CHAPTER V
To Fonda's Bush it is a good ten miles. I rode Sir William's greathorse, Warlock, who plunged and danced at the slap of mysword-scabbard on his flanks, and wellnigh shook me from my boots.
"Spare spur, lad! Let him sniff the pistols!" called Sir William,standing up in the broad hay-wagon to observe me. "He will quiet whenhe smells the priming, Michael."
I drew one of my pistols from the holster and allowed Warlock to sniffit, which he did, arching his neck and pricking forward two wise ears.After this the horse and I understood each other, he being satisfiedthat it was a real officer he bore and no lout pranked out to shamehim before other horses.
The broad flat hay-wagon, well bedded and deep in rye-straw, wasfilled with the company on fishing bent; Peter and Esk alreadydisputing over their lines, red quills, and bob-floats; Silver Heels,in flowered cotton damask and hair rolled up under a small hat ofstraw, always observing me with lowered, uncertain eyes; Mr. Duncan,in fustian coat and leggings, counting out fish-hooks; Sir William, inyellow-and-brown buckskin and scarlet-flowered waistcoat, singinglustily:
"A-Maying! A-Maying! Oh, the blackthorn and the broom And the primrose are in bloom!"
Behind the wagon, with punch-jugs swinging on his saddle-bags, likeJohn Gilpin rode young Bareshanks the Scot, all a-grin; while uponeither side of the wagon two mounted soldiers trotted, rifles slungand hangers sheathed.
Thus we set out for Fonda's Bush, which is a vast woods, cut into ahundred arabesques by the Kennyetto, a stream well named, for in theIndian language it means "Snake-with-its-tail-in-its-mouth," and,although it flows for forty miles, the source of it is scarce half amile from the mouth, where it empties into the great Vlaie near to SirWilliam's hunting-lodge.
In the wagon Sir William turned to the windows and waved his hat atMistress Molly, who stood behind the nursery curtains and kissed herfingers to him. And, as the wagon with its escort rolled off with slowwheels creaking, Mr. Duncan struck up:
"Who hunts, doth oft in danger ride; Who hawks, lures oft both far and wide; Who uses games, may often prove A loser; but who falls in love, Is fettered in fond Cupid's snare; My angle breeds me no such care."
And Sir William and Mr. Duncan ended the song:
"The first men that our Saviour dear Did choose to wait upon him here, Blest Fishers were,--"
The shrill voices of Esk and Peter joined in, then were hushed asSilver Heels's dainty song grew from the silence like a fresh breeze:
"For Courts are full of flattery As hath too oft been tried; The City full of wantonness, And both be full of Pride: Then care away, And wend along with me!"
So singing on their rye-straw couches, the swaying wagon bore themover the hilly road, now up, now rattling down-hill among the stonesto ford some ice-clear brook, and away again across the rollingcountry, followed by Gillie Bareshanks, stone bottles flopping, andthe trotting soldiers holding their three-cornered hats on with onehand, bridle-rein in t'other.
I galloped ahead, pistol poised, frowning at woodlands where Ipretended to myself danger might hide, examining all wayfarers withimpartial severity; and I doubt not that, seeing me in full uniformand armed, my countenance filled them with misgivings; indeed, somecalled out to know if the news from Boston was bad, if the Indiansmeant mischief hereabouts, or if the highwayman, Jack Mount, wasabroad.
"Plague on your pistols!" shouted Sir William, as I waited at a fordfor the wagon. "Gad! Michael, your desperate deportment is scaring mytenants along the way! Smile as you gallop, in Heaven's name! elsethey'll take you for Jack Mount himself!"
Somewhat mortified by Sir William's roar of laughter, I trotted on insilence, returning my pistol to its holster, and buckling the flap.
We now entered the slashings of the forest which is called Fonda'sBush, "bush" meaning land not yet cleared of woods. The sweet, moistshadow of the forest cooled me; I made Warlock stop, for I love tolisten and linger in a woodland's quiet.
Here the field-birds which had sung everywhere by the roadside weresilent, as they always are on the borders of deep forests. Slow hawkssailed along the edge of the woods; out in the clearing a few finchestwittered timidly in the sunshine, but here among the hushed ranks ofgiant trees nothing stirred save green leaves.
