Part 32 (1/2)
”Is this the manner in which to address an officer?”
”Who called me the filthy Elizabeth Flanagan?” cried the washerwoman, snapping her fingers contemptuously. ”I can remimber a frind for a year and don't forgit an inimy for a month.”
But the friends.h.i.+p or enmity of Mrs. Flanagan was alike indifferent to the surgeon, who could think of nothing but his loss; and Lawton was obliged to explain to his friend the apparent manner in which it had happened.
”And a lucky escape it was for ye, my jewel of a doctor,” cried Betty, as the captain concluded. ”Sargeant Hollister, who saw him face to face, as it might be, says it's Beelzeb.o.o.b, and no piddler, unless it may be in a small matter of lies and thefts, and sich wickedness. Now a pretty figure ye would have been in cutting up Beelzeb.o.o.b, if the major had hanged him. I don't think it's very 'asy he would have been under yeer knife.”
Thus doubly disappointed in his meal and his business, Sitgreaves suddenly declared his intention of visiting the Locusts, and inquiring into the state of Captain Singleton. Lawton was ready for the excursion; and mounting, they were soon on the road, though the surgeon was obliged to submit to a few more jokes from the washerwoman, before he could get out of hearing. For some time the two rode in silence, when Lawton, perceiving that his companion's temper was somewhat ruffled by his disappointments and Betty's attack, made an effort to restore the tranquillity of his feelings.
”That was a charming song, Archibald, that you commenced last evening, when we were interrupted by the party that brought in the peddler,” he said. ”The allusion to Galen was much to the purpose.”
”I knew you would like it, Jack, when you had got the fumes of the wine out of your head. Poetry is a respectable art, though it wants the precision of the exact sciences, and the natural beneficence of the physical. Considered in reference to the wants of life, I should define poetry as an emollient, rather than as a succulent.”
”And yet your ode was full of the meat of wit.”
”Ode is by no means a proper term for the composition; I should term it a cla.s.sical ballad.”
”Very probably,” said the trooper. ”Hearing only one verse, it was difficult to cla.s.s the composition.”
The surgeon involuntarily hemmed, and began to clear his throat, although scarcely conscious himself to what the preparation tended. But the captain, rolling his dark eyes towards his companion, and observing him to be sitting with great uneasiness on his horse, continued,-
”The air is still, and the road solitary-why not give the remainder? It is never too late to repair a loss.”
”My dear John, if I thought it would correct the errors you have imbibed, from habit and indulgence, nothing could give me more pleasure.”
”We are fast approaching some rocks on our left; the echo will double my satisfaction.”
Thus encouraged, and somewhat impelled by the opinion that he both sang and wrote with taste, the surgeon set about complying with the request in sober earnest. Some little time was lost in clearing his throat, and getting the proper pitch of his voice; but no sooner were these two points achieved, than Lawton had the secret delight of hearing his friend commence-
”'Hast thou ever'”-
”Hus.h.!.+” interrupted the trooper. ”What rustling noise is that among the rocks?”
”It must have been the rus.h.i.+ng of the melody. A powerful voice is like the breathing of the winds.
”'Hast thou ever'”-
”Listen!” said Lawton, stopping his horse. He had not done speaking, when a stone fell at his feet, and rolled harmlessly across the path.
”A friendly shot, that,” cried the trooper. ”Neither the weapon, nor its force, implies much ill will.”
”Blows from stones seldom produce more than contusions,” said the operator, bending his gaze in every direction in vain, in quest of the hand from which the missile had been hurled. ”It must be meteoric; there is no living being in sight, except ourselves.”
”It would be easy to hide a regiment behind those rocks,” returned the trooper, dismounting, and taking the stone in his hand. ”Oh! here is the explanation along with the mystery.” So saying, he tore a piece of paper that had been ingeniously fastened to the small fragment of rock which had thus singularly fallen before him; and opening it, the captain read the following words, written in no very legible hand: ”A musket bullet will go farther than a stone, and things more dangerous than yarbs for wounded men lie hid in the rocks of Westchester. The horse may be good, but can he mount a precipice?”
”Thou sayest the truth, strange man,” said Lawton. ”Courage and activity would avail but little against a.s.sa.s.sination and these rugged pa.s.ses.” Remounting his horse, he cried aloud, ”Thanks, unknown friend; your caution will be remembered.”
A meager hand was extended for an instant over a rock, in the air, and afterwards nothing further was seen, or heard, in that quarter, by the soldiers.
”Quite an extraordinary interruption,” said the astonished Sitgreaves, ”and a letter of very mysterious meaning.”