, most of whom had
rifles, and a collection of all the boys in the village. The little urchins,
clad in coarse but warm garments, stood gathered around the more distinguished
marksmen, with their hands stuck under their waistbands, listening eagerly to
the boastful stories of skill that had been exhibited on former occasions, and
were already emulating in their hearts these wonderful deeds in gunnery.
    The chief speaker was the man who had been mentioned by Natty, as Billy
Kirby. This fellow, whose occupation, when he did labour, was that of clearing
lands, or chopping jobs, was of great stature, and carried, in his very air, the
index of his character. He was a noisy, boisterous, reckless lad, whose
good-natured eye contradicted the bluntness and bullying tenor of his speech.
For weeks he would lounge around the taverns of the county, in a state of
perfect idleness, or doing small jobs for his liquor and his meals, and
cavilling with applicants about the prices of his labour; frequently preferring
idleness to an abatement of a tittle of his independence, or a cent in his
wages. But when these embarrassing points were satisfactorily arranged, he would
shoulder his axe and his rifle, slip his arms through the straps of his pack,
and enter the woods with the tread of a Hercules. His first object was to learn
his limits, round which he paced, occasionally freshening, with a blow of his
axe, the marks on the boundary trees. Then he would proceed, with an air of
great deliberation, to the centre of his premises, and throwing aside his
superfluous garments, measure, with a knowing eye, one or two of the nearest
trees, that were towering apparently into the very clouds, as he gazed upward.
Commonly selecting one of the most noble, for the first trial of his power, he
approached it with a listless air, whistling a low tune; and wielding his axe,
with a certain flourish not unlike the salutes of a fencing-master, he would
strike a light blow into the bark, and measure his distance. A pause of a moment
was ominous of the fall of the forest, which had flourished there for centuries.
The heavy and brisk blows that he struck, were soon succeeded by the thundering
report of the tree, as it came, first cracking and threatening, with the
separation of its own last ligaments, then threshing and tearing with its
branches the tops of its surrounding brethren, and finally meeting the ground,
with a shock but little inferior to an earthquake. From that moment, the sounds