It was the first of May, and the sun had passed the noon line in a
bright sky, causing the shadow of Peter Taylor to fall east of north
and infusing his substance with the delightful languor called Spring
Fever. Leaning upon an idle spade, Peter watched the lazy motions of a
negro slave whom he had directed to trim a level lawn ornamented with
flowerbeds. The English origin of the overseer was revealed by his
looks and in his speech.
"Scipio, 'ave you 'oed the corn?"
"No, boss, but I's jes' gwine to ten' to it right away."
"Well, make 'aste. Daniel and Ransom can 'elp you, and tell Honest
Moses to get the south patch ready for the watermelon seed."
Scipio received his orders submissively, and, shouldering a hoe,
sauntered toward the cornfield, and was soon hidden by a clump of
young weeping-willows, the sunny green branches of which trailed to
the darker verdure of the sward. Screened by the drooping foliage, the
shirking menial cast his body on the grass to store up energy for
anticipated toil.
Meanwhile, the taskmaster, having issued commands to his black
subordinates, felt justified in neglecting his own duties, in a
dignified way, by seeking a shady retreat in which he lingered
contemplating the charms of Nature and the pleasing results of his own
skill as a landscape-gardener. The prevailing aspect of the
surroundings was wild, though several acres of cultivated land,
including a fine lawn with gravelled walks and drives, attested that
much labor had been expended in reclaiming a portion of savage Nature
from its primeval condition. The plantation occupied the upper end of
Blennerhassett Island. Standing on a knoll, with his back to the
"improved" grounds, Peter took in at a sweeping glance a reach of
gleaming water which flowed between woody hills overhung by a serene
sky. He saw the silver flood of the Ohio River which, coursing
southward, broke against the island, dividing its broad current into
two nearly equal streams. He admired the meadow slopes of Belpre, on
the Ohio side, and the more dimly seen bluffs of Wood County, on the
Virginia border. The tourist of to-day, standing where the gardener
stood on Blennerhassett Island a hundred years ago, sees in the
northern distance the iron framework of the Parkersburg bridge
spanning the river, so far away as to show like a fairy web in the
air. Beyond, as if issuing from the heart of the hills, the river
blends with the purple mist.
Having "bent the quiet of a loving eye" upon the river and its
delightful valley, the Englishman turned his ruddy face toward the
chief building on the island, a frame structure of odd appearance,
painted in dazzling white save the window shutters, which were vivid
green. The mansion consisted of a main edifice fifty feet square and
two stories high, with a peculiar portico in front, projected not in
straight lines, but forming a semicircle, embracing within the
curvature of its outstretching arms a favored area of dooryard. The
proprietor of the estate had chosen the site and designed the plan of
this his residence with the double purpose of indulging a fancy for
architectural novelty and of providing against disaster by lightning
and earthquake. Never did it occur to him that fire and flood were the
elements he had most reason to fear: each of these ruinous agents was
destined, in turn, to devastate the island.
In the rear of the fantastic dwelling, and not far from it, stood a
row of log cabins for the negroes who served on the place, and a
cluster of barns and stables abundantly stocked. All the houses were
new, and the adjacent cultivated land showed many signs that it had
not long been tilled, or even cleared. The rank soil retained its
quick fertility, as could be seen in the thrifty growth of peas,
beets, radishes, and early potatoes, flourishing in the "truck-patch."
The plum and the peach trees had cast their bloom; the cherry blossoms
were falling like snow; the flowers of the apple loaded the air with
fragrance; the red-buds were beginning to fade; the maples and oaks,
just starting into leaf, hung full of light green tassels.
The vegetable close had irresistible attractions for the gardener, and
this drew his laggard steps from their idle excursion, back to the
freshly spaded spot enriched by leaf mould, and carefully picketed
against the incursions of scratching hens. Here he busied himself in
planting lettuce seed, forgetful of Scipio, who lolled sleepily in the
shadow of the willows.
The drowsy bondman was just sinking into slumber, when his attention
was aroused by a plashing noise followed by the sound of whistling.
Glancing in the direction of the disturbance, his eyes fell upon the
ungainly figure of a man who was stooping at the water's edge. The
negro got upon his feet, and approached the stranger, who at first
took no notice of him, being absorbed in puzzled observation. A cut of
lean meat, encircled by a row of stones, lay immersed in a pool caused
by an eddy in the river.
