The Last of the Foresters: Or, Humors on the Border; A story of the Old Virginia FrontierCooke, John Esten
General
The Last of the Foresters: Or, Humors on the Border; A story of the Old Virginia Frontier
Cooke, John Esten
Frontier and pioneer life -- Fiction; Virginia -- Fiction
The music aroused Longears, who sat up, so to speak, upon his
forepaws, and with his head bent upon one side, gazed with dignified
and solemn interest at his master.
The young man smiled, and continued playing; and as the rude border
music floated from the instrument, the Verty of old days came back,
and he was once again the forest hunter.
The old woman gazed at him with thoughtful affection, and returned his
smile. He went on playing, and the long hours of the autumn night went
by like birds into the cloudland of the past.
When the forest boy ceased playing, it was nearly midnight, and the
brands were flickering and dying.
Waked by the silence, Longears, who had gone to sleep again, rose up,
and came and licked his master's hand, and whined. Verty caressed his
head, and laying down his violin, looked at the old Indian woman with
affectionate smiles, and murmured:
"We are happy still, _ma mere_!"
CHAPTER LXI.
MISTRESS O'CALLIGAN'S WOOERS.
It will be remembered that Mr. Jinks had summed up the probable
results of his deep laid schemes that morning when he returned from
Mistress O'Calligan's, in the strong and emphatic word-picture, "there
will be gory blood, sir!"
Now, while these words, strictly construed, are, perhaps, ambiguous,
from a certain redundancy in the arrangement, still, there is little
difficulty in determining what Mr. Jinks meant. Death and destruction
dwelt in his imagination, and held there a riotous carnival; and to
such a pitch of delight was our friend elevated by the triumphant
anticipation of revenge upon O'Brallaghan, that he stalked about
during the remaining portion of the day, talking to himself in the
heroic vein, and presenting the appearance of an imperial grasshopper,
arrived at the summit of felicity.
But Mr. Jinks was not idle; no one knew better than himself that
vigilance was the price paid for success; and to vigilance our
conspirator added cunning--in which noble trait he was by no means
deficient.
We have seen how, on returning from the heroic attack upon the
peace-bound O'Brallaghan, Mr. Jinks threw out a series of observations
which attracted the attention of the landlord at the tavern; and
we have further seen these two gentlemen retire together into the
hostelry, with significant looks and mutterings. Of the exact nature
of that interview we cannot speak, having nowhere discovered any
memoranda to guide us, in the authentic documents from which this
history is compiled.
But results define causes; and from after events it is not improbable
that Mr. Jinks made an eloquent and stirring oration, addressed after
the manner of all great orators to the prejudices of the auditor,
and indicative of Mr. Jinks' intention to overwhelm, with defeat and
destruction, the anti-Germanic league and pageant, on St. Michael's
day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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