PART I - CHAPTER V

Tales for Fifteen

by James F. Cooper

PART I - CHAPTER V, TALES FOR FIFTEEN by James F. Cooper
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THE long expected Monday at length arrived, and
Miss Emmerson and Julia, taking an affectionate
leave of their relatives in the city, went on board
the steam-boat under the protection of Charles
Weston. Here a new scene indeed opened on our
heroine; for some time she even forgot to look
around her in the throng in quest of Antonio. As the
boat glided along the stream, she stood leaning on
one arm of Charles, while Miss Emmerson held the
other, in delighted gaze at the objects, which they
had scarcely distinguished before they were passed.

"See, dear Charles," cried Julia, in a burst of what
she would call natural feeling--"there is our house--
here the summerhouse, and there the little arbour
where you read to us last week Scott's new novel--
how delightful! every thing now seems and feels
like home."

"Would it were a home for us all," said Charles,
gently pressing her arm in his own, and speaking
only to be heard by Julia, "then should I be happy
indeed."

Julia thought no more of Antonio; but while her
delighted eye rested on the well known scenes
around their house, and {as} she stood in the
world, for the first time, leaning on Charles, she
thought him even nearer than their intimacy and
consanguinity made them. But the boat was famous
for her speed, and the house, garden, and every
thing Julia knew, were soon out of sight, and she,
by accident, touching the picture which she had
encased in an old gold setting of her mother's, and
lodged in her bosom, was immediately restored to
her former sense of things. Then her eye glanced
rapidly round the boat, but discovering no face
which in the least resembled disguise, she
abandoned the expectation of meeting her lover
before they reached Albany. Her beauty drew many
an eye on her, however, and catching the steady
and admiring gaze of one or two of the gentlemen,
Julia's heart beat, and her face was covered with
blushes.

She was by no means sure that Antonio would
appear as a coachman--this was merely a
suggestion of her own; and the idea that he might
possibly be one of the gazers, covered her with
confusion: her blushes drew still more attention
and admiration upon her; and we cannot say what
might have been the result of her fascinations, had
not Charles at this instant approached them, and
pointing to a sloop they were passing at the time,
exclaimed--

"See, madam--see, Julia--there is our travelling
equipage on board that sloop, going up to meet us
in Albany."

Our heroine looked as directed, and saw a vessel
moving with tolerable rapidity up the river, within a
short distance from them. On its deck were a
travelling carriage and a pair of horses, and by the
latter stood a man who, by the whip in his head,
was evidently the driver. His stature was tall and
athletic; his complexion dark to near blackness; his
face was buried in whiskers; and his employer had
spoken the truth when he said he had as good an
eye as any men in America--it was large, black, and
might be piercing. But then he had but one--at
least the place where the other ought to be, was
covered by an enormous patch of green silk. This
then was Antonio. It is true, he did not resemble
Apollo, but his disguise altered him so that it was
difficult to determine. As they Moved slowly by the
vessel, the driver recognised Charles, having had an
interview with him the day before, and saluted him
with a low bow--his salutation was noticed by the
young man, who slightly touched his hat, and gave
him a familiar nod in return--Julia, unconsciously,
bent her body, and felt her cheeks glow with
confusion as she rose again. She could not muster
resolution to raise her eyes towards the sloop, but
by a kind of instinctive coquetry dragged her
companion to the other side of the boat. As soon
as she was able to recover her composure, Julia
revolved in her mind the scene which had just
occurred. She had seen Antonio--every thing about
him equalled her expectations--even at the
distance, she had easily discerned the noble dignity
of his manners--his eye gave assurance of his
conscious worth--his very attitude was that of a
gentleman. Not to know him for a man of birth, of
education and of fortune, Julia felt to her would be
impossible; and she trembled lest others, as
discerning as herself, should discover his disguise,
and she in consequence be covered with confusion.
She earnestly hoped his incog. would ever remain
unknown, for her delicacy shrunk at the publicity
and notoriety which would then attend his
attachment. It was certainly delightful to be loved,
and so loved--to be attended, and so attended; but
the heart of Julia was too unpractised to relish the
laugh and observations of a malignant world. "No,
my Antonio," she breathed internally, "hover around
me, shield me from impending dangers, delight me
with your presence, and enchant me with your eye;
but claim me in the guise of a gentleman and a
hero, that no envious tongue may probe the secrets
of our love, nor any profane scoffer ridicule those
sensitive pleasures that he is too unsentimental to
enjoy." With these, and similar thoughts, did Julia
occupy herself, until Charles pointed out to her the
majestic entrance to the Highlands. Our heroine,
who was truly alive to all the charms of nature,
gazed with rapture as the boat plunged between
the mountains on either hand, and turned a wistful
gaze down the river, in the vain hope that Antonio
might, at the same moment, be enjoying the
scene--but the sluggish sloop was now far behind,
and the eye of Antonio, bright as it was, could not
pierce the distance. Julia felt rather relieved than
otherwise, when the vessel which contained her
hero was hid from view by a mountain that they
doubled. Her feelings were much like those of a girl
who had long anxiously waited the declaration of a
favourite youth, had received it, and acknowledged
her own partiality. She felt all the assurance of her
conquest, and would gladly, for a time, avoid the
shame of her own acknowledgment. The passage up
the Hudson furnishes in itself so much to charm the
eye of a novice, that none but one under the
extraordinary circumstances of our heroine, could
have beheld the beauties of the river unmoved. If
Julia did not experience quite as much rapture in
the journey as she had anticipated, she attributed
it to the remarkably delicate situation she was in
with her lover, and possibly to a dread of his being
detected. An officer of his rank and reputation must
be well known, thought she, and he may meet with
acquaintances every where. However, by the
attention of Charles, she passed the day with a
very tolerable proportion of pleasure. Their arrival
at Albany was undistinguished by any remarkable
event, though Julia looked in vain through the
darkness of the night, in quest of the fertile
meadows and desert islands which Anna had
mentioned in her letter. Even the river seemed
straight and uninteresting. But Julia was tired--it
was night--and Antonio was absent.

