University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

The traveller pursued his way so absorbed in his
own reflections, as to leave his horse for a time to the
direction of his own instinct, which is not always a
safe guide to reason. It pleased instinct to turn to the
left, instead of the right, simply because that was
more in a direction towards the accustomed home
of the animal. The traveller, after a ride of some
mile or two, at length came to a deep, sequestered
dell, encompassed on three sides by steep ledges
of rocks, through which coursed a noisy stream, rendered
gloomy by a thick growth of pine and hemlock
nodding over the summit of the rugged precipice.
It struck him that this could not be the highroad leading
to a great city, and perceiving a log-cabin from
whence rose a column of smoke, he rode up and
knocked at the door with the butt-end of his whip
with the intention of inquiring his way. The signal
was answered by the appearance of a woman somewhat

past her prime, and dressed in the wretched rags
of beggary, who saluted him with the following brief
interrogatory—

“Well, what's your will, good man?”

“I wish to know where I am, good woman.”

It is difficult to tell why, but certain it is that the
phrase, good woman, however complimentary it may
seem, is not generally agreeable to the gentler sex,
and accordingly the occupant of the log-cabin replied
rather tartly—

“You wish to know where you are? Why, good
man, in your skin, I should guess.”

“I mean, I have lost my way, good woman.”

“No, sure? Why, where did you come from?”

“What matters it to you? I tell you I have lost my
way.”

“Well, I tell you, I have not found it. But if you
won't tell me where you came from, maybe you will
tell where you are going to, and then I may tell you
the right way.”

“I want to find the post-road,” said the traveller,
evasively.

“The post-road! why, Lord love you, sir, where
could you come from to get out of the post-road into
such an out-of-the-way place as this? I havn't seen a
stranger here since the beginning of the war.”

“Suppose I have not been on the post-road, yet?”

“No? why, a'nt you come down from the army at
West Point? You look for all the world like an officer
in disguise.”

“Disguise! well, suppose I have, what then?”

“Oh! then you saw General Washington, he that

beats the red coats so handsomely,” rejoined Hagar
Raven, as she was called, eyeing him keenly.

“He beat the red coats—pshaw!” here he checked
himself, adding, “No, I never saw the face of Mr.
Washington, though I have often seen his back.”

“Never saw him! why, I declare I'd go ten, aye,
twenty miles on foot to see him, any day,” and the
woman kept her eye steadily on him.

“So would I, to see him—hum—but, good woman,
my time is precious. Do you mean to direct me, or
not?”

“What will you give me, sir? It's a long way, and
now I think of it, there is a party of continentals up
at Pine's bridge. Maybe, you'd like to fall in with
them?”

“Continental soldiers! No, no,” added he hastily,
in a careless tone. “No, I have nothing particular to
say to them, and am in great haste, as I told you.
Show me some other way, and I'll give you a dollar.”

“I want none of your continental money, good man.”

“It shall be a silver dollar.”

“What, a real silver dollar? Goody gracious, will
you? I'll show you the way all the country over for
that. Will it be a real Spanish dollar?”

“Yes, yes—lead on, good woman; but mind you keep
clear of the continentals.”

“Never fear, sir.” If that a'nt a British officer,
thought Hagar, my name is not Raven. “Let me put
on my hat and cloak, and make myself decent.”

“O, never mind your hat and cloak,” said the traveller,
impatiently. Vanity and beggary are a pretty
pair! The woman seems half mad or half idiot, was

the thought of our traveller, while Hagar went into
the cabin, whence she speedily returned, saying, “Now,
sir, I'm fit to be seen like—don't you think I'm rather
pretty?”

“Very—a perfect beauty.”

“Won't you take me up behind you, sir?”

“My horse won't carry double.” Faith, thought he,
I should cut a figure with this angel behind me.

“Well, then, I suppose I must walk; but never mind,
I can sing away the time. Do you like singing, sir?”

“Oh, anything, anything; only get on as fast as you
can.”

“I'm ready, sir;” and Hagar commenced a stave, as
follows, as she led the way with long, masculine steps:

“What do you think that was, sir?”

“I don't know, and I don't care; zounds, why don't
you push on, woman?”

“'Twas a bumble-bee, with his tail cut off. He!
he! now for it, here we go.”

