University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

On being installed landlord of the Boon House,
Hearty gave what is called a house warming, or infare;
or, to speak in more fashionable phraseology,
had a collation served up, to which the friends of the
establishment were invited. Of course it was a day
of jollification to landlord and guest, and as the viands
were given into the bargain, many were the number
who chose this occasion to patronize the Boon
House.

Mrs. Bongarden had called early in the morning
on Mrs. Coil, with an offer of any little thing she
had that Mrs. Coil might want, and with the secret
desire of learning from her who Ruth Lorman was,
and as she knew her to be friendly to Ruth, with the
intention of seizing or making an opportunity of pouring
out the vials of her wrath on Miss Judson. Mrs.
Coil was too careful of her husband's interest and
popularity not to receive Mrs. Bongarden with smiles
and thanks, and while she busied herself with dishing
a huge round of beef, which was to be served in the
bar room cold, at noon, when the friends of the establishment
were to partake of it, she continued to
hold courteous discourse with the postmistress.

“And so you like our town?” quoth Mrs. Bongarden,
glancing round the room and at Mrs. Coil, with
a scrutinizing eye.

“I am double delighted ma'am,” replied Mrs. Coil.
“After Mr. Lorman moved out here, they wrote
home such accounts that I told Mr. Coil we must
certainly come.”

“You knew Mr. Lorman's family before you
came here?” said the Postmistress.

“Yes, and they used to be the richest people in the
whole country, before they got misfortunate—they
used to be well knowing to some branches of our
family. When persons—respectable persons gets
down in the world—you know, Mrs. Bongarden,
they're got to turn their hands to any thing—
particularly if their family circle is spreading.
M'Murdock, my dear,” continued Mrs. Coil, to one
of her children, her voice at first reined into the gentle,
but growing sterner as she looked at the child,
“put that saucer up, M'Murdock—I tell you, you
will break it—come away from that greasy tub with
your new slip on.”

At this moment, crash went the saucer, and
M'Murdock broke out into a full cry, anticipating
what might be coming.

“Mammy,” he exclaimed, “I couldn't help it; the
floor drawed it right out of my hand.”

“The little wretch,” muttered Mrs. Coil, and then
with a violent effort, restraining herself, she continued,
“No matter, M'Murdock—there now—pick up

the pieces, and throw them away down the yard, so
that little brother and you won't cut your feet.”

M'Murdock, glad to escape so easily, hurried out
with the pieces gathered up in his slip, in a manner
that would have scandalized Miss Judson.

“Yes, Mrs. Bongarden,” continued Mrs. Coil, turning
to the postmistress, “Mr. Lorman's family was
and is as respectable as any body's family.”

“There now,” exclaimed Mrs. Bongarden, “I told
Miss Judson so, but she scandalizes every body.”

“Miss Judson! I wonder was it her that told all
these abominable lies—that I should say so—on Miss
Ruth.”

“The very person,” said Mrs. Bongarden, emphatically,
“and she says that she heard every word
of it from this handsome Mr. Beckford, who has lately
come to our town.”

“I wonder, good Lord!” exclaimed Mrs. Coil,
“what, he that's from our city, and stays in the Boon
House! my husband always said it—he nearly killed
Mr. Coil, once—he's an awful character. Miss Judson
says it, you tell me, Mrs. Bongarden?”

And Mrs. Bongarden thus appealed to, went into
a long exposition of her own injuries, at the hands
and tongue of Miss Judson, and of what that maiden
said of Ruth, which our readers may be sure was
not mollified in her account. This excited the horror
and indignation of Mrs. Coil, in no ordinary degree.

Meanwhile, the patrons of the Boon House began
to assemble, and Hearty's voice of welcome could
be heard in continual greeting.

“Are you hearty, gentlemen? walk in—what'll
you take—here's brandy, gin, rum, beer, any thing
you please. Here's some of the best whisky, by the
living jingoes, you ever tasted—it's old rye—and it's
as good as the real Irish, and has pretty much the
flavour, I tell ye. When I drink—and I tell you, gentlemen,
the healthiest man requires it—even those
poor shoats, the temperance people, have to take it
for their health—we must all take it for health—it's
mother's milk to many a man. When I drink, as I
was observing, gentlemen, I take the old rye. But
there's a maxim they say, that first appeared in Latin,
and that says in English, `taste is not to be disputed.'
Well, by jingoes, I dispute no man's taste—
just come up, gentlemen, and help yourselves—and
taste all.”

At this moment entered Mr. Bongarden, puffing
and blowing like one who feared he might be too late
for the fair, yet gathering himself up, and expanding
his rotundity to its full dignity.

