University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

John and his gentle companion pursued their way
lazily towards the home of the damsel, by a path which
wound through the green meadows along the joyous
stream that twittered blithely as it slipped over the
white pebbles, and was so narrow in some places that
their arms intertwined with each other in spite of
themselves. It is true, they might have walked Indian
file, that is, one before the other, but this never occurred
to either. The long twilight of a summer day
was now gradually subsiding into the deeper shades
of approaching night; the bright star, consecrated to
the queen of love and beauty, hovered low over the
dark outlines of the adjacent hills, and had, for its
companion, the graceful new moon, which, in the form
of a silver Indian bow, hung suspended in the heavens.
Like John and his darling maiden, they seemed alone
in the skies, as the others were on the earth, for the
crowd of lagging stars had not yet made their appearance.
All nature seemed sunk on a bed of down, in
soft, luxurious repose, and the enervating warmth of
the weather, while it deprived the body of its elastic
vigour, made ample amends, by quickening the finer
feelings of the soul to sweeter and brighter aspirations.

It was a dangerous hour for the wicked, and
those whose passions tyrannize over all the ties of
faith and duty; but it offered to pure and virtuous affection
only a gentle excitement, which, while adding
to love additional fervour, detracted nothing from its
purity.

They walked for a while without either uttering a
word, for silence is twin sister to love. The young
man was thinking over those dim visions of the future,
which, ever since the commencement of the struggle
for freedom, had shared with Jane the empire of his
heart. The two were, indeed, inseparably associated;
he loved his country and his mistress, and all his hopes
of possessing the one, were founded on serving the
other. The young girl was occupied with her fears
and anticipations. She, indeed, possessed, in common
with the noble race of our revolutionary matrons, that
holy spirit of patriotism which inspired the men of that
memorable era, whose consequences have confounded
the calculations of philosophers who draw their
theories from the past history of mankind. It was
this spirit which animated their resistance, nerved
their arms, inspired their souls, and finally enabled
the peaceful cultivators of the earth to wrest from
boundless wealth, disciplined armies, and almost irresistible
power, the most glorious prize for which nations
ever contended.

But there is in the heart of a true woman, a gentle,
we may say, a happy inclination to yield to the softer
impulses of the heart. They love the brave, and
worship at the shrine of glory; but when the period
arrives for them to choose between the danger of one

they love, and the chance of acquiring rank or fame,
amid the perils of war, the sacrifice, if made at all,
is made with fear and anguish, and the penalty of disappointment
paid by a broken heart. Such were the
feelings which checked the tongue of Jane, and repressed
every expression, except what might be augured
from a long and heavy sigh, which ever and anon
heaved in her throbbing bosom. The struggle was
more painful than obstinate, for she had made up her
mind, for sometime, never, let what might come, to
dissuade him from the performance of his duty to his
country.

They were now in sight of the mansion of her
father, which was the best in twenty miles round, and
its owner the greatest man, in his own opinion, in the
county. He had fought in the old French war under
Putnam, and had his leg broken at the scaling of Ticonderoga;
in proof of which honourable achievement,
he limped all the rest of his life, and told the story
every day. Colonel Hammond was a passionate old
gentleman; but this was excusable, since it was observed
by his neighbours, that whenever the colonel
got angry, and swore by “Thunder and Mars,” it was
always a prelude to some act of kindness or generosity.
He was somewhat wilful, as well as way-ward,
having long since lost his wife, who by her
good temper, good sense, and steadiness of purpose
governed both his will and actions, without his having
the slightest suspicion of being, what he scorned
beyond every other species of disgrace, namely,
an obedient husband. He was, withal, somewhat of
a humourist, and being rather addicted to expletives,

had adopted a system of swearing, by the aid of which,
he communicated great energy to his conversation,
without breaking a single commandment. We are of
opinion it was altogether original with the good gentleman,
seeing he died before Bob Acres came into the
world. It is only necessary to add, that he was exceedingly
addicted to projects and inventions, none of
which ever proved of the least service to himself or
the world. He admired John, who was a frank, bold,
vivacious fellow; but like many wise men, he liked
him not as a son-in-law, and forgot that his daughter
did not see through his spectacles. John had lately
laughed at a pet invention of the colonel's, for catching
moles, and had been, in consequence, under the ban
of the old gentleman. It was, therefore, prudent for
the young couple to part at the entrance of the little
grove, that screened them from observation. This necessity
unlocked their tongues, and Jane was the first
to speak.

“Let us part, now,” said she, “you know you are in
disgrace, and my father will be angry at seeing us
together.”

