University of Virginia Library

THE MYSTERIOUS LEAPER;
OR, THE
COURTSHIP OF MINE HOST'S DAUGHTER.

In one of the loveliest villages in old Virginia, there
lived in the year 175- and odd, an old man, whose
daughter was declared by universal consent, to be the
loveliest maiden in all the country round. The veteran,
in his youth, had been athletic and muscular
above all his fellows; and his breast, where he always
wore them, could show the ornament of three medals,
received for his victory in gymnastic feats, when a
young man. His daughter was now eighteen, and had
been sought in marriage by many suitors. One brought
wealth—another a fine person—another industry—another
military talents—another this, and another that.
But they were all refused by the old man, who became
at last a by-word for his obstinacy among the young
men of the village and neighborhood. At length, the
nineteenth birthday of Annette, his charming daughter,
who was as amiable and modest as she was beautiful
arrived. The morning of that day her father invited
all the youth of the country to a hay-making frolic.
Seventeen handsome and industrious young men assembled.
They came not only to make hay, but also
to make love to the fair Annette. In three hours they
had filled the father's barns with the newly dried

grass, and their own hearts with love. Annette, by
her father's command, had brought them malt liquor
of her own brewing, which she presented to each enamored
swain with her own fair hands.

“Now my boys,” said the old keeper of the jewel
they all coveted, as leaning on their pitchforks they
assembled round his door in the cool of the evening
—“Now my lads, you have nearly all of you made
proposals for my Annette. Now, you see, I don't care
anything about money nor talents, book larning nor
soldier larning—I can do as well by my gal as any
man in the county, But I want her to marry a man
of my own grit. Now, you know, or ought to know,
when I was a youngster, I could beat any thing in all
Virginny in the way o'leaping. I got my old woman
by beating the smartest man on the Eastern shore,
and I have took the oath and sworn it, that no man
shall marry my daughter without jumping for it. You
understand me, my boys. There's the green, and here's
Annette,” he added, taking his daughter, who stood
timidly by him, by the hand. “Now the one that
jumps the furthest on a' dead-level' shall marry Annette
this very night.

This unique address was received by the young men
with applause. And many a youth as he bounded
gaily forward to the arena of trial, cast a glance of
anticipated victory upon the lovely object of village
chivalry. The maidens left their looms and quilting
frames, the children their noisy sports, the slaves their
labors, and the old men their arm-chairs and long
pipes, to witness and triumph in the success of the
victor. All prophesied and many wished that it
would be young Carroll. He was the handsomest
and best humored youth in the county, and all knew
that a strong and mutual attachment existed between
him and the fair Annette. Carroll had won the reputation
of being the “best leaper,” and in a country
where such atheletic achievements were the sine quanon

of a man's cleverness, this was no ordinary honor.
In a contest like the present he had therefore
every advantage over his fellow athletæ.

The arena allotted for this hymeneal contest, was a
level space in front of the village-inn, and near the
centre of a grass-plat, reserved in the midst of the village
denominated “the green.” The verdure was
quite worn off at this place by previous exercises of a
similar kind, and a hard surface of sand more befitting
for the purpose to which it was to be used, supplied
its place.

The father of the lovely, blushing, and withal happy
prize, (for she well knew who would win,) with three
other patriarchal villagers were the judges appointed
to decide upon the claims of the several competitors.
The last time Carroll tried his skill in this exercise, he
“cleared”—to use the leaper's phraseology—twenty-one
feet and one inch.

The signal was given, and by lot the young men
stepped into the arena.

“Edward Grayson, seventeen feet,” cried one of
the judges. The youth had done his utmost. He
was a pale intellectual student. But what had intellect
to do in such an arena? Without looking at the
maiden he slowly left the ground.

“Dick Boulden, nineteen feet.” Dick with a laugh,
turned away, and replaced his coat.

“Harry Preston, nineteen feet and three inches.”
“Well done, Harry Preston,” shouted the spectators,
“you have tried hard for the acres and homestead.”