“Walk in, Mr. Bongarden,” exclaimed Hearty,
“happy to see you, sir, in the Boon House.”

“Ah, thank you, my good friend, Mr. Coil, thank
you, sir. I was fearful I might be too late, and you
may call me any thing but too late to supper, or a
round of beef like this. Mrs. Bongarden, Mr. Coil,
left me a-reading some letters, fresh from head quarters,”
winking and speaking in an affectedly low
voice, yet loud enough to be heard by every body in
the room; “great things going on at the White House,

Washington city. Can't be more explicit now, but it
will be out in a few days, and then you will find I am
a prophet. That is, that I sometimes know a thing or
two before hand. Mrs. Bongarden left me a-reading
those letters, saying that she would call over and see
Mrs. Coil, and I began to fear I should get in at the
tail end of the feast. This beef cuts well—thank you,
my friend, I'll take a glass of beer—gentlemen,” addressing
the persons in the room, “I'll give you a
sentiment; fill your glasses, gentlemen. Gentlemen,
the toast which I now propose, I hope, and know
will meet with your approbation.”

All parties filled their glasses; and, while they
were so doing, Mr. Bongarden whispered aside to
Hearty—

“My friend, Mr. Coil, inform me—had you ever
a title: were you ever a colonel or captain?”

“Why, said Hearty, whispering a reply, “I never
was fully made captain. But, by Jingoes, when
they were getting up a maletia company, to use up
the system, they talked of making me commander!”

“Gentlemen,” exclaimed Mr. Bongarden aloud to
the company, who stood expectant, with their glasses
charged, “I propose to you the health of Capting
Hearty Coil, the gallant saver of one of the native
children of Perryville! That act alone entitles him
to our welcome—our grateful welcome! May he
long keep the General Boon—the House—and
never want customers!” This was drunk with loud

cheers, amidst which Capting Hearty Coil mounted
a chair to return his thanks—

“My new friends and fellow-citizens,” he exclaimed,
with a flourish of the hand, “are you hearty?
Just the same kind of welcome you gave me to your
beautiful city I give you to the Boon House—a
HEARTY welcome!” [The guests took the pun and
shouted uproariously.] “I am as glad to see you
here—and shall always be—as you can possibly be
to see me. As to the jumping in after the child, by
Thunder, that's a mere circumstance! and, my fellow
citizens, Mr. Moore's a gentleman—every inch
of him—and every hair in his head!”

Here there was a loud call for a sentiment from
Capting Coil.

“Gentlemen,” continued Hearty, “my fellow-citizens
and friends, it is a long time since I have
made a public speech; I will therefore conclude—
having expressed my thanks—with the following
sentiment—Here's to the sons of old Kentucky:
may they never—by the living Jingoes—may they
never, never be weaned from—may they never be
too old to love their mothers' milk—old rye!”

Hearty's toast was received with such enthusiastic
applause that, amidst the confusion of the moment
and the whisky, in endeavouring to make a dignified
descent from the chair, it tipped over, and he fell
to the floor of the Boon House, as many had fallen before
him—without the dignity attendant upon Cæsar
at the base of Pompey's statue. Before he could

get well upon his feet again—and he jumped up
quickly—his little son M'Murdock, his namesake,
jerked him by the coat skirts and said—

“Daddy, mammy wants you—now.”

Instantly, though not willingly, Hearty obeyed the
connubial mandate; for, as he looked round, he saw
his better half peeping through the half-opened door
at him with a prying, suspicious glance.

“Coil—Mr. Coil”—exclaimed his wife, pulling him
through the door, and closing it, “have you been
beastifying yourself?”

“Beastifying myself!” reiterated Hearty, assuming
a look of wonderment and sobriety, “I tell you,
by Thunder, I am as sober as ever was St. Patrick!
My dear wife, I haven't drunk near enough for the
occasion; there is not a man in the Boon House that
is not ahead of me. Come, give me a buss, my
dear, and you'll find out by my breath that I have
scarcely tasted a drop. No, I am determined to
keep duly sober. It would hurt our house, my dear,
you well know, if I were to get in liquor—though
there might be some excuse, by Thunder, in the
occasion! They do say, Mrs. Coil, that your cooking
is tremendous. You see I was just returning
thanks; you heard, my dear, how they drank my
health; they've made a captain of me. I was descending
from a chair—after returning thanks—and,
you know, my dear, you yourself fell off of a chair
once. They are hard to stand on, and, in speaking,
a man forgets what holds him; and I—the chair

slipped over with me. Your cooking, my dear, by
Jingoes, it does honour to the occasion!”

“I believe the people here do wish us well, Mr.
Coil. And they thought well of the cookery, hey?'

