The Colonel galloped through the park and down the hill, until he had approached nigh enough to Elsie's cottage to see that its porch was darkened by the bodies of several men, moving about in what seemed to him extraordinary commotion. He grew pale, and finally, drawing up his horse, beckoned to his servant, a young and active mulatto, with an exceedingly bold and free visage, to approach:
"Give me the larger pistols, Reuben," he cried, "and do you take the smaller holsters——'Pshaw, they are fiddling and dancing! It is nothing.—Follow."
He resumed his course, and drawing nigher to the little inn, saw that the group, which he at first eyed with trepidation, consisted of his own son, and two or three young gentlemen of the bridal party, with a man of strange and even ludicrous appearance, from whom they appeared to be extracting no little diversion. He was a tall man, with a French military coat of white cloth, faced with green, and on his head a chapeau-de-bras, which was, at that time, though the common cap of the Gallic auxiliaries, esteemed quite a curiosity in the confederacy. Instead of a white underdress, however, he had on breeches of broad blue and white stripes, which, being very tight, gave a pair of legs more remarkable for brawn than beauty, an appearance quite comical, and the more especially that they were decked off at the extremities with rose-coloured shoes, and were kept moving about as briskly as those of a house-fly or a monkey. In the particular of shoes, as well his silver-fringed rich waistcoat, and a cane with a head half as big as his own, he bore no little resemblance to the valet-messenger of a French field-officer,—a sort of humble aid, whose business was to fetch and carry written orders in a review, but who was sometimes mistaken by our simple-minded ancestors for a general-in-chief, in consequence of the splendour and gravity of his appearance; and such a menial Colonel Falconer supposed him to be, discarded by his late master, or driven from service by that sudden spirit of independence so apt to appear in foreign servants, when brought to the land of liberty. Besides his cane, he had a fiddle and bow in his hand; and from these, as well as the prodigious grace, restlessness, and activity of his motions, it was judged that he had betaken himself, in his distresses, to that honourable profession, to which three-fourths of the wanderers of the Grande Nation seem to have been born,—in other words, to that of the dancing-master. It did not seem, however, that he had yet profited much by the change of profession, for his attire was in somewhat a dilapidated condition, and his cheeks pinched and hollow. Such as he was, however, he seemed to be the happiest creature in existence; and as Colonel Falconer drew nigh, he saw that he was one while engaged flourishing his bow, the next his leg, and ever and anon his tongue,—the last with intense volubility,—as if in spirits irrepressibly buoyant and exuberant. The unruly member was hard at work, as the Colonel approached, and had it not been for the clatter of his horse's feet, he might have heard him deliver the following highly flattering account of himself:
"Yes, Missare Ou-at-you-call-it, and jentlemans, I am a man of figure in mine own land; and you laughs, par de deb'l! I come invite myself to de marriage,néanmoins, juste like Ménélas in l'Iliade d'Homère,mort de diable, parce qu'il etaitjentleman. You are soldiare!Et moi, by minehonneur, and so am I; forautre fois, jadis, (ou-at de deb'l you call him?) I use de sword for de violon, ride de horse, chargésur mon ennemi, in ou-at you' Shakaspeare call de 'war glorieuse.'—
Yes, missares, I am jentleman-soldiare, ou-id fiddle. How de deb'l you make mariage wi'sout de fiddle,l'aimable violon, l'instrument des amours? Ecoutez!you s'all hear. How de ladies and jentlemans s'all dance when dey hears, 'Qu'elle est grande, qu'elle est belle!'"—And, in a rapture, he forthwith began sawing his instrument, and singing, with a voice exceedingly cracked and enthusiastic, the words of the old chorus of shepherds,
nor did he cease, even when the merriment of his auditors became as uproarious as his own harmony.
In the midst of the chorus and the laughter, young Falconer looked up, and beheld his father, who had suddenly checked his horse at the entrance of the little oak-yard, and was looking towards him. He was struck with the unusual agitation of his parent's countenance, and ran towards him; but before he could speak, the Colonel demanded quickly, as if with an effort to change the current of his own thoughts,
"What do you here, Henry! Is this a place, is this a sport for a bridegroom?"
"'Pon my soul, pa," said the hopeful son, "I find it more agreeable than up among the tabbies. This fellow, this Monsieur Tiqueraque, as he calls himself, is decidedly the most agreeable person I have seen to-day,—a gentleman fiddler, who swears by all the gods of a Frenchman, he has trudged twenty miles on foot, to have the honour of dancing at my funeral—that is, my wedding; but the lord knows, pa, you look as solemn as if to-day was to be the end of me. Pray, sir, what is the matter? I hope you are not offended? Egad, sir, I am acting under orders,—under Harry's, who has taken as much command of me as if she were my wife, instead of my sister. She ordered me away, to be out of Catherine's sight,—the lord knows why, but women are all mad, and I think Catherine is growing as whimsical and absurd as the rest."
