University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

It is now a long time since we lost sight of Jane
Hammond, who was not a person to be neglected by
writers having the least pretensions to gallantry; first,
because she was a peerless little damsel; secondly,
because she had lost one lover; and thirdly, because
she had found another, which last is such a remarkable
circumstance, that it deserves to be specially explained
and developed.

The old continental, as already stated, had in his
visit to head-quarters, wherein, the reader doubtless
recollects, he carried Pine's bridge sword in hand, ascertained
that the story of our hero's desertion was
a sheer calumny. His not returning from the expedition
in which he wore that odious red wig, which
had given Jane such dissatisfaction, was long since
known to have been occasioned by having been surprised
and captured; but what had become of him
since, remained utterly unknown in the sequestered

spot, where dwelt those most interested in his fate.
The general impression was, that he had probably
perished under the hardships endured by those who
were stigmatised as rebel captives. But no one knew
this to a certainty, and the obscurity that hung over
his fate, served only to keep alive in the heart of his
mistress a keener anxiety, a more affecting remembrance.
Time, however, that hoary-headed benefactor
of the human race, who first soothes, and then
obliterates the keen pangs of sorrow; who, as he
passes through his never-ceasing round, covers the
rough traces of the past from our eyes, and at last
completes his benefactions by bringing us to the quiet
grave;—time gradually exercised his balmy influence
over the heart of Jane, who continued to grieve, but
did not despair; and, as if to aid in his pious endeavours,
a blooming youth appeared as an ally to the
wrinkled scytheman.

Old Squire Day, who is only known to the reader
as an obstinate blockhead, according to the repeated
declarations of the colonel, was gathered to his fathers,
not long after the disappearance of our hero. Obstinate
as he was, he could not hold out against the summons
of him who conquers all, and yielded the citadel
of life without argument, a thing he had never done
before. We cannot learn that he performed any act,
or decided any case in law or equity, which entitles
him to the remembrance of posterity, and shall therefore
refer our readers to his tomb-stone, on which the
great Zoroaster Fisk exhausted his imagination in celebrating
his virtues.

His death was not of the least consequence to anybody

except his nephew, namesake, and heir, young Squire
Day, as he was called, who immediately came from a
neighbouring town, the name of which, in imitation of
the sage Cid Hamet, we don't choose to remember, to
take possession of the estate. Artemas, as he was christened,
was in good time visited by the colonel, and returned
the visit promptly; here he saw our heroine,
and became suddenly smitten with a golden arrow,
not from the quiver of death, but Dan Cupid. In other
words, he entered into a calculation, the result of
which was, that the daughter and heiress of the richest
old codger in the township, would be a capital speculation
in time of war, when it was so difficult to make
money in an honest way. He therefore at once set
himself to work to make the agreeable, and succeeded
so eminently, that Jane could not endure the sight of
him ever afterwards.

When he departed, the colonel pronounced him a
puppy, and a blockhead to boot; while the daughter,
after many pros and cons, decided that she had no
opinion on the subject. He was sprucely dressed;
his manners were about half way between a clodhopper
and a dandy; his person was neither good, bad,
or indifferent; his complexion was as rosy as a milkmaid;
and the only legible word in the title-page of his
face, was selfishness, imprinted in large capitals.
There is no quality of the mind or heart that gives a
meaner expression to the countenance; and Jane,
though she had not seen enough of the world to institute
comparisons, had been in the habit of contemplating
a face where shone the most generous feelings,
the most frank and manly expression of courage,

sincerity, and honour. Besides this, it would seem,
for we have often seen it exemplified, that there is an
intuitive feeling in the mind of a sensible, high-souled
woman, which supplies the place of experience, and
at once detects the selfish hypocrite, who woos her for
her wealth, not her worth.

Thus, father and daughter agreed perfectly in opinion
on a subject which does not always produce such
unanimity; and we therefore record it as one of the
remarkable circumstances of the times that tried men's
souls. Artemas, however, soon repeated his visit, and
the opinions of both remained unchanged. Still he
continued his attentions, until it come to pass, that
scarcely a day dawned over their heads, in which he
failed to call, on some pretence or other. Sometimes
he brought Jane a bouquet of flowers; sometimes a
great, rosy-cheeked apple; and at others, a newspaper
from New York, for her father, which generally set
the old continental in a blaze of wrath, and caused
him to Thunder and Mars it prodigiously, when he
saw his countrymen called rebels, and General Washington
Mister. The colonel was, however, a passionate,
capricious gentleman; one of those old weathercocks,
that veer about with the slightest change of
wind; first, his self-love became by degrees conciliated
by the attentions of his neighbour; then he began to
think he had done him great injustice by calling him
a puppy, and blockhead to boot, and it became his
duty to make him amends; lastly, from becoming used
to see him, he began to feel the want of his company,
and consequently saw him with pleasure. The colonel
boasted to Jane that he had overcome a prejudice;

but the honest truth of the matter is, his self-love
had interfered to reverse the honest decision of
his judgment, in the first instance, which, in nine cases
out of ten, is the true one, because it is not purchased
by appeals to our vanity, or selfishness; but is, as it
were, an instinctive impulse that seldom deceives.

