There was one, however, of those who were yet upon their ignoble7 feet, to save himself this disgrace. When the rest ran off crying among the trees, this man would tarry; he was that wide-shouldered fighting man who was thought to match Rivera. For reasons of his own, and perhaps they were in a rude sort chivalric8 and to his credit, this fellow had not rushed upon us with the others, but stood at some distance looking on, arms folded across his chest. Now, when all were down or vanished in the dark, he, with arms still folded, came slowly towards Rivera.
“Volks tells me, lad,” said the fighting man as, arms still at peace, he paused within a few yards of Rivera, who would be coolly waiting for him, “volks tells me as 'ow you be summat of a boxer9; and vor a certainty, you does make beef of them coves10 in a vorkmanlike vay—you does, upon my davy! But now, d'ye see, you settles vith me—me, Jim Burns of W'itechapel.”
“Assuredly!” returned Rivera, and his deep tones, like the roll of an organ, would carry the impression of one in wondrous12 good humor, “I shall be most pleased to settle with you. See, you may take your time; there is no hurry.”
The other, who seemed to have faith in the leisurely13 mood of Rivera, softly doffed14 coat and waistcoat, and stood in his shirt of gray cloth, trousers and shoes. Rivera similarly prepared himself; he would meet his enemy in the same light costume.
“Best to turn up your trowsers, lad,” advised the fighting man, “as I does. They may 'inder your veet, else, in steppin'.”
“And yet,” he remarked, complainingly, “w'at's the bloomin' use? 'Ere's them coves all run away”—pointing to the last of the trio whom Rivera had beaten down, as that unworthy staggered to his feet and lurched off into the darkness—“an' no purse nor nothink to vight for. I sees no use, lad, in our puttin' hup our 'ands.” This last in a grieved tone.
“But you must fight,” remonstrated16 Rivera, in a sharp, eager fashion. “You came to this town to beat me. Will you now let yourself be stopped and never a blow? Are you afraid?”
“Me, afeerd?” retorted the fighting man, fiercely, his little eyes like sparks. “W'y, lad! th' cove11 doant stan' in leather as I'm afeerd on. Me, a fourteen stoner, leery? An' of only one? Well, I likes that!” The disgust of the fighting man was unmistakable.
It was a queer position, this waiting to be spectator of a fist duel17 between these game-some ones, but I did not feel free to leave until the thing should end. When the fighting man, arms crossed, came pacifically up, I would have been for going forward to lay hold on him, but Rivera, with a manner like a prayer and as he who seeks a favor for his soul, besought18 me to withstay my hand.
“Don't,” pleaded Rivera, but never taking his gaze from the man, “don't; he is mine.”
With that, giving over whatever of right I may have owned to the fellow, I went to Peg19 where she stood on a little knoll20 among the deeper shadows of the woods.
“I should take you to safety at once,” said I, in explanation of my loitering lack of expedition, “but I would see Rivera through this.”
“I do not want to go,” replied Peg, gazing the while as with a kind of fascination21.
Peg's face wore a flush of excitement; this I could tell even in the shadows, and her words had a great ring of interest. I did not remark on the strangeness of it, nor frame a rebuke22 for that she should love to look on while gladiators fought. I, myself,—for I confess to a mighty23 lust24 of strife,—was hot to see what might follow, and it came to me as quite the thing that Peg should share my feeling. It was the savage25 in her blood, as the General would have said; but, a trifle strung of the fracas26 and with the wolf in me at full stretch, I felt no amazement27, but only sympathy for Peg's sentiment.
As Peg and I stood considering the others in their words and motions, Rivera pointed28 to a level, glady spot where no trees grew and the moonlight came down in a white flood.
“That should be a fine place,” said Rivera to the fighting man, “for us to try each other?”
As the two walked forward to this turfy spot of fairness it brought them nearer to Peg and myself, and squarely under our eyes. It was as though they set a stage, and would produce their drama of blows for us and in such wise that we should not lose the least of it.
As the pair moved to the selected place, that moaning one whose arm I had broken, and who, when the rest had fled, still lay in a fit of fainting, so far recovered as to sit weakly up. But he could not yet walk, being shaken and dizzy mayhap, and so he, too, would be a looker on, albeit30 I do not think he was to see much, being taken with his own woes31 and groaning32 over them.
