University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

To the surprise of every individual in the mansion,
who had been made acquainted with the
summons sent by the painter to his late hostess, it
was answered in less than an hour by the appearance
at the door of Elsie herself. She was followed
by the little negro wench, bearing a bundle
of linen and other apparel, and in a short time was
inducted into the sick chamber, from which she
contrived, before many hours, to expel dame Rachel,
whom she had found listening very curiously
to the sleeping murmurs of the sufferer, as well as
all the officious auxiliaries. Indeed, she betrayed
some inclination at first to be as free even with
the physician, who had been easily prevailed upon
to remain all night at the Folly, while his friends
returned to the village; but the young man became
so extremely ill in the course of the night, that she
soon pretermitted her scruples, and was glad to
receive the doctor's assistance in quelling the
threatened brain-fever.

This remarkable repugnance of the old woman
to divide with any one the labours of watching
over the stranger's couch, excited no little surprise
among the domestics, and seemed to them to attach

a degree of mysterious importance to his
character, which none had dreamed of attaching
before. Long and anxiously, in consequence, did
the good Aunt Rachel and her daughter Phœbe, in
the dearth of all better occupation, apply their ears
to the chamber door, and their eyes to the key-hole,
in the hope that some murmur of the sick
man, some whisper of his privileged attendants, or
perhaps some movement in the room, might give
a clew to the enigma, of the existence of which
every circumstance now left them still more
strongly convinced. Thus, they persuaded themselves
that in the delirium, which all night long
oppressed the painter's brain, he was betraying
divers dreadful secrets, not at all to his interest to
be generally known; and they demonstrated also
to their entire satisfaction, that Elsie Bell, who had
acquired by some witchcraft or other a complete
knowledge of the young stranger's history, was
imparting it to the physician, coupled with many
injunctions on the one hand, and as many promises
on the other, of honourable secrecy. Nay,
they both affirmed, in after days, that they distinctly
heard Dr. Merribody, in reply to some
question or appeal of Elsie, say, with a manner
highly characteristic of his dignified sense of honour,
“The secrets of the sick room are as sacred
as those of the confessional; and as for a doctor,
Mrs. Bell, why you must know, we are all as mum
as blacksnakes. A snake was the ancient symbol
of physic, you know; because that's an animal
which, if it don't hold its tongue, never makes any
great noise with it!” They observed, too, as they
surveyed her through the key-hole, that Elsie's
countenance was darkened and troubled in an unusual
degree; and once, they thought, they saw
her shedding tears. However, they heard and
saw little except what inflamed their curiosity to
an intolerable extent; and, in consequence, they
came within an ace of being caught in the act of
eavesdropping by the physician himself, who came
suddenly out of the room to demand ice to apply
to the patient's head. Luckily, however, the degree
of trust reposed in him by the widow, as they
supposed, had filled him with uncommon importance,
so that he made no remark on discovering
them so near at hand, except to express his pleasure;
“for,” said he, “I supposed you were all
sound in bed, and that there would be the devil to
pay to get any out-of-the-way thing that might be
wanted.”

“Lord love you, doctor,” said Aunt Rachel,
“why we're all keeping awake, just a-purpose to
be ready and handy; and besides, the young gentleman
makes an awful groaning and taking on;
and besides, there's my young madam, Miss Katy,
who can't sleep a wink, out of concern for the
young man; and she told me to ask you, doctor,
what you thought of the young man's case, and
whether he'll die or no?”

To this the doctor answered, with a look of
great wisdom, `that every thing depended upon
circumstances.'

“And besides, doctor,” said Phœbe, emboldened
by the gracious reply vouchsafed to her mother,
“she is mighty curious to know what all these
things is, the young gentleman is talking about?”