The following morning Miss Emmerson and her
niece, attended by Charles, took a walk to examine
the beauties of Albany. It did not strike our heroine
as being so picturesque as it had her friend; still it
had novelty, and that lent it many charms it might
have wanted on a more intimate acquaintance.
Their forenoon, however, exhausted the beauties of
this charming town, and they had returned to the
inn, and the ladies were sitting in rather a listless
state when Charles entered the room with a look of
pleasure, and cried "he is here."

"Who!" exclaimed Julia, starting, and trembling like
an aspen.

"He!--Tony," said Charles, in reply.

Julia was unable to say any more; but her aunt,
without noticing her agitation, asked mildly, "And
who is Tony?"

"Why Anthony, the driver--he is here and wishes to
see you."

"Show him up, Charles, and let us learn when he
will be ready to go on."

This was an awful moment to Julia--she was on the
eve of being confronted, in a room, for the first
time, with the man on whom she felt that her
happiness or misery must depend. Although she
knew the vast importance to her of good looks at
such a moment, she looked unusually ill--she was
pale from apprehension, and awkward and
ungraceful from her agitation. She would have given
the world to have got out of the room, but this was
impossible--there was but one door, and through
that he must come. She had just concluded that it
was better to remain in her chair than incur the risk
of fainting in the passage, when he entered,
preceded by Charles. His upper, and part of his
lower lip, were clean shaved; a small part of one
cheek and his nose were to be seen; all the rest of
his face was covered with hair, or hid under the
patch. An enormous coloured handkerchief was tied,
in a particular manner, round his neck; and his coat,
made of plain materials, and somewhat tarnished
with service, was buttoned as close to his throat as
the handkerchief would allow. In short, his whole
attire was that of a common driver of a hack
carriage; and no one who had not previously
received an intimation that his character was
different from his appearance, would at all have
suspected the deception.

"Your name is Anthony?" said Miss Emmerson, as
he bowed to her with due deference.

"Yes, ma'am, Anthony--Tony Sandford," was the
reply--it was uttered in a vulgar nasal tone, that
Julia instantly perceived was counterfeited: but
Miss Emmerson, with perfect innocency, proceeded
in her inquiries.

"Are your horses gentle and good, Tony?" adopting
the familiar nomenclature that seemed most to his
fancy.

"As gentle as e'er a lady in the land," said Tony,
turning his large black eye round the room, and
letting it dwell a moment on the beautiful face of
Julia--her heart throbbed with tumultuous emotion
at the first sound of his voice, and she was highly
amused at the ingenuity he had displayed, in
paying a characteristic compliment to her
gentleness, in this clandestine manner--if he
preserves his incognito so ingeniously he will never
be detected, thought Julia, and all will be well.

"And the carriage," continued Miss Emmerson, "is it
fit to carry us?"

"I can't say how fit it may be to carry sich ladies as
you be, but it is as good a carriage as runs out of
York."

Here was another delicate compliment, thought
Julia, and so artfully concealed under brutal
indifference that it nearly deceived even herself.

"When will you be ready to start?" asked Miss
Emmerson.

"This moment," was the prompt reply--"we can
easily reach Schenectady by sundown."

Here Julia saw the decision and promptitude of a
soldier used to marches and movements, besides
an eager desire to remove her from the bustle of a
large town and thoroughfare, to a retirement where
she would be more particularly under his protection.
Miss Emmerson, on the other hand, saw nothing but
the anxiety of a careful hireling, willing to promote
the interest of his master, who was to be paid for
his conveyance by the job--so differently do sixty
and sixteen judge the same actions! At all events,
the offer was accepted, and the man ordered to
secure the baggage, and prepare for their
immediate departure.

