Mrs. Jefferson gave us her charming company in the evening, and some excellent music with voice and spinet, after which I was so fortunate as to be able to entertain her by an account of the Philadelphia performance of "A School for Scandal," with a few quotations from the text—since they had not yet had the opportunity to read any of Mr. Sheridan's plays.
Though Mr. Jefferson had given me most minute directions, I came near losing the trail—to the right, half way up the mountain—which was to lead me to the hermit's retreat. One of the giant sentinel maples, which marked the entrance to the trail, had recently blown down, and its sprawling branches completely hid the path. A double log cabin, built in a dent of the mountain's southern slope, was the old scout's home. The forest clustered about it protectingly, except for a clearing a few yards wide just in front of the door, and no other than wild growth was anywhere visible. Two yelping dogs came from the doorway at the sound of my horse's feet, followed closely by the hermit himself.
"Light, stranger, an' hitch," he called, pointing to the nearest tree trunk.
I did so, while he leisurely approached, a short stemmed cob pipe in his mouth, his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his homespun breeches. His hunting shirt was also of homespun; his leggins, belt, and moccasins of leather; and the cap which surmounted his face—so covered with beard that a pair of heavy browed, keen brown eyes, and a large crooked nose were the only features visible—was made of deerskin. Though hair and beard were grizzled, he showed no signs of age in figure or bearing. Within the cabin's wide chimney a fire smoldered, and a rough bench was drawn up before it. Seated and served with tobacco for my pipe, I unfolded my mission.
"Thar' ain't no two men nowhares I'd ruther pleasure thin Pat Henry en' George Clark," said the scout, "en' I 'low I'm the man they er' lookin' fur. I knows them Algonquins, en' ther savage ways, en' ther heathen talk better'n menny."
"Governor Henry and Mr. Clark say they cannot do without you, and Mr. Jefferson bade me tell you to come to Monticello this week to give him your promise."
"Thar' ain't but one thing es'll hinder me—but thet's 'nuff. I see no way er promisin' jist now, Cap'n—but I'll see Mr. Jefferson afore I sez no. You coulden' nohow mention no kind uv frolic, nur no feastin' nur pleasuring es temptin' ter me, Capt'n, es killin' Injuns. The way I hates the redskins mought be counted es hell-desarvin' sin, Capt'n, but fur the fact thet they's devils en' hes devils' ways, en' the Holy Word commands us ter hate the devil and all his wurrucks. Did Mr. Henry ur Clark tell yer the old scout's story, Capt'n?"
Just then my eye was drawn to the crack in the door, between the two rooms, by hearing the swishering as of a woman's skirts, and a soft tread upon the planks, and I was much astonished to see what seemed to me the shadow of a woman's form. The scout, too, looked up, then drew his brow into a half worried frown. I had not heard of a wife or a daughter; indeed, had understood that the hermit lived entirely alone, so was greatly surprised. Something in the scout's manner led me to think, however, that he did not care to be questioned, so I made haste to withdraw my eyes and to answer his question in the negative.
"Wall, ef you kin bide er spell longer you shell hear the pitiful tale"—said the old man with a sigh—"en' er sadder, I 'low you've seldom hearn, even in this land uv sorrowful stories en' terrurble sufferin's."