A Dream of Empire | Page 5

to the island.
The announcement that their mistress was approaching caused a
general flurry among the servants, male and female, and several of
them, headed by the boys, hastened down to the landing to receive the
ladies. Byle was not the man to let slip such an opportunity of taking a
look at the paragon, whose charms of person and brilliancy of mind he
had heard many tongues extol; and he did not hesitate to join the family
group on the river bank. His curiosity was amply rewarded by the
vision of fair women which he beheld.
Madam Blennerhassett stepped from the ferryboat, beaming smiles of
motherly fondness upon her children. She wore a riding-habit of scarlet
cloth embroidered with thread of gold, and a snow-white hat, adorned
with long plumes of ostrich feather. The rich attire did not blind
Plutarch to the natural beauty of "the woman herself." She was of regal
stature, graceful bearing and animated face. Her buoyant step, her
rising bosom, her clear, rich voice evidenced the vital glow of maturity
in a woman still young--a June rose blooming in May.

Byle, pressing nearer, noted that the madam's hair was brown; her
eyelashes long; nose, Grecian; lips, ripe red. When he had fixed her
image on his mind, and was meditating the propriety of making
friendly inquiries concerning the purpose and results of her excursion
to Marietta, her large, calm eyes searched his countenance with a look
of offended dignity, which caused his tongue to cleave to the roof of his
mouth. Speechless for the moment, but not blinded, Plutarch withdrew
his optics from the imperious dame, and took an instantaneous
brain-picture of her companion, a light-footed, quick-glancing girl
about eighteen years of age, whose arrival put little Harman into an
ecstasy, and gave manifest delight to the servants. Her blithe manner
and cheerful voice won Byle's complete approbation, and led him to
describe her as one who "'peared not to know there was a valley of the
shadder of trouble here below."
Madam Blennerhassett instructed Moses to take care of the horses, and
side by side with the winsome maiden walked from the landing to the
house, followed by a retinue of servants.
Thus abandoned, Plutarch Byle plodded his way to his skiff, pushed the
light craft from the sandy beach, ensconced his gaunt person on the
rowing bench, seized the oars, and pulled up stream, saying to himself:
"She's the compound extract of Queen 'Liz'beth and Cleopatry; but why
didn't she take a fancy to a good-looking Federalist like me, instead of
throwing herself away on a near-sighted United Irishman with silver
shoe-buckles?"

II. A NOTED CHARACTER ARRIVES IN PITTSBURG.
On the last day of April, 1805, more than the usual number of guests
crowded the bar-room or lounged about the open door of the Green
Tree, a popular tavern on the bank of the Monongahela, in Pittsburg.
The proprietor had found difficulty in providing refreshment for the
swarm of hungry mechanics, farmers and boatmen who elbowed their
way to a seat at his famed dining-table. To the clatter of dishes was

added the clamor of voices making demands upon the decanters, which
yielded an inexhaustible supply of rum, whiskey and peach brandy.
In the throng of bar-room loafers was a swarthy boatman, wearing a
leathern waistcoat, who, on being jostled by a stalwart roysterer
carrying a long rifle, poured out curses and slang epithets, swearing he
could whip any man in the tavern or in the town. The challenge was no
sooner uttered than the offender for whom it was meant called out to
the landlord:
"Here, Billy, hold my shooter a minute until I pitch this Louisiana rat
into the river."
"Don't mind him, Mike; he's drunk."
"Drunk or sober," blustered the quarrelsome boatman, "I swear I can
whip the best man in Pittsburg or in Pennsylvania."
This sweeping defiance elicited laughter and derision.
"Give him the heft of your fist, Mike!" cried one.
"Bruise the snout of the Mississippi alligator!"
Thus incited, Mike Fink, the recognized champion of Pittsburg,
disposed of his rifle, doubled up his fists, and stood ready for assault or
defence.
"Fair fight or rough and tumble?" said he, appealing to the crowd.
"Fair fight," growled the boatman and tossed a fiery dram down his
gullet. But fair fight in the accepted sense of the phrase was farthest
from his intention. Quick as a flash, he drew from his belt a dirk, and
would have stabbed his antagonist, had not a bystander seized his
uplifted arm, while another wrenched the weapon from his grasp. The
ruffian's comrades hurried their dangerous leader from the inn, and
guided his steps to the river and aboard a large new flatboat recently
launched.

A flourish of bugle notes and the noise of wheels announced