But the solitude of forest depths is no solitude to those who knowwhen and where to watch and listen. Faint sounds came to savant ears:the velvet rustle of a snake brushing its belly over soft mosses; thepadded patter of the fox-hare; the husky quhit! quhit! of that ashypartridge whose eye is surmounted by a scarlet patch, and whose fleshis bitter as hemlock. Solitude! Nay, for the quick furry creaturesthat haunt water-ways live here, slipping among bowlders, creepingthrough crevices; here a mink with eyes like jet beads; here awhiskered otter peering from a cleft; now a musk-rat squatting to washhis face; now a red martin thrashing about in the thick tree-top likea mammoth squirrel at frolic.
If this be solitude, with the stream softly talking in that sillybabble which is a language, too; if this be solitude, with the shydeer staring and the tiny wood-mouse in the windfall scraping busily;if this be solitude, then imprison me here, and not in the cities,where solitude is in men's hearts!
Five miles still lay before us over the moist, springy forest road, anexcellent and carefully constructed thoroughfare which had been begunby Sir William and designed for a short and direct route to thosehealing springs of Saratoga which he loved, twenty-eight milesnortheast of us. But this route had never been continued east ofFonda's Bush, partly because the winding Kennyetto interfered toooften, demanding to be bridged a dozen times in a mile, partly becausean easier though longer route had been surveyed by the engineerofficers from Albany, and was already roughly marked as far as theDiamond Hill, from which, in clear weather, the Saratoga lake may beseen.
The road we travelled, therefore, came to an abrupt end on the banksof the Kennyetto; and here, in a sunny clearing which was a sugar-bushlately in use, the wagon and its passengers halted, and I dismounted,flinging my bridle to one of the soldiers.
"Souse the stone jugs in the stream!" called out Sir William to youngBareshanks, who came bumping up with his bottles a-knocking and hishat crammed on his ears.
Peter and Esk wriggled out of the straw, fighting over a red and bluebob-float, and fell with a thump upon the moss, locked in conflict.Whereupon Sir William fetched them a clip with his ivory cane acrosstheir buttocks, which brought them up snivelling, but reconciled.
Meanwhile Mr. Duncan had gone to the bank of the stream with six sharppegs, all numbered; and presently Sir William joined him, where theyconsulted seriously concerning the proper ground, and took snuff andhummed and hawed with much wagging of heads and many eye-squints atthe sky and water.
At last, the question being settled, Mr. Duncan set the six pegs tenyards apart and pushed them noiselessly down into the bank, while SirWilliam removed his hat and placed in the crown six bits of birch-barkwith numbers written on each.
"Now, then, young wild-cats," he said, frowning at Esk and Peter,"and you, Felicity, you, too, Mr. Duncan, and Michael, also, come anddraw lots for pegs. Zounds! Peter! Ladies first, sir! Now, Felicity!"
Silver Heels placed one hand over her eyes and groped in the hat untilher fingers clutched a square of bark. Then she drew it out.
"Number six!" she said, shyly.
"Last peg to the left," announced Sir William. "Who next? Draw, Mr.Duncan!"
"Me! Me!" shouted Peter and Esk, charging at the hat and tearing theirnumbers from it.
Then Mr. Duncan drew, and then I drew number five.
"Get ready!" commanded Sir William, fumbling with his fish-rod."Michael, take care of Felicity!"
Now the rules for a peg-down fishing match are few and simple. Eachcontestant must fish from the position which his peg indicates, and hemust not leave his peg to fish elsewhere until the match is ended.Furthermore, he must fish courteously and with due r
egard for hisneighbour's rights, employing no unfair means to attract fish to hisown bait or to drive them from his neighbour's. The contestantsecuring the largest number of fish is the winner; he who bags thelargest single fish is adjudged worthy of a second prize; he whosecures the choicest individual fish receives a crown of young oakleaves.
At the words, "Take your stations!" we trooped to our pegs. SilverHeels was on the extreme left, I next, then Sir William, then Mr.Duncan, then Peter, and, last of all, Esk.
"Fish!" cried Sir William, and swung his rod from the wrist, sending agreen and gray and scarlet feather-fly out into the water.
Silver Heels held her hook out to me and I garnished it with a bit ofeel's skin and red flannel. My own line I baited with angle-worm, andtogether we cast out into the slow, deep current.
Farther along I heard Esk and Peter cast out with some heedlesssplashing, which was the occasion of mutual recrimination until SirWilliam silenced them.
