distinguishable; and indeed they flitted about under
the shadow of his hat, like two snowy moths entangled in a cobweb.
Though no figure in the world could have been worse adapted to
purposes of dignity, Dr. Merribody had thought proper to assume an
important air, which he always preserved, except when irritated out
of his decorum; a circumstance that not unfrequently happened, owing
to a temper naturally testy and inflammable. His countenance he kept
in a perpetual frown; and he cultivated an attitude he thought
expressive of professional dignity, in which his feet were planted as
far from one another as the length of his legs permitted, his head
thrown back, or rather his chin turned up, for his neck was too short
to allow much liberty to the temple of the soul, and his hands thrust
into his breeches pockets; in which attitude he presented a miniature
representation of the Rhodian Colossus. He had even bestowed much
cultivation upon his voice, which being of a childish treble, and
therefore highly incompatible with all pretensions to gravity, he
forced it into artificial profundity, and spoke with a husky,
catarrhal tone, a sort of falsetto bass, exceedingly pompous, and
indeed sometimes majestic. However, the same testy temper which so
often robbed him of his dignity of carriage, as frequently threw his
voice into its hautboy alto; and on those occasions, he did not
appear to advantage. At the present moment, the doctor certainly
might be said to be in his glory; for the sight of a patient threw
him into the best humour in the world;--and by the presence of his
two friends, without counting the stranger and Aunt Rachel, he was
assured of witnesses to his skill in a case, which he declared, while
trudging up stairs, to be 'exceedingly critical and interesting.'
Notwithstanding this favourable condition of things, however, the man
of the red hat conceived but a mean opinion of Dr. Merribody's
professional skill; and having eyed him a second time, without
finding any reason to alter his opinion, he demanded, in no very
respectful terms,
"Well now, doctor, here's the man lying half dead and
groaning,--what's to be done with him?"
"What's to be done?" echoed the doctor, turning up the cuffs of his
coat, throwing out his legs, and looking important and complaisant
together; "Why, sir, we are to----but, hark'e, sir, who are you?
Don't know you--thought you was Dan Potts, the raftsman, but see you
a'n't. Who are you? and what are you doing here? Can't suffer a crowd
in the room; it smothers the air. Must beg you to decamp, sir. Have
plenty assistance, sir,"----
"Be content, doctor," said the man, drily, but not roughly. "My name
is Green, John Green, the trader; every body knows Green, the York
trader, as they call me. I fished up the young gentleman;--that is, I
helped the lady; and I must see him through his troubles."
"Never heard of you, Mr. Green," said the doctor; "but you may stay.
You have something the matter with your eye! Now I don't boast; but I
believe I am good at the eyes--I will look at it directly."
"I don't doubt it, doctor," said Mr. Green; "but suppose, instead of
talking of my eyes, you make the best use of your own. Here's the
young man in great suffering."
"Oh, ay," said doctor Merribody. "The first thing to be done is to
strip the patient, and see what's the matter with him. Method is the
soul of business. Hurrah, Jingleum; come, off with his coat,--strip
it off."
"_Rip_ it off, you mean," said the trader, touching the fractured arm
significantly, and indeed somewhat angrily. "Of all fools I ever
heard of, those are the greatest who break their arms, when necks are
so much less valuable. Here's his right arm smashed like a
sassafras-bough; and, I reckon, slipped at the shoulder, too!"
"Ay! the deuce! you don't say so? a luxation!" cried the physician.
"Set the old woman to work with her scissors. Aunt Rachel, my good
woman, rip up this sleeve; and rip it as gingerly as if every stitch
was the nerve of a man's elbow. A comminuted fracture, I can tell by
the feel!--Here, Pepperel, pour some warm water into the basin, chill
it a thought from the ewer, and soak this rag in it. A very
genteel-looking dog, I protest!--Jingleum, lay out my pocket-case,
tear an old shirt into bandages two and a half inches wide, and roll
'em up; and you, Mr. York,--that is, Mr. Green, hand me the crooked
scissors there, till I shave some of the hair from the wound. A devil
of a job, if it turns out a trephine case! We must send off to town
for Dr. Muller and his case of round saws--I don't object to consult
with Dr. Muller; and if it comes to trephining, why the sooner we are
ready for it the better. Method is the soul of business!"
"The cut on the head is but a scratch," said the trader: "I v'e
looked at it myself. Goody, rip up the shirt-sleeve here, or let me
do it--there's blacker work to look at."
"Method is the soul of business," cried the doctor, whose spirits
were beginning to rise to a rapture, as business thickened on his
hand, and who now raised himself a tip-toe among his temporary
assistants, like a generalissimo surveying the manoeuvres of his
subordinates on a field of battle, which is perhaps to determine the
destinies of a nation; "there's nothing like method!" he ejaculated.
"Aunt Rachel, scrape me a little lint--there are more scratches to be
filled.--Hah! what! what the devil's the matter?" he cried, as the
trader, groaning with sympathy at the sight, tore away the damp shirt
from the shoulder, and displayed it deformed and shapeless from
luxation. "Bless my soul, what! a dislocation, really, under the
_pectoralis major_, anteriorly luxed! Oh, here's the devil to pay!
Method is the soul of business: but what method is there in having at
once an arm broke, a shoulder disjointed, a head cracked, and to be
half drowned into the bargain? Murdering work, sir! murdering work!
Where the deuce can I clap my pulley? and where the deuce, now I
think of it, am I to get one?"
"A pulley!" exclaimed the trader, with scorn and indignation; "a
pulley to drag a man's arm off! Why, where's your fingers? Come,
doctor, now's the time."
"Method is the soul of business!" exclaimed the physician, waxing
wroth. "Are you a doctor, a surgeon, a gentleman of the profession,
Mr. What-d'-ye-call-'em, that you take it upon you to instruct _me_
what to do? I tell you, sir, a physician is not to be prescribed his
duty, sir; and I allow no man to interfere with me in my practice,
sir!"
The strength of this declaration was increased by its being delivered
in the doctor's natural voice, high and shrill; but it produced
little effect on the obdurate trader.
"Come, doctor," said he, "I know all about these matters of broken
and disjointed bones, from the toe up to the top-knot, having had a
hand in making many of them, as a man who has been an Indian trader,
in war-times, may well say. So take the benefit of my advice; for I
intend to give it."
"Then, sir," said Dr. Merribody, with becoming indignation, "you may
take the matter into your own hands; I wash mine clear of it. I'm not
to be ruled by any ignoramus Indian trader, who, I believe, is no
better than an Indian himself, and blind of an eye into the bargain;
if you are to dictate, you Mr. What-d'-ye-call-'em, I'll have nothing
to do with the case,--if I do I'll be hanged. No, sir! work away
yourself, and kill the patient as soon as you like: he is at death's
door already."
"Not at all," said Mr. Green, with a bitter sneer; "if he had been in
any danger, I should have taken the matter up myself. Come, doctor,"
he added, more civilly; "don't be in a passion, and don't play the
fool. I tell you, if it will be any satisfaction to you to know, that
I, John Green, simple as I stand here, have seen more wounds and
broken bones than you, and a dozen other such younkers, will ever
have the mending of; and, for the matter of that, I have seen more
mended than ever you will see hurt, ay, and helped in the mending,
too,--as any man must, who has traded among Indians. So, come; look
to your duty; the young gentleman will pay you for your services;
and, as he seems to be forlorn-like, with no better friend at hand, I
shall stand by him, to see he gets the worth of his money."
The amazement with which the insulted leech listened to these
contumelious expressions, was prodigious, and would have been
expressed otherwise than by a simple, common-place "whew!" had it not
been for the dark scowl that clouded the trader's visage, at the
first sign of explosion. It was a look of more than ordinary
resentment or menace; and, indeed, expressed equal malignance with
the grin of a wild-cat, preparing for the spring. The terror it
struck to the bosom of the doctor, was communicated to his friends,
who betrayed at first some inclination to enter into the controversy,
but ended the heroic impulse in sundry grumbling murmurs.
"A devilish strange fellow as ever I saw!" growled the doctor in the
ear of one. "A case of _monomania_, sir; he is mad, sir: yes! I see
mania in his eye; he has been hurt on the head, you can tell by the
knocks there, the scars on his phys'nomy; and his eye shows the
infirmity. So we must humour him, sirs, we must humour him.--'Tis the
method; and method is the soul of business."
Thus apologizing for the surrender of his wrath and dignity, the
surgeon betook himself again to his patient.
"Hum! hah!" he cried, laying his fingers on Herman's wrist,--"pulse
irregular, intermittent.--The struggle between life and death--very
low, sir, very low!--Aunt Rachel, make me half a dozen
mustard-plasters, roast me a dozen bricks, and get me a coal of fire,
to try if there's any feeling in him. One dare not bleed with such a
pulse as this."
Green listened with visible impatience to the physician; and then,
with as little consideration as before, exclaimed,
"What needs all these knick-knackeries? Clap this shoulder into
place, and then think of them."
"My friend," said the doctor, his indignation supplying the place of
courage, "I don't like to offend the feelings of any man; but you
talk like an ass. Method is the soul of business; and there is no
method in reducing a luxation for a man hovering upon the brink of
the grave, unless you may consider the act a method of helping him
into it. No, sir; the violence of the operation would do his business
as expeditiously as a thump over the head with a tomahawk, which I
think, as you are an Indian trader and fighter, you know something
about. Yes, sir; I'll allow you to be a complete master of the
science of tomahawking, skinning, and scalping; but when you come to
talk of bones and dislocations, then, sir, I say, in the words of the
Latin poet, _Ne sudor ultra crepidam_--I don't know whether it is
_sudor_ or _sutor_; but it means, 'Mind your own business.'"
"I speak of nothing but what I know," replied Green, impatiently;
"and I say, now is the time to fix the bone with the least trouble.
Feel the lad's muscles; they are as loose and limber as a girl's in a
swoon; wait till he opens his eyes, and you will find them as tough
as ash-boughs. So go to work, doctor; for if you don't, _I_ will--I
have clapped a bone in place before now. So, doctor, you or John
Green, the York trader; and much good may it do you, when I tell the
folks up the river how I out-doctored you!"
The argument was conclusive, and luckily it was given more in the
spirit of persuasion than command; Dr. Merribody condescended to
adopt the advice of the rude philosopher. As he had intimated, the
muscles of the sufferer were in a condition so relaxed, that it
required but little effort to restore the bone to its place.
"There! it is done!" cried the surgeon, triumphantly; "but it hurt
him like the mischief! He groaned as if I had been cutting his
throat. Now for the mustard-plasters"----
"Now, if you please," said the trader, "for your lancet; and leave
such things for the old women."
The doctor was again offended; but the interference of his adviser
had effected one desirable object, and he now thought him worthy of
remonstrance:
"This, my friend," said he, striking his attitude, sinking his voice
to its most majestic depth, and stretching forth his hand, to give
emphasis to the oration,--"this is a case of concussion of the
brain,--that is, while considered without reference to other minor
injuries, such as the wound, the fracture, and the luxation. In
concussion, sir, I would have you to understand, sir, the
practitioner has to contend, or rather to provide beforehand, sir,
against two insidious and dangerous consequences, _videlicet_
depression and inflammation. Ehem, sir! do you understand that? If
you don't, sir, you are no better than a--I won't say numskull,
sir,--but something of that sort. Bleeding may undoubtedly prevent
the latter, but it may as certainly aggravate the former,--it may
sink the patient into the grave,--it may send him to the devil,--it
may"--
"Open his eyes, and so rob the doctor of a patient," said the trader,
gruffly. "Do you see how the blood begins to flush over his face? do
you hear how hard he draws his breath? Bleed him, and he opens his
eyes; warm him with bricks, and plasters, and such stuff, and he will
have a brain-fever. Come, doctor, I'll take the blame. If it should
hurt him, why a vein is easier stopped than a fool's mouth."
"_Probatum est_," muttered the physician; "for nothing but a gag
could do that for one that shall be nameless.--The fellow has some
gumption, though," he muttered to himself. "Well, I'll bleed him but
I _should_ like to put Dan Potts, the raftsman, on him, or some such
two-fisted fellow, and have him drubbed for his insolence! yes, I
should like it!"
And grinning with the agreeableness of the fancy, the doctor
phlebotomized the patient.
The wisdom of the trader's suggestion was again shown in the event.
The blood, at first merely oozing in drops from the vein, at last
gathered strength and volume, and the poor painter opened his eyes,
and rolled them wildly from person to person. The trader surveyed him
for a moment with a much gentler visage than he had hitherto
displayed; then turning to the doctor, he said, softly, as if to
avoid disturbing the patient,
"Now you can bind up the broken bone at leisure. Only keep him quiet,
and the hurt is nothing. I did not mean to offend you, doctor--I have
a rough way with me. Treat the young man well, and he will soon
recover."
With these words, he took up his hat, left the apartment, and was
soon heard stepping from the porch down to the avenue through the
lawn.
"An impudent, ignoramus, unconscionable, rascal, with no manners, and
half mad!" growled the doctor, giving his indignation full swing.
"A wasp-mouthed, sharp-tongued, malicious savage!" exclaimed his
friends; and even the matron, who had all the time bustled about,
seemingly regardless of all conversation that was not specially
directed towards herself, concluded the chorus, by muttering,
"And a man that never goes to meeting, I warrant me!"
"Let's have candles here, Aunt Rachel!" cried the doctor, indulging
his importance, in all the joy of liberation from restraint. "It is
as dark as--oh! here they come, eh? Hark! there's horses' feet in the
park! They're coming back from the Rest.--Bless my soul! I forgot all
about the murder and the assassin! Hope they don't bring him here,
slashed all to pieces by the soldiers; work enough on hand for one
surgeon.--Only a simple fracture, after all! Hold the splints here,
Jingleum. Don't be distressed, sir; won't hurt you more than I can
possibly help."
With these words, the surgeon proceeded to tie up the fractured limb,
the painter having recovered so far as to be able to wince and groan
to the heart's content of the practitioner. Before the operation was
concluded, Captain Loring came puffing and blowing into the room, and
being instantly assailed by the doctor's friends with anxious
questions concerning the result of the late assault upon the
Traveller's Rest, answered in his usual hurried and broken manner,--
"Bird flown, adzooks--beat retreat in time,--struck colours, crossed
the river; young Brooks and a posse after him; will have him before
morning,--we will, by the lord! But, adzooks, here's my young painter
that's to paint me that picture. Hark ye, Harman What-d'-ye-call-it,
my boy," he exclaimed, taking a seat on the bed-side, and speaking
with rough hospitality; "glad to see your eyes open. Mean to treat
you as well as if you were my son Tom. How do you feel now, hark ye,
my lad? What the plague sent you tumbling down the rocks, hah? A
mighty stupid trick, that, adzooks! How d'e do?"
The young man's wits were not yet clear enough to comprehend the
question, or to digest a reply. He merely turned his eyes, with a
wild and ghastly stare, upon the interrogator, and then rolled them
vacantly from one individual of the company to another. He sighed
heavily, and mumbled a little, as the doctor proceeded to secure the
splints, but made no resistance.
"I don't like that stare," cried the Captain; "he looks as wild out
of the eyes as a squeezed frog; and that's no good sign. I remember
me, Tom Loring stared the same way, when the doctor was fishing for
the bullet among his ribs. He'll never live to paint me that picture!
He'll die, doctor, won't he?"
"Can't venture to say, Captain," replied Merribody; "a very critical
situation, sir, a very critical situation. But I never despair, sir;
for while there's life there's hope. My preceptor, the late
celebrated Dr. Bones, of Bucks county, used to tell his patients, 'he
never despaired till he heard the joiners screwing up the coffin.' A
very good rule, that, sir! We'll hope, sir, we'll hope. Pulse very
full and vigorous--will take a little more blood, and remain a few
hours to watch him."
"Stay all night," said the Captain; "won't let you go, sir."
"As to staying all night, Captain," said the physician, with an air,
"I can't say. Must look to my patients in the village----but will
stay to tea with great pleasure. Jingleum, hold the basin!"
The practitioner removed the bandage from the vein he had before
opened, and (the Captain, in the meanwhile, hobbling out to inquire
into the condition of Catherine,) had soon the pleasure of seeing his
patient recover his wits so far as to be able to answer questions,
though he displayed a much greater inclination to ask them.
His first demand was, "What's the matter? what ails my head, and my
arm? and who are you all here about me?--Oh! ay!" he continued, "I
remember--that confounded brook! I vow to Heaven, I thought I saw a
ghost, though 'twas broad daylight! Heavens! how my shoulder aches,
and my arm, how it twinges! Are you a doctor? Where's Elsie?"
"Well, now, I warrant me, doctor," whispered Aunt Rachel, "he begins
to wander."
"My dear sir," said the physician, "I must beg you to hold your
tongue. Take this cooling draught, and go to sleep; and, for your
comfort, know that you are now in much better quarters than you could
have had at old witch Elsie's. You are now in Captain Loring's
house."
"In Captain Loring's! What, Avondale? Gilbert's Folly," cried the
painter, starting up.
"Be quiet, sir," cried Merribody. "Lie down, and keep yourself quiet;
or I won't insure your life two hours."
"Nonsense, sir," cried the patient, petulantly. "I will dress, and
get me to the Rest forthwith; and I warn you to take your hand from
my shoulder; for, besides that, you hurt me insufferably, I don't
choose to be treated like a prisoner of war, nor to be quartered on
strangers."
"I warn you," cried the physician.----"There! was there ever such a
dolt?--Hartshorn, Jingleum!"
The painter's resolution was greater than his ability. His struggle
to arise upset the little strength he had remaining, and he fell back
almost immediately in a swoon. When recovered again from this, he
seemed sufficiently sensible of his impotent and helpless condition;
but was still reluctant to remain where he was. He conjured the
doctor to have him carried in a coach, an arm-chair, a cart,--in any
thing,--but certainly to have him carried to the widow's hovel. Then,
discovering the physician to be inflexible, he lowered his tone,
consented to remain in the Captain's house, but implored so earnestly
that he should send immediately for old Elsie to nurse him, that the
doctor's heart was moved, and he condescended to argue the matter:
"Sir," said he, "I never saw a man with such ridiculous notions. Mrs.
Rachel Jones here is the best nurse in the world. Old Elsie Bell is a
witch and an ignoramus, and knows no more about nursing than she does
about Greek; and she would poison you with some quack weed or
another. I never trust these old women, that ramble about among the
woods. And then, sir, what makes you think she will come to you? Why,
sir, it is notorious, she never comes nigh the Folly; they say she
swore an oath, when the Hawks were driven out, never to cross the
threshold again, until they returned to it. Sir, a lady in this house
has as much as admitted, that the old hag refused to come to it
point-blank, a dozen times over. She won't come."
"Try her," murmured the patient, eagerly. "Say, I conjure her to come
to me; tell her I am sick, dying, and will trust nobody's nursing but
her's. And, hark'e, doctor, where's my waistcoat? There's a key
there--it opens my saddle-bags----that's it! Send it to her; bid her
fetch me some linen, and such things as she thinks I may want. My
life upon it, the good old soul will come. Send it, doctor, and I'll
take all your vile stuff without grumbling,--yes, all you have the
conscience to give me. It is an awful thing to take physic!"
Having prevailed thus upon the physician to send his message and
summons to the Rest, though no one perhaps save himself, expected to
see it followed by the widow in person, he swallowed, with divers wry
faces, the draught repeatedly offered to him before, groaned heavily
once or twice, and then turning his face towards the wall,
endeavoured to compose himself to sleep, while the physician and all
his attendants, save the matron, Mrs. Jones, stole from the chamber.
CHAPTER X.
The trout within yon wimplin burn
Glides swift, a silver dart,
And safe beneath the shady thorn,
Defies the angler's art:
My life was ance that careless stream,
That wanton trout was I.
BURNS.
To the surprise of every individual in the mansion, who had been made
acquainted with the summons sent by the painter to his late hostess,
it was answered in less than an hour by the appearance at the door of
Elsie herself. She was followed by the little negro wench, bearing a
bundle of linen and other apparel, and in a short time was inducted
into the sick chamber, from which she contrived, before many hours,
to expel dame Rachel, whom she had found listening very curiously to
the sleeping murmurs of the sufferer, as well as all the officious
auxiliaries. Indeed, she betrayed some inclination at first to be as
free even with the physician, who had been easily prevailed upon to
remain all night at the Folly, while his friends returned to the
village; but the young man became so extremely ill in the course of
the night, that she soon pretermitted her scruples, and was glad to
receive the doctor's assistance in quelling the threatened
brain-fever.
This remarkable repugnance of the old woman to divide with any one
the labours of watching over the stranger's couch, excited no little
surprise among the domestics, and seemed to them to attach a degree
of mysterious importance to his character, which none had dreamed of
attaching before. Long and anxiously, in consequence, did the good
Aunt Rachel and her daughter Phoebe, in the dearth of all better
occupation, apply their ears to the chamber door, and their eyes to
the key-hole, in the hope that some murmur of the sick man, some
whisper of his privileged attendants, or perhaps some movement in the
room, might give a clew to the enigma, of the existence of which
every circumstance now left them still more strongly convinced. Thus,
they persuaded themselves that in the delirium, which all night long
oppressed the painter's brain, he was betraying divers dreadful
secrets, not at all to his interest to be generally known; and they
demonstrated also to their entire satisfaction, that Elsie Bell, who
had acquired by some witchcraft or other a complete knowledge of the
young stranger's history, was imparting it to the physician, coupled
with many injunctions on the one hand, and as many promises on the
other, of honourable secrecy. Nay, they both affirmed, in after days,
that they distinctly heard Dr. Merribody, in reply to some question
or appeal of Elsie, say, with a manner highly characteristic of his
dignified sense of honour, "The secrets of the sick room are as
sacred as those of the confessional; and as for a doctor, Mrs. Bell,
why you must know, we are all as mum as blacksnakes. A snake was the
ancient symbol of physic, you know; because that's an animal which,
if it don't _hold_ its tongue, never makes any great noise with it!"
They observed, too, as they surveyed her through the key-hole, that
Elsie's countenance was darkened and troubled in an unusual degree;
and once, they thought, they saw her shedding tears. However, they
heard and saw little except what inflamed their curiosity to an
intolerable extent; and, in consequence, they came within an ace of
being caught in the act of eavesdropping by the physician himself,
who came suddenly out of the room to demand ice to apply to the
patient's head. Luckily, however, the degree of trust reposed in him
by the widow, as they supposed, had filled him with uncommon
importance, so that he made no remark on discovering them so near at
hand, except to express his pleasure; "for," said he, "I supposed you
were all sound in bed, and that there would be the devil to pay to
get any out-of-the-way thing that might be wanted."
"Lord love you, doctor," said Aunt Rachel, "why we're all keeping
awake, just a-purpose to be ready and handy; and besides, the young
gentleman makes an awful groaning and taking on; and besides, there's
my young madam, Miss Katy, who can't sleep a wink, out of concern for
the young man; and she told me to ask you, doctor, what you thought
of the young man's case, and whether he'll die or no?"
To this the doctor answered, with a look of great wisdom, 'that every
thing depended upon circumstances.'
"And besides, doctor," said Phoebe, emboldened by the gracious reply
vouchsafed to her mother, "she is mighty curious to know what all
these things is, the young gentleman is talking about?"
"Sorry it is not consistent with the honour of the profession to
gratify Miss Loring in that particular," replied the physician, with
extreme gravity. "Must have ice, Mrs. Jones. Mighty fortunate I was
able to remain all night! You must bring me ice, Mrs. Jones; and you
must just scratch on the door, to give me warning; and then you must
keep all quiet, and let none approach the room, unless summoned by
myself. And if you can venture to disturb the Captain, and tell him
to turn over on his side, (the _right_ side, mind you,) he won't
snore so hard. Very prejudicial, to sleep on the back, I assure you!
It sets the liver tumbling over the lungs, and so half smothers one.
But let me have the ice, d'ye hear; and keep all things quiet in the
house."
Notwithstanding the skill, and (what was perhaps a less questionable
virtue,) the zeal of Dr. Merribody, and the faithful vigilance of
poor Elsie, the patient continued to grow worse, and was indeed,
towards morning, in an alarming situation, and so remained during the
greater part of the two following days, not a little to the surprise
of the physician, who phlebotomized him with extreme liberality,
expecting on each occasion to give the _coup-de-grâce_ to the
disease. The truth is, the doctor, from having witnessed its efficacy
at first, had grown enamoured of the remedy, and now applied it, we
will not say without judgment, but entirely without mercy; and had
not Elsie at last rebelled against his blood-thirsty humour, and
resolutely resisted all further encouragement of it, there is no
saying where the matter might have ended, unless in the grave.
However, as the patient possessed a youthful and vigorous
constitution, capable of withstanding disease and his tyrant
together, he was at no time in absolute peril of death; and being
left a little to himself, he began at last to mend, and in the course
of the fourth day was, to the infinite satisfaction of Captain Loring
and his fair daughter, pronounced entirely out of danger. His
convalescence was rapid, and would perhaps have been still more so,
had it not been for the pains his hospitable host took to expedite
it; for Captain Loring beset his bed-side from the first appearance
of a favourable symptom, mingling many joyous congratulations with a
thousand exhortations and instructions in relation to 'that grand
picture of the battle of Brandywine, and Tom Loring dying!'
From Captain Loring he also learned some of the particulars of those
bustling events, which had taken place during the evening of his
insensibility. He was much struck with the strange transformation of
the sanctimonious Nehemiah Poke into no less a personage than the
refugee and assassin, Oran Gilbert, and was very curious to hear the
particulars of his escape. They were told in a moment: the pursuers,
headed by Lieutenant Brooks, (young Falconer having proceeded on his
journey with his sister, and the Captain, much the worse for his
gallop, having been forced to return to the Hall,) had followed
across the river, and continued the search until nightfall rendered
it useless to prolong it. They had, at one time, been close upon the
fugitive's heels, having lighted upon a pedler, (not, however, Mr.
John Green, the Indian trader, who was safely lodged at the time in
the wounded man's chamber,) to whom the pretended preacher had sold
his old gray horse, or exchanged it for a better; and from this man
they obtained instructions, which put them in good hopes for awhile
of coming up with him. Night, however, fell upon them, and the
Lieutenant returned to the right bank of the river, to rejoin his
friend and Miss Falconer, committing the whole charge of the pursuit
to his volunteers, from whom the fugitive escaped, having baffled
them completely. As for Mr. Green himself, he left the little inn
betimes on the morning after the accident, and was seen no more.
In regard to the outrage upon Colonel Falconer, Herman was informed
that it had been committed in a mode especially daring and audacious.
He was entertaining certain gay and distinguished guests at his villa
on the Schuylkill, and had stepped for a moment, in search of certain
papers, to a little pavilion, which he had caused to be fitted up as
a study, not sixty paces from the house, where he was presently found
weltering in his blood by the guests, whom his sudden shrieks had
drawn to the place. The assassin had already vanished, having added
robbery, as Captain Loring averred, to murder. The sufferer had,
however, recognised his well-known visage, and in the course of the
following day some traces of him were discovered. It was found, at
least, that a man answering the description had stolen a horse from a
neighbouring farmer; and upon this horse, or one very like him, Mr.
Nehemiah Poke, the parson, had been seen wending his way up the
Delaware; and as no one knew or had ever before heard of this
reverend gentleman, it was at once supposed that the assassin had
assumed the character as a disguise. Before this second discovery had
been made, a courier, whom the Captain stumbled upon in the village,
was despatched to Hawk-Hollow, to recall Miss Falconer to the city.
His intelligence therefore, though it caused the Captain to arrest
the true offender, was not sufficient to legalize the capture,
especially when this was opposed so strongly by the zealous
exhortations of Nehemiah, and the discreet remonstrances of the
painter. When Captain Loring remembered the agency of Hunter in
robbing him of his prey, he burst into a towering passion, and
reproached and railed at him with as little ceremony as he would have
done with his own son, or near kinsman. It was in vain that Herman
pointed out the improbability of a wild hunter of the hills, like
Oran Gilbert, being able to assume the character of a ranting
preacher, and preserve it so well, and endeavoured to convince him,
that, if Nehemiah were really not the assassin, he must be some other
and some secret enemy. The Captain swore that Colonel Falconer had no
other enemy in the world, and therefore, of course, Nehemiah, the
parson, must be the identical Oran of the Hollow. This opinion he
maintained with such fury, that the painter, if indeed he had no
stronger reason for holding his tongue, did not choose to meet it
with an argument derived from his own previous acquaintance with
Nehemiah. He suffered the Captain to have his own way, and believe
what he liked; and, in consequence, the Captain soon dropped the
subject altogether, to take up another that now occupied his brain,
almost to the exclusion of every other. This was the picture of the
battle of Brandywine, and Tom Loring dying, the consideration of
which, and of the painter's ability to execute it to his liking, was
the main cause of the extraordinary affection he conceived for the
youth.
Another piece of information, which the young man obtained from the
Captain, was an account of the agency of Miss Loring in his
deliverance from the brook, and perhaps from death. He had turned
upon her a despairing eye, at the moment when, as he was pitching
over the fall, she had cast out the end of the shawl to him; but of
this circumstance he had retained not the slightest recollection, and
indeed, it is more than probable that his faculties were at that
moment in a state of torpor. Not content with this deed of daring
humanity (for if he had clutched upon the mantle, the chances were
that she would have been jerked into the torrent after him,) she had
plunged among the boiling eddies below, and thus preserved him from a
second and perhaps greater peril, and all the time with imminent risk
to herself. His emotions upon making this discovery, mingled surprise
and admiration with the gentler sentiment of gratitude.
"Is it possible," he cried, "that a young lady should have such
spirit, such presence of mind, such courage?"
"Adzooks!" said the Captain, setting the matter to rest at once,
"isn't she _my_ daughter? By the lord, sir, when my son Tom was but a
boy of ten years, he could trounce all the boys of the Brandywine of
his own age, and two years older."
"So heroic!" ejaculated the painter; "instead of committing me to my
destiny, with a pathetic scream, to run at once to my assistance,
like an angel, rather than a woman!"
"Adzooks," cried Captain Loring, "it was no such thing, when I
carried Tom Loring home; for then she fell to weeping and bewailing;
and hark ye, Herman, my boy, that's the way you must paint her."
"So noble! so benevolent! so humane!" continued Hunter. "Noble
impulses are only produced in noble spirits.--And I really, then, owe
my escape, perhaps my life, to the humanity of this young lady, to
whom I was but a stranger!--Captain, it was the noblest act in the
world!"
