"You cannot be ignorant, dearest Bessy, of my feelings towards you; and I have flattered myself--perhaps vainly, perhaps foolishly--that they were returned. Since last night great changes have come over me; your sadness has infinitely distressed me, and I would fain share your sorrow. But your manner towards me has agitated and alarmed me. I have in vain sought for an opportunity of speaking with you in private to-day. Do not deny it to me to-morrow.
"By all the many memories that are between us of the last two months, I adjure you deny me not this favour, nor leave me in uncertainty, which is terrible to me."
"There, go to Miss Davenport's door," I said, giving the note to Zed; "knock, and wait for an answer." Of course, his absence seemed long; but at length he returned, bringing me a few words written with a pencil on a little scrap of paper. They ran thus:--
"Dearest Richard,--You shall have what you desire. I willfindan opportunity to-morrow; but do not try to force one. I grieve to have given you pain, and shall always grieve to do so."
Then came some words which had been carefully scratched out with the pencil. They seemed to me to have been--"But Imustdo it!" And then she went on:--
"It will probably be towards evening, when Mrs. Stringer will not let the boys go out. In the morning I shall not be down, for I am ill and wretched.
"Your affectionate cousin,
"Bessy Davenport."
There was matter both for pain and relief in Bessy's short note. Those sweet first words--"Dearest Richard"--gave me back at once to full hope and happiness. My love was not unreturned; her affection was not withdrawn from me. I was still dear to her--nay,dearest; and Bessy was too frank to write that which she did not mean. Yet what was I to infer from those mysterious words scratched out; if I read them rightly, they were--"But Imustdo it!" Do what? Give me pain? What earthly compulsion could force her to do so? She was free; her hand was at her own disposal. No one could dictate to her; no one could say, "You shall, or you shall not, wed him." Then came those last words, "I am ill and wretched." What could have rendered her so? Surely not a mere brief account of an event which, however painful, had happened twenty years ago to one of whom she had no remembrance. I was puzzled, and by no thought or reflection could I find any clue to the mystery.
"Well, to-morrow will give me a full explanation," I thought. Yet I continued well nigh half the night reading Bessy's note again and again, and trying in vain to draw from it some indication, however slight, of that which had affected her so deeply.
I will not pause upon the passing of the following day, although its earlier part was, for me, full of that agitated, I might say painful, expectation which is often more difficult to endure than actual grief or disappointment. The only events of which I have a distinct recollection were delayed till evening. Bessy did not appear below till nearly ten o'clock in the morning. She was very pale, and greatly subdued in manner; and there was something in her eyes, whenever they turned towards me, which grieved and alarmed me. It was nothing unkind, nothing cold, nothing indifferent; but a sort of tender, beseeching look, as if she would have said: "Do not look so wretched, Richard. It wrings my heart to make you suffer, but I cannot help it." Those scratched-out words, "But Imustdo it," kept vibrating in my ears; and I would have given all I had in the world to hasten the moment of explanation. Mr. Stringer was in a fuss; he saw there was something wrong, and he knew not what; and, with very questionable tact, he gave a great deal of his company to two people who heartily wished him away. Mrs. Stringer was very quiet, but seemed to be omnipresent; and the boys thought their recent return to their home gave them a right to be exceedingly vociferous and troublesome. It was one of the most miserable days I ever passed in my life. In the evening, we all assembled in the porch; and, once or twice before she did so, I thought Bessy was going to rise; but she hesitated, and retained her seat. At length, however, she started up, saying, "Come, Richard, and take a little walk with me."
"My dear, it is very late," said Mrs. Stringer; "and you have not been well. The sun will soon set."
"Oh, a walk will do me good," answered Bessy, with a touch of the old spirit; "and we shall not be long; besides, my dear Mrs. Stringer, I want to speak with Richard in private." And she laughed, but not gaily; adding, "You know we have got a great deal of important business to transact. Did not Mr. Hubbard tell you that he had made over to me vast possessions--to have and to hold, &c. &c. &c.? Come, Richard, get me my veil out of the hall, and give me your arm, like a good knight and true." I went for the veil and cast it over her head. I gave her my arm, and felt her hand tremble violently as she took it. We walked down the steps in silence, across the grass-plot, through the little peach-orchard, into the field bordered by the wood through the devious paths of which we had wandered some time before to escape the companionship of the Rev. Mr. McGrubber. I was impatient; and as we entered the field, I said,--
"Now, Bessy----" But she cut me short, murmuring,--
"Not yet, Richard; not yet, dear Richard." We walked on, and entered a path in the wood; and at the end of about a hundred yards further, found a little open space, with one large old tree separated from the rest. The rays of the sinking sun found their way in here over the turf, and chequered the green with gold. Bessy paused here, near the foot of the tree, raised her eyes to my face with a look of solemn earnestness, and placed her hand in mine, uttering the one simple word,--
"Richard." We were both terribly agitated; and it seemed to me that she could hardly support herself. Therefore, before I said a word that could increase her emotion, I made her seat herself upon the mossy root, and placed myself beside her. What I had to say needed no long consideration.
"Bessy," I ejaculated, holding her hand in mine, "you must have seen my feelings towards you. You must have learned, long ere this, that I love you dearly--most dearly." She cast down her eyes, and a slight rosy colour came up into her cheek; but she answered slowly and firmly, "I have, Richard, I have some time ago; I have seen all, known all, just as well as if your tongue had spoken it."
"Then surely, dearest Bessy," responded I, "you could not have given me the encouragement you have, you could not have continued to make yourself all-in-all to me in this world, without resolving to make my love happy, and to be all-in-all to me through life."
"I did resolve it," answered Bessy, in a sad and solemn tone. "I cast all my former vain notions aside--all the idle, thoughtless, unreasonable determinations of a wild girl--and resolved to give you my hand whenever you should ask it."
"Then you are mine," I cried, pressing my lips on hers; "you are mine. I ask it now."