Yet almost immediately fat Peter caught a fish, which is like allIndians. However, it was but a spiny sun-fish with blue and scarletand yellow gills. Still it made Peter's score one.
"Does that count?" asked Silver Heels, turning up her nose. "See!Peter hath another one--a sun-fish, too! Pooh! Anybody can catchsun-fish."
"Better catch 'em then," said Sir William, laughing, and drawing hisfly over the water to recover it for another cast.
Splash!--and Peter had a third sun-fish; and in another moment Eskjerked a fourth from the water, secured his prize with a scowl atPeter, and hurriedly rebaited, muttering and breathing thickly.
Then Mr. Duncan's yellow float bobbed under, once, twice, then bobbedso fast that the water dimpled all around and the little rings,spreading, succeeded each other so quickly that the wavelets coveredthe yellow float.
"A barbel-pout," quoth Mr. Duncan, coolly, and sure enough up came thebluish-black fish and flapped and squeaked, now on its white belly,now on its back, grinning with its gummy, whiskered maw agape and itsthree dagger fins ready to stab and poison him who rashly grasped it.
"Silver Heels," said I, politely; "you are having a nibble."
"Oh, so I am!" she cried, and drew a lovely blue and silver frost-fishto the surface, only to lose it by over-haste, and cry out in hervexation.
I explained to her how to strike the hook before pulling in, and shethanked me very modestly. There was a new and humble tone in hervoice, delicate and grateful flattery to me, due, as I knew perfectlywell, to my uniform. Nor did the tribute savour of any after-sting ofjealousy or resentment for my new honours.
She recognized that I had climbed high in a single day, leaving therounds of childhood behind forever; and she knew, too, which I didnot, that she also was climbing the ladder very swiftly, a littlebehind me now, yet confident, and meaning to rejoin and pass me ere Idreamed of such a thing.
About this time Sir William hooked and landed a great pink and whiteMohawk chub, which had risen silently from a black pool and had suckedin his feather-fly.
"Tush!" said Sir William. "I'll not count that!" And with a slack anda snip! he unhooked the fish, which at once slowly sank back into theblack channel. Whereupon Sir William smoothed out his fly, and tooksnuff, singing merrily:
"A-Maying! A-Maying!"
"You bade _us_ make no noise, sir," spoke up Esk, reproachfully.
"So I did, lad! So I did! But not with thy mouth. Shout all day, andnever a trout budges. Stamp thy feet--ay, brush but a stone inpassing, and it's farewell, master troutling! Ho! What was that?"
A spattering and splashing arose from Peter's peg, and all turned tosee the fat little Mohawk dragging a trout from the water and up thebank, where he fell upon the bouncing fish, whooping like the savagehe was.
"Clearly," mused Sir William, "my eye has lost its cunning, and my armits strength. So passes the generation that was born with me!Heigh-ho! Well done, Peter boy!"
Silver Heels was doomed to ill-fortune. She lost a second frost-fish,and was ready to weep. So I laid my rod on the bank, leaving thebaited hook in the water, and went over to her, for she seemeddiscouraged, having broken her hook and quill.
"Fen dubs!" shouted Peter, from the other end of the line. "You can'tdo that, Michael! I'm ahead of you all, and it is not fair!"
"Mind your business," said I, sitting down beside Silver Heels; andtruly enough he did, for, before I was seated, Peter jumped up,struggling with a fat white perch, which he landed, yelling anddancing in his vanity.
"Never you mind, Silver Heels," said I, tying a plated hook on herline, and covering it with a long silvery strip of skin andpin-feathers from a pullet's neck. "Now do as I say; toss the baitdown stream, so! Now draw it slowly till it spins like a top."
Ere I could end my instructions I saw the nose of a great gold-greenpike close after her bait.
"Slack!" I whispered. "He has it!"
She held the rod still. There came a twitch, more twitches, but sogentle you would have vowed 'twas a tender-mouthed minnow lipping theline.
"He gorged it," I muttered; "strike hard!"
"A log!" wailed Silver Heels, as she felt the rod stagger when thehook, deeply struck, embedded barb and shank.
But it was no log, for instantly the great fish shot into the air, andlay a-wallowing and thrashing in mid-stream.
"A chain-pike!" cried Sir William, briskly. "Do you net him, Michael,else Felicity will take a swim she has not bargained for!"
