The sun rose bright on the next morning, and half an hour before the appointed time, Tim entered my bed-chamber, with a cup of mocha, and the intelligence that "Measter had been oop this hour and better, and did na like to be kept waiting!"--so up I jumped, and scarcely had got through the business of rigging myself, before the rattle of wheels announced the arrival of the wagon.
And a model was that shooting wagon--a long, light-bodied box, with a low rail--a high seat and dash in front, and a low servant's seat behind, with lots of room for four men and as many dogs, with guns and luggage, and all appliances to boot, enough to last a month, stowed away out of sight, and out of reach of weather. The nags, both nearly thorough-bred, fifteen two inches high, stout, clean-limbed, active animals--the off-side horse a gray, almost snow-white--the near, a dark chestnut, nearly black--with square docks setting admirably off their beautiful round quarters, high crests, small blood-like heads, and long thin manes--spoke volumes for Tim's stable science; for though their ribs were slightly visible, their muscles were well filled, and hard as granite. Their coats glanced in the sunshine--the white's like statuary marble; the chestnut's like high polished copper--in short the whole turn-out was perfect.
The neat black harness, relieved merely by a crest, with every strap that could be needed, in its place, and not one buckle or one thong superfluous; the bright steel curbs, with the chains jingling as the horses tossed and pawed impatient for a start; the tapering holly whip; the bear-skins covering the seats; the top-coats spread above them-- every thing, in a word, without bordering on the slang, was perfectly correct and gnostic.
Four dogs--a brace of setters of the light active breed, one of which will out-work a brace of the large, lumpy, heavy-headed dogs,--one red, the other white and liver, both with black noses, their legs and sterns beautifully feathered, and their hair, glossy and smooth as silk, showing their excellent condition--and a brace of short-legged, bony, liver-colored spaniels--with their heads thrust one above the other, over or through the railings, and their tails waving with impatient joy --occupied the after portion of the wagon.
Tim, rigged in plain gray frock, with leathers and white tops, stood, in true tiger fashion, at the horses' heads, with the forefinger of his right hand resting upon the curb of the gray horse, as with his left he rubbed the nose of the chestnut; while Harry, cigar in mouth, was standing at the wheel, reviewing with a steady and experienced eye the gear, which seemed to give him perfect satisfaction. The moment I appeared on the steps,
"In with you, Frank--in with you," he exclaimed, disengaging the hand-reins from the terrets into which they had been thrust, "I have been waiting here these five minutes. Jump up, Tim!"
And, gathering the reins up firmly, he mounted by the wheel, tucked the top-coat about his legs, shook out the long lash of his tandem whip, and lapped it up in good style.
"I always drive with one of these"--he said, half apologetically, as I thought--"they are so handy on the road for the cur dogs, when you have setters with you--they plague your life out else. Have you the pistol-case in, Tim, for I don't see it?"
"All raight, sur," answered he, not over well pleased, as it seemed, that it should even be suspected that he could have forgotten any thing --"All raight!"
"Go along, then," cried Harry, and at the word the high bred nags went off; and though my friend was too good and too old a hand to worry his cattle at the beginning of a long day's journey--many minutes had not passed before we found ourselves on board the ferry-boat, steaming it merrily towards the Jersey shore.
"A quarter past six to the minute," said Harry, as we landed at Hoboken.
"Let Shot and Chase run, Tim, but keep the spaniels in till we pass Hackensack."
"Awa wi ye, ye rascals," exclaimed Tim, and out went the high blooded dogs upon the instant, yelling and jumping in delight about the horses-- and off we went, through the long sandy street of Hoboken, leaving the private race-course of that stanch sportsman, Mr. Stevens, on the left, with several powerful horses taking their walking exercise in their neat body clothes.
"That puts me in mind, Frank," said Harry, as he called my attention to the thorough-breds, "we must be back next Tuesday for the Beacon Races-- the new course up there on the hill; you can see the steps that lead to it--and now is not this lovely?" he continued, as we mounted the first ridge of Weehawken, and looked back over the beautiful broad Hudson, gemmed with a thousand snowy sails of craft or shipping--"Is not this lovely, Frank? and, by the by, you will say, when we get to our journey's end, you never drove through prettier scenery in your life. Get away, Bob, you villain--nibbling, nibbling at your curb! get away, lads!"
And away we went at a right rattling pace over the hills, and through the cedar swamp; and, passing through a toll-gate, stopped with a sudden jerk at a long low tavern on the left-hand side.
"We must stop here, Frank. My old friend, Ingliss, a brother trigger, too, would think the world was coming to an end if I drove by-- twenty-nine minutes these six miles," he added, looking at his watch, "that will do! Now, Tim, look sharp--just a sup of water! Good day--good day to you, Mr. Ingliss; now for a glass of your milk punch"--and mine host disappeared, and in a moment came forth with two rummers of the delicious compound, a big bright lump of ice bobbing about in each among the nutmeg.
"What, off again for Orange county, Mr. Archer? I was telling the old woman yesterday that we should have you by before long; well, you'll find cock pretty plenty, I expect; there was a chap by here from Ulster --let me see, what day was it--Friday, I guess--with produce, and he was telling, they have had no cold snap yet up there! Thank you, sir, good luck to you!"
And off we went again, along a level road, crossing the broad, slow river from whence it takes its name, into the town of Hackensack.
"We breakfast here, Frank"--as he pulled up beneath the low Dutch shed projecting over half the road in front of the neat tavern--"How are you, Mr. Vanderbeck--we want a beefsteak, and a cup of tea, as quick as you can give it us; we'll make the tea ourselves; bring in the black tea, Tim--the nags as usual."
"Aye! aye! sur"--"tak them out--leave t' harness on, all but their bridles"--to an old gray-headed hostler. "Whisp off their legs a bit; Ay will be oot enoo!"
After as good a breakfast as fresh eggs, good country bread--worth ten times the poor trash of city bakers--prime butter, cream, and a fat steak could furnish, at a cheap rate, and with a civil and obliging landlord, away we went again over the red-hills--an infernal ugly road, sandy, and rough, and stony--for ten miles farther to New Prospect.
"Now you shall see some scenery worth looking at," said Harry, as we started again, after watering the horses, and taking in a bag with a peck of oats--"to feed at three o'clock, Frank, when we stop to grub, which must do al fresco--" my friend explained--"for the landlord, who kept the only tavern on the road, went West this summer, bit by the land mania, and there is now no stopping place 'twixt this and Warwick," naming the village for which we were bound. "You got that beef boiled, Tim?"
"Ay'd been a fouil else, and aye so often oop t' road too," answered he with a grin, "and t' moostard is mixed, and t' pilot biscuit in, and a good bit o' Cheshire cheese! wee's doo, Ay reckon. Ha! ha! ha!"
And now my friend's boast was indeed fulfilled; for when we had driven a few miles farther, the country became undulating, with many and bright streams of water; the hill sides clothed with luxuriant woodlands, now in their many-colored garb of autumn beauty; the meadow-land rich in unchanged fresh greenery--for the summer had been mild and rainy--with here and there a buckwheat stubble showing its ruddy face, replete with promise of quail in the present, and of hot cakes in future; and the bold chain of mountains, which, under many names, but always beautiful and wild, sweeps from the Highlands of the Hudson, west and southwardly, quite through New Jersey, forming a link between the White and Green Mountains of New Hampshire and Vermont, and the more famous Alleghenies of the South.
A