"Get you back to her, notwithstanding," said the father; "a maiden is privileged to be capricious on her wedding-day. Get you back; your absence is improper. And hark you, Henry, my son—delay not the ceremony on my account: the clergyman must be now on the way, and will soon arrive. Wait not a moment for me. A sudden affair, not to be deferred even to the nuptial rite, calls me to Hillborough:—Say thus much to Captain Loring and the rest; say that I will be back within a few hours; and add, that I charge them not to delay the ceremony a moment for me. God bless you, my son—I must away."
So saying, he put spurs to his horse, and followed by Reuben, was soon out of sight.
"Well done, dad!" cried the young soldier, staring after him; "I wonder what's in the wind now? He has seen one of his spectres, I warrant me.—Adzooks, as the Captain says, if one were to believe that Reuben and black Joe, they are thicker in our house, about two in the morning, than is comfortable,—especially in dad's chamber. Won't stay to the wedding? why that's comical, egad! But that's his way. Well, now for that mad fool, Tiqueraque: he shall have his will, were it only on account of his striped breeches; he shall go among the fiddlers, though, gad's my life, he saws like a knife-grinder. I never saw two such legs before: egad, I beg my pardon, Idid!'List, list, oh list!' Such legs in Hamlet! Well God bless us, and by the eternal Jupiter, as Caliver says, I had no idea it was so stupid a thing to be married.Eh bien, monsieur," he added, turning to M. Tiqueraque, "I have no doubt you are a gentleman born and bred; so, gad's my life, you shall fiddle at the wedding, and get drunk into the bargain; but, by the eternal Jupiter, you must not be in a hurry!"
"Si fait, monsieur," cried the wanderer, drawing a note of indignation from his instrument; "Mort de ma vie, dronk! I s'all do no such sing. But I s'all see de leddees?" he added, in a transport that quite dispelled his temporary wrath. "Ah, Missare Ou-at-you-call-him, I s'all be very happy now! I love de leddees,particulièrementde leddees of figure, and not the contreepauvrettes, wis big feet and te'es like de old horse.—Ah ça, I s'all be very happy, and I s'all sharge only two dollare."
"Bring him along Tom, fiddle and all," cried the bridegroom,—"and, you Ned Cascable-nose, if you love me, gad, steal somebody's horse, ride down the road, and see what the deuce has become of the parson. We can get married very well without dad; but, adzooks, as the Captain says, a parson is quite essential. I swear, gad's my life, 'tis a very ludicrous thing, one's wedding-day."
And thus, as the party bent their steps towards the mansion, rattled the bridegroom, a youth of the lightest heart and emptiest head in all Pennsylvania, of a mind entirely too contracted for eccentricity, yet full of those foibles of character which commonly pass for such,—incapable of any stretch of sentiment or elevated emotion, and indeed rude, boisterous, and unreasonable of manners,—yet with a certain native good-humour and spirit prevailing through all his acts and conversation, that recommended him to the favour of such as were not choice in their friendships, and preserved him the affection of those whom the ties of relationship compelled to love. Such was the man whom Colonel Falconer, or rather his daughter, (for she was the guiding and ruling spirit throughout the whole attempt to unite such adverse elements together,) had chosen as the husband of Catherine Loring; and the inhumanity of the choice was rendered excusable only by the natural desire she had to contribute to his happiness, and the undue importance she attached to those good qualities he really possessed. Still the attempt was cruel, for it set at naught the disinclination of one whom feebleness of character, a sense of destitution, operating, however, only through the person of a bereaved parent, a knowledge ofhisdesires, and a consciousness perhaps that it was too late for escape, had put into her power. It is not to be supposed that Miss Falconer saw, that in effecting her brother's happiness she was destroying that of her friend; or that seeing it, she would have persisted in her object. On the contrary she was sincerely attached to Catherine, and fully believed she was consulting her welfare, though at the price of some temporary pain. It was her peculiar disposition to pursue every object with an avidity and resolution that became the stronger for every interposing obstacle; and she willingly blinded her eyes to such difficulties as she was not forced to see. She turned her looks, therefore, from her friend's distresses, and soon ceased to believe that they existed. But the match was one not made in heaven, nor destined to be accomplished; and fate, in frustrating the whole ill-advised scheme, was preparing a heavy retribution for all who had laboured to promote it.
It was late in the afternoon when Colonel Falconer rode by the Traveller's Rest; and his disappearance, though accounted for in the apology he had commissioned his son to deliver, was considered the more remarkable, as within an hour's time the presence of the clergyman was expected, for whom captain Caliver and lieutenant Brooks, as two of the principal attendants on the bridegroom, had gone in great state. There were many conjectures secretly hazarded as to the true cause of the Colonel's desertion, when the delay of an hour might have enabled him to discharge his duties to his son and destined daughter; and had Captain Loring been favoured with any jealous kinsmen, alive to the honour of his family, or been himself of a suspicious and cavilling mood, it is quite possible a defection so extraordinary might have caused some unpleasant feelings, and even an interruption of the ceremonies in hand. But such was not the case, and the matter was left to be canvassed by the friends and connexions of the bridegroom alone; who, after satisfying themselves that the Colonel had been summoned away by no sudden messenger, and that, if a necessity had really existed for his departure, it must have existed long enough previously to allow him time to make his own explanations in person, agreed to attribute the proceeding to one of those fits of moody eccentricity, by which, it appeared, he was often affected.
