 | CHAPTER IX. The forsaken |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
Nor mournful bell shall ring his burial.
—Shakspeare.
May I not take mine ease in mine inn?
—Ib.
The morning succeeding the events related in the
preceding chapter, captain Swain was despatched with
a foraging corps with instructions to impress not only
provender for the garrison, but such articles of clothing
as the possessors would not willingly part with, as the
troops were perishing with cold. He was averse to the
expedition, as he could not find it on record that his
illustrious ancestor had ever resorted to similar means
of sustaining his army, and our worthy captain eschewed
all modern innovations. There was not a post and
rail fence to be seen on his whole farm, as he gave a
decided preference to the zigzag means of enclosure
introduced by his Swedish ancestors, and when one of
his neighbours tried the experiment of a hawthorn
hedge, the worthy captain pronounced him without
qualification a fit subject for bedlam. He carried his
primitive notions so far, that to the day of his death he
had his coat cut after the fashion of one that belonged
to his grandfather, and most religiously believed that
every departure from that venerated model tended to
render the human form divine, ridiculous, and was an
approach towards barbarism. What would be the feelings
present age of rail-roads and canals, in which fashion
undergoes mutation before our clothes are dismissed
from the taylor's shopboard, and inventions succeed
each other in such rapid succession, that we have not
time to give one a fair trial before our attention is attracted
to another!
The sun was just rising as captain Swain, at the head
of the foraging party, left the camp. It had rained
during the night, and the trees and surrounding objects,
encased in ice, sparkled in the feeble rays of the
morning sun as though they had been hung with gems.
The snow was encrusted, and lay in dazzling whiteness
before them as far as the eye could extend, and
as they moved on, they seemed to pass through `a
world of entire chrysolite.' Every twig and blade of
grass was hung with diamonds, and nature in her desolation
appeared in a few hours to have been transformed
into a fairy region, and the stirring notes of the
reveille added to the illusion.
The foragers had not proceeded far from the camp,
when on the sunny side of a hill, near the forge mentioned
in the last chapter, they beheld a group of four
beneath a spreading oak, two of whom were busily employed
in shovelling away the snow, and the others
were standing mournfully at a short distance contemplating
an object lying on the ground. The group was
silent, and as the foragers approached they recognised
in one of the labourers sergeant Talman, whom they
hailed, but he returned no answer, nor did he as much
as raise his head at the salutation. He continued his
work, and the two beings who stood near him were too
much engrossed with their own feelings to attend to
what was passing. The foragers halted at the foot of
the acclivity, curious to know what that silent group
was about, which another glance explained—they were
performing the last rites to the dead. Not a word was
spoken by the group on the hill, while conjecture passed
commanded this unusual mark of distinction.
They had been in the habit of seeing their comrades
consigned in an indiscriminate mass to one common
grave. Captain Swain no sooner recognised M`Crea
and Alice standing by the body than all was plain to
him, and he commanded his troop to move forward,
and they left the mourners to perform their melancholy
duty.
They proceeded along the valley that led to the
river, and the solemn scene was not yet out of view,
when one of a widely different nature presented itself.
A burst of wild revelry saluted their ears, and after
riding around a hillock, thickly covered with scrubby
pine, they came in full view of the river, and immediately
discovered whence the sound proceeded.
On the bank of the Schuylkill was a company of
about twenty soldiers seated around a large fire, before
which was an entire hog roasting. Liquor was circulating
freely, their mirth was boisterous, and the foragers
were forcibly struck with the contrast between
this scene and that they had left a few moments previous.
The revellers proved to be certain officers of
the Virginia line, and others. Captain Swain and his
company halted; and one of a swarthy complexion,
dark heavy eyebrows, and large and commanding features,
approached and exclaimed—
“Captain will you partake of our barbacue? you
will find it wholesome, though not as palatable as it
might be.” He was of the middle stature, and of a
slender form. His dark eye was penetrating and serious,
while a smile enlivened the lower part of his countenance:
his dress was that of a confirmed sloven, or
in other words, a man whose mind is superior to things
of that nature, but his equipments indicated an officer
of no ordinary grade. Captain Swain politely declined
the invitation.
“Come, captain, and partake with us,” cried Graham,
feast: for the devil has long been exorcised from hog's
flesh.”
Others spoke more plainly, from which it appeared
that the company consisted of those who were desirous
of having Washington removed from the chief command
of the American forces.
