About half way to the village we saw before us an old Indian woman, well known in all the country round as a doctress, or witch, according to most people. She was bent almost double, and looked very feeble, though she was said to be still marvelously active and vigorous.
Suddenly the captain, who had galloped on a little to display his horsemanship, came dashing back, exclaiming—“Now, young ladies, for some glorious fun! Do you see that old squaw yonder?”
“Yes,” said Alice Grove, “that is old Martha—what of her?”
“Why, I mean to have some rare sport. I’ll invite her to take a ride behind me. I’ll ride up to the fence for her to get on, and then, just as she makes her spring, spur Saladin, and let her land on the ground.”
“Oh, don’t! don’t!” cried we all in chorus; but the captain was off and already speaking to old Martha. She evidently liked his proposition, for she quickly climbed the fence, preparatory to mounting. The captain wheeled his horse to within about two feet of her—she gave a spring—he spurred his steed, which leaped wildly forward—but too late! Old Martha was safe on Saladin’s back, her long, bony arms clasped closely round the waist of his rider—and, hurrah, they were off at a dashing rate.
Harry whipped up his grays, and we presently overtook the equestrians. Captain Fogg had succeeded in checking Saladin, and was striving to persuade old Martha to dismount, but in vain; she would ride to the village, as he had invited her. He coaxed, threatened, and swore—but all to no purpose; she would go on to the village!
At last, in endeavoring forcibly to unclasp her arms, Fogg dropped the rein, and Saladin, worried and frightened, started off at a furious gallop, and tore down the street like mad. Oh, the rich, indescribable ludicrousness of the sight! Such a conspicuous figure was the captain, so splendidly mounted, with “sword and pistols by his side,” and all his burnished buttons and buckles glistening in the morning sun; and then that ridiculous old woman, in her tattered Indian costume, seated behind him, clinging convulsively to his waist, and bounding up half a foot with every leap of the frantic steed. The ends of the captain’s scarlet sash floated back over her short black petticoat, and the white horse-hair of his military plume mingled ingloriously with her long elf-locks streaming in the wind.
The dirty woollen blanket of old Martha became loose, and flew backward, held only by one corner, exposing her bright blue short-gown, trimmed with wampum, while her red leggings got up quite a little show on their own account.
As thus they dashed on, faster and faster, they spread astonishment and consternation as they went.
A farmer, who with his son was gathering apples from a tree near the road, saw the vision—dropped his basket, and knocked down his first born with an avalanche of pippins. An old lady, who was hanging out clothes in her yard, struck with sudden fright and sore dismay, fell backward into her clothes-basket, as white as a sheet, and as limp as a wet towel.