"Adzooks," cried the Captain, "do you think so? Why then, by the
lord, we'll paint that too! And, now I think of it, 'twill make a
most excellent picture! Why, yes,--what a fool I was, not to think of
it before! 'Twas very brave of her, and it shall be painted: You
shall stick yourself at the bottom of the brook, and my Kate Loring
fishing you out, with Harriet and me on the top of the rock; and as
for that rusty fellow, the pedler, why you may leave him out."
"I am very curious about that man," said Hunter; "but 'tis no
matter."
Then he fell to musing, and in spite of the noisy rapture with which
the Captain danced about his bed, filled with the new conception of
immortalizing paint,--of a picture which was to perpetuate the
heroism of his daughter as effectually as the other was to record the
glorious death of his son,--the painter indulged his meditations for
a considerable time. The result was, first, a perfect conviction that
the sooner he made a due acknowledgment of his gratitude the better;
and, secondly, that he felt himself strong and well enough to
undertake a duty so pleasing, without further delay. In this opinion
Captain Loring coincided with great satisfaction; and neither the
physician nor his nurse being at hand to restrain him, (for so soon
as he recovered his wits, and began to amend, they deserted his
bed-side, returning only at stated periods,) he got up and dressed
himself as well as he could, the Captain having in the meanwhile,
descended, to apprize his daughter of the meditated visit. It was
indeed lucky that the Captain did so; for after the young man had
risen, and caught a view of himself in a mirror, his resolution
melted away like wax in the fire.
"Heavens!" said he, "how villanous I look! Such lobster eyes, and
such lantern-like jaws! That confounded doctor has bled me like a
Turk: I wonder he did not make a Turk of me in earnest, and leave me
with a poll as naked as a peeled yam. Truly I am now the _Caballero
de la Triste Figura_, Don Quixotte in good earnest, as far as looks
go; and truly I had better get me to bed again, and wait a month or
two, before showing myself to any handsome young lady."
His objections, however, to descend were overruled by the Captain,
and having been announced at his own instance, and the young lady
having expressed great satisfaction at the happy change in his
condition, as indicated by a renovation of strength so unexpected, he
was even forced to do as he proposed, and suffer himself to be
conducted into her presence.
Miss Loring was evidently surprised and shocked by the change in his
appearance, which was still odiously visible, notwithstanding the
great pains he had been at to arrange his battered person to
advantage. The hair, massed over his forehead, to hide an envious
patch, added but little ornament to his bloodless visage; nor did the
splint on his right arm, the riband-ties of his sleeve which could
not wholly conceal it, and the black silk sling that supported the
arm on his breast, impart any peculiar elegance to a person of
ghostly tenuity. However, the surprise of the young lady, though
confirmatory of his own assurances in relation to his unprepossessing
looks, served the good purpose of drawing what blood was left in his
body into his cheeks, and thus, for an instant, removed one item of
deformity.
The little confusion into which he was thrown by this inauspicious
reception, was luckily driven to flight by the boisterous and
triumphant introduction immediately commenced by Captain Loring.
"Look ye, Catherine, my girl," he cried; "here's my young Herman
Hunter, the painter, that you fished so finely out of the water; and,
adzooks, he says, he'll paint the action for you, as well as your
brother Tom on the Brandywine, and General George Washington on the
fatal field of Braddock! You see how quick we are curing him--begin
to have quite an opinion of that fellow, Merribody!--As soon as we
get his arm out of the stocks here, he's to begin. Don't intend to
let him go back to Elsie's; but Elsie's a good nurse,--will say that
for her. Have somebody to talk to, now! Will have cousin Harriet back
as soon as possible. So be civil to my young Herman
What-d'ye-call-it.--Think he looks very much like my poor Tom!"
With such characteristic expressions, the ancient soldier dispelled
the young man's embarrassment; and Herman now turning his eyes upon
the maiden with a disposition to be pleased, he found, in her
countenance, so much to admire of beauty both physical and spiritual,
that his approbation added a double emphasis to his expressions.
Indeed he spoke of her act of heroism, and his own gratitude, with a
warmth and energy of feeling that, to her own surprise, nearly
startled the tears into her eyes, while they filled the Captain with
a new sense of his daughter's merits.
"Adzooks!" he cried, in a rapture, "he tells the truth, and he speaks
like an honest fellow! 'Twas the noblest deed in all the world, and
't shall be painted."
Anxious perhaps to escape the praises of her father, which, as he had
a whimsical docility of temper, might be obtained at any
moment,--rather than to avoid those of the guest, which struck her as
being unusually agreeable, Miss Loring hastened to protest against
all panegyrics, by referring to the more efficient aid rendered by
the trader; and then, with an attempt at pleasantry, to lead the
conversation still further from herself, she required to know 'to
what mysterious cause of alarm on Mr. Hunter's part she owed the
happy opportunity she had enjoyed of playing the heroine?'
"You will be astonished, Miss Loring," he replied: "but you were
positively the cause yourself."
"I?" said she. "Ah! I understand," she continued, with a smile of
infinite mirth--"you were thinking of the assault made by the two
dragoons upon poor Elsie's habitation, which we were so near taking
by storm; and you looked for nothing less than a repetition of the
charge, while you were at a disadvantage on the narrow bridge!"
"By no means," said Herman, sharing somewhat of her animation, and
smiling--"I really took you for a spectre; and being of a
superstitious turn"----
"A spectre!" cried Captain Loring; "does my Catherine look like a
ghost?"
And "A spectre!" re-echoed Miss Loring, though with a more serious
emphasis.
"I had heard," said the young man, "that there was a grave beyond the
falls"----
"Adzooks!" exclaimed Captain Loring, "I never heard of it.--Who's
buried there? One of the Hawks, hah? By the lord, I'll root him
up--have no such villain's bones lying about the place"----
"Father," said Catherine, "it is a woman's grave."--Which answer
instantly checked the veteran's rising indignation, and some little
disgust with which Hunter heard him threaten the lowly sepulchre with
violation.
"In truth," resumed the painter, "my mind was affected by the solemn
scenery that conducted me to the burial-place; and when I had reached
the bridge, and, lifting up my eyes, beheld a figure rising, as it
seemed out of the earth, and to all appearance commanding me, by
menacing gestures (for such, Miss Loring, was your appearance,) to
retire, you may judge how much my imagination was excited. I assure
you, such was the hallucination of my mind, that I beheld, even in
_your_ countenance, the pallid hues of death, with tears, too,
dropping from your eyes, and such an expression of mingled sorrow and
displeasure, as I thought could exist only on the visage of a
disembodied spirit. In the sudden alarm produced by such an
impression, I forgot entirely where I was, and so stepped off the
narrow bridge into that malicious torrent, and thereby, as I may also
add, fell under the obligation of owing you a life--an obligation,
which, I assure you, is of so agreeable a nature, that"----
"If you say so," cried Catherine, perceiving that her father was
preparing for another burst, and interrupting the speaker with a
smile, "I shall undoubtedly expect you to give occasion for some
second display of my heroism, by leaping into the brook again, as
soon as you have recovered your strength. You have indeed lowered my
own vain estimate of the obligation conferred, by showing how much I
was the cause of your misfortune; and I now perceive, that I shall
not have entirely atoned for my fault, until you are wholly restored
to health. Allow me therefore to work out my pardon, by assuming the
character of a mentor and governess.--You are yet unfit for the toils
of a courtier, and the exertions of the visit have already exhausted
your strength. I must command you back to your chamber, to rest and
recruit your spirits; and to-morrow, if Dr. Merribody consents to
such unusual grace, I will perhaps permit you to enjoy another
half-hour of liberty.--You must obey me, Mr. Hunter; my father is a
soldier; and, in his house, you are under martial law."
The painter would willingly have disputed the orders of the
'Lieutenant-commandant,' (for such Captain Loring, transported with
her military spirit, immediately pronounced his daughter to be,) but
Miss Loring spoke as if she had assumed the command in earnest; and
Hunter admired how so much firmness could be expressed with so much
pleasantry, and how both these qualities could be mingled in the same
spirit with the maidenly gentleness becoming her youthful age. But,
indeed, the young lady had found it convenient to put on both the
former appearances, to terminate an interview irksome to herself, and
perhaps prejudicial to the convalescent; for no sooner had he taken
his leave, and her father with him, than she immediately walked into
the garden, the supervision of which was the chief delight, and
indeed passion, of her existence, and, sitting down under an arbour
of honey-suckle and trumpet-flowers, indulged herself in a long fit
of weeping.
CHAPTER XI.
Ladies' honours
Were ever, in my thoughts, unspotted ermines;
Their good deeds holy temples, where the incense
Burns not to common eyes. Your fears are virtuous,
And so I shall preserve them.
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
The happy constitution which had empowered the young artist to
contend successfully with fever and phlebotomy, soon enabled him to
exchange his quarters under the Captain's roof for those he had
occupied so short a time in the cottage of Elsie. This was a change
he made with no little reluctance; for, independent of the superior
comfort of Gilbert's Folly, there was a charm in the society of the
Captain's daughter, which, with all the drawback resulting from the
addition of the Captain's company, was not to be replaced by the
attractions of the melancholy widow. Nevertheless, a consciousness
that his presence at the mansion, however welcome to its inmates,
was, at best, an intrusion, soon forced itself upon his mind; he felt
that it was highly improper to take advantage of the affection of a
whimsical old man, and the kindness of a solitary and almost
unprotected girl; and accordingly he revealed the determination he
had made to leave them, upon the third visit he made Miss Loring. His
resolution was however combated with such violent hostility on the
part of the veteran, who commonly devoted three-fourths of his time
to expatiating upon the subjects of the three great pictures, and
with such agreeable dissuasives on that of the lady, that his
resolves easily melted away, and his sojourn was prolonged for a week
or more beyond the period of his first visit. At last, however, he
grew ashamed of his effeminate abandonment to an enjoyment which he
had no right to consider his own; and one morning, having surveyed
himself in the glass, and discovered with peculiar satisfaction, that
his cheek-bones were burying themselves in their former
insignificance, and that his eyes were twinkling again with their
natural sunshine, he took the sudden resolution of retreating to the
Traveller's Rest that day; and this design, maugre all the furious
opposition of the Captain, he was strengthened to put into immediate
execution, by the frankly-expressed consent of his fair governor.
"Yes, I will go," he soliloquized, in his chamber, to which he had
ascended for the purpose of collecting his scattered moveables; "it
is plain enough, the girl is vastly delighted to get rid of me. 'You
are now well enough to be released from captivity.' These were her
very words; and she smiled as she uttered them, as if my discharge
were a deliverance to herself!--Well,--and why should it not be?" he
muttered, after a pause; "Why should my presence be a pleasure to
her? and why should my departure afflict her? and why should I care
whether she be pleased or not? A girl engaged,--betrothed,--and
betrothed to a Falconer! Tush, I am a fool. I was a fool to come
hither, too. The devil take the wars, and the king's commission into
the bargain. I will leave the place--I would my arm were but sound,
and I would leave it to-morrow,--ay, I vow I would!
'Oh, the bonny bright island.'--
I wonder she don't sing: for a speaking voice, she has the richest
_soprano_,--a _mezzo-soprano_, I think,--I ever heard; it is a
positive music, mellow, rich, and wild, like the hum of a pebble in
the air, darted out of a sling--a most delicious, wondrous,
incomprehensible voice. And then her eyes----Death! what care I for
her eyes?
'Oh, the bonny bright island'--
Pshaw! I would I were home again.--Home? _home!_" he muttered, with
long pauses betwixt each interjection, and nodding his head the
while, as if surprised at his own reflections. Then, as if these
silent comets of the brain had returned to the orbit in which they
had so lately vapoured, he resumed,--"At all events, old Elsie's is
not far off; and in common civility I must call and see her two or
three times.----And, besides, I don't see how I can get off without
painting the Captain 'that grand picture of the battle of Brandywine,
and Tom Loring dying.' What an absurd old fellow!--A precious picture
I should make of it! Yet I must do something to requite their
kindness.--Kindness! There's no doubt she saved my life. The Captain
swears, nothing living that gets into the deep eddy under the fall,
can get out living. His cow lay under there three days. To think I
was so near my head-and-foot-stone! and to think this girl, this
Catherine Loring, saved me from the destiny of a crumpled-horn! The
most remarkable, fascinating.----Ah! the island's the place for me,
after all.
'Oh, the island! the bonny bright island!'
Well, now she's in the garden among the flowers, and the Captain's
taking his siesta. A little medicine, with some of its concomitant
starvation, is quite a good thing for the voice."
During all the time of this soliloquy, the young man had ever and
anon, sometimes insensibly to himself, been humming the _refrain_ of
a familiar air; until at last, being seduced by the sound of his own
voice, and betrayed into a mood of melody by his reflections, he
gradually fell to humming with more confidence; and, finally,
supposing no one to be nigh, he even began to sing, though in a low
voice, the following idle stanzas, that had been all the time
jingling through his brain.
I.
Oh the island! the bonny bright island!
Ah! would I were on it again,
Looking out from the wood-cover'd highland,
To the blue surge that rolls from the main.
How sweet on the white beach to wander,
When the moon shows her face on the sea,
And an eye that is brighter and fonder,
Looks o'er her bright pathway with me!
II.
Oh the island! the bonny bright island!
Never more shall I see it again,
Never look from the wood-covered highland,
To the blue surge that rolls from the main.
Never more shall I walk with the maiden,
On the beach I remember so well:
Farewell to my hope's vanished Eden--
Oh my bonny bright island, farewell!
"Pshaw,--nonsense!" he went on, pursuing his reflections; "'the
island, the bonny bright island,' is a very fine thing, but what do I
care about it? I wonder if Elsie spoke the truth about the match? If
I thought the girl's heart were not in it.--Pshaw again! She is the
merriest-hearted creature I ever saw,--only of quick feelings, and
strangely attached to the memory of her brother: her eyes always fill
when the Captain talks of him--the very name makes the tears start;
and good heaven! how superb her eyes look, with tears in them! But
then the Captain is poor, and she knows it,--bent upon the match, and
she knows that, too; and young Falconer is a soldier, and a handsome
fellow, and she knows that, too. And he was here! I wish I had seen
him. He has wealth, too--so have _I_; he is gay and handsome--I am
neither sour nor ugly.--'Sdeath! where am I getting? I will find out,
at least, what are her feelings towards him: if her heart be not in
the match, why then.----Could any man stand by and see such a saint
of heaven bartered away, sacrificed--sold to tears and captivity?"
Here he fell to musing again, and again his spirits seeking that vent
to melancholy, he began to hum an air, extremely mournful, the words
of which were in unison with his reflections.
I.
Darkly the wretch that in prison is pining,
Turns to the dim, dismal grating his eye;
Darkly he looks on the day-star that's shining,
The far-soaring eagles that float in the sky.
In the pale cheek, so furrow'd and wet,
The story of anguish is spoken;
The sun of his hope it is set,
The wing of his spirit is broken.
Darkly the wretch, &c.
II.
Heart! in thy dreary captivity heaving,
The fate of the poor, hopeless pris'ner is thine--
To look through a grate at the world thou art leaving,
And slowly the long silent sorrow resign.
But the vial is emptied at last,
The bolts have been shot from the quiver,
And the future has buried the past,
With the tears of the captive, for ever.
Heart! in thy dreary, &c.
Having despatched this second madrigal and his preparations together,
he descended into the little apartment in which Miss Loring was wont
to while away the time in reading, or plying her needle,--which
latter employment she often followed in company with the girl Phoebe
and the matron. On these occasions there commonly prevailed a proper
degree of female noise and chatter; for which reason such
convocations were strictly forbidden during that portion of the
afternoon which Captain Loring devoted to napping--not indeed because
any sound short of the blast of a trumpet or the roar of a musket,
could disturb his slumbers, but because his brain was of too
excitable a nature to sink into repose, so long as a single vocal
murmur came to his ear. Herman had chosen this period to take his
departure, for the sake of avoiding any altercation with his violent
host; and he now stepped into the parlour, which opened into the
garden, where he expected to find the Captain's daughter. However, he
had no sooner entered the apartment, than he saw her therein, sitting
by herself, plying her needle with unwonted industry, and her eyes
filled with tears.
"Good heavens! Miss Loring," said he, "I hope nothing has happened?"
"By no means," she replied, displaying her countenance frankly, with
a smile, and then proceeding, without any embarrassment, to wipe her
eyes. "You must know, in the first place, that I come of a tearful
tribe, a very lachrymose stock, and shed tears very often for no
comprehensible purpose, except to pass the time; and in the second
place, I have been paying the auditor's tribute, and rewarding your
music with the utmost stretch of sentimentality,--that is to say, by
crying. I wonder where you could light upon such melancholy tunes?
But I like the last song extremely: that release from
captivity,--that ending of
'The tears of the captive for ever,'--
I should suppose you would have sung that line to the gay whistle of
a blackbird!"
"I assure you, Miss Loring," said the painter, "my deliverance comes
to me with no such spirit of rejoicing. I am ashamed you overheard
me--I thought you were in the garden; I would not have otherwise
presumed to hum so loud."
"Oh, I like your singing, I protest; and if you remain long enough in
the valley, I shall claim a future exertion of the faculty, perhaps
even a serenade. But beware of my father; if _he_ discovers this new
virtue in you, rest assured, you will have to sing him Yankee Doodle
and God Save Great Washington, all day long; and this too," she added
with a mirthful smile, "without any hope of escaping from 'that grand
picture of the Battle of Brandywine and--and Tom Loring dying.'--Ah,
Mr. Hunter," she said, apologetically, for her eyes again glistened,
and her lip quivered, as she pronounced the familiar name, "you have
perhaps laughed at my father, perhaps you will laugh at me, when you
behold our usual insanity on the subject of my brother. But he was
one whom it was not easy to forget,--one long to be remembered by
both sire and sister.--But I see you are displaying your generalship;
you intend to beat a retreat, while the enemy is sleeping. Perhaps
you are wise. Richard will have the carriage ready in a few moments."
"Not so, Miss Loring: I will depart on foot, like a pilgrim, as will
be best. An unlucky jolt in the carriage over a stone, might bring me
under the tender mercies of the doctor again." And he touched his
wounded arm significantly.
"You are right," said Catherine, after a pause. "The distance is
short; Richard shall escort you, for fear of accident; and Phoebe and
myself will add to your retinue as far as the park-gate. Do you
really consider yourself equal to the walk?"
"I do," replied the young man; "but pray be not in such a hurry to
discharge me. In a very few days,--perhaps as soon as I am able to
resume the saddle, I must take up my line of march, (to borrow your
military illustration;) from Hawk-Hollow, with but little
expectation,--that is, I think so,--of ever seeing it again."
"Must you, indeed? I thought you were to explore every cliff and
brook in the county. However, I cannot blame you. I am afraid my
father's strange conversation about 'those grand pictures,' must
annoy you; and you are right to escape."
"On the contrary, Miss Loring," said the painter, "I am sincerely
desirous to gratify him in that fancy; and, though sorely convinced
of my inability to paint him any picture worthy acceptance, yet, were
my arm well, I should do my best to paint him something; and if I had
but a portrait or miniature of your deceased brother for a few hours,
to secure a likeness"----
"You must not think of it seriously, Mr. Hunter. It is but a
whimsical fancy, which my father will soon forget. There is no
portrait of my brother; he was but a boy of eighteen, and his
likeness was never painted. Indeed, I wish it had been, for my
father's sake."
"Perhaps I can yet gratify him," said the painter. "I owe you a deep
debt of gratitude--I have some skill in taking likenesses, and
sometimes obtain them, even with but little aid of the sitter. The
Captain has averred that you yourself bear an extraordinary
resemblance to your brother----Perhaps, perhaps, Miss Loring, if you
were to honour me so far--that is to say"----
"Ah!" cried Catherine, with sparkling eyes, "I see! Do you think it
possible? I am indeed like my poor brother, if I can trust my own
recollections. Do you think it practicable, from _my_ visage, to
construct a likeness of my brother's? Then, indeed, I would sit to
you, and gladly!"
"With such a resemblance to begin upon," said Herman, greatly pleased
with the satisfaction of the young lady, "and the help of your
recollections and criticisms, I do not doubt of success; and then the
pleasure of presenting such a portrait!"----
"Of _presenting_, Mr. Hunter!" cried Catherine; "we cannot permit you
to think of that. We will not convert your gratitude for a slight
hospitality into an excuse for taxing your professional exertions."
"Professional, madam?" said the other, with some little petulance; "I
hope you will not consider me a mercenary, hireling dauber?"
"A dauber, we hope not,--mercenary, assuredly not;--and hireling is a
word not to be applied to one who receives payment for any generous
labour," said Catherine. "If you insist upon painting 'the grand
picture' for nothing, Mr. Hunter, you will certainly escape from all
trouble in relation to it. Not even my father would think a moment of
imposing such an unrecompensed task upon you, or such dishonour upon
himself."
"You mortify me, Miss Loring," said Herman: "I can scarce call myself
a painter by any thing more than inclination. If I have adopted the
profession, it is not to make my bread by it; and indeed I can scarce
say, I have adopted it at all.--That is," he added, in some
confusion, for Catherine regarded him with a look of surprise--"In
short, Miss Loring, it has been my good fortune to be put above the
actual necessity of adopting this profession, or any other, for my
support. I paint, because I love the art, and have nothing better to
do; it suits my idle habits. I never have received a recompense for
my labour, (you should have called it my amusement, for such it is,)
and perhaps I never will;--not that I scorn recompense as being
degrading, but because I need it not. The pleasure I feel in the
labour is my reward; and I am doubly rewarded, when my poor sketches
afford pleasure to those whose good opinion I covet. You have thrown
me under obligation, Miss Loring; and I claim of your generosity, or
if that word will not be permitted, of your justice, an opportunity
to oblige in return."
"Your argument is singular, yet almost conclusive," said Catherine,
with a pleasant accent, yet with a more distant air. "And so you are
no poor painter--a wandering son of genius--after all; but a knight
of romance, roaming the world over, with palette for buckler, and
brush and maul-stick in lieu of lance and sword? Really, you have
lost much by the transformation: it was a great pleasure to me, to
think I could patronise you--encourage an unfriended genius. But
now--ah! my folly offends you! I beg your pardon; I will trifle no
more."
"I am not offended, Miss Loring," said the youth, who had coloured
deeply while she spoke; "but I _did_ think your tone satirical, and
indicative of a suspicion that I was not what I profess myself to be.
Suffer me then to be a poor painter, as I really am; though not a man
in very restricted pecuniary circumstances. I confess, that I was
presumptuous, to think you--that is, your father,--would accept any
gift at my hands; yet the persuasion that I had it in my power to
give you--that is, _him_, a particular gratification, emboldened me
to think I might presume to attempt what I thought a mere simple,
allowable compliment."
"Pray, Mr. Hunter," said Catherine, "say nothing more about it. I
believe you are right, and I wrong. We act here"--and here she smiled
as merrily as before--"entirely upon impulses and instincts; and if
impulses and instincts be conformable, as doubtless, some day, they
will, we will accept the picture as freely as it is offered. But I
see you are impatient to go;"--this was a discovery authorized by no
particular symptom of dissatisfaction on the part of the painter,
who, on the contrary, seemed well pleased to continue the
tête-à-tête;--"you are impatient to go, and here comes
Phoebe.--Phoebe, my dear, have the goodness to call Richard, to
attend Mr. Hunter to Mrs. Bell's.--I am glad to see you walk so
firmly, and look so well.--I will positively be your escort to the
gate. It becomes me in my function of Lieutenant-commandant; and I
will dismiss you with all the honours of war."
Thus speaking, and whiling away the walk with light and joyous
conversation, Miss Loring conducted the guest to the park gate; where
her eye suddenly caught sight of a little bush, of no great beauty of
appearance, but exhaling an agreeable odour. This she instantly began
to rob of its branches, expressing pleasure at the discovery.
"It is sweet-fern," she said, in answer to the painter's question,
"not very rare, to be sure, but the first specimen that has come into
the paddock of its own accord; all the rest I planted myself. Now,
sir, this is neither myrtle nor sweet-grass; but it is good to smell
at; and in token that my extreme hurry to drive you out of my
father's house proceeded from no ill will, but from true benevolence,
and as much friendship as one can feel at a week's notice, I present
you this same odoriferous plant, and advise you to make a medicine of
it. It is said to be a fine tonic and cordial; and, I warrant me,
Elsie will know all about it."
"I shall apply it to a better use," said the painter, gaily. "You
know, it is fern-seed which enables man to walk invisible.--Now, as a
knight of romance, I may have need of such a magical auxiliary."
"Oh, if you laugh at me for that," said Catherine, "I see there is
peace between us."
"You could have added but one more injunction," said Herman, "to make
the gift agreeable. Had you told me to follow its example--you know
it came into the paddock of its own accord!--I should have"----
"Thought me immensely witty," said Catherine. "Certainly, Mr. Hunter,
I will expect you to call upon my father if you remain in the valley;
and certainly, if he do not fetch you to the Folly to-morrow, I shall
be vastly astonished. But pray, sir," she added, observing that the
gentleman looked mortified, and abashed, "do not consider such an
invitation necessary. A visiter at Gilbert's Folly is too much of a
Phoenix--a _rara avis_, I think you scholars call it,--to be turned
lightly away. I wish you, sincerely, a happy and speedy
recovery.--Good day, sir--I commit you to Richard's keeping."
With these words she turned from the gate, plucked another branch
from the fern-bush, and then, with Phoebe, pursued her way back to
the house. The painter received her valediction with much less
satisfaction than had been produced by the fragrant present. He saw
her return to the bush, and then, looking once back, and waving her
hand, resume her steps, walking on towards the mansion; and he was
himself astonished at the feeling of melancholy that instantly came
over his spirit. "What is there in her," he muttered within the
recesses of his bosom, "that should interest me so strongly? Why
should I be gladdened by the wave of her hand? why darkened at once
by the turning away of her face?--She _is_ unhappy after all,
whatever skill she may have to conceal it; and, by heaven, it is a
piteous thing to ponder on. Well, well.--Such an admirable creature!
so gentle, and yet so firm! so frank, yet so modest! so merry, yet so
dignified! so natural in manners, yet so refined! so sensitive, yet
sensible! so kind,--nay,--openly affectionate of disposition, yet so
womanly in all!--sure I shall never more see her equal!"
Thus the young man mused, remaining so long with his eyes following
the retreating figure of the young lady, that Richard, the venerable
coachman so often mentioned before, thought fit to presume upon the
arguments of his age and standing, as a faithful and highly-prized
servant, and interrupt the meditations of his charge. He first
scraped his feet over the gravelly road, then coughed, then hemmed,
and at last opened his lips, and spoke:
"A-well-a, massa Hunta," he said, "werry bad practice this here,
'sposing broken bones in the open air, 'specially when a gemman are
sickish-like. No offence, massa,--but why we no go down to Missus
Elsie's?"
"Right, Richard, let us go," said Hunter, walking down the hill, but
ever and anon casting his eye over his shoulder, as long as Miss
Loring was visible, or a single flutter of her garment could be
detected among the green shades of the avenue. "How long have you
lived with Captain Loring, Richard?"
"Ebber since he wa' born.--Wa' a mighty fine boy, Massa John Loring!"
"Oh, then you were in the family long before Miss Catherine was
born?"
"Lorra-golly, yes!" said the negro, with a triumphant grin; "Massa no
s'pose young missus born afo' her fader: Lorra-massy, yaugh!"
"An excellent, lovely young mistress!" said the painter.
"Lorra, massa, yes; a lubly young missus; and makes lubly fine
hoe-cake, if massa Cap'n would let her.--Old Nance taught her, when
she wa' no bigga naw my foot. Massa must know, old Nance wa' _my_
wife Nancy. So't o' nuss'd young missus Katy, for all what missus
Aunt Rachel say; always liked old Nance betta, 'case how? Why old
Nance larned her all she knew, make hoe-cake, corn-cake, johnny-cake,
short-cake, hominy, pie, pone, and cream-cheese."
"Well Richard, and so you are to marry her off, and see her no more?"
"Golly, massa, yes; what for she young lady, if no?"
"And when's the wedding to be, Richard? Merry times you'll have!"
"Lorra, massa, don't know. Some says one day, some anoder. Wa' to
been married soon, but faw the white nlgga Gilbert, what cut the
Colonel's throat!"
"What, so soon?" said Herman, feeling a sudden thrill run through his
frame. "Why, Richard, they were in a hurry, for such young folks.
Miss Catherine is only seventeen--a very great hurry!"
"No, massa; long standing 'fair that; and put off, put off, Lorra
knows how long; 'case young missus says she too young. Lorra-golly!
old Nance wa' but fo'teen o' so; and I reckon there's more naw all
that. An old nigga man, what's brought up a gemman, knows what's
what!"
"Eh, Richard! you don't say so? You have the secret then? Come now,
my old boy, here's a dollar. Come, put it in your pocket."
"Saddy, massa; God blessa massa!"
"Well now, Richard, what's the reason the marriage has been put off?"
"Golly! massa gib me the dolla' to tell?" cried Richard, looking
alarmed.
"Certainly, Richard.--It's not a long secret, I hope?"
"Lorra, massa, can't do dat. Gib back a dolla', if massa call him
back; but no tell on young missus. Brought up a gemman, massa; and no
tell secrets out of the house."
"Oh, well, never mind, Richard; keep the money; I did not want to
bribe you to tell any thing improper on your mistress; and I am glad
to see you are so honest. It makes no difference: but what's the
reason your young mistress does not like the Colonel's son?"
"Not like Massa Harry?" cried the coachman, in great dismay. "Sure
old fool Dick no tell massa dat?"
"Oh, no; you kept the secret very well. But it is quite odd the young
lady should not like so fine a young man?"
"Yes, massa, wery strange; but women's women, massa. Massa Harry
werry fine young man."
"Well!" muttered the painter to himself, "I am playing an honest
gentleman's part with this old ass, truly! I'll befool him no more.
It is true, then!--even this dolt can tell that his mistress is
sacrificed. So young, so fair, so good!--I would I had never seen
her."