“W'at a come-down is this!” exclaimed the fighting man, as he moved into the center of the ground, “me, who should be champion, vighting by moonlight in a vorest vith a mad Yankee! W'at a tale to tell in W'itechapel!”
“I'm not a Yankee,” said Rivera, as if for the other's consolation33, I thought, “I'm an Irish-Jew.”
“An Irish-Jew!” returned the other, with a note of admiration34. “Now that's better, lad; Irish on Jew makes a bitter cross for the ring. But all the same, it's a shame vor me to be 'ere millin' by moonlight in voreign parts, an' never no purse nor ropes nor nothink, an' no 'igh toby blokes to referee35 or even 'old a vatch. An' me, mind you, as should be champion.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Rivera, in a hunger of boyish curiosity to know how honorable the conquest was he went about. “Of what should you be champion?”
“Hengland, lad, w'at else!” said the other. “It's all on account of an accident that I beant. I vights vith Big Tom Brown of Bridgenorth, I does; an' Tom, 'e naps it on the bugle36 so 'ard 'e's all vor bleedin' to death. An' vith that, the beaks37 is vor puttin' me on a transport to go to New South Wales, when I moseys down to Bristol an' goes aboard ship an' comes over 'ere. If I could 'ave stayed at 'ome, I'd a-beat Bendigo by now, an' been the champion 'stead of 'e. 'Owever, volks must do the best vith w'at they has, so hup vith your mauleys, lad. Time!”
More than once I had seen our rough keel-boatmen of the Cumberland indulge, when soaked of rum, in what they termed a “rough and tumble,” but this, when Rivera and the fighting man of Whitechapel stood up to one another, was the first time I was to observe how ones trained to fisticuffs expound38 the game. My keel-boatmen fought in a biting, clawing, gouging39, wildcat way that was a climax40 of brutality41 and blood. This would not be the story of Rivera and his foe42, for their labors43 were as cleanly accurate as a cameo, while yet the blows they dealt would have shaken an oak to its core.
As the fighting man of Whitechapel exclaimed “Time!” Rivera and he drew cautiously over to one another. I could see how each kept his left hand well forward and his left foot advanced to bear it company, while the right foot was planted with firm squareness, and no spring nor give to the knee, but the leg stiff to prop44 against a blow. The right arm would be used, too, more as a guard to save the body, but with hand in reserve clenched45 like iron to deal a finishing blow whenever the vanguard or left hand had opened the way with the enemy.
Rivera and the fighting man sparred carefully and as folk who would test each other. And yet, while there abode46 with each a wealth of care and a saving determination to be sure of guards and parries, there was no slowness. They paced about and before one another like two fighting panthers, each as ready as leven-flash to have advantage of a weakness in the other's defence.
To me it was like a picture of motion, and a sense of delight coursed in my veins48. I was so held, too, I did not once cast my eyes on Peg, who with her hand on my arm was crowded snug49 to my side and—as I remembered later, when I would learn the reason of pain for it—leaning upon me with all her slight weight. No, so rapt was my gaze for the moment that I never once looked nor thought on Peg; and that, let me tell you, is a deal to say, since such was our witch-child's sweet hold on me I could number you few moments which did not find her in the fond foreground of my fancy.
Of the suddenest, the fighting man fell upon Rivera like a storm. But it would be of no avail. The blows he dealt, Rivera caught upon his forearm; and that with so careless a confidence it would appear to sting the other. In the last of the melee50 the fighting man, stepping swiftly near, struck a slashing51, swinging blow that should have cracked a skull52 had one gotten in the way. Rivera leaped back, light as a goat and as sure. As the big fist swept harmlessly on its journey, Rivera laughed as at a jest.
Our fighting man, however, would own to no turn for humor. The laugh hurt him like the lash47 of a rawhide53. Without pause or space, and with a sharpness that stood a marvel54 in one so bulky, he repeated the smashing swing, but with the other hand. Rivera did not spring backward; indeed, he had no time, even had he carried the inclination55. But it would be all one with Noah's protege, for he ducked his head like a wild fowl56 who dives from the flash of a gun. Again the blow passed without scathe57; only, this time, over Rivera's cunning head. The force of the swing half turned the fighting man; with that, and not striking him, but, as though in a spirit of derision, pushing with open hand, and at the same moment locking, as wrestlers would say, the enemy's ankle at the back with his foot, Rivera tumbled our huge gentleman over on the grass. He fell a-sprawl, but with no hurt to himself, and all as easy as delivering a bale of goods at one's door.