By the time this subject of wonder was exhausted there arose another, which produced, in the end, still greater surprise and discussion than the other. This was the non-appearance of the clergyman at the appointed hour; and indeed the sun set, before any tidings were had either of him or of the officers, and then not until messengers had been sent off with led horses, on the vague presumption that some accident might have happened to the carriage on the way.
Another subject of discussion was the conduct of the youthful bride, who, although during the greater part of the day exhibiting uncommon spirits, and running over the grounds with other frolicsome maidens, herself the most frolicsome of all, yet displayed, on one or two occasions, a disposition to wander by herself, and even stray into the woods; and once, when she had strayed further than usual, and was pursued and arrested, she shed tears, though none could tell for what reason. As the time drew nigh when the clergyman was expected, she manifested a great unwillingness to be withdrawn by her bridemaids, according to custom, but insisted she would walk in the garden, and that so obstinately, that it required all the influence Miss Falconer had over her to induce her to retire to her chamber; and here she wept so bitterly as to amaze and even alarm her youthful attendants. Her parent, however, being summoned to the chamber, she embraced him, dried her eyes, smiled, laughed, suffered a garland of snowy rose-bays, the latest of the season, to be fastened in her hair, and, so long as he remained in her sight, betrayed no other symptom of distress or agitation; for which reason her late tears were remembered without surprise, as being natural to the occasion.
It was not until after nightfall that the clergyman made his appearance, with the officers. Accidents of a common nature, but unusual in number and fatality, had detained them on the way. First, they had broken down, before reaching the village, in consequence of the loss of a linchpin, or some other essential atom in the economy of the coach; then, after attempting to return, it was discovered that a horse had lost a shoe, and that some portion of the harness had given way. In short, their difficulties were of such a nature, that they were on the point of abandoning the carriage altogether, to seek some other conveyance among the neighbouring farms, when 'a very excellent, contriving blockhead,' as lieutenant Brooks called him, came to their assistance, and inspired them with new hopes of accomplishing their journey. This was no less a personage than honest Dancy, of the Traveller's Rest, who chanced to be returning from the village on foot, and was glad to offer his services, on condition of being allowed to ride home on the box with the venerable Richard. Nay, not content with again setting the vehicle in motion, he even volunteered, in the warmth of his gratitude, to divide with Richard the labour of driving,—a proposal highly acceptable to the latter, who had much of his master's affection for an afternoon nap, and could take it as well upon a coach box as in the chimney corner. The only ill consequence of this exchange was, that, before they had proceeded a mile further, the zealous Jehu interrupted an exceedingly interesting account captain Caliver was giving the clergyman of his midnight encounter with the Hawks of the Hollow, by suddenly overturning the coach into a gully, whence all thought themselves fortunate in escaping without broken bones. But now arose a greater difficulty, or rather a series of difficulties, than before; for, first, it was questionable whether their force was sufficient to raise the unlucky vehicle, or whether, being raised, it was in a condition to carry them further; and, secondly, the reverend functionary, frightened and resolved to trust his neck no longer to a structure so ill-fated, declared, that, whatever might be the event, he would enter it no more, but would rather finish the remaining four or five miles on foot. In a word, they were reduced to the necessity of applying at a neighbouring farm-house for assistance; and getting horses and saddles as they could, they continued, and at last concluded, the journey, but in such plight as caused no little surprise and merriment among the expectant guests.
In the meanwhile, the tedium that might have been produced by these unforeseen circumstances, was put to flight by the appearance and activity of the French dancing-master, who, although carried to the house only for a whim, was soon found to be the most efficient adversary of ennui that could have been found. He was no sooner in the house than he snuffed his way, with the unerring accuracy of a setter-dog, to the kitchen, where he fell upon the ruins of the dinner table with the zeal of the hungriest of that species; and then, having succeeded in first gaining possession of a flagon of wine, or some stronger liquor, he threw aside his cane, clapped his hat under his arm, and seizing upon his fiddle, bounded with a hop and a skip first into one apartment, then another, and finally into the porch, in all of which were gathered some of the guests, and in all, as he entered, drawing a savage note from his instrument, and exclaiming,—
"Attendez, jentlemans and leddees! now we s'all dance; ou-y for no we no dance? Now for de Contre-danse and de Menuet!—Each jentlemans and his leddee—Mon Dieu! de jentlemans and leddees will be very well content.Attendez;I am demaître de bal, and I know ou-at is dematiéres de mode, begar, ou-at you calls fashionable."