"Danged if I can make out what this hunk of raw beef is put here for,"
soliloquized the visitor. "The minnies are nibblin' it away. I wonder
if this here Mr. Bladderhatchet means to feed all the fish in the Ohio
on beefsteak. Hello, Cuffey, what do _you_ want?"
"I's not Cuffey, sah; I's Scipio."
"Well, I's Byle, Plutarch Byle," said the stranger, raising his gaunt,
gawky figure to a posture which, though far from erect, revealed a
stature so much above the average height that the negro stepped back a
few paces and stared with astonishment. Plutarch Byle's feet, hands
and head seemed somewhat too large for his trunk and limbs, but were
quite in harmony with the big joints of his knees, elbows and wrists.
His attitudes were grotesque and his gestures awkward. Light, curly
hair covered his head; his nose was long and inquisitive; his eyes,
big, blue and good-humored; his mouth, incredibly wide, with shrewd,
mobile lips, which habitually smiled. A tuft of yellow beard on the
end of his sharp chin, gave his face a comical expression resembling
that which caricature bestows on Uncle Sam. His voice was pitched in a
high key, and was modified by that nasal twang supposed to indicate
Yankee origin; but a habit of giving his declarative sentences an
interrogative finish, might denote that he came from the mountain
regions of Pennsylvania or Virginia. A pair of linsey pantaloons, a
blue hunting shirt with a fringe of red and yellow, moccasins of
tanned leather and a woollen hat were his chief visible articles of
dress.
Scrutinizing Scipio's features as he might inspect a wonder in a
museum, Byle interrogated him:
"Potterin' about for greens, I reckon? Do you belong here, Africanus?"
The only information drawn from the slave was that the proprietor of
the island had bought him in Virginia.
"Bought? Consarn my bones! How much did he give for you? Look here,
Sambo, if I was a Roman general, like you, and in your fix," said
Byle, pointing with his left thumb over his right shoulder and
winking, "I'd skite over to the Buckeye-side of the water and forget
to pay for myself. Don't you know what the Ordinance of '87 says? 'No
involuntary servitude in said territory.' I agree with John Woolman,
that niggers are our feller-creatures."
Turning abruptly, the tall man moved with long, slow strides in the
direction of the white house with green shutters, talking continually,
more to himself than to the perplexed negro who followed at his heels.
"Wonder how things are growing in the front yard? By gum! that's a
fine Italian poplar! Guess the old Coot's at home. Maybe that
youngster is one of the little Bladderhatchets! Say, sonny, come this
way."
The sentence was addressed to a lad, who, bounding from the portico,
ran nimbly toward the intruder. The boy was prettily attired in a
military costume, and wore a toy sword at his side and a gay feather
in his cap. He was followed by a brother smaller and much less jaunty.
"What might your name be, now, bub? By crackey, you've come out in
full blossom, haven't you, like a red-bud bush? What do you say your
name is?"
"Dominick."
"Dominick, hey? I've seen many a young dominick rooster, but I never
saw one with finer feathers than yours. Suppose you flap your wings,
and crow for us, like a fighting cockerel."
"I'll not crow; I'll stick my sword through you!"
"Jerusalem artichokes! He wants to kill me with his tin sword!
Dominick, I give in. If your pappy is about the house, tell him to
come out; a gentleman wants to ask him something."
Before a summons could be served on Mr. Harman Blennerhassett, that
person appeared emerging from a wing of the long porch. Being
extremely near-sighted, he could not distinctly see the man who
awaited him until the distance between the two was diminished to a few
steps. The uninvited guest without ceremony opened conversation.
"How d'ye do? I am Mr. Byle--B-y-l-e--Plutarch Byle. Of course
everybody knows you by reputation, Mr. Bladderhatchet--"
"Blennerhassett."
"It's a prodigious long name, ain't it? Too long, in my opinion. You
can have it shortened by law. I'm told you're from Ireland. You don't
look much Irish, nor you haven't a bad brogue. I s'pose you've got
your naturalization papers all right. This administration is rather
easy on foreigners, especially French, for Jefferson has Frenchy
notions. President Adams was rough on emigrants--maybe too rough; he
wanted to sock it to them hard by acts of Congress. What is your
opinion of the Alien and Sedition laws? I favor them; I'm a Federalist
to the marrow-bones. I don't reckon you're a United Irishman, Mr.
