I woke early in the morning, after having passed the night in dreamless slumber. Not a memory of the day's doings--not a vague shadow of thoughts, or words, or deeds--flitted across the chasm of sleep. When I opened my eyes, however, the daylight--faint and unconfirmed--was streaming in at the windows; and, for half an hour or more, I enjoyed one of those pleasant, idle lapses of existence which we so rarely have leisure to indulge, when life, like a river between its cataracts and rapids, rests unruffled by thought or action, without a ripple to mark that it is flowing on; and with nothing reflected from its tranquil surface but the faint, glistening images of the quiet things which surround it. I saw a patch of the blue sky through the window, and a soft white cloud float slowly across. I looked at the large, brass-topped andirons in the wide fireplace, and contemplated the lions' heads which adorned them. I made a human face out of the sleeve of my coat, as it hung over the back of a chair, with a large nose and a heavy eye-brow; and it looked so sleepy, that I had almost dropped into slumber again, out of mere sympathy, when suddenly the door of the room opened, and in came a nice-looking black boy, with a clean white jacket and apron, and a tray with several well-filled glasses upon it. He walked composedly up to my bedside, and presented the tray.
"What is this, my friend?" I said, taking one of the glasses, which appeared full of a clear brownish liquid, some lumps of ice and some fresh green herbs.
"The mint juleps, sir," replied the boy, waiting for me to drink, in order to take the glass away.
"The mint juleps!" I thought. "I wonder if it is one of the laws of the land that every one must drink a mint julep before he rises." However, I tasted the beverage, and it was delicious and most refreshing, at least for the time. The coolness imparted by the ice effectually screened the palate from all the hotter things which it contained; and it was not till afterwards that I found it would be advisable not to drink brandy with mint steeped in it so early in the morning. Hardly had the littlelimonadiergone, when my friend Zed appeared, and, while he was engaged with great skill and assiduity in putting all my dressing things to wrongs with true negro officiousness, he opened his morning budget of gossip by telling me that we could not have arrived at a better time, for there was soon to be a great camp-meeting in the immediate neighbourhood, where some very godly men were to hold forth. I had long wished to see one of these curious assemblages, and I accordingly took care to inform myself of the day and place where the exercises were to be held. Zed then proceeded, while I dressed, to tell me the whole politics of the family, with the business-like manner and volubility of a Spanish barber. From him I thus learned that Mr. Byles--or bold Billy Byles--was a suitor for the hand of Louisa, Mr. Thornton's eldest daughter, but that it was the general opinion of the kitchen and adjacent domains that he would not succeed in his suit, for that young Mr. Whitehead, the Presbyterian minister, came often to see MissLouin the morning, and was a very gentle, engaging young man. Master Harry, he said, my cousin's eldest boy, was a wild young dog, showing the true Virginian fondness for horse-flesh and fire-arms, having broken the knees of one of his father's best steeds, and burst two guns already, besides setting fire to the stables by exploding a percussion-cap with a hammer. How long he would have gone on I know not, had my dressing not been brought to an end; when, telling him to be within call after breakfast, I went down to the lower floor. I found the drawing-room--or parlour as they call it here--vacant, and sauntered out into the porch, where the first thing I saw was Mr. Lewis, walking his horse quietly along the road from the overseer's house towards the highway. The next instant I perceived one of the servants start out upon him, like a spider from the corner of his web upon an entangled blue-bottle, and hand him a paper. I knew well enough what sort of document it was, namely, a caveat against the sale or purchase of any of the slaves of good Aunt Bab, signed by Mr. Thornton as agent, and Mr. Hubbard as attorney of Sir Richard Conway, under a power which had been drawn up the night before. This power had been rapidly and informally executed, and probably was invalid; but my presence rendered it unnecessary, except inasmuch as it enabled me to remain incognito for some time longer, and watch the proceedings of the conspirators. I must remark, it was not dated, and was merely alluded to in the caveat, so that no immediate indication of my visit to Virginia was afforded by that document. Mr. Lewis had just passed on his way, after reading the paper with feelings which of course I could not divine, when, from the other side, I saw approaching a pretty little female figure, dressed in a peculiar style, or rather in a medley of a great number of styles and fashions, outraging all of them in some respects. She had no bonnet on, but merely a parasol over her head; the length of her dress, instead of being of that extensive flow which has succeeded the short petticoats of a few years ago, was brief enough to show an exceedingly pretty foot and ankle, but it was so conspicuously full as to put me in mind of the costume of some of the Swiss cantons. Her shoes had minute buckles in them instead of being sandalled in modern style; and her hair, instead of being propped up to a towering height with a scaffolding of tortoise-shell, lay flat, and was gathered into a knot behind, in the antique Greek mode. As soon as her parasol was turned a little aside, I perceived it was Miss Davenport; and though she came quietly on, with her eyes bent upon the path, apparently unconscious that I was in the porch, I was, I am afraid, unjust to her, and imagined that there was a good deal of coquetry in both dress and manner. She had puzzled me the night before--she puzzled me still. There was something of frankness, something of archness, which was not displeasing; but something also of daring, of independence, of wilfulness, which I did not like. Pretty she certainly was, nay, beautiful; for the more one examined the small features and delicate form, the more symmetry and the more grace were apparent. But I never was one of those who can fall in love with pictures, or statues, or even marionettes. Pygmalion's statue might have remained ivory to the great conflagration, before I would have sighed or prayed it into life; and as for actresses, I always feel a green curtain falling between me and them, even before the end of the play. It seemed that morning as if some peculiar demon had seized upon me, and made me resolve, for my sins, to see what really was in Bessy Davenport--to tease her, to worry her, and to bring out the latent soul. I went forward to meet her; and, as soon as she really saw me, her whole aspect and manner changed. A gay, light, half-sarcastic smile played upon her lip, her eyes sparkled, and, holding out her hand, she said,--
"Good morning, cousin; I hope your aristocratic head has been able to repose quietly in this democratic community." I might feel a little staggered by this easy salutation. It was rather like a small masked battery opening upon one when marching gaily up to an attack; but I rallied my forces at once, and replied, "As well as if all the coronets that ever were lined with ermine had rested beside me on the pillow. Democracy is not a catching disease, I should imagine, from all I have seen of it. But may I ask howyouslept? I trust without any painful visions of slaughtered swains and disconsolate lovers, or any twinges of remorse for all the woes you have and will inflict upon mankind."
