CHAPTER XVII. Hear how he clears the points o' faith, Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, His lengthen'd chin and turn'd-up snout, Oh! how they fire the heart devout On sic a day. BURNS. "WHAT upon earth does this mean?" said Colonel Robinson. "It means," said Balcombe, "fraud, perjury, and suppression of a will. It means that my young friend here is Mr. Napier, grandson and heir at law of the friend and patron of my youth, Mr. Raby of Barnard's Castle in the county of Northumberland, Virginia; and that he has been defrauded of that splendid inheritance by the knavery of that scoundrel, in combination with another, by whom he has been bribed. It means that I am determined to see him righted and to restore him to the home of his ancestors, and that I will 'neither give rest to my eyes nor slumber to my eyelids,' till I have accomplished this. But come, VOL. I.-0 William, the game's afoot, and we must not slacken our pursuit; let us see what comes next." "I am afraid," said I, "that the fierceness of your assault may put the fellow to flight, and that we may have to run him down, before we can bring him to action again." "You say true," said Balcombe; "we must guard against that." He reflected a moment, and then said, "That will do; it will answer a double purpose. Come, William, we must take a walk.” We went out, and I asked what he proposed to do. "Ascertain whether Montague will take to his heels; and if he does, pursue him, and bring him back." 66 66 Bring him back!" said I. "By what means?" "By means he cannot resist," replied Balcombe. "I do not understand you," said I. "Do you not? Have you not seen that with my eye upon him he is helpless as a charmed bird? I could lead him to Virginia, and lock him up in the penitentiary, if I could travel so far without sleeping. But I forget myself." He put his whistle to his mouth and sounded a succession of notes, as if carelessly. Nothing could seem less like a signal; but I observed, that, as he repeated the use of the instrument, several times during the walk, he uniformly sounded the same notes. "What does that mean?" said I. "It is a hint to Keizer to fall in with me, as if by chance. John is not far off, and a ramble of half an hour will hardly fail to bring us within hearing." As he predicted, so it proved. We soon met with Keizer, when Balcombe asked if he knew Mr. Jones. "Oh yes, sir." "Have you any business with him?” "I can make some, sir." "Do you know Montague?" "Oh, I know him mighty well, sir.” "Have you any business with him?” "None just now, sir; but he is always glad to see me, for he is always getting me to do something for him." "Well, he is at Jones's. I must see him before he quits the neighbourhood, and you must find out whether he means to stay to the campmeeting. If so, I want to know it. If you find out that he is going away, you must tell me directly, and let me know which way he is going. Does he know you to be my friend?" "I reckon not, sir; he lives too far off." "Then don't let him find it out. Now fork off at the next path. You and I must be strangers for a while; and mark this, John: if Montague talks of employing you in any way, you must be ready to do anything for him; and if he wants you to cut my throat, you must undertake it.” "I understand you, sir. Good-morning." We now returned to the house, and spent a gay and happy evening. Balcombe's spirits were most exuberant; and he rattled on, from topic to topic, so amusingly, that bedtime came before I thought of it. John did not appear; and we inferred that Montague, fearing to betray himself by precipitate flight, had determined to remain where he was. In the morning Keizer came and told us that Montague had been in the fidgets all the evening; had talked of going away; and had only been restrained by the earnest expostulations of Jones. His pleas of business were all overruled by allusions to those whose private affairs detained them from the marriage supper, and he saw that he might lose character by going away; he had therefore determined to stay. About noon we all went to the campmeeting. Such things were not known in the part of the country where I lived; and I almost forgot the interesting condition of my affairs in the novelty of the scene. In the bosom of a vast forest, a piece of ground, nearly an acre in extent, and in form almost a square, was enclosed on three sides by a sort of shed, sloping outward, and boarded up on the outside. This was divided into something like stalls, separated from each other and closed in front by counterpanes, blankets, and sheets, disposed as curtains. Some of these were thrown up, and within we saw coarse tables, stools, and preparations for eating and sleeping, such as piles of straw, beds tied up in bundles with bedclothes, knives and forks, plates, porringers, and platters, loaves of bread, skimmed milk cheeses, jirked meat, hams, tongues, and cold fowls. Children and dogs were nestling in the straw, and mothers sat on stools nursing their infants. The whole centre of the area was occupied by hewn logs, placed in extended parallel lines, with the ends resting on other transverse logs, so as to form rows of rude benches. On these were seated a promiscuous multitude, of every age, sex, condition, and hue; crowded densely towards the front, and gradually thinning in the rear, where some seats were nearly vacant, or partially occupied by lounging youngsters, chatting, smoking, and giggling, and displaying, both in dress and manner, a disposition to ape the foppery and impertinence of fashion. Of this, indeed, they saw so little in these remote wilds, that the imitation was of course awkward, but none the less unequivocal. At the open end of the area was the stand, as it is called. This was formed by raising a pen of logs to a convenient height, over which a platform of loose planks was laid, surmounted by a shelter to keep off the sun and rain. The platform was large enough for a dozen chairs, occupied by as many preachers. It was surrounded by a strong enclosure, about twenty yards square, over the whole of which a deep bed of straw was laid. This, as I understood, was intended to save the bones of those who might be unable to keep their feet, under the eloquence of the preacher, the |