The appearance of the man was itself diverting, but was rendered still more so by his sudden assumption of the character and authority of master of ceremonies, to which he seemed to consider he had the best right in the world, and which he was, in the end, suffered to exercise, for no better reason than that there was no other person appointed to such an honour. He evidently held, that the chief ceremony and pleasure of a wedding lay in the practice of his own art; and he addressed himself to the task of marshalling and animating the dancers with such zeal and enthusiasm, that several forgot they were beginning the ball at the wrong end, seized upon partners as forgetful, or as waggish, as themselves, and set Monsieur Tiqueraque's heart in a blaze of rapture, by dancing outright. What was begun in jest, came at last to be practised in earnest; and when the clergyman with the military groomsmen rode up to the door, they had some reason to fear lest their ill fate had deprived them of the most impressive portion of the ceremony.
Their appearance was hailed with the greatest joy, and the more especially when they declared they had met Colonel Falconer, and received from him the same charges he had delivered to his son,—namely, that the rites and rejoicings should not be delayed on his account, even for a minute. They retired for a little space to refit their disordered attire, and a few moments afterwards reappeared, conducting, with the other attendants, the youthful pair whose destinies were now to be united. The bride was very pale, her eyes red with weeping, and her brows contracted into that expression of imploring distress so frequent on her countenance; her lips quivered incessantly; and ever and anon her frame was agitated by that shuddering sob which remains as the last convulsion of tears. Yet she walked into the room without faltering, and suffered herself to be placed beside the lover, and surrounded by the guests, without betraying any agitation sufficient to excite remark. All that was observed was, that she kept rolling her eyes about her a little wildly, as if in part bewildered by the sudden transition from her quiet chamber to an apartment full of lights and human beings. At last, her eyes fell upon the clergyman, and she surveyed him with a gaze so fixed, so peculiar, so strongly indicative, as he thought, of a troubled and unhappy spirit, that his own feelings became disturbed, and he began the rites with an agitated voice.
In the meanwhile, the wedding guests pressed closer around, and the domestics, thronging at the doors of the apartment, began to steal reverentially in; and among them, it was noticed that there were several strange faces not before observed. One of these, however, was recognised by Captain Loring as belonging to a young farmer residing near the valley, and he did not doubt that the other intruders were people of the same class, who had stolen softly into his house, attracted by the opportunity of witnessing a ceremony so much more splendid than any ever before seen in the neighbourhood of Hawk-Hollow. Such intrusions are indeed not unusual in certain sequestered parts of the country.
With her eyes still fastened upon the clergyman, Catherine listened to the words of the ceremony, until the usual demand was made, "Dost thou take this man to be thy husband?" She opened her lips to reply, but, though they moved as if in speech, and every sound was hushed as in the silence of death, not a word, not even the whisper of an accent, came from them. The demand was repeated, and with as little effect; she spoke not a word, but she rolled her eyes around the circle with double wildness; and Miss Falconer, throwing an arm around her waist, murmured, in hurried tones,
"She is ill—the ceremony cannot go on."
"Kate, my dear, adzooks!" cried Captain Loring, "what's the matter? Are you ill, my girl? What, can't you speak? can't you sayYesto the parson? Ah, adzooks, that's a girl! that's my Kate Loring! You hear her, parson? She says, yes!"
"Patience, sir," said the clergyman, surveying the bride, who at the sound of her father's voice, seemed to recall her powers, and opened her lips, as if to speak. "Be not precipitate, young lady," he added, directing his discourse to Catherine, and speaking with a kindly voice: "this is a question too solemn to be answered lightly,—a profession embracing too much of the sacrament of an oath to be made except with deliberation. Take, therefore, your own time, and answer according to your heart and your reason——'Dost thou take this man to be thy husband?'"
The words of reply were almost upon Catherine's lip, when a whistle, sounding loudly from an open window, and startling the whole company, was echoed by a sudden cry from the room itself; and at the same moment, the bridemaids starting away in affright, a young man, pallid in visage, and roughly clad, rushed into the circle, and displayed to the eyes of the bride the features of the younger Gilbert. She uttered a scream, and to the confusion of every body present, flung herself immediately into his arms, crying with tones as wild and imploring as his own, "Oh, Herman, save me!" and fell into a swoon.
"Death and furies!" cried the bridegroom, recognising his rival at a glance, and springing at him like a tiger.
"Kill the villain!" exclaimed his sister, in a transport of indignation, endeavouring to tear her friend from the embraces of the intruder. But the efforts of the brother and sister were counteracted by a new and unexpected enemy. The French dancing-master, who, notwithstanding the violent enthusiasm with which he entered into his proper duties of fiddling and animating the guests, had yet wisdom enough to conduct himself with proper decorum, the moment his reverend colleague appeared, and had been for the last few moments entirely lost sight of, now darted with a hop and a pirouette to the bridegroom's side, and roaring with a voice loud enough to add to the terror, "Sacre!ou-at! marry a leddie against her ou-ill!" he struck his violin over young Falconer's head with an energy of application that brought him to the floor, and dashed his instrument into a thousand pieces. "Sacre!" he continued, triumphantly—"I s'all help myself to the most beaut'ful leddee here!" And, as he spoke, he snatched up the astounded Harriet, and vanished from the apartment.