But the visits of Artemas had a directly opposite
effect on the daughter, who found him every day more
disagreeable. With that inspiration—for it can be
nothing less—which enables the most thoughtless and
inexperienced of the sex to detect the most latent indications,
the most cautious approaches of a suitor,
Jane had penetrated the motives of young Squire Day,
while the old continental tickled his vanity with the
idea that he himself was the sole attraction. There
seems a repelling, as well as attractive power in love.
It draws close to the object, if it be agreeable; while
the attachment of one who is disagreeable, only tends
to augment the antipathy. Such was the case with
Jane. She might have endured the society of Artemas
as a mere neighbour, or common acquaintance;
but the moment she detected him as an admirer, she
absolutely hated him. One reason, perhaps, was, he
continually boasted of his intimacy with British officers,
and was evidently infected with that inveterate
disease of petty minds, the colonial feeling of inferiority,
derived from long habit, and vulgar associations.
He never displayed the least spark of patriotism, nor
the slightest sympathy with the sufferings of his country.

Thus, while he lost ground with the young lady, he
gained ground with the old gentleman. He got the
blind side of him, for there is an instinct in selfishness

which, as it were, irresistibly impels it to study the
infirmities of our nature for the purpose of appropriating
them to its purposes. Artemas possessed this
instinct in great perfection, and soon discovered the
favourite hobbies of the colonel, which he assisted
him in mounting on all occasions. The story of old
Ti—the carrying of Pine's bridge sword in hand—the
value of his property, which Artemas always greatly
over-estimated, to the great satisfaction of the old
continental—and above all, the inexhaustible subject
of mole-traps, horizontal wheels, and perpendicular
axle-trees, was kept constantly alive by the ingenuity
of the young squire, who was ever forgetting or remembering
something apropos to the matter. At
length he overthrew the colonel horse and foot, and
gained his whole heart by suggesting a great improvement
in a fanning-mill, by which, he demonstrated,
the labour of at least twenty men would be superseded.
The good man determined forthwith to set
about constructing this superlative machine, and from
this time Artemas was lord of the ascendant.

But for all this, the waters did not always flow
smoothly. Artemas sometimes seriously annoyed the
colonel by his fopperies. He had dubbed his domicil
Dayspring House, in humble imitation of some of the
aristocratic lords of manors in the county, and roused
the rebellious feelings of the old continental by quoting
Sir Somebody this, and the Honourable Colonel
that, to show what great company he kept in the city,
where, he boasted, he had liberty to go in and out at
pleasure. On these occasions, the colonel would exclaim—

“Thunder and Mars! what business have you to
keep company with the enemies of your country, instead
of looking them in the face on the field of glory?
I begin to suspect you are a rank tory, for you seem
to think more of Sir Henry Clinton than Washington,
who is worth more than all the lords in England, and
the Lord Harry to boot.”

On the whole, however, Artemas gained ground
daily with the old gentleman, who cherished not the
most remote suspicion that his visits had any reference
to Jane. But he could make nothing of that pensive
damsel, who took every occasion to avoid his society;
and without absolutely insulting a man in whose company
her father took such pleasure, did all that could
be expected of a reasonable woman to let him see
that she heartily wished him with his favourite red
coats, in the city. The young squire soon discovered
his case was hopeless, unless he could bring parental
authority to his aid; but so far from being deterred
from pursuit by the difficulty of overtaking the game,
he only became more persevering in running it down.
That grovelling selfishness which was his ruling passion,
became only more eager and more determined by
the obstacles in the way of its gratification, and what
he had at first only coveted from avarice, he now
sought as a means of gratifying his revenge.

One day, having brought the colonel into a perfect
fool's paradise, by praising his system of rural economy,
as well as his wonderful ingenuity in the invention
of labour-saving machines, and wondering for the
hundredth time at the affair of old Ti, Artemas thought

he would break the ice a little so as to see the bottom
of the water.