"None, in truth," she answered at once. "Do you know I once killed a rattlesnake?--yes, with my own hand; and when I saw the shining reptile lie dead before me, I remembered he had given honourable warning before he sprang, and then I might feel a little regret that I had struck him so hastily with the butt of my riding-whip. But man is a very different sort of reptile: he gives no warning, and is far more venomous." A strange sort of painful feeling was produced in my mind by her words. I asked myself, "Can this young girl, apparently not twenty, have already tasted of that bitter cup which man so often holds to woman's lip?" The shadow of the thought must have crossed my face, for I was roused from my half-reverie by a clear, gay laugh. "Now I will show you," she said, "how women can divine. I am no love-lorn maiden, pining for some faithless swain--no man-hater from personal experience of man's unworthiness. I never saw the man yet, and never shall, who could raise my pulse one beat to hear his coming or his going step. But let me do justice to both sides. No man ever said to me in a sweet maudlin tone, 'Bessy, will you marry me?' nor even, to my face, declared I was the most charming of my sex, or anything of that kind. But I judge men from what I have seen of their conduct towards others; and I believe them to be the most thoroughly selfish class of beings--at least as far as women are concerned--that God ever created."
"And when it becomes your case to listen and have sweet words spoken," I replied, "you will think you and the speaker are two bright exceptions." She coloured a little, and looked almost angry, saying, "Never! I will never give any one the opportunity; for I go very much with the old saying, 'nogentlemanwas ever refused by alady.' I mean, no man who is really a gentleman would propose to a lady who had not given him such encouragement as would preclude her, if really a lady, from refusing him if he did propose."
"Then you would have a lady," I said, "give a man encouragement before she knows whether he really loves her or not. Or you would have her advance step by step with him, like two armies in battle-array, watching each other's movements, and each taking care that the other did not get the slightest advantage; sure to get upon some slippery ground before they have done, my dear young lady!" Her face was now glowing like a rose, and she answered quite impatiently, "Pshaw! you know what I mean; and every man of common tact will, in his heart, admit that I am right."
"In neither one or the other of the two cases," I replied.
"What two cases?" she asked.
"Two assertions, I should have called them," answered I; "the one you just now made, and the preceding one, that men are entirely selfish in all that concerns women. I have seen cases in which no selfish motive could be discerned in the beginning, in the course, or in the end of such matters; and, being a good deal older than you are, I have had more means of judging."
"Why, how old are you?" she asked abruptly.
"Seven-and-twenty," I answered.
"I thought so!" she cried, with a joyous laugh; "but you look a good deal older."
"Indeed!" I answered, perhaps a little mortified; "but what makes you seem to rejoice that I am seven-and-twenty only?"
"Excuse me," she replied, dropping a low curtsy. "I might say, because that makes you just a fit age for myself, or a hundred other civil things. But I would rather say nothing, Sir Richard."
"Sir Richard!" I exclaimed. "How came you to give me that name, Miss Davenport?"
"Because you are just seven-and-twenty; and because there is 'Richard Conway' printed in white letters upon the black trunks you left at Norfolk," she replied, with an air of funny malice, adding, "at least so your servant told the cook, and the cook told my maid, and my maid told me, dear cousin; and so there's my 'how.'"
"Good heaven, this babbling is very provoking!" I exclaimed, greatly annoyed; "it may spoil all our plans."
"No fear," she answered; "we are so surrounded by woods and wilds that the secret will keep till next Sunday at least; for the negroes will not see those of any other plantation till then."
"Andyouwill tell no one?" I inquired.
"Honour!" she replied, in a tone of mock solemnity.
"If you do," I said, laughing. "I will tell your uncle, whom I see coming up there, that you and I have been standing this quarter of an hour at the edge of the porch, talking of love all the time."
"Love!" she cried, "what is that? I declare such an antediluvian monster has never been once mentioned between us till you brought it this minute out of the blue mud of your own imagination."
"A very savoury figure," I answered. "But as to love, if we have not been talking about it, notwithstanding all circumlocutions, we have been thinking about it."
"Not a bit," she replied. "We have been talking, and thinking too, of the most opposite things--of the very antipodes of love. Courtship and marriage, if you like; but what has love to do with them, cousin?" And she fixed her full dark eyes upon my face, with a look of the most perfect simplicity--assumed, of course, but very well put on. I felt somewhat revengeful, and I almost longed to try if I could not make the boasting little beauty know something of the power she scoffed at. But just then Mr. Thornton came up, and began jesting with his fair relation upon her morning reveries beside the stream.
"I saw you, Bessy," he said; "and if I had met with Mr. Howard, I should have sent him down to try if he could not break up your visions."
"I dare say he would have succeeded," she answered; "for he has been amusing me here with some of the driest subjects in the world."
"Of what kind, little hypocrite?" asked Mr. Thornton.
"Arithmetic--arithmetic," she replied gaily. "As, for example, how many ganders' heads are required to make one goose's. But, here comes Mr. Hubbard slowly down stairs; and there is Mr. Alsiger's back at the end of the passage; so I had better go in to get breakfast ready, for Lou won't be down this hour." And away she ran, casting her parasol into a cane seat in the hall. Mr. Thornton paused, and fell into a reverie for a moment or two, which he concluded by saying, as if to himself,--
"The poets are wrong." I knew not what he meant, of course; and whether those few words directed his and my thoughts, or not, I cannot tell; but at breakfast we got into a discussion of poets and poetry.
"It is wonderful," Mr. Thornton observed, after a few other remarks upon the subject, "that with all the superabundant energies which this country possesses, and all the imagination which she expends upon other themes, we have, as yet, produced no very remarkable poet." I ventured to say that I did not think it wonderful; and, of course, there was a call for my reasons.
