Chapter Eleven
The “Jackson Hotel.”
I found that I had arrived in the very “nick of time:” for just as I returned from the stable, and was entering the verandah of the hotel, I heard the bell calling its guests to supper. There was no ado made about me: neither landlord or waiter met me with a word; and following the stream of “boarders” or travellers who had arrived before me, I took my seat at the common table-d’hôte.
Had the scene been new to me, I might have found food for reflection, or observed circumstances to astonish me. But I had been long accustomed to mix in as motley a throng, as that which now surrounded the table of the Swampville hotel. A supper-table, encircled by blanket and “jeans” coats – by buckskin blouses and red-flannel shirts – by men without coats at all – was nothing strange to me; nor was it strange either to find these bizarre costumes interspersed among others of fashionable cut and finest cloth. Black broad-cloth frocks, and satin or velvet vests, were quite common. Individuals thus attired formed a majority of the guests – for in young settlements the “hotel” or “tavern” is also a boarding-house, where the spruce “storekeepers” and better class of clerks take their meals – usually sleeping in the office or store.
In glancing around the table, I saw many old “types,” though not one face that I had ever seen before. There was one, however, that soon attracted my attention, and fixed it. It was not a lady’s face, as you may be imagining; though there were present some of that sex – the landlord’s helpmate who presided over the coffee-pot, with some three or four younger specimens of the backwoods fair – her daughters and nieces. All, however, were absolutely without attraction of any sort; and I somewhat bitterly remembered the mot of double meaning, with which my friend had entertained me at parting.
Venus was certainly not visible at the Swampville table-d’hôte: for the presiding divinity was a perfect Hecate; and her attendant damsels could have found no place in the train of the Cytherean goddess. No – the face that interested me was neither that of a female, nor in any way feminine. It was the face of a man; and that in the most emphatic sense of the word. He was a young man – apparently about four or five and twenty – and costumed as a backwoods hunter; that is, he wore a buckskin hunting-shirt, leggings, and mocassins – with bullet-pouch and powder-horn suspended over his shoulder, and hunting-knife sheathed in his belt. The coon-skin cap, hanging against the adjacent wall, was his head-dress: I had seen him place it there, before taking his seat at the supper-table. With the personal appearance of this young man the eye was at once satisfied. A figure of correct contour, features of noble outline, a face expressive of fine mental qualities – were the more salient characteristics that struck me at the first glance. Regarding the portrait more particularly, other details became manifest: round hazel eyes, with well-developed lashes; brows finely arched; a magnificent shock of nut-brown curling hair; a small, well-formed mouth, with white, regular teeth – all contributed to the creation of what might be termed a type of manly beauty. This beauty appeared in a somewhat neglected garb. Art might have improved it; but it was evident that none had been employed, or even thought of. It was a clear case of “beauty unadorned;” and the possessor of it appeared altogether unconscious of its existence. I need not add that this mental characteristic, on the part of the young man, heightened the grace of his personal charms.
Why this young fellow fixed my attention, I can scarcely tell. His costume was by no means uncommon: though it was the only one of the kind there present. It was not that, however, nor yet his fine personal appearance, that interested me; but rather something I had observed in his bearing and manner. As we were seated opposite each other, near the foot of the long table, I had an excellent opportunity of observing him. Notwithstanding his undoubted good looks – sufficiently striking to have filled the possessor with vanity – his deportment was marked by a modest reserve, that proved him either unaware of his personal advantages, or without any conceit in them. By the glances occasionally cast towards him, from the opposite end of the table, I could perceive that “Miss Alvina” and “Miss Car’line” were not insensible to his attractions. Neither, however, had reason to congratulate herself upon any reciprocity of her favouring glances. The young man either did not observe, or, at all events, took no notice of them. The melancholy tinge pervading his features remained altogether unaltered. Equally impassible did he appear under the jealous looks of some three or four smart young storekeepers – influenced, no doubt, by tender relations existing between them and the aforementioned damsels, whose sly espièglerie of the handsome hunter could not have escaped their observation.