With such reflections as these, and many others of a painful nature,
the young man continued his path; and, finally, having come within a
short distance of the hovel, he discharged his attendant, and bade
him return to the mansion. He then pursued his way alone, and
reaching the solitary cottage, took possession of his former quarters
with a sigh, a saddened brow, and a spirit no longer composed and
mirthful. The bunch of fern he placed betwixt two leaves of paper,
with as much care as became the first tribute to an herbarium.
CHAPTER XII.
Oh, now I see where your ambition points.--
Take heed you steer your vessel right, my son:
This calm of heaven, this mermaid's melody,
Into an unseen whirlpool draws you fast,
And, in a moment, sinks you.
DRYDEN--_The Spanish Fryar_.
The summer had just set in, when the painter returned to the
Traveller's Rest, with the prospect, so rapid was his convalescence,
of being able to leave the valley within the space of a fortnight.
But week came after week, June exchanged her green cloak for the
golden mantle of July, the laurels bloomed on the hills, and the
fire-flies twinkled in the evening grass, and still he lingered among
the pleasant solitudes of Hawk-Hollow, as if unable to tear himself
away. This faintness of purpose, for weekly, at least, he vowed he
would depart, he excused to himself, by pleading the strong necessity
he was under of delighting Captain Loring's heart with a picture,
which he could not begin until his arm was released, not only from
the wooden bonds of splints, but from the weakness resulting from the
fracture. Until that happy period arrived, he was a frequent and
indeed a welcome visiter at the mansion, his society being not less
agreeable to Catherine than it was absolutely indispensable to her
father. Young as she was, and with a spirit so gay and frank, there
was much good sense in all Miss Loring's actions; and this had been
doubtless sharpened by the necessity, imposed upon her so early, of
playing the matron in her father's household, and guarding against
the consequences of his many eccentricities. It was this good sense
which taught her the propriety of getting rid of the stranger guest,
as soon as humanity would sanction his expulsion; and this she had,
in part, indirectly confessed to the party herself, with her usual
good-humoured openness. This being accomplished, and Herman now
assuming his proper station at a distance, and visiting the house as
an avowed favourite of her father, she felt herself delivered from
restraint, and received him without reserve. His manners and
conversation were at all times those of a gentleman; and this is
always enough, in America, to entitle a stranger, of whom no evil is
known or suspected, to hospitality and respectful consideration,
especially at a distance from the larger cities. That curiosity,
which travellers have chosen to saddle upon Americans as a national
characteristic, along with the two or three forms of speech that have
belonged to the mother-land since the days of Chaucer, is in no
country less really intrusive than in America. If it be irksome, and,
at times, ludicrously impertinent, it is easily satisfied. It
springs, indeed, not from a suspicious, so much as an inquisitive,
disposition; and is the result of a certain openness of character,
such as arises under every democratic government, and is well known
to have prevailed to an extraordinary extent among the old Greek
republics, notwithstanding the proverbial craftiness of individual
character. With this curiosity is associated an equal quantity of
credulity; and Americans are very content to receive the stranger,
whose deportment is at all prepossessing, entirely upon his own
self-recommendations. No jealousy accompanies an introduction made
only by accident; and the same generous confidence is reposed in the
new acquaintance, which the bestower will expect, under similar
circumstances, to have lavished upon himself.
It did not, therefore, enter into the thoughts of Miss Loring to
question Hunter's claims to such friendly courtesies as were accorded
to him; and if any doubts of the propriety of continuing his
acquaintance had occurred, they must have been dispelled by a
remembrance of the circumstances under which he was introduced. Her
happy instrumentality in rescuing him from a dreadful peril, had
given her a right to be interested in his behalf; and the great
pleasure the young man's society afforded her father, was an
additional argument to banish reserve. The visits of Herman were
therefore received and encouraged; the young lady's spirits, animated
by such companionship, became more elastic and joyous; and Captain
Loring rejoiced in the painter's acquaintance as much on her account
as his own. "Adzooks, Kate," he was used to exclaim, "the young dog
is as good company for you as cousin Harry,"--so he often called Miss
Falconer, as well as her brother,--"and the lord knows how much
_better_ for me! And then the picture, Kate, adzooks, is'n't it a
charmer! that is to say, it _will be_; but the young dog won't show
it to me."
The picture,--'the grand picture of the Battle of Brandywine, and Tom
Loring dying,'--had been at last begun, or rather a drawing in water
colours, meant to represent that double calamity; and from the few
samples of proficiency in his art which Herman had already shown, the
expectations of the daughter were almost as agreeably kindled as
those of the parent. The painter had presented Catherine with a few
little sketches from his port-folio,--landscapes, representing views
of Southern scenery, which to her appeared highly spirited, while to
the Captain they seemed sublime,--only that _he_ had a perverse
facility at seeing rocks and stumps of trees in groups of kine on the
meadows; and in distant flocks of sheep, nothing better than so many
rambling killdeers on the barren upland. Notwithstanding these
unlucky mistakes, he conceived so high an opinion of the artist's
ability, that he strenuously urged him to begin the Battle of
Brandywine upon a scale of magnitude commensurate with the grandeur
of the subject; 'He would have it,' he said, 'done magnificently. He
would go down to the village, and buy Ephraim Gall, the
tavern-keeper's, big sign, that had the great Black Bear on it; or he
would have another made just like it; and, he had no doubt, his young
dog Haman,'--for the Captain could never fall upon his protegé's true
name,--'would beat John Smith, the sign-painter, hollow,'--a flight
of panegyric that somewhat nettled the artist, but vastly diverted
Miss Loring.
But the greatest accession to his reputation was obtained when
Herman, as the only means of securing a likeness of the Captain's
deceased son, prevailed upon Catherine to sit to him for hers, and
the radiant features beamed at last from the ivory. The delight with
which the Captain seized upon this happy effort of art, was not
merely boisterous; it was obstreperous,--nay, uproarious; and
Catherine, laughing and weeping together, acknowledged that, in thus
enrapturing her father's heart, the painter had made her his friend
for ever.
"Now, Captain," said Hunter, with a beaming eye, "now, all I have to
do, is to take that sketch home"----
"Shan't let it go out of my hands!" cried Captain Loring. "Why, it's
my Kate herself! Give up my heart's blood first."
"You shall have it again, Captain; I promise you that. It is only to
copy it, you know--that is, to paint the likeness of your son from
it."
"Shall do no such thing--must do another," cried Captain Loring; and
it required all the arguments of the painter, backed by those of
Catherine, to prevail upon the obstinate old man to surrender the
sketch, that it might be devoted to the purpose for which it was
executed.
Thus passed the time of the painter in an employment, which, as much
as his conversation, recommended him to the friendship of two
isolated beings, simple-hearted, guileless, and unsuspicious of any
coming ill. Thus he passed his time, confiding and confided in--the
gayest, the merriest, and perhaps the happiest visiter who had ever
been admitted to the privileges of Avondale; yet, all the time,
whether rambling with the frank maiden in search of summer flowers to
transfer to her garden, whether listening to the gay music of her
conversation, or gazing, in the exercise of his art, upon her
beautiful features, drinking in a poison which he felt and feared,
yet without knowing the deep hold it was taking upon his spirit,
until the sudden crash of coming events made him dreadfully aware of
its influence. He was neither too young nor too short-sighted to be
ignorant of the impression made on his feelings by each daily
interview with a maiden so bewitching; nor did he attempt to repress
the humiliating consciousness, that, in thus giving his heart to the
affianced bride of another, he was preparing for himself a
retribution of pain and penitence, and perhaps of shame. From the
moment in which he discovered himself treasuring away with such
jealous care, the gift of withering fern,--a bagatelle of compliment,
which, he well knew, was only given by Catherine to remove a
mortification she had inflicted,--he saw that he was sporting upon
the brink of a precipice--trifling upon some such slippery bridge as
that of fatal memory over the streamlet, from which his folly might
at any moment hurl him. With this consciousness before him, he
perceived the necessity of flight, yet fled not, deeming that the
power of escape at the right moment could not be denied him--of
taking some antidote with the poison, but took none, resolving it
should be swallowed thereafter; and, in fine, while still thinking
that he resisted, or was prepared to resist, when the peril should
become urgent, he gave himself up to the intoxication of the new
passion, and, in reality, sought every means to augment it.
'When the flame of love is kindled first,
'Tis the fire-fly's light at even,'--
the flash of an insect, which one can admire, without fearing its
power to create a conflagration. A vague impression that Catherine's
want of affection for the licensed lover would prevent the completion
of the marriage contract, gave a sort of encouragement and hope to
his selfishness, which he interpreted into the more generous sympathy
of one who lamented her hard fate, and desired only to shield and
protect her. In this delusive thought, in this romantic willingness
to watch over the safety of another, he lingered around the vortex of
fate, until the ripple became a current, and the current an impetuous
tide, from which there was no escape, except by exerting his
remaining strength to the utmost. At the very period when the
exertion should have been made, he bore to his solitary chamber the
idol lately completed by his own hands, and as he gazed upon it, felt
that the moment of salvation had passed by.
"Yes, it is now too late," he muttered, apostrophising the miniature;
"I have fooled myself a second time into the whirlpool; and who,
Catherine, will play thy part with me again, and again save me? It
_is_ too late; it is too late to retreat, and now therefore I must go
on--yet with what hope go on? With none. She heeds me not, she dreams
not of my folly, she cares not. Friendship is the grave of love; and
in her friendship my love is entombed, before it has breathed twice
in existence. I will speak to her, and be derided!--I will confess
myself, and be driven from her presence! And this is honourable of me
too! to take advantage of her unsuspicious frankness, her anxious
desire to gratify her father, and steal a portrait from her! I saw
she doubted the propriety of sitting; and yet I, by base
dissimulation and affected indifference, cajoled her to consent.
Well, if I can copy, I can destroy; and if this fool--this
slave--this Falconer wed her, why, then good-by to the knavery and
the folly together! I will tarry, at least, until I see the
privileged woer; and then, if she like him not, if she recoil--nay,
if she shed but a tear of repugnance, may heaven forsake me if I do
not----Well, what? Kill him!----There has been enough of that among
us already."
Thus murmuring to himself, and expressing invectives against his
folly, with the usual arguments for continuing to indulge it, he sat
down before a table, and despite his convictions of the impropriety,
if not the meanness of the act, began to copy the miniature. He
laboured assiduously until he had completed the outline, and then
exclaimed, with a species of reproachful triumph,
"Now, foolish father of the best and loveliest! though you rob me of
my labour, yet have I secured its counterpart. Send me a thousand
leagues away, and within this dim outline shall my hand reproduce the
image of your sacrifice.--But here come the fools again! Now for a
smooth face, a merry voice, and a frolic with my jolterhead
admirers."
The vow which the painter had made, when the doctor and his two
friends passed by the widow's cottage, and smiled at his choice of
lodgings, that he would make them fonder of the Traveller's Rest than
their own village quarters, he had in part fulfilled. Whatever was
his secret and growing care, it was yet confined to his own bosom;
and he was altogether of too joyous a temperament, had he even
desired to nourish his melancholy, to bear a sad spirit in company.
He was one of those who suffer most, and suffer longest, by grieving
only at intervals, and enjoying themselves heartily among friends.
The idea of a continuous grief, of any duration, at least, is
preposterous. The body can live upon the rack only a few hours, or
days; and the spirit's powers of endurance are not much greater.
His gay and agreeable manners had strongly recommended him to the
trio; and the two lawyers, having nothing better to do, were wont to
mount their horses, and accompany the doctor on his professional
visitations, which he continued for some time after the patient had
taken refuge within the Traveller's Rest; and even after he insisted
upon being cured, they wasted their tediousness upon him at least
twice or thrice a week, in the way of friendly calls; and he was wont
to entertain them as well as he could. Of the doctor he had made a
conquest by asking for his bill, and paying it in good English
guineas, a handful of which coin gave doctor Merribody more sensible
delight than could the bushel of paper with which he expected to fill
his saddle-bags; the amount charged against the unlucky amateur being
some few thousands of dollars,--Continental currency.
One of the doctor's friends, whom he usually addressed by the
familiar title of Jingleum, but whose real name was Jackson, or
Johnson, or some such unhappy dissyllable, was the poet of the
village, and a bard of renown for at least ten miles round. Him the
painter won by praising his verses, and what was still more
captivating, by singing them, and what was yet more enslaving, by
requesting permission to cull all the stanzas of a _cantabile_ nature
from the long blue-covered log-books, in which Mr. Jingleum had
carefully recorded his labours. Seeing what a congenial soul he had
found in the painter, Jingleum freely supplied his wants, and wrote
divers madrigals at his suggestion, with which Herman charmed the
ears of Miss Loring. The poet soon became his intense admirer and
perpetual visiter; they grew fast friends, and soon came to regard
each other, the one as the divinest poet, the other as the most
finished singer, under the moon. It would have been an interesting
sight, could one have invaded the sanctity of the painter's
apartment, on such occasions, to see them together, industriously
fixing a tune to each affecting ditty,--a labour that was sometimes
none of the lightest; and sometimes, when the genius of the bard, as
it often did, chose to disdain the base bonds of metre and rhythm,
and none of the thousand melodies in their service could be forced or
wheedled into nuptials with his independent verse, they were fain to
betake themselves to their own resources, and finish the business
with such a _quodlibet_ as they could manufacture between them. It
was a divine enjoyment to the poet, when they had at last succeeded
with any refractory song, to hear his lines breathed out from the
mellow lips of his friend; for then his poetry seemed as celestial as
his pleasure. His bliss, however, was not complete, until he lighted
by accident, one day, in the village, upon a battered guitar,--an
instrument of such venerable antiquity, that there was not a soul
therein who was able to pronounce for what unheard-of purpose such an
extraordinary engine had been framed, until Herman Hunter, swearing
it could discourse most eloquent music, and was _not_ a banjo,
managed, by dint of much exertion, to fit it up with fiddle-strings
and the savings of some demolished harpsichord, and set its dumb
tongues twangling: it was not until he heard his rhymes trolled forth
to the clatter of this romantic instrument, that the joy of the poet
mounted to the heaven of ecstasy. He would sit distilling with
delight, while the lips of his friend warbled over the seraphic
lines, and while his fingers hopped over the amaranthine strings; and
then, sometimes, with a sudden feeling of inspiration, he would
snatch the lyre, as he poetically called it, into his own hands,
doubtless expecting an overflow of ineffable harmony from the mere
fulness of his spirit, until warned by the dreadful dissonance of his
touches, and the remonstrances of his admirer, he found, however
extraordinary it seemed, that the drum and the jewsharp were the only
instruments the playing of which came by nature.
This peculiar friendship betwixt the bard and the singer it is
perhaps necessary here to mention, in order that it should be
understood to whom should be given the credit of those canzonets sung
by the painter, which seem to have any peculiar reference to his own
condition. He did not carry his affection so far as to bestow any of
his private confidence on the bard; nor did the latter ever suspect
that any call, however urgent, for a ballad especially sad and
amatory, was to be understood as indicating a passion deeper than
that of the mere songster. There was little suspiciousness in the
poet's frame, and no scandal-mongers in the neighbourhood. It was
indeed the golden age of that part of the world; although the country
was somewhat overflowed with paper-money.
It was one result of this generous spirit, doubtless, that caused the
story of the resuscitation of a Hawk of Hawk-Hollow to be so soon
forgotten. The account of the outrage upon Colonel Falconer, as
having been perpetrated by Oran Gilbert, did indeed at first create a
considerable sensation; and many excitable individuals, hearing of
the chase after the fugitive Nehemiah, mounted their horses, and
resumed the trail, the next day, with the resolution of sifting the
mystery to the bottom. But the trail ended where Lieutenant Brooks
had left it; the raw-boned white horse had passed through divers
hands, and was, in course of time, supposed to have been recovered by
the rightful owner; but the rider had vanished as if swallowed up by
the earth, or melted into the air, and was never more heard of. The
story died away, or was remembered only as a jest, which finally
expired in the vapour of its own silliness. The reasonable men
laughed at their late fears, and forgot them.
About the present time, however, there arose a rumour, no one knew
how or why, which created a new sensation among the credulous and
foreboding. It was whispered that a band of tories was secretly
forming among the hills; but where, or for what purpose, no one
pretended to say. It was a vague and mysterious apprehension, that
spread from person to person, by virtue, perhaps, of its enigmatic
character; for no inquiry could detect a better reason for its
prevalence. As it carried its contagion further and further, men
began again to talk of the Hawks of Hawk-Hollow; the refugees, in
imagination, rose again from their tombs, and the scalp-hunter stole
anew through the forests. The rumour had reached the Traveller's
Rest; but it made little impression on the spirit of the painter.
He laid aside his drawing in haste, so soon as he heard that clatter
of hoofs in the oaken yard, which, he thought, betokened the coming
of his friends; and having secured it beyond the reach of any prying
eye, he descended to meet them.
CHAPTER XIII.
"Unto you," quod I, "with all my whole assent,
I will tell trouthe, and you will not bewraye
Unto none other my matter and entent."
"Nay, nay," quod he, "you shall not see that daye:
Your whole affiaunce and trust well ye may
Into me put; for I shall not vary,
But kepe your councill as a secretary."
HAWES--_Pastime of Plesure_.
Instead of the bard or the physician, Hunter discovered that the
clatter which had interrupted his secret labours, was caused by the
arrival of a personage entirely unknown, and, as he soon began to
believe, unworthy his notice. He was a stout but ill-looking man,
with a soldier's coat and hat, both worn and shabby, and Herman
inferred at once, that he was some private from a disbanded regiment,
returning to the life of industry and obscurity he had left for the
wars. As he reached the porch, Herman saw that Dancy, the farmer, who
happened to be about the house, was showing the new guest the way to
the stable; and, however unprepossessing his appearance, he soon
perceived that he had already struck up a friendship with Dancy, who
talked and laughed, as they jogged together round the crag, as if
with an old acquaintance. This set the painter's heart at rest; and
he soon afterwards discovered that the man, being as humble in his
desires as prospects, had visited the Traveller's Rest less in search
of entertainment than employment, and had agreed with the widow, or
rather with Dancy, who assumed the privilege of striking the bargain,
to remain and assist the hireling in the labours of the approaching
harvest, in consideration of receiving free quarters and forage
during that period.
In the conversation of such a man it is not to be supposed the
painter could have looked for any source of interest; and,
accordingly, he merely gave him a glance as he strode away with
Dancy, leading a sorry gelding in his hand, and then took a seat on
the porch by Elsie, whose wheel, as usual, was droning out its
monotonous hum near the door. Though hand and foot plied their
accustomed task with accuracy and effect, it was evident that the
poor widow's thoughts were not with her employment; on the contrary,
she was engaged in profound and sorrowful contemplation; and, indeed,
for a sennight past, Herman had observed that her fits of abstraction
were unusually deep and frequent.
He sat down at her side, and addressed some few questions to her in
relation to the stranger, but received such vague and irrelevant
answers as convinced him her meditations were too engrossing to be
easily broken. He proceeded therefore without delay to seek some
other means of amusing his mind; and casting his eyes towards the
distant hall, he was, in a few moments, plunged in reflections as
absorbing, or even more so than her own. Indeed, his interrogatories,
though they did not immediately rouse the old woman from her
lethargy, served the purpose of interrupting and distracting her
thoughts a little; so that she, by and by, woke up, and recovered
herself so far as to look round her, and perceive she was not alone
on the porch. She surveyed the young man very earnestly, until, at
last, tears gathered in her eyes, and her wheel stood still. The
sudden ceasing of the sound at once broke the spell that enchained
the painter's spirit; and looking up to Elsie, he displayed a
countenance on which the turn of some darker thought had imprinted a
character of sternness, and even fierceness.
Elsie rose up, and stepping towards him, laid her palsied hand upon
his shoulder, saying, in tones both solemn and impressively
appealing,
"Drive these thoughts from your bosom, and now depart. Why should you
rest longer in this place? Your limb is sound, your strength is
restored; and now begone, ere the calls of others, and the anger of
your own heart, shall drive you into acts of blood, which, if you die
not among them, you will live only to repent."
"Fear me not, mother," said the youth, with a faint smile. "On this
subject, I have told you my resolution before. I am, at the least, as
good an American as yourself; and whatever may have been my original
loyal and subjugating propensities, I have now not a wish, nay, not a
thought, of playing the enslaver. Nothing on earth shall draw me into
the matter you think of."
"Ay, but revenge though!" said the widow, warningly. "You are
dreaming of him whom you think you should hate, and thirsting perhaps
for an opportunity to shed his blood?"
"You are deceived, Elsie. I will never lift my hand against him,
unless in self-defence. God is the avenger, and, one day, he _will_
avenge. I hate, Elsie, but I will not shed blood."
"And why then do you remain? If _he_, whom neither knife nor bullet
can destroy, looks upon you again, as surely he will, and that
perhaps sooner than you dream of, he will entice you into his bloody
schemes; and though he escape, yet will you perish."
"Into his schemes I will not be enticed," said Herman; "and I rather
hope, by argument and persuasion, to draw him from them."
"Argument and persuasion! and these to be tried on _him_?" muttered
Elsie, looking around her as if in dread. "When you can argue the
wolf from the neck of the dying deer,--when you can persuade the
rattle-snake not to strike the naked foot that is trampling his back,
then may you think of turning him from his purpose, or changing his
wild and dreadful nature. He will have revenge, and I know that he
will obtain it. Years have passed by,--(how many and how
bitter!)--the gray hair has joined with the black, the smooth brow
has turned to the furrowed, but the purpose of his heart has not
grown old and fainted; all is now as it was, and so will be till the
end. Think not of drawing him to your opinions; but be certain he
will draw you to his. Go not near him, avoid him, let him not see
you, or speak with you."
"Fear me not, Elsie"----
"I _do_ fear you. Alas, young man, trust not yourself in his power;
if he touches you with his hand, you will fall. God forbid you should
be joined with him in the matter that is coming! I had rather you
were struck down by lightning where you stand;--better were it for
you, had you slept under the Fall of the Grave."
"Sure, Elsie," said the young man, "there is nothing so criminal and
horrid in the enterprise, after all. The rescue of a poor captive,--a
boy, too, of nineteen years, and the only son of a doting and noble
mother, condemned to death unjustly and perfidiously, (that is a
harsh word, Elsie!) to expiate a crime committed by another,--sure,
this is an enterprise of humanity rather than iniquity."
"And do you think this is all?" cried Elsie. "A darker project is in
his mind, and a darker deed will be soon accomplished. Why then do
you stay? Have you not seen enough, and mourned enough? I tell you,
when the marriage-day comes, the wronger will come, and after him the
avenger; and who knows what dreadful deeds will be done, before all
is over?"
"If it be a marriage of blood," said the youth, "why so let it be.
They are, I firmly believe, leading Catherine Loring like a sheep to
the shambles. If they mean to wed her to young Falconer against her
will, why then, though there should be no other man in the world to
befriend her, I will stand by her myself;----I will, Elsie," he
exclaimed, impetuously; "and, if Falconer do not at once surrender
his claims, I will compel him!"
"What!" cried the widow, starting from him in dismay: "What is this I
hear? What! you,--have _you_ looked at Catherine Loring, then, as a
creature to be loved! Have _you_ dared"----
"Nonsense!" cried the young man, with a visage of flame; "I am
enslaved to her by gratitude, and I wish to do her a service. I owe
her a life, Elsie; and I will yield it up ten times over, before she
shall be driven into a marriage she abhors, and which, I believe, is
breaking her heart."
"Miserable, insane, cruel young man!" cried the widow, with
unexpected energy,--"and it has come to this, then? You have repaid
her humanity and kindness, by stealing away her affections from her
betrothed husband, and so making a lot, sorrowful enough before,
still more wretched! You have"----
"Hold, Elsie," exclaimed Herman; "it is you who are insane. You told
me yourself, she was averse to the match.----And, as to stealing her
affections, I have done no such thing--they are not so lightly come
by. If they were, Elsie,--nay, if they were really mine, Elsie, why
should I not make my claim to them, as well as another? I am neither
poor nor humble, neither degraded nor corrupted; in all things of
worldly good, I am young Falconer's equal, and perhaps, in some, his
superior."
"Ay!" cried the widow, with increasing vehemence, "and if she smiled,
and if that would win her, you would shoot Harry Falconer through the
brain! Is it not so? This is dreadful! Oh, young man, begone; remain
not a moment longer in the valley. You will commit a crime worse than
self-destruction, and one more hard to pardon!"
"I will commit no crime, Elsie; and none have I yet committed. Your
anxiety is absurd; and so is your suspicion. That I have the most
friendly regard for Miss Loring, the most ardent friendship, is true;
but as to loving her, Elsie, that--why that is all nonsense."
"Perhaps it is," cried the widow, "and Heaven grant it may prove so.
But go not near her again, do not expose yourself to the intoxication
of her society. If not a wrong to yourself, it is an unkindness to
her. If you talk to her of escaping from the marriage she hates, and
she finds she has a friend left in the world to aid her--ah, that
would ruin her! The desire of escape may madden the wisest."
"Fiddlesticks!" cried the youth; "I have no such coarse and meddling
ways of testifying my regard; and a presumption of that kind would
banish me from her presence for ever. But, Elsie, I tell you, I
cannot bear the thought of her being married against her will."
"And how can you prevent it? By wedding her yourself? That cannot be.
By breaking her heart? Yes, there you may succeed----it is breaking
already; and when you have added one more pang to it, it will soon
cease to suffer. Hearken, young man; if you persist in this thing,
you will be a villain. Go up to the grove--get you to Jessie's
sleeping place; and consider how fast you are treading in the steps
of him who slew her."
"I, Elsie! This is extraordinary!"
"It is true. Both of you were carried, sick and dying, into the house
of a stranger; both of you were received by guileless and open
hearts; and, when you have gone a little farther in your folly, it
can be perhaps said, that both left sorrow and death behind them."
"Elsie, this is shocking? Do you think me such a villain as that
man?"
"I do not," said Elsie; "if I did,--if I thought you were now, like
him before you, plotting, even in conceit, a wrong to that noble
girl,--if I thought this," she added, with singular asperity, "I
would put hemlock into your food, though you were the child of my own
sister, and you should die before morning!"
"I commend your zeal in the lady's cause, and will myself endeavour
to imitate it. But there, an end, Elsie; we will talk of this no
more. Your fears are even more groundless than injurious. I will
leave the valley soon--perhaps very soon; and I will murder no one,
while I remain in it."
So saying, to end a discussion which was becoming disagreeable, he
left the house, resolved to make his way to the scene of his late
disaster. In this resolution he continued, until he reached the
park-gate; when, suddenly observing the flutter of a white garment
under the trees near to the mansion, he turned from his path, and
again found himself in the presence of the Captain's daughter.
And thus it happened with him on the next day, the next, and again
the next; until the little thread that tangled his spirit had become
a web from which there was no escape, unless by rending away some of
the vital limbs it encircled. He sang and painted as before; nay, he
assailed the Battle of Brandywine with zeal and industry, and had
advanced so far with the work, before the occurrence of unlooked-for
events chilled his enthusiasm and palsied his hand, that he was able
to carry it to the mansion, and exhibit it to the father and
daughter, that he might derive all the advantage of their remarks on
the most difficult feature of his subject,--that is to say, the
figure of the Captain's deceased son.
In the meanwhile, he confirmed the good impression he had long since
made on his two friends, and was indeed admitted to such intimacy
with both, as marked, not only their sense of his merits, but their
own simplicity of character. In the case of the Captain, he certainly
began to fill up the gap made in his affections by the death of his
son; and as for Catherine, she soon appreciated the value of a
friendship based upon grateful recollections, and, what seemed to
her, a delicate and purely disinterested regard for her weal and
happiness.
The situation of this unhappy girl,--for such, in truth, she
was,--was of a nature to engage her feelings warmly in favour of any
one approaching her with real friendship, as it was also to touch the
sympathies of the discerning and compassionate.
"Naught is there under heaven's wide hollownesse,
That moves more dear compassion of mind,
Than beautie brought t' unworthie wretchednesse,
Through envie's snares, or fortune's freaks unkind."
She was still very young, yet old enough to feel the desolation of
her father's house and fortunes, and to be willing to sacrifice her
own happiness to secure that of her parent. At the very moment when
her father became a beggar,--an outcast from the home of her
nativity,--her charms had won the heart of the young Falconer,----'A
lad,' as Captain Loring was wont to say, 'after a man's heart, and a
woman's too;' and the enamoured youth, with his father's fullest
approbation, and indeed warm encouragement, claimed permission to
throw himself at her feet, and received it. Perhaps the consideration
of her father's misfortunes had greater weight with Catherine than
the temptation of wealth and splendour; and perhaps the indifference
of a young and wholly unoccupied heart had also its share of
influence in determining her decision. It is certain, if she did not
consent with alacrity, she did not refuse so earnestly as to make the
Captain believe the proposal was otherwise than vastly agreeable to
her; and, in truth, it was some considerable time before she began to
lament her easy consent, and to feel that there was merit, because
pain, in the sacrifice. The great youth of the pair (for at the time
of betrothal, the lover was yet in his minority,) had caused the
nuptials to be deferred until the close of the spring of the present
year, but a short time previous to which the attempt was made on the
life of Colonel Falconer; and that occurrence had necessarily
produced another postponement. In the meanwhile, the maiden had grown
older and reflected more deeply; and the regrets that began to wake
in her spirit, though, at first, she scarce knew why, became more
frequent and painful, as fame, or scandal, brought to her ears
stories of wild frolic and dissipation on the part of her absent
lover. These reports, to be sure, were combated by Miss Falconer, and
the excesses they proclaimed made to appear, as they always are in
the case of the rich and happy, only the natural outbreakings of a
joyous and generous spirit. But Harriet's skill could not prevent her
friend discovering that the young soldier had little beside a comely
face and a merry temper to recommend him to her favour; and perhaps
no circumstance will sooner prejudice a woman against a lover, not
previously adored, than the discovery that his mind is inferior to
her own. The _passion_ of love is a material instinct; the
_sentiment_ is a particle of the divinity, and can only exist when
called into action by the breath of spirit. Woman's love is only
deserving the name when it is purely a sentiment, and based upon
reverence for the idol of her affections. In a word, Catherine found
she was to be wedded to a man she could never hope to love; and it
required her constantly to keep before her eyes the situation of her
father, himself wholly incapable of retrieving, as he had been of
preserving, his fortunes, to prevent her openly repining. To him,
therefore, she could not look as a friend, in her difficulty; his
affection could be indeed counted upon, but it could be exercised in
her favour only at the price of his ruin. As for Miss Falconer,
though she loved her well, she knew that _her_ spirit was entirely
with her brother, and that she encouraged, and did all she could to
promote, the match, for his especial benefit, as a means of weaning
him from a gay and dissolute career, which threatened, if not
speedily checked, to terminate in confirmed profligacy.
