Читать книгу Ticonderoga - G. P. R. James - Страница 3

The house was a neat, though a lowly one. It bore traces of newness, for the bark on the trunks which supported the little veranda had not yet mouldered away. Nevertheless, it was not built by the owner's own hands; for when he came there he had much to learn in the rougher arts of life; but with a carpenter from a village some nine miles off, he had aided to raise the building and directed the construction by his own taste. The result was satisfactory to him; and, what was more, in his eyes, was satisfactory to the two whom he loved best--at least, it seemed satisfactory to them, although those who knew them, even not so well as he did, might have doubted, and yet loved them all the better.

The door of the house was open, and custom admitted every visitor freely, whatever was his errand. It was a strange state of society that, in which men, though taught by daily experience that precaution was necessary, took none. They held themselves occasionally ready to repel open assault, which was rare, and neglected every safeguard against insidious attack, which was much more common.

It was the custom of the few who visited that secluded spot to enter without ceremony, and to search in any or every room in the house for some one of the inhabitants. But on this occasion the horse that came up the road stopped at the gate of the little fence, and the traveler, whoever he was, when he reached the door after dismounting, knocked with his whip before he entered.

The master of the house rose and went to the door. He was somewhat impatient of ceremony, but the aspect and demeanor of his visitor were not of a kind to nourish any angry feeling. He was a young and very handsome man, probably not more than thirty years of age, sinewy and well formed in person, with a noble and commanding countenance, a broad, high brow, and a keen but tranquil eye. His manner was courteous, but grave, and he said, without waiting to have his errand asked: "I know not, sir, whether I shall intrude upon you too far in asking hospitality for the night, but the sun is going down, and I was told by a lad whom I met in the woods just now that there is no other house for ten miles farther; and, to say the truth, I am very ignorant of the way."

"Come in," said the master of the cottage. "We never refuse to receive a visitor here, and, indeed, have sometimes to accommodate more than the house will well hold. We are alone, however, now, and you will not have to put up with the inconveniences which our guests are sometimes obliged to encounter. Stay! I will order your horse to be taken care of."

Thus saying, he advanced a step or two beyond the door and called in a loud voice for someone whom he named Agrippa. He had to shout more than once, however, before a negro appeared, blind in one eye, and somewhat lame withal, but yet, apparently, both active and intelligent. The necessary orders were soon given, and in a moment after the traveler was seated with his host in the little parlor of the cottage. The manner of the latter could not be called cordial, though it was polite and courteous.

The other seemed to feel it in some degree, and a certain stateliness appeared in his demeanor which was not likely to warm his host into greater familiarity. But suddenly the chilly atmosphere of the room was warmed in a moment, and a chain of sympathy established between the two by the presence of youth. A boy of sixteen, and a girl a little more than a year older, entered with gay and sunshiny looks, and the cloud was dispelled in a moment.

"My daughter Edith--my son Walter," said the master of the house, addressing the stranger, as the two young people bounded in; and then he added, with a slight inclination of the head: "It was an ancient and honorable custom in Scotland, when that country was almost as uncivilized as this, and possessed all the uncivilized virtues, never to inquire the name of a guest; and therefore I cannot introduce you to my children; but doubtless they will soon acknowledge you as their nameless friend."

"I am a friend of one of them already," answered the stranger, holding out his hand to the lad. "This is the young gentleman who told me that I should find the only house within ten miles about this spot, and his father willing to receive me, though he did not say that I should find a gem in the wilderness, and a gentleman in these wild woods."

"It has been a foolish fancy, perhaps," said the master of the house, "to carry almost into the midst of savage life some remnants of civilization. We keep the portraits of dead friends--a lock of hair--a trinket--a garment of the loved and departed. The habits and the ornaments of another state of society are to me like those friends, and I long to have some of their relics near me."

"Oh, my dear father," said Edith, seating herself by him and leaning her head upon his bosom, without timidity or restraint, "you could never do without them. I remember when we were coming hither, now three years ago, that you talked a great deal of free, unshackled existence; but I knew quite well, even then, that you could not be content till you had subdued the rough things around you to a more refined state."

"What made you think so, Edith?" asked her father, looking down at her with a smile.

"Because you never could bear the parson of the parish drinking punch and smoking tobacco pipes," answered the beautiful girl, with a laugh; "and I was quite sure that it was not more savage life you sought, but greater refinement."

