Over these mysterious figures was written, in large letters,
“The Templeton Coffee-house, and Traveller’s Hotel,” and beneath them,
“By Habakkuk Foote and Joshua Knapp.”
This was a fearful rival to the
“Bold Dragoon,” as our readers will the more readily perceive when we add that the same sonorous names were to be seen over a newly erected store in the village, a hatter’s shop, and the gates of a tan-yard.
But, either because too much was attempted to be executed well, or that the
“Bold Dragoon” had established a reputation which could not be easily shaken, not only Judge Temple and his friends, but most of the villagers also, who were not in debt to the powerful firm we have named, frequented the inn of Captain Hollister on all occasions where such a house was necessary.
On the present evening the limping veteran and his consort were hardly housed after their return from the academy, when the sounds of stamping feet at their threshold announced the approach of visitors, who were probably assembling with a view to compare opinions on the subject of the ceremonies they had witnessed.
The public, or as it was called, the “bar-room,” of the “Bold Dragoon,” was a spacious apartment, lined on three sides with benches and on the fourth by fireplaces.
Of the latter there were two of such size as to occupy, with their enormous jambs, the whole of that side of the apartment where they were placed, excepting room enough for a door or two, and a little apartment in one corner, which was protected by miniature palisades, and profusely garnished with bottles and glasses.
In the entrance to this sanctuary Mrs. Hollister was seated, with great gravity in her air, while her husband occupied himself with stirring the fires, moving the logs with a large stake burnt to a point at one end.
“There, sargeant, dear,” said the landlady, after she thought the veteran had got the logs arranged in the most judicious manner, “give over poking, for it’s no good ye’ll be doing, now that they burn so convaniently.
There’s the glasses on the table there, and the mug that the doctor was taking his cider and ginger in, before the fire here—just put them in the bar, will ye? for we’ll be having the jooge, and the Major, and Mr. Jones down the night, without reckoning Benjamin Poomp, and the lawyers; so yell be fixing the room tidy; and put both flip irons in the coals; and tell Jude, the lazy black baste, that if she’s no be cleaning up the kitchen I’ll turn her out of the house, and she may live wid the jontlemen that kape the ‘Coffee house,’ good luck to ‘em.
Och! sargeant, sure it’s a great privilege to go to a mateing where a body can sit asy, without joomping up and down so often, as this Mr. Grant is doing that same.”
“It’s a privilege at all times, Mrs. Hollister, whether we stand or be seated; or, as good Mr. Whitefleld used to do after he had made a wearisome day’s march, get on our knees and pray, like Moses of old, with a flanker to the right and left to lift his hands to heaven,” returned her husband, who composedly performed what she had directed to be done.
“It was a very pretty fight, Betty, that the Israelites had on that day with the Amalekites, It seams that they fout on a plain, for Moses is mentioned as having gone on the heights to overlook the battle, and wrestle in prayer; and if I should judge, with my little larning, the Israelites depended mainly on their horse, for it was written ‘that Joshua cut up the enemy with the edge of the sword; from which I infer, not only that they were horse, but well diseiplyned troops.
Indeed, it says as much as that they were chosen men; quite likely volunteers; for raw dragoons seldom strike with the edge of their swords, particularly if the weapon be any way crooked.”
“Pshaw! why do ye bother yourself wid texts, man, about so small a matter?” interrupted the landlady; “sure, it was the Lord who was with ‘em; for he always sided with the Jews, before they fell away; and it’s but little matter what kind of men Joshua commanded, so that he was doing the right bidding.
Aven them cursed millaishy, the Lord forgive me for swearing, that was the death of him, wid their cowardice, would have carried the day in old times.
There’s no rason to be thinking that the soldiers were used to the drill.”
“I must say, Mrs. Hollister, that I have not often seen raw troops fight better than the left flank of the militia, at the time you mention.
They rallied handsomely, and that without beat of drum, which is no easy thing to do under fire, and were very steady till he fell.
But the Scriptures contain no unnecessary words; and I will maintain that horse, who know how to strike with the edge of the sword, must be well disoiplyned.
Many a good sarmon has been preached about smaller matters than that one word!
If the text was not meant to be particular, why wasn’t it written with the sword, and not with the edge?
Now, a back-handed stroke, on the edge, takes long practice.
Goodness! what an argument would Mr. Whitefield make of that word edge!
