Ande Trembath: A Tale of Old Cornwall EnglandKemp, Matthew Stanley
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Ande Trembath: A Tale of Old Cornwall England
Kemp, Matthew Stanley
Cornwall (England : County) -- Fiction
"Yes," said the red-bearded stranger. "My friend here and myself, during
the last eight years have been travellers. We have been in Brazil and
other American countries. That is why I remember the cases of the
_Charming Betsey_ and Williams. The decision of the United States in
those cases still rankles in the hearts of the people of the southern
continent."
The raftsmen and school-master were eager for tales of adventure and
strange countries, when the supper bell rang, and the two gentlemen
disappeared into the long dining-room. After supper they retired, being
thoroughly tired with the travel of the day.
"Who air those fellows?" asked one of the raftsmen.
The question was voiced by all in the public room.
The tavern keeper, obsequiously handed the record book to Bill, who read
out for the benefit of all the following:
"Andrew Trembath, Esq., New Orleans."
"Richard Thomas, New Orleans."
"The one must be a lawyer," said Professor Bill, with a good bit of
respect in his tones.
"Did you notice the silent one? What a giant in size he is? He'd make an
oar fly, I'll wager, eh, Hugh?" said one of the raftsmen.
"Aye," said Hugh, meditatively.
"The one fellow is a Cornishman," said Bill.
"Whas that, Bill?" said the tavern keeper.
"A native of the southwest of England, a section noted for its minerals
and seamen."
"How do ye ken that, Bill?" asked Hugh Lark.
"Because," said Bill,
"By Tre, Tri, and Pen,
Ye may know the Cornishmen."
CHAPTER XXII
THE LYCAMAHONING
The sun arose o'er the eastern hills of Lycamahoning, a great disc of
flame, fretted with the great solemn pines and oaks of the hilltops, and
driving before it the opaline radiance of early twilight. Pine needles
lost the sombre hue of night and glistened and gleamed with a richer
emerald where the ever-shifting sunbeams touched and gloried them with
light. Trees of oak and pine, a hundred and fifty feet in height,
enveloped with interlacing branches hill and lowland, except where,
oasis-like, the fields and cabin of some squatter dappled the general
surface of woodland. A few clouds still remained on the western horizon,
dark and threatening, but the day was propitious for fine weather.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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