"Why don't you help Antonio on with the baggage,
Charles?" said Julia, as she stood looking at the
driver tottering under the weight of the trunks.
Charles stared a moment with surprise--the name
created no astonishment, but the request did. Julia
had a habit of softening names, that were rather
harsh in themselves, to which he was accustomed.
Peter she called Pierre; Robert was Rubert {sic};
and her aunt's black footman Timothy, she had
designated as Timotheus: but it was not usual for
ladies to request gentlemen to perform menial
offices--until, recollecting that Julia had expressed
unusual solicitude concerning a dressing-box that
contained Anna's letters, he at once supposed it
was to that she wished him to attend. Charles left
the room, and superintended the whole
arrangements, when once enlisted. Julia now felt
that every doubt of the identity of her lover with
this coachman was removed. He had ingeniously
adopted the name of Anthony, as resembling in
sound the one she herself had given him in her
letters. This he undoubtedly had learnt from Anna--
and then Sandford was very much like Stanley--his
patch, his dress, his air--every thing about him
united to confirm her impressions; and Julia, at the
same time she resolved to conduct herself towards
him in their journey with a proper feminine reserve,
thought she could do no less to a man who
submitted to so much to serve her, than to suffer
him to perceive that she was not entirely insensible
to the obligation.

Our heroine could not but admire the knowing
manner with which Antonio took his seat on the
carriage, and the dexterity he discovered in the
management of his horses--this was infallible
evidence of his acquaintance with the animal, and a
sure sign that he was the master of many, and had
long been accustomed to their service. Perhaps,
thought Julia, he has been an officer of cavalry.

In the constant excitement produced by her
situation, Julia could not enter into all the feelings
described by her friend, during the ride to
Schenectady. Its beauties might be melancholy, but
could she be melancholy, and Antonio so near? The
pines might be silvery and lofty, but the proud
stature of majestic man, eclipsed in her eyes all
their beauties. Not so Charles. He early began to
lavish his abuse on the sterile grounds they
passed, and gave any thing but encomiums on the
smoothness of the road they were travelling. In the
latter particular, even the quiet spirit of Miss
Emmerson joined him, and Julia herself was
occasionally made sensible that she was not
reposing "on a bed of roses."

{sterile grounds = the sandy "pine barrens"
between Albany and Schenectady were notorious for
their lack of scenic beauty}

"Do I drive too fast for the ladies?" asked Antonio,
on hearing a slight complaint and a faint scream in
the soft voice of Julia. Oh, how considerate he is!
thought our heroine--how tender!--without his care
I certainly should have been killed in this rude
place. It was expected that as she had complained,
she would answer; and after a moment employed in
rallying her senses for the undertaking, she replied
in a voice of breathing melody--

"Oh! no, Antonio, you are very considerate."

For a world Julia could not have said more; and
Miss Emmerson thought that she had said quite as
much as the occasion required; but Miss Emmerson,
it will be remembered, supposed their driver to be
Anthony Sandford. The hero, himself, on hearing
such a gentle voice so softly replying to his
question, could not refrain from turning his face
into the carriage, and Julia felt her own eyes lower
before his earnest gaze, while her cheeks burned
with the blushes that suffused them. But the look
spoke volumes--he understands my "Antonio,"
thought Julia, and perceives that, to me, he is no
longer unknown. That expressive glance has opened
between us a communication that will cease but
with our lives. Julia now enjoyed, for the remainder
of their journey to Mr. Miller's, one of the greatest
pleasures of love--unsuspected by others, she could
hold communion with him who had her heart, by the
eyes, and a thousand tender and nameless little
offices which give interest to affection, and zest to
passion.

They had now got half way between the two cities,
and Charles took a seat by the side of the driver,
with the intention, as he expressed himself, of
stretching his legs: the carriage was open and light,
so that all of the figures of the two young men
could be seen by the ladies, as well as their
conversation heard. Charles never appeared to less
advantage in his person, thought Julia, than now,
seated by the side of the manly and noble Antonio.
The figure of Charles was light, and by no means
without grace; yet it did not strike the fancy of our
heroine as so fit to shield and support her through
life, as the more robust person of his companion.
Julia herself was, in form, the counterpart of her
mind--she was light, airy, and beautifully softened
in all her outlines. It was impossible to mistake her
for any thing but a lady, and one of the gentlest
passions and sentiments. She felt her own
weakness, and would repose it on the manly
strength of Antonio.

"Which do you call the best of your horses?" asked
Charles, so soon as he had got himself comfortably
seated.

