University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

It was at this moment that Forrester entered the
tavern-hall, curious to know the result of the trial,
from which his attendance upon our hero had unavoidably
detained him. The actors of the drama
were in better humour than before, and uproarious
mirth had succeeded to ferocity. They were all
in the very excess of self-glorification; for, though
somewhat disappointed of their design, and defrauded
of the catastrophe, they had nevertheless
done much, according to their own judgment, and
enough, perhaps, in that of the reader, for the purposes
of justice. The work of mischief had been
fully and foully consummated; and though, to their
notion, still somewhat incomplete from the escape
of the pedler himself, they were in great part satisfied—some
few among them, indeed—and among
these our quondam friend Forrester may be included—were
not sorry that Bunce had escaped
the application of the personal tests which had
been contemplated for his benefit; for, however
willing, it was somewhat doubtful whether they
would have been altogether able to save him from
the hands of those having a less scrupulous regard
to humanity. Still, the uproar of the party, though
now of a less wolfish nature, had undergone little
diminution.

The sudden appearance of Forrester revived the
spirit of the transaction, now beginning somewhat
to decline, as several voices undertook to give him
a veracious account of its progress and results.
The lawyer was in his happiest mood, as things,
so far, had all turned out as he expected. His
voice was loudest, and his oratory more decidedly
effective than ever. The prospect before him was
also of so seductive a character, that he yielded
more than was his wont to the influences of the
bottle-god, standing before him in the shape of the
little negro, who served forth the whiskey, in compliance
with the popular appetite, from a little iron-hooped
keg, perched upon a shelf conveniently in
the corner.

“Here Cuffee, you thrice-blackened baby of
Beelzebub!—why stand you there, arms akimbo,
and showing your ivories, when you see we have no
whiskey! Bring in the jug, you imp of darkness
—touch us the Monongahela, and a fresh tumbler
for Mr. Forrester—and, look you, one too for Col.
Blundell, seeing he's demolished the other. Quick,
you terrapin!”

Cuffee recovered himself in an instant. His
hands fell to his sides—his mouth closed intuitively;
and the whites of his eyes changing their fixed direction,
marshalled his way with a fresh jug, containing
two or more quarts, to the rapacious
lawyer.

“Ah, you blackguard, that will do—now, Mr.
Forrester—now, Col. Blundell—don't be slow—no
backing out, boys—hey, for a long drink to the stock
in trade of our friend the pedler.”

So spoke Pippin: all glasses were at once in
hand, and a wild huzza attested the good-humour
which the proposition excited. Potation rapidly
followed potation, and the jug again demanded replenishing.

The company was well drilled in this
species of exercise; and each individual claiming
caste in such sphere and circle, must be well prepared,
like the knight-challenger of old tourney, to
defy all comers. In the cases of Pippin and Blundell,
successive draughts, after the attainment of a
certain degree of mental and animal stolidity,
seemed rather to fortify than to weaken their defences,
and to fit them more perfectly for a due prolongation
of the warfare. The appetite, too, like
most appetites, growing from what it fed on, ventured
few idle expostulations; glass after glass, in
rapid succession, fully attested the claim of these
two champions to the renown which such exercises
in that section of the world had won for them respectively.
The subject of conversation, which, in
all this time, accompanied their other indulgences—
for the American drinker, unlike the German, grows
garrulous with drink—was very naturally that of
the pedler and his punishment. On this topic, however,
a professional not less than personal policy
sealed completely the lips of our lawyer, saving on
those points which admitted of a general remark,
without application or even meaning. Though
drunk, his policy was that of the courts; and the
practice of the sessions had served him well, in his
own person, to give the lie to the “in vino veritas”
of the proverb.