"Stay, stay, stay, Richard," she cried; "stay till you hear me out, if I have voice and heart to speak. An obstacle has arisen. An unforeseen, insurmountable obstacle. Alas, alas! I can never be your wife." And she burst into a violent flood of tears.
"But what is it?" I exclaimed. "There may be a thousand means of remedy left."
"None, none!" she answered. "It is connected with the irrevocable past. It never can be removed, changed, or modified. I might, it is true, become your wife; but I should find wretchedness instead of happiness; remorse instead of love; my misery would make you miserable; and in less than six months after I gave you my hand, the never-ceasing reproaches of my own conscience would bring Bessy Davenport to the grave."
"But what is it?" I cried. "For Heaven's sake, explain!"
"Do not ask me, Richard--do not ask me," she said; "at least not now. Have pity upon me, have compassion! I dare not dwell upon it. The truth came upon me with a crushing weight--the truth, which I never knew till two nights ago, fell upon my heart as if a mountain had been cast upon it, and it has left me very weak. Some time hence, when we are both calmer--when we can look back upon this time as people who have been asleep look back upon sweet dreams that have faded away for ever--when the dreadful reality will serve but to strengthen and to tranquillize, though it may chill us--then I will write to you, Richard. Perhaps then you may be the happy husband of another, and can look upon Bessy Davenport as a sister, and compassionate the sorrows she has endured; then I will write to you, and tell you all." Grief and disappointment are the most selfish things upon earth--often the most unjust, the most unreasoning. No language can tell the anguish I had that moment endured, the irritating, fiery, maddening feeling of disappointment. It is my only excuse for the cruelty and unkindness of my next words. There was a struggle even to prevent myself from bursting forth in vehement and angry reproach; but the habit of self-restraint in some degree conquered, and my answer was apparently calm and cold, though all beneath was fiery excitement.
"Bessy," I said, bitterly, "may you be happy! Me you have rendered miserable for ever. I have loved you with the truth, and tenderness, and passion, and force of a first and only love; not as a boy loves, but as a man, once and for ever. And you talk to me as being the happy husband of another! Bessy, Bessy, you have never loved, or such a wild, impossible vision could never cross your brain!" She started on her feet like a fawn frightened from her ferny bed, and gazed at me with a look of agony I shall never forget.
"Oh, how have I deserved this?" she exclaimed. But then recovering herself, she took my hand in one of hers, and raising the other towards heaven, she said, in a low and earnest voice,--"May God above judge my heart, Richard; may He cease to bless, protect, and comfort me; may He never help me at the hour of need, support me in the hour of sorrow, save me in the hour of danger--if I have not loved you as well as woman ever loved man! What is it makes me miserable now--has broken my heart, crushed my spirit, enfeebled my body? Loved you!--Oh, God, how I have loved you!" And casting herself on my bosom, she pressed her lips again and again upon my cheek.
"Bessy, I am wrong, I am wrong," I said; "forgive me, dearest Bessy. Only confide in me--only put full trust and reliance upon me--let me not be sent blindfold to the sacrifice of every hope of happiness in life. Talk not to me of ever marrying another. I have never loved but once, and never can----"
"Hear me, Richard," interrupted she, more calmly and gently, putting back the arm I had cast around her. "You yourself shall be the arbiter of our destiny. You yourself shall condemn me, if you will, to death--to a death of remorse and self-reproach. I will be your wife, if you command me; but it must be some time hence. When we are both calmer, when we can both look with reasonable eyes upon our relative position to each other; when I can venture to let my mind rest upon the past, of which you are now as ignorant as I was a few days ago; when you can give due weight and have consideration to a woman's feelings, I will write to you, and leave you yourself to decide. You shall say to me in reply,--'Bessy, be mine, though death be the consequence;' or, 'Bessy, you are right. We must not attempt to pass the barrier which God has placed between us.' But mark me, Richard, and remember, should you view the matter as I do, and see that our marriage is impossible, Bessy Davenport will be to you as another sister. Never, never, so help me God, shall my hand be given to any other! I have loved you, when I thought I could never love any man; and for you I was ready to cast away every prejudice, every resolution of my life. My love is yours for ever; and I should as soon think of breaking a vow as of allowing one thought of another to cross my mind." A slight flush covered her face as she spoke; but strong emotions often bring their own calm with them, and she went on in a manner much more tranquil.
"And, Richard," she said, "I have gone perhaps beyond what maiden modesty would warrant. I have told--I have shown you--how I love you. But you will not, I think, misunderstand or blame me; first, because I am, as you know, a wild, untutored girl, accustomed to speak frankly whatever thought, or fancy, or feeling, crosses my brain or heart; and, secondly, because this is an occasion in which concealment would be wrong to me and wrong to you--when I must tell you how I love you in order that you may see how terrible is the sacrifice of that love to duty."
"I do not misunderstand you, dear Bessy," I answered; "I will try to be more calm, more reasonable. You have said that I shall be the arbiter. When will you give me the explanations which will enable me to be so rightly? At present I can conceive no cause, I can imagine no possible motive, why you should not be my wife; and I fondly hope and trust that when all is explained, I can remove every doubt and scruple from your mind. But I promise you, my beloved, that if I see a reasonable motive, a just and righteous cause, I will endeavour by no sophistry to persuade you against your better judgment. I will endeavour to think for Bessy Davenport as I would think for myself, were my mind free and without passion. But, dearest Bessy, make the time short; tell me when you will give the whole explanation."
"Oh, Richard," she answered, with a mournful shake of the head, "I would fain give time for both you and myself to think deliberately. I may be wrong in the view I take at present, and I am certain you would be wrong if you were to decide now. Well, well, within three months, I will write to you the whole, and enclose you the old letter which I received two nights ago. After you know all, you shall wait a fortnight, a full fortnight, before you decide, and then your decision shall be final. I will say not one word against it; you shall command, and I will obey."
"My commands shall not be very hard, Bessy," I answered; "for though you think so very ill of mankind, if I have the slightest knowledge of my own spirit, I would rather insure your happiness than mine. If we must live as brother and sister, without a dearer tie, so be it."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Richard," she answered; "those words relieve my mind of a great weight. I see you will have consideration for me."