With feelings of this kind constantly weighing upon her breast--a
consciousness ever present, that in the death of an only and beloved
brother, she had lost a friend to whom she might have unbosomed
herself in grief, and from whom she might have expected sympathy and
relief,--it is not extraordinary that the kindness even of a
stranger, expressed ever with delicacy and gentleness, and uttered
not so much in words as actions, should make a strong and enduring
impression upon her feelings, and that she should bestow upon him the
frankest evidences of regard.
"Ne evil thing she fear'd, ne evil thing she meant."
A circumstance--and it was the only one--which seemed at first to
threaten a speedy interruption of their good understanding, served in
the end even to strengthen her confidence and friendship. In an
unguarded moment, and while under a strong impulse, the young man
alluded to the approaching nuptials, and that in a manner so plainly
indicative of his knowledge of Catherine's feelings, and of the
sacrifice she was to be compelled to make, that she was justly
alarmed and offended. She felt as a woman, that this was an indecorum
and presumption of the most unpardonable nature; and the reproof it
brought upon the offender's head, was the stronger for being mingled
with the tears of humiliation. But even this was forgiven, when
several days elapsed without bringing the youth back to the mansion,
and she reflected how much his offensive intermeddling must have been
caused by the sympathy she was ever so glad to possess. She was
really rejoiced, when her father, astounded and concerned, and
finally enraged, at the unaccountable absence of his favourite,
sought him out, and dragged him, almost by force of arms, to the
mansion, and she heard his footsteps once more sounding on the porch;
and Herman soon perceived that she had discharged from her mind all
anger, if not all remembrance of his ungoverned zeal, and was
disposed to treat him with as much confidence as before. In truth,
she was one of the few we meet in the world, and perhaps as seldom
even in woman as man, of that angelic quality of spirit, which
mingles inaptness to take offence with the greatest readiness to
forgive it; and as all he had said was made offensive not so much by
its nature as by the position of the offender himself, and would have
been proper in the case of a near kinsman or old and familiar friend,
she easily persuaded herself that the very rudeness was an evidence
of regard, which she did wrong to punish with severity. She never
perhaps afterwards smiled with the same gayety, or conversed with the
same unreserved freedom; but she treated him with much confidence;
one proof of which, from its singular nature, and the important,
though secret, influence it had upon the young man's conduct, it is
necessary to mention. She took occasion one afternoon, when her
father was sleeping, and her female companions were occupied afar-off
in various domestic duties, to call his attention to the subject of
the outrage on Colonel Falconer, with which, as an intimate at
Gilbert's Folly, he was, of course familiar. 'She had,' she said 'a
letter from Miss Falconer in relation to the unhappy and mysterious
affair, and to certain steps that lady was taking in consequence of
it. These,' she added, 'though of a singular nature and questionable
propriety, she would not perhaps have presumed to communicate to
another, as they were in a degree confidential, were they not
accompanied by a call upon herself for co-operation, under
circumstances so perplexing and embarrassing, that she felt herself
at liberty to ask Mr. Hunter's assistance and advice,--the former for
her friend, the latter for herself. She judged, from many expressions
he had let fall, that Mrs. Bell had made him acquainted, in part at
least, with the history of the Hawks of Hawk-Hollow; for which
reason, he would be able to understand the letter without comments
from her. He had seen one individual who figured prominently in the
letter; and his opinion and recollections of _him_ would undoubtedly
be acceptable to Miss Falconer. On the whole, she was persuaded he
could assist her in what she felt to be a difficulty; and perhaps he
might be able to suggest something for the benefit of her friend.'
With this preliminary explanation, she proceeded to read Miss
Falconer's letter, not stopping at those parts which alluded to the
painter himself, and of which she made diverting use, though here and
there for obvious reasons, altering some of the expressions, and
apologizing for others in a humorous way. It may be supposed, and
with justice, that she carefully abstained from reading all those
passages in which she was herself spoken of, in connexion with her
affianced lord; and, indeed, the occurrence of these always caused
her lip to quiver, and her finger, tracing the lines as they
occurred, to hasten onward to the next fitting paragraph.
The letter was to the following effect:
"And so Monsieur Red-Jacket is alive and well, and handsome, and
paints, and has a good singing voice, and is altogether a genteel
young personage! Well now, though I detest his very memory, and never
see a scarlet waistcoat, without thinking of two galloping fools, and
another standing on a porch grinning, I am quite glad you fished him
out of the river, since you have thereby got such a conformable
well-behaved young man to keep you company, for lack of a
better,--the doctor and the rest of those village noddies being all
insufferable, as I always agreed. If he can really succeed in
obtaining your likeness, retain him in the Hollow by all means, even
if you have to break an arm for him over again. We must have at least
two copies, one of which will set our beloved Harry frantic, and the
other I will keep myself. The man may fix his own price; and,
besides, I'll patronise him, though I _do_ detest him. Harry shall
sit to him, I assure you; and perhaps I also--just as I happen to
like him--that is his painting, not himself. Do you remember, as we
sat at the sycamore tree, I wished him 'a harder sleep that night
than he ever had before?' There's something odd in the coincidence; a
hard night he had of it, from your own account, poor rogue. I only
thought of an old bed and damp sheets, such as I supposed it likely
enough he would find at that old witch's. I will wish bad luck no
more, believing I have some magical power that way, which might,
sooner or later, lead me to commit murder. However, I have more
important matter for discoursing on.
"Papa is recovering fast; indeed, he was pronounced out of danger
before I reached him; and he already talks of banishing me again to
the green fields. To tell the truth, I have grown more inquisitive
than ever; and it is plain, he is tired of me. That story, Kate, has
set my brain spinning; but blessed be thou for telling it! There will
such good come of my knowledge as will perhaps astound you, and him
too.--But you shall hear.
"The assassin is wrapped round about with mystery,--a most singular
doubt. My father is, or rather _was_, (for he never pronounced the
wretch's name, except in the first moment of confusion and terror,)
positive that the blow was struck by the Hawk of the Hollow; and who
should know better? Yet, I can tell you, there are circumstances
pointing so strongly at another man, that every body pronounces him
guilty, except myself and, I suppose, papa; and these they are. There
was (I speak of the man as if he were dead, for he seems to have
killed and buried himself,) a certain vagabond in our town, called
Sterling, or Starling,--a man of much shrewdness, some talent, and
possessing a degree of rough humour and wit which made him a
favourite with many of our citizens, some of them quite respectable,
and delegates in Congress. Nobody exactly knew how the man lived;
though it was generally supposed by gambling. An accident of no great
importance in itself, revealed the fellow's true character and
occupation to my father, who forthwith acted as honour and patriotism
commanded him to do. This Sterling was a spy,--a pensioned spy, whose
duty was to reside at our Congressional head-quarters, and by
cultivating acquaintances among the honourables, pick up as much
intelligence in relation to secret legislation as he could; and there
is no doubt, the villain has laboured so well in his vocation, that
the British commander-in-chief has been often apprised of our
intentions as early as our own leader. It is said that Sterling was
once an actor; they say, he has strong comic talents, but has a mad
conceit he was made to shine in tragedy. He once got up a sort of
company in our town, with the expectation of establishing a theatre.
However, his friends all turned upon him the first night, the piece
being tragedy, and laughed and ridiculed, and finally carried the
matter so far as to hiss the poor wretch off the stage. They say, my
brother Harry (I believe it was before he entered the army,) was a
ringleader among the hard-hearted censors.--An exemplary youth, he!
He was ever a most incorrigible mischief and plague, notwithstanding
his excellent heart; and the duel he fought with his captain last
winter, (a warm friend of his now,) was caused by one of his freaks
of humour.--But marriage cures all that, you know.--However, I must
speak of Mr. Sterling.
"My father obtained such proofs of the treason of the lord of the
buskin as might have brought him to the gallows, and he was thrown
into prison; from which, however, he escaped as soon as was
convenient. I think, it happened eleven days before the outrage was
attempted; and long before that, he was supposed to have succeeded,
by verifying Shakspeare's words, (that is, by esteeming the world at
large the boards of a theatre, and playing many parts thereon,) in
passing the lines of the army, and reaching New York in safety.
Indeed, he was, in a week's time, almost forgotten. But now comes the
marvel.
"My father had entered the pavilion, (as I wrote you before,) to get
certain papers. They were the very documents in relation to this
man's case,--the proofs of his treasonable practices, &c., which were
put into papa's hands, when he volunteered to conduct the
prosecution. The man was really such a favourite, that all others
were quite cool in the matter, and rather disposed to let him off,
than push matters to extremity, especially as hostilities were almost
over: even Harry interceded for him. Papa, however, was determined to
bring him to justice; and therefore volunteered in the case. He had
these very documents in his hands, when the assassin, (whoever he
was,) who had previously concealed himself in the pavilion, or stole
into it after him, suddenly assailed him; and, what is curious, it
was found, when they came to examine afterwards, that these papers
had all vanished, together with my father's purse, and a small-sword
which he always kept hanging up in the study.
"The next thing discovered was, that a certain horse, the property of
this Sterling at the time of his arrest, but which some one had
seized upon and sold, to satisfy some claim or other, had disappeared
from a neighbouring farm, where it was at pasture. The animal being
traced, it was found that he had ambled up the river, supporting the
weight of an individual, who, although assuming to be a fanatical
parson, had so many points of resemblance to the original owner of
the horse, that it was immediately affirmed, he could be no other
than Sterling himself, playing off a character of which he was
notoriously fond;--a ranting, canting parson, as Harry says, being
one of the impersonations with which he was wont to set the table in
a roar. You know the rest of this man's story; his sudden appearance
at Elsie Bell's, at the very moment when we were discoursing of the
Hawks under the sycamore;--his flight over the river, and his sudden
disappearance. I suppose, he assumed some new disguise that deceived
the pursuers.
"These things favour the opinion of the mass, who will believe
nothing less than that the murder was attempted by Sterling, in
revenge of my father's zeal in bringing his villany to light. But now
remember, that papa was the only one who _saw_ the assassin; that he
knew the faces of both parties; and that he affirmed the villain to
be Oran Gilbert, without so much as mentioning Sterling's name. Can
there be any striking resemblance between the two traitors? Might not
a course of extraordinary coincidences have assisted the Hawk in
adopting (even without knowing it himself) the appearance and manner
of Sterling in disguise? Nothing should be thought too incredible in
such a case, for the whole matter is a wonder.
"I have not space to mention all I wish, or all I have learned, that
confirms my father's words. This, however, is certain: Oran Gilbert
_is not dead_, but alive, and is engaged _somewhere_ upon _some_
villany; but where and what--ay, there's the rub. I have received
intelligence not to be doubted a moment, that he was in New York, and
that he left that city, about two months since, on some secret
enterprise.
"Now, Kate, I have little more to tell you, except that I have turned
thief-taker; that I am convinced Oran Gilbert was the midnight
assassin, and is, at this moment, lying in wait in a certain place,
with the expectation of renewing the attack on my father's life; and
that I, weak woman as I am, have laid a trap for the cruel and
remorseless villain, which may bring the doom he is projecting for
another upon his own head. Don't stare; and don't say any thing of
the matter. You cannot comprehend the spirit that now inspires me; I
am playing the part of a man, but in a very ladylike way, and all to
guard my father from the knife that is still outstretched against
him. You shall know all in good time--sooner perhaps than you
imagine. It is necessary to my purpose that I should have a minute
description of Gilbert, his height, figure, eyes, hair, nose, mouth,
his age, &c.: get it of Elsie Bell, and don't let her suspect you
have any object beyond mere simple curiosity. If we could make the
old creature speak, I warrant me she could tell us enough of the
villain. I entrust this matter to you. Don't scruple: you _can_
deceive as well as any body, when the spirit of woman seizes you; and
the end we have now in view will excuse a mountain of duplicity. You
can also make inquiries (but, mark you, _not of her_--don't let her
suspect suspicion,) in relation to the appearance of the preacher
Poke. Your bonny Red-Jacket, the dauber, can doubtless answer
satisfactorily on this point, painters being commonly good observers.
As for your father, I interdict all counselling with him; for, first,
his memory is not to be relied upon, being somewhat dependent upon
his imagination, you know; and secondly, because we must take no more
confidants into the confederacy than we can help. Every thing depends
upon secrecy. I long to tell you the whole matter, but dare not
_yet_--no, not even so much as the names of my counsellors,
auxiliaries, agents, &c. By the way, did you observe Lieutenant
Brooks? He is very genteel and agreeable, I assure you--and the
shrewdest, boldest-witted brain for his youth I have ever seen. He
will attend upon Harry, and you will adore him.--But my third sheet
is out, and so I must conclude.
"As for your fourth of July jollification that you talk of so
sentimentally, I hate all such merry-makings. What do I care about
Jingleum, and his orations? Could they find no more reasonable
Demosthenes? And then the folly of dragging up drums, and cannons,
and militia companies, dogs, horses, and women in their Sunday
clothes, to the sacred solitudes of Hawk-Hollow! Sure, you are all
gone crazy: it is profanation. I should not wonder if the martial din
of the jubilee should bring a regiment or two from the lines upon
you. We shall see what will come of it.
"_Addio_----Do my bidding, and keep my counsel.
"_Mem._ It is very odd, I forgot the postscript."
The contents of this epistle, as Catherine saw, greatly surprised,
and indeed confounded the painter; and it was some moments before he
could shake off his embarrassment so far as to comment upon it. 'He
esteemed it very singular,' he said, 'and very improper, that Miss
Falconer should engage in an enterprise such as she so significantly
hinted at; and he thought she was impelled by a species of frenzy.
Her suspicions, that the assault upon her father had been committed
by a Gilbert, were ludicrously absurd. How was it possible her father
should, in a single glance, and almost in darkness, recognise a
countenance he had not seen for more than twenty years? How could it
be believed that such a man, a refugee captain, long since formally
outlawed, should force his way into the very strong-holds of his
enemy, commit a crime of unexampled daring, and then, with audacity
still more astonishing, direct his steps towards the district where
he was so well known? How incredible, that a man of his wild and
stubborn habits could adopt a disguise so outré as that of Nehemiah!
How much more incredible, having taken such pains to shed a foeman's
blood, that he should have done his work so bunglingly! The idea was
preposterous. Every thing went to show that Sterling was the
assassin; and it was quite probable, nay, it was almost certain, that
Nehemiah and Sterling were one and the same person. He could not
pretend to say, or to know, or to be very certain, of course; but he
was sure Nehemiah was an impostor, much more familiar with tags from
play-books than scraps from the Bible, and so he had told the man
himself, though not in direct words; the consequence of which was,
that he instantly took the alarm, crossed the river, and escaped. As
to the request made of Miss Loring in relation to the information she
was expected to obtain of Mrs. Bell, that was as unworthy of Miss
Falconer as compliance would be on the part of Miss Loring. It was
quite proper, indeed, she should ask Elsie for information, but not
without apprizing her of the object in view. But even this was
needless; _he_ had heard Elsie speak of Oran Gilbert's appearance,
and he could assure Miss Loring that no two persons could be more
unlike than he and the ranting Nehemiah, the one being a man of
middle size, the other a giant. He would advise Miss Falconer to
adopt two measures, which would go farther to effect her objects,
(which, he supposed, were, to protect her father from future danger,
and to punish his enemy,) than all the witty and masculine stratagems
in the world. If Oran Gilbert were really alive, and within the
American lines, then let her persuade her father to remain in the
city, afar from his dreaded vengeance; _there_ he most certainly was
safe. To punish the assassin, application should be made to the
British commander-in-chief at New York; and as the atrocity was
purely of a civil nature--a case of malicious, inexcusable
violence--it was highly probable he would be at once brought to
justice.'
With remarks of this kind, which appeared to her to be founded in
good sense, he satisfied Catherine that her confidence had not been
misplaced or unprofitable; and the time waxed on, without causing any
abatement of her good opinion, or any interruption of an intercourse
highly agreeable to her own feelings.
CHAPTER XIV.
I called on Vengeance; at the word
She came.
SIR EUSTACE GREY.
The letter of Miss Falconer contained an allusion to an approaching
festival, which she characterized as a '4th of July jollification.'
This day was already rendered sacred in the affections of Americans;
and the prospect of a speedy and successful close to the battle of
independence had disposed them, throughout the whole confederacy, to
signalize its recurrence with all the pomp and glory of observance.
The spirit had awakened even in the precincts of Hawk-Hollow; and the
villagers, taking advantage of the patriotic offers of Captain
Loring, had made extensive preparations to celebrate it among the
solitudes of that lovely valley. They assembled in public meeting,
appointed committees of arrangement, purveyors, marshals, and masters
of ceremonies; and that the occasion might not pass without a due
share of national glorification, they selected an orator, who, it was
universally supposed by all his friends, would electrify the souls of
his auditory by a display of impassioned and heaven-inspired
eloquence. It happened, however, that the appointment of Mr. Jingleum
to this honour had disgusted the adherents of another candidate; and
the consequence was, that, in the end, there were two different
celebrations, held at different places, one in the village itself,
which being more convenient to the mass of citizens, was much more
numerously attended than the rival jubilee in the Hollow. Indeed, the
spirit of faction running very high, there were found so many
arguments against holding the convocation at the latter place, that
the current of public opinion soon set decidedly against it, and it
promised to be quite a failure. It was indeed but thinly attended;
although circumstances arose to give it an _éclat_ entirely wanting
at the other.
The gentlemen of the committee, finding how matters were going,
redoubled their exertions, and by adding preparations for a _fête
champêtre_ to those for the more public object, succeeded in
awakening an interest on the side of the female portion of the
community; so that, as the day drew nigh, they began to hold up their
heads and boast aloud, that, go the day as it might, the beauty of
the country would be found displayed only in the valley. The scene of
festivity determined upon was the little promontory at the mouth of
Hawk-Hollow Run, and the river-bank at its base, where were such
green plots as might have enticed fairies, as well as mortal women,
into the joys of the dance. A small piece of ordnance was dragged
upon the promontory; the venerable habitation of the fishing-hawks
was tumbled about their ears, and the tall and naked trunk that
supported it, converted into a gigantic flag-staff, from which the
striped banner was seen waving as early as the afternoon of the 3d. A
scaffold some five or six feet in height was also erected around the
trunk, and a tribune, or orator's desk, with seats behind it,
constructed thereon; the whole forming a rostrum suitable to the
occasion, which the good taste of the supervisors caused to be
canopied and adorned with branches of laurel, that were also wreathed
around the tree almost to its top. The whole of the day preceding the
celebration was occupied with these and other preparations, in most
of which the painter contributed his personal assistance with great
zeal. He had consented, after first flatly refusing the honour,
tendered him at the instance of his friend the poet, to accept the
appointment of reader of the Declaration, with the pronouncing of
which sacred instrument the exercises of such a celebration are
always begun; and although, on many occasions, when his auxiliaries
were all as busily occupied as himself, he betrayed a strong
disposition to desert, and betake himself to the distant mansion,
there was no one, when all were assembled together under its roof,
sharing the hospitality of the Captain and the smiles of his
daughter, who exhibited a more disinterested anxiety to hurry all
back again to their duties.
The evening came, and the preparations having been completed, the
bustling Committee-men mounted their horses, and retreated to the
village, leaving Gilbert's Folly to solitude; for not even Herman
returned to it that evening. But an unexpected guest made her
appearance, an hour after night-fall. As Catherine sat musing on the
porch, perhaps moralizing, as she watched the spark of the fire-fly,
now struggling in the moist grass, now flitting among the oak-boughs,
and traced the resemblance it seemed to figure forth to the life of
man,--a tissue of linked light and darkness,--a bolder beam flashed
along the park, the roll of wheels was heard on the gravelled avenue,
and before she had time to wonder or surmise, a carriage stopped at
the door, and in a moment she was clasped in the arms of Miss
Falconer.
"Brava for my dear self!" cried the lady; "my generalship is
complete--I take even my friend by surprise! Wo therefore to my
enemies! for this is a part of my practice. _Eureka!_ _Eureka_, Kate!
as the old philosopher said, when he discovered what the little
fishes knew before him: I have discovered the enemy, and to-morrow I
will take him! Never trust me if Congress do not order me a vote of
thanks for my doughty services.--Where's your father?"
"Sleeping in his arm-chair," replied Catherine, confounded by the
vivacity of her friend's expressions; "tired with entertaining so
many people, and being so much on foot; and I believe he would have
gone to bed, except for Mr.--that is to say, Monsieur Red-Jacket."
"Hang Monsieur Red-Jacket!" cried Harriet, quickly: "If he is here,
get rid of him,--I've a thousand things to tell you.--Not here, then?
but coming? Shut up the house, and fasten the doors--no admission to
any superfluities to-night. And pa's sleepy, too? Pack him off to
bed, dear Kate; tell him 'tis ten o'clock; or wait till we get the
carriage away, and all quiet, and don't let him know of my arrival;
we'll surprise him in the morning. I tell you, you unconscionable
girl, I have such a secret to relate!--a secret so big and mighty,
that I have been more than half dead with keeping it already!"
Ardent as were the lady's desires to escape the welcome of the return
for that night, she was doomed to a disappointment. The bustle of
arrival broke the Captain's slumbers, and he rushed into the porch,
after a host of domestics bearing lights, expressing his rapture that
'his dear Harry' had arrived at such a lucky time; "For," said he,
"we've laid in two hundred and fifty charges for the six-pounder, and
we'll have such a roaring racket as has never been heard this ten
years; and there's Tom Terry, the trumpeter,--was regularly brought
up in the troop school, and blasts a charge to make your blood boil!
and there's the drums and fifes! and there's my boy Haman to read the
Declaration! and, by the lord, now I think of it, there's the Battle
of Brandywine and Tom Loring dying! There never was such likenesses
painted by mortal man."
The Captain yawned fearfully while he spoke; but his enthusiasm was
fast dispelling his drowsiness. Miss Falconer groaned in spirit; but
woman's wit came to her assistance. She imitated his example, opened
her lovely mouth, with an expressiveness his own could not resist,
exclaimed, "Oh, how tired I am!" and concluded by vowing she could
not keep her eyes open, but must retire to rest forthwith. In this
manner, she succeeded in escaping to Catherine's chamber, whence she
immediately expelled both Phoebe and her mother, charging the latter,
as the Captain had also signified his disposition to retire, to lock
up the house, and admit no visiters to disturb her or her companion.
As soon as these instructions were given, she turned to Catherine,
and cried, with extraordinary eagerness,
"The man with the red hat! that fellow that helped the painter out of
the brook,--what has become of him?"
"I know not," replied Catherine, surprised at the question.
"What! has he never been seen in Hawk-Hollow again?"
"Really, I know not--I have never heard: I suppose not."
"Oh, you poor owls! blind birds that you are!" exclaimed Harriet,
laughing, yet preserving an earnest air: "I believe, if Beelzebub
himself came riding into the valley, nobody would suspect him to be a
bad Christian, provided he kept his tail in his coat-pocket. As for
the cloven hoof, he might wear that naked; no one would think of
looking at it. And Gilbert, the Hawk of the Hollow? have you heard of
him no more?"
"Oh, there is some idle rumour among the people, but I think it
foolish. But, Harriet, you got my letter, with the advice I gave you?
You must know, I had that from a sensible person I was obliged to
take into the secret"----
"Good Heaven!" cried Harriet, in alarm, "you have not told any one?
Catherine, how could you? This may ruin all."
"I do not know what it is to ruin, Hal; but it will not ruin by
betrayal of the secret. Mr. Hunter is"----
"Mr. Hunter!" exclaimed Harriet, in as much wonder as dismay. "What!
Red-Jacket? a stranger, a vagabond dauber, to be made the repository
of such confidence! Really, Kate, you will drive me mad. How could
you be so insane?"
"These are severe rebukes, Harriet," said Miss Loring, "and perhaps,
in my case, they are just and well deserved; but you will not be so
harsh with Mr. Hunter, when you know him better. He is a gentleman,
Harriet,--in every particular, a high-minded, honourable man. On his
good will and friendly co-operation, I knew I could rely; he was
shrewd, sensible, and had seen one individual you inquired after; I
had no other person to look to for advice. I acted with my best
discretion, Harriet, and for your sake."
"Well, don't pout now," cried Miss Falconer, throwing her arms round
her neck. "Soldiers--that is, generals,--as Harry vows, are ever
pestilent scolds; and you must lay my shrewishness to the door of
military impulses. The thing can't be helped; I don t blame you; if
Red-Jacket be really a sensible fellow, why there is no harm done;
and, as I said before, I'll patronise him; and if the matter be not
blown already, in good truth, he will not have time left him to do
mischief. But now for my story--and know, Catherine, in the first
place, you are surrounded by cut-throat tories,--by skulking
refugees,--by the Hawks of Hawk-Hollow!"
"Sure, Harriet, you are raving!" cried the Captain's daughter, in
affright.
"It is as true as that the stars are shining above us," said Miss
Falconer, her eyes flashing with a soldier-like fire; "and to-morrow,
when you look only for mirth and merry-making, you will perhaps
see--ay, Kate, _see_ them fight their last battle. It is well you had
me to watch over you, you poor cowardly mouse; or you might have been
scalped and murdered, a week before your wedding-day. But all's safe,
Kate; so leave trembling, and put yourself under my protection. To
think we had that blood-stained demon so near to us, when we were
talking about him! Nay, to think we had him in the house here, and my
brother and myself standing hard by! Truly, Kate, had I known him,
and could have laid my hand on a pistol, I should have fired it at
the audacious monster--though I have no doubt, I should have hit some
one else. That vagabond, malignant-mouthed villain with the red
hat--who would have dreamed that blood-coloured covering was on the
head of Oran Gilbert?"
"Impossible, Harriet! Remember, that he was in the house here nearly
an hour,--that Green, the Indian trader; and at that very moment, the
party was chasing the true murderer beyond the river."
"Nonsense!" cried Miss Falconer,--"nonsense and ignorance together.
Listen to my story, and talk no more of impossibilities."
She then proceeded to relate, that, having recovered from the shock
and confusion of mind produced by the sudden intelligence of her
father's mishap, she began at once to gather all the information she
could in relation to the outrage, and rack her ingenuity to penetrate
the mysteries that attended and followed it. The information
communicated by Lieutenant Brooks in relation to the fugitive of the
white horse, though it added to the perplexities of others, threw a
gleam of light upon her active imagination. It has been mentioned
that this young officer, while in full pursuit of Nehemiah, had
lighted upon a certain pedler who had, but a few hours or moments
before, exchanged horses with the parson,--a piece of traffic which
the trader was then bitterly lamenting; for though he confessed he
had received a reasonable 'boot,' or consideration, he declared he
was never more cheated in his life, the horse being knocked up and
almost wholly worthless, as any one, he said, might see; he had been
thrown off his guard by the holy character of Nehemiah; "for who,"
said he, "would think of being cheated by a parson?" He was very
desirous, so great was his rage at the imposition, to guide the party
himself after the cheat; but his horse being incapable of keeping up
with the others, they were fain to receive his instructions, and
leave him behind.
Two suspicions instantly entered Miss Falconer's brain; first, that
in the indignant pedler, the pursuers had found and suffered to
escape, the very rogue they were seeking; or, (and the second
conjecture seemed to her the more rational,) that they had lighted on
some agent he had despatched across the river for the purpose of
misleading the avengers, he himself assuming a new disguise, and
boldly remaining in the Hollow, until the hue and cry were over. She
could give no particular reasons for turning her suspicions upon the
Indian trader, save that his fierce countenance and savage bearing
had made a strong impression on her imagination; and as she did not
for a moment dream that the assassin could be any other than Oran
Gilbert, she was as ready to discover his identity in the person of
Green as in that of Nehemiah. In all this there was evidently, as
Catherine in fact perceived, a degree of confusion and hallucination
in Miss Falconer's mind. The idea had seized upon her, and it was
impossible to shake her faith in the conception. It was in vain that
Catherine urged the impossibility of merging the gigantic bulk of
Nehemiah in the more moderate proportions of the trader. Her mind was
made up; on that persuasion she had governed all her actions; and the
result satisfied her that she was right, as the events of the morrow
would show to the whole world.
She went on to relate, that, having communicated her suspicions to
Lieutenant Brooks, as well as her belief that the bold outlaw would
soon gather about him all the disaffected of the country, and strike
some unexpected blow, that he instantly declared his readiness to
sift the matter to the bottom, and at once devised a scheme that had
already satisfied himself and his superiors of the justice of her
monitions. A certain private of his own company, a man of bad
character, but of the most crafty and daring spirit, had been
selected as a fitting instrument; and, after a singular course of
duplicity, which she related at length, had not only discovered that
a band of refugees was already formed in those deserted solitudes,
but had intruded himself among them. He had managed to communicate
with his officers through _her_; he had discovered that the band,
which was scattered in squads through the country, was actually
commanded by Oran Gilbert; and though he had never yet set eyes on
this redoubtable chief, he had heard and communicated enough to prove
that he and John Green the trader were one and the same person. He
had discovered, also, that one object of the rising was to be the
rescue of young Asgill, the British guardsman, then under peril of
suffering, by the mere law of retaliation, for the execution of
Captain Huddy, mentioned in a previous chapter; after which was
accomplished, (and until then no danger was to be apprehended,) he
did not doubt they would begin to burn and murder, according to the
usual system of tory tactics. One effort had been already made by the
desperate partisan, single-handed, to rescue the young prisoner,
while riding out on parole; and this was only defeated by Asgill's
firm refusal to dishonour the pledge he had given his enemies. It was
designed therefore to carry him away by force, which might easily
have been done, so much license being allowed him in riding out for
exercise, had not the communications of Parker (for such was the bold
agent's name,) put the keepers on their guard. By the same hands, she
had been informed of one haunt of the outlaws, at which Parker was
himself posted, and where he pledged his soul to yield up the tory
captain on the day of the approaching festival, provided the
instructions he gave should be implicitly followed by his officers.
