University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

The festival, so far as events allowed it to proceed,
was rather a pic-nic, of a somewhat patriotic
character, than a true national celebration; and
such indeed it might have been esteemed, had it
not been for the occasional roar of the six-pounder,
and the ambitious din kept up by the muskets, and
the drum and fife of a small company of volunteers,
the only portion of the county military who
could be induced to honour Hawk-Hollow with
their attendance. Few, however, as were the persons
present, they claimed to form in themselves
the flower of the district; and rather rejoicing in
than regretting the absence of the great multitude,
they proceeded with zeal to despatch what was
esteemed the business of the day, in order that they
might the sooner advance to its pleasures. In fact,
all interest in the proper business of celebration
was soon found to be confined to Captain Loring,
the officers of the day, and their immediate adherents
and partisans; the greater number of revellers,
both male and female, preferring to ramble
about in groups along the river shore, rather than
to sit in solemn expectation on the promontory,
awaiting the beginning of the proceedings. There
were more attractive charms to the mass in the
grassy glades below, where attendants were busily
occupied in preparing for the feast and the dance,
some arraying stores of napkins and platters along

the course of the brook, and others matting together
bushes and branches of trees, so as to form
temporary canopies. In some places might be
seen a knot of Sabbath-clad bumpkins, moving
among the horses that were tied under the trees,
and discoursing learnedly upon their good and bad
points; in others, were collected divers rural beauties,
admiring one another's bonnets, or exchanging,
like merchants at a fair, their little stock of
innocent scandals—the peculiar products of their
respective neighbourhoods; and in one place, an
amalgamation of the two interests was already
effected, and a romping country-dance begun upon
the green sward. Some idlers, incapable of any
other exercise of their faculties, had begged pins
of their cousins and sweethearts, converted them
into minnow-hooks, and were already angling from
the rocks; some, more gallant, were paddling
their favourites about in canoes; some were singing;
some rejoicing in the felicity of a jest; and in
two different places afar off, was heard the screaming
plaint of flutes, sounded by as many youthful
followers of the Musagetes, who had stolen to their
solitudes alone.

In the meanwhile, those who were most zealous
in the cause which had brought them together,
remained on the top of the promontory, whiling
the time in conversation, until the moment should
arrive fixed on for opening the rites of the day.
The prospect from this elevation was extensive,
and, at one spot, it comprehended a view of a
horse-path sloping down the hills on the further
bank of the river, which, in seasons of drought,
like the present, was there fordable. It looked
besides over a part of the valley, and afforded a
clear glimpse of the public highway at a place
near to the park-gate, where it ran over a hill.
Both these roads possessed, on the present occasion,

a peculiar interest in the mind of Miss Falconer,
and she had chosen her resting place, with
the view of keeping them always in her eye. She
was followed to it by a select group, consisting,
besides the Captain's daughter, of the painter, the
orator of the day, Dr. Merribody, and a few of
that immediate coterie. Her vivacity on this
occasion was remarkable; but it was observed by
many that there was a degree of restlessness and
even uneasiness in her deportment, which were displayed
in her frequent changes of conversation, and
the piercing looks she occasionally bent on all
present, as if in some sudden and short-lived fit of
abstraction, that rendered her unconscious of them
herself. These glances she bestowed more frequently
upon her friend Catherine than any other
person present; though some supposed they proceeded
from solicitude; for it was now remarked
that the Captain's daughter was thinner and paler
than of old, as if suffering from some hidden
or not yet fully developed, indisposition. There
was an air of lassitude in her countenance and
movements; and the bursts of merry humour that
once marked her conversation, were now few and
far between.

The individual who shared her piercing looks in
the second degree, was undoubtedly the painter,
with whom she carried on a conversation frequently
very animated, and distinguished by a kind
of malicious ambition, no one knew why, unless it
proceeded from sheer good will, to betray him into
inconsistencies and contradictions. She took occasion
to recur to the subject of the serenade, and
requested him, with many compliments, to resume
`the pretty little ditty of the Sigh and the Whisper,'
as she called it, which had been so abruptly
terminated on the preceding night by the raincloud,
and the request being backed by that of

others, he very good-naturedly consented to sing,
objecting however to the lay in question, that being
entirely of a serenading character, and therefore
unfit for chanting by day-light. “Instead of
that,” said he, “I will sing you the song of River, O
River, which always brings back the dear Pedee
to my recollections.” And so saying, with but
little of that hemming and coughing, which we
have good authority for esteeming the `prelude to
a bad voice,' he immediately sang the following
little roundelay, turning his eyes the while, with a
mournful earnestness, upon the Delaware, as if
that, by a turn of prospopœia, was made to supply
the place of the Southern river.

A deep sigh came from the breast of Jingleum;
but before it had reached any ear but his own,
Miss Falconer fixed her eyes on the singer, and
asked him, with much inquisitorial emphasis,

“Pary, sir, how came those `gray old rocks'
into the Pedee?”

