Peter Loon

by Van Reid

  ‘‘Mine will be the pleasure, which is more to the point, boy,” said Captain McQuigg, “if you are prepared to ride with us to New Milford.”

  Peter could see that Captain Clayden had expected something like this, and that he was none too pleased to have his expectations so completely and immediately realized. “Is there hunting in New Milford, these days, Captain?” he asked dryly.

  “There will be, yes, Captain,” pronounced Captain McQuigg.

  “There are those who’ve run their game, that’ll be run themselves,” said Mr. Whitehouse darkly.

  “Yes,” drawled the host. “I’ve heard what happened in New Milford.”

  “Then you know why we are here, Captain!” declared Captain McQuigg.

  “I understand the spur, but you must make clear the purpose.”

  “To chastise these scoundrels!” exclaimed Captain McQuigg.

  “To quieten the district,” said Mr. Marston with a little less fire.

  “It will be loud enough when I’m through!” continued to declaim Captain McQuigg. “We must rout these rebels!”

  There was such a note of repugnance in Captain McQuigg’s use of this last term, that Captain Clayden stiffened a little. “Never forget our own rebellious days, Captain McQuigg,” said the elderly fellow mildly, and Peter guessed from this that the two captains had perhaps fought together against the British. There was a degree of tolerance in this counsel that rung hollow among these men, and if Peter had struggled to understand Captain Clayden before, it was all the elderly gentleman needed to say to exact the young man’s admiration.

  Captain McQuigg’s ruddy complexion darkened further and he scowled into the glowing coals before him, his eyes themselves like hard embers. “That was a war among equals, where squire fought squire and commoner fell upon commoner, but these miscreants must know either their betters or the heels of our boots!” There was general agreement to this, though Captain Clayden said nothing and Mr. Kavanagh chortled softly so that only Peter, standing near, could hear him.

  “If we allow the backcountry its lawlessness,” said Mr. Flye, with a little more circumspection, “and give these rioters rein to harass our agents in the conduct of their duty, then we will soon be dealing with emboldened rogues in our own midst.”

  “It’s enough that we have sailors to the one hand,” added Mr. Marston, “and wandering foresters, who call no man master, to the other. Let us not encourage the simple farmer and mill man to illegality with permissive means. The servant who speaks familiarly to his master will soon despise him.”

  She might have been listening in the hall, Mrs. Magnamous was so timely in her entrance and topical in her directness. “Captain Clayden,” she demanded. “Are these gentlemen breaking bread, I should like to know! And if they be, I’ll arrange matters after I sweep out the dirt they’ve tracked through the house!”

  Captain Clayden smiled to be so addressed by his cook after the speech from Mr. Marston. “Gentlemen,” he interpreted. “Mrs. Magnamous is inviting you to dinner, and if you dare eat her provender after raising her ire, I extend the offer.”

  “We have other places to go,” said Mr. Marston.

  “We must raise the countryside of patriots,” rumbled Captain McQuigg.

  “Thank you, Captain Clayden,” said Mr. Flye, “but we have other houses to visit.”

  “It’s Mrs. Magnamous needs our thanks,” said the Captain pleasandy. Then he called, “Thank you, Mrs. Magnamous. We will do with ale, it seems.” James then came up behind the woman with several tankards of the stuff on a tray, and Mrs. Magnamous turned away with a low exclamation. “Yes, Mr. Marston,” said Captain Clayden, still with his puckish humor. “We must keep the servants in fear of us.”

  Mr. Kavanagh thought this very good, but the other men were not so amused. Peter thought he heard hoofbeats near the house, but his attention was quickly taken by the words of the ruddy-faced Captain McQuigg.

  “It is very well to jest,” he was saying, while James served out the drink, “but we are dealing with men who must be taught the letter of the law, since they cannot read it themselves!”

  At this, Mr. Kavanagh laughed aloud and slapped his thigh. Peter thought the words insulting and shot an angry glance at the tall young man. Captain Clayden gave James, who was lingering as inconspicuously as possible, the sign that he should leave, and the boy unhappily complied.

