22. XXII.
THE CAPTAIN REVELS IN THE CREATIONS OF HIS FANCY.
FALCONBRIDGE!—Madam Bertha!” muttered
the soldier, gloomily, as he went onward, “infatuated!
Really, nothing is more astonishing than
this passion, or indeed madness, as one may
call it, which invades a man's heart when his locks are still
black, his moustache untouched by gray. But this is not
an infallible test, since I, myself, am not at all gray. But
then, I, myself,” continued the Captain, philosophically
carrying on a logical fencing with himself, as with another
person, “I, myself, possibly am in love. In love! what romance
and folly, and all that! Still the fair lady yonder is
not unworthy of the affection of a soldier, and a man of
intelligence—a good, sensible, fair, wealthy, and very engaging
widow! If that don't satisfy an individual in search of
matrimony, nothing can. I'll have her!—may the devil eat
me whole but I'll have her! On! Injun-hater, on!”
And the Captain dug his spurs into the huge sides of the
snorting animal, and went onward like a moving mountain.
He soon reached Mr. Argal's—dismounted—and entered.
It was a plain and rudely-constructed house, with few comforts
about it, and scarcely discernible at the distance of
fifty yards, so dense was the clump of trees in which it
stood.
The Captain was met on the threshold by Mr. Argal, who
politely welcomed him, and led him into the house, where
dinner was being placed upon the table. The Captain
snuffed up the rich odor of the repast, plain as it was, and
a mild expression diffused itself over his martial countenance.
Dinner must have been invented by the earliest inhabitants
of the globe, Captain Wagner often said, and he
hailed it as one of the greatest discoveries which had ever
adorned science. To say the truth, the soldier had an
equally exalted opinion of the individual, or individuals,
who discovered breakfast, supper, intermediate meals, and
all descriptions of eating.
After satisfying himself that his material wants would be
amply supplied, Captain Wagner looked around him to see
where Falconbridge could be—as to Miss Argal, he never
felt a very great anxiety to see her: for which the honest
Captain probably had a good reason. They were neither
of them visible, but soon made their appearance, the arm of
the young girl resting upon that of her companion, and her
bright eyes turned to him. Falconbridge grasped the hand
of the Captain with hearty pleasure, and declared himself
delighted to see him: to which the Captain replied in the
same tone. Then, after some conversation, the party sat
down to dinner. The Captain ate with great gusto, and
emptied more than one fair cup of wine, or—more accurately
speaking, Jamaica rum. In those days wines were not
much affected, especially upon the border; the mellow rum
of Jamaica was the favorite beverage; and, as we have said,
this was Captain Wagner's chosen drink.
At the termination of the repast, and when all rose and
walked out in the fine October evening, the Captain found
himself in excellent condition for the attack upon Mr.
Argal.
He was speedily left alone with that individual; for Falconbridge
and the young lady accidentally wandered off toward
the prairie, a glimpse of which appeared through a
glade in the woods, toward the south; and the Captain's
eloquence had thus full scope and room to move in, without
fear of interruption.
The difficulty experienced by the very best stenographers
in reporting the utterances of great orators, is proverbial
and undisputed. We find ourselves in this predicament in
relation to the harangue of Captain Wagner on this occasion.
Full of his subject, in a talkative and eloquent mood,
and with an important end to attain, the Captain's oration
was really remarkable. It was also sprinkled with the
newest and most impressive flowers of speech, of that
description which the soldier was accustomed to use in
decorating his utterances—and the originality and beauty
of these newly-coined forms of expression riveted the attention
of his smiling and amused auditor. As to his eulogium
upon the town of Winchester, it was almost sublime in its
eloquence and enthusiasm.
“A magnificent situation!” cried the Captain, pushing
up his moustache; “the pearl of towns, the paragon of
villages! Like Rome and other cities of Asia, which grew
up from small beginnings. Winchester, my dear friend, is
destined to rule the world! But perhaps that is too strong
—I wish to confine myself strictly within the most reasonable
bounds—I will be moderate, and say that Winchester
is destined to be the capital of Virginia! I expect to see
his Excellency, Governor Gooch, take up his residence there,
and leave forever that abominable county town, called
Williamsburg—I expect everything; and nothing is too
good for that noble village! Who knows but his Majesty,
George II., attracted by the wide-spread fame of the place,
may some day set out from London on a visit to Winchester,
and delight the hearts of his faithful subjects of Virginia
with a sight of his royal and divine physiognomy! I
think I see myself his herald and king at arms, riding before
the royal chariot, through Loudoun Street, on Injun-hater,
and crying to the crowd: “Make way, my friends!
his Majesty is coming!' This, sir, is the future of Winchester—and
is anything so splendid to be descried in the
future of Stephensburg—a mere assemblage of huts, and
unworthy of the least attention? You are laughing at me,
my dear friend, and you think I am not impartial. Well,
maybe I'm not—and this is all my jesting. But recollect,
my dear friend, what I say—recollect what Wagner said
when it is fulfilled:—in one year from this time, there'll be
a splendid wagon road from Winchester to the ferry, on the
Potomac, and the town will have its jail, and court-house of
the finest logs!”