“Sorry it is not consistent with the honour of
the profession to gratify Miss Loring in that particular,”
replied the physician, with extreme gravity.
“Must have ice, Mrs. Jones. Mighty fortunate
I was able to remain all night! You must
bring me ice, Mrs. Jones; and you must just scratch
on the door, to give me warning; and then you
must keep all quiet, and let none approach the
room, unless summoned by myself. And if you can

venture to disturb the Captain, and tell him to turn
over on his side, (the right side, mind you,) he won't
snore so hard. Very prejudicial, to sleep on the
back, I assure you! It sets the liver tumbling over
the lungs, and so half smothers one. But let me
have the ice, d'ye hear; and keep all things quiet
in the house.”

Notwithstanding the skill, and (what was perhaps
a less questionable virtue,) the zeal of Dr.
Merribody, and the faithful vigilance of poor Elsie,
the patient continued to grow worse, and was indeed,
towards morning, in an alarming situation,
and so remained during the greater part of the
two following days, not a little to the surprise of
the physician, who phlebotomized him with extreme
liberality, expecting on each occasion to
give the coup-de-grâce to the disease. The truth
is, the doctor, from having witnessed its efficacy
at first, had grown enamoured of the remedy, and
now applied it, we will not say without judgment,
but entirely without mercy; and had not Elsie at
last rebelled against his blood-thirsty humour, and
resolutely resisted all further encouragement of it,
there is no saying where the matter might have
ended, unless in the grave. However, as the patient
possessed a youthful and vigorous constitution,
capable of withstanding disease and his tyrant together,
he was at no time in absolute peril of death;
and being left a little to himself, he began at last to
mend, and in the course of the fourth day was, to
the infinite satisfaction of Captain Loring and his
fair daughter, pronounced entirely out of danger.
His convalescence was rapid, and would perhaps
have been still more so, had it not been for the
pains his hospitable host took to expedite it; for
Captain Loring beset his bed-side from the first
appearance of a favourable symptom, mingling
many joyous congratulations with a thousand exhortations

and instructions in relation to `that
grand picture of the battle of Brandywine, and
Tom Loring dying!'

From Captain Loring he also learned some of
the particulars of those bustling events, which had
taken place during the evening of his insensibility.
He was much struck with the strange transformation
of the sanctimonious Nehemiah Poke into no
less a personage than the refugee and assassin,
Oran Gilbert, and was very curious to hear the
particulars of his escape. They were told in a
moment: the pursuers, headed by Lieutenant
Brooks, (young Falconer having proceeded on his
journey with his sister, and the Captain, much the
worse for his gallop, having been forced to return
to the Hall,) had followed across the river, and
continued the search until nightfall rendered it
useless to prolong it. They had, at one time, been
close upon the fugitive's heels, having lighted upon
a pedler, (not, however, Mr. John Green, the Indian
trader, who was safely lodged at the time in the
wounded man's chamber,) to whom the pretended
preacher had sold his old gray horse, or exchanged
it for a better; and from this man they obtained
instructions, which put them in good hopes for
awhile of coming up with him. Night, however,
fell upon them, and the Lieutenant returned to the
right bank of the river, to rejoin his friend and
Miss Falconer, committing the whole charge of
the pursuit to his volunteers, from whom the fugitive
escaped, having baffled them completely. As
for Mr. Green himself, he left the little inn betimes
on the morning after the accident, and was seen
no more.

In regard to the outrage upon Colonel Falconer,
Herman was informed that it had been committed
in a mode especially daring and audacious. He
was entertaining certain gay and distinguished