"In the first place," I replied, "the energies of the people have other objects, and those principally material. In the next place, the imaginative faculty finds other occupation."
"How so, how so?" asked Mr. Hubbard.
"In orations, speeches, declamations," I answered, and then continued, with a smile, "perhaps I might add, in finding causes for offence in the acts of other nations; and without offence, let me say, Mr. Alsiger, in religious exercises which perhaps touch the fancy rather than inform the heart."
"Too true, too true!" said the good clergyman, with a sigh.
"Then again," I continued, "poetry is generally the offspring of leisure. Now, there is--at least it seems so to me--no such thing as leisure in America, and----"
"Excuse me," interrupted Mr. Thornton, laughing; "we have plenty of leisure in Virginia, if we did but know what to do with it. But you were going to add something."
"I was merely going to remark, as a matter of history, that poetry rarely flourishes in republics. Monarchies are its congenial soil. It is a flower that requires a hot-house."
"Oh, heresy, heresy!" cried Bessy Davenport. "What! can such noble and inspiring things as freedom and independence have no power to awaken great thoughts, or even to clothe them in immortal verse?"
"Your pardon, fair lady," I answered; "but you are assuming the premises. Freedom and independence, I would contend, can exist as well--nay, better--in a well-ordered monarchy than in any republic. The tyranny of a number--or of a majority, if you please,--is always more terrible than the tyranny of an individual--the tyranny of public opinion, more potent than the rule of a monarch, and more likely to be wrong. But all that is beside the question. I merely spoke of an historical fact. With an exception here and there, you find no very remarkable poets under republics: many under monarchs."
"I have never considered the facts," said Mr. Hubbard; "but let us test it, my dear sir; and to begin with the beginning, there is Homer. It is very true he lived under a whole host of kings, if there is any faith at all to be placed in the tales regarding him; but what say you to the whole batch of Athenian poets?"
"That they lived under archons, which were tantamount to kings," I answered. "And then, again, Pindar; he could not even endure the sort of mitigated republicanism of Greece, but fled to the court of a tyrant. Virgil, Horace--every great Roman poet, in short--flourished about the time of the emperors. In England, Gower, Chaucer, Shakespeare, all lived, and wrote, under monarchs; and it has even seemed to me that the greater the despotism, the better the poet."
"But Milton! Milton!" cried Mr. Alsiger; "he was a republican in heart and spirit."
"But he never wrote a line of poetry," I answered, "under the Long Parliament, or at least very few. Not much did he write under the tyranny of Cromwell; and all his best compositions date from the reign of one or the other of the Charleses."
"But Dante," said Mr. Thornton; "I cannot indeed, discuss his merits with you; for I have well nigh forgotten all the Italian I knew thirty years ago. He, however, lived under a republic."
"He is an exception," I replied; "although I can hardly look upon the constitution of Florence, at that time, as a republican form of government. It was rather oligarchical; and even then, shadows of an emperor and a pope overhung it. But Ariosto, Tasso, Boccaccio, and all the rest of the Italian poets were the mere creatures of courts. The same is the case with France, although she never had but two poets; and the same with Germany."
"May it not be," asked Mr. Hubbard, "that monarchies, up to the present day, have been much more frequent than republics?"
"Perhaps so," I answered; "yet it is very strange that we find no poet of mark actually springing from a pure republic. Where is the Swiss poet? although every accessory of country, history, climate, and natural phenomena seems to render the very air redolent of poetry." Bessy Davenport sprang up from the table, shaking her head at me, with a laugh, and saying,--
"I abominate your theory. You are worse than an abolitionist; and if you preach such doctrines here, we will have you tried for high treason." As soon as she was gone, and Mr. Alsiger had trotted home on his pony, which was brought up shortly afterwards, Mr. Hubbard, Mr. Thornton, and myself fell into secret conclave, and debated what was next to be done.
"I think," said my host, "the best thing we can do, before the day becomes too hot, will be to ride over to Beavors, take a look at the plantation, see the house, which is vacant just now, and, after having got some dinner at the little village hard by, return in the evening by my worthy and respected cousin's house, just to let him know that we have an eye upon his motions. I dare say some of the girls will accompany us on horseback; and their presence will make our visitation of the old place less formal and less business-like. There are two or three things worth seeing by the way; and we may as well spend the day after this fashion as any other."
"You will find no dinner there that you can eat," said Mr. Hubbard.
"Leave that to me--leave that to me," returned Mr. Thornton, with a nod of his head. "I will cater for you; and if you do not like so long a ride, you can come in the carriage."
"Perhaps that will be better," said Mr. Hubbard; "and, I suppose, it would be as well to have me with you, in case of your needing legal advice." Thus was it soon settled; and while Mr. Thornton went to order horses and carriages, and a great many things besides, I mounted to my own room to make some change in my dress, and to give my good friend Zed a hearty scolding for babbling about my affairs in a strange house. I might as well have left it alone; for though he promised and vowed all manner of things, and assured me, with many a grin, that he had not an idea he was doing any harm in what he had said, I have since found that the propensity to gossip is too strong in the negro composition to be curbed by any reasoning or by any fear. Indeed, I am inclined to believe it is part and parcel of the original sin; for certainly, if Eve had not got gossiping with the serpent, she would not have made such a fool of herself as she did.
