University of Virginia Library

31. CHAPTER XXXI.
HOW THE PARSON CURSED THE CAPTAIN BOTH IN LATIN AND
FRENCH.

Captain Ralph Waters was one of those men who have too
high a regard for themselves, not to keep their word in the
amplest and most perfect manner. Having promised Lanky
to arrange his matrimonial affairs if possible, he mounted
Selim on the morning after the visit of the strange man in
the red cloak, and set out for Williamsburg, viâ the Old
Field School.

It was one of those days in May which drive away, by
simple force of their own brightness, every care and annoyance.
The sky was blue; the streams ran merrily, sparkling
in the sun; the woodland rustled gayly in the warm
spring breeze; and far up in the clouds the lark made himself
an invisible song, which filled the air with music.

All nature seemed to be laughing and singing—not the
streams, and skies, and birds alone—the very flowers which
gemmed the glades and sunny hillocks, turned smiling faces
to the merry sun, and plainly knew that May—the month of
flowers—had come.

The soldier was not behindhand; his mood did not clash
with the joyous season. Naturally, life was bright and joyous
to him, with his strong, hearty senses, that drank in
brilliant colors rapturously, and took delight in pleasant
odors, and felt the world was happier for the singing birds.
And not to neglect his own duty, he added his own joyous
“tirra-lirra!” to the concert; in so loud and hearty a voice,
that the oriole who was shaking his trills down on the blue
air from a lofty pine, paused with a pleased surprise, and
listened.

Thus the Captain drew near the school-house and slowly
approached the door.

“Ah! not a palace of education like the European
Academies,” he said, “and even not quite equal to `William
and Mary' in the town yonder. But morbleu! 'tis not on
that account to be despised. It seems to me that there is
a large amount of excellent information to be acquired in
these log houses, even though the source of the stream be
muddy as it is here. I have a notion that the Colony of
Virginia will some day turn out a number of distinguished
men,—at least it is probable; and then the Old Field School
will be rendered honorable, as the forest lyceum where the
young patriots drank in their first ideas. A man gets a
better knowledge of life in these places, ma foi! with the birds
singing, the trees rustling, the sun dancing along them:—
they look free! In the old world all is battered up between
hot brick walls, in crowded thoroughfares. The only misfortune
is that I got neither one or the other.”

And as if in defiance of the agency of fate in this particular,
Captain Ralph began singing lustily his song again,
and ended with a loud “tra la! tra la!” that shook the
forest.

This song attracted to the open window of the school-house
a number of faces, among the rest that of Miss Donsy
Smith. Without dismounting the Captain approached and
touched his hat gallantly.

“Ah, Miss Donsy! delighted to see you,” he said, “do
you know me?”

“Yes, sir,” said Donsy, blushing, for the Captain's laughing
eye very plainly said, “I know all.”

“Well, Miss Donsy,” said the soldier, lowering his voice
as he leaned down to Donsy, who bent her head through the
window, “Lanky has been making a clean breast of it!”

And he laughed. Donsy blushed crimson and was silent.

“'Tis a bon garçon,” continued the Captain, restraining
his hilarity, “and he will make an excellent husband. I
have promised him to go and see your respected father,
mam'selle, and I thought I would call by and gather
strength for the attack from your bright eyes. Ah! I think
Lanky is very fortunate, parbleu!”

“Oh, sir!” said Donsy, with tears in her eyes, “he is so
good you know—I am not good enough for him.”

The Captain admired the fresh, sincere face, the earnest
voice, and said, laughing:

“Diable! I think then that all is arranged, if you have
such a mutual liking. As for Lanky, he is dying for you,
Mam'selle Donsy; and I really begin to think that I should
acquiesce in the old saying, `love conquers all things,' and
leave you and Lanky to fight it out, morbleu!”

And the Captain again burst into laughter. Donsy only
blushed more deeply still, and gave him a look which said
“Please see my father and ask him to consent; I never
could speak of it to him.”

“Well, well,” said the Captain, twirling his moustache, “I
will go on then in my course and do my best: but really I
think the shortest way will be to whisk you through this
window, carry you off to my robber strong-hold, capture the
parson, your pedagogue, and force him to tie the nuptial
knot at a word. How would the venerable man look, think
you, seated behind me, jolted up and down as I galloped?
Faith! he would make a picture!”

And, enamored of his own fancy, Captain Waters burst
into a roar of laughter.

“Who are you talking with there, Donsy Smith!” cried a
pompous and severe voice suddenly from the interior.

The Captain put his head through the window.

“With me, parbleu!” he said.

The parson, who was seated in state upon his rostrum,
hearing a class recite and occasionally ferruling the delinquents,
started back as the martial head, with its long black
moustache, sparkling eyes and brilliant smile, appeared. Behind
this warlike visage, surmounted by its Flanders hat
with its dark feather, was seen the fine spirited head and
flowing mane of the Arabian. The appearance of this vision
nearly took the parson's breath away, and he murmured:

“Vade retro sathanas!”

“Ah, your reverence!—bon jour!” cried the Captain
laughing.

“Good day, sir,” muttered the unwilling parson.

“I trust your reverence is well to-day; charming weather—and
a charming sight to see you sitting there teaching
the young idea, instead of, as you formerly were in the habit
of doing, following the tuck of the drum, behind some warlike
captain.”

“Anathema!” observed the parson, who, afraid to
vituperate in English, selected the Latin language for that
purpose.

“Ah?” inquired the Captain politely.

“Nothing, sir.”

“I am going to town, your eminence, any commands?”

“No, sir.”

“I trust your reverence has not had an indigestion; you
look badly—sour, if I may say so.”

“I am reasonably well, sir.”

“Delighted to hear it; you would be a loss to the parish.”

And the Captain turned again to Donsy, whose fresh face
was not many inches from his own.

“Well,” he said, “I am going.”

“Thank'ee, sir,” murmured Donsy.

“I will do my best, morbleu!”

“I am sure you will,” said Donsy, in the same low,
grateful voice.

“I have promised Lanky the cottage we live in.”

“Oh, sir!” said Donsy, looking at the soldier gratefully,
“you are very kind.”

“Not in the least.”

“Indeed you are, sir.”

“No—I expect to be paid.”

“Paid, sir?”

“Do you think I intend to neglect my business to go
gadding for you and Lanky, ma'mselle, to say nothing of
giving up my mansion to you, without any reward?”

“Your reward, sir?” murmured Donsy.

“Yes: do you refuse it?”

“What can it be, sir?”

“Answer—do you refuse?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well, then, I will exact payment in advance!”
said the Captain, with his joyous and loud laughter.

And bending down he brushed the girl's cheek with his
huge moustache, which caused that portion of Donsy's face to
turn the color of her lips—which were crimson.

The parson saw all, and rose up, brandishing his ferrule
and muttering an unmistakable “Sacre!”

“Take care, your eminence, I understand French!” cried
the Captain, “objurgate me in Latin, not in the Français!”

And before the parson could reply, the head exchanged
a confidential look with Donsy, and disappeared. In five
minutes the forest again resounded with the “tirra lirra!”
which slowly died away in the direction of the town of
Williamsburg.