“I know it, Jane. He looks down on me now. It
shall not be my fault, if he don't look up to me before
many years are past, if the war continues.”

“You are much given to boasting, lately, John.
Have you dreamed a dream, or seen a vision, or had
your fortune told by Hagar Raven?” asked she, with
a glistening eye.

“No, Jane, I rest my hopes on a fixed determination
to gain your father's consent at all risks, and I know
that to a brave old soldier, like him, there is no recommendation

like courage. Night and day, so help
me heaven, I will never rest contented, till I have
done something to deserve your love, and his approbation.
I will never ask you of him, until I feel I deserve
you, and will win my way to your arms or those
of death.

“Oh! don't talk so! You could not bear to think
of death if you loved me. Since—since—what has
passed between us, I never think of death without
shuddering. Before that, I loved none but my father,
but that love did not make me fear death; go now—
and I charge you, as you love me, to take care of yourself.
Do you indeed love me?”

“Love you? ah! dearest Jane, I love you better than
liberty, for I would be your slave. I love you better
than selfish beings love themselves—better than brave
men love danger, or cowards safety. But I must now
leave you. One kiss—but one. I know it is wrong,
but it may be our last.

The parting was sealed by a modest kiss, a parting
embrace. Just at the moment, the colonel, who had
been setting his mole-trap in an adjacent field, having
heard their voices, approached in somewhat of a
towering passion.

“Thunder and Mars!” thought he, “a turtle dove
in white dimity cooing to a mate in gray homespun.
I have told that puppy fifty times he shan't have Jane,
though he never asked me the question, and only the
other day forbid him my house. The young rascal!
to laugh at my mole-trap—and I've told Jane fifty
times a-day, for months past, she shan't marry that
beggarly stripling, so she couldn't possibly forget it.

Not but that the puppy's a clever lad, too; the best
rider, the best shot, the best runner and wrestler,
aye, and the best scholar, too, in the county. I believe
he knows more than I do; and as for courage, he'd eat
fire for breakfast, dinner and supper before he'd turn
his back on friend or foe. Confound me, if I don't
sometimes think I like the fellow—but then he's poor—
he wants the one thing needful, without which a man
is no better than an empty purse, or a pocket turned
inside out. What will become of all my improvements
if I am obliged to maintain him and all his brats; for
the poorer a man is, the more is he blessed with
mouths to eat out what little he has? What will become
of my canal from Sawmill to Byram river, which I
mean to make navigable if I can only get water enough?
and what will become of my patent cider press, my
horizontal wheel, and my perpendicular axle-tree? It
wont do—it wont do—I can't spare anything from my
improvements. Hey—what—thunder and fire!”

As the worthy colonel thus communed with the inward
man, the young puppy and the young damsel
were standing still as mice; for though they had gone
through all the preliminaries of a long farewell, they
seemed inclined to begin again. Just at this moment
John wound his trembling arm around the slender
waist of Jane, which, though innocent of whalebone,
was but a span, and drawing her to his bosom,
compressed one more last memento on her rosy lips.
A blush and a tear mingled together on her glowing
cheek, and she reproached him for his freedom, with a
quivering lip. The choleric colonel could endure this
no longer—he came upon them as fast as his lame leg

would permit, and was just in time to interrupt the
ceremony of another last farewell.

“Thunder and Mars!” roared he, “what is all this?
I'll send one of you to perdition, and disinherit the
other. So madam—so sir—I say what does all this
mean. Do you take this puppy for a young sapling
that you cling about him like a grape vine? Hey—
confound your pictures, what does all this mean, I
say?”

It would be a subject worthy the deepest investigation
of a philosopher, who had nothing else to employ
him, why it is that the bravest spirit, when detected
in the act of saluting a woman, though ever so
innocently, at night, or what is still more embarrassing,
by the light of the moon—except it be his great-aunt or
his grandmother—looks and feels just for all the world
as if he had been caught robbing a hen-roost. John
could look danger in the face, as an eagle does the
sun; he was as brave as a game chicken, but at this
moment, he could neither flap his wings or crow. He
looked very much like a rooster, who, in country
phrase, “runs under,” when detected by the master
spirit of the farm yard, paying his devoirs to a young
pullet. He was not dead, but he was certainly speechless.
Jane, however, who was accustomed to the
colonel's explosion of wrath, and a woman, besides, retained
more self-possession, and with something like
modest artlessness, replied to his question, of what all
this meant.

“It is only our last parting, dear father.”

“Only our last parting dear father,” reiterated the
colonel—“It looks more like your last meeting, for

you seemed as if you never meant to part again. But
where is the puppy going? To join the red coats, I
suppose, or plunder some of the farmers down below—hey,
blood and fire!”