When I came down from my room, I found Miss Thornton and Miss Davenport already in riding costume, Mr. Byles preparing to accompany us, and Mrs. Thornton and Mr. Hubbard settling that they would drive over in the carriage,tête-à-tête; while before the door were a number of horses of various descriptions, some bearing ladies' saddles, and some equipped for men. Behind the train was a good large, roomy vehicle, of a very comfortable but old-fashioned form, into which sundry servants of various hues were placing those baskets and packages by the agency of which, I doubted not, Mr. Thornton intended to insure a comfortable dinner wherever we might stop. Having seated the ladies, the gentlemen were soon in the saddle; and away we went at full speed, as if there had been a fox before us, across the little bridge, and up the road towards the highway. As long as we had anything like green herbs beneath our feet, this was all very well; but when we came upon the public road, the dust soon compelled us to slacken our pace and proceed more leisurely. The party fell speedily into what I suppose was its natural arrangement: Mr. Byles riding beside Miss Thornton; I accompanying her fair cousin; and Mr. Thornton himself falling behind to give some directions to his eldest boy, who accompanied us on a beautiful dark chestnut pony--which, by the way, had an awkward habit of throwing out her hoofs at anything which might come behind her, and was consequently quite as well in the rear. Miss Davenport, as we went, was as gay as a lark; and, in the spirit of light badinage with which she had begun the day, contrived to tease me very heartily all the way that we went. I found that she was exceedingly well read, especially in modern history, and she managed to twist and turn a great many of the acts and deeds of Old England in such a manner as more than once to put me on the defensive somewhat warmly; and then she would laugh till her eyes almost ran over, and declare that Englishmen never could bear to hear a word said against their country. Positively, I was not certain, in the end, whether I did not hate her mortally. On the whole, however, I was not sorry to hear what Americans really thought of many of our doings; and I doubted not in the least that Miss Davenport's views were but the reflex of those most generally entertained. In them there was much of prejudice undoubtedly; many of her facts were wrong; many of the inferences unjust; and, almost always, the motives were, I may say, ridiculously distorted. Purposes and objects which never entered into the head of any one Briton from the Land's End to John O'Groat's House, were ascribed to the whole nation as coolly and positively as if they were demonstrated certainties. Still, her free-spoken comments gave me an insight into the feelings with which a great part of the American people regard my countrymen, and which is politely concealed from us in ordinary society. The scenery through which we passed was rather flat and monotonous, and the forest in general shut out all distant prospects. Nothing of any very great interest struck me by the way, except, indeed, the profusion and beautiful variety of the wild flowers, still in bloom, and the occasional gush of some delicious odour from the woods as we rode along. Birds of gorgeous plumage, too, were flitting amongst the trees; but, oh! how I longed for the delightful spring sounds of England--the voice of the thrush, the blackbird, and the lark. I would have given all the gay feathers of the birds in sight for even one song of the robin. There was a bird, indeed, which did, now and then, utter one or two solitary notes, as if he would fain have sung if he had known how; and Miss Davenport praised his voice as if he had been a nightingale.
"You do not call that singing?" I said; and when I tried to give her some idea of the music of our woods, she declared it was all prejudice, and that I was determined not to like anything in America. I had an account to settle with her, however, and I resolved not to lose any opportunity. Shortly after, a small bird of rather graceful form flew from one branch of a tree to another, mewing like a cat as it went, and I quietly asked her if that was a singing bird also.
"Pshaw!" she cried; and, touched for once, struck her horse with the whip, and dashed on towards a gate, at which the two who had preceded us had already arrived.
"Soberly, soberly, Bessy!" ejaculated Mr. Thornton from behind. "Don't set off like a mad thing."
"As soberly as I can," replied Miss Davenport, laughing; "but this man provokes me--he is so intensely English."
"Thank God!" I ejaculated as I passed on.
"For what?" asked the gay girl, half laughing, half pouting.
"First for being intensely English," I replied; "and, secondly, for having provoked you. It was exactly what I wished; for, to say the truth, Miss Davenport, I thought it was high time I should have my turn."
"Then I shall sulk," she said. And not a word more did she speak till, passing barns and stables, and sundry other outbuildings, the uses and purposes of which I cannot pretend to describe, we arrived at the door of a large, square, red brick house, much like, in some respects, that of Mr. Thornton himself. Before the bell could be rung, a neat-looking black woman appeared, and told us that the family (that is to say, the family who had hired the plantation) were in Richmond; but upon our object being explained, she very civilly told us to come in, and that we were quite welcome to look over the house and premises as much as ever we pleased.
"I shall stay here with Hal, and wait until the carriage comes up," said Mr. Thornton; "but you can go in and look around. Show him the portraits in the dining-room, Bessy." Miss Davenport made no answer; but Louisa Thornton and her swain had already entered; and while she followed them, I followed her, almost mechanically. Mr. Byles man[oe]uvred like a general, and contrived to lead his fair companion exactly in the opposite direction to that in which we were going; but Miss Davenport, in obedience to her uncle's commands, took her way at once to the dining-room, which we entered by the third door on the left. She said nothing, but looked quite grave, while I opened the closed shutters, and let in the daylight. It seemed to me that she was carrying on her sulky humour seriously; and, returning from the window, I held out my hand to her, saying--
"Let us make peace." She started; but gave me her hand, answering,--
"You are mistaken, cousin, I think. You cannot suppose that I am so silly as to turn jest into earnest--at least I hope not. But I cannot be gay here. This place is full of memories to me. In it all the earlier part of my life was spent, under the care of that dear and wise old lady." And she pointed with her hand to one of two pictures which hung over the large mantelpiece.
"They are very happy memories, it is true," she continued; "yet, my dear cousin, it strikes me that memory has the effect of moonlight, softening the harsher things of life, and saddening the brighter." The heart of Bessy Davenport was speaking now. I had got the key, and I never lost it again.
"It is very true," I answered gravely. "My own early years were very happy ones. I love the spots where they passed; I like to dwell upon their memories, but it is with a sort of mournful pleasure. Man, with his eager aspirations for new things, never loves to lose aught of that which he has once possessed; and often, when I sit by the fireside with my sister, in the old hall, she and I fall into reveries, longing both of us, I know, to give back tangible life and human energy to those who once sat there with us, and substance and reality to the spectres of remembrance. But, indeed, I knew not that this had been your early home; otherwise I do not think I should have let you come here with us."
"Oh, yes," she answered; "I am very fond of spending long hours here. My mother died when I was four years old; my father died before her. There was some dispute about my property; my cousin Robert tried hard to cheat me out of everything; and this was judged the best home for me during my early youth. A happier home it could not have been; for dear Aunt Bab would never send me to school, but taught me almost everything herself that she could teach, and said she was determined to make an English lady of me. You know that is impossible," she added, with one of her light smiles; "the rebel blood is too strong in me for that."