"I will, indeed," I replied. "But now tell me, beloved, how are we to pass the intermediate time?"
"I have determined," she said, "to go over to my uncle Henry's, and to remain there with him. I have already told my maid to have everything in readiness, and have written for my uncle to come for me to-morrow." She paused for a moment, and then added,--"But you will let me see you from time to time, will you not, Richard? There can be no harm in that. We are not parted by inclination, but by fate."
"Assuredly, I will come to see you often," I answered; "for till this is decided, you are still my own Bessy; and although I thought of returning speedily to England, I will not quit this land till our fate is fixed." She drew a deep sigh, as if there was some relief in the words I spoke, and then she said, suddenly,--
"Now let us go back, Richard. It is growing quite dark, and they will send somebody to see after us." I drew her arm through mine, and we walked slowly homeward, nearly in silence. We both thought that it was the last solitary walk we should take together for many a day, and the present had been a very eventful one. But, as usual with human calculations, our conclusions were all wrong. We had another walk to take ere long, and that more eventful still.
Bessy seated herself in the hall before entering the drawing-room, where we heard many voices and gay laughter going on.
"Go in, Richard, go in," she said, giving me her hand; "let me recover myself a little. I shall be better soon. The worst is over; I shall join you presently." I pressed my lips upon her hand, and went into the drawing-room. Though still anxious--though still grieved--I was not near so much agitated as she was. As she had said, the worst was over, and ever buoyant hope had risen up again speedily in my heart. She had promised to tell me all within the next three months; and I could not, I would not, believe that any barrier really existed between herself and me, which a little argument, a little persuasion, would not overcome. Woman's mind, I thought, more timid, more delicate than man's, magnified difficulties and dangers, and sometimes evencreatedthem where they did not exist.
"But there can be no obstacle between us," I said to myself, "which reason and love cannot overcome." In about ten minutes, Bessy joined the rest of the party, and was certainly more cheerful than she had been the night before. The evening passed heavily enough, however; and about half-past nine she retired to rest. Half an hour after, the whole party separated, and I proceeded to my own room, not to sleep, but to meditate. I was anxious to think of every possible obstacle which could lie between Bessy and myself; and, as we are often inclined to do, to lay out plans for removing that of which I had no means of ascertaining the weight or the nature. When I entered the room, I found the candles lighted, and Zed, in one corner, upon his knees, very busy over something lying on a chair. He did not hear me enter; and, while throwing off my coat and waistcoat, I asked him a little sharply,--
"What are you about there, Zed?"
"Only looking up your pistols, master," said Zed, raising his head.
"Why, you seem to be loading them," I exclaimed.
"Just loaded the little ones, master; will load the big ones in a minute."
"Stay, stay. Why are you loading them?" I demanded, "I don't want them loaded."
"Oh, always better to have pistols loaded in troublesome times, master," answered the man earnestly. "Better let me load them." There was something in his manner which struck me as strange: and I replied,--
"Come here, and speak to me." The man hobbled up to the chair where I was sitting, and I fixed my eyes inquiringly on his face.
"Do you know anything," I said sternly, "which makes you judge that it would be better for me to have my pistols loaded this night, after they have been so long unloaded?"
"No," replied the man firmly.
"I suspect you do," I rejoined; "and remember, if youdoknow of any evil about to take place, and do not inform me, you will be an accomplice."
"Master, I do not know anything," replied Zed; "but I do not like the looks of things. I will tell you all I do know, and will lay down my life for you, master, for you have been a very kind master to me. This evening I went out to take a walk all by myself; and, down in the wood out there, I saw a good number of coloured gentlemen together--more nor common--and they were not talking loud and laughing, nor poking fun at each other; but they had all got their heads together and were whispering quite low; and Nat Turner was there, and Nelson, and Harry, and James, and several more who, at the time of the preaching, I overheard say very wild things. So I say to myself, 'I'll go home and load master's pistols--no knowing what may happen.'"
"Did you see any arms amongst them?" I inquired.
"No; they had no arms," he answered; "not even sticks; but they had a great big demi-john of some liquor."
"Most probably they were out upon some frolic," I suggested, entertaining some slight suspicion that my good friend Zed had not entirely forgotten the beating he had received in coming from the camp-meeting. "Give me that light jacket," I continued, "and then you can go, Zed. I have got a good deal to do before I can go to bed." The man did as I bade him, laying the small pistols he had loaded on the table, before he went; and I could hear his step descending, not as usual by the back staircase, but by the great stairs into the hall. There it seemed to stop, and I heard no further, but judged it not at all improbable that Zed had gone to Mr. Stringer's room to communicate his suspicions to that gentleman. I should have explained before, that the great hall ran straight through the middle of the house, dividing it into two equal parts, and being itself divided by a large thick door from what was called the pantry-hall. On entering from the front of the house, the first room on the left hand was the drawing-room, or parlour, as they call it here. Then came a little parlour used as breakfast-room, and then the dining-room. On the opposite side of the hall was, first, Mr. and Mrs. Stringer's bed-room, then a dressing-room; and then, facing the dining-room, another bed-room where the children slept. Mr. McGrubber slept at the top of the house in a room next to the school-room. My room was over that of Mr. and Mrs. Stringer; and Bessy's on the opposite side over the dining-room. Thus, when Zed went down the great staircase, though his tread was very heavy, I should lose the sound of his foot if he entered Mr. Stringer's room or the dressing-room. To say the truth, I did not attach much importance to his information or his fears; and, sitting down at the table, I leaned my head upon my hand and gave myself up to meditation.
