CHAPTER 5

“Nathaniel’s coat, sir, was not fully made,
And Gabriel’s pumps were all unpink’d i’ th' heel;
There was no link to color Peter’s hat,
And Walter’s dagger was not come from sheathing;
There were none fine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory.”—Shakespeare.

After winding along the side of the mountain, the road, on reaching
the gentle declivity which lay at the base of the hill, turned at a
right angle to its former course, and shot down an inclined plane,
directly into the village of Templeton.  The rapid little stream that
we have already mentioned was crossed by a bridge of hewn timber,
which manifested, by its rude construction and the unnecessary size of
its framework, both the value of Labor and the abundance of materials.
This little torrent, whose dark waters gushed over the limestones that
lined its bottom, was nothing less than one of the many sources of the
Susquehanna; a river to which the Atlantic herself has extended an arm
in welcome.  It was at this point that the powerful team of Mr. Jones
brought him up to the more sober steeds of our travellers.  A small
hill was risen, and Elizabeth found herself at once amidst the
incongruous dwellings of the village.  The street was of the ordinary
width, notwithstanding the eye might embrace, in one view, thousands
and tens of thousands of acres, that were yet tenanted only by the
beasts of the forest.  But such had been the will of her father, and
such had also met the wishes of his followers.  To them the road that
made the most rapid approaches to the condition of the old, or, as
they expressed it, the down countries, was the most pleasant; and
surely nothing could look more like civilization than a city, even if
it lay in a wilderness! The width of the street, for so it was called,
might have been one hundred feet; but the track for the sleighs was
much more limited.  On either side of the highway were piled huge
heaps of logs, that were daily increasing rather than diminishing in
size, notwithstanding the enormous fires that might be seen through
every window.

The last object at which Elizabeth gazed when they renewed their
journey, after their encountre with Richard, was the sun, as it
expanded in the refraction of the horizon, and over whose disk the
dark umbrage of a pine was stealing, while it slowly sank behind the
western hills.  But his setting rays darted along the openings of the
mountain he was on, and lighted the shining covering of the birches,
until their smooth and glossy coats nearly rivalled the mountain sides
in color.  The outline of each dark pine was delineated far in the
depths of the forest, and the rocks, too smooth and too perpendicular
to retain the snow that had fallen, brightened, as if smiling at the
leave-taking of the luminary.  But at each step as they descended,
Elizabeth observed that they were leaving the day behind them.  Even
the heartless but bright rays of a December sun were missed as they
glided into the cold gloom of the valley.  Along the summits of the
mountains in the eastern range, it is true, the light still lingered,
receding step by step from the earth into the clouds that were
gathering with the evening mist, about the limited horizon, but the
frozen lake lay without a shadow on its bosom; the dwellings were
becoming already gloomy and indistinct, and the wood-cutters were
shouldering their axes and preparing to enjoy, throughout the long
evening before them, the comforts of those exhilarating fires that
their labor had been supplying with fuel.  They paused only to gaze at
the passing sleighs, to lift their caps to Marmaduke, to exchange
familiar nods with Richard, and each disappeared in his dwelling.  The
paper curtains dropped behind our travellers in every window, shutting
from the air even the firelight of the cheerful apartments, and when
the horses of her father turned with a rapid whirl into the open gate
of the mansion-house, and nothing stood before her but the cold dreary
stone walls of the building, as she approached them through an avenue
of young and leafless poplars, Elizabeth felt as if all the loveliness
of the mountain-view had vanished like the fancies of a dream.
Marmaduke retained so much of his early habits as to reject the use of
bells, but the equipage of Mr. Jones came dashing through the gate
after them, sending its jingling sounds through every cranny of the
building, and in a moment the dwelling was in an uproar.

