University of Virginia Library

33. CHAPTER XXXIII.
GRAND MUSTER OF THE CORNSTALK REGIMENT.

Instead of returning homeward, the soldier determined to
proceed to the office of the “Virginia Gazette,” and purchase
a number of that journal: and also stop a moment at
the Raleigh, and look to the condition of his horses there.

He rode into the yard and to the door of the huge stable,
which was much more capacious than that one at Beanksome,
where “a hundred steeds fed free in stall.” The
stable of the Raleigh would have accommodated more still:
and at present it was quite full, the honorable the members
of the House of Burgesses beginning to arrive in attendance
on the opening of the House. Captain Ralph surveyed the
bustling throng of stable-boys and grooms with much pleasure—bent
his neck into the stable and saw his four glossy
horses, delighting their souls with an abundant supply of
oats—delivered a pistole into the hands of the hostler, with
the promise of another, if the appearance of the animals

pleased him when he came again, and the promise further
that he would spit the said hostler with his sword if their
condition betrayed neglect:—and after these agreeable and
cheerful ceremonies, bent his way to the Gazette office.

He rode up to the door and received his paper from an
urchin of inky hue, placed there to sell the journal at six-pence
per copy, and then, turning Selim's head toward home
again, dropped the bridle on his neck, and went along, perusing
the paper.

“`Arrival of the Lucy,'” he read; “`parliament—stamp
act introduced—speech of Colonel Barri opposing it; ministers—Townshend—Grenville;
sums raised to be expended in
America; post roads—hum! hum!—public sentiment in the
colonies exaggerated—no real opposition—hum! hum!”
Thus the Captain continued glancing over his journal, when
suddenly he heard a loud, shrill squeak, a rattling drum; and
raising his eyes found himself opposite the “Raleigh” and
in the midst of a popular gathering. This gathering was of
every conceivable description of individuals—but these individuals
were for the most part juvenile, and the negroes had
decidedly the preponderance. To describe the costumes of
these latter would require much more genius than we possess.
Hogarth, in a golden mood, might have succeeded;
but what pen can adequately portray an under tunic fluttering
en arrière, after the manner of a flag;—what mere description
can paint a pair of unmentionables held up by one
suspender, made of leather, and worn at the knees in a manner
painful and shocking to behold?

It was a crowd of this description in the midst of which
Captain Ralph now found himself; and which Selim pushed
his way through with the unimpressed air of a child of the
desert whom nothing astonishes.

But the cause of the crowd? Ah! that is worth seeing.
It is nothing less than a muster of the entire “Cornstalk
Regiment of Virginia Volunteers,” Captain William Effingham
commanding.

The regiment are as picturesque as ever in costume and
equipment:—they hold their heads up proudly, and shoulder
their guns, or the substitutes for guns, described formerly
—with an air which says, “We are proud of ourselves,
our cause, and our commander;” they march on, in single

file, to the sound of a drum and fife, the former uttering an
incessant rattle—the latter a deafening scream.

Captain William Effingham precedes the whole—even
precedes the music; and his head is bent backwards, with
proud satisfaction, as, sword in hand, and sugar-loaf cap on
head, he marshals and directs his brave companions.

In front struggles a youthful gentleman,—it is Mr. Barkerville,
the artist,—under the weight of a tall pine sapling,
from which floats a silken banner, which utters a joyful
flapping noise when the wind strikes it, and causes the
great artist to reel and gasp. Upon this banner, which has
been presented to the Cornstalk regiment by Miss Kate Effingham,
of Effingham Hall, the work of whose fair hands it
is—upon the banner is inscribed in letters of golden silk
the thrilling motto:

NO STAMP ACT
FOREVER!

LIBERTY OR DEATH!!!

and whenever the youthful soldiers gaze upon it, they shout
tremendously, and utter wild hurrahs, and waver about in the
excess of their hot patriotism.

We have dismissed the bold musicians too briefly: let
us look at them. Is not the fifer an old acquaintance?
His coat is much too large and long for him; he wears a straw
hat innocent of rim, and much dilapidated; he has bandy
legs, protruding lips, a woolly head; he no longer possesses
any thing but the remnant of a shirt. It is Mr. Crow—
Crow in his glory; Crow rejoicing; Crow patriotic, and full
of grand ideas, hostile to tyranny,—especially to the Stamp
Act. This hostility causes him to surpass himself; his fife
utters cries of rage and triumph which are fatal to surrounding
ears; his eyes dance like meteors; his cheeks
are puffed up to the size of squashes; his rugged sleeves
are agitated; and his gait is the mixture of a jump, a dance,
a hop, and a run, which we have once described. Mr. Crow
is at the summit of human felicity, and when he pauses in
his fifing, and, with a noble gesture, silences the drum which
one of his relations has been promoted to at his solicitation,

he takes off his ragged hat, and waving it, utters a “hoora!”
drowning all the rest.

