This race for the bottle, as it was called, was a peculiar feature for displaying the horsemanship and hardy recklessness of the early settlers; as a more dangerous one, to both horse and rider, could not well be imagined. That the reader may form a clear conception of what it was in reality--and also to destroy the idea if any such may have been formed, that it existed only in our imagination--we shall take the liberty of giving a short extract from the author already quoted. In speaking of the foregoing, he says:
"The worse the path--the more logs, brush, and deep hollows, the better--as these obstacles afforded an opportunity for the greater display of intrepidity and horsemanship. The English fox-chase, in point of danger to the riders and their horses, is nothing to this race for the bottle. The start was announced by an Indian yell; when logs, brush, muddy hollows, hill and glen, were speedily passed by the rival ponies. The bottle was always filled for the occasion, so that there was no use for judges; for the first who reached the door was presented with the prize, with which he returned in triumph to the company. On approaching them, he announced his victory over his rival by a shrill whoop. At the head of the troop he gave the bottle first to the groom and his attendants, and then to each pair in succession to the rear of the line, giving each a drachm; and then putting the bottle in the bosom of his hunting shirt, took his station in the company."
In something like a quarter of an hour, the clatter of horses' feet was heard by the company, the rival-racers presently appeared in sight, and all became anxious to learn who was the successful runner. They were not long kept in suspense; for advancing at a fast gallop, the riders were, soon within speaking distance; when a loud, shrill whoop from Seth Stokes, announced that in this case success had at least been with the long, if not with the strong.
"How's this, Sammy?" cried a dozen voices, as the rivals rode up to the party.
"I don't exactly know," answered the individual addressed, shaking his head with a serio-c omical expression; "but stifle me with the night-mar, if ever I'm cotched riding a race with death on horseback agin."
This allusion to the bony appearance of his companion, caused a roar of laughter at the expense of the winner, in which he good-humoredly joined. According to custom, as previously mentioned, the bottle was presented first to Isaac, and then passed in regular order through the lines--Algernon and Ella merely putting it to their lips without drinking. When this ceremony was over, the party resumed their journey--no less merry on account of the whiskey--and by half an hour past eleven o'clock, all drew rein before the door of Abijah Wilson, the father of the fair intended.
Here another party, the friends of the bride, were waiting to receive them; and after some few introductions, much shaking of hands, and other demonstrations of joy, the announcement was made, that the squire was ready to perform the ceremony. Instantly all talking was suspended, the company proceeded to form into a half circle, and then all became silent and solemn as the house of death. Isaac presently appeared from behind a coarse, temporary screen of cloth, hung up for the occasion--the house having no division save a chamber over head--leading the blushing Peggy by the hand, (a rosy cheeked, buxom lass of eighteen) both looking as frightened and foolish as could reasonably be expected. Behind the bride and groom came Algernon, in company with a dark-eyed, pretty brunette, who performed the part of bridesmaid. Taking their several places, the Squire, as he was termed--a man of forty--stepped forward, and said a few words concerning the importance of the present event, asked the necessary questions, joined their hands, and pronounced them man and wife. Then followed the usual amount of congratulations, good wishes for the future happiness of the married pair, kissing of the bride, and so forth, in all of which proceedings they differed not materially from their successors of the present day.