The young man appeared to be be rather friendless, than unknown. I could perceive that almost all of the company were acquainted with him; but that most of them – especially the gentlemen in broad-cloth – affected an air of superiority over him. No one talked much to him: for his reserved manner did not invite conversation; but when one of these did address a few words to him, it was in the style usually adopted by the well-to-do citizen, holding converse with his less affluent neighbour. The young fellow was evidently not one to be sneered at or insulted; but, for all that, I could perceive that the broad-cloth gentry did not quite regard him as an equal. Perhaps this may be explained by the hypothesis that he was poor, and, indeed, it did not require much penetration to perceive that such was the reality. The hunting-shirt, though once a handsome one, was no longer new. On the contrary, it was considerably “scuffed;” and the green baize wrappers upon his limbs were faded to a greenish brown. Other points proclaimed a light purse – perhaps far lighter than the heart of him who carried it – if I was to judge by the expression of his countenance.
Notwithstanding all this, the young hunter was evidently an object of interest – whether friendly or hostile – and might have been the cynosure of the supper-table, but for my undress-frock and spread-eagle buttons. These, however, claimed some share of the curiosity of Swampville; and I was conscious of being the object of a portion of its surveillance. I knew not what ideas they could have had about me, and cared as little: but, judging from the looks of the men – the broad-cloth gentlemen in particular – I was impressed with a suspicion that I was neither admired nor welcome. In the eyes of your “sovereign citizen,” the mere military man is not the hero that he is elsewhere; and he must show something more than a uniform coat, to recommend himself to their suffrages. I was conceited enough to imagine that Miss Alvina, and her vis-à-vis, Miss Car’line, did not look altogether unfriendly; but the handsome face and magnificent curls of the young hunter were beside me; and it was no use taking the field against such a rival. I was not jealous of him, however, nor he of me. On the contrary, of all the men present, he appeared most inclined to be courteous to me – as was evinced by his once or twice pushing within my reach those delicate dishes, distributed at very long distances over the table. I felt an incipient friendship for this young man, which he appeared to reciprocate. He saw that I was a stranger; and notwithstanding the pretentious fashion of my dress, perhaps he noticed my well-worn coat, and conjectured that I might be as poor and friendless as himself. If it was to this conjecture I was indebted for his sympathies, his instincts were not far astray.
Chapter Twelve
Colonel Kipp
As soon as I had swallowed supper, I hastened to place myself en rapport with the landlord of the hostelry – whose name I had ascertained to be “Kipp,” or “Colonel Kipp,” as his guests called him. Though I had no intention of proceeding farther that night, I was desirous of obtaining some information, about the whereabout of my new estate, with such other facts in relation to it, as might be collected in Swampville. The landlord would be the most likely person to give me the desired intelligence. This distinguished individual I encountered soon after in the verandah – seated upon a raw-hide rocking-chair, with his feet elevated some six inches above the level of his nose, and resting across the balustrade of the railing – beyond which his huge horse-skin boots protruded a full half yard into the street. But that I had been already made aware of the fact, I should have had some difficulty in reconciling the portentous title of “colonel” with the exceedingly unmilitary-looking personage before me – a tall lopsided tobacco-chewer, who, at short intervals, of about half a minute each, projected the juice in copious squirts into the street, sending it clean over the toes of his boots!
When I first set eyes upon the colonel, he was in the centre of a circle of tooth-pickers, who had just issued from the supper-room. These were falling off one by one; and, noticing their defection, I waited for an opportunity to speak to the colonel alone. This, after a short time, offered itself.
The dignified gentleman took not the slightest notice of me as I approached; nor until I had got so near, as to leave no doubt upon his mind that a conversation was intended. Then, edging slightly round, and drawing in the boots, he made a half-face towards me – still, however, keeping fast to his chair.
