Littlepage Manuscripts: Satanstoe, The Chainbearer & The Redskins (Complete Edition)
galloping close to us, as if wishing to get alongside. At the next moment the object was effected, and Guert pulled up.
“Did you understand the man who passed down, Guert?” demanded Herman Mordaunt, as soon as all noises ceased.
“He called out to us, at the top of his voice, and would hardly do that without an object.”
“These men seldom go home, after a visit to Albany, without filling their jugs,” answered Guert, drily; “what could he have to say, more than to wish us good-night?”
“I cannot tell, but Mrs. Bogart thought she understood something about ‘Albany,’ and ‘the river.’”
“The ladies always fancy Albany is to sink into the river after a great thaw,” answered Guert, good-humouredly; “but I can show either of them that the ice is sixteen inches thick, here where we stand.”
Guert then gave me the reins, stepped out of the sleigh, went a short distance to a large crack that he had seen while speaking, and returned with a thumb placed on the handle of the whip, as a measure to show that his statement was true. The ice, at that spot, was certainly nearer eighteen than sixteen inches thick. Herman Mordaunt showed the measure to Mrs. Bogart, whose alarm was pacified by this positive proof. Neither Anneke nor Mary exhibited any fear; but, on the contrary, as the sleighs separated again, each had something pleasant, but feminine, to say at the expense of poor Mrs. Bogart’s imagination.
I believe I was the only person in our own sleigh who felt any alarm, after the occurrence of this little incident. Why uneasiness beset me, I cannot precisely say. It must have been altogether on Anneke’s account, and not in the least on my own. Such accidents as sleighs breaking through, on our New York lakes and rivers, happened almost every winter, and horses were often drowned; though it was seldom the consequences proved so serious to their owners. I recalled to mind the fragile nature of ice, the necessary effects of the great thaw and the heavy rains, remembering that frozen water might still retain most of its apparent thickness, after its consistency was greatly impaired. But, I could do nothing! If we landed, the roads were impassable for runners, almost for wheels, and another hour might carry the ladies, by means of the river, to their comfortable homes. That day, however, which, down to the moment of meeting the unknown sleigh, had been the very happiest of my life, was entirely changed in its aspect, and I no longer regarded it with any satisfaction. Had Anneke been at home, I could gladly have entered into a contract to pass a week on the river myself, as the condition of her safety, I thought but little of the others, to my shame be it said, though I cannot do myself the injustice to imagine, had Anneke been away, that I would have deserted even a horse, while there was a hope of saving him.
Away we went! Guert drove rapidly, but he drove with judgment, and it seemed as if his blacks knew what was expected of them. It was not long before we were trotting past the hamlet I have mentioned. It would seem that the bells of the two sleighs attracted the attention of the people on the shore, all of whom had not yet gone to bed; for the door of a house opened, and two men issued out of it, gazing at us as we trotted past at a pace that defied pursuit. These men also hallooed to us, in Dutch, and again Herman Mordaunt galloped up alongside, to speak to us.
“Did you understand these men?” he called out, for this time Guert did not see fit to stop his horses; “they, too, had something to tell us.”
“These people always have something to tell an Albany sleigh, Mr. Mordaunt,” answered Guert; “though it is not often that which it would do any good to hear.”
“But Mrs. Bogart thinks they also had something to say about ‘Albany,’ and the ‘river.’”
“I understand Dutch as well as excellent Mrs. Bogart,” said Guert, a little drily; “and I heard nothing; while I fancy I understand the river better. This ice would bear a dozen loads of hay, in a close line.”
This again satisfied Herman Mordaunt and the ladies, but it did not satisfy me. Our own bells made four times the noise of those of Herman Mordaunt; and it was very possible that one, who understood Dutch perfectly, might comprehend a call in that language, while seated in his own sleigh, when the same call could not be comprehended by the same person, while seated in Guert’s. There was no pause, however; on we trotted; and another mile was passed, before any new occurrence attracted attention.
The laugh was again heard among us, for Mary Wallace consented to sing an air, that was rendered somewhat ludicrous by the accompaniment of the bells. This song, or verse or two, for the singer got no further on account of the interruption, had drawn Guert’s and my attention behind us, or away from the horses, when a whirling sound was heard, followed immediately by a loud shout. A sleigh passed within ten yards of us, going down, and the whirling sound was caused by its runners, while the shout came from a solitary man, who stood erect, waving his whip and calling to us in a loud voice, as long as he could be heard. This was but for a moment, however, as his horses were on the run; and the last we could see of the man, through the misty moon-light, he had turned his whip on his team, to urge it ahead still faster. In an instant, Herman Mordaunt was at our side, for the third time that night, and he called out to us somewhat authoritatively to stop.
“What can all this mean, Guert?” he asked. “Three times have we had warnings about ‘Albany’ and the ‘river.’ I heard this man myself utter those two words, and cannot be mistaken.”
“I dare say, sir, that you may have heard something of the sort,” answered the still incredulous Guert; “for these chaps have generally some impertinence to utter, when they pass a team that is better than their own. These blacks of mine, Herman Mordaunt, awaken a good deal of envy, whenever I go out with them; and a Dutchman will forgive you any other superiority, sooner than he will overlook your having the best team. That last man had a spur in his head, moreover, and is driving his cattle, at this moment, more like a spook than like a humane and rational being, I dare say he asked if we owned Albany and the river.”
Guert’s allusion to his horses occasioned a general laugh; and laughter is little favourable to cool reflection. We all looked out on the solemn and silent night, cast our eyes along the wide and long reach of the river, in which we happened to be, and saw nothing but the calm of nature, rendered imposing by solitude and the stillness of the hour. Guert smilingly renewed his assurances that all was right, and moved on. Away we went! Guert evidently pressed his horses, as if desirous of being placed beyond this anxiety as soon as possible. The blacks flew, rather than trotted; and we were all beginning to submit to the exhilaration of so rapid and easy a motion, when a sound which resembled that which one might suppose the simultaneous explosion of a thousand rifles would produce, was heard, and caused both drivers to pull up; the sleighs stopping quite near each other, and at the same instant! A slight exclamation escaped old Mrs. Bogart; but Anneke and Mary remained still as death.
“What means that sound, Guert?” inquired Herman Mordaunt; the concern he felt being betrayed by the very tone of his voice. “Something seems wrong!”
“Something is wrong,” answered Guert, coolly, but very decidedly; “and it is something that must be seen to.”
As this was said, Guert stepped out on the ice, which he struck a hard blow with the heel of his boot, as if to make certain of its solidity. A second report was heard, and it evidently came from behind us. Guert gazed intently down the river; then he laid his head close to the surface of the ice, and looked again. At the same time, three or four more of these startling reports followed each other in quick succession. Guert instantly rose to his feet.
“I understand it, now,” he said, “and find I have been rather too confident. The ice, however, is safe and strong, and we have nothing to fear from its weakness. Perhaps it would be better to quit the river notwithstanding, though I am far from certain the better course will not be to push on.”
“Let us know the danger at once, Mr. Ten Eyck,” said Herman Mordaunt, “that we may decide for the best.”
“Why, sir, I am afraid that the rains and the thaw together, have thrown so much water into the river, all at once, as it might be, as to have raised the ice and broken it loose,