She then drew, from among divers other mystic-looking documents, a
scrap of dirty and crumpled paper, which she declared, with a laugh,
was the last epistle she had received from her new and highly
esteemed correspondent, which was as extraordinary in style of
writing as in appearance, being obviously the production of a rude
and illiterate soldier, making unusual efforts at composition on
account of the dignity of the correspondence and the character of the
correspondent. It began by styling Miss Falconer 'Honourable madam to
command,' and ended, after a postscript, in which he showed a
discreet regard for his own safety, by cautioning the lady to 'let
all the boys on duty remember the two rabbit-tails he was to wear in
his hat,'--'as a sign for to be known by, and not shot at by
accident; for, these vagabond refugees being uncommon crusty
cut-throats, there was no use in being banged at on both sides,'--and
by 'hoping, as before, that her honourable madam was well, and
begging her pardon for singing a soldier's song,--
'God bless George Washington, God d----n the King!'
and was dated on the '29th June, if I reckon right, in the year of
our Lord, Anno Domini, 1782.'
It was stated in this precious epistle, that the different squads
were to meet on the 4th July, at a general rendezvous within seven
miles of Elsie Bell's tavern; but for what purpose he could not
divine; they were, however, to meet their captain there. The place he
could not describe; but as he was ordered, with six others, to take
post in it two or three days before the 4th, he promised, on the
night of the 3d, to deposite a letter containing a full description
of the place, together with his final instructions, at a certain spot
near the park-gate, which he described with a soldier's precision.
There was much other matter in the scrawl, which Catherine only read
so far as to satisfy herself that this bold traitor had laid a scheme
for surrounding the whole lurking party; and Harriet assured her,
that his advice had been followed to a letter, that, at that very
hour, a strong force was marching thitherward from the army, and
would be, by sunrise, perhaps earlier, in command of all the escapes
from Hawk-Hollow.
"Besides this," she cried with triumph, "you will see some visiters
among the feasters you have not dreamed of,--Harry himself, Mr.
Brooks, and Captain Caliver, at least,--to receive the instructions
of the last letter. _That_, Kate, we will seek at the dawn of day:
see how methodically my martial swain discourses of the place of
deposit:
"'It's a spot you can't miss,--but to be certain, you should start
from the middle of the gate, facing right towards the house,--march
nineteen steps, then halt, face to the left, dress, and fetch five
steps and a half more, which fetches you to a bush that has a sweet
smell, with long leaves, notched like a saw,'"----
"My bush of sweet fern, as I live!" cried Catherine, in whom the
revealments of her friend had produced an agitation bordering on
terror.
"Do you know it, then? Good luck to my trusty Parker, knave though he
be. I have promised him a hundred guineas for his services; and, o'
my word, I'll make papa double them. Can't you lead me to the bush
to-night? But no--he may not yet have sought it out, and the sight of
persons stirring in the park might frighten him away. Come, Kate, out
with the light; we must sleep fast, and be up early: I will rouse you
at the first gray streak of the dawning, I warrant me; for I shall be
dreaming of the matter all night. Oh, that letter! that letter! if a
maiden adoring looks for the billets of her swain with more anxious
impatience than I do for honest Parker's greasy hieroglyphics, sure
am I, I should myself soon die of expectation, so soon as I got me a
wooer. Oh, lack-a-day, Kate, kiss me, and good night; for I think we
have talked evening into midnight."
Anxious as was the lady's desire to fall instantly asleep, she was
doomed to a disappointment. Scarce had she murmured out the last good
night in the arms of her friend, when a sudden strain of music woke
in the outer air, mingling the jangling of strings with the hum of a
thousand nocturnal insects, flitting among the trees. Surprised, nay,
almost startled at the sound of a guitar (for such her practised ear
instantly knew the instrument to be,) in a region so remote and
unsentimental, she raised her head from the pillow, and had soon the
satisfaction of hearing an agreeable voice, manly yet capable of much
tenderness of expression, added to the instrument.
"Oho, Kate," said she, "do you hear that? Now suppose my mad
confederates should have stolen a march upon me, and, in their zeal,
made the dawn of the 4th out of the midnight of the 3d? They say, Mr.
Brooks sings well and plays--but, foh! I never heard that voice
before--I was dreaming. Listen!"
She held her peace, and hearkening with no little curiosity, was able
to distinguish (a window of the chamber having been left open to
admit the balmy night-air,) the words of the following little
serenade.
THE WHIPPOORWILL.
I.
Sleep, sleep! be thine the sleep that throws
Elysium o'er the soul's repose,
Without a dream, save such as wind,
Like midnight angels, through the mind;
While I am watching on the hill,
I, and the wailing whippoorwill.
Oh whippoorwill, oh whippoorwill.
II.
Sleep, sleep! and once again I'll tell
The oft-pronounced, yet vain, farewell:
Such should his word, oh maiden, be,
Who lifts the fated eye to thee;
Such should it be, before the chain
That wraps his spirit, binds his brain.
Oh whippoorwill, oh whippoorwill.
III.
Sleep, sleep! the ship has left the shore,
The steed awaits his lord no more;
His lord still madly lingers by
The fatal maid he cannot fly,
And thrids the wood, and climbs the hill,
He and the wailing whippoorwill.
Oh whippoorwill, oh whippoorwill.
IV.
Sleep, sleep! the morrow hastens on;
Then shall the wailing slave be gone,
Flitting the hill-top far, for fear
The sounds of joy may reach his ear;
The sounds of joy!--the hollow knell
Pealed from the mocking chapel-bell.
Oh whippoorwill, oh whippoorwill.
"Mighty well!" exclaimed Miss Falconer, so soon as the roundelay was
finished. "That is one of Jingleum's madrigals, I dare be sworn; for
there's the 'ship' and the 'steed' in it; and I never yet saw or
heard of one of his compositions that had not a touch of salt water
and the saddle. And so the dear ape has got to singing, has he? and
he mourns the merry marriage-bell, the goose-cap! Really, I had no
idea the youth had so good a voice."
"You are mistaken," said Catherine, who, Miss Falconer almost
suspected, was asleep, for she did not lift her head from the pillow,
and rather muttered out the words than spoke,--"it is the young
gentleman,--Mr. Hunter."
"Hah, indeed!" cried Harriet, quickly: "And _he_ has got to chains
and chapel-bells, too? But, pho, I forgot you told me about his
singing. This serenading, though, is somewhat presumptuous. Well now,
good youth, get you gone, and let us to our slumbers. I'll rouse you,
Kate, I warrant me.--Why, good heaven, what is the matter? Crying
again, Catherine! Sure, if I spoke roughly to you, Kate, I did not
mean to offend you; and you must remember, it was on my father's
account I became so suspicious, and averse to strange advisers and
confidants."
She did not doubt that Catherine was brooding over her former hasty
and reproachful expressions; and she knew her too well to be
surprised, when the maiden replied to her apology only by flinging
her arms round her neck, and sobbing on her bosom. Before she could
attempt to soothe her, the serenader again struck his instrument, and
began chanting a melody of extreme sadness, but to words of such
mystical purport, that they instantly engaged her whole attention, in
an eager desire to penetrate their meaning.
Shall I speak it to the night-wind?
Shall I breathe it to the sky?
It is spoken in a whisper,
It is uttered in a sigh:
And the sigh shall be the saddest,
And the whisper shall be low,
Like the sound of hidden runlets,
In their melancholy flow.
There's a sigh comes on the west wind--
Hark! it rustles through the leaves,
Like the moan----
But here the artist abruptly ceased singing; his voice and the sound
of the instrument were as suddenly hushed as if annihilation had on
the instant rapt him into the world of spirits. Miss Falconer sprang
from bed, and ran to the window, hoping to discover the cause of so
extraordinary an interruption, but without any success. A sable
cloud, gradually stealing up from the west, and at intervals
glimmering with faint flashes of lightning, had invested the heavens,
and all was darkness, especially under the lime-trees near the
window, from which the music proceeded. She thought, at first, that
she heard the murmuring of voices, as if the singer had been arrested
in his task by the coming of a second individual; but they were low,
and so mingled with the rustling of leaves, that she doubted if her
ears had not deceived her. She peered through the curtains and the
vines that encircled the window, into the darkness, without being
able to detect any thing like a moving figure; and she listened with
as little effect for the sound of voices or footsteps. Whatever had
brought the serenade to so abrupt a close, it was certain that it was
over, and that the singer had departed.
"Perhaps," she said, as she again threw herself into the couch, "the
tender youth is afraid of the rain; and in truth, there was a drop
fell upon my hand. So much for spoiling a lady's rest, good Red
Jacket! I hope he may get a ducking before he reaches the hovel. This
is rather an odd sort of a man for a painter. Good night, Kate--now
we will sleep in comfort and quiet."
CHAPTER XV.
"I do not like thee, Doctor Fell;
The reason why I cannot tell,
But I don't like thee, Doctor Fell."
Anxiety, expectation, and perhaps an unusual degree of restlessness
on the part of her friend, who soon fell asleep, kept Miss Falconer
awake until a very late hour; and when she opened her eyes, after a
short and uneasy slumber, she found a streak of sunshine playing on
the window curtains. She started up hastily, yet so softly as not to
discompose the Captain's daughter, with regard to whom she seemed to
have altered all her resolutions. She arrayed herself with such
celerity and silence as indicated a desire to escape while Catherine
yet slumbered; and indeed it appeared, that, so far as the sleeping
maiden was concerned, Miss Falconer had changed her feelings, as well
as designs. She eyed Catherine occasionally with a countenance on
which suspicion seemed struggling with anger; and when she had
completed her toilet, she stole up to the bedside, and surveyed her
with a look of anger, which was the more extraordinary as Catherine,
at that moment, presented an appearance of the most attractive and,
in fact, seraphic beauty. Her hands were clasped together under her
chin, as if some thought of rapture were shining through her spirit;
a smile of such delight as can only come from a heart both guileless
and happy, beamed from her visage; her lips moved, as if breathing
the accents of joy, though no sound came from them; and the tears
that stole from beneath the closed eyelids, were evidently shed in
pleasure, not sorrow. Miss Falconer's countenance darkened, as she
gazed; but she gazed only for a moment; and soon stealing from the
bedside, she crept out of the chamber.
The rattling of the latch, as the door closed, dispelled the dream of
delight, and Catherine instantly arose, and prepared to follow her
friend, whom she had in vain called after to return. Miss Falconer
had already left the house, and long before Catherine reached her,
she saw that she had found her way to the memorable bush of fern. She
saw also, without explanation from her friend, that some singular
accident had defeated, at the very moment of its accomplishment, the
plan so subtly laid and so zealously pursued. No letter or scrap of
any kind was found in the appointed place; yet it was evident the
bush had been visited by at least one, perhaps by two persons, in the
course of the night. It was deranged and torn; two flat stones were
found lying at its roots, which Miss Falconer did not doubt had been
designed to protect the paper from the dews of the night, as well as
the eyes of passers-by; and there were foot-prints in the grass, some
of which were very distinct, having been left since a light rain,
that had fallen during the night.
The chagrin and dismay of Miss Falconer at this unlooked for
termination of her hopes, entirely drove from her mind the
recollection of her late displeasure, together with its secret cause.
She wondered and lamented, and devised a thousand suppositions for
explaining the phenomenon, but without satisfying herself. Was it
possible the treachery of her agent could have been discovered by his
comrades, at the very moment of its consummation? Could such a
discovery have been made by accident, and in the dead of the night?
What now was she to do? how supply the information of which she had
been robbed? how act upon that already received? how avert the
ridicule of the coadjutors she had drawn into her schemes? how
propitiate her brother?--For sure he had not ceased laughing at her,
from the hour he was let into the secret, and would make it the theme
of raillery to his dying day.
To the latter questions Miss Loring could frame no answers; but in
regard to the former and more important, she expressed her doubts
whether the agent had really visited the appointed place at all. It
was _not_ probable he could himself have found his way to the bush at
night, or that another should have followed him to it. The marks of
footsteps were, in all likelihood, left by some of the patrons of the
jubilee, collecting shrubs and flowers to adorn the rostrum--her
garden had been thrown open to them for the purpose, and, she doubted
not, they had already despoiled it. What was more probable than that
some of those persons, returning from the house to the promontory,
should have nosed the sweet-smelling shrub, as they passed by, and
appropriated its leafy honours, along with those of other plants
discovered on the way? Parker might yet come, and deliver his
communication in person; or perhaps he found it impossible to escape
the vigilance of his wild comrades, now rendered doubly watchful by
the gathering of so many people in their neighbourhood. It was plain
that Harriet must now give up the prosecution of the scrutiny into
the hands of more fitting agents. If there were refugees in the land,
a single word could convert the assembled revellers into soldiers,
who would instantly scour the hills in every direction, and rid their
peaceful solitude of such dangerous intruders; and if the companies
and officers Miss Falconer had spoken of, had taken position in the
woods, a general rising of the people must result in the capture of
perhaps the whole gang. It was plain, at least, that the wisest plan
to be followed was, to remain in tranquillity, until her military
friends arrived; when it would remain for them to determine what
further steps were to be taken.
The frustration of her sanguine hopes threw a shadow over Miss
Falconer's spirits, and plunged her besides into a fit of
peevishness, which she, before long, indulged to an extent that both
surprised and pained her friend. Thus, her father making his
appearance the moment they returned to the house, and, so soon as he
had expressed his joy at seeing her, declaring she should see 'his
excellent young dog, Hunter, the painter, the greatest genius and
most capital fine scoundrel in the whole world,' she let fall certain
expressions of scorn that might have stirred the Captain's choler,
had his mind not been wholly occupied with 'the grand picture,' which
it was now in his power to exhibit. The painter had laboured with
much zeal, and, three or four days before, had brought his sketch to
the mansion, to receive the father's and daughter's criticism on what
had been done, as well as to introduce the Captain's figure; and he
was easily prevailed upon to accept his patron's invitation, and
continue his labours, until the sketch should be completed, on the
spot.
Notwithstanding her dissatisfaction of mind, Miss Falconer could not
deny, that, so far as he had gone, the artist had exhibited no little
skill in the design and execution of his piece. It represented the
young hero lying across the knees of his father, while Catherine
knelt at his side, her hands clasped between those of her dying
brother. A dead horse, a young oak-tree, shivered by a cannon-ball, a
broken gun-carriage, and two or three other characteristic objects,
made up, with this group, the fore-ground of the picture; while the
back-ground, to which little had been yet done, was sketched over
with hills and trees, and a confused medley of contention--broken
columns of men, flying horses, and wreaths of smoke. With the three
portraits Miss Falconer was very much struck; she had the vehement
testimony of Captain Loring, and the melancholy assent of his
daughter, in regard to the likeness of the expiring youth; and she
could see with her own eyes, how well the painter had succeeded with
both the others; though, as Captain Loring averred, 'he did not like
so much red on his nose;' "and as for the tears that the young fellow
has put into my eyes," he exclaimed, blubbering as he spoke, "why
that's all nonsense, for I never shed a tear in my life--adzooks, I
didn't!"
As there was a violation of the unity of place in the introduction of
Catherine upon the battleground, so also there was an evident
anachronism, which the painter had been guilty of, in depicting her,
not as a little girl, as she was at the period of her brother's
death, but a woman, such as she now appeared. The fault, such as it
was, was easily pardoned, since it perhaps allowed a wider scope for
expression; and on this visage, it was obvious, the artist had
exhausted his skill. Independent of its beauty, it had such an air of
deep grief as almost conveyed the history of the after life and
feelings of the subject--secret sorrow, and a sense of lone,
unfriended destitution, never to be banished a moment from her bosom.
While the three were engaged surveying the sketch, the painter
himself entered the apartment. Piercing, almost fierce and menacing,
was the look with which Miss Falconer regarded him; and her
recognition of his salutation was haughty in the extreme. She
observed, too, with high displeasure, with what frank and almost
eager haste Catherine extended him her hand, and how her voice
trembled in the uttered welcome, as if it were bestowed upon one
endeared by long years of friendship; and she turned upon Catherine a
look that almost frightened her from her propriety, when the latter,
leading Hunter up, to present him with a more ceremonious form than
her father had thought fit to use, said, as if to bespeak her good
will at once,
"This, Miss Falconer, is my good and valued friend and _confidant_,"
(she strove to pronounce the word archly,) "Mr. Hunter."
"It is very well," said Harriet, turning coldly away, and fixing her
eye upon the picture. "I am admiring his work, and striving to
understand it."
"I do not pretend to be very perspicuous," said the painter,
disregarding the mortifying reception and the perhaps equally
ungrateful sarcasm. "Mystery is said to be an ingredient in the
sublime; and as that is my aim, _of course_, (it belongs to the
aspirations of all youthful candidates for immortality,) I always
contrive to be as full of mystery as possible."
To this speech, which was uttered with an air of pleasantry, Miss
Falconer only replied by a second penetrating stare; and then fixed
her eye again upon the sketch. The painter, determined not to find
offence where it was palpably meant, resumed his discourse, saying,
"I am afraid that my foolish music, last night, may have disturbed
Miss Falconer. I forgot she had a right to be fatigued after her
journey, until the plash of a rain-drop in my eye, as I lifted it
romantically to heaven, brought me to my senses, and, ludicrously
enough, in the very middle of one of Mr. Jingleum's best pieces."
"You knew, then, that I----Oh, certainly! the carriage rattled by
Elsie's door. I am sensible of the compliment, sir, and return you my
thanks."
These expressions Miss Falconer uttered with much vivacity, and began
the question which she ceased so abruptly, in a voice of eagerness.
Indeed, she felt that she had been almost thrown off her guard; and
she therefore, without any purpose, except to divert the attention of
those present to another subject, and certainly with no definite
object in view, said, laying her finger at the same time on the
sketch,
"I do not well understand this tree, sir. What kind do you call it?"
"Oh," said Hunter, with a smile, "that is a palm."
"A _palm_!" cried Miss Falconer, eyeing him with surprise; "and pray,
sir, how came a palm on the hills of the Brandywine?"
The question threw the painter into confusion, which was increased by
the keen and searching glances of the critic, over whom this third
violation of propriety seemed to produce as strong an effect as the
detection of it did on the unlucky artist.
"A palm! good heavens," he stammered, with a laugh; "and I did not
myself discover the incongruity before? Ah, Miss Falconer, you are
the very princess of censors; and I am glad you saw the fault, before
it might have been too late to remedy it. But 'use doth breed a habit
in a man,' as the great poet says; and painters are only flesh and
blood, after all. This comes of taking my first lessons in painting,
among the lagoons of Carolina. I must look close: I warrant me, I
have stuck a live-oak into the picture also."
"Really, sir," said Miss Falconer, whom the opportunity of playing
the critic seemed to have put into a better humour, "I must beg
pardon for my ignorance. I thought that in Carolina we had no palms,
except cabbage-trees; and this has a marvellous soaring, long-leaved,
cocoa-nut appearance, judging from the prints I have seen of that
tree, for of the tree itself I am quite ignorant."
"You are right, madam," said the painter; "the cocoa-nut is, in every
way, a much finer palm than the cabbage-tree; and for that reason, I
have always been accustomed to take a painter's license with the
latter, to make it as graceful and stately as possible. Painting, you
know, is a sort of palpable poetry; and one must not be tied down too
closely to nature."
"The cocoa-nut has an immensely long leaf, has it not?" demanded Miss
Falconer.
"Full fifteen feet," said the painter, warming into enthusiasm; "and
each one so much shaped like a great waving feather, that you might
deem it a plume plucked from the wing of Lucifer, or some other
colossus of demons. One can never forget its majestic appearance, who
has once looked upon the tree."
"You have been, then, in the Islands?"
"Certainly, madam, yes;--that is to say, in my early youth, when the
tree made a great impression on my mind. You may judge, therefore,
how natural it is that I should amend our inferior palms by adding
somewhat of the beauty of those that belong to the tropics."
"Oh, very natural," said Harriet; "but it is quite droll you should
put one upon the Brandywine."
And with this indifferent remark she closed a conversation that
seemed, even to the unsuspicious Catherine, to be somewhat
embarrassing to the painter, though she was glad to find how quickly
it dispelled her friend's peevish humour.
They were soon summoned to the breakfast table, to partake a hasty
repast, previous to visiting the scene of celebration, towards which
several merry-makers were seen directing their way, even at this
early hour. Miss Falconer appeared surprised that the young man did
not instantly take his leave; but she soon discovered he was there
for the purpose of attending her kinswoman to the promontory, that
duty having been expressly delegated to him by the Captain, who had
accepted the honourable and highly responsible command of the
six-pounder, and the three or four vagabonds who were to serve it,
and had therefore duties of his own to look after. He soon deserted
the table, saying he left his young painter 'to look after her and
his Kate; his rogues were coming after the powder, and he knew they
would shoot off some of their legs or arms, adzooks, unless he
accompanied them back to the hill.'
In the meanwhile, Miss Falconer, discharging her hauteur and
petulance altogether, talked freely with the Captain's guest, and
appeared much interested in his conversation, and many obvious good
qualities. But it was observable, that as her ease and frankness
increased, those of Hunter proportionately fell, until he became
visibly reserved, and almost silent. This mood, however, did not last
long; and by the time the little party was on its way to the scene of
festivity, he was as gay and spirited as ever.
CHAPTER XVI.
Then came the felon on his sable steed.
THEODORE AND HONORIA.
The festival, so far as events allowed it to proceed, was rather a
pic-nic, of a somewhat patriotic character, than a true national
celebration; and such indeed it might have been esteemed, had it not
been for the occasional roar of the six-pounder, and the ambitious
din kept up by the muskets, and the drum and fife of a small company
of volunteers, the only portion of the county military who could be
induced to honour Hawk-Hollow with their attendance. Few, however, as
were the persons present, they claimed to form in themselves the
flower of the district; and rather rejoicing in than regretting the
absence of the great multitude, they proceeded with zeal to despatch
what was esteemed the business of the day, in order that they might
the sooner advance to its pleasures. In fact, all interest in the
proper business of celebration was soon found to be confined to
Captain Loring, the officers of the day, and their immediate
adherents and partisans; the greater number of revellers, both male
and female, preferring to ramble about in groups along the river
shore, rather than to sit in solemn expectation on the promontory,
awaiting the beginning of the proceedings. There were more attractive
charms to the mass in the grassy glades below, where attendants were
busily occupied in preparing for the feast and the dance, some
arraying stores of napkins and platters along the course of the
brook, and others matting together bushes and branches of trees, so
as to form temporary canopies. In some places might be seen a knot of
Sabbath-clad bumpkins, moving among the horses that were tied under
the trees, and discoursing learnedly upon their good and bad points;
in others, were collected divers rural beauties, admiring one
another's bonnets, or exchanging, like merchants at a fair, their
little stock of innocent scandals--the peculiar products of their
respective neighbourhoods; and in one place, an amalgamation of the
two interests was already effected, and a romping country-dance begun
upon the green sward. Some idlers, incapable of any other exercise of
their faculties, had begged pins of their cousins and sweethearts,
converted them into minnow-hooks, and were already angling from the
rocks; some, more gallant, were paddling their favourites about in
canoes; some were singing; some rejoicing in the felicity of a jest;
and in two different places afar off, was heard the screaming plaint
of flutes, sounded by as many youthful followers of the Musagetes,
who had stolen to their solitudes alone.
In the meanwhile, those who were most zealous in the cause which had
brought them together, remained on the top of the promontory, whiling
the time in conversation, until the moment should arrive fixed on for
opening the rites of the day. The prospect from this elevation was
extensive, and, at one spot, it comprehended a view of a horse-path
sloping down the hills on the further bank of the river, which, in
seasons of drought, like the present, was there fordable. It looked
besides over a part of the valley, and afforded a clear glimpse of
the public highway at a place near to the park-gate, where it ran
over a hill. Both these roads possessed, on the present occasion, a
peculiar interest in the mind of Miss Falconer, and she had chosen
her resting place, with the view of keeping them always in her eye.
She was followed to it by a select group, consisting, besides the
Captain's daughter, of the painter, the orator of the day, Dr.
Merribody, and a few of that immediate coterie. Her vivacity on this
occasion was remarkable; but it was observed by many that there was a
degree of restlessness and even uneasiness in her deportment, which
were displayed in her frequent changes of conversation, and the
piercing looks she occasionally bent on all present, as if in some
sudden and short-lived fit of abstraction, that rendered her
unconscious of them herself. These glances she bestowed more
frequently upon her friend Catherine than any other person present;
though some supposed they proceeded from solicitude; for it was now
remarked that the Captain's daughter was thinner and paler than of
old, as if suffering from some hidden or not yet fully developed,
indisposition. There was an air of lassitude in her countenance and
movements; and the bursts of merry humour that once marked her
conversation, were now few and far between.
The individual who shared her piercing looks in the second degree,
was undoubtedly the painter, with whom she carried on a conversation
frequently very animated, and distinguished by a kind of malicious
ambition, no one knew why, unless it proceeded from sheer good will,
to betray him into inconsistencies and contradictions. She took
occasion to recur to the subject of the serenade, and requested him,
with many compliments, to resume 'the pretty little ditty of the Sigh
and the Whisper,' as she called it, which had been so abruptly
terminated on the preceding night by the rain-cloud, and the request
being backed by that of others, he very good-naturedly consented to
sing, objecting however to the lay in question, that being entirely
of a serenading character, and therefore unfit for chanting by
day-light. "Instead of that," said he, "I will sing you the song of
_River, O River_, which always brings back the dear Pedee to my
recollections." And so saying, with but little of that hemming and
coughing, which we have good authority for esteeming the 'prelude to
a bad voice,' he immediately sang the following little roundelay,
turning his eyes the while, with a mournful earnestness, upon the
Delaware, as if _that_, by a turn of prosopopoeia, was made to supply
the place of the Southern river.
I.
River, O River of light! whereon
The eyes of my youth were cast,
And many an idle hour and day
In mirth and joy were past;
Still bright and quiet thou flowest on,
As flow'd my earlier years,
Without a ripple, save those that rise
Beneath my dropping tears.
II.
River, O River! the trees still shake
Their leaves in thy passing tide;
And the nodding flowers the glass'd flowers see,
That mock them as they glide.
'Twas thus, even thus, in ages gone;
But others,--alas, all flown!--
Were wont to sit on thy gray old rocks,
Where now I rest alone.
III.
River, O River! thy charm is gone,
For those that gave it are fled;
And the thoughts thou wakest are dark and sad,--
The thoughts of the distant dead.
None of them rest where they should rest,
By the waters they loved to see;
And thy green banks a grave shall yield
To none, unless to me.
IV.
River, O River! my lady yet
Walks on thy verdant shore;
But though she smiles on thy bright blue waves,
She smiles on me no more.
I will not look on thy happy tide,
Nor list to thy breeze's stir,
When knowing, however she sighs by thee,
Another sighs with her.
A deep sigh came from the breast of Jingleum; but before it had
reached any ear but his own, Miss Falconer fixed her eyes on the
singer, and asked him, with much inquisitorial emphasis,
"Pray, sir, how came those 'gray old rocks' into the Pedee?"
"_How!_" echoed Herman; "Truly, I know not; that is a question for a
geologist."
"Really, sir," said the lady, maliciously, "I am surprised they
should be found in the Pedee, which, I have heard, rolls through a
quagmire."
"You are right, Miss Falconer. The Pedee _proper_ is without rocks;
but the Yadkin, which is the upper portion of it, and mountainous,
has as rugged a bed as any other river. But allow me to say,"--this
he uttered with a smile of triumph, as if aware of her desire to
catch him tripping,--"you appear to suppose the song commemorative of
my native river; whereas, if I can believe the poet, my friend Mr.
Jingleum, it relates entirely to the Delaware before us."
"Ah! I forgot--I thought you were speaking of the Pedee; and I longed
to show my knowledge of geography," said the lady. "But, hark, sir;
there is the roll of the drum; the volunteers are cocking their
pieces, the Captain is just priming the artillery, and now we shall
have the signal for beginning the ceremonies.--I hope, sir, you have
well studied the Declaration?"
"I have, madam," said the youth, who seemed to discover something
offensive in the bantering question; "and, however incompetent to the
task of pronouncing it with eloquence, or even effect, I believe
there is no one present who has given it more thought than my own
unworthy self."
At the signal thus indicated, the various truants on the river-bank
were seen thronging hastily up the hill, and the orator, reader, and
officers of the day, immediately ascended the rostrum. Before the
preliminaries were all completed, an exclamation from Captain Loring,
who had mounted with them, drew the eyes of all across the river.
"Soldiers, by the lord! adzooks, soldiers!" he cried, and the
patriots beheld three horsemen, in military attire, riding down the
horse-path on the opposite bank of the river. "Look, Harry, my dear,
look!" continued the Captain, eagerly; "'tis our brother Harry, I'll
be sworn! Could tell him among ten thousand. Sits his horse like a
general; and a wonderful handsome dog--and, see, he is waving his
handkerchief!"
But Miss Falconer was at this moment staring at another object in a
contrary direction, of more attraction even than her brother. She
beheld a single horseman, riding slowly along the road by the
park-gate, wending his way towards the cottage of Elsie Bell, and
apparently too much wrapped up in his own reflections to bestow a
glance, or even a thought, upon the scene of commotion presented by
the promontory. The distance of the road was at least a mile; but it
was easy to perceive, first, that the man was mounted upon a white
horse, and, secondly, that his head-gear was of a flaming red
colour,--two circumstances that filled both the eyes and the heart of
the gazer with fire. She turned her face to the rostrum, on which
Hunter was already displaying the record of a nation's
enfranchisement; but interrupted his proceedings without ceremony,
crying eagerly,
"You have a painter's eyes, Mr. Hunter--do you know that man on the
road yonder? A red hat, I think?--a rawboned horse?--An acquaintance
of yours, Mr. Hunter?"
"An acquaintance?" echoed the painter, with a look of surprise. "At
this distance, it is impossible"----
"Mr. Jingleum, what say you?" cried Harriet, hastily; "or you, Mr.
Pepperel?"
"The midnight oil, Miss Falconer," murmured the modest bard; but was
interrupted by the lawyer, saying,
"It is necessary, before arriving at a conclusion, to examine into
the premises; and before deciding upon this matter, I should like to
have, not only the evidence of my own eyes, but the evidence of the
eyes of other persons,"----when he was, in turn, silenced by the
sudden exclamation of Dr. Merribody.
"I know the fellow, as well as I know my own patients," he cried,
pursing his eye-brows together; "'tis that scoundrelly quack fellow,
John Green, the Indian trader; and I hope he may come here before
night, that somebody may get drunk and trounce him."