"And who is that gentleman?" I asked, pointing to the other picture which hung over the mantel, and which represented a fine-looking old man in a blue uniform.
"Oh, that is Colonel Thornton," she replied. "They are both fine pictures; the one by Copley, the other by Stuart. But there is a third you should look at, by some English artist, I do not know whom." And she turned towards the opposite wall. There, to my surprise, I beheld a perfect and masterly copy of the portrait of my own father which hangs up in our hall. As I gazed at it, I just caught Miss Davenport's eyes turning from the picture to my own face; and the next moment she said, "Should I have needed anything but that picture, Sir Richard, to tell me who you really are?" I felt something rising in my eyes, as I gazed here, in a foreign land, at the features which I had so often stood to contemplate in my own home, and remembered that picture was a pledge of early affection between brother and sister which had existed unbroken to the end of life. I quietly drew Miss Davenport's arm through my own and turned away out of the room. She said nothing for some minutes, but seemed unconsciously to take her way up the stairs where we could hear the voices of Miss Thornton and Mr. Byles, apparently in very gay conversation. At the first landing she stopped, however, saying, "And so you have a sister? I am very glad of it. Having a sister humanizes a man, and gives him something to think about besides himself."
"I have, indeed, a very dear and very beautiful sister," I replied. "But do you not think, Miss Davenport, that having a wife might humanize a man as well as having a sister?"
"Ah!" she cried, looking up with one of her gay smiles again, "are you a married man, then, Sir Richard?"
"No," I answered, "I am not so happy. But pray answer my question?"
"And is your sister married?" she asked.
"No, indeed," I replied; "but she is six years younger than I am. And now answer my question, as I have answered yours."
"No, no," she responded, "not now. My answer would have to be a saucy one, and I cannot make such here."
"Well, then, perhaps, I may ask it somewhere else," I said, laughing. What force she attributed to my words I knew not, but she quietly slipped her arm out of mine, and ran up the other flight of steps. As we reached the top, we heard, through the window, at the end of the long corridor which we had now reached, the sound of carriage-wheels below, and, looking out, we saw Mr. Hubbard handing Mrs. Thornton from the carriage, while Mr. Thornton was giving various directions to the servants.
"I fear my aunt will make herself ill with this jaunt," said Miss Davenport, evidently a little desirous of changing the conversation. "She is in very delicate health. Does it not strike you, Sir Richard, that American ladies are very weakly creatures, compared with Englishwomen? I must make an exception in my own favour; for Aunt Bab used to make me walk five or six miles a day, or ride, or skip, or take one sort of violent exercise or another during half of my time. In everything else I was quite a spoiled child; but in this she was inexorable, and I am reaping the benefit of it now."
"I have, indeed, remarked," I said, "that the ladies of this country are not so strong as those of Europe; but I cannot help thinking that the climate is more enervating."
"Not a bit of it," she cried; "that is one of your prejudices again, I am sure. We get feeble and delicate because we take no exercise, and live altogether in a sort of artificial manner. It is worse in the South than in the North a great deal, because here, with the multitude of servants we have, a southern girl hardly learns the use of her feet or her hands. The only time for exercising the first is at a ball, and the second when she plays on the piano. She gets up in the morning, and sits down in an armchair, and says, 'Julia, bring me my slippers; Susannah, comb my hair;' and so the whole day goes on. Climate has nothing to do with it. It is want of free air and proper exercise; bad hours, and all that sort of thing. We are up here, uncle," she continued speaking to Mr. Thornton, who was calling to know where we were; and in a moment after, the whole party were reassembled. We then walked over the house, visited the stables and outbuildings, and made a tour through the negro cabins, which lay at a little distance behind. The condition, mode of life, and treatment of the negro population in the country, were of course subjects of great interest to me, and as these were the first rural slaves I had seen, I asked a good many questions, in which Mr. Thornton aided and joined me. All the people seemed happy and contented--at least there was nothing to show the contrary; yet, in one or two cases--amongst some of the younger men especially--I imagined I perceived a sort of reserve--a holding back of their thoughts, as if they were either unwilling or afraid to speak out boldly. I called Mr. Thornton's attention to this fact, as we turned back towards the house; and he replied,--
"It is very possible that such is the case, especially here. The family who have hired the plantation are not Virginians, as I hardly need tell you; for such a thing as a gentleman hiring another plantation in Virginia is hardly known. Mr. Stringer is a northern man, who has bought some property near, which he is getting into order, and on which he is building a house in the modern style. He has not been long enough in the South to understand our ways; and they say his negroes are treated rather hardly, as is frequently the case with northern men, when they first come here. The general prejudice is, that they make the harshest masters; but I believe the cause of their exacting too much is, that they do not understand the character of the negro, nor his capabilities; that they expect from him more than he can perform either physically or intellectually. Indeed, how can they understand all the peculiarities of these poor people as well as we can, who have been brought up amongst them--played with them in our childhood, and grown with them from youth to manhood? The best way for you to form an accurate judgment on these subjects will be, to set out in the morning early, and take a walk alone through my plantation, or any of those in the neighbourhood: talk with the people in the fields or in the cottages; tell them you are an Englishman, and want to know something about them. No man amongst us has anything to conceal, I believe, Mr. Howard; and perhaps you may satisfy yourself that a great deal of unjust prejudice has been excited in regard to the condition of the negroes."
"But still I cannot help thinking this slavery is a very great evil, Mr. Thornton," I replied.
