Guy Rivers | Page 3

such a creature--and a small
portmanteau carried all his wardrobe. Beyond this he had no
impedimenta; and to those accustomed only to the modes of travel in a
more settled and civilized country--with bag and baggage--the traveller
might have appeared--but for a pair of moderately-sized twisted barrels
which we see pocketed on the saddle--rather as a gentleman of leisure
taking his morning ride, than one already far from home and increasing
at every step the distance between it and himself. From our privilege
we make bold to mention, that, strictly proportioned to their capacities,
the last named appurtenances carried each a charge which might have
rendered awkward any interruption; and it may not be saying too much
if we add, that it is not improbable to this portion of his equipage our
traveller was indebted for that security which had heretofore obviated
all necessity for their use. They were essentials which might or might
not, in that wild region, have been put in requisition; and the prudence
of all experience, in our border country, is seldom found to neglect
such companionship.
So much for the personal appearance and the equipment of our young
traveller. We have followed the usage among novelists, and have dwelt
thus long upon these details, as we design that our adventurer shall

occupy no small portion of the reader's attention. He will have much to
do and to endure in the progress of this narrative.
It may be well, in order to the omission of nothing hereafter important,
to add that he seems well bred to the manège--and rode with that ease
and air of indolence, which are characteristic of the gentry of the south.
His garments were strictly suited to the condition and custom of the
country--a variable climate, rough roads, and rude accommodations.
They consisted of a dark blue frock, of stuff not so fine as strong, with
pantaloons of the same material, all fitting well, happily adjusted to the
figure of the wearer, yet sufficiently free for any exercise. He was
booted and spurred, and wore besides, from above the knee to the ankle,
a pair of buckskin leggins, wrought by the Indians, and trimmed, here
and there, with beaded figures that gave a somewhat fantastic air to this
portion of his dress. A huge cloak strapped over the saddle, completes
our portrait, which, at the time of which we write, was that of most
travellers along our southern frontiers. We must not omit to state that a
cap of fur, rather than a fashionable beaver, was also the ordinary
covering of the head--that of our traveller was of a finely-dressed fur,
very far superior to the common fox skin cap worn by the plain
backwoodsmen. It declared, somewhat for the superior social condition
of the wearer, even if his general air and carriage did not sufficiently do
so.
Our new acquaintance had, by this time, emerged into one of those
regions of brown, broken, heathery waste, thinly mottled with tree and
shrub, which seem usually to distinguish the first steppes on the
approach to our mountain country. Though undulating, and rising
occasionally into hill and crag, the tract was yet sufficiently
monotonous; rather saddened than relieved by the gentle sunset, which
seemed to gild in mockery the skeleton woods and forests, just
recovering from the keen biting blasts of a severe and protracted
winter.
Our traveller, naturally of a dreamy and musing spirit, here fell
unconsciously into a narrow footpath, an old Indian trace, and without
pause or observation, followed it as if quite indifferent whither it led.

He was evidently absorbed in that occupation--a very unusual one with
youth on horseback--that "chewing of the cud of sweet and bitter
thought"--which testifies for premature troubles and still gnawing
anxieties of soul. His thoughts were seemingly in full unison with the
almost grave-like stillness and solemn hush of everything around him.
His spirit appeared to yield itself up entirely to the mournful barrenness
and uninviting associations, from which all but himself, birds and
beasts, and the very insects, seemed utterly to have departed. The faint
hum of a single wood-chuck, which, from its confused motions,
appeared to have wandered into an unknown territory, and by its
uneasy action and frequent chirping, seemed to indicate a perfect
knowledge of the fact, was the only object which at intervals broke
through the spell of silence which hung so heavily upon the sense. The
air of our traveller was that of one who appeared unable, however
desirous he might be, to avoid the train of sad thought which such a
scene was so eminently calculated to inspire; and, of consequence, who
seemed disposed, for this object, to call up some of those internal
resources of one's own mind and memory, which so mysteriously bear
us away from the