“The army, sir, I prezoom?” interrogatively began Mr Kipp.
“No,” answered I, imitating his laconism of speech. “No!”
“I have been in the service. I have just left it.”
“Oh – ah! From Mexico, then, I prezoom?”
“Yes.”
“Business in Swampville?”
“Why, yes, Mr Kipp.”
“I am usooally called kurnel here,” interrupted the backwoods militario, with a bland smile, as if half deprecating the title, and that it was forced upon him.
“Of course,” continued he, “you, sir, bein’ a strenger – ”
“I beg your pardon, Colonel Kipp: I am a stranger to your city, and of course – ”
“Don’t signify a dump, sir,” interrupted he, rather good-humouredly, in return for the show of deference I had made, as also, perhaps for my politeness in having styled Swampville a city. “Business in Swampville, you say?”
“Yes,” I replied; and, seeing it upon his lips to inquire the nature of my business – which I did not wish to make known just then – I forestalled him by the question: “Do you chance to know such a place as Holt’s Clearing?”
“Chance to know such a place as Holt’s Clearin’?”
“Yes; Holt’s Clearing.”
“Wal, there air such a place.”
“Is it distant?”
“If you mean Hick Holt’s Clearin’, it’s a leetle better’n six miles from here. He squats on Mud Crik.”
“There’s a squatter upon it, then?”
“On Holt’s Clearin’? Wal, I shed rayther say there air a squatter on’t, an’ no mistake.”
“His name is Holt is it not?”
“That same individooal.”
“Do you think I could procure a guide in Swampville – some one who could show me the way to Holt’s Clearing?”
“Do I think so? Possible you might. D’ye see that ar case in the coon-cap?” The speaker looked, rather than pointed, to the young fellow of the buckskin shirt; who, outside the verandah, was now standing by the side of a very sorry-looking steed. I replied in the affirmative. “Wal, I reckon he kin show you the way to Holt’s Clearin’. He’s another o’ them Mud Crik squatters. He’s just catchin’ up his critter to go that way.”
This I hailed as a fortunate circumstance. If the young hunter lived near the clearing I was in search of, perhaps he could give me all the information I required; and his frank open countenance led me to believe he would not withhold it. It occurred to me, therefore, to make a slight change in my programme. It was yet early– for supper in the backwoods is what is elsewhere known as “tea.” The sun was still an hour or so above the horizon. My horse had made but a light journey; and nine miles more would be nothing to him. All at once, then, I altered my intention of sleeping at the hotel; and determined, if the young hunter would accept me as a travelling companion, to proceed along with him to Mud Creek. Whether I should find a bed there, never entered into my calculation. I had my great-sleeved cloak strapped upon the cantle of my saddle; and with that for a covering, and the saddle itself for a pillow, I had made shift on many a night, more tempestuous than that promised to be.
I was about turning away to speak to the young man, when I was recalled by an exclamation from the landlord: – “I guess,” said he, in a half-bantering way, “you hain’t told me your business yet?”
“No,” I answered deferentially, “I have not.”
“What on airth’s takin’ you to Holt’s Clearin’?”
“That, Mr Kipp – I beg pardon —Colonel Kipp – is a private matter.”
“Private and particular, eh?”
“Very.”
“Oh, then, I guess, you’d better keep it to yourself.”
“That is precisely my intention,” I rejoined, turning on my heel, and stepping out of the verandah.
The young hunter was just buckling the girth of his saddle. As I approached him, I saw that he was smiling. He had overheard the concluding part of the conversation; and looked as if pleased at the way in which I had bantered the “colonel,” who, as I afterwards learnt from him, was the grand swaggerer of Swampville. A word was sufficient. He at once acceded to my request, frankly, if not in the most elegant phraseology, “I’ll be pleased to show ye the way to Holt’s Clarin’. My own road goes jest that way, till within a squ’ll’s jump o’t.”
“Thank you: I shall not keep you waiting.”