On a stone platform, of rather small proportions, considering the size
of the building, Richard and Hiram had, conjointly, reared four little
columns of wood, which in their turn supported the shingled roofs of
the portico— this was the name that Mr. Jones had thought proper to
give to a very plain, covered entrance.  The ascent to the platform
was by five or six stone steps, somewhat hastily laid together, and
which the frost had already begun to move from their symmetrical
positions, But the evils of a cold climate and a superficial
construction did not end here.  As the steps lowered the platform
necessarily fell also, and the foundations actually left the super
structure suspended in the air, leaving an open space of a foot
between the base of the pillars and the stones on which they had
originally been placed.  It was lucky for the whole fabric that the
carpenter, who did the manual part of the labor, had fastened the
canopy of this classic entrance so firmly to the side of the house
that, when the base deserted the superstructure in the manner we have
described, and the pillars, for the want of a foundation, were no
longer of service to support the roof, the roof was able to uphold the
pillars.  Here was, indeed, an unfortunate gap left in the ornamental
part of Richard’s column; but, like the window in Aladdin’s palace, it
seemed only left in order to prove the fertility of its master’s
resources.  The composite order again offered its advantages, and a
second edition of the base was given, as the booksellers say, with
additions and improvements.  It was necessarily larger, and it was
properly ornamented with mouldings; still the steps continued to
yield, and, at the moment when Elizabeth returned to her father’s
door, a few rough wedges were driven under the pillars to keep them
steady, and to prevent their weight from separating them from the
pediment which they ought to have supported.

From the great door which opened into the porch emerged two or three
female domestics, and one male.  The latter was bareheaded, but
evidently more dressed than usual, and on the whole was of so singular
a formation and attire as to deserve a more minute description.  He
was about five feet in height, of a square and athletic frame, with a
pair of shoulders that would have fitted a grenadier.  His low stature
was rendered the more striking by a bend forward that he was in the
habit of assuming, for no apparent reason, unless it might be to give
greater freedom to his arms, in a particularly sweeping swing, that
they constantly practised when their master was in motion.  His face
was long, of a fair complexion, burnt to a fiery red; with a snub
nose, cocked into an inveterate pug; a mouth of enormous dimensions,
filled with fine teeth; and a pair of blue eyes, that seemed to look
about them on surrounding objects with habitual contempt.  His head
composed full one-fourth of his whole length, and the cue that
depended from its rear occupied another.  He wore a coat of very light
drab cloth, with buttons as large as dollars, bearing the impression
of a “foul anchor.” The skirts were extremely long, reaching quite to
the calf, and were broad in proportion.  Beneath, there were a vest
and breeches of red plush, somewhat worn and soiled.  He had shoes
with large buckles, and stockings of blue and white stripes.

This odd-looking figure reported himself to be a native of the county
of Cornwall, in the island of Great Britain.  His boyhood had passed
in the neighborhood of the tin mines, and his youth as the cabin-boy
of a smuggler, between Falmouth and Guernsey.  From this trade he had
been impressed into the service of his king, and, for the want of a
better, had been taken into the cabin, first as a servant, and finally
as steward to the captain.  Here he acquired the art of making
chowder, lobster, and one or two other sea-dishes, and, as he was fond
of saying, had an opportunity of seeing the world.  With the exception
of one or two outports in France, and an occasional visit to
Portsmouth, Plymouth, and Deal, he had in reality seen no more of
mankind, however, than if he had been riding a donkey in one of his
native mines.  But, being discharged from the navy at the peace of
‘83, he declared that, as he had seen all the civilized parts of the
earth, he was inclined to make a trip to the wilds of America We will
not trace him in his brief wanderings, under the influence of that
spirit of emigration that some times induces a dapper Cockney to quit
his home, and lands him, before the sound of Bow-bells is out of his
ears, within the roar of the cataract of Niagara; but shall only add
that at a very early day, even before Elizabeth had been sent to
school, he had found his way into the family of Marmaduke Temple,
where, owing to a combination of qualities that will be developed in
the course of the tale, he held, under Mr. Jones, the office of major-
domo.  The name of this worthy was Benjamin Penguillan, according to
his own pronunciation; but, owing to a marvellous tale that he was in
the habit of relating, concerning the length of time he had to labor
to keep his ship from sinking after Rodney’s victory, he had
universally acquired the nick name of Ben Pump.

