Nature I court in her sequestered haunts,
By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove or cell,
Where the poised lark his evening ditty chaunts,
And Health, and Peace, and Contemplation dwell.
SMOLLETT.
So long had the soldier been delayed by his interviews with Prudence
and the Assistant, that it was not until past noon that he reached the
knight's residence. It was a large, irregularly built log-cabin, or
cottage, covered with thatch, resembling somewhat, except in the last
particular, and in being larger, the log-cabins one meets in the new
settlements of the West, with a sort of piazza or porch, which seemed
to have been lately built, running across the front. Such was the rude
exterior; though the interior, as we shall presently see, when we
enter the building, was furnished in a style indicating both wealth
and refinement.
The house stood near the bottom of a hill, upon a piece of cleared
land of perhaps half a dozen acres, upon which not the vestige of a
stump was to be seen. The ground sloped gently away from the building
to the southeast, until it met a small stream, which meandered at the
base of the hill, and running in an easterly direction, was lost to
sight in the forest. In front of the house, at the distance of a rod,
bubbled up a bright spring, which, dashing down the declivity, fell
into the first-mentioned stream. Except this cultivated spot, which
had been an old corn-field of the natives, selected by them for the
fertility of the soil, its advantage of water, and the favorable slope
of the land, which enabled it to engross more than a common share of
the genial heat of the sun, and expedite the maturing of its harvests,
all was one unbroken extent of forest. In the soft autumnal days, when
the maize leaves rustled yellow on their stalks, it must have looked
to the soaring eagle, gazing from his "pride of place," like a vast
nest in a green leafy frame.
Around this building, at some little distance, viz., at the edge of
the encircling forest, were scattered some four or five wigwams, or
Indian lodges, made of the bark of trees, from some of which smoke
curled lazily up into the blue sky, imparting assurance thereby of
their being inhabited, though the presence of some naked children near
the entrances, who were shooting with little bows at marks, and
amusing themselves in other ways, made any such indication
unnecessary.
As the soldier drew near, he heard more and more distinctly musical
sounds, and presently could distinguish the tinkling of a guitar,
accompanied by a female voice. He stopped and listened. The air was
slow and solemn, the notes were soft and clear, and the words sweet,
but not English. There was a rich luxuriance, yet pathos in the music,
like the utterances of a spirit whose hopes were mingled with
reminiscences of joys which it had lost. How long Philip listened, he
knew not, so entranced was he by the sounds. It was a long time since
he had heard such delicious strains, and the effect upon him was
therefore the greater. Suddenly they ceased, as if his approach had
been discovered, and immediately thereafter, a man stepped out upon
the piazza. Philip recognized him at once as the young man to whom
Prudence had sent a message, and whom he himself had called Master
Arundel.
He was a fair-haired youth of some twenty-three or four years, with
that clear, bright complexion so common among the English, and which
they owe to their foggy climate and habit of exercise in the open air.
Dark blue eyes looked out joyously from a handsome face, which would
have been effeminate, so delicate were the features and rosy the tint
of the cheeks, but for a brown moustache, which shaded the lip, and
redeemed it from the imputation. His doublet and hose were of a dark
green cloth, as was also the cap he held in his hand, and he wore
boots made of yellow leather, reaching above the knee, and full at the
top. Around his neck was a white band, like those worn by the
wealthier colonists. This young gentleman first spoke.
"Ha! Achilles, or Coeur de Lion from captivity," or to fashion my
speech more into the humor of this new world, "O, Daniel from the
lion's den, greatly doth my heart rejoice at thy deliverance."
"Welcome, good Philip," he added, in a more natural tone, betraying
some sympathy, and taking him at the same time by the hand; "welcome
to your friends."
The tired soldier sank down upon a bench before he was able to speak.
"Thy tongue is dry, and moves slowly, and, now that I regard thee more
closely, art pale. We must cheer up thy drooping spirit"
"Having thus spoken, the young man entered the house, and presently
returned with a flagon and drinking cups.