In the meanwhile, the outrage, of a character so extraordinary, had not been confined to the persons of the wedding pair and the bridegroom's sister. At the very moment when Hyland Gilbert darted into the circle, many of the guests, hearing the whistle that seemed to have conjured up the spectre, turned to the window, and beheld three or four savage-looking men spring through it into the room, while as many others, remaining in the open air, thrust long carbines and rifles among the guests, as if upon the point of firing on them. At the same time, others made their appearance at the door, armed in the same way; and, to crown all, the little six-pounder, which had remained in the Hollow ever since the eventful 4th of July, and stood upon the lawn near the house, charged by Captain Loring's own hand, and ready to be fired the moment the ceremony was over, was suddenly let off by some unknown hand, rattling the glass in the windows, and shaking the house to its foundation. These circumstances were enough to inspire all with dread; which was still further increased when the assailants, singling out the few military officers present, rushed upon them before they could betake themselves to their arms, and beat them all to the floor, with the exception of the captain of cavalry, who sprang from a window on the opposite side of the apartment, uttering a single ejaculation of surprise,—that is to say, 'By the eternal Jupiter!'—and was seen no more until the assault was over, and the actors in the outrage had vanished. The whole scene, though one of unexampled confusion and terror, was over in a few moments; and such was the panic, that scarce a being present remembered, or indeed conceived, the true nature, or had noted all the circumstances attending the assault. That wild men with arms in their hands, had been among them,—had struck down several persons present, then rushed over the whole house, as if in search of some object of prey whom they expected, but found not, among the guests below, and then had betaken themselves to flight, without doing further mischief—was all that was at first known; and it was not until a distant yell at the park-gate, followed by the faint sound of hoofs, proclaimed the departure of the enemy, that the gentlemen present were able to tear themselves from the grasp of the frighted women, and examine into the effects of such a visitation. It was soon found that the officers, who had endured the brunt of the attack, had owed this distinction less to the animosity than the fears of the assailants, who, seeming to apprehend resistance from no others, had made it a point to seize them, before adventuring upon the main objects of the outrage. They were but little hurt, the assailants having studiously avoided all bloodshed; and even the bridegroom, though stunned and a little disfigured by the blow so heartily bestowed upon him by Monsieur Tiqueraque, soon recovered his wits, and joined the rest in eager search after the bride. She had vanished, as well as his sister; and by and by, when the distraction caused by such a discovery, and the ravings and lamentations of Captain Loring, had a little subsided, it was found that the girl Phoebe had also disappeared.
In the meanwhile, and almost before her disappearance had been noticed by a single person, so great was the confusion at the moment the outlaws burst into the room, Hyland Gilbert had borne the insensible Catherine into the porch, and strove to carry her from the house. His strength was scarce fitted to sustain such an exertion; for, in truth, although none of the dwellers of Hawk-Hollow were apprised of his mishap, until he revealed the secret to Colonel Falconer a few hours before, the bullet of his rival, in their encounter on the night of the fourth, had taken effect, and he was yet labouring under the effects of an unhealed wound. He was now, however, animated by a new feeling; for as he clasped the burthen to his heart, he remembered that the outrage had been sanctioned not merely by passive acquiescence on Catherine's part, but had been preceded by a direct appeal, as it seemed, to his affection, though wrung almost by frenzy from the unhappy girl, in the moment of her greatest need. "Heaven be thanked!" he muttered to himself—"I am not a villain; and this deed of violence has preserved her happiness, as well as my own miserable life."
"What! brother?" cried a harsh voice in his ear, as he attempted to stagger forward, and found himself arrested by the hand of Oran: "What, man, am I not both doctor and brother?—a good doctor, too? You shall look up now, and be healed in a day—heart-whole, body-whole! I knew what it was was killing you."
Fierce and abrupt were the accents of the refugee; but there was mingled with them a tone singularly expressive of affection.—"And were you not a fool to doubt," he added, "when you had the love of the maiden? But come, Hyland; this duty is not for you—give her here to Staples"—
"Never, Oran, never!"
"Foolish boy, you are sinking under her weight. You must ride unburthened, or be captured. When the fresh air opens her eyes, and she can sit a horse herself, you shall ride at her side. Quick! and get you after her to the horses."
With these words, and without regarding the opposition of the feeble lover, he drew the lady from his arms, and putting her into charge of another, bade him 'see to her, and the rest,' and then immediately darted back to the house.
"Perhaps it is better," muttered Hyland, conscious of his inability much longer to support his precious freight, yet resolved she should not be long sustained in the arms of another. "I have saved her,—I have saved myself; ay, and I have prevented murder, too. Go, Oran; the victim is beyond your reach. Ah! Catherine, thou hadst been dearly purchased, had it been with blood,—even with the blood of a Falconer!"
He was still pursuing after his mistress, and had nearly reached the park-gate, when his ear was saluted by a piercing scream from behind, and the voice of Miss Falconer, which he instantly recognised, calling for help. He ran back, and discovered her struggling in the arms of Monsieur Tiqueraque, who was bearing her along at a great pace, and all the time uttering, with a volubility not a little inflamed by his frequent visits to the bottle, in which he had quite distinguished himself, a thousand exhortations to the lady to be pacified, with as many eccentric commendations of her beauty and his own good qualities.