I ran to Sir William, who thrust the net at me, and back again as fastas my legs could move to Silver Heels, who had dropped the rod andnow, sprawling on the moss, lay a-pulling at the line which wascutting her tender fingers.
"No fair!" bellowed fat Peter, jealously. "Let her bag her own game asI do! Hi-yi! Another trout!"
But spite of Peter's clamour and Esk's injured howls, I netted thefloundering pike and flung it among the bushes, where young Bareshanksgaffed it and held it aloft.
There it hung, all spray and green and gold, marked with the devil'schain pattern; and its wolf-jaws gaping, lined with teeth.
"Oh, Michael," quavered Silver Heels, staring at her captive. Shemoved a little nearer to the fish, plucking up her skirts with herfingers, and bending forward, alarmed, amazed at the fierce, drippingcreature.
"Ugh! There's blood on it!" she whispered, taking fast hold of my arm.
"Is it not a noble prize!" I urged, eagerly. But she shook her headand turned away, holding me tightly by the sleeve.
"Are you not proud?" I persisted, irritably. "It is the biggest fishany have yet caught. You will gain second prize, silly! What's thematter with you, anyhow!" I added, in a temper.
"I can't help it," she said, tremulously; "I'm not a man, and itfrightens me to kill. I shall fish no more. Ugh--the blood!--and howit quivered when the gillie gaffed it! I could cry my eyes out for thelife I took so lightly!"
I was disgusted and hurt, too, for I had thought to please her. Idrew my sleeve from her fingers, but she only stood there like asimpleton harping on one string:
"Oh, the brave fish! Oh, the poor brave fish! I hurt it!--I saw bloodon it, Michael."
"Ninny," said I; "there is blood on your fingers, too, where the linecut, and you've wiped it on my sleeve!"
She looked at her bleeding fingers in a silly, startled fashion, thenheld them out to me so pitifully that I could do no less than wipethem clean and bind them in my handkerchief, though it was my best,and flowered and laced at that.
"I don't care," she said, a-pouting at the water; "you told me thatwhen you shot wild things it saddened you, too."
I pretended not to hear, yet it was true. And in sooth, to this day Inever draw trigger on beast or bird that I do not thrill with pity.
I know not what fierce, resistless passion it may be that sets mynostrils quivering like a pointer's when I chase wild things--whatsavage craving drives me on, on, on! till the flash of the gun and theinnocent death leave me standing sad and staring.
Could I but keep from the woods--but I cannot. An
d it were vainer toargue with a hound on a runway, or with the west wind in October, thanwith me.
I went to my rod, which I saw nodding its tip in the water, and foundan eel fast to the bait, yet not hooked, so summoned Bareshanks to ridme of the snaky thing and strolled sulkily over to Sir William.
The Baronet had enticed and prettily netted a plump lake salmon, byfar the choicest fish taken; so, the match being ended, and luncheonserved under the pines, Silver Heels plaited a wreath of red-oak, andcrowned Sir William for his third prize.
Peter with his motley string of fish, some two dozen brace in all, andmostly trout at that, clamoured for the first prize, which was aBarlow-knife like the one Silver Heels had gained in the foot-race ayear ago; and he clutched his prize and straightway fell a-hacking thewagon till Sir William collared him.
Silver Heels received the other reward, a gold guinea; and she placedit in her bosom, and kissed Sir William heartily.
"Faith," said the Baronet, "you had best kiss your cousin yonder, whosaved you from a bath in the brook with your pike!"
Silver Heels came up to me, laying both hands on my shoulders, andheld up her lips. I kissed her maliciously and praised her skill,vowing that she was a very Huron for slaughter, which boorish jest sether face a sorrowful red.
Meanwhile young Bareshanks had laid a clean cloth upon the moss, andthere was pot-pie and roast capon, and a dish of apples andgingerbread. Ale, too, and punch chilled in the brook, and small-beerfor the children, with a few drops of wine to drink Sir William'shealth.
With a cup of ale in one hand and a slice of cold capon on a trencherof bread, I munched and drank and rallied Silver Heels because of herpity for the pike; but she did not like it, yet ventured no retort,such as was formerly her custom.
Presently, Sir William having done scant justice to pot-pie and ale,called for his rod and flies, and he and Mr. Duncan lighted theirpipes and strolled off along the stream to lure those small plumpsalmon which abound in the Kennyetto's swiftest reaches.