By the side of Benjamin, and pressing forward as if a little jealous
of her station, stood a middle-aged woman, dressed in calico, rather
violently contrasted in color with a tall, meagre, shapeless figure,
sharp features, and a somewhat acute expression of her physiognomy.
Her teeth were mostly gone, and what did remain were of a tight
yellow.  The skin of her nose was drawn tightly over the member, to
hang in large wrinkles in her cheeks and about her mouth.  She took
snuff in such quantities as to create the impression that she owed the
saffron of her lips and the adjacent parts to this circumstance; but
it was the unvarying color of her whole face.  She presided over the
female part of the domestic arrangements, in the capacity of
housekeeper; was a spinster, and bore the name of Remarkable
Pettibone.  To Elizabeth she was an entire stranger, having been
introduced into the family since the death of her mother.

In addition to these, were three or four subordinate menials, mostly
black, some appearing at the principal door, and some running from the
end of the building, where stood the entrance to the cellar-kitchen.

Besides these, there was a general rush from Richard’s kennel,
accompanied with every canine tone from the howl of the wolf-dog to
the petulant bark of the terrier.  The master received their
boisterous salutations with a variety of imitations from his own
throat, when the dogs, probably from shame of being outdone, ceased
their out- cry.  One stately, powerful mastiff, who wore round his
neck a brass collar, with “M. T.” engraved in large letters on the
rim, alone was silent.  He walked majestically, amid the confusion, to
the side of the Judge, where, receiving a kind pat or two, he turned
to Elizabeth, who even stooped to kiss him, as she called him kindly
by the name of “Old Brave.” The animal seemed to know her, as she
ascended the steps, supported by Monsieur Le Quoi and her father, in
order to protect her from falling on the ice with which they were
covered.  He looked wistfully after her figure, and when the door
closed on the whole party, he laid himself in a kennel that was placed
nigh by, as if conscious that the house contained some thing of
additional value to guard.

Elizabeth followed her father, who paused a moment to whisper a
message to one of his domestics, into a large hall, that was dimly
lighted by two candies, placed in high, old-fashioned, brass
candlesticks.  The door closed, and the party were at once removed
from an atmosphere that was nearly at zero, to one of sixty degrees
above.  In the centre of the hall stood an enormous stove, the sides
of which appeared to be quivering with heat; from which a large,
straight pipe, leading through the ceiling above, carried off the
smoke.  An iron basin, containing water, was placed on this furnace,
for such only it could be called, in order to preserve a proper
humidity in the apartment.  The room was carpeted, and furnished with
convenient, substantial furniture, some of which was brought from the
city, the remainder having been manufactured by the mechanics of
Templeton.  There was a sideboard of mahogany, inlaid with ivory, and
bearing enormous handles of glittering brass, and groaning under the
piles of silver plate.  Near it stood a set of prodigious tables, made
of the wild cherry, to imitate the imported wood of the sideboard, but
plain and without ornament of any kind.  Opposite to these stood a
smaller table, formed from a lighter-colored wood, through the grains
of which the wavy lines of the curled maple of the mountains were
beautifully undulating.  Near to this, in a corner, stood a heavy,
old-fashioned, brass-faced clock, incased in a high box, of the dark
hue of the black walnut from the seashore.  An enormous settee, or
sofa, covered with light chintz, stretched along the walls for nearly
twenty feet on one side of the hail; and chairs of wood, painted a
light yellow, with black lines that were drawn by no very steady hand,
were ranged opposite, and in the intervals between the other pieces of
furniture.  A Fahrenheit's thermometer in a mahogany case, and with a
barometer annexed, was hung against the wall, at some little distance
from the stove, which Benjamin consulted, every half hour, with
prodigious exactitude.  Two small glass chandeliers were suspended at
equal distances between the stove and outer doors, one of which opened
at each end of the hall, and gilt lustres were affixed to the frame
work of the numerous side-doors that led from the apartment.  Some
little display in architecture had been made in constructing these
frames and casings, which were surmounted with pediments, that bore
each a little pedestal in its centre; on these pedestals were small
busts in blacked plaster-of-Paris.  The style of the pedestals as well
as the selection of the busts were all due to the taste of Mr. Jones.
On one stood Homer, a most striking likeness, Richard affirmed, “as
any one might see, for it was blind,” Another bore the image of a
smooth-visaged gentleman with a pointed beard, whom he called
Shakespeare.  A third ornament was an urn, which; from its shape,
Richard was accustomed to say, intended to represent itself as holding
the ashes of Dido.  A fourth was certainly old Franklin, in his cap
and spectacles.  A fifth as surely bore the dignified composure of the
face of Washington.  A sixth was a nondescript, representing “a man
with a shirt-collar open,” to use the language of Richard, “with a
laurel on his head-it was Julius Caesar or Dr. Faustus; there were
good reasons for believing either,”