"What could be the impediment," I asked myself, "to my union with Bessy Davenport, which seemed so formidable in her eyes?" I traced back the history of my family as far as I knew it. I dwelt upon all that I had ever heard even in my childhood's days, which could in any degree account for her scruples or her doubts. But I could find nothing. My mind was too much excited for sleep to approach my eyes; and, many a time, I went over and over the same ground, turning the question before me in every different direction, and only puzzling myself more and more. Hour passed by after hour; the dull chime of the hall clock sounded one and two; and I resolved at length to lie down to rest. Just, however, as I rose from my chair, I fancied I heard voices speaking in a low tone on the outside of the house; and, approaching the window, I looked out. There was nobody there, and I returned to the table. I had hardly reached it, when I heard distinctly a window raised. I paused to listen; and then came what seemed to me a faint, smothered cry. Snatching up the pistols from the table, I advanced towards the door; but before I could reach it, it was thrown open, and Zed appeared. He carried a large key in his hand, and his eyes seemed starting from his head.
"Run, master, run," he cried, "down the back staircase, out through the little hall into the wood. They are murdering all the white people down below!"
"How many are there?" I exclaimed.
"Oh, thirty or more," answered Zed; "but I have locked the door between the halls, so they can't get through. Run down the back staircase; run, master, quick quick!" Resistance was evidently in vain, and I rushed out of the room, but not to the top of the back staircase. Something dearer to me than my own life was to be protected; and, darting across, I threw open Bessy's door and went in, followed by Zed. For the last two or three nights, she had burnt a light in her room; and, while my faithful servant locked the door behind us, I hurried towards her bedside. She had started up at the first sound of our coming, and gazed at me with eyes full of terror and surprise.
"The house is attacked by revolted negroes, Bessy," I exclaimed. "They are murdering every one below. Come quick, come quick! I will protect you with my life." She sprang out of bed and was seeking for some clothes, but a piercing shriek rang up from the rooms below, and I caught her hand, saying, "For God's sake, come!"
"Run, missie, run," cried Zed, "down the back stairs, out into the wood. I will keep them here some time--I hear them coming up stairs--run, run!" Half carrying, half leading, I drew her to the door opening to the little staircase, making Zed a sign to follow; but he shook his head, and, just as I passed through the door with Bessy, I heard him say, "Won't hurt me. What's a poor black man's life worth?" I hurried Bessy down stairs as fast as possible, feeling tempted, I will admit, to lock the door behind us, for the key was in the lock on the outside, few persons thinking it worth while at that time in Virginia to take what seemed the unnecessary precaution of fastening their doors. But I thought of poor Zed, and I refrained. The pantry-hall was quite vacant and very dark, so that we had to feel our way through; but, as we passed, I heard voices speaking loudly above, and what seemed to me the blows of an axe upon a door. At length we reached the open air of the stable-yard, over which the sinking moon was throwing her pallid light. Before us, at the distance of some sixty or seventy yards, were two of the women servants flying in terror, and one of them dropped a cloak which was over her shoulders, made a snatch at it from the ground, but ran on without recovering it on seeing Bessy and myself issuing from the house, doubtless imagining us to be pursuers. I thought it no robbery to take up the cloak, and throw it over my fair companion.
"To the left, Richard, to the left," she said, "between the two buildings. It will lead us sooner to the wood." I hurried on as she directed, and soon entered a path amongst some tall open trees, with greensward beneath, which, at the end of five minutes, led us to the outskirt of the forest. We plunged in, and all was darkness round us, so that we were obliged to go more slowly; for though the path continued, it was frequently obstructed by obtruding trees.
"Your feet, dear Bessy," I said, in a whisper; "you have nothing to protect them."
"Yes I have," she answered, in the same tone, "my slippers were by the bedside." As she spoke, I heard steps advancing quickly upon the path behind us, at the further end of which was a little break of light, like one of those gaps which we sometimes see in a dark cloud, and I discerned the figure of a man, with what seemed a hatchet in his hand, coming rapidly up. Throwing my arm round Bessy, I drew her out of the path, and, taking one of the pistols out of my pocket, resolved to wait and see if the man would pass us, before I fired, first because I had no ammunition with me, and secondly because I feared the report might attract attention towards us.
"Dis way, dis way, they must be up here," cried a negro's voice. "Kill 'em all; kill 'em all!" I could faintly see him as he rushed forward, whirling the axe in his hand. I thought he would have passed us; but no: he caught a glimpse of something white in the wood, and stopped short.
"Still, Bessy, still!" I whispered, raising my arm, and aiming deliberately, as well as I could, by the faint light. He took a step forward towards us, and I obtained a clearer view of him. My finger pressed the trigger, and I only heard the ringing report of the pistol and the sound of a heavy fall. There was neither cry nor groan, and I suspect the ball had gone right through his head.
"Now, Bessy," I said, "the report may bring them hither quickly. Do you know any way that will lead us from the other side of this path?"
"Yes, yes," she answered; "I will show you. It will take us to what I call the labyrinth. We shall be safe there." We hurried on; and I thought she gave a little start as we came suddenly upon the body of a negro, lying partly on the path and partly in the bushes, with the axe he had carried thrown full ten feet from him, so that we passed between it and his corpse. She did not quail nor falter, but led me on to the mouth of a little side path, down which we went. With many a bend and many a turning, it led us, after more than a mile, into those low woods, intersected by many little by-ways, in which she and I had passed more than one hour of deep, though very varied, interest. We passed the open space overshadowed by the great old tree, under which she had told me how she loved me; but that she could never be my wife. The sinking moon shone upon the spot now as the sun had done then. We both remembered the emotions which had now been swallowed up in others; and while her right hand clasped my arm, her left was extended and lay gently upon mine. It seemed to say, "Don't you remember, Richard?" Still we hurried on, however, for I felt that we were yet too near the scene of slaughter to pause in safety there.
"Will not this lead us to the river, Bessy?" I asked.
"No; take to the left," she answered, "and we shall come to the house of Mr. Travis, where we shall be safe, I doubt not."
"I fear, Bessy, the insurrection is general," I replied. "Poor Zed gave me some intimation this evening; but I foolishly treated his warning with too little consideration. However, we must seek some place of shelter, though it will be necessary that we take every precaution to avoid falling into fresh danger. Can we not reach the town?"