Saying this, she increased her pace, followed by our
traveller, who could not help thinking himself in a promising
way, with a half-crazy or half-idiot witch for his
guide. But there was no help for it now. Not another
house was in sight, and shrugging his shoulders, he
consoled himself with the idea, that as the blind often
lead the blind, some good might come of a crack-brained
guide. But Hagar was not quite as great a

fool as she affected to be. Though somewhat fantastical
by nature, she was still more cunning, and
partly affected folly, the better to impose upon the
vanity of wisdom. Her occupation was begging, than
which nothing requires a more practical insight into
the workings of the human heart. She knew, from
experience, that thousands who would refuse her charity
as a rational being, might be cheated into pitying
one divested of reason. She was known through all
the surrounding country, over which she roamed at
pleasure; and had, by long prescription, acquired a
sort of right to be relieved, or entertained wherever
she went. No one ever thought of harming her, although
there was sometimes a shrewd malignity in
her tongue, which scarcely would have been endured
from one of higher pretensions to rationality; and
thus, without labour or economy, without kindred or
friends, she lived in that mysterious, inscrutable way,
which so often puzzles those who can scarcely procure
the same comforts by perpetual labour, and unceasing
economy. Among her other peculiarities, Hagar was
a staunch whig, and had often, by the freedom she
enjoyed under the veil of folly, and the strange intuitive
cunning she possessed, obtained information of
special moment to the cause she so zealously espoused.

With this hopeful guide our traveller pursued his
way, unwinding the labyrinth into which he had involved
himself by his absence of mind, and which
eventually led to consequences so momentous to himself
and to millions of his fellow-creatures. Sometimes
he urged her forward by complaints, at others
by promises, while occasionally he would lag behind,

to escape her ceaseless prattle, and unconnected, unintelligible
scraps of songs. At such times, Hagar
would parody his words and manner, exclaiming, with
affected impatience, “Come, good man, zounds! why
don't you push on? Who makes you wait now, I
wonder?”

After what seemed to him an endless succession of
windings and turnings, they at length struck the post-road,
a mile or two from where the traveller had deviated
from it, and Hagar now demanded the reward,
which was promptly paid. As he drew out his purse,
the woman, who kept her eye fixed upon him so keenly
that it created a disagreeable sensation, observed that
it contained gold, and this circumstance increased the
suspicions she had previously entertained. She well
knew that the poor champions of freedom carried no
such commodity, for she had often of late seen them
exchanging a handful of rags for a meal. Here, they
parted; the traveller taking his way towards the south
to meet his fate, while Hagar stood watching his
course, and brooding over a plan which will be developed
in the sequel. At parting, they only exchanged
these few brief words—

“Good-bye, sir; you are such a likely gentleman,
that I should wish to cultivate your acquaintance. I
hope we shall meet again.”

“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed the traveller, as he
spurred his steed and was soon out of sight.

While these events were passing, our hero had principally
devoted himself to rural occupations, and
watching over the feeble old couple at the stone
house, whose passage he endeavoured to smooth, by

every effort of duty and affection in his power, to the
long home of all the race of man. The sacrifice was
painful, for his spirit longed to be once more labouring
in the cause dear to his heart, for an object, if possible,
still dearer. But in the conflict of opposing duties
and wishes, he chose the right path; since the aid
he might give to his country was but as a drop in the
bucket, while his presence at home and his daily labours,
were indispensable to the comfort, nay, the very
existence of those, whom all the obligations of nature
and gratitude called on him to protect and cherish in
their old age.

He neither sought Colonel Hammond, nor did the
colonel seek him. He kept aloof from Jane, who
never forgot the decent maidenly pride of women by
placing herself in a situation to be sought or avoided.
True, she had long since forgiven the recreant; nay,
reflection and good sense combined, had, after the first
impulse of wounded pride and affection, served only
to raise him still higher in her estimation, and root
him more deeply in her heart. The old continental,
too, when his indignation had cooled down, instead of
blaming John, thanked him in his heart for not taking
advantage of a burst of generosity, which upon reflection,
he thought unworthy a man of his experience.
The colonel was one of millions of human bipeds, who
feel under peculiar obligations to their friends for not
availing themselves of every sudden impulse of gratitude
or liberality, such as frequently flashes forth with
great brilliancy, but goes out like a sky-rocket without
warming anybody. He would have made up matters
with John, had not his daughter, who, the reader may

remember, hated proud people so much, wrested from
him a solemn promise not to interfere, and most especially
to avoid making any advances during the present
crisis of affairs. Our hero's only consolation was
in feasting on the consciousness of having acted with
honour, and in watching the smoke as it curled gracefully
from the white chimneys of the house of his
ladye love.