I re-entered the hotel to pay for my entertainment, and give orders for the saddling of my horse. It was evident that I had offended the landlord by my brusque behaviour. I ascertained this by the amount of my bill, as well as by the fact of being permitted to saddle for myself. Even the naked “nigger,” did not make his appearance at the stable. Not much cared I. I had drawn the girth too often, to be disconcerted by such petty annoyance; and, in five minutes after, I was in the saddle and ready for the road. Having joined my companion in the street, we rode off from the inhospitable caravanserai of the Jackson Hotel – leaving its warlike landlord to chew his tobacco, and such reflections as my remarks had given rise to.
Chapter Thirteen
Through the Forest
As we passed up the street, I was conscious of being the subject of Swampville speculation. Staring faces at the windows, and gaping groups around the doors, proved by their looks and gestures, that I was regarded as a rare spectacle. It could scarcely be my companion who was the object of this universal curiosity. A buckskin hunting-shirt was an everyday sight in Swampville – not so a well-mounted military man, armed, uniformed, and equipped. No doubt, my splendid Arab, caracoling as if he had not been out of the stable for a week, came in for a large share of the admiration.
We were soon beyond its reach. Five minutes sufficed to carry us out of sight of the Swampvillians: for, in that short space of time, we had cleared the suburbs of the “city,” and were riding under the shadows of an unbroken forest. Its cold gloom gave instantaneous relief – shading us at one and the same time from the fiery sun, and the glances of vulgar observation through which we had run the gauntlet. I at least enjoyed the change; and for some minutes we rode silently on, my guide keeping in advance of me.
This mode of progression was not voluntary, but a necessity, arising from the nature of the road – which was a mere “trace” or bridle-path “blazed” across the forest. No wheel had ever made its track in the soft deep mud – into which, at every step, our steeds sank far above the fetlocks – and, as there was not room for two riders abreast, I followed the injunction of my companion by keeping my horse’s head “at the tail o’ his’n.” In this fashion we progressed for a mile or more, through a tract of what is termed “bottom-timber” – a forest of those gigantic water-loving trees – the sycamore and cotton-wood. Their tall grey trunks rose along the path, standing thickly on each side, and sometimes in regular rows, like the columns of a grand temple. I felt a secret satisfaction in gazing upon these colossal forms: for my heart hailed them as the companions of my future solitude. At the same time I could not help the reflection, that, if my new estate was thus heavily encumbered, the clearing of the squatter was not likely to be extended beyond whatever limits the axe of Mr Holt had already assigned to it.
A little further on, the path began to ascend. We had passed out of the bottom-lands, and were crossing a ridge, which forms the divide between Mud Creek and the Obion River. The soil was now a dry gravel, with less signs of fertility, and covered with a pine-forest. The trees were of slender growth; and at intervals their trunks stood far apart, giving us an opportunity to ride side by side. This was exactly what I wanted: as I was longing for a conversation with my new acquaintance.
Up to this time, he had observed a profound silence; but for all that, I fancied he was not disinclined to a little causerie. His reserve seemed to spring from a sense of modest delicacy – as if he did not desire to take the initiative. I relieved him from this embarrassment, by opening the dialogue: – “What sort of a gentleman is this Mr Holt?”
“Gentleman!”
“Yes – what sort of person is he?”
“Oh, what sort o’ person. Well, stranger, he’s what we, in these parts, call a rough customer.”
“Indeed?”
“Rayther, I shed say.”
“Is he what you call a poor man?”
“All that I reckon. He hain’t got nothin’, as I knows on, ’ceptin’ his old critter o’ a hoss, an’ his clarin’ o’ a couple o’ acres or thereabout; besides, he only squats upon that.”
“He’s only a squatter, then?”
“That’s all, stranger; tho’ I reckon he considers the clarin’ as much his own as I do my bit o’ ground, that’s been bought an’ paid for.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes – I shedn’t like to be the party that would buy it over his head.”