"Bravo!" cried Miss Falconer; and turning towards the river, she
waved her handkerchief, as if to hasten the advance of her martial
friends.
"Nonsense!" cried Hunter, eagerly, but manifesting some little
agitation. "What! Green, the good fellow that pulled me from the
brook? Nonsense, doctor; that man is twice as tall; and besides, he
rides quite a different horse."
"I'll stand up to it," said the doctor, with dignity. "As for his
horse, why these traders are always buying and stealing; and there's
his red hat, as clear as a bunch of sumach, the red-headed villain!
But never mind any such vagabonds: read away, Hunter, my boy, and let
Jingleum begin; for I am as hungry as a horse-leech, and I long to be
at something more substantial than all your confounded orations."
"Hang the reading," cried the painter, petulantly; "let us see what's
in the wind first.--We should at least be civil to the army officers:
you see, they are regulars; and, there, they have given up their
horses to old Richard, the coachman, and are running up the hill,
like three hounds after breakfast.--Rogues, you will be sorted! and
fair Britomart, you shall this time wave the lance of cunning in
vain!" The last expressions were muttered within the recesses of his
own heart.
In the meanwhile, the three officers, ascending the hill quickly,
were met by Miss Falconer, who flew to meet them, crying, "To horse,
gentlemen, to horse! the game is riding into your very arms."
These words were heard even at the rostrum, and filled all present
with surprise; which was not much allayed, when the youngest of the
three martialists, seizing upon Miss Falconer's hand, exclaimed, with
a laugh,
"Egad, sister Hal, we have resolved to convert you into Prince Hal,
and make you Tory-taker General. Here's my friend, captain Caliver,
who admires your abilities at strategy immensely; as for Brooks, why,
gad's my life, he is your Grand-Vizier. But where's our dog Parker?
and what news of those vagabond Hawks of the Hollow? Where's the
thief, Joram, or Oram, or what d'ye call it? Ah, Captain Loring, my
excellent friend! Ah, Miss Loring! ah, Miss"----
"Brother," cried Harriet, with an energy that startled all present,
"you have no time for compliments. Accident has repaired the injuries
of accident, and fate has thrust him you seek into your very hands.
Mount, gentlemen, mount!--Mount, all who have horses, and ride up the
ravine to the witch's cottage: the volunteers, and all our friends
here who are on foot, can run across the fields, and secure the road,
so as to prevent retreat. The man in the red hat, and with a white
horse,--the canting Poke, or the sour-mouthed Green--all is one for
that; seize him, and you seize the most audacious of traitors, the
most ferocious of assassins!"
"Adzooks!" cried Captain Loring, "what's all this?"
"It means, Captain, egad," said young Falconer, grinning with pure
delight, "that Hal here has been hunting your famous Hawks, till she
has found them; and now, egad, if we can believe her, she is about to
nab them. As for the road, sister, we have that safe enough, with
twenty foot, and ten picked horse, coming down from the Gap; there
are two companies, also, ordered to the village; and if you want more
force, why we must e'en call upon the volunteers. The end of all
this, gentlemen," continued the delighted lieutenant, "is, that you
have a gang of refugees among you; and that their leader, Oram or
Joram Gilbert, or whatever you call him,--captain Gilbert, they call
him,--a very bold, murdering fellow, has just ridden by, as Miss
Falconer says, and in a red hat, egad, and on a white horse, and with
some dozen names or two; and so, gentlemen, we'll mount horse, and
take him."
Had a thunderbolt darted from the blue sky among the group assembled
on the hill, it could not have produced a more sudden terror, than
did the name of the renowned refugee, with the announcement of his
proximity to the scene of celebration. The name of the outlaw was
familiar to all, as an omen of fear and blood; and while many of the
young men re-echoed it after the lieutenant with open dismay, it
produced such a general scream from the women as made the rocks
resound, and added but little to the courage of their protectors. As
for the lieutenant himself, he seemed to be vastly diverted by the
general explosion of fright; though he instantly waved his hand to
his friends, calling upon captain Caliver to mount, and waggishly
directing his brother lieutenant to 'form the women and volunteers,
and march them to the scene of action;' when Hunter, leaping down
from the rostrum, exclaimed,--
"This is a mistake, an absurdity; I can assure Miss Falconer that the
man who rode by is no more a Hawk of the Hollow than I am; at least,
I am certain he is not Green, the trader, whom I will avouch to be an
honest man."
"Let Mr. Hunter first avouch that for himself," said Miss Falconer,
with a glance of fire; "the question will soon be asked him.--Quick,
brother, quick! haste, gentlemen, haste! and all who can do nothing
better, follow me up to the road-side."
Perhaps the singular sarcasm the young lady thought fit to fling at
the painter, was unheard by him,--for finding that, despite his
remonstrance, the officers were running down the hill towards their
horses, he uttered a sudden shout, and immediately imitated their
example, bounding along at such a pace that he soon outstripped the
fleetest.
In a moment, the assembly was broken up, and the revellers flying in
all possible directions. Here were seen women running to conceal
themselves among rocks and bushes; and there one or two prudent
gentlemen, who declared themselves 'men of peace, and no fighters,'
paddling across the river, to get out of harm's way, with but little
regard to the beauties they left screaming after them on the shore.
But the torrent of fugation, though it sent off so many irregular
rills, was seen dividing into two chief currents, one of which,
consisting principally of mounted men, went, like the back-water of a
flood, rolling up the ravine leading to the Traveller's Rest, while
the other, consisting of such volunteers as had not already broken
and followed after the officers, and such worthy celebrators as had
the courage to imitate the example of Miss Falconer and Captain
Loring, made its way on foot towards the public road.
CHAPTER XVII.
Thorough brake, thorough brier,
Thorough muck, thorough mier,
Thorough water, thorough fier,
And thus goes Puck about it.
DRAYTON--_Nymphidia_.
It has been seen, that if the painter made an effort to restrain the
enthusiasm of the multitude, he instantly proved that he was not
without the virtue himself, so soon as he found it was really
determined to pursue the suspected person. The horses of the officers
had been led round the hill to the covert where the others were tied;
and towards this place he directed his steps, crying out all the
time, with encouraging alacrity, "Quick, gentlemen, quick!"
But the strongest proof of his zeal he gave, the moment he had
reached the horses, by vaulting upon the back of the nearest, (and,
in his estimation, the best,) which happened, at that moment, to be
in the hands of the venerable coachman, Richard, who was leading the
animal round with a degree of solicitude and attention, that were
testimonials enough of its value. Herman's lodgings being so nigh at
hand, he had thought it wholly superfluous to trouble himself with
his own roan charger; and the present emergency was of a nature so
peculiar, he did not stop a moment to consider the lawfulness of the
seizure. He leaped therefore into the saddle, jerked the reins out of
Richard's hand; and the wrath of the owner, who was no other than
lieutenant Falconer himself, was extreme, when he beheld the
audacious stranger, his own loud calls to the contrary
notwithstanding, bestride the captured steed with the air of an
emperor, and instantly put him to his speed.
"Harkee, halt! stop! you've mistaken your horse," cried the
lieutenant. "_Who_ is that impudent scoundrel? My horse, you rogue!
Give me a pistol, Caliver, and I'll shoot him off."
But the anger of the soldier was unavailing; the painter swept out of
sight, and while Falconer was calling on his friend Caliver, (a
gentleman of a weather beaten face, very lantern-jawed, and with a
red nose,) he also darted forward and vanished. Nothing remained for
him but to follow the example set him by Hunter; and accordingly, he
seized upon the best charger he could find, and with his brother
officer and others, galloped after the two leaders.
The reader may remember that the Traveller's Rest was described as
lying at the upper termination of a ravine, which swept down to the
river, and just before it debouched thereon, received the waters of
Hawk-Hollow Run. From the promontory so often spoken of, the cottage
was plainly visible, and approachable along the bed of the river,
even by horsemen, provided they were of the steeple-chase order, or
were moved by any occasion so stirring as the present. The
obstructions and difficulties, nevertheless, were of a nature, to
call for great circumspection on the part of the riders; and
accordingly the greater number of pursuers began to exercise their
discretion so soon almost as they had well set out. The two leaders,
however, dashed onwards with fiery zeal, and performed feats of
horsemanship that gained them the applause of the laggards. It was
fortunate for Herman that his spirit and address soon won him the
good will of the cavalry officer, (for such was captain Caliver) at
his heels. He had remarked the seizure of his friend's charger, and
at first meditated a wrathful reprimand. He succeeded in coming
within speaking distance, as Hunter toiled up an ascent of unusual
ruggedness, and instantly hailed him:
"Harkee, my friend," said he, "you ride like a gentleman, and a
little training would fit you for the army: but do you know you have
mistaken your horse?"
"Faith, there is no mistake about it," cried the painter, "for my
horse was not on the ground. In such an emergency, sir--but enough.
Are you armed, captain? are you armed?"
"Surely my holsters are at my saddle-bow," quoth the cavalry officer,
spurring up, as he reached a more level ground, on which he could
display all the qualities of his charger; "and as surely you will
find Harry Falconer's at his, if you know how to use them. Harkee, my
friend, I will not make so bold as to consider you in a fright; but
you are quite white about the lips."
"Ay, true," said the painter, clapping his hand to the holsters, and
drawing forth a weapon, but taking no particular notice of the
soldier's insinuation: "Captain, had you not better draw up, and wait
for some of the company, while I push on, and secure the road?"
"I vow to heaven," said captain Caliver, "I would knock you off your
horse, did I not know you spoke in the ignorant innocence of your
heart. Draw up, and wait for company? It is not in my nature to call
any man an ass, except a private; and you are here, I think, as a
volunteer. So, Mr. Gentleman-volunteer, be pleased to look upon me as
commander-in-chief, and attend to my instructions.--Do you know that
Oran Gilbert, when you see him?"
"How should I? The Indian trader, to be sure, I know; and you will
soon find, that this fellow of the white horse is no more like him
than I am."
"Very well--Fall behind, Mr. Gentleman-volunteer, and"----
"I will do no such thing," said the youth, stoutly; "I will ride,
fight, and kill refugees with any man in the county; and if you show
me one, I'll engage to shoot him at sixty paces,--that is, with a
good pistol,--I will, by the lord!"
And so saying, the volunteer brandished his pistol with such ardour
that it suddenly went off in his hand, with a report that set the
whole ravine roaring, and materially expedited the march of their
followers, who responded with an instant cheer.
The captain of cavalry stretched forth his hand, seized Hunter's
bridle, and was about to express certain rough suspicions which this
untimely explosion created in his mind, when the painter cried out,
with as much apparent innocence as confusion,
"Egad, I believe 'twas a hair-trigger!"
"Spur up, and no more firing," cried the soldier; "or by the eternal
Jupiter, I'll knock you off your horse. You have alarmed the wigwam;
see what a hubbub you have raised in the van, as well as on the rear!
the tavern is in commotion. Hah! by the eternal Jupiter, there goes
Red-hat! Spur up, gentleman volunteer; or by the eternal Jupiter, the
fellow will escape!"
The report of the pistol had indeed reached the Traveller's Rest, and
drawn forth its two or three inmates; who could now easily behold the
whole train of horsemen dashing furiously up the ravine; and the
quick eye of captain Caliver was not slow in detecting a person on
horseback, with a red hat, pricking hastily away from the cottage.
"The game is sprung,--the rabbit is up!" he cried, while the fire
that burned on his thin nose, seemed to have raised a kindred flash
in his dark gray eyes. "Gentleman-volunteer, do you see? Now you
shall behold the doings of Sky-scraper, the best horse for a long
race on short fodder, that was ever galled by saddle. Up the bank
here, and after!"
"You are wrong, captain, you are wrong," cried the painter, eagerly.
"'Tis a white horse, you know; and this is a roan, or sorrel."
There could be no truth more incontestible than this; yet captain
Caliver was of too sagacious a spirit, or perhaps was warming with
too much fire, to be led from his purpose by an argument not of his
own devising.
"I will be uncivil to no man but a private," he cried, fixing his eye
upon the fugitive, (who was for a moment's space plainly visible, as
he galloped up the road,) compressing his lips, till they actually
seemed to have vanished, and, at the same time, driving his spurs
deep into his steed; "I say, I will be rough-spoken to none but
privates, for it does not hurt their feelings; but, by the eternal
Jupiter, there goes our man!--or what does he mean by wearing a red
hat? and, lastly, what does he mean by beating a retreat in such a
fashion? Harkee, Mr. Gentleman-volunteer, I am glad now you fired
that pistol. Had we come upon the dog silently, why then I should
have picked him up, rolled up in a ball, like an opossum; which is a
job for a black man, and not a captain of cavalry. I say," he
continued, with increasing animation, "I am glad you have roused him,
and shown him a fair field; for, by the eternal Jupiter, I have not
seen a race worthy to speak of for two weeks; and, by the eternal
Jupiter, you shall see such a one now as will make your blood run;
and, by the eternal Jupiter, I hope his horse is blooded, for, by the
eternal Jupiter, I will run him, or any other respectable tory
gentleman, from time temporal to time eternal, from post to pillar,
from Sunday to Saturday, and from life and the dinner-table to death
and"----. And here the captain of horse, who was something of a horse
himself when his blood was up, ended climacterically with a most
soldier-like word, which, although it may be found in any English
dictionary with which the public is acquainted, will nevertheless
read more agreeably in a dictionary than any where else. He added,
indeed, three more words; for turning his horse's head towards the
steep bank that bounded the ravine on the right hand, he twisted a
lock of the charger's mane round his finger, and uttered the
cabalistic ejaculation,--
"Go it, Sky-scraper!"
The words had an immediate effect; no sooner did they reach his ear
than Sky-scraper, with a plunge that carried him half a length ahead
of the painter, darted to the brow of the acclivity; and Herman
following, he beheld the Indian trader, (for it was this identical
individual they were now pursuing,) some five or six hundred paces in
advance, travelling at a very unusual pace up the highway. As Hunter
reached the road, he cast his eye backwards to the hovel, and beheld,
riding into the oak yard, a man whom he knew at once to be the person
that had first attracted Miss Falconer's notice. He rode a white
horse, and there was a red covering to his head; but this latter
phenomenon, as it appeared, was owing entirely to the presence of a
red handkerchief drawn over the horseman's hat, doubtless to shield
his eyes from the sun-beams, or from the dazzling rays reverberated
from a dusty road. There was nothing at all warlike in the appearance
of this individual; on the contrary, he seemed, from his dress, to
belong to the community of Friends; and he paused at the entrance of
the yard, looking back on the chase he had left behind, with much
innocent curiosity and wonder.
"Captain," cried the painter, at the top of his voice, "wheel about.
You are leaving the true man: here he is, full in view, behind us!"
The captain answered only by repeating the charm that had already
nerved the limbs, and fired the spirit of his steed; and Herman,
urged by feelings and inducements of his own, followed after him; and
in a few moments, the fugitive and his two pursuers were alike buried
in a cloud of dust, raised by the fleet chargers.
When the two leaders so suddenly left the ravine, they were beyond
the sight of those who brought up the rear; and these, not doubting
they had continued their original route, galloped on themselves until
they reached the little inn; where the first person they saw was a
tall, middle-aged, gawky quaker, the same that had been seen by
Herman, sitting astride his horse, and staring on them with gaping
astonishment.
"Surrender, you villain!" cried Harry Falconer, with a whoop of
victory; "surrender, you bloody Hawk, or I'll blow your brains
out,--or I'll make Brooks do it, that scoundrel having run away with
my pistols.--Hillo-ah-ho, Caliver!--What has become of the
captain?--Down, you dog, and we'll tie you!"
"'Nan!" cried the astounded Friend: "What does thee mean, young
person?"
"Death and Beelzebub!" cried Brooks, "What have we here? Why, old
father Broadbrim, who the devil are you? Sure, I know this horse!"
"Sure thee may, and sure thee may not," replied Broadbrim, looking
wrathfully upon his captors, who were evidently nonplussed at sight
of him. "He is an honest man's horse, friend foul-mouth and sauce-box
with the coat of the slayer on thee back!"
"The spot's on the wrong leg!" cried Brooks, who had been inspecting
the stranger's horse with a curious eye. "Hah! d'ye see the dust on
the hill? Some of you guard father Broadbrim; he's suspicious: we'll
examine him directly. Hillo-ho, Falconer! I'll have you! oho! oho!
oho!" and away darted the young officer after his brother lieutenant,
who had galloped off so soon as he discovered the course pursued by
the leaders.
By this time, all the young men present had grown warm with exercise,
and were now waxing valiant, as they began to understand the little
danger there was in chasing, so many of them together, a single
refugee, who, although desperate and dangerous enough, had shown so
little inclination to face them. They began to be apprized, too, of
the nature of the service in which they were rather co-operating than
compulsorily engaged; and all seemed to know, that the farther they
rode up the highway, the nearer they would be to an armed force,
marched into the county for the express purpose of ferreting out and
destroying the band of outlaws. This being the state of their
feelings, there were few of them willing to accept the ignoble trust
of guarding the body of the Quaker prisoner; though, having had it
urged upon them by the cautious lieutenant, they were loath to
discharge him without authority. It was proposed by some to lock him
up in the Traveller's Rest, and entrust the ward entirely in the
hands of Elsie and her little negress; while others pointed to
Gilbert's Folly as a safer prison-house; and some even talked of
carrying him to the woods, and tying him to a tree, until the chase
they were so anxious to share in, was over. The dilemma, such as it
was, was already proceeding to altercation, when Broadbrim, having
understood that they were in chase of a famous tory, proposed to ride
with them in pursuit; adding with a zeal that delighted, as much as
it astonished them,--
"A man of war am I not, neither a slayer nor a fastener of bonds,
neither a firer of pistols nor a brandisher of swords and spears;
yet, friend younker whom they call Andrews, if thee is the man to
show me a tory who hath broken the law, then verily am I the man that
will hold him hard and fast, till the law hath spoken with him; yea,
verily, I am. Ride on, therefore, with whip and with spur; only swear
not, and be not awroth; and do thou, friend Andrews, ride at my side;
for my horse is a horse of peace and not a horse of war, sure-footed
but slow, and peradventure I may be left behind. It doth not become
me to say, I hate a tory, for a tory is a man, and hate belongeth not
to a fellow creature;--but, verily, I have heard of the man called
Oran Gilbert, the Hawk of the Hollow; and, verily, I should not like
to be summoned on the jury to try him for his manifold crimes; for,
verily, it would be against my principles to judge him to death, and
verily it would be against my heart and conscience to let him off
with aught less than hanging. So let me detain none from the good
deed of catching the wicked man; and peradventure, if this animal
beneath me hath any vigour left in his legs and reins, I may stretch
forth my hand afar, and take the sinner by the nape of the neck."
The manifestation of such spirit on the part of Broadbrim, who seemed
well prepared, so far as strength of arm and resolution of heart were
concerned, to take even a huger man than the Indian trader betwixt
his finger and thumb, determined the course of his sentinels at once.
They gave a loud shout, and bidding him follow, rode after the
officers as hard as they could; and it was worthy of remark, that the
white horse, notwithstanding the hint the prisoner had given of his
slowness, began gradually to warm into mettle and fleetness, so that
before the race had extended many miles, he bade fair to outstrip his
attendants altogether.
CHAPTER XVIII.
If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life: no, I
am no such thing; I am a man as other men are:--And there, indeed,
let him name his name; and tell them plainly, he is Snug the joiner.
MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
Meanwhile, the party of footmen, consisting of some dozen or more of
the volunteers, and such revellers as were brave enough for the
exploit,--followed, or rather led by the valiant Harriet, who
displayed the energy of a Penthesilea, and by Captain Loring, who
forgot his lameness in the ardour of the moment,--succeeded in
gaining the highway just in time to catch the most favourable view of
the fugitive, as he thundered up the hill upon which they were
themselves rushing. Indeed, they came upon him so suddenly, that when
his ears, which as well as his eyes, seemed to be fully occupied in
tracing the signs of pursuit, were surprised by the sudden shout they
set up, the jerk which he instinctively made at the reins, brought
his steed (a goodly roan charger, which was afterwards discovered to
be the property of the painter) upon his hams, and had well nigh
tumbled him in the dust. At that moment, the volunteers, in an
ecstasy of excitement, raised their muskets, and fired together upon
horse and man; so that, had there been any better ammunition in the
deadly tubes than blank-cartridges, both must have been blown to
atoms.
The appearance of the trader, as he rose up in his saddle, and looked
upon the throng around him, apparently as much astonished at his
escape from death as he was infuriated by such a display of mortal
opposition, was wild and terrific; the broad red hat had fallen back
from his forehead, disclosing his whole countenance; the eye with
which he glared upon his opposers, had a certain ghastliness mingled
with its fury, that was infinitely appalling; the retracted lips,
exposing the set teeth, seemed widened into a grin that might have
become the visage of a nether imp; and his hand, with which he had
snatched up, and now brandished, a huge horse-pistol, could not have
appeared more dreadful, had it been dripping with fresh blood. When
it is remembered, that the whole throng were now impressed with the
conviction, (a conviction which their reason had no time to
question,) that, in this man, they beheld the most renowned and
dreaded of the Hawks of Hawk-Hollow, and perceived that he had the
life of at least one individual in his power, it is not to be
wondered at that their courage gave way, so soon as they perceived
him unharmed by the volley. In truth, they began to shout and fly;
and even the volunteers waited no longer than to see the pistol aimed
towards them, before they took to their heels as hastily as the
others. It was in vain that Miss Falconer cried out, "Now is the
time, gentlemen! seize him!" The only individual who thought fit to
obey the mandate, was Captain Loring, who, having just hobbled up to
the road, sprang from a bank, and before the rover had fired, or even
raised up his steed, snatched vigorously at the bridle, roaring out,
"I've nabbed you, adzooks, you rascal!--Surrender!"
To this bold summons the demi-barbarian answered by turning his
weapon from the flying assailants, and clapping it instantly to the
Captain's ear; when a shriek from Catherine startled, or conjured,
him out of his bloody intention; and instead of shooting the veteran
dead on the spot, he struck him a blow with the heavy barrel, that
brought him to the earth. He then uttered a yell like the whoop of an
Indian; and the roan horse, leaping over the Captain's body, bounded
beyond the crest of the hill, and was in an instant concealed from
view.
The next moment, and almost before the terrified rustics had plucked
the unlucky veteran from the road, the thunder of hoofs again shook
the hill, and the captain of cavalry, looking almost as grim and
terrific as the fugitive, was seen to shoot by, pronouncing his
magical war-word, "Go it, Sky-scraper!" Then, at his heels, came
Herman, the painter, who, without seeming very sensible of the
presence of any earthly spectators, gave forth, as he passed, a bold
and stirring hurrah, that almost made Miss Falconer reject as
improbable certain wild suspicions that had already crept into her
brain. Then came the lieutenants and their long train of volunteer
followers, bestowing as little notice upon the individuals on the
road-side as the others had done; and these defeated worthies were
left to themselves, busied in restoring the Captain to his senses,--a
desideratum, that, to the delight of all, was soon effected; for
indeed the Captain's cocked hat had done him the service his gray
hairs had not; and it was soon found, that, except his being thrown
into a violent passion, he was none the worse for his misfortune.
"I'll have the villain's blood!" he cried, starting up in a fury,
which he expended upon all around him without much discrimination.
"What are you blubbering about, Kate, you jade? Adzooks, but I'll
have the blood of the rascal! Hark ye, Mr. Doctor Merribody, and you
Mr. Orator Jingleum, and the rest of you, and especially _you_, you
confounded cowardly volunteers! what did you mean by not rushing in
upon the dog, when I had him, you puppies? Adzooks, you
white-feathered hen-bantams, I had sooner trust to a regiment of
suttler's wives, in a bayonet-charge, than to any such poltroonery
rascals, even in the small matter of taking a tory by the ears.
Adzooks, you gallimaufry what-d'ye-call-'ems, is this the way you
keep the Fourth of July?"
While the veteran thus poured forth his indignant rebukes, which he
continued until his daughter succeeded in pacifying him, the captain
of cavalry, followed at but a little distance by Herman, still
pursued the chase with untiring ardour, now catching view of the
fugitive as he flashed over the brow of a hill, but oftener losing
sight of him altogether, so winding and broken was the road, and so
deeply embowered by forest-trees. Caliver marvelled greatly at the
excellence of the roan steed bestridden by his quarry, upon whom,
after riding several miles, he did not seem to have gained an inch;
but, in truth, the horse was of approved speed and bottom, the rider
was himself a master of the art of horsemanship, and was besides, at
least, a stone and a half lighter than his pursuer. He continued,
however, to follow, cheering himself with the reflection, that, by
and by, the appearance of the infantry, already posted on the road,
must bring the fugitive to a stand. "And then," quoth he to himself,
with a grim chuckle, "he must e'en turn about; and then, by the
eternal Jupiter, I will shave off the top of his poll with my sabre,
or shoot him through the gizzard with my pistol, according to
circumstances. Go it, Sky-scraper; and don't let it be said of you,
you were ever beaten, in a fair race, by a rascally refugee!"
As for the painter, he possessed but little of the unflagging spirit
of his leader; and seeing there was small prospect of gaining on the
trader, he soon became tired of pursuing, and began to devise in what
manner he might, without loss of honour, discontinue the pursuit.
First, then, having reached a wild hollow, where a little runlet
crossed the road, and was immediately lost amid a labyrinth of great
rocks, trees, and brambles, he gradually slackened his pace, until
the cavalry officer vanished among the windings of the road. As soon
as he had lost sight of him, he came to a full halt, greatly to the
dissatisfaction of his borrowed steed, whose heart was already warmed
for battle. Here the painter listened a moment, as if to gather some
tokens of the approach of others. A few straggling shouts came to his
ear from a vast distance behind. He hesitated an instant; the cries
of pursuit came nearer. He then dismounted, reversed the saddle on
the horse's body, gave him a lash and a shout, and away went the
liberated animal, leaving his rider standing in the middle of the
highway. Here, however, he did not long remain. Another chorus of
shouts, coming still nearer, reverberated through the woodland; and
without waiting for a fourth, the young artist instantly deserted the
road, and plunged into the wildest and deepest part of the hollow.
And now appeared the two lieutenants, rushing vociferously on, with
some two or three young men who were better mounted than others,
close at their heels. Then, strange to be said, came the zealous
Broadbrim, the spirit of whose lank steed seemed to grow with his
exertions, and who had left the rest far behind. It was the destiny
of this worthy personage, like the painter, here to end the labours
of the day; but with this important difference, that, whereas the
painter had relinquished the pursuit, because it was his will to do
so, the quaker, on the other hand, terminated his career, because it
was the will of his horse he should do so. In other words, this
highly republican animal, having debated in his body (for, being a
horse, he had no mind,) the absurdity of the burthen being all on one
side, and reflecting, that, as he himself could not ride, there was
no reason why he should be ridden, now began to broach his rebellious
principles in the most expressive language he could make use
of,--that is, in sundry curvets and escapades; the result of which
was, somewhat to the astonishment of honest Broadbrim, that the
magnanimous insurgent suddenly broke his base bonds, and fled away,
whinnying with the delight of freedom, while his oppressor, after
admiring the print his back had made in a spot by no means dusty, now
sat down pensively on the road-side, and began to ponder his
misfortunes.
"'The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!'" were the first
words he uttered; and he uttered them with much sincerity of
indignation. "Had the gallows been close by, thou ungrateful beast, I
believe thou wouldst have been just as malicious. Wilt thou never be
done thy tricks, White Surrey? Out upon thee, thou ass of a horse! I
have helped thee out of all manner of difficulties, and, in return,
thou never missest an opportunity of flinging me into one. 'A horse,
a horse, my kingdom for a horse!' Now am I in a quandary, like a fish
in a net.--And suppose some one of these malapert blue-jackets should
look into my saddle-bags, and pull out, one after another, first Tom
Hunting-shirt, then long-tailed Nehemiah, then Will Tapes, the
pedler, and then--and then, and then?--Hillo, you vagabond Hawk! you
skulking tories, that have fern-seed, and walk invisible! where are
ye? Now am I like a rat between six cats.--Come to me, and ye shall
hear the words of grace, the comfortable and fructifying words, ye
men of Belial, that hide your faces in woods and in desert
places!--Hearken to me, friend Gilbert, whom men call the Hawk of the
Hollow: does thee not perceive I am in great straits, and that I am
thy friend in the spirit, and will hold thine enemies very fast and
hard, and will peradventure strike one of them under the fifth rib,
so that he die?--Out, you inhuman rascal! you captain Gilbert! come
to my assistance, or,--'_paucas palabras_,'--I shall be hanged."
As the mysterious quaker proceeded in his musings, which he
occasionally vented aloud, his looks, fixed mournfully on the ground,
fell by chance upon a shrub-leaf close to the earth, the under
surface of which was turned up, looking white and glistening among
the green fronds. This he, at first, regarded with great
indifference; but having observed it a second time, a thought entered
his brain, which caused him to rise and advance towards it, to
examine whether it had been deranged by the winds, by the foot of a
beast, or by some more important agency. Its foot-stalk was broken;
and divers decaying leaves beneath it were crushed into the ground.
These appearances induced him to look about him with much care; and
the search terminated in the discovery of several foot-marks in the
damp soil, evidently impressed by a pair of moccasined feet, and that
very recently. This discovery infused singular animation into his
spirit, which was quickened by a sudden shout from the road behind.
He sprang behind a bush, until the comer, one of his late sentinels,
dashed by; then resuming the search, he found himself following a
human trail, that led him into such a labyrinth of bog and bramble,
as might have made him repent his presumption, had he possessed the
grace to repent any thing. He persisted however with much resolution,
and still made his way by the tracks, until the sudden appearance of
a huge rattlesnake, bruiting under his nose, startled him out of his
propriety and the path together. In a word, he soon proved himself to
be no woodman; and, in the course of five or ten minutes' walk, was
so completely lost and mazed among the depths of a wild swamp, as to
have lost even the power of extricating himself.
"'Ay, now,'" said he, with a groan, "'I am in Arden; the more fool I;
when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be
content.'"
Then looking about him disconsolately, he perceived, through the
trees, a little eminence, where he could rest himself, and whence, he
thought, he might discover some path out of the wilderness. He
proceeded towards it forthwith. It was a swell of land, on the summit
very rocky, covered with beech and maple trees, and with an
undergrowth of spice-wood and its fragrant sister, the sassafras.