"Perhaps so," he said, thoughtfully; "yet it is one which exists. It is not of our making; and I can see no escape from it either with benefit to the poor people themselves, safety to the state, or justice to the master. I could discuss this question a long while with you, and may do so some day. In the meantime, examine and judge for yourself; and we can then talk of it more fairly. But it is a subject, depend upon it, which has many aspects; and no man who has not examined it under all, is competent to reason upon it. Abstract propositions have very little bearing upon complicated facts." I knew there was a great deal of truth in what he said. Such an institution (if it deserves that name), when it has lasted several centuries, and, in fact, grown with the growth and strengthened with the strength of a state, must have carried its roots very deep--too deep, indeed, for any wise man to attempt to eradicate it without great precaution. The case of the serfs in Europe, in ancient times, was very different. There was no outward mark of distinction upon them: they were of the same races, the same classes of intellect, the same capabilities, the same characteristics--as their lords. It was there, class-servage; here, it is race-servage; and the distinction is a very important one. Nevertheless, I was not convinced that such a thing as slavery should exist anywhere, or in any circumstances. But to deal fairly with the question, I resolved to do what Mr. Thornton suggested: to examine accurately; and I doubted not that I should have as good an opportunity of doing so as any Englishman ever had--perhaps better. As we walked on towards the house, I perceived that the eyes of my host and Mr. Hubbard were frequently turned towards the sky, especially about the south-west, and I saw, in that direction, two or three lines of leaden-looking clouds coming up over the trees.
"It is going to rain, my dear," said Mrs. Thornton; "had we not better have the carriage up, and get home?"
"If a storm be coming, it would catch you long ere you could get there," replied her husband. "There is a drop or two already, upon my word. Well, 'let it come down,' as Banquo's murderer says. We can but dine here, while it goes on. It will be but a thunder-burst. Here, Harry, run and tell Dick and Jupiter to bring all the things out of the carriage, into the dining-room. We will take the house bystorm; and, in the first place, I will go and summon good old Aunt Jenny to surrender at discretion. Doubtless, as the garrison is but small, she will make no great resistance." Thus saying, he ran into the house. All the rest followed, and we found Mr. Thornton and a stout elderly mulatto cook or housekeeper, in the dining-room, fully agreed upon terms, and, by their united strength, pulling out the dining-tables to a sufficient length to accommodate the number of our party. To my surprise, the good yellow woman, after courtesying respectfully to Mrs. Thornton, kissed Bessy Davenport warmly; and, may I confess it?--there was something in the universal love which she seemed to inspire wherever she came, which gave me a little inclination to fall in love with her too, notwithstanding the state of semi-warfare wherewith our acquaintance had commenced.
Everything except poetry is pleasant when improvised; and our dinner that day was an example. In less than a quarter of an hour we had on the table excellent cold ham and roast fowls, eggs in a variety of forms, and several bottles of good wine. Fried chickens followed; and though the rain now poured down in torrents such as I have never seen elsewhere,--no, not in the far East; though the thunder roared and the lightning blazed, some times in three or four streaks at once, we were as gay a party as ever gathered round a social board. Bessy Davenport had recovered her spirits; Louisa Thornton seemed resolved to laugh the thunder down; Mr. Hubbard was full of quaint humour, and only now and then expressed a hope that "it would not end in a drizzle," as he must positively be at home before dark; and even Mrs. Thornton, though she now and then put her hands before her eyes, when the lightning was very vivid, congratulated herself at having a house over her head during the storm, and evidently felt the sort of comfort which is most forcibly brought home to us when we distinctly see the perils or discomforts from which we are sheltered for the time. Gradually the thunder abated; its roaring voice grew fainter, and followed not so close upon the blaze; but the rain still pattered down, making a sort of rushing sound upon the gravel before the house, when, suddenly, young Harry Thornton started up, exclaiming,--
"Hark! They are bringing up the carriage, I think."
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Thornton, keeping his seat. "That cannot be, my son." But by this time both Harry and bold Billy Byles were at the windows; and the next instant the latter exclaimed, thrown out of all softer sayings by his surprise,--
"By jingo! here is Mr. Stringer and all his family, with two carriages, eight horses, and an ox team. I should not wonder if there was a freshet down at the bridge." Mr. Thornton did look a little abashed at being caught revelling in another man's house during his absence, and that a northern man too; but he recovered himself in a moment, saying--"Keep your seats, ladies and gentlemen, keep your seats. I will warrant your welcome, and we have not yet begun our strawberries and cream." His exhortations were vain, however, upon the greater part those present; and finding that he could not restore order to the feast, Mr. Thornton rose with the rest; but, instead of going to witness the debarkation of Mr. Stringer's family from the window, he sought an umbrella and went down the steps to hand Mrs. Stringer out of the carriage. What passed between him and the master of the house I did not hear; but I saw the latter laugh and shake him by the hand; and, a moment after, he re-entered the dining-room, having on his arm a lady about three-and-thirty years of age, who looked scared and somewhat aghast, but, I think, rather from the effects of storm through which she had passed than from the scene presented by her own dining-room, for the sight of which she had probably been prepared as she came from the carriage to the house. Three young boys, from seven to ten years of age, followed close upon their mother's steps; and at last, after a short pause, appeared Mr. Stringer, in whom, now without his hat, I instantly recognized a gentleman whom I had met at dinner in New York.
"Farewell to my incognito!" I thought; but Mr. Stringer's first attention was paid to Mrs. Thornton, and then to Miss Davenport, who seemed an especial favourite both with himself and his wife; and I had time to remark, ere he noticed me, a singular-looking man by whom Mr. Stringer was followed. He could not have measured less than six feet two inches in height, while, from shoulder to shoulder, I do not think the extent was more than a foot. His whole frame was about an equal width; only his legs, pack them together how you would, must still have remained more bulky than his body. His arms were thin, and his hands long and bony; but his face, though exceedingly ugly, and not improved by the ill-cut, long sandy hair which thatched his head, or the rawish white skin that covered it, was highly intelligent, with a quick, eager, grey eye, which ran over every thing and every person in the room in a moment. The dress of this apparition was of no particular date, and had nothing very remarkable in form. I only remarked that it was all of black, not very new, and that the white cravat rolled round his neck and tied in a bow, with two little ends like a young pig's ears, might have been whiter and, perhaps, cleaner. While I was making my mental observations upon this gentleman, who still stood near the door without saying a word to any one, Mr. Stringer's eyes turned upon me, and the expected explosion took place.
