Part 6 (2/2)
”If you are so ardent, sir,” retorted another man in a sneering voice, ”why do you not go courting your jade in Ma.s.sachusetts Bay?”
”Because, sir,” said I, ”our sweetheart, Mistress Liberty, is already on her joyous way to Johnstown. It is a rendezvous, gentlemen. Will it please you to join us in receiving her?”
One man got up, overturning the draught board, paid his reckoning, and went out muttering and gesticulating.
”A married man,” quoth Nick, ”and wedded to that old hag, Tyranny. It irks him to hear of fresh young jades, knowing only too well what old sour-face awaits him at home with the bald end of a broom.”
The dark looks cast at us signalled storms; but none came, so poor the spirit of the company.
”Gentlemen, you seem melancholy and distrait,” said I. ”Are you so pensive because my Lord Dunmore has burned our pleasant city of Norfolk?
Is it that which weighs upon your minds? Or is the sad plight of Tommy Gage distressing you? Or the several pickles in which Sir Guy Carleton, General Burgoyne, and General Howe find themselves?”
”Possibly,” quoth Nick, ”a short poem on these three British warriors may enliven you:
”_Carleton, Burgoyne, Howe,_ ”_Bow-wow-wow_!”
But there was nothing to be hoped of these sullen Tories, for they took our laughter scowling, but budged not an inch. A pity, for it was come to a pretty pa.s.s in Johnstown when two honest farmers must go home for lack of a rogue or two of sufficient spirit to liven a dull day withal.
We stopped at the White Doe Tavern, and Nick gave the company another poem, which he said was writ by my Lord North:
”O Boston wives and maids draw near and see Our delicate Souchong and Hyson tea; Buy it, my charming girls, fair, black, or brown; If not, we'll cut your throats and burn your town!”
Whereat all the company laughed and applauded; and there was no hope of any sport to be had there, either.
”Well,” said Nick, sighing, ”the war seems to be done ere it begun.
What's in those whelps at the Johnson Arms, that they stomach such jests as we cook for them? Time was when I knew where I could depend upon a broken head in Johnstown--mine own or another's.”
We had it in mind to dine at the Doe, planning, as we sat on the stoop, bridles in hand, to ride back to the Bush by new moonlight.
”If a pretty wench were as rare as a broken head in Johnstown,” he muttered, ”I'd be undone, indeed. Come, Jack; shall we ride that way homeward?”
”Which way?”
”By Pigeon-Wood.”
”By Mayfield?”
”Aye.”
”You have a sweetheart there, you say?”
”And so, perhaps, might you, for the pain of pa.s.sing by.”
”No,” said I, ”I want no sweetheart. To clip a lip en pa.s.sant, if the lip be warm and willing,--that is one thing. A blush and a laugh and 'tis over. But to journey in quest of gallantries with malice aforethought--no.”
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