"Oh, yes, my father," added the lad; "and you often said, when we were in England, that the red Indian had much more of the real gentleman in him than many a peer."

"Dreams, dreams," said their father, with a melancholy smile; and then, turning to the stranger, he added: "You see, sir, how keenly our weaknesses are read by even children. But come, Edith, our friend must be hungry with his long ride; see and hasten the supper. Our habits are primeval here, sir, like our woods. We follow the sun to bed, and wake with him in the morning."

"They are good habits," answered the stranger, "and such as I am accustomed to follow much myself. But do not, I pray you, hasten your supper for me. I am anything but a slave of times and seasons. I can fast long, and fare scantily, without inconvenience."

"And yet you are an Englishman," answered the master of the house, gravely, "a soldier, or I mistake; a man of station, I am sure; though all three would generally infer, as the world goes at this present time, a fondness for luxurious ease and an indulgence of all the appetites."

A slight flush came into his young companion's cheek, and the other hastened to add: "Believe me, I meant nothing discourteous. I spoke of the Englishman, the soldier, and the man of rank and station generally, not of yourself. I see it is far otherwise with you."

"You hit hard, my good friend," replied the stranger, "and there is some truth in what you say. But perhaps I have seen as many lands as you, and I boldly venture to pronounce that the fault is in the age, not in the nation, the profession, or the class."

As he spoke he rose, walked thoughtfully to the window, and gazed out for a moment or two in silence; and then, turning round, he said, addressing his host's son: "How beautifully the setting sun shines down yonder glade in the forest, pouring, as it were, in a golden mist through the needle foliage of the pines. Runs there a road down there?"

The boy answered in the affirmative, and drawing close to the stranger's side pointed out to him, by the undulation of the ground and the gaps in the tree tops, the wavy line that the road followed, down the side of the gentle hill, saying: "By a white oak and a great hemlock tree, there is a footpath to the left; at a clump of large cedars on the edge of the swamp the road forks out to the right and left, one leading eastward toward the river, and one out westward to the hunting grounds."

The stranger seemed to listen to him with pleasure, often turning his eyes to the lad's face as he spoke, rather than to the landscape to which he pointed; and when he had done he laid his hand on his shoulder, saying, "I wish I had such a guide as you, Walter, for my onward journey."

"Will it be far?" asked the youth.

"Good faith, I cannot well tell," answered the other. "It may be as far as Montreal, or even to Quebec, if I get not satisfaction soon."

"I could not guide you as far as that," replied the boy, "but I know every step toward the lakes, as well as an Indian."

"With whom he is very fond of consorting," said his father, with a smile.

But before the conversation could proceed farther, an elderly, respectable woman servant entered the room and announced that supper was on the table. Edith had not returned, but they found her in a large, oblong chamber to which the master of the house led the way. There was a long table in the midst, and four wooden chairs arranged round one end, over which a snowy tablecloth was spread. The rest of the table was bare, but there were a number of other seats and two or three benches in the room, while at equal distances on either side, touching the walls, lay a number of bear and buffalo skins, as if spread out for beds.

The eye of the stranger glanced over them as he entered, but his host replied to his thoughts, with a smile: "We will lodge you somewhat better than that, sir. We have, just now, more than one room vacant; but you must know there is no such thing as privacy in this land, and when we have any invasion of our Indian friends those skins make them supremely happy. I often smile to think how a redman would feel in Holland sheets. I tried it once, but it did not succeed. He pulled the blankets off the bed and slept upon the floor."

Seated at the table, the conversation turned to many subjects, general, of course, but yet personally interesting to both the elder members of the party.

More than an hour was beguiled at the table--a longer period than ordinary--and then the bright purple hues which spread over the eastern wall of the room, opposite the windows, told that the autumnal sun had reached the horizon. The master of the house rose to lead the way into another room again, but ere he moved from the table another figure was added to the group around it, though the foot was so noiseless that no one heard its entrance into the chamber.

The person who had joined the little party was a man of middle age, of a tall, commanding figure, upright and dignified carriage, and fine, but somewhat strongly marked features. The expression of his countenance was grave and noble, but yet there was a certain strangeness in it--a touch of wildness, perhaps I might call it--very difficult to define. It was not in the eyes, for they were good, calm, and steadfast, gazing straight at any object of contemplation, and fixed full upon the face of anyone he addressed. It was not in the lips, for, except when speaking, they were firm and motionless. Perhaps it was in the eyebrow, which, thick and strongly marked, was occasionally suddenly raised or depressed, without apparent cause.