The walls were hung with a dark lead-colored English paper that
represented Britannia weeping over the tomb of Wolfe, The hero himself
stood at a little distance from the mourning goddess, and at the edge
of the paper.  Each width contained the figure, with the slight
exception of one arm of the general, which ran over on the next piece,
so that when Richard essayed, with his own hands, to put together this
delicate outline, some difficulties occurred that prevented a nice
conjunction; and Britannia had reason to lament, in addition to the
loss of her favorite’s life, numberless cruel amputations of his right
arm.

The luckless cause of these unnatural divisions now announced his
presence in the halt by a loud crack of his whip.

“Why, Benjamin! you Ben Pump! is this the manner in which you receive
the heiress?” he cried.  “Excuse him, Cousin Elizabeth.  The
arrangements were too intricate to be trusted to every one; but now I
am here, things will go on better.  —Come, light up, Mr. Penguillan,
light up, light up, and let us see One another’s faces.  Well, ‘Duke,
I have brought home your deer; what is to be done with it, ha?”

“By the Lord, squire,” commenced Benjamin, in reply, first giving his
mouth a wipe with the back of his hand, “if this here thing had been
ordered sum’at earlier in the day, it might have been got up, d’ye
see, to your liking.  I had mustered all hands and was exercising
candles, when you hove in sight; but when the women heard your bells
they started an end, as if they were riding the boat swain’s colt; and
if-so-be there is that man in the house who can bring up a parcel of
women when they have got headway on them, until they’ve run out the
end of their rope, his name is not Benjamin Pump.  But Miss Betsey
here must have altered more than a privateer in disguise, since she
has got on her woman’s duds, if she will take offence with an old
fellow for the small matter of lighting a few candles.”

Elizabeth and her father continued silent, for both experienced the
same sensation on entering the hall.  The former had resided one year
in the building before she left home for school, and the figure of its
lamented mistress was missed by both husband and child.

But candles had been placed in the chandeliers and lustres, and the
attendants were so far recovered from surprise as to recollect their
use; the oversight was immediately remedied, and in a minute the
apartment was in a blaze of light.

The slight melancholy of our heroine and her father was banished by
this brilliant interruption; and the whole party began to lay aside
the numberless garments they had worn in the air.

During this operation Richard kept up a desultory dialogue with the
different domestics, occasionally throwing out a remark to the Judge
concerning the deer; but as his conversation at such moments was much
like an accompaniment on a piano, a thing that is heard without being
attended to, we will not undertake the task of recording his diffuse
discourse,

The instant that Remarkable Pettibone had executed her portion of the
labor in illuminating, she returned to a position near Elizabeth, with
the apparent motive of receiving the clothes that the other threw
aside, but in reality to examine, with an air of curiosity—not unmixed
with jealousy—the appearance of the lady who was to supplant her in
the administration of their domestic economy.  The housekeeper felt a
little appalled, when, after cloaks, coats, shawls, and socks had been
taken off in succession, the large black hood was removed, and the
dark ringlets, shining like the raven’s wing, fell from her head, and
left the sweet but commanding features of the young lady exposed to
view.  Nothing could be fairer and more spotless than the forehead of
Elizabeth, and preserve the appearance of life and health.  Her nose
would have been called Grecian, but for a softly rounded swell, that
gave in character to the feature what it lost in beauty.  Her mouth,
at first sight, seemed only made for love; but, the instant that its
muscles moved, every expression that womanly dignity could utter
played around it with the flexibility of female grace.  It spoke not
only to the ear, but to the eye.  So much, added to a form of
exquisite proportions, rather full and rounded for her years, and of
the tallest medium height, she inherited from her mother.  Even the
color of her eye, the arched brows, and the long silken lashes, came
from the same source; but its expression was her father’s.  Inert and
composed, it was soft, benevolent, and attractive; but it could be
roused, and that without much difficulty.  At such moments it was
still beautiful, though it was a little severe.  As the last shawl
fell aside, and she stood dressed in a rich blue riding-habit, that
fitted her form with the nicest exactness; her cheeks burning with
roses, that bloomed the richer for the heat of the hall, and her eyes
lightly suffused with moisture that rendered their ordinary beauty
more dazzling, and with every feature of her speaking countenance
illuminated by the lights that flared around her, Remarkable felt that
her own power had ended