“What duty are you upon?” inquired the officer who
first addressed the descendant of Sven Schute.
“To forage the neighbourhood,” was the reply.
“A politic mode of conducting a campaign. Are
you in an enemy's country, that you sally forth to plunder,
and wrest from the hand of the needy labourer his
last morsel of sustenance?”
“Our magazines are exhausted, and they must be
replenished speedily, or famine will be in the garrison,”
replied Swain.
“Pretty management, by G—,” exclaimed the other,
curling his lip with contempt,” after a distressing campaign,
which has disheartened the soldiers and worn
them to skeletons, you enter winter quarters in miserable
huts, without clothes, blankets, or straw; or even
as much as a dry biscuit in your stores. Fine management,
truly! Have you an army of chameleons, that
you expect them to endure all this patiently?”
“We hope to remedy the evil by taking it in hand
at an early period.”
“It should never have existed,” replied the other,
“and had competent men had the control of affairs,
it never would have existed. But you modern Quixotes
have not work enough with the enemy, but you must
create a hydra, merely for the pleasure of lopping off
its numberless heads. Why were not provisions secured
before we hutted? and why are the soldiers suffered
to run naked, while there is an abundance of
clothing provided for the army rotting upon the road
and in the woods, for the want of means to bring it to
the camp?”
“As that subject is not embraced within my line of
duty, I am unable to give a satisfactory answer,” replied
captain Swain, and the officer withdrew towards
the fire in silence.
Corporal Drone, who was much more partial to eating
than fighting, hearing that there was to be a barbacue
near the Schuylkill that morning, he made it his
business to stroll that way, and trust to his wits to help
him to a share of the feast. He was accordingly upon
the field of action before the company arrived; and
when they came, he officiously offered his services to
build the fire, attend to their horses, prepare the pork
for cooking, or any menial office that might be considered
a sufficient excuse for his remaining in the company.
This worthy, finding that his threadbare rifle
shirt was not altogether adapted to the season, no
sooner heard that captain Swain was on a foraging expedition,
than he volunteered his services to accompany
him, with the hope that his wardrobe might be replenished
before he returned to camp.
The corporal was one of that numerous class, who
consider mankind in no other light than as tenants in
common, in regard to the things of this world; he had
not yet acquired sufficient Latin to discover the difference
between meum et tuum, and in consequence of his
defective education, he was continually mistaking the
property of other people for his own. Or perhaps the
corporal acted upon the broad principle of natural law,
which says that possession alone gives right, and as
soon as the possessor relinquishes his hold, the property
reverts to the common stock, and is at the service of
whoever may wish to employ it. Or perhaps the corporal
did not trouble his head much about the subtleties
of the law, or care much in whom the right of property
was vested, so that he had actual possession. Be this
as it may, the corporal had of late become weary of
marching and countermarching; and meeting with a
half starved Rosinante in his travels, when a little leg-weary,
his country, without as much as asking permission of
the owner. This charger was now fastened to a laurel
bush hard by, endeavouring to quell an intestine war
by mumbling a few dried leaves, with as much earnestness
as if they had been corn or luxuriant clover.
Drone no sooner saw the foragers about to depart, than
he bestrode his war-horse, and shambled after them,
though his stomach exclaimed loudly against leaving
the barbacue untouched—and the corporal was a
humane man to his own stomach—but his back cried
aloud for covering, and after much perplexity he listened
with becoming charity to its petition.
The foragers not being very successful along the
river, for the British had already been over the ground,
changed their route, and took a southerly direction.
After a ride of about two hours, they came in sight of
Ephraim Horne's house, a substantial stone building,
which indicated the prosperity of the possessor. The
political principles of Ephraim were well known, and
as it was suspected that in disposing of his provisions
he preferred receiving British gold to continental paper,
the party approached the house with fewer compunctious
visitings than they would, had he been friendly to
the cause, or passively inimical. Ephraim saw the
troop approaching, and though greatly alarmed at
such an unwelcome sight, he hastened to the front of
his house, to ascertain the object of this unexpected
visit. It was with difficulty he mustered sufficient courage
to sustain the interview, for as he had been to the
city within the preceding week, his conscience whispered
there was danger to be apprehended. He was
therefore considerably relieved when captain Swain
announced to him their business. Ephraim expressed
his regret, but protested he had no provisions on his
farm, as the enemy had been there a few weeks before,
and swept every thing away.