“No, father, he is going to fight for his country.”

“What, between the lines, I suppose—to rob both
sides, hey!—I've a great mind to carry him before that
obstinate old blockhead, Squire Day, and have him
hanged for a Cow Boy.”

“Take care what you say, colonel,” said John,
brushing up at this opprobrious charge.

“Take care what I say? I'll say what I please, and
do what I please on my own ground. I'll seize you
for a trespasser, and lock you up in the cellar, sir, and
then what would you do, hey?”

“Why, colonel, my present impression is, that I
would run away myself, and if possible, persuade Jane
to go with me.”

“You would, would you? Thunder and Mars! I
only wish I was the man I was before the old French
war, when I summoned old Ti, and surrounded a corporal's
guard, that surrendered at discretion. By the
Lord, I'd make you measure land by the yard faster
than you ever did before. Hey! John, did you ever
hear that story of old Ti?”

“Never, that I recollect—at least since you last told
it,” added he, in a low tone—for he knew that nothing
in this world tickled the old continental so much as
telling the story to one who never heard it before.

“Nor read it in history?” asked the colonel.

“Never, sir.”

“What an ignoramus—and what a sieve is history;

only it lets out the grain, and retains the chaff. But,
what am I talking about here, when the dew is falling
in showers, and the fog rising like smoke in a battle.
Look you, Jane, do you love this young puppy? Why
don't you answer instead of standing as dumb and as
deaf as a copper-head? Do you love this great scholar,
who never heard of my taking Ticonderoga? Tell
me the honest truth, if a woman can possibly be honest
on such an occasion. Out with it, and don't pretend
to be too modest after what I have just seen.”

It was now Jane's turn to be silent; and in this unnatural,
unfeminine state, she continued, her head
hanging down, and her forehead red with blushes,
though she had answered that question scores of
times to a certain person. The colonel then turned to
John, and proposed the same interrogatory.

“With all my soul, sir—I would die for her if necessary.”

“You would? A bargain—get a halter out of the
stable yonder, and hang yourself only for fifteen minutes,
and on the honour of an old continental, you shall
marry Jane the next hour if you can only make the
responses, and we can find a parson or justice of
peace, who is not a rank tory. Mind, I except Squire
Day, who is such an obstinate old fool, that ten to one,
he will contradict the whole ceremony. What say
you, John?—hey, boy!”

“I say, colonel, that if it were not for Jane, your
lame leg, and your gray hairs, I would answer you not
with a word, but a blow.”

“A blow! Do I live to hear, and does the man live
that threatens me a blow? Thunder and fire! But

if you survive the other business, you shall give me
satisfaction. Jane, I'm sorry for you—you'll be a widow
before sunset to-morrow. I say, Jane, how would
you like to lose your sweetheart—hey?”

“How would you like to lose your daughter, sir,”
replied Jane.

“What—hey—is it come to that? Drowning or
poisoning, or pining away to a shadow! Very well
—very exceeding well, my dutiful daughter. You'd
rather he'd shoot your poor old father, I suppose. You'd
prefer being an orphan to a widow—hey? Faith, he's
no beauty, I must confess—he is not as tall and as
straight `as a poplar tree,' nor are `his cheeks as red
as a rose.' He can't jump over a seven rail fence
without touching it with his hand, nor talk sentiment
like a ballad monger, nor lie like an almanac maker.
He's past say, as the French used to call it at Old Ti.
But to the point. Do you love this most respectful
puppy, who threatens to knock your father on the
head, except for two or three substantial reasons? Out
with it—tell the truth, which I know before hand.
Remember, there never has been a lie told in my family
since the declaration of independence. Do you
love him, I say?”

“I can't deny it, father, with the same lips that have
often uttered the confession.”

“Upon my word! Signed, sealed, and delivered, as
that obstinate old blockhead, Squire Day, says. But
it won't do, I tell you, it won't do. The conveyance
is not legal; and you, sir,” turning short on John, “you
will accept the conveyance of this dutiful daughter,
hey?”

“When I have made myself worthy of her, and not
before,” replied John. “I mean to gain a reputation
equal to that of the brave officer, her father, before I
ask him to give me his daughter.”

“Hum—brave officer—that's sensibly said, but it
won't do, John—you must make yourself rich, and
then you will be worthy in my sight.”

“Rich, sir! I never thought of that. I mean to
serve my country—that will make me worthy of any
man's daughter.”