The business of unrobing had been simultaneous.  Marmaduke appeared in
a suit of plain, neat black; Monsieur Le Quoi in a coat of snuff-
color, covering a vest of embroidery, with breeches, and silk
stockings, and buckles—that were commonly thought to be of paste.
Major Hartmann wore a coat of sky-blue, with large brass buttons, a
club wig, and boots; and Mr. Richard Jones had set off his dapper
little form in a frock of bottle-green, with bullet-buttons, by one of
which the sides were united over his well-rounded waist, opening
above, so as to show a jacket of red cloth, with an undervest of
flannel, faced with green velvet, and below, so as to exhibit a pair
of buckskin breeches, with long, soiled, white top-boots, and spurs;
one of the latter a little bent, from its recent attacks on the stool.

When the young lady had extricated herself from her garments, she was
at liberty to gaze about her, and to examine not only the household
over which she was to preside, but also the air and manner in which
the domestic arrangements were conducted.  Although there was much
incongruity in the furniture and appearance of the hall, there was
nothing mean.  The floor was carpeted, even in its remotest corners.
The brass candlesticks, the gilt lustres, and the glass chandeliers,
whatever might be their keeping as to propriety and taste, were
admirably kept as to all the purposes of use and comfort.  They were
clean and glittering in the strong light of the apartment.

Compared with the chill aspect of the December night without, the
warmth and brilliancy of the apartment produced an effect that was not
unlike enchantment.  Her eye had not time to detect, in detail, the
little errors which in truth existed, but was glancing around her in
de light, when an object arrested her view that was in strong contrast
to the smiling faces and neatly attired person ages who had thus
assembled to do honor to the heiress of Templeton.

In a corner of the hall near the grand entrance stood the young
hunter, unnoticed, and for the moment apparently forgotten.  But even
the forgetfulness of the Judge, which, under the influence of strong
emotion, had banished the recollection of the wound of this stranger,
seemed surpassed by the absence of mind in the youth himself.  On
entering the apartment, be had mechanically lifted his cap, and
exposed a head covered with hair that rivalled, in color and gloss,
the locks of Elizabeth.  Nothing could have wrought a greater
transformation than the single act of removing the rough fox-skin cap.
If there was much that was prepossessing in the countenance of the
young hunter, there was something even noble in the rounded outlines
of his head and brow.  The very air and manner with which the member
haughtily maintained itself over the coarse and even wild attire in
which the rest of his frame was clad, bespoke not only familiarity
with a splendor that in those new settlements was thought to be
unequalled, but something very like contempt also.

The hand that held the cap rested lightly on the little ivory-mounted
piano of Elizabeth, with neither rustic restraint nor obtrusive
vulgarity.  A single finger touched the instrument, as if accustomed
to dwell on such places.  His other arm was extended to its utmost
length, and the hand grasped the barrel of his long rifle with
something like convulsive energy.  The act and the attitude were both
involuntary, and evidently proceeded from a feeling much deeper than
that of vulgar surprise.  His appearance, connected as it was with the
rough exterior of his dress, rendered him entirely distinct from the
busy group that were moving across the other end of the long hall,
occupied in receiving the travellers and exchanging their welcomes;
and Elizabeth continued to gaze at him in wonder.  The contraction of
the stranger’s brows in creased as his eyes moved slowly from one
object to another.  For moments the expression of his countenance was
fierce, and then again it seemed to pass away in some painful emotion.
The arm that was extended bent and brought the hand nigh to his face,
when his head dropped upon it, and concealed the wonderfully speaking
lineaments.

“We forget, dear sir, the strange gentleman” (for her life Elizabeth
could not call him otherwise) “whom we have brought here for
assistance, and to whom we owe every attention.”

All eyes were instantly turned in the direction of those of the
speaker, and the youth rather proudly elevated his head again, while
he answered:

“My wound is trifling, and I believe that Judge Temple sent for a
physician the moment we arrived.”