"Tuchou! taisez vous, ou-at de deb'l!mon ange, ma petite, ma maîtresse, avec les yeux noirs d'un diablotin!" he heard him cry, "ou-y for you fear?comment diantre, ou-y for you squeak? You are the mos' fine leddee of all, and I am the mos' excellent jentlemans, and I s'all love you, begar, mos' extremely.Fi donc!you mus' know, I am jentlemans in disguise, and have you love 'is sis mon's, and s'all make you very good lovare. O ciel, begar, I do so sink you ver' beaut'ful, and I s'all give you on' douzaine kiss extreme fine,mon dieu, if you s'all no squeak no more."
"What, Sterling, are you mad!" cried Hyland, seizing this incorrigible adventurer and exemplary wooer by the arm. "Release the lady instantly—you have made a mistake."
"Diablezot!none in the world," said the man of many coats, changing character with the facility of an 'old stager.'—The sudden transformation operated even more effectually than the voice of the detested Gilbert, in frightening Miss Falconer into silence. "And harkee, Mr. Lieutenant Hawk," he went on, with great equanimity, "stick to your own prizes,—follow your own Blowselinda."
"Rogue, do you resist me?—Come, sir, you have been drinking!"
"Drinking in your teeth!" said Sterling, in whom 'the good familiar creature' had the effect of rather sharpening than changing any of his characteristics. "'Back and syde, go bare, go bare,'" as old Gummer Gurton says:
"But 'this is my right hand, and this is my left'; what more would you have? Do you think I am to be kept on your cursed Adam's ale of the mountains for ever? 'Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?' And finally, Mr. Lieutenant Chicken-hawk, dost thou opine thou shalt have thy bottle and thy wench, and I"——
"In a word, scoundrel," said Hyland, clapping a pistol to his head, and thus bringing the madman to his senses, "unhand the lady, or I will blow your brains out."
"Zounds, sir,"——
"No words, sir. Get you to the horses; and thank your stars I do not report your villanous conduct to the Captain."
The volunteer, who had indeed made freer with one item of the bridal cheer than became a man, who, as he had hinted, had been confined to a beverage of the mountain brook, since his association with the band, grumbled a drunken oath or two betwixt his teeth, and immediately slunk away, leaving his captive to be disposed of by the subaltern.
"You are free, Miss Falconer," said the young man, speaking with a smothered voice. "The evil you have done me I forgive you; the cruelty you meditated and practised against another, I leave to be judged by heaven and your own conscience.—False friend! treacherous kinswoman! your victim is beyond the reach of your inhumanity."
"You are a villain, sir!" cried Harriet, exasperated out of her fear,—"the worst of villains,—an ungrateful one!"—
What more she might have said and done, on the impulse which restored her all her native energy, it is impossible to say; but just at that moment her ears were struck by the wailing of a female voice; and looking round, she saw, obscurely, for the night was very dark with clouds, though a new moon was in the sky, a horseman ride by, bearing a woman across his saddle-bow, and apparently greatly embarrassed by her struggles. Her first idea was that she beheld her unlucky friend, not yet snatched beyond her reach; and accordingly she darted forward, and with extraordinary intrepidity, seized the bridle-rein with one hand, while with the other she grasped at the captive's garments, bidding her leap down, and crying out loudly for help.
"You are insane, Miss Falconer!" said Hyland, endeavouring to draw her aside; "Catherine is safe, and this is but Phoebe, who follows her."
"Oh! Miss Harriet!" cried the serving-maid, with a piteous voice, "don't let 'em murder me; and oh! Mr. Hunter Gilbert! sure you won't be so barbarous! and sure I never did you any harm in my life, and sure"—
But her words were cut short by her ravisher suddenly spurring his horse, as Harriet, in surprise and disappointment, let go her hold, and immediately darting out of the park.
By this time there was a great flashing of lights on the porch, as if the wedding-guests were recovering from their confusion, and preparing to avenge the outrage, before it was yet too late. This Harriet saw, and she observed besides that the dusky figures which had, ever and anon, for the last few moments, been flitting by, towards the road, one or two of them being on horseback, and who, she doubted not, belonged to the refugee band, had ceased passing, as if the last had already left the park. It was at this moment that she felt the touch of Hyland Gilbert's hand on her arm, as he endeavoured to draw her from Phoebe; and as she jerked away, she became sensible how feeble was the grasp of this detested foe. An idea, worthy of an Amazon, entered her mind; and forgetting the act of generosity which had but an instant before relieved her own person from the clutches of a drunken and lawless desperado, she laid hands upon her deliverer, thinking only on vengeance. As she seized him, she screamed loudly for assistance, calling upon her brother, Mr. Brooks, and others, by name; and had they made their appearance, or any one of them, it is certain she would have secured her prisoner. He was confounded by an exhibition of spirit so unexpected; and not knowing how to release himself, unless by such an exertion of his remaining strength as he could scarce think of exercising at the expense of a woman, he was reduced to extremity; when a horseman, coming from the house, suddenly galloped up, stretched out his hand, and with a single effort, jerked her from the ground to his saddle-bow.
