 | CHAPTER X.
THE LAST MINSTREL. Swallow Barn, or A sojourn in the Old Dominion |  |
10. CHAPTER X.
THE LAST MINSTREL.
As I do not at all doubt that my reader has by
this time become deeply interested in the progress of
Ned Hazard's love affairs; and as I find, (what
greatly surprises myself,) that Ned has grown to be a
hero in my story; and that I, who originally began
to write only a few desultory sketches of the Old
Dominion, have unawares, and without any premeditated
purpose, absolutely fallen into a regular jogtrot,
novel-like narrative,—at least, for several consecutive
chapters,—it is no more than what I owe to
posterity to go on and supply such matters of fact as
may tend to the elucidation and final clearing up of
the present involved and uncertain posture into which
I have brought my principal actors. Feeling the
weight of this obligation, as soon as I had closed the
last chapter I began to bethink me of the best means
of compassing my end; for, like a true historiographer,
I conceived it to be, in some sort, my bounden
duty to resort to the best sources of information which
my opportunities afforded. Now, it must have been
perceived by my clear-sighted readers, that I am already
largely indebted to Harvey Riggs for the faithful
report of such matters as fell out at the Brakes
when I was not there myself to note them down;
and I therefore thought, that in the present emergency
recourse to the same fountain of intelligence. In
this I do but imitate and follow in the footsteps of all
the illustrious chroniclers of the world, who have
made it their business to speak primarily of what
they themselves have seen and known, and secondarily,
to take at second hand, (judiciously perpending
the force of testimony,) such things as have come to
them by hearsay: for, nothing is more common than
for these grave wights to introduce into their books
some of their weightiest and most important morsels
of history by some such oblique insinuation as this;
—“I have heard people say,” or “the renowned Gregory
of Tours, or William of Malmsbury, or John
of Nokes affirms,” or, “it was currently reported and
believed at the time,”—or some such preface, by which
they let in the necessary matter. Henceforth, then,
let it be understood, that as I profess to speak in my
own person of what happened at Swallow Barn, so
I rely mainly on my contemporary Harvey, as authority
for all such synchronous events as transpired
at the Brakes. With this explanatory advertisement,
I proceed with my story.
I have described, in the last chapter, the unnatural
speed with which Hazard and myself had ridden to
Swallow Barn. Bel too, it seems, was possessed in
some such strange mood after we were gone; for
she moved about the house singing, dancing, talking
unconnectedly, and manifesting many unaccountable
humours. I devoutly believe that both she and
Hazard were bewitched. It might have been the
hawk,—or some other little animal with wings on his
the Pundits, and pass on to events of more importance.
We had not left the Brakes above half an hour
when the scraping of a violin was heard in the yard,
near the kitchen door. The tune was that of a popular
country-dance, and was executed in a very
brisk and inspiring cadence.
“That sounds like Hafen Blok's fiddle,” said
Ralph. “He has come here for his supper, and we
shall be pestered with his nonsense all night.”
“If it be Hafen,” said Bel, “he shall be well
treated, for the poor old man has a hard time in this
world. He is almost the only minstrel, cousin Harvey,
that is left.
Have called his harmless art a crime.'
And truly, I wish we had more like him! for, Hafen
has a great many ballads that, I assure you, will
compare very well with the songs of the troubadours
and minnesingers.”
“There you go,” cried Harvey, “with your age of
chivalry. I don't know much about your troubadours
and minnesingers: but, if there was amongst
them as great a scoundrel as Hafen, your age of
chivalry was an arrant cheat. Why, this old fellow
lives by petty larceny; he hasn't the dignity of a
large thief: he is a filcher of caps and napkins from
a washerwoman's basket; a robber of hen-roosts;
a pocketer of tea-spoons! Now, if there was any romance
in him, he would, at least, steal cows and
take purses on the highway.”
“Pray, cousin,” exclaimed Bel, laughing, “do
not utter such slanders against my old friend Hafen!
Here, I have taken the greatest trouble in the world
to get me a minstrel. I have encouraged Hafen to
learn ditties, and he has even composed some himself
at my bidding. Once I gave him a dress which
you would have laughed to see. It was made after
the most approved fashion of minstrelsy. First, there
was a long gown of Kendal green, gathered at the
neck with a narrow gorget; it had sleeves that hung
as low as the knee, slit from the shoulder to the
hand and lined with white cotton; a doublet with
sleeves of black worsted; upon these a pair of points
of tawny camlet, laced along the wrist with blue
thread points, with a welt towards the hand, made of
fustian; a pair of red stockings; a red girdle, with a
knife stuck in it; and, around his neck, a red riband,
suitable to the girdle. Now what do you think,
cousin, of such a dress as that?”