“Certainly,” said Marmaduke: “I have not forgotten the object of thy
visit, young man, nor the nature of my debt.

“Oh!” exclaimed Richard, with something of a waggish leer, “thou owest
the lad for the venison, I suppose that thou killed, Cousin ‘Duke!
Marmaduke! Marmaduke! That was a marvellous tale of thine about the
buck! Here, young man, are two dollars for the deer, and Judge Temple
can do no less than pay the doctor.  I shall charge you nothing for my
services, but you shall not fare the worst for that.  Come, come,
‘Duke, don’t he down hearted about it; if you missed the buck, you
contrived to shoot this poor fellow through a pine-tree.  Now I own
that you have beat me; I never did such a thing in all my life.”

“And I hope never will,” returned the Judge, “if you are to experience
the uneasiness that I have suffered; but be of good cheer, my young
friend, the injury must be small, as thou movest thy arm with apparent
freedom.

“Don’t make the matter worse, ‘Duke, by pretending to talk about
surgery,” interrupted Mr. Jones, with a contemptuous wave of the hand:
“it is a science that can only be learned by practice.  You know that
my grandfather was a doctor, but you haven’t got a drop of medical
blood in your veins.  These kind of things run in families.  All my
family by my father’s side had a knack at physic.  ‘There was my uncle
that was killed at Brandywine—he died as easy again as any other man
the regiment, just from knowing how to hold his breath naturally.  Few
men know how to breathe naturally.”

“I doubt not, Dickon,” returned the Judge, meeting the bright smile
which, in spite of himself, stole over the stranger’s features, “that
thy family thoroughly under stand the art of letting life slip through
their lingers.”

Richard heard him quite coolly, and putting a hand in either pocket of
his surcoat, so as to press forward the skirts, began to whistle a
tune; but the desire to reply overcame his philosophy, and with great
heat he exclaimed:

“You may affect to smile, Judge Temple, at hereditary virtues, if you
please; but there is not a man on your Patent who don’t know better.
Here, even this young man, who has never seen anything but bears, and
deer, and woodchucks, knows better than to believe virtues are not
transmitted in families.  Don’t you, friend?”

“I believe that vice is not,” said the stranger abruptly; his eye
glancing from the father to the daughter.

“The squire is right, Judge,” observed Benjamin, with a knowing nod of
his head toward Richard, that bespoke the cordiality between them,
“Now, in the old country, the king’s majesty touches for the evil, and
that is a disorder that the greatest doctor in the fleet, or for the
matter of that admiral either: can’t cure; only the king’s majesty or
a man that’s been hanged.  Yes, the squire is right; for if-so-be that
he wasn’t, how is it that the seventh son always is a doctor, whether
he ships for the cockpit or not? Now when we fell in with the
mounsheers, under De Grasse, d’ye see, we hid aboard of us a doctor—”

“Very well, Benjamin,” interrupted Elizabeth, glancing her eyes from
the hunter to Monsieur Le Quoi, who was most politely attending to
what fell from each individual in succession, “you shall tell me of
that, and all your entertaining adventures together; just now, a room
must be prepared, in which the arm of this gentleman can be dressed.”

“I will attend to that myself, Cousin Elizabeth,” observed Richard,
somewhat haughtily.  “The young man will not suffer because Marmaduke
chooses to be a little obstinate.  Follow me, my friend, and I will
examine the hurt myself.”

“It will be well to wait for the physician,” said the hunter coldly;
“he cannot be distant,”

Richard paused and looked at the speaker, a little astonished at the
language, and a good deal appalled at the refusal.  He construed the
latter into an act of hostility, and, placing his hands in the pockets
again, he walked up to Mr. Grant, and, putting his face close to the
countenance of the divine, said in an undertone:

“Now, mark my words—there will be a story among the settlers, that all
our necks would have been broken but for that fellow—as if I did not
know how to drive.  Why, you might have turned the horses yourself,
sir; nothing was easier; it was only pulling hard on the nigh rein,
and touching the off flank of the leader.  I hope, my dear sir, you
are not at all hurt by the upset the lad gave us?”

The reply was interrupted by the entrance of the village physician.