Harry also laughed and swore he only “jumped for
the fun of the thing.” Harry was a rattle-brained fellow,
but never thought of matrimony. He loved to
walk and talk, and laugh and romp with Annette, but
sober marriage never came into his head. He only
jumped for “the fun of the thing.” He would not
have said so, if sure of winning.

“Charley Simms, fifteen feet and a half.” “Hurrah
for Charley! Charley'll win!” cried the crowd
good-humoredly. Charley Simms was the cleverest
fellow in the world. His mother had advised him to
stay at home, and told him if he ever won a wife, she
would fall in love with his good temper, rather than
his legs. Charley, however, made the trial of the latter's
capabilities and lost. Many refused to enter the
lists altogether. Others made the trial, and only one
of the leapers had yet cleared twenty feet.

“Now,” cried the villagers, “let's see Henry Carroll.
He ought to beat this,” and every one appeared,
as they called to mind the mutual love of the last competitor
and the sweet Annette, as if they heartily
wished his success.

Henry stepped to his post with a firm tread. His
eye glanced with confidence around upon the villagers
and rested, before he bounded forward, upon the face
of Annette, as if to catch therefrom that spirit and assurance
which the occassion called for. Returning
the encouraging glance with which she met his own,
with a proud smile upon his lips, he bounded forward.

“Twenty-one feet and a half!” shouted the multitude,
repeating the announcement of one of the
judges, “twenty-one feet and a half. Harry Carroll
forever. Annette and Harry.” Hands, caps, and
kerchiefs waved over the heads of the spectators, and
the eyes of the delighted Annette sparkled with joy.

When Henry Carroll moved to his station to strive
for the prize, a tall gentlemanly young man in a military
undress frock-coat, who had rode up to the inn,
dismounted and joined the spectators, unperceived,
while the contest was going on, stepped suddenly forward,
and with a “knowing eye,” measured deliberately
the space accomplished by the last leaper. He
was a stranger in the village. His handsome face and
easy address attracted the eyes of the village maidens,

and his manly and sinewy frame, in which symmetry
and strength were happily united, called forth the admiration
of the young men.

“Mayhap, sir stranger, you think you can beat
that,” said one of the by-standers, remarking the manner
in which the eye of the stranger scanned the area.
“If you can leap beyond Harry Carroll, you'll beat
the best man in the colonies.” The truth of this observation
was assented to by a general murmur.

“Is it for mere amusement you are pursuing this
pastime?” inquired the youthful stranger, “or is there
a prize for the winner?”

“Annette, the loveliest and wealthiest of our village
maidens, is to be the reward of the victor,” cried
one of the judges.

“Are the lists open to all?”

“All, young sir!” replied the father of Annette with
interest—his youthful ardor rising as he surveyed the
proportions of the straight-limbed young stranger.
“She is the bride of him who outleaps Henry Carroll.
If you will try you are free to do so. But let me tell
you, Harry Carroll has no rival in Virginny. Here
is my daughter, sir, look at her and make your trial.”

The young officer glanced upon the trembling
maiden about to be offered on the altar of her father's
unconquerable monomania, with an admiring eye.
The poor girl looked at Harry, who stood near with a
troubled brow and angry eye, and then cast upon
the new competitor an imploring glance.

Placing his coat in the hands of one of the judges,
he drew a sash he wore beneath it tighter around his
waist, and taking the appointed stand, made, apparently
without effort, the bound that was to decide the
happiness or misery of Henry and Annette.

“Twenty-two feet one inch!” shouted the judge!
The announcement was repeated with surprise by the
spectators, who crowded around the victor, filling the
air with congratulations, not unmingled, however, with

loud murmurs from those who were more nearly interested
in the happiness of the lovers.

The old man approached, and grasping his hand
exultingly, called him his son, and said he felt prouder
of him than if he were a prince. Physical activity
and strength were the old leaper's true patents of nobility.