Peter lay on the moss, a-stuffing himself Indian fashion until it hurthim to eat more, and he howled and licked his gingercake, lamentingbecause he could not contain it. So I grasped his heels and draggedhim to the wagon, tossing him up in the straw to lie like a suckingpig and squeal his fill.
Bareshanks and the soldiers now fell upon the feast, and Silver Heelsand I withdrew to play at stick-knife and watch Esk that he tumblednot into the water while turning flat rocks for cray-fish.
Seated there on the deep moss at stick-knife with the cold song of thestream in our ears, we conducted politely as became our quality, Iasking pardon for plaguing her concerning the pike, she grantingpardon and praising my skill in taking such a monster fish. That glowof amiability which suffuses man when he has fed, warmed me into amost friendly state of mind, and I permitted Silver Heels to win atstick-knife, and I drew the peg without protest.
Fat Peter had fallen asleep; Esk, nipped by a cray-fish, waddled tothe wagon, and rolling himself into a ball like a raccoon, joinedPeter in dreams of surfeit.
In a distant glade the soldiers and young Bareshanks played at cards;the horses, tethered near, snorted in their feed-bags, and whiskedtheir tails at the gnats and forest flies.
A hush fell upon the woods, stiller for the gossip of the stream.Ringed pigeons in the trees overhead made low, melodious love; far inthe forest dusk the hermit-bird sang, but so faint, so distant, thatthe whisper of leaves stirring effaced the hymn of the gray recluse.
"I had not thought that you were so nearly a man to be appointedcornet of horse," said Silver Heels, digging into the moss with herknife.
"And you," said I, magnanimously, "are almost a woman." But I said itfrom courtesy, not because I believed it.
"Yes," she replied, indifferently, "maids may wed at sixteen years."
"Wed!" I repeated, laughing outright.
"Ay. Mother was a bride at sixteen."
I was silent in my effort to digest such an absurd idea. Silver Heelsmarry in another year! I looked at the frail yet full arm, half bared,the slender neck, the round, clear hazel eyes, the faintly smilingmouth, which was the mouth of a child. Silver Heels wed? The idea wasgrotesque. It was also displeasing.
Not to rebuff her with scorn, I said: "Indeed, you are quite a woman.Perhaps in a year you will be one! Who knows?--for a year is such along, long time, Silver Heels."
"It is a very long time," she admitted.
"And to love, one must be quite old," said I.
"Yes, that is true," she conceded, reluctantly; "but not always."
After a silence she said, "Michael, I have a secret."
The mere idea that Silver Heels possessed a secret which she had notat once revealed to me produced a complicated sensation in my breast.I was conscious of a sudden and wholly involuntary respect for SilverHeels, a hearty resentment, and a gnawing curiosity to learn thesecret.
"Will you promise never, never to tell?" she asked, raising her eagereyes to me.
Again resentment and hurt pride stung me, but curiosity prevailed, andI promised, with pretended indifference, to soothe my weak loss ofself-respect.
"Well, then," she said, lowering her voice, "I am sure that Mr. Butleris in love with me."
"Mr. Butler!" I cried out, in angry derision. "Why, he's an old man!Why, he's nearly thirty!"
Angry incredulity choked me, and I sat scowling at Silver Heels andstriving to reconcile her serious mien with such a tomfool speech.
"If you shout my secret aloud," she said, "I shall tell you no more,Micky."
Again, troubled and astonished at her sincerity, I expressed mydisbelief in a growl.
"He keeps me after school hours," she said; "once he would caress myhand, but I will have none of it. He sometimes speaks of the future,and certainly does conduct in most romantic manners, vowing he willwait for me, declaring that I must love him one day, that I am nolonger a child, that he has adored me since I was but twelve."
"How long has this gone on?" I said, my face cold and twitching withrage.
"These three months," said Silver Heels, without embarrassment.
"And--and you never told me!"
She shook her head frankly.
"No, you were but a lad, and you could not understand such things."
For a moment I felt so small that I could have yelled aloud myvexation. What! I too young to be told the secrets of this chit of achild with her ridiculous airs and pretensions!
"But now that you are become a man," she continued, serenely, "Ithought to tell you of this, because it tries my patience, yet pleasesme, too, sometimes."