"Quick," he cried to Hyland; "why do you tarry? To your horse, and away."
So saying he spurred onwards himself. The voice, breathing out the harsh accents of the trader,—the refugee, the man to capture whom she had launched so boldly among the billows of stratagem, and almost of war,—froze the blood of the maiden, and the sight of his grim features, revealed in the glare of distant lamps, completed the overthrow of a courage which had supported her in a struggle with one so little to be feared as Hyland. Her brain whirled, her senses became bewildered, as she felt the steed bounding beneath her, and knew that every leap, while it separated her still further from her friends, placed her yet more completely in the power of the refugee. But it formed no part of his schemes to add her to the number of his captives. He checked his steed at the park-gate, dropped her gently on the grass, and uttering a yell, to draw the attention of another horseman, approaching from the house, galloped through the gate and was soon buried in the darkness. The second horseman, who was no other than the captain of cavalry, rode up to the spot, dismounted, and uttering many ejaculations of surprise, took the lady in his arms, and with her returned to the mansion. He found its inmates still in extreme agitation, the women weeping and screaming, the men swearing, and bustling, and vociferating for arms and horses, with which they designed to do they knew not what, and Captain Loring roaring like a bedlamite.
"Mount horses, gentlemen," he cried, "and by the eternal Jupiter, we'll recover the prisoners. A rum one, that Mr. Gentleman-volunteer! Come, mount, mount, and keep the chase warm, till a better force can follow us. There's a regiment of foot billeted in the village below—let some one gallop down for a reinforcement; the rest follow me. If we can't fight the vagabonds, why, by the eternal Jupiter, we can dog them."
The proposal of captain Caliver was responded to by such as could think without alarm of following the fierce marauders, by midnight, into their native forests; and in a surprisingly short space of time, they set out, six in number, to pursue on the course of the fugitives, and keep them within striking distance, until assistance should arrive. A messenger was immediately despatched to the village, and some two or three of those gaping supernumeraries, whose intrusion into the house has been already mentioned, volunteered to carry the alarm among the neighbouring settlements, and thus rouse the whole country to pursuit and vengeance.
The little party of six, headed by young Falconer and Caliver, issuing from the park, began the chase by galloping up the road, already made familiar to the leaders by the memorable adventure of the 4th. Assistance was nearer at hand than they thought; and almost before the trampling of their horses had died on the ear, a large party of mounted men, with Colonel Falconer at their head, halted at the gate. In obeying the counsel of the young refugee to leave Hawk-Hollow without delay, this individual had not been governed alone by fears for his personal safety. The appearance of Hyland Gilbert so near to the scene of festivity, convinced him, as strongly as did his urgent exhortations to fly, that the ferocious band of Hawks, though supposed long since to have effected its escape, was yet lying concealed in the neighbourhood, meditating some deed of violence, though what that was, unless to burn Gilbert's Folly to the earth, as the only way of wreaking vengeance upon him, he could not pretend to divine. It was enough, however, that such an enemy was at hand; and, accordingly, when he rode to the village, it was with the purpose of summoning such a force to the valley as should protect its inhabitants, if it did not effect the still better object of ridding it from such visitants for ever. He sought the commander of the regiment already spoken of; and his representations, added to the weight of his character, were enough to cause that officer to take instant measures for the protection of Hawk-Hollow. A party of sixty picked men, mounted for the occasion, was put under his disposal; while several other companies were ordered to follow on foot. While on the road, he was met by the messenger sent by the captain of cavalry, with the stunning intelligence of the outrage, as it has been already related. Inflamed by the news, the party put spurs to their horses, and were soon in the Hollow. They paused at the park-gate, just long enough to communicate with the house, and ascertain that the pursuit was already begun by the bridegroom; and then resuming their route, they were in a few moments beyond the swelling ridge that shut in the Hollow to the north.
The outlaws were, in the meanwhile, proceeding on their course with a celerity that left them little to dread from pursuit; and, indeed, all their measures indicated that their plan had been laid with as much forethought as audacity. The captive maidens, after being borne for the space of a mile or more, in the arms of their captors, were placed upon horses previously in waiting; and then, supported by an athletic attendant on each hand, were hurried forward with even greater rapidity than before. Before this arrangement was effected, and while they were yet in the neighbourhood of Hawk-Hollow, a change came over the spirit of one of the prizes, not more advantageous to herself than it was agreeable to the wild band who were somewhat weary of her lamentations. This was Phoebe, whose terrors, instead of abating, grew more clamorous, with every bound of the steed that bore her; and which, having begun with sobs and piteous ejaculations, increased to something like positive outcries; until, at last, the man who carried her, losing all patience, and unlocking lips that seemed previously made of stone, muttered, or rather whispered in her ear, but in no very amiable accents,
"Consarn the woman! what are you squalling a'ter? Hold your foolish tongue, Phoebe Jones, or"—
But the sound of a threatening voice was by no means fitted to allay the damsel's fear, or paralyze the member it had set so vigorously in motion. She interrupted the menace with a still louder shriek, adding, "Oh lord, good gentleman, pray don't murder me!"