About half an hour from the close of the ceremony, the guests were invited to partake of a sumptuous dinner, prepared expressly for the occasion. It was placed on rough tables made of large slabs, supported by small, round legs, set in auger holes; and though there was a scantiness of dishes--and these in the main consisting of a few pewter-plates, several wooden trenchers, with spoons of like material, interspersed with some of horn--and though the scarcity of knives required many of the gentlemen to make use of those carried in their belts--yet the food itself was such as might have rejoiced an epicure. It consisted of beef, roasted and boiled--pork, roasted and fried--together with chicken, turkey, partridge, and venison--well flanked on every side by bread, butter, and cheese, potatoes, cabbage, and various other vegetables. That it was both acceptable and palatable, was sufficiently proved by the hearty, joyous manner, in which each individual performed his or her part, and the rapidity with which it disappeared. The dessert was composed of two or three kinds of pies and puddings, washed down (at least by those who chose so to do) with whiskey. Great hilarity prevailed--particularly after the introduction of the bottle. Immediately dinner was over, the tables were removed, the fiddler was called for, and the dance commenced, which was to last till the following morning. The dance was opened by Isaac and the bridesmaid, with another couple--beginning with a square four, and ending with what was termed a jig. From this time forth, until the party separated, the poor fiddler experienced but little relaxation or comfort--unless in being encouraged, occasionally, by a refreshing salute from the lips of Black Betty; a being of no greater intellect, reader, than a bottle of whiskey.
Some two hours after dinner, the father and mother of Isaac announced their intention of forthwith returning home; and, although seriously pressed to tarry longer, shortly after took their leave of the company--Mrs. Younker adding, as a farewell speech, "That she hoped to gracious Peggy'd jest make Isaac as good a wife nor she had Ben, and then thar wouldn't never be no need o' having trouble;" and wound up by quoting the Rev. Mr. Allprayer as the best authority on the subject. Younker stood by her side, calmly heard her through, and then shrugging his shoulders with a very significant expression, walked away without saying a word, to the great amusement of the whole assemblage.
As to Algernon, he seemed to take no delight in what was going forward; and though he participated somewhat in the dance, yet it was evident to all observers that his mind went not with his body, and that what he did was done more with a design of concealing his real feelings, than for any amusement it afforded himself. When not occupied in this manner, or in conversation, he would steal away, seat himself where he was least likely to be observed, and fall into a gloomy, abstracted mood; from which, when suddenly roused by some loud peal of laughter, or by the touch and voice of some person near, he would sometimes start and look around as one just awakened from a frightful vision. This gloomy abstraction, too, appeared to grow upon him more and more, as the day settled into night and the night wore on, as though he felt some dreaded calamity had been hanging over, and was now about to fall upon him. So apparent was this toward the last, that even the most careless began to observe, and make remarks, and ask questions concerning him; and some even proceeded to inquire of him regarding the state of his health. His answers to all interrogatives now became so brief and abrupt, that but few ventured to address him the second time. Whatever the cause of his present gloomy state of mind, it was evidently not the ordinary one--at least not wholly that--for never before had Ella (who was in the habit, since their acquaintance, of observing him narrowly) seen him in such a mood as now. It was, perhaps, one of those strange mental foresights, peculiar to certain temperaments, whereby the individual is sometimes warned of impending danger, and feels oppressed by a weight of despondency impossible to shake off.
This serious change in the appearance of Algernon, was not without its effect upon Ella. Naturally of a tender, affectionate, and sympathetic disposition, she could not feel at ease when another was suffering, and particularly when that other was one standing so high in her estimation as Algernon Reynolds. Naturally, too, possessing light and buoyant spirits--fond of gaiety where all were gay--she exhibited on the present occasion the
effect of two strong but counteracting passions. Her features, if we may be allowed the comparison, were like the noon-day heavens, when filled with the broken clouds of a passing storm. Now all would be bright and cheerful, and the sun of mirth would sparkle in her eyes; and anon some dark cloud of dejection would sweep along, shut out the merry light, and cast its shadow drearily over the whole countenance,--or, to use language without simile, she would one moment be merry and another sad. Toward the last, however, the latter feeling gained the ascendancy; she appeared to take no further share in the merriment of the dance; and had any watched her closely, they might have guessed the cause, from the manner in which she from time to time gazed at the pale face of Algernon.
Meantime the dance went bravely on, Black Betty circulated somewhat freely, and the mirth of the revelers grew more and more boisterous. Taking advantage of a slight cessation in the general hilarity, about nine o'clock in the evening, and while the fiddler with some of the party were engaged in partaking of refreshment, Seth Stokes, encouraged doubtless by the inspiration he had received from the whiskey, stepped boldly into the middle of the apartment with the bottle in his hand, and said:
"Jest allow me, my jollies, to give a toast."