Boiling with fury and humiliation, I gave her a piece of my mind. Isaid that Mr. Butler was a sneak, a bully, and an old fool in hisdotage to make love to a baby. I told her it did sicken me to hear ofit; that there was no truth in it but vain imaginings, and that shehad best confess to Sir William how this gentleman school-teacher didteach her his knowledge withal!
She listened, frowning and digging up moss with her knife.
"He is not old," she said, firmly; "thirty years is but a youth'sprime, which you will one day comprehend."
Such condescension wellnigh finished me. I could find neither tonguenor words to speak my passion.
"He is a gentleman of rank and station," she said, primly. "If hechooses to protest his solicitous regard for me, I can but courteouslydiscourage him."
"You little prig!" I exclaimed, grinding my teeth. "I will teach thisfellow Butler to abuse Sir William's confidence!"
"I have your promise not to reveal this," said Silver Heels, coolly.
I groaned, then remembering that Mr. Butler had partly promised me ameeting, I caught Silver Heels by both hands and looked at herearnestly.
"I also have a secret," said I. "Promise me silence, and you shallshare it."
"Truly?" she asked, a little pale.
"Truly, a secret. Promise. Silver Heels."
"I promise," she whispered.
Then I told her of my defian
ce, of the meeting which Mr. Butler hadhalf pledged me, and I swore to her that I would kill him, eye to eyeand hilt to hilt; not alone for his contempt and insults to me, butfor Sir William's honour and for the honour of my kinswoman. FelicityWarren.
"The beast!" I snarled. "That he should come a-suing you without aword to Sir William! Do gentlemen conduct in such a manner towardsgentlewomen? Now hear me! Do you swear to me upon your oath and honournever to stay again after school, never to listen to another word fromthis sneaking fellow until you are sixteen, never to receive hisaddresses until Sir William speaks to you of him? Swear it! Or I willgo straight to Mr. Butler and strike him in the face!"
"Micky, what are you saying? Sir William knows all this."
Taken aback, I dropped her hands, but in a moment seized them again.
"Swear!" I repeated, crushing her hands. "I don't care what SirWilliam says! Swear it!"
"I swear," she said, faintly. "You are hurting my fingers!"
She drew her hands from mine. Where the fishing-line had cut a singledrop of blood had been squeezed out again.
"First you bind my hand, then you tear it," she said, withoutresentment. "It is like all men--to hurt, to heal, then wound again."
I scarcely heard her, being occupied with my anger and my designsagainst Mr. Butler. Such hatred as I now felt for him I never hadconceived could be cherished towards any living thing. My right handitched for a sword-hilt; I longed to see him facing me as I never hadcraved for anything in this world or the next. And to think that SirWilliam approved it!
Unconsciously we had both risen, and now, side by side, we were movingslowly along the stream, saying nothing, yet in closer communion thanwe had ever been.
Little by little the hot anger cooled in my veins, leaving arefreshing confidence that all would come right. Such passions are toopowerful for young hearts. Anger and grief heal their own woundsquickly when life is yet new.
With my sudden, astonished respect for Silver Heels came anothersentiment, a recognition of her rights as an equal, and a strangelysolicitous desire to control and direct her enjoyment of these rights.It is the instinct of chivalry, latent in the roughest of us, andwhich, in extreme youth, first manifests as patronage. Thus, walkingwith Silver Heels I unburdened my heart, telling her that I too hadbeen in love, that the object of my respectful passion was one MarieLivingston, who would undoubtedly be mine at some distant date. Irevealed my desire to see Silver Heels suitably plighted, drawing apleasing portrait of an imaginary suitor who should fill allrequirements.
To this she replied that she, too, had desired a suitor resembling thehighly attractive portrait I had painted for her; that she found alikeness between that portrait and her secret ideal, and that sheshould be very glad to encounter the portrait in the flesh.
It hurt me a little that she had not recognized in me many of thetraits I had painted for her so carefully, and presently I disclosedmyself as the mysterious original of the portrait.
"You!" she exclaimed, in amazement. Then, not to hurt me, she said itwas quite true that I did resemble her ideal, and only lacked yearsand titles and wealth and reputation to make me desirable for her.
"I believe, also," she said, "that Aunt Molly means that we marry.Betty says so, and she is wiser than a black cat."
"Well," said I, "we can't marry, can we, Silver Heels?"
"Why, no," she said, simply; "there's all those things you lack."
