Travelling with incredible slowness, in due time we came to a county
called Orangeburg, where all were Dutchmen like Hans, and very few spoke
English. And they all thought like Hans, and loved peace, and hated the
Congress. On Sundays, as we lay over at the taverns, these would be
filled with a rollicking crowd of fiddlers and dancers, quaintly dressed,
the women bringing their children and babies. At such times Hans would
be drunk, and I would have to feed the tired horses and mount watch over
the cargo. I had many adventures, but none worth the telling here. And
at length we came to Hans's farm, in a prettily rolling country on the
Broad River. Hans's wife spoke no English at all, nor did the brood of
children running about the house. I had small fancy for staying in such
a place, and so Hans paid me two crowns for my three weeks' service; I
think, with real regret, for labor was scarce in those parts, and though
I was young, I knew how to work. And I could at least have guided his
plough in the furrow and cared for his cattle.

It was the first money I had earned in my life, and a prouder day than
many I have had since.

For the convenience of travellers passing that way, Hans kept a
tavern,--if it could have been dignified by such a name. It was in truth
merely a log house with shakedowns, and stood across the rude road from
his log farmhouse. And he gave me leave to sleep there and to work for
my board until I cared to leave. It so chanced that on the second day
after my arrival a pack-train came along, guided by a nettlesome old man
and a strong, black-haired lass of sixteen or thereabouts. The old man,
whose name was Ripley, wore a nut-brown hunting shirt trimmed with red
cotton; and he had no sooner slipped the packs from his horses than he
began to rail at Hans, who stood looking on.