The fighting man got slowly to his feet. Then he looked on Rivera with an eye of puzzled discontent.
“Be you playin' vith me, lad?” said he at last. This in a manner of injury.
Rivera made no retort other than his quiet laugh that told rather of pleasure than amusement. Clearly, Rivera was in enjoyment's very heart and his cup would come to him crowned of high delight.
The fighting man went now and leaned against a tree to breathe himself. Presently he spoke58 again; I could tell by the way of it how his regard for Rivera had been augmented59.
“One hundred and eighty-two,” said Rivera.
“An' w'at would that be in stone?”
“Thirteen.”
“D'ye see now!” exclaimed the fighting man, dejectedly, “an' that should be my veight. Only I'm a stone above; but it's fat an' does me 'arm. You bees a 'ard un, young master, an' I doant know as 'ow I can do vor you, an' me not trained. 'Owever, I shall try all I knows. Time!”
For the second occasion the two stood forth61 against one another in the middle of the moonlighted glade62; and again the fighting man was the aggressor. It would be still the same old tale; Rivera foiled him and beat him back upon himself at every angle of his effort. It was like, a tune63 to simply see Rivera for his eye and hand and foot worked all together in a fashion of harmony like the notes in music.
But the dour64 end was on its way, and it fell upon the victim like the bursting of a bomb. The fighting man had stepped a pace backward following a rally in which he won nothing save chagrin65. As he retreated, Rivera would seem to swoop66 on him. It was a feint—an artifice67; it had for result, however, the drawing of the fighting man again upon Rivera. Straight from his shoulder, and by way of retort or counter to the feint, the fighting man sent his left hand for Rivera's face. It would be the situation wrought for. Rivera, with feet firm set, moved his head aside so that the blow met nothing, but whistled across his left shoulder. Then his left hand, arm as stiff as a bar of iron, met the oncoming foe, carried forward with the momentum68 of his own wasted blow, flush in the mouth. I heard the sound of it, and saw it jolt69 the other's head back as though he had run against the pole of a baggage wagon70. The vicious emphasis of it shook his senses in their source; before he could rally, Rivera dealt him a smashing blow above the heart with his right hand; it was a buffet71 like the kick of a pony72 and one that would have splintered a rock!
The fighting man fell forward senseless on the grass; the moonlight played across his face and tiny streams of blood were running thinly from his nose and ears. He lay without motion or quiver, and, after considering him a bit with all the warmth an artist might bestow73 upon a masterpiece, Rivera turned loungingly to Peg and myself where we were viewing proceedings74 from our knoll. There was a dancing light in Rivera's eyes such as comes to a child pleased of a new toy. As he stood before us, a smile about his mouth, he stretched upward on his toes, and raised his hands above his head, his vast chest arching and swelling76 the while like a drum, and the muscles of his neck writhing77 until they fairly burst the collar of his gray shirt and sent a button buzzing into the darkness.
“He wasn't fit,” said Rivera, recovering himself from the muscle-stretching, and beaming amiably78; “the fellow was not in condition.” Here he indicated with a nod the prostrate79 fighting man, still stunned80 and bleeding where he fell.
“Have you killed him?” said Peg, with a deep breath. The girl was drawn81 as tense as harpstrings. “I hope he will not die.”
“Oh, no,” declared Rivera; “he will not die. In two minutes, or at the most in ten, he will be well again. If he do not come to his wits in ten minutes, I shall help him with water on his face.”
“I was told always to follow them,” said Rivera. “I have been at their heels for weeks. But they would do nothing until to-night.” Rivera's manner when he related the long-drawn indolence of his quarry83 and those weeks wherein they would “do nothing,” tasted of disappointment. “However,”—this as though a wrong had been repaired,—“they got to work at last, so after all it ends right.”
Now I walked across to my moaning one of the broken arm, who still sat nursing his injuries.
“Why would you rob us?” I asked.
“Rob you?” he repeated between moans, and with a startled air. “No one wanted to rob you.”
“You and your gang,” said I—for this was the story I meant to tell, if made to tell one of the night's turmoil—“you and your gang are footpads. You would have robbed us. Should you be in the town to-morrow, I will find you a place of bars and bolts.”