guests at his villa on the Schuylkill, and had stepped
for a moment, in search of certain papers, to a
little pavilion, which he had caused to be fitted up
as a study, not sixty paces from the house, where
he was presently found weltering in his blood by
the guests, whom his sudden shrieks had drawn to
the place. The assassin had already vanished,
having added robbery, as Captain Loring averred,
to murder. The sufferer had, however, recognised
his well-known visage, and in the course of the following
day some traces of him were discovered.
It was found, at least, that a man answering the
description had stolen a horse from a neighbouring
farmer; and upon this horse, or one very like
him, Mr. Nehemiah Poke, the parson, had been
seen wending his way up the Delaware; and as no
one knew or had ever before heard of this reverend
gentleman, it was at once supposed that the
assassin had assumed the character as a disguise.
Before this second discovery had been made, a
courier, whom the Captain stumbled upon in the
village, was despatched to Hawk-Hollow, to recall
Miss Falconer to the city. His intelligence
therefore, though it caused the Captain to arrest
the true offender, was not sufficient to legalize the
capture, especially when this was opposed so
strongly by the zealous exhortations of Nehemiah,
and the discreet remonstrances of the painter.
When Captain Loring remembered the agency of
Hunter in robbing him of his prey, he burst into a
towering passion, and reproached and railed at
him with as little ceremony as he would have done
with his own son, or near kinsman. It was in vain
that Herman pointed out the improbability of a
wild hunter of the hills, like Oran Gilbert, being
able to assume the character of a ranting preacher,
and preserve it so well, and endeavoured to
convince him, that, if Nehemiah were really not
the assassin, he must be some other and some
secret enemy. The Captain swore that Colonel
Falconer had no other enemy in the world, and
therefore, of course, Nehemiah, the parson, must
be the identical Oran of the Hollow. This opinion
he maintained with such fury, that the painter, if
indeed he had no stronger reason for holding his
tongue, did not choose to meet it with an argument
derived from his own previous acquaintance with
Nehemiah. He suffered the Captain to have his
own way, and believe what he liked; and, in consequence,
the Captain soon dropped the subject
altogether, to take up another that now occupied
his brain, almost to the exclusion of every other.
This was the `picture of the battle of Brandywine,
and Tom Loring dying,' the consideration of
which, and of the painter's ability to execute it to
his liking, was the main cause of the extraordinary
affection he conceived for the youth.

Another piece of information, which the young
man obtained from the Captain, was an account
of the agency of Miss Loring in his deliverance
from the brook, and perhaps from death. He had
turned upon her a despairing eye, at the moment
when, as he was pitching over the fall, she had cast
out the end of the shawl to him; but of this circumstance
he had retained not the slightest recollection,
and indeed, it is more than probable that
his faculties were at that moment in a state of torpor.
Not content with this deed of daring humanity
(for if he had clutched upon the mantle, the
chances were that she would have been jerked
into the torrent after him,) she had plunged among
the boiling eddies below, and thus preserved him
from a second and perhaps greater peril, and all
the time with imminent risk to herself. His emotions
upon making this discovery, mingled surprize
and admiration with the gentler sentiment
of gratitude.

“Is it possible,” he cried, “that a young lady
should have such spirit, such presence of mind,
such courage?”

“Adzooks!” said the Captain, setting the matter
to rest at once, “is n't she my daughter? By the
lord, sir, when my son Tom was but a boy of ten
years, he could trounce all the boys of the Brandywine
of his own age, and two years older.”

“So heroic!” ejaculated the painter; “instead of
committing me to my destiny, with a pathetic
scream, to run at once to my assistance, like an
angel, rather than a woman!”

“Adzooks,” cried Captain Loring, “it was no
such thing, when I carried Tom Loring home; for
then she fell to weeping and bewailing; and hark
ye, Herman, my boy, that's the way you must
paint her.”

“So noble! so benevolent! so humane!” continued
Hunter. “Noble impulses are only produced
in noble spirits.—And I really, then, owe my
escape, perhaps my life, to the humanity of this
young lady, to whom I was but a stranger!—
Captain, it was the noblest act in the world!”

“Adzooks,” cried the Captain, “do you think
so? Why then, by the lord, we'll paint that too!
And, now I think of it, 'twill make a most excellent
picture! Why, yes,—what a fool I was, not
to think of it before! 'Twas very brave of her,
and it shall be painted: You shall stick yourself at
the bottom of the brook, and my Kate Loring fishing
you out, with Harriet and me on the top of the
rock; and as for that rusty fellow, the pedler, why
you may leave him out.”

“I am very curious about that man,” said Hunter;
“but 'tis no matter.”