"Gentleman!" cried the other with a kind of snort, evidently designed for a laugh: "Well, I reckon, I am a sort of, as well as another. But what's the contraction? Who's talking of murdering? I'm an honest feller, Phoebe Jones, and you know it; and these here refugees are all honest fellers, too, as ever you'd wish to see. Now, Phoebe, just scratch your nose, and be quiet; for you know I won't hurt you."
"Lord!" said Phoebe, in surprise, "don't I know that voice?"
"Why, I reckon," replied the other, with a more strongly marked chuckle than before; "but, mind you, no talking above breath; for that's agin orders, and captain Gilbert's a screamer."
"Captain Gilbert!" said Phoebe, in mortal terror. "Oh Dancy Parkins, don't let him kill me, and I'll never abuse you no more!"
As he spoke, she banished so much of her fear as to fling an arm around the horseman's neck, as if to insure the protection she entreated; and the action, as well as the appeal, went so effectually to his heart, that he answered forthwith, "Well I won't,—I won't let him hurt you, I won't, consarn me!—You see, Phoebe Jones," he added, with the same giggle which had marked the manly assurance of protection, "I'm the man for you, a'ter all: I told you, you'd be coming round, some day or other, for all your saying you despised me."
"But an't I to be murdered, Dancy?" demanded the wench, dolefully: "Oh! that ever I should be among the bloody Hawks! They say, they scalp women and children, as if they were no more than great Indians!"
"They're not half such fellers as people say," replied Dancy: "the only murdering I ever knowed of among them, was that of Andy Parker; and that I uphold to be salt for gruel,—fair grist for cheating the miller. He chalked me down like a fool, me and Tom Staples, being all old friends, or sort of; and so hanging was good for him. But I tell you what, Phoebe—give us a buss, andwe'll be married, as well as our betters."
"I won't do no such thing," said the damsel, stoutly. "I don't like you no better than I ever did; for I don't see you're any better-to-do in the world than you was; and, besides, I won't have no tory."
"I reckon," said Dancy Parkins, "I'm no more a tory than the lieutenant—that's him you used to suppose was Mr. Hunter, and a poor painter; and there's your betters, the Captain's daughter, jumps at him."
"She don't!" said Phoebe, with indignation; "and don't you go to say, Miss Kitty Loring will have any such vagabondy, poor fellow."
"Poor!" cried Dancy; "why he's as rich as a king, and a mighty fine gentleman, too, for all he's consorting just now with these here refugees. He's got a grand plantation, as big as all Hawk-Hollow, with a thousand niggurs, where he raises sugar by the ship-load, and molasses beyond all reckoning, and, as I hear, good Jamaiky spirits. He's to make me a sort of I-dunna-what-you-call-it; but I'm to manage the niggurs, and make a fortun'. They say, no man ever sets foot on a sugar plantation, without making a fortun' out of it,—that is, excepting the niggurs. So, Phoebe Jones, there's no great use in despising me. It's a fine country, that island of Jamaiky; and consarn the bit of a hard winter they ever hear of there. So now, Phoebe, don't be a fool and refuse me no more; for I'm mighty well-to-do in the world."
And thus the enamoured Dancy pursued his claims to the love of his prisoner, who had been hard-hearted enough to frown upon him of old, while a labourer on Captain Loring's estate, and before the Captain's daughter had, by rewards and promises of further favour, prevailed upon him to take charge of the meaner fields of the widow. There was some presumption, at least Phoebe thought so, in his daring to raise eyes toher;for besides being without any personal attractions whatever, he was, to all intents, a gawky and stupid clod-hopper, with but little prospect of ever rising beyond the condition of a mere hireling, or, at best, a peasant of the lowest class; and accordingly, the damsel repelled him with extreme scorn, as a person unworthy to brush the dust from her shoes.
But the case was now altered, or seemed to be. In the first place, the scornful beauty was in his hands, and had wit enough, though by no means overcharged with that brilliant commodity, to perceive that his friendship was better than his enmity; and, in the second, his appointment to the important and lucrative office of He-did-not-know-what-to-call-it, on a sugar plantation, where they raised molasses by the ship-load, and good Jamaica spirits, was a circumstance to elevate him vastly in her consideration; for her affections not being of a romantic or sentimental turn, she ever held herself ready to bestow them upon any body who, in her own favourite phrase, 'was well enough to-do in the world to make a lady of her.' She listened, therefore, with complacency to his arguments, which he pressed with as much ardour as he was capable of; and by the time they reached the place where she was to exchange a litter in his arms for a seat on a side-saddle, she had so far recovered from her fears, that she might have told him in the words, and with more than the sincerity, of Juliet,