“Tremendious well. Ay, there they're calling
for me!” And Hearty broke away and re-entered
the bar-room.

In his absence there had been an accession to the
guests in the person of a stranger, who was greeted
with warm welcomes by most of those present, and
familiarly called by them Blazeaway. He was a
man of tall and almost gigantic proportions, being
nearly six feet two inches high, and what is not
often seen in men of his height, his limbs were well
knit, and graceful, though his arms seemed rather
too long, and he had a habit of swinging the right
one by his side, while the left was thrust carelessly
in the bosom of his shirt. He was dressed in a full
suit of that domestic cloth called “Kentucky jeans,'
and wore an old slouched hat upon his head, that
evidently had braved all sorts of weather. His coat,
though not worn as an overcoat, was what is generally
called a box coat, having huge pockets at the
sides, with large lappels. The buttons on it were
much better than the quality of the cloth, in the opinion
of the knights of the needle, would demand,
being great pearl ones of the best kind. The stranger
had a handsome foot, and he appeared to be
conscious and proud of it, as it was encased in a

fine and tight boot, which would have been the
better though from Sam's attentions.

The face of this individual was a very marked
one; and as he wore the rim of his hat turned up in
front, somewhat after the fashion of our forefathers'
cocked beavers, but certainly not with their taste,
his features could be distinctly seen. His forehead,
massive and bold, was shaded with long dark hair
at the temples, where gray, like a party in the minority,
but on the increase, grew daily more prominent.
His eye was a small gray one, that flashed
with good-humour and shrewdness, and indicated
that its possessor had a daring and reckless courage,
that would brave fearlessly any danger. His nose
was straight, with a slight inclination to turn up at
the end, which added much to his look of good-humour
or shrewdness, whenever his features wore
either of those expressions. His mouth was quite
large, but expressive of firmness and decision, displaying,
when he laughed, a remarkably fine set of
teeth, that, from the use of tobacco, had parted with
much of their pearly hue. A thick hickory stick,
in fact, a dray-pin, such as are used in Cincinnati,
projected from one of the pockets of his coat, and
added to the peculiarity of his appearance.

“Blazeaway,” said Mr. Bongarden, as Hearty re-entered
the bar-room, “or rather Mr. Staylor, allow
me to introduce you to the new landlord of the Boon
House—Capting Coil. Capting Coil, Mr. Staylor,
or,” continued Mr. Bongarden, moved to facetiousness

and familiarity by the good cheer, “be you
known to each other as Blazeaway and Hearty;
and now let's take a drink—blaze away heartily together!”

“Blazeaway,” said Coil, taking the hand of the
person we have described, “that's, by thunder, that's,
I suppose, a nickname like mine of Hearty.”

“You're right, my hearty!” exclaimed Blazeaway,
shaking warmly the hand of Coil, “you're right;
but I had more thought of a burying than a christening
when I got it.”

“And how did you get it?” inquired Hearty.

“Capting Coil,” replied Blazeaway, laying his
hand on the shoulder of the landlord, and speaking
in his free and dashing way, “don't press me—I
am a modest man, but, by Jove! sir, nature meant
me for a great one, only she left me three drinks behind
hand. I never can do or say anything till I
have about six inches of liquor in me.”

“By the living Jingo!” exclaimed Hearty, in a
lively manner, “I am just your way of thinking.
Six inches, hey? Mr. Blazeaway, do ye see, it is a
matter of fact, that there is many a gentleman that's
left three drinks behind hand, when he's born, and
he never has the spunk to push up to a point; he
sees what he thinks he might do, but, by Thunder,
he's afraid of trying. But if a man could always
feel, Mr. Blazeaway, as he does sometimes when he
has three drinks in him, he'd be before hand with
most people. Come, sir, what'll you take?”

“Anything that's good,” replied Blazeaway. And
while he was drinking, Doctor Cake, who had just
entered the bar-room, after holding a long conversation
with Mrs. Coil shook him by the hand, and asked
him when he left the lower country.

“Three weeks ago, Doctor, and I am now bound
eastward to Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, and
all about there. I shouldn't have stopped at Perryville
this time up, but I met Capting Lorman and his
brother, who lives here among you as they told me,
and I promised them to stop and see their folks, and
and give them some letters; the Capting and I are
old friends. I am told that Mr. Davidson—you all
know him here, he's our richest planter, and the
friend of your congressman—they tell me he is going
to bring home a wife with him; he stays long enough
to get a dozen; and I've some business with him
that presses me. I wonder if William Bennington
can tell me any thing about him; I fear it will turn
up that I pass Mr. Davidson on the river; I should
like to see him.”

“Doubtless, I say, Mr. Staylor,” remarked Doctor
Cake, “William Bennington can give you information.
How is the health below?”