Corporal Drone was as well acquainted with
ignorant of the stock he had on hand; and as the corporal
at present considered it expedient to make himself
both conspicuous and useful, he quietly slid from
his garran and disappeared, while the farmer was giving
a piteous account of the imaginary losses he had
sustained by the depredations of the British. The
quaker spoke so smoothly, that captain Swain credited
implicitly all he said, and was about proceeding, when
the corporal appeared, driving three fat steers before
him. Ephraim turned pale at the sight, and approached,
with the intention of driving them back.
“Hold,” cried the corporal, interposing, “it is true
these steers were designed for the British market, but
they must turn their heads in another direction.”
“You do not mean to rob me?”
“Not at all,” replied the other, “you will be liberally
paid in continental paper for every pound we
take; but as it would be treason in us to leave these
fat steers—”
“Treason! what does thee mean? it will be barefaced
robbery if thee takes them.”
“But treason if we leave them,” interrupted Drone,
“for they will certainly find their way to the city to
feed the enemy. So they must go along with us, and
you should thank me for saving your conscience from
such a reproach, and perhaps your neck from a halter.”
Ephraim, upon the mention of a halter, thought proper
to drop the altercation, and captain Swain desired
him to set a price upon his steers, which was accordingly
done, allowing a liberal advance upon receiving
depreciated paper instead of sterling coin.
While this was transacting, the corporal drew nigh to
the door, which being partly open, he had a view of the
hall, in which, from a row of pegs, he beheld a portion
of Ephraim's wardrobe suspended. Drone glided in,
and instantly appeared, with a drab quaker coat over
his torn rifle shirt, and a surtout across his arm—
“Captain Swain, while your hand is in, you may as
well strike a bargain for these articles, which come
within the letter of our warrant.” Ephraim expostulated.
“For shame of yourself,” continued the corporal,
“Saint Martin divided his mantle with a beggar,
and as you are a good christian you should imitate so
praiseworthy an example.”
As Ephraim was well clad, these additional coats
were considered superfluous; he therefore expostulated
in vain, for though the case was a hard one, yet the
emergencies of the army would not admit of an argument
as to the justice of the measure: the quaker was
obliged to set a price upon his apparel, which was paid,
and the soldiers departed, driving the steers before
them. Ephraim stood watching them with a heavy
heart until they were out of sight, and then cast a sorrowful
look upon his paper money. His mortification
was twofold, as he had intended the following day to
drive his cattle to Philadelphia, and transmute them
into gold. Two of the soldiers took charge of the provender
collected, and returned towards Valley Forge;
the rest of the party continued their search through the
counties of Chester and Delaware.
The corporal had no sooner accomplished the object
that induced him to volunteer his services, than his
zeal evaporated, and he availed himself of the first opportunity
of taking French leave, to the no small satisfaction
of his wretched garran, who was all unused to
the rapid locomotion employed by the troopers. The
corporal now being at liberty to follow his own inclination,
turned his horse's head in the direction of the
Crooked Billet, for it was a custom he observed most
religiously, never to pass within three miles of Nicholas's
tavern, without stopping to inquire after the health
of that worthy personage, and at the same time drink
to it in a glass of Geneva, if he could get credit for the
value of the liquor.
A tavern sign maintained an influence over the corporal,
the magnetic needle. He could never pass without
turning, and seldom without stopping. On his way to
the Crooked Billet, one of these signs that ruled his
destiny caught his eye—it was the Seven Stars—and
the corporal was always disposed to study astronomy
when he beheld his horoscope so near him. His horse
also had a like propensity with his master, and when
he halted in front of the inn, Drone felt exceedingly
compassionate towards the dumb beast, and dismounted
that he might breathe and be fed, after the unusual
exertion of the morning. He accordingly directed his
horse to be taken care of, entered the inn and ordered
dinner for himself in a tone as commanding as if he
had intended to pay for it, for Drone was a decided
autocrat where he imagined he had a right to command.
We occasionally meet with this feature in the minds of
the loudest declaimers against arbitrary power.
