the story of a bad boy(顽童故事)-第5部分
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bringing out the faint spicy odor that haunts the place…the ghost of the old
dead West India trade！ During our ride from the station； I was struck； of
course； only by the general neatness of the houses and the beauty of the
elm…trees lining the streets。 I describe Rivermouth now as I came to know
it afterwards。
Rivermouth is a very ancient town。 In my day there existed a tradition
among the boys that it was here Christopher Columbus made his first
landing on this continent。 I remember having the exact spot pointed out to
me by Pepper Whitcomb！ One thing is certain； Captain John Smith； who
afterwards； according to the legend； married Pocahontas…whereby he got
Powhatan for a father…in…law…explored the river in 1614； and was much
charmed by the beauty of Rivermouth； which at that time was covered
with wild strawberry…vines。
Rivermouth figures prominently in all the colonial histories。 Every
other house in the place has its tradition more or less grim and entertaining。
If ghosts could flourish anywhere； there are certain streets in Rivermouth
that would be full of them。 I don't know of a town with so many old
houses。 Let us linger； for a moment； in front of the one which the Oldest
Inhabitant is always sure to point out to the curious stranger。
It is a square wooden edifice； with gambrel roof and deep…set window…
frames。 Over the windows and doors there used to be heavy carvings…oak…
leaves and acorns； and angels' heads with wings spreading from the ears；
oddly jumbled together； but these ornaments and other outward signs of
grandeur have long since disappeared。 A peculiar interest attaches itself to
this house； not because of its age； for it has not been standing quite a
century； nor on account of its architecture； which is not striking … but
because of the illustrious men who at various periods have occupied its
spacious chambers。
In 1770 it was an aristocratic hotel。 At the left side of the entrance
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stood a high post； from which swung the sign of the Earl of Halifax。 The
landlord was a stanch loyalist…that is to say； be believed in the king； and
when the overtaxed colonies determined to throw off the British yoke； the
adherents to the Crown held private meetings in one of the back rooms of
the tavern。 This irritated the rebels； as they were called； and one night they
made an attack on the Earl of Halifax； tore down the signboard； broke in
the window…sashes； and gave the landlord hardly time to make himself
invisible over a fence in the rear。
For several months the shattered tavern remained deserted。 At last the
exiled innkeeper； on promising to do better； was allowed to return； a new
sign； bearing the name of William Pitt； the friend of America； swung
proudly from the door…post； and the patriots were appeased。 Here it was
that the mail…coach from Boston twice a week； for many a year； set down
its load of travelers and gossip。 For some of the details in this sketch； I am
indebted to a recently published chronicle of those times。
It is 1782。The French fleet is lying in the harbor of Rivermouth； and
eight of the principal officers； in white uniforms trimmed with gold lace；
have taken up their quarters at the sign of the William Pitt。 Who is this
young and handsome officer now entering the door of the tavern？ It is no
less a personage than the Marquis Lafayette； who has come all the way
from Providence to visit the French gentlemen boarding there。 What a
gallant…looking cavalier he is； with his quick eyes and coal black hair！
Forty years later he visited the spot again； his locks were gray and his step
was feeble； but his heart held its young love for Liberty。
Who is this finely dressed traveler alighting from his coach and…four；
attended by servants in livery？ Do you know that sounding name； written
in big valorous letters on the Declaration of Independence…written as if by
the hand of a giant？ Can you not see it now？ JOHN HANCOCK。 This is
he。
Three young men； with their valet； are standing on the doorstep of the
William Pitt； bowing politely； and inquiring in the most courteous terms in
the world if they can be accommodated。 It is the time of the French
Revolution； and these are three sons of the Duke of Orleans…Louis
Philippe and his two brothers。 Louis Philippe never forgot his visit to
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Rivermouth。 Years afterwards； when he was seated on the throne of France；
he asked an American lady； who chanced to be at his court； if the pleasant
old mansion were still standing。
But a greater and a better man than the king of the French has honored
this roof。 Here； in 1789； came George Washington； the President of the
United States； to pay his final complimentary visit to the State dignitaries。
The wainscoted chamber where he slept； and the dining…hall where he
entertained his guests； have a certain dignity and sanctity which even the
present Irish tenants cannot wholly destroy。
During the period of my reign at Rivermouth； an ancient lady； Dame
Jocelyn by name； lived in one of the upper rooms of this notable building。
She was a dashing young belle at the time of Washington's first visit to the
town； and must have been exceedingly coquettish and pretty； judging from
a certain portrait on ivory still in the possession of the family。 According
to Dame Jocelyn； George Washington flirted with her just a little bit…in
what a stately and highly finished manner can be imagined。
There was a mirror with a deep filigreed frame hanging over the
mantel…piece in this room。 The glass was cracked and the quicksilver
rubbed off or discolored in many places。 When it reflected your face you
had the singular pleasure of not recognizing yourself。 It gave your features
the appearance of having been run through a mince…meat machine。 But
what rendered the looking…glass a thing of enchantment to me was a faded
green feather； tipped with scarlet； which drooped from the top of the
tarnished gilt mouldings。 This feather Washington took from the plume of
his three…cornered hat； and presented with his own hand to the worshipful
Mistress Jocelyn the day he left Rivermouth forever。 I wish I could
describe the mincing genteel air； and the ill…concealed self…complacency；
with which the dear old lady related the incident。
Many a Saturday afternoon have I climbed up the rickety staircase to
that dingy room； which always had a flavor of snuff about it； to sit on a
stiff…backed chair and listen for hours together to Dame Jocelyn's stories
of the olden time。 How she would prattle！ She was bedridden…poor
creature！…and had not been out of the chamber for fourteen years。
Meanwhile the world had shot ahead of Dame Jocelyn。 The changes that
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had taken place under her very nose were unknown to this faded； crooning
old gentlewoman； whom the eighteenth century had neglected to take
away with the rest of its odd traps。 She had no patience with newfangled
notions。 The old ways and the old times were good enough for her。 She
had never seen a steam engine； though she had heard 〃the dratted thing〃
screech in the distance。 In her day； when gentlefolk traveled； they went in
their own coaches。 She didn't see how respectable people could bring
themselves down to 〃riding in a car with rag…tag and bobtail and Lord…
knows…who。〃 Poor old aristocrat The landlord charged her no rent for the
room； and the neighbors took turns in supplying her with meals。 Towards
the close of her life…she lived to be ninety…nine…she grew very fretful and
capricious about her food。 If she didn't chance to fancy what was sent her；
she had no hesitation in sending it back to the giver with 〃Miss Jocelyn's
respectful compliments。〃
But I have been gossiping too long…and yet not too long if