“Ha! ha! hum—well, John, I can't but say I like
your idea. I am a cool, calculating man, as all the
world allows, except that obstinate old blockhead,
Squire Day, who, by-the-bye, I suspect is a rank tory
in his heart. I shouldn't be surprised if he had a
British protection in his pocket at this moment. And,
John—Thunder and Mars! what are you gaping at
that girl for, instead of listening to what I am saying?”

“I was only reading her thoughts, sir.”

“Well, and what may she be thinking about?”

“She was thinking how you could be so cruel as to
bring tears in the eyes, and sorrow to the heart, of one
who has been your solace in health, your nurse in sickness,
and, to the utmost extent of her duty and affection,
has supplied to you the loss of her dear mother.”

This touched the old continental to the quick. He
cherished the memory of his wife, who had been a
kind and gentle mate, and was accustomed to tell Jane
how much she resembled her mother.

“Well, Johnny,” said the colonel, after a pause, “I
am a reasonable man, only a little too easy tempered.

Now, you puppy, listen to me, and don't dare to turn
even the corner of your eye on that girl until I have
done. You know, John, I am rich and you are poor,
and that I shall be ten times richer when I have finished
my canal and other great improvements—you
young rascal, I see you peeping! I say, when I have
finished my canal and other improvements, I shall be
as rich as old Fred Phillips before his property was all
confiscated.”

“That will be some time after the last trumpet
sounds,” quoth Master John.

“What's that you are mumbling, you puppy?”

“Something about a trumpet, sir.”

“Well, as I was saying, John, I am rich. I don't
wish to hurt your feelings, but you are what I should
call, as it were, comparatively a beggar.”

“Beggar!” cried John, indignantly. “Do you think
that with arms like mine, and a heart to use them, a
man can be called a beggar? Sir, I shall never beg
anything of you but your daughter.”

“Be quiet—confound that red-pepper temper of
yours; I wonder Jane ever ventures to come near
you. As I was saying, Jane will have a fine time
with you—you're always taking people up before they
are down. I tell you I don't mean the least offence,
and yet you will fly out upon me. But as I was saying,
your grandfather is a beggar, without a shilling
to help himself with; your father is a beggar, and
will be as long as continental money lasts; you are a
beggar, and your children's children, to the fourteenth
generation, for aught appears to the contrary, will be
beggars, if you marry without my consent. I'll disinherit

Jane, by the Lord Harry! Do you hear me,
John?”

“I do, sir. I have listened with the deepest attention,
and, if you wish it, will answer you.”

“Go on—let me hear some of your school logic, you
blockhead.”

“This is my answer, colonel. You say you are rich,
and so you are. But by what tenure do you hold
your wealth? Every day and every night, you are
exposed to the inroads of a set of unprincipled plunderers,
sparing neither friend or foe. Before to-morrow
morning, your fields may be laid waste, your cattle
driven away, your barns and house set on fire, and
your life, as well as that of your daughter and your
dependants, sacrificed without mercy. If you escape
these midnight ruffians, it rests alone with such men
as my father is, and I intend to be, to save you from
being hanged as a traitor, and your property becoming
the spoil of some recreant tory. Will you boast of
possessions you hold by such a flimsy tenure as this?
Let me tell you, Colonel Hammond, that in times like
these, the man who possesses the hand and the heart
to defend his native land, is of more worth than hoarded
wealth, rich harvest-fields, herds of defenceless
sheep and cows, or a splendid palace, which he cannot
defend himself, and must rely on poor beggars,
like me, to protect from violation. Sir, I am a man—
and men are worth their weight in gold when an
enemy is lording it over the land, and only brave
hearts and determined hands can expel him. I own
my family is become poor, but we are not beggars,

for we have land, and the power to make it productive.”

There was so much truth, urged with such a manly
spirit, in this harangue, that the colonel was deeply
affected by the picture thus presented to his contemplation.
He fell into a train of brief reflection, at the
end of which, he said with frank good-humour—

“Well, John, on one condition, I give my consent.”

“Name it sir—shall I eat fire?”

“Eat a bull-frog, you blockhead, as the Frenchmen
used to do at old Ti—at least, so the English said—as
I observed before, John, you have neither money, rank
or reputation, except just among the girls and boys of
the neighbourhood. The husband of the only daughter
of Colonel Hammond, an old continental officer,
with money in his pocket, and lands at his back, ought
to be somebody. Now, John, you say you are going
to fight for your country, that makes every man a
gentleman. Go and offer yourself to Washington, and
do something to merit an honourable place in history,
and Thunder and Mars! my daughter, my money, my
lands and improvements, shall be yours. What say
you, you puppy?”