The corporal drew forth his pipe, lighted it, and
taking the choicest seat before the fire, made himself
perfectly at home. He talked politics to the landlord,
and recounted his military exploits to the landlady and
her daughter, until they imagined that the destiny of
the new states was at the disposal of their unknown
guest. Their humble roof had never been so highly
honoured, and the corporal perceiving the impression
he had made, assumed a patronising air, and invited
the whole family to dine with him, instead of inviting
himself to dine with the family, which was his original
intention. A distinction without a difference, for it
amounted to the same thing to all parties in the end.
What with smoking, talking, eating, and drinking,
the corporal found himself in comfortable quarters, and
so much was he delighted with his entertainment, to
which he did ample justice, that he protested roundly,
that for the future he would take that inn under his especial
protection, and evinced his friendly disposition
by suggesting various alterations, such as removing
door into a window, and a window into a door, tearing
down a stack of chimneys on this side, and running up
another on the opposite; by widening the piazza,
building a new kitchen, and retouching the Seven Stars,
for they appeared to be under a cloud—he suggested
twenty other improvements, most of which were as impracticable
to mine host as a pilgrimage to the moon,
but still they tended to impress him with vast ideas of
the importance of his guest, which was the mark the
corporal aimed at. He belonged to that numerous herd
that plan palaces for others to build, without the means
within themselves to construct a pigstye, and who talk
largely of the luxuries of life, even while they sit cross-legged
to conceal the rent in their apparel. There is
no one so abject but that he imagines himself capable
of planning for the comfort of another, and his fingers
itch to put his schemes in execution, in order to afford
the world an example how to live.
Evening was now approaching, and the gathering
clouds in the west portended a coming storm. The
corporal bethought him that it was time to move towards
the Crooked Billet, satisfied that he would meet
with comfortable quarters there, and a hearty welcome
from Nicholas, who was a good-natured fellow in the
main, and fond of having his joke with the corporal,
who was nothing loth as long as he got his liquor scot
free. But how was he to quit the Seven Stars, and
escape the disagreeable ceremony of first adjusting
the score! This idea made him thoughtful, he knit
his brows, cursed the Stars, and cocking his hat
fiercely, took several turns around the room in silence.
The landlord beheld this sudden transition in amazement,
for Drone had been in excellent humour all the
afternoon, and laughed vociferously at every joke mine
host had perpetrated. The corporal continued pacing
the room, and occasionally muttering unintelligibly,
which tended to increase the amazement of the other,
army at least, when Drone paused abruptly,
and desired him to make out the bill, “and harkye,
landlord,” continued he, “charge your own entertainment
to my account, for I play the host to-day.”
The landlord withdrew behind the bar to consult
Cocker's Arithmetic, and Drone commenced pacing
the room again, at double-quick time. His moody
humour increased, and more than once did mine host
raise his eyes from his paper, in amazement at the rapid
movements of his guest, who suddenly left the
room, and afforded him an opportunity of working out
his abstruse calculation without interruption. This was
quite a relief to him of the Seven Stars, and in the
space of ten minutes, he was prepared for that most
disagreeable part of an entertainment, the presentation
of the reckoning, but as the corporal never had any
stomach for such a dessert, he bethought him that he
had better take a ride first, by way of sharpening his
appetite. There was nothing in life that he abhorred
like a tavern bill, and frequently did he protest against
the selfish custom that tended to put the best natured
man out of humour, and render him uncomfortable.
He of the Seven Stars sat long, in expectation of his
return, but though he had sat until his Stars had vanished,
he would not have caught a glimpse of the
corporal again. Growing impatient he went out to the
stable, when the absence of the corporal's horse let
him into a secret, and searching further, he discovered
that Drone in his hurry had mistaken the best bridle of
mine host for his own, which he charitably attributed
to an absence of mind occasioned by the weight of
public affairs, and he now considered his guest a
greater man than ever. A pompous bearing is a jewel
beyond price, for even paste may pass for a diamond
with the unskilful lapidary.
The storm was gathering fast, and mountains of
dense clouds arose like contending armies above the
phalanx, column after column, until the whole western
sky was covered to the zenith, and the armament appeared
arrayed, ready for the conflict. Drone, as he
beheld the imposing spectacle, lost but little time in
admiration, but pushed his horse to the top of his
speed, which was a peculiar gait between a shamble
and a gallop, for the corporal had two objects in view,
and luckily for him they went hand in hand together—
the first was to escape from the storm, and the other
from the host of the Seven Stars.