“By the way, colonel, what a fine, handsome girl,
is your daughter. I should like to cultivate her acquaintance,
but am sorry to see the wish is not reciprocal.
She seems rather to shun me, I think.”

“Hem—Thun—” The old continental did not exactly
like this speech. He had flattered himself he was the
sole attraction that brought the young squire so often
to his house, and now, forsooth, it appeared he was
thinking of an ignorant young baggage who did not
comprehend the mystery of a mouse-trap. His vanity
was mortified, and he gave vent to his feelings in the
preceding fragments.

“I believe you have few neighbours, colonel,” continued
Artemas; “I don't recollect to have seen a
single young man since I came to reside here.”

“Very few—they are all gone to the army,” where
you ought to be, the colonel was about to add, but
checked himself for once in his life.

“I am told, sir, that the old people at the stone
house yonder, have a grandson, a dashing young fellow
in his way, but who has gone over to the royalists
not long since.”

“Thunder and Mars! who told you that, sir?”

“I beg your pardon, colonel, I did not hear, I saw it
with my own eyes the last time I was in the city.”

“You saw it? when—how—where? Take care
what you say, for if you speak truth I shall lose a son,
and perhaps a daughter.”

Artemas knew precisely the state of the case, and
proceeded accordingly. “I would not assert, if I had

not seen it with my own eyes. A tall, straight young
man, with blue eyes, chestnut hair, and a scar just
over his left eye.”

“Ah! that's he! The young rogue got that when
he cut down half a dozen rascally Yagers. Well, sir
—Thunder and Mars! why don't you go on? You
talk like a snail with his house on his back.”

“Well, colonel, a scar just over his left eye. Such
a young fellow I saw in British uniform, in company
with other British soldiers, and was told he had enlisted
in the corps of Loyal Americans, to escape being
hanged as a spy.”

“And his name?” asked the colonel, eagerly.

Artemas repeated the name of our hero, and the
frank, honest old continental was convinced. Instead,
however, of being sorry for poor Jane, he grew angry
with John, or rather impatient of the pain he himself
suffered under a conviction of his apostacy. He had,
by degrees, grown to have a sort of fatherly affection
for our hero, and looked forward to calling him son,
with something like pride, though it cannot be denied
that he sometimes wished him as rich as young Squire
Day. The sudden revulsion of his feelings carried all
before it, and he was proceeding to stamp about, firing
volleys of expletives against John, in a voice so exalted
as to attract the attention of Jane in the chamber
above, who came to inquire what was the matter.

“Matter!” roared the colonel, “matter enough, and
too much, too, for that matter. The young blockhead
—the puppy—the rascal—the traitor—the deserter!
I knew he hadn't the stuff to feel the gaff without putting
up his sneakers and cackling.”

“What mean you, father?” asked Jane.

“Mean? why—Thunder and Mars! I mean that
young rascal who has made fools of both of us. I
mean that puppy, John. Tell her all about it, squire,
that she may cast him into outer darkness.”

Artemas then commenced repeating his story, while
Jane fixed her eye upon him with a steady gaze of ineredulity
that penetrated the icy region of his mean,
malignant heart, causing him to pause and falter as
he proceeded. With all his efforts, he could not look
her in the face; and when the tale was done, he stood
like a convicted criminal before her. Without a word
of reply she left the room, with a glance of such withering
scorn, as would have annihilated any man not
cased in the invulnerable armour of dogged selfishness.

“Thunder and Mars! what does all this mean?”
cried the colonel. “I expected to see crying and all
that sort of thing. But so much the better. She is a
chip of the old block, and scorns a rascally traitor to
his country.”

“Ye—e—e—s,” replied Artemas, in a faint voice,
“she certainly don't care much about him;” and mounting
his horse, proceeded towards Dayspring in a state
of mind not to be envied, leaving the colonel more
puzzled than he ever was in his life before. His
daughter appeared the moment of his departure, and
placing her hand gently in his, asked—

“Father, do you believe that bad man?”

“Why—why—hem—yes, I do. There was truth in
his tongue.”

“No, father—there was falsehood on his tongue, in

his eye, and in his heart. I saw it there. Every word
he uttered was false. John may be dead—but—but—
he will never disgrace himself, or me. I will stake
my life, and all my hopes of happiness, on his love
and his patriotism.”

“Stake a fiddlestick! what can you know about
mankind in general, and this young puppy in particular?
You don't dream of the number of villains that
hide a false heart under a fair face.”

