University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
A QUEER ADVENTURE.

The two friends entered Williamsburg at full gallop, and stopped
at the Raleigh Tavern, where they delivered their horses to a
groom, and proceeded on foot to the Governor's palace, an extensive
edifice, in a park ornamented with Scottish lindens, with two
guard-houses flanking the entrance to the grounds. Some men in
uniform were lounging in front of one of these barracks, and St.
Leger inquired if the Governor had returned. The man touched
his hat, and replied, in an English accent, that he had not. Thereupon
the friends went back to the Raleigh, where St. Leger had
taken up his lodgings on his arrival in Virginia, and having ordered
dinner in his private apartment, the young Englishman proceeded
to pack his travelling valise. A servant from Huntsdon was to
take charge of it. These details having been attended to, the
friends sat down to dine.

The host waited upon them, or rather superintended the meal,
in honor of his distinguished guests. He also joined respectfully,
and with deferential cordiality, in the conversation.

“We have not had the pleasure of seeing you again, Mr. Harley,
since your arrival,” said mine host.

Harley replied that he had been upon his estate.

“A very fine one! I have passed your house, sir—knew your
father: he was a very good friend to me. And Colonel Hartright,
another good friend!—have you seen him of late, sir?”

“Not very recently.”

“I think he dropped something on his last visit.”

“Dropped something?”

“A key, sir.”'

And mine host drew from his pocket the small key which had
fallen from Colonel Hartright's waistcoat pocket, as he retired to
rest after his conversation with Harley. The latter took it, and
looked at it.

“This was dropped, you say, by Colonel Hartright?”

“Yes, sir; I am quite sure of it. This room was, as you will remember,
the one which he slept in, and it had not been occupied
for a long time before. The key was found and brought to me, on
the morning after he slept in it, and must be his property.”

“Well, return it, my friend.”

“I should like to do so; but the Colonel never visits the capital.”

“I will take charge of it, if you desire.”

“I would be truly glad, sir,” said mine host, with a bow, delivering
the key to Harley as he spoke.

“I will send it to Colonel Hartright to-morrow.” It was slipped
negligently into the speaker's pocket; the dinner proceeded, and
ended, and the friends mounted their horses amid the smiles of
mine host and the hostler's—golden smiles.

“Forward!” cried St. Leger.

He put spurs to his throughbred. Harley followed, and they
left Williamsburg as they had entered it, on a gallop.

The sun was sinking as they crossed the broad expanse of James
river on the large, unwildy ferry-boat, and sank from sight whilst
they were still some miles from Huntsdon.

“Night will overtake us,” said Harley; “but I think I can lead
you by a more direct road, which will shorten our ride a mile or
two. This is the turn-in.”

He led the way into a narrow road, debouching upon the main
highway; the road mounted a hill, plunged into a tract of forest,
wound up another hill, descended, and conducted them to the
banks of a stream, where a county-bridge had evidently stood, but
was washed away.

Harley stopped, looking rather blank. The stream was swollen,
had heavily-wooded banks, and seemed impassable. St. Leger
burst out laughing.

“See what comes of following a Jack-o'-lantern like you, Harley!
You are a perfect Will-o'-the-wisp, ignis fatuus, and misleader of the
young! I yield myself to your elderly guidance, and we are stopped
by this torrent!”

“Bad enough,” said Harley. “I thought the bridge was standing.
But we shall find a crossing.”

He went along the bank of the stream, looking, as well as the
darkness would permit, for some road or path, and at last discovered
what seemed to be a track used by cattle.

“Here is our crossing,” he said.

He pushed his horse into the stream, which only came to the
saddle; St. Leger followed, and they emerged on the opposite bank,
and followed a path somewhat similar to the one they had first
discovered. It led them deeper and deeper into the woods, wound
on interminably, and at length, the adventurous and unfortunate
travellers awoke to the consciousness that they were completely lost.

“Here's a breeze of good fortune!—a pair of babes in the wood!”
cried St. Leger, in defiance of grammar.

“An abominable blunder in me to leave the high-road,” said
Harley.

“Abominable!” echoed his friend. “You employ too mild a
phrase! It was criminal—a breach of hospitality; a wanton betrayal
of youth and inexperience, confiding in supposed age and
wisdom! I am hungry. You are my host. Where is your boasted
Virginia hospitality?”

“At Huntsdon, where we shall be, I hope, in an hour,” Harley
said, smiling. “I see a light yonder, and shall find from some one
the road we ought to follow.”

“A light! Most joyful of beacons!”

And the gay St. Leger pushed on beside Harley. They emerged
from the woods, crossed a broad field, and soon found themselves
near the friendly light.

The light which had guided them issued from one of those buildings
of hewn logs used in Virginia for smoking tobacco, which is
hung upon poles, stretching across, at the distance of several feet
from the ground, above the fires. This tobacco-house had evidently
been disused, and a glance showed the travellers that a company of
strolling-players—then not unfrequently met with in the colonies—
had taken possession of it for the purpose of giving a rustic representation.
Blazing candles were stuck up around the interior;
a coarse curtain had been suspended across one end by means of
pegs inserted between the logs; and a motley crowd of the plainest
class stood gazing, with wondering eyes, upon the performers.
A dancing dog, and a goat taught to walk upon his hind-legs, mingled
in a free and easy way with the performance; and each new
feat of dog and goat, or jest of actor or actress, was hailed with
bursts of laughter.

“Well,” said St. Leger, “things are growing romantic and interesting!
Strolling-players!—tramps! Hen-roost thieves mingling
petty larceny with the British drama for a living! I am no longer
hungry, my dear Harley: my interest is excited; my curiosity is
aroused; I propose to attend the performance!”

St. Leger dismounted, tied his bridle to a tree, and went to the
door, followed by Harley. They entered unperceived—the door-keeper
having become the chief performer, in view, probably, of
the fact that no other spectators were likely to arrive.

St. Leger had entered, and Harley was on the threshold, with the
full light of the blazing candles thrown upon him, when the woman
who personated the main female character of the piece turned
round, fixed her eyes upon him, stopped, turned white under her
rouge, her eyes flashed in the pale face, as she stood perfectly motionless,
gazing at him.

Harley was nearly as pale. An expression of the utmost wonder
had come to his face, and he looked fixedly at the woman. She
seemed unable to sustain the look; her breath grew short, and, turning
round, she said something to the manager, who rather sullenly
ordered the curtain to be dropped. It fell quickly, and the sullen
individual appeared in front of it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I am sorry to state that the
queen of the drama is taken suddenly unwell; the performance cannot
continue. Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor to bid you
farewell!”

Having made this superb announcement, the manager disappeared
amid hostile murmurs, during which Harley and St. Leger mounted
their horses. A rustic individual, of whom they made inquiries,
directed them on their way, and they were soon in a road with
which Harley was acquainted, leading to Huntsdon, which they
reached about nine o'clock.

As they entered, St. Leger looked fixedly at Harley.

“What is the matter?” he said.

“The matter?”

“You are as pale as ashes, Harley.”

“Well,” said Harley, speaking in a tone of great agitation, “I
ought to be. I have seen a ghost!”

“A ghost!”

“I am merely jesting; but no, I am not jesting in the least.
I repeat, friend, that I have seen to-night, yonder in that miserable
assemblage of tramps, a human being who I thought died many
years ago. The explanation of all this would be strange; perhaps
I may tell you everything some day, but not to-night. I am moved,
more so than I show, plainly as you must see my agitation. Yes,
you shall know everything—all about me and my past life. I hate
this mystery! But not to-night! I am quite unnerved!”