“On the mend, Doctor, it a'n't half so bad there
as you think for!”

“Blazeaway,” quoth Mr. Bongarden, “why the
devil do you carry that stick in your pocket?”

“That's an old friend, Mr. Bongarden,” returned
Blazeaway, drawing out the stick, “an old stand-by,

a friend in need. Last summer, when I was in Cincinnati,
as I was stepping down to the boat one night
to leave, I was beset by three fellows, that I had
quarrelled with once in a gambling house, at New
Orleans, fellows who had come to Cincinnati to
spend the summer. I had nothing but my fists to
defend myself with, and they had knives. You
know there are no stones on the landing at Cincinnati,
it is as clear and clean as this floor. These
chaps came right at me, it was light enough for them
to see a man as tall, and as large as I am, and they
came right at me. I stepped back, not knowing at
first what to do, and I never call for help; I thought
my time had come, as I felt one of their knives in
my arm, but as I stepped back, my foot hit something
that I knew was a stick, I dodged them by stooping,
and as I did it, I picked up this very dray-pin; I felt
like a man at once. When a man knows he has
strength, and feels a weapon in his hand when rascals
run at him, it's quite a different sort of an affair
from dying like a dog. As I seized the pin, I made
an upward blow with it at the fellow who had struck
me, and he fell like a log; the other fellows turned
to run, one started up for Main street, and the other
down to the river. As my way lay towards the
river, I followed the water rat, and made him take
to it; he got beyond his depth in his fright, and I
suppose couldn't swim with his clothes on well, may
be he couldn't swim at all, for he called out loud and
long, and begged hard for help. It was night, as I
was saying, late too, and if there were any watches
set on board the steamers about, they were asleep,
for the fellow yelled as if he feared his carcass was
a case, and nobody came. So I just laid my old
stand-by down carefully, my dray-pin, and jumped in
and brought the rascal to shore. I took him on my
shoulders—he was nearly gone—up to a coffee-house
on the landing, and after a little rubbing and some
brandy he came to. Some fellows were in there
who called themselves constables, and when they
heard the cause of the fuss, they wanted to insist on
taking him to jail. I thought the fellow had suffered
enough, and if he hadn't, if I choose to let him off,
whose business was it? They talked strong about
taking him, whether I would or no; and one impudent
rascal said they would take me too, and if I
could not give security for my appearance against
the water rat, when the court sat, that I myself
would have to go to jail for safe keeping. I can
stand a good many things, but there are some things
I can't stand. So I just looked at the constables and
I told them, that I would not only go myself free as
I came, but that I would take the fellow with me.
And I just took a good grip of my dray pin, told my
chap to go before, and I dared the best of them, or
all of them to stop me. They were too tired with
their day's work to try it, and so I led my man off.
The fellow, in gratitude, told me all about his companions,
and I discovered that, as I said, they had
a grudge against me, for a gambling scrape I had
with them in New Orleans.”

“What became of the other two?” inquired Mr.
Bongarden.

“Why,” replied Blazeaway, “as the one who had
run up towards Main street—you know where that
is, it is the street that comes down to the lower part
of the landing—as he was the instigator, I determined
to have him punished. The fellow I took
told me of his haunts, and I went straight back to
the Coffee House, treated the constables, took them
with me, and sure enough we grabbed him, and had
him safe enough in the jail that night. There he
caught vengeance, for they suspected him to be a
fellow who had committed a robbery, and set a house
on fire the night before, and the constables treated
the chain gang—they knew what it was for—and
then thrust this fellow in among them. They nearly
cobbed him to death with their shoes, to make him
tell where the property was—This proceeding is not
according to my notions of things. I say law is law,
and if you put a man in jail to try him according,
why do so. And if you mean to lynch him, lynch
him. To go both, is neither law or justice.”

“The knave may have deserved it,” observed a
legal gentleman by, who was looking out for an
eligible location to settle in, and who was reconnoitring
in Perryville for that purpose, “but I should
certainly be of the opinion that the parties, the constables
I mean, nay the sheriff himself might be made

to pay a heavy penalty for such a wrong doing.
Are you certain, sir,” addressing Blazeaway, “of
the fact?”

“There's no mistake in it,” replied Blazeaway,
“I saw the marks on the poor devil myself the next
day. I thought it awful hard, any man a stranger
there—you or I, stranger, might be arrested to please
any body or no body, who might accuse us of theft,
and they might get us lynched to find it out, or
lynched to gratify their spites, if they were enemies
of ours, and when they had fed their revenge, we
would get free because we were innocent. I say
such proceedings”—

Here there was an interruption, which will be accounted
for in the next chapter.