  “You may make sport, Captain Clayden,” Mr. Marston was saying, though with more caution than Captain McQuigg, “but it is a serious thing for an honest man to return from the back country, stripped and beaten.”

  “I believe it is, sir,” agreed the Captain. “And I fear giving the mob that is responsible its justification after the fact, were we to ride into their farms like a standing army and do harm to man or property. If we pretend to represent the law, then we must practice it without hypocrisy, and present it by its most liberal face.”

  “Hypocrisy?” exclaimed Mr. Whitehouse.

  “Captain Clayden!” declared Captain McQuigg. “It is liberality that got us to this place!”

  “It is liberality we demanded from the King, Captain McQuigg!” said the elderly host. “It was a great liberality signed into law nearly ten years ago!”

  “And so we may live to regret it!” countered Captain McQuigg. “It was a mistake, ever to read the Constitution to a rabble of illiterate clods. It raises them in their own minds and plants seditious notions in them, based on a lack of understanding. A man who can’t read the document itself has no right to its merit, I say!”

  Again Mr. Kavanagh let out a burst of laughter, which was not appreciated from the more earnest corners of the room. Captain Clayden threw Mr. Kavanagh an indulgent glance, however, though Peter stepped away from him, his heart darkened with each of these jocular outbursts.

  “I wonder, Captain Clayden,” said Mr. Whitehouse, gesturing to the library about them, “that you can surround yourself with so much knowledge and yet defend men who would contemn your tomes and volumes.”

  “The reading of books is itself the signal of a rebellious mind,” came a new voice, as the door to the hall darkened with the long form of Parson Leach. Peter could have embraced the man, he was so relieved to see him. There was a shadow behind the preacher, and Peter had the impression that Nora had followed the parson down the hall.

  The parson entered the room alone, however, radiating good will and his own manner of carelessness. “The British broke many a printing press,” he continued, “if you will remember, and the heads of some printers, I think. No, it is a suspicious thing to put oneself in a corner and peruse words no other can hear. Sedition may be written as well as the law, and many a scurrilous notion has been given legitimacy for having been bound in leather. ‘Of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh.’ ”

  Captain McQuigg sputtered wordlessly.

  “Twelve, twelve, Ecclesiastes,” cited Mr. Shortwell.

  “Well,” said Captain McQuigg, finding his voice again, “You will be the saddle preacher Mr. Leach.”

  “Zachariah,” said Captain Clayden, making his familiarity and friendship with the parson immediately plain, “it is good to see you so soon again.” And here he introduced the roomful of men, though the clergyman knew Mr. Flye already.

  “A purveyor of books, as well, if I am to understand,” said Mr. Marston, when he shook the newcomer’s hand.

  “I am that humble peddlar,” said Parson Leach.

  “Then surely you have no sympathy with this ignorant class that squats upon other men’s estates.”

  “I have sympathy with suffering, sir,” replied the parson. “I have respect for hard labor. It is a paradox, of course, that the price for land the proprietors demand from these people inflates even as the debtors improve upon the wilderness. I am a great believer in debate, sir, and relish a true disputation over the propriety of land grants from an ousted king and Indian deeds that oppose one another.”

  T
here was general outrage expressed over these sentiments. Mr. Kavanagh himself grew serious for the first time during the conversation.

  “You are not a Congregationalist, sir!” said Captain McQuigg, shaking a finger.

  “I do not share that distinction, Captain, no. Nor am I a Methodist, nor would the Baptists of Freewill lay claim to me.”

  “Are you such a heretic to have no church, Mr. Leach?” wondered Mr. Marston, though not with some underlying touch of humor.

  “Do tell, then!” said Captain McQuigg, hardly breaking from his previous declaration. “You are a similar wiggler with that Nathan Barrow! You are an Anti- an Antimummerist or some such thing!”

  The parson glanced once toward the hall, before he answered, but Nora’s shadow was gone. “An Antinomianist, is very much what I am not, sir,” he said, and Peter was astounded how he could return such a charge so mildly and with a smile upon his face.