Never were the rib-displaying sides of the corporal's
garran so belaboured with crab-tree cudgel, nor had
the valiant corporal for many a day performed such a
task of thrashing as upon this memorable occasion.
He laboured with a zeal that became a better cause.
Many a glance did he turn towards the threatening
clouds, thence his eye would descend to the road he
had traversed, and the third motion was a dexterous
flourish of the crab-tree cudgel, which the poor beast
acknowledged by a toss of the head and a switch or
two of the tail, and there was an end of it. The longest
lane must have an end, says the proverb, and so it
was with the corporal's journey, notwithstanding its
discouraging aspect. In the course of an hour his eyes
were greeted with the welcome sight of the Crooked
Billet swinging in the wind that piped mournfully.
Night was closing in, the rain had commenced falling,
and it froze as it fell; the corporal was not well equipt
for travelling in such a night, and he already enjoyed
in anticipation the comforts of Nicholas's bar-room.
Even the president of a Temperance Society, under
similar circumstances would acknowledge that some
good might come out of Nazareth. The corporal rode
under the shed, and having secured his horse, entered
the Crooked Billet with as little ceremony as though
he had been confident of a cordial welcome. Nicholas
was alone, seated at the fire, musing, or rather seeming
when wrapped in what is commonly called a brownstudy.
“Here you are, Nicholas, my boy,” exclaimed the
corporal, as he entered, “as snug as a thief in a mill.
Let the storm pour, here we may laugh and be merry,
and though it knock until the morning, we will bar the
door, and it shall not enter, for we look not for such
watery guests at the Crooked Billet, ha! Nicholas!”
“Some rum ones enter without knocking;” replied
the bruiser, in a surly tone, without rising from his
seat.
“Such are always welcome at an inn,” replied the
corporal. “Who is it fills your bar with rosy liquor
but the rum ones? Who is it makes your hearth blaze
so cheerfully but the rum ones? Who is it makes your
table groan with plenty, albeit they consume but little?
why the rum ones. And let me tell you, Nicholas, if
it were not for the pimple-faced jolly dogs, you might
lay the axe to your sign-post, and warm yourself with
it before spring.”
“Humph!” grunted Nicholas, without turning his
face from the fire, and the corporal began to question
his welcome. But he was a man not easily to be driven
from a bar-room, and believing that if he could only
get Nicholas into conversation, he would succeed in
talking him out of his ill humour, and thus prevent a
summary ejectment, he continued—
“Have you heard the news, old boy? Strange
events have transpired since I last tasted your Geneva.
By the beard of Aaron, 'tis passing all belief. Jurian
Hartfield—you know the boy—has been charged with
being in British pay. A spy, Nicholas! a traitor to
his country! think of that. Patriotism has become
nothing more than a word to gull the credulous, and
we who honestly contend for freedom shall have our
lives bartered by those in whom we repose the greatest
confidence.”
“Is that all?” said Nicholas.
“The boy has been placed under arrest, and I fear
it will go hard with him on his trial, for the evidence is
as clear as noon day.”
“That's his affair, not mine.”
“But what is most remarkable,” continued Drone,
“the principal witness against him is his own mother,
who it was denounced him.”
“Is Alice Grey his mother?” demanded Nicholas.
“So it is said, but she was not aware of the fact
until after the accusation was made. But how is it
that you are acquainted with the circumstances already?”
“That's my business, not yours.”
“Zounds! Nick, you are as crusty as if you had
lived in a bake-oven all your days.”
“That's my affair. But if you do not wish to be
benighted, it is time for you to be gone.”
“Be gone! benighted!—Why zounds! Nick, it is
as dark as the devil already.”
“That's your affair, not mine.”
“Only look to the west and behold what a storm is
brewing; such a one as would have drowned all the
frogs and locusts that curst the kingdom of Pharaoh,
and can you have the bowels to drive me out to abide
its fury?”
“Humph!” ejaculated Nicholas, and pointed to the
door.
“Be not so laconic, but speak out like a host of
hospitality.”
“You came uninvited, and even so depart,” said
Nicholas.
“You are jesting! By the beard of Aaron, you cannot
be in earnest!”