"Drink, man," said Arundel, filling a cup with wine, "and wash all
sorrow out of thine heart. The suns that ripened the grapes out of
which this juice was crushed, were bright and joyous. May they impart
their own happiness and vigor unto thee."
The soldier put the cup to his lips, nor withdrew it until the
contents were drained.
"I feel," he said, "the good wine tingling through all my veins, and
am a new man again."
"Fill once more," said the young man, suiting the action to the word;
"one shower is not enough for so thirsty a soil."
The soldier did not refuse, and having drank a second time, he felt
refreshed.
"Pleasant enough quarters, Master Arundel," he said, looking around;
"and I see ye have some red-skins camped near by."
"They are the knight's particular friends, whose society it seems to
be his sovereign pleasure to cultivate. He has persuaded them to
gather round him, forming what may be called his body-guard."
"Or outposts of the main garrison. Well, for runners or scouts they
may answer, but for hand-to-hand action, they are naught. But where is
Sir Christopher?"
"He started on a hunt this morning, our larder having run low. Hark!"
he added, as suddenly the blast of a bugle was heard echoing through
the forest, "that is the sound wherewith he is accustomed to announce
his approach, and you will presently see him coming out of the wood."
Sure enough, in a few moments the tall form of the knight, arrayed in
a deer-skin hunting-shirt, with leggins of the same material, and "a
piece" in his hand, was seen emerging into the open space. He was
followed by a couple of Indians, each of whom bore on his shoulders a
deer.
"Quecheco," the two white men heard him say, as he came out of the
bushes, "carry thou thy deer to my lodge, and do thou, Pococke, divide
thine with thy brother Quecheco." After speaking these words he
advanced toward them.
"So, ho, Philip," cried Sir Christopher, "again under my banner. Fate
hath decreed us I think for buenas camaradas, and for my part I
heartily rejoice thereat. A braver heart than thine never beat under
steel corselet, or truer hand wielded a sharp sword."
"I thank you, Sir Christopher, for your good opinion," said the
soldier, "but I have seen little service since we parted among the
Turbans, of whom somehow your wine sets me a thinking, at all to my
mind. As for fighting these naked savages, who have nothing but
children's bows and stone hatchets, while our men-at-arms are clad in
bullet-proof steel from head to heel, methinks there is little manhood
required therefor, and for what I have done in that way, I confess
myself somewhat ashamed."
"It doth please me to hear thee speak thus, Philip," replied the
knight. True valor is ever joined with generosity, and despises to
take advantage of superior strength to crush the weaker. But fear not
that I have any service of the kind for thee. I came not among these
innocent natives to bring a sword, but the olive branch of peace. I
would see them peaceful, and united, and happy, not broken into
hostile clans, and delighting in murdering one another."
"I spoke not," said the soldier, "as desiring to make terms with you,
Sir Christopher, well knowing that you would ask nothing which an
honest man would be unwilling to perform, and am only too happy to
enter your service."
"So be it, Philip," said the knight. "Henceforth be here thy home."
"Truly," exclaimed the soldier, stretching out his legs with a sigh of
relief, "there is some difference between lying in a prison, or even
talking with Master Spikeman in the bushes, as I did but just now, and
being with good wine and noble gentlemen."
"Didst meet on thy way that most puritanical of Puritans, the praying,
cheating, canting, hypocritical, long-faced Master Spikeman?" cried
Arundel. "I wonder what new mischief he hath now on foot, for it is
his meat?"
"Master Miles Arundel," said the knight, "thy language is too
intemperate to be excused even by thy youth. Check the bitterness of
thine expression, and know that he who rules his own spirit is greater
than he who wins a kingdom."
A flash of haughty resentment lighted up the eyes of the young man at
the reproof, but as he saw that no offence was designed, he answered:
"I expect never to win a kingdom, but as for this villain--"
"Peace, I entreat thee, my young friend," interrupted Sir Christopher.
"I am curious to hear of Philip's treatment in his confinement, if he
will favor us with an account thereof?"