"And all those things which you lack," said I, sharply. "Now, MarieLivingston--"
"She is older than I!" cried Silver Heels.
"And those things I lack come with years!" I retorted.
"That is true," she answered; "you are suitable for me excepting youryears, which includes all you ought to be."
"Suppose you wait for me?" I proposed. "If I wed not Marie Livingston,I will wed you, Silver Heels."
I meant to be generous, but she grew very angry and vowed she wouldrather wed young Bareshanks than me.
"I don't care a fig," said I; "I only meant you to be suitably wed oneday, and was even willing to do so myself to save you from CaptainButler. Anyway I'll kill him next year, so I don't care whether youmarry me or not."
"A sorry match, pardieu!" she snapped, and fell a-laughing. "Michael,I will warn you now that I mean to wed a gentleman of rank and wealth,and wear jewels which will blind you! And I shall wed a gallantgentleman of years, Michael, and scarred with battles--not so todisfigure a pleasing countenance, but under his clothes where none cansee--and I shall be 'my lady!'--mark me! Michael, and shall be wellpatched and powdered as befits my rank! I shall strive to be very kindto you, Michael."
Her cheeks were aflame, her eyes daring and bright. She picked up herskirt and mocked me in a curtsey, then marched off, nose in the wind,to join Sir William and Mr. Duncan, who were returning along the bankwith a few brace of fish.
The sun had dropped low behind the trees ere we were prepared todepart. Bareshanks brought around my horse, and I mounted withoutdifficulty this time.
As the wagon moved off Mr. Duncan started a hymn of Watts, which alljoined, the soldiers and young Bareshanks also singing lustily, itbeing permitted for servants to aid in holy song.
So among the woods and out into the still country, with the sun a redball sinking through saffron mist and the new moon aslant and dimoverhead.
As I rode, the whippoorwill called after me from the darkening woods;the crickets began from every tuft, and far away I heard the solitaryhermit at vespers in the still pines.
It was night ere the lights of Johnstown glimmered out against thehill-side where, on the hillock called Mount Johnson, the candles inour windows spun little rings of fire in the evening haze.
As we passed through the village, the good people turned to smile andto doff their hats to Sir William, thinking not less of him for ridingwith his flock in the straw-lined wagon, and on they went; I pullingrein at the blacksmith's, as Warlock had cast a shoe on the stony waybelow.
While the smith was at his forge I dismounted and stood in thefire-glow, stroking Warlock's velvet nose, and watching the fieryflakes falling from the beaten metal.
And as I stood, musing now on Silver Heels, now on Mr. Butler, cameone a-swaggering by the shop, and bawling loudly a most foolish lilt:
"Diddle diddle dumpling, My son John Went to bed with one shoe on; One shoe off and one shoe on; Diddle diddle dumpling, My son John!"
Perceiving me in full uniform the songster halted and saluted socheerfully that I rendered his salute with a smile. He was drunk butpolite; a great fellow, six feet two at least, all buckskin andswagger and raccoon cap, with tail bobbing to his neck, a truecoureur-de-bois, which is the term for those roaming free-rifles whosebusiness and conduct will not always bear investigation, and who liveby their wits as well as by their rifles.
"A fine horse, captain," quoth he, with good-natured, drunken freedom,which is not possible for gentlemen to either ignore or resent. "Afine horse, sir, and, by your leave, worthy of his master!" And hestood swaying there heel and toe, with such a jolly laugh that Ilaughed too, and asked the news from Canada.
"Canada!" he roared, in his voice of a giant. "I've not sniffed priestor Jesuit these six months! Do you take me for a Frenchy, captain?"
At that moment another man who had been pushing his nose against thewindow of a bake-shop crossed the street and joined the giant inbuckskin, saluting me carelessly as he came up.
He was short and meagre and weasel-eyed, sharp-muzzled, and dingy as asummer fox. He was also drunk, yet his mouth was honest, and I judgenot from such things, nor yet by the eye, but by men's lips and howthey rest one upon the other, and how they laugh.
Waiting there for my horse, I paced up and down the doorway, sometimesglancing at the motley pair in their fringed buckskins, who werefondly embracing one another, sometimes watching the towns-people,passing before the lighted windows. There were soldiers strolling, twoby two, lingering at bake-shops to sniff the ovens; there weretra
ders, come to town to solicit permits from Sir William for theCanadas. At times the tall, blanketed form of a Mohawk passed like aspectre with the red forge light running along his rifle barrel,followed by his squaw, loaded with bags of flour, or a haunch ofsalted beef, or a bale of pelts crackling on her back.
