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Wild Huntress

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<h3>Chapter Eighteen.</h3> <h4>A Backwoods Venus.</h4> After indulging for some time in a sort of dreamy contemplation I once more gave the bridle to my horse, and rode onward. I was prepared for a tortuous path: my host had forewarned me of this. The herrikin, he said, was only three hundred yards in breadth; but I should have to ride nearly twice that distance in crossing it. His statement proved literally true. The old trace, passing down the creek bottom, had run at right angles to the direction of the storm; and, of course, the trees had fallen perpendicularly across the path—where they still lay, thick as hurdles set for a donkey-race. Some of them could be stepped over by a horse, and a few might be “jumped,” but there were others that rose breast high; and a flying-leap over a five-barred gate would have been an easy exploit, compared with clearing one of these monstrous barriers. I might add, also, from experience, that leaping a log is a feat of considerable danger. There is no room for “topping;” and should the iron hoof strike, there is nothing that will yield. On the other side, the rider has the pleasant prospect of a broken neck—either for himself or his horse. Not being in any particular hurry, I took the matter quietly; and wound my way through a labyrinth worthy of being the maze of Fair Rosamond. I could not help remarking the singular effect which the herrikin had produced. To the right and left, as far as my view could range, extended an opening, like some vast avenue that had been cleared for the passage of giants, and by giants made! On each side appeared the unbroken forest—the trunks standing like columns, with shadowy aisles between: their outward or edge-row trending in a straight line, as if so planted. These showed not a sign that the fierce tornado had passed so near them; though others, whose limbs almost interlocked with theirs, had been mowed down without mercy by the ruthless storm. I had arrived within fifty yards of the opposite side, and the dark forest was again before my face; but even at that short distance, the eye vainly endeavoured to pierce its sombre depths. I was congratulating myself, that I had passed the numerous logs that lay across the path, when yet one more appeared between me and the standing trees. It had been one of the tallest victims of the tornado; and now lay transversely to the line of the track, which cut it about midway. On nearing this obstacle, I saw that the trace forked into two—one going around the tops of the decaying branches, while the other took the direction of the roots; which, with the soil still adhering to them, formed a rounded buttress-like wall of full ten feet in diameter. The trunk itself was not over five—that being about the thickness of the tree. It was a matter of choice which of the two paths should be followed: since both appeared to come together again on the opposite side of the tree; but I had made up my mind to take neither. One of my motives, in seeking this forest-home, had been a desire to indulge in the exciting exercise of the chase; and the sooner I should bring my horse into practice, the sooner I might take the field with a prospect of success. Log-leaping was new to my Arab; and he might stand in need of a little training to it. The log before me had open ground on both sides; and afforded a very good opportunity for giving him his first lesson. Thus prompted by Saint Hubert, I was about spurring forward to the run; when a hoof-stroke falling upon my ear, summoned me to desist from my intention. The sound proceeded from the forest before my face; and, peering into its darkness, I could perceive that some one, also on horseback, was coming along the path. This caused me to change my design, or rather to pause until the person should pass. Had I continued in my determination to leap the log, I should, in all likelihood, have dashed my horse at full gallop against that of the approaching traveller; since our courses lay directly head to head. While waiting till he should ride out of the way, I became aware that I had committed an error—only in regard to the sex of the person who was approaching. It was not a he! On the contrary, something so very different that, as soon as I had succeeded in shading the sun-glare out of my eyes; and obtained a fair view of the equestrian traveller, my indifference was at an end: I beheld one of the loveliest apparitions ever made manifest in female form, or I need scarcely add, in any other. It was a young girl—certainly not over sixteen years of age—but with a contour close verging upon womanhood. Her beauty was of that character which cannot be set forth by a detailed description in words. In true loveliness there is a harmony of the features that will not suffer them to be considered apart; nor does the eye take note of any one, to regard it as unique or characteristic. It is satisfied with the coup d’oeil of the whole—if I may be permitted the expression. Real beauty needs not to be considered; it is acknowledged at a glance: eye and heart, impressed with it at the same instant, search not to study its details. The impression made upon me by the first sight of this young girl, was that of something soft and strikingly beautiful, of a glorious golden hue—the reflection of bright amber-coloured hair on a blonde skin, tinged with a hue of vermilion—something that imparted a sort of luminous radiance divinely feminine. Even under the shadow of the trees, this luminous radiance was apparent—as if the face had a halo around it! The reader may smile at such exalted ideas, and deem them the offspring of a romantic fancy; but had he looked, as I, into the liquid depths of those large eyes, with their blue irides and darker pupils; had he gazed upon that cheek tinted as with cochineal—those lips shaming the hue of the rose—that throat of ivory white—those golden tresses translucent in the sunlight—he would have felt as I, that something shone before his eyes—a face such as the Athenian fancy has elaborated into an almost living reality, in the goddess Cytherea. In short, it was the Venus of my fancy—the very ideal I had imbibed from gazing upon many a picture of the Grecian goddess. The prognostication of my friend had proved emphatically false. If it was not Venus I saw before me, it appeared her counterpart in human form! And this fair creature was costumed in the simplest manner—almost coarsely clad. A sleeved dress of homespun with a yellowish stripe, loosely worn, and open at the breast. A cotton “sun-bonnet” was the only covering for her head—her bright amber-coloured hair the only shawl upon her shoulders, over which it fell in ample luxuriance. A string of pearls around her neck—false ones I could see—was the sole effort that vanity seemed to have made: for there was no other article of adornment. Even shoes and stockings were wanting; but the most costly chaussure could not have added to the elegance of those mignon feet, that, daintily protruding below the skirt of her dress, rested along the flank of the horse. More commonplace even than her homespun frock was the steed that carried her—a sorry-looking animal, that resembled the skeleton of a horse with the skin left on! There was no saddle—scarce the semblance of one. A piece of bear-skin, strapped over the back with a rough thong, did service for a saddle; and the little feet hung loosely down without step or stirrup. The girl kept her seat, partly by balancing, but as much by holding on to the high bony withers of the horse, that rose above his shoulders like the hump of a dromedary. The scant mane, wound around her tiny fingers scarcely covered them; while with the other hand she clasped the black reins of an old dilapidated bridle. The want of saddle and stirrup did not hinder her from poising herself gracefully upon the piece of bear-skin; but hers was a figure that, could not be ungraceful in any attitude; and, as the old horse hobbled along, the rude movement all the more palpably displayed the magnificent moulding of her body and limbs. The contrast between horse and rider—the old critter and the young creature—was ridiculously striking: the former appearing a burlesque on the most beautiful of quadrupeds, while the latter was the very impersonation of the loveliest of biped forms. It is scarcely probable that the Cyprian goddess could ever have been brought into such a ludicrous juxtaposition—a shame upon Mercury if she was! In classic lore we find mention of no such sorry steed; and, for his counterpart in story, we must seek in more modern times—fixing upon the famed charger of Calatrava’s knight. But here the analogy must end. The charms of the dark-haired Dulcinea can be brought into no comparison with those of the golden-haired wood-nymph of the Obion Bottom. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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