University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

“In due course of time, and without further
accident, we arrived at the little French
settlement of Gallipolis; which, being the last
upon the river before reaching the Kentucky
settlements, was always a stopping-place,
where the emigrant obtained fresh stores of
provisions, perhaps; but, certainly, the last
news of Indian knaveries on the river below.
At this place, it was resolved to remain for
a day and night, in the hope of being joined
by our stranded boat. The time was passed
by all attached to the broad-horn in such
frolics and diversions ashore as suited their
several humours. Even the fair Alicia, who,
by this time, was growing visibly thin and
pale—a misfortune which her father, himself

heartily sick of a broad-horn voyage, attributed
to the confinement of the boat—was
prevailed upon to take several rambles on
shore, in which she was attended by Captain
Sharpe, now, as every body could see, a fixed
favourite of her father, and, as every body
imagined, of the lady likewise. But it was
observable that Miss Storm never went ashore
without having one of her women also with
her.

“Rambling along the river myself, it was
my fate to stumble upon this little party, at
a moment when Captain Sharpe had taken
advantage of a momentary separation of the
fair Alicia from her servant, to drop upon his
knees, and pour into her tender ears a violent
declaration of love.—Not that I pretend to
have overheard his actual expressions, for I
was too far from the pair for that, besides
beating a retreat the moment I discovered
them, without their having noticed me; but,
as I saw him on his knees, in an extremely
elegant posture of adoration, I had no right
to doubt what kind of prayers he was making.
How the lady received his vows, whether
favourably or not, I had no means of knowing
or discovering, being in as great a hurry to

get out of the way as Captain Sharpe, perhaps,
was to win the lady's heart.

“Having no longer any doubt that the
handsome soldier had really formed the design
of becoming the son-in-law of my commander,
and remembering Jones's story of his marriage,
as well as my resolution to make Colonel
Storm acquainted with it, if necessary,
I immediately returned to the boat; where
the old gentleman, incapable of leaving it,
was growling over his pangs, and, to my
surprise, invoking all kinds of maledictions
upon Connor, `for deserting him,' as he expressed
it, in a grumbling soliloquy, `in the
midst of his torments and cares.'

“`Sir,' said I, pouncing upon him without
ceremony, and thinking this a favourable
opportunity to open my communication, `I
thought, and so did every body else, you
turned off Mr. Connor yourself!”

“`What's that your business, you scoundrel?'
said he, as if enraged at my presumption:
`who gave you leave to talk to me
about Tom Connor, or any thing else?'

“`Nobody gave it—I take it,' said I; `and
I reckon, that, in turning off Mr. Connor,
you got rid of just as good a friend and
honest a servant as was ever misused in a fit

of passion—that's my notion. And I reckon,
moreover, that, in putting Captain Sharpe
into his place, you have helped yourself to a
bit of snake-flesh, that will have a snap at
you, rale viper-fashion, or at some body you
love as well as yourself, some day, there's no
doubt on it.'

“`What, you dog!' cried Colonel Storm,
seeming both incensed and astonished, `are
you abusing Sharpe, too?'

“`I didn't know,' said I, `that any body
had ever said any thing against him. But, I
tell you what, Colonel Storm—not to make
a long story about it—Captain Sharpe is
making love to Miss 'Lishy; and it seems to
be generally agreed among us as how you
intend to give her to him.'

“`Well, you brazen rascal!' roared Colonel
Storm, looking as if he would eat me, `how
does that concern you?'

“I had, by this time, got too well accustomed
to the commander's mode of conversing
with his people, when in a passion, to
take offence at his expressions; and, therefore,
replied, with as much equanimity as when I
began the conversation,—`I don't see that it
concerns me much, any way, Colonel; but, I

rather reckon, it concerns a very amiable
young lady; and her honour—'

“`Her honour, you dog! Do you dare
talk to me about my daughter's honour?'
cried the old gentleman, with increasing fury.