Among these he thought he heard the babbling of a little
water-course; and this sound he hailed with satisfaction, for he was
already tormented with thirst. As he passed up the hill, he stepped
into a little nook, not above a dozen paces in circuit, enclosed by
rocks and bushes, and so overshadowed by beeches as to form a
thick-roofed grotto, on the floor of which sparkled a meager rill,
flowing from a spring at the bottom of a rock.
An abrupt turn round a mass of protruding stone brought the wandering
man of peace unexpectedly upon this scene; but before he had time to
survey it, he was suddenly seized upon by an arm of iron, and hurled
upon the ground. The next moment, a strong hand was at his throat, a
heavy knee on his chest, and a long, bright knife gleamed like a
flash of lightning before his eyes.
CHAPTER XIX.
That you are rogues,
And infamous base rascals, (there's the point now,)
I take it, is confess'd.----
May a poor huntsman, with a merry heart,
A voice shall make the forest ring about him,
Get leave to live amongst ye?--true as steel, boys!
BEGGARS' BUSH.
"Speak--who and what are you? and what seek you here?" said the harsh
voice of the conqueror.
The intruder looked up in his face with some wonder, and beheld the
features of a man of middle age, very dark and fierce of aspect, with
long black locks of hair hanging from his temples, wild,
Indian-looking eyes, and a mouth expressive of as much inherent
ferocity as was ever betrayed by the visage even of a red-man.
"Speak," repeated the apparition, impatiently, "or never speak more!"
To this the prisoner replied with less confusion of mind than
difficulty of articulation,--
"Hark ye, Mr. Green, or Gray, or Black,--for a deuced black face you
have!--or, if you like that better, Mr. Hawk-of-the-Hollow Gilbert,
'what is the reason that you use me thus?' 'I would be friends with
you, and have your love;'--but not while I am on my back, to be sure.
'Call you this backing of your friends?' 'Slife, sir, take away your
fingers, and let me up: I am Iago, the 'honest, honest' man. At any
rate, be so civil as to consider, that, though your knee may find its
cushion agreeable enough, my lungs do not."
"And what will they think of a knife in them?" cried the fierce
captor, without relaxing his hold. "You were among the hounds that
were hunting me!"
"Ay; and had they caught you, I should have been among the hunters
that were hanging you,--provided they had not tucked me up first.
Hark ye, friend Hawk, I should have known you better, had you stuck
to the gray whig; I remember you of old, Mr. Green, the trader. I am
an honest man; ask Sir Guy Carleton else; if he don't know Ephraim
Patch, who is just as honest as myself, why then ask him about one
Leonidas Sterling, an old friend and correspondent of his worship at
Philadelphia. 'Slife, sir, I tell you I am a true man."
"Give me some proof, and I will release you. Trifle with me, and you
are a dead man."
"Put your hand into the right pocket of my vest," cried the prostrate
sufferer, "and you will find it."
The conqueror did as directed, and drew forth a guinea.
"You asked for proof," said the other, with a grin, "and there you
have it! Were I a rebel, you would have found naught but a roll of
beggarly continentals; had there been more, I should have been an
honest quaker, and neither rebel nor tory. Are you satisfied? I came
here to seek you, and save my neck, which is in danger. There are men
among the rebel officers that know me; and to be known, sir,--'by
these pickers and stealers,' 'tis true!--'twere as good as a word to
Jack Ketch, under the sign and seal of a State governor! Captain
Gilbert, I come to volunteer my services under your command; and the
sooner you introduce me to your rascals the better."
"Rise, and behold them!" said the refugee, leaping to his feet; and
friend Ephraim Patch, or Mr. Leonidas Sterling, as he had called
himself, looking up, beheld to his extreme surprise, for he knew not
how they got there, two men standing hard by, in green hunting
shirts, with each a hatchet in his hand, as if ready to use them, and
countenances grimly forbidding.
"'The earth hath bubbles, as the water has!'" he
cried,--"'Peas-blossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustard-seed!' 'I cry your
worships' mercy!' Your hands, gentlemen: I am as honest a scoundrel
as any of you, though somewhat more unfortunate."
"Honest or false," said the refugee, giving a sign with his hand, on
which the two instantly stepped from the den, and were concealed
among the bushes, "it signifies but little to me. You are among
friends, if you speak true; otherwise, among hangmen.--Your name is
Poke?"
"'That's he that was Othello'--a poor servant of the word, an
expounder of the book, a sower of good seed on the way-side," said
the Proteus, in the tones of the quondam Nehemiah.
"You are Tapes, the pedler, caught stealing through the American
lines at Morristown, and in good hopes of dying on an oak-tree?"
"True for you, captain Gilbert!" cried the other, with a stare; "but
where did you learn that? Hah! I see! the roguish refugee that
assailed young Asgill's guards, while he was riding out on parole,
and would have plucked him out of the bonds of Egypt, had not the
fool gripped tight to his honour, very much as a drowning man hugs a
ship's anchor, at the bottom of a river, and so remained in
captivity.--What, captain! was that one of _your_ clap-traps?"
"You are the impudent scoundrel who has been cutting throats, and
laying them at honest men's doors? cried the other, without regarding
the question.
"Softly, captain--a mere matter of accident."
"And, moreover," said the refugee, sternly, "you are the masking,
blundering meddler, who has twice drawn the hue and cry after
myself?"
"Verily, so it appears," cried Sterling; "but now that we have met at
last, we shall play no longer at cross-purposes."
"What seek you here? Why have you returned to a place where your life
is in danger?"
"Zounds, sir!" cried Sterling, stoutly, "you ask questions enough to
puzzle a regiment. But here is my whole story,--the history of my
deeds, dangers, and desires. I am a gentlemanly scoundrel and
unfortunate man, like others that shall be nameless; and after
seeking my fortune in divers parts of the world, and making a grand
sensation on the boards of the regimental theatre among Howe's
officers at Philadelphia, I e'en consented to take service under the
King, and therefore staid behind, when he ran away, and have been
ever since a particular confidential correspondent of the royal
generals at New York."
"That is to say, a spy?"
"Why, if you like the word better, e'en use it; the more elegant word
is, correspondent. I am told, you have an excellent friend in
Congress, a certain Colonel Richard Falconer"----The refugee's brow
grew as black as midnight----"Well, sir, this gentleman is e'en an
excellent friend of mine also; and having somewhat of the cunning of
the devil in him, became busy, one morning, and entirely ruined my
fortune and reputation together; in other words, he discovered and
denounced me, threw me into prison, and volunteered to help me to
paradise. I broke jail, concealed myself for a time; until, one
night, accident drove me into his presence. I found the good-natured
gray-beard alone, studying my case as hard as he could, and out of my
own papers! I am quite a peaceable man, captain, 'yet have I in me
something dangerous;' I became choleric, and finding a sword hanging
up just at my hand, I took the liberty of thrusting it into his
gizzard."
"Fool!" said the refugee, grasping him by the arm, "the throat is the
only true place!--But, hark ye," he added, abating the wolfish sneer
that accompanied his words, "you robbed as well as murdered?"
"Ay, 'by St. Paul,' I did," said Sterling, with infinite composure;
"having declared war, I made free with the spoils of victory; and the
Colonel's purse has lasted very well, all circumstances considered;
though, wo's me, that say it! besides the guinea in my waistcoat
pocket, there are but two more remaining, and they on the back of
White Surrey. Concerning White Surrey, you must know, he is a devil
born, like yourself,--I mean to say, myself; fleet of foot, untiring
of spirit, and nothing against him but his ugliness and starved
appearance, and, by the lord, some touch of the Marplot, especially
in times of trouble. I could not think of leaving him behind me; and
I was on my way to the rogue he called master, with a whole
theatrical property-room on my back, when I stumbled in the dark on
my friend Falconer. You must know, I had a woodman's dress on"----
"Hah!" muttered the refugee: "it was not all conscience, then?" Then
changing his tone, he continued, "You have said enough. You have
sought to escape, and find yourself unable?"
"Ay; and hearing the Hawks of Hawk-Hollow were out again, I even took
counsel from despair, painted White Surrey's legs over again, and
came hither to throw myself among them. Faith, I knew Hawk-Hollow
would be the fairest place to seek them in. I volunteer, captain, I
volunteer; but I hope you have a stronger force than Moth and
Mustard-seed? I volunteer, and, by the lord, I am ready to go into
action as soon as you order. But would to the lord I could catch
White Surrey.--Harkee, captain, can you hide a man, at a moment's
warning, out of the sight of a gallows?"
"Ay: there are dens hereabout deep and dark enough for a royal
refugee to take his rest in."
"Hark ye, captain; give me a carbine, and I'll do you a service. I
have heard," he added, with a shrug meant to be significant and
confidential, "of that matter betwixt Falconer and your
black-eyed"----
"Villain!" cried the refugee, seizing him by the arm, and giving him
a look that curdled his blood, "you are venturing upon a subject that
will bring the knife to your throat! Pho, you are a fool;" he added,
checking his impetuosity, and grinning,
'A strange, uncomely, jawbone smile;'
"we are Christians here, and we forgive our enemies."
"Forgive?" cried Sterling, "come now, captain Gilbert, that's
slippery. I know you better; and I know you have been wronged."
"You are deceived," said Oran Gilbert, laying his hand, with another
ominous smile, on the volunteer's shoulder, "I am not an Indian, but
a white man, and as you may have seen, forbearing and forgiving. They
have told you, (for they have told the same to _me_,) that I am a
wolf's whelp, an eater of men's flesh, and a drinker of blood; and
that I never pardoned an injury, though I had grown gray thinking of
it. Lies, lies all! I can walk by my father's house, and see the sons
of his destroyer sitting in the doors; and yet carry myself like the
best Christian of them all: I can be told, too, even by a
foul-mouthed dolt like yourself, how shame and sorrow, came into the
house, and afterwards death,--and yet feel no hotter for vengeance.
All this I can do, because I have a bad memory for matters twenty
years old, or more.--Look you," he continued, dropping his tone of
irony, and adopting that of menace; "I can forgive treachery as old
as that; but I remember a nave's trick a full year. If there be any
deceit in you, look well to yourself during that time. You were
better to have been hanged as a spy, than to come to me as one.--You
shall see!"
"'Slife, sir!" cried Sterling, "you have no consideration for a man's
honour!"
But while he spoke, the refugee had raised his finger to his lips,
and drawn forth a low whistle; which was almost immediately answered
by the appearance of the two individuals who had been in the covert
before.
"Bring up the prisoner, and let the men follow," said Gilbert; and
they immediately retired.
"Prisoner!" cried Sterling, in surprise, "Male or female?"
"You have volunteered your services among the royal refugees," said
Gilbert, turning again to Sterling, and displaying a sardonic grin:
"you shall be put on duty forthwith.--Have you ever killed a man?"
"Dozens of 'em!" replied the other, promptly; when seeing the tory
stare in surprise, he fell into a laugh, saying, "That is, not in
your barbarous, blood-thirsty way; but in the heroic, poetic,
dramatic manner: in which mode I have also fought divers battles,
from Bosworth Field to Dunsinane. No, captain, as to the real
red-paint, as we call it on the boards, I have shed no more than a
lamb, save in the matter of my friend, Colonel Falconer; but I am in
the mood to learn: I have had a great appetite for war and glory come
on me of a sudden. Hark ye, captain: my friend Falconer's son was one
of the chasing party, and by and by he will be returning to the
Hollow."
"Ay!" said the refugee; "what then?"
"I like that doctrine of the savages," said Sterling, with an amiable
smile, "which teaches one who has a wrong to revenge, how unnecessary
it is to be particular as to the individual he is to retaliate on.
Now the son, I take it, is a good substitute for the father; and to
my mind, it would be a pretty thing to lie behind a bush on the
road-side, with a musket or pistol, as he passed by, and then,
'Like a rat without a tail,
To do, to do, to do!'
Now, supposing, as my commander, you should order me to such a
service, why,--'_sessa_, let the world slide,'--I should obey; that
is, provided you stood by, to help me to one of those dens deep and
dark enough for a refugee to take his rest in."
"If the young ape has done you a wrong," said Gilbert, coolly, "shoot
him the first opportunity. You will have a chance by and by. You say,
your horse is good and swift?"
"The best, were it not for his deviltry, ever bestridden by a
gentleman in trouble. And then, captain, the ungrateful scoundrel
(sure I might have escaped a dozen times, had it not been for my
concern for him!) has all my munitions of war upon his back,--some
six or seven coats and wigs of approved manufacture, a pair of
pistols and a stage-dagger, a gold sword-hilt and two new tragedies
in manuscript, a pair of green spectacles, and a horn pair
uncoloured, a bottle of good brandy, a bible, a copy of Shakspeare, a
fiddle, and my friend Falconer's two guineas."
"You must recover him," said the tory captain: "but now for duty. You
shall see how treachery is rewarded by the royal refugees!"
As he spoke, there came into the den eight men attired like the two
first, who were included in the number, all of them with green stuff
shirts, edged and furbelowed with wolf, raccoon, and other skins,
leather leggings and moccasins, and fur caps with hawks' feathers
sticking in them. Each bore a thick rifle in his hand, and had a long
knife in his pouch-belt, as well as a light axe suspended,
quiver-wise, over his shoulder. They were dark, fierce-looking men,
and perhaps an unusual degree of sternness was communicated to their
features by the fearful duty they had now in hand. They led with
them, or rather carried, for he was bound hand and foot, a ninth man,
dressed in many respects like themselves, though he wore an old
military hat, and was without leggings or moccasins. His countenance
was as rude as those of the others; but instead of exhibiting the
same cold and stern resolution, betrayed a look of dogged sullenness,
mingled with anxiety.
As soon as he was brought into the little inclosure, he was tossed,
with but little ceremony, at the feet of the tory captain, the band
forming a circle around,--each, as if by previous concert, drawing
the tomahawk from his back, and resting his left hand upon his rifle.
"Oho!" said Sterling, looking into the prisoner's face, "whom have we
here? 'By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster!' 'Most
reverend seignior, do you know my voice?' 'Oho, my sprightly Scot of
Scots, Douglas, that run'st o' horseback up a hill perpendicular!'
Why this rascal was he, one John Parker, a soldier on the lines, that
nabbed me, being too drunk to understand the claims of my coat to
better treatment. Oh, you vagabond, I knew you would come to the
gallows!"
"Raise him on his feet," said the tory leader; then turning to the
volunteer, he drew from his bosom a soiled and crumpled paper, which
he put into Sterling's hands, saying, with a sternness that was
perhaps assumed to cover the shame he felt at his own ignorance,--
"Read it.--Our merry men here can make nothing of such pothooks. Read
it aloud; and then we'll proceed to judgment."
The volunteer obeyed, and succeeded in deciphering a scrawl, of a
style of composition and penmanship so similar to that Miss Falconer
had shown the Captain's daughter, that, had he ever seen the latter,
he could have been at no loss to identify the correspondent. It was
brief, and clear, and to the following effect:
"Honourable Madam to command--
"This here is the letter what I promised to put under the bush; and I
put it this night, the 3d of July, in the year of our Lord, Anno
Domini as before. The rendezvous is a place called the Tarrapin Hole,
a swamp on the east of the road, six or eight miles above Captain
Loring's. You turn off from the road at a place where a fresh blazed
beech tree grows by a rock; but the path is astonishing twistified,
and not fit for horse, but can be surrounded. I had some thoughts of
deserting, for I reckon some of these dogs is suspicious; but that
might throw them into a panic, and so drive them to the hills, where
the devil himself (begging pardon for swearing) could not find them.
They say the captain (that's the Hawk) is in the village, or to be
there to-morrow, when it would be easy to take him--(remember the red
hat; as for the horse, there is no depending on that, for he has 'em
scattered all about in depots;) and then the rest is nothing, seeing
as how they are in some of a panic already, as not knowing what is to
turn up. Howsomever nevertheless, there's one thing I've found out
quite astonishing; and that is, that our lieutenant, a most impudent
chap as ever you saw, walks about openly, and lives at the old widow
Bell's, and"----
"Hah! enough!" cried the leader, suddenly snatching the epistle out
of the volunteer's hands. "Have we more traitors than one among us?
Who has forgotten orders, and told secrets to new men?"
"I, captain," said one of the men, breaking silence. "This here John
Parker and myself were boys together in Monmouth; and so, for old
companion's sake, I was more free about the lieutenant, and other
matters, than stood in orders, not thinking there could any harm come
of it. But I knock under to punishment, seeing the man has been
betraying us all, and am ready to do justice on him with knife, rope,
hatchet, or rifle-butt; though it goes ag'in' my conscience to take a
man that's tied up like a shambled ewe."
"Cut the thongs from his legs," said Oran Gilbert, "or slack them a
little. John Parker, I give you three minutes to pray. What, Tom
Staples, have you never a rope here that might serve the traitor's
turn?"
"I have been twisting one all the morning," said the man who had
spoken, displaying a sort of cable constructed of the shreds of a
blanket; "for I hoped it might be _that_, rather than knifing."
"Good Lord!" cried Sterling, shocked by the sudden preparation for
such a catastrophe, "you don't mean to hang the poor devil?"
The sound of a friendly and interceding voice seemed to thrill the
baffled traitor out of his apathy. He stared at the pseudo-quaker,
and at once displayed the reckless hardihood of his character, though
his old friend Staples was at that very moment forming a noose in the
rope, by laughing and saying,
"Well done, old Tapes, is that _you_? You're no Johnny Raw, I see;
but you'll come to the acorns yet! Don't go for to make a fuss about
the hanging; for, you see, it's according to law, and hanging's the
word; and these here raggamuffin refugees must have their way; and so
let 'em hang and be d----d! that's my notion. But look ye, Mr.
Captain Gilbert, and all you tories, and you Tom Staples into the
bargain, here's a notion of mine: you see, you're come to the hanging
too late, for all the good it is to do; for the thing's done up so
cleverly already, you're just as good as dead men, you are, damme;
for I've fixed you in a hole you can't creep out of without my
assistance, you can't, damme. Now, captain, here's a bargain I'll
make: you'll just spare my life, and drum me out of camp in an
honourable, soldierly way; and, in return, I'll show you the way out
of the trap; for, damme, comrades, you're surrounded: and so we'll
square matters betwixt us, and say nothing more about it."
"Peace, rogue," said Oran Gilbert; "were the whole army round us, you
should have your dues. String him up to the oak tree."
"Well now, captain," said Parker, "that's what I call being
unreasonable. But some of you give me a drink at a canteen, for
there's no use being strung up thirsty: and, Tom Staples, give me
your cuffers, in token there's no ill-will between us; and let's have
a quid of tobacco to chaw on.--Hark! there captain! do you hear? The
road's in a swarm, I tell you! That, I reckon, was the squeak of
captain Caliver; you can hear him a mile, of a clear day; and, you
may depend on it, he'll have some of you, afore I've done kicking.
Won't you hear to reason?"
The coolness of the man was, to Sterling at least, astonishing. They
were fitting the halter round his neck, when a faint shout from the
road was heard, but whether from a new batch of pursuers, or from the
old ones now returning, could not be determined. He took the
opportunity afforded by the sudden surprise to beg Staples 'to be in
no such fool's hurry with his blanket, and slack it off a little, for
a word with the captain.'
"Harkee, captain," said he, "it's the last offer I can make. Now
let's argue the case."
"Up with the babbling fool!" cried Gilbert, who had been hearkening
attentively to the sounds.
"You won't?" cried the hardened desperado--"why then here's my
service to you, and the devil take us all to supper
together.--Hillo-ah-ho! Murder! Refugees!--in the swamp here, quick!"
He elevated his voice to a yell that caused the very leaves to shake
above him; and would undoubtedly have given the alarm he intended to
those on the road, had not the refugee captain snatched an axe from
the nearest hand, and instantly felled him to the earth. Then, giving
his orders anew, the wretch, before he had recovered his
consciousness, shot up among the leaves of an oak tree; and Sterling,
who watched the whole proceeding with mingled admiration and alarm,
could not trace a single writhing or quivering of limb afterwards.
"'Slife!" said he, "you killed the fellow with the hatchet! But,
captain, concerning that surrounding; I don't like that"----
"Peace!" said the tory; "the first duty you are to learn is, to hold
your tongue--the next, to obey." He gave the wild band a signal, and
they instantly betook themselves to the bushes, or to hiding-places
of which Sterling was ignorant. "This man came to me as a deserter,
and was therefore trusted by one who should have been wiser: he has
met his fate. You I can trust, because I know you are a doomed man
like myself. You must recover your horse."
"Ay, faith; but how?--'Slife! what's the matter now?" he cried,
observing his companion start suddenly at what seemed to him the
whistle of a wood-robin, and look eagerly from the covert. The sound
was repeated once, and once again; and then the refugee, turning to
him, said,--
"You must claim him. Get you quickly to the wood-side, and follow on
after the others, so as to recover him before they open your
saddle-bags."
"Death and the devil! you are joking! What! run my head into the
lion's jaws? and just to recover a vagabond horse, that flings me
whenever the humour seizes him?"
"If you lose your horse, you lose yourself. We can be burthened by no
footmen."
"Footmen? why I see no horses!"
"Ay: but away with you. Seek the men you came with, and return with
them to Elsie Bell's."
"God bless my soul!" said Sterling, in alarm; "that young knave
Falconer will smoke me in a moment."
"Knock him on the head then."
"And then the other lieutenant, that was so curious with the spots of
White Surrey's legs! a marvellous shrewd fellow, I assure you."
"Why, do the same with him then; and stay not here babbling like a
helpless boy. Protect yourself. Fear not: your present coat suits you
better than the parson's. Return to Elsie Bell's, secure your horse
and other property, and see that you feed him well; by midnight you
will be called for, and placed in safety. Keep a firm countenance, as
I think you can, and you are in no danger."
"Ay; but what excuse shall I make for leaving the road, and diving
into these damnable abodes of refugees and rattlesnakes?"
"Tell them any lie you will,--your horse ran away with you into the
woods, and then----Or stay," he added, looking grimly up to the body
of the spy; "tell them you were seized by the Hawks of Hawk-Hollow,
and that you saw them hang their tool. Bring them to the spot, and
let them bury the carrion: it is good they should know what value we
set on traitors. And, hark ye, tell them we mustered at least a
hundred strong, and that we stole off across the road, swearing
vengeance upon the village. Mind you, the village: make them believe
we are marching to surprise it by night. Now, get you gone--off with
you. Set your face to the west--there; walk onwards five hundred
paces, without looking to the right or the left, and you will find
yourself on the road. Begone, and look not behind you."
The volunteer perceiving that remonstrance with such a commander
might prove as dangerous as it was really unavailing, turned to
depart, but not before he had seen the refugee clap his fingers to
his lips, and draw forth a whistle similar to that which had
attracted his own attention. There was one injunction, however, which
the retreating Sterling thought it entirely superfluous to obey. He
had no sooner reached a spot proper for such a proceeding, than he
came to a stand, and cast his eye backward towards the den. He beheld
a light figure ascending the knoll among the bushes and under the
embowering trees; and just before it vanished into the greater gloom
of the grot, a sunbeam, peeping through the branches, fell brightly
over it, revealing to his somewhat astonished eyes the person of that
identical youth whose mysterious hints had been of such service in
awaking the fears and stimulating the energies of the hard-beset
Nehemiah.
"Zounds!" he cried, "have we any such gentlemanly fellows in the
confederacy! Oho! I recollect now," he added, conning over the words
of the letter,--"'our lieutenant, a most impudent chap as ever you
saw, walks about openly, lives at the Traveller's Rest, and,'--ay,
faith, there was something about that old fool, Captain Loring, and a
girl. Very well, young one, you will be hanged like the rest of us!"
So saying, and murmuring other expressions of a similar nature, he
made his way to the roadside, almost at the very spot where a
'_blazed_' beech-tree flung its silver limbs over a rock.
CHAPTER XX.
If thou long'st
To have the story of thy infamous fortunes
Serve for discourse in ordinaries and taverns,
Thou art in the way; or to confound thy name,
Keep on, thou canst not miss it;
Keep the left hand still, it will bring thee to it.
_The Roaring Girl, or Moll Cut-purse_.
With a better fortune than had awaited the volunteer, Herman Hunter
stepped into the grot; but with much less display of heroism; for he
no sooner found himself in presence of the renowned Hawk of the
Hollow than he bent his eyes upon the ground, and stood silent before
him.
"You are come at last!" said the refugee, giving him a piercing look,
and with a voice none the less expressive of indignation for being
subdued to the lowest tones, as if he feared a witness even in the
dead malefactor; "you are come at last; and the son of my father
comes with my enemies and hunters!"
"So I come," said the painter, raising his eyes, and speaking firmly;
"I come as the friend, who, having saved you from one danger, desires
to rescue you from another yet greater. I warned you last
night,--nay, I sent you word long since, that you were watched: I
betrayed a confidence reposed in me by one it was a double duplicity
to deceive, in order that you might escape the net that was secretly
closing around you. Nay, I discovered the presence and machinations
of the daring spy, who but this morning was selling you into the
hands of your enemies; I found his letter, and left it where you were
sure to obtain it."----
"Ay; while you were yourself playing the fool among the Independents,
and leaving me to the care of a stupid ploughman and a dotish old
woman!"
"It was all I could," said Herman: "I knew it was better I should be
on the ground, when the officers came. Had I not been there, to join
the first of the hunters, as you call them, and to fire an alarm in
the hollow, neither your own cunning nor the fleetness of the roan
horse could have saved you from capture."
"It was bravely done," said the refugee, with a softer voice, "and it
will excuse what is passed. Where found you this dog's paper? and
how?"
"Near the park-gate, under a bush, where I saw the man hide it, as I
approached the place by accident. This fellow knows all your haunts:
will he not bring the troops to this very spot?"
The refugee laughed, and at that moment Herman heard a noise on the
bough of the oak tree, as of some animal rending away the bark; and
looking up, he beheld what he had not before seen in the gloom,--the
body of the dead traitor swinging with a sort of jerking, convulsive
motion, as if still alive. The rope had slipped a little along the
bough, and though soon arrested by some knot or other roughness, it
was some moments before the motion entirely ceased. The dreadful and
unexpected spectacle of a man, who, it was evident, the painter
thought, had made his escape, thus hanging dead before him, filled
him with horror, and he exclaimed at once,
"Oh, Oran! Oran! it is this dreadful cruelty of spirit which has made
you what you are,--which has made us all what we are! For God's sake,
let us cut him down, and see if he be yet alive."
"He was stiff before the rope touched his neck," said Oran, grimly;
"I never struck _twice_ with the hatchet. Let him hang: he died the
death of a spy and betrayer. I have invited the county to his
death-bed!"
"Daring, as well as cruel! Why do you linger here? It is plain, you
are surrounded: before the sun sets the whole county will be out;
and, to-morrow, there will not be a den of the woods, or a hollow of
the hills, left unvisited."
"Why, this is what I want!" cried the fierce outlaw; "the general has
tied my hands to act only on the defensive; and here are forty devils
with heads of iron and fingers of fire, that are lying asleep in the
woods like winter bears, for want of something to warm the blood in
them. I am ready."
"Ready to die!" said Herman, solemnly; "ready to throw away your life
at the bidding of a master, or the prompting of an insane passion.
Fly, while you yet may: the attempt to rescue young Asgill must be
now fruitless, as it is needless--even the Americans say, his life is
in no danger. Fly, then, Oran, and give up your bloody designs in
this fatal Hollow. Hearken to me, Oran,"----
"Hearken to _me_," said the outcast, sternly. "Has your blood turned
to milk, and your heart to water? Are your wounds healed, your bones
knit, your strength restored, and do you talk of leaving Hawk-Hollow
at this moment? What is this they say of you? You were among the
foremost of the rejoicing fools at the Hawks' Nest--have you turned
American?"
"I was born upon these hills; but I will not strike the friends and
countrymen of my father."
"Will you strike his foes?"
"They are in the grave with him," said the youth, sorrowfully; "and
he has forgiven them."
"They are upon the earth, and his spirit is not satisfied!" cried
Oran, with the wild energy, and almost in the favourite language, of
an Indian orator. "Have you rested under his roof? have you sat in
his flower-garden? have you walked on his path by the Run-side? have
you spoken with the people that drove him in his old age from his
fireside? Hyland Gilbert! they broke his heart, and then trampled him
to death. Will you not do him right and vengeance?"
"Oran!"----
"Changeling!" cried the refugee, with a scowl of savage contempt; "if
you have not the feelings of a man, you have at least the gewgaw
brain of a boy. Look!" he continued, drawing from his bosom, and
displaying with a sneering grin, a roll of written parchment,
decorated with the due pomp of martialness; "you begged for the toy
that would make you a servant of the king; and here it is. Take it;
and for the sake of a red coat and feather, do what you would not for
the name and honour of your father."
Hyland--for the assumed name of the young Gilbert must now be
dropped--recoiled from the emblem of distinction as much as from the
frowning eyes of the speaker, but answered firmly,--
"When I was in the Islands, it is true, I desired the king's
commission; and, it is also true, I left them to obtain it; and had I
reached the royal army at my first landing, no doubt I should have
accepted it. But it was my fate to be cast ashore far in the south;
and I esteem it no bad fortune that I obeyed a whim of adventure, and
made my way through my rebel countrymen (they are _ours_, Oran,) to
this spot. I have thus been made acquainted with some of the
principles on which this war is contested; whereby, I thank heaven, I
have been spared the shedding of innocent blood in an unjust cause."
"Do you say this to me?" cried the refugee, with a wild laugh.
"Oran!" said the young man earnestly, "your heart is not with the
side you have espoused; and fierce and cruel as may be your acts,
they are, they must be, at variance with your conscience. A moment of
fury drove you into a cause you abhor; and if you give the bloodiest
proofs of your fidelity, you are impelled to them only by remorse and
despair."
"You are a philosopher!" said the renegade, with another bitter
laugh; "but we will play the fool no longer. Will you have the
commission? See, it has the royal mark upon it!"
"Oran," said Hyland, mournfully, "after yourself, I am the last of my
father's house. You ask me to do what has brought the others to their
graves--to early and ignominious graves; and what, though you have
been spared, has left you the prey of shame and sorrow. Why should I
strike those men, who, besides fighting against tyrannous oppression,
(such it was, Oran,) are also the children of the same soil--our
countrymen and brothers?"