Blanner--"
"Blenner, if you please--Blennerhassett. I belong to the order of
United Irishmen, but I presume your errand here is not to discuss
politics. Your looks denote that you affiliate with--shall I say, the
common people, the humbler class? What is your business here, my good
man?"
"Rattlesnakes and brimstone! _Me_ your good man! _Me_ of the humbler
class! Why, Squire B., we have no humbler class on our side of the
Ohio. But you needn't apologize; I'm not huffy. You're new to the
country and your blunders are excusable. I happened along this way--"
"My time is valuable, I must ask you to be brief. What do you want?"
"You're a bigger man than I calculated to see; you're a large-sized
citizen, full six foot, I should guess, and you stoop consider'bl in
the shoulders, like myself. The Byles are all built that way. But your
feet are smaller than mine, and I should think you'd feel awk'ard in
such toggery as them red breeches and shoe buckles."
"You are impertinent," snapped Blennerhassett, turning from his rude
critic. "If you have nothing to tell or to ask that is of any
importance, make off, for I can be detained no longer."
"Hold on, neighbor; I've heaps yet to tell, and lots more to ask. The
first thing I noticed particularly when I landed was that puddle up
there, with the hunk of raw meat soaking, and I would like dangnation
well to know why you put that meat in that puddle?"
Annoyed beyond endurance, the lord of the island would have hurried
away, but he was diverted from his intention by the unexpected conduct
of his guest, who, suddenly dropping on all fours, fell to examining
with the liveliest interest a wild plant which had forced its stem up
through the sod.
"Do you know what that is?" asked Plutarch of the two boys who stood
near their father, perplexed by the dialogue to which they had
listened. They shook their heads, when, glancing up at Scipio, the
questioner repeated, "Do you know?" and not waiting for a reply,
"That's snakeroot; smell it!" He plucked a portion of the herb, rubbed
it between his thumb and forefinger and thrust the bruised substance
first under his own nose and then beneath the reluctant nostrils of
the disdainful Master Dominick.
Mr. Blennerhassett was himself a botanist, or desired to be considered
one, and his eagerness to become familiar with the flora of his
vicinity so far overcame offended formality, that he also got down on
his knees and directed his imperfect vision to the pungent specimen.
The two men, each an oddity, presented a ludicrous picture as they
knelt on the grass, their heads almost in contact, and their long
noses only a few inches above the object of their scrutiny.
"Yes, Virginia snakeroot, and I couldn't expect it to sprout up in
this open place. This is a different thing from the Seneca
rattlesnake-root; there's more cure in an ounce of this than in a
pound of that. I'll wager five shillings to a sixpence that I can name
you nine out of ten of the medicines and dyestuffs growing on this
island."
"If that is the case," said the Irish recluse, scrambling to his feet,
"I shall be glad to avail myself of your knowledge. There are many
vines, shrubs, and trees flourishing here, the names and qualities of
which I greatly desire to learn and many herbs which perhaps--"
"I'm your man, neighbor; I'm your man. There are three things which I
calculate I do know by experience: the first is fish, the second is
game, and the third is yarbs."
"What is the third?"
"Yarbs. Anything that grows wild. I'm acquainted with pretty much
every critter that has seed, flower, leaf, bark or root. I fish a good
bit, and I doctor a good bit."
"You doctor, fish and hunt," repeated Blennerhassett, his attention
now completely captured; "I myself prescribe simple remedies and I am
fond of the sports you mention, though a defect of vision interferes
with my shooting."
"If you like," proposed Byle, "we will prowl around this very
afternoon and study physic together. I call the wild woods God's
apothecary shop."
Blennerhassett was convoyed to the depths of the island forest, where
the strangely assorted pair conversed intimately on the virtues of
pleurisy-root, Indian physic and columbo. Byle discoursed on the high
price of ginseng, and the new method of preparing that specific for
the Chinese market; recommended the prompt use of succory to cure a
snake bite, and the liberal application of green stramonium leaves to
heal sores on the back of a horse. He advised Blennerhassett to
acquire an appetite for custard apples, which, he said, regulated the
bowels.