"Harken all! A toast--a toast--from the long man o' the bony frame!" cried the voice of Sam Switcher. A laugh, and then silence followed.
"Here's to--to Isaac and Peggy Younker--two beauties!" continued Seth. "May thar union be duly acknowledged by the rising generation o' old Kaintuck;" and the speaker gravely proceeded to drink.
"Bravo! bravo!" cried a dozen voices, with a merry shout, accompanied with great clapping of bands; while Isaac, who was sitting by his new wife, arose, blushed, bowed rather awkwardly, and then sat down again.
"Isaac! Isaac!--A toast from Isaac!" shouted a chorus of voices.
Isaac at first looked very much confused--scratched his head and twisted around in a very fidgetty manner,--but presently his countenance flushed, and a smile of triumph crossing his sharp features, announced that he had been suddenly favored with an idea apropos. This was instantly perceived by some of the wags standing near, one of whom exclaimed:
"I see it--it's coming!"
"He's got it!" said a second.
"I knew it--I'd ha' bet a bar-skin he'd fetch it," cried a third.
"Out with it, Ike, afore you forget it," shouted the fourth.
"Hold your jabbering tongues--!" cried Isaac, in vexation. "You're enough to bother a feller to death. I'd like to see some o' the rest on ye cramped up fur a toast, jest to see how _you'd_ feel with all on 'em hollering like." A hearty laugh at his expense was all the sympathy poor Isaac received.
"Give us the bottle!" resumed Isaac. "Now here goes," continued he, rising and holding Black Betty by the neck. "Here's to the gals o' old Kaintuck--Heaven bless 'em! May they bloom like clover heads, be plentier nor bar-skins, and follow the example o' Peggy, every mother's daughter on 'em!--hooray!" And having drank, the speaker resumed his seat, amid roars of laughter and three rounds of applause.
By the time this mirth had subsided, the fiddler struck up, and the dance again went on as before. Some two hours later the bridesmaid, with two or three others, managed to steal away the bride unobserved; and proceeding to a ladder at one end of the apartment, ascended to the chamber above, and saw her safely lodged in bed. In the course of another half hour the same number of gentlemen performed a like service for Isaac--such being customary at all weddings of that period.
During the night Black Betty, in company with more substantial refreshment, was sent up to the newly married pair some two or three times; and always returned (Black Betty we mean) considerable lighter than she went; thus proving, that if lovers can live on air, the married ones do not always partake of things less spiritual. About three o'clock in the morning, Algernon and Ella took leave of the company and set out upon their return--he pleading illness as an apology for withdrawing thus early. The remainder of the party keep together until five, when they gradually began to separate; and by six the dancing had ceased, and the greater portion of them had taken their departure. Thus ended the wedding of Isaac Younker--a fair specimen, by the way, of a backwood's wedding in the early settlement of the west.
CHAPTER VI.
THE PRESENTIMENT.
Deep and gloomy were the meditations of Algernon Reynolds, as, in company with Ella Barnwell, he rode slowly along the narrow path which he had traversed, if not with buoyant, at least with far lighter spirits than now, the morning before. From some, latent cause, he felt oppressed with a weight of despondency, as previously mentioned, that served to prostrate in a measure both his mental powers and physical system. He felt, though he could give no reason why, that some calamity was about to befall himself and the fair being by his side; and he strove to arouse himself and shake off the gloomy thoughts; but if he succeeded, it was only momentary, and they would again rush back with an increased power. He had been subject, since his unfortunate quarrel with his cousin, to gloomy reveries and depressions of spirits--but never before had he felt exactly as now; and though in all former cases the event referred to had been the cause of his sad abstractions, yet in the present instance it scarcely held a place in his thoughts. Could it be a presentiment, he asked himself, sent to warn him of danger and prepare him to meet it? But the question he could not answer.