Things were in this condition when the company
found increase in the person of the landlord, who
now made his appearance; and, as we purpose
that he shall be no unimportant auxiliar in the action
of our story, it may be prudent for a few moments
to dwell upon the details of his outward man,
and severally to describe his features. We have him
before us in that large, dark, and somewhat heavy
person who sidles awkwardly into the apartment,

as if only conscious in part of the true uses of his
legs and arms. He leans at this moment over the
shoulders of one of the company, and, at the same
time, with an upward glance, surveys the whole,
while whispering in his ears. His lowering eyes,
almost shut in and partially concealed by his scowling
and bushy black eyebrows, are of a quick gray,
stern and penetrating in their general expression,
yet, when narrowly observed, putting on an air of
vacancy, if not stupidity, that furnishes a perfect
blind to the lurking meaning within; his nose is
large, yet not disproportionately so; his head is
well made, though a thorough-bred phrenologist
might object to a strong animal preponderance in
the rear; his mouth, bold and finely curved, is
rigid however in its compression, and the lips, at
times almost woven together, are largely indicative
of ferocity; they are pale in colour, and dingily
so, yet his flushed cheek and brow bear striking
evidence of a something too frequent revel; his
hair, thin and scattered, is of a dark brown complexion
and sprinkled with gray; his neck is
so very short that a single black handkerchief,
wrapped loosely about it, removes all seeming
distinction between itself and the adjoining shoulders—the
latter being round and uprising, forming
a socket, into which the former appears to
fall as into a designated place. As if more effectually
to complete the unfavourable impression of
such an outline, an ugly scar, partly across the
cheek, and slightly impairing the integrity of the
left nostril, adds to his whole look a sinister expression,
calculated to defeat entirely any neutralizing
or less objectionable feature. His form—to
conclude the picture—is constructed with singular
power; and though not symmetrical, is far from
ungainly. When impelled by some stirring motive,
his carriage is easy, without seeming effort,
and his huge frame throws aside the sluggishness
which at other times invests it, putting on a habit
of animated exercise which changes the entire
appearance of the man. Such was Walter, or, as
he was more familiarly termed in the conventicle,
Wat Munro. He took his seat with the company,
with the ease of one who neither doubted nor deliberated
upon the footing which he claimed among
them. He was not merely the publican of his
profession, but better fitted indeed for perhaps
any other avocation, as may possibly be discovered
in the progress of our narrative. To his wife, a good
quiet sort of body, who, as Forrester phrased it,
did not dare to say her soul was her own, he deputed
the whole domestic management of the tavern;
while he would be gone, nobody could say
where or why, for weeks and more at a time,
away from bar and hostel, in different portions of the
country. Nobody ventured to inquire into a matter
that was still sufficiently mysterious to arouse
curiosity; the people who lived with and about
him generally entertaining a degree of respect,
amounting almost to vulgar awe for his person and
presence, which prevented much inquiry into his
doings. Some few, however, more bold than the
rest, spoke in terms of dislike and suspicion; but
the number of this class was inconsiderable, and
they themselves felt that the risk which they incurred
was not so unimportant as to permit of
their going much out of the way to trace the
doubtful features in the landlord's life. As we
have already stated, he took his place along with
his guests; the bottles and glasses were replenished,
the story of the pedler again told, and each
individual once more busied in describing his own
exploits. The lawyer, immersed in visions of grog
and glory, rhapsodized perpetually and clapped
his hands. Blundell, drunkenly happy, at every
discharge of the current humour, made an abortive
attempt to chuckle, the ineffectual halloo gurgling
away in the abysses of his mighty throat; until,
at length, his head settled down supinely upon his
breast, his eyes were closed, and the hour of his
victory had gone by; though even then, his huge
jaws opening at intervals for the outward passage
of something which by courtesy might be considered
a laugh, attested the still anxious struggles
of the inward spirit, battling with the weaknesses of
the flesh. The example of a leader like Blundell
had a most pernicious effect upon the uprightness of
the greater part of the wild company. Having
the sanction of such high authority, several others,
the minor spirits it is true, settled down into or
under their chairs without a struggle. The survivors
made some lugubrious efforts at a triumph
over their less stubborn companions, but the laborious
and husky laugh was but a poor apology for
the proper performance of this feat. Munro, who
to his other qualities added those of a study bon
vivant, together with Forrester, and a few who
still girt in the lawyer as the prince of the small
jest, discharged their witticisms without any dread
of replication, upon the staggering condition of
affairs; not forgetting in their assaults the fruitful
and disputatious civilian himself. That worthy,
we regret to add, though still unwilling to yield,
and still striving to retort, had nevertheless suffered
considerable loss of equilibrium. His speeches
were more than ever confused, and it was remarked
that his eyes danced about hazily, with a
most moist and ineffectual expression. He looked
about, however, with a stupid gaze of self-satisfaction;
but his laugh and language, forming a
strange and most unseemly coalition, degenerated
at last into a most dolorous and wo-begone sniffle,
indicating the rapid departure of the few mental
and animal holdfasts which had lingered with him
so long. While thus reduced, his few surviving
senses were at once called into acute activity by
the appearance of a sooty little negro, who placed
within his grasp a misshapen fold of dirty paper,
which a near examination made out to take the
form of a letter.