“How!” echoed Herman; “Truly, I know not;
that is a question for a geologist.”

“Really, sir,” said the lady, maliciously, “I am
surprised they should be found in the Pedee,
which, I have heard, rolls through a quagmire.”

“You are right, Miss Falconer. The Pedee
proper is without rocks; but the Yadkin, which is
the upper portion of it, and mountainous, has as
rugged a bed as any other river. But allow me
to say,”—this he uttered with a smile of triumph,
as if aware of her desire to catch him tripping,—
“you appear to suppose the song commemorative
of my native river; whereas, if I can believe the
poet, my friend Mr. Jingleum, it relates entirely to
the Delaware before us.”

“Ah! I forgot—I thought you were speaking of
the Pedee; and I longed to show my knowledge
of geography,” said the lady. “But, hark, sir;
there is the roll of the drum; the volunteers are

cocking their pieces, the Captain is just priming
the artillery, and now we shall have the signal for
beginning the ceremonies.—I hope, sir, you have
well studied the Declaration?”

“I have, madam,” said the youth, who seemed
to discover something offensive in the bantering
question; “and, however incompetent to the task
of pronouncing it with eloquence, or even effect,
I believe there is no one present who has given it
more thought than my own unworthy self.”

At the signal thus indicated, the various truants
on the river-bank were seen thronging hastily up
the hill, and the orator, reader, and officers of the
day, immediately ascended the rostrum. Before
the preliminaries were all completed, an exclamation
from Captain Loring, who had mounted with
them, drew the eyes of all across the river.

“Soldiers, by the lord! adzooks, soldiers!” he
cried, and the patriots beheld three horsemen, in
military attire, riding down the horse-path on the
opposite bank of the river. “Look, Harry, my dear,
look!” continued the Captain, eagerly; “ 'tis our
brother Harry, I'll be sworn! Could tell him among
ten thousand. Sits his horse like a general; and a
wonderful handsome dog—and, see, he is waving
his handkerchief!”

But Miss Falconer was at this moment staring
at another object in a contrary direction, of more
attraction even than her brother. She beheld a
single horseman, riding slowly along the road by
the park-gate, wending his way towards the cottage
of Elsie Bell, and apparently too much wrapped
up in his own reflections to bestow a glance,
or even a thought, upon the scene of commotion
presented by the promontory. The distance of the
road was at least a mile; but it was easy to perceive,
first, that the man was mounted upon a
white horse, and, secondly, that his head-gear was

of a flaming red colour,—two circumstances that
filled both the eyes and the heart of the gazer with
fire. She turned her face to the rostrum, on which
Hunter was already displaying the record of a
nation's enfranchisement; but interrupted his proceedings
without ceremony, crying eagerly,

“You have a painter's eyes, Mr. Hunter—do
you know that man on the road yonder? A red
hat, I think?—a rawboned horse?—An acquaintance
of yours, Mr. Hunter?”

“An acquaintance?” echoed the painter, with a
look of surprise. “At this distance, it is impossible”—

“Mr. Jingleum, what say you?” cried Harriet,
hastily; “or you, Mr. Pepperel?”

“The midnight oil, Miss Falconer,” murmured
the modest bard; but was interrupted by the lawyer,
saying,

“It is necessary, before arriving at a conclusion,
to examine into the premises; and before deciding
upon this matter, I should like to have, not
only the evidence of my own eyes, but the evidence
of the eyes of other persons,”—when he
was, in turn, silenced by the sudden exclamation
of Dr. Merribody.

“I know the fellow, as well as I know my own
patients,” he cried, pursing his eye-brows together;
“ 'tis that scoundrelly quack fellow, John Green,
the Indian trader; and I hope he may come here
before night, that somebody may get drunk and
trounce him.”

“Bravo!” cried Miss Falconer; and turning towards
the river, she waved her handkerchief, as if
to hasten the advance of her martial friends.

“Nonsense!” cried Hunter, eagerly, but manifesting
some little agitation. “What! Green, the
good fellow that pulled me from the brook? Nonsense,

doctor; that man is twice as tall; and besides,
he rides quite a different horse.”

“I'll stand up to it,” said the doctor, with dignity.
“As for his horse, why these traders are
always buying and stealing; and there's his red
hat, as clear as a bunch of sumach, the red-headed
villain! But never mind any such vagabonds: read
away, Hunter, my boy, and let Jingleum begin;
for I am as hungry as a horse-leech, and I long to
be at something more substantial than all your
confounded orations.”

“Hang the reading,” cried the painter, petulantly;
“let us see what's in the wind first.—We
should at least be civil to the army officers: you
see, they are regulars; and, there, they have given
up their horses to old Richard, the coachman, and
are running up the hill, like three hounds after
breakfast.—Rogues, you will be sorted! and fair
Britomart, you shall this time wave the lance of
cunning in vain!” The last expressions were muttered
within the recesses of his own heart.