As to the captain, if he had only called up the guard of dragoons when he rallied the foot, they would have shown the inimy what the edge of a sword was; for, although there was no commissioned officer with them, yet I think I must say,” the veteran continued, stiffening his cravat about his throat, and raising himself up with the air of a drill-sergeant, “they were led by a man who knowed how to bring them on, in spite of the ravine.”
“Is it lade on ye would,” cried the landlady, “when ye know yourself, Mr. Hollister, that the baste he rode was but little able to joomp from one rock to another, and the animal was as spry as a squirrel?
Och! but it’s useless to talk, for he’s gone this many a year.
I would that he had lived to see the true light; but there’s mercy for a brave sowl, that died in the saddle, fighting for the liberty.
It is a poor tombstone they have given him, anyway, and many a good one that died like himself; but the sign is very like, and I will be kapeing it up, while the blacksmith can make a hook for it to swing on, for all the ‘coffee-houses’ betwane this and Albany.”
There is no saying where this desultory conversation would have led the worthy couple, had not the men, who were stamping the snow off their feet on the little plat form before the door, suddenly ceased their occupation, and entered the bar-room.
For ten or fifteen minutes the different individuals, who intended either to bestow or receive edification before the fires of the
“Bold Dragoon” on that evening, were collecting, until the benches were nearly filled with men of different occupations.
Dr. Todd and a slovenly-looking, shabby-genteel young man, who took tobacco profusely, wore a coat of imported cloth cut with something like a fashionable air, frequently exhibited a large French silver watch, with a chain of woven hair and a silver key, and who, altogether, seemed as much above the artisans around him as he was himself inferior to the real gentle man, occupied a high-back wooden settee, in the most comfortable corner in the apartment.
Sundry brown mugs, containing cider or beer, were placed between the heavy andirons, and little groups were found among the guests as subjects arose or the liquor was passed from one to the other.
No man was seen to drink by himself, nor in any instance was more than one vessel considered necessary for the same beverage; but the glass or the mug was passed from hand to hand until a chasm in the line or a regard to the rights of ownership would regularly restore the dregs of the potation to him who de frayed the cost.
Toasts were uniformly drunk; and occasionally some one who conceived himself peculiarly endowed by Nature to shine in the way of wit would attempt some such sentiment as “hoping that he” who treated “might make a better man than his father;” or “live till all his friends wished him dead;” while the more humble pot-companion contented himself by saying, with a most composing gravity in his air, “Come, here’s luck,” or by expressing some other equally comprehensive desire.
In every instance the veteran landlord was requested to imitate the custom of the cupbearers to kings, and taste the liquor he presented, by the invitation of “After you is manners,” with which request he ordinarily complied by wetting his lips, first expressing the wish of “Here’s hoping,” leaving it to the imagination of the hearers to fill the vacuum by whatever good each thought most desirable.
During these movements the landlady was busily occupied with mixing the various compounds required by her customers, with her own hands, and occasionally exchanging greetings and inquiries concerning the conditions of their respective families, with such of the villagers as approached the bar.
At length the common thirst being in some measure assuaged, conversation of a more general nature became the order of the hour.
The physician and his companion, who was one of the two lawyers of the village, being considered the best qualified to maintain a public discourse with credit, were the principal speakers, though a remark was hazarded, now and then, by Mr. Doolittle, who was thought to be their inferior only in the enviable point of education.
A general silence was produced on all but the two speakers, by the following observation from the practitioner of the law:
“So, Dr. Todd, I understand that you have been per forming an important operation this evening by cutting a charge of buckshot from the shoulder of the son of Leather-Stocking?”
“Yes, sir,” returned other, elevating his little head with an air of importance. “I had a small job up at the Judge’s in that way; it was, however, but a trifle to what it might have been, had it gone through the body.
The shoulder is not a very vital part; and I think the young man will soon be well.
But I did not know that the patient was a son of Leather-Stocking; it is news to me to hear that Natty had a wife.”
“It is by no means a necessary consequence,” returned the other, winking, with a shrewd look around the bar room; “there is such a thing, I suppose you know, in law as a filius nullius.”
“Spake it out, man,” exclaimed the landlady; “spake it out in king’s English; what for should ye be talking Indian in a room full of Christian folks, though it is about a poor hunter, who is but little better in his ways than the wild savages themselves?