Captain Ralph, pausing at the door of the “Raleigh,”
saw the grand procession, with its following of ragged black
urchins, and vagrants of every description, sweep on. As he
was about to go onward again, laughing, toward home, he
heard a grave and strong voice beside him say:

“Give you good day, Captain Waters; we are well met!”

He turned, and saw the man in the red cloak, whose face
still wore the grim smile with which he had been gazing at
the Cornstalk soldiers.

“Ah! bon compagnon!” cried the hearty soldier, holding
out his hand; “good morrow! delighted to see you again.”

“We meet, sir,” said the stranger, whose face had resumed
its rigid expression, “on an occasion which recalls the
topic of our conversation yesterday. Did you read that banner?”

“Yes, faith! `No Stamp Act for ever,'—meaning, I
suppose, eternal opposition to that measure; then `Liberty
or Death'—ma foi! that, at least, does not admit of a supposition.
It is grandly unmistakable.”

“You are right, sir,” said the stranger, whose eyes again
seemed to grow full of his eternal predominant idea, and to
blaze—so to speak—with that idea; “'tis a grand sentiment,
and I assure you, sir, that this banner, boyish as it
seems, speaks the sentiment of the whole colony.”

“Parbleu! perhaps,” said the soldier, dubiously.

“Who gave them their ideas, sir?” continued the stranger.
“Urchins do not read parliamentary debates and boil
over politically without some instigation. Their fathers,
sir! Their fathers have spoken of that infamous measure—
and see the indication of men's opinions in the actions of
boys.”

The soldier nodded his head in sign of acquiescence.

“Those boys will be men soon,” continued the stranger,
“and will wield vigorous swords; that fife and drum will
yet sound on grander occasions, I predict.”

Then, breaking off suddenly, the stranger said:

“Any news of Mr. Charles Waters, sir?”

“No,” said the Captain, “and—egad! I think the mails
are no better than they should be. Bad, this, very bad.”

“I see the `Gazette' in your hand,” said the stranger,
drawing his old cloak around him and smiling grimly; “have
you not read how the proceeds of the Stamp Act are to be
applied to the improvement of the post roads? But, sir,”
he continued, “I detain you. When you write to Mr.
Waters, place at the bottom of your letter the words:
`Come! come! you are wanted!' Now, sir, I must go to
pay a visit which I have promised to a young friend of
mine, named Jefferson, at the college—a young man of much
promise, with a strong political genius. I want these sort
of men; I wish to see their faces round me when I rouse
the storm; I wish, above all, to have men like your brother
near me. Good day, sir.”

And wrapping his old cloak around him closer still, spite
of the mild May morning, the stranger made his awkward
bow and disappeared in the crowd. The Captain looked
after him a moment, muttering, “an odd fish, that!” and
then touched the Arabian with his heel. Selim went on
down Gloucester-street, and was soon out of the town.

Half a mile from the place, Captain Ralph discerned two
figures approaching across the fields; they were a young
man and a girl, and, as they drew nearer, he recognized
Lanky and the mistress of his heart. The soldier smiled
as they came up, bowing to him.

Lanky hung upon his countenance; taking hope or despair
as the Captain smiled, or looked gloomy. We are
sorry to say the soldier amused himself with Lanky's anxiety
in this manner for some time, and he refused, for some moments,
to reply to Donsy's appealing glances.

At last he burst into a laugh, and cried:

“Morbleau! 'tis easy to see that you foolish children are
in love. Basta! was there ever such a folly as you have
committed. You, Lanky, you villain, going and falling up
to your ears in love with a pair of blue eyes; and you, Miss
Donsy, with a pine-knot, surmounting a pair of striped
stockings. It is alarming! But, not to keep you longer in
suspense, monsieur and ma'mselle,—I have encountered the
enemy—the parent of Phillis consents to an alliance between
his daughter and her Corydon; in a single word, my dear
Miss Donsy, your father consents to your marriage.”

And, before the enraptured Lanky could impress a kiss

upon his sweetheart's cheek, Captain Ralph bent down and
relieved him of that trouble, after which, he rode on, laughing
and singing, toward home.

“Parbleu!” muttered the Captain, as he rode along,
with his arms hanging down, “a good day's work for those
silly folks there, standing under the tree, still,—by Jove!
she's in his arms! Well, well; if I am so good a strategist
in another's cause, should I not make some headway in
my own?”