Certainly, these brawling84 creatures were not highwaymen, but only ruffians whom that Catron had hired for I know not what particular purpose of revenge. But the wretch's exclamation85, “Here is our big lover and his light o' love!” alarmed me for Peg. I would not have that tale told to thus bring forth her name. It were better to drive these fellows off and have an end of it. That was my thought in calling them footpads and talking of attempts to take a purse.
The argument of robbery put a measure of life into the moaning one; he got upon his feet and made ready to betake himself to scenes of better safety.
“It should have been your neck, instead,” said I, in no wise sympathetic. “And so it would, had I owned the forethought to have had you by the throat rather than your arm. You might better depart, sirrah; else I may yet wring87 round your head, for my spirit is hard laid siege to by some such twisting impulse.”
That was enough; our moaning one made shift to get himself away through the trees and with not a trifle of expedition.
“And now, what will you do?” I asked Rivera.
“Oh, I shall remain here,” replied Rivera, simply, “and wait for him to return to his wits,” Here he pointed to his enemy. “He is a very bold, strong man, and perhaps when he has recovered and rested he may want to fight again.” This last sentence was vibrant88 of a dim hope.
Turning from me, Rivera brought a little snow-water in his hat from a hollow where it had collected during the thaws89 and began to sprinkle the face of his fighting friend from Whitechapel. Leaving him upon these labors of grace and philanthropy—albeit I believe the thought uppermost in his innocent heart was that the smitten90 one, when duly revived, might declare for another battle—I again sought Peg. I went to her something stricken of my conscience and uneasy with the fear of having neglected my duties as her cavalier. I found her sitting upon the little knoll, her foot drawn under her, and she nursing her right ankle in a marked peculiar91 way.
“Was not Rivera grand!” exclaimed Peg, as I came up. “And you, too, watch-dog: I shall never forget the picture of you”—Peg spoke in a bubbling way and as though she overflowed92 of ecstasy—“as you flung that crying creature in the faces of the others. It was a moment of nobility; I shall never miss it from my memory.”
“And what has gone wrong with your foot?” said I, for from her crouching93 position and the manner in which she would caress94 her ankle I was struck with the fear of some disaster; nor was I wrong.
“It is my ankle,” said Peg, and I could notice how her brow was wrung95 with the pain of it. “As I climbed upon this knoll in the first of it, my foot turned under me. I did not observe until just now how sharp was the injury.”
“Now that I've nothing else to think on,” said Peg, biting her lips to smother97 a cry, “it gives me torture like a knife.”
“Your ankle,” said I, “is becoming swollen98; and that in those tight-laced boots, let me say, should mean a torment99 of the inquisition.”
My years in the field had made me deft100 of strains and bruises101 and, when need pressed, even broken bones and wounds more threatening. I straightway knelt down before Peg and began with care to make loose her footgear. What a little boot it was! “One and one-half” was the size, so Peg told me. I slipped the boot off with mighty tenderness and put it in the pocket of my coat.
“And I'm very proud of my small foot, watch-dog,” said Peg, a smile struggling with the lines of pain which pinched the corners of her mouth. “Yes, I am proud of my small foot. Why not? It came to me from that same wareroom of nature where you got your great heart and that arm of might, and where the good General found his honesty and his courage. I've as much right to be proud of my foot as you folk of those attributes of excellence102 I've named.”
Peg was striving to laugh down her pain with these compliments for her foot; I could tell, moreover, that she was a far cry from success, for her pretty argument ended in a halfsob as a pang103 more than commonly severe crushed her poor ankle in its vise.
Gently I chafed104 Peg's foot; and while that would do little good, it served to soothe105 and modify the instant agony. Meanwhile I told her how I would carry her home in my arms so soon as the first grief of the sprain106 was chafed away.
“Carry me in your arms!” cried Peg.
“What else?” said I. “You can't walk.”
So, then, Peg made no more demur107; and presently, when her foot was well enough, I lifted her and started through the woods. It would be no more than just carrying a child; and since Peg put her arm about my neck, and helped to keep her place, my own arms even failed of the full burden of her. It was an easy task at any rate, and if you will be told it, a sweet task, too; this walk with Peg held close, and her hair, which had been caught up with a comb, to fall down and sweep across my throat and face. I could taste a fragrance108 in that hair like a breath from the Isles109 of Spice—a perfume that fair set my bosom110 in a flame.