  “The devil you say! You are his supporter or his enemy, sir! This Barrow is a villain, and the men who follow him prove, by association, their wrongdoing in these matters discussed!”

  “A man might be wrong about the tide, and right about the weather, Captain McQuigg.”

  “He may be wrong about the both!”

  “And a man may know the word and misperceive the sentence.”

  “And what do you mean by that, sir?”

  “I mean that there are men who can read–that is, they have the function–but it is no promise they can interpret. Ignorance might come in as many guises as wisdom.”

  Captain Clayden appeared ready to interrupt this discourse, but Captain McQuigg had heated himself to the boiling point, and was ready for the slightest provocation or imagined insult to explode in a hiss of steam. “If you would speak that again, but plainly,” he said, “I would strike you on the nose, sir!”

  “You would do well to make it land, I warrant,” said Mr. Kavanagh and without warning, he slid one of Captain Clayden’s books from its place and spun it across the room toward the parson with a snap of his wrist.

  Peter drew in a gasp, but though the parson was hardly looking in Mr. Kavanagh’s direction, his hand came up with the speed of a snake and snatched the book from the air, demonstrating indeed that Captain McQuigg would have been lucky to land a blow on the nose in question. The parson laughed once and peered at the spine of the book.

  “Perhaps you would read some of that to me, Parson,” said Mr. Kavanagh, “as I am without letters, myself.”

  Captain McQuigg sat straight in his chair and the other men gasped a little to think of the insults thrown so recently upon illiterates. With this unexpected intelligence, Peter struggled to reimagine Mr. Kavanagh and his laughter. Mr. Marston absolutely looked ready to bolt and run, and Mr. White gazed down at his feet and said, “I do beg your pardon, Edward!”

  Mr. Kavanagh laughed again, however, and Captain McQuigg stood, saying, “Well, Captain Clayden, we had hoped to add you to our muster, but I trust we will not lose your good will.”

  “I think not, Captain McQuigg,” said Captain Clayden graciously.

  “If something changes your predilection, we hie to Wiscasset.” Captain McQuigg left the room, sword swinging at his side, and as he had to pass close by the parson, he gave him an eye for good measure, though he said nothing else. Others in the group muttered, “Mr. Leach,” or “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” as they left.

  Mr. Kavanagh stopped, however, and said, “You came upon a highwayman at his work, down Freeport way, two or three years ago.”

  “I do remember something like it,” said the parson.

  “I heard you walked up to him and, before he knew what you were about, you snatched the pistol right from his hand.” Kavanagh made a gesture to imitate this deed.

  “Someone must be misremembering,” replied the parson.

  “That was my brother he was robbing,” said Mr. Kavanagh with a smile, and he was gone.

  “He was not a very experienced robber, I think,” said the clergyman, and there was a roar of laughter from down the hall.

  “I am sorry for that unpleasantness, Zachariah,” said Captain Clayden, who was standing now with his back to the hearth.

  “Not at all, sir. Aren’t I ‘a great believer in debate?’ ” he said, quoting himself. From the kitchen they could hear Mr. Kavanagh saying goodbye to Mrs. Magnamous, and something else that raised a laugh from the woman.

  “I can so testify,” said the Captain dryly. “And you, Peter–I am sorry to expose you to such harsh opinions. There are men, I promise you, who are not in full support of the settlers in the backcountry, who would yet deal with them with a tolerant hand.”

  “You are proof of that, sir,” said Peter.

  “You are gracious to say so. Zachariah?”

  “Yes, Captain.” He laid the book that had been tossed at him on a high table by the door. Outside, the small thunder of hooves passed by the house as Captain McQuigg and his men went in search of further allies.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I am, but I must be off before dusk.”

  “Away again, so soon?”

  “I’m going to New Milford.”

  “I thought as much. You must be careful, my friend. I fear you put yourself between two armed camps.”

  Parson Leach turned to Peter and noticed the look of some trouble in the young man’s face. “What is it, Peter?”

  “Perhaps I could go with you.”