"Why, Sir Richard Conway!" he exclaimed, "this is an unexpected pleasure. Nevertheless, welcome to Virginia, and especially to my house. My dear, allow me to introduce Sir Richard Conway." While my introduction to Mrs. Stringer was taking place, I know not what bursts of surprise and wonder were going on amongst the rest of the party. All I do know is, that Bessy Davenport was laughing heartily, and feeling, I fancy, a little conceited at being the only one who had discovered my secret. Mrs. Stringer was peculiarly civil and condescending; and I do believe, if I had been areal livelord,--a thing less frequently found in this country than mammoths and mastodons,--she could not have been more gratified to find me in her house. In the meantime, the rain continued to pour down without showing the slightest disposition to restrain itself; and the party from the carriage gave us a fearful account of the ravages committed by the freshet, which had carried away the bridge, as Mr. Byles had suspected. The wine on the table, the strawberries and cream, and the remnants of the dinner of which we had partaken, however, proved a very serviceable refreshment to Mr. Stringer and his battered party; so that our intrusion was rather a benefit than otherwise to the worthy gentleman, whose letter, announcing his proximate arrival, had, it seemed,--with a facility for getting lost nowhere more common to letters than in Virginia,--tarried by the way till its writer got the start of it. Mrs. Stringer indeed was a little fidgety about well-aired beds and sundry household arrangements; nevertheless, we all made ourselves very comfortable for the next hour, while waiting for the rain to pass away. As, however, it remained obdurate, Mr. Thornton rose to depart; and then commenced, on the part of our host, very pressing entreaties that we would all remain the night; and an exceedingly well-devised plan for accommodating so large a party, was explained to us by Mrs. Stringer on the spur of the moment. Mr. Thornton, however, declared he was obliged to return home; his wife was equally resolute, as well as all those who had come in the carriage; whilst those who had travelled on horseback declared to a man they did not mind a little rain. Our host and hostess were particularly pressing that at least Miss Davenport and myself would stay; and Mrs. Stringer reminded Bessy that she had extracted a promise of a long visit from her. Bessy, however, was determined to go; and go we did, in as unpleasant an afternoon as ever I remember. It was the will of God, however, that we should not go far. As to galloping, that was out of the question; for the rain had sunk into the earth, and the horses' hoofs were buried in mud at every step. Mrs. Thornton insisted upon taking her daughter into the carriage, and leaving the horse to be led by one of the negro boys. Billy Byles, deprived of his companion, set off across the country as fast as the state of the fields would permit. Mr. Thornton and his son affectionately hung about the coach, which was in danger of being overturned more than once; and, at length, the former suggested to his niece, that she and I should ride on, by a narrow road (which he designated, and with which she seemed well acquainted), both in order to get out of the rain as soon as possible, and to send some oxen from the plantation, to drag the carriage through the ford. Away we went, then, laughing and jesting; for all Bessy's light spirits had returned, and the rain seemed only to have brought them into flower; but the road was abominably bad, and our progress necessarily slow. The way lay principally through the woods, and every here and there we came upon a drier spot where we could have a canter; till, at length, I perceived, by my old topographic habits, that we must be approaching a little river or stream, which we had passed in the morning. Suddenly we came upon it; but Bessy pulled up her horse for a moment; and certainly the scene before us was not of a character to invite further advance. The banks were very steep, and the descent of the road to the edge of the water nearly precipitous. Beyond flowed the stream which a few hours previously had rolled on clear enough, but with hardly sufficient water in it to cover a horse's fetlocks. Now it rushed along between its deep banks, a turbid, rapid torrent. It must have risen five or six feet during those few hours; and although the surface was still tolerably smooth, owing to the want of rocks or other obstructions of that kind, every here and there was a whirling eddy,--a dimple, as it were, in the face of the stream, which showed with what force and rapidity it was going.
"This is not agreeable," said Bessy Davenport; "the river seems resolved to bar our way; but let us try, at all events." And she began to descend towards the brink.
"It is madness to attempt it," I exclaimed: "no horse can swim that current, Miss Davenport. For heaven's sake, stop." But Bessy could no longer stop. The ground was of a reddish clay, now thoroughly soaked with the rain; the descent some thirty feet, and, as I have said, precipitous; and though, when she tried to check him, her poor pony made an attempt to resist the impetus his first start had given him, by throwing himself on his haunches, his feet slipped in the mire; and down he slid with increasing rapidity to the very brink of the water. There he made one more violent effort to stop himself; but it was worse than in vain. A part of the bank gave way under him; and over he rolled with his mistress into the river. There are times when all thought abandons us, and when instinct--a much surer guide--comes to our aid. But instinct has no memories; and I only know what I did by the result. I must have sprung from my horse, dashed down the steep and slippery bank, and plunged into the water, before I was aware of what I was doing. It was the work of a moment. Still I had nearly been too late, and should have been so, but for one slight accident. The stream had risen so high that the branches of the trees and shrubs in many places now dipped in the water; and one of them, catching Bessy Davenport's riding-habit, kept her for an instant or two from being swept down the stream. That brief interruption was long enough, however; for the moment I got my eyes above the water, I saw something wavering about near the bank, looking more like a mass of water-weed than a human being. I struck at once towards the object, not doubting what it was; and I remember, at the same moment, hearing a wild, shrill neigh, as her horse raised his head above the current, and was swept past us. I am a very strong swimmer; the tide aided; and in three strokes I was by the poor girl's side. The moment after, her head and shoulders were raised on my left arm; and, though at first she made an effort to grasp me with her hands, yet, with admirable self-command, she desisted as soon as I spoke; and I contrived to draw her to the bank and catch hold of some of the shrubs. The next three or four minutes--for really I know not how long it was--proved more terrible than all that went before. They were only like the struggles of some hideous dream. The tree I grasped gave way under our weight, and rolled into the stream; but I caught another as we were falling back,--along, stiff, snake-like vine-stem (they grow here wild to the most enormous size), and it held firm. But the steep and slippery bank afforded no footing, and back I slipped every time I attempted to ascend. I was nearly in despair; but despair sometimes lends energy and suggests means. The only way was to use the vine-stem as a sort of cable, and to pull myself up by it; but the difficulty was to do so with one hand; for my left arm bore a burden I would not have parted from but with life. However, I dug my feet into the bank; and though, this time, I got sufficient hold to support me, I knew that if I relaxed my grasp for an instant, she and I must both fall back into the river. I almost fancied at one time, indeed, it would be best to try the river again, and see if I could not support her to some easier landing-place; but before I did so, I turned and looked at her. Her eyes were open and fixed upon my face.