On returning from the excursion, Blennerhassett hurried into his
library, lugging a basket filled with botanical specimens; and Byle
prepared to leave the premises. Before starting, he beckoned the
gardener, who sulkily responded to the sign. The pertinacious visitor
was proof against repulse. No social coolness could chill his
confiding ardor. He took Peter's arm, and with a backward jerk of the
head declared interrogatively:
"The Mogul is sort of queer, isn't he? A screw loose somewhere, eh?"
"Well," responded Peter cautiously, "yes and no; he is queer and he
isn't queer. He has plenty of book learning and plenty of money, and a
fool can't get much of either. Folks say he has every kind of sense
but common sense."
"At first he didn't want to be sociable. I asked him a civil question
about a public matter, and he shut up like a clam. Now can _you_ tell
me, as man to man, why the deuce that hunk of beef is put to soak in
that puddle, up at the head of the island?"
Peter chuckled in the contemptuous manner of a practical man, without
sympathy for speculative genius.
"That's one of his chemical experiments. The man is always up to
something of the kind. The carcass of a dead 'og was dug up on the
place, and his Honor noticed that it had turned into something like
tallow, and he takes the notion that the water here has power to
change flesh into solid fat--_hadipocere_, he calls it--which he
thinks may be used to make candles."
Byle listened to the solution of the lean-meat mystery with waning
attention, for before the explanation was concluded his roving eye
caught glimpses of an apparition more interesting than the gardener's
dry sarcasm. He discerned, through openings in the boscage fringing
the river bank on the Ohio shore, an object like a scarlet flag flying
rapidly along.
"Greased lightning! What strange bird is that coming down the river
road? A woman on horseback, sure as Easter flowers! Two of 'em, one in
red and one in black. Don't they make them animals cut dirt? I
wouldn't miss this sight for a hogshead of tree-honey. Why, it beats a
Pittsburg horse-race on the Fourth of July!"
"Oh, it's mamma! It's mamma and Miss Evaleen coming back from
Marietta," shouted Dominick.
A gang of colored men, led by Honest Moses, poled an unwieldy scow to
the Ohio shore, took the dashing equestriennes on board and ferried
back to the island.
The announcement that their mistress was approaching caused a general
flurry among the servants, male and female, and several of them,
headed by the boys, hastened down to the landing to receive the
ladies. Byle was not the man to let slip such an opportunity of taking
a look at the paragon, whose charms of person and brilliancy of mind
he had heard many tongues extol; and he did not hesitate to join the
family group on the river bank. His curiosity was amply rewarded by
the vision of fair women which he beheld.
Madam Blennerhassett stepped from the ferryboat, beaming smiles of
motherly fondness upon her children. She wore a riding-habit of
scarlet cloth embroidered with thread of gold, and a snow-white hat,
adorned with long plumes of ostrich feather. The rich attire did not
blind Plutarch to the natural beauty of "the woman herself." She was
of regal stature, graceful bearing and animated face. Her buoyant
step, her rising bosom, her clear, rich voice evidenced the vital glow
of maturity in a woman still young--a June rose blooming in May.
Byle, pressing nearer, noted that the madam's hair was brown; her
eyelashes long; nose, Grecian; lips, ripe red. When he had fixed her
image on his mind, and was meditating the propriety of making friendly
inquiries concerning the purpose and results of her excursion to
Marietta, her large, calm eyes searched his countenance with a look of
offended dignity, which caused his tongue to cleave to the roof of his
mouth. Speechless for the moment, but not blinded, Plutarch withdrew
his optics from the imperious dame, and took an instantaneous
brain-picture of her companion, a light-footed, quick-glancing girl
about eighteen years of age, whose arrival put little Harman into an
ecstasy, and gave manifest delight to the servants. Her blithe manner
and cheerful voice won Byle's complete approbation, and led him to
describe her as one who "'peared not to know there was a valley of the
shadder of trouble here below."
Madam Blennerhassett instructed Moses to take care of the horses, and
side by side with the winsome maiden walked from the landing to the
house, followed by a retinue of servants.
Thus abandoned, Plutarch Byle plodded his way to his skiff, pushed the
light craft from the sandy beach, ensconced his gaunt person on the
rowing bench, seized the oars, and pulled up stream, saying to
himself:
"She's the compound extract of Queen 'Liz'beth and Cleopatry; but why
didn't she take a fancy to a good-looking Federalist like me, instead
of throwing herself away on a near-sighted United Irishman with silver
shoe-buckles?"