The Lost Hunter. John Turvill Adams
such a character were the thoughts that darted through the mind of the Pequot when frightened from his purpose, and in less time than it has taken to record them, as with drooping head he pursued his lonely way. Even what he considered the interposition of a supernatural power, had not shaken the determination of his spirit. The desire for revenge had been too long cherished to be given up at a single warning, however awful, or however strongly appealing to the deepest implanted superstitions.
CHAPTER VII.
"Arma, virumque cano qui Primus."
VIRGIL
The season had now advanced to within a few days of that joyous period of the year, when the Governors of the several New England States are wont to call the people to a public acknowledgment of the favors of Divine Providence. At the time of which we write, their Excellencies required the citizens to be thankful "according to law," and "all servile labor and vain recreation," on said day, were "by law forbidden," and not, as at present, invited them to assemble in their respective churches, to unite in an expression of gratitude to their Heavenly Benefactor. Whether the change from a command to an invitation, or permission to engage in the sports which were before forbidden, has been attended with any evil consequences, we leave to the individual judgment of our readers to determine. But whether commanded or invited, the people always welcomed the season of festivity with preaching and praying, and an indiscriminate slaughter of all the fat turkeys and chickens on which they could lay their hands.
The yellow and crimson maple leaf had faded on the trees into more sombre colors, or, falling to the ground, been whirled by the wind among heaps of other leaves, where its splendor no more attracted attention. Of the gaiety of autumn, only the red bunches of the sumach were left as a parting present to welcome winter in. The querulous note of the quail had long been heard calling to his truant mate, and reproaching her for wandering from his jealous side; the robins had either sought a milder climate or were collected in the savin-bushes, in whose evergreen branches they found shelter, and on whose berries they love to feed; and little schoolboys were prowling about, busy collecting barrels for Thanksgiving bonfires.
It was a beautiful clear morning in Thanksgiving-week, when a side gate, that admitted to the yard or inclosure in front of Mr. Armstrong's house, opened, and a negro, with a round good-natured face, and rather foppishly dressed, stepped out upon the walk. But, before paying our respects to Mr. Felix Qui, it may not be altogether amiss to give some description of the house of Mr. Armstrong, as representing the better class of dwelling-houses in our villages, at the time.
It was a large, two-story wood building, painted white, with green blinds, and consisted of a main body nearly fifty feet square, in which, were the apartments for the family, and of an L, as it was called, from the shape it gave the building, running back, and devoted to the kitchen and sleeping chambers of the servants. The height of the stories in this L was somewhat less than in the front part of the house, indicating thereby, perhaps, the more humble relation in which it stood to the latter. Three large chimneys rose above the roof, two from the principal building and one from the kitchen. A wide hall in the centre, swept through the whole length without interference from the rear building, which might be considered as a continuation of somewhat less than one-half of the part in front. The wood-house stood on the same side as the kitchen, some twenty feet distant; and still further back, a large barn, also of wood, and painted a light lead color, with the exception of the cornice and trimmings about the doors and windows, which were white. The house itself stood some fifty feet back from the high road, and was surrounded by enormous elms, those glories of the cultivated American landscape, some measuring four and five feet in diameter, and throwing their gracefully drooping branches far and high over the roof, to which, in the heat of summer, they furnished an acceptable shade. The prospect in front, and looking between two rows of maples that lined the road, comprehended the Yaupáae, expanded into a lake, green fields and apple orchards running down to the water's edge, and hills, clothed to the top with verdure, rolling away like gigantic waves into the distance. Behind the house was a garden and orchard of, perhaps, two acres, terminating in a small evergreen wood of hemlocks and savins, interspersed with a few noble oaks. Mr. Armstrong had laid out several winding paths through this little wood, and placed here and there a rustic seat; and the taste of his daughter had embellished it with a few flowers. Here Faith had taught the moss pink to throw its millions of starry blossoms in early spring over the moist ground, after the modest trailing arbutus, from its retreat beneath the hemlocks, had exhausted its sweet breath; here, later in the season, the wild columbine wondered at the neighborhood of the damask rose; here, in the warm days of summer, or in the delicious moonlight evenings, she loved to wander, either alone or with her father, in its cool paths.
Still more beautiful than the prospect from the front door, were the views from this charming spot. Rising to a considerable elevation above the river to which it descended with a rapid slope, it commanded not only the former view to the south, though more extended, but also one to the northwest. Beneath, at a depression of eighty feet, lay the lake-like river with its green islets dotting the surface, while, at a short distance, the Fall of the Yaupáae precipitated itself over a rocky declivity, mingling, in the genial season of the year, a noble bass with the songs of birds and the sighing of the wind, and adding to and deepening in the rougher months, the roar of the tempest. A small stream diverted from the river, turned the wheel of a moss-grown grist-mill, which was nestled under large willows at the foot of the rocks, and conveyed the idea of the presence of man, without detracting from the wild beauty of the scenery.
Now, alas, how is all changed! Heu! quantum mutatus ab illo Hectore! The grist-mill has disappeared! A row of willows which skirted the road that winding by the margin of the cove, led to it, has been cut down; and huge brick and stone factories of paper and cotton goods, gloomy and stern-like evil genii, brood over the scene, and all through the day and into the night, with grinding cylinders, and buzzing spindles and rattling looms, strive to drown, with harsh discords, the music of the waterfall. One of the little islands has been joined to the main land with gravel carted into the river, and a bleach-house or some other abomination erected upon it. The place is disenchanted. The sad Genius of Romance who once loved to stretch his limbs upon the mossy rocks, and catch inspiration from watching the foam and listening to the roar, has departed with a shriek, never to return.
Felix, when he found himself outside of the gate, gazed up and down the street, as if uncertain in which direction to proceed. After a momentary hesitation, and drawing a pair of gloves over his hands, he seemed to have made up his mind, and at a lounging pace, directed his course up, that is towards the north. He had not gone far when he saw coming towards him a person of his own color, who until then had been hid by a turn in the road. No one else was in sight, the spot being the piece of table-land mentioned in a previous chapter, about a half mile from the thickly settled part of the town, which was at the bottom of the hill near the confluence of the rivers. Here were no shops or public buildings, but only private residences from thirty to fifty rods apart, and inhabited by a few families a little wealthier, perhaps, for the most part, than the others.
It was a man, still hale and hearty, though what his age was it might be difficult to say. He might have been sixty or even seventy. The African race does not betray the secret of age as readily as the white. Probably the man did not know himself, nor is it of importance. He moved with a jerk, and upon a nearer approach it appeared that the lower part of one of his legs was made of wood. He must have been, however, long accustomed to it, for as he moved rather sedately along, it seemed to occasion him but little inconvenience. When sufficiently near, Felix, touching his cap with great politeness, bade him good morning, by the title of General. But who our new acquaintance is, we may as well tell here as anywhere else.
The old negro, then approaching, was one of those, the number of whom, although small compared with that of the white troops engaged in the war of the Revolution, was still considerable enough not to be entirely overlooked. His name was Primus Ransome, and at an early period he had enlisted into the army, and served until disabled by the loss of a leg, when he found himself in rags, with an excellent character for bravery and general good conduct,