"Can you hold the vine for a moment?" I said; "for a single moment, till I run my hand further up?"
"I will try," she answered, and grasped the stem with both her hands. By a violent effort, I reached over, and caught the frail thing that supported us some two or three feet above, without relaxing my hold of Bessy herself, and then drew her up, till her feet were completely above the water.
"Now, if we can reach that old tree," I said, "round which this vine has been twining, you are safe." The greater danger was now indeed past; and what between her efforts and mine,--though every step had its peril, and I feared each instant that the vine-stem would give way under our repeated efforts to ascend,--we at length reached the stump of the old tree, which was still rooted firmly in the ground. There I seated her, with her back against the trunk, and felt fully repaid for all my day's work, when I parted the wet hair from her beautiful forehead with my own hands, and twisted it up behind her ears. Bessy said nothing; but held down her head and wept; and I easily understood that there was One to be thanked in silence, even before myself. I gave her time to recover herself a little; but as soon as she began to look up again, I said, in a gay tone,--
"And now, my dear Bessy, I have got to carry you back to Beavors. Thank Heaven, you are very light, and we are not likely to meet many people; for you having lost your hat and I mine, and both having acquired a remarkable portion of mud upon our garments, we are not the most respectable-looking couple that ever journeyed through the world together."
"For heaven's sake, do not jest at present, Richard," she answered. "You men cannot feel these things as we women do. I do not believe I shall ever jest again, when I think of the danger I have brought upon myself, and into which I have drawn you. But where is your horse? Mine, poor fellow, is drowned, of course. Poor Ned! I am very sorry for him; but from the way in which he fell, he must be drowned."
"Very lucky for you hedidfall that way, my dear cousin," I replied; "otherwise he would probably have struck you with his hoof, and you would have been killed. Where my horse is, may be another question. I left him at the top of the bank; for you were in such a hurry, my dear girl, that there was no time to tie him up; and I had much ado to catch you, as it was."
"He has gone home, I dare say," replied Bessy; "but perhaps you had better see."
"First, I must carry you up to the road," replied I. But for a time she would not consent, saying she could climb very well. Her riding-habit, however, caught her at every step, and at length she was obliged to let me do as I pleased, till I safely landed her upon the road, within sight of the spot where our unfortunate adventure commenced. There stood the horse, almost precisely where I left him, though in a very different attitude; his head was bent down, his neck and muzzle stretched out almost in a straight line from his shoulders towards the water, and his eyes fixed eagerly upon the current, as, red and turbid, it rushed by. It seemed to me as if, with that strange sort of intelligence which characterizes the dog, the horse, and the elephant, he was waiting for our return, and watching eagerly to see us reappear by the same way we went.
"Now," I said, "we can get back more easily; for I dare say, with your country education, you can contrive to ride upon a somewhat unusual saddle, and I will walk by your side to prevent your slipping off."
"I could ride him without any saddle at all," said Bessy, with a smile. The horse was soon caught, and she placed upon his back. The clouds were now beginning to break; patches of blue were visible here and there, and the rain had almost ceased. I could have wished, indeed, that it had not turned fine quite so soon,--that it had continued even to drizzle a little; for there was something strangely out of harmony with our draggled and miserable appearance in the bright sunshine which soon burst forth. It seemed to make us look more ridiculous than ever. But it had one good effect; for it brought some of the negroes out into the fields, and we had an opportunity of sending some teams of oxen to assist Mr. Thornton and his party across the ford, and to give him information of all that had occurred to us. We coupled the tale, however, with the assurance that Miss Davenport and myself were quite safe, and that all we wanted were dry clothes to enable us to pass the night comfortably at Beavors. When we reached that place, as misfortune would have it, the whole family of Mr. Stringer, including the tall gaunt man in black, were standing under the porch, gazing forth upon the country refreshed by the shower; and every sort of exclamation of wonder and commiseration burst forth upon us when we presented ourselves, wet, bedabbled with mud, and with total loss of head-gear.
"Why, my pretty young lady," exclaimed Mr. Stringer, unable to refrain from a smile, "I hardly knew you when I first saw you coming in such an awkward condition."
"It is very lucky that you do see me at all," replied Bessy; "for if it hadn't been for my cousin here, who nearly lost his life to save mine, I should have been twenty miles down the Nansemond river by this time."
"Come in, come in, my dear Bessy," said Mrs. Stringer, "and do not stand talking in your wet clothes. You can tell us all about it afterwards." And with motherly care she took her fair young friend away into the house; while Mr. Stringer himself conducted me to a room upstairs, and offered me all the resources of his own wardrobe. As he was about five inches shorter than myself, and at least two inches less in width across the shoulders, the selection was somewhat difficult. I contrived to get into a loose morning gown, however; and, with a happy thought,--unhappily frustrated of effect,--Mr. Stringer sent a servant to ask the loan of a pair of pantaloons from the Reverend Mr. McGrubber, which I found was the name of his lanky friend in black. A moment after, the negro returned, with a grin which showed his white teeth from ear to ear, saying, "Massa McGrubber's compliments, but he can't. Him's only got one pair, and them's on." The laugh which followed, from Mr. Stringer and myself, did me fully as much good as the glass of mulled wine which my worthy host insisted upon my swallowing. As there was no other resource, I determined to go to bed till my own clothes could be dried and cleansed, or till some fresh apparel was brought over from the plantation of Mr. Thornton; and what between a little fatigue, the sultry weather, and the mulled wine, I fell sound asleep soon after Mr. Stringer left me, and began dreaming of Bessy Davenport.