Ivan the Terrible; or, Dark Deeds of Night — page 92: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

88 The Scotchman stretched himseif with little effort before the fire ; while Joel Spackman, wrapping himself up in his cloak, crouched under the waggon body, with his back resting partly against one of the wheels. From time to time herose and thrust additional brands into the fire, looked up at the night, and round upon the little en- campment, then sunk back to his perch and stole a few moments, at intervals, of uneasy sleep. The first two hours of the watch were over, and James Gray was relieved. The youth, however, felt in no mood for sleep, and taking his seat by the fire, he drew from his pocket a little volume, and by the fitful flame of the resinous light-wood, he prepared, in this rude manner, to make up for the precious time his youth had lost in the stirring events of the preceding seven years, consumed in war. He was surprised at this employment by his late commander, who, himself sleepless, now emerged from the bushes and joined Gray at the fire. The youth had been rather a favourite with Spencer. They had both been reared in the same neighbourhood, and the first military achieve- ments of James had taken place under the eye, and had met the approbation of his officer. The difference of their ages was just such as to permit of the warm attachment of the youth without diminishing any of the reverence which should be felt by the inferior. Gray was not more than seventeen, and Spencer was perhaps thirty-four—the very prime of manhood. They sat by the fire and talked of old times and told old stories with the hearty glee and good nature of the young. Their mutual inquiries led to the revelation of their several objects in pursuing the present journey. Those of James Gray were scarcely, indeed, to be con- sidered his own. They were plans and purposes of his uncle, and it does not concern this narrative that we should know more of their nature than has already been revealed. But, whatever they weré, they were as freely unfolded to his hearer as if they had been brothers, and Spencer was quite as frank in his revelations as his companion. He, too, was on his way to Charleston, from whence he was to take passage for England. “© Tam rather in a hurry to reach town,” he said, ‘as I learn that the Falmouth packet is preparing to sail for ngland in a few days, and I must go in her.” : ‘‘ For England, major !’”’ exclaimed the youth, with unaffected astonishment. - “ Yes, James, for England. But why ?—what astonishes you ?” ‘6 Why, lord !” exclaimed the simple youth, ‘‘ if they only knew there, as I do, what a cutting and slashing you used to make among their red-coats, Ireckon they’d hang you to the first hickory.” ° ‘© Oh, no ! scarcely,’”’ said the other, with a smile. ‘¢ But I reckon you’ll change your name, major?” continued the youth. “No,” responded Spencer, “if I did that, I should lose the object of my voyage. You must know, James, that an old relative has left me a good deal of money in England, and I can only get it by proving that I am Lionel Spencer ; so you see I must carry my own name, whatever may be the risk.” ‘© Well, major, you know best; but I do think if they could only have a guess of what you did among their sodgers at Hobkirk’s and Cowpens, and Eutaw, and a dozen other places, they’d find some means of hanging you up, peace or no peace. But I don’tse what occasion you have to be going cl’ar away to England for money, when you’ve got a sight of your own already.” ‘‘ Not so much as you think for,” replied the major, giving an involuntary and uneasy glance at the Scotchman, who was seemingly sound asleep on the opposite side of the fire. ‘‘ There is, you know, but little money in the country at any time, and I must get what I want for my expenses when I reach Charleston. I have just enough to carry me there.” ‘© Well, now, major, that’s mighty strange. I always thought that you was about the best off of any man in our parts ; but if you’re strained so close, I’m thinking, major,—if so be you wouldn’t think me too presumptuous,—you’d better let me lend you a guinea or so that I’ve got to spare, and you can pay me back when you get the English money.” And the youth fumbled in his bosom for alittle cotton wallet, which, with its limited contents, was displayed in another instant to the eyes of the officer. “No, no, James,” said the other, putting back the generous tribute ; ‘* [ have quite enough to carry me to Charleston, and when there I can easily get a supply from the merchants. But I thank you, my good fellow, for your offer. You area good fellow, James, aud I will remember you.” It is needless to pursue their conversation further. The night passed away without any alarms, and at dawn the next day the whole party were engaged in making preparation for a start. Mrs. Gray was soon busy in getting breakfast in readiness. Major Spencer consented to remain with them until it was over ; but the Scotchman, after