"We shall have to pass close by the house," she answered. "It would be madness to attempt it to-night. The revolt can hardly be so general as you think." We walked quickly on for about two or three miles, still keeping within the shelter of the woods, though the path was crossed with roots, and in some places encumbered with briars. I felt Bessy's hand lean more and more heavily on my arm. Grief, anxiety, and terror had weakened her, and I became convinced that she could not go much further.
"What is the distance to Mr. Travis's house, now?" I asked.
"Perhaps three miles," she answered, with a sigh.
"Hadn't we better stop here and rest?" I said; "morning will soon arrive, and you cannot walk that distance at present, I am sure."
"A little further on there is an open space," she answered; "and I recollect there is a bank that used to be covered with wild flowers and soft grass, and we can sit down there and rest a little, for I am, I confess, very, very weary, dear Richard."
"Let me carry you," I said. But she would not suffer me, saying:--
"Your arm, your arm." At the end of about a quarter of an hour we came to the spot she had mentioned. It was indeed like a place made for lovers. The moon, though she was below the woods, still spread a soft light over the sky and the grassy bank; and the tall irregular trees around, waving their wide branches over it, were all distinct, though softened in the half light. I led her up the bank, and seated her where it seemed driest; then, taking my place by her side, I put my arm fondly round her. For a minute or two she spoke not, but she sighed deeply, and her head sank silently on my bosom. I was almost afraid she had fainted, but I soon perceived, by the soft breath upon my cheek, that such was not the case; and I said:--
"Now, dearest Bessy, take a short sleep; it will refresh you. I will roll up this jacket and make a pillow for you."
"No, no, I will rest here, with my head upon your shoulder," she answered. "I know, Richard, I can trust you as a brother." I would not touch her lips, but I pressed mine upon her brow. Then, wrapping the cloak tightly round her, without removing my arm from her waist, I leaned gently back against the bank, with her head still resting on my bosom. Then, drawing the undischarged pistol from my pocket, I threw my right arm over her also, ready to fire at the first approach of danger. I felt Bessy's heart beat against mine, but I was her brother. In two minutes she was asleep, utterly exhausted; and I kept watch while the last ray of moonlight faded from the sky. Very soon after, the first faint beams of morning began to spread up towards the zenith.
It was a beautiful night and a beautiful morning, calm and sweet and peaceful; contrasting strangely and painfully with the dreadful scenes which had been enacted within the last few hours. In our flight from the house, and the long walk we had taken with real dangers on every side, and all those which imagination never fails to supply in moments of agitation and peril, I had had no time for thought. But now, as I rested here, with Bessy in my arms, and the tranquil change going on above from night to morning, the mind seemed hurried on with wild rapidity, as if by a runaway horse. Thought thrust upon thought; memories, expectations, fears, hopes, doubts, questions, all trod upon each other's heels; and before one had time to obtain full possession of the ground, it was gone, displaced by another. What a multitude of incidents had occurred since, a few months before, I had laughingly taken my departure from Norfolk, feeling life and the world to be great jests, and hardly believing in the reality of anything! What a multitude of incidents! I speak not of mere material facts, but of mind and heart facts. What new friends, what new enemies had arisen! What perils, what pains, what hopes, what happiness, what new objects, purposes, desires, had crowded upon me! What new thoughts had entered the brain, what new feelings had been born in the heart! It seemed almost a life-retrospect--like one of those pageants of past existence, which, I am told, sweep before the eyes of a drowning man in the last expiring blaze of consciousness. For some time, this great and strange impression--for it was more a general impression than a sequence of ideas--kept possession of my mind; but then I forced my thoughts away, and fixed them upon the more important facts of the present. What had become of Mr. Stringer and his family? Were they all dead, all slaughtered? What had become of poor Zed, who had so heroically risked his own life to secure to me and Bessy a few moments more for escape? Was it to be expected that, in the rage and excitement of the moment, the furious savages, drunk with blood and murder, would spare any one who opposed them, of whatever colour he might be? Then, again--how far had the insurrection spread? With the little information I possessed, it seemed to me that this revolt must have been long planned and deliberately arranged. I remembered the horrible massacres of St. Domingo; and how silently and secretly the first outbreak of that great and bloody insurrection had been arranged by the negroes--how confidently, carelessly, and securely the planters had reposed on their own strength till their self-reliance was drowned in blood and flames. That such might be the case in the present instance was clear. Whether it was actually so or not, I had no means of judging; yet I could not help fearing that the insurrection had been very general. The negroes could have no particular motive for attacking the house of Mr. Stringer more than any other--indeed less; for there being more white men in it than in numbers of others in the neighbourhood, the assailants were likely to encounter more vigorous resistance. Mr. Stringer had given no special cause of offence; and in his house was staying one of the apostles of the abolition party. The more I thought of the whole, the more probable it seemed to me that the insurrection had been very general. I knew and had seen how rapidly and secretly the negroes communicate with each other--how unaccountably the most trifling piece of news would pass amongst them, from house to house, over a wide space; and, surely, I thought, in a case of such terrible importance as this, the same means of communication must have been brought into operation. Then came the terrible question--"If such is the case--if revolt and massacre are stalking abroad over the land, where shall I find shelter and safety for this dear girl?" I had no means of forming a sane opinion. My knowledge of the country was but scanty. I knew, generally, the direction in which the county-town, Jerusalem, lay; but I knew not how to reach it by the shortest and most secure road; and the only resolution I could form was, to lay all the conclusions I had arrived at before Bessy when she awoke, and trust to her better knowledge of the people and the district. While these reflections had been passing through my mind, the faint gray of the morning had brightened into a rosy glow, and the rising sun poured streams of light across the little open space in which we were. There she lay, dear girl, with her head still resting on my bosom, looking still more beautiful, it seemed to me, than ever. I had fancied that one great charm of her countenance was in her eyes; but now, veiled by the pale lids, with their long black fringes sweeping her cheek, those eyes could add nothing; yet, how lovely she looked! A soft glow was upon her cheek; and, indeed, the rosy light of morning coloured her whole face, while the slightly-parted lips showed the pearly teeth, and her bosom heaved gently and regularly with the breathing of calm and quiet sleep. I could have lain there and gazed at her for ever. For more than an hour after sunrise, it seemed as if fatigue, I might say utter exhaustion, had obliterated all trace of the dreadful scenes we had passed through, and the perilous situation in which we were. It was evident she dreamed not at all; but, at length, she moved a little. A broken word or two came from her lips.