Hereupon the soldier recounted to them all that had passed in his
prison, including his interview with Spikeman, and attack on the
jailer, and also the conversation in the wood, except those parts
which had relation to Prudence.
"I see not," said Arundel, upon the conclusion of the narrative, "why
the wily Assistant should be thine enemy, but he clearly is. Thou art
honored in this respect as well as I."
"My mind doth misgive me that you are right," said Philip. "Away from
him. He seems an arch villain, though in his presence the feeling
changes, for he hath a tongue to wile a bird from the bough."
"Be sure I am not mistaken. See now whether Sir Christopher be not of
the same opinion."
Thus appealed to, the knight answered:
"I fear that your judgment, Master Arundel, is correct, though caring
not to enter into the reasons which have forced me to this conclusion.
But we will endeavor to use such caution that any mischievous designs
of his shall be defeated. Happily my homestead is not comprised within
the limits of the colony, and the sentence of banishment is complied
with, Philip being here."
Hereupon Sir Christopher rose and entered the house, and the soldier
took advantage of his absence to deliver the message of Prudence,
which, as he had threatened, he colored a little. With all his efforts
he was unable to conceal the interest which he felt for the girl, but
the young man good naturedly allowed him to suppose it unnoticed. In a
short time the knight reappeared, and invited them in to dinner.
The apartment which they entered opened immediately upon the porch,
and was a room some twenty feet square, constituting somewhat more
than a quarter of the building. The walls were merely unhewn logs,
divested of the bark, and filled in with a tenacious clay resembling
mortar. Against them were nailed, or supported by wooden pegs, in
divers places, branching horns of the moose and deer, over which were
hung hunting-shirts and skins of various wild animals, tanned with the
hair on. The antlers also, in many instances, supported guns, and
swords, and hunting pouches, and powder-horns, and, in short, whatever
might be necessary for attack or defence in war, and success in the
chase. In the centre of the room a table for four or five persons was
set, and a squaw was busy near a fire preparing the meal.
It was not long before the simple dinner, consisting principally of
venison steaks and bread made of Indian corn, was placed by the squaw
on the board, and the three men drew up, Philip manifesting some
modest reluctance, until pressed thereto by the knight.
"The vain distinctions of the world," said Sir Christopher, "are out
of place here. My soul sickens at the servile respect paid to stars
and garters. The jewel of the spirit is to be prized, not by the
setting, but by the degree of its own splendor it darts around."
Nor simple though the dinner was, were there wanting draughts of wine
like that of which the soldier had drank upon his arrival. Of the
three, he drank the most freely; Arundel moderately, and the knight
almost abstemiously. As the last regarded the pale face of Philip, and
marked the kindling lustre of his eyes, he pardoned the poor fellow,
in consideration of what he had endured, the freedom of his libations.
At the conclusion of the meal, Arundel, turning to the knight, said:
"Philip has brought me word, Sir Christopher, which will necessitate
the abridgment of a visit I did intend should be longer. My purpose is
to return to Boston in the morning."
"May a friend inquire after the cause of your sudden departure?" asked
the knight.
"It hath some connection," answered the young man, slightly blushing,
"with a matter wherewith you are already acquainted, I know not why I
should hesitate to aver before yourself and Philip that it hath
reference to mistress Eveline Dunning."
"Fear not to speak the honest impulses of thine heart, Master
Arundel," said the knight, "nor deem that I can take amiss thy
preference of the starry eyes of pretty mistress Eveline to a
hermitage in the wood."
"She desires to see me," returned the young man, "and I hold it a
sacred duty to watch over her, for she is a lamb in the jaws of a
lion."
"My opinion of the worshipful Master Spikeman," said the knight, "is
not much more favorable than thine own, though mine eyes be not
blinded by the deceitful mists of passion. Be wary, however, else
mayest thou incur an enmity which it were well to avoid."
"What wouldest have me do, Sir Christopher?" demanded the young man,
rising with some impatience. "Detains he not my affianced bride?