“Where, in the name of all unutterable vagaries!
did you get the idea of this trumpery?” cried Harvey.
“It is faithfully taken,” said Bel, “from the exact
description of the minstrel's dress, as detailed by
Laneham, in his account of the entertainment of
Queen Elizabeth at `Killingworth Castle.”'
“And did Hafen put it on?”
“To be sure he did!” replied Bel, “and paraded
about with it here a whole evening.”
“Bel,” said Harvey, after a loud laugh,—“I like
your nonsense: It is so sublimated and refined, and
double-distilled, that, upon my soul, I think it throws
Blok, Hawk Fairbourne, and Childe Ned,
Dragon-killing Ned, are altogether without a parallel,
or a copy in the whole world. A precious train
for a lady! And so, Hafen has been learning ballads,
too?”
“Certainly,” returned Bel, “I have taken the
trouble to get him some very authentic collections.
Now, what do you think of `the Golden Garland of
Princely Delights?' that is an old book that I gave
him to learn some songs from, and the wretch lost
it, without learning one single sonnet.”
“Good reason why,” said Ralph;—“he never
could read.”
“I didn't know that, Ralph, when I gave it to
him,” said Bel. “But Hafen has an excellent memory.
Hark! he is beginning to sing now. Listen,
cousin, and you will hear something to surprise you.”
At this moment, Hafen's voice was heard commencing
a stave, with a nasal tone, in a monotonous,
quick, up-and-down tune, which accompanied words
that were uttered with a very distinct articulation.
“Let us have this in the porch,” said Harvey;
and he immediately led the way to the back-door;
where Hafen being called, took his seat and recommenced
his song as follows:—
We had a sore engagement near to Fort Jefferson.
St. Clair was our commander, which may remembered he,
For there we left nine hundred men, in the Western Territory.
Our militia was attackted, just as the day did break;
They killed Major Ouldham, Levin and Briggs likewise,
With horrid yells of savages resounded through the skies;
Major Butler was wounded, the very second fire—”
“Well, that will do, Hafen,” interrupted Harvey;
“we don't like such a bloody song as this; it is
the very essence of tragedy.”
“It's as true as preaching, Mister Riggs,” said
Hafen. “I was there myself, in Colonel Gibson's
regiment.”
“No doubt!” replied Harvey. “But Miss Tracy
wants something more sentimental, Hafen; this
butchering of militia men does not suit the ladies so
well as a touching, sorrowful song.”
“Ay, ay!” said Hafen, “I understand you, Mister
Harvey. I have just the sort of song to please
Miss Isabel. It goes to the tune of `William
Reilly.'
Of Britain's fading glory, you presently shall hear;
I'll give a true relation, attend to what I say,
Concerning the taxation of North America.
There is a wealthy people who sojourn in that land,
Their churches all with steeples most delicately stand,
Their houses, like the lily, are painted red and gay;
They flourish like the gilly in North America.”'
“Poh! this is worse than the other!” exclaimed
Harvey. “Do you call this sentimental? Why
don't you give us something pitiful? Bel, your minstrel
is as badly trained as your hawk.”
“Hafen,” said Bel, “I fear you have not thought
of me lately, or you would have brought me something
more to my liking than these songs.”
“Bless your young heart, young mistress!” replied
Hafen, “I can sing fifty things that you'd like
to hear, in the love line: There's `the Manhattan
Tragedy,' and `the Royal Factor's Garland,' and
`the Golden Bull,' and `the Prodigal Daughter,'
and `Jemmy and Nancy,' commonly called the
Yarmouth Tragedy, showing how, by the avariciousness
and cruelty of parents, two faithful lovyers
were destroyed: and there's `the Gosport Tragedy,'
that shows how a young damsel was led astray by
a ship's carpenter, and carried into a lonesome
wood; and how her ghost haunted him at sea;—
And the blood in his veins with horror did freeze.' ”
“Oh, very well,” said Harvey, “stop there; we
don't wish to hear the music. Go get your supper,
Hafen; the servants are waiting for you. These
are entirely too sentimental; you run into extremes.”