"Oh, Richard!" she said, and then came something that was indistinct; then she spoke again more plainly. "Your father, you know it was your own father--do not, do not press me." Then she awoke with a start, and gazed around her wildly. She would have sprung up, but I still held her in my arms, saying,--
"Bessy, you forget." And, looking into my face for a moment, she seemed to recall the past with sensations which must have been strangely mingled. First came a look of terror; then a bright smile, and then her whole face and forehead were overspread with a burning blush, and she buried her eyes for a minute or two on my bosom. I tried to soothe and quiet her, and she was soon conversing with me, anxiously, but calmly, upon the circumstances in which we were placed.
"We had better, in the first instance," she said, "go on to the house of Mr. Travis. He is so good and excellent a man, so kind to his servants and to all the people around him, that he would be the last to be attacked. Then again, from the edge of the wood, we can see the house quite plainly; and if we perceive anything unusual, or that indicates danger, we need not go on."
"It is too far, however," I answered, "for you to go on without some refreshment, Bessy. If you will go a little further amongst the trees, so as to be hidden from the road, I will seek some wild fruits, such as I have seen growing round, and we will make our breakfast, like two hermits, here. I will not go beyond call." She had some little hesitation at letting me depart; but we found a place where she could conceal herself completely, and I went on my foraging expedition, which produced some supply, though not a very abundant one. Many of the wild fruits, of which, through this country, there is generally a large quantity, were now nearly over; still, in the shady places, I found some strawberries and raspberries unwithered, and two or three other kinds, looking like plums and cherries, which were fair enough to the eye, though whether they were edible or not I could not tell. I judged, however, that in her young days Bessy must have made acquaintance with them; and at the end of about a quarter of an hour, I went back with both my hands loaded. Some I found were bitter, some poisonous: but the rest served in some degree to refresh her; and, as we sat and took our humble fare, the strange situation in which we were placed seemed to present itself more strongly than ever to her eyes.
"I can hardly believe all this, Richard," she said. "It seems to me like a dream. Are we really living and waking on this earth? or are we the sport of some strange mad fancy?"
"The facts are too stern to be disbelieved, dearest girl," I answered. "Indeed, I almost dread to think how many dark and terrible realities there may be around us even now."
"And yet, amidst them all, Richard," said Bessy, with tears rising in her eyes--what sweet and beautiful things are eyes!--"how can I ever thank you, not alone for saving my life a second time, but for all the tenderness and brotherly delicacy you have shown me. When I spoke so ill of men, Richard, some months ago, I did not know there was, in the world, such a man as you." She wiped the drop of emotion from her cheek, and then added,--
"But what are these darker things you apprehend? Those we know are dark enough. I hardly dare to let my mind rest upon them." I explained to her, as well as I could, the reasons there might be to suppose that the insurrection of the slaves might have been general throughout all that part of Virginia, or even further; and I dwelt especially upon the difficulties which we might encounter in seeking some place of safety, hoping that her better knowledge of the country might enable her to suggest something, where I, in my ignorance, was at fault.
"I do not think the revolt can have been very general," she said. "St. Domingo, which you mention, was, I believe, in a very different condition from this State. The negroes were much more numerous there, and the white race were a feeble, inactive, colonial population. They had not the vigour and energy of the free citizens of a republic. You may smile, dear Richard; but you will see that, although this insurrection may have spread further than I imagined, and many terrible things may happen in the meantime, the gentlemen of Virginia will speedily unite and put it down with a strong hand. However, the only thing for us to do, seems to me to consist in obtaining some information as speedily as possible; and the place where we are most likely to find it is, I still think, at the house of Mr. Travis. We can reach it in an hour; and it is nearer than any other place. Let us go. I am quite ready now." We went on upon our way, conversing in very low tones, and keeping a watchful eye upon the path as far as we could see in advance; but all was peaceful and still around us. The air was soft and balmy; the only sounds were a few short notes from the birds amongst the trees; the only moving objects the butterflies flitting across; or, here and there, a squirrel darting from one side of the path to the other, and running chattering up the trees. How pleasant would that morning's walk have been, with one so much beloved, in other times and circumstances! At length, Bessy paused.
"We are not far from the house," she said. "That light at the end of the path is coming from the open ground of the plantation. We had better turn aside here, if we can find our way through the bushes, and see if we can discover anything before we approach." We soon found a place where we could pass; and, proceeding cautiously, reached the outer edge of the forest ground. The house was before us, not a hundred and fifty yards distant; and beyond it were some of the offices and several negro cabins. Not a human being was visible, however. The eye could range over the unfenced fields without a single labourer being seen. No grooms appeared about the stable; no women sitting at the cabin doors; no children playing about before them. The windows of Mr. Travis's house were all closed, and only the door in front was partly open.
"I do not like the appearance of things here, Bessy," I said. "Do you see?"
"Yes," she answered. And I could feel her hand tremble on my arm. "The place looks strangely desolate. Perhaps they have fled at the news of the revolt."
"It maybe so," I answered; "but I cannot take you there, Bessy, till I know more. Who can tell what may be in that house? Can you fire a pistol?"
"I dare say I can, Richard," she answered. "But why?"
"Because I will leave this with you," I replied, "and go forward and see what has occurred there. If I should not come back soon, the only thing for you to do will be to make the best of your way to Jerusalem, by the safest path you can think of. The gentlemen of the place will make that their rallying point, you may depend upon it."