“`Colonel? said I, `it don't signify being
in such a passion, and calling me hard names:
—I just mean to tell you, that, if you give
Captain Sharpe your daughter, she will get a
husband who happens to have one wife,—
perhaps half a dozen of 'em,—already.'

“`You lie, you thief!' said the veteran,
catching at his crutch,—I believe, with the
full intention of knocking me on the head; a
catastrophe which, supposing I should have
permitted it to be attempted, which I was
not disposed to do, was prevented by the
sudden appearance of the young lady; who,
still attended by Captain Sharpe, at that moment
entered the boat and the cabin where I
had sought her parent. The angry old gentleman's
eyes flashed with double rage, as
soon as they fell upon the soldier; but, as it
happened, it was with rage not at the latter:
—`Here, Sharpe, you thief,' he cried, `here's
the old story over again! Knock the villain's
brains out—Swears you are married!'

“`At these words, the daughter, who,

seeing her father's wrath, was on the point
of stealing away to her own cabin, turned
round with a look of astonishment and inquiry.
`Same old story Tom Connor got up
—lying rascal!' continued the veteran: `wife
already,—poor deserted woman,—broken-hearted.—Rascally
invention.—Tumble the
dog into the river!'

“`I beg,' said Captain Sharpe, looking for
a moment a little confused, but soon recovering
his composure,—`I beg Miss Storm will
retire a moment, while I inquire into this odd
adventure.'

“Miss Storm gave the Captain a searching,
I thought even a scornful—though calmly
scornful—look, and then stepped up to her
father, upon whose shoulder she laid her
hand, gazing him earnestly and sadly in the
face. `Father,' she said, `the position in
which I have been placed—need I say, by
yourself?—in relation to Captain Sharpe, entitles
me to inquire into any charges affecting
his honour. I waive the right: I do not even
ask you, my father, to act upon it. But I
must be satisfied upon one point. You drove
from you an old and once trusted friend,—
Connor: and it seems, (although you never
acquainted me with it,) that he preferred

charges against Captain Sharpe;—in short,
the very charges which, it seems, this young
man brings against him.—Father! was it because
of these charges you discarded poor
Connor?'

“`Ay!' grumbled the veteran;—`told lies
of the Captain:—all slander and malice.'

“`It is enough,' said the lady; and then
added,—`Slander and malice never stained
the lips of Thomas Connor.'

“`Spoken like a true-hearted gal!' said I,
vastly delighted to find the poor secretary
had another friend beside myself in the boat:
`And as for this here story about Captain
Sharpe's wife, I hold it to be as true as gospel,—'cause
how, his own man Jones told
me!'

“`Excellent authority on which to damn
a man's reputation, certainly,—that of his
own robbing, runaway lackey!' cried Captain
Sharpe, with a laugh; and then requested
that Miss Storm would `remain and hear all
that the fellow (meaning me) had to say
against him.'

“`It is neither necessary that I should
hear, nor he say, any thing more against one
who is now—whatever else he may be—
my father's guest,' replied Miss Storm, calmly:

`the subject may be more profitably resumed
hereafter. And I beg,' she added,
`that neither my father nor Captain Sharpe
will cherish any ill will against this young
man, for bringing charges, which, however unfounded
they may be, had certainly their
origin in good-will to my father, or to me.'

“With these words, she retired to her little
apartment; and Colonel Storm, denouncing
me as `a great impudent blockhead,'
ordered me out of the cabin. As for Captain
Sharpe, who, I expected, would have been
thrown into a terrible rage, he burst into a
laugh, as soon as Miss Alicia departed, and
told me I was `a very simple fellow, but
would grow wiser hereafter,'—a mode of
treating my charges which somewhat lessened
my own opinion of their justice.

“And so ended my assault upon the honour
and dignity of Captain Sharpe, in which,
though I met with nothing but discomfiture,
I had the good fortune, without, however,
knowing it until some time afterwards, to
make a friend of the fair Alicia.