Hafen obeyed the order; and, as he limped
towards the kitchen, Harvey remarked to Bel,
“This is a fine smack of war and love that Hafen
has favoured us with;—
Who sang of Border Chivalry.'
are wonderfully picturesque. Hafen does honour
to your zeal in behalf of the days of knighthood
and minstrelsy.”
“You may laugh, Harvey, as much as you
please, but there is something pleasant in the idea
feuds, and roundelays under one's window, and lighted
halls where ladies dance corantos and `trod
measures' as they called it!”
“And when hawks,” added Harvey, “were not
flown like kites, with a string, but came at a whistle,
and did as they were told; and troubadours were
not Dutch pedlers; and when bachelors could win
mistresses by hard blows, and were not sent off because
they were merry and like other people.”
“Pshaw! cousin,” interrupted Bel. “You havn't
one spark of genuine romance in your whole composition.
It is profane to listen to such a recreant as
you are.”
“Well, Bel, I will tell you,” said Harvey. “It
is not to be denied that Hafen shines as a fiddler,
however questionable may be his merits as a ballad-monger.
So if cousin Kate here and Ralph will
dance, we will bring him into the parlour and have
a four handed reel. We will call it a coranto, if
you prefer the name; and, to give you a lighted
hall, I will have two more candles put on the mantle
piece.”
“Agreed,” said Bel, “so tell Hafen to bring in
his instrument.”
Hafen appeared at the summons, and an hour
was merrily spent in dancing.
When the dance was over Bel gave Hafen a
glass of wine, and slipped into his hand a piece of
money.
“Many thanks to my young lady!” said the old
man. “You deserve a good husband and soon.”
“You have travelled, Hafen, to very little purpose,”
said Harvey, “if you are not able, at your
time of life, to tell this lady's fortune.”
“Oh, bless you!” replied Hafen, “I can do that
very truly. You are not afraid, young mistress, to
show me the palm of your hand?”
“Not she!” said Harvey. “Bel, open your hand;
let the venerable Hafen disclose to you the decrees
of fate.”
“Take care, Hafen,” said Bel, holding out her
hand; “if you say one unlucky word I will for ever
dismiss you from my service.”
Hafen took from his pocket an old pair of spectacles,
and proceeded, very minutely, to examine the
open hand.
“Here is a line that has not more than six months
to run: that is the line of marriage, young mistress.
It is not so smooth a line, neither, as ought to be in
such a palm, for it breaks off in two or three places,
with some crossings.”
“Defend me!” cried Bel. “What does that
mean?”
“It means,” replied Hafen, “that the lady is hard
to please, and can scarcely find heart to make up her
mind.”
“True!” exclaimed Harvey. “Worshipful sooth-sayer,
Hafen, go on!”
“The lady does not sleep well o' nights,” continued
Hafen; “and here are cloudy dreams; the hand
is mottled, and yet her blood ought to flow smoothly
too, for it has a healthy colour; the palm is moist
and shows a warm heart: I fear the lady has fancies.
ending to it. Here is a person who has done her
great service lately. He will do her more: and,—let
me see,—he is a gentleman of good blood, and more
in love than I think it right to tell. He travels on a
line that runs to marriage. Fie, my young mistress,
you would not be obstinate with such a gentleman!
But here is a stop and a cross line. `There is many
a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.' No, no, it is better
than it looks.”
“Excellent well!” cried Harvey again.
“It is not excellent well, cousin,” said Bel, playfully
withdrawing her hand. “Hafen, you have to
learn the beginnings of your art. You know nothing
about palmistry! Couldn't you see, with half an eye,
that the marriage line on my hand was a mile from
the end? I wonder at you!”
“Not so fast, not so fast, Miss Isabel!” cried Hafen,
with a sly laugh. “You can't deceive me. I
saw the very man to-day. And a proper gentleman
he is—a brave one, as I said before. Why, gentle
bred as he is, he can handle any man, in the way of
boxing, 'twixt this and Richmond. It is a real pleasure
to see him strike a blow.”
“His name,” said Harvey.
“It would not be a strange name to these walls,
if I was to tell it,” answered Hafen. “But I never
thought such a pair of arms belonged to a gentleman,
as he showed this morning.”
“Ned Hazard?” said Harvey. “Pray, what did
you see of him this morning?”