It might have been the half of a mile that I carried Peg; however, I had no knowledge of it, whether for the distance or the time, but only of a bliss112 that was like a radiance, and a heart-willingness to go on and on and on to the world's end.
It was Peg herself who at last would bring me to my senses; for I was pressing forward as void of speculation113 as a drunken man to march through the crowded avenues of the town, Peg on my breast and my two arms holding her tight like a treasure.
“Put me down, watch-dog,” whispered Peg, for her mouth was at the very door of my ear, “put me down. I can stand well enough. Have me down, and let us wait here until we can call a carriage. It would be a perplexing sight to quiet folk were you to go striding through the streets with such a burden.”
With a sigh to end so dear a toil114, I had Peg down carefully; and there she stood, and as she would say it, “like a chicken on one foot.” It fell our luck that one of those carriages of public livery, whereof there was plentiful115 store in the town, drove by about this time. I called to it, and placing Peg therein, soon had her at her own door.
“I am mighty sorry for the sprain,” said I, as I lifted Peg from the carriage.
“Are you?” quoth Peg, with an archness that would almost cloak the pain. “Now is that gallant116 of you, watch-dog?” Then, making a mock of my words and manner: “I am mighty glad for the sprain. Only, I could wish my mother lived farther away. I never knew how close she was till now.”
As the winter wore into spring, the talk to swell75 and grow was of Nullification. Calhoun's state of South Carolina had laid aside disguise, and while nothing worse than speeches, with now and then a doughty117 resolution, were indulged in, these showed ever of that rebellious118 sort that waited only to be turned into action to become sufficient treason. The General sat brooding and watching the drift; his plans of men and rifles and ships laid like a trap, and set to snap up in the jaws119 of them the first traitor120 to be afoot for that secession the Calhoun clique121 would claim was each state's holy right. Altogether, the days were on a strain, and hair turned white and folk went pale of the cheek with the worry of the question “How will this ferment122 end?”
The one query123 of most concern related to the General. What would he do? To what line would his resentment124 travel? Folk knew how he was against Secession and States Rights and Nullification, or whatever the name might be wherewith iniquitous125 rebellion pleased itself for the moment, but would he treat these sins of politics as stark127 treason? Would he fall back on courts and hangman's ropes in dealing128 with them?
No one might tell. The General, after he made himself plain with that Rhetz who came to spy out his resolves, would say no farther word. Ones in interest might go wrong or go right; as for the General himself, he would light no more lamps.
“Have I not told them what I will do?” cried the General. “Must I be out of my bed o' nights to tell them again? No; let these would-be treason-mongers proceed as they see their way. Besides, to hang the right man now may save the lives of later thousands.”
This was said for my ear alone; to no other would the General so much as give one look of yea or nay129.
While the General would be the sphinx over Nullification, prudent130 rebellionists argued for a waiting strategy. There would dawn the anniversary of Jefferson's birthday; there would come that dinner at the Indian Queen; the General's conduct if not his words on that occasion must surely tell his story of decision. Should he remain away, they would know he feared to face them. Should he be present, they would try him with toasts of treason and mark his manner under fire. They would ask him for a sentiment; what he said or did in retort might give them every needed glimpse. Decidedly, it was wise to wait; Secession would keep; in the name of one's neck and a rope, proceedings might better be stayed until those toast experiments on the General were given a chance.
The General was well enough pleased with this uncertainty131 whereof he now found himself the hub. He guarded his words, left every man to grope out his own path for himself, and the days coursed on with the unanswered question of the General's determination in their mouths. Thus dwelt the business on that day of April from the developments whereof so much was to be hoped.
For the prior space of eight weeks or more the General had said little to me of that banquet planned of nullifiers to uncover him on those topics of perilous133 statecraft. Seeing his taste to be mysterious, I would say nothing to the General, whether to ask a question or give a hint of conduct, but left him to himself. I knew what he would do; and for the detail of how he would go upon its execution, I was the more willing to miss a forecast of it since I have a weakness for the unknown and am as prone134 as any other to save up surprise for myself. Wherefore, I would have the General make his own maps and design his own ambuscades, and leave me in blindness of them. On that April morning I owned no sure knowledge that the General would even attend the banquet, to say naught135 of what he might do or say if ever he once were there.