Resuming his coat, the victor sought with his eye
the fair prize he had, although nameless and unknown,
so fairly won. She leaned upon her father's arm,
pale and distressed.

Her lover stood aloof, gloomy and mortified, admiring
the superiority of the stranger in an exercise
in which he prided himself as unrivalled, while he
hated him for his success.

“Annette, my pretty prize,” said the victor, taking
her passive hand—“I have won you fairly.” Annette's
cheek became paler than marble; she trembled
like an aspen-leaf, and clung closer to her father, while
her drooping eye sought the form of her lover.—His
brow grew dark at the stranger's language.

“I have won you, my pretty flower, to make you
a bride!—tremble not so violently—I mean not for
myself, however proud I might be,” he added with
gallantry, “to wear so fair a gem next my heart. Perhaps,”
and he cast his eyes around inquiringly, while
the current of life leaped joyfully to her brow, and a
murmur of surprise run through the crowd: “perhaps
there is some favored youth among the competitors
who has a higher claim to this jewel. Young Sir,”
he continued, turning to the surprised Henry, “methinks
you were victor in the lists before me—I strove
not for the maiden, though one could not well strive
for a fairer, but from love for the manly sport in which
I saw you engaged. You are the victor, and as such,
with the permission of this worthy assembly, receive
from my hands the prize you have so well and honorably
won.”

The youth sprung forward, and grasped his hand
with gratitude; and the next moment Annette was
weeping from pure joy upon his shoulders. The welkin
rung with the acclamations of the delighted villagers;
and, amid the temporary excitement produced
by this act, the stranger withdrew from the crowd,
mounted his horse, and spurred at a brisk trot through
the village.

That night Henry and Annette were married, and
the health of the mysterious and noble-hearted stranger
was drunk in over-flowing bumpers of rustic beverage.

In process of time, there were born unto the married
pair sons and daughters, and Henry Carroll had
become Colonel Henry Carroll, of the Revolutionary
army.

One evening, having just returned home after a
hard campaign, he was sitting with his family on the
gallery of his handsome country-house, when an advance
courier rode up, and announced the approach
of General Washington and suite, informing him that
he should crave his hospitality for the night. The necessary
directions were given in reference to the household
preparations, and Colonel Carroll, ordering his
horse, rode forward to meet and escort to his house
the distinguished guest, whom he had never yet seen,
although serving in the same widely-extended army.

That evening at the table, Annette, now become
the dignified, matronly and still handsome Mrs. Carroll,
could not keep her eyes from the face of their
illustrious visitor. Every moment or two she would
steal a glance at his commanding features, and half-doubtingly,
half-assuredly, shake her head, and look
again and again, to be still more puzzled. Her absence
of mind and embarrassment at length became
evident to her husband, who inquired, affectionately,
if she were ill.

“I suspect, Colonel,” said the General, who had
been for some time, with a quiet, meaning, smile, observing

the lady's curious and puzzled survey of his
features, “that Mrs. Carroll thinks she recognises in
me an old acquaintance.” And he smiled with a
mysterious air, as he gazed on both alternately.

The Colonel stared, and a faint memory of the past
seemed to be revived, as he gazed, while the lady rose
impulsively from her chair, and bending eagerly forward
over the tea-urn, with clapsed hands and an eye
of intense, eager inquiry, fixed full upon him, stood
for a moment with her lips parted as if she would
speak.

“Pardon me, my dear madam—pardon me, Colonel—I
must put an end to this scene. I have become,
by dint of camp-fare and hard usage, too unwieldy
to leap again twenty-two feet one inch, even for so
fair a bride as one I wot of.”

The recognition, with the delight, surprise and happiness
that followed, are left to the imagination of the
reader.

General Washington was, indeed, the handsome
young “leaper,” whose mysterious appearance and
disappearance in the native village of the lovers is
still so traditionary, and whose claim to a substantial
body of bonâ fide flesh and blood, was stoutly contested
by the village story-tellers, until the happy denouement
which took place at the hospitable mansion
of Colonel Carroll.