The lost hunter: A tale of early timesAdams, John Turvill
General
The lost hunter: A tale of early times
Adams, John Turvill
Adventure stories; Indians of North America -- Fiction; New England -- Fiction
The packet, after some delay, occasioned by the occupation of her
berth by a casual trader, was finally able, by advancing one vessel,
and pushing another back, and shoving a third on one side, to approach
the wharf at the foot of Courtlandt street, and land her passengers.
A coach was presently procured, and Holden, who had been invited
by Pownal, accompanied his young friend. The distance up Courtlandt
street, and down Broadway to the house of the elder Pownal, which
was near the Battery, was short, and therefore even had the
carriage proceeded more leisurely, and the Recluse been disposed
to observation, he could have seen but little, and that in an
unsatisfactory manner. Pownal felt some curiosity respecting the
impression which would be made by the turmoil of a large city upon one
who for so many years had excluded himself from the crowded haunts of
men, and therefore watched his companion with no little interest;
but Holden, as if he divined his thoughts, and was displeased at the
discovery, or for some other unknown reason, betrayed no change of
feeling, or conduct, but was as impassive and indifferent to all
passing around him as if he were in his own hut. So far from showing
any emotion, he threw himself into a corner of the carriage, and shut
his eyes as if desirous to exclude objects of which he was regardless,
or which only annoyed him. The young man knew not exactly how to
interpret the other's conduct, but was too much accustomed to his
habits to feel surprise, and respected him too greatly to desire to
intrude into anything he wished to conceal.
The carriage stopped before a fine, large brick mansion, worthy of a
merchant prince, fronting the Battery, and, of course, commanding a
view through the trees which shaded the greensward of that beautiful
spot, of the blue water, and islands, and the Jersey shore sweeping
away in the distance. Fashion, always capricious in her movements, has
deserted the lower part of Broadway and the Battery, by far the most
charming quarter of the city, to emigrate to a part of the island on
which New York is built, more remote from the marts of trade. Immense
warehouses occupy the sites where once stood the abodes of elegance
and hospitality, and the chaffer of traffic has succeeded to social
welcomes and greetings of conviviality.
The black servant who came to the door at the ringing of the bell,
stared with astonishment at the unusual figure of Pownal's companion,
but if disposed, as is the habit of his class, to be deficient in
respect to one not bearing the conventional stamp, a glance of the
young man's eye, and his marked deference toward the stranger, to say
nothing of the latter's natural air of authority, soon restored his
courtesy and usual obsequious attention. It was, therefore, with a
gracious expression of countenance and polite bow, that Mr. Johnson
ushered the two gentlemen into the parlor.
"Where is Mr. Pownal, Johnson?" inquired the young man.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account