His dress was very strange. He was evidently of European blood, although his skin was embrowned by much exposure to sun and weather. But yet he wore not altogether the European costume, the garb of the American backwoodsman, or that of the Indian. There was a mixture of all, which gave him a wild and fantastic appearance. His coat was evidently English, and had straps of gold lace upon the shoulders; his knee breeches and high riding boots would have looked English, also, had not the latter been destitute of soles, properly so called; for they were made somewhat like a stocking, and the part beneath the foot was of the same leather as the rest. Over his shoulder was a belt of rattlesnake skin, and round his waist a sort of girdle, formed from the claws of the bear, from which depended a string of wampum, while two or three knives and a small tomahawk appeared on either side. No other weapons had he whatever. But under his left arm hung a common powder flask, made of cow's horn, and beside it, a sort of wallet, such as trappers commonly used for carrying their little store of Indian corn. A round fur cap of bearskin, without any ornament whatever, completed his habiliments.

It would seem that in that house he was well known, for its master instantly held forth his hand to him, and the young people sprang forward and greeted him warmly. A full minute elapsed before he spoke, but nobody uttered a word till he did so, all seeming to understand his habits.

"Well, Mr. Prevost," he said, at length, "I have been a stranger to your wigwam for some time. How art thou, Walter? Not a man yet, in spite of all thou canst do? Edith, my sweet lady, time deals differently with thee from thy brother. He makes thee a woman against thy will." Then turning suddenly to the stranger, he said: "Sir, I am glad to see you. Were you ever at Kielmansegge?"

"Once," replied the stranger, laconically.

"Then we will confer presently," replied the newcomer. "How have you been this many a day, Mr. Prevost? You must give me food, for I have ridden far. I will have that bearskin, too, for my night's lodging place, if it be not pre-engaged. No, not that one, the next. I have told Agrippa to see to my horse, for I ever count upon your courtesy."

There was something extremely stately and dignified in his whole tone, and with frank straightforwardness, but without any indecorous haste, he seated himself at the table, drew toward him a large dish of cold meat, and while Edith and her brother hastened to supply him with everything else he needed, proceeded to help himself liberally to whatever was within his reach. Not a word more did he speak for several minutes, while Mr. Prevost and his guest stood looking on in silence, and the two young people attended the newcomer at the table.

As soon as he had done he rose abruptly, and then, looking first to Mr. Prevost, and next to the stranger, said: "Now, gentlemen, if you please, we will to council."

The stranger hesitated, and Mr. Prevost answered, with a smile: "I am not of the initiated, Sir William; but I and the children will leave you with my guest, whom you seem to know, but of whose name^[1] and station I am ignorant."

"Stay! stay!" replied the other, to whom he spoke. "We shall need not only your advice but your concurrence. This gentleman I will answer for as a faithful and loyal subject of his majesty King George. He has been treated with that hardest of all treatments--neglect. But his is a spirit in which not even neglect can drown out loyalty to his king and love to his country. Moreover, I may say, that the neglect which he has met with has proceeded from a deficiency in his own nature. God, unfortunately, did not make him a grumbler, or he would have been a peer long ago. The Almighty endowed him with all the qualities that could benefit his fellow creatures, but denied him those which were necessary to advance himself. Others have wondered that he never met with honors, or distinction, or reward. I wonder not at all; for he is neither a charlatan, nor a coxcomb, nor a pertinacious beggar. He cannot stoop to slabber the hand of power, nor lick the spittle of the man in office. How can such a man have advancement? It is contrary to the course of the things of this world. But as he has loved his fellow men, so will he love them. As he has served his country, so will he serve it. As he has sought honor and truth more than promotion, honor and truth will be his reward--alas! that it should be the only one. But when he dies, if he dies unrecompensed, it will not be unregretted, or unvenerated. He must be of our council."

Mr. Prevost had stood by in silence, with his eyes bent upon the ground. But Edith sprang forward and caught Sir William Johnson's hand as he ended the praises of her father, and bending her head with exquisite grace, pressed her lips upon it. Her brother seemed inclined to linger for a moment, but saying, "Come, Walter," she glided out of the room, and the young lad, following, closed the door behind him.