have to sell the grays too; they are the worst broken horses – Mr. Le Quoi” Richard was too much agitated to regard his pronunciation, of which he was commonly a little vain: “Monsieur La Quoi, pray get off my leg; you hold my leg so tight that it’s no wonder the horses back.”
“Merciful Providence!” exclaimed the Judge; “they will be all killed!” Elizabeth gave a piercing shriek, and the black of Agamemnon’s face changed to a muddy white.
At this critical moment, the young hunter, who during the salutations of the parties had sat in rather sullen silence, sprang from the sleigh of Marmaduke to the heads of the refractory leaders. The horses, which were yet suffering under the injudicious and somewhat random blows of Richard, were dancing up and down with that ominous movement that threatens a sudden and uncontrollable start, still pressing backward. The youth gave the leaders a powerful jerk, and they plunged aside, and re-entered the road in the position in which they were first halted. The sleigh was whirled from its dangerous position, and upset, with the runners outward. The German and the divine were thrown, rather unceremoniously, into the highway, but without danger to their bones. Richard appeared in the air, describing the segment of a circle, of which the reins were the radii, and landed, at the distance of some fifteen feet, in that snow-bank which the horses had dreaded, right end uppermost. Here, as he instinctively grasped the reins, as drowning men seize at straws, he admirably served the purpose of an anchor. The Frenchman, who was on his legs, in the act of springing from the sleigh, took an aerial flight also, much in the attitude which boys assume when they play leapfrog, and, flying off in a tangent to the curvature of his course, came into the snow-bank head foremost, w-here he remained, exhibiting two lathy legs on high, like scarecrows waving in a corn-field. Major Hartmann, whose self-possession had been admirably preserved during the whole evolution, was the first of the party that gained his feet and his voice.
“Ter deyvel, Richart!” he exclaimed in a voice half serious, half-comical, “put you unload your sleigh very hautily!”
It may be doubtful whether the attitude in which Mr. Grant continued for an instant after his overthrow was the one into which he had been thrown, or was assumed, in humbling himself before the Power that he reverenced, in thanksgiving at his escape. When he rose from his knees, he began to gaze about him, with anxious looks, after the welfare of his companions, while every joint in his body trembled with nervous agitation. There was some confusion in the faculties of Mr. Jones also: but as the mist gradually cleared from before his eyes, he saw that all was safe, and, with an air of great self-satisfaction, he cried, “Well – that was neatly saved, anyhow! – it was a lucky thought in me to hold on to the reins, or the fiery devils would have been over the mountain by this time. How well I recovered myself, ‘Duke! Another moment would have been too late; but I knew just the spot where to touch the off-leader; that blow under his right flank, and the sudden jerk I gave the rein, brought them round quite in rule, I must own myself.”[4]
“Thou jerk! thou recover thyself, Dickon!” he said; ‘but for that brave lad yonder, thou and thy horses, or rather mine, would have been dashed to pieces – but where is Monsieur Le Quoi?”
“Oh! mon cher Juge! mon ami!” cried a smothered voice”, praise be God, I live; vill you, Mister Agamemnon, be pleas come down ici, and help me on my leg?”
The divine and the negro seized the incarcerated Gaul by his legs and extricated him from a snow-bank of three feet in depth, whence his voice had sounded as from the tombs. The thoughts of Mr. Le Quoi, immediately on Ms liberation, were not extremely collected; and, when he reached the light, he threw his eyes upward, in order to examine the distance he had fallen. His good-humor returned, however, with a knowledge of his safety, though it was some little time before he clearly comprehended the case.
“What, monsieur”, said Richard, who was busily assisting the black in taking off the leaders; “are you there? I thought I saw you flying toward the top of the mountain just now.”
“Praise be God, I no fly down into the lake”, returned the Frenchman, with a visage that was divided between pain, occasioned by a few large scratches that he had received in forcing his head through the crust, and the look of complaisance that seemed natural to his pliable features.