Refuses he not even to allow me to see her, and must not our meetings
be stolen? Does he not deny the solemn obligation he took upon himself
by the death-bed of his too confiding friend, to unite Eveline with me
in marriage, and is he not thereby a perjured wretch, regardless alike
of his vow to God and of duty to the dead and living? I care not for
his enmity, but prefer it to his friendship, nor will I tamely permit
him to triumph in his villainy."
"Calm thyself, Master Arundel," said the knight; "truly I counselled
no such thing. My heart is with thee, and my hand at thy service in
this matter, for I esteem thee wronged, but neither violence of speech
nor precipitancy in action will avail to right thee. All means of
persuasion are not exhausted. Why not endeavor to interest Governor
Winthrop in thy behalf?"
"To what purpose? Suppose you he would take my word in opposition to
that of a fellow saint and magistrate?"
"Unjust! Master Arundel; degrade not the noble Winthrop, a pattern of
many Christian virtues, and some knightly qualities, by such
association. But to thy word would be superadded that of the young
lady. He must believe her."
"Nay, Sir Christopher, your eagle glance at once detects falsehood
wherewith it has no affinity, and you judge of others according to the
standard of your own nobleness, but I am persuaded the attempt would
be in vain. The case stands thus: there is really but witness against
witness, for what know I of what occurred at the death-bed of
Eveline's father, except what she herself has told me? Kind though may
be the heart of the Governor, and sound his judgment, the false
asseveration of the Assistant would outweigh the declaration of
Eveline; and, did it not, and were he ever so favorably disposed, no
court in this New Canaan, as they call it, would decide against one of
the congregation in favor of an orphan girl not protected by their
magic covenant, and whose hand is sought by an intruder into their
fold."
"I deny not the force of thine argument," replied the knight, "and yet
have I remarked an omnipotence in truth, that doth make me insist on
having recourse to Governor Winthrop. As is the God-like sun,
animating and vivifying all things, searching into dark recesses and
driving out bats and impure vermin by his intolerable presence, and
unveiling ugliness and hatefulness, so is Truth. Withersoever she
turns her shining mirror there Error may not abide, but like a
dastardly coward, flies from the glory. Believe, Master Arundel, that
He who is uncreated, Truth will magnify that wherein He delights."
"To pleasure thee, Sir Christopher, there is nothing which I would not
undertake, convinced though I am of its inefficacy."
"So please you then, represent your grievance in the highest quarter,
before you further proceed. And now, I propose to present Philip to
Lady Geraldine, if her leisure serve. You will accompany us."
Passing through a vestibule, which separated the two rooms, the knight
threw open a door, and admitted them into an apartment of smaller
dimensions than the first, but fitted up with far more regard to
comfort, and with even some pretension to elegance. The floor was
covered with matting made by the Indian women, on which strange
figures were drawn, stained with brilliant dyes; the sides of the room
also were hung with matting, over which fell folds of scarlet cloth
reaching to within a couple of feet of the floor, imparting an air of
gayety, while overhead was tightly drawn and fastened to the rafters a
light blue cloth, approaching in color the hue of the sky. Some chairs
were scattered around, and on a table lay a guitar, on the top of a
book. No person was in the apartment at the moment of their entrance,
and, upon the invitation of the knight, they took seats to await the
arrival of the lady.
They had been seated but a short time when another door opened, and a
comely gentlewoman entered, ushered by a little Indian girl. The age
of the lady appeared to be about the same as that of the knight, and,
to judge from her complexion, she was not of English extraction. Her
features, though not regular, were handsome; the eyes large and black,
with hair of the same color, confined by a white cap; her figure was
tall and slender, and her carriage dignified and noble. Her dress
consisted merely of a black gown, without ornament, and rising high
into the neck, and as she approached she looked like one oppressed
with sadness.
