Satanstoe; Or, the Littlepage Manuscripts. A Tale of the ColonyCooper, James Fenimore
General
Satanstoe; Or, the Littlepage Manuscripts. A Tale of the Colony
Cooper, James Fenimore
Antirent War, N.Y., 1839-1846 -- Fiction
As soon as we reached the point on the great northern road, or that which
led towards Skeenesborough, Herman Mordaunt was obliged to quit his wagons,
and to put all the females on horseback. The most necessary of the stores
were placed on pack-horses; and, after a delay of half a day, time lost in
making these arrangements, we proceeded. The wagons were to follow, but at
a slow pace, the ladies being compelled to abandon them on account of the
ruggedness of the ways, which would have rendered their motion not easy to
be borne. Our cavalcade and train of footmen made a respectable display
along the uneven road, which soon became very little more than a line cut
through the forest, with an occasional wheel-track, but without the least
attempt to level the surface of the ground by any artificial means. This
was the place where we were to overtake Mr. Worden and Jason, and where we
did find their effects; the owners themselves having gone on in advance,
leaving word that we should fall in with them somewhere on the route.
Guert and I marched in front, our youth and vigour enabling us to do this
with great ease to ourselves. Knowing that the ladies were well cared for,
on horseback, we pushed on, in order to make provision for their reception,
at a house a few miles distant, where we were to pass the night. This
building was of logs, of course, and stood quite alone in the wilderness,
having, however, some twenty or thirty acres of cleared land around it; and
it would not do to pass it, at that time of the day. The distance from this
solitary dwelling to the first habitation on Herman Mordaunt's property,
was eighteen miles; and that was a length of road that would require the
whole of a long May day to overcome, under our circumstances.
Guert and myself might have been about a mile in advance of the rest of the
party, when we saw a sort of semi-clearing before us, that we mistook at
first for our resting-place. A few acres had been chopped over, letting in
the light of the day upon the gloom of the forest, but the second growth
was already shooting up, covering the area with high bushes. As we drew
nearer, we saw it was a small, abandoned clearing. Entering it, voices were
heard at no great distance, and we stopped; for the human voice is not
heard, in such a place, without causing the traveller to pause, and stand
to his arms. This we did; after which we listened with some curiosity and
caution.
“High!” exclaimed some one, very distinctly, in English.
“Jack!” said another voice, in a sort of answering second that could not
well be mistaken.
“There's three for low;--is that good?” put in the first speaker.
“It will do, sir; but here are a ten and an ace. Ten and three, and four
and two make nineteen;--I'm game.”
“High, low, Jack and game!” whispered Guert; “here are fellows playing at
cards, near us; let us go on and beat up their quarters.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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