1. I.
THREE CAVALIERS.
ON an evening of October, in the year 1748, the
slopes of the Blue Ridge at Ashby's Gap were all
ablaze with the red light of the sinking sun.
At this hour of hours, in the month of months,
two horsemen coming from the east, ascended the steep
road above the present village of Paris, and ere long reached
the summit of the mountain.
What they saw before them, looking westward from that
point, was worthy of attention from the most indifferent.
Through the foliage-embowered walls of the mountain pass,
the eye embraced a wondrous spectacle.
Southward, the ramparts of the great Blue Ridge rolled
away like waves of the ocean, disappearing in a delicate
mist. Beyond the Shenandoah stretched a limitless prairie,
starred with brilliant flowers, which the fall winds gently
agitated, making the expanse resemble a vast lake, whose
waves were of every color of the rainbow. In the dim distance,
on the far horizon, rose the azure battlements of the
Great North Mountain: and in front, the Massinutton
soared aloft—its huge blue outline standing out, clear cut,
against the crimson curtain of the sunset.
Never did artist, in his dreams of supernal glory, imagine
anything more lovely than this landscape. The richest colors
seemed exhausted to make up the picture. Forest and
prairie, river and mountain, shone in blue and gold and
crimson:—the rosy mist of autumn drooped above the landscape
like a dream:—the enchanting Valley of the Shenandoah
lay before the eyes of the travellers like some land of
Faëry or bright realm of Arcady.
One was young, the other had reached middle age. Let
us draw their outlines with a few strokes of the pen. The
first was a boy of sixteen: tall, straight, and full of life.
His hair was brown and curling, his complexion ruddy, his
lips smiling. He wore a jaunty little cocked hat; elegant
top boots; kneebreeches of buckskin; a broadskirted coat,
and white ruffles; in his hand he carried a small rifle, and
behind his saddle were strapped the instruments of a surveyor.
The laughing boy rode a handsome little sorrel, and
his smile, his carriage, his gestures, all indicated youth and
joy and hope.
His companion was no longer young, and a grim smile lit
up the bold features, vividly contrasting with the enthusiasm
of the boy. The worthy was tall of stature, huge of limb, a
gigantic war machine, armed to the teeth and ready for combat.
Under the drooping hat flashed a pair of dark eyes beneath
shaggy brows; the sarcastic lips were hidden by a heavy
black moustache which swept down into the huge beard;
and behind this moustache shone a row of sharp white teeth
which resembled those of a bear rather than a man. His
dress was rough, travel-stained, and chiefly of leather; from
his well-worn belt depended an enormous broadsword, which
clattered against his heavy boots—and the warlike personage
bestrode a charger, mighty of limb, and as rough and
powerful in appearance as himself.
The two figures remained for a moment stationary, gazing
at the landscape; then the elder touched his horse, and
moved on.
“Come, my young friend,” he said, in a species of growl,
“the sun's getting low yonder, and we had better push on
and cross the Shenandoah before dark.”
“Yes, yes, Captain,” returned the boy, “but I could look
at this scene forever—see the beautiful colors of the leaves,
and hear the wind in the pines!'
He who had been thus addressed, smiled grimly.
“Listen to him!” he growled: “sentiment in the backwood,
i'faith! Keep it for the ladies, Master George!—it's
thrown away on Captain Julius Wagner, otherwise called
Captain Bloody Longknife, or the Devil take me!”
“Pshaw, Captain!” laughed the boy, “that is all affectation.
You are known to be romantic—to be a favorite with
the ladies! As well deny that you are the prince of frontier-fighters.”
A grim smile curled the huge moustache, and with his finger
the worthy pushed up that appendage until it stood out
almost horizontal.
“My young friend,” was the sarcastic reply, “you are flattering.
I reply to your pleasing observation by saying that
my fortune, both as an admirer of the fair sex, and a defender
of the border, has been truly disgusting—more especially
the latter. Glorious! the life of a soldier! Humph! to
wear your life out fighting, and then die, some day, in an
unremembered skirmish!—to have an end put to you by a
stray bullet from the rifle of a rascally Injun;—to be huddled
into a hole to everybody's satisfaction, who will get promotion
by your death!—there's fame, there's glory, there's
good fortune!”
And the Captain's lip curled elaborately.
“But you have done your duty!” said the ardent boy;
“that at least remains. And are you not Captain Wagner,
the Valiant?”
“Oh yes! Captain Wagner the Valiant, without a clean
shirt! Captain Wagner the Valiant, in leather breeches!
Captain Wagner the Valiant, in an old seedy buff coat, and
boots with holes, and rusty old spurs, that jingle, by my
faith, like the armor of Mars, that Egyptian hero I have
heard of! Yes, that's all Captain Wagner is fit for—seedy
coat, boots in holes, rusty spurs, and fighting Injuns!
Worse even than that! I am becoming a mere courier, a
travelling horse, a miserable hack—I would be a dandy!”