returning thanks very civilly for his accontmodp- tion of the night, at once resumed his journey. His course ; THE BUZZARD’S FEAST; OR, THE SECRET MURDER. like their own, to lie below; but he neither declared his route, nor betrayed the least desire to know that of Spencer. The latter had no disposition to renew those inquiries from which the sivas seemed to shrink the night before, and he necortinely suffered MA to depart with a quiet farewell, and the utterance of a Saeed c ; wish, in which all the parties joined, that he might have a pleasan ourney. : When he was fairly out of sight, Spencer said to Space 4 ‘‘ Had I liked that fellow’s looks, nay, had I not positively dislike 5 them, I should aye gone with him. As it is, I will remain an share your breakfast.” Bheeiaat being over, all parties set forward ; but Spencer, aiter keeping along with them for a mile, took his leave also. The’ 8 OY waggon pace at which the family travelled did not suit the ee spirited cavalier, and it was necessary, as he assured them, that he should reach the city in two nights more. 1 They parted with many regrets, as truly felt as they were bilare! expressed ; and James Gray never felt the tedium of waggon travel- ing to be so severe as throughout the whole of that day when he separated from his favourite captain. But he was too stout-hearted a lad to make any complaint, and his dissatisfaction only showed itself in his unwonted silence and over-anxiely, which his steed seemed to feel in common with himself, to go rapidly ahead. Thus the day passed, and the wayfarers at its close had made a progress of some twenty miles from sun to sun. aT The same precautions marked their encampment this night as the last, and they rose in better spirits with the next morning, the dawn of which was very bright and pleasant and encouraging. A similar journey of twenty miles brought them to the place of bivouac as the sun went down, and they prepared as usual for their securities and supper. They found themselves on the edge ofa very dense forest of pines and scrubby oaks, a portion of which was swallowed up in a deep bay—so called in the dialect of the country @ swamp-bottom, the growth of which consisted of mingled cypresses and bay-trees, with tupola, gum, and dense thickets of low, stunted shrubbery, cane grass, and dwarf willows, which filled up every interval between the trees, and to the eye barred out every human intruder. This bay was chosen as the background for the camping party. Their waggon was wheeled into an area on a gentle rising ground in front, under a pleasant shade of oaks and hickories, with a lonely pine rising loftily in occasional spots among them. Here the horses were taken out, and James Gray prepared to kindle up a fire; but, looking for his axe, it was unaccountably missing, and after a fruitless search of half an hour, the party came to the conclusion that it had been left on the spot where they had slept last night. This was a disaster, and while they meditated in what manner to repair it, a negro boy appeared in sight, passing along the road at their feet, and driving before him a small herd of cattle. From him they learned that they were only a mile or two from & farmstead, were an axe might be borrowed; and James, leaping on. his horse, rode forwards in the hope to obtain one. He found no difficulty in his quest, and, having obtained it from the farmer, who was also a tavern-keeper, he casually asked if Major Spencer had not stayed with him the night before. He was somewhat surprised when told that he had not. ‘‘ There was one man stayed with me last night,” said the farmer, “but he didn’t call himself a major, and didn’t much look like one.” ‘* He rode a fine sorrel horse—tall, bright colour, with white fore foot, didn’t he ?” asked James. ** No, that he didn’t. He rode a powerful black, coal black, and not a bit of white about him.” “¢That was the Scotchman! But I wonder the major didn’t stop with you. He must have rode on. Isn’t there another house near you, below ?”” “Not one. There’s ne’er a'house either above or below for a matter of fifteen miles. I’m the only man in all that distance thac’s living on this road, and I don’t think your friend could have gone below, as I should have seen him pass. I’ve been all day out there in that field before your eyes, clearing up the brush.” Somewhat wondering that the major should have turned aside from the track, though without attaching to it any importance at that particular moment, James Gray took up the borrowed axe, and hurried back to the encampment, where the toil of cutting an extra supply of light-wood to meet the exigencies of the ensuing night sufficiently exercised his mind as well as his body to prevent him from meditating upon the seeming strangeness of the circumstance. (70 be continued.) READ rryt - MOONLIGHT JACK; THE KING OF THE ROAD. uty wind BD the great demand, No. 1 has been reprinted, and can be had with iF) ) SalEOUi i nd the large Engraving, for ~C om G boo