Her little swarthy attendant seemed to be a pet which she took delight
in adorning, and truly, the little girl was not unconscious that her
childish beauty was enhanced by richness of attire. A crimson satin
tunic, like a basque, was fastened around her waist by a golden band,
beneath which fell a blue silk skirt as far as the knees, while high
upon the ankles were laced deer-skin buskins, profusely bedecked with
shining beads and colored porcupine quills. Around her arms, above the
elbows, were strings of colored beads, her wrists were clasped by
bracelets of the same description, and about her neck was twined a
gold chain.
As the lady thus attended advanced, all rose to pay the respect due to
her sex and station.
"Behold, Lady Geraldine," said the knight, presenting to her the
soldier, "the valiant man to whom I once owed my life."
"He is very welcome," replied the lady, in an accent just foreign
enough to impart a strange interest to her speech. "The savior of my
cousin's life is very welcome."
The embarrassed soldier, confounded at the presence of one who looked
to him like a superior being, could find no words to return to her
greeting, and only bowed low to conceal his confusion.
"I have heard, Sir Christopher," she continued, "speak of the daring
feat of arms whereby he was rescued from the foe, and longed to behold
his valorous deliverer to return my soul-felt thanks. Be seated, most
welcome gentlemen. And thou, Master Arundel, I trust, hast received
intelligence from Boston which will chase away the cloud that
sometimes gathers on thy brow."
"Honored madam," answered the young man, in the inflated style of
gallantry which the custom of high-bred society not only permitted but
enjoined, "when the beautiful majesty of the heavenly sun appears,
clouds have no place above the horizon, but fly away, chased by his
golden shafts."
"Would that I had the power," said the lady, "as the beneficent sun
dispels the clouds, so to drive away all sorrow and disappointment.
There is no grief-laden heart that should not be cheered."
"Recount now, Philip, to Lady Geraldine, the adventure which causes
the colony to lose a valiant soldier, and me to gain for our solitude
an old friend and companion in arms," said the knight.
The soldier, upon being thus addressed, found his voice, and narrated
to the lady the circumstances of his enforced departure from Boston.
She listened with an appearance of interest, and upon its conclusion
spoke a few words expressive of her sorrow for his imprisonment, and
of congratulation for the knight, to whom she hoped he would be for
the future attached.
"I do begin to consider my banishment as no misfortune," said the
soldier, whose confidence in himself was now restored. "The labor of
my forge and exposure of life for folk who know not how to excuse a
hasty word or two, are well exchanged for the service of so noble a
master and mistress."
"Be sure, thou shalt not rust like a sheathed sword," said the
knight, "and it shall go hard, but I will find for thee employment to
content an undegenerate spirit. But, Lady Geraldine, while we gain one
to our company, we lose (only for a short time, I hope) another.
Master Arundel purposes to leave our solitude to-morrow."
The lady looked inquiringly at the young man, who answered with a
blush:
"A message brought by Philip doth constrain my departure."
"A sweet constraint," said the knight, smiling. "Fear not, Master
Arundel, that Lady Geraldine will blame thee for obeying an impulse as
natural as the love of a bee for a flower. The diamond eyes of
Mistress Eveline would furnish apology for a deeper crime."
"I trust all is well with sweet Mistress Eveline," said the lady.
"All well, may it please you, madam, save for the injurious durance
which, in despite of his promise, and regardless of all honor as a
man, the villain Spikeman, who calls himself her guardian, imposes on
her."
"He will relent," said the lady. "It may be he desires only to try the
strength of thy devotion. The flame of thy love will burn the brighter
for the trial."
"I have no hope of such result, Arundel. He is so wedded to evil,
that to do a good action would be to him a pain."
"Nay," said the lady, "it cannot be there is a creature who loves evil
for its own sake. That were quite to extinguish the heavenly spark.
Judge not unhappy Master Spikeman so harshly. Commend me to the love
of Mistress Eveline," she added, rising, "when you see her, and say
that I wear her sweet image in my heart."
So saying, she bowed and left the apartment, preceded by the little
girl, the others rising, and remaining standing as long as she was in
sight.