The night, or rather the morning, though clear overhead, was uncommonly dark; and the stars, what few could be discerned, shed only pale, faint gleams, as though their lights were about to be extinguished. For some time both Algernon and Ella continued their journey without exchanging a syllable--she too, as well as himself, being deeply absorbed in no very pleasant reflections. She thought of him, of his hard fate, to meet with so many bitter disappointments at an age so young; and at last, for no premeditated, no intentional crime, be forced to fly from home and friends, and all he held dear, to wander in a far off land, among strangers--or worse, among the solitudes of the wilderness--exposed to a thousand dangers from wild savage beasts, and wilder and more savage human beings; and perhaps, withal, be branded as a felon and fugitive from justice. She thought what must be his feelings, his sense of utter desolation, with none around to sympathize--no sweet being by his side to whisper a single word of encouragement and hope; or, should the worst prove true, to share his painful lot, and endeavor to render less burdensome his remorseful thoughts, by smiles of endearment and looks of love. She thought, too, that to-morrow--perhaps today--he would take his departure, peradventure never to behold her again; and this was the saddest of the train. Until she saw him, Ella had never known what it was to love--perchance she did not now--but at least she had experienced those fluttering sensations, those deep and strange emotions, those involuntary yearnings of the heart toward some object in his presence, that aching void in his absence, which the more experienced would doubtless put down to that cause, and which no other being had ever even for a moment awakened in her breast. For something like half an hour the two rode on together, buried in their own sad reflections, when Ella broke the silence, by saying, in a low, touching voice:
"You seem sad to-night, Algernon."
Algernon started, sighed heavily, and turning slightly on his saddle, said: "I am sad, Ella--very, very sad."
"May I ask the cause?" rejoined Ella, gently.
"Doubtless you will think it strange, Ella, but the cause I believe to have originated in a waking vision or presentiment."
"That does seem strange!" observed Ella, in return.
"Did it never strike you, dear Ella, that we are all strange beings, subject to strange influences, and destined, many of us, to strange ends?" inquired Reynolds, solemnly.
"Perhaps I do not understand you," replied Ella; "but with regard to destiny, I am inclined to think that we in a measure shape our own. As to our being strange, there are many things relating to us that we may not understand, and therefore look upon them in the light of which you speak."
"Are there a
ny we do understand, Ella?" rejoined Algernon. "When I say understand, I mean the word to be used in its minutest and broadest sense. You say there are many things we may not understand concerning ourselves--what ones, I pray you, do we fully comprehend? We are here upon the earth--so much we know. We shall die and pass away--so much we know also. But how came we here, and why? How do we exist? How do we think, reason, speak, feel, move, see, hear, smell, taste? All these we do, we know; but yet not one--not a single one of them can we comprehend. You wish to raise your hand; and forthwith, by some extraordinary power--extraordinary because you cannot tell where it is, nor how it is--you raise it. Why cannot a dead person do the same? Strange question you will say to yourself with a smile--but one easily answered! Why, because in such a person life is extinct--there is no vital principle--the heart is stopped--the blood has ceased to flow in its regular channels! Ay! but let me ask you _why_ that life is extinct?--why that breath has stopped?--and why that blood has ceased to flow? There was just the same amount of air when the person died as before! There were the same ingredients still left to stimulate that blood to action! Then wherefore should both cease?--and with them the power of thought, reason, speech, and all the other senses? It was not by a design of the individual himself; for he strove to his utmost to breathe longer; he was not ready to die--he did not want to quit this earth so soon; and yet with all his efforts to the contrary, reason fled, the breath stopped, the blood ceased, the limbs became palsied and cold, and corruption, decay and dust stood ready to follow. Now why was this? There is but one answer: 'God willed it!' If then one question resolves itself into one answer,--'the will of God'--so may all of the same species; and we come out, after a long train of analytical reasoning, exactly where we started--with this difference--that when we set out, we believed in being able to explain the wherefore; but when we came to the end, we could only assert it as a wonderful fact, whereof not a single iota could we understand."
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