It was the middle of the afternoon when the General looked into my workshop, pipe in mouth, and said with a twinkle in his eye, a twinkle that was both mirthful and hard: “Major, I take it you and I will go to that dinner to-night?”
The General would put this as though it were a question; not because it stood unsettled and unsaid as a thing resolved, but it was the way of him when he would pay you a compliment to pretend a consultation136, and coax137 you into a council, hoping you would advise those things he was already resolved upon like iron and which were often half performed.
For all I was aware of this talent on the General's part to be polite, and was certain, when he glanced in through my door, that both of us would be of the band about those Indian Queen tables, I was quick to humor his whim138 for the mysterious and undecided. I looked up as one who turns a new proposal on the wheel of his thoughts.
“It is my idea,” said I at last, with the air of a man who likes the notion's flavor, “that your presence would work for good. I should say we might better go. We may count the enemy, and that at least should be something.”
“You are right,” returned the General. “We will go; and I think, too, it might be good policy to let the foe count us.”
The Indian Queen was a crowded hostelry that night. The halls and waiting rooms of the tavern139 were thronged140 of eminent141 ones. Some were present to attend the Jefferson dinner; others casually142 for gossip and to hear the news.
As the General and I would be going up the stair, my eye was caught by the heavy shoulders and lion face of Webster coming down.
“There's too much Secession in the wind for me,” remarked Webster, as the General asked if he were going away.
“You did not leave the Senate for that,” responded the General. “If Secession be here, it's a reason for remaining.”
As I gazed at the group—waiting, they were, for the opening of the banquet hall—I met many a great face. Among those about the stair-head and in the rooms beyond were Colonel Johnson of Kentucky, tall of form, grave of eye, he who slew144 Tecumseh; Benton, big, pompous145, wise but with a bottomless conceit146; the lean Rufus Choate, eloquent147 and sound; Corwin, round, humorous, with a face of ruddy fun; White, the dignified148, in the Senate from my own state of Tennessee; Hill, gray and lame111, the General's friend in New Hampshire; Noah, my Hebrew with red hair; Van Buren, Peg's “good little secretary” of state; Vaughn, the British minister; the quickeyed Amos Kendall, with Blair by his side; the recreant149 Duff Green, now wholly for Calhoun; Calhoun himself, pale, scholarly and fine; Huygens, that ministerial tubby personage, gin-bleary and dull; Krudener, the Russian; Eaton, easy, florid, urbane150; Branch and Berrien and Barry and Ingham and the reckless Marcy.
The dinner was spread. The decorations were studied in their democracy. Hundreds of candles from many-armed iron branches blazed about the plain walls of the room and made the light of day. For the rest, the hall was hung with flags. The stars and stripes, to be a centerpiece, was draped about a portrait of Jefferson just to the rear of the place where Lee of Virginia, who was to preside, would sit. Extending around the four sides of the room were festooned the flags of the several states.
With peculiar ostentation151, and next to the national colors, flowed the banner of South Carolina, with its palmetto and rattlesnake—Calhoun's emblem153.
“Do you see it?” said the General in a low tone, as we approached our places, “do you see Calhoun's flag? That serpent may rattle152 but it must not strike.”
“And if it strike?”
“If it strike, it dies.”
Profusion154 and elegance155 were displayed in the arrangements, with none of that long-drawn foolishness of courses so dear to Whigs and Federals and other imitators of an English nobility. Black servants came and went to shift one's plate and knife, or to aid in carving156 at the call of a guest. At hopeful intervals157 along the tables reposed158 huge sirloins and smoking rounds of beef; there were quail159 pies and chickens fried and turkeys roasted; there stood pies of venison and rabbit and pot-pies of squirrels; soups and fishes and vegetables; boiled hams and giant dishes of earthenware160 holding baked pork and beans; roast suckling pigs and each with a crab-apple in its mouth. There were corn breads and flour breads and pancakes rolled with jellies; sideboards upheld puddings—Indian, rice and plum—quaking custards, and scores of kindred dainties. Everywhere bristled161 ranks and double ranks of bottles and decanters, and a widest range of drinks, from whisky to wine of the cape162, were at one's call. There, too, stood wooden bowls of salads on side tables, supported of weighty cheeses; and to close in the flanks were pies, mince163 and pumpkin164 and apple, with final coffee, and slim long pipes with tobacco of Trinidad for folk who would smoke.