Having uttered these words with deep solemnity, Captain
Wagner paused a moment, and revolved the remaining
points of his subject not yet touched upon.
We need not follow the conversation further; it is enough
to say that when Falconbridge and Miss Argal made their
appearance again, Captain Wagner had received from his
companion a promise to vote for Winchester—a matter, he
said, of no importance to him, and rather in accordance with
his previous convictions of what would be most advisable.
“And now, Captain,” said Mr. Argal, “is there any more
intelligence of Indians?”
“You heard the rumors: but that's little. I think, my
dear friend, that we shall hear from the South Branch before
long. Body o' me! you can't trust those rascals,
because you don't see or hear them:—you can't, on that account,
be sure that they're not at your very doors: and this
young lady might have been carried away yonder in a moment,
in spite of the presence of her gallant.”
“Bah! Captain!” said Falconbridge, as he drew near,
smiling, “you can't frighten me.”
“I wouldn't attempt it, comrade. Such men as we are
don't get frightened. But Injuns are Injuns!”
“Well, let them come,” said Falconbridge, laughing; “we
are equal to them in strength.”
“And the women?”
“Ah!”
“And the children?”
“You are right—I forgot them, boy that I am.”
“In case the Injuns show their noses, companion,” replied
the Captain, “I undertake to say that you will not
possibly be able to forget the said women and children.”
“How, Captain?”
“They have a way of squalling—an awful noise it is, or
may the fiend seize me!”
“I couldn't bear that,” said Falconbridge; “I never could
endure the thought that a woman or a child was suffering.
I would close my ears to it, if I could not strike!”
“Well, you may, perhaps, have to close your ears, companion,
before the arrival of the blood-thirsty rascals.”
“What do you mean, Captain?”
“I mean that Mr. Gideon Hastyluck speaks of having old
Powell, up younder, and his daughter, whose name is Cannie
—a sweet child—burned as witches, at the next assizes.”
“Burned?”
“Yes.”
“A man?”—
“And his daughter.”
“You jest, Captain!”
“I'm in dead earnest!”
“For witchcraft?”
“Precisely.”
“Why, it is barbarous!—worse than the bloodiest murder:
a man and his daughter burned for witchcraft!”
“Then you do not believe in witchcraft, comrade, eh?”
“I believe nothing, and disbelieve nothing.”
“Very well,” said the Captain, “that is just my case—
only if that fellow, Hastyluck, makes me angry, I will cut
off both his ears. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
Let us dismiss the subject, and it's in very good time, as I
see the sun setting yonder, and a storm brewing. Comrade,”
he said, turning to Falconbridge, “will you go?”
There was so much sternness and gloom in Captain Wagner's
voice, as he uttered these latter words, that Falconbridge,
for a moment, remained silent, gazing with astonishment
at him. Then his eyes turned suddenly toward the
lady—her hand had pressed his arm, that was all: she was
looking with a smile at the evening sky.
“No, my dear Captain,” he said; “I think I'll prolong
my visit a little. When I am in agreeable company, I am
loth to leave it.”
“Good, good!” said Captain Wagner, indifferently, but
gazing with a wistful look at the open, careless face of Falconbridge,
“I can understand that. But I am not a youngster,
and I really must go.”
He turned his eyes as he spoke toward Miss Argal; and
his rapid glance took in every detail of her figure—her head
bent down—her glossy curls half covering her cheeks—her
rosy lips half parted and moist—her brilliant eyes veiled by
the long and dusky lashes, but raised from time to time toward
her companion: all this Captain Wagner saw, and the
frown grew deeper.
He said nothing, however, and refusing to accept Mr.
Argal's invitation to remain all night, went and mounted his
horse, and set forward.
Falconbridge remained half an hour longer; and then
seeing the storm rapidly rising, also took his departure—
but not so sullenly as Captain Wagner.
He went on, at full gallop, gaily through the darkness
which lightning from time to time illuminated: and his countenance
clearly indicated of whom he was thinking.
The dazzling beauty of the woman whom he had just left,
had intoxicated the young man; and he went on with the
carelessness of a lover, or a madman, without heeding the
lightning or the storm.
A brighter flash than he had yet witnessed, lit up the
road, and he saw a tall, dark horseman before him, who
could be no other than Captain Wagner—and so, upon a
nearer approach, it proved. The Captain had ridden at a
measured pace; Falconbridge had galloped furiously; and
thus they had encountered each other.