The scowl on the dark countenance of Nicholas
became more lowering, but the corporal continued—
“You were always a wag, Nick, a merry wag;” the
shaggy eyebrows of mine host pursed closer together;
with a dry lip, I will even scent my way to your jug of
Geneva.” This was accompanied by a short chuckling
laugh, and he made a move towards the bar;
Nicholas rose, remained stationary, and without speaking,
waved his right hand towards the door. His fist
was clenched; the corporal hesitated; he looked in
the landlord's countenance, and beheld a more threatening
storm gathering there, than that without; Nicholas
advanced one step; the corporal retreated towards
the door; he advanced a second; the corporal
seized the wooden latch, and kept his eyes fixed on
the threatening attitude of the other, and while in this
position the door was violently pushed open; the corporal
staggered beneath the shock, and in stalked Paul
Gordon. In an instant Drone vanished, slammed the
door after him, and left the worthies alone.
“The poor corporal,” exclaimed Nicholas, laughing,
“was loth to turn out until you turned in, but
faith, he was not long in making up his mind on your
appearance.”
“It is an ugly night, Nicholas,” replied Paul, “for
either man or beast to be abroad. Are we alone?”
“Quite alone.”
“Then this night's campaign does not promise to
be a very profitable one. I have taken but one purse
from a committee of safety man, who was travelling to
the west. He had lodged it in his bosom, next his
heart, and from his care I supposed I had taken a
prize, but on opening it, I found it crammed with continental
paper. What rubbish man will lay next his
heart, Nicholas!”
“Damned rubbish, indeed,” responded mine host
of the Billet.
“The business I spoke to you about, Nicholas, is
in a fair train, and it will be necessary for you in a few
days to go to the Forge, and give your evidence against
the accused. Have you thought well upon the story
it, for if we succeed the reward will be liberal, and all
in gold. Think of that, Nicholas.”
“I have, and if I don't make out a plain case, they
will have very little faith in a kiss on a book, I promise
you. I may swear with a safe conscience, for it will
be all true, you know; and though I did not see the
transaction myself, you will vouch for it, and that's
the same thing in the end.”
“I will vouch for every word,” replied Paul, “and
would give my evidence myself, could it be done with
safety, but I don't think it would be prudent for me at
present to appear before an American court martial.”
“I don't think it would,” said Nicholas.
“But that's no reason why the guilty should escape
punishment,” said Paul.
“Certainly not,” replied Nicholas, “and I think it
a virtue to strain a point on such an occasion.”
“Especially if you be well paid for it,” said Paul.
“Virtue should always be rewarded,” said Nicholas,
“otherwise vice would be the most profitable pursuit,
and that should never be the case in a moral community.”
“You speak like a preacher.”
“It is necessary for us to be quick on the trigger,”
continued Nicholas, “for Jurian is already in limbo,
and his business will doubtless be settled speedily.
Some folk complain of the law's delay, but I am not
of the number.” He chuckled dryly as he concluded.
“Jurian already apprehended!” exclaimed Paul;
“where heard you this?”
“From the corporal, who also brought a stranger
piece of news?”
“What news?”
“The boy turns out to be Alice Grey's son.”
“Alice Grey's son! Impossible.”
“True! The mother has condemned her own son
come to pass in it!”
“Strange, indeed! Poor Miriam!”
“And as we cannot hope to have the benefit of the
old woman's testimony in the present case, we must
look around for another witness; for possibly my story
may require bolstering.”
“True; another shall be found.”
“But don't you think that a good round sum might
still tempt the old woman?”
“You know her not. Though the earth were piled
to the heavens with gold, it would not tempt her.”
“It is astonishing how very silly some people are!”
ejaculated Nicholas. “Well, what's to be done?”
“Leave that to me. Jurian her son! Bring me
some liquor, Nicholas, and look out and tell me whether
the storm has abated.” He placed a bottle before
Paul, and went to the door.
“It is confounded dark and cold,” said Nicholas,
“but it does not rain as fast as when you entered.”
“It is well. Sit down, old boy, and let us drink
success to our enterprise. I have not many moments
to stay.”
“You had better make a night of it.”
“No; time presses, and I must see Madge, and
prepare her for the occasion. I will call here as I return
to-morrow.”
“Then all will be snug; for there is not a clearer
witness in a nice case in the whole county than that
same Madge.”
By the time our worthies had finished the bottle, the
storm had abated its fury, and Paul remounted and
pursued his way towards the cottage of Madge Haines,
while Nicholas barred his door and retired to bed, and
commenced weaving his chain of testimony against
Jurian.
| CHAPTER IX. The forsaken | |