"Oh, no, no, Richard," she cried: "if you go to death, I will go with you. Indeed, indeed, I cannot stay here alone. I should die of fear for myself and you. I was in terror all the time you were absent this morning." I saw that it was vain to reason with her; and making our way out of the wood, we came quietly to the open space cleared around the house. At the same moment, a large dog came round from the stable to the front door, raised his head, and began to howl. It was the most melancholy sound I ever heard; still it encouraged me to go on. As soon as the poor brute saw us, he ran forward, but without barking, or any sign of enmity; and, when he came up, licked my hand, as if he was glad to see a human being.
"We have an ally here, in case of need, Bessy," I said, and, mounting the steps, I pushed open the half-closed door. All was silent, and in the hall there was no sign of disarray or confusion. Hats and articles of clothing were hanging about as usual in the halls of country houses. Some fishing-rods stood in a corner, and a powder-flask and shot-pouch lay upon a chair. There were no guns, however, in a place where guns seemed once to have stood, and on the floor-cloth was the print of a naked foot stamped in some dark fluid; it seemed to me to be blood.
"They must have fled," said Bessy, who had not remarked the foot-print. "Everything seems quiet and in order."
"It may be so," I answered; "but I have many doubts." That mark on the floor-cloth, the half-open door, the windows closed--all created very terrible suspicions. With the pistol, which remained loaded still in my hand, I pushed open the door of a room on my left; it seemed to be the dining room, for there was a long mahogany table in the middle, with chairs ranged round it at a little distance. Here also was no sign of disorder, except, indeed, that there was a double-barrelled fowling-piece, still loaded and capped, lying across the table.
"This is very lucky," I said; "I shall take the liberty of appropriating this, which may serve to defend us in case of need, and may procure us food as we go along, Bessy, should we not be able to make our way to some town or village as soon as we could wish."
"Oh, Mr. Travis will easily forgive you," replied Bessy. "But let us make sure that there is nobody lurking in the house, for I think they must have left some of the coloured people behind them, otherwise the door would not have been open."
"Let me go first," I said, "and we will examine the rooms on this floor." Going out again into the hall, with the gun under my arm, I looked up the stairs and shouted,--
"Is there anybody in the house?" There was no answer; everything was still and silent. I then turned to the room opposite the dining room. It was a handsome drawing-room, neatly furnished, with books upon the table, one of them open. There was a door on the left-hand side of the room, opposite to the windows, and Bessy said,--
"That is probably Mr. and Mrs. Travis's bed-room."
"I will go in and see," I replied; "but first let me lock this door into the hall, that we may not be attacked from behind." Having done so, I moved over towards the other door, begging my fair companion to remain in the parlour while I reconnoitred; for I had a sort of presentiment that I should not go far without finding something which I would fain hide from her eyes. She followed me close, however, and I opened the door. The light was faint, for there were curtains over the windows; still I could see well enough to induce me instantly to put Bessy gently back with my left hand, saying,--
"Let me go in alone, my beloved. Here are sights not fit for you,"
"Have they not fled?" exclaimed Bessy, in a tone of alarm.
"Their spirits are fled," I answered sadly. "Their bodies are here." Entering the room, I partly closed the door, and then, undrawing the curtain, the whole terrible scene was full before me. Lying on the floor by the side of the bed, from which he had evidently started in haste, was Mr. Travis himself, with two terrible hatchet-wounds on the top of his head, one from which it seemed the weapon had glanced, and the other sinking deep into the skull. In the bed lay his wife, with her brains dashed out, and the pillow all soaked in blood. But, more horrible still, on the floor, near the foot of the bed, was a little cradle, and from it the wretches had dragged an infant not four months old, and killing it with blows of their axes, had cast it down near its father's feet. My blood ran cold. I have seen many a man fall in battle, I have passed over the field and gazed upon the slain, but I never saw any sight which so horrified me as this. When man is arrayed against man in deadly strife, the mind is prepared for scenes of death of every kind, and the hand clenching the sword or the musket, the scattered arms and broken weapons, have all that sort of harmony with the work of the fell destroyer, that they deprive it of part of its terrors. But here everything was in strange and terrible contrast. The peaceful aspect of domestic life was all around; the lightsome, gay parlour, with its open book; the instruments of music; the quiet, shaded bed-room; the little cradle with its light curtain of rosy silk--all added horror to the sight of violence and blood, and death. I could not stay to contemplate it, but left the room speedily, and closed the door. Bessy threw her arms round me, and hid her eyes and wept.
"This is but what we might expect to find, my love," I said. "But, dearest Bessy, we have other things to think of now than mourning for the dead. We shall be in perfect safety here for a time; for these blood-thirsty wretches will not return speedily to the scene of their barbarous deeds. I must find you some clothing and some food, for we cannot tell where we shall have to go, or how long it may be ere we find a place of safety."
"Food, Richard," cried Bessy; "I could take nothing now. I do not feel as if I should ever taste food with appetite again; and, indeed, I do not think we are so safe here as you believe. Doubtless these savages, as soon as they have made themselves masters of the country round, will return to plunder the houses. Nothing seems to have been touched here. We had better get back to the woods at once."
