Читать книгу Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency - John Pendleton Kennedy - Страница 11

"Oh! I understand, major," said Horse Shoe, laughing, "whether it be peace or whether it be war, these women keep the upper hand of us men. For my part, I think it's more natural to think of them in war than in peace. For, you see, the creatures are so helpless, that if a man don't take care of them, who would? And then, when a woman's frightened, as she must be in these times, she clings so naturally to a man! It stands to reason!"

"You will keep my counsel, Galbraith," interrupted Butler, "I have a reason which, perhaps, you may know by and by, why you should not speak of any thing you may see or hear. And now, as we have spent a good hour in refreshment, sergeant, make our horses ready. We'll take the road again."

Robinson promised caution in all matters that might be committed to his charge, and now set himself about saddling the horses for the journey. Whilst he was engaged in this occupation, Butler was startled to hear the sergeant abruptly cry out—"You devil, Captain Peter Clinch! what are you about?" and, looking hastily around, saw no one but the trusty squire himself, who was now sedately intent upon thrusting the bit into his horse's mouth—a liberty which the animal seemed to resent by sundry manifestations of waywardness.

"To whom are you talking, Galbraith?"

"Only to this here contrary, obstropolous beast, major."

"What name did you call him by?" inquired Butler.

"Ha, ha, ha! was it that you was listening too?" said Horse Shoe. "I have christened him Captain Peter—sometimes Captain Peter Clinch. I'll tell you why. I am a little malicious touching the name of my horse. After the surrender of Charlestown, our regiment was put in the charge of a provost marshal, by the name of Captain Clinch, and his first name was Peter. He was a rough, ugly, wiry-haired fellow, with no better bowels than a barrel of vinegar. He gave us all sorts of ill usage, knowing that we wa'n't allowed to give him the kind of payment that such an oncomfortable fellow desarved to get. If ever I had met him again, major, setters parbus—as Lieutenant Hopkins used to say—which is lingo, I take it, for a fair field, I would'a cudgelled his pate for him, to the satisfaction of all good fellows. Well, when I got home, I gave his name to my beast, just for the pleasure of thinking of that hang-gallows thief, every time I had occasion to give the creetur a dig in the ribs, or lay a blow across his withers! And yet he is a most an excellent horse, major, and a hundred times more of a gentleman than his namesake—though he is a little hard-headed too—but that he larnt from me. It really seems to me that the dumb beast thinks his name a disgrace, as he has good right, but has got used to it. And, besides, I hear that the cross-grained, growling dog of a captain has been killed in a scuffle since I left Charlestown, so now I consider my horse a sort of tombstone with the ugly sinner's name on it; and as I straddle it every day you see, that's another satisfaction."

"Well, sergeant, there are few men enjoy their revenge more good-humoredly than you. So, come, straddle your tombstone again, and make the bones beneath it jog."

In good glee, our travellers now betook themselves once more to the road.