Occasionally, however, he made one of a party of
young men, just verging towards manhood, and residing
in the vicinity, to scour the country towards
Kingsbridge, with the purpose of gaining information,
picking up stragglers, or intercepting plunderers. On
these occasions, they always acted under the sanction
or authority of the nearest commanding officer of a
post, and their usual rendezvous was at the house described
in the outset of this history, at the entrance of
Hardscrabble Hole. The party consisted of three
only, Isaac, David, and John, who, not contemplating
a sortie until night, had only met to arrange their
plans, without bringing their arms with them. David,
who was a gay, careless lad, had been singing part of
a stave of an old song, when a dialogue ensued something
to the following purport.

“Come—come, David, no more music now. It is
high time to go home and make our preparations.”

“I'll not stir a peg till I've finished my song,” replied
David, who began another stave, which was interrupted
by a voice from without, humming—

“It's that half fool, half witch, half woman, and
half d—l, Hagar!” exclaimed David, as he ran to the
window and inquired whence she came.

“From the place where you are going, friend,” said
she.

“Where's that, beauty?”

“The gallows, friend. You'd make a pretty hanging
bird, singing the tune the old cow died of.”

“Hah! hah! she's too sharp for you, David!” exclaimed
Isaac.

“As sharp as Mrs. Boshin's cider. But do tell me,
what brought you here, beauty?”

“I'll not talk to such a goose as you,” replied Hagar,
at the same time beckoning John out, where they soon
became engaged in deep discussion.

“I suppose,” said David to the other, “she is telling
his fortune. I wonder what she'll make of him, a justice
of the peace, or a schoolmaster?”

“Oh! a schoolmaster, by all means. You know he
is a great scholar, and talks horse Latin.”

“A blue surtout?” said our hero to Hagar.

“Yes, but I'll swear it was never made for him.
You know I was once a tailor's wife, and understand
a fit. I saw him housed at Sing Sing, where he will
get his breakfast. There is not a moment to be lost,
if you wish to intercept him. I am certain he is disguised,
and employed in some mischief.” After reflecting
a few moments, John spoke a few words in a
low voice to Hagar, who hastily departed, while the
three young men strode away to procure their arms
for a purpose, of which our hero promised to apprise
them on the way.

What this was, will doubtless be easily anticipated
by the judicious reader, from whose intuitive sagacity
it is now next to impossible for the most mystifying
varlet of an author to keep a single secret, either as
to the progress or catastrophe of his story. And hence
it is, beyond all doubt, that divers ingenious writers
of romantic fiction, do wilfully entangle their web of
adventures in such inextricable mystery and confusion,
that the gentle reader is left pretty much in the predicament
of a hound who has lost the scent, and travels
round and round, in an endless circle of perplexity,
until, peradventure, his breath fails him, and he
sinks down in a state of utter exhaustion. Nor is
the writer so much to blame for using all his art,
as it were, to dodge his readers and put them on the
wrong track, seeing that nothing but characters acting
altogether out of character, causes without effects,
and effects without causes, reinforced by striking incidents,
producing results diametrically opposite to
their natural consequences, can possibly achieve that
incomprehensible medley, that sublime obscurity, which
utterly confounds the understanding, baffles the sagacity
of the most experienced reader of romance, and
from which the denouement at length comes forth,
like a cat from a strange garret, only to create a more
agreeable surprise from being so entirely unexpected
and out of place. But to return from this digression,
which we present as a general apology for the cruel
mystifications which writers of romance are in their
self-defence compelled to inflict on their readers.

Previous to their departing to furnish themselves
with arms, John communicated the information he had

received from Hagar, and his conviction that some
mystery was connected with the journey of the stranger.
The principal danger was, that he might get
beyond their reach, before they could procure their
arms, and gain a proper position to intercept him;
and to delay him as long as possible, Hagar had undertaken
to meet him on the bridge, near the church,
solicit his charity, and arrest his progress by practising
all the mummeries of her calling. They then parted,
after appointing a meeting at Clark's Kill bridge,
which spanned a small stream crossing the road, at a
point bordered by a wood, which presented a favourable
spot for concealment. In the lapse of little more
than half a century, the wood has disappeared, the
stream dwindled into a little rivulet, almost dry in
summer; and the majestic tulip-tree, which constituted
by far the most remarkable object in the immediate
vicinity, has disappeared, leaving not a vestige behind.
It was several years ago shivered by lightning
from top to bottom, fell to the ground, and the precise
spot where it stood, can no longer be ascertained.