Duncan’s Ride

Duncan awakens before dawn. He puts his feet on the floor and stands and stretches. He slides his dressing gown over his undershirt. He slides his feet into moccasins by the door and walks outside.

Making his way to the well, Duncan draws a bucket of water. He returns to his cabin setting the bucket on the table. He cups his hands, pulling the water into his face, washing the sleep out of his eyes. The water is cold but refreshing.

He dips his head in the bucket to clean his hair. Duncan runs his hands along the top of his head, grasping his hair where it extends from the skull. He tightens his grip and turns his head while pulling to remove the excess water out and back into the bucket.

Duncan removes his stockings and collects a cloth from the clothesline near the table and dips it in the bucket. He removes his dressing gown and begins to wash himself thoroughly, lest he smell like a goat and offend someone.

He hangs the cloth back on the clothesline and grabs his towel. Duncan removes the excess water from his hair and returns the towel. He picks up the stockings and drops them into the bucket and vigorously swishes them around.

Duncan hangs his freshly washed stockings on the line and removes a dry pair. He puts on the clean stockings on his feet.

After he finishes his bathing procedure, Duncan makes his way over to his Hanging cupboard and opens the doors. Duncan stretches again and dawns his best white overshirt.

He reaches out, collects his nicest breeches. Duncan puts his left leg in, followed by his right. In a fluid motion he pulls the breeches up. Duncan puts his arms on his suspenders and fastens the breeches’ tie string.

Duncan digs through his cravats and selects a lovely red cravat, his newest. He has been waiting for just such an occasion.

Duncan collects his finest green waistcoat and slides his arms in the holes. He pulls it up on his shoulders and begins buttoning. Each polished button is made of brass and displays a star.

He puts on his blue coat, it was a Christmas gift from his mother, purchased and shipped all the way from Paris France.

He reaches out and touches his trusty old Tricorne hat but realizes that will not due. He should probably use his newest Tricorne. It has not been broken in yet and so it will be slightly uncomfortable, but it is an important day.

Duncan slides his feet into his riding boots and turns the top down just enough to ensure comfort and mobility.

He straps his belt, containing his pistol and saber, around his waist. He then adjusts it into a comfortable position.

He makes his way out the door, shutting it behind him. The sun kisses his cheeks and he enjoys the warmth.

Duncan puts his fingers in his mouth and blows a steady stream of air producing a shrill tone. The dun stallion in the meadow near his cabin lifts its head.

The Stallions tail lifts high in the air and its head turns slightly. The horse whinnies a greeting and bounds joyfully toward Duncan.

When the horse arrives, Duncan rubs his head gently., showering him with praises. There is a love between the two. Bachelors living how they want to live.

Duncan has considered getting married several times however, despite his ample means, his cabin is small, and a family would require substantially more effort than he is inclined to exert at this time.

He draws his attention back to the stallion. He has never given the horse a name. he feels, it is not necessary. Much like finding a wife, naming his stallion would require too much effort, not because he is lazy, but because the stallion is so outstanding, he cannot choose.

He walks to the barn with the stallion practically in his pocket. The stallion’s need for attention has compelled it follow.

Duncan opens the barn door and walks inside. The Stallion is overjoyed to be readied for his daily ride. He picks up the curry comb with his teeth and drops it into Duncan’s hand.

Duncan smiles and curries the horse vigorously as he does every morning. For a moment Duncan drifts off, thinking about how much a wife would impede his perfectly ordered life.

The Stallion neighs snapping Duncan back to the task at hand. He chuckles it the Stallions focus and his lack thereof.

He finishes the curry and inserts the bit of the bridle into the Stallion’s mouth. He slides the bridle harness carefully over the stallion’s ears, buckling it under his jaw.

Then Duncan selects his finest Horse blanket and gently slides it onto the stallions back. He lifts his best saddle on and fastens the Cinch. He tugs on the stirrup to ensure the stallion is not being playful.

Duncan leads the stallion out of the barn, leaving the door open, as is his practice when he is only going as far as Raleigh Tavern in Williamsburg.

He should be home before dark but if his dear friend Patrick Henry makes him imbibe too much ale for his birthday, the stallion will take him into the opened barn. This has happened once or thrice before.

Duncan lifts his foot into the stirrup and in one fluid motion, lifts himself up and swings his leg over the saddle. He sits himself perfectly in the seat and leans back into the cantle to verify his positioning.

He investigates the sky; the clouds have begun to overtake the previously clear sky but that is no deterrent. Riding in the rain will only serve to break in his tricorne more quickly than perspiration.

Duncan gently nudges the Stallions ribs and the stallion begins to walk toward the capitol. Another nudge sends the stallion into a nice smooth canter.

As he rides, Duncan notices the clouds have become more menacing. He nudges the stallions ribs a little a little harder and the stallion jumps to a gallop.

Lightning flashes across the sky and Duncan becomes concerned. He begins ridding toward a gully to take shelter. The gully has become obscured by a rolling fog.

Suddenly a bright flash of light temporarily blinds Duncan and his stallion. Fear and pain grip them both.

The tour buss driver glances over his shoulder and croons, “That’s called Duncan’s Ghost! Y’all saw that right? Let me tell y’all the story of Duncan’s Ride.”