“Why, what the d—l, d—d sort of fist is this
you've given me, you bird of blackness! where
got you this vile scrawl—faugh—you've had it in
your jaws, you raven, have you not?”

The terrified urchin retreated a few paces
while answering the inquiry.

“No, massa lawyer—de pedler—da him gib um
to me so. I bring um straight as he gib um to
me.”

“The pedler—why, where is he—what the devil
can he have to write about!” was the universal
exclamation.

“The pedler!—” said the lawyer, and his sobriety
grew strengthened at the thought of business:
he called to the waiter and whispered in his
ears—

“Hark ye, Cuffee; go bring out the pedler's
horse, saddle him with my saddle which lies in the
gallery, bring him to the tree, and look ye, make no
noise about it, you scoundrel, as you value your
ears.”

Cuffee was gone on his mission, and the whole
assembly, aroused by the name of the pedler and
the mysterious influence of the communication
upon the lawyer, gathered, with inquiries of impatient
anticipation, around the person of that
worthy. Finding him slow at the revelation, they

clamoured for the contents of the epistle and the
route of the writer—neither of which did Pippin
seem desirous to communicate. His evasions and
unwillingness were all in vain, and he was at
length compelled to undertake the perusal of the
scrawl; a task he would most gladly have avoided
while in their presence. He was in doubt and fear
—what could the pedler have to communicate, on
paper, which might not have been left over for
their interview? His mind was troubled with
forebodings, and pushing the crowd away from
immediately about him, he tore open the envelope
and began the perusal; proceeding with a measured
gait, the result as well of the `damned cramp
hand' as of the still foggy intellect and unsettled
vision of the reader. But as the characters and
their signification became more clear and obvious
to his gaze, his features grew more and more
sobered and intelligent—a blankness overspread
his face—his hands trembled, and finally, his apprehensions,
whatever they might have been, having
seemingly undergone full confirmation, he crumbled
the villanous scrawl in his hands, and dashing it
to the floor in a rage, roared out, in quick succession,
volley after volley of invective and denunciation
upon the thrice blasted head of the troublesome
and terrible pedler. The provocation must
have been great, no doubt, to impart such animation
at such a time to the man of law; and the
curiosity of one of the revellers getting the better
of his scruples in such matters, if indeed scruples
of any kind abode in such a section, prompting
him to seize upon the epistle thus pregnant with
mortal matter, in this way the whole secret became
public property. As, therefore, we shall
violate no confidence and shock no decorum, we
proceed to read it aloud for the benefit of all.

The dismay of the hapless and horseless attorney,
at this epistle, was only exceeded by the chagrin
with which he perceived its circulation, and anticipated
the odium in consequence. He leaped
about the hall, among the company, in a restless
paroxysm, now denouncing the pedler, now deprecating
their doubts and dissatisfaction at finding
out the double game which their chairman had
been playing. This trick of the runaway almost
gave him a degree of favour in their eyes, which did
not find any diminution when the lawyer, rushing
forth from the apartment, with many imprecations,
encountered a new trial in the horse left him by
the pedler; the miserable beast being completely
ruined, unable to move a step, and more dead than
alive. The punishment was complete.