"You are the last of the seven," said the refugee, taking both the
young man's hands into his, and looking at him with mingled affection
and anger; "four of your brothers were slain--one of them hanged upon
a gibbet--and all by 'our countrymen and brothers!' The fifth--look
you, Hyland, the fifth--the second-born and the beloved, whose name
was given you, that you might never forget him, fell in battle,
saving the life of one of these--my countryman and my brother!"
The face of the outcast blackened, and Hyland trembled in his glance;
he stepped out of the nook, and leading the young man along,
conducted him up the hill to a place where a vista through the trees,
looking over the green swamp, disclosed a glimpse of the blue ridgy
cliffs of the Kittatinny, to which he pointed.
"Come with me to that mountain," he said, "and when you stand upon
the summit, gazing to the right and to the left, you will look upon
two graves. One of them lies in the desert, among the hills: I
planted a pine tree on it, and you can see its blue head afar off. Do
you remember who sleeps in it?"
"I do," said Hyland, with emotion; "it is my brother."
"And do you bethink you what laid him there?"
"His humanity and his noble heart."
"He died," said Oran Gilbert--"he died that a villain might live; and
you call that villain 'my countryman and brother!'"
"No," said Hyland, with some of his wild brother's spirit; "I except
_him_."
"Then look to the left," continued Oran, with a glance of painful
humiliation: "on the brook, and in a little bower, there is a second
grave."
"It is the grave of my poor wronged sister!" cried Hyland,
impetuously.
"Of your sister, and of ----. Ha, ha! Is not this a merry subject for
two brothers to talk on! 'My countryman and brother' destroyed her
and fled."
"May heaven pardon him," cried Hyland; "but I cannot."
"We buried her in secret, and in night, that none might look upon her
shame, or upon ours," said the refugee; "and that night came into the
world her brother, whom we called Hyland, that we might better
remember her destroyer."
"Oran! Oran!"
"Your mother," continued the elder brother, with a cruel pertinacity,
"loved the girl well, and died of sorrow for her. My 'countrymen and
brothers' pointed at our shame; they visited the sins of the children
upon the father, and drove him forth in his old age, a childless and
ruined man."
"They did," said the youth; "he came to the island, and he died in my
arms."
"My 'countrymen and brothers,'" added Oran, with a ferocious sneer,
"have left the oldest and youngest to weep for the others.--Here is
the commission----We will avenge them!"
For a moment Hyland seemed to share the fire of the outcast; for a
moment he grasped the parchment which the other had put into his
hand. His face flushed,--then turned pale; he hesitated,--faltered;
the badge of honour fell to the earth; and clasping his hands
together, he looked at Oran imploringly, and said,
"My father died in my arms, and charged me, with his last breath, to
forget that he had been wronged."
"It was the weakness of his death-hour," said Oran.
"He bade me," continued the youth, "leave his enemies to God, and the
destroyer of his peace to his fate."
"Look at his fate!" cried the refugee: "wealth surrounds him, and he
is envied for his happiness; while you are ashamed of your father's
name, and I am poor, and abhorred, and miserable."
"We will go to the island, and forget"----
"Will you have the commission?" said Oran, abruptly. "You have youth,
talents, education and fortune,--and will rise. This commission is to
serve among the royal refugees; but if you carry it bravely at the
first bout, I have the General's word you shall be transferred to the
line, with a fair field for promotion."
"Look, Oran," said the youth, manfully, "I will not take the
commission, nor will I trust your commander's promises. You have
served him from the beginning; and none have served him better. How
has he rewarded you?--You are still a captain of refugees!"
A shadow of humiliation passed over the face of the renegade; but he
answered without emotion.
"I sought nothing better, nor am I fit for promotion. My station is
where my habits and inclinations put me,--among the free rangers. But
you have learning, youth, ambition; and are capable of training into
discipline."
"I will not take the commission," said Hyland, with increasing
resolution. "I have been enough with our people,--with the
Americans,--to know that their cause is just, and holy, and is
prevailing. Nay, you must know, that, at this moment, commissioners
are deliberating over the preliminaries of negotiation, and that
peace must soon be concluded."
"It is false," said the refugee, fiercely; "a trick of the
ministers,--a common stratagem."
"True, or false, then, yet am I resolved to shed no blood in the
quarrel; and, certainly, I will take no commission to distress the
people of this neighbourhood. Oran, I am resolved; I will not fight;
and I adjure you by the last wish of our poor father, and by your own
hopes of future quiet, that you give up your schemes of blood, and
leave this fatal valley for ever. Disband your followers; and take
heed you be not suddenly deserted by your employers."
"Boy!" said the outlaw, "you are not white-livered, or you would not
say these things to me! Look you, I know your folly: it is not for
me,--not because you love liberty and peace,--not because you have
laid to heart the dotish words of a half crazed father,--that you are
so cold and shameless; but because you have set your eyes on the baby
face of a girl, who will laugh at you, when the last fit of your
folly is over. Hark you,--read me this knavish letter, and see what
is already said of you."
"I have read it," said the young man, faltering.
"Ay, but read it again: let me know how far your madness has been
talked of." And Hyland, summoning courage, took the letter and read
it, though his embarrassment increased at the paragraph concerning
himself, which had caused Oran to snatch it so suddenly from the
hands of the volunteer. This paragraph, couched in the coarsest
terms, expressed a knowledge of his affections, which had alarmed him
at first excessively, though, it was probable, it was nothing more
than the shrewd guess of a keen observer; and it concluded by showing
how easily he might be 'nabbed, while at his gallivanting.'
"And this, then," cried the refugee, "it is that makes you so tame,
so spiritless! Poor fool, could you look on none but the betrothed of
a Falconer? Look you, boy, you are in a bear-trap, and the log will
soon be on your back: with this baby fancy, shameful and
dishonourable, you are gulling yourself into perdition."
"Oran," cried the young man, throwing himself upon the wild man's
mercy, "this poor girl is betrothed against her will; and if no
friend stands by her, there will be another broken heart laid by the
side of Jessie. Do not scoff at me, or reproach me: she saved my
life, she has treated me with a sister's kindness and trust; and if
she will suffer me to aid her, I will rescue her from her misery,
though I die for it."
"Do what you will," said Oran, with a gloomy frown: "though you had
her heart and love, what will she say to you, when this cunning
daughter of a villain, that sent yonder Parker to the rope, ferrets
out your secret, and shows you to be a son of the Gilberts? Nay, what
will others say to you? It is better to die as a soldier, than a
spy!"
"I am no spy," said Hyland; "and when the time comes for disclosure,
I will not fear to acknowledge my name."
"It will soon come," said the refugee. "Go," he added, sternly; "you
are rushing upon destruction. Save yourself as you can, till
midnight; and then take the commission, or be lost. Begone from this
place; it will be soon full of soldiers--I have sent for them; and
already they are coming.--Brother," he said, relenting, as the young
man turned to depart: he strode after him and took him by the hand:
"What have you or I to do with the love of woman? This is but a
folly.--You have no friend or kinsman left to advise or help
you.--Well, if the girl be willing to fly, why, put her upon a fleet
horse, and to-morrow she shall be beyond the reach of a Falconer. It
shall not be said, I deserted you, even in your folly."
How much further the wild and flinty outlaw might have been softened
by the distress he saw pictured on his brother's face, cannot be
told. The gentler feeling of affection beginning to yearn in his
bosom, was chased away by a sudden sound like the flourish of a
distant trumpet, which came trembling over the forest-leaves.
"Away," he cried hastily; "the curs are coming, and the troop with
them. Dive into the swamp, and meet them on the road. To-night you
shall see me."
So saying, he bounded down the hill with the activity of a
mountain-buck, and was almost instantly lost to sight. The brother,
crossing the swamp and brook, made his way to the road, some distance
above the spot where he had dismounted.
END OF VOL. I.
THE HAWKS OF HAWK-HOLLOW.
A TRADITION OF PENNSYLVANIA.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "CALAVAR," AND "THE INFIDEL."
Where dwellest thou?----
Under the canopy,--i' the city of kites and crows.
_Coriolanus_.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
_Philadelphia_:
CAREY, LEA, & BLANCHARD.
1835.
Entered according to the act of Congress, in the year 1835, by CAREY,
LEA, & BLANCHARD, in the clerk's office of the district court for the
eastern district of Pennsylvania.
_I. Ashmead & Co. Printers_.
THE HAWKS OF HAWK-HOLLOW.
CHAPTER I.
I will discover such a horrid treason,
As, when you hear't, and understand how long
You've been abused, will run you mad with fury.
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER--_The Prophetess_.
It has been seen how the rejoicings at the promontory were
interrupted in their very beginning, by the sudden discovery of the
refugee, so
Drad for his derring-doe and bloody deed,
that his mere name had thrown all present into confusion. The
crowning climax was put to the general panic, when some of the late
pursuers were seen returning, early in the afternoon, whipping and
spurring with all the zeal of fear, and scattering such intelligence
along the way as put to flight the last resolution of the jubilants.
The news immediately spread, that Oran Gilbert had burst into
existence, not alone, but with a countless host of armed men at his
heels; that he had attacked and routed the pursuers, hanging all whom
he took alive, especially the soldiers; and that he was now, in the
frenzy of triumph, marching against the devoted Hillborough, with the
resolution of burning it to the ground. Such dreadful intelligence
was enough to complete the terror of the revellers; they fled
amain--and long before night, the flag waved, and the little piece of
ordnance frowned in utter solitude on the top of the deserted
head-land. It is true that there came, by and by, couriers with
happier news, but too late to arrest the fugitives; and as these
riders made their way towards the village, expressing some anxiety
lest it should be attacked, they rather confirmed than dispelled the
fears of the few inhabitants of the valley. From one of the coolest
and boldest, Captain Loring, who fastened on him at the park-gate,
learned that there had been no action indeed, and that the fugitive
had made his escape; but, on the other hand, it appeared that there
_were_ refugees in the land,--that they had hanged a soldier named
Parker, and made good their retreat from the place of execution--that
the greatest doubt existed among the pursuers in relation to the
route they had taken and the objects they had in view, some
believing, on the evidence of a certain quaker, who had been their
prisoner, that they were marching by secret paths against the
village, while others insisted that this was a feint designed only to
throw the hunters off the scent, and to secure their escape,--that,
in consequence, the party had divided, pursuing the search in all
directions, in the hope of discovering their route,--and, finally,
that it was now certain, the band, whose number was supposed to be
very considerable, was really commanded by the notorious Oran
Gilbert. From this man also, Captain Loring learned a few vague
particulars in relation to the two greatest objects of his interest,
namely Henry Falconer and the young painter, who had fallen into a
quarrel in consequence of some misunderstanding about their horses,
the officer having used harsh language not only in regard to the
unceremonious seizure by Herman of his own steed, but in reference to
a similar liberty the refugee had previously taken with the
painter's, which, Falconer averred, was an evidence of intimacy and
intercourse betwixt Mr. Hunter and the outlaw it behooved the former
to explain, before thrusting himself into the company of honest men
and gentlemen. This quarrel, it seemed, had been allayed by the
interference of Falconer's brother officers; and the informant had
heard something said of a proposal to drown the feud in a bowl. As
for the man of peace, Ephraim, it appeared, that his spirited
assistance during the chase, and especially his success in exposing
the secret haunt of the tories in the Terrapin Hole, the scene of
Parker's execution, had not only removed all suspicion in relation to
his character, but had highly recommended him to the favour of his
late captors.
With such news, the Captain strode back to his mansion, and awaited,
with his daughter and kinswoman, the return of the officers to the
Hollow, and their appearance at the hall, which he doubted not, they
would instantly make, after returning. He waited, however, for a long
time, in vain; and by falling sound asleep, as he watched the sun
creeping beneath the western hills, escaped the intelligence, which
was soon after brought to the house, that the officers had returned
to the Hollow, and instead of reporting themselves forthwith under
his hospitable roof, had made their way to the widow's inn, where
they were carousing with a zeal commensurate with the spirit they had
exhibited during the troubles of the day.
This unexpected termination of a day of heroism--a termination that
surprised and irritated Miss Falconer as much as it perhaps secretly
pleased the Captain's daughter--was a consequence of the late
quarrel, or rather a mode of burying it in oblivion, devised by
captain Caliver, who had contracted an esteem for the painter, and
preferred 'his ease in his inn' to all the delights and blandishments
that might be expected in the society of Gilbert's Folly. As the
superior officer, he had taken the command into his own hands, and
besides arranging his forces so as to watch all the approaches to the
valley, and despatching lieutenant Brooks to the village, to
communicate with the authorities there, he declared his resolution to
erect his head-quarters in the Hollow, at a place like the
Traveller's Rest, where, while still commanding the road, he would be
near enough to protect the females and non-combatants in the
Captain's house. "And besides," he added facetiously, while riding up
to the little inn, "as we men of the sword are protectors of widows
as well as orphans, we will thus protect a forlorn old woman from
mischief, and put a penny into her pocket, and drink our wine at our
ease--for you remember, Falconer, my young brother, you swore by all
the gods you would have some of the wherewithal smuggled up to this
identical old woman's whiskey-house!"
"I swore it 'by the eternal Jupiter,'" said Falconer, with a grin;
"and, by the eternal Jupiter, I am as ready for a blow-up now as
another time; only that we must blow fast, so as to run up to Hal, to
be scolded before bed-time, as soon as Brooks comes: and as for Mr.
Hunter here, why he and I can blow out one another's brains in the
morning."
"If thee talks in this evil-minded, blood-thirsty manner," said
Ephraim Patch, indignantly, "I give thee warning, I will have nothing
to do with thy wholesome wines and thy goodly brandies, whereof thee
has spoken, and whereof much good may be said, in regard of them that
are faint and weary. If thee will eat, drink, and be merry, all in a
civil, Christian way, without drawing any weapons more dreadful than
corks, pulling only at the bottle instead of the pistol, and neither
swearing profanely nor drinking foolish irreligious healths, thee
shall have me in company to give thee good counsel, whereof thee has
considerable much need, as well as thy long-nosed friend here, (not
meaning any offence,) which thee calls captain, and the youth also,
friend Hunter. Verily, I am both hungry and thirsty, and will sooner
enjoy the creature comforts in this quiet hovel, than even the
satisfaction of bringing the breaker of laws into the hands of
justice. Verily, the thought of these goodly wines doth make my mouth
water; and I shall rejoice, even to the bottom of my spirit, if they
have already reached the house of the widow."
We do not design to relate the joys of the banquet shared by the four
worthies, and some two or three young men of the county, who had
shown themselves men of spirit, and remained bravely by the side of
the officers, resolved, as they said, to contribute their aid to the
defence of the Hollow. It is only worthy of remark, first, that the
ill blood between young Falconer and the painter gradually wore away,
and was succeeded, on the part of the former, by a sudden friendship,
which bade fair to ripen into fondness, and on that of Hyland, by
what was at least a show of reciprocity; secondly, that honest
Ephraim, gradually displayed as much spirit in the feast as he had
before manifested in the fray, and became, to the surprise of all,
the soul of mirth and drollery, so that young Falconer, clapping him
on the back, swore, with the favourite oath of his friend Caliver, he
'had never seen a jollier old broad-brim;' and thirdly, that this
capricious young gentleman grew so enamoured of his company, that he
ceased to talk, as he did at first, of the necessity he was under of
paying his sister and friends a visit at the Folly, until he was
roused to recollection by the sudden retreat of his new friend from
the cottage. The painter was detected in the very act of stealing, or
as they chose to call it, sneaking from the apartment; and Mr.
Falconer, uttering a loud 'Hillo! halt, deserter!' volunteered to
bring him back to the punishment immediately ordered by the captain
of cavalry, of a glass of salt and water. He rushed from the room,
and plainly beheld the youth, in the light that flashed from the
window, spring from the porch, and dive into the midnight shadows of
the oak trees--for it was now completely dark. As he retreated, he
stumbled over some obstruction in the path; but instantly recovering
himself, he leaped over the little brook, and was soon out of sight.
"Hillo, Hunter, my boy!" cried the lieutenant. "Why zounds! there he
goes up the road like a light-horseman! Why, gad, here the fool has
dropped his handkerchief;--no, gad's my life, 'tis a paper. Hillo,
painter! you've dropped something! A letter, as I'm
alive!--Ehem--hiccup!--a very handsome constellation that Great Bear!
never saw the Pointers shine so brightly in my life.--Gad's my life,
and adzooks, as Captain Loring says, 'tis the lights in the Folly,
after all! and here am I, carousing like an ass, instead of playing
off the Romeo to Catherine by starlight. Now Hal will scold like
twenty housekeepers, Catherine will look sulky, and as for the
Captain, why I suppose he will fall into one of his patriarchal
rages. Gad, but I feel rather warmish and particular; but this cool
night air is a good thing for settling one's nerves. I warrant me,
that rascal Hunter has gone up there before me. A very handsome, well
behaved dog, and I like him immensely!"
With such expressions as these, the young man, whose brain, never one
of the strongest, was at present whirling in confusion, began to make
his way towards the Folly, without troubling himself to think what
amazement or affliction his absence might cause his friends. Indeed,
he was fast verging towards that happy state in which man shows his
loftiest contempt of the world and the world's ways, and his
disregard of all those restraints and encumbrances which society has
imposed upon the free-born lord of creation. He had left the hovel
without his hat; but what cared he for such a superfluity, of a fine
summer night, even although beginning a walk over hill and hollow, of
full a mile in extent? Had he left it even without his boots, it is
questionable whether he would have noticed the deficiency, until
recalled to his senses by the roughness of the road. In a word, the
wine he had already swallowed, had made serious inroads upon a brain
that was always 'very poor and unhappy for drinking;' and, as it
frequently happens in such cases, the exercise of walking more than
counteracted the effects of the cooling air; so that, by the time he
had trudged half the distance towards the paddock, the young
gentleman was in the happiest spirits imaginable, wholly insensible
of his condition, and almost unconscious of the purpose that had
drawn him so far. He even began to sing along the road, and by the
time he had reached the gate, was trolling a song, of a character
ludicrous enough to come from his lips, but which, perhaps caught
originally from those of some wag or philosopher of the camp, was now
suggested by the spirit of happy indifference it breathed to all
sublunary concerns, and was therefore in excellent harmony with his
own feelings. It was the song of _Poor Joe_, and was sung with
wondrous emphasis and gusto.
I.
Poor Joe! I've no wealth but content at command,
I am otherwise poor as a rat;
But while the world covets one's houses and land,
I'm sure 'twill not rob me of that,
Poor Joe!
I'm sure 'twill not rob me of that.
II.
I've no money, no money to squander in wine,
To aid me in soft'ning my lot:
But then, if the shame of a poor man be mine,
The shame of a scoundrel shall not,
Poor Joe!
The shame of a scoundrel shall not.
III.
No sweetheart to flatter, no wife to applaud,--
Poor Joe! he may house him or roam;
But, sure, if he meets with no angel abroad,
He'll hap on no devil at home,
Poor Joe!
He'll hap on no devil at home.
IV.
Poor Joe! I've no friends, as, if richer, I might,
But for that I'll not bitterly grieve;
If there's none, with the gabble of love, to delight,
Why then there are none to deceive,
Poor Joe!
Why then there are none to deceive.
V.
Poor Joe! I am ragged, my hat is grown old,
My elbows peep out to the storm;
But why should I fear for the wet and the cold,
When content and a blanket can warm,
Poor Joe!
When content and a blanket can warm!
Apparently, he found the madrigal just one stanza too short, at least
for his present mood; for which reason, so soon as he had finished
the last of all, he began to repeat it, with even more expression
than before, and had just reached the second line,--
"My elbows peep out to the storm,"--
when one of his own elbows was suddenly seized upon, and a voice,
bitterly reproachful, muttered in his ear,
"Are you mad? Are you mad, brother? are you mad?"
"What! Hal? sister? is that you? Gad's my life, I knew you would
scold me; but if you would only consider----But, now I think of it,
egad, what brings you out here of a dark night, singing Poor Joe,
like an old soldier? Adzooks, as the Captain says, I am quite
astonished!"
"Brother, you are----Oh, that you should be so insensible to
interest, if not to shame!" cried Miss Falconer, with deep feeling.
"Brother, brother, you"----
"If I have, may I be shot!" cried the young officer, hastily, as if
the instinct of long habit had taught him what his sister intended to
say; "that is, Harry, my dear, nothing to speak of; and it is all on
account of Caliver, who, betwixt you and me, is so deuced
soft-headed,--he is, egad,--one must always sit by, to take care of
him. As for me, Hal, why I can drink a hogshead of any such wishwashy
stuff as these French wines; I can, by the eternal Jupiter, as
Caliver says; and at the present moment I am"----
"Ruined, irretrievably ruined!" cried his sister; "and by your own
folly--by your own miserable, infatuated dissipation. You have lost
Catherine Loring."
"Lost Catherine Loring? _my_ Catherine Loring?" cried the young man,
in alarm. "Have the Hawks carried her off?"
"What if I say _yes_?" replied Harriet; and then added, with a tone
that brought the youth still farther to his senses, "and I must add,
that even a base and renegade Gilbert is worthier of her than
_you_,--my brother,--the son of Richard Falconer! Oh, shame upon you,
brother! shame upon you!"
"Harry, you are joking with me!" cried Falconer, with a voice
somewhat quavering and querulous. "We've driven the dogs the lord
knows whither; and as for that story of the village, why that's all a
fib: so as to carrying Catherine off, I don't believe a word of it."
"And yet you have lost her,--lost her, perhaps, beyond all
redemption. Oh Harry, brother Harry, were you but enough in your
senses to understand me!"
"I am, sister, I am," cried Falconer; and indeed the devil,
drunkenness, was fast giving place to the devil, fear: "I _have_ been
drinking; but I swear to heaven."
"Swear no more: you have done so a dozen times already."
"I have done so, sister; but I swear again, and I call heaven to
witness, that if you have spoken the truth, and Catherine be really
lost, I will never drink more till I have recovered or revenged her.
But for pity's sake, speak; what is the matter?--I am sober now. What
has brought you out here in the dark? Where is Catherine? What is the
matter?"
"You shall hear," cried Miss Falconer, hurriedly: "perhaps it is not
yet too late. You have a rival, brother, a dangerous rival!"
"Oh, gad now, sister! lord, is that all?" exclaimed the young man,
bursting into a laugh: "why, you don't think I shall go jealous,
because I have a rival? Gad, Harry, you're the most absurd sister in
the world.--I wonder what the deuce has become of my hat?--A rival,
Hal? One of these village clotpolls! A dozen of 'em, if you like: the
more the merrier. I'll invite 'em all to my wedding."
"You are mad!" cried Harriet. "Wedding, indeed! Perhaps you will
never be married. What think you of a rival that has her heart?"
"Her heart? Catherine's heart?" exclaimed the gay-brained soldier;
"why, it has been mine these two years!"
"And now," said Harriet, "it is another's.--Brother! rouse from your
dream of confidence and security. It is as true as that the stars are
above us: Catherine Loring loves another."
"Harriet!"----
"It is true--she confessed it with her own lips."
"Confessed it, sister!" said the young man; and then added, with a
spirit that surprised her, "If that be so, why then good luck to her:
she shall have her freedom. I don't think I shall break my heart;
and, certainly, I shan't force her to marry me. But, Hal,--look you,
sister Hal,--I did not think she would cozen me. She confessed it,
did she? Why, that's enough. I'm an honourable man; but after being
cheated and jilted, I don't care much----But if I don't kill the
scoundrel, Hal!--I say if I don't kill him, you may have leave to
call me a fool and chicken twice over!--Confess it!"
If this display of spirit surprised Miss Falconer, the manifest
distress with which her brother spoke, incredible as it may seem,
greatly gratified her. His greatest fault in her eyes,--that is,
aside from his dissipated habits,--was that easy indifference of
disposition, or indolence of feeling, which kept him reckless and
passive when she would have had him ardent and energetic. She knew
him to be insensible of the full value of that prize it was her
ambition to secure him; and had he been any but her brother, she
would have hated him for what seemed the feebleness of his affection,
as indicated by the little pains he took to secure that of Catherine.
It was obvious, from this homely burst, in which magnanimity, pride,
indignation, anger, and distress, were all so characteristically
jumbled together, that the young gentleman had really feeling enough
at bottom, and that, in a great measure, of the right kind; and the
discovery brought a ray of hope into her mind.
"Brother," said she, "if you really love Catherine, you may yet save
her."
"What! after confessing she loves another?" cried he, sulkily. "Now,
Hal, for all your wisdom, you don't know me--I won't have her.
Confess, indeed!"
"No--she did not confess--I will explain. Perhaps 'twas only a
dream;--it was in her sleep."
"In her sleep!" cried Falconer, and then burst again into a roar of
laughter. "In her sleep!" he ejaculated, giving way to a second peal.
"Well! you have scared me with a vengeance!--But I forgive you--you
have brought me to. Of all the cunning doctors in the world, give me
yourself, Harry; you are infallible. And so she confessed in her
sleep, poor soul, did she? Oh, Hal! Hal! Hal!" And here the
capricious youth gave full swing to his merriment.
"Thus it is," said his sister, impatiently; "one extreme or the
other, ever. Listen, brother; for I am serious. Your wild habits have
greatly weakened Catherine's affections. Another comes, in the
meanwhile, with attractions, I will not say superior to your own, but
perhaps every way equal, who ceases not, neither by day nor by night,
to influence her imagination and engage her heart. Judge of his
success, when you know that she has admitted him to intimacy, nay, to
confidence; judge, when I tell you that she trembles at the sound of
his voice, turns pale at the echo of his footsteps, blushes when he
speaks, looks glad when he is by her, and weeps when he is
absent,--and, finally, who hides the secret from her own waking
thoughts, yet babbles his name over in her dreams, and sheds tears,
and smiles with her tears, when she murmurs it. Is not such a
man,--the object of such emotions, himself so passionately enamoured,
that his visage betrays the thought of his bosom, even when he knows
he is suspected and watched,--is not such a man a dangerous rival?"
"Sister, you know better than myself," said Falconer, uneasily; "if
_you_ think so"----
"I do, brother; I believe, that, this moment, without knowing it
herself, Catherine's mind is dwelling upon your rival; and if he be
not driven away, you will lose her."
"Point him out to me, sister Harriet, and then, by"----
"No fighting! no fighting, brother!" cried Harriet, in some alarm,
and speaking with eagerness. "Not a hair of the young man's head must
be harmed; we have done him injury enough among us, perhaps, already.
We must frighten him away: if I know him, we can legally expel him
from the valley. Arrest, imprison him, banish him;--do any thing; but
harm him not--that is, do him no harm with your own hands. If he have
forfeited his life to the law, let the law take it. Now, brother,
know your rival--it is the youngest brother of this dreadful Oran
Gilbert."
"Saints and devils!" cried Falconer, with vivacity, "a Hawk of the
Hollow! and dare to love Catherine Loring?"
"I could be sworn to it," said Harriet. "The circumstances that
pointed out the assassin of my father, were but clews of thistle-down
to the chains of evidence that led me to the knowledge of this
skulking raven's character. The first circumstance was as strong as
the last; an idle, thoughtless, nay, an accidental, pencil mark on a
drawing opened my eyes in an instant; and heaven's light immediately
streamed through them. But think him not the coarse cut-throat his
name would indicate; he has had a gentleman's breeding, and such is
his bearing. I doubt not that he is a confederate of his brother,
perhaps even a spy; and, I am persuaded, it was he who counteracted
our scheme of seizing the reprobates, and brought the poor soldier,
Parker, to the gibbet. He must be arrested and examined. He knows he
is suspected--he knows that I suspect him; but will, in his audacity,
remain, in the assurance that no real proof can be brought against
him.--That man, that painter, brother,--that Hunter? where did you
leave him?"
"Leave him?" cried Falconer: "why, is he not here? Sure, he led the
way hither; and sure I followed after him. A rare fellow, sister! I
was going to blow his brains out; but, egad, I know him better, and,
gad, I am coming on fast to adore him. Adzooks, as the Captain says,
I picked up his letter, and"----
"His letter?" cried Harriet, eagerly; "where is it?"
"Here," said the lieutenant, drawing it from his pocket, wherein he
had safely bestowed it.
"To the light! to the light!" cried the maiden, snatching it out of
his hands, and running with the speed of a frighted deer towards the
mansion, followed by her bewildered brother. A candle blazed in one
of the windows that opened on the porch, and in the chamber it
lighted, had she been disposed to look, Miss Falconer might have seen
the gallant Captain Loring sitting upright in his arm-chair, but fast
asleep, and filling half the house with the melody of his nostrils.
To this window ran Miss Falconer, and hither she was followed by her
brother; who, to his amazement and indignation, found her devouring
the contents of the paper with the avidity of a malefactor poring
over his own respite from a death of ignominy.
"Gad's my life, sister Hal!" cried the incensed soldier, "you have
disgraced me for ever! What, reading the young fellow's letter?"
"Reading _my_ letter!" cried Harriet, turning upon him a look
inexpressibly fierce and triumphant. "Was not this suspicion as
prophetic as the other? The dead Parker speaks to me, and from his
grave affords me proof even stronger than I sought. Oh, villain!
villain! audacious, inconceivably audacious, villain! Their
lieutenant? His intimacy with, his designs upon Catherine Loring,
revealed even to his ribald companions? and made their theme of
speech! their jest! Oh, what a rival have you suffered to approach
your betrothed wife, Harry Falconer! _This_ convicts, doubly convicts
him.--What ho, uncle! Captain Loring, awake! Where is Catherine?
Uncle! uncle!"
"Devils!" cried Falconer, "do you mean to say that Hunter is the man?
Why he's a gentleman!"--
"Adzooks, and adsbobs, what's the matter? Send out scouts to beat the
bushes: tree 'em, my boys, tree 'em; never show an inch of Adam's
leather to an Indian.--Adzooks, is that you, Harry my dear?" were the
words of Captain Loring, roused as suddenly from his slumbers as he
had often been in his early woodland campaigns. "What's the matter?
Have you caught that scoundrel Oran, or any of his gang?"
The answer to this question astounded the old soldier; and while Miss
Falconer poured into his ears the story of the transformation of his
beloved Herman the painter into Hyland Gilbert, a brother and leader
among the Hawks of Hawk-Hollow, he seemed for a moment, like the
devotee, rapt in a holier passion, to have
Forgot himself to marble.
In the meanwhile the unlucky author of this commotion had brought his
destinies to a crisis in another quarter, and with another
individual.