My pair of buckskin birds, loitering before the tavern, had beenobserved and mistaken for French trappers by half a dozen soldiers ofthe Royal Americans, who were squatting in a row on the tavern porch,and a volley of chaff was fired at short range.
"Mossoo! Oh, Mossoo! I say, Mossoo! How's Mrs. Parleyvoo and thelittle Parleyvoos? What's the price of cat-stew in Canada? Take thatcat-tail off your cap, Mossoo!"
The big ranger gave them a drunken stare, then burst into a laugh.
"Why, it's some of those lobster-backs. Hello! Old red-bellies!They're going to give another tea-party in Boston, I hear. Didn't theyinvite you?"
"Come across the street and we'll give you a tea-party, you damnedYankee!" cried the soldiers, unbuckling their leather belts andswinging them.
"Come over here and we'll drum the rogue's march on you!" shouted thelittle ranger, planting his legs wide apart and drawing the ramrodfrom his long rifle.
A watchman with rattle, pike, and lanthorn came hobbling up,threatening to sound his call. A group of towns-people gathered behindhim, protesting against the disturbance.
But the two rangers flourished their ramrods and taunted the soldierswith inquiries which I did not understand at the time, such as: "How'sBully Tryon and his blood-pudding?" "I learn that Tommy Gage has thegout; too much Port-Bill; he needs bleeding, does Tommy Gage!"
Then the big ranger, addressing soldiers, watchman, and towns-peopleas "bloody-backs," "cow-rumps," and "scratch-wigs," advised them allto pickle their heads and sell them in Albany, where cabbage was muchesteemed among the Dutchmen.
"Come up to the barracks and we'll show you what pickling is," shoutedthe soldiers, wrathfully.
"Come out in the woods and I'll show you something to beat pickledpig!" replied the little ranger, cheerfully.
Behind me I heard the trample of hoofs; the smith was backing Warlockout into the street. I paid him; he held my stirrup, and I mounted,walking my horse out between the soldiers, the people, and the tworangers.
"Come, boys," said I, pleasantly, "this town is no place for brawls.Let it end here--do you understand?--or Sir William shall learn ofit!"
The soldiers had stepped forward to salute, the two rangers laughedscornfully, flung their rifles over their shoulders, and passed oninto the darkness with noiseless, moccasined stride.
Waiting to see that the crowd dispersed without disorder, far down thedim street I heard the two rangers break out into a foolish catch:
"Who comes here? A grenadier! What d'ye lack? A pot o' beer! Where's your penny? I forgot-- Get you gone, you red-coat sot!"
A most uncomfortable sensation came over me, although I did not fullyunderstand that "red-coat" was a reproach. But the loose laughter, thedisrespectful tone, the devil-may-care swagger of these fellowsdisturbed me. What had they meant by "lobster-back" and "Tommy Gage"and "Bully Tryon?" Surely they could not have referred to General Gageof Boston or to our Governor! Did they mean Sir William's son, John,by their "diddle dumpling?" What quarrel had they with the King'ssoldiers? They had been courteous enough to me, unless they intendedtheir song as an insult.
The blood stung my face; I put Warlock to a gallop and overtook thepair. They were arm in arm, swaggering along, ogling the towns-people,jostling the crowd, sometimes mocking the bare shanks of a Highlander,sometimes hustling an Indian, or tweaking the beard of a Jew peddler,now doffing their caps to some pretty maid, now digging the ribs of asober Quaker, and ever singing of "diddle diddle dumpling" or of thegrenadier and his pot of beer.
Such license and freedom displeased me. I had never before observed itin our town or among those who came to the Hall. However, I now sawthat I could not with dignity notice either their boorish gallantry,their mischief, or the songs they were pleased to bawl out in thestreet.
I therefore passed them in silence, and, loosening bridle, set Warlockat a gallop for home.
I did not comprehend it at the time; indeed, the whole matter passedfrom my mind ere the lights of the Hall broke out in the blue night.Yet the scene I had witnessed was my first view of the unrest whichtormented the whole land, the first symptom of that new fever forwhich no remedy had yet been found.