“Ah! mon cher Mister Deeck, vat you do next? – dere be noting you no try.”
“The next thing, I trust, will be to learn to drive”, said the Judge, who bad busied himself in throwing the buck, together with several other articles of baggage, from his own sleigh into the snow; “here are seats for you all, gentlemen; the evening grows piercingly cold, and the hour approaches for the service of Mr. Grant; we will leave friend Jones to repair the damages, with the assistance of Agamemnon, and hasten to a warm fire. Here, Dickon, are a few articles of Bess’ trumpery, that you can throw into your sleigh when ready; and there is also a deer of my taking, that I will thank you to bring. Aggy! remember that there will be a visit from Santa Claus[5] to-night.”
The black grinned, conscious of the bribe that was offered him for silence on the subject of the deer, while Richard, without in the least waiting for the termination of his cousin’s speech, began his reply:
“Learn to drive, sayest thou, Cousin ‘Duke? Is there a man in the county who knows more of horse-flesh than myself? Who broke in the filly, that no one else dare mount, though your coachman did pretend that he had tamed her before I took her in hand; but anybody could see that he lied – he was a great liar, that John – what’s that, a buck?” Richard abandoned the horses, and ran to the spot where Marmaduke had thrown the deer, “It is a buck! I am amazed! Yes, here are two holes in him, he has fired both barrels, and hit him each time, Egod! how Marmaduke will brag! he is a prodigious bragger about any small matter like this now; well, to think that ‘Duke has killed a buck before Christmas! There will be no such thing as living with him – they are both bad shots though, mere chance – mere chance – now, I never fired twice at a cloven foot in my life – it is hit or miss with me – dead or run away-had it been a bear, or a wild-cat, a man might have wanted both barrels. Here! you Aggy! how far off was the Judge when this buck was shot?”
“Oh! massa Richard, maybe a ten rod”, cried the black, bending under one of the horses, with the pretence of fastening a buckle, but in reality to conceal the grin that opened a mouth from ear to ear.
“Ten rod!” echoed the other; “way, Aggy, the deer I Killed last winter ‘was at twenty – yes! if anything it was nearer thirty than twenty. I wouldn’t shoot at a deer at ten rod: besides, you may remember, Aggy, I only fired once.”
“Yes, massa Richard, I ‘member ‘em! Natty Bumppo fire t’oder gun. You know, sir, all ‘e folks say Natty kill him.”
“The folks lie, you black devil!” exclaimed Richard in great heat. “I have not shot even a gray squirrel these four years, to which that old rascal has not laid claim, or some one else [or him. This is a damned envious world that we live in – people are always for dividing the credit at a thing, in order to bring down merit to their own level. Now they have a story about the Patent,[6] that Hiram Doolittle helped to plan the steeple to St. Paul’s; when Hiram knows that it is entirely mine; a little taken front a print of his namesake in London, I own; but essentially, as to all points of genius, my own.”
“I don’t know where he come from”, said the black, losing every mark of humor in an expression of admiration, “but eb’rybody say, he wounerful handsome.”
“And well they may say so, Aggy”, cried Richard, leaving the buck and walking up to the negro with the air of a man who has new interest awakened within him, “I think I may say, without bragging, that it is the handsomest and the most scientifi c country church in America. I know that the Connecticut
The spectators, from immemorial usage, have a right to laugh at the casualties of a sleigh ride; and the Judge was no sooner certain that no one was done than he made full use of the privilege.
The periodical visits of St. Nicholas, or Santa Claus, as he is termed, were never forgotten among the inhabitants of New York, until the emigration from New England brought in the opinions and usages of the Puritans, like the “bon homme de Noel.” he arrives at each Christmas.
The grants of land, made either by the crown or the state, were but letters patent under the great seal, and the term “patent” is usually applied to any district of extent thus conceded; though under the crown’, manorial rights being often granted with the soil, in the older counties the word “manor” is frequently used. There are many manors in New York though all political and judicial rights have ceased.