“A dandy!” laughed George.
“Yes, young one, a dandy, like what I have seen yonder at
Belhaven, i'faith! A nicely curled fop, with silk gloves, a jewelled
snuff-box, and a sweet little simper in my voice—then
I'd please the fair sex. Oh that Wagner was a dandy—
Wagner the savage! Oh that the shaggy old bear, with his
growling voice, and long sharp teeth, could be changed into
a kitten, sleek and glossy, to gently pur-r-r-r-r!—and be
taken up into the female lap, and smoothed down the back,
and made a pet of!”
George replied with a laugh much gayer than before.
“I really believe you have had bad luck lately, Captain!
Is it possible that”——
“All things are possible in this miserable world, my young
friend; but I decline any statement upon this interesting
topic.”
“Oh, now I remember! I heard that the handsome Mrs.
Butterton”——
“Don't call names, George, my friend, and let us change
the subject. I am getting hungry, or the Devil take me;
and yonder I see the Shenandoah between us and supper.
The water's up and booming or I'll eat my head!”
And pushing on they approached the river, which roared
on angrily beneath the huge white-armed sycamores, growing
on the steep bank, and extending their boughs above
the current.
All at once, as George and his companion reached the
bank, their attention was attracted by a white object in the
middle of the stream, which the fading light illumined—and
this object was seen to be the head of a horse, above which
rose a pair of shoulders, and a hat decorated with a black
feather.
“A good swimmer,” muttered Wagner; “who the devil
can he be?—but we'll soon see. Come, Injun-hater, take to
water!”
And spurring his black charger into the angry current,
Captain Wagner began to swim with the phlegm of an old
traveller—George following in his wake upon his little sorrel.
The snorting animals ploughed their way through the
rapid current; placed their feet upon the opposite bank;
and with vigorous bounds reached dry land again. The
rider of the white horse had already emerged from the
stream, and was awaiting them.
He was a young man of twenty-three or four, erect, slender,
and what is called “aristocratic” in face, bearing, and
expression. The frank and smiling countenance was lit up
by a species of joyous pride—that sunshine beaming in the
sky of youth—and it was plain from the young man's
dress, as from the carriage of his person, that he belonged
to the class then known as “the Gentry.” His brown coat
was heavily embroidered; his delicate ruffles as white as
snow, and his fair top boots, defining the small and slender
feet, of the finest leather. At his side, he wore a handsome
sword in a black leather belt; behind the saddle was his
valise, of the same material, and his hands were cased in
yellow gauntlets, reaching nearly to the elbow. One of
those hands now reined in, with careless grace, the spirited
thoroughbred, dripping from the stream; with the other he
made a salute full of friendly courtesy to Captain Wagner
and George.
“Give you good day, gentlemen,” he said, in a clear and
sonorous voice. “As we are travelling in the same direction,
perhaps you can direct me on my way. Where are we at
this moment?”
“I'll tell you in a few words, my friend,” returned Wagner.
“You are now in the Great Valley of Virginia, otherwise,
the Shenandoah Valley, not a long way from that
assemblage of huts called Winchester; what is better, considering
supper, you are near Greenway Court, the residence
of Thomas Lord Fairfax, baron of Cameron, and so forth
and so forth—a friend of mine, who will not let you go further
to-night, comrade.”
“Good! I came to see his lordship.”
“Well, you have only to follow us. My name is Wagner,
and my young friend is called Mr. George.”
The stranger saluted with a motion full of grace and
frankness.
“You are by no means a stranger to me, Captain,” he
replied, “and I am truly glad to make your acquaintance—
also yours, Mr. George. My own name is Falconbridge—
very much at your service.”
“Good, good!” said the Captain, twirling his moustache.
“I like these little complimentary speeches: they sweeten
this miserable life! Well, comrade—and observe, I must
decidedly have taken a fancy to you, as I call you `comrade'
all the time—a few miles from here is the white
post his lordship has stuck up to direct travellers to Greenway.
I never see that post but the long arms seem to
stretch out toward me, and a voice says, `Come on, Wagner,
supper is smoking!' ”
With these words, the worthy put spur to his horse, and
set forward, his companions following and conversing. In
fifteen minutes, George had completely fallen in love with
the young man, whose smiles and accents, full of winning
simplicity, won his heart. From that moment to the end of
the drama, these two hearts were to beat in unison.
Captain Wagner was meanwhile pushing on, through the
tall grass of the prairie, over which stretched a narrow
road, his mind absorbed in deep reflection on the subject
of supper. The last rays of sunset streaming over the great,
flowery expanse, failed to attract his attention; he moved
on steadily; then a grunt was heard from the worthy, and
his finger pointed to a white post, glimmering in the twi
light.
From this, a good road led to Greenway Court, scarce a
mile away. They followed the road; a clump of oaks rose
all at once before them, and a long, low mansion, in front of
which some locusts grew. The travellers had reached
Greenway Court, the residence of Lord Fairfax.