“True, father—my dreams are only the reflection of
my waking experience, which has taught me to trust
my father as I would myself, and John as I would my
father. I am sure neither of them will ever deceive
me, and if they should, I will not believe it, even on
the evidence of my own eyes and ears, for I should
think they deluded me.”

The testy old continental was touched by this declaration
of implicit faith, for he loved a compliment,
as dearly as he did his daughter. But it lost more
than half its unction by being coupled with one whom
he believed unworthy the association.

“Jane,” said he, kindly, “you are a good girl, but a
great fool, and take after your mother. What motive
could young Squire Day—who is a very different man
from that obstinate old blockhead, his uncle—have for
belying the rascal?”

This question caused great embarrassment, though
Jane could have answered it satisfactorily, had she
chosen. But a certain delicate, innate modesty, ever
the inmate of a pure, unadulterated heart, stood in the
way, and arrested her tongue. She remained silent
and confused.

“Answer me, Jane, what motive could he have?”

“I don't know—sir—but I think—I suspect—he don't
like John.”

“Not like him! why, he never saw him in his life,
except the other day in his red coat. What reason
can he possibly have for disliking him? Come, Thunder
and Mars! out with it!”

“Why, sir—because—because—”

“Because what? The deuce is in you, I believe.”

“Because—he—he—lives so close by us, sir.”

“Bravo!” cried the old continental, in a roar; “let
any man tell me after this, that women can't give a
good reason for anything. But seriously, Jane, I'm
afraid it is too true.”

“I don't believe a word of it, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Why, because—because, I won't believe it.”

“Good—another capital reason. One would suppose
you got them from a blackberry bush, they are
so plenty this morning.”

Jane burst into tears, and was leaving the room,
when the colonel called her back, and kissing her
affectionately, said in a more serious tone:

“Suppose he proves this in black and white, hey?
suppose he brings testimonials from New York, what
then?”

“I shall not believe them, father. The wretch who
does not shrink from telling falsehoods, will not stop
at forging proofs, or bribing witnesses, dear father!
For the last four or five years, I have seen John almost
every day. I have shared his thoughts—I have seen
his heart and his mind, a thousand times naked before

me, and if we cannot rely on such experiences, in the
name of heaven, what security can we have for human
virtue, or what reliance on kindred or friends?”

“Well—there is something in that. But I ask again,
what motive can Squire Day have for telling the tale,
if it were not true?”

“He—he—he—he,” stammered Jane.

“He—what? you little goose?”

“He wants to marry me himself;” and Jane ran out
of the room.

“Whew—w—w—Thunder and Mars! that alters
the case,” and the colonel fell into a deep cogitation,
during which he was sorely beset by the counteracting
influence of Ebony and Topaz. The demon of self-interest,
which is so often found lagging at the heels
of old age, jogging its elbow, whispering in its ear,
and jingling his money bags, to drown the still, small
voice of conscience, now made a desperate assault on
the old continental. He opened an account current,
in which the balance preponderated mightily against
our hero, and in favour of his rival. In short, he began
to reason coolly on the subject; and, as we once heard a
generous, warm-hearted son of old Erin affirm, the moment
a man begins to reason on a subject in which
his own interest is concerned, ten to one, he becomes
more or less a scoundrel.

The course of the old continental's calculation ran
thus: John was poor, the squire rich, carry one in
favour of the squire; one was a ship richly laden, the
other not even in ballast, carry two; one was a prisoner,
perhaps a deserter, the other a squire of high
degree, carry three; one had no genius for inventions,

the other had taken out fourteen patents for labour-saving
machines, carry fourteen; one was a bird in
the hand, the other in the bush, carry two more; if
Jane married Artemas, she would marry a good estate;
if she married John, she would get nothing but a man,
and a farm in perspective, carry six more. On the
other hand, there was a contract of honour, but such
contracts have no force in law, and besides, John being
a deserter, as the colonel took for granted, on the
present occasion, had been the first to violate it. Then
there was the suffering of his daughter; but he passed
that aside, as mere moonshine, as a rational woman
would certainly in time learn to love her husband, provided
he was not a baboon or a bear. While he was
thus see-sawing on the line which separates right from
wrong, and is no bigger than a hair, the aforesaid demon,
that so often assumes the disguise of reason, impatient
at his indecision, gave him a great push, and
sent him at least sixteen yards beyond the dividing
line, whereat the good gentleman was exceedingly relieved,
inasmuch as the matter was now settled, and
the balance so clearly in favour of reason and Artemas,
that he resolutely determined to trouble himself
no further in stating the account.