“I will tell you and our pretty young lady here
roads, you must know,—about noon or a little later,
—comes along Mister Edward Hazard and that
strange gentleman his friend, on horseback, with that
same hawk that's out here in the cage. Well, there
was a parcel of neighbours drinking, and such like,
about the store. Mister Edward never stands
much upon ceremony; so, he got down, and
then the other got down, and `good morning,'
and `good morning,' went round. Mister Edward's
not one of your proud men, for he got to showing
them the bird, and told them, bless your heart!
whose it was—Miss Isabel's here. I suspected something
then,” said Hafen, putting his finger against the
side of his nose and looking at Harvey. “Well,
one word brought on another, and somehow or 'nother,
Miles Rutherford gives Mister Edward the lie.
So, out jumps Mister Edward, and calls to the others
to stand by him, and swears out pretty strong, (you
know, Miss Isabel, Mister Ned's like any other man
at swearing when he's angry,) and tells Miles to
step out if he dares, and says, he will lick him to his
heart's content,—or something to that effect. Well,
Miles had whipped almost every fighting man in the
county, and he wa'nt going to be baulked by Ned
Hazard; and, accordingly, out he comes. Mercy
on me! says I, now Mister Edward will give Miles
such a mouthful to stay his stomach, as he never tasted
in his life before. I knew Mr. Hazard of old,
and told Miles what he'd get. And sure enough, it
would have done your heart good, Miss Isabel, if
you had seen how Mister Edward did drub Miles!
did'nt want to bloody his clothes. And when he was
done he wiped his face, as natural as if he had been
at his dinner, and I brought him some water to wash
his hands; and then off he and the tother gentleman
rode after bidding the company good day.—But did'nt
we give them three cheers!”
“Are you telling us the truth, Hafen?” asked
Harvey, earnestly.
“I would not tell you a lie, Mister Harvey,” replied
Hafen, “if it was to save my right hand from
being chopped off this minute.”
“This morning, do you say this happened?”
“As I am a Christian man,” said the pedler.
“Ned fought with that bully, Miles Rutherford?
—and with fists?”
“As fair a fight, Mister Riggs,” replied Hafen,
“and as pretty a one as you ever saw.”
“What brought it about? You have told us nothing
about the cause of the quarrel.”
“I'm not particular about that,” said the other;
“but it was words. The truth is, I suspect Miles
was impertinent, and Mister Edward wanted to beat
him; for he said he did it on account of the good of
the public. Both on 'em might have been a little in
the wrong, but Mister Hazard's hand was in; and,
you know, a man don't stand much persuasion when
that's the case. But, you may depend, Mister Edward
gained a great deal of glory.”
“Edward didn't say a word about this to us,” said
Bel.
“I can't unriddle it,” replied Harvey, shaking his
head.
Hafen was now dismissed from the parlour; and
Bel and Harvey fell into a long conversation, in relation
to the disclosure that was just made. Bel uttered
a deep and sincere complaint in Harvey's ear,
that the waywardness of Hazard's temper should be
so continually driving him off his guard. It was so
unbecoming his station in society to permit himself to
appear in these lights to the world! When would he
learn discretion? How could he hope to win the affections
even of his intimate friends, when he was
perpetually offending against the plainest duties he
owed them? She admitted his goodness of heart, and
the value she set upon the many excellent points in
his character; but it seemed as if fate had unalterably
decreed that every day he was to be farther removed
from all hopes of making himself agreeable to
her.
To these suggestions Harvey could frame no defence,
except that Hafen had, perhaps, misrepresented
the facts.
“I do not wish to inquire into the details,” said
Bel, “because no provocation, in my opinion, could
excuse a gentleman in making such a figure before a
set of low-bred rustics. I cannot express to you,
cousin Harvey, how much this thing shocks me.”
“There are provocations, Bel,” replied Harvey,
“that would render such an exploit as our muddy-brained
pedler has celebrated meritorious—even in
a gentleman.”
“I cannot think it,—cousin:—I cannot think so,”
replied Bel, musing over the matter; “I wish I
could.”
“I'll tell you, Bel, what we will do,” said Harvey,
Hafen to hitch it into verse and sing it to the
tune of `The Lay of the Last Minstrel.' ”
“Incorrigible sinner!” exclaimed Bel, “how can
you jest upon such an incident! as for your friend
Edward, I pity him; you know why. But do not
make me think as hardly of you. Good night!”
“Pleasant dreams to you!” cried Harvey. “Fancy
that you have heard of a tilting match between a
bull and a cavalier, and that the bull was beaten.
Romance and chivalry are sovereign varnishes for
cracked crowns and bloody noses. Good night!”
| CHAPTER X.
THE LAST MINSTREL. Swallow Barn, or A sojourn in the Old Dominion | |