"They will not come soon," I answered. "In the daylight they must fight their way, and for some time they will have other things to think of than plunder. We will not stay long, however; but I must have food and clothing for you. I blessed God last night that it was so warm and dry; but another night it may not be so. And who can tell where we may have to lodge this very evening? You stay here, and lock both the doors; keep this pistol with you; I will go and seek for the different things we may need, and be back in a moment or two. I must have more arms if I can find any, and powder and ball, if they are to be had, though I doubt not these men have carried off the greater part of the weapons in the house. Let me be but well armed, and I shall not mind half-a-dozen of them. At all events, let me have the means, dear Bessy, of defending you in case of need." It was with evident reluctance she remained below; but I was afterwards very glad I had succeeded in persuading her, for, in the rooms above, I found two sweet girls, much of her own age, both murdered in the same barbarous manner. I took some of the clothes which I found in the bed-chambers to carry down to my dear companion. It seemed like plundering the dead; but that was no time for false delicacy. My search through the rest of the house was not quite so successful. Every gun, of which I afterwards found there had been many, had been removed by the atrocious murderers, except the one which I had found in the dining-room. In a small room behind, however, I discovered a brace of very beautiful pistols and a sword. These I took, as well as the powder-flask and shot-bag that were in the hall, the latter of which was half full of buckshot. The flask was nearly full of powder, and with these arms, if attacked, I thought I could make a very good defence. Of food, I could find none in a fit state to carry away, except a packet of biscuits; but these were something in our distressed condition; and I luckily discovered in the side-board drawer a hunting-flask containing some brandy. With all these various articles gathered together, I returned to Bessy, whom I found standing very nearly where I left her. Then, leaving her for a few moments to dress herself, I went to the half-open door and looked out. I had not been there a minute when, across the further end of the open space, three or four hundred yards distant, I saw a negro pass, with a gun upon his shoulder. I drew instantly back, but still continued from behind the door to watch the course he took. He did not look towards the house, however, but marched on with a sort of exulting step, as of one who had done great deeds. Perhaps it was prejudice, perhaps not; but I could not help thinking he was one of the murderers, rejoicing in the retribution he had inflicted upon those who had deprived him and his race of liberty. In a few minutes Bessy joined me, and I asked her where the path in the wood led to, in which I had seen the negro disappear.
"That is the way to Jerusalem," she answered--"at least one way. There is another path here at the back of the house, but they soon join."
"Then I fear we must not direct our course thither," I answered. "I have just seen an armed negro pass that way; and, I doubt not, he has others before him. Were he alone, he would be soon dealt with; but, in all probability, they have marched to make an attack upon the town." She seemed very much alarmed, and asked, in almost a despairing tone,--
"Then where shall we go, Richard? My uncle Henry's house lies up in the same direction. Good God! I hopetheyhave not been attacked and murdered too."
"I hope not," I answered. I could express nothing except hope; and that, to say the truth, was but feeble. It was exceedingly difficult to determine on what to do. Every course presented dangers; and to remain where we were was, undoubtedly, very perilous. If the actual murderers did not return, other bands of revolted negroes would probably visit the houses that had been attacked, for the purpose of plunder. In the fields and woods we were likely, at some point, to meet with the insurgents; and it was evident, that when they murdered young girls and infants, they would spare no white person. Still the woods afforded more means of concealment, and a wider space; and I was just about to propose to Bessy to betake ourselves to their shelter, when she suggested that we might find horses in the stable, by which we could reach the high-road, and ride in any direction we might find reason to believe was open.
"At all events," she added, "we shall find some white people there to give assistance in case of need." I caught at the idea eagerly; but we were disappointed. The horses had all been taken away, and not a soul was left in any of the negro cabins. An anxious consultation followed; but the only course we could decide upon was to seek the cover of the woods again, to find out some quiet and concealed spot, and to wait there till the sun set; then, under the veil of night, to make our way, as well as we could, to the county town, where we believed all the gentlemen of the neighbourhood would rendezvous in sufficient force at least to keep the insurgents in check. We took the path at the back of the house, which, at all events, would carry us some distance on the way we intended to go, and walked on for about two miles, looking behind from time to time, and keeping a vigilant eye on the road before us, which, luckily, was very nearly straight.
"Bessy, dear love, you are tired," I said, as I felt her lean heavily on my arm. "Let us turn into the wood here, and rest a while. I neglected to load the arms I procured in the house, and I may as well do it now."
"I do not think Jerusalem can be more than four miles distant," she answered, "and I can go a little further, Richard; we had better get as near as we can. Besides, about three quarters of a mile on, this path joins the other, and we can better discover what is going on, if we conceal ourselves just between the two." We proceeded on our way for about half a mile further, when, suddenly, from some distance in front, came the rattling sound of musketry. It seemed but one straggling volley; but, the moment after, I thought I heard the sound of horses' feet at the gallop. Catching Bessy up in my arms, I carried her through the underwood, to a spot where I thought we could lie concealed. I set her gently down upon the turf, and, placing myself partly behind a tree, looked out towards the road. A minute had hardly passed when three negroes, on horse-back, rode by at full speed. I was strangely tempted to give them the two charges out of my gun, but the thought of Bessy restrained me, and I contented myself with listening eagerly to ascertain if others were flying along the road, which I knew must lie upon the right hand. In that direction I could hear no sounds, however; and, seating myself by the dear girl's side, I said,--
"Three of these villains have just passed right along the path which we came up. They must have had a brush with some of our friends near the town. This is hopeful, dear girl; for it shows that the gentlemen are rallying in force at Jerusalem, and if we can make our way thither to-night, we shall probably be safe."
"Then the negroes are defeated!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands with a look of thankfulness; "they are defeated and flying!"
"Nay," I answered, with a smile, "three are certainly running away; but I fear, dear Bessy, that is no indication of the result of the skirmish. Very few affairs of this kind take place without more than three running away, even of the victorious party. It will be better to stay here, and pursue our way after nightfall. We have shade and a soft turf, and plenty of wild flowers and singing-birds; and if we could but forget the terrible scenes we have just passed through, we might spend a few hours here pleasantly enough, even though I have nothing but biscuits to regale you with."
"I thought, Richard, we had no singing-birds in my country," said Bessy, with a touch of the old spirit in her tone, though greatly saddened.
"Oh, yes, you have, dearest," I. answered; "I have found one since, which I will still try to cage." Oh, the bright light that sometimes breaks through a dark cloud! Gloom, sorrow, fear had beset us during the whole of the preceding night and that eventful morning; but every step, every moment, had strengthened the bonds between Bessy's heart and mine as we went on together in the truest and most touching relation of woman to man--the protected and the protector. The agitation and the danger, too, lent the charm of contrast to the comparative calm and security with which we sat in that sequestered spot uncrossed by any path; and, as we partook of our scanty meal, with my arm supporting her waist, and her shoulder partly resting on my bosom, we both tasted a kind of happiness, only brightened by the gloom of all around, which is seldom vouchsafed to any in the course of this troublesome life.