Then he fell to musing, and in spite of the noisy
rapture with which the Captain danced about his
bed, filled with the new conception of immortalizing

paint, —of a picture which was to perpetuate
the heroism of his daughter as effectually as the
other was to record the glorious death of his son,
—the painter indulged his meditations for a considerable
time. The result was, first, a perfect
conviction that the sooner he made a due acknowledgment
of his gratitude the better; and, secondly,
that he felt himself strong and well enough to
undertake a duty so pleasing, without further delay.
In this opinion Captain Loring coincided
with great satisfaction; and neither the physician
nor his nurse being at hand to restrain him, (for so
soon as he recovered his wits, and began to
amend, they deserted his bed-side, returning only
at stated periods,) he got up and dressed himself
as well as he could, the Captain having in the
meanwhile, descended, to apprize his daughter of
the meditated visit. It was indeed lucky that the
Captain did so; for after the young man had risen,
and caught a view of himself in a mirror, his
resolution melted away like wax in the fire.

“Heavens!” said he, “how villanous I look!
Such lobster eyes, and such lantern-like jaws!
That confounded doctor has bled me like a Turk:
I wonder he did not make a Turl of me in earnest,
and leave me with a poll as naked as a peeled
yam. Truly I am now the Caballero de la
Triste Figura, Don Quixotte in good earnest, as
far as looks go; and truly I had better get me to
bed again, and wait a month or two, before showing
myself to any handsome young lady.”

His objections, however, to descend were overruled
by the Captain, and having been announced
at his own instance, and the young lady having
expressed great satisfaction at the happy change
in his condition, as indicated by a renovation of
strength so unexpected, he was even forced to do
as he proposed, and suffer himself to be conducted
into her presence.

Miss Loring was evidently surprised and shocked
by the change in his appearance, which was
still odiously visible, notwithstanding the great
pains he had been at to arrange his battered person
to advantage. The hair, massed over his forehead,
to hide an envious patch, added but little
ornament to his bloodless visage; nor did the
splint on his right arm, the riband-ties of his sleeve
which could not wholly conceal it, and the black
silk sling that supported the arm on his breast, impart
any peculiar elegance to a person of ghostly
tenuity. However, the surprise of the young lady,
though confirmatory of his own assurances in relation
to his unprepossessing looks, served the good
purpose of drawing what blood was left in his
body into his cheeks, and thus, for an instant, removed
one item of deformity.

The little confusion into which he was thrown
by this inauspicious reception, was luckily driven
to flight by the boisterous and triumphant introduction
immediately commenced by Captain Loring.

“Look ye, Catherine, my girl,” he cried; “here's
my young Herman Hunter, the painter, that you
fished so finely out of the water; and, adzooks, he
says, he'll paint the action for you, as well as your
brother Tom on the Brandywine, and General
George Washington on the fatal field of Braddock!
You see how quick we are curing him—
begin to have quite an opinion of that fellow,
Merribody!—As soon as we get his arm out of the
stocks here, he's to begin. Don't intend to let him
go back to Elsie's; but Elsie's a good nurse,—will
say that for her. Have somebody to talk to, now!
Will have cousin Harriet back as soon as possible.
So be civil to my young Herman What-d'ye-call-it.—
Think he looks very much like my poor Tom!”

With such characteristic expressions, the ancient
soldier dispelled the young man's embarrassment;

and Herman now turning his eyes upon the
maiden with a disposition to be pleased, he found,
in her countenance, so much to admire of beauty
both physical and spiritual, that his approbation
added a double emphasis to his expressions. Indeed
he spoke of her act of heroism, and his own
gratitude, with a warmth and energy of feeling
that, to her own suprise, nearly startled the tears
into her eyes, while they filled the Captain with a
new sense of his daughter's merits.

“Adzooks!” he cried, in a rapture, “he tells the
truth, and he speaks like an honest fellow! 'Twas the
noblest deed in all the world, and 't shall be painted.”

Anxious perhaps to escape the praises of her
father, which, as he had a whimsical docility of
temper, might be obtained at any moment,—rather
than to avoid those of the guest, which struck her
as being unusually agreeable, Miss Loring hastened
to protest against all panegyrics, by referring
to the more efficient aid rendered by the trader;
and then, with an attempt at pleasantry, to lead
the conversation still further from herself, she required
to know `to what mysterious cause of alarm
on Mr. Hunter's part she owed the happy opportunity
she had enjoyed of playing the heroine?'