In the meanwhile, the three officers, ascending
the hill quickly, were met by Miss Falconer, who
flew to meet them, crying, “To horse, gentlemen,
to horse! the game is riding into your very arms.”

These words were heard even at the rostrum,
and filled all present with surprise; which was not
much allayed, when the youngest of the three
martialists, seizing upon Miss Falconer's hand,
exclaimed, with a laugh,

“Egad, sister Hal, we have resolved to convert
you into Prince Hal, and make you Tory-taker
General. Here's my friend, captain Caliver, who
admires your abilities at strategy immensely; as
for Brooks, why, gad's my life, he is your Grand-Vizier.
But where's our dog Parker? and what
news of those vagabond Hawks of the Hollow?
Where's the thief, Joram, or Oram, or what d'ye

call it? Ah, Captain Loring, my excellent friend!
Ah, Miss Loring! ah, Miss”—

“Brother,” cried Harriet, with an energy that
startled all present, “you have no time for compliments.
Accident has repaired the injuries of
accident, and fate has thrust him you seek into
your very hands. Mount, gentlemen, mount!—
Mount, all who have horses, and ride up the ravine
to the witch's cottage: the volunteers, and all our
friends here who are on foot, can run across the
fields, and secure the road, so as to prevent retreat.
The man in the red hat, and with a white
horse,—the canting Poke, or the sour-mouthed
Green—all is one for that; seize him, and you
seize the most audacious of traitors, the most ferocious
of assassins!”

“Adzooks!” cried Captain Loring, “what's all
this?”

“It means, Captain, egad,” said young Falconer,
grinning with pure delight, “that Hal here
has been hunting your famous Hawks, till she has
found them; and now, egad, if we can believe
her, she is about to nab them. As for the road,
sister, we have that safe enough, with twenty foot,
and ten picked horse, coming down from the Gap;
there are two companies, also, ordered to the village;
and if you want more force, why we must
e'en call upon the volunteers. The end of all this,
gentlemen,” continued the delighted lieutenant,
“is, that you have a gang of refugees among you;
and that their leader, Oram or Joram Gilbert, or
whatever you call him,—captain Gilbert, they
call him,—a very bold, murdering fellow, has just
ridden by, as Miss Falconer says, and in a red hat,
egad, and on a white horse, and with some dozen
names or two; and so, gentlemen, we'll mount
horse, and take him.”

Had a thunderbolt darted from the blue sky

among the group assembled on the hill, it could
not have produced a more sudden terror, than did
the name of the renowned refugee, with the announcement
of his proximity to the scene of celebration.
The name of the outlaw was familiar to
all, as an omen of fear and blood; and while many
of the young men re-echoed it after the lieutenant
with open dismay, it produced such a general
scream from the women as made the rocks resound,
and added but little to the courage of their
protectors. As for the lieutenant himself, he
seemed to be vastly diverted by the general explosion
of fright; though he instantly waved his
hand to his friends, calling upon captain Caliver
to mount, and waggishly directing his brother
lieutenant to `form the women and volunteers,
and march them to the scene of action;' when
Hunter, leaping down from the rostrum, exclaimed,—

“This is a mistake, an absurdity; I can assure
Miss Falconer that the man who rode by is no
more a Hawk of the Hollow than I am; at least,
I am certain he is not Green, the trader, whom I
will avouch to be an honest man.”

“Let Mr. Hunter first avouch that for himself,”
said Miss Falconer, with a glance of fire; “the
question will soon be asked him.—Quick, brother,
quick! haste, gentlemen, haste! and all who can
do nothing better, follow me up to the road-side.”

Perhaps the singular sarcasm the young lady
thought fit to fling at the painter, was unheard by
him,—for finding that, despite his remonstrance,
the officers were running down the hill towards
their horses, he uttered a sudden shout, and immediately
imitated their example, bounding along at
such a pace that he soon outstripped the fleetest.

In a moment, the assembly was broken up, and
the revellers flying in all possible directions. Here

were seen women running to conceal themselves
among rocks and bushes; and there one or two
prudent gentlemen, who declared themselves `men
of peace, and no fighters,' paddling across the
river, to get out of harm's way, with but little
regard to the beauties they left screaming after
them on the shore. But the torrent of fugation,
though it sent off so many irregular rills, was seen
dividing into two chief currents, one of which, consisting
principally of mounted men, went, like the
back-water of a flood, rolling up the ravine leading
to the Traveller's Rest, while the other, consisting
of such volunteers as had not already broken and
followed after the officers, and such worthy celebrators
as had the courage to imitate the example
of Miss Falconer and Captain Loring, made its
way on foot towards the public road.