"The off--but both are true as steel," was the
laconic reply. The comparison was new to Julia, and
it evidently denoted a mind accustomed to the
contemplation of arms.

"How long have you followed the business of a
driver, Tony?" said Charles, in the careless manner
of a gentleman when he wishes to introduce
familiarity with an inferior, by seeming to take an
interest in the other's affairs. Julia felt indignant at
the freedom of his manner, and particularly at the
epithet of "Tony"--yet her lover did not in the least
regard either--or rather his manner exhibited no
symptoms of displeasure--he has made up his
mind, thought Julia, to support his disguise, and it
is best for us both that he should.

"Ever since I was sixteen I have been used to
horses," was the reply of Antonio to the question of
Charles--Julia smiled at the ambiguity of the
answer, and was confirmed in her impression that
he had left college at that age to serve in the
cavalry.

"You must understand them well by this time,"
continued Charles, glancing his eye at his
companion as if to judge of his years--"You must be
forty"--Julia fidgeted a little at this guess of
Charles, but soon satisfied herself with the
reflection that his disguise contributed to the error.

"My age is very deceiving," said the man; "I have
seen great hardships in my time, both of body and
mind."

Here Julia could scarcely breathe through anxiety.
Every syllable that he uttered was devoured with
eager curiosity by the enamoured girl--he knew that
she was a listener, and that she understood his
disguise; and doubtless meant, in that indirect
manner, to acquaint her with the incidents of his
life. It was clear that he indicated his age to be
less than what his appearance would have led her
to believe--his sufferings, his cruel sufferings had
changed him.

"The life of a coachman is not hard," said Charles.

"No, sir, far from it--but I have not been a
coachman all my life."

Nothing could be plainer than this--it was a direct
assertion of his degradation by the business in
which he was then engaged.

"In what manner did you lose your eye, Tony," said
Charles, in a tone of sympathy that Julia blessed
him for in her heart, although she knew that the
member was uninjured, and only hidden to favour
his disguise. Antonio hesitated a little in his
answer, and stammered while giving it--"It was in
the wars," at length he got out, and Julia admired
the noble magnanimity which would not allow him,
even in imagination, to suffer in a less glorious
manner--notwithstanding his eye is safe and as
beautiful as the other, he has suffered in the wars,
thought our heroine, and it is pardonable for him to
use the deception, situated as he is--it is nothing
more than an equivoque. But this was touching
Charles on a favourite chord. Little of a hero as
Julia fancied him to be, he delighted in conversing
about the war with those men, who, having acted in
subordinate stations, would give a different view of
the subject from the official accounts, in which he
was deeply read. It was no wonder, therefore, that
he eagerly seized on the present opportunity to
relieve the tedium of a ride between Albany and
Schenectady.

{equivoque = double meaning, a pun}

"In what battle," asked Charles, quickly; "by sea or
by land?"

"By sea," said Antonio, speaking to his horses, with
an evident unwillingness to say any more on the
subject.

Ah! the deception, and the idea of his friend
Lawrence, are too much for his sensibility, thought
Julia; and to relieve him she addressed Charles
herself.

"How far are we from Schenectady, cousin Charles?"

Antonio, certainly, was not her cousin Charles; but
as if he thought the answering such questions to be
his peculiar province, he replied immediately--

"Four miles, ma'am; there's the stone."

There was nothing in the answer itself, or the
manner of its delivery, to attract notice in an
unsuspecting listener; but by Julia it was well
understood--it was the first time he had ever
spoken directly to herself--it was a new era in their
lives--and his body turned half round toward her as
he spoke, showed his manly form to great
advantage; but the impressive and dignified
manner in which he dropped his whip towards the
mile-stone, Julia felt that she never could forget--it
was intended to mark the spot where he had first
addressed her. He had chosen it with taste. The
stone stood under the shade of a solitary oak, and
might easily be fancied to be a monument erected
to commemorate some important event in the lives
of our lovers. Julia ran over in her mind the time
when she should pay an annual visit to that
hallowed place, and leaning on the arm of her
majestic husband, murmur in his ear, "Here, on this
loved spot, did Antonio first address his happy,
thrice happy Julia."

"Well, Tony," said the mild voice of Miss Emmerson,
"the sun is near setting, let us go the four miles as
fast as you please."

"I'm sure, ma'am," said Antonio, with profound
respect, "you don't want to get in more than I do,
for I had no sleep all last night; I'll not keep you
out one minute after night"--so saying, he urged his
horses to a fast trot, and was quite us good as his
word. How delicate in his attentions, and yet how
artfully has he concealed his anxiety on my account
under a feigned desire for sleep, thought Julia.

If any thing had been wanting either to convince
Julia of the truth of her conjecture, or to secure the
conquest of Antonio, our heroine felt that this short
ride had abundantly supplied it.