  “I thought you might like to stay with Captain Clayden till I get back. I spoke with him about it just this morning.”

  “You are more than welcome, my boy,” said Captain Clayden.

  “I should be looking for my uncle, sir,” said Peter.

  The Captain nodded. Parson Leach considered Peter for a moment, then said, “You’ll need your clothes.”

  “He’ll take what he’s wearing,” said Captain Clayden, and the old fellow held his hand up to stem any disagreement or even thanks. “Yes, yes,” he said. “We’ll make him a proper kit.”

  “Then you’re coming with me, Peter,” said the parson. “But you’ll do everything I tell you, and leave me or stay behind, if I so say.”

  “Yes, Parson.”

  “Nora will be fine with you,” the clergyman said to Captain Clayden.

  “She and the girls are getting along like otters.”

  “Then it’s a swift supper and the road, Peter Loon.”

  “Where are the ladies?” said the elderly man as he led the way out of the den. “Find the ladies, Mr. Loon, would you please?”

  Peter took a breath. It had been a day of shocks and surprises. At the mention of Nora, the business on the riverbank returned to him and his heart fell. On his way from the room, he glanced at the binding of the book that Mr. Kavanagh had thrown at Parson Leach; after some work, he could read, on the binding, the words The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America.

  There was a voice from across the hall, and he approached the parlor on the other side of the house, hoping to find the sisters, or Martha perhaps. James stood outside the parlor door, which was shut, and the young man appeared as if there were something on the toe of his boot that fascinated him. Peter realized that the boy was in an attitude of concentration, and that the voice of one of the sisters was coming from behind the door.

  James looked up at Peter with a sly smile, and said in a whisper, “Emily says Sussanah should leave you be.”

  Peter was astonished. “She does?”

  “They drove me out,” hushed James, not at all ashamed to be caught eavesdropping, “and I pretended to walk down the hall.”

  “You did?” Peter felt his scalp stiffen.

  “Emily says it was Nora you rescued, and that Sussanah should leave you be.” James’s voice had unconsciously risen in volume and the voices behind the door had correspondingly silenced. “Are you fixed on Nora, then?” wondered James, all mischief, but Peter had turned face about and was following Captain Clayden and Parson Leach to the kitchen.
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  16

  Of the Road to New Milford, and What They Discovered at Great Meadow Copse

  PETER THOUGHT HIS HEART COULD FALL NO FURTHER, CONCERNING the events of the afternoon, till Parson Leach told Nora that he and Peter would be leaving. Tears coursed down her face and she trembled so that Peter feared she might fall into convulsions again; but Sussanah and Martha gathered round her and let her cling to them while she wept. Emily appeared more puzzled than troubled, and she watched Peter throughout this with an interest he could not interpret. He feared that Parson Leach might ask him to stay, for Nora’s sake, and indeed, the man turned to him with question on his face, but said nothing.

  “She will be fine,” Captain Clayden insisted, several times over. There were tears in the old man’s eyes, and he blinked energetically before turning away.

  Mrs. Magnamous prepared them a cold supper and after grace, Peter and the parson ate mainly in silence till James sat with them, wishing aloud that he could go as well. He had gleaned enough from the conversation in his grandfather’s den–some of which, to be honest, he may have overheard from the hall–that he believed Parson Leach and Peter were standing into adventure, and James very nearly said as much.

  “Getting to New Milford tonight by moonlight will prove enterprise enough for me,” said the parson.

  Emily turned up next in the kitchen and, deflecting Mrs. Magnamous’s mandate to “let the poor souls eat in peace,” asked the parson and Peter if they would be coming back.

  “I can’t promise where I’ll be led next,” said Parson Leach, “but I’ll return in season, God willing.”

  “I must come back to return these clothes,” said Peter, still astonished by the fine things he was wearing. When he first arrived, Emily and the other young Clayden women might have imagined that the state of his apparel had been the consequence of his recent encounter with Nathan Barrow and his men, and of the rigors of the road; by now they must realize that they were his only garments. His father’s coat, in fact, had been the finest thing he had ever worn till he came here.