Before we were seated, and while we stood to our places, the sentiment was proposed:
“The memory of Thomas Jefferson.” The toast was drunk in silence; all could agree on Jefferson; and then with clatter165 of knife and fork, the thirsty clink of glasses, and the murmurous166 hum of conversation over all, the work of the night commenced.
As the moments roved on, Nullification and Secession became so much the open objects of many present, and were withal so loosely in the common air, that sundry167 gentlemen—more timorous168 than loyal, perhaps—made excuses and withdrew.
The General's presence was a plain surprise to more than one; they could not construe169 it. For himself, he carried it off as though his being there were the most expected of possible things. The General sat on the right hand of the presiding Lee. I was, myself, to the General's right hand. Opposite was Calhoun with that Calhoun triangle of the cabinet, Berrien, Branch and Ingham. The quartet got on most beamingly. The General, as we came up, rendered them a sweeping170 bow which they might share among them.
“Calhoun,” whispered the General, indicating the Vice-President with a nod, “is, you see, openly claiming his half of my cabinet. I'll startle him some day by making him a present of the three.”
An hour passed on; the banquet reached that glass-and-bottle stage which Noah anticipated. There were a round score of regular toasts; each would smell of secession, while the speeches were even more malodorous of that villainy.
I, with a hundred others, was narrowly watching the General, and, well as I knew him, I wondered at the calmness wherewith he maintained himself. This man who had a genius for anger, who went head-free into each debate, who offered you his last thoughts in an unrestricted stream of talk, would now be as impassive as marble. The General, throughout these wordy treasons of speech and toast, showed cold and stern and master of a dignity that became both himself and the exalted171 character of his station.
The hour was hurrying towards the late. Calhoun glanced across at the General; there was a questioning uneasiness in his look. Evidently the urgent moment was at hand.
Calhoun offered a slip of paper to Lee, presiding, and whispered a word.
“The Vice-President proposes a toast,” cried Lee.
There fell a stillness, laughter died and talk was hushed. The Chairman read:
“'The Federal union. Next to our liberty, the most dear. May we all remember that it can only be preserved by respecting the rights of the States, and distributing equally the benefits and the burden of the union.'”
That stillness of death continued, marked and profound. Folk strained and craned at both the General and Calhoun as do ones who would observe the effect of a shot. There were eyes replete172 of interrogation, and if one must have it truly told, defiance173, to be peculiarly turned upon the General.
For his part, the General never wore a loftier look. He scribbled174 a quick line and gave it to the Chairman.
“The President offers a toast.” Then solemnly, as one who feels its import:
'“The Federal union: It must be Preserved.'”
The General's glance was on Calhoun, as pointed as a sword. His eye was fierce with a sort of gray fury like the eye of some fighting eagle. Calhoun for a moment gave him look for look; then his glance fell, his face whitened, he would seem to shrink and sear and wither175 before the man of fire. It was as though he saw the future's danger, or felt some gallows176 prophecy thereof. In the end he sat like one under a blackness of shadow.
The General it was who broke the spell. Pushing back, he arose, and bowing to the Chairman who still sat with that toast of menace in his hand he began moving towards the door. His head was lifted, and he bore himself as should one who flings a gauntlet to the world. Openly, obviously, defiantly177, he set his heel on Secession's head in the midst of Secession's champions.
Pausing, the General swept those present, letting his look of challenge rest on each one in his turn. It was as though he questioned them: “Where, now, is your courage?”
There was none to retort to him. Folk scented178 peril132 on him as cattle smell in the wind the unborn storm.
“The Federal union. It must be preserved.” The General, as though to call a last attention, repeated his toast. Then, with burning eye laid full upon Calhoun, and thinking, doubtless, on Overton and Crockett and Houston and Dale and Coffee and those riflemen in hunting shirts and leggings, and on the ships and Scott and Castle Pinckney, he added: “And it shall be preserved.”
It was the moment pregnant and mighty; the moment when one man foiled a plot to stampede history itself, and calmed and turned and drove the herd179 of events in a right national direction for the union and to fields of quiet peace. Treason's heart and Treason's hand were palsied with a toast of seven words, when now the words came wedded180 with the grim, relentless181 courage that would die or make them true.
The galleries about the big room were filled with women looking on, Peg among the others. When the General and I were again at the White House, late as stood the hour, we found Peg waiting. I never saw a being more given over to fire than was our Peg.