“You will be astonished, Miss Loring,” he replied;
“but you were positively the cause yourself.”

“I?” said she. “Ah! I understand,” she continued,
with a smile of infinite mirth—“you were
thinking of the assault made by the two dragoons
upon poor Elsie's habitation, which we were so
near taking by storm; and you looked for nothing
less than a repetition of the charge, while you were
at a disadvantage on the narrow bridge!”

“By no means,” said Herman, sharing somewhat
of her animation, and smiling—“I really
took you for a spectre; and being of a superstitious
turn”—

“A spectre!” cried Captain Loring; “does my
Catherine look like a ghost?”

And “A spectre!” re-echoed Miss Loring,
though with a more serious emphasis.

“I had heard,” said the young man, “that there
was a grave beyond the falls”—

“Adzooks!” exclaimed Captain Loring, “I never
heard of it.—Who's buried there? One of the
Hawks, hah? By the lord, I'll root him up—have
no such villain's bones lying about the place”—

“Father,” said Catherine, “it is a woman's
grave.”—Which answer instantly checked the
veteran's rising indignation, and some little disgust
with which Hunter heard him threaten the
lowly sepulchre with violation.

“In truth,” resumed the painter, “my mind was
affected by the solemn scenery that conducted me to
the burial-place; and when I had reached the bridge,
and, lifting up my eyes, beheld a figure rising, as it
seemed out of the earth, and to all appearance commanding
me, by menacing gestures (for such, Miss
Loring, was your appearance,) to retire, you may
judge how much my imagination was excited. I
assure you, such was the hallucination of my mind,
that I beheld, even in your countenance, the pallied
hues of death, with tears, too, dropping from your
eyes, and such an expression of mingled sorrow
and displeasure, as I thought could exist only on
the visage of a disembodied spirit. In the sudden
alarm produced by such an impression, I forgot
entirely where I was, and so stepped off the narrow
bridge into that malicious torrent, and thereby,
as I may also add, fell under the obligation of
owing you a life—an obligation, which, I assure
you, is of so agreeable a nature, that”—

“If you say so,” cried Catherine, perceiving that
her father was preparing for another burst, and
interrupting the speaker with a smile, “I shall

undoubtedly expect you to give occasion for some
second display of my heroism, by leaping into the
brook again, as soon as you have recovered your
strength. You have indeed lowered my own vain
estimate of the obligation conferred, by showing
how much I was the cause of your misfortune;
and I now perceive, that I shall not have entirely
atoned for my fault, until you are wholly restored
to health. Allow me therefore to work out my
pardon, by assuming the character of a mentor
and governess.—You are yet unfit for the toils of a
courtier, and the exertions of the visit have already
exhausted your strength. I must command you
back to your chamber, to rest and recruit your
spirits; and to-morrow, if Dr. Merribody consents
to such unusual grace, I will perhaps permit you
to enjoy another half-hour of liberty.—You must
obey me, Mr. Hunter; my father is a soldier; and,
in his house, you are under martial law.”

The painter would willingly have disputed the
orders of the `Lieutenant-commandant,' (for such
Captain Loring, transported with her military spirit,
immediately pronounced his daughter to be,)
but Miss Loring spoke as if she had assumed the
command in earnest; and Hunter admired how so
much firmness could be expressed with so much
pleasantry, and how both these qualities could be
mingled in the same spirit with the maidenly gentleness
becoming her youthful age. But, indeed,
the young lady had found it convenient to put on
both the former appearances, to terminate an interview
irksome to herself, and perhaps prejudicial
to the convalescent; for no sooner had he taken
his leave, and her father with him, than she immediately
walked into the garden, the supervision of
which was the chief delight, and indeed passion,
of her existence, and, sitting down under an arbour
of honey-suckle and trumpet-flowers, indulged
herself in a long fit of weeping.