The speaker accompanied these words with a significant glance, which seemed to say, “I wonder if that’s his business here.”
“Has he any family?”
“Thar’s one – a young critter o’ a girl.”
“That all?” I asked – seeing that my companion hesitated, as if he had something more to say, but was backward about declaring it.
“No, stranger – thar war another girl – older than this ’un.”
“And she?”
“She – she’s gone away.”
“Married, I suppose?”
“That’s what nobody ’bout here can tell nor whar she’s gone, neyther.”
The tone in which the young fellow spoke had suddenly altered from gay to grave; and, by a glimpse of the moonlight, I could perceive that his countenance was shadowed and sombre. I could have but little doubt as to the cause of this transformation. It was to be found in the subject of our conversation – the absent daughter of the squatter. From motives of delicacy I refrained from pushing my inquiries farther; but, indeed, I should have been otherwise prevented from doing so: for, just at that moment, the road once more narrowed, and we were forced apart. By the eager urging of his horse into the dark path, I could perceive that the hunter was desirous of terminating a dialogue – to him, in all probability, suggestive of bitter memories.
For another half hour we rode on in silence – my companion apparently buried in a reverie of thought – myself speculating on the chances of an unpleasant encounter: which, from the hints I had just had, was now rather certain than probable. Instead of a welcome from the squatter, and a bed in the corner of his cabin, I had before my mind the prospect of a wordy war; and, perhaps afterwards, of spending my night in the woods. Once or twice, I was on the point of proclaiming my errand, and asking the young hunter for advice as how I should act; but as I had not yet ascertained whether he was friend or foe of my future hypothetical antagonist, I thought it more prudent to keep my secret to myself.
His voice again fell upon my ear – this time in a more cheerful tone. It was simply to say, that I “might shortly expect a better road – we were approaching a ‘gleed;’ beyont that the trace war wider, an’ we might ride thegither again.”
We were just entering the glade, as he finished speaking – an opening in the woods of limited extent. The contrast between it and the dark forest-path we had traversed was striking – as the change itself was pleasant. It was like emerging suddenly from darkness into daylight: for the full moon, now soaring high above the spray of the forest, filled the glade with the ample effulgence of her light. The dew-besprinkled flowers were sparkling like gems; and, even though it was night, their exquisite aroma had reached us afar off in the forest. There was not a breath of air stirring; and the unruffled leaves presented the sheen of shining metal. Under the clear moonlight, I could distinguish the varied hues of the frondage – that of the red maple from the scarlet sumacs and sassafras laurels; and these again, from the dark-green of the Carolina bay-trees, and the silvery foliage of the Magnolia glauca.
Even before entering the glade, this magnificent panorama had burst upon my sight – from a little embayment that formed the debouchure of the path – and I had drawn bridle, in order for a moment to enjoy its contemplation. The young hunter was still the length of his horse in advance of me; and I was about requesting him to pull up; but before I could give utterance to the words, I saw him make halt of himself. This, however, was done in so awkward and hurried a manner, that I at once turned from gazing upon the scene, and fixed my eyes upon my companion. As if by an involuntary effort, he had drawn his horse almost upon his haunches: and was now stiffly seated in the saddle, with blanched cheeks and eyes sparkling in their sockets – as if some object of terror was before him! I did not ask for an explanation. I knew that the object that so strangely affected him must be visible – though not from the point where I had halted.
A touch of the spur brought my horse alongside his, and gave me a view of the whole surface of the glade. I looked in the direction indicated by the attitude of the hunter: for – apparently paralysed by some terrible surprise – he had neither pointed nor spoken.
A little to the right of the path, I beheld a white object lying along the ground – a dead tree, whose barkless trunk and smooth naked branches gleamed under the moonlight with the whiteness of a blanched skeleton. In front of this, and a pace or two from it, was a dark form, upright and human-like. Favoured by the clear light of the moon, I had no difficulty in distinguishing the form to be that of a woman.