“I say, colonel, your hand to the bargain. If I don't
stake life, limb and liberty—heart and soul on this
game, call me not only beggar, but coward, if you will.
Your word and your hand, Colonel Hammond.”

“There—take it if you dare. Come to me with the
voice of your country in your favour, and the approbation
of the great Washington, and by the Lord Harry,
if I had a dozen girls, you should marry them all—
shouldn't he, Jane?”

“Not with my consent, father. I would forbid the
bans.”

“What, hey!—you'd have him all to yourself, would
you?”

“Even so, sir. I shall give all, and expect all in
return.”

“Quite a reasonable young woman,” said the colonel.
“But come, John, there is no time to be lost; the
fate of our country hangs by a hair, and she wants
every true heart, every strong arm, to sustain her.
Lose not a day. Life is short, my boy, and the hours
of a soldier are numbered.”

“Too true,” answered Jane; “and his will be briefer
than the common lot, I fear. Father, you have
put him on the track of death,” and the tears gushed
from her eyes.

“Track of a fiddlestick! Why, girl, I once had six
and thirty muskets pointed at me at once, and they all
missed fire, owing to the dampness of the priming.
They hissed, and fizzled, and funked like fury, but I
escaped as it were by a miracle. If they had all gone
off, you might have converted my skin into a cullender.
Never fear, Jane—never fear; a man can't die but
once, and then not before his time comes. Think of
the muffled drum—the funeral march to the tune of
Roslin Castle; the long lines of soldiers, with their
arms reversed—their eyes bent on the ground—the
minute guns at a distance—the cocked hat and sword
on the coffin, and the six rounds fired over the grave
of the gallant soldier. Thunder and Mars! but it's a
glorious thing to die for our country.”

“Glorious to him, but death to those that love him,”
sighed poor Jane.

“Now, John, go and prepare yourself, and don't let
me see that face of yours again till you have fulfilled
your part of the contract, and won the good word of
Washington. I served with him in Braddock's war,
and dare say, he will recollect me. But once more
away, boy, and remember while you are doing your
duty to your country, you are at the same time winning
your way to the arms of love and beauty. Is'nt
she a jewel—a rose-bud—John.”

“To my eye the fairest, to my heart the dearest of
all created beings, sir. But, I must leave you now. I
have an engagement to go out on a sky-larking party
to-night, with some of our lads. We mean to scour
the country as far as Kingsbridge. Perhaps we may
pick up some straggler, or gather some information
that may be useful at head quarters.”

“Right, John, I wish this timber leg of mine would
let me go with you, as my experience might be useful.
But, John, don't forget that this reasonable young
lady must have all or nothing. None of your sparking,
by the way—hey!”

“Let this be my answer, sir,” saying which, he approached
Jane, and folding her in his arms, gave her
a farewell kiss.”

“Why, Thunder and Mars!” exclaimed the old continental;
“what do you mean, you puppy? you are
reckoning your chickens before they are hatched.
What! before my face—how dare you presume, sir.
If the young rascal had not done it, I'd have kicked
him.” added the colonel, aside.

“Despair and hope, are no cowards, sir. One fears
nothing, the other expects every thing. If I return, as
I trust I shall with credit, you will forgive this freedom;
if I return no more, let the offences of the dead
rest in the grave. Once more, farewell, my dearest
Jane.”

“I cannot say what I wish,” sobbed Jane. “But,
oh! do not forget that in your resolution to gain me,
you may lose yourself.”

“Not another word—ah! that confounded twinge!
I knew I should be the worse for standing in the damp
here. Enough said, you young fools. John, an old
continental gives you his blessing, and here's my hand,
boy, that I will keep my word; see that you keep
yours. Good bye, my lad,”—and the colonel led his
sorrowing daughter home.

John watched till they were lost in the shadows of
evening, and then burst into an extempore of love and
enthusiasm, as was his custom, from having no one to
talk with the greater portion of his time.

“Now,” cried he, “now my good heart, and good
right hand, be true as steel this once. And you, my
twin darlings, equally dear, liberty and my Jane, inspire
me. If I halt or falter, or turn my back, may
my country disown, and my mistress desert me!”

These, and such like animating thoughts occupied
his mind, as he hastened towards home to fit himself
for the night adventure. His step assumed new firmness;
his heart swelled with a bright train of anticipation,
and his character at once became strengthened
and exalted by the inspiring influence of a fixed and
noble purpose. He was now a man and a hero. Returning

to the old stone-house, he quietly procured his
equipments, without disturbing the old couple, who,
with their little handmaid, went to roost with the
fowls, and rose with the sun.