 | CHAPTER II. The wigwam and the cabin |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
The information thus received did not disquiet me. After the
momentary reflection that it might be awkward to meet a madman,
out of bounds, upon the highway, I quickly dismissed the matter
from my mind. I had no room for any but pleasant meditations.
The fair Susannah was now uppermost in my dreaming fancies,
and, reversing the grasp upon my whip, the ivory handle of which,
lined with an ounce or two of lead, seemed to me a sufficiently
effective weapon for the worst of dangers, I bade my friendly
blacksmith farewell, and dashed forward upon the high road. A
smart canter soon took me out of the settlement, and, once in the
woods, I recommended myself with all the happy facility of youth,
to its most pleasant and beguiling imaginings. I suppose I had
ridden a mile or more—the story of the bedlamite was gone
utterly from my thought—when a sudden turn in the road showed
me a person, also mounted, and coming towards me at an easy
trot, some twenty-five or thirty yards distant. There was nothing
remarkable in his appearance. He was a plain farmer or woodman,
clothed in simple homespun, and riding a short heavy chunk
of an animal, that had just been taken from the plough. The
rider was a spare, long-legged person, probably thirty years or
thereabouts. He looked innocent enough, wearing that simple,
open-mouthed sort of countenance, the owner of which, we
assume, at a glance, will never set any neighbouring stream on
fire. He belonged evidently to a class as humble as he was simple,—but
I had been brought up in a school which taught me that
the claims of poverty were quite as urgent upon courtesy as those
of wealth. Accordingly, as we neared each other, I prepared to
bestow upon him the usual civil recognition of the highway.
What is it Scott says—I am not sure that I quote him rightly—
They pass not as in peaceful street.”
and got ready my salutation. To account somewhat for its effect
when uttered, I must premise that my own personal appearance
at this time, was rather wild and impressive. My face was full
of laughter and my manners of buoyancy. My hair was very
long, and fell in masses upon my shoulder, unrestrained by the
cap which I habitually wore, and which, as I was riding under
heavy shade trees, was grasped in my hand along with my riding
whip. As the stranger drew nigh, the arm was extended, cap
and whip lifted in air, and with free, generous lungs, I shouted
—“good morning, my friend,—how wags the world with you
to-day?”
The effect of this address was prodigious. The fellow gave no
answer,—not a word, not a syllable—not the slightest nod of the
head,—mais, tout au contraire. But for the dilating of his amazed
pupils, and the dropping of the lower jaw, his features might have
been chiselled out of stone. They wore an expression amounting
to consternation, and I could see that he caught up his bridle with
increased alertness, bent himself to the saddle, half drew up his
horse, and then, as if suddenly resolved, edged him off, as closely
as the woods would allow, to the opposite side of the road. The
undergrowth was too thick to allow of his going into the wood at
the spot where we encountered, or he certainly would have done
so. Somewhat surprised at this, I said something, I cannot now
recollect what, the effect of which was even more impressive upon
him than my former speech. The heads of our horses were
now nearly parallel—the road was an ordinary wagon track, say
twelve feet wide—I could have brushed him with my cap as we
passed, and, waving it still aloft, he seemed to fancy that such
was my intention,—for, inclining his whole body on the off side
of his nag, as the Cumanche does when his aim is to send an arrow
at his enemy beneath his neck—his heels thrown back, though
spurless, were made to belabour with the most surprising rapidity,
the flanks of his drowsy animal. And, not without some effect.
The creature dashed first into a trot, then into a canter, and
finally into a gallop, which, as I was bound one way and he the
other, soon threw a considerable space between us.
“The fellow's mad!” was my reflection and speech, as, wheeling
driving his heels still into the sides of his reluctant hack. The
next moment gave me a solution of the matter. The simple
countryman had heard of the bedlamite from Hamilton jail. My
bare head, the long hair flying in the wind, my buoyancy of
manner, and the hearty, and, perhaps, novel form of salutation
with which I addressed him, had satisfied him that I was the person.
As the thought struck me, I resolved to play the game out,
and, with a restless love of levity which has been too frequently
my error, I put the whip over my horse's neck, and sent him forward
in pursuit. My nag was a fine one, and very soon the space
was lessened between me and the chase. As he heard the foot-falls
behind, the frightened fugitive redoubled his exertions. He
laid himself to it, his heels paddling in the sides of his donkey
with redoubled industry. And thus I kept him for a good mile,
until the first houses of the settlement grew visible in the distance.
I then once more turned upon the path to the Owens',
laughing merrily at the rare chase, and the undisguised consternation
of the countryman. The story afforded ample merriment
to my fair friends Emmeline and Susannah. “It was so ridiculous
that one of my appearance should be taken for a madman.
The silly fellow deserved the scare.” On these points we were
all perfectly agreed. That night we spent charmingly. The
company did not separate till near one o'clock. We had fun and
fiddles. I danced by turns with the twins, and more than once
with a Miss Gridley, a very pretty girl, who was present. Squire
Owens was in the best of humours, and, no ways loth, I was made
to stay all night.
| CHAPTER II. The wigwam and the cabin | |