TEMPEST.
The violence of the storm was over, but the ferment in the elements was not yet allayed. The clouds had broken, and ever and anon, through their ragged gaps, the eye might trace fields of blue sky, studded with stars, which were as suddenly swept out of sight, as gusts came roaring from the tops of distant hills, discharging brief but furious showers.
On such occasions, it was not easy to pick a way along the road, which was washed into gullies and scattered over with the riven branches of trees, besides being, in the hollow places, converted into pools; so that it might have been considered difficult to proceed, even by the light of day.
It was fortunate, perhaps, for Affidavy, that he was in no condition to be daunted, either by difficulties or dangers, of which, indeed, it is most probable he remained profoundly unconscious, from the beginning of his ride to the end. He set forth on his dark journey, trolling at the top of his voice some snatches of the jolly chorus, in which he had borne no mean part, and plying his heels about the ribs of his horse in such a way as to drum out a kind of barrel-head accompaniment, as agreeable to himself as it was perhaps advantageous to the animal;—for this, instead of being Schlachtenschlager's best horse, as he had said, was a drowsy, lazy, pacific, and somewhat worthless beast, which the Squire's man, supposing that any one might serve the lawyer's turn on such an occasion, had considerately substituted for the better one which his master really designed to provide. On this animal, then, Affidavy departed, bidding defiance to storm and peril, and singing as he went. Sometimes, however, he launched into harangues, as if declaiming before a court and jury, especially when, as was sometimes the case, the beast he bestrode took advantage of his abstraction, to pause before some gully or pool of water, and even, now and then, to stand stock-still in the middle of the road, where there was no obstruction whatever. Nay, he once or twice, relying upon the indifference of his rider, took the liberty of turning his head, and jogging backwards; and how the manoeuvre was detected and counteracted by one in Affidavy's happy condition, we are wholly unable to say. But counteracted it was, and by midnight,—that is to say, after a ride of three hours, the attorney found that his steed had borne him the full distance of two and a half miles from his master's house; at which rate of travel, it was quite evident, he might expect to reach the village, perhaps three or four miles further, some time before noon of the following day. At midnight, however, the horse was brought to a stand by an unforeseen difficulty. It was in a hollow place or glen, thickly wooded, that was crossed by the road at right angles; at the bottom of it flowed a water-course, small and shallow on all ordinary occasions, but which the violent rains, assisted by certain accidental obstructions, had now swelled into a broad and formidable pool. The trunks and branches of trees, swept down by the earlier wash of the flood, and lodged among rocks and the standing stems of other trees on the lower side of the road, had made a sort of dam, through which the waters could not escape so rapidly as they collected; and, in consequence, they had swelled so high, as to be already heard falling over it like a cataract.
When Affidavy arrived at the brink of this flood, his steed came to a sudden halt, of which the rider took no notice for a considerable time, his mind being wrapped up in the remembrance of the joyous potations from which nothing on earth, save the prospect of a good case, could have drawn him, and his ears still tingling with the uproar of the Rheinweinlied. This he trolled over with great fervour, and in the midst of it, plying his heels as usual, the horse, after one or two snorts by way of remonstrance, took heart of grace, and crept into the water.
"Botheration," cried the attorney, as he felt the cold element sweeping over his legs, "will it never have done raining? H—h—hip, Durgan.—Gentlemen of the jury, I appeal, not to your hearts, for I disdain taking advantage of,—of your weakness,—nor to your heads, for—for—who the devil ever supposed a juryman had one?—Botheration, it rains cats and dogs all round, and my legs are growing marvellous cold. That old Schlachtenschlager! he, he! a great old ass, and his Nierensteiner nothing but sour old crab-cider.—A gold watch worth forty pounds,—a purse of guineas—bills of exchange—long credits.—Dispute the jurisdiction of the court—Hillo! what's all that smashing in the court? I insist upon order—Who says I am out of order? Drunk! I despise the thing! Hillo, Schlachtenschlager! what's the matter? Never mind the rain—strike up: let it blow its worst,—strike up, old boy.
| 'Come, drink, ha, ha! And, sure, we'll all be merry; Come, drink, ha, ha! come laugh, ha, ha!'— |
Botheration!"——
In the midst of the attorney's song, and just when he had reached the middle of the pool, there happened a catastrophe, which might have frightened any other man out of his propriety. This was nothing less than the sudden giving way of the dam of logs, the disruption of which was followed by the escape of the whole accumulated body of waters, and that with a fury that nothing could resist. In an instant the attorney was swept from his horse, soused head over ears in the flood, and would have been drowned had he not been luckily dashed into the crotch of a low and twisted buttonwood, and there left astride a horizontal bough, by the retreating waters. The whole thing was effected in a trice, indeed with such magical celerity, that he failed to notice the main point of the casualty, which was the loss of his horse; and supposing himself still at ease in the saddle, he plied his heels with their accustomed vigour against the regardless trunk, wondering somewhat at the immobility of his charger, and the rush of the current at his feet.
"Botheration," he cried; "hip, Durgan, get up; dzick! dzick! That's a fine fellow! Will it never be done raining?