“Was he not noble?” cried Peg, when she would have me alone for a moment. “Was he not grand? I would give my life if for one hour I might be a man, and be a man like that.”
And yet for all the plain sureness of that toast, and the General's looks of decision which were sent to be its escort, the rebellionists would ask a further sign. They sent the insinuating182 Rhetz to call upon the General. That was the next morning.
The politic126 Rhetz presented himself, and the General met him with a manner of studied distance. He would have the visitor to know how he held him for no friend. This was meant to give the General's words more weight-, since the other would understand that he stood upon guard and spoke nothing he did not intend to carry out.
“Mr. President,” said Rhetz, suavely183 deferential184, “I go back to my home to-morrow. Have you any message for your South Carolina friends?”
“Yes,” returned the General, with his cold eye on the questioner, “yes, I have a message for my friends of South Carolina.” The words were coming with a slow emphasis like a sentence of death. “Their state is a part of the union, and a part of the union it shall remain. You may tell them, if one South Carolina finger be raised in defiance of this government, that I shall come down there; and once I'm there, I'll hang the first man I lay hands on to the first tree I can reach.”
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1
itched
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| v.发痒( itch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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3
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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4
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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5
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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6
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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7
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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8
chivalric
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| 有武士气概的，有武士风范的 | |
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boxer
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| n.制箱者，拳击手 | |
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10
coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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12
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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13
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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14
doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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16
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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17
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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18
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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19
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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20
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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21
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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22
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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23
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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24
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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25
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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26
fracas
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| n.打架；吵闹 | |
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27
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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28
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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29
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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31
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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32
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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33
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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34
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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referee
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| n.裁判员．仲裁人，代表人，鉴定人 | |
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36
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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37
beaks
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| n.鸟嘴( beak的名词复数 )；鹰钩嘴；尖鼻子；掌权者 | |
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38
expound
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| v.详述；解释；阐述 | |
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39
gouging
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| n.刨削[槽]v.凿( gouge的现在分词 )；乱要价；（在…中）抠出…；挖出… | |
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40
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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41
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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42
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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43
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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44
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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45
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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47
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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48
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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49
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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50
melee
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| n.混战；混战的人群 | |
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51
slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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52
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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53
rawhide
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| n.生牛皮 | |
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54
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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55
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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56
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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57
scathe
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| v.损伤；n.伤害 | |
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58
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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59
Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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60
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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61
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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62
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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63
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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64
dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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65
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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66
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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67
artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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68
momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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69
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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70
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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71
buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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72
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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73
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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74
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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75
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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76
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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77
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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78
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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79
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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80
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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81
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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82
horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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83
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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84
brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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85
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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86
whiningly
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87
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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88
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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89
thaws
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| n.（足以解冻的）暖和天气( thaw的名词复数 )；（敌对国家之间）关系缓和v.（气候）解冻( thaw的第三人称单数 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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90
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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91
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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92
overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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93
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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94
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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95
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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96
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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97
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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98
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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99
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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100
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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101
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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102
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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103
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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104
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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105
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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106
sprain
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| n.扭伤,扭筋 | |
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107
demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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108
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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109
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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110
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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111
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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112
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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113
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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114
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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115
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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116
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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117
doughty
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| adj.勇猛的，坚强的 | |
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118
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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119
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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120
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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121
clique
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| n.朋党派系，小集团 | |
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122
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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123
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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124
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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125
iniquitous
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| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
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126
politic
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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127
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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128
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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129
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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130
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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131
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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132
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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133
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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134
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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135
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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136
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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137
coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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138
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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139
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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140
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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142
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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143
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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144
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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145
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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146
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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147
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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148
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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149
recreant
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| n.懦夫；adj.胆怯的 | |
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150
urbane
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| adj.温文尔雅的，懂礼的 | |
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151
ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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152
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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153
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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154
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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155
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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156
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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157
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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158
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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160
earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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161
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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162
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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163
mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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164
pumpkin
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| n.南瓜 | |
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165
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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166
murmurous
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| adj.低声的 | |
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167
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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168
timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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169
construe
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| v.翻译，解释 | |
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170
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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171
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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172
replete
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| adj.饱满的，塞满的；n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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173
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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174
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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175
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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176